Prelude to Foundation

by Isaac Asimov

  The Emperor, who had listened carefully, said, "But doesn't that mean that you have shown how to predict the future?"

  "Again, not quite. I have showed that it is theoretically possible, but no more. To do more, we would actually have to choose a correct starting point, make correct assumptions, and then find ways of carrying through calculations in a finite time. Nothing in my mathematical argument tells us how to do any of this. And even if we could do it all, we would, at best, only assess probabilities. That is not the same as predicting the future; it is merely a guess at what is likely to happen. Every successful politician, businessman, or human being of any calling must make these estimates of the future and do it fairly well or he or she would not be successful."

  "They do it without mathematics."

  "True. They do it by intuition."

  "With the proper mathematics, anyone would be able to assess the probabilities. It wouldn't take the rare human being who is successful because of a remarkable intuitive sense."

  "True again, but I have merely shown that mathematical analysis is possible; I have not shown it to be practical."

  "How can something be possible, yet not practical?"

  "It is theoretically possible for me to visit each world of the Galaxy and greet each person on each world. However, it would take far longer to do this than I have years to live and, even if I was immortal, the rate at which new human beings are being born is greater than the rate at which I could interview the old and, even more to the point, old human beings would die in great numbers before I could ever get to them."

  "And is this sort of thing true of your mathematics of the future?"

  Seldon hesitated, then went on. "It might be that the mathematics would take too long to work out, even if one had a computer the size of the Universe working at hyperspatial velocities. By the time any answer had been received, enough years would have elapsed to alter the situation so grossly as to make the answer meaningless."

  "Why cannot the process be simplified?" Cleon asked sharply.

  "Your Imperial Majesty"-Seldon felt the Emperor growing more formal as the answers grew less to his liking and responded with greater formality of his own "consider the manner in which scientists have dealt with subatomic particles. There are enormous numbers of these, each moving or vibrating in random and unpredictable manner, but this chaos turns out to have an underlying order, so that we can work out a quantum mechanics that answers all the questions we know how to ask. In studying society, we place human beings in the place of subatomic particles, but now there is the added factor of the human mind. Particles move mindlessly; human beings do not. To take into account the various attitudes and impulses of mind adds so much complexity that there lacks time to take care of all of it."

  "Could not mind, as well as mindless motion, have an underlying order?"

  "Perhaps. My mathematical analysis implies that order must underlie everything, however disorderly it may appear to be, but it does not give any hint as to how this underlying order may be found. Consider-Twenty-five million worlds, each with its overall characteristics and culture, each being significantly different from all the rest, each containing a billion or more human beings who each have an individual mind, and all the worlds interacting in innumerable ways and combinations! However theoretically possible a psychohistorical analysis may be, it is not likely that it can be done in any practical sense."

  "What do you mean 'psychohistorical'?"

  "I refer to the theoretical assessment of probabilities concerning the future as 'psychohistory.' "

  The Emperor rose to his feet suddenly, strode to the other end of the room, turned, strode back, and stopped before the still-sitting Seldon.

  "Stand up!" he commanded.

  Seldon rose and looked up at the somewhat taller Emperor. He strove to keep his gaze steady.

  Cleon finally said, "This psychohistory of yours . . . if it could be made practical, it would be of great use, would it not?"

  "Of enormous use, obviously. To know what the future holds, in even the most general and probabilistic way, would serve as a new and marvelous guide for our actions, one that humanity has never before had. But, of course-" He paused.

  "Well?" said Cleon impatiently.

  "Well, it would seem that, except for a few decision-makers, the results of psychohistorical analysis would have to remain unknown to the public."

  "Unknown!" exclaimed Cleon with surprise.

  "It's clear. Let me try to explain. If a psychohistorical analysis is made and the results are then given to the public, the various emotions and reactions of humanity would at once be distorted. The psychohistorical analysis, based on emotions and reactions that take place without knowledge of the future, become meaningless. Do you understand?"

  The Emperor's eyes brightened and he laughed aloud. "Wonderful!"

  He clapped his hand on Seldon's shoulder and Seldon staggered slightly under the blow.

  "Don't you see, man?" said Cleon. "Don't you see? There's your use. You don't need to predict the future. Just choose a future--a good future, a useful future--and make the kind of prediction that will alter human emotions and reactions in such a way that the future you predicted will be brought about. Better to make a good future than predict a bad one."

  Seldon frowned. "I see what you mean, Sire, but that is equally impossible."

  "Impossible?"

  "Well, at any rate, impractical. Don't you see? If you can't start with human emotions and reactions and predict the future they will bring about, you can't do the reverse either. You can't start with a future and predict the human emotions and reactions that will bring it about."

  Cleon looked frustrated. His lips tightened. "And your paper, then? . . . Is that what you call it, a paper? . . . Of what use is it?"

  "It was merely a mathematical demonstration. It made a point of interest to mathematicians, but there was no thought in my mind of its being useful in any way."

  "I find that disgusting," said Cleon angrily.

  Seldon shrugged slightly. More than ever, he knew he should never have given the paper. What would become of him if the Emperor took it into his head that he had been made to play the fool?

  And indeed, Cleon did not look as though he was very far from believing that.

  "Nevertheless," he said, "what if you were to make predictions of the future, mathematically justified or not; predictions that government officials, human beings whose expertise it is to know what the public is likely to do, will judge to be the kind that will bring about useful reactions?"

  "Why would you need me to do that? The government ofcials could make those predictions themselves and spare the middleman."

  "The government officials could not do so as effectively. Government officials do make statements of the sort now and then. They are not necessarily believed."

  "Why would I be?"

  "You are a mathematician. You would have calculated the future, not . . . not intuited it-if that is a word."

  "But I would not have done so."

  "Who would know that?" Cleon watched him out of narrowed eyes.

  There was a pause. Seldon felt trapped. If given a direct order by the Emperor, would it be safe to refuse? If he refused, he might be imprisoned or executed. Not without trial, of course, but it is only with great difficulty that a trial can be made to go against the wishes of a heavy-handed officialdom, particularly one under the command of the Emperor of the vast Galactic Empire.

  He said finally, "It wouldn't work."

  "Why not?"

  "If I were asked to predict vague generalities that could not possibly come to pass until long after this generation and, perhaps, the next were dead, we might get away with it, but, on the other hand, the public would pay little attention. They would not care about a glowing eventuality a century or two in the future.

  "To attain results," Seldon went on, "I would have to predict matters of sharper consequence, more immediate eventualities. Only to these woul
d the public respond. Sooner or later, thoughand probably soonerone of the eventualities would not come to pass and my usefulness would be ended at once. With that, your popularity might be gone, too, and, worst of all, there would be no further support for the development of psychohistory so that there would be no chance for any good to come of it if future improvements in mathematical insights help to make it move closer to the realm of practicality."

  Cleon threw himself into a chair and frowned at Seldon. "Is that all you mathematicians can do? Insist on impossibilities?"

  Seldon said with desperate softness, "It is you, Sire, who insist on impossibilities."

  "Let me test you, man. Suppose I asked you to use your mathematics to tell me whether I would some day be assassinated? What would you say?"

  "My mathematical system would not give an answer to so specific a question, even if psychohistory worked at its best. All the quantum mechanics in the world cannot make it possible to predict the behavior of one lone electron, only the average behavior of many."

  "You know your mathematics better than I do. Make an educated guess based on it. Will I someday be assassinated?"

  Seldon said softly, "You lay a trap for me, Sire. Either tell me what answer you wish and I will give it to you or else give me free right to make what answer I wish without punishment."

  "Speak as you will."

  "Your word of honor?"

  "Do you want it an writing?" Cleon was sarcastic.

  "Your spoken word of honor will be sufficient," said Seldon, his heart sinking, for he was not certain it would be.

  "You have my word of honor."

  "Then I can tell you that in the past four centuries nearly half the Emperors have been assassinated, from which I conclude that the chances of your assassination are roughly one in two."

  "Any fool can give that answer," said Cleon with contempt. "It takes no mathematician."

  "Yet I have told you several times that my mathematics is useless for practical problems."

  "Can't you even suppose that I learn the lessons that have been given me by my unfortunate predecessors?"

  Seldon took a deep breath and plunged in. "No, Sire. All history shows that we do not learn from the lessons of the past. For instance, you have allowed me here in a private audience. What if it were in my mind to assassinate you? -Which it isn't, Sire," he added hastily.

  Cleon smiled without humor. "My man, you don't take into account our thoroughness-or advances in technology. We have studied your history, your complete record. When you arrived, you were scanned. Your expression and voiceprints were analyzed. We knew your emotional state in detail; we practically knew your thoughts. Had there been the slightest doubt of your harmlessness, you would not have been allowed near me. In fact, you would not now be alive."

  A wave of nausea swept through Seldon, but he continued. "Outsiders have always found it difficult to get at Emperors, even with technology less advanced. However, almost every assassination has been a palace coup. It is those nearest the Emperor who are the greatest danger to him. Against that danger, the careful screening of outsiders is irrelevant. And as for your own officials, your own Guardsmen, your own intimates, you cannot treat them as you treat me."

  Cleon said, "I know that, too, and at least as well as you do. The answer is that I treat those about me fairly and I give them no cause for resentment."

  "A foolish-" began Seldon, who then stopped in confusion.

  "Go on," said Cleon angrily. "I have given you permission to speak freely. How am I foolish?"

  "The word slipped out, Sire. I meant 'irrelevant.' Your treatment of your intimates is irrelevant. You must be suspicious; it would be inhuman not to be. A careless word, such as the one I used, a careless gesture, a doubtful expression and you must withdraw a bit with narrowed eyes. And any touch of suspicion sets in motion a vicious cycle. The intimate will sense and resent the suspicion and will develop a changed behavior, try as he might to avoid it. You sense that and grow more suspicious and, in the end, either he is executed or you are assassinated. It is a process that has proved unavoidable for the Emperors of the past four centuries and it is but one sign of the increasing difficulty of conducting the affairs of the Empire."

  "Then nothing I can do will avoid assassination."

  "No, Sire," said Seldon, "but, on the other hand, you may prove fortunate."

  Cleon's fingers were drumming on the arm of his chair. He said harshly, "You are useless, man, and so is your psychohistory. Leave me." And with those words, the Emperor looked away, suddenly seeming much older than his thirty-two years.

  "I have said my mathematics would be useless to you, Sire. My profound apologies."

  Seldon tried to bow but at some signal he did not see, two guards entered and took him away. Cleon's voice came after him from the royal chamber. "Return that man to the place from which he was brought earlier."

  4.

  Eto Demerzel emerged and glanced at the Emperor with a hint of proper deference. He said, "Sire, you have almost lost your temper."

  Cleon looked up and, with an obvious effort, managed to smile. "Well, so I did. The man was very disappointing."

  "And yet he promised no more than he offered."

  "He offered nothing."

  "And promised nothing, Sire."

  "It was disappointing."

  Demerzel said, "More than disappointing, perhaps. The man is a loose cannon, Sire."

  "A loose what, Demerzel? You are always so full of strange expressions. What is a cannon?"

  Demerzel said gravely, "It is simply an expression I heard in my youth, Sire. The Empire is full of strange expressions and some are unknown on Trantor, as those of Trantor are sometimes unknown elsewhere."

  "Do you come to teach me the Empire is large? What do you mean by saying that the man is a loose cannon?"

  "Only that he can do much harm without necessarily intending it. He does not know his own strength. Or importance."

  "You deduce that, do you, Demerzel?"

  "Yes, Sire. He is a provincial. He does not know Trantor or its ways. He has never been on our planet before and he cannot behave like a man of breeding, like a courtier. Yet he stood up to

  "And why not? I gave him permission to speak. I left off ceremony. I treated him as an equal."

  "Not entirely, Sire. You don't have it within you to treat others as equals. You have the habit of command. And even if you tried to put a person at his ease, there would be few who could manage it. Most would be speechless or, worse, subservient and sycophantic. This man stood up to you."

  "Well, you may admire that, Demerzel, but I didn't like him." Cleon looked thoughtfully discontented. "Did you notice that he made no effort to explain his mathematics to me? It was as though he knew I would not understand a word of it."

  "Nor would you have, Sire. You are not a mathematician, nor a scientist of any kind, nor an artist. There are many fields of knowledge in which others know more than you. It is their task to use their knowledge to serve you. You are the Emperor, which is worth all their specializations put together."

  "Is it? I would not mind being made to feel ignorant by an old man who had accumulated knowledge over many years. But this man, Seldon, is just my age. How does he know so much?"

  "He has not had to learn the habit of command, the art of reaching a decision that will affect the lives of others."

  "Sometimes, Demerzel, I wonder if you are laughing at me."

  "Sire?" said Demerzel reproachfully.

  "But never mind. Back to that loose cannon of yours. Why should you consider him dangerous? He seems a naive provincial to me."

  "He is. But he has this mathematical development of his."

  "He says it is useless."

  "You thought it might be useful. I thought so, after you had explained it to me. Others might. The mathematician may come to think so himself, now that his mind has been focused on it. And who knows, he may yet work out some way of making use of it. If he does, then to fore
tell the future, however mistily, is to be in a position of great power. Even if he does not wish power for himself, a kind of self-denial that always seems to me to be unlikely, he might be used by others."

  "I tried to use him. He would not."

  "He had not given it thought. Perhaps now he will. And if he was not interested in being used by you, might he not be persuaded by-let us say-the Mayor of Wye?"

  "Why should he be willing to help Wye and not us?"

  "As he explained, it is hard to predict the emotions and behavior of individuals."

  Cleon scowled and sat in thought. "Do you really think he might develop this psychohistory of his to the point where it is truly useful? He is so certain he cannot."

  "He may, with time, decide he was wrong in denying the possibility."

  Cleon said, "Then I suppose I ought to have kept him."

  Demerzel said, "No, Sire. Your instinct was correct when you let him go. Imprisonment, however disguised, would cause resentment and despair, which would not help him either to develop his ideas further or make him eager to help us. Better to let him go as you have done, but to keep him forever on an invisible leash. In this way, we can see that he is not used by an enemy of yourself, Sire, and we can see that when the time comes and he has fully developed his science, we can pull on our leash and bring him in. Then we could be . . . more persuasive."

  "But what if he it picked up by an enemy of mine or, better, of the Empire, for I am the Empire after all, or if, of his own accord, he wishes to serve an enemy-I don't consider that out of the question, you see."