The Death of the “N” Word

“Narcissus” by Caravaggio

Let’s entertain for a moment the theory of parallel universes, the doctrine of eternal occurrence articulated in varying forms by both Poincare and Nietzsche. The substance would be that within the infinity of time and space, everything will recur with all its infinite possible mutations. In other words you could climb into a wormhole or other exotic device and find a parallel universe in space/time where you existed along with infinite forms of yourself, the self that was a teetotaler as well as a drunk, the self that was a lothario as well as an anhedonist--who finds no pleasure in sex or anything else. In theory, it’s actually possible though not probable that you could find your exact present self in this world. Infinity like a Pandora’s Box unleashes all possible combinations and permutations. Another formulation of the same idea is the example of the monkey sitting in front of a typewriter and producing Hamlet. But let’s take poetic license and envision a parallel universe over the infinity of space and time where an even more unlikely possibility occurs, say a universe filled with exact genomic replicas of yourself, and not one but thousands of monkeys merrily pecking away at typewriters that all come up with not Hamlet this time, but the play within a play in Hamlet, The Murder of Gonzago. What if? At the very least there would be no such thing as identity theft in a place where identity was so easily shared and uniqueness was useless to cultivate. Of course there is no way to speculate about what life would be like in such a dystopia. One thing is certain, however. The much overused “N” word, narcissism,” would surely become extinct.

The Eternal Recurrence of a Spotless Mind

Everyone is always told that you have to love your significant other warts and all. But what if he or she or it could journey to a parallel universe where none of their positive attributes would be marred by human foibles. Both Nietzsche and the mathematician Poincare believed in the notion of Eternal Recurrence which states that over the infinite expanse of time literally everything and all its mutations would appear as a succession of possibilities. It’s another iteration of the idea that if you put a monkey in front of a typewriter, over infinite time it will spew forth Hamlet. The idea of parallel universes presents a science fiction version of this idea in which chinks in time make it possible to travel to other dimensions where we can be melded into more perfected forms of ourselves. What a savings of time and money. If they could be accessed, parallel universes would prove to be a lot more reliable than therapy. Therapy rarely offers a cure. All that’s being offered the patient is an ability to accept and understand dysfunctional and maladaptive parts of the self—with the dreary hope that under optimal conditions serial murderers, for example, might recognize that they are acting out. If only scientists could find a way of identifying wormholes and other means of accessing the multiverse then we would be able to select from a number of possibilities. Let’s say there had been knowledge of parallel universes back in the day of Adam and Eve. Eve might have been able to find another form of herself which didn’t give in to the temptation to take the apple from the Tree of Knowledge. There would have been no fall or original sin and earth would have been paradise.

It's a Wise Child

Just before the Fourth of July weekend, the Times ran a short piece about Grigory Perelman. Grigory, otherwise known as Grisha, is the mathematics wiz— though wiz does little justice to his level of abstract genius—who proved the Poincaré conjecture, which “hypothesizes that any three-dimensional space without holes is essentially a sphere” (“A Math Problem Solver Declines a $1 Million Dollar Prize,” NYT, 7/1/10). The story was tucked away at the bottom of a page in the middle of the paper, and went on to describe how Perelman had turned down the million-dollar prize from the Clay Mathematics Institute in Cambridge, MA. Perelman had previously turned down one of math’s most coveted awards, the Fields Medal, which if you remember makes a brief appearance in Good Will Hunting. The Times went on to describe the whole fiasco around the Fields Medal: how Perelman presented his proof in 2003, and how “after a brief barnstorming tour in the United States, during which he refused interviews, Dr. Perelman returned to Russia, leaving the world’s mathematicians to pick up the pieces.” Apparently it was too much for Perelman who, the Times reported, moved in with his mother and left his position at the Steklov Mathematical Institute. Well, what is there to say? All of this is somehow reminiscent of that famous clan of prodigies, the Glass family, whose tragic members have their brief day in the sun on a radio quiz show called “It’s a Wise Child.” (Naturally, The Royal Tenenbaums owe their existence to the Glasses.)  Of course, the ultimate reclusive genius is J.D. Salinger, who left New York literary society to live a reclusive existence in Cornish, New Hampshire, just as his Russian counterpart would walk out of the spotlight, off the stage of life, many years later.