Self-discovery

“It all boils down to the problem of how and with what information can man be perfected. All the other problems rest on this one. The system is a given: the human brain and the mechanisms for introducing information — the eyes, ears, nose, etc. Three streams of information feed the brain: daily life, science, and art. We must distinguish the most effective one in its action on man — and the most directed one. So that it would perfect him, ennoble him. The most effective is naturally the daily information: it is concrete and real, forming man's life experience. It's life itself; nothing else to it. I suppose that in reality it has a mutual relationship with man according to the laws of feedback: life affects man, but by his actions he affects life. But the action of daily life can be most varied: it can change man for the better or the worse. So, that can't be it.

“Let's look at scientific information. It is also real, and objective — but it's abstract. In essence, it's the universalized experience of the activity of humanity. That's why it's applicable in many life situations, and that's also why its effect on life is so great. And a reverse connection exists here with life, too, even though it is not an individual one for each and every person, but a general one: science solves life's problems, thus changing life — and a changed life sets new problems for science. But still, the action of science on life in general and on man in particular can be either positive or negative. There are many examples to support this. And there is another problem: science is hard for the average man to comprehend. Yes, it's hard. All right, if you think about the same thing all the time, sooner or later, you'll come up with the answer. The important thing is to think systematically.”

He was distracted by sobbing from below. He looked down: his companion, never taking her eyes from the book, was dabbing her wet eyes with a handkerchief. “What are you reading?”

She looked up angrily and showed him the cover: Remarque's Three Comrades.

“The hell with them,” she said and lost herself in the book again. “Hm… a tubercular girl, loving and sensitive, is dying. And my well — fed, healthy neighbor feels for her, empathizes. I guess there's no point beating around the bush. The information of art is it! Anyway, its general direction is intended for the best that is in man. Over the millennia, art has developed the highest quality information about people: thoughts, descriptions of refined spiritual actions, strong and noble feelings, colorful personalities, beautiful and wise actions…. All this has been working from the beginning of time to develop in people an understanding of each other and of life, to correct their morals, to awaken thoughts and feelings, and to eradicate the animal baseness of the spirit. And this information gets through — to be precise, it is marvelously encoded, couldn't be better, to function in the computer called Man. In this sense, neither daily information nor scientific information can come close to artistic information.”

The train, passing through Dneprovsk's suburbs, slowed down. His companion set aside her book and started pulling out her suitcases from under the seats. The man still lay on his berth, lost in thought:

“Yes, but how about effectiveness? People have been trying for millennia — of course, until the middle of the last century, art was only accessible to the few. But then technology took over: mass printing, lithography, expositions, records, movies, radio, television — art information is available to everyone. For a contemporary man the volume of information that he obtains from books, movies, radio, magazines, and TV is comparable to life information and certainly much greater than science information. And so? Hm… the effect of art is not measured technically and is not determined through experiments. All that we have to do is compare the actions, say, of science and the arts during the last fifty years. God, there can be no comparison!”

The train pulled into the station, into the crowd of waiting friends and relatives, porters and ice cream vendors. The man jumped down from the berth, pulled down his backpack, and folded his blue raincoat over his arm. His companion was still struggling with her heavy suitcases.

“My, how much luggage you have! Let me help,” he offered, picking up the largest one.

“No, thanks.” The woman quickly sat on one suitcase, flinging a plump leg over another, and clutched a third with both hands. “Oh, no, thank you! No, thanks!”

She looked up at him with a face that no longer had any pleasantness about it. Her cheeks were not plump but blowsy, and her eyes, now watery instead of blue, were hostile. There were no eyebrows, just two thin stripes of pencil marks. He could tell that one move from him and she would start screaming.

“Excuse me!” He let go and left. He was disgusted.