Frostpunk Divine Throne-Chapter 21: Clinical Analysis (Three)

"I'm very sorry." Cyren said coldly, "I have no authority to represent God, nor do I have authority to represent the Church. I cannot forgive you, nor can I give you answers."
Aldridge suddenly raised his head. Those eyes were full of hatred.
The story was finished. He finally revealed his true emotions.
"Are you going to deny these things?" He said through gritted teeth, "Bishop Delante, I admit you're a good clergyman, but the Church isn't as sacred and kind as you imagine."
"I don't deny the Church's crimes." Cyren said, "What I deny is your words accusing the Church."
Aldridge angrily questioned, "Are you saying I'm wrong?"
"From the perspective of historical facts, you're not wrong, but for you, it is wrong." Cyren looked at him calmly, "So at this moment, sitting across from me, listening to my confession, is it a historical record, or is it Aldridge?"
"You..." Aldridge couldn't understand.
"The crimes have already occurred. They're indisputable. But you angrily accuse the Church, using your entire life, using all your behavior, expressions and words to express it. Is it useful? The target of your accusation is an existence you've fabricated. You can't even find the target in reality. Who can represent the Church you want to accuse? The Pope? The College of Cardinals? Or an imagined aggregate of the [Church] concept?"
Aldridge quieted down. He discovered sadly that he really couldn't find a target.
Just now he had treated Cyren as the Church's spokesman, but Cyren denied this fantasy. And the Pope? The College of Cardinals? Forget about not being able to contact those people at all. Even if he did contact them and cursed at them a few times, could that really fulfill his long-cherished wish?
Or, did cursing a few times count as revenge? Or killing the Pope counted as revenge? Or destroying the Church counted as revenge? Or making them prohibit using Steel Angels counted as revenge?
Only then did he discover that for forty years, he had suffered torment in pain, fantasizing about his revenge and the Church's collapse, yet never had a program or goal that could be executed in reality.
Therefore his anger was limited to imagination. He had imagined a personified aggregate called [Church], then accused it in his imagination, also trapping himself there.
"You've bound all your meaning to the Church, so when it collapsed, your meaning also collapsed." Cyren said.
"But your meaning doesn't belong to the Church's meaning, just as my actions cannot be equated with the Church's actions. We are first ourselves, then some identity."
"Or let me put it more simply. Before creating the Steel Angels, what did you want to make? When you studied those runes, what were you thinking?"
Aldridge sat there dumbly, contemplating.
He remembered his devout believer parents, remembered his parents' expectant gazes when he went to the Holy See Academy, remembered his teachers' affirmation in school, remembered the clergy's trust. In these voices he constructed his worldview and ideals. He wanted to create better works, demonstrate how beautiful the world God created was, or make the world more like the promised age.
He didn't answer, but Cyren knew he had thought of much.
Cyren's voice seemed to come from beyond, "All sins have already occurred, but the Church also lost contact in the apocalypse. Even using your own pain as evidence of crime, you have no court to accuse in. You actually knew long ago who was right and who was wrong, didn't you? But what you lack is meaning, the meaning to live."
Aldridge looked at his own hands. In these forty years, he had hardly touched runes. He hated his own works and the Church, yet couldn't deny it. He loved this profession. This was his talent, also the meaning of his life.
"Aldridge." Cyren walked over, grasped his hands, looked at him earnestly.
"Forgiving sins is just self-deception. What's important is, after crimes that cannot be undone, who exactly are you? What do you still want?"
"History has already walked into books, recording magnificent wars and victors' glory, but no one cares about those dead people's wails. Yet you remember. You've remembered for forty whole years, and will continue remembering. You remember how much harm technology used for war can cause. You remember the collapse when sacred precepts were betrayed. If you forgot, then they might truly cease to exist, those people who died in the flames of war, those massacred dwarves."
"So you cannot forget. You must keep remembering them. You heard those cries in history, didn't you? Those are the cries of the defeated and oppressed. They are powerless, but if heard by people in the [present], and claimed with responsibility and conviction, ensuring what has happened won't happen again, then their cries shine forth now, in your hands."
"Aldridge." Cyren tightly grasped his hands, "Please, continue suffering. Your dreams, your memories, your hatred and guilt cannot fade. I will never forgive you either. You must remain this way until death. This is your responsibility. You must use your skills to create Heaven on earth, proclaim the ideals you recognize, then firmly remember those evils, ensuring you and I won't commit them again."
"Beaumont and Fletcher said: Fashions that were popular will be popular again. The sins people committed will certainly be committed again, but as long as you exist, they need not repeat."
Aldridge had never imagined a bishop would say such things to him, but his brain seemed to have received "divine revelation" from scripture. At this moment, sacred meaning descended into his body once more.
He wasn't hollow, the Church's evidence of crime, not a painful mirror used to reflect the other's evil, but a subject bearing heavy history. He would rely on his own existence to prevent crimes from happening again.
He still suffered, still remembered the Church's evil, but all those twisted desires were reshaped in Cyren's words, injected with new life and vitality.
And his pain was still pain, but that pain inexplicably became the meaning and ironclad evidence of his own existence.
He still hated the Church, but made himself the gatekeeper preventing evil from occurring again.
Cyren withdrew his hand, wiped away nonexistent sweat.
A psychoanalyst didn't need to inject new meaning into the client, only peel away false speech and imagination, letting the other see themselves clearly and walk out on their own.
But he was also a bishop. Out of private interest, he had to ensure this rune master stood on his side, couldn't completely lose faith in the Church. Therefore he invoked historical materialism, transforming pain into responsibility for and claiming of "past innocent dead."
Responsibility was painful, but also the meaning supporting human desire and progress.
This was Cyren's first time doing this. It indeed risked much, but he had to keep Aldridge.
"Schneider approached me." Aldridge suddenly said.
"Who?" Cyren asked blankly.
"Propaganda Minister, Rain's advisor."
"I see... He wanted to pull you to his side?"
"Yes, they found my files, knew I hated the Church."
Cyren smiled, "So when you came earlier, you wanted to say goodbye to me?"
Aldridge also smiled, "That was the plan, but you're a good clergyman, so I gave you a chance."
"Did I use this chance well?" Cyren blinked.
"You're hardly like a believer." Aldridge laughed.
"That's probably your highest praise."
"Yes, the highest praise."