Too Like the Lightning (19 page)

Carlyle thought for some moments, which I took as a good sign, patience and digestion before he ventured words. “Then, have you decided definitely to bring them back?”

The child frowned at his pretzel. “I want to, but I feel like I'm not supposed to, like it's not allowed.”

“That's a very natural feeling,” the sensayer assured. “You don't know what it means to bring them back. You don't know how life and death work, if there are some invisible rules you would be breaking. Anybody would be nervous. I'm nervous too.”

Bridger munched on his pretzel. “You're nervous?”

“Mm-hmm. I have to do a good job helping you decide, just like you have to do a good job deciding. So we're both nervous.”

“That makes sense.” Bridger scratched a small rut in the soil with his shoe. “Are there rules to death?”

Thisbe retreated to the sidelines now, exchanging glances with the Major, like parents hovering on the first day of kindergarten.

“Some people think there are rules to death. Other people think there aren't.”

The child's frown disapproved of something, and, by his eager munching, it wasn't the pretzel. “If there are rules, would it be like karma?”

The sensayer nodded at the term. “Yes, karma is a good example of a rule some people think death has. And reincarnation, do you know what reincarnation is?”

“That's when you live again and again.”

Carlyle nodded, watching carefully the movements of Bridger's eyes, the fidgeting of his feet, signposts of the subtle border between discussion and discomfort. “People have a lot of different ideas of different ways that reincarnation and karma might work,” he continued. “If they do exist then they might have rules, and by bringing Pointer back you might affect those rules in some way. Similarly, if there is an afterlife that dead people go to, then there could be rules about that, and you might affect those rules. And there might also be rules for this world that would be affected. Lots of possibilities.”

“Rules for this world?”

“Yes. Some people think there are metaphysical rules for this world, just like people think there could be for an afterlife. For example, do you know what Providence is?”

“That everything happens for a reason.”

“Yes, that's right. And specifically that everything happens for a good reason. There are lots of different philosophies that believe in some kind of Providence.”

“So Providence is rules for this world, like Heaven and Hades is rules for the afterlife?”

“Yes, possibly,” Carlyle confirmed gently. “Remember, these are things some people think, you have to decide for yourself what you think, and you don't have to decide quickly, you can take lots of time to talk and think. If there is Providence, and everything that happens is for a good reason, then that could mean that Pointer died for a good reason, so it's good that Pointer died, and it would be bad to bring them back. Or it might be that Providence made you have the powers you have partly because Pointer was going to die, and Providence intends you to bring Pointer back, so bringing them back would be good.”

The boy frowned. “That's backwards of itself.”

“Yes, well put. It's difficult to figure out what to do if you believe in Providence. Even among the people who believe in Providence—which is only some people—there are lots of different ideas about how Providence might work. And Providence is just one of many kinds of rules some people think the world might have. Or it might have none at all, and just be chaos.” He leaned forward, toward the boy. “With so many possibilities it's important to be patient and give yourself lots of time to think.”

Bridger:
“I was thinking that maybe I shouldn't bring Pointer back if there's an afterlife, but if there isn't an afterlife then I really really should.”

Carlyle:
“Perhaps. But it doesn't have to be binary like that. For example, some people think there is an afterlife, but that it's better to be alive than to be in the afterlife.”

Bridger:
“A bad afterlife. Like Hell.”

Carlyle:
“Hell is one famous example, but there are other examples. Some people believe in afterlives that aren't full of torment, but still aren't as good as being alive. And some people don't believe in an afterlife at all, but still believe in karma, or Providence, in rules about life, and think that you shouldn't interfere with those rules.”

The boy's brows knitted. “Then … then I should bring Pointer back if there's a bad afterlife or no rules, but I shouldn't bring them back if there's a good afterlife or rules? Except how do I know if there's rules?”

“It may or may not be possible to know for sure, but either way it usually takes a long time and a lot of thinking to figure out if you think there are rules or not. But,” he added, seeing a flare of fidgeting proclaim the boy's discomfort, “there are some people who don't believe in rules, and don't believe in an afterlife, but would still say death isn't bad.”

The last nugget of pretzel vanished now, and Bridger welcomed Boo into his lap, a mass of blue fur and affection. “How could death be not bad if there's no afterlife? I mean, you're dead, no more you. That's bad.”

Carlyle stretched, letting his body signal relaxation to the child, if not his words. “Have you heard of the Epicureans? They're an interesting example.”

Bridger sniffled. “Croucher called Crawler an Epicurean 'cause he likes food too much.”

Carlyle:
“That's one way the word is used, but it also refers to a philosophy from ancient Greece.”

Bridger:
“Didn't Epicureans invent the bash'?”

Carlyle:
“Yes, sort of. You sure know a lot.” He smiled his praise. “Neo-Epicureans invented the bash'. Neo-Epicureans lived many centuries after the original Epicureans, and they thought some of the things Epicureans thought, but mixed them with other things. When the same philosophy has different versions at different points in history, we put ‘neo-' on the beginning when we talk about a later revival, to remind us that it's different from the original.”

Bridger:
“Like neo-Platonism came after Platonism?”

Carlyle:
“You really know a lot. Wow!”

That won a little smile. “Mycroft likes to talk about philosophy.”

Carlyle:
“Mycroft's a good friend to you, aren't they?”

Bridger:
“I like Mycroft.”

Carlyle:
“I know Mycroft likes you too. Did Mycroft tell you about Epicureanism?”

Bridger:
“They said Epicureans think it's important to be happy.”

Carlyle:
“That's right. Epicureanism is a philosophy from twenty-eight hundred years ago. Epicurus thought there was no afterlife, so the most important thing was to be happy in this life. But Epicureans didn't like quick pleasures like food and alcohol and love affairs, because after you've been drunk you feel awful, or when the love affair ends you usually feel awful too. Epicureans focused on kinds of happiness that last a long time, like friendship, a beautiful garden, or thinking about philosophy.”

Bridger:
“Not pretzels?”

Carlyle:
“Pretzels are good, but they aren't going to make your whole life happy, just the few minutes while you eat the pretzel. They're a temporary good, instead of a permanent good. And if you eat too many pretzels it can make you sick, and then you'll be less happy.”

Bridger:
“I want to test that scientifically!” He grinned. “Can we do that next time at Science Club? Test how many pretzels it takes to make you sick?” It was Thisbe he looked to for permission. “Can we ask Doctor Weeksbooth?”

Thisbe chuckled darkly. “I don't think so. Doctor Weeksbooth wouldn't want to run an experiment that will make everybody sick. But I bet we could ask them to do a lesson on the digestive system, so you can calculate yourself how many pretzels it could hold.”

“And then I can eat one less than that!”

Carlyle smiled as the happy tangent eased the boy's fidgeting. “Science Club sounds fun.”

“It is! Last week we learned about syphons, and we made a goop syphon that syphoned with no tube!”

“Impressive.” He caught the boy's eyes. “It sounds like you learn great things with Doctor Weeksbooth.”

“Yup!”

“Now do you want to learn with me? About how neo-Epicureanism and Epicureanism are different?”

Reframed like science class, this death discussion wasn't quite so scary. “Sure.”

“Neo-Epicureanism is an economic philosophy from only three hundred years ago. So how many years newer is that than Epicureanism?”

The boy hummed tunelessly as he wracked his memory. “I forgot how old first one was.”

“Twenty-eight hundred years old.”

“Then the new one is twenty-five hundred years newer!”

“That's right!”

“That's easy.” He looked to Thisbe for an approving nod, and got one.

“Neo-Epicureanism says that, whether there is an afterlife or not, people are healthier, more productive, and live longer if they're happy, so the government—for us the Hive—should try to make sure people live in ways that make them happy. Living in a bash' with a group of friends that you have fun with every day is one of the institutions the neo-Epicureans promoted to help people be happy. The original Epicureans probably would have liked the bash', and their ideas helped it spread, but they didn't come up with it, Regan Makoto Cullen came up with it, based on Brillism, which is another fairly recent philosophy.”

I smiled as I watched over Thisbe's tracker feed. Some people talk down to children, as if they assume a small body houses a small intellect. Some people talk past them, bludgeoning them with unfamiliar words until the kids accept what they can't understand. Chance or Providence, whichever you prefer, had sent Bridger a sensayer who treated the child as an equal intelligence, just blessed with newness, ready for difficult things, so long as they were presented honestly.

“And Epicureans think it's good to die?” The child hugged his dog.

Man:
“No, but ancient Epicureans thought that it wasn't bad to die.”

Child:
“Why not?”

Man:
“Because they thought death was nothing, and there's no reason to be afraid of nothing, since it won't hurt you, it's just nothing.”

Child:
“But there's no more you!”

Man:
“That's true. Do you think that's bad?”

Child:
“Of course it's bad! You can't be happy anymore if there's no you. You can't eat, or have parties, or a dog, or play, or have a pretzel ever again! I don't like that. I don't want Pointer to not get to do that anymore.”

Man:
“But if you're dead you also can't be sad, or in pain, or hurt, or lonely.”

Child:
“That doesn't make up for it. I like me, and I like gardens, and my friends. I think everybody likes themselves and their friends. How could they think it's not bad to lose all that? I think they're stupid Epicureans.”

Man:
“I don't think they're stupid, but I do think you have a very reasonable objection. There are many answers to your question when you ask why they thought death without an afterlife could be good. One possible answer has to do with how different life was back then.”

Child:
“What do you mean?”

Man:
“Epicureans thought of pleasure as the absence of pain. That is, when you aren't hurting or hungry or sad or lonely or anything else bad, that's pleasure. It's what we call a negative definition, defining something by what it isn't, rather than what it is, like ‘clean' means something isn't dirty, and ‘dark' means there isn't light.”

Child:
“But pleasure is when you feel happy or good.”

Man:
“That's a positive definition, saying what it is, not what it isn't. They used a negative definition instead.”

Child:
“Why?”

Man:
“A lot of people think it has to do with the difference between what life was like in ancient Greece and what life is like now. Nowadays life is pretty good, don't you think? You aren't in pain very often, or sick, or hungry, or alone, and you don't have to worry about your home getting smashed or your friends all getting killed by raiders.” He frowned in sympathy as the boy hugged his dog tighter. “In ancient Greece life was harder than now: there wasn't enough food, there was war a lot, there were lots of diseases, and they didn't have good medicine so doctors couldn't fix things. A lot of people were in pain and hungry all the time, and afraid of getting conquered or enslaved, and everyone had to see lots of friends die. If you weren't hungry or thirsty, and weren't sick, and no one was hurting you, and you weren't sad from having a friend die, that was very rare and good, so they thought of that as pleasure, a state with no pain. Can you see how that would make sense in their world?”

Bridger half-buried his face in the blue fur, sad at the thought of lives so hard. “I guess. Yeah. That's sad to think, though.”

Man:
“Yes, it is. But if death also meant that all that stopped, no hunger, pain, or sadness, then by the negative definition death was also pleasure.”

Child:
“Then why didn't they all just kill themselves?”

Man:
“Some people did back then, but the Epicureans said that you should still try to be happy as much as you can in life, in simple ways that are hard to destroy, like conversation, or thinking about philosophy. You can do that even if you're sick, or alone, or lose your home in war.”