Mr G

by Alan Lightman

  Perhaps my aunt had given me decent advice. The universe in question was nearly spherical in shape, spinning slightly, and it was inflating with a rabid determination. The first thing I did was to slow its expansion. There, said Aunt Penelope, at least now we can examine it. We? said Deva. Let Him examine it on His own.

  I should mark this one, I said, so that it will not get lost among the others. I pinched the universe very slightly, making a small dip in its middle. Interrupted in its flight and caught, the thing sat there quietly.

  We must give it a name, said Uncle Deva. Everything has a name. Something with a lilt. Something pretty. Why not call it Amrita. Or Anki. Or Aalam.

  Oh mush, said Aunt Penelope. You’re being sentimental. And you can’t name an entire universe anyway.

  Of course you can, said Uncle. A name expresses its essence. A name gives a thing character, personality.

  But a universe doesn’t have a personality, said Aunt. As I understand it, a universe is a … well, a totality. A universe is everything that is, as far as the inside of the thing.

  But we’re on the outside, said Uncle Deva.

  If we have to name it, said my aunt, at least call it a number, not one of those mushy things you said.

  A number! cried Uncle. That’s so impersonal. Numbers are so remote. What do you say, Nephew?

  I looked at the pinched cosmos, still held firmly by my aunt as if she were afraid it might go whizzing off any moment. It seemed pretty featureless to me. But perhaps it would grow into its name. All right, I said. I’ll call it Aalam-104729. So be it.

  104729? said Uncle. What a random number.

  It’s the ten thousandth prime number in base ten, I said. I won’t forget it.

  You see why I wanted a name? said Uncle. Now put some spirit into the thing.

  Look who’s telling Him what to do, said Aunt Penelope. A moment ago, you didn’t—

  Everything must have a spirit, Uncle said to me. Do it however you want, just give it a spirit. And use feeling. You’ve made something grand, but it will be grander if it has feeling and beauty and harmony and—

  Deva, I’ve never heard you talk so much, said Aunt Penelope. This discussion is wearing me out. I’m going to sit. Where’s my chair? Where’s my chair? Uncle Deva shuffled off and fetched the chair, which he had named Guptachandraha. My aunt, clutching Aalam-104729, went over to her chair and sat down. She stretched out and sighed and began mumbling: First it’s this, then it’s that. If it’s not one thing, it’s another, not one thing, it’s another, not one thing, another. Her mumbling gradually tapered off, and she pretended to fall asleep.

  I have to think about this, I said. I’m afraid if I put in spirit and feeling, before anything else, the thing is going to get all jumbled up and confused and end up in chaos. It needs to start off with some organizational principles.

  OK. OK, said Uncle. It’s your project. Organizational principles. OK. We will leave you to it. Do tell us when you are finished with the … organizational principles. Leave Him to it, he said to Aunt Penelope, who was still pretending to sleep. Uncle walked over and extricated Aalam-104729 from her grip and gave it to me. Organizational principles, Uncle said once more. Take your time with it, said Aunt Penelope. That’s all I ask.

  I generally try to be everywhere at once, but I moved to a place in the Void where I could be alone. I meditated, and I entered the pinched universe and looked about. It was empty of course. I imagined moving in various directions in space, and I also imagined traveling forwards and backwards in time, and I decided that I wanted my universe to be completely symmetrical in time and in space, so that one place and one moment should be the same as any other place and moment. This was by far the simplest cosmos I could make, and I wanted my first universe to be simple. Symmetry of position and moment. This was my first law. And I remade Aalam-104729 to obey this first law. For a few moments, the universe quivered and murmured, and then it was still. The first law seemed good to me.

  But then I began considering future and past. Inside Aalam-104729, I wanted to know clearly that the future was different from the past, so that any intelligent being could tell that things were happening. Wasn’t that precisely the point of waking from my slumber, to make things happen?

  So I remade the energy in my universe so that it was all concentrated in a near-perfect order, a razor-sharp contour of energy. Almost at once, the razor of energy began fraying at the edges, loosening, dulling, and diffusing away, and this was good because now there was a definite future and past. At any moment, the past was the direction of time with greater sharpness and shape, and the future was the direction with less. I was pleased.

  Then I made a second law. There would be no absolutes in my universe, only relatives. In particular, there would be no such thing as absolute stillness in Aalam-104729. I wanted the only point of absolute stillness to be Myself. If something appeared still from one perspective, from another perspective it would be in motion. If a material object changed its motion, going from one motion to another, everything should remain the same, with no reference point of stillness to say that one motion was any different than another. This second law was a principle of symmetry, like the first, and there was an artistic beauty in it, and it was good. Or—if a principle could not be deemed good or bad—at least it was satisfying, it seemed in harmony with the music of the Void.

  The second law necessarily tied time and space together, since motion involved the two. A particular period of time would signify a particular distance in space, with the proportionality between the two being a fundamental speed of the universe. This relationship between time and space was also beautiful and good.

  Was I acting too hastily? I wondered if Aunt Penelope was watching. Even though I was inside Aalam-104729, I could look outside, because I could look everywhere, and I could see Aunt and Uncle far off in the Void, paying no attention to me. Uncle Deva had somehow installed himself in my aunt’s chair, stretched out as if he meant to spend quite a long time there. Meanwhile, she was swatting at him, shoving and pushing in an attempt to dislodge him.

  With Uncle and Aunt thus occupied, I made a third law: Every event should be necessarily caused by a previous event. I did not want things happening willy-nilly in my new universe. Events without cause would lead to a reckless cosmos, a universe ruled by chance. According to my third law, for every event, there would be a previous event without which it would not have happened. And that previous event would also require and be determined by a previous event, and so on, back through an immense chain of events to the very first event, which was my original creation of the universe. This law was also good. It prevented pandemonium. It bestowed Aalam-104729 with causality. It bestowed logic and rationality. And it connected everything. Cause-and-effect relationships would spread out from every event to every other event, even to multiple subsequent events, ripple through the cosmos, and bind the totality of being in a web of interdependence and connectedness. Even the smallest event would be linked to other events. Wasn’t this a kind of spirituality? See, I wanted to tell Uncle Deva (who was at that moment still scuffling with Aunt Penelope over the single chair in existence). Rationality and logic can be spiritual.

  What’s more, there was still plenty of room for the mysterious. Because even if a very intelligent creature within this universe could trace each event to a previous event, and trace that event to a previous event, and so on, back and back, the creature could not penetrate earlier than the First Event. The creature could never know where that First Event came from because it came from outside the universe, just as the creature could never experience the Void. The origin of the First Event would always remain unknowable, and the creature would be left wondering, and that wondering would leave a mystery. So my universe would have logic and rationality and organizational principles, but it would also have spirituality and mystery.

  Three laws. I floated about the interior of Aalam-104729, squeezing the vacuum here and there to see if the laws held, a
nd they did. No loose parts or inconsistencies. I was satisfied with what I had done. More than satisfied. In retrospect, creating a principled universe did not seem so difficult. I had been concerned for no reason. I was eager to make a fourth law. Perhaps I’d do a dozen. Or two dozen.

  What should I do for my fourth? Uncle Deva wanted harmony. My symmetry principles were already harmonious, but I could do better. I divided the ubiquitous energy into parts, each with its corresponding force, and I ordered the forces in a progression from the weakest to the strongest. All right. Harmony. I decreed that each force in the progression was stronger than the preceding force by a constant ratio, like an even-tempered musical scale. Done. What could be more harmonious! But, almost immediately, the universe began writhing and straining. Space fissured. Pieces of emptiness screamed through the tears. Shortly thereafter, the universe turned inside out and was gone, and I found myself standing beyond in the Void. Evidently, the fourth law was not compatible with the first three. The constant ratio of forces, although beautiful, contradicted the even greater beauty of embedded relativity. Looking about, I saw that, fortunately, Aunt and Uncle were nowhere within sight. Quickly, I caught another universe of roughly the same size and shape as Aalam-104729, pinched it slightly at its midsection as I’d done before, and gave it my first three laws. Three it would be, and no more. I wouldn’t make that particular blunder again.

  A Soul for the Universe

  When Aunt Penelope and Uncle Deva saw the cosmos I’d made, with its three laws, they were not displeased.

  Well, what we got? said Uncle, looking more rumpled than usual. He held the universe up and squinted at it from all sides. Although it appeared nearly the same as before, it had a new heft, he announced, and it vibrated with a higher frequency. Yes, said Uncle, the three laws seem to be agreeing with the thing.

  It’s because He’s taking His time, said Aunt, like I told Him to do. You take your time, and you can do good work. You rush into things, and you might destroy a whole universe. What a pity that would be.

  Uncle Deva passed the new Aalam-104729 over to Aunt Penelope, who began her own inspection. She rolled it over on its side, turned it upside down, spun it around. It was still expanding, getting bigger every moment. She nodded her approval. So, Nephew, she said. What’s next?

  It’s still empty, I said. Perhaps it’s time to start putting things into it.

  If I may make one last suggestion, said Uncle Deva. You say that your universe has a spirit. I don’t follow all of that folderol of causal connections and so forth. You always defeat me in those kinds of explanations. Be that as it may, I would be grateful if you give your universe a soul. You need to make sure that everything in the universe is connected not just to other things, but to you. You are the Maker, after all.

  I don’t feel that’s necessary, I said. I know I’m the Maker. But there’s no reason my creations need to know it. You know it. Aunt Penelope knows it. That’s sufficient.

  Don’t be modest, said Aunt Penelope. For once, I agree with your uncle. You are the Maker of everything. Your creations should understand that. They should have some awareness of you and your infinities. And it’s not just about you. It’s about our family, all of us here in the Void, our reputation. You’re an artist, Nephew. Deva and I appreciate your artistic work, but that’s a small audience.

  Aunt Penelope, please. I haven’t decided whether I’m going to make any living creatures period, much less aware creatures, much less creatures aware of Me. It might be a comfort to be unaware. I might decide to make only inanimate matter.

  What a waste! said Uncle. To make such a beautiful universe filled only with inanimate matter? It would be boring. Boring, I tell you. Am I the only one who thinks it would be boring?

  It would be boring, said Aunt Penelope.

  Yes, I said. It might be boring.

  Then we are agreed, said Uncle. There will be animate matter with intelligence, and there will be an immortal soul in each living being, connecting it to you.

  Wait a moment, I said. Only we, and the Void, can be immortal. Immortality does not exist in Aalam-104729. The thing has a direction of time, caused by the dulling of its energy, and everything in it will eventually dissipate. Nothing lasts forever in Aalam-104729, or in any of the universes I have created. I will consider a soul, but it cannot be immortal. It must follow the direction of time, like everything else. It must gradually decay and disintegrate. We cannot begin making exceptions to the rules here and there, helter-skelter, or we’ll end up with chaos again. Let me consider this … Maybe in the life of each creature I will allow a brief recognition of something vast, a flash of Me, a hint of the unchanging and infinite Void.

  And then those creatures will pass away? said Deva. Dissipate and die? And their souls with them? At least let the souls come back in new bodies. Otherwise, it is so sad.

  There you are getting mushy again, said Aunt Penelope. What do you know of sadness? What do any of us know? Sadness may not even exist. Let’s take a walk. I feel like stretching a bit.

  Matter

  All of us—Uncle Deva, Aunt Penelope, and I—were feeling protective of the fledgling Aalam-104729. We didn’t want to leave it alone among the zillions of other universes flying about, so we carried it with us on our stroll through the Void. Although its mass was infinite, the infinity was a small infinity, so it felt like nothing at all.

  My aunt moved ahead, poking at folds of the emptiness as was her habit and stopping to collect little scraps of Void for some private use later on. She was in fine form. We could hear her commenting and exclaiming to herself. Uncle and I lingered behind. He had always been slower than she, one of their many marital incongruities. After every long sleep, she would leap up with plans for a new sightseeing excursion through the Void, while he would roll over, look groggily about for a few moments, and go back to sleep. Ironically, my aunt was the more patient one. She would take any amount of time for even small things (except her own appearance), whereas Uncle worked in broad strokes and easily grew upset with details. He was the idealist, she was the more practical member of the pair.

  You’ve got to put in a soul, whispered Deva. You heard what your aunt said.

  I’m thinking, I’m thinking, I answered. Dear Uncle, can we not talk about the soul for a while and just enjoy our walk? Listen to the music. At that moment, a playful scherzo was resonating throughout the Void. Listen. Yes, of course, said Uncle Deva. For a while. I have no idea where your aunt has got to.

  Unmeasured time passed.

  I am going to make matter, I announced. Inanimate matter. And then? asked Uncle. You are not going to stop with that? There is plenty of time to decide what to do after that, I said. Do you mind if I attend to this now? Uncle shrugged. I’ll be back in no time, I said. In fact, you won’t know I’m gone.

  I entered the new universe again and took stock. Matter. At the moment, Aalam-104729 contained only pure energy. But my two symmetry laws already guaranteed that matter could be created from energy—in fact, required it—so all I needed to do was to specify the parameters of a few basic particles. This one spins this much, that one spins that much, this one responds to this force, that one to that force, and so on and so forth. Done.

  Immediately, matter appeared! In fact, matter exploded. Matter burst into being with a vengeance, as if it had been languishing in a frustrated state of potentiality for eons of time and was finally given the opportunity to exist. Electrons and muons and taus, top quarks and bottom quarks, squarks, gravitons, photons, neutrinos and neutralinos, gluons, W and Z bosons, axions, photinos, winos, and zinos. And with matter, of course, came antimatter: positrons, antimuons, antiquarks, et cetera and anti et cetera.

  At every point of space, the hillocks and basins of energy gushed forth with matter. Some of this matter instantly annihilated with antimatter to create energy again, which in turn spit forth new matter, so that there was a continual give and take between the two. Energy begat matter which begat energy which b
egat matter. It was a spectacle.

  The photons in particular sometimes took the form of an oscillating wave of electrical and magnetic energy. I decided to call such a thing “light.” Where photons flew about in abundance and collided with other matter, there was light. Where photons were absent, there was darkness. Thus, when I created matter and energy, I also created darkness and light, and I decided that these things were also good, although I was not sure at the moment exactly what they would be good for.

  So now there was matter and energy. And as I was watching, the universe grew and it cooled. The average energy of each particle diminished, and eventually some of the elementary particles began to coalesce with one another to make larger particles and masses. I could imagine, in the future, the formation of atoms and molecules, ripples of electromagnetic energy streaming through space, vast clouds of gas condensing under the gravitational force, spiral-shaped galaxies studded with bright balls of gas. Inside these spheres, roiling with nuclear reactions, new elements would be formed—carbon and oxygen, sulfur and magnesium. Great diffusions of neutrinos and light. And then titanic explosions, spewing more elements into space. And I could imagine vast disks of gas rotating around embryonic stars, elliptical orbits of comets, condensations of matter into rocky planets of silica and iron, or gaseous planets of hydrogen and helium, icy planets of frozen methane, molten planets of liquid sulfur, planets in retrograde motion, seething magnetic fields accelerating matter to maximal speeds, atmospheres of gaseous sulfur dioxide, oceans and mountains and silicon lagoons. In time, it would all come to pass. And all of it dumb, inert matter.

  The Stranger Returns