The Sentimental Agents in the Volyen Empire

by Doris Lessing

  In response to this rebuke, or, rather, reminder, I have received a sober acknowledgement that it was necessary.

  The preliminary hearing has taken place. Spascock, in a last spasm of professional indignation, submitted formally that the case should be disallowed. This was in a small chamber off the regular court. Spascock, three Assessors, Grice, Incent, some court officials. The Assessors were all uncomfortable, and showed it.

  ‘On what are you basing your Indictment?’ asked the Chief Assessor.

  ‘On this first clause of our Volyen Constitution,’ said Grice, who was standing there upright, burning-eyed, feeling himself the Judgment of History on Volyen personified.

  ‘Read it.’

  ‘“Volyen undertakes to protect and to provide for all its citizens in accordance with the development at a given time of its natural resources and with the evolution and growth of knowledge about the laws of Volyen nature and the laws of the dynamics of Volyen society.”’

  Grice listened to this as if every word was an accusation no one could disagree with, and stood triumphant, waiting.

  The three Assessors avoided one another’s eyes.

  Spascock said, ‘In my opinion, it is preposterous.’

  ‘Why, Spasky?’ demanded Grice. ‘Sorry. I mean, Defender. Either Volyen means what it – she – he says, or does not. What is the point of having a Constitution when it is considered ridiculous even to ask if it is being honoured?’

  Incent, who was looking very unhappy, said to Grice, ‘Well, yes, we all know that, but –’

  ‘What do you know?’ This particular clause, the key clause of the whole Constitution, was put there because when the Constitution was reformed, it was discovered that the laws then had no relation at all with modern sociological and psychological knowledge. Then, and again now, the laws are an anomaly.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ said the Chief Assessor. ‘Who is Volyen in this context? Precisely who or what is it who “undertakes”?’

  ‘Obviously, the government.’

  ‘That isn’t so easy, is it?’ said Spascock. ‘Governments come and go. Is “Volyen,” then, the Permanent Officials?’

  ‘Of course not. It is obvious what Volyen is,’ said Grice. ‘It is the spirit of continuity …’ And, since Spascock and the Chief Assessor were about to challenge this rather tenuous concept, he said, ‘If “Volyen” can “undertake,” there has to be something permanent to do the undertaking, even if this something isn’t easy to define.’

  ‘Logical enough,’ said Spascock, ‘but in my view, nonsense. For one thing, if “Volyen” were to be continually reforming its own structures in accordance with the developments of scientific research, it would have to have some body or organ in existence to monitor these developments, and to incorporate them into the said structures.’

  ‘You have made my point, I think,’ said Grice.

  ‘But,’ said Spascock, ‘it would have to agree about the results of modern research. And that is not so easy.’

  ‘Extremely easy,’ said Grice, ‘if it wanted to.’

  ‘It …?’ said the Chief Assessor. Normally he looks like one: judicious, cool, detached from pettiness. But he was uneasy and angry – and everyone knew why. Pressures from above.

  ‘Look at it like this,’ said Incent, obviously making an effort to support Grice, though it was evident it was an effort. ‘If they felt it necessary to put that clause first, because our knowledge about ourselves had outgrown our legal and social structures, then there could not have been any agreement.’

  ‘Our?’ inquired Spascock coldly of Incent, who is so obviously an alien and is known as coming ‘from far away’ to everyone.

  ‘I was identifying with Volyen,’ muttered Incent.

  ‘With what?’ inquired the Chief Assessor, with an attempt at humour.

  A long unhappy silence at this point. It is not easy for professionals to go against their training. Ordinarily such a case would not even have reached this stage.

  ‘I do not see how you can possibly deny,’ said Grice, with his manner of formalized contempt, ‘that there is a Constitution which makes certain promises.’

  ‘We do not deny it,’ said Spascock.

  ‘And that these promises have not been kept.’

  ‘That is another matter.’

  ‘I propose to prove it.’

  ‘I have a suggestion. We should appoint a Select Committee –’

  ‘Oh, no, you must be joking,’ said Grice.

  ‘ – to determine the exact meaning of Volyen, “it” in this context, “undertake,” “provide for,” and particularly “in accordance with.”’

  ‘Agreed,’ said all three Assessors together.

  ‘Very well,’ said Grice. ‘You are legally in the right. But I hereby demand the right to be heard by my Peers.’

  ‘Oh, Gricey,’ said the Defender, ‘do you have to?’

  ‘Yes, Defender of the Public,’ said Grice, ‘I do.’

  Knowing that they were defeated, the Assessors and Spascock sat in angry resignation, while the court officials went out and brought into the chamber the first twelve individuals they could see.

  The mood on Volyen is changing fast. Together with the unrest caused by the rumours of imminent invasion, there is also a rising elation and excitement. Everyone is restless, and they all run about looking for stimulation and events that will feed their need for it. The court officials’ usual dignified and formal behaviour was modified almost into carelessness, something not far from contempt.

  ‘You there, come along, you are wanted as a Peer for a real lulu of a court case …’ ‘You’d never believe what they have cooked up this time – you’ll get a good laugh, if nothing else.’

  That was the spirit of the summons to the Peers. Seven soldiers, five civilians, crowded into the Peer-box, smiling and in the holiday mood that for some reason is evoked in Volyens by the approach of war. The Chief Assessor frowned at them, and they composed their faces, to hear: ‘Do you agree or not that Grice, Governor of Volyenadna, has the right to cause trial to be made of Volyen for neglecting its duty to its citizens, as laid out in the Constitution?’

  The Peers exchanged glances, only just suppressing smiles. ‘We agree, all right,’ they said. ‘Right on!’ ‘Wow!’ ‘Yes, we’d like a bit of that …

  ‘Oh, very well,’ said Spascock, ‘very well. But let the Select Committee be summoned and set to work.’

  After this, Incent went to Grice and said that ‘objective conditions made this Trial a galactic anomaly.’ Grice is intrigued by the thoughts aroused in him by Incent, and words like ‘galactic’ induce in him a condition whereby, as he says, he ‘feels as if his mind becomes filled with cool air.’ But on this occasion his view of Incent worked against Incent’s intentions.

  ‘You people from “far away” can’t understand our local conditions.’

  ‘But I am living here, aren’t I?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter; you have to be born here too.’

  ‘You aren’t much of an advertisement for it, then. Look at the mess you are all in.’

  ‘Yes, but this Trial will help, in a small and modest way to …

  ‘Grice, believe me, this Trial is simply – inappropriate.’

  ‘What a word to use, when things are so desperate! There you are, that’s what I mean. You are cold, heartless!’

  ‘Can’t you see that –’

  ‘Look, tell me truthfully, does Volyen do what its Constitution promises?’

  ‘No, of course not. But galactically speaking, one can say that happy is the planet which has no need of a Constitution.’

  ‘And you can joke!’

  ‘I wasn’t – but why not?’

  ‘And in the meantime Justice is being …’ The word Justice, on top of galactic, finally dissolved Grice. He sat with tears streaming, and turned his face so that Incent could see them.

  ‘And anyway, it is quite wrong to say that you can understand local problems only when y
ou are among them. On the contrary. And I am a proof of it. And so are you.’

  You will see that Incent is recovering fast.

  But he has again been travelling over Volyen telling anyone who will listen about their animal brains and their higher brains. ‘You see,’ he exhorts earnestly, ‘when you are in a pack or a herd, then the instincts appropriate to these conditions rule you. When you are stampeding along a street in a herd, you have to let out rhythmic, repetitive cries, you have to burn and break and destroy, you have to kill. But when you are sitting quietly alone, as you are with me, then your higher brains rule you, and you are in that condition responsive to higher impulses, don’t you see?’

  Incent earns only agreement and intelligent comprehension from these Volyens when they are ‘sitting quietly’; but these same Volyens, when rushing about in their herds, seeing Incent exhorting them from the pavement, or from the lamppost he has climbed to be heard better, merely curse him or ignore him completely. ‘Don’t you see,’ he has been heard to say afterwards to such a Volyen, who is shamefaced and embarrassed and saying, ‘I don’t understand what got into me!’, ‘the thing is, you must never, ever, allow yourself to become part of a mob, or you won’t be able to help yourself.’

  ‘But that is all very well! We are always in groups of one kind or another, aren’t we? Well, nearly always.’

  In such efforts Incent has been spending his time, and meanwhile Krolgul prowls, and watches for an opportunity to regain sway over him. But Incent, on seeing Krolgul, or even hearing that he is in the neighbourhood, runs away.

  The following conversation has taken place between Incent and me.

  ‘Incent, at some point you must face Krolgul.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m afraid.’

  ‘But you are stronger now. You can stand up to him.’

  ‘I’m afraid of his words-of-power.’

  I am afraid too, for Incent, and, seeing this, Incent cried out: ‘Why did you put me in this position, this key position?’

  ‘You volunteered, Incent.’

  ‘I did? I must have been mad. Why didn’t you stop me?’

  ‘I, as your tutor, encouraged you!’

  ‘But it is too much for me.’

  ‘Others of our agents have volunteered to come to your aid, and have already arrived and are at work through the Volyen “Empire,” and that is one reason why you are stronger. Instead of one “conduit,” there are several.’

  ‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘I suppose it won’t be long before they go bad too.’

  Johor, I really wish you could see our Incent at such moments of dramatic self-presentation. We know a modest, thoughtful individual, who even when in the garb of Volyen retained – on Canopus – these qualities. But here, imagine him as he flings himself into a reclining position, head on a long nervous hand, a black mane flowing over slender shoulders, and the vast black eyes of his (vanity-motivated, I am afraid) choice gazing at me. But really his look is inward, as it were in satisfied contemplation of an inner wound or shock. And then the lift of the eyes up and out, in a stare that proudly accepts infinite dolour.

  ‘So far they are all doing nicely. Not one has gone bad. And for that we have partly to thank you, for standing firm. But really, Incent, you must see that it is time you came completely to yourself. It is really nonproductive, at this moment when all of Volyen is in the grip of mob emotion, to explain the mechanisms of mob emotion in this reasonable, low-voltage way of yours.’

  ‘But I can’t bear it, I can’t,’ he cried, ‘seeing them when they allow themselves to become … just animals …’ With his face in his hands, he wept.

  ‘Incent. Be yourself.’

  ‘If I don’t recover completely, then would you subject me to another dose of Total Immersion?’

  ‘I certainly hadn’t thought of it.’

  ‘But if you did, what would you choose to Immerse me in?’

  You can imagine that I heard this with unease.

  ‘I don’t think anyone has ever been subjected twice to Total Immersion.’

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me, it hasn’t been necessary! Not everyone is as weak as I am!’ This with satisfaction, and flinging out his arms as if to receive and accept blame.

  ‘Only a strong person can withstand TI.’

  ‘Oh, really? And I did, didn’t I? Well, tell me what other delights you have up your sleeve.’

  ‘Incent, it sounds to me as if you are enjoying your TI in retrospect, even if you didn’t at the time.’

  At this he sobered up at once, and said, responsibly, ‘No, no, no, Klorathy. Never. I know painful experiences, in these latitudes, can acquire pleasurable associations, in memory – I remember your warning me. But no, never. Don’t you see, I want you to – if you like – frighten me?’

  ‘You are saying that you can’t remain yourself, can’t choose balance, when I say to you that it is of importance to Volyen, and to our Power here, that you do. But that you might be frightened into good sense and balance by what amounts to a threat?’

  ‘Am I saying that? Well, if so, so be it! I can’t help it. Then frighten me, Klorathy. I need it, obviously.’

  ‘Very well,’ I said, and Incent arranged himself, his hands already gripped together, his eyes with their characteristic look of being ready to listen, as if his ears were not enough. ‘It was on another planet, where a suddenly developing technology had enabled a war to impoverish large areas, to the extent that the inhabitants were desperate. Some people who saw themselves as being specially gifted for the manipulation of population, and whose first and strongest talent was the use of words, Rhetoric, used this desperation to install themselves in power. Right from the very beginning, the announcement was, by the first leader of these tyrants, “We stand for organized Terror,” a statement applauded and admired by his followers and by many people outside this particular –’

  ‘I seem to sense a resemblance?’ remarked Incent gloomily.

  ‘Yes, I am describing the same planet as that I described in the “court” on Volyenadna. It was not long after that other revolution, which so soon brought to birth compulsive murderers, and then a tyrant. The Rhetoricians, who at least had the clear sight to recognize the dangers to themselves, had studied the first revolution, whose excesses and brutalities they so much admired, and had agreed among themselves not to kill one another, but only the populations whom they intended to “liberate,” if these resisted being liberated. Just as, in the first revolution, cries like “We can be reborn only through blood” reached the primitive centres in every one of the more brutal, so in this second revolution “the energy and mass nature of Terror must be encouraged” aroused frenzies of admiration. For these Rhetoricians knew they would only keep power if enemies, real or imagined, could be provided to keep the attention of the masses off their continued sufferings. The enslaved ones died in their millions, from starvation, from disease, and above all from the attention of the Terror, now organized into a surveillance system that covered an empire the size of a sixth of the planet. And of course the Rhetoricians killed one another, just as if they had never made a pact among themselves not to. They saw themselves as in control of events, not as puppets of forces they had unleashed. And a new tyrant came, as has to happen when there is social chaos. And the populations went on dying or being murdered. But if nothing else, the inhabitants of that planet are fecund, and they soon replaced any losses of population from disease or catastrophe, even from their own machineries for murder.’ I was watching Incent closely but could see little response in him. He continued to sit there quietly, attentively, but the tension in him had lessened. ‘What was perhaps more remarkable than anything else was that, while the mass murder, torture, and the most brutal methods of population control ever used anywhere before on that planet were well publicized, people in other, more favoured, parts of the planet, even parts that were well organized and pleasant, admired the tyranny. The fact is, there are always individuals who can respond only to violent and sensat
ional descriptions of–’ Here Incent looked embarrassed and made a gesture as if to say: Enough! ‘– They need the stimulus of violent words and violent thoughts. Very many, in all parts of that planet, secretly liked the idea of “Terror,” of the torture and the organized brutality, enjoyed the idea of being the rulers of a population kept in conditions not far from slavery, thought with an arousal of their sensational apparatus of prison camps where millions of people died.’

  Incent was regarding me steadily, and into those expressive eyes had come a look not far from humour.

  ‘Incent,’ I said, ‘it is not possible to find anything comic in this nasty little history.’

  ‘No, but perhaps I could be,’ said Incent, and flung himself down on his back, his limbs wide, in a posture of surrender. ‘Well – go on.’