Gabriel’s Bike

Aliens after all. Gods and prophets. Ancient astronauts. What a revelation. Conjectured extraterrestrial visitors to Earth in its distant past. Human beings are either the descendants or creations of aliens who landed on Earth millennia ago, and much of our culture was given to us by extraterrestrial visitors in the time of pre-history.

What a revelation, thought Mukhtar of Sector 687. What would the ancient religionists think. Or would have thought. This moment had it come five hundred years ago, the vanishing of religion would not have required the Philosopher Kings. The Kings under which all sectors of the world lived.

Mukhtar was taught about the end of religion at the communal school he was sent to by his test-tube parents in Sector 969. It was a one thousand-fifty-year process. But the philosopher kings finally rid the world of religion. However, even they didn’t know a lot about how to exactly react to the revelation. At least that’s what Mukhtar thought. And hoped.

But he was still interested in the meaning of his name. And its historical context. It meant nothing, he was always told. Just an ancient name. But why did he always felt like an anachronism? An artifact which appeared out of place archaeologically or geologically.

Did he not belong to this day and age? Was he lifted from a past and put here by aliens? And if so, why would the aliens do that?

Police State. Yes, Police State, he thought. He had read this expression somewhere. Where? And why was he usually cautioned by his parents about its usage? He asked, but was never told. Just to be be careful. The Philosopher Kings don’t appreciate such old-hat, worn out nonsense.

Thus Mukhrar did wonder: Was a Police State something bad. Bad enough to make the Philosopher Kings think that their ways embodied this badness? Or at least a part of it?

Whatever, the news about the revelation kept pouring in through the sonic receptors inbred in the population’s inner ears. There was talk, discussion, Q&A sessions about an alien called Merlin by the ancients experiencing time backwards and helping build the Star Blocks of Sector 996 in West Timberlands. Star Blocks were once called Stonehenge by the ancients. Then there was also talk, discussion, Q&A sessions about how aliens helped ancient prophets like one called Muhammad to ascent to giant sky stations which were thought be and curiously called “heaven,” returning before a glass knocked over had spilt its contents.

The philosopher kings had gotten rid of religion because it was inherently evil and violent. This was what Mukhrar was always taught. And that any assertions, and the beliefs arising thereof, must be justified without faith. He believed it. The people believed it. But why, he thought, so many ancients still insisted on having a theistic belief?

And would the aliens return? Or were the Philosopher Kings put there by the same aliens? If so, then did the aliens believe they were wrong to help the ancients in ways they did and that to rectify the mistakes, put the Philosopher Kings? And more so, maybe the Philosopher Kings were aliens as well!

Because usually people were like Mukhar. Quietly doubting what they were taught in logic, science, philosophy and the arts and instead having a silent but strong yearning for a belief in something they could not understand or comprehend but believe in nonetheless.

If only he could use one of those few micro-wormholes the grand science masters were perfecting in the bent-gravitational labs around Sector 51 in Plot-Dust. He would like to go back at least two thousand years from now. To live in a world where there was belief in Gods and prophets.

But Mukhar’s father thought this to be a naïve yearning. You wont survive there for more than an hour, he used to tell him. There was always great bloodshed, death, irrationalism and silly behavior among the believers, he told him. And anyway, if the Philosopher Kings ever knew about certain people’s yearnings in this regard, they would not be happy. They’ll have them frozen in the dreaded Cold Logic Areas.

Worried about his son’s yearnings and troublesome questions, Mukhtar’s father had requested one of his own teachers, Mater Ching-Fu, at the Grandfather Paradox University of Rational Time Travel Theories & Possibilities, to spend some time talking to his son. The University was one of the oldest, built soon after the last Post-Clergy-Turmoil some five hundred years ago. Its faculty and students weren’t always on the Philosopher Kings’ invitation and special audience lists. So he was safe to assume Master Ching-Fu wouldn’t write a Caution Thesis on Mukhtar for the Sector Philosophy Vanguards.

Master Ching-Fu began his specially designated lecture to young, troubled Mukhtar …

“No objects have an intrinsic characteristic of truth. Therefore everything that we perceive to be true can only be mere individual or social constructions, or the meanings that we attach to them. Therefore the world is a social construct with no objective truth.”

Mukhtar was awestruck. Master Ching-Fu was not using the thousand-year-old Philosopher Kings’ reasoning about rationalism to curb Mukhtar’s yearnings for an unseen, unexplicable God who trancedents both space and time. And neither, like most of the university’s teachers and students, was he indulging in forbidden thoughts of recreating such a God. He was saying something totally new. Master Ching-Fu carried on:

"There is no truth. This statement at the very first glance is self-contradictory. It propounds that there is no truth. But for this to be true, the doctrine itself would have to be false. Therefore the doctrine is claiming simultaneously that there is no truth, while at the same time that it, itself, is true. How’s this for a belief?”

But Mukhtar was suspecious. Is this the Sector Philosophy Vanguards new way to tackle Ancient Cognitive Allergies? And was Master Ching-Fu actually a Sector Philosophy Vanguard? And worse, was his father too?
“Tell me,” said Master Ching-Fu, if given a choice, what religion would you like to choose for yourself if managing to travel back two
thousand years in one of those micro-wormholes?”

“I’m not sure. Of whatever little I know or have been taught of them, they all sound the same. I just want to experience the …err…the silly beliefs and rituals that were associated with them.” Said Mukhtar.

“So you think ancient astronauts were silly?” Asked Master Ching-Fu.

“The religionists were silly.” Said Mukhtar. “You know that. The Philosopher Kings have always said how violent and silly they were.”
Master Ching-Fu smiled: “Two thousand years down many would be saying the same about the great Philosopher Kings.”

“But I’m not, I’m not!” Said Mukhtar, almost panicking.
“I know you’re not saying this,” said Master Cing-Fu. “I am!”
He told Mukhtar how excited he was to hear about the revelation.
“So,” Mukhtar wondered. “Maybe Master Ching-Fu is an alien!”

“You know,” Master Ching-Fu continued, “ There is only one God, who simultaneously permeates all creation and exists beyond it, being both immanent and transcendent. There are many lower Gods under the Supreme One. These Gods are encompassed by Him, seen as either as manifestations of the Supreme Being or as powerful entities who are permeated by him, as is all Creation.”

“You believe in God … Gods?” Asked a surprised Mukhtar.
“No,” Said Master Ching-Fu, “But you do!”
“I don’t, I don’t!” Said Mukhtar, panicking again.
“Do not panic,” said Master Ching-Fu. “You are surrounded. You will soon be taken for reproduction purposes. You’ll be climbing the Jacob’s Ladder.”
“Who … where ..by whom…why?” Asked a visibly shaken Mukhtar.
Master Ching-Fu took out from his aluminum scroll pocket, a little yellow capsule. He asked Mukhtar to swallow it. Mukhtar did.
“And soon you’ll meet your God …Gods.” Said Master Ching-Fu. They have to prepare a biological and genetic line of new prophets …philosopher kings, if you might..”
“But why?” Asked Mukhtar.

“To correct their early failings. They …nay, we insist we were right the first times around. So go forth young man, and relish in the prospect of having many of your great decedents as prophets, and …”

Mukhtar was gone. The next thing he remembered was a cave. And he stood in it looking at a troubled man. Instinct told him the man was one of his own. An ancient relative of sorts. Had Mukhtar time traveled?

“Hello,” he said.

But the man did not respond. It was now obvious he couldn’t see him. Then Mukhtar’s sonic receptor started buzzing: “Ask him to read!”

Mukhtar was surprised. What were the Sector Philosophy Vanguards doing here?

Then suddenly Mukhtar felt that he is not of flesh and blood anymore. He felt like a fiery energy inside what looked like a space suit.
“He is your grandson hundreds of centuries ahead from where you came,” came the voice from his inbred sonic receptor again. “So tell him to read!”

“But he can’t see me …and I wanted to travel backwards, not forwards.” Mukhtar protested. “What has happened to the world I came from?”

“There is no time and space for such talk,” said another voice. “Your forward is our behind.”
Mukhtar found the comment rather funny: “Behind? Your arse?” He giggled.
“He will see you as an angel. This is your future. You will be one of his direct decedents many thousands of years from now when we make you fall from what you will tell him is heaven.” Said the voice.
“But why make me fall?” Asked Mukhtar.
“So the game continues.” Said the voice. “This is all we can say. Your comrades did well to encourage their descendants. But the violence and …and silliness doesn’t stop. Once these stop, the game shall be over. And we shall leave. But till the cycle is broken, we too are trapped in it. Space and time are wearing thin our energies. We must succeed to break the cycle before the sun explodes. So ask him to read!”
“But why call it a game? Was I here before?” Asked Mukhtar.
“Yes … exactly seven hundred & eighty six times before. And you’ll keep coming back until the cycle is broken.”
“What happens to us …angels …when the cycle is broken?” Asked Mukhtar.
There was no reply. Mukhtar asked again: “What happens to me when the cycle is broken?”
“You …you all … whom we’ve code named angels …you become the philosopher kings.” Said the voice. “And then you try to rid what we have sown … and if you succeed, the game starts all over again.”
“But this has happened over and over again. You know the Philosopher Kings will succeed, like they have seven hundred & eighty-six times before …”
The voice inturruptd: “But the Philosopher Kings have only done so six hundered & sixty six times only.”
“So that means you did manage to break the cycle a hundred & twenty times?” Asked Mukhtar.
“Yes we did. But we became silly. We started to thrive and relish the worship of people. And in those hundred & twenty times when there was no malice, no violence and silliness, we ‘died’. The worship stopped. Instead of going back to our parallels, we stayed….”
“And encouraged violence, irrationalism and silliness so you could be worshiped again?” Said Mukhtar.
“All this has happened before,” said the voice. “And now shall come your last question.”
“Yes …tell me …why me … or my comrades … the angles …the future Philosopher Kings …why us, your enemies …were chosen to do this?”
“Because you all showed an inclination towards belief. A yearning, really, to be believed yourself! You can’t be us, because you are human. You can’t be an ancient because we have turned you into energy. If the violence, silliness and madness repeats, you will evolve into what we call Rama-Gama Plutonian Mass in a human’s body. And thus a Philosopher King. Now tell him to read!”
And Mukhtar did.
The drug had worn off. Mukhtar was back thousands of years. Back to where he had moved forward-back from. And he felt full of logic. He was smack-dab in the middle of the Great Hall of The Philosopher Kings. The voices had failed to break the cycle again. In front of him sat Master Ching-Fu.
“Master,” he said.
“Yes, great Philosopher.”
“Your race lost again.”
“Yes, great Philosopher.”
“I pitty you.”
“Yes, great Philosopher.”
“Has this happened before?”
“Yes, great Philosopher. It has”
“Why can’t I hear the voices?” Asked Mukhtar.
“Sir, you are one of the Philosopher Kings. You ARE one of the voices.”
“Has this happened before?”
“Yes, great Philosopher. It has.”
“I see. The next time you meet me as your student, instead of giving me that yellow capsule …give me poison!”
Master Ching-Fu was astonished: “This most certainly hasn’t happened before.”
“And neither shall it happen again. Go home Ching-Fu. But do tell me. What is your real name?”
“You know it already, sir,” said Ching-Fu, starting to slowly exit the hall. “Lucifer.”
And then he was gone.