Dell's Journey

Chapter 46: Dell Says The World Is Not A Machine

The Doubtmadon was silent. Whether he was trying to

demonstrate his patience or whether he had found himself

without an answer was unclear. Dell strolled openly now.

To his surprise he was enjoying himself very much.

"'We will, we act, we create,' you say. Well not if

the universe is a machine. If the world is a machine (no

matter how beautiful) we do not create or even act: we

merely operate. We drift like asteroids, aimless and

purposeless. That's the catch! Am I an aimless asteroid

or a willful mind? Consider this: the asteroid cannot be

criticized for crashing into a city full of people, but

what about a person who intends to do the same?"

Dell's grin faded into thoughtfulness. He stood still

and chewed on his lips absentmindedly. When he resumed his

uninvited rebuttal, his tone had changed, mirth replaced by

indignant frustration.

"You've afforded us too much freedom, or at least the

wrong sort, sir," he accused, looking wide eyed at the

Doubtmadon. "You've given us the freedom to value beauty

and ugliness equally. You've allowed us to see mercy and

cruelty as equals."

The onlookers gave Dell a wide berth as he paced and

ranted, giving voice to the stewing cauldron of his inner

thoughts, born out of the tragic and unsought adventure of

his very existence. He could not restrain himself now, but

continued after a dramatic pause:

"If what you say is true, then we have become the sad

and lifeless machines our own hands have made! Once

distinct from the looms that spun our cloths or the presses

that typed our books, we have become inseparable from them.

But gentleness is difficult to build into machines.

Indifference is much easier. Have your machines if you

like, but do not be surprised when you are sucked up into

them."

He scowled.

"Some would say, 'Every human life is valuable, equal

in dignity and nobility.' 'Love one another,' 'Give to the

poor.' Why? Why not eat the poor and crush the weak?" He

glanced at the Doubtmadon and chanted, "Life, death,

beauty, horror – it is all one."

Suddenly he froze and glared at his audience, his eyes

smoldering, boring into their faces. "Why!" he demanded.

"Why not join hands with the virus and the plague!"

"Don't even try to answer," he said calmly. "For you

cannot admit what you must admit if you are to give me a

reason."

"And what is that Dell, if you are so wise?" asked the

Doubtmadon bitterly.

"That the world of ethics and morality rests upon a

turtle's back," he answered softly. "Goodness and truth

can only exist in mystery."

Dell looked about the interrogation room-turned-stage.

Still, every eye was on him. But he had lost his self

consciousness. He mounted his final offensive.

"Your error has come to light: you sought to breathe

the breath of life into the nostrils of your machines.

Yes, deep in the secret places of your soul you committed

the cardinal sin: you endowed the universe with beauty and

purpose. I don't blame you! How could you not wish that

the universe cared about you? But purpose requires a

person."

"Well what about Mother Nature!" Monster interjected.

"Mother Nature is not a good mother," Dell replied.

"She offers no compassion to her children. She is a great

womb you are forced out of in pain and chaos. But where has

she gone when you are hungry, when you are thirsty, when

you are naked?"

Gradient moved in his seat, making ready to speak.

Gradient raised his arms, palms outward, as if to say,

"Slow down, calm yourself." But Dell was too excited to

stop.

"Wait!" Dell shouted.

"Your tools can adjust the regular operations of

nature; your irrigation system waters the irises, and your

underground sun feeds the forget-me-nots. But you cannot

create a tool that will deal justice out to the oppressed.

You cannot beat love into people with hammers, or wrench

greed from the hearts of the wealthy or the wanting. No,

these operations require different instruments. You must

appeal to the gods if you want to use these tools. Appeal

to the laboratory if you want a longer life. You must

appeal to God if you want a better life."

The vast chambers were utterly silent.

"Your madness is your own creation – that's the shame

of it! You doubt all of the wrong things! You doubt that

love and hate are any different and you are going insane

trying to believe it! Deep inside you want to believe in

beauty, but you have reasoned your way into a universe

where beauty cannot exist! You are staring at a math

problem that cannot be solved. Neither can you solve the

mystery of good and evil in a mechanistic universe."