Demodocus

       “The herald now entered, bringing in the worthy poet Demodocus, a singer upon whom the Muse had showered every gift of wondrous song. He had been given the power to rouse the soul to ecstasy and to delight the ear. But not without pain had he received her boon, for the Muse had taken away his sight that he might better attend to her song”

                                                           (The Odyssey, Book 8, Lines 71-75)

          Ever since their chance encounter with the Fenachrone battle cruiser (way back 

in Chapter 4), Seaton and his companions knew that the fate of the galaxy hung on the merest thread. For they had learned that the doomed ship had, just moments before its destruction, managed to dispatch a torpedo to its home planet with an account of the battle. There was no doubt whatsoever that once that message was received, a terrible vengeance would be wreaked upon both the Earth and Osnome unless Seaton could somehow learn of a way to combat the Fenachrone superiority in weaponry in time. 

But the clock was ticking, and every hour that passed only brought their seemingly inevitable doom that much closer.

     But once they had made contact with the Norlaminians, and their staggering knowledge of matter and energy became apparent, the crew of the Skylark could breathe a sigh of relief, assured that their quest had been successful. They would triumph. Seaton called for a celebration:

“We ought to be able to take ‘em, with the Norlaminians backing us. … I’ll bet they’ll be able to work out some solution. Relieved? That don’t tell the half of it, guy – I feel like I’d just pitched off the Old Man of the Sea who’s been riding on my neck! What say you girls get your fiddle and guitar and we’ll sing us a little song? I feel good – they had me worried – it’s the first time I’ve felt like singing since we cut that warship up.”

     And sing they did, uninhibitedly, under the (totally mistaken) assumption that, billions of miles away from the nearest listening ear, they could sing for pure enjoyment and not for an audience.

     Two days later, as the period for exercise had ended and that of relaxation begun, Orlon, their Norlaminian host, asked whether they’d care to hear some of his world’s music, “it [being] so different from your own.” At the end of the performance, Orlon asked Mrs. Seaton what she thought of it. The ensuing exchange, being arguably the finest writing Edward Elmer Smith, PhD, a.k.a., “Doc” Smith, would ever achieve in his long and illustrious career, bears quoting (practically) in full:

     “What did you think of it, Mrs. Seaton? Orlon asked, when the symphony was ended.

     “Marvelous!” breathed Dorothy, awed. “I never imagined anything like it. I can’t begin to tell you how much I like it. I never dreamed of such absolute perfection of execution, and the way the lighting accompanies the theme is just too perfectly wonderful for words! It was wonderfully, incredibly brilliant.”

     "Brilliant - yes. Perfectly executed - yes. But I notice that you say nothing of depth of feeling or of emotional appeal." Dorothy blushed uncomfortably and started to say something, but Orion silenced her and continued: "You need not apologize. I had a reason for speaking as I did, for in you I recognize a real musician, and our music is indeed entirely soulless. That is the result of our ancient civilization. We are so old that our music is purely intellectual, entirely mechanical, instead of emotional. It is perfect, but, like most of our other arts, it is almost completely without feeling. … Attend!"

     At one end of the room, as upon a three-dimensional screen, the four Terrestrials saw themselves seated in the control-room of the Skylark. They saw and heard Margaret take up her guitar and strike four sonorous chords in "A". Then, as if they had been there in person, they heard themselves sing "The Bull-Frog" and all the other songs they had sung, far off in space. They heard Margaret suggest that Dorothy play some "real music", and heard Seaton's comments upon the quartette. "In that, youngster, you were entirely wrong," said Orion, stopping the reproduction for a moment. "The entire planet was listening to you very attentively - we were enjoying it as no music has been enjoyed for thousands of years. … When you have time, in some period of labor, we would appreciate it very much if you four would sing for us again, would give us more of your vast store of youthful music, for we can now preserve it exactly as it is sung. But much as we enjoyed the quartette, Mrs. Seaton, it was your work upon the violin that took us by storm. Beginning with tomorrow, my companion intends to have you spend as many periods as you will, playing for our records. We shall now have your music."

     "If you like it so well, wouldn't you rather I'd play you something I hadn't played before?"

     "That is labor. We could not..."

     "Piffle!" Dorothy interrupted. "Don't you see that I could really play right now, to somebody who really enjoys music; whereas if I tried to play in front of a recorder I'd be perfectly mechanical?"

     " 'At-a-girl, Dot! I'll get your fiddle." … 

     Dorothy swept into "The Melody in F", and as the poignantly beautiful strains poured forth from that wonderful violin she knew that she had her audience with her. Though so intellectual that they themselves were incapable of producing music of real depth of feeling, they could understand and could enjoy such music with an appreciation impossible to a people of lesser mental attainments; and their profound enjoyment of her playing, burned into her mind by the telepathic, almost hypnotic power of the Norlaminian mentality, raised her to heights she had never before attained. Playing as one inspired she went through one tremendous solo after another—holding her listeners spellbound, urged on by their intense feeling to carry them further and ever further into the realm of pure emotional harmony. The bell which ordinarily signaled the end of the period of relaxation did not sound; for the first time in thousands of years the planet of Norlamin deserted its rigid schedule of life - to listen to one Earth-woman, pouring out her very soul upon her incomparable violin.

     The final note of "Memories" died away in a diminuendo wail, and the musician almost collapsed into Seaton's arms. The profound silence, more impressive far than any possible applause, was broken by Dorothy.

     "There - I'm all right now, Dick. I was about out of control for a minute. I wish they could have had that on a recorder - I'll never be able to play like that again if I live to be a thousand years old."

     "It is on record, daughter. Every note and every inflection is preserved, precisely as you played it," Orion assured her. "That is our only excuse for allowing you to continue as you did, almost to the point of exhaustion. While we cannot really understand an artistic mind of the peculiar type to which yours belongs, yet we realized that each time you play you are doing something no one, not even yourself, can ever do again in precisely the same subtle fashion. Therefore we allowed, in fact encouraged, you to go on as long as that creative impulse should endure—not merely for our own pleasure in hearing it, great though that pleasure was; but in the hope that our workers in music could, by a careful analysis of your product, determine quantitatively the exact vibrations or overtones which make the difference between emotional and intellectual music."

      Read that final line again, and this time not just for the humor of it, but for what it says about all of our ever-so-misguided debates over the supposed “conflict” between science and religion. Sadly, for all the ink spilled and syllables uttered on the subject, there ought never to have been any conflict. For just as one would never dream of using a hammer to drive in a screw, or a wrench to dig a hole - in the pursuit of Truth, different tools are required for differing tasks. If you wish to know the mechanics of wave erosion on a beach, nothing beats precision measurement and accurate recording of data. If you want to find out whether a new medicine will benefit those suffering from some ailment, there’s nothing better than a double blind test with a control group and use of placebos to obtain unbiased results. But when you want to know whether a particular business practice is ethical or not, no amount of laboratory testing is going to help you in the least, whereas a quiet hour or two with Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales, or perhaps Solzhenitsyn's The First Circle, could well give you the answer you’re searching for. If you’re agonizing over whether you ought to propose marriage to the woman you think you love, don’t hope for a solution from any computer simulation or chemistry textbook. Your time would be better spent listening to Rachmaninoff’s Symphony Number 2, or in sitting under a shady tree in the nearest park, watching the clouds pass overhead. And if you’re agonizing over a job offer that means upending your life for the prospect of an increased income, a bit of extra time spent in silent prayer before Mass, or a Rosary or two before bedtime, would assuredly give you a more definitive answer than working out the variables using a Bayesian Decision Model.

     The Norlaminians may well have attained to the summits of scientific knowledge, but somewhere along the way they lost track of their soul, and that loss was keenly felt. It took the sublime art of Dorothy Seaton (who not that long before her bravura performance told her husband the following: “I'm going to leave you for a while. I can't really understand even a radio, and just thinking about those funny, complicated rays and things you are going after makes me dizzy in the head.”) to help them recover it… That is, if they did. Orlon’s closing words cause one to doubt.

     Not long ago, I chanced upon a letter that British composer Ralph Vaughan Williams had written to Swaffham Primary School, after he learned that a House there was to be named after him: “I am very much pleased to think that one of your Houses is going to bear my name. I am myself a musician and I believe that all the arts, and especially music, are necessary for a full life. The practical side of living of course is important, and this, I feel sure is well taught in your school: such things teach you how to make your living. But music will show you what to do with your life. It is necessary to know facts, but music will enable you to see past facts to the very essence of things in a way which science cannot do. The arts are the means by which we can look through the magic casements and see what lies beyond.” (my emphasis)

Odysseus, the great teller of tales, launched out on his story:

“Alcinous, majesty, shining among your island people,

What a fine thing it is to listen to such a bard

As we have here – the man sings like a god.

The crown of life, I’d say. There’s nothing better

Than when deep joy holds sway throughout the realm

And banqueters up and down the palace sit in ranks,

Enthralled to hear the bard, …

This, to my mind, is the best that life can offer.”

                                                           (The Odyssey, Book 9, Lines 1-8, 11)