Came a pause. The Earthlings looked at one another and their gaze seemed to converge1 upon Mr. Cecil Burleigh. That statesman feigned3 to be unaware4 of the general expectation. “Rupert,” he said. “Won’t you?”
“I reserve my comments,” said Mr. Catskill. “Father Amerton, you are accustomed to treat of other worlds.”
“Not in your presence, Mr. Cecil. No.”
“But what am I to tell them?”
“What you think of it,” said Mr. Barnstaple.
“Exactly,” said Mr. Catskill. “Tell them what you think of it.”
No one else appeared to be worthy5 of consideration. Mr. Burleigh rose slowly and walked thoughtfully to the centre of the semicircle. He grasped his coat lapels and remained for some moments with face downcast as if considering what he was about to say. “Mr. Serpentine7,” he began at last, raising a candid8 countenance9 and regarding the blue sky above the distant lake through his glasses. “Ladies and Gentlemen —”
He was going to make a speech! — as though he was at a Primrose10 League garden party — or Geneva. It was preposterous11 and yet, what else was there to be done?
“I must confess, Sir, that although I am by no means a novice12 at public speaking, I find myself on this occasion somewhat at a loss. Your admirable discourse13, Sir, simple, direct, lucid14, compact, and rising at times to passages of unaffected eloquence16, has set me a pattern that I would fain follow — and before which, in all modesty17, I quail18. You ask me to tell you as plainly and clearly as possible the outline facts as we conceive them about this kindred world out of which with so little premeditation we have come to you. So far as my poor powers of understanding or discussing such recondite19 matters go, I do not think I can better or indeed supplement in any way your marvellous exposition of the mathematical aspects of the case. What you have told us embodies20 the latest, finest thoughts of terrestrial science and goes, indeed, far beyond our current ideas. On certain matters, in, for example, the relationship of time and gravitation, I feel bound to admit that I do not go with you, but that is rather a failure to understand your position than any positive dissent21. Upon the broader aspects of the case there need be no difficulties between us. We accept your main proposition unreservedly; namely, that we conceive ourselves to be living in a parallel universe to yours, on a planet the very brother of your own, indeed quite amazingly like yours, having regard to all the possible contrasts we might have found here. We are attracted by and strongly disposed to accept your view that our system is, in all probability, a little less seasoned and mellowed22 by the touch of time than yours, short perhaps by some hundreds or some thousands of years of your experiences. Assuming this, it is inevitable23, Sir, that a certain humility24 should mingle25 in our attitude towards you. As your juniors it becomes us not to instruct but to learn. It is for us to ask: What have you done? To what have you reached? rather than to display to you with an artless arrogance26 all that still remains27 for us to learn and do. . . . ”
“No!” said Mr. Barnstaple to himself but half audibly. “This is a dream. . . . If it were anyone else. . . . ”
He rubbed his knuckles28 into his eyes and opened them again, and there he was still, sitting next to Mr. Mush in the midst of these Olympian divinities. And Mr. Burleigh, that polished sceptic, who never believed, who was never astonished, was leaning forward on his toes and speaking, speaking, with the assurance of a man who has made ten thousand speeches. He could not have been more sure of himself and his audience in the Guildhall in London. And they were understanding him! Which was absurd!
There was nothing to do but to fall in with this stupendous absurdity30 — and sit and listen. Sometimes Mr. Barnstaple’s mind wandered altogether from what Mr. Burleigh was saying. Then it returned and hung desperately31 to his discourse. In his halting, parliamentary way, his hands trifling33 with his glasses or clinging to the lapels of his coat, Mr. Burleigh was giving Utopia a brief account of the world of men, seeking to be elementary and lucid and reasonable, telling them of states and empires, of wars and the Great War, of economic organization and disorganization, of revolutions and Bolshevism, of the terrible Russian famine that was beginning, of the difficulties of finding honest statesmen and officials, and of the unhelpfulness of newspapers, of all the dark and troubled spectacle of human life. Serpentine had used the term “the Last Age of Confusion,” and Mr. Burleigh had seized upon the phrase and was making much of it. . . .
It was a great oratorical34 impromptu35. It must have gone on for an hour, and the Utopians listened with keen, attentive36 faces, now and then nodding their acceptance and recognition of this statement or that. “Very like,” would come tapping into Mr. Barnstaple’s brain. “With us also — in the Age of Confusion.”
At last Mr. Burleigh, with the steady deliberation of an old parliamentary hand, drew to his end. Compliments.
He bowed. He had done. Mr. Mush startled everyone by a vigorous hand-clapping in which no one else joined.
The tension in Mr. Barnstaple’s mind had become intolerable. He leapt to his feet.
Section 2
He stood making those weak propitiatory37 gestures that come so naturally to the inexperienced speaker. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said. “Utopians, Mr. Burleigh! I crave38 your pardon for a moment. There is a little matter. Urgent.”
For a brief interval39 he was speechless.
Then he found attention and encouragement in the eye of Urthred.
“Something I don’t understand. Something incredible — I mean, incompatible40. The little rift41. Turns everything into a fantastic phantasmagoria.”
The intelligence in Urthred’s eye was very encouraging. Mr. Barnstaple abandoned any attempt to address the company as a whole, and spoke42 directly to Urthred.
“You live in Utopia, hundreds of thousands of years in advance of us. How is it that you are able to talk contemporary English — to use exactly the same language that we do? I ask you, how is that? It is incredible. It jars. It makes a dream of you. And yet you are not a dream? It makes me feel — almost — insane.”
Urthred smiled pleasantly. “We don’t speak English,” he said.
Mr. Barnstaple felt the ground slipping from under his feet. “But I hear you speaking English,” he said.
“Nevertheless we do not speak it,” said Urthred.
He smiled still more broadly. “We don’t — for ordinary purposes — speak anything.”
Mr. Barnstaple, with his brain resigning its functions, maintained his pose of deferential43 attention.
“Ages ago,” Urthred continued, “we certainly used to speak languages. We made sounds and we heard sounds. People used to think, and then chose and arranged words and uttered them. The hearer heard, noted44, and retranslated the sounds into ideas. Then, in some manner which we still do not understand perfectly45, people began to get the idea before it was clothed in words and uttered in sounds. They began to hear in their minds, as soon as the speaker had arranged his ideas and before he put them into word symbols even in his own mind. They knew what he was going to say before he said it. This direct transmission presently became common; it was found out that with a little effort most people could get over to each other in this fashion to some extent, and the new mode of communication was developed systematically46.
“That is what we do now habitually47 in this world. We think directly to each other. We determine to convey the thought and it is conveyed at once — provided the distance is not too great. We use sounds in this world now only for poetry and pleasure and in moments of emotion or to shout at a distance, or with animals, not for the transmission of ideas from human mind to kindred human mind any more. When I think to you, the thought, so far as it finds corresponding ideas and suitable words in your mind, is reflected in your mind. My thought clothes itself in words in your mind, which words you seem to hear — and naturally enough in your own language and your own habitual48 phrases. Very probably the members of your party are hearing what I am saying to you, each with his own individual difference of vocabulary and phrasing.”
Mr. Barnstaple had been punctuating49 this discourse with sharp, intelligent nods, coming now and then to the verge2 of interruption. Now he broke out with: “And that is why occasionally — as for instance when Mr. Serpentine made his wonderful explanation just now — when you soar into ideas of which we haven’t even a shadow in our minds, we just hear nothing at all.”
“Are there such gaps?” asked Urthred.
“Many, I fear — for all of us,” said Mr. Burleigh.
“It’s like being deaf in spots,” said Lady Stella. “Large spots.”
Father Amerton nodded agreement.
“And that is why we cannot be clear whether you are called Urthred or Adam, and why I have found myself confusing Arden and Greentrees and Forest in my mind.”
“I hope that now you are mentally more at your case?” said Urthred.
“Oh, quite,” said Mr. Barnstaple. “Quite. And all things considered, it is really very convenient for us that there should be this method of transmission. For otherwise I do not see how we could have avoided weeks of linguistic50 bother, first principles of our respective grammars, logic51, significs, and so forth52, boring stuff for the most part, before we could have got to anything like our present understanding.”
“A very good point indeed,” said Mr. Burleigh, turning round to Mr. Barnstaple in a very friendly way. “A very good point indeed. I should never have noted it if you had not called my attention to it. It is quite extraordinary; I had not noted anything of this — this difference. I was occupied, I am bound to confess, by my own thoughts. I supposed they were speaking English. Took it for granted.”
Section 3
It seemed to Mr. Barnstaple that this wonderful experience was now so complete that there remained nothing more to wonder at except its absolute credibility. He sat in this beautiful little building looking out upon dreamland flowers and the sunlit lake amidst this strange mingling53 of week-end English costumes and this more than Olympian nudity that had already ceased to startle him, he listened and occasionally participated in the long informal conversation that now ensued. It was a discussion that brought to light the most amazing and fundamental differences of moral and social outlook. Yet everything had now assumed a reality that made it altogether natural to suppose that he would presently go home to write about it in the Liberal and tell his wife, as much as might seem advisable at the time, about the manners and costumes of this hitherto undiscovered world. He had not even a sense of intervening distances. Sydenham might have been just round the corner.
Presently two pretty young girls made tea at an equipage among the rhododendra and brought it round to people. Tea! It was what we should call China tea, very delicate, and served in little cups without handles, Chinese fashion, but it was real and very refreshing54 tea.
The earlier curiosities of the Earthlings turned upon methods of government. This was perhaps natural in the presence of two such statesmen as Mr. Burleigh and Mr. Catskill.
“What form of government do you have?” asked Mr. Burleigh. “Is it a monarchy55 or an autocracy56 or a pure democracy? Do you separate the executive and the legislative57? And is there one central government for all your planet, or are there several governing centres?”
It was conveyed to Mr. Burleigh and his companions with some difficulty that there was no central government in Utopia at all.
“But surely,” said Mr. Burleigh, “there is someone or something, some council or bureau or what not, somewhere, with which the final decision rests in cases of collective action for the common welfare, Some ultimate seat and organ of sovereignty, it seems to me, there must be.” . . .
No, the Utopians declared, there was no such concentration of authority in their world. In the past there had been, but it had long since diffused58 back into the general body of the community. Decisions in regard to any particular matter were made by the people who knew most about that matter.
“But suppose it is a decision that has to be generally observed? A rule affecting the public health, for example? Who would enforce it?”
“It would not need to be enforced. Why should it?”
“But suppose someone refused to obey your regulation?”
“We should inquire why he or she did not conform. There might be some exceptional reason.”
“But failing that?”
“We should make an inquiry59 into his mental and moral health.”
“The mind doctor takes the place of the policeman,” said Mr. Burleigh.
“I should prefer the policeman,” said Mr. Rupert Catskill.
“You would, Rupert,” said Mr. Burleigh as who should say: “Got you that time.”
“Then do you mean to say,” he continued, addressing the Utopians with an expression of great intelligence, “that your affairs are all managed by special bodies or organizations — one scarcely knows what to call them — without any co-ordination of their activities?”
“The activities of our world,” said Urthred, “are all co-ordinated to secure the general freedom. We have a number of intelligences directed to the general psychology60 of the race and to the interaction of one collective function upon another.”
“Well, isn’t that group of intelligences a governing class?” said Mr. Burleigh.
“Not in the sense that they exercise any arbitrary will,” said Urthred. “They deal with general relations, that is all. But they rank no higher, they have no more precedence on that account than a philosopher has over a scientific specialist.”
“This is a republic indeed!” said Mr. Burleigh. “But how it works and how it came about I cannot imagine. Your state is probably a highly socialistic one?”
“You live still in a world in which nearly everything except the air, the high roads, the high seas and the wilderness61 is privately62 owned?”
“We do,” said Mr. Catskill. “Owned — and competed for.”
“We have been through that stage. We found at last that private property in all but very personal things was an intolerable nuisance to mankind. We got rid of it. An artist or a scientific man has complete control of all the material he needs, we all own our tools and appliances and have rooms and places of our own, but there is no property for trade or speculation63. All this militant64 property, this property of manoeuvre65, has been quite got rid of. But how we got rid of it is a long story. It was not done in a few years. The exaggeration of private property was an entirely66 natural and necessary stage in the development of human nature. It led at last to monstrous67 results, but it was only through these monstrous and catastrophic results that men learnt the need and nature of the limitations of private property.”
Mr. Burleigh had assumed an attitude which was obviously habitual to him. He sat very low in his chair with his long legs crossed in front of him and the thumb and fingers of one hand placed with meticulous68 exactness against those of the other.
“I must confess,” he said, “that I am most interested in the peculiar69 form of Anarchism which seems to prevail here. Unless I misunderstand you completely every man attends to his own business as the servant of the state. I take it you have — you must correct me if I am wrong — a great number of people concerned in the production and distribution and preparation of food; they inquire, I assume, into the needs of the world, they satisfy them and they are a law unto themselves in their way of doing it. They conduct researches, they make experiments. Nobody compels, obliges, restrains or prevents them. (“People talk to them about it,” said Urthred with a faint smile.) And again others produce and manufacture and study metals for all mankind and are also a law unto themselves. Others again see to the habitability of your world, plan and arrange these delightful70 habitations, say who shall use them and how they shall be used. Others pursue pure science. Others experiment with sensory71 and imaginative possibilities and are artists. Others again teach.”
“They are very important,” said Lychnis.
“And they all do it in harmony — and due proportion. Without either a central legislature or executive. I will admit that all this seems admirable — but impossible. Nothing of the sort has ever been even suggested yet in the world from which we come.”
“Something of the sort was suggested long ago by the Guild29 Socialists72,” said Mr. Barnstaple.
“Dear me!” said Mr. Burleigh. “I know very little about the Guild Socialists. Who were they? Tell me.”
Mr. Barnstaple tacitly declined that task. “The idea is quite familiar to our younger people,” he said. “Laski calls it the pluralistic state, as distinguished73 from the monistic state in which sovereignty is concentrated. Even the Chinese have it. A Pekin professor, Mr. S. C. Chang, has written a pamphlet on what he calls ‘Professionalism.’ I read it only a few weeks ago. He sent it to the office of the Liberal. He points out how undesirable74 it is and how unnecessary for China to pass through a phase of democratic politics on the western model. He wants China to go right straight on to a collateral75 independence of functional76 classes, mandarins, industrials, agricultural workers and so forth, much as we seem to find it here. Though that of course involves an educational revolution. Decidedly the germ of what you call Anarchism here is also in the air we come from.”
“Dear me!” said Mr. Burleigh, looking more intelligent and appreciative77 than ever. “And is that so? I had no idea —!”
Section 4
The conversation continued desultory78 in form and yet the exchange of ideas was rapid and effective. Quite soon, as it seemed to Mr. Barnstaple, an outline of the history of Utopia from the Last Age of Confusion onward79 shaped itself in his mind.
The more he learnt of that Last Age of Confusion the more it seemed to resemble the present time on earth. In those days the Utopians had worn abundant clothing and lived in towns quite after the earthly fashion. A fortunate conspiracy80 of accidents rather than any set design had opened for them some centuries of opportunity and expansion. Climatic phases and political chances had smiled upon the race after a long period of recurrent shortage, pestilence81 and destructive warfare82. For the first time the Utopians had been able to explore the whole planet on which they lived, and these explorations had brought great virgin83 areas under the axe84, the spade and the plough. There had been an enormous increase in real wealth and in leisure and liberty. Many thousands of people were lifted out of the normal squalor of human life to positions in which they could, if they chose, think and act with unprecedented85 freedom. A few, a sufficient few, did. A vigorous development of scientific inquiry began and, trailing after it a multitude of ingenious inventions, produced a great enlargement of practical human power.
There had been previous outbreaks of the scientific intelligence in Utopia, but none before had ever occurred in such favourable86 circumstances or lasted long enough to come to abundant practical fruition. Now in a couple of brief centuries the Utopians, who had hitherto crawled about their planet like sluggish87 ants or travelled parasitically88 on larger and swifter animals, found themselves able to fly rapidly or speak instantaneously to any other point on the planet. They found themselves, too, in possession of mechanical power on a scale beyond all previous experience, and not simply of mechanical power; physiological89 and then psychological science followed in the wake of physics and chemistry, and extraordinary possibilities of control over his own body and over his social life dawned upon the Utopian. But these things came, when at last they did come, so rapidly and confusingly that it was only a small minority of people who realized the possibilities, as distinguished from the concrete achievements, of this tremendous expansion of knowledge. The rest took the novel inventions as they came, haphazard90, with as little adjustment as possible of their thoughts and ways of living to the new necessities these novelties implied.
The first response of the general population of Utopia to the prospect91 of power, leisure and freedom thus opened out to it was proliferation. It behaved just as senselessly and mechanically as any other animal or vegetable species would have done. It bred until it had completely swamped the ampler opportunity that had opened before it. It spent the great gifts of science as rapidly as it got them in a mere92 insensate multiplication93 of the common life. At one time in the Last Age of Confusion the population of Utopia had mounted to over two thousand million. . . .
“But what is it now?” asked Mr. Burleigh.
About two hundred and fifty million, the Utopians told him. That had been the maximum population that could live a fully6 developed life upon the surface of Utopia. But now with increasing resources the population was being increased.
A gasp94 of horror came from Father Amerton. He had been dreading95 this realization96 for some time. It struck at his moral foundations. “And you dare to regulate increase! You control it! Your women consent to bear children as they are needed — or refrain!”
“Of course,” said Urthred. “Why not?”
“I feared as much,” said Father Amerton, and leaning forward he covered his face with his hands, murmuring, “I felt this in the atmosphere! The human stud farm! Refusing to create souls! The wickedness of it! Oh, my God!”
Mr. Burleigh regarded the emotion of the reverend gentleman through his glasses with a slightly shocked expression. He detested97 catchwords. But Father Amerton stood for very valuable conservative elements in the community. Mr. Burleigh turned to the Utopian again. “That is extremely interesting,” he said. “Even at present our earth contrives98 to carry a population of at least five times that amount.”
“But twenty millions or so will starve this winter, you told us a little while ago — in a place called Russia. And only a very small proportion of the rest are leading what even you would call full and spacious99 lives?”
“Nevertheless the contrast is very striking,” said Mr. Burleigh.
“It is terrible!” said Father Amerton.
The overcrowding of the planet in the Last Age of Confusion was, these Utopians insisted, the fundamental evil out of which all the others that afflicted100 the race arose. An overwhelming flood of newcomers poured into the world and swamped every effort the intelligent minority could make to educate a sufficient proportion of them to meet the demands of the new and still rapidly changing conditions of life. And the intelligent minority was not itself in any position to control the racial destiny. These great masses of population that had been blundered into existence, swayed by damaged and decaying traditions and amenable101 to the crudest suggestions, were the natural prey102 and support of every adventurer with a mind blatant103 enough and a conception of success coarse enough to appeal to them. The economic system, clumsily and convulsively reconstructed to meet the new conditions of mechanical production and distribution, became more and more a cruel and impudent104 exploitation of the multitudinous congestion105 of the common man by the predatory and acquisitive few. That all too common common man was hustled106 through misery107 and subjection from his cradle to his grave; he was cajoled and lied to, he was bought, sold and dominated by an impudent minority, bolder and no doubt more energetic, but in all other respects no more intelligent than himself. It was difficult, Urthred said, for a Utopian nowadays to convey the monstrous stupidity, wastefulness108 and vulgarity to which these rich and powerful men of the Last Age of Confusion attained109.
(“We will not trouble you,” said Mr. Burleigh. “Unhappily — we know. . . . We know. Only too well do we know.”)
Upon this festering, excessive mass of population disasters descended110 at last like wasps111 upon a heap of rotting fruit. It was its natural, inevitable destiny. A war that affected15 nearly the whole planet dislocated its flimsy financial system and most of its economic machinery112 beyond any possibility of repair. Civil wars and clumsily conceived attempts at social revolution continued the disorganization. A series of years of bad weather accentuated113 the general shortage. The exploiting adventurers, too stupid to realize what had happened, continued to cheat and hoodwink the commonalty and burke any rally of honest men, as wasps will continue to eat even after their bodies have been cut away. The effort to make passed out of Utopian life, triumphantly115 superseded116 by the effort to get. Production dwindled117 down towards the vanishing point. Accumulated wealth vanished. An overwhelming system of debt, a swarm118 of creditors119, morally incapable120 of helpful renunciation, crushed out all fresh initiative.
The long diastole in Utopian affairs that had begun with the great discoveries, passed into a phase of rapid systole. What plenty and pleasure was still possible in the world was filched121 all the more greedily by the adventurers of finance and speculative122 business. Organized science had long since been commercialized, and was “applied” now chiefly to a hunt for profitable patents and the forestalling123 of necessary supplies. The neglected lamp of pure science waned124, flickered125 and seemed likely to go out again altogether, leaving Utopia in the beginning of a new series of Dark Ages like those before the age of discovery began. . . .
“It is really very like a gloomy diagnosis126 of our own outlook,” said Mr. Burleigh. “Extraordinarily like. How Dean Inge would have enjoyed all this!”
“To an infidel of his stamp, no doubt, it would seem most enjoyable,” said Father Amerton a little incoherently.
These comments annoyed Mr. Barnstaple, who was urgent to hear more.
“And then,” he said to Urthred, “what happened?”
Section 5
What happened, Mr. Barnstaple gathered, was a deliberate change in Utopian thought. A growing number of people were coming to understand that amidst the powerful and easily released forces that science and organization had brought within reach of man, the old conception of social life in the state, as a limited and legalized struggle of men and women to get the better of one another, was becoming too dangerous to endure, just as the increased dreadfulness of modern weapons was making the separate sovereignty of nations too dangerous to endure. There had to be new ideas and new conventions of human association if history was not to end in disaster and collapse127.
All societies were based on the limitation by laws and taboos128 and treaties of the primordial129 fierce combativeness130 of the ancestral man-ape; that ancient spirit of self-assertion had now to undergo new restrictions131 commensurate with the new powers and dangers of the race. The idea of competition to possess, as the ruling idea of intercourse132, was, like some ill-controlled furnace, threatening to consume the machine it had formerly133 driven. The idea of creative service had to replace it. To that idea the human mind and will had to be turned if social life was to be saved. Propositions that had seemed, in former ages, to be inspired and exalted134 idealism began now to be recognized not simply as sober psychological truth but as practical and urgently necessary truth. In explaining this Urthred expressed himself in a manner that recalled to Mr. Barnstaple’s mind certain very familiar phrases; he seemed to be saying that whosoever would save his life should lose it, and that whosoever would give his life should thereby135 gain the whole world.
Father Amerton’s thoughts, it seemed, were also responding in the same manner. For he suddenly interrupted with: “But what you are saying is a quotation136!”
Urthred admitted that he had a quotation in mind, a passage from the teachings of a man of great poetic137 power who had lived long ago in the days of spoken words.
He would have proceeded, but Father Amerton was too excited to let him do so. “But who was this teacher?” he asked. “Where did he live? How was he born? How did he die?”
A picture was flashed upon Mr. Barnstaple’s consciousness of a solitary-looking pale-faced figure, beaten and bleeding, surrounded by armoured guards, in the midst of a thrusting, jostling, sun-bit crowd which filled a narrow, high-walled street. Behind, some huge ugly implement138 was borne along, dipping and swaying with the swaying of the multitude. . . .
“Did he die upon the Cross in this world also?” cried Father Amerton. “Did he die upon the Cross?”
This prophet in Utopia they learnt had died very painfully, but not upon the Cross. He had been tortured in some way, but neither the Utopians nor these particular Earthlings had sufficient knowledge of the technicalities of torture to get any idea over about that, and then apparently139 he had been fastened upon a slowly turning wheel and exposed until he died. It was the abominable140 punishment of a cruel and conquering race, and it had been inflicted141 upon him because his doctrine142 of universal service had alarmed the rich and dominant143 who did not serve. Mr. Barnstaple had a momentary144 vision of a twisted figure upon that wheel of torture in the blazing sun. And, marvellous triumph over death! out of a world that could do such a deed had come this great peace and universal beauty about him!
But Father Amerton was pressing his questions. “But did you not realize who he was? Did not this world suspect?”
A great many people thought that this man was a God. But he had been accustomed to call himself merely a son of God or a son of Man.
Father Amerton stuck to his point. “But you worship him now?”
“We follow his teaching because it was wonderful and true,” said Urthred.
“But worship?”
“No.”
“But does nobody worship? There were those who worshipped him?”
There were those who worshipped him. There were those who quailed145 before the stern magnificence of his teaching and yet who had a tormenting146 sense that he was right in some profound way. So they played a trick upon their own uneasy consciences by treating him as a magical god instead of as a light to their souls. They interwove with his execution ancient traditions of sacrificial kings. Instead of receiving him frankly147 and clearly and making him a part of their understandings and wills they pretended to eat him mystically and make him a part of their bodies. They turned his wheel into a miraculous148 symbol, and they confused it with the equator and the sun and the ecliptic and indeed with anything else that was round. In cases of ill-luck, ill-health or bad weather it was believed to be very helpful for the believer to describe a circle in the air with the forefinger149.
And since this teacher’s memory was very dear to the ignorant multitude because of his gentleness and charity, it was seized upon by cunning and aggressive types who constituted themselves champions and exponents150 of the wheel, who grew rich and powerful in its name, led people into great wars for its sake and used it as a cover and justification151 for envy, hatred152, tyranny and dark desires. Until at last men said that had that ancient prophet come again to Utopia, his own triumphant114 wheel would have crushed and destroyed him afresh. . . .
Father Amerton seemed inattentive to this communication. He was seeing it from another angle. “But surely,” he said, “there is a remnant of believers still! Despised perhaps — but a remnant?”
There was no remnant. The whole world followed that Teacher of Teachers, but no one worshipped him. On some old treasured buildings the wheel was still to be seen carved, often with the most fantastic decorative153 elaborations. And in museums and collections there were multitudes of pictures, images, charms and the like.
“I don’t understand this,” said Father Amerton. “It is too terrible. I am at a loss. I do not understand.”
Section 6
A fair and rather slender man with a delicately beautiful face whose name, Mr. Barnstaple was to learn later, was Lion, presently took over from Urthred the burthen of explaining and answering the questions of the Earthlings.
He was one of the educational co-ordinators in Utopia. He made it clear that the change over in Utopian affairs had been no sudden revolution. No new system of laws and customs, no new method of economic co-operation based on the idea of universal service to the common good, had sprung abruptly154 into being complete and finished. Throughout a long period, before and during the Last Age of Confusion, the foundations of the new state were laid by a growing multitude of inquirers and workers, having no set plan or preconceived method, but brought into unconscious co-operation by a common impulse to service and a common lucidity155 and veracity156 of mind. It was only towards the climax157 of the Last Age of Confusion in Utopia that psychological science began to develop with any vigour158, comparable to the vigour of the development of geographical159 and physical science during the preceding centuries. And the social and economic disorder160 which was checking experimental science and crippling the organized work of the universities was stimulating161 inquiry into the processes of human association and making it desperate and fearless.
The impression given Mr. Barnstaple was not of one of those violent changes which our world has learnt to call revolutions, but of an increase of light, a dawn of new ideas, in which the things of the old order went on for a time with diminishing vigour until people began as a matter of common sense to do the new things in the place of the old.
The beginnings of the new order were in discussions, books and psychological laboratories; the soil in which it grew was found in schools and colleges. The old order gave small rewards to the schoolmaster, but its dominant types were too busy with the struggle for wealth and power to take much heed162 of teaching: it was left to any man or woman who would give thought and labour without much hope of tangible163 rewards, to shape the world anew in the minds of the young. And they did so shape it. In a world ruled ostensibly by adventurer politicians, in a world where men came to power through floundering business enterprises and financial cunning, it was presently being taught and understood that extensive private property was socially a nuisance, and that the state could not do its work properly nor education produce its proper results, side by side with a class of irresponsible rich people. For, by their very nature, they assailed164, they corrupted165, they undermined every state undertaking166; their flaunting167 existences distorted and disguised all the values of life. They had to go, for the good of the race.
“Didn’t they fight?” asked Mr. Catskill pugnaciously168.
They had fought irregularly but fiercely. The fight to delay or arrest the coming of the universal scientific state, the educational state, in Utopia, had gone on as a conscious struggle for nearly five centuries. The fight against it was the fight of greedy, passionate169, prejudiced and self-seeking men against the crystallization into concrete realities of this new idea of association for service. It was fought wherever ideas were spread; it was fought with dismissals and threats and boycotts170 and storms of violence, with lies and false accusations171, with prosecutions172 and imprisonments, with lynching-rope, tar32 and feathers, paraffin, bludgeon and rifle, bomb and gun.
But the service of the new idea that had been launched into the world never failed; it seized upon the men and women it needed with compelling power. Before the scientific state was established in Utopia more than a million martyrs173 had been killed for it, and those who had suffered lesser174 wrongs were beyond all reckoning. Point after point was won in education, in social laws, in economic method. No date could be fixed175 for the change. A time came when Utopia perceived that it was day and that a new order of things had replaced the old. . . .
“So it must be,” said Mr. Barnstaple, as though Utopia were not already present about him. “So it must be.”
A question was being answered. Every Utopian child is taught to the full measure of its possibilities and directed to the work that is indicated by its desires and capacity. It is born well. It is born of perfectly healthy parents; its mother has chosen to bear it after due thought and preparation. It grows up under perfectly healthy conditions; its natural impulses to play and learn are gratified by the subtlest educational methods; hands, eyes and limbs are given every opportunity of training and growth; it learns to draw, write, express itself, use a great variety of symbols to assist and extend its thought. Kindness and civility become ingrained habits, for all about it are kind and civil. And in particular the growth of its imagination is watched and encouraged. It learns the wonderful history of its world and its race, how man has struggled and still struggles out of his earlier animal narrowness and egotism towards an empire over being that is still but faintly apprehended176 through dense177 veils of ignorance. All its desires are made fine; it learns from poetry, from example and the love of those about it to lose its solicitude178 for itself in love; its sexual passions are turned against its selfishness, its curiosity flowers into scientific passion, its combativeness is set to fight disorder, its inherent pride and ambition are directed towards an honourable179 share in the common achievement. It goes to the work that attracts it and chooses what it will do.
If the individual is indolent there is no great loss, there is plenty for all in Utopia, but then it will find no lovers, nor will it ever bear children, because no one in Utopia loves those who have neither energy nor distinction. There is much pride of the mate in Utopian love. And there is no idle rich “society” in Utopia, nor games and shows for the mere looker-on. There is nothing for the mere looker-on. It is a pleasant world indeed for holidays, but not for those who would continuously do nothing.
For centuries now Utopian science has been able to discriminate180 among births, and nearly every Utopian alive would have ranked as an energetic creative spirit in former days. There are few dull and no really defective181 people in Utopia; the idle strains, the people of lethargic182 dispositions183 or weak imaginations, have mostly died out; the melancholic184 type has taken its dismissal and gone; spiteful and malignant185 characters are disappearing. The vast majority of Utopians are active, sanguine186, inventive, receptive and good-tempered.
“And you have not even a parliament?” asked Mr. Burleigh, still incredulous.
Utopia has no parliament, no politics, no private wealth, no business competition, no police nor prisons, no lunatics, no defectives187 nor cripples, and it has none of these things because it has schools and teachers who are all that schools and teachers can be. Politics, trade and competition are the methods of adjustment of a crude society. Such methods of adjustment have been laid aside in Utopia for more than a thousand years. There is no rule nor government needed by adult Utopians because all the rule and government they need they have had in childhood and youth.
Said Lion: “Our education is our government.”
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1
converge
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| vi.会合；聚集，集中；(思想、观点等)趋近 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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6
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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8
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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18
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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19
recondite
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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20
embodies
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| v.表现( embody的第三人称单数 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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21
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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22
mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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23
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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25
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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28
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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29
guild
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| n.行会，同业公会，协会 | |
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30
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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32
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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33
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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34
oratorical
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| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
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impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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propitiatory
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| adj.劝解的；抚慰的；谋求好感的；哄人息怒的 | |
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38
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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40
incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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41
rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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42
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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43
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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44
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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45
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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46
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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47
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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48
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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49
punctuating
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的现在分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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50
linguistic
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| adj.语言的，语言学的 | |
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51
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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52
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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53
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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54
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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55
monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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56
autocracy
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| n.独裁政治，独裁政府 | |
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57
legislative
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| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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58
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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59
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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60
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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61
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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62
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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63
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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64
militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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65
manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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66
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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67
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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68
meticulous
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| adj.极其仔细的，一丝不苟的 | |
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69
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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70
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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71
sensory
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| adj.知觉的，感觉的，知觉器官的 | |
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72
socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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73
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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74
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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75
collateral
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| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
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76
functional
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| adj.为实用而设计的，具备功能的，起作用的 | |
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77
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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78
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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79
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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80
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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81
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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82
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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83
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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84
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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85
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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86
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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87
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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88
parasitically
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| adv.寄生地，由寄生虫引起地 | |
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89
physiological
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| adj.生理学的，生理学上的 | |
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90
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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91
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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92
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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93
multiplication
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| n.增加，增多，倍增；增殖，繁殖；乘法 | |
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94
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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95
dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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96
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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97
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
contrives
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的第三人称单数 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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99
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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100
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
amenable
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| adj.经得起检验的；顺从的；对负有义务的 | |
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102
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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103
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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104
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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106
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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107
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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108
wastefulness
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| 浪费，挥霍，耗费 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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110
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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wasps
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| 黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 )； 胡蜂； 易动怒的人； 刻毒的人 | |
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112
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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113
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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114
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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filched
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| v.偷（尤指小的或不贵重的物品）( filch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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forestalling
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| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的现在分词 ) | |
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waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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taboos
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| 禁忌( taboo的名词复数 )； 忌讳； 戒律； 禁忌的事物（或行为） | |
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primordial
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| adj.原始的；最初的 | |
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combativeness
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| n.好战 | |
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restrictions
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| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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quailed
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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exponents
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| n.倡导者( exponent的名词复数 )；说明者；指数；能手 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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166
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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pugnaciously
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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boycotts
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| （对某事物的）抵制( boycott的名词复数 ) | |
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171
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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prosecutions
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| 起诉( prosecution的名词复数 )； 原告； 实施； 从事 | |
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martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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174
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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175
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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176
apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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177
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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178
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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179
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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180
discriminate
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| v.区别，辨别，区分；有区别地对待 | |
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181
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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182
lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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183
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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184
melancholic
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| 忧郁症患者 | |
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185
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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186
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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187
defectives
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| 次品 | |
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