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.”