Positive Liberty

Someone lit up a torch, and for the first time I beheld the room around me. I recognized one of men who had grabbed me as the muscular fellow from the weapons shop.

“So what do I call you?” I asked my captor. “As I understand it, The Predator is already taken. And ‘Prudence’ doesn’t sound all that sinister.”

“Well… hmmm… it doesn’t, now does it? But that’s just the beauty of the whole operation! After all, I’m not supposed to look evil right from the start. All the very best wickedness looks perfectly harmless from the outside.”

“Well, whatever,” I replied. “But in any event, I don’t have anything that you want. You might as well let me go. If it helps, I’ll promise not to tell anyone that you did it.”

“But it’s not so simple as that,” replied my captor. “You’re right that I have no personal stake in detaining you. But you are a known criminal, my friend. My spies tell me that you are wanted for questioning in both Meta-Israel and Idoltaria. And the Inquisition of Christendom has started proceedings against you as well. Seems some guy named Augustine made a complaint, and now they want to have a chat with you. Here the Christians still burn at the stake, too. “

“I was afraid of that.”

“The options as they stand right now seem to be stoning, burning at the stake–or being tossed off a cliff into a river in a giant sack containing a monkey, a rooster, and a snake.”

I blinked, recalling something from ancient history.

“The pagans get creative, you see.”

“Lovely.”

“Yes, but I’m holding out for the highest bidder. Negotiations are already underway.”

Seeing that I had nothing further to say to him, the Prudent Predator bid me goodbye and left the room, as did his two associates. For the second time in as many days, I found myself alone in a dungeon.

Alone, but with company. Sadly, it was not Lust, but the Devil’s Advocate who joined me in my solitude.

“What are you thinking, my dear boy?”

“I’m thinking about sunk cost.”

“Economics? At a time like this?”

“It is the science of choice, isn’t it?”

“Well yes. But it would seem that your choices are few–or possibly zero.”

“So it would seem. But I can still choose what I think, right? And that choice may be able to influence other things that I can’t quite control right at the moment.”

“Telekinesis?”

“Don’t be smart with me.”

“Then tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I am wondering,” I replied, “how I might be able to make some sort of deal for my freedom.”

“What do you have to offer?” asked the Devil’s Advocate.

I produced from my pocket the heavy wrought-iron key to the Citadel of the Inner Ethical Council.

“You’re not thinking of…”

“Well, it’s one of the last remaining resources I have, right?”

“You have that fine shirt of chainmail.”

“Oh yes, how could I forget? It’s the very thing that got me in trouble in the first place.”

“How do you propose getting yourself out of that trouble? Go back to Oberon and ask his forgiveness? He isn’t noted for his mercy.”

“And I’m not noted for asking forgiveness.”

“Does that trouble you?” asked the Devil’s Advocate.

“I’m not sure I believe in forgiveness, to be honest.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere! For most people in your situation, forgiveness would be the first thing on their minds.”

“I know. But I don’t have much chance of earthly forgiveness–and I have no hope whatsoever in the heavenly kind.”

“Well what happens, then, when you do wrong?”

“If I do wrong, I’ve done wrong. End of story. If you think about it, ‘forgiveness’ doesn’t at all erase the fact that a wrong has been done. No, it’s just a lot of make-believing that the wrong never happened. But it did happen, and there’s no changing that. Forgiveness is just a sugar-coating. Even the promise to ‘forgive and forget’ is a lie–If you promise to forget something, don’t you always invariably remember it?”

“Well said. But God has the power to forgive. Or so I’m told.”

“Of course. Most people believe in God, who is said to offer a forgiveness that matters much more than the earthly kind, a forgiveness that–suspiciously–can be obtained wherever you are. But I’m wary of things that come too cheaply. The promise of forgiveness is to undo the past, but it never works out that way. Even God doesn’t do that.”

“Yes, most people say they believe in God, but they never fail to give my Master his due. They keep right on sinning–and they keep right on asking forgiveness. I wonder if goodness might not do better, if it refused all forgiveness?”

“An interesting question.”

“But let’s be reasonable: Whether it’s a superstition or not, belief in God aims to give comfort in situations precisely like your own, when nothing else could possibly work.”

“If you’re trying to convert me, you’ll have to do better than that,” I replied. “I hardly see how adding a delusion to one’s miseries can make them any better.”

“Hush. It’s wicked to mock the afflicted. And I’m not trying to convert you. Now it just happens Christians do make the very best souls for roasting, but we’ve despaired of you case a long time ago”

“Oh good. So after I’m thrown off a cliff in a sack with a monkey, a rooster, and a snake, at least I’ll not quite taste so juicy to the devils who will torment me afterward. If, that is, you are anything more than a figment of my imagination.”

“In the unreal world? Here we’re just as real as you are.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“So what do you really think, anyway?” he asked. “What do you atheists, you hopeless ones think–in a hopeless situation? It’s easy to believe in nothing when times are good, right? But what about now? Tell me; I’m curious to taste your despair.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I mean, well, you know: I was born and raised a Satanist. We all are down there, I guess. But I’ve always wondered how the atheists live. Anything, really.”

“You mean, ‘Does life have any meaning for the atheist?’”

“Exactly! I live and breathe for Armageddon; every night I sharpen my claws in sweet anticipation. One dark and glorious day, I tell myself, I shall drink the blood of angels! But what do you live for?”

“What a miserable question.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t live for anything. I just do the best I can while I’m at it. And there’s no cosmic drama to get in the way.”

“How depressing.”

“Sometimes. But then, Christianity has sorrow enough of its own. And even Satanism does too, on occasion.”

“Satanism? It’s a never-ending bliss.”

“Nonsense. As I understand it, the only book authenticating your Master’s existence also predicts that he will lose the Last Battle. It can’t be fun to back a loser.”

“Well, yeah. There’s that, I suppose.”

“And you lost that whole witchcraft thing a while back, too. There can’t be that many babies to roast these days, can there?”

“These days, almost never.”

“I’m sorry to hear that… I guess.”

“We do have plenty of wars going on,” the Devil’s Advocate said hopefully, “and we’re doing all we can to think up new ones.”

“I’ve noticed.” We paused for a moment, unsure where to go next.

“Christians,” said the Devil’s Advocate, “have it all wrong when it comes to atheists, don’t they?”

“They do.”

“But how? I want to hear it from you.”

“The Christians’ biggest mistake is to think that in our misery, we atheists are crying out for their particular God. Christians simply assume it, because that’s what their religion tells them. It isn’t so. In our misery, we are perfectly alone, equally removed from Christ as we are from Buddha, Krishna, and the deified Augustus Caesar.”

“But they would say that Christ is right there for you.”

“What would a Buddhist say?”

“Fair enough. And, well–you understand, of course, that I do have to bring this up–Satan is right there for you too. If you’re interested.”

“I know. But I take other comforts.”

“What are the comforts of an atheist?”

“In sorrow, I recall that all things must end, and I take comfort from that. In joy, I recall that all things must end–and that I must hold to the good all the harder.”

“That’s hardly logical.”

“Neither is the proverb about the empty triangle.” He looked puzzled, but I opted not to try explaining. Evangelism can be insufferable, and it’s usually a waste of time.

“I’ve been thinking of making a deal,” I continued. I held up the key to the Citadel. “Perhaps you could secure the key to my cage, and I would give you this one in return.”

“A lovely deal; to be honest, I’d been wanting that one back.”

“I figured. I’m guessing that now that the election is over, the Council will have called off its strike.”

“I wouldn’t speak too soon. Have you seen what’s happening in Ukraine?”

“Democracy is only as good as the people who take to the streets and defend it.”

“Hardly a ringing endorsement. But have you considered that giving up the key means giving up your quest?”

“I have. But staying here means giving up my life, and of course I can’t keep questing if I’m dead.”

The Devil’s Advocate looked puzzled once more. He glanced at my wrought-iron key, then at the smaller steel key that was hanging from a hook on the far wall. With measured, pondering steps he walked over and retrieved the key to my cage.

“Help me out here,” he said, “because I’m not sure I quite understand the mechanics of the unreal world.”

“Okay.”

“You are real. You’re completely 100% real, and you’ve been translated here by a mystic portal.”

I blushed. “I’m not quite sure I believe in it myself. I’ve never been much of a mystic.”

“In any event, all the rest of this stuff is unreal, not-real, false, fictional.”

“Yes.”

“So what happens if you die here?”

“I have no idea.”

The Devil’s Advocate roared in wicked laughter.

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