The Covenant Of The Flame

'But they're not wrong,' Tess said. 'I work for a magazine that tries to protect the environment. Carcinogenic substances are all around us.'

'Absolutely,' Professor Harding said. 'The poisons are evident. My lilies struggle to blossom. They're not half as brilliant as they used to be.'

'Richard, if you wouldn't mind…' Priscilla tapped her gnarled fingers on the desk. I'm suddenly, terribly thirsty. I'd appreciate very much if you went to the kitchen and brewed us some tea.'

'Why, of course.' Professor Harding grasped his cane. 'Any special preference?'

'Whatever you choose, I'm sure will be fine.'

'In that case, I think Lemon Lift, dear.'

'Excellent.'

As Professor Harding hobbled from the study, Priscilla narrowed her wrinkle-rimmed eyes toward Tess. Alone, the two women faced each other.

'Carcinogenic substances and so-called biological accidents are exactly my point,' Priscilla said. 'Physical evil. Theological evil.'

Tess shook her head. 'But how can cancer have anything to do with theology?'

'Pay attention. According to Christianity, a generous loving God made the universe.'

That's right,' Tess said.

'So what kind of God would add crime and cancer to that universe? The existence of those evils makes the traditional Christian God seem not at all benign. In fact, it makes Him seem cruel. Perverse. Inconsistent. That's why the Devil was invented.'

Devil? Tess thought. What the…? This is getting…

'Lucifer,' Priscilla said. The topmost angel in heaven. The superstar of God's deputies. But the Light-Bearer, as he's sometimes called, wasn't satisfied with being a deputy. No, that powerful angel wanted even more power. He wanted God's power. He thought he could compete. But when he tried, God pushed him down, oh so far down, to the depths, to the newly created fires of hell. And God changed his name from Lucifer to Satan, and Satan in his fury vowed to corrupt God's perfect universe, to introduce evil into the world.'

'But that part of Christianity always seemed to me a myth,' Tess said.

'To you. However, the majority of Christians, especially fundamentalists, believe and base their lives on that conception. God and the fallen angel. Satan is a convenient explanation for the spreading evil around us.'

'You sound like the nun who gave me catechism lessons every Sunday after mass.'

'Do I?' Priscilla wrinkled her already wrinkled brow. 'Well, I'm about to teach you a different catechism. And it might undermine your faith. As well, I regret to say, it might terrify you.'

Tess straightened, her muscles cramping as she listened with greater tension.

'The trouble with using Satan as an explanation for the existence of evil,' Priscilla said, 'is that God can still be accused of perversity. Because God tolerates Satan's evil. Because He allows Satan to oppress us with crime and disease.'

Tess shook her head once again. The nun who taught me catechism used to say that God decided to condone Satan's evil rather than destroy him – in order to test us. If we overcome the temptation of evil and accept the hardship of disease, we can gain a higher place in heaven.'

'Now, Tess, really. Do you honestly believe that?'

'Well… Maybe not. But at least, it's what I was taught.'

'And this is what I was taught.' Priscilla's tone became bitter. 'Richard and I had a son. Jeremy. Our only child. When he was ten, he died – in excruciating pain – from bone cancer. Thirty years later, I still wake from nightmares of how much he suffered. That sweet, dear, perfect boy never harmed anyone. He didn't have the faintest idea of what sin was.' Priscilla's eyes misted. 'Nonetheless God allowed that vicious disease to torture my son. If Satan is responsible for evil, God is responsible for Satan and ultimately for what happened to Jeremy. I still blame God for what happened to my…' The mist in Priscilla's eyes faded, replaced by a hard determination. 'So I come back to the question I asked you earlier. How can a benign, all-loving God permit evil? The Christian attempt to provide an answer, by inventing a fallen angel, is not at all satisfactory.'

Priscilla scowled, then continued. 'However, there is another myth that provides a more logical explanation for the existence of evil. Thousands of years before Christ, our ancestors believed in two gods, a good one and a bad one, co-equal, both of them fighting for control of the universe. That version of Satan wasn't a fallen angel but rather a divinity. The virtuous god was independent from and hence couldn't be held responsible for the evil god and the viciousness that the evil god inflicted on us. The earliest evidence we have for this belief comes from the fourth millennium BC in ancient Iraq, specifically in the valley between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. That's where tradition tells us the Garden of Eden was supposed to have existed.'

'The serpent in the garden,' Tess said.

'Exactly. But that serpent wasn't a fallen angel. He was a symbol of an evil god in combat with a virtuous one.'

Tess couldn't help staring toward a clock on the wall. Craig. He'd be landing at Washington National Airport soon! He expected her to meet him!

'Don't look at the clock, Tess. Look at me. Keep paying attention.' Priscilla braced her shoulders with professorial sternness. The concept of opposite but equally powerful gods spread throughout the Mideast. By the time it showed up in ancient Iran, around one thousand BC, the virtuous god had a name. Mithras.'

Tess jerked straighter. 'Mithras? You mentioned him before.'

'Yes. The figure in the bas-relief sculpture,' Priscilla said. 'Now do you understand why I had to go into so much detail? The figure killing the bull is not a man. He's a god. Various later religions, Zoroastrianism and Manichaeism, also used the concept of equal, competing, good and evil gods. But essentially those gods are versions of Mithras and his evil counterpart. We're talking old, Tess. Very old. That's what I meant when I said that Mithras comes from the roots of history. He's the most ancient notion of a god we have any specific knowledge of, and it's only by chance that…'

Professor Harding interrupted, supporting himself with his cane while he wheeled in a cart upon which a teapot, cups, and a plate of biscuits were arranged.

'Thank you, Richard.'

'I'm pleased to help, dear.'

'It's only by chance that what?' Tess asked, impatient for Priscilla to continue.

'Milk, dear?' Professor Harding asked.

'Just a little.'

Tess became more impatient, barely able to restrain herself from telling Priscilla to hurry.

While Professor Harding poured the tea, Priscilla pensively opened one of the books she'd set on the desk, leafed through it, and found the page she wanted. 'Let me describe a religion to you. When you enter its church, you dip your hand in a holy-water basin and make the Sign of the Cross. On the altar, you see a representation of the physical form of your God. During the service, you receive a communion of bread and wine. You believe in baptism, confirmation, salvation through good works, and life after death. The physical form of your deity has his birthday on December twenty-fifth, and his rebirth occurs during the Easter season.'

Professor Harding wrapped each steaming teacup with a napkin and handed them to Priscilla and Tess. 'Catholicism,' he said.

'Yes, that would be the logical assumption, Richard. However, with apologies, you're wrong.' Priscilla kept staring at Tess. 'It's Mithraism.'