Napoleon had been an almost living reality to Hart. He had read Emil Ludwig, he had listened to Die Beiden Grenadiere, he had heard all the tired old jokes about crazy men with hands in their coats, he had been subjected to the wistful reminiscences of old men who had grown up in that forever lost world which came between the Congress of Vienna and the murder at Sarajevo—he had, without being unusually interested in the Corsican, lived in a world where the little man had been a dominating influence even a century after his death. Napoleon was as much a part of his background, part of the complex of events which had, inter alia, produced Philip Hart, as the sun or the moon or the banging canyons of New York.
But could an imperial Roman transported to the twentieth century feel that a defeated dictator of a hundred years ago had existed? Would Napoleon be more than a dusty fiction? Would the Roman consider it logical that Frenchmen should be below the average European height, that the French law should be completely revised, that the Louisiana Territory should be American and Haiti independent, that the Nelson column should rise in London, that the whole existing world should be, all because of one little condottiere? The Roman might realize the fact, with the top of his mind, but it would not look reasonable to him. Because he would not be one of those inevitable results.
Hart gave up trying to make more than superficial sense out of all that had happened since the twentieth century, and simply learned the salient facts. He got a rough outline of the present political and economic status of man.
Earth—and the Lunar cave-cities—were under one rule. The colonists on Venus, Mars, and the outer planet satellites had evolved their own societies, often radically different from that of the mother world; man himself had had to become modified before he could settle the reaches of space, an evolution which had been carried out by the eugenics of the Scientific State with ruthless completeness. There was still regular interplanetary contact, but it was infrequent. The different branches of man had too little in common by now. Once in a great while there would be a ship from one of the colonies on the nearer stars, but distances were too great; even Alpha Centauri was fifty years away, and social evolution was diverging out there.
But could it be said that Earth was—ruled? Not in any traditional sense. The social organization was uniform, and a single council did what little administrative work the planet required. But there was nothing like a real government. History—wars, social changes, migrations, important new discoveries and concepts, events of any great significance—had been slowing for the last three centuries, ever since the family-group society had gained the ascendancy. For the last hundred years or so, nothing had really happened to mankind as a whole. Nothing!
It might be called a philosophical anarchy. Superficially, there was perfect freedom. The general law had almost no regulations on individual behavior. There was, apparently, universal content.
Decadent? No, not in the usual sense. These people were too magnificently healthy, too full of life and laughter. But they were certainly not progressive.
Hart tried to make friends with the nurses, and failed completely. They were all frigidly polite. The male staff members were cordial enough, but there was an inward reserve which increased with the days. Hart wondered what was the matter. His unhappiness waxed with his returning strength.
Chang came in at last. «I think du can leave clinic no,» he said cheerily. «Du have best undergo periodic checkups for a yaar or twuw, but all medics are shoor du are guwing to recover completely.» He handed the patient a set of clothes like his own, but without the group insigne.
Hart got out of the hospital robe and climbed into the garments. «And now what?» he asked. «I’ve tried to plump everybody on what I’m supposed to do, but they’re all so evasive I haven’t really learned a thing.»
Chang looked uncomfortable. «We have place for du,» he said. «It have taak unusually long time to analyze psychometric results duurs. Dey are su very different from ordinary.»
«Well…» Hart waited impatiently. They’d been stalling him long enough.
Chang explained as well as he could. Psychometry and preventive psychiatry were really the basis of society. The fundamental personality of the individual was determined at an early age and he was «developed» throughout life in accordance with that—conditioned to society, but not in such a rigid fashion as to interfere with really basic urges. Vocations, recreations, social life were all planned in accordance with psychometric data.
«Planned?» exclaimed Hart. «How on earth can you plan everything?»
Well, not exactly planned either. Guided. An individual had such and such an I. Q., his main interests were so and so, his personality factors were as follows—it all went into a great electronic «file,» in the powerful psychosymbology of the time. And any citizen had access to that file, with technicians to help him in its use. Thus you could find your likes, your associates, wherever they might happen to live, rather than leave it to chance encounters. It was scientifically predictable whether a friendship, a marriage, a business association, would be really of mutual profit. Naturally, everyone made use of the service, and adjusted his life accordingly.
«But—ye gods! You mean anyone can find out all about you at any time? What kind of privacy is that?»
Privacy? Chang was puzzled now. The word still remained in the language, but it had come to mean simply solitude. Why should you care whether or not anyone else knew just what you were? It didn’t make you any better or worse, did it? You could find your kind in the world—those whose company was most pleasing to you. You could know yourself, and set your goals accordingly; you could change most really undesirable characteristics, with the help of psychiatry or even endocrinology and surgery.
The «groups,» originally simply clans formed for mutual protection, were increasingly becoming endogamous associations of similar people. It was the group which was the real unit of society. Business, social life—all were integrated with the needs of the group, and of the world as a whole.
For instance, it was desirable that population be limited. Overpopulation was probably the most basic cause of misery in past history. Thus the group council regulated how many children there should be in a given family. It decided how long a marriage—family association was the term now—should last; a person might have children by three or four different people, if that seemed to be for the good of human evolution.
«But suppose your individual doesn’t want to obey? I noticed nothing in the law compelling him to.»
«Obedience are customary, and psychoconditioning in childhood delibraatly plants reflexes of conformity wit custom. No sane person wants to do oderwise.»
«But—but—talk about tyrannies!»
«Why, nuw.» Chang was taken aback at Hart’s violent reaction. «All societies in past conditioned young. Waar du not telled to obey law and worship flag—dey still had flag-worship in time duurs, did dey not?—and how it are wrong to kill and steal? But such conditioning waar superficial, it did not always affect basic impulses, so dat dere waar tragic conflicts between individual needs and desires and de laws and customs. Frustrating, crime, insanity? No wonder de dark ages came. Today we simply condition so thoroughly—and de inculcated desires do not conflict wit basic instincts—dat no one wants to break rules which fit him su perfectly.»
«Everyone?»
«Well, dere are exceptions, ewen today. If dey cannot be adjusted, or will not be—since noting is legally compulsory—dey must eider be sent to space colonies or struggle though an unhappy life on Eart, witout friends or marriage, witout ewen a group. But numbers deys gruw less all de time.»