That Old Style Religion

You sin. Then you sin some more. And then even more. A bit later you figure you better get some insurance and so you visit the priest. You confess and he prescribes some anodyne penance, like 30 Hail Marys and giving up chocolate fudge sundaes every other month - after which, he assures you, all will be forgiven and the Pearly Gates will remain open for your minimally sorry (as in con-trite) ass.

Lo and behold, the fullness of time soon arrives and yup, though you walk through the Valley of Death without fear of punishment because of said priest's soothing reassurances, you suddenly find yourself facing none other than Mr. Fire and Brimstone himself.

"Woa", you say, "there must be a mistake in the database. Father Ben told me all would be well and I even did an extra Our Father three nights in a row."

The Trickster smiles devilishly (how else would he smile?), as he heaves you towards the nearest fiery pit and says: "Your greatest sin was believing that you could get away with so much sinning with just a slap of the rosary".

"But, but", you manage to whimper as the infernal fire starts to singe your eyebrows, "I trusted the priest. He told me all was O.K., so why should I get the blame? Besides, if you can't trust them, then who can you trust?" The Devil pauses, looks you seriously in the eye and in a grave, yet sorrowful voice, tells you, "The Boss gave you free will, the right to make up your own mind - didn't he? Well, that freedom comes with a price - and consequences. Now move along, I see a financial engineer approaching and that section is already beyond capacity. I will have to stick him in with the rating agency guys and lately they're at each other's throats".

The above "parable" is meant to suggest what can happen if investors and speculators place too much faith in the abilities of the Fed and other branches of the government to resolve systemic financial risk with just (hot) air. If their Hail Mary measures do not work, then there will be hell to pay. Almost literally.