XI

The Scientist

AS THE OWNER REACHED THE DOOR again, a rather elderly man came up the steps, carrying a cane, which he tapped on each step.

"It seems solid enough," he said to himself. "But then, I suppose it would. I wonder how I could get a test of it. But I suppose I can't, in my condition."

"May I help you?" asked the owner.

"Interesting. It even seems to talk. I wonder if it'll answer me. Let's see, what'll I ask it? . . . Well, why not? Do you really exist?"

"Oh, yes," was the answer.

"So I can actually carry on a conversation." He turned to the owner. "This is a fascinating experience for me. I've had dreams, but nothing this vivid before. Of course, I'm terribly sick, and it must be because of the stress."

"Actually, you're not sick any more, you know."

"Are you my projection of the surgeon? You don't look like him."

"No, he's still in the other country, and will be there for quite a while yet."

"Then you must be the result of the stories I heard when I was a child. I suppose that's what would happen, now that I think of it. They'd always been associated with death, and now that I'm at death's door, the old associations come back. It just goes to show that we don't really forget anything, doesn't it?"

"You're right, you don't. But you're not at death's door, you know."

The man chuckled. "Oh, I doubt if I'm going to recover. No, this will be one 'near death experience' that won't get into any book, because I'll never be able to tell about it."

"Tell me: Why are you so convinced that you haven't actually died?"

"Well, I can't have can I? I'm still conscious. You know. 'Nox est una perpetua dormienda.' That's Catullus."

"Yes, I know Catullus. He has a room in there, and you can meet him later, if you'd like. But he's not asleep, let alone perpetually, because in fact there's no night here. No one sleeps here at all; they all find life too interesting."

"And I suppose no one ever gets tired."

"As a matter of fact, no."

"Well, if you're going to live forever, I guess that's what it'd have to be like. But the only problem is that it violates the laws of physics."

"And so?"

"And so I'm dreaming. It's an interesting dream though, I'll admit. I wonder how long it'll last."

"That's a question that doesn't have an answer. There isn't any long time or short time in this country, because there isn't any time at all. It's like asking what the color green sounds like."

"There you are again. Time is the fundamental constant of physics. --Well, actually, so are mass and length. But you understand what I mean. --Of course you have to understand, don't you, because you're a projection of my own brain."

"I'm not, you know."

"I have to admit you don't seem to be. In fact, what I'm experiencing now is far more vivid and realistic even than most of my waking experiences up to this point. That's what's interesting about all this. You saw me tapping at the steps, and they sounded just as if they were real marble. I'll bet they feel like it too."

"Try it."

The man bent down and ran his hand along the smooth surface of the stairway. "I thought as much. It has to be the extreme stress my body is under."

"Or that you've died."

"But I told you, I haven't lost consciousness yet. It's not an alternative worth considering."

"Why not? There are a lot of people who have considered it, even over in your country, and have come to the conclusion that life doesn't end with death. Even physicists."

"Well of course, because there are people who can't bear the thought of ceasing to exist. For my own part, I have no problem with that. Life's good enough in its own way, I suppose, but there's not a great deal to it, in the last analysis. And if I can't get over this cancer--and there's no reason to believe I can--then I'd just as soon end everything rather than string out a painful existence for a few more years. After all, we go to sleep every night, and as far as we know, you might say, we go out of existence. So what's there to be terrified of?"

"How about

'the thought of--something--after death,

the undiscovered country from whose bourne

no traveler returns'--

as long as you're quoting."

He laughed. "All I can say is it doesn't puzzle my will. And of course, if what I see here is what it's like--which I don't for a minute admit--then even then there's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

"Well, it's true that no one is going to do anything to you--except yourself, of course. There's that."

"Well, I've always taken care of myself. There's no reason I'd change at this late date. So I'm not worried. But actually, this is all silly, you know. I don't need to pretend that I'm immortal; I'm quite satisfied with having lived as long as I have."

"I know. That's one reason we called you. Not the only one--or the main one, for that matter."

"You're not going to stop trying to convince me that I'm not dreaming, are you? I'm interested to see how you'd do it."

"It does seem rather difficult, now that you mention it."

"Of course it does. You're not dealing with a gullible fool here; I've devoted my whole life to science--to observation of what I can see and touch and measure, and to drawing the necessary conclusions based on that observation."

"And so you'll now deny the evidence of your sight and touch because of some dogma you have that says you can't actually be seeing and touching anything."

"Clever, aren't you?"

"What's the matter? Why don't you trust the evidence of your senses?"

"Well, you see, I happen to know that I'm very sick, and undergoing a serious operation. I also know that under extreme conditions, hallucinations are possible. I never held that we should always trust the evidence of our senses. For instance, my sense of sight and touch tell me that this marble--assuming, of course, that it's real marble--is continuous and solid; but I happen to know that it's mostly space. But, you see, that's a conclusion that's based on the evidence of the senses and measurement."

"And how do you know you could trust the evidence of the senses that these conclusions are based on?"

"It's obvious. Don't be silly."

"And somehow it's not obvious that you're actually looking at me. What's the difference?"

"Listen. If I could see you at a time when I was in good health, and didn't have any reason to believe that I might be seeing things like this based on my body's instinctive aversion to death, then you might be able to make out a case. I'd be willing to let you try, even under those conditions--though frankly, people have been trying and failing to make a case for this nonsense for centuries, and I can't see, based on your performance so far, that you'd be able to do any better."

"But how do you know that all past attempts have been failures, Sir?" said the owner. "Our research indicates that you never bothered to look at any case that was made for my existence."

"Well of course not. Why should I? I have better things to do with my time. I was engaged in serious research, after all. I didn't investigate the case people allegedly were making for astrology or witchcraft or ghosts either."

"So you just took the word of those who held to the same dogmas you hold to when they said that any argument for my existence had no merit."

"Just a minute, now. You've mentioned the word 'dogma' twice here in connection with science; and this time I'm not going to let you get away with it. I subscribe to no dogma. Anything I hold is subject to being tested."

"Oh yes? How do you test the notion that everything that exists is measurable?"

"Really! You ought to be able to do better than that. If there's anything that's been tested thoroughly, it's that one."

"Indeed? When no one has ever been able to measure human consciousness?"

"Nonsense! Human consciousness has been measured. It's nothing but neural impulses."

"It is? Then how is it that the nerves can be active and there is no consciousness below what you scientists call the 'threshold of perception'--and how is it that entirely different kinds of consciousness, like seeing and hearing, are exactly the same kind of energy--and how is it that when the threshold of perception is reached, the neural output is completely unaffected, even if consciousness suddenly appears. I thought energy was neither created nor destroyed."

"Look, I suppose I have to get through this period somehow, but couldn't we stop arguing about it? We'd have to set up experiments to find the answer to those questions, and we're certainly not in a position to do that here. But I might as well tell you that I don't have the slightest qualm that the experiments would do anything but confirm that consciousness, like anything else, is simply a form of energy, and is measurable like everything else."

"All right. You were the one who challenged me to go on with this, remember; and I'll stop with just this remark: You claim that no one has been able to prove that I exist, and presumably because of this lack of what you call evidence, you explain away what certainly seems to you to be evidence that I do in fact exist. On the other hand, no one so far has ever succeeded in measuring consciousness; and yet you don't take this lack of evidence as a reason for believing that consciousness is not measurable. Do you see now why I used the word 'dogma'?"

"Have it your way, then; I'm not going to argue with you."

"Very well. Shall I show you to your room now?"

"Oh, is that what's supposed to happen? Lead on, then. That would certainly be a better way to while away the time than getting involved in silly discussions."

The two walked down a long, dark, corridor, which had doors spaced farther and farther apart. Finally, the owner reached a very ornate door on the left, inserted his key, and opened it, letting the man pass in before him.

"Well!" exclaimed the man. "This is really magnificent! Considering that I've always held everything you stood for in contempt, I would hardly have expected anything as sumptuous as this."

"Well, you see, we try to make allowances for sincere ignorance. It was our opinion that if you hadn't been brainwashed, if I may say so, by your upbringing, you would have followed me gladly; and we take that sort of thing as the equivalent of actually accepting me. We, you see, are willing--you might even say eager--to accept others for what they are, as long as they take us for what we are."

"But you're not going to bribe me even now, you realize," was his answer, "no matter how luxurious you make this room I'm supposed to have. I can't give up the facts for a fiction, no matter how pleasant it might be."

"You'll notice we're not asking you to. The room is yours if you accept it--the suite actually; that door leads into a study, and there is even a small laboratory through that other door to the left, where you can continue the research you are so interested in."

"You know, it's odd," said the man. "You'd think I'd be having nightmares now, considering what's happening to me; and yet I don't think I've ever had a more enjoyable dream. It's not every day you win an argument with God, after all!" He laughed.

"If you think you've won. But we can let that pass also. The only really important question is whether you find your room satisfactory, and one you'd be willing to stay in."

"As to that, of course, if I had to stay forever, I think I could manage quite well--except for one thing."

"What is that?"

"There are no windows in it."

"That's true. You see, we build the rooms to the person's specifications, and yours didn't include windows."

"I don't understand. How will I look out and see other people? --Come to think of it, there weren't any doors within hundreds of feet of this one. Why am I so isolated?"

"We thought that was what you preferred"

"What I preferred! You mustn't know very much about me after all, then. You know, that's interesting; this is the first slip you've made--the first thing I wouldn't have been able to predict from all the legends about this place."

"Why do you think we don't know much about you?"

"Why, because if there's anything I enjoy, it's being with people. Whenever I wasn't in the lab, you'd find me at a friend's house, enjoying his company."

"Precisely. Enjoying his company. You found other people entertaining."

"Well, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing at all. It's just that you always thought of others in terms of their entertainment value to you or some other use they had to make your life more fulfilling or pleasant. It never entered your mind to be interested in anyone else for his own sake."

"Aha! I understand now. The 'altruism' foolishness. All right, you're predictable again. Why should I consider someone else 'for his own sake'? After all, I'm the source of my actions; so what reason is there for making anyone else the goal of my acts?--even if I could."

"Oh, you can. People do, you know."

"They say they do; but they're just self-deluded hypocrites who get their own satisfaction in sacrificing themselves for others. The only difference between them and me is that I'm honest about my relations to other people. I say that I enjoy them, because they amuse me or are useful to me. I don't pretend that my enjoyment of them is an abandonment of myself."

"Yes, we know that. In fact, it's your fierce honesty that has brought you this far. You are honest with yourself in your self-centeredness in many ways. You will not pursue some pleasure if it means violating some other aspect of yourself; and you recognize that a part of yourself in a sense is your social self--and so you have never done any actual harm to anyone else, or extorted unwilling service to yourself from anyone else. You have fulfilled the law, in fact."

"Well, I suppose I should be grateful that the law I set for myself would be the one you regard as your law."

"There's nothing surprising in that. You found that law in your own nature; and I made that nature, with its law. The trick, of course, as you say, is in being honest with yourself and not pretending that you aren't what you are."

"Well, I think I've managed rather well in that respect," said the man.

"You have done a remarkable job, considering how difficult it is," answered the owner. "That is why the room is as ornately decorated as it is. It is just that you overlooked one detail."

"You mean the altruism aspect."

"Precisely. You see, even though you have fulfilled your objective reality and have not tried to pretend that you could substitute your idea of what you would like to be for what you really are, you did not notice that, objectively speaking, you are no more worthy of fulfillment than any other human being. What makes you superior to other humans that you should be the exclusive goal of your own or of anyone's acts? Nothing but the accident of your being the source of the acts."

"And isn't that enough?"

"No, because who it is who fulfills a person does not have any bearing on whether the person is worthy of being fulfilled. And you are objectively no more worthy of being fulfilled than anyone else."

"We're getting into conundrums again."

"Bear with me a minute more, and then I'll explain why I am telling you this. No one is asking you to sacrifice yourself or do harm to yourself for someone else's sake. But just as you have used others for your own fulfillment without doing them any harm, so no harm is done to you if you exert yourself in helping someone else find fulfillment. Objectively, this is as laudable an act as the other.

"Now this is why I am telling you this: You see that there are no windows in this room. No one on this side of the ocean can be used for the fulfillment of anyone else; each person is complete in himself, as he has made himself by his choices in the other country. And what that means is that the only contact you have with anyone else over here is if, before you get here, you have been interested in that person for his own sake, and not for what you can get out of him. Then you have a window to see into his life, but only then.

"You are a sincere and honest person, but misguided in this respect because of a view that you thought reasonable; and we wanted to make sure that you didn't inadvertently bring upon yourself an eternity of isolation. This was the only way we could find to do it."

The owner's face now became stern, and his tone hardened. "I am not going to indulge you further with argument. I have stopped playing games. I am in fact real, this is no flight of fancy; it is the eternity that faces you. But I am not going to accept you into this country at this time; I am sending you back, and when you wake up shortly, you will remember this as a near-death experience.

"Your problem then will be to decide whether what you are now experiencing was a hallucination brought on by stress, or whether it was what I am telling you it is: a warning of what is going to happen to you if you continue as you have been living. You have been warned. When I see you back again, you will no longer have the excuse that you were ignorant. Your refusal to accept it will be the result of a deliberate choice."

The man stood silent in open-mouthed shock, and as the owner finished, he began to fade away. Voices seemed to echo in the room, as from far off, "Wait! I think I saw his eyelids flutter! I think he's reviving! We haven't lost him after all!"