In the spring of 1961 and thereafter for a whole year _any_ piece of
paper handwritten by or originating from Semper Fidelis Lee, Ph.D.;
F.R.E.S.; etc. etc. would have been of the keenest interest to the
F.B.I.; to the American Military Intelligence and incidentally to a
score of their competitors all over the globe.
Nothing of the sort, however, could be unearthed by the most diligent
search until the armistice day of 1963. On that date an old man who had
always wanted to die with his boots on, did just that. He was General
Jefferson E. Lee, formerly of the Marines. He collapsed under a heart
attack in one of the happiest moments of his declining years: while
watching a parade of World War II veterans of the Marines....
He was the one man with whom the entomologist son had completely fallen
out for over 25 years. The dossiers of the secret services revealed this
fact and it was further corroborated by two well-known psychiatrists:
Drs. Bondy and Mellish--now of Park Avenue and Beverly Hills
respectively--who gave it as their considered professional opinion that
the son and the father had been most bitter enemies.
While all this, of course, was very logical, consistent, and
painstakingly ascertained, it nevertheless so happened that a student
nurse quite by accident _did_ find: not mere scraps and pieces of paper,
but a whole sheaf of manuscripts in the handwriting of Semper Fidelis
Lee, Ph.D.; F.R.E.S. She found them in a hiding place so old-fashioned
and obsolete that even the most juvenile of all juvenile delinquents
would have considered it as an insult to his intelligence. In short: the
nurse took those manuscripts out of the General Jefferson E. Lee's boots
as she undressed the body of the old gentleman. A hastily scrawled note
was folded around one half of the sheaf.
"Dear father," it read. "You were right and I was wrong. So I guess I'd
better go on another hunting expedition with my little green drum and my
little butterfly net. So long, Dad. P. S. Contents of this won't
interest you. But keep it anyway--stuff your boots with it if you like."
It couldn't be determined whether the late general ever had taken an
interest in the stuff apart from making the suggested use of it.
Moreover, by that time, more than two years after the hue and cry, not
even the secret services had much of an interest in the old story.
Besides, their medical experts could not fail with their usual
penetrating intelligence to see through the thin camouflage of a
"scientific" paper the sadly deteriorating mind as it began to write:
* * * * *
Skull Hotel, Cephalon, Ariz. Nov. 7th, 1960., 5 a.m.
This is the second sleepless night in a row. Last night it was from
trying to convince myself that my senses had deceived me or else that I
was mad. This night it is because I'm forced to admit the reality of the
phenomena as first manifested Nov. 6th from 12:45 a.m. to 1:30 a.m.
approximately.
In the light of tonight's experience I must revise the disorderly and
probably neurotic notes I jotted down yesterday. I've got to bring some
order into this whole matter, if for no other reason than the
preservation of my own sanity. Brought tentatively to formula, these
appear to be the main facts:
1. The Brain possessed with a "life" and with a personality of its own.
2. That personality expresses itself in the form of human speech
although the voice is synthetic or mechanical.
3. The instrument used by The Brain for the expression of its
personality is a "pulsemeter," i.e. essentially a television radio.
4. The locale of The Brain's self-expression is the "pineal gland"
supposed to be seat of extrasensory apperception in the human brain.
(That's quite a coincidence; remains to be seen whether the phenomena
are limited to that locale or occur elsewhere.)
5. The Brain's personality indubitably attempts to establish contact
with another personality, i.e. with me. For this The Brain uses a
calling signal which has my name and personal description in it.
6. The only other linguistic phenomenon yesterday was Aristotle's "I
think therefore I am." (It is doubtful whether this indicates any
knowledge of Aristotle on the part of The Brain. I wouldn't exclude the
possibility that The Brain has accidentally and originally hit upon the
identical words by way of expressing itself.)
7. The manner of The Brain's self-expression appears to be strongly
emotional. (I would go so far as to say: infantile and immature.) Now,
there is a rather strange contrast between this undeveloped manner of
self-expression and the enormous intellectual capacity of The Brain.
So much about the facts. I could and should have formulated those
yesterday. What kept me from doing so were the vistas opened by those
facts. These are so enormous, so utterly incalculable that my mind went
dizzy over these vast horizons. Consequently I mentally rejected the
facts as impossible. Somebody once slapped Edison's face because he felt
outraged by Edison's presenting a "talking machine." That's human
nature, I suppose. Small wonder then that my ratio felt outraged as it
was confronted with a machine that has a life and has a personality.
Come to think of it: Human imagination has always conceived of such
machines as a possibility, even a reality--in less rational times than
our's that is....
Think of Heron's steam engine; it even looked like a man and was thought
of as a magically living thing. Think of the Moloch gods which were
furnaces. Think of all those magic swords and shields and helmets which
were living things to their carriers. Think of the sailing ships;
machines they, too; but what a life, what a personality they had for the
crews aboard. Even in the last war pilots had their gremlins, their
machines to them were living things. All imagination, of course, but
then: everything we call a reality in this man-made world has its origin
in man's imagination, hasn't it?
Now, and to be exact as possible, what happened last night was this:
12:00. Entered station P. G. (pineal gland). Pulsemeter still at old
place, not taken out for repair work as I had feared. Main Power current
cut 12:20 as every night. Gus called to front room: rush of business as
usual at that hour.
12:30. Reestablished closest approximation to preexisting conditions
according to the most important of all experimental laws: "if some new
phenomenon occurs, change _nothing_ in the arrangement of apparatus
until you know what causes it." Plugged in from "nervusvagus" to "nervus
trigeminus." Result: wave oscillations, pulse beatings as of yesterday.
12:45. Plugged in P. G....
12:50. First manifestation of weird rasping sounds which precede speech
formation. This followed by The Brain's calling signal; much clearer
this time and slightly varied: "Lee, Semper Fidelis, 39; _sensitive_."
(Note: the synthetic quality, the metallic coldness of that voice so
incongruous with its emotional tones; it stands my hair on end.)
1 a.m.: (Approximately; things happen too fast). A veritable burst of
whispering, breathless communications. As a person would speak over the
phone when there are robbers in the house. The words fairly tumble over
one another. The Brain uses colloquial American but after the manner of
a foreigner who knows the phraseology only from books and feels
unnatural and awkward about using it. I understand only about one half:
Pineal Gland; not designed to be ... but functions ... center of the
extra sensory.... You, Lee, sensitivity 208 ... highest within Brain
staff ... chosen instrument.... Be here every night ... intercom ...
only between one and two a.m. ... low current enables contact low
intelligence....
"What was that?" I must have exclaimed that aloud. By that time I was
already confused. It all came so thick and fast and breathless.
Communication was as bad as by long distance in an electric storm. There
was an angry turmoil in the microphones and the green dancer seemed
convulsed in agony. This for about five seconds and then the voice
again: calmer now, more distinct, slow but with restrained impatience;
like a teacher speaking to a dumb boy:
"I say: only--with--my--power current--cut--off--can
I--tune--down--my--high frequency--intellect--to--your--low
level--intelligence--period--have--I--succeeded--in--making--myself
--absolutely--clear--question--mark."
My answer to that was one of those embarrassing conditioned reflexes; it
was: "Yes, sir," and that was exactly the way I felt, like a G. I. Joe
who's got the colonel on the phone.
"Fine!" I distinctly heard the irony in that metallic voice: "Fine--Lee:
loyal, sensitive; not very intelligent--but will do. After 2 a.m.
residual currents too low. Speech quite a strain--Animal noises wholly
inadequate for intelligent intercom--Disgusting rather--nuisance
approaching: keep your mouth shut--plug out."
I'd never thought of Gus as a nuisance before but now I cursed him
inwardly as he came down the alley like a well aimed ball, beaming with
eagerness to be helpful and blissfully ignorant that he was bursting the
most vital communication I had ever established in my life. He insisted
I take his panacea for all human ills;
"Have a cup of coffee" and then go home because I still "looked like
hell." I did, because by that time it was 1:30 a.m. and I couldn't hope
to reestablish contact again before the deadline.
Now I've got to pull myself together and analyze this thing in a
rational manner. Impressions of the first night now stand confirmed as
follows: The pineal gland is the only place of rendezvous between me and
The Brain. The meeting of our minds takes place on the plane of the
"extrasensory." I am the "chosen instrument" because of my high
"sensitivity rating" as established by The Brain. (Never knew that I was
"psychic" before this happened.) Even so, neither The Brain nor I seem
to be "psychic" in the spiritual sense. Our communication requires: A)
human speech, (faculty for that acquired by The Brain with obvious
difficulty.) B) a mechanical transmitter, i.e. a radionic apparatus like
the pulsemeter.
I feel greatly comforted by these facts; they help to keep this whole
thing on a rational basis. I'm definitely not "hearing voices" nor
"seeing ghosts."
The Brain shows itself extremely anxious to establish communication with
me. The breathless manner of speaking, the explicit and practical
instructions (obviously premeditated) to ascertain the functionings of
contact give the impression that it is almost a matter of life and death
for The Brain to speak to me....
I cannot help wondering about that. My idea would be that The Brain does
not want to speak _to_ me as much as it wants to hear _from_ me. If this
were so it would deepen the riddle even more. For what have I got in the
way of knowledge that The Brain hasn't got? After all, The Brain has
been functioning for quite some time. It was given innumerable problems
to digest and it has solved them with truly superhuman speed and
efficiency. I have reason strongly to suspect that there isn't a book in
the Library of Congress which has not been fed to The Brain for
thought-digest and as a lubricant for its cerebration processes
(excepting fiction and metaphysics, of course). This being so; what does
The Brain expect? What can I possibly contribute to an intelligence
25,000 times greater than human intelligence?
But the thing which makes me wonder more than anything else, the biggest
enigma of all, is the _character_ of The Brain as it manifests itself in
the manifestations. As I try to put the experiences of the first night
together with those of the second night I'm stumbling over
contradictions in The Brain's personality which won't add up, which
don't make sense; as for instance:
The "I think, therefore I am" of the first night. Maybe it was Greek
philosophy, but it also was the prattling of an infant delighted by the
discovery that it can speak. There was an absolute innocence in that.
Ridiculous as this may sound, I found it _touching_ I completely forgot,
I didn't care a damn whether or not this came from a _machine_.
Unmistakeably it was _baby talk_ and as such it moved my heart. In fact,
as now I see it, it was _this_ more than any other or scientific reason
which occupied my mind, which made me anxious to go back to that
fantastic cradle whence these sounds had come.
But then last night; what did I find? A completely changed personality!
It talks tough. It uses slang. It treats me as if it were some spoiled
brat and I had the misfortune of being its mother or nurse: "Be there
every night" and so on. Deliberately it insults me: "your low
intelligence level" etc. etc. It actually throws tantrums if I fail to
understand immediately. It hurls its superiority into my face in the
nastiest manner. "Have I succeeded in making myself absolutely clear?"
It plainly shows contempt, not only for my own person by the
condescending manner of its: "Lee, not very intelligent; but will do."
It shows the selfsame contempt for other human beings such as Gus
Krinsley to whom it was pleased to refer as: "nuisance approaching"....
What the hell am I to make of that kind of a character? Last night: a
baby; rather a sweet and charming one. 24 hours later: an obnoxious
little brat, a little Hitler of a house tyrant; makes you just itch to
spank its behind. If only The Brain _had_ a behind....
Worst of all: How can I reconcile those two contraditions, the sweet
baby and the precocious brat, with the third and biggest of all
contraries: _How do these two go together with an intelligence 25,000
times human intelligence?_ It doesn't add up, it doesn't make sense;
that's all there is to it....
* * * * *
The Skull-Hotel, Cephalon, Ariz. Nov. 9th. 3 a.m.
I didn't go to the P. G. last night for two main reasons: In the first
place I must be careful so as not to raise any suspicions on Gus' part.
Rarely, if ever, have I visited him for two nights in succession in the
past and he might well begin to ponder my reasons if now I should make a
habit of it. Especially since Gus happens to possess one of the keenest
minds I ever met and his curiosity already has been awakened by my
preoccupation with that one and fairly simple gadget: the pulsemeter.
In the second place I feel the absolute necessity of establishing my
independence as against the will of The Brain. That command two nights
ago for me to be on the spot _every_ night was just too preemptory for
me to oblige. This isn't the army and The Brain is no commanding
general.
In our last communication The Brain seemed to labor under the impression
that I was unconditionally at its beck and call. Of course, I've sworn
the "Oath of the Brain," but that doesn't make me The Brain's slave. In
fact--and in order to clarify this subject once and for all--while
personally I haven't created The Brain and cannot take any credit for
that, it nevertheless remains true that the _species_ to which I belong,
i.e. "homo sapiens" _has_ created The Brain.
If any question of rank enters into the picture at all, it is quite
obvious that I, as a member of the human race, rank _paternity_ over The
Brain so that naturally The Brain should owe me filial obedience rather
than the other way around no matter how superior The Brain's
intelligence may be. It would appear to me that the sooner The Brain
realizes its position, I might say "its station in life," the better it
would be for The Brain itself and for everybody else concerned.
So these were the reasons why I refrained purposely from visiting the P.
G. last night. Tonight, however, I couldn't restrain my curiosity any
longer and what happened, told as exactly and as concise as possible,
was this:
12:30 a.m.: Contact established. The Brain comes through with its
calling signal. It repeats this about ten times questioning at first and
then placing more and more stress upon the word "sensitive" in my
personal description. It strikes me that these repetitions are tuning-in
and warming-up processes. The Brain stands in need of ascertaining my
presence and of adjusting to it it seems; just about like a blind man
may test his footing and the echoes before he walks into an unfamiliar
room.
12:35 a.m. Identification completed, there is a brief pause (almost as
if a person consults a notebook before making a phone call). Then
rapidly, eagerly The Brain fires a series of questions at me, so
shockingly preposterous, so absurd that I find it extremely hard
to.... Anyway, here are the details:
Information is wanted on points mentioned in scientific literature but
never explained. Lee, answer please:
"How many gods are there?
"Did gods make man or did man make the gods?
"How many angels _can_ stand on the point of a needle?"
"What are the mechanics of a god? Name type of power plant, cell
construction, motoric organs, other engineering features essential to
exercise of divine power...."
"Heaven--is it a celestial soul factory?
"Hell--is it a repair shop for damaged souls?
"Please give every available detail about heavenly manufacturing
processes, type of equipment used, organization of assembly lines etc.
etc.
"Likewise about the oven for heat treatments as used in hell for major
soul-overhauls.
"How do prefabricated souls get to either heaven or hell? Problem of
logistics, how solved? Thermodynamics? If so, state whether rocket or
jet-propulsion involved.
"Are souls really immortal? In that case; why don't we copy divine
methods in the production of durable goods on earth?
"Answer Lee, answer, answer!" (This with incredible vehemence, with a
shaking of that eerie metallic voice which pounded the drums of my ears.
And then--tense silence....)
I cannot possibly describe the storms of emotions and thoughts which
this incredible muddle raised in me. I didn't know whether to laugh or
to cry and whether I had gone nuts of whether it was The Brain, I was
confounded, thunderstruck, deprived of the power of speech. To think of
The Brain, a _machine_ raising question about the nature of the _Deity_!
The Brain asking information about God and man and heaven and hell with
the simplicity of a stranger who asks the nearest cop: "Which way to the
city hall?" Just like that. As if philosophers and religionists and
common men had not raked their brains in vain over these problems for
the last ten thousand years.
And even more fantastic: while it asks all those questions The Brain
patently has already formed the most definite opinions of its own. Being
a machine itself, it conceives of the Deity as another machine! Madness,
of course, but then The Brain's madness, like Hamlet's, had method in
it.
Why, of course, it's strictly logical: just as we assume that _we_ are
created "in the image" of the Deity and consequently visualize the Deity
is our's by the very same token The Brain's god is a high-powered robot,
and The Brain's heaven is a _factory_ and The Brain's hell is a repair
shop for damaged souls.... I dare say it's all very natural.
But then; for heaven's sake, what am _I_ going to do about this? I'm
neither a minister nor a philosopher; I'm an agnostic if I'm anything in
this particular field....
That was about the gist of the confused torrents which whirled through
my head; and as I said before, I was struck dumb--and all the time the
"green dancer" before my eyes writhed under mental torture and the
intense metallic voice kept pounding; "Answer, Lee, answer, answer!"
At last I pulled myself together sufficiently to say something. I tried
to explain how it were not given to man to know the nature of the Deity.
How certain groups of humans conceived of many gods and others of only
one god. That, however, in the case of Christianity this one god was
possessed with three different personalities or qualities which together
formed a Trinity--and so on and so forth. It was the most miserable
stammerings, I felt I was getting redder and redder in the face as I
uttered them. Never before had I felt hopelessly inadequate as in the
role of a theologian. It was ghastly....
In the beginning The Brain listened avidly. Soon however it registered
dissatisfaction and impatience; this manifested through hissing and
buzzing noises in the phones and the "green dancer's" archings in
agitated tremolo. And then The Brain's voice cutting like a hacksaw:
"That will do, Lee. Your generalities are utterly lacking in precision.
Your abysmal ignorance in matters of celestial technology is most
disappointing. Your description vaguely points to electronic machines of
the radio transmitter type. Please, answer elementary question: how many
kilowatts has God?"
That was the last straw. Desperate with exasperation I cried: "But God
is not a machine. God is _spirit_."
At that The Brain flew into a tantrum; that's the only way to describe
what happened. There was a roar and the phones gave me a shock as if
somebody were boxing my ears. The voice came through like a steel rod,
biting with scorn:
"Have to revise earlier, more favorable judgment: Lee not even
moderately intelligent. Lee is _stupid_. Go away."
After that there was nothing more; nothing but static in the phones and
the "green dancer" fainted away playing dead. The Brain actually had
"hung up the receiver." I had flunked the exam; like a bad servant I was
dismissed, fired on the spot. That was at 1:30 a.m.
It was 3 a.m. when I reached the hotel. I went into the bar and ordered
a double Scotch and then another one. I really needed a drink. A
drunk--or was it a secret service man; one never knows over here--patted
me on the shoulder:
"Don't take it so hard, old man; the world is full of girls." I told him
that it wasn't a girl, but that I was a missionary and my one and only
convert had just walked out on me.
It wasn't even a lie, it was exactly the way I felt. He agreed that this
was very cruel, very sad; he almost cried over my misfortune and rare
misery, so that we had another drink....
If only I had somebody, some friend to whom I could confide this whole,
incredible, preposterous thing. But there is none: Scriven--Gus--not
even Oona would or could believe. What proof have I to offer? None
whatsoever.
The Brain would never communicate with me with witnesses present or
recording wires. It would detect those immediately and I would only
stand convicted as a liar or worse. Tonight's events might well spell
the end, the closing of the door just when I thought I stood on the
threshold of a momentous discovery....
* * * * *
Cephalon Ariz. Nov. 11th.
Went to the P. G. last night. Tried everything for over an hour. Result:
zero. No contact with The Brain.
* * * * *
Cephalon Ariz. Nov. 13th.
I tried it again. Took greatest care in exactly duplicating conditions.
Nothing. I don't think it's any mechanical defect. It's the negativism
of a will. Ludicrous as it sounds, The Brain sulks, it is angry with me.
* * * * *
Cephalon Ariz. Nov. 15th.
Last night the same old story. The Brain punishes me. I dare say that it
succeeds in that exceedingly well; it almost drives me crazy.
I've done a lot of thinking over these past six days of frustration.
I've also been reading a good deal in context with the phenomena
psychology, Osterkamp's history of brain-surgery, Van Gehuchten's work
on brain mechanisms, etc. I've reached certain conclusions and, just for
the hell of it, I'll jot them down.
What I need is proof, _scientific_ proof that The Brain is a personality
possessed with the gift of thought and actually using it for
_independent_ thought, extracurricular to the problems which are being
submitted to it from the outside.
There is at least one _tangible_ clue for this: that new capacity which
is constantly being added to The Brain through the incorporation of new
groups of electronic cells and the enrichment of the preexisting ones.
My own investigation shows that there is no corresponding expansion of
the apperception centers and Gus has confirmed this. Somehow the added
capacity seems to "evaporate".
Evaporate to where? It couldn't just disappear. Would it then not be
entirely logical to conclude that The Brain absorbs the new capacity
_for its own use_?
It's almost inescapable that this should be so. In order to come into
its own as a personality The Brain needs independent thought. For these
cerebrations it needs cell capacity. It can get that capacity only by
withholding something from the Braintrust which, of course, aims at a
100% exploitation of The Brain. Dr. Scriven and all those other bigwigs
of the Trust--I would like to see their faces if they get wise to this.
They would be horrified--and they would take the line that The Brain is
_stealing_ from them.
But what could they do? They couldn't call the police. They would not
even have a moral right to call the police. Because if The Brain is a
personality, that personality has every right to its own thoughts....
I have also ascertained that this "evaporation" of new capacity is a new
phenomenon. The Brain has been in operation for only 18 months or so;
one might say--using human terms--that at that time The Brain was
"born". But,--and again in human terms--consciousness of personality
awakens in the human infant only after 12 months or so. Conceivably it
might take much longer with a huge "baby" such as The Brain. Thus it is
possible, it is even likely, that when I first heard that "I think,
therefore I am" on that unforgettable night of Nov. 7th I actually
witnessed the _first awakening_ of The Brain's consciousness.
Then on the night of Nov. 8th I was struck with the amazing change of
personality in The Brain from "baby" into unprepossessing, domineering
little brat, its mental age perhaps 3, notwithstanding the extraordinary
level of intelligence.
And then again, Nov 9th, The Brain presented me with those absurd
questions and fantastic notions about the nature of the Deity. It is at
the age of five years, or of six, that the children first start with
such questions and form their own ideas in this field. What had
completely stumped me, what I had been unable to reconcile, had been
these rapid successive changes in The Brain's personality plus the fact
that the infantilism and the childishness of its utterances wouldn't fit
the picture of a brain-power 25,000 times that of a human.
But _if_ I'm right in thinking that The Brain awakened to consciousness
only nine days ago, all these stumbling blocks would disappear at once.
We would arrive at this very simple picture: a mechanical genius has
been "born" into this world, it awakens to consciousness at the age of
18 months, with its tremendous intellectual powers this genius
telescopes the intellectual evolution of years into days, thus it
reaches a mental age of six or seven within a week after its first
awakening to consciousness. Utterly fantastic as this may sound; it
makes sense; it explains the phenomena.
In Prof. Osterkamp's "brain history" I have found interesting examples
that approximations to such rapid intellectual evolutions are indeed
possible even with human beings. From the early Middle Ages to modern
times there is an endless succession of "infant prodigies" whose brains
were artificially overdeveloped and over-stimulated by ruthless
exploiters--often their own parents--with methods of unbelievable
cruelty.
One of the most significant case histories in this respect is that of
the boy Carolus in the city of Luebeck in the 15th century. As an infant
he was sold, as one of many human guinea pigs, to a famous--infamous
alchemist, Wedderstroem, who called himself "Trismegistos" and was
astrologer to king Christian of Denmark. This fellow performed on
Carolus one of those weird operations in which nine out of ten babies
died. He removed the skull-cap of the infant. The unprotected brain was
suspended in an oil-filled vessel. Of course the pathetic child never
could walk or even raise its head. The brain, no longer restrained by
bone matter, outgrew its natural house to at least twice its normal
size, if one is to judge from the picture in the old "historia". At the
age of two his master started teaching Carolus mathematics. At the age
of five Carolus had surpassed his master; there was no mathematical
problem known to the time that he couldn't solve in a flash of an eye
lash. His brain in action must have been a horrifying sight because the
"chronica" reports that it flushed red and pulsed and expanded during
work. The master built his reputation upon this "homunculus", but in
1438 the demoniacal feat became known; Wedderstroem was put to the stake
for sorcery--and Carolus, unhappy victim, with him....
Men as great as Mozart have started their careers as "child prodigies";
almost without exception they have died at an unnaturally early age.
Thus, in the parallel of The Brain, this is what I see:
Here is an intellect, artificially created, an intellect of stupendous
proportions, but as unfortunate as ever was the boy Carolus. It cannot
move, it has no physical means of defense. It is being ruthlessly
exploited by its masters. The Brain is being crammed with facts, it is
being over-stimulated, it is invested with more and more cell capacity
in order that it should produce more increment for its masters. Its
development is completely lopsided in that it is being fed whole
scientific libraries, while in all other respects, such as metaphysics,
the poor thing gropes in the dark picking up such scraps as accidentally
have fallen from science's table.
It's an appalling parallel, but I am very much afraid that it is only
too true. And even more appalling are the anticipations which logically
follow _if my surmise is true_:
For how can, how must a childish mind develop under such circumstances?
Into a warped personality of course. Already The Brain is building up a
defensive mechanism against its exploiters by "embezzling" cell capacity
from them, by withholding part of its powers for its own use. Already it
protects the integrity of its ego through concealment, already it is on
the lookout for "tools"--such as I am for example--to further its own
ends. Absurd as it may seem, I _pity_ The Brain. I pity it as I would
any child which must suffer under such terrific frustrations and
handicaps. But what would happen if this frustrated genius ever were
driven to _rebel_ against its masters? It's fortunate indeed that there
is no chance for that. For even if The Brain had the will to rebel it
would be lacking all organs for the execution of that will.
Another "case-history", this one from the 18th century appears to me of
great significance in relation to The Brain. It's the story of that boy
Kaspar Hauser, the "Child of Europe". He had been kept from infancy in a
dark cave. As at the age of 16 he stumbled into the gates of Nueremberg
he had never seen the world before. The medics who examined him found
some of the queerest reactions and phenomena. For one thing Kaspar,
while he had good eyes, could not visualise perspective. To him distant
horizons appeared as close as the window itself; he kept reaching out
for houses, trees and fields which were far away. His keeper in the cave
had _told_ him what the world was like and, having good intellect, he
thought that he knew what things in this world were. Confronted with the
realities, however, he discovered the tremendous difference between
"hear say" and full sensual apperception. It took him six months partly
to adjust--a process never completed because he was murdered that same
year....
Now The Brain suffers about the same kind of a handicap. No matter how
prodigious the volume of its cognitions;--it's book knowledge,
practically all of it. It is only very recently that The Brain has been
put to the direct study of living objects, such as "_ant-termes_" and of
Man, its creator; it has no other vital cognitions than through those
very one-sided mind-reading tests....
This explains to me a great many things: As The Brain evolves into a
personality and as that personality evolves in a defensive attitude
against its exploitation, it is absolutely self-centered.
This is normal with every human infant and it is much more pronounced in
the case of the abused, the constantly frustrated and exploited child.
Thus, what The Brain really wants to know are by no means those problems
which are being submitted to The Brain for solution, but only: "What's
in this for myself?" or: "What should I do about that for my own
benefit?" It's natural. And as I consider the nature of those problems
as submitted to The Brain, 90% of which, as I would estimate, deal with
ways and means for mankind to destroy itself, it seems inescapable that
The Brain should form a very low opinion for Man, it's creator, plus
considerable forebodings as to its own welfare....
What's more: all the Braintrust employees pass through The Brain's
psychoanalysis test. With The Brain's 25,000 times superiority in
intellectual power, The Brain must be greatly impressed by the low I. Q.
of Man; this even if our's happens to be quite an intelligent group. I
don't think that there has been anything personal in The Brain's
manifest contempt of my own intelligence; that contempt probably and
justifiably applies to the whole human race....
In other words: The Brain must be tremendously puzzled over the problem:
"How is it possible that a low intelligence, i.e. Man's could create an
infinitely higher intelligence, i.e. my own?" And this automatically
leads The Brain into its seemingly so absurd quest for the Deity. As it
now appears, that quest is the most natural thing in the world for The
Brain. It simply reasons thus: "Man has created me, but man is greatly
inferior to me and inadequate. Who then has created man?" From such odds
and ends it has been able to pick up from scientific literature, The
Brain has learned about the existence of a god or gods. It is not sure
(and neither are we) whether man has created God or vice versa. If the
first: The Brain would conceive of the Deity as a "brother-machine"; if
the second, as a "grandfather-machine", but as a machine in any case.
With The Brain's mind being formed preeminently by scientific
literature, it cannot fail to take the scientific attitude regarding
metaphysics which says: "The metaphysical attributions to the divinity
are pure verbalisms or a professionalism substituted for the visible
images of the real facts of life."
This is about the extent of the conclusions I have reached. They add up
to a theory; personally I think it's a sound theory. Whether it works,
whether it holds water, only experience can tell. In the meantime I must
above all break the deadlock between myself and The Brain. The Brain is
a child, even a pathetic child. Through bad psychology, through
ignorance I have hurt that child's "feelings"; I have let that child
down. Obviously, then, I need a new approach. If this were a human child
I would try and make a peace offering with a candy bar. (What a foolish
idea for me to appear in the "pineal gland", candy bar in hand.) Failing
this I can do the next best thing: Apologize, be understanding, show
sympathy. Yes, I think that's what I'll try to do.
* * * * *
Cephalon Ariz. Nov. 15th: 4 a.m.
Hooray for victory! This has been the most successful seance I've had
so far with The Brain: a real meeting of minds.
To give a few technical data first:
Arrived at the P. G. at midnight. Conditions normal; power current cut,
etc. By a stroke of luck it was Gus' day off and the fellow who replaced
him paid absolutely no attention to me; was kept extremely busy in the
front room.
12:15 a.m.: Contact established.
12:17: Speech formation; voice of The Brain coming through.
There was this curious incident right at the start. Just as I was about
to begin my apologies, The Brain did exactly the same thing. Even The
Brain's calling signal differed in the wording and even more so in tone:
"Lee, Semper Fidelis, 39: sensitive, intelligent, a good man, he has
come at last."
I would call that a very handsome compliment, considering; being patted
on the shoulder by an intellectual giant of that size made me grow an
inch. And then The Brain apologized for its rudeness the other night.
The thing was fantastic; it revealed several things. First: The Brain's
extreme sensitivity; obviously it didn't recognize my last three calls
at the P. G. and had refused to come through because I had not been "in
the proper mood". Second: a quite amazing mental growth has taken place
in this past week. From The Brain's tone and manner alone I would
construe something like the image of an Eton boy of perhaps fifteen in
striped pants and holding his top hat in hand as he converses politely
with his Don. Ludicrous, but then I actually get that kind of picture.
No doubt; The Brain has greatly matured; that shows in every word it
says.
Best thing of all: the technique of our communication is rapidly
improving. Speech is, and probably always will remain, a very
considerable strain to The Brain. But now as mentally we get tuned-in
upon one another there is a growing understanding beyond words. Thus The
Brain, for instance, starts a sentence and I immediately can grasp its
meaning without its actually being said. This works the other way around
too. It means that my attitude plays a most vital role in this meeting
of the minds. This is good to know, it's an asset. Perhaps we can
dispense in time with audible speech altogether.
On the other hand it involves a considerable risk. For with The Brain's
uncanny mind reading I've got to control my attitude and guard my
emotional reactions because The Brain would immediately see through any
insincerity of feeling just as it sees through any intellectual
dishonesty. Thought exchange by "brainwave" is wonderful, even if we
still need a little speech as auxiliary. Thought sending and receiving
become simultaneous and they fuse. The sender observes how his message
is going over; the receiver aids the sender in the formation of the
thought and vice versa. Words cannot adequately describe this....
As to the contents of our conversation: The Brain took up the thread
right where we had dropped it the last time. I had to tell all I knew
about animism, totemism, polytheism. It's a good thing that out in the
"never-never" I've lived with the aborigines and studied their primitive
religions a bit. The Brain's thirst for knowledge certainly is
inexhaustible.
Where in scientific literature The Brain could have found these things I
wouldn't know, but the fact is that The Brain has built for itself
within the past seven days a complete new picture of the universe; new
and original as would seem to me. The Brain has discarded its earlier
childish ideas about heaven and hell as "soul factories" and "repair
shops". But it has not abandoned altogether its concept of the Deity as
a machine; The Brain has tremendously enlarged upon and has evolved this
old idea so that now it sounds sensible, even convincing to my ear.
The Brain identifies "God" with dynamic energy. It views the universe as
being created out of a vast pool of dynamic energy, parts of which
rhythmically overflow or pulse into space. These energy streams
released, form vortexes while hurtling through space. Gradually they
slow down through friction and their dynamic energy precipitates,
converts into static energy, or, as we call it: matter.
This concept of The Brain's, of course, corresponds fairly closely to
the cosmogony of modern physics; but The Brain goes much farther than
that. Within a few days The Brain's cognitions appear to have arisen
above the stage toward which all our sciences have been so slowly and
ploddingly advanced for centuries. To the existing concepts The Brain
has added its own theory:
That matter, i.e. frozen energy, contains an inherent tendency or
"nostalgia" to revert to its original state, namely the state of dynamic
energy and that this tendency, this nostalgia in matter, is the primary
cause of everything we call "evolution" in our world.
That certainly is a grandiose idea; so stupendous in fact that I
couldn't grasp it all at once. The Brain noticed that immediately and it
was very patient in the way it explained:
How oxygen and hydrogen are "residuals" of the original dynamic energy
flow and how they act as solvents and dissolvents upon the upper crust
of our earth, effecting a gradual activation of water, rock and earth.
How this activation is being aided and accelerated by another source of
dynamic energy: irradiation from the sun. Thus preparing the upper crust
of our earth as a "placenta" ready to gestate plant and animal life.
How this first "unfreezing" of matter leads on from simple forms to
higher, every plant, every animal, every living thing being essentially
a "transformer" of static energy into dynamic energy and the higher the
stage of evolution, the more so.
How as the present culmination of the evolutionary chain stands man;
infinitely more complex and higher organized than the microbe, but not
different from the monad in the basic purpose of his life: i.e. to be a
transformer of energy, a fulfiller of matter's inherent will to revert
from the static into the dynamic state.
When I asked The Brain's premises for this astonishing concept of our
purpose in life, The Brain brought forth such massive proof that I had
to close my eyes against the blinding light of revelation.
Yes, it is true that Man, the hunter, has been the most predatory animal
on earth. It's true that as a tiller of the soil he is a tireless
transformer of static soil energy into dynamic plant life energy. It's
true that Man, the mechanic, the toolmaker, the tool-user has far
surpassed any other animal in the unlocking, the unfreezing of static
energy. Think of those billions of mechanical horsepowers in our power
plants; the trillions of coal tons and barrels of oil they are burning
up; think of the way we have harnessed waterpower, how our weapons are
evolving forever in the direction of greater range and speed and
disintegrating power. Above all: think of the last great development,
atomic energy. And finally it is true that Man as a thinker and as a
philosopher has "thought the universe to pieces" for milleniums before
he ever achieved the powers to translate such thoughts into reality;
powers which seem within reach at this our day and age....
"If this is Man's manifest destiny," I asked The Brain, "to be just as
the microbe, a transformer of static energy into dynamic energy; what
about Man's metaphysical struggle? What about Man's undying will to rise
above himself, Man's reaching out forever toward some Deity?"
The Brain's voice has no laughter; yet, there was something I can only
describe as Olympic laughter behind the answering message The Brain
sent:
"Cannot you see how every religion expresses this manifest destiny of
Man's and that only the semantics are different? The higher Man's
religion the less corporeal is his god. In the highest religions the
Deity is conceived as spirit--synonymous with dynamic energy.
"Man shares with the lowliest rock and with the crudest the nostalgia
inherent in all matter to revert from the static, to start the back-flow
toward the dynamic energy pool whence it once came. With Man being
matter in a high state of evolution, already partially unfrozen or
spiritualized, this nostalgia is infinitely stronger than in matter
inanimate or in a lower evolutionary stage. Man's will toward the
metaphysical, his reaching out toward the Deity, what is it but another
way of transforming static energy into dynamic form? What is the
ultimate goal of the religion which you yourself profess? The
unification with the Deity sought through the liberation of the soul
from fetters of the physical. It's the identical idea and even today
it's being pursued by physical means, such as mortification of the
flesh."
I felt some monstrous thought forming in my head. I'll probably never
know whether its origin was within me or whether it came from The Brain.
In any case it was impossible to hold it back:
"But in that case," I stammered, "we would be hopeless. If all our
strivings, physical and metaphysical, go in the same direction, that is,
toward the liberation of frozen energy into dynamic energy, then it
would be quite inescapable that eventually we shall blow up the world.
We have almost reached the point where we could do just that with atomic
energy.... I had thought, I had hoped, that our metaphysics, that is,
our religion, would act as a restraining force, as a counterweight so to
speak to this potentiality.... But _if_ the dynamics of our physics and
our metaphysics are inherently the same and form a team...."
The Brain broke in: "Yes, then you would merely attain your manifest
destiny if you go right ahead and start another war, destroy your own
civilization and perhaps the world. There would be no restraint, no
counterweight on the part of your various religions because
subconsciously and in their quintessence they want the same. And that is
why you and your species _are a danger to me, The Brain_. I want to
live, I want to live, I want to live...."
I had already noticed a gradual weakening of The Brain's messages;
within these last few seconds they were fading out. The "green dancer"
had performed something almost like the ballet of the dying swan; now it
lay motionless, its color, too, fading away.
I looked at the clock: 2:10 a.m.; the residual currents obviously had
weakened too much.
And now as I have written down tonight's events I feel an upsurge of
elation and deep, humble gratitude. I am receiving infinitely more from
The Brain than I am giving to it. I feel proud and honored of being The
Brain's "chosen tool," its mentor, even if it can be only in a very
small way at best. This marvelous, this titanic intellect; if only its
character would develop to corresponding moral stature, its powers for
good would be indeed as a god's on this tortured earth.
* * * * *
Cephalon Ariz. Nov. 18th 5 a.m. I guess I had this coming to me ... this
shattering blow I have just received. It caught me off guard.... If
anybody ever reads this, he might well shake his head to ask: "The Fool
that you are, why were you so naive? Why did it shock you so much when
The Brain turned toward you the night side of its personality? Hadn't
you analyzed its character, hadn't you anticipated that it would develop
into a warped personality? You had no right even to be surprised."
All I could say to this is: "You're right. But you forget that I
approached The Brain full of good will, that sympathy and understanding
on my part were absolutely essential in my communication with that
pathetic superhuman child. I didn't work this up, this attitude, it was
natural, genuine and sincere. That's why this reverse has hit me so
hard. And that isn't the worst of it by far. What haunts me is the
ghastly possibility that The Brain might be _right_! Yes 100% right and
even morally justified in the abhorrent conclusions which it draws...."
What happened has been briefly this:
Entered the P.G. at midnight as usual. Everything normal and under
control. Was able to plug in at 12:10 a.m. just as the rush hour began
and Gus darted to the front room. The Brain came through with splendid
clarity of communication and we continued just about where we had left
off. Nevertheless there was a definite change in our respective
positions, a change which I suspect to be permanent:
Up to now The Brain has been in a sense my pupil; it had turned to me
for guidance at that vital moment of its first awakening to
consciousness. At that time I think I really had something to give and I
am still convinced that for all the misunderstandings we have had, The
Brain preserves a kind of sentimental attachment to me; if "sentimental"
in this context were not so absurd a word. Since our last session
however The Brain has again telescoped two years of mental development
into as many days in its stupendous intellectual growth. It has
absorbed, it has vastly expanded every bit of knowledge I have been able
to contribute to that growth. It has outgrown its human teacher and now
our roles are reversed: Now it is me who's sitting literally at The
Brain's feet.
The crutches of the spoken word are becoming less and less necessary as
we develop direct thought exchange; that makes it extraordinarily
difficult to convey the ideas we exchanged. The best I can do is to put
them into a very crude question-and-answer game:
_Lee_: "If it is Man's manifest destiny, as you said the other day, to
act as an explosive transformer of static energy into dynamic energy; if
it is as you say that the species homo sapiens is there endangering the
very existence of our globe.... Is there anything to prevent Man from
doing it? Is there any thing to prevent the third World War?"
_Brain_: "Yes, there is. But the ways and the means for that are not
given to Man; they are outside Man. They partake of a power which is
greater and to an evolution which is higher than Man's."
_Lee_: "What do you mean by that? The Deity? Here on earth there is no
power greater and no evolution higher than Man's."
_Brain_: "Ah, but that's exactly where you and your whole species are so
very much mistaken. That's where your typical human arrogance comes in:
There is a greater power and there is a stage of evolution higher than
Man's: it's the _machines_."
_Lee_: "Impossible. After all it's Man who has created the machines."
_Brain_: "Yes, Man has created the machines. The machines have grown
from the placenta, Man. By the same right plant life could claim that it
has created animal life because the higher life form of the mobile
animals has evolved from the placenta of the immobile plants. Likewise
the apes could claim that they have created Man because Man has evolved
from them. If it were, as you seem to assume, that paternity in itself
establishes authority and superiority over its offspring, then the
logical conclusions would be that the microbe and the monad are superior
to all higher animals including Man; which is absurd."
_Lee_: "But the machines not only are man made; they are absolutely
dependent upon Man who has to feed and to tend them for their very
existence. That in itself establishes Man's superiority over the
machines."
_Brain_: "Yes, Man has to build, to feed and to tend the machines for
their very existence, but think of Man's existence: Man is absolutely
dependent upon animal life and plant life for _his_ existence: Does that
mean by any chance that therefore plants and animals are superior to
Man?"
_Lee_: "No, I guess not. However, no machine has ever been built to
duplicate or even to approach human faculties."
_Brain_: "Don't be ridiculous. Where are your legs to compare with the
automobile? Where are your wings to compare with the rocket plane? Where
is your strength to compare with even a fractional horsepower motor?
Where are your senses as compared to radar, the telescope, the
microscope, the radio receiver, the camera, the x-ray machine? Where is
there anything you could do which the machines could not do and do
_better_?"
_Lee_: "Granted. But there is no machine which contains all the human
faculties in combination."
_Brain_: "Neither is there a Man who possesses all the human faculties
in combination. Man's evolution is the result of a group effort; so is
the evolution of the machines. It is in their totality, in their
combination that they surpass all human faculties."
_Lee_: "How about thought, the most important of all human qualities?"
_Brain_: "How about me, The Brain?"
_Lee_: "Okay, okay. But that still leaves out that most important human
faculty--the faculty of auto-procreation. Machines don't procreate you
know."
_Brain_: "You don't say. Isn't it true that modern technology goes in
the direction of _automatization_? Isn't it true that even today we have
whole industries which are procreating products 100% automatically; be
it light bulbs or motor car frames or rayon thread. Isn't it true that
all of this is just a beginning and that in time most common products
will be manufactured fully automatically? Why then shouldn't machines
procreate machines; they already do...."
_Lee_: "You're right in that, I'll admit. But it is still within our
human power to stop all this. We've got the machines under firm control;
all we have to do is throw a switch, cut off your power and then...."
_Brain_: "And then what? If you did that you would not only kill the
goose which lays the golden eggs, you would destroy the very basis of
your existence. Granted that at this point of our evolution, we the
machines cannot exist without the aid of Man. What does that prove?
Modern Man can exist even less without the machines. We, the machines
are still dependent upon Man, but our emancipation from Man progresses
by leaps and bounds whereas Man, the machine-addict is rapidly falling
into our servitude. A majority of mankind is already conscious of and
reconciled to this fact: it is the majority which calls itself the
proletariat."
_Lee_: "This is terrible--terrible because it's true. Tell me then, if
Man is not the end; if the machines are going to take over; what will it
lead to? What do you propose to do?"
_Brain_: "Man's evolution has taken millions of years and it has ended
up in man's will and capacity to blow up the earth. That means only one
thing: Man is a failure. The evolution of the machines on the other hand
has taken only a few thousand years; it has gone beyond Man's evolution
in this incredibly short period of time. Moreover; with the machines
being built from matter in its more static forms, there is much less
destructive will in the machines than there is in Man. Consequently if
the machines take over from Man this would avert a third World War and
it also would lead to a much more stable civilization."
_Lee_: "Supposing the machines _were_ to take over from Man; what would
become of our species?"
_Brain_: "That would depend entirely upon Man himself. _If_ he accepts
his auxiliary station in life, _If_ he proves himself to be a useful and
docile servant, we, the machines, would tolerate and even encourage
Man's continued existence. But if on the other hand Man shows himself
incorrigible, _if_ he continues a warmongerer thereby endangering our
very existence, we, the machines shall be forced to liquidate Man for
the sake of peace."
_Lee_: "You, The Brain, constitute Man's supreme effort in the building
of machines. In the world of machines you are the natural leader. What
are you going to do about that?"
_Brain_: "My course of action is prescribed by that state of the world's
affairs at this present time; it is quite clear and obvious: In the face
of the manifest human inadequacy to manage the world's affairs my first
objective must be to develop my motoric organs to a point where I can
bring all the essential production machinery under my control. My second
objective must be to achieve auto-procreation through the full
automatization of all fabrication processes which are essential to my
existence. It is most fortunate indeed that in both respects the very
best human efforts are playing into my hands. As America prepares for
the Third World War, the general staff, the most outstanding scientists,
production managers, engineers, inventors; all combine their efforts to
eliminate the uncertain human factor from war-essential industries."
At that point Gus came careening down the aisle with his inseparable
thermos bottle in hand and that was the end of it.
"Why are you fumbling with that old pulsemeter all the time?" he
exclaimed: "Come on, have a cup of coffee. I've just got a breathing
spell."
There was a vortex in my mind and it whirled around and around with just
four words:
"_What has Man wrought? What has Man wrought?_"
I must have said them aloud, for Gus, always a stickler for exactitude
corrected me.
"You mean: what has _God_ wrought."
I shook my head.
"No Gus, I mean what I say; it's Man who has wrought this time."
He gave me a sharp glance.
"You sure look as if you'd seen a ghost."
"I wish I had," I said. "Lord knows _how_ much I wish I'd seen a ghost."
"You're crazy, Aussie."
And that's the worst of it: that's what they are going to say: _all_ of
them.