Archimedes and the Mammoth
Archimedes’ appointed hour arrived one bright morning in Syracuse (probably in 212 BCE). Our panel had to determine his destination. Real sinners – nasty fellows like Joseph Stalin – would, of course, be sentenced to a spell in inferno. When their mandatory term was completed, they would be allowed to enter purgatory. When all their sins were purged, they would be entitled to a place in paradise.
The composition of the judicial panel varied from case to case. Difficult ones would be referred to a panel of three or even five. In Archimedes’ case such a Coram was not needed. The judges were to be Friend – the Good Lord – and I, Mephisto, the archangel and the Good Lord’s bosom pal.
Archimedes faced our panel with self-assurance. To start with, Friend, who invariably has the first word, asked whether Archimedes had led a good life. Further, he wanted Archimedes to reveal his crimes. Archimedes protested. He had been, so he said, a fine citizen of Syracuse, had invented many devices and instrument needed to defend his hometown and, in addition, had always been faithful to his wife!
“But surely, Archimedes, you exposed yourself when you jumped out of the bathtub stark naked and danced – with water still dripping all over you – throughout the streets of Syracuse chanting: ‘Eureka, Eureka’. That is importuning!” said Friend, seeking to sound severe.
“It was a silly act. But you know, I was overcome by glee when I solved that cursed mathematical problem. I didn’t know what I was doing!”
“That’s no excuse,” said Friend. “And that’s not all! True, the good burghers of Syracuse were amused by the new eccentricity of their honourable compatriot. They knew you had to be taken with a pinch of salt. But the wife of a Greek merchant, who was a newcomer, had a shock and fainted. And she miscarried. So, you killed her child!”
“But surely, Archimedes, had no malicious intention,” I decided to intervene.
“I know he didn’t,” affirmed Friend. “Still, a man of his intellectual calibre should have foreseen the dire consequences of dancing naked at high noon! Accordingly, he was culpably negligent!”
“Come, come,” I rose to the defence. “Archimedes did not know what he was doing: he was a man possessed. How then could he foresee anything?”
“Oh well,” conceded Friend. “Still, he is guilty of homicide.”
“Guilty as charged,” confessed Archimedes. “But please tell me: was it really homicide? When does a foetus become a human being?”
“Some religions believe a foetus is human as from the moment of conception. This is a strict view. But when you, Archimedes, paraded yourself, the lady was in her sixth month.”
To the dismay of both of us, Archimedes banged his head against the wall. Overcome by both remorse and shame, he burst into tears. He thought it was monstrous that a moment of pride and joy had such dismal consequences.
“Now, now, Archimedes: there is no man on earth who does the good and never sins,” consoled the Good Lord, who – despite his stern front – was kindly.
“So where shall we send him to? Surely, inferno is not on,” I opined.
“Of course not,” said Friend. “But, alas, so is paradise. Homicide is a felony; and so is importuning!”
“I agree,” I ventured. “But, surely, the spell in purgatory ought to be in a ward in which a man of genius can continue to go from strength to strength!”
“Does this rule out the ward for bores?” meandered Friend.
“What is a bore?” asked Archimedes humbly.
“A bore is a fellow who keeps repeating the same message again and again until nobody wants to listen to him any longer. A fellow sentenced to the ward is elevated to heaven only if he serves a jubilee as president and then is knocked out by a democratic vote of all inmates!”
In answer to Archimedes’ further question, I explained that the current president has remained one, Plato. He was nearly knocked out by Aristotle and, much later, had a draw when Emanuel Kant entered the arena. To avoid a second vote, we set Kant another task. He was ordered to re-write the first sentence of the Critique of Pure Reason so as to make it comprehensible to plain mortals. He was still working on it. However, in due course one Karl Marx decided to stand for the presidency. The vote was to take place in due course. The odds were even!
“But, surely, I’m not a bore. I never repeated myself,” asserted Archimedes.
“You shouted ‘Eureka’ at least two hundred times,” observed Friend.
“But that was an exclamation; not a message,” I stood up for my protégé.
“True. But, then, how about the ‘Impossible Missions’ ward?” asked Friend.
“And what is that?” queried Archimedes.
Archimedes let his disgust show when I told him about the lot of Sisyphus. Having annoyed Poseidon, he was ordered to fill a bottomless barrel. Every drop of water that escaped would be counted against him.
“But that’s a child’s game. All he had to do was to plug the bottom!”
“But how about the water that would have run off whilst he was plugging the barrel?”
“Surely, these drops were going to escape in any event!” asserted Archimedes.
My Friend – the Good Lord – nodded sagely. Archimedes, he explained, had to be given a hard task.
“Flying the mammoth?” I asked.
“Precisely,” agreed Friend enthusiastically.
Archimedes looked with forebodings at the huge head and tusks emerging from the deep pool. Judging by the head, the apparition was immense. This, though, did not perturb Archimedes. He wanted to know what had induced us – a panel of fair-minded judges – to immerse the poor brute in a huge bucket.
“He wanted to fly,” Friend told him.
“What’s wrong with that? Man had risked his life in attempts to fly. Poor Dedalus’ wings of wax melted when he ventured too close to the sun.”
“Flying is for birds. Mammoths are not meant to fly,” asserted the Good Lord.
“Why not?” persisted Archimedes.
“Because mammoths are too majestic. Their role is to walk sedately and with dignity. They are not meant to hover merrily in the sky. In my universe, every being has a role to play,” elaborated Friend.
“But you gave all beings ‘free choice’, Friend. So why shouldn’t a mammoth choose to fly?” I asked innocently.
“You have a point there, Matey!” responded Friend.
“Well, Archimedes, do you think you can help the mammoth fly?” I ventured.
“Where there is a will, there is a way!” replied Archimedes with pomp. He then added that to remove any doubt it would be best to see the entire mammoth – not just its head.
Obligingly, Friend unfastened the chains which tied the mammoth. He then drained the pool. For a while Archimedes viewed the mammoth. Impressed by its size, he walked around the gigantic beast, feeling its skin and muscles. When he completed his examination, he asked whether we were in purgatory or in inferno. The poor mammoth was freezing!
“In inferno the environment is too hot: not too cold,” disputed Friend.
“But what would the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals say about the mammoth’s condition?”
“They may not be pleased. But surely, they have no say in purgatory. Still, cruelty is repugnant. And we have to think of the Press. Can you warm him up, Archimedes?” asked the Good Lord.
“It will take a long time. He is huge!” replied Archimedes soberly.
To ease the atmosphere, I produced an immense massaging machine. When I finished, the mammoth regained his vigour and spirit. Looking at me gratefully, he bowed humbly and then trumpeted.
“Well, Archimedes. Can you make him fly?” asked Friend benignly.
“I can! But only with his cooperation. I must be able to converse with him.”
“Mammothskrit is not an easy tongue! And you’ll have to raise your voice,” observed Friend.
“Like when I yelled ‘Eureka’?”
“Precisely. So, are you still game to try?”
“I am!” affirmed the Man of Syracuse.
Notwithstanding his misgivings, Friend endowed Archimedes with knowledge of ‘basic Mammothskrit’. I, in turn, gave Archimedes a loudspeaker and provided a Persian hovering-carpet. With its aid, Archimedes levitated himself to the Mammoth’s eye level.
“Who are you, Respected Sir?” asked the mammoth.
“I’m Archimedes. You must have heard my name, haven’t you?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t, Respected Sir. You see, I was immersed in this pool for eons!”
“How ghastly,” said Archimedes and then told the mammoth his own life story.
“Does this means that you, Respected Sir, are a great inventor?” asked the mammoth shyly.
“I am the greatest! And I’m told your dream is to fly! Well, I’ll make it come true!”
“Will you? But I’m so big. Can you really do it?”
“Of course. But I need your cooperation, Mr. Mammoth.”
“I’ll be delighted to give you any assistance I can. But, please, don’t call me ‘Mr. Mammoth’. My friends call me Moti.”
“And I’m Archie,” countered Archimedes warmly. “And I shall make you fly!”
“Pride comes before fall,” warned Friend.
“Eh?” said a startled Archimedes.
“You say, Moti will fly! I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Let’s give him a chance and a hand,” I stepped in.
“Oh, very well,” summed up Friend. “Archimedes, you have all the time in the world to accomplish your task!”
Before we departed, the mammoth expressed concern about Archimedes’ well being. He, himself, might step on him by error and, on top of it, there were nasty snakes and wild cats around. They would not dare to tackle a mammoth but Archimedes might become their prey. To forestall all problems, I erected a small hut on the mammoth’s back. It was to be Archimedes’ residence during his spell in purgatory.
When I returned to the site after five thousand years, there was some evidence of progress. Two huge wings were attached to Moti’s ears. Still, notwithstanding all vigorous efforts to attain levitation speed, the mammoth remained earth bound.
“Is there anything wrong with my calculations?” wailed Archimedes.
“Please don’t worry, Archie. The construction of the wings was fun! I enjoyed every minute,” consoled Moti.
“Let’s have a look at the calculations,” I volunteered.
For a few hours, I studied Archimedes’ equations. Initially, they appeared fool proof. Then, with disappointment, I discovered the error.
“Archie, how did you calculate Moti’s weight?”
“The body and trunk were easy. But I had to estimate the weight of the tail. My instruments are not adequate for an exact calculation.”
“Well, let’s do it together!”
Archimedes viewed the result with dismay. When he realised how grossly he had underestimated the weight of the tail, he burst into tears. Moti looked at him with concern. Gently he stroked Archimedes’ shoulder with his trunk.
“Don’t worry Archie. We knew all along the first try might fail. We’ll have another go. And one day you’ll find the answer! You will fly me!”
“I sure hope so. But to think of all the work I made you do!”
“But I love doing things together with you. So don’t you feel sad.”
“And, Archimedes, it was not in vain. When Moti rises, he’ll need to propel himself. The ears are just right. So don’t you fret,” I augmented.
I returned after another millennia. To my relief the pair continued experimenting. Poor Moti was running as fast as he could. His winged ears were moving steadily and his tail was pointing down to the ground.
“I don’t think we can make it this way. You see, Lord Pan, Moti cannot run fast enough to rise.”
“Correct,” I told him. “If he runs any faster, he’ll have a heart attack. You’ll have to try another method.”
Archimedes looked subdued and bewildered and, finally, asked: “But how?”
“Give them the basics,” prompted Friend. “We want them to succeed.”
“Moti, why can’t you rise? What holds you down,” I asked Socratically.
“My weight, Lord Pan. I am too clumsy.”
“Nonsense,” I reassured the still panting mammoth. “Archie, too, cannot rise: and he is much lighter than you!”
“So please tell us the reason,” begged Archimedes.
“Let’s have a go. Moti, do you think the earth is flat or round?”
“Flat,” averred Moti.
“But what do you see far away?”
“I see the horizon touching the surface.”
“But if the horizon was flat?”
“It would never touch,” affirmed the mammoth.
“And what would you see if you galloped to the place where the horizon touches the earth?”
“The same thing,” conceded Moti after a short pause.
“Wel’ is the earth flat or round?” I asked him patiently.
“So it is also round …,” stammered Moti.
“Precisely,” said Archimedes. “Lord Pan is a fine teacher. What you and I see, Moti, is an optical illusion!”
“Quite so,” I affirmed. “Further, the earth turns on its axis and rotates around the sun. For the moment, accept these as axioms.”
“But then, why can’t we move away from it?” asked Moti, still bewildered.
To explain the point, I produced a ball and placed small pieces of iron on its surface. As soon as I rotated the ball, the pieces fell off. I then inserted a powerful magnet in the centre of the ball. The pieces remained in place even when I rotated the ball at high speed and turned it on its axis.
“What did you put into the ball?” asked Archimedes.
“It’s a magnet. It is used in a compass. And in the 20th century, ladies loved to buy slogans and small paintings fixed onto magnets. They attached them to their fridges.”
“Compasses were not known in Syracuse. They must be a new invention,” observed Archimedes.
“Invented after your demise,” I affirmed. “Still, now you know what is involved.”
“I do. But can a magnet catch everything?”
“No, Archie. It pulls only some metallic objects. But the earth, and all heavenly objects, exercise a pull which affects everything which has a weight. We call the substance ‘mass’. The ‘pull’ is called gravity.”
“Aristotle said something about it. But how can I learn more about all this?” asked Archimedes humbly.
“I’ll give you the writings of a fellow called Newton. Also, you need to know more about the movement of heavenly object. Please start by reading Copernicus, Galileo and Keppler.”
“Both of us will be delighted,” affirmed Archimedes and bowed respectfully.
“Well done, Matey” approbated Friend’s gentle voice.
When I returned after another five years, Archimedes had digested the information imparted to him. He concluded that, to fly the mammoth, he had to free him from the pull of gravity. The best way was to create a surface – a carpet or blanket – which could neutralise the pull. Moti would step on it, be alleviated and then proceed by manipulating his ear-wings.
“The idea is sound. But how do you create the anti-gravity device?” I asked.
“You gave me an anti-gravity carpet when we met Moti for the first time. I must use the same principle. But I am still in the dark. I don’t know how the device works and can’t understand the forces used. Can you possibly give me any reading materials?”
“Some are very old; but most were written hundreds of years after your time. They are not easy to comprehend. But, still, have a go.”
When I returned after four years, Archimedes showed me his device. He had tried a sort of a balloon and then a Zeppelin. But he found them inflexible and simplistic. The device he now displayed proudly was a replica of the very system used by Friend and me.
Manifesting doubts, Archimedes asked: “Will it work, Lord Pan?”
“Let’s have a look at the engine and your equations.”
“I don’t want to risk Moti’s safety. So, we better be absolutely certain,” averred Archimedes.
“Spot on,” I confirmed at long last. “Is it OK with you, Moti?”
“As long as Archie (and of course you, Lord Pan) are happy with it.”
Friend and myself attended the launch. Protected by an anti-meteorite and radiation shield provided by myself, the pair flew high into the sky. Within a few seconds they rose much higher than any balloon or Zeppelin known to mankind.
They proceeded at a dignified speed, propelled by Moti’s enormous ear wings. Their voyage, accurately calculated by Archimedes, took them to the lower levels of the stratosphere. Eventually, they landed, victoriously, next to us.
“What a wonderful performance,” said Friend with glee.
“A victory of the human mind with a few nudges from … outside,” I endorsed.
When the travellers recovered from their ride, Friend advised them they had served their terms in purgatory. Each of them was now entitled to his reward: a safe passage to paradise. Archimedes was destined for the human paradise and Moti for the paradise of mammoths.
“Can’t we remain together?” asked Archimedes with trepidation.
“I am afraid not,” I explained. “You see, the human heaven is out of bounds for mammoths and vice versa.”
“Why? Life without Archie is unthinkable. I’d rather be immersed again in the freezing pool. Why can’t I go with him?” Moti let his chagrin show.
“What will young children do when they see you?” asked Friend.
“But I am not dangerous. I am a strict vegetarian,” protested Moti.
“True. But they don’t know this,” I pointed out.
“I understand. But is there no way to keep us together? I can’t imagine life without looking after and being taken care of by Moti. He is my only friend. Please help us,” beseeched Archimedes.
Deeply moved, Friend explained that a soul had to take its reward. A refusal to enter paradise would be a contempt of court. Still, the best jurist in heaven was one Gabriel, who loved to construe the law. Being the master of fictions, he might find a way round the plain words of the law. We would consult him and return forthwith.
Gabriel was pleased to render an opinion. In his analysis, the law was unclear. A soul had to enter heaven when invited to do so. But no rule prescribed how long it had to stay put. It was an open-ended arrangement. The legislature did not anticipate that a soul might wish to leave paradise. In consequence, no provision was made.
Armed with this iron clad opinion, Friend and I faced our charges. Before long, a simple bargain was struck. Their ward was to be sealed off from the rest of the purgatory. A door on its right opened to a narrow tunnel to heaven. Once a year, Archimedes had to walk through it and spend a day in paradise. His task was to mount a stage and, equipped with a loudspeaker, was to sing and dance Eureka. Once he completed his performance he would be free to return to their special ward. Moti would be allowed to watch the show from a special cloud to be provided by me. If, at any time, he felt his friend was threatened, he would summon my help.
On some other day, Moti was to proceed for a one-day spell in the heaven of mammoths. Floating alongside on his levitation carpet, Archimedes would be allowed to keep him company. He would, of course, remain invisible to the remaining inmates of the M heaven. At the end of the day, Moti would make his way back.
“Any specific do’s or don’ts?” asked Archimedes.
“Yes. You must wear a pair of Bermuda shorts under your tunic when you perform in paradise. Importuning is strictly forbidden in heaven!” I told him.
“To hear is to obey,” countered a deeply touched Archimedes.
Friend and I watched Archimedes’ first performance with glee. So did Moti who, unseen by others, hovered on his platform. At one point he was so moved that he rose on his hind legs and danced to the tune of the band.
“Well, these two found their paradise in purgatory!” observed Friend as we made our way back to our heavenly residence.
“But what is wrong with that?” I asked perplexed.
“Purgatory is meant to be a place of banishment. And it is to be kept quite apart from both paradise and inferno,” explained Friend.
“But, Friend, every rule is subject to exceptions,” I told him.
“I suppose so. But, you know, I think that, quite apart from these two, another ‘being’ found his happiness in this place.”
“You have a point there,” I conceded.
The Trip to Aldebaran
Friend – the Good Lord – looked as dismayed as myself, Mephisto. For centuries we went to watch the annual performances of Archimedes, the Man of Syracuse, and Moti, the mammoth, who – as told in the preceding story – dwelt in a special ward Friend created for them. Technically, it was located in purgatory; but out of bounds for anyone except the pair.
Once a year Archie was required to spend a day in the human paradise. His task was to sing ‘Eureka, Eureka’ and tell his audience all about recent journeys into space undertaken by Moti and himself. Dancing on an invisible platform, Moti was expected to trumpet, to applaud and to get engulfed in his pal’s performance.
For centuries, Archie’s performance was watched eagerly by the inmates of paradise. In recent years, though, their enthusiasm had diminished and their applause was half hearted. It did not take Friend and me long to discern the cause. Although Archie and Moti had visited many stellar objects close to earth, most of their trips were repetitions of their earliest success. Their accounts had become monotonous.
“The only solution, Matey, is to give them some new tasks,” said Friend.
“But we can’t let them fly too far away. It would be dangerous, Friend. I hate to think of what might happen if they ventured out of our planetary system. The universe continues to expand at a rate we haven’t fully worked out. Would they find their way back?”
For a while, we walked silently. Both of us had become increasingly fond of our protégés. Their happiness mattered. True, they may not have discerned the setting of their tide. Sooner or later, though, they were bound to note it. Each would hide his negative outlook from the other. Yet, in due course, each would feel the need to unburden himself.
“Let us get to the bottom of things, Matey. I still wonder why Moti wanted to fly. Mammoths look down on other beings. So, we can be certain Moti did not wish to emulate the birds.”
“His dream to fly was an aberration, Friend. No mammoth had such a dream before him. Most of them just want to walk about majestically and mate.”
“Like many humans, Matey! Still, mammoths are not climbers.”
“Why not pay them a visit? Moti will be glad to enlighten us.”
“Go ahead, Matey. I’ll come over when needed.”
Archie and Moti were delighted to see me. Archie bowed deeply. Moti rose on his hind legs and trumpeted. The cause of their elation was clear. Usually, Friend and I paid them a visit once or twice a year. An unscheduled visit so soon after their annual performance was a compliment.
I started the proceedings by asking Moti what had induced him, originally, to dream of flying. I knew he had no wish to imitate a bird. What then had led to his daydreaming?
“I wanted to fly to a beautiful star.”
“Just one star?”
“Yes, Lord Pan,” replied Moti humbly. Viewing the night sky screen, he searched for a short while. Then, triumphantly, he pointed out Aldebaran.
“Why?” I wanted to know.
“Because it is such a bright and colourful star, Lord Pan. You see I wanted to grab it and balance it on my trunk. Like I do with the rock Archie carved out for me.”
Looking at me gleefully, he used his trunk to raise a huge ball-shaped piece of marble, lifted it high up, and balanced it. His act was as graceful as a juggler’s. Archie and I watched him with admiration.
“How big is Aldebaran, Moti?” I asked when he finished his performance.
“Oh, I know it is far away. It’s not just a red dot. Is it as big as Archie’s rock?”
“Let’s carry out a little experiment, Moti’le. Archie will walk away from you. I’ll help you watch Archie as he moves into the distance. And don’t you worry. He’ll soon be back.”
Moti watched anxiously as Archie moved away from us. Initially, Moti did not react when his pal shrunk. He had expected this. Still, he looked around him anxiously as Archie’s image disappeared altogether.
“Where is he? I hope nothing happened to him.”
“Have a look,” I said, placing telescopic lenses over Moti’s eyes.
“I see him now. But you know, Lord Pan, he is growing bigger and bigger!”
“He is moving back to us. Please keep watching.”
Moti let his dismay show as his pal turned into a giant. Then, as I removed the lenses, a happy expression descended over Moti’s face: “Now he is again our Archie.”
“Precisely. But you know, Moti, his size and appearance remained unchanged throughout. He was and has remained our Archie.”
“So, he became smaller when he moved away. But what made him look so big? Was it the glass you put over my eyes, Lord Pan?”
“Precisely, Moti’le. Your eyesight became very strong.”
“This means that what we see depends also on the power of our eyes,” concluded Moti.
“Precisely.”
Archie was about to explain but took the hint conveyed by my suppressing hand signal. Moti, who put his trunk protectively around his pal, looked at me inquisitively. After a slight hesitation, I produced a powerful electronic telescope, put a dark protective shield on top of it, and asked Moti to have a better peek at his bright star.
“How awful. It looks like a boiling red soup,” exclaimed Moti.
Unexpectedly Archie had his say: “Doesn’t it ever? It reminds me of an outbreak of a volcano. If Moti and I touched its surface, we’d be incinerated.”
“You would. Even after your transition you have some mass and physical existence. And, surely, Archie: you could never turn back.”
“Because of the ‘pull’ – the force you call gravity, Lord Pan?”
“Precisely.”
“How about Lord Jupiter and yourself? Can it pull you?”
“Hard to say, Archie. We have even less mass than Moti and you. Aldebaran may not exercise a pull on us. But we’re not sure about other objects: like black holes.”
“So even you can’t be certain, Lord Pan,” Archie spoke respectfully but, at the same time, with confidence.
“No, Archie: I can’t. You see, when Friend created the world, it was smaller than today. The universe keeps expanding at a rate incalculable. And Friend does not wish to control it. He decreed free choice: even to the universe.”
Archie and Moti digested the information. I kept watching them. I had realised that Archie used Moti’s intellect as a supportive tool: Moti had become his calculating machine. After a pause, Archie observed that, to assess Aldebaran’s size and gravity, we had to measure its distance from us.
“I know how to do it. Archie taught me,” bragged Moti.
“Come on; let us see,” I coaxed him.
“I can’t handle the instrument, Lord Pan. Archie will take the measurements and I’ll do the calculations. I can’t use a calculator; but I have a Mammo-Abacus.”
It took the pair a while to come up with their results. Anxiously, Archie proclaimed that such a distance was unthinkable. They ought to have another go. Once again, they took their time but, in the end, came up with a similar result.
At my suggestion, they changed the basic unit of their complex calculations. After some fine tuning, Archie asserted that a beam of light would fall on our planet some 63 years after it left Aldebaran. This led our protégés to the conclusion that they would need at least 126 years for a ‘round trip’. As they were unable to travel at the speed of light the trip was bound to take an even longer time.
Archie appreciated that any landing on the giant star was ruled out by its temperature and gravity. Still, even a trip to a vantage point – for instance, half the distance separating the two worlds – would take too long. Moti’s quest would have to remain a dream.
“But, Archie, can’t we find a better route?” I asked.
“The shortest distance between two dots on a two-dimensional surface is the straight line; and there can be only one such line. It is a basic axiom, Lord Pan.”
“Can we find a way around it?”
Archie’s expression became strained. He was uncertain and, just for once, bewildered. To my delight, Moti stepped in. He averred that he had never seen a two-dimensional object. Everything – even the thinnest sheet of paper – had length, width and thickness. The ‘two-dimensional surface’ was a theorem.
“Accordingly, your world has more than two dimensions. Moti mentioned three. Is there any other?”
“Archie tells me that ‘time’ is also a dimension,” stammered Moti.
“It is. And you, Moti, are the smartest mammoth in the world,” exclaimed Friend, who had joined us with glee. His pleasure affected me. Both of us were beaming. Moti, in turn, looked at us reverently, basking in Friend’s commendation.
“Well, Archie: we have to adapt our axiom. How many straight lines can there be between two dots on a four-dimensional surface?” I asked.
“Archie told me some time ago: an infinite number,” interceded Moti.
“And the shortest route depends on the mode of movement,” augmented Archie.
Shortly thereafter Friend and I departed. Aldebaran’s gravity and state ruled out a landing on its surface. Archie and Moti were to find the best vantage point for viewing and studying the red giant star. Friend and I would supply the travelling apparatus.
Archie’s annual performances in paradise regained their lustre. Instead of telling his audience about new short trips undertaken by Moti and himself, he sang about the discovery of a new route to Aldebaran. Quite a few former sinners, who had entered heaven after completing their respective spells in hell and purgatory, proffered their advice. Kepler, for instance, suggested Archie draw a diagram comparing Aldebaran with the sun. Einstein, who had been sent to purgatory’s ward for Propaganda Mongers, insisted the vantage point ought to be at a spot in the universe that did not intersect with planetary objects. Fresh from the district of Short-Fused Individuals, Hubble thought Archie ought to calculate the distances from the sun to the earth and to Aldebaran respectively.
Generally, the discussions produced heat and, hopefully, some light. There were also some subdued moments. Ticho Brahe, for instance, kept muttering that it was all in the hands of the Good Lord. When told that He was behind the project, Ticho sighed and repeated himself. Keen not to offend him, Archie said: “Oh, very well.”
One day Moti and Archie invited me for afternoon coffee. As a prelude, they produce their results. One diagram showed that, when compared to Aldebaran, the sun was a mere dot. Light, Archie added, would take some 4.5 minutes to travel form the sun to earth. All in all, their calculations agreed with views expressed by astronomers of the 20th and 21st centuries. They also pinpointed a vantage point for our observations. Only one problem remained unsolved. The vantage point was even further away from us than the red star. Reaching it appeared impossible.
“True: if you travel by a conventional three-dimensional propellant,” I pointed out.
“But is there any other way? I have sampled the infinite straight lines between the vantage-point and us. The distance is vast. How can we traverse it? I am unable to come up with an answer, Lord Pan. I am out of my depth,” confessed a much-humbled Archie.
“We’ll get you to the vantage point within a few minutes,” I promised.
“But how?”
“We’ll start by dematerialising you to the next possible point,” I explained.
“Is the process safe?” asked Archie anxiously, stroking Moti’s trunk.
“Friend and I have used it for eons! Have a good look.”
As Moti and Archie looked around them, they exclaimed with delight. A huge Aldebaran took up most of our night sky. At one point, far away, a smaller object was rotating.
“How magnificent,” exclaimed Archie.
“Beautiful,” echoed Moti.
Before long, they went on their own multi-dimensional flight, keeping at a safe distance from the glowing and elegant object of their observation.
“Are we the first to see it like this?” asked Archie when they were back with us.
“Except Friend and me. You see, humanity has theorised about space flight for generations but, alas, without glowing results. Still, one day humans, too, may learn to use our system. It will, though, take them an immensely long time.”
“So, we are privileged,” observed Archie.
“In a way; except that both of you have completed your spell on earth and in purgatory and so you are not ‘real’,” smiled Friend.
“And other … spirits?” asked Moti.
“We saw no need to humour or reward them. Paradise is good enough for them,” replied Friend.
“But haven’t you yourself seen the entire universe, Lord Jupiter? Archie tells me you created it. It must be like an open book to you.”
“Perhaps it was originally. But as Matey told you, the universe keeps expanding according to its own free will. Matey and I travel across it rarely and only when needed.”
Back in their ward, Archie and Moti showed their gratitude and appreciation. Still, Archie was keen to know how we covered such an immense distance in a matter of second. Surely, we could not travel faster than light.
“Of course not, Archie. Don’t you know what would happen to Moti and you if we travelled in space at the speed of light?”
“Einstein claimed we would sort of shrink into ourselves.”
“He’s right, Archie. So, you did not travel in space alone,” I ventured.
“You might as tell them the basics, Matey” shrugged Friend.
Moti and Archie listened pop eyed when I explained we had travelled simultaneously in space and time. Our part of the universe was four, rather than three, dimensional. We made use of this principle and propelled the four of us into space and into time. Science fiction writers talked about space warps and time travel for decades. Scientists remained far behind.
“Did we see Aldebaran in its present state and composition, Lord Pan?” sasked Archie.
“You didn’t. You saw it as it had looked millions of years ago. But its composition has not changed. A million years on the time scale of the universe is comparable to ten second on the human time scale.”
“So, we really saw Aldebaran as it looks today,” said Moti.
“Precisely,” I affirmed.
“And I dreamed of balancing it on my trunk!”
“Obviously, it’s a bit too big for that. But we managed to get you a small piece of Aldebaran rock. You’ll be able to juggle it when it has cooled off, Moti’le.”
Friend and I watched the pair’s next performances with glee. A fellow called Max Planck, who had finished his term as President of the Obscurantist Ward, gave Archie a hard time. He claimed our achievement was incompatible with one limb of his quantum theory. Initially, Archie was the epitome of patience and tolerance. I was relieved when, in the end, he claimed that Max’s theory required reconsideration. Max’s protégé and bosom ‘pal’, Einstein, grinned with satisfaction.
“Max, you once said: ‘New ideas are always opposed by old minds’.”
“I said: ‘minds’, not mammoths and dematerialized fellows!”
“Still,” Einstein mused, “I like their method. They moved in space and time – not faster than light but … sideways.”
“Nonsense,” asserted Planck.
“Perhaps your theory does need … a friendly update?” Observed Archie, who was unable to hold his peace any longer.
“That’s the right spirit,” observed Einstein. “Science continues to advance: it never ends!”
Planck muttered something about ‘intolerable liberties’ and wandered off.
All in all, Friend and I were satisfied with the outcome. Archie and Moti regained their zest. As has been seen, their audience raised questions, unexpected points and counter arguments. Yet, the applause was wholehearted and warm. We, too, basked in it.
The Priest and the Tiger
Tiger looked around him sadly. He was getting too old to hunt deer. Occasionally, he got a stray lamb or managed to catch a sleepy hare. Most of the time, though, he was hungry, except for the leftovers he got when younger tigers killed their prey.
Now that Tig-La was gone, he was, in addition, lonely. Often, he missed her nagging and shrill voice and her sharp tongue. She had hurt him regularly; but his lonesomeness took an even heavier toll. He failed to see the object of his existence. He had become a shadow of his younger and effervescent self.
He was sad and depressed when, to his amazement, Priest came on stage. He was wearing a dark long cassock, a shining string of beads and a coloured head gear. His eyes were fixed on the page of a book he was holding in his right hand. He was so immersed in it that he stumbled into Tiger. Muttering excuses as he rose back onto his feet, he looked at Tiger apologetically.
“I only hope I haven’t injured you. My eyesight is not what it used to be,” Priest explained lamely.
“Don’t give a thought. Age ravages everyone of us,” said Tiger good naturedly.
“How very true,” conceded Priest and lowered himself beside Tiger.
“What is that strange object you hold in your hand?” Tiger let his curiosity show.
“It’s the Holy Bible. And it tells you all about God …”
“God? I haven’t met him. Who is he?”
“He exists everywhere. And he is so great and mighty that we can’t understand him. Our role is to accept Him and to obey.”
“And what does he order us to do?” asked Tiger.
“He wants us to be good, obedient and worthy. You see, my young friend: this is our role. He gave it to us when he created us.”
“Come off it. I’m no longer young; and I can’t understand why you dub me a ‘friend’. But me‘think you must be very great indeed.”
“I am your friend because I hope to enlighten you. I hope you too will accept the Good Lord. And what makes you say I am great?”
“You say He is so great that we can’t understand Him. But surely you can’t preach his word without having a full understanding of his nature. So, you must be greater than us, common folk; perhaps as great as Him!”
“That’s blasphemy,” Priest let his irritation show.
“What is blasphemy?”
“Using the name of the Good Lord in vain.”
“In that case, you are guilty of this very crime. How can you talk about the greatness of a being you can’t understand?”
“You are very stubborn!”
“No. I’m just a plain tiger, who believes his eyes, ears and other senses. In contrast, you are the epitome of stubbornness and parochialism.”
“Anything else?” asked Priest in resignation.
“And you are simple minded: you believe in something you can’t understand.”
“Oh well, we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“Quite. But tell me please: does your Good Lord expect his creatures to follow the dictates of their nature? Surely, he doesn’t want a tiger to fly.”
“True,” conceded Priest.
For a few seconds, Tiger stared at him. Priest’s wild gesticulations and unruly conduct had whetted Tiger’s appetite. All in all, the portly priest looked a tasty morsel. Without further ado, Tiger set on him. Discovering that the cassock had no taste, Tiger stripped it away and devoured his prey’s prostrate body. The flesh, alas, was imbued with wine. Tiger did not enjoy it. Still, he knew that beggars can’t be choosers.
Far away, in our chosen dimension, Friend (the Good Lord) and I (Mephisto) had watched the scene with mounting interest. Friend smiled benignly when Tiger tore Priest’s arguments into shreds. Still, he looked sad when Tiger devoured Priest. Neither of us, though, felt an urge to intervene. Tiger had performed a natural function, seeking to satisfy his hunger.
“Do you think Priest really believed in you, Friend?” I wanted to know.
“Most people profess to do so but employ different guises. Still, each creed proclaims a hierarchy of men in charge of the faith. Many such officers are sophisticated hypocrites: they get as much as they can. Others are blind believers, brainwashed by their elders. Priest was such a blind believer. So, all in all, he deserves a place in paradise,” concluded Friend.
“I agree, except that a spell in the Ward of Bores might clear his mind!”
“Optimistic as ever, aren’t you, Matey? But honestly, what are we to do about Tiger? He is old, hungry and lonely. Shall we step in his aid?”
“I’ll have a chat with him,” I volunteered.
Tiger blinked his eyes when I materialised in front of him. For just a moment he tensed, arched his back, but then relaxed. His weary eyes assumed a friendly, carefree expression.
“Have we met before, Respected Sir?
“We haven’t. I am Pan, known to my enemies, and there quite a few of them around, as Satan, Ashmadeus, Lucifer, Archfiend and the Snake. Friend, who also lives in another dimension, calls me Matey. Priest just told you a lot of rubbish about Him.”
“Is your friend then the Good Lord, Lord Pan?”
“He is indeed, except that many know him as Lord Jupiter. Like myself, he was dismayed when Priest misused his name to demand blind obedience. Friend and I believe in free choice. In His wisdom He gave it to the entire world when he created it. And I am convinced he chose the correct way.”
“But wasn’t he dismayed when I gobbled up the priest?”
“Both of us hate the sight of blood. But then, hunting is a tiger’s choice and lot. So how could either of us blame you, Tiger the Katz?”
“I see, Lord Pan. But why do you call me ‘Cats’? I am a cat – a fierce cat – but I am an individual, with my own mind and, as you say, right of free choice. It is wrong to describe me in the plural – like ‘Cats’.”
Tiger spoke with conviction. Unexpectedly, I recalled the writings of Martin Luther. He, too, asserted an individual’s right to opt for his own brand of faith, albeit Christian. Had his spirit influenced the thinking of my new protégé?
“Sorry for the misunderstanding, Tiger’le. I meant ‘K-a-t-z’ – not ‘C-a-t-s’!” I set out to clear the matter up.
“What is ‘Katz’? I am unfamiliar with the word.”
“No wonder! What a silly blunder on my part! In the language of the people who claim to be His chosen and holy nation, ‘Katz’ is the acronym of ‘Righteous Priest’. But, of course, you are unfamiliar with these people’s culture and language, Tiger’le.”
“I take your point, Lord Pan. But surely, I just gobbled up one of His priests. How can either of you take it so lightly?”
“A sect of learned priests, who composed the Mishna, the Breitas and the Talmud, would conclude that the fellow you gobbled up was an evil or false priest.”
“On what basis, Lord Pan?”
“If he were a Righteous Priest – a Katz – you wouldn’t have executed him. His fall establishes his guilt! A fellow called Job eulogised this platitude in lengthy discussions with three friends. And another fellow, called Abbayey, would say that yours was an Act of God.”
“What a splendid conclusion,” beamed Tiger.
For a while we sat together in harmony. Tiger wondered why I had appeared to him. He sensed I was not seeking to harm him. After his initial fear of the unknown, he looked at me benevolently. All the same, he was startled when I explained that Friend and I had been watching him with growing dismay. He had ceased to enter the cave in which he had dwelt with Tig-La, guarded the entrance persistently and had stopped hunting. He lived on leftovers and sporadic kills. Was this a suitable lifestyle for a tiger?
“Of course not. But you see, Lord Pan, Tig-La is no more. One morning, soon after she woke up, she toppled over and never rose again. I don’t wish to see her like that. So, I don’t enter the cave. But I don’t want hyenas or jackals to get in and harm her. I decided to be a sentinel. Also, you know: I can’t hunt any longer. My left front foot is very painful and, if I try to run fast, I start to gasp.”
“I understand, Tiger’le. You pant because you are getting old. You are not as fit as you were years ago. But what happened to your foot?”
“When I chased my little Tig-La, I skidded over a rock. I pretended it was nothing. But it kept smarting. Then, one day, I made Tig-La mad and, alas, she bit me in the very same spot. She apologised but, you know, the foot never healed.”
“Friend can cure you, Tiger’le. He is the master of the universe and He cares for all his creatures (big and small) and looks after them. During the last three storms He erected an invisible canvass over you.”
“But this was before I devoured Priest. Would He help me now?” wailed Tiger.
“Of course I shall. I like to answer prayers,” said Friend, as he materialised in front of us.
“But how about Priest?” persisted Tiger.
“He wasn’t my priest. Not everyone who wears a uniform like a cassock or a Talith and Yarmulke is a Man of God. Many of these fancy-ball apparitions are hypocrites who use my name to make a living.”
“So how can somebody like me know whether a preacher is genuine or false?”
“Let your instincts guide you, Tiger’le. Unless they tell you a preacher is OK, assume he is a knave and a fool. The fellow you gobbled up deserved a medal for each attribute!”
Having settled this doctrinal issue, Friend examined Tiger’s smarting foot. When Tiger asked Him to beware of his claws, Friend demonstrated that they could not touch Him let alone scratch Him. Dwellers of other dimensions, like Him and me, had no genuine physical existence. Claws, bullets or arrows could not harm us in our natural state.
“But just now Lord Pan stroked my mane,” pointed out Tiger.
“He wanted you to feel his touch. Still, both of us can vanish altogether whenever we wish.”
When Friend completed his methodical examination, he explained that one ligament was chronically inflamed. It would be best to replace it surgically. He assured Tiger that He could perform the surgery in a matter of seconds if Tiger remained absolutely still.
“You must let us know if you feel any pain. And you’ve got to tell us so truthfully. Don’t try to be a hero.”
“I always tell the truth,” affirmed Tiger. “Lies are useless. If you tell one, you’ve got to cover it up with another. So, you end up with a litany of irreconcilable lies.”
Friend performed the operation in a few seconds. He then told Tiger that further treatment was required. To eliminate the panting, we had to replace a valve in Tiger’s heart. This time, a local anaesthesia was unavoidable. Tiger winced as the syringe penetrated his skin, but then kept still during the heart surgery. When told he would have to keep resting on his right side for two days, he reminded us he needed to eat and drink.
In response, I produced a boneless shoulder of veal. Tiger sniffed, ate it with delight and beamed at us. It smelt, he assured us, much better than Priest. Where did we get it?
“It comes from the butcher’s shop of Reb Schlemiel. It is real ‘kosher’ meat,” I explained.
“But how does Reb Schlemiel get it?”
“He buys it in Smithfield’s market. He bleeds the meat before he sells it to Orthodox customers,” I explained.
“And here is bowl of milk. If you can sip it together with the meat, you are a real Goy,” added Friend with relish.
“Please forgive my curiosity, Dear God. What is a ‘goy’?”
“The fundamentalists say: “Everyone except a Boibrick, with long sideburns, a beard, a black Kaftan and a Streymil.’ And, in their opinion, even such a Yid turns himself into a Goy when he puts on ordinary clothes and goes to the pub, the casino or … h’m … to the brothel,” I explained piously.
“How remarkable. But surely, I have nothing in common with a Boibrick.”
“Actually, you do. Neither of you eats pork.”
“Wild boars are fierce: they are best left alone. And little pigs are filthy. I prefer gazelles and deer. With me, it is not a matter of faith,” explained Tiger.
At the end of the surgery, we moved the healing Tiger to his cave. He let his relief show, when I explained that Tig-La’s remains had been placed in a deep hole at the far end of their dwelling. He should reoccupy the remaining space. To comfort our new protégé, I produced a magnificent Persian rug.
“Careful, Matey, that’s an anachronism,” warned Friend.
“In the Torah, ‘early’ and ‘late’ do not exist. Time is irrelevant in religious analysis,” I assured him.
Friend and I took turns seeing Tiger through. After two days, he was able to rise from his carpet. After another five days, we started to take him for daily walks. A week later, Friend made a gazelle cross our path. Tiger got ready to chase, but then relaxed and allowed her to speed away.
“You are providing my daily bread, Dear God and Lord Pan. My stomach is full. So why should I chase the poor gazelle? I don’t kill for fun.”
“Spoken like a real gentleman,” said Friend.
“All the same, I felt the urge to attack,” confessed Tiger.
“That’s natural: you are a hunter,” I interjected.
“But he has learned to control his instincts. He is semi-human,” opined Friend.
Just before we were ready to take our leave, Tiger raised the ultimate question. He knew our help would postpone the day on which he would cease to exist. But he realised that each creature was ‘finite’. He recalled how Tig-La had toppled over and ‘expired’. His query was plain. What happened to a creature after that ‘appointed day’?
Patiently, Friend explained that each creature had to face a panel of judges. Depending on its mode of life, it could be sent directly to the paradise of these creatures, to a place called purgatory or, if it was a nasty being, to a horrid place called hell. Most tigers went straight to Tigersdream. A few had to spend a short spell in purgatory, mainly if they were found guilty of vanity or pride. No tiger had ever been sent to hell.
“Where am I likely to go?” he persisted.
“The panel will decide. But me’think you have been a good tiger,” opined Friend.
“But isn’t Tig-La in Tigersdream?” asked Tiger shyly.
“I believe she is,” I said indiscreetly.
“Can’t you send me somewhere else? She was good wife; but isn’t one spell enough?”
“You could join Matey. But, if you do, you become part and parcel of his ‘components’. You lose your individuality,” explained Friend.
“I would not like this. Each being has its own destiny,” replied Tiger shyly, brushing gently against my robe.
“In any event, Tiger’le: I accept only humans. They alone are sufficiently curious and stupid to pursue an endless search. You may not fit in,” I told him.
After some consideration, Friend raised a third possibility. Hidden in a special ward off purgatory resided Archimedes (the Greek mathematician and physicist) and Moti, the mammoth.
“How does this affect me?” asked Tiger.
“Your task would be to induce Archie and Moti to invite you to join them.”
“But would they accept me?”
“Where there is a will, there is a way,” Friend assured him.
“I agree,” I added laconically.
From a Party to a Crowd
Moti was taking his bath. As he immersed himself in the huge pond, Archie hovered around him on his levitation carpet. With a soft, wetted, cloth, he sponged his huge friend. Moti enjoyed the soft circular motion. Archie, in turn, was perspiring. Still, Friend, the Good Lord, and I, Mephisto, encouraged him to pursue the weekly procedure. It was his main exercise. It kept him lithe and fit.
For hundreds of years, I watched the pair living in their ward – which was out bounds to others. In a sense, theirs was an exclusive habitat. This very morning the two were to be put to a test. As Moti got ready to emerge from the pool, a previously invisible door opened itself. When Tiger entered through it, Moti tensed. His huge trunk encircled Archie and, fondly, he placed his friend on his enormous back. Then, raising his trunk threateningly, he faced the intruder.
“Please, Respected Sir, I have not come as an enemy.”
“But you are a fierce tiger. You come from a race that dared to challenge us. And who taught you to speak Mammothskrit?”
“Lord Pan did. He also taught me Greek.”
“But why did he send you here?” asked Archie.
To the sound of his friend’s composed voice, Moti relaxed. Still, he continued to eye Tiger intently. Seeking to reassure the mammoth, Tiger explained the background of his sentence. He had, actually, been a good tiger, hunting when his stomach was empty and never killing or chasing for fun. The Divine Panel was inclined to send him straight to Tigersdream. But when he realised that Tig-La, whom he had lost after many years of marriage, had already entered their paradise, he beseeched his Judges to send him elsewhere. Their final decision was to set him the task of inducing Archie and Moti to invite him to join them.
“Were you so unhappy with Tig-La?” asked Moti in his direct manner.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. All in all, she was OK, notwithstanding her sharp tongue and sharp teeth. Still, I felt that one spell was more than enough.”
“You, too, Tiger’le! My Motia nagged like hell and then eloped with a younger mammoth. Initially, I gave chase. But then I decided it was good riddance of bad rubbish. So, when I caught up with them, I simply wished them the best of luck.”
“Good on you, Moti’le. Why didn’t you tell me this before?” interjected Archie.
“I was embarrassed. But how about your exploits with human ladies?”
“The less said, the better. Still, here were are: Archie and Moti, the two confirmed loners with a common goal.”
“Actually, what is your goal?” asked Tiger.
“We want to find the answers to some questions. Still, our main object is to lead a peaceful and harmonious life.”
Tiger looked at them with unconcealed envy. The pair had achieved the impossible: an enjoyable and unpretentious existence. His wish to join them had crystallised. Still, his first meeting with our protégés was over. As pre-arranged with myself, he went back to the door through which he had gained admission. Archie and Moti smiled happily when he promised to visit them again as soon the Good Lord and Lord Pan told him to go ahead. Our protégés had come to regard Tiger a benevolent visitor.
A few days later, Tiger went through the door when his new friends were applying their minds to an old problem. Was the invention of a tool, needed for the refinement of a known practice, original or just an application? For instance, was the invention of a brush, used for applying colours, an original invention? They realised that, prior to its introduction, painters used their fingers or a piece of cloth.
“Why does the originality of this innovation matter?” queried Tiger.
“Originality ought to be applauded,” explained Archie.
“But surely, the brush is useful. If it was invented by a specific person, he did the Art of Painting a service. So did the unknown genius, who replaced tempera with oil colours. We ought to recognize their contributions regardless of their cause. The issue of originality is a red herring.”
“I agree with Tiger’le. And, Archie’le, think of the anonymous mammoth who taught us how to make full use of our trunk.”
“So, you prefer a utilitarian test to an intellectual one?” wailed Archie.
“But surely, the object of tools is to improve our lives. Why does it matter whether the inventor was moved by intellectual, and hence original, curiosity or by a practical urge which led to the improvement of an existing tool?”
“Coming to think of it, you are right,” conceded Archie.
“I suspect tools affect our lives regardless of their origin,” augmented Tiger.
“Please explain,” said Moti.
“Take fire. It may have been the gift of the Gods or its use might have manifested
itself when Man warmed himself up beside it. So did tigers and, perhaps, Mammoths …”
“… we did,” interjected Moti.
“Still, only Man taught himself to nurture fire and later on to ignite it. Fire has had a lasting effect on Man’s development. He taught himself cooking, firing ceramics and smelting.”
“Well,” prompted Archie.
“Surely, the origin of fire and of its cultivation is immaterial. Regardless of whether there was a scientific search, a chance discovery or a preordained step upward, the effect of fire on the life of Man is undeniable.
“I take your point,” nodded Archie.
“But then, why was Man alone able to utilise fire? Tigers and mammoths loved to warm themselves up beside it. Yet they were unable to cultivate it or use it. Why?” asked Moti.
By way of reply, Archie placed his right hand in front of him and asked Moti and Tiger to place their respective front feet beside it. He then explained that all three of them – the man, the mammoth and the tiger – had good minds. Moti, for instance, had a memory much better than Archie’s own and, once trained, could perform complex calculations faster than anyone else he had encountered. Tiger, he added, had a knack of raising unexpected issues: he was endowed with curiosity and imagination. But he was unable to make tools and machines.
“But our limbs serve as tools. As you know, I need my front and back paws. Their coordinated movement enables me to build up speed. My teeth and claws are additional tools. And Moti has his legs, his fearsome trunk and his long tusks. Nobody except a pack of crazy tigers would dare to challenge him!”
“I know,” conceded Archie. “Both of you use your natural tools to their utmost advantage. But your structure rules out the production of extra tools you may need. You, Tiger’le cannot produce a hunting tool like a lasso.”
“How about me?” asked Moti.
“You, Moti’le, are unbelievably strong. But you can’t construct a lever to enable you to lift even heavier weights. You may, possibly, think about it. But neither your hoofs nor your trunk will stand you in good stead when you want to produce a lever.”
“What then makes you different? Is it the calibre of your brain?”
“That had to be built up slowly and persistently. You have the same base as me. The difference is in my natural tool.”
To demonstrate his point, Archie moved his thumb and then showed them how it enabled him to grab objects, to handle them and, where necessary, to manufacture helpful tools, like a saw, a knife and a brush. The ‘autonomy of his thumb’ had an effect on the development of his mind and orientation.
“So, your great leap forward was produced not just by your mind but also by a natural tool you were endowed with. But then, why do you have it and, further, why did we fail to develop it? My paw has five fingers. But they move together. I can’t move one in a direction other than the remaining four. Also, apes have hands and fingers similar to yours. But they, too, failed to discover fire. Why?”
“I don’t know the answer, Tiger’le. Hopefully, Lord Pan will explain.”
All three watched me expectantly. In truth, though, I too was in the dark. Friend and I had meandered through the possible answers. We had, however, faced a stumbling block. The real question was whether development, or evolution, was a response to a need or took place largely by chance. In the latter case, the fittest were bound to survive. The inadaptable ones were bound to perish or be superseded. Man’s ability to apply his mind to the manufacturing of complex tools enabled him to leap forward.
To my surprise, Archie looked baffled. He had read the leading works on evolution, had made mathematical calculations of his own but, in the event, had come up with an ultimate query. What – he wanted to know – was the meaning of ‘evolution’? Was it inherent in a race as created or was it triggered by chance responses to changing circumstances? If evolution was ‘inherent’ it was part and parcel of the original creation. If it involved a response to random environmental changes, creation was still in progress. Like evolution, it was an infinite and progressive process. Apes, for instance, might in due course learn to cultivate fire. Some of them knew how to make rudimentary tools, like sharp wooden sticks used to extract worms from their hiding places.
“Let’s put the question to Friend. As you know, he is the Creator.”
“Indeed! He ought to know the answer,” augmented Tiger.
“I wish I did,” Friend told them as he materialised beside me.
“But Tiger’le is right: the Creator is bound to know the ‘nature’ of ‘creation’!” averred simple minded Moti.
“He would indeed, provided ‘creation’ was planned in detail – had been fully mapped out – at its inception,” replied Friend.
“Wasn’t it then?” asked Archie eagerly.
“What do you think, Archie’le? Take your skill as a mathematician, as architect and as inventor. Were your achievements planned by Him at the beginning of ‘time’? Or take Einstein’s pungent theories and Da Vinci’s brilliant works of art. Were all these mapped out when He created the world?” I asked rhetorically.
“You imply they weren’t. I understand. But then, what was the Good Lord’s (Jupiter’s) role?”
Benignly, Friend explained that ‘creation’ was neither a simple word nor a transparent concept. True, somebody – in our universe He Himself – had to ‘create’. That meant that He started the process, which enabled a primordial mass – a Tohu and Boohoo – to form itself into our world.
Biblical writers tell us he did so in seven days. The word ‘day’ though was relative. A ‘day’ could take a split second; or it could take an eon. The official account of ‘the creation’ had to be understood symbolically. It meant that by the end of the sixth ‘day’, He completed the initial tasks he had set himself. He then gave the entire world ‘free choice’. As anticipated, the ‘world’ opted for evolution. Some changes were linear, or progressive. Others were occasioned by chance. Friend Himself and his mate Mephisto kept watching with genuine curiosity.
To underscore his point, Friend asked our three protégés to tell him how their races procreated. Each pointed out that both the male and female of the species had a role to play. All of them looked with amazement at the amoeba shown to them by Friend. It took them a while to appreciate that it propagated by splitting into two. The species did not have a ‘male’ and a ‘female’.
“What, then, led to the development of species multiplying by the joint efforts of a male and female?” asked Tiger.
“I suspect the development was ‘inherent’ in the original structure. Lord Jupiter continued to ‘supervise’ it until he completed the ‘creation’ of humans,” mused Archie.
“Precisely. Afterwards the species developed – evolution continued – by the vagaries of ‘free choice’. Matey and I continue to observe it but, except in rare cases, do not ‘intervene’.”
“Have some species disappeared?” asked Moti.
“Many have. Your own race, Moti, is a case in point. Due to climatic and environmental factors it was superseded by elephants. Earlier species – like terrestrial dinosaurs – are extinct!”
“And the amoeba?” asked Archie.
“Still exists. If it penetrated your system, you’d have serious stomach trouble. You see, the amoeba adapted itself to changing circumstances,” I stepped in.
“Was its survival due to its ‘design’ or was it a matter of chance?” asked Tiger.
“Matey and I have discussed the point ad infinitum. Shall we say that, perhaps, chance is inherent in the precept of ‘free choice’. You see, Tiger’le, frequently ‘chance’ determines ‘who’ or ‘what’ is the fittest.”
“So whichever way we put it, you, Lord Jupiter, are both the creator and the originator of evolution,” summed up Moti, who had been listening intently.
“I am. But you must remember: chance plays its role in evolution. It is an inherent component of the order of things.”
“So, you made room for it,” concluded Moti.
To bring the discourse to its conclusion, I pointed out to our protégés that each species was perfect for its task. Tigers were superb hunters. Their feet, muscles, sense of smell and teeth were perfect tools. Mammoths were outstanding vegetarian mammals. Their enormous bulk, fearsome trunk and their tusks gave them adequate protection against predators. In addition, their trunk was used for feeding, for drinking and for trumpeting. Humanity, too, served its complex purpose. Its major tools were the adaptable brain and the flexible hand.
Perfection, though, was relative. When circumstances changed, each species was at risk. For instance, what would become of tigers if the animals they hunted became extinct? What would happen to any one of the many species if the amenable climate they were used to turned into a new ice age? For a while, tigers may be protected by their warm fur. Humans might, if given enough time, come up with some invention. But many races, like Moti’s, would ‘expire’. Still, some particularly adaptable races or sections thereof may survive the calamity and even ‘initiate’ a new species, as did the mammoths who metamorphosed into elephants.
“And the cataclysmic change, for instance of climate, may be produced by chance,” mused Tiger. “You, Lord Jupiter, have allowed ‘chance’ to affect and alter the order initially instituted by you.”
“Unless you maintain that ‘chance’ was part and parcel of the initial order. In other words, you maintain that ‘change’ or ‘movement’ governs the world,” I interjected.
“In the words of Heraclitus: pantha rhei,” said Archie.
“That’s the issue. Matey and I keep pondering on it and try to dissect it. But you, Archie’le, beware of the amoeba. It isn’t any good for you!”
Friend’s jest lightened the atmosphere. Up to that moment all present had been deep in thought. Friend’s exposé shed light on points which, up to then, had been clear just to Him and to me. I was pleased by his frank and enlightening revelations. Iyself, he treated our protégés as members of an inner circle. He knew that his disclosures were safe with them.
Shortly thereafter Tiger left the realm through his door. Friend and I also took our leave. I suspect that, like me, Friend needed a rest.
Tiger’s next visit took place three days later. Both Archie and Moti greeted him warmly. After a short exchange of pleasantries, Moti told Tiger they would be delighted if he joined them. Both were convinced he would fit into their pleasant way of life. Deeply moved, Tiger accepted. To seal the bargain, I moved his Kum carpet next to a rock Archie had modelled, by chisel and hammer, for Moti to balance.
The very same night, when Archie was soundly sleeping on his small hut on Moti’s back, I conducted an experiment. A plastic contraption, looking like a scorpion, moved slowly in the direction of Tiger, who was resting on his carpet. Tiger watched the intruder keenly but did not move. He rose only when the scorpion proceeded in Moti’s direction. Seeking to ensure Moti would not be disturbed, Tiger crept in the scorpion’s direction and, notwithstanding the contraption’s threatening tail, struck it with his front paw. He then dug a hole and buried the contraption’s remains in it and paw-toed back to his rug.
“You sent us a real friend, Lord Pan,” whispered Moti.
“Of course. Lord Jupiter and I want the three of you to be happier here than you could ever be in any other place.”
“So we are. Archie and I are oddballs and I think so is Tiger’le. Our real happiness is when we are together, Lord Pan.”
“I know. This ward off purgatory is your paradise.”
Indeed, all three were content. Archie prided himself on having shaped a piece of rock into a suitable toy for his friend. Moti was delighted to balance it on his trunk. Tiger was, of course, unable to lift the rock. Further, he lacked the capacity to construct a lever or some other device for moving it. Still, he could rest beside it, could shield behind it and could meander on the perfection of its smooth surface.
Back in our own dimension, Friend and I celebrated a job well done. Our special ward was now the domain of three outstanding occupants. Each of them had risen high above the ordinary standard of his own species. Archimedes was a scientific genius. Moti was a brilliant mammoth. Unlike his contemporaries, he had his own dreams and aspirations. Tiger was a philosopher and a searcher for truth. I knew that two were a party; three were a crowd. But then, what is wrong with a happy crowd, regardless of whether it settles in heaven or in purgatory?
Free Choice
Tiger’s gaze took me in as soon as I, Mephisto, materialised beside him. His luminous cats’ eyes stared at me benevolently. He knew I was fond of him and that I had great regard for his intuition. Quite often I talked to him when the two other dwellers of the heavenly purgatory were fast asleep.
“You are deflated, Lord Pan. Why are you so sad today?”
“I’ve been taking stock. It is possible that I too am guilty of the mess in which the world finds itself, my friend.”
He looked at me bewildered. Usually, I addressed him as ‘Tiger’ or, affectionately, as ‘Tiger’le’. Never had I elevated him to the position of a ‘friend’. A tiger’s face is not as reflective as a human’s. All the same, I sensed the satisfaction that descended on him.
“I am honoured, Lord Pan. And, yes, I know the world is in a mess. Inmates of earth, heaven and hell have every reason to envy Archie, Moti and me. Ours is the good life in a ward of our own. It is off purgatory and far from inferno. I know it is not paradise. All the same, it is heavenly, Lord Pan.”
“But then, you don’t demand or expect much. The three of you are as happy a crowd as you can find. You live in harmony and without fear or regrets.”
“Lord Jupiter and you gave us the chance and made the arrangements. We are indebted to you. But, surely, the rest of the world ought to blame itself. You did not teach them warfare, torture methods or self destruction. They taught themselves. They are their own best pupils. A fellow called Stalin and his mate Hitler deserve a ‘distinction’. Genghis Khan deserves a ‘mention of honour’!”
“Well spoken, my friend. But then, why is it that races other than humans do not inflict misery on their own kind? Man forms the best-known exceptions. Have you ever seen a tiger killing another for fun or in reliance on some silly doctrine.”
“Of course not. A boy will ‘wrestle’ or ‘scare off’ another boy when they compete for a girl or argue how to share a ‘kill’. But it’s pretence. A lot of snarls but no bite.”
“So why is man different, my friend. Even a peace-loving man like our Archie invented a set of mirrors to be used for setting the enemy’s fleet on fire!”
“He told me; and he boasted because the experiment proved his originality and imagination. But then, he is a rum sort of chap. When the Romans sacked his town, he was so immersed in some circles and spheres that he ignored the soldier who threatened him. That fellow killed him!”
“I like your trend of thought, Tiger’le. Still, would a tiger kill another tiger in that scenario.”
“Of course not. It would be too silly for words. You might rub the other tiger’s nose in his circles – to teach him manners. But killing? What for?”
He spoke like a fine member of a closely knit race. United they stood. Divided they might fall. The very notion of exterminating their own kind was repulsive in their eyes. It could not serve the purpose of the clan. Humans were different. Some enjoyed the misery they inflicted on their own kind. It was part and parcel of their twisted natures.
“I accept what you say about Man’s nature, Lord Pan. But why do you blame yourself? You insist that the Lord Jupiter, whom you call Friend or the Good Lord, is the creator. How could an error made by Him reflect on yourself or be brought home to you? Where is the cause?”
“You have read the story of the ‘creation’, my friend. I believe Archie asked Moti and you to learn it by heart.”
“We did. Both of us love to oblige our Archie.”
“One detail is omitted in the accepted versions. When Friend created Eve from Adam’s rib, he invited me to partake in his effort. I too breathed on poor Eve, who became imbued with the spirit of both of us and transmitted it to her offspring.”
Tiger looked at me with sympathy. He understood what went through my mind. My usual line was to deny any responsibility for the sad state of the world. Man was destroying his own environment and his awareness of the process of self destruction, which he initiated, had not induced him to call for a halt. Religion, politics, science and a relentless pursuit of the demands of the moment prevailed over the restraint dictated by the survival instinct. What spurred Man on in the direction of unavoidable self-induced extinction?
“I can’t answer your question, Lord Pan. It is too complex. I can think of many factors, each of which plays a role in the scenario. Still, I know this much: neither Lord Jupiter nor you yourself are to blame.”
“Why ever not, Tiger’le?”
“Lord Jupiter decided to give Man free choice and you, Lord Pan, stood by him.”
“Doesn’t our guilt speak for itself, then?”
“It does not. When you gave Man free choice you encouraged him to choose his own route. If he opted for self destruction, why is either of you blameworthy?”
“Thanks, my friend. May the Good Lord – Friend to me and Lord Jupiter to Archie and Moti – bless you.”
“Surely, he already has!”