1. First Hearing in an Alternative Dimension
Nonplussed, I looked at the panel of three hovering above me. The Chairman looked exactly as He had been depicted by Michelangelo: heavy set, energetic and very much in command. His eyes, though, were kindly and a ghost of a twinkle was discernible. The adjudicator sitting to His right wore the uniform of a judge of the Court of Appeal, including a wig; his tall and gaunt figure commanded respect and his solemn expression and demeanour made me shiver. My lifelong friend, Theophil, was sitting to the Chairman’s left. As I turned my eyes to him, he winked, as if to say: “Don’t worry, Peter’le.”
I was aware that monotheistic religions regarded him as Satan, as Ashmadeus and as the epitome of evil. My association with him convinced me that these creeds misjudged him. Doubtless, he often exposed hypocrisies or ‘ulterior motives’, just as he purported to do in the case of Job. In general, though, he was not an interventionist. Frequently, the Almighty took his counsel, especially when it concerned the elevation of incumbents of purgatory to a place in paradise. All in all, Theophil struck me as resembling the Greek Pan rather than Hades – the severe and merciless master of the underworld.
“I agree with Matey,” volunteered the Almighty. “You, Peter’le, need not be alarmed.”
“I understand. But – Dear God – why am I here? I thought I had a pact to merge with Theophil?”
“You will. But there is a fine point to be settled. Gabriel will explain.”
“You see, Mr. Peter: pacta sunt servanda, which means: bargains are to be honoured. So, within a reasonable time, you will become united with Theophil. But before the bargain is complete, we – your judges – must consider your case.”
“But why?”
“That’s the law,” Gabriel told me severely.
“It is, rather,” muttered Theophil, “and as we know: the law is an ass!”
“My poor donkey,” complained the Good Lord. “If he is such a useless object, why have I created him?” Turning to Theophil, he added: “And you, Matey, didn’t counsel me to stop!”
“But who says the ass is useless? A bit of stupidity is often no worse than a wealth of conventional wisdom,” replied my lifelong friend.
“You have a point there,” agreed the Good Lord, ignoring Gabriel’s angry look.
The proceedings struck me as a sham. My decision to join the ranks of the Archangel – my friend Theophil – had been made long before my demise. Clearly, neither the Chairman nor Gabriel was going to declare the pact void. So why did they trouble to congregate? Did it really matter whether my bargain with Theophil was to be carried out instantly or after some delay?
The law, I knew, was an ass. In contrast, the three members of my panel were wise. Why would they adhere to mete out an obscure decree? It made no sense, especially for them.
“It is not as simple as that,” explained Gabriel, who read my thoughts. “Our task is to do justice before it is too late. Once you are part of Theo, this becomes impossible.”
“Are you then thinking of sending me for a short spell to hell?”
“Heavens forbid,” interposed the Good Lord.
“I agree,” nodded Gabriel. “All in all, you led a pretty decent life.”
“Did I?”
“Your main sins are your failure to respect or accept Him and the many instances of unkindness you have shown to your poor wife. Further, you bored your students to tears!”
“Anything else?” I enquired anxiously.
“You told plenty of white lies and, my dear Peter, you blew up your ‘expenses’ in your income tax returns.”
“Once upon a time, Gabriel was employed by the Inland Revenue Department,” grinned Theophil.
“Must have been a terrible experience, Lord Gabriel,” I said humbly.
“No need for the ‘Lord’ or any other human-coined title: ‘Gabriel’ will do. But no, it wasn’t a bore. This experience taught me a great deal about modern humans and their cultures.”
“Are all of us crooks?”
“Not really, Peter’le,” relented Gabriel, “but all humans I’ve come across are capable of ‘little dishonesties’ and have a selective approach to morals.”
“Are you then leaving these irregularities out of my indictment, Gabriel?”
“If my Honourable Colleagues agree,” he retorted as the other two panellists nodded.
This meant that my main fault had been my rejection of Him and the acts of unkindness Gabriel referred to. All in all, none appeared heinous. The sentence ought to be light. Still, I had a problem with the indictment.
“I never denied His existence,” I pleaded my defence.
“Right you are,” nodded Gabriel. “But did you accept Him? Did you worship Him?”
“No, I didn’t. But, then, look at it from my viewpoint. How could I accept His existence when I doubted the very meaning of ‘existence’?”
“He raised the issue of ‘existence’ with me,” confirmed Theophil.
“We, too, keep pondering on it,” grinned the Good Lord. “Here let me show you!”
To my amazement, he transformed himself into a swan, into Jupiter, into the Shaman and, at long last, into an invisible cloud. Gabriel, in turn, changed himself into a haughty angel with a beak and wings.
“But, then, even a cloud ‘exists’. What do you really appear like?” I asked
“If anyone of us showed you his home-image, you wouldn’t see, hear or sense anything. Even the most powerful microscope, hearing-aid or computer-radar would be of no use,” explained the Good Lord patiently.
“I told him that,” asserted Theophil. “He didn’t press the point.”
“But, all the same, I would like to know. Obviously, I can’t provide the answer on my own. But surely, you, Good Lord, are in the know!”
“It ain’t that simple,” interposed Gabriel. “Tell me, Peter’le, does a dream exist?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘exist’,” I replied.
“So you really ask Him to provide an answer to a question that is unclear! And how can any being answer an unformulated query?”
The Good Lord agreed benignly: “Spot on. My Matey (whom Gabri calls Theo) is of the same view.”
“But, Dear God, why is my failure to accept your ‘existence’ a sin when I am, to your knowledge, unable to fathom the meaning of ‘exist’?”
“So that’s why you have adopted him,” muttered the Good Lord, with his gaze fixed on Theophil.
“He has a penchant for raising awkward questions,” explained Theophil.
“Tut, tut,” interposed Gabriel. “To hear is to obey! So this ‘existence’ analysis is a red herring.”
“Nonetheless, I never addressed Him directly,” said the Good Lord.
After a short reflection, I spotted the heart of the problem. The Good Lord – if He existed – gave mankind free choice. If He addressed us directly or gave any orders, free choice would be mockery. So He considered it best not to appear to us.
My meanderings did not shed light on the meaning of ‘existence’. That remained a grey area to humanity. Had They discovered the answer?
“No: we do not have an all-embracing solution. Perhaps ‘existence’ encompasses different notions,” said my life long friend with conviction.
“I know you ‘exist’, Theophil.”
“You mean ‘we’ exist. But you doubted the notion for a long time. In the end I gave in to the human Peter’le and revealed myself to him. Luckily, he didn’t burst a vessel.”
“I never drop my mask! I let you search for me,” summed up the Good Lord.
“Then, Good Lord, we ‘indict’ our Peter’le for not searching,” Gabriel came to life.
“I am afraid so. And also for the other matters you listed,” He conceded.
“You won’t send me to hell for these?” I pressed anxiously.
“Of course not. Yours are sins or perhaps misdemeanours. Hell is for real felons!” Gabriel spoke on behalf of the panel.
As I kept looking at them, it dawned on me that They, too, were still searching for answers. There was no basis for the assumption that They, or in the very least He Himself, had mastered all knowledge in the universe. In a sense, my realisation baffled me. If He created the universe, how could it hold onto its mysteries?
“You, Peter’le, assume that my creation was a wilful act, don’t you?”
“I do. That’s what I’ve been told in school. But, then, the teachers taught us a lot of rubbish.”
“They did, rather,” interposed Theophil. “We do not know whether creation or evolution was triggered off wilfully or by chance.”
“This means that there may be a further dimension above yours?”
“We can’t rule that out,” volunteered Gabriel.
2. Provisional Sentence
Most of the pieces in the jigsaw had now been placed. But where were they going to send me? Hell had been ruled out. As I was a sinner, heaven was also not on. In any event, it was out of bounds for one of Theophil’s admirers.
Would I, then, have to spend a spell in purgatory prior to my full merger with Theophil? And to which ward might I be destined? Hopefully, not to the Ward of Bores. The very thought passed a shiver through my dematerialised spine.
“Don’t be childish, Peter’le. That ward has many sophisticated incumbents. They simply said one thing too often. You have plenty to learn from them. But, no, the Ward of Bores is not your destination. True, you used one phrase – letter of credit – too often. But you are not in the same league as Plato, St. Augustine, Kant and Marx. No, Peter’le, you will be destined to a place determined by Theophil,” explained Gabriel.
“Your task, Peter’le, will be to punch noses of deserving humans,” supplemented Theophil.
“What do you mean by ‘deserving’?” I wanted to know.
“Individuals who left a lasting mark on humanity and its development,” explained the Good Lord.
“But I have never punched a nose in my life,” I protested.
“True,” nodded Theophil. “But once you told me you wanted to punch Dean Schwitz at Monash. So that gave us the idea. You see, Peter’le, that’s how your sins rebound on your own head.”
“Poor noses,” I wailed.
“We disagree. Your selection is bound to please them: you shall make them feel important. Further, some of you humans get great pleasure from being beaten, tortured or cross-examined by the tax authorities. The disease is called masochism,” lectured Gabriel.
So my task was to punch seven selected noses. Still, one detail remained to be settled. Where would I spend the in-between spells? For just a second, I feared they would induce Theophil to tie me to a mast in a space ship.
“We are not barbarians. Only a demented Teutonic mind could dream up such nonsense. And we don’t expect any woman to fall madly in love with you. You don’t qualify,” said the Good Lord in alarm.
“But then, where will I reside when I am not busy punching?”
“Matey – I mean, your friend Theophil – will take care of the arrangements. And don’t you make a mistake. You can punch any human being: male or female. We are not male chauvinist pigs,” clarified the Good Lord.
“But suppose I want to punch somebody who may not have existed – like Moses?”
“As far as this exercise is concerned, existence encompasses everybody in your memory banks: even David and Ivanhoe,” explained Gabriel.
“And the outcome?” I wanted to know.
“We shall reconvene after you have punched seven noses. If we are satisfied with the performance, you are free to unite with Matey,” explained the Good Lord.
“And if you are not satisfied?”
“You have to punch another seven noses. It could turn into a perpetuum mobile,” grinned Theophil.
3. Temporary Accommodation
“Why did you let this happen?” I asked my mentor when the other two members of the panel disappeared.
“Gabriel is a nit-picker. But we’ll turn the episode to our advantage.”
“How?” I wanted to know.
“You’ll be a guest in my favourite ward. With His consent I established it to accommodate Archie – Archimedes Man of Syracuse – and Moti the Mammoth. They preferred to remained united rather than be moved to their respective heavens. A third incumbent – a Tiger – accepted an invitation to join them. I visit this ward regularly. Still, you’ll have to gain the inhabitants’ confidence on your own. Here is the hidden door.”
The garden was beautiful. I was fascinated by the skilfully trimmed shrubs, the neatly mowed lawn, the river flowing with dignity and the majestic view of mountains in the distance. The climate was warm and pleasant and the sky was blue and clear.
The tiger, the mammoth and their companion – a tall lanky fellow – looked stunned as I entered. The tiger arched his back, gave me a furious look and stepped protectively in front of the mammoth. The latter got the lanky fellow out of imminent danger. Having lifted the chap up with his trunk, the mammoth placed him in a picturesque hut erected on the mammoth’s own back. The mammoth then stepped forward in my direction.
For a moment I was overcome by trepidation. Then, to my relief, the tiger relaxed and, unexpectedly, observed: “You were sent to us by Lord Pan.”
“Lord Pan? And how come you speak English?”
“This is simple. Greek, of course, is the only civilised language,” interposed the lanky fellow, sliding down the mammoth’s trunk and holding his hand out to me. “All other languages are barbaric: especially Latin. Greek, though, is an ancient language. Many modern words were coined long after Classical Greek ceased to be spoken. For this reason, Lord Pan chose English. And he has made the dwellers of this ward conversant in it.”
I looked with interest at the circles of hyperbolas and parabolas this fellow had drawn on the sand. When my thoughts cleared, I told him with confidence: “So you are really Archimedes, Man of Syracuse!”
“I am indeed. But all my friends know me as ‘Archie’. And this big fellow is Moti.”
“You are the biggest fellow I’ve come across. You are huge. But you are also cute – if you know what I mean.”
To my delight, Moti raised his trunk and trumpeted. Spontaneously, all of us clapped. Acknowledging the ovation, Moti beamed at us.
“It is an honour to meet you,” I assured the three of them. “But who is Lord Pan?”
“It’s me,” said Theophil and materialised in front of us. “That’s the cliché I use when I come to see them here. Well, Peter’le, what do you think of your haven?
“Magnificent, Maestro!”
“You’ll be happy here. And you have the option of staying on as long as you like. Just keep punching the wrong noses.” Turning to the three residents, he explained: “Peter’le is my friend. Please help him to plan his mission. He’ll tell you all about it.”
Before Theophil exited, Tiger brushed gently against his robe. Theophil, in turn, stroked him. Archie and Moti beamed at both of them. I took the scene in with admiration. I knew that Eden was elsewhere. Still, this lovely spot had a charm of its own.
4. Settling Down
“Well, what is your mission? If it’s got anything to do with mathematics, you’re in the right place,” announced Archie somewhat immodestly.
“I’m afraid it’s got nothing to do with math. I’ve got to punch noses of people who have left a mark on humanity!”
“I’ve got no nose; only a trunk. Try to punch it, Peter’le. You’ll break your hand.”
“Sorry, Moti: only human noses are eligible: male and female.”
“But do you really want to punch female noses?” asked Tiger. “Most boys like to do other things with girls!”
“That’s because they are dumb,” interjected Archie. “They think they take whilst being taken. But Peter’le, how are you going to select these noses. Seven out of infinity: quite a task!”
Archie’s point was crucial. I could think of hundreds, if not thousands, of noses deserving a punch, including many religious worthies. The difficulty was to nominate, or select, just seven. Worse still, both males and females were eligible. On what criteria was I to base my selection?
“You’ve got to be objective. If your panel detects a bias, you’ll have an encore. Actually, why don’t you stand on a stage and invite anybody who wishes to have his or her nose punched to put in an appearance?” asked Tiger.
“I don’t think we’ll have seven acceptances – even if we add an RSVP,” I told him.
“Right you are, Peter’le. We must pick objective criteria to help us select worthy noses. To start with you must have a representative of each major culture. And make sure there are enough male and female noses online,” advised Archie.
For the rest of the afternoon we discussed appropriate criteria. Race and age were discarded. The former was ill-defined and confusing; the latter was immaterial: most of the eligible candidates were long dead. An important criterion was pinpointed by Tiger. Punching had to be carried out in a chronological order. I ought to find a suitable candidate in each major epoch.
“But where shall I start? I could start with our own age and move backward or commence at the beginning.”
“Start at the beginning,” counselled Archie. “If you begin selecting noses from amongst your contemporaries you’ll be overwhelmed by the number of suitable candidates.”
Late in the evening Theophil put in another appearance. To start with he commended our research. He then arranged a suitable resting place for me. Having decided not to erect another hut on Moti’s back, he simply magnified the size of Tiger’s carpet and provided a pillow and blankets.
“Please act as Peterle’s guardian, Tiger’le.”
“I sure will,” Tiger assured Theophil. “Can I accompany him on his missions?”
“Of course,” said Theophil magnanimously. “When necessary, I’ll shrink you to an appropriate size.”
Next morning I woke up full of energy. I wanted to embark on the task given to me. Still, the lovely stream was appealing.
“I want to have a swim before breakfast,” I told Tiger.
“I’ll accompany you to the riverbank. But I don’t like to immerse myself in water,” muttered Tiger.
“I won’t be long,” I promised, thinking to myself that Tiger retained his prejudices even after his physical demise. It then dawned on me that the very same point applied to me. I had always liked to swim in the morning. In addition, I felt for Tiger the same fondness I used to have for cats.
Shortly afterwards I asked the three of them to help me plan my course. I was satisfied that He had greater influence on humanity than any mortal. Should I then place him at the head of the queue?
“I thought your task was to punch human noses,” observed Archie. “Is He then eligible?”
“Archie means to ask: is he human?” augmented Moti.
“Quite so,” confirmed the Man of Syracuse.
Tiger, who sat apart, nodded. It dawned on me that, in a sense, Archie and Moti were closer to one another than to Tiger. I recalled that Tiger was admitted to the ward long after Theophil had erected it so as to enable Archie and Moti to remain together rather than moving each to his respective paradise. Tiger was a newcomer and accordingly had remained an add-on incumbent. Effectively, my arrival moved him closer to the centre.
Seeking to concentrate on the point raised by Archie, I stroked Tiger’s rich fur. He, in turn, purred with satisfaction and brushed against my trousers.
“A big cat,” I thought. “Fiercely independent but willing to make friends.”
Turning to Archie, I mused: “Surely, the answer to your comment is complex. It depends on the religion you embrace.”
“Please explain,” said Moti. “You see, we mammoths do not postulate any faith. We are tolerant.”
“Well, most Pagan religions are anthropomorphic so that Jupiter, for instance, has a nose. Buddhists, too, worship a human being. In contrast, Islam and Judaism maintain that the Almighty has no human features. Christianity is less clear on this point. Their Almighty came down to earth disguised as his own son and, for that purpose, assumed human form. During his spell with us he had a nose. But after his crucifixion he was resurrected and merged again with the formless Holy Spirit.”
“Peter’le,” said Theophil, who emerged in front of our eyes, “you ought to raise this difficult legal (or philosophical) question as a preliminary or interlocutory issue with our panel. I’ll ask Gabri – the Keeper of Records – to convene a meeting.”
5. A Preliminary Issue Respecting Eligibility
My three new friends accompanied me to the session. Each of us was formally dressed. To my amusement, Moti wore a huge bowtie. Was it organised by Archie, I wondered? In contrast, the three members of the panel donned comfortable attire and appeared relaxed.
After listening to our arguments, He took the lead: “Surely, Peter’le, Michelangelo drew me as a mighty figure with human features.”
“True; but then, can we trust him? Didn’t he use his artistic freedom (or licence) and imagination?” asked Tiger.
“Also, all Renaissance maestros set out to impress. Theirs was not the power of pure reason,” pontificated Archie.
“Hear, hear!” exclaimed Moti.
“Furthermore, their efforts would be in line with just one sect of Christianity: Catholicism,” I put in.
“We should be able to clarify the point after a short break,” concluded Theophil on behalf of the panel.
When they reconvened, Gabriel delivered their unanimous judgment. My mandate was confined to punching human noses. It was for me to decide whether a given deity met with this criterion and, of course, had to consider if activities and standing brought Him or Her within the range of the seven suitable worthies.
Initially, I felt disappointed. In reality, the decision threw the issue back to me.
“Actually, we didn’t,” said Theophil who joined us on the way back to our haven. “We simply left the onus on you. You must make your own choices and we shall judge whether or not you have completed your task. If we decide you haven’t, then you get an encore. Surely, that’s a fine solution.”