BERNARD CRICK
281
And in
The Ghost in the Machine,
he set out a physiological hypothesis
about the differential evolution of the brain in support of the third
and fourth points.
It could of course be objected that the species has survived and
flourished despite all this; that "disastrous history" is not a descrip–
tive summary but an emotive prophecy; that "ethics" is not some–
thing for which a "growth curve" can be plotted, still less, extra–
polated from; and that anthropological-physiological hypotheses are
interesting as hypotheses, but virtually untenable, not established
theories that could guide public policy and medical research.
Koestler, I repeat, had real scientific training but, nonetheless,
obvious tricks of the journalist creep in. He talks about
"conspecifics," an easy piece of impressive jargon, though he
immediately says in plain English, "members of his own species ."
This is a small and innocent example. I get more worried when he
talks about "neuro-physiological
evidence"
for a "schizopsychology" in
the human evolutionary process, without reminding his readers that
such "evidence" is only inference from untested and contentious
hypotheses.
Yet one admires his courage and explicit determination to show
that a genuine intellectual must take his stand in two cultures. How
much more interesting he still is than C.P. Snow ever was. Reading
Koestler never makes one snooze, though my schizopsychology
comes out in an occasional desire to throw the book out of the
window, but then to run down and pick it up again, hoping that
nothing
disastrous
has happened to it, only some rich, disfiguring
marks of human tragedy from which to fashion a significant anec–
dote. In other words, I prefer Koestler the skeptic, telling his tale of
Malraux's suddenly saying at a Writers' Congress in Moscow, after
hearing countless speeches promising universal happiness in a brave
new world : " 'And what about a child run over by a tram-car?' There
was a pained silence; then somebody said, amid general approba–
tion: 'in a perfect, planned socialist transport system, there will be no
accidents.' " This is better, to my taste, than the man who likes to be
the H .G. Wells of the intellectual upper middle classes rather than of
the self-taught lower middle classes.
So an assessment of Koestler's peculiar genius is difficult. Have
any of us ever read all his books? And there is the journalism as well
as the books. His own sense of achievement is shown clearly in the
selection of this book. He probably disappoints his old readers or the
young who read his old novels by calling fully half of
Bricks to Babel
his "Search of Synthesis," and presenting there mainly the scientific
