Said I: "How about your relations with foreign nations?"
"I will not affect not to know what you mean," said he, "but I will tell
you at once that the whole system of rival and contending nations which
played so great a part in the 'government' of the world of civilisation
has disappeared along with the inequality betwixt man and man in
society."
"Does not that make the world duller?" said I.
"Why?" said the old man.
"The obliteration of national variety," said I.
"Nonsense," he said, somewhat snappishly. "Cross the water and see. You
will find plenty of variety: the landscape, the building, the diet, the
amusements, all various. The men and women varying in looks as well as
in habits of thought; the costume far more various than in the commercial
period. How should it add to the variety or dispel the dulness, to
coerce certain families or tribes, often heterogeneous and jarring with
one another, into certain artificial and mechanical groups, and call them
nations, and stimulate their patriotism--_i.e._, their foolish and
envious prejudices?"
"Well--I don't know how," said I.
"That's right," said Hammond cheerily; "you can easily understand that
now we are freed from this folly it is obvious to us that by means of
this very diversity the different strains of blood in the world can be
serviceable and pleasant to each other, without in the least wanting to
rob each other: we are all bent on the same enterprise, making the most
of our lives. And I must tell you whatever quarrels or misunderstandings
arise, they very seldom take place between people of different race; and
consequently since there is less unreason in them, they are the more
readily appeased."
"Good," said I, "but as to those matters of politics; as to general
differences of opinion in one and the same community. Do you assert that
there are none?"
"No, not at all," said he, somewhat snappishly; "but I do say that
differences of opinion about real solid things need not, and with us do
not, crystallise people into parties permanently hostile to one another,
with different theories as to the build of the universe and the progress
of time. Isn't that what politics used to mean?"
"H'm, well," said I, "I am not so sure of that."
Said he: "I take, you, neighbour; they only _pretended_ to this serious
difference of opinion; for if it had existed they could not have dealt
together in the ordinary business of life; couldn't have eaten together,
bought and sold together, gambled together, cheated other people
together, but must have fought whenever they met: which would not have
suited them at all. The game of the masters of politics was to cajole or
force the public to pay the expense of a luxurious life and exciting
amusement for a few cliques of ambitious persons: and the _pretence_ of
serious difference of opinion, belied by every action of their lives, was
quite good enough for that. What has all that got to do with us?"
Said I: "Why, nothing, I should hope. But I fear--In short, I have been
told that political strife was a necessary result of human nature."
"Human nature!" cried the old boy, impetuously; "what human nature? The
human nature of paupers, of slaves, of slave-holders, or the human nature
of wealthy freemen? Which? Come, tell me that!"
"Well," said I, "I suppose there would be a difference according to
circumstances in people's action about these matters."
"I should think so, indeed," said he. "At all events, experience shows
that it is so. Amongst us, our differences concern matters of business,
and passing events as to them, and could not divide men permanently. As
a rule, the immediate outcome shows which opinion on a given subject is
the right one; it is a matter of fact, not of speculation. For instance,
it is clearly not easy to knock up a political party on the question as
to whether haymaking in such and such a country-side shall begin this
week or next, when all men agree that it must at latest begin the week
after next, and when any man can go down into the fields himself and see
whether the seeds are ripe enough for the cutting."
Said I: "And you settle these differences, great and small, by the will
of the majority, I suppose?"
"Certainly," said he; "how else could we settle them? You see in matters
which are merely personal which do not affect the welfare of the
community--how a man shall dress, what he shall eat and drink, what he
shall write and read, and so forth--there can be no difference of
opinion, and everybody does as he pleases. But when the matter is of
common interest to the whole community, and the doing or not doing
something affects everybody, the majority must have their way; unless the
minority were to take up arms and show by force that they were the
effective or real majority; which, however, in a society of men who are
free and equal is little likely to happen; because in such a community
the apparent majority _is_ the real majority, and the others, as I have
hinted before, know that too well to obstruct from mere pigheadedness;
especially as they have had plenty of opportunity of putting forward
their side of the question."
"How is that managed?" said I.
"Well," said he, "let us take one of our units of management, a commune,
or a ward, or a parish (for we have all three names, indicating little
real distinction between them now, though time was there was a good
deal). In such a district, as you would call it, some neighbours think
that something ought to be done or undone: a new town-hall built; a
clearance of inconvenient houses; or say a stone bridge substituted for
some ugly old iron one,--there you have undoing and doing in one. Well,
at the next ordinary meeting of the neighbours, or Mote, as we call it,
according to the ancient tongue of the times before bureaucracy, a
neighbour proposes the change, and of course, if everybody agrees, there
is an end of discussion, except about details. Equally, if no one backs
the proposer,--'seconds him,' it used to be called--the matter drops for
the time being; a thing not likely to happen amongst reasonable men,
however, as the proposer is sure to have talked it over with others
before the Mote. But supposing the affair proposed and seconded, if a
few of the neighbours disagree to it, if they think that the beastly iron
bridge will serve a little longer and they don't want to be bothered with
building a new one just then, they don't count heads that time, but put
off the formal discussion to the next Mote; and meantime arguments _pro_
and _con_ are flying about, and some get printed, so that everybody knows
what is going on; and when the Mote comes together again there is a
regular discussion and at last a vote by show of hands. If the division
is a close one, the question is again put off for further discussion; if
the division is a wide one, the minority are asked if they will yield to
the more general opinion, which they often, nay, most commonly do. If
they refuse, the question is debated a third time, when, if the minority
has not perceptibly grown, they always give way; though I believe there
is some half-forgotten rule by which they might still carry it on
further; but I say, what always happens is that they are convinced, not
perhaps that their view is the wrong one, but they cannot persuade or
force the community to adopt it."
"Very good," said I; "but what happens if the divisions are still
narrow?"
Said he: "As a matter of principle and according to the rule of such
cases, the question must then lapse, and the majority, if so narrow, has
to submit to sitting down under the _status quo_. But I must tell you
that in point of fact the minority very seldom enforces this rule, but
generally yields in a friendly manner."
"But do you know," said I, "that there is something in all this very like
democracy; and I thought that democracy was considered to be in a
moribund condition many, many years ago."
The old boy's eyes twinkled. "I grant you that our methods have that
drawback. But what is to be done? We can't get _anyone_ amongst us to
complain of his not always having his own way in the teeth of the
community, when it is clear that _everybody_ cannot have that indulgence.
What is to be done?"
"Well," said I, "I don't know."
Said he: "The only alternatives to our method that I can conceive of are
these. First, that we should choose out, or breed, a class of superior
persons capable of judging on all matters without consulting the
neighbours; that, in short, we should get for ourselves what used to be
called an aristocracy of intellect; or, secondly, that for the purpose of
safe-guarding the freedom of the individual will, we should revert to a
system of private property again, and have slaves and slave-holders once
more. What do you think of those two expedients?"
"Well," said I, "there is a third possibility--to wit, that every man
should be quite independent of every other, and that thus the tyranny of
society should be abolished."
He looked hard at me for a second or two, and then burst out laughing
very heartily; and I confess that I joined him. When he recovered
himself he nodded at me, and said: "Yes, yes, I quite agree with you--and
so we all do."
"Yes," I said, "and besides, it does not press hardly on the minority:
for, take this matter of the bridge, no man is obliged to work on it if
he doesn't agree to its building. At least, I suppose not."
He smiled, and said: "Shrewdly put; and yet from the point of view of the
native of another planet. If the man of the minority does find his
feelings hurt, doubtless he may relieve them by refusing to help in
building the bridge. But, dear neighbour, that is not a very effective
salve for the wound caused by the 'tyranny of a majority' in our society;
because all work that is done is either beneficial or hurtful to every
member of society. The man is benefited by the bridge-building if it
turns out a good thing, and hurt by it if it turns out a bad one, whether
he puts a hand to it or not; and meanwhile he is benefiting the bridge-
builders by his work, whatever that may be. In fact, I see no help for
him except the pleasure of saying 'I told you so' if the bridge-building
turns out to be a mistake and hurts him; if it benefits him he must
suffer in silence. A terrible tyranny our Communism, is it not? Folk
used often to be warned against this very unhappiness in times past, when
for every well-fed, contented person you saw a thousand miserable
starvelings. Whereas for us, we grow fat and well-liking on the tyranny;
a tyranny, to say the truth, not to be made visible by any microscope I
know. Don't be afraid, my friend; we are not going to seek for troubles
by calling our peace and plenty and happiness by ill names whose very
meaning we have forgotten!"
He sat musing for a little, and then started and said: "Are there any
more questions, dear guest? The morning is waning fast amidst my
garrulity?"