Robert A. Heinlein: In Dialogue With His Century

by Robert A. Heinlein

  Your cultures have all been expressed through the people of those cultures … . If you want to present philosophy, you have the choice of textbook methods, or dramatization, wherein your puppets act out the points to be illustrated. I have the feeling that the thing that’s stopping you is that you can dramatize only the failure of a philosophy with respect to the genetics story—a successful philosophy with which it could be contrasted, to give the story the necessary pull between two sides, is unavailable.

  Your story might jell for you if you developed in some detail two reasonable, opposing philosophies, both ultimately failures since men are human, not superhuman, but such that each has points of strong appeal.86

  That gave Heinlein enough of a clue to get started. His solution to the economic problem was through Social Credit—or something very much like it—and that led him back to For Us, the Living. His thinking had evolved somewhat since 1938:

  I did not stay sold on C. H. Douglas’ economic theories as expounded in Social Credit, but I did stay sold on the notion that our economic troubles lay principally in our fiscal system and that they could be remedied without doing away with private ownership. I remain so convinced … I believe that civil liberty and human dignity is most easily achieved in a system based on private capitalism and private ownership. I’m not fanatic about it either way; I like public libraries, and I like public roads; I’m afraid of all-out socialism even when it isn’t the Marxian variety.87

  He had developed one “conflict” story out of For Us, the Living already—“Coventry.” He turned the story assumptions of “Coventry” upside down and shook until something interesting fell out—a society that was overviolent, instead of overcivilized.88 He started the story, titling it “False Dawn,” then crossed that out as he got a little further into the story, retitling it “Problem Child,” and then re-retitling it “‘Utopia’ Means ‘Nowhere’” as the story evolved. Finally, he put on the manuscript the title that had occurred to him at the end of September, “Beyond This Horizon.”89

  He sent the first ten thousand words to Campbell and sketched out what comes next, asking for comments he could work into the next segment—just the way they had worked “Methuselah’s Children.” He was making good progress, at the rate of two thousand words a day, but he queried Campbell to do a review of Willy Ley’s The Days of Creation. He would do it for free, for the chance to plug Ley’s book.90

  Heinlein continued developing his what-comes-next-after-utopia story between letters to and from Campbell, adding in a caricature of his hero from For Us, the Living, making him a Republican stockbroker type. The story gradually came together for him much the way “Methuselah’s Children” had. He worked especially hard to keep it from bogging down in philosophy, since he was illustrating

  the basic problems of epistemology, the relations between map and territory.

  Symbol Referent

  Map Territory

  Gene chart Man

  Finance structure Physical economic process

  Eidouranian Physical universe

  … And a gene chart, even an ideally perfect one, is not all there is to a man.91

  By Thanksgiving Heinlein was in the full flood of production, but when he wrote Campbell saying he wanted to toss personal survival after death into the mix—and by the way he wanted to do someday a “long story about Rhysling, the Blind Singer of the Spaceways”—Campbell realized Heinlein probably wouldn’t ever be able to get to the antimatter machine shop idea that had been hanging fire for months. He offered it instead to Jack Williamson, who had bogged down on a serial of his own.92 Williamson wrote to Heinlein that he didn’t want to trespass on another writer’s territory.93 Heinlein gave his blessing through Leslyn, as he didn’t want to take a break from writing. His output had soared up to four thousand words a day.94

  In one of his now-regular weekly business letters, Campbell asked Heinlein to get the Mañana Literary Society working on a “really good lie” for a new department of science-fictional “tall tales” he was bringing to Astounding—“Probability Zero.” Heinlein passed the suggestion along but couldn’t spare the time to work on anything like that himself—the director of the Port of San Pedro had sent him a circular asking all retired officers to volunteer to route merchant traffic in the port.95 Heinlein knew how to read between the lines, and what this circular probably told him was that the Navy was trying to free up all active duty personnel, as fast as possible. War was imminent.

  Campbell suggested Heinlein come to New York to finish “Beyond This Horizon” there—but that was not a practical solution, Heinlein told him.96 It was too late to move now:

  If the Japanese start a war with us, as it looks as if they intend to, then they will do so this coming weekend and probably on Sunday, as they have a record of surprise attacks and they certainly know our Navy’s habits on weekends.97

  He would be called back into service in New York and be unable to finish the book, even if he came there. And in any case he would need the proceeds from the serial to finance his recall to active duty in that case—uniforms and kit—so he was committed to finishing the book in Los Angeles. Then, if the Japanese did not attack, he could leave by train for New York on Monday, December 8.98 He would need the vacation—he was overstressed.99

  Heinlein put on a burst of speed and worked twenty-four hours straight on the serial, finishing the last ten thousand words of “Beyond This Horizon” in rough draft early in the morning of December 1, 1941. Leslyn proofread it as it came out of the machine, and he mailed off the rough copy before having breakfast at 7:00 A.M.100 and going to bed.101 He wrote up his review of Willy Ley’s book from notes and sent it off to Campbell the following day.102 Campbell had the payment expedited—a thousand dollars that arrived on Saturday, December 6, 1941, too late in the day to deposit.

  22

  “AND PUT ASIDE CHILDISH THINGS …”

  It was just after noon on Sunday, December 7, 1941, when a news bulletin broke into the regular radio broadcast: the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. As details started coming in, Heinlein realized that the Japanese had taken exactly the same tactical approach he had participated in, in war games nine years earlier.1 The sense of personal loss was overwhelming:

  The thing hit me with such utter sickening grief as I have not experienced before in my life and has left me with a feeling of loss of personal honor such as I never expected to experience. For one reason and one only—because I found myself sitting on a hilltop, in civilian clothes, with no battle station and unable to fight, when it happened .2

  Admiral Kimmel had made no preparations at all: he should, at the very least, have had his forces at sea during an international crisis; but, instead, the entire fleet was in harbor, and flight squadrons neatly lined up on Hickam Field.3Oklahoma, the ship of Heinlein’s 1927 practice cruise, had taken three torpedo hits early in the attack and sank in her berth, turning over until her masts touched bottom and stabilized her. More than four hundred men were killed, many trapped beneath the hull. More—Cal Laning was at Oahu. There was no news of him or of his ship, Conyngham, tied up, waiting for repairs, in Pearl’s East Loch at the time of the attack.4

  Even worse, the Japanese had simultaneously attacked U.S. Naval outposts on Guam and Wake Island and mounted a major offensive on the Philippine island of Luzon, where Leslyn’s sister and brother-in-law and two nephews were.

  Heinlein reported in by telephone to the Personnel Office, Eleventh Naval District (San Diego). He asked to be assigned to active duty immediately.

  They acknowledged his request as of “1255 7 December 1941.” That act took a great weight off his shoulders.

  For myself, the situation, tragic as it is, comes to me as an actual relief and a solution of my own emotional problems. For the past year and a half I have been torn between two opposing points of view—the desire to retain as long as possible my own little creature comforts and my own snug little home with the consistent company of my wife and the compani
onship of my friends and, opposed to that, the desire to volunteer. Now all that is over, I have volunteered and have thereby surrendered my conscience (like a good Catholic) to the keeping of others.

  The matter has been quite acute to me. For the last eighteen months I have often been gay and frequently much interested in what I was doing, but I have not been happy. There has been with me, night and day, a gnawing doubt as to the course I was following. I felt that there was something that I ought to be doing. I rationalized it, not too successfully, by reminding myself that the Navy knew where I was, knew my abilities, and had the legal power to call on me if they wanted me. But I felt like a heel. This country has been very good to me, and the taxpayers have supported me for many years. I knew when I was sworn in, sixteen years ago, that my services and if necessary my life were at the disposal of the country; no amount of rationalization, no amount of reassurance from my friends, could still my private belief that I ought to be up and doing at this time.5

  Now that the crisis had come, all his priorities were instantly reordered. Heinlein put in a long-distance call to John Campbell, to tell him the trip to New York was off, and found that he had to break the news of the attack. Campbell took it very calmly; Heinlein thought at first he didn’t believe it. “I’m not kidding; you know,” he insisted. But Campbell was in the middle of his own version of the “semantic pause.”6 Heinlein was past that now:

  My feelings toward the Japs could be described as a cold fury. I not only want them to be defeated, I want them to be smashed. I want them to be punished at least a hundredfold, their cities burned, their industries smashed, their fleet destroyed, and finally, their sovereignty taken away from them … Disarm them and don’t turn them loose. We can treat the individual persons decently in an economic sense, but take away their sovereignty. 7

  The declaration of war on the Empire of Japan was a foregone conclusion and came immediately. As soon as the banks opened on Monday, Heinlein deposited the check for the serial. Leslyn started mending his old uniforms, to do for the moment, while he reported in person at San Pedro to start the process with a frontal attack on the weakest side of his case to be reassigned to active duty: he demanded a physical exam. They turned him down when the scarring on his lungs showed up in an X-ray, but the medical officer was sympathetic and cooperative: he agreed to send a copy of the report to D.C. by mail, so that Heinlein might start the appeal process for a waiver.

  In the meantime, Heinlein used the delay to get his affairs in order. He bought a new uniform immediately with some of the cash he had just gotten for “Beyond This Horizon” and planned the work that would get the house fixed up to rent during the war—a new water heater and a fireproof roof, at the least. Bill Corson could house-sit, if necessary: he had just taken the examination for consular service and was waiting for his civil service papers to come through. That would free up Robert and Leslyn to jump fast, if they needed to, and in any direction. “In the course of a long life, one should be prepared to abandon one’s baggage several times. The trick is to do it without too much shock.”8

  The dominoes were not done falling. Hitler declared war on the United States, and on December 9, Congress declared war on Germany—Japan’s ally. The era of isolationism was finally at an end. The U.S. garrison on the island of Guam surrendered. The Wake Island garrison surrendered less than two weeks later, on December 22. Hong Kong fell, and Singapore; only the Philippines, where former Chief of Staff General Douglas MacArthur had been caught in the middle of fortifying Manila, held out. No word came from the Hubbards, Mark and Keith. No word from Cal Laning.

  Heinlein set in motion the paperwork for a Navy Reserve commission, once the local board had waived him for any duty afloat or ashore. He conceded he would not be medically qualified for duty at sea, between his chronic seasickness and tuberculosis, but argued they could use him for shore duty, PR, or math instruction at the Academy, or “any administrative job in which fresh knowledge of Naval technology is not of paramount importance.”9 BuNav acknowledged his request for duty but pointed out it was overwhelmed with such requests at the moment.

  Having failed to slip by the naval bureaucracy in the crisis, he was going to have to talk his way in—and that gave him plenty of time to fret. Leslyn decided to make herself useful as a fire spotter in the canyon hills, which she could do even though she didn’t drive. Heinlein kept himself occupied by following the news as it came in by radio, writing agonized letters to friends and family, and calling around to all the local installations, trying to find someone—anyone!—who wanted his services enough to request him and give him an entering wedge. “I should have volunteered six months ago,” he concluded sadly.10

  I have known since the fall of France, that there was work to be done and that I was morally obligated to assist in it. But I was making money and enjoying life, at least superficially—tomorrow seemed soon enough. Now, when I have been jarred awake, I am having to sit here, fidgeting, waiting for orders which will let me go to work. What that work will be I have not the slightest idea … . I would like awfully well to live through it and come out healthy, but if I don’t—well, it’s what I believe in. I don’t feel a damn bit courageous; in fact, I feel scared, but I imagine some of the three thousand at Pearl Harbor were scared too. The job has to be done.11

  His own family had immediately scattered to the winds. Larry had been stationed in Arkansas, commanding two battalions of engineers. He was already gone—destination unknown. Ivar had been approved for limited duty, by the Army, where he had gone after his hospitalization for tuberculosis, and would probably wind up teaching at West Point. Clare’s wife, Dorothy, worked; Clare would undoubtedly be moved up to 1-A status (physically fit for active military duty) and be drafted just months before getting his doctorate. 12 Leslyn was quietly making herself nuts because she couldn’t get any word from her sister in the Philippines.13

  When a Canyon neighbor, Curt Siodmak, asked him to critique a manuscript and suggest where it might be marketed for magazine publication, Heinlein directed him to Campbell, since Astounding and Unknown were the only possibilities he could see. Donovan’s Brain was damned good—good enough to help replace him and the other writers Campbell was going to lose from his Astounding “stable.”14

  And that brought up another thought: Leslyn could write science fiction while he was in the service. “My stories have always been collaborations between Leslyn and myself, in which I did the writing. I think it quite possible that she could and would turn out quite a bit of printable copy, continuing the same collaboration.”15 And by the same token, Doña could take over editing Astounding and Unknown if and when John went into active service. Campbell doubted Doña could be hired as editor.

  They were exchanging letters on the average of every forty-eight hours, and some of Campbell’s side comments were alarming. Campbell and his New York friends were mouthing off, apparently, with opinions either ignorant or incautious, about the Navy’s poor “preparedness,” and Fletcher Pratt was actually talking about troop movements and battle stations. They should both know better: that kind of loose talk could get fighting men killed. Some of Campbell’s griping was just twaddle. Exasperated, Heinlein tried to inject some common sense into the mix:

  You may gather the idea that I am suggesting that you lack adequate information in politics. You are jolly well right. John, you are so ignorant of political matters that your opinions on politics, sociology, and (usually) economics aren’t worth a tinker’s dam, except as brilliant flights of fancy. You are a hell of a nice guy, good-hearted, liberal, and quite intelligent, but you haven’t information enough to be intelligently critical of the party you support.16

  And as to Pratt and his coterie of Kriegspielers …

  If [Pratt] knows no more than the rest of us, he does not yet have sufficient data on which to pass judgment. If he has a pipeline to Washington, then he is in possession of state secrets and should keep his mouth shut … . I earnestly advise you and commend to c
ool heads everywhere (you might pass this on to Sprague) the course of saying nothing in the way of an opinion as yet and of quieting down as much of the Sunday-morning quarterbacking as they can.17

  Leslyn wrote separately to John, on the same subject:

  The gathering at which Pratt shot off his face you spoke of as madder than “the public at large”—as if they don’t consider themselves really part of the public at large. Don’t you realize what that bunch are, John. They’re an “organized fan” club.18

  The thought that this friendship that had meant so unreasonably much to Robert—and Leslyn—might be breaking up was one emotional burden too many for him; after writing about his friends and classmates on Oklahoma, he lost his self-control:

  I broke down on that last paragraph and started to blubber, something I have been needing to do for three and a half weeks, no, four weeks, something I have not done in years. I thought Leslyn was safe upstairs, but she heard me. It resulted in a little plain talk between us in which we had both been holding back.19

  Leslyn herself had been under great emotional strain since the fall of Manila had been announced on January 2. She had just had a cry, which she had tried to hide from Robert, of tortured self-recrimination because she had not talked Keith into at least sending her nephews back to the States. Now all of them were in occupied territory—and her brother-in-law had been away from home, prospecting in Davao, when Luzon fell. Their shared grief gave them a moment of catharsis and led to them getting their priorities straightened out.20