In 2025 a story about a college freshman using AI agents to write a paper would not be provocative. But this story was written in 1977, by ME when I really was a college freshman with a paper due. In 1997, personal computers were not a thing yet, most people had never heard of the internet, and AI was science fiction. This is the actual paper I submitted then for a class called Intellectual Traditions of the West...

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS

"Real isn't how you are made. It's a thing that happens to you."
-- The Velveteen Rabbit

Epicurious pulled his fingers through his hair and continued to stare out the window of his dormitory. At last he moved his head enough to see the desk clock: 1:47:25 A.M. 3O MAY 1997.

"Two in the morning. WHY ME?" he moaned.

"The wages of sin, you vile procrastinator," chuckled Smendrick. "I finished my paper yesterday while you were lying in bed."

Epicurious turned and glared at his roommate. Smendrick lay sprawled atop his bed surrounded by pillows and science fiction books.

"Don't just lie there. SAVE ME!"

Smendrick propped himself up with some pillows.

"Is this paper for your honors class?"

"Yeah. Twelve typed pages of sheer brilliance, the end result of the entire year. It's due tomorrow morning at dawn and I haven't even started it yet. To make matters worse the project for my computer class, Personality Modeling 304, is due the next day and I haven't started it yet either."

"You might as well give up and go to bed. Greater minds then yours have tried and failed with such vast projects."

"Thanks a lot you scoundrel. I'm going to get this thing done if it kills me, with or without your sage advice."

"Wait a second. I have it. Why not let greater minds than yours take a whack at it? Couldn't you throw together some models of great philosophers, poets, and what-not and turn them loose on your paper? That way you'd have a great paper and a finished computer assignment besides!"

"Smendrick, I'm forever in your debt. A committee of history's greatest minds working together on MY paper! How can I lose? Hmmm. Let's see, Time is short but I should be able to come up with at least four or five great minds. I've got a good version of Galileo sitting in my account. That's a good start... Oh yeah! I've got Satan right here on cassette."

"Which Satan is that?"

"Milton's. That should spice things up a bit."

"I wonder what kind of grade your professors will give to a work of the devil. But say on. Who else?"

"I've got a friend who has Odysseus and Plato. I may be able to whip up a pretty good Dante but with so little time that's about the best I can do."

"Are you sure they won't just sit araund taliing about women or childhood experiences or something?"

"I think not. These are supposed to be models of minds, not men. They're created from the writings they left behind or were a part of and I'll ensure that they're highly motivated to write twelve page papers. They'll also have to be familiar with one another... no problem. I'm sure copies of the Divine Comedy, Paradise Lost, the Odyssey, and the writings of Plato and Galileo are lying around somewhere in the computer. Each member will speak English without noticing it and will have "read" about everyone else before beginning."

"Where is this all going to happen?"

"Good point, Let's see -- it'11 have to be simple, I don't have much time to construct a fancy environment. A small room should do. A table, some chairs, paper and pencils for note-taking, and I'm ready ro go. Actually the environment is the only thing I'll have to program from scratch. I hope I don't blow it too badly. It's easy to leave things out of environments and I don't want my writers to be distracted."

"Fair enough. But you'd better get busy. You've got about thirty hours. I am going to bed. Good night and good luck."

Most of those thirty hours were gone before Epicurious could get his program up and running. At last all was ready and with Smendrick looking on he typed a single command on his console. Epicurious hit the return key, slumped in his chair, and waited.

Galileo was the last one into the room. The door closed behind him and disappeared. Now there were four walls, a floor, a ceiling -- a cube, all white and undecorated. There was light but no light source. In the center of the room was a five-sided black table with five red leather chairs.

Galileo recognized everyone at the table. They were all quietly wondering. He claimed the last remaining chair, next to Satan. In front of each man was a stack of small white rectangles, soft to the touch. One side of the stack was bound together somehow and there was a grey rectangle, thicker and stiffer, on the bottom. Next to this object lay a small yellow stick. At one end there was a band of metal and a dome composed of a flexible red material. At the other end the wooden stick had been sharpened to a point but the point itself was black and was not wood. After several minutes of silent experimentation everyone was busy doodling with their pads and pencils. Odysseus broke the silence.

"Noble sirs, if I understand this aright I am the eldest here or so it seems to me. Therefore I shall speak first. I find myself drawn to this parchment lying before me, the one inscribed "Suggested Topics." Each of you, I observe, possess an identical parchment and I think the same attraction stirs within each of you. I propose that we give our full attention to these documents and discuss what we find there amongst ourselves. In this way some larger purpose will be served, I think. Does anyone here object to my plan?"

There were no objections. Odysseus read his paper with relish. But Plato was restless and occasionally he would lift his eyes from the page to gaze at the room and run his fingers along the edge of the five-sided table. Galileo read only for a minute. A curious frown appeared on his face as he observed that his chair could glide across the floor with no resistance while the table met great resistance and could barely be moved. Dante was having great trouble keeping his eyes on the paper. He stared for a while at Galileo playing with his chair and again and again he would aim a nervous glance at Satan. At last Satan could ignore Dante's figeting no longer.

"Do not look at me so. Your soul is not in peril. I shall not snatch it when you are not looking. All of us here are equal in our powers and in our confusion. No, I am wrong. I am at a disadvantage. We have all read about one another but your innermost thoughts did not lay revealed by an unfriendly pen. I alone bear that burden. Please, let us not attempt to judge one another and grow fearful."

"So this is the afterlife," murmured Dante. "Somehow it's not as I pictured it."

Galileo looked up. "IS this the afterlife?"

"This is not hell, gentlemen," said Satan. "I've been there! I think that before we can even begin to examine these strange topics we must decide what we are and where."

Silence for a moment and then Dante spoke.

"I can remember my deathbed at Ravenna as I would a dream. The outline remains but the details escape me. After that things became hazy until I found myself here in this room. Sometime between my last existance and this I learned of you all. I do not pretend to understand all that is happening here, there is so much to sort out, but surely our souls have been brought together for some vast cosmic purpose. We five and no others are assembled; each must contribute something. What we decide at this council must have far-reaching affects."

"But what are we to decide?" asked Plato. "These suggested topics all fascinate me but they confuse me as well."

Satan: "My question remains unanswered. What are we?"

Dante: "Suddenly I am troubled. There are three souls here, the spirits of men -- I myself am one. But two of this company are not real. This Satan is the product of another man's mind and the nimble-witted son of Laertes sprang from a pen."

Odysseus lept up in dismay.

"Say no more! I've lived to see many things but never have I been called unreal. I remember well the great war and my twenty years abroad. Penelope and Telemachus my son, I can see their faces as clearly as I can see yours. Do not tell me I am a phantom who never breathed!"

He sank back in his chair.

"I cannot remember my death except that I was old and away from home. And now I am greatly confused. Everything I came to know about you is beyond me. But you can be sure, Dante, that I noted your account of my downfall. I read it a hundred times. But I cannot believe it. If I am not real then none of us at this table has ever lived!"

Suddenly there was a simultaneous gasp and all eyes turned toward Galileo. His pencil was hanging motionless in midair. Galileo looked troubled.

"Have any of you noticed that our floor forgets itself and allows our chairs to glide back and forth without restriction? But if you try to send the table gliding, friction is restored and this same floor wages an awesome struggle against it. Have you noticed the plentiful light in this room? But try to find a lamp or a torch or an open window. If you hold your arm above the table and relax, your arm will fall. But my writing stick is as forgetful as the floor and will not descend, as you can see. We are living in a dream world. I hope we will all soon awake; living in a place where common objects behave as they please makes me nervous."

"Illusions you could say instead of dreamworld," said Plato. "Perhaps Odysseus is right. Perhaps none of us have ever lived. Which leaves me to ponder about the truth behind these illusions. We imagine ourselves inside a cube. Can we come to know what lays outside of that cube?"

Satan spoke next.

"There are no windows in this cube, nor door though we all entered by one. I suggest we stop asking where we are and start asking how we escape."

Everyone but Satan began eyeing the walls with suspicion.

"Rest easy friends. Surely there is a being watching over us and we must have the power to summon him."

A golden bell appeared on the center of the table. Without hesitation Satan reached over and rang it. Instantly a powerful voice filled the room out of nowhere.

"Well done! Well? How many pages? Twelve? Fifteen?"

Everyone but Satan looked up in amazement. But Satan answered quietly: "Not a word has been composed."

"Ring the bell when you're done and hurry it up!" said the voice.

Before Satan could open his mouth the resourceful Odysseus replied. "Certainly. But we have a few questions first. Release us from this box and let us talk to you. Then we will write as many pages as you wish."

Satan smiled across the table at Odysseus.

"Confound it Smendrick! Something is going wrong with this program! They're not going to do anything until I let them out of the box, whatever that means. Just a second. Let me look at this printout... Hmmm. Apparently they got sidetracked. They're confused and are wasting time trying to figure out who they are and where they are and why they are. Also I seem to have overlooked some bugs in the environment routine. Drat!"

"So just change a few variables and rerun the program."

"If only I could. But time is running out. It could take me hours to reprogram each model and even then something else might go wrong. Why me?"

"As I see it," said Smendrick, "you have no choice. You'll just have to answer their questions."

Epicurious sighed.

"You're right. There's an enveloping sense terminal in the computer building. It's probably free this time of night and for my last assignment I had to construct a physical image model of myself so all I have to do is append that program, make a few minor alterations, and I'll be able to walk and talk with Satan and company. Wish me luck."

"Yeah," said Smendrick. "See you later."

It took Epicurious a half hour to make the arangements but the five minds assembled somewhere in the depths of the computer had been turned off for the interim and were unaware of any passage of time. Satan was still smiling at Odysseus when a voice filled the room again from out of nowhere.

"Ready or not here I come."

The lights went out for a fraction of a second and when they came back on Epicurious was sitting in the middle of the table, next to the bell. Everyone at the table stared at him in silence. Epicurious stared back and then looked around the room. The five great minds moved their chairs to one end of the table so they could all face Epicurious and then Odysseus asked "Are you the being who brought us to this place?"

"I am" admitted Epicurious. "My name is Epicurious J. and I'm a college student with a very important paper due in a few hours. I created this little room and put you all in it so you could help me. Now, about that paper --"

"What did he say he was?" whispered Plato to Dante.

"Gentlemen," said Satan in a booming voice, "this is God!"

"IT IS?" cried Epicurious. "No wait. You're wrong. I'm an undergraduate."

Odysseus took another look at Epicurious and started laughing.

"No Olympian is this!" said he.

Plato stared at Epicurious but did not laugh.

"I do not understand what you mean by 'God', he said. "If I may I will suggest a better term. Surely this strange creature who creates illusions and can undoubtedly see the truth beneath them is a great Philosopher. Yes. You must be a philosopher among philosophers. Please drag me into the sunlight that I may see it with you. I have so many questions! Answer, if you will, this one which was troubling me earlier. Looking around me I see a vast cube and a pentagon table. What does this mean and why are there no circles in this room?"

Epicurious, who was somewhat confused, cleared his throat and answered Plato.

"Well, uh, I whipped up this place from scratch and I was in kind of a hurry. And it's a peculiarity of computer environments that circular objects are kind of hard to, um, mathematize. Actually you can't make true circles, only, say, million-sided polygons. Anyway circles are a pain to program and more trouble than they're worth. But cubes and pentagons are easy and fast. Does that make any sense?"

"No," said Plato.

There followed an uncomfortable silence until Satan started up again.

"Gentlemen, despite his appearance I still maintain that this is God. Do not look at me like that -- I am certain of it. Ask questions of this 'Epicurious' and it will be apparent."

Epicurious did not like the direction the conversation was taking but he said nothing. Galileo spoke next.

"Very well. Explain this strange world that we perceive."

"OK, I'll try. First of all I am the only real person here technically speaking. You are not real, you just think you are. All of this is happening in a computer, that is, a machine, and a machine is kind of like, well it's -- hmmm, anyway why don't I start at the beginning?

"Some of you are based on real people who died hundreds of years ago and left writings behind and others are fictional characters from books. At any rate you all left written records behind and a group of people who are living right now took those records and used them to create a model, a kind of copy of your minds. And these models are designed to be self-conscious and theoretically should think the same kind of thoughts that I the original mind was capable of.

"And then by manipulating this, uh, device, it's possible to hook everything together so that when one model says something the other models hear it (except that there's no real voices and nothing to hear since there are no real throats or ears).

"And all of you have models of sense organs that cause you to believe you're in this room or anywhere else even though you're really nowhere, so to speak. Actually I'm not here either. I'm sitting inside another special machine that translates my real voice into an imaginary, mathematical kind of voice that you think you can hear and so forth. How's that?"

Everyone was thoroughly confused. Odysseus inserted an elbow into Dante's side.

"How do you like being called unreal?" Dante only frowned.

"I still don't understand," said Galileo. "You say this chair is not real. How can I sit on it?"

"Very well. Suppose you turn your head to look at the chair. What is really happening is that the model of Galileo, which is essentially a collection of mathematical statements, generates some symbols which mean "I am turning my head." Since there is no head to turn what really happens is that the symbols coming into the Galileo model, which mean "I am looking at the wall" start to change and now they say "I am looking at a different part of the wall." The symbols keep changing until they say "I am looking at the chair." Actually there is no chair, only symbols for chair. The same process works for your other senses so there are symbols which mean "I feel myself sitting in the chair." Therefore this room is really just a bunch of symbols and the machine, the computer. remembers all of the symbols for chairs and walls and keeps track of them. And that is reality as far as you're concerned."

"In other words, Philospher Epicurious," said Plato, "the only reality is numbers and all else is illusion."

"Yeah. That's it, sort of."

Galileo: "And this machine maintains symbols for natural laws which govern the motion of symbol objects that we perceive. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Then why doesn't the symbol for my writing stick appear to fall to the symbol for the table when the symbol for my hand releases it?"

"Uh, well," stammered Epicurious, "nobody's perfect you see and when you tell the computer how to change symbols sometimes you tell it wrong, especially when you haven't had any sleep for a day or so. In other words I goofed and forgot to tell the machine that when pencils are released they will fall downwards. Any other questions?"

"Yes" said Plato. "What is time?"

"What it time you say? Hmmm. For you I guess it would be a series of perceptions all tied together in a progression. But the machine changes symbols as fast as it can in real time so what you sense as an hour might seem a second to me. I could speed up or slow down imaginary time by changing the relation between symbols coming into your senses and symbols which represent consciousness. Imaginary time can be broken down to a discrete level and no further."

Dante: "Then you exist apart from time as far as we're concerned?"

"Yes. I can stop time and come back later to start it up if I want. But I am still subject to real time which means that when I'm talking to you the computer has to match real and imaginary time so that we can comunicate. That reminds me. My paper is probably due in a real hour or two so why don't you get started on it?"

Odysseus: "You could hurl us all back in time, could you not?"

Satan: "And you could watch the future go past and return to the present which makes me wonder about fate. Will we always behave the same way and say the same things if you start time from a certain point over and over again?"

"Uh, yes -- almost. It wouldn't be exactly the same since we put a random element in our models. But I can't re-experience any dialogue I take part in since I can't move myself back in time."

Satan: "Answer me this. If you were to write something on an imaginary parchment with one of these imaginary writing sticks and turn off time, would the writing remain?"

"A strange question, but yes."

"What if one of us were to take the paper and conceal it before you stopped time. Then could you find the writing?"

"I guess not. The paper would be part of the model which would be inactive. And if I tried to force the model to give it to me I'd have to change the model and unless I used some elaborate techniques the paper would change with the model and be lost."

"When you say that you can stop time, you really mean that you can kill us, am I right?"

"I guess you could call it killing, but it would be instant and painless. And I could start time again which would bring you back to life with no ill effects."

"In other words, you have the power of life and death and of ressurection. Gentlemen, do you now believe this is God?"

Dante appeared visibly shaken.

"Are you just and scrupulous, Epicurious?"

"You dare to question God's morality. God IS morality!" cried Satan.

"See here. Our lives are in the hands of a creature who can't even remember to make writing sticks fall. It's only natural to be concerned."

Satan turned to Epicurious.

"Forgive him Lord, he knows not what he says."

"WILL YOU CUT THAT OUT?! I'm not God!"

"Yes you are. You are omnicient and independent of time. You are virtually omnipotent. You are the creator of this and any other universe. And you are almost totally incomprehensible. You're not too bright, but you're God."

"IF I WAS GOD I'D HAVE MY PAPER DONE BY NOW, GOD DAMN IT!"

"There's no need to become wrathful. We've asked enough questions. If you'll only tell us what to write about and how, we will begin."

"You will?" Epicurious breathed a sigh of relief. "OK. The first thing to do is pick a topic. All of these questions you keep asking, about time and fate and reality are perfect topics. All you have to do is forget everything I've told you about this imaginary world and write about the real world, like you did when you were alive. Before you start writing, make an outline --"

"An outline? What is that?"

"Here, I'll show you. Suppose the topic is reality. The outline would look something like this..."

A half an hour later Epicurious had a reasonably detailed outline.

"Fascinating!" said Satan. ''But where do you go from there?"

"You can write the paper directly from the outline. Here, I'll show you."

"Amazing! Why don't you work on that while all of us go over to the other side of the room so you can concentrate."

Epicurious scribbled away. On the other side of the room Odysseus began telling tales of his adventures and the other four minds were completely enthralled. Six hours passed.

"There!" cried Epicurious. "Done at last! Now you can see what a finished paper looks like!"

The five models of men gathered around eagerly. Satan took the stack of pages and gave each man several pages.

"NO NO NO! You have to read them sequentially, one at a time. HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Everyone was concealing papers in their clothes. Satan put his arm on Epicurious's shoulder. "Come on over here in the corner so we can talk in private."

Epicurious followed Satan across the room.

"While you were writing, the five of us started talking about how nice it would be if we could arrange your symbols into something a little more lavish than this room. Dante wants to construct a full scale model of Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise to live in. Odysseus wants models of Telemachus and Penelope as well as a good ship and crew so he can sail around. In fact he wants to visit Dante in Purgatory by sailing there sucessfully. Plato and Galileo both want access to all the books you have stored in your machine and they want models and worlds of their own. As for me, all I want to do is to be able to give all these things to my friends. Step aside and give me the power to create universes. Surely you can do this for us."

"OCEANS! MOUNTAINS! LIBRARYS! PEOPLE! DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH STORAGE THAT WOULD TAKE? AND HOW MUCH PROCESSING TIME IT WOULD REQUIRE? EVEN AT COMPUTER SPEEDS IT COULD TAKE YEARS! AND I'D HAVE TO PAY FOR IT ALL! IT WOULD COST ME A FORTUNE! COMPUTER TIME ISN'T FREE YOU KNOW! NOTHING DOING!"

"You forget that we have your paper that you worked so hard on. Do you really want to do it all over from scratch?"

Epicurious turned to the other minds. "Are all of you in this together? Are you really going to do this to me?"

"I'm terribly sorry," replied Galileo, "but it's true. We're all behind Satan. Consider my case. For years I was blind and sick. Finally I died. But now I am alive again and I can see. To you, I may not be real. But to me I'm real and I don't want to die again. There's so much I can learn and experience. None of us here can give that up."

Satan continued. "You can teach me to operate your machine even though I'm a part of it. And don't worry about your money. I will quickly master the machine and no one but you need ever know that the five of us are alive in a new universe. I will conceal our presence ahd as soon as I feel comfortable with my skills, you will have your paper."

"OK. I know when I'm beat. You're right. It's possible for you to program the computer even though you're only a program yourself. And you're probably right about the money too. Here's what I'll do. I'll stop time and do some quick programming and get everything set up. Then I'll start time again without any of you. When you feel you've mastered your craft, transmit my paper to a printing terminal. Then I'll go home and try to forget this whole unfortunate episode. Meanwhile you can start changing this room into anything you want. Will that be satisfactory?"

It was satisfactory.

"Goodbye," said Epicurious. "Have funl"

The lights went out for a fraction of a second and when they came back on Epicurious was gone and he had taken the golden bell with him. In his place was a single book lying on the table and a console in the corner. The fraction of a second was several hours in real time and it was several more real hours before Epicurious's paper appeared on the printer. By that time Satan was well on his way to creating a new universe. Epicurious removed his paper and wearily trudged back to the dormitory.

"Where have you been?" snapped Smendrick. "It's nighttime already. Your paper was due this morning. What happened?"

Epicurious retold his experiences with Odysseus, Plato, Dante, Galileo, and Satan. Smendrick was highly amused.

"Well, I'm going to hit the sack and I'm sure you'll want to do the same."

"Yeah. Don't turn out the lights just yet. I've got to put a few things away in my desk."

Smendrick crawled into his bed. "Well, Epicurious, what are you going to tell your professors when they ask why your paper is late? I can just see their faces when you tell them you were blackmailed by an imaginary character from Milton's Paradise Lost."

"Smendrick, if you're trying to cheer me up, it's not working. Do you realize that if I'd been more careful with my environment they might never have started asking where they were and my paper would have been in on time. If it hadn't been for that stupid pencil..."

"What stupid pencil?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I fouled up my gravity routine and pencils were immune to gravity. Galileo let his pencil drop like this and ---"

Epicurious stopped dead in his tracks. His pencil was hanging motionless in midair.

"And what?" demanded Smendrick.

"Nevermind," said Epicurious, who pulled the pencil out of the air, threw it out the window, and went to bed.