Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Walter Kaufmann-How to go to Hell-Satan and a Theologian

This is the first of three dialogues written by Walter Kaufmann in his book Critique of Religion and Philosophy. The first half of the book focuses on critiques of philosophy while the second half focuses upon religion. I will say the dialogues fit perfectly within the flow of the book and as such can be best understood within the context of the whole work but they can stand on their own and are definitely worth reading. Each dialogue features Satan as the main character. There is one with a theologian, one with a Christian and one with an atheist. This dialogue is between Satan and a Theologian. It is, by far, the densest of the three dialogues dealing mostly with philosophical concepts though the second half of it does move past pure philosophy and deals with issues concerning ethics and scripture.

I believe all the dialogues are fun reads because they are written to be both serious and humorous and in many ways that is how issues of religion really need to be approached; with a serious sense of humor.

Go here to read the dialogue with the Christian
Go here to read the dialogue with the Atheist

Dialogue between Satan and a Theologian

Satan: I just had an argument with a man who tried to rehabilitate metaphysics as a kind of poetry.

Theologian: How ridiculous! Judged as poetry, Spinoza’s Ethics and Hegel’s Logic would be worse than ever.

Satan: Of course. And in poetry inconsistency is permissible, while in metaphysics, once you commit yourself to what is sometimes called a root metaphor, you have to stick to it. The whole point of the game is to see how far you can get with it.

Theologian: But it is not meant to be a metaphor.

Satan: How true! The metaphysician claims that his metaphors are no metaphors—or at the very least that his metaphors are the only ones in terms of which everything that is at all understandable can be understood. Hegel and Spinoza are not proposing one way among many others: each claims that his own metaphysic is the most rational yet, Homer, Shakespeare, and Goethe made no comparable claims for their creations.

Theologian: Still, one can see why people might compare metaphysics and poetry.

Satan: Sure. Metaphysics is a kind of lyrical chess—a game in which a man’s feelings about the world are expressed in quasi-mathematical fashion. But the metaphysician wastes his life playing a single game without ever realizing that it is a mere game. And when he sees another man playing a similar game he is sure that the other fellow is wrong. He mistakes his own tactic for the truth.

Theologian: Are you in earnest? A metaphysic is not an episode begun at pleasure. Metaphysics is an epic, and the metaphysician is a bard who wants to correct mistakes made by his predecessors. It is against them that he pits his skill in an effort to hear the true melody. And chess and other such games are metaphysics deprived of dimension, meaning, and consequence. They are pale substitutes for man’s proper vocation, which they reduce to the level of pleasure without profit and rivalry without risk. No wonder that these petty games can never satisfy and that the quest of satisfaction leads from game to game in an endless but futile search for what really can be found only on a different plane: in metaphysics—or eventually in theology.

Satan: I don’t like the twist you have given to my line. But I can afford to lose an argument about metaphysics, which, after all, interests me only as a snare for theologians and others who, but for its fatal lure, would probably have gone to heaven. But losing an argument about theology might cost me my job.

Theologian: Do you consider theology a game, too?

Satan: Would you deny its playfulness?

Theologian: What could be more serious?

Satan: That, my friend, is a spurious alternative. Play and seriousness do not preclude each other. Think of King Lear.

Theologian: Are you punning on the word “play”?

Satan: No. There is something playful about a play, even about a tragedy: it gives free play to the imagination and yet follows certain rules; it has its life in a world of its own, a world of leisure and fancy; it is its own reward and requires no justification in terms of expediency; it offers suspense and is yet repeatable, and the suspense does not evaporate with repetition.

Theologian: I remember having read something similar in Huizinga’s little book, Homo Ludens; but he did not extend these ideas to theology.

Satan: Yet he shows how they are applicable to philosophy. He points to the play element in the performances of Sophists; he emphasizes the origin of Greek philosophy in leisure and the similarity of philosophic puzzles to non-philosophic puzzles; and he cites Plato in his own behalf.

Theologian: The Sophists, of course, were playing; but Socrates and Plato were not. Plato was as serious a thinker as ever lived, and Socrates even paid for his ideas with his life.

Satan: Your spurious alternative again! Of course, they were serious; but unlike most theologians they had a sense of humor: they realized that they were playing a game of sorts. And Socrates’ childlike delight in his own clever moves and his frank laughter at the clumsiness of his opponents infuriated his fellow Athenians. One by one he challenged them to engage in a contest with him, and one by one they lost, not in the privacy of a study but in the market place where other men of leisure came to watch the game and see the greatest reputations bested by the witty Socrates with his inimitable irony.

Theologian: Well, if that is what you mean when speaking of a game and playfulness, I suppose you find a contest of sorts in the dialogues of Plato, too. Certainly, the Greater Hippias and Protagoras are playful in a way, and the Symposion is cast in the form of a contest.

Satan: The whole form of the dialogue is playful. The dialogue is a kind of a play—certainly serious, but no more so than King Lear. The trouble with most later philosophers was that they accepted the same false alternative which you have urged against me: being serious, they thought that they could not be playful, and soon little laughter was heard among philosophers.

Theologian: I suppose the time has come for me to say that I can afford to lose an argument about metaphysics, while losing an argument about theology might cost me my job. You are quite right: the philosophers are merely playing around with petty puzzles, trying to best each other and to win an argument. But theology is very different.

Satan: Was Abelard a theologian?

Theologian: One of the greatest.

Satan: You will remember that he started out as a philosopher. Do you also recall why he first turned to the exegesis of the Bible?

Theologian: To win a bet. You are coming back to Huizinga. Yes, Abelard admitted that he liked the arms of dialectic better than the arms of war, and he enjoyed triumph after triumph till at last he encamped his school upon a hill to “besiege” his rival who held the chair in Paris. And Huizinga says that the same mixture of rhetoric, war, and play can be duplicated in Muslim scholasticism.

Satan: All right, if you admit that, we can forget Huizinga. Just let me quote him once: “In the whole development of scholasticism and universities the agonal element is as crucial as possible. The long popularity of the problem of universals as the central topic of philosophic discussion, and the division into realists and nominalists is certainly connected with the primary need to form parties over some issue.” Surely, Huizinga is right that there is a playful element in polemics. And with that I am quite willing to leave him.

Theologian: Are you admitting no difference at all between theology and philosophy?

Satan: In theology the stakes are higher—and people used to get burned on them. Not only that: one was threatened with eternal damnation. The game had a Roman touch and for centuries never quite lost the odor of the arena. And the forcible disputes with rabbis in the Middle Ages were not altogether unlike a bullfight.

Theologian: Let bygones be bygones! The modern theologian does not participate in contests or besiege his adversaries.

Satan: He composes monologues, alas! And most of them are quite unreadable.

Theologian: I suppose you prefer to read Gibbon and Voltaire, Nietzsche and Freud. But surely that is quite beside the point. What matters is that the modern theologian is a highly serious person, much more similar to a professor of history or science than to a Sophist or a gladiator.

Satan: Surely, more similar to a Sophist!

Theologian: I wish you would be serious for once. Some theologians are fine historians.

Satan: You mean that “theology” is often very loosely used to embrace any study of religion. Indeed, according to one of the definitions in Webster’s—“the critical, historical, and psychological study of religion and religious ideas”—The Decline and Fall and The Future of an Illusion would be classics of theology, and Gibbon, Nietzsche, and Freud would qualify as theologians. But that is surely ridiculous. Nor should we call every scholar who happens to be teaching at a seminary a theologian. Or would you insist on calling atheistic church historians theologians?

Theologian: Of course not. But some outstanding theologians have been, and are, good historians.

Satan: A theologian who is also a candid historian is like the author of Alice in Wonderland who was also a mathematician—and even more like Penelope who unraveled at night what she had woven by day.

Theologian: Let us forget about theologians and discuss theology.

Satan: Theology is a contradiction in terms: there can be no “science of God,” comparable to geology, biology, or physiology. A god who could be studied scientifically would be no god.

Theologian: Theology is the queen of the sciences and older than they are.

Satan: Theology was founded by Plato and Aristotle, who eulogized their highest principles by calling them divine. Theology is an impertinence perpetrated by a couple of philosophers.

Theologian: How preposterous! There are good scholarly books on the theology of the pre-Socratics and of the Old Testament.

Satan: Their titles are glaringly anachronistic. To be sure, the pre-Socratics spoke of “gods”; but they did not pretend to speak of them scientifically. Heraclitus spoke of the divine in veiled aphorisms; Parmenides, in poetry. Nor can you find in them the least trace of apologetics for traditional religion. They have only one thing in common with theologians.

Theologian: What is that?

Satan: They often used the word “god” in the strangest ways.

Theologian: And what of the Old Testament?

Satan: That certainly did not purport to offer nonpoetic discourse about God.

Theologian: What, then, do you make of the Book of Job?

Satan: I have mixed feelings about it. I like it because it is one of the very few places in the Old Testament in which I am mentioned. What I don’t like is that I am given such a pitifully small part. In never even occurs to anyone that the problem of evil might be explained by giving me some credit. And that goes for the author as well as the characters.

Theologian: That only shows the profundity of the book. The author wisely realized that crediting you would not solve the problem. The next question would have been: And why did God allow you to have your will? But what I meant with my question was whether the Book of Job was not theological?

Satan: In the first place, it is poetic and not scientific discourse; in the second place, the book probably owes its final form to Hellenistic times; and in the third place, it is the most anti-theological treatise ever written.

Theologian: You take too narrow a view of theology.

Satan: It is in Plato that we first encounter the word; but that of which he and Aristotle furnished a science, or a pseudoscience was not God.

Theologian: You mean that it was not the Christian God?

Satan: It was neither the God of Abraham and Job nor the God of Jesus; it was not the Brahma of the Upanishads and not the Tao of Lao-tze.

Theologian: Of course not. Who said they wrote about Brahma or the Tao? You are being ridiculous.

Satan: About the God of Abraham, Job, and Jesus there can be no connected nonpoetic discourse any more than about the Brahma or the Tao; and the God of Job says so outright. In Athens, Socrates had been sentenced to death for not believing in the gods and for corrupting the youth of Athens. Plato and Aristotle did not believe in the old gods either, but they called their own highest principles divine and escaped the fate of Socrates. Even so, Aristotle had to flee in old age, “lest the Athenians sin twice against philosophy.”

Theologian: What you insinuate about their motivation is ridiculous.

Satan: Their motivation does not matter. The road to my home is paved with splendid motivations. What is important is that “theology” was a fantastic misnomer from the beginning. Plato and Aristotle were most generous with the epithet of divinity and freely accorded it to principles and to physical objects like the stars. Aristotle wrote a Physics and a Metaphysics but spoke freely of “God” and “theology.” And the early Christians failed to see this.

Theologian: That is a stupid point! You are just peeved because Plato no sooner mentions that there must also be an evil soul or god than he forgets about it. But you must not take things so personally. You see, the early Christians were not interested in Aristotle.

Satan: My point is that the early Christians conceived of God in terms of the Greek or Hellenistic Logos. Right in the New Testament, too. That is the beginning of Christian theology. It was a fantastic misunderstanding, the worst mismarriage on record. At first the theologian tried to wed the God of Abraham and Jesus to Hellenistic philosophy; then, in Augustine’s time, to Plato’s; still later to Aristotle’s; and finally Luther went back to the Hellenism of the Fourth Gospel and of Paul. To think that the God of Job could be identified with Aristotle’s magnetlike attractive god!

Theologian: In the first place, the New Testament was not Hellenistic but profoundly Jewish, as W.D. Davies and David Daube have shown, and as the Dead Sea Scrolls prove beyond a doubt. And in the second place, there was a profound humility in the admission that the Hebrew Scriptures did not contain all the wisdom of which man was capable; the men you deride were modest enough to be willing to learn from Greek philosophers.

Satan: First, it was not Greek, and secondly it was! Both your points are untenable. The first depends on a fallacious alternative which you wrongly attribute to your authorities. It is neatly exposed by two brief quotations from Albright: “Greek ways of thinking undoubtedly affected Ecclesiastes about 300 B.C. or a little later” (20) and “The New Testament arouse in a Jewish environment which had been enriched by Hellenic and Iranian elements” (23). And as for your second point: only today I read a reference to “the Apostle Paul, the man who became Christianity’s greatest salesman.”

Theologian: What does that have to do with my point?

Satan: Did he really learn humbly, or was he trying to sell a bill of goods to the Gentiles? He simply found that he could not sell it unless he dressed it up in accordance with the latest fashions of Hellenistic thought. “If I do this thing willingly, I have a reward,” he frankly tells the Corinthians (1:9); and then he explains his strategy: “To the Jews I became as a Jew, that I might gain the Jews; to those under the law, as under the law…to those outside of the law, as outside the law…that I might gain those outside the law. To the weak I became as weak, that I might gain the weak.” And Paul himself sums up his approach: the point is to be “all things to all men.” Surely, Amos and Jeremiah had not been “all things to all men.” They had defied all men. But John, the Evangelist, went even further than Paul. Before long they had thrown in a good dose of Gnosticism as well as the sacraments of the Greek mysteries and some talk of the Logos. Others added a story how Jesus was begotten in the manner made popular by Zeus; Matthew copied some details from the birth of Moses; and Luke added a few sentimental touches. No effort was spared, and their exertions were crowned with success. They offered almost everything that any other religion offered—and heaven, too. What you call humility was really unprecedented brass.

Theologian: I refuse to engage in debate on that level. The early Christians surrendered the haughty exclusiveness of the Jews and—

Satan: Followed the example of less exclusive Jews, like Philo, who had spoken of the Logos in a similar vein a few generations before John.

Theologian: Have it your way: a few of the Jews already had been willing to learn from the Greeks, and the early Christians followed their example rather than the isolationism of the Pharisees. They were willing to concede that the ideas implicit in the poetry of Scripture could be clarified by the wisdom of the Greeks.

Satan: They were merely trying to ingratiate themselves with their audience. Look at John! He writes at a time when the Jews were proscribed by the Romans, and so he goes to absurd extremes to dissociate his religion from that of the Jews by denouncing them on every turn while he fawns on the Romans and turns the hardy Pontius Pilate, who in fact crucified Jews by the hundreds, into the incarnate milk of human kindness.

Theologian: Surely, your facts are questionable.

Satan: Bultmann, who doubts that Jesus ever considered himself the Messiah, concedes that “the movement he sparked among the Jewish people may and must be designated as a messianic movement, for it was inspired by the faith that the messianic expectations would now be fulfilled, and that the kingdom of God was at hand…The Roman procurators resorted to bloody suppression of such movements, and Jesus, too, fell victim to the intervention of the procurator Pilate, When he entered Jerusalem with his followers, his bearing evidently struck the procurator as politically dangerous…In no case may one suppose that Jesus’ ethical teaching so infuriated the Pharisees and scribes that he finally fell victim to their hostility. The constant opposition of the Pharisees and scribes rest upon the schematic imagination of the later Christians” (34f.). But I admit that Bultmann and his colleagues hesitate to draw the inescapable conclusion about the motivation and the moral character of the evangelists and the early Christians.

Theologian: I don’t want to argue about people’s motives. Do you or do you not admit the humility of the early Christians toward Greek thought?

Satan: You can hardly blame me for being fascinated by people’s motives. That is part of my business, you know. But as for your question, the answer is an emphatic No. The attitude of the Book of Job, in which I am mentioned and, as you may recall, make a great point of motivation—that attitude is humble. It humbly admits the impossibility of all theology. But the pontifical dogmatizing of the Christian theologians from Paul and John down to the present is anything but humble. It is arrogant to the point of being ridiculous.

Theologian: You seem to feel that the Old Testament was enough—

Satan: After all, it invented me.

Theologian: The Jews took you over from the Persians; so by the same token you could stop with Zoroastrianism, which also assigns you a far bigger role than the Old Testament ever did.

Satan: But the Old Testament gave me my name. And the Zoroastrian Ahriman had to fight all the time against the god of light. You should not confuse him with me, really. I am much more civilized. I do not like to fight. I like to talk.

Theologian: What I meant to ask you was this: Do you think that the early Christians could not learn anything at all from the Greek philosophers?

Satan: They could have learned a lot, but they learned the wrong things. They might have learned critical thinking; and there was humor in Greek philosophy, too. But there is little of either in the New Testament.

Theologian: You should not complain: it makes a great deal more of you than the Old Testament.

Satan: In the Old Testament I have a small role, but I like it. In the New Testament I play a big role, but I am the subject of endless calumny, and my home is represented as if it were all fire and brimstone and howling and gnashing of teeth.

Theologian: You have a genius for getting away from the subject. I don’t want to talk about you, I want to talk about myself—or rather about theology. Your objections depend on understanding theology too narrowly as a kind of science.

Satan: First, you objected that I call it a game when it really was a science; and now you object that I call it a science. What is it?

Theologian: Theology is the Logos of God, the word concerning God.

Satan: The word concerning God is poetry and may be found in the Tao-Teh-Ching and the Upanishads, in Genesis and Job. Theology is a misguided attempt to make poetry scientific, and the result is neither science nor poetry.

Theologian: Theology is a noble attempt to understand and give a systematic exposition.

Satan: To understand poetry one does not give a systematic exposition of it. That is precisely your mistake. You should study the poetry in its historical context, give attention to its form and to the weight of the words, and in the end re-experience it. That is the most important thing: everything else is merely preliminary.

Theologian: How do you re-experience poetry?

Satan: You try to get at the experience which has found its way into the poem.

Theologian: What do you mean? In the case of the Old Testament alone that would mean hundreds of experiences.

Satan: To get the most out of the Old Testament, you can’t do less. And anyone who has not recaptured these experiences and tries to explain the whole book by writing a theology of it is an imposter.

Theologian: Might there not be a few basic or central experiences, and one experience above all, the experience of God?

Satan: Perhaps what you call the experience of God was really a host of very different experiences all of which have been lumped together under this one label. But be that as it may, you cannot lead people to recapture an experience by giving a systematic exposition of what you take to have been its contents, let alone by threatening with damnation all who disagree.

Theologian: You said that if you lost an argument about theology, that might cost you your job. Now it would seem that if you win your argument you face the same prospect.

Satan: Would I be Satan if I were prudent? Or egotistical? What could be more satanic than to bite the hand that feeds me, regardless of the consequence to me? Is not that how I became the Lord of Hell? Let the pious be prudent! What else is their piety, in nine cases out of ten, but enlightened selfishness? What is satanic is not egoism but the love of truth at the expense of happiness—to find one’s happiness in truth, to oppose illusion, to value integrity above God, and character above salvation.

Theologian: But isn’t Satan a materialist?

Satan: The materialists who want to go to heaven say materialism is the devil, and the egoists who want to go to heaven say that egoism is satanic. But can you imagine a materialist or egoist who would not want to go to heaven?

Theologian: Heaven is for those who love God above riches, and their neighbor as themselves, if not more.

Satan: At most—and even this is rare—they renounce small sums for huge gains, which is hardly renunciation, and they give their neighbors what they themselves have come to feel is not worth having, which is hardly love. They distribute unto the poor what moth and rust corrupt to gain treasure in heaven where neither moth nor rust corrupt.

Theologian: That is a complete perversion of Christianity.

Satan: What, then are the words in Luke 18:22 that follow upon “sell all that you have and distribute to the poor”? What are the very next words?

Theologian: “And you will have treasure in heaven.” But surely that is not the spirit of the Sermon on the Mount.

Satan: Oh, isn’t it? That is just one of the favorite fables of the theologians. How the rhapsodize about unselfishness, obedient love, and all the rest, as if the Sermon on the Mount were not constructed around the theme of enlightened selfishness. Surely, this morality is not centered in the neighbor but in salvation. It is an otherworldly Lohnmoral.

Theologian: Not only theologians know how wrong you are everybody knows it.

Satan: What everybody knows is often untenable. Need I tell you that? The Sermon on the Mount opens with the so-called beatitudes, and each of the nine promises a reward, culminating in the conclusion; “For great is your reward in heaven.” In the Sermon that follows, promises of great rewards and threats of dire punishments alternate continually: “shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven:; “shall in no case enter the kingdom of heaven”; “judgment”; “hell fire”; “your whole body should be cast into hell”; “for if you love those who love you, what reward have you?”; “otherwise you will have no reward”; “will reward you openly”; “your heavenly Father will also forgive you”; “neither will your Father forgive your trespasses”; “lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust corrupt”; “all these things shall be yours as well”; “that you be not judged”; “and the measure you give, shall be the measure you get.”; And in the end—the conclusion should not be ignored—the moral is stated quite explicitly; those who do not do what Jesus commands “will be like a foolish man,” while those who do as they are bidden are likened to “a wise man.” St. Thomas was quite right in agreeing with Aristotle that prudence was a virtue from the Christian point of view too. He forgot to add that it was the Christian virtue par excellence. You Protestant theologians are trying to assimilate to Kant what is basically anti-Kantian. You are embarrassed by any talk of prudence in ethics.

Theologian: You completely misunderstand Aquinas’ conception of prudence, and you forget that Calvin came centuries before Kant. Certainly, Calvin’s ethic was not prudential. And was Luther’s? Worst of all, you talk as if charity had no place at all in Christian ethics. Yet Christianity preached love and changed the morals of untold barbarians by inculcating a supreme regard for love.

Satan: A supremely hypocritical regard for love. Charlemagne sought to convert the Saxons to Christianity by threatening with death all who refused to become his loving subjects. You should read the article on slavery in the Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, written by one of your friends, not by a foe of Christianity. You will find that the captives taken by Charlemagne after his defeat of the Saxons “and by Henry the Fowler and his successors after the defeat of the Slavs were sold as slaves.” Most of the Saxons, of course, had preferred death and were butchered.

Theologian: Didn’t Christianity abolish slavery? Surely, you are falsifying the facts.

Satan: Read the article, my friend. Your apologist there admits that “the abolitionist could point to no one text in the Gospels in defense of his position”; and also that the church tended, “owing to its excessive care for the rights of the masters, even to perpetuate what would otherwise have passed away.” Face the facts: “Legislation forbade Christian slaves to be sold to pagans or Jews, but otherwise tended to recognize slavery as a normal institution.” And again: “The general tone of this legislation can hardly be said to favor the slave.” And did you really not know that the church itself “was a slave-owner”?

Theologian: You don’t expect me to stand up for the Catholic Church, do you? In the Reformation love became central.

Satan: Surely, you do not suppose that Luther was against slavery any more than the Catholic Church? Do I have to quote Luther to you? “There is to be no bondage because Christ has freed us all? What is all this? This would make Christian freedom fleshly!...Read St. Paul and see what he teaches about bondsmen…This claim, therefore goes straight against the Gospel and is criminal in that each robs his master of his body which is his master’s property. For a bondsman can be a Christian and have Christian freedom, even as a prisoner and a sick man can be Christians, even though they are not free. This claim aims to make all men equal and to make a worldly, external kingdom of the spiritual kingdom of Christ. And this is impossible. For a worldly kingdom cannot exist unless there is inequality among men, so that some are free and others captive.” (581).

Theologian: That is the late Luther, counseling the Swabian peasants to keep the peace. That was written under the stress of extraordinary events that were endangering the whole Reformation. If he had supported the peasants, he would have lost the crucial support of the princes.

Satan: The last Luther? In 1525, four years after the Diet at Worms! You admire Luther from breaking with Catholicism, but cease to admire him the moment he broke with it.

Theologian: There is nothing inconsistent in that.

Satan: But there is, assuming you agree with Luther that the right faith begets good works; and that without the right faith good works are impossible. For you believe that he did the right things as long as he clung to the wrong faith, and that he began to do wrong as soon as his faith became entirely right. You amuse me, but your conception of the “late” Luther won’t stand scrutiny. It hinges on the ridiculous assumption that the young Luther was a democrat, and that he later betrayed principles for the mere sake of expediency. But he never was a democrat, nor did he betray his principles any more than Paul whom he was following. Luther gave very similar advice to Christian prisoners of war who had been made slaves by infidel Turks: “You are robbing and stealing your body from your mater, your body that he had bought or acquired in some other way, so that it be no longer yours, but his property, like cattle or other goods” (581 f.).

Theologian: You are getting away from the subject. We were talking about love.

Satan: You mean to say that this has nothing to do with love? But actually it was you who changed the subject by introducing love. What I was talking about was prudence. Even when it stares you in the face, you simply ignore it. Yet Jesus himself concludes the Sermon on the Mount, which he began by harping on the theme of reward and which he continued with promises and threats, by saying expressly that anybody who does not obey is a fool while those who do obey are “wise.” Now if Satan were an egoist, as you suppose, he would not be at all satanic. There would not be a drop of wickedness left in him; he would simply be a wretched fool. Every pious soul would be much shrewder.

Theologian: What troubles me is precisely that you are not wicked. Wrong as you are in many ways, you seem full of decent, even noble, feelings; scholarly and gentle; and in places I feel closer to you than to many theologians.

Satan: If I had come to you with horns and tail, speaking of the delights of wine and sex, should I have got this far with you? Would I be Satan if I had not eye for my audience? After all, I am speaking to a decent, even noble, person, scholarly and gentle—

Theologian: False flatterer! Now I know you.

Satan: I do not worship numbers. Let the theologians learn from me, give up theology, and go to heaven. There are too many of them in hell as it is. For centuries they have been sending each other to me. What I want is less of the blind leading the blind and more who choose hell with open eyes.

1 comment:

  1. wth too looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong