Every week The Morning News offers a map and demands it readers guess what it represents. This week's map (below) reminded me of a scene from Eric Flint's classic novel of exploration, Mother of Demons.
Don't Be A Physicist
by ERIC FLINT
"The idiots have no sense of the real history of life on earth," the man had been saying, as she took a seat on the armchair opposite him. "The average temperature on earth today is as low as it's ever been—at least since the Cambrian explosion. Probably lower. It's because of the modern configuration of the continents. It's not been unusual to have one ice-cap in our history. A continent often gets pushed over one of the poles by plate tectonics, just like Antarctica is today. But there's never been two ice-caps before. So far as we can tell, anyway."
Another man sitting around the circle of chairs had spoken up.
"But, Julius, there's no continent today under the north pole."
Julius had leaned forward, gesticulating with great animation (one of his characteristics, she learned over time).
"I know—that's the beauty of the whole thing! Instead, tectonics has encircled the north pole with most of the great continents. The flow of warm water which would normally keep the pole from freezing has been strangled. The result? The formation of a floating ice-cap. Do you have any idea of the odds against that happening?"
He drank from a cup of coffee sitting on the table before him.
"And that's my whole point. The Earth's climate today is a freak. It's not `normal'—just the opposite. We live in a freezer. For almost the entire Phanerozoic Eon—"
"Sorry. That's just jargon for the last 700 million years, since the evolution of multi-cellular life. Anyway, throughout that entire period—700 million years, folks—when life spread over the entire planet and evolved into all its wonderful permutations, the average temperature on Earth was much higher than it is today—ten or fifteen degrees, on the average. That's the normal temperature for the planet—and it's the optimum temperature for terrestrial life."
He set down his cup and spread his arms wide.
"You see? The real problem life has on earth today isn't global warming. It's just the opposite! The place is too damned cold. If we really cared about life, we'd go back to using fossil fuels. Crank up the greenhouse effect! It'd be great! It's not just that the temperature would be better, either. What's just as important is that the oceans would rise. That's another problem we have on Earth today. There aren't enough shallow seas and continental shelves, which are always the best environments for life to flourish. Raise the sea level a few hundred feet and we'd double or triple the area where life thrives the best."
She had interrupted at that point.
"I'd like to butt in, if you don't mind."
"Not at all!" said Julius, waving his hands.
She leaned over, extending her hand.
"I'm Indira Toledo. Historian."
"Julius Cohen. Paleontologist."
Her slender hand had been engulfed in Julius' vigorous handshake. He was a large man, fat in a healthy-looking sort of way. His complexion was ruddy, and his features were round and pudgy. Except for the kinky black hair, and the lack of a beard, he was the spitting image of Santa Claus.
Despite his harmless appearance, she was tense with anger. She tried to relax, because she knew that her thin, sharp features (normally quite attractive) were extremely intimidating when she was mad. But she couldn't help herself.
Arrogant bastard.
"Tell me, something, Mr. Cohen—"
"Please, please! Julius!"
"All right, then. Julius. I was born on the Altiplano. My father's Latin American. But I'm descended from Bengali immigrants, and I still have lots of relatives living in Calcutta. It's only been in the last generation or so that the Bengalis have finally been able to pull themselves out of some of the worst poverty the human race has ever experienced. They've even managed to limit the destruction during the monsoon season. But it's still a hard life, for most of them, and they're still packed together like sardines. What are those millions—millions, Mr. Cohen—of people supposed to do after you raise the sea level? Learn to swim? Or will you take them into all the extra space you've got in New York City?"
He shook his head ruefully. "Damn, my accent always gives me away." He stared at her thoughtfully, and she couldn't help but notice the intelligence in his eyes. Then, with a warmth that struck her like a great wave, his eyes had crinkled and a huge grin had spread across his face.
"Hey, lady, I really don't wanna drown a lot of cute little Bengali kids. Honest, I don't."
He made a self-deprecating gesture. "You've got to forgive my big mouth. I have a bad habit of fixing on a point and taking it to its logical conclusion. But I'm really not a stupid jackass, honest."
Then, more seriously: "I know we've got to maintain the earth's temperature where it is. The human race has only finally—barely—managed to carve out a decent enough life for everyone. The last thing we need to do is shatter all that hard work by upsetting the climatic apple-cart. It's just—oh hell, the thing that irritates me about these ecofreaks isn't what they call for, it's their goddammed self-righteousness. For all their claims to being the guardians of life, the truth is that they're at least as homocentric as anyone else. They just won't admit it. It's not `life' they care about, it's the way life affects humans."
"I think you're being unfair."
He shrugged. "Maybe. But as a professional biologist I've always found that people have the screwiest ideas about life. Let me ask you something. Where would you rather spend a week's vacation—next to a beautiful clear blue lake in the mountains, or next to a swamp?"
She snorted. "What do you think?"
"Of course—at the lake. And while you were there, I'm sure you'd gaze out over that beautiful stretch of bright blue water and think serene philosophical thoughts about the glories of nature. But are you aware that cold mountain lakes are one of the most inhospitable conditions for life? It's true. That lake is a sterile desert. There are a few life-forms that have managed to adapt to those conditions—trout, for instance. But the biomass in that lake is a pittance compared to the life that thrives in a swamp."
He waved his arms about enthusiastically.
"Swamps are great! They're wonderful! Life adores a swamp! You don't believe me? Try walking around in a swamp sometime without stepping all over all kinds of juicy life-forms. Really juicy—soft, and slimy, and wriggly, and crawling all over the place."
She couldn't help but laugh. "Ugh! No thanks."
He grinned. "See? You're just another bigot. And that's my point. People will get all worked up over pollution in a mountain lake. Trout are pretty; tasty, too. But who cares about a swamp?"
He shrugged. "And that's fine with me, in and of itself. I'd much rather spend a week by a mountain lake, myself. Hate swamps. Don't know anybody who doesn't except herpetologists, and they're all a bunch of lunatics." One of the men nearby snorted. "But I don't go around preaching about the sanctity of all life, when what I really care about is life as it impacts on the human race. I'm opposed to destroying life where it's needless. But like any biologist—certainly any paleontologist—I have a keen sense that eventually all species become extinct. That's the way it is—and has been for eons, long before we humans popped onto the scene. So, to get back to your point, I care a hell of a lot more about what happens to people in Bengal than I do about the abstract fact that if we flooded the lowlands we'd enable millions of new species to come into existence. I'm just willing to be honest about it."
"That's all very sane and logical, Mr. Coh—Julius. But let me ask you a question. Would you rather have an ocean with whales or without them?"
He frowned. "What is this, some kind of trick question? With whales, of course."
"You are pleased, then, at the fact that the Earth's oceans are teeming with whales?"
"Sure!"
"Hmm. Yet it's a fact—I'm an historian, as I said—that the whales were only saved from extermination because of the actions of people who were not driven by logic but by an irrational passion. The type of people you call `ecofreaks.' Had it not been for them, the great cetaceans would have disappeared. For it is also a fact that during the period of the great whale slaughtering, sane and logical men such as yourself stood to one side. Clucking their tongues at the barbarity of it all, of course, and shedding tears over the plight of the poor whales. But always quick to correct the scientific errors of the `ecofreaks,' as if genocide and failing a biology quiz were of equal weight in the judgement of history."
She relaxed, slightly. "Mind you, I take some pride myself in my own rationality and logic. But I am an historian by profession. And if there is one thing that historians know, it's that nothing great was ever achieved except by those who were filled with passion. Their passion may have been illogical, even bizarre to modern people. Their understanding of the world and what they were doing may have been false. It usually was. But they were not afraid to act, guided by whatever ideas they had in their possession. Do not sneer at such people. You would not be here without them."
Silence followed for a moment. Indira was surprised to see that there was not a trace of irritation in the face of the man opposite her. Instead, Julius was gazing at her with a strange look. Interest, she suddenly realized.
Koresz spoke. "I fear I shall have to exercise my medical skills, lest Julius bleed to death from the many great wounds inflicted upon him."
Laughter erupted, with Julius joining in.
"If I'd known there was an historian in the vicinity," he chuckled, "I would have kept my mouth shut. `Keep your fat lip buttoned around historians,' my mother alway told me. `They're too smart for you.' "
Indira peered at him suspiciously. "That's a crude attempt at flattery."
He looked surprised. "What do you mean? It's the simple truth. There's no subject on earth as complex and intricate as human history. I get dizzy just thinking about the variables. Makes the double helix look like a tinker-toy! And there's no comparison to that mindless one-two-three the physicists putter around in."
"You're just jealous, Julius," laughed a woman sitting to his left.
Julius' rubbery face twisted into an exaggerated sneer.
"Jealous? Of what, Ruth? The money they shower you plumbers with? Sure. But I wouldn't be a physicist for all the money in the world." He shuddered. "God, think of it! Spend your whole life counting the elementary particles. How many are there, anyway? Bet I can count them all on my fingers."
He began imitating a toddler.
"Dis widdle piggy is da lepton. An' dis widdle piggy is da quark. Dere's six a dem! Or is it eight? Such a big number! An' dis widdle piggy — oh, boy, is this fun or what?"
Again, the circle erupted in laughter. When the laughter died down, Julius was watching Indira. For a long few seconds, they stared at each other in silence. Then the great warm smile spread across his face, and Indira felt her heart turn over.
I don't believe this, she thought to herself.
But it was true. Within three days, they were lovers. The weeks which followed, before they reluctantly entered the coldcells, were the happiest of her life.
Eric Flint is a master of historical, science and fantasy fiction. You can purchase Mother of Demons at this location. Here are some of his novels which anyone may enjoy:
"Cold" — The Telescopes (mp3)
"7th Disaster" — The Telescopes (mp3)
"This Planet" — The Telescopes (mp3)
