Written in 1756 by Voltaire, this criticism of religious doctrine was one of the first examples of science fiction. This new translation by Jack Pownall accompanies his adaptation of Micromégas.

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Plato dreamt a great deal, and since his time people have not dreamt any less. He dreamt that, once upon a time, mankind had a dual form that, as punishment for their crimes, was divided into male and female.

He proved that there could only be five perfect worlds, because there are but five regular solids. His Republic was one of his great dreams. He even dreamt that sleep was borne from sleeplessness, and sleeplessness from sleep, and that you would surely lose your sight if you watched an eclipse by any means other than through a bowl of water. It was his dreams, then, which afforded him such a great reputation.

Here follows one of his dreams, and certainly one of his more interesting ones.

It seemed to him that the great Demiurge, the eternal geometer, who had populated infinite space with innumerable globes, wished to test the knowledge of those spirits who had stood witness to his great works. To each of them, he gave a small piece of matter to arrange, almost as Phidias and Zeuxis would have given statues and paintings to their pupils to work on, if one may compare small and great things.

Demogorgon was assigned the scrap of dirt we call the Earth. Having arranged it in the way we know it today, he claimed to have created a masterpiece, expecting to silence any jealousy amongst his comrades and even inspire them to praise. He was quite surprised therefore when he was instead met with hisses.

One of them, being very skilled in the art of telling jokes in poor taste, told him, ‘You have truly performed amazing work. You have split your world in two, and put a great body of water between the two hemispheres, so that there can be absolutely no communication between them. Everyone shall freeze to death under your two poles, or die from heatstroke under your equator. And how prudently have you set out these great deserts of sand, so that passersby may die of hunger and thirst!

‘I quite like your sheep, cows, and chickens; but honestly, I’m not too keen on your snakes and spiders. Your onions and artichokes are quite nice, but I don’t know what you were thinking when you covered the Earth with so many venomous plants, unless you were planning on poisoning its inhabitants.

‘Also, it seems that you have made about thirty different species of monkey, many more species of dog, but only four or five species of humans. I admit that you did give this last animal what you call reason, but I feel it is only fair to tell you that this reason is far too laughable, and rather resembles madness. On that note, you don’t seem to attach great importance to this two-legged animal, since you have given him so many enemies yet so little defence, so many illnesses yet so few cures, and so much passion yet so little wisdom. Evidently, you do not wish to see many of them remain on Earth, because—putting aside the dangers to which you have exposed them—you have done such an amazing job that one day the pox will decimate this species on a yearly basis, all while its sister will poison the life source of the nine parts that remain. And, as if that wasn’t enough already, you’ve arranged things so that half of the survivors will spend their days pleading for mercy, and the other half killing each other. They will no doubt be very grateful to you. You really have made yourself a lovely little masterpiece there.’

Demogorgon blushed. He did feel that there was both moral and physical wickedness in his work, but he argued that there was much more good than bad.

‘It is easy to criticise,’ he said. ‘But do you think it so simple to create an animal that is always reasonable, that is free, that never abuses his liberty? When you have nine or ten thousand plants to lay out, do you think it so easy to prevent a few of them from having harmful properties? Do you imagine that with a certain quantity of water, sand, mire and fire, there can be neither sea nor desert? My dear jokester, you have just laid out the planet Mars; shall we see how well you have done with your two large strips? How beautifully your nights shine without a moon? We shall see whether your people suffer from madness or sickness.’

Indeed, the spirits examined Mars and were quite harsh with its sneering creator. The serious spirit who had kneaded Saturn into shape was not spared either, while his comrades who had fabricated Jupiter, Mercury and Venus, each had to suffer some rebukes.

Great volumes and literature were written, quips were said, songs were written, fools were made, the factions became embittered, and finally the eternal Demiurge silenced all of them.

‘You have made both good and evil,’ he told them, ‘because you possess great intelligence, yet you are imperfect. Your works will persist but some hundred million years; after which, when you are more learned, you will do better. None but I can create perfect and immortal things.’

This is what Plato taught his pupils. When he ended his lesson, one of them said to him, ‘And then you woke up.’