The Old Man in the Cave

When I was a kid I saw an episode of The Twilight Zone titled “The Old Man in the Cave.” The story took viewers to post-apocalyptic America. A nuclear war has devastated society. Cars are pulled by horses. There is little food. People live at the subsistence level. The citizens of a small town find a cache of food and wonder if they can eat it or if it is contaminated by radiation. The Mayor of the town, named Goldsmith, goes to a mysterious figure called The Old Man in the Cave, who examines the food and finds it is contaminated. The people of the town have apparently depended on the Old Man in the Cave for many years. Viewers get the idea that this figure possesses insight no one else has and is always right.

A group of soldiers, led by Major French (played by a young James Coburn) enters the town and tries to take it over. They immediately come into conflict with Goldsmith and scoff at the idea that there is an Old Man in the Cave. Eventually, the soldiers and townspeople find out that the Old Man in the Cave is a computer, which the people destroy. They eat the food (except for Goldsmith) and all die.

Reviews said the episode was a warning against greed and lack of discipline and in the dangers of questioning one’s faith in “forces greater than oneself.” But the faith in this tale is not in God or Truth. The higher power one is to have faith in is what we often call Science, incarnated by the computer.

The plot has a few flaws. Why didn’t Goldsmith simply tell the people he owns a computer than can do analysis on things and help them survive? Why does he create a myth? If there is no electric power in the town (there does not seem to be), how does the computer operate? Further, why do the people destroy it? They might be angry with Goldsmith for deceiving them, but one would think they would have the common sense to say, “A computer! Why didn’t you tell us in the first place? Great! This will enhance our chances of survival.”

The Old Man in the Cave--idea of a computer in 1963,

I think the answer lies in the theme of the episode, which is, You have to worship Science.

An old man in a cave is a trope from religion:  the prophet, the guru, the hermit-saint, the oracle, the Sybil (female in this case) who can foresee the future all live in caves. They possess special divine power. Their word is not to be questioned or challenged.

The computer has “saved” the people of the town. Religions, especially Christianity, use the term for being rescued from sin and from God’s wrath. In this case, it is salvation from death. A higher power is delivering the people in in the town from destruction, and they should be thankful (worshipful?) for this.

But the people are gullible, stupid, impetuous, and greedy. They are “sinners.” They destroy the computer and devour the food. In contrast to them, Goldsmith is quiet and saintly. He is like the faithful priest, displaying circumspection, self-control, and knowledge, in contrast to unenlightened mob of shallow-minded folk who destroy the computer.

When they disobey the Old Man in the Cave, they all die. 

Major French dead after eating contaminated food.

Many such stories like this one could be seen in the 1950s and 1960s. The idea such stories advanced suggested that science could save the world. Technology was salvation. The future and the survival of the human race depended on allegiance to (worship of?) Science.

Of course, the irony is that Science created the very things—atomic weapons—that would have caused the scenario depicted in “The Old Man in the Cave.” Such wonders as biological warfare, weapons of mass destruction, and drones are the product of scientifically advanced technology. The Old Man in the Cave—Science—can and has caused as much trouble, or more, than any deity on a throne in the sky, be it Zeus, Odin, the Lord, or Ravana. 

In writing, one must be careful to recognize the destructive potential of technology and not to worship it in the way this episode of The Twilight Zone suggested a society should. Like religion, Science has done a great deal of good but also has perpetuated innumerable evils.

This is especially true for those who write science fiction. The same technologies that make space travel possible can also create weapons. Science is a neutral force that can be used for good or evil depending on the morality of those who use it.

It is fascinating that much of fantasy takes place in pre-technological societies where there were no weapons of mass destruction. Much paranormal literature is staged in modern times, but the technological features of today are merely the backdrop for conflict of a more primal nature. Vampires and werewolves may own computers, but it all still comes down to fangs and claws when the final conflict arrives.

Even sci-fi writers should avoid the trope of worshipping Science. The wonders of technology can easily be contrasted with the horrors of technology.

More on this in my next blog.

The Most Creative Thing I've Read

Creativity is on the lips of writers, speakers, and bloggers today. Everyone wants to be creative. But

exactly what is creativity? In some upcoming blogs I will explore this question—which is a question to me as well (though I do have some theories or ideas on it). I want to suggest that creativity is hard to define but easy to recognize. A Supreme Court Justice in the United States once said of pornography, “I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it.” He was ridiculed for that statement—but, really, it’s true! And the same is true of creativity. Everyone is trying to formulate a definition of it. I don’t think I can do that, but I know it when I see it! It has a certain quality. It communicates something. It exudes an unmistakable aura. This is illustrated in the book I will say is the most creative thing I’ve ever read.

The most creative thing I have ever read is Neil Gaiman’s fantasy novel, Neverwhere.

Neverwhere began as an assignment. The BBC commissioned Gaiman to write a TV series about homelessness. One would assume he would start by depicting the plight of the homeless—perhaps focus on a family that suddenly ended out on the streets and chronicle their struggle to survive and adjust. Perhaps, he could tell the story of a young woman or young man trying to survive in the hard world of the displaced. He didn’t take this approach at all. He found a way to present homelessness creatively.

If you’ve read Neverwhere, you know it is a fantasy novel. A young Londoner enters a magical realm called “London Below,” which exists in tandem with “London above,” which is the city as we know it. Orcs, elves, vampires, all manner of odd creatures live there. They live on the tops of buildings, in alleys, in abandoned buildings, and in the sewers. They barter. London below is also a dangerous place to live. Dressed in shabby, ill-fitting clothing, exchanging favors or items in the place of money, careful navigating their violent, uncertain world, the citizens of London below make their way.

Of course, they are very much like the homeless. Reading the book or seeing the film series, one

Character of Door

cannot miss the connection. Even the main character from London Below, Door, who comes from a higher-placed and wealthier “fiefdom,” dresses shabbily and barters. Her family’s home is filled with second-hand furniture. She is stalked by two killers who move easily in this violence-ridden netherworld.

Perhaps the most poignant passage is when the main character  muses on an ill-dressed, doting old man who lives in a train car. “Richard found himself imaging the earl sixty, eight, five hundred years ago:  a mighty warrior, a cunning strategist, a great lover of women, a fine friend, a terrifying foe. There was still the wreckage of that man in there somewhere. That was what was so terrible and so sad.” I cannot look upon a homeless man—especially one on whom the lifestyle has wrought damage—without thinking of what he (or she) might have once been before their circumstances took a tragic turn.

Old Bailey, from London Below

This is creativity A realistic story focusing on the homeless might have come across as sentimental or maudlin. But creating a fantasy world where homelessness can be represented and commented upon indirectly—this is creativity. A creative approach proves more effective and makes a deeper impression. If you read Neverwhere and catch the homeless analogy (it’s hard to miss) you will not forget it. You will be more aware of way the homeless live. You will feel more compassion for their plight. Creativity transforms and gives power to the image. Creativity reworks the raw material of story, making it something (as Hamlet said) “wondrous strange.”

You also see this transformation working in:

One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn

the Genesis creation story

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

The Great Divorce by C. S. Lewis

I will talk about each of these books and how they use creative technique.

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When a witch is in love with you,

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Characters Who Want Something

When I was first learning to write fiction, I came across a formula for organizing a story. Formulae, of course, can be dangerous, but this one held up pretty well. It came from the book Immediate Fiction by Jerry Cleaver, and for the sake of simplicity he reduced it to an acronym:  WOA—Want, Obstacle, Action. A good story will have someone wanting something; there is an obstacle to the person getting what he or she wants. He or she will take action to get the thing. Cleaver added that the action the person takes to get what he or she wants will also reveal their character.

The book is a good book on writing, and the formula suggests an important thing. Characters have got to want something. In great literature (this is also true in film), the characters desire. Furthermore, their desire is not casual. They really, really, really want the thing. This, I think, is what makes some characters from literature enduring. A sampling will suffice to illustrate the point.

Let’s start early. Romeo. He wants Juliet. Does he want her just a little? He wants her a lot, so much that he immediately forgets

Rosalind, the girl who would not return his love and made him depressed. He is willing to risk a beating to talk to Juliet at a party off-limits to him and members of his family. Later on, he risks his very life to talk to her in the famous “balcony scene.” Eventually, he will marry her, knowing it will bring about retribution. He doesn’t care. He loves her. He wants to share her life. We all know how it ends.

Captain Ahab. He wants to kill Moby-Dick, the white whale 

who chewed off his leg. Does he have a casual desire to kill the whale? If he can get him, great, if not, well, there are lots of other whales in ocean? No. He is obsessed, fanatical, and willing to destroy his ship, his crew, and himself to even the score.

Ebenezer Scrooge wants money. He doesn’t want money just a little bit. His whole life is consumed with avarice, the desire to get money. When he is young, he does not marry the girl who loves him. She says a “golden idol” has replaced her. Scrooge complains about giving Bob Cratchit Christmas day off (and won’t give him a bit of coal to keep warm at his job). And he blows up with rage when men come to his door soliciting a contribution for the poor and destitute. “Let them die,” he says, “and reduce the surplus population!” 

Examples could be multiplied, but the point is that characters must want something and be willing to risk everything to get it. They will expend all their resources to overcome the obstacle standing between them and what they want:  the risk of death in an ancient feud for Romeo, the dangers of the sea and Moby-Dick’s skill at ripping whalers to bits (Ahab meets a British sea captain who has lost an arm to the same white whale); Scrooge faces the censure of a society that considers money-grubbing immoral, underpaying employees despicable, and indifference to the poor reprehensible. Their obsession to get past the obstacle and get what they so tenaciously want is what makes the characters absorbing. Without this desire, characters are dull and insipid. And without fascinating characters, you cannot have a good story.

I’ve tried make the characters in my novels obsessive and driven. In The Gallery Martin Rollins wants the love of Siobhan O’Conner and will risk fighting one of the undead to get her. Strange Brew has Andrew Cabot willing to travel time and face the dangers of the pre-segregation Southern USA to help Lybecca. In The Sorceress of the Northern Seas, Lybecca (long before she meets Andrew) fights and struggles to win power and dominance as a sorceress. None of these things are bought at a small price.

Your characters must desire. They must want something and be willing, like Hamlet, to even “couple hell,” to get what they want. No one is attracted by insipid desire. Make your characters want something. Make it real desire. That is how the pot gets boiling.

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Happy Endings

I liked the Bollywood film, Slum Dog Millionaire. So did a lot of other people. Popular worldwide, the movie was nominated for ten Academy Awards and won eight, (Best Picture, Best Director, Best Adapted Screenplay among them). It also won seven BAFTA Awards (including Best Film), five Critic's Choice Awards, and four Golden Globes. It was a moving, heroic film. Some people, however, faulted it for a flaw most of us would find puzzling. 

I read a review of the film by several local critics. One of them, a philosophy professor at a local Christian college, said he liked it a lot but it had one major failing:  it had a happy ending.

His remark intrigued and baffled me. What’s wrong with a happy ending? Since he taught at a college that identified itself as operating on Christian assumptions, I felt even more bemused. Isn’t Christianity centered on the ultimate happy ending? Jesus Christ died but then came back to life. But this instructor’s sentiment is widely-held. Whether in films or books, and in certain areas of paranormal writing, a happy ending is unacceptable.

It is unacceptable, I think, because of the mind-set that many have today. Life, so many presently think, is grim and dismal. The pain, hardship, suffering, and disappointment in life are the only things worth looking at if we are to have a “realistic” view of life. To think life can foster happiness is childish and naïve. British author Aldous Huxley once comment that given the state of the world he did not see how anyone could say they were happy; novelist Evelyn Waugh once declared that any man who said he was happy was either misinformed or an idiot.

Of course, these guys were writing in a time of great suffering and loss. They had seen World War I, World War II, and the downgrading of Britain from a world power to a broken nation. I can understand how they were disillusioned. George Orwell, a writer from the same era, penned what has to be the most depressing piece of fiction ever written, 1984. Unfortunately, the viewpoints of these “vexed and troubled Englishman” seem to have set a trend. Many still believe that to be happy or optimistic indicates you are living with your head in the clouds. To be gloomy, pessimistic, and depressed is to perceive things clearly.

The corollary in speculative fiction is that evil is supreme and triumphs. Happy endings are under interdict. Evil prevails. Even if good has appeared to have won, evil will raise its head once more to show that it is, in reality, the thing that has come out on top.

Aldous Huxley

As I pointed out in the four blogs preceding this one, I think this is an incorrect idea. I believe it goes against the nature of things and that those who hold such a viewpoint are not hard-headed realists who see things as they are. They have a mistaken and inaccurate view of life and of the world. Will take this matter up further in my next bog.

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