What Shall It Profit? — Inside the Classic

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In Category - Social Speculation
Emshwiller, Ed, 1925-1990 [Illustrator], Anderson, Poul, 1926-2001 Project Gutenberg 2019 Not confirmed
Science fiction; Short stories; Scientists -- Fiction; Journalists -- Fiction; Longevity -- Fiction; Immortality -- Fiction Readers of public-domain and historical texts
Project Gutenberg digital edition en

Edition facts

Words 9,600
Reading time 42 min
Text sections 1

The catalog record for What Shall It Profit? — Inside the Classic provides practical reading context through 9,600 words, 42 min estimated reading time, and 1 detected text section.

The text analysis averages about 13.0 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Science fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Poul Anderson's 1956 story follows journalist Radek as he uncovers a secret immortality project. The opening barroom debate on technological unemployment, the tense negotiation with Dr. Lang, and the disorienting magnetic-field vault sequence shape a first reading focused on cost versus benefit.
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Editorial Edition Score 4.4/5

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  • Description quality20 pts
  • Title & short description10 pts
  • Source metadata20 pts
  • Text length15 pts
  • Chapters / structure15 pts
  • EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

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Read the Text

There was an Asian whine to the music drifting past the curtains into the booth. Radek could hear the talk and laughter well enough to catch their raucous overtones. Somebody swore as dice rattled wrong for him. Somebody else shouted coarse good wishes as his friend took a hostess upstairs.

He wondered why vice was always so cheerless when you went into a place and paid for it.

"I am going to get drunk tonight," announced Barwell. "I am going to get so high in the stony sky you'll need radar to find me. Then I shall raise the red flag of revolution."

"And tomorrow?" asked Radek quietly.

Barwell grimaced. "Don't ask me about tomorrow. Tomorrow I will be among the great leisure class--to hell with euphemisms--the unemployed. Nothing I can do that some goddam machine can't do quicker and better. So a benevolent state will feed me and clothe me and house me and give me a little spending money to have fun on. This is known as citizen's credit. They used to call it a dole. Tomorrow I shall have to be more systematic about the revolution--join the League or something."

"The trouble with you," Radek needled him, "is that you can't adapt. Technology has made the labor of most people, except the first-rank creative genius, unnecessary. This leaves the majority with a void of years to fill somehow--a sense of uprootedness and lost self-respect--which is rather horrible. And in any case, they don't like to think in scientific terms ... it doesn't come natural to the average man."

Barwell gave him a bleary stare out of a flushed, sagging face. "I s'pose you're one of the geniuses," he said. "You got work."

"I'm adaptable," said Radek. He was a slim youngish man with dark hair and sharp features. "I'm not greatly gifted, but I found a niche for myself. Newsman. I do legwork for a major commentator. Between times, I'm writing a book--my own analysis of contemporary historical trends. It won't be anything startling, but it may help a few people think more clearly and adjust themselves."

"And so you _like_ this rotten Solar Union?" Barwell's tone became aggressive.

"Not everything about it no. So there is a wave of antiscientific reaction, all over Earth. Science is being made the scapegoat for all our troubles. But like it or not, you fellows will have to accept the fact that there are too many people and too few resources for us to survive without technology."

"Some technology, sure," admitted Barwell. He took a ferocious swig from his glass. "Not this hell-born stuff we've been monkeying around with. I tell you, the chickens have finally come home to roost."

Radek was intrigued by the archaic expression. Barwell was no moron: he'd been a correlative clerk at the Institute for several years, not a position for fools. He had read, actually read books, and thought about them.

And today he had been fired. Radek chanced across him drinking out a vast resentment and attached himself like a reverse lamprey--buying most of the liquor. There might be a story in it, somewhere. There might be a lead to what the Institute was doing.

Radek was not antiscientific, but neither did he make gods out of people with technical degrees. The Institute _must_ be up to something unpleasant ... otherwise, why all the mystery? If the facts weren't uncovered in time, if whatever they were brewing came to a head, it could touch off the final convulsion of lynch law.

Barwell leaned forward, his finger wagged. "Three hundred years now. I think it's three hundred years since X-rays came in. Damn scientists, fooling around with X-rays, atomic energy, radioactives ... sure, safe levels, established tolerances, but what about the long-range effects? What about cumulative genetic effects? Those chickens are coming home at last."

"No use blaming our ancestors," said Radek. "Be rather pointless to go dance on their graves, wouldn't it?"

Barwell moved closer to Radek. His breath was powerful with whisky. "But are they in those graves?" he whispered.

"Look. Been known for a long time, ever since first atomic energy work ... heavy but nonlethal doses of radiation shorten lifespan. You grow old faster if you get a strong dose. Why d'you think with all our medicines we're not two, three hundred years old? Background count's gone up, that's why! Radioactives in the air, in the sea, buried under the ground. Gamma rays, not _entirely_ absorbed by shielding. Sure, sure, they tell us the level is still harmless. But it's more than the level in nature by a good big factor--two or three."

The story opens in a bar where Radek and the soon-to-be-unemployed Barwell argue about technology's human cost. Barwell's complaint that machines make labor unnecessary and his threat to 'raise the red flag of revolution' sets a tone of economic anxiety. Radek, a journalist, positions himself as adaptable, but his investigation into longevity research soon forces him to weigh personal gain against public good.

The excerpts show a narrative that moves from a social speculation about automation to a scientific thriller. The early dialogue establishes a world where citizen's credit replaces wages, and the later scenes introduce a vault protected by an intense magnetic field that affects the nervous system. This progression from barroom debate to high-stakes revelation guides the reader to consider what price immortality demands.

Opening Gambit: Automation and Unease

The first excerpt introduces Barwell, a man about to lose his job to machines. His bitter remark—'The chickens got out of the coop and flew away three hundred years ago. Now they're coming home to roost'—frames technology as a long-deferred reckoning. Radek, the journalist, offers a counterpoint: he is 'adaptable' and has found work as a newsman. Yet his own project, a book on 'contemporary historical trends,' suggests he too is trying to make sense of a shifting world.

The dialogue reveals a society where 'citizen's credit' replaces wages, and the unemployed are expected to fill a 'void of years' with leisure. Barwell's threat to join the 'League' hints at organized resistance. Anderson uses this barroom exchange to establish a central tension: the promise of liberation versus the reality of rootlessness. The reader is primed to see Radek's later investigation as a test of whether knowledge can truly help people 'adjust themselves.'

The Negotiation: Journalist vs. Scientist

When Radek confronts Dr. Lang, the director of a longevity research project, the power dynamic shifts. Lang dismisses Radek's theories as 'mistaken ideas' protected by 'fancy verbalisms,' but Radek counters by threatening to publish his story. Lang's fear of 'public reaction' and his plea that 'those people can't think' reveal a paternalistic secrecy. Radek, in turn, offers a deal: if Lang shows him valid reasons to suppress the story, he will submit to hypnoconditioning to forget it.

This negotiation is the story's moral hinge. Lang's eventual surrender—'You win. Come along with me'—is accompanied by a physical description: 'the sag of Lang's shoulders was a gnawing in Radek's conscience.' The reader is left to wonder whether Radek's curiosity serves the public good or merely his own ambition. The scene underscores the cost of knowledge, a theme that will resonate through the vault sequence.

The Vault: Sensory Overload and Revelation

The descent into the underground vault is the story's most visceral passage. Radek must leave all metal objects behind because the magnetic field could cause them to 'jump so fiercely as to injure you.' The field itself affects the nervous system: Radek feels 'panic screaming in his brain and a sweating tingle in his skin.' Anderson describes the experience as 'stumbling through nightmare,' a phrase that emphasizes the physical and psychological toll of accessing forbidden knowledge.

Once inside, Lang reveals that immortality exists—but with a catch: 'I'm not immortal. None of our personnel are, except—' The sentence cuts off, leaving the reader to infer that the secret may be reserved for a select few. The vault's purpose, to keep 'charged particles out,' suggests a technology that isolates its subjects from the natural world. This scene transforms the abstract debate about technology into a concrete, unsettling encounter with its consequences.

Narrative Structure: From Public Debate to Private Burden

The excerpts trace a clear arc from a public, social setting (the bar) to a private, secretive one (the vault). In the bar, the problem of automation is discussed openly, with Barwell's unemployment serving as a symbol of systemic failure. By the time Radek enters the vault, the issue has narrowed to a single, hidden technology. This compression mirrors the story's thematic shift: what begins as a broad critique of technological unemployment becomes a focused question about the ethics of withholding life-extending science.

Anderson uses Radek's dual role—journalist and citizen—to bridge these scales. Radek's initial claim that he is 'here mostly as a citizen interested in the public welfare' is tested by the vault's disorienting effects. The reader, like Radek, must decide whether the secret is worth the psychic cost. The story's title, a biblical allusion, reinforces this weighing of profit against loss, a calculation that the excerpts leave unresolved.

Readers approaching What Shall It Profit? for the first time should attend to how Anderson balances social commentary with suspense. The barroom opening may seem detached from the vault's science-fictional climax, but both scenes ask the same question: what is the human cost of progress? Pay attention to Radek's internal reactions—his conscience, his fear—as they provide the story's emotional core. The excerpts do not reveal the final outcome, but they establish a framework for evaluating the choices characters make when faced with transformative knowledge.

The rain slid down the window as I finished What Shall It Profit?, haunted by how cheaply Radek priced a human life. That uneasy arithmetic lingered with me, so I left the book on the table. Later, leafing for something lighter, I found Ecology on Rollins Island — Inside the Classic and read about plants claiming their own slow, patient revenge. Both worlds ask what we owe, but one whispers its answer.

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