The flaws we used to call sins — greed, avarice, lying, cheating, stealing and the like – are now more acceptable than, say, drag shows and cancer research and being kind to strangers. I’ve finally uncovered an olde manuscript that describes exactly how that came to pass.

This is an opinion fable.

Once upon a time the Great Council in the land of Klimidea gathered in anguish.

The nobles felt their way of life threatened. Lowly subjects privately disdained their rapacious lifestyles, and their own court jesters mocked them when they looked away. They feared their fundamental freedoms were under siege.

First to speak was the preening Lord Bilgewater, his Roman nose high above his third chin. He was in wondrous distress.

“I am a proud man, as ye know,” he said. “Proud of the fortune my grandfather rightly took from the hapless Syphileans, proud of these fine silks tailored for me by my grateful serfs, proud of my tall castle of stone and its three wagon ports. Those masons from Clapland built it for me and charged me but a pittance. Though I do fear I saw them pointing and laughing at me in a strange tongue!”

There was much muttering about “strange tongues,” until an old Cardinal raised a crooked finger.

“Pride goeth before a plunge, my Lord. ‘Tis a sin.”

Next came the green-eyed Baron von Vidious, the beak above his absence of chin every bit as high as Bilgewater’s. He had the look of a bird and spoke like one, too.

“Ye do have a fine fortune and fine clothes and a fine estate, Bilgewater,” he chirped. “But why can’t I have such fine things. ‘Tis not fair that I have only the meager fortune my father took from the Venerians, only these basic satins from Amazonia to wear, only a castle of brick and wood with but two wagon ports.”

“You must tell me where to find those Claplanders, Bilgewater! Before they raise their pittance and everyone gets a stone castle.”

There was much muttering and snorting. Again the Cardinal raised a claw.

“Envy not, good Baron, ‘Tis a sin.”

Third came the corpulent Count Humberger, waving a half-eaten leg of something or other high in the air.

“Those Claplanders will eat anything!” he shouted. “Our eggs and cheese! Cats and dogs! They should be exiled, or there will be nothing left for us!”

He bit a chunk of meat and banged the bone on the dais as the crowd muttered and guffawed.

The Cardinal did not laugh.

“Gluttony, too, is a sin,” he croaked. It was not well received.

On it went. The Marquess of Mostess, who was not really a Marquess or a native Klimidean, was allowed to speak because his lands were the widest, his castle the tallest and his storehouse the fattest. It mattered not what he said, the others simply nodded and cheered.

The Viscount of Venaltonia complained he could no longer enjoy groping his chamber maids as his forebears had so enjoyed because the maidens dared resist and the minstrels dared sing of it.

The Duke of Divan agreed that Claplanders must be exiled, with an exemption for those in his own servitude. The proposal was greeted with cheers from those he paid to greet his proposal with cheers.

The Earl of Ire banged his fist and railed against minstrels and Claplanders and alms for the sick and poor. He decried academies, and archivists, maidens who dared resist, and great masses of peasants who might in time, if not ruled by iron, demand to have their very own thoughts.

“These are the enemies of the kingdom,” he raged.

“Off with their heads,” the crowd chanted.

The Council agreed to quickly exile Claplanders, save those needed for their own labours, and to heed the Earl’s warnings.

Bilgewater asked if any more business was to be discussed.

The Cardinal spoke, and droned at length of pride, envy, gluttony, greed, lust, sloth and wrath.

“They are said to be quite deadly,” he warned. But there was only silence, until a jester sashayed forth. At first the room exploded in laughter at the very sight, for the jester was dressed elaborately in the manner of a damsel.

“The Holy Book condemns such things!” The Earl cried. “Now that is sin!”

“Aye!” the crowd roared.

And if the Cardinal dared say anything at all, it went unheard.

And that is how the Seven Deadly Sins became virtues, and drag shows became the One True Sin.

John Archibald is a town crier from way back, and a columnist at ye olde AL.com.