The Devil's Advocate

by Taylor Caldwell

  “Well,” said Mr. Regis, “that’s over for another year, isn’t it?”

  Dr. Healy gave him a significant glance, and said respectfully: “Did you notice, sir, how quiet the people were? I’m afraid they’re not well adjusted any longer. Something has happened to them; someone has destroyed their group integration—”

  “Oh, yes,” interrupted Durant, smiling. “‘Group dynamics.’ What’s wrong with their group dynamics today, Doctor? I thought it was right on the job, eloquently.”

  Dr. Healy, in the presence of the Federal head of the FBHS, could face this hated man courageously. He said, with meaning: “Perhaps the colonel thinks so. Perhaps the colonel knows all about it.”

  “Yes?” asked Mr. Regis, with interest.

  Dr. Healy hesitated, then plunged. “We psychiatrists had practically eliminated mass neurosis in the people over the past ten years, Mr. Regis. Our effort has been most impressive in the field of group integration. Without our work it would have been impossible for the State to secure the allegiance and mass-effort of the populace. Men and women, hag-ridden with complexes and hidden conflicts, harassed by ritualism and symbolism and emotional illnesses of many types, have been restored to health and have adjusted themselves to their environment. The colonel may laugh at group integration, sir, but that does not reduce its importance in national life.”

  Durant said indulgently: “Translated, Mr. Regis, all this means that Dr. Healy and his colleagues have secured mass conformity and have suppressed individualism, which was a menace to the State. When countless thousands refused to be ‘cured,’ as Dr. Healy would call it—well, then, they simply disappeared. That’s so, isn’t it, Doctor?”

  The others laughed, and Mr. Regis smiled. Dr. Healy, aghast and incredulous, swung about to see that a ring had been drawn around him. His new color faded. His eyes filmed with fear. His hope was gone. He could only stand there under the mirthful ridicule and say nothing. Durant tapped him on the chest. “We’ll have to see about ‘integrating’ you, Doctor. I think your personal ‘group dynamics’ have blown up in your face.”

  “Oh, come, come, Colonel,” protested Mr. Regis gently. “Let’s not quarrel. Captain Steffens, gentlemen: I have been asked by the Chief Magistrate to invite you all for dinner with me and Mr. Burgess at his country home. The Chief Magistrate believes that we need our own private celebration. Will you come?”

  So, thought Durant, that is to be our “safe place” for the next twenty-four hours, until we receive our signal. The others understood, as Durant had understood, and agreed with pleasure. Dr. Healy, floundering in his despair, took hope again. He would find some way to speak of this obnoxious and dangerous military man to Mr. Regis, in private. He must convince Mr. Regis of the jeopardy into which Colonel Curtiss had thrown Section 7. He would hint solemnly of inefficiency, or worse. He looked up to see Mr. Regis nodding to him very slightly, and now he flamed with renewed elation.

  He, Joseph Healy, had been temporarily reduced to childish hallucinations. His colleagues had not been laughing at him at all, with ridicule or derision. They had been laughing easily, and without any secret significance. His nerves had been shaken by that damnable silence of the people—He regarded Durant with hatred. He hoped he would be given the job of “adjusting” this man to his environment.

  The cavalcade of cars rolled down Broad Street, whose craters were filled with ice on which the tires spun dangerously. And everywhere, on the downtown streets, the multitudes had gathered, impassive, silent and motionless. Durant, with his new understanding and awareness, knew that at last in this city, and in every other city throughout the nation, the people were presenting to their oppressors the evidence of their might, were demonstrating to their tyrants the massiveness and invincibility of their power, which could no longer be controlled or directed.

  They made no overt gesture, they did not speak or shout. But they stood in all streets, everywhere, as immovable as mountains, as fixed as glaciers. Never did they become mobs, screaming, pushing, headlong. We, they seemed to be saying, are the People. We, who are the People, cannot be moved, cannot be shaken from our places. You can no longer disperse us into disintegrating and hysterical units. We stand together, and hell cannot overthrow us, neither by guns nor by propaganda, by emotion nor by lies. We are the Reality and you are a delusion, because you are evil.

  The soldiers who patrolled the streets were not molested. The uniformed boys had frightened and uneasy faces; sometimes they glanced at the massed multitudes with sheepish grins or childish wonder. They were confronted by no aggression, no excuse for violence. Even the most stupid and belligerent among them was restrained from any involuntary brutality by the very weight of these voiceless throngs who could very easily, in one wave, have flowed over and trampled any soldier who lost his head.

  It was evident that the people were beginning to unnerve the Military, including the non-commissioned officers who directed them. Sometimes the boys would gather together in consultation, muttering among themselves, glancing over their shoulders at the people. Apparently they could come to no conclusion; bewildered, sometimes smiling boyishly and as if ashamed, sometimes even laughing a little, sometimes shouting a joke or a gibe at the voiceless multitudes, they patrolled with more and more briskness. And sometimes they would stop and light cigarets—a forbidden practice but now an indication of reckless comprehension—and try to strike up a conversation with men and women nearest them.

  But the people ignored them. They might have been dark statues standing in solid ranks on the pavements. What are they waiting for? the soldiers asked each other. But many soldiers did not ask. They knew.

  The streets were darkening, the faint lamps began to waver in the brownish air of a bitter winter twilight. But still the people did not move, did not disperse.

  They are waiting for their signal, as we are waiting, thought Durant. Among them were thousands of Minute Men, their guides and their leaders, who had ordered this awful demonstration of the people’s power.

  Durant rode in a car with Mr. Burgess, Mr. Regis and Dr. Healy. Picked Guards on motorcycles accompanied them and the cars behind them. They might all have been ghosts insofar as the people were concerned. The people simply stood and waited. Only Dr. Healy was disturbed. He kept peeping out of the car windows, huddling himself in his expensive coat.

  “What’s the matter, do you think, Mr. Regis?” he asked, speaking across Durant as if the latter did not exist. “They should be celebrating as usual. They have whisky cards, and the State restaurants are open for them, with free meals and things they never get during the rest of the year.”

  “What do you think is the matter, Doctor?” replied Mr. Regis, with that kind interest of his. “This is something unusual, isn’t it? Colonel, what do you think?”

  Durant said, grinning: “I think they’re demonstrating, sir.”

  “Demonstrating what?” demanded Dr. Healy.

  Durant shrugged. “Why, Doctor. You’re the psychiatrist, aren’t you? You know all about mob psychology. Mobs always reveal a ‘pattern,’ don’t they? What’s their pattern now, Doctor?”

  Dr. Healy looked through the windows again, frowning and afraid. Then he had the solution. He said: “Passive resistance. An old contrivance. Infantilism. The reverting to the pattern of childhood—negativism. It occurs in children during the third or fourth year when they are just becoming aware of their own identity—” He stopped, abruptly, and fear sprang out starkly in his eyes.

  “Yes?” said Durant. “Go on, Doctor. I think you’ve got something. I think the people are ‘becoming aware of their own identity.’ I agree with you. And now what, Doctor?”

  Dr. Healy swallowed. He regarded Durant with wavering ferocity, but he was a man not without courage. “We—we ignore negativism in a child. We—we evade it by offering a child two or three other choices—he makes his own decision—”

  “Good,” said Durant. “The people are making their choice, their own decision. It’s
all very clear.”

  The presence of Mr. Regis and Mr. Burgess kept down the doctor’s panic. He turned to Mr. Regis. “Mobs,” he said contemptuously. “Why don’t the soldiers fire on them and disperse them?”

  Durant answered very quietly and slowly: “They have their orders not to, Doctor.”

  Dr. Healy was both aghast and incredulous. “Who gave them such orders?”

  “I did,” said Durant.

  Dr. Healy shrank from him. His voice shook when he appealed to the other men: “Mr. Regis, Mr. Burgess! Did you hear that? The colonel has dispensed with discipline. He refuses to disperse that mob—!”

  Mr. Regis looked at the multitudes again. In a gentle and reasonable voice he remarked. “I’d hardly call them a ‘mob’ or ‘mobs,’ Doctor. Very orderly and controlled. Not even talking among themselves. Why should they be fired upon or dispersed? After all, this is Democracy Day. If they take this method of celebrating, why should it be forbidden?”

  Dr. Healy was stunned. He shivered even in the warmth of the car. He put out the delicate antennas of his mind to discover if any danger or enmity was about him. There was none. There was only amusement, secret amusement, even from the two powerful civilians.

  “Let’s just ignore it,” said Durant. “That’s what you do with ‘negativism’ in a child, don’t you, Doctor? The people are just being negative; they like to be negative today. What do you suppose they’re being ‘negative’ about, Doctor?” He paused. “The Democracy, Doctor?” he suddenly demanded, with sharp menace.

  Dr. Healy could only stare at Durant for several long moments. His heart fluttered with terror. He made a movement like one about to take flight. He said to himself, incoherently: I must get out of here. I must report—Report to whom? The majestic heads of the two most powerful bureaus in the country were in this car with him. He stammered: “Mr. Regis. Mr. Burgess. Did you hear what—what the colonel has said?”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Burgess, smiling.

  Dr. Healy made another convulsive movement. He was no longer interested in “reporting” to anyone. He was a very clever man. The impulse for flight was a primordial one, and he instinctively reached across Durant for the handle of the car. No one moved, but Mr. Regis said kindly: “Don’t, Doctor. You see, you are under arrest.”

  Dr. Healy’s hand froze in mid-air. Durant nodded, without interest: “If you attempt that again, Joe, I’ll shoot you.”

  Dr. Healy fell back. He looked from face to face as best he could in the dim light. He began to tremble. “What are you going to do with me? Is this a—a revolt? Are you—you all traitors, spies? I don’t understand. Are you going to kill me?”

  Mr. Regis’ voice was very kind and considerate. “Yes, Doctor, this is a ‘revolt.’ The revolt of the people, prepared over the years by all of us. No, we are not traitors. We are not going to kill you, so set your mind at rest. We only kill, and will kill, the ones who are utterly evil, or fanatically convinced of the righteousness of this horrible and wicked State. These have no place in the bright air of freedom. As for you, Doctor, we can use you. You see, you are a cynic; you aren’t an evil man, just an expedient one. You aren’t convinced that The Democracy is good. In your heart, you know it is vile. We are letting you live, so you can serve us, and you’ll serve us well. Men like you are for hire. Realists are always for hire, and I don’t doubt at all that your services to us will be conscientious and thorough.”

  He smiled in a paternal fashion at the gaping doctor.

  “So, Doctor, suppose you engage your excellent mind in ideas how you can help us condition the people for liberty and self-government. Let us know, later, what your conclusions are.”

  Dr. Healy was silent. He pulled out his scented handkerchief and wiped his face. He rubbed his palms on his handkerchief. At last he said: “Is this going on, everywhere, in the country?”

  “It is,” Mr. Burgess assured him. “You see, we have control of the country now. In a few days it will all be over. In the meantime, you are our prisoner, Doctor. Not that you can really do any harm to us and the new Republic. But you might—I say you possibly might—in a moment of impulsiveness, cause some trouble.”

  Dr. Healy drew a deep breath. He looked at Mr. Burgess with fear and respect. He said: “I’m not an impulsive man, sir.”

  Mr. Burgess nodded. “Good. I know you are not. But you might think that everything isn’t lost for the evil men, and you could evoke violence, small but unnecessary. We aren’t violent people, unless we have to be. We intend no violence toward you. We want your cooperation. You’re a valuable man, Doctor. We might even make you Chief of Public Health. The people have been ill so long. You could help cure them.” Now his eyes were no longer cold. They sparkled with geniality.

  Visions of Washington, a magnificent suites of offices, hordes of underling psychiatrists and consultants, a mansion, position and immense importance, whirled through Dr. Healy’s mind. A hospital. The Dr. Joseph Healy Psychiatric Hospital! Honors. Travel. A seat near the President of the Republic of the United States of America—! Dr. Healy could hardly breathe.

  He said faintly: “Who is to be the President?”

  “Why, I am,” said Mr. Regis. “I was a four-star general at one time, Doctor. My name is John Graham. I have been nominated by the secret Conclave of Minute Men to be the candidate of the Constitution Party in the elections, which will take place within a month, or less. In the meantime, another party will be formed by the opposition. You see, we will have an opposition, but it won’t win. However, in a free country we must have at least two parties. Some of us will actually help to form the other party. Whom they will nominate will be entirely their own affair. We have only one stipulation: that they conform to the Constitution of the United States.”

  Dr. Healy winced at that forbidden word. But his visions returned. The Constitution Party. He savored it. His mind became busy with many thoughts. Liberty. He was a cynic more than he was a psychiatrist. The people had always proved themselves incapable of liberty; in fact, they despised it in their hearts. They would have to be thoroughly indoctrinated in the uses of liberty, and shown how to manipulate it wisely. The children would have to be taught. The people would have to be taught. There would have to be great forums, presided over by competent psychiatrists under his own direction.

  He became excited, and prickling thrills raced up and down his spine. He was seated next to the coming President of the United States! He was here in this car, because they considered him valuable. He had been chosen! They could have killed him, but they had chosen him, these powerful and determined men.

  Mr. Regis said: “Colonel Curtiss has been sending highly secret and confidential reports of your talents and qualifications to the Chief Magistrate, Doctor. He wasn’t inspired by any admiration.” Mr. Regis laughed a little. “But he knew you could serve us. Incidentally, yours was only one of twenty names submitted for approval. The colonel was convinced, himself, and he convinced us, that you were the man we needed. You see, all the others were either completely evil men, or men who tried to assure themselves that they were working for the best interests of the people, or they were men of even greater danger to the people: men who were not evil, were not trying to delude themselves, but men who actually and fervently believed that this corrupt State was benign and perfect and that whatever it did was best for everyone. In short, they were zealots, fanatics.” He paused a moment, then continued: “You didn’t come into any of these classifications. You were merely clever and expedient, and being so, and a very intellectual man, you could be bought. We intend to offer you an excellent price, as I mentioned before.”

  The darkness, like a fog, settled down swiftly, and the car raced for the country. Dr. Healy pondered over Mr. Regis’ words. He glanced sideways at Durant. But he was grateful. He said: “Thank you, Colonel. But how did you know—what I really thought?”

  “Because,” said Durant cheerfully, “you were so thorough in carrying out my orders against the children o
f the privileged groups. You seemed to take a sort of pleasure in it, a perverted pleasure. Have you analyzed yourself, Doctor? Or was it all subconscious?”

  “If I did as you say, Colonel, it was subconscious,” added the other, grudgingly.

  Durant turned in his seat toward him, though every face was now merely a faint blur in the dusk. “Tell me, Doctor, what made the people, decades ago, turn away from freedom? And how can we turn them back to it so firmly that they’ll never consent to be slaves again? I want the psychiatrist’s viewpoint.”

  Dr. Healy, so shaken, began to feel immense importance. He thought for a few moments, then replied with serious honesty, a rare state for him: “They were afraid of responsibility. All men are. A small precentage of men react to that fear by aggression, that is, they use their fear of responsibility to face it overcome it, and succeed in channeling it into what we used to call ‘usefulness,’ or personal success. Our outstanding men in the sciences and the arts and in business and industry are examples. A less virtuous segment of that percentage becomes famous, or infamous, criminals. Some, and these are even rarer, sublimate their fear of responsibility to a point where they assume universal responsibility. We used to call them saints, or martyrs.

  “But outside these few live the hundreds of millions of ordinary folk who are hounded and distressed by a nebulous but no less frantic dread of responsibility. They instinctively try to evade it. The masses have always been so but they never had a voice or a word until the last thirty or forty years. They got the voice through labor leaders and idealists. And hey got the magic word. Security. In the name of the word they embraced slavery.” He turned to Mr. Regis. “Mankind is always afraid. It is part of the nature of humanity, because humanity is a solitary species, not by instinct gregarious or communal. Man is afraid of man.” Dr. Healy laughed lightly, but with some ruefulness. “With good reason, too. People know what they are, so they try to protect themselves against each other. Taking on responsibility exposes them to too many hazards; only a few men have the character, the vitality, the health, the courage and the intelligence, to challenge those hazards aggressively.”