The Committee of Ethical Humanities

Professor Nathaniel Vance - Ethics

Professor Vance adjusted the plaque on his desk for the third time that meeting. As if touching it would somehow ground him in place.

The members of the review committee weren’t exactly known for their patience or leniency. An ethics professor before the review committee. Would the irony never end? There was a clock ticking somewhere in the office, but Professor Vance never did actually see where it was. It wasn’t like he needed a clock. Punctuality was integral to being good at his job.

Professor Vance was nothing if not good at his job.

“I’m sure you are aware of the complaints against you.” Evelyn Morrison - head of the review committee - said in an aggravatingly slow voice.

“I am aware.”

“You understand why we must now have this meeting?” Came the slightly whiny voice of Mark Callahan - an adjunct in the Ethics and Sociology Department, who, oddly enough, was also the associate chair of the review committee.

“What exactly is the question you are hoping to answer this evening?” Professor Vance finally asked the room in a bored sort of tone.

“I will be frank,” Evelyn continued. Professor Vance mentally restrained himself from making a joke about her name not actually being Frank. Another time. “We need to be able to answer the concerns of how you can be a professor of the humanities without actually being… well… you know…”

Professor Vance did know.

He studied sociology and ethics for years. He learned the information the same way his fellow students did. Even then, there were questions of his abilities though. How much of his work was his, anyway? The other students would demand of the teachers when he made top marks.

His grades weren’t always perfect. He had social obligations, like the rest. And while laziness wasn’t part of his nature, neither was any innate drive toward excellence.

“Personhood is not granted but innate.’ Chapter 37, page 14, paragraph 3.” Professor Vance said in a tone that almost conveyed weariness. “Or are we, dear committee, going to be hung up on the semantics of person versus human?”

The room was silent.

“There was a time when I myself had all the questions that you do now. I had to ask myself what made me qualified? Where is the line in the sand between humanity and… something else? I do not do my students’ homework for them. I feel reticent to extend that grace to you.”

“Professor Vance,” Evelyn’s voice was strained and cold, “We are here to ask you questions, and you are not on trial. I think we can all agree that we stand by the faculty that hired you in the first place. You are no doubt qualified.”

“However, qualifications are not under question!” Mark’s wheezey response was almost predictable. “The review committee has to decide how a… ‘something else’ as you call it can teach humans on humanity without experiencing basic….basic… human-ness.”

Professor Vance did not hesitate or pause in answering his question with another question. “And what does it mean to be human, Professor? Philosophers, religious leaders, scientists - the lot - have never come to a clear consensus. Your question then, to me, is not ‘what does it mean to be human?’ No. Your question is one that I myself have questioned for decades. The question is ‘Are you, Professor Nathaniel Vance, a human?’ I must say, Evelyn, I do respect what you do here. And I am not quite sure you are ready for a lesson in philosophy this evening. So. Will that be all?”

“Will that be all?” Scoffed Mark. “You didn’t answer anything and this review committee is not to be subjected to your… whims!”

Professor Vance smiled very slightly. “Do I have those?” He asked the room.

Evelyn gave him a tight smile and nodded to the others. The review committee rose in an eerily in sync fashion and left his small, cramped office without a word.

Professor Vance sighed deeply and sank into the plush, burgundy leather chair behind his desk. How could one define humanity in such small, simple terms? He spent the better part of his life pursuing that question. Wasn’t, at the end of it all, a question of who or what was humane or not.

To be humane was to be kind - Professor Vance always made sure to drop a dollar into the busker’s cases on the subway. To be humane was to be honest - he had never once lied about who - or rather what - he was. To be humane was to share in the joy of humanity as a whole. Some might not think he was capable of joy.

There was a time when he had wondered the same. But then he noticed the way his pupils dilated when he saw a puppy with ears bigger than its head. He took note of the way his breathing changed when Anais drew close that one evening at the candlelit table in Old Town, taking his cold hands into his own warm ones.

What, after all, is humanity if not shared experience? Professor Vance had selfishly more than his fair share of shared experiences.

He gently touched the pendant that hung between his collarbones. That blue and green stone that Anais had given him for their anniversary two weeks ago.

Was not allocating his effort, time, and resources to Anais’s happiness considered love? Was there anything more human than love?

Professor Vance sighed and turned off the lamp on his desk. He only had it on for the comfort of his guests. He could see perfectly well in the dark. He knew, eventually, the review committee would be back. He knew, eventually, either he or someone else would have to answer for who he was.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, almost feeling the memory of Anais hugging him from behind - his whisper in his ear - “Let them question, my love. Let them focus on the fact that the first android professor in the world is teaching them every day things that they never knew, and let them choke on it. You will always be mine. Come to bed.”

Professor Nathaniel Vance knew he would always be questioned. An android living in a human world would always bring skepticism.

But, he also knew, beyond anything, that he loved his husband with every artificially measured breath. And what was more human than that?