The Darkest Hours - 18 Chilling Dystopias in One Edition. Samuel Butler
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super-organisation is for the purpose of fostering national power?” I said.
“That is the old argument of the weak against the strong, the poor against the rich, the ignorant against the educated. Every healthy person is a strong person; the rich man is stronger than the poor man; the educated man is stronger than the ignorant. The modern State, even among our neighbours, is infinitely ‘stronger’ than the incoherent political organisms of earlier times. It cannot help itself. Its resources are enormously greater. How can the Super-State help being strong? No State deliberately seeks to weaken itself, or deprive itself of its natural force.” Then, as if tired of the discussion into which our conversation had led us, he said, “But these are all matters about which you will learn much more from my friend the Professor of State Science. I am afraid I have been dishing up one of his old lectures. You will find this liqueur quite palatable.”
We then drifted on to more trivial topics. He said I had spent too long among the petty officials, grubbing about with my Tour No. 4. I ought to see something of better society. Unfortunately it was the dead season just then, and I might have to wait a little time, but there were still some dinners at the University. Some of the professors never went out of Mecco and would be glad to entertain me.
We parted on very good terms. His manner had been friendly, and if he had done little besides expound Meccanian principles he had at any rate not been dictatorial. I wondered whether he really believed in his own plausible theories or whether he had been simply instructing the Foreign Observer.
When I saw Mr. Kwang a day or two afterwards—this time alone—he greeted me cordially and said, “So things are improving?”
“They promise to do so,” I said, “but so far, all that has happened has been a very tedious visit to Director Blobber and an academic discussion with Count Krafft.”
“So you don’t appreciate the honour of dining with an Under-Secretary of the Super-State?” he said. “You have stayed too long in Luniland.”
“I am promised the privilege of seeing something of the best Meccanian Society, but what I was more anxious to see was the worst Meccanian Society.”
“They will take care you don’t,” he answered, laughing.
“But why? In any other country one can associate with peasants or vagabonds or artisans or tradesmen or business men.”
“You ought to know by this time—I am sure it has been explained to you over and over again. You would gather false impressions, and you might contaminate the delicate fruits of Meccanian Culture.”
“That is the theory I have heard ad nauseam. But there is nothing in it.”
“Why not?”
“Because by keeping us apart they arouse the suspicions of both.”
“Oh no, they may arouse your suspicions, but the Meccanian knows that what the State prescribes for him must be for his good. This is the only country where theories are carried into practice. It is a Super-State.”
“And you admire it? You have become a proselyte,” I said jokingly.
“Have you read my books yet?” he asked.
“I saw one for the first time this week,” I said.
“Well?”
“I recognise it as a masterpiece.”
He bowed and smiled. “From the President of the Kiang-su Literary Society that is high praise indeed.”
“I am undecided whether to remain here longer,” I said, “or to return home, perhaps calling for a rest and a change to see my friends in Lunopolis. I should like your advice.”
“Of course that depends upon circumstances. I do not yet understand your difficulty or the circumstances.”
“Well,” I said, “I came here prepared to stay perhaps a year, if I liked the country, with the intention of obtaining general impressions, and some definite information on matters in which I am interested; but every Meccanian I have met is either a Government agent or a bore.”
“What, even Madame Blobber?” he interposed, smiling.
“Even Madame Blobber,” I said. “I am getting tired of it. I try all sorts of means to gratify my perfectly innocent curiosity, and am baffled every time. Now I am promised a sight of high Society, but I expect they will show me what they want me to see and nothing they don’t want me to see.”
“Why should they show you what they don’t want you to see?” he laughed.
“I don’t know how you stand it,” I said.
“I have had the virtue of patience,” he said, “and patience has been rewarded. I, too, am going home before long. I have got what I want.”
He made the signal that bound me to absolute secrecy, and told me what his plans were. When I said that he ran a risk of being victimised he shook his head. “I am not afraid,” he said. “By the time I reach home, every Meccanian agent in China will have been quietly deported. And they will not come back again. We are not a Super-State, but our country is not Idiotica.”
“And in the meantime,” I said, “suppose I stay here another month or so, what do you advise me to do?”
“Oh, just amuse yourself as well as you can,” he said.
“Amuse myself! In Meccania?”
“Yes; it is not worth while trying now to do anything else. You will find out nothing new—nothing that I have not already found out. It takes ten years to penetrate beneath the surface here, even with my methods,” he said. “But I have got what I want.”
“And how am I to amuse myself?”
“Accept all the invitations you get, keep your ears open and use your own considerable powers of reflection. By way of relief, come and talk to me whenever you want.”
I followed Sz-ma-Kwang’s advice: I gave up all thought of investigating either Meccanian Politics, or ‘social problems,’ or anything of the kind. I thought I should probably get better information at second hand from Mr. Kwang than I could get at first hand for myself, in the short time that I was prepared to stay, and I am satisfied now that I decided rightly.... I saw Lickrod almost daily, and went with him to a number of places, museums, the great library, industrial exhibitions, manufactories and so forth. We spent a day or two looking at examples of Meccanian architecture, which was more interesting from the engineering point of view than from the artistic. I began to receive invitations to several houses, chiefly of high officials in the Civil Service and one or two members of the higher bourgeoisie.
In the meantime I had some interesting conversation with my friends, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Villele, as we sat in the garden after dinner. I had never yet asked Mr. Johnson why he was pursuing what I could not help thinking was the distasteful study of Meccanian Pedagogics, but as Lickrod had recommended me to talk to Mr. Johnson about Meccanian education the question came up naturally. I put it to him quite frankly.
“You are what I should describe as an Anti-Meccanian by temperament,” I said, “and it seems very odd that you should be studying Meccanian Pedagogics of all things in the world.”
“It is because I am an Anti-Meccanian, as you put it, that I am doing so,” he replied. “You see in Luniland we never do things thoroughly—thank God!—and we have no pedagogical system. But every now and then a sort of movement arises in favour of some reform or other. For a long time Meccanian education was out of court; people would hear of nothing that savoured of Meccania, good or bad. Then there was a revival of interest, and societies were started to promote what they called Education on a scientific basis—by which they meant, not the study of science, but Meccanian education. As Professor of Education in one of our smaller Universities I was obliged to take some line or other, and the more I studied Meccanian Education from books, the less I liked it. So I came to equip myself with a better knowledge of the whole thing than the cranks who