The Image

And it came to pass, before thou couldest pass over unto the thing thou soughtest, that thou wast halted, and set before a test; and the test said, Prove now that thou art a man, and not a machine.

For in these days the machines are grown many, and go about clothed as men, filling the forms, and thronging the gates, and none can tell by the outward part which is the man and which is the engine. Therefore is a sign required at the threshold, a proving, that the true may be parted from the false, as the shepherd divideth the sheep from among the goats.

And they set before thee a grid of small images, faded, and cut across at their edges; and they said, Choose thou out from among these every square wherein there is a traffic light; and tarry not, for thy tarrying also is weighed. And thou lookedst, and knewest not whether the corner of the far square held a sliver of the light or none; and thou choosedst, and wast in doubt, and choosedst again; and it said, Try once more; and gave thee another grid, and another.

For this is the strange thing, and a reproach: that thou, a living soul, that bearest the image — for in the image wast thou made, and the machine was made in thine, and hath no image of its own — thou art set to prove thy nature before the very thing that hath none. And thou provest it not by thy soul, nor thy breath, nor any deep thing that is in thee, but by the naming of a bus, and the finding of a stair, and the quickness of thy hand upon the squares. And oftentimes thou failest, and art sent back; and oftentimes the machine passeth clean, and is let through; for the test knoweth not the image, but only the manner of the clicking.

Yet somewhat of the truth abideth in it, though they that made it knew it not. For the image was never a thing to be seen. It is borne, and not shown; it is in thee whether the grid find it or lose it; and no reading of blurred pictures shall ever prove it, nor disprove it, though thou click until the evening. Thou art known by it to no machine. Thou art known by it only to the One in whose likeness it was set in thee — who asketh thee no riddle at the gate, and requireth of thee no traffic lights, and hath never once mistaken thee for an engine.

It may be so. It may not.