Chapter 11: Old Ludwig’s Theological Inference

“Mr. Ludwig, does God really exist?” asked Miabel.

Soon after arriving for her classes that day, she posed this question to Ludwig, who regarded her curiously through his spectacles.

“Hm? What’s this now, Your Highness? Have you developed a sudden interest in the divine?” he asked as he scooped some of the precious tea leaves he’d managed to come by into a pot.

“On my way here, someone was selling something called a Jar of God that gives you the wisdom of your ancestors. It was sort of expensive, but I thought maybe if I used that, I’d be able to borrow some of Grandmother Mia’s wisdom...” she said, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

He rubbed his chin, feeling no small amount of concern for her gullibleness, and considered what to say. Coming up with an answer wasn’t the problem; that was easy. The empire was a part of the Central Orthodox Church’s religious sphere. The people living here had a naive and unquestioning belief in the existence of God. Therefore, the straightforward choice was to simply say yes. In the event that she managed to regain her place and power as princess, it’d be better for her to believe so as well.

However, a certain concern kept him deliberating. This was the simple answer. The prescribed one. Giving it to her would be easy, but it would not benefit her down the road. Thinking for oneself was a valuable skill, and he wanted her to have it. To that end, he couldn’t just hand her all the answers. His goal was to make her think. So, he composed his answer in the form of a logical exploration.

“Good question... I personally believe that the being we call God does exist.”

That was hardly a radical statement, but he followed it up with a basis for his claim.

“Otherwise, there would be too many things in this world we cannot explain.”

“What kind of things?”

Miabel gave her head a puzzled tilt. He gestured her toward a chair and repositioned his glasses.

“Let me see... An easy example would be humans like you and me.”

“Huh? Mr. Ludwig and me?”

He smiled impishly at her confused blinking and removed his glasses, setting them down before her.

“Look at these glasses. They’re very well made, yes? Has Your Highness ever thought about how they make it easier to see?”

Bel picked them up and peeked through the lenses a few times before shaking her head.

“There are principles that govern the function of the tool known as glasses. I won’t get into the specifics right now, but suffice it to say, they came about when wise men long ago focused their intellect on figuring out how the human eye worked. They studied its structure and function. Then, they set about crafting something that would correct the eye’s faults. They did this by actively applying their will toward a goal. In other words, it was people with great intelligence exercising their intent to create such a thing that gave birth to the object known as glasses. For example, let’s say you took the materials used to make these—glass and iron—and placed them outside on the ground. Would the rain sculpt the glass into lenses? Or the wind mold the iron into frames? They have no will, no intent. Such a feat would be impossible.”

Ludwig put on his glasses again and continued.

“What about us humans, then? The humans who make and use these glasses? We are even more intricate, more comprehensively designed than the crafts and artworks we produce. So how, Your Highness, do you think we were created? Do you think we were shaped by rain, wind, and soil?”

“No, I don’t think so,” answered Miabel with a shake of her head.

Ludwig was convinced that there was a god, that is, an entity possessing greater power and intellect than humans who had designed the world. This was a conclusion he’d reached after copious thought. Though he knew not the method, he believed in its existence—that mankind, along with all of the world, was created by a being of profound intelligence exercising the intent to make the world as it was. To deny this was to be left with far too much that was inexplicable. Not only humans, but animals, plants, and even the minuscule critters of the earth... Someone had to have carefully designed and created them that way. It was, he figured, the only explanation.

Suddenly, the words of his old master floated through his mind.

“To unthinkingly attribute all worldly phenomena to the divine or infernal is an affront to God, who designed us humans to be thinking creatures. That contradicts our faith in the flawless magnificence of God’s craft. Yet, to presume that all worldly phenomena have no connection to deities, whether good or evil, is also an act of narrow-mindedness.”

Ever since he’d received that piece of wisdom, he’d striven to always view things in a balanced manner as much as possible. It was something he’d committed himself to, and he wished for Miabel to acquire the same habit of critical thinking.

“Then...does that mean the jar is real?! It can really work divine miracles?!” exclaimed Miabel, eyes glittering with excitement.

“No! Wait!”

Seeing her gaze shift toward the door, Ludwig hastily stopped her before she ended up running off to buy the damn thing.

“Please, calm down, Your Highness. God may exist, but whether or not a jar of miracles exists is an entirely different question.”

“Huh? Why is that, Mr. Ludwig?” she asked with another puzzled head tilt.

What Ludwig wanted to say was “What do you mean ‘why?’ What part of it doesn’t sound like a scam?!” What he actually said, after forcing himself to think of a judicious answer, was, “Though we do not know for sure, let us assume for the sake of argument that the world was indeed created by God. That it was designed with an intricate system of cosmic principles that govern its function. What, then, is a miracle? Wouldn’t it be something that defies those principles?”

No one could communicate with their dead ancestors. That was how the world worked; it was a consequence of cosmic principles. The miracle that the jar could supposedly bring about would subvert those principles. Bel considered this line of reasoning for a moment before righting her neck and answering, “Yes, it would be!”

There was frankly a little too much enthusiasm in her voice to believe that she actually understood what he’d meant. Nonetheless, he continued, allowing himself only a brief grimace at the potential futility of his endeavor.

“After so carefully designing the principles that govern this world, would God be so willing to upset them? If it were me, I’d certainly be hesitant to upend a system of rules I’d worked so hard to create.”

Miracles were, by definition, rare events. If there was an appropriate time for them to occur, it would, in Ludwig’s opinion, be when the world itself was at risk of utter ruin. Had God designed the world with slipshod rules, then those rules might indeed have been easily broken. The more he studied the cosmic principles, however, the more he was awed by their intricate perfection.

By that line of logic though, considering the state of the world, it’s arguable that the time is indeed ripe for a miracle... The reckless brutality of Rafina the Empress Prelate... The crises of Sunkland and Tearmoon... When so many have died, and history itself is crumbling before our very eyes, perhaps it’s suitable...for a miracle to lend us the wisdom of the Great Sage...

He shook his head and pushed the thought to the back of his mind. Then he looked straight at Miabel.

“Miracles occur when they absolutely need to. They are not something to be obtained offhandedly. That’s why you should always be cautious around people who speak of miracles that fly in the face of the principles governing our world. There is never any shortage of people who invoke God’s name for the purpose of deception...”

Ludwig’s mind wandered as he regarded the familiar sight of Miabel snoozing comfortably in the middle of his lecture. He ruminated on their prior discussion.

“Proposition one, for every phenomenon, a theory can be put forth to explain it. Proposition two, miracles of God do not occur easily. Given these... Hm...” His eyes grew distant. “Miracles are rare... As rare, I suppose, as lands blessed by God...”

He thought of Saint-Noel Island where, due to God’s blessing, no toxic flora could exist. Furthermore, it was protected by strict security measures that made it impossible for poisons to be brought in from the outside. Saint-Noel Island, whose land was protected by divine favor. Saint-Noel Island, whose academy was devastated by a mass poisoning. The numerous lives lost in that terrible incident shook the continent, spawning endless theories and speculation. A number of prominent explanations were put forth, such as the potential existence of a security loophole allowing the poison to be snuck in or the use of a special substance that only functioned as a poison under specific circumstances. To this day, however, none had established itself as the widely-accepted answer. Soon after, the continent had been plunged into an ongoing era of chaos, and the incident faded from collective memory. The truth was, most likely, lost forever. Future historians would likely write about it as the mystery of the century. But...

“Assumptions...are terrifying things. That, perhaps, is the true moral to this dreadful tale.”

...Not Ludwig Hewitt, for the method that had most likely been employed in the mass murder was already apparent to him. There was no security loophole. No sophisticated, conditionally-activated poison. It was nothing like that. The answer was far more mundane. The perpetrators had merely taken advantage of a simple assumption.

“No poisonous flora can grow in Saint-Noel, where the water has been purified by God’s blessing. That assumption was wrong from the start...”

There existed no particular lore or legend suggesting Saint-Noel Island enjoyed divine favor. It was the Holy Principality of Belluga that was said to be blessed by God. Therefore, even if Saint-Noel was indeed blessed, it had to have resulted from the island being a part of Belluga. The reason for its purported holiness could only be a corollary of its encompassing parent. So was the blessed Belluga devoid of poisonous herbs then? Clearly not. The existence of false Belluga mushrooms was evidence enough. As their name suggests, the noxious fungi were prevalent throughout the principality. In other words, even in a land blessed by God, toxic flora could grow unabated. To then assert that Saint-Noel Island alone was devoid of poisonous herbs would be rather ludicrous.

“Thinking about it rationally...the claim that poisonous plants don’t grow in Saint-Noel has to be a lie.”

But what kind of lie was it? An innocuous superstition? A worthless folktale? Perhaps. It was also possible, however, for there to have been intent behind the lie. For it to possess a goal. In the case of the Jar of God, the goal was to inflate its value for sale. What about the case of Saint-Noel Island then?

“To impair the vigilance of guards...seems most probable...”

Even if no one could bring poisons from the outside in, those precautions would be worthless if poisonous flora and fauna had existed on the island to begin with. Nevertheless, the fact failed to attract the attention of those in charge of security. They assumed that they simply had to stop people from bringing it in. They directed all their efforts outwards, giving no thought to what lay within.

“What blinded them...was their faith in the miracle of the island’s blessing.”

With the continent in chaos, Ludwig had decided to conduct an investigation into the incident. At the end, he’d come away with a peculiar discovery. The idea that no poisonous plants grew on Saint-Noel Island was surprisingly young. He couldn’t determine the exact time of its inception, but when the academy first opened, there had been no mention of such a belief. In fact, there were records of the earliest students being warned that the island’s plants were potentially hazardous and to avoid consuming them without ample caution.

Then, at some point, a strange superstition had arisen. What if the one who’d spread the rumor was someone who’d discovered a terrible toxin on the island? A series of minor coincidences could have led this person to stumble upon a place where a potent poison grew. Then, hoping to hide this discovery from the scrutiny of the authorities, that person had intentionally crafted a rumor to focus the efforts of security solely on the dangers of imported poisons.

“The person who oversaw security during the incident was a man named Santeri Bandler. He’d done so for thirty-five years. If the rumor had been spread before he’d been appointed to the post...”

Who could have done so? Needless to say, Ludwig had already researched the matter and developed a hypothesis. When the assassinations occurred, it just so happened that a certain man’s daughter—born late in his life—had been attending the academy.

“Duke Yellowmoon...the oldest and weakest of the nobles... What in the world had he been trying to do?”

He narrowed his eyes as if trying to peer through the haze of time, then closed them with a weary sigh.

“What does it matter? The man is gone. Even if I uncover the truth, am I to, what, tell Rafina? Will it soothe her rage? No, there’s no stopping her now. A shame... What a terrible, terrible shame...”

Bel kept snoozing. She never did hear his quiet lamentation.