Frank Walton

“Are you a god, then?" Sokrates asked."What is a god?" Ikaros threw back instantly. They both sat up and leaned forward eagerly. Sokrates looked like, well, a philosopher. Ikaros was, frankly, gorgeous, more gorgeous than even Jathery pretending to be Hermes, because he was more mature. But there was no question he was a philosopher too, with that avidity in his face, twin to Sokrates's own."None of my old definitions will work, unless we allow that you and Porphyry and Athene are some other kind of being, and that there are unchanging unseeking perfect gods that are different," Sokrates said."The One," Ikaros said. "And I used the word angels in the New Concordance, for those other kinds of being. But perfection is a dynamic attribute.""How can it be? The nature of perfection--""Perfect things can become more perfect, endlessly.""Excellence, yes, but perfection implies completeness."Porphyry and I looked past them and smiled at each other. There was something satisfying to the soul in the way they so immediately became utterly absorbed in the argument. Sokrates caught the smile as Ikaros becan to explain the nature of dynamic perfection, which was exactly the kind of abstraction Ikarians and Psycheans love. "Wait," he said. "We're arguing with each other when we have an expert here.""I'm not an expert," Porphyry said, throwing up his hands."But you admit you are a god?""Yes..." Porphyry admitted, tentatively."Then you must know what a god is," Sokrates said, with a brisk nod. "Please enlighten us.””

“As usual, some of our critics”

“I'm not interested in talking about my feelings. None of them are particularly good or flattering, and frankly, talking about them is embarrassing.””