From the Bookshelf of What's the Name of That Book???…

"Brothers, let us not assume that there is going to be war. Let's remind ourselves that Lucifer has been with us--this time--for nearly two centuries. And was dropped only twice, in sizes smaller than megaton. We all know what could happen, if there's war. The genetic festering is still with us from the last time Man tried to eradicate himself. Back then, in the Saint Leibowtz' time, maybe they didn't know what would happen. Or perhaps they did know, but could not quite believe it until they tried it--like a child who knows what a loaded pistol is supposed to do, but who never pulled a trigger before. They had not yet seen a billion corpses. They had not seen the still-born, the monstrous, the dehumanized, the blind. They had not yet seen the madness and the murder and the blotting out of reason. Then they did it, and then they saw it.

"Now--now the princes, the presidents, the praesidiums, now they know--with dead certainty. They can know it by the children they beget and send to asylums for the deformed. They know it, and they've kept peace. Not Christ's peace, certainly, but peace, until lately--with only two warlike incidents in as many centuries. Now they have the bitter certainty. My sons, they cannot do it again. Only a race of madmen could do it again-- (page 239)

The closer men came to perfecting for themselves a paradise, the more impatient they seemed to become with it, and with themselves as well. They made a garden of pleasure, and became progressively more miserable with it as it grew in richness and power and beauty; for then, perhaps it was easier for them to see that something was missing in the garden, some tree or shrub that would not grow. When the world was in darkness and wretchedness, it could believe in perfection and yearn for it. But when the world became bright with reason and riches, it began to sense the narrowness of the needle's eye, and that rankled for a world no longer willing to believe or yearn. Well, they were going to destroy it again, were they?--this garden Earth, civilized and knowing, to be torn apart again that Man might hope again in wretched darkness. (page 248)

The murmur of chanting came from the church: Excita, Domine, potentiam tuam, et veni, ut salvos-- Stir up they might, indeed, O Lord, and come to save us. That breath of prayer would go on and on, as long as there was breath to breathe it. Even if the brethren thought it futile...

But they couldn't know it to be futile. Or could they? If Rome has any hope, why send the starship? Why, if they believed that prayers for peace on earth would ever be answered? Was not the starship an act of despair?... Retrahe me, Satanas, et discede! he thought. The starship is an act of hope. Hope for Man elsewhere, peace somewhere, if not here and now, then someplace: Alpha Centauri's planet maybe, Beta Hydri, or one of the sickly straggling colonies on that planet of What's-its-name in Scorpius.

Hope, and not futility, is sending the ship, thou foul Seductor. It is a weary and dog-tired hope, maybe, a hope that says: Shake the dust off your sandals and go preach Sodom to Gomorrah. But it is hope, or it wouldn't say go at all. It isn't hope for Earth, but hope for the soul and substance of Man somewhere. With Lucifer hanging over, not sending the ship would be an act of presumption, as you, dirtiest one, tempted Our Lord: If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down from the pinnacle. For the angels will bear thee up. (page 247)

Brother Jeris, who had joined the apprentice copyroom at the same time as Brother Francis, seemed to enjoy teasing him about the project. "What, pray," he asked, squinting over Francis' shoulder, "is the meaning of 'Transistorized Control System for Unit Six-B,' learned Brother?"

"Clearly, it is the title of the document," said Francis, feeling slightly cross.

"Clearly. But what does it mean?"

"It is the name of the diagram which lies before your eyes, Brother Simpleton. What does 'Jeris' mean?"

"Very little, I'm sure," said Brother Jeris with mock humility. "Forgive my density, please. You have successfully defined the name by pointing to the creature named, which is truly the meaning of the name. But now the creature-diagram itself represents something, does it not? What does the diagram represent?"

"The transistorized control system for unit six-B, obviously."

Jeris laughed. "Quite clear! Eloquent! If the creature is the name, then the name is the creature. 'Equals may be substituted for equals,' or 'The order of an equality is reversible,' but may we proceed to the next axiom? If 'Quantities equal to the same quantity may substitute for each other' is true, then is there not some 'same quantity' which both name and diagram represent? Or is it a closed system?"

Francis reddened. "I would imagine," he said slowly, after pausing to stifle his annoyance, "that the diagram represents an abstract concept, rather than a concrete thing. Perhaps the ancient had a systematic way for depicting a pure thought. It's clearly not a recognizable picture of an object."

"Yes, yes, it's clearly unrecognizable!" Brother Jeris agreed with a chuckle.

"On the other hand, perhaps it does depict an object, but only in a very formal stylistic way--so that one would need special training or--"

"Special eyesight?"

"In my opinion, it's a high abstraction of perhaps transcendental value expressing a thought of the Beatus Leibowitz."

"Bravo! Now what was he thinking about?"

"Why--'Circuit Design,'" said Francis, picking the term out of the block of lettering at the lower right.

"Hmmm, what discipline does that art pertain to, Brother? What is its genus, species, property, and difference? Or is it only an 'accident'?"

Jeris was becoming pretentious in his sarcasm, Francis thought, and decided to meet it with a soft answer. "Well, observe this column of figures, and its heading: 'Electronics Parts Numbers.' There was once, an art or science, called Electronics, which might belong to both Art and Science."

"Uh-huh! Thus settling 'genus' and 'species.' Now as to 'difference,' if I may pursue the line. What was the subject matter of Electronics?"

"That too is written," said Francis, who had searched the Memorabilia from high to low in an attempt to find clues which might make the blueprint slightly more comprehensible--but to very small avail. "The subject matter of Electronics was the electron," he explained.

"So it is written, indeed. I am impressed. I know so little of these things. What, pray, was the 'electron'?"

"Well, there is one fragmentary source which alludes to it as a 'Negative Twist of Nothingness.'"

"What! How did they negate a nothingness? Wouldn't that make it a somethingness?"

"Perhaps the negation applies to 'twist.'"

"Ah! Then we would have an 'Untwisted Nothing,' eh? Have you discovered how to untwist a nothingness?"

"Not yet," Francis admitted.

"Well keep at it, Brother! How clever they must have been, those ancients--to know how to untwist nothing. Keep at it, and you may learn how. Then we'd have the 'electron' in our midst, wouldn't we? What would we do with it? Put it on the altar in the chapel?"

"All right," Francis sighed, "I don't know. But I have a certain faith that the 'electron' existed as one time, although I don't know how it was constructed or what it might have been used for." (page 67ff