“The more certain you feel of your rational conclusions, the more certain you are to be wrong. Your brain being an instrument of distortion, the more active the brain the greater the distortion.”
“The giants of the intellect, whom you admire so much, once taught you that the earth was flat and that the atom was the smallest particle of matter. The entire history of science is a progression of exploded fallacies, not of achievements.”
“The more we know, the more we learn that we know nothing.”
“Only the crassest ignoramus can still hold to the old-fashioned notion that seeing is believing. That which you see is the first thing to disbelieve.”
“A scientist knows that a stone is not a stone at all. It is, in fact, identical with a feather pillow. Both are only a cloud formation of the same invisible, whirling particles. But, you say, you can’t use a stone for a pillow? Well, that merely proves your helplessness in the face of actual reality.”
“The latest scientific discoveries—such as the tremendous achievements of Dr. Robert Stadler—have demonstrated conclusively that our reason is incapable of dealing with the nature of the universe. These discoveries have led scientists to contradictions which are impossible, according to the human mind, but which exist in reality nonetheless.
If you have not yet heard it, my dear old-fashioned friends, it has now been proved that the rational is the insane.”
“Do not expect consistency. Everything is a contradiction of everything else. Nothing exists but contradictions.”
“Do not look for ‘common sense.’ To demand ‘sense’ is the hallmark of nonsense. Nature does not make sense. Nothing makes sense. The only crusaders for ‘sense’ are the studious type of adolescent old maid who can’t find a boy friend, and the old-fashioned shopkeeper who thinks that the universe is as simple as his neat little inventory and beloved cash register.”
“Let us break the chains of the prejudice called Logic. Are we going to be stopped by a syllogism?”
“So you think you’re sure of your opinions? You cannot be sure of anything. Are you going to endanger the harmony of your community, your fellowship with your neighbors, your standing, reputation, good name and financial security—for the sake of an illusion? For the sake of the mirage of thinking that you think? Are you going to run risks and court disasters—at a precarious time like ours—by opposing the existing social order in the name of those imaginary notions of yours which you call your convictions? You say that you’re sure you’re right? Nobody is right, or ever can be. You feel that the world around you is wrong? You have no means to know it. Everything is wrong in human eyes—so why fight it? Don’t argue. Accept. Adjust yourself. Obey.”
The book was written by Dr. Floyd Ferris and published by the State Science Institute.
“I had nothing to do with it!” said Dr. Robert Stadler. He stood still by the side of his desk, with the uncomfortable feeling of having missed some beat of time, of not knowing how long the preceding moment had lasted. He had pronounced the words aloud, in a tone of rancorous sarcasm directed at whoever had made him say it.
He shrugged. Resting on the belief that self-mockery is an act of virtue, the shrug was the emotional equivalent of the sentence: You’re Robert Stadler, don’t act like a high-school neurotic. He sat down at his desk and pushed the book aside with the back of his hand.
Dr. Floyd Ferris arrived half an hour late. “Sorry,” he said, “but my car broke down again on the way from Washington and I had a hell of a time trying to find somebody to fix it—there’s getting to be so damn few cars out on the road that half the service stations are closed.”
There was more annoyance than apology in his voice. He sat down without waiting for an invitation to do so.
Dr. Floyd Ferris would not have been noticed as particularly handsome in any other profession, but in the one he had chosen he was always described as “that good-looking scientist.” He was six feet tall and forty-five years old, but he managed to look taller and younger.
He had an air of immaculate grooming and a ballroom grace of motion, but his clothes were severe, his suits being usually black or midnight blue. He had a finely traced mustache, and his smooth black hair made the Institute office boys say that he used the same shoe polish on both ends of him. He did not mind repeating, in the tone of a joke on himself, that a movie producer once said he would cast him for the part of a titled European gigolo. He had begun his career as a biologist, but that was forgotten long ago; he was famous as the Top Co-ordinator of the State Science Institute.
Dr. Stadler glanced at him with astonishment—the lack of apology was unprecedented—and said dryly, “It seems to me that you are spending a great deal of your time in Washington.”
“But, Dr. Stadler, wasn’t it you who once paid me the compliment of calling me the watchdog of this Institute?” said Dr. Ferris pleasantly.
“Isn’t that my most essential duty?”
“A few of your duties seem to be accumulating right around this place. Before I forget it, would you mind telling me what’s going on here about that oil shortage mess?”
He could not understand why Dr. Ferris’ face tightened into an injured look, “You will permit me to say that this is unexpected and unwarranted,” said Dr. Ferris in that tone of formality which conceals pain and reveals martyrdom. “None of the authorities involved have found cause for criticism. We have just submitted a detailed report on the progress of the work to date to the Bureau of Economic Planning and National Resources, and Mr. Wesley Mouch has expressed himself as satisfied. We have done our best on that project. We have heard no one else describe it as a mess. Considering the difficulties of the terrain, the hazards of the fire and the fact that it has been only six months since we—”
“What are you talking about?” asked Dr. Stadler.
“The Wyatt Reclamation Project. Isn’t that what you asked me?”
“No,” said Dr. Stadler, “no, I... Wait a moment. Let me get this straight. I seem to recall something about this Institute taking charge of a reclamation project. What is it that you’re reclaiming?”
“Oil,” said Dr. Ferris. “The Wyatt oil fields.”
“That was a fire, wasn’t it? In Colorado? That was... wait a moment... that was the man who set fire to his own oil wells.”
“I’m inclined to believe that that’s a rumor created by public hysteria,” said Dr. Ferris dryly. “A rumor with some undesirable, unpatriotic implications. I wouldn’t put too much faith in those newspaper stories. Personally, I believe that it was an accident and that Ellis Wyatt perished in the fire.”
“Well, who owns those fields now?”
“Nobody—at the moment. There being no will or heirs, the government has taken charge of operating the fields—as a measure of public necessity—for seven years. If Ellis Wyatt does not return within that time, he will be considered officially dead.”
“Well, why did they come to you—to us, for such an unlikely assignment as oil pumping?”
“Because it is a problem of great technological difficulty, requiring the services of the best scientific talent available. You see, it is a matter of reconstructing the special method of oil extraction that Wyatt had employed. His equipment is still there, though in a dreadful condition; some of his processes are known, but somehow there is no full record of the complete operation or the basic principle involved. That is what we have to rediscover.”
“And how is it going?”
“The progress is most gratifying. We have just been granted a new and larger appropriation. Mr. Wesley Mouch is pleased with our work.
So are Mr. Balch of the Emergency Commission, Mr. Anderson of Crucial Supplies and Mr. Pettibone of Consumers’ Protection. I do not see what more could be expected of us. The project is fully successful.”
“Have you produced any oil?”
“No, but we have succeeded in forcing a flow from one of the wells, to the extent of six and a half gallons. This, of course, is merely of experimental significance, but you must take into consideration the fact that we had to spend three full months just to put out the fire, which has now been totally—almost totally—extinguished. We have a much tougher problem than Wyatt ever had, because he started from scratch while we have to deal with the disfigured wreckage of an act of vicious, anti-social sabotage which... I mean to say, it is a difficult problem, but there is no doubt that we will be able to solve it.”