I, Lucifer: Finally, the Other Side of the Story

I’m supposed to be guilty of all sorts of crimes and misdemeanours, but when you get right down to it, I’m really only guilty of one: wondering.

Create the unforgivable and you compromise infinite mercy. Forgive the unforgivable and you compromise infinite justice.

What pains the Old Boy most is not that I do evil, but that I do what causes me excruciating pain. What pains Him is that even perpetual and excruciating pain is a price worth paying for disentangling myself from Him. That’s the crux of it.

There’s no such thing as evil for its own sake. All evil is motivated – even mine. The torturer, the tyrant, the murderer, the consummate fabricator of fibs – they’re all doing it for something, even if all they’re doing it for is pleasure. (The problem your thinkers have is understanding quite how the evildoer gets pleasure from his evil, but that’s a different question.)

In this particular Creation, if freedom from God (worship of God, dependency on God, obedience to God) is what you’re after, then I’m afraid evil’s really the only game in town.

The point, my dears, is not good nor evil – but freedom. For an angel there is only one true freedom, and that, I’m honestly sad to say, is freedom from God.

I never really wanted this job. (As all dictators whine.) Trouble was, when we found ourselves in Hell everyone looked at me.

I saw what I always see, what I’ve made it my business to make sure any ethereal observer would see: human beings avoiding God.

But what irritates me is the stupidity, the ease with which such people keep themselves out of my grasp. There’s no reading, very little reflection, just the spirit’s rough expression through salubrious hobbies and a worthwhile job.

I didn’t want the job – the job, that is, of spending all that would remain of time working against God, the job of personifying evil – but look at it from my point of view: as far as Himself’s concerned it’s over between us. No conciliatory cappuccinos under the fat waiter’s benevolent presidency. No Relate. No saw this and thought of you, Love, Lucifer cards. You know the routine. You’ve Broken Up, yes? Locks changed, CDs divvied and boxed, ring returned, cuddly toy drawn and quartered?
Doesn’t matter that I felt lousy. Doesn’t matter that I realised I might have been a tad hasty. Doesn’t matter that I would have been willing (we all would) to turn over a new leaf. Doesn’t matter. You’re an angel, you fall, you don’t rise again, the end.