There once was an old Bedouin, who, sensing that his death was imminent,
gathered together his three sons and signified his last wishes to
them. To the eldest, he bequeathed half his inheritance, to the second one
quarter, and to the third one sixth. As he said this, he died, leaving his sons
in perplexity, for the inheritance in question consisted of eleven camels.
How were they to respect the old man's will ? Should they kill those of
the camels whose division seemed prescribed, and share the meat among
them ? Was this the required filial piety? Did their father really want them to
prove their love by accepting this loss? Or had he made a mistake, distracted
or weakened by his imminent death ? In fact, at least one error was
obvious, because one-half plus a quarter plus a sixth do not make one.

Yetto inherit on the basis of an interpretation that disqualifies a last wish, is
this not to insult to the dead? And in this case, moreover, how could one
divide ? Who would take away the remainder of the division ? All the ingredients
were there for a fratricidal war. The three brothers nevertheless
decided to try to avoid the war, that is, to wager that a solution could
exist. This means that they went to see the old sage who so often plays a
role in such stories. This old sage, on this occasion, told them that he
could not do anything for them except to offer them what might perhaps
help them: his old camel, skinny and half-blind. The inheritance now
counted twelve camels: the eldest took six of them, the second three, the
youngest two, and the old camel was returned to the old sage.

What did the twelfth camel accomplish ? By its presence, it made possible
what seemed contradictory, simultaneously obeying the father's wishes,
discovering the possi bility of respecting their terms, and not destroying
the value of the inheritance.

--- I.Stengers, Thinking with Whitehead