Paul's Writing

Project Director Johnson strode confidently down the wide corridor. Past success had brought his efforts a flood of grant money. Everywhere he looked, things were in proper order. Stainless steel gleamed, LEDs winked, and well-scrubbed floors shone lustrous. Staffers hurried between duty stations, wrapping up their preparations.

Sensing Johnson's approach, a door slid open, revealing an immaculate office. On the desk, arranged just so, lay the current MIT Technology Review magazine. His own project graced its cover. "The Ultimate in Reductionism?" asked the caption. Johnson had vowed to remove that question mark, and to have decisive evidence within the hour.

With a private smirk, Johnson indulged himself a vision of the Nobel Prize. He'd been nominated once before, and if this test series went half as well as planned, there'd be a prize with his name on it. Perhaps two. "Due to their unprecedented achievement," he murmured, "the prizes for Physics and for Medicine are awarded to Johnson and Larkspur."

As if on cue, Assistant Director Larkspur's announcement filled the laboratory. "First coordinated scan in thirty minutes. Everyone please go over your final checklists."

Penelope Larkspur could read a livestock futures report and make it sound beautiful, and this particular announcement thrilled Johnson is a way he'd never admit out loud. With a last glance at the magazine cover, he headed to the control room.

All five supervisors were already at their posts. Larkspur sat at her work station, near his own. Seeing him enter, she pointed toward the big glass wall, behind which a padded table waited at the focus of a horde of instruments.

"Our volunteer subject is getting prepped," she reported. "The man hardly shows it, but he's very excited."

"It's that self-styled dignity of his," Johnson said. "You know he's a Bishop in some obscure New Age outfit. They seem to think we'll verify their mystical claims."

Larkspur grinned. "I'm surprised you let him stay on, given your philosophical differences. In the lunch room today, the janitor told me he's been going on about reincarnation, of all things. 'The return of some famous dude I never heard of,' is how Dey put it."

Johnson laughed. "Now Penny, we mustn't discriminate. If this experiment goes well, we'll soon find out where people keep such wacky ideas. Then you and I can set them straight, once and for all."

Taking a chair, he inspected his primary computer screen. "Heisenberg would've loved our yoctosecond pulse scanners. Near-simultaneous parallel observations, each checking different factors. Forget uncertainty, we've almost beat the old man at his own game."

Larkspur looked mischievous. "If I'm right, and we observe quantum phenomena in the neocortex, it might collapse the waveforms inherent in the subject's biology. That could render him unconscious."

"Poppycock!" Gazing at Larkspur, he couldn't put much force into his objection. "All we'll find today are synapses and neurotransmitters. Nothing mysterious, just in greater detail than before."

"At least two orders of magnitude greater."

* * *

Clad in a white hospital gown, the test subject took his place on the inclined table, while technicians adjusted more than one hundred instruments. Most of the devices were passive observers in function, but a few could scan without causing interference. Exquisitely timed, each would perform its task at the same instant.

Two yoctosecond pulse scanners dominated the setup. Placed at right angles, they loomed above the subject's head.

One by one, in the manner of a space launch, each work station signed off on their readiness. Minutes dwindled to seconds.

Weary of the computer screen, Johnson decided to observe the scan through the glass wall. Not that he'd see much happen, but with future glory in mind, he wanted to describe this moment from an intimate perspective.

Stretching his six-foot-four frame, Johnson moved back a few steps. He took in Larkspur's screen, then several auxiliaries. Everything appeared to be in order. With his next step, he set wood and metal to clattering.

He whirled, and a damp, smelly mop struck him square on the chest. "Aughh!" It was a close encounter with Dey's cart. The man himself was in a corner, emptying waste baskets. "What are you doing in here?" Johnson snapped, drawing curious glances from the Larkspur and the supervisors. "Can't you see we're busy?"

"Indeed I can, sir," said Dey. "You folks going to scan Mr. B now?"

"In about thirty seconds," Johnson ground out.

Dey nodded. "Good. He asked me to give you this." With a flourish, the janitor took a folded paper note from a coverall pocket. "I'm supposed to wait 'til you're almost done. Mr. B said it's about really knowing you're real, or somethin' like that."

A chime sounded the ten second mark.

Feeling more than a bit unreal himself, Johnson took the paper. Keeping a hand on the precarious cart, he frowned. What, he asked himself, could he possibly have missed? Meanwhile, everyone tensed as they counted down the final three seconds.

Instead of a flood of data, every screen and indicator went blank.

Johnson looked through the glass, just in time to see an air-filled hospital gown settling gently onto an empty table. His myriad instruments were pointed at nothing.

For several heartbeats, utter silence reigned.

Then Penelope Larkspur's whisper filled the room. "Well, I'll be. Total empirical collapse."

Numbly, Johnson unfolded the note and read:

Dear Dr. Johnson,
Bet you can't refute this one.
Sincerely, Bishop Berkeley

END

Please visit my friends at Surprising Stories, and enjoy the current issue.

Roger Penrose's Quantum Consciousness

("The mind transcends reductionism and algorithms.")

Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle

("You can never know precisely.")

Descarte's Philosopy

("I think therefore I am.")

Quantum Mechanics and Wave Function Collapse

("The very act of observing has an effect.")

Samuel Johnson and Bishop Berkeley

("I refute it thus!")

Bishop Berkeley's philosophy

("It's all in your head.")

Top of Page

Paul's Writing