The format of the debate was quite simple. First, one of the three speakers would offer up a speech to the crowd. Then, anyone who wished to could offer an objection. Afterwards, the speaker would be given a chance to respond, before the next objection was considered. Once a certain amount of time had passed, the speaker was given the chance to make a few closing remarks, and then the next one of the three received his turn, and the whole process began again from the beginning.

The first speaker’s presentation seemed to go smoothly enough. The man was an adherent of the Guild of the Laboratory, and he provided a number of simple, straightforward studies which suggested that the slaves in the City of the Red Tower were just as happy on average as the working classes in each of the other nations. After he had finished presenting his evidence, there was then a lively debate, which was mostly focused on the methodology of each of the studies. There were a few objections to the way that happiness had been measured by questionnaires, and there were also some reasonable objections about the extent to which you could assume that the slaves were telling the truth about their condition, rather than merely lying in order to appease their masters.

It seemed that the man on the stage was engaging with the objections, and that he was considering them quite seriously. But I had the distinct sense that, even though he came across as someone who was “open,” his own convictions weren’t really based on any of the evidence that he was citing, and this whole conversation was something of a game to him, in which his true thoughts and feelings weren’t really at play.

But it seemed that most of the other students in the room had a much more favorable impression of him than I did. Because after a little bit of time, what had begun as a contentious and spirited debate had soon become much more relaxed, as the older scholar engaged in pleasant and jovial reflection along with a few of the older students in the room – filled with plenty of jokes and laughter - before eventually bringing his speech to a close, and stepping back from the stage.

Of course, there was still a considerable degree of anger in the room as a whole. But that initial exchange had at least managed to quell it for a moment or two; and by the time that the speaker had concluded, there were far more people clapping than there had been at the beginning of the debate.

For just a moment, it seemed as if a certain kind of peacefulness and amiability might be able to win out against the passions that had dominated before. However, that impression was not to last for long. Almost from the moment that the second speaker took the stage, the original sense of displeasure and of anger began to slowly flow back into the room. This second man was an adherent of the Guild of the Pen, and his whole argument rested upon an analysis of the Old Books. In particular, he pointed out that the Great Prophet Lucian owned slaves, and that several ancient treatises on virtue made no objections to slavery, with some even going so far as to claim that the master had a kind of “natural right” over his slaves.

To this, there were many different objections, and many different arguments, several of which were quite convincing. But the speaker seemed almost wholly unwilling to admit the truth of even the most obvious truths, if they weren’t supported by the words of the Old Books, and he seemed to fall back again and again to the authorities that he had chosen to embrace. He certainly was not able to give a definition of any of his terms – such as “natural right,” in particular, which seemed like quite an odd pairing (a little like a “natural artifact”) – and he had no ability to reconcile the claims that he was making with the more obvious and important facts at hand, such as the clear suffering of the slaves, or the obvious cruelty of their masters.

It was apparent that he felt afraid of holding a belief on his own, without receiving the support of others. In those respects, I think, he was more or less the same as the people back on Earth. But because his own authorities were so obvious – rather than the more nebulous “common opinion” that people in democratic countries so often fall back on – there was something especially obvious about his cowardice, and the poor used that he seemed to be making of his mind.

That same cowardice led the man to become increasingly defensive as the debate went on, and increasingly upset, as the crowd became more scornful of his views, and of the authorities on which he had chosen to base his life, for some reason or another.

His defensiveness, in turn, led to quite a high degree of animosity from the crowd, who seemed to have expected more from the man, and to have been eager to hear at least a few admissions of the incorrectness of some of his more obviously fallacious claims. As a result, each of the objections became more and more hostile, which only led the man on the stage to become more frantic and enraged, as he tried desperately to defend his own reputation against the attacks of the students. It didn’t take long for the whole thing to devolve into a kind of flurry of voices and of passions, as the students cried out that the man was merely using ancient, ambiguous texts to defend the evil institutions that he happened to have been born into, while the scholar cried out that the students’ words were barely even worth considering, and that none of them had the right to dispute with the great masters who had come before.

Under different circumstances, the whole sight might have been merely comical. But I could tell that there was a lot of real feeling behind these words, and the sheer intensity of the hatred and of the anger in the room really made me shrink back a bit from the stage.

In that whole second part of the debate, the only real ray of light was a young, mild-mannered woman, with a kind face and disposition, who very eloquently tried to explain how one of the old books might be read in a different way than the man on the stage had suggested. But by the time that she had made her point, the whole debate was too far gone, and her words were hardly even heard, as the next objection was screamed out into the room, and the whole place boiled over with a sense of pure hatred and disgust.

Finally, after quite a few uncomfortable minutes, it came time for the second speaker to make his closing remarks. But the cries and the yells of the crowd were so loud at that point that he couldn’t even get a word in, and eventually, the moderator gave up on attempting to restore any semblance of order, and instead merely ended that section of the debate right then and there, as he gestured for the third and final speaker to step forward.

By that time, there was more tension in that room than I had ever felt before in my life.

The third speaker seemed to notice that, too. But, to my surprise, he seemed to be rather enjoying it. I had actually seen this same man walking by the side of the man in the red armor a bit earlier, and both then and now, I had gotten the distinct impression that he had a bit of a theatrical streak… and right now, it seemed that he had resolved to play the villain, for tonight’s performance – although there was also something quite calm, and noble about his bearing. At any rate, he was the representative of the Guild of the Mind, and one of the most notable scholars of the City of the Red Tower; and almost from the moment that he began to speak, there was something playful about his demeanor, but also a truly harsh and goading quality to each of his words, that was almost venomous.

His own speech went something a little like the following.

“Everything that all of you have said is true, of course,” the man began by saying. “Slavery is unjust, and it is certainly quite wrong.”

At this, there was a slight murmur in the room.

“Are you surprised by my words? But certainly, I will admit that much, at least – even if my colleagues weren’t so inclined to tell you the truth. But that slavery is wrong – and cruel, and immoral, and indecent too – is so obvious to every single one of us, and so apparent, that it would be insulting to try to deny that basic fact to you all, or to proceed as if it wasn’t the case.”

“So, then. If that was all that you had to prove – that slavery is wrong – then this debate would be over. However...”

“The fact that slavery is wrong simply does not settle the matter at all. For not a single one of you has provided even one argument that what is wrong is something that is to be avoided. Perhaps injustice can be very beneficial sometimes, and perhaps doing what is wrong can often be what is truly best for us, and most conducive to our happiness.”

At those words, the room soon fell silent. After a short pause, the man continued to speak.

“As I believe that each of you are aware, it is merely a common prejudice to believe that justice is something good, and that injustice is something harmful. In truth, doing what is just is as likely to be harmful for us as it is to be beneficial, while doing what is unjust is as likely to be good as it is to be bad. For justice is merely doing what is good for another – which might not at all be what is good for yourself – while injustice is merely doing what is bad for another person – even if it might be quite beneficial for you. Hence, there is no reason at all to care about whether what we do is just, or whether what we do is unjust. To a sensible man, the question of whether an action is just or is unjust simply does not come up at all.”

“What does matter, then? Only, this: whether an action be something good, or whether it be something bad. And when I say ‘good,’ I certainly do not mean ‘good’ in the moral sense of the word. For morality is nothing more than a fiction. And even if it were possible to perform a moral act – which it is not - that act would still not be to our advantage. For a moral action is an action that is done for the sake of the good of another, and it is therefore not an action that has any necessary connection to our own good. For unless all of you are foolish enough to believe in some sort of reward in the afterlife for heroes, then what good do you expect to get out of dying for the sake of another, exactly?”

“So when I say that it is the good that we care for, I mean the good in the sense that health is good, or that pleasure is good, or that freedom is good – in the sense of that word according to which the ‘good’ is what is truly able to satisfy the deepest yearnings of our nature.”

“That slavery is not just, therefore, I would grant to you at once. But that does not mean that it is not good. And thus, I only need to prove that slavery is something that is good for us, in order to show that the practice is correct. And that, I believe, is something that I can do quite easily. For anyone who has examined the matter with an honest mind has realized that it is quite possible to benefit a great deal from the misery of another. Hence, the practice of slavery can really be quite useful, in spite of all of the suffering that it happens to cause.”

At these words, there was a shout of real, unrestrained anger, as the moderator desperately tried to silence the increasingly impassioned crowd. It was clear that something about the words of this man had even managed to make each of the other advocates of slavery quite uncomfortable as well, and each of them seemed to be eagerly awaiting their own turn to proclaim that they, at least, did not hold such a dark and contemptuous view of justice and of morality.

For my own part, however, it seemed to me as if this was the only one of the three men who was really speaking honestly, and from the heart. And so I listened to his words with some attentiveness to his words, and a genuine curiosity to see where the argument would go, and what would happen next.

The man himself didn’t seem to be especially troubled by the responses of the crowd. Instead, he simply waited for the moderator to restore some peace and quiet, before continuing on, as he carefully finished up his point.

“Each of you claim that slavery is wrong, and each of you says that it is wrong because stripping a human being of their freedom is a tremendous evil. About all of that, I would agree with you wholeheartedly, and I would certainly say that there is nothing that is better than freedom. Even life itself is not better than being free, in my own opinion, for to live without being able to choose how you live is a fate that is worse than death. But if you and I agree that freedom is such a great good, then let me ask you – how much freedom have each of you attained? Without any slaves to support you, and to provide that noble and beautiful leisure that is the indispensable foundation for the highest human flourishing, exactly what sort of ‘freedom’ do each of you have, and exactly what sort of things are you able to accomplish?”

“Because in my own experiences of traveling throughout your lands, I have found that almost none of you have any freedom at all, and that consequently, not a single one of you is able to accomplish anything that is truly great, or beautiful. Almost all of you waste away the few precious hours of your lives in joyless labor, plucking grains up out of the hard earth, or banging away at the burning anvil, as you wait for your shift to be over, and for your drudgery to end. Then, several hours later, with your energy and your passion all burned away by the tedium of your labors, you try desperately to ‘unwind’ yourself, by drinking, or by playing cards, or by fighting and quarreling, all in a frantic, wild attempt to forget the monotony and the ugliness of your own existence. Then, at long last, you stumble into bed and fall asleep, only to begin the whole cycle once again, right over from the start.”

“Is that the life that you call ‘free’? Is that the existence that you are so proud of having attained, and that you hold up to me and to my fellow-citizens as a way of life to aspire to? Is that the great good that you think that each of us could attain, were we only to abandon our practice of slavery? Living your life in such a disgusting way, always caught up in the ugly toils and the frantic pleasures that consume your time, do you really think to boast of what you have attained, and to hold it up as a model for all of the rest of the world to admire, and to aspire to?”

There were more shouts from the crowd at this point, as the man raised his voice much higher now, and continued to make his point over the screams of the assembled crowd.

“Because to anyone who has lived in my city, the sorts of lives that each of you lead seem wholly contemptible, and debased. In my city, precisely because of the practice of slavery, each of us have the leisure to live our lives as we wish, and to devote our whole hearts and minds to cultivating what is great, and beautiful. We do not have to worry about work, or about money, or about any sort of drudgery or toil. Instead, we can devote ourselves wholeheartedly to our arts, and to our sciences, and to the governance of our city, and to each and every sort of activity that is truly human, and noble, and free.”

“And what, then, has been the result of such an arrangement, and the fruits of such a political body? Simply look in your history books and see! In your histories of war, you will hardly find a truly noble and beautiful deed that was not performed by a soldier of the City of the Red Tower. In your sciences, look at how many great discoveries and theories were first put forward by our own citizens, and look at how few were ever put forward by yours. In every theater, it is our plays that are being performed, and in every museum, it is our paintings that have been preserved. We are the only ones who managed to lead a truly dignified and human existence in this world, and it was only upon the back of the institution of slavery that we were able to do so. Compared to us, the rest of you are little more than worms, who use the power of your divine intellects in order to satisfy the basest and the most material cravings of your nature.”

The moderator was trying desperately to restore order at this point, but it didn’t seem to matter. The crowd continued to jeer more and more wildly, without meaning or sense – just a wild cry of rage and hatred – as the man forcefully spoke over all of them, bringing his arguments to a close.

“So, you are all correct! You are all correct! Slavery is immoral, and it is wrong, and it is unjust. But what does any of that matter?! In the end, despite all of the lies that we tell ourselves, the only thing that any of us care about is what is good for us – and if we care about justice at all, it is only because we believe that it is good, not because we know that it is just. And so, you can convince me that slavery is wrong – quite easily. But that slavery is bad for me, and that I would be better off abandoning my slaves, and living the sort of depraved life that you lead – of that, you will never be able to convince me, or to convince anyone else who has tasted even a drop of true nobility. And being unable to convince us of that, you will never be able to convince us to release our slaves, either. Thus, in spite of all of your protestations, your words mean nothing at all to me, or to anyone else who has tasted the fruits of true philosophy.”

“So, I say to you all, the institution of slavery is correct, at least for those of us who are fortunate enough to partake of it. However, I would be quite surprised if a single member of this vulgar crowd was able to appreciate that truth, having never experienced true nobility for themselves."

After he finished, the man gave a slight, disingenuous bow, that was mixed with a surprisingly warm and gracious smile, as he looked out towards the infuriated audience.

“Well, then,” he said. “I will now hear each of your responses.”

There was a slight pause.

The feeling in the crowd right then was almost explosive. But, nobody seemed to really know what to say, or how to even begin to respond.

And, then…

“But,” a soft, gentle voice said, “how can you be happy when you are doing such awful things to other people? Doesn’t it bother you to see them suffering?”

“Of course it does,” the speaker said. “Pity is a natural human vice. But, it is also one that is easily dealt with. If a slave is screaming out in pain, then simply place some plugs inside of your ears, and go inside. The sound will disappear at once, and then you can just read in peace, without being bothered by all of that noise.”

At those final words, all hell broke loose.

Up until that point, there had been a mounting sense of anger that had been simmering throughout the room. But at the man’s response, cries of rage roared out from almost every corner, as the young assembled crowd looked with hatred and disgust at the one who had dared to give utterance to the true views of his city. Before the moderator had any chance to calm the crowd, I saw a small book go flying through the air, and then strike the third speaker directly across his forehead. The blow must have been much stronger than it looked, because as the book fell, the top of his head had a noticeable splotch of bright, red blood trickling across its surface. At the sight of that blood, the roar of the crowd only seemed to intensify, as more and more was thrown towards the stage, and several of the young people ran towards each of the last two speakers, their weapons held firmly in their hands.

At once, a few of the guards who had been standing watch over the stage swooped in to protect the speakers, while others tried to usher each of the debaters out of the back door, and into safety. I heard the clash of sword against sword, as screams went up from inside of the hall, and dozens began to try to rush out of the room, and towards the main streets. I saw that the young woman who had spoken so eloquently before had now been knocked down onto the ground in the chaos, and was being stomped and kicked by the crowds who were rushing out of the way of the violence that was bursting out from all around them. Then, I ran towards her, and tried to shield her body from the mob, as I helped her to her feet. She was bloodied, but she didn’t seem seriously injured, and I pulled her back towards the corner of the room with me, as the guards towards the front of the stage began to be overwhelmed by the advance of the audience.

The two of us just stood there for a minute or two, as the hell of the situation unfolded out around us, in a cacophony of screams and of cries for help. Going forward into the fracas seemed only a little more dangerous than fleeing out the exit through the storming, raging crowd, so we just waited patiently in the back, hoping to find an opening. Eventually, the group thinned out enough that a path became apparent, and I helped to guide the young woman out through the clearing, and into the streets outside. There, a few of her friends rushed out to greet her, and thanked me for having protected her. A moment later, and they were gone, as the young woman was rushed off to receive treatment for her wounds.

I could still hear the fighting coming from inside, and looking back through the windows, I saw what I thought was the man who had spoken from before – the third of the speakers - laying down on the stage in a pool of thick, red blood, with a look of surprise and of terror on his face, as a few members of the young crowd plunged their blades into his robed body again, and again, and again, ripping through his soft, and naked flesh.

Then, in horror, and in fear for my own life, I simply continued to rush away from the building, and out into the main street that ran through the city square.