Chapter Text
Immanuel Suleiman Kant checked his watch. It was 5:30 AM. He yawned and began to carefully unwrap himself from his cocoon of blankets (1). With a smile on his face, he sat up and stretched, reciting a prayer under his breath.
The sun was just beginning to rise by the time he had gotten dressed. He walked across the hallway to his parents’ room and stood in front of the door. “Mom! Dad! Time to wake up!” he called.
He knew it would be a while before breakfast, so he returned to his room and picked up the book that was sitting on his nightstand, which was titled What if Everyone Did That? . He quickly became engrossed in his reading. He always kept a pad of sticky notes and a pen nearby so that he could take notes, though the margins of this particular volume were already quite full of annotations.
Before he knew it, his mother was calling him downstairs for breakfast. He excitedly hurried down to the kitchen, where he found a kale and spinach salad waiting for him at the table.
“Wowee, mom, you’re the best!” he said, enthusiastically picking up his fork. “Is there something special happening today?”
“Well, not quite, Immanuel,” said his mother, her awkward smile betraying her nervousness. “But I have some exciting news for you!”
“Spring Break is cancelled?!”
“No, you’ll still have to not go to school,” she said. Kant’s expression fell. “But don’t worry, sweetheart! It’s the next best thing! Your father and I signed you up for a week-long camp”
“A camp?!” Kant’s eyes widened with shock, practically popping out of his head. “Mom, I can’t go, I can’t!!”
“Now, Immanuel, your father and I thought it would be a great opportunity for you to make some friends and get out of your shell.”
Tears began to form in Kant’s eyes. “But it will be so far away! And what about my daily routine?! It will be ruined!!”
“One week isn’t going to kill you.”
“Forget it, mom, I’m not going!”
“Sorry, Immanuel, but you don’t have a choice. We’re taking you on Saturday.”
“Why do I have to?!”
“Because I said so.”
“Mom, come on! That’s not a good reason! You haven’t given me a single good argument as to why I should go!”
Her expression hardened. “Immanuel Tiddlywinks Kant, this is not open for debate. It’s time for you to emerge from your self-imposed immaturity. Now hurry up and finish your food before you miss the bus.”
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When the day finally came for Kant to go to his camp, he was despondent.
“Hey, big guy, are you excited for the trip?” nudged his father as he helped Kant load his bags into the back of the car.
“No.” the boy replied flatly.
“Come on, it’ll be fun! Don’t you think it will be cool to try archery or horseback riding?”
Kant simply shook his head.
“Listen, buddy, I know it’s not what you’re used to, but just give it a chance, okay? It’ll be over before you even know it.”
“I don’t know, dad. I already have a tummy ache. I think I must be coming down with a stomach bug. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go.”
“That’s just nerves, kiddo. You’ll get over it soon.”
"How do you know?! We should at least measure my temperature first!”
Kant’s dad pressed a hand to his forehead. “You feel fine to me.”
“But that’s not scientific! What if you already have it too, so my temperature only feels normal to you because you also have a fever?”
Kant’s father sighed. “Immanuel, don’t argue with me. I paid good money for you to attend this camp, so you had better make the most of it.”
The car ride was uncomfortably silent. Kant, who normally talked at great length about matters that anyone else might be forgiven for calling trivial, was staring out the window with his arms crossed over his chest. His mom prompted him with questions about the book he was reading and his dad tried to initiate a game of I Spy, but neither venture was successful. The boy remained in his near-catatonic state, watching his familiar Konigsburg turn to cow pastures and trees (2). After an hour and a half of radio ads occasionally punctuated by music, Kant’s family finally passed under the fateful arch, whose gaudy colors and flags indicated that they had arrived at “Camp Sparta.”
“Hi, are you here for the Enrichment Program?” asked the attendant at the information booth.
“He sure is,” replied Kant’s father.
“Fantastic, can I get the name of your child please?”
“Immanuel Kant.”
“Middle name, please?”
Kant’s dad began to sweat nervously, glancing to his wife for help. “Honey, I don’t remember it.”
“I’m just kidding. You can go through,” said the attendant. “Your son will be in Cabin Alexander.”
Kant’s eyes widened. “A-alexander? Like Alexander the Great??”
“That’s its name, don’t wear it out!” said his father.
“This isn’t a military camp, is it?” he asked nervously.
“No, sweetie, it would be too cruel to sign you up for one of those. You’d never keep up with the other kids,” reassured his mother as they drove speedily to the spot the attendant had marked on the map.
A muscular middle-aged man stood outside of the cabin and waved at Kant’s parents. His father rolled down the window. “Hello, is this Cabin Alexander?”
“Yes sir,” replied the man, reaching out to shake his hand. “My name is Lieutenant Stewart, and I’m going to be your son’s cabin leader. Come on out, kid.”
Kant gave his parents a nervous glance.
“Now, sweetheart, it’s time to go,” prodded his mother. “Have fun at camp!”
“Bye, Immanuel!” smiled his father.
Kant’s parents opened the car’s trunk, and the boy nervously stepped out. Lt. Stewart gave him a hearty pat on the back that almost knocked the young philosopher face-first into the gravel.
“What’s your name?”
“Immanuel Kant, sir.”
“Alright, pipsqueak, let’s unload your bags.”
Shortly after Kant and Lt. Stewart had extracted all of Kant’s luggage, the car sped away with a screech.
As soon as they were out of the sight of their son, Kant’s mother began to cry. “Oh, Johann, I hope it works.”
Johann squeezed his wife’s hand. “I do too.”
“But what if it doesn’t?”
“Don’t think like that, honey. Just have faith.”
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Immanuel Limmanuel Kant checked his watch. It was 5:47 PM. Lt. Stewart’s yelling had distracted him from his book. The boy who had just arrived was currently completing a set of 20 pushups outside for his tardiness.
When the cabin leader had given up on the boy making it past 5, he led him inside. The newcomer had long, slicked back hair and a pair of small round glasses that framed his face in just the wrong way, bringing out the extra fat in his face. His body was engulfed by an ill-fitting black trench coat. The boy scanned the room; Kant avoided eye contact with the odious (and, as he would shortly discover, odorous) newcomer.
“Private Kant, say hello to your new bunkmate!” Lt. Stewart barked in a manner that seemed more like a command than an invitation.
Kant’s shoulders slumped. He reluctantly climbed down the ladder and approached the other boy. Both began to size each other up.
“Private Immanuel Kant, this is Private Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche.” Nietzsche winced a little when Lt. Stewart mentioned his middle name (3).
“Welcome,” said Kant politely. “Here is our bunk. I already took the top.”
“You’ll have to move, then,” replied Nietzsche. “I have to be on top.”
“Why?”
“I can’t be beneath anyone.”
“Logically, it makes more sense for you to be on the bottom bunk. You are heavier than me, so there is a greater chance that you will break the bed and crush me.”
Nietzsche narrowed his eyes. “Hey! I’m not fat! You’re just unnaturally skinny, like a skeleton!”
“Don’t get emotional, I’m just using reason. I was there first, so I should get it.”
“That’s not a good reason! You’re just following society’s traditions! Just because that’s a common rule doesn’t mean we have to follow it!”
“Alright, maggots, it’s time for our evening activity!” interrupted Lt. Stewart. The eight boys of Cabin Alexander gathered up their blankets and pillows and sat in a circle on the floor.
“Listen up, because I’m only going to say this once. You are to state your full name, followed by exactly two facts about yourself. No more, no less. We will proceed clockwise. Do you understand?”
The boys did not respond immediately.
“I said, do you understand?!”
The campers nodded halfheartedly.
“Good! Now, let’s start with you,” he said, pointing to Kant. The boy suddenly turned red, unsure of what to say.
“Come on, spit it out!”
“Uh, m-my name is Immanuel Kant-”
“And your two facts, Private?”
“Uh, um, my favorite book is… the Bible… and… and… I like to read.”
All eyes turned to Nietzsche.
“Hello, I’m, uh, Friedrich Nietzsche, and, uh, I’m an atheist, and, uh, I like to, uh, debate people.”
“Hey guys, my name is François-Marie Arouet, but you can call me Voltaire,” started a slightly effeminate boy with a wide smile and thin eyebrows. “I won Mrs. Blodgett’s 4th grade class award for best writer, and I’m going to be in my school’s production of Annie .”
Next to him was a boy with a round face and a square nose. “I’m Jean-Jacques Rousseau, but my friends call me Teh Waffle of Doom! I like chicken nuggets, and I’m pretty random! Rawr!”
The next boy was scrawny, with messy shoulder-length hair, high cheekbones, and eyes that were sunken into his skull, giving him a somewhat skeletal appearance. “Hi, I’m John Locke. I’m running for clath prethident next year, and my favorite book is Eyewitneth: The Human Body. (4) ”
“I’m Charles-Louis de Secondat, Baron de la Brède, or Montesquieu for short,” said Locke’s bunkmate. “I like history and I want to be a lawyer.”
Next in the circle was an overweight boy with rosy cheeks. “H-h-hi e-e-everyone, I’m D-d-david Hume, nice to m-m-meet you. I-I-I like s-s-cience, a-and my f-f-favorite food is ch-ch-cheese. ”
Finally, it came to a chubby kid with bushy eyebrows and thin lips. “Hello, I’m Jeremy Bentham, and I’m so excited to meet all of you! One fact about me is that I’m interested in prison design, and I recently came up with an innovation that will surely change the way that prisons are run forever; I like to call it the Panopticon, and the way it works-”
“I said two facts, Private Bentham!”
“Technically I am still on my first one, you see that was all one sentence (which is still going), so allow me to continue thusly-”
Lt. Stewart checked his watch. “Alright, maggots! It’s dinnertime! Line up, single file, and leave everything in the cabin!”
Kant hastily followed the Lieutenant’s orders, standing at the front of the line. Nietzsche, on the other hand, refused, crossing his arms with a smug look. “Make me!”
Kant turned around to glare at Nietzsche. “Come on, just do what he says!”
Lt. Stewart walked up to Nietzsche and bent over so that he could look him right in the face. “Private Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, don’t try me. If you don’t do as I say, you’ll be here scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush until lights out. No dinner. Do I make myself clear?!”
Nietzsche’s smug confidence quickly faded. “Yes sir,” he replied timidly, getting into line with the rest of the boys.
The mess hall smelled of microwaved sloppy joes and sweat. Cabin Alexander was one of the last to arrive, and when the boys stood in line to get their food, they found that all of the good sides had already been taken. All that was left was overcooked green beans.
“Thanks a lot, Friedrich,” grumbled Rousseau. “This is your fault for making us late!”
“Yeah, Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, why can’t you just be good?” asked Kant, sitting beside his bunkmate at the table.
Nietzsche’s face reddened with anger. “I’m not gonna blindly do everything he says just because he has a fancy title! I’m not a slave!”
“But you aren’t being reasonable!” objected Kant. “What if everyone broke the rules?”
“Yeah, what if?” mocked Nietzsche. “That won’t happen because most people are too stupid to question society’s rules.”
“But society’s rules are there for a reason. We need order! Plus, how can you be so sure that you know better than the adults? They’re wiser and more experienced than us, so we should trust them.”
“What if they’re wrong? How do you know they aren’t just doing what society has told them, too? I won’t be a mindless follower!”
“Why do you think you’re so smart?” snapped Kant. “ I think you’re just a selfish jerk who wants to do whatever he wants whether it’s right or wrong! You may not like following the rules, but you still have to follow them because that’s your duty! It’s not all about you!”
“Hey, that’s not an argument! Now you’re just making it personal!”
“Alright, maggots, dinner’s over!” shouted Lieutenant Stewart. “Everyone report back to the cabin immediately! Private Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, that’s an order!”
Nietzsche rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I’m only going so I don’t have to scrub the toilets.”
When the boys entered Cabin Alexander, their personal belongings were conspicuously absent.
“What did you do with our thtuff?!” cried Locke.
“Don’t worry, boys, it’s in a safe place. But you won’t be seeing it again until the end of the week.”
“That’s sthealing! Give it back, or… I’ll fight you! ” the ugly boy demanded.
“Private Locke, I could snap you like a toothpick, so you might want to reconsider. There can be no contraband at Camp Sparta.”
“Sir, can I please have my books? They’re educational, and I can’t fall asleep without my 30 minutes of reading time,” asked Kant.
“Absolutely not! Your parents sent you here to learn, not to get an education!” he barked. “There will be no exceptions, do you hear me?”
The kids stared pitifully at him.
“I said, do you hear me?!”
“Yes sir,” they responded sadly.
“Now, you’ll find your new clothes outside.”
The boys scurried out of the cabin, where they found gray duffel bags printed with their names lined up along the side. They began to open them, eager to see what was inside. They quickly discovered that each bag contained several identical sets of gym shorts and fluorescent chartreuse athletic shirts.
“Well this is a crime against fashion,” complained Voltaire.
“I’m not wearing that!” declared Nietzsche.
“You don’t have any other choice, Private Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche” smirked Lt. Stewart.
“I have the clothes on my back! You can’t strip me naked!”
The lieutenant laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to go this whole week without changing clothes.”
“Let’s see whose will is stronger.”
“Private, we’re going to be spending considerable time outside doing physical activities. Your cabin-mates will hate you.”
“Well, I’ve never been popular at school.”
“Alright, pipsqueak,” Lt. Stewart smiled. “Let’s see how far you get.”
The other kids began to murmur amongst themselves.
“Come on, don’t do this!” pleaded Kant. “You’re not proving anything! You’ll just embarrass yourself!”
“Shut up, Immanuel!” Nietzsche retorted. “You’re not the boss of me!”
Lt. Stewart stepped in between them. “That’s enough! Everyone back in the cabin! Lights out will be in one hour, so if I see or hear anything from this cabin after that point, everyone will be doing squats! Do I make myself clear?!”
“Yes sir,” replied the boys.
“Be ready at 7:00 sharp for breakfast tomorrow. If you’re even one minute late, you aren’t going. No excuses! Now you may be dismissed.” With that, Lt. Stewart retreated to his own cabin next door.
Nietzsche didn’t hesitate for one second. He raced inside, kicking up a cloud of dust that left Kant coughing on the ground. When Kant finally gathered the strength to stand up and walk in, he found Nietzsche triumphantly blowing a raspberry at him from the top bunk, his finger and thumb in the shape of an L on his forehead.
“Fine, you win,” sighed Kant, climbing into the bottom bunk. “But you better not get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom!”
“Whatever, loser,” grinned Nietzsche.
Footnotes:
(1) It is said that the real life Kant had a very particular bedtime routine, in which he required a servant to wrap him tightly in blankets. He believed this to be essential to his health, about which he was highly conscious.
(2) In real life, Kant never traveled more than twenty miles from his hometown of Konigsberg (now Kaliningrad).
(3) Nietzsche was named after King Friedrich Wilhelm IV of Prussia, with whom he has the same birthday, but he would later drop the middle name Wilhelm.
(4) John Locke had a Bachelor’s Degree in medicine and briefly served as a physician.