The Ludic Revolution (1) Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. The beginning sets the stage, the middle has all the drama, and the end resolves the drama. Every story has these three components; that's what makes a story interesting. The part that makes a story captivating is the beginning. Once the stage is set, you want to know what happens next. You're exposed to one drama after another, and all the while there is a burning question that keeps you there. The question is, how does it end? I always wanted to know the answer to that. To me, everything is a story. Religion, politics, drama, business, love, biology, anthropology, mythology. They're all stories. I used this single philosophy to make sense of everything in my world. It was because of this philosophy that I was able to excel in school. For example, I saw math problems as stories. I wanted to know how the stories ended, so I had to solve the problems. I excelled in literature classes for obvious reasons. I was especially fascinated by history. It was when I was when in college that I attracted the attention of Dr. Mendel, professor of the history class I was taking. In the first lecture, he asked us to write a short essay, less than one page, on the topic "What Is History?" This is what I wrote: History is a collection of stories. If you want to understand a historical event, put it in the terms of a story and you will learn volumes about the people, what they think about themselves, and their assumptions about their own nature. The Puritans were enacting a story when they packed up their lives and sailed to the New World, the colonists were enacting a story when they eliminated the natives from their land, the Nazis were enacting a story when they gassed six million Jews, and our own culture is certainly enacting a story when we attempt to find new and creative ways to exploit others for profit. We're saying a lot about ourselves and our assumptions about our own nature. As far as we know, this is what people are like. I turned it in and went home. At the end of the next lecture, the teacher asked if he could speak with me in his office. I guess I was able to stir up quite a reaction in that one page. "The reason I asked you here is to talk with you about the essay you turned in on the subject, What Is History. You have a very intriguing perspective," he said. He paused, apparently waiting for a reaction. I had nothing to say, so he continued. "The part I find most intriguing," he said, "is how you apply the same philosophy of history to our modern culture, as if the present day is just another historical event. The fact that we can interpret our modern times just as we interpret history is something that most people ignore, yet you, an undergraduate history student, picked up on it in the first day of class." He paused again. I couldn't tell whether he was praising me or chiding me. "Sorry," I replied, since I wasn't used to teachers praising me. "No need to apologize!" he said. "I always keep my eye out for students like you." He asked about my experiences with other classes and I told him about my philosophy that everything is a story. "Your philosophy about stories is very interesting," he said. "I also thought the bit about 'as far as we know, this is what people are like' was insightful." "Yeah," I replied lamely, not used to taking compliments. I realized that he was expecting me to expound on the statement, so I continued: "I think that's the main theme that runs throughout history. Humans are pre-occupied with their own nature. In every part of history, there seems to be the assumption that their story is the story of humans. Of course, we laugh at this because we know that there was a paradigm shift waiting for them right around the corner, but to this day, we still have this assumption. We think this is the story of humans. We don't realize that this is just another story." "Excellent ideas," he said. "I look forward to reading more of your assignments in this class." He went on to ask me about my goals. "My goal is probably not like most students'," I told him. "My goal is to find out how it ends." He cocked an eyebrow. "How what ends?" he asked. "How this ends," I replied, "our story." "Interesting," he said. "How do you expect to reach this goal?" The answer to that, of course, was that I had no answer. Yet. Needless to say, I got an A in the class. What's more, I've made a friend of the history professor. I stopped by his office every couple of weeks to talk about classes, life, and especially history. My other classes were not as interesting as this class, and my other teachers were not as interesting as Dr. Mendel. I served my time and made it through the classes. I especially dreaded the idea of taking this stupid science class. You know, those science classes that aren't really about science, that are designed for history students, for people the faculty assumed were scared of science. But I took it, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me, for it was in this class that I learned how I was going to reach my goal. My ears perked up right about when they started talking about the theory of relativity. Time, the teacher said, was the fourth dimension of space. For this reason, they don't talk about space, but rather, space-time. One student asked if time travel is possible. Then the topic of wormholes came up. Apparently, space-time can curve. It's possible for a small hole to open. However, the wormhole opens and closes so quickly that light doesn't even have a chance to pass through it. Any matter that would fall into the wormhole would pull it together through gravity. That's why, the teacher said, time travel would be the exclusive domain of science fiction. If nothing else, the mere fact that there are no tourists from the future is a sure sign that time travel is not possible. I, of course, saw this as just another story. Like any story, I was looking for assumptions that are being made, but I simply didn't know enough about science to analyze the story. This was how I became fascinated by science and, in particular, the topic of time travel. My goal was to find out how this story ends, and to do that, I need to travel to the future. A lofty goal to say the least. I read the entire science book. I learned all about refraction of light, gravity, and the laws of thermodynamics. I learned about Niels Bohr, Nicola Tesla, Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawking, and Isaac Newton. I learned quite a bit about science over those few weeks, but I never found my answer. One of those odd paradoxes in life is that you never seem to find what you're looking for if you're actively looking for it. Any person who wears glasses will be able to vouch for this. Half the time, when they're looking for their glasses, they're already wearing them. The same is true for science. Most of the discoveries are made when the scientist isn't looking for anything. What I'm trying to say is that I gave up. I went back to focusing on my boring classes, taking tests, and doing homework. One day I was studying cryogenics for my science test when it hit me. I found the assumption to the story. The assumption is that time travel necessarily implies leaping across time. The truth is, we're all time travelers, but we can only travel in one direction and we can only travel at one speed. We all get to meet our older selves, except that in order to do so, we have to become our older selves. What if, instead of speeding up time, I could slow down myself. In other words, cryogenics. "Absurd!" exclaimed Dr. Mendel. "You don't mean to tell me that you're seriously considering throwing away your life, leaving behind everything and everyone you know, so you can freeze yourself and wake up in the future. Why, think of your friends. Think of your family. Think of all you'd leave behind! It would be suicide!" There are some problems with using cryogenics as a means of time travel. One problem is that there's no way to travel back. I told him that I had already thought of these things and had decided that it's my life. This is my goal and I will reach it. Another problem with cryogenics is that you're taking the risk that your host may never unfreeze you. Being frozen for eternity is one step short of Hell. I've thought this through and decided that this is a chance I'm willing to take. Dr. Mendel made me a deal. He told me to complete my undergraduate work first. If I still wanted to do it after that, then he would pay for it. I agreed. "I have to admit, I was hoping I'd be able to talk you out of it and make you one of my graduate students," Dr. Mendel told me two years later, at my graduation ceremony, "but I see you are not one who is easily swayed." As promised, Dr. Mendel paid for the cryogenics facility. I had to fill out a ton of paperwork. I was basically signing my life away. I had to agree that I won't hold them responsible if I'm never unfrozen. I had to agree that they won't be sued if I die before I'm unfrozen. I had to agree that they can unfreeze me at any time, for any reason. The hardest part was the big question: when should I be unfrozen? I had no idea. I just wanted to know how the story ended. When would that happen? I had no idea. I didn't even know what the end of the story would be like. I wasn't niave enough to think I even knew what the story was. I had to guess. I wrote down 2502, exactly five hundred years in the future. I have to admit that it's pretty silly to guess about something like that, but I won't apologize for not knowing the future. I was given a shot and placed in a chamber. I felt like I was asleep for a few hours. I remember dreaming that I was locked in a freezer. I felt someone shaking me. "Eh?" I tried to say, but nothing came out. I tried to open my eyes, but it was too bright. I was told to keep them closed. I was extremely incoherent. At this point, I seriously didn't know who I was, where I was, or what had happened. It was like amnesia. I laid there for what seemed like hours. At various times, I was asked to try to move a part of my body. First my fingers and toes, then my hands and feet, then my head. I was finally able to open my eyes, but everything was too blurry to see. I remember falling asleep a few times. My sense of time was very skewed, and I don't remember what happened when, and in what order. My vision started returning, and I was finally able to sit up. I was told that my memory would return to me soon. Physical therapists helped me out of my bed and taught me to walk. Slowly, my memory returned to me. "What year is it?" I asked my physical therapist. "2238," my physical therapist replied. "I thought I wasn't supposed to be unfrozen until 2502," I said. "I see that you're starting to reclaim your cognizance. I shall phone Dr. Mendel." Dr. Mendel? Surely he can't still be alive in 2238. The physical therapist took me back to my room and began to use the phone, or whatever that thing was. I actually didn't see a phone. It looked as though the therapist was speaking into thin air. "Hi, it's me," he said. "Procure Dr. Mendel. The patient is starting to reclaim his cognizance." These people sure do talk funny. A few hours later, a woman entered my room. "Salutations," she said excitedly. "I had presaged your rouse. I am Dr. Mendel." "Huh?" I said. I'm not sure if I was more confused by the bizarre way of speaking or by Dr. Mendel being a woman. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not used to discoursing, um, speaking in your dialect. I shall try to speak in your dialect." I never even thought I had a dialect, but I suppose people 236 years before my time also spoke differently. "I am Dr. Mendel," she repeated hurriedly. "I presume you remember Martin Mendel? He's my great, great, great, great, um, you get the point. Like him, I am a historian." "I guess not much has changed in your family," I said. "Certainly," she replied, "many things have. Not everyone in my family was a historian. But everyone in my family knows about you." "They do?" I asked dumbly. "Oh yes," she said. "Martin Mendel made it a point that you were remembered. He wanted one of us to meet you when you were unfrozen. I became a historian because I was chantified when I learned about the Millennium times." "Chantified?" I asked. "Sorry, I mean intrigued, fascinated."
Go to part: 1 2
Copyright © 2002 Prepense |