I was thinking of the Latin adage corruptio optimi pessima (the corruption of the best is the worst) after finishing reading Joseph Roth’s short story, The Leviathan (Acantilado, 2022). Nissen Pickenik is a coral merchant in the small town of Progrody. He loves red corals—among the finest of them all—for whom he feels a true devotion; he carves and cares for them one by one. The story features corals as its star artists; however, its title is The Leviathan, a monstrous serpent inhabiting the depths of the sea to whom—the merchant declares—”God himself had entrusted for a certain time, that is, until the coming of the Messiah, the administration of the animals and plants of the ocean, and especially of the corals (…) whose growth and conduct he watched over” (p. 12).

Nissen Pickenik has a special connection with corals; he has never felt alone with them. “The corals,” he says, “longed to be picked and brought to the surface of the earth” (p. 11). The girls who worked in his workshop strung the corals exquisitely, creating beautiful necklaces “to ultimately serve their true purpose: to be jewels for the beautiful villagers.” Our merchant had earned a well-deserved reputation for being honest, impeccable in his conduct, and completely trustworthy for the authenticity of his corals. There was no duplicity or deceit in him, and that was why people came to his shop.

Everything was going well until one day he met another merchant of fake corals, made of celluloid. “And the devil suggested to the honest merchant the idea of mixing fake corals with the real ones (p. 59).” So he did. He began to earn a lot of money, feeling “a genuine voluptuousness at the thought of his money growing and earning interest (p. 69).” The merchant’s habits deteriorated, his good reputation plummeted, and his fortune, too, abandoned him. He was very, very high. He gave in to the insidious temptation of greed and fell very low, very low: one vice drew another. All he was left with was the guilty conscience of having betrayed the corals and himself.

It’s hard for us mere mortals to strive for a life of integrity. There are those who live exemplary lives, like the coral merchant. From personal experience, we know that at the first slip—or the second, or the third, or…—we cross the thin red line from good to evil. It’s human fragility and malice, also encouraged by the devil, as Joseph Roth saw in this story. It’s not just a stylistic device; it’s part of the human adventure to know that the devil lurks like a “roaring lion,” ready to tempt the best scribe into ruining his good handwriting. A history both human and divine, made of new and old fabrics. Every day a new stroke, sometimes good handwriting; other times, illegible handwriting and more than a few blots. The Latin adage is right when it states that when one is at the height of excellence, the moral fall is deeper. One is not exempt from either small stumbles or great falls, “because this is what happens to men seduced by the devil: they surpass the devil himself in all that is diabolical (p. 69),” notes Joseph Roth.

As Pope Leo XIV reminded us, Christians know that “evil will not prevail, for we are all in the hands of God.” Faced with the evil we may commit, the door to repentance and forgiveness remains open. Without forgiveness, all we would be left with would be remorse and despair. It seems to me that Nissen Pickenik remains at this stage. However, the history of salvation does not end at this dead end; we can raise our heads and take another step after our falls: the God, rich in mercy, reaches out to us more than seven times seven, opening the door of hope. The Christian God is not a Leviathan; He is a Father who cares for each of His children. A fatherhood that, so often, we do not see as clearly as we would like and only see “as in a mirror, but dimly.” Fatherhood and providence, in any case, to which we must turn to avoid stumbles, deep falls, or to escape the existential pits of the underworld.