«They won’t hold grudges,» said Heym. «A genius doesn’t.»
«How do you know?» Goram sprang out of his chair and paced the floor. His voice rose almost to a shout. «You’ve said all along that the genius is naturally peaceful and tolerant and unselfish and every other of the milk-and-water virtues. Yet, your own history is against you all the way. Every great military leader has been a genius. There’ve been sadistic geniuses, and bigoted geniuses, and criminal geniuses—yes, insane geniuses! Why, every one of the hundred billion or so important men in the Imperial government is a genius—on our side—and more than half the barbarian chiefs are known to have genius intellect.» He swung a red and twisted face on the psychologist. «How do you know this is a planet of saints? Answer me that!»
Thunder roared in the fulgurous sky, rolling and booming between the rain-running streets. The single dim electric bulb in the room flickered. Wind whined around the corners of the building.
Heym took out a cigarette pack with fingers that shook. He held it out to Goram, who shook his heavy bullet head in angry refusal. The psychologist took time to bring one of the cylinders into his mouth and puff it into lighting. He drew smoke deeply into his lungs, fighting for steadiness.
It was his last real chance to convince Goram. If this failed, he’d just have to try to murder the soldier. If that attempt miscarried—oh, Spirit, then Station Seventeen and the Empire were doomed. But if he succeeded, well, he might be able to convince the Imperial police that it had been an accident, a runaway animal or something of the sort, or they might send him to the disintegration chamber for murder. In any case, there would be a faint hope that the next inspector would be a reasonable man.
He said slowly; «To explain the theory of historical progress, I’d have to give you a fairly long lecture.»
Goram sprawled back into his chair, crude and strong and arrogant. His little black eyes were drills, boring into the psychologist’s soul. «I’m listening,» he snapped.
«Well»—Heym walked up and down the floor, hands clasped behind his back—«it’s evident from a study of history that all progress is due to gifted individuals. Always, in every field, the talented or otherwise fortunate few have led and the mass has dumbly followed. A republic is the only form of state which even pretends to offer self-government, and as soon as the population becomes any size at all the people are again led by the nose, their rulers struggling for power with money and such means of mass hypnotism as news services and other propaganda machines. And all republics become dictatorships, in fact if not in name, within a few centuries at most. As for art and science and religion and the other creative fields, it is still more obviously the few who lead.
«The ordinary man is just plain stupid. Perhaps proper mind training could lift him above himself, but it’s never been tried. Meanwhile he remains immensely conservative, only occasional outbreaks of mindless hysteria engineered by some special group stirring him out of his routine. He follows, or rather he accepts what the creative or dominant minority does, but it is haltingly and unwillingly.
«Yet it is society as a whole which does. History is a mass action process. Gifted individuals start it off, but it is the huge mass of the social group which actually accomplishes the process. A new invention or a new land to colonize or a new philosophy or any other innovation would have no significance unless everybody eventually adopted or exploited or otherwise made use of it. And society as a whole is conservative, or perhaps I should say preservative. Civilization is ninety-nine percent habit, the use of past discoveries or the influence of past events. Against the immense conservatism of mankind in the mass, and in comparison to the tremendous accumulation of past accomplishment, the achievement of the individual genius or the small group is almost insignificant. It is not surprising that progress is slow and irregular and liable to stagnation or violent setbacks. The surprising thing is really that any event of significance can happen at all.»
Heym paused. Thunder snarled in the sky and the rain drummed on the windowpane with cold restless fingers. Goram stirred impatiently. «What are you leading up to?» he muttered.
«Simply this.» Heym’s hand fell into his pocket and closed on the smooth hard handle of the knife. Goram slumped in his chair, head lowered, staring sullenly at the floor. If the blade were driven in now, right into that bull neck, a paralyzing blow and then a swift slash across the jugular—
The intensity of the hatred welling up in him shocked Heym. He should be above the brutal level of his enemy. Yet—to see his blood spurt!
Steady—steady—That move of desperation might not be necessary.
«Two factors control the individual in society,» said Heym, and the detached calm of his voice was vaguely surprising to him. «They are only arbitrarily separable, being aspects of the same thing, but it’s convenient to take them up in turn.
«There is first the simple weight of social pressure. We all want to be approved by our fellows, within reasonable limits at least. The mores of the society, whatever they may be, are those of the individual. Only a psychopath would disregard them completely. Not only does society apply force on the nonconformist, but mere disapproval can be devastating. It takes a really brave—and somewhat neurotic—individual to be different in any important respect. Many have paid with their lives for innovating. So a genius will be hampered in making original contributions, and they are adopted only slowly. It usually takes a new idea many generations to become accepted. The astonishing rate of growth of science, back in the days when free research was permitted and even encouraged, indicates how rapid progress can be when there are no barriers.
«And, of course, this social pressure usually forces conformity even on reluctant individuals. A scientist may be naturally peaceful, for instance, but he will hardly ever refuse to engage in war research when so directed.
«The second hold of the mass on the individual is subtler and more effective. It is the mental conditioning induced by growing up in a society where certain conditions of living and rules of thought are accepted. A ‘born’ pacifist, growing up in a warlike culture, will generally accept war as part of the natural order of things. A man who might have been a complete skeptic in a science-based society will nearly always accept the gods of a theocracy if he has been brought up to believe in them. He may even become a priest and direct his logical talents toward elaborating the accepted theology—and help in the persecution of unbelievers. And so on. I needn’t go into detail. The power of social conditioning is unbelievable—combined with social pressure, it is almost insuperable.
«And—this is the important point—the rules and assumptions of a society are accepted and enforced by the mass—the overwhelming majority, shortsighted, conservative, hating and fearing all that is new and strange, wishing only to remain in whatever basic condition it has known from birth. The genius is forced into the straight-jacket of the mediocre man’s and the moron’s mentality. That he can expand any distance at all beyond his prison is a tribute to the supreme power of the high intellect.»
Heym looked out at the empty street. Rain blew wildly across its darkened surface. Lightning glared blindingly, almost in his eyes. His voice rose over the shattering thunder: «The Solarian Empire is nothing but the triumph of stupidity over intelligence. If every man could think for himself, we wouldn’t need an empire.»
«Watch yourself,» muttered Goram. «The ruling class has a certain latitude of speech, but don’t overstep it.» And more loudly: «What does this mean in the case of Station Seventeen?»