The Laureate explained the religion of Al-Kyris to his guest:
“We believe in no actual creed,—who does? We accept a certain given definition of a supposititious Divinity, together with the suitable maxims and code of morals accompanying that definition—we call this Religion,—and we wear it as we wear our clothing, for the sake of necessity and decency,—though truly we are not half so concerned about it as about the far more interesting details of taste in attire. Still, we have grown used to our doctrine, and some of us will fight with each other for the difference of a word respecting it,—and as it contains within itself many seeds of discord and contradiction, such dissensions are frequent, especially among the priests, who, were they but true to their professed vocation, should be able to find ways of smoothing over all apparent inconsistencies and maintaining peace and order. Of course, we, in union with all civilized communities, worship the Sun, even as thou must do,—in this one leading principle at least, our faith is universal!
“‘And yet,’ he went on thoughtfully, ‘the well-instructed know through our scientists and astronomers (many of whom are now languishing in prison for the boldness of their researches and discoveries) that the Sun is no divinity at all, but simply a huge Planet,—a dense body surrounded by a luminous flame-darting atmosphere,—neither self-acting nor omnipotent, but only one of many similar orbs moving in strict obedience to fixed mathematical laws. Nevertheless, this knowledge is wisely kept back as much as possible from the multitude;—for, were science to unveil her marvels too openly to semi-educated and vulgarly constituted minds, the result would be, first Atheism, next Republicanism, and, finally, Anarchy and Ruin. If these evils—which, like birds of prey, continually hover about all great kingdoms—are to be averted, we must, for the welfare of the country and people, hold fast to some stated form and outward observance of religious belief.’”
These views were strikingly similar to those held by Theos when he was in the world, and he could thus endorse the further assertions of Sah-Lûma, who deemed even a false religion better for the masses than none at all, urging that men were closely allied to brutes. If the moral sense ceased to restrain them they at once leaped the boundary line and gave as much rein to their desires and appetites as hyenas and tigers. And in some natures the moral sense was only kept alive by fear—fear of offending some despotic invisible force that pervaded the Universe, and whose chief and most terrible attribute was not so much creative as destructive power. Thus Sah-Lûma again on the theology of Al-Kyris:
“To propitiate and pacify an unseen Supreme Destroyer is the aim of all religions,—and it is for this reason we add to our worship of the Sun that of the White Serpent, Nagâya the Mediator. Nagâya is the favorite object of the people’s adoration;—they may forget to pay their vows to the Sun, but never to Nagâya, who is looked upon as the emblem of Eternal Wisdom, the only pleader whose persuasions avail to soften the tyrannic humor of the Invincible Devourer of all things. We know how men hate Wisdom and cannot endure to be instructed; yet they prostrate themselves in abject crowds before Wisdom’s symbol every day in the Sacred Temple yonder,—though I much doubt whether such constant devotional attendance is not more for the sake of Lysia, than the Deified Worm!”
Lysia, High Priestess of Nagâya, was the charmer of the God of Al-Kyris, charmer of the serpent and of the hearts of men. “The hot passion of love is to her a toy, clasped and unclasped so!—in the pink hollow of her hand; and so long as she retains the magic of her beauty, so long will Nagâya-worship hold Al-Kyris in check.” Otherwise,—who was to know? Not Sah-Lûma and not Theos, though both were to learn later. Already in Al-Kyris, it was explained to Theos by his new friend, there were philosophers who were tired of the perpetual sacrifices and the shedding of innocent blood that marked the worship of the city. There was a Prophet Khosrûl who even denounced Lysia and Nagâya in the open streets, and gave out the faith that was in him—that far away in a circle of pure Light the true God existed,—a vast, all-glorious Being, who, with exceeding marvelous love, controlled and guided Creation towards some majestic end. Furthermore, Khosrûl held that thousands of years thence (the times described in Al-Kyris are assumed to be 5000 B.C.) this God would embody a portion of His own existence in human form, “and will send hither a wondrous creature, half God, half man, to live our life, die our death, and teach us by precept and example the surest way to eternal happiness.”
It is the prophet who gave out this faith against whom the King and the people of Al-Kyris are mostly incensed. They prefer their worship of Lysia, “The Virgin Priestess of the Sun and the Serpent,” who “receives love as statues may receive it—moving all others to frenzy she is herself unmoved.” So ’tis said. There is, however, the threatening legend:
“When the High Priestess
Is the King’s mistress
Then fall Al-Kyris!”
And the fall of Al-Kyris is imminent.
To the splendors of the court of Zephorânim, King of Al-Kyris, Theos is duly introduced by the Poet Laureate. He finds there that the poetic muse is adored, and Sah-Lûma is scarcely less esteemed than the King, who, indeed, his friend and devotee, would almost make the Poet supreme. The government and religion of Al-Kyris is mainly humbug. They sin freely and get absolution at an annual feast where a maiden is always slaughtered and offered as a sacrifice to Nagâya.