—Look, said Jason, it is an old idea. There was never any proof. There was only faith. I have a soul, one would tell himself. He believed it because … - Clifford D. Simak

First there was space—endless, limitless space, so far from everything, so brutal, so frigid, so uncaring that it numbed the mind, not so much from fear or loneliness as from the realization that in this eternity of space the thing that was himself was dwarfed to an insignificance no yardstick could measure.

The Talisman has been missing for several years or so. And no one knows about it — except Galactic Central and the — what would you call it? — the hierarchy, I suppose, the organization of mystics who takes care of the spiritual setup. And yet, even with no one knowing, the galaxy is beginning to show wear. It's coming apart at the seams. In time to come, it may fall apart. As if the Talisman represented a force that all unknowingly held the races of the galaxy together, exerting its influence even when it remained unseen.

You do not belong to any bona fide religion that prohibits killing?"
"I presume I could classify myself as a Christian," said Sutton. "I believe there is a Commandment about killing." The robot shook his head. "It doesn't count."
"It is clear and specific," Sutton argued. "It says, 'Thou shalt not kill.'"
"It is all of that," the robot told him. "But it has been discredited. You humans discredited it yourselves. You never obeyed it. You either obey a law or you forfeit it. You can't forget it with one breath and invoke it with the next.