# One Step Beyond Heaven



## writerdog (May 9, 2010)

One Step Beyond Heaven
by
Writerdog 


"When you have it all and yet want more, you are one step beyond heaven." 

  Some say the search for knowledge is eternal, with the end goal being a better life. Others argue that it is knowledge itself that is the end goal, and a better life is just a side benefit. Either way, we had reached the pinnacle, and both knowledge and a better life had come to all. The secrets of the cosmos had been revealed to us.

 There was neither hunger nor crime; no want or need was to be found anywhere. Illnesses were but a subject in the study of ancient history, as were pain and suffering. There was but one race, that of the human being and there was nothing but peace to be found in any corner of the cosmos. Cities gleamed with bright, clean structures, and the air we breathed had not been so clean since the age of the dinosaurs.

 Truly, we had the best of everything. The workday had been replaced by the rest day, and we enjoyed even the simplest things, for the only time that mattered was 'now.' No one felt that they were lacking in the slightest fashion. Everyone knew who they were, and were content with the being they saw in the mirror. There was no need for new things, for everything was the best it could be. We had perfection. 

***
 The human being had evolved into a perfect species. 'Life expectancy' had become an unused term, mentioned only in ancient texts on 'cancer' and other archaic, life-shortening diseases. Age had become irrelevant, for the young were no longer thought of as immature, nor the old as useless. Every age was the perfect age; everyone sound in mind and body no matter how many years they had lived. A climb to the peak of the mountain was a joy not just to those new to the world, but also to those who could remember the years before. The aches and pains of a life of survival were no more. All walked at the same speed, neither a step behind nor a step in front of one another, but side by side, enjoying life at the same time.

 Music abounded. In the striving for physical perfection, we learned that we were able to pass knowledge to the unborn. Genetic encoding of knowledge became as natural as the genetic coding of one's eye color. All were therefore born with both an appreciation for music, and the ability to make it. Anyone could pick up a guitar or an other instrument and play like a virtuoso.

 Time was no longer measured in hours or days, but simply in the time it took to do a thing. Clocks were found only in museums, for the amusement of those who wished to be reminded of how foolish the human race once was, when we set our days around work, school and other follies in the never-ending race for a better life and knowledge.

 But that race had ended, for both were here and only days of milk and honey awaited us. There was no more knowledge to be had, no better life to be obtained, and no questions of survival to be  answered. The human quest for perfection had ended; endless happiness had arrived.
So why was there a feeling of discontent? Why, in a world devoid of want or need, were there those who remained unhappy? 

 It was the one question that remained unanswered, for the knowledge of the cosmos did not deal with the paradoxes of the human mind. Like the stomach, it can be full of all the nourishment of the world, yet if that is not what the body craves, it still feels empty. The human mind works better than the computers dream of by that mind. Logic controls every facet of the thought process—except that deep, hollow, unfathomed region called 'human nature.'

 The ultimate knowledge had come to us. 'You can never learn everything in just one lifetime,' people once said. But through genetic encoding, we had more than one lifetime of knowledge. All the accumulated knowledge of the millennia was passed to us through a single, previously dormant gene, and it seemed there was no knowledge to be obtained. But no matter what the mind knows, it still craves to know more, and more still.

 It was then that the unthinkable was thought. Repress the gene; 'dumb down' the human race again. That, then, was the debate. To force the human race to start anew, or to continue down a path that meant no more striving. No want or need, no suffering or pain, but nothing to reach for, either. Oddly enough, the debate itself eased the feelings that prompted it in the first place. At least it was something to think about, to discuss, to reason out. But the very suggestion went against logic.

 To throw away everything that had been achieved, that had been fought for and over, seemed a disservice to those who had died in the process.

And the question arose: what if the human race never reached this level of enlightenment again? What if, next time, we killed ourselves in a fiery blaze of nuclear war? Would we even know how to feed ourselves, or would we starve, sitting naked and cold in the open with no idea what those strange, tall towers of rock were for?

This fueled a debate over the difference between knowledge and instinct. Would we, devoid of knowledge, find shelter in buildings constructed before the 'dumbing down' process had begun? Or would we stare blankly at them in the pouring rain? Would instinct tell us we could find shelter under the awnings or instruct us how to push the doors open so we could enter? Surely, such a discovery would rival the part played by fire in the survival of the species the first time.

Some relished the thought of going back to a simpler world, where everything around them would be a discovery, without even the knowledge that kicking a rock causes pain and that such knowledge could be stored for future reference. But others felt that it would be silly to throw away all our knowledge for the sake of boredom.

There was no other word to describe what we were feeling, though we did dance around it. But it was a fact: we were, quite simply, bored. We had finished the story, and now there were no other books to read, no other shows to watch, not one thing new to see. But to risk the species just because we were bored? That did not make any sense at all.

And yet, the debate continued, with every argument and suggestion given equal time. Every mind was focused on answering questions like, could the reduction of knowledge be controlled, so that basic common sense would remain? Would the reduction be permanent, or would the gene reactivate, making it an exercise in futility? Would it be in the best interests of the human species to destroy all developments that had been made in the past? Or would we understand this brave new world with all of the buildings and human artifacts intact, thus reminding of us of the life before?

But the greatest question was whether we even had the right to sentence future generations to the pain and suffering of human development. Had not the entire history of the human race been aimed toward ending suffering?

Our decision would mark the next turning point in the human race, and might mean that great numbers of people would need to die in order for the species to grow once more. And the end result could very well be that we would, at some point in the future, be facing this very same decision yet again.

That is, if we ever reached this point again. What if it had it all just been the result of some chance path we had taken? Given the same circumstance, would the outcome still be the same? 
***
Since the human race had a shared knowledge, there were no experts we could consult, no single voice that could give us an answer. Before long, every single human was spending all of their waking hours, and most of the hours for sleeping as well on the subject. The answer, it seemed to most, lay just beyond our reach. On that point all agreed, so the debate continued for years. It became the pastime of the entire world, and soon all other exercises of mind or body were forgotten. 

A long forgotten ailment, called the 'headache,' came back to plague the human race, along with a painful condition called the 'ulcer,' whose causes mystified us. The human race as a whole suffered these ailments, and we complained of them to one another when we were not actively engaged in the debate. We suffered sleepless nights and exhausting days, yet still an agreement could not be reached. 

It became the reason we woke in the morning and frustration that drove us to bed at night until finally, someone pointed out that we were getting nowhere and that it could not be healthy to continue on in this manner. The entire human race was suffering, over what might well be a pointless decision. 

A once happy and well species was slowly killing itself over a question of whether to stop being happy! 
The whole concept was absurd, but in a strange sense, we relished it. It was a deed not tried before, a book neither written nor read, a sight not seen, a thought not expressed, and a challenge not yet met. Perhaps we needed that. Humans do need something to conquer, something to prove our abilities to the world and ourselves. 

But still it seemed rather rash to risk it all on account of boredom. 
***
Suddenly, all felt a new urgency. The question had to be answered to put an end to the suffering, though, of course, a decision to regress in human evolution would mean suffering to a degree that we, living in these times, had never known. But an end to the debate had to come soon, lest we kill off the human race anyway. We needed our health back, to fight off these long forgotten illnesses. 
Unfortunately, this sense of urgency only intensified the debate, causing still more suffering and a spate of new ailments. 

Though it had not been observed for two hundred and eighty years, pattern baldness began appearing with increasing frequency. To make matters worse, it now seemed far more prevalent among women than men. Soon, the streets were filled with women wearing all manner and shape of hats, some quite amusing. But the reason for the fanciful hats was a painful subject, of which we were all too aware. The topic of baldness became almost taboo. 

This led to another long forgotten ailment. Vanity had not been a problem for so long that even the word for it had been forgotten; in fact, an entire sub debate began over what it had been called. The very concept seemed to fly in the face of logic. After all, were we not all the same, all human? 
But now, we were not all the same. Not all women were going bald, and the concept of 'less than perfect' arose. 

There had always been differences, of course. Hair, eye, and skin color varied from person to person; even height was not exactly the same for everyone. But those differences had been overlooked for centuries. This was different. Our bodies were revolting against us; the baldness was just the most visible sign. 

Hatred soon arose from the vanity. The balding women hated the other women for not being bald. The other women hated the balding women for hating them. Even the men were not immune to the hatred. Those who made a distinction between women with hair and women without were hated for their preference, while those who made no distinction were, oddly, hated equally by both groups of women. 

Vanity, it seemed, had caused a host of other social ills to rear their ugly heads. 
***
Then, the day came. 
The first murder was committed, over, of all things, whether a quantum singularity was polar or bipolar. 

But that was only the outward cause. Underlying it was most assuredly the debate. 
As a species, we were going downhill in a hurry. The debate changed, from whether we had the right to retard the intelligence of the species out of boredom, to whether we should end all intelligence and thus end the suffering it caused. 

Or rather, the madness it caused. It was like a drug, consuming our every waking moment with its highs and lows. We were being tortured, and needed relief. 

It had been going on for so long that no one could even remember anymore just when it had started. Was it a year ago? No, maybe two, or even as many as five; it was hard to tell. The life we had led before the debate had become a hazy memory. No one could remember the last time they'd been happy or felt well. 
***
The different philosophies continued to move even farther apart, the split widening to the point that the competing factions moved to opposite sides of the planet. But still, the debate raged. Tempers flared; threats were made and countered. Violent exchanges became common as reason and logic fled, the point of the debate lost in the battle. 

Those few cooler heads that remained observed it was a good thing that firearms and nuclear weaponry had been gone for some time, lest there be a war. But human nature would not be denied, and soon, skirmish lines had been drawn. Rocks and sticks were thrown back and forth across them and blood flowed from fresh wounds. Once perfect bodies now bore the scars of combat with armed loyalists of the opposing cause. 

Treaties were signed and broken almost on the same day. Neither side would give in. The pro-retardation group did not want to leave part of the species with their knowledge intact, fearing the "dumbed down" group would be enslaved. The anti-retardation group, on the other hand, did not want a bunch of dull-witted people to take care of, turning an otherwise pleasant world into a large daycare. 

The anti group was the first to take the next step in weaponry. They sharpened their sticks. 
The pro group quickly followed suit, and soon, killing the enemy completely was seen as the surest solution to the debate. Places where the opposition gathered in large numbers made the most logical 
targets, so cites became very dangerous places. 

Because of this, people on both sides of the debate abandoned their cities and broke in to small bands, living in the natural shelter of caves. For the first time in memory, tasks were divided by gender. Males, with their generally greater strength and larger size, were in charge of defense and waging the war. This left the females in charge of maintaining the shelters, providing lookouts for the approach of enemy troops, and providing for the general care of the bands. Mixed group hunted for food, with great success. Since there had been no hunting for millennia, the games was not only plentiful, it was completely unafraid of humans. Hunters could walk right up to the creatures and stab them with sharpened sticks. 

Fire posed a tougher problem, as actual flame had not been used for two hundred years. We found that simply having knowledge of a thing—knowing, for example, that rubbing two sticks together could produce fire—did not necessarily make the doing of it any easier. There were many cold days and nights until the practice was mastered, much to the joy of those who felt the warmth. As time passed, many other forgotten skills came back into use, reminding us often that understanding how something was done was not the same as having actually done it. 

The war raged on, with no end in sight. Every day, more people lost their lives. The only bright spot was that we gradually became more adept at the skills needed to live in caves and hunt for our food. But the details of how our ancestors had lived were still slow in coming. There'd been no need for such knowledge for so very long that it had receded to the far recesses of our minds. Now, our very survival depended upon recalling it. 
***
It has been said that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and no truer words have ever been spoken. The progression from rock and stick had been the sharpening of sticks. Now, we were rapidly replaying the entire history of man's development of the implements of war. Sharpened sticks acquired points and became spears. Spears turned into bows and arrows, bows and arrows into catapults. The introduction of gunpowder was not far behind, and in quick succession we developed canons, then shoulder arms and handguns, and at last, bombs. The last remnants of cites were laid waste. Any building of significant size was destroyed. Infrastructure disappeared; the computer systems and med-drones were either no longer operational or gone entirely. 

As more and more of the facilities necessary to produce weapons were destroyed, we found ourselves back where we had started. Ammunition was scarce, and most of the fighting reverted to hand-to-hand combat as the war continued. 

We began to truly question our resolve, then, a dim light of reason flickering through the fog of war. Was it really worth ending the human race over a question of whether to make that very same race dumber? 

Then it occurred to us—we already had. 
A cease-fire was quickly called and talks resumed. 
It didn't take long to hammer out the treaty. Both side agreed to drop the debate, which had become moot, anyway. We would return to being one people, one race, and one world, return to our lives of ease in our gleaming cities. 

It was a joyous occasion for everyone. Lighthearted, without a care in the world, we danced and sang our way back, having finally rid our minds of war and debate. 
***
We found smoke still rising above the scorched earth, although there didn't appear to be anything left to burn. Blackened rubble littered the ground below the dark, sooty sky. No structure stood, no road remained. There was nothing to indicate that once, a great people had lived there. The entire world was alien to us. 

There was no point in staying; there was nothing to rebuild. So, we went back to the only homes we had known for these long years: the caves.

We will rebuild eventually, though. After all, we still have our brains and our knowledge, and WE ARE HUMAN! It is our nature. There is no telling how long it will take, but we did it once, did we not? 
Perhaps this time it will be quicker; perhaps we will be smarter this time, and not so bloody. We have a goal, this time—to return to the life we once led, but with one difference. 

This time, we will leave a little bit to the unknown, something that we can wonder about. We need that, as we learned to our sorrow. Our life, the very survival of our species, depends on it. We had the ultimate knowledge, but there had been one last lesson to learn, and it very nearly cost us our existence. Knowledge without wisdom, we learned, is like having a body without a head. And logic without reason is a tasteless meal for the soul. 

Some will say we are merely acting out a play that has been performed before. Our efforts will be wasted, having read the end of the book before the beginning. But is that truly the case? Does knowing where you are going make the trip itself unimportant? Perhaps that is the ultimate knowledge; that the learning of wisdom comes from the doing, not just the knowing. As to whether we have truly learned this lesson, only time will tell. 

But this much is certain. There is one critical factor to all knowledge, a factor that must be considered, and that is the human factor. It is the one variable that can end or begin all other knowledge, for knowledge itself is but unforged metal. It is for the possessor, the human factor, to shape and determine its use. 

There is no doubt that mistakes will be made in our journey back to a better life, after all…
We are only human!


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## Idle Tinkerer (May 22, 2010)

Interesting, intriguing and strangely plausible. The problem I have with most of these type of things is that they seem built upon a premise which wouldn't actually lead to that end. Genetic memory as an idea could definitely lead to a much more rapidly advancing future.

A few minor quibbles:



> But that race had ended, for both were here and only days of milk and honey awaited us.


While I understand this is actually a saying and makes sense, it doesn't seem to fit the voice. What you're describing is a society where something as urbane as "milk and honey" wouldn't really be used as a metaphor for good times. Admittedly, that could be me thinking too much.



> Time was no longer measured in hours or days, but simply in the time it took to do a thing. Clocks were found only in museums


This I found odd too. I understand the point of it, to drive home how far this society has advanced, but I imagine the rise and set of the sun is still rather noticeable, and (I'm assuming) people still need some form of sleep, even if lessened by some super medicine. 



> Since the human race had a shared knowledge, there were no experts we could consult, no single voice that could give us an answer. Before long, every single human was spending all of their waking hours, and most of the hours for sleeping as well on the subject. The answer, it seemed to most, lay just beyond our reach. On that point all agreed, so the debate continued for years. It became the pastime of the entire world, and soon all other exercises of mind or body were forgotten.


I have no complaints about this bet, I just felt the need to single it out because I thought it was really well done, both in concept and writing.

Aside from that and a few other minor things, I really enjoyed this.


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## paintedglasses (May 23, 2010)

OK, the one thing I really have to say about this is the one thing I hated my English teachers in grade school for, but SHOW DON'T TELL. It felt more like reading a hypothetical essay than a piece of fiction. Giving us characters, or dialogue, or something else to tie the story down a little bit and give some entertainment would be great.

Other than that, however, it was intriguing. It reminded me a lot of Asimov's "The Last Question", and I kept singing Talking Head's "Heaven" to myself. _"Heaven is a place, where nothing ever happens"_. Also a nice little twist with the conflict resolving itself by virtue of the conflict, and while I don't share your prediction for humanity's evolution I respect your cleverness. So overall good premise (Asimov and Byrne are good company) and concept, just need some work on the execution.


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## Reese (May 24, 2010)

"SHOW DON'T TELL."

LMAO paintedglasses

Very true. I may start a thread based on this alone. Everyone wants to tell, TELL TELL TELL. Frankly, hearing peoples disconnected thoughts does not really tell me what they are thinking.


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## Idle Tinkerer (May 24, 2010)

I actually didn't have a problem with the execution. It seemed to me almost like a history lesson given in the future-future (after the conflict had been resolved). I almost think adding characters and dialogue would be detracting, taking away from the feel of the story. I liked it abstract.


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## Vulcan (May 27, 2010)

I'm with Idle Tinkerer on this one. I think people are much too trigger-happy with the 'show, don't tell' lecturing. I agree that it is more professional and more correct to show, but it also depends on the context and the nature of the story. Besides, it is very difficult to go through a story without doing the least bit of telling, and I am confident that many of the best writers do the same. In this case, as it isn't from any particular perspective except that of a grand narrator, I think its abstract style is actually effective. It's an interesting moral about the flaws of humanity - I think you wrote what you intended to achieve, so well done.


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## garza (May 27, 2010)

Many apologies, but this isn't fiction, as I understand fiction. This is a very well written historical narrative about events that haven't happened. 

May I be so bold as to offer, in contrast, the first page of my latest effort at writing fiction? It's not as good as the above narrative, but it does fit my own definition of fiction. You may ignore it altogether and I won't be offended.
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'Harry,' said John, 'was always the sort of fellow who drank beer through a straw, ate pizza with a knife and fork, and wore socks with his sandals.'

The group considered this, then Raul spoke.

'Clean,' he said, 'if it was formal.'

'What was clean?' said John.

'The socks,' said Raul. Harry always put on clean white socks and a fresh-washed t-shirt to go to anything formal.'

Nods of agreement all around with murmurs of 'that was Harry, all right'.

'And black for a funeral,' said  Raul.

John, Raul, and Joél looked across at where Harry lay on the next table.

'Wrong colour socks,' said Joél. 

Joél and John looked at Raul.

'Don't look at me. I ain't gonna change his socks.'

'Well,' said John, 'you seem to be the expert on Harry's socks.'

'I'm just telling you what I've seen,' said Raul. 

John picked up an empty stout bottle from the table and waved it.

'Three more Liang,' he said.

Liang pulled three cold stouts from an ice chest behind the counter, popped the tops, neatly folded paper napkins into the necks, and brought them to the table.

'Your friend, too much to drink,' he said, waving toward Harry. 'You get him up now. Send him home. Thank you.'

'Sorry Liang,' said John. 'Harry ain't drunk. Harry ain't never gonna be drunk again, and he ain't goin' home. He's going to Lord's Ridge.'

Liang looked again at Harry. 'Your friend dead?' he said.

'Our friend dead,' said Joél.

'Dead, dead, dead,' said Raul. 

'You move him quick now,' said Liang. 'Tourists come soon. Big boat bring tourists. No want to see dead man on table. They think I not have good food. Thank you.'
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That may not be good fiction, but I believe it is true fiction. The historical narrative could serve very well as the scenario for a novel.


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## The Backward OX (May 27, 2010)

garza said:


> Many apologies, but this isn't fiction


"That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet."


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## The Backward OX (May 27, 2010)

writerdog said:


> those who made no distinction were, oddly, hated equally by both groups of women.


So what else is new?


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## Reese (May 28, 2010)

I understand what you are saying Vulcan. I don't know, when one tells, it is very academic, very "lecturish." People have a hard time connecting to the congruity of a lecture, and often if they do delve deeper into the meaning behind the message, it becomes very...interpretative. Which is all fine and well, but a person can go and be interpretative of CNN news. At which point it becomes their own story, borne of their own imagination-- not the author's.

When you show something, it is more specific and concrete. It allows the reader to experience what the author is saying. It allows them to step outside of themselves and experience the tribulations of the characters. In addition, it lends itself more to storytelling, rather than fact-relaying.


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## garza (May 28, 2010)

Reese - Aha! That's it! 

'...storytelling, rather than fact-relaying.' 

That's what fiction should be. That's my opinion, anyway.

Do you still make the little chocolate and peanut butter candies?


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