Vol. 4 Chap. 54 "Who's Your Friend?"

Vol. 4 Chap. 54 "Who's Your Friend?"

“Why would I want to run, person that I have never met before?” The Prophet laughed awkwardly. Meeting someone’s reincarnation wasn’t weird. The world was only so big, after all. It was just... usually the changes were bigger. More dramatic. This was, even for them, an uncanny degree of carry over. Even the aura of obstinate interest was the same.

“Dunno. You looked shifty. Some reason you don’t want to cough up the goods? Mmm? You wouldn’t happen to be a false prophet would you? Because you know the consequences for that, don’t you?”

“Err... I am very definitely a legitimate Prophet. Overqualified, actually.”Reêad latest novels at novelhall.com

“What, you talk to the Gods too much? Did you get told off for harassing the Gods? You know the consequences for not respecting the Gods don’t you?”

“Since when did I disrespect God? The Gods?”

“Don’t tell me, tell the Magistrate, blasphemer!” Truth slammed his hand on the flour covered table and leaned forward. “Repent and confess everything, and maybe he’ll go easy on you!”

“I’m innocent!”

“No one is innocent, the very world is corrupt!”

“Not in the sense you mean it isn’t!”

“Bullshit! Every moment of existence leads to termination, suffering and corruption. We are born in blood and die in filth. The time in between is suffering and illusory pleasures. Do you deny these charges?”

“I deny your logic!” The Prophet was done being pushed around. “The one does not imply the other, let alone prove it. Yes, the world has its sufferings, and the mechanisms at play to sustain it can feel grotesque. But that does not imply evil, or corruption.”

“The greatest good is finding a life free of fear and bodily pain, a tranquil, modest life. In other words, a life that has as little to do with the damn world as practicable. The inverse of good is evil. Therefore a life maximally involved with the world is a life of maximal suffering and maximal evil. And since this world is the creation of the Gods, or God, whichever, it must logically follow that God is Evil. Or we are.”

Truth glared at the Prophet, then reached back and, without looking, accurately snagged the flatbread off the griddle. Slapping it down on the board in front of him, he swiftly poured oil over it, then topped it with herbs, garlic and a sprinkle of salt. His eyes remained locked on the hooded Prophet the whole time.

“Since I’m not a blasphemer like you, it follows that it can’t be God’s fault and thus you cannot be innocent. And since you are guilty, you must go confess and receive your punishment. I have to charge you for your bread. I won’t risk being executed as a co-conspirator.”

Truth stuck out his hand. The Prophet pushed it to one side, and pushed into Truth’s face.

“Oh? Oh? Is that what the “good” is? Huh? Some kind of Epicurus fanboy are you? Well what if I said that “good” was conforming to moral virtue, and moral virtue was that which was beloved by the Gods. How about that, eh?”

“Oh yeah? Yeah? How about that, then. Let’s play it through. We agree this world is ass.”

“We don’t agree! How could we start something with that as the premise?” The Prophet spluttered in outrage. “The world is flawed, yes. Far from the correct and true. But ‘ass’ is far too reductive for this remarkable achievement.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Is.”

Truth didn’t look over at the slaves working around them. He didn’t have to. The Prophet knew he was thinking it. Which was a particularly sticky subject for virtually any philosopher or prophet. It was all well and good saying that humanity was created as one people by a beneficent god, but slaves were wealth. And the one universal truth that every successful philosopher and prophet learned was- You never fuck with the money.

Live an austere life. Promote simplicity and the satisfaction of humility. Damn wealth as a frippery or illusion. Just don’t actually put it in any danger. Don’t ever, ever, suggest that rich people are the problem. Cross that line, and you won’t live long enough to cross many others. Most smart people just finessed the subject. Some prophets just said “Fuck it,” and preached that slavery was good. The Prophet wasn’t quite that shameless, so they opted to boldly ignore the problem.

“Yes, exactly. We are all fragments of that perfect divinity, mired in an imperfect world. Whether we languish in the muck or rise up through the spheres and return to that vast perfection is on us. On constantly raising our wisdom, and on increasingly experiencing that divine revelation that transcends rationality.”

The Prophet’s voice became sonorous. “The material world is an illusion, a faint approximation of the true reality of the Pleroma- the vast, true universe that exists above the muck of the world. The higher we raise ourselves to that infinite perfection, the more powerful our magic and our arts become. By raising our wisdom, by polishing our souls, we can escape the mud. No matter how many lifetimes it takes, such must be our purpose. And in the process, we become God’s answer to your question- Why would a perfect God create an imperfect world?”

Truth glanced over to the man running the tally board. The beardy man shouted across the plaza. “No clear winner, but he did answer the question!”

Truth nodded. Then handed the confused Prophet the flatbread. “Thank you for your patronage. Please come again.”

“Wait, what?”

“This is Alexandria.” Truth shrugged.

“Yes? I know? It has been for centuries.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of my point. We ain’t all philosophers or holy folk, but we are soaked in ‘em. You get lectures and sermons and debates going on around the city all the time. You were pretty good!”

The Prophet couldn’t quite put into words what he was feeling. “So that wasn’t a serious question about the nature of the universe and God?”

“Oh, I was totally serious. I mean, it’s one of the fundamental questions, right? At some point, everyone’s got to try and scrape off that particular bit of shit stuck to their sandal.” Truth looked up and saw the sun setting behind the buildings. “Hell with it. I’ll pack up for the day. Let me take you round to meet some folk. I think you’ll like ‘em.”

“Oh. Thanks.” The Prophet nibbled on the bread, then took some big bites. It was actually pretty good, and they were quite hungry.

Truth quickly packed everything away, and slung an arm around the Prophet’s neck. “Yeah, once you know the scene, you’ll fit right in here. Hey Moshe! Grab your lute and tell Gaius, Telemachus and the boys to meet us over at Ariston’s place. Tell Fidelus to bring his lizard!”

“Got it! Dinner’s on you, though.”

“I’ll bring the bread. Meat’s on Gaius, he still owes from two times ago. Oh, bring David too, I hear he’s got the latest from Syria.”

“You... turned out pretty social, huh?” The Prophet murmured.

“Huh? I have always been social. I’m definitely a lover, not a fighter.” Truth laughed. “Alexandria is an amazing city. Amazing. It’s a bad old world, but I can agree with you on one thing- this is a good place.”

There was an awkward cough from one side. “It sure seems nice. Any chance you could explain all this... everything to me?” Etenesh asked. And in the vast spinning cosmos, something slipped between the cracks.