The Island
A Novel by Des Greene
Copyright 2010 Des Greene
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The Island
I had reached a definite point in my life -a half century of aimless existence - and it felt as if the sand in the hourglass was speeding up its inevitable descent into the lost aeon's of time. I wished the flow would slow or even cease. There was still too much left to do - too much to achieve, too much to learn, too much to appreciate.
I sat on an old fish-box. The quay was not busy. There were some fishermen idly chatting in the evening sunshine. I envied them their lifestyle. Their rugged unshaven faces displayed the harshness of their livelihood, but around their eyes the wrinkles of old laughter revealed, that in the main, they were happy individuals - taken up with a physical occupation that left little room for philosophical inquiry. Life was just the next fishing trip, followed by the rewards of coming back to land. The cycle of life was constant, just like the steady heave of the sea under the sturdy boats.
My own life was not constant in any sense. True, I had spent the major part of it in a routine job, that eventually had given me the opportunity to pack it all in and follow the tide of my existence into the sunset of my life. Yet I had never attained that sense of calm acceptance that the relaxed smiles of these fishermen portrayed. There was always the struggle within, to find a better reason for existence. There had to be more to life than the routine of work, rest and play. As the years passed, I knew that, at some stage, I had to strike out and devote myself to the things that I felt mattered in life.
A trawler appeared around the corner of the pier wall, accompanied by a scatter of seagulls, in frenzied excitement. The birds rose high and then dived knife like towards the stern of the boat, where some fishermen were throwing fish-entrails into the churning waters. The chugging of the boat's engine was a strange, musical background to the wild squawks of the gulls.
I took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, wanting to take in the real beauty of the scene. There was a wash of colour, as the red and yellow boat ploughed through the grey-green water, against the backdrop of the crimson of the sun-setting horizon. The pier wall and the small fishing village added the perfect frame to this small region of space-time.
I tried to imagine the mathematical formulae, that I had spent the past two years studying, coming up with the causal structure of this wonderful scene. Even were this possible, how could they factor in the sense of joy and wonderment I was feeling, being a part of it? I smiled internally, as I realized that being part of the scene meant that I could never fully understand it's causality structure. I was forever locked in the scene and could not rise above it - to look at it as would a transcendent being or god. It had taken me years of study to realize this simple truth, one I'm sure the fishermen had an innate understanding of but would never be able to express in so many words - the great truth of quantum reality - that there is no real objectivity. We cannot remove ourselves from reality when we are part of it. How simple an idea and yet, how utterly hopeless for mankind to come to an understanding of existence.
"Cogito ergo sum." Descartes was right but should have added that the existence implied by thinking was not an existence apart from reality, but within reality. Reality is, in effect, our prison. Plato's idea was right all along - we live like prisoners in a cave, staring at shadows cast on the wall facing us, by a fire behind us, that we can never see - being bound hand and foot. The fire is part of our reality but we can never see it. To us all that exists are shadows and the real causal structure of our existence is denied to us. Yet Plato believed that philosophers could somehow escape their earthly shackles, and not alone see the fire, but escape the cave and experience the wonders outside - the sun, sky and all the glory of nature. Was it for this reason that I had become so taken with philosophy of late? The path through science, while necessary to explore, was not leading to my escape from the cave. The great truth of quantum reality- that reality is in essence unknowable - was like a dark cloud that descended over my intellectual journey.
I breathed out slowly and tried to clear my mind of this sombre thought. I wanted to bathe in the beauty of the here and now. There is nothing wrong with being a hedonist and enjoying life as it presents itself. The only problem is that the pleasure is always fleeting. That is why hedonism never works - it entails its own destruction in that a desire fulfilled is no longer a desire. But, for now, I wanted just to gorge on the peace I felt, as I watched the gull-speckled boat enter the haven of the harbour. I tried to breathe slowly, deeply; cleansing my mind of all thought. I let the visual perception take over. I felt my eyes fill with the sensation of colour and shape. I felt the millions of cells on my retinas sparkle into life and fire the nerve cells in my brain. I closed my eyes now and locked in the image, letting my senses sample it like a fine wine taster. But try as I might, the image began to fade. Soon it was just a blur of colours, just like a modern abstract painting. Then, it was gone. I opened my eyes again. The boat was now at the quay wall, and there was frantic activity with ropes, fenders, and fish boxes.
I picked up by backpack and threw it over my shoulder. The small ferry boat had by this time filled up, and I could see from the look in the skipper's eyes that he was about to set off. His eyes met mine, and he nodded. I threw my pack onto the fore deck and clambered down a rusted ladder onto the wooden boat. The boat was nearly full and there was only seating for about ten people - five on either side - and these had been taken. I propped myself up against the stern compartment, where there would be a better view, and hopefully, shelter from the splashes of seawater breaking over the bow. The skipper threw my backpack to me, to store in the aft compartment, and then, after a quick head count, started up the engine. The boat slowly reversed away from the pier.
There is always a frisson of excitement at the start of a boat journey. Maybe it's being the centre of attention of those left behind standing on the pier, looking enviously on. Their looks suggest that, they too, would like to be on board. A handful of people waved and the mostly-tourists on board waved back, sheepishly. I almost raised my hand too but pulled back, feeling slightly foolish. My eyes peered along the group of well-wishers on the pier, and the sense of genuine goodwill made me relent. Soon I, too, was waving sheepishly as the boat made its way out through the mouth of the harbour. The concerted waving had introduced a sort of camaraderie amongst the passengers and as soon as the hands lowered, each turned to the other and made the sort of opening remarks that lead to the friendly, trivial conversation of fellow travellers
The young couple to my right smiled openly at me. To start conversation, I made a simple comment about the good weather. I enjoyed exchanging experiences and information with them in the carefree, open way that only strangers can - knowing that the end of the journey will bring a final and resolute separation. But will it? The thought went through my head, even as I made light conversation. Are these random links, once established, never broken. Is there a weird sort of quantum entanglement at work?
One of the great joys of having a conversation with complete strangers, is that you can throw out subjects to them that you dare not do in ordinary converse. So, soon, I had introduced the topic of quantum entanglement to my unsuspecting audience of two. As luck would have it, they were both students and had some limited conception of what quantum theory was about. However their studies of philosophy and history did not allow any in-depth knowledge.
'But why should it?' the blond haired Jan asked, his thick Dutch accent making his English sound laboured. His equally blond friend Maria nodded in agreement. Her English was better and her voice softer.
'There is absolutely no need to understand such things,' she insisted.
I s
miled at her certainty, recognizing in it the sense of certainty I had myself as a youth. How soon had I lost it!
'You are right,' I conceded. 'There is no absolute need, yet I contend that there is some need. For instance think of the world view of a chap like Plato. Everyone concedes he had a great mind, but for all his greatness, he lived in a world of comparative ignorance. He came on the scene way ahead of such momentous human achievements as the Enlightenment, the revolution of Einstein's general relativity or the even greater thought revolution of modern quantum theory. Just imagine what he could have achieved if he had had the benefit of all