Maq Masi Blog

An old man, weary from a long day of shopping, sank into his armchair. As he reached for his tea, an unusual scene caught his eye: his cat, Cleopatra, sat perched regally by the window; his dog, Max, sprawled comfortably on the floor; and his parrot, Polly, stood upright on her perch. All three seemed fixated on the television, which was airing a program on morality, ethics, and religion.

Intrigued, the old man chuckled. “What an audience. Well, what do you all think of this program?”

Polly tilted her head and let out a sharp laugh. “Rubbish,” she squawked. “It’s all human nonsense!”

The old man frowned. “Rubbish? What do you mean by that?”

Max, ever the peacemaker, wagged his tail and said, “She means it’s all made up—manmade stories. You know Polly, she’s never one to sugarcoat things.”

The old man turned to Cleopatra, who was observing the conversation with a detached yet knowing air. “And you, Cleopatra? Surely you have something to add.”

Cleopatra stretched luxuriously, her green eyes gleaming with a sharp intelligence. “It’s more than just manmade—it’s fabricated for their purpose,” she purred. “This program talks about humans as if they’re the pinnacle of creation, as if everything in the world was made for their benefit. But the truth? Humans are the most destructive of all animals.”

The old man leaned forward, startled by her bluntness. “That’s quite a claim. Surely you’re exaggerating?”

Polly ruffled her feathers, her tone sharp. “She’s right. Morality, ethics, religion—they’re tools humans invented to control each other, to justify their actions, and to feel superior. They make up these stories, call them truths, and expect everyone to fall in line. It’s laughable.”

Max nodded solemnly. “Think about it, master. Humans call themselves good, ethical, and kind, but look at what they do. They kill for sport, destroy the earth for profit, and then tell themselves it’s all part of some divine plan. They act as if the world belongs to them, as if they’re the only creatures that matter. But where’s the kindness in cruelty? Where’s the ethics in selfishness?”

Cleopatra’s voice, smooth and cutting, joined in. “And what about their tales of God, the soul, and the spirit? They rationalize and justify, but where’s the evidence? Who has seen these things? Humans fabricate these ideas because they fear the truth—they are mortal, fleeting, and no different from the rest of us. Yet they pretend to know everything, to own everything. It’s pathetic, really.”

The old man’s hand trembled slightly as he set his cup down. These were harsh words, and yet he couldn’t deny that they struck a chord. “You speak as though humans are only villains. But surely we’re not all bad? What about love, kindness, and compassion? Don’t those count for anything?”

Max’s tail wagged gently. “They do, master. But they’re not universal. For every act of kindness, there’s cruelty. For every moment of care, there’s neglect. Humans aren’t entirely evil, but they are blind. They see themselves as separate from nature, above it. But the world isn’t theirs alone—it belongs to all of us.”

The old man, still grappling with the harsh critiques, took a deep breath. “But surely morality isn’t all just control and fabrication? Some thinkers have argued for its deeper purpose—what about compassion and justice?”

Cleopatra, ever the intellectual, flicked her tail and spoke thoughtfully. “Consider the words of Friedrich Nietzsche in Beyond Good and Evil,” she began. “He argued that morality is nothing more than a construct of the powerful to maintain control. Good and evil are relative, created to serve societal hierarchies. Nietzsche would say that humans have used morality to stifle their true potential, binding themselves with chains of their own making.”

Max, who had been quiet for a moment, wagged his tail and countered. “But what about Viktor Frankl’s perspective in Man’s Search for Meaning? He believed morality stems from our capacity to find purpose, even in suffering. He argued that acts of kindness and love can elevate us, giving life meaning even in the darkest moments. It’s not all control, Cleopatra—morality can guide us toward connection and resilience.”

Polly, eager to stir the pot, chimed in. “And isn’t that the paradox? On one hand, morality limits humans, like Nietzsche said. On the other, it offers a lifeline in chaos, as Frankl believed. But what have humans done with these ideas? They turn morality into a weapon, cherry-picking what suits them and discarding the rest.”

Cleopatra nodded, her tone sharp. “Exactly. Nietzsche’s warning rings true. Morality, as it is practiced, often serves the powerful, not the weak. Even compassion can be wielded as a tool of manipulation. How many acts of charity are done for praise rather than genuine care?”

Max stood his ground, his voice steady. “And yet, Frankl’s words remind us that morality isn’t inherently flawed—it’s what humans do with it. There’s potential in moral principles to guide humanity toward better choices, if only they could see beyond their selfish desires.”

The old man sat back, overwhelmed by the weight of their arguments. For every critique, there seemed to be a counterpoint; for every flaw, a glimmer of purpose. Morality wasn’t simple—it was as complex and contradictory as the humans who created it. And perhaps that, in itself, was the truth.

Polly softened her tone, sensing the old man’s unease. “We’re not saying humans are hopeless, but they need to wake up. They need to stop hiding behind their stories and face reality. Look around you—nature thrives in balance, yet humans disrupt it in the name of progress.”

Cleopatra, ever the voice of logic, added, “Humans have potential. They’re capable of beauty, of connection, of great things. But they must stop pretending they’re superior. Accept that they’re part of nature, not above it. Only then can they find true peace—not just with themselves, but with the rest of us.”

The old man leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the television screen, though his mind was far away. He had spent his life believing in the stories humanity told—of dominion, of morality shaped by religion, of a world made for humans. But now, the wisdom of Cleopatra, Max, and Polly echoed in his mind. Could they be right? Had humanity strayed too far from its place in the natural order?

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice quiet. “If what you say is true, then there’s much for us to learn. Perhaps we’re not as wise as we think.”

Polly let out a dry chuckle. “Perhaps, master. The question is, will humans ever choose to learn?”

The old man nodded, a deep weariness settling over him. The world he thought he knew suddenly seemed more complex, more uncertain. In that uncertainty lay a stark reality—one that challenged everything he had believed.

The old man sat in silence, his mind swirling with thoughts. For all his years of life, for all the books he’d read and sermons he’d heard, it took a conversation with his cat, dog, and parrot to shake the foundations of his beliefs. He chuckled to himself, a wry smile forming on his lips. “I’ve spent my life thinking I was the clever one,” he murmured, “but here I am, realizing my animals are sharper than most humans I know—because we humans see the world through narratives, not individual experiences.”

Cleopatra, without missing a beat, flicked her tail and purred, “Of course we are. We see the world as it is, not as humans want it to be. You interpret everything through your stories, but we learn by exploring and experiencing directly. Our senses and instincts guide us to the truth.”

Max wagged his tail enthusiastically. “You humans complicate things, master. You try to fit everything into neat little boxes—good and evil, right and wrong. But life isn’t about boxes; it’s just life, plain and simple. Like me, I find my way through the world by relying on my immense sense of smell. That’s all I need to survive.”

Polly let out a sharp laugh, her feathers ruffling. “And that’s exactly the issue! Humans see only what they want to see, not what’s really there. You’re trapped in your heads, tangled in your narratives. But we? We’re free to see the world for what it is. When I fly above, I observe the world, find my food, and live without overthinking it.”

The old man sighed, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps the way humans see the world isn’t the way it truly is. But I’ll tell you one thing—I’ll never look at you three the same way again.”

Cleopatra gave a regal nod, her eyes half-closing in satisfaction. “Good. It’s about time.”

Max barked joyfully, his tail wagging, and Polly let out another laugh, sharp and triumphant. The old man leaned back in his chair, a mix of amusement and humility washing over him. It seemed the cleverest beings in the room weren’t the ones watching television for answers—they were the ones who’d been watching him all along.

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