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Fred,
In Search of Meaning “Next!”
“Next up, sir,” squeaked the meager
assistant to his both professional and altitudinal superior, “we have a
presentation on Planet SP4898, known to some inhabitants as… He
adjusted his
double glasses and peered closer at the word on his holoscreen, “E…
Ea…”
He finally attempted a pronunciation
of Earth only for it to come out as “EAAAAAAAAAAAAA.”
“Humph,” grunted the Intergalactic
Exploratory Commission Chief, “one of the stranger names I’ve heard.
Send him
in!”
An average-sized being for this planet
padded into the cavernous room, looking intimidated. He met the gaze of
the
panel. Some flipped their heads 90 degrees –
(Flipping head 90 degrees =
traditional sign of encouragement)
–
some gave him a stern look, and
still others were too busy writing notes.
“What’s your name?” asked the Chief.
The average-sized being proceeded to
release a series of squeaks and breaths.
(This series of squeaks and breaths =
a common name on this planet, much like Fred is on Earth)
“Ok
Fred, what do you have for
us?”
“Esteemed panel,” began Fred, “I’m
here today to introduce you to a planet unlike any seen before in the
5,854
year –
(roughly 286,445 Earth years,
adjusted)
– life of the Intergalactic
Exploratory Commission.”
More than one trio of eyebrows was
raised in response to such a claim.
“This planet,” continued Fred, “is
dominated by a species of creature so intelligent, so wise, so
unbelievably
innovative, that I personally believe we will be studying them for
hundreds of
years” –
(thousands of Earth years, adjusted)
– “to come.”
“Mr. Fred,” opined an esteemed
professor in Intragalactic Anthropology, “you realize the magnitude of
the
claim you’re making?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. I do not make it
lightly.”
“Well then, for Targarth’s sake, go
on,” she returned.
(Targarth = a land where you eat
sweets and drink wine after you die; this planet’s closest conception
of
heaven)
“The dominant species on this planet
has managed to build a civilization dedicated to their continual
flourishing.
The vast majority have all that they could ever need, and it won’t be
long
until essentially everyone will be able to live a life of joy and
peace.”
This sounded rather appealing to the
panel, many of whom were searching for greater joy and peace in their
own
lives. In fact, the IEC’s stated mission was “the expansion of
knowledge of how
to bring true, unlimited joy and peace to all.” Fred’s choice of words
had been
careful and exact; now he had to prove they were warranted.
“Tell me, Mr. Fred,” the chief said
skeptically, “how a civilization that hasn’t even reached their
neighboring
planets yet has managed to achieve that level of emotional and social
success.”
Fred’s answer was short and simple: “Domestication.”
A rudimentary concept; the members of
the panel glared questioningly at each other.
“Through domestication of other
species, these creatures have created a near-utopia. You see, their
domesticated servants give them everything they need. They provide them
with food
and warmth. They take them out into the world. They grant them
bountiful
leisure time.”
“So what? We’ve seen countless other
civilizations who have domesticated others to do their bidding,”
retorted the
Professor. “It’s unsustainable. Either the domesticated creatures are
too
intelligent and eventually rise up against their oppressors, or they’re
too
dim-witted and are unable to provide for masters who become
sufficiently
advanced. We’ve seen it time and again.”
“This one is different,” said Fred
with a twinkle in his eye, “because these domesticated beings, while
highly
intelligent, have no idea they’re domesticated. In fact, they believe
it is the
other way around, and that they have domesticated the dominant
species!”
Looks of shock and disbelief permeated
the panel.
“How can that possibly be the case?”
wondered a renowned thinker on inter-species dynamics. The panel spent a while exchanging
wondrous glances. “The domesticated species, these
humans,” wondered the renowned professor, “how are they so ignorant as
to their
situation?” “Great question, one that I spent
many
years – (hundreds of Earth-years, adjusted)
– contemplating,” said Fred. “It
appears to be a convergence of a number of factors. First, it seems as
though
they simply don’t have the time to devote to thinking about it. The
dogs have
created this wonderful concept, busyness, or business, which is
comprised of
all the trivialities with which the humans fill their time. They spend
the
majority of their lives toiling away at business. Some of it has
marginal use
to the species, perhaps to keep them satisfied, thinking that they are
‘progressing,’ but most of which seems to be merely ways to pass the
time.”
“But we have business, do we not?”
said a prominent author and thinker. “How is *high-pitched
squeals* any
different from their business?” “We always enjoy *high-pitched
squeals*;
it provides us with leisure, recreation, and
self-fulfillment. Most of them
do not enjoy business at all.”
“They don’t enjoy business?
Then why would they go about doing it every day?”
asked the Chief,
incredulous.
“I can only guess that the dogs
ingeniously created it as a way of keeping the humans placated and
pre-occupied, so as to prevent them from waking up to the reality of
their
domestication.”
“So if the humans are so busy with
their business, why do they bother taking care of the dogs?” asked the
Chief.
“Herein lies the genius, something
that I had the utmost difficulty realizing,” said Fred. “The dogs have
somehow
tricked the humans into wanting to take care of
them. In fact, it’s
something a large majority seem to have a strong desire to do. The
humans seem
to view it less as a chore and more as a privilege!”
Fred was met with amazed looks.
“In fact,” he continued. “there are
even groups of humans dedicated to protecting and helping any dogs in
need!
There are humans so passionate about helping dogs that they dedicate
their
lives to the task!”
Multiple faces wore looks like they
had just witnessed some masterful work of art. The professor even stood
and
began flapping his ears.
(Ear flapping = a practice similar to
the human practice of clapping both hands together)
“But that’s not all. In recent years
more and more humans seem to be catching onto the fact that business
seems
vacuous, almost a waste of time. The dogs, presumably scared of them
realizing
the reality of the situation, seem to have invented an entirely new
concept,
one that transcends business.” The professor raised his left-most
eyebrow in anticipation. “It’s something that I fear I am
nowhere
near understanding,” continued Fred. “They call it meaning.
The closest
approximation I could figure out was *high-pitched yells and
hollers, then a
gurgling sound*.”
(Rough translation: having sex then
eating a big meal.)
Puzzled looks met his gaze.
“As I said, it’s a concept that I
don’t understand, and I fear it may be beyond our capacity to even
understand
it at all. But suffice it to say, many humans are forgetting about
business and
seeking out this meaning. While here on our
planet, one can find meaning
practically anytime, for humans it is a lifelong search, one at which
many are
doomed to fail.”
No one knew what to say.
“However, these dogs don’t seem to
share this definition of meaning; they subscribe
to something much like
our own, and have designed a world in which they have it in spades.”
A round of ear-flapping filled Fred’s
heart with joy.
“Mister Fred,” began the Chief, “I
think I speak for the whole panel when I say that a civilization this
remarkable finds its way to us only rarely, and we must take careful
measures
to learn as much as we can from it. I trust that initial contact with
these
dogs went smoothly?”
“Unfortunately,” said Fred nervously,
“I was unable to establish any sort of contact with the dogs, despite
repeated
attempts.”
“And you tried the Glaxbana Protocol?”
(Glaxbana Protocol: a process
through which two beings from entirely different civilizations can
communicate
through a shared neural connection) “Of course. I located a cadre of
dogs
that I presumed to be leaders of the species having a meeting in a
place they
call *loud barking noises* and the humans call the
‘dog park.’ I
established connection with the dog in power, but all I received were
simple
representations of round yellow spheres covered in a felt material.” “Hmm,” pondered the professor,
“perhaps
they’re highly secretive and have set up some form of advanced neural
security
barrier.” “Perhaps. Nothing I tried managed
to get
though. And the same was true of all the other dogs present at this
meeting.
Their security was far beyond any devices we possess.” “That’s a shame,” lamented the
Chief,
with a twisting of his tongues. (Twisting of the three tongues:
similar
to a human sigh)
“However, this case is far too
intriguing to leave there,” continued the Chief. “Fred,
you’ve done honorable work, and I’d
like to set up a special commission dedicated to studying and
communicating
with these remarkable creatures. You’re of course welcome to work on
that, if
you’d please. However, in the meantime, you’ve earned yourself a
well-deserved
year long –
(10 human years, adjusted)
– break in which you can rest, relax,
and enjoy your time.”
Fred’s eyes lit up.
“It’s clear to me,” continued the
Chief, “that you have only scratched the surface of the vast
intelligence
behind this dog civilization, and the complex, enviable, and, in some
ways,
tragic relationship they have with their domesticated humans. Learning
more
about this unique situation can only serve to bolster us in our pursuit
of
ever-greater joy, peace, and, as the humans might put it, meaning.”
“Thank
you, sir,” said Fred,
beaming.
“Now go enjoy yourself!” said the
professor.
Fred felt lighter than air as he
walked out of the hall, thinking only of the meaning he
was going to
find when he got home to his girlfriend. *** “Maurice! Maurice!”
Nothing.
“Momo! Come here!”
A second later, a sleek Australian
Shepherd came bounding out of the woods, his groomed fur covered in
specks of
dirt and mud.
“You got all muddy! Bad boy!” she said
as she nuzzled her face against his and rubbed his back, acting as if
he
weren’t a bad boy at all but were, in fact, a good boy. Maurice’s tail
wagged
as he reveled in the love.
She opened the door and let him inside.
“Dinner time!”
He ran up to his bowl, tail still
wagging. She poured food into his bowl, then added a few strips of
steak to top
it all off.
“You’re having a little of my dinner!”
Maurice tore into it. She was about to
take a bite of her own when her phone buzzed. She looked at it, swiped
on the
screen, and began typing angrily. Meanwhile, Maurice was devoting his
whole
attention to his delicious dinner, truly enjoying it in a way she
hadn’t enjoyed
a dinner in years.
Once finished, he ambled over to her
and rubbed against her leg, but she was too absorbed by her business to
realize. So, he lazily strode over to his plushy bed, picking up a bone
on the
way, and plopped down, perfectly happy and content to be sitting on the
soft
fabric, gnawing the day away. Jimmy Banta is a writer who loves all things sci-fi. He’s had work published in October Hill Literary Magazine. You can find more of his work at jimmybanta.com.
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