I watched a man die today. Watched the whole thing. Made me feel almost guilty, knowing that I could have prevented the affair. Made me wonder about things.
Is it murder if you withhold your help?
I've watched someone murder before by withholding a hand. It was centuries ago. A man let his travel companion fall to his death in what is now France. I considered that man a murderer.
Ah, but those two had a common cause. It was murder because help was withheld when there was reason to expect it. And clearly there is no reason for anyone to expect my help! They never see me, the invisible observer.
That isn't reason enough, I suspect.
I once witnessed a blind man hit by a car when he crossed the street. None of the other pedestrians had bothered to check his progress with helpful words. I had said to myself "they are at fault." The blind man was entitled to the help he could not see.
How I ponder the issue! As if I have grown a conscience.
Many times I have watched death. I've seen murders uncounted, watched disease pull down the living, witnessed passive betrayals manifold. This time I feel the pull of guilt like I never have.
They were not my people. Does that make a difference? I did not come from the same stock. They did not give birth to me. They did not raise me. No kindness has passed between us.
I remember watching as a young Hebrew starved to death in Babylon after his hand was crushed in an accident. Then I had been quick to cast blame on everyone who spurned showing charity to the foreign cripple.
What makes this time different from all the other deaths I've witnessed?
The man was a middle-aged computer consultant. I had sat invisible by his side as he left work at one in the morning. Listened as he spoke to his wife over the phone, urging her not to wait up for him. Two hours later, nearing his home, the man had fallen asleep.
There is a fundamental difference between myself and those to whom I assigned guilt in the past. I am an observer and they are participants. My purpose is to be a distant observer, to watch and pass unbiased judgment should I so wish. At no time have I ever done good or evil. I simply am.
Simple as that.
No, not so simple. I have no divine mandate of noninterference, only the knowledge that I have never been wise or foolish, heroic or cowardly. I have never been anything at all to those whom I observe.
Heisenberg says I am a participant. He says that by the act of observing I change what I observe. I do not like Heisenberg.
The roads had been slick from a light shower. At a sharp turn in the road, one positioned above a steep falloff, the car had not turned. The guard rail offered only token resistance.
It need not have happened. A tap on the shoulder, a word in the ear. That would have saved a life. I could have withdrawn then, gone back to my invisible, intangible existence. I let it happen. Watched as he slept. Watched as the turn presented itself.
I have never felt the stirrings of conscience. Always before knowing my innocence was enough to prevent such happenings. Now I question. Can anyone be innocent after refusing to offer what help is possible?
The car fell, rolled, crashed. I was unaffected. The man lacked my protection. His legs were smashed, his scalp was cut, his ribs broken and organs bruised. I watched as he pushed himself off of the steering column.
His hand reached for the glove compartment, straining for the phone held within. The phone that could summon help. He could not reach. The car lay driver's side down and his legs were holding him where he was.
I think now that I could have opened the glove compartment, pushed the phone towards him. He would have thanked god or luck.
The man started to cry when he knew he could not reach the phone. I watched him cry. I remember wondering if he was to blame for his death. As if he had already died.
He didn't die fast like they do in movies. I watched for more than an hour while he died a little at a time, bleeding internally and coughing blood. It was a painful death. He told his wife he was sorry, wailed that he would never see his daughter grow up. Prayed aloud for deliverance.
His reaction to death was not unique. Others have done the same. I never gave much thought to their deaths, though. Nor would I have attached any importance to this one.
Except . . . his last words. "God, to die alone."
I watched him cry again, forgetting all inhibitions, crying like a child for fear of dying and being alone. I almost said "you're not alone."
Would that I had said those words. I should have done something for that man. He was nothing to me, but I owed him some kindness.
I hear the ambulance now. They can do nothing. They are too late. Fifty-two minutes too late. I did nothing, and he is dead.
I feel that I have done bad by doing nothing. Damn you, Heisenberg.