iii 
 /// 
 
 ^¥3 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
3 1924 086 489 261 
 
The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924086489261 
 
Looking Backward 
 
Looking 
 Backward 
 
 2000 = I 887 
 
 if 
 
 J 
 
 Edward Bellamy 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY • BOSTON 
 
ml 
 
 mi 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1887, BY TICKNOR AND COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY EDWARD BELLAMY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, I915 AND I9I7, BY EMMA S. BELLAMY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE 
 THIS BOOK OR FARTS THEREOF IN ANY FORM 
 
 V 
 
 / 
 
 CAMBRIDGE • MASSACHUSETTS 
 PRINTED IN THE U.9.A. 
 
'^'^'^ 
 
 y^ AUTHOR'S ^^i^^^,!^ 
 PREFACE 
 
 Historical Section Sbawmut College, Boston, 
 December 26, 2000 
 
 1-rtVXNC 
 
 JG as we do in the closing year of the twenti- 
 eth century, enjoying the blessings of a social order at 
 once so simple and logical that it seems but the triumph 
 of common sense, it is no doubt difficult for those whose 
 studies have not been largely historical to realize that the 
 present organization of society is, in its completeness, less 
 than a century old. No historical fact is, however, better 
 established than that till nearly the end of the nineteenth 
 century it was the general belief that the ancient indus- 
 trial system, with aU its shocking social consequences, 
 was destined to last, with possibly a little patching, to the 
 end of time. How strange and wellnigh incredible does it 
 seem that so prodigious a moral and material transforma- 
 tion as has taken place since then could have been ac- 
 complished in so brief an interval! The readiness with 
 which men accustom themselves, as matters of course, to 
 improvements in their condition, which, when antici- 
 pated, seemed to leave nothing more to be desired, could 
 not be more strikingly illustrated. What reflection could 
 be better calculated to moderate the enthusiasm of re- 
 formers who coimt for their reward on the lively gratitude 
 of future ages! 
 ^ The object of this volume is to assist persons who, while 
 
VI PREFACE 
 
 desiring to gain a more definite idea of the social con- 
 trasts between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, 
 are daunted by the formal aspect of the histories which 
 treat the subject. Warned by a teacher's experience that 
 learning is accounted a weariness to the flesh, the author 
 has sought to alleviate the instructive quality of the book 
 by casting it in the form of a romantic narrative, which 
 he would be glad to fancy not wholly devoid of interest on 
 its own accoimt. 
 
 The reader, to whom modem social institutions and 
 their imderlying principles are matters of course, may at 
 times find Dr. Leete's explanations of them rather trite — 
 but it must be remembered that to Dr. Leete's guest they 
 were not matters of course, and that this book is written 
 for the express purpose of inducing the reader to forget 
 for the nonce that they are so to him. One word more. 
 The almost universal theme of the writers and orators 
 who have celebrated this bimillennial epoch has been the 
 future rather than the past, not the advance that has 
 been made, but the progress that shall be made, ever on- 
 ward and upward, till the race shall achieve its ineffable 
 /' destiny. This is weU, wholly weU, but it seems to me that 
 nowhere can we find more solid ground for daring antici- 
 ! pations of human development during the next one thou- 
 ^ sand years, than by 'Looking Backward' upon the pro- 
 V gress of the last one hundred. 
 
 That this volume may be so fortunate as to find readers 
 whose interest in the subject shall incline them to over- 
 look the deficiencies of the treatment is the hope in which 
 the author steps aside and leaves Mr. Julian West to 
 speak for himself. 
 
Looking Backward 
 
i^«^^«%^ I 'i^^irP 
 
 a a Q 1 a i 
 
 I 
 
 FIRST saw the light in the city of Boston in the 
 year 1857. 'What!' you say, 'eighteen fifty-seven? That 
 is an odd slip. He means nineteen fifty-seven, of co\u*se.' 
 I beg pardon, but there is no mistake. It was about four 
 in the afternoon of December the 26th, one day after 
 Christmas, in the year 1857, not 1957, that I first breathed 
 the east wind of Boston, which, I assure the reader, was 
 at that remote period marked by the same penetrating 
 quality characterizing it in the present year of grace, 2000. 
 These statements seem so absiu-d on their face, espe- 
 cially when I add that I am a young man apparently of 
 about thirty years of age, that no person can be blamed 
 for refusing to read another word of what promises to be a 
 mere imposition upon his credulity. Nevertheless I ear- 
 nestly assure the reader that no imposition is intended, 
 and will undertake, if he shall follow me a few pages, to 
 entirely convince him of this. If I may, then, provision- 
 ally assume, with the pledge of justifying the assumption, 
 that I know better than the reader when I was bom, I will 
 go on with my narrative. (As every schoolboy knows, in 
 the latter part of the nineteenth century the civilization 
 of to-day, or anything like it, did not exist, although the 
 elements which were to develop it were already in fer- 
 mentl Nothing had, however, occurred to modify the im- 
 memorial division of society into the four classes, or na- 
 tions, as they may be more fitly called, since the differ- 
 
2 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 ences between them were fax greater than those between 
 any nations nowadays, of the rich and the poor, the edu- 
 cated and the ignorant. I myself was rich and also ed u- 
 cated, and posses sed, therefore, all the elements of happ i- 
 nesTenjoyed by the most fortunate in that ag e^ Living 
 in luxury, and occupied only with the pursuit of the pleas- 
 ures and refinements of life, I deri ved the means of " iv 
 s upport from the labor of others, rendering no sort of serv- 
 i ce in retu rn. My parents and grand-parents had lived 
 in the same way, and I expected that my descendants, if I 
 had any, would enjoy a like easy existence. 
 ' But how could I live without service to the world? you 
 ask. Why should the world have supported in utter idle- 
 ness one who was able to render service? The answer is 
 that my great-grandfather had accumulated a sum of 
 money on which his descendants had ever since lived. 
 The sum, you wUl naturally infer, must have been very 
 large not to have been exhausted in supporting three gen- 
 erations in idleness. This, however, was not the fact. The 
 sum had been originally by no means large. It was, in 
 fact, much larger now that three generations had been 
 supported upon it in idleness, than it was at first. This 
 mystery of use without consump tion, of warmth with out 
 c ombustion, seems Gke magic, bu t was merelv arTingen- 
 ious application of the art now happily lost but carried to 
 great perfection by your ancestors, of shifting the burden 
 of one's support on the shoulders of others. The man who 
 had accomplished this, and it was the end aJl sought, was 
 said to live on the income of his investmp^tg To explain 
 at this point how the ancient methods of industry made 
 this possible woi^d delay us too much. I shall only stop 
 now to say that interest on investments was a species of 
 
LOOKING BACKWAEB 
 
 tax in perpetuity upon the product of those engaged in 
 industry which a. person possessing or inheriting money 
 was able to levy, y It must not he supposed that an ar- 
 rangement which seems so unnatural and preposterous ac- 
 cording to modem notions was never criticised by your 
 ancestors. It had been the effort of lawgivers and propl*- 
 ets from the earliest ages to abolish interest, or at least to 
 limit it to the smallest possible rate. All these efforts had, 
 however, failed, as they necessarily must so long as the 
 ancient social organizations prevailed. )|A.t the time of 
 which I write, the latter part of the nineteenth century, 
 governments had generally given up trying to regulate the 
 .^subject at all.; 
 
 JBy way of attempting to give the reader some general 
 impression of the way people lived together in those days, 
 and especially of the relations of the rich and poor to one 
 another, perhaps I cannot do better than to compare 
 society as it then was to a prodigious coach which the 
 masses of htmianity were harnessed to and dragged toil- 
 somely along a very hilly and sandy road. The driver was 
 himger, and permitted no lagging, though the pace was 
 necessarily very slow. Despite the difficulty of drawing 
 the coach at aU along so hard a road, the top was covered 
 with passengers who never got down, even at the steepest 
 ascents. These seats on top were very breezy and comfort- 
 able. Well up out of the dust, their occupants could enj6y 
 the scenery at their leisure, or critically discuss the merits 
 of the straining team. Naturally such places were in great 
 demand and the competition for them was keen, every one 
 seeking as the first end in life to secure a seat on the coach 
 for himself and to leave it to his child after him. By the 
 rule of the coach a man could leave his seat to whom he 
 
4 LOOKnSTG BACKWARD 
 
 wished, but on the other hand there were many accidents 
 by which it might at any time be wholly lost. (For all that 
 they were so easy, the seats were very insecure, and at 
 every sudden Jolt of the coach persons were slipping out 
 of them and falling to the ground, where they were in- 
 stantly compelled to take hold of the rope and help to 
 drag the coach on which they had before ridden so 
 pleasantly^ It was naturally regarded as a terrible mis- 
 fortune to lose one's seat, and the apprehension that this 
 might happen to them or their friends was a constant 
 cloud upon the happiness of those who rode. 
 {But did they think only of themselves? you ask. Was 
 not their very luxury rendered intolerable to them by 
 comparison with the lot of their brothers and sisters in 
 the harness, and the knowledge that their own weight 
 added to their toil? Had they no compassion for fellow 
 beings from whom fortune only distinguished them? Oh, 
 yes; commiseration was frequently expressed by those 
 who rode for those who had to pull the coach, especially 
 when the vehicle came to a bad place in the road, as it 
 was constantly doing, or to a particularly steep hill. At 
 such times, the desperate straining of the team, their 
 agonized leaping and plunging under the pitiless lashing 
 of himger, the many who fainted at the rope and were 
 trampled in the mire, made a very distressing spectacle, 
 which often called forth highly creditable displays of 
 feeling on the top of the coach. At such times the passen- 
 gers would call down encouragingly to the toilers of the 
 rope, exhorting them to patience, and holding out hopes 
 of possible compensation in ano ther world for the hard- 
 ness of their lot, while others contributed to buy salves 
 and liniments for the crippled and injured. It was agreed 
 
lOOKING BACKWAJRD 5 
 
 that it was a great pity that the coach should be so hard 
 to pull, and there was a sense of general relief when the 
 specially bad piece of road was gotten over. This reUef 
 was not, indeed, whoUy on account of the team, for there ^ 
 was always some danger at these bad places of a general 
 overturn in which all would lose their seats. 
 t It must in truth be admitted that the main effect of the 
 spectacle of the misery of the toilers at the rope was to 
 enhance the passengers' sense of the value of their seats 
 upon the coach, and to cause them to hold on to them 
 more desperately than before.) If the passengers could 
 only have felt assured that neither they nor their friends 
 would ever fall from the top, it is probable that, beyond 
 contributing to the funds for liniments and bandages, 
 they would have troubled themselves extremely little 
 about those who dragged the coach.]]] 
 
 I am well aware that this will appear to the men and 
 women of the twentieth century an incredible inhuman- 
 ity, but there are two facts, both very ciurious, which 
 partly explain it. ^n the first place, it was firmly and sin- 
 cerely believed that there was no other way in which 
 (Society could get along, except the many pulled at the 
 rope and the few rode, and not only this, but that no very 
 radical improvement even was possible, either in the har^ 
 ness, the coach, the roadway, or the distribution of the toiLj'^ 
 It had always been as it was, amdJLalways wauld-be so. 
 It was a pity, but it coxild not be helped, and philosophy ^ 
 forbade wasting compassion on what was beyond remedy. 
 r^he other fact is yet more curious, consisting in a singu- 
 lar hallucination which those on the top of the coach gen- 
 erally shared, that they were not exactly like their broth- 
 ers and sisters who pulled at the rope, but of finer clay , in 
 
6 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 some way belonging to a higher order of beings who 
 might justly expect to be drawnj This seems imaccount- 
 able, but, as I once rode on this very coiach and shared 
 that very hallucination, I ought to be believed. jThe 
 strangest thing about the hallucination was that those 
 who had but just climbed up from the groimd, before they 
 had outgrown the marks of the rope upon their hands, be- 
 gan to fall imder its influence.^ (As for those whose parents 
 and grand-parents before them had been so fortunate as to 
 keep their seats on the top, the conviction they cherished 
 of the essential difference between their sort of hmnanity 
 and the common article was absolute J The effect of such 
 a delusion in moderating fellow feeling for the sufferings 
 of the mass of men into a distant and philosophical com- 
 passion is obvious. To it I refer as the only extenuation I 
 can offer for the indifference which, at the period I write 
 of, marked my own attidue toward the misery of my 
 'brothers. 
 
 In 1887 1 came to my thirtieth year. Although still un- 
 married, I was engaged to wed Edith Bartlett. She, lik e 
 myseff, rode on the top of the coach. That is to say, not 
 to encumber ourselves further with an illustration which 
 has, I hope, served its purpose of giving the reader some 
 general impression of how we lived then, her family was 
 wealthy. In that age, when money alone commanded all 
 that was agreeable and refined in life, it was enough for a 
 woman to be rich to have suitors; but Edith Bartlett was 
 beautjful and graceful also. 
 
 My lady readers, I am aware, will protest at this. 
 'Handsome she might have been,' I hear them saying, 
 'but graceful never, in the costiunes which were the 
 fashion at that period, when the head covering was a 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 7 
 
 dizzy structure a foot tall, and the almost incredible ex- 
 tension of the skirt behind by means of artificial contri- 
 vances more thoroughly dehumaiuzed th e form than any 
 former device of dressmakers. Fancy any one graceful in 
 such a costmne ! ' The point is certainly well taken, and I 
 can only reply that while the ladies of the twentieth cen- 
 tiuy are lovely demonstrations of the effect of appropriate 
 drapery in accenting feminine graces, my recollection of 
 their great-grandmothers enables me to maintain that no 
 deformity of costume can wholly disguise them. 
 
 Our marriage only waited on the completion of the 
 house which I was building for our occupancy in one of 
 the most desirable pa rts^of the city, that is to say, a part 
 chiefly i nhabited by;^the^rich. For it must be understood 
 that the comparative desirability of different parts of 
 Boston for residence depended then, not on natural 
 features, but on the <^aracter of the neighboring popula,- 
 tion. [Each class or nation lived by itself, in quarters of its 
 own. A rich man living among the poor, an educated man 
 among the uneducated, was like one living in isolation 
 among a jealous and alien rac^ When the house had been 
 begun, its completion by the winter of 1886 had been ex- 
 pected. The spring of the following year found it, how- 
 ever, yet incomplete, and my marriage stiU a thing of the 
 futiure. 'The cause of a delay calculated to be particu- 
 larly exasperating to an ardent lover was a series of 
 strikes, that is to say, concerted refusals to work on the 
 part of the brick-layers, masons, carpenters, painters, 
 plumbers, and other trades concerned in house building.^ 
 What the specific causes of these strikes were I do not re-' 
 member. Strikes had become so common at that period 
 that people had ceased to inquire into their particxilar 
 
8 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 grounds. In one department of industry or another, they 
 had been nearly incessant ever since the great business 
 crisis of 1873. In fact it had come to be the exceptional 
 thing to see any class of laborers pursue their avocation 
 steadily for more than a few months at a time. 
 
 The reader who observes the dates alluded to wiU of 
 course recognize in these disturbances of industry the 
 first and incoherent phase of the great movement which 
 ended in the establishment of the modem industrial sys- 
 tem with all its social consequences. This is aU so plain 
 in the retrospect that a child can understand it, but not 
 being prophets, we of that day had no clear idea what was 
 happening to us. What we did see was that industrially 
 the country was in a very queer way. ^he relation be- 
 tween the workingman and the employer, between labor 
 and capital, appeared in some unaccountable manner to 
 have become dislocate^ The working classes had quite 
 suddenly and very generally becQjne infected with a pro- 
 found discontSTwith their condition, and an, idea that 
 it could be greatly bettered if they only knew hpi??:, ta go 
 abc^Tt." On every side, with one accord, they preferred 
 deman ds for higher pay, shorter hovurs, be tter dwellings, 
 better educational advantages, and a sharemr^g" refine- 
 m ents and luxuries of life, d emands which it was impossi- 
 ble to see the way to granting vmless the world were to 
 become a great deal richer than it then was. Though they 
 knew something of what they wanted, they knew no thin g 
 of how to accomplish it, and the eager enthusiasm with 
 which they thronged about any one who seemed likely to 
 give them any light on the subject lent sudden reputation 
 to many would-be leaders, some of whom had Uttle 
 enough light to give. However chunerical the aspirations 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 9 
 
 of the laboring classes might be deemed, the devotion 
 with which they supported one another in the strikes, 
 which were their chief weapon, and the sacrifices which 
 they underwent to carry them out left no doubt of their 
 dead earnestness. 
 
 As to the final outcome of the labor troubles, which was 
 the phrase by which the movement I have described was 
 most conunonly referred to, the opinions of the people of 
 my class differed according to individual tenlperament. 
 The sanguine argued very forcibly that it was in the very 
 nattire of things impossible that the new hopes of the 
 workingmen could be satisfied, simply because the world 
 had not the wherewithal to satisfy them. It was only be- 
 cause the masses worked very hard and lived on short 
 commons that the race did not starve outright, and no 
 considerable improvement in their condition was possible 
 while the world, as a whole, remained so poor.'^It was not 
 the capitalists whom the laboring men were contending 
 with, these maintained, but the iron-bound environment 
 of humanity, and it was merely a question of the thick- 
 ness of their skulls when they would discover the fact and 
 make up their minds to endure what they could not curej 
 
 The less sanguine admitted all this. ^Of course the 
 workingmen's aspirations were impossible of fulfillment 
 for natural reasons, but there were grounds to fear that 
 they would not discover this fact imtil they had made a 
 sad mess of society! They had the votes and the power to 
 do so if they pleased, and their leaders meant they should. 
 Some of these desponding observers went so far as to pre- 
 dict an impending social cataclysm. Humanity, they 
 argued, having climbed to the top round of the ladder of 
 civilization, was about to take a header into chaos, after 
 
lO LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 which it would doubtless pick itself up, turn round, and 
 begin to climb again. Repeated experiences of this sort in 
 historic and prehistoric times possibly accounted for the 
 puzzling bumps on the himian craniim!i.| Human history, 
 like all great movements, was c^slical* and returned to 
 the point of beginning .The idea of indefinite progress in 
 a right line was a chimera of the imagination, with no 
 analogue in nature.) The parabola of a comet was perhaps 
 a yet better illustration of the career of humanity. Tend- 
 ing upward and sunward from the aphelion of barbarism, 
 the race attained the perihelion of civilization only to 
 plunge downward once more to its nether goal in the re- 
 gions of chaos. 
 
 This, of course, was an extreme opinion, but I remember 
 serious men among my acquaintances who, in discussing 
 the signs of the times, adopted a very similar tone.,. It was 
 no doubt the common opinion of thoughtful men that 
 society was approaching a critical period which might re- 
 sult in great changes.) The labor troubles, their causes, 
 course, and cure, took lead of all other topics in the public 
 prints, and in serious conversation. 
 
 The nervous tension of the public mind could not have 
 been more strikingly illustrated than it was by the alarm 
 resulting from the talk of a small band of men who called 
 themselves anarchists, and proposed to terrify the Ameri- 
 can people into adopting their ideas by threats of violence, 
 as if a mighty nation which had but just put down a re- 
 bellion of half its own numbers, in order to maintain its 
 political system, were likely to adopt a new social system 
 out of fear. 
 
 As one of the wealthy, with a large stake in the existing 
 order of things, I naturaUy shared the apprehen§ipii5..of 
 
LOOKESTG BACKWARD II 
 
 f py dass- fThf- particular grievance I had against the 
 working classes at the time of which I write, on account 
 of the effect of their strikes in postponing my wedded 
 bliss, no doubt lent a special animosity to my feeling 
 
 toward themy 
 
•^ o *^^^*^^4?^ 
 
 2 V^^ 
 
 T. 
 
 HE thirtieth day of May, 1887, fell on a Mon- 
 day. It was one of the annual holidays of the nation in 
 the latter third of the nineteenth century, being set apart 
 under the name of Decoration Day, for doing honor to 
 the memory of the soldiers of the North who took part 
 in the war for the preservation of the union of the States. 
 The survivors of the war, escorted by military and civic 
 processions and bands of music, were wont on this occa- 
 sion to visit the cemeteries and lay wreaths of flowers 
 upon the graves of their dead comrades, the ceremony 
 being a very solemn and touching one. The eldest 
 brother of Edith Bartlett had fallen in the war, and on 
 Decoration Day the family was in the habit of making a 
 visit to Mount Auburn, where he lay. 
 
 I had asked permission to make one of the party, and, 
 on our return to the city at nightfall, remained to dine 
 with the family of my betrothed. In the drawing-room, 
 after dinner, I picked up an evening paper and read of a 
 fresh strike in the building trades, which would probably 
 still further delay the completion of my unlucky house. 
 I remember distinctly how exasperated I was at this, and 
 the objurgations, as forcible as the presence of the ladies 
 permitted, which I lavished upon workmen in general, 
 and these strikers in particular. I had abundant sym- 
 pathy from those about me, and the remarks made in 
 the desultory conversation which followed, upon the un- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 13 
 
 principled conduct of the labor agitators^were calculated 
 to make those gentlemen's ears tingle. It was agreed that 
 affairs were going from bad to worse very fast, and that 
 there was no telling what we should come to soon.. 'The 
 worst of it,' I remember Mrs. Bartlett's saying, 'is that 
 the working classes all over the world seem to be going 
 crazy at once.j In Europe it is far worse even than here. 
 I'm sure I should not dare to live there at all. I asked 
 Mr. Bartlett the other day where we should emigrate to 
 if all the terrible things took place which those socialists 
 threaten. He said he did not know any place now where 
 society could be called stable except Greenland, Pata- 
 gonia, and the Chinese Empire.'i 'Those Chinamen knew 
 what they were about,' somebody added, 'when they re- 
 fused to let in our western civilization. They knew what 
 it would lead to better than we did. They saw it was 
 nothing but dynamite in disguise/ 
 
 After this, I remember drawing Edith apart and trying 
 to persuade her that it would be better to be married at 
 once without waiting for the completion of the house, 
 spending the time in travel tUl our home was ready for us. 
 She was remarkably handsome that evening, the mourn- 
 ing costimie that she wore in recognition of the day setting 
 off to great advantage the purity of her complexion. I 
 can see her even now with my mind's eye just as she 
 looked that night. When I took my leave she followed 
 me into the hall and I kissed her good-by as usual. There 
 was no circumstance out of the common to distinguish 
 this parting from previous occasions when we had bade 
 each other good-by for a night or a day. There was abso- 
 lutely no premonition in my mind, or I am sure in hers, 
 that this was more than an ordinary separation. 
 
14 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 Ah, weU! 
 
 The hour at which I had left my betrothed was a 
 rather early one for a lover, but the fact was no reflection 
 on my devotion. I was a confirmed sitfferer from insom- 
 nia, and although otherwise perfectly well had been com- 
 pletely fagged out that day, from having slept scarcely 
 at all the two previous nights. Edith knew this and had 
 insisted on sendmg me home by nine o'clock, with strict 
 orders to go to bed at once. 
 
 The house in which I lived had been occupied by three 
 generations of the famUy of which I was the only living 
 representative in the direct line. ; It was a large, ancient 
 wooden mansion, very elegant in an old-fashioned way 
 within, but situated in a quarter that had long since be- 
 come undesirable for residence, from its invasion by tene- 
 ment houses and manufactories/, It was not a house to 
 which I could think of bringing a bride, much less so 
 dainty a one as Edith Bartlett. I had advertised it for 
 sale, and meanwhile merely used it for sleeping purposes, 
 dining at my dub. One servant, a faithfiil colored man 
 by the name of Sawyer, lived with me and attended to 
 my few wants. One feature of the house I expected to 
 miss greatly when I should leave it, and this was the sleep- 
 ing chamber which I had buUt under the foundations. I 
 could not have slept in the city at all, with its never 
 ceasing nightly noises, if I had been obliged to use an up- 
 stairs chamber. But to this subterranean room ngjajLlT- 
 .myu^irom ttie uppe^worW When I had 
 
 entered it and closed the door, I was surrounded by the 
 silence of the tomb. In order to prevent the dampness 
 of the subsoil from penetrating the chamber, the walls 
 had been laid in hydraulic cement and were very thick 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 1 5 
 
 and the floor was likewise protected. In order that the 
 room might serve also as a vault equally proof against 
 violence and flames, for the storage of valuables, I had 
 roofed it with stone slabs hermetically sealed, and the 
 outer door was of iron with a thick coating of asbestos. 
 A small pipe, communicating with a wind-null on the top 
 of the house, insured the renewal of air. 
 
 It might seem that the tenant of such a chamber 
 ought to be able to command slumber, but it was rare 
 that I slept well, even there, two nights in succession. 
 So accustomed was I to wakefulness that I minded little 
 the loss of one night's rest. A second night, however, 
 spent in my reading chair instead of my bed, tired me 
 out, and I never allowed myself to go longer than that 
 without slumber, from fear of nervous disorder. From 
 this statement it will be inferred that I had at my com- 
 mand some artificial means for inducing sleep in the last 
 resort, and so in fact I had. If after two sleepless nights I 
 found myself on the approach of the third without sensa- 
 tions of drowsiness, I called in Dr. PiUsbury. 
 
 He was a doctor by courtesy only, what was called in 
 those days an 'irregular' or 'quack' doctor; He called 
 himself a 'Professor of Amgi^J^agEfiiiaRi.' I had come 
 across him in the course of some amateur investigations 
 iato the phenomena of animal magnetism. I don't think 
 he knew anything about medicine, but he was certainly 
 a remarkable mesmerist. It was for the purpose of being 
 put to sleep by his manipulations that I used to send for 
 him when I found a third night of sleeplessness impend- 
 ing. Let my nervous excitement or mental preoccupation 
 be however great. Dr. PiUsbiury never failed, after a short 
 time, to leave me in a deep sliunber, which continued tiU 
 
l6 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 I was aroused by a reversal of the mesmerizing process. 
 The process for awaking the sleeper was much simpler 
 than that for putting him to sleep, and for convenience I 
 had made Dr. PiUsbury teach Sawyer how to do it. 
 
 My faithful servant alone knew for what purpose Dr. 
 Pillsbury visited me, or that he did so at all. Of course, 
 when Edith became my wife I should have to tell her my 
 secrets. I had not hitherto told her this, because there 
 was unquestionably a slight risk in the mesmeric sleep, 
 and I knew she would set her face against my practice. 
 The risk, of course, was that it might become too pro- 
 found and pass into a trance beyond the mesmerizer's 
 power to break, ending in death. Repeated experiments 
 had fully conviaced me that the risk was next to nothing 
 if reasonable precautions were exercised, and of this I 
 hoped, though doubtingly, to convince Edith. I went 
 directly home after leaving her, and at once sent Sawyer 
 to fetch Dr. PiUsbury. MeanwhUe I sought my subter- 
 ranean sleeping chamber, and exchanging my costume for 
 a comfortable dressing-gown, sat down to read the letters 
 by the evening mail which Sawyer had laid on my reading 
 table. 
 
 One of them was from the builder of my new house, and 
 confirmed what I had inferred from the newspaper item. 
 The new strikes, he said, had postponed indefinitely the 
 completion of the contract, as neither masters nor work- 
 men would concede the point at issue without a long 
 struggle. Caligula wished that the Roman people had but 
 one neck that he might cut it off, and as I read this letter 
 I am afraid that for a moment I was capable of wishing 
 the same thmg concerning the labormg classes of Amer- 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 1 7 
 
 ica. The return of Sawyer with, the doctor interrupted 
 my gloomy meditations. 
 
 It appeared that he had with difficulty been able to 
 secure his services, as he was preparing to leave the city 
 that very night. The doctor explained that since he had 
 seen me last he had learned of a fine professional opening 
 in a distant city, and decided to take prompt advantage 
 of it. On my asking, in some panic, what I was to do for 
 some one to put me to sleep, he gave me the names of 
 several mesmerizers in Boston who, he averred, had quite 
 as great powers as he. ^ _ ^ j, ;:: i;; 
 
 Somewhat relieved on this point, I instructed Sawyer 
 to rouse me at nine o'clock next morning, and, lying down 
 on the bed in my dressing-gown, assumed a comfortable 
 attitude, and surrendered myself to the manipulations of 
 the mesmerizer. Owing, perhaps, to my unusually ner- 
 vous state, I was slower than common in losing conscious- 
 ness, but at length a delicious drowsiness stole over me. 
 
iTW ^ ^^^-^ 
 
 3 Tl 
 
 H. 
 
 Le is going to open his eyes. He had better see 
 but one of us at first.' 
 
 'Promise me, then, that you will not tell him.' 
 
 The first voice was a man's, the second a woman's, and 
 both spoke in whispers. 
 
 'I will see how he seems,' replied the man. 
 
 'No, no, promise me,' persisted the other. 
 
 'Let her have her way,' whispered a third voice, also a 
 woman. 
 
 'Well, well, I promise, then,' answered the man. 
 'Quick, go! He is coming out of it.' 
 
 There was a rustle of garments and I opened my eyes. 
 A fine looking man of perhaps sixty was bending over 
 me, an expression of much benevolence mingled with 
 great curiosity upon his features. He was an utter 
 stranger. I raised myself on an elbow and looked around. 
 The room was empty. I certainly had never been in it 
 before, or one furnished like it. I looked back at my com- 
 panion. He smiled. 
 
 'How do you feel?' he inquired. 
 
 'Where am I?' I demanded. 
 
 'You are in my house,' was the reply. 
 
 'How came I here?' 
 
 'We will talk about that when you are stronger. Mean- 
 while, I beg you will feel no anxiety. You are among 
 friends and in good hands. How do you feel? ' 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD I9 
 
 'A bit queerly,' I replied, 'but I am well, I suppose. 
 WUl you tell me how I came to be indebted to your hos- 
 pitality? What has happened to me? How came I here? 
 It was in my own house that I went to sleep.' 
 
 'There will be time enough for explanations later,' 
 my luiknown host replied, with a reassuring smile. 'It 
 will be better to avoid agitating talk until you are a little 
 more yourself. WiU. you oblige me by taking a couple of 
 swallows of this mixture? It wiU do you good. I am a 
 physician.' 
 
 I repelled the glass with my hand and sat up on the 
 couch, although with an effort, for my head was strangely 
 light. 
 
 'I insist upon knowing at once where I am and what 
 you have been doing with me,' I said. 
 
 'My dear sir,' responded my companion, 'let me beg 
 that you wUl not agitate yomrself . I would rather you did 
 not insist upon explanations so soon, but if you do, I 
 will try to satisfy you, provided you will first take this 
 draught, which wiU strengthen you somewhat.' 
 
 I thereupon drank what he offered me. Then he said, 
 'It is not so simple a matter as you evidently suppose to 
 teU you how you came here. You can teU me quite as 
 much on that point as I can tell you. You have just been 
 roused from a deep sleep, or, more properly, trance. So 
 much I can tell you. You^ say you were in your own 
 house when you fell into that sleep. May I ask you when 
 that was? ' 
 
 'When?' I replied, 'when? Why, last evening, of 
 course, at about ten o'clock. I left my man Sawyer or- 
 ders to call me at nine o'clock. What has become of 
 "Sawyer? ' 
 
20 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 'I can't precisely tell you that,' replied my companion, 
 regarding me with a curious expression, 'but I am sure 
 that he is excusable for not being here. And now can you 
 teU me a little more explicitly when it was that you fell 
 into that sleep, the date, I mean? ' 
 
 'Why, last night, of coiurse; I said so, didn't I? that 
 is, unless I have overslept an entire day. Great heavens! 
 that cannot be possible; and yet I have an odd sensation 
 of having slept a long time. It was Decoration Day that 
 I went to sleep.' 
 
 'Decoration Day?' 
 
 'Yes, Monday, the 30th.' 
 
 'Pardon me, the 30th of what?' 
 
 'Why, of this month, of course, unless I have slept into 
 June, but that can't be.' 
 
 'This month is September.' 
 
 'September! You don't mean that I've slept since 
 May! God m heaven! Why, it is incredible.' 
 
 'We shall see,' replied my companion; 'you say that it 
 was May 30th when you went to sleep?' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 'May I ask of what year?' 
 
 I stared blankly at him, incapable of speech, for some 
 moments. 
 
 'Of what year?' I feebly echoed at last. 
 
 'Yes, of what year, if you please? After you have told 
 me that I shall be able to teU you how long you have 
 slept.' 
 
 'It was the year 1887,' I said. 
 
 My companion insisted that I should take another 
 draught from the glass, and felt my pulse. 
 
 'My dear sir,' he said, 'your manner indicates that 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 21 
 
 you are a man of culture, which I am aware was by no 
 means the matter of coiirse in your day it now is. No 
 doubt, then, you have yourself made the observation that 
 nothing in this world can be truly said to be more won- 
 derful than anything else. The causes of all phenomena 
 are equally adequate, and the results equally matters of 
 course. That you should be startled by what I shall teU 
 you is to be expected; but I am confident that you will 
 not permit it to affect yoiir equanimity unduly. Your 
 appearance is that of a young man of barely thirty, and 
 your bodily condition seems not greatly different from 
 that of one just roused from a somewhat too long and 
 prof oimd sleep, and yet this is the tenth day of September 
 in the year 2000, and you have slept exactly one hundred 
 and thirteen years, three months, and eleven days.' 
 
 Feeling partially dazed, I drank a cup of some sort of 
 broth at my companion's suggestion, and, immediately 
 afterward becoming very drowsy, went off into a deep 
 sleep. 
 
 When I awoke it was broad daylight in the room, which 
 had been lighted artificially when I was awake before. 
 My mysterious host was sitting near. He was not look- 
 ing at me when I opened my eyes, and I had a good op- 
 portimity to study him and meditate upon my extraor- 
 dinary situation, before he observed that I was awake. 
 My giddiness was all gone, and my mind perfectly clear. 
 The story that I had been asleep one hundred and thir- 
 teen years, which, in my former weak and bewildered 
 condition, I had accepted without question, recurred to 
 me now only to be rejected as a preposterous attempt at 
 an imposture, the motive of which it was impossible re- 
 motely to surmise. 
 
22 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 r"" 
 Something extraordinary had certainly happened to 
 
 account for my waking up in this strange house with this 
 unknown companion, but my fancy was utterly impotent 
 to suggest more than the wildest guess as to what that 
 something might have been. Could it be that I was the 
 victim of some sort of conspiracy? It looked so, certainly; 
 and yet, if human lineaments ever gave true evidence, 
 it was certain that this man by my side, with a face so 
 refined and ingenuous, was no party to any scheme of 
 crime or outrage. Then it occurred to me to question if 
 I might not be the butt of some elaborate practical Joke 
 on the part of friends who had somehow learned the se- 
 cret of my underground chamber and taken this means of 
 impressing me with the peril of mesmeric experiments. 
 There were great difi&culties in the way of this theory; 
 Sawyer would never have betrayed me, nor had I any 
 friends at all likely to undertake such an enterprise; 
 nevertheless the supposition that I was the victim of a 
 practical Joke seemed on the whole the only one tenable. 
 Half expecting to catch a glimpse of some familiar face 
 grinning from behind a chair or curtain, I looked care- 
 fully about the room. When my eyes next rested on my 
 companion, he was looking at me. 
 
 'You have had a fine nap of twelve hoiurs,' he said 
 briskly, 'and I can see that it has done you good. You 
 look much better. Your color is good and your eyes 
 are bright. How do you feel? ' 
 
 'I never felt better,' I said, sitting up. 
 
 'You remember your first waking, no doubt,' he pur- 
 sued, 'and your surprise when I told you how long you 
 had been asleep? ' 
 
 'You said, I believe, that I had slept one hundred and 
 thirteen years.' 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 23 
 
 'Exactly.' 
 
 'You will admit,' I said, with an ironical smile, 'that 
 tiie story was rather an improbable one.' 
 
 'Extraordinary, I admit,' he responded, 'but given the 
 proper conditions, not improbable nor inconsistent with 
 what we know of the trance state. When complete, as 
 in your case, the vital functions are absolutely suspended, 
 and there is no waste of the tissues. No limit can be set 
 to the possible duration of a trance when the external 
 conditions protect the body from physical injury. This 
 trance of yours is indeed the longest of which there is any 
 positive record, but there is no known reason wherefore, 
 had you not been discovered and had the chamber in 
 which we found you continued intact, you might not have 
 remained in a state of suspended animation till, at the 
 end of indefinite ages, the gradual refrigeration of the 
 earth had destroyed the bodily tissues and set the spirit 
 free.' 
 
 I had to admit that, if I were indeed the victim of a 
 practical joke, its authors had chosen an admirable agent 
 for carrying out their imposition. The impressive and 
 even eloquent manner of this man would have lent dig- 
 nity to an argument that the moon was made of cheese. 
 The smile with which I had regarded him as he advanced 
 his trance hypothesis did not appear to confuse him in the 
 slightest degree. 
 
 'Perhaps,' I said, 'you will go on and favor me with 
 some particulars as to the circumstances under which 
 you discovered this chamber of which you speak, and its 
 contents. I enjoy good fiction.' 
 
 'In this case,' was the grave reply, 'no fiction could be 
 so strange as the truth. You must know that these many 
 
24 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 years I have been cherishing the idea of building a 
 laboratory in the large garden beside this house, for the 
 purpose of chemical experiments for which I have a taste. 
 Last Thursday the excavation for the cellar was at last 
 begun. It was completed by that night, and Friday the 
 masons were to have come. Thursday night we had a 
 tremendous deluge of rain, and Friday morning I found 
 my cellar a frog-pond and the walls quite washed down. 
 My daughter, who had come out to view the disaster with 
 me, called my attention to a corner of masonry laid bare 
 by the crumbling away of one of the walls. I cleared a 
 little earth from it, and, finding that it seemed part of a 
 large mass, determined to investigate it. The workmen 
 I sent for unearthed an oblong vault some eight feet be- 
 low the surface, and set in the comer of what had evi- 
 dently been the foundation walls of an ancient house. 
 A layer of ashes and charcoal on the top of the v^ult 
 showed that the house above had perished by fire. The 
 vault itself was perfectly intact, the cement being as 
 good as when first applied. It had a door, but this we 
 could not force, and found entrance by removing one of 
 the flagstones which formed the roof. The air which came 
 up was stagnant but pure, dry and not cold. Descending 
 with a lantern, I found myself in an apartment fitted up as 
 a bedroom in the style of the nineteenth century. On the 
 bed lay a young man. That he was dead and must have 
 been dead a century was of course to be taken for granted; 
 but the extraordinary state of preservation of the body 
 struck me and the medical colleagues whom I had sum- 
 moned with amazement. That the art' of such embalming 
 as this had ever been known we should not have believed, 
 yet here seemed conclusive testimony that our immediate 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 2$ 
 
 ancestors had possessed it. My medical colleagues, whose 
 curiosity was highly excited, were at once for undertaking 
 experiments to test the nature of the process employed, 
 but I withheld them. My motive in so doing, at least the 
 only motive I now need speak of, was the recollection of 
 something I once had read about the extent to which your 
 contemporaries had cultivated the subject of animal 
 magnetism. It had occurred to me as just conceivable 
 that you might be in a trance, and that the secret of your 
 bodily integrity after so long a time was not the craft of 
 an embalmer, but life. So extremely fanciful did this 
 idea seem, even to me, that I did not risk the ridicule of 
 my fellow physicians by mentioning it, but gave some 
 other reason for postponing their experiments. No sooner, 
 however, had they left me, than I set on foot a systematic 
 attempt at resuscitation, of which you know the result.' 
 
 Had its theme been yet more incredible, the circimi- 
 stantiality of this narrative, as well as the impressive 
 manner and personality of the narrator, might have stag- 
 gered a listener, and I had begun to feel very strangely, 
 when, as he closed, I chanced to catch a glimpse of my 
 reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall of the room. I 
 rose and went up to it. The face I saw was the face to a 
 hair and a line and not a day older than the one I had 
 looked at as I tied my cravat before going to Edith that 
 Decoration Day, which, as this man would have me be- 
 lieve, was celebrated one hundred and thirteen years be- 
 fore. At this, the colossal character of the fraud which 
 was being attempted on me, came over me afresh. In- 
 dignation mastered my mind as I realized the outrageous 
 liberty that had been taken. 
 
 'You are probably surprised,' said my companion. 
 
26 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 'to see that, although you are a century older than when 
 you lay down to sleep in that underground chamber, 
 your appearance is unchanged. That should not amaze 
 you. It is by virtue of the total arrest of the vital func- 
 tions that you have survived this great period of time. 
 If your body could have undergone any change during 
 your trance, it would long ago have suffered dissolution.' 
 
 'Sir,' I replied, turning to him, 'what your motive can 
 be in reciting to me with a serious face this remarkable 
 farrago, I am utterly imable to guess; but you are surely 
 yourself too intelligent to suppose that anybody but an 
 imbecile could be deceived by it. Spare me any more of 
 this elaborate nonsense and once for all tell me whether 
 you refuse to give me an intelligible account of where I 
 am and how I came here. If so, I shaU proceed to ascer- 
 tain my whereabouts for myself, whoever may hinder.' 
 
 'You do not, then, believe that this is the year 2000?' 
 
 'Do you really think it necessary to ask me that?' I 
 returned. 
 
 'Very well,' replied my extraordinary host. 'Since I 
 cannot convince you, you shall convince yourself. Are 
 you strong enough to foUow me upstairs?' 
 
 'I am as strong as I ever was,' I replied angrily, 'as I 
 may have to prove if this jest is carried much farther.' 
 
 'I beg, sir,' was my companion's response, 'that you 
 will not allow yourself to be too fully persuaded that you 
 are the victim of a trick, lest the reaction, when you are 
 convinced of the truth of my statements, should be too 
 great.' - . 
 
 The tone of concern, mmgled with commiseration, 
 with which he said this, and the entire absence of any 
 sign of resentment at my hot words, strangely daunted 
 
LOOKCNG BACKWARD 2^ 
 
 me, and I followed him from the room with an extraor- 
 dinary mixture of emotions. He led the way up two 
 flights of stairs and then up a shorter one, which landed 
 us upon a belvedere on the house-top. 'Be pleased to 
 look around you,' he said, as we reached the platform, 
 'and tell me if this is the Boston of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury.' 
 
 At my feet lay a great city. Miles of broad streets, 
 shaded by trees and lined with fine buildings, for the most 
 part not in continuous blocks but set in larger or smaller 
 inclosures, stretched in every direction. Every quarter 
 contained large open squares filled with trees, among 
 which statues glistened and fountains flashed in the late 
 afternoon sun. Public buildings of a colossal size and an 
 architectural grandeiu: unparalleled in my day raised their 
 stately piles on every side. Surely I had never seen this 
 city nor one comparable to it before. Raising my eyes at 
 last towards the horizon, I looked westward. That blue 
 ribbon winding away to the sunset, was it not the sinuous 
 Charles? I looked east; Boston harbor stretched before 
 me within its headlands, not one of its green islets missing. 
 
 I knew then that I had been told the truth concerning 
 the prodigious thing which had befallen me. 
 
.^«^VA^ 
 
 WV 4 ¥^' 
 
 a • « ■ " 
 
 J. DID not faint, but the effort to realize my position 
 made me very giddy, and I remember that my companion 
 had to give me a strong arm as he conducted me from the 
 roof to a roomy apartment on the upper floor of the house, 
 where he insisted on my drinking a glass or two of good 
 wine and partaking of a light repast. 
 
 .'I think you are going to be all right now,' he said 
 cheerily. 'I should not have taken so abrupt a means to 
 convince you of your position if your course, while per- 
 fectly excusable under the circumstances, had not rather 
 obliged me to do so. I confess,' he added laughing, 'I 
 was a little apprehensive at one time that I should un- 
 dergo what I believe you used to call a knockdown in the 
 niaeteenth century, if I did not act rather promptly. I 
 remembered that the Bostonians of your day were famous 
 pugihsts, and thought best to lose no time. I take it you 
 are now ready to acquit me of the charge of hoaxing you.' 
 
 'If you had told me,' I replied, profoundly awed, 'that 
 a thousand years instead of a hundred had elapsed since 
 I last looked on this city, I should now believe you.' 
 
 'Only a century has passed,' he answered, 'but many a 
 millennium in the world's history has seen changes less 
 extraordinary.' 
 
 'And now,' he added, extending his hand with an air 
 of irresistible cordiality, 'let me give you a hearty wel- 
 come to the Boston of the twentieth century and to this 
 house. My name is Leete, Dr. Leete they call me.' 
 
 'My name,' I said as I shook his hand, 'is Julian West.' 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 29 
 
 'I am most happy in making your acquaintance, Mr. 
 West,' he responded. 'Seeing that this house is built on 
 the site of your own, I hope you will find it easy to make 
 yourseK at home in it.' 
 
 After my refreshment Dr. Leete offered me a bath and 
 a change of clothing, of which I gladly availed myself. 
 
 It did not appear that any very startling revolution in 
 men's attire had been among the great changes my host 
 had spoken of, for, barring a few details, my new habili- 
 ments did not puzzle me at all. 
 
 Physically, I was now myself again. But mentally, 
 how was it with me, the reader wUl doubtless wonder. 
 What were my intellectual sensations, he may wish to 
 know, on finding myself so suddenly dropped as it were 
 into a new world. In reply let me ask him to suppose him- 
 self suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, transported from 
 earth, say, to Paradise or Hades. What does he fancy 
 would be his own experience? Would his thoughts return 
 at once to the earth he had just left, or would he, after 
 the first shock, weUnigh forget his former life for a while, 
 albeit to be remembered later, in the interest excited by his 
 new siurroundings? AU I can say is, that if his experience 
 were at all like mine in the transition I am describing, 
 the latter hypothesis would prove the correct one. The 
 impressions of amazement and curiosity which my new sur- 
 roundings produced occupied my mind, after the first shock, 
 to the exclusion of all other thoughts. For the time the 
 memory of my former life was, as it were, in abeyance. 
 
 No sooner did I find myself physically rehabUitated 
 through the kind ofl&ces of my host, than I became eager 
 to return to the house-top; and presently we were com- 
 fortably established there in easy-chairs, with the city 
 
30 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 beneath and around us. After Dr, Leete had responded to 
 'nximerous questions on my part, as to the ancient land- 
 marks I missed and the new ones which had replaced 
 them, he asked me what point of the contrast between 
 the new and the old city struck me most forcibly. 
 
 'To speak of small things before great,' I responded, 'I 
 really think that the complete a bsence of chimneys and 
 their smoke is the detail that first impressed me.' 
 
 'Ah!' ejaculated my companion with an air of much 
 interest, 'I had forgotten the chimneys, it is so long since 
 they went out of use. It is nearly a century since the 
 crude method of corfibustion on which you depended for 
 heat became obsolete.' 
 
 'In general,' I said, 'what impresses me most about the 
 city is the mat^nal_pros2eri^ on the part of the people 
 which its magnificence implies.' * 
 
 'I would give a great deal for just one glimpse of the 
 Boston of your day,' replied Dr. Leete. 'No doubt, as 
 you imply, the cities of that period were rather shabby af- 
 fairs. If you had the taste to make them splendid, which 
 I would not be so rude as to question, the general poverty 
 resulting from yoiu: extraordinary industrial system would 
 not have given you the means. Moreover, the excessive 
 individualism which Jhen prevailed was inconsistent with 
 much public spirit. ^, What little wealth you had seems al- 
 most wholly to have been lavished in private luxury^ 
 iN owadays, on the contrary, there is no destination of th e 
 ' s urplus wealth so popular as the adornment of the city. 
 w hich all .enjoy in equal des^re e.' j 
 
 The sun had been setting as we returned to the house- 
 top, and as we talked night descended upon the city. 
 
 'It is growing dark,' said Dr. Leete. 'Let us descend 
 
LOOKING BACKWABD 31 
 
 into the house ; I want to introduce my wife and daughter 
 to you.' 
 
 His words recalled to me the feminine voices which I 
 had heard whispering about me as I was coming back to 
 conscious life; and, most curious to learn what the ladies 
 of the year 2000 were like, I assented with alacrity to the 
 proposition. The apartment in which we foimd the wife 
 and daughter of my host, as well as the entire interior of 
 the house, was filled with a mellow light, which I knew 
 must be artificial, although I could not discover the source 
 from which it was diffused. Mrs. Leete was an exception- 
 ally fine looking and well preserved woman of about her 
 husband's age, while the daughter, who was in the first 
 blush of womanhood, was the most beautiful girl I had 
 ever seen. Her face was as bewitching as deep blue eyes, 
 delicately tinted complexion, and perfect features could 
 make it, but even had her countenance lacked special 
 charms, the faultless luxuriance of her figure would have 
 given her place as a beauty among the women of the nine- 
 teenth century. Feminine so ftness and delicacy were in 
 this lovely creature deliciously combined with anjappear- 
 ance ofE eaTEFllnd abou nding p hysical vitality~t"oo~o Iten 
 1{^ rkin(T fr» |[|p mai'Hpng with whom alone I could compa re 
 ^erl It was a coincidence trifling in comparison with the 
 general strangeness of the situation, but still striking, 
 that her name should be Edith. 
 
 The evening that followed was certainly unique in the 
 history of social intercourse, but to suppose that our con- 
 versation was peculiarly strained or difficult would be a 
 great mistake. I believe indeed that it is under what may 
 be called unnatural, in the sense of extraordinary, cir- 
 cimistances thatjpeople behave most naturally, for the 
 
32 
 
 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 reason, no doubt, that such circumstances banish artifi- 
 cialitjC]lknow at any rate that my intercourse that eve- 
 nmg with these representatives of another age and world 
 was marked by an|mgenuous sincerity and frankness such 
 as but rarely crown long acquaintancejj No doubt the ex- 
 quisite tact of my entertainers had much to do with this. 
 Of course there was nothing we could talk of but the 
 strange experience by virtue of which I was there, but 
 they talked of it with an interest so naive and direct in 
 its expression as to relieve the subject to a great degree of 
 the element of the weird and the uncanny which might so 
 easily have been overpowering. One would have sup- 
 posed that they were quite in the habit of entertaining 
 waifs from another century, sol^erfect was their tact^ ' 
 
 For my own part, never do I remember the operations 
 of my mind to have been more alert and acute than that 
 evening, or my intellectual sensibilities more keen. Of 
 course I do not mean that the consciousness of my amaz- 
 ing situation was for a moment out of mind, but its chief 
 effect thus far was to produce a feverish elation, a sort of 
 mental intoxication.' 
 
 Edith Leete took little part in the conversation, but 
 when several times the magnetism of her beauty drew my 
 glance to her face, I found her eyes fixed on me with an 
 absorbed intensity, almost like fascination. It was evi- 
 dent that I had excited her interest t® an extraordinary 
 
 ' In accounting for this state of mind it must be remembered that, ex- 
 cept for the topic of our conversations, there was in my surroundings next 
 to nothing to suggest what had befallen me. Within a block of my home 
 in the old Boston I could have found social circles vastly more foreign to 
 me. The speech of the Bostonians of the twentieth century differs even 
 less from that of their cultured ancestors of the nineteenth than did that 
 of the latter from the language of Washington and FrankUn, while the 
 differences between the style of dress and furniture of the two epochs are 
 not more marked than I have known fashion to make in the time of one 
 generation. 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 33 
 
 degree, as was not astonishing, supposing her to be a girl 
 of imagination. Though I supposed curiosity was the 
 chief motive of her interest, it could but affect me as it 
 would not have done had she been less beautiful. 
 
 Dr. Leete, as well as the ladies, seemed greatly in- 
 terested in my account of the circumstances under which 
 I had gone to sleep in the underground chamber. All had 
 suggestions to offer to account for my having been for- 
 gotten there, and the theory which we finally agreed on 
 offers at least a plausible explanation, although whether 
 it be in its details the true one, nobody, of course, wUl 
 ever know. The layer of ashes found above the chamber 
 indicated that the house had been burned down. Let it 
 be supposed that the conflagration had taken place the 
 night I fell asleep. It only remains to assume that Sawyer 
 lost his life in the fire or by some accident connected with 
 it, and the rest follows naturally enough. No one but he 
 and Dr. Pillsbury either knew of the existence of the 
 chamber or that I was in it, and Dr. Pillsbury, who had 
 gone that night to New Orleans, had probably never 
 heard of the fire at all. The conclusion of my friends, and 
 of the public, must have been that I had perished in the 
 flames. An excavation of the ruins, unless thorough, 
 would not have disclosed the recess in the foundation 
 walls connecting with my chamber. To be sure, if the 
 site had been again built upon, at least immediately, such 
 an excavation would have been necessary, but the 
 troublous times and the undesirable character of the 
 locality might well have prevented rebuilding. The size 
 of the trees in the garden now occupying the site indi- 
 cated, Dr. Leete said, that for more than half a century 
 at least it had been open ground. 
 
rp%r/(9 
 
 Y^Y 5 Y^ 
 
 w. 
 
 HEN, in the course of the evening the ladies re- 
 tired, leaving Dr. Leete and myself alone, he sounded me 
 as to my disposition for sleep, saying that if I felt like it 
 my bed was ready for me ; but if I was inclined to wakeful- 
 ness nothing would please him better than to bear me 
 company. 'I am a late bird, myself,' he said, 'and, with- 
 out suspicion of flattery, I may say that a companion 
 more interesting than yourself could scarcely be imagined. 
 It is decidedly not often that one has a chance to converse 
 with a man of the nineteenth century.' 
 
 Now I had been looking forward all the evening with 
 some dread to the time when I should be alone, on retir- 
 ing for the night. Surrounded by these most friendly 
 strangers, stimulated and supported by their sympathetic 
 interest, I had been able to keep my mental balance. 
 Even then, however, in pauses of the conversation I had 
 had glimpses, vivid as lightning flashes, of the horror of 
 strangeness that was waiting to be faced when I could no 
 longer command diversion. I knew I could not sleep that 
 night, and as for lying awake and thinking, it argues no 
 cowardice, I am sure, to confess that I was afraid of it. 
 When, in reply to my host's question, I frankly, told him 
 this, he replied that it would be strange if I did not feel 
 just so, but that I need have no anxiety about sleeping; 
 whenever I wanted to go to bed, he would give me a dose 
 which would insure me a sound night's sleep without fail. 
 
LOOKING BACKWABD 35 
 
 Next morning, no doubt, I would awake with the feeling of 
 an old citizen. 
 
 'Before I acquire that,' I replied, 'I must know a little 
 more about the sort of Boston I have come back to. You 
 told me when we were upon the house-top that though a 
 century only had elapsed since I fell asleep, it had been 
 marked by greater changes in the conditions of humanity 
 than many a previous millennium. With the city before 
 me I could well believe that, but I am very curious to 
 know what some of the changes have been. To make a 
 beginning somewhere, for the subject is doubtless a large 
 one, what solution, if any, have you found for the labor 
 questio n? It was t he Sphinx's riddle of the nineteenth 
 century, and when I dropped out the Sphinx was threaten- 
 ing to devour society, because the answer was not forth- 
 coming. It is well worth sleeping a hundred years to learn 
 what the right answer was, if, indeed, you have found it 
 yet.' 
 
 T^s no such thing as the labor question is known nowa- 
 days,' replied Dr. Leete, 'and there is no way in which it 
 could arise, I suppose we may claim to have solved it. 
 Society would indeed have fully deserved being devoured 
 if it had failed to answer a riddle so entirely simple: In 
 fact, to speak by the book, it was not necessary for 
 society to solve the riddle at all. It may be said to have 
 solved itselfj T he solution came as thfijrfisul t of a process 
 of indu strial pyft^il^'iiQUiYfib''^^ ^"'' ^dJiotJba5;£j£nnuaate d.' 
 otherwise. All that society had to do was to recognize 
 and cooperate with that evolution, when its tendency had 
 become unmistakable.' 
 
 *I can only say,' I answered, 'that at the time I fell 
 asleep no such evolution had been recognized.' 
 
36 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 ' It was in 1887 that you fell into this sleep, I think you 
 said.' 
 
 'Yes, May 30th, 1887.' 
 
 My companion regarded me musingly for some mo- 
 ments. Then he observed, 'And you tell me that even then 
 there was no general recognition of the nature of the crisis 
 which society was nearing? Of course, I fully credit yoUr 
 statement.][The singular blindness of Y j3UJ . r.nn. tem p a r.aries 
 to thcygngJlf the times is a phenomenon commented on 
 by many of our historians, but few facts of history are 
 more difficiilt for us to realize, so obvious and unmistak- 
 able as we look back seem the indications, which must 
 also have come imder your eyes, of the transformation 
 about to come to passTl I should be interested, Mr. West, 
 if you would give me a little more definite idea of the view 
 which you and men of your grade of intellect took of the 
 state and prospects of society in 1887,. [You must, at least, 
 have realized that the widespread industrial and social 
 troubles, and the underlying dissatisfaction of all classes 
 with the inequalities of society, and the general misery of 
 mankind, were portents of great changes of some sort/^ 
 
 'We did, indeed, fully realize that,' I replied. 'We felt 
 that society was dragging anchor and in danger of going 
 adrift. Whither it would drift nobody could say, but all 
 feared the rocks.' 
 
 1 'Nevertheless,' said Dr. Leete, [the set of the current 
 was perfectly perceptible if you had but taken pains to 
 observe it, and it was not toward the rocks, but toward a 
 deeper channelA 
 
 'We had a popular proverb,' I replied, 'that "hindsight 
 is better jthan foresight,'' the force of which I shall now, no 
 doubt, appreciate more fully than ever. All I can say is, 
 
LOOKING BACKWAM) 37 
 
 that the prospect was such when I went uito that long 
 sleep that I shotild not have been surprised had I looked 
 down from your house-top to-day on a heap of charred 
 and moss-grown ruins instead of this glorious city.' 
 
 Dr. Leete had listened to me with close attention and 
 nodded thoughtfully as I finished speaking. 'What you 
 have said,' he observed, 'wiU be regarded as a most valu- 
 able vindication of Storiot, whose account of your era 
 has been generedly thought exaggerated in its picture of 
 the gloom and confusion of men's minds. That a period of 
 transition like that should be full of excitement and agi- 
 tation was indeed to be looked for; but seeing how plain 
 was the tendency of the forces in operation, it was natural 
 to believe that hope rather t ^an fear would have been the 
 prevailing temper of the popular mind.' 
 
 'You have not yet told me what was the answer to the 
 riddle which you found,' I said. 'I am impatient to know 
 by what contradiction of natural sequence the peace and 
 prosperity which you now seem to enjoy could have been 
 the outcome of an era like my own.' 
 
 'Excuse me,' replied my host, 'but do you smoke?' 
 It was not tUl our cigars were lighted and drawing well 
 that he resumed. 'Since you are in the humor to talk 
 rather than to sleep, as I certainly am, perhaps I cannot 
 do better than to try to give you enough idea of our 
 modern industrial system to dissipate at least the impres- 
 sion that there is any mystery about the process of its 
 evolution. The Bostonians of your day had the reputation 
 of being great askers of questions, and I am going to show 
 my descent by asking you one to begin with. What should 
 you name as the most prominent feature of the labor 
 troubles of your day?' 
 
38 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 'Why, the strikes, of course,' I rephed. 
 
 'Exactly; but what made the strikes so formidable?' 
 
 'The great labor organizations.' 
 
 'And what was the motive of these great organizations?' 
 
 'The workmen claimed they had to organize to get their 
 ];ights from the big corporations,' I replied. 
 ' 'That is just it,' said Dr. Leete;[^he organization of 
 labor and the strikes were an effect, merely, of t he concen - 
 t ration of capital in greater masses than had ever bee n 
 known before^ j B efore this concentration bega n, while as 
 yet commerce and industry were conducted by innumer- 
 able petty concerns with small capital, instead of a small 
 number of great concerns with vast capital, t he individua l 
 Wi Q^rkman was relatively important and independent i n his 
 r elations t " *]]f\ ftrnp^'^Y'''" Moreover, when a little capital 
 or a new idea was enough to start a man in business for 
 himself, workingmen were constantlv becoming employer s 
 and there was no hard and fast line between the two 
 classes. Labor 'unions were needless then, and general 
 strikes out of the question. But when the era of smaU 
 concerns with small capital was succeeded by that of the 
 great aggregations of capital, all this was changed. [The 
 i ndividual laborer, who had been relatively important to 
 the small employer, was reduced to insignifican ce and 
 powerlessness over against the great corporation, while 
 at the same time thg way upward t n the grade of employe r 
 was closed to himJ. [Self -defense drove him to imion with 
 his fellowsj 
 
 ^ 'The records of the period show that the outcry against 
 the cpncentratipn of capital was furious. [Men believed 
 that it threatened society with a form of tyranny more 
 abhorrent than it had ever enduredj! They believed that 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 39 
 
 the great corporations were preparing for them the yoke 
 of a bagfir servitude than had ever been imposed on the 
 race, servitude not to men but to soulless machines in- 
 capable of any motive but insatiable greedT^ Looking 
 back, we cannot wonder at their desperation, for certainly 
 humanity was never confronted with a fate more sordid 
 and hideous than would have been the era of corporate 
 tyranny which they anticipated. 
 
 'Meanwhile, without being in the smallest degree 
 checked by the clamor against it, t he absorption of b usi- 
 n ess by ever larger monopolies continued.|ln the United 
 States there was not, after the beginning of the last quar- 
 ter of the century, any opportunity whatever for individ- 
 ual enterprise in any important field of industry, unless 
 backed by a great capital! During the last decade of the 
 century, such small businesses as still remained were fast- 
 failing survivals of a past epoch, or mere parasites on the 
 great corporations, or else existed in fields too smaU to 
 attract the great capitalists. |Small businesses, as far as 
 they still remained, were reduced to the tiondition of rats 
 and mice, living in holes and corners, and counting on 
 evading notice for the enjiDyment of existence! The rail- 
 roads had gone on combining till a few great syndicates 
 controlled every rail in the land. In manufactories, every 
 important staple was controlled by a syndicate. These 
 syndicates, pools, trusts, or whatever their name, fixed 
 prices and crushed all competition except when combina-, 
 tions as vast as themselves arose. Then a struggle, result- 
 ing in a still greater consolidation, ensued, ^he great city 
 bazar crushed its coimtry rivals with branch stores, and 
 in the city itself absorbed its smaller rivals till the busi- 
 ness of a whole quarter was concentrated under one roof, 
 
40 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 with a hundred former proprietors of shops serving as 
 clerksTi Having no business of his own to put his money 
 in, the small capitalist, at the same time that he took 
 service under the corporation, found no other investment 
 for his money but its stocks and bonds, thus becoming 
 doubly dependent upon it. 
 
 I vThe fact that the desperate popular opposition to the 
 consolidation of business in a few powerful hands had no 
 effect to check it proves that there must have been a 
 strong economical reason for it. '^The small capitalists, 
 with their innumerable petty concerns, had in fact 
 yielded the field to the great aggregations of capital, be- 
 cause they belonged to a day of small things and were 
 totally incompetent to the demands of an age of steam 
 and telegraphs and the gigantic scale of its enterprises^ 
 To restore the former order of things, even. if. possible, 
 would have involved returning to the day of stage- 
 coaches.;^ Oppressive and intolerable as was the regime o f 
 the great consolida tions of ra.pita.1. even itg viVti'mf;, wTii'Ip 
 they cursed it, were forced to admit the prodigious in- 
 crease of efficiency wt ncli had been imparted to the 
 national industries, the^^as t^ econ omies e ffected by con - 
 centration of management and unitv of organization , and 
 to confess that since the new system had taken the place 
 of the old the wealth of the world had increased at a rate 
 before imdreamed of ^ (To be sure this vast increase had 
 gone chiefly to make the rich richer, increasing the gap 
 between them and the pootj but the fact remained that, as 
 a means merely of pr oducing wealth, ra pital had be en 
 proved efficient in proportion to its consolidati on. The 
 Restoration of the old system with the subdivision of capi- 
 tal, i*it were possible, might indeed brmg back a greater 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 41 
 
 equality of conditions, with more individual dignity and 
 freedom, but it would be at the price of general poverty 
 and the arrest of material progress^ 
 
 'Was there, then, no way of commanding the services of 
 the mighty wealth-producing principle of consolidated 
 capital without bowing down to a plutocracy like that of 
 Carthage? As soon as men began to ask themselves these 
 questions, they found the answer ready for them4 The 
 movement toward t Tip rnndnf-t r,f hngin pss by larger an d ', 
 larg^er aggregations of capital, the tendency towar d 
 monopolies, which had been so desperately and vainly re 
 siste d, was recognized at last, in its true signifi cance, aa 
 a process wh ich only needed to complete its logical evo lu- 
 ti on to open a golden future to humanity . 
 "J^arly in the last century the evolution was completed 
 by the final consolidation of the entire capital of the na- 
 tion. The industry and commerce of the country, ceasing 
 to be conducted by a set of irresponsible corporations and 
 S3nidicates of private persons at their caprice and for their 
 profit, were intrusted to a single synd icate reBreseatmg 
 thfi-peoBle, to be conducted in the common interest for 
 the common profit^ |T3] g_nation, that is to sav. organized 
 as the one gr eat business corporation m which all other 
 corporations were absorbe d; it became the one capitalist 
 in the place of all other capitalists, the sole employer, the 
 final monopoly in which all previous and lesser monopolies 
 were swallowed up, a monopoly in the profits and econo- 
 mies of which all citizens shared] The egocjbwof truistsiiad 
 ended in The Great Trust- (jn a word, the people of the 
 United States concluded to assume the conduct of their 
 own business, just as one hundred odd years before they 
 had assumed the conduct of their own government, organ- 
 
p 
 
 42 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 izing now for industrial purposes on precisely the same 
 grounds that they had then organized for political pur- 
 poses.] At last, strangely late in the world's history, the 
 obvious fact was perceived that no business is so essen- 
 tially the public business as the industry and commerce on 
 which the people's livelihood depends, and that to entrust 
 it to private persons to be managed for private profit is a 
 folly similar in kmd, though vastly greater in magnitude, 
 to that of surrendering the functions of political govern- 
 ment to kings and nobles to be conducted for their per- 
 sonal glorification.' 
 
 'Such a stupendous change as you describe,' said I, 
 'did not, of course, take place without great bloodshed 
 and terrible convulsions.' 
 
 'On the contrary,' replied Dr. Leete, 'there was abso- 
 lutely no violence. The change had been long foreseen. 
 Public opinion had become fully ripe for it, and the 
 whole mass of the people was behind it. There was no 
 more possibility of opposing it by force than by argu- 
 ment. On the other hand the popular sentiment toward 
 the great corporations and those identified with them had 
 ceased to be one of bitterness, as they came to realize 
 their necessity g.s a link, a transi tion phas e, in the evolu - 
 ti on of the true industrial syste m. The most violent foes 
 of the great private monopolies were now forced to recog- 
 nize how invaluable and indispensable had been their 
 oflSce in educating the people up to the point of assuming 
 control of their own business. Fifty years before, the con- 
 solidation of the industries of the country under national 
 control would have seemed a very daring experiment to 
 the most sanguine. But by a series of object lessons, seen 
 and studied by all men, the great corporations had taught 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 43 
 
 the people an entirely new set of ideas on this subject. 
 They had seen for many years syndicates handling 
 revenues greater than those of states, and directing the 
 labors of hundreds of thousands of men with an efficiency 
 and economy unattainable in smaller operations. It had 
 come to be recognized as an axiom that the larger the 
 busLQess the simpler the principles that can be applied to 
 it; that, as the machine is truer than the hand, so the 
 system, which in a great concern does the work of the 
 master's eye in a small business, turns out more accurate 
 results. Thus it came about that, thanks to the corpora- 
 tions themselves, when it was proposed that the nation 
 should assume their functions, the suggestion implied 
 nothing which seemed impracticable even to the timid. 
 To be sure it was a step beyond any yet taken, a broader 
 generalization, but the very fact that the nation would be 
 the sole corporation in the field would, it was seen, relieve 
 the imdertaking of many difficulties with which the par- 
 tial monopolies had contended.' 
 
• • • • • 
 
 D. 
 
 'e. Leete ceased speaking, and I remained si- 
 lent, endeavoring to form some general conception of the 
 changes in the arrangements of society implied in the tre- 
 mendous revolution which he had described. 
 
 Finally I said, 'The idea of such an extension of the 
 fimctions of government is, to say the least, rather over- 
 whelming.' 
 'Extension!' he repeated, 'where is the extension?' 
 'In my day,' I replied, 'it was considered that the 
 proper functions of government, strictly speaking, were 
 limited to keeping the peace and defending the people 
 against the public enemy, that is, to the military and po- 
 lice powers.' 
 
 > [/And, in heaven's name, who are the public enemies?' 
 exclaimed Dr. Leete. 'Are they France, England, Ger- 
 many, or hunger, cold, and nakedness?] In your day 
 governments were accustomed, on the slightest inter- 
 national misunderstanding, to seize upon the bodies of 
 citizens and deliver them over by hundreds of thousands 
 to death and mutilation, wasting their treasures the while 
 like water; and aU this oftenest for no imaginable profit to 
 the victims.>|We have no wars now, and our governments 
 no war powers, but in order to protect every citizen 
 against hunger, cold, and nakedness, and provide for all 
 his physical and mental needs, the function is assumed of 
 directing his iadustry for a term of years^No, Mr. West, 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 45 
 
 I am sure on reflection you will perceive that it was in 
 your age, not in ours, that the extension of the functions 
 of governments was extraordinary. Not even for the 
 best ends would men now aUow their governments such i 
 powers as were then used for the most maleficent.' j 
 
 'Leaving comparisons aside,' I said, 'the demagoguery 
 and corruption of our public men would have been con- 
 sidered, in my day, insuperable objections to any assump- 
 tion by government of the charge of the national indus- 
 tries. We should have thought that no arrangement 
 could be worse than to entrust the politicians with control 
 of the wealth-producing machinery of the country. Its 
 material interests were quite too much the football of par- 
 ties as it was.' 
 
 'No doubt you were right,' rejoined Dr. Leete, 'but aU. 
 that is changed now. "W s have no parties o r politicians, j 
 and as for demagoguery and corruption, they are words | 
 having only an historical significance.' 
 f fHuman nature itself must have changed very much,' I 
 said. 
 
 'Not at all,' was Dr. Leete's reply, 'but the conditions 
 of human life have changed, and with them the motives of 
 human action. The organization of society with you was 
 such that officials were under a constant temptation to 
 misuse their power for the private profit of themselves or 
 others.^ Under such circumstances it seems almost strange 
 that you dared entrust them with any of your affairs. 
 ^Nowadays, on the contrary ,*society is so constituted that ■ 
 there is absolutely no way in which an official, however 
 ill-disposed, could possibly make any profit for himself or , 
 any one else by a misuse of his powerT] Let him be as bad 
 an official as you please, he cannot be a corrupt one. 
 
46 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 There is no motive to be. The social system no longer 
 offers a premiiim on dishonesty. But these are matters 
 which you can only understand as you come, with time, 
 to know us better.' 
 
 'But you have riot yet told me how you have settled the 
 labor problem. It is the problem of capital which we 
 have been discussing,' I said. 'After the nation had as- 
 sumed conduct of the mills, machinery, railroads, farms, 
 mines, and capital in general of the country, the labor 
 question stUl remained. In assuming the responsibilities 
 of capital the nation had assumed the difficulties of the 
 capitalist's position.' 
 
 'The moment the nation assmned the responsibilities of 
 capital those diflaculties vanished,' replied Dr. Leete. 
 'The national organization of labor under one direction 
 was the complete solution of what was, in your day and 
 under your system, justly regarded as the insoluble labor 
 problem. [When the nation became the sole employer, 
 aU the citizens, by virtue of their citizenship, became em- 
 ployees, to be distributed according to the needs of in- 
 dustry.'] 
 
 'That is,' I suggested, 'vnn |iavp simply appliVrl tVip 
 prin ciple of universal military service, as it was unde r- 
 s tood in our day, to th e labor question.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Dr. Leete, ' that was something which fol- 
 lowed as a matter of course as soon as the nation had be- 
 come the sole capitalist. The people were already ac- 
 customed to the idea that the obligation of every citizen, 
 not physically disabled, to contribute his military services 
 to the defense of the nation was equal and absolute* That 
 it was e c|uallv the dutv of every ritizpn to rnntrihiil-p In' g 
 quota of industrial or intellectual services to the main- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 47 
 
 te nance of the nation w a s equally eviden t, though it was 
 not until the nation became the employer of labor that 
 citizens were able to render this sort of service with any 
 pretense either of universality or equity. No organization 
 of labor was possible when the employing power was di- 
 vided among hundreds or thousands of individuals and 
 corporations, between which concert of any kind was 
 neither desired, nor indeed feasible. It constantly hap- 
 pened then that vast numbers who desired to labor could 
 find no opportunity, and on the other hand, those who 
 desired to evade a part or all of their debt could easily do 
 so.' 
 
 Service, now, I suppose, is compulsory upon a ll,' I 
 suggested. 
 
 'It is rather a matter of course "than of compulsion,'.] 
 replied Dr. Leete. yt is regarded as so absolutely natural 
 and reasonable that the idea of its being compulsory has 
 ceased to be thought of. He would be thought to be an 
 incredibly contemptible person who should need compul- 
 sion in such a case. Nevertheless, to speak of service be- 
 ing compulsory would be a weak way to state its absolute 
 inevitableness.J Qur entire social order is so wholly bas ed 
 ugon and deduced from it that if it were conceivable that 
 a man could esca pe it, he would be left with no possible 
 way to pro vide for his existence. H e would have excluded 
 himself from the world, cut himself off from his kind, lq a 
 „word, committed suicide.' 
 
 f ls the term of se rvice in this industria l army for life ? ' 
 
 ' oE, no ; it both begins later and ends earlier than the 
 
 average working period in your day. Your workshops 
 
 were filled with children and old men, but we hold the 
 
 period of youth sacred to education, and the period of 
 
48 LOOKTNG BACKWARD 
 
 maturity, when the physical forces begin to flag, equally 
 sacred to ease and agreeable relaxation. T he period of in - 
 dustrial service is twen ty-four years, begmnmg at the 
 close ol tne course ot education at twenty-one and ter- 
 minating at forty-five. After forty-five, while discharged 
 from labor, the citizen still remains liable to special calls, 
 in case of emergencies causing a sudden great increase in 
 the demand for labor, tUl he reaches the age of fifty-five, 
 but such calls are rarely, in fact ahnost never, made. The 
 fifteenth day of October of every year is what we call 
 Muster Dav . because those who have reached the age of 
 twenty-one are then mustered into the industrial service, 
 and at the same time those who, after twenty-four years' 
 service, have reached the age of forty-five, are honorably 
 mustered out.^It is the great day of the year with us, 
 whence we reckon all other events, our Olympiad, save 
 that it is annual.' 
 
^^'^ 7 VV 
 
 At IS after you have mustered your industrial 
 army into service,' I said, 'that I should expect the chief 
 difficulty to arise, for there its analogy with a military 
 army must cease. [Soldiers have all the same thing, and a 
 very simple thing, to do, namely, to practice the manual 
 of arms, to march and stand guard^ feut the industrial 
 army must learn and foUow two or three hundred diverse 
 trades and avocations?) ^hat administrative talent can 
 be equal to determining wisely what trade or business 
 every individual in a great nation shaU pursue? 'J 
 
 'The administration has nothing to do with determin- 
 ing that point.' 
 
 'Who does determine it, then?' I asked. 
 
 J' Every man for himself in accordance with his natural 
 a ptitude , the utmost pains being taken to enable him to 
 find out what his natural aptitude really is.JjfThe princi- 
 ple on which our industrial army is organized is that a 
 man's natural endowments, mental and physical, deter- 
 mine what he can work at most ^ofitably to the nation 
 and most satisfactorily to himsely While the obligation 
 of service in some form is not to be evaded, voluntary 
 election, subject only to necessary regulation,jis depended 
 on to determine the particular sort of service every man is 
 to render. 'As an individual's satisfaction during his term 
 of service depends on his having an occupation to his 
 taste, parents and teachers watch from early years for 
 
50 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 indications of special aptitudes in children.] jA thorough 
 study of the National industrial system, with the history 
 and rudiments of all the great trades, is an essential part 
 of our educational system. While manual training is not 
 allowed to encroach on the general intellectual culture to 
 which our schools are devoted, it is carried far enough to 
 give our youth, in addition to their theoretical knowledge 
 of the national industries, mechanical and agricultural, a 
 certain familiarity with their tools and methodsTi Our 
 schools are constantly visiting our workshops, and often 
 are taken on long excursions to inspect particular indus- 
 trial enterprises, ^n your day a man was not ashamed to 
 be grossly ignorant of aU trades except his own, but such 
 ignorance would not be consistent with our idea of plac- 
 ing every one in a position to select intelligently the occu- 
 pation for which he has most tasteTf iJsually long before 
 he is mustered into service a young man has f oimd out the 
 
 ; pursuit he wants to foUow, has acquired a great deal of 
 knowledge about it, and is waiting impatiently the time 
 when he can enlist in its ranks.^- 
 
 'Surely,' I said, 'it can hardly be that the number of 
 volunteers for any trade is exactly the nimiber needed in 
 that trade. It must be generally either under or over the 
 demand.' 
 
 ('The supply of volunteers is always expected to fully 
 equal the demand*} replied Dr. Leete. 'It is the business 
 of the admmistration to see that this is the case, ^he rate 
 of volunteering for each trade is closely watched. If 
 there be a noticeably greater excess of volunteers over 
 men needed in any trade, it is inferred that the trade of- 
 
 y fers greater attractions than others. On the other hand, 
 if the number of volunteers for a trade tends to drop be- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 5 1 
 
 low the demand, it is mferred that it is thought more 
 arduous. It is the busmess of the administration to se ek') 
 constantly toequalize the attractions of the tradesTs o/ 
 far as the conditions of labor in them are concerned, so 'i 
 that all trades shall be equally attractive to persons hav- , 
 ing natural tastes for them^B^his is done by making the \ i 
 hours of labor in dijEEerent trades to differ according to 'i 
 their arduousness.j JThe li ghter trades, pr osecuted under 
 the _most agreeable' cljcurn5-an c£SL^.h.aye in this way the 
 longest hours, while an arduous trade, such as minmg. has 
 very short hours ?! There is no theory, no a priori rule, by 
 which the respective attractiveness of industries is deter- 
 mined. The administration, in taking burdens off one 
 class of workers and adding them to other classes, simply 
 follows the fluctuations of opinion among the workers 
 tKemselves as indicated by the rate of volunteering. The 
 principle is that no man's work ought to be, on the whole, 
 harder for him than any other man's for him, the workers 
 themselves to be the judges. There are no limits to the 
 application of this rule, [if any particular occupation is 
 in itself so arduous or so oppressive that, in order to in- 
 duce volunteers, the day's work in it had to be reduced to 
 ten minutes, it would be done J If, even then, no man was 
 willing to do it, it would remain undone. [But of course, 
 in point of fact, a moderate reduction in the hours of 
 labor, or addition of other privileges, suffices to secure all 
 needed volunteers for any occupation necessary to men,'] 
 [if, indeed, the unavoidable difficulties and dangers of 
 such a necessary pursuit were so great that no induce- 
 ment of compensating advantages would overcome men's 
 repugnance to it, the administration would only need to 
 take it out of the common order of occupations by de- 
 
52 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 daring it "extra hazardous," and those who pursued it 
 especially worthy of the national gratitude, to be over- 
 run with volunteers^ four young men are very greedy of 
 honor, and do not let slip such opportunitiesj Of course 
 you will see that dependence on the purely voluntary 
 choice of avocations involves the abolition in aU of any- 
 thing like unhygienic conditions or special peril to life 
 and limb. Health and safety are conditions common to 
 all industries. (The nation does not maim and slaughter 
 its workmen by thousands, as did the private capitalists 
 and corporations of your day.'j 
 
 f When there are more who want to enter a particular 
 trade than there is room for, how do you decide between 
 the applicants? t!l inquired. 
 
 ^Preference is given to those who have acquired the 
 most knowledge of the trade they wish to foUow. No 
 man, however, who through successive years remains 
 persistent in his desire to show what he can do at any 
 particular trade, is in the end denied an opportunityj 
 Meanwhile, if a man cannot at first win entrance into the 
 business he prefers, he has usually one or more alterna- 
 tive preferences, pursuits for which he has some degree of 
 aptitude, although not the highest, pvery one, indeed, is 
 expected to study his aptitudes so as to have not only a 
 first choice as to occupation, but a second or third, so 
 that if, either at the outset of his career or subsequently, 
 owing to the progress of invention or changes in demand, 
 he is unable to follow his first vocation, he can still find 
 reasonably congenial employment! \This prmciple of^ 
 secondary choices as to occupation is quite important in 
 our system^l'tl should add, in reference to the counter- 
 possibility of some sudden failure of volunteers in a par- 
 
LOOKING BACKWAM) 53 
 
 ticular trade, or some sudden necessity of an increased 
 force, that the administration/while dependiag on the 
 voluntary system for filling up Qie trades as a rule, holds 
 always in reserve the power to call for special volunteers, 
 or draft any force needed from any quarter^|Generally, 
 however, all needs of this sort can be met b3rdetails from 
 the class of unskilled or common laborers.' 
 
 'How is this ,class_of common jaborers^ recruited?' I 
 asked. 'Surely nobody voluntarily enters that.' 
 
 'It is the grade to which aU new recruits belong for the 
 first three years ~bf their servicejit is not tnr after this 
 period, during which he is assignable to any work at the ' 
 discretion of his superiors, that the young man is allowed 
 to elect a special avocation. These three years of stringent 
 discipline none are exempt from, and very glad our young 
 men are to pass from this severe school into the compara- 
 tive liberty of the trades. 'Jf a man were so stupid as to 
 have no choice as to occupation, he would simply remain 
 a common laborer; but such cases, as you may suppose, 
 are not common.' J 
 
 IfHaving once elected and entered on a trade or occu- 
 pation,' I remarked, 'I suppose he has to stick to it the 
 rest of his life.''' 
 
 'Not necessarily,' replied Dr. Leete; IwhUe frequent 
 and merely capricious changes of occupation are not en- 
 couraged or even permitted, every worker is allowed, of 
 course, under certain regulations and in accordance with 
 the exigencies of the service, to volunteer for another in- 
 dustry which he thinks would suit him better than his 
 first choice. In this case his application is received just as 
 if he were volunteering for the first time, and on the same 
 terms. Not only this, but a worker may likewise, under 
 
54 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 suitable regulations and not too frequently, obtain a 
 transfer to an establishment of the same industry in an- 
 other part of the country which for any reason he may 
 prefer^ Under your system a discontented man could in- 
 deed leave his work at will, but he left his means of sup- 
 port at the same time, and took his chances as to f utuce 
 livelihood. We find that the number of men Who wish to 
 abandon an accustomed occupation for a new one, and 
 old friends and associations for strange ones, is small. 
 It is only the poorer sort of workmen who desire to change 
 even as frequently as our regulations permit. Of course 
 transfers or discharges, when health demands them, are 
 always given.'] 
 
 'As an industrial system, I should think this might be 
 extremely efl&cient,' I said, 'but I don't see that it makes 
 any provision for the professional classes, the men who 
 serve the nation with brains instead of hands. UOf course 
 you can't get along without the brain-workers. How, 
 then, are they selected from those who are to serve as 
 farmers and mechanics?] That must require a very deli- 
 cate sort of sifting process, I^puld say.' 
 
 'So it does,' replied Dr. Leete,''^he most delicate pos- 
 sible test is needed here, and so we leave the question 
 w hptber a , man shall he a hrnin or ha.nd worker entire ly to 
 him to settle. At the end of the term of three years as a 
 common laborer, which every man must serve, it is for 
 him to choose, in accordance to his natural tastes, whether 
 he will fit himseK for an art or profession, or be a farmer 
 or mechanic. If he feels that he can do better work with 
 his brains than his muscles, he finds every facility pro- 
 vided for testing the reality of his supposed bent, of cul- 
 tivating it, and if fit of pursuing it as his avocation. The 
 
LOOKING BACKWAIiD 55 
 
 schools of technology, of medicine, of art, of music, of his- 
 trionics, and of higher liberal learning are always open to 
 aspirants without condition.'j 
 
 I^Are not the schools flooded with young men whose only 
 motive is to avoid wpxkPj 
 
 Dr. Leete smiled a little grimly. 
 
 TNo one is at all likely to enter the professional schools 
 for the purpose of avoiding work, I assure you,' he said. 
 'They are intended for those with special aptitude for the 
 branches they teach, and any one without it would find it 
 easier to do double hours at his trade than try to keep up 
 with the classes. Of course many honestly mistake their 
 vocation, and, finding themselves vmequal to the require- 
 ments of the schools, drop out and return to the industrial 
 service; no discredit attaches to such persons, for the pub- 
 lic policy is to encourage all to develop suspected talents 
 which only actual tests can prove the reality of. The pro- 
 fessional and scientific schools of your day depended on 
 the patronage of their pupils for support, and the practice 
 appears to have been common of giving diplomas to unfit 
 persons, who afterwards found their way into the profes- 
 sions. [Our schools are national institutions, and to have 
 passed their tests is a proof of special abilities not to be 
 questioned.' 
 
 'This opportunity for a professional training,' the doc- 
 tor continued, 'remains open to every'man till the age of 
 thirty is reached, after which students are'not received, as 
 there would remain too brief a period before the age of 
 discharge in which to serve the nation in their profes- 
 sions.^ In your day young men had to choose their profes- 
 sions very young, and therefore, in a large proportion of 
 instances, whoUy mistook their vocations.) It is recog- 
 
56 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 nized nowadays that the natural aptitudes of some are 
 later than those of others in developing, and therefore, 
 while the choice of profession may be made as early as 
 twenty-four, it remains open for six years longer.' 
 
 A question which had a dozen times before been on my 
 lips now found utterance, a question which touched upon 
 what, in my time, had been regarded the most vital 
 difficulty in the way of any final settlement of the Indus- ' 
 trial problem. 'It is an extraordinary thing,' I said, 'that 
 you should not yet have said a word about the method of 
 adjusting wages. [Since the nation is the sole employer, 
 the government must fix the rate of wages and detennine 
 just how much everybody shall earn, from the doctors to 
 the diggers3^ All I can say is, that this plan would never 
 have worked with us, and I don't see how it can now un- 
 less human nature has changed. In my day, nobody was 
 satisfied with his wages or salary. Even if he felt he re- 
 ceived enough, he was sure his neighbor had too much, 
 which was as bad. If the universal discontent on this sub- 
 ject, instead of bebg dissipated in curses and strikes di- 
 rected against innumerable employers, could have been 
 concentrated upon one, and that the government, the 
 strongest ever devised would not have seen two pay days.' 
 
 Dr. Leete laughed heartily. 
 
 'Very true, very true,' he said, 'a general strike would 
 most probably have followed the first pay day, and a 
 strike directed against a government is a revolution.' 
 
 'How, then, do you avoid a revolution every pay day?' 
 I demanded. 'Has some prodigious philosopher devised 
 a new system of calculus satisfactory to all for determin- 
 ing the exact and comparative value of all sorts of service, 
 whether by brawn or brain, by hand or voice, by ear or 
 
LOOKING BACKWARJ* 57 
 
 eye? Or has human nature itself changed, so that no man 
 looks upon his own things but "every man on the things 
 of his neighbor"? One or the other of these events must 
 be the explanation.' 
 
 'Neither one nor the other, however, is,' was my host's 
 laughing response. 'And now, Mr. West,' he continued, 
 'you must remember that you are my patient as well as 
 my guest, and permit me to prescribe sleep for you before 
 we have any more conversation. It is after three o'clock.' 
 
 'The prescription is, no doubt, a wise one,' I said; 'I 
 only hope it can be filled.' 
 
 'I will see to that,' the doctor replied, and he did, for he 
 gave me a wineglass of something or other which sent me 
 to sleep as soon as my head touched the pillow. 
 
U^^K^ 
 
 VY¥ 8 Y'^ 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 w. 
 
 HEN I awoke I felt greatly refreshed, and lay 
 a considerable time in a dozing state, enjoying the sensa- 
 tion of bodily comfort. The experiences of the day pre- 
 vious, my waking to find myself in the year 2000, the sight 
 of the new Boston, my host and his family, and the won- 
 derful things I had heard, were aiblank in my memory. I 
 thought I was in my bed-chamber at home, and the half- 
 dreaming, half-waking fancies which passed before my 
 mind related to the incidents and experiences of my for- 
 mer life. Dreamily I reviewed the incidents of Decoration 
 Day, my trip in company with Edith and her parents to 
 Mount Auburn, and my dining with them on our return 
 to the city. I recalled how extremely well Edith had 
 looked, and from that fell to thinking of our marriage; but 
 scarcely had my imagination begun to develop this de- 
 lightful theme than my waking dream was cut short by 
 the recollection of the letter I had received the night be- 
 fore from the builder annoimcing that the new strikes 
 might postpone indefinitely the completion of the new 
 house. The chagrin which this recollection brought with 
 it effectually roused me. I remembered that I had an ap- 
 pointment with the builder at eleven o'clock, to discuss 
 the strike, and opening my eyes, looked up at the clock at 
 the foot of my bed to see what time it was. But no clock 
 met my glance, and what was more, I instantly perceived 
 that I was not in my room. Starting up on my couch I 
 stared wildly round the strange apartment. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 59 
 
 I think it must have been many seconds that I sat up 
 thus in bed staring about, without being able to regain 
 the dew to my personal identity. I was no more able to 
 distinguish myself from pure being during those moments 
 than we may suppose a soid in the rough to be before it 
 has received the ear-marks, the individualizing touches 
 which make it a person. Strange that the sense of this in- 
 ability shoxild be such anguish! but so we are constituted. 
 There are no words for the mental torture I endured dur- 
 ing this helpless, eyeless groping for myself in a boundless 
 void. No other experience of the mind gives probably 
 anything like the sense of absolute intellectual arrest from 
 the loss of a mental fulcrum, a starting point of thought, 
 which comes during such a momentary obscuration of the 
 sense of one's identity. I trust I may never know what it 
 is again. 
 
 I do not know how long this condition had lasted — it 
 seemed an interminable time — when, like a flash, the re- 
 collection of everything came back to me. I remembered 
 who and where I was, and how I had come here, and that 
 these scenes as of the life of yesterday which had been 
 passing before my mind concerned a generation long, long 
 ago mouldered to dust. Leaping from bed, I stood in the 
 middle of the room clasping my temples with all my might 
 between my hands to keep them from bursting. Then I 
 fell prone on the couch, and, burying my face in the pil- 
 low, lay without motion. The reaction which was inevit- 
 able, from the mental elation, the fever of the intellect 
 that had been the first effect of my tremendous experience, 
 had arrived. The emotional crisis which had awaited the 
 full realization of my actual position, and all that it im- 
 plied, was upon me, and with set teeth and laboring 
 
6o LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 chest, gripping the bedstead with frenzied strength, I lay 
 there and fought for my sanity. In my mind, all had 
 broken loose, habits of feeling, associations of thought, 
 ideas of persons and things, all had dissolved and lost co- 
 herence and were seething together in apparently irre- 
 trievable chaos. There were no rallying points, nothing 
 was left stable. There only remained the wiU, and was 
 any human will strong enough to say to such a weltering 
 sea, 'Peace, be still'? I dared not think. Every effort to 
 reason upon what had befallen me, and realize what it 
 implied, set up an intolerable swimming of the brain. 
 The idea that I was two persons, that my identity was 
 double, began to fascinate me with its simple solution of 
 my experience. 
 
 I knew that I was on the verge of losing my mental bal- 
 ance. If I lay there thinking, I was doomed. Diversion of 
 some sort I must have, at least the diversion of physical 
 exertion. I sprang up, and, hastily dressing, opened the 
 door of my room and went down-stairs. The hour was 
 very early, it being not yet fairly light, and I found no 
 one in the lower part of the house. There was a hat in the 
 hall, and, opening the front door, which was fastened with 
 a slightness indicating that burglary was not among the 
 perils of the modern Boston, I found myself on the street. 
 For two hours I walked or ran through the streets of the 
 city, visitmg most quarters of the peninsular part of the 
 town. None but an antiquarian who knows somethmg of 
 the contrast which the Boston of today offers to the Bos- 
 ton of the nineteenth century can begin to appreciate 
 what a series of bewildering surprises I vmderwent during 
 that time. Viewed from the house-top the day before, the 
 city had indeed appeared strange to me, but that was 
 
LOOKING BACKWAEB 6l 
 
 only in its general aspect. How complete the change had 
 been I first realized now that I walked the streets. The 
 few old landmarks which still remained only intensified 
 this effect, for without them I might have imagined my- 
 self in a foreign town. A man may leave his native city in 
 childhood, and return fifty years later, perhaps, to find 
 it transformed in many features. He is astonished, but 
 he is not bewildered. He is aware of a great lapse of time, 
 and of changes likewise occurring in himself meanwhile. 
 He but dimly recalls the city as he knew it when a child. 
 But remember that there was no sense of any lapse of 
 time with me. So far as my consciousness was concerned, 
 it was but yesterday, but a few hours, since I had walked 
 these streets in which scarcely a feature had escaped a 
 complete metamorphosis. The mental image of the old 
 city was so fresh and strong that it did not yield to the 
 impression of the actual city, but contended with it, so 
 that it was first one and then the other which seemed the 
 more unreal. There was nothing I saw which was not 
 blurred in this way, like the faces of a composite photo- 
 graph. 
 
 Finally, I stood again at the door of the house from 
 which I had come out. My feet must have instinctively 
 brought me back to the site of my old home, for I had no 
 clear idea of retiuTiing thither. It was no more homelike 
 to me than any other spot in this city of a strange genera- 
 tion, nor were its inmates less utterly and necessarily 
 strangers than all the other men and women now on the 
 earth. Had the door of the house been locked, I should 
 have been reminded by its resistance that I had no object 
 in entering, and turned away, but it yielded to my hand, 
 and advancing with uncertain steps through the hall, I 
 
62 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 entered one of the apartments opening from it. Throw- 
 ing myself into a chair, I covered my burning eyeballs 
 with my hands to shut out the horror of strangeness. My 
 mental confusion was so intense as to produce actual 
 nausea. The anguish of those moments, during which my 
 brain seemed melting, or the abjectness of my sense of 
 helplessness, how can I describe? In my despair I groaned 
 aloud. I began to feel that unless some help should come 
 I was about to lose my mind. And just then it did come. 
 I heard the rustle of drapery, and looked up. Edith Leete 
 was standing before me. Her beautiful face was ftill of 
 the most poignant sympathy. 
 
 'Oh, what is the matter, Mr. West?' she said. 'I was 
 here when you came in. I saw how dreadfully distressed 
 you looked, and when I heard you groan, I could not keep 
 silent. What has happened to you? Where have you 
 been? Can't I do something for you? ' 
 
 Perhaps she involuntarily held out her hands in a ges- 
 ture of compassion as she spoke. At any rate I had caught 
 them in my own and was clinging to them with an im- 
 pulse as instinctive as that which prompts the drowning 
 man to seize upon and cling to the rope which is thrown 
 him as he sinks for the last time. As I looked up into her 
 compassionate face and her eyes moist with pity, my 
 brain ceased to whirl. The tender human sympathy 
 which thrilled in the soft pressure of her fingers had 
 brought me the support I needed. Its effect to calm and 
 soothe was like that of some wonder-working elixir. 
 
 'God bless you,' I said, after a few moments. 'He 
 must have sent you to me just now. I think I was in 
 danger of going crazy if you had not come.' At this the 
 tears came into her eyes. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 63 
 
 'Oh, Mr. West!' she cried. 'How heartless you must 
 have thought us! How could we leave you to yourself 
 so long! But it is over now, is it not? You are better, 
 surely.' 
 
 'Yes,' I said, 'thanks to you. If you wiU not go away 
 quite yet, I shall be myself soon.' 
 
 'Indeed I will not go away,' she said, with a little quiver 
 of her face, mote expressive of her sympathy than a vol- 
 ume of words. 'You must not think us so heartless as 
 we seelned in leaving you so by yourself. I scarcely slept 
 last night, for thinking how strange your waking would 
 be this morning; but father said you would sleep till 
 late. He said that it would be better not to show too 
 much sympathy with you at first, but to try to divert 
 your thoughts and make you feel that you were among 
 friends.' 
 
 'You have indeed made me feel that,' I answered. 'But 
 you see it is a good deal of a jolt to drop a hundred years, 
 and although I did not seem to feel it so much last night, 
 I have had very odd sensations this morning.' WhUe I 
 held her hands and kept my eyes on her face, I could al- 
 ready even jest a little at my plight. 
 
 'No one thought of such a thing as your going out in 
 the city alone so early in the morning,' she went on. 'Oh, 
 Mr. West, where have you been? ' 
 
 Then I told her of my morning's experience, from my 
 first waking till the moment I had looked up to see her be- 
 fore me, just as I have told it here. She was overcome by 
 distressful pity during the recital, and, though I had re- 
 leased one of her hands, did not try to take from me the 
 other, seeing, no doubt, how much good it did me to hold 
 it. 'I can think a little what this feeling must have been 
 
64 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 like,' she said. 'It must have been terrible. And to think 
 you were left alone to struggle with it! Can you ever for- 
 give us? ' 
 
 'But it is gone now. You have driven it quite away for 
 the present,' I said. 
 
 'You will not let it return again,' she queried anxiously. 
 
 'I can't quite say that,' I replied. 'It might be too early 
 to say that, considering how strange everything wiE still 
 be to me.' 
 
 'But you will not try to contend with it alone again, at 
 least,' she persisted. 'Promise that you will come to us, 
 and let us sympathize with you, and try to help you. Per- 
 haps we can't do much, but it wiU surely be better than to 
 try to bear such feelings alone.' 
 
 'I will come to you if you will let me,' I said. 
 
 'Oh yes, yes, I beg you wiU,' she said eagerly. 'I would 
 do anything to help you that I could.' 
 
 'All you need do is to be sorry for me, as you seem to 
 be now,' I replied. 
 
 'It is understood, then,' she said, smiling with wet eyes, 
 'that you are to come and teU me next time, and not nm 
 aH over Boston among strangers.' 
 
 This assumption that we were not strangers seemed 
 scarcely strange, so near within these few minutes had 
 my trouble and her sympathetic tears brought us. 
 
 'I will promise, when you come to me,' she added, with 
 an expression of charming archness, passing, as she con- 
 tinued, into one of enthusiasm, 'to seem as sorry for you 
 as you wish, but you must not for a moment suppose that 
 I am reaUy sorry for you at all, or that I think you will 
 long be sorry for yourself. I know, as well as I know that 
 the world now is heaven compared with what it was in 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 65 
 
 your day, that the only feeling you will have after a little 
 while win be one of thankfulness to God that your life in 
 that age was so strangely cut off, to be returned to you in 
 this.' 
 
^YY 9 ¥¥ 
 
 D. 
 
 'r. and Mrs. Leete were evidently not a little 
 startled to learn, when they presently appeared, that I 
 had been all over the city alone that morning, and it was 
 apparent that they were agreeably surprised to see that 
 I seemed so little agitated after the experience. 
 
 'Your stroll could scarcely have failed to be a very in- 
 teresting one,' said Mrs. Leete, as we sat down to table 
 soon after. 'You must have seen a good many new things.' 
 
 'I saw very little that was not new,' I replied. 'But I 
 think what surprised me as much as anything was not to 
 find any stores on Washington Street, or any banks on 
 State, [what have you done with the merchants and 
 bankers? Hung them aU, perhaps, as the anarchists 
 wanted to do in my day? J 
 
 'Not so bad as that,' replied Dr. Leete. fWe have sim- 
 ply dispensed with them. Their functions are obsolete 
 in the modern world. 'j 
 
 'Who sells you things when you want to buy them?' I 
 inquired. 
 
 'There is neither selling nor buying nowadays; the dis- 
 tribution of goods is effected in another way. As to the 
 bankers, having no money we have no use for those 
 gentry.' 
 
 'Miss Leete,' said I, turning to Edith, 'I am afraid that 
 your father is making sport of me. I don't blame him, for 
 the temptation my innocence offers must be extraordi- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 67 
 
 nary. But, really, there are limits to my credtility as to 
 possible alterations in the social system.' 
 
 'Father has no idea of jesting, I am sure,' she replied, 
 with a reassuring smile. 
 
 The conversation took another turn then, the point 
 of ladies' fashions in the nineteenth century being raised, 
 if I remember rightly, by Mrs. Leete, and it was not till 
 after breakfast, when the doctor had invited me up to the 
 house-top, which appeared to be a favorite resort of his, 
 that he recurred to the subject. 
 
 'You were surprised,' he said, 'at my saying that we 
 got along without money or. trade, but a moment's re- 
 flection will show that trade existed and mon ev was 
 needed in your day simply because the business of pr o--| 
 duction was left in private hands , and that, consequently, 
 they are superfluous now.' 
 
 'I do not at once see how that follows,' I replied. 
 
 'It is very simple,' said Dr. Leete. 'When innumerable 
 different and independent persons produced the various 
 things needful to life and comfort, endless exchanges be- 
 tween individuals were requisite in order that they might 
 supply themselves with what they desired. These ex- 
 changes constituted trade, and money was essential as 
 their medium. B ut as soon as the nation becam e the sole 
 p roducer of all sorts of commodities, there was no nee d 
 o f exchanges between individuals that they might g et 
 wha t they required . jEverything was procurable from one 
 source, and nothing could be procured anywhere else. A 
 system of direct distribution from the national store - 
 houses took the place of trade , and for t his money wa s 
 unnece ssary . 'J 
 
 'How is tills distribution managed? ' I asked. 
 
68 LOOKTNG BACKWARD 
 
 'On the simplest possible plan,' replied Dr. Leete. 
 VLA credit corresponding to his share of the annual pro- 
 duct of the nation is given to every citizen on the public 
 books at the beginning of each year, and a credit car^ is- 
 sued him with which he procures at the public store- 
 houses, found in every community, whatever he desires 
 whenever he desires it^ This arrangement, you will see, 
 to tally obviates the necessity for business transactio ns 
 of an y sort between mdividuals and consume rs. Per- 
 haps you would likeTosee what our credit-cards are like. 
 
 ' You observe,' he pursued as I was curiously examining 
 the piece of pasteboard he gave me, 'that this card is is- 
 sued for a certain nimiber of doUars. We have kept the 
 old word, but not the substance. The term, as we use it, 
 answers to no real thing, but merely serves as an algebrai- 
 cal symbol for comparing the values of products with one 
 another. For this purpose they are all priced in dollars 
 and cents, just as in your day. The value of what I pro- 
 cure on this card is checked off by the clerk, who pricks 
 out of these tiers of squares the price of what I order.' 
 
 'If you wanted to buy something of your neighbor, 
 could you transfer part of your credit to him as considera- 
 tion? ' I inquired. 
 
 'In the first place,' replied Dr. Leete, 'our neighbors 
 have nothing to sell us, but in any event^ur credit would 
 not be transferable, being strictly personal? Before the 
 nation could even think of honoring any such transfer 
 as you speak of, it would be bound to inquire into all the 
 circumstances of the transaction, so as to be able to 
 guarantee its absolute equity. It would have been reason 
 enough, had there been no other, for abolishing money, 
 that its possession was no indication of rightful title to it. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 69 
 
 ^Li the hands of the man who had stolen it or murdey d 
 foijt, it was as good as in those which had earned it by 
 industry. People nowadays interchange gifts and favors 
 out of friendship, but buying and selling is considered 
 ab solutely inconsistent with the mutual benevolence 
 
 , and disiaterestedness whichshould prev ail between citi- 
 
 ^zens and the sense of communitv of interest whj HT_sri2r 
 ports our social system XAccording to our ideas, buyin g 
 and selling is essentially anti-social in all its tendencie s. 
 rt is an education in self-seeking at the expense of others, 
 and no society whose citizens are trained in such a school 
 can possibly rise above a very low grade of civilization.'! 
 'What if you have to spend more than your card in any 
 one year? ' I asked. 
 
 'The provision is so ample that we are more likely not 
 to spend it all,' replied Dr. Leete. 'But if extraordiaary 
 expenses should exhaust it, we can obtain a limited ad- 
 vance on the next year's credit, though this practice is not 
 encouraged, and a heavy discount is charged to check it. 
 
 [Of coiurse if a man showed himself a reckless spendthrift 
 he would receive his allowance monthly or weekly in- 
 stead of yearly, or if necessary not be permitted to handle 
 it aU.'"] 
 
 'If you don't spend your allowance, I suppose it ac- 
 cumulates?' 
 
 ." VThat is also permitted to a certain extent when a 
 special outlay is anticipated. But unless notice to the 
 contrary is given, it is presumed that the citizen who 
 does not fully expend his credit did not have occasion to 
 do so, and the balance is turned into the general surplus.'-) 
 'Such a system does not encourage saving habits on 
 the part of citizens,' I said. 
 
70 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 'It is not intended to,' was the reply. 'The nation is 
 rich, and does not wish the people to deprive themselves 
 of any good thing. In your day, men were bomid to lay 
 up goods and money against coming failure of the means 
 of support and for their children. This necessity made 
 parsimony a virtue. But now it would have no such 
 laudable object, and, having lost its utility, it has ceased 
 to be regarded as a virtue. |N6 man any more has any 
 care for the morrow, either for himself or his children, for 
 the nation guarantees the nurture, education, and com- 
 fortable maintenance of every citizen from the cradle to 
 the grave. '_j 
 
 'That is a sweeping guarantee!' I said. 'What cer- 
 tainty can there be that the value of a man's labor will 
 recompense the nation for its outlay on him?, On the 
 whole, society may be able to support all its members, but 
 some must earn less than enough for their support, and 
 others more; and that brings us back once more to the 
 wages question, on which you have hitherto said nothing. 
 It was at just this point, if you remember, that our talk 
 ended last evening; and I say again, as I did then, that 
 here I should suppose a national industrial system like 
 yours would find its main difficulty. How, I ask once 
 more, can you adjust satisfactorily the comparative 
 wages or remuneration of the multitude of avocations, so 
 unlike and so inconomensurable, which are necessary for 
 the service of society? In our day the market rate deter- 
 mined the price of labor of all sorts, as well as of goods. 
 The employer paid as little as he could, and the worker 
 got as much. It was not a pretty system ethically, I ad- 
 mit; but it did, at least, furnish us a rough and ready for- 
 mula for settling a question which must be settled ten 
 
LOOKING BACKWAIUD 7 1 
 
 thousand times a day if the world was ever going to get 
 forward. There seemed to us no other practicable way of 
 doing it.' 
 
 'Yes,' replied Dr. Leete, 'it was the only practicable 
 way under a system which made the interests of every 
 individual antagonistic to those of every other; but it 
 would have been a pity if himianity could never have 
 devised a better plan, for yours was simply the applica- 
 tion to the mutual relations of men of the devil's maxim, 
 "Your necessity is my opportimity." The reward of any 
 service depended not upon its difl&culty, danger, or hard- 
 ship, for throughout the world it seems that the most 
 perilous, severe, and repulsive labor was done by the 
 worst paid classes; but solely upon the strait of those who 
 needed the service.' 
 
 'All that is conceded,' I said. 'B ut, with all its defects , 
 the plan of settling prices by the market rate was a prac- 
 t igal plan; and I cannot conceive what satistactory sub- 
 stitute you can have devised for it. The government be- 
 ing the only possible employer, there is of course no 
 labor market or market rate. Wages of aU sorts must be 
 arbitrarily fixed by the government. I cannot imagine 
 a more complex and delicate function than that must be, 
 or one, however performed, more certain to breed univer- 
 sal dissatisfaction.' 
 
 'I beg your pardon,' replied Dr. Leete, 'but I think you 
 exaggerate the difficulty. Suppose a board of fairly sen- 
 sible men were charged with settling the wages f of all 
 sorts of trades under a system which, like ours, guaran- 
 teed employment to all, while permitting the choice of 
 avocations. Don't you see that, however unsatisfactory 
 the first adjustment might be, the mistakes would soon 
 
^3 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 correct themselves? The favored trades would have too 
 many volunteers, and those discriminated against would 
 lack them till the errors were set right. But this is aside 
 from the purpose, for, though this plan would, I fancy, 
 be practicable enough, it is no part of our system.' 
 
 'How, then, do you regulate wages?' I once more 
 asked. 
 
 Dr. Leete did not reply tiU after several moments of 
 meditative silence. *I know, of course,' he finally said, 
 'enough of the old order of things to understand just 
 what you mean by that question; and yet the present 
 order is so utterly different at this point that I am a little 
 at loss how to answer you best. You ask me how we regu- 
 late wages; I can only reply that there is no idea in the 
 modern social economy which at all corresponds with 
 what was meant by wages in yoiu" day.' 
 
 'I suppose you mean that you have no money to pay 
 wages in,' said I. 'But the credit given the worker at the 
 government storehouse answers to his wages with us. 
 [How is the amount of the credit given respectively to the 
 workers in different lines determined? By what title 
 does the individual claim his particular share? What is 
 the basis of allotm£nt?0 
 
 [jHis titii;' replied Dr. Leete, 'is his humanity. The 
 basis of his claim is the fact that he is a man.'"] 
 _ 'The fact that he is a man!' I repeated, incredulously. 
 / [Do you possibly mean that a ll have the s ame share ?' 
 ^* tMost assuredly.!] ' ~ " 
 
 The readers of this book never having practically 
 known any other arrangement, or perhaps very carefully 
 considered the historical accounts of former epochs in 
 which a very different system prevailed, cannot be ex- 
 
LOOKING BACKWASD 73 
 
 pected to appreciate the stupor of amazement into which 
 Dr. Leete's simple statement plunged me. 
 
 'You see,' he said, smiling, 'that it is not merely that 
 we have no money to pay wages in, but, as I said, we have 
 nothing at aU answering to your idea of wages.' 
 
 By this time I had pulled myself together sufficiently 
 to voice some of the criticisms which, man of the nine- 
 teenth century as I was, came uppermost in my mind, 
 upon this to me astounding arrangement. jJSome men do 
 twice the work of others!' I exclaimed. 'Are the clever 
 workmen content with a plan that ranks them with the 
 indifferent? ' J ^ 
 
 tWe leave no possible ground for any complaint of in- 
 justice,' replied Dr. Leete, 'by reguiring precisely the 
 same measure of service from aU.' , 
 
 'How can you do that, I should like to know, when no 
 two men's powers are the same?' 
 
 i 'Nothing could be simpler,' was Dr. Leete's reply. 'I 
 [We require of each that he shall make the same effort; / 
 that is, we demand of him the best service it is in his f 
 power to give.' j 
 
 'And supposing all do the best they can,' I answered, 
 'the amoimt of the product resulting is twice greater 
 fi^OTu one man than from another.' 
 
 lyery true,' replied Dr. Leete; 'but t he amount of th e 
 resulting product has nothing whatever to do with th e 
 qu estion, which is one of dese rt^ Desert is a moral ques- 
 tion, and the amount of the product a material quantity. 
 It would be an extraordinary sort of logic which should 
 try to determine a moral question by a material standard. 
 The amount of the e£[ort alone is pertinent to the ques- 
 tion of desert. All men who do their best, do the same. A 
 
74 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 man's endowments, however godlike, merely fix the 
 measure of his duty. The man of great endowments who 
 does not do all he might, though he may do more than a 
 man of small endowments who does his best, is deemed a 
 less deserving worker than the latter, and dies a debtor 
 to his fellows..' The Creator sets men's tasks for them by 
 the faculties he gives them; we simply exact their fulfill- 
 ment.' 
 
 'No doubt that is very fine philosophy,' I said; 'never- 
 theless it seems hard that the man who produces twice 
 as much as another, even if both do their best, should have 
 only the same share.' 
 
 'Does it, indeed, seem so to you?' responded Dr. 
 Leete. 'Now, do you know, that seems very curious to 
 me? The way it strikes people nowadays is, that a man 
 who can produce twice as much as another with the same 
 effort, instead of being rewarded for doing so, ought to 
 be punished if he does not do so. In the nineteenth cen- 
 tury, when a horse pulled a heavier load than a goat, I 
 suppose you rewarded him. Now, we should have 
 whipped him soundly if he had not, on the ground that, 
 being much stronger, he ought to. It is singular how 
 ethical standards change.' The doctor said this with such 
 a twinkle in his eye that I was obliged to laugh. 
 
 'I suppose,' I said, 'that the real reason that we re- 
 warded men for their endowments, while we considered 
 those of horses and goats merely as fixing the service to 
 be severally required of them, was that the animals, not 
 being reasoning beings, naturally did the best they could, 
 whereas men could only be induced to do so by rewarding 
 them according to the amount of then: product. That 
 brings me to ask why, unless human nature has mightily 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 75 
 
 changed in a hundred years, you are not under the same 
 necessity.' 
 
 'We are,' replied Dr. Leete. 'I don't think there has 
 been any change in human nature in that respect since 
 your day. [i t is still so constitu te d that special incentives 
 i n the form of prizes, and advantages to be g ained, are 
 requisite to c all out the best endeavors of the average 
 man in any direction.'-- ' 
 
 (But what inducement,' I asked, 'can a man have to 
 puf forth his best endeavors when, however much or little 
 he accomplishes, his income remains the same?/ High 
 characters may be moved by devotion to the common wel- 
 fare under such a system, but does not the average man 
 tend to rest back on his oar, reasoning that it is of no use 
 to make a special effort, since the effort will not increase 
 his income, nor its withholding diminish it? ' 
 
 'Does it then reaUy seem to you,' answered my com- 
 panion, 'that hxmaan nature is insensible to any motives 
 save fear of want and love of luxury, that you should ex- 
 pect security and equality of livelihood to leave them 
 without possible incentives to effort? Your contempora- 
 ries did not reaUy think so, though they might fancy they 
 did. t^When it was a question of the grandest class of ef- 
 forts, the most absolute self-devotion, they depended on 
 quite other incentives. Not higher wages, but honor and 
 the hope of men's gratitude, patriotism and the inspira- 
 tion of duty, were the motives which they set before their 
 soldiers when it was a question of dying for the nation, 
 and never was there an age of the world when those 
 motives did not caJl out what is best and noblest in men. 
 And not only this, but when you come to analyze the 
 love of money which was the general impulse to efifort in 
 
^6 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 your day, you find that the dread of want and desire of 
 luxury was but one of several motives which the pursuit 
 of money represented; the others, and with many the 
 more influential, being desire of power, of social position, 
 and reputation for ability and success. So you see that 
 though we have abolished poverty and the fear of it, 
 and inordinate luxury with the hope of it, we have not 
 touched the greater part of the motives which imderlay 
 the love of money in former times, or any of those which 
 prompted the supremer sorts of effort. The coarser 
 motives, which no longer move us, have been replaced by 
 higher motives wholly unknown to the mere Wage earners 
 of your age. (N ow that industry of whatever sort i s no 
 longer se lf-service^ but service of the nation, patrio tism, 
 pass ion for humanity, impel the worker as in VOJ JJ day 
 t hey did the soldi erj The army of industry is an army, 
 not alone by virtue of its perfect organization, but by 
 reason also of the ardor of self-devotion which animates 
 its members. 
 
 'But as you used to supplement the motives of patriot- 
 ism with the love of glory, in order to stimulate the valor 
 of your soldiers, so do we. Based as our industrial system 
 is on the principle of requiring the same unit of effort 
 from every man, that is, the best he can do, you will see 
 that the means by which we spin- the workers to do their 
 best must be a very essential part of our scheme. With 
 us, diligence in the national service is the sole a nd-cStam 
 ^YSY-Jo_Eyb^[]^ute^QciaL2isiu^^ 
 power. T he value of a man's services to society fixes his 
 rank in it. Compared with the effect of our social ar- 
 rangements in impelling men to be zealous in business, 
 we deem the object-lessons of bitmg poverty and wanton 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 77 
 
 luxury on which you depended a device as weak and un- 
 certain as it was barbaric. The lust of honor even in your 
 sordid day notoriously impelled men to more desperate 
 effort than the love of money could.' 
 
 'I should be extremely interested,' I said, 'to learn 
 something of what these social arrangements are.' 
 
 'The scheme in its details,' replied the doctor, 'is of 
 course very elaborate, for it underlies the entire organiza- 
 tion of oiu: industrial army; but a few words will give you 
 a general idea of it.' 
 
 At this moment our talk was charmingly interrupted 
 by the emergence upon the aerial platform where we sat 
 of Edith Leete. She was dressed for the street, and had 
 come to speak to her father about some commission she 
 was to do for him. 
 
 'By the way, Edith,' he exclaimed, as she was about 
 to leave us to ourselves, 'I wonder if Mr. West would not 
 be interested in visiting the store with you? I have been 
 telling him something about our s-i'stem of distribution, 
 and perhaps he might like to see i- practical operation.' 
 
 'My daughter,' he added, turn. ^ to me, 'is an inde- 
 fatigable shopper, and can tell you more about the stores 
 than I can.' 
 
 The proposition was naturally very agreeable to me, 
 and Edith being good enough to say that she should be 
 glad to have my company, we left the house together. 
 
t : s • • 
 
 L 
 
 Lr I am going to explain our way of shopping to 
 you,' said my companion, as we walked along the street, 
 'you must explain your way to me. I have never been 
 able to understand it from all I have read on the subject. 
 For example, when you had such a vast number of shops, 
 each with its different assortment, how could a lady ever 
 settle upon any purchase till she had visited all the shops? 
 for, untn she had, she could not know what there was to 
 choose from.' 
 
 * It was as you suppose ; that was the only way she could 
 know,' I replied. 
 
 'Father calls me an indefatigable shopper, but I should 
 soon be a very fatigued one if I had to do as they did,' 
 was Edith's laughing conament. 
 
 'The loss of time in going from shop to shop was indeed 
 a waste which the busy bitterly complained of,' I said; 
 'but as for the ladies of the idle class, though they com- 
 plained also, I think the system was really a godsend by 
 furnishing a device to kUl time.' 
 
 'But say there were a thousand shops in a city, hun- 
 dreds, perhaps, of the same sort, how could even the 
 idlest find time to make their rounds? ' 
 
 'They really could not visit all, of course,' I replied. 
 'Those who did a great deal of buying, learned in time 
 where they might expect to find what they wanted. This 
 class had made a science of the specialties of the shops, 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 79 
 
 and bought at advantage, always getting the most and 
 best for the least money. It required, however, long ex- 
 perience to acquire this knowledge. Those who were too 
 busy, or bought too little to gain it, took their chances 
 and were generally unfortunate, getting the least and 
 worst for the most money. It was the merest chance if 
 persons not experienced in shopping received the value of 
 their money.' 
 
 'But why did you put up with such a shockingly in- 
 convenient arrangement when you saw its faults so 
 plainly? ' Edith asked me. 
 
 'It was like all our social arrangements,' I replied. 
 'You can see their faults scarcely more plainly than we 
 did, but we saw no remedy for them.' 
 ""'Here we are at the store of our ward,' said Edith, as 
 we turned in at the great portal of one of the magnificent 
 public buildings I had observed in my morning walk. 
 There was nothing in the exterior aspect of the edifice 
 to suggest a store to a representative of the nineteenth 
 century. There was no display of goods in the great 
 windows, or any device to advertise wares, or attract 
 custom. Nor was there any sort of sign or legend on the 
 front of the building to indicate the character of the busi- 
 ness carried on there; but instead, above the portal, stand- 
 ing out from the front of the building, a majestic life- 
 size group of statuary, the central figure of which was a 
 female ideal of Plenty, with her cornucopia. Judging 
 from the composition of the throng passing in and out, 
 about the same proportion of the sexes among shoppers 
 obtained as in the nineteenth century. As we entered, 
 Edith said that there was one of these great distributing 
 establishments in each ward of the city, so that no resi- 
 
8o LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 dence was more than five or ten minutes' walk from one 
 of them. It was the first interior of a twentieth-century 
 public building that I had ever beheld, and the spectacle 
 naturally impressed me deeply. I was in a vast haJl full 
 of light, received not alone from the windows on all 
 sides, but from the dome, the point of which was a him- 
 dred feet above. Beneath it, in the centre of the hall, a 
 magnificent fountain played, cooling the atmosphere to 
 a delicious freshness with its spray. The walls and ceiling 
 were frescoed in mellow tints, calculated to soften with- 
 out absorbing the light which flooded the interior. Around 
 the fountain was a space occupied with chairs and sofas, 
 on which many persons were seated conversing. Legends 
 on the walls all about the hall indicated to what classes 
 of cormnodities the counters below were devoted. Edith 
 directed her steps towards one of these, where samples of 
 muslin of a bewildering variety were displayed, and pro- 
 ceeded to inspect them. 
 
 'Where is the clerk?' I asked, for there was no one be- 
 hind the counter, and no one seemed coming to attend to 
 the customer. 
 
 'I have no need of the clerk yet,' said Edith; 'I have 
 not made my selection.' 
 
 'It was the principal business of clerks to help people 
 to make their selections in my day,' I replied. 
 
 'What! To tell people what they wanted?' 
 
 'Yes; and oftener to induce them to buy what they 
 didn't want.' 
 
 'But did not ladies find that very impertment? ' Edith 
 asked, wonderingly. 'What concern could it possibly be 
 to the clerks whether people bought or not?' 
 
 'It was their sole concern,' I answered. 'They were 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 8r 
 
 hired for the purpose of getting rid of the goods, and were 
 expected to do their utmost, short of the use of force, to 
 compass that end.' 
 
 'Ah, yes! How stupid I am to forget!' said Edith. 
 "The storekeeper and his clerks depended for their liveli- 
 hood on selling the goods in your day. Of course that is 
 aU different now. The goods are the nation's. They are 
 here for those who want them, and it is the business of 
 the clerks to wait on people and take their orders; but it 
 is not the interest of the clerk or the nation to dispose of 
 a yard or a pound of anything to anybody who does not 
 want it.' She smiled as she added, 'How exceedingly odd 
 it must have seemed to have clerks trying to induce one 
 to take what one did not want, or was doubtful about!' 
 
 'But even a twentieth century clerk might make him- 
 self useful in giving you information about the goods, 
 though he did not tease you to buy them,' I suggested. 
 
 'No,' said Edith, 'that is not the business of the clerk. 
 These printed cards, for which the government authori- 
 ties are responsible, give us all the information we can 
 possibly need.' 
 
 I saw then that there was fastened to each sample a 
 card containing in succinct form a complete statement of 
 the make and materials of the goods and all its qualities, 
 as well as price, leaving absolutely no point to hang a 
 question on. — - 
 
 IfThe clerk has, then, nothing to say about the goods 
 he sells?' I said. 
 
 'Nothing at all. It is not necessary that he should 
 know or profess to know anything about them. Comrtesy 
 and accuracy in taking orders are all that are required of 
 him.'j 
 
82 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 'What a prodigious amount of lying that simple ar- 
 rangement saves!' I ejaculated. 
 
 'Do you mean that all the clerks misrepresented their 
 goods in your day? ' Edith asked. 
 
 'God forbid that I should say so!' I replied, 'for there 
 were many who did not, and they were entitled to especial 
 credit, for when one's livelihood and that of his wife and 
 babies depended on the amount of goods he could dispose 
 of, the ^temptation to deceive the customer — or let him 
 deceive himself — was wellnigh overwhelming. But, 
 Miss Leete, I am distracting you from your task with my 
 talk.' 
 
 'Not at all. I have made my selections.' With that she 
 touched a button, and in a moment a clerk appeared. 
 He took down her order on a tablet with a pencil which 
 made two copies, of which he gave one to her, and en- 
 closing the counterpart in a small receptacle, dropped it 
 into a transmitting tube. 
 
 'The duplicate of the order,' said Edith as she turned 
 away from the counter, after the clerk had punched the 
 value of her purchase out of the credit card she gave him, 
 'is given to the purchaser, so that any mistakes in fillin g 
 it can be easily traced and rectifi.ed.' 
 
 'You were very quick about your selections,' I said. 
 'May I ask how you knew that you might not have 
 found something to suit you better in some of the other 
 stores? But probably you are required to buy in your 
 own district.' 
 
 'Oh, no,' she replied. 'We buy where we please, 
 though naturally most often near home. But I should 
 have gained nothing by visiting other stores. The assort- 
 ment in all is exactly the same, representing as it does in 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 83 
 
 each case samples of all the varieties produced or im- 
 ported by the United States. That is why one can decide 
 quickly, and never need visit two stores.' 
 
 'And is this merely a sample store? I see no clerks 
 cutting off goods or marking bundles.' 
 
 'AH our stores are sample stores, except as to a few 
 classes of articles. The goods, with these exceptions, are 
 aU at the great central warehouse of the city, to which 
 they are shipped directly from the producers. We order 
 from the sample and the printed statement of texture, 
 make, and qualities. The orders are sent to the ware- 
 house, and the goods distributed from there.' 
 
 'That must be a tremendous saving of handling,' I 
 said. 'By our system, the manufacturer sold to the whole- 
 saler, the wholesaler to the retailer, and the retailer to 
 the consumer, and the goods had to be handled each time. 
 You avoid one handling of the goods, and eliminate the 
 retailer altogether, with his big profit and the army of 
 clerks it goes to support. Why, Miss Leete, this store is 
 merely the order department of a wholesale house, with 
 no more than a wholesaler's complement of clerks. Un- 
 der our system of handling the goods, persuading the 
 customer to buy them, cutting them off, and packing 
 them, ten clerks would not do what one does here. The 
 saving must be enormous.' 
 
 'I suppose so,' said Edith, 'but of course we have never 
 known any other way. But, Mr, West, you must not fail 
 to ask father to take you to the central warehouse some 
 day, where they receive the orders from the different 
 sample houses all over the city and parcel out and send 
 the goods to their destinations. He took me there not 
 long ago, and it was a wonderful sight. The system is 
 
84 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 certainly perfect; for example, over yonder in that sort of 
 cage is the dispatching clerk. The orders, as they are 
 taken by the different departments in the store, are sent 
 by transmitters to him. His assistants sort them and en- 
 close each class in a carrier-box by itself. The dispatching 
 clerk has a dozen pneumatic transmitters before him 
 answering to the general classes of goods, each communi- 
 cating with the corresponding department at the ware- 
 house. He drops the box of orders into the tube it calls 
 for, and in a few moments later it drops on the proper 
 desk in the warehouse, together with all the orders of the 
 same sort from the other sample stores. The orders are 
 read off, recorded, and sent to be filled, like lightning. 
 The filling I thought the most interesting part. Bales of 
 cloth are placed on spindles and turned by machinery, 
 and the cutter, who also has a machine, works right 
 through one bale after another till exhausted, when an- 
 other man takes his place; and it is the same with those 
 who fill the orders in any other staple. The packages are 
 then delivered by larger tubes to the city districts, and 
 thence distributed to the houses. You may tmderstand 
 how quickly it is aU done when I tell you that my order 
 wiU probably be at home sooner than I could have carried 
 it from here.' 
 
 'How do you manage in the thinly settled rural dis- 
 tricts? ' I asked. 
 
 'The system is the same,' Edith explained; 'the village 
 sample shops are connected by transmitters with the 
 central county warehouse, which may be twenty miles 
 away. The transmission is so swift, though, that the time 
 lost on the way is trifling. But, to save expense, in many 
 counties one set of tubes connect several villages with the 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 8$ 
 
 warehouse, and then there is time lost waiting for one 
 another. Sometimes it is two or three hours before goods 
 ordered are received. It was so where I was staying last 
 summer, and I found it quite inconvenient.' ' 
 
 'There must be many other respects also, no doubt, in 
 which the country stores are inferior to the city stores,' 
 I suggested. 
 
 'No,' Edith answered, 'they are otherwise precisely as 
 good. The sample shop of the smallest village, just like 
 this one, gives you yoiur choice of all the varieties of 
 goods the>nation has, for the county warehouse draws on 
 the same source as the city warehouse.' 
 LAs we walked home I commented on the great variety 
 in the size and cost of the houses. 'How is it,' I asked, 
 'that this difference is consistent with the fact that all 
 citizens have the same income? 'J 
 - ' Because, ' Edith explained, fal ^ough the income is th e 
 sa me, personal taste determines how the individual sha ll 
 s pend itT\ Some like fine horses; others, like myself, prefer 
 pretty clothes; and stiU others want an elaborate table. 
 The rents which the nation receives for these houses vary, 
 according to size, elegance, and location, so that every- 
 body can find something to suitT^ The larger houses are 
 usually occupied by large families, in which there are 
 several to contribute to the rent; while small families, 
 like ours, find smaller houses more convenient and eco- 
 nomical. It is a matter of taste and convenience wholly. 
 I have read that in old times people often kept up estab- 
 hshments and did other things which they could not af- 
 
 ' I am informed since the above is in type that this lack of perfection 
 in the distributing service of some of the country districts is to be reme- 
 died, and that soon every village will have its own set of tubes. 
 
86 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 ford for ostentation, to make people think them richer 
 than they were. Was it really so, Mr. West?' 
 
 *I shall have to admit that it was,' I replied. 
 
 [Well, you see, it could not be so nowadays; for every- 
 body's income is known, and it is known that what is 
 spent one way must be saved another. '^^ 
 
yi>%^'^^ T T «45;;^«^^ 
 
 a a Q 11 a e 
 
 w. 
 
 HEN we arrived home, Dr. Leete had not yet 
 returned, and Mrs. Leete was not visible. 'Are you fond 
 of music, Mr. West? ' Edith asked. 
 
 I assured her that it was half of life, according to my 
 notion. 
 
 *I ought to apologize for inquiring,' she said. 'It is not 
 a question that we ask one another nowadays; but I have 
 read that in your day, even among the cultured class, 
 there were some who did not care for music' 
 
 'You must remember, in excuse,' I said, 'that we had 
 some rather absurd kinds of music' 
 
 'Yes,' she said, 'I know that; I am afraid I should not 
 have fancied it all myself. Would you like to hear some 
 of ours now, Mr. West?' 
 
 'Nothing would delight me so much as to listen to you,' 
 I said. 
 
 'To me!' she exclaimed, laughing. 'Did you think I 
 was going to play or sing to you? ' 
 
 'I hoped so, certainly,' I replied. 
 
 Seeing that I was a little abashed, she subdued her mer- 
 riment and explained. 'Of course, we all sing nowadays 
 as a matter of course in the training of the voice, and 
 some learn to play instruments for their private amuse- 
 ment; but the professional music is so much grander and 
 more perfect than any performance of ours, and so easily 
 commanded when we wish to hear it, that we don't think 
 
88 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 of calling our smging or playing music at aU. All the 
 really fine smgers and players are in the musical service, 
 and the rest of us hold our peace for the main part. 
 But would you really like to hear some music? ' 
 
 I assured her once more that I would. 
 
 'Come, then, into the music room,' she said, and I fol- 
 lowed her into an apartment finished, without hangings, 
 in wood, with a floor of polished wood. I was prepared for 
 new devices in musical instriunents, but I saw nothing 
 in the room which by any stretch of imagination could be 
 conceived as such. It was evident that my puzzled ap- 
 pearance was affording intense amusement to Edith. 
 
 'Please look at to-day's music,' she said, handing me a 
 card, 'and tell me what you would prefer. It is now five 
 o'clock, you will remember.' 
 
 The card bore the date 'September 12, 2000,' and con- 
 tained the longest programme of music I had ever seen. 
 It was as various as it was long, including a most ex- 
 traordinary range of vocal and instrimiental solos, duets, 
 quartettes, and various orchestral combinations. I re- 
 mained bewildered by the prodigious list imtU Edith's 
 pink finger tip indicated a particular section of it, where 
 several selections were bracketed, with the words '5 P.M.' 
 against them; then I observed that this prodigious pro- 
 gramme was an all-day one, divided into twenty-four 
 sections answering to the hours. There were but a few 
 pieces of music in the '5 P.M.' section, and I indicated an 
 organ piece as my preference. 
 
 'I am so glad you like the organ,' said she. 'I think 
 there is scarcely any music that suits my mood oftener.' 
 
 She made me sit down comfortably, and, crossing the 
 room, so far as I could see, merely touched one or two 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 89 
 
 screws, and at once the room was filled with the music of 
 a grand organ anthem; filled, not flooded, for, by some 
 means, the volume of melody had been perfectly gradu- 
 ated to the size of the apartment. I listened, scarcely 
 breathing, to the close. Such music, so perfectly ren- 
 dered, I had never expected to hear. 
 
 ' Grand! ' I cried, as the last great wave of sound broke 
 and ebbed away into silence. 'Bach must be at the keys 
 of that organ; but where is the organ?' 
 
 'Wait a moment, please,' said Edith; 'I want to have 
 you listen to this waltz before you ask any questions. I 
 think it is perfectly charming'; and as she spoke the 
 sound of violins filled the room with the witchery of a 
 summer night. When this had also ceased, she said: 
 'There is nothing in the least mysterious about the 
 music, as you seem to imagine. It is not made by fairies 
 or genii, but by good, honest, and exceedingly clever 
 human hands. We have simply carried the idea of labor 
 saving by cooperation into our musical service as into 
 everything else. There are a nimaber of music rooms in 
 the city, perfectly adapted acoustically to the different 
 sorts of music. These halls are connected by telephone 
 with all the houses of the city whose people care to pay 
 the small fee, and there are none, you may be sure, who 
 do not. The corps of musicians attached to each hall is 
 so large that, although no individual performer, or group 
 of performers, has more than a brief part, each day's 
 programme lasts through the twenty-four hours. There 
 are on that card for to-day, as you will see if you observe 
 closely, distinct programmes of four of these concerts, 
 each of a different order of music from the others, being 
 now simtiltaneously performed, and any one of the four 
 
go LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 pieces now going on that you prefer, you can hear by 
 merely pressmg the button which will connect your house- 
 wire with the hall where it is being rendered. The pro- 
 grammes are so coordinated that the pieces at any one 
 time simultaneously proceeding in the different halls 
 usually offer a choice, not only between instrumental and 
 vocal, and between different sorts of instruments; but 
 also between different motives from grave to gay, so that 
 all tastes and moods can be suited.' 
 
 'It appears to me. Miss Leete,' I said, 'that if we could 
 have devised an arrangement for providing everybody 
 with music in their homes, perfect in quality, unlimited 
 in quantity, suited to every mood, and beginning and 
 ceasing at will, we shoidd have considered the limit of 
 human felicity already attained, and ceased to strive for 
 further improvements.' 
 
 'I am sure I never could imagine how those among 
 you who depended at all on music managed to endure 
 the old-fashioned system for providing it,' replied Edith. 
 'Music really worth hearing must have been, I suppose, 
 wholly out of the reach of the masses, and attainable by 
 the most favored only occasionally, at great trouble, 
 prodigious expense, and then for brief periods, arbitra- 
 rily jSixed by somebody else, and in coimection with all 
 sorts of imdesirable circumstances. Your concerts, for 
 instance, and operas! How perfectly exasperating it must 
 have been, for the sake of a piece or two of music that 
 suited you, to have to sit for hours listening to what you 
 did not care for ! Now, at a dinner one can skip the courses 
 one does not care for. Who would ever dine, however 
 hungry, if required to eat everything brought on the 
 table? and I am siure one's hearing is quite as sensitive as 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 9 1 
 
 one's taste. I suppose it was these difficulties in the way 
 of commanding really good music which made you endure 
 so much playing and singing in your homes by people 
 who had only the rudiments of the art.' 
 
 'Yes,' I replied, 'it was that sort of music or none for 
 most of us.' 
 
 'Ah, well,' Edith sighed, 'when one really considers, it is 
 not so strange that people in [those days so often did not 
 care for music. I dare say I should have detested it, too.' 
 I 'Did I understand you rightly,' I inquired, 'that this 
 musical programme covers the entire twenty-four hours? 
 It seems to on this card, certainly; but who is there to 
 listen to music between say midnight and morning? ' 
 
 'Oh, many,' Edith replied. 'Our people keep all hours; 
 but if the music were provided from midnight to morning 
 for no others, it stiU would be for the sleepless, the sick, 
 and the dying. All our bedchambers have a telephone 
 attachment at the head of the bed by which any person 
 who may be sleepless can command music at pleasure, 
 of the sort suited to the mood.' 
 
 'Is there such an arrangement in the room assigned to 
 me?' 
 
 'Why, certainly; and how stupid, how very stupid, of 
 me not to think to tell you of that last night! Father wiU 
 show you about the adjustment before you go to bed to- 
 night, however; and with the receiver at your ear, I am 
 quite sure you will be able to snap your fingers at all 
 sorts of uncanny feelings if they trouble you again.' 
 
 That evening Dr. Leete asked us about oiur visit to the 
 store, and in the course of the desultory comparison of 
 the ways of the nineteenth century and the twentieth, 
 which followed, something raised the question of m- 
 
92 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 heritance. fj suppose,' I said, 'the inheritance of prop- 
 erty is not now allowed.'J 
 
 'On the contrary,' replied Dr. Leete, 'there is no inter- 
 ference with it. In fact, you will find, Mr. West, as you 
 come to know us, that {there is far less interference of any 
 sort with personal liberty nowadays than you were ac- 
 customed to. We require, indeed, by law that every man 
 shall serve the nation for a fixed period, instead of leaving 
 him his choice, as you did, between working, stealing, or 
 starving. With the exception of this fundamental law, 
 which is, indeed, merely a codification of the law of na- 
 ture — the edict of Eden — by which it is made equal 
 in its pressure on men, our system depends in no particu- 
 lar upon legislation, but is entirely volimtary, the logical 
 outcome of the operation of hiunan nature under rational 
 conditions. This question of inheritance illustrates just 
 that point. The fact that the nation is the sole capitalist 
 and land-owner of course restricts the individual's pos- 
 sessions to his annual credit, and what personal and house- 
 hold belongings he may have procured with it. His 
 credit, like an annuity in your- day, ceases on his death, 
 with the allowance of a fixed sum for fimeral expenses. 
 His other possessions he leaves as he pleases.£j 
 
 'What is to prevent, in course of time, such accumula- 
 tions of valuable goods and chattels in the hands of in- 
 dividuals as might seriously interfere with equality in 
 the circumstances of citizens? ' I asked. 
 
 'That matter arranges itself very simply,' was the re- 
 ply. 'Under the present organization of society, ac- 
 cumulations of personal property are merely burdensome 
 the moment they exceed what adds to the real comfort. 
 In your day, if a man had a house crammed full with gold 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 93 
 
 and silver plate, rare china, expensive furniture, and 
 such thmgs, he was considered rich, for these things 
 represented money, and could at any time be turned into 
 it. Nowadays a man whom the legacies of a hundred rela- 
 tives, simultaneously dying, should place in a similar 
 position, would be considered very unlucky. The articles, 
 not being salable, would be of no value to him except for 
 their actual use or the enjoyment of their beauty. On the 
 other hand, his income remaining the same, he would 
 have to deplete his credit to hire houses to store the goods 
 in, and still further to pay for the service of those who 
 took care of then^ You may be very sure that such a 
 man woiildlose no time in. scattering among ids Jriends 
 possessionswhich.only-Jnad&Jiim the poorer, .and,.that 
 none of those friends would accept more of them thari 
 tiiey^ould_ easily spare room for and time to attend- to. 
 You see, then, that to prohibit the inheritance of personal 
 property with a view to prevent great accxmiulations 
 would be a superfluous precaution for the nation. The 
 individual citizen can be trusted to see that he is not 
 overburdened. So careful is he in this respect, that the 
 relatives usually waive claim to most of the effects of 
 deceased friends, reserving only particular objects. The 
 nation takes charge of the resigned chattels, and turns 
 ,„auch as are of value into the common stock once more.' 
 ' 'You spoke of paying for service to take care of your 
 houses,' said I; 'that suggests a question I have several 
 times been on the point of asking. How have you dis- 
 posed of the problem of domestic service? Who are will- 
 ing to be domestic servants in a community where all are 
 social equals? Our ladies found it hard enough to find such 
 even when there was little pretense of social equality.' 
 
94 LOOKING BACKWABD 
 
 'It is precisely because we are all social equals whose 
 equality nothing can compromise, and because service 
 is honorable, in a society whose fundamental principle 
 is that aU in turn shall serve the rest, that we could easily 
 provide a corps of domestic servants such as you never 
 dreamed of, if we needed them,' replied Dr, Leete. 'But 
 we do not need them,' 
 
 ' Who does you r h ouse-work, then ?' I asked. 
 
 " fliere is none to d o,' said Mrs. Leete, to whom I had 
 addressed this question. 'Our washi^pr is a.l] done at pub - 
 li c laundries at excessively cheap rates, and our cooki ng 
 at public kitch ens. The making and repairing of all we 
 wear are done outside in public shops. Electricity, of 
 course, takes the place of all fixes and lighting. We 
 choose houses no larger than we need, and furnish them 
 so as to involve the minimum of trouble to keep them in 
 order. We have no use for domestic servants.' 
 
 'The fact,' said Dr. Leete, 'that you had in the poorer 
 classes a boundless supply of serfs on whom you could 
 impose all sorts of painful and disagreeable tasks, made 
 you indifferent to devices to avoid the necessity for them. 
 But now that we all have to do in turn whatever work is 
 done for society, every individual in the nation has the 
 same interest, and a personal one, in devices for lightening 
 the burden. This fact has given a prodigious impulse to 
 labor-saving inventions in all sorts of industry, of which 
 the combination of the maximiun of comfort and mini- 
 mum of trouble in household arrangements was one of the 
 earliest results. 
 
 'In case of special emergencies in the house- 
 hold,' pursued Dr. Leete, 'such as extensive clean- 
 ing or renovation, or sickness in the family, we can 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 95 
 
 always secure assistance from the industrial force.' 
 
 'But how do you recompense these assistants, since 
 you have no money? ' 
 
 'We do not pay them, of course, but the nation for 
 them. Their services can be obtained by application at 
 the proper bureau, and their value is pricked off the credit 
 card of the applicant.' 
 
 'What a paradise for womankind the world must be 
 now ! * i exclauned. ' in my day, even wealth and un- 
 limited ..s£ri^a ntS-did not enfranchisetMf posgessorsTrom 
 household cares, while the women of the merely well-to- do ' 
 a nd poorer cl asses lived and died martyrs to them.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Mrs. Leete, 'I have read somethmg of that ; 
 enough to convince me that, badly off as the men, too, 
 were in your day, they were more fortimate than their 
 mothers and wives.' 
 
 , [The broad shoulders of the nation,' said Dr. Leete, 
 'bear now like a feather the burden that broke the backs 
 of the women of your dav. /* Their ^ miserv came, with a ll 
 ^our other miser ies, from thalt iacapacitv for cooperatio n 
 which followed trom th e individualism on which yo ur 
 social system was, founded, from your inability to per- 
 ceive that you could make ten times more profit out of 
 your f eUow men by uniting with them than by contending 
 with them^"^ The wonder is, not that you did not live 
 more comfortably, but that you were able to live to- 
 gether at all, who were aU confessedly bent on making 
 one another your servants, and securing possession of one 
 another's goods.' ^ 
 
 'There, there, father, if you are so vehement, Mr. 
 West will think you are scolding him,' laughingly inter- 
 posed Edith. 
 
g6 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 'When you want a doctor/ I asked, 'do you simply 
 apply to the proper bureau and take any one that may be 
 sent? ' 
 
 'That rule would not work well in the case of physi- 
 cians,' replied Dr. Leete. 'The good a physician can do a 
 patient depends largely on his acquaintance with his con- 
 stitutional tendencies and condition. The patient must 
 be able, therefore, to call in a particular doctor, and he 
 does so just as patients did in your day. The only differ- 
 ence is that, instead of collecting his fee for himself, the 
 doctor collects it for the nation by pricking off the 
 amount, according to a regular scale for medical attend- 
 ance, from the patient's credit card.' 
 
 'I can imagine,' I said, 'that if the fee is always the 
 same, and a doctor may not turn away patients, as I 
 suppose he may not, the good doctors are called con- 
 stantly and the poor doctors left in idleness.' 
 
 'In the first place, if you will overlook the apparent 
 conceit of the remark from a retired physician,' replied 
 Dr. Leete, with a smile, 'we have no poor doctors. Any- 
 body who pleases to get a little smattering of medical 
 terms is not now at liberty to practice on the bodies of 
 citizens, as in your day. None but students who have 
 passed the severe tests of the schools, and dearly proved 
 their vocation, are permitted to practice. Then, too, 
 you will observe that there is nowadays no attempt of 
 doctors to build up their practice at the expense of other 
 doctors. There would be no motive for that. For the 
 rest, the doctor has to render regular reports of his 
 work to the medical bureau, and if he is not reasonably 
 well employed, work is found for him.' 
 
V^T I 2 "WT 
 
 T. 
 
 HE questions which I needed to ask before I 
 could acquire even an outline acquaintance with the in- 
 stitutions of the twentieth century being endless, and Dr. 
 Leete's good-nature appearing equally so, we sat up 
 talking for several hours after the ladies left us. Remind- 
 ing my host of the point at which our talk had broke n off 
 that morning, I expressed my curiosity to learn how the 
 organization of the industrial army was made to afford 
 a sufl&cient stimulus to diligence in the lack of any anxi- 1 
 ety on the worker's part as to his livelihood. "•^ 
 
 'You must understand in the first place,' replied the 
 doctor, 'that the supply of incentives to effort is but one 
 of the objects sought in the organization we have adopted 
 for the army. The other, and equally important, is to 
 secure for the file-leaders and captains of the force, and 
 the great officers of the nation, men of proven abilities, 
 who are pledged by their own careers to hold their fol- 
 lowers up to their highest standard of performance and 
 permit no lagging, f With a view to these two ends the 
 industrial army is organized. F y-st comes the unclassifie d 
 grade of common laborers, men of all work, to which all 
 recruit s during their first three years belon g. This grade 
 is a sort of school, and a very strict one, in which the 
 yoi mg men are taught habits of obedience, subordinatio n. . 
 and devotion to duty . WhUe the miscellaneous natiu-e of' 
 the work done by this force prevents the systematic 
 grading of the workers which is afterwards possible, yet 
 
g8 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 individual records are kept, and excellence receives dis- 
 tinction corresponding with the penalties that negligence 
 incurs. It is not, however, policy with us to permit youth- 
 ful recklessness or indiscretion, when not deeply culpable, 
 to handicap the future careers of young men, and all 
 who have passed through the unclassified grade without 
 serious disgrace have an equal opportunity to choose the 
 life employment they have most liking for. Having 
 selected this, they enter upon it as apprentices. The 
 length of the apprenticeship naturally differs in different 
 occupations. At the end of it the apprentice becomes a 
 fuU workman, and a member of his trade or guild. Now 
 not only are the individual records of the apprentices for 
 ability and industry strictly kept, and excellence dis- 
 tinguished by suitable distinctions, but upon the average 
 of his record during apprenticeship the standing given 
 the apprentice among the full workmen depends. J 
 
 ;! While the internal organizations of different industries, 
 mechanical and agricultural, differ according to their 
 peculiar conditions, they agree in a general division of 
 their workers into first, second,..and third, grades, accord- 
 ing to ability, and these grades are in many cases sub- 
 divided into first and second dasses. According to his 
 standing as an apprentice a young man is assigned his 
 place as a first, second, or third grade worker. Of course 
 only men of unusual ability pass directly from appren- 
 ticeship into the first grade of the workers. The most fall 
 into the lower grades, working up as they grow more ex- 
 perienced, at the periodical regradings. These regradings 
 take place in each industry at intervals corresponding 
 with the length of the apprenticeship to that industry, 
 so that merit never need wait long to rise, nor can any 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 99 
 
 rest on past achievements unless they would drop into a 
 lower rank. One of the notable advantages of a high 
 grading is the privilege it gives the worker in electing 
 which of the various branches or processes of his industry 
 he will f oUow as his specialty. Of course it is not intended 
 that any of these processes shall be disproportionately 
 arduous, but there is often much difference between 
 them, and the privilege of election is accordingly highly 
 prized. So far as possible, indeed, the preferences even 
 of the poorest workmen are considered in assigning them 
 their line of work, because not only their happiness but 
 their usefulness is thus enhancedT^^ThUe, however, the 
 wish of the lower grade man is consulted so far as the 
 exigencies of the service permit, he is considered only 
 after the upper grade men have been provided for, and 
 often he has to put up with second or third choice, or 
 even with an arbitrary assignment when help is needed.; 
 This privilege of election attends every regrading, and 
 when a man loses his grade he also risks having to ex- 
 change the sort of work he likes for some other less to his 
 taste. [The results of each regrading, giving the standing 
 of every man in his industry, are gazetted in the public 
 prints, and those who have won promotion since the last 
 regrading receive the nation's thanks and are publicly 
 invested with the badge of their new rank.'' 
 
 'What may this badge be?' I asked. 
 
 'Every industry has its emblematic device,' replied Dr. 
 Leete, ' and this, in the shape of a metallic badge so small 
 that you might not see it unless you knew where to look, 
 is aU the insignia which the men of the army wear, ex- 
 cept where public convenience demands a distinctive 
 uniform. This badge is the same in form for all grades of 
 
lOO LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 industry, but -while the badge of the third grade is iron, 
 that of the second grade is silver, and that of the first is 
 gilt. 
 
 'Apart from the grand incentive to endeavor afforded 
 by the fact that the high places in the nation are open 
 only to the highest class men, and that rank in the army 
 constitutes the only mode of social distinction for the 
 vast majority who are not aspirants in art, literature, and 
 the professions, v arious incitements of a minor, but p er- 
 Viapg ^qiipiiy pfffrt^vp, gnrt arp pr ovided in the ior m of 
 sp ecial privileges and immunities in the way of dis ci- 
 
 pliae. which the superior class men enjoy. [T hese, while 
 
 i ntended to be as little as possible invidious to theJes s 
 s uccessful , have the effect of keeping constantly before 
 every man's mind the great desirability of attaining the 
 grade next above his own.l 
 
 'It is obviously important that not only the good but 
 also the indifferent and poor workmen should be able 
 to cherish the ambition of rising. Indeed, the number of 
 the latter being so much greater, it is even more essential 
 that the ranking system should not operate to discourage 
 them than that it should stimulate the others. It is to this 
 end that the grades are divided into classes. The grades 
 as well as the classes being made numerically equal at 
 each regrading, there is not at any time, counting out the 
 officers and the unclassified and apprentice grades, over 
 one-ninth of the industrial army in the lowest class, and 
 most of this number are recent apprentices, all of whom 
 expect to rise. Those who remain during the entire term 
 of service in the lowest class are but a trifling fraction of 
 the industrial army, and likely to be as deficient in sen- 
 sibility to their position as in ability to better it. 
 
LOOKING BACKWAEK lOI 
 
 Ult is not even necessary that a worker should win 
 promotion to a higher grade to have at least a taste of 
 glory. WhUe promotion requires a general excellence of 
 record as a worker, honorable mention and various sorts 
 of prizes are awarded for excellence less than sufficient 
 for promotion, and also for special feats and single per- 
 formances in the various industriesr\ There are many 
 minor distinctions of standing, not only within the grades 
 but within the classes, each of which acts as a spur to the 
 efforts of a group. It is intended that no form of merit 
 shall wholly fail of recognition. 
 
 I^As for actual neglect of work, positively bad work, or 
 other overt remissness on the part of men incapable of 
 generous motives, the discipline of the industrial army is 
 far too strict to allow anything whatever of the sort. 
 A man able to do duty, and persistently refusing, is sen - 
 tens gd to solitary imprisonment on bread and wat er till 
 h e consent s, j 
 
 'The lowest grade of the ofl&cers of the industrial army, 
 that of assistant foremen or lieutenants, is appointed 
 out of men who have held their place for two years in the 
 first dass of the first grade. Where this leaves too large 
 a range of choice, only the first group of this class are 
 eligible. No one thus comes to the point of commanding 
 men until he is about thirty years old. [After a man be- 
 comes an officer, his rating of course no longer depends 
 on the efficiency of his own work, but on that of his men. | 
 The foremen are appointed from among the assistant 
 foremen, by the same exercise of discretion limited to a 
 small eligible class. In the appointments to the stiU 
 higher grades another principle is introduced, which it 
 would take too much time to explain now. 
 
I02 LOOKING BACKWARD * 
 
 'Of course such a system of grading as I have, de- 
 scribed would have been impracticable applied to the 
 smaU industrial concerns of your day, in some of which 
 there were hardly enough employees to have left one 
 apiece for the classes. You must remember that, under 
 the national organization of labor, all industries are car- 
 ried on by great bodies of men, many of your farms or 
 shops being combined as one. It is also owing solely to the 
 vast scale on which each industry is organized, with co- 
 ordinate establishments in every part of the country, 
 that we are able by exchanges and transfers to fit every 
 man so nearly with the sort of work he can do best. 
 
 'And now, Mr. West, I wUl leave it to you, on the bare 
 outline of its features which I have given, if those who 
 need special incentives to do their best are likely to lack 
 them under our system. Does it not seem to you that 
 men who found themselves obliged, whether they wished 
 or not, to work, would under such a system be Strongly 
 impelled to do their best?' 
 
 1. 1 replied that it seemed to me the incentives oflfered 
 were, if any objection were to be made, too strong; 
 that the pace set for the young men was too hot; and 
 such, indeed, I would add with deference, still remains 
 my opinion, now that by longer residence among you I 
 become better acquainted with the whole subject..] 
 
 Dr. Leete, however, desired me to reflect, and I am 
 ready to say that it is perhaps a sufficient reply to my 
 objection, that the worker's livelihood is in no way de- 
 pendent on his ranking, and anxiety for that never em- 
 ' bitters his disappointments; that the working hours are 
 short, the vacations regular, and that all emulation ceases 
 at forty-five, with the attainment of middle life. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD I03 
 
 'There are two or three other points I ought to refer 
 to,' he added, ' to prevent your getting mistaken impres- 
 sions. In the first place, you must understand that this 
 system of preferment given the more efl&cient workers 
 over the less so, in no way contravenes the fundamental 
 idea of our social system, that all who do their best are 
 equally deserving, whether that best be great or small. '^ I 
 have shown that the system is arranged to encourage the 
 weaker as well as the stronger with the hope of rising, 
 while the fact that the stronger are selected for the 
 leaders is in no way a reflection upon the weaker, but in 
 the interest of the common weal. ' 
 
 ' Dp not imagine, either, because emula tion is giv en 
 free play as an incentive under our system, that we de em 
 it a motive likely to appeal to the nobl er sort of men, or 
 worthv of them. Such as these find their motives within, 
 not without, and measure their duty by their own en- 
 dowments, not by those of others, f So long as their 
 achievement is proportioned to their powers, they would 
 consider it preposterous to expect praise or blame be- 
 cause it chanced to be great or smalLj To such natures 
 emulation appears philosophically absurd, and despicable 
 in a moral aspect by its substitution of envy for admira- 
 tion, and exultation for regret, in one's attitude toward 
 the successes and the failures of others. 
 
 'But all men, even in the la st year of the twentieth 
 century, are not o f this high order, and the incentiv es to 
 e ndeavor requisite for those who are not must be o f a 
 sort adapted to their inferior natures. For these, the n, 
 emulation of the keenest edge is pro videdas a consta nt 
 spur. Those who need this motive will feel it. Those who 
 are above its influence do not need it. 
 
104 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 : 'I should not fail to mention,' resumed the doctor, 
 'that for those too deficient in mental or bodily strength 
 to be fairly graded with the main body of workers, we 
 have a separate grade, imconnected with the others, — 
 a sort of invalid corps, the members of which are provided 
 with a light class of tasks fitted to their strength^ All 
 our sick in mind and body, all our deaf and dumb, and 
 lame and blind and crippled, and even our insane, belong 
 to this invalid corps, and bear its insignial['[The strongest 
 often do nearly a man's work, the feeblest, of course, no- 
 thing; but none who can do anything are willing quite to 
 give up. In their lucid intervals, even our insane are 
 eager to do what they can.*] , 
 
 'That is a pretty idea of the invalid corps,' I said. 
 'Even a barbarian from the nineteenth century can ap- 
 preciate that. It is a very graceful way of disguising 
 charity, and must be grateful to the feelings of its recip- 
 ients.' 
 *' 'Charity!' repeated Dr. Leete. 'Did you suppose that 
 we consider the incapable class we are talking of objects 
 of charity? ' 
 
 'Why, naturally,' I said, 'inasmuch as they are in- 
 capable of self-support.' 
 
 But here the doctor took me up quickly. 
 
 ^Who is capable of self-support?' he demanded. 'There 
 is no such thing in a civilized society as self-support. 
 In a state of society so barbarous as not even to know 
 family cooperation, each individual may possibly support 
 himself, though even then for a part of his life only; but 
 mom the moment that men begin to live together, and 
 constitute even the rudest sort of society, self-support be- 
 comes impossible^! |A5 men grow more civilized, and the 
 
LOOKING BACKWAIU) 105 
 
 su bdivision of occupations and services is c arried out, a 
 complex m utual depenHpnrp hprnm es the universal ru lel 
 Every man, however solitary may seem his occupation, 
 is a member of a vast industrial partnership, as large as 
 the nation, as large as humanity. T he necessity of mu- 
 t ual dependence sho^ilH imply the duty and guaran tee of 
 mutual support; and that it did not in your day consti- 
 tuted the essential crueltv and unreason of your svst em.' 
 
 'That may all be so,' I replied, 'but it does not touch 
 the case of those who are tuiable to contribute anything 
 to the product of industry.' 
 
 'Surely I told you thjs morning, at least I thought I 
 did,' replied Dr. Leete, \that the right of a man to main- 
 tenance at the nation's table depends on the fact that he 
 is a man, and not on the amoimt of health and strength 
 he may have, so long as he does his bestV 
 
 'You said so,' I answered, 'but I supposed the rule ap- 
 plied only to the workers of different ability. Does it 
 also hold of those who can do nothing at aU?' 
 
 'Are they not also men?' 
 
 'I am to understand, then, that the lame, the blind, the 
 sick, and the impotent, are as well off as the most efficient, 
 and have the same income? ' 
 
 ' Certainly,' was the reply. 
 
 'The idea of charity on such a scale,' I answered, 'would 
 have made our most enthusiastic philanthropists gasp.' 
 
 'Ji you had a sick brother at home,' replied Dr. Leete, 
 'unable to work, would you feed him on less dainty food, 
 and lodge and clothe him more poorly, than yourself? 
 More likely far, you would give him the preference; nor 
 would you think of calling it charity. Would not the 
 word, in that connection, fill you with indignation?' 
 
 i/ 
 
Io6 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 'Of course,' I replied; 'but the cases are not parallel. 
 There is a sense, no doubt, in which aU men are brothers; 
 but this general sort of brotherhood is not to be com- 
 pared, except for rhetorical purposes, to the brotherhood 
 of blood, either as to its sentiment or its obligations.' 
 
 'There speaks the nineteenth century!' exclaimed Dr. 
 Leete. 'Ah, Mr. West, there is no doubt as to the length 
 of time that you slept. If^I were to_^yeyo^j.Aii one, sen- 
 tence, a key to what may seem the myateriea of our civi- 
 lization as compared with that of your age,^ I should say 
 that it is the fact that the solidarity of the race and- the- 
 brotherhood of man, which to you were but fine phrases, 
 are, to our thinking and feeling, ties as real and as vital 
 as physical f raternityj 
 
 'But even setting that consideration aside, I do not 
 see why it so surprises you that those who cannot work 
 are conceded the full right to live on the produce of those 
 who can. Even in your day, the duty of military serv- 
 ice for the protection of the nation, to which our indus- 
 trial service corresponds, while obligatory on those able 
 t^ischarge it, did not operate to deprive of the privileges 
 of^itizenship those who were unable. They stayed at 
 home, and were protected by those who fought, and no- 
 body questioned their right to be, or thought less of them. 
 So, now, the requirement of industrial service from those 
 able to render it does not operate to deprive of the priv- 
 ileges of citizenship, which now implies the citizen's 
 maintenance, him who cannot work. [The worker is not 
 a.»c itizen because he works, but works because he is a 
 citizen^ As you recognize the duty of the strong to fight 
 fortEe weak, we, now that fighting is gone by, recognize 
 his duty to work for him. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD I07 
 
 'A solution which leaves an unaccounted-for residuum 
 is no solution at aU; and our solution of the prohlem-of 
 himaja_society would have been none at all had it left 
 the lame, the sick, and the blind outside with the beasts, 
 to fare as they might. Better far have left the strong and 
 well unprovided for than these burdened ones, toward 
 whom every heart must yearn, and for whom ease of 
 mind and body should be provided, if for no others. 
 Therefore it is, as I told you this morning, that the title 
 of every man, woman, and child to the means of existence 
 rests on no basis less plain, broad, and simple than the 
 fact that they are f eUows of one race — members of one 
 human family. [The only coin current is the image of 
 God, and that is good for aU we havej 
 
 'I think there is no feature of the civilization of your 
 epoch so repugnant to modern ideas as the neglect with 
 which you treated your dependent classes. Even if you 
 had no pity, no feeling of brotherhood, how was it that 
 you did not see that you were robbing the incapable 
 class of their plain right in leaving them unprovided for? ' 
 
 'I don't quite foUow you there,' I said. 'I admit the 
 claim of this class to our pity, but how could they who 
 produced nothing claim a share of the product as a right? ' 
 
 'How happened it,' was Dr. Leete's reply, 'that yoiu: 
 workers were able to produce more than so many savages 
 would have done? Was it not wholly on account of the 
 heritage of the past knowledge and achievements of the 
 race, the machinery of society, thousands of years in 
 contriving, foimd by you ready-made to your hand? 
 How did you come to be possessors of this knowledge and 
 this machinery, which represent nine parts to one con- 
 tributed by yourself in the value of your product? You 
 
Io8 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 inherited it, did you not? And were not these others, 
 these unfortunate and crippled brothers whom you cast 
 out, joint inheritors, co-heirs with you? What did you do 
 with their share? Did you not rob them when you put 
 them off with crusts, who were entitled to sit with the 
 heirs, and did you not add insult to robbery when you 
 called the crusts charity? 
 
 'Ah, Mr. West,' Dr. Leete continued, as I did not re- 
 spond, 'what I do not understand is, setting aside all 
 considerations either of justice or brotherly feeling to- 
 ward the crippled and defective, how the workers of your 
 day could have had any heart for their work, knowing 
 that their chUdren, or grand-children, if unfortunate, 
 would be deprived of the comforts and even necessities 
 of life. It is a mystery how men with chUdren could favor 
 a system under which they were rewarded beyond those 
 less endowed with bodily strength or mental power, 
 For, by the same discrimination by which the father 
 profited, the son, for whom he would give his life, being 
 perchance weaker than others, might be reduced to crusts 
 and beggary. How men dared leave children behind them, 
 I have never been able to understand.' 
 
 Note. — Although in his talk on the previous evening Dr. Leete 
 had emphasized the pains taken to enable every man to ascertain 
 and follow his natural bent in choosing an occupation, it was not 
 tiU I learned that the worker's income is the same in all occupations 
 that I realized how absolutely he may be counted on to do so, and 
 thus, by selecting the harness which sets most lightly on himself, 
 find that in which he can pull best. <The failure of my age in any 
 systematic or effective way to develop and utilize the natural ap- 
 titudes of men for the industries and intellectual avocations was 
 one of the great wastes, as well as one of the most common causes 
 of imhappiness in that time. The vast majority of my contem- 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 109 
 
 poraries, though nominally free to do so, never really chose their 
 occupations at all, but were forced by circumstances into work for 
 which they were relatively inefficient, because not naturally fitted 
 for it. The rich, in this respect, had little advantage over the poor. 
 The latter, indeed, being generally deprived of education, had no 
 opportunity even to ascertain the natural aptitudes they might 
 have, and on account of their poverty were unable to develop them 
 by cultivation even when ascertained. The liberal and technical 
 professions, except by favorable accident, were shut to them, to 
 their own great loss and that of the nation. On the other hand, the 
 well-to-do, although they could command education and oppor- 
 tunity, were scarcely less hampered by social prejudice, which for- 
 bade them to pursue manual avocations, even when adapted to 
 them, and destined them, whether fit or unfit, to the professions, 
 thus wasting many an excellent handicraftsman. Mercenary con- 
 siderations, tempting men to pursue money-making occupations 
 for which they were unfit, instead of less remunerative employ- 
 ments for which they were fit, were responsible for another vast 
 perversion of talent. All these things now are changed. Equal 
 education and opportunity must needs bring to light whatever ap- 
 titudes a man has, and neither social prejudices nor mercenary 
 considerations hamper him in the choice of his life work. 
 
5 ? ? ^^ m m 
 
 As 
 
 lS Edith had promised he should do, Dr. Leete 
 accompanied me to my bedroom when I retired, to in- 
 struct me as to the adjustment of the musical telephone. 
 He showed how, by turning a screw, the volume of the 
 music could be made to fill the room, or die away to an 
 echo so faint and far that one could scarcely be sure 
 whether he heard or imagined it. If, of two persons side 
 by side, one desired to listen to music and the other to 
 sleep, it could be made audible to one and inaudible to 
 another. 
 
 'I should strongly advise you to sleep if you can to- 
 night, Mr. West, in preference to listening to the finest 
 tunes in the world,' the doctor said, after explaining these 
 points. 'In the trymg experience you are just now pass- 
 ing through, sleep is a nerve tonic for which there is no 
 substitute.' 
 
 Mindful of what had happened to me that very morn- 
 ing, I promised to heed his coimsel. 
 
 'Very well,' he said, 'then I will set the telephone at 
 eight o'clock.' 
 
 'What do you mean?' I asked. 
 
 He explained that, by a clock-work combination, a 
 person could arrange to be awakened at any hour by the 
 
 music. 
 
 It began to appear, as has since fully proved to be the 
 case, that I had left my tendency to insonmia behmd me 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD III 
 
 with the other discomforts of existence in the nineteenth 
 century; for though I took no sleeping draught this time, 
 yet, as the night before, I had no sooner touched the pil- 
 low than I was asleep. 
 
 I dreamed that I sat on the throne of the Abencerrages 
 in the banqueting hall of the Alhambra, feasting my lords 
 and generals, who next day were to follow the crescent 
 against the Christian dogs of Spain. The air, cooled by 
 the spray of fountains, was heavy with the scent of 
 flowers. A band of Nautch girls, round-limbed and lus- 
 cious-lipped, danced with voluptuous grace to the music 
 of brazen and stringed instruments. Looking up to the 
 latticed galleries, one caught a gleam now and then 
 from the eye of some beauty of the royal harem, looking 
 down upon the assembled flower of Moorish chivalry. 
 Louder and louder clashed the C3anbals, wUder and wilder 
 grew the strain, till the blood of the desert race could no 
 longer resist the martial delirium, and the swart nobles 
 leaped to their feet; a thousand scimetars were bared, 
 and the cry, 'Allah il Allah!' shook the hall and awoke 
 me, to find it broad daylight, and the room tingling with 
 the electric music of the 'Turkish Reveille.' 
 
 At the breakfast-table, when I told my host of my 
 morning's experience, I learned that it was not a mere 
 chance that the piece of music which awakened me was a 
 reveille. The airs played at one of the halls during the 
 waking hours of the morning were always of an inspiring 
 type. 
 
 'By the way,' I said, 'I have not thought to ask you 
 anything about the state of Europe. Have the societies 
 of the Old World also been remodeled?' 
 
 'Yes,' replied Dr. Leete, ^he great nations of Europe 
 
112 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 as well as Australia, Mexico, and parts of South America, 
 are now organized industrially like the United States, 
 which was the pioneer of the evolution^^ffhe peaceful 
 relations of these nations are assured by a loose form of 
 federal union of world-wide extent. An international 
 council regulates the mutual intercourse and commerce 
 of the members of the union and their joint policy toward 
 the more backward races, which are gradually being edu- 
 cated up to civilized institutions^ ^Complete autonomy 
 within its own limits is enjoyed by every nation"3 
 
 'How do you carry on commerce without money?' I 
 said. 'In trading with other nations, you must use some 
 sort of money, although you dispense with it in the inter- 
 nal affairs of the nation.' 
 
 'Oh, no; money is as superfluous in our foreign as in 
 our internal relations. When foreign commerce was con- 
 ducted by private enterprise, money was necessary to 
 adjust it on account of the multifarious complexity of the 
 transactions; but nowadays it is a function of the nations 
 as units. There are thus only a dozen or so merchants in 
 the world, and their business being supervised by the in- 
 ternational council, a simple system of book accoimts 
 serves perfectly to regulate their dealings. Customs du- 
 ties of every sort are of course superfluous. [A nation 
 simply does not import what its government does not 
 think requisite for the general interest^! Each nation has 
 a bureau of foreign exchange, which manages its trading^ 
 ^or example, the American bureau, estimating such and 
 such quantities of French goods necessary to America 
 for a given year, sends the order to the French bureau, 
 which in turn sends its order to our bureau. The same is 
 done mutually by all the nations^ 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD II3 
 
 'But how are the prices of foreign goods settled, since 
 there is no competition? ' 
 
 'The price at which one nation supplies another with 
 goods,' replied Dr. Leete, 'must be that at which it sup- 
 pUes its own citizens. So you see there is no danger of 
 misunderstanding. Of course no nation is theoretically- 
 bound to supply another with the product of its own 
 labor, but it is for the interest of all to exchange some 
 cormnodities. If a nation is regularly supplying another 
 with certain goods, notice is required from either side of 
 any important change in the relation.' 
 
 'But what if a nation, having a monopoly of some nat- 
 ural product, should refuse to supply it to the others, or 
 to one of them? ' 
 
 'Such a case has never occurred, and could not without 
 doing the refusing party vastly more harm than the 
 others,' replied Dr. Leete. 'In the first place, no fa- 
 voritism could be legally shown. [The law requires that 
 [/Cach nation shall deal with the others, in all respects, on 
 exactly the same footingj Such a course as you suggest 
 would cut off the nation adopting it from the remainder 
 of the earth for all purposes whatever.jThe contingency 
 is one that need not give us much anxiety.' 
 
 'But,' said I, 'supposing a nation, having a natural 
 monopoly in some product of which it exports more than 
 it consumes, should put the price away up, and thus, 
 without cutting off the supply, make a profit out of its 
 neighbors' necessities? Its own citizens would of course 
 have to pay the higher price on that commodity, but as 
 a body would make more out of foreigners than they 
 would be out of pocket themselves.' 
 
 'When you come to know how prices of aU conmaodities 
 
114 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 are determined nowadays, you will perceive how im|(6s- 
 sible it is that they could be altered, except with refCTence 
 to the amount or arduousness of the work r^uired re- 
 spectively to produce them,' was Dr. Leete'S' reply. 'This 
 principle is an international as well as a national guaran- 
 tee; but even without it the sense of community of inter- 
 est, international as well as national,(and the conviction 
 of the folly of selfishness, are too deep nowadays to render 
 possible such a piece of sharp practice as you apprehend! ' 
 '^You must imderstand that we all look forward to an even- 
 tual unification of the world as one nation.! i That, no 
 doubt, wUl be the ultimate form of society, and wiU 
 realize certain economic advantages over the present 
 federal system of autonomous nations'] Meanwhile, how- 
 ever, the present system works so nearly perfectly that 
 we are quite content to leave to posterity the completion 
 of the scheme. There are, indeed, some who hold that it 
 never will be completed, on the ground that the federal 
 plan is not merely a provisional solution of the problem 
 of human society, but the best ultimate solution.' 
 
 'How do you manage,' I asked, 'when the books of any 
 two nations do not balance? Supposing we import more 
 from France than we export to her.' 
 f 'At the end of each year,' replied the doctor, 'the books 
 of every nation are exammed. If France is found in our 
 debt, probably we are in the debt of some nation which 
 owes France, and so on with all the nations. The balances 
 that remain after the accounts have been cleared by the 
 international council should not be large under our sys- 
 tem. Whatever they may be, the council reqmres them 
 to be settled every few years, and may require their set- 
 tlement at any time if they are getting too large; for it 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD II5 
 
 is not intended that any nation shall run largely in debt 
 to another, lest feelings unfavorable to amity should be 
 engendered. To guard further against this, the interna- 
 tional council inspects the commodities interchanged by 
 the nations, to see that they are of perfect quaUty.'j 
 
 'But what are the balances finally settled with, seeing 
 that you have no money? ' 
 
 'In national staples; a basis of agreement as to what 
 staples shall be accepted, and in what proportions, for 
 settlement of accoimts, being a preliminary to trade 
 relations.' 
 
 ' Emigration is another point I want to ask you about,' 
 said I. 'With every nation organized as a close industrial 
 partnership, monopolizing all means of production in the 
 coimtry, the emigrant, even if he were permitted to land, 
 would starve. I suppose there is no emigration nowadays.' 
 T'On the contrary, there is constant emigration, by 
 which I suppose you mean removal to foreign countries 
 for permanent residence,' replied Dr. Leete. 'It is ar- 
 ranged on a simple international arrangement of indem- 
 nities. For example, if a man at twenty-one emigrates 
 from England to America, England loses all the expense 
 of his maintenance and education, and America gets a 
 workman for nothing. America accordingly makes Eng- 
 land an allowance. The same principle, varied to suit the 
 case, applies generally. If the man is near the term of 
 his labor when he emigrates, the coimtry receiving him 
 has the allowance. As to imbecile persons, it is deemed 
 best that each nation should be responsible for its own, 
 and the emigration of such must be under full guarantees 
 of support by his own natioi^[ Subject to these regula- 
 tions, the right of any man to emigrate at any time is un- 
 restricted.'! 
 
1 1 6 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 J But how about mere pleasure trips; tours of observa- 
 tion? How can a stranger travel in a coimtry whose 
 people do not receive money, and are themselves supplied 
 with the means of life on a basis not extended to him? 
 His own credit card cannot, of course, be good in other 
 lands. How does he pay his way?i 
 
 ^An American credit card,' replied Dr. Leete, 'is just 
 as good in Europe as American gold used to be, and on 
 precisely the same condition, namely, that it be ex- 
 changed into the currency of the coimtry you are travel- 
 ing m\ An American in Berlin takes his credit card to the 
 local ofl&ce of the international coimcil, and receives in 
 exchange for the whole or part of it a German credit card, 
 the amount being charged against the United States in 
 favor of Germany on the international account.' 
 
 'Perhaps Mr. West would like to dine at the Elephant 
 to-day,' said Edith, as we left the table. 
 
 'That is the name we give to the general dining-house 
 of our ward,' explained her father. 'Not only is our cook- 
 ing done at the public kitchens, as I told you last night, 
 but the service and quality of the meals are much more 
 satisfactory if taken at the dining-house. The two minor 
 meals of the day are usually taken at home, as not worth 
 the trouble of going out; but it is general to go out to 
 dine. We have not done so since you have been with us, 
 from a notion that it would be better to wait tiU you had 
 become a little more f amUiar with our ways. What do you 
 think? Shall we take dinner at the dining-house to-day? ' 
 
 I said that I should be very much pleased to do so. 
 
 Not long after, Edith came to me, smiling, and said: 
 
 'Last night, as I was thinking what I could do to make 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED I17 
 
 you feel at home until you came to be a little more used 
 to us and our ways, an idea occurred to me. What 
 would you say if I were to introduce you to some very 
 nice people of your own times, whom I am sure you used 
 to be well acquainted with? ' 
 
 I replied, rather vaguely, that it would certainly be 
 very agreeable, but I did not see how she was going to 
 manage it. 
 
 'Come with me,' was her smiling reply, 'and see if I 
 am not as good as my word.' 
 
 My susceptibility to surprise had been pretty well ex- 
 hausted by the nimierous shocks it had received, but it 
 was with some wonderment that I followed her into a 
 room which I had not before entered. It was a small, 
 cosy apartment, walled with cases filled with books. 
 
 'Here are your friends,' said Edith, indicating one of 
 the cases, and as my eye glanced over the names on the 
 backs of the volumes, Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, 
 Shelley, Termyson, Defoe, Dickens, Thackeray, Hugo, 
 Hawthorne, Irving, and a score of other great writers of 
 my time and all time, I imderstood her meaning. She 
 had indeed made good her promise in a sense compared 
 with which its literal fulfiUment would have been a dis- 
 appointment. She had introduced me to a circle of 
 friends whom the century that had elapsed since last I 
 commimed with them had aged as Uttle as it had myself. 
 Their spirit was as high, their wit as keen, their laughter 
 and their tears as contagious, as when their speech had 
 whiled away the hoturs of a former century. Lonely I was 
 not and could not be more, with this goodly companion- 
 ship, however wide the gulf of years that gaped between 
 me and my old lif q. 
 
Il8 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 'You are glad I brought you here,' exclaimed Edith, 
 radiant, as she read in my face the success of her experi- 
 ment. 'It was a good idea, was it not, Mr. West? How 
 stupid in me not to think of it before! I will leave you 
 now with your old friends, for I know there wiU be no 
 company for you like them just now; but remember you 
 must not let old friends make you quite forget new ones! ' 
 and with that smiling caution she left me. 
 
 Attracted by the most familiar of the names before me, 
 I laid my hand on a volume of Dickens, and sat down to 
 read. He had been my prime favorite among the book- 
 writers of the century, — I mean the nineteenth cen- 
 tiury, — and a week had rarely passed in my old Mfe dur- 
 ing which I had not taken up some volimie of his works to 
 while away an idle hour. Any volume with which I had 
 been familiar would have produced an extraordinary im- 
 pression, read under my present circumstances, but my 
 exceptional famiharity with Dickens, and his consequent 
 power to call up the associations of my former life, gave 
 to his writings an effect no others could have had, to in- 
 tensify, by force of contrast, my appreciation of the 
 strangeness of my present environment. However new 
 and astonishing one's surroxmdings, the tendency is to 
 become a part of them so soon that almost from the first 
 the power to see them objectively and fully measure their 
 strangeness, is lost. That power, already dulled in my 
 case, the pages of Dickens restored by carrying me back 
 through their associations to the standpoint of my former 
 life. 
 
 With a clearness which I had not been able before to 
 attain, I saw now the past and present, like contrasting 
 pictures, side by side. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD II9 
 
 The genius of the great novelist of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury, like that of Homer, might indeed defy tune; but 
 the setting of his pathetic tales, the misery of the poor, 
 the wrongs of power, the pitiless cruelty of the system of 
 society, had passed away as utterly as Circe and the 
 sirens, Charybdis and Cyclops. 
 
 During the hour or two that I sat there with Dickens 
 open before me, I did not actually read more than a 
 couple of pages. Every paragraph, every phrase, brought 
 up some new aspect of the world-transformation which 
 had taken place, and led my thoughts on long and widely 
 ramif)ang excursions. As meditating thus in Dr. Leete's 
 library I gradually attained a more clear and coherent 
 idea of the prodigious spectacle which I had been so 
 strangely enabled to view, I was filled with a deepening 
 wonder at the seeming capriciousness of the fate that had 
 given to one who so little deserved it, or seemed in any 
 way set apart for it, the power alone among his con- 
 temporaries to stand upon the earth in this latter day. I 
 had neither foreseen the new world nor toiled for it, as 
 many about me had done regardless of the scorn of fools 
 or the misconstruction of the good. Surely it would have 
 been more in accordance with the fitness of things had 
 one of those prophetic and strenuous souls been enabled 
 to see the travail of his soul and be satisfied; he, for ex- 
 ample, a thousand times rather than I, who, having be- 
 held in a vision the world I looked on, sang of it in words 
 that again and again, during these last wondrous days, 
 had rung in my mind: 
 
 For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, 
 
 Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be; 
 
I20 LOOKESTG BACKWARD 
 
 Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-flags were 
 
 furled. 
 In the Parliament of man, the federation of the world. 
 
 Then the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe, 
 And the kindly earth shall slimiber, lapt in universal law. 
 
 For I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, 
 And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns. 
 
 What though, in his old age, he momentarily lost faith 
 in his own prediction, as prophets in their hours of depres- 
 sion and doubt generally do; the words had remained 
 eternal testimony to the seership of a poet's heart, the 
 insight that is given to faith. 
 
 I was still in the library when some hours later Dr. 
 Leete sought me there. 'Edith told me of her idea,' he 
 said, 'and I thought it an excellent one. I had a Uttle 
 curiosity what writer you would first turn to. Ah, Dick- 
 ens! You admired him, then! That is where we modems 
 agree with you. Judged by our standards, he overtops 
 aU the writers of his age, not because his hterary genius 
 was highest, but because his great heart beat for the poor, 
 because he made the cause of the victims of society his 
 own, and devoted his pen to exposing its cruelties and 
 shams. No man of his time did so much as he to turn 
 men's minds to the wrong and wretchedness of the old 
 order of things, and open their eyes to the necessity of the 
 great change that was coming, although he himself did 
 not clearly foresee it.' 
 
YYY 1 4 Y^ 
 
 A 
 
 HEAVY rainstorm came up during the day, and 
 I had concluded that the condition of the streets would be 
 such that my hosts would have to give up the idea of going 
 out to dinner, although the dining-hall I had understood 
 to be quite near. I was much surprised when at the din- 
 ner hour the ladies appeared prepared to go out, but with- 
 out either rubbers or umbrellas. 
 
 The mystery was explained when we found ourselves 
 on the street, for a continuous waterproof covering had 
 been let down so.as to inclose the sidewalk, and turn it into 
 a well lighted and perfectly dry corridor, which was filled 
 with a stream of ladies and gentlemen dressed for dinner. 
 At the corners the entire open space was similarly roofed 
 in. Edith Leete, with whom I walked, seemed much 
 interested in learning what appeared to be entirely new 
 to her, that in the stormy weather the streets of the 
 Boston of my day had been impassable, except to persons 
 protected by umbrellas, boots, and heavy clothing. 'Were 
 sidewalk coverings not used at all? ' she asked. They were 
 used, I explained, but in a scattered and utterly unsys- 
 tematic way, being private enterprises. She said to me 
 that at the present time all the streets were provided 
 against inclement weather in the manner I saw, the ap- 
 /paratus being rolled out of the way when it was unneces- 
 sary. She intimated that it would be considered an ex- 
 traordinary imbecility to permit the weather to have any 
 effect on the social movements of the people. 
 
122 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 l Dr. Leete, who was walking ahead, overhearing some- 
 thing of our talk, turned to say that the difference be- 
 tween the age of individualism and that of concert was 
 well characterized by the fact that, in the nineteenth cen- 
 tury, when it rained, the people of Boston put up three 
 hundred thousand umbrellas over as many heads, and in 
 the twentieth century they put up one umbrella over all 
 the heads. } 
 
 As we walked on, Edith said, 'The private umbrella is 
 father's favorite figure to illustrate the old way when 
 everybody lived for himself and his family. There is a 
 nineteenth century painting at the Art Gallery represent- 
 ing a crowd of people in the rain, each one holding his um- 
 brella over himself and his wife, and giving his neighbors 
 the drippings, which he claims must have been meant by 
 the artist as a satire on his times.' 
 
 We now entered a large building into which a stream of 
 people was pouring. I could not see the front, owing to 
 the awning, but, if in correspondence with the interior, 
 which was even finer than the store I visited the day be- 
 fore, it would have been magnificent. My companion said 
 that the sculptured group over the entrance was especially 
 admired. Going up a grand staircase we walked some dis- 
 tance along a broad corridor with many doors opening 
 upon it. At one of these, which bore my host's name, we 
 turned in, and I found myself in an elegant dining-room 
 containing a table for four. Windows opened on a court- 
 yard where a fountain played to a great height and music 
 made the air electric. 
 
 'You seem at home here,' I said, as we seated ourselves 
 at table, and Dr. Leete touched an annunciator. 
 
 'This is, in fact, a part of oiu: house, slightly detached 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 1 23 
 
 from the rest,' he replied. 'Every family in the ward has 
 a room set apart in this great building for its permanent 
 and exclusive use for a small annual rental. For transient 
 guests and individuals there is accommodation on another 
 floor. If we expect to dine here, we put in our orders the 
 night before, selecting anything in market, according to 
 the daily reports in the papers. The meal is as expensive 
 or as simple as we please, though of course everything is 
 vastly cheaper as well as better than it would be prepared 
 at home. There is actually nothing which our people take 
 more interest in than the perfection of the catering and 
 cooking done for them, and I admit that we are a little 
 vain of the success that has been attained by this branch 
 of the service. Ah, my dear Mr. West, though other as- 
 pects of your civilization were more tragical, I can imag- 
 ine that none could have been more depressing than the 
 poor dinners you had to eat, that is, all of you who had 
 not great wealth.' 
 
 'You would have found none of us disposed to disagree 
 with you on that point,' I said. 
 
 The waiter, a fine-looking yoimg fellow, wearing a 
 slightly distinctive uniform, now made his appearance. I 
 observed him closely, as it was the first time I had been 
 able to study particularly the bearing of one of the en- 
 Hsted members of the industrial army. This young man, 
 I knew from what I had been told, must be highly edu- 
 cated, and the equal, socially and in all respects, of those 
 he served. But it was perfectly evident that to neither 
 side was the situation in the slightest degree embarrassing. 
 Dr. Leete addressed the young man in a tone devoid, of 
 course, as any gentleman's would be, of superciliousness, 
 but at the same time not in any way deprecatory, while 
 
124 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 the manner of the young man was simply that of a person 
 intent on discharging correctly the task he was engaged in, 
 equally without familiarity or obsequiousness. It was, in 
 fact, the manner of a soldier on duty, but without the 
 military stiffness. As the youth left the room, I said, 'I 
 cannot get over my wonder at seeing a young man like 
 that serving so contentedly in a menial position.' 
 
 'What is that word ''menialV? I never heard it,' said 
 Edith. ------ 
 
 'It is obsolete now,' remarked her father. 'If I xmder- 
 stand it rightly, it applied to persons who performed par- 
 ticularly disagreeable and unpleasant tasks for others, 
 and carried with it an implication of contempt. Was it 
 not so, Mr. West?' 
 
 'That is about it,' I said. 'Personal service, such as 
 waiting on tables, was considered menial, and held in 
 such contempt, in my day, that persons of culture and re- 
 finement would suffer hardship before condescending to it.' 
 
 'What a strangely artificial idea,' exclaimed Mrs. Leete 
 wonderingly. 
 
 'And yet these services had to be rendered,' said Edith. 
 
 'Of course,' I replied. 'But we imposed them on the 
 poor, and those who had no alternative but starvation.' 
 
 'And increased the burden you imposed on them by 
 adding your contempt,' remarked Dr. Leete. 
 
 'I don't think I clearly understand,' said Edith. 'Do 
 you mean that you permitted people to do things for you 
 which you despised them for doing, or that you accepted 
 services from them which you would have been unwilling 
 to render them? You can't surely mean that, Mr. West? ' 
 
 I was obliged to teU her that the fact was just as she had 
 stated. Dr. Leete, however, came to my relief. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 125 
 
 \2To understand why Edith is surprised,' he said, 'you 
 must know that nowadays it is an axiom of ethics that to 
 accept a service from another which we would be unwill- 
 ing to return in kind, if need were, is like borrowing with 
 the intention of not repaying, whUe to enforce such a 
 service by taking advantage of the poverty or necessity of 
 a person would be an outrage like forcible robbery.] It is 
 the worst thing about any system which divides men, or 
 allows them to be divided, into classes and castes, that it 
 weakens the sense of a common humanity. [Unequal dis- 
 tribution of wealth, and, still more effectually, unequal 
 opportunities of education and culture, divided society in 
 your day into classes which in many respects regarded 
 each other as distinct racesj There is not, after all, such 
 a difference as might appear between our ways of looking 
 at this question of service. Ladies and gentlemen of the 
 cultured class in yom: day would no more have permitted 
 persons of their own class to render them services they 
 would scorn to return than we would permit anybody to 
 do so. The poor and the uncultured, however, they 
 looked upon as of another kind from themselves. The 
 equal wealth and equal opportunites of culture which all 
 persons now enjoy have simply made us all members of 
 one class, which corresponds to the most fortunate class 
 with you. /UntU this equaUty of condition had come to 
 pass, the idea of the solidarity of humanity, the brother- 
 hood of all men, could never have become the real con- 
 viction and practical principle of action it is nowadays.J 
 In your day the same phrases were indeed used, but they 
 were phrases merely.' 
 
 'Do the waiters, also, volunteer?' 
 
 ' No,' replied Dr. Leete. ' The waiters are young men in 
 
126 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 the unclassified grade of the mdustrial army who are as- 
 signable to all sorts of miscellaneous occupations not re- 
 quiring special skill. Waiting on table is one of these, and 
 every young recruit is given a taste of it. I myself served 
 as a waiter for several months in this very dining-house 
 some forty years ago. Once more you must remember 
 that there is recognized no sort of difference between the 
 dignity of the different sorts of work required by the na- 
 tion. |^The individual is never regarded, nor regards him- 
 self, as the servant of thgse he serves, nor is he in any 
 way dependent upon thpmJiTt i> always the nation which 
 he is serving. No difference is recognized between a wait- 
 er's functions and those of any other worker. The fact 
 that his is a personal service is indifferent from our point 
 of view. So is a doctor's. I should as soon expect our 
 waiter today to look down on me because I served him as 
 a doctor, as think of looking down on him because he 
 serves me as a waiter.' 
 
 After dinner my entertainers conducted me about the 
 building, of which the extent, the magnificent architecture 
 and richness of embellishment, astonished me. It seemed 
 that it was not merely a dining-hall, but likewise a great 
 pleasure-house and social rendezvous of the quarter, and 
 no appliance of entertainment or recreation seemed lack- 
 ing. 
 
 'You find illustrated here,' said Dr. Leete, when I had 
 expressed my admiration, 'what I said to you in our first 
 conversation, when you were looking out over the city, as 
 to the splendor of our public and common life as compared 
 with the simplicity of our private and home life, and the 
 contrast which, in this respect, the twentieth bears to the 
 nineteenth century. To save ourselves useless burdens, 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 127 
 
 we have as little gear about us at home as is consistent 
 with comfort, but the social side of our life is ornate and 
 luxurious beyond anything the world ever knew before. 
 AU the industrial and professional guUds have clubhouses 
 as extensive as this, as weU as country, mountain, and sea- 
 side houses for sport and rest in vacations.' 
 
 Note. In the latter part of the nineteenth century it became a 
 practice of needy young men at some of the colleges of the country 
 to earn a little money for their term bills by serving as waiters on 
 tables at hotels during the long summer vacation. It was claimed, 
 in reply to critics who expressed the prejudices of the time in as- 
 serting that persons voluntarily following such an occupation could 
 not be gentlemen, that they were entitled to praise for vindicating, 
 by their example, the dignity of all honest and necessary labor. 
 The use of this argument illustrates a common confusion in thought 
 on the part of my former contemporaries. The business of waiting 
 on tables was in no more need of defense than most of the other 
 ways of getting a living in that day, but to talk of dignity attach- 
 ing to labor of any sort \mder the system then prevailing was ab- 
 surd. There is no way in which selling labor for the highest price 
 it wiU fetch is more dignified than selling goods for what can be got. 
 Both were commercial transactions to be judged by the coromercial 
 standard, i By setting a price in money on his service, the worker 
 accepted the money measure for it, and renounced all clear claim 
 to be judged by any other! The sordid taint which this necessity 
 imparted to the noblest and the highest sorts of service was bit- 
 terly resented by generous souls, but there was no evading it. 
 There was no exemption, however transcendent the gualitv of 
 on e's ser vice, from the necessity of haggling for its price in the 
 market-place. The physician must sell his healing and the apostle 
 his preaciimg like the rest. The prophet, who had guessed the 
 meaning of God, must dicker for the price of the revelation, and the 
 poet hawk his visions in printers' row. If I were asked to name the 
 most distinguishing felicity of this age, as compared to that in which 
 I first saw the light,, I should say that to me it seems to consist in 
 the dignity you have given to labor by refusing to set a price upon 
 
128 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 it and abolishing the market-place forever. By requiring of every 
 man his best you have made God his task-master, and by making 
 honor the sole reward of achievement you have imparted to all 
 service the distinction peculiar in my day to the soldier's. 
 
• • • --^ • • 
 
 w. 
 
 HEN, in the course of oxir tour of inspection, 
 we came to the Hbrary, we succumbed to the temptation 
 of the luxurious leather chairs with which it was furnished, 
 and sat down in one of the book-lined alcoves to rest and 
 chat awhile.' 
 
 'Edith tells me that you have been in the library all 
 the morning,' said Mrs. Leete. 'Do you know, it seems 
 to me, Mr. West, that you are the most enviable of mor- 
 tals.' 
 
 'I should like to know just why,' I replied. 
 
 'Because the books of the last hundred years wiU be 
 new to you,' she answered. 'You will have so much of the 
 most absorbing literature to read as to leave you scarcely 
 time for meals these five years to come. Ah, what would 
 I give if I had not already read Berrian's novels.' 
 
 'Or Nesmyth's, mamma,' added Edith. 
 
 'Yes, or Oates' poems, or "Past and Present," or, "In 
 the Beginning," or — oh, I could name a dozen books, 
 each worth a year of one's life,' declared Mrs. Leete, en- 
 thusiastically. 
 
 'I judge, then, that there has been some notable litera- 
 ture produced in this century.' 
 
 ' I cannot sufficiently celebrate the glorious liberty that reigns in the 
 public libraries of the twentieth century as compared with the intolerable 
 t i management of those of the nineteenth century, in which the books were 
 \, V jealously railed away from the people, and obtainable only at an expen- 
 diture of time and red tape calculated to discourage any ordinary taste 
 for literature. 
 
130 LOOKING BACKWAIO) 
 
 'Yes,' said Dr. Leete. 'It has been an era of unexam- 
 pled intellectual splendor. Probably humanity never be- 
 fore passed through a moral and material evolution, at 
 once so vast in its scope and brief in its time of accom- 
 plishment, as that from the old order to the new in the 
 early part of this century. When men came to realize the 
 greatness of the felicity which had befallen them, and 
 that the change through which they had passed was not 
 merely an improvement in details of their condition, but 
 the rise of the race to a new plane of existence with an il- 
 limitable vista of progress, their minds were affected in 
 aU their faculties with a stimulus, of which the outburst 
 of the mediaeval renaissance offers a suggestion but faint 
 indeed. There ensued an era of mechanical invention, sci- 
 entific discovery, art, musical and literary productiveness 
 to which no previous age of the world offers anything 
 comparable.' 
 
 'By the way,' said I, 'talking of literature, how are 
 books published now? Is that also done by the nation?' 
 
 'Certainly.' 
 'J But how do you manage it? Does the government 
 publish everything that is brought it as a matter of course, 
 at the public expense, or does it exercise a censorship and 
 print only what it approves? ' ' 
 
 'Neither way. The printing department has no censo-" 
 rial powers. It is bound to print aU that is offered it, but 
 prints it only on condition that the author defray the first 
 cost out of his credit. He must pay for the privilege of the 
 public ear, and if he has any message worth hearing we 
 consider that he will be glad to do it.' Of course, if incomes 
 were unequal, as in the old times, this rule would enable 
 only the rich to be authors, but the resources of citizens 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 13I 
 
 being equal, it merely measures the strength of the au- 
 thor's motive. The cost of an edition of an average book 
 can be saved out of a year's credit by the practice of 
 economy and some sacrifices. The book, on being pub- 
 lished, is placed on sale by the nation.' 
 
 L'The author receiving a royalty on the sales as with us, 
 I suppose,'j,I suggested. 
 
 'Not as with you, certainly,' replied Dr. Leete, 'but 
 nevertheless in one way. The price of every book is made 
 up of the cost of its publication with a royalty for the 
 author. The author fixes this royalty at any figure he 
 pleases. Of course if he puts it unreasonably high it is his 
 own loss, for the book will not sell. Eche amount of this 
 royalty is set to his credit and he is discharged from other 
 service to the nation for so long a period as this credit at 
 the rate of allowance for the support of citizens shall 
 suffice to support him. If his book be moderately success- 
 ful, he has thus a furlough for several months, a year, two 
 or three years, and if he in the mean time produces other 
 successful work, the remission of service is extended so far 
 as the sale of that may justify. JjAn authprqf, much ac- 
 ceptance succeeds in supporting himself by his pen during 
 the entire period of service, and the degree of any writer's 
 literary ability, as determined by the popular voice, is 
 thus the measure of the opportunity given him to devote 
 his time to literature.) In this respect the outcome of our 
 system is not very dissimilar to that of yours, but there 
 are two notable differences. In the first place, the univer- 
 sally high level of education nowadays gives the popular 
 verdict a conclusiveness on the real merit of literary work 
 which in your day it was as far as possible from having. 
 In the second place, there is no such thing now as f avorit- 
 
133 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 ism of any sort to interfere with the recognition of true 
 merit. Every author has precisely the same facilities for 
 bringing his work before the popular tribunal. To judge 
 from the complaints of the writers of your day, this abso- 
 lute equality of opportunity would have been greatly 
 prized.' 
 i'ln the recognition of merit in other fields of original 
 genius, such as music, art, invention, design,' I said, 'I 
 suppose you follow a similar principle.'! 
 
 f Yes,' he replied, 'although the details differ J In art, 
 for example, as in literature, the people are the sole judges. 
 (They vote upon the acceptance of statues and paintings for 
 the public buildings, and their favorable verdict carries 
 with it the artist's remission from other tasks to devote 
 himself to his vocation. On copies of his work disposed of, 
 he also derives the same advantage as the author on sales 
 of his books. |jn all these lines of original genius the plan 
 pursued is the same — to offer a free field to aspirants, 
 and as soon as exceptional talent is recognized to release 
 it from aU trammels and let it have free course. The re- 
 mission of other service in these cases is not intended as a 
 gift or reward, but as the means of obtaining more and 
 higher service^ Of course there are various literary, art, 
 and scientific institutes to which membership comes to 
 the famous and is greatly prized, fi he highest of aU 
 honors in jth g jntinn, , higher than - the procidcncv , wh ich 
 caj js merely for good sense and Hevntinn tn rlnty^ kjMie 
 red ribbon awarded by the vote of the peop le to the p;reat 
 a uthors, artists, engineers, physicians, and inventorsof 
 t he generation j Not over a certain number wear it at any 
 one tmie, though every bright young fellow in the country 
 loses innumerable nights' sleep dreaming of it. I even did 
 myself.' 
 
LOOKING BACKWAIID I33 
 
 'Just as if mamma and I would have thought any more 
 of you with it,' exclaimed Edith; 'not that it isn't, of 
 course, a very fine thing to have.' 
 
 'You had no choice, my dear, but to take your father 
 as you found him and make the best of him,' Dr. Leete 
 replied; 'but as for your mother, there, she would never 
 have had me if I had not assured her that I was bound to 
 get the red ribbon or at least the blue.' 
 
 On this extravagance Mrs. Leete's only comment was 
 a smile. 
 
 'How about periodicals and newspapers?' I said. 'I 
 won't deny that your book publishing system is a consid- 
 erable improvement on ours, both as to its tendency to 
 encourage a real literary vocation, and, quite as impor- 
 tant, to discourage mere scribblers; but I don't see how it 
 can be made to apply to magazines and newspapers. It is 
 very well to make a man pay for publishing a book, be- 
 cause the expense will be only occasional; but no man 
 could afford the expense of publishing a newspaper every 
 day in the year. It took the deep pockets of our private 
 capitalists to do that, and often exhausted even them be- 
 fore the retiums came in. If you have newspapers at all, 
 they must, I fancy, be published by the government at 
 the public expense, with government editors, reflecting 
 government opinions. Now, if your system is so perfect 
 that there is never anything to criticise in the conduct of 
 affairs, this arrangement may answer. Otherwise I should 
 think the lack of an independent unoflBcial medium for the 
 expression of public opinion would have most unfortunate 
 results. Confess, Dr. Leete, that a free newspaper press, 
 with aU that it implies, was a redeeming incident of the 
 old system when capital was in private hands, and that 
 
134 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 you have to set off the loss of that against your gains in 
 other respects.' 
 
 'I am afraid I can't give you even that consolation,' re- 
 plied Dr. Leete, laughing. 'In the first place, Mr. West, 
 the newspaper press is by no means the only or, as we 
 look at it, the best vehicle for serious criticism of public 
 affairs. To us, the judgments of your newspapers on 
 such themes seem generally to have been crude and flip- 
 pant, as weU as deeply tmctured with prejudce and bit- 
 \terness. In so far as they may be taken as expressing 
 - public opinion, they give an unfavorable impression of 
 the popular intelligence, while so far as they may have 
 formed public opinion, the nation was not to be felicitated. 
 iNowadays, when a citizen desires to make a serious im- 
 pression upon the public mind as to any aspect of public 
 affairs, he comes out with a book or pamphlet, pubhshed 
 as other books are.. But this is not because we lack news- 
 papers and magazines, or that they lack the most abso- 
 lute freedom. The newspaper press is organized so as to 
 be a more perfect expression of public opinion than it pos- 
 sibly could be in your day, when private capital controlled 
 and managed it primarily as a money-making business, 
 and secondarily only as a mouthpiece for the people.' 
 1 'But,' said I, 'if the government prints the papers at 
 the public expense, how can it fail to control their policy? 
 Who appoints the editors, if not the goveirnment? ' 
 
 'The government does not pay the expense of the pa- 
 pers, nor appoint their editors, nor in any way exert the 
 slightest influence on their policy,' replied Dr. Leete. 
 [^he people who take the paper pay the expense of its 
 publication, choose its editor, and remove him when un- 
 satisfactory. You will scarcely say, I think, that such a 
 
LOOKING BACKWAIU) I35 
 
 newspaper press is not a free organ of popular opinion.' ', 
 
 'Decidedly I shall not,' I replied, 'but how is it practi- 
 cable?' 
 
 'Nothing could be simpler. ^Supposing some of my 
 neighbors or myself think we ought to have a newspaper 
 reflecting our opinions, and devoted especially to our 
 locality, trade, or profession. We go about among the 
 people till we get the names of such a number that their 
 annual subscriptions wiU meet the cost of the paper, 
 which is little or big accordmg to the largeness of its con- 
 stituencyj The amoimt of the subscriptions marked off 
 the credits of the citizens guarantees the nation against 
 loss in publishing the paper, its business, you understand, 
 being that of a publisher purely, with no option to refuse 
 the duty required. [The subscribers to the paper now elect 
 somebody as editor, who, if he accepts the office, is dis- 
 charged from other service during his incumbency. In- 
 stead of paying a salary to him, as in your day, the sub- 
 scribers pay the nation an indemnity equal to the cost of 
 his support for taking him away from the general service./ 
 He manages the paper just as one of your editors did, ex- 
 cept that he has no counting-room to obey, or interests of 
 private capital as against the public good to defend. At 
 the end of the first year, the subscribers for the next either 
 reelect the former editor or choose any one else to his 
 place. An able editor, of course, keeps his place indefi- 
 nitely. As the subscription list enlarges, the funds of the 
 paper increase, and it is improved by the securing of more 
 and better contributors, just as your papers were.' 
 
 'How is the staff of contributors recompensed, since 
 they cannot be paid in money? ' 
 
 'The editor settles with them the price of their wares. 
 
136 — LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 ^he amount is transferred to their individual credit from 
 ■ the guarantee credit of the paper, and a remission of serv- 
 ice is granted the contributor for a length of time corre- 
 sponding to the amount credited him, just as to other 
 authors!] As to magazines, the system is the samej Those 
 interested in the prospectus of a new periodical pledge 
 enough subscriptions to run it for a year; select their edi- 
 tor, who recompenses his contributors just as in the other 
 case, the printing bureau furnishing the necessary force 
 and material for publication, as a matter of course. When 
 an editor's services are no longer desired, if he cannot earn 
 the right to his time by other literary work, he simply re- 
 simies his place in the industrial army. I should add that, 
 though ordinarily the editor is elected only at the end of 
 the year, and as a rule is continued in office for a term of 
 years, in case of any sudden change he should give to the 
 tone of the paper, provision is made for taking the sense 
 of the subscribers as to his removal at any time.' 
 
 'However earnestly a man may long for leisure for pur- 
 poses of study or meditation,' I remarked, 'he cannot get 
 out of the harness, if I understand you rightly, except in 
 these two ways you have mentioned. He must either by 
 literary, artistic, or inventive productiveness indemnify 
 the nation for the loss of his services, or must get a suffi- 
 cient number of other people to contribute to such an in- 
 demnity.' 
 
 'It is most certain,' replied Dr. Leete, 'that no able- 
 bodied man nowadays can evade his share of work and 
 live on the toU of others, whether he calls himself by the 
 fine name of student or confesses to being simply lazy. At 
 the same time our system is elastic enough to give free 
 play to every instinct of human nature which does not 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD I37 
 
 aim at dominating others or living on the fruit of others' 
 labor. There is not only the remission by indemnification 
 but the remission by abnegation. Any man in his thirty- 
 third year, his term of service being then half done, can 
 obtain an honorable discharge from the army, provided 
 pe accepts for the rest of his life one half the rate of main- 
 V tenance other citizens receive. It is quite possible to live 
 on this amount, though one must forego the luxuries and 
 elegancies of life, with some, perhaps, of its comforts.' 
 
 When the ladies retired that evening, Edith brought me 
 a book and said: 
 
 *If you should be wakeful to-night, Mr. West, you 
 might be interested in looking over this story by Berrian. 
 It is considered his masterpiece, and will at least give you 
 an idea what the stories nowadays are like.' 
 
 I sat up in my room that night reading 'Penthesilia' till 
 it grew gray in the east, and did not lay it down tUl I had 
 finished it. And yet let no admirer of the great romancer 
 of the twentieth century resent my saying that at the first 
 reading what most impressed me was not so much what 
 was in the book as what was left out of it. The story- . 
 writers of my day would have deemed the making of 
 bricks without straw a light task compared with the con- 
 struction of a romance from which should be excluded all 
 effects drawn from the contrasts of wealth and poverty, 
 education and ignorance, coarseness and refinement, high 
 and low, all motives drawn from social pride and ambi- 
 tion, the desire of being richer or the fear of being poorer, 
 together with sordid anxieties of any sort for one's self or 
 others; a romance in which there shoidd, indeed, be love 
 galore, but love unfretted by artificial barriers created by 
 differences of station or possessions, owning no other law 
 
138 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 but that of the heart. The reading of 'Penthesilia' was of 
 more value than ahnost any amount of explanation would 
 have been in giving me something like a general impres- 
 sion of the social aspect of the twentieth century. The 
 information Dr. Leete had imparted was indeed extensive 
 as to facts, but they had affected my mind as so many 
 separate impressions, which I had as yet succeeded but 
 imperfectly in making cohere. Berrian put them together 
 for me in a picture. 
 
YYY 1 6 ¥¥ 
 
 N. 
 
 I EXT morning I rose somewhat before the 
 breakfast hour. As I descended the stairs, Edith stepped 
 into the hall from the room which had been the scene of 
 the morning interview between us described some chap- 
 ters back. 
 
 'Ah!' she exclaimed, with a charmingly arch expres- 
 sion, 'you thought to slip out vmbeknown for another of 
 those sohtary morning rambles which have such nice 
 effects on you. But you see I am up too early for you this 
 time. You are fairly caught.' 
 
 'You discredit the eflScacy of your own cure,' I said, 
 'by supposing that such a ramble would now be at- 
 tended with bad consequences.' 
 
 'I am very glad to hear that,' she said. 'I was in here 
 arranging some flowers for the breakfast table when I 
 heard you come down, and fancied I detected something 
 surreptitious in your step on the stairs.' 
 
 'You did me injustice,' I replied. 'I had no idea of go- 
 ing out at all.' 
 
 Despite her effort to convey an impression that my 
 interception was purely accidental, I had at the time a 
 dim suspicion of what I afterwards learned to be the fact, 
 namely, that this sweet creature, in pursuance of her self- 
 assumed guardianship over me, had risen for the last two 
 or three mornings at an unheard-of hour, to insure against 
 the possibility of my wandering off alone in case I should 
 
I40 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 be affected as on the former occasion. Receiving permis- 
 sion to assist her in making up the breakfast bouquet, I 
 followed her into the room from which she had emerged. 
 
 'Are you sure,' she asked, ' that you are quite done with 
 those terrible sensations you had that morning?' 
 
 'I can't say that I do not have times of feeling decidedly 
 queer,' I replied, 'moments when my personal identity 
 seems an open question. It would be too much to expect 
 after my experience that I should not have such sensa- 
 tions occasionally, but as for being carried entirely o£f my 
 feet, as I was on the point of being that morning, I think 
 the danger is past.' 
 
 *I shall never forget how you looked that morning,' she 
 said. 
 
 'If you had merely saved my life,' I continued, 'I 
 might, perhaps, find words to express my gratitude, but 
 it was my reason you saved, and there are no words that 
 would not belittle my debt to you.' I spoke with emotion, 
 and her eyes grew suddenly moist. 
 
 'It is too much to beheve all this,' she said, 'but it is 
 very delightful to hear you say it. What I did was very 
 little. I was very much distressed for you, I know. Father 
 never thinks anything ought to astonish us when it can be 
 explained scientifically, as I suppose this long sleep of 
 yours can be, but even to fancy myself in your place makes 
 my head swim. I know that I could not have borne it at 
 all.' 
 
 'That would depend,' I replied, 'on whether an angel 
 came to support you with her sympathy in the crisis of 
 your condition, as one came to me.' If my face at all ex- 
 pressed the feelings I had a right to have toward this 
 sweet and lovely young girl, who had played so angelic a 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD • 141 
 
 r61e toward me, its expression must have been very wor- 
 shipful just then. The expression or the words, or both 
 together, caused her now to drop her eyes with a charming 
 blush. 
 
 'For the matter of that,' I said, 'Lf your experience has 
 not been as startling as mine, it must have been rather 
 overwhelming to see a man belonging to a strange cen- 
 tury, and apparently a hundred years dead, raised to life.' 
 
 *It seemed indeed strange beyond any describing at 
 first,' she said, 'but when we began to put ourselves in 
 your place, and realize how much stranger it must seem 
 to you, I fancy we forgot our own feelings a good deal, at 
 least I know I did. It seemed then not so much astound- 
 ing as interesting and touching beyond anything ever 
 heard of before.' 
 
 'But does it not come over you as astounding to sit at 
 talkie with me, seeing who I am?' 
 (^'You must remember that you do not seem so strange 
 to us as we must to you,' she answered. 'We belong to a 
 future of which you could not form an idea, a generation 
 of which you knew nothing until you saw us. But you 
 belong to a generation of which our forefathers were a 
 part. We know all about it; the names of many of its 
 members are household words with us^; We have made a 
 study of your ways of Hving and thinking; nothing you 
 say or do surprises us, while we say and do nothing which 
 does not seem strange to you. So you see, Mr. West, that 
 if you feel that you can, in time^ get accustomed to us, 
 you must not be surprised that from the first we have 
 scarcely found you strange at all.' 
 
 'I had not thought of it m that way,' I replied. 'There 
 is indeed much in what you say. One can look back a 
 
142 
 
 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 thousand years easier than forward fifty. A century is 
 not so very long a retrospect. I might have known your 
 great-grand-parents. Possibly I did. Did they live in 
 Boston? ' 
 
 'I beUeve so.' 
 
 'You are not sure, then?' 
 
 'Yes,' she replied. 'Now I think, they did.' 
 
 'I had a very large circle of acquaintances in the city,' 
 I said. 'It is not unlikely that I knew or knew of some of 
 them. Perhaps I may have known them well. Wouldn't 
 it be interesting if I should chance to be able to tell you 
 aU about your great-grandfather, for instance?' 
 
 'Very interesting.' 
 
 'Do you know your genealogy well enough to tell me 
 who your forbears were in the Boston of my day?' 
 
 'Oh, yes.' 
 
 'Perhaps, then, you will some time tell me what some 
 of their names were.' 
 
 She was engrossed in arranging a troublesome spray of 
 green, and did not reply at once. Steps upon the stairway 
 indicated that the other members of the family were de- 
 scending. 
 
 'Perhaps, some time,' she said. 
 
 After breakfast. Dr. Leete suggested taking me to in- 
 spect the central warehouse and observe actually in oper- 
 ation the machinery of distribution, which Edith had 
 described to me. As we walked away from the house I 
 said, 'It is now several days that I have been living in 
 your household on a most extraordinary footing, or rather 
 on none at all. I have not spoken of this aspect of my 
 position before because there were so many other aspects 
 yet more extraordinary. But now that I am beginning a 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 143 
 
 little to feel my feet under me, and to realize that, how- 
 ever I came here, I am here, and must make the best of 
 it, I must speak to you on this point.' 
 
 'As for your being a guest in my house,' replied Dr. 
 Leete, ' I pray you not to begin to be uneasy on that point, 
 for I mean to keep you a long time yet. With all your 
 modesty, you can but realize that such a guest as yourself 
 is an acquisition not willingly to be parted with.' 
 
 'Thanks, doctor,' I said. 'It would be absurd, cer- 
 tainly, for me to affect any oversensitiveness about ac- 
 cepting the temporary hospitaHty of one to whom I owe it 
 that I am not still awaiting the end of the world in a living 
 tomb. But if I am to be a permanent citizen of this cen- 
 tury I must have some standing in it. Now, in my time 
 a person more or less entering the world, however he got 
 in, would not be noticed in the unorganized throng of men, 
 and might make a place for himself anywhere he chose if 
 he were strong enough. But nowadays everybody is a part 
 of a system with a distinct place and function. I am out- 
 side the system, and don't see how I can get in; there 
 seems no way to get in, except to be bom in or to come in 
 as an emigrant from some other system.' 
 
 Dr. Leete laughed heartily. 
 
 'I admit,' he said, 'that our system is defective in lack- 
 ing provision for cases like yours, but you see nobody 
 anticipated additions to the world except by the usual 
 process. You need, however, have no fear that we shall 
 be unable to provide both a place and occupation for you 
 in due time. You have as yet been brought in contact 
 only with the members of my family, but you must not 
 suppose that I have kept your secret. On the contrary, 
 your case, even before your resuscitation, and vastly more 
 
144 LOOKING BACKWABD 
 
 since has excited the profoundest interest in the nation. 
 In view of your precarious nervous condition, it was 
 thought best that I should take exclusive charge of you at 
 first, and that you should, through me and my family, re- 
 ceive some general idea of the sort of world you had 
 come back to before you began to make the acquaintance 
 generally of its inhabitants. As to finding a function for 
 you in society, there was no hesitation as to what that 
 would be. Few of us have it in our power to confer so 
 great a service on the nation as you wiU be able to when 
 you leave my roof, which, however, you must not think 
 of doing for a good time yet.' 
 
 'What can I possibly do?' I asked. 'Perhaps you 
 imagine I have some trade^ or art, or special skill. I assure 
 you I have none whatever. I never earned a dollar in 
 my life, or did an hour's work. I am strong, and might be 
 a common laborer, but nothing more.' 
 
 ('If that were the most efficient service you were able to 
 render the nation, you would find that avocation con- 
 sidered quite as respectable as any other,' replied Dr. 
 Leete; 'but you can do something else betteri You are 
 easily the master of aU our historians on questions relating 
 to the social condition of the latter part of the nineteenth 
 centiuy, to us one of the most absorbingly interesting 
 periods of history: and whenever in due time you have 
 sufficiently familiarized yourself with our institutions, and 
 are willing to teach us something concerning those of 
 yovir day, you will find an historical lectureship in one of 
 our colleges awaiting you.' 
 
 'Very good! very good indeed,' I said, much relieved 
 by so practical a suggestion on a point which had begun 
 to trouble me. 'If your people are really so much inter- 
 
LOOKING BACKWABK 145 
 
 ested in the nineteenth century, there will indeed be an 
 occupation ready-made for me. I don't think there is any- 
 thing else that I could possibly earn my salt at, but I cer- 
 tainly may claim without conceit to have some special 
 qualifications for such a post as you describe.' 
 
-Ji^Ji 
 
 WT 1 7 Y^ 
 
 I 
 
 FOUND the processes at the warehouse quite as in- 
 teresting as Edith had described them, and became even 
 enthusiastic over the truly remarkable illustration which 
 is seen there of the prodigiously multiplied efficiency 
 which perfect organization can give to labor. It is like a 
 gigantic mill, into the hopper of which goods are being 
 constantly poured by the train-load and ship-load, to is- 
 sue at the other end in packages of pounds and ounces, 
 yards and inches, pints and gallons, corresponding to the 
 infinitely complex personal needs of half a million people. 
 Dr. Leete, with the assistance of data furnished by me as 
 to the way goods were sold in my day, figured out some 
 astounding results in the way of the economies effected by 
 the modern system. 
 
 As we set out homeward, I said: 'After what I have 
 seen to-day, together with what you have told me, and 
 what I learned under Miss Leete's tutelage at the sample 
 store, I have a tolerably clear idea of your system of dis- 
 tribution, and how it enables you to dispense with a circu- 
 lating medium. But I should like very much to know 
 something more about your system of production. You 
 have told me in general how your industrial army is levied 
 and organized, but who directs its efforts? What supreme 
 authority determines what shall be done in every depart- 
 ment, so that enough of everything is produced and yet 
 no labor wasted? It seems to me that this must be a won- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 147 
 
 derf ully complex and difficult function, requiring very un- 
 usual endowments.' 
 
 'Does it indeed seem so to you?' responded Dr. Leete. 
 'I assure you that it is nothing of the kind, but on the 
 other hand so simple, and depending on principles so ob- 
 vious and easily applied, that the functionaries at Wash- 
 ington to whom it is trusted require to be nothing more 
 than men of fair abilities to discharge it to the entire sat- 
 isfaction of the nation. The machine which they direct 
 is indeed a vast one, but so logical in its principles and 
 direct and simple in its workings, that it all but runs it- 
 self; and nobody but a fool could derange it, as I think 
 you will agree after a few words of explanation. Since 
 you already have a pretty good idea of the working of the 
 distributive system, let us begin at that end. Even in 
 your day statisticians were able to tell you the number of 
 yards of cotton, velvet, woolen, the nUmber of barrels of 
 flour, potatoes, butter, number of pairs of shoes, hats, 
 and umbrellas annually consimied by the nation. Owing 
 to the fact that production was in private hands, and that 
 there was no way of getting statistics of actual distribu- 
 tion, these figures were not exact, but they were nearly 
 so. Now that every pin which is given out from a national 
 warehouse is recorded, of course the figures of consump- 
 tion for any week, month, or year, in the possession of the 
 department of distribution at the end of that period, are 
 precise. On these figures, allowing for tendencies to in- 
 crease or decrease and for any special causes likely to 
 affect demand, the estimates, say for a year ahead, are 
 based. These estimates, with a proper margin for security, 
 having been accepted by the general administration, the 
 responsibihty of the distributive department ceases until 
 
148 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 the goods are delivered to it. I speak of the estimates be- 
 ing furnished for an entire year ahead, but in reality they 
 cover that much time only in case of the great staples for 
 which the demand can be calculated on as steady. In the 
 great majority of smaller industries for the product of 
 which popular taste fluctuates, and novelty is frequently 
 required, production is kept barely ahead of consump- 
 tion, the distributive department furnishing frequent esti- 
 mates based on the weekly state of demand. 
 
 'Now the entire field of productive and constructive in- 
 dustry is divided into ten great departments, each repre- 
 senting a group of allied industries, each particular indus- 
 try being in turn represented by a subordinate bureau, 
 which has a complete record of the plant and force under 
 its control, of the present product, and means of increasing 
 it. The estimates of the distributive department, after 
 adoption by the administration, are sent as mandates to 
 the ten great departments, which allot them to the sub- 
 ordinate bureaus representing the particular industries, 
 and these set the men at work. Each bureau is responsible 
 for the task given it, and this responsibility is enforced by 
 departmental oversight and that of the administration; 
 nor does the distributive department accept the product 
 without its own inspection; while even if in the hands of 
 the consumer an article turns out unfit, the system en- 
 ables the fault to be traced back to the original workman. 
 The production of the commodities for actual public con- 
 sumption does not, of course, require by any means all the 
 national force of workers. After the necessary contingents 
 have been detailed for the various industries, the amount 
 of labor left for other employment is expended in creating 
 fixed capital, such as buildings, machinery, engineering 
 works, and so forth.' 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 149 
 
 'One point occurs to me,' I said, 'on which I should 
 think there might be dissatisfaction. [Where there is no 
 opportunity for private enterprise, how is there any assur- 
 ance that the claims of small minorities of the people to 
 have articles produced, for which there is no wide de- 
 mand, wiU be respected?_^n ofl&cial decree at any mo- 
 ment may deprive them of the means of gratifying some 
 special taste, merely because the majority does not share 
 it.' 13 
 
 'That would be t)Tranny indeed,' replied Dr. Leete, 'and 
 you may be very sure that it does not happen with us, to 
 
 V whom liberty is as dear as equality or fraternity. As you 
 come to know our system better, you wiU see that our 
 officials are in fact, and not merely in name, the agents 
 and servants of the people. Q!h.e administration has no 
 power to stop the production of any commodity for which 
 
 I there continues to be a demandj suppose the demand 
 for any article declines to such a point that its production 
 becomes very costly. The price has to be raised in pro- 
 portion, of course, but as long as the consumer cares to 
 pay it, the production goes on. Again, suppose an article 
 not before produced is demanded. If the administration 
 doubts the reality of the demand, a popular petition 
 guaranteeing a certain basis of consumption compels it to 
 produce the desired article J A government, or a maj ority, 
 which should undertake to teU the people, or a minority, 
 what they were to eat, drink, or wear, as I believe govern- 
 ments in America did in your day, would be regarded as a 
 curious anachronism indeed. Possibly you had reasons 
 for tolerating these infringements of personal independ- 
 ence, but we should not think them endurable. I am glad 
 you raised this point, for it has given me a chance to show 
 
150 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 you how much more direct and eflScient is the control 
 over production exercised by the individual citizen now 
 than it was in your day, when what you called private ini- 
 tiative prevailed, though it should have been called cap- 
 italist initiative, for the average private citizen had little 
 enough share in it.' 
 
 'You speak of raising the price of costly articles,' I said. 
 iHow can prices be regulated in a country where there is 
 no competition between buyers or sellers?! , 
 
 f Just as they were with you,' replied Dr. Leete. 'You 
 think that needs explaining,' he added, as I looked in- 
 credulous, 'but the explanation need not be long; ^hecost 
 o ^the labor which produced it was recognized as t he 
 l egitimate basis of the price of an article in your day, and 
 so it is in oursl jTln your day, it was the difference in wages 
 that made the difference in the cost of labor; now it is the 
 relative number of hours constituting a day's work in 
 different trades, the maintenance of the worker being 
 equal in all cases. The cost of a man's work in a trade so 
 difl&cult that in order to attract volunteers the hours have 
 to be fixed at four a day is twice as great as that in a trade 
 where the men work eight hours.] iThe result as to the cost 
 of labor, you see, is just the same as if the man working 
 four hours were paid, under your system, twice the wages 
 the others gets.JThis calculation applied to the labor em- 
 ployed in the various processes of a manufactured article 
 gives its price relatively to other articles. Besides the cost 
 of production and transportation, the factor of scarcity 
 ""affects the prices of some commodities. As regards the 
 great staples of life, of which an abundance can always be 
 secured, scarcity is eliminated as a factor. There is always 
 a large surplus kept on hand from which any fluctuations 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 151 
 
 of demand or supply can be corrected, even in most cases 
 of bad crops. The prices of the staples grow less year by 
 year, but rarely, if ever, rise. There are, however, certain 
 classes of articles permanently, and others temporarily, 
 unequal to the demand, as, for example, fresh fish or dairy 
 products in the latter category, and the products of high 
 skill and rare materials in the other. AH that can be done 
 here is to equalize the inconvenience of the scarcity. This 
 is done by temporarily raising the price if the scarcity be 
 temporary, or fixing it high if it be permanent. High 
 prices in your day meant restriction of the articles affected 
 to the rich, but nowadays, when the means of all are the 
 same, the effect is only that those to whom the articles 
 seem most desirable are the ones who purchase them. Of 
 course the nation, as any other caterer for the public needs 
 must be, is frequently left with small lots of goods on its 
 hands by changes in taste, unseasonable weather and 
 various other causes. These it has to dispose of at a sacri- 
 fice just as merchants often did in your day, chargmg up 
 the loss to the expenses of the business. Owing, however, 
 to the vast body of consumers to which such lots can be 
 simultaneously offered, there is rarely any difficulty in 
 getting rid of them at trifling loss. I have given you now 
 some general notion of our system of production, as well as 
 distribution. Do you find it as complex as you expected?' 
 ^^admitted that nothing could be much simpler. 
 
 'I am sure,' said Dr. Leete* 'that it is within the truth 
 to say that the head of one of the myriad private busi- 
 nesses of your day, who had to maintain sleepless vigUance 
 against the fluctuations of the market, the machinations 
 of his rivals, and the failure of his debtors, had a far more 
 trying task than the group of men at Washington who 
 
152 LOOKING BACKWABD 
 
 nowadays direct the industries of the entire nation. All 
 this merely shows, my dear fellow, how much easier it is 
 to do things the right way than the wrong. It is easier for 
 a general up in a balloon, with perfect survey of the field, 
 to manoeuvre a million men to victory than for a sergeant 
 to manage a platoon in a thicket.' 
 
 'The general of this army, including the flower of the 
 manhood of the nation, must be the foremost man in the 
 coimtry, really greater even than the President of the 
 United States,' I said. 
 
 gHe is the President of the United States,' replied Dr. 
 ;te, 'or rather the most important fimction of the presi- 
 icy is the headship of the industrial army.' 
 How is he chosen? ' I asked. 
 
 'I explained to you before,' replied Dr. Leete, 'when I 
 was describing the force of the motive of emulation among 
 all grades of the industrial army, that the line of promo- 
 tion for the meritorious lies through three grades to the 
 officer's grade, and thence up through the lieutenancies to 
 the captaincy or foremanship, and superintendency or 
 colonel's rank. Next, with an intervening grade in some 
 of the larger trades, come the general of the guild, under 
 whose inunediate control all the operations of the trade 
 are conducted. This officer is at the head of the national 
 bureau representing his trade, and is responsible for its 
 work to the administration. The general of his guild holds 
 a splendid position, and one which amply satisfies the 
 ambition of most men, but above his rank, which may be 
 compared — to follow the military analogies f amiUar to 
 you — to that of a general of division or major-general, is 
 that of the chiefs of the ten great departments, or groups 
 of allied trades. The chiefs of these ten grand divisions of 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 1 53 
 
 the industrial army may be compared to your conamand- 
 ers of army corps, or lieutenant-generals, each having 
 from a dozen to a score of generals of separate guilds re- 
 porting to him. Above these ten great officers, who form 
 his council, is the general-in-chief , who is the President of 
 the United States. 
 
 'The general-in-chief of the industrial army must have 
 passed through all the grades below him, from the com- 
 mon laborers up. Let us see how he rises. As I have told 
 you, it is simply by the excellence of his record as a worker 
 that one rises through the grades of the privates and be- 
 comes a candidate for a lieutenancy. Through the lieuten- 
 ancies he rises to the colonelcy, or superintendent's posi- 
 tion, by appointment from above, strictly limited to the 
 
 - candidates of the best records. The general of the guild 
 appoints to the ranks under him, but he himself is not ap- 
 pointed, but chosen by suffrage.' 
 
 'By suffrage!' I exclaimed. 'Is not that miaous to the 
 discipline of the guild, by tempting the candidates to in- 
 trigue for the support of the workers imder them?' 
 
 ■-" 'So it would be, no doubt,' replied Dr. Leete, 'if the 
 workers had any suffrage to exercise, or anything to say 
 about the choice. But they have nothing. Just here comes 
 
 1 in a peculiarity of our system. The general of the guild is 
 
 : chosen from among the superintendents by vote of the 
 honorary members of the guild, that is, of those who have 
 served their time in the guild and received their discharge. 
 As you know, at the age of forty-five we are mustered out 
 of the army of industry, and have the residue of life for the 
 pursuit of our own improvement or recreation. Of course, 
 however, the associations of our active lifetime retain a 
 powerful hold on us. The companionships we formed then 
 
1^4 LOOKING BACKWABD 
 
 remain our companionships till the end of life. We always 
 continue honorary members of our former guUds, and re- 
 tain the keenest and most jealous interest in their welfare 
 and repute in the hands of the following generation. In 
 the clubs maintained by the honorary members of the 
 several guilds, in which we meet socially, there are no 
 topics of conversation so common as those which relate 
 to these matters, and the young aspirants for guild leader- 
 ship who can pass the criticism of us old fellows are likely 
 to be pretty well equipped. Recognizing this fact, the 
 nation entrusts to the honorary members of each guild 
 the election of its general, and I venture to claim that no 
 previous form of society could have developed a body of 
 electors so ideally adapted to their office, as regards abso- 
 lute impartiality, knowledge of the special qualifications 
 and record of candidates, solicitude for the best result, and 
 complete absence of seK-uiterest. - 
 
 ' Each of the ten lieutenant-generals or heads of depart- 
 ments is himself elected from among the generals of the 
 guilds grouped as a department, by vote of the honorary 
 members of the guilds thus grouped. Of course there is a 
 tendency on the part of each guild to vote for its own gen- 
 eral, but no guild of any group has nearly enough votes to 
 elect a man not supported by most of the others. I assure 
 you that these elections are exceedingly lively.* < 
 
 'The President, I suppose, is selected from among the 
 ten heads of the great departments,' I suggested. 
 
 'Precisely, but the heads of departments are not eligible 
 to the presidency till they have been a certain number of 
 years out of office. It is rarely that a man passes through 
 all the grades to the headship of a department much be- 
 fore he is forty, and at the end of a five years' term he is 
 
LOOKING BACKWAKD 155 
 
 usually forty-five. If more, he still serves through his 
 term, and if less, he is nevertheless discharged from the 
 industrial army at its termination. It would not do for 
 him to return to the ranks. The interval before he is a 
 candidate for the presidency is intended to give time for 
 him to recognize fully that he has returned into the gen- 
 eral mass of the nation, and is identified with it rather 
 than with the industrial army. Moreover, it is expected 
 that he wiU employ this period in studying the general 
 condition of the army, instead of that of the special group 
 of guilds of which he was the head. From among the 
 former heads of departments who may be eligible at the 
 time, the President is elected by vote of aU the men of the 
 nation who are not connected with the industrial army.' 
 -'• 'The army is not allowed to vote for President?' 
 ' Certainly not. That would be perilous to its discipline, 
 which it is the business of the President to maintain as 
 the representative of the nation at large. His right hand 
 for this purpose is the inspectorate, a highly important de- 
 partment of our system; to the inspectorate come all com- 
 plaints or information as to defects in goods, insolence or 
 inefl&ciency of ofl&cials, or dereliction of any sort in the 
 public service. The inspectorate, however, does not wait 
 for complaints. Not only is it on the alert to catch and sift 
 every rumor of a fault in the service, but it is its business, 
 by systematic and constant oversight and inspection of' 
 every branch of the army, to find out what is going wrong 
 before anybody else does. The President is usually not 
 far from fifty when elected, and serves five years, forming 
 an honorable exception to the rule of retirement at forty- 
 five. At the end of his term of ofl&ce, a national Congress 
 is called to receive his report and approve or condemn it. 
 
156 LOOKING BACKWAM) 
 
 If it is approved, Congress usually elects him to represent 
 the nation for five years more in the international coimcil. 
 Congress, I should also say, passes on the reports of the 
 outgoing heads of departments, and a disapproval renders 
 any one of them ineligible for President. But it is rare, in- 
 deed, that the nation has occasion for other sentiments 
 than those of gratitude toward its high ofl&cers. As to 
 their ability, to have risen from the ranks, by tests so 
 various and severe, to their positions, is proof in itself of 
 extraordinary qualities, while as to faithfulness, our social 
 system leaves them absolutely without any other motive 
 than that of winning the esteem of their fellow citizens. 
 [Corruption is impossible in a society where there is 
 neither poverty to be bribed nor wealth to bribe, while as 
 to demagoguery or intrigue for ofl&ce, the conditions of 
 promotion render them out of the question.'! 
 "f 'One point I do not quite understand,' I said. 'Are the 
 members of the liberal professions eUgible to the presi- 
 dency? and if so, how are they ranked with those who pur- 
 sue the industries proper?' 
 
 'They have no ranking with them,' replied Dr. Leete. 
 'The members of the technical professions, such as engi- 
 neers and architects, have a ranking with the constructive . 
 guilds; but the members of the liberal professions, the 
 doctors and teachers, as well as the artists and men of 
 letters who obtain remissions of industrial service, do not 
 belong to the industrial army. On this ground they vote 
 for the President, but are not eligible to his ofl&ce. One of 
 its main duties being the control and discipline of the in- 
 dustrial army, it is essential that the President should 
 have passed through all its grades to understand his busi-, 
 ness.'j 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 157 
 
 L^That is reasonable,' I said; 'but if the doctors and 
 teachers do not know enough of industry to be President, 
 neither, I should think, can the President know enough of 
 medicine and education to control those departments.' 
 
 'No more does he,' was the reply. 'Except in the gen- 
 eral way that he is responsible for the enforcement of the 
 laws as to all classes, the President has nothing to do with 
 the faculties of medicme and education, which are con- 
 trolled by boards of regents of their own, in which the 
 President is ex-ofl&cio chairman, and has the casting vote. 
 These regents, who, of course, are responsible to Congress, 
 are chosen by the honorary members of the guilds of edu- 
 cation and medicine, the retired teachers and doctors of ' 
 the country.' 
 
 pDo you know,' I said, 'the method of electing officials 
 by votes of the retired members of the guilds is nothing 
 more than the application on a national scale of the plan 
 of government by alumni, which we used to a slight extent 
 occasionally in the management of our higher educational 
 institutions.^ 
 
 'Did you, indeed?' exclaimed Dr. Leete, with anima- 
 tion. ' That is quite new to me, and I fancy will be to most 
 of us, and of much interest as well. There has been great 
 discussion as to the germ of the idea, and we fancied that 
 there was for once something new under the sim. Well! 
 well! In your higher educational institutions! that is m- 
 teresting indeed. You must tell me more of that.' 
 
 'Truly, there is very little more to teU than I have told 
 already,' I replied. 'If we had the germ of your idea, it 
 was but as a germ.' 
 
* • * • ■ 
 
 T. 
 
 HAT evening I sat up for some time after the 
 ladies had retired, talking with Dr. Leete about the effect 
 of the plan of exempting men from further service to the 
 nation after the age of forty-five, a point brought up by 
 his account of the part taken by the retired citizens in the 
 government. 
 
 'At forty-five,' said I, 'a man still has ten years of 
 good manual labor in him, and twice ten years of good 
 intellectual service. To be superannuated at that age 
 and laid on the shelf must be regarded rather as a hard- 
 ship than a favor by men of energetic dispositbns.' 
 
 'My dear Mr. West,' exclaimed Dr. Leete, beaming 
 upon me, 'you cannot have any idea of the piquancy 
 your nineteenth century ideas have for us of this day, 
 the rare quaintness of their effect. Know, chUd of an- 
 other race and yet the same, that the labor we have to 
 render as our part in seciuring for the nation the means 
 of a comfortable physical existence is by no means re- 
 garded as the most important, the most interesting, or 
 the most dignified employment of our powers. IWe look 
 upon it as a necessary duty to be discharged before we 
 can fully devote ourselves to the higher exercise of our 
 faculties, the intellectual and spiritual enjoyments and 
 pursuits which alone mean life.) Everything possible is 
 indeed done by the just distribution of burdens, and by 
 
LOOKING BACKWAM) 1 59 
 
 all manner of special attractions and incentives to relieve 
 our labor of irksomeness, and, except in a comparative 
 sense, it is not usually irksome, and is often inspiring. 
 But it is not our labor, but the higher and larger activities 
 which the performance of our task wUl leave us free to 
 enter upon, that are considered the main business of 
 existence. 
 
 I^Of course not all, nor the majority, have those scien- 
 tific, artistic, literary, or scholarly interests which make 
 leisure the one thing valuable to their possessors. Many 
 look upon the last half of life chiefly as a period for en- 
 joyment of other sorts; for travel, for social relaxation in 
 the company of their life- time friends; a time for the cul- 
 tivation of all manner of personal idiosyncrasies and spe- 
 cial tastes, and the pursuit of every imaginable form of 
 recreation; in a word, a time for the leisurely and un- 
 perturbed appreciation of the good things of the world 
 which they have helped to create. But whatever the dif- 
 ferences between our individual tastes as to the use we 
 shall put our leisure to, we all agree in looking forward to 
 the date of our discharge as the time when we shall first 
 enter upon the full enjoyment of our birthright, the 
 period when we shall first really attain our majority and 
 become enfranchised from discipline and control, with the 
 fee of our lives vested in ourselves. As eager boys in your 
 day anticipated twenty-one, so men nowadays look for- 
 ward to forty-five. At twenty-one we become men, but 
 at forty-five we renew youth. [Middle age and what you - 
 would have called old age are considered, rather than 
 youth, the enviable time of liferj Thanks to the better 
 conditions of existence nowadays, aiid_above all the free- 
 dom of every one from care, old age approaches many„ 
 
l6o LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 years later and has an aspect far more benign than in 
 paiTtim^r Persons of average'constitution usiSl^^ve 
 to eighty-five or ninety, and at forty-five we are physi- 
 cally and mentally younger, I fancy, than you were at 
 thirty-five. It is a strange reflection that at forty-five, 
 when we are just entering upon the most enjoyable period 
 of Ufe, you already began to think of growing old and to 
 look backward. With you it was the forenoon, with us 
 it is the afternoon, which is the brighter half of life.' 
 
 After this I remember that our talk branched into the 
 subject of popular sports and recreations at the present 
 time as compared with those of the nineteenth century, 
 
 'In one respect,' said Dr. Leete, 'there is a marked dif- 
 ference. The professional sportsmen, which were such 
 a curious feature of your day, we have nothuig answering 
 to, nor are the prizes for which our athletes contend 
 money prizes, as with you.jjOur contests are always for 
 glory only7 The generous rivalry existing between the 
 various guStds, and the loyalty of each worker to his own, 
 afford a constant stimulation to all sorts of games and 
 matches by sea and land, in which the young men take 
 scarcely more interest than the honorary guildsmen who 
 have served their time. The guild yacht races off Marble- 
 head take place next week, and you will be able to judge 
 for yourself of the popular enthusiasm which such events 
 nowadays call out as compared with your day. The de- 
 mand for "panem et circenses" preferred by the Roman 
 populace is recognized nowadays as a wholly reasonable 
 one. If bread is the first necessity of life, recreation is a 
 close second, and the nation caters for both. Americans 
 of the nineteenth century were as unfortunate in lacking 
 an adequate provision for the one sort of need as for the 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD l6l 
 
 other. Even if the people of that period had enjoyed 
 larger leisure, they would, I fancy, have often been at a 
 loss how to pass it agreeably. We are never in that pre- 
 dicament.' 
 
• • * • • 
 
 L 
 
 Ln the course of an early morning constitutional I 
 visited Charlestown. Among the changes, too numerous 
 to attempt to indicate, which mark the lapse of a century 
 in that quarter, I particularly noted the total disappear- 
 ance of the old state prison. 
 
 'That went before my day, but I remember hearing 
 about it,' said Dr. Leete, when I alluded to the fact at the 
 - breakfast table. j^We have no jails nowadays. AU cases 
 of atavism are treated in the hospitals.'j 
 
 'Of ataxism!' I exclaimed, staring. 
 
 'Why, yes,' replied Dr. Leete. 'The idea of dealing 
 punitively with those unfortunates was given up at least 
 fifty years ago, and I think more.' 
 \'l don't quite understand you,' I said. 'Atavism in my 
 day was a word applied to the cases of persons in whom 
 some trait of a remote ancestor recurred in a noticeable 
 manner. Am I to understand that crime is nowadays 
 I goked upon as the recurrence of an ancestraJt rait? ' 
 
 'I beg your pardon,' said Dr. Leete with a smile half 
 humorous, half deprecating, 'but since you have so ex- 
 plicitly asked the question, I am forced to say that the 
 fact IS precisely that.' j 
 
 After what I had already learned of the moral contrasts 
 between the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries, it 
 was doubtless absurd in me to begin to develop sensitive- 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 163 
 
 ness on the subject, and probably if Dr. Leete had not 
 spoken with that apologetic air and Mrs. Leete and Edith 
 shown a corresponding embarrassment, I should not have 
 flushed, as I was conscious I did. 
 
 'I was not in much danger of being vain of my genera- 
 tion before,' I said; 'but, reaUy ' 
 
 'This is your generation, Mr. West,' interposed Edith. 
 'It is the one in which you are living, you know, and it is 
 only because we are alive now that we call it ours.' 
 
 'Thank you. I wiU try to think of it so,' I said, and as 
 my eyes met hers their expression quite cured my sense- 
 less sensitiveness. 'After aU,' I said, with a laugh, 'I 
 was brought up a Calvinist, and ought not to be startled 
 to hear crime spoken of as an ancestral trait.' 
 
 ' In point of fact,' said Dr. Leete, ' our use of the word is 
 no reflection at aU on your generation, if, begging Edith's 
 pardon, we may call it yours, so far as seeming to imply 
 that we think ourselves, apart from our circumstances, 
 better than you were. [In your day fully nineteen twenti- 
 eths of the crime, using the word broadly to include aU 
 sorts of misdemeanors, resulted from the inequality in 
 the possessions of individuals; want tempted the poor, 
 lust of greater gains, or the desire to preserve former gains, 
 tempted the weU-io-do. Directly or indirectly, the desire 
 for money, which then meant every good thing, was the 
 motive of all this crime, the taproot of a vast poison 
 growth, which the machinery of law, courts, and police 
 could barely prevent from choking your civilization out- 
 rightTi When we made the nation the sole trustee of the 
 wealth of the people, and guaranteed to aU abundant 
 maintenance, on the one hand abolishing want, and on 
 the other checking the accumulation of riches, we cut this 
 
164 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 root, and the poison tree that overshadowed your society 
 withered, like Jonah's gourd, in a day. R.s for the com- 
 paratively small class of violent crimes against persons, 
 vmconnected with any idea of gain, they were almost 
 wholly confined, even in your day, to the ignorant and 
 bestial; and in these days, when education and good man- 
 ners are not the monopoly of a few, but universal, such 
 atrocities are scarcely ever heard of. You now see why 
 the word 'atavism' is used for crimefj^t is because nearly 
 all forms of crime known to you are motiveless now, and 
 when they appear can only be explained as the outcrop- 
 ping of ancestral traits. You used to call persons who 
 stole, evidently without any rational motive, kleptoma- 
 niacs, and when the case was clear deemed it absurd to 
 punish them as thieves. Your attitude toward the genu- 
 ine kleptomaniac is precisely ours toward the victim of 
 atavism, an attitude of compassion and firm but gentle 
 restraint. 'J 
 
 'Your courts must have an easy time of it,' I observed. 
 'With no private property to speak of, no disputes be- 
 tween citizens over business relations, no real estate to 
 divide or debts to collect, there must be absolutely no 
 civil business at aU for them; and with no o£fenses against 
 property, and mighty few of any sort to provide criminal 
 cases, I should think you might almost do without judges 
 and lawyers altogether.' 
 
 I^e do without the lawyers, certainly,' was Dr. Leete's 
 reply. ' It would not seem reasonable to us, in a case where 
 the only interest of the nation is to find out the truth, that 
 persons should take part in the proceedings who had an 
 acknowledged motive to color it.' 
 
 'But who defends the accused? 'J 
 
LOOKING BACKWAIU) 161; 
 
 » . / ^ 
 
 IJ If he is a criminal he needs no defense, for he pleads 
 guilty in most instances,' replied Dr. Leete. 'The plea of 
 the accused is not a mere formality with us, as with you. 
 It is usually the end of the case. 'J 
 
 tYou don't mean that the man who pleads not guilty is 
 thereupon discharged?' 
 
 'No, I do not inean that. He is not accused on Hght 
 grounds, and if he denies his guilt, must still be tried. 
 But trials are few, for in most cases the guilty man pleads 
 guilty. When he makes a false^lea and is clearly proved 
 guilty, his penalty is doubled.{Falsehood is, however, so 
 despised among us that few offenders would lie to save 
 themselves.ij 
 
 'That is the most astounding thing you have yet told 
 me,' I exclaimed. 'If lying has gone out of fashion, this is 
 indeed the "new heavens and the new earth wherein 
 dweUeth righteousness," which the prophet foretold.' 
 
 'Such is, in fact, the belief of some persons nowadays,' 
 was the doctor's answer. ' They hold that we have entered 
 upon the millennium, and the theory from their point of 
 view does not lack plausibility. But as to your astonish- 
 ment at finding that the world has outgroTsrn lying, there 
 is reaUy no ground for it. Falsehood, even in your day, 
 was not coimnon between gentlemen and ladies, social 
 equals. jThe lie of fear was the refuge of cowardice, and 
 the he of fraud the device of the cheat. The inequalities 
 of men and the lust of acquisition offered a constant pre- 
 mium on lying at that time.jYet even then, the man who 
 neither feared another nor desired to defraud him scorned 
 falsehood. Because we are now all social equals, and no 
 man either has anything to fear from another or can gain 
 anything by deceiving him, the contempt of falsehood is 
 
l66 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 SO universal that it is rarely, as I told you, that even a 
 criminal in other respects wiU be found willing to lie. 
 When, however, a plea of not guilty is returned, the judge 
 appoints two colleagues to state the opposite sides of the 
 case. How far these men are from being like your hired 
 advocates and prosecutors, determined to acquit or con- 
 vict, may appear from the fact that unless both agree that 
 the verdict found is just, the case is tried over, while any- 
 thing like bias in the tone of either of the judges stating 
 the case would be a shocking scandal.' 
 
 'Do I understand,' I said, 'that it is a judge who states 
 each side of the case as well as a judge who hears it?' 
 
 'Certainly. The judges take turns in serving on the 
 bench and at the bar, and are expected to maintain the 
 judicial temper equally whether in stating or deciding a 
 case. The system is indeed in effect that of trial by three 
 judges occupying different points of view as to the case. 
 When they agree upon a verdict, we beheve it to be as 
 near to absolute truth as men well can come.' 
 
 'You have given up the jury system, then?' 
 
 'It was well enough as a corrective in the days of hired 
 advocates, and a bench sometimes venal, and often with 
 a tenure that made it dependent, but is needless now. No 
 conceivable motive but justice could actuate our judges.' 
 
 pHow are these magistrates selected? ' ^^ 
 
 frhey are an honorable exception to the rule which dis- 
 charges all men from service at the age of forty-five. The 
 President of the nation appoints the necessary judges year 
 by year from the class reaching that age. The number ap- 
 pointed is, of course, exceedingly few, and the honor so 
 high that it is held an offset to the additional term of 
 service which follows, and though a judge's appointment 
 
LOOKING BACKWABD 1S7 
 
 may be declined, it rarely is. The term is five years, 
 without eligibility to reappointment. The members of 
 the Supreme Court, which is the guardian of the constitu- 
 tion, are selected from among the lower judges. When a 
 vacancy in that court occurs, those of the lower judges, 
 whose terms expire that year, select, as their last official 
 act, the one of their colleagues left on the bench whom 
 they deem fittest to fill it.' 
 
 'There being no legal profession to serve as a school for 
 judges,' I said, 'they must, of course, come directly from 
 the law school to the bench.' 
 
 l^We have no such things as law schools,' replied the 
 doctor smiling. 'The law as a special science is obsolete. 
 It was a system of casuistry which the elaborate artificial- 
 ity of the old order of society absolutely required to inter- 
 pret it, but only a few of the plainest and simplest legal 
 maxims have any application to the existing state of the 
 world. Everything touching the relations of men to one 
 another is now simpler, beyond any comparison, than in 
 your day. We should have no sort of use for the hair- 
 spKtting experts who presided and argued in your courtsj 
 You must not imagine, however, that we have any disre- 
 pect for those ancient worthies because we have no use 
 for them. On the contrary, we entertain an imfeigned re- 
 spect, amounting almost to awe, for the men who alone 
 imderstood and were able to expound the interminable 
 complexity of the rights of property, and the relations of 
 commercial and personal dependence involved in your 
 system. What, indeed, could possibly give a more power- 
 ful impression of the intricacy and artificiality of that sys- ' 
 tern than the fact that it was necessary to set apart from 
 other piu-suits the cream of the intellect of every genera- 
 
l68 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 tion, in order to provide a body of pundits able to make 
 it even vaguely intelligible to those whose fates it deter- 
 mined. The treatises of your great lawyers, the works of 
 Blackstone and Chitty, of Story and Parsons, stand in our 
 museums, side by side with the tomes of Duns Scotus and 
 his feUow scholastics, as curious monimients of intellec- 
 tual subtlety devoted to subjects equally remote from the 
 interests of modern men. Our judges are simply widely 
 informed, judicious, and discreet men of ripe years. 
 
 'I should not fail to speak of one important function of 
 the minor judges,' added Dr. Leete. 'This is to adjudicate 
 all cases where a private of the industrial army makes a 
 complaint of unfairness against an ofl&cer. All such 
 questions are heard and settled without appeal by a single 
 judge, three judges being required only in graver cases. 
 The efficiency of industry requires the strictest discipline 
 in the army of labor, but the claim of the workman to just 
 and considerate treatment is backed by the whole power 
 of the nation. The officer commands and the private 
 obeys, but no officer is so high that he would dare display 
 an overbearing manner toward a workman of the lowest 
 class. As for churlishness or rudeness by an official of any 
 sort, in his relations to the public, not one among minor 
 offenses is more sure of a prompt penalty than this. Not 
 only justice but civility is enforced by our judges in aU 
 sorts of intercourse. No value of service is accepted as a 
 set-off to boorish or offensive manners.' 
 
 It occurred to me, as Dr. Leete was speaking, that in all 
 
 his talk I had heard much of the nation and nothing of the 
 
 state governments, gad the organization of the nation as 
 
 an industrial unit done away with the states2|[ asked. 
 
 {^Necessarily,' he replied, 'The state goverimients would 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 1 69 
 
 have interfered with the control and discipline of the in- 
 dustrial army, which, of course, required to be central and 
 uniform. Even if the state governments had not become 
 inconvenient for other reasons, they were rendered super- 
 fluous by the prodigious simplification in the task of gov- 
 ernment since your day. Almost the sole function of the 
 administration now is that of directing the industries of 
 the country. Most of the purposes for which goverrunents 
 formerly existed no longer remain to be subserved. We 
 have no army or navy, and no military organization. We 
 have no departments of state or treasury, no excise or 
 revenue services, no taxes or tax collectors. The only 
 function proper of government, as known to you, which 
 still remains, is the judiciary and police system. I have 
 already explained to you how simple is our judicial system 
 as compared with your huge and complex machine. Of 
 course the same absence of crime and temptation to it, 
 which make the duties of judges so light, reduces the 
 number and duties of the police to a minimum. 'J 
 
 C'But with no state legislatures, and Congress meeting 
 only once in five years, how do you get your legislation 
 done? ' 
 
 U^e have no legislation,' replied Dr. Leete, 'that is, 
 next to none. It is rarely that Congress, even when it 
 meets, considers any new laws of consequence, and then 
 it only has power to commend them to the following Con- 
 gress, lest anything be done hastily. If you will consider 
 a moment, Mr. West, you will see that we have nothing to 
 make laws about^ Th e fundamental principles on which 
 our society is founded settle fo r all tim e t he strifes and 
 misunderstandings- which in your day caJleAifflJLegisJa- 
 
 i 
 
lyo LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 ■-- 'Fully ninety-nine hundredths of the laws of that time 
 concerned the definition and protection of private pro- 
 perty and the relations of buyers and sellers. There is 
 neither private property, beyond personal belongings, 
 now, nor buying and selling, and therefore the occasion 
 of nearly all the legislation formerly necessary has passed 
 away. Formerly, society was a pyramid poised on its 
 apex. All the gravitations of human nature were con- 
 stantly tending to topple it over, and it could be main- 
 tained upright, or rather upwrong (if you will pardon the 
 feeble witticism), by an elaborate system of constantly 
 renewed props and buttresses and guy-ropes in the form 
 of laws. A central Congress and forty state legislatures, 
 turning out some twenty thousand laws a year, could not 
 make new props fast enough to take the place of those 
 which were constantly breaking down or becoming inef- 
 fectual through some shifting of the strain. Now society 
 rests on its base, and is in as little need of artificial sup- 
 ports as the everlasting hills.' 
 
 CBut you have at least municipal goverimients besides 
 the one central authority? ' 
 
 'Certainly, and they have important and extensive 
 functions Ln looking out for the pubhc comfort and re- 
 creation, and the improvement and embellishment of the 
 villages and cities.' < 
 
 'But having no control over the labor of their people, or 
 means of hiring it, how can they do anything? ' 
 
 'Every town or city is conceded the right to retain, for 
 its own public works, a certain proportion of the quota of 
 labor its citizens contribute to the nation. This propor- 
 tion, being assigned it as so much credit, can be applied in 
 any way desired.' 
 
• * * • s 
 
 T. 
 
 HAT afternoon Edith casually inquired if I had 
 yet revisited the underground chamber in the garden in 
 which I had been found. 
 
 'Not yet,' I rephed. 'To be frank, I have shrunk thus 
 far from doing so, lest the visit might revive old associa- 
 tions rather too strongly for my mental equiUbrium.' 
 
 'Ah, yes!' she said, 'I can imagine that you have done 
 well to stay away. I ought to have thought of that.' 
 
 'No,' I said, 'I am glad you spoke of it. The danger, if 
 there was any, existed only during the first day or two. 
 Thanks to you, chiefly and always, I feel my footing now 
 so firm in this new world, that if you will go with me to 
 keep the ghosts off, I should really like to visit the place 
 this afternoon.' 
 
 Edith demurred at first, but, finding that I was in ear- 
 nest, consented to accompany me. The rampart of earth 
 thrown up from the excavation was visible among the 
 trees from the house, and a few steps brought us to the 
 spbt. All remained as it was at the point when work was 
 interrupted by the discovery of the tenant of the chamber, 
 save that the door had been opened and the slab from the 
 roof replaced. Descending the sloping sides of the excava- 
 tion, we went in at the door and stood within the dimly- 
 lighted room. 
 
 Everything was just as I had beheld it last on that eve- 
 ning one hundred and thirteen years previous, just before 
 
172 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 dosing my eyes for that long sleep. I stood for some time 
 silently looking about me. I saw that my companion was 
 furtively regarding me with an expression of awed and 
 sympathetic curiosity. I put out my hand to her and she 
 placed hers in it, the soft fingers responding with a reas- 
 suring pressure to my clasp. Finally she whispered, 'Had 
 we not better go out now? You must not try yourself too 
 far. Oh, how strange it must be to you!' 
 
 'On the contrary,' I replied, 'it does not seem strange; 
 that is the strangest part of it.' 
 
 'Not strange?' she echoed. 
 
 ' Even so,' I rephed. ' The emotions with which you evi- 
 dently credit me, and which I anticipated would attend 
 this visit, I simply do not feel. I realize all that these sur- 
 roundings suggest, but without the agitation I expected. 
 You can't be nearly as much surprised at this as I am my- 
 self. Ever since that terrible morning when you came to 
 my help, I have tried to avoid thinking of my former life, 
 just as I have avoided coming here, for fear of the agitat- 
 ing effects. I am for aU the world like a man who has per- 
 mitted an injured limb to lie motionless under the impres- 
 sion that it is exquisitely sensitive, and on trying to move 
 it finds that it is paralyzed.' 
 
 'Do you mean your memory is gone?' 
 
 'Not at aU. I remember everything connected with my 
 former life, but with a total lack of keen sensation. I re- 
 member it for clearness as if it had been but a day since 
 then, but my feelings about what I remember are as faint 
 as if to my consciousness, as weU as in fact, a himdred 
 years had intervened. Perhaps it is possible to explain 
 this, too. The effect of change in surroundings is like that 
 of lapse of time in making the past seem remote. When I 
 
LOOKING BACKWABi) 1 73 
 
 first woke from that trance, my former life appeared as 
 yesterday, but now, since I have learned to know my new 
 surroundings, and to realize the prodigious changes that 
 have transformed the world, I no longer find it hard, but 
 very easy, to realize that I have slept a century. Can you 
 conceive of such a thing as living a himdred years in four 
 days? It really seems to me that I have done just that, 
 and that it is this experience which has given so remote 
 and unreal an appearance to my former life. Can you see 
 how such a thing might be? ' 
 
 'I can conceive it,' replied Edith, meditatively, 'and I 
 think we ought all to be thankful that it is so, for it wiU 
 save you much suffering, I am sure.' 
 
 'Imagine,' I said, in an effort to explain, as much to my- 
 self as to her, the strangeness of my mental condition, 
 'that a man first heard of a bereavement many, many 
 years, half a lifetime perhaps, after the event occurred. I 
 fancy his feeling would be perhaps something as mine is. 
 When I think of my friends in the world of that former 
 day, and the sorrow they must have felt for me, it is with 
 a pensive pity, rather than keen anguish, as of a sorrow 
 long, long ago ended.' 
 
 'You have told us nothing yet of your friends,' said 
 Edith. 'Had you many to mourn you?' 
 
 'Thank God, I had very few relatives, none nearer than 
 cousins,' I repMed. 'But there was one, not a relative, but 
 dearer to me than any kin of blood. She had your name. 
 She was to have been my wife soon. Ah me! ' 
 
 'Ah me!' sighed the Edith by my side. 'Think of the 
 heartache she must have had.' 
 
 Something in the deep feeling of this gentle girl touched 
 a chord in my benumbed heart. My eyes, before so dry. 
 
174 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 were flooded with the tears that had till now refused to 
 come. When I had regained my composure, I saw that she 
 too had been weeping freely. 
 
 'God bless your tender heart,' I said. 'Would you like 
 to see her picture? ' 
 
 A smaU locket with Edith Bartlett's picture, secured 
 about my neck with a gold chain, had lain upon my breast 
 all through that long sleep, and removing this I opened 
 and gave it to my companion. She took it with eagerness, 
 and after poring long over the sweet face, touched the pic- 
 ture with her Ups. 
 
 'I know that she was good and lovely enough to well de- 
 serve your tears,' she said; 'but remember her heartache 
 was over long ago, and she has been in heaven for nearly a 
 century.' 
 
 It was indeed so. Whatever her sorrow had once been, 
 for nearly a century she had ceased to weep, and, my sud- 
 den passion spent, my own tears dried away. I had loved 
 her very dearly in my other life, but it was a hundred 
 years ago ! I do not know but some may find in this con- 
 fession evidence of lack of feeling, but I think, perhaps, 
 that none can have had an experience sufl&ciently like 
 mine to enable them to judge me. As we were about to 
 leave the chamber, my eye rested upon the great iron safe 
 which stood in one corner. Calling my companion's atten- 
 tion to it, I said: 
 
 'This was my strong room as well as my sleeping room. 
 In the safe yonder are several thousand dollars in gold, 
 and any amount of securities. If I had known when I went 
 to sleep that night just how long my nap would be, I 
 should still have thought that the gold was a safe provi- 
 sion for my needs in any country or any century, however 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD ^ 175 
 
 distant. That a time would ever come when it would lose 
 its purchasing power, I should have considered the wildest 
 of fancies. Nevertheless, here I wake up to find myself 
 among a people of whom a cartload of gold wiU not pro- 
 cure a loaf of bread.' 
 
 As might be expected, I did not succeed in impressing 
 Edith that there was anything remarkable in this fact. 
 'Why in the world should it?' she merely asked. 
 
Y¥¥SI7¥¥ 
 
 L 
 
 It had been suggested by Dr. Leete that we should 
 devote the next morning to an mspection of the schools 
 and colleges of the city, with some attempt on his own 
 part at an {explanation of the educational systemjof the 
 twentieth century. 
 
 'You will see,' said he, as we set out after breakfast, 
 'many very important differences between our methods 
 ! of education and yours, but the main difference is that 
 nowadays aU persons equally have those opportunities of 
 ] higher education which in your day only an infinitesimal 
 I portion of the population enjoyed. We should think we 
 ;!, had gained nothing worth speaking of, in equalizing the 
 ", physical comfort of men, without this educational equal- 
 t ity.' 
 
 pThe cost must be very great,' I said. 
 
 'If it took half the revenue of the nation, nobody would 
 grudge it,' replied Dr. Leete, ' nor even if it took it all save 
 a bare pittance. But in truth the expense of educating ten 
 i thousand youth is not ten nor five times that of educating 
 one thousand. The principle which makes all operations 
 on a large scale proportionally cheaper than on a small 
 ' scale holds as to education also J 
 
 ' CoUege education was terribly expensive in my day,' 
 said I. 
 
 ' If I have not been misinformed by our historians,' Dr, 
 Leete answered, 'it was not college education but college 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 1 77 
 
 dissipation and extravagance which cost so highly. The 
 actual expense of your colleges appears to have been very 
 low, and would have been far lower if their patronage had 
 been greater. The higher education nowadays is as cheap 
 as the lower, as all grades of teachers, like all other work- 
 ers, receive the same support. We have simply added to 
 the common school system of compulsory education, in 
 vogue in Massachusetts a hundred years ago, a half dozen 
 higher grades, carrying the youth to the age of twenty- 
 one and giving him what you used to call the education of 
 a gentleman, instead of turning him loose at fourteen or 
 fifteen with no mental equipment beyond reading, writ- 
 ing, and the multiphcation table.' 
 
 ' Setting aside the actual cost of these additional years 
 of education,' I replied, 'we should not have thought we 
 coxild afford the loss of time from industrial pursuits. 
 Boys of the poorer classes usually went to work at sixteen 
 or younger, and knew their trade at twenty.' 
 
 'We should not concede you any gain even in material 
 product by that plan,' Dr. Leete replied. 'The greater 
 efficiency which education gives to aU sorts of labor, ex- 
 cept the rudest, makes up in a short period for the time 
 lost in acquiring it.' 
 
 'We should also have been afraid,' said I, 'that a high 
 education, while it adapted men to the professions, would 
 set them against manual labor of all sorts.' 
 
 'That was the effect of high education in your day, I 
 have read,' replied the doctor; 'and it was no wonder, for 
 manual labor meant association with a rude, coarse, and 
 ignorant class of people. There is no such class now. It 
 was inevitable that such a feeling should exist then, for 
 the further reason that all men receiving a high education 
 
178 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 were understood to be destined for the professions or for 
 wealthy leisure, and such an education in one neither rich 
 nor professional was a proof of disappointed aspirations, 
 an evidence of failure, a badge of inferiority rather than 
 superiority. Nowadays, of course, when the highest edu- 
 cation is deemed necessary to fit a man merely to live, 
 without any reference to the sort of work he may do, its 
 possession conveys no such implication.' 
 
 'After aU,' I remarked, 'no amount of education can 
 cure natural dtillness or make up for original mental de- 
 ficiencies. Unless the average natural mental capacity 
 of men is much above its level in my day, a high education 
 must be pretty nearly thrown away on a large element of 
 the population. We used to hold that a certain amount of 
 susceptibility to educational influences is required to 
 make a mind worth cultivating, just as a certain natural 
 fertility in soil is required if it is to repay tilling.' 
 
 'Ah,' said Dr. Leete, 'I am glad you used that illustra- 
 tion, for it is just the one I would have chosen to set forth 
 the modern view of education. You say that land so poor 
 that the product wiU not repay the labor of tilling is not 
 cultivated. Nevertheless, much land that does not begin 
 to repay tilling by its product was cultivated in your day 
 and is in oujs. I refer to gardens, parks, lawns, and, in 
 general, to pieces of land so situated that, were they left 
 to grow up to weeds and briers, they would be eyesores 
 and inconveniencies to aU about. They are therefore 
 tilled, and though their product is little, there is yet no 
 land that, in a wider sense, better repays cultivation. So 
 it is with the men and women with whom we mingle in the 
 relations of society, whose voices are always in our ears, 
 whose behavior in innimierable ways affects our enjoy- 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 179 
 
 ment — who are, in fact, as much conditions of our lives 
 as the air we breathe, or any of the physical elements on 
 which we depend. If, indeed, we could not afford to edu- 
 cate everybody, we should choose the coarsest and dullest 
 by nature, rather than the brightest, to receive what edu- 
 cation we could give. The naturally refined and intellec- 
 tual can better dispense with aids to culture than those 
 less fortunate in natural endowments. 
 
 'To borrow a phrase which was often used in your day, 
 we should not consider life worth living if we had to be . 
 surrounded by a population of ignorant, boorish, coarse, 
 wholly imcultivated men and women, as was the plight of 
 the few educated in your day. Is a man satisfied, merely 
 because he is perfmned himself, to mingle with a malodor- 
 ous crowd? Could he take more than a very limited satis- 
 faction, even in a palatial apartment, if the windows on 
 aU four sides opened into stable yards? And yet just that 
 was the situation of those considered most fortunate as to 
 culture and refinement in your day. I know that the poor 
 and ignorant envied the rich and cultiured then; but to us 
 the latter, living as they did, surrounded by squalor and 
 brutishness, seem Uttle better off than the former. The 
 cultured man in your age was like one up to the neck in a 
 nauseous bog solacing himself with a smelling bottle. You 
 see, perhaps, now, how we look at this question of imiver- 
 sal high education. [No single thing isso important to , 
 every man as to have for neighbors intelligent, com- 
 panionable persons. There is nothing, therefore, which ,' 
 the nation can do for him that wiU enhance so much his 
 own happiness as to educate his neighbors]] ^^Hien it faUs 
 to do so, the value of his own education to him is reduced 
 by half, and many of the tastes he has cultivated are made ' 
 positive sources of pain.^ 
 
l8o LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 'To educate some to the highest degree, and leave the 
 mass wholly uncultivated, as you did, made the gap be- 
 tween them almost like that between different natural 
 species, which have no means of communication. What 
 could be more inhimian than this consequence of a par- 
 tial enjoyment of education! Its universal and equal en- 
 joyment leaves, indeed, the differences between men as 
 to natural endowments as marked as in a state of nature, 
 but the level of the lowest is vastly raised. Brutishness is 
 eliminated. All have some inkling of the humanities, 
 some appreciation of the things of the mind, and an ad- 
 miration for the still higher culture they have fallen short 
 of. They have become capable of receiving and imparting, 
 in various degrees, but all in some measure, the pleasures 
 and inspirations of a refined social life. The cultured 
 society of the nineteenth century — what did it consist of 
 but here and there a few microscopic oases in a vast, im- 
 broken wilderness? The proportion of individuals capable 
 of iateHectual sympathies or refined intercourse, to the 
 mass of their contemporaries, used to be so infinitesimal 
 as to be in any broad view of humanity scarcely worth 
 mentioning. One generation of the world to-day repre- 
 sents a greater volume of intellectual life than any five 
 centuries ever did before. 
 
 ^here is still another pomt I should mention in stating 
 the grounds on which nothing less than the imiversality of 
 the best education could now be tolerated,' continued Dr. 
 Leete, 'and that is, the interest of the coming generation 
 in having educated parents} g'o put the matter in a nut- 
 shell, there are three main grounds on which our educa- 
 tional system rests: first, the right of every man to the 
 completest education the nation can give him on his own 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED l8l 
 
 account, as necessary to his enjoyment of himself; second, 
 the right of his fellow-citizens to have him educated, as 
 necessary to their enjoyment of his society; third, the 
 right of the imbom to be guaranteed an intelligent and 
 refined parentage.'^ 
 
 I shall not describe in detail what I saw in the schools 
 that day. Having taken but slight interest in educational 
 matters in my former life, I could offer few comparisons of 
 interest. Next to the fact of the universality of the higher 
 as well as the lower education, I was most struck with the 
 /prominence given to physical culture, and the fact that 
 proficiency in athletic feats and games as well as in schol- 
 arship had a place in the rating of the youth. 
 
 'The faculty of education,' Dr. Leete explained, 'is held 
 to the same responsibility for the bodies as for the minds 
 of its charges. The highest possible physical, as well as 
 mental, development of every one is the double object of 
 a curriculimi which lasts from the age of six to that of 
 twenty-one.' 
 
 Eirhe magnificent health of the young people in the 
 schools impressed me strongly. My previous observa- 
 tions, not only of the notable personal endowments of 
 the family of my host, but of the people I had seen in my 
 walks abroad, had already suggested the idea that there 
 must have been something like a general improvement in 
 the physical standard of the race since my day, and now, 
 as I compared these stalwart yoimg men and fresh, vigor- 
 ous maidens with the young people I had seen in the 
 schools of the nineteenth century, I was moved to impart 
 my thought to Dr. Leete. He listened with great interest 
 to what I' said. 
 
 'Your testimony on this point,' he declared, 'is invalu- 
 
l82 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 able. We believe that there has been such an improve- 
 ment as you speak of, but of course it could only be a mat- 
 ter of theory with us. It is an incident of your unique 
 position that you alone in the world of to-day can speak 
 with authority on this point. Your opinion, when you 
 state it publicly, will, I assure you, make a profoimd sen- 
 sation. For the rest it would be strange, certainly, if the 
 race did not show an improvement. In your day, riches 
 debauched one class with idleness of mind and body, while 
 poverty sapped the vitality of the masses by overwork, 
 bad food, and pestilent homes. The labor required of 
 children, and the burdens laid on women, enfeebled the 
 very springs of life. Instead of these maleficent circum- 
 stances, all now enjoy the most favorable conditions of 
 physical life; the young are carefully nurtured and studi- 
 ously cared for; the labor which is required of aU is limited 
 to the period of greatest bodily vigor, and is never exces- 
 sive; care for one's seK and one's famUy, anxiety as to 
 livelihood, the strain of a ceaseless battle for life — aU 
 these influences, which once did so much to wreck the 
 minds and bodies of men and women, are known no more. 
 Certainly, an improvement of the species ou^_tojol^_ 
 low such a change. In certain specific respects we know, 
 indeed, that the improvement has taken place. Insanity, 
 for instance, which in the nineteenth century was so ter- 
 ribly common a product of your insane mode of life, has 
 almost disappeared, with its alternative, suicide.^ 
 
K^"^ 22 -^Y 
 
 W. 
 
 E HAD made an appointment to meet the 
 ladies at the dining-hall for dinner, after which, having 
 some engagement, they left us sitting at table there, dis- 
 cussing our wine and cigars with a multitude of other mat- 
 ters. 
 
 'Doctor,' said I, in the course of our talk, 'morally 
 speaking, your social system is one which I should be in- 
 sensate not to admire in comparison with any previously 
 in vogue in the world, and especially with that of my own 
 most unhappy century. If I were to fall into a mesmeric 
 sleep tonight as lasting as that other, and meanwhile the 
 course of time were to take a turn backward instead of for- 
 ward, and I were to wake up again in the nineteenth cen- 
 tury, when I had told my friends what I had seen, they 
 would every one admit that your world was a paradise of 
 order, equity, and felicity. But they were a very practical 
 people, my contemporaries, and after expressing their ad- 
 miration for the moral beauty and material splendor of 
 the system, they would presently begin to cipher and ask 
 how you got the money to make everybody so happy; for 
 certainly, to support the whole nation at a rate of comfort, 
 and even luxury, such as I see around me, must involve 
 vastly greater wealth than the nation produced in my 
 day. Now, while I could explain to them pretty nearly 
 everything else of the main features of your system, I 
 should quite fail to answer this question, and failing there, 
 
l84 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 they would tell me, for they were very close cipherers, 
 that I had been dreaming; nor would they ever believe 
 anything else. In my day, I know that the total annual 
 product of the nation, although it might have been di- 
 vided with absolute equality, would not have come to 
 more than three or four hundred dollars per head, not 
 very much more than enough to supply the necessities of 
 life with few or any of its comforts. How is it that you 
 have so much more?' 
 
 'That is a very pertinent question, Mr. West,' replied 
 Dr. Leete, 'and I should not blame your friends, in the 
 case you supposed, if they declared your story aU moon- 
 shine, failing a satisfactory reply to it. It is a question 
 which I cannot answer exhaustively at any one sitting, 
 and as for the exact statistics to bear out my general 
 statements, I shall have to refer you for them to books in 
 my library, but it would certainly be a pity to leave you to 
 be put to confusion by your old acquaintances, in case of 
 'ithe contingency you speak of, for lack of a few suggestions. 
 iJLet us begin with a number of smaU items wherein we 
 economize wealth as compared with you. We have no 
 national, state, coimty, or municipal debts, or payments I 
 on their account. We have no sort of military or naval ex- 1 
 penditures for men or materials, no army, navy, or mill- 1 
 tia. We have no revenue service, no swarm of tax asses- i 
 sors and collectors. As regards our judiciary, police, sher- 1 
 iffs, and jailers, the force which Massachusetts alone kept 
 on foot in your day far more than suffices for the nation 
 now. We have no criminal class preying upon the wealth 
 of society as you had. The number of persons, more or i 
 less absolutely lost to the working force through physical ' 
 disability, of the lame, sick, and debilitated, which con- 
 
LOOKING BACKWAIU) 185 
 
 stituted such a burden on the able-bodied in your day, 
 now that all live under conditions of health and comfort, 
 has shrunk to scarcely perceptible proportions, and with 
 every generation is becoming more completely eliminatedr^ 
 {^Another item wherein we save is the disuse of money 
 and the thousand occupations connected with financial 
 operations of all sorts, whereby an army of men was for- 
 merly taken away from useful employments. Also con- 
 ,sider that the waste of the very rich in yoiu: day on inordi- 
 ; nate personal luxury has ceased, though, indeed, this item 
 ; might easily be over-estimated. Again, consider that 
 there are no idlers now, rich or poor — no drones J 
 
 'A very important cause of former poverty was the vast 
 waste of labor and materials which resulted from domestic 
 washing and cooking, and the performing separately of 
 innimierable other tasks to which we apply the co- 
 operative plan. 
 
 'A larger economy than any of these — yes, of all to- 
 gether — is effected by the organization of our distribut- 
 ing system, by which the work done once by the mer- 
 chants, traders, storekeepers, with their various grades of 
 jobbers, wholesalers, retailers, agents, commercial travel- 
 ers, and middlemen of all sorts, with an excessive waste of 
 energy in needless transportation and interminable hand- 
 lings, is performed by one tenth the number of hands and 
 an unnecessary turn of not one wheel. Something of what 
 our distributing system is like you know. Our statisti- 
 cians calculate that one eightieth part of our workers 
 suffices for all the processes of distribution which in your 
 day required one eighth of the population, so much being 
 withdrawn from the force engaged in productive labor.' 
 12'^ begin to see,' I said, 'where you get your greater 
 wealth.J 
 
1 86 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 'I beg your pg,rdon,' replied Dr. Leete, 'but you 
 scarcely do as yet. { The economies I have mentioned thus 
 far, in the aggregate, considering the labor they would 
 save directly and indirectly through saving of material, 
 might possibly be equivalent to the addition to your an- 
 nual production of wealth of one half its former total. 
 These items are, however, scarcely worth mentioning in 
 comparison with other prodigious wastes, now saved, 
 which resulted inevitably from leaving the industries of 
 the nation to private enterprise. However great the econ- 
 omies your contemporaries might have devised in the con- 
 sumption of products, and however marvelous the pro- 
 gress of mechanical invention, they could never have 
 raised themselves out of the slough of poverty so long as 
 they held to that system. 
 'No mode more wasteful for utilizing human energy 
 
 ^could be devised, and for the credit of the htunan intellect 
 
 lit should be remembered that the system never was de- 
 mised, but was merely a survival from the rude ages when 
 
 I the lack of social organization made any sort of coopera- 
 impossible.' 
 
 'I wiU readily admit,' I said, 'that o ur industrial svs - 
 t em was ethically very bad, but as a mere wealth -m ^Tcin g 
 m achine, apart from moralas pects. it seemed to us ad- 
 
 ^ mirable.' 
 
 'As I said,' responded the doctor, 'the subject is too 
 large to discuss at length now, but if you are reaUy inter- 
 ested to know the main criticisms which we modems make 
 on your industrial system as compared with our own, I 
 can touch briefly on some of them. 
 L 'The wastes which residted from leaving the conduct of 
 industry to irresponsible individuals, wholly without 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 187 
 
 mutual xinderstanding or concert, were mainly four: first, 
 the waste by mistaken undertakings; second, the waste 
 from the competition and mutual hostility of those en- 
 gaged in industry; third, the waste by periodical gluts and 
 crises, with the consequent interruptions of industry; 
 fourth, the waste from idle capital and labor, at aU times. 
 Any one of these four great leaks, were all the others 
 stopped, would suffice to make the difference between 
 wealth and poverty on the part of a nation. 
 
 'Take the waste by mistaken undertakings, to begin 
 with. In your day the production and distribution of 
 commodities being without concert or organization, there 
 was no means of knowing just what demand there was 
 for any class of products, or what was the rate of supply. 
 Therefore, any enterprise by a private capitalist was al- 
 ways a doubtful experiment. The projector having no 
 general view of the field of industry and consumption, 
 such as our government has, could never be sure either 
 what the people wanted, or what arrangements other capi- 
 tahsts were making to supply them. In view of this, we' 
 are not surprised to learn that the chances were considered 
 several to one in favor of the failure of any given business 
 enterprise, and that it was common for persons who at 
 last succeeded in making a hit to have failed repeatedly. 
 If a shoemaker, for every pair of shoes he succeeded in 
 completing, spoiled the leather of four or five pair, besides 
 losing the time spent on them, he would stand about the 
 same chance of getting rich as your contemporaries did 
 with their system of private enterprise, and its average of 
 four or five failures to one success. 
 
 'The next of the great wastes was that from competi- 
 tion. The field of industry was a battlefield as wide as the 
 
l88 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 world, in which the workers wasted, in assailing one an- 
 other, energies which, if expended in concerted effort, 
 as to-day, would have enriched aU. As for mercy or quar- 
 ter in this warfare, there was absolutely no suggestion of 
 it. To deliberately enter a field of business and destroy 
 the enterprises of those who had occupied it previously, 
 in order to plant one's own enterprise on their ruins, was 
 an achievement which never faUed to command popular 
 admiration. Nor is there any stretch of fancy in compar- 
 ing this sort of struggle with actual warfare, so far as con- 
 cerns the mental agony and physical suffering which at- 
 tended the struggle, and the misery which overwhelmed 
 the defeated and those dependent on them( Now nothing 
 about your age is, at first sight, more astounding to a man 
 of modern times than the fact that men engaged in the 
 same industry^ instead of fraternizing as comrades and 
 co-laborers to a common end, should have regarded each 
 other as rivals and enemies to be throttled and over- 
 thrownj This certainly seems like sheer madness, a scene 
 from bedlam. But more closely regarded, it is seen to be 
 no such thing. Your contemporaries, with their mutual 
 throat-cutting, knew very well what they were at. The 
 producers of the nineteenth century were not, like ours, 
 working together for the maintenance of the community, 
 / but each solely for his own maintenance at the expense of 
 • the community. If, in working to this end, he at the same 
 time increased the aggregate wealth, that was merely in- 
 -cidental. It was just as feasible and as common to in- 
 crease one's private hoard by practices injurious to the 
 general welfare. One's worst enemies were necessarily 
 those of his own trade, for, under your plan of making 
 private profit the motive of production, a scarcity of the 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 189 
 
 article he produced was what each particular producer 
 desired. It was for his interest that no more of it should 
 be produced than he himself could produce. To secure 
 this consummation as far as circumstances permitted, by 
 killing ofE and discouraging those engaged in his line of 
 industry, was his constant effort. When he had kil led off 
 all he co uld, his policy was to combi n*;; y^'^th tTinsp hp r^pnM 
 ngrkJlITaSidconv ert their mutual w arfq.re int o a. warf arp 
 upon the public at large by cornerins; the market, a s I be- 
 fieve you used to call it, and putting up prices to th e 
 highest point people would stand before going without th e 
 goods . The day dream of the nineteenth century pro- 
 ducer was to gain absolute control of the supply of some 
 necessity of life, so that he might keep the public at the 
 verge of starvation, and always command famine prices 
 for what he supplied. This, Mr. West, is w hat was called 
 i n the nineteenth century a system of productio n. I will 
 leave it to you if it does not seem, in some of its aspects, a 
 gr eat deal more like a system for preventing producti on. 
 * Some time when we have plenty of leisure I am going to 
 ask you to sit down with me and try to make me compre- 
 hend, as I never yet could, though I have studied the mat- 
 ter a great deal, how such shrewd fellows as your contem- 
 poraries appear to have been in many respects ever came 
 to entrust the business of providing for the community to 
 a class whose interest it was to starve it. I assure you that 
 the wonder with us is, not that the world did not get 
 rich imder such a system, but that it did not perish out- 
 right from want. This wonder increases as we go on to 
 consider some of the other prodigious wastes that charac- 
 terized it. 
 'Apart from the waste of labor and capital by mis- 
 
I go LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 directed industry, and-that from the constant bloodlet- 
 ting of your industrial warfare^,!your system was liable to 
 periodical convulsions, overwhelming alike the wise and 
 unwise, the successful cut-throat as well as his victim. I 
 refer to the business crises at intervals of five to ten years, 
 which wrecked the industries of the nation, prostrating 
 aU weak enterprises and crippling the strongest, and were 
 followed by long periods, often of many years, of so-called 
 dull times, during which the capitalists slowly regathered 
 their dissipated strength whUe the laboring classes starved 
 and rioted. Then would ensue another brief season of 
 prosperity, followed in turn by another crisis and the en- 
 suing years of exhaustion. As commerce developed, mak- 
 ing the nations mutually dependent, these crises became 
 world-wide, while the obstinacy of the ensuing state of 
 collapse increased with the area affected by the convul- 
 sions, and the consequent lack of rallying centres. In pro- 
 portion as the industries of the world multiplied and be- 
 came complex, and the volmne of capital involved was 
 increased, these business cataclysms became more fre- 
 quent, tUl, in the latter part of the nineteenth century, 
 there were two years of bad times to one of good, and the 
 system of industry, never before so extended or so impos- 
 ing, seemed in danger of collapsing by its own weight. 
 After endless discussions, your economists appear by that 
 time to have settled down to the despairing conclusion 
 that there was no more possibility of preventing or con- 
 trolling these crises than if they had been drouths or hur- 
 ricanes. It only remained to endure them as necessary 
 evils, and when they had passed over to build up again 
 the shattered structure of industry, as dwellers in an earth- 
 quake country keep on rebuilding their cities on the same 
 site. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 191 
 
 ' So far as considering the causes of the trouble inherent 
 in their industrial system, your contemporaries were cer- 
 tainly correct. They were in its very basis, and must 
 needs become more and more maleficent as the business 
 fabric grew in size and complexity. One of these causes 
 was the lack of any common control of the different indus- 
 tries, and the consequent impossibility of their orderly 
 and coordinate development. It inevitably resulted from 
 this lack that they were continually getting out of step 
 with one another and out of relation with the demand. * 
 
 'Of the latter there. was no criterion such as organized 
 distribution gives us, and the first notice that it had been 
 exceeded in any group of industries was a crash of prices, 
 bankruptcy of producers, stoppage of production, reduc- 
 tion of wages, or discharge of workmen. This process was 
 constantly going on in many industries, even in what were 
 called good times, but a crisis took place only when the 
 industries affected were extensive. The markets then 
 were glutted with goods, of which nobody wanted beyond 
 a sufficiency at any price. The wages and profits of those 
 making the glutted classes of goods being reduced or 
 wholly stopped, their purchasing power as consimiers of 
 other classes of goods, of which there were no natural 
 glut, was taken away, and, as a consequence, goods of 
 which there was no natural glut became artificially 
 glutted, till their prices also were broken down, and their 
 makers thrown out of work and deprived of income. The 
 crisis was by this time fairly under way, and nothing could 
 check it till a nation's ransom had been wasted. 
 
 'A cause, also inherent in your system, which often pro- 
 duced and always terribly aggravated crises, was the! 
 machinery of money and credit. Money was essential 
 
192 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 when production was in many private hands, and buying 
 and selling was necessary to secure what one wanted. It 
 was, however, open to the obvious objection of substitut- 
 ing for food, clothiag, and other things a merely conven- 
 tional representative of them. The confusion of mind 
 which this favored, between goods and their representa- 
 tive, led the way to the credit system and its prodigious 
 illusions. lAhready accustomed to accept money for com- 
 modities, the people next accepted promises for money, 
 and ceased to look at all behind the representative for the 
 thing represented. Moi^ey was a sim of real commodities , 
 but credit was but the sign of a sign^ There was a naturaf 
 limit to gold and silver, that is, money proper, but none 
 to credit, and the result was that the voliune of credit, 
 that is, the promises of money, ceased to bear any ascer- 
 tainable proportion to the money, still less to the com- 
 modities, actually in existence. Under such a system, 
 frequent and periodical crises were necessitated by a law 
 as absolute as that which brings to the ground a structure 
 overhanging its centre of gravity. It was one of yoiu: fic- 
 tions that the government and the banks authorized by it 
 alone issued money; but everybody who gave a dollar's 
 credit issued money to that extent, which was as good as 
 any to swell the circulation till the next crises. The great 
 extension of the credit system was a characteristic of the 
 latter part of the nineteenth century, and accounts largely 
 for the almost incessant business crises which marked 
 that period. Perilous as credit was, you could not dispense 
 with its use, for, lacking any national or other public or- 
 ganization of the capital of the country, it was the only 
 means you had for concentrating and directing it upon 
 industrial enterprises. It was in this way a most potent 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 1 93 
 
 means for exaggerating the chief peril of the private enter- 
 prise system of industry by enabling particular industries 
 to absorb disproportionate amounts of the disposable 
 capital of the country, and thus prepare disaster. Busi- 
 ness enterprises were always vastly in debt for advances, 
 of credit, both to one another and to the banks and capi- 
 talists, and the prompt withdrawal of this credit at the 
 first sign of a crisis was generally the precipitating cause of 
 it. 
 
 ' 'It was the misfortune of your contemporaries that 
 rititey had to cement their business fabric with a material 
 'which an accident might at any moment turn into an ex- 
 plosive. They were in the plight of a man building a 
 house with dynamite for mortar, for credit can be com- 
 pared with nothing else. 
 
 ^'If you would see how needless were these convulsions 
 of business which I have been speaking of, and how en- 
 tirely they resulted from leaving industry to private and 
 unorganized management, just consider the working of 
 our system. Overproduction in special lines, which was 
 the great hobgoblin of your day, is impossible now, for by 
 the connection between distribution and production sup- 
 ply is geared to demand like an engine to the governor 
 which regulates its speed. Even suppose by an error of 
 judgment an excessive production of some commodity. 
 The consequent slackening or cessation of production in 
 that line throws nobody out of employment. The sus- 
 pended workers are at once found occupation in some 
 other department of the vast workshop and lose only the 
 time spent in changing, while, as for the glut, the business 
 of the nation is large enough to carry any amount of pro- 
 duct manufactured in excess of demand till the latter over- 
 
194 LOOKING BACKWARB 
 
 takes it. In such a case of over-production, as I have sup- 
 posed, there is not with us, as with you, any complex 
 machinery to get out of order and magnify a thousand 
 times the original mistake. TOf coiu-se, having not even 
 money, we still less have credit. AU estimates deal di- 
 rectly with the real things, the flour, iron, wood, wool, 
 and labor, of which money and credit were for you the 
 very misleadiag representatives. In our calculations of 
 cost there can be no mistakes. Out of the annual product 
 the amount necessary for the support of the people is 
 taken, and the requisite labor to produce the next year's 
 consumption provided for. The residue of the material 
 and labor represents what can be safely expended in im- 
 provements.Hlf the crops are bad, the surplus for that 
 year is less"than usual, that is all. Except for sUght 
 occasional effects of such natural causes, there are no 
 fluctuations of business; the material prosperity of 
 the nation flows on uninterruptedly from generation 
 to generation, like an ever broadening and deepening 
 river. 
 
 'Your business crises, Mr. West,' continued the doctor, 
 'like either of the great wastes I mentioned before, were 
 enough, alone, to have kept your noses to the grindstone 
 forever; but I have stiU to speak of one other great cause 
 of your poverty, and that was the idleness of a great part 
 of your capital and labor." With us it is the business of the 
 administration to keep in constant employment every 
 ounce of available capital and labor in the country. In 
 j your day there was no general control of either capital or 
 I labor, and a large part of both failed to find employment. 
 "Capital," you used to say, "is naturally timid," and it 
 would certainly have been reckless if it had not been timid 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD ng^ 
 
 in an epoch when there was a large preponderance of prob- 
 ability that any particular business venture would end in 
 failure. There was no time when, if security could have 
 been guaranteed it, the amount of capital devoted to pro- 
 ductive industry could not have been greatly increased. 
 The proportion of it so employed underwent constant ex- 
 traordinary fluctuations, according to the greater or less 
 feeling of imcertainty as to the stabiHty of the industrial 
 situation, so that the output of the national industries 
 greatly varied in different years. But for the same reason 
 that the amount of capital employed at times of special 
 insecurity was far less than at times of somewhat greater 
 security, a very large proportion was never employed at 
 aU, because the hazard of business was always very great 
 in the best of times. 
 
 'It should be also noted that the great amount of capi- 
 tal always seeking employment where tolerable safety 
 could be insured terribly embittered the competition be- 
 tween capitahsts when a promising opening presented it- 
 self. The idleness of capital, the result of its timidity, of 
 course meant the idleness of labor in corresponding degree. 
 Moreover, every change in the adjustments of business, 
 every slightest alteration in the condition of commerce or 
 manufactures, not to speak of the innumerable business 
 failures that took place yearly, even in the best of times, 
 were constantly throwing a multitude of men out of em- 
 ployment for periods of weeks or months, or even years. 
 A great nimiber of these seekers after employment were 
 constantly traversing the country, becoming m time pro- 
 fessional vagabonds, then criminals. "Give us work !" 
 was the cry of an army of the unemployed at nearly aU 
 seasons, and in seasons of dulhiess in business this army 
 
196 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 swelled to a host so vast and desperate as to threaten the 
 stabiUty of the government. Could there conceivably be 
 a more conclusive demonstration of the imbecility of the 
 system of private enterprise as a method for enriching a 
 nation than the fact that, in an age of such general pov- 
 erty and want of everything, capitalists had to throttle 
 one another to find a safe chance to invest their capital 
 and workmen rioted and burned because they could find 
 no work to do? 
 
 'Now, Mr. West,' continued Dr. Leete, 'I want you to 
 bear in mind that these points of which I have been speak- 
 ing indicate only negatively the advantages of the na- 
 tional organization of industry by showing certain fatal 
 defects and prodigious imbecilities of the systems of pri- 
 vate enterprise which are not found in it. These alone, 
 you must admit, would pretty well explain why the nation 
 is so much richer than in your day. But the larger half of 
 our advantage over you, the positive side of it, I have yet 
 barely spoken of. Supposing the system of private enter- 
 prise in industry were without any of the great leaks I 
 have mentioned; that there were no waste on accoimt of 
 misdirected effort growing out of mistakes as to the de- 
 mand, and inabihty to command a general view of the in- 
 dustrial field. Suppose, also, there were no neutralizing 
 and dupUcating of effort from competition. Suppose^ also, 
 there were no waste from business panics and crises 
 through bankruptcy and long interruptions of industry, 
 and also none from the idleness of capital and labor. Sup- 
 posing these evils, which are essential to the conduct of 
 industry by capital in private hands, could all be miracu- 
 lously prevented, and the system yet retained; even then 
 the superiority of the results attained by the modern in- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 1 97 
 
 dustrial system of national control would remain over- 
 wjb*l*ning. 
 Q 'You used to have some pretty large textile manufac- 
 M turing establishments, even in your day, although not 
 comparable with ours. No doubt you have visited 
 these great mills in your time, covering acres of groimd, 
 emplo)dng thousands of hands, and combining under one 
 roof, under one control, the hundred distinct processes 
 between, say, the cotton bale and the bale of glossy cali- 
 coes. You have admired the vast economy of labor as of 
 mechanical force resulting from the perfect interworking 
 with the rest of every wheel and every hand. No doubt 
 you have reflected how much less the same force of work- 
 ers employed in that factory would accomplish if they 
 were scattered, each man working independently. Would 
 you think it an exaggeration to say that the utmost pro- 
 duct of those workers, working thus apart, however ami- 
 cable their relations might be, was increased not merely by 
 a percentage, but many fold, when their efforts were or- 
 ganized under one control? WeU now, Mr. West, the 
 organization of the industry of the nation under a single 
 control, so that all its processes interlock, has multiplied 
 the total product over the utmost that could be done un- 
 der the former system, even leaving out of account the 
 four great wastes mentioned, in the same proportion that 
 the product of those mUlworkers was increased by coop- 
 eration. The effectiveness of the working force of a na- 
 tion, imder the myriad-headed leadership of private capi- 
 tal, even if the leaders were not mutual enemies, as com- 
 pared with that which it attains vmder a single head, may 
 be likened to the military efficiency of a mob, or a horde 
 of barbarians with a thousand petty chiefs, as compared 
 
198 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 with that of a disciplined army under one general — such 
 a fighting machine, for example, as the German army in 
 the time of Von Moltke.' 
 
 'After what you have told me,' I said, 'I do not so much 
 wonder that the nation is richer now than then, but that 
 you are not aU Croesuses.' 
 
 'Well,' replied Dr. Leete, 'we are pretty weU off. The 
 rate at which we live is as luxurious as we could wish. The 
 rivalry of ostentation, which in your day led to extrava- 
 gance in no way conducive to comfort, finds no place, of 
 course, in a society of people absolutely equal in resources, 
 and our ambition stops at the surroimdings which minis- 
 ter to the enjoyment of life. We might. iprlppr|^ ayp. 
 
 much larger incomes, indivifliiaTlv^f -y yp rhnsp. sn t o "SP 
 
 t£e~5P ll'pl'U5"orour product, butw e prefer to exp end it 
 u pon puSEc woffcg^d pleasures in whiVV^ all sTig rp^ji^nn 
 pubhchaUs and buildings, art galleries, bridges, statuary . 
 
 means of transit, and the rn n-trpn^pnrps nf n^ ri|ips^_^at 
 
 n iusical and theatrical exhibitions, and in providin g^on a 
 vast scale for the recreations of the peopl e. You have not 
 begun to see how we live yet, Mr. West. At home we 
 have comfort, but the splendor of our life is, on its social 
 side, that which we share with our fellows. When you 
 know more of it you wiU see where the money goes, as 
 you used to say, and I think you will agree that we do 
 well so to expend it.' 
 
 'I suppose,' observed Dr. Leete, as we strolled home- 
 ward from the dining hall, 'that no reflection would have 
 cut the men of your wealth-worshiping century more 
 keenly than the suggestion that they did not know how to 
 make money. Nevertheless that is just the verdict his- 
 tory has passed on them. Their system of unorganized 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 1 99 
 
 and antagonistic industries was as absurd economically 
 as it was morally abominable. Selfishness was their only 
 science, and in industrial production selfishness is suicide. 
 [C ^petition. which is the instinct "f gplfichnpc. ;^ k annfh pr* 
 wor d for dissipation of e nerg y, while^ combination is t he 
 s ecretof efficient production j and not tiU the idea of in- 
 creasing the individual hoar3'gives place to the idea of in- 
 creasing the common stock can industrial combination be 
 realized, and the acquisition of wealth really begin. Even 
 if the principle of share and share alike for all men were 
 not the only humane and rational basis for a society, we 
 should stiU enforce it as economically expedient, seeing 
 that untU the disintegrating influence of self-seeking is 
 suppressed no true concert of industry is possible.' ^ 
 
YYY 2 3 Y'^ 
 
 Tb 
 
 HAT evening, as I sat with Edith in the music 
 room, listening to some pieces in the programme of that 
 day which had attracted my notice, I took advantage of 
 an interval in the music to say, 'I have a question to ask 
 you which I fear is rather indiscreet.' 
 
 'I am quite sure it is not that,' she replied, encourag- 
 ingly, 
 
 'I am in the position of an eavesdropper,' I continued, 
 'who, having overheard a httle of a matter not intended 
 for him, though seeming to concern him, has the im- 
 pudence to come to the speaker for the rest.' 
 
 'An eavesdropper!' she repeated, looking puzzled. 
 
 'Yes,' I said, 'but an excusable one, as I think you will 
 admit.' 
 
 'This is very mysterious,' she replied. 
 
 'Yes,' said I, 'so mysterious that often I have doubted 
 whether I really overheard at all what I am going to ask 
 you about, or only dreamed it. I want you to tell me. 
 The matter is this: When I was coming out of that sleep 
 of a century, the first impression of which I was conscious 
 was of voices talking around me, voices that afterwards I 
 recognized as your father's, your mother's, and your own. 
 First, I remember your father's voice saying, " He is go- 
 ing to open his eyes. He had better see but one person at 
 first." Then you said, if I did not dream it all, "Promise 
 me, then, that you will not tell him." Your father seemed 
 to hesitate about promising, but you insisted, and your 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 20I 
 
 mother interposing, he finally promised, and when I 
 opened my eyes I saw only him.' 
 
 I had been quite serious when I said that I was not 
 sure that I had not dreamed the conversation I fancied I 
 had overheard, so incomprehensible was it that these 
 people should know anything of me, a contemporary of 
 their great-grandparents, which I did not know myself. 
 But when I saw the effect of my words upon Edith, I 
 knew that it was no dream, but another mystery, and a 
 more puzzling one than any I had before encountered. 
 For from the moment that the drift of my question be- 
 came apparent, she showed indications of the most acute 
 embarrassment. Her eyes, always so frank and direct in 
 expression, had dropped in a panic before mine, while 
 her face crimsoned from neck to forehead. 
 
 'Pardon me,' I said, as soon as I had recovered from 
 bewilderment at the extraordinary effect of my words. 
 'It seems, then, that I was not dreaming. There is some 
 secret, something about me, which you are withholding 
 from me. ReaUy, doesn't it seem a little hard that a per- 
 son in my position should not be given all the information 
 possible concerning himself?" 
 
 'It does not concern you — that is, not directly. It 
 is not about you — exactly,' she replied, scarcely audibly. 
 
 'But it concerns me in some way,' I persisted. 'It must 
 be something that would interest me.' 
 
 'I don't know even that,' she replied, venturing a mo- 
 mentary glance at my face, furiously blushing, and yet 
 with a quaint smile flickering about her lips which be- 
 trayed a certain perception of humor in the situation 
 despite its embarrassment, — 'I am not sure that it 
 would even interest you.' 
 
202 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 'Your father would have told me,' I insisted, with an 
 accent of reproach. 'It was you who forbade him. He 
 thought I ought to know.' ■,'! 
 
 She did not reply. She was so entirely charming in her 
 confusion that I was now prompted, as much by the de- 
 sire to prolong the situation as by my original curiosity, 
 to importune her further. 
 
 'Am I never to know? Will you never tell me?' I said. 
 
 'It depends,' she answered, after a long pause. 
 
 'On what?' I persisted. 
 
 'Ah, you ask too much,' she replied. Then, raising to 
 mine a face which inscrutable eyes, flushed cheeks, and 
 smiling lips combined to render perfectly bewitching, she 
 added, 'What should you think if I said that it depended 
 on — yourself? ' 
 
 'On myself?' I echoed. 'How can that possibly be?' 
 
 'Mr. West, we are losing some charming music,' was 
 her only reply to this, and turning to the telephone, at 
 a touch of her finger she set the air to swaying to the 
 rhythm of an adagio. After that she took good care that 
 the music should leave no opportunity for conversation. 
 She kept her face averted from me, and pretended to be 
 absorbed in the airs, but that it was a mere pretense the 
 crimson tide standing at flood in her cheeks sufficiently 
 betrayed. 
 
 When at length she suggested that I might have heard 
 all I cared to, for that time, and we rose to leave the 
 room, she came straight up to me and said, without rais- 
 ing her eyes, 'Mr. West, you say I have been good to you. 
 I have not been particularly so, but if you think I have, I 
 want you to promise me that you will not try again to 
 make me teU you this thing you have asked to-night, and 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 203 
 
 that you will not try to find it out from any one else, — 
 my father or mother, for instance.' 
 
 To such an appeal there was but one reply possible. 
 'Forgive me for distressing you. Of course I wiU prom- 
 ise,' I said. 'I would never have asked you if I had fan- 
 cied it could distress you. But do you blame me for being 
 curious? ' 
 
 'I do not blame you at all.' 
 
 'And some time,' I added, 'if I do not tease you, you 
 may teU me of your own accord. May I not hope so?' 
 
 'Perhaps,' she murmured. 
 
 'Only perhaps?' 
 
 Looking up, she read my face with a quick, deep glance. 
 ' Yes,' she said, ' I think I may teU you — some time ' ; and 
 so oiur conversation ended, for she gave me no chance to 
 say anything more. 
 
 That night I don't think even Dr. Pillsbury could have 
 put me to sleep, tiU toward morning at least. Mysteries 
 had been my accustomed food for days now, but none 
 had before confronted me at once so mysterious and so 
 fascinating as this, the solution of which Edith Leete had 
 forbidden me even to seek. It was a double mystery. 
 How, in the first place, was it conceivable that she should 
 know any secret about me, a stranger from a strange age? 
 In the second place, even if she should know such a se- 
 cret, how account for the agitating effect which the know- 
 ledge of it seemed to have upon her? There are puzzles so 
 difficult that one cannot even get so far as a conjecture as 
 to the solution, and this seemed one of them. I am usually 
 of too practical a turn to waste time on such conundrums; 
 but the difficulty of a riddle embodied in a beautiful 
 young girl does not detract from its fascination. In gen- 
 
204 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 eral, no doubt, maidens' blushes may be safely assumed 
 to tell the same tale to young men in aU ages and races, 
 but to give that interpretation to Edith's crimson cheeks 
 would, considering my position and the length of time I 
 had known her, and still more the fact that this mystery 
 dated from before I had known her at all, be a piece of ut- 
 ter fatuity. And yet she was an angel, and I should not 
 have been a young man if reason and conmion sense had 
 been able quite to banish a roseate tinge from my dreams 
 that night. 
 
YYY M ¥¥ 
 
 L 
 
 LN THE morning I went down stairs early in the 
 hope of seeing Edith alone. In this, however, I was dis- 
 appointed. Not finding her in the house, I sought her in 
 the garden, but she was not there. In the course of my 
 wanderings I visited the underground chamber, and sat 
 down there to rest. Upon the reading table in the cham- 
 ber several periodicals and newspapers lay, and thinking 
 that Dr. Leete might be interested in glancing over a Bos- 
 ton daily of 1887, I brought one of the papers with me 
 into the house when I came. 
 
 At breakfast I met Edith. She blushed as she greeted 
 me, but was perfectly self-possessed. As we sat at table, 
 Dr. Leete amused himself with looking over the paper I 
 had brought in. There was in it, as in aU the newspapers 
 of that date, a great deal about the labor troubles, strikes, 
 lockouts, boycotts, the programmes of labor parties, and 
 the wild threats of the anarchists. 
 
 'By the way,' said I, as the doctor read aloud to us 
 
 some of these items, 'what p3.rt did the followers of the 
 
 red flag take in the establishment of the new order of 
 
 , things? They were making considerable noise the last 
 
 thing that I knew.' 
 
 'They had nothing to do with it except to hinder it, 
 of course,' replied Dr. Leete. 'They did that very ef- 
 fectually while they lasted, for their talk so disgusted 
 people as to deprive the best considered projects for so- 
 
2o6 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 cial reform of a hearing. The subsidizing of those fellows 
 was one of the shrewdest moves of the opponents of 
 reform.' 
 
 'Subsidizing them!' I exclaimed in astonishment. 
 
 ' Certainly, ' rephed Dr. Leete. ' No historical authority 
 nowadays doubts that they were paid by the great monop- 
 olies to wave the red flag and talk about burning, sacking, 
 and blowing people up, in order, by alarming the timid, 
 to head off any real reforms. What astonishes me most 
 is that you should have fallen into the trap so unsus- 
 pectingly.' 
 
 'What are your grounds for beUeving that the red flag 
 party was subsidized? ' I inquired. 
 
 'Why simply because they must have seen that their 
 course made a thousand enemies of their professed cause 
 to one friend. Not to suppose that they were hired for 
 the work is to credit them with an inconceivable foUy.' 
 In the United States, of all countries, no party could in- 
 telligently expect to carry its point without first winning 
 over to its ideas a majority of the nation, as the national 
 party eventually did.' 
 
 'The national party!' I exclaimed. 'That must have 
 arisen after my day. I suppose it was one of the labor 
 parties.' 
 
 'Oh no!' replied the doctor. 'The labor parties, as 
 
 " such, never could have accomplished anything on a large 
 
 or permanent scale. For purposes of national scope, their 
 
 ' basis as merely class organizations was too narrow. It 
 
 ' I fully admit the difficulty of accounting for the course of the anar- 
 chists on any other theory than that they were subsidized by the capi- 
 talists, but, at the same time, there is no doubt that the theory is wholly 
 erroneous. It certainly was not held at the time by any one, though it 
 may seem so obvious in the retrospect. 
 
LOOKING BACKWAKD 207 
 
 was not till a rearrangement of the industrial and social 
 system on a higher ethical basis, and for the more efficient 
 production of wealth, was recognized as the interest, not 
 of one class, but equally of all classes, of rich and poor, 
 cultvured and ignorant, old and young, weak and strong, 
 men and women, that there was any prospect that it 
 would be achieved. Then the national party arose to 
 carry it out by political methods. It probably took that 
 name because its aim was to nationalize the functions of 
 production and distribution. Indeed, it could not well 
 have had any other name, for its purpose was to realize 
 the idea of the nation with a grandeur and completeness 
 never before conceived, not as an association of men for 
 certain merely political functions affecting their happi- 
 ness only remotely and superficially, but as a family, a 
 vital union, a common life, a mighty heaven-touching 
 tree whose leaves are its people, fed from its veins, and 
 feeding it in turn. The most patriotic of aU possible par- 
 ties, it sought to justify patriotism and raise it from an in- 
 stinct to a rational devotion, by making the native land 
 truly a father land, a father who kept the people alive 
 and was not merely an idol for which they were expected 
 to die.' 
 
T. 
 
 HE personality of Edith Leete had naturally 
 impressed me strongly ever since I had come, in so strange 
 a manner, to be an inmate of her father's house, and it 
 was to be expected that after what had happened the 
 night previous, I should be more than ever preoccupied 
 with thoughts of her. From the first I had been struck 
 with the air of serene frankness and ingenuous directness, 
 more like that of a noble and innocent boy than any girl 
 I had ever known, which characterized her. I was curious 
 to know how far this charming quality might be peculiar 
 to herself, and how far possibly a result of alterations in 
 the social position of women which might have taken 
 place since my time. Finding an opportunity that day, 
 when alone with Dr. Leete, I turned the conversation in 
 that direction. 
 
 't^ suppose ,' I said, ' that wom ea_aowadavs. having 
 been r elieveTof the burden of housework, have no em- 
 plovment but the cultivat ion of their charms and graces.' 
 
 'So far as we men are concerned,^1i^iied DrTTIeete, 
 'we should consider that they amply paid their way, to 
 use one of your forms of expression, if they confined them- 
 selves to that occupation, but you may be very sure that 
 they have quite too much spirit to consent to be mere 
 beneficiaries of society, even as a return for ornamenting 
 it. Th ey did, inde ed, w'^^^^if" thnYlidJJl!li;pJigi!LJl"^i'^^" 
 wo^jbecause that was not only exreptir.nany wfgijpg 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 209 * 
 
 i n itself, but also wasteful, in the extreme, of^g flfiiavas 
 com pared with the Cooperative plan: but they accepted 
 relief from that sort of work only that they might con- 
 tribute in other and more effectual, as well as more agree- 
 able, ways to the common weal. [Our_ women, as well as 
 ou r men, are members of the industrial army, a nd leave it 
 ooh uffhen maternal duties claim them. The result is that 
 most women, at one time or another of their lives, serve 
 industrially some five or ten or fifteen years, while those 
 who have no children fill out the full term.' j 
 
 ' A woman does not, t hen, necessarily leave the ind us- 
 trial service on marriage? ' I quer ied. 
 
 'f<in rr|nrp tji^n fl man,' replied the doctor. 'Why on 
 earth should she? /Married women have no housekeeping 
 responsibilities now, you know, and a husband is not a 
 baby that he should be cared forj 
 
 'It was thought one of the most grievous features of 
 our civilization that we required so much toil from 
 women,' I said; 'but it seems to me you get more out of 
 them than we did.' 
 
 Dr. Leete laughed. 'Indeed we do, just as we do out 
 of our men. Yet the w omen of t his age are very hap py, 
 and those o f the nineteenth century, unless contemporar y _ 
 re!erenc es~greatly misle ad us, were very mise rabjg. The " 
 reason that women nowadays are so much inore efficient 
 colaborers with the men, and at the same time are so 
 happy, is that, in regard to their work as well as men's, 
 we follow the principle of providing every one the kind of 
 occupation he or she is best adapted to. W2 pen bein g 
 infe rior in strength to men, andf urther di san^ified in- 
 3u strially in gpfrj^l^ Tysygj th a-lwrv A; nf nrriip a.tinn_ re- 
 qPTvH f2LlE^ flind thfi ^""rli'tinns imrlpr whirh they 
 
2IO LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 pursue them, have reference to these facts. Th e heavier 
 s omTtf^Crork'are ever3rwhere reserved for men, the lighte r 
 'o ccupations for wo men. Under no circumstances is a 
 \ woman permitted to follow any employment not per- 
 \fectly adapted, both as to kind and degree of labor, to 
 her sex. Mnrfjover ^ the hours of women's work are con - 
 si derably shorter than those of men's, more freq uent 
 vacations are grant ed, and th e most caref ul provision is 
 made tor rest when needed . The men of this day so well 
 appreciate that t hey owe to the beauty and grace of 
 w omen the chief zest of th eir Tiy gs and~tfaEtFinain incen- 
 t ive to effort , that the y permit th em to work at all o nly 
 because it is fully und erstood that a ce rtain regular re- 
 •^quire ment of lab or, of a sort adapted to t heir po wgrs, is 
 ^elT ror body and mind, during the period of maximum 
 physical vig or. We believe that the magnificent health 
 which distinguishes our women from those of your day, 
 who seem to have been so generally sickly, is owing largely 
 to the fact that all alike are furnished with healthful and 
 inspiriting occupation.' 
 
 'I understood you,' I said, 'that the women-workers 
 belong to the army of industry, but how can they be un- 
 der the same system of ranking and discipline with the 
 men, w hen the conditions of the i^ labor are so different?' 
 ' They are un^er an pntirply f;)ifFprpTi t disciplin e.' re- 
 plied Dr. Leete, 'and constitute rathe r an all ied forc e 
 t han an intep:ral part of the ar rpy of thetripn They have 
 a woman general-in-chief and are imder exclusively 
 feminine regime. This general, as also the higher officers, 
 is chosen by the body of women who have passed the 
 time of service, in correspondence with the manner in 
 which the chiefs of the masculine army and the President 
 
LOOKING BACKWAEB 211 
 
 of the nation are elected. T t\e^ener a1 nf tlip. v p-nmen' s 
 annv_sits±Llbe-eab iaet of the E ceswfew^-ajicLhaa a. veto 
 o n measures respecting women's work, pending app eals 
 t fl. Congress. I shoviTd have said, inspeaking of the judi- 
 ciary, that we have women on the bench, appointed by 
 the general of the women, as well as men. Causes in 
 which both parties are women are determined by women 
 judges, and where a man and a woman are parties to a 
 case, a judge of either sex must consent to the verdict.' 
 
 'Womanhood seems to be organized as a sort of im- 
 perium in imperio in your system,' I said. 
 
 'To some extent,' Dr. Leete replied; 'but the inner 
 imperium is one from which you wiU admit there is not 
 likely to be much danger to the nation. The lac k of some 
 su ch recognition of the distinct individualitvof the sex es 
 was on e of the inn umerable defects of vour so cietv. The 
 passional attraction between men and women has too 
 often prevented arperception of the profound differences 
 which m ake the members of each sex in many thing s 
 s tonge to the other, and capable of sympathy only wit h 
 with their own . It is in giving fuU play to the differences 
 of sex rather than in seeking to obliterate them, as was 
 apparently the effort of some reformers in your day, that 
 the enjoyment of each by itself and the piquancy which 
 each has for the other, are alike enhanced. I n_your day 
 there w as no career for women except in an unnatura l 
 r ivalry with men. We have given them a world of their 
 own, with its emulations, ambitions, and careers, and I 
 assure you they are very happy in it. It^ ^ems to us that 
 womenj y ere more than finv nthe.r das s^the victims of you r . 
 civilization. There is something which, even at this dis- 
 'tance of time, penetrates one with pathos in the spectacle 
 
212 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 of their ennuied, undeveloped lives, stunted at marriage, 
 k their narrow horizon, bounded so often, physically, by 
 fthe four walls of home, and morally by a petty circle of 
 personal interests. I speak now, not of the poorer classes, 
 "who were generally worked to death, but also of the well- 
 to-do and rich. &om the great sorrows, as weU as the 
 pptty frpts nf ]\ie.,they haA nrt rpfiifrp in th e bree2y OUt- 
 
 Aprij yrnrW nt h^rr^{\j ^ affairs. nor any interests savejh ose 
 of the family . Such an existence would have softened 
 men's brains or driven them inad. All that is changed to- 
 day. No woman is heard nowadays wishing she were 
 a man, nor parents desiring boy rather than girl children. 
 Our girls are as full of ambition for their careers as our 
 boys. Carriage, w hfilL it comes, does not mean incar- 
 ceration for them^ m^ 'J"'"' ^^ gppara te them in any way 
 from the ^ari^f '"^^'''•^'itR "f ''"^iftYi *^ ^ bustling life of 
 the world. Only when maternity fills a woman's ImEar 
 with new interests does she withdraw from the world for 
 a time. Afterwards, and at any time, she may return to 
 her place among her comrades, nor need she ever lose 
 touch with them. Women are a very happy race nowa- 
 days, as compared with what they ever were before in the 
 world's history, and their power of giving happiness to 
 men has been of course increased in proportion.' j 
 
 ' I should imagine it possible,' I said, ' that the^terest 
 which girls take in their careers as members of the indus- 
 trial army and candidates for its distinctions might have 
 an effect to deter them from marriage.' 
 
 Dr. Leete smiled. 'Have no anxiety on that score, Mr. 
 West,' he replied. 'The Creator took very good care that 
 whatever other modifications the dispositions of men and 
 women might with time take on, their attraction for 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 213 
 
 each other should remain constant. The mere fact that 
 in an age like yours, when the struggle for existence must 
 have left people little time for other thoughts, aild the 
 future was so imcertain that to assume parental responsi- 
 biUties must have often seemed like a criminal risk, there 
 was even then marrying and giving iju marriage, should 
 be conclusive on this point. As for love nowadays, one '\ 
 of ourantho rs says thaat the vacuum left in the jmadsj d'^ 
 mgBAPd-wempn h)r the ahsenGe-of-careiOE^one's Uveliitood 
 has been entirelv taken up bv the tender passion . That, 
 however, I beg you to beUeve, is something of an exag- 
 geration. F6i:. ^e rest, so faxisjn arriage Jrn"^ b^'^g ^v 
 interfer ence with a woman's career, that the higher posi- 
 tions'in the feroinine army of indust ry are intrusted only 
 to W^mf" W^" ^avp been both wiv^s'"aTTfrTringre fs7 as 
 t]^y_alonejully-J£prsseniJieir_aex.! 
 
 'Arecredit cards issued to the women just as to the 
 men?' 
 
 'Certamly.' 
 
 'The credits of the women, I suppose, are for smaller 
 sums, owing to the frequent suspension of their labor on 
 account of family responsibilities.' 
 
 'Smaller!' exclaimed Dr. Leete, 'oh, no! The main- 
 tenance of all omr people is the same. There are no ex- 
 ceptions to that rule, but if any difference were made on 
 accoimt of the interruptions you speak of, it would be by 
 making the woman's credit larger, not smaller. Can you 
 think of any service constituting a stronger claim on the 
 nation's gratitude than bearing and nursing the nation's 
 children? According to our view, none deserve so well of 
 the world as good parents. There is no task so unselfish, 
 so necessarily without return, though the heart is well 
 
214 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 rewarded, as the nurture of the children who are to make 
 the world for one another when we are gone.' 
 ir 'It would seem to follow, from what you have said, 
 ^ that wives are in no way dependent on their husbands for 
 maintenance.' 
 
 'Of course they are not,' replied Dr. Leete, 'nor chil- 
 dren on their parents either, that is, for means of sup- 
 port, though of course they are for the offices of affection. 
 The child's labor, when he grows up, will go to increase 
 the conunon stock, not his parents', who wUl be dead, and 
 therefore he is properly nurtured out of the common 
 stock. The account of every person, man, woman, and 
 child, you must imderstand, is always with the nation 
 directly, and never through any intermediary, except, of 
 course, that parents, to a certain extent, act for children 
 as their guardians. You see that it is by virtue of the re- 
 lation of individuals to the nation, of their membership 
 in it, that they are entitled to support; and this title is in 
 no way connected with or affected by their relations to 
 other individuals who are fellow members of the nation 
 with them. That any person should be dependent for 
 the means of support upon another would be shocking to 
 the moral sense as well as indefensible on any rational 
 social theory. What would become of personal Hberty 
 and dignity under such an arrangement? I am aware 
 that you called yourselves free in the nineteenth century. 
 The meaning of the word could not then, however, have 
 been at all what it is at present, or V QU certainly would 
 n. ot hav e applied it t o a society of which nearbj^ every 
 ntgmb er was m a position of gaUing personal dependence 
 upon others as to tJie very means of life, the poor upon 
 the rich, or employed upon employer, women upon men, 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 215 
 
 Aildren uq qii parents. Instead of distributing the prod- 
 uct of the nation directly to its members, which would 
 seem the most natural and obvious method, it would 
 actually appear that you had given your minds to de- 
 vising a plan of hand to hand distribution, involving the 
 maximum of personal humiliation to aU classes of recip- 
 ients. 
 
 '^"^PP;"^^" ^^^ '^^ pendence of women upon men for 
 s upport , which then was usual, of course, natural attrac- 
 tion in case of marriages of love may often have made it 
 endurable, though for spirited women I should fancy it 
 must always have remained humiliating. What, then, 
 must it have been in the innxunerable cases where women, 
 with or without the form of marriage, had to seU them- 
 selves to men to get their living? Even your contem- 
 poraries, callous as they were to most of the revolting 
 aspects of their society, seem to have had an idea that 
 this was not quite as it should be; but, it was still only 
 for pity's sake that they deplored the lot of the women. 
 It did n ot occ ur to them tha t it was robbery a s weU as 
 cruelty when men seized for themselves the whole prod- 
 uct of the world and left w pmg n to beg and wheedle for 
 their share . Why — but bless me, Mr. West, I am reaUy 
 running on at a remarkable rate, just as if the robbery, 
 the sorrow, and the shame which those poor women en- 
 dured were not over a century since, or as if you were 
 responsible for what you no doubt deplored as much as I 
 do.' 
 
 'I must bear my share of responsibility for the world 
 as it then was,' I replied. 'AU I can say in extenuation is 
 that until the nation was ripe for the present system of 
 organized production and distribution, no radical im- 
 
2i6 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 provement in the position of woman was possible. The 
 r oot of her disability, as yon sav, was hpr pprsonalde- 
 p endence upon man for her liveli hood, a nd I can imagine 
 no other mode of social organization than that you have 
 adopted, which would have set woman free of man at 
 the same time that it set men free of one another. I sup- 
 pose, by the way, that so entire a change in the position 
 of women cannot have taken place without affecting in 
 marked ways t he social relations of the sexes. That wiU 
 be a very interesting study for me.' 
 
 'The change you will observe,' said Dr. Leete, 'will 
 chiefly be, I think, the entire frankness and unconstrai nt 
 w hich now characterizes those relations, as compared 
 with the artificiality which seems to have marked them 
 in your time. |^he sexes now meet with the ease of per- 
 fect equals, suitors to each other for nothing but lovej 
 I n your time the fact that women w e re dependent lor 
 sii pport on men made theljw Q pan in reahty the mie chiefly 
 b enefited by marriage. f This fact, so far as we can judge 
 from contemporary records, appears to have been 
 coarsely enough recognized among the lower classe'fe, 
 w VnIg amnng \\ip. pipre polished it was glossed ovei -by a 
 s ystem of elaborate conventionalities which aimed t o 
 rari y the prprisply opposite mea ning, namely, that the 
 man was the pa rty chiefly benefit ed. To keep up this 
 convention it was essential that he should always seem 
 the suitor. ^Nothing was therefore considered more 
 shocking to the proprieties than that a woman should 
 betray a fondness for a man before he had indicated a 
 desire to marry heA Why, we actually have in our 
 libraries books, by authors of your day, written for no 
 other purpose than to discuss the question whether, un- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 21 7 
 
 der any conceivable circumstances, a woman might, 
 without discredit to her sex, reveal an unsolicited love. 
 AU this seems exquisitely absurd to us, and yet we know 
 that, given your circumstances, the problem might have 
 a serious side. W Tien for a woman to proff er^rjovetn a 
 man -yyas in effert tn invite him to assume the burden of 
 her support, it is easy to see that pride and deKcacy might 
 weU have checked the promptings of the heart. When 
 you go out into our society, Mr. West, you must be pre- 
 pared to be often cross-questioned on this point by our 
 young people, who are naturally much interested in this 
 aspect of old-fashioned manners.' ' 
 ^^^d so the girls of the twentieth century teU their 
 lovflj' 
 
 Cf they choose,' replied Dr. Leete. 'There is no more 
 pretense of a concealment of feehng on their part than on 
 the part of their lovers, t Coquetry would be as much 
 despised in a girl as in aman. Affected coldness, which 
 in your day rarely deceived a lover, would deceive him 
 wholly now, for no one thinks of practicing it.' 
 
 'One result which must follow from the independence 
 of women I can see for myself,' I said. 'There can be no 
 marriages now except those of inclination.' 
 
 'That is a matter of course,' rephed Dr. Leete. 
 I^T hink of a world in which there are nothing b ut 
 matches of pure lov e! j Ah me. Dr. Leete, how far you are 
 from being able to understand what an astonishing 
 phenomenon such a world seems to a man of the nine- 
 teenth century!' 
 
 ' I may say that Dr. Leete's warning has been fully justified by my 
 experience. The amount and intensity of amusement which the young 
 people of this day, and the young women especially, are able to extract 
 from what they are pleased to call the oddities of courtship in the nine- 
 teenth century, appear unlimited. 
 
2l8 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 'I can, however, to some extent, imagine it,' replied the 
 doctor. l|But the fact you celebrate, that there are no- 
 thing butTove matches, means/feven more, perhaps, than 
 you probably at first realize./ It j ffe^ns that for the fir st 
 ti me in human history the prmciple of sexual selection , 
 w ith its tendency to preserve and transmit the better 
 t ypes of the race, and, let the inferior types drop out, ha s 
 unhindered operatio n.' The necessities of poverty, the 
 need of having a home.' no lonprer tempt women to accep t 
 a s the fathers of their children men whom they neith er 
 c an love nor resp ect. Wealth and rank no longer divert 
 attention from personal qualities. Gold no longer "gilds 
 the straitened forehead of the fool." The gifts of person, 
 ' mind, and disposition; beauty, wit, eloquence, kindness, 
 generosity, geniality, courage, are sure of transmission 
 ^to posterity^^ Every generation is sifted through a little 
 •-finer mesh than the last. The attributes that human na- 
 ture admires are preserved, those that repel it are left be- 
 hind. There are, of course, a great many women who 
 with love must mingle admiration, and seek to wed 
 greatly, but these not the less obey the same law, for to 
 wed greatly now is not to marr y men of fortu ne or title, 
 but those who have risen above their tellows by the s o- 
 hdity or brilhance of their services to himianity . These 
 form nowadays the only aristocracy with which alliance 
 is distinction^ 
 
 'You were speaking, a day or two ago, of the physical 
 superiority of our people to your contemporaries. Per- 
 haps more important than any of the causes I mentioned 
 then as tending to race purification has been the effect 
 of untra mmeled sexual selection upon the quality of two 
 or three successive generations. I believe that when you 
 
LOOKtNG BACKWARD 219 
 
 have made a fuller study of our people you will find in 
 them not only a physical, but a mental and moral im- 
 provement. It would be strange if it were not so, for not 
 only is one of the great laws of nature now freely working 
 out the salvation of the race, but a profound moral senti- 
 ment has come to its support. Individualism, which in 
 VQ ur day was the animating; idea of society, not only was 
 fatal to any vital sentiment o f brotherh ood and comm on 
 i nterest among Uv ing men, but equally to any realization 
 of the responsibility of the living for the generation to fol- 
 low. To-day this sense of responsibility, practically un- 
 recognized in all previous ages, has become one of the 
 great ethical ideas of the race, reinforcing, with an intense 
 conviction of duty, the natural impulse to seek in mar- 
 riage the best and noblest of the other sex. The result is, 
 that not aU the encouragements and incentives of every 
 sort which we have provided to develop industry, talent, 
 genius, excellence of whatever kind, are comparable in { 
 their effect on our young men with the fact that our ] 
 women sit aloft as judges of the race and reserve them- ' 
 selves to reward the winners. Of aU the whips, and spurs, j 
 and baits, and prizes, there is none like the thought of the 
 radiant faces which the laggards will find averted. i 
 
 r velibates nowadays are almost invariably men wh o 
 hav e failed to acqu it the mselves creditably in the w ork of 
 SeTrhe woman must be a'courageous one, with a very, 
 evU sort of courage, too, whom pity for one of these un- 
 fortimates should lead to defy the opinion of her genera- 
 tion — for otherwise she is free — so far as to accept him 
 for a husbandjb: should add that, more exacting and dif- 
 ficult to resistman any other element in that opinion, she 
 would find the sentunent of her own sex. Our women 
 
220 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 have risen to the full height of their responsibility as the 
 wardens of the world to come, to whose keeping the keys 
 of the future are confided. Their feehng of duty in this 
 respect amounts to a sense of religious consecration. It 
 is a cult in which they educate their daughters from child- 
 hood.' 
 
 After going to my room that night, I sat up late to 
 read a romance of Berrian, handed me by Dr. Leete, the 
 plot of which turned on a situation suggested by his last 
 words, concerning the modern view of parental responsi- 
 bility. A similar situation would almost certainly have 
 been treated by a nineteenth century romancist so as to 
 excite the morbid sympathy of the reader with the senti- 
 mental selfishness of the lovers, and his resentment to- 
 ward the imwritten law which they outraged. I need not 
 describe — for who has not read 'Ruth Elton'? — how 
 different is the course which Berrian takes, and with 
 what tremendous effect he enforces the principle which 
 he states: 'Over the unborn our power is that of God, and 
 our responsibiUty like His toward us. As we acquit our- 
 selves toward them, so let Him deal with us.' 
 
¥¥Y 26 V¥ 
 
 I 
 
 THINK if a person were ever excusable for losing 
 track of the days of the week, the circumstances excused 
 me. Indeed, if I had been told that the method of reckon- 
 ing time had been wholly changed and the days were 
 now counted in lots of five, ten, or fifteen instead of seven, 
 I shoidd have been in no way surprised after what I had 
 already heard and seen of the twentieth century. The 
 first time that any inquiry as to the days of the week oc- 
 curred to me was the morning following the conversation 
 related in the last chapter. At the breakfast table Dr. 
 Leete asked me if I would care to hear a sermon. 
 
 'Is it Sunday, then?' I exclaimed. 
 
 'Yes,' he repUed. 'It was on Friday, you see, when we 
 made the lucky discovery of the buried chamber to which^^ 1. 
 we owe your society this morning. It was on Saturday 
 morning, soon after midnight, that you first awoke, and 
 Sunday afternoon when you awoke the second time with 
 faculties fully regained.' 
 
 'So you still have Sundays and sermons,' I said. 'We 
 had prophets who foretold that long before this time the 
 world would have dispensed with both. I am very curious 
 to know how the ecclesiastical systems fit in with the rest 
 of your social arrangements. I suppose you have a sort 
 of national church with ofiicial clergymen.' 
 
 Dr. Leete laughed, and Mrs. Leete and Edith seemed 
 greatly amused. 
 
 'Why, Mr. West,' Edith said, 'what odd people you 
 
222 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 must think us. You were quite done with national re- 
 ligious establishments in the nineteenth century, and did 
 you fancy we had gone back to them? ' 
 
 'But how can voluntary churches and an unofl&cial 
 clerical profession be reconciled with national ownership 
 of all buildings, and the industrial service required of all 
 men? ' I answered. 
 
 'The religious practices of the people have naturally 
 changed considerably in a century,' repUed Dr. Leete; 
 'but supposing them to have remained unchanged, our 
 social system would accommodate them perfectly. The 
 nation supplies any person or ntimber of persons with 
 buildings on guarantee of the rent, and they remain 
 tenants while they pay it. As for the clergymen, if a 
 nimiber of persons wish the services of an individual for 
 any particular end of their own, apart from the general 
 service of the nation, they can always secure it, with that 
 individual's own consent, of course, just as we secure the 
 service of our editors, by contributing from their credit- 
 cards an indemnity to the nation for the loss of his serv- 
 ices in general industry. This indemnity paid the na- 
 tion for the individual answers to the salary in your day 
 paid to the individual himseK; and the various applica- 
 tions of this principle leave private initiative fuU play in 
 all details to which national control is not applicable. 
 Now, as to hearing a sermon to-day, if you wish to do so, 
 you can either go to a church to hear it or stay at home.' 
 
 'How am I to hear it if I stay at home?' 
 
 'Simply by accompanying us to the music room at the 
 proper hour and selecting an easy chair. There are 
 some who stiU prefer to hear sermons in church, but most 
 of our preaching, like our musical performances, is not in 
 
LOOKING BACKWAIID 223 
 
 public, but delivered in acoustically prepared chambers, 
 connected by wire with subscribers' houses. If you prefer 
 to go to a church I shall be glad to accompany you, but I 
 really don't believe you are likely to hear anywhere a 
 better discourse than you will at home. I see by the 
 paper that Mr. Barton is to preach this morning, and he 
 preaches only by telephone, and to audiences often reach- 
 ing 150,000.' 
 
 'The novelty of the experience of hearing a sermon 
 under such circumstances would incline me to be one of 
 Mr. Barton's hearers, if for no other reason,' I said. 
 
 An hour or two later, as I sat reading in the Hbrary, 
 Edith came for me, and I followed her to the music room, 
 where Dr. and Mrs. Leete were waiting. We had not 
 more than seated ourselves comfortably when the tinkle 
 of a beU was heard, and a few moments after the voice of 
 a man, at the pitch of ordinary conversation, addressed 
 us, with an effect of proceeding from an invisible person 
 in the room. This was what the voice said: 
 
 MR. barton's sermon 
 
 'We have had among us, during the past week, a critic 
 from the nineteenth century, a hving representative of 
 the epoch of our great-grandparents. It would be strange 
 if a fact so extraordinary had not somewhat strongly af- 
 fected our imaginations. Perhaps most of us have been 
 stimulated to some effort to realize the society of a cen- 
 tury ago, and figure to ourselves what it must have been 
 like to live then. In inviting you now to consider certain 
 reflections upon this subject which have occurred to me, I 
 presume that I shall rather foUow^_than divert the course 
 of your own thoughts.' 
 
224 LOOKING BACKWAIU) 
 
 Edith whispered something to her father at this point, 
 to which he nodded assent and turned to me. 
 
 'Mr. West,' he said, 'Edith suggests that you may find 
 it slightly embarrassing to listen to a discourse on the 
 lines Mr. Barton is laying down, and if so, you need not 
 be cheated out of a sermon. She will connect us with 
 Mr. Sweetser's speaking room if you say so, and I can 
 stiU promise you a very good discourse.' 
 
 'No, no,' I said. 'Believe me, I would much rather 
 hear what Mr. Barton has to say.' 
 
 'As you please,' replied my host. 
 
 When her father spoke to me Edith had touched a 
 screw, and the voice of Mr. Barton had ceased abruptly. 
 Now at another touch the room was once more filled with 
 the earnest sympathetic tones which had already im- 
 pressed me most favorably. 
 
 ' I venture to assume that one effect has been common 
 with us as a result of this effort at retrospection, and that 
 it has been to leave us more than ever amazed at the 
 stupendous change which one brief century has made in 
 the material and moral conditions of humanity. 
 
 'Still, as regards the contrast between the poverty 
 of the nation and the world in the nineteenth century and 
 their wealth now, it is not greater, possibly, than had 
 been before seen in human history, perhaps not greater, 
 for example, than that between the poverty of this coun- 
 try during the earliest colonial period of the seventeenth 
 century and the relatively great wealth it had attained at 
 the close of the nineteenth, or between the England of 
 William the Conqueror and that of Victoria. Although 
 the aggregate riches of a nation did not then, as now, af- 
 ford any accurate criterion of the masses of its people, 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 1^22$ 
 
 yet instances like these afford partial parallels for the 
 merely material side of the contrast between the nine- 
 teenth and the twentieth centuries. It is when we con- 
 template the moral aspect of that contrast that we find 
 ourselves in the presence of a phenomenon for which his- 
 tory offers no precedent, however far back we may cast 
 our eye. One might almost be excused who should ex- 
 claim, "Here, surely, is something like a miracle!" 
 Nevertheless, when we give over idle wonder, and begin 
 to examine the seeming prodigy critically, we find it no 
 prodigy at all, much less a miracle. It is not necessary 
 to suppose a moral new birth of humanity, or a wholesale 
 destruction of the wicked and survival of the good, to 
 account for the fact before us. It finds its simple and ob- 
 vious explanation in the reaction of a changed environ- 
 ment upon human nature. It means merely that a form 
 of society which was founded on the peudo self-interest 
 of selfishness, and appealed solely to the anti-social and 
 brutal side of human nature, has been replaced by in- 
 stitutions based on the true self-interest of a rational im- 
 selfishness, and appealing to the social and generous in- 
 stincts of men. 
 
 'My friends, if you would see men again the beasts of 
 prey they seemed in the nineteenth century, all you have 
 to do is to restore the old social and industrial system, 
 which taught- them to view their natural prey in their 
 fellow-men, and find their gain in the loss of others. No 
 doubt it seems to you that no necessity, however dire, 
 would have tempted you to subsist on what superior skill 
 or strength enabled you to wrest from others equally 
 needy. But suppose it were not merely your own life 
 that you were re^onsible for. I know well that there 
 
226 LOOKENG BACKWARD 
 
 ftiust have been many a man among our ancestors who, 
 if it had been merely a question of his own hfe, would 
 sooner have given it up than nourished it by bread 
 snatched from others. But this he was not permitted to 
 do. He had dear lives dependent on him. Men loved 
 women in those days, as now. God knows how they dared 
 be fathers, but they had babies as sweet, no doubt, to 
 them as ours to us, whom they must feed, clothe, educate. 
 The gentlest creatures are fierce when they have young 
 to provide for, and in that wolfish society the struggle 
 for bread borrowed a pecuUar desperation from .the ten- 
 derest sentiments. For the ja^f^ "f those dependa nt, on 
 him, a man might not choose, but must plunge into the 
 foul fight, — c heat , overreach, supplant, defraud, hiiy 
 b elow worth and sell above, break down the business by 
 which his neighbor fed his young ones, tempt men to buy 
 what tSey ought not and to sell wha t th ey should not, 
 grind his laborers, sweat his debtors, cozen his creditors. 
 Though a man sought it carefully with tears, it was hard 
 to find a way in which he could earn a living and provide 
 for his family except by pressing in before some weaker 
 rival and taking the food from his mouth. Even the min- 
 isters of religion were not exempt from this cruel necessity. 
 While they warned their flocks against the love of money, 
 regard for their families compelled them to keep an out- 
 look for the pecuniary prizes of their calling. Poor fel- 
 lows, theirs was indeed a trying business, preaching to 
 men a generosity and unselfishness which they and every- 
 body knew would, in the existing state of the world, re- 
 duce to poverty those who should practice them, la3dng 
 down laws of conduct which the law of self-preservation 
 compelled men to break. Looking on the iohimian 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD .,''227 
 
 spectacle of society, these worthy men bitterly bemoaned 
 the depravity of human nature; as if angelic natiure would 
 not have been debauched in such a devil's school! Ah, 
 my friends, believe me, it is not now in this happy age 
 that humanity is proving the divinity within it. It was 
 rather in those evil days when not even the fight for life 
 with one another, the struggle for mere existence, in which 
 mercy was folly, could wholly banish generosity and kind- 
 ness from the earth. 
 
 'It is not hard to understand the desperation with 
 which men and women, who imder other conditions would 
 have been fuU of gentleness and ruth, fought and tore 
 each other in the scramble for gold, when we realize what 
 it meant to miss it, what poverty was in that day. For 
 the body it was himger and thirst, torment by heat and 
 frost, in sickness neglect, in health unremitting toil; for 
 the moral nature it meant oppression, contempt, and the 
 patient endurance of indignity, brutish associations from 
 infancy, the loss of all the innocence of childhood, the 
 grace of womanhood, the dignity of manhood; for the 
 mind it meant the death of ignorance, the torpor of all 
 those faculties which distinguish us from brutes, the re- 
 duction of life to a round of bodily functions. 
 
 *Ah, my friends, if such a fate as this were offered you 
 and your children as the only alternative of success in the 
 accumulation of wealth, how long do you fancy would you 
 be in sinking to the moral level of your ancestors? 
 
 'Some two or three centuries ago an act of barbarity 
 was committed in India, which, though the number of 
 lives destroyed was but a few score, was attended by such 
 pecuhar horrors that its memory is Hkely to be perpetual. 
 A number of EngUsh prisoners were shut up in a room 
 
228 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 containing not enough air to supply one-tenth their num- 
 ber. The unfortunates were gallant men, devoted com- 
 rades in service, but, as the agonies of suffocation began 
 to take hold on them, they forgot all else, and became in- 
 volved in a hideous struggle, each one for himself, and 
 against all others, to force a way to one of the small 
 apertures of the prison at which alone it was possible to 
 get a breath of air. It was a struggle in which men be- 
 came beasts, and the recital of its horrors by the few sur- 
 vivors so shocked our forefathers that for a century later 
 we find it a stock reference in their Uterature as a t)^ical 
 illustration of the extreme possibilities of human misery, 
 as shocking in its moral as its physical aspect. They could 
 scarcely have anticipated that to us the Black Hole of 
 Calcutta, with its press of maddened men tearing and 
 trampling one another in the struggle to win a place at 
 the breathing holes, would seem a striking type of the 
 society of their age. It lacked something of being a com- 
 plete type, however, for in the Calcutta Black Hole there 
 were no tender women, no little children and old men and 
 women, no cripples. They were at least all men, strong 
 to bear, who suffered. 
 
 ' When we reflect that the ancient order of which I have 
 been speaking was prevalent up to the end of the nine- 
 teenth century, while to us the new order which suc- 
 ceeded it already seems antique, even our parents having 
 known no other, we cannot fail to be astounded at the 
 suddenness with which a transition so profoimd beyond 
 aU previous experience of the race must have been ef- 
 fected. Some observation of the state of men's minds dur- 
 ing the last quarter of the nineteenth century will, how- 
 ever, in great measure, dissipate this astonishment. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 229 
 
 Though general intelligence in the modern sense could 
 not be said to exist in any community at that time, yet, 
 as compared with previous generations, the one then on 
 the stage was inteUigent. The inevitable consequence of 
 even this comparative degree of intelligence had been a 
 perception of the evils of society, such as had never before 
 been general. It is quite true that these evils had been 
 even worse, much worse, in previous ages. It was the in- 
 creased inteUigence of the masses which made the dif- 
 ference, as the dawn reveals the squalor of surroundings 
 which in the darkness may have seemed tolerable. The 
 key-note of the literature of the period was one of com- 
 passion for the poor and unfortimate, and indignant out- 
 cry against the failure of the social machinery to ameKo- 
 rate the miseries of men. It is plain from these outbursts 
 that the moral hideousness of the spectacle about them 
 was, at least by flashes, fuUy realized by the best of the 
 men of that time, and that the lives of some of the more 
 sensitive and generous hearted of them were rendered 
 well-nigh unendurable by the intensity of their sym- 
 pathies. 
 
 'Although the idea of the vi>a1mTity ^f tlip f amily o f 
 mankind, the^ reahtv of human brotherhood, was very 
 far from being apprehended by them as the moral axiom 
 it seems to us, yet it is a mistake to suppose that there 
 was no feeling at all corresponding to it. I could read you 
 passages of great beauty from some of their writers which 
 show that the conception was clearly attained by a few, 
 and no doubt vaguely by many more. Moreover, it 
 must not be forgotten that the nineteenth century was in 
 name Christian, and the fact that the entire commercial 
 and industrial frame of society was the embodiment of 
 
230 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 the anti-Christian spirit must have had some weight, 
 though I admit it was strangely little, with the nominal 
 followers of Jesus Christ. 
 
 'When we inquire why it did not have more, why, in 
 general, long after a vast majority of men had agreed as 
 to the crying abuses of the existing social arrangement, 
 they stiU tolerated it, or contented themselves with talk- 
 ing of petty reforms in it, we come upon an extraordinary 
 fact. It was the sincere belief of even the best of men at 
 that epoch that the only stable elements in human nature, 
 on which a social system could be safely foimded, were 
 its worst propensities. They had been taught and be- 
 lieved that greed and self-seeking were aU that held man- 
 kind together, and that aU human associations would fall 
 to pieces if anything were done to blunt the edge of these 
 motives or curb their operation. In a word, they believed 
 — even those who longed to believe otherwise — the 
 exact reverse of what seems to us self-evident; j.hey be - 
 li eved, that is, th at til p ^pti'-gnHal qn^]itiea of men, a.nrl 
 no t their s ocial qualities, were w bf^^ f^rni£^p>^Jj^p_rrj^f- 
 sive force of so ciety. It seemed reasonable to them that 
 men lived together solely for the purpose of overreaching 
 and oppressing one another, and of being overreached and 
 oppressed, and that while a society that gave fuU scope 
 to these propensities could stand, there would be Kttle 
 chance for one based on the idea of cooperation for the 
 benefit of all. It seems absurd to expect any one to be- 
 lieve that convictions like these were ever seriously en- 
 tertained by men; but that they were not only enter- 
 tained by our great-grandfathers, but were responsible 
 for the long delay in doing away with the ancient order, 
 after a conviction of its intolerable abuses had become 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 23 1 
 
 general, is as well established as any fact in history can 
 be. Just here you will find the explanation of the pro- 
 found pessimism of the literature of the last quarter of 
 the nineteenth century, the note of melancholy in its 
 poetry, and the cynicism of its humor. 
 
 CJEeeling that the condition of the race was unendura- 
 ble, they had no clear hope of anything better. They be- 
 lieved that the evolution of humanity had resulted in 
 leading it into a cul de sac, and that there was no way of 
 getting forward. The frame of men's minds at this time 
 is strikingly illustrated by treatises which have come 
 down to us, and may even now be consulted in our libra- 
 ries by the curious, in which laborious arguments are 
 pursued to prove that despite the evil plight of men, life 
 was stiU, by some slight preponderance of considerations, 
 probably better worth living than leaving. Despising 
 themselves, they despised their Creator. There was a 
 general decay oTrSI^ourHeKefrTPTteand watery gleams, 
 from skies thickly veiled by doubt and dread, alone 
 lighted up the chaos of earth. That men should doubt 
 Him whose breath is in their nostrils, or dread the hands 
 that moulded them, seems to us indeed a pitiable in- 
 sanity; but we must remember that children who are 
 brave by day have sometimes foolish fears at night. The 
 dawn has come since then. It is very easy to believe in the 
 fatherhood of God in the twentieth century ._J, 
 
 'Briefly, as must needs be in a discourse of this charac- 
 ter, I have adverted to some of the causes which had pre- 
 pared men's minds for the change from the old to the new 
 order, as well as some causes of the conservatism of 
 despair which for a, while held it back after the time was 
 ripe. To wonder at the rapidity with which the change 
 
232 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 was completed after its possibility was first entertained 
 is to forget the intoxicating effect of hope upon minds 
 long accustomed to despair. The sunburst, after so long 
 and dark a night, must needs have had a dazzling effect. 
 From the moment men allowed themselves to believe 
 that humanity after all had not been meant for a dwarf, 
 that its squat stature was not the measure of its possible 
 growth, but that it stood upon the verge of an avatar of 
 limitless development, the reaction must needs have been 
 overwhelming. It is evident that nothing was able to 
 stand against the enthusiasm which the new faith in- 
 spired. 
 
 'Here, at last, men must have felt, was a cause com- 
 pared with which the grandest of historic causes had been 
 trivial. It was doubtless because it could have com- 
 manded millions of martyrs, that none were needed. The 
 change of a dynasty in a petty kingdom of the old world 
 often cost more lives than did the revolution which set 
 the feet of the human race at last in the right way. 
 
 'Doubtless it ill beseems one to whom the boon of life 
 in our resplendent age has been vouchsafed to wish his 
 destiny other, and yet I have often thought that I would 
 fain exchange my share in this serene and golden day for 
 a place in that stormy epoch of transition, when heroes 
 burst the barred gate of the future and revealed to the 
 kindling gaze of a hopeless race, in place of the blank wall 
 that had closed its path, a vista of progress whose end, 
 for very excess of light, stOl dazzles us. Ah, my friends I 
 who win say that to have lived then, when the weakest in- 
 fluence was a lever to whose touch the centuries trembled, 
 was not worth a share even in this era of fruition? 
 
 'You know the story of that last, greatest, and most 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 233 
 
 bloodless of revolutions. In the time of one generation 
 men laid aside the social traditions and practices of bar- 
 i5a^^ ^nd assumed a sdcial order wortViy of raSon al 
 and~human beings. Ceasing to be^p iedatorv in their 
 Mbits, they became co-workers, and found in fratep iity , 
 • ^t once, the science of wealth an dha ppiness . "What 
 shall I eat and drink, and wherewithal shall I be clothed? " 
 stated as a problem beginning and ending in self, had been 
 an anxious and an endless one. But when once it was con- 
 ceived, not from the individual, but the fraternal stand- 
 point, "What shall we eat and drink, and wherewithal 
 shall we be clothed? " — its difficulties vanished. 
 
 'Poverty with servitude had been the result, for the 
 mass of hiunanity, of attempting to solve the problem of 
 maintenance from the individual standpoint, but no 
 sooner had the nation become the sole capitalist and em- 
 ployer than not alone did plenty replace poverty, but the 
 last vestige of the serfdom of man to man disappeared 
 from earth. Human slavery, so often vainly scotched, at 
 last was killed. The means of subsistence no longer 
 doled out by men to women, by employer to employed, 
 by rich to poor, was distributed from a common stock as 
 among children at the father's table. It was impossible 
 for a man any longer to use his fellow-men as tools for 
 his own profit. His esteem was the only sort of gain he 
 could thenceforth make out of him. There was no more 
 either arrogance or servility in the relations of human 
 beings to one another. For the first time since the creation 
 every man stood up straight before God. The fear of 
 want and the lust of gain became extinct motives when 
 abundance was assured to all and immoderate possessions 
 made impossible of attainment. There were no more beg- 
 
234 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 gars nor almoners. Equity left charity without an oc- 
 cupation. The ten commandments became well-nigh 
 obsolete in a world where there was no temptation to 
 theft, no occasion to he either for fear or favor, no room 
 for envy where all were equal, and Uttle provocation to 
 violence where men were disarmed of power to injure 
 one another. Humanity's ancient dream of liberty, 
 equality, fraternity, mocked by so many ages, at last was 
 realized. 
 
 'As in the old society the generous, the just, the tender- 
 hearted had been placed at a disadvantage by the posses- 
 sion of those qualities, so in the new society the cold- 
 hearted, the greedy, and seK-seeking found themselves 
 out of joint with the world. Now that the conditions of 
 li fe for t he fir st time ceased to operate a£a_fordng^rpce^ 
 t o develop the brutal qualities of human nature, and the 
 premiimi which had heretofore encouraged selfishness 
 was not only removed, but placed upon" vmselfishness, it 
 was for the first time possible to see_ gha,t iinppjj^ted 
 hxmian nature really was lik e. The depraved tendencies, 
 which had previously overgrown and obscured the better 
 to so large an extent, now withered like cellar fungi in 
 the open air, and the nobler quahties showed a sudden 
 luxuriance which turned cynics iato panegyrists and for 
 the first time in human history tempted mankind to fall 
 in love with itself. Soon was fully revealed, what the 
 divines and philosophers of^he old worWr never "WouM 
 ha^/sJadiexed^th&thw^a,ri nature in^its'essential qualities 
 is goodjjiot bad, that men by their natural intention and 
 structure, .iire^generous, not selfish, pitiful,., not cruel, 
 sympaihfitic, not arrogant, godlike in aspirations, jn^. 
 stinct^with divinest impulses of tenderness and ^seM- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 23 S 
 
 sacrifice, images of God indeed, not the travesties upon 
 JHun they hadseemed. The constant pressure, through 
 numberless generations, of conditions of life which might 
 have perverted angels, had not been able to essentially 
 alter the natural nobihty of the stock, and these condi- 
 tions once removed, like a bent tree, it had sprung back 
 to its normal uprightness. 
 
 . 'To put the whole matter in the nutshell of a parable, 
 let me compare himianity in the olden time to a rosebush 
 planted in a swamp, watered with black bog-water, 
 breathing miasmatic fogs by day, and chilled with poison 
 dews at night. Inmmierable generations of gardeners 
 had done their best to make it bloom, but beyond an oc- 
 casional half-opened bud with a worm at the heart, their 
 efforts had been imsuccessful. Many, indeed, claimed 
 that the bush was no rosebush at all^ but a noxious shrub, 
 fit only to be uprooted and burned. The gardeners, for 
 the most part, however, held that the bush belonged to 
 the rose family, but had some ineradicable taint about it, 
 which prevented the buds from coming out, and ac- 
 coimted for its generally sickly condition. There were a 
 few, indeed, who maintained that the stock was good 
 enough, that the trouble was in the bog, and that under 
 more favorable conditions the plant might be expected 
 to do better. But these persons were not regular gar- 
 deners, and being condemned by the latter as mere 
 theorists and day dreamers, were, for the most part, so 
 regarded by the people. Moreover, urged some emiaent 
 moral philosophers, even conceding for the sake of the 
 argument that the bush might possibly do better else- 
 where, it was a more valuable discipline for the buds to 
 try to bloom in a bog than it would be under more favor- 
 
236 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 able conditions. The buds that succeeded in opening 
 might indeed be very rare, and the flowers pale and scent- 
 less, but they represented far more moral effort than if 
 they had bloomed spontaneously in a garden. 
 
 'The regular gardeners and the moral philosophers had 
 their way. The bush remained rooted in the bog, and 
 the old course of treatment went on. Continually new 
 varieties of forcing mixtures were applied to the roots, 
 and more recipes than could be numbered, each declared 
 by its advocates the best and only suitable preparation, 
 were used to kill the vermin and remove the mildew. 
 This went on a very long time. Occasionally some one 
 claimed to observe a slight improvement in the appear- 
 ance of the bush, but there were quite as many who de- 
 clared that it did not look so well as it used to. On the 
 whole there could not be said to be any marked change. 
 Finally, during a period of general despondency as to the 
 prospects of the bush where it was, the idea of transplant- 
 ing it was again mooted, and this time found favor. "Let 
 us try it," was the general voice. " Perhaps it may thrive 
 better elsewhere, and here it is certainly doubtful if it 
 be worth cultivating longer." So it came about that the 
 rosebush of humanity was transplanted, and set in sweet, 
 warm, dry earth, where the sun bathed it, the stars 
 wooed it, and the south wind caressed it. Then it ap- 
 peared that it was indeed a rosebush. The vermin and 
 the mildew disappeared, and the bush was covered with 
 most beautiful red roses, whose fragrance filled the 
 world. 
 
 'It is a pledge of the destiny appointed for us that the 
 Creator has set in our hearts an infinite standard, of 
 achievement, judged by which our past attainments 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 237 
 
 seem always insignificant, and the goal never nearer. 
 Had our forefathers conceived a state of society in which 
 men should Uve together like brethren dwelling in unity, 
 without strifes or envying, violence or overreaching, and 
 where, at the price of a degree of labor not greater than 
 health demands, in their chosen occupations, they should 
 be wholly freed from care for the morrow and left with 
 no more concern for their Hvelihood than trees which are 
 watered by unfailing streams, — had they conceived such 
 a condition, I say, it would have seemed to them nothing 
 less than paradise. They would have confoimded it with 
 their idea of heaven, nor dreamed that there could possi- 
 bly lie further beyond anything to be desired or striven 
 for. 
 
 'But how is it with us who stand on this height which 
 they gazed up to? Already we have well-nigh forgotten, 
 except when it is especially called to our minds by some 
 occasion like the present, that it was not always with 
 men as it is now. It is a strain on our imaginations to con- 
 ceive the social arrangements of our immediate ancestors. 
 We find them grotesque. The solution of the problem of 
 physical maintenance so as to banish care and crime, so 
 far from seeming to us an ultimate attainment, appears 
 but as a preliminary to anything like real hviman prog- 
 ress. We have but relieved ourselves of an impertinent 
 and needless harassment which hindered our ancestor 
 from undertaking the real ends of existence. We are 
 merely stripped for the race; no more. We are like a child 
 which has just learned to stand upright and to walk. It 
 is a great event, from the chUd's point of view, when he 
 first walks. Perhaps he fancies that there can be Uttle 
 beyond that achievement, but a year later he has for- 
 
238 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 gotten that he could not always walk. His horizon did 
 but widen when he rose, and enlarge as he moved. A 
 great event indeed, in one sense, was his first step, but 
 only as a beginning, not as the end. His true career was 
 but then first entered on. The enfranchisement of 
 humanity in the last century, from mental and physical 
 absorption in working and scheming for the mere bodily 
 necessities, may be regarded as a species of second birth 
 of the race, without which its first birth to an existence 
 that was but a burden would forever have remained un- 
 justified, but whereby it is now abundantly vindicated. 
 Since then, humanity has entered on a new phase of 
 spiritual development, an evolution of higher faculties, the 
 very existence of which in human nature our ancestors 
 scarcely suspected. I n place of the dreary hopelessne ss of 
 t he nineteenth century, its profound pessimism as to the 
 f uture of Iniimam'ty. the ani mating idea of the presen t age 
 is an enthusiastic conception of the opportunities of our 
 earthly existence, and theu nbounded possihilities ^^f 
 Kiirna.n natnrf^ . 'The henerrnent of mankind from genera- 
 tion to generation, physically, mentally, morally, is rec- 
 ognized as the one great object supremely worthy of ef- 
 fort and of sacrifice. We believe the race for the first 
 time to have entered on the realization of God's ideal of 
 it, and each generation must now be a step upward. 
 
 'Do you ask what we look for when unnumbered gen- 
 erations shall have passed away? I answer, the way 
 stretches far before us, but the end is lost in light. ...Jor 
 twofold is the return of man to G od " who is our hom e," 
 t he ret urn of the ind ividual by the w ay of death, and th e 
 rettu-n of the race Eythe fulfilment oT the pvQ liitinn^jpTipn 
 the divine secret hidden in the germ shall be perfectly un- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 239 
 
 folded. With a tear for the dark past, turn we then to the 
 dazzling future, and, veiling our eyes, press forward. 
 The long and weary winter of the race is ended. Its slim- 
 mer has begun. Humanity has biurst the chrysaUs. The 
 heavens are before it.' 
 
• • • • ■ 
 
 I 
 
 NEVER could tell just why, but Sunday after- 
 noon during my old life had been a time when I was pecul- 
 iarly subject to melancholy, when the color imaccount- 
 ably faded out of all the aspects of life, and everything ap- 
 peared pathetically uninteresting. The hours, which in 
 general were wont to bear me easily on their wings, lost 
 the power of flight, and toward the close of the day, 
 drooping quite to earth, had fairly to be dragged along by 
 main strength. Perhaps it was partly owing to the es- 
 tablished association of ideas that, despite the utter 
 change in my circumstances, I fell into a state of pro- 
 found depression on the afternoon of this my first Sunday 
 in the twentieth century. 
 
 It was not, however, on the present occasion a depres- 
 sion without specific cause, the mere vague melancholy I 
 have spoken of, but a sentiment suggested and certainly 
 quite justified by my position. The sermon of Mr. Bar- 
 ton, with its constant implication of the vast moral gap 
 between the century to which I belonged and that in 
 which I found myself, had had an effect strongly to ac- 
 centuate my sense of loneliness in it. Considerately and 
 philosophically as he had spoken, his words could scarcely 
 have failed to leave upon my mind a strong impression of 
 the mingled pity, curiosity, and aversion which I, as a 
 representative of an abhorred epoch, must excite in all 
 aroimd me. 
 
LOOKING BACKWABD 241 
 
 The extraordinary kindness with which I had been 
 treated by Dr. Leete and his family, and especially the 
 goodness of Edith, had hitherto prevented my fully 
 realizing that their real sentiment toward me must 
 necessarily be that of the whole generation to which they 
 belonged.) The recognition of this, as regarded Dr. Leete 
 and his amiable wife, however painful, I might have en- 
 dured, but the conviction that Edith must share their 
 feeling was more than I could bear. 
 
 The crushing effect with which this belated perception 
 of a fact so obvious came to me opened my eyes fully to 
 something which perhaps the reader has already sus- 
 pected, — I loved Edith. 
 
 Was it strange that I did? The affecting occasion on 
 which our intimacy had begun, when her hands had 
 drawn me out of the whirlpool of madness; the fact that 
 her sympathy was the vital breath which had set me up 
 in this new life and enabled me to support it; my habit 
 of looking to her as the mediator between me and the 
 world aroimd in a sense that even her father was not, — ■ 
 these were circumstances that had predetermined a result 
 which her remarkable loveliness of person and disposition 
 would alone have accoimted for. It was quite inevitable 
 that she should have come to seem to me, in a sense 
 qiiite different from the usual experience of lovers, the 
 only woman in this world. Now that I had become sud- 
 denly sensible of the fatuity of the hopes I had begun to 
 cherish, I suffered not merely what another lover might, 
 but in addition a desolate loneliness, an utter forlonmess, 
 such as no other lover, however imhappy, could have felt. 
 
 My hosts evidently saw that I was depressed in spirits, 
 and did their best to divert me. Edith especially, I could 
 
242 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 see, was distressed for me, but according to the usual per- 
 versity of lovers, having once been so mad as to dream of 
 receiving something more from her, there was no longer 
 any virtue for me in a kiadness that J[ knew was only 
 sympathy. 
 
 •^Toward nightfall, after secluding myself in my room 
 most of the afternoon, I went into the garden to walk 
 about. The day was overcast, with an autmnnal flavor 
 in the warm, still air. Finding myself near the excavation, 
 I entered the subterranean chamber and sat down there. 
 'This,' I muttered to myself, 'is the only home I have. 
 Let me stay here, and not go forth any more.' Seeking aid 
 from the familiar surroundings, I endeavored to find a 
 sad sort of consolation in reviving the past and simimon- 
 ing up the forms and faces that were about me in my 
 former Ufe. It was in vain. There was no longer any 
 life in them. For nearly one htmdred years the stars had 
 been looking down on Edith Bartlett's grave, and the 
 graves of all my generation. 
 
 The past was dead, crushed beneath a century's weight, 
 and from the present I was shut out. There was no place 
 for me anywhere. I was neither dead nor properly alive. 
 
 'Forgive me for following you.' 
 
 I looked up. Edith stood in the door of the subter- 
 ranean room, regarding me smilingly, but with eyes fuU 
 of sympathetic distress. 
 
 'Send me away if I am intruding on you,' she said; 
 ' but we saw that you were out of spirits, and you know 
 you promised to let me know if that were so. You have 
 not kept your word,' 
 
 I rose and came to the door, trying to smile, but making, 
 I fancy, rather sorry work of it, for the sight of her loveli- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 243 
 
 ness brought home to me the more poignantly the cause of 
 my wretchedness. 
 
 'I was feeling a little lonely, that is all,' I said. 'Has it 
 never occurred to you that my position is so much more 
 utterly alone than any human being's ever was before that 
 a new word is really needed to describe it?' 
 
 'Oh, you must not talk that way — you must not let 
 yourself feel that way — you must not!' she exclaimed, 
 with moistened eyes. 'Are we not your friends? It is 
 your own fault if you wiU not let us be. You need not be 
 lonely.' 
 
 'You are good to me beyond my power of understand- 
 ing,' I said, 'but don't you suppose that I know it is pity 
 merely, sweet pity, but pity only. I should be a fool not 
 to know that I cannot seem to you as other men of your 
 own generation do, but as some strange uncanny being, a 
 stranded creatmre of an unknown sea, whose forlornness 
 touches your compassion despite its grotesqueness. I have 
 been so foolish, you were so kind, as to almost forget that 
 this must needs be so, and to fancy I might in time be- 
 come naturalized, as we used to say, in this age, so as to 
 feel like one of you and to seem to you like the other men 
 about you. But Mr. Barton's sermon taught me how vain 
 such a fancy is, how great the gulf between us must seem 
 to you.' 
 
 'Oh that miserable sermon!' she exclaimed, fairly cry- 
 ing now in her sympathy, ' I wanted you not to hear it. 
 What does he know of you? He has read in old musty 
 books about your times, that is aU. What do you care 
 about him, to let yourself be vexed by anything he said? 
 Isn't it anything to you, that we who know you feel differ- 
 ently? Don't you care more about what we think of you 
 
244 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 than what he does who never saw you? Oh, Mr. West! 
 you don't know, you can't think, how it makes me feel to 
 see you so forlorn. I can't have it so. What can I say to 
 you? How can I convince you how different our feeling for 
 you is from what you think? ' 
 
 As before, in that other crisis of my fate when she had 
 come to me, she extended her hands towards me in a ges- 
 ture of helpfulness, and, as then, I caught and held them 
 in my own; her bosom heaved with strong emotion, and 
 Httle tremors in the fingers which I clasped emphasized the 
 depth of her feeling. In her face, pity contended in a sort 
 of divine spite against thd' obstacles which reduced it to 
 impotence. Womanly compassion surely never wore a 
 guise more lovely. 
 
 Such beauty and such goodness quite melted me, and 
 it seemed that the only fitting response I could make was 
 to tell her just the truth. Of course I had not a spark of 
 hope, but on the other hand I had no fear that she would 
 be angry. She was too pitiful for that. So I said pre- 
 sently, 'It is very imgrateful in me not to be satisfied with 
 such kindness as you have shown me, and are showing 
 me now. But are you so blind as not to see why they are 
 not enough to make me happy? Don't you see that it is 
 because I have been mad enough to love you?' 
 
 At my last words she blushed deeply and her eyes fell 
 before mine, but she made no effort to withdraw her 
 hands from my clasp. For some moments she stood so, 
 panting a httle. Then blushing deeper than ever, but with 
 a dazzling smile, she looked up. 
 
 'Are you sure it is not you who are blind?' she said. 
 
 That was all, but it was enough, for it told me that, im- 
 accountable, incredible as it was, this radiant daughter of 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 245 
 
 a golden age had bestowed upon me not alone her pity, 
 but her love. Still, I half believed I must be under some 
 blissful hallucination even as I clasped her in my arms. ^ 
 'If I am beside myself,' I cried, 'let me remain so.' C<H^' 
 
 * It is I whom you must think beside myseK,' she panted, 
 escaping from my arms when I had barely tasted the 
 sweetness of her lips. ' Oh ! oh ! what must you think of me 
 almost to throw myself in the arms of one I haveknowp 
 but a w eek? I did not mean that you should find it out so 
 soon, but I was so sorry for you I forgot what I was say- 
 ing. No, no; you must not touch me again tiU you know 
 who I am. After that, sir, you shall apologize to me very 
 himibly for thinking, as I know you do, that I have been 
 over quick to fall in love with you. After you know who I 
 am, you will be boimd to confess that it was nothing less 
 than my duty to fall in love with you at first sight, and 
 that no girl of proper feeling in my place could do other- 
 wise.' ^ ' 
 
 As may be supposed, I would have been quite content 
 to waive explanations, but Edith was resolute that there 
 should b^nomoreki^s until she had been vindicated 
 from aU suspicion ol precipitancy in the bestowal of her 
 affections, and I was fain to foUow the lovely enigma into 
 the house. Having come where her mother was, she blush- 
 ingly whispered something in her ear and ran away, leav- 
 ing us together. 
 
 It then appeared that, strange as my experience had 
 been, I was now first to know what was perhaps its 
 strangest feature. From Mrs. Leete I learned that Edith 
 was the great-granddaughter of no other than my lost 
 love, Edith Bartlett. After mourning me for fourteen 
 years, she had made a marriage of esteem, and left a son 
 
246 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 who had been Mrs. Leete's father. Mrs. Leete had never 
 seen her grandmother, but had heard much of her, and, 
 when her daughter was bom, gave her the name of Edith. 
 This fact might have tended to increase the interest 
 which the girl took, as she grew up, in all that concerned 
 her ancestress, and especially the tragic story of the sup- 
 posed death of the lover, whose wife she expected to be, in 
 the conflagration of his house. It was a tale well calculated 
 to touch the sjTnpathy of a romantic girl, and the fact 
 that the blood of the unfortunate heroine was in her own 
 veins naturally heightened Edith's interest in it. A por- 
 trait of Edith Bartlett and some of her papers, including 
 a packet of my own letters, were among the family heir- 
 looms. The picture represented a very beautiful young 
 woman about whom it was easy to imagine all manner of 
 tender and romantic things. My letters gave Edith some 
 material for forming a distinct idea of my personaUty, and 
 both together sufficed to make the sad old story very real 
 to her. She used to teU her parents, half jestingly, that 
 she would never marry tUl she found a lover like Julian 
 West, and there were none such nowadays. „ _ 
 
 Now aU this, of course, was merely the daydreaming 
 of a girl whose mind had never been taken up by a love 
 affair of her own, and would have had no serious conse- 
 quence but for the discovery that morning of the buried 
 vault in her father's garden and the revelation of the iden- 
 tity of its inmate. For when the apparently lifeless form 
 had been borne into the house, the face in the locket found 
 upon the breast was instantly recognized as that of Edith 
 Bartlett, and by that fact, taken in cormection with the 
 other circtunstances, they knew that I was no other than 
 Julian West. Even had there been no thought, as at first 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 247 
 
 there was not, of my resuscitation, Mrs. Leete said she 
 believed that this event would have afifected her daughter 
 in a critical and life-long manner. The presumption of 
 some subtle ordering of destiny, involving her fate with 
 mine, would under aU circumstances have possessed an 
 irresistible fascination for almost any woman. 
 
 Whether when I came back to life a few hours after- 
 ward, and from the first seemed to turn to her with a pecu- 
 liar dependence and to find a special solace in her com- 
 pany, she had been too quick in giving her love at the first 
 sign of mine, I could now, her mother said, judge for my- 
 self. If I thought so, I must remember that this, after all, 
 was the twentieth and not the nineteenth century, and 
 love was, no doubt, now quicker in growth, as weU as 
 franker in utterance than then. 
 
 From Mrs. Leete I went to Edith. When I found her, 
 it was first of aU to take her by both hands and stand a 
 long time in rapt contemplation of her face. As I gazed, 
 the memory of that other Edith, which had been affected 
 as with a benumbing shock by the tremendous experience 
 that had parted us, revived, and my heart was dissolved 
 with tender and pitiful emotions, but also very blissful 
 ones. For she who brought to me so poignantly the sense 
 of my loss was to make that loss good. It was as if from 
 her eyes Edith Bartlett looked into mine, and smiled con- 
 solation to me. My fate was not alone the strangest, but 
 the most fortunate that ever befell a man. A double mir- 
 acle had been wrought for me. I had not been stranded 
 upon the shore of this strange world to find myself alone 
 and companionless. My love, whom I had dreamed lost, 
 had been reembodied for my consolation. When at last, 
 in an ecstasy of gratitude and tenderness, I folded the 
 
248 LOOKING BACKWABD 
 
 lovely girl in my arms, the two Ediths were blended in 
 my thought, nor have they ever since been clearly di s- 
 ti nguished- I was not long in finding that on Edith's part 
 there wa j^ a corresponding confusion of identitie s. Never, 
 surely, was there between freshly united lovers a stranger 
 talk than ours that afternoon. She seemed more anxious 
 to have me speak of Edith Bartlett than of herself, of 
 how I had loved her than how I loved herself, rewarding 
 my fond words concerning another woman with tears and 
 tender smiles and pressures of the hand. 
 
 'You must not love me too much for myself,' she said. 
 *I shall be very jealous for her. I shall not let you forget 
 her. I am going to tell you something which you may 
 think strange. Do you not believe that spirits sometimes 
 come back to the world to f ulfiU some work that lay near 
 their hearts? What if I were to tell you that I have som e- 
 t imes thought mat her spirit lives in me — -that. Ei^th 
 B artlett. not Edith Leete, is my real name . Icaimotknow 
 it; of coxu-se none of us can know who we really are; but 
 I can feel it. Can you wonder that I have such a feeUng, 
 seeing how my life was affected by her and by you, even 
 before you came. So you see you need not trouble to love 
 me at all, if only you are true to her. I shall not be likely 
 to be jealous.' 
 
 Dr. Leete had gone out that afternoon, and I did not 
 have an interview with him till later. He was not, appar- 
 ently, wholly unprepared for the intelligence I conveyed, 
 and shook my hand heartily. 
 
 'Under any ordinary circumstances, Mr. West, I should 
 say that this step had been taken on rather short ac- 
 quaintance; but these are decidedly not ordinary circum- 
 stances. In fairness, perhaps I ought to teU you,' he added 
 
LOOKING BACKWABD 249 
 
 s milin gly, 'that while I cheerfully consent to the proposed 
 arrangement, you must not feel too much indebted to me, 
 as I judge my consent is a mere formality. From the mo- 
 ment the secret of the locket was out, it had to be, I 
 fancy. Why, bless me, if Edith had not been there to re- 
 deem her great-grandmother's pledge, I really apprehend 
 that Mrs. Leete's loyalty to me would have suffered a 
 severe strain.' 
 
 That evening the garden was bathed in moonhght, and 
 till midnight Edith and I wandered to and fro there, trying 
 to grow accustomed to our happiness. 
 
 'What should I have done if you had not cared for me? ' 
 she exclaimed. ' I was afraid you were not going to. What 
 should I have done then, when I felt I was consecrated to 
 you! As soon as you came back to life, I was as sure as 
 if she had told me that I was to be to you what she could 
 not be, but that could only be if you would let me. Oh, 
 how I wanted to tell you that morning, when you felt so 
 terribly strange among us, who I was, but dared not open 
 my hps about that, or let father or mother ' 
 
 'That must have been what you would not let your 
 father tell me!' I exclaimed, referring to the conversation 
 I had overheard as I came out of my trance. 
 
 'Of course it was,' Edith laughed. 'Did you only just 
 guess that? Father being only a man, thought that it 
 would make you feel among friends to tell you who we 
 were. He did not think of me at all. But mother knew 
 what I meant, and so I had my way. I could never have 
 looked you in the face if you had known who I was. It 
 would have been forcing myseK on you quite too boldly. I 
 am afraid you think I did that to-day, as it was. I am 
 sure I did not mean to, for I know girls were expected to 
 
2SO LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 hide their feelings in your day, and I was dreadfully 
 afraid of shocking you. Ah me, how hard it must have 
 been for them to have always had to conceal their love 
 like a fault. Why did they t hink it such a shame to lov e 
 a ny one till they h ad been given permission? It is so od d 
 t o think of waiting for permission to fall in love. Wasj t 
 be cause men in those davs were angrv when girlsj oyed 
 tiiem? Tb qt i" ""^^ ^^he way wmnen would feel, I am sur e, 
 o t,men either, I think, now. I don't understand it at all. 
 That will be one of the curious things about the women 
 of those days that you will have to explain to me. I don't 
 believe Edith Bartlett was so foolish as the others.' 
 
 After sundry ineffectual attempts at parting, she finally 
 insisted that we must say good night. I was about to im- 
 print upon her lips the positively last kiss, when she Said, 
 with an indescribable archness: 
 
 'One thing troubles me. Are you sure that you quite 
 forgive Edith Bartlett for marrying any one else? The 
 books that have come down to us make out lovers of your 
 time more jealous than fond, and that is what makes me 
 ask. It would be a great reUef to me if I could feel sure 
 that you were not in the least jealous of my great-grand- 
 father for marrying your sweetheart. May I tell my 
 great-grandmother's picture when I go to my room that 
 you quite forgive her for proving false to you?' 
 
 Will the reader believe it, this coquettish quip, whether 
 the speaker herself had any idea of it or not, actually 
 touched and with the touching cured a preposterous ache 
 of something like jealousy which I had been vaguely con- 
 scious of ever since Mrs. Leete had told me of Edith Bart- 
 lett's marriage. Even while I had been holding Edith 
 Bartlett's great-granddaughter in my arms, I had not, till 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 25 1 
 
 this moment, so illogical are some of our feelings, dis- 
 tinctly realized that but for that marriage I could not 
 have done so. The absurdity of this frame of mind could 
 only be equalled by the abruptness with which it dissolved 
 as Edith's roguish query cleared the fog from my percep- 
 tions. I laughed as I kissed her. 
 
 'You may assiure her of my entire forgiveness,' I said 
 'although if it had been any man but your great-grand- 
 father whom she married, it would have been a very 
 different matter.' 
 
 On reaching my chamber that night I did not open the 
 musical telephone that I might be lulled to sleep with 
 soothing tunes, as had become my habit. For once my 
 thoughts made better music than even twentieth century 
 orchestras discourse, and it held me enchanted tUl weU 
 toward morning, when I fell asleep. 
 
TYY28 Y¥ 
 
 L 
 
 t's a little after the time you told me to wake you, 
 sir. You did not come out of it as quick as common, sir.' 
 
 The voice was the voice of my man Sawyer. I started 
 bolt upright in bed and stared around. I was in my 
 underground chamber. The mellow light of the lamp 
 which always burned in the room when I occupied it il- 
 lumined the famihar walls and furnishings. By my bed- 
 side, with the glass of sherry in his hand which Dr. Pills- 
 bury prescribed on fixst rousing from a mesmeric sleep, 
 by way of awakening the torpid physical f mictions, stood 
 Sawyer. 
 
 'Better take this right off, sir,' he said, as I stared 
 blankly at him. 'You look kind of flushed like, sir, and 
 yoji need it.' 
 
 '^1 tossed off the liquor and began to realize what had 
 happened to me. It was, of course, very plain. All that 
 about the twentieth century had been a dream. I had but 
 dreamed of that enlightened and care-free race of men 
 and their ingeniously simple institutions, of the glorious 
 new Boston with its domes and pinnacles, its gardens and 
 fountains, and its universal reign of comfort. The amiable 
 family which I had learned to know so well, my genial 
 host and Mentor, Dr. Leete, his wife, and their daughter, 
 the second and more beauteous Edith, my betrothed — 
 these, too, had been but figments of a vision. 
 '* f'or a considerable time I remained in the attitude in 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 253 
 
 which this conviction had come over me, sitting up in bed 
 gazing at vacancy, absorbed in recalling the scenes and 
 incidents of my fantastic experience. Sawyer, alarmed 
 at my looks, was meanwhile anxiously inquiring what was 
 the matter with me. Roused at length by his importuni- 
 ties to a recognition of my surroimdings, I pulled myseK 
 together with an effort and assured the faithful fellow that 
 I was all right. 'I have had an extraordinary dream, 
 that's all, Sawyer,' I said, 'a most-ex-traor-dinary- 
 dream.' 
 
 I dressed in a mechanical way, feeling light-headed and 
 oddly imcertain of myself, and sat down to the coffee and 
 rolls which Sawyer was in the habit of providing for my 
 refreshment before I left the house. The morning news- 
 paper lay by the plate. I took it up, and my eye fell on 
 the date. May 31, 1887. I had known, of course, from the 
 moment I opened my eyes that my long and detailed ex- 
 perience in another century had been a dream, and yet it 
 was startling to have it so conclusively demonstrated that 
 the world was but a few hours older than when I had laiii 
 down to sleep. 
 
 Glancing at the table of contents at the head of the 
 paper, which reviewed the news of the morning, I read the 
 following summary: 
 
 'Foreign Apfairs. — The impending war between 
 France and Germany. The French Chambers asked for 
 new military credits to meet Germany's increase of her 
 army. Probability that all Europe will be involved in 
 case of war. — Great suffering among the unemployed 
 in London. They demand work. Monster demonstration 
 to be made. The authorities uneasy. — Great strikes in 
 
254 LOOKING BACKWAIID 
 
 Belgium. The government preparing to repress out- 
 breaks. Shocking facts in regard to the emplo3Tiient of 
 girls in Belgium coal mines. — Wholesale evictions in Ire- 
 land. 
 
 'Home Affairs. — The epidemic of fraud xmchecked. 
 Embezzlement of half a million in New York. — Misap- 
 propriation of a trust fimd by executors. Orphans left 
 penniless. — Clever system of thefts by a bank teller; 
 $50,000 gone. — The coal barons decide to advance the 
 price of coal and reduce production. — Speculators en- 
 gineering a great wheat corner at Chicago. — A clique 
 forcing up the price of coffee. — Enormous land-grabs of 
 Western syndicates. — Revelations of shocking corrup- 
 tion among Chicago officials. Systematic bribery. — The 
 trials of the Boodle aldermen to go on at New York. — 
 Large failures of business houses. Fears of a business 
 crisis. — A large grist of burglaries and larcenies. — A 
 woman murdered in cold blood for her money at New 
 Haven. — A householder shot by a burglar in this city 
 last night. — A man shoots himself in Worcester because 
 he could not get work. A large family left destitute. — An 
 aged couple in New Jersey commit suicide rather than go 
 to the poor-house. — Pitiable destitution among the 
 women wage-workers in the great cities. — StartUng 
 growth of illiteracy in Massachusetts. — More insane 
 asylxmis wanted. — Decoration Day addresses. Professor 
 Brown's oration on the moral grandeur of nineteenth cen- 
 tury civilization.' 
 
 It was indeed the nineteenth century to which I had 
 awaked; there could be no kind of doubt about that. Its 
 complete microcosm this summary of the day's news had 
 
LOOKING BACKWAIID 2$^ 
 
 presented, even to that last unmistakable touch of fatu- 
 ous self-complacency. Coming after such a damning in- 
 dictment of the age as that one day's chronicle of world- 
 wide bloodshed, greed, and tyranny, was a bit of cynicism 
 worthy of Mephistopheles, and yet of aU whose eyes it had 
 met this morning I was, perhaps, the only one who per- 
 ceived the cynicism, and but yesterday I should have per- 
 ceived it no more than the others. That strange dream it 
 was which had made all the difference. For I know not 
 how long, I forgot my surroundings after this, and was 
 again in fancy moving in that vivid dream-world, in that 
 glorious city, with its homes of simple comfort and its gor- 
 geous public palaces. Around me were again faces un- 
 marred by arrogance or servility, by envy or greed, by 
 anxious care or feverish ambition, and stately forms of 
 men and women who had never known fear of a fellow 
 man or depended on his favor, but always, in the words of 
 that sermon which still rang in my ears, had ' stood up 
 straight before God.' 
 
 With a profound sigh and a sense of irreparable loss, 
 not the less poignant that it was a loss of what had never 
 really been, I roused at last from my reverie, and soon 
 after left the house. 
 
 A dozen times between my door and Washington Street 
 I had to stop and puU myself together, such power had 
 been in that vision of the Boston of the future to make the 
 real Boston strange. The squalor and malodorousness of 
 the town struck me, from the moment I stood upon the 
 street, as facts I had never before observed. But yester- 
 day, moreover, it had seemed quite a matter of course 
 that some of my fellow-citizens should wear silks, and 
 others rags, that some should look well fed, and others 
 
256 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 hungry. Now on the contrary the glaring disparities in 
 the dress and condition of the men and women who 
 brushed each other on the sidewalks shocked me at every 
 step, and yet more the entire indifference which the pros- 
 perous showed to the plight of the unfortunate. Were 
 these hxmian beings, who could behold the wretchedness 
 of their fellows without so much as a change of counte- 
 nance? And yet, all the while, I knew well that it was I 
 who had changed, and not my contemporaries. I had 
 dreamed of a city whose people fared all alike as chil- 
 dren of one family and were one another's keepers in all 
 things. 
 
 Another feature of the real Boston, which assumed the 
 extraordinary effect of strangeness that marks familiar 
 things seen in a new light, was the prevalence of advertis- 
 ing. There had been no personal advertising in the Boston 
 of the twentieth century, because there was no need of 
 any, but here the walls of the buildings, the windows, the 
 broadsides of the newspapers in every hand, the very 
 pavements, everything in fact in sight, save the sky, were 
 covered with the appeals of individuals who sought, 
 under iimumerable pretexts, to attract the contributions 
 of others to their support. However the wording might 
 vary, the tenor of all these appeals was the same: 
 
 'Help John Jones. Never mind the rest. They are 
 frauds. I, John Jones, am the right one. Buy of me. Em- 
 ploy me. Visit me. Hear me, John Jones. Look at me. 
 Make no mistake, John Jones is the man and nobody else. 
 Let the rest starve, but for God's sake remember John 
 Jones!' 
 
 Whether the pathos or the moral repulsiveness of the 
 spectacle most impressed me, so suddenly become a 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 257 
 
 stranger in my own city, I know not. Wretched men, I 
 was moved to cry, who, because they will not learn to be 
 helpers of one another, are doomed to be beggars of one 
 another from the least to the greatest! This horrible 
 babel of shameless self-assertion and mutual depreciation, 
 this stunning clamor of conflicting boasts, appeals, and 
 adjurations, this stupendous system of brazen beggary, 
 what was it all but the necessity of a society in which the 
 opportunity to serve the world according to his gifts, 
 instead of being secured to every man as the first object 
 of social organization, had to be fought for! 
 
 I reached Washington Street at the busiest point, and 
 there I stood and laughed aloud, to the scandal of the 
 passers-by. For my life I could not have helped it, with 
 such a mad humor was I moved at sight of the intermi- 
 nable rows of stores on either side, up and down the street 
 so far as I could see — scores of them, to make the spec- 
 tacle more utterly preposterous, within a stone's throw 
 devoted to selling the same sort of goods. ^JtiieaLaloresi. 
 itnrrs,' milfi nf °^"^°'' ' <'''" <-Viniic;anrl stores to distribut e 
 tEegoods needed by thi s one city, which in my dream h ad 
 been suppUed ylri.tE all tnings from a single warehouse, as 
 they were OTdered through one great store in every quar- 
 ter, where the buyer, without waste of time or labor, 
 fotmd under one roof the world's assortment in whatever 
 line he desired. There the labor of distribution had been 
 so slight as to add but a scarcely perceptible fraction to 
 the cost of commodities to the user. The cost of produc- 
 tion was virtually all he paid. But here the mere distribu- 
 tion of the goods, their handling alone, added a fourth, a 
 third, a half and more, to the cost. All these ten thousand 
 plants must be paid for, their rent, their staffs of superin- 
 
2S8 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 tendence, their platoons of salesmen, their ten thousand 
 sets of accountants, jobbers, and business dependents, 
 with all they spent in advertising themselves and fighting 
 one another, and the consumers must do the pa)Tng. 
 What a famous process for beggaring a nation! 
 
 Were these serious men I saw about me, or children, 
 who did their business on such a plan? Could they be 
 reasoning beings, who did not see the folly which, when 
 the product is made and ready for use, wastes so much of 
 it in getting it to the user? If people eat with a spoon 
 that leaks half its contents between bowl and hp, are they 
 not likely to go hungry? 
 
 I had passed through Washington Street thousands of 
 times before and viewed the ways of those who sold mer- 
 chandise, but my curiosity concerning them was as if I 
 had never gone by their way before. I took wondering 
 note of the show windows of the stores, filled with goods 
 arranged with a wealth of pains and artistic device to at- 
 tract the eye. I saw the throngs of ladies looking in, and 
 the proprietors eagerly watching the effect of the bait. I 
 went within and noted the hawk-eyed floor-walker watch- 
 ing for business, overlooking the clerks, keeping them up 
 to their task of inducing the customers to buy, buy, buy, 
 for money if they had it, for credit if they had it not, to 
 buy what they wanted not, more than they wanted, what 
 they could not afford. At times I momentarily lost the 
 clue and was confused by the sight. Why this effort to in- 
 duce people to buy? Surely that had nothing to do with 
 the legitimate business of distributing products to those 
 who needed them. Surely it was the sheerest waste to 
 force upon people what they did not want, but what might 
 be useful to another. The nation was so much the poorer 
 
LOOKING BACKWABD 259 
 
 for every such achievement. What were these clerks 
 thinking of? Then I would remember that they were not 
 acting as distributors like those in the store I had visited 
 in the dream Boston. They were not serving the public 
 interest, but their immediate personal interest, and it was 
 nothing to them what the ultimate effect of their course 
 on the general prosperity might be, if but they increased 
 their own hoard, for these goods were their own, and the 
 more they sold and the more they got for them, the 
 greater their gain. The more wasteful the people were, 
 the more articles they did not want which they could be 
 induced to buy, the better for these sellers. To encourage 
 prodigahty was the express aim of the ten thousand stores 
 of Boston. 
 
 Nor were these storekeepers and derks a whit worse 
 men than any others in Boston. They must earn a hving 
 and support their farmlies, and how were they to find a 
 trade to do it by whi'ch did not necessitate placing their 
 individual interests before those of others and/that of all? 
 They could not be asked to starve while they waited for 
 an order of things such as I had seen in my dream, in 
 which the interest of each and that of aU were identical. 
 But, God in heaven! what wonder, under such a system as 
 this about me — what wonder that the city was so 
 shabby, and the people so meanly dressed, and so many of 
 them ragged and hungry! 
 
 Some time after this it was that I drifted over into 
 South Boston and found myself among the manufacturing 
 establishments. I had been in this quarter of the city a 
 hundred times before, just as I had been on Washington 
 Street, but here, as weU as there, I now first perceived the 
 true significance of what I witnessed. Formerly I had 
 
26o LOOKING BACKWAIID 
 
 taken pride in the fact that, by actual count, Boston had 
 some four thousand independent manufactiu-ing establish- 
 ments; but in this very multiplicity and independence I 
 recognized now the secret of the insignificant total product 
 of their industry. 
 
 If Washington Street had been like a lane in Bedlam, 
 this was a spectacle as much more melancholy as produc- 
 tion is a more vital fimction than distribution. For not 
 only were these four thousand establishments not working 
 in concert, and for that reason alone operating at prodi- 
 gious disadvantage, but, as if this did not involve a suffi- 
 ciently disastrous loss of power, they were using their ut- 
 most skill to frustrate one another's effort, pra)dng by 
 night and working by day for the destruction of one an- 
 other's enterprises. 
 
 The roar and rattle of wheels and hammers resounding 
 from every side was not the hum of a peaceful industry, 
 but the clangor of swords wielded by foemen. These miUs 
 and shops were so many forts, each under its own flag, its 
 guns trained on the mills and shops about it, and its sap- 
 pers busy below, undermining them. 
 
 Within each one of these forts the strictest organization 
 of industry was insisted on; the separate gangs worked 
 under a single central authority. No interference and no 
 duplicating of work were permitted. Each had his allotted 
 task, and none were idle. By what hiatus in the logical 
 faculty, by what lost link of reasoning, account, then, for 
 the failure to recognize the necessity of applying the same 
 principle to the organization of the national industries as 
 a whole, to see that if lack of organization could impair the 
 efficiency of a shop, it must have effects as much more dis- 
 astrous in disabling the industries of the nation at large as 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 2(51 
 
 the latter are vaster in volume and more complex in the re- 
 lationship of their parts. 
 
 People would be prompt enough to ridicule an army in 
 which there were neither companies, battalions, regiments, 
 brigades, divisions, or army corps — no unit of organiza- 
 tion, in fact, larger than the corporal's squad, with no 
 officer higher than a corporal, and all the corporals equal 
 m authority. And yet just such an army were the manu- 
 facturing industries of nineteenth century Boston, an 
 army of four thousand independent squads led by four 
 thousand independent corporals, each with a separate 
 plan of campaign. 
 
 Knots of idle men were to be seen here and there on 
 every side, some idle because they could find no work at 
 any price, others because they could not get what they 
 thought a fair price. 
 
 I accosted some of the latter, and they told me their 
 grievances. It was very Uttle comfort I could give them. 
 'I am sorry for you,' I said. 'You get little enough, cer- 
 tainly, and yet the wonder to me is, not that industries 
 conducted as these are do not pay you living wages, but 
 that they are able to pay you any wages at all.' 
 
 Making my way back again after this to the peninsular 
 city, toward three o'clock I stood on State Street, staring, 
 as if I had never seen them before, at the banks and 
 brokers' offices, and other financial institutions, of which 
 there had been in the State Street of my vision no vestige. 
 Business men, confidential clerks, and errand boys were 
 thronging in and out of the banks, for it wanted but a few 
 minutes of the closing hour. Opposite me was the bank 
 where I did business, and presently I crossed the street, 
 and, going in with the crowd, stood in a recess of the wall 
 
262 LOOKING BACKWASD 
 
 looking on at the army of clerks handling money, and the 
 cues of depositors at the tellers' windows. An old gentle- 
 man whom I knew, a director of the bank, passing me 
 and observing my contemplative attitude, stopped a 
 moment. 
 
 'Interesting sight, isn't it, Mr. West,' he said. 'Won- 
 derful piece of mechanism ; I find it so myself. I like some- 
 times to stand and look on at it just as you are doing. It's 
 a poem, sir, a poem, that's what I call it. Did you ever 
 think, Mr. West, that the bank is the heart of the business 
 system? From it and to it, in endless flux and reflux, the 
 life blood goes. It is flowing in now. It will flow out again 
 in the morning'; and pleased with his little conceit, the 
 old man passed on smiling. 
 
 Yesterday I should have considered the simile apt 
 enough, but since then I had visited a world incomparably 
 more affluent than this, in which money was unknown 
 and without conceivable use. I had learned that it had a 
 use in the world around me only because the work of pro- 
 ducing the nation's Hvelihood, instead of being regarded 
 as the most strictly public and common of all concerns, 
 and as such conducted by the nation, was abandoned to 
 the hap-hazard efforts of individuals. This original mis- 
 take necessitated endless exchanges to bring about any 
 sort of general distribution of products. These exchanges 
 money effected — how equitably, might be seen in a walk 
 from the tenement house districts to the Back Bay — at 
 the cost of an army of men taken from productive labor to 
 manage it, with constant ruinous breakdowns of its ma- 
 chinery, and a generally debauching influence on mankind 
 which had justified its description, from ancient time, as 
 the 'root of all evil.' 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 263 
 
 Alas for the poor old bank director with his poem! He 
 had mistaken the throbbing of an abscess for the beating 
 of the heart. What he called 'a wonderful piece of mech- 
 anism ' was an imperfect device to remedy an unnecessary 
 defect, the clumsy crutch of a self-made cripple. 
 
 After the banks had closed I wandered aimlessly about 
 the business quarter for an hour or two, and later sat a 
 while on one of the benches of the Common, finding an 
 interest merely in watching the throngs that passed, such 
 as one has in studying the populace of a foreign city, so 
 strange since yesterday had my fellow citizens and their 
 ways become to me. For thirty years I had Hved among 
 them, and yet I seemed to have never noted before how 
 drawn and anxious were their faces, of the rich as of the 
 poor, the refined, acute faces of the educated as well as the 
 dxill masks of the ignorant. And well it might be so, for I 
 saw now, as never before I had seen so plainly, that each 
 as he walked constantly turned to catch the whispers of a 
 spectre at his ear, the spectre of Uncertainty. 'Do your 
 work never so weU,' the spectre was whispering — 'rise 
 early and toil till late, rob cunningly or serve faithfully, 
 you shall never know security. Rich you may be now and 
 still come to poverty at last. Leave never so much wealth 
 to yomr children, you cannot buy the assurance that your 
 son may not be the servant of your servant, or that your 
 daughter will not have to sell herself for bread.' 
 
 A man passing by thrust an advertising card in my 
 ha,nd, which set forth the merits of some new scheme of 
 life insurance. The incident reminded me of the only de- 
 vice, pathetic in its admission of the universal need it so 
 poorly supplied, which offered these tired and hunted men 
 and women even a partial protection from uncertainty. 
 
264 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 By this means, those ahready well-to-do, I remembered, 
 might purchase a precarious confidence that after their 
 death their loved ones would not, for a while at least, be 
 trampled under the feet of men. But this was all, and 
 this was only for those who could pay well for it. What 
 idea was possible to these wretched dwellers in the land of 
 Ishmael, where every man's hand was against each and 
 the hand of each against every other, of true life insurance 
 as I had seen it among the people of that dream land, each 
 of whom, by virtue merely of his membership in the na- 
 tional family, was guaranteed against need of any sort, by 
 a policy underwritten by one hundred milUon feUow 
 countr)Tnen. 
 
 Some time after this it was that I recall a glimpse of my- 
 self standing on the steps of a building on Tremont Street, 
 looking at a miUtary parade. A regiment was passing. It 
 was the first sight in that dreary day which had inspired 
 me with any other emotions than wondering pity and 
 amazement. Here at last were order and reason, an exhi- 
 bition of what intelligent cooperation can accompHsh. 
 The people who stood looking on with kindling faces, — 
 could it be that the sight had for them no more than but 
 a spectacular interest? Could they faU to see that it was 
 their perfect concert of action, their organization under 
 one control, which made these men the tremendous engine 
 they were, able to vanquish a mob ten times as numerous? 
 Seeing this so plainly, could they fail to compare the 
 scientific manner in which the nation went to war with 
 the unscientific manner in which it went to work? Would 
 they not query since what time the killing of men had 
 been a task so much more important than feeding and 
 clothing them, that a trained army should be deemed 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 265 
 
 alone adequate to the former, while the latter was left to 
 a mob? 
 
 It was now toward nightfall, and the streets were 
 thronged with the workers from the stores, the shops, and 
 miUs. Carried along with the stronger part of the current, 
 I f oimd myself, as it began to grow dark, in the midst of a 
 scene of squalor and human degradation such as only the 
 South Cove tenement district could present. I had seen 
 the mad wasting of hiunan labor; here I saw in direst 
 shape the want that waste had bred. 
 
 From the black doorways and windows of the rookeries 
 on every side came gusts of fetid air. The streets and 
 alleys reeked with the effluvia of a slave ship's between- 
 decks. As I passed I had glimpses within of pale babies 
 gasping out their Uves amid sultry stenches, of hopeless- 
 faced women deformed by hardship, retaining of woman- 
 hood no trait save weakness, while from the windows 
 leered girls with brows of brass. Like the starving bands 
 of mongrel curs that infest the streets of Moslem towns, 
 swarms of half-clad brutalized children filled the air with 
 shrieks and curses as they fought and tumbled among the 
 garbage that littered the court-yards. 
 
 There was nothing in aU this that was new to me. Often 
 had I passed through this part of the city and witnessed 
 its sights with feelings of disgust mingled with a certain 
 philosophical wonder at the extremities mortals wiU en- 
 dure and stiU cling to Ufe. But not alone as regarded the 
 economical foUies of this age, but equally as touched its 
 moral abominations, scales had fallen from my eyes since 
 that vision of another century. No more did I look upon 
 the woful dwellers in this Inferno with a callous curiosity 
 as creatures scarcely human. I saw in them my brothers 
 
266 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 and sisters, my parents, my children, flesh of my flesh, 
 blood of my blood. The festering mass of human wretch- 
 edness about me offended not now my senses merely, but 
 pierced my heart like a knife, so that I could not repress 
 sighs and groans. I not only saw but felt in my body all 
 that I saw. 
 
 Presently, too, as I observed the wretched beings about 
 me more closely, I perceived that they were all quite dead. 
 Their bodies were so many living sepulchres. On each 
 brutal brow was plainly written the hicjacet of a soul dead 
 within. ^- r \ 
 
 As I looked, horror struck, from one death's head to an- 
 other, I was affected by a singular hallucination. Like a 
 wavering translucent spirit face superimposed upon each 
 of these brutish masks I saw the ideal, the possible face 
 that would have been the actual if mind and soul had 
 lived. It was not till I was aware of these ghostly faces, 
 and of the reproach that could not be gainsaid which was 
 in their eyes, that the fuU piteousness of the ruin that had 
 been wrought was revealed to me. I was moved with con- 
 trition as with a strong agony, for I had been one of those 
 who had endured that these things should be. I had been 
 one of those who, well knowing that they were, had not 
 desired to hear or be compelled to think much of them, 
 but had gone on as if they were not, seeking my own 
 pleasure and profit. Therefore now I found upon my gar- 
 ments the blood of this great multitude of strangled souls 
 of my brothers. The voice of their blood cried out against 
 me from the ground. Every stone of the reeking pave- 
 ments, every brick of the pestilential rookeries, found a 
 tongue and called after me as I fled: What hast thou done 
 with thy brother Abel? 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 267 
 
 I have no clear recollection of anything after this tiU I 
 found myself standing on the carved stone steps of the 
 magnificent home of my betrothed in Commonwealth 
 avenue. Amid the timiult of my thoughts that day, I had 
 scarcely once thought of her, but now obeying some un- 
 conscious impulse my feet had found the familiar way to 
 her door. I was told that the family were at dinner, but 
 word was sent out that I should join them at table. Be- 
 sides the family, I found several guests present, all known 
 to me. The table ghttered with plate and costly china. 
 The ladies were sumptuously dressed and wore the jewels 
 of queens. The scene was one of costly elegance and lavish 
 liixury. The company was in excellent spirits, and there 
 was plentiful laughter and a running fire of jests. 
 
 To me it was as if, in wandering through the place of 
 doom, my blood turned to tears by its sights, and my 
 spirit attuned to sorrow, pity, and despair, I had hap- 
 pened in some glade upon a merry party of roisterers. I 
 sat in silence untU Edith began to rally me upon my som- 
 bre lool^s, What ailed me? The others presently joined in 
 the plajrful assault, and I became a target for quips and 
 jests. Where had I been, and what had I seen to make 
 such a dull fellow of me? - ^ ~' 
 
 *I have been in Golgotha,' at last I answered. 'I have 
 seen Humanity hanging on a cross! Do none of you know 
 what sights the sxm and stars look down on in this city, 
 that you can think and talk of anything else? Do you not 
 know that dose to your doors a great multitude of men 
 and women, flesh of your flesh, live lives that are one 
 agony from birth to death? Listen! their dwellings are so 
 near that if you hush yovir laughter you will hear their 
 grievous voices, the piteous crying of the little ones that 
 
268 LOOKING BACKWABD 
 
 suckle poverty, the hoarse curses of men sodden in misery 
 turned half-way back to brutes, the chaffering of an army 
 of women selling themselves for bread. With what have 
 you stopped your ears that you do not hear these doleful 
 sounds? For me, I can hear nothing else.' 
 
 Silence followed my words. A passion of pity had 
 shaken me as I spoke, but when I looked around upon the 
 company, I saw that, far from being stirred as I was, their 
 faces expressed a cold and hard astonishment, mingled in 
 Edith's with extreme mortification, in her father's with 
 anger. The ladies were exchanging scandalized looks, 
 while one of the gentlemen had put up his eyeglass and 
 was stud5Tng me with an air of scientific curiosity. When 
 I saw that things which were to me so intolerable moved 
 them not at all, that words that melted my heart to speak 
 had only offended them with the speaker, I was at first 
 stunned and then overcome with a desperate sickness and 
 faintness at the heart. What hope was there for the 
 wretched, for the world, if thoughtful men and tender 
 women were not moved by things like these! Then I be- 
 thought myself that it must be because I had not spoken 
 aright. No doubt I had put the case badly. They were 
 angry because they thought I was berating them, when 
 God knew I was merely thinking of the horror of the fact 
 without any attempt to assign the responsibility for it. 
 
 I restrained my passion, and tried to speak cahnly and 
 logically that I might correct this impression. I told them 
 that I had not meant to accuse them, as if they, or the rich 
 in general, were responsible for the misery of the world. 
 True indeed it was, that the superfluity which they wasted 
 would, otherwise bestowed, relieve much bitter suffering. 
 These costly viands, these rich wines, these gorgeous fab- 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 269 
 
 rics and glistening jewels represented the ransom of many 
 lives. They were verily not without the guiltiness of those 
 who waste in a land stricken with famine. Nevertheless, 
 all the waste of all the rich, were it saved, would go but a 
 little way to cure the poverty of the world. There was so 
 little to divide that even if the rich went share and share 
 with the poor, there would be but a common fare of crusts, 
 albeit made very sweet then by brotherly love. 
 
 The folly of men, not their hard-heartedness, was the 
 great cause of the world's poverty. It was not the crime 
 of man, nor of any class of men, that made the race so 
 miserable, but a hideous, ghastly mistake, a colossal 
 world-darkening blimder. And then I showed them how 
 four fifths of the labor of men was utterly wasted by the 
 mutual warfare, the lack of organization and concert 
 among the workers. Seeking to make the matter very 
 plain, I instanced the case of arid lands where the soil 
 jdelded the means of life only by careful use of the water- 
 courses for irrigation. I showed how in such countries it 
 was coxmted the most important function of the govern- 
 ment to see that the water was not wasted by the selfish- 
 ness or ignorance of individuals, since otherwise there 
 would be famine. To this end its use was strictly regulated 
 and systematized, and individuals of their mere caprice 
 were not permitted to dam it or divert it, or in any way to 
 tamper with it. 
 
 The labor of men, I explained, was the fertilizing stream 
 which alone rendered earth habitable. It was but a scanty 
 stream at best, and its use required to be regulated by a 
 system which expended every drop to the best advantage, 
 if the world were to be supported in abundance. But how 
 far from any system was the actual practice! Every man 
 
270 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 wasted the precious fluid as he wished, animated only by 
 the equal motives of saving his own crop and spoiling his 
 neighbor's, that his might sell the better. What with 
 greed and what with spite some fields were flooded while 
 others were parched, and half the water ran wholly to 
 waste. In such a land, though a few by strength or cun- 
 ning might win the means of luxury, the lot of the great 
 mass must be poverty, and of the weak and ignorant bit- 
 ter want and perennial famine. 
 
 Let but the famine-stricken nation assume the ftmction 
 it had neglected, and regulate for the common good the 
 course of the life-giving stream, and the earth would 
 bloom like one garden, and none of its children lack any 
 good thing. I described the physical feUcity, mental en- 
 lightenment, and moral elevation which would then at- 
 tend the Uves of aU men. With fervency I spoke of that 
 new world, blessed with plenty, piu-ified by justice and 
 sweetened by brotherly kindness, the world of which I had 
 indeed but dreamed, but which might so easily be made 
 real. But when I had expected now surely the faces around 
 me to Ught up with emotions akin to mine, they grew ever 
 more dark, angry, and scornful. Instead of enthusiasm, 
 the ladies showed only aversion and dread, while the men 
 interrupted me with shouts of reprobation and con- 
 tempt. 'Madman!' 'Pestilent fellow!' 'Fanatic!' 'En- 
 emy of society! ' were some of their cries, and the one who 
 had before taken his eyeglass to me exclaimed, 'He says 
 we are to have no more poor. Ha! ha!' 
 
 'Put the feUow out!' exclaimed the father of my be- 
 trothed, and at the signal the men sprang from their 
 chairs and advanced upon me. 
 
 It seemed to me that my heart would burst with the 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD 27 1 
 
 anguish of finding that what was to me so plain and so all 
 important was to them meaningless, and that I was pow- 
 erless to make it other. So hot had been my heart that I 
 had thought to melt an iceberg with its glow, only to find 
 at last the overmastering chill seizing my own vitals. It 
 was not enmity that I felt toward them as they thronged 
 me, but pity only, for them and for the world. 
 
 Although despairing, I could not give over. Still I 
 strove with them. Tears poured from my eyes. In my 
 vehemence I became inarticulate. I psmte,^, T sohheH, I 
 groan ed, and immediatelv ji iftftHYfl''^ fr>iinr| mysetf sitting 
 upright in bed in my room in Dr. T.eete's hniiRp., anr 
 morning stm shinin g t hrough the open window into mv 
 eyes. I was gaspinglj JJiF; tftars '""'•'' "trfj^Tyi^g down my 
 f ace, and I quivered in every nerve. 
 
 As with an escaped convict who dreams that he has 
 been recaptured and brought back to his dark and reeking 
 dungeon, and opens his eyes to see the heaven's vault 
 spread above him, so it was with me^ aj I realized that my 
 r eturn to the n ineteenth century had been the dream, and 
 my presence in the twentietn was tne reality. 
 
 The cruel sights which Hiad wltnesied in my vision, and 
 could so well confirm from the experience of my former 
 life, though they had, alas! once been, and must in the 
 retrospect to the end of time move the compassionate to 
 tears, were, God be thanked, forever gone by. Long ago 
 oppressor and oppressed, prophet and scorner, had been 
 dust. For generations, rich and poor had been forgotten 
 words. 
 
 But in that moment, while yet I mused with unspeak- 
 able thankfuhiess upon the greatness of the world's salva- 
 
272 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 tion and my privilege in beholding it, there suddenly 
 pierced me like a knife a pang of shame, remorse, and 
 wondering self-reproach, that bowed my head upon my 
 breast and made me wish the grave had hid me with my 
 fellows from the sun. For I had been a man of that former 
 time. What had I done to help on the deliverance whereat 
 I now presumed to rejoice? I who had lived in those cruel, 
 insensate days, what had I done to bring them to an end? 
 I had been every whit as indifferent to the wretchedness 
 of my brothers, as cynically incredulous of better things, 
 as besotted a worshipper of Chaos and Old Night, as any 
 of my fellows. So far as my personal influence went, it had 
 been exerted rather to hinder than to help forward the en- 
 franchisement of the race which was even then preparing. 
 What right had I to hail a salvation which reproached me, 
 to rejoice in a day whose dawning I had mocked? 
 
 'Better for you, better for you,' a voice within me 
 rang, 'had this evil dream been the reality, and this fair 
 reality the dream; better your part pleading for crucified 
 humanity with a scoffing generation, than here, drinking 
 of weUs you digged not, and eating of trees whose hus- 
 bandmen you stoned'; and my spirit answered, 'Better, 
 truly.' 
 
 When at length I raised my bowed head and looked 
 forth from the window, Edith, fresh as the morning, had 
 come into the garden and was gathering flowers. I has- 
 tened to descend to her. Kneeling before her, with my 
 face in the dust, I confessed with tears how little was my 
 worth to breathe the air of this golden century, and how 
 infinitely less to wear upon my breast its consimimate 
 flower. Fortimate is he who, with a case so desperate as 
 mine, finds a judge so merciful. 
 
6^ ^ ^ POSTSCRIPT^ ^ 
 
 THE RATE OF THE WORLd'S PROGRESS 
 
 To the Editor of the Boston Transcript: The Transcript of 
 March 30, 1888, contained a review of 'Looking Back- 
 ward,' in response to which I beg to be allowed a word. 
 The description to which the book is devoted, of the radi- 
 cally new social and industrial institutions and arrange- 
 ments supposed to be enjoyed by the people of the United 
 States in the twentieth century, is not objected to as de- 
 picting a degree of human felicity and moral development 
 necessarily unattainable by the race, provided time 
 enough had been allowed for its evolution from the present 
 chaotic state of society. In failing to allow this, the re- 
 viewer thinks that the author has made an absurd mis- 
 take, which seriously detracts from the value of the book 
 as a work of realistic imagination. Instead of placing 
 the realization of the ideal social state a scant fifty years 
 ahead, it is suggested that he should have made his figure 
 seventy-five centuries. There is certainly a large discrep- 
 ancy between seventy-five centuries and fifty years, and 
 if the reviewer is correct in his estimate of the probable 
 rate of human progress, the outlook of the world is decid- 
 edly discouraging. But is he right? I think not. 
 
 'Looking Backward,' although in form a fanciful ro- 
 mance, is,intS3ed, in a^mousness, as a^f^^ 
 cordance with the principles of evolution, of the next stage J 
 m the industrial and social deyejopment of humanity, ^ 
 especially in this country; and no part of it is believed 
 
274 LOOKING BACKWARD 
 
 by the author to be better supported by the indications 
 of probability than the implied prediction that the dawn 
 of the new era is akeady near at hand, and that the full 
 day will swiftly foUow. Does this seem at first thought 
 incredible, in view of the vastness of the changes presup- 
 posed? What is the teaching of history, but that great 
 national transformations, while ages in imnoticed prepa- 
 ration, when once inaugurated, are accomphshed with a 
 rapidity and resistless momentum proportioned to their 
 magnitude, not limited by it? '^ ^ 
 
 In 1759, when Quebec fell, the might of England m 
 America seemed irresistible, and the vassalage of the 
 colonies assured. Nevertheless, thirty years later, the 
 first President of the American Republic was inaugu- 
 rated. In 1849, after Novara, ItaUan prospects appeared 
 as hopeless as at any time since the Middle Ages; yet only 
 fifteen years after, Victor Emmanuel was crowned King 
 of United Italy. In 1864, the fulfillment of the thousand- 
 year dream of German unity was apparently as far off as 
 ever. Seven years later it had been realized, and William 
 had assumed at Versailles the Crown of Barbarossa. In 
 1832, the original Anti-slavery Society was formed in 
 Boston by a few so-caUed visionaries. Thirty-eight years 
 later, in 1870, the society disbanded, its programme fully 
 carried out. ^ 
 
 These precedents do not, of course, prove that any such 
 industrial and social transformation as is outlined in ' Look- 
 ing Backward ' is impending ; but they do show that, when 
 the moral and economical conditions for it are ripe, it may 
 be expected to go forward with great rapidity. On no other 
 stage are the scenes shifted with a swiftness so like magic 
 as on the great stage of history when once the hour strikes. 
 
LOOKING BACKWAED 275 
 
 The question is not, then, how extensive the scene-shift- 
 ing must be to set the stage for the new fraternal civiliza- 
 tion, but whether there are any special indications that a 
 social transformation is at hand. The causes that have 
 been bringing it ever nearer have been at work from im- 
 memorial time. To the stream of tendency setting toward 
 an ultimate realization of a form of society which, while 
 vastly more efficient for material prosperity, should also 
 satisfy and not outrage the moral instincts, every sigh of 
 poverty, every tear of pity, every humane impulse, every 
 generous enthusiasm, every true religious feeling, every 
 act by which men have given effect to their mutual s3Tn- 
 pathy by drawing more closely together for any purpose, 
 have contributed from the beginnings of civilization. 
 That this long stream of influence, ever widening and 
 deepening, is at last about to sweep away the barriers it 
 has so long sapped, is at least one obvious interpretation 
 of the present universal ferment of men's minds as to the 
 imperfections of present social arrangements. Not only 
 are the toilers of the world engaged in something like a 
 world-wide insurrection, but true and humane men and 
 women, of every degree, are in a mood of exasperation, 
 [ verging on absolute revolt, against social conditions that 
 ' reduce life to a brutal struggle for existence, mock every 
 dictate of ethics and rehgion, and render weU-nigh futile 
 the efforts of philanthropy. 
 
 As an iceberg, floating southward from the frozen 
 North, is gradually imdermined by warmed seas, and, 
 become at last unstable, churns the sea to yeast for miles 
 around by the mighty rockings that portend its overturn, 
 so the barbaric industrial and social system, which has 
 come down to us from savage antiquity, undermmed by 
 
276 LOOKING BACKWAED 
 
 the modern hxunane spirit, riddled by the criticism of 
 economic science is shaking the world with convulsions 
 that presage its collapse. 
 
 All thoughtful men agree that the present aspect of 
 society is portentous of great changes. The only question 
 is, whether they wUl be for the better or the worse. Those 
 who believe in man's essential nobleness lean to the former 
 view, those who believe in his essential baseness to the 
 latter. For my part, I hold to the former opinion. 'Look- 
 ing Backward ' was writt en in the b e lief that the Golden 
 Age lies bel:oreus„ai3Inot-bebin4iis,and-is-not far away. 
 Our children wiU surely see it, and we, tqoi who are al- 
 ready men and women^ we deserve it by our faith and 
 by our works. 
 
 Edward Bellamy