The Pale Horse - Agatha Christie [66]
“Things of that kind.”
“Will machines take the place of men eventually?”
“Of men, yes. Men who are only units of manpower—that is. But Man, no. There has to be Man the Controller, Man the Thinker, who works out the questions to ask the machines.”
I shook my head doubtfully.
“Man, the Superman?” I put a faint inflection of ridicule into my voice.
“Why not, Easterbrook? Why not? Remember, we know—or are beginning to know—something about Man the human animal. The practice of what is sometimes, incorrectly, called brainwashing has opened up enormously interesting possibilities in that direction. Not only the body, but the mind of man, responds to certain stimuli.”
“A dangerous doctrine,” I said.
“Dangerous?”
“Dangerous to the doctored man.”
Venables shrugged his shoulders.
“All life is dangerous. We forget that, we who have been reared in one of the small pockets of civilisation. For that is all that civilisation really is, Easterbrook. Small pockets of men here and there who have gathered together for mutual protection and who thereby are able to outwit and control Nature. They have beaten the jungle—but that victory is only temporary. At any moment, the jungle will once more take command. Proud cities that were, are now mere mounds of earth, overgrown with rank vegetation, and the poor hovels of men who just manage to keep alive, no more. Life is always dangerous—never forget that. In the end, perhaps, not only great natural forces, but the work of our own hands may destroy it. We are very near to that happening at this moment….”
“No one can deny that, certainly. But I’m interested in your theory of power—power over mind.”
“Oh that—” Venables looked suddenly embarrassed. “Probably I exaggerated.”
I found his embarrassment and partial withdrawal of his former claim interesting. Venables was a man who lived much alone. A man who is alone develops the need to talk—to someone—anyone. Venables had talked to me—and perhaps not wisely.
“Man the Superman,” I said. “You’ve rather sold me on some modern version of the idea, you know.”
“There’s nothing new about it, certainly. The formula of the Superman goes back a long way. Whole philosophies have been built on it.”
“Of course. But it seems to me that your Superman is—a Superman with a difference… A man who could wield power—and never be known to wield power. A man who sits in his chair and pulls the strings.”
I looked at him as I spoke. He smiled.
“Are you casting me for the part, Easterbrook? I wish it were indeed so. One needs something to compensate for—this!”
His hand struck down on the rug across his knees, and I heard the sudden sharp bitterness in his voice.
“I won’t offer you my sympathy,” I said. “Sympathy is very little good to a man in your position. But let me say that if we are imagining such a character—a man who can turn unforeseen disaster into triumph—you would be, in my opinion, exactly that type of man.”
He laughed easily.
“You’re flattering me.”
But he was pleased, I saw that.
“No,” I said. “I have met enough people in my life to recognise the unusual, the extra-gifted man, when I meet him.”
I was afraid of going too far; but can one ever, really, go too far with flattery? A depressing thought! One must take it to heart and avoid the pitfall oneself.
“I wondered,” he said thoughtfully, “what actually makes you say that? All this?” He swept a careless hand round the room.
“That is a proof,” I said, “that you are a rich man who knows how to buy wisely, who has appreciation and taste. But I feel that there is more to it than mere possession. You set out to acquire beautiful and interesting things—and you have practically hinted that they were not acquired through the medium of laborious toil.”
“Quite right, Easterbrook, quite right. As I said, only the fool toils. One must think, plan the campaign in every detail. The secret of all success is something quite simple—but it has to be thought of! Something simple. One thinks of it, and puts it into execution—and there you are!”
I stared at him. Something simple—something as simple