Not that the novel is wholly uncritical of the law. McEwan's fictional judge, Fiona Maye, must contend with her own marital breakdown and intimations of mortality even as she battles to save the life of a youth who proves to be more than she bargained for. To add to these tokens of the heroine's all-too-human weakness, we are reminded that occasional miscarriages of justice are inevitable under even the best legal system. Yet the fallibility of Fiona, and even that of the rule of law itself, are for the author proof that the law is not only more rational than religion but also more humane. The infallibility of popes, of scriptures, of God is inhumane by comparison. The contrast between "My Lady", as Fiona is addressed in court, and "Our Lady", as Catholics refer to the Virgin Mary, is implicit and invidious.
Yet McEwan does not acknowledge that the legal history of the West is largely the story of the humanising influence of Judaeo-Christian morality on Roman law — particularly in its treatment of children. Infanticide was not abolished in the name of the secular spirit but of the Holy Spirit. Where the law has been "secularised" in modern times, the child has not always been the beneficiary, particularly the unborn child. The eight million abortions in this country since the Abortion Act 1967 testify to that, as does the tendency of the law to turn a blind eye to euthanasia and eugenics — despite the reluctance of the majority of the medical profession to legalise either. In the celebrated conjoined twins case of 2000 — which McEwan's fiction attributes to his judge Fiona Maye, but which was actually decided by his friend Sir Alan Ward — the Catholic Archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O'Connor, submitted a note to the Court of Appeal opposing the operation that saved one of the twins at the cost of killing the other. He did so not for the reason imputed to him by McEwan, that God gave life and only God could take it away, but because it is a sound legal principle that murder is wrong and "the good end would not justify the means". A secular Kantian philosopher would also have opposed the court's judgment, for the same reason: namely, because it made one life into a means to the end of preserving another. The court may well have been right to disregard such objections, but it was a decision that left many uneasy. In the novel, Fiona Maye herself is troubled — more proof of her humanity — but she receives threatening letters after her judgment — "the venomous thoughts of the devout".
What McEwan has done, in other words, is to pick his cases very carefully to put those who do not share his atheism in the worst possible light. Fiona Maye's scruples are admirable because she is capable of self-criticism — "she was no less irrational than the archbishop" — whereas the scruples of a prelate are not because his are drawn from the "deposit of faith". The Bible is cited only as an example of the cruelty and irrationality of "iron age therapies". Yet it is impossible to reach a final judgment on the question of what it is right to render unto Caesar and unto God — or even what is done in the name of religion or secular ideology. The devout may indeed have venomous thoughts, but so too do the high priests of the profane: witness the advice of Professor Richard Dawkins to the pregnant woman whose unborn baby was diagnosed with Down's Syndrome: "Abort it and try again. It would be immoral to bring it into the world if you have the choice." There is something holier than thou about the "secular spirit" of McEwan's law. And wasn't the supreme example of a wise judge who put the welfare of the child first that Biblical hero Solomon?
Yet McEwan does not acknowledge that the legal history of the West is largely the story of the humanising influence of Judaeo-Christian morality on Roman law — particularly in its treatment of children. Infanticide was not abolished in the name of the secular spirit but of the Holy Spirit. Where the law has been "secularised" in modern times, the child has not always been the beneficiary, particularly the unborn child. The eight million abortions in this country since the Abortion Act 1967 testify to that, as does the tendency of the law to turn a blind eye to euthanasia and eugenics — despite the reluctance of the majority of the medical profession to legalise either. In the celebrated conjoined twins case of 2000 — which McEwan's fiction attributes to his judge Fiona Maye, but which was actually decided by his friend Sir Alan Ward — the Catholic Archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O'Connor, submitted a note to the Court of Appeal opposing the operation that saved one of the twins at the cost of killing the other. He did so not for the reason imputed to him by McEwan, that God gave life and only God could take it away, but because it is a sound legal principle that murder is wrong and "the good end would not justify the means". A secular Kantian philosopher would also have opposed the court's judgment, for the same reason: namely, because it made one life into a means to the end of preserving another. The court may well have been right to disregard such objections, but it was a decision that left many uneasy. In the novel, Fiona Maye herself is troubled — more proof of her humanity — but she receives threatening letters after her judgment — "the venomous thoughts of the devout".
What McEwan has done, in other words, is to pick his cases very carefully to put those who do not share his atheism in the worst possible light. Fiona Maye's scruples are admirable because she is capable of self-criticism — "she was no less irrational than the archbishop" — whereas the scruples of a prelate are not because his are drawn from the "deposit of faith". The Bible is cited only as an example of the cruelty and irrationality of "iron age therapies". Yet it is impossible to reach a final judgment on the question of what it is right to render unto Caesar and unto God — or even what is done in the name of religion or secular ideology. The devout may indeed have venomous thoughts, but so too do the high priests of the profane: witness the advice of Professor Richard Dawkins to the pregnant woman whose unborn baby was diagnosed with Down's Syndrome: "Abort it and try again. It would be immoral to bring it into the world if you have the choice." There is something holier than thou about the "secular spirit" of McEwan's law. And wasn't the supreme example of a wise judge who put the welfare of the child first that Biblical hero Solomon?
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