Writer's Debate

And all it took was an experiment. A single experiment for a single grant. A single grant for freedom--for release from that same penitentiary, and for the opportunity to join those giants, to work within that field that I was, in theory, a student of. Today was at last the day in which we were finally allowed to begin our work. In fact, it was the day in which the "theme" for the contest was to be released. I personally found the entire enterprise to lack any real scientific merit. The use of a "theme" seemed as abstract and unscientific as the work of art outside the museum that declared that we sought to go "to the edge." A childish concept, really, for a grant contest designed for undergraduate university students. Students, not of the humanities, or art, but of concrete science. Nevertheless, a grant is a grant, and freedom is freedom, so who was I to complain? And so it was, with Kenneth, that I applied to enter the contest for the grant. And it was at the museum, with Kenneth and Deirdre, that I was to learn the theme of the experiment. It was indeed a curiosity--I had maintained the hope that it would be related to physics, or chemistry. As a chemical engineering major himself, Kenneth would make an excellent partner in any such work. However, I could not deny the possibility that we may be taken to the edge of our expertise. I did not know what it would be--however, I knew that this was my only chance, for several more years, to break out of the woefully stifling environment that was my university. And so, after our early arrival to explore the museum, Kenneth, Deirdre, some others from the same physics course we all were enrolled in, and myself, moved outside to the front of the museum as others from the university began to trickle to the museum, all awaiting the grand unveiling from the institute granting the prize to the winning experimenter in the contest. We all sat in the shadow of the monstrosity of a statue, that grand waste of space--sitting in folding chairs facing the museum, facing a lectern that stood just before the steps, with a row of chairs for the institute's dignitaries behind it. The day was perfect for an outdoor ceremony. However, all the same, I could not enjoy myself. I needed to be ready to work right away for my intellectual liberation. Why weren't they starting? The head of the institute, Dr. Argyle Vincent, it seemed couldn't be bothered to finally announce to us what we needed to do to free ourselves from our scientific shackles, Why didn't he care that every moment of having to wait, looking at the abstract figure that hung over us pained me more and more by the second? But then, at last, the good doctor stood, and moved to the lectern. And, at last, he spoke. "Good day, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Dr. Argyle Vincent, and I am the Chairman of the Faxumen Institute for the Physical and Natural Sciences. Now, although it is a pleasant day outside, I won't drag this short ceremony out any longer than it has to. As you all know, you are all here because you all are applicants for the Franksfeld Grant, specifically designed for undergraduate students in science such as yourself to produce high-level, professional research into actual problems in the academic field of your study with those who work in that field every day. And, today, we are proud to announce the theme from which you shall develop, research, experiment, and produce a final scientific article on outlining your conclusions over the course of three months. Of course, all the rules you"re probably already familiar with, having applied for this grant. So, without further adieu, I shall present the theme. "We on the Board of Directors have decided to present you all with a...more unique theme this year. We wanted to present you all with a challenge in terms of science. We wanted to present you all with something more...abstract." My technical, scientific heart sank. "This year's theme is: "The art of science." For this year, we want you to reflect the artistic side to the natural, physical world. To explore the abstractions of the universe. To expose the beauty of science. And now, to reflect more on this theme, the other members of the Board would like to give brief statements, beginning with..." The doctor's words seemed to fade away within my head as my heart hit rock bottom. Art. Abstraction. Beauty. What did I know of these? I glanced at Deirdre. She shot me a sideways grin. Of course. She was eating this whole competition up. And what about me? Me, who had been a devotee of the sciences for as long as I could remember? My chance for greatness, to be among the giants, gets thrown out the window. And for what? "Uniqueness?" Abstraction? Disgusting. I quietly excused myself to Deirdre and Kenneth to briefly be sick in the men's bathroom. For one who despises metaphors and abstractions, I must say there was something poetically sad about being sick in the bathroom positioned just behind a statue of Sir Isaac Newton. After 15 or so minutes, I returned and slipped back into my seat undetected. And, as I got lost in the frightening presence of the statue declaring that I shall go to the edge, all I heard were the parting words of Dr. Vincent: "Good luck."