“It’s making a political machine that can’t be defeated.”
“Think not? What makes you think it can’t?”
“Pedagogue!” said James.
“Yeowwww!”
The judge whirled to look at Brennan. “What was—that?” asked the judge.
James explained what had happened, then: “I’ve mentioned hazards. This is what would happen if a fuse blew in the middle of a course. Maybe he can be trained out of it, and maybe not. You’ll have to try, of course. But think of what would happen if you and your political machine put these things into schools and fixed them to make a voltage twitch or something while the student was reading the word ‘republican’. You’d end up with a single-party system.”
“And get myself assassinated by a group of righteously irate citizens,” said Judge Carter. “Which I would very warmly deserve. On the other hand, suppose we ‘treated’ people to feel anguish at thoughts of murder or killing, theft, treason, and other forms of human deviltry?”
“Now that might be a fine idea.”
“It would not,” said Judge Carter flatly. James Holden’s eyes widened, and he started to say something but the judge held up his hand, fingers outspread, and began to tick off his points finger by finger as he went on: “Where would we be in the case of enemy attack? Could our policemen aim their guns at a vicious criminal if they were conditioned against killing? Could our butchers operate; must our housewives live among a horde of flies? Theft? Well, it’s harder to justify, James, but it would change the game of baseball as in ‘stealing a base’ or it would ruin the game of love as in ‘stealing a kiss’. It would ruin the mystery-story field for millions of people who really haven’t any inclination to go out and rob, steal, or kill. Treason? Our very revered Declaration of Independence is an article of Treason in the eyes of King George Third; it wouldn’t be very hard to draw a charge of treason against a man who complained about the way the Government is being run. Now, one more angle, James. The threat or fear of punishment hasn’t deterred any potential felon so far as anybody knows. And I hold the odd belief that if we removed the quart of mixed felony, chicanery, falsehood, and underhandedness from the human makeup, on that day the human race could step down to take its place alongside of the cow, just one step ahead of the worm.
“Now you accuse me of holding political ambition. I plead guilty of the charge and demand to be shown by my accuser just what is undesirable about ambition, be it political or otherwise. Have you no ambition? Of course you have. Ambition drove your folks to create this machine and ambition drove you to the fight for your freedom. Ambition is the catalyst that lifts a man above his fellows and then lifts them also. There is a sort of tradition in this country that a man must not openly seek the office of the Presidency. I consider this downright silly. I have announced my candidacy, and I intend to campaign for it as hard as I can. I propose to make the problem of education the most important argument that has ever come up in a presidential campaign. I believe that I shall win because I shall promise to provide this accelerated education for everybody who wants it.”
“And to do this you’ve used my machine,” objected James.
“Did you intend to keep it for yourself?” snapped Judge Carter.
“No, but—”
“And when did you intend to release it?”
“As soon as I could handle it myself.”
“Oh, fine!” jeered the judge sourly. “Now, let me orate on that subject for a moment and then we’ll get to the real meat of this argument. James, there is no way of delivering this machine to the public without delivering it to them through the hands of a capable Government agency. If you try to release it as an individual you’ll be swamped with cries of anger and pleas for special consideration. The reactionaries will shout that we’re moving too fast and the progressives will complain that we aren’t moving fast enough. Teachers’ organizations will say that we’re throwing teachers out of jobs, and little petty politicians will try to slip their political plug into the daily course in Civics. Start your company and within a week some Madison Avenue advertising agency will be offering you several million dollars to let them convince people that Hickory-Chickory Coffee is the only stuff they can pour down their gullet without causing stomach pains, acid system, jittery nerves, sleepless nights, flat feet, upset glands, and so on and on and on. Announce it; the next day you’ll have so many foreign spies in your bailiwick that you’ll have to hire a stadium to hold them. You’ll be ducking intercontinental ballistic missiles because there are people who would kill the dog in order to get rid of the fleas. You’ll start the biggest war this planet has ever seen and it will go on long after you are killed and your father’s secret is lost—and after the fallout has died off, we’ll have another scientific race to recreate it. And don’t think that it can’t be rediscovered by determined scientists who know that such a thing as the Holden Electromechanical Educator is a reality.”
“And how do you propose to prevent this war?”
“By broadcasting the secret as soon as we can; let the British and the French and the Russians and the Germans and all the rest build it and use it as wisely as they can program it. Which, by the way, James, brings us right back to James Quincy Holden, Martha Bagley, and the immediate future.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. James, tell me after deliberation, at what point in your life did you first believe that you had the competence to enter the adult world in freedom to do as you believed right?”
“Um, about five or six, as I recall.”
“What do you think now about those days?”
James shrugged. “I got along.”
“Wasn’t very well, was it?”
“No, but I was under a handicap, you know. I had to hide out.”
“And now?”
“Well, if I had legal ruling, I wouldn’t have to hide.”
“Think you know everything you need to know to enter this adult world?”
“No man stops learning,” parried James. “I think I know enough to start.”
“James, no matter what you say, there is a very important but intangible thing called ‘judgment’. You have part of it, but not by far enough. You’ve been studying the laws about ages and rights, James, but you’ve missed a couple of them because you’ve been looking for evidence favorable to your own argument. First, to become a duly elected member of the House of Representatives, a man must be at least twenty-five years of age. To be a Senator, he must be at least thirty. To be President, one must be at least thirty-five. Have you any idea why the framers of the Constitution of the United States placed such restrictions?”
“Well, I suppose it had to do with judgment?” replied James reluctantly.
“That—and experience. Experience in knowing people, in understanding that there might be another side to any question, in realizing that you must not approach every problem from your own purely personal point of view nor expect it to be solved to your own private satisfaction or to your benefit. Now, let’s step off a distance and take a good look at James Quincy Holden and see where he lacks the necessary ingredients.”
“Yes, tell me,” said James, sourly.
“Oh, I intend to. Let’s take the statistics first. You’re four-feet eleven-inches tall, you weigh one-hundred and three pounds, and you’re a few weeks over fourteen. I suppose you know that you’ve still got one more spurt of growth, sometimes known as the post-puberty-growth. You’ll probably put on another foot in the next couple of years, spread out a bit across the shoulders, and that fuzz on your face will become a collection of bristles. I suppose you think that any man in this room can handle you simply because we’re all larger than you are? Possibly true, and one of the reasons why we can’t give you a ticket and let you proclaim yourself an adult. You can’t carry the weight. But this isn’t all. Your muscles and your bones aren’t yet in equilibrium. I could find a man of age thirty who weighed one-oh-three and stood four-eleven. He could pick you up and
spin you like a top on his forefinger just because his bones match his muscles nicely, and his nervous system and brain have had experience in driving the body he’s living in.”
“Could be, but what has all this to do with me? It does not affect the fact that I’ve been getting along in life.”
“You get along. It isn’t enough to ‘get along.’ You’ve got to have judgment. You claim judgment, but still you realize that you can’t handle your own machine. You can’t even come to an equitable choice in selecting some agency to handle your machine. You can’t decide upon a good outlet. You believe that proclaiming your legal competence will provide you with some mysterious protection against the wolves and thieves and ruthless men with political ambition—that this ruling will permit you to keep it to yourself until you decide that it is time to release it. You still want to hide. You want to use it until you are so far above and beyond the rest of the world that they can’t catch up, once you give it to everybody. You now object to my plans and programs, still not knowing whether I intend to use it for good or for evil—and juvenile that you are, it must be good or evil and cannot be an in-between shade of gray. Men are heroes or villains to you; but I must say with some reluctance that the biggest crooks that ever held public office still passed laws that were beneficial to their people. There is the area in which you lack judgment, James. There and in your blindness.”
“Blindness?”
“Blindness,” repeated Judge Carter. “As Mark Twain once said, ‘When I was seventeen, I was ashamed at the ignorance of my father, but by the time I was twenty-one I was amazed to discover how much the old man had learned in four short years!’ Confound it, James, you don’t yet realize that there are a lot of things in life that you can’t even know about until you’ve lived through them. You’re blind here, even though your life has been a solid case of encounter with unexpected experiences, one after the other as you grew. Oh, you’re smart enough to know that you’ve got to top the next hill as soon as you’ve climbed this one, but you’re not smart enough to realize that the next hill merely hides the one beyond, and that there are still higher hills beyond that stretching to the end of the road for you—and that when you’ve finally reached the end of your own road there will be more distant hills to climb for the folks that follow you.
“You’ve a fine education, and it’s helped you tremendously. But you’ve loused up your own life and the life of Martha Bagley. You two are a pair of outcasts, and you’ll be outcasts until about ten years from now when your body will have caught up with your mind so that you can join your contemporaries without being regarded as a pair of intellectual freaks.”
“And what should I have done?” demanded James Holden angrily.
“That’s just it, again. You do not now realize that there isn’t anything you could have done, nor is there anything you can do now. That’s why I’m taking over and I’m going to do it for you.”
“Yes?”
“Yes!” snapped Judge Carter. “We’ll let them have their courses in baton twirling and social grace and civic improvement and etiquette—and at the same time we’ll give them history and mathematics and spelling and graduate them from ‘high’ school at the age of twelve or fourteen, introduce an intermediary school for languages and customs of other countries and in universal law and international affairs and economics, where our bookkeepers will learn science and scientists will understand commercial law; our lawyers will know business and our businessmen will be taught politics. After that we’ll start them in college and run them as high as they can go, and our doctors will no longer go sour from the moment they leave school at thirty-five to hang out their shingle.
“As for you, James Holden, you and Martha Bagley will attend this preparatory school as soon as we can set it up. There will be no more of this argument about being as competent as an adult, because we oldsters will still be the chiefs and you kids will be the Indians. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes sir. But how about Brennan?”
Judge Carter looked at the unhappy man. “You still want revenge? Won’t he be punished enough just hearing the word ‘pedagogue’?”
“For the love of—”
“Don’t blaspheme,” snapped the judge. “You’d hang if James could bring a shred of evidence, and I’d help him if I could.” He turned to James Holden. “Now,” he asked, “will you repair your machine?”
“And if I say No?”
“Can you stand the pressure of a whole world angered because you’ve denied them their right to an education?”
“I suppose not.” He looked at Brennan, at Professor White and at Jack Cowling. “If I’ve got to trust somebody,” he said reluctantly, “I suppose it might as well be you.”
* * *
BOOK FOUR:
THE NEW MATURITY
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It is the campus of Holden Preparatory Academy.
It is spring, but many another spring must pass before the ambitious ivy climbs to smother the gray granite walls, before the stripling trees grow stately, before the lawn is sturdy enough to withstand the crab grass and the students. Anecdote and apocrypha have yet to evolve into hallowed tradition. The walks ways are bare of bronze plaques because there are no illustrious alumni to honor; Holden Preparatory has yet to graduate its first class.
It is youth, a lusty infant whose latent power is already great enough to move the world. As it rises, the world rises with it for the whole consists of all its parts; no man moves alone.
The movement has its supporters and its enemies, and between them lies a vast apathy of folks who simply don’t give a damn. It supporters deplore the dolts and the sluggards who either cannot or will not be educated. Its enemies see it as a danger to their comfortable position of eminence and claim bitterly that the honored degree of doctor is being degraded. They refuse to see that it is not the degradation of the standard but rather the exaltation of the norm. Comfortable, they lazily object to the necessity of rising with the norm to keep their position. Nor do they realize that the ones who will be assaulting their fortress will themselves be fighting still stronger youth one day when the mistakes are corrected and the program streamlined through experience.
On the virgin lawn, in a spot that will someday lie in the shade of a great oak, a group of students sit, sprawl, lie. The oldest of them is sixteen, and it is true that not one of them has any reverence for college degrees, because the entrance requirements demand the scholastic level of bachelor in the arts, the sciences, in language and literature. The mark of their progress is not stated in grades, but rather in the number of supplementary degrees for which they qualify. The honors of their graduation are noted by the number of doctorates they acquire. Their goal is the title of Scholar, without which they may not attend college for their ultimate education.
But they do not have the “look of eagles” nor do they act as if they felt some divine purpose fill their lives. They do not lead the pack in an easy lope, for who holds rank when admirals meet? They are not dedicated nor single-minded; if their jokes and pranks start on a higher or lower plane, it is just because they have better minds than their forebears at the same time.
On the fringe of this group, an olive-skinned Brazilian co-ed asks: “Where’s Martha?”
John Philips looks up from a diagram of fieldmatrics he’s been using to lay out a football play. “She’s lending moral support to Holden. He’s sweating out his scholar’s impromptu this afternoon.”
“Why should he be stewing?”
John Philips smiles knowingly. “Tony Dirk put the triple-whammy on him. Gimmicked up the random-choice selector in the Regent’s office. Herr von James is discoursing on the subjects of Medicine, Astronomy, and Psychology—that is if Dirk knows his stuff.”
Tony Dirk looks down from his study of a fluffy cloud. “Anybody care to hazard some loose change on my ability?”
“But why?”
“Oh,” replies Philips, “we figu
re that the first graduating class could use a professional Astrologer! We’ll be the first in history to have one—if M’sieu Holden can tie Medicine, Astronomy, and Psychology into something cogent in his impromptu.”
It is a strange tongue they are using, probably the first birth-pains of a truly universal language. By some tacit agreement, personal questions are voiced in French, the reply in Spanish. Impersonal questions are Italian and the response in Portuguese. Anything of a scientific nature must be in German; law, language, or literature in English; art in Japanese; music in Greek; medicine in Latin; agriculture in Czech. Anything laudatory in Mandarin, derogatory in Sanskrit—and ad libitum at any point for any subject.
Anita Lowes has been trying to attract the attention of John Philips from his diagram long enough to invite her to the Spring Festival by reciting a low-voiced string of nuclear equations carefully compounded to make them sound naughty unless they’re properly identified with full attention. She looks up and says, “What if he doesn’t make the connection?”
Philips replies, “Well, if he can prove to that tough bunch that there is no possible advance in learning through a combination of Astronomy, Medicine, and Psychology, he’ll make it on that basis. It’s just as important to close a door as it is to open one, you know. But it’s one rough deal to prove negation. Maybe we’ll have James the Holden on our hands for another semester. Martha will like that.”
“Talking about me?”
There is a rolling motion, sort of like a bushel of fish trying to leap back into the sea. The newcomer is Martha Fisher. At fifteen, her eyes are bright, and her features are beginning to soften into the beginning of a beauty that will deepen with maturity.
“James,” says Tony Dirk. “We figured you’d like to have him around another four months. So we gimmicked him.”
The Fourth 'R' (1959) Page 20
