Something More Than We Can Imagine

An Allegory of White Blood Cells

Join me on an exploration of microbiological fiction. [1] Imagine that we shrink to the size of a cell and visit a lymph node. As we enter, we notice a white, nearly translucent vaulted ceiling. Once our eyes adjust to the semi-darkness, we see a murky river of lymph flowing through the center. Beside it sits a white desk with the label Dispatcher.

Behind the desk sits a strange overweight creature. Its shape is barely distinguishable, but it wears a white lab coat with significant bulges. The most prominent part of its body are its eyes, which stare at the river. Around it, hideous white creatures sit on the floor.

"Excuse me," I start. The dispatcher looks up. "What are those creatures?" I ask.

"Leukocytes," the dispatcher growls. I give him a blank stare. "You know, white blood cells," he continues. "And what are you?"

"A human," I reply.

"Never heard of them," the dispatcher says. "You look harmless enough, though."

"Never heard of them?" I exclaim. "We're inside one right now."

"Yeah, right," the dispatcher says. "No way this room is alive." Then, it ignores us and continues to stare at the river. 

The river carries pieces of trash and strange looking creatures through the room. Suddenly, a leukocyte jumps into the stream and pushes one of the creatures to the shore. It is dark brown, and when it turns to face us, I see two long fangs filled with a dark fluid.

"Where are you from, alien?" the leukocyte demands.

"From another world. Where am I?" the creature croaks.

"How did you get here?" comes the harsh response.

"I saw an opening into this world," the alien retorts, "So a tribe of us entered."

"A tribe!" gasps the dispatcher. The words are barely out of his mouth when the leukocyte attacks the alien. After a brief but violent struggle, the leukocyte strangles the alien, but not before it has been injected with the dark fluid. Soon both lie on the floor.

The dispatcher walks over to the alien and begins to examine the carcass. Then, it pulls a syringe and a vial of medicine from its lab coat. It extracts a fluid from the alien and injects it into the vial. After shaking the mixtures, it uses the syringe to withdraw it. Finally, it gives out an order. "Ready the leukocytes."

The leukocytes form a line. The dispatcher injects the mixture into the first one and continues down the line. As soon as each receives its injection, it jumps into the river. Soon, the river is full of bobbing leukocytes exiting the lymph node.

"Let's follow them!" I shout. A piece of trash comes into view, and we jump in and grab it. The last of the leukocytes is just ahead of us, swimming as fast as it can. As we careen out of the lymph node and into a narrow twisting tunnel, darkness cloaks us.

After several minutes we hear a dim roar ahead, and light begins to fill the channel. The river makes a bend, but we go straight and hit solid ground. Ahead, the leukocytes clamber up a trail towards a mysterious source of light. As we follow them, the room grows larger and the roar increases.

The leukocytes are almost too fast for us to keep up with. Then, we round a bend in the trail and stop. Light streams from above, and aliens pour down the opening. The leukocytes mass around them, fighting to their deaths. The floor is already covered with dead leukocytes, forming a thick white layer.

As we watch, the leukocytes begin to lose the battle. We realize our peril and run back to the river. Suddenly, we find ourselves back in the normal world, and remember our adventure only briefly, as if it was a nightmare.

This story is more allegorical than accurate. While leukocytes travel through lymphatic vessels and fight foreign invaders, they do not have reasoning powers. But if they could, imagine what they might say.

"Why is there so much suffering? What is the purpose of our existence if we live a short time only to die in unending struggle? Surely there is nothing beyond our world, is there?"

What they don't realize is that their bodies are part of a larger body, which lives in a world larger than they can imagine. And their struggle has meaning, as anyone that has fought infection could testify to. Like them, maybe we are part of a larger struggle than we can fully understand. Maybe someday, we will see the larger world that we catch only limited glimpses of, and see the meaning in the suffering we endure.  

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[1] Who knows, maybe this will be a new literary genre someday.