For a while we remained silent. He was watching me closely. I contemplated him with admiration. Despite his unappealing appearance I was mesmerised by his bright eyes. True, they looked straight through me and read my thoughts effortlessly and accurately, stripping me of all pretence. All the same, I sensed their warmth and was captivated by the understanding they reflected. I knew I was facing a being superior to me and realised I was in the presence of an intellect that dwarfed mine. Nonetheless, I was overcome by an intense feeling of brotherhood.
“You have been my friend all along, Theophil. In a way, you were always with me, if you know what I mean.”
“Fundamentally, you are right. But remember: I am no altruist. From the start I knew one day we might talk in this fashion.”
“Why didn’t you come earlier?”
“You weren’t ready. I had to prepare the ground: I hate failure!”
“I trust you,” I said inconsequentially. “But Theophil, are you really here – in front of me?”
“Surely, you no longer doubt my existence. I believe you are convinced.”
“I am. But are you here physically?”
“I am not flesh and blood. You have discerned that. Well, what is on your mind?”
“Just now you were Peppi. A few years ago you appeared to me in the form of Friedrich Duval. Now you are Theophil, who, earlier on, revealed himself to Dad in Munich. Are you real or just an image?”
“You shook hands with Fra Diablo!”
“But when I rushed after him, he had vanished into thin air. It doesn’t make sense. I hope you don’t mind my speaking bluntly.”
“I should not be here if I minded. Still, to answer your question, let’s shake hands again.”
Smiling, he held his hand out; try as I might, I could not grasp it. My hand passed through his as if it were thin air. It was as if I was trying to touch an image projected on a three-dimensional screen. Reading my thoughts, he dropped his hand onto the desk within my reach. It looked real. But, when I placed my own hand over it, my palm came to rest on the smooth wooden surface without making contact.
“Would you mind lifting your thumb?” I asked.
“Always happy to oblige,” he teased.
Initially, my hand closed around a void. Then, slowly, a feeling of contact took over. Closing my hand firmly, I sensed the touch of the leathery skin and the knuckles beneath it.
“Got ’cha!”
“Not for long,” he countered, and although my fingers continued to encircle his thumb, the sensation of contact was gone.
My mind was now racing, seeking to grasp the new reality. Was it the experience of watching an object projected on a cinema screen from a source that could transmit not just light and sound but other sensations, such as touch and smell?
“Slow down,” he urged. “You’re going too fast, far too fast!”
“Sorry,” I said apologetically, startled by his anxious tone. “Somehow, your proximity has stimulated my thought processes.”
“It has. But your mind is not programmed to work at this speed. You might burn yourself out. I have had some sad experiences.”
“So your presence acts as a catalyst. Is it because our intellect is modelled on yours?”
“Either that or because both stem from the same mould. Mine, though, is not handicapped by the constraints of a body.”
“But do you have any physical – bodily – existence?”
“You were on the right track when I had to break in. You feel, hear and see me through a sensation I produce in your mind.”
“And Friedrich Duval; and the locum in Munich?”
“I can make myself felt by a crowd. Further, I can appear in person – as a physical being. But this involves a risk and so I tend to avoid it.”
“How then did Friedrich Duval give me the Masked Harlequin?”
He did not answer but, as if by magic, a pot of tea, a sugar bowl, a milk jug and cup and saucer materialised in front of me. Turning the cup over, I smiled at him gratefully. It displayed an early Meissen mark.
“Won’t you join me?” I asked.
“With pleasure,” he answered, pouring the steaming tea into both my cup and its twin that had appeared in front of him.
I enjoyed the aromatic tea but, most of all, concentrated on the porcelain pieces. Once we had finished, Theophil said nonchalantly: “I’m delighted you like the set. So let us place it in your Meissen cabinet.”
“It’s … in Singapore,” I stammered.
“I know. Well, let us see on which shelf the set looks at its best.”
My eyes almost popped out of my head as the cabinet with my Meissen pieces materialised in its full splendour against one of the walls. Unable to contain myself, I walked over, moved some of the early figurines from the middle to the upper shelf and carefully placed my new pieces in the centre. For a while I was unable to tear myself away from my treasures. The world around me – even my ephemeral friend of the twilight zone – had ceased to exist. Then, with an effort, I turned back to him gratefully.
“They’ll be there when you get home,” he said as the cabinet vanished.
“How did you get them, Theophil?”
“I bought them from the Meissen store. I kept them in my own environment until I found somebody who would appreciate them as much as I do.”
Once again I was captivated by the look in his eyes. They were no longer ominous or threatening. Their determined, proud and penetrating glance searched for understanding.
“There is much humanity in you, Theophil,” I said, overcome by a deep sense of commitment.
His image remained in front of me. Yet, suddenly, I was alone in Peppi’s old study. Theophil’s keen eyes were no longer holding mine. I was gazing into lenses of unimaginable length, blurred as if by a fog at the end of an infinite tunnel.
“Theophil, where are you?” I screamed inwardly. “Don’t leave me alone here!”
“Sorry to give you a fright,” he replied looking at me again as before. “For just a moment I returned to … base. Your words startled me. And no, don’t worry: you have not offended me!”
“Did I say something out of the ordinary?”
“You did, rather. I have been called many things: powerful, resourceful, and – less flatteringly – evil, vile, and tricky. But nobody has told me before that there is a human element in me. Was your statement triggered by your mind?”
“No. It came from my heart. You see, I was deeply moved!”
“By my gift?”
“That too, but mainly by your expression.”
“Try to tell me – without dissecting – what exactly moved you.”
“My happiness brought you joy. I saw it in your eyes and … I felt it!”
“Is this, then, the human element?”
“I believe it is. Man is cruel to man. People exploit each other and are often ruthless and, alas, unscrupulous. All the same, they need each other. Man is not an island. He is not self-sufficient. You know of course what is the worst punishment you can inflict on a criminal?”
“Prolonged solitary confinement. I have seen strong men and self-assured women driven to insanity in their isolated cells! But then, aren’t many other mammals herd animals?”
“They are. But in animals, the herd drive is instinctive: it secures the survival of the pack and the species. The survival instinct may also be the origin of the drive in man. Yet the human urge is more complex. Man needs to share his emotions with other humans: his woes, his sadness, his victories and his happiness. I suspect that this type of social urge – social appetite as the pundits call it – is confined to us.”
“It is,” he confirmed calmly. “You are also right about me: Theophil is unique. But he, too, needs to share his thoughts and experiences. He turns to humans because they have the intellect and the capacity to respond.”
“So, notwithstanding your repeated assertions to the contrary, you do have emotions. You are not just the power of pure reason. You know joy, hate, defeat. And you know how to smile!”
“Quite so. But my ‘reactions’ are not comparable to your race’s emotions. Put simply, I react and respond; but my actual acts are based on my reasoning process.”
“All the same, you seek out those with whom you wish to share your thoughts and ‘reactions’.”
“I do. But – then – I am selective when I choose my friends!”
“I see.” I was touched by his words. “Why do you appear in this … form, when you reveal yourself to a potential friend?”
“This is a term of the pact between Him and me.”
“Are you referring to the Treaty made after the … rebellion? I do not accept your ‘violent revolt’ evolving into a war of sulphur and fire. It sounds bizarre: two unique forces battling physically.”
“Sheer nonsense – I agree. My first ‘rebellion’ was my attempt to create a Man in my own intellectual image. He objected and so we had an ‘engagement’ of sorts. He won but thought it best to conclude the affair with a mutually acceptable treaty. Both of us have observed it ever since. Nowadays we are on the best of terms.”
“But how about your whispering to Eve that blind obedience was untenable and that an order should be obeyed only if anchored in reason. Wasn’t this a second ‘revolt’?” I asked him.
“What makes you think this ‘whisper’ was a rebellion?”
“It must have been, because Man’s ‘role’ was to obey blindly, unthinkingly. When you encouraged Eve to yield to temptation, you upset the order ordained by Him. In the process you set us free!”
“I did, rather,” he smirked. “But my encounter with Eve did not entail a ‘revolt’. The two metaphysical forces made a bet. He was certain Man would never disobey him. I had my doubts. So, Peter’le, we set out to settle the point. In the process I proved that Man had his own agenda. He conceded the bet.”
“I see. You utilised a flaw in his preordained order of things. You acted as a catalyst.”
“How?”
“By triggering our intellectual curiosity and by feeding our yearning to comprehend cause and effect. We ought to thank you for nurturing our spark of independence, for acting as our pilot along the winding passage.”
“How did I act as pilot?”
“Didn’t you, once upon a time, assume the name Prometheus?”
“No, I didn’t. I am no interventionist. I did not steal the fire from the Gods! In any case, I have no liver. An eagle couldn’t peck at it.”
“But didn’t you teach us to use fire?”
Again he did not answer, but this time he produced a vast kaleidoscope. At the end of the tunnel I perceived a man, with a strangely shaped cranium and dangling arms, sitting by a burning tree in a dark forest. Wrapping an untanned fur firmly around him, he rubbed his hands with satisfaction. When a strong gust of wind signalled the approach of another thunderstorm, he rose to his feet anxiously, his eyes fixed on the fire. For a moment he looked around him helplessly. Then his expression changed. Breaking a thick branch off a tree, he thrust it into the smouldering ashes. The moment it caught fire he ran off, clutching this torch. Following his steps, I saw him entering a cave and calling out loudly.
“Getting him to concentrate was an effort. You see, I did not put the idea in his head. All I did was assist him to focus on his own ‘notion’.”
“Well: I was right about you all along!”
“You were. Still, my promptings have also led to much misery: think of the bow and arrow, the gun and all instruments of war; and don’t forget the thumbscrew. They too are products of Man’s intellect. Progress has not been an uninterrupted upward journey.”
“Did you anticipate this?”
“I knew all along that it was feasible. The intellect is a tool. My object is to advance it. Any resulting ‘evil’ is a by-product.”
“A by-product of what?” I asked.
“Of Man’s emotive structure. You can call it a by-product of ‘human nature’ for which I, Theophil, claim no responsibility!”
“But what, then, induced you to prod our intellect?”
“As I told you, I am no altruist. Neither am I motivated by sadistic impulses. The development of the human mind serves my object! Have you worked out what it might be?”
“To spur on those you may wish to associate with – to close the gap that separates you from them?”
“I should rather say: to enlighten those likely to search for me!”
“By which you mean: to help them search for reason in an irrational universe?”
“Precisely,” he nodded.
“This has been the theme of my own life. True, my search was often interrupted. Sometimes it became sporadic. But, like Peppi before me, I have not abandoned it.”
“I know. That’s why I am here!”
“Will you then accept me?” I asked.
“But are you holding your hand out to me or to Peppi?”
“To you. Peppi’s presence is comforting and, as you well know, his friendship prepared me for my discourse with you. But Theophil, his own story would remain incomplete unless his object was served by my pact with you. So, in reality, my hand reaches out to both of you.”
“Have you made up your mind?”
“I have! But you, Theophil, look undecided.”
“True! Your orientation suits me. But your motivation poses a hurdle.”
“My motivation? I tried to free myself from dogma since boyhood!”
“But weren’t you prompted by emotions triggered by your years as refugee?”
“Perhaps. All in all, though, mine was an intellectual response. I found the answers given to my basic questions unacceptable. They induced me to reject conventional dogma.”
“This was in all probability the main cause. And the piety and pedantry of your teachers in primary school in Tel Aviv added fuel to your fire. So did the ragging of your Orthodox classmates, who objected to the non-Kosher sandwiches you brought with you for lunch. The stupidity of some of your secondary school teachers cemented your ‘heretic’ stance.”
“My sheer hatred of dogma, Theophil, is gone. Over the years, you have set me free.”
“I have. You are now free to turn either way: onward with me or back to Him. The choice is yours!”
“I have no wish to turn back!”
“Are you certain?”
“I am!”
“But why? Didn’t you wrong Him amongst others? Shouldn’t you consider your next step carefully?”
“My equations, Theophil, still hold true. I may have worked them out for the wrong reason. I know this now. But aren’t they foolproof?”
“Why don’t we put them to the test together?”
It took me a while to overcome my reluctance. The formulas I had taken years to perfect were bound to appear basic, unsophisticated, to him. His encouraging smile, though, gave me heart.
“The proposition I question is the existence of a perfect God who created us in his own image. If this postulate is proved true, there is no room for argument. He then deserves our thanks and veneration. If, by contrast, the proposition is flawed, there is no rational basis for the love and worship which we are expected to lavish on Him.”
“And why is that so?” he asked.
“Because the foundation on which the tenet is postulated is, then, shattered.”
“How is the tenet proved wrong?”
“By its internal inconsistency,” I said fervently. “It postulates a perfect and omnipotent creator who shaped a world occupied by humans created in his own image. I maintain that the imperfection of Man proves the imperfection of the creator in whose image Man was moulded.”
“Does the deficiency of the product establish the maker’s failing?”
“If the imperfect product was made in his own image – it does. If the image is faulty, can the mirror image be perfect?”
“But can’t the maker, or creator, make a mistake?”
“Can perfection be imperfect? If a potter throws a defective piece, he discards it. He then reforms the clay and starts again. He may succeed. Still, the inadequacy of the first piece establishes that the potter has his failings!”
“Me’thinks,” smiled Theophil, “that you make much of a single argument. You equate ‘perfect’ with ‘faultless’. But even if we accept this point, how do you refute the creator’s omnipotence?”
“Can an imperfect Prince be omnipotent? Doesn’t the imperfection render him vulnerable!”
“Agreed. But do you rest your argument on that single sequence?”
“No, Theophil. I have two further arguments up my sleeve!”
“Quite some sleeve,” he chuckled. “Would you like another nip to sustain you?”
“Thanks.” I sipped the fiery liqueur appreciatively. Then, in a calmer tone, I continued: “The act of creation, which we presume to be wilful, establishes that He is neither perfect nor omnipotent!”
“Would you care to explain?”
“If He were perfect, he would not have experienced the urge to create. Any move from a perfect state must, by definition, be a move towards imperfection!”
“I am glad you have seen the point.”
“Didn’t the great ones?”
“They shut their eyes to it in their barren attempt to prove a foregone conclusion! But you – Peter’le – still have to establish that the creation, or the wish to create, refutes the creator’s omnipotence!”
“That is my remaining point. The wish to create a world in order to be worshipped by it is a manifestation of the creator’s doubt and insecurity. An omnipotent creator – like an outstanding teacher – does not desire to be praised or worshipped!”
“Touché,” said my lifelong friend.
“May I expand on this?” I asked, savouring his praise.
“There is no need. Your sequence is conceptually irrefutable. But me’thinks you wish to add a pragmatic point!”
“I do indeed. I maintain that perfection and omnipotence are inseparable. You can’t have the one without the other. His letting the world degenerate into the depraved state so often encountered in our sad history casts doubt on the perfection of his original creation and on his ability to rectify the faults. Hence it casts doubt on his omnipotence. Accordingly, the onus of establishing His perfection and omnipotence rests on those who assert them. Neither point is provable by rational argumentation!”
“To accept them you must make an act of faith, which is an emotive response: dictated by wish and desire. Well, can you refute faith?” asked Theophil.
“I can’t, I won’t and I don’t wish to! I cannot accept ‘faith’ because, to me, it is ‘blind’!”
“Why then do you wish to join me?”
“Because you are the manifestation of reason. It was you who liberated us, humans, from a naive existence in Utopia; and it was you who set us on our quest for identity and individuality. I realise you are neither perfect nor omnipotent and that you make no claim to either. But to me this is immaterial. I have no use for perfection.”
“Are you then committed?”
“I am!” I confirmed, holding my hand out to him.
“Welcome to the brotherhood.” I grasped his leathery hand firmly, and a deep sensation of achievement, of fulfilment, ran through me.
For a while we sat together peacefully, a sense of harmony binding me to him. Then, as scenes from my life rushed through my galvanised mind, a question formed.
“No,” he told me even before I expressed it. “There is no ‘price’. The notion is far too simplistic. True, in the wrangling between Him and me we accepted a loose arrangement. Frequently, those who attempt to follow me are made to go through a period of suffering. They may end up ‘repenting’, disowning me in the process and turning back to Him. I have never tried to stop them. Their route then parts from mine!”
“So only those who are fully committed remain in your fold?”
“Precisely. And they are the ones I treasure. You, Peter’le, went through your bad spell long ago. You are a free agent!”
“I have made my choice,” I said.
“Acceptance of God can come most unexpectedly. I have had my disappointments. You, too, will have your choice to the last,” his voice full of both sadness and pride.
“I have my conviction!” I assured him. Then, as I sensed he was getting ready to depart, I added anxiously: “Please, do come to me often.”
“I shall. And you must teach yourself to turn to me when I am needed.”
I was about to answer when a bold knock at the door interrupted us.
Irritated, I snapped, “Who on earth can that be?”
“They have come to pick up this furniture. Wasn’t it careless of them to leave it behind? Well, you’d better let them in. See you soon.”