The Plowboy Interview: Frank Herbert

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So I see an evolutionary movement toward a certain kind of fragmentation . . . and not just because of improvements in communications.

PLOWBOY: What other factors do you think will influence this decentralization?

HERBERT: We've opened up the Pandora's box of violent technology. We're fast approaching a time when one person can make and employ instruments of violence equal to the ones formerly reserved only to massive governments.

Let's face it, our society has a tiger by the tail in technology. We can't let go. We can't all go back to the farm and be selfsufficient. There isn't enough land to do so, for one thing. Furthermore, people's expectations for their lifestyles have been raised . . . and you don't monkey around with human expectations. So what we need is a new way of relating to our society and its tools. And it was in an attempt to envision just such a change that, some 15 years ago, I coined the phrase "technopeasantry".

PLOWBOY: How would you define technopeasantry?

HERBERT: It involves drawing support from technology, but doing so imaginatively. We have to ask the question, "What elements of technology should I use and how should I use them?" A peasant knows, you see, when and why to grab a shovel or a hoe. In the same way, we have to think out our own relationship to the complete environment, our own values and technological options . . . and make decisions consciously.

Too often today people don't examine or question their basic assumptions. Let me give you an example. I once taught a course, at the University of Washington, that was called Utopia/Dystopia. It was billed as an examination of the current state of our country and our myths of the "better life" . . . only I had trouble getting my students to really investigate their own premises about technology and lifestyle.

So I hit on the idea of taking them out for along weekend hike in the Olympic mountains . . . in the early spring when I knew the weather was going to be cold and rainy. All I told my class was, "We'll be out in the Olympics for two nights. It's going to rain. Bring your gear, food, and paper and pencils for taking notes. I'll meet you at the trail's head."

Now, I'm a hedonist in the wilderness. I own a good down sleeping bag and a fine one-man tent with a fly, and carry a very light pack stocked with trail food and the like. Naturally, my gear is pretty much a product of high technology.

Once we all got up to our campsite—at a place called the Flats—I set up my tent, dug a drain trench, stashed some firewood under the canopy for the morning, and helped organize the evening meal. We ate and hit the sack . . . and then the rain came. Well, I was quite dry and comfortable in my tent, but a lot of my students weren't so well prepared: During the night, I heard voices crying, "My sleeping bag's all wet! " or "God, it's cold! " I simply rolled over and went back to sleep.

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