There is nothing more certain in nature than that
it is impossible for any body to be utterly annihilated.
Sir Francis Bacon, Sylva Sylvarum
As the ravages of cancer continued to destroy Roddy’s body, doctors prescribed morphine to alleviate his pain and make him oblivious to his decline. The increasing doses of morphine and the progressive organ failures led to a series of hallucinations arising from instances of delirium and neurochemical disruption.
One of those visions took the form of a visit by an old woman who suddenly materialized in Roddy’s hospital room. Her appearance was severe, yet unthreatening. As she floated to stand near his bedside, she greeted Roddy in a flat monotone: “Greetings, human. I have come to make sure you are ready.”
Roddy was too weak to speak, but managed to frame a question in his mind: “Ready for what?”
The woman seemed to be expecting the question, for she responded quickly: “For taking leave of your present configuration. Your lease will soon expire.”
“What lease?”
“Right now, you are composed of several million molecules, whose atoms are organized in a preordained manner. Soon they will be freed from the ties that bind them and will disperse to form other arrangements or revert to their original state. When that dispersal happens, you will disappear forever.”
Despite his sad condition, Roddy understood enough of the woman’s message to break into a fit of shivering. “Am I going to die? Disappear completely?”
The woman’s response was dispassionate. “You will die in the sense that the unique configuration that represents ‘you’ will no longer exist and will never return. But the components that now add up to you will remain in other forms. Matter cannot be created or destroyed, only changed in shape.”
“You mean pieces of me will go on to be parts of a toad or drops of water in a stream?”
“Exactly. Or end up in the brain of a nuclear scientist. Think of it as a cosmic game of roulette.”
The concept was disturbing enough to force Roddy’s mind to form a protest: “But what is the point, then? Why go to the trouble of putting something like me together, and then take it apart?”
There was a slight hesitation, but then the woman responded, with an almost imperceptible shrugging of her shoulders: “I cannot respond as to why you and others like you happen to be created. Maybe there is no why, and you are just the result of an infinite game of chance. On the other hand, there may be some tangible results from the fact that the unique elements that form you came together for a limited time. Perhaps the better question is what difference, if any, has it made that you were pleased to exist for a time.”
This response seemed rather evasive and, to some extent useless, so Roddy pressed on: “But I am dying, soon there will be nothing left of me. Why should I care if my life made a difference to anything or anybody?”
“That is the point of my visit. I cannot change the fact of your approaching dissolution or the timing for it to occur, but perhaps I can motivate you to take some actions between now and the moment of your departure.”
“What kind of action?”
“That is for you to decide. During your lease you may have acted in ways that benefit or are detrimental to other forms of life, or to the world at large. This may be the time for you to reexamine the totality of your actions and determine whether there are any that need to be pushed forward or reversed.”
“Me? I am just an electric guitarist in a two-bit rock band. I play our tunes and sometimes write songs myself. I can do nothing to help the world, and am responsible for no minor or major harm to anything or anybody!”
“Perhaps. Most entities like you do nothing of particular significance during the term of their lease, other than perhaps contribute to the perpetuation of their kind. Others, however, perform deeds that are beneficial or detrimental to others who follow. Those deeds are described as their legacy.”
“I have no legacy to leave behind. Perhaps a handful of rock hits, nothing of significance. When I fell ill, I had two songs halfway finished. That’s all.”
“It is not necessarily true that you have no possible legacy. In 1694, Johann Pachelbel, a German composer, wrote a short piece known as Canon for the wedding of one of his students. After Pachelbel’s death, the Canon fell into total obscurity for over 200 years. It remained an unpublished manuscript gathering dust until 1919, when a scholar published the work for the first time. Since then, Pachelbel’s Canon has become a standard piece that is played in many weddings and is associated with serenity and joy, making it one of the most effective pieces of music ever written.”
“Are you saying that I could perhaps leave behind a valuable legacy for others to enjoy years or centuries after I am dead?”
“I am making no predictions. I am only asking whether you have made sure that you left behind everything of possible value that you created. If you were a rich man, I would question whether you had considered the possible disposition of your wealth in a manner that benefitted those who follow you.”
“But why should I care about leaving a legacy? And why have you delayed coming to me until now, when I am only a couple of steps away from the grave?”
“A legacy, should you leave a recognizable one, is the only thing that will make you remembered after you pass. Most creatures would like for that to happen. As to why I came now and not earlier, it is perhaps because you would not have been disposed to listen to me if I came sooner.”
“And who are you?”
“I am a figment of your imagination. You may say I am your conscience, come to trouble you.”
“You surely have. Go away and let me rest. I may think about it.”
THE END