I had to make critical time
decisions. Could I tell Anthony and Rebecca (19 and 14 years
respectively) that in 28 years they would run against each other for President
of the U.S.(for more on that, see http://www.gregorysarmyoftheyoung.com/)? That could make for a fatally screwed up history if it
confused them, changed their behaviors. I gave them an edited version of
the future: Gregory (who is 26) is correct that the human race is being manipulated into war by relatively small groups of technocrats, military people and
billionaires who tend to cluster in secret power centers in governments.
Each group coordinates the war with like groups in other countries,
including groups in countries identified domestically as enemies.
The
common purpose of the groups is to destabilize society everywhere with war, to
the extent that a new culture, born from bioengineering and AI, can be
built, and I revealed that Gregory's teachings (which Rebecca had read)
would become the new foundation for world politics. I wondered if that last
revelation was a mistake. I added that Anthony and Rebecca would be
active in politics and left it at that, then spent the rest of the evening
listening to them exchange ideas (while texting updates to Gregory).
There seemed a physical tension between them which might express itself
at some point. Before we parted, Rebecca said she would join our mission
to either stop the war or at least affect it.
I want to say I had a dream that
night, but it was not a dream. I don't have words for what it was.
I do know it was not "real" in the conventional sense if only
because it involved me flying out of my window into the sky, straight up a few
thousand feet to a stationary position, looking down at a birdseye view of the
Devil's Punchbowl in Pearblossom- a few miles from my place- lit faintly by
stars and the new moon. Wikipedia describes the Punchbowl as "a deep
sandstone canyon categorized as a plunging syncline." The San
Andreas Fault goes through it. From the air in my "dream" I
could see the fault glowing faint blue, snaking across the Punchbowl.
From above, the blue line seemed to
vibrate slightly, and then a strong wind rushed up as I descended at high speed
towards the Punchbowl floor. I felt no fear, not out of bravery; fear was just
edited out of the experience. The acceleration slowed abruptly as the rim
of the Punchbowl rose above me, and when my bare feet touched the sandy bottom it
was a soft landing.
The walls around were dark and
unclear. The stars and new moon above were framed in walls of
stone. The blue line of the San Andreas Fault shone a few feet away.
There was silence. Only the fault spoke, throbbing with a
telepathic embrace. In its language it revealed that the meeting points
of weighty masses- such as tectonic plates, or ideological wars where
opposite ideas come face-to-face, inches apart, to feed off each other's
reversed polarity, perhaps to touch and create heat- that within such spaces
there are hot-spots of communicative potential, where synaptic jumps can be
filled with dramatic insight into the cosmos, lasting a fraction of a second
like lightning then lost to the void. I learned that evening that the Time Artists (at this
level of universe creation, what we usually call "gods" are termed "artists") conduct much of their business at
these interfaces, often summoning human time travelers like me (who tend
to create themselves inadvertently) to help them coordinate time and history.
The telepathic language induced me
to relax and lie on the sand beside the blue light. I complied and it was
a delicious feeling. The blue light looked like the place everyone wants
to go. Some version of heaven. Following the ambient suggestion I
put my palm over the light and found it radiated not heat, but joy. I
stuck my arm down through the light then rolled over into it and stepped out on
a stone patio built atop a giant granite mountain. A small valley below
was ringed by other tall mountains. Billowing clouds swirled at eye
level. A wooden overhang hid the sun. At a small round table a
wizardly-looking old man sat, wearing a robe. He smiled and gestured to
the seat across from him. There was no way to resist this being's presentation.
"Are you taking a form that my
limited senses will be able to comprehend," I asked, taking a seat and
hoping for a relaxed and friendly tone.
The Time Artist laughed, then looked
at me with something beyond human telepathy, though he kindly allowed me to
probe his abilities. His "eyes" were not only detectors of
light, a fairly narrow band in the big picture. A Time Artist's eyes
"see" the actual thing, not just a reflection from waves deflected
off it.
After a moment of taking me in, he
said, "We, the other Time Artists and I, appreciate your attempts to
manage the time rupture you caused."
"I caused it?" I asked in
horror.
"Yes, but it wasn't your fault.
It happens all the time, so to speak, and keeps the Time Artists busy,
which is critical to our happiness."
"How did I create the rupture?"
"Just by noticing things, and
thinking about things. Sentient beings do this at all levels of the
cosmic consciousness. It's our job to keep the overall
narrative...well...."
It was strange to see a godlike being
search for words.
"Sane?" I suggested.
"Yes," the Time Artist
sighed, "and entertaining. The Time Artists decided eons ago that in
addition to narrative and sequential plot (we discourage post-modernism), we
wanted an interesting story, something with challenges and insights gained at
high cost."
"Is that why there's evil in
the story, to keep things interesting?"
"More or less. In order
for evil to be credible it has to win sometimes. Then of course it has to
be defeated, which almost never happens entirely, then finally, in the grand finale,
the opposites merge in what Kurt Vonnegut called the 'Infandibulum.' That's where you are now."
"The place where all opposed
ideas are harmonized," I said.
"Yes, indeed," the Time
Artist confirmed, "each of the paired antitheticals sent here is labeled
both 'good' and 'evil'."
"How do you handle the ethical
confusion?," I asked.
"We look first, as with all
questions concerning human language, to etymology. The word 'evil' comes
from Dutch eveul, a noun used by craftsmen in the Middle Ages
meaning 'a part that does not fit,' like a piece of leather that is the wrong
shape or size for any ongoing project. That piece of leather has no
purpose in its existence; it might as well disintegrate and turn into something
else. An evil person, or personality trait, is one that does not fit its
surroundings, that can't contribute."
I tried to wrap my head around this
and felt partially successful. I asked, "How do you apply this to
actual moral questions, about good and evil?"
"Take abortion," the Time
Artist answered, "How might abortion not 'fit' for a person who finds
it 'evil'?" he continued. "That person calls abortion 'murder,' the
taking of a young, growing human life. 'Murder' comes from Sanskrit, mara, death, which has no moral
connotation, becoming in Old English the verb morthor, "to
murder" which of course has a negative connotation. The negative
connotation of 'murder' derives from the standard dictionary definition that
murder is 'unlawful killing.' 'Unlawful' is the single word, in
dictionaries, distinguishing murder from killing in general.
"Thus abortion is evil because,
at one time, it was illegal, though in the U.S. it is now legal [Update, 9/30/22: Clearly the Time Artists did not foresee the overturning of Roe v Wade in 2022]. The
obvious absurdity of this progression delights the 'pro-choice'...."
The Time Artist's face turned red
and he appeared to be choking or fighting nausea.
"Sorry," he said,
regaining his composure, "I have trouble with the terms people use, so
self-serving and unexplanatory, so out of place in the Infandibulum. I
use them only for classification purposes. Anyway, the
Pro-you-know-what's get excited that the only moral deficit of abortion is that
it's sometimes against the law, but the pro-lifers...."
Again he seemed to gag for a moment.
"Excuse me, well, in the
Infandibulum they hear their side of things too. Why is something against
the law? If a young child asked you that question, you would answer that
things are against the law because they're wrong. Things that are wrong
include hurting people and lots of other things that are wrong because adults
say they are. That's enough for most children, but as you grow older you
start to disagree about what's right and wrong. That means you disagree
about laws. The anti-abortion group, if I might use that more descriptive
phrase, is then, by calling abortion evil, objecting to a law, in this case a
law enabling abortion, which is a much more rational sounding position than
claiming that illegality confers evil. The Infandibulum brings much peace
simply by clarifying. How then does abortion, if it is evil, not 'fit'
for people who are upset by it? It does not fit their vision of
themselves as loving life, especially loving human life, and especially the
human life of their own offspring. Harry the Human, may I call you that?"
"Of course, I'd be honored, but
you can just call me Harry. What shall I call you?
"Please call me Arthur,"
said the Time Artist. "Harry, why do you think the anti-abortion
group cannot accept killing a fetus?"
Wow, maybe this was some
sort of heaven. Arthur's idea of conversation was exactly like mine.
People think I'm a curmudgeon, but I'm not- there's just nobody, at least
at the Family Dollar Store in Pearblossom, who wants to talk about interesting
stuff. In heaven everyone talks about interesting stuff.
"Well," I answered,
"they believe the fetus has a 'soul.' It's a religious idea, but even if
you're not religious, 'soul' has a clear meaning. If you have a soul, you
are conscious and self-aware. That is what consciousness and
self-awareness are, soul."
"Very good," said Arthur,
"What are your views on the question?"
"My view is that it's hard to
tell. I don't think a fertilized egg has a soul, meaning I don't think
it's got a consciousness and is self-aware, but how would I know?
Although I suppose I could conduct a telepathic experiment with a
blastocyst to see if anyone's home. On the other hand, a fetus in the
second or third trimester does appear conscious on some level. I've made
a note to check."
"I like your train of thought,
Harry," said Arthur. "In the Infandibulum we see even beyond
this, to the self-awareness of the universe itself, in its infinity of
individual parts and in its unity. The older fetus may have self-awareness,
but if the blastocyst as an organism does not, its nascent microbiome and
parasites do, and so do the molecules and atoms that comprise it."
"Atoms are conscious? Wow!
I've wondered."
"Yes, the whole thing- mass and
energy- it's all conscious. Humans don't like to think that because it
makes them feel excluded. They think they're learning how to understand
and control the cosmos; in fact they're just trying to get back in."
"Uh-huh," I contributed.
"There is no end to life.
Even the Time Artists don't know where it ends or begins."
"Oh yeah?"
"Reductio ad absurdum is the
lubricant of the Infandibulum. If everything is conscious then why is
there predation? Why is it all war and struggle? Can't the
consciousness, in its unified state, figure out how to share energy, in one big
orgasmic love fest?"
"You have to wonder."
"In the Infandibulum,"
continued Arthur, "the issue of abortion, like all the other casus
bellis, gets lost in endless questions and clarifications until there
is unity. Peace prevails until we become too inert, then we need to start
the process over again."
"By adding some evil?"
"In a manner of speaking, but
our heart's in the right place. Anyway, we need to rectify the mess you
caused by telling Gregory, Anthony and Rebecca as much as you did about the
future, including the global success of Gregory's teachings and the 2044
campaigns for American President by Anthony and Rebecca."
"Sorry about that."
"It's ok, it's been undone.
They have no knowledge of the future now, just as before, but they do
know you, and the four of you are still engaged in a conspiracy, involving telepathy,
against the pro-war consortium you have identified. Right-on, bro!"
And quick as a wink I was back in my
wooden shack in Pearblossom, feeling sorry for people whose lives are not as
interesting as mine.
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