#i'm prepared to fuckin yoshimitsu this bitch

[vvatchword]

Metamorphosis

When Dr. Lamb published Metamorphosis, it was by her own hand. No publisher in Rapture would touch it.

“Why the hell did you come down here?” asked one, throwing the manuscript at her across his desk.

“It could not have been written had I not,” she said.

A simple cover in white linen. Embossed on the front, a jellyfish with its tentacles outflung, suggesting the shape of sun beaming down, and below, its larval stage, like a shining pearl.

“The chain of industry is characterized as a force outside of us,” wrote Dr. Lamb in her foreword, “but industry cannot and does not exist outside of human beings. Does industry form spontaneously from the earth? Does it emerge from any species other than our own? No. If it cannot exist outside of mankind, then mankind makes up its fabric, psychology, and utility, and it is foolish to ignore the donations of his time and body. Instead of representing the chain as a spiritual force above mankind, we are served better by imagining every link as an individual human life that exerts pressure on all its neighbors—a pressure which can be detected across the whole of the system itself.”

“Read at the Expense of Your Self!” wailed The Rapture Tribune.

“The Pinkos’ Little White Book!” howled The Rapture Daily Post.

“Eleanor Lamb’s Secret Father,” winked Do Tell!, which was, as always, ahead of the times.

Despite the cries of critics, the book was purchased in droves and ordered by bookstores all over Rapture. By the time the major publishers finally descended to beg forgiveness, Dr. Lamb had founded her own publisher and needed them no more. The little white building sat directly beside her own, churning out a hundred copies per day.

Most unconventional were the prices she exacted. For its wholesale price, she asked for $0.10 per book, well under market standards; from people, she asked what they would prefer to pay. “Free” was always an option.

“By demanding space between each other,” Dr. Lamb wrote, “we have only grown mad for human connection. Any promise of social interaction becomes as powerful as a drug; even the educated find themselves incapable of resisting the most questionable charlatans, and for such tawdry payment as ‘physical touch’ and ‘a listening ear.’ This physical need for touch, this psychological need for understanding, are basic requirements of every human body; not only do we ignore them at the peril of our individual emotional and physical wellbeings, we ignore them at the peril of our society’s.”

Andrew Ryan’s Sunday editorial spat acid.

“Beware the charlatan who rouges the words of science,” he wrote. “Prove that adult human beings require selflessness, Dr. Lamb: you will find a cash prize in your mailbox as soon as you do. Citizens: beware the morass of selfless living. Remember that to be selfless is to sell yourself to another’s service. And for what? The pitiful paycheck of social approbation? One must ask oneself: ‘What does Dr. Lamb gain from the sale of my soul?’”

Dr. Lamb’s editorial sprawled below his:

“Ryan is obsessed with the ‘tyrant.’ What is a tyrant? The tyrant is an individual who demands his wellbeing at the expense of all others; he suffers from the terror of victimization and the unpredictability of groups. When the tyrant views a world of plenty, he does not relax with the knowledge he shall be well; he glances aside at his fellow man and sees robbers. He fears he shall be excluded to the same extent that he would exclude them. Incapable of judging the true extent of his need and unwilling to try, he says, ‘All or nothing!’

“To the tyrant, selfishness is primarily viewed as a matter of survival: ‘If I have survived,’ he says, ‘it is because I have defeated others in order to perpetuate myself.’ Note that the tyrant describes his own manner of ascent; he does not explore alternative modes; he does not face down his own fears or heal his own psychological wounds. By fabricating a toxic environment where only he may prosper, he subjects a captive audience to his personal poison.”

In the first few weeks after the book was published, people could be seen wearing white hatbands or white ribbons on their arms—first by the handful; then the dozens; then the hundreds.

“All of us have dealt with the destructive nature of selflessness or we would not be here. Well do we understand the sacrifices demanded for the sakes of society, God, government, kings—always others, never ourselves. The erasure of our boundaries; strangers asking us to give and give and give even when we have nothing left; the theft of our time and our physical wellness and our labor with no acknowledgment or return. But if we can freely admit the failures of selflessness, we would be remiss if we did not examine those in selfishness. The true question is not which mode of thought is better; the question is, ‘In what context is it best utilized?’”

True Believers gathered on the street corners and watched her building, smoking cheap cigarettes.

“The astute reader will note that these beliefs are not limited to tyrants. Central to the philosophy is fear of attack and a citizenry at constant war with itself. But why should the philosophy fear attack in a modern society made up only of its constituents? Have we not invited only the best of mankind? Why, then, is it wrapped up in the terms of war? Who is fighting whom, and why? Why must all human interactions be defined by the brutality of battle? Why the expectation of destruction instead of that of diplomacy, friendship, communion, education, or art?

“And think of the outcome: for it is one thing to destroy the parasite—but here we destroy paragons, those who believe everything we hold dear, who possess incredible abilities and knowledge that might uplift us all—who, left to their own devices on the surface, might have brought that Sodom to some greater understanding.”

The buildings beside Lamb’s went up in white, one by one by one.

“How many geniuses toil here in obscurity? Have we taken them from the surface only to destroy them? What use is a destroyed glory? Who knows how many beautiful things we have lured down here to die? What use is the philosophy if it only benefits a few, if it upholds the monochrome monolith over the multi-faceted glories of ten thousand teeming brains? What happens when an environment has been tooled to benefit the few over the many?”

A pamphlet began passing around the Drop, ripped from the book and printed rogue by some starry-eyed stranger:

“The philosophy’s intent is to glorify the best in humankind. But what is the reality? It is this: the powerful destroys the powerless. What is the powerful? He who retains the most material goods, social currency, or physical strength—none of which depend on the quality of the idea, but the transmission of it.

“If the idea could come alone, by itself, and be instantly understood, this would be one thing; but all ideas come couched in human beings. Will a Negro scientist with poor diction and no funds fare better than a white Adonis with a charismatic disposition and a tycoon father? In my position, I have met many of the former and none of the latter.

“Why do we expect that the most excellent idea comes couched in power? Perhaps it is to justify the powerful class. Perhaps it is to justify the philosophy’s existence, to soothe our wounded consciousnesses, a survivor’s bias—to reassure ourselves that we have overcome because we have simply tried harder, cared more, possessed fewer vices. But how often does progress come as the dissenting voice, the voice of the small, the evidence we would prefer not to notice and can afford not to?

“In short, the powerless is not destroyed because he is incapable—far from it! No, the best idea might just as soon fall to a glib speaker who only excels in matters of speechcraft, to the more handsome and charming, or he who knows the boardmembers he begs for aid, or to he who crouches upon masses of pre-existing capital. The best idea cannot win until the philosophy acknowledges the natural formation of groups among human beings and deals accordingly.

“The astute reader might notice this: the powerful utilize the group and its mechanisms even as it is derided; the group is formed even as its influence is ignored.

“Why does the philosophy ignore the impact of the group?

“What is the philosophy but a philosophy of tyrants?”

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