John Norman - Savages of Gor

"Of course," said another. "How else is the compound to be ridded of them?"

"You must understand," said another, "it does not please us to do that sort ofthing."

"It is done only after every other alternative has been exhausted," saidanother.

"Difference strikes at the root of sameness," said another. "Sameness isessential to civilization itself. Difference, thus, threatens society andcivilization itself."

"It must thus be eradicated," said another.

"There is, thus, only one value, one virtue?" I asked.

"Yes," said another.

"One is one," said another, profoundly, "self-identical and the same."

"Sixteen is sixteen, too," I said.

"But sixteen is only sixteen times one, and thus all reduces to one, which isone," said another.

"What about one-half and one-half?" I asked.

"They add up to one," said another.

"What about one-third and one-third, then?" I asked.

"Each of those is but one number," said another, "and, thus, each is one, andone is one."

"What of the diversity you see about you," I asked, "say, of kaiila and sleen?"

"One kaiila and one sleen are both one, which is one," said another fellow.

"What about zero and one?" I asked.

"Zero is one number and one is one number, and thus each is one, and one isone," said another.

"What about nothing and one?" I asked.

"One is one, and nothing is nothing," said another, "so one is left with one,which is one."

"But you would have at least one nothing, wouldn't you? I asked.

"Nothing is either nothing or one," said another. "If it is nothing, then it isnothing. If it is one, then it is one, and on is one," said another.

"Thus, all is the same," said another.

"You are spouting total gibberish," I said. "Are you aware of that?"

"To the unenlightened profundity often appears gibberish, said another.

"Indeed," said another, "and to some who have lost the enlightenment it canalso appear gibberish."

"The more absurd something seems, the more likely it is to be true," saidanother.

"That seems absurd," I said.

"And, thus," said the fellow, "it, in itself, by the same proof, is shown mostlikely to be true."

"Is that supposed to be self-evident?" I asked.

"Yes," said another.

"It is not self-evident to me," I said.

"That is not the fault of its self-evidence," said another.

"You cannot blame its self-evidence for that."

"Something which is self-evident to one person may not be self-evident toanother," said another fellow.

"How can it be self-evident to one and not to another?" asked.

"One may be more talented in the detecting of self-evidence than another," saidanother.

"How do you distinguish between what merely seems self evident and that which istruly self-evident?" I asked.

"The Priest-Kings would not deceive us," said another.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"That is self-evident," said another.

"Have you ever been mistaken about what is self-evident?"

"Yes, frequently," said Pumpkin.

"How do you explain that?" I asked.

"We are weak, and frail," he said.

"We are only Waniyanpi," said another.

I regarded Pumpkin.

"To be sure," he said, "There is a place for faith in all of this."

"A rather large place, I conjecture," I said.

"Large enough," he said.

"How large is that?" I asked.

"Large enough to protect the Teaching," he said. _,"I thought so," I said.

"One must believe something," said Pumpkin.

"Why not experiment with the truth?" I said.

"We already believe the truth," said one of the fellows about.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"The Teaching tells us," said another.

"You must understand," said another, "that we do not like putting people out todie. It makes us very sorry to do this. On the occasions of expulsion we ofteneat a meal in silence, and weep bitter tears into our gruel."

"I am sure it is a touching sight," I said.

Pumpkin looked down toward the girl. He did not look directly at her, but sheknew herself to be the object of his attention, indirect though that attentionmight have been.

"Teach me your Teaching," she said. "I want to be a Same."

"Wonderful," said Pumpkin. He almost reached out to touch her, so pleased hewas, but suddenly, fearfully, he drew back his hand. He blushed. There was sweaton his forehead.

"Excellent," said more than one of the Waniyanpi "You will not regret it," said another.

"You will love being a Same," said another. "It is the only thing to be," saidanother.

"When we reach the vicinity of the compound," said Pumpkin, "and you are unboundand properly clothed, in suitable Waniyanpi garb, you will lead us all throughthe amRate preceding us, this thus attesting to your honor amongst us and the respectin which you are held."

"I shall look forward eagerly to my reception into the compound, " said thegirl.

"And so, too, shall we, welcome citizen," said Pumpkin.

He then turned to the others. "We must now return to our work," he said. "Thereis refuse to be gathered and debris to be burned."

When the Waniyanpi had filed away, taking their leave, I turned to regard thegirl.

"They are mad," she said, "mad," squirming in the yoke.

"Perhaps," I said. "I suppose it is a matter of definition."

"Definition?" she said.

"If the norms of sanity are social norms," I said, "by definition, the norm issane.

"Even if the society is totally misrelated to reality?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Even if they think they are all urts, or lizards or clouds?"

"I gather so," I said, "and in such a society the one who does not think that heis an urt, or, say, a lizard or a cloud, would be accounted insane."

"And would be insane?" she asked.

"On that definition," I said.

"That is a preposterous definition," she said.

"Yes," I admitted.

"I do not accept it," she said.

"Nor do I," I admitted.

"Surely there can be a better," she said.

"I would hope so," I said, "one that was framed with a closer regard forempirical reality, the actual nature of human beings, and such."

"Someone is insane," she said, "who believes false things."

"But we all, doubtless, believe many false things," I said "Theoretically a society could believe numerous false propositions and still, innormal senses of the word, be regarded as sane, if, in many respects, a mistakensociety."

"What if a society is mistaken, and takes pains to avoid rectifying its errors,what if it refuses, in the light of evidence, to correct its mistakes?"

"Evidence can usually be explained away or reinterpreted to accord withtreasured beliefs," I said. "I think it is usually a matter of degree. Perhapswhen the belief simply becomes too archaic, obsolete and unwieldy to defend,when it becomes simply preposterous and blatantly irrational to seriouslycontinue to defend it, then, perhaps if one still compulsively, to defend it,one might speak of sanity.

"I should think so," she said.

"But even then," I said, "other concepts might be more fruitful, such as radicalobstinacy or institutionalized irrationality."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because of the vagueness of the concept of insanity' " I said, "and its oftenimplicit reference to statistical norms. For example, an individual who believedin, say, magic, assuming that sense could be made of that concept, in a society,which believed in magic, would not normally be accounted insane. Similarly, sucha society, though it might be regarded as being deluded, would not, in alllikelihood, be regarded as insane."

"What if there were such a thing as magic?" she asked.

"That society, then, would simply be correct," I said.

"What of these people who were just here?" she asked. "Are they not insane?"