Transhuman and Subhuman: Essays on Science Fiction and Awful Truth (35 page)

C.S. Lewis answers this in
Out Of The Silent Planet
with a question of his own from a Christian rather than a Darwinian coign of vantage: “What if the Creator brought forth other races, including a race that is not fallen? Would we even recognize what prelapsarian life was like? What if the things mythical on our world are reality on other worlds? What if we tried to treat those superior beings as ruthlessly as the English have treated the Tasmanians? Is there anything the angels would do to save them from us, and more importantly save us from us? What if the magnitude of space is a good and proper quarantine for a race as quarrelsome and wicked as Homo Sapiens? What if it is good for us not to venture into space?”

Arthur C. Clarke answers C.S. Lewis with speculation of his own: “What if science can take the place of religion? What if evolution, the striving ever upward, can replace these primitive superstitions, and offer a transcendence that is real? What if it is not only good, but necessary, for us to venture into space? What if that venture is the source of our salvation, the very thing that will overcome our quarrelsomeness and wickedness? Why must C.S. Lewis and H.G. Wells assume the meeting between man and alien will be warlike? Why assume the creatures of space are devils? Well, even if they look like devils, what if the meeting were… wondrous!”

By itself, the condescension betrayed by the paragraph with the Wayback Machine looks like atheism, but combined with the other spiritual and magical ideas in the book such as poltergeists, telepathy, precognition, and such as the transcendence of mankind into the galactic Overmind, aka the Pleroma,
Childhood’s End
takes on a Gnostic mood and theme.

I say
Childhood’s End
is Gnostic, a Christian heresy, because I do not see the attitude or mind-set of any other religion represented. Why is that? I speculate there are two reasons:

First, Arthur C. Clarke, whether he likes it or not, whether he admits it or not, is culturally from a Christian background, and, whether he questions them or not, shares the assumptions and axioms of that background.

His readers, by and large, are likewise. They might not enjoy the story or understand it if its mental background were too different from our shared cultural assumptions. (Albeit, later on in the history of science fiction, we do see authors trying to incorporate the cultural assumptions of Oriental religions into their fiction, at times with great success. No, I do not mean Zelazny’s
Lord Of Light
, which has more to do with the American Revolution than it has to do with the clash of Buddhism and Hinduism in the wars of King Ashoka. I mean
A Wizard Of Earthsea
and
The Left Hand Of Darkness
, which are Taoist in mood and theme, and
Neverness
by David Zindell, which incorporates elements of Tibetanism.)

Second, Arthur C. Clarke’s answer to C.S. Lewis would not have been an answer unless it shared the framework of the question. I do not mean the Christian framework, I mean the general topic of human destiny, the role of evolution and transcendence.

Clarke could not help but give a Gnostic answer to the Christian challenge because, within the framework of Western assumptions about man and life and afterlife, there is no other answer. There is nothing new under the sun, (so says Solomon in Ecclesiastes). Logic allows only for minor variations on certain themes and ideas in human thinking. So if you ask a question about man’s relation with God and the ultimate destiny of the race, there are really only three answers Western philosophy will give: (1) There is no God, and the ultimate destiny of the race is extinction, (the answer of H.G. Wells and of every pessimist who ever trod the planet); (2) There is a God, and the ultimate destiny of the race is salvation or damnation as the grace of God shall provide, (the answer of C.S. Lewis and of every Christian who ever ate bread); (3) Man shall be God, and the ultimate destiny of the race is transcendence or extinction, salvation or damnation, as the power of Man shall provide, (the answer of Arthur C. Clarke and of every Gnostic since the Second Century).

By sticking with the Christian assumptions about ultimate destiny, but rejecting the Christian answer, Arthur C. Clarke has no choice but to pen a naturalistic and science-fictional version of an old Gnostic myth. In the Western mind, if heaven is not in heaven, then heaven is on Earth. In the Western mind, if you cannot find the long lost Golden Age of Eden by crossing the Jordan of baptism, then you must find it by building the Tower of Babel. The Assumption of the Slans at the finale of
Childhood’s End
would not make the reader’s breath catch with wonder if Communion with the Overmind were not an image of Eden, a cure for the pain of the world as promised by the Holy Grail.

These are Western assumptions. I submit that an answer from a student of Confucius or Lao Tzu would be different. Confucius would be more concerned with good government and right action than with questions of ultimate destiny, and a Taoist might remark that the Way of Heaven is not to be broken, not even that breaking we do when we analyze something, and is not a road that leads to a destination. Certainly a Buddhist, who believes the world is an eternal torture-wheel of pain, would not share the assumption that life is a story with a beginning, middle and an end, and so he would merely smile at the question of what Fate or Dharma has in store at the end of the world. Likewise, for the Hindu, after the age of Kali Yuga, destruction, comes the age of Brahma, renewal. The finale of an Oriental version of
Childhood’s End
would have had the Overlords reducing mankind back into primitive Cro-Magnon ape-men, and brought in the Monolith from
2001: A Space Odyssey
to reset the process.

It is not merely Oriental assumptions about eschatology that are not addressed in this book, but also Occidental pagan ones. The mood and theme, had
Childhood’s End
been written to the taste of a Norse pagan, would differ.

In the shocking ending of the wondrous book
The Worm Ouroboros
, Mr. E.R. Eddison, who perfectly captures the Norse spirit, has the gods reward the heroic virtues of his grand and warlike heroes, not with a paradise of endless life and endless peace, but with a Valhalla of endless life and endless war. If Arthur C. Clarke had been writing for a Viking audience, the finale of his book would have been that the Children of Men, the Supermen, would be drawn up into heaven as
Einherjar
, and the Overmind would have been the One-Eyed One, the Hanged God, the Lord of Ravens. Accompanied by the horrifying and beautiful singing of the Valkyries, the spirit beings of the supermen, having put away all of the fears and scruples of the under-men, the Nithlings, would have stormed away across the heavens, while trumpets roared, streaming like warrior angels toward the doomed home stars of the Kzinti and the Klingon and the brutal Eddorian, conquering and to conquer, setting whole galaxies afire, to fight the wars of the star-gods forever!

Now, THAT would have been a way cool ending. But it would not have answered C. S. Lewis, it would not have been within our shared cultural framework of thinking.

Clarke is clearly not a Gnostic. For one thing, he scorns religion, orthodox and heretical alike. But his famous book
Childhood’s End
clearly is Gnostic, for the same reason Robert Heinlein’s famous book
Stranger In A Strange Land
is clearly Gnostic. Both heed and repeat the lie of Satan, that old serpent, that red dragon who deceiveth the whole world; and his lie is that by eating of the forbidden fruit we shall become as Gods, or, as Michael Valentine or Valentinus Smith would say, “Thou Art God”.

Western humanist transcendentalism always reflects a Gnostic theme, because there is no other rebuttal to Christian thought available to any man who accepts non-Oriental and non-pagan assumptions about destiny, eschatology and transcendence; there is no other, aside from Gnosticism. Either you glorify Man with the Gnostic and call God a liar, or you glorify God with the Christian and call Man to repent.

1. Foes in the Culture War

Anyone reading reviews or discussions of science fiction has no doubt come across the oddity that most discussions of female characters in science fiction center around whether the female character is strong or not.

As far as recollection serves, not a single discussion touches on whether the female character is feminine or not.

These discussions have an ulterior motive. Either by the deliberate intent of the reviewer, or by the deliberate intention of the mentors, trendsetters, gurus, and thought-police to whom the unwitting reviewer has innocently entrusted the formation of his opinions, the reviewer who discusses the strength of female characters is fighting his solitary duel or small sortie in the limited battlefield of science fiction literature in the large and longstanding campaign of the Culture Wars.

He is on the side, by the way, fighting
against
culture.

Hence, he fights in favor of barbarism, hence against beauty in art and progress in science, and, hence the intersection of these two topics, which means against science fiction.

Different reviewers no doubt mean slightly different things when they speak of the strength of a female character: but the general meaning is that the strong female character is masculine.

Masculine in general means direct in speech, confident in action, coolheaded in combat, lethal in war, honorable in tourney or melee, cunning in wit, unerring in deduction, glib in speech, and confident and bold in all things.

Hence, a strong masculine character in a story is one who can pilot a jet plane in a thunderstorm while wrestling a Soviet-trained python in the cockpit. He can appease a mob, lead a rebellion, give orders, follow orders, seduce a countess, fight with a longsword, build a campfire, repair a car engine, write a constitution, comfort the grieving, (usually with a brisk slap in the face and a curt command to snap out of it), receive confession, sway a jury, suture a wound, and escape from a sinking submarine with a knife clutched in his teeth. In a science fiction story, a strong masculine character can also pilot a starship; in a fantasy story, he can resurrect the dead. See the cover of any lurid men’s magazine to see a concise summary of the essential characteristics.

Of the classical virtues, fortitude and justice are essential to masculinity, as is magnanimity: a real man neither complains nor says “I told you so.”

Much more rarely do reviewers speak of strong female characters as having the virtues particular to women.

Feminine in general means being more delicate in speech, either when delivering a coy insult or when buoying up drooping spirits. Femininity requires not the sudden and angry bravery of war and combat, but the slow and loving and patient bravery of rearing children and dealing with childish menfolk: female fortitude is a tenacity that does not yield even after repeated disappointments and defeats. And, believe you me, dear reader, a woman in love has a very clear-eyed view of the faults and flaws of her man, and if her love is true, she does not yield to despair or give up on him. The female spirit is wise rather than cunning, deep in understanding rather than adroit in deductive logic, gentle and supportive rather than boastful and self-aggrandizing. The strong feminine character is solid in faith in all things.

Hence, a strong feminine character in a story is one who can overcome the prejudice against her family’s humble origins to win the heart of the proud Mr Darcy. She can appease an angry mother-in-law, reconcile a feud, arrange cooperation without seeming to take or give orders and without anyone feeling left out or overruled, lure a Lothario to his destruction, unman a Benedict with her wit, build a family, repair a broken heart, restore loyalty, comfort the grieving, (usually with a sympathetic ear and a soft promise of better days ahead), receive confession, sway a jury, suture a wound, and escape from an arranged marriage to find true love. In a science fiction story, a strong feminine character can also halt a planetary war; in a fantasy story, she can resurrect the dead, and then marry him. See the cover of any woman’s trashy romance novel to see a concise summary of the essential characteristics.

Note that men in fantasy stories tend to revive the dead by going to the underworld like Orpheus or Aragorn, and wrestling Cerberus like Hercules. They get revived like Gandalf the White, by being sent back by angelic higher powers. Women tend to pull Tam Lin off his horse as he is being led to hell. They get revived by love’s first kiss, which is more powerful than angels.

Of classical virtues, temperance and prudence are essential to femininity, especially that temperance of the sexual appetite called chastity, and that prudence not to excite the sexual appetite outside courtship nor to invite flattery, which is called modesty. A real heroine does not manipulate good men by their affections, nor copulate out of wedlock.

This leads us to two immediate and controversial questions. First, is there a difference between masculine and feminine strengths and virtues? Second, should there be a difference?

To speak of masculine and feminine is not the normal way of speaking of things. Modern political correctness requires one to speak incessantly and indefinitely of whatever is the topic without ever naming the topic, because certain words and ideas are taboo, the source of black magic. The theory of black magic is that if a word has a connotation the social engineers do not like, by avoiding the word, thought and psychology can be sculpted or habituated to a more perfect form. It is the theory that calling black-skinned men not born in Africa and who may or may not be Americans by the term ‘African American’ rather than by the term ‘Black’ will somehow abolish race hatred. It is the theory that linguistic mannerisms and queer verbal tics can save mankind from our sinful nature, rather than, say, the Enlightenment of Buddha or the Blood of Christ.

Likewise, to speak of the sexes is thoughtcrime. We are to speak only of ‘gender’ which is a word that properly only refers to parts of speech, or, among anthropologists, social roles rather than spiritual and biological realities. Hence there is no word in the vocabulary of Political Correctness to speak of masculine or feminine things. The theory here is that by eliminating verbal reference to reality the offensive reality will softly and suddenly vanish away like a Boojum.