AN ENVIABLE CONDITION.
Our life in this cultured home continued to be as pleasant as were these
first days. There was always something new to show us or to tell us. We
would walk out every day and often step into a carriage and take a
long ride. Our friends were famous walkers but were considerate of
our feebleness, and still our returning strength, added to the great
buoyancy of our bodies on that smaller planet, soon gave us also
remarkable walking powers.
Sometimes the children would accompany us on an all-day excursion, and
then the house would be left not only unlocked, but with the doors wide
open perhaps. When we remarked on this, Zenith told us that if anyone
happened along he would be at perfect liberty to go in and help himself
to anything in the house. This was always understood, whether the people
were at home or not, and one need not even go through the formality
of asking, if he could see what he wanted. This referred not merely
to bodily refreshment, of which one might be in need, but literally to
everything the house contained; and the reason why there was any sort
of comfort living under such conditions was, that the members of that
society were all and severally of such ripe characters that it was well
known one would not deprive another of anything he was using except for
a reason which would be satisfactory to both.
“If we could communicate with the people on the earth,” said the doctor
to me when we sat alone conversing about these things, “and tell them
how the inhabitants here live, they would want to organize an expedition
and start for Mars right away.”
“Yes, I think they would,” I assented. “And yet, if what Thorwald says
is true, the earth will one day be as good as Mars. Do you believe it?”
“Well, the fact is,” answered the doctor, “I am ready to believe almost
anything now.”
“Oh, I wish Thorwald could hear you say that.”
“I should not object,” he continued. “I am sure that some power, not
comprehended by our science or philosophy, has operated here to bring
these people to the condition in which we find them, and if the same
kind forces are at work on the earth, let us hope they will do as much
for us, no matter how much time it takes. If a belief in such a power is
faith, then perhaps I am beginning to have a little faith.
“I remember I used to hear our preachers in their public prayers ask God
that every form of vice and crime might be banished from the earth, and
that the time might come when there should be no more sin, but only love
and beauty and happiness. I have heard such prayers a hundred times,
and never thought much about them. But now I am forced to think, and
it seems to me that these prayers would not be made continually unless
there were a hope and expectation in the minds of religious people that
they would some time be answered. It is not for me to assume that such a
hope is unreasonable, drawn as it is from the book which so many believe
is the word of God.”
I rejoiced to hear my friend talk in this way, but it seemed very odd
that he should be preaching my own doctrine to me. I had had the same
thoughts, and had been trying to find the right time to offer them to
the doctor. I am sure I was thankful that he was coming to such views
without a word from me, for he would probably be much more apt to hold
to them.
The foregoing conversation was in the evening, and the next morning we
were all sitting comfortably in the music room, when Thorwald said:
“The other day I began to give you some orderly account of our history,
but you see how it has been broken into by the relation of different
phases, in answer to your questions. It seems to me now that it will be
more interesting to you if I continue in the same way and take up one
subject at a time. And now that we have a little time before us, I wish
you would suggest some point upon which you would like to have me talk;
that is, if it is agreeable to you.”
To which the doctor replied:
“I like your plan very much and I am sure we both have plenty of
questions which will keep you supplied with topics. I have desired
for some time to ask you about your industrial system. I can see how
electricity has relieved you of the most arduous labor, but there must
remain much disagreeable work, as we would call it, to be done with the
hand. In our busy life there are a thousand such tasks, which I cannot
conceive of being performed by machinery, many of them hard only
because they are monotonous and awake no interest or enthusiasm in the
performer. Men and women are continually wearing themselves out with
such work. You must have abolished all that, if everybody here is
comfortable and happy. I am very anxious to hear how it has been done.”
“In answering your question,” Thorwald began, “let me say, first, that I
presume we have learned to employ machines in a great many ways which to
you would seem incomprehensible. The drudgery and much of the monotony
of labor have been removed, as well as its severity. But still, as you
surmise, there is plenty of work for all. Our higher civilization
does not require less work than yours, but rather more and of greater
variety. It is all done quietly, however, without friction or any of the
unpleasant features of former times.
“I suspect that the real secret of the change is in the elevation of
individual character. This has done more to better our condition than
electricity and all the material improvements and inventions of the
age. You must believe me when I say that no sort of labor is considered
disgraceful, and, further, that one occupation is just as honorable as
another. The man who goes into the mine and superintends the machine
which gathers the precious metal is esteemed as highly as he who,
with an artist’s brain and fingers, shapes it to its highest use. The
carpenter who works with his hands in the building of the house can hold
his head as high as the architect who has spent many years in learning
how to create the design. Why not? Both are engaged on the same work,
each one in his favorite, and so his best, way. Both are working,
not for daily bread or other selfish end, but for the sake of doing
something useful. The perfect content and satisfaction we all enjoy
in our labor come partly from our abundant health and strength, and
largely, also, from our entire freedom from anxiety in regard to the
means of maintenance for ourselves and our families. In these respects
we are all equally fortunate. We are absolutely unconcerned about what
material things we shall have for ourselves or leave to our children.”
“Do you then all have equal pay for your work, and that so much that it
places you above anxiety?” asked the doctor.
“Yes,” answered Thorwald, “we are all paid equally, because we are not
paid at all. So, having no wages and owning no property, why should we
be anxious? You know I have told you we can have for our use anything
that is produced or made without even asking anybody for it. The mere
fact that we need a thing makes it rightfully ours.”
“But what is the incentive to labor if you get nothing for it, and can
live just as well without it?”
“The incentive is in the love for our work and the consciousness that
we are doing something to make someone happier and the world a little
better. Let me give you an illustration, a personal one, if you will
excuse me. A neighbor asks me to make him a plan for a house. He may be
a writer of books or he may be a carriage maker, or what not, it makes
not the slightest difference. I enjoy that kind of work and, having
obtained his ideas in regard to a house, I do the best I can. I cannot
conceive that I could do any better if I knew he would pay me for the
work, as you say. In like manner he asks other neighbors to build his
house for him, and he has no difficulty in finding enough men who enjoy
that occupation as much as I do my part of the work, and the principle
which governs them in their labor is as high as that which controls me.”
“Then,” said the doctor, “I should think the poor man--I beg your
pardon, I mean the hod-carrier--could have as grand a house as the
architect himself.”
“I don’t know what a hod-carrier is,” replied Thorwald, “but I get your
meaning, and you are quite right. As an example of just that state of
things, I will tell you that the man who tends the digging machine in my
garden lives in a larger and handsomer house than this one. Why not?
He has a large family, and he and his wife are educated and refined
people.”
“But with no physical wants to provide against, I should think some men
would find existence easier not to work at all. According to your theory
they could live in as good style as the toilers and have no one to call
them to account.”
“No one but themselves. Every man is his own monitor, and he needs no
other. He knows his duty, and he has that within him which keeps him up
to it more effectually than any outside influence could. In regard to a
man’s not caring to work, we have been through all that, and we have now
no such cases. We found out long ago that it is better to have some one
stated employment and follow it. But this does not mean that the work
becomes a burden. One can rest as often and as long as he pleases.
There is no one to intimate in any way that he should be at work, as the
question is left entirely to him. The moment that work ceases to be a
necessity it becomes a pleasure and the most natural thing in the world.
The multiplication of mechanical inventions has greatly reduced the
volume of labor, so that there is really but little for each individual
to do; and the truth is, there is never any lack of men. If anything,
there is not enough work.”
“Your words,” said the doctor, “reveal a remarkable condition of
affairs, and I fear it will be many, many years before we can begin to
think seriously of such a plan, so long as to make it almost hopeless;
but there is one more question I would like to ask. With all this
freedom of choice, how does it happen that all do not flock to the easy
and pleasant occupations, and leave the disagreeable tasks undone?”
To this Thorwald replied:
“Let me ask you, Doctor, if you have not an answer to your question
in your own industrial system. Do you not always find men to do every
required work, no matter how hard and distasteful it may seem to you?
I do not mean that the parallel is exact, but this seems to be governed
now, as it has always been, by a dispensation of nature. We are born
with different tastes and inclinations. Each one chooses his own
occupation, and it comes to pass providentially, just as it did in the
olden time, that all do not choose alike.”
“Are all equally well educated?”
“No, but all have an equal opportunity. Everyone is given a broad
foundation of general information. The mind and hand are both trained
and prepared to do good work, and then the choice of occupation is made
and the special education begins. But one who has chosen some kind
of manual labor as his vocation very often takes up literary or other
professional work in addition, and everybody has some kind of study on
hand, by which the mind is kept employed. There is no uneducated class
among us.”
“Before you reached such nobility of character,” said the doctor, “that
panacea for so many ills, I suppose you had troubles enough. You have
already intimated as much to us. I wonder if it would not help us to
appreciate better your present condition if you should tell us briefly
of your experiences in solving so happily some of the problems of your
career. I am thinking now more especially of the difficulties of your
social and industrial reformation.”
“I will attempt something of the kind,” Thorwald replied, “if you are
sure I shall not weary you. Remember to prompt me if I do not follow the
lines of most interest to you.
“If you should prefer to read you would find the facts you want
fully set forth in our histories. The records are especially full
and exhaustive on the subjects you have mentioned, for the important
changes, or, at least, the changes whose story will be most instructive
to you, came in a time of great intellectual activity. Of the earlier
days the history is unfortunately less complete, and still further back
the records become uncertain and many are merely legendary.
“Let us begin at a time when civilization was confined to a small
portion of the surface of our planet. Society was then crude and
unformed. It was a rude, selfish age. But the germ of better things was
there, for the gospel of Christ had been planted in the world and was
sure to spring into life when its time should come. But meanwhile our
evil nature was strong and choked the good seed, and made advancement
slow and uncertain. Power was divided among many rulers who were
despots, whose principal occupation was war. The people were valued
merely for their fighting qualities and enjoyed only such rights and
privileges as their cruel masters allowed them. Being slaves themselves,
they held in a still more bitter slavery every prisoner captured in war.
“Life was mere animal existence for most of the race, without enjoyment
for the present or hope for the future. Education being denied them,
there was no mental stimulus to compensate for physical wretchedness,
and even their meager religious privileges were accompanied with so many
superstitious and unnatural rites that life was relieved of but a little
of its burden.
“Gradually power was concentrated in the hands of a few autocrats,
nations were consolidated, and war began to be a science. Then some
attention was paid to the comfort of the people for the purpose of
making them better soldiers. Soon it was found that intelligence was the
best weapon a man could carry, and so education, in a very stinted form,
was encouraged. This was a fatal blunder on the part of the rulers, for
as soon as the mind was unfettered the shackles began to fall from the
body, and the days of absolutism were numbered. The spirit of knowledge,
once released from its imprisonment, became a dominant power in the
world, and as time went on the people demanded a voice in the management
of affairs. In this way came constitutional government, which for a
long time held sway, and under which there came immense benefits to all.
Religion and learning flourished, science and art blessed the race with
their bounties, and the world began to be a brighter and better place to
live in, comparing the times with the ages of ignorance and cruelty that
went before.
“And now the stream of liberty broadened, and before long became a flood
that swept away thrones and scepters. Personal government ceased, and
the people became their own political masters. The right of suffrage
was extended and slavery was abolished, while commerce and the spirit of
adventure carried civilization to many parts of the world. Then appeared
a swarm of mechanical inventions to lighten the labor of mankind,
electricity came with its strong arm and great promise, and easier and
swifter transportation by land and sea brought the nations and peoples
together to the mutual advantage of all.
“Education, once the possession of the rich and powerful only, now shed
its benign influence over the whole people. Whereas, in the early
times, learning had caused the downfall of despotic power, it was
now considered a principal safeguard of good government, and made
compulsory. Wealth was accumulated, luxuries multiplied, and great
strides were taken in the material welfare of both nations and
individuals. It was an age of intense activity. So rapidly did events
follow each other, and such possibilities were anticipated, that
enthusiasts, whose heads were turned in the mad whirl, prophesied the
immediate opening of the millennium.
“Judged by all the race had previously known of freedom, of prosperity,
and of happiness, it was a grand age, and that generation might well be
proud of their timely birth. But, looked at from our present standpoint,
we can see it was still a day of sadness and sin. We understand, what
it was more difficult for them to realize, that the revival of pure
religion, awakening the conscience of mankind, had brought about all
that was good in their condition, while many evil tendencies had only
been exaggerated by their material prosperity. So it was still a
very imperfect world. Political freedom they had, but there was no
emancipation from the powerful thraldom of selfishness. That spirit held
universal sway, governing not only individual action but also the policy
of nations.
“One of the highest sentiments known to the times, and some writers
placed it even above religion, was love of country. Impassioned oratory
was fond of declaring that loyalty to one’s native land was the loftiest
emotion the heart could feel, and no voice was found to rebuke the
utterance.”
I was a little shocked to hear Thorwald, in his earnest manner, give
expression to these words, as though he looked upon such views in a very
serious light. I was therefore bold enough to interrupt him with:
“Excuse me, Thorwald, but would not these orators, when their attention
was called to their extreme language, acknowledge that love to God was a
still higher sentiment?”
“Perhaps they would, for with all the selfishness of the period there
was a deep-seated belief in a divine being. But even so, I still would
not allow them to be right.”
“Why,” I asked, “is there more than one motive higher than patriotism?”
“Yes, love is higher,” answered Thorwald. “Let me explain. What did
love of country mean? At first one’s country was a single family, then
a tribe, and later a city, when the measure of one’s patriotism was the
measure also of his hatred for everything foreign. In time a state was
formed from many cities and towns, and its citizens were taught to look
on all other states as enemies. Then these states that had been fighting
each other consolidated into a nation, made up, perhaps, of different
races and languages. By this time patriotism became a lofty theme, but
it was the same spirit essentially as that which prompts the members of
two savage tribes to fight to the death through a blind and unreasoning
devotion to their leaders. So do you not think that love to all, which
can only come from a generous heart, is more to be praised than love
to a part, which necessitates enmity to all the rest? I should think
it would have puzzled the people of that age sometimes to tell of what
their country really consisted. Was their highest allegiance due to
their city, or their county, or their state, or their nation?
“To what did this immoderate love of country lead? To a passion
for aggrandizement at the expense of others, and what was this but
selfishness with a gloss so bright as to make it look like a virtue? It
led to the strangling of conscience in national affairs, so as to make
wrong seem right, and, more than that, to persistence in a course when
it was well known to be wrong. It taught false ideas of honor and made
the world one grand dueling field, where the energy of nations was spent
in watching for insults from their neighbors, and where the quick blow
followed every real or fancied offense.
“Do not imagine, by what I have said, that I would have advised these
people to love their country less. On the contrary, I should tell them
to love it so much that they could not see it do wrong; to love it so
much that they should have no room in their hearts for bitterness toward
others; so much that they should strive to have it lead the world in a
march toward universal brotherhood. Love for one’s neighbor should not
stop at state or national boundaries. Love should know neither caste
nor country, but should take in the world, and, I might add for your
benefit, other worlds if necessary. Love is a condition of the heart,
something within, not without, the man, and when fully developed reaches
out to everything that God has made.”
“It seems to me, Thorwald,” I ventured to say, “that these sentiments,
which I can see are admirable, belong to your present high development,
while we of the earth have reached only about the condition of the
people whose traits you have been describing.”
“Then,” resumed Thorwald, “you can perhaps understand another evil of
those times. It did not grow directly out of love for country, but that
too much lauded sentiment prevented the people from seeing its full
enormity. This was the practice of attempting by law to protect the
inhabitants of one country by shutting out the goods of all others.
This prohibition included both the manufactured articles and natural
products, and the means adopted was the placing of a high duty
on imports. If the political leaders of a people could succeed in
convincing them that such a course would raise wages, increase the
opportunities for accumulating money, and make them in general more
prosperous, then it was forthwith adopted, entirely without regard to
the effect it might have on the rest of the world. It is not at all
plain to be seen, from reading the history of those times, that the
happiest results always followed the passage of these laws, but the
experiment was tried whenever a majority felt that there was a fair
expectation of such benefits. The only question considered was whether
it would be good policy for their particular country. And if one result
of this selfish legislation was the closing of mills and the loss of
employment to thousands of workmen in some other part of the world,
these facts were paraded in the public prints as though they were
matter for rejoicing. Men were yet to learn that the maxim which the
politicians were fond of quoting, ‘the greatest good to the greatest
number,’ should have a world-wide application to give it any meaning at
all.”
While my prejudices were receiving another shock, I knew the doctor was
really enjoying this part of Thorwald’s talk. So, in order to draw him
out, I said to him, as Thorwald paused:
“Doctor, I think our friend must belong to your party.”
“I should rather belong to his party,” replied the doctor.
“Thank you,” said Thorwald. “That is a compliment which I appreciate;
and now I think I have talked long enough for one sitting. Let us get
some lunch, and then go out for a good walk.”
Thorwald must have seen that the doctor’s mood was softening, but he
probably thought it wise not to speak more directly to him at present.