Birthright: The Book of Man

by Mike Resnick

  The people ate it up. Once again a new sense of purpose, of competition, was stirred within them. Andromeda, most of them agreed, would do for starters, just as Sirius had done some millennia back. But Andromeda was just one galaxy, and not such a big and impressive one at that. There were more than fifty galaxies just in our local group, and then . . .

  “And then I noticed this fluctuation,” said one of the minor functionaries on the Andromeda staff.

  Lavers looked at the readout and shook his head. “Not good,” he said. “Not good at all."

  “What seems to be the problem?” said Bartol, who had wandered over.

  “Encephalogram,” said Lavers.

  “On who?"

  “Jesser."

  “What does it mean?” asked Bartol.

  “Perhaps nothing,” said Lavers. “But if you’ll recall a wager we made some years back, I think if I were you I’d get my money ready."

  “Based on one slight deviation from the norm?” said Bartol.

  “When you’re hooked into an alien being three hundred thousand light-years from the nearest star, there is no such thing as a slight deviation,” said Lavers.

  The deviation remained so long that it finally became accepted as a standard reading until the other pilots began showing the same deviation, all between two and three years into their flight.

  “But it isn’t the same at all,” said Lavers grimly. “It’s smaller, slighter. Jesser’s has changed so minutely over the past couple of years that it’s hardly seemed like a change at all, until you compare it to the other four."

  Bartol merely grunted, and expressed confidence in the basic self-preservational instinct of the five pilots.

  And then one day Jesser’s encephalic reading went right off the scale and came back to his original norm, all in the space of four hours.

  “That’s it,” said Lavers. “He’s broken through. In a couple of years the others will do it too."

  “So he’s broken through,” said Bartol. “It changes nothing. He’ll evaluate the situation, realize that turning back without being able to slingshot around a star or a black hole will take more fuel than he’s got, and he’ll keep going. After all, he’s a Man, and Men preserve themselves."

  “Men do a lot of things,” said Lavers quietly.

  And, 350,000 light-years away, Jesser took one last baleful look at his companion and slowly unhooked his breathing apparatus.

  19. THE PHILOSOPHERS

  . . .It was with the establishment of the University at Aristotle that the Commonwealth began churning out a steady stream of brilliant philosophers as regularly as clockwork. In fact, in retrospect we can say with some assurance that it was during the middle of the Seventh Galactic Millennium, and more specifically 6400-6700 G.E., that philosophy graduated from the vague realm of an art and joined the sciences. Some of the more brilliant treatises are still on file, both on the various Deluros VI planetoids and also at the huge library on Deluros VIII. . .

  —Man: Twelve Millennia of Achievement

  . . .The subject of philosophy seems to have taken a very unphilosophical, and eventually fatal, turning somewhere around 6500 G.E. The dividing line can be drawn with the career of Belore Theriole (6488-6602 G.E.), unquestionably the last of the great human philosophers. . . .

  —Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 9

  “Brilliant!” said Hillyar. “Absolutely brilliant!"

  He put the thick sheaf of papers down on the large table, leaned back, and gave the impression of a man trying very hard to strut without moving his legs.

  “I told you it was,” said Brannot. “I’d like to see us offer him a spot on the faculty right now, before some other school grabs him."

  The other two members of the examining board nodded in agreement.

  “Before I make it official,” said Brannot, “I’d like it on the record that we’re all in accord."

  “Absolutely,” said Hillyar. The others echoed him.

  “Good. Then it’s settled,” said Brannot. He turned to the small figure seated silently in a corner of the room. “Professor Theriole, while the affairs of our university can hardly be of more than passing interest to you, we would nonetheless be honored if a person of your stature would add her name to our recommendation."

  Belore Theriole looked up, brushing a wisp of graying hair from her forehead. “With no offense intended, I believe I am not inclined to do so."

  “Have we done something to offend you?” asked Brannot with a note of worry in his voice.

  “No,” said Belore thoughtfully, “I don’t think I would go so far as to say that you have offended me."

  “Then could it be that you don’t agree with our assessment of the thesis?” persisted Brannot.

  “Oh, I’m sure that the student in question and the thesis in question are equally brilliant,” said Belore.

  “I detect a note of distaste there,” said Brannot. “Could I prevail upon you to clarify your statement?"

  “If you insist, Professor Brannot,” said Belore with a sigh.

  “Insist is too strong a word,” said Brannot. “Let us say that I earnestly request it. After all, when a philosopher of your stature does our humble university the singular honor of sitting in on our examination board, it behooves us to learn everything we can about ourselves and our school from the viewpoint of such a distinguished outsider."

  “It’s too bad I gave up blushing when I was still a young girl," said Belore wryly, “or you would quite turn my head, Professor."

  There was a general chuckling among the learned men, and Belore continued: “When I was asked to come here, I was only too happy to accept your invitation. After all, the planet Aristotle is a pretty fascinating concept, and I had never been here before.

  “And I must say that, physically, Aristotle has even surpassed my expectations. I suppose the thought of a university world, a planet the size of old Earth being turned into a garden of academia, has to be seen to be appreciated. Your libraries alone would be the envy of any system in the galaxy, and the architects of your buildings have undoubtedly secured themselves that special corner of heaven reserved for artistic geniuses. Furthermore, from what I’ve been told of your entrance requirements, there isn’t a dullard on the whole planet, if you exclude such so-called dignitaries as myself. Aristotle draws only the cream of the Commonwealth’s young intellectuals, and it obviously treats them as befits their potential.

  “So much for the physical aspects. As for the curricula, certainly there is no more thorough or varied course of studies available anywhere. The students, or at least those few I’ve spoken with, seem relatively well-balanced and incredibly quick-witted. The faculty, it goes without saying, is the finest that could be assembled.

  “Having said this much, I will now go one step further. I cannot, of course, speak for other fields of study, but in my own specialty, philosophy, I think you unquestionably have the most able minds the race of Man has yet been able to produce."

  “Then you approve of what we’re doing here?” said Brannot smugly.

  “On the contrary,” said Belore with a smile. “I find it stifling and irrelevant."

  “What!” The four men were on their feet at once, more in surprise than outrage.

  “I have never seen such potential for good so flagrantly wasted," said Belore. “It seems almost inconceivable that a race of sentient beings capable of creating such a world as Aristotle could so blatantly misuse and misdirect it."

  “Professor Theriole,” said Brannot, struggling to regain his composure, “would you care to explain yourself?"

  “I’ll try,” said Belore, “though I doubt that it will do much good. If you were to agree with me, then this situation would never have arisen in the first place."

  “Why not try us and see?” suggested Hillyar.

  “I intend to,” said Belore. “Let me begin by asking a couple of questions, if I may."

  “Proceed,” said Brannot haughtily.
<
br />   “Professor Brannot, what is the position of the Philosophy Department on the works of St. Thomas Aquinas?’’ “A brilliant primitive philosopher,” said Brannot. “Unmatched in his day, but definitely discredited."

  “Discredited?” said Belore. “You mean his religious views and arguments?"

  “Yes."

  “Including the First Cause argument?"

  “Certainly. It can be disproved with the set of all negative integers, the set of all proper fractions, the—"

  “I quite agree,” interrupted Belore. “What of Plato?"

  “We study him, of course. As Man’s first great philosopher—"

  “He wasn’t the first, but let it pass,” said Belore quietly.

  “Anyway, we do study him. But again, the man has been disproved, in practice as well as in theory, many times over. Why, the Bonite Colony of a couple of centuries ago was set up according to his Republic, and lasted only a handful of years."

  “Too many philosopher-kings and not enough streetcleaners, as I recall it,” said Belore. “How about the works of Braxtok of Canphor VII?’’

  “He wasn’t even a Man!” said Brannot.

  “Does that make his view of the universe any less valid?” asked Belore.

  “Not at all,” said Hillyar hastily. “And, in fact, we do have a number of courses in alien philosophies."

  “Oh?” asked Belore. “How many?"

  “I haven’t got the figures before me,” said Hillyar, “but there are quite a few."

  “I had the figures before me a few hours ago,” said Belore. “I found seventeen. Seventeen out of more than six hundred."

  “I don’t know what you’re driving at,” said Brannot.

  “Simply this,” said Belore. “I’ve been going over the various doctoral theses that have been presented to this board, and I find them very disquieting."

  “I thought you said you found the students to be singularly brilliant,” said Hillyar.

  “I do,” said Belore. “The same cannot be said for their theses."

  “I found them exceptionally well-reasoned,” said Brannot.

  “So did I,” agreed Belore. “Those I bothered to read."

  “Then I fail to see your objection."

  “I thought you might,” said Belore. “I looked at some fifteen doctoral dissertations. Seven of them concerned the ethics of our conduct toward alien races. Three more examined Man’s relationship to his technology. The other five dealt, to some degree, with justifying some of the political, military, and economic excesses of the Monarchy."

  “You mean the Commonwealth,” said Hillyar gently.

  “I know what I mean,’’ said Belore. “And, similarly, I know what I don’t like about those papers. Gentlemen, whether purposely or not, the subject of philosophy seems in grave danger of being turned into a branch of the political sciences."

  “Nonsense,” scoffed Brannot. “How can an intellectual of your stature draw such a conclusion based on a handful of treatises?"

  “If this particular handful differs appreciably in content from last year’s, or the year before that, I’ll change my opinion,” said Belore. “But I suspect that it doesn’t. And that is what disturbs me. That, and your attitudes.

  “For instance, I mentioned Aquinas, and you spouted off a mathematical rebuttal to an esoteric theory beside which the whole of mathematics dwindles into insignificance. Is there a relationship between cause and effect in the universe? If so, is there a first and original cause of all Creation? Don’t bother me with negative integers, or some astronomical theory of contracting and expanding universes. I want to know: Is there or is there not some intellect or life force which, purposefully or otherwise, set the entire process in motion? Aquinas proposed this argument, rightly or wrongly, from a combination of intellect, faith, and empiricism, and you answer it with mathematics and astronomy. I say to you that your answers don’t amount to a hill of beans.

  “Plato proposed a Utopian Republic, with its own set of idealized ethical imperatives. And because one small group of disillusioned radicals failed to put it into practice, you consider Plato to be archaic and discredited. Rather I should say that a philosophy department that negates the works of Plato because of what happened to the Bonite Colony has discredited itself without doing the least bit of damage to Plato.

  “As for Braxtok, he—or, rather, it—came up with perhaps the most complex ethical argument ever devised for the assumption of divinity. Admittedly it wasn’t a divinity that would appeal to any Man, but that hardly makes the argument any the less valid.

  “What I’m getting at is this: It seems to me that philosophy has forgotten not only its roots but also its purpose. No one is asking questions about the nature of Man, or his place in the universe, or the existence or need for a deity. Just because Descartes concluded that no one could doubt his own existence doesn’t make it true—or false, for that matter. Why is no one asking these vital questions, examining these vital arguments, any longer? “Gentlemen, you are not turning out philosophers. Far from it. What you are doing is creating the most brilliant crop of pragmatists in our history. But pragmatism is not the only branch of philosophy, and political and social doctrines are not the only—or even the legitimate—purposes of philosophy.

  “Your young men and women—and you yourselves—want to know how something works, or why it works, or if it works, or what the effect of its working will be. All other considerations—such as is it right or wrong, good or evil, consistent or inconsistent with the nature of Man—are either ignored or restructured to fit into the basic pragmatic concept under consideration.

  “And that, gentlemen, is why I will not add my name or influence to your petition to get one more non-philosopher added to this staff of non-philosophers. I weep for the Critique of Pure Reason in this day of Pure Practicality."

  “My dear Professor Theriole,” said Brannot, “do you really feel that we on the staff, or our students for that matter, have no understanding of what you would doubtless term the pure philosophers? Perhaps my knowledge of them is not as great as yours, but I am not totally unversed in these aspects of philosophy. But the difference between understanding them and appreciating them, in a positive manner, is considerable, and it is here that you part company not only with us, but with the bulk of our students. After all, we don’t hold a gun to their heads and tell them that their doctoral theses must have some applicability to the real world."

  “One would never know it to read them,” said Belore dryly.

  “Professor,” continued Brannot, “we stand at a crossroads in the field of philosophy. We can continue to rehash the old unanswered and unanswerable questions, and philosophy will then remain what it has always been: a parlor game of mental gymnastics, played by ivory-tower intellectuals. Or, on the other hand, we can try to apply both old and new philosophical concepts to our daily lives and make them work for us."

  “I was laboring under the obviously erroneous impression that we’ve already put philosophical concepts to work for us in the past," said Belore. “The Ten Commandments come to mind, but I’ll wager that there must have been one or two others during the past ten thousand years."

  “I grant you that,” said Brannot, “but it only supports my argument: that philosophy can and should deal with reality. Take, for example, Bishop Berkeley’s proof of God, which is the one human argument for deity not as yet disproven. I ask you, not as one professor to another, but as one human being to another: Who really gives a damn if there is some mystical Unseen Observer or not? Or take the hallowed Descartes, who thought and therefore was. I have no doubts as to my own existence: I’ve got ulcers, aches, pains, and worries to prove to my satisfaction that I’m here. But Descartes carried it one step further, inferring the existence of the entire universe from the singular fact that he existed. More power to him. But I can infer the existence of a large block of granite sitting in front of this building from my own existence, or I can not infer it; and in either case,
it has no effect whatsoever on the truth of the inference.

  “On the other hand,” he continued, “if I were to say, ‘I hunger, therefore I am,’ it would have a little more relevance, because my next step would be how to assuage my various hungers, and this would lead me not only into practical proposals but ethical considerations as well. What I am trying to say, Professor, is that philosophy must do something. It can’t just lie there as a logical toy for academic dilettantes.’’

  “Needless to say, I disagree,” said Belore. “What you are describing is simply not philosophy. Practical politicians determine our public ethics and behavior whether we like it or not, and half a hundred sciences tend to our hungers and comforts. Philosophy, true philosophy, is concerned with the soul, and I use the word in a nonreligious sense. Or, if you prefer a more palatable definition, it is concerned with that section of the mind—and notice that I didn’t say the human mind—that is not the concern of the psychiatrist or biologist. Its purpose is to give an overview of the Universe and of Life and of Being, all spelled with capital letters. Its purpose is no more to answer questions than to ask them, no more to solve problems than to give new insights into them. I repeat: Pragmatism is a philosophy, but it is not the only philosophy, nor even among the most important."

  “Then why do the vast majority of our philosophers seem to disagree with you?” asked Hillyar.

  “Because they’ve been conditioned by men like you,” said Belore bluntly. “Besides, this isn’t a field like politics, where the majority rules. The fact that most of them agree with you means nothing except that more of them are wrong than might reasonably be expected to be wrong under other circumstances."

  “I perceive,” said Brannot, “that neither of us is about to convince the other of the correctness of our viewpoint."

  “I suppose not, more’s the pity,” said Belore. “Gentlemen, I think we might as well cut this short before tempers begin rising. You may send more dissertations to me, and I shall comment on the correctness of the arguments, since I have said I would do so. However, I think we would all be happier if I had nothing further to do with them, or with you."