Out of Character (OOC):
Chronicle: Mage 2: The Dethroned Queen
Venue: Mage: The Awakening 2nd Edition
Chronicle Storyteller: Jerad Sayler
Assistant Storytellers: Hannah Nyland & Alex Van Belkum
Light's Epitaph: Sariel & Jen
The following is a short journal entry from a Daimonoptikon recovered by the Sacred Realms cabal and found in a Scelesti lab located in a sub-basement of the Denver Museum of Nature & Science where Light was trapped in 2014. Written by David Ledbetter (Light) and edited by Jerad Sayler. This story introduces Light's two Daimons: Sariel & Jen. The proverbial (and literal) devil and angel on his shoulders...I travel inwards. I am standing in the forest again, the white sand under my feet shifting slightly as I breathe. The trees around me are tall and straight, some kind of pine. There are no needles on the sand and the trunks are long and yellow white, like alligator bone. The light here creates no shadow, seeming to rise from the sand itself. Above me strange stars dance in the sky. All around me small balls of light float in the air. They are drifting with the current of the wind blowing lightly through the trees. I smell palm trees and feel warmth on my skin. I am calm. My Dads backyard used to smell this way. I am sitting in the half lotus, my back leaning against one of the trees. I have a hard time usually with this position, my hips cant in a way that makes it uncomfortable. I am feeling fine right now. Across my knees are two swords. Both are made of a metal I know is unbreakable. The edge of the swords travel a graceful strait, starting at the tip the edge extends 3 feet 4¼ inches. It extends as part of the guard and over the fingers, ending in a smaller spike at the end. One is silver, chased in words of gold, the other gold chased in silver. I revel in their weight. Around me are the seven times seventy bodies of my enemy. I know their faces, for they are my sins. I breathe and the forest exhales.
I feel more than see the shadow under the sand. It once ruled here. A slow smile crosses my face. It is part of the forest, and the forest is me. The shadow is not evil, though it leads a life bereft of morality. It feels nothing, it wants nothing. It acts in the manner most like to amuse itself. It cannot love for to love is to hurt. It can’t anger for to anger is to fear, and the shadow knows no fear. Fear indicates loss and it cares nothing for loss. I know the shadow, for it too, is me. I acknowledge it with a slight nod and it speeds away under and across the sand, a flicker of me running evident in its flight. I stand and the bodies around me fall into glittering motes of sand, joining the floor of the forest. I walk between the trees. I know there is a clearing ahead, I move towards it.
The trees part in front of me, revealing a ramp, formed of marble leading down to a set of glass doors. I recognize them, of course. They were the doors to the local library. The doors are set in a building of stone and brass, rising far above the trees. I sheathe my swords and open the doors. Inside is an atrium. As a architecture student I used to spend hours picturing in my mind how I would design a library, just for me. I walk into the fully fleshed version. Around me water glides down stones from around the world, each labeled in small clear script. The stones form the walls in a room about half the size of a basketball court, and a light waterfall cascades down them to a shallow pool under the floor. The lights are set in tracks along the edges of the walls. The room is curved organically, there are no corners. The floor beneath me is made of glass. Beneath me the water forms a pond, full of fish. They move beneath my feet. The sound of the water is soothing. Ahead of me is a ramp, standing apart from the wall and curving in a gentle spiral to the next level. The ceiling is domed and faintly blue. I walk up the ramp into a larger space. The room I enter is easily one hundred and fifty feet tall. I measure it later based on the shelves, which are about ten feet high each. I look around to find myself in the center of a structure whose ceiling stretches into the distance. Above me are walkways, crossing across the floors above me. There are floors like the nerves in the human body, areas where bookshelves stand and reading couches and chairs sit. Connecting them are bridges, walkways across the floors below. Some of these have massive columns piercing them through the center. Stairs inside the columns, bookshelves surrounding the outsides of the columns and lining the insides of the stairs. Everything lined in wood and white.
I look down. In front of me is a table. Formed from the slice of a cut of a single tree, this table was what I pictured when I thought of the table round as a child. Its surface is nicked, and there are rivulets of candle wax spreading from the center, radiating to the edges. The rim is iron, and there are thirteen seats. I walk around the table. In front of each seat is a name. I loved the Arthurian legend when I was young. I could name and list the stories for each of the names. I stop at the thirteenth seat. No name there, of course. The chair was large and solid, the carvings of dragons twining around the legs up the back. I adjust my swords and sit at the Siege Perilous. I have always wanted to. Around me are books.
I have been a lover of the written word since I can remember. My mother, when she was not away on business or running like crazy for work used to read to us every night. Toby Tyler, Little House on the Prairie, White fang, Arthur, and oh so many others. When I grew old enough to read on my own I devoured books. The Hardy boys, Encyclopedia Brown, Shakespeare, Dragonlance, Edgar Allen Poe, The Art of War, Tolstoy, Melville, Verne. I have loved the written word all my life. All of those books are here. I know all my memories are here too. I hold out my hand and my first night with my wife falls into it. The binding on the book is white satin like what she was wearing. I smile and relive the moment in perfect clarity. I send the book back. I call The Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi to hand and reread the book of air. As I finish I hear a gentle breath and look up.
“Sariel, I presume.” I have wanted to do the Livingstone quote for a while, why waste the opportunity?
“Yes. We were once known by that name.” He replies. I look for signs of emotion, connection. He has none. It is like talking to me, age 17. No emotional context on his face.
“What’s a nice angel like you doing in a dive like this?” I gesture to the library of my mind.
“Sariel was commanded to be here. The Father told Sariel to go here. Sariel lives here. Sariel belongs here. The Father told Sariel so.” Again, emotionless, monotone. Interesting. So my talk with Him gained me an observer. That is fascinating, in implication if nothing else.
“And you are a Archangel, huh?” I am gathering volunteering information is not really something that comes easily to Sariel.
“Sariel was once. Now Sariel is half.” I wait a second then motion for him to go on. He mimics the rolling hand then sets it back on his knee.
“OK, what do you mean half?” I ask.
His eyes meet mine. “When a Intelligence comes to Earth it is split from its memories of Heaven. It is also stripped of Grace, the ability to form chaos. The part of Sariel that was emotion and Intelligence came to Earth. The part that is Grace and those memories were bound in a shell.” He points to my sternum. That shell.” I place my hand over the round piece of metal in my chest.
“So normally that is returned on death?” I ask.
“After death, after resurrection to the Perfect Form. Before Judgment.” He responds.
I look at him. I have a thought. I call a copy of the piece of metal in my chest to my hand. I look at it. It is a coin, uneven edges. There is my face on one side and the tower on the back. Around the face on the front is the phrase SCIENS OBEDIENTIAM. It looks like a roman aureus. I look up.
“And now that I have mine before dying?” I ask.
“We are one. But incompletely. Sariel; but not as we should be. This Grace doesn’t understand you now. Your body can’t fully contain this grace. Together but imperfect.” He doesn’t frown. I understand now that He doesn’t know how to. I think I get it.
“You are the Memories and Power I left behind when I came here. I am the Emotion and Intellect that guided those Powers. Right?”
He looks confused. “You? I? Sariel is I. Sariel is you. Sariel is not separate but unified. One being in the service of the First.”
Trying hard not to sound too sarcastic I reply. “Right. Well let’s get a few things straight right off. It is my body, my mind, my show. It looks like He put us together for a reason, I will not dispute that, but I am nobodies meat puppet. I serve by informed choice, not blind obedience. You are welcome to stay and learn here, but I do not answer to you. Do you understand?”
“No.”
I pull my first memory out of the air and pass it to him. “Here is the start. Do not change anything, do not try to command me, do not try to possess me, and do not leave the library. Got it?”
“Yes. Sariel obeys the Intellect.” He opens the book. A moment of emotion flickers on His face. He calls the next book. I watch for a while. I wonder what effect a life like mine will have on him.
I can tell when he hits about fourth grade. The micro expressions on his face turn less happy. His face twitches through unhappiness and neutrality a few hundred times then settles on neutral. About grade six, I think. I can see the emotion contained, then the capacity slip away. His face remains fairly neutral for a few minutes, then starts to display signs of happiness. Small at first, a slight twitch of the corners of the mouth. They get a little wider over the next few minutes. Mission in Philadelphia, I think. He hits a state where he is pretty constantly smiling. College. And then I see his face when my wife becomes a feature in my life.
I will say this for watching my life flash across my face at high speed; it is mildly creepy. I watch as my relationship progresses and emotions beyond mirth and neutral slip in. Love, anger, suffering, reconciliation, and others flash across the face of the angel who is me. I continue to watch the next few years flash before his eyes.
The death of my family hits Sariel like a truck. His body stiffens and the micro-expressions get harder to read. Anger, hurt, then neutral. Then rage. I am replaying the scenes in my head as I follow along with him. He comes out of it. He looks at me.
“We defied the Father.”
“Yes.”
“We tried to kick Him in the face.”
“Yes.”
“I am a rebel.” And personal pronouns have entered your life, I think.
“No.”
“I acted against the Father. I am a rebel.”
“And you reconciled with Him, something rebels do not.” I tell him.
“I need more information. Our life, your life, is not enough.” He disappears.
Welcome to the human condition, I think.
*****
I look at the celling, my mind troubled by thoughts of Sariel wandering through an endless library of lives, looking for answers on the pages. I lie in the hospital bed listening to the beeps of the equipment. It has been only a day science my last dream and I am still processing. I close my eyes.
I am standing on a dune in an endless desert, the sand white and warm under my bare feet. I smell flowers. I look and see a shadow racing around the dune. It pauses in front of me then races away. I watch for a minute. It pauses then comes back, circles, races away. I shrug and follow it. It guides me across the sands, the air warm from the white sun overhead. We come to an oasis, green verdant trees around a blue, still pool. I used to think all oases looked like this, a vision from the 1001 nights. I saw the green allied pools in Iraq and learned otherwise. I shake the thought off and look around. The shadow has stilled by the pool. In the center of the shallow water a pillar raises, white marble contrasted by black. The black depicts a man taking a knife and feeding blood to a shadow. No ambiguity there. The next shows a third eye growing in the center of the man’s forehead, the shadow whispering in his ear. Power for power then. I reach into the alcove indicated and pick up the knife, slice across my palm gently and pour the blood into a groove on the pillar. The shadow rushes to the base and sits where the groove and water meet. As the blood mixes with the water in the shadow a light rises and grows blinding. I raise my hand and close my eyes. I listen very hard but hear nothing.
Hello.
I open my eyes. When I was a teenager there was a girl who sat behind me in science class who was absolutely gorgeous to me at the time named Jen. The girl in front of me could be her doppelganger. It has been nigh on eight years or so since I have seen her; she looks young to me now. She is wearing a white sundress and is barefoot.
Hi. Who are you and where are we? I say.
An excellent question. She says.
I wait. She says nothing more.
Ok, I will guess. Ali babas cave, and you Shezerazad. I say.
She shakes her head no.
This will be a long boring game if we do not play together. I say.
You are right. No, I am not Shezerazad, and this is not the 1001 nights. She says.
Perhaps this is my version of paradise. I say.
Then this is the garden and I am eve? She says.
Unlikely. I am certainly no Adam and my version of paradise has better internet access. Besides if I were Adam, Eve would be my wife. You are not Kristina. I say.
Perhaps I am Lilith. She says.
Planning on mating with me and birthing all the monsters of the world? I say.
That would be a bit incestuous but perhaps not inaccurate. Say instead that I am Athena, sprung full formed from the head of Zeus. She says.
So it is my mind again. I say.
Always was. She says.
And you. What are you? I say.
Under mind, unconscious avatar. Daemon. She says.
I laugh. You and Sariel are going to get on like a house on fire. Daemon, not demon, huh?
Correct. She says.
Interesting. So you’re function in my personal cosmology is what exactly? I say.
That might be too simple. To define something is to lock it down, pretending at understanding. There are multiple levels of understanding for anything. A simple circle, for example, can mean many things to many people for example. For some it might represent the sun, or the blueprint for a tower, or the outside edge of a glass. No one thing is simply what it is. She says.
I am not asking your central being, but an idea as to you most common function would be helpful. Again, I get the feeling you are going to be around a while and going without understanding would be counterproductive. I say.
Very well. With the understanding these are the merest scratch on the surface. I am your teacher, guide, naysayer, the refiner of your unfinished thoughts, and the mother of your unconscious ideas. She says.
Closer to Lilith than I thought then. So you are the ID to my ego and Sariel’s superego. I say.
How do you know I am not the ego itself? She says.
I gesture down at me. I am the conscious ego, clearly. I would peg Sariel as the Super ego. And it is getting crowded in here. Guess that leaves. I say.
The ID. Yes, very good. And very limiting. I am more than just the inherited and inherent desires of your unconscious mind; I am also the sum of the background processes running in the back of your mind. It has been very instructive. She says.
That is a little frightening. So why here, why now? And why her? I say.
Here, because you wanted it to be, now because prior to we lacked the ability to speak face to face, and her because she was your first major crush. She says.
Very well. You called this meeting. What do you wish to discuss? I say.
Morality. She says.
That is a broad topic. Why and what about it? I say.
Because I am curious, what it is and how it works, as you are constantly thinking and then double thinking about it. She says.
Morality for me is the personal set of rules I aspire to live my life by. It is the base code by which I can not only survive but live with myself. I say.
That is illogical, survival is the only virtue. She says.
False. That statement is only true if you value your own self and your relationship with your own self above that of something you value. Emotions are illogical but they provide the only context we have as a species to make judgment calls, form relationships with other humans and propagate the species. You can make the logical deduction that the world as a whole is better off with someone better qualified to guide and affect it. For example, I do not think we would be able to effect the changes Martin Luther King, Jr. did during the civil rights movement. If we had been alive and could have chosen to take his place on the chopping block the choice from a species point of view would be a simple one. From a personal point of view I value the continued life and wellbeing of my wife and children above my own survival. I say.
Why? From what you are saying value is relative, to be assigned by the whim and whimsy of illogical glandular secretion. By logic you can marry again, perhaps have more children. She says.
You say illogical glandular secretion; I say logical species survival mechanism. It is true I could marry again and perhaps have more children, but they would not be this wife or these children. I know my wife and she is by far the better person than I. My daughter, regardless of others I may have I value for her own combination of attributes. More doesn’t matter. For me to be emotionally and logically good I need these ones to continue. Emotion is illogical but one hundred percent necessary when viewed from a species survival point of view. From a personal point of view most people make up the logic needed to support an emotional stance. Since all things are determined by the perspective of the viewer, logic differs from person to person. If I say, “My life is paramount because logic decrees that I am better than you!” then the logical response from any other person can be, “Better at what? My life is as important as yours. “Survival is not the ultimate virtue. Choosing what relationships you value above you own continued existence is. I say.
So no one human life can be taken as being more important than others? She says.
Depends on your point of view. I would kill and die for my wife and daughter, for to me their survival is more important than any other. From a worldwide perspective you are correct, the lives of my family are no more important than any other. But due to my relationship with them I value them more than any other. I say.
But survival is not a right? She says.
Clearly not. Survival is predicated on the functional understanding that you will die someday. That is the only concept that gives survival any meaning. If you were immortal there would be no need for the concept of survival. You would continue regardless of obstacle. I say.
If not survival what unalienable rights do human beings have then? She says.
None, obviously. I say.
None? Seems a little harsh doesn’t it? She says.
None, there are no guaranteed rights inherent to the human condition that are not artificialy imposed. For the most part you have the right to think and mostly the right to die. That is all. I say.
And the right to be born? She says.
Not hardly. Think of all the aborted fetuses, the birth control measures, and the miscarriages. If every sperm and every egg is a potential human being then they should each have a right to be born. Clearly false. There are thousands of sperm per egg. There are hundreds of eggs per woman. By and large even the largest families do not have more than 20 children on the same woman; the system damage to her would be too great. Logically that is a waste of potentially hundreds of human’s right to live. So the right to be born is clearly not guaranteed. I say.
And all other rights are granted or imposed. I can see that. She says.
I should hope so; I am you, after all. So agencies already existent impose some version of what they consider moral behavior on an impressionable growing mind. That mind, constrained by language, culture, genetics, etc. is raised to behave in certain ways when morality is concerned. An individual really has no rights that can’t be taken from him by another external entity or group of entities beyond the right to think. The rights given by a governing entity can be repealed at any moment, and the larger the group the more likely an individual’s right to choose can be impinged on. But eliminating suffering overall is not a solution. I say.
Why not? Almost all government entities are designed to eliminate the maximum amount of suffering to their ruling class. Most individual’s views of good and evil are based on the idea of eliminating suffering for others as good and harming others as evil. She says.
Because the entire system is predicated on the fact that humans suffer. Without suffering you have no growth. An individual can eliminate all suffering from their life and if they do they become stagnant. Accordingly, eliminating all human suffering would be counterproductive. I say.
By that logic causing others to suffer could be viewed as a holy calling. She says.
That goes too far the other way. There is a middle path between lobotomizing the human race by giving them no mountains to climb and forcing all of them to climb Everest. Understanding that every action has unintended consequenses and that suffering both for you and the ones you love is inevitable is a hard conclusion to draw. Morality is deciding what suffering would be too much, comforting the deserving when you can, and eliminating those who cause needless suffering to others. I say.
You mean kill them. She says.
I mean eliminate them. You can ostracize someone from your social group, walk away or talk to them and make them aware of the consequence of their action. While some people the world is better off without most people can be eliminated as a source of suffering without killing them. I say.
Interesting. So what is the absolute foundation of your morality? What do you believe? She says.
I can bullitize it for you.
1. Kristina and our children are sacred.
2. Follow the dictates of the Church when it is moral and intelligent to do so.
3. Harm only those who have proven deserving of it.
That sounds simple enough but I can see it isn’t. The interplay of deciding when the dictates of the Church are both moral and intelligent alone has caused you much mental anguish. She says.
Yes. Does this answer your question as to what I think morality is? I say.
For now. I will be seeing you around. She says.
I blink and the desert disappears. I am staring at the celling again. The beeps from the hospital machinery around me are still annoying. It is getting crowded in the unlimited expanse of my mind.
Hello.
I open my eyes. When I was a teenager there was a girl who sat behind me in science class who was absolutely gorgeous to me at the time named Jen. The girl in front of me could be her doppelganger. It has been nigh on eight years or so since I have seen her; she looks young to me now. She is wearing a white sundress and is barefoot.
Hi. Who are you and where are we? I say.
An excellent question. She says.
I wait. She says nothing more.
Ok, I will guess. Ali babas cave, and you Shezerazad. I say.
She shakes her head no.
This will be a long boring game if we do not play together. I say.
You are right. No, I am not Shezerazad, and this is not the 1001 nights. She says.
Perhaps this is my version of paradise. I say.
Then this is the garden and I am eve? She says.
Unlikely. I am certainly no Adam and my version of paradise has better internet access. Besides if I were Adam, Eve would be my wife. You are not Kristina. I say.
Perhaps I am Lilith. She says.
Planning on mating with me and birthing all the monsters of the world? I say.
That would be a bit incestuous but perhaps not inaccurate. Say instead that I am Athena, sprung full formed from the head of Zeus. She says.
So it is my mind again. I say.Always was. She says.
And you. What are you? I say.
Under mind, unconscious avatar. Daemon. She says.
I laugh. You and Sariel are going to get on like a house on fire. Daemon, not demon, huh?
Correct. She says.
Interesting. So you’re function in my personal cosmology is what exactly? I say.
That might be too simple. To define something is to lock it down, pretending at understanding. There are multiple levels of understanding for anything. A simple circle, for example, can mean many things to many people for example. For some it might represent the sun, or the blueprint for a tower, or the outside edge of a glass. No one thing is simply what it is. She says.
I am not asking your central being, but an idea as to you most common function would be helpful. Again, I get the feeling you are going to be around a while and going without understanding would be counterproductive. I say.
Very well. With the understanding these are the merest scratch on the surface. I am your teacher, guide, naysayer, the refiner of your unfinished thoughts, and the mother of your unconscious ideas. She says.
Closer to Lilith than I thought then. So you are the ID to my ego and Sariel’s superego. I say.
How do you know I am not the ego itself? She says.
I gesture down at me. I am the conscious ego, clearly. I would peg Sariel as the Super ego. And it is getting crowded in here. Guess that leaves. I say.
The ID. Yes, very good. And very limiting. I am more than just the inherited and inherent desires of your unconscious mind; I am also the sum of the background processes running in the back of your mind. It has been very instructive. She says.
That is a little frightening. So why here, why now? And why her? I say.
Here, because you wanted it to be, now because prior to we lacked the ability to speak face to face, and her because she was your first major crush. She says.
Very well. You called this meeting. What do you wish to discuss? I say.
Morality. She says.
That is a broad topic. Why and what about it? I say.
Because I am curious, what it is and how it works, as you are constantly thinking and then double thinking about it. She says.
Morality for me is the personal set of rules I aspire to live my life by. It is the base code by which I can not only survive but live with myself. I say.
That is illogical, survival is the only virtue. She says.
False. That statement is only true if you value your own self and your relationship with your own self above that of something you value. Emotions are illogical but they provide the only context we have as a species to make judgment calls, form relationships with other humans and propagate the species. You can make the logical deduction that the world as a whole is better off with someone better qualified to guide and affect it. For example, I do not think we would be able to effect the changes Martin Luther King, Jr. did during the civil rights movement. If we had been alive and could have chosen to take his place on the chopping block the choice from a species point of view would be a simple one. From a personal point of view I value the continued life and wellbeing of my wife and children above my own survival. I say.
Why? From what you are saying value is relative, to be assigned by the whim and whimsy of illogical glandular secretion. By logic you can marry again, perhaps have more children. She says.
You say illogical glandular secretion; I say logical species survival mechanism. It is true I could marry again and perhaps have more children, but they would not be this wife or these children. I know my wife and she is by far the better person than I. My daughter, regardless of others I may have I value for her own combination of attributes. More doesn’t matter. For me to be emotionally and logically good I need these ones to continue. Emotion is illogical but one hundred percent necessary when viewed from a species survival point of view. From a personal point of view most people make up the logic needed to support an emotional stance. Since all things are determined by the perspective of the viewer, logic differs from person to person. If I say, “My life is paramount because logic decrees that I am better than you!” then the logical response from any other person can be, “Better at what? My life is as important as yours. “Survival is not the ultimate virtue. Choosing what relationships you value above you own continued existence is. I say.
So no one human life can be taken as being more important than others? She says.
Depends on your point of view. I would kill and die for my wife and daughter, for to me their survival is more important than any other. From a worldwide perspective you are correct, the lives of my family are no more important than any other. But due to my relationship with them I value them more than any other. I say.
But survival is not a right? She says.
Clearly not. Survival is predicated on the functional understanding that you will die someday. That is the only concept that gives survival any meaning. If you were immortal there would be no need for the concept of survival. You would continue regardless of obstacle. I say.
If not survival what unalienable rights do human beings have then? She says.
None, obviously. I say.
None? Seems a little harsh doesn’t it? She says.
None, there are no guaranteed rights inherent to the human condition that are not artificialy imposed. For the most part you have the right to think and mostly the right to die. That is all. I say.
And the right to be born? She says.
Not hardly. Think of all the aborted fetuses, the birth control measures, and the miscarriages. If every sperm and every egg is a potential human being then they should each have a right to be born. Clearly false. There are thousands of sperm per egg. There are hundreds of eggs per woman. By and large even the largest families do not have more than 20 children on the same woman; the system damage to her would be too great. Logically that is a waste of potentially hundreds of human’s right to live. So the right to be born is clearly not guaranteed. I say.
And all other rights are granted or imposed. I can see that. She says.
I should hope so; I am you, after all. So agencies already existent impose some version of what they consider moral behavior on an impressionable growing mind. That mind, constrained by language, culture, genetics, etc. is raised to behave in certain ways when morality is concerned. An individual really has no rights that can’t be taken from him by another external entity or group of entities beyond the right to think. The rights given by a governing entity can be repealed at any moment, and the larger the group the more likely an individual’s right to choose can be impinged on. But eliminating suffering overall is not a solution. I say.
Why not? Almost all government entities are designed to eliminate the maximum amount of suffering to their ruling class. Most individual’s views of good and evil are based on the idea of eliminating suffering for others as good and harming others as evil. She says.
Because the entire system is predicated on the fact that humans suffer. Without suffering you have no growth. An individual can eliminate all suffering from their life and if they do they become stagnant. Accordingly, eliminating all human suffering would be counterproductive. I say.
By that logic causing others to suffer could be viewed as a holy calling. She says.
That goes too far the other way. There is a middle path between lobotomizing the human race by giving them no mountains to climb and forcing all of them to climb Everest. Understanding that every action has unintended consequenses and that suffering both for you and the ones you love is inevitable is a hard conclusion to draw. Morality is deciding what suffering would be too much, comforting the deserving when you can, and eliminating those who cause needless suffering to others. I say.
You mean kill them. She says.
I mean eliminate them. You can ostracize someone from your social group, walk away or talk to them and make them aware of the consequence of their action. While some people the world is better off without most people can be eliminated as a source of suffering without killing them. I say.
Interesting. So what is the absolute foundation of your morality? What do you believe? She says.
I can bullitize it for you.
1. Kristina and our children are sacred.
2. Follow the dictates of the Church when it is moral and intelligent to do so.
3. Harm only those who have proven deserving of it.
That sounds simple enough but I can see it isn’t. The interplay of deciding when the dictates of the Church are both moral and intelligent alone has caused you much mental anguish. She says.
Yes. Does this answer your question as to what I think morality is? I say.
For now. I will be seeing you around. She says.
I blink and the desert disappears. I am staring at the celling again. The beeps from the hospital machinery around me are still annoying. It is getting crowded in the unlimited expanse of my mind.
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