Wooden tablets, covered with strange hieroglyphs, were also found on some of the statues in those days. But today it is impossible to find more than ten fragments of those tablets in all the museums in the world, and none of the inscriptions on those still extant has yet been deciphered.

Thor Heyerdahl’s investigations of these mysterious giants produced three clearly distinguishable cultural periods, and the oldest of the three seems to have been the most perfect. Heyerdahl dates some charcoal remains that he found to about A.D. 400. It has not been proved whether the fireplaces and remains of bones had any connection with the stone colossuses. Heyerdahl discovered hundreds of unfinished statues near rock faces and on the edges of craters; thousands of stone implements, simple stone axes, lay around as if the work had been abandoned quite suddenly.

Easter Island lies far away from any continent or civilization. The islanders are more familiar with the moon and the stars than any other country. No trees grow on the island, which is a tiny speck of volcanic stone. The usual explanation, that the stone giants were moved to their present sites on wooden rollers, is not feasible in this case, either. In addition, the island can scarcely have provided food for more than 2,000 inhabitants. (A few hundred natives live on Easter Island today.) A shipping trade, which brought food and clothing to the island for the stonemasons, is hardly credible in antiquity. Then who cut the statues out of the rock, who carved them and transported them to their sites? How were they moved across country for miles without rollers? How were they dressed, polished, and erected? How were the hats, the stone for which came from a different quarry from that of the statues, put in place?

Even if people with lively imaginations have tried to picture the Egyptian pyramids being built by a vast army of workers using the “heave-ho” method, a similar method would have been impossible on Easter Island for lack of manpower. Even 2,000 men, working day and night, would not be nearly enough to carve these colossal figures out of the steel-hard volcanic stone with rudimentary tools—and at least a part of the population must have tilled the barren fields, gone fishing, woven cloth, and made ropes. No, 2,000 men alone could not have made the gigantic statues. And a larger population is inconceivable on Easter Island. Then who did do the work? And how did they manage it? And why do the statues stand around the edge of the island and not in the interior? What cult did they serve?

Unfortunately, the first European missionaries on this tiny patch of earth helped to ensure that the island’s dark ages stayed dark. They burned the tablets with hieroglyphic characters; they prohibited the ancient cults of the gods and did away with every kind of tradition. Yet thoroughly as the pious gentlemen went to work, they could not prevent the natives from calling their island the Land of the Bird Men, as they still do today. An orally transmitted legend tells us that flying men landed and lighted fires in ancient times. The legend is confirmed by sculptures of flying creatures with big, staring eyes.

Connections between Easter Island and Tiahuanaco automatically force themselves upon us. There as here, we find stone giants belonging to the same style. The haughty faces with their stoic expressions suit the statues—here as there. When Francisco Pizarro questioned the Incas about Tiahuanaco in 1532, they told him that no man had ever seen the city save in ruins, for Tiahuanaco had been built in the night of mankind. Traditions call Easter Island the “navel of the world.” It is more than 3,125 miles from Tiahuanaco to Easter Island. How can one culture possibly have inspired the other?

Perhaps pre-Inca mythology can give us a hint here. In it the old god of creation, Viracocha, was an ancient and elemental divinity. According to tradition Viracocha created the world when it was still dark and had no sun; he sculpted a race of giants from stone, and when they displeased him, he sank them in a deep flood. Then he caused the sun and the moon to rise above Lake Titicaca, so that there was light on earth. Yes, and then—read this closely—he shaped clay figures of men and animals at Tiahuanaco and breathed life into them. Afterward, he instructed these living creatures of his own creation in language, customs, and arts, and finally flew some of them to different continents which they were supposed to inhabit thenceforth. After this task the god Viracocha and two assistants traveled to many countries to check how his instructions were being followed and what results they had had. Dressed as an old man, Viracocha wandered over the Andes and along the coast, and often he was given a poor reception. Once, at Cacha, he was so annoyed by his welcome that in a fury he set fire to a cliff which began to burn up the whole country. Then the ungrateful people asked his forgiveness, whereupon he extinguished the flames with a single gesture. Viracocha traveled on, giving instructions and advice, and many temples were erected to him as a result. Finally he said good-bye in the coastal province of Manta and disappeared over the ocean, riding on the waves, but he said he intended to come back.

The Spanish conquistadors who conquered South and Central America came up against the sagas of Viracocha everywhere. Never before had they heard of gigantic white men who came from somewhere in the sky. Full of astonishment, they learned about a race of sons of the sun who instructed mankind in all kinds of arts and disappeared again. And in all the legends that the Spaniards heard, there was an assurance that the sons of the sun would return.

Although the American continent is the home of ancient cultures, our accurate knowledge of America is barely 1,000 years old. It is an absolute mystery to us why the Incas cultivated cotton in Peru in 3000 B.C., although they did not know or possess the loom. The Mayas built roads but did not use the wheel, although they knew about it. The fantastic five-strand necklace of green jade in the burial pyramid of Tikal in Guatemala is a miracle. A miracle because the jade comes from China. The sculptures of the Olmecs are incredible. With their beautifully helmeted giant skulls, they can be admired only on the sites where they were found, for they will never be on show in a museum. No bridge in the country could stand their weight. We can move smaller “monoliths” weighing up to fifty tons with our modern lifting appliances and loaders, but when it comes to hundred-tonners like these our technology breaks down. But our ancestors could transport and dress them. How?

It even seems as if the ancient peoples took a special pleasure in juggling with stone giants over hill and dale. The Egyptians fetched their obelisk from Aswan, the architects of Stonehenge brought their stone blocks from southwest Wales and Marlborough, the stonemasons of Easter Island took their ready-made monster statues from a distant quarry to their present sites, and no one can say where some of the monoliths at Tiahuanaco come from. Our remote ancestors must have been strange people; they liked making things difficult for themselves and always built their statues in the most impossible places. Was it just because they liked a hard life?

I refuse to think that the artists of our great past were as stupid as that. They could just as easily have erected their statues and temples in the immediate vicinity of the quarries if an old tradition had not laid down where their works ought to be sited. I am convinced that the Inca fortress of Sacsahuamán was not built above Cuzco by chance, but rather because a tradition indicated the place as a holy spot. I am also convinced that in all the places where the most ancient monumental buildings of mankind were found the most interesting and important relics of our past lie still untouched in the ground, relics, moreover, which could be of tremendous importance for the further development of present-day space travel.

The unknown space travelers who visited our planet many thousands of years ago can hardly have been less farsighted than we think we are today. They were convinced that one day man would make the move out into the universe on his own initiative, using his own skills.

It is a well-known historical fact that the intelligences of our planet have constantly sought for kindred spirits, for life, for corresponding intelligences in the cosmos.

Present-day antennae and transmitters have broadcast the first radio impulses to unknown intelligences. When we shall receive an answer—in ten, fifteen, or a hundred years—we do not know. We do not even know which star we should beam our message at, because we have no idea which planet should interest us most. Where do our signals reach unknown intelligences similar to human beings? We do not know. Yet there is much to support the belief that the information needed to reach our goal is deposited in our earth for us. We are trying hard to neutralize the force of gravity; we are experimenting with elementary particles and antimatter. Are we also doing enough to find the data which are hidden in our earth, so that we can at last ascertain our original home?

If we take things literally, much that was once fitted into the mosaic of our past with great difficulty becomes quite plausible: not only the relevant clues in ancient texts but also the “hard facts” which offer themselves to our critical gaze all over the globe. Lastly, we have our reason to think with.

So it will be man’s ultimate insight to realize that his justification for existence to date and all his struggles to advance really consisted in learning from the past in order to make himself ready for contact with the existence in space. Once that happens, the shrewdest, most die-hard individualist must see that the whole human task consists in colonizing the universe and that man’s whole spiritual duty lies in perpetuating all his efforts and practical experience. Then the promise of the “gods” that peace will come on earth and that the way to heaven is open can come true.

As soon as the available authorities, powers, and intellects are devoted to space research, the results will make the absurdity of terrestrial wars abundantly clear. When men of all races, peoples, and nations unite in the supranational task of making journeys to distant planets technically feasible, the earth with all its mini-problems will fall back into its right relation with the cosmic processes.

Occultists can put out their lamps, alchemists destroy their crucibles, secret brotherhoods take off their cowls. It will no longer be possible to offer man the nonsense that has been purveyed to him so brilliantly for thousands of years. Once the universe opens its doors, we shall attain a better future.

I base the reasons for my skepticism about the interpretation of our remote past on the knowledge that is available today. If I admit to being a skeptic, I mean the word in the sense in which Thomas Mann used it in a lecture in the twenties: “The positive thing about the skeptic is that he considers everything possible!”