Stories of Your Life and Others

“To look up or down was frightening, for the reassurance of continuity was gone; they were no longer part of the ground. The tower might have been a thread suspended in the air, unattached to either earth or to heaven.”

The workers are “no longer part of the ground.”—they do not belong to the earthly world anymore. Their lives are now a part of a ‘thread’ that, although as yet “unattached,” aims to bring them in direct contact with God. Their human purpose has changed, and they have no place among mere mortals who merely walk the earth.

“Men were frightened to touch it. Everyone descended from the tower, waiting for retribution from Yahweh for disturbing the workings of Creation. They waited for months, but no sign came. Eventually they returned, and pried out the star. It sits in a temple in the city below.” 

The tale describing the star hitting the Tower symbolizes the deep fear humans feel while attempting to reach the Heavens—and yet, they remain undaunted in their self-appointed purpose. They wait for retribution from Yahweh but choose to ignore the star as a warning. This speaks of the existence of true free will, which humans exercise in the most self-aggrandizing way possible: by attempting to usurp God’s seat. 

“The miners gazed upon the most awesome scene ever glimpsed by men: far below them lay a tapestry of soil and sea, veiled by mist, rolling out in all directions to the limit of the eye. Just above them hung the roof of the world itself, the absolute upper demarcation of the sky, guaranteeing their vantage point as the highest possible. Here was as much of Creation as could be apprehended at once.” 

Chiang chooses to create a geocentric world where the Earth and the humans who inhabit it represent the center of the universe, which makes it possible for the men to reach the physical barrier of the Heaven’s vault. Within such a world, their desire to conquer Heaven is normal and logical. Given free will by God, humans will exercise it by daring to reach out to Yahweh physically, in search of proof that He exists. Faith and belief, although necessary, is no longer sufficient. 

“Yahweh had not asked men to build the tower or to pierce the vault; the decision to build it belonged to men alone, and they would die in this endeavor just as they did in any of their earthbound tasks. Their righteousness could not save them from the consequences of their deeds.”

The author uses terms like “righteousness” and “men alone” to emphasize the overwhelming vanity of humans who place themselves above God in setting this task, and their centuries old belief that they can reach God and communicate with the Creator directly. Through the destruction of their work, the Divine Presence, who “had not asked men” to reach out to Him physically, reminds humanity of its proper earthbound place. This positions the story as a counterpoint to “Hell is the Absence of God,” in which the barrier between the earthly and the divine is regularly crossed, albeit with similarly disastrous results. 

“Centuries of their labor would not reveal to them any more of Creation than they already knew. Yet through their endeavor, men would glimpse the unimaginable artistry of Yahweh’s work, in seeing how ingeniously the world had been constructed. By this construction, Yahweh’s work was indicated, and Yahweh’s work was concealed.

Thus would men know their place.”

The ending of the story posits a seeming paradox: By revealing the grandeur of His creation, God has also hidden it from prying human eyes. Chiang makes the journey to the Heavens a round trip to the surface of the Earth to indicate that intrusive physical endeavors are not the way to reach Divinity; they are a way for humans to confront themselves and their own vanity. Humans would “know their place,” and learn the hard way that it is not their place to reach the seat of God. 

“… the roles one plays become recognizable only with greater maturity. To me, these people seem like children on a playground; I’m amused by their earnestness, and embarrassed to remember myself doing those same things. Their activities are appropriate for them, but I couldn’t bear to participate now; when I became a man, I put away childish things. I will deal with the world of normal humans only as needed to support myself.”

This quote perfectly captures Leon’s growing understanding of the underlying mechanisms of human psychological functioning and the growing vanity and hubris that his new intelligence creates. Even though Leon claims to acquire “greater maturity” that allows him to raise himself above mere humans, he still fails to recognize the changes in himself which are, ironically, all too human, and which represent the very same traits he sees and ridicules in others. This will eventually lead to his downfall. 

“I’m aware of many emotions beyond those of normal humans; I see how limited their affective range is. I don’t deny the validity of the love and angst I once felt, but I do see them for what they were: like the infatuations and depressions of childhood, they were just the forerunners of what I experience now. My passions now are more multifaceted; as self-knowledge increases, all emotions become exponentially more complex.” 

As in the previous quote, Leon shows his obsession with viewing himself as qualitatively above others thanks to his heightened perceptions and understanding. He regards his fellow men as children compared to his intellectual and emotional adulthood. While it is true that his emotions are “exponentially more complex,” this does not preclude their human fallibility and ambivalence. Thus, Leon crucially mistakes clarity of understanding for objectivity of emotional response, eager in his arrogance to forget the essential ambivalence of all human reactions.

“He had always had reason to consider compassion a basic part of his character, until now. He had valued that, felt that he was nothing if not empathic. But now he’d run up against something he’d never encountered before, and it rendered all his usual instincts null and void.” 

Just as Renee faced the neutralization of her will to exist by coming up with a mathematical formalism that proves inherent inconsistencies, so does Carl encounter the limits of his empathy when faced with circumstances beyond his comprehension. The author shows how fragile our own self-fantasies are, and how well we deceive ourselves about our emotional capacity until we come face to face with something beyond our capabilities. As Renee encounters the futility of science, Carl grasps the magnitude of his self-deception. 

“But the only way to learn an unknown language is to interact with a native speaker, and by that I mean asking questions, holding a conversation, that sort of thing. Without that, it’s simply not possible. So if you want to learn the aliens’ language, someone with training in field linguistics—whether it’s me or someone else—will have to talk with an alien. Recordings alone aren’t sufficient.”

The author utilizes linguistics theory in this story as the starting point for his notion of a multidimensional language encompassing both communication and simultaneous awareness of all existence. Through learning to communicate with the alien visitors, Louise learns to see reality in a fundamentally different way. And by combining this idea with elements of quantum physics, Chiang shows us the possibilities of language that go beyond our current ideas of expression. Recordings “aren’t sufficient” because they lack the essential component of active participation within a language. 

“I can’t believe that you, a grown woman taller than me and beautiful enough to make my heart ache, will be the same girl I used to lift off the ground so you could reach the drinking fountain, the same girl who used to trundle out of my bedroom draped in a dress and hat and four scarves from my closet.” 

Through the carefully designed use of verb tenses, this quote embodies the main theme of the story: that the past, present, and future exist within the same moment, and that they exist as different facets of the same multidimensional plane. Louise speaks to her daughter at various stages of her child’s life simultaneously, indicating her newly acquired ability to grasp the wholeness of a person’s existence, from birth to death. This informs Louise’s character to the greatest extent, as the decision to give birth while knowing the full life and tragic death of her child in advance becomes the true testament of free will.

“Was it actually possible to know the future? Not simply to guess at it; was it possible to know what was going to happen, with absolute certainty and in specific detail? Gary once told me that the fundamental laws of physics were time-symmetric, that there was no physical difference between past and future. Given that, some might say, ‘yes, theoretically.’ But speaking more concretely, most would answer ‘no,’ because of free will.” 

As in the previous quote, Chiang here posits the seemingly paradoxical idea of being able to know the future while exercising free will. It is worth noting that this sequence of Louise’s thoughts comes after the previous quote, which fits with the tense-confusion in the story perfectly. By intercutting Louise’s process of understanding the aliens’ communication with her confessional to her daughter, Chiang takes the readers on a similar journey of learning to regard the past, the present, and the future as taking place all at once, leaving us to decipher the meaning beyond mere language. In this sense, free will and predeterminism can and do exist simultaneously.

“Within the context of simultaneous consciousness, freedom is not meaningful, but neither is coercion; it’s simply a different context, no more or less valid than the other. It’s like that famous optical illusion, the drawing of either an elegant young woman, face turned away from the viewer, or a wart-nosed crone, chin tucked down on her chest. There’s no ‘correct’ interpretation; both are equally valid. But you can’t see both at the same time.” 

The aliens introduce Louise to the concept of “simultaneous consciousness,” as discussed in previous quotes. Here, Chiang takes the notion further: when different versions of reality exist at the same time, free will and coercion become meaningless as moral concepts, which is how most of humanity regards them. This requires a radical shift is one’s understanding of reality. There is no objectivity or subjectivity; there is only the current lens through which we perceive the current form of knowable reality. This effectively undermines the basic tenets of popular physics and ethics, introducing a radical form of relativism that helps Louise free herself from the limitations of human understanding.

“Once a name was found that could generate human foetuses, women could reproduce purely by themselves. Stratton realized that such a discovery might be welcomed by women exhibiting sexual inversion, feeling love for persons of the same rather than the opposite sex. If the name were to become available to such women, they might establish a commune of some sort that reproduced via parthenogenesis. Would such a society flourish by magnifying the finer sensibilities of the gentle sex, or would it collapse under the unrestrained pathology of its membership? It was impossible to guess.” 

In “Seventy-Two Letters,” Chiang explores the consequences that would occur if a name were able to produce life. The central point of the story takes form in Stratton’s musings on the potential abuse of life-creation through naming. Chiang utilizes the Victorian setting to emphasize the conservative values scientists espouse, such as regarding homosexuality as perverse, while at the same time allowing the scientist’s mind to accept the possibility of positive effects of parthenogenesis. The author depicts Stratton as fairly amoral in his dedication to nomenclature, but also as a man who ponders the potential consequences of his actions, which becomes crucial for the plotline. 

“‘What I see is that commercial considerations are posing an obstacle to spiritual awakening. The error was mine in expecting anything different.’

‘You are hardly being fair,’ protested Stratton.

‘Fair?’ Roth made a visible effort to restrain his anger. ‘You ‘nomenclators’ steal techniques meant to honor God and use them to aggrandize yourselves. Your entire industry prostitutes the techniques of yezirah. You are in no position to speak of fairness.’”

Within the steampunk setting, Chiang here suitably introduces the age-old argument between science and faith: Roth, a Kabbalistic mystic, regards the process of nomenclature as sacred; to him, it is the means to approach God through the power of naming. Stratton, a pragmatist, sees nomenclature as a scientific way of advancing society. The two men are at cross-purposes by the very nature of their beliefs. Roth is unable to view Stratton’s endeavors as anything else but “prostitution” of the Yezirah, one of the earliest Hebrew texts of speculative thought, dedicated to the power of the Name. Stratton, on the other hand, views Roth as narrow-minded and unconcerned with the exigencies of reality. The gap, as shown in this quote, is unbridgeable.

“‘Why, once we have human reproduction under our control, we will have a means of preventing the poor from having such large families as so many of them persist in having right now.’

Stratton was startled, but tried not to show it. ‘I had not considered that,’ he said carefully.” 

Similar to the previous quote, Chiang presents two irreconcilable attitudes. Lord Fieldhurst is an aristocrat from a prominent background, and his true aim in supporting the advancements in nomenclature becomes evident in this conversation: the desire to “purify” the British “stock,” by disallowing the poor to reproduce. By contrast, Stratton’s pragmatism is rooted in his desire for cheaper production and ultimately a more equal distribution of wealth. At this point, the two become adversaries: despite his amoral scientific blindness, Stratton displays socialist, egalitarian ideas, while Fieldhurst’s beliefs are racist, fascist, and racist. Chiang thus utilizes the science fantasy genre to convey the social polarization of human society. 

“Neil was consumed with grief after she died, a grief that was excruciating not only because of its intrinsic magnitude, but because it also renewed and emphasized the previous pains of his life. Her death forced him to reexamine his relationship with God, and in doing so he began a journey that would change him forever.” 

In a story that deals with the literal and symbolic presence of God in everyday lives, the author positions Neil as a character whose experiences lead him to despise everything God represents—especially in a world where His angels are frequent visitors on Earth. His wife Sarah’s death during one of the visitations thus holds the power to change Neil’s attitude: for the worse, if he sees it as God’s cruel punishment, or for the better if he learns to accept and love Him. The opening quote captures Neil’s dilemma and the immense pain he feels as he navigates his attitude toward God. 

“This led to a shameful self-knowledge for Neil. He realized that if he had to choose between going to Hell while Sarah went to Heaven, or having both of them go to Hell together, he would choose the latter: he would rather she be exiled from God than separated from him. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t change how he felt: he believed Sarah could be happy in either place, but he could only be happy with her.”

A thematic continuation of the previous quote, this passage confirms that Neil’s character is only able to contain one true love: that for his dead wife. He has no room in his heart to learn to love God, even if it means he would be able to rejoin Sarah in the afterlife. His love for Sarah is terrible in its selfishness, and Chiang uses this to underscore the fact that had Neil learned to share his love he might have found a way to join his wife. Neil cares more about his love than about his wife or himself, and this attitude determines his fate. 

“Sarah had been the greatest blessing of his life, and God had taken her away. Now he was expected to love Him for it? For Neil, it was like having a kidnapper demand love as ransom for his wife’s return. Obedience he might have managed, but sincere, heartfelt love? That was a ransom he couldn’t pay.” 

Even though God makes no demands to be loved, Neil persists in viewing his relationship towards God as adversarial. The “ransom” he believes he has to pay does not exist except in his mind, blinded as he is by love that has become its own goal. Neil himself sets dichotomies that he attributes to God: namely, obedience versus love. Thus, the author prepares readers for the culmination of the story, through which he shows that Neil’s solipsistic attempts to find a “loophole” in getting into Heaven has nothing to do with divinity and is a product only of Neil’s selfish desires.

“For decades people’ve been willing to talk about racism and sexism, but they’re still reluctant to talk about lookism. Yet this prejudice against unattractive people is incredibly pervasive. People do it without even being taught by anyone, which is bad enough, but instead of combating this tendency, modern society actively reinforces it.” 

In this story, Chiang examines the concept of compulsory calliagnosia, which might prevent lookism, the discrimination of unattractive people. The story consists of sound bites from numerous characters, each of whom espouses a certain view on the subject. In this quote, Chiang establishes the main ethical stance of those who promote radical equality: Being attractive creates partiality in the eye of the beholder. Therefore, an inability to recognize attractiveness should, at least in theory, eliminate such bias. The idea that society reinforces lookism is not new or unknown, but Chiang gives it a science fiction spin, which allows him to approach the concept from several differing and novel viewpoints. 

“Girls have always been told that their value is tied to their appearance; their accomplishments are always magnified if they’re pretty and diminished if they’re not. Even worse, some girls get the message that they can get through life relying on just their looks, and then they never develop their minds.” 

Most characters in this story speak in truisms—meaning that they state things that are widely known and appreciated, such as this quote. Chiang does this to remind the readers that sociologists, cultural anthropologists, psychologists, and laypeople have already examined most viewpoints on social issues, and yet those debates rarely produce actual change. Naturally, every social change is slow and gradual, but the notion of this story is the opposite: What if social change can become instantaneous, the story asks. Again, as in other stories, Chiang places human nature at the center of his ideas, showing that scientific advancement cannot overcome our innate fallibility. 

“Our beauty receptors receive more stimulation than they were evolved to handle; we’re seeing more beauty in one day than our ancestors did in a lifetime. And the result is that beauty is slowly ruining our lives.” 

The idea that “beauty is slowly ruining our lives” is intriguing because in modern society beauty standards are omnipresent and aggressive. From beauty bloggers, YouTubers and vloggers, to the complex advertising system that bombards individuals with beauty imperatives, it is almost impossible not to fall under the influence of unrealistic standards deliberately created to ensure commercial gain or influence. Chiang’s story dates from 2002, and it is interesting to observe how much has changed for the worse in this regard in the intervening 18 years; a whole new generation of young adults grew up under a barrage of aesthetic demands that is even more aggressive than the one depicted in this story. 

“Maybe she thinks I look like a freak, I don’t know, but the thing was, when I was talking to her I didn’t think I looked like a freak. Before I got calli, I think I was just too self-conscious, and that just made things worse. Now I’m more relaxed.

It’s not like I suddenly feel all wonderful about myself or anything, and I’m sure for other people calli wouldn’t help them at all, but for me, calli makes me not feel as bad as I used to. And that’s worth something.” 

Chiang uses this passage to illuminate a significant human characteristic: Most people feel self-conscious about the way they look in the eyes of others. Even among those who are satisfied with their looks, people still develop insecurities thanks to the aforementioned aesthetic demands of advertisements. Additionally, beauty standards change, and what was once considered beautiful goes out of style. The high concept of calliagnosia offers the possibility to relax from the pressure of questioning how a person looks to others by ceasing to recognize that beauty altogether. The author positions this idea as a mental and aesthetic exercise within the story. He poses the question, “If we do not recognize the attractiveness of the other person, would we feel threatened or insecure in front of them?” By leaving this question largely unanswered, Chiang ensures readers ponder the issue more fully.

“Of course beauty has been used as a tool of oppression, but eliminating beauty is not the answer; you can’t liberate people by narrowing the scope of their experiences. That’s positively Orwellian. What’s needed is a woman-centered concept of beauty, one that lets all women feel good about themselves instead of making most of them feel bad.” 

In this passage, Chiang invites readers to consider the concept of male-dictated ideals of female beauty in patriarchal civilizations, as well as the danger of limiting human exposure to a variety of different stimuli. This first idea can be traced in the way male artists have portrayed women over time, thus creating standards of female beauty. In that sense, a “woman-centered concept of beauty” would ideally be the notion of beauty from a female perspective that has not already been compromised by living from birth within patriarchal strictures, which is practically impossible. The second idea, termed, “Orwellian” in the quote, refers to the ways that society seeks to limit individual experience to obtain easier mind and behavior control—another characteristic of patriarchal societies. Thus, Chiang offers a subtle, yet profound criticism of modern Western civilization.