1963

Consider the man lying in a coma for the last six months. Is his brain active or is it inert? If it is the former, is it active in any way that we can understand?

In his mind the man is alive and active. He is important. He fights battles with dragons, sits at the table with kings, is spoken of as a legend by many and loved by beautiful women. He walks without fear and wishes for nothing. The sun is in his face and the wind is at his back. He can settle battles by his will alone and can enjoy a level of wealth, happiness and freedom we can only guess at. This life has been going on in this manner for decades and will last for decades more. Every day is different. Every day is a new challenge. Every day is interesting. Every day he retires thinking that his day has been good, his day has been fulfilling and that life is a grand and unfurling miracle.

Then a doctor makes a decision on the man’s quality of life and decides to shut off the machinery that keeps his mind alive. The man dies without knowing why.

Why did this happen? The decision made by the doctor is not based on the actual quality of the man’s life, but on the manner in which the man’s life may interact with other real people like the doctor, or his family or people he sees in the street as he walks back to his car. He knows nothing about the quality of the life experienced by the man’s sensory apparatus. His life’s worth is only a measurement of what he can do for the rest of us.

That night, the doctor tastes a fine dinner, sees an enjoyable film and listens to his favourite music. Later he retires to touch the skin of his lover and settle into a deep and contented sleep, safe in the knowledge that his own senses are reporting the brittle fabric of reality back to him properly, and that life is a grand and unfurling miracle.