The Book of Philip K Dick (1973) by Philip K. Dick Page A

self-war, group against group. The vital traditions may be lost—not merely altered or reformed, but completely destroyed in this period of chaos and anarchy. We have found many such examples in the history of mankind.
    “It is necessary for this hatred within the culture to be directed outward, toward an external group, so that the culture itself may survive its crisis. War is the result. War, to a logical mind, is absurd. But in terms of human needs, it plays a vital role. And it will continue to until Man has grown up enough so that no hatred lies within him.”
    Taylor was listening intently. “Do you think this time will come?”
    “Of course. It has almost arrived now. This is the last war. Man is almost united into one final culture—a world culture. At this point he stands continent against continent, one half of the world against the other half. Only a single step remains, the jump to a unified culture. Man has climbed slowly upward, tending always toward unification of his culture. It will not be long—
    “But it has not come yet, and so the war had to go on, to satisfy the last violent surge of hatred that Man felt. Eight years have passed since the war began. In these eight years, we have observed and noted important changes going on in the minds of men. Fatigue and disinterest, we have seen, are gradually taking the place of hatred and fear. The hatred is being exhausted gradually, over a period of time. But for the present, the hoax must go on, at least for a while longer. You are not ready to learn the truth. You would want to continue the war.”
    “But how did you manage it?” Moss asked. “All the photographs, the samples, the damaged equipment—”
    “Come over here.” The leady directed them toward along, low building. “Work goes on constantly, whole staffs
    laboring to maintain a coherent and convincing picture of a global war.”
    They entered the building. Leadies were working everywhere, poring over tables and desks.
    “Examine this project here,” the A-class leady said. Two leadies were carefully photographing something, an elaborate model on a table top. “It is a good example.”
    The men grouped around, trying to see. It was a model of a ruined city.
    Taylor studied it in silence for a long time. At last he looked up.
    “It’s San Francisco,” he said in a low voice. “This is a model of San Francisco, destroyed. I saw this on the vidscreen, piped down to us. The bridges were hit—”
    “Yes, notice the bridges.” The leady traced the ruined span with his metal finger, a tiny spider-web, almost invisible.
    “You have no doubt seen photographs of this many times, and of the other tables in this building.
    “San Francisco itself is completely intact. We restored it soon after you left, rebuilding the parts that had been damaged at the start of the war. The work of manufacturing news goes on all the time in this particular building. We are very careful to see that each part fits in with all the other parts. Much time and effort are devoted to it.”
    Franks touched one of the tiny model buildings, lying half in ruins. “So this is what you spend your time doing—making model cities and then blasting them.”
    “No, we do much more. We are caretakers, watching over the whole world. The owners have left for a time, and we must see that the cities are kept clean, that decay is prevented, that everything is kept oiled and in running condition. The gardens, the streets, the water mains, everything must be maintained as it was eight years ago, so that when the owners return, they will not be displeased. We want to be sure that they will be completely satisfied.”
    Franks tapped Moss on the arm.
    “Come over here,” he said in a low voice. “I want to talk to you.”
    He led Moss and Taylor out of the building, away from the leadies, outside on the hillside. The soldiers followed them. The sun was up and the sky was turning blue. The air smelled sweet and good, the smell of