Doris Lessing - The Sirian Experiments

At the time of my return from Rohanda on that trip, two-thirds of all the technicians throughout the Empire were employed on experiments on various kinds of animals. These were of every kind, from the mild to the horrific. In some there was concern that the pain suffered by the animals should be kept minimal. In others there was no concern at all. But, as often happens, the debate that started, and then raged—the only word for it—as a result of my efforts, was centered on the pain suffered or not suffered, and how much, and how it should be regulated, was not discussed then—and what to my mind has not been adequately recognised since—is the question of the actual use of the animals at all, our attitude to them, what right we have to arbitrarily take them and exploit them according to our current needs. And this question, which to my mind is the real one, is rooted in another, much deeper: what is a genus for? What is its function? What does it do? What part does it play in the cosmic harmony?

It will be seen that I approach here the Canopean formula, or tenet, or habit of mind: according to the Necessity.

It is also, of course, linked with our existential situation or problem. And much more fundamentally than on that level where we had to face the truth that something like fifteen millions of our most highly trained technicians were without an occupation. Without a function. Which is what we did have to face as the controversy raged, and resulted in public opinion changing to the point where it could not tolerate any longer the mass torture—the accurate word—the mass and unnecessary torture of billions of living creatures. If we, Sirius were—are—to decide, at last, what we are for, what our function is, then it follows that we have to wonder at last what these lower animals are for.

Well, a great many of us are now pondering just this question… The fifteen million technicians, finding themselves without a use, were retired, according to our custom, on to planets of their choice, to live out the remainder of their lives in honour and peace. And, of course, to join those who have leisure to devote themselves to our basic, crucial, quintessential problem. Most of them died off very quickly. This is what happens when a class of workers finds itself obsolete.

None of this happened without bitterness, emotional and mental conflict, even—in some planets—rioting and social disturbance. It will almost certainly strike present-day students unpleasantly, and surprisingly, to know that some of the slogans under which these old battles were fought included: What we have, we hold . Might is right. Victory to the strongest. The ends justify the means. The function of the inferior is to serve the superior.

Our entire administrative class was threatened. As for my own position, I had to face a long period of near-ostracism. That I was wrongheaded was the least of it. It was only with difficulty that I avoided being sent off to Adjustive Hospitalisation. Yes, it was put about that my mentality had been affected by sojourns in inimical climates on unpleasant planets—Rohanda being chiefly blamed. And in some moods I even found myself agreeing with my critics. It was not always easy to see Klorathy’s influence on my life—on (I insist) Sirius—as unambiguously good.

What I have put down here can give only a hint of what was behind those words: “Checks and restrictions were imposed…” etc.

While all this was going on, I had no word from Canopus, though it can be imagined how much I thought of things Canopean and of my friends. Yes, I thought of Klorathy and Nasar thus, although it was never without strain. The strain that the inferior must feel in coming into contact with the superior. I hope that this statement will not earn me, again, a threat of Adjustive Hospitalisation!

It on the day that the law was passed in our Legislature, restricting the use of animals for research, that this message came from Klorathy. “And now I am looking forward very much to meeting on Shikasta’s planet shortly. Our co-operation is desirable during the period of the deepening crisis on Shikasta.”

I feel that there is no need for me to describe my reactions to this.

I did think, and seriously, about whether I would return a message suggesting a date for our meeting, but the fact remained that Sirius had decided not to involve itself further with Rohanda. I therefore did nothing, reflecting how past experience indicated that if Canopus had decided on something, then this tended to come to pass. I had again made plans to take up my interrupted work, when I was instructed to go to Rohanda’s planet and deal with a crisis there. I went, unsurprised that this had happened; and expecting to meet Nasar or Klorathy.

The situation on this moon was at that time as follows: For a long time Shammat’s base there had been small, only used as a way station for its personnel and as a fueling depot. Then, as conditions on Rohanda steadily deteriorated—as Canopus saw it—and improved, from the point of view of Shammat, the emanations that Shammat elicited and used became too plentiful for previous means of transmission, and an accumulator was set up. This needed a permanent staff of technicians. These were of Shammat’s dominant class who demanded high standards in living conditions, which amenities were soon being used by their workers on Rohanda for ever-longer periods of recreation. What amounted to good-sized settlements came into existence. These were underground, because of the peculiar conditions of this moon, vulnerable to bombardment from space because of its lack of atmosphere, mostly from an asteroid belt that was the remains of a former planet. It was at that point that we placed our own personnel there, to keep a close and permanent watch on Shammat, who soon had gone further, and was engaged in extensive mining operations.

Neither Canopus nor ourselves objected to this: we were not short of minerals of any kind. But now Canopus, too, established itself in an observational capacity. No hostilities of a physical sort occurred between Shammat and the two superior powers—for Shammat was too afraid of us both. But while contact took place continually between ourselves and Canopus, of a formal kind, Shammat shunned us, and we were only too pleased to have it so.

From this time onwards, Rohanda was visited continually by spacecraft of all kinds, mostly Shammatan. The Canopus influence was more indirect: I have hinted at some of their means of coming and going. They seldom used physical craft, and when they did, it was with discretion, or with deliberate intent to instruct the current Rohandan dominant species in some necessary way. The Shammatans, on the other hand, were using their spacecraft with increasing indifference to the effect a sight of these vehicles might have on the populations. They had had underground settlements on Rohanda itself for a long time. From these they came and went, using every type of craft, quite freely. And they used, too, underwater craft. They took from Rohanda supplies of foodstuffs unavailable on the moon, and easier to fetch from there than from Shammat itself. They took, often, fresh water. They also kidnapped Rohandans from anywhere there were species that intrigued or amused them. These became pets on the moon or were sent back to Shammat itself to entertain the ruling caste. They were taken off vehicles on the oceans, or from isolated places.

As can be imagined, folklore and fantastic tales of all kinds were the result; but “sightings” of Shammat craft had taken place over millennia, and particularly recently, the populations of Rohanda did not know what it was they were seeing. Though legends of every branch of the dominant species contained stories of “higher beings,” these were always associated with “flying serpents” or “flying lizards” and so on, according to local conditions, and their technology had not yet developed to the point of recognition.