Star Maker, Olaf Stapledon [top rated books of all time .TXT] 📗
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their part in the communal dance, and the desire to press forward to the
attainment of full insight into the nature of the cosmos. The latter
desire was the factor in stellar mentality which was most comprehensible
to the minded worlds. The climax of a star’s life occurs when it has
passed through the long period of its youth, during which it is what
human astronomers call a “red giant.” At the close of this period it
shrinks rapidly into the dwarf state in which our sun now is. This
physical cataclysm seems to be accompanied by far-reaching mental
changes. Henceforth, though the star plays a less dashing part in the
dance-rhythms of the galaxy, it is perhaps more clearly and
penetratingly conscious. It is interested less in the ritual of the
stellar dance, more in its supposed spiritual significance. After this
very long phase of physical maturity there comes another crisis. The
star shrinks into the minute and the inconceivably dense condition in
which our astronomers call it a “white dwarf.” Its mentality in the
actual crisis proved almost impervious to the research of the minded
worlds. It appeared to be a crisis of despair and of reorientated hope.
Henceforth the stellar mind presents increasingly a strain of baffling
and even terrifying negativity, an icy, an almost cynical aloofness,
which, we suspected, was but the obverse of some dread rapture hidden
from us. However that may be, the aged star still continues meticulously
to fulfil its part in the dance, but its mood is deeply changed. The
aesthetic fervors of youth, the more serene but earnest will of
maturity, all maturity’s devotion to the active pursuit of wisdom, now
fall away. Perhaps the star is henceforth content with its achievement,
such as it is, and pleased simply to enjoy the surrounding universe with
such detachment and insight as it has attained. Perhaps; but the minded
worlds were never able to ascertain whether the aged stellar minded
eluded their comprehension through sheer superiority of achievement or
through some obscure disorder of the spirit. In this state of old age a
star remains for a very long period, gradually losing energy, and
mentally withdrawing into itself, until it sinks into an impenetrable
trance of senility. Finally its light is extinguished and its tissues
disintegrate in death. Henceforth it continues to sweep through space,
but it does so unconsciously, and in a manner repugnant to its still
conscious fellows.
Such, very roughly stated, would seem to be the normal life of the
average star. But there are many varieties within the general type. For
stars vary in original size and in composition, and probably in
psychological impact upon their neighbors. One of the commonest of the
eccentric types is the double star, two mighty globes of fire waltzing
through space together, in some cases almost in contact. Like all
stellar relations, these partnerships are perfect, are angelic. Yet it
is impossible to be certain whether the members experience anything
which could properly be called a sentiment of personal love, or whether
they regard one another solely as partners in a common task. Research
undoubtedly suggested that the two beings did indeed move on their
winding courses in some kind of mutual delight, and delight of close
cooperation in the measures of the galaxy. But love? It is impossible to
say. In due season, with the loss of momentum, the two stars come into
actual contact. Then, seemingly in an agonizing blaze of joy and pain,
they merge. After a period of unconsciousness, the great new star
generates new living tissues, and takes its place among the angelic
company. The strange Cepheid variables proved the most baffling of all
the stellar kinds. It seems that these and other variables of much
longer period alternate mentally between fervor and quietism, in harmony
with their physical rhythm. More than this it is impossible to say.
One event, which happens only to a small minority of the stars in the
course of their dance-life, is apparently of great psychological
importance. This is the close approach of two or perhaps three stars to
one another, and the consequent projection of a filament from one toward
another. In the moment of this “moth kiss,” before the disintegration of
the filament and the birth of planets, each star probably experiences an
intense but humanly unintelligible physical ecstasy. Apparently the
stars which have been through this experience are supposed to have
acquired a peculiarly vivid apprehension of the unity of body and
spirit. The “virgin” stars, however, though unblessed by this wonderful
adventure, seem to have no desire to infringe the sacred canons of the
dance in order to contrive opportunities for such encounters. Each one
of them is angelically content to play its allotted part, and to observe
the ecstasy of those that fate has favored. To describe the mentality of
stars is of course to describe the unintelligible by means of
intelligible but falsifying human metaphors. This tendency is
particularly serious in telling of the dramatic relations between the
stars and the minded worlds, for under the stress of these relations the
stars seem to have experienced for the first time emotions superficially
like human emotions. So long as the stellar community was immune from
interference by the minded worlds, every member of it behaved with
perfect rectitude and had perfect bliss in the perfect expression of its
own nature and of the common spirit. Even senility and death were
accepted with calm, for they were universally seen to be involved in the
pattern of existence; and what every star desired was not immortality,
whether for itself or for the community, but the perfect fruition of
stellar nature. But when at last the minded worlds, the planets, began
to interfere appreciably with stellar energy and motion, a new and
terrible and incomprehensible thing presumably entered into the
experiences of the stars. The stricken ones found themselves caught in a
distracting mental conflict. Through some cause which they themselves
could not detect, they not merely erred but willed to err. In fact, they
sinned. Even while they still adored the right, they chose the wrong.
I said that the trouble was unprecedented. This is not strictly true.
Something not wholly unlike this public shame seems to have occurred in
the private experience of nearly every star. But each sufferer succeeded
in keeping his shame secret until either with familiarity it became
tolerable or else its source was overcome. It was indeed surprising that
beings whose nature was in many ways so alien and unintelligible should
be in this one respect at least so startlingly “human.”
In the outer layers of young stars life nearly always appears not only
in the normal manner but also in the form of parasites, minute
independent organisms of fire, often no bigger than a cloud in the
terrestrial air, but sometimes as large as the Earth itself. These
“salamanders” either feed upon the welling energies of the star in the
same manner as the star’s own organic tissues feed, or simply prey upon
those tissues themselves. Here as elsewhere the laws of biological
evolution come into force, and in time there may appear races of
intelligent flame-like beings. Even when the salamandrian life does not
reach this level, its effect on the star’s tissues may become evident to
the star as a disease of its skin and sense organs, or even of its
deeper tissues. It then experiences emotions not wholly unlike human
fright and shame, and anxiously and most humanly guards its secret from
the telepathic reach of its fellows.
The salamandrian races have never been able to gain mastery over their
fiery worlds. Many of them succumb, soon or late, either to some natural
disaster or to internecine strife or to the self-cleansing activities of
their mighty host. Many others survive, but in a relatively harmless
state, troubling their stars only with a mild irritation, and a faint
shade of insincerity in all their dealings with one another. In the
public culture of the stars the salamandrian pest was completely
ignored. Each star believed itself to be the only sufferer and the only
sinner in the galaxy. One indirect effect the pest did have on stellar
thought. It introduced the idea of purity. Each star prized the
perfection of the stellar community all the more by reason of its own
secret experience of impurity.
When the minded planets began to tamper seriously with stellar energy
and stellar orbits, the effect was not a private shame but a public
scandal. It was patent to all observers that the culprit had violated
the canons of the dance. The first aberrations were greeted with
bewilderment and horror. Amongst the hosts of the virgin stars it was
whispered that if the result of the much prized interstellar contacts,
whence the natural planets had sprung, was in the end this shameful
irregularity, probably the original experience itself had also been
sinful. The erring stars protested that they were not sinners, but
victims of some unknown influence from the grains which revolved about
them. Yet secretly they doubted themselves. Had they long ago, in the
ecstatic sweep of star to star, after all infringed the canon of the
dance? They suspected, moreover, that in respect of the irregularities
which were now creating this public scandal, they could, if they had
willed firmly enough, have contained themselves, and preserved their
true courses in spite of the irritants that had affected them.
Meanwhile the power of the minded planets increased. Suns were boldly
steered to suit the purposes of their parasites. To the stellar
population it seemed, of course, that these erring stars were dangerous
lunatics. The crisis came, as I have already said, when the worlds
projected their first messenger toward the neighboring galaxy. The
hurtling star, terrified at its own maniac behavior, took the only
retaliation that was known to it. It exploded into the “nova” state, and
successfully destroyed its planets. From the orthodox stellar point of
view this act was a deadly sin; for it was an impious interference with
the divinely appointed order of a star’s life. But it secured the
desired end, and was soon copied by other desperate stars. Then followed
that age of horror which I have already described from the point of view
of the Society of Worlds. From the stellar point of view it was no less
terrible, for the condition of the stellar society soon became
desperate. Gone was the perfection and beatitude of former days. “The
City of God” had degenerated into a place of hatred, recrimination and
despair. Hosts of the younger stars had become premature and embittered
dwarfs, while the elders had mostly grown senile. The dance pattern had
fallen into chaos. The old passion for the canons of the dance remained,
but the conception of the canons was obscured. Spiritual life had
succumbed to the necessity of urgent action. The passion for the
progress of insight into the nature of the cosmos also remained, but
insight itself was obscured. Moreover, the former naive confidence,
common to young and mature alike, the certainty that the cosmos was
perfect and that the power behind it was righteous, had given place to
blank despair.
4. GALACTIC SYMBIOSIS
Such was the state of affairs when the minded worlds first attempted to
make telepathic contact with the minded stars. I need not tell the
stages by which mere contact was developed into a clumsy and precarious
kind of communication. In time the stars must have begun to realize that
they were at grips, not with mere physical forces, nor yet with fiends,
but with beings whose nature, though so profoundly alien, was at bottom
identical with their own. Our telepathic research obscurely sensed the
amazement which spread throughout the stellar population. Two opinions,
two policies, two parties seem to have gradually emerged.
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