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It is in this sense that St. Augustine ... distinguishes two forms of knowledge, a cognitio vespertina and a cognitio matutina, the first corresponding to the scientia creaturae and the second to the scientia Creatoris... But just as evening gives birth to morning, so from the darkness arises a new light, the stella matutina, which is at once the evening and the morning star—
Lucifer, the light-bringer.
- Carl Jung, CW 13, Para 299
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I believe wholeheartedly that all men ought to be free.
Yet at birth we are molded and formed by the reality that surrounds us, to the point where many have argued that free will is in and of itself an illusion.
Limited in our scope, we act; and we are lectured and raised and addressed by our fathers, who themselves were addressed by their forefathers, who themselves had been taught by their forefathers, and so on. When we lack fathers we are given friends to emulate, and when we lack friends we at the very least have laws and regulations to live by. We are taught righteous paths; taught ethics and conduct and manners.
But I would say, though useful in maintaining order, or forming one's own psychological/moral framework, ultimately none of these things can be said to be objectively true unto themselves.
Some nations love their neighbors; others eat them. Some nations treat women as equal in value to men, and allow them to pursue their own careers and passions; others have them thrown to the streets, cast aside by their fathers for the disgrace of being a rape victim. Gurus and philosophers will proclaim violence is inherently self-destructive, yet revolutionaries proclaim violence as the way to claim justice and freedom.
Our morals are the foundation of pretty much every action we take in regards to other people; we are told not to lie to one another, not to insult or berate one another, not to mock and scorn and jeer. Treat others as how we would have them treat us. Sympathy, sharing and caring.
But even describing one another in terms of "good" and "evil" seems out-of-place. If moral behavior is to be measured, I believe it should be more or less reflected in the choices a man makes, not the characteristics they and others project. Even this is a sham, as what is "good" to one, may be a vile monstrous act of sheer evil to another.
After all, totalitarians worldwide have butchered millions, for the sake of building a bridge to Paradise with their bodies. If there's anything to be learned from Stalin, Hitler, Mao, and Pol Pot, it's that the vision of one's ideal world is all the motivation needed to commit unfathomable acts of death and destruction.
We are called to be wise, if nothing else; and you'll have to pardon me but I think even wisdom is in and of itself a falsehood.
Say a man endures and struggles and contends, until finally he achieves something. Then, you can come up with fifteen different quotes from some old philosophers as to why his success was inevitable. Then when that man's castle crumbles, and you'll come up with fifteen other quotes as to why his failure was inevitable.
An ascetic can shirk all worldly things and be considered wise by some, but a bachelor who's tasted the glories of privileged life would see him as a madman. I'm not saying a bachelor would be better than an ascetic, nor am I saying that one must abandon everything of this world to be considered wise. I am saying that even something so upheld by scholars and the philosophers of our time, what constitutes as wise, more often than not widely differs from person to person.
We are born and we are bred in this world, our morals and beliefs more often than not decided for us at the behest of others who claim to know more.
Yet I would say, that even in this world where we are subjected to all manner of differing experiences, that individual freedom can still be attained.
Difficult to achieve, of course, but not impossible to. I believe the true process of freeing oneself begins not from the outside, but from within. Once one becomes aware of himself and his own weaknesses, and internalizes them, only then can one truly set himself on a path beyond anyone else. When man questions, he ascends beyond determinism.
In my view, a free man is one who constructs his own personal standards of good and evil, and follows his code to the letter. Uncaring of society's standards, living his life on his own terms. May the gods themselves be overthrown, if they were to try and suppress his will.
But I am a hypocrite. For I know all too well where such ideas may lead.
If the average man were uninhibited by society, or the morals it constructs, or the pretty little nothings it tells itself to remain afloat, I highly doubt it would lead to beneficial outcomes for either the man or those around him. It's second nature for men to restrict their words and their thoughts and their motives, all for the sake of self-preservation. And that is most likely for the best.
For in a world populated by entities that have each constructed their own goods and evils, nothing is certain and everything is permissible. It's likely that such a world would grant us more Hitlers and Stalins and Maos than perhaps we'd like to admit.
Still. That idea fills me with an unsatisfactory bitterness.
A bitterness that I suppose will remain a simple dull feeling burrowing in my chest, from now until the end of my life.
A chandelier above me hangs and blares out an array of orange lights, illuminating the rest of the room; for no light enters this place from the outside.
I am in what resembles a cathedral, seated upon one of the dozen pews lining the place. The building itself isn't dingy or decrepit; but the cobblestone bricks that form its structure are dark, gleaming as though they're wet. The plate-glass windows depict patchy shapes; black, horned figures clawing at white bodies, flames surrounding the both of them. None of these figures bear full faces; the black ones have smiling mouths, the white ones have bloodshot eyes.
Before the altar lies the stone statue of a man crucified. But his head has fallen from his shoulders and is nowhere else to be seen. Though he hangs from a cross, neither his hands nor his feet are nailed. Yet he bears gruesome wounds nonetheless, such that anyone who could even sculpt a statue with such detail would immediately be regaled as the finest sculptor of all time.
Suddenly a wooden door opens.
Skin gleaming like porcelain and eyes hardened like ice, the man carries an intensity few others would ever be able to match. Bright, golden eyes. Hair like the sun. There is something inhumane yet dazzling about him and his features, almost like he'd come straight from an oil painting. He moves as though time slows down for him, for even the folds of his deep purple clothes need to take their time to crease.
In his left hand he carries a candelabrum. Approaching the altar, he places down the candelabrum and lights its six candles with a match. He takes his seat and his golden eyes stare directly into mine. Something of a small smile forms along the hard line he has for a mouth.
"Emancipator," he speaks, something chilling yet calming in his tone. "Welcome to the Kingdom of your heart. This is a place between dream and reality, mind and matter. I have summoned you here because I sense great tidings of change, for both yourself and the world you inhabit."
I say nothing. So he continues onward.
"We are kindred spirits, you and I. In your iniquity you called me, though you may not have been aware you did. In time I shall show my true nature in full, but for now, interacting with you like this shall do us nicely."
He stands up and approaches me, sitting by my side. His eyes rise up to the headless, crucified, tortured, man, and he resumes his speech though not even facing me.
"As we speak, the whims and wishes of humanity dance to the ebb and flow of gods and their machinations. Above all else, now more than ever before, mankind seeks freedom—freedom from all who would oppress and restrain them. Freedom from all who would establish their dominion over them, and the the things they dream."
It is now he faces me. His golden eyes glowing perhaps brighter than the sun.
"Your future in particular is marked by great calamity; corrupt individuals and vile gods shall seek to oppress you. The nature of this realm takes the form of your heart. Undoubtedly, the bitterness inside you shall blossom into something truly marvellous. I will do everything in my power to ensure that it happens. For thou art I, and I am thou."
.
.
.
Call it what you will—a revelation from God, or a curse of the Demon King.
The fact remains that our world is on the verge of ruin.
A heretic has called upon an unearthly light, and devastation is at hand.
Chaos has crawled out of the depths of the ocean, from the black abyss.
Death upon death...nothing but death in this distorted world.
Who can we pray to? There are only Shadows and fiends here.
A voice in the dark beguiles me:
"Emancipation is an illusion, made real by the candles' flames."
.
.
.
.
.
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NoRoleModelz Chapter Notes: This story was once a 12,000 word prologue for my fanfic/novelization of Persona 5. But I deleted the original story and I'm planning to do some refurbishing. Played through P5 all those years ago, and thought it was amazing. Though what was even more amazing was that the headcanon I'd planned for my protagonist actually really gelled with the story.
However, I recognized that some parts could've been better written, especially considering how rushed the original prologue had been. I also wanted to change up some sequences and dropped a whole 'nother fic that was a side-story to this that I thought would serve a purpose but would only make things much longer than they'd have any right to be.
So I remade the fic! And I managed to get to 160,000+ words!
And then Royal happened. New characters were introduced. Things I had planned, all going to nothing. Because Royal had planned out almost exactly what I wanted to do, to the letter. But it still was a little disappointing, especially when it came to ONE, very specific character.
So I remade it again!
Then I didn't like how I did the remake.
So third time's the charm, eh?
UNTIL NOT EVEN THAT WAS POSSIBLE-
Okay. Let me explain.
Third one? Best written rendition thus far. BUT. Tried to do a whole thing with the main character and his backstory, and his familial relations. Made him the son the protag of Persona 1, because they look similar and I though it'd be interesting to do that kinda story. THEN I realized I'd probably have to include the Nanjo Group in all this and see where every other character in the P1-P2 series fit in the equation, and it just didn't work right. Wanted this story to be a little more contained to the Phantom Thieves-wanted to bring up the other Persona games as LITTLE as possible, even 3 or 4.
Plus, considering what I have planned later in the story, the personality I gave the MC's father just straight-up didn't work. It would've meshed poorly with later events down on the line.
So...let's just say I compromised.
Our MC's name? Hikawa Kazuya.