“Where am I?” “We are we?” Thousands and thousands near me asked an iteration of the same question. Even though I expected to be transported, transferred somehow, I was still surprised. A miracle, we were all on the Slab. Or something that looked like it. All I knew was that I stood upon a piece of stone. All the people crowded my vision and made me a little dizzy. My old body couldn’t deal with such a crowd. The floor was solid stone, and there was no ceiling. Emptiness stretched above me, and it was not the emptiness of space. There were no tell-tale twinkling stars to light up the emptiness. This was true emptiness, nothingness.

“Some of you have questions, and rest assured they will be addressed. You all are on the Slab, inside a universe yet to come. See this as a fresh start. You will think about a world that would be best for mankind. To make this easier: Shout the name of the person you want to work with and if they are here you will be brought to him or her. You can also shout the name of what you want, and you will have it.” People began shouting, names, probably loved ones and friends. Then a deep voice said: “A comfortable chair.” I could recognize that voice everywhere, and just like I expected, two seconds later I heard a grunt. My friend and colleague, Chomsky, sat in the distance. “Chomsky!” I teleported to him. “Well that was unnecessary, I could have walked here myself. Anyways, how are you, Chomsky?”

Chomsky, a reliable friend with a voice in which you could hear the many cigars he had smoked, said nothing. He was thinking. Using the only way I knew to get his attention, I neared him and said: “Humans are born knowledgeable.” That was so fundamentally wrong according to him, that he got snapped out of whatever state he was in. “No that’s not true!” After seeing my amused expression, he sighed. “How amusing, Blackburn.” The shouting was beginning to stop, and people were beginning to cluster together. “It was a joke.” For all what he was worth, for all his brilliance, Chomsky couldn’t handle jokes. Thankfully he forgave me most of the time when I made a joke. “Ask for a chair, Blackburn. Old fellows like us shouldn’t stand for too long.” I did just that, and two seconds later I sat down on a nice sofa, facing Chomsky. And that’s how our discussion started.

After three hours of discussion, there was one thing we both agreed on. That we could not create a utopia. We both liked to think about utopias in our free time, as a hobby of sorts. In the beginning, we still believed that a utopia was possible. Soon we realized that humans would not be humans if we lived in a perfect society. Mankind needs fear to know safety, pain to know pleasure, and hatred to know love. Everything needs to be balanced. Mankind could not live in a utopia. The way to create a world better than the one we left, was to intensify both sides. Because to lead a truly exceptional and worthy life, one needed intensity. All had to be balanced, so be it. That didn’t mean we couldn’t change the weights. So with a renewed vigor, we started designing a world. A world in which everyone could live a life worth living. A world bubbling with intensity. Primal and raw, that was how we wanted our world to be. Dangerous enough so that overpopulation would never be a problem.

Meaning was the holy pillar of the world. Yes, that was how we wanted it. Slowly, through constant discussion, our vision grew clearer. We were like madmen, papers with scribblings and schemes were produced by the second. Finally, our draft lay. Metaphysical rules written down on paper. The seed of a world. A savage world, but one that made us wish we were younger. So we could explore it. One thing left to do. I looked towards Chomsky, and he nodded. The honor was mine, with our draft in hand, I said: “God’s attention”.