In the Original Unity of the First Thing lies the Secondary Cause of All Things, with the Germ of their Inevitable Annihilation.

. . . In this sense, of course, perfection of plot is really, or practically, unattainable – but only because it is a finite intelligence that constructs. The plots of God are perfect. The Universe is a plot of God.

– Edgar Allan Poe, Eureka

I'm not going to preach at you. I doubt I have the authority or wisdom to do that. But here, presented for your consideration, are some thoughts by other people that might, or might not (as Vroomfondel might, or might not, say) be relevant to the current situation – which, as you might have noticed, is one in which reality has not only taken a left turn somewhere, but then gone through the door marked 'Authorised Personnel Only' and got hopelessly lost in somebody's broom closet.

We begin, of course, with Edgar Allan Poe, not because he's chronologically first (he's not), but because he is dear to my heart and a superior-type thinker. I went to his house in Philadelphia once. The committee didn't have enough money to renovate it, which was much in the spirit of Poe himself, but I could feel how his thoughts had permeated the walls. I've lived in Philadelphia, and I can imagine how a midnight dreary on Spring Garden Street could have affected a writer of such sensitivity. I notice now that the National Park Service has got hold of the place, and. . . of course it's shut down for repairs. Lots of luck reopening it, if the vandals keep looting the Treasury.

Poe's saying that 'the Universe is a plot of God' has haunted me for half a century. Forget to attitudinise about deism, for and against, for one minute and pay attention to what he's just said: the universe involves events and interactions across time. All together, that makes it have a plot. And we can study plots. And the plot of anything partial has a Chekhov's gun in it that will bring the whole thing down. The universe, being holistic, doesn't. It's going to get where it's going. Eventually.

And as the toes of the feet were part of iron, and part of clay, so the kingdom shall be partly strong, and partly broken.

– Daniel 2:42 Authorised Version

There's a collection of stories from the period known as the Babylonian Captivity whose hero is a brainy person named Daniel. Daniel may (or may not, see Vroomfondel) have been a eunuch. Or real: the important thing is the story, do try and keep up. Daniel the maybe-eunuch was a (possibly fictional) definitely-psychic, definitely-scholarly type who was definitely the go-to sage in Babylon. Which was a big deal because Babylon was like London (or Ankh-Morpork).

Now, back then, they believed that if a political leader had a really weird dream, it wasn't due to psychological stress or an eating mishap, but to a spiritual visitation. People continued to believe this for another couple of thousand years; they even believed it a couple of hundred years ago, which is why they made up folktales about George Washington having a 'prophetic' dream. George Washington would have shrugged and rolled over in bed, is what he would have done. Very prosaic man, George Washington. But I'm completely ready to believe that if Nebuchadnezzar had had this weird dream that you read about in the Book of Daniel, he would have called for the Unseen University, tout de suite.

The book tells us that Daniel, being the Alison Dubois of the time, coughed up the interpretation immediately. And it was a doozy: the statue in the dream had a head of gold, shoulders of silver, body of brass, legs of iron, and feet made of iron mixed with clay (not well). A 'stone cut without hands' fell from the sky, hit the feet of the statue – obviously its weak point – and the statue fell.

This bothered the king a lot, as well it should have. Daniel told the king that he (Nebuchadnezzar) was the head of gold, which made him feel a lot better. But the rest of the prophecy – succeeding civilisations declining in value until the last one is essentially dreck that gets offed by an asteroid. . . well, that is unsettling, to say the least. I'm not 100% sure what the rabbinical interpretation is, so I'll leave it alone, but most Christians (the ones who have read it, meaning mostly people who're dead now) have thought that Christ was the 'stone cut without hands.' You pays your money and you takes your choice, as my piano teacher used to say.

There are several disturbing thoughts here.

1. An ancient Mesopotamian civilisation was better than this one.
2. It is possible that this is the last civilisation.
3. If it is, it is equally possible that everything we have ever thought or done will vanish without trace.
4. That if it happens, it will be humanity-at-large's own damn fault.

If the earth falls in the wilderness, does it make a sound? Did a Beethoven ever make music, a Shakespeare poetry? Out of darkness, into darkness. If you deny the future its existence, did you exist?

– William Prochnau, Trinity's Child, 1983.

Now that is something to think about. Are we trying to tell ourselves something? Is there time to do anything about it, or is it already too late?

What if it is too late? At least, for this version of reality. But what if the Many-Worlds theorists are right? What if somewhere in the wilderness of possibilities, a consciousness, perhaps the Überich of the universal holon, may (or may not) have located a way out? And what if we only lose what we were destined to lose in the first place?

He asserted that because of his decoy maneuver I became interested in erasing personal history and 'dreaming.' He said that the effects of those two techniques were ultimately devastating if they were exercised in their totality. . .

'For instance, by erasing your personal history you have denied use to self-pity; in order for self-pity to work you had to feel important, irresponsible, and immortal.'

Carlos Castaneda, Tales of Power, 1970.

I understand that not everyone is a Don Juan-style 'sorcerer', or a mage like Daniel, or even a journalist like William Prochnau. But you might try this: try to imagine yourself without the baggage of what you think of as your personal identity. Imagine you are not whatever you do for a living. Not married or unmarried. Not religious or irreligious. Not a citizen of the country you're from – nor of any country, or even of Earth. That you are not old or young – these terms are meaningless to your spirit. Not male or female, or gay, bi, trans, or ace. Not even human.

Don Juan might say, 'Aha, now you feel less self-important.' What can you do that you couldn't do before? Could you imagine happily living in a different universe, one with a better plot?

Back to the present crisis. No, I'm not going to quote Thomas Paine about summer soldiers and sunshine patriots. Instead, I'm going to end this philosophical stroll – and yes, it's not before time, and I know you've all got headaches and want to go and lie down – with some words of wisdom from that great American poet, Arthur Guiterman. He's the one who astutely commented, 'The sword of Charlemagne the Just/Is ferric oxide, known as rust.' He also had this to say about fin-du-monde scenarios, so I'll let him have the last word.

Go in peace. Take an aspirin and lie down.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

24.02.25 Front Page

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