In 1974, philosopher Richard Nozick proposed a famous thought experiment. He called it the EMTE (Experience Machine Thought Experiment). After its subsequent revision in 1989, here’s how the experiment goes:

Imagine a machine that could give you any experience (or sequence of experiences) you might desire. When connected to this experience machine, you can have the experience of writing a great poem or bringing about world peace or loving someone and being loved in return. You can experience the felt pleasures of these things, how they feel “from the inside.” You can program your experiences for tomorrow, or this week, or this year, or even for the rest of your life … Upon entering, you will not remember having done this; so no pleasures will get ruined by realizing they are machine-produced … You can live your fondest dreams “from the inside.” Would you choose to do this for the rest of your life? If not, why not?

If you’re having difficulty wrapping your head around this, consider it a forerunner to The Matrix.

In other words, would you rather live in a perfect simulation of real-life—one where there’s no pain, no war, no disease, no poverty, no racism or sexism, no xenophobia or homophobia or transphobia, no disability, no disappointments, no awkward teenage years, no ravages of aging, no career disappointments, no zits, no taxes—or would you rather have a real, authentic life, where your experiences come not from inside your imagination, but from the cold hard reality of everyday life?

If you had the choice, would you choose the blue pill that promises a pain-free existence? Or would you choose the red pill that promises no extra pleasure or an absence of pain—but only the mundane reality of real life—filled with all the suffering and disappointment being human entails?

Not an easy one to decide, is it?

We like the heroic idea of trusting the real and committing ourselves to authentic lives of truth instead of simulated lives of distraction, don’t we?

But I don’t know if our ideals always match our sense of ourselves as the heroes of our own stories, as the fearless pursuers of truth over distraction. One could argue, of course, that our addiction to our smartphones and the Internet they deliver demonstrate that we’ve already taken the first steps to plug into the Experience Machine.

In Fyodor Dostoyesvky’s epic novel, The Brothers Karamazov, one of the brothers, Ivan, introduces a similar thought experiment. But instead of projecting our lives into the future, his thought experiment looks back to the dark days of the Spanish Inquisition in Spain.

As Ivan lays out his story for his brother, Alyosha, he sets the stage by saying that in the 1500s in Seville, Spain, at the height of the Inquisition, "when, for the greater glory of God, stakes were flaming all over the country,” Jesus finally returns. Except, he doesn’t return with the trumpets sounding and the skies being torn open. Instead, Jesus mysteriously shows up in the Spanish countryside in the same form as in his first appearance on earth—quietly healing everyone who touches the hem of his garment.

In Ivan’s tale, even though Jesus says only two words, the whole world recognizes who he is, and people flock to him because of the love that radiates from him, touching almost everyone.

In the middle of all this furor over Jesus’ return, a procession emerges from the cathedral bearing the tiny white coffin of a seven-year-old girl. The dead child’s mother pleads with Jesus, “If it really is you, bring my child back to life.”

Jesus raises the coffin’s lid to see the little girl surrounded by flowers and holding a bouquet of white roses. Then, in the only two words Jesus speaks in the whole 10,000-word parable, he recalls the Gospel stories: Talitha cumi, which means, “Little girl, get up!”

And, just as in the Gospel story, the little girl sits up. Ivan says that this miracle overwhelmed the crowd. They were “violently excited.” But, unfortunately, witnessing all this is the Cardinal, who becomes the head of the Inquisitionary Gestapo. The Grand Inquisitor immediately orders the guards to arrest Jesus and throw him in prison.

The crowd, which has all grown to fear and cower before the power of the Inquisition, once again shrinks back in fear.

The rest of the story is set in Jesus’ prison cell, where the Grand Inquisitor shows up to have it out.

Of course, the setup to Ivan’s story strikes most people who read it as improbable. I mean, after all, if Jesus came back to us, we like to think that we’d welcome him. So why throw Jesus in jail for … you know, being Jesus? What’s the problem?

The Grand Inquisitor explains his displeasure at seeing Jesus return. At bottom, the Grand Inquisitor makes an argument that God had it right when humans lived in the Garden of Eden—they didn’t have to worry about anything because all their needs were taken care of. But the sin of Adam and Eve—eating from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil—reveals to them the possibility of their own freedom. And now, having that freedom will ultimately make Adam and Eve dissatisfied with the perfection of the Garden of Eden. So, God kicks them out, allowing them to embrace this newfound freedom.

But, according to the Grand Inquisitor, the descendants of Adam and Eve are cattle who soon realize that freedom doesn’t come with a guaranteed meal plan. Working by the sweat of their brow, even though they do so freely, soon pales compared to having all the goodies the Garden had to offer. So, according to the Grand Inquisitor, humanity’s yearning to return to the Garden of Eden is merely humanity once again longing to put away freedom in favor of a reliable and ouchless existence where every physical need is provided for. People don’t have to think for themselves, worrying about how they’ll put this freedom to work. Instead, they can just plug back into the Matrix, let their eyes glaze over, and live like the cattle they are.

The Grand Inquisitor returns to his disagreement with Jesus by saying that Jesus almost messed everything up for humanity. In the temptations in the wilderness, Satan offered Jesus the keys to returning humanity to its place in the Garden, to take away their freedom and give humans the reliable and ouchless existence God created them for. He says to Jesus: