Prelude to Foundation

“Yes. Would you have heard that this was so?”

“What do you mean by ‘supernaturalistic’?”

“The obvious. A belief in entities that are independent of natural law, that are not bound by the conservation of energy, for instance, or by the existence of a constant of action.”

“I see. You’re asking if Mycogen is a religious community.”

It was Seldon’s turn. “Religious?”

“Yes. It’s an archaic term, but we historians use it-our study is riddled with archaic terms. ‘Religious’ is not precisely equivalent to ‘supernaturalistic,’ though it contains richly supernaturalistic elements. I can’t answer your specific question, however, because I’ve never made any special investigation of Mycogen. Still, from what little I’ve seen of the place and from my knowledge of religions in history, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Mycogenian society was religious in character.”

“In that case, would it surprise you if Mycogenian legends were also religious in character?”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“And therefore not based on historical matter?”

“That wouldn’t necessarily follow. The core of the legends might still be authentically historic, allowing for distortion and supernaturalistic intermixture.”

“Ah,” said Seldon and seemed to retire into his thoughts.

Finally Dors broke the silence that followed and said, “It’s not so uncommon, you know. There is a considerable religious element on many worlds. It’s grown stronger in the last few centuries as the Empire has grown more turbulent. On my world of Ci

Seldon was again painfully and regretfully conscious of his ignorance of history. He said, “Were there times in past history when religion was more prominent than it is today?”

“Certainly. In addition, there are new varieties springing up constantly. The Mycogenian religion, whatever it might be, could be relatively new and may be restricted to Mycogen itself. I couldn’t really tell without considerable study.”

“But now we get to the point of it, Dors. Is it your opinion that women are more apt to be religious than men are?”

Dors Venabili raised her eyebrows. “I’m not sure if we can assume anything as simple as that.” She thought a bit. “I suspect that those elements of a population that have a smaller stake in the material natural world are more apt to find solace in what you call supernaturalism-the poor, the disinherited, the downtrodden. Insofar as supernaturalism overlaps religion, they may also be more religious. There are obviously many exceptions in both directions. Many of the downtrodden may lack religion; many of the rich, powerful, and satisfied may possess it.”

“But in Mycogen,” said Seldon, “where the women seem to be treated as subhuman-would I be right in assuming they would be more religious than the men, more involved in the legends that the society has been preserving?”

“I wouldn’t risk my life on it, Hari, but I’d be willing to risk a week’s income on it.”

“Good,” said Seldon thoughtfully.

Dors smiled at him. “There’s a bit of your psychohistory, Hari. Rule number 47,854: The downtrodden are more religious than the satisfied.”

Seldon shook his head. “Don’t joke about psychohistory, Dors. You know I’m not looking for tiny rules but for vast generalizations and for means of manipulation. I don’t want comparative religiosity as the result of a hundred specific rules. I want something from which I can, after manipulation through some system of mathematicized logic, say, ‘Aha, this group of people will tend to be more religious than that group, provided that the following criteria are met, and that, therefore, when humanity meets with these stimuli, it will react with these responses.’ ”

“How horrible,” said Dors. “You are picturing human beings as simple mechanical devices. Press this button and you will get that twitch.”

“No, because there will be many buttons pushing simultaneously to varying degrees and eliciting so many responses of different sorts that overall the predictions of the future will be statistical in nature, so that the individual human being will remain a free agent.”

“How can you know this?”

“I can’t,” said Seldon. “At least, I don’t know it. I feel it to be so. It is what I consider to be the way things ought to be. If I can find the axioms, the fundamental Laws of Humanics, so to speak, and the necessary mathematical treatment, then I will have my psychohistory. I have proved that, in theory, this is possible-”

“But impractical, right?”

“I keep saying so.”

A small smile curved Dors’s lips, “Is that what you are doing, Hari, looking for some sort of solution to this problem?”

“I don’t know. I swear to you I don’t know. But Chetter Hummin is so anxious to find a solution and, for some reason, I am anxious to please him. He is so persuasive a man.”

“Yes, I know.”

Seldon let that comment pass, although a small frown flitted across his face. Seldon continued. “Hummin insists the Empire is decaying, that it will collapse, that psychohistory is the only hope for saving it-or cushioning it or ameliorating it-and that without it humanity will be destroyed or, at the very least, go through prolonged misery. He seems to place the responsibility for preventing that on me. Now, the Empire will certainly last my time, but if I’m to live at ease, I must lift that responsibility from my shoulders. I must convince myself-and even convince Hummin-that psychohistory is not a practical way out that, despite theory, it ca

“Leads? Like going back in history to a time when human society was smaller than it is now?”

“Much smaller. And far less complex.”

“And showing that a solution is still impractical?”

“Yes.”

“But who is going to describe the early world for you? If the Mycogenians have some coherent picture of the primordial Galaxy, Sunmaster certainly won’t reveal it to a tribesman. No Mycogenian will. This is an ingrown society-how many times have we already said it?-and its members are suspicious of tribesmen to the point of paranoia. They’ll tell us nothing.”

“I will have to think of a way to persuade some Mycogenians to talk. Those Sisters, for instance.”

“They won’t even hear you, male that you are, any more than Sunmaster hears me. And even if they do talk to you, what would they know but a few catch phrases?”

“I must start somewhere.”

Dors said, “Well, let me think. Hummin says I must protect you and I interpret that as meaning I must help you when I can. What do I know about religion? That’s nowhere near my specialty, you know. I have always dealt with economic forces, rather than philosophic forces, but you can’t split history into neat little nonoverlapping divisions. For instance, religions tend to accumulate wealth when successful and that eventually tends to distort the economic development of a society. There, incidentally, is one of the numerous rules of human history that you’ll have to derive from your basic Laws of Humanics or whatever you called them. But…”

And here, Dors’s voice faded away as she lapsed into thought. Seldon watched her cautiously and Dors’s eyes glazed as though she was looking deep within herself.

Finally she said, “This is not an invariable rule, but it seems to me that on many occasions, a religion has a book-or books-of significance; books that give their ritual, their view of history, their sacred poetry, and who knows what else. Usually, those books are open to all and are a means of proselytization. Sometimes they are secret.”

“Do you think Mycogen has books of that sort?”

“To be truthful,” said Dors thoughtfully, “I have never heard of any. I might have if they existed openly-which means they either don’t exist or are kept secret. In either case, it seems to me you are not going to see them.”