Page 25 of Katabasis
“Now, the floors alternate between workspaces and stacks. Stacks are organized in ascending order chronologically by century, and then alphabetically within discipline. It is a bit complicated, but I do recommend starting at the sixth century BC and working your way up.” Moore paused, overlooking the first floor, which was indeed composed of busy study tables and endless hallways of study rooms. “You’ll find it a shock at first, being newly deceased and all, but there are no bathroom facilities or kitchens. No one needs to sleep or eat. They are freed to engage full-time in their work.”
“Defining the good,” supplied Peter.
“Quite right. So the plaques tell us. That’s the only rule of this place: figure out the meaning of the good. When someone comes up with a definition they like, they go out to the shore for an oral defense. If they pass, they cross on. If they fail—well, you saw poor Werner.” Moore nodded over the dozens of toiling Shades. “Most have been at it for years. Look at them go.”
Alice felt the twitch of an impulse to join them. Not because the project sounded so interesting—in fact it sounded overly vague and a little annoying—but because there was pleasure in being handed a simple, defined task and pursuing it with vigor. All those Shades looked so diligent and purposeful, which seemed somehow virtuous. It was always good to be engaged in research. As Aristotle put it, complete happiness was some form of study.
“But that doesn’t seem so difficult,” said Peter.
“That’s what you think.”
“But isn’t it just like—you know, good things?”
“Ah,” said Moore. “But that’s a tautology.”
“Happiness, then,” said Peter. “And justice. And kindness, and...”
“You’re just saying synonyms now.”
“But surely they’re all parts of the good—”
“Oh, so there is a complete list? And what else qualifies for your list? What is the common quality of all virtues on your list? Can you give me a comprehensive, tightly defined version of your list?”
Peter paused. “I see.”
“It’s harder than you think.” Moore smiled. “Everyone comes in believing they already know the answer, and they fail many times before they turn to the literature. And now the really severe cases, they never make any progress at all and then they end up bronzing—”
“Bronzing?” Peter repeated.
“A terrible affliction. Starts in your feet, and then you can’t move, and then you’re stuck where you are. We move them to the pedestals when that happens. Look, there’s Newton.”
Alice had been leaning on a plinth; she flinched back. “These statues arepeople?”
“Yes indeed, every one.” Moore knocked his knuckles against a plinth that read,Galileo. He continued up toward the second floor. “They do wake up, though who knows after how long. Between you and me I think they like it in there—they get a break from the work, and everyone has to marvel at them.”
“So what puts in you in this court?” asked Alice. “I mean, what’s everyone in for?”
“Don’t ask! You’re not supposed to ask, that’s the first rule you’ve got to learn. It is considered very rude.” Moore lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Though rumors travel, of course. People get distracted and leave their transcripts where anyone can see.” He pointed. “For instance, that fellow there—he told everyone he taught at Oxford, where really he taught at OxfordBrookes.”
“That’s enough to put you in Pride?”
“Oh, yes. You wouldn’t believe the sort we get in here.” Moore kept pointing as they walked. “That one there, he rejected submissions if they hadn’t cited his own work.
“That one gave eighty-two presentations on Goethe.
“That one likes to remind folks that Dartmouth is in the Ivy League.
“And over there—creative writing students.” This was said in reference to a study room of eight Shades, all glowering at one another in silence. “Somehow they always come in groups. Can’t understand why.”
They passed another study room, where one Shade was droning on to another in a very loud voice, “... of course, it’s all veryDerridean, which I am uncomfortable with because of Derrida’s obsession withfeces. Did you know I saw Derrida speak at a conference once? All anyone could talk about was how he got high on LSD and smearedfecesall over the walls.”
“Continental philosophers.” Moore shuddered. “Here we have dozens.”
The procession of petty sins continued as they circled up the floors. Moore seemed to delight very much in explicating the moral failure of his fellow residents, for his hushed whispers nevertheless carried over the floors, eliciting the occasional peeved glare. “Now,thatone self-published self-help productivity books.
“Calls himself a Communist, but hasn’t readDas Kapital.
“Recites pi to show off.
