CANTO I    
     I recently received an email from a Norwegian scientist, a longtime, if distant, colleague and mentor. The letter disclosed that he was near the end of his life and it was with great urgency he was sending this request for me to come to him as soon as possible. He had long been holding knowledge of utmost importance that he must pass on before it was too late. This research had never been recorded anywhere in the considerable body of work that he would be leaving behind. It resided only in his own, now most temporal, head. Would I please drop everything and come to him, with all possible haste? And of course, I did.

     The day following the receipt of the email, I was at the Oslo Airport renting a car to drive to his home, some two hours north of town. This man, who had spent all his life examining the bones of early mankind, would soon be leaving his own behind. He had built a considerable reputation as a paleoanthropologist.

     Dr. Bjorn Rassmussen lived at his country home; a vintage farmstead that had been in the family for five generations. He had determined that his end days would be living here at the farm. I was shown my room, then led out to the kitchen garden. The time was midsummer, warm and still with a thrumming of distant airborne insects. The doctor was in his chair at the back of the house under a linden tree overlooking the carrots, the zucchini and the mountains beyond. He was fragile, but at peace. Inside the threadbare body, supported by the wicker chaise where he lay, there was a sparkling mind, eager to speak. Over the next three days, in his careful but flowing English, this meticulous observer and most careful scientist related to me an extraordinary undertaking. The events took place early in his career, and for reasons I will explain, he had never bought any of these amazing revaluations to light before now. He had never presented them for publication.

     Although Dr. Rassmussen had spent several long and most difficult summers on his research, he had to abandon it completely. Though the then-young paleoanthropologist was convinced of the absolute veracity of his findings; he knew, without doubt, that his discovery would be unacceptable to his colleagues if presented without sufficient physical evidence. If he made an attempt to publish his thesis without the evidence, he could very well jeopardize his entire career. His findings were so remarkable that he would need mountains of tangible, physical material to attest to his claims. Ironically, by the time he had completed his field work, he had indeed found abundant artifacts to stand as testimony.

     Let me explain this apparent paradox.

     Dr. Rassmussen had uncovered a hitherto unknown human civilization in a most improbable place. There was enough evidence in the form of human remains, stone tablets bearing a completely unknown type of hieroglyph, and a wealth of objects, wrought unquestionably by a sophisticated and skilled human hand, a hand directed by a well-developed, modern, hominoid brain. There was enough material to fill twenty-five large wooden crates. However, just as he was completing his work and on his way home, two almost simultaneous events occurred which destroyed everything.

     The scientist was on his steamship coming home after his last and very long summer at his site. Off the coast of Norway, his ship snagged a submerged ledge in the dim-out of a late spring squall and went down within minutes. The ship, as it sank, evidentially fell into a deep abyss, which rendered it and its cargo irretrievable. The scientist and his crew were rescued, but the twenty-five wooden crates containing his treasures and all his finely scribed pen and ink notes were lost. Shortly after he had returned home, he learned that the little islands of his site had been devastated by an eruption of the very volcanoes that had created them millions of years before. The eruption on one island had triggered the other; his sites along with all the remaining evidence were thought to be obliterated.

     I left this visit with my head spinning.
     Shortly after leaving the farm my emotions took another hit. I received a call at the Oslo Airport informing me that this dauntless, old man had died in his wicker chaise overlooking the vegetable garden.

CANTO II
     As you read the following account, be aware that you will become encumbered with the weight of this message, as I have been. As you know, certain knowledge can hang heavily on the mind and soul. So my warning to you is this: If you continue reading, you do so at your own peril, and you will be obliged to accept this burden of knowledge - as I have. I offer you this story as told to me by Dr. Rassmussen to satisfy my obligation, at least in part.

     Think what might you do. That is, if you are still with me.

     The story is as follows:
      There are two scarcely known small sub-Antarctic islands, at the very rim of possible human habitation, in the extreme Southern Indian Ocean. They were forged by volcanic eruptions ten million years ago. Were they formed in the sea only slightly more to the south, closer to the Antarctic, human habitation would have been impossible due to continual ice cover.  As it is, they lie just within a marginally, habitable latitude. Ultima Thule is the ancient name the Greeks had for this borderland. It is the ground between the tolerable and the impossible. Thule is the limit of a journey, it’s the farthest, the outermost bounds of the habitable world. As the ancient Greeks imagined, it was the very edge of a flat world, beyond which one would tumble away.

    These two islands, I will not give their names or exact locations, are about sixty kilometers distant from each other. They are just visible to one another on the horizon from their high cliffs. Yet, it is a short distance when one considers that the nearest continent, aside from Antarctica, lies more than four thousand kilometers to the north and west. The islands are known to the outside world, but are never visited by humans due to their exceptionally isolated situation, the continual heavy weather, and the fact they lay far outside any sea traffic lanes. If one were to find their way there and to attempt a landing, there is the danger and difficulty in gaining access to the headland by climbing the slick, lichen covered, vertical rock faces that rise straight out of the ocean over six hundred meters. They have no harbors or inlets, and the seas assault the islands’ sides with mountainous waves at all times, summer and winter. The few shores, if you call them that, are no more than narrow shelves between the thundering water and the vertical, moss-covered cliffs. A loose pile of large wet boulders carpeted in thick growth.

      Even among ocean cartographers, there is confusion as to where these islands actually lie. I have seen that their exact location is often in conflict on various charts. Be that as it may, they are both about fifty square kilometers each in area; just enough land in these latitudes to support a very limited population of self-contained people. In outward aspects, they are similar to other islands of this southern region. I am thinking particularly about Gough Island, which lies in approximately the same latitude, but thousands of kilometers to the west. These are sea-mount islands, the very summit of a colossal under-sea mountain thrust up by volcanic action. Near the center of the islands, and high above, are the remnants of the old volcanic rim and its steep sides. The whole of the islands are a corduroy of ridges and valleys, with very few level, flat areas.

      A nearly constant wind-driven rain, fog and wetness is the norm. Hardy ground cover grows thick and low over all parts of the islands. Tussock grasses and bogs, pools and swamps, fern, algae, and lichen are on the occasional flat lands and fill the fissures. Clumps of fern and mosses find footing on ledges of the steeper slopes. All growth is low, there is little above a meter high, there are no trees, other than the Island Cape Myrtle. More on that later. Everywhere small fast streams speed unseen, but heard, at the bottoms of narrow crevasses and appearing as thin, white, diaphanous waterfalls on high rock faces at the edge of the sea.

      The islands are in the direct path of the westerlies, an unchanging, ferocious, bitter wind that rules the bottom of the globe. The west side of the islands stands full fronted in this wind; on foot it is difficult even to track without couching low to the ground. The growth on the westerly rim is mostly sedges, tussock grass, and few low ferns, battered day and night by the gales.

      The eastern sides of the islands are in the lee of the central volcanic mountain and out of the heavy winds. Here is found more diversity of plants. It is here that the Island Cape Myrtle tree grows and human habitation is possible. In the summer, out of the brunt of wind and blown rain, the temperature over the land is just manageable for hardy people; 35-50 degrees F, 6-10 degrees C in the daytime. It is much below that after the short summer passes. Snow covers the mountainsides in winter.

      To some minds, mine included, the islands are very beautiful, somber and beautiful.

      The young paleoanthropologist, Dr. Rassmussen, found his way to these islands in much the same way as did Charles Darwin a hundred years earlier when he traveled for the first time to South America aboard the HMS Beagle with the backing of a merchant.

      In 1936, Dr. Rassmussen signed aboard an expeditionary steamship as the expedition’s anthropologist. This was to be his first trip to this part of the world. The enterprise was financed by a wealthy Norwegian industrialist with a sense of risk, adventure, and some curiosity leftover from the eighteenth century explorers. The group’s task was to map, contour, catalog, and record the endemic species of the far-flung Southern Atlantic and Indian Ocean, cold-temperate oceanic islands. The expedition set out from Norway in the late fall of the year, with a great sense of recalling the glory of the Age of Exploration. For the industrialist, who backed the expedition, it was to be a vicarious experience. He was not to accompany them.

      They returned, after a successful year and a half, with an abundance of valuable data from about fifty, cold and remote islands. Though, they returned to a land plunged into the Second World War and the news that, just a day before they arrived home, their benefactor had received war wounds from which he had died.

      For the next few years, the expedition’s research was shelved. The young Rassmussen went about his military service duties, education and his calling, but these two particular islands had captivated him so profoundly he could not let them go. He must go back someday. More importantly, he had found an astonishing object on one of the islands.

     When Dr. Rassmussen was aboard the research ship approaching the rocks rising directly from the sea, the entire expedition had gathered at the ship’s railing to look upon the impressive cliffs stretching high above them and speculate on a plan of attack. The only one audacious enough to attempt to scale those daunting moss-covered cliffs was our young scientist who jubilantly volunteered to go ashore.

      The crew dropped him on the shore of what later became known as Isle One, the northerly most isle. Between breaking rollers, he jumped from the ship’s launch to a mean little boulder-strewn verge with his ropes and climbing gear. He clambered up the rocks as the ship stood offshore. He was given only four hours to do his work, for fear of a gathering storm. By the time he gained the top of the headland, he had used one hour of his precious time.

      The young scientist wandered the curious wind-lashed place for almost three hours with his notes and camera. Then, just as he was about to descend, he came upon an object so utterly foreign that he stood unable to move, even to extend a hand. He bent over to scrutinize what was before him without touching it. There, next to a moss hummock, as though it had been set down at this spot just an hour before, was a fist-sized rock with a human figure carved into it surrounded by cryptic, runic symbols delicately cut into its stone surface. At length, he pocketed the object and descended to the waiting launch. He had been instructed to report directly to the head of operations, the industrialists, should anything of extra interest be found. He said nothing to anyone thereafter.

 
     There was no landing attempted on the second isle, Isle Two.

     This object resided on Dr. Rassmussen’s desk, an object of speculation to his colleagues, which he shrugged off, until the anthropologist was approaching his prime years. Then with a sum of inherited funds, he launched his four year-long research expedition to these faraway rocks.

     Still young, the scientist set about his work using his own finances for a chartered ship, a crew of students, and a lot of anxiety. They left home, in the late fall of that year, for the long journey to the South Indian Ocean. They stayed on the north island for the two summer months, December and January. Tents were set in the lee of sheltering cliffs while the ship went on, with arrangements to return on a given day. They hung terrifying rope ladders swinging out over breaking waves and shaky hand-powered hoists with net bags dangling at their ends. They explored the northerly island first and named it Isle One. Their intent was to spend the first two summers there, and then go to Isle Two, but their work was not completed until the third summer, which left only one summer for the second island. By the time they got to it, they were only able to visit Isle Two for a short month during the last summer of their work. Very soon they discovered Isle Two had been inhabited for a lot shorter time, and that fact held its own mystery. When they left Isle Two at the end of the fourth year, their funds as well as their time had been exhausted. Most of their work had been only on the northern side of Isle One. The southern end of the island was still an unknown.

     Yet, there was indeed ample evidence of a small, but evolved, human society living on these improbable islands at one time. The finds on both islands revealed a remarkable level of physical and cultural advance. There were a variety of stone knives, sophisticated scrapping tools, awls, and spear points - probably used in fishing. There were also runic carvings on rock outcropping. Some overhangs and a few caves had the remains of wall paintings done with charcoal and earth dyes. The glyphs told of a continuous history over thousands of years. Judging from bone remnants and other finds, the people who occupied these islands were of slight stature, but nonetheless, very much of a modern appearing human in skeletal form.

      The inhabitants of these islands, as evidenced by cave drawings, built small huts from a combination of stone, reed, moss, and a few pieces of precious wood. They dried peat from the bogs for fire. They had small wooden implements, clothes from seal pelts and feathers. Ancient, calcified, wood buttons were found at the sites. They ate seabird eggs, fish, shellfish, moorhen, and bunting. They had ritual and ceremony, as evidenced by circles of large stone. They had a language and a form of hieroglyph found on cliff walls. Dr. Rassmussen had deciphered the written language of these people, which gave him a view into their daily lives. From this manifest, Dr. Rassmussen compiled a very telling story of lifetimes of extraordinary hardship and strength. Most importantly, he found an apparent strong desire to “acclimatize,” to make accommodation to the demand of the environment.

      Among the triumphs of the island dwellers was the development of a small, strong boat built from the wood of the Island Cape Myrtle. The boat was covered with seal skins. The craft, judging by the cliff renderings of them, appeared to be no longer than about two meters. The small size allowed the fishermen to haul them down the cliff face. They were capable of holding only one fisherman and his catch. The boats enabled the fishermen to go out into offshore waters where the catch was more abundant. It was difficult, if not impossible, to fish from shore due to the high surf and wind. The little coracles themselves must have been very dangerous in the perpetually rough seas. The trip from one island to the other, over sixty, open sea kilometers, would have been an impossibility.

CANTO III
     While he was grappling with the mysteries of the people, Dr. Rassmussen spent a great deal of time engaged in the study of the Island Cape Myrtle. He saw a fascinating correlation between its ability to survive, and the coping skills of the human population. The tree’s continued presence on the islands was of utmost importance to the survival of the people.

     The Island Cape Myrtle (Phylica arborea) is linked by species to its broadleaf cousins in the temperate lands to the north where life is easy. Here the little myrtle tree is considered an ornamental with its broad, glossy leaves and redolent, spring flower. The island subspecies somehow managed, like the island people, to find its way to the sub-Antarctic, and become the tough and durable survivor it is today. After its arrival, it was spread throughout the cold-weather islands with the help of the wandering albatross. The tree has endured because of its extreme adaptation, making itself suitable to the bounds of its environment. Its trunk is heavy and twisted, to withstand the impact of the winds. Its pale, silver-green leaves have become almost needle-like to minimize the cold and wind. The tree grows where it can, behind a cliff face, in a sheltered ravine, on the sides of a steep gorge. It matures slowly, twisting its trunk to follow the stone and ground where it presents less wind resistance. It grows parallel with the ground in the direction of the wind. Its procumbent bole, mostly less than the diameter of a dinner plate, is covered with shaggy bark. Its branches are sparse and curved, always following the path of the winds.

     The wood of the Island Cape Myrtle is light in color, somewhat like boxwood. Taking great care, using a stone cutting tool, it can be carved into desired forms. Its gift to the people of the islands lay in the tortured contour of the trunk and limbs. The bends of the trunk and intersection of the limbs became the bends of the boat. The builders sheared the wood parallel with the curves and crotches to make the curved ribs of the little, skin boats. This technique has been used by many indigenous cultures. It produces a strong, light, and able craft. The curve of the boat follows the grain of the wood. The boats were essential to the continued existence of the island people. This remarkable little tree, like the little people of the islands, embodies the Ultima Thule, the survivors at the ends of the world.

     The question remains; who were these people and how came they to this most unlikely place and from where did they come? They seem to have sprung into existence on the islands eighteen thousand years ago. That much was clear. The following theory has been built with care, piece by piece, by Dr. Rassmussen.  

CANTO IV
     Another island, the island of Flores, lies some four hundred seventy-five kilometers west of Bali, and almost five thousand kilometers north and east of the little, cold-water islands. It is an entirely different creation, resting in the warm, tropical South Pacific Ocean at the bottom of the Sunda Island Chain. What I am telling you now has been established as a credible theory with most, not all, people in the paleoanthropological community.

     Until 2004, it was inconceivable that any other Hominid species, modern man, might have coexisted with us in modern times. The notion of other forms of people conjures chilling images. We, Hom sapiens, have thought ourselves to be the only humans living in the present or near-present times on the planet. We may be divided into many physiques and colors from different parts of the world, but we are all H. sapiens and thought ourselves the only living humans. The nearest known relative to our timespan is our probable overlapping with the Neanderthal, an advanced Hominid. That overlapping, however, ended many thousands of years ago. Though, we still carry some of the Neanderthal DNA.

     This belief had been held by some science as unassailable. Then, in 2004, a group of scientists found the remains of modern humans, not H. sapiens, on Flores Island in the South Pacific. Instead of scary brutes, they were small and rather harmless-looking little people. The startling fact is that they could possibly have been living at the same time as the known human inhabitants of the island of Flores. The remains have been dated from about fifty thousand years ago. This is not a long time for a paleoanthropologist. There continues to be the possibility of finding additional remains that are even closer to our times. There are stories passed down among the people of Flores today of their ancestors communicating with and giving food to little people who lived in the caves of Flores. These little people have been named by scientists as H. floresiensis and are ranked among the seven of the Homo Group at the top of the human family tree, which of course includes H. sapiens.

      According to the skeletal remains, the H. floresiensis were only about a meter tall, about three feet. Their proportions were generally in keeping with modern man’s, though they had proportionately larger feet and smaller heads. Although they had smaller brains, they managed to execute a hunting regime, they had fire, they very possibly had a language, and most puzzling, they apparently were able to build watercraft capable of transporting themselves to the island of Flores from somewhere else. Recently, it has been reported that other remains closely resembling those of H. floresiensis have been found on a group of islands north of the island of Madagascar off the eastern African coast.

     Dr. Rassmussen had built his thesis long before the findings on the island of Flores; for his work was done near the middle of the twentieth century in the 1930s, some 60 or 70 years before the discovery of H. floresiensis. Using the information gained from his research, he theorized that a branch of hominid, he later discovered to be akin to the genesis of H. floresiensis, formed the Antarctic Island people. He theorized they most probably came from the warm oceans near the Horn of Africa, a region that is now in the area of Kenya/Somalia.

     The doctor speculated that their reasons for leaving home and seeking out a place of solitude were the same as that of the albatross searching out those lonely cliffs; that of finding the protection of an unassailable place. These small humans living on the African land mass were evidently capable people, but they were probably overwhelmed by the big and very aggressive early, and probably more primitive, humans who also lived in East Africa.

     The little people apparently took to the sea to avoid probable extinction at the hands of their rivals. They built small but capable watercraft, probably raft-like, to travel in what might have been a flotilla. Dr Rassmussen theorized that their only goal was escape, without a destination. We assume that some of the people ended up on the Island of Flores, far to the east. The others were carried down the eastern coast of Africa with the prevailing winds and current. There may have been opportunities for them to reestablish their community at points along the coast, but for whatever the reason, they continued on to the south. The ocean currents and the winds were at their backs, encouraging them on. They traveled down the eastern coast of Africa through the Straits of Mozambique and west of the large island of Madagascar, at the southern end of Africa. Here the continental currents and the winds shift from southward to eastward. The escaping people found themselves getting further and further offshore. Their course now may have been deliberate or perhaps not in their control. They now were in the dangerous South Indian Ocean. By some means, maybe rafting together and sharing food and water, they managed thousands of open ocean kilometers, with the westerlies behind them. It was a fearful and desperate journey in those furious seas. They passed the fortieth latitude and into the oceans of the Antarctic. Somewhere between South Africa, the Ile Amsterdam and Ile Saint Paul, pinpoints on the chart, they hauled up on the shores of Isle One.

 
     Then, with more extraordinary tenacity and strength, they managed to surmount the cliffs. And yet their difficulties had only begun. For some unknown reason, they split into two groups; it may be that they thought it would give them a greater chance of survival. Before their watercraft was destroyed by the surf, a portion of them re-embarked and headed for Isle Two on the horizon.

     After the two societies were formed, any interconnection between the groups may have been impossible after their original vessels were torn apart on the rocks. They could look out on that misty land on the horizon and only contemplate their kinfolk's fate, for construction of a craft large enough to travel the distance was inconceivable.

     It is evident that there were no outside influences on the little people during that intervening time. They probably had not a single visitor for eighteen thousand years.  

CANTO V
     Our question persists. What of the survival of these little people? Why did one group endure
centuries of hardship while the other, living on Isle Two, apparently died off early on? What factors brought one society to a relatively early end and allowed the other to survive? The two genetically entwined peoples found their way to these remote islands, inserted themselves there and created two separate societies, for a time analogs of each other. The little people had equal physical and mental abilities, inherent knowledge and talents to use the raw materials available to them, in virtually identical environments and parallel circumstances. For about five hundred years, Isles One and Two traveled an almost identical path.

     During this time, the populations of both islands increased. Dr. Rassmussen had estimated that the original immigrant populations probably numbered about three hundred people, about half that number on each island. After the first four hundred years, that population had likely increased to around fourteen hundred on each island, the maximum carrying capacity of the land at this latitude. At this critical point, the divergence in the two societies began to take place. Isle One remained at about fourteen hundred, whereas Isle Two kept increasing to upwards of three thousand or more. It may have been as large as six thousand at the time of its abrupt decline and fall. It is likely that both societies began to feel the pinch of depletion as their populations rose and the resources dwindled. The bird eggs became more difficult to gather because they were no longer at the most accessible ledges. The albatross and petrel populations were dwindling. The bunting had altogether disappeared from Isle Two. Strife between families and clans had likely become common. Competition for living and growing space on the few level places began, which caused conflict and anxiety. Competition for food and pelts for clothing and all the other necessities of life became dominant. The cranberries and shellfish were depleted, as were the inshore rockfish. The consumption and final extinction of the prized Island Cape Myrtle tree from Isle Two must have been a turning point for that community.

     It was during this period that the population of Isle One apparently initiated the action that saved their people and secured their future. An action that seldom occurs among any species anywhere the world over: voluntary and carefully considered limitation of their numbers. Limiting population growth is an action so dire, as to be sinful in many societies.

CANTO VI
     There can be found in the world today few examples of human societies that have made the profound effort to limit their numbers, so that they might be an enduring society. A sustainable society lives within the demands of their environs. I know of such a place. If you will permit me the space, I would like to digress here for just a moment to examine this small closed colony. It occupies another island, this time in the Mid-Pacific Ocean among the Solomon Island group. It is the Island of Tikopia.

     The island is about five square kilometers in size, so small that the presence of the ocean is always felt from the interior forests. It is one of the many volcanic islands that dot the Mid-Pacific Ocean. It is very isolated, many kilometers separate it from any other land. What sets Tikopia and its inhabitants apart from other human societies, the world over, is the fact that it has had a stable population. A population of twelve hundred people, sometimes less, seldom more, for nearly three thousand years. Twelve hundred is the absolute maximum number of inhabitants the island can support at its given size and location.

      A council of the elders, long ago, determined that the whole of their society would collapse if that number were to be exceeded. To ensure this, they established a most sacred tenet that would not be broken. The law was taught to the very young. The law stated that there would be no growth in their population at all, ever. To accomplish this, a meticulous, intractable discipline was enforced.

     The discipline took several forms: Each land holder was beholden to feed their own family. Each must draw from their own land, plus a ration of fish, shellfish, and mutually owned forest harvest. When two children were born, the replacement number, the family would have no more. To replace premature deaths, a third child was occasionally permitted.  Pregnancy was limited by several forms of birth control. There was no unused land available to feed more than two parents and two children. An unwanted additional infant was suffocated at birth. Excess children were not allowed to mature. If contraception didn’t work, pregnant mothers placed hot stones on their stomachs to aid in the abortion of unwanted children. Despite these measures, the population sometimes exceeded the limits. At this point, what is known as virtual suicide was practiced. Self-selected fathers and their sons would embark on impossible ocean voyages in small boats, never to return. When deemed necessary, and of their own volition, adult women would swim offshore to impossible destinations.  

     Such were the measures taken by a society determined to live within the means available to them. A brutal task. What was barbarous to the individuals of this society, was kind to the whole of the society. Tikopia, without its harsh self-imposed means, would be an island left without habitation. But it thrives today. It is little wonder that it is so rare in our world. Logic would tell the student of sustainability that extreme sacrifice of the individual for their society is unlikely to become popular. The larger the society, the more difficult the task.

CANTO VII
     What I have not told you about my short visit with that remarkable scientist at his farmstead on the Norwegian mountainside, was an interruption by his wife, Kari Rassmussen. In the evening, as I was preparing to leave, she pulled me aside with two small glasses of schnapps set on a cloth-covered table by the apple tree above her garden. Her brief story put the cap on this astounding tale.

     Between sips, in her soft, affable voice, she changed my concept of our modern world. Kari said I might repeat this story, only if I omitted certain details. I understood. Her husband, she said, in his later years, with little said to his colleagues, did indeed return to the remote little islands. With her encouragement, she and her husband set out to answer the one burning question that remained.

     At the helm of their two-masted yawl, they made the long and difficult voyage to the Southern Indian Ocean and Isle One, once again. They arrived at an opportune time, a relatively calm moment. The doctor was still able to scale the sea cliffs to the headlands above, while Kari held the vessel off-shore.

     There among the tussock grasses, he found his remarkable answer; positive evidence of a small but thriving human population - descendants of the original settlers still existing on the island. Their civilization had evidently survived the volcanic eruptions. They apparently were living on the southernmost part of Isle One, while the anthropologists were digging in the north, too involved in their ancient finds to explore the present. The little people were probably fully aware of the presence of the exotic strangers many years ago and kept well out of sight. How very strange for them! The implication was staggering - another human species alive on our earth today, embodied in a society of stoic Lilliputians who have remained stable for more than eighteen thousand years.

     Lying low to the ground, Dr. Rassmussen trained his binoculars on the distant mountain flank. There, he found a small settlement cut into the hillside. With great care, he watched, enthralled, as the villagers went about their daily routine. He later told Kari his binoculars were like shafts of vision from an extraordinarily different reality into his modern world view. He watched as long as he dared. So as not to be detected, Dr. Rassmussen and his wife left hurriedly and never told a soul about their find until this moment. As I have said, the demographers of the world have classified the two islands as uninhabited. And that is the way it will remain.

CANTOS VIII
     It is impossible to say of the two islands what might have turned one group toward a way of comprehension, while the other blundered into decay and failure. Despite the fact that we give some thought to the future, human societies, as with other animal societies, are not genetically inclined to place the future above the present, for after all, our short life span is lived only in the moment and that may be a dangerous and demanding one, requiring our full attention. It is the rare organism that ponders the survival of their species in the distant time to come. Humans are capable, but don’t. It might have been that at that crucial juncture, on that remote cold-weather island, there arose a leader or a group with the capacity to see the present situation and be able to project into the future.  But more essential than the ability to see, is the power to convince. To change, without force, the entire momentum of a society requires little less than irresistible powers of persuasion. A most difficult task because it asks those living to sacrifice, possibly making their lives more humble, for the sake of those yet to be born. Are we capable of that?

     This gives rise to another question, a bigger one: In our modern times, the concept of the individual is of paramount importance. Individuality is a relatively modern concept. One thousand years ago, the notion of the personhood of a commoner was not extant. Children were given no birth names, sometimes only numbers.

     Today in western society, we greatly honor the individual. To consider changing the disastrous course of our society, is to put the society before the individual. In modern times, that may not be something that is going to happen voluntarily. However, it could come in a world where compliance is involuntary. One day, when the collapse is imminent and there is no other alternative, it might arise as an enforced command from a desperate, authoritarian  leadership.

     In that case, mere survival may not be worth the bounty.

     For guidance, we might look back again at that little tree striving to live within the imperatives of the land it occupies. The Island Cape Myrtle is thriving. Thriving is more than just surviving; it is blooming and flourishing, within the confines and the limitations of the environment. The triumph of thriving against difficult odds carries its own rewards above and beyond the survival of the society. It could even return meaning into our empty, modern lives.

     And now you know as much as I. Following the accords of our pact. After all, you did read on, so you must accept this knowledge, and you will shoulder your burden.

     To an extent, I have fulfilled my obligation.

     What might you do?