He was just thinking out loud, really.
“Just imagine,” he says, staring across at the rows of books, mainly works on psychology, that filled the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, “if one, anyone really, were to attain the absolute pinnacle of intellectual ability; could one then make an uncompromised comparison between any states of being?”
He looks at his companion with raised eyebrows.
“Of course,” he continues, “we are looking at the highest possible state of conscious functioning here, one that would provide such a raised level of awareness. For instance, there is a man, caught in the act of robbery, who is forced through this circumstance, to shoot the approaching nightwatchman. At that moment, he is not only responsible for his actions, but more importantly he is responsible for his own being. Consider the moment.”
He steeples his old fingers under his nose.
“There is, of course, the euphoria felt by the music student, after listening to a piece by Mozart played in concert. After, he will sit for a moment. Consider this moment.”
The thinker sits further back in his chair, as though comfort provided clearer thinking.
“Now look at the case of the dying woman, being told by the surgeon that she has an incurable genetic disease. A different moment you might think, but reflect on that tick of the clock, if you please.”
His friend says nothing.
“What of the soldier, home on leave, embracing his loved-one at the airport? What of that moment?”
He nods to himself.
“Or the couple returning home late, only to find their house on fire.”
Momentarily, he loses himself in the volumes of knowledge resting on their shelves.
“What of the thrill,” he goes on, “felt by discovering a special painting in an art gallery, or the fear of being almost hit by a speeding car while crossing the road, or the sadness of hearing of a friend’s suicide, or the pleasure of watching a bird build its nest, or the despair of losing one’s job, or the joy of witnessing the first bloom of a flower, planted in the back garden. What of any of this. What of all those individual moments.”
He stares again at the rows of coloured spines, slightly regretful that none of them are his.
“Do you see? All these accumulated moments, in the great scheme of things… are they not just what they are? Simply moments?”
House-sitting for his son has been a pleasure for him. He was so pleased they could both come. He looks down at his companion.
“What do you think?”
The cat squeaks and licks itself.
He nods and thinks it’s truly amazing just how intelligent this creature is.