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n do other people； he is a singularity。 Because his mind is not cluttered with foolishness and false emotions； he is able to perceive what others cannot。 He understands the nature of the world； the purpose of existence； and the truth behind the Big Lie； because of these insights； he is free； and because he is free； he is always happy。
The nature of the world is sensation。 We drift in an ocean of sensory stimuli： motion； color； texture； shape； heat； cold； natural symphonies of sound； an infinite number of scents； tastes beyond the human ability to catalogue。 Nothing but sensation endures。 Living things all die。 Great cities do not last。 Metal corrodes and stone crumbles。 Over eons； continents are reshaped； whole mountain ranges vanish； and seas run dry。 The planet itself will be vaporized when the sun self…destructs。 But even in the void of deep space； between solar systems； in that profound vacuum that will not transmit soiind； there is nevertheless light and darkness； cold； motion； shape； and the awful panorama of eternity。
The sole purpose of existence is to open oneself to sensation and to satisfy all appetites as they arise。 Edgler Vess knows that there is no such thing as a good or bad sensation…only raw sensation itself…and that every sensory experience is worthwhile。 Negative and positive values are merely human interpretations of value…neutral stimuli and； therefore； are only as enduring…which is to say； as meaningless…as human beings themselves。 He enjoys the most bitter taste as much as he relishes the sweetness of a ripe peach； in fact； he occasionally chews a few aspirin not to relieve a headache but to savor the inparable flavor of the medication。 When he accidentally cuts himself； he is never afraid； because he finds pain fascinating and weles it as merely another form of pleasure； even the taste of his own blood intrigues him。
Mr。 Vess is not sure if there is such a thing as the immortal soul； but he is unshakably certain that if souls exist； we are not born with them in the same way that we are born with eyes and ears。 He believes that the soul； if real； accretes in the same manner as a coral reef grows from the deposit of countless millions of calcareous skeletons secreted by marine polyps。 We build the reef of the soul； however； not from dead polyps but from steadily accreted sensations through the course of a lifetime。 In Vess's considered opinion； if one wishes to have a formidable soul…or any soul at all…one must open oneself to every possible sensation； plunge into the bottomless ocean of sensory stimuli that is our world； and experience with no consideration of good or bad； right or wrong； with no fear but only fortitude。 If his belief is correct； then he himself is building what may be the most intricate； elaborated … if not to say baroque…and important soul that has ever transcended this level of existence。
The Big Lie is that such concepts as love； guilt； and hate are real。 Put Mr。 Vess into a room with any priest； show them a pencil； and they will agree on its color； size； and shape。 Blindfold them； hold cinnamon under their noses； and they will both identify it from the smell。 But bring before them a mother cuddling her baby； and the priest will see love where Mr。 Vess will see only a woman who enjoys the sensations provided by the infant…the scrubbed smell of it； the softness of its pink skin； the undeniably pleasing roundness of its simply…formed face； the musicality of its giggle； its apparent helplessness and dependence deeply satisfy her。 The greatest curse of humanity's high intelligence is that； in most members of the species； it leads to a yearning to be more than they are。 All men and women； in Vess's view； are fimdamentally nothing other than animals…smart animals； indeed； but animals nonetheless； reptiles； in fact； evolved from whatever fish with legs first crawled out of the primordial sea。 They are； he knows； motivated and formed solely by sensory stimuli； yet unable to admit to the primacy of physical sensation over intellect and emotion。 They are even frightened of the reptile consciousness within； its needs and hungers； and they attempt to restrict its sensation seeking by using lies such as love； guilt； hate； courage； loyalty； and honor。
This is the philosophy of Mr。 Edgler Vess。 He embraces his reptilian nature。 The glory of him is to be found in his unmatched accretion of sensations。 This is a finictional philosophy； requiring its adherent to endorse neither the black…and…white values that so hamper religious persons nor the embarrassing contradictions of the situational ethics that characterize both the modern atheist and those whose religion is politics。
Driving north on Highway 101； finishing the second of his two Hershey bars； Vess considers； not for the first time； that there is a similarity between the texture of melting chocolate and that of thickening blood。
He recalls the restful silence of the blood pooled around Mrs。 Templeton in the shower stall before he disturbed it by turning on the cold water。
The memory of the hollow drumming in that shower makes him aware of the coldness of all the rain as yet unleashed by the pending storm toward which he is driving。
He sees a quick blush of lightning along the face of the clouds； and he knows that it tastes like ozone。
Above the monotonous rumble of the motor…home engine； he hears a peal of thunder； and that sound is also a vivid image in his mind： the young Asian's eyes opening wide； wide； wide with the first crash of the shotgun。
Even in the airless void between galaxies： the light and the darkness； color； texture； motion； shape； and pain。
The highway rose； and the forests crowded close。 On a wide curve； the headlights of the Honda swept across the flanking hills； revealing that some of the looming trees were immense spruces and pines。 Soon； perhaps； redwoods。
Chyna kept her foot down hard on the accelerator。 To the best of her recollection； this was the first time she had ever broken a speed limit。 She'd never been fined for a traffic violation； but she would be grateful now if a cop pulled her over。
Her unblemished driving record resulted ftom her preference for moderation in all things； including the pace at which she ordinarily drove。 judging by the catastrophes that she had seen befall others； survival was closely related to moderation； and her whole life was about survival； as any nun's life might be defined by the word faith or any politician's by power She seldom drank more than one glass of wine； never used drugs； engaged in no dangerous sports； ate a diet low in fat and salt and sugar； stayed out of neighborhoods reputed to be dangerous； never expressed strong opinions； and in general was safely inconspicuous…all in the interest of getting by； hanging on； surviving。
Against the odds； she had already survived the events of the past few hours。 The killer didn't even know that she existed。 She had made it。 She was free。 It was over。 The smart thing； the wise thing； the sane thing…the Chyna thing…to do was to let him go； just let him get away； pull off to the side of the road； stop； surrender to the shakes that she was strenuously repressing； and thank God that she was untouched