In the
early 1800s, in England, a group of textile workers began destroying machinery
intended to increase their efficiency and reduce the cost of their labor. One theory is that a young man named Ned Ludd
or Ludham had famously destroyed similar equipment as early as 1779, giving his
name to the rebel saboteurs, known to us as the Luddites.
Though the
movement was not fearful of technological innovation per se—many of its members
were actually highly trained machine operators—the Luddites can be seen as an
early form of organized proletarian resistance to deteriorating working
conditions at the start of the Industrial Revolution. The group targeted agricultural machinery and
mill works as well, and assassinated at least one mill owner. They were brutally suppressed by the British
government, and were mostly defunct by 1820.
The
term Luddite as we understand it these days refers to a general opposition to
new technologies, automation, computer applications, and industrialization. Underlying this opposition is anxiety that
technological innovation is a threat not only to economic security—creating
structural unemployment in its wake—but also injurious to human health and
wellbeing. The concept is useful when
considering the ancient and ironic struggle of human societies to adapt to the technologies
they create for themselves or borrow from elsewhere.
David
H. Keller takes up this theme in the very first science fiction story he ever published,
The Revolt of the Pedestrians,
(1928). It originally appeared in Amazing Stories. Keller imagines an American society centuries
hence where Pedestrians have lost out to the Automobilists. The government, dominated by motorists, even
passes laws that permit drivers to kill pedestrians along any road with impunity. The Automobilists nearly exterminate every
human with the desire and ability to ambulate.
Evidently,
these future pedestrians have forgotten to look both ways when crossing a
street, and prefer to walk in the road instead of on sidewalks or foot paths. Lest this seem like an exaggeration, one can
see, on the streets of many college towns even today this Darwinian process, as
students cross the road oblivious to the physics of large moving objects in their
path.
Keller
uses the premise of his story to speculate about the implications of the emerging
automobile culture in his own time. Much
of The Revolt of the Pedestrians is
tedious back story and explication, with little in the way of characterization
or plot, other than to provide a basis for the ideas Keller is expounding. But his ideas are interesting and
prescient.
He
depicts the Automobilists as physically degraded humans, obese, their legs
withered and atrophied, entirely dependent on their wheels for movement and
stimulation. Having become the norm,
their decrepit bodies are now perceived as beautiful, while the Pedestrians are
considered primitive and animalistic with their tanned skin and upright
posture.
Meanwhile
the world of the automobilists lived on, materialistic, mechanical, selfish. Socialism had provided comfort for the masses
but had singularly failed to provide happiness.
All lived, everyone had an income, no one but was provided with a home
food and clothes. But the homes were of
concrete; they were uniform, poured out by the million; the furniture was
concrete, poured with houses. The
clothing was paper, water-proofed: it was all in one design and was furnished—four
suits a year to each person. The food
was sold in bricks, each brick containing all the elements necessary for the
continuation of life; on every brick was stamped the number of calories.
How
many of us have eaten protein bars or energy bars during the drive to work? How many of us live in subdivisions where the
houses are barely distinguishable from each other? Keller also comments on the restless, aimless
psychology of the Automobilists.
No
one was content to go slowly—all the world was crazed by a desire for speed…Thus
Sundays and holidays were distinguished by thousands and millions of
automobilists going “somewhere,” none being content to spend the hours of
leisure quietly where they were.
Crime
has been eliminated through systematic application of eugenics theory. However, air pollution from automobile
exhaust has made the air toxic and nearly unbreathable. Keller predicts that the automobile—and the
rampant industrialization it represents—will eventually bring about social
stagnation, physical deterioration, and class warfare.
A small
band of Pedestrian survivors, all them Luddites at heart, escape to a remote
section of the Ozark Mountains. Here
they found a colony and plot revenge against their Automobilist oppressors. Like Ned Ludd and his peers millennia before,
this revenge will involve the destruction of their overlord’s machinery, in
particular, their means of locomotion.
The rebel leader and his group have devised the ultimate weapon to use
against the Automobilists:
In
our colony we have perfected a new electro-dynamic principle. Released, it at once separates the atomic
energy which makes possible all movement, save muscle movement…We do not know
how to restore the energy in any territory where we have once destroyed it…
The Pedestrians’
electro-dynamic weapon effectively liberates the tiny group from its mountain
confines—but dooms the majority of Automobilists to a gruesome death by starvation
and accident, since none of their machines will now operate. Happily, the rebel leader falls in love with
the daughter of a millionaire Automobilist.
She is a genetic throwback, a pedestrian whom her rich father has
indulged and protected. The couple are
intended to symbolize a new Adam and Eve in their now de-technologized society.
The Revolt of the Pedestrians is a novella of ideas and
speculations; despite the title, there is little actual conflict described, and
the epic struggle between Pedestrians and Automobilists is literally resolved
with the flip of a switch.
However,
there is a bit of unexpected weirdness
near the end, which the deconstructionist in me must mention. After pages of explication about Automobilist
society, and a careful tracing of the family lines of the rebel leader and the Automobilist’s
daughter, there is the germ of a shudder pulp tale: the rebel leader’s male stenographer, a
Pedestrian spy, dresses up like an Automobilist female to investigate behind
enemy lines. He attracts the attention
of a real female automobilist.
It
was a monstrous thing that he should fall in love with a legless woman when he
might, by waiting, have married a woman with column of ivory and knees of
alabaster. Instead, he loved and desired
a woman who lived in a machine. It was
equally pathological that she should love a woman…
The
stenographer later reveals his true gender, and during a passionate but very hazardous
embrace, she bites his jugular vein and kills him. The vignette is completely unexpected and
seemingly unconnected with anything that precedes it or follows it. Why is this here? Keller, who was a practicing psychiatrist
when he began writing fiction, may have been channeling an even darker set of
ideas into this speculative tale.
It is
interesting to compare The Revolt of the Pedestrians
with a similar story published in 1951, Ray Bradbury’s The Pedestrian. Reportedly
based on an actual experience the author had while out walking one evening, it
depicts a lone pedestrian being accosted by a robotic police car, in a future
society mesmerized by television. He is
taken to the ominously labelled Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive
Tendencies. Here the threatening
technology is not the automobile—no one goes out anymore—but that other device
worthy of Luddite rage—the television.
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