"What story? I am quite interested," Mikhail said, his face showing a mix of surprise and curiosity. He rarely heard Perturabo tell stories.
Perturabo thought for a moment. "Respected Mr. Mikhail, allow me to use a metaphor. Imagine a cave where people have been imprisoned since birth. They are chained to a wall, unable to see the entrance; they face another wall that looks into the depths of the cave.
Behind them, a fire burns day and night. Between the fire and the prisoners, the things of the world pass by, casting shadows. These shadows are projected onto the wall, and they are all the prisoners can see."
"But what does this have to do with our argument today? What does it have to do with God?" Mikhail asked, his confusion growing.
"Listen, Mr. Mikhail. You gave me a story, so I am giving you one. I hope it enlightens you."
"The prisoners see only projections. They name the shadows and speculate on their nature. These projections are their 'world.' The objects casting the shadows are real, and the light is real, but one cannot deduce the true nature of either from a mere shadow.
Nevertheless, they exist, even if the prisoners know nothing of them. This is the state you are in. You see a part of something real—its projection—and infer its nature as best you can. In your case, you call it God."
"Then, one day, an incredibly fortunate prisoner is led out of the cave," Perturabo continued.
"He sees the fire. The light burns his eyes. Because of the pain, he cannot see the objects clearly; against the glare, they are mere silhouettes. But he is told that these items are the reality of what he saw before, and the shadows were merely byproducts of their true form.
Yet, because he cannot perceive the physical objects—his eyes ache, the light is blinding, and he has almost no frame of reference for what he sees—he does not believe what he is told. All he sees is their darkness against the firelight."
"To save himself from the pain, he returns to what he knows, fleeing back into the cave. His pain vanishes, and having witnessed the fire, he perceives the shadows more clearly than before, believing their reality to be absolute. He now has some inkling of the nature of things, but he dares not delve further for fear of the pain. In this sense, 'knowing a little of the truth' is worse than 'knowing no truth at all'."
"But imagine if this prisoner is dragged out of the cave again, this time into the sunlight. There, he suffers endless agony until his eyes gradually adjust to the daylight. Then he sees the solid objects and the shadows they cast. Finally, he understands the true nature of shadows and the three elements required for him to 'see'—himself, the object, and the light.
Look how far he has come from the shadows! Eventually, he can look up at the sky and perhaps even see the sun. Only then can he contemplate the nature of the outside world. He realizes that world is another cave, and the sun is another fire, and if he wishes to know more, he must travel further."
After hearing Perturabo's story, Mikhail fell silent, lost in thought.
"But I am disappointed, Mr. Mikhail. From the story you told me earlier, I can feel that none of this is of any use to you."
"Why?" Mikhail asked with surprise. He did not know why he had disappointed Perturabo so.
"Because you are one of the 'prisoners still in the cave.' That prisoner excitedly rushes back into the cave to tell his companions the truth of the world. But his eyes are now adjusted to the daylight, and he can no longer see the shadows that fascinate his companions.
Lacking any other frame of reference, the prisoners view his revelation of truth as madness and his blindness to the shadows as suffering. Thus, they believe the outside world is harmful. They kill the man to stop his madness and resolve to eliminate anyone else who would try to drive them out of the cave." Perturabo's expression turned grim.
"And you, with your fanatical faith and your piety toward God, have just proven that you are such a person," Perturabo said.
Hearing this blunt assessment from his foster son, Mikhail fell silent once more, eventually letting out a bitter smile.
"You know, Abo, if you said these words before any other conservative or rigid priest, they would accuse you of blasphemy."
Mikhail gave a slight, wry smile. Although he had always known his foster son was a rebellious and extraordinary individual, Perturabo's words today had profoundly shaken him.
"Indeed. Though you are a good man, if you were not, you would unhesitatingly execute someone like me for disagreeing with you, simply because I exposed your ignorance." Perturabo stiffened his neck slightly, refusing to show even a hint of submission.
"How should I put it... I believe in God, but perhaps not because I truly 'believe' in Him. It is because the people have only God for comfort. To strip away their final source of hope would be far too cruel, wouldn't it?"
"When I was young, I was as brash as you and once denied the existence of God. But as I grew older, I realized that many things exist for a reason."
Looking at the stubborn Perturabo who refused to admit defeat, Mikhail shook his head with a bitter smile and explained slowly.
"Therefore, Mr. Mikhail, my vision is to establish a world without superstition, a world of only science and truth. In that ideal world, people will not need to follow these lies; they will create their ideal lives with their own two hands."
Perturabo responded with even more disdain.
"Interesting, Abo. So, you are not content to remain in this monastery?" Mikhail asked, his curiosity piqued.
"No. My purpose is to forge a land where the suffering of the common man is no more—a paradise on this earth, built by my own hands and my own will. This is where it begins. This is the first step toward a world that no longer needs to cry out to a silent God."
Perturabo gave a slight nod, his expression heavy with a grim, absolute seriousness.
"..."
"If that is the case, then I support you. It is time for someone to come forward and change everything, and I believe you can do it."
After a moment of silence, Mikhail answered slowly, his voice filled with support for Perturabo.