“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.”
“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.”
“Isn’t.”
“That’s not even an argument!”
“Is.”
“Isn’t!”
They glared at each other, ignoring the spectators. One of the other nearby stall owners had already set out bowls of marinated olives, and the wine shop had already poured the watered wine into waiting bowls.
The Prophet sneered. “Let me lay it out for you then. This world is amazing. But it isn’t perfect. That much we can agree on. It’s changing all the time, there is pain and ignorance and all that. If it was perfect, it would be unchanging and eternal, and infinitely good. Since it’s not, we can say that it’s not perfect and to some degree, not good. Good in the sense of having achieved the highest degree of virtue.”
“Oh very logical. Super stuff. You just said that what is good is that which is beloved by the Gods, and since this world isn’t good, it isn’t loved by the Gods. Either that, or the Gods were unable to make a perfect world, meaning they themselves were less than perfect and therefore less than infinitely good. You sure are determined to catch a blasphemy charge, huh?” Truth rolled his eyes and started slowly applauding.
One enterprising soul in a local tavern had set out a slate and was keeping a tally of points on either side. The slaves were circulating, filling the wine bowls of spectators as raucous cheers and boos started breaking out here and there.
This was, after all, Alexandria. Such arguments were common entertainment here at the crossroads of thought.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Oh spare me your cheap piety! Naturally we can say that God is infinitely perfect and infinitely good because we can conceive of perfect things. Rationally, if a thing can be conceived of, it must exist on some level, and since it cannot exist in this world, it must exist in a higher world. The rational outcome is, of course, a realm of only perfect, and perfectly true, things from which all things are derived. A realm that is, of itself, God.” The Prophet ignored the flatbread, waving their finger in Truth’s face.
“Just because you use the word ‘logic’ doesn’t make something logical. If this realm of the perfect is God, and by some mystic maneuver created the world, they created it flawed. Therefore their knowledge of how to create is imperfect, and we loop right back to where we were before.” Truth sneered at the finger. He had seen better.
“Not if the being that created the world wasn’t God but merely a godly being! A craftsman spirit, taking up the chaos of the material universe and trying to fashion it in some semblance of the perfect universe of intellect that exists above matter. It is the craftsman’s limitations that are shown in the imperfections of the world, not God’s.”
The Prophet fished out a copper quadrain from their purse. “Look, this is a coin, right? Supposed to be circular, with a picture stamped on either side. But it isn’t a circle. When have you ever seen a perfectly circular coin? It’s not like the mint doesn’t know what a circle is, or how to use a compass. It’s a limitation of the materials and techniques available. This is the best they can do. And if it’s a bit lumpy, so what? We all know what it’s supposed to be and it still spends.”
The Prophet dramatically waved their hand at the world around them. “Well here we are. A bit lumpy, not quite perfect, but we can use our heads, know what’s right, and it still spends- our time here isn’t wasted. We polish our souls, and that’s real value.”
“Oh wow! A lousy craftsman! Well that just explains everything. No, slapnuts, that doesn’t fly. The Craftsman had to come from somewhere. At some point there was a transition from your realm of perfection to a realm of imperfection. Which means that God, the Perfect Realm or however you want to construct it, cannot be both infinitely wise and infinitely good. If it was infinitely wise, it would never allow an imperfect world to come into being, because it would be introducing evil to the universe to no purpose. Likewise, if it was infinitely good, even if it was unskillful in its actions, it would take steps to ensure there was no evil.”
Truth did his own, mocking, grand wave to the world. “We got an imperfect world AND evil. The only possible consequence of your premise is that an infinitely powerful god felt that it would be most pleasing if humanity was created to suffer for its enjoyment. Your Creator God is a monster. Not ignorant, cruel.”
“Spare me the theatrics,” The Prophet said, raising their hands theatrically. “Humanity is never going to be able to fully comprehend the mind of God- it is literally, definitionally, beyond us. We can only grab on to bits of it through reason and mystic revelation that transcends reason. That’s it. That’s what we get! God’s thought process behind the universe, the realms of existence emanating out from that perfect monad, the beings that inhabit those realms, and yes, even the blasted Craftsman, all of them, are beyond human comprehension.”
“OOOH!” Truth nodded exaggeratedly. “I get it- God isn’t cruel or incompetent, I’m just too dumb to pick up on his genius scheme! Boy, all those crib deaths had me worried, but now I know it’s fine. I’m just too dumb to understand why all that pain was necessary. Whew! Load off my shoulders, let me tell you.”
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.