What I wouldn’t give to have an exact copy of myself as a companion! I’ll have someone with the same perspective, taste, and sense of humor; someone who can agree and argue with me while knowing fully well the rationale behind her opinions and claims. I’ll get her instantly because we share the same views and experiences, and where I fail to remember, she will come through. It’s the literal “two heads are better than one” scenario.
I mulled over the idea of multiple copies after reading Ursula K. Le Guin’s short story “Nine Lives.” In her extraterrestrial tale, Le Guin deftly explored the concept with her far superior imagination, using ten copies of a person to illustrate her point.
The story opens with astronauts Alvaro Guillen Martin and Owen Pugh going about their quiet, monotonous lives on planet Libra and bracing themselves for the arrival of new human companions.
It turned out that their companions were a team of ten clones born from a certain John Chow, who, to the astronauts’ bewilderment, were super-synchronized beings who could do every task so well they didn’t need help from others but from themselves.
It prompted a rather poetic observation by Pugh that, to this day, had me stopping in my tracks to think.
Your skin is my skin… but literally, no metaphor. What would it be like, then, to have someone as close to you as that? Always to be answered when you spoke; never to be in pain alone. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. . . . That hard old problem was solved. The neighbor was the self: the love was perfect.
“The love was perfect” was a tempting statement, one that reminded me more of how hard it is to love others at times. Taking Pugh’s statement to heart, I realized that the challenge of loving people will disappear if you can instead love your other selves, provided you love “you.” In that case, you’re assured of unwavering acceptance and constant goodwill because you don’t want to reject or hurt you. If you’re in pain, you have people who share it with you, feeling the exact same ache as you do.
Moreover, discussions will always end in agreement and actionable points. It’s like living and breathing the soft skill that is self-sufficiency, in the most literal sense.
However, while being self-sufficient thanks to your clones sounds convenient, I’ve realized that it also poses several dangers. I imagined that being so content with myself might turn me into an unsavory person. Specifically, I might end up being insensitive and oblivious to humans outside my small circle of selves. At least, that’s what Martin and Pugh observed while living their days with the clones.
The clone’s early attempts at modesty had soon sworn off, unmotivated by any deep defensiveness of self or awareness of others. Pugh and Martin were daily deeper swamped under the intimacies of its constant emotional-sexual-mental interchange: swamped yet excluded.
So affected were the two that they projected their irritation on each other. Ironically, their annoyance is a testament to their solidarity against this strong force of self-absorbed clones. At the very least, our astronauts shared something between themselves. The clones? Stuck in their small world.
When I read this part of the story, it struck me that the idea of being content with one’s multiple selves is bound to get shaky if the person insists on staying in their self-sufficient bubble and disregards the potential of forming bonds with another human. Just because one has their clones as constant companions today doesn’t guarantee that it will always be the case in the future. Self-sufficiency can only take one so far. Eventually, the cracks will appear, and over time, the person will learn that the existence of another will matter in the end.
In the story, a pivotal incident revealed the cracks in this form of self-sufficiency. It was tragic. Fortunately, Pugh was empathetic enough to understand that grasping the idea of loss was challenging for one self-sufficient John Chow. Annoyed as he was with the oblivious clones, his humane side won, and he understood:
Maybe. But I think he’s alone. He doesn’t see us or hear us, that’s the truth. He never had to see anyone else before. He never was alone before. He had himself to see, talk with, live with, nine other selves all his life. He doesn’t know how you go it alone. He must learn. Give him time.
Spending time with one’s self is fun and fulfilling, but if you don’t mix it up with spending time with your fellow humans, it will stop feeling so. Loneliness will eventually kick in when a person doesn’t have someone to share feelings, thoughts, and experiences with. Not having a soundboard and being trapped in a bubble will, over time, chip away at one’s self-sustained happiness.
This realization about needing other people can be humiliating if one is stuck to a glorified image of independence and stability. So, like John Chow, one needs to adjust, stripping themselves of the front they’ve built over the years. Systematically, slowly, as though removing a brick one by one so the wall won’t crumble violently.
In the story, John Chow lived with others but didn’t really notice them. He interacted with people but didn’t create a connection. To realize that one is the same — being physically there but not really there — is devastating.
Thankfully, things will take a turn for the better, and one will learn that what can save them is simple: a person reaching out a hand.
Pugh said it best:
We’re each of us alone, to be sure. What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark?
“Nine Lives” is a lovely little story in its entirety and offers plenty of insights about love, life, the wonders and drawbacks of science, and the meaning of existence. Do read it if you have the time (and prepare tissues).
A side note: I was delighted when it was revealed in One Piece that Vegapunk has clones for him to be more efficient. It hammers in the idea that an individual, no matter how smart, can’t do everything alone. Such are the limits of the human race.
