I have known many dark places, I began by saying. Many dark places have I known, yet none so dark as the human heart! None so dark, none so dark. None so dark as the human heart. Shall we call the human heart ‘the refuge of wickedness’? Shall we speak of it as ‘the abode of devils’? Truly it is the abode of devils. Most certainly it is. Shall we call it ‘the cave of sorrows’? Men’s smiles are false, are they not – as are a women’s – if they dare not bring themselves to speak of this haunted place? What trust can we place in their words in this case? My audience had long since left of course at this stage. None wish to hear my words. Their appetite for such words was small indeed – a crumb every now and again was enough. Then they became satiated. Some became sick. Some became sick and had to run off, retching. What wickedness we harbour within us! Is that not true? Take a moment now to consider this. My audience have long since departed but I cared not. I do not expect an audience. I don’t know what I do expect that it is not an audience. Men and women of this age have no stomach for the truth but the truth must nevertheless be told. We are like worms writhing in the compost barrel; we are like street curs fighting over scraps of rotten meat. We tear viciously at each other in order to obtain the prize. And yet our opinion of ourselves as great indeed, is it not? We pride ourselves upon our fine clothes, we rejoice in the fine garments and adornments that we wear, and yet what are these garments and adornments truly saying about us? Do they speak truly of our corruption? Do they indicate correctly the utter misery and squalor of our fallen state? Indeed they do not, my friends. Indeed they do not. We have such opinions of ourselves – we are full to the brim with contempt for those we see as inferior. We are full of contempt for those we have robbed, for those we have abused, for those we have dispossessed. We step over them disdainfully in the street, so great is our regard for ourselves. Our hearts are dark indeed; we care for nothing but our self-adulation. We have created for ourselves a whole society of self-idolatry, a society given over wholly to the hideous pestilence of self-worship. We have built palaces dedicated to the unholy practice of self-adoration, and if anyone comes along to disturb our trance – this hideous trance of narcissistic self-absorption – we strike out at them with harsh words of condemnation. And fists and boots, if necessary. None are allowed to disturb the trance, is that not true, my friends? Is that not the greatest of all crimes? Is speaking the truth the one crime that cannot be forgiven? All things clean, all things wholesome, we turn our backs upon. We delight in the unwholesome, the unsavoury. We consent to abominations every day. Consenting to abominations is our primary activity in this world. If anyone comes up to you and asks you what your primary activity is, be honest with them and tell them. Fear not the truth. Tell them straight: ‘My primary activity is to consent to abominations on a daily basis’. Speak out the truth, speak out the truth. Be not afraid. Speak your truth. Tell them. Speak up. Tell them ‘I consent to abominations on a daily basis!’ That is your freedom call. That is your call to arms. My words rang out in the empty auditorium. They rang out hour after hour, until eventually the security men came to lead me away…