by Jon Saboe
“Absolutely not,” said Peleg. “Whatever the cause, some form of deliberate intent is involved since they are recognizable symbols with specific meaning.”
“That’s only because you recognize them,” said Shem. “They would appear as meaningless lines and wedges to someone who knew nothing of your language.”
“Still,” said Peleg. “The characters represent a clear pattern that could only be deliberate. One way or another, you must have caused it.”
Shem nodded, and thought for a second before speaking.
“There is one other possibility,” he said, “can you think of it?”
Peleg pondered for a moment. Either the stones in this example were arranged by Shem’s design, or it was an accident. He could conceive of no third possibility.
“Perhaps the stones themselves did it,” offered Shem. “Perhaps as they were flying through the air, they chose to change course, select partners with which to collide, and directed their own organization to spell out your name. Just for you,” he added with a smile.
“That’s impossible!” exclaimed Peleg.
“Exactly!” Shem responded, and then immediately demanded, “Why?”
Peleg was taken aback, but eventually responded.
“It’s because of causality, right? Once the path of a given stone has been ‘caused’, the effect cannot be changed. It is locked in, and must continue to its pre-determined conclusion.”
“Very good,” said Shem. “I believe you may ready to handle what is coming next.”
He picked up his bag of stones, and slowly poured them out onto the floor.
“These pebbles,” he began, “represent all of the matter in the universe. And if I were to pick them up and throw them, that would represent all of the energy in the universe. Everything in the universe is subject to the laws of causality. Every physical interaction, every chemical reaction, all the motions of the stars and their wanderers, all weather patterns, all geological events. Everything. Every event occurs because a preceding event forced it. The cause could be physical, chemical, magnetic, or even energy waves, but once it occurs, the result is inevitable, unless another force supersedes it.”
Peleg nodded, somewhat disappointed. This was all familiar thinking to him. After Shem’s big build-up, he had anticipated something more earth shattering.
“You’re thinking, ‘I’ve heard all of this before’,” Shem said, reading his thoughts. “But what you haven’t considered is how ‘impossible’ (to use you own word) humans fit into all of this.”
Peleg started to speak, but couldn’t see the connection, so he kept quiet.
“I suggested,” continued Shem, “that the rocks could somehow supersede causality if they had the intelligence to choose against the ‘effect’ and make decisions which were not the result of any chemical or physical ‘cause’. The planetarium designed by our friend, Tarshish, could only perform predetermined or causal outcomes, but there was no combination of physical or chemical causes that forced him to create it.”
Peleg’s mind was becoming confused as it tried desperately to sort out what was allegory, what was metaphor, and what was reality.
“My proposition is this,” Shem began his pronouncement to unify everything up to this point. “Intelligence is that ability to supersede causality and create decisions that are independent of external forces. For example, when you speak, there is no chemical or physical agent forcing you to select the sounds you use. No outside energy is ‘causing’ you to choose your words. When you write, or take measurements, nothing in the universe is forcing you to move your arm, or make the marks that you do. Sure, your muscles move your bones, and they grip the stylus, but your intelligence or ‘decision-making’ guides the end result—much the same as if I controlled the outcome of the thrown stones.”
Peleg tried to think of something to say, caught himself ‘choosing’ his words, and stopped when he realized he was about to utter a sentence that contained the word ‘Lifeforce’.
“You want to say something about Lifeforce,” stated Shem with a half-smile. “As I’m sure you now realize, since biological life is simply matter, then it must abide by the same laws of causality that the rest of the cosmos follows. Yet, as you can now see, the ability to violate that causality exists everywhere within the human experience and is demonstrated in human intelligence. This is a supernatural, yet observable part of reality that must be accounted for.”
Peleg’s stomach did a small lurch at the word ‘supernatural’. That was definitely one of the most despicable words at the Citadel, yet he had to admit it was being used accurately in this case.
“Human beings have the unique ability to make decisions,” Shem continued, declaratively. “One of the most remarkable examples is the ability to choose what to think. You can think about what I’m saying, or choose to think about something unrelated. You can select any idea you wish, and meditate upon it. Nothing is ‘causing’ you to do this, yet you exist in a causal universe. In fact, most people refuse to admit it, but we can choose our own emotions, our own reactions, and even our own feelings. Society tells us we can’t help ourselves, but this is a lie.”
Peleg nodded with very little comprehension.
“Here are my questions to you,” said Shem. “At what point in the history of the universe did this ‘intelligence’, this ‘interference with causality’ appear? At what stage was it ‘inserted’ into reality? But before you answer, consider these questions:”
Shem turned away from the stones on the ground, and faced Peleg more directly. Peleg suddenly realized that Bernifal had slipped out into the storm for some unknown purpose. Neither one had heard him leave.
“Does it require more intelligence to arrange characters out of stones, or to devise something that can create its own system of writing? Did it take more intelligence to create the planetarium, or to create something that can design its own planetarium? If decision-making is an indication of intelligence, how much intelligence does it require to create an independent decision maker?”
Peleg was completely lost as this latest flurry of questions accosted him, but he found himself impressed with Shem’s last question. It was a real tongue twister in Peleg’s language, and Shem had spoken it flawlessly. Peleg shook his head and tried to return to the meaning behind the words. So much unconventional thinking, and so many issues. The image of the shipbuilder-builders entered into his mind, compounding his perplexity.
Shem refocused him.
“The question: When did intelligence appear?”
It was clear that the silence was now permanent, until Peleg chose to respond. He tried to organize his thoughts along with all of the new concepts. He mentally assembled a few premises, and then discarded them until he was able to latch on to one.
Intelligence is exhibited in patterns which cannot occur solely by cause and effect.
A second quickly followed:
Deliberate intent is needed to overcome causality and create meaningful information.
He juggled these in his mind for a few moments, and then a resulting thought escaped from his mouth.
“Intelligence can only arise from intelligence,” he blurted out, and then tried to explain himself. “The only way that causality could be overcome, is by introducing some unimaginable …” he paused before deciding on the right word, “… agent into the universe—but …” Peleg was thinking, his words slowing down. “…that agent must itself be the result of intelligence...but—that agent…” His words trailed off as the infinite regression began to dawn on him.
Shem laughed, obviously excited.
“Please tell me,” he said, almost mocking. “What chemical or physical laws ‘caused’ you to choose those syllables? You have an almost infinite number of sounds or grunts you could make, yet you selected those exact sounds—sounds which I am able to turn into meaning. What made you do it?”
Peleg felt a flicker of anger. Shem was trivializing his quandary, and seemed to be enjoying it.
“I did it,” he said impatiently. “I chose my own words.”
“Yes,” said Shem. “But one of the words you selected was ‘agent’, and I would now like to inform you of the source of that ‘agent’.”
Peleg reacted internally to the word ‘source’. It reminded him of Serug.
“As you have now seen,” continued Shem, “a created thing cannot be more intelligent than its creator. Your planetarium cannot be more intelligent than Tarshish (or Thaxad). A ship cannot be more complex than the ship’s builder. A design cannot exhibit more ingenuity than its designer. In other words, anything that exhibits intelligence must have a greater intelligence behind it. Since we know that intelligence exists, we are left with two options. Either there exists an infinite succession of minds which exhibit increasing orders of intelligence, or there exists one mind with infinite intelligence or omniscience. A Mind that knows all that is knowable!”
Shem looked into Peleg’s eyes.
“But for that to be possible,” he continued, “this Mind would have to know all knowledge in the past and future as well, and to accomplish that, He would have to exist outside of time!”
He paused for a moment, then resumed with a much softer voice.
“Peleg,” he said. “That Mind is called the Creator, and when He ‘created’ the first humans, he installed a very special ‘agent’ in them. You call it your volition, but He describes it as ‘being made in His image’. The Creator gave them the very same autonomous decision making ability that He possesses. They could choose to honor him or choose not to honor him. They could choose what to eat and what to think. A very special creation, unlike the pre-determined mechanism of a ship or planetarium. That is the point at which ‘intelligence’ entered this physical universe; and the Creator, who exists separately from His creation, now watches over it, maintains it, and cares for it—as any good creator would.”
The silence resumed as Peleg mentally digested all of the new thoughts which swirled around his mind. Thunder still rolled overhead, and occasionally, a flash of light would sneak into the cave whenever a sheet of lightning illuminated the outside world.
Bernifal arrived, soaked, but carrying a number of squirming fish in a net which he had rigged next to a nearby overflowing river.
Peleg’s thoughts returned inward. His entire self-image had to be re-evaluated. Back when Shem spoke of the Ship-builder Builders, Peleg had imagined himself (with some disdain) to be nothing more than a fancy mechanism on the shelf of some super-creator’s workshop. But now (if Shem’s analogy were to be believed) he was a decision-making rock.
A troubling thought occurred to him, though, as he considered the possibility that Shem’s Creator was real. This Creator, in a very true sense, might consider Himself to be the owner of His creation. He might have requirements or demands on humanity—or more specifically—on Peleg himself.
“Is this ‘volition’ what you were speaking of when you said humanity ‘rebelled’?” asked Peleg.
Shem’s head jerked, apparently pulled away from his own reverie. He smiled with a kindness Peleg had not yet seen.
“You are getting ahead of me,” he said. “But yes, they abused the ‘agent’, the gift of their free volition, and chose to reject the Creator. You see, having volition is a tremendous and terrifying responsibility. What if you make a wrong choice? The decision is permanent and the consequences are irreversible. All they had to do was accept the Creator’s guidance in their decision-making, but they chose instead to run their new world on their own. Naturally, the Creator respectfully obliged, but the consequences were disastrous.”
“The curse?”
“Yes,” said Shem. “The curse is simply the Creator removing himself from our affairs, unless He is specifically invited to intervene.”
He smiled.
“The Creator is actually very gentle. He cares for his creations just as you care for yours.”
Peleg was moved emotionally in a very strange way as he pondered the words ‘polite’ and ‘gentle’ applied to the incomprehensible, infinite intelligence that Shem had been describing. He felt these attributes ought to be contradictory, yet at the same time, he felt an unexpected sense of comfort.
Perhaps being a decision-making rock wasn’t so bad, when one considered how amazingly complex and magnificent that rock was.
“Why don’t you use your volition and get some sleep,” Shem advised suddenly. “We’ll be leaving in a few hours whenever this rain ‘decides’ to let up.”
Peleg smiled slightly at this, and stretched out over his bearskin. The fire was going down, and even Bernifal was now fast asleep. He pulled the edge of his bearskin over himself, and chose to close his eyes.
One question suddenly arose as he drifted off to sleep.
How does one go about inviting the Creator?
Chapter 35
Pride
“Free will—without guidance—is the most terrifying prison of all.”
“What do you mean, ‘the shipment is still not in’!” Buan glared at the courier who stepped back slightly, cowering. This was the final aggravation of an already horrible day—and it was only half over.
He had risen early, and then spent his morning fighting crowds, traveling to the Eastern gate where he had been promised cedar samples for inspection. Three days earlier he had made the same trip, only to discover that nothing had arrived.
He had returned today, two hours after dawn, but the representative was nowhere to be found. Then, just before zenith, a courier had come to say that no one would be available today, but that the samples would certainly be there tomorrow, guaranteed.
Buan had eaten nothing that morning; and there was nothing left to do but to return to his master’s headquarters and explain—again—what had happened. There would certainly be a fine or increased tariff for this outrage; however, it most certainly would not come out of his purse.
He turned in a huff and left the tent without a word. He stormed past the gate officials and entered the city, oblivious to anything around him—a cloud of angry exasperation surrounding him. His robe (which was now dusty thanks to his wasted trip) flapped against his legs as he walked, and, without thinking, he stormed into the first place he saw that offered food.
He pushed past the few patrons that were there and headed for the table farthest from the door. He was hungry, and he certainly deserved a decent meal for his morning’s unnecessary aggravations.
As he sat, his breathing slowly returned to normal, and he gradually began to take in his surroundings.
He had spent very little time in this part of the city, and he certainly never took time to eat when he did have business here. He was sure he had never noticed this eating establishment before, and as he looked around, he realized it might be slightly more expensive than his usual fare. No matter. He had earned it today.
The proprietor approached his table, noticing Buan’s dirty robe along with his overall untidy and flustered appearance.
“Excuse me, sir,” he began plaintively. “Are you certain this is the best establishment for you? We have quite a discriminating selection, and offer only the finest cuts and beverages at no mean expense…”
Buan slammed his right hand palm-down on the table. Without taking his eyes off the table, he presented the back of his left hand to the waiter, making sure the signet ring on his little finger was prominently displayed by rotating it slightly with his thumb.
The proprietor glanced down at the ring, and then stepped back, embarrassed.
“Please forgive me, sir. Of course your credit is good. I meant no offense.”
Buan kept his eyes on the table, dismissing the indiscretion with a wave of his hand.
“Just let me know what is served here,” he grunted. Not even an expensive meal on his master’s tab would make up for the hardships and aggravations of this morning.
“They were your nephews and their offspring,” said Shem.
It was now twelve weeks s
ince their discussion about volition, and they were finally within eyeshot of Uruk. The early dawn light was just giving way to the brilliance of a clear morning sky, and the top level of Uruk’s ziggurat could now be seen silhouetted against the rising sun. Peleg noticed how much darker it was than his Citadel in Ur, since the outer face of Uruk’s structure had been conditioned with bitumen.
It had been an uneventful journey, with two main exceptions. As they had traveled through more familiar territories, they had encountered several small farming settlements; one of which had refused them passage until Peleg offered his bearskin as payment. The other, more traumatic event, (at least for Shem) was when they needed passage on a Phoenician cargo vessel and had no money. Ultimately, the tall founder was forced to part with several of his precious stones; which the toll officer correctly believed to be the most ‘unusual and unique minerals’ he had ever laid eyes on.
Also, during their travels, Peleg and Bernifal had been able to exchange basic language lessons—at least when Bernifal was around. Peleg now had a rudimentary knowledge of his companions’ vocabulary and syntax, and occasionally Bernifal would experiment with a few words in Peleg’s tongue.
Shem was now talking about the people whom Peleg had met during his voyage.
“When your father Eber, fled with your brother Joktan,” he continued, “they gathered at a place far to the East of Aratta which they named Mèsha which means ‘departure’. Joktan’s sons, along with their families and servants, chose to continue their father’s obedience and spread themselves and their descendants throughout the world.”
Peleg nodded, listening, but was also becoming more aware of the walls of Uruk approaching in the distance.
“Joktan had thirteen sons, who went out from Mèsha with their families, heading due east,” said Shem. “But soon there was a disagreement which split them. Four families believed a more nomadic life would please the Creator as they traveled—moving and dividing into smaller groups as they grew with subsequent generations. The other nine desired to build great cities, just as Nimrod had, but they wished to settle as far from Babel as possible for fear of the coming curse that Eber had warned of.”
