Self-discovery

by Vladimir Savchenko

  He went back into his room and lit the night — light, a naked woman made out of fake marble with a light bulb inside. The soft light fell on the bearskin rug on the floor, the walls covered with blue wallpaper with golden storks, the polished grain of the desk, the bookshelves, the closet, the television set, the quilted pink couch, the dark red carpet with a scene of ancient feasting — everything was meant to be conducive to sensuousness. Harry Haritonovich undressed and went to look at himself in the mirror. He liked his face: the straight large nose; the smooth, but not fat, cheeks; the dark mustache — there was something of Guy de Maupassant about him. Very recently he had been trying on his doctor — of — technical — sciences look. “Why did he have to do that, that Krivoshein?” Harry Haritonovich felt his heart beating madly. “What had I ever done to him? I even voted for his project and helped his relative get a job at the lab. He doesn’t have a dissertation and he envies the rest! Or was it because I didn’t fill his request for the SES — 2? Well, it doesn’t matter — there is no more Krivoshein. He’s gone. That’s the way it is. The winner in life is gone. That’s the way it is. The winner in life is the one who outlives his adversary.”

  Hilobok was pleased with the humor of his thought and wanted to remember it. It should be noted that Harry Haritonovich was not as stupid as one might assume from his behavior. It’s just that he based his formula for success on the following: they expect less from a fool. No one ever expected great ideas or knowledge from him; thus on those rare occasions when he would display some knowledge or the tiniest idea, it came as such a pleasant surprise that his colleagues would think: “We underestimate Harry Haritonovich,” and try to compensate for that evaluation in their disposition toward him. And that’s how his articles got into the anthology Questions of Systemology — the editors, naturally expecting nothing very good, were bowled over by the few grains of reason in them. Harry Haritonovich turned in work to people who were already demoralized by his talk and behavior. But something went wrong with his dissertation… but, never mind, he would get his!

  Harry Haritonovich was lulled by pleasant thoughts and rain — bowlike hopes. He was sleeping soundly and without dreams, the way they must have slept in the Stone Age.

  Officer Gayevoy was sleeping and smiling, just returned from his night shift.

  After a good cry about Krivoshein and herself, Lena fell asleep.

  But not everyone was asleep. The police guard Golovorezov was fighting off sleepiness at his post watching the New Systems Lab; he was sitting on the steps of the lodge, smoking, and looking at the stars over the trees. Something rustled in the grass not far away. He shined his flashlight: a red — eyed albino rabbit looked at him from the bushes. The guard shooed him away. Golovorezov had no idea just what kind of a rabbit it was.

  Victor Kravets tossed and turned on the hard cot under a cloth blanket that smelled of disinfectant in the solitary confinement cell of the prison. He was in that state of nervous agitation when sleep is impossible.

  “What will happen now? What will happen? Did graduate student Krivoshein get out of it, or will the laboratory and the project perish? What else can I do to help? Fight back? Confess? To what? Citizen investigator, I’m guilty of good intentions — good intentions that didn’t help anything. I guess that’s a heavy guilt, if that’s how it’s worked out. We kept rushing — hurry! hurry! — to master the discovery, to reach that method ‘with absolute dependability. And even though I didn’t admit it to myself, I expected us to come up with it too. Evolution brought new information into man gradually, by the method of small trials and small errors, testing its benefit with innumerable experiments. And we — we tried to do it all in one experiment!

  “We should have dropped the idea of possible social repercussions right off the bat and worked openly and calmly like everyone else. In the long run, people aren’t children. They must understand what’s what on their own. We figured out everything: that man is a super complex, protein quantal — molecular system, that he is the product of natural evolution, that he is information recorded in the liquid. The one thing we missed was that man is man. A free creature. The master of his fate and his actions. And that freedom began long before all the rebellions and revolutions, on that distant day when a humanlike ape thought: ‘I can climb up the tree to get the fruit but I can also knock it down with the stick in my hand. Which is better? It wasn’t just thinking, that ape — it had seen storms make branches knock down fruit. Freedom was the opportunity to choose a variant of behavior based on knowledge. From that day every discovery, every invention has given people new opportunities, made them even freer.

  “Of course, there have been discoveries (not many) that told people: don’t! You can’t build perpetual motion machines; you can’t pass the speed of light; you can’t accurately measure the speed and position of an electron simultaneously. But our discovery forbids nothing and doesn’t change anything. It says: go ahead!

  “Freedom. It’s not easy to recognize your freedom in our modern society, and pick variations of your behavior wisely and well. Millions of years of the past hang over man when biological laws determined the behavior of his ancestors and everything was simple. And now he is still trying to lay the blame for his mistakes on circumstances, on cruel fate, and to place hopes in God, on a strong personality, on luck — just so it’s not him. And when the hopes shatter, man looks and finds a scapegoat: the people who had raised the hopes are free of guilt. In essence, people who take the path of least resistance do not know freedom.”

  The peephole in the door opened, letting in a ray of light; it was blocked by the guard’s face. They were probably checking to see if he was planning another break. Victor Kravets laughed silently: naturally the clink was the best place to meditate on freedom! He acknowledged with pleasure that despite all the recent hassles he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.

  Double Adam — Hercules was sitting and reminiscing on a bench at the bus stop on an empty street. Yesterday, as he was coming from the railroad station, thinking about the three currents of information (science, life, art) that affect man, he had the beginnings of a vague, but very important idea. He was interrupted by the three men with the demand to show his papers, those so and so’s…. He was left with the feeling that he had been close to a valuable guess. He would have been better off without it, that feeling. Now he wouldn’t get any sleep!

  “Let’s try it again. I was thinking about what information can be used, and how, to ennoble man? Krivoshein had the idea of synthesizing a knight ‘without fear or flaw. And now I’ve got it and I can’t reject it. I ruled out information from the environment and from science, because their influence on man can be equally good or bad. There is only the method of awakening good thoughts with a lyre — art.

  True, it does awaken them, but the lyre is an imperfect instrument; while it’s being plinked, man is ennobled, but when it stops, so does the effect. There is something left, of course, but not much, just a superficial memory of seeing a play or reading a book. Well, all right, what if we introduce this information into the computer — womb during the synthesis of man. What if we record the contents of many books, show several excellent movies? It would be the same thing: it would remain in the superficial memory — and that’s all. After all, the book’s not about him!

  “Aha, that’s what I was thinking about: there is a transparent wall between the source of art information and its receptor — a concrete human being. What is that wall? Damn it, will life experience always be the main factor in the formation of the personality? Do you have to suffer yourself, to understand the suffering of others? Make mistakes to learn the right way? Like a child who has to burn himself to keep from sticking his hand in the fire. But that’s a hard way to learn, life experience, and not everyone can master it. Life can ennoble you but it can also make you bitter and stupid.”

  He lit a cigarette and paced back and forth in front of the bench.

  “Information from art is not processed thor
oughly enough by man so that he can use it to solve his own problems in life. Wait! The information is not processed to the point of problem solving…. I’ve heard that before! When? In the beginning of the experiment: the early complex sensors — crystal unit — TsVMN — 12 did not absorb my information — Krivoshein’s information — it’s the same thing! And then I used feedback!”

  Adam was no longer pacing; he was running on the spit — covered pavement from the wastebasket to the lamp post.

  “Feedback, that’s what I want! Feedback, which increases the effectiveness of information systems a thousand times. That’s why there’s a wall. That’s why the effect of art information is so low — there is no feedback between the source and the receptor. There is some, of course: reviews, readers’ conferences, critical magazines, and so on, but that’s not it. There has to be direct, technical feedback, so that the information from art that is being introduced into a person can be changed to suit his individuality, character, memory, abilities, even appearance and biography. In that way his own behavior in critical situations can be played for him during synthesis (let him make his mistakes, learn from them, seek the correct solutions!); he can be displayed to himself — instead of an invented hero — with his spiritual world, abilities, qualities, and flaws. He can help him find himself.. and then that great information will become his life experience. It will take on the universal force of truth that comes from scientific information. This will be a new kind of art — not written, not acted, not musical — everything together, expressed in biopotentials and chemical reactions. The art of synthesizing man!”

  Suddenly he stopped. “Yes, but how do you do that in the computer — womb? How do you create that kind of feedback? It won’t be easy. Well — experiments, experiments, and more experiments — we’ll do it! We managed to create feedback between the parts of the complex. The important thing is we have the idea!”

  Vano Aleksandrovich Androsiashvili wasn’t sleeping either, in his dacha outside Moscow. He was standing on the veranda, listening to the rustle of the rain. Today at a department meeting they discussed the work of their students. Krivoshein came out looking the worst: in a year’s time he hadn’t taken a single exam; lately his attendance at lectures and labs had been erratic; and he hadn’t chosen a topic for his dissertation. Professor Vladimir Veniaminovich Valerno expressed the opinion that the man was taking up a place in the graduate department for nothing, getting a fellowship, and that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to free that spot for someone more deserving. Vano Aleksandrovich had wanted to say nothing, but lost his temper, and said many rash and angry things to Vladimir Veniaminovich about condescension and disdain in judging the work of young researchers. Valerno was stunned, and Androsiashvili himself felt bad: Vladimir Veniaminovich didn’t deserve that kind of rebuke.

  Vano Aleksandrovich had spent many an evening pondering the miraculous healing of the student after he was hit by the icicle, remembering their conversation about controlling metabolism in the organism, and came to the conclusion that Krivoshein had discovered and developed the ability to regenerate tissue rapidly, an ability characteristic of the simplest coelenterates. He couldn’t imagine how he had done it. He was waiting for Krivoshein to come and tell him: Vano Aleksandrovich was willing to forget his injured feelings and promise silence, if necessary. He’d do anything to find out! But Krivoshein was silent.

  Now Androsiashvili was mad at himself for not finding out why the police were holding the student when he had talked to them yesterday on their videophone. “Has he done something? When did he have time? He came by the department in the morning to announce that he had to go to Dneprovsk for a few days. Krivoshein’s second mystery.” The professor chuckled. But the anxiety didn’t go away. All right, there might have been a mishap, but what if it was something serious? Say what you will, but Krivoshein was the discoverer and bearer of an important discovery about man. That discovery must not perish.

  “I have to go to Dneprovsk,” the thought suddenly came to him. But then the proud blood of a mountain dweller and corresponding member of the Academy boiled over: he, Vano Aleksandrovich Androsiashvili, would rush to help out a graduate student who had gotten into a mess! A student that he took into the department out of pity and who had hurt him deeply with his lack of trust?

  “Yes, rush off!” Vano Aleksandrovich shook his head, calming himself. “First of all, you, Vano, don’t believe that Krivoshein committed any crime. He’s not the type. There’s some problem or misunderstanding there, that’s all. You have to help him. Second, you’ve been dreaming of a way to gain his confidence and get closer to him. Well, here it is. Maybe he has good reason for hiding. But don’t let him think that Androsiashvili is a man that can’t be counted on, who withdraws from petty irritations. No! Of course, even in Dneprovsk you won’t begin to question him — he’ll tell you if he wants to. But that discovery must be saved. It’s more important than your pride.”

  Vano Aleksandrovich felt better because he had overcome himself and reached a wise decision.

  Graduate student Krivoshein wasn’t sleeping either. He was still reading the diary.

  Chapter 20

  According to the teachings of Buddha, the way to rid yourself of suffering is to rid yourself of ties. Won’t someone tell which ties 1 must sever to stop my eyetooth from aching? And hurry!

  K. Prutkov — engineer, an unumbered thought

  January 5. Here I am in the position of a human rough draft for a more perfect copy. And even though I’m the creator of the copy, it’s still nothing to be happy about.

  “You know, your nephew is very attractive,” Lena said to me after I introduced them at a New Year’s party. “Simpatico.”

  Back at home, I spent a whole hour staring at myself in the mirror: a depressing sight. And he was good at small talk; I was no match for him.

  No, Victor Kravets was behaving himself like a gentleman with Lena. Either earlier memories are having an effect or he’s just feeling out his possibilities in breaking hearts, but he appears to be uninterested in her. If he made the effort, though, I’d never see Lena again.

  When he and I walk around Academic Town or along the institute grounds, girls who never nodded to me before greet me loudly and joyously: “Hello, Valentin Vasilyevich!” — with an eye on the handsome stranger next to me.

  And he’s so good on skis! The three of us went out of town yesterday, and he and Lena left me far behind.

  And how he danced at the New Year’s ball!

  Even Ninochka, the secretary, who didn’t know the way to the lodge before, always seems to be dropping by with a paper from the office for me.

  “Hello, Valentin Vasilyevich! Hello, Vitya… oh, it’s so interesting here, all these tubes!”

  In a word, I now can observe myself every day the way I am and myself the way I would be if only… if only what? If only it weren’t for the hunger during and after the war, the strong resemblance to my father who — alas! — was not too handsome (“Pudgy — faced, just like his father!” the relatives used to say, cooing over me), the bumps and potholes in the road of life. If only it weren’t for my rather unhealthy life — style: the lab, the library, my room, conversations, thinking, the miasmas from the reagents — and no physical recreation. Really, I didn’t try to become an ugly, fat, stooped egghead — it just happened.

  In principle, I should be proud: I beat Mother Nature! But something gets in the way….

  No, there’s something damaging about this idea. Let’s say we perfect the method of controlled synthesis. And we create marvelous people — strong, beautiful, talented, energetic, knowledgeable — you know, masters of life from advertising posters like “We saved at the bank and bought this refrigerator!” But what about the people that were used as a basis for them — does that mean that they were nothing more than rought drafts sketched by life? Why should they be demeaned? That’s a fine reward for their lives: regret for your imperfections, the thought that you will never be perfect
because you were made by a regular mama and not a marvelous contraption? It turns out that with our system people will still be pitted against people. And not only against bad ones — against everyone, since we all have some imperfections. Does that mean that good but ordinary people (not artificial) will have to be crowded out of life?

  (There! That’s just like you, Krivoshein — you’re so thick — skinned. Until it affects you personally you don’t think about it. “Whup him with a two — by — four,” as your daddy used to say. But all right, I got it now. That’s the important thing.)

  There’s plenty to think about here. I guess all human flaws have a common nature — they’re exaggerations. Take a quality that’s pleasant to have in people around you: simplicity. We’re inculcated with it from childhood. But if nature flubs it, or your upbringing spoils it, or if life goes the wrong way — you end up with sleepy stupidity instead of simplicity. You can also get cowardice instead of reasonable caution, false conceit instead of a necessary confidence, cynicism instead of sober daring, or sneakiness instead of brains.

  We use a lot of words to hide our impotence in the face of human imperfections: jokes (“A bear stepped on his ear,” “He was dropped as a baby”), scientific terms (“anemia,” “personality breakdown/ “inferiority complex”), and homilies (“That’s not for him,” or “He has a gift for that….”). We used to say “God’s gift.” Now in our materialistic age we say “nature’s gift,” but basically, it’s the same thing: man has no control. Some have it and some don’t.

  And you can guess why some don’t. In primitive societies and later social formations man’s perfection was not compulsory. If you knew how to live, work, multiply, and be a little crafty — fine, it was enough! Only now, when we have a constructive idea of communism, and not just a Utopian one, we are developing real demands to be made on man. We are taking man’s measure for this marvelous idea — and it’s painful to see the things we hadn’t noticed before.