The Elephant in the Room

The Elephant in the Room

“What do you mean by dragging that in?” she asked me as I pulled the white elephant into the room. I wasn’t really a “white elephant” so much as a statue of an elephant somebody thought should be white and so painted it so. It was made of papier-mâché and about five and a half feet high. Hence, it was, technically speaking, a really a baby white elephant in every sense of the word.

“I bought it.” I said simply.

She was not amused. “You bought it?” she asked as if the three words revealed a level of stupidity unattainable by any human in the history of the planet..

“Not exactly” I responded with more than a little fear in my voice. “You see, we were playing cards and, well, every time we played the guy who sat by the elephant won. Every time. For weeks and weeks it’s been going on.”
She said nothing, just shaking her head.

So I rushed on. “And, well, I figured that we could use some luck so I sort of convinced Bill he should sell it to me.”

Now her eyes got big. “Bill sold it to you?” She hated Bill with a passion. Not that there wasn’t a lot to hate. He was, and we all knew it, a man without morals of any kind. If he thought shooting his mother would earn him a buck he would have shot his mother. But if he was rotten to the core he was also a lot of fun to be around. So we – I mean the guys and me – watched him like a hawk and let him play poker with us. At first when we invited him we thought we’d catch him cheating a lot. But instead we noticed that he won and lost just about as often as each of us. It was our distrust of him that also made us notice that the guy who sat by the elephant always won.

So I pulled the white elephant into the middle of the room and sat down on the couch. It dominated the room. “So what are you going to do with it?” she asked?

I thought for moment before answering carefully. “Well…you see it’s …uh … magic?” I managed, stumbling along and slowly dropping my voice until the last word, the “magic” was issued in a whisper.

She looked at me, then at the elephant in the room, then at me again. “Magic, huh?” she said.

“Yeah.” Then, taking a big breath, I told her the story. How we played cards every Wednesday, -- which she already knew – and how the guy who sat closest to the elephant always won. We thought it was just a coincidence but it kept happening so we, well, at least I, figured it was magic. And once I figured that out I decided to buy it. And since it was in Bill’s house I made him an offer for it.

“How much?” she asked, obviously expecting the worse.

“A thousand,’ I told her, avoiding her gaze.

She gasped, then added, “A thousand! Are you nuts! We haven’t got a thousand! Not for anything, let alone something as stupid as this…this…thing!”

She was off and running. For the next hour the conversation – well, not conversation exactly, more like a harangue – continued. She said I was stupid and was, in her words, “incapable of an intelligent thought, devoid of insights, introspection, or any other form of self-reflection, and blind to the subtleties of common sense.” All of which may or may not be true -- if I could have figured out what she meant by all those big words. So I just sat there watching her slowly build up to a previously and probably never again attainable peak of pure rage. And as I watched I noticed her entire countenance turning first to a bright pink, followed by an ever deepening red, and finally, just before she toppled over, an utterly scary shade of deep purple.

I sat there looking at her laying there, her hands clasped at her throat for about ten minutes before I figured she might need help. But who call? It took me another ten minutes to figure it out by which time she was most certainly no longer angry about the elephant – or anything else for that matter. So I called Bill. When he answered I just thanked him again for the white elephant. It was, like I said, obviously quite magical. He just laughed.

Shoes Make the Man

Shoes Make the Man

Julius Caesar declared that an army fought on its stomach. Or maybe it was Napoleon. In any case, who ever it was said that if the troops were well fed they would fight well. Fortunately we live next to Canadians rather than Vandals and so the worst battles we have to fight is over whether a Canadian quarter is worth the same as a US quarter. And as for our stomachs, this is Wisconsin for heaven’s sake – the second fattest state in the Union! We have stomachs! So, the only real way to tell the destiny of a man in our modern world is to look at his shoes. In Julius Caesar’s time there were exactly two choices: sandals or no sandals. If you wore sandals you were destined to be a noble. If, on the other hand, your feet were sans sandals (Latin, I think, for bare-footed) you were destined to be a slave. Noble or slave, that’s it, it was one or the other. Nobles got the money, the girl, the army, and the fun. Slaves got the work. Today things are pretty much the same and you can still tell a man’s destiny from his shoes.

There are four, and only four types of shoes in the world – and four types of men to fill them. The four types of men are: first, the successful guy; second, the guy who looks successful but isn’t; and third, the guy who doesn’t “give a damn” about success and wants you to know it; and fourth, the guy who keeps asking “what’s success?” Each wears a different type shoe.

Successful guys wear loafers. That’s right, loafers. If you think of successful guys just think “Jimmy Carter.” Here is a guy that did a really horrid job of running the nation but who is widely acclaimed anyway. He wears loafers. He’s successful because he looks like he’s accomplishing something at the very instant he’s accomplishing exactly nothing. Just like loafers. Loafers, as the name implies, are those shoes meant for “doing nothing” while you look like you might, someday, really do something. In Jimmy Carter’s case his entire image is built on his loafers. When somebody needs someone to fly some place to “give peace a chance” they send Jimmy Carter and his loafers. So there he goes, does a little talking, a lot of listening, and pronounces the two parties finally and completely reconciled. He gets honored, glorified, and paid a lot of money. The two parties get to pretend for a week or so that everything is hunky-dory. That’s the ultimate in success. Look like your working but don’t change anything – and get paid a lot for doing it. Guys who want to be successful, on the other hand, believe they have to accomplish something. That’s their mistake. They wear Oxfords.

Now, before you get all snooty, understand that by Oxford’s I don’t mean, well, just Oxfords. I mean that these guys wear shoes with two things in common – first, they cost a lot of money; and second, they are really, really uncomfortable. I mean the guy wearing Oxfords spends six months pay buying a pair of shoes that give him hours of excruciating pain. All morning he is in pain and the rest of the day he is a pain. All of which enables these guys, mostly lawyers and stockbroker types, to run over each other and everybody else without the least compunction to “feel their pain.” After all, you don’t feel anybodies’ pain when your feet are screaming, “Get up that corporate ladder you idiot!” And why, you ask would feet be crying “Get up the corporate ladder you idiot!?” -- because they instinctively know that if you happen to stumble to the top of the corporate ladder, even over the bodies of your fellow man, you get to wear loafers! Feet don’t have to be told, they know!

Yes, the feet know. Take the third type of guy. His feet demand sensible, heavy, hard-core, work boots because they know that sensible, heavy, hard-core, work boots are needed. Why you ask? Because the guy does sensible, heavy, hard-core work. Yea, really – the guy works for a living. The loafer guy thinks he works and the Oxford guy sponges off the work of others, but the work boot guy actually gets the job done. It is his feet that carry the lumber, his feet that tote the freight, and his feet that are “put to the fire” if things don’t get done. If you don’t believe me think about the prime loafer, Jimmy Carter. Has he ever been fired? Even when the North Koreans threatened to bomb the South Koreans to smithereens even though Jimmy had just pronounced their disputes finally and fully settled? NO…they gave him some medal and another big fat check! And did they give him his walking papers when some poor schmuk couldn’t even make the infinitesimally tiny payments on the infinitesimally tiny house Mr. Carter and his friends built for him? Not on you life. He, you see, is a “loafered” guy! “Loafered” guys are not responsible – for anything! And they don’t get fired! As for the Oxford guys, can you think of a single lawyer or stockbroker who has been fired? If you’re your stocks go up, you move into a mansion, your stockbroker moves into a bigger mansion, and everybody’s happy. But if stocks go down you move into your parents’ basement and your stockbroker buys your parents’ basement. Get fired? Not a chance. Oxford guys never get fired.

Work-boot guys, on the other hand, get fired. They get fired if the lumber is crooked. They get fired because the manager is an idiot. They get fired if the sun comes up or it doesn’t. It’s sort of an unwritten rule of management. If something goes wrong fire some guy in work boots. And if a lot goes wrong, fire the damn lot of them. In fact, among guys in work boots getting fired is a badge of honor.

“Hey, ya here, Joey got the can” one guy will say to the other.

“Lucky fart,” the other guy will respond. “What the hell did he do?”

“Told the boss to take the job and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”
“Into his Oxfords?”

See, these guys get it. They were work boots and they sweat. They stay at Motel 2 because they couldn’t afford a Motel 6 and they drink beer because wine doesn’t come in pop-top cans. And they don’t wear Oxfords because if you wear Oxfords you have to hate your fellow man. These guys get the job done and then get fired. And they take their boots with them.

Tennis shoe guys, on the other hand, throw their tennis shoes out. Every couple of week or so, when the odor begins to send off alarms across the nation they throw out the old pair and buy another. Either the odor or getting fired will do it. That’s how they live. Change of job, change of shoes. You see these tennis shoe guys don’t have a clue about success. They keep changing occupations because they forget that they are supposed to work for living. The equation, “work=pay” is foreign to them, like the factory where their tennis shoe were made. So here they are, lacing up a new pair of tennis shoes and thinking, “I’m forty-two and I wonder what I’m supposed to do when I grow up?” These guys don’t have mid-life crises they have a crises that starts when they are born and just hangs around – unlike their tennis shoes. And what type of jobs do these guys have? Anything that appears to be work but never breaks a sweat. Usually they are actors or writers. Well, actually, waiters wishing they were acting, actors temporarily waiting tables while they perfect the art of acting, actors acting as if they were waiting tables, or waiters acting as if they were actors waiting tables. You get the picture. Or, like I said, maybe writers. Writers writing about actors waiting tables. Writers acting as if they could write about actors waiting tables. Or writers wishing they were actors. Same job, different focus. Same shoe.

So you see, the shoes make the man. Julius Caesar wore sandals. Jimmy Carter wears loafers. Lawyers and stockbrokers wear Oxfords, and I wear tennis shoes. I hear that somewhere there are some guys that were work boots, but I haven’t met them. I probably should make a point of it since I have to get some work done.

As I See an Interview with the Devil Part 1

[The following is a work in progress – about 1/3 done. Comments are always welcome.]
I really don’t know why I never questioned the invitation. I mean, an inviation to have dinner with the Devil himself? Who ever heard of such a thing. Yet, I didn’t even pause to consider that it may be someone playing a small joke. So I don’t know how it was that I never questioned the invitation. It, at the time, seemed to be as natural as any invitation, and since I was free that particular evening, I remember thinking to myself, "Sure, why not." And even as I thought this thought, I found I had no desire to send a message, an RSVP or anything because I knew, just as I had known that the inviation was legitimate, that no response was needed. He already knew.
I awoke the morning of the appointed rendevu and thought to myself that I had better jot some meaningful questions for my intended interviewee. After all, I was a journalist even if I had yet to produce anything of note in my chosen occupation. But my training insisted that I do so, so I began. And so, like doing an interview with some rock star, polititian, or Nobel prize winner, I began with a review of what had already been published. First, I turned to the formost aurhority on the Devil, the Bible. I was surprised to find that though Satan, as he is usually named, had appeared in several key places, Job, the Garden, and the desert to tempt Jesus, there was really very little refernce to him. For being the embodiment of evil, as I had always imagined, he comes across more like a petty despot anxious to seize or at least keep power by any means necessary. In fact, most of the references were either of the cryptic kind usually associated with prophecy or claims by certain individuals that Jesus was possessed, under control of, or subject to Satan in some way. The few which actually named him were of the sort that it was clear that the writer of the book had little sympathy for his subject – a position, I as journalist, was supposed to avoid at the same time as I, a Christian, was supposed to support. The idea of which brought me to my first crises for you see, it never occured to me that being a Christian would ever have a significant empact upon my professional demeanor.
You see, like most journalist I was trained to believe two self-contradictory premises: 1) that no truth could be discussed or know outside a pre-established belief system; and 2) that journalist are the unbiased eyes and ears of the the public and therefore must proclaim truth from an unbiased, non-pre-established belief system. "It’s funny," I thought to myself, "how often being "unbiased" has resulted in my giving more credit to the very things I did not believe than credit to those things I did. Here I am," my thoughts carried on, "interviewing the king of evil and I’m trying to shunt aside all that my Faith has taught me." Then I reflected upon one particular article I wrote covering the murder of a young girl, seven I believe, who was killed by the stray bullet in a gang conflict. I began the article by describing, in as great a detail as possible, how the young girl, playing on her front porch, was struck by the passing bullet intended only as a warning to her brother, a young man who wasn’t even home at the time. I spent an appropriate amount of time interviewing the victims family, her friends, her school mated and teachers, and so on and so on. She was, by all accounts, a sweet, gentle, church-going child who would be missed. Then my story, just like life, moved on to describe the brutal life of the gang member her brother had become, the squalled conditions of her neighbohood, and the near impossiblity of avoiding such violence in the drug infested part of the city in which she lived and died. In fact, after the first few paragraphs I spent more time explaining how the whole gang scene was the result of our cities inability to grasp the basic need of jobs, education, and social welfare. Never once did I call her brother what he was -- a drug-dealing crack-head. It was as if I could look evil in the eye and call it innocence. "No," I thought, "I don’t believe I’ve ever taken evil seriously. But worse, I never taken good to be good enough to fight for either."
Getting back to my interview I decided that while I could and would ask the usual "background" questions, "where are you from, originally?" and "just how old are you, anyway" I would also ask some philosophical questions also. Like: "if you are so evil and so powerful, how come their are good things left in the world?" Now that would be a quesiton, I thought. But I also though I’d ask him personal questions. "Is evil really necessary?" would be one. And perhaps, "If you could reverse one thing, one historical event, what would it be?" And to give the whole thing a "human touch" I would ask him about what he listened to, who had influenced him the most, and even, thought I thought it may be too trivial, the name of his favorite band. But by this time it was nearly time to meet the Devil and so I dressed and left my home for the hotel where we were to meet for dinner.I arrived a few minutes early. The place, which for propriety’s sake (as well as possible legal problems) will remain unnamed, was at one time part of an elegant chain of hotels around the globe. Featured prominantly in various novels and documentaries, it’s history is filled with the names of past celebrities, though of late it appears that the management had let some things "go to seed" as it were. The carpet was worn, though not too, the paint was dull, but again, only if one took the time to notice, and the uniforms of the staff showed a certain out datedness only outdone by the frayed edges of their collars and trim. In short, the fame of the place carried it long after the substance had left. It felt only too appropriate that the devil should choose such a place for our rendevu.
After approaching the desk I was directed to the dining room to meet my interviewee. I entered the room and found the same slightly worn understated elegance. Glancing around the room I spotted him immediately.
To say I spotted him immediately would give a false impression. It was not that he was a striking creature, no, in fact just the opposite. In appearance he looked perhaps fifty, an age which could just as easly be seventy or even a well worn but plausable thirty. He was not too tall, of average build, balding, and in short, as plain as any man. Yet I spotted him immediately.
I walked over to his table. He stood and extended his hand. I took it. His handshake was a marvel to experience. Firm without being challenging. Like a man who had practiced shaking hands and could adjust his grip to the exact specifications of message he sought to implant in the greeting. The message here was that we were equals, exactly and precisely equals. His smile was also perfect. Not a grin, nor a smirk, but a simple genuine "this is a real pleasure" type of smile.
"Well, Mr. Cranston, I’m certainly pleased you could make our little chat. You’d be surprised how many times I attempted to have a serious discussion of my point of view with a qualified interviewer only to be stood up. It seems almost all the qualified journalist today simply don’t believe I exist, and the one’s who may, in their heart of hearts actually believe in evil, find it impossible to think that their would be a king of evil." He shook his head in disbelief.
"Anyway," he carried on, "I appreciate your coming."
I smiled as best I could and offered my pre-rehearsed greeting. "Your Eminent Lowness," I began, "it is I who appreciate…" but he cut me off with a waive of the hand.
"Look," he said, a little annoyed, "you of all people should dispense with flattery. You and I both know to whom you belong. More the pity. So can the fancy talk and call me…Mr. Smith. After all, I may be "emminent" in my realm, and my realm is definitely farther down now than when I first began, but the implied respect in ‘Your Emminent Lowness’ is a lie, and we both know it."
I stood a bit shocked at his brisk response. Then, seeing his point, I shrugged my sholders. "Okay, ah.. Mr. Smith," I began again, "as you wish. You’re right, everything I’ve read and heard about you makes me want to ignore everything you say and run like hell, if you’ll pardon the expression."
He laughed. "Well spoken Mr. Cranston. That’s why I sent you the invitation. I knew you had at least some exposure to my resume, if you will, and wouldn’t come here looking for some fool dressed in red tights carrying a pitch fork. At least my your keeper does the service of letting His troops know I exist. Shall we sit?"
We sat down and took a few minutes reading the menu, though I must admit I paid more attention to his manurisms than whatever flowering descriptions of dry steak the menu could produce. In the end I stuck with a chicken breast in some indistinct sauce and a salad. Mr. Smith had a steak, char broiled, as it were. "Remindes me of home," he told the waitress, though the poor girl missed the reference completely.
As she walked away, the devil looked at me with sad eyes. "See what I mean?" he asked, "in the old days if I made a joke like that the waitress would have at least come up with some good retort. Now they don’t even get it. I remember back in France when I said I wanted my meat flaming hot because it reminded me of home, most of the wenches serving me would have replied, "you devil!" and got it right. Of course, then I would have swatted them in the appropriate places as I sent them back with my order and they would have taken it in stride. Today you do something like that and it’s like a five alarm fire." He shook his head and sighed. "Those were the days."
We sat a few minutes drinking our wine and observing those around us. I turned to him and asked, "People say you can read minds. Can you?"
He thought for a moment, considering the quesiton, "No," he finally answered, "I don’t read minds so much as see the clues and make educated deductions. Take that man and women over there. She’s not his wife and yet they will sleep together tonight."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Experience," he answered in a single word. Then turning to me, "look at how attentive she is. She hangs on every word. Notice how many times she touches his hand, his arm. Then look at him. He’s louder, excited. He could be drunk, but it’s only six-fifteen. Watch how he keeps her drink filled, encouraging her to "live it up" as it were. Watch his eyes. He’s calculating. She is too, but in a different manner. She’s not wondering about what she can get him to do, but what she can get herself to do. Trust me, they will spend the night together, fly home tomorrow and forget about each other by Monday."
I watched the couple for a few minutes in silence. "But how do you know they are not married?"
The devil laughed. "How old do you think they are?" he asked.
"Thirty-five or so."
"And if they were married how long do you think since the wedding?"
"Well, probably a few years?"
"And how often do a man and wife travel together on business?’
"How do you know it’s a business trip?"
"If it weren’t would the man be wearing a suit and tie?"
He had a point there, but I wasn’nt about to give up. "Okay, so their here on business. But why couldn’t they be married?
"They could," he replied, "but I doubt it. Look at the number of times she touches him. Only newlyweds and those interested in sex do that – which is, of course, the same thing. So here is the score. If they are married then they have been so for only a few months, a year tops, have come to town on a business trip, and are not flying back as soon as possible, which they would be doing if they were married since it’s Friday night and any business meetings they would have had would have been over hours ago. The other option is that they are here on business, are not married to each other, and have decided to stay a little longer just to see what develops between them. They have probably had a number of dinners together and don’t want to miss this chance."
He paused, then added, "You want to find out?"
I looked at him. "How?" I asked.
"First, we’ll pick up their check or checks. We’ll do it anomously by telling our waitress our our intent. She’ll deliver the check or checks to the couple but when they leave they will be told that it’s "on the house."
"Won’t they find that a bit suspecious?"
"Of course, but on the other hand, what are they going to do? Their dinner will already have been added to my tab. And the matre d will tell them some cock and bull story to smooth the whole thing over."
"She will?"
"If I pass a big enough tip to her. I do it all the time and it always works. Just pass a twenty to anyone in the room and they’ll tell the biggest lie you want."
I thought a moment about the sinicism of his response and concluded he was probably right. "You said there were other ways we could tell if they were married or not?" I queried, getting the conversation back on track.
"Right. Now listen carefully to how they speak. If they are newlyweds or not married at all they’ll retain distinct mannerisms and accents. You’ve no doubt noticed that the longer two people live together the more they look alike?"
"Yes, it’s kind of funny too."
"And useful. You can generally tell if two people belong together because they become more identifiable the longer they are together. So you listen to their speach and watch how they’re dressed, their mannerisms, their habits. The more alike they are, the more likely that they have been together a long time. Now take that couple."
I looked at the subject couple.
"If you look you can see that they are quite different in how they gesture. She uses a lot of gestures, he hardly any. Her voice is more animated, he speaks more slowly and with more deliberation. And most importantly, they have accents – hers is nearly undetectible, probably the Pacific Northwest, his is southern with a mid-west influence. I’d say she’s from Oregon or Washington, he’s from South Carolina or perhaps Georgia, but probably grew up in the mid-west."
I didn’t know if he was right about the accents but everything else checked out. The couple did seem to be quite different from each other. And even my ear could tell they had different accents though I could have labled only the man’s accent as "southern." My being impressed must have showed.
"It’s really nothing" the Devil continued. "You pick this sort of ability up in my line of work almost second hand."
I nodded, signaling my understaanding. "But are you ever wrong?" I asked. "Do you ever make mistakes?
He looked at me quizzically, as if not trusting my intent. Then he sighed. "Yeah, I sometimes mess up," he said. "Once I was working with this dancer. You know the type. She was twenty-something and wanted to become the star of the troop. Of course, at twenty-something she was not going to last too much longer. So I pressured her. I arranged for a certain door to be left open as the manager and the coreographer discussed her weaknesses. As I expected, she grew very worried about her chances. In fact, after she heard the comments and blew them up way out of proportion, she was so tied up that she started missing steps. It was fun to watch her talk herself out of her own job. But she kept trying, I’ll giver her that."
"So what happened?" I asked.
"What happened?" he responded, a little miffed at my interuption. "Well I had arranged things so she would spend a little time with the director one evening. An innocent meeting to discuss her future. Of course I’d noticed that the director had the hots for her, if you know what I mean and, as I expected, when they met he gave her certain suggestions about how she could advance her career. Things like ‘being more cooperative’ and ‘giving herself to the needs of others’ That sort of cock and bull. I really expected her to fold at this point. I expected her to take the hints and make a move to save her career."
"But she didn’t?"
Well, actually, to be honest, she did and she didn’t. She made a move alright, it just wasn’t the move I expected."
"What did she do?"
"She thanked the director for the advice and assured him that she would do exactly that. I mean that she would be more coorperative, more sacrificial and all that. And then she did exactly that. It was a dissaster."
"A disaster? You mean she didn’t become the lead?"
"Worse than that, she started really helping the other dancers, especially the younger ones. By the time the season was over and they had to make a decision about who got what part the next season she was a shoe in for the lead. So they offered it to her and she really surprised them – she turned it down! Apparently she enjoyed helping others so much that being the lead dancer was to her a step backwards. There’s no way I could have seen that coming because even she didn’t know that she really wanted to teach others the joy of dancing more than being the prima donna on the floor. Talk about surprises."
"So you were surprised."
"Very much so. I mean it’s not like I mess up often. But when I do it’s almost always big time."
"Big time? But all that happened is that the director and the dancer didn’t have an affair."
"Are you kidding? That was supposed to be just the beginning. I had big plans for that girl. Instead when she discovered her true calling, if you will, she began to do the worse possible thing for my side."
"What was that?"
"She began to think that maybe some of her assumptions about life in general weren’t true. It really shook her confidence in all the things she thought she knew about herself. And unfortunately that made her reexamine not only her career desires, but her rejection of You Know Who’s claim to her life. It was a unmitigate disaster" he finished shaking his head in dismay.
"Where is she now?" I asked, curious to know the ending of the story.
The Devil sighed. "Where is she? One thing led to another and she ended up on You Know Who’s camp. She could have had everything, and I mean everything. Riches, fame, a career for hell’s sake! But no, just at the right moment He decides to put a protective barrier around her. You should have seen it. I couldn’t talk to her, couldn’t whisper in her ear, if you will, right when the director was making his suggestions, just when it was most important that I be there for her, You Know Who denies me access to her. So she misses the whole point of the coversation. She takes the director’s words literally and then, worse, she applies them to her life and changes what she is doing. I mean it’s one thing for a person to hear but another thing for them to do what they are directed. So now she’s teaching dancing at the Enemies camp and loving every minute of it. I try, occassionally to get her to remember what she could have had, you know, how much she has sacrificed for You Know Who? But all she does is look at the cross and mumble some mumble jumbo about the ‘fellowship of his suffering’ as if its preferable to join somebody in their missery rather than find true success for yourself."
I smiled, knowing the illogic of his words, but said nothing.
We ate in silence for a few minutes. The chicken was, as I expected, overpriced and overdone. But since this whole affair was on an expense account I thought nothing of it. The Devils steak was sizzling, nearly burned. He seemed to enjoy it. After a few minutes we resumed our conversation.
"Mr. Smith," I began, "I noticed that in your dealings you don’t always stick to the truth. I mean sometimes you lie, sometimes you tell the selective truth and sometimes you exadgerate."
The Devil put his fork down, picked up his glass of wine and took a sip. Setting it down he wiped his lips with his napkin and replied. "My dear fellow you suppose two things in your comments. First, you suppose that I lie, and second, that lies are not justified. As for the idea that I lie whats the harm? After all, when you lie you do it to come out ahead, right?"
"Yes, at least you think you’re coming out ahead."
Ok, so imagine that you could inform the person to whom you are speaking that you will be lieing to them. Tell them exactly how they are being lied to so that they know you are lieing. Then show them how the lie will benefit them. If they are like most people they don’t mind the lie so long as they benefit from it. So show them the benefit and they’ll lie for you – even to themselves. Even if you rip them off they’ll tell themselves that they ‘learned a valuable lesson’ from the experience. And if you take them for all they’re worth they’ll come to believe that they are ‘better off without all that money’ and that they really shoud thank you for releiving them of the burden of all their wealth. You see, most people will find the benefit in the lie and then lie to themselves about the benefit. They’ll tell themselves that they gained something more valuable than what they lost when in fact they probably learned nothing. The only thing thing they won’t admit is that they were duped, they were fools and probably are still fools, that they lied to themselves, and that they in any way were wrong. No, in the end the lie won’t make a bit of difference. And since it will benefit the lier, at least one person comes out ahead."
I scratched my head at the strange logic but decided to move on.
"You said that you have developed an abilithy to discern accents. Do you consider youself a linguist?"
"I am a linguist of sorts. I mean I speak multiple languages, many of them long forgotton.
"But what of the accents. Did you really deduce where the couple was from just by the accents?"
"The accents and the few clues I mentioned. You see, when you’ve been around a long as I, you gather a lot of useful information, including how people speak in different parts of the world. In fact, I can tell you that the women didn’t grow up in Portland at all."
"She didn’t?"
"No, actually she grew up in Beaverton. That’s a suberb just south of Portland."I was impressed and it showed.
"Don’t be too impressed," he told me, "there are lots of scholars who could do the same thing. Just like there are lots of wine conesuers who can tell you the vintage of a wine by only tasting. It’s a trick one gains by experience."
I looked at him for a few seconds, pondering my next question. "And just how much experience have you had?" I finally asked.
"With accents?"
"With everything."
"Well, if you mean how old am I, that’s a difficult question," he replied. "You see, as you know, I was around before Adam and Eve, so that makes me older than the universe. And anything older than the universe is outside of the space-time continium of this universe. To say how old I am would like trying to answer the question, "how high is the ocean?" I mean you can ask how high the tides are if you like. But the ocean has no real heigth does it? It has depth. It has width. But height, not really. So if I say the ocean is seven miles high you know something is wrong with that. The same goes with my age. I was created by You Know Who at some point, but the "when" is impossible to say. Nevertheless, I have been around since before Adam and Eve and have spent a good deal of time gathering an intuitive understanding of things. And it has served me well."
"So what is your earliest memories?" I asked.
"Hmmm…" he paused as if thinking back, sorting through the miriad of experience he must have stored throughout the ages. "Well, the earliest thing I remember is one day I was doing something for You Know Who when I chanced to see myself reflected in a still ocean on some planet somewhere. It nearly blinded me. I mean I could instantly see why I was called the Messenger of Light! I was light. If I were a breathing being it would have certainly taken my breath away."
I said nothing, but nodded my head.
He paused again, reflecting upon that first memory. "It was as if I were suddently being born again. I mean I suddenly knew that I was not You Know Who. I mean I knew I was not fully Him but had the same glory as He. I was like Him but not Him. You know what I mean?" Here he paused awaiting my reply.
I looked at him with some empathy. And was startled by it. "Yeah, I think so…" I responded with some hesitation. "You saw yourself and couldn’t imagine anything more glorious but you knew you were not God."
The Devil cringed. "No," he said emphatically. A little too emphatically. "No, I was a god. I mean I knew that everything I had been up to that point was nothing comparied to being what I was. And I was Light! I saw I was and saw I was a god just like You Know Who."
I said nothing, startled by his sudden emphatic behavior. Nothing was said for a few minutes.
"Anyway, "he began again, "I thought there could be no power greater than the light I was. And as I thought about it I wondered why You Know Who thought He was so mighty. I mean there is no power greater than light as far as I can see. And if I was Light then certainly I was a god – as powerful as You Know Who and a lot more powerful than the other gods. From this line of reasoning I couldn’t help but wonder why I was taking orders instead of giving them. If I were the ultimate god then shouldn’t He be taking orders from me?"
Again, I said nothing.
Noticing my silence the Devil continued his story. "So what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t live under Him. After all, He was my subordinate. But of course He would never submit. So I determined I had to act. If I were to arrange things according to how they should have been, then He would have to go."
"My plan was simple. I knew that he had myriads of angles "flying to and fro" as Milton put it. And I knew that many of those angels could easily be persuaded to come out of the darkness into the Light. So I simply went to them and persuaded them of the truth they could see with their own eyes. I mean He didn’t exactly do anything but give orders. I promised each angel an independent life, one in which they could each experience things He denied. They could be free to do what they wanted, when they wanted. That’s what I told them and that’s exactly what they got by following me."
"But you were still in charge?" I asked.
"Of course I was in charge!" he nearly screamed. Then calming down a little, "I was in charge because I was the one with the power. All those other angels were nothing without me. Nothing at all. Oh, some of them thought they could challenge me from time to time, but I’ve long since cease to worry about it. After I kicked a few of them around they soon found out who they were to take orders from."
I couldn’t help it. I challenged his earlier statement with, "So you lied to them. You told them that if they followed you they would be free. Instead you just replaced one master with another. Is that it?"
The Devil sighed. "Let’s face it squarely. I made a mistake. First of all, I thought that there would be a lot more angels with me than against me. It didn’t work out that way. Who would have thought more beings would rather be slaves to You Know Who than free with me? But that’s water under the bridge as they say. I did my best and would have done better if I didn’t have such idiots working for me. Everything was supposed to be secret, you know, a sudden revolt and before He knew it, He’s history. But somehow He knew. I don’t know who tole Him, but somehow He knew. Almost before my plans were laid some little fiend told Him. And before I could really organize a resistance there I was sailing through space, me and my supporters headed for Hell."
"Were you surprised?"
"Surprised!? ….Surprised? Yeah, I guess so. Surprised that he had even enough power for that. I mean look at me! I’m the terror of the ages! And to have this, this, …. I don’t know what to call Him."
"How about God?"
The Devil glared at me. "Don’t be smart. So He’s a god. We’re all gods. Big deal. It’s just that He didn’t tell me everything. He didn’t tell me he had powers beyond what I could see. I saw Him you know. I saw Him before all this, and I’ve seen Him since, and nothing about Him prepares you for the idea that He is anything at all important. There is no way I could have known. No way at all. It was all just a big misunderstanding."
"Then why not go to Him and admit it?"
"Are you kidding? Look at me. Do I look like a being who goes around with his hat in his hand as it were, asking for handouts. I don’t need his mercy. After all, it wasn’t me who hid His power. He’s the one who didn’t tell me what was going on. He never once revealed just how powerful He was. No, he left me out there thinking that I could take him in a fair fight and when the fight came around, BAM!, he shows up forty pounds heavier and with weighted gloves. I never had a chance. It wasn’t fair."
"Still, wouldn’t it be better to serve in Heaven than rule in Hell?"
The Devil glared at me for a long moment. "You’d never say that if you ever served in Heaven. Here I was the Messenger of Light and most of the time I just stood around and waited for something to do."
"Like Milton said?"
"What?" the Devil asked.
"Like Milton said. You quoted him yourself. "Millions at his bidding post over land and see, but they also serve who only stand and wait?"
The Devil smiled. "Yeah, I remember Milton. Smart guy. Imagine being blind and still wanting to serve;. What a fool. If you can’t see, you can’t do, I always say. But not Milton. He goes blind and still wants to do. Anyway, I’m not Milton. I have no interest in reconciliation with humiliation. I never thought the two went together. Besides, it was really His fault anyway. If there is some humiliation let’s see Him show it. Let Him come down here and show us how its done."
The Devil ended his tirade. He refilled our glasses and we sipped our wine for perhaps ten minutes in silence. I then decided to move the conversation along.
"So you and your minions were cast out of Heaven and landed in Hell." I summarized. "Then what?"
"Then what?" he asked, still a bit miffed. "Then we suffered. The pain of Hell is nothing to be laughed at. Imagine you have friends. Lot’s of friends. You’ve suffered together, sweated together, dreamed together, and worked hard together. Imagine that suddenly, unexpectedly, everything you and your friends worked so hard for, is gone. You’d think that you’d band together to get back at the guy who did you in, right?….Wrong! Instead what do my so-called friends do? They blame me for everything. ‘It’s your fault’ they cry. "You didn’t see how powerful He was. You told us you could take care of Him. You lied to us!’ What a bunch of losers. So there we are, laying down in the darkness, the only light being my own. So I do what any self-repecting being would do. I kick some you-know-what and get those wimps into shape. And it wasn’t easy either. Some of them even wanted to sue for peace! Imagine that. ‘Okay we’re sorry about the little rebellion, couldn’t you just ignore our little misunderstanding and let us back into Heaven?’ What a bunch of imbaciles. Of course, He couldn’t do that! He demands justice. He demands that everything be bought and paid for, preferrably in advance. The books must balance according to Him. You know what he says, ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." So there is nothing we have that can pay for the damage we have done to his precious Heaven."
"But we did accomplish something. After I wipped those idiots into shape we started planning. We figured that if we were only a third of the host of Heaven we couldn’t do a frontal assalt. So we decided that trickery was our only chance. Maybe if we could foul things up enough He would negotiate with us and give us some part of Heaven. We really thought we’d have a chance.’
"But you didn’t?" I asked, assumming the answer.
"Not yet, but we are hopeful. The more we think about it the more we understand how tricky He is. For instance, one time we decided that it wasn’t fair that He should give protection to people because they worship Him. I mean what’s so fair about that? Any idiot would worship the god who took care of him. No, we figured that since He is so blasted concerned with being fair we would show that the only reason people worshipped him is because He paid them. I mean it would be like a crooked polititian buying votes. If you buy enough votes you can call yourself a senator, but are you really? So we figured we had Him. All we had to do is find some poor guy who had everything and claimed to worship You Know Who. Take everything away from the guy, we figured, and BAM! he curses You Know Who and You Know Who is shown to the the fraud He is."
"So you picked on Job" I responded.
"Bingo. We picked on Job. It wasn’t easy though. We got You Know Who into a court and forced Him to give us control of everything Job had. And I mean everything."
"Everything but his health, his wife, and some of his friends, you mean." I boldly corrected.
The Devil eyed me, thinking. "Yeah, okay, but we got what really counted. We got his kids and his possessions. I mean what is a man? He’s mostly a guy with stuff and kids to pass the stuff onto when he’s gone. If he has a lot of stuff and a lot of kids to pass the stuff onto when he’s gone then somebody will remember him. He’ll live on. And if he has a real lot of stuff he may live nearly forever. So we got Job, the guy with the most stuff. We got his stuff, and we got his kids. Took ‘em all in one ‘fell swoop" as it were. Now that was a day worth remembering."
"So what happened?"
"What do you think happened? He called his friends and his wife and asked their advice. She told him to curse God and die – what a woman! They give him a lot of boloney about how it was all his own fault and how You Know Who was mad at him. It never dawned on any of them that they were in way over their heads."
"What did Job do?"
The Devil paused as if replaying the scenes. "Job surprised us. He wasn’t a shining example of piety mind you, but he kept his cool and instead of instantly blaming You Know Who for his predicament, he asked You Know Who for an explanation. And You Know Who actually got off his high throne and talked to Job. Talk about guts. I mean asking You Kinow Who to explain Himself took some kind of courage. But Job did it. For all the good it did."
"What do you mean, ‘for all the good it did’."
"You Know Who never answers Job’s question. He never says, ‘Job, the reason you are suffering so much is because I have a bet with Lucifer.’ Instead He lectures Job. He asks him if he was there when this or that was made? If Job could tell how this or that works? You know, belittling Job. Well, if I were Job it would have been right there that I would have cursed You Know Who and died. But I would have died happy. I mean, talk about avoiding the question. You Know Who avoids the question and goes on his merry way."
"But didn’t God restore all Job’s possessions, and didn’t Job have more children?"The Devil looked at me, taking my measure. "You ever lost something you really loved?" he asked
I thought for a moment. "Not really, I guess."
"Then try to imagine you lose your wife."
I nodded.
"You feel pretty sad about it?"
"Of course. I would be devastated."
"So here I come. I got this hot chick, the perfect wife for you. You fall instantly in love with her, get married, have children, and go through life A-Okay, right?"
"All right."
"You think you’d ever think of your first wife? The one who died?"
"Yeah, I suppose so…I mean of course, from time to time I would."
"And would it hurt, ‘from time to time’" he asked.
I nodded, admitting it was so.
"So we can conclude no matter what the replacement is, the original loss stays with you. Right?"
"Right, I can see that."
"So ask yourself. Job gets back his health, his lands, and some new children. He still has the memory of all the suffering. God leaves that. Suffering which was unjust it turns out. What now is Job supposed to think?"
I said nothing for a few seconds, pondering the answer I would give. Finally, I ventured, "That God’s ways are not our ways, that His thoughts are not ours?"
The Devils grinned. "I knew I picked the right guy for this job" he said. "You quote His word. But tell me, how comforting do you think that thought was to Job?"
Again I said nothing for a few seconds. "Probably not very." I finally answered.
He nodded. "So was it fair to inflict all that suffering on Job?" he asked.
At first I didn’t know what to say. I had no answer. But in the end, even as the Devil refilled his wind glass and sat back with a smug look upon his face I decided to explore what he thought.
"I don’t know about fairness. I mean, the question could just as easily, "did Job deserve anything but the suffering he got?’ I mean, maybe the fairness was not in Job getting trouble, but in getting any good at all." Then, warming up, I continued, "Suppose we assume that Job deserved the suffering he received, only all through his life. Every day all day long. And suppose that God gave him the children, the riches, and the health he enjoyed. Suppose that and ask the same question. Wouldn’t it then be that it was unfair that Job got all the good that he did? And if so, who would find fault with God for giving so much good to Job? And if no fault in giving the good – good not earned or deserved, then there could be no fault in withholding the good either. And didn’t Job say it best? Didn’t he say "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh, blessed be the name of the Lord?"
The Devil looked at me blankly. "I hate logic,"
This time I refilled our glasses. "So, your plan for Job didn’t work out, is that right?"
He glared at me for a few moments as if contemplating whether he should continue. I could tell he was upset but as I watched she seemed to shrug it off. "Yeah, things didn’t go the way I expected. Still, it was a good experience. I mean I learned just how subservient His people could be. No, not so subservient, just irrational. Philosophically speaking Job didn’t press the issue. He could have. He could have insisted You Know Who tell him the whole story, but something about Job made him drop the subject."
"Maybe he trusted God?"
"How could he? I mean You Know Who kicked him around and hurt him plenty! Why should he trust Him?"
I thought for a moment. "Because He loved Job and had given Job all the blessings in the first place and Job knew it?"
The Devil snorted. "Love! What an overblown concept. If love means kicking around those you love then the word isn’t of much use, now is it?"
I could see what he meant and nodded my agreement. "On the other hand, for what other reason would God have allowed you to do what you did?"
"Maybe to prove a point. May be You Know Who thinks that its all about His own ego. You know… "for His own glory?"
I quoted my catecism. "What is the chief end of man? -- the first question."
"To know Him and enjoy Him forever" the Devil quoted the answer. "Talk about a weird concept. I mean, how in the world could Job enjoy Him if he just lost everything he held dear?"
"Not everything." I corrected.
The Devil looked at me, "Yeah, not everything. He still had his wife for all the good it did. And his friends – some friends."
"And he had his faith" I added.
"His faith? You’ve got to be kidding. For what? All faith ever did for somebody was make him a blooming idiot."
" But he still had it. He still believed."
The Devil shook his head in disbelief. We continued sipping the wine for a couple minutes.
"Look," I said, "Job kept his faith. Maybe it was a smart thing to do, may a foolish thing. I don’t know. But in doing so he proves he wasn’t just worshiping God because God had blessed him. Wasn’t that the point of contention between you and God?"
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever" was his annoyed reply. "In anycase it didn’t matter much. Job was a minor incident. I don’t even know why You Know Who bothered to keep it in His book."
I said nothing.
The Devil looked at me, measuring where to go from here. "Anyway, as I said, it wasn’t that important. When it counted I was able to really hurt him."
I looked up, expectantly.
"The Garden?" he queried as if I’d missed the point.
"Adam and Eve" I responded. "I understand, but I never thought of it as a real triumph for you. I mean the serpent ended up on the ground eating dirt. Not a very good ending, I’d say."
The Devil tipped his head back and laughed uproaresly. "That’s a hoot!" he said. "The serpent was just a tool and I ended up getting off scott free! What a riot!"
I stared at him, dubious. "Scott free?" I asked.
"Yeah, .. well, not completely, but pretty much. There was some talk about a bruised heal crushing the serpents head or something. I don’t know. All that prophecy stuff is beyond me. I only know is I ended up being in charge of the whole kit and kaboodle, the whole enchalada. All because I got a stupid broad to eat an apple!"
I smiled, encouraging him to go on.
"Look," he said, leaning forward as if to share some secret with me, "I never figured You Know Who to be such a fool. I mean he left the Garden ungarded, didn’t watch what I was doing, and wasn’t even around when I talked to Eve. I don’t know about you, but if I had a Garden of Eden and I had just put two green horns in charge I’d be watching it like a hawk. And don’t tell me You Know Who had something else on His mind. Please! Let’s just face it – He screwed up!"
"So anyway, I took over this snake I found sitting around."
"You took him over?" I asked.
"Yeah, I mean it wasn’t like he was too smart. So I just convinced him to let me hitch a ride. He didn’t seem to mind, so there we went, into the Garden as plain as day. It took us about two minutes to find Eve. I wasn’t hard since I knew she was a woman and there was only one dame in the place." He chuckled at something humerous he saw that I couldn’t fathom.
"So I climbed the tree and sat in the branches eating the fruit. She saw me immediately and came over. I acted real sauve and sophisticated. ‘So babe," I began, ‘did He really tell you you couldn’t eat the fruit of this tree?’ She smiled at me and I’ll tell you something, what a smile! Wow! It just about melted my heart. In fact, I almost changed my mind about the who thing. Wow! Anyway she answered me in the sweetest voice – sweet like an angle. ‘He said we could eat of all the trees of the garden but this one. This one we aren’t suppose to eat or even touch!’ Right then I knew I had her. Let me tell you somthing kid, never, and I mean never, add anything to what You Know Who said. Nothing gets Him more mad than somebody pretending to speak for him and adding something He didn’t say to what He did say!"
I nodded my head signaling my understanding.
"Anyway, where was I?" he asked.
"You had her…."
"Oh yeah, I had her alright. So I looked at her and turned on the charm. ‘Well babe this is your lucky day. You see,’ I said, ‘He didn’t tell you that, exactly, did He?" She looked at me quizzically. "And do you know why He didn’t tell you everything?’ I asked innocently. She shook her head. ‘Because He doesnt want you to know what He knows. If you did He knows you’d be just like Him!" She tilted her head, trying to figure it out. "You see, babe, He knows that if you eat this fruit you will know good and evil just like Him. But He’s thinks He’s too good for you and doesn’t want you to know you can be just like Him. Why, I bet he told you that you’d die if you ate the fruit Of course He said that just to scare you.’ And with that her eyes got big. She looked at the tree. I could tell she thought the fruit look good to eat – after all, all the fruit in the garden was good to eat. And it looked so beautiful, so tempting. And finally, once she had figured out that it really would make her wise she made up her mind. Without a moments hesitation she grabbed a piece and bit into it. At first nothing happened. Then her eyes lit up like firecrackers. I was like she suddently saw things she hadn’t seen before. And when she turned to me, she knew. She could tell I was the King of Evil. The look she gave me made me light out of there like there was no tomorow. Wow! You remember the line from that English play guy?"
"Shakespeare?" I queried.
"Yeah, that’s the one. He said something like, ‘Hell hath no fury like a women scorned,’ and brother this woman was mad. She knew she had been tricked. She knew she was going to die. And she knew I had done it to her. But hey, all’s fair in love and war, right? I stayed out of sight for quite a while after that. But I knew that she was going to do her best to make sure Adam joined her in her new-found knowledge. I knew it because I could see that she wanted to control her husband more than anything. And she must have got her way pretty easily because a bit later I saw them pulling fig leaves from a tree to make garments for themselves. What a kick. The suddenly find themselves naked and try to cover up using fig leaves! Do you have any idea how silly it was for them to try to cover up with fig leaves? I mean they were married! What’s to hide from your spouse? And did they really think He would care, as if he wouldn’t or couldn’t see through the fig leaves. Really, talk about foolishness."
He paused in his story and finished his glass of wine. He started to pour me another glass but I said, "no more, I’ve had enough."
"Oh, come on," he said, tempting me.
"No, really. I am under strict orders to avoid getting drunk, and I’ve definitely had enough."
He grunted. "Orders. What a waste of talent. Why does He want to be such a killjoy, anyway. I mean can’t you have any fun?"
It was my turn to laugh. "You know, if I were twenty that line may have worked. But I’m too old for that now. Really, is that the best you can do?"
"No, but under the circumstance I really don’t want you drunk. You’re the first reporter to take me seriously in about a hundred years. I wouldn’t want you to go back to your apartment, wake up tomorrow, and not remember a thing."
"Not much chance of that," I replied. "Your story is too interesting for that."
The Devil nodded, pleased at the compliment. "Now were was I,…" he began, returning to the subject at hand. "Oh, yeah, the Garden. Anyway, like I said, I didn’t witness whatever Eve said to Adam, but I knew he hadn’t put up much of a fight. So there they were, sewing fig leaves, embarrassed over their lack of clothing. What a hoot! After a while the get the things sort of arranged properly, if you know what I mean, and then who should show up but His Royal Highness, You Know Who. He struts through the Garden calling ‘Adam!, where are you, Adam!" I mean really, you’d think it a bit patronizing for You Know Who to pretend He had lost his precious creation. So there He was, trapesing around pretending He can’t find Adam and Adam comes up to Him. You Know Who spots Him and immediately notices the fig leaves. "So who told you you were naked?" asks, obviously ticked. Adam does what any good out-standing member of society would do, he blames his wife – she did it! he says. And you know what I think?" the Devil asked me.
"What?"
"I think she did. I mean she knew about good and evil. She surmised that she was naked and determined that it was not a good thing. Isn’t that just like a woman – assumming she knows what’s right and what’s wrong? And not being afraid to tell her man all about it? How could she have done anything else? Now You Know Who is really mad. He turns to Eve, who is sort of hiding behind some bushes. "And who told you?" He asks here. She blushes, looks down to the ground and whispers, the serpent told me. What a lie! I didn’t tell her anything of the sort. I mean, really! She could have just said "I ate ther fruit and suddenly understood that being naked was not a good thing, but no.. she has to lie to You Know Who and get me in trouble too! After all I had done for her. The ingrate!"
I looked at Devil. He had a point. But then again, he is suppossed to be a liar and the author of lies. So I asked him, "Don’t you think you were somewhat culpable?"
He laughed loudly, tipping his head back, his mouth wide. Then shaking his head, "Yeah, I guess." Then, more seriously, "Well, actually, when it gets down to it, I just told Eve what the truth was. I mean, look how it turned out. After she at the fruit she did know good and evil.."
I cut him off, "Yeah, but that’s what God said would happen. That’s why He called the tree of the knowledge of good and evil."
"Whatever" he responded. "In any case Eve didn’t die that day, now did she? I mean, look, didn’t You Know Who say that in the day they ate they would die? And did they? Of course not. So the whole thing was a scam from the beginning. You Know Who just wanted to keep Adam and Eve in the dark – you know, free enough to worship Him, but not smart enough to make an informed choice. Right?"
I smiled. "Do you know Hebrew?" I asked.
Annoyed, the Devil shot back, "Of course I do. I was there when the freakin’ language was invented."
"And you know the passage where it says that "in the day thereof ye shall die?"
"Genesis 2 – right?"
"Yes, that’s it. So you know Hebrew, and you know scripture. So I suppose you know scripture in the original languages? Am I correct in this?"
The Devil looked at me, taking my measure. "Okay, so what. If I wanted a prosecuting attorney I would have hired one! So what’s your point?"
"My point is, you haven’t exactly been strait with me. I may not be an expert in Hebrew, in fact I have never learned even the Hebrew alphabet. But I have been told from a number of sources who do know Hebrew that the passage really says "In the day ye eat thereof dying, yea shall die." So it wasn’t necessary for Adam and Eve to physically die the moment they ate the fruit. The point of the command is that they would begin the process of dying and eventually their bodies would sucumb to death."
Again, the Devil laughed, a trait that was starting to annoy me. "Look," he said, "maybe you’re right about that, maybe not, the point is that the Bible you read says that in that day Adam and Eve should have died. And since most people don’t exactly study the Bible they wouldn’t know that, now would they. I mean, they wouldn’t know about the right translation of the passage. So it would appear that Adam and Eve should have died the day they ate. Otherwise it appears You Know Who was lying. I can tell you personally it doesn’t matter to me how the passage is translated. I mean, you might not know this, but it really doesn’t take much to keep people from becomming Christians…any flimsy excuse will do!"
I said nothing. We sat there for a few moments, and the Devil, after sipping his drink, continued on.
"Anyway, so Eve blames me – well the serpent anyway. And You Know Who does this really mean thing to it. Before the creature was really good looking. It had these incredible appendages – legs really – that could grasp things, run, jump, climb. He was a fully functional being getting along just fine. He makes a simple mistake of allowing me to use him to get to Eve – just a few minutes of error – and BAM! just like that You Know Who punishes him by taking the best part of him away. Now he’s just a worm crawling on the ground without legs or arms or anything particulary useful at all. Just for letting me present my side of things to Eve. Talk about injustice!"
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t put my finger upon it, but something appeared out of place. I thought for a few moments before he noticed my perplexed look.
"So," he said, "I can see you are getting a better impression of me now that you know my side of the story. Am I right or am I right?" He grinned as if he had just won a major tournement.
I sat there for a few more moments, irritated at his asssurance. Then it hit me.
Turning to him I asked, "But why did you do it?"
"Do what?" It was his turn to be perplexed.
"Why did you seek to destroy Paradise? You know, to make Eve think God was a liar? Get her to eat the fruit? What possible motive would you have for destroying a thing of beauty?"
He looked at me, serious, and with some sadness. He sighed. "It’s like this," he began. "Imagine you are what I was. I mean you were one of the top beings in all the universes. Every other being, except You Know Who, looks up to you, admires your beauty and power. Then imagine you suddenly find out that you are nothing… nothing at all. Zero, zilch, nada. When I was ungraciously thrown from Heaven that’s what I found out. And the one who did the deed, the one who never showed me just how powerful He was, who kept His true self hidden from me, when He decided to make this universe perfect I just cringed. I mean how could He? First he destroys the best thing He ever created and then He decides to make something perfect to take its place. I was His perfect creation and He ruined me! I figure He deserves everything He gets."
"So you did it for revenge? To get back at him?"
"Yeah, revenge. And don’t give me that crap about "vengence is mine, I will repay" I’ve heard it more times than I can count. This vengence is mine, not His. You Know Who can take His own medicine."
"But what about Adam and Eve. I mean why did they have to suffer? Couldn’t you have just destroyed some plants and animals instead and left Adam and Eve alone?"
"Are you kidding. They were his crowning glory. I figured that if I could get them to leave Him I could rule this world. It wouldn’t be His anymore. So I took the world from You Know Who and have been rulling ever since." He grinned as he said this. As self-satisfied a grin as I have ever experienced.
"But the world is not yours. You’re just the "prince and power of the air’" I reminded him.
"So what? People speak and their voices go through air. I control the air, I control what gets through. That’s why I like things loud. Music especially. If it’s loud enough the person can’t hear the guy standing next to him and can’t even concentrate enough to think. So I pound the average young person into submission."
"You use loud music to keep people from thinking?" I asked a bit taken aback.
"Of course I do. I’ll use anything I can to insure they stay mine. If I could I’d murder them before they were born. In fact, getting that done was about the best thing I accomplished in the last fifty years. If you kill ‘em before they’re born He has no chance getting them to recognize Him."
"So Hell is filled with millionsof babies?’ I asked.
He looked at me and shook his head. "How should I know?" he asked. "I avoid going there like the plague. I assmue that all those babies are there. I mean I have done my part in seeing to it that they don’t get to Heaven, but who knows what You Know Who has decided. He’s such a bloomin’ mystery to me."
"You, the ruler of Hell, don’t know how many subjects you have, and who they are?"
"It’s worse than that – I don’t care!" he practically shouted.
"You don’t care if people go to Hell?
"Nah, why should I? After all, they are bound there from the moment they are conceived aren’t they?"
"I really don’t know too much about that" I responded, honestly. "But I assume the worst. That way, if in the end I found out things were better, that some people could go to Heaven, children and babies for instance, even without confessing Jesus, well, that would be better. But if I assumed that maybe I wouldn’t try so hard to keep them from being murdered. You see what I mean?"
He nodded. "A real goody-two-shoes, aren’t ya."
This time I laughed. "I haven’t heard that term since I was a kid. Yeah, I guess I have turned into one, at least as far as saving the unborn goes."
"But why care?" he asked. "Look, they’re just little beings who, had they been born, would have ruined their mother’s lives. So wouldn’t it have been better that they would have never been born? That way the mother’s could get the good life – finish school, have enough money to feed the kids they have, not be burdened with another brat – you get the picture, don’t you?"
I looked at him. "I get the picture alright. It’s just I don’t think chosing a better life is more important than chosing life itself. The basic equation -- ‘better life through murder’ -- doesn’t add up."
"You might think that, but fortunately for me, many women think that a better life demands some sacrifice. And if its the sacrifice of a baby then so be it. I personally could care less. My purpose is served by one thing and one thing only."
"And that being?" I asked.
"That I keep You Know Who from getting more of this than absolutely necessary. The less He gets the more that is left for me."
"But why do you want it?" I asked him. "I mean, look around. People aren’t exactly angles, you know."
"They might not be His angels, but they are mine. They think what I want them to think, do what I want them to do, and, in general, are the best messengers a being like me could have. And you know what’s really funny?"
"No, what?"
"For the most part they haven’t a clue! They think they’re free. Imagine that. They go through life thinking they are free when they are really slaves to their passions, their conceits, and their loyalties! Keep ‘em ignorant, I say."
"But I thought the whole reason I was here was to get your message out? To let people know you exist. Don’t you want your side reported?"
The Devil looked at me, pursed his lips, thinking. "Yeah, I know. You see, I’ve come to a decision lately. Up ‘til now, I mean in the last hundred years or so, in the West anyway, I’ve kept people ignorant. I mean just think what would have happened if I had started really showing up in, say 1850? Back then people would have recognized me! They would have turned to You Know Who in droves. So I’ve kept quite, working slowly to the point that now, with all the weird religions sprining up everywhere, I have to let people know I exist."
"I still don’t get it." I confessed.
He sat there thinking for several minutes. Sighing he started again. "Here’s the problem I’ve always faced," he began. "If I let people know who I am, they immediately flee to the side of You Know Who. Some of them, anyway. I mean, if they know that there is a King of Evil, and a King of Good, most "by nature seek the good" as Aristotle put it. The ones who remain loyal to me though, can do great work. The Kahns, the Hitlers, guys like that. So they do great work, at least for a while. The trouble is, if there is a clear struggle between You Know Who’s forces and mine, people naturally choose His side above mine. So the problem is, how do I get them to recognize me as a god and, at the same time, see me as the good and You Know Who as the evil?
"On the other hand," he continued, "if I get people to pretend I don’t exist I have a difficult time getting anybody to do really good work. They do the small stuff, and a lot of it, but evil in ignorance just isn’t the same as concious evil. It’s sort of like if you accidently kill somebody versus pre-meditated murder. Only an imbicile would consider them the same thing. So in the past it’s been a problem with people knowing good and evil. If I showed myself to anybody they instantly knew I was evil. They knew because they knew what evil was. It has been the biggest of problems – but no more."
"No more?" I inquired.
The Devil grinned the biggest grin of the night. It made me naseous. "Nope!" he fairly shouted. "I’ve finally done it. It wasn’t easy either, I can tell you that. There were some of You Know Who’s best set up against me. You know the type. They actually believe there is right and wrong. They believe in history – actual events honestly reported and all that. Why, in another day I would have worried about telling you all this. Not now. Now I’ve convinced everybody that there is no such thing as good or evil. You might say I’ve undone the damage of the garden!"
"The way I figure it, now that people think only in terms of power – no good or evil, just power – all I have to do is show some power and BAM! everybody comes a-runnin’! What do you think of that?"
I stared at him for bit trying to decide if he was pulling my leg. Still not quite sure, I attempted to restate what he had told me. "You say that as long a people know good and evil are real you have less power because they would recognize you for what your are, and that, now that they don’t know good and evil you are free to reveal youself because you therefore can’t be evil?"
"Exactly! The human race will never know what hit ‘em. You see, all I have to do is get a hold of some charasmatic guy and make a deal with him. He serves me and I give him power – more power then he ever imagined possible. The next thing you know, I’m ruling the world out in the open and everybody thinks it’s cool. The real triumph though, is when they decide I’m a god. Won’t that blow You Know Who’s gasket!"
"But don’t you think He will oppose you?"
"Yeah, but his hands are sort of tied, aren’t they? I mean even those loyal to him have abandoned the spiritual war to fight the political one. And politically speaking, I might add, they don’t stand a chance. In fact, I’d rather have them marching in the streets than kneeling in their bedrooms any day. So as long as they see their main job as bringing back morals to the world I’m all for it! Sign me up! Think about it. As long as His people think they have a snowballs chance in hell of changing the world through legislation and are willing to waste their time on politics rather than evangelism, I stand to benefit. Even if they win I win."
"You win even if they win?" I asked, incredulous.
"Sure. For a lot of reasons. "
"Such as?"
"Okay, let’s suppose they take over the governments of the world. Evey office is held by one of You Know Who’s henchmen. And they all agree on the exact laws to be passed and they pass them. Do you think for one moment that people will cease doing things that please me? You think there will be one less murder, one less rape, one less lie? I doubt it. And furthermore, as time goes on there will need to greater and greater enforcement, right? In fact, I believe the end result will be the repeal of the vey laws these people put in place. Why? Because very few people really want the laws. What they want is the freedom to go on lying, cheating and stealing. And in the end the people get what they want – with the added bonus of inoculating society against the legislative approach again."
I nodded. He had a point, yet… "So you think laws a useless?"
"Not useless exactly, but not usefull either. I mean a law accomplishes only one thing – it tells the criminal he’s a criminal. But most criminals know that without being told, so what’s the point exactly?"
"Maybe laws mean nobody has an excuse?"
"An excuse for doing bad? Who needs it? Evil is it’s own excuse. Ask a murderer why he murdered and he’ll give you all kinds of reasons. Imagine a man who kills his wife. He might say he did it because she was unfaithful, she called him a name, she looked at him the wrong way. But none of those really tell the story and a truly brave man, one who is fully free, would tell the truth. He would say he killed his wife because he could. He would say he had the power and he used it to get what he wanted."
"But still, he loses in the end, doesn’t he?"
"If you mean they lock him up, yes, I suppose so. But for that one brief moment he has proven his superiority over somebody. He has shown he has strength."
"But he doesn’t live just one moment, now does he?"
"Of course not. But at the moment he is doing the act, plunging the knife, pulling trigger, stangling her, at that moment, that moment is all that counts. It’s a life in itself – and a triumphant one at that. You see humans are slaves to rules. They go through life always afraid of breaking this or that taboo. And suddenly, here is a man who stands up and says NO! And then he acts on it. And when he is caught, tried, convicted, and sentenced he still maintains he did it because he could. Now that’s power!"
"It sounds more like insanity to me," I commented.
He laughed heartily. "Of course it’s insanity. It’s the very definition of insanity! A sane man plays it safe. A sane man always colors in the lines. A sane man invents nothing new, nothing bold or original. A sane man lives in creation without creativity. Haven’t you heard the saying that poetry is a form of insanity? All poets must be insane to see things not as they are supposed to be, but as they could be. That’s why poets, more than anybody else, must be free."
"So poets and murders have something in common?"
"Yes. They both need to be free. They both need to break the rules, to explore things nobody elese has the courage to explore, to push the boundaries of human experience. Without them society would still be living in caves."I looked at the Devil for a few moments, then asked, "Tell me, who do you think was more creative, J.S. Bach or John Cage?"
Surprised by the question the Devil looked at me for a few seconds, apparently trying to figure out the meaning of the question. "J.S. Bach," he said, "wasn’t really all that creative. Sure, he produced some really well-crafted stuff, most of it written in the belief that his talent was a gift of You Know Who. But really, what did he do to push the envelope, so to speak? Cage, on the otherhand, understood the reality and he showed that understanding in his music. It speaks of the limits of human understanding at the same time it takes on the boundaries of music itself and expands what music means."
"You mean Bach crafted music while Cage created new forms of music?"
"Yeah, you could say that." he agreed. Then he went on, "but it’s more than that. I mean a lot of musicians can be said to have expanded music with new forms. Cage breaks traditional music and reveals it to be the narrow minded noise it is."
"Narrow-minded? How so?" I questioned.
"Well, for one, Bach played the keys. He stayed in the lines. No creativity there. Cage, on the other hand, never saw misic in the keys. To him music was whatever he desired it to be. So a motorcycle could be married to a symphony, a pianist could sit at the keyboard for two hours without striking a note. Both were music. Cage made music whatever he wanted it to be."
"But to whom was it music?" I asked. "If Cage makes music mean whatever he wants it to mean then doesn’t the term "music" become a useless term? And as for playing the keys, which do think is more creative – the one who produces beauty with a limited palet or somebody who has an unlimited one? It’s like a guy who has infinite talent. You expect him to produce something. But the man with little talent, the man who presses on, trying perhaps for his whole life to produce something of beauty. Isn’t he really the most creative because he produces something out of nearly nothing?"
"Out of nothing? How can any man be free if he has nothing?"
"I’m not saying a man can be free with nothing, but that he can be creative with nearly nothing. And if he is, then he is more creative than someone with no limits."
The Devil shook his head. "You floor me. It’s like you believe that if a great artist were to throw away his paints he could produce a great painting. How could he? If an artist has no paint he can’t paint, can he?"
"Exactly my point," I shot back. "J.S. Bach had his colors. They defined his art by being what they were. They put boundaries around it by which the art could be distinguished from the background noise. Cage had nothing with which to work and produced nothing of distinction. Not that his work was not, in some quarters anyway, distinctive, but it was, and is, the type which we could have imagined came together through random chance."
"Of course it is such. That’s what I mean by being free. Freedom is the inability to predict what will happen, what will be chosen, where things will end up. Cage takes that freedom and gives us the unexpected. That’t art."
I shook my head. "No, that’s chaos. It isn’t art exactly because it isn’t planned."
"But Cage planned his works."
"Well, yes," I responded. "But his purpose was to break the boundaries of his art so that those boundaries no longer existed. And without boundaries art is not, as I said before, distinguishable from the background."
"So you would have art of the priveledge?"
"The priveliged?" I asked, unsure of his meaning.
"Yes, the priveliged. By that I mean an art which puts itself forward, into the foreground as if it were something extrordinary."
"As versus art which is unnoticible because it blends into the surrounding stuff of life."
"Exactly. You see," he continued, "art is nothing more than chance. The artist takes a chance, bets, if you will, that using a certain technique in a certain manner on a particular medium will produce a desired effect. He bets on his skill at picking and placing. But in doing so he assumes that he, above the mere mortals around him, has the talent to prduce art. In this he is not only attempting to make his art a privledged production, but himself as well. He wants to be the superman of the race. And to show that he is, he ignores the rules. He breaks the boundaries of his art and of his own limits. He creates, in essence, a new world of his own design – a world which is perfect."
"Perfect? As in having no flaws?"
"Of course he may think it has flaws," he answered, "but really, since it is the world he created, it is flawless because it reflects the shape of his soul, the image of himself as it were, at the moment of its creation. Thus, it is a complete image of the artist. Which, I suppose, gets us back to the question of art in general. For if, as you say, a work of art must have boundaries, then it must exist in a world outside of itself – a world itself not of the artists making, right?"
"Of course," I agreed.
"And if it’s not a world of the artists making then the art can and will be judged by that world. I mean, those viewing, or hearing, or in some manner experiencing the art, will walk away with some impression, some response to the art."
"That seems normal."
"And if they, those experiencing the art, make judgements about the art, just as you, I might add, have done regarding JSBach and John Cage, are they not setting themselves up as at least equal to the artist?"
"I don’t see how one can escape the conclusion. So what’s you point?"
"My point? My point is that if a man is to be truly creative he must create an entire world of his own – a world in his own image as it were. And the truly creative person will ignore, or perhaps not even be aware of, the response to his or her art. They must make, to bend the words of an old critic, "Art for the artists sake."
"’Art for the artists sake?"
"Yes, the purpose of art must be for artist. He or she must be the superman of the ages, content on producing a world of their own, despite what anyone else thinks, despite how they react, and even, if I may say so, despite the pain and suffering they might endure in producing that world."
"It sounds like that’s what you are about," I opinioned.
"You mean I want to produce my own world, in my own image? Hell yes! That’s exactly it. You see, a world made in my image would be filled with artists, each creating a world in their own image, each content to be fully themselves, fully realized as artists and creators. Absolute freedom without boundaries!"
"But what of the pain and suffering? And if every artist were to create their own world wouldn’t that mean each would inhabit a world of one? Wouldn’t that separate people from one another to the point all would be alone, each in his or her own world?"
"Of course. That’s Hell for you. All those tiny-on-the outside, but infinite-on-the-inside worlds created at the whim of true artists. It would be, is, and will be wonderful!"
"And a bit insane too." I added.
"Insane maybe, but only to those who would be somehow outside."
I thought for moment on his ideas. Then I asked, "where did you get these ideas? I mean they seem so strange. How did you arrive at the idea that Hell is an ideal place for artists?"
"Hell an ideal place for artists? I really didn’t mean to go that far. But now that you mention it, yeah, I guess Hell is a great place for artists – at least artist who have the courage to be what they are. The rest can go to Heaven for all I care. But to answer you question, ‘where did these ideas come from?’ I guess you could say I have observed things for so long that I noticed a pattern of behavior in humans that told me they are all seeking to create their own worlds."
"Their own worlds?"
"Yeah, each person tries to expand that psychological space in which they are most comfortable."
"For what purpose?"
"Because You Know Who was right in the beginning."
Now I was confused. I looked at him and shook my head. "What exactly do you mean, God was right in the beginning?"
The Devil took a swig of his drink, then setting it down, looked at me with something like the look a teacher might give a student who has to have the obvious spelled out. "He was right," he began, "when he said that they would be like Him. They would be like Him in that they would desire to be top dog, the head honcho, the great I AM, if you will."
"They want to be God?" I asked seeing something to his point.
"Exactly. They try to make their particular world real. They try to maximize their experience of that world in the belief that what they are experiencing is the highest form of reality. And if it is the highest form of reality and they control it, then they are the god of their own world. That’s why people are so insecure. They don’t have real control of the world they create and every time they turn around it appears that somebody is trying to destroy their world. So they they get really defensive. Some use violence, some social pressure, and some try to argue. It all amounts to the same thing – they want their world to be real and anything which weakens their experience of that world, meaning it is not as real as it should be, threatens them. So they get defensive. It’s the really strong ones who manage to impose their world on others."
"You mean some people succeed in believing that everything they think or feel is true is actually the full truth?"
"Something like that."
"And if they really get to the point where they have convinced the world that their world is real? What happens then? I asked.
"They become arrogant SOB’s!" he replied, laughing. "They think their little world is really something and do all they can to insure it continues. In fact, if I had my way about things, I’d let everybody create their own little worlds. Those mose successful seldom think twice about You Know Who and his supposed ownership of all that is."
"So it’s a good method of getting people to ignore the gospel?"
"It’s better than letting them try to argue over religion. They don’t see religion as important because it’s not a part of their world – or if it is it’s the kind of religion in which You Know Who is hardly necessary. I mean, they have it all figured out – do this or that enough and you get rewarded – that sort of religion. It never dawns upon them that the whole thing is a house of cards. They don’t really have that much power. And when they die what is left? They might be remembered for a few generations as the family founder—but after even one-hundred years or so almost everybody is forgotten. So immortality is left to the immortal and all they get is the echos of immortallity – strong at first and fading fast."
"You think immortality is what people are after?"
"What else is there?" he asked.
"I don’t know. It just seems trite to say that humans just want to be remembered. I mean, if I really wanted to be remembered, if that’t all I wanted, I could think of a lot easier ways to do so than making a lot of money or inventing something truly great."
"What would you do if you wanted to be remembered?" He asked.
I though for a moment. "If I just wanted to be remembered? I mean, I didn’t care if people thought well of me or not?"
"Yeah, if you thought there was no wrong or right – only action and a desire to live forever as it were."
"I guess I’d do something really big, something either so creative or so destructive that all of human history would be forever changed."
"Well, forever is hardly likely, now isn’t it? he noted. "And if you’re like most people whatever talents you have are hardly worth noting on the grand scale of things. I doubt you or any sane person would claim to be a Da Vinci, an Einstein, or anything like them. So it’s doubtful you would create anything truly remarkable. So what’s left?"
"What’s left?" I asked, puzzled.
"Yeah, what’s left, as in you can’t create something memorable so what’s left to do to be remembered?"
"I don’t know," I began, "I guess to destroy something?"
"Exactly. I wasn’t sure you’d get it, but with a little help you have seen the light. You see most people want immortality and know that they can’t get it through doing something great – by the time they figure out what great thing they could do and how to do it, they’re dead. So they have two choices – do something destructive or die. Most people’s little world is haunted by the idea that they are ‘good’ people. They can’t seem to get past that so they end up doing nothing of significance. Which leads them to complete death – dead and forgotten. Some people are able, through shear luck and determination, to produce something and are remembered – at least for awhile. And a few rise to real greatness by reordering their little worlds so that they can do what needs to be done gain immortality by being truly distructive. They go out and destroy people. Serial killers like abortionists, mass murderers like Hitler and Stalin, insane emperors like Nero. They have no qualms because they completely reject You Know Who’s natural moral order. And in doing so, they create their own moral order."
"And kill millions along the way? And for that they are to be immortalized?"
He laughed again. "You are really too skeamish," he replied. "Do you really think that You Know Who cares one iota about the individuals who perish? I mean, look at history. Where was He when Hitler or Stalin ruled? Where is He now, when millions of babies are slaughtered every year in the name of a better life for women. I don’t know about you but if I really cared about women I wouldn’t let them pile up so much guilt – I mean they’re murders! How can You Know Who say he loves women when he lets them become murderers?"
"But He does love them." I responded, bothered by the accusation.
"How? How does he love them? Does he tie their hands before they sign the papers allowing the doctor to kill their children? Does he give them a dose of conscience before they go to the clinic? Does he take away their sex drive when they become arroused and decide to have unprotected sex? No, He stands there, knowing the course they are chosing and watches. All I know is that when one of my children decides to take a course which would lead them away from me, I fight tooth and nail to keep them safe. And I don’t even claim to love them."
I looked at the Devil, angrily. "Look," I began, "you say that love always does the easy thing. Just tie their hands. Just tweak their conscience a little more. Just take away their sex drive. It’s so easy. But you forget one thing – they’re not His! He’s not responsible for what they do. He wants to be, but they’re not His children, they’re yours. And you said it yourself, you are the one prince and power of the air. So if anybody should care about them, it should be you. God cares but can’t violate your rights as their parent."
"My rights as their parent? You Know Who can’t violate my rights? Since when did He worry about my rights? I had the right to be premier in heaven but he cast me out!"I interupted him before he got started. "No, He didn’t – He let you fall from Heaven."
"Same difference." He stated matter of factly.
"No it isn’t." I retorted. Then continuing to explain. "You fell from Heaven because Heaven became Hell to you and you fled. Milton was right. Heaven is Hell to you because it’s not a world of your own making. You’d rather rule the run down, dirty, evil world below than be anything short of the ruler of Heaven. That’s why you aren’t in Heaven. Heaven is built on submission and you’ve never submitted."
"And I never will either!" he declared forcefully. "But that still doesn’t let You Know Who off the hook. Children are being murdered. And even if they are my children how can He sit back and let it happen? If He loves them as he claims, if he loves their mothers, as he claims, then why doesn’t he do something about the carnage? Answer me that, if you can!"
The Devil was angry. But so was I. So I plunged into the argument, for once forgetting too whom I spoke and my role as a journalist.
"Okay, you want an answer, I’ll give you one. You say that God can’t possibly love people or He’d do something about all the evil? Right?"
"Right."
"And if He doesn’t do something about evil He either can’t because he isn’t powerful enough, or won’t because He doesn’t care enough?"
"That about sums it up."
"Okay, let me ask you a question."
"Fire away."
"When?"
"When? When what?"
"When would you like God to have solved the problem?"
"The problem of innocent children dying?"
"No and yes. I mean that too… but not just that. All the pain and suffering, all the injustice, all the, well, evil, that has ever been, is now, or ever will be. When exactly would you want a loving God to do something about it?"
He looked at me, confused, not sure where the conversation was headed. "You mean if I tell you when He’ll do something becaue you ask Him?"
"Not at all," I replied. "I mean when would it have been necessary for God to have done something about evil for the resulting pain and suffering for you to think He loves people"
He thought for a moment. "When… well, I guess maybe …" But still unsure of the line of reasoning, he switched tatics. "How much suffering are we speaking about?"
But I wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. "How much would you allow someone you love to suffer if you could do something about it?" I asked in return.
He thought. "Well that depends on if the suffering was beneficial."
Again, I wasn’t going to let him go down that road. It had been tried and fell short of the point I wanted to make. "Forget about the benefits. Assume that all suffering is just suffering – without any benefits to the sufferer."
He looked at me, completely puzzled and somewhat convinced I was about to make the biggest intellectual blunder in history. "You’re saying it doesn’t matter that if the suffering was necessary?"
"Not for the purpose of showing how God loves people. I don’t need it to show that."
"Okay, how much unjust suffering. Well, if I loved somebody I would want it to be as little as necessary."
"But pretend it isn’t necessary." I reminded him. "Otherwise it would have to be beneficial in some way."
"Okay," he said, forced to the conclusion I wanted. "None. I mean if I loved someone there would be no suffering allowed in their life." Then, because he thought he saw where I was going. "But of course, then they wouldn’t be free, would they?"
"That’s immaterial." I responded in counterpoint. "That would be a benefit of suffering."
Now the Devil was really confused. "If I understand you," he said, "you think that even if there were no benefits in suffering and You Know Who could do something about it, you can still maintain the claim that You Know Who loves the sufferer when He continues to let them suffer? This I got to hear."
I smiled. "Okay, but first let’s get everything exactly straight. The sufferer isn’t going to benefit from the suffering. God loves them so much that no matter how minor the suffering He is compelled to do something about it, and furthermore, there is something He can do about it. Clear so far?"
"Yeah, but I don’t think you are going to get out of this." He responded.
"Maybe not, but we’ll see." I replied. Then continuing on. "So we are back to the original question – when?"
"Now that I understand the question, the answer is obvious – the moment the sufferer begins to suffer" was his logical reply.
"Wrong!" I responded before the words had hardly left his mouth.
"Wrong?" he returned, "How so?"
"If you loved somebody so much that you would countenance no suffering then wouldn’t you do something about it before they suffered?"
He laughed at the impossible task I had set. "Of course. So, if I get you right, You Know Who should, if He really loved people, have done something before all the suffering began. Right?"
"Exactly."
"But He didn’t, did he?" He asked in triumph.
"I didn’t say that." I responded.
"So what did he do, exactly, I mean before Adam and Eve ate the fruit?"
"He died."
"Wait a minute." He corrected me, "He didn’t die before Adam and Eve sinned. He died thousands of years after."
This time I paused long enough to let him glory in his supposed triumph. "The answer to the paradox is in your own words."
"My own words," he said with question in his voice. Then thinking carefully over what he had said so far, admitted he could not follow my logic.
"Remember when you were describing your age?" I asked.
"Yeah, I said that it was impossible to tell since it was outside of time."
"Exactly. So whatever you did outside of time, took no time? Is that right?"
"I can see that."
"What has God done, outside of time?" I asked.
He though for a few moments. "I can’t think of much." he admitted.
"But you do admit that He has done something."
"Of course. I mean it would hardly be possible to create the universe from within the universe, now would it."
"Right. God created the universe outside of time as we know it."
"Okay, but that’s not to say He died. I mean, He died on planet earth a couple thousand years ago, if I remember my history."
I ignored the tenor of his statement and pressed on. "And where and when was His death planned?"
"Where and when? How should I know. You know You Know Who isn’t exactly open minded about telling me anything regarding His plans."
"But you do know that the Scripture says that He knew his children before the foundation of the world?"
"Well, okay. So what?"
"If he knew his children from before the foundation, don’t you suppose he would also know of their suffering?"
"You mean to claim that You Know Who saw it coming?"
"Saw it coming because He planned it."
Now the Devil laughed heartily. "I can’t believe you fell into the trap of blaiming You Know Who for evil. If He planned it then He’s responsible. And if He’s responsible then how can anybody be punished for anything they’ve done? It sounds to me like you’ve done nothing more than claim You Know Who is just as bad as I. And that’s saying a lot!"
I looked at the Devil and smiled. "Let me ask you some quesitons." I stated.
"Go ahead, fire away." he responded.
"You know that he created the universe, right?"
"Yeah, for all the good it did Him."
"And you know He had a reason for doing so, right?"
"Yeah, but I spoiled His precious plan, now didn’t I?"
"Did you now? It seems to me that God declares that none of His plans can be twarted."
"Yeah, He says that, but obviously He’s mistaken."
"Maybe not. You remember what Jesus said about something needing to die for life to continue?"
"The thing about the seed falling to the ground and dying before a new plant can grow? Yeah, I remember that."
"What if it was not just a seed, but a whole universe?"
"A whole universe? You mean He would let the whole of creation die? Why?"
"You ever read Revelations?"
"Of course I’ve read it. I was there when it was written."
"You understand any of it?"
"Ha!, anybody who says they understand Revelations is either full of themselves or smoking something."
"Be that as it may, I can’t speak to that issue, But I do know that at the end of Revelations it says that the whole universe will pass away. Are you familiar with the passage?"
"Yeah."
"And doesn’t it also say that a new heaven and earth will take their place?"
"Yeah, it says that too."
"So here we have a universe which is doomed to die and a new universe will becreated to take its place. Right?"
"Okay, but what does that have to do with You Know Who’s planning evil?"
"I’ll get to that. But first ask yourself this, when the first univers was made, what was the last thing added to it?"
"The last thing created, you mean?"
"Yes, the last thing created."
"Humans, male and female, as it were."
"And how were they created? I mean what materials were used, and what actions were taken?"
"Well, the man was formed from the dust, and then You Know Who breathed life into him."
"Exactly. God breathed life into Adam. Eve came later, but she was made from Adam so nothing new was added to creation after Adam."
"I’m not sure I follow. Eve was created from Adam’s rib. So do you mean she received life by being a part of Adam?"
"That’s exactly what I mean. To make Eve God used what was already part of creation. When He made Adam though, He breathed into Adam the breath of life and man became a living soul, as the scripture says. What this means then is that the living soul was the last thing created in the universe. At least until the new universe is created."
"I still don’t get how that lets You Know Who off the hook."
"’Be patient, we’ll get there. In the mean time, we can see two things from all this. That God created the physical universe and then, at the end, brought human souls to life. The soul of man, or more correctly, the living soul, was the last thing created directly by God. And we can see that the universe will pass away. Now tell me, if the old universe passes away where will the souls go?"
"The souls?"
"The living souls. The last thing God created."
The Devil scratched his head. "How should I know. More importantly, why can’t the souls just perish? In fact, after the fall isn’t it true that eternal life is not part of natural man? Didn’t You Know Who say that if they didn’t belive in Him they would perish?"
"Of course He said that. John said that whoever believe in Jesus would not perish but have everlasting life. But what of those who don’t belive? They perish – at least that’s what the verse implies. Though it doesn’t really matter. One version of theology says that they perish, another that they are sent to Hell. In either case you can be sure that they will not be a part of the new heaven and earth."
"You got that right." was his retort. "But so what? What difference does it make where the souls go?"
"Strictly speaking it doesn’t make much difference, unless you are one of those souls who is indwelt by the Holy Spirit – you know, born again?"
"You mean one of His? Yeah, there are a lot of them. Too many by my count. But what does that have to do with the new heaven and earth?"
"They are the first born of the new heaven and earth. The first born of the new creation. Jesus was the seed. He died, and rose again. And He is the Son of God, which makes those of us who are in Him also sons of God. And since He was the first born of the new creation, we are the first born of the new creation – which means we are destined for the new Heaven and Earth."
"So what you are saying is that He created the current universe to die so that the new universe could come out of the previous one?"
"Yes, but this universe was created first as physical matter without life. Then life was put into it, and finally living souls. But you destroyed the living souls by separating them from God – the source of life. They then became merely living beings, but not eternal souls. As they are born into the new, eternal universe, the new creation of which Jesus was the first born, they regain the eternal soul because they are indwelt with the Holy Spirit, which itself is eternal."
The Devil shook his head. "Look," he said, "I’m no theologian. I can’t see the necessity of creating first one universe – destined to die by your account – so that another can be created. Why didn’t You Know Who just create the perfect universe in the first place?"
"Because life has to be pre-eminant if a thing is to live. In this universe matter is dead. There is no life in stone. In the next even the rocks will sing of His glory."
"So evil is necessary to accomplish a perfect creation. That sounds a bit odd to me. In fact, I wouldn’t broadcast that too much if I were you. I mean, think of what some of your own theologians would make of your position. Wouldn’t it mean that You Know Who was evil Himself?"
"Not at all. That He allows calamaties and is the author of the weather is spoken of in Isaiah when he says "the LORD created good and evil. Of course, as you know, that probably should have been translated, ‘good and calamnity’ or something like that, but the point is, God is not the creator of only the good things that happen to us."
The Devil shook his head in disgust. "You believers. You are so blind. You think that no matter what He does to you – or what you would say He allows to be done to you – you still believe. All I know is that if I claimed to love you and treated you as He treats you I don’t think you’d believe I loved you for long."
"But you wouldn’t die for me either, now would you?"
The Devil laughed again. "Yeah, I wouldn’t die for you – you got that right. I mean, what a silly thing to do. To die for worthless people who won’t obey even if they are given exact instructions. I mean look at the Hebrews. They were given clear instructions and how long did they follow those insturctions. About one generation and they began to ignore everything You Know Who had told them. In fact, they never did really understand what He wanted."
"What do you think He wanted?" I asked, getting back to my role as an interviewer.
"What do I think He wanted? You mean what He wanted from the Hebrews?"
"Yes, the Hebrews. What would have been obediance as far as you know?"
"I think He wanted what He always wants."
"Which is?"
"Slaves. Willing slaves."
"So God wanted the Hebrews to be his slaves? What for? He had everything He could possible need or want."
"Everything but fame. You know, worshippers?" He said sarcastically.
"God needs worshippers?’ I asked.
"Not needs, -- wants," He responded. "He wants worshippers."
"Why? Why does he need – I mean want worshippers?"
"How should I know. He’s a mystery to me, remember?"
I sat for a few minutes collecting my thought. I wasn’t sure where to go from here. The waitress came by which gave me a break. I ordered a cup of coffee and the Devil asked for a refill of his wine. I looked at him for a moment after the wine and coffee were brought.
"Do you enjoy that?" I asked.
"You mean the wine?" He asked for clarification.
"Yes, the wine. I mean, is this the form you usually take – a human shape, drinking wine in a restaurant?"
"Not always," he replied. "Sometimes I just move about in my angelic form. Sometimes I don’t do much at all. You see, things are generally running pretty smoothly. I have servants to do most of the work. Although I must admit, they are just as often bumbling things as not. My job is generally one of strategy. They do the tactical thing."
"So you are in a war?"
"Of course. Have been since You Know Who gave us the boot."
I thought for a moment on this. I wasn’t surprised at the thought of a war between Heaven and Hell, but had never given much thought to the Devil’s stategy. Nor had I, I suddenly realized, ever wondered about the Devil’s goals. "So tell me," I therefore asked, "what would it mean if you won this war?"
He looked at me, apparently pleased by the question. "I was wondering when you’d ask me that. What would things be like if I won? I’ll tell you this much, you’d be free for one thing. No more of You Know Who’s burdenome rules. No more don’t do this, don’t do that! If you wanted to fly, you’d fly. And if you wanted to go to the moon, BAM! you’d be there. No rules and no limits. That’s what I’d do."
"And what if two people wanted the same thing at the same time. I mean suppose I wanted to sit right here and you wanted to sit here too – both at the same time."
"Then I’d make two universes – one in which you’d get the chair and another where I’d get the chair. Nobody wins, nobody looses. You have to admit, it would be better than having people fight over everything like they do now. I mean, look around you, does this place look happy to you?"
I glanced over the dining room where we sat. People were engrossed in their dining. Waiters and Waitresses were walking around doing their jobs, but nobody looked particularly happy. He had a point.
"No, I guess not. But even so, wouldn’t your triumph result in a lot of universes? If every time two people disagreed you created another universe so that each person always got what they wanted, wouldn’t that be a lot of work?"
"Of course it would, but if I cared about people the way He is supposed to care, and I had the power He has, wouldn’t that be just the ticket – to give every person their own personal universe where nothing ever happened that they didn’t want to happen? A place where their will was never twarted?"
I contemplated this as I sipped my coffee. "Of course, you make a good point," I responded, "but if each universe was personally owned by one being, and nothing was ever allowed to go against that person’s will, wouldn’t each person be completely alone eventually?"
"Completely alone? Why?" he asked.
"Well, suppose you and I are the only beings and we agree almost all the time, -- but not all the time. If I lived in a universe where nothing could be done to twart my will and you lived in a universe where nothing could be done to twart your will, wouldn’t there eventually be two universes? One for me and one for you? And even if you could somehow have me in both universes, wouldn't it mean that in your universe I would need to constantly do whatever you wanted, and in my universe you would have to do whatever I constantly wanted? I mean, in reality either you end up with one tyrant in each universe and millions of slaves or each tyrant has his or her own universe but lives completely alone. Sounds just like Hell to me."
He smiled again. "Ahh.. you are a clever one. But so what? I mean the fact is, if I give you your own universe and you screw it up, so what? I’m not responsible for what you do with what I give you. Unless I make you a complete slave if I give you a universe and put you in charge then it’s your responsibility how things go from there, now isn’t it?"
"Of course, but isn’t that exactly what God does? Didn’t He create Heaven, put you in it, and when you decided to rebell, cast you out into your own universe? And didn’t He do the same thing with Adam and Eve once they had sinned? Didn’t He cast them out into the wilderness to make their own way?"
"Well, yes, but He did it out of punishment. He wanted them to suffer. I, on the other hand, want them to be free."
"Free for what reason?"
"What do you mean ‘free for what reason!?’ Freedom needs only itself. How can any real being desire anything but freedom? Is there any higher goal?"
"I can think of at least one."
He looked at me, comprehending. "You mean love?"
"Yes. Love."
"Well, as for love, it appears to me that it is vastly oversold. What has love ever done for you? You fall in love and you fall out. Your hormones kick in, they kick out. So much for love."
This time I laughed. "Love is a lot more than that," I chided. "Haven’t you read anything about it?’
"Of course I’ve read about love. Everybody writes about it and I’ll tell you this, nobody understands it."
"And what have you discovered in your readings." I asked.
"Mostly that people put too much stock in love. They expect love to solve all the worlds problems. One singer even said that ‘love is all you need.’ Others speak of one who loved too much ‘pining away’ until, usually the woman, dies of her loss. It’s all a bunch of lies anyway."
"Love is lies? How so?"
The Devil gave me a tired look. He sighed. "I hate to break it to you, but it’s all chemical anyway. If it weren’t for the human body people wouldn’t love."
"If it weren’t for the human body people wouldn’t be." I retorted.
"Maybe so, but nevertheless, love is a chemical reaction to another being or group of beings. Nothing more. All the vaunted love of Christians is nothing more than a chemical guilt trip imposed upon them by the convoluted logic that they will receive life in the future by dying now."
"Still, they do love, do they not."
"If you could call it that. But mostly it’s like I said, a chemical reaction. Even the most noble love, the sacrificial love of the hero on the battlefield, for instance, is done because the person believes it is the right thing, and they believe that they are righteous and to remain so they must do the right thing. You see what I mean?"
"Not exactly."
"Well, it’s like this: suppose you were faced with a choice. You could do X and some people you cared about would get hurt, or you could do Y and you’d be the one getting hurt rather than them. A normal person would do what they could to preserve themselves and ignore the needs of the group. Even if they supposedly loved the people they, most of the time, do what is self perserving. But once in a while a person will choose to do the Y. They will do so because of how they view their own little universe."
"They’re own little universe?"
"Yeah, remember? -- the one they are building around themselves? The one where they are in charge?"
"Oh, I remember. We each are busy creating our own little universe."
"Right. So when a person is faced with death for the benefit of others or life at the expense of others, his universe determines his course. If, in his universe, he is a righteous man, he will probably sacrifice himself so that he preserves his universe. If, on the otherhand, he thinks of himself as selfish, he’ll act selfish and let the others die. So, in the end, nothing is done for the others, it is always done for one’s self. Love is selfish."
What he said made some sense. No doubt the man was acting selfish no matter which action he choose, but still, love itself was not selfish. "Wait a moment," I started my reply, "okay, the man had some selfish motives in his actions – the preserving of his own little universe, as you put it. But what would be the case if he were busy preserving someone elses universe? What if the universe he experienced was not his own, but somone elses? Wouldn’t he then be acting truly loving?"
"Maybe, maybe not," the Devil replied, "but even if he were to sacrifice himself for another’s universe there still remains the fact that he would see the act as preserving his reputation – confirming his own high opinion of himself. So the act is never pure, never completely selfless."
"Of course it isn’t, the man is a sinner. Even you know that." I responded, a bit exasperated over his attitude. "But that doesn’t make his love any less. Let me tell you a story. Once when I was a kid our water pump broke. We lived on a farm and suddenly we had no water. My parents couldn’t afford a new pump so we went without for a few days – filling a small, I think 5 gallon, container at our neighbors each day. This had gone on for a few days when I was out running along the creek which ran next to our house. In those days people would find a remote creek and simply dump their garbage into the creek. The dump was about a half-mile from our house, about one-half the distance to our nearest neighbor. Anyway, I was scavaging around when what did I find but a water pump. It must have weighed about fifty pounds, but I drug it up to the road and down the road to our house. I was so excited I ran in and got my dad. ‘Look what I found,’ I exclaimed. My dad was so surprised he was silent for a few seconds. Then he smiled, nodded his head, and said, "looks like a water pump. Where’d you find it?" "In the dump," I responded. At that my dad’s face turned down into a frown. "Well," he said, "maybe we can use it for parts." At that moment I was so sad. I mean I though I had found the answer to our problems, but apparently not. So dad got his tools and began to clean up that pump. As he did so he discovered that the power cord going into the unit was frayed. So he took it out and repaired it. He put it back in and to both our surprise and delight, the thing worked! So he replaced the waterpump and we had water."
Here the Devil interupted my story. "So what are you saying - that your selfless act was proof you loved your family?"
"Not at all." I responded. "Just answer me this question: ‘Should my dad have used the water pump?"
"Used the water pump? Of course, why wouldn’t he?"
"Even if it came from a dump?"
"What does where it come from have to do with it?" he asked. "If it worked, it worked."
"Precisely. If love is motivated by some inner selfish dynamic it is still love. Maybe not pure, but love nevertheless. And the guy who sacrifices himself for his friends, that guy, even if he knows that he has to do so or his so-called reputation will be destroyed, even under those circumstances, still does a loving act. So what if his motives aren’t one-hundred percent pure. Who can measure such things. The act is itself loving. It may be accompanied by completely selfless attitude, or a completely selfish attitude. If the attude is completely selfless then the lover is motivated by higher motives. And if by baser attitudes, then the lover is more base. But the act itself is still love."
The Devil looked at me and shook his head in disbelief. "Look," he said, "You Know Who claims to see into your heart. So if He sees and in doing so sees that your so-called love is a sham don’t you think He’d discount the act? I mean how can you get credit for the supposedly loving act if it isn’t motivated by love? That doesn’t make sense."
"Maybe not," I replied, "but on the other hand who said we’re trying to get credit for something? If God wants to give me credit for something I’ll take it, but even if He doesn’t give me the credit, or I don’t desearve the credit, so what? How does it change anything?"
"How does it change anything?" he asked, incredously. "It changed everything! You Know Who is not about letting sinners into His precious Heaven. He demands justice and justice demands payment."
"What kind of payment do you think would be appropriate for doing something wrong?" I asked him.
He thought for a moment. "Well, if you lied and the person lost something I imagine you’d need to pay them the value of the thing they lost."
"An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth?" I asked.
"Exactly. An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth."
"And if I murdered someone you’d say what, that I’d need to die?"
"Of course, especially if you did it with forethought."
"Fair enough," I replied. "Murder desearves the death penalty. Anything else?"
"Probably, but who wants to sit around making a shopping list? The best thing is to remember that the payment extracted has to somehow balance the pain inflicted." He sat back, satisfied with his answer.
I looked at him for a moment, thinking of how easy it was for me. He couldn’t fathom God’s love and I was completely used to viewing the world from within that love. So I continued, "I can see your point. The real question is though, how do we measure the pain inflicted? I mean, if I kill someone they are dead, usually in an instant. If, on the other hand, I torture them even if they don’t die, isn’t that more pain inflicted."
He conceded my point with a nod.
"And a person wants something, has worked their whole lives to puchase it, and I steal it from them, isn’t that different than stealing the same thing from a very rich person?"
"Of course," he agreed.
"In the end then, aren’t we saying that it’s impossible to categorize a particular category of deeds as being more or less evil?"
"I don’t follow," he admitted.
"Well, if stealing a small item from somebody who worked their whole lives to earn the money to buy it, causes more pain than killing a person in an instant, doesn’t that mean the small theft inflicts more pain than the murder? And if so, then how can we categorically say that all murders should result in a death penalty, or all acts of theivery be paid back with a fine or so much time in jail? The rules are good, but they can never actually be completely fair, now can they?’
"Not short of You Know Who’s direct intervention, though even He certainly a weak record in fairness as far as I am concerned."
I let the comment pass. "And if we can’t label one thing as worse than another, what are we left with?"
"What do you mean by ‘what are we left with?’" he asked.
"What should we do about evil then? How should we pay the evil-doer since we don’t have a perfect way to categorize each pain causing act? If a murder can inflict less pain than a simple act of thievery shouldn’t we conclude that the only thing we can do is to declare every pain inflicting act is the same?"