by Cody Lakin
Charlie smiled again. “It is a fact I expect you to accept in time, of course. My purpose here is more philosophical in nature.”
“But if your argument, whatever it is, is based on the existence of some occultist’s imaginary world, then any debate we have right now isn’t one you will win. The same goes for any argument rooted in religious belief, because any and every argument that isn’t based in fact can be immediately discredited on a fundamental level. No sane or rational argument, or stance, can hold up when its very foundation relies entirely on faith in something that can’t be proved. Like an argument I once had with my ex-wife’s religious father over our differing beliefs. All I need is to ask, How do you know? or How can you prove that? What evidence do you have? All he ever had in response was the Bible, and if not that, then his personal faith. And once we get to those, reason and logic and rationality are gone.”
Charlie actually chuckled. “How very harsh a point of view, Andrew Jean, but I can’t disagree. A few days ago, in fact, I visited the local church as part of my laying the groundwork for the truths I intend on introducing to this world. And I engaged the priest there in a debate, not unlike the one we are having now. I told him I wanted to speak with him about the nature of truth, and he happily agreed to speak with me. And he, being a priest, said what you might expect a priest to say. But I refuted him at all points, especially when he tried to passively suggest that his savior was the one and true God, as he put it, as if that had any relevance. And as much as it made him uncomfortable to hear such meticulous argument against his religion—his vocation, I might call it—he continued, reverting to professions of faith, and only faith. Not even his uniquely biased versions of history could salvage what was, essentially, a non-argument.” Charlie shook his head. “This is what I mean when I speak of the brittle foundations upon which the mass paradigms of this lower world stand. There is so little actual truth involved, even, ironically, in this world’s many versions of religions which claim to be only about truth, when they are, in fact, largely void of it. Although, when you think about it, even the most ridiculous of this planet’s religions can be said to have some inklings of truth. Not in their stories, or their origins, or even their texts, but in the philosophies at their hearts, the—shall I say—metaphors behind their stories. Like fables.”
Andrew surprised himself by nodding, even though it made him uneasy to agree. Even as a teenager, when he had still been religious because of his parents, he had believed that the stories in the Bible had never been meant to be taken literally, but had instead been meant as parables, stories full of metaphors with the intent of teaching lessons. He could remember how he had suggested this to a priest, and how adamantly, almost cruelly, the priest had denied him that theory, suggesting in return that he not do so much questioning and instead trust in God.
“I’ve always said that politics and religion are the world’s best excuses for people not to think for themselves,” said Andrew.
Charlie threw his head back with sudden laughter, and clapped his hands. “Brilliant! You are a philosopher if there ever was one, Andrew Jean.”
“What did you do to the priest?”
“Nothing, although he was holding back tears when I left him. You see, I explained to him something that I have learned only recently, and which may be one of the only truths I have ever encountered, which is, in every way, objectively true of all the universe.”
“Which is?”
“That there is no singular truth. To a religious person, this is deeply discomforting, because this means there is no single God, no universal morality, no all-true law binding the world. In short, it means there are no answers, and to the religious, religion is all about answers. To a philosopher, it means there are no facts, only interpretations, as Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote. That is to say, the priest is not wrong to believe in his God, just as an atheist is not wrong to believe there is no God. Both are equally right. The wrong is to allow their beliefs to close their minds, or to turn them into autonomous warriors for their cause, imposing these beliefs, which should remain personal and entirely subjective, on others.
“All of this is, of course, a basic and fundamental truth, and I went into greater depths when elaborating all of this to the priest, but it is a truth nonetheless. The fact that the world even has differing belief systems is superfluous when you consider that, deep down, most belief systems share similar moral values.”
Andrew smiled. “You say that, and yet you talk about a higher world, and how your purpose is about truth.”
“Yes, but the truths I bring are subjective. The truths I speak of are different for every individual.”
“Then how could they make any difference?”
“Because truth, in its purest form, comes from within. The problem with religion, most religions anyway, since we’re on that subject,” said Charlie, “is that they suggest truth comes from the outside. They suggest, most shamefully, that any who do not subscribe to their outside truths are lost. Which is sheer ignorance. The truths of the higher world, however, come from the inside. The fabric of the higher world is the same fabric that makes up the soul of any living being, you see. That is why anyone who sees the higher world will see it differently from someone else.”
Andrew was shaking his head. “You sound no different from any religious person babbling about what their ancient texts say is right, like their imaginary afterlives.”
“I won’t deny that. But I am here to discuss the nature of truth, not the nature of the higher world. That way, we are both objective, and you may cease with your fallacies and cynical close-minded point of view on these matters.”
“Fine.” Andrew glared at him. “What are you really doing here, Charlie? Why engage me like this?”
“It’s simple.” Charlie Knox scratched at the side of his head and looked toward the road. “You are a philosopher of this world. I have come here to try and convince you that, whatever your opinion of me, you cannot deny the truths for which I stand, and which I intend on bringing into this world.”
“And if you fail to convince me?”
“Then I will return to the world from whence I came, and never return. It is where I belong, and I call it home, and should I return there I would have no need to return here, and this world would continue just as it is. If I succeed, however, I have the final task of facing your daughter. And if I succeed at that, too, over time you will see great changes in your world, and in the people around you. Inner changes. Spiritual, soul-deep changes. The very nature of modern civilization will collapse, and something new and entirely removed from it will take its place. You will also see changes in your daughter, whose connection to me is far more than I have ever spoken of.” Knox smiled again; it was a confident, chilling smile. “I believe, by the end of this, you may just see things my way.”
* * *
Having no idea what to do or what she even could do, Jezebel sat on the living room floor of Edgar Forgael’s empty house, and stayed that way with tears in her eyes, trying to make sense of the reeling confusion in her mind and what felt like a gaping hole left behind in her life and her emotions. Edgar had been here, sometimes as a friend, sometimes a support system, but most importantly he had simply always been here, throughout her whole life. And now so suddenly he was gone, having not even taken the time to say goodbye to her in person.
She sniffled, wiping at her eyes. A soft wind blew, causing the walls of the house to flex and creak. How long ago had he gone? This morning? No more than a few minutes ago? It crossed her mind to go to the forest—Fairlane Road—and see if she might catch him before he left. But even if she did go and she did catch him, what could she say?
“Damn it, Edgar,” she whispered, not trusting herself to speak any louder. “Right when I need you most.” She looked t
oward the front door, which she’d left ajar. Sunlight spilled into the dark house through it, making a sharp triangle on the carpeted floor. It would be best to return home and be with her father, especially since she had no clue when Charlie Knox would decide to make his move, but the idea of going to Fairlane Road lingered on her mind, appealing to the constant longing for the higher world which dwelled always in her heart.
I could go, even if just for a few minutes, she thought. Just long enough to make sure Edgar really is gone, and then I’ll come right back to check on Dad. Yes, she decided. That was what she had to do. So, despite her inner voice urging her to return home, she got up and left Edgar’s empty house, intent on going to Fairlane Road. Being so close to it, she could feel its magnetism. It seemed to be calling her.
* * *
Andrew eyed Charlie Knox uneasily, but without fear. “How do you expect me to debate with you about truth when you continue to insist on the existence of your higher world? It’s no more rational than the ancient belief in Valhalla, or Heaven, or any kind of fairytale.”
Charlie Knox shrugged. “Fair point, I’ll admit. Would you agree, however, that if, say, a Pagan were to provide you with solid proof—such as a demonstration—of the existence of one of their gods, that you would have to also accept that god’s existence?”
“Strange example, but I guess so. Anyone who can demonstrate actual, quantifiable proof of their belief, I couldn't deny or refute. It wouldn’t mean the truths of their religion were my personal truths, or applied to my life. But I wouldn’t be able to deny one of their gods if they could prove that one existed.”
“Good enough. Then, perhaps, once we are finished here, I will give you proof of the higher world. But I assure you that in being introduced to it, you will find your own truth. Not outside of you, but within you.”
Andrew raised one eyebrow. “You plan on taking me there?”
“If that is necessary, then yes.” Charlie grinned. “But that will come later. The physical nature of existence is of little importance in this matter. What is important is the mental, the abstract, the metaphorical and metaphysical. Tell me, Andrew Jean: do you believe that a person has a soul?”
“Define what you mean by soul.”
“I speak of the eternal, intangible essence that gives animation to the otherwise inanimate. The untouchable manifested form that is life, that is consciousness. The something that fills nothing.”
Andrew sighed and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. The nature of a person’s soul, and whether or not it existed, was one of many questions about existence he had spent a long portion of his life contemplating, but had only ever concluded that he would never know for sure.
“If it wasn’t for a person’s mind, I would be able to say yes, without a doubt,” Andrew said. “But we have minds, and I’m not certain that, with something like the mind and nervous system, that a soul makes much sense.”
“Ah, yes. From an alternate perspective, however, you might say that the soul is what allows the mind to be. It is the… the witness behind all consciousness and all animation.”
“There would be no way to prove its existence.”
“No, there would not, other than to accept it as being as much a possibility as it is an impossibility. And if we take the supernatural definition of a soul, there’d be no way to prove it because it could not be weighed, or quantified, not in the way that we understand. But what of the mind after death? It dies. The soul would survive, if we agree to its definition.”
“You’re talking about afterlife, Charlie.”
“That I am. The very existence of the soul suggests some form of an afterlife. Not a place, necessarily, but a continuation. An intangible means of survival. A mergence, or reunion, if you will, from the singular to the whole.”
“You mean reincarnation?”
“Perhaps,” said Charlie. “But not in the sense that you mean. I have always thought reincarnation is simply a word, a meaning, given to the scientific idea that when we die, our essence, the mass that is our body and our energy, doesn’t die, it is recycled, rejoined with the Earth and the universe so that it may, one day, take another form. Or many forms. In that sense, the soul is merely the fact of our existence. It is our existence, not as individuals, but as an entire conscious species..”
Andrew exhaled harshly through his nose. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Curiosity, I suppose. There is relevance to everything we say here.”
“These aren’t questions that people like us can hope to answer.”
“No? I thought you’d say so,” Charlie said. “According to what I’ve learned about you and your lifelong philosophizing, you hide behind the claim that opinion is separate from fact. You justify your personal philosophies and beliefs because they are just that: personal philosophies and beliefs. You lack the conviction to accept your own beliefs as facts of the world.”
Andrew sat up. He felt a hot tension rising in his chest and the slow-building urge to simply explode. “That’s because I don’t pretend to have all of the answers, unlike people like your parents, and apparently you. Wisdom isn’t knowing everything, it’s knowing that you never will; knowing that you don’t really know anything. That’s the difference between idiots and wise men. It’s like you said yourself, Charlie, to that priest. It’s like what Nietzsche said. There are no facts, only interpretations.”
“I see a great contradiction in how you see your world, Andrew Jean. On one hand, you admit that in reality, none of us, not even you, can ever truly know anything. And yet knowing this isn’t enough for it to matter, since you insist on the truth and importance of your own opinions and your own limited understandings of this world. Like it or not, Mr. Jean, even your mind is a closed one. Such as it is with all others, even myself in many ways, you stand upon shaky foundations.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Andrew was almost standing now. “I accept that I am, at least in some ways, close-minded. I accept that. I couldn’t live, or much less function, if… if…”
“If you didn’t shut yourself off?” Charlie Knox crossed one leg over the other, his hands folded in his lap. In response to Andrew’s intensity, Charlie was obscenely calm. “If you didn’t will yourself to stunt your spiritual growth in favor of functioning in a mundane, solid, unchangeable world? Are you afraid that if you pursue your own philosophies to their conclusion, that you may discover you’ve lost the will to continue living in this kind of world? Or is it that you’ve already come to that point, having realizing that you are entirely and utterly alone, merely going through the tired motions until death finally finds you, unwanted and abandoned even by the woman who used to love you and you thought you’d grow old with—”
“Shut up, Knox.”
“Ah-ha,” Charlie chuckled. His eyes had adopted a fiery, playful expression. “There it is. The point at which the great philosophical Andrew Jean closes into pitiful denial.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Do I not? It’s your self-importance that defeats you, Andrew Jean. You can’t bare to feel unwanted, abandoned, marginalized. Your own self-importance, and your blind insistence that your personal philosophies can be considered universal truths, coupled with the contradiction of your acknowledgment that there are no universal truths, are what helped drive your simpleminded wife away. That, and the restlessness of your brilliant mind, your inability to feel contentment. And that’s what drove you to the edge, isn’t it? The emptiness she left you with had to be filled, but instead you just covered it up.” Charlie’s voice was beginning to take on a menacing tone, and its usually melodic lilt was vanishing. “You’re merely finding daily excuses not to kill yourself, equally afraid and indifferent to the coming day w
hen you can find no excuse, not even for the life of your daughter—”
“That’s enough, Knox!” Abruptly Andrew stood and glared down at his grinning, amused enemy. “I won’t sit here while you tear my life apart, as if you have any authority to judge me, to tear into me and think you’re any better. You’re a psychopath, Knox. You’ve killed people for your deluded cause.”
“Fallacy. The final resort of the cornered mind.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
“You’re in denial. You’ve constructed defenses around your own darker recesses, and can’t bear to face yourself, or to face any deeper, darker truths about the world. You want proof of the soul’s existence, Mr. Jean, be it metaphorical proof or actual? Consider that inability to face your inner, deepest, truest self. Your soul is damaged, crippled, paralyzed, and yet the soul is stronger than the mind. The mind is merely its… its clearest avenue of communication with the body. That is why you can’t heal. That’s why the mention of your wife still hurts, and why you can’t stand to admit or realize that Jezebel is the final tether you have to the world, and is the sole reason you have not yet sought self-destruction.”
There it was, laid out in the open, and hearing it said—even said by Charlie Knox—struck Andrew with such force and with such weight that for a moment his mind spun into disorientation and went void of thought entirely. Then he regained himself, and tears filled his eyes. How could that be true? How could that be true, and he not know it until it was spoken?
More softly now, Charlie Knox continued. “There are a precious few individuals who live their lives in such a way that they come to discover that some emotions are infinite. Too many are too afraid, or have their minds too closed by banal politics and religion and society’s insistence on the superficial, on the meaningless, to ever experience the infinite depths certain emotions can reach. The intellect, for however much we need it, knows boundaries that the soul does not. Like empathy, joy, love, concepts, ideas, feelings, which can be understood and contemplated through the intellect, but are in fact the makeup of the soul.” Charlie paused to let himself breathe, wallowing in his own words. “And there is a dark side of this, too. Such as lust, an emotion of primal instinct that consumes from the inside if it is… overindulged. And there is pain, sorrow, fear, grief. You are one such person, Mr. Jean. The rare, philosophical, deep-thinking individual with equal capacity for living fully, who has seen the abyss of certain emotions, but has chosen, foolishly, to step back into safety, thus putting yourself on the edge of a dangerous breed of nihilism.”