can decide to take substances that unchain me from my body and allow me, temporarily, to be free. I can disregard my survival instincts and place myself in danger, for nothing more than the challenge and the thrill. To be human, it isn’t enough to
exist
, if to exist means simply being here in this world. Man must
experience
his existence. Through pain. Through intoxication. Through failure. By soaring as high as you can. By apprehending the full extent of your power over your own existence – over life, over death. That, my poor, withered sister, is love.’
They’d had this debate more often than they could remember, but never like this. This time the truth was out there on the surface, leaving the core of things empty. Or, to put it another way, it was a matter of packaging. Moritz had stepped outside the carefully balanced game of derision they’d been perfecting since childhood . He’d hurt Mia’s feelings, and she didn’t intend to back down.
‘My poor misguided brother … Don’t you realise what a hypocrite you are? Apprehending the full extent of your power … It won’t mean a thing when your heart goes on strike! It’s all very well to talk about freedom when you’re enjoying the benefits of a risk-free society. While you’re making combative speeches, the rest of us are picking up the tab. You’re not free; you’re hypocritical and gutless!’
‘A risk-free society!’ Moritz laughed. ‘Tell me you didn’t say that! Even
you
should know better than to parrot the slogans of those conformists. Life won’t be risk-free until we’re suspended in liquid growth medium and forbidden from touching each other. What’s the point of being safe if we vegetate for the rest of our lives to satisfy someone’s warped idea of the norm? If we have just one idea that isn’t about our safety, if our minds rise above our physical needs and contemplate something bigger than ourselves, then at least we’re living a life of dignity, which in the higher sense is the
only
normal one. You know the worst part, Mia? You’re clever enough to understand what I’m saying.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Mia scratched some pebbles from the ground and hurled them into the water. Even as a child she found it irritating when Moritz claimed to know her better than she knew herself. ‘I’m clever enough to know that what you’re saying is nonsense. What would you rather we thought about? God? The nation? Equality? Human rights? Or maybe you’d like to propose your own ghoulish ideal scraped from the battlefield of humanity’s beliefs!’
‘I know what this is about,’ said Moritz, jutting out his chin and somehow looking down on his sister, even though they were both seated. ‘You want everyone to be safe, not because you love your fellow humans, but because you despise them.’
‘Quite possibly,’ said Mia. ‘But you rhapsodise about freedom and higher meaning because you hate who you are. You cloak yourself in phantasmagorical ideals because you can’t stand the sight of yourself. You don’t want to admit that you despise yourself, so you despise the system. You hate yourself so much you think dying would be fun.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with fun or with hate,’ said Moritz angrily. ‘Yes, I could kill myself. The decision to live counts for nothing without the freedom of choosing to die!’
‘You have to turn your back on death if you want to think freely. You have to commit to life.’
‘You can’t be free unless you stop seeing death as the opposite of life. The end of a fishing line and the opposite of a fishing line are two separate things.’
‘The end of the fishing line is the end of the fish,’ said Mia lightly.
Moritz didn’t laugh, didn’t look at her, didn’t reach out a conciliatory hand. ‘The difference,’ he said, ‘is you’ve never confronted your own mortality.’
‘Not that again.’ Mia frowned. ‘What happened to you was dreadful; dreadful but
exist
, if to exist means simply being here in this world. Man must
experience
his existence. Through pain. Through intoxication. Through failure. By soaring as high as you can. By apprehending the full extent of your power over your own existence – over life, over death. That, my poor, withered sister, is love.’
They’d had this debate more often than they could remember, but never like this. This time the truth was out there on the surface, leaving the core of things empty. Or, to put it another way, it was a matter of packaging. Moritz had stepped outside the carefully balanced game of derision they’d been perfecting since childhood . He’d hurt Mia’s feelings, and she didn’t intend to back down.
‘My poor misguided brother … Don’t you realise what a hypocrite you are? Apprehending the full extent of your power … It won’t mean a thing when your heart goes on strike! It’s all very well to talk about freedom when you’re enjoying the benefits of a risk-free society. While you’re making combative speeches, the rest of us are picking up the tab. You’re not free; you’re hypocritical and gutless!’
‘A risk-free society!’ Moritz laughed. ‘Tell me you didn’t say that! Even
you
should know better than to parrot the slogans of those conformists. Life won’t be risk-free until we’re suspended in liquid growth medium and forbidden from touching each other. What’s the point of being safe if we vegetate for the rest of our lives to satisfy someone’s warped idea of the norm? If we have just one idea that isn’t about our safety, if our minds rise above our physical needs and contemplate something bigger than ourselves, then at least we’re living a life of dignity, which in the higher sense is the
only
normal one. You know the worst part, Mia? You’re clever enough to understand what I’m saying.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Mia scratched some pebbles from the ground and hurled them into the water. Even as a child she found it irritating when Moritz claimed to know her better than she knew herself. ‘I’m clever enough to know that what you’re saying is nonsense. What would you rather we thought about? God? The nation? Equality? Human rights? Or maybe you’d like to propose your own ghoulish ideal scraped from the battlefield of humanity’s beliefs!’
‘I know what this is about,’ said Moritz, jutting out his chin and somehow looking down on his sister, even though they were both seated. ‘You want everyone to be safe, not because you love your fellow humans, but because you despise them.’
‘Quite possibly,’ said Mia. ‘But you rhapsodise about freedom and higher meaning because you hate who you are. You cloak yourself in phantasmagorical ideals because you can’t stand the sight of yourself. You don’t want to admit that you despise yourself, so you despise the system. You hate yourself so much you think dying would be fun.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with fun or with hate,’ said Moritz angrily. ‘Yes, I could kill myself. The decision to live counts for nothing without the freedom of choosing to die!’
‘You have to turn your back on death if you want to think freely. You have to commit to life.’
‘You can’t be free unless you stop seeing death as the opposite of life. The end of a fishing line and the opposite of a fishing line are two separate things.’
‘The end of the fishing line is the end of the fish,’ said Mia lightly.
Moritz didn’t laugh, didn’t look at her, didn’t reach out a conciliatory hand. ‘The difference,’ he said, ‘is you’ve never confronted your own mortality.’
‘Not that again.’ Mia frowned. ‘What happened to you was dreadful; dreadful but
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