Chapter 4
Bronowski's placid exterior never fooled anyone who grew to know him even moderately well. He was sharp and he worried a problem till he had the solution or till he had it in such tatters that he knew no solution was possible.
Consider the Etruscan inscriptions on which he had built his reputation. The language had been a living one till the first century a.d., but the cultural imperialism of the Romans had left nothing behind and it had vanished almost completely. What inscriptions survived the carnage of Roman hostility and - worse - indifference were written in Greek letters so that they could be pronounced, but nothing more. Etruscan seemed to have no relationship to any of the surrounding languages; it seemed very archaic; it seemed not even to be Indo-European.
Bronowski therefore passed on to another language that seemed to have no relationship to any of the surrounding languages; that seemed very archaic; that seemed not even to be Indo-European - but which was very much alive and which was spoken in a region not so very far from where once the Etruscans had lived.
What of the Basque language? Bronowski wondered. And he used Basque as his guide. Others had tried this before him and given up. Bronowski did not.
It was hard work, for Basque, an extraordinarily difficult language in itself, was only the loosest of helps. Bronowski found more and more reason, as he went on, to suspect some cultural connection between the inhabitants of early northern Italy and early northern Spain. He could even make out a strong case for a broad swatch of pre-Celts filling western Europe with a language of which Etruscan and Basque were dimly-related survivors. In two thousand years, however, Basque had evolved and had become more than a little contaminated with Spanish. To try, first, to reason out its structure in Roman times and then relate it to Etruscan was an intellectual feat of surpassing difficulty and Bronowski utterly astonished the world's philologists when he triumphed.
The Etruscan translations themselves were marvels of dullness and had no significance whatever; routine funerary inscriptions for the most part. The fact of the translation, however, was stunning and, as it turned out, it proved of the greatest importance to Lamont.
- Not at first. To be perfectly truthful about it, the translations had been a fact for nearly five years before Lamont had as much as heard that there were such people, once, as the Etruscans. But then Bronowski came to the university to give one of the annual Fellowship Lectures and Lamont, who usually shirked the duty of attending which fell on the faculty members, did not shirk this one.
It was not because he recognized its importance or felt any interest in it whatever. It was because he was dating a graduate student in the Department of Romance Languages and it was either that or a music festival he particularly wanted to avoid hearing. The social connection was a feeble one, scarcely satisfactory from Lamont's point of view and only temporary, but it did get him to the talk.
He rather enjoyed it, as it happened. The dim Etruscan civilization entered his consciousness for the first time as a matter of distant interest, and the problem of solving an undeciphered language struck him as fascinating. When young, he had enjoyed solving cryptograms, but had put them away with other childish things in favor of the much grander cryptograms posed by nature, so that he ended in para-theory.
Yet Bronowski's talk took him back to the youthful joys of making slow sense of what seemed a random collection of symbols, and combined it with sufficient difficulty to add great honor to the task. Bronowski was a cryptogram-mist on the grandest scale, and it was the description of the steady encroachment of reason upon the unknown that Lamont enjoyed.
All would yet have gone for nothing - the triple coincidence of Bronowski's appearance at campus, Lamont's youthful cryptogrammic enthusiasm, the social pressure of an attractive young lady - were it not for the fact that it was the next day that Lamont saw Hallam and placed himself firmly and, as he eventually found, permanently, in the doghouse.
Within an hour of the conclusion of that interview, Lamont determined to see Bronowski. The issue at hand was the very one that had seemed so obvious to himself and that had so offended Hallam. Because it brought down censure on him, Lamont felt bound to strike back - and in connection with the point of censure specifically. The para-men were more intelligent than man. Lamont had believed it before in a casual sort of way as something more obvious than vital. Now it had become vital. It must be proved and the fact of it forced down the throat of Hallam; sideways, if possible, and with all the sharp corners exposed.
Already Lamont found himself so far removed from his so-recent hero worship that he relished the prospect.
Bronowski was still on campus and Lamont tracked him down and insisted on seeing him.
Bronowski was blandly courteous, when finally cornered.
Lamont acknowledged the courtesies brusquely, introduced himself with clear impatience, and said, "Dr. Bronowski, I'm delighted to have caught you before you left I hope that I will persuade you to stay here even longer."
Bronowski said, "That may not be hard. I have been offered a position on the university faculty."
"And you will accept the position?"
"I am considering it. I think I may."
"You must. You will, when you hear what I have to say. Dr. Bronowski, what is there for you to do now that you've solved the Etruscan inscriptions?"
"That is not my only task, young man." (He was five years older than Lamont.) "I'm an archaeologist, and there is more to Etruscan culture than its inscriptions and more to pre-classical Italic culture than the Etruscans."
"But surely nothing as exciting for you, and as challenging, as the Etruscan inscriptions?"
"I grant you that."
"So you would welcome something even more exciting, even more challenging, and something a trillion times as significant as those inscriptions."
"What have you in mind, Dr. - Lamont?"
"We have inscriptions that are not part of a dead culture, or part of anything on Earth, or part of anything in the Universe. We have something called para-symbols."
"I've heard of them. For that matter, I've seen them."
"Surely, then, you have the urge to tackle the problem, Dr. Bronowski? You have had the desire to work out what they say?"
"No desire at all, Dr. Lamont, because there's no problem."
Lamont stared at him suspiciously, "You mean you can read them?"
Bronowski shook his head. "You mistake me. I mean I can't possibly read them, nor can anyone else. There's no base. In the case of Earthly languages, however dead, there is always the chance of finding a living language, or a dead language already deciphered, that bears some relationship to it, however faint. Failing that, there is at least the fact that any Earthly language was written by human beings with human ways of thought. That makes a starting point, however feeble. None of this is the case with the para-symbols, so that they constitute a problem that clearly has no solution. An insolubility is not a problem."
Lamont had kept himself from interrupting only with difficulty, and now he burst out, "You are wrong, Dr. Bronowski. I don't want to seem to be teaching you your profession but you don't know some of the facts that my own profession has uncovered. We are dealing with para-men, concerning whom we know almost nothing. We don't know what they are like, how they think, what kind of world they live on; almost nothing, however basic and fundamental. So far, you are right."
"But it's only almost nothing that you know, is that it?" Bronowski did not seem impressed. He took out a package of dried figs from his pocket opened them and began to eat. He offered it to Lamont, who shook his head.
Lamont said, "Right. We do know one thing of crucial importance. They are more intelligent than we are. Item one: They can make the exchange across the inter-Universe gap, while we can play only a passive role."
He interrupted himself here to ask, "Do you know anything about the Inter-Universe Electron Pump?"
"A little," said Bronowski. "Enough to follow you, Doctor, if you don't get technical."
Lamont hastened on. "Item two: They sent us instructions as to how to set up our part of the Pump. We couldn't understand it but we could make out the diagrams just sufficiently well to give us the necessary hints. Item Three: They can somehow sense us. At least they can become aware of our leaving tungsten for them to pick up, for instance. They know where it is and can act upon it. We can do nothing comparable. There are other points but this is enough to show the para-men to be clearly more intelligent than we are."
Bronowski said, "I imagine, though, that you are in the minority here. Surely your colleagues don't accept this."
"They don't. But what makes you come to that conclusion?"
"Because you're clearly wrong, it seems to me."
"My facts are correct. And since they are, how can I be wrong?"
"You are merely proving the technology of the para-men is more advanced than ours. What has that to do with intelligence? See here" - Bronowski rose to take off his jacket and then sat down in a half-reclining position, the soft rotundity of his body seeming to relax and crease in great comfort as though physical ease helped him think - "about two and a half centuries ago, the American naval commander Matthew Perry led a flotilla into Tokyo harbor. The Japanese, till then isolated, found themselves faced with a technology considerably beyond their own and decided it was unwise to risk resistance. An entire warlike nation of millions was helpless in the face of a few ships from across the sea. Did that prove that Americans were more intelligent than the Japanese were, or merely that Western culture had taken a different turning? Clearly the latter, for within half a century, the Japanese had successfully imitated Western technology and within another half a century were a major industrial power despite the fact that they were disastrously beaten in one of the wars of the time."
Lamont listened gravely, and said, "We thought that, too, Dr. Bronowski, though I didn't know about the Japanese - I wish I had the time to read history. Yet the analogy is wrong. It's more than technical superiority; it's a matter of difference in degree of intelligence."
"How can you tell, aside from guessing?"
"Because of the mere fact that they sent us directions. They were eager for us to set up our part of the Pump; they had to have us do it. They could not physically cross over; even their thin foils of iron on which their messages were incised (the substance most nearly stable in either world) slowly grew too radioactive to keep in one piece, though, of course, not before we had made permanent copies on our own materials." He paused for breath, feeling himself to be too excited, too eager. He mustn't oversell his case.
Bronowski regarded him curiously. "All right, they sent us messages. What are you trying to deduce from that?"
"That they expected us to understand. Could they be such fools as to send us rather intricate messages, in some cases quite lengthy, if they knew we would not understand? . . . If it hadn't been for their diagrams, we would have ended nowhere. Now if they had expected us to understand, it could only be because they felt that any creatures like ourselves with a technology roughly as advanced as their own (and they must have been able to estimate that somehow - another point in favor of my belief) must also be roughly as intelligent as themselves and would experience little difficulty in working out something from the symbols."
"That might also be just their naivete," said Bronowski, unimpressed.
"You mean they think there is only one language, spoken and written, and that another intelligence in another Universe speaks and writes as they do? Come on!"
Bronowski said, "Even if I were to grant your point, what do you want me to do? I've looked at the para-symbols; I suppose every archaeologist and philologist on Earth has. I don't see what I can do; neither, I'm sure, does anyone else. In over twenty years, no progress has been made."
Lamont said, intensely, "What's true is that in twenty years, there has been no desire for progress. The Pump Authority does not want to solve the symbols."
"Why shouldn't they want to?"
"Because of the annoying possibility that communication with the para-men will show them to be distinctly more intelligent. Because that would show human beings to be the puppet-partners in connection with the Pump to the hurt of their ego. And, specifically," (and Lamont strove to keep venom out of his voice) "because Hallam would lose the credit for being the Father of the Electron Pump."
"Suppose they did want to make progress. What could be done? The will is not the deed, you know."
"They could get the para-men to cooperate. They could send messages to the para-Universe. This has never been done, but it could be. A message on metal foil might be placed under a pellet of tungsten."
"Oh? Are they still looking for new samples of tungsten, even with Pumps in operation?"
"No, but they'll notice the tungsten and they'll assume we're trying to use it to attract their attention. We might even place the message on tungsten foil itself. If they take the message and make any sense of it at all, even the slightest, they'll send back one of their own, incorporating their findings. They might set up an equivalence table, of their words and ours, or they might use a mixture of their words and ours. It will be a kind of alternate push, first on their side, then on ours, then on theirs, and so on."
"With their side," said Bronowski, "doing most of the work."
"Yes."
Bronowski shook his head. "No fun in that, is there? It doesn't appeal to me."
Lamont looked at him with flaring anger. "Why not? Don't you think there'll be enough credit in it for you? Not enough fame? What are you, a connoisseur of fame? What kind of fame did you get out of the Etruscan inscriptions, damn it. You beat out five others in the world. Maybe six. With them you're a household word and a success and they hate you. What else? You go about lecturing on the subject before audiences amounting to a few dozen and they forget your name the day after. Is that what you're really after?"
"Don't be dramatic."
"All right. I won't be. I'll get someone else. It may take longer but, as you say, the para-men will do most of the work anyway. If necessary, I'll do it myself."
"Have you been assigned this project?"
"No, I haven't. What of it? Or is that another reason you don't want to get involved. Disciplinary problems? There is no law against attempting translation and I can always place tungsten on my desk. I will not choose to report any messages I get in place of the tungsten and to that extent I will be breaking the research-code. Once the translation is made, who will complain? Would you work with me if I guaranteed your safety and kept your part in it secret? You would lose your fame but you may value your security more. Oh, well," Lamont shrugged, "If I do it myself, there's the advantage of not having to worry about someone else's security."
He rose to go. Both men were angry and bore themselves with that stiff-legged courtesy one assumes when addressing someone who is hostile, but still mannerly. "I presume," said Lamont, "you will at least treat this conversation as confidential."
Bronowski was on his feet, too. "Of that you may be assured," he said coldly, and the two shook hands briefly.
Lamont did not expect to hear from Bronowski again. He then began the process of talking himself into believing it would be better to handle the translation effort on his own.
Two days later, however, Bronowski was at Lamont's laboratory. He said, rather brusquely, "I'm leaving the city now, but I'll be back in September. I'm taking the position here and, if you're still interested, I'll see what I can do about the translation problem you mentioned."
Lamont had barely time for a surprised expression of thanks when Bronowski stalked off, apparently angrier at having given in, than at having resisted.
They became friends in time; and, in time, Lamont learned what had brought Bronowski around. The day after their discussion, Bronowski had had lunch at the Faculty Club with a group of the higher officials of the university, including, of course, the president. Bronowski had announced that he would accept the position and send in a formal letter to that effect in due time and all had expressed gratification.
The president had said, "It will be quite a feather in our cap to have the renowned translator of the Itascan Inscriptions at the university. We are honored."
The malapropism had gone uncorrected, of course, and Bronowski's smile, though strained, did not actually waver. Afterward, the head of the Department of Ancient History explained the president to be more of a Minnesotan than a classical scholar and since Lake Itasca was the point of origin of the mighty Mississippi, the slip of the tongue was a natural one.
But, in combination with Lamont's sneer at the extent of his fame, Bronowski found the expression rankling.
When Lamont finally heard the story, he was amused. "Don't go on," he said. "I've been down that road, too. You said to yourself, 'By God, I'll do something even that knot-head will have to get straight.' "
"A little like that," said Bronowski.
***