Star Maker - Olaf Stapledon (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) 📗
- Author: Olaf Stapledon
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lonely intelligence in a wilderness of barbarians and beasts. The
mystery, the futility, the horror of existence now bore down upon me
most cruelly. For to me, to the spirit of that little band of awakened
galaxies, surrounded by unawakened and doomed hordes in the last day of
the cosmos, there appeared no hope of any triumph elsewhere. For to me
the whole extent, seemingly, of existence was revealed. There could be
no “elsewhere.” I knew with exactness the sum of cosmical matter. And
though the “expansion” of space was already sweeping most of the
galaxies apart more swiftly than light could bridge the gulf, telepathic
exploration still kept me in touch with the whole extent of the cosmos.
Many of my own members were physically divided from one another by the
insurmountable gulf created by the ceaseless “expansion”; but
telepathically they were still united.
I, the communal mind of a score of galaxies, seemed now to myself to be
the abortive and crippled mind of the cosmos itself. The myriad-fold
community that supported me ought surely to have expanded to embrace the
whole of existence. In the climax of cosmical history the fully awakened
mind of the cosmos ought surely to have won through to the fullness of
knowledge and of worship. But this was not to be. For even now, in the
late phase of the cosmos, when the physical potency was almost all
exhausted, I had reached only to a lowly state of spiritual growth. I
was mentally still adolescent, yet my cosmical body was already in
decay. I was the struggling embryo in the cosmical egg, and the yolk was
already in decay.
Looking back along the vistas of the aeons, I was impressed less by the
length of the journey that had led me to my present state than by its
haste and confusion, and even its brevity. Peering into the very
earliest of the ages, before the stars were born, before the nebulae
were formed from chaos, I still failed to see any clear source, but only
a mystery as obscure as any that confronts the little inhabitants of the
Earth.
Equally, when I tried to probe the depths of my own being, I found
impenetrable mystery. Though my self-consciousness was awakened to a
degree thrice removed beyond the self-consciousness of human beings,
namely from the simple individual to the world-mind, and from the
world-mind to the galactic mind, and thence to the abortively cosmical,
yet the depth of my nature was obscure.
Although my mind now gathered into itself all the wisdom of all worlds
in all ages, and though the life of my cosmical body was itself the life
of myriads of infinitely diverse worlds and myriads of infinitely
diverse individual creatures, and though the texture of my daily life
was one of joyful and creative enterprise, yet all this was as nothing.
For around lay the host of the unfulfilled galaxies; and my own flesh
was already grievously impoverished by the death of my stars; and the
aeons were slipping past with fatal speed. Soon the texture of my
cosmical brain must disintegrate. And then inevitably I must fall away
from my prized though imperfect state of lucidity, and descend, through
all the stages of the mind’s second childhood, down to the cosmical
death.
It was very strange that I, who knew the whole extent of pace and time,
and counted the wandering stars like sheep, overlooking none, but I who
was the most awakened of all beings, I, the glory which myriads in all
ages had given their lives to establish, and myriads had worshipped,
should now look about me with the same overpowering awe, the same
abashed and tongue-tied worship as that which human travelers in the
desert feel under the stars.
THE BEGINNING AND THE END
1. BACK TO THE NEBULAE
WHILE the awakened galaxies were striving to make full use of the last
phase of their lucid consciousness, while I, the imperfect cosmical
mind, was thus striving, I began to have a strange new experience. I
seemed to be telepathically stumbling upon some being or beings of an
order that was at first quite incomprehensible to me.
At first I supposed that I had inadvertently come into touch with
subhuman beings in the primitive age of some natural planet, perhaps
with some very lowly amoeboid microorganisms, floating in a primeval
sea. I was aware only of crude hungers of the body, such as the lust to
assimilate physical energy for the maintenance of life, the lust of
movement and of contact, the lust of light and warmth.
Impatiently I tried to dismiss this trivial irrelevance. But it
continued to haunt me, becoming more intrusive and more lucid. Gradually
it took on such an intensity of physical vigor and well-being, and such
a divine confidence, as was manifested by no spirits up and down the
ages since the stars began.
I need not tell of the stages by which I learned at last the meaning of
this experience. Gradually I discovered that I had made contact not with
microorganisms, nor yet with worlds or stars or galactic minds, but
with the minds of the great nebulae before their substance had
disintegrated into stars to form the galaxies.
Presently I was able to follow their history from the time when they
first wakened, when they first existed as discrete clouds of gas, flying
apart after the explosive act of creation, even to the time when, with
the birth of the stellar hosts out of their substance, they sank into
senility and death.
In their earliest phase, when physically they were the most tenuous
clouds, their mentality was no more than a formless craving for action
and a sleepy perception of the infinitely slight congestion of their own
vacuous substance. I watched them condense into close-knit balls with
sharper contours, then into lentoid discs, featured with brighter
streams and darker chasms. As they condensed, each gained more unity,
became more organic in structure. Congestion, though so slight, brought
greater mutual influence to their atoms, which still were no more
closely packed, in relation to their size, than stars in space. Each
nebula was now a single great pool of faint radiation, a single system
of all-pervasive waves, spreading from atom to atom.
And now mentally these greatest of all megatheria, these amoeboid
titans, began to waken into a vague unity of experience. By human
standards, and even by the standards of the minded worlds and the stars,
the experience of the nebulae was incredibly slow-moving. For owing to
their prodigious size and the slow passage of the undulations to which
their consciousness was physically related, a thousand years was for
them an imperceptible instant. Periods such as men call geological,
containing the rise and fall of species after species, they experienced
as we experience the hours.
Each of the great nebulae was aware of its own lentoid body as a single
volume compact of tingling currents. Each craved fulfilment of its
organic potency, craved easement from the pressure of physical energy
welling softly within it, craved at the same time free expression of all
its powers of movement, craved also something more.
For though, both in physique and in mentality, these primordial beings
were strangely like the primeval microorganisms of planetary life, they
were also remarkably different; or at least they manifested a character
which even I, the rudimentary cosmical mind, had overlooked in
microorganisms. This was a will or predilection that I can only by
halting metaphor suggest.
Though even at their best these creatures were physically and
intellectually very simple, they were gifted with something which I am
forced to describe as a primitive but intense religious consciousness.
For they were ruled by two longings, both of which were essentially
religious. They desired, or rather they had a blind urge toward, union
with one another, and they had a blind passionate urge to be gathered up
once more into the source whence they had come.
The universe that they inhabited was of course a very simple, even a
poverty-stricken universe. It was also to them quite small. For each of
them the cosmos consisted of two things, the nebula’s own almost
featureless body and the bodies of the other nebulae. In this early age
of the cosmos the nebulae were very close to one another, for the volume
of the cosmos was at this time small in relation to its parts, whether
nebulae or electrons. In that age the nebulae, which in man’s day are
like birds at large in the sky, were confined, as it were, within a
narrow aviary. Thus each exercised an appreciable influence on its
fellows. And as each became more organized, more of a coherent physical
unity, it distinguished more readily between its native wave-pattern and
the irregularities which its neighbors’ influence imposed upon that
pattern. And by a native propensity implanted in it at the time of its
emergence from the common ancestral cloud, it interpreted this influence
to mean the presence of other minded nebulae.
Thus the nebulae in their prime were vaguely but intensely aware of one
another as distinct beings. They were aware of one another; but their
communication with each other was very meager and very slow. As
prisoners confined in separate cells give one another a sense of
companionship by tapping on their cell walls, and may even in time work
out a crude system of signals, so the nebulae revealed to one another
their kinship by exercising gravitational stress upon one another, and
by long-drawn-out pulsations of their light. Even in the early phase of
their existence, when the nebulae were very close to one another, a
message would take many thousands of years to spell itself out from
beginning to end, and many millions of years to reach its destination.
When the nebulae were at their prime, the whole cosmos reverberated with
their talk.
In the earliest phase of all, when these huge creatures were still very
close to one another and also immature, their parleying was concerned
wholly with the effort to reveal themselves to one another. With
childlike glee they laboriously communicated their joy in life, their
hungers and pains, their whims, their idiosyncrasies, their common
passion to be once more united, and to be, as men have sometimes said,
at one in God.
But even in early days, when few nebulae were yet mature, and most were
still very unclear in their minds, it became evident to the more
awakened that, far from unity, they were steadily drifting apart. As the
physical influence of one on another diminished, each nebula perceived
its companions shrinking into the distance. Messages took longer and
longer to elicit answers.
Had the nebulae been able to communicate telepathically, the “expansion”
of the universe might have been faced without despair. But these beings
were apparently too simple to make direct and lucid mental contact with
one another. Thus they found themselves doomed to separation. And since
their life-tempo was so slow, they seemed to themselves to have scarcely
found one another before they must be parted. Bitterly they regretted
the blindness of their infancy. For as they reached maturity they
conceived, one and all, not merely the passion of mutual delight which
we call love, but also the conviction that through mental union with one
another lay the way to union with the source whence they had come.
When it had become clear that separation was inevitable, when indeed
the hard-won community of these naive beings was already failing through
the increased difficulty of communication, and the most remote nebulae
were already receding from one another at high speed, each perforce made
ready to face the mystery of existence in absolute solitude.
There followed an aeon, or rather
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