Readers will recall that the technique of isolation, separate development, and re-combination is extensively used in the evolutionary process.
The grand universe itself is divided into the seven superuniverses, each of which is kept so isolated from the others that not even a message can be transmitted from one to another except through the Paradise clearinghouse of the master spirits. Upon the settling of all seven in light and life, the superuniverses will begin to interact with one another directly—and what a stupendous revelation that will be. Each of the superuniverses is reflective of a different master spirit, and the master spirits are very different from one another. Each superuniverse will be very surprising to the others, and no doubt their combination will take eons, but the result will be the completion of Supremacy, which (probably) could not have been achieved in any other way.
Something of the same could be said about the local universes, but their isolation is not as total as the superuniverses.
But a real echo of the technique at the planetary level is seen in the separation of the races. Here, the races are deliberately planned to repel one another, so that they migrate to different continents (or fight one another), where they develop their different civilizations. These different races are then re-combined to bring about a unified culture exhibiting the best characteristics of the separate civilizations, and uplifted by blending with the violet race.
In these instances we may think of isolation as being an essential ingredient of evolutionary growth—part of the technique of Supremacy.
The fact that it has all gone wrong on Urantia does not alter this conclusion. On normal planets it works.
Indeed, it is the very fact that it hasn’t worked here (yet) which provides us with the opportunity to demonstrate the rewards of isolation in our own way.
The rebellion isolated Satania within Norlatiadek and Urantia within Satania, and the default meant the continuation of the isolation. So now we have the Urantia Book, and the possibility of Agondonter status.
In addition, however, we have the possibility of evolving a unique way of recombining the various strands of our isolation into that planetary culture which will be our very unusual form of light and life. My expectation is that Urantia’s form of light and life will be pretty different from that of more normal planets, and maybe it will be rather a surprise to the rest of Nebadon. But we won’t know that any time soon, of course.
It does seem to me that Australia and New Zealand are particularly well placed to ponder this question. We have experienced geographical isolation from the main centers of planetary development for most of our history, only recently coming to think of ourselves as part of the mainstream. And in Australia, (probably more than New Zealand), we have experienced isolation from one another until fairly recently, as a small population spread over a very large landmass. It may be true that most of us now live in cities with good transport and communication systems between them, but this is recent. Much of our history, and certainly our traditions, are stories of the lonely struggles of isolated individuals and small groups against an unpredictable landscape.
This experience has given us a certain outlook—a perspective on existence—which comes to terms with isolation in constructive ways. The small team struggling to achieve some goal, isolated from its fellow men and up against vast natural obstacles is the paradigm experience of Australians. I think New Zealanders share this in their own way, though their geography is different.
It doesn’t take much of a leap of imagination to see the readers of the Urantia Book in an analogous position. We constitute a tiny proportion of the planetary population, scattered hither and yon among the population at large, desperately trying to interest our fellow men in the most significant body of information to appear on the planet for 2000 years.
The small team, up against the odds, seems to fit.