AN ACADEMIC DISCUSSION
It was some days after this conversation with my friends at the hotel
that I was present at a dinner-party given by the President of Mecco
University. There were about thirty guests, so that at table a general
conversation was almost impossible; I could hear only what was said
by those close to me. I was seated between a member of the diplomatic
corps and a general. General Wolf, a benevolent-looking old gentleman
with a large, coarse face and a double chin, seemed rather disappointed
that I could not discuss with him the Higher Mathematics. He deplored
the neglect of Mathematics in Meccania. He admitted that unless a
person had a mathematical brain it was useless to attempt to make
him a mathematician; but he said the Eugenics section of the Health
Department was not sufficiently alive to the importance of improving
the mathematical stock. He railed very bitterly against a member of the
Eugenics Board who had tried to get authority to improve the supply
of artists. Happily the Board had turned down his proposals. Count
Hardflogg, who wore the Mechow whisker and an eyeglass, and frowned
fiercely at everything one said to him, was full of a recent report by
the experts in the Industrial Psychology section of the Department of
Industry and Commerce. It seems they had recommended a shortening of
hours for the members of the Sixth and Fifth Classes in a number of
provincial towns, to bring them more on a level with the same class of
workers in Mecco itself. He said it was the thin end of the wedge; that
they ought not to have reported until experiments had been made with
a different diet: he blamed the Eugenics Section, too, for not being
able to produce a tougher strain of workers. Reduction of working hours
should not be resorted to, he maintained, until every other expedient
had been tried: it was so very difficult to increase them afterwards.
Besides, in the Strenuous Month, it had been proved over and over again
that the men could easily stand a longer working day without physical
injury.
"And what is the Strenuous Month?" I asked.
"Oh, of course," he said, "you have not studied our industrial system
as a factor of military organisation. There is a very good account of
it in Mr. Kwang's _Triumphs of Meccanian Culture_. Briefly it is this.
Every year, but not always in the same month, the signal is given for
the Strenuous Month to begin. The workmen then work at top speed, and
for as many hours a day as the Industrial Psychologists determine, for
thirty days consecutively. It is excellent training, and incidentally
has a very good effect on the output for the other months of the year.
The men are so glad when it is over that, unconsciously, they work
better for the rest of the year."
"But I should have thought they would be so fatigued that you would
lose as much as you gain, or more perhaps," I said.
"Oh no," he answered; "they are allowed one day's complete rest, which
they must spend in bed; their diet is arranged, both during the time
and for a month after. They must go to bed for two hours extra every
night for the following month. The effect is most beneficial. They like
it too, on the whole, for they get paid for all the extra product--that
is to say, it is added to their pension fund."
"But I thought the pension fund was so calculated," I said, "that it
tallies exactly with what is required for the support of each man from
the time he ceases to be able to work."
"Certainly," he replied. "After fifty-five most of our men work an
hour a day less every two years, with variations according to their
capacity, as tested by the medical examinations."
"Then how do they benefit," I asked, "by the product of the strenuous
month, if it is only added to their pension and not paid at the time?"
"If it is added to the pension fund," he replied, "it is obvious that
they must benefit."
I did not pursue the matter further. He asked me if I had been to the
Annual Medical Exhibition. I said I had not heard of it, and did not
suppose I should receive permission to see it, as I was not altogether
well qualified to understand it. He said it was most interesting. He
was not a medical man himself, of course; but as an officer in the army
he had had to get some acquaintance with physiology.
"The medical menagerie gets more interesting every year," he said.
"The medical menagerie!" I exclaimed. "Whatever is that?"
"It is a wonderful collection of animals, not only domestic but wild
animals too, upon which experiments have been carried out. There are
goats with sheep's legs. There are cows with horses' hearts, and dogs
with only hind-legs, and pigs without livers--oh, all sorts of things.
The funniest is a pig with a tiger's skin."
"And what is the object of it all?" I said.
"Oh, just a regular part of medical research. The most valuable
experiments are those with bacilli, of course; but only the experts can
understand these, as a rule."
"But it is not safe to infer that the results of experiments on animals
will be applicable to human beings," I said.
"Of course not, without further verification; but the Special Medical
Board have ample powers to carry out research."
"What, upon human beings?" I exclaimed.
"People do not always know when they are being experimented upon," he
remarked significantly. "Besides, if a man is already suffering from an
incurable disease, what does it matter? Of course, we use anæsthetics,
wherever possible at least; that goes without saying."
After dinner we drank wine for a little time, seated in little groups
after the manner of a custom in some of the colleges in Luniland.
Here, instead of being placed with the two gentlemen who had been my
neighbours at table, I was one of a group of four, the others being two
professors and a high official in the Sociological Department. One of
the professors was Secret Councillor Sikofantis-Sauer, an Economist;
the other was Church Councillor Muhgubb-Slimey, a Theologian. We
talked of indifferent matters for some time until the High Official
left us, when the idea occurred to me to try whether the Economist
would enlighten me upon the subject of the ultimate destination of the
phenomenal production of the Meccanian economic organisation.
I remarked that I had never seen in any country so few signs of
discontent as in Meccania, and I asked if this was due to the great
wealth that must necessarily be produced by the efficiency of the
methods of production. Professor Sikofantis-Sauer, the Economist, said
that my question betrayed that I was not acquainted with the Meccanian
System of Ethics. I wondered why the Professor of Economics should
begin talking of Ethics. He went on, "Social discontent was never
really due to lack of wealth. Properly speaking, it has no relation
to material wealth at all. This has been proved up to the hilt--if it
needed any proof--by our researches in Economic and Social History.
In a nutshell the proof is this. What was called poverty in the early
nineteenth century would have been considered affluence in, let us
say, the fifth or even the tenth century. The whole idea of wealth is
subjective. Now anyone knows that, where wealth is allowed to become
the main objective of the social activities of the people, the desire
for individual wealth is insatiable. The notion that you can ever
reach a state of contentment, by increasing the wealth of the people,
is one of the greatest fallacies that even the economists of Luniland
ever entertained--and that is saying a good deal. Consequently, if we
have succeeded in eradicating discontent, it has not been by pursuing
the mirage of a popular El Dorado. No, you must replace the insane
desire for the gratification of individual indulgence by a conception
of a truer kind of well-being. If the individual once grasps the fact
that in himself, and by himself, he is little better than an arboreal
ape, and that all he possesses, all he can possess, is the gift of the
State--which gives him nourishment, language, ideas, knowledge; which
trains him to use his powers, such as they are--he will assume an
entirely different attitude. Our system of education, far more than
our system of production, is responsible for the eradication of social
and of every other kind of discontent."
"Then I suppose," I said, "the lower classes, as we sometimes call them
abroad--your Fifth and Sixth and Seventh Classes, for example--never
inquire whether they receive what they consider a fair share of the
national product?"
Professor Sauer laughed aloud. "Pardon me," he said, "but you remind me
of a story I used to hear when I was a boy, of a man who had slept in
some cave or den for fifty years, or was it a century, and woke up to
find a different world. Such a question belongs to the buried fossils
of economic theory. Who can say what is a fair share? You might as well
ask whether one musical composition is more just than another."
"Well, perhaps you can tell me this," I said. "Considering the
superiority of your methods of production, I should have expected
to find a much higher standard of individual wealth, or comfort, or
leisure--you know what I mean--among not only the lower classes, but
all classes. I cannot help wondering what becomes of all the surplus."
"We have all enough for our needs," he said, "and the requirements of
the State are of far more importance than the gratification of the
tastes of individuals."
"May I put in a word?" said Professor Slimey the Theologian. "In the
modern world, the productive powers of man have outstripped his other
powers. It is one of the mysteries of the ways of Providence. The
discipline of labour is necessary for the development of the soul, but
the devil has sought to seduce mankind by teaching him how to produce
more than is good for him, in the hope that he will become corrupted by
luxury. In other countries that corruption has already taken place. The
strenuous life is the only life consistent with moral health. Under the
Divine guidance our ruling classes--I am old-fashioned enough to use
that expression, for in the eyes of God there are no First or Second
Classes--have preserved the sense of duty; they are a discipline unto
themselves. God's blessings have been multiplied unto them, and they
have not forgotten the Divine injunctions. We cannot expect that the
masses of mankind can discipline themselves, and for them the only
safety lies in well-regulated and well-directed labour. There can be no
greater curse for a people than idleness and luxury. Fortunately, we
have been able to preserve them from the evil effects of superabundant
wealth."
"I have sometimes wondered," I said, "whether the requirements of the
State in regard to what is called National Defence were so great as to
account for the surplus product."
"Undoubtedly the demands of the army are very considerable," replied
Sauer. "You must remember that we have to protect ourselves against
the whole world, so to speak."
"But no estimate has been made, I suppose, of what is required for such
things?" I said.
"That is a matter of high policy," replied Sauer. "It would be
impossible to estimate for it as a separate item in National
expenditure. There again you betray your Lunilandish conceptions
of National finance. No doubt they keep up this practice still in
Luniland, but such a notion belongs to a bygone age. The State must be
able to mobilise all its resources; that is the only logical policy, if
you mean to conduct the affairs of the nation successfully, not only in
time of war but in time of peace. Your asking how much National wealth
is devoted to Defence is like asking a man how much of his dinner is
devoted to sustaining his religion."
"But is it not important to be able to form some approximate idea, from
the economic point of view?" I said. "For, in one sense, it represents
so much waste."
"So much waste?" exclaimed Professor Slimey indignantly; "to what
nobler purpose could the energies of the people be directed than to the
defence of their Emperor, their God and their Fatherland?"
"I did not mean that it might not be necessary," I replied, "but it is
like a man who has to build a dyke against floods. It may be necessary,
but if he could be sure that the floods would not come, he could
devote his energies to something more profitable."
Professor Slimey shook his head solemnly. "No, no," he said, "that
is another of the fallacies current among foreign peoples. We should
sink to their level if our people had not ever before them the duty
of serving God by upholding the power of Meccania, his chosen nation.
Indeed, I often think what a dispensation of Providence it is that it
involves so much labour. Imagine the state of the common people if they
could maintain themselves by the aid of a few hours' work a day!"
"Would there not be so much more scope for the spread of your Culture?"
I said. "In fact, I had been given to understand that your Culture
had reached such a high level that you could easily dispense with the
discipline of long hours of labour."
"Our Culture," he replied, speaking with authority, "is not an
individual culture at all. It must be understood as a unity. It
includes this very discipline of which you seem to think so lightly. It
includes the discipline of all classes. The monks of the Middle Ages
knew that idleness would undermine even their ideal of life, for they
knew that life is a discipline. Our National Culture is the nearest
approach to the Christian ideal that any nation has ever put into
practice."
"I cannot, of course, speak with confidence upon such a question,"
I replied, "but I thought the Christian ideal was the development
of the individual soul, whereas the Meccanian ideal--I speak under
correction--implies the elimination of the individual soul: everything
must be sacrificed to the realisation of the glory of the Super-State."
"The Super-State," answered Slimey, "is itself the Great Soul of
Meccania; it includes all the individual souls. What you call the
sacrifice of the individual soul is no real sacrifice; it is merely a
losing oneself to find oneself in the larger soul of Meccania. And just
as the individual soul may inflict suffering on itself for the sake
of higher self-realisation, so the Super-Soul of Meccania may inflict
suffering on the individual souls within itself for the sake of the
higher self-realisation. The soul of Meccania is as wonderful in the
spiritual world as the material manifestation of Meccania is in the
material world."
"I am sure you are right," I said, "although it never struck me in that
light before. The soul of Meccania is the most wonderful phenomenon in
the history of the world."
"No," replied Professor Slimey, with his solemn air, "it is not
phenomenon: it is the thing in itself." Here he paused to drink a
liqueur. Then he went on, "It is purely spiritual. It has existed
from eternity and has become clothed and manifest through the outward
and inward development of the Super-State. You foreigners see only
the outward forms, which are merely symbols. It is the Super-Soul
of Meccania that is destined to absorb the world of spirit, as the
Super-State is destined to conquer the material world."
Professor Sikofantis-Sauer gazed with his fishy eyes, as if he had
heard all this before. "Some day," I said, "I should like to hear
more of the Super-Soul, but while I have the privilege of talking to
both of you I should like to learn some things which probably only a
Professor of Economics can tell me. You, as Meccanians, will pardon
me, I know, for seeking to acquire knowledge." They nodded assent. "I
know something of the economic ideas of other nations in Europe," I
said, "but your conditions are so different that I am quite at sea with
regard to the economic doctrines of Meccania. What Economic Laws are
there within the Super-State?"
"A very profound question," answered Sauer, "and yet the answer
is simple. What you have studied in other countries is merely the
economics of free exchange, as carried on among peoples of a low
culture. Our Economics have hardly anything in common. Some of the laws
of large-scale production are similar, but beyond that, our science
rests upon other principles. Our science is based upon Meccanian
Ethics. The laws of demand have quite a different meaning with us. The
State determines the whole character and volume of demand, and entirely
upon ethical grounds."
"And distribution too, I suppose?"
"Naturally. That is implied in the regulation of demand. The State
determines what each class may spend, and in so doing determines both
demand and distribution."
"But I was under the impression that the well-to-do--the Third and
higher classes generally--had much more latitude than the lower classes
in these respects," I said.
"Quite so. That again is part of our national ethical system. Just
as our Economics are National Economics, so our Ethics are National
Ethics. The higher functions discharged by the higher classes demand
a higher degree and quality of consumption. You will find some most
interesting researches upon this subject in the reports of the
Sociological Department. Dr. Greasey's monograph on the _Sociological
Function of the Third Class_ is also a masterpiece in its way."
"And the Second Class?" I said. "They will require still more latitude?"
"The Second Class, like the First," replied Sauer, "stands outside
and above the purely Economic aspect of Society. Their function
is to determine what the National-Social Structure shall be. Our
business as economists is to provide ways and means. No doubt they are
unconsciously guided, or shall I say inspired, by the workings of the
Meccanian spirit, of which they are the highest depositaries; and all
the organs of the State are at their service, to give effect to their
interpretation of the will of the Super-State."
"You do not find any tendency on their part, I suppose, to make large
demands for themselves in the shape of what we non-Meccanians persist
in calling 'wealth'?" I said.
"Such a question," answered Sauer, "does not admit of any answer,
because it involves a conception of wealth which we have entirely
discarded. The Second Class--and with them, of course, I include
the First Class, for they are indivisible in their functions and
spirit--exists for the Super-State. Whatever they consume is consumed
in the discharge of the highest duties of the State. Whatever is
required by them is simply part of the necessary expenditure of the
State. But although no limit is set--and who would presume to set any
limit?--it is remarkable how little of this expenditure assumes the
form of personal consumption. For the sake of the dignity of the State,
their life must be conducted--collectively--on a magnificent scale.
But, as you know, a dignitary like the Pope may live in the finest
palace in Europe and yet be a man of simple tastes and habits; so
our noble class--and no nobler class has ever existed--may represent
the glory of the Super-State and yet be the embodiment of the purest
virtues."
"I would go further," said Professor Slimey at this point. "Our noble
Second Class--and of course I associate the First Class with them, for
in reality they are all one--are the true Protectors of the State:
they are the guardians of us all. Have you not noticed throughout
all history that, after a successful war, the people are ready to
bestow all manner of honours and benefits upon those who have saved
their country? Well, I say those who have given us all the glory and
honour, ay, and the spoils of victory too, without going to war, are as
deserving of the rewards as if they had come back from a long campaign.
We cannot honour them too much. Besides, it is good for the people to
feel that there is a class upon whom they can bestow the natural warmth
of their affection and their admiration. The desire to bow down in
reverent admiration, the desire to do honour to the worthiest of our
race, is a God-given impulse, and should be encouraged, not checked.
Our people feel this. We do not bargain with them as to what share
they shall have: we do not lay aside a tenth, or some such absurd
proportion: we say, take our wealth, take whatever we can give, it is
all yours, you are the fathers of the State, you are our saviours."
"And you think this spirit prevails throughout Meccania?" I said.
"I am perfectly sure of it," replied Slimey. "All our greatest artists
offer their works freely to the members of the Second Class; all the
most gifted scientists compete for places in the colleges for the
training of the Military; the services of our best writers are at
their disposal: we withhold nothing from them."
"Then it is true, I gather, that the custom I have heard of, by which
wives and daughters of other classes, if they are thought worthy by
the Eugenics Board, are--shall I say--dedicated to the service of the
Second Class, arouses no feeling of indignation?"
"Indignation!" exclaimed the Professor of Theology. "It is a duty and a
privilege."
"But is it not contrary to the principles of the Christian religion?
I confess I speak with some hesitation, as I do not belong to the
Christian communion; but I have been told by some of the strictest
of the Christian sects in other countries that such a practice is a
violation of the Christian code."
Professor Slimey refreshed himself, and I could see another long
speech was coming. "That is a sample of the uncharitable criticism
which is constantly being aimed at us, by those who cloak their envy
and spite under the name of Christian doctrine. Yet they are utterly
inconsistent with themselves. They admit the Doctrine of Development,
yet they deny its application, except to suit their own purposes. Take
Usury, for example. Christian doctrine, as expounded by the Fathers,
regarded usury as sinful. Yet usury is practised in all so-called
Christian countries without protest. Why? Because their system of
Economics cannot work without it. I might give other illustrations,
but that will suffice. Now Ethics must undergo development if there
is to be progress in morals. The supreme well-being of the State
gives the key to all progress in Ethics. If the custom you refer to
were due to private concupiscence, we--and I speak for all Meccanian
theologians--would be the first to denounce it. The sin of adultery is
a spiritual sin, and exists only where carnal desire is the motive.
Every theologian knows that the same physical act may be performed
in conformity with the behests of the Mosaic law, or in direct
disobedience of it. The one is a sacred duty, the other is sin. It is
like the alleged obligation to speak the truth upon all occasions.
There is no such obligation. We must look to the end in view. Where the
supreme needs of the State demand concealment or even deception, the
private ethical impulse to speak the truth to an enemy is superseded
by the greater obligation to the State. The virtue of Chastity is not
violated; it is raised, if I may say so, to its transcendent degree,
by an act of sacrifice which implies the surrender of merely private
virtue to the interests of the State; for you must remember that the
State as developed by the Meccanian spirit is the highest embodiment of
the will of God upon earth."
"We seem to have been carried rather a long way from Meccanian
Economics," I remarked, turning to Professor Sauer by way of apology
for having carried on the conversation for so long with Professor
Slimey.
"Not at all," he answered. "Meccanian Ethics and Meccanian Economics
cannot be separated."
"It must make the science of Economics much more difficult in one
sense; but, on the other hand, what a relief it must be to have got rid
of all those old troublesome theories of value!" I observed.
"We have not got rid of theories of value," answered Sauer; "they too
have only been developed. The basis of our theory of value is to be
found in Meccanian Ethics."
"In other words," I said, laughing, "the value of a pair of boots in
Meccania is determined by the theologians!"
"How do you mean?" asked Sauer.
"I mean that the remuneration of an artisan in the Fifth Class will
purchase so many pairs of boots; and the remuneration of the artisan is
determined by what the State thinks good for him; and what the State
thinks good for him is determined by Meccanian Ethics; and I suppose
the theologians determine the system of Meccanian Ethics."
At that point our conversation was interrupted by an announcement that
the toast of the evening would be drunk. This was the signal for the
party to break up. We drank to the success of the Meccanian Empire and
the confounding of all its enemies, and I went home to the hotel to
find a message from Kwang asking me to see him the following day. I
spent the morning as usual with Lickrod, who was initiating me into
the method of using the catalogues in the Great Library of Mecco. It
was indeed a marvel of 'librarianship.' There was a bibliography upon
every conceivable subject. There was a complete catalogue of every
book according to author, and another according to subject. There was
a complete catalogue of the books issued in each separate year for the
last twenty-five years. There were courses of study with brief notes
upon all the books. Lickrod was in his element. As we came away, about
lunch-time, I said to him, "Suppose I want to take back with me, when I
leave the country, a dozen books to read for pure pleasure, what would
you recommend me to take?"
"Upon what subject?" he asked.
"Upon anything, no matter what. What I am thinking of are books which
are just works of art in themselves, pieces of pure literature either
in poetry or prose."
"A book must be about something," he said; "it must fall into some
category or other."
"Is there no imaginative literature?" I asked.
"Oh, certainly, we have scores of treatises on the imagination."
"But I mean books that are the work of the imagination."
"I see. You want them for your children, perhaps: they would be found
in the juvenile departments; fables and parables, and that sort of
thing."
"No, I mean books without any serious purpose, but for grown-up people.
I seem to remember such works in the old Meccanian literature."
"How very odd," answered Lickrod, "that you should express a wish to
see works of that kind."
"Why?" I asked, in some surprise.
"Because we find works of that kind in great demand in the asylums for
the mentally afflicted. You see, we treat the inmates as humanely as
possible, and our pathologists tell us that they cannot read the books
by modern authors. We have to let them read for a few hours a day, and
they beg, really rather piteously, for the old books. It is always
old books they ask for. I suppose in a way they are cases of a kind
of arrested development. At any rate, they have not been able to keep
pace with the developments of our ideas. Doctor Barm reported only last
year that the only books that seem to have a soothing effect on these
patients are those written, oh, two hundred years ago, and of the very
kind you probably have in mind."