Free The Case Against Satan by Ray Russell

undeniably had that, but more important he needs a heart. Gregory, like other cold men, had always equated “heart”—which a popular song insisted you gotta have—with sentimentality, trumped-up feelings, the thing that in actors is called ham. Ham; schmaltz; corn. Derogatory words all meaning similar things—but how odd, Gregorysuddenly thought, that they should be words that also mean food, nourishment, sustenance.
    Sustenance: that which sustains.
    Gregory had entered the priesthood with much to offer: a strong desire to serve, a talent for efficiency and order, a love of the Church and its history and literature and romance, a lively interest in theology and scholarship, a quick mind and rich intellectual gifts—everything except a simple, all-consuming zeal. He had known this when he began, but had told himself: There is no perfect priest, no priest can have everything, some may have the zeal and nothing else; I will make a good servant of the Lord; what more can be expected of me?
    It was never as if he lacked faith or doubted the existence of God. The idea of God sustained him. It is not difficult to believe in God. God is goodness, for which all men yearn; He is the fountainhead of life; He is Our Father Who Art in Heaven, a great concept, and there is nothing loftier, nothing nobler, nothing more dignified, nothing more awesome. “God is not mocked,” for such a figure is beyond mockery; but the Devil is and has been mocked down through the centuries—he has been a sideshow puppet, a mustache-twirling city slicker, a costume for stage magicians, a trademark for a laxative water. No, it is not difficult to believe in God—the very flesh reaches out for such belief—but for an intelligent man of the twentieth century to wipe from his mind the centuries of ridicule that have been heaped upon the Devil, for him to take the Devil seriously, as seriously as he takes God; that is difficult. And yet to fail is heresy.
    Am I a heretic?
Gregory thought with a stunning horror.
Am I no longer a priest of God?
    And—he asked himself—if this is true, how long have I known it? How long have I perhaps tried to wash away that knowledge with liquor?
    Heretic
. For a priest, it is the most terrifying word in all of language, the most horrifying thought the mind can conceive.
    He became aware again of the electric clock’s steady whirr, of the Bishop’s presence, of the problem at hand. “Possessed,” he repeated.
    â€œYes, Gregory.”
    Gregory nodded slowly, and absently fingered some papers on his desk. “I see.” Inside, he said, No I don’t see. Not here in this comfortable study, surrounded by my books. Not here in the middle of the twentieth century.
    â€œIt’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” said the Bishop. “And yet, a long time ago, when Christ was here among us, he cast out the Devil many times, didn’t he?”
    Gregory nodded.
    â€œAnd the Devil spoke to him in the desert, and Christ saw him and answered him.”
    â€œYes. But as you say—that was a long time ago.”
    â€œHave things changed that much?” the Bishop wondered.
    â€œThings can change a lot in almost two thousand years.”
    â€œOh, little things, yes,” the Bishop agreed. “The way people talk, the way they dress, the houses they live in, the weapons they use, the way they get from place to place—these things change. But the important things, the basic things, do you really think
they
change? Love? Hate? Fear? Pity? Right and wrong? Good and evil? God and the Devil?” Taken with a random thought, he added, “Yes, what about that? Has God changed? Truthfully now, Gregory, no evasion, just a straight yes or no—do you believe in God?”
    Momentarily caught off guard, Gregory said, “Why . . .”
    â€œDo you believe He exists? Or don’t you know?”
    â€œI know,” said