The View Of The Gods

Once, in a time now forgotten, there was a town. It was a town unlike any other, truly.

Most towns that clad the surface of the earth at the time had come about either on accident, or on part of common sense. People roamed, in those days; they followed the hunt, or the warmer weather, or they ran from war. As they crossed the corners of the globe, they discovered beaches. Sometimes valleys, hilltops, or riverbanks. Because they admired the scenery, they settled. At first small groups, two or three families. Then other drifters discovered the camps, and were allowed to make a home there as well. People who were once strangers met, and learned from one another. Lifestyles merged, people mated, the number of lives in the camps grew, and towns were born.

However, this particular town of interest had not come about in such a lackadaisical manner. It was—from the beginning—designed by the Gods; one thousand, five hundred years after their latest invention: human prototypes.

The Gods had spared no expense in designing and providing all the required natural elements for the town. They hoped it would become an idyllic utopia for their little human friends, righting all that had gone wrong in the humans since the invention of the prototypes. Because the original two humans were ’enlivened’ by the Gods, naturally they were linked. It had taken the Gods fifteen centuries, painfully watching the humans suffer through confusion, tragedy, plague, and all sorts of shameful absurdities to come up with this solution. No sooner thought, than spoken, and how those Gods committed. The setting sat atop striking hills, which were close to a blue bay opening to a warm, sun-splattered sea. Rolling down from the hills were orchards, bluffs, and all the makings for an almighty vineyard.

Another five hundred years passed, and the development of the town by the humans had mostly gone according to plan, thereby the humans improved their humanity as well. For the first time, the humans invented a currency instead of a barter system. The Gods watched this idea closely, realizing it could make humans better, or destroy them altogether. Then for the first time, the humans gave a thought to recording history, and created ways to write it. This gave birth to the idea of education, and schools were founded by the most passionate of the historians. Then, catastrophe: a lightning blast started a massive fire, and destroyed sixteen homes as well as the archived histories in the first library. However, it wasn’t all bad. The houses were rebuilt, the library resurrected, and the humans came up with the idea for some sort of fire damage prevention plan, which brought the first firehouses.

The Gods were proud of their little friends, yet, something still mysteriously underdeveloped. Although the Gods could see that the humans worked, proliferated, made friends, and lived lives, it was also clear that it ended there. Humans had too little in the way of ambition, the Gods felt. They also seemed far too caught up in all the work and drudgery of existence, to see the immeasurable scope of the big picture. This was the Gods’ problem. They wanted their earthling friends not only to see the awesome beauty, opportunity, and fragility that life is, but to embrace and enjoy it.

The Gods paced through their cosmic hallways, and spent years meditating in their celestial soaking tubs to solve the puzzle. Then, a heavenly epiphany came. The Gods realized that the only reason they understood their human friends infinitely better than the humans did themselves, was because they were watching it all unfold. The Gods celebrated, and reveled in the endless possibilities of their entirely new concept: theatre. They saw that humans would be far better off, if they—like the Gods—could watch great stories of humanity unfold, from a distanced perspective. The Gods sent a messenger to a young, angry, priest in a dream, and soon the first plays were performed in the temple.

As people watched stories unfold, they saw shocking echoes of their own lives enacted in the temple. It exhaled centuries of blocked and not-understood emotion that people had ingrained within them. As they watched more stories unfold, it seemed to help those utterly confusing emotions find their way. The stories in the temple helped the widow grieve, aroused young lovers, and gave the lonely old drunkard a comfort.

More than this, people watching the stories in the temple came to question the experiences in life, then theorize, and then understand more and more about life, and about living.

From this questioning and theorizing, came discussions unlike any dialogue ever experienced before. There were the first philosophies. Then, the first philosophies about society, government, and welfare. The discussion of these topics spread rapidly through the town after each story was acted in the temple, which blazed the path for not only more teaching in the schools, but for the first restaurants and cafes to be opened. After all: people who’re engaged in passionate and interesting discussion need places to discuss. . . So much better if they could eat and drink at the same time.

Gradually all the discussing gave way to the first elections, in which those who would govern were chosen from the crowd based upon popular demand. This above all, impressed and pleased the Gods. Granted, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a great deal of progress in just five little centuries: the humans had come a long way since the earlier, roaming version. The Gods laughed a tremendous laugh, celebrating their cleverness. Their idea of theatre was a tremendous success! Then, the Gods sighed a bittersweet sigh, of sadness, of happiness, of inspiration, of all things mixed wonderfully together in recognition.

“They’re growing faster than we thought they would. One day, they won’t need us any longer.”

© Jeffrey Puukka, 2008.