His Master's Voice by Stanisław Lem

First published:Gos pana, 1968 (English translation, 1983)

Type of work: Science fiction

Time of work: The 1960’s

Locale: A huge science project center in the desert Southwest

Principal Characters:

• Peter E. Hogarth, a mathematician, author of the memoir which comprises the bulk of the novel
• Saul Rappaport, the first legitimate scientist to obtain the communication from space
• Donald Prothero, a scientist who, with Hogarth, discovers the weapons potential of the communication
• Eugene Nye, the Pentagon’s representative on the Project

The Novel

The title of Stanisław Lem’s novel His Master’s Voice is taken from a nickname given by scientists to a possible communication from outer space: a stream of subatomic particles (neutrinos) in a recurring pattern. The prob-lem which the scientists face is to “read” the pattern, thereby determining its content, sender, and purpose. To accomplish this task, the United States government assembles the nation’s best scientific minds in the desert South-west, in a research facility once devoted to work on the atom bomb. The bulk of the novel is composed of a memoir of one of those scientists, the late mathematician Peter E. Hogarth. A brief “Editor’s Note,” written by Professor Thomas W. Warren, prefaces the memoir. Hogarth’s memoir can, in fact, be read on at least three separate levels: as a simple history of the Project; as a meditation on the nature of the scientific process, especially when faced with uncertainty; and as a meditation on the interplay of communal pursuit and individual personality.

That Hogarth (as well as Stanisław Lem) is interested in more than a straightforward account of events is suggested by the rather lengthy preface to the memoir, in which crucial events in the history of the Project are virtually ignored in favor of more general speculation on the interplay of good/evil and responsibility/lack of choice. Even in chapter 1 of the memoir, Hogarth seems in no hurry to discuss events or even to pique the reader’s interest. Indeed, in violation of all rules of suspense-building, Hogarth announces at the outset that the Project was a failure, that the scientists learned nothing for certain about the communication—if, indeed, it was such. At this point in the novel, rather than speculating on the Project and its failure, Hogarth seems more interested in discoursing on the unwillingness of scientists (and people in general) to accept any phenomenon outside the realm of what they already know. This line of thought continues throughout the second chapter, in which Hogarth addresses the limits of science and the relationship between science and the scientist as a fallible human.

Not until chapter 3 does Hogarth turn his attention to the “letter from space” and the Project itself. The neutrino emission was discovered by accident, and the pattern detected in the emission seemed to indicate that it was created and sent by an intelligent life form. Once the implications of the discovery become clear, a massive research project is organized by the American government, and eventually Hogarth is asked to join the scientists, who, after a year of work, have reached no more than provocative dead ends.

Hogarth achieves a major success shortly after joining the Project by mathematically proving (or so it seems) that the pattern describes a phenomenon—as opposed to, for example, saying “Hello.” It is characteristic of Hogarth’s honesty that he himself is less taken with this success than others, and he finally acknowledges that he really accomplished very little.

Hogarth’s theory, however, is applauded by others who have already attempted to use the emission as a tool. Working independently, physicists and chemical biologists have used the emission to create a substance—a sort of organic goo—whose properties defy some of nature’s laws. Hogarth himself is more interested in a discovery made by the eminent biologist, Romney: that the emission when concentrated on certain macromolecules seems to make them more resistant to decay. The same macromolecules are the basis for living organisms; hence, the emission seems to propagate and enhance life. From this discovery Hogarth formulates the theory that he never really abandons: that the sender is a benevolent higher form who has, for eons perhaps, been sowing the seeds of life throughout the universe.

All previous theories are soon overshadowed by a discovery which is made by Donald Prothero: that “frog eggs”—the nickname given to the organic goo—appears to have frightening potential as a weapon. Prothero shares his findings with Hogarth, and the two are torn between the desire to verify the findings and the fear of how this weapon would be used by man. They try to work on the findings in secret, but inevitably their activities are discovered. Pentagon officials descend on the Project and take charge of all operations. In outrage, several of the top scientists, including Hogarth, resign, but they agree to return to the Project in exchange for token concessions.

The novel winds down quickly from this point. “Frog eggs,” it turns out, has no potential as a weapon. Some of the new scientists on the Project offer original and interesting theories about the emission, but the very number and variety of theories reinforce the suspicion that the scientists will never know much at all, with certainty, about the emission. At the end, Hogarth clings to his theory of a benevolent higher civilization sending a life signal, but neither he nor the reader has great confidence in his belief.

The Characters

Even such a brief summary of the plot as the foregoing should suggest that Lem is not primarily interested in simply spinning a good yarn. It must be admitted that not much exciting action transpires in the novel; indeed, Lem’s strategy seems to be to deflate potentially dramatic situations—the “frog eggs”-as-weapon scenario, for example. Lem is far more interested in the characters and how they react to events than in the events themselves.

Especially in the preface and the first two chapters but also elsewhere in the novel, Lem (or Hogarth) suspends discussion of the action to meditate on personality in general, especially the personality of scientists. For example, while the other scientists are studying the neutrino emission, Hogarth speculates that it might be equally productive to study the scientists themselves from an anthropological perspective. He concludes that while they thought that they were analyzing the “letter from space,” the scientists were actually, intentionally or not, attempting “to discern the presence of what lay, first and foremost, within ourselves.”

These speculations on the nature of the scientist are not at all irrelevant to the central action. The reader learns at the outset that the Project was a failure; what is not so clear is why it failed. Hogarth believes that the answer lies within the flawed nature of the scientist, whom “we must have...incorruptible, ideal.” By implication, the scientist is far from incorruptible or ideal, and in analyzing the Project’s failure one must consider if each scientist “represented only himself, with the inspiration for his hypotheses about the contents of the ‘letter’ being supplied by his own—possibly raving, possibly wounded—psyche in its uncontrollable regions.”

Hogarth’s interest in his fellow scientists is manifested in lengthy block descriptions of their physical appearance, intellectual capacity, mannerisms, emotional health, and personal histories. For all the description, however, the secondary characters never pulse with much life for the reader, perhaps because of the suspicion that Hogarth—in all of his speculations on a variety of persons and topics—is revealing more about himself than about others. Indeed, rather than asking why the Project failed, one might more properly ask, why did Hogarth fail?

Hogarth assesses himself with a surprising honesty: “The fundamental traits of my character I consider to be cowardice, malice, and pride.” While one might applaud his honesty, one would not consider such traits desirable in a scientist or anyone else. Unfortunately, Hogarth’s assessment is all too accurate, at least in regard to malice and pride.

It is significant that, brilliant mathematician though Hogarth is, the project directors wait more than a year—until the various specialists seem to be at an impasse—before inviting him to join. Their wariness no doubt stems from the fact that Hogarth’s virtues as a scientist carry as many negative connotations as positive. He might help in breaking the impasse because he is an “iconoclast.” Seen in a positive light, Hogarth’s iconoclasm allows him to be less rigid, more receptive to theories that violate preconceived expectations. In practice, however, his iconoclasm is largely cynical and supercilious.

The destructiveness of his method—based upon the destructiveness of his personality—is most clearly seen in the absence of any significant contribution by Hogarth to the Project. He contributes, in fact, nothing of value. His theory of the benevolent civilization is based entirely on Romney’s research; Hogarth offers no evidence of any nature to support his theory.

To his credit, Hogarth admits to all these failings and at the end returns to and applies to himself his suspicion that the scientific method cannot be divorced from or superior to the scientist wielding it:

Can it simply be that, stung for so long by humiliations...I spun for myself—in the image and likeness of my own hopes—the only equivalent available to me of holiness: the myth of the Annunciation and Revelation, which I then—also to blame—rejected as much out of ignorance as ill will?

Critical Context

His Master’s Voice is a prime example of the intellectual vigor and honesty that have established Lem in the eyes of many as the greatest contemporary science-fiction writer. Unlike the “space operas” of early science fiction or the inferior efforts of many of his contemporaries, Lem’s novels rest on a solid understanding of scientific principles; he has been able to extend science into imaginative dramatizations of the convincingly possible rather than willfully distorting science into fantasy and melodrama: no bug-eyed monsters for Lem, no cheap apocalypses.

At least as important as Lem’s profound intellectual vigor is his honesty. Lem is one of the few science-fiction writers who have been brave and honest enough not to give the reader all the answers. He recognizes the limitations as well as the exhilarating potential of science, and he is imaginative enough to make limitation and failure interesting subjects for fiction—as His Master’s Voice attests.

While these qualities are found in varying degrees in all Lem’s novels, His Master’s Voice may more specifically be seen as a companion piece to a later novel, Fiasko (1986; Fiasco, 1987). Here, a research team not unlike the one in His Master’s Voice has found evidence of life on a distant planet, and a spaceship is sent out to make contact. The chief problem is how to communicate with the life form. Once again, the situation is complicated by politics, fear of the unknown, the limitations of science, and man’s innate fallibility. And once again, Lem refuses to provide all the answers.

Bibliography

Engel, Peter, and John Sigma. “An Interview with Stanisław Lem,” in The Missouri Review. VII (1984), pp. 218-237.

Library Journal. CVIII, January 15, 1983, p. 147.

The New York Times Book Review. LXXXVIII, March 20, 1983, p. 7.

Observer. December 18, 1983, p. 28.

Potts, Stephen W. “Dialogues Concerning Human Understanding: Empirical Views of God from Locke to Lem,” in Bridges to Science Fiction, 1980.

Publishers Weekly. CCXXII, December 17, 1982, p. 65.

Scarborough, John. “Stanisław Lem, 1921-,” in Science Fiction Writers: Critical Studies of the Major Authors from the Early Nineteenth Century to the Present Day, 1982.

Ziegfeld, Richard E. Stanisław Lem, 1985.

Zirkovic, Zoran. “The Future Without a Future: An Interview with Stanisław Lem,” in The Pacific Quarterly. IV (1979), pp. 255-259.