The Empty Mirror

Chapter 71: Sacrament of Penance

In the silence of the chamber, the voice of reason, like a distant echo, resonated in his restless mind: "What is god?" he pondered, while contemplating the mysteries of the world. Was it perhaps a divine architect, whose omnipotence crafted the fabric of the world, or simply a creation of the human mind, an illusion to comfort mortals in their fleeting existence? With each question, the shadow of uncertainty loomed over him, fueling his insatiable thirst for knowledge. "What does it truly mean to exist?" he continued, as his words faded into the ancient. If god was indeed a tangible reality, how could they aspire to comprehend it? Was faith the only path leading to divinity, or were there other more tangible paths that could lead them to that supreme truth? Skepticism, like a shadow that never left, settled on his shoulder, whispering his unsettling doubts. "Is it not doubt itself that drives them to seek the truth?" he challenged, thus defying the darkness with the bright light of logic. For, if they were skeptical by nature, were they not, in fact, closer to the truth by not blindly accepting what was presented to them as certainty?

"Is it not full of wonder?" he reflected, "that the very notion of a perfect being is the root of its existence?" As suggested, if they could conceive of god as the supreme being, then his existence became undeniable, for a god merely conceived in the mind would not reach the pinnacle of greatness possible. His eyes rose to the stars, those distant shining spheres that held ancient secrets in their glow. "Everything that comes into existence requires a cause," he murmured, evoking the teachings of a scholar and his first path. If the world was, then it must be cradled in the lap of a primordial cause, an unshakeable engine, an uncreated creator. And finally, his attention turned to the complexity of nature, to the intricate choreography of life itself. "Does it not imply a design?" he questioned the vast firmament, considering the harmony of the cosmos. The divine clockmaker, as outlined, must exist, for the clock, with its meticulousness and purpose, cried out for a designer. These arguments, though objected and debated, had served as beacons for the faithful, flashes that sought to dispel the darkness of the enigma. And as the night progressed, and the silence grew deeper, he persisted in his contemplation, in his interrogation, for in the search for god, in the effort to comprehend the immeasurable, he found the very essence of his lost humanity.

The night descended upon him, enveloping him in its dark cloak, and with it, reflection took on a more intimate, deeper dimension. "Faith," he whispered with trembling reverence, "is the certainty of the unseen, the conviction of the desired." It was a leap into the unknown, trusting to find firmness beneath his feet; it was to believe without the support of eyes, to know without the backing of evidence. "And revelation," he continued with cautious tone, "is the veil that is torn, the divine voice that breaks the silence of the ether." It was the knowledge bestowed upon them, not that which they sought; it was the wisdom that descended upon them, not that which they longed to ascend. In the sacred scriptures, on the lips of prophets and mystics, revelation manifested as the message from on high delivered to humanity. But how to discern between the truth of faith and revelation?

How to distinguish if what they held was the reflection of the divine or the illusion induced by their minds? "The method of intellectuals," he answered himself, "urges us to question, to converse with our conscience and with our peers." Through the exchange of questions and answers, they aspired to reach the essence of faith, the authenticity of revelation. "Is it possible that faith is a form of knowing?" he pondered, allowing doubt to coexist with faith. "Can revelation be a beacon that guides them to the truth, or merely a construction of human culture?" In the silence that followed, he awaited the answers he knew would not come, yet in the act of questioning itself, he found glimpses of understanding. Amid whispers and shadows, exploring the mysteries of faith and revelation, though the definitive certainties eluded him, each question brought him one step closer to the truth he yearned for, to the truth that perhaps had always dwelled within him.

"Within a dogma, God reveals Himself as One, indivisible, the very essence of justice and mercy. But how could man, so limited in his understanding, attain the fullness of such an infinite being?" he wondered, following the footsteps of wisdom. "And what of those who proclaim a triune God? Is it not an enigma that defies the bounds of human reason, a unity in diversity that unveils a redeeming love?" And he continued, "Another creed, with its steadfast declaration of the unity of God, does it not also prompt reflection on divine transcendence and omnipotence? How is this conception of God reflected in the lives of those who believe?" With each question, he sought not definitive answers, but delved even deeper into the understanding of faith and the human condition. "Is not the search for God a path that leads them to the revelation of their own inner truth?" he reflected.

Beneath the mantle of the starry night, as shadows danced around his inquisitive mind, he surrendered to deep reflection. "While religions whisper of a personal and creator God, irreligiosity unfolds arguments that challenge the existence of such an entity," he pondered with the solemnity of a scholar. "Let us pause for a moment on the argument of incompatibility," he began with the caution of one descending into the abyss of thought. "How can an omniscient and omnipotent God be conceived in a world where suffering and injustice weave their dark tapestry? Is it not an impenetrable mystery that a supremely benevolent being would tolerate such misfortunes?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

With the precision of a truth surgeon, he delved into the argument of the absence of evidence: "If the divine presence is so clearly manifested in the world, why is its existence not presented to them in a more evident and convincing manner? Should not divinity be irrefutable and undeniable? And what of the thinking argument," he continued, his gaze fixed on the stars twinkling like beacons in the vastness of the firmament, "wisdom has unravelled many of the mysteries once attributed to the divine. Progress, cosmology, do they not offer them an autonomous universe that does not require a supreme architect?" With each question, he did not intend to discredit faith, but to unravel the essence of human thought in its relentless quest for answers. "Irreligiosity, in its essence, is not a denial, but a different path to truth," he murmured solemnly, thus concluding his meditation in the silent night.

While divinity seemed to dwell in the heavens and its essence was defined as supreme goodness and omnipotence, he immersed himself in an internal dialogue of profound reflection. "If divinity dwells in the heavens and its essence is supreme goodness and omnipotence, how to find reason in the presence of evil in the world?" he murmured with the gravity of a thinker immersed in the depths of human consciousness. "Moral evil, engendered by the actions of men, is it perhaps the fruit of free will? And if so, why would a merciful God have granted them the faculty to sow such a gloomy harvest?" he inquired, while his mind grappled with ethical conflict. "And natural evil, whether earthquakes, plagues or calamities, are they perhaps cogs of an indifferent world or evidence of the absence of a vigilant divinity?" he continued, his inner voice resonating in the sepulchral silence of the castle. "Suffering, is it a test of faith or a harsh truth devoid of divine purpose?" he pondered. "Perhaps in the limited understanding, what is interpreted as evil is merely a chapter of an inscrutable divine plan, or is this perception merely a balm against the harsh reality of pain? Perhaps," he concluded with sorrow, "the enigma of evil is the greatest challenge for those who embrace belief in a just and loving God, an enigma that remains unresolved in the hearts of mortals."

With the firmness of nature permeating his reflections, he began to unravel the complexities of the world. "The reason of nature, in its steadfastness, maintains that every phenomenon finds its explanation in natural causes and logical laws," he began, his inner voice imbued with reflective skepticism. "Irreligiosity, on the other hand, dismisses the notion of a divine being as necessary to decipher the world," he continued. "Is it not more plausible, according to this view, that the world and life are the results of random and directionless processes? Natural selection, inheritance, the somatic," he recited, "are archetypes that propose models without the need for an architect. Is it not more sensible to trust in empirical evidence than in faith dogmas? But even so," he pondered, "the logic of nature is confronted with its own enigmas. How do consciousness and morality emerge from inert matter? Is wisdom sufficient to account for the full range of human experiences? The debate between wisdom and religion," he concluded solemnly, "is not merely a clash between truths, but a divergence of perspectives about the reality that surrounds them."

In the field of his mind, where the battle between unanswered questions raged, he eagerly sought the truth in the mystery of divine existence. "What do they really know about the supreme being?" he questioned with the inquiry of a child and the seriousness of a devotee. "If God is infinite and their understanding finite, how dare they pretend to encompass His essence?" He wondered, not with the intention of finding a definitive answer, but to explore the limits of human understanding. "Unbelief urges them to live with uncertainty, but is this uncertainty merely an excuse to not venture beyond the obvious?" With each question, he delved deeper into meditation on the nature of faith and reason. "If they accept their limitations in knowledge, would it not be more honest to admit the possibility of something greater than themselves?" The internal dialogue continued, and although he did not reach concrete conclusions, he found virtue in the process of inquiry itself. "Perhaps," he reflected at last, "true wisdom resides not so much in the answers they have, but in the questions they dare to ask.”

"In both aspects," he pondered, "there is an attempt to boast of a certainty that seems to elude the very essence of human existence. Religion," he began, "relies on faith to affirm the divine presence, but is faith not itself a leap beyond logic and evidence? How to found firmness in the divine on something as subjective as personal faith?" Then, he directed his thoughts towards disbelief. "On the other hand, religious doubt repudiates the existence of God arguing the lack of tangible evidence. But is this not a restriction of perception and understanding? Can they truly deny the existence of something just because it does not fit into their present logical framework?" With each question, the vampire longed to unravel the fallacies and half-truths that each stance presented. "Both religion and disbelief seem to overlook that reality could be more complex and mysterious than their minds can grasp. Perhaps," he concluded with a hint of humility, "wisdom does not lie in absolute certainty, but in the ability to recognize limitations and gracefully coexist with the mystery that surrounds them, or perhaps not."

"The ancient sages," he whispered, "traced in the world and in nature the traces of the divine. For some independent thinkers, everything was part of a cosmic order governed by the principle of reason, a world reason that infused harmony into humanity. Is not this search for order an early manifestation of recognition towards something more sublime than yourselves?" He paused to consider the figure of the world of ideas, where the purest form of the good and the beautiful pointed towards an unattainable perfection. "In the idea of the Good, there was conceived a resemblance of the divine, a supreme principle that gave meaning to existence." Then, his thoughts turned towards the notion of the unmoved mover, a primordial cause that, without any movement, was the origin of all movement and being. "Although this first mover was not termed as God, but is it not, perhaps, a form of divinity that surpasses understanding? The wisdom of ancient theory," he concluded, "instructs them that the divine can be intuited through the order and beauty of the world. Although they may not apprehend God directly, perhaps they can glimpse His presence in the perfection of creation.”