Dialogue on Suffering

[Begin full fiction mode. This was based on nothing but my imagination. To pretend to be not totally arrogant, I’m going to put my arguments in the mouth of the character Paul. But even that’s pretty presumptuous. I suppose that’s an inherent problem with dialogue. It’s like playing chess with yourself. Of course you’re going to win. So watch as one figment of my imagination totally works another. So here goes another attempt at this medium:]

I was walking with my good friend Paul (he’s from a place called Tarsus, right off I-5, if you know where that is). We were enjoying the crisp January air when we saw our mutual friend, Job.

“Good day, Job!” said I.

“What is good about it?” he asked.

“Light and life and breath, to begin with,” said Paul. “We live in a wonderfully ordered world under an astonishing heaven ruled by a Good God.”

“Good God?” asked Job sarcastically. “How can you dare to say that? And to me, of all people? Don’t you know that He killed my ten children? Don’t you know that this has been my daily torture for these long years?”

“Dear Job,” said Paul, “I have wept with you about your children. And I have walked with you through those valleys. But this attitude is unbecoming. What alchemy has transmuted your sadness into anger? What has made the pure cold gold of mourning into the boiling lead of rage?”

“It is only rational,” Job retorted. “Rage is the only proper response to so blatant an offense. What have I done to deserve this? What possible good is it accomplishing? And even if there is some good, could it not be accomplished with less suffering?”

“These are all excellent questions,” said Paul. “To answer them, I will need to tell a story and you will need to do a bit of imagining. Would you like me to answer your questions?”

“Though I know it is a dangerous thing to do with you, I will play your game.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Paul. “Imagine a woman is pregnant. The pregnancy is complicated and the woman dies in childbirth. The woman’s husband and now father of the child names him Jamal. Jamal’s doctors notice that he looks blue. He is worked up and diagnosed with Tetralogy of Fallot, a birth defect of the heart. Untreated, Jamal has slightly better than even odds that he’ll make it to his fourth birthday and almost no chance of seeing adulthood. The doctors tell Jamal’s father that there is a cure, but it will require multiple, painful heart surgeries. What should Jamal’s father do?”

“He should get the surgeries.”

“But wait,” said Paul. “He is causing terrible pain to his own son. He’ll have to spend countless days in a nightmarish hospital, away from the sounds and sights and smells of home. It will involve a hundred needle sticks that Jamal will not understand, tape and tubes, beeping and buzzing. For his first few years of life, Jamal will several times be thrown into a whirlpool of confusion and pain.”

“Yes. But it will be for his own good. Several short years of pain will lead to a tenfold longer life.”

“Alright. But shouldn’t we get the consent of someone before performing a procedure on them?” asked Paul.

“If it is possible. But here, it’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because Jamal cannot understand,” said Job. “He doesn’t understand about the genetic inheritance patterns, ventral septal defects, the failure to adequately oxygenate blood. He can’t even know about adequate hydration and the need for a needle stick and IV fluids, let alone the complexities of cardiothoracic surgery. ‘Informed consent,’ requires that a person understand at least the very basics of their condition and the procedure. Jamal, being a newborn, cannot understand these things. His father must make the decision for him.”

“So you think that when someone cannot give informed consent, the decision should fall to another?”

“Yes. In this case, the father is clearly the one who has the responsibility to care for him and to make decisions on his behalf until he is old enough to make his own decisions.”

“So now imagine,” said Paul, “that it’s four years down the road, and though he should be cured, Jamal’s case is complicated and he needs one final surgery. He’s now old enough to fear hospitals and hate doctors. Jamal’s father tells him, ‘Jamal, we need to go to the hospital again to get you healthy.’ This time Jamal pleads, ‘No! I won’t go! It hurts! Why are you hurting me, Daddy?’ What could the father reply? After the reply, what should he do?”

“There isn’t much he could say that would satisfy Jamal. He could say, ‘Jamal, I know it hurts, but it is what is best for you. Do not worry, because I will be there with you, and I will suffer with you.’ And then, whether Jamal likes this answer or not, he should still take him for the surgery.”

“So even in this case when Jamal has clearly against the idea, his father should do his best to explain it, promise to be with him, and do it anyways.”

“Yes.”

“So,” said Paul, “We have established that because a child lacks understanding, certain decisions should be made on his behalf. Now what if Jamal asked, ‘Daddy, if I have to go, can you ask the doctors to make it hurt less?’”

“The father should reply, “Jamal, they are already doing everything they can to make it hurt less. The cure for your sickness requires a lot of pain. If there were a better cure, don’t you think I would have chosen it?’”

“So long as the father is minimizing pain in his attempt to reach a good end for his son, he is justified in causing it. Is Jamal capable of knowing if a given needle stick is a required part of his medical care?”

“Of course not,” said Job.

“What about the number of surgeries? Can he know by the apparently gratuitous number of his surgeries that his father is actually not loving?”

“It would be impossible. Such a question is difficult for health policy experts, let alone for four-year-old children.”

“It this is impossible, wouldn’t it also be impossible for him to then to know that his father loves him?” Paul asked.

“No. Jamal can see it. He can feel it. Most of all, when he sees his father suffer with him. When he cries at a prick, his father’s face looks as if it were hurt. The promise I put in the father’s mouth at the beginning, that he would always be with Jamal, is perhaps the greatest proof of love when it is fulfilled.”

“But can he prove that his father loves him?”

“Love is not the sort of thing that can be demonstrated by mathematical or scientific proof. It is something that is sensed on a deeper level. Jamal can know it, but he cannot prove it.”

“So,” said Paul, “We’ve established that the father should act in Jamal’s best interest, regardless of how painful it might be.”

“Yes.”

“And we’ve agreed that Jamal would have no adequate understanding of his condition to make any judgments.”

“Yes.”

“And finally, we’ve shown that even though he lacks understanding, he can still know that his father loves him through his pain.”

“Yes.”

“Now allow me to tell the story in a different way,” said Paul. “What if instead of a newborn named ‘Jamal’ we were talking about an adult named ‘Job.’ And instead of an earthly father, we were talking about God. A physical birth defect in the heart becomes a spiritual one. Jamal suffers for four years to gain 70 of life; Job suffers for 80 years to gain a millennium of life and more. Job, how is your position any different from Jamal’s?”

Job was silent for several minutes. His eyes darted to and fro, searching for an escape but finding none. Finally, with a reluctant tone, Job said, “I see your point: I am Jamal. I will have to reflect on this.” 

The three of us walked along the road together, enjoying the warm sun and bright blue sky.

Venipuncture and the Essence of Love – Conclusion

Synthesis

Perhaps the two definitions are not different. Maybe we just are bad judges at what ‘benefit’ is. Indeed, our modern working definitions of ‘relationship’ seem to give us an average of one year of pleasure before it’s used up and we need to move on (slightly longer in ‘marriage’).

Is it really “more blessed to give than to receive”? That is, are we happier when we give to others, or when we get? In a materialistic world, this statement is sheer insanity. Anyone who has truly given something knows the truth of this statement. Even Derek Zoolander knows this is true, “The other day I was thinking about volunteering to help teach underprivileged children to learn how to read. And just thinking about it was the most rewarding experience I've ever had.”

Maybe the best marriage is one around giving. And that means that it doesn’t matter what the other person is doing. If either party is getting more pleasure out of giving than getting, their happiness is independent of the other person. If you get when you give, and you get when you get (instead of just getting when you get), there is no reason not to give. It’s like an easy game theory problem:

On Sacrifice Theory

	(Husband) Give	(Husband) Don’t Give
(Wife) Give	+2/+2	0/+1
(Wife) Don’t Give	+1/0	0/0

On Benefit Theory

	(Husband) Give	(Husband) Don’t Give
(Wife) Give	+1/+1	+1/-1
(Wife) Don’t Give	-1/+1	-1/-1

The jump from this situation to a political system is not that long. An employer and employee:

	(Employer) Pay Well	(Employer) Don’t Pay Well
(Employee) Work Hard	+2/+2	0/+1
(Employee) Don’t Work Hard	+1/0	0/0

Why doesn’t this happen in relationship or the workplace? Because we’re operating under the benefit theory. We think the way we get happiness is getting stuff. Like trying to drive a car on the highway in reverse, we’re doing it wrong. The car has nothing wrong with it; there is just ignorance that can easily be repaired with knowledge.

Conclusion

Jesus says, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” This, if it requires anything, requires sacrifice. When asked to expound on this, Jesus tells the parable of the Good Samaritan. The Samaritan finds a Jew robbed and beaten, and gives him oil and wine, lets him ride on his own donkey, and then pays for his stay at a first-century hospital (the inn). This is a story of sacrifice. Sacrifice is the essence of love.

If this is true, then we should seek to love and make love abound in every aspect of life. It seems to me that God has arranged the world to permit us to sacrifice for each other. I think that we should order our relationships, our careers and our society after the same pattern. If the essence of love is sacrifice, then we have a lot of work to do in our own lives and in the world.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Venipuncture and the Essence of Love – Miscellaneous Implications

Politics

I think most modern people (or at least most of my peers) operate from a Utilitarian framework: the greatest good for the greatest many. It makes The Good into something at least conceptually measurable, appealing to our science instincts. But fundamentally, I think the reason so many of my peers believe in it is because they hold the second definition of love: to benefit maximally. About a third of my generation thinks Socialism is a better economic system than Capitalism. In a Socialist system, benefits (health care, housing, etc.) are universal. It is the State that sacrifices, not the People. And (assuming Socialism worked) this would clearly be the optimal solution. It is a society with the greatest benefit-love. However, with benefit maximized, opportunities for real sacrifice to neighbors are minimized. To maximize sacrifice-love, there needs to be more suffering available to bear, and people need to have more freedom to bear it.

I think I have finally discovered the root of my support for small government. A country with a small government demands that people sacrifice-love one another. It is a dangerous place, and a place exactly as beautiful as the people who reside in it. A big government benefit-loves its people. It is a safe place, and a place that is neither very beautiful nor very ugly.

Medicine

Doctors avoid suffering. We are taught to turn off our emotions because it hurts. We’ll ‘burn out’ if we empathize with patients. A benefit-love for our patients is curing them; no empathy is necessary. If we do not suffer for our patients, then our job is simply a job; we have shown no sacrifice-love. A friend of mine in nursing was too close to a patient in the psychiatry emergency room. The charge nurse told her to keep her distance and to protect herself; she advised my friend to treat the patients like “rabid dogs.” You can benefit-love a rabid dog through cure; you cannot sacrifice-love one.

Problem of Evil

Why is there suffering? This is a profoundly important question that I can only give superficial treatment to here; I recommend that you look at the many other great resources on it (Job from the Bible asks this; contemporary philosopher William Lane Craig gives a good talk on it; Dostoyevsky’s Grand Inquisitor from the Brothers Karamazov also discusses this question). How can God permit suffering? Let us ask an easier question: how can a father permit his child to suffer (say, by needlestick)? He, if he is good, must have some morally justifiable reason for it (like immunization). God, if He is good, must have some morally justifiable reason for it. Since the evaluation of this question requires a full accounting of all people in all time, this is a question we are woefully ill-equipped to answer. This is a point of human ignorance; we cannot draw any logical conclusion from it. We don’t have a complete fossil record and never will but it does not follow that Evolution did not occur; it is valid to fill in the gaps with inference. We can bridge gaps in knowledge by anchoring on things we do know (this is called in science a ‘theory’ and in religion ‘faith’).

One of the theories is that the morally justifiable reason God allows suffering is freewill. God may permit suffering because only by it can humanity have true freewill. Only in a world of suffering can God show His sacrifice-love for us, and only in a world of suffering can humans truly sacrifice-love each other.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Venipuncture and the Essence of Love – Relationships

In my last post, I talked about how Christian love was, at its essence, sacrificial. This is in sharp contrast to the common understanding of love which seems to be, at its essence, for the benefit of the other. If love is as Jesus defined it, then it changes everything. The first thing it changes is what is for most people where they will experience the deepest love: the romantic relationship.

This Christian view on love turns relationship on its head, or at least it turns what we’ve been calling relationship on its head (I feel like I’m late to the party on this one; St. Paul seemed to already understand this 2,000 years ago). We Americans believe that relationships (that is, sexual relationships, both “boyfriend/girlfriend” and modern “marriage”) are about love, and love is about pleasure. Both parties get peace/happiness/pleasure by entering the relationship, and so long as that peace/happiness/pleasure endures, so does the relationship. This theory of relationship is supported by data collected by the dating site MyCupid that shows that people of my generation have an average of about 1 new sexual partner per year from the time they’re 18.

On the American definition of love, Biblical passages on marriage like Ephesians 5 sound terrible: “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord… Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it” (Eph 5:22,25). Why should the wife have to submit when the husband only has to love?

But what if love was not pleasure? What does a marriage entered into under Christian terms look like? It is not about pleasure (or at least not directly), it’s about suffering and sacrifice. Suffering and sacrifice are not things that must be endured for the love. They are the love. Today, suffering is a red flag, it’s a sign that we are in the wrong relationship; we try to minimize our own suffering. Christians would rather forget about the Godly marriage of Hosea who was commanded to marry a prostitute named Gomer, and stay married to her while she stayed a prostitute. For that matter, we want to forget about Christ, who did the same thing except we, the Church, are the prostitute.

On Christ’s definition of love, the Ephesians passage takes on an entirely different meaning: women have to serve men; men really have to serve women. CS Lewis explains, “The husband who gets this verse is the one whose marriage most feels like a crucifixion…This verse is most embodied in the husband whose wife receives most and gives the least.”

Then how do we pick our partners? Could we maximize suffering by picking the least compatible person possible, a person who hated us? Would that lead to happiness?

To answer that question, I think I need the council of St. Ignatius. Christians in the first and second century died violent deaths with such joy that it was inexplicable to the world. This witness was so dramatic that it became a major factor in the conversion of the brainy Justin Martyr (whose given last name gives some clue as to the fate he himself would later ‘suffer’). People were legitimately asking, “If you like death and martyrdom so much, why don’t you actively seek it out, or commit suicide?” Ignatius, on his way to his own martyrdom, wrote that it is something that must be borne, but not sought. As a warning, he tells the story of another Christian who volunteered for martyrdom, but apostatized at the moment of truth. He denied Christ; he chickened out. So we should not seek martyrdom, neither in the lions' den nor in the bedroom.

So the question remains. How do we pick our partners? Well, how does Christ pick the Church? It seems arbitrary, following no pattern that we can understand. We, the Church, certainly aren’t intrinsically beautiful; we have nothing to offer, neither dowry nor wealth. Contrary to all reason, Jesus chooses us nonetheless. What does that sound like? Could that be anything but romance?

Surely all of our desires can honor God when used properly, even (perhaps especially) romance. Romantic feelings seem to follow no rules, pairing up people that really have no rational business with each other. In a culture without arranged marriages, I think this is as good a pairing rule as any. The important part is not who you pick, but how willing you are to sacrifice for the person you’ve picked.

Sacrificial love completely transforms relationship. It’s no longer about maximizing your own benefit, but your own sacrifice to your partner. If this is love, it does not need to be bi-directional; one partner can always give and never receive, and still have love. But of course, the most loving relationship is one where both parties are sacrificing completely to each other. How often would we cheat on each other if our eyes were perpetually fixed on sacrifice instead of pleasure? How many arguments would be averted? How many tears of sadness prevented? How many more tears of joy would we shed? How happy we would be if we stopped obsessing so much about pleasure, and thought more about love, that is, about sacrifice!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Venipuncture and the Essence of Love – Introduction

[This is a working "paper." I’m not sure all this (or the connected posts) is right, and would really love feedback on it]

Today we were practicing drawing blood on each other (everybody’s favorite day in medical school). My partner (who shall remain nameless), had trouble hitting a vein, and so I encouraged them to try again. And again. I now have 13 holes in my skin.

The person felt terrible. Part of it was pride (not being rock star doctors after 11 months of medical school instruction is infuriating for most of us here at Stanford). But part of it, and I would venture to say most of it, was because of the pain that the person caused me. I said that I was happy to be of service. And I really meant it. I was legitimately happier after the session; I was in a significantly more pleasant mood having served the person in this way (and, indirectly, a patient who would not have to get poked). The pain was significant, but the pleasure in service was far greater. But why? What theory of pleasure/pain was I working under? I’m no masochist; pain did not directly become pleasure. I searched for something encouraging to say. I said, “It’s an important part of my religion to love my neighbor as myself, and there aren’t too many opportunities to serve my classmates.” I’m not sure it helped much.

Later in the day, I thought about what I said. Why was it that I connected love with service, and service with pain? I thought of Jesus’ words: “No greater love hath a man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends” (Jhn 15:13). Christ was no hypocrite; He gave up His life for us day by day in Palestine, and then literally, dying on the cross. But why is that the greatest love? Why isn’t it, “No greater love hath a man than this, that he benefit his friends maximally”? Why was suffering so connected to the Christian definition of love? This is a really important question that I do not have a good answer for yet but will be praying and thinking about in the days, weeks and probably years to come.

The why is still a mystery to me. But the what is clear: love as Christ defines and demonstrates it, is sacrifice. But if that is true, it changes everything. Everyone agrees with “love thy neighbour as thyself,” but the statement has entirely different meanings if love is sacrifice or if love is benefit. We all seek love, and to a lesser extent, we seek to love in relationships and in society. Jesus’ flip of the definition of love threatens to change everything that we thought we knew. Over the next few posts, I’ll discuss some of these implications.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Is Pain Good?

I was snowboarding a few weeks ago. The first day, I did not do anything dangerous and didn't fall (probably the first time in my snowboarding life). That night, I was unsatisfied. Why? Partly because I didn't hurt. Partly because of what my not hurting symbolized: I had not tried hard. The next day, I tried hard. So hard I broke a rib. And it felt good. Not that the broken rib felt good (it still hurts to breathe deeply). But I felt better for having experienced the pain. Or perhaps it was what the pain said about my character that was the satisfying part.

From another perspective, Mother Theresa said, "...without suffering, our work would just be social work, very good and helpful, but it would not be the work of Jesus Christ, not part of the redemption." Her perspective was that pain was required for a thing to be significant. For her, there was no Godly offering without pain.

There is something here, something I can't quite put my finger on. In what sense is pain good? It was good in that it pointed to a good character trait in me. In Mother Theresa's sense, it was good because it pointed to Christ. Is there a connection between these two goods?

All the same, we are supposed to do all in our power to relieve pain, but when we experience it, it's at least partly good. Maybe this is the problem of Evil on a nano scale; paradoxical and mysterious, but with a clear imperative.

Abundant Life

“I’m going to see Papa,” said a bright-eyed young man who stood before his mother.

“What?” was the only word the woman could choose which could express her bafflement. There was a trace of annoyance in her voice because her morning stimulation had been interrupted. She sat up in the sofa she had been lying on.

“I want to see Grandpa. You said when he retired last year that I could go and see him any time I wanted,” the young man said earnestly.

“Of course you can. But why would you want to waste your time? Wouldn’t it be more comfortable to stay at home?” his mother asked. She was right. It was always more comfortable to stay at home. She was no hypocrite, and zealously obeyed this advice, having not left her house for five years.

“I suppose you’re right,” said the man downcast, but then his tone rebounded, “but I want to see him. I can’t explain why, but I feel like it’s important.”

“Jim, you and your emotions! What did I tell you about acting on your feelings? Do you think I paid for all those counseling sessions so that you could come in here and tell me what you feel?” asked Jim’s mother shrilly, her volume increasing. And then she looked like a car that had just run out of gas; the effort she put into her mild demonstration of discipline drained her.

“Do whatever you want,” she said, as if she threw the words from a body collapsing into unconsciousness.

“I’ll be back for dinner!” said Jim, with a smile.

The discomfort began immediately, as the perfect 72 degree house had to be left for the uncomfortable 80 degree sunny day. The sun was bright, too, and by the time the first trace of sweat began to form, Jim was almost certain that he had made a mistake; he was not at all comfortable.

He walked to the corner where there was a Metro station, as there was on every corner. Jim remembered his history lesson about what the Metro used to be, and how people had to walk sometime up to a quarter of a mile to get to the first bus. He laughed within himself. How silly were his ancestors, and pitiful. He remembered his mother’s warning of the discomforts of his venture again as he waited three minutes for the bus.

He told the bus his destination and took a seat. He was the only one on the bus. Evidently everyone else had taken their mothers’ advice and stayed where it was comfortable. It was far too hot to venture out of doors today.

The bus pulled up to the Active Living Center, or ALC, where his grandpa had retired. The bus courteously thanked him for his patronage and he stepped off. Jim looked up at the building. A cylinder rose fifty stories in the air and the polished, windowless face of the building looked like it was pure silver, shining in the sun. The beauty of the building was shoved from Jim’s mind by the painful brightness of the sun’s reflection. The sun was so terribly bright!

Jim walked briskly, but not too briskly, towards the building to escape the tyranny of the sun. As he entered, the doors opened and a blast of perfect air refreshed him, cooling his sweat. Just then he realized that he was thirsty. His mind raced. He knew all about the dangers of dehydration and heat stroke. He had not been thirsty for weeks. He looked around the room for a water machine. There, a few steps ahead of him, was his salvation. He drank the water. It tasted to him like ambrosia, the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He could not figure out why it tasted so good, having no sugar at all.

Then Jim faced his next crisis. His muscles were sore and his feet aching from his walk to the corner and ride in the wheeled bus. He looked around the room, and saw a lobby chair before him. Jim worried about its ability to provide comfort, but it would have to do. He sat down in the chair, feeling relief as Atlas shrugging.

He was a happy man, but happy in a way that was unusual for him. It was more than the typical electrically-induced emotion. Clearly he felt happy every morning during his morning stimulation; the electrodes in his hypothalamus guaranteed it. But this was different. His respite in the lobby was especially sweet because it had come with such exertion and risk. Jim reflected on what he had just accomplished and felt good.

Then he remembered his mother’s (and counselor’s) words against heeding feelings, especially such dangerous feelings as could make him enjoy suffering. He had been diagnosed with masochism before, but had been clean for almost a year. He did not want to go back to rehab. So, as an antidote for his satisfaction, he reminded himself, item by item, about what he just suffered until his equilibrium (and misery) returned.

He realized that he had not been helped, having been in the lobby for five minutes. His mother’s words came back to him. More discomfort. He stood up, not a little indignant, but was finally met by an attendant dressed cleanly in white. Seeing the attendant reminded Jim of the rest of the room, which was all white. It all looked very clean.

“Welcome to the Abundant Life ALC!” the voice of the attendant was perfect. His voice was as confident and clear as an actor of old. “My name is Dante. How may I help you?” asked Dante with such a sincerity as it almost tempted Jim to feel something.

“I want to see my grandpa,” said Jim meekly, intimidated by the man.

“Certainly! As you know, you can always see your retired loved ones! What is his name?” Dante asked.

“James Anderson,” said Jim.

“James Anderson,” repeated Dante.

A mechanical voice replied from nowhere, “Floor 42, Wing E, Stack 57, Room 1.”

“Follow me, if you please,” said Dante cordially as he walked across the room towards an elevator.

Jim looked around the room with wonder in his eyes.

“Is this your first time in an ALC?” Dante asked, smirking.

“Yeah…” said Jim a bit disconnectedly.

“Well most people never get a chance. That is, they don’t come here until they’re allowed to come permanently,” said Dante.

Dante and Jim stepped into the elevator.

“Forty-two,” Dante commanded.

“Forty-two,” confirmed the elevator.

“It’s too bad. These places are really a sight to behold. They’re the symbol of the twenty-second century, the century we conquered death!” Dante’s voice rose to a triumphant note.

“How did these things come about? I remember a little about it from Science class,” said Jim.

“Towards the middle of the twenty-first century, we had massive casualty rates among our elderly. We had nearly solved infant mortality, but with unspeakable rates of elder mortality. Our great great grandparents (on the first floor) patted themselves on the back when the infant mortality dropped below 5 per 1000 at the same time as 1000 per 1000 elders were dying. Can you imagine? Every son would lose his father and every daughter her mother! What a vicious thing living used to be!” Dante proclaimed.

The elevator had reached the forty-second floor and they stepped out into a circular room. On the perimeter of the room were ten doors labeled ‘A’ through ‘J’. Dante approached the one labeled E and walked through into a long bright hallway with doors on both sides.

“We have defeated death,” continued Dante. “Medicine has developed to the point where we no longer need to say goodbye to our loved ones. We simply say, ‘until later’ and we can visit them whenever we want. Most don’t actually visit, but the point is they can. I suppose it’s not all that different from our ancestors in the twentieth century who didn’t visit their elders. Retirees enter a mental stimulation room and can be woken up at any time. We have studies that prove that they are enjoying their lives far more than we are; they’re happy here. ALCs have come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”

Dante sighed, “I have another fifteen years before I can legally retire here. It’s funny. Buddhists thought you could reach Nirvana by emptying yourself through years of meditation. In America, everyone reaches it when they turn 55. Christians thought you would be reborn if you believed in Jesus. In America, you’re reborn if you pay your taxes.”

They reached a door numbered 57. Dante put his finger on a pad by the door and it opened. Before them was a room, three of its walls covered with tiles, four feet by two feet. Dante walked to the bottom left corner of the left wall and touched the wall tile. The tile was actually the head of a box which slid out of the wall and was seven feet in length.

Jim had seen such a box before. He had seen it in history class. He remembered his teacher talking about ancient rituals humans would perform back when people used to die. The strangest one, in Jim’s mind, was when people would build a box, put a dead person inside it, and then bury it in the ground. He tried to remember the word for the box. “That’s right,” he thought, “’Coffin.’”

Dante interrupted his thinking, “Death is now a dirty word. I still get the shudders whenever I say it. We have advanced from the brutal philosophies of our ancestors who worshiped death and thought there was some value to sacrifice and suffering. Now Science has confirmed what a great man once said, ‘If a man is willing to die for something, he is not fit to live.’ Behold! One of those lucky many who have escaped suffering! Here is your grandfather’s room!”

He lifted the lid of the coffin and before him was his grandfather, looking exactly as he had when he retired one year ago. His arms were crossed, his hands on his shoulders and his eyes closed.

“Grandpa!” cried Jim excitedly.

His grandfather’s eyes moved under his eyelids. Then he slowly opened his eyes and saw his grandson.

“What do you want?” said Jim’s grandfather with an unmistakable annoyance.

“I wanted to see you! I’m here to visit!” said Jim, his mood unaffected by the tone of his grandfather.

His grandfather looked at him in utter confusion. He searched for words as a man groping in the dark for the light. In the end, he could only muster a baffled, “Why?”

“I… I don’t know,” said Jim miserably. “I just felt it would be good to visit you.”

“Do you think you could make me happier than the electrode?” questioned Jim’s grandfather indignantly.

“Well… I didn’t think about it like that. But Papa…” Jim whimpered.

“Exactly. You didn’t think. If you would have thought, you would have stayed at home and studied. Then you could get an easy job to pass the time as happily as you could manage until you could come here. Don’t remind me of the misery of the world!” lamented Jim’s grandfather.

“You had a good time before you retired!” cried Jim. “What about all the time we spent fishing? You always wanted to go fishing! Weren’t you happy then? Don’t you want to go fishing now?”

“Why the hell would I want to fish if I could have this?” Jim’s grandfather motioned at his box. “Sure I enjoyed it, but that happiness is only a fraction of what I have here. We have to make due before we retire. But once we retire, why would anyone want to go back? Do you want me to be join in your misery to relieve you before you reach 55? Is that what you want?”

“I just wanted to make you happy,” said Jim, almost in tears.

“I have infinite comfort, safety and happiness. Isn’t this everything that we’re working for? Isn’t it what you want?” asked Jim’s grandfather.

Jim paused. He could not deny the logic of his grandfather, but he could not say ‘yes’. Of course he wanted comfort, safety and happiness, but something was missing.

“I’m not sure what I want,” said Jim.

“I do know what I want, and you’re interrupting it,” Jim’s grandfather replied rudely.

Jim’s grandfather closed his eyes, folded his arms back over himself and sighed. Dante came over to the coffin and closed the lid. He pushed it back in. Jim stood there motionless for a few seconds.

Dante looked at Jim and laughed out loud, “’I wanted to see you’? Are you serious! You disturbed your grandfather for no reason with nothing to say? Of course he was angry. I’d be angry, too! ‘I’m here to visit’! Ha!” Dante went on laughing.

As Jim was led back out of the building he reflected on what his grandfather said. He was right. Everything in the physical universe pointed to him having a more comfortable, safe, and happy life than Jim. But there must be some aspect of happiness which could not be stimulated with an electrode.

He did not want to be like the man in the coffin. Looking at what his grandfather had become, the picture of a crypt came to mind, with row after row of cabinets containing the remains of men. Is that what his grandfather had become? Was his conversation with a man, or with his remains? Even if his body and mind were intact, had not something decomposed? Did the pleasure rot some part of him? Jim remembered an old book cover which mentioned the body, the mind and the soul; he now wished he knew what a soul was. Was there more to life than comfort, safety and happiness? Jim remembered what he felt after accomplishing his journey earlier that day. It was none of those things, and it was certainly good.

Just then, like a lightning bolt, a beam of light from the sun struck Jim as he stepped outside the building. The now 85 degree air felt as if it was searing his flesh. He realized and finally consented that his mother was right; the house would have been much more comfortable. A too-warm balmy breeze blew away all further thoughts of something more than comfort, for comfort was all Jim could now think about.

Jim would only have to endure another forty two years before he could himself retire. “The sooner the better,” he thought.