B. "Philosophical " ArgumentsI am unable to resist picking on Mr. Priestly once more, for contrary to his notions about the lack of "philosophy" in science fiction there is a very large amount of discussion by other critics about the philosophical content and the philosophical implications of science fiction, as well as discussion of the content of science fiction in general. I am calling all such objections to content and its implications "philosophical," in order to distinguish it from the "artistic" objections--those which take issue with how the content is presented, not what it is saying. The broad problem has been given the rather catchy label of "Idea as Hero" by Amis. The importance of ideas in science fiction is well-taken, especially if we keep his two provisos more firmly in mind than his emphasis would require: first, that the idea need not be a technological advance; second, and more important, that the class of stories which have ideas as heroes does not comprise the whole of science fiction. Satire, adventure for the sake of adventure, and even concern with individuals as people in future-projected milieus, all fall outside the grouping. One aspect of "idea as hero" is the notion that the extrapolations found in science fiction can be of value. Campbell is so concerned with science fiction as "prophecy" that he thinks that "classical literary values do not touch on" science fiction because it is "so concerned with prophecy."[19] He is more temperate elsewhere, speaking of science fiction's providing a "practice area" for manipulating ideas which are "no practice" in the real world (e.g., world-annihilating nuclear weapons).[20] Here the value can be detected: Amis speaks of the solving of future problems on the last page of his book; Campbell says, "Since something's going to happen [in the future], we might as well take a little trouble and see what 'somethings' might happen, and select one that suits us."[21] As usual, the point does not apply to all science fiction, but is simply one of many points which can be raised in defense of the notion that it has value, in this case an intellectual, "cognitive" value. And Campbell to the contrary, the value of science fiction as prophecy can be distinctly enhanced by conforming, wherever possible, to "classical literary values," as witness the great impact of Brave New World on readers in general. Granted the Huxley "name" has something to do with it, but he got the name somewhere, and the somewhere was from critics who decided that he did conform to the normal critical criteria. The point is that there could well be authors for whom their association with science fiction, and the field's bad critical odor, are the only barriers between them and similar critical acclaim. The value of ideas for the future is not inconsiderable--especially when they can be applied to the present. To present a classical literary claim, I would urge the consideration of the science fiction author in his just-discussed role as problem-solver and idea-generator as fulfilling Shelley's dictum that the poet/artist is the unacknowledged legislator of mankind. Another aspect of ideas as heroes is the issue of satire. Most of the critics admit that science fiction is a common vehicle for satire; in his article cited below, though, Michaelson claims that he finds the satire "too pessimistic." In opposition to his view, Treguboff found social criticism in 68 per cent of the stories in her sample, and solutions offered in 64 per cent, so the satire would seem to be non-pessimistic, in the general or "average" story. When pessimism is found, it is not without certain philosophical justifications to commend it: In the first place is the issue of simple verisimilitude; for instance, the captive audience of The Big Ball of Wax is something which could happen; the death of the Savage in Brave New World is something which would happen in the circumstances described--and they are, in turn, quite possible on the basis of affairs of today. The second justification of "pessimistic" satire is the question of the moral consequences of satirical science fiction: A sufficiently frightening description of the future consequences of present folly may serve as a deterrent to the folly; witness On The Beach, a novel about the ultimate doom of the human race in the after-radiation of an atomic war: the Boston showing of the movie version was picketed by people sufficiently aroused by it to want to protest nuclear testing. As a further note on the subject of pessimism, poetess Rosalie Moore objects to the "downbeat" quality of so-called mainstream writing, and finds science fiction to be far more optimistic.[22] Her generalization comes closer to being accurate, I have the feeling, than many of the ones in regard to science fiction, both pro and con--not that any generalization holds completely, but some cover more cases than others. Pessimism aside, let us return to satire in general. Satire can be a valuable thing. In the Brettnor symposium, Asimov plumps for what he calls "social science fiction," which amounts essentially to what I have been calling satire. (He claimed in a recent straight science article that all his puns are intentional so I imagine we can read in a pause after social or run it on into social science as we prefer.) His point is that the "branch of literature which is concerned with the impact of scientific advance upon human beings" can make the contribution to society "of accustoming its readers to the thought of the inevitability of continuing change and the necessity of directing and shaping that change rather than opposing it blindly or blindly permitting it to overthrow us."[23] Sociologists S. Finer and Oscar Shaftel[24,25] are examples of friendly trend hounds. Finer finds only a small proportion of social criticism, but being English he is not reading exactly the same market Treguboff sampled. He even finds a "high degree of social significance in the mere fact that a large number of people today like ingenuity for ingenuity's sake," the "display of intellectual ingenuity" type being his second category of stories-- "simple adventure" the first. Shaftel, writing in "A Marxian Quarterly," has more obvious vested interests and says that the "greatest service" of science fiction is satire, of which there is little to be found elsewhere. Even Amis, elsewhere calling vociferously for an "invasion from above" (implying, no doubt, that we will shortly be graced by an Amis science fiction opus) and concluding with the observation that there are a few competent "minor writers" in the field who should serve as examples to bring "into existence the figure of real standing" (himself?), puts in a good word here and there for satire. Campbell points out in Saturday Review (note 19) that the projected societies are not necessarily endorsed by the authors. "A mother can tell her child exactly what will happen if he sticks his hand in the fire [aha! a Moses myth]; that doesn't mean she wants it to happen." Unfortunately, by taking satire and social criticism to heart, too literally, some people's feelings are liable to get hurt. Just as the Marxian "outs" are delighted to find criticism of any sort because they believe that constructive criticism must run in their direction, the vested interests of the "ins" are joggled by satire of existing trends, or, even worse, institutions. It is little surprise, then, to note that the major attack on science fiction as purveyor of Scientism appeared in Catholic World.[26] The title was "The Cult of Science Fiction" and the argument was, in essence, that science fiction preaches Scientism and Scientism is terrible stuff. Now perhaps any non-devotional literature is a bad thing to some people, but science fiction doesn't seem all that much worse than most. In the first place, Scientism may not even be there. Treguboff's figures show 59 per cent of solutions to social criticisms as being accomplished through the social sciences, and as I remember it the physical sciences are the ones which are supposed to be the hotbeds of Scientism. Further, Arthur S. Barron, in the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists,[27]thinks that scientists read science fiction primarily for the "glamorization of the scientist" they find, but also because science fiction is a "protest against the use of scientific knowledge and technology for anti-human ends, " and finally to find a "reaffirmation of basic values" (Intellect, orderly universe, and universality of scientific method). Curious values, perhaps, but scarcely an attack on the church in the vein of a Voltairian "ecrasez l'infame" feud. Even such a stolid pillar of society as Mr. Fadiman speaks hopefully of science fiction's coping with (not proselytizing for) the problems of what Asimov called the impact of scientific advance. The whole Scientism issue seems to be simply a question of where one's vested interests lie. Claire Holcomb summed matters up on the subject of what I have been calling, quite broadly, the satirical aspects of science fiction, saying that "When dignified by time, literary prestige, or philosophical pretension, critics call this kind of science fiction [prototypified by More, Swift, Butler, Huxley, etc.] --if optimistic--utopian, if pessimistic--satire."[28] A far more agreeable charge than that of Scientism was made by Finer. He detects a uniformity of the objects of attack:[29] Caste societies governed by closed ruling cliques...They [the science fiction writers] invisage docile populations...unlike Huxley and Orwell, their stories end on an optimistic note; but their fears are the same. Indeed, their common characteristic is liberal humanism. The important notion is that of "liberal humanism," of which the optimistic or "upbeat" endings he also notes are a concomitant. In my analysis of More Than Human, I indicate the overt brand of humanism which is a theme of the book. The motivating, covert brand which Finer, and even Amis among others, refers to, is a factor in stories like "Disappearing Act"--which, as we shall see, condemns anti-humanism quite vigorously. Now, although science fiction author Miriam Allen De Ford is a contributing editor of The Humanist, most of what I am calling the humanism of science fiction is not of the almost religious type of the American Humanist Association. The "faith" which impels the large class of optimistic stories comes closer to a rational Enlightenment, or perhaps even Renaissance, world-view. Although Amis refers slightingly to "the pieties," I'm sure the Church, at least, would be relieved to find that "the scientists" aren't as cold and hard-hearted as they are sometimes thought to be. On the basis, then, of many critics' observations, there is some sort of humanism afoot in science fiction. But, it does not encourage deleterious moral consequences for the most part, and those stories which contain features currently unaccepted (e.g., Heinlein's court where children divorce their parents) must stand or fall on the rationale which the author offers for them. The apparent main-streamer's value judgment that unreasoned hopelessness is superior to reasoned hopefulness seems to me frankly to be the view of a closed mind which is quite alien to mine, exposed as it was to science fiction since age ten. Another point in regard to the content of science fiction is that of "sophistication." Though Priestly and Lovell are still my betes noires, Amis's comment that science fiction is less sophisticated than other types (i.e., main-stream) and in it we can "doff that mental and moral best behavior with which we feel we have to treat George Eliot and James and Faulkner, and frolic like badly brought-up children among the mobile jellyfishes and unstable atomic piles" (p. 133), leads me to believe that for a very bright young man he has a slight, unfortunate, tendency to be insufferably cute. Granted there can be a case made lamenting the passing of the oldstyle "thud and blunder" space opera. John Christopher, another English writer and this time one who has done science fiction, waxed sentimental (according to his own description) about the subject in the October, 1956, Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. A recent issue of Saturday Review also mentioned that the old days were more fun. But few readers today would think they could run barefoot through any of the current science fiction periodicals other than the remaining pulps, which we are blissfully ignoring here; for the pulps do not especially outnumber those periodicals in which, as Claire Holcomb said of Astounding in particular, "the quality of its stories, articles, editorials, and book reviews has consistently been far higher than that of its paper"--and we, remember, are attempting to present reasonable grounds for agreeing or disagreeing with the "more than pulp" proposition. Mr. Amis's behavior can perhaps be best explained in terms of "Give an author an image, and he'll take a metaphor." (As to examples of "sophisticated" stories, I would call attention especially to "Disappearing Act" and "Poor Little Warrior," below.) The final point I shall discuss on the subject of critics' objections to the content of science fiction appears in rather curiously polarized form: Scientist J.R. Pierce, writing in Science, claims that he finds the stories well written (a novel point) but decries the lack of scientific ideas which he wants for the confessed "escape" he is seeking.[30] Critic Joseph Kostolefsky, writing in Antioch Review, thinks little of the writing (though he cites a few "good" writers), but decries the need for a special background to read the stuff which is "as esoteric and incomprehensible to the layman as modern poetry ever was"--and although the poetry requires "patience," the science fiction requires "infinite patience...[and a] short course in quantum mechanics."[3l] Assuming that both are honorable men and are reporting what they really found in their reading, the inescapable conclusion is that by some quirk of statistics neither read what the other was reading. Pierce's complaint is of course the result of a vested interest, and the appeal of straight science has a rather limited audience--although one friend of science fiction suggested to UNESCO that the teaching of science could be accomplished by means of encouraging backward peoples to read science fiction. Kostolefsky's complaint is more difficult to explain, but it is not valid statistically: of her 103 stories, Treguboff's analysts found only eleven to be gadget stories (which might have been "over-scientific"), and the technical sophistication required by the rest is quite minimal. To conclude this section on "philosophical" arguments, I should like to point out with pleasure one fact: Unless I missed them in the English periodical articles due to rapid reading from sheer distaste, I encountered none of the cries of "But that nonsense couldn't happen" which I had rather anticipated finding. At least the line between fantasy (which logically couldn't happen) and science fiction (which is of greater or lesser logical plausibility depending on the individual piece) is fairly clear in the critics' minds. For that I do not have to recite the arguments in favor of "imagination" and the like, I am duly grateful. ©2003 Michael A. Padlipsky. All rights reserved. |