Another Bet

Author's Notes

Another Bet is inspired by Anton Chekhov's “The Bet." I copied and pasted four direct quotes from Chekhov's text translated by John Middleton Murry. Those four direct quotes from Chekhov are in italics. Quotation marks were not used to avoid confusion with the dialogue.

A 40 word statement is heavily inspired by Christopher Knight via The Stranger in the Woods: The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit (see Endnotes)

“Another Bet”

The founder was lying in bed. He couldn’t sleep. When he couldn’t sleep, which was every night, he dwelled. This morning, he dwelled over the bet he made ten years ago. It was his celebration party for the sale of his start up. The founder was the newest multibillionaire on Earth. At the party, the founder stumbled into a conversation about capital punishment.

“Oh cmon,” the founder said, “What do you want to do with people who are a risk to society? Even the Europeans have maximum security prisons. They have places to send the real shitbags of society.”

Everyone could tell the founder was intoxicated. He prided himself on being impeccable with his speech and criticized the use of profanity.

“But,” said the first guest, “They don’t have capital punishment.”

“You presume that is good,” the founder said.

“Every person should have the right to life,” said the second guest.

“So pro life? I don’t mean to change the subject, but the right to life is a bullshit argument.”

“What about the innocent people executed? The ratio is one innocent to every eight guilty.” said the third guest.

“It's a cost to consider.”

“Speaking of costs, the death penalty ends up costing governments more than life in prison. It’s literally cheaper to abolish the death penalty.” said the third guest.

“I can make my case without economics,” said the founder, “It’s inhumane to keep them alive. Life in prison kills in increments. Execution kills instantly.”1

“Both are inhumane,” said the first guest.

“One is more inhumane.”

“But who decides?” said the first guest.

“People in each state--”

“People? The people deciding aren’t the ones affected.” said the third guest.

“The state isn’t God,” said the second guest, “The government has no right to take away that which it cannot give back."1

“The state can’t give back any time spent in prison. The state always takes that which it cannot give back.”

“You can’t exonerate death! Reform the prisons!” said the third guest, “Treat them humanely! Let them live! See them change!”

“It might be different if the death penalty affected crime or violence,” said the first guest. “The death penalty is an obsolete; archaic tradition. It’s retribution, and our society should progress past—”

“No one says kill all criminals!” said the founder, “But the most violent criminals make their choice when they commit heinous acts of violence. Being human is more than biology. Being human is more than staying alive. It’s inhumane to keep people caged up in solitary confinement.”

“Well, keep them in humane conditions! It’s not that hard.” said the third guest.

“What would you prefer with your life? Death or life in prison?” the first guest asked the founder.

“There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of prisoners’ lives I’d rather die than live.”

“But that is your choice. Give me the choice and I’d choose my life! It's better to live somehow than not to live.1 Why should your opinion decide the fate of others?" said the second guest.

A lively debate continued until the founder lost his temper.

“No! I’ll bet any of you, all of you. I bet a billion dollars that none of you could stay in solitary confinement for five years, let alone a lifetime.”

The debate was executed.

A software engineer who was listening broke the silence, “Make it fifteen years, and I’ll take your bet.”

“Fifteen?!” the founder laughed, others joined.

“If you are serious,” said the software engineer, “make it 15 years.”

And so they made this wild, ridiculous bet.1 The rest of the party the founder ridiculed the engineer. “You can’t win. But tell us, how many of the best days of your life are you willing to sacrifice?... I hope it doesn’t take you too many weeks to figure out what freedom is worth… Look at him. What do you think? A virgin? A masochist? A severe antisocial disorder… Don’t worry kid, when you come to your senses, I’ll give you a job…”

And now, unable to sleep, the founder thought to himself:

“How stupid is the bet? What does it prove? The young man loses the best years of his life and I lose one billion dollars. The bet gives zero evidence about capital punishment. So one idiot can sacrifice his life for money. Stupid. Arrogant. Stubborn. Egoistic. I should’ve known by the kid’s asceticism and austerity towards the rules. And a billion dollars! It was nothing to me, like a thousand dollars, nothing, no big deal. Idiot.”

The founder recalled the details of the bet. They wrote a contract. The one billion dollars would be managed by a private equity firm. The engineer would live in a newly constructed room on the founder’s Marin county property. The engineer would have access to a gated yard, but no human connections except for written letters. The founder was so confident that the lack of human connection would win him the bet that he didn’t care what entertainment and amenities the engineer could access. Ironically, the engineer was more strict. He refused a TV screen or any electronic device. The room had a bed, a toilet, a sink with running water, a small desk, a window, and a door that opened into the gated yard. Sensors and cameras were in place to detect any exits or entries. It was legally binding. The money would automatically be transferred to the engineer upon completion, or upon failure, deposited back to the founder. A full time caretaker would fulfill the engineer’s requests. The bet started at six in the morning on the first of May.

The first year the engineer spent hours each day working out. He read a lot, but most of his reading related to health and fitness. He ate a vegan diet. He did sprint workouts every morning. He walked several times a day, always alternating the direction of his laps. He ran again many evenings. He did hundreds of calisthenics each day. The engineer impressed the founder, who could observe the engineer from his home office.

The founder was founding new companies, products, and ideas. An obsession with anti-aging led the founder to found a research center. Although the center studied measures to detect cancer and other diseases earlier, the main focus was preventing the effects of aging. The founder’s ambition was to extend the quality of human lives by decades. He hoped to produce affordable methods that would be accessible to all people and governments. The founder already made billions: next, he would make a difference.

In the second year, the engineer started to systematically study history. He stopped reading health and fitness. He did less exercise. In the morning, after his sprints, he read big history beginning with theories about the start of the universe. After lunch and an afternoon walk, he studied human history beginning with the evolution of primates to bipedal apes. At night, after dinner and an evening walk or jog, the engineer studied the history of history and philosophy of history.

By the third year, the engineer was studying several languages. From that point, he asked for almost all his texts in their original languages. He read the classics in Greek and Latin. He read the Russians in Russian, the Germans in German, the French in French, the Buddhist and Hindus in Sanskrit, and the Arabs in Arabic.

In bed, the founder recalled a letter the engineer sent. It was the only letter the engineer sent that wasn’t a request for food or books. The letter stated:

“My dear jailer (the engineer used this greeting on every message), can you please send my letter to language experts in each of the languages I write? May they identify any errors in my grammar or usage.

The following was written eight times labeled in eight different languages:

“Solitude bestows a wisdom that cannot be learned from a book or teacher. It is a perception. A perception that when applied dissolves self identity. No audience, no performance, no self awareness, nor criticism remains. One thing remains: complete freedom.” ²

The engineer mastered his statement in each language. At the time of the letter, the founder thought the word complete was fluff. As if normal freedom is incomplete without some magical perception or identity. The engineer was trying to be profound by adding unnecessary adjectives. The founder thought how he could meditate and brainwash himself into a state of bliss, if he wanted, but what good would that be? Would complete freedom help others? Would it cure illnesses? The founder earned his wealth and success by doing. When he would discover medical and health solutions, he would do so with actions, not perceptions.

The engineer’s history studies morphed into studies of everything. Human history was intertwined with philosophy, literature, science, economics, and psychology. The engineer binged topics in waves. Years passed.

During those years, the founder had forgotten about the engineer and the bet. The research center contributed to scientific progress. It was praised and gained some global attention, but it didn't attract significant funding. The center was unsustainable and a disappointment to the founder. With time, the founder worked longer and longer hours, working hundred hour weeks, many in solitude. He held himself, his partners, and his employees to unachievable standards. As a result, the most talented people left and the least talented people were overpaid to stay.

The founder blamed himself. He hated hearing and making excuses. If he missed a goal, or a product didn’t sell, or a deal collapsed, he blamed himself. Everything was a failure to the founder.

For ambitious people, it’s never enough. It could never be enough, no amount of success nor money nor power. At some point, ambitious people have to become another type of person. The founder became a dweller. He dwelled over his failures. He was magnitudes wealthier than all of his ancestors combined, wealthier than ninety nine percent of humans ever born combined, but it wasn’t enough. Dwelling begot more dwelling. It created a positive feedback loop of negative thoughts, emotions, and behaviors. These effects compounded and resulted in greater losses and failures for the founder and his projects.

And now, in a couple hours, it would mark ten years for the engineer. The engineer appeared to be thriving in his solitude. He must have read at least twenty doctorates worth of course work. He could read and write in at least eight foreign languages. He had stacks of full notebook journals. He was physically fit.

Thinking about the engineer's success reminded the founder of his failures. Financially, the founder had millions, but he wasn’t a billionaire. He had failed to produce or create anything with positive profits the last ten years. His wealth and health were leaving him. Soon he would be broke, dead, and forgotten. Unable to sleep, the founder thought more and more about his problems. He knew the answer: time and money. He could buy time with money. There was another billion dollars. He needed to win the bet.

***

 

The founder sat in his office drafting a message to the engineer. He would offer a plea. The original billion compounded to 1.618 billion dollars. The founder thought that an offer of one billion to the engineer would likely succeed, but maybe he could get another couple hundred million. As he wrote, he referenced negotiation tactics and theories for maximizing expected value. The founder was interrupted by a call from the caretaker. The engineer had an unusual request: to build a fire.

The message dumbfounded the founder. He wondered if it would be a celebratory fire? Was it possible the engineer was struggling? The founder was curious. Perhaps this fire would bring him useful information for his offer.

The founder told the caretaker to provide the supplies. Then immediately after the call, the founder drove to his Marin County home. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there.

At the house, the founder watched the yard. The engineer had been planning. From his room, he carried out rocks, branches, and his notebooks. He built a pit with the rocks and he stacked the branches inside. The notebooks sat in several stacks around the pit. The engineer crouched as he spun a long stick between his hands into another piece of wood.

Minutes passed and the founder got bored. It was amusing. The founder went back to his negotiation tactics.

Twenty minutes later, the founder saw smoke. The engineer had a fire. He fed the fire notebook paper. When the notebook was pageless, he tossed the notebook into the fire. He picked up another notebook and repeated the process.

The founder became curious then furious. He raced to the fence and yelled to the engineer.

The engineer glanced at the founder, ignored him, and continued ripping pages and tossing them into the fire.

The founder didn’t think about the bet or the billion dollars he desperately needed minutes prior. He said, “The notebooks? Why? Leave the notebooks!”

The engineer continued to toss crumbled pages into the fire. He said, “Worthless.”

The flames reached above the engineer’s waist. He threw whole notebooks into the fire.

“Why? But why?” said the founder.

“I quit.”

Those were the only three words the engineer spoke in ten years.

***

 

The engineer burnt all his notebooks. He quit the bet. The founder won the 1.618 billion dollars.

Before the engineer left, the founder convinced the engineer to write a manuscript of what he learned.

The engineer returned to his confinement. For twenty eight days, the engineer wrote page after page, crumbling almost everything. At the end of each day, he burned almost every word he wrote. On the twenty eighth night, the engineer exited. A single sheet of paper remained. It said:

"My dead jailer,

I cannot help you.

I have nothing to teach. I tried and failed. I could copy scientific findings, religious texts, or philosophical arguments. It would not matter.”

 

***

 

The founder retired. He spent his last billion the same as his previous billions.

The billions of dollars created billions of regrets. The founder was ashamed. He obsessed over the opportunities he wasted. His memories highlighted crucial regrets. Small things, like slight distinctions between words. If only he had used a should instead of a could, or a will instead of a may, negotiations and deals would have concluded in his favor. He was too modest and focused on accuracy, speaking in probabilities. The only consistency in the founder’s reasoning was his personal responsibility. There were infinite infinitesimal moments that, if only slightly altered, would have drastically changed the founder's life. But no one, especially not the founder dwelling, could tell which of these infinitesimal moments solidified a life of regrets. Every moment mattered. Many of the alterations the founder dwelled over would have resulted in greater failures. The founder couldn't accept that the past was passed. He couldn't accept that he did his best considering all factors. He couldn't accept that it was highly unlikely that any person could have achieved the founder's goals. And the founder couldn't give himself the benefit of the doubt, so he beat himself with regrets.

Of all his companies, products, ideas, and work, only the founder’s center survived, barely. The center's future would rely on government grants for cancer research, not aging. The founder was forgotten, partially out of shame and partially because the world moves fast.

When retiring, the founder intentionally bought a condo in an upper middle class retirement community where no one knew him. He made friends, or people who thought they were friends, through his senior community. The founder found three groups that met most days. The first group argued politics most of the morning. The second group read and discussed books. The third group played spades all afternoon. These activities distracted the founder from his regrets and dwelling. But at some point he’d go home, and when he got home, he dwelled. He hated politics. The book discussions were echo chambers. The games of spades were formulaic. He thought they all wasted their lives with the same arguments, comparisons, and hands of cards.

Meanwhile, less than 200 miles from the founder, the engineer had been living in the Sierra Nevada mountains since he quit the bet. Besides several shelters he'd use during the winter, he wandered. Sometimes he hiked as far north as Canada. He avoided people. When he needed money, he knew sites that would hire him for manual labor. The few possessions he had, he carried in a backpack. He learned to hunt, fish, garden, make clothes, stay warm, and survive by reading books at public libraries.

***

 

One day the founder overheard three hikers talking about a hermit doing sprints every morning in the woods. The founder interrupted them to ask who they were talking about.

“It’s this old timer,” said the first hiker, “Everyone calls him Goat.”

“He’s a hermit,” said the second hiker, “I don’t know if anyone really knows him. I’ve done a lot of hiking in the Sierras, and I always thought he was just a mythical figure.”

“Where was that?” said the founder.

“Along Superior Lake Meadow,” said the third hiker. “He was runnin barefoot back and forth in the grass. We hadn’t eaten yet, so we stopped to eat and watched him. It was really special. I went back the next day, and he was there again. I ended up hiking 30 miles that day because these guys wouldn’t wait for me. It was worth it.”

“When was that?”

“That was… four and five days ago.”

“Do you think he’s still there?”

“Probably. There was a strip in the grass. It looked like he's been runnin there for a while.”

The founder had the hikers show him the spot on a map. The founder hired a guide to take him to Superior Lake Meadow. They started hiking that same evening.

***

 

The founder questioned the guide and other hikers they encountered about the hermit. The goat was forty to eighty years old. He was deaf or mute. He was a sinner or a saint. One hiker explained how the goat’s trail name came from being a scapegoat. He supposedly picked up trash, but others said that was a cover for trespassing and stealing. People see what they want to see in the goat.

They hiked until dark at the founder’s request. The guide set up their tents and built a fire. The founder sat at the fire. He loved that fire. He loved the starry sky. This was a new beginning. Tomorrow he would be reborn, without regrets, without dwelling, without wasting what was left of his life. This wasn’t the first time the founder told himself that.

 

***

 

The founder woke his guide the minute they had agreed. They packed and left.

“That must be it,” said the guide as he pointed to a dirt strip in the grass ahead. The strip was a straight line that ran from the distant treeline to the brush closer to the trail. They were two hours earlier than the hikers said. They waited.

A bearded man walked out from the forest. He wore old running clothes and a boonie hat. He set his backpack down and unlaced his shoes.

The founder knew it was the engineer. The founder called out the enineer's name. The engineer recognized the voice. The founder yelled again as he walked to the engineer. The engineer looked annoyed.

“My dear jailer,” the engineer said with a scratchy voice.

“How are you doing?” asked the founder. The engineer didn't respond. The founder said, “It’s beautiful. Fresh air. The starry sky last night–”

“What do you want?”

The founder laughed, “Make it fifteen years!” the founder laughed again. “You haven’t changed.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m old. I’m miserable. I hate my life. I don’t sleep. I dwell so much that I dwell about dwelling. Then I hate myself for it and a billion other things.”

The engineer didn't respond.

“Do you have regrets?” the founder asked.

“Not really.”

The founder laughed, “Yes of course. Not really." The founder stopped laughing. He continued, "You know everything. You’ve read everything. What about the wisdom you bestowed? Bestowed was the word, right? Complete freedom? Cmon.”

“We are different,” the engineer said. His face softened, the annoyance lifted. The engineer asked, “What makes you happy?”

The founder laughed again. When he observed the engineer was sincere, he thought about the question. He couldn’t answer. They stood together, embracing silence.

The founder sat on a nearby rock.

The engineer ran strides, then returned to the forest.

The End

 

Endnotes

1. Copied and pasted from Anton Chekhov's "The Bet" translated by John Middleton Murry. Wikisource, https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Bet_and_Other_Stories/The_Bet

2. Revised from The Stranger in the Woods: The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit: "Solitude bestows an increase in something valuable. I can’t dismiss that idea. Solitude increased my perception. But here’s the tricky thing: when I applied my increased perception to myself, I lost my identity. There was no audience, no one to perform for. There was no need to define myself. I became irrelevant.” Christopher Knight