Why it works...
OK, this may not be the best-ever blog, but I just wrote a really good one and the computer swallowed it. L
During our discussion of why Heinlein’s Loonie society works, I was struck by someone’s comment (I think it was Steven’s) that “it works because Heinlein says it works.” That, I think, is the most vital statement of all.
Good fiction, in my opinion, has characters who act in ways that we could believe real people might act. Certain characteristics may be exaggerated for emphasis and the society and physical surroundings may be completely alien, but there is some element of the characters that make them plausible. The lack of such elements has led to the downfall of many books, and even whole genre’s, such as one’s about little over-pious children who die young, but happy to be able to become little cherubs and adorn the clouds.
A real example. Two of my friends decided the other day that Star Wars was infinitely superior to Star Trek. I mentioned that our class had been unable to universally agree on a genre-classification for Star Wars because of the relatively slight emphasis on technology and the lack of significant societal changes due to technology. He claimed that the “anxious liberals in space” (thanks Professor Jackson) side of Star Trek was precisely its flaw. The strength of Star Wars lay in that fact “it doesn’t assume that people change.” He felt that the presence of real, present day, characteristics, such as greed, violence, and jealousy, was what made Star Wars great. And, of course, sci. fi., but that’s another argument.
I am sure that some people will disagree with his assessment and claim that the assumption that great technological advances would have so little affect on human nature is absurd. I think that this debate gets at the fundamental question underlying the debate we had the other day about Heinlein. Heinlein bases his Loony society on certain physiological and technological assumptions, but there are also important assumptions about human psychology more deeply under the surface.
Heinlein’s society works because of the assumptions that he makes about human nature. It therefore works for those readers that agree, at least primarily, with his assumptions or find his conclusions logical based on their own assumptions. Some can never accept enough of his beliefs to buy his story at all, and some find their belief in it breaking down if they examine the entire society carefully. That is the root of our class’ dilemma. Would the Loonie society work? It depends on human nature, and, unless we’re going to try the experiment. We’ll each have to make the decision alone, based on our own assumptions.
The Question of the Computer
I couldn't help but be a little freaked out by the computer in The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, Mike, and all of his alternate personalities, Michelle, Adam, Simon, etc. I had an underlying fear throughout the book that, like Hal in 2001, Mike would turn against the characters and sabatoge their efforts. In retrospect, I was glad that he did not, but it got me to start thinking more deeply about the question of humanity and artificial intelligence.
Ok, Mike. Mike, according to Manny, is "alive". He enjoys jokes, tells stories, is a good neighbor, participates in revolutions. Basically, he appears to be a fully sentient creature with impossibly fast processing and an incredible ability to multitask. But there is a whole other level. Although he calls Manny his "first and best friend" and expresses emotions, I never quite overcame the impression that there was something else going on, something that made him not quite alive. I don't know if it is my own human prejudice for flesh and blood, but I never felt that I connected to Mike in the way I connected to others. There was something frightening in the ability of any creature to play that huge a role, have that large an impact. It reminded me a bit of the Matrix. Secondly, there was the issue of a sense of humor. Mike's obsession with learning about jokes initially seems to make him human. Like anyone encountering a new culture, he wants to learn more about it, and humor is an important element of culture. However, when Mike says things like, he has already assessed the funniness of a joke, it reminds one that all Mike's actions are based on a conscious (is that possible?) evaluation of immense data. Unlike a human, Mike never acts spontaneously; even when he reacts immediately, his actions are based on careful analysis of all available data, an immense amount.
Speaking of Mike has reminded me of other AI creatures, Data, Hal, Bicentennial Man, to name a few. Over and over, the question of what makes something truly alive surfaces. Can any creature incapable of irrational thought truly be alive? Is irrationaliy and unreasonableness, spontaneity and emotional outburst what defines life? In Desk Set, Spencer Tracy assures Katherine Hepburn that Emorac (the electronic brain, think HUGE computer) can make a mistake, but only if the human element makes a mistake. Although Mike is infinitely faster and more advanced than Emorac, the same principle applies. His mistakes (if he made any) are based on human shortcomings. Can he really be alive? Or is it mistakes that bring us to life?
A Conglomeration of Pseudo-Related Important Ideas
During our conversation in class today, I felt there were several very important issues that we glossed over or ignored completely. I would like to take this opportunity to address some of them in as a organized a fashion as possible. (Can’t promise it’ll be the most comprehensible post ever.)
First, the idea of free choice in a Utopia. I believe that the differences between individuals mean that a society that might be a Utopia for one person might be hell for another. This requires that people be given the freedom to choose the society they’re going to live in, in order to find their own Utopia (as Ketho does at the end of The Dispossessed). However, if people are not indoctrinated with the ideals on which their society is based, many may choose to leave it, rendering the society unsustainable due to inefficiency and constantly fluctuating demand for resources. On the other hand, by indoctrinating them with the belief that their society is the only right one, they are likely to try to force themselves into the mold that society creates, whether it fits their own individual personality or not. The dilemma is this: some stability is necessary to avoid surpluses and shortages, but too much stability may result in constraints on individuals.
Second, the idea of moving Anarres to a beautiful tropical island replete in natural resources. In my opinion, this would change the society in one of two directions. The abundance of resources might destroy the ideals of hard work and community. People could become greedy and try to take as much as possible for themselves. The communal nature of the endeavor would then fall apart and the society would begin to reassert a class structure. The other possibility that I see is that the greater access to resources would actually be conducive to the ideals of the Odonians. Despite the many communist-type thinkers who have spouted about the proletariat rising up to overthrow the upper class, historical evidence indicates that revolutions come most often from the middle classes (this is the point I was trying to make in class today, and I know TA Jesse had something to say about it, but I don’t know what). The explanation for this that I most frequently hear is that the very lowest classes are fighting so hard for survival that they don’t have time to rebel. The people on Anarres are thus like these very lowest classes. The inhospitable nature of their planet means that they are always fighting so hard to just keep living that they never have time to question the anti-anarchical bureaucracy that is building up around them. Given an abundance of resources, they might be able to spare enough time to really consider what is happening and truly be vigilant in maintaining the ideals on which their society was based. Or they might get fat and lazy and watch reruns of “Baywatch” on the beach while getting sloshed.
Next, what I considered one of the most interesting, disturbing and completely unexplained statements in the book, which remained completely untouched throughout our discussion. On page 142, Atro is taking to Shevek about “humanity”, which he says also applies to aliens: “A man, so-called, who has nothing in common with us except the practical arrangement of two legs, two arms, and a head with some kind of brain in it!” My question is this: why is that a “practical arrangement.” Personally, I can think of other ways to arrange a body that might be more efficient, particularly in certain environments. However, in her book, LeGuin never deals with any non-humanoid sentient creatures. Shevek says that Takver feels a connection to her fish, and he himself calls to some of the animals he encounters on Urras “brother” (152), but there is no actual attempt to humanize any of them. There seems to be an implicit assumption that only animals that are human in shape could be human in intellect. Why? I’m not saying I think that LeGuin should have had lots of fuzzy green crystalline dolphin-Martian men. I certainly understand the idea that, in writing for a (presumably) human audience, she might expect them to sympathize better with a humanoid protagonist. But why is there an assumption that all worlds are earth-like and all intelligent creatures are humanoid?
Finally (I promise!!), the idea of a utopian society vs. an individual utopia. After our discussion today, I am tempted to believe that the two cannot completely coexist. A utopian society must seek to meet the needs of the majority of its citizens in an ideal way, but the existence of individuals means that there will be individuality of desires, and no society can meet the desire of all of its citizens all the time. The implication of this, as I see it, is that a utopian society is a utopia for the majority of its citizens, and a hell for others, while an individual utopia need not be conducive to the happiness or utopian goals of others. I believe that this links back to the first idea I discussed, that of letting each individual find his or her own Utopia, so I will stop here. (Especially because I’m sure everyone has already stopped reading).
The Idea of Utopia
After reading The Dispossessed, I intially felt depressed- that the ideal of a Utopia was not acheivable. This is an impression that I believe was shared by several of my classmates. However, my eventual conclusion was that Utopia was not the goal of the settlement of Anarras. The intention was to achieve a society that was free of the restrictions of Urras. However, a true paradise would necessitate the satisfaction of carnal desires as well, not possible on a planet as barren as Anarras. (I should clarify that by carnal desires I am primarily discussing adequate food, more luxurious shelter, etc. not copulation, obviously readily available.) Anarras is thus not intended to be a Utopia, and the fact that it is not one is not a failure. The Terrans tell Shevek that they see Urras as a paradise, but he sees its flaws. Anarras is the same. It has its aspects of the paradisical, but overall it is not a paradise.
However, I believe Utopia is to be found in the novel. It exists not in any society, all of which are flawed, perhaps unreparable, but in the people. The true paradise is in the satisfaction of certain characters who are able to get beyond the flaws of their surroundings to find true happiness. It is the concept that the characters themselves discuss through the idea of pain, "shared" and conquered (61-2). Shevek himself finds his paradise at the end of the novel, I believe. He is going home to his own planet, his own people, his family. To him, it does not matter that he may not be accepted, that he may suffer physical and psychological pain, he is still joyful because he is going home. That is where the true joy is. The true paradise. Inside Shevek's head.
What does it mean to you?
I was thinking about the discussion that issues that people brought up for and against classifying Star Wars as science fiction. I think that it really depends on how each individual perceives the elements of the stories. Let me explain. Here is my basic distinction between fantasy and science fiction: elements, such as magic, which may or may not have rules but are not explained through any scientific or pseudo-scientific fashion, qualify as fantasy; elements which, however mystical and mysterious they may seem, are explained/understood in scientific terms by either the characters, the readers or both, are designated as science fiction.
Now, if a viewer watches Star Wars and believes the Episode I scientific explanation of the force, for that viewer it is an element of science fiction. However, if they believe that the force has no scientific explanation, that it is, in fact, a form of magic, the force becomes, for that individual, an element of fantasy. According to the Heinlein definition that Professor Jackson read in class, this second interpretation would automatically disqualify Star Wars as science fiction.
I don't agree with that strict of an interpretation. Personally, I think that trying to draw a rigid barrier for sci fi that includes only those pieces that have no elements of fantasy is unreasonable. The overall impression that a reader/viewer gets from the piece is far more important. That is what determines how they feel about the work and plays the greatest role in determining the audience that the work will appeal to (i.e. sci fi fans, fantasy fans, or both).
That's about all I have to say on that, for now. Let me know what you think... Also, I don't think we really paid enough attention to the question of where to draw the line between sci fi and techno thrillers/reality fiction. In my opinion, that's almost as important a question.
The first post!!
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