36
Among the rats, the notion of "replanting" their cage had been
dictated by a gene. The rodents exterminated those whose genetic
complement differed from their own. But genes were not what united
the Puritans. Puritans bore the blood of all the tribes who had made
up England--the Picts, the Jutes, the Saxons, the Angles, and even a few
Normans. These men of holy fervor were drawn together by an idea.
They were welded into a social body by a meme.
At first, Cromwell's dream was just that. He was a country
gentleman of little reputation and even fewer accomplishments. He
had made it as a member of Parliament, but had shown no flair
whatsoever as a politician. Then in 1642 England broke out in civil
war. On one side were those who wanted the country ruled by
Parliament. They tended to be the folks who believed that you could
reach God simply by reading the Good Book. Among the Parlia-
mentarians were Cromwell and the Puritans.
On the other side were the supporters of the King. They were
believers in authority, men who insisted that the sole way to God was
through the priests and bishops of the Anglican church. Each group
coalesced into a superorganism. And those two superorganisms
locked horns and fought.
On the battlefield, Oliver discovered a side of himself he didn't
know he had. War exhilarated him. Killing gave him a rush of
pleasure. The Cromwellian mind that so far had merely muddled
through life came alive in the heat of battle. It was what you might
have expected from someone who, as a teenager, had enjoyed bashing
people with a stick. At the age of 43, Oliver Cromwell had found
himself!
When he was in the heat of the fight, the bullets whistling around
him, the swords cutting through arms and necks on every side,
Cromwell was sure the voice of God was speaking to him. He heard
the whispered messages of a meme. Whenever Cromwell won a battle,
it was confirmation that he'd interpreted the Lord's voice correctly.
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