American Science Fiction Five Classic Novels 1956-58

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American Science Fiction Five Classic Novels 1956-58 Page 48

by Gary K. Wolfe


  “I hope so. It seems to me that we have a lot to learn from the Lithians, as well as they from us. Their social system works like the most perfect of our physical mechanisms, and it does so without any apparent repression of the individual. It’s a thoroughly liberal society in terms of guarantees, yet all the same it never even begins to tip over toward the side of total disorganization, toward the kind of Gandhiism that keeps a people tied to the momma-and-poppa farm and the rovingbrigand distribution system. It’s in balance, and not in precarious balance either—it’s in perfect chemical equilibrium.

  “The notion of using Lithia as a fusion-bomb plant is easily the strangest anachronism I’ve ever encountered—it’s as crude as proposing to equip an interstellar ship with galley slaves, oars and all. Right here on Lithia is the real secret, the secret that’s going to make bombs of all kinds, and all the rest of the antisocial armament, as useless, unnecessary, obsolete as the iron boot!

  “And on top of all of that—no, please, I’m not quite finished, Paul—on top of all that, the Lithians are decades ahead of us in some purely technical matters, just as we’re ahead of them in others. You should see what they can do with mixed disciplines —scholia like histochemistry, immunodynamics, biophysics, terataxonomy, osmotic genetics, electrolimnology, and half a hundred more. If you’d been looking, you would have seen.

  “We have much more to do, it seems to me, than just to vote to open the planet. That’s only a passive move. We have to realize that being able to use Lithia is only the beginning. The fact of the matter is that we actively need Lithia. We should say so in our recommendation.”

  Michelis unfolded himself from the window sill and stood up, looking down on all of them, but most especially at RuizSanchez. The priest smiled at him, but as much in anguish as in admiration, and then had to look back down at his shoes.

  “Well, Agronski?” Cleaver said, spitting the words out like bullets on which he had been clenching his teeth, like a Civil War casualty during an operation without anesthetics. “What d’you say now? Do you like the pretty picture?”

  “Sure, I like it,” Agronski said, slowly but forthrightly. It was a virtue in him, as well as a frequent source of exasperation, that he always said exactly what he was thinking, the moment he was asked to do so. “Mike makes sense. I wouldn’t expect him not to, if you see what I mean. Also he’s got another advantage: he told us what he thought, without trying to trick us first into his way of thinking.”

  “Oh, don’t be a thumphead,” Cleaver exclaimed. “Are we scientists or Boy Rangers? Any rational man up against a majority of do-gooders would have taken the same precautions I did.”

  “Maybe,” Agronski said. “I’m none too sure. Why is it silly to be a do-gooder? Is it wrong to do good? Do you want to be a do-badder—whatever the hell that is? Your precautions still smell to me like a confession of weakness somewhere in the argument. As for me, I don’t like to be finessed. And I don’t much like being called a thumphead, either.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake—”

  “Now-you-listen-to-me,” Agronski said, all in one breath. “Before you call me any more names, I’m going to say that I think you’re more right than Mike is. I don’t like your methods, but your aim seems sensible to me. Mike’s shot some of your major arguments full of holes, that I’ll admit. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re still leading—by a nose.”

  He paused, breathing heavily and glaring at the physicist. Then he said:

  “By a nose, Paul. That’s all. Just bear that in mind.”

  Michelis remained standing for a moment longer. Then he shrugged, walked back to his hassock, and sat down, locking his hands awkwardly between his knees.

  “I did my best, Ramon,” he said. “But so far it looks like a draw. See what you can do.”

  Ruiz-Sanchez took a deep breath. What he was about to do would hurt him, without doubt, for the rest of his life, regardless of the way time had of turning any blade. The decision had already cost him many hours of concentrated, agonized doubt. But he believed that it had to be done.

  “I disagree with all of you,” he said, “except Cleaver. I believe, as he does, that Lithia should be reported triple-E Unfavorable. But I think also that it should be given a special classification: X-One.”

  Michelis’ eyes were glazed with shock. Even Cleaver seemed unable to credit what he had heard.

  “X-One—but that’s a quarantine label,” Michelis said huskily. “As a matter of fact—”

  “Yes, Mike, that’s right,” Ruiz-Sanchez said. “I vote to seal Lithia off from all contact with the human race. Not only now, or for the next century—but forever.”

  VIII

  Forever.

  The word did not produce the consternation that he had been dreading—or, perhaps, hoping for, somewhere in the back of his mind. Evidently they were all too tired for that. They took his announcement with a kind of stunned emptiness, as though it were so far out of the expected order of events as to be quite meaningless.

  It was hard to say whether Cleaver or Michelis was the more overwhelmed. All that could be seen for certain was that Agronski recovered first, and was now ostentatiously reaming out his ears, as if in signal that he would be ready to listen again when Ruiz-Sanchez changed his mind.

  “Well,” Cleaver began. And then again, shaking his head amazedly, like an old man: “Well. . . .”

  “Tell us why, Ramon,” Michelis said, clenching and unclenching his fists. His voice was quite flat, but Ruiz-Sanchez thought he could feel the pain under it.

  “Of course. But I warn you, I’m going to be very roundabout. What I have to say seems to me to be of the utmost importance. I don’t want to see it rejected out of hand as just the product of my peculiar training and prejudices—interesting perhaps as a study in aberration, but not germane to the problem. The evidence for my view of Lithia is overwhelming. It overwhelmed me quite against my natural hopes and inclinations. I want you to hear that evidence.”

  The preamble, with its dry scholiast’s tone and its buried suggestion, did its work well.

  “He also wants us to understand,” Cleaver said, recovering a little of his natural impatience, “that his reasons are religious and won’t hold water if he states them right out.”

  “Hush,” Michelis said intently. “Listen.”

  “Thank you, Mike. All right, here we go. This planet is what I think is called in English ‘a set-up.’ Let me describe it for you briefly as I see it, or rather as I’ve come to see it.

  “Lithia is a paradise. It has resemblances to a number of other planets, but the closest correspondence is to the Earth in its pre-Adamic period, before the coming of the first glaciers. The resemblance ends there, because on Lithia the glaciers never came, and life continued to be spent in the paradise, as it was not allowed to do on Earth.”

  “Myths,” Cleaver said sourly.

  “I use the terms with which I’m most familiar; strip off those terms and what I am saying is still a fact that all of you know to be true. We find here a completely mixed forest, with plants that fall from one end of the creative spectrum to the other living side by side in perfect amity, cycad with cycladella, giant horsetail with flowering trees. To a great extent that’s also true of the animals. The lion doesn’t lie down with the lamb here because Lithia has neither animal, but as an allegory the phrase is apt. Parasitism occurs rather less often on Lithia than it does on Earth, and there are very few carnivores of any sort except in the sea. Almost all of the surviving land animals eat plants only, and by a neat arrangement which is typically Lithian, the plants are admirably set up to attack animals rather than each other.

  “It’s an unusual ecology, and one of the strangest things about it is its rationality, its extreme, almost single-minded insistence upon one-for-one relationships. In one respect it looks almost as though somebody had arranged the whole planet as a ballet about Mengenlehre—the theory of aggregates.

  “Now, in this paradise we have
a dominant creature, the Lithian, the man of Lithia. This creature is rational. It conforms, as if naturally and without constraint or guidance, to the highest ethical code we have evolved on Earth. It needs no laws to enforce this code. Somehow, everyone obeys it as a matter of course, although it has never even been written down. There are no criminals, no deviates, no aberrations of any kind. The people are not standardized—our own very bad and partial answer to the ethical dilemma—but instead are highly individual. They choose their own life courses without constraint—yet somehow no antisocial act of any kind is ever committed. There isn’t even any word for such an act in the Lithian language.”

  The recorder made a soft, piercing pip of sound, announcing that it was threading a new tape. The enforced pause would last about eight seconds, and on a sudden inspiration, RuizSanchez put it to use. On the next pip, he said:

  “Mike, let me stop here and ask you a question. What does this suggest to you, thus far?”

  “Why, just what I’ve said before that it suggested,” Michelis said slowly. “An enormously superior social science, evidently founded in a precise system of psychogenetics. I should think that would be more than enough.”

  “Very well, I’ll go on. I felt as you did, at first. Then I came to ask myself some correlative questions. For instance: How does it happen that the Lithians not only have no deviates— think of that, no deviates!—but that the code by which they live so perfectly is, point for point, the code we strive to obey? If that just happened, it was by the uttermost of all coincidences. Consider, please, the imponderables involved. Even on Earth we have never known a society which evolved independently exactly the same precepts as the Christian precepts—by which I mean to include the Mosaic. Oh, there were some duplications of doctrine, enough to encourage the twentieth century’s partiality toward synthetic religions like theosophism and Holly wood Vedanta, but no ethical system on Earth that grew up independently of Christianity agreed with it point for point. Not Mithraism, not Islam, not the Essenes—not even these, which influenced or were influenced by Christianity, were in good agreement with it in the matter of ethics.

  “And yet here on Lithia, fifty light-years away from Earth and among a race as unlike man as man is unlike the kangaroos, what do we find? A Christian people, lacking nothing but the specific proper names and the symbolic appurtenances of Christianity. I don’t know how you three react to this, but I found it extraordinary and indeed completely impossible— mathematically impossible—under any assumption but one. I’ll get to that assumption in a moment.”

  “You can’t get there any too soon for me,” Cleaver said morosely. “How a man can stand fifty light-years from home in deep space and talk such parochial nonsense is beyond my comprehension.”

  “Parochial?” Ruiz-Sanchez said, more angrily than he had intended. “Do you mean that what we think true on Earth is automatically made suspect just by the fact of its removal into deep space? I beg to remind you, Paul, that quantum mechanics seem to hold good on Lithia, and that you see nothing parochial about behaving as if it does. If I believe in Peru that God created and still rules the universe, I see nothing parochial in my continuing to believe it on Lithia. You brought your parish with you; so did I. This has been willed where what is willed must be.”

  As always, the great phrase shook him to the heart. But it was obvious that it meant nothing to anyone else in the room; were such men hopeless? No, no. That Gate could never slam behind them while they lived, no matter how the hornets buzzed for them behind the deviceless banner. Hope was with them yet.

  “A while back I thought I had been provided an escape hatch, incidentally,” he said. “Chtexa told me that the Lithians would like to modify the growth of their population, and he implied that they would welcome some form of birth control. But, as it turns out, birth control in the sense that the Church interdicts it is impossible to Lithia, and what Chtexa had in mind was obviously some form of fertility control, a proposition to which the Church gave its qualified assent many decades ago. So there I was, even on this small point forced again to realize that we had found on Lithia the most colossal rebuke to our aspirations that we had ever encountered: a people that seems to live with ease the kind of life which we associate with saints alone.

  “Bear in mind that a Muslim who visited Lithia would find no such thing; though he would find a form of polygamy here, its purposes and methods would revolt him. Neither would a Taoist. Neither would a Zoroastrian, presuming that there were still such, or a classical Greek. But for the four of us—and I include you, Paul, for despite your tricks and your agnosticism you still subscribe to the Christian ethical doctrines enough to be put on the defensive when you flout them—what we four have here on Lithia is a coincidence which beggars description. It is more than an astronomical coincidence—that tired old metaphor for numbers that don’t seem very large any more—it is a transfinite coincidence. It would take the shade of Cantor himself to do justice to the odds against it.”

  “Wait a minute,” Agronski said. “Holy smoke. I don’t know any anthropology, Mike, I’m lost here. I was with the Father up to the part about the mixed forest, but I don’t have any standards to judge the rest. Is it so, what he says?”

  “Yes, I think it’s so,” Michelis said slowly. “But there could be differences of opinion as to what it means, if anything. Ramon, go on.”

  “I will. There’s still a good deal more to say. I’m still describing the planet, and more particularly the Lithians. The Lithians take a lot of explaining. What I’ve said about them thus far states only the most obvious fact. I could go on to point out many more, equally obvious facts. They have no nations and no regional rivalries, yet if you look at the map of Lithia—all those small continents and archipelagoes separated by thousands of miles of seas—you’ll see every reason why they should have developed such rivalries. They have emotions and passions, but are never moved by them to irrational acts. They have only one language, and have never had more than this same one—which again should have been made impossible by the geography of Lithia. They exist in complete harmony with everything, large and small, that they find in their world. In short, they’re a people that couldn’t exist—and yet does.

  “Mike, I’ll go beyond your view to say that the Lithians are the most perfect example of how human beings ought to behave that we’re ever likely to find, for the very simple reason that they behave now the way human beings once behaved before we fell in our own Garden. I’d go even farther: as an example, the Lithians are useless to us, because until the coming of the Kingdom of God no substantial number of human beings will ever be able to imitate Lithian conduct. Human beings seem to have built-in imperfections that the Lithians lack—original sin, if you like—so that after thousands of years of trying, we are farther away than ever from our original emblems of conduct, while the Lithians have never departed from theirs.

  “And don’t allow yourselves to forget for an instant that these emblems of conduct are the same on both planets. That couldn’t ever have happened, either—but it did.

  “I’m now going to adduce another interesting fact about Lithian civilization. It is a fact, whatever you may think of its merits as evidence. It is this: that your Lithian is a creature of logic. Unlike Earthmen of all stripes, he has no gods, no myths, no legends. He has no belief in the supernatural—or, as we’re calling it in our barbarous jargon these days, the ‘paranormal.’ He has no traditions. He has no tabus. He has no faiths, except for an impersonal belief that he and his lot are indefinitely improvable. He is as rational as a machine. Indeed, the only way in which we can distinguish the Lithian from an organic computer is his possession and use of a moral code.

  “And that, I beg you to observe, is completely irrational. It is based upon a set of axioms, a set of propositions which were ‘given’ from the beginning—though your Lithian sees no need to postulate any Giver. The Lithian, for instance Chtexa, believes in the sanctity of the individual. Why? Not by reason, s
urely, for there is no way to reason to that proposition. It is an axiom. Or: Chtexa believes in the right of juridical defense, in the equality of all before the code. Why? It’s possible to behave rationally from the proposition, but it’s impossible to reason one’s way to it. It’s given. If you assume that the responsibility to the code varies with the individual’s age, or with what family he happens to belong to, logical behavior can follow from one of these assumptions, but there again one can’t arrive at the principle by reason alone.

  “One begins with belief: ‘I think that all people ought to be equal before the law.’ That is a statement of faith, nothing more. Yet Lithian civilization is so set up as to suggest that one can arrive at such basic axioms of Christianity, and of Western civilization on Earth as a whole, by reason alone—in the plain face of the fact that one cannot. One rationalist’s axiom is another one’s madness.”

  “Those are axioms,” Cleaver growled. “You don’t arrive at them by faith, either. You don’t arrive at them at all. They’re self-evident—that’s the definition of an axiom.”

  “It was until the physicists kicked that definition to pieces,” Ruiz-Sanchez said, with a certain grim relish. “There’s the axiom that only one parallel can be drawn to a given line. It may be self-evident, but it’s also untrue, isn’t it? And it’s selfevident that matter is solid. Go on, Paul, you’re a physicist yourself. Kick a stone for me, and say, ‘Thus I refute Bishop Berkeley.’ ”

  “It’s peculiar,” Michelis said in a low voice, “that Lithian culture should be so axiom-ridden, without the Lithians being aware of it. I hadn’t formulated it in quite these terms before, Paul, but I’ve been disturbed myself at the bottomless assumptions that lie behind Lithian reasoning—all utterly unprobed, although in other respects the Lithians are very subtle. Look at what they’ve done in solid-state chemistry, for instance. It’s a structure of the purest kind of reason, and yet when you get down to its fundamental assumptions you discover the axiom: ‘Matter is real.’ How can they know that? How did logic lead them to it? It’s a very shaky notion, in my opinion. If I say that the atom is just a-hole-inside-a-hole-through-a-hole, how can they controvert me?”

 

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