Chapter 6 Dance With The Devil By Gunther Schwab Written in 1963.
WOOMP,
THE NOISE FIEND WAS AN INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE MAN
who
made up for the deficiencies of his appearance by excessive courtesy.
He
made a lower bow to the guests than he did to his master.
"My
number is 167," he began, with a gentle, deprecatory air.
"You
can see from this how little importance they attach to me and my job.
That's
the way of it in our business.
The
more important your job, the lower your number.
All
the same I hope to be able to prove to you and to my high lord and master, that
my department —"
"Don't
jaw so much but get cracking," the Devil interrupted.
It
was obvious that he hadn't very much sympathy for the Noise Fiend.
The
little fellow gave a sideways glance at the visitors, and made a gesture as
though to say,
'Well,
there you are, you see.' The Devil drummed on the table.
"Come
along, come along. We haven't too much time."
The
Noise Fiend was the very soul of courtesy.
"Ladies
and gentlemen," he said, "you have either learnt already,
or
you soon will learn that we know of many ways of poisoning man and his
surroundings.
For
all that, it is I who add the most essential poison, which multiplies the
effectiveness
of
all the others, namely, rush."
The
Boss turned about with a bored expression, crossed his legs and looked out of
the window.
"The
spark of life leaps between the two poles of timeless rest and resolute action.
Without
rest there is no strength, without time there is no life."
"I've
no liking for these philosophizing devils," muttered the Boss.
Woomp
warmed to his task. "I have destroyed mankind," he said. "I told
them time is money.
They
believed me, and since then they sell their life to the highest bidder.
I've
robbed them of time and of their humanity.
I've
planted unrest in their heart.
I've
preached to them – and my subordinates are continually doing the same
–
that speed is a modern, progressive value, a criterion of the modern
pseudo-personality
and
of social worth.
"Actually,
however, speed is something that goes contrary to the nature of man
and
is really deleterious to him. It prevents him from acquainting himself with the
simplest forms
of
truth and from fulfilling the most elementary demands of life.
It
robs him of time for reflection about himself and the world,
of
time for creative rest and creative work – in a word, of time to be a human
being, of time for life.
I
have made man speed-sick —"
"What
proofs can you show that you have done it?"
But
Woomp was obviously in no hurry to give the required explanation.
"Every
age," he said, "has its models, its idols, its tyrants.
The
dominant image of the day impresses itself upon man.
There
were times when people aped the Romans, in conversation,
in
talk, in dress and in their general way of life, times when they aped the
French or the Americans.
This
shows the tendency of man to copy those who at any particular time wield the
power.
We
see here a subconscious atavistic tendency in human nature towards
assimilation.
What
we observe is an effort to modify the severity of the ruling power by cultivating
a likeness to it.
Actually,
of course, this is tantamount to sacrificing our own individuality and assuming
that
of another, which, in effect, means that we subject ourselves to that
other."
"How
long are you going to go on boring me?" the Devil asked angrily.
"I'm
coming to the point," said Woomp. "Today the machine is master of the
world of man.
Its
characteristics are noise and rush.
The
machine, embodying as it does the most essential form of contemporary power,
impresses
its character on human life and man endeavours to copy his tyrant
so
that the latter may show him favour.
"Machines
must go on working in order to show a profit.
The
uninterrupted nature of production implies uninterrupted consumption
–
and here I must express thanks to my colleague in the Department of Living
Standards.
He
has helped me very considerably to spread this nerve-destroying rush.
He
fills men's ears with his Gospel and they hurry to earn all the money they can
so
as to be able to spend it on things that are actually quite useless."
"Look,"
said the Devil, with intense irritation. "I'm perfectly well aware of all
this.
Can't
you get on with it?"
Woomp
drew a deep breath.
"So,
with one thing and another, haste and speed have become ends in themselves.
Man
is busy for nothing and about nothing; he's always in a hurry but he creates
nothing.
He
rushes around and yet remains in one place, like a squirrel in a revolving
cage.
"Haste,
combined with physical movement wouldn't be too bad, but man makes haste today
without
moving at all and this restlessness in rest, this motionlessness of the body
combined
with
hurry in the mind, is my invention, Boss – a devilish invention.
It
destroys nerves and muscles together; it eats up strength. I'm proud of it. Men
rush
their
thinking and speaking, their eating and sleeping, at desks and at machines.
In
their free time, they rush off to pleasure, to the life of shadows,
and
it never dawns on them that they are losing true life altogether,
because
they have lost the possession of time.
They
sit motionless in their cars and race through the land.
The
travel mania, which only counts miles, drives them all over the earth
–
an earth which has lost its true character for them, even as they have lost
their own.
They
no longer know what is happening on even a relatively small section of their
homeland,
but
are ready to rush in their thousands to distant places.
What
are they looking for? Rest, recreation, reflection,
a
deepening of their knowledge and experience?
Not
a bit of it!
They
travel so as to be able to say they've been to a certain place.
The
new jet planes travel all round the earth, keeping pace with the sun.
Today,
you can get from Munich to New York in six hours."
"Well,
why shouldn't you?" said Groot.
"In
my opinion this is genuine progress, and a wonderful saving of time."
"A
saving of time ! For what? To give you the opportunity to hurry some more,
to
do more business and destroy the world more speedily than before,
to
bring about the ultimate catastrophe at an even earlier date?
Splendid
!
But
is time really being gained?
Hasn't
time rather been shrunk? In the final analysis, since time and life
are
really interchangeable terms, isn't it life that has been shrunk?
Rather,
hasn't life actually been lost? Take care, sir, the Devil never gives you
anything for nothing."
"Go
on, Woomp."
"Unrest
has been the means whereby I've devalued human life.
I've
liquidated man's leisure. Man no longer has time for himself, or for friendship
or love;
no
time for his family, no time, even, for his own children.
He
has no time for art or knowledge, no time for the quiet enjoyment of a book.
Thus
I've made of no account all the wisdom of man that lies stored in millions of
volumes
in
the libraries of the world. Nobody cares about it now.
"Man
has no time for inward recollection and so can no longer drink from the
fountains
of
his own strength. He no longer knows anything of the creative pause,
for
rest – the mother of strength – has become a stranger to him.
That's
why man can no longer bring forth a single compelling thought,
or
a single deed that's truly great. Rush has made him stupid and rush has made
him evil."
Woomp
paused fora moment, and it was the Devil who spoke.
"You
know, Woomp," he said, "I think you're doing rather a good job.
I
believe that I've under-estimated your department,
but
do let's have something a bit more concrete, will you?"
But
Woomp had carefully prepared what he had to say and was going to develop
the
argument in his own way. "Just as we an't think of the movement of a
machine
without
a noise, so rush is the source of noise in the world of man.
Both
have the same effects.
Even
as I destroyed leisure,
so
I also murdered silence and silence is the origin of all good things.
I've
given inan the intoxicating poison of noise and man has swallowed it 311d
developed the craving.
Noise
destroys the mind; it paralyses thought, and is the enemy of truth.
Noise
dries up the heart and empties the brain. Noise means the emptying of
man."
The
Boss was angry again. "Theories, theories ! " he cried.
But
Woomp was obstinate, and went on: "And even noise is infectious.
Noise
breeds noise.
The
more noise a man makes, the more noise others must make in order to hear themselves
speak
and so preserve their so-called egos. Anyone who has become a noise drunkard
can
no longer live without it. Noise drowns strength, goodness and love."
"Oh,
do let's have something concrete !
"Look
at the television screen."
"What's
this?"
"A
living brain, powerfully magnified. It belongs to one, Antonio Feschi, a
greengrocer in Rome,
via
Dante Aligheri 36. The patient is lying on the operating table, a part of his
skull has been removed,
the
hand which you see reaching into the picture from the side is that of Dr.
Alcide Mosso,
the
chief surgeon of the Clinic—"
"A
tumour?" asked Rolande. She was bending forward, eager h) see every
detail.
"A
tumour ! Watch what happens now."
In
this moment there was heard the sound of a church bell striking in one of the
churches of Rome.
Immediately
a wave of blood flooded the brain; it happened again and yet again.
Six
times the bell in the belfry sounded, and six times the brain was flooded,
following
the rhythm of the bell.
The
operation continued.
The
clock had stopped striking, the waves of blood had ceased to flow.
All
was quiet.
Suddenly
the wave of blood returned, though rather weaker than before.
"What
was that?" asked Harding.
"Dr.
Mosso cleared his throat. Signor Feschi's brain reacted immediately,
even
though he was under an anaesthetic." Woomp switched off.
"Why
did you show us that?" asked the Boss.
"To
prove that every sound produces a change in the rhythm of the blood
circulation."
"Surely
only in this particular case?" said Groot.
"No.
You've seen how the brain reacts to single noises,
and
you can now well imagine how it reacts to permanent noise,
or
to increases of noise beyond a certain point."
Groot
raised his eyebrows as though to show how little he was impressed.
"Noise
belongs to civilization, as a shadow is a part of light. People must get used
to it."
"There's
no such thing as getting used to it.
Every
third inhabitant of a civilized country suffers from noise-sickness,
though
he doesn't know it."
Groot
gave a superior smile.
"That
may be true of oversensitive people, or people who are already half-invalids.
I
get along very well with noise. Without the music of a great city I can't work
or even go to sleep.
When
I go into the country, the silence irritates me."
Now
it was Woomp's turn to smile. "If a drug addict said that the poison of
the drugs did him no harm,
because
he couldn't do without it, would you be prepared to admit that the addict
wasn't an addict
and
the poison wasn't a poison?"
"If
a man doesn't hear a noise, then that noise can do him no harm."
"My
agents have instructions to spread this utterly mistaken view among men,
so
that they may make even more noise than they're making already and may,
in
fact, devote themselves wholly to noise.
People
think they've got used to noise, but they are ignorant of the hidden harm that
it is doing them."
The
Boss turned to Woomp. "What actual pathological symptoms should be
attributed
to
the effects of noise?"
"Feelings
of numbness, nervous excitability, impaired sense of balance,
vascular
and heart diseases, anaemia, hyperanaemia of the skin, of the brain,
neuroses,
stomach ulcers, and disturbances of the digestive tract."
Groot
was unconvinced. "What influence," he said, "can noise possibly
have on the digestion?"
"It
has been definitely proved that under the influence of noise the activity of
the stomach walls
is
diminished, as is the peristaltic action of the bowels."
"Go
on," said the Devil.
"Waves
of sound pass through the ears and through the bones of the skull to the outer
brain,
and
produce headaches, over-sensitivity, sleeplessness and conditions of fear,
tiredness
and primarily dullness, with complete lack of interest in anything."
The
Boss nodded; he was obviously well pleased. "A condition of the human
soul which
is
of great value to us for the attainment of our ends."
Rolande
turned to Woomp. "The symptoms you have mentioned are very similar
to
those of what we call the 'Manager Disease'."
"Yes,"
answered the Devil, "and a number of my Department Heads have been
responsible
for
bringing this disease into existence and spreading it far and wide."
But
Woomp, who was in full flood, was not to be diverted.
"Noise,"
he said, "is one of the most terrible and torturing punishments to which
I
have condemned mankind. It excites a physical and mental state of alarm which
arises
and
maintains itself even in sleep. The final consequences of persistent noise area
weakening
of
the power of resistance, complete unfitness for work and a lowering of
intelligence."
"Very
useful in my battle against the mind," said the Devil.
"Nor
can the political and sociological importance of noise be underestimated.
Noise
destroys individuality. It extinguishes human personality.
It
helps in the development of the mass mind, of collective thinking, of
dictatorship.
He
who needs slaves must make noise in music. Music like my own."
The
Devil nodded. "I like your music very well, Woomp."
"Believe
me, I've worked at my job. To give you just one little instance,
it
was I who invented the unceasing racket of our many-storeyed living machines
and
I cannot praise too highly the architectural incompetence and lust for profit
which
has resulted in these sound-transmitting walls and floors.
Then
I've done my best to intensify traffic so that the hellish symphony of street
noises
may
grow louder with every year. In ten years this volume of noise has doubled,
with
increasing damage to health. The unbroken surfaces of modem buildings make
them
into excellent sounding boards, especially when – thanks to our architects
–
they are made of cement and glass."
"What
about thunder?" asked Harding, "that's a noise that nature makes
every day."
Woomp
nodded. "Admittedly, but thunder is a short sound. It's the lasting noises
of
similar intensity that go beyond the endurable limit.
Very
strong noise can kill.
Take
the noise of aircraft. It can upset the nerves of cattle,
produce
premature births and a reduction in the milk supply.
I've
every hope that through increasing air traffic,
it
will be possible to make the hell of modern noise even more agonizing than it
is at present."
The
Devil smiled. "It seems to me he's a stout fellow, this Woomp. I'll have
to promote him."
Woomp
continued. "I have made men deaf to noise.
Unfortunately,
human nature still shows its capacity for protecting the organisms.
Sensitivity
to hearing has fallen by 15 per cent in the towns and by 5 per cent in the
country."
"You
count that as protection?" interjected Rolande. "As a positive gain?
I
could only look upon growing deafness as a disability —“'
"In
a world governed by diabolical principles, concepts change their meaning,
mademoiselle.
Your
hearing gets worse, and so you think you can make all the more noise.
That's
why you think nothing of subjecting man to the terror of building noise,
traffic
noise and factory noise and look upon anyone who objects to this as a fool.
It's
natural enough. Noise is the characteristic mark of barbarism and stupidity,
and
if the noise of modern life is indeed a valid measuring rod, both are on the
increase."
"Excellent,
Woomp."
"Since
noise makes people stupid and brutal, those who make a noise never realize
that
they're not only doing physical damage to their fellow men, but are actually
robbing them,
since
they deprive them of the peaceful possession of their property."
"Anything
else?"
"There's
one consequence of noise that's particularly serious. It upsets the
intellectual worker,
who
is usually a town resident, and that's why I've gone out of my way to make the
towns
particularly
noisy places, places where men's spiritual, mental and physical health
is
bound to be undermined. Since the towns claim the right to make all the
decisions
that
really matter, (here's no doubt that it is to the hellish noise of these places
that
we can attribute the blunders and stupidities of politics and administration
and,
for
that matter, of art and science."
"That
sounds a bit exaggerated. I'm quite satisfied, but that doesn't mean
that
you must get above yourself."
Woomp
pretended he had not heard what had been said, and went on.
"Not
that I've neglected the country; I've killed silence there, quite effectively.
The
country needs rest if it is to remain alive since unnatural noises defile a
countryside.
I've
done all I could to maximize that defilement. Wherever you get a village in a
valley,
you
would hear the echo of the traffic right up to the surrounding mountains;
yes,
right up to their peak. Tractors, cars, omnibuses, have drowned the peace of
the countryside
almost
wherever you go. There's hardly a forest which is not made vile by the
everlasting
sound
of engines. Our forest roads should be open to motor traffic for the benefit
of
the tourist industry.
The
result is that against the payment of a toll this traffic can now pass along
numbers of roads
which
had been closed to it."
"The
immediate effect," said Sten, "will be an increase of business for
the tourist industry
but
soon those who are seeking a real holiday and are ready to get along without a
car
will
migrate to those parts of the country that are still quiet and unspoiled."
"Don't
worry! I'll spoil them quickly enough," said Woomp.
"Indeed,
I've already largely done so.
I've
even liquidated the traditional nocturnal quiet of the sleeping earth.
In
the evening, when the tractor-driver wearily steps from his machine,
his
relief is already at hand.
He
switches on the searchlight and goes on with his ploughing or whatever he's
doing till half-way
through
the night, or even until dawn.
The
earth no longer sleeps.”
Groot
looked up.
"A
man with a tractor," he said, "gets as much done as ten men with ten
pairs of horses.
It's
absolutely obvious and absolutely inevitable that the farmer will sooner or
later start
working
with machines. It's ridiculous to reproach him with this, let alone to forbid
him to do it."
"Of
course it is, Mr. Groot," said the Boss, "and we're only too anxious
to encourage him.
Indeed,
it's the mark of the devil all over the world that what he tries to get people
to
do is always self-evidently right and necessary, natural, logical, unavoidable
and,
above
all, economical."
"But
why all this fuss about a bit of noise in the countryside?"
said
Groot. As usual, his manner was overbearing.
"After
all, who hears it?"
The
Devil answered him. "I understand why you should ask that.
You're
an engineer, a technician, and so nature and the land seem unimportant to you.
But
man and the land are one. Remember that. If the soul of the land dies,
the
soul of man dies along with it."
"And
it is with the death of the soul that we are concerned," Woomp broke in.
"I
have bathed it in noise, and in noise it forgets how to breathe.
Noise
violates it, destroying feeling and conscience. Noise is my form of hypnosis,
from
which no man can escape. I have enslaved man. I have interfered with the rhythm
that
is native to him. I have broken up the very essence of his being.
I
have used the uproar of the outer world, to cut him off from the world within,
to
cut him off from his humanity and from the only life that is real."
* *
* * * *