The Collector & The Inventor

On a winding path engulfed by darkness, a solitary lantern journeys warily through the forest. Trough a shroud of dense grey mist obscures our view, we can intimate the silhouette of a cloaked figure, moving toward what appears to be a small workshop in the distance. A flickering candle can be seen through its window, illuminating an old stilted workbench.

The intervallic crunches of hard leather grating on coarse earth pause as the lantern stops moving and the figure extends an arm. Three heavy knocks emanate from the iron clapper, puncturing the deafening silence. Shortly afterward, we hear the metallic thud of a deadbolt’s release, and the door swings open with a low groan.

We catch a fleeting glimpse of a heavy black cloak crossing the threshold before the door, seemingly of its own accord, closes behind.

A calm voice begins:

“Sorry to call unexpectedly, but I find myself in something of a quandary. You see, I have some specimens which need sorting. They’re kept in an orb of ether, swirling amidst clouds of conflicting energies. Upon closer inspection of each specimen, I find it mottled; good indistinguishable from bad. I cannot determine whether to discard it or add it to my collection.”

“You are the only one among my acquaintances whose expertise could render a solution to this problem. I need you to design for me a sorting machine, from which some specimens will emerge clean, and others irredeemably tarnished.”

“It is absolutely imperative that the sorting is faultless – I cannot afford even a single bad specimen in my collection.”

A long deliberative silence passes before a second voice issues a rhetorical response:

“They’re not just ordinary specimens are they? You’re talking about souls…”

“Very well, this will make your request considerably more difficult, but leave it with me; I shall see what I can do.”

Their brief exchange draws to a close as the mysterious visitor wishes the acquaintance well and departs.

*

Immediately, the inventor withdraws to his workshop and begins toiling away, meditative on the nature of the task. 

“Souls are perilously difficult to sort. This can be no simple machine. The design must ensure it contains as many distractions and untruths as possible. I must make them insidious and confusing. I must make them formless. It will test and toll the souls in every conceivable way to make certain the wheat is separated from the chaff.”

*

Over what seems an eternity, he applies every ounce of his creative ability to manufacture the machine; making innumerable calibrations until he is satisfied it will achieve his client’s aim.

By the time of the collector’s next visit, the machine is complete, and the inventor presents his work:

“I call it life. All you need do is release the souls into it. They progress through, and by the time their course is complete, you will be able to see at a glance which are good and which are bad. I cannot guarantee you won’t have to put some of them through again, but I am certain it will, at the very least, deliver you some unqualified results.”

His invention is met with scepticism; “are you aware of the gravity of the task this contraption needs to perform? It is absolutely crucial that only the cleanest make the grade, and that only those tainted incurably be discarded.”

“This machine, I assure you, is the greatest work I have ever accomplished. It will qualify every test. To meet your exacting specifications, I have been forced to introduce layers of complexity beyond the imaginable:

I have taken the positive and negative essences and placed them at the volition of the souls, giving them free reign over their use.

I have painted an objective world and given the souls subjective senses with which to interpret it.

I have created confusion and anxiety by vesting the souls with consciousness.

I have imbued each soul with capacities for reason, creativity, passion and aspiration.

I have designed emotions to complicate the way in which souls interact with each other.

I have formulated pleasure and pain to distract the souls.

I have allowed them possession.

I have instilled fear and greed.

I have shaped imperatives and untruths.

I have provoked faith and doubt to coerce them into fixed ideas.

I have summoned phantoms of illusion and delusion.

I have fabricated powerful and convincing deceptions to lead them astray.

I have instituted establishments and pursuits which lead nowhere.

As the masterstroke, I have given the souls the ability to control and change almost everything within life, except the ability to remain in the process indefinitely. They may add or subtract by their own volition, individually or collectively, thereby creating limitless possibility for them to make the attainment of cleanliness more difficult.

Before surrendering the device however, I would admonish you not to put too many souls into it at once. Although it will improve the machine’s efficiency, it will also cause an exponential increase in complexity. Please exercise caution as there are limitations to my architecture; if the structure is stressed beyond its capability, it will become unstable. I will not be held liable to any assurance should this eventuate.”

“You have done well. We will reconvene once I’ve had a chance to put a few batches through.”

“Thank you, your custom is appreciated. On a parting note, I should mention that within life, I have placed, in parallel instance, the divine virtues of wisdom, justice, temperance, and courage. Their existence is crucial to the device’s ability to function.”

*

An indeterminate passage of time later, the collector returns.

“It was a slow start – at the beginning, I had to put many of the souls through several times, but now the machine is functioning as intended. I’m quite impressed with how the artistic license you’ve given them has sharpened the sorting process. Though I have to put a great deal many souls through several times, the ones which emerge clean are fewer. See for yourself.”

The inventor peers into the device through a small looking glass.

“Ah, excellent timing; it appears a new day is just dawning”

The inventor observes intently as the first matutional rays ignite the landscape in a hue of gold.

“This is beyond what I anticipated. I could not have fathomed the degree of complexity they’d be able to conjure.”

“When building the device, I considered it ought to capture the observer’s curiosity. Rather than tedious uniformity, I furnished life with variety: seasons and alternating periods of darkness and light, a perpetual cycle of movement and respite.”

“They’ve discovered these arrangements and built a fascinating structure around them. They call it ‘time’ and divide it into seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years. The days number seven, and fifty-two of these cycles constitute a year. For five of the seven, many of the souls follow a strict regime, arising at a certain hour and spend the light hours ‘working.’ The remaining two days are comparatively unstructured, although they seem to also follow something of a routine. They call it ‘leisure.’”

“Another fascinating thing they’ve created is money, which they use to trade between themselves, and debt, which allows one to borrow from time.”

“But my how they are lazy! Very few concern themselves with finding the reason they are there, instead preferring to attach meaning to fixed dogmas created by their own imaginations.”

“They spend a great deal of their time alternating between pleasure and pain, using one as the antidote for the other.”

“They place a minority of their number on pedestals and worship them for all manner of strange reasons.”

“They confuse creativity with beauty.”

“They cry out for help from above, evading responsibility, and prefer to indulge blind hope than trust their internal voice.”

“I have given them everything they need to decide their own fate, and have assigned differences of opportunity in the favour of those who have progressed further. However, they are not able to reconcile the differences and attribute them to chance.”

*

The collector dwells thoughtfully for a moment, and from the leftmost chute on the device, procures a pearlescent orb. Admiring its brilliance, he congratulates the inventor on his fine work.

“Thank you. You will be duly rewarded for your efforts. Name your charge.”

From the rightmost chute, the inventor picks up a lump of a rough, bituminous substance resembling dirty coal.

“One small request. I’ve a small furnace which heats my workshop. It’s been quite cold lately, and fuel to stoke it has been hard to come by. The souls which emerge sullied are of no use to you, I’d be appreciative if you could spare them for kindling.”

P. X. Waterstone, Cape Town, 08/08/2010