“Hawking himself admits,” I began, “that he has two unsolved problems, the problem of the beginning and the problem of the end, which are of course not separate from each other. The first problem is connected to Guth’s theory about the inflationary expansion, during which the universe expanded at a rapidly increasing rate in the first split seconds after the big bang. And the second problem is what’s going to happen to the universe in the end. Hawking denies the possibility that the universe will go on slowly expanding forever, since the force of gravity, which I was surprised to read is the weakest of all the forces of nature, but which is also strong because it has no antithesis, will increase in the expanding universe until the gravity and the expansion balance each other and the universe stops expanding. But in this case we have to ask, where’s the symmetry between the dramatic, mysterious, incomprehensible beginning of the big bang, which from a point of zero size but also of infinite density, gave birth to this whole tremendous universe — between that and what will remain in the end, a kind of static universe without any movement, in which a perfect and absolute balance between gravity and expansion will pertain? What’s the connection between the beginning and the end? This is what I ask myself. Are you with me?” He nodded hesitantly. Presumably he was already dying to correct me, but he restrained himself. “It simply doesn’t make sense for there to be a beginning that has no identity or connection with the end. Because that would mean that there was a beginning to time and there was some intention in this beginning, and they’ll still say there’s a God too, which Hawking categorically denies. And in the last chapter he says that we have to assume that just as the universe began with a big bang, it will end in a big crunch, with complete contraction and collapse, and then there’ll be a connection between the beginning and the end, which will turn into the beginning again, for this is the only conceivable cycle.” A worried, suspicious expression now appeared on Amnon’s face, as if he felt that his friend was beginning to say things that were completely illogical, and even childish. But I hurried on, to forestall him until I came to my main point. “In brief, what I want you to think about, because it’s possible that there a lot of things I don’t understand here, is that the shrinking of the universe will not take place according to the physical laws of expansion and gravity, which Hawking and the others have a problem with, but will be accomplished by the human spirit, because spirit isn’t something alien to the universe. Even the first minute particle, which possessed zero volume but infinite density, and from which the big bang began — you yourselves say that not only all the material possibilities we see before us were inherent in it, but also all the laws of physics, chemistry, and biology. In short everything, including ourselves as biological entities, and of course our thoughts too, and our feelings, in other words the whole human spirit, was inherent in that point of departure. And therefore it’s this spirit which will shrink the universe back to the original starting point, which was, in the last resort, what? If Hawking himself says that it was like a particle whose volume was zero but whose density was infinite, what’s that? Matter? No, only spirit, or what I call spirit.”
“I don’t understand exactly what you mean by spirit,” Amnon began to stammer. “You know very well what I mean, and don’t start splitting hairs with me now,” I said angrily. “Spirit. Thought. What we’re doing now. What you do in your lab, what you do at your desk. Searching for the law, for the principle behind things. Take this motorcycle — it’s built of matter but it has a spirit too, which succeeds in raising this piece of iron from its place and making it race over the road in opposition to the laws of gravity and moving it from place to place in opposition to the laws of distance. And so on and so forth. Nuclear power too, which can explode something and turn it into nothing, into pure energy. And one day we’ll have the power to explode a star, or bring it closer, or to destroy an entire galaxy. To make human beings smaller, scale them down into a more compact, more durable model, maybe change a few parts — a tiny transistor instead of a heart to supervise the circulation of the blood, and maybe one day in the future we’ll be able to get rid of that too and leave only the brain, and reduce even that to a kind of computer chip which will carry out all its functions, and later on do away with individual distinctions, because there’s no need for so many people. A human principle is enough, with everybody’s thoughts connected to one pool, and so matter will gradually shrink until it turns into spirit — in other words, until it turns the entire universe into the point from which it all began, where density was infinite and the space-time curve was infinite, which is an attribute not of matter but of spirit. Doesn’t that sound simple to you?” Amnon finally removed his helmet and began to scratch his curly head. He seemed to have lost touch with what I was saying, which probably sounded like a lot of literary hot air to him. “What you say may be interesting, it may even be possible,” he said tactfully, but without any real enthusiasm, obviously disappointed in my words, which he did not even consider worth arguing with. “But believe me, Benjy, it’s not relevant to anything said by Hawking or the others. What you’re saying is mysticism, and the fact that you’re a good doctor makes no difference. I’ve always said that medicine isn’t a science.” And suddenly my enthusiasm for my ideas, and for the debate about them, disappeared. “You may be right,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t matter.” And after a pause I added, “It was a nice wedding. I usually hate weddings, but this one was so quiet and pleasant, I wouldn’t mind getting married there myself.” Then I felt an urge to confess to him, to share something of my life with him in exchange for the disappointment I had caused him with my childish theory. “And maybe I really will get married soon,” I added. “You hear me, Amnon? Seriously. I’m warning you, I may get married very soon, and you may have to come down to the Arava again for my wedding.” He sat on the ground, tired, his head bowed, without looking at me or taking what I said too seriously, his eyes fixed on a big black crow that had suddenly appeared among the branches of the tree, where it sat with its head cocked, staring at us so intently with its black eyes that it was impossible to tell if it was afraid of us or, on the contrary, was about to dart down and attack us.
Part Three. Death
Eleven
But I didn’t get married in the Arava. My wedding took place in a small hall in the middle of downtown Jerusalem. In spite of the pleasant memory of the kibbutz wedding, my parents could see no logical reason for dragging their guests, some of whom came from England especially for the ceremony, to a kibbutz in the middle of the desert. Michaela’s parents, who were separated and who had left the kibbutz many years before, did not have the same emotional ties to their old home as Michaela did, and since they were unable to share the expense of the wedding, they gave my parents a free hand to choose the site as they saw fit. In fact, they seemed somewhat indifferent to their daughter’s wedding, for even though Michaela was not as young as I had imagined — she was just a few months older than I was — her parents were not upset by her remaining single, either because they thought that a girl as independent as Michaela did not need a husband to look after her, or because they believed that the moment she decided to marry she would have no problem finding a candidate. Accordingly, when I was presented to them, separately, as their future son-in-law, I was disappointed to see that they both accepted me very naturally and were not in the least impressed by the fact that the man standing before them was a certified physician with a secure future ahead of him, as if their Michaela could go up to anyone she liked and command him, Marry me! Although in this case it was the other way around: I had asked Michaela to marry me, and she had not refused, perhaps in accordance with the gentle Buddhist philosophy that we were not two souls entering into an eternal bond but only two flowing rivers, each secure in the depth and independence of its own current, and would not be endangered if our waters intermingled slightly.