Whence came such ideas? Whence came the notion that suffering could have such value? Oh, I don't mean the common gratitude we all feel to those who have suffered inconvenience or pain for the good of others, or the gratitude we feel for those who are willing to die to protect others from harm! But in those instances, it is the good of life which is important. I mean now the rock-bottom idea of the God Incarnate religion that holds that God Himself works through pain and suffering to "redeem" His creatures from His own wrath. And then think on the concept of eternal damnation that lies behind this God Incarnate-crucifixion religion--the idea that the Maker of the universe, the Maker of all worlds, has devised a place of eternal unspeakable conscious agony for all human beings who are not redeemed through acceptance of the horrific execution of this God Himself as His own Son in the flesh! How this God has consecrated suffering; how He has elevated unspeakable suffering as something to which He personally attaches unlimited value. He requires this Hell of eternal suffering as some sort of payment from those struggling finite humans who have disobeyed Him or failed to consecrate the suffering of God Incarnate on His fabled cross as an act of love!
And He Himself, this God, is presumed to be eternally aware in every particular of this unspeakable suffering, else how can this Hell be supported and maintained? Think of how this struck us--Welf and me--as we came alive and to consciousness again in the town of Bolinas on the West Coast of the United States. Who could have authored such a religion, we asked; who could have developed it and perfected it, were it not the Bravennans!
Yet what proof is there that such a horrific religion did come from Bravenna? None. Indeed, it seems this religion evolved to its final blood flower over a long period of time during which human beings sought to make sense of the fact of suffering and pain and a world in which there was no apparently overarching justice! And what cruelty came of such ideas. Think of the Christian saints who starved and flogged themselves; think of the cruel flogging inflicted on children due to the barbarous idea that they were inherently evil from birth. Think of the cruel executions throughout human history. Think of the morbid idea of the God of love inflicting suffering on those He favors and would bring to perfection!
But human beings are moving away from these blood-drenched fables, are they not? They are moving away in an affluent world in which people have come to suspect the value of suffering. They are gradually rejecting these old notions. The abundant New Age writings in some places contain the same themes as troubled Amel--that some force beyond this planet might be harvesting emotions, thriving off human emotions and using them for purposes known and unknown.
Well, think on it. Think on it that we saw a long-ago world in which many simple people rejected such an idea without the long history of the development of ideas that you have all inherited on this earth. We saw it there in the beginning. And it was not the teachings of Amel that inculcated these people with a suspicion of suffering. I believe that what moved the millions of Atalantayans to think in a different way was that they had never been indoctrinated with such a notion in the first place. They knew of it, they associated it with some tribes in the Wilderness lands, but that was all. And in the free and creative atmosphere of Atalantaya they believed in a world without the sanctification of suffering.
But let me go back now to us! Let me go back to that day on Atalantaya when we all but staggered out of Amel's chambers and went down and out and back into the city. We were virgin minds, newborn minds, minds unprepared for the shock of all this. Yet we were mammalian beings and we had within us the mammalian concept of fairness. We felt the human mammalian revolt against that which seems utterly monstrous!
In the days that followed we wandered the city anew paying attention now to things we'd ignored before. Nightly without fail, we sat for at least an hour in a Meditation Center. And we visited the great water compounds in Atalantaya which extracted salt from the sea and somehow harnessed the power of the flow of water to run many complex systems of Atalantaya. We also visited the great factories in which all manner of items were made, and everywhere we went we found that pilgrims like us were welcome. Seldom did we need to show our passes.
People worked in large light-filled enclosures with ample food and drink nearby, and as in the Wilderness lands, no one worked more than four hours a day, and some worked even far less. And nowhere did we see the slightest evidence of coercion.
Of course we witnessed arguments, disputes, lines formed to obtain certain goods, occasional mishaps in laboratories or factories, and occasional discontent over lack of personal promotion or recognition, but essentially we witnessed a giant system, a citywide system, a realm of enterprises if you will, in which Amel's values ruled on every level!
And slowly we came to realize something else, that we were witnessing a world in rapid development. In the cafes of the factories and plants we heard passionate conversation of innovations and improvements and what might soon be possible, and the latest innovations in luracastria which now dominated the making of larger ships to sail the seas and talk of the possibility of flying machines. What I did come to understand was that luracastria was in fact an imprecise name for a growing family of chemicals and materials and processes related to polymers and thermoplastics as we call them today. I was so sure I had endless time ahead of me to learn about all this, and to work with luracastria myself, once I had been prepared for the life inside these laboratories.
And understand again: this was a technological paradise evolving free of economic competition and war--the two forces, economic competition and war--that have driven the technology of the world of the twenty-first century.
This was a world of justice and affluence in which innovation was driven by vision and imagination rather than brutal competition, or want, or aggression.
In my heart of hearts I was deeply troubled. And so were the others. We each confronted the paradox of the future! Were we to disobey the Parents, and it seemed almost certain that we would, would we be committing forever to a life beneath the dome of Atalantaya or, at best, a life in the city and in her satellite cities to and from which we must travel under the luracastric domes of her fleets? Would we be hunted beings, marked for destruction by Bravenna?
If we were to set foot outside the dome, would Bravenna have some way of detonating us and the lethal chemicals in our bodies?
And one thing troubled me more than anything else. Had the Parents foreseen our fall from grace? Had they foreseen--as Amel insisted--that we would never detonate or loose the toxin? And if so, then what did they actually want to happen?
The weakest part of Amel's presentation had been his insistence that the Parents wanted to foment trouble. Unless, of course, and it came to me gradually, they had sent us into this paradise to be the equals of Amel intellectually, as we say, if not scientifically--to provide the possibility of a covert movement against him as the absolute ruler? In other words, had we been created to be revolutionaries in Atalantaya? Had we been created to want to compete with Amel for control of this immense metropolis?
I couldn't quite believe such a thing. We had not been inculcated with any unusual thirst for power, nor were we innately competitive, and we were not devious or quarrelsome with anyone, let alone with one another. Nor had the Bravennans spent all that much time on condemning Amel, working us up against Amel. But then maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe they really didn't know what was going on in Atalantaya and assumed it was so evil that we would share their condemnation of it. Maybe they really couldn't grasp the sophistication of Amel's approach to the planet.
It was a mystery, and what also haunted me was something that the Parents had said during our final orientation--that if we did not fulfill the purpose they would find some other way to reduce the planet to its primal purity.
That shook me to the root, because now an immense desire was born in me--not merely to save myself and Welf and Garekyn and Derek, and Amel, the Great One, Amel--but to save the planet! I spent hours on
the balcony or terrace of our apartment home gazing up at the bright "star" that was Bravenna, wondering how this planet Earth could defend itself from such interference. Were these thoughts the result of my mammalian makeup? Was my anger really bred into me? I didn't know.
Derek was beside himself. He made the rounds of the Meditation Centers nearest to us, listening, singing with the others, reciting the statement as to what is evil--that which diminishes life, destroys life--and, coming home, he would say that he could scarcely bear the sight of innocent Earth people everywhere going about their lives in the paradise of Atalantaya without the slightest knowledge that their world was perhaps about to end.
Finally, after much discussion and eventual agreement amongst ourselves, we went again to the Creative Tower to see Amel.
VI
He received us cordially just as he said that he would, though he had to dismiss a meeting of what we would call scientific researchers in order to see us alone.
"We want to work for you," I told him. "We want to do all that we can to promote the good of life on this planet. We have conceived of ourselves as the People of a New Purpose and that purpose is never to do anything that harms life."
"I'm pleased," he said, "and this is what I have been expecting. Tonight, we'll feast here and I'll invite the other Replimoids to meet you."
The feast was a joyous one. But Amel had been kind when he had said these Replimoids were not of the same standard as ourselves. They did not even resemble us, and in fact--except for one--they were exact duplicates of one another--as many before them had been, we were told--and presentable enough, but clearly slow witted, with significant handicaps when it came to reason or initiative.
The one who was not a duplicate did not speak to us at all. I could write a book on them, the ones who did speak, but won't digress anymore on that now. It's enough to say they were inferior models of imitation human beings--hearty males appearing healthy in all respects, slow of speech and obviously deficient in emotional expression and so slow in their natural movements and responses as to arouse any human's suspicion as to what they were. I saw them as foot soldiers in Bravenna's war on the planet, whereas we were Bravenna's attempt at espionage, and when the feasting was over, I wasn't surprised that Amel asked only one--the silent one, the one who had not been designed on the same template--to remain behind for a private session with us.
This one was named Maxym, a being with dark reddish-brown skin and dark wavy reddish-brown hair, very neatly groomed, and perhaps the shabbiest and most indifferently attired creature I'd seen in Atalantaya. He was the only one present who had not attired himself especially for the evening.
As we gathered on the couches again for serious talk, Amel told us Maxym was among the last team of Replimoids sent to the planet before us. There had been three in the group, and the other two had long ago disappeared.
I didn't say so, but I couldn't see anything wrong with this Replimoid, that is, nothing that made him seem in the least inferior to us. But perhaps Amel knew of traits which I couldn't perceive.
"Maxym came many years ago," Amel explained. "More than three human lifetimes in years. And Maxym was with me when I built the first luracastric dwellings on the island. It is Maxym who sees to all the Meditation Centers on Atalantaya and develops new Meditation Centers as the population increases. That is his passion, providing places where souls can meditate and reflect."
"That is not all I do," said Maxym. He had had a rather dreamy expression on his rather solemn face as Amel described him. But when he spoke up he commanded everyone's attention. His face was perfectly oval, and his features balanced. He lacked any of the calculated individualizing faults that we have. Perhaps that was the character of his inferiority. He'd been made too ideally perfect, and maybe the other two with him had been exact duplicates.
"I will never recover the sense of well-being I knew on Bravenna," he said in a deep impressive voice, "and there is no redemption for me since my defection, but I have done what I believed to be right."
"This is surprising," Derek said. "Can you explain? I never felt a sense of well-being on Bravenna. I was disturbed from the outset by the film streams and confused when I was told that I was to die in fulfilling my purpose. What was it that gave you a sense of well-being?"
Maxym gazed on Derek--there is no other verb for it--as if from a lofty height and then explained in a subdued voice, almost a monotone, "Perhaps you spent too little time on Bravenna," he said. "I was part of something bigger than myself when I was on Bravenna. I was part of a great and creative vision. And though I have devoted my life to Amel, I have never known the complete acceptance by any group since the days of Bravenna when I and my brothers were being prepared for our mission--to kill Amel, and destroy what he had done."
"What happened to your brothers?" I asked.
He smiled bitterly and shook his head. He looked like a human being of maybe twenty-five years. Prime of life as it was then. We were from the same design in that regard.
"Who knows what became of them?" Maxym replied. "They lacked the fortitude to choose." He looked at me intently and I found myself uncomfortable with his hostile expression. "They fled Atalantaya," he said. "Perhaps the Bravennans destroyed them. How should I know? That was long ago, before the great dome rose over Atalantaya. People came and went, came and went. There was something craven in them. They were afraid of Amel, afraid of Bravenna, afraid of me. We've heard nothing of them since."
Amel looked off as Maxym spoke. I think Amel had heard all this before. He looked faintly sad, but perhaps he was simply thinking of other things.
"And you don't feel part of this magnificent Atalantaya?" asked Garekyn. "You chose for Amel, but do not feel part of all this?" No answer. "We've been in love with Atalantaya since we arrived," he went on. "And we were in love with Earth before."
Now Maxym gazed from his lofty spiritual height on Garekyn and said with amazing force, "Amel doesn't give these people enough! Amel has never understood. If there is a Maker beyond these skies, then our highest calling is to do the will of that Maker, to open ourselves, our hearts, our souls, as Amel is always saying, to the Maker who will guide us to be what he wants us to be."
Amel turned and glared at Maxym as if he'd had enough. "And what if there is no Maker?" he asked. "When have you ever seen the slightest proof of any Maker?"
"The Maker offers us creation itself as proof of his greatness," said Maxym, "and we are to seek his will in what we see in the creation, in the green grass, in the trees, in the stars above. Not build great edifices of our own to tempt the wrath of the Maker with our presumption and ingratitude."
They went on arguing, just Maxym and Amel, Maxym pushing at Amel with his assertions ever harder. Maxym believed life was too easy in Atalantaya. Maxym believed its people were lazy and selfish. Maxym believed Amel had fostered a population of pampered beings who never became true adults. Maxym believed in the superiority of those who struggled in the Wilderness lands.
"When will you realize," Maxym asked, "that Earth doesn't need luracastria and all the dazzling personal enrichment you have used to corrupt the population! When will you realize that you have taken upon yourself an authority that you do not have?" Maxym's eyes were large and dark brown and searching and accusatory. "You have robbed these people of ambition. You have robbed them of the capacity for deep concerns. You have robbed them of the opportunity to grow in spirit."
I sat listening to all this, realizing something quite remarkable--that Amel apparently allowed this being to live here in his service, though they violently disagreed on these vital distinctions, and therefore Amel must have had some use for Maxym that we could not fully understand.
At the end of a particularly nasty exchange, perhaps one of the most heated I'd ever witnessed between any two beings, Maxym rose to his feet, hurled his wineglass at the faraway translucent wall and stormed towards the doors. Then turning back he declared with fierce unnatural volume, a volume no ordinary mam
mal could modulate, "You will see. You will see in the end that in your hatred of Bravenna, in your endless defiance of the Parents, you have led the inhabitants of this planet to reject that which may well be what the Maker has always wanted--penance, and self-abnegation, and self-denial. You have cast doubt on the inherent value of denying oneself, starving oneself, disciplining oneself to know things spiritual that cannot be learned in the midst of endless feasting and drinking and dancing and surrendering to one's appetite to couple day in and day out!"
Amel sat calmly facing him, with one arm on the back of the couch, and now it was Amel who gazed on Maxym as if from afar. "Maxym, Maxym, you make Makers where there are no Makers, and endow them with powers where there is no power, and all to assuage your endless guilt!" He sighed. His voice remained level. "Bravenna has never punished you for your defection," he said. "I have never punished you for your assault on me. And so you devise a Maker to punish you, some great awesome being beyond Bravenna, to make you miserable. You break my heart."
"Break your heart!" cried Maxym. He came close again and then did something that struck me as most unwise. He came up behind the couch and leaned over Amel menacingly. But Amel did not respond. Now, had any being come this close to me, and leaned over me in this manner, I would have moved away. But Amel sat there, staring off, as if this were nothing threatening to him and only barely interesting. "What heart do you have to break?" Maxym asked. "What are you but a Replimoid, the same as I? You have no heart. And you have no soul."
So there it was, the distinction that Derek had alluded to when we had gathered here before--the obvious question perhaps as to whether a thing developed and bred on Bravenna could have an "I" to it, a "me" to it that was as authentic as the "I" or "me" of human beings.
Suddenly Amel stood and faced Maxym. "I was born on this planet," he said. "I was born on this planet!" he repeated, slightly raising his voice. The red flared in his cheeks. "I am of this planet, and you forget that, and I tell you anything that is sentient, self-conscious, possessing a sense of fairness, a sense of right and wrong, has a soul. You have a soul! These beings here, Kapetria and Welf and Garekyn, and Derek--they have souls."