The Discontented

I confess that I felt rather unhappy when I got home, and thought more closely over the trial that I had just witnessed. For the time I was carried away by the opinion of those among whom I was. They had no misgivings about what they were doing. There did not seem to be a person in the whole court who had the smallest doubt but that all was exactly as it should be. This universal unsuspecting confidence was imparted by sympathy to myself, in spite of all my training in opinions so widely different. So it is with most of us: that which we observe to be taken as a matter of course by those around us, we take as a matter of course ourselves. And after all, it is our duty to do this, save upon grave occasion.

I confess that I felt rather unhappy when I got home and thought more carefully about the trial I had just witnessed. At the time, I was carried away by the opinions of the people around me. They had no doubts about what they were doing. No one in the whole court seemed to have the slightest doubt that everything was exactly as it should be. Their unquestioning confidence rubbed off on me, despite my upbringing with such different beliefs. Most of us are like that. When the people around us take something for granted, we take it for granted too. And after all, it is our duty to do so, except on serious occasions.

But when I was alone, and began to think the trial over, it certainly did strike me as betraying a strange and untenable position. Had the judge said that he acknowledged the probable truth, namely, that the prisoner was born of unhealthy parents, or had been starved in infancy, or had met with some accidents which had developed consumption; and had he then gone on to say that though he knew all this, and bitterly regretted that the protection of society obliged him to inflict additional pain on one who had suffered so much already, yet that there was no help for it, I could have understood the position, however mistaken I might have thought it. The judge was fully persuaded that the infliction of pain upon the weak and sickly was the only means of preventing weakness and sickliness from spreading, and that ten times the suffering now inflicted upon the accused was eventually warded off from others by the present apparent severity. I could therefore perfectly understand his inflicting whatever pain he might consider necessary in order to prevent so bad an example from spreading further and lowering the Erewhonian standard; but it seemed almost childish to tell the prisoner that he could have been in good health, if he had been more fortunate in his constitution, and been exposed to less hardships when he was a boy.

But when I was alone and began to think over the trial, it struck me as revealing a strange and indefensible position. The judge might have acknowledged what was probably true: that the prisoner was born to unhealthy parents, had been starved as a baby, or had suffered accidents that brought on consumption. He might then have said that, though he knew all this, he had no choice. To protect society, he had to cause more pain to someone who had already suffered so much. He might have said he bitterly regretted this. I could have understood that position, however mistaken I might have thought it. The judge was fully convinced that causing pain to the weak and sickly was the only way to prevent weakness and sickness from spreading. He believed that his apparent severity would ultimately spare others ten times the suffering now inflicted on the accused. I could therefore understand him inflicting whatever pain he thought necessary. He wanted to prevent such a bad example from spreading further and lowering the Erewhonian standard. But his words to the prisoner seemed almost childish. He was telling the prisoner that he could have been healthy if he had been luckier in his constitution and had faced fewer hardships as a boy.

I write with great diffidence, but it seems to me that there is no unfairness in punishing people for their misfortunes, or rewarding them for their sheer good luck: it is the normal condition of human life that this should be done, and no right-minded person will complain of being subjected to the common treatment. There is no alternative open to us. It is idle to say that men are not responsible for their misfortunes. What is responsibility? Surely to be responsible means to be liable to have to give an answer should it be demanded, and all things which live are responsible for their lives and actions should society see fit to question them through the mouth of its authorised agent.

I write with great hesitation, but I see nothing unfair about punishing people for their misfortunes or rewarding them for sheer good luck. This is how human life normally works. No reasonable person will complain about being treated like everyone else. We have no alternative. It is pointless to say that people are not responsible for their misfortunes. What is responsibility? Surely, being responsible means being required to answer for something if asked. And all living things must answer for their lives and actions if society chooses to question them through its authorized agent.

What is the offence of a lamb that we should rear it, and tend it, and lull it into security, for the express purpose of killing it? Its offence is the misfortune of being something which society wants to eat, and which cannot defend itself. This is ample. Who shall limit the right of society except society itself? And what consideration for the individual is tolerable unless society be the gainer thereby? Wherefore should a man be so richly rewarded for having been son to a millionaire, were it not clearly provable that the common welfare is thus better furthered? We cannot seriously detract from a man’s merit in having been the son of a rich father without imperilling our own tenure of things which we do not wish to jeopardise; if this were otherwise we should not let him keep his money for a single hour; we would have it ourselves at once. For property is robbery, but then, we are all robbers or would-be robbers together, and have found it essential to organise our thieving, as we have found it necessary to organise our lust and our revenge. Property, marriage, the law; as the bed to the river, so rule and convention to the instinct; and woe to him who tampers with the banks while the flood is flowing.

What has a lamb done wrong that we should raise it, care for it, and make it feel safe, just to kill it? Its offence is the misfortune of being something society wants to eat and that cannot defend itself. That is more than enough. Who can limit society’s rights except society itself? And what concern for the individual is acceptable unless society benefits from it? Why should a man be so richly rewarded for being a millionaire’s son? Surely it is because we can clearly prove that this better serves the common good. We cannot seriously question the merit of being a rich man’s son without endangering our own hold on things we want to keep. If that were not true, we would not let him keep his money for a single hour. We would take it for ourselves at once. For property is robbery. But we are all robbers, or would-be robbers, together. We have found it essential to organize our stealing, just as we have found it necessary to organize our lust and revenge. Property, marriage, and the law are to our instincts what a riverbed is to a river. They are the rules and conventions that guide their flow. And woe to anyone who tampers with the banks while the flood is flowing.

But to return. Even in England a man on board a ship with yellow fever is held responsible for his mischance, no matter what his being kept in quarantine may cost him. He may catch the fever and die; we cannot help it; he must take his chance as other people do; but surely it would be desperate unkindness to add contumely to our self-protection, unless, indeed, we believe that contumely is one of our best means of self-protection. Again, take the case of maniacs. We say that they are irresponsible for their actions, but we take good care, or ought to take good care, that they shall answer to us for their insanity, and we imprison them in what we call an asylum (that modern sanctuary!) if we do not like their answers. This is a strange kind of irresponsibility. What we ought to say is that we can afford to be satisfied with a less satisfactory answer from a lunatic than from one who is not mad, because lunacy is less infectious than crime.

But to return. Even in England, a man aboard a ship with yellow fever is held responsible for his misfortune. It does not matter what quarantine may cost him. He may catch the fever and die. We cannot help that. He must take his chances like everyone else. But surely it would be terribly unkind to insult him as well as protect ourselves. That is, unless we believe insults are one of our best means of self-protection. Now consider the case of people who are insane. We say they are not responsible for their actions. But we take care, or ought to take care, that they answer to us for their insanity. If we do not like their answers, we lock them up in what we call an asylum (that modern sanctuary!). This is a strange kind of freedom from responsibility. What we ought to say is that we can afford to accept a less satisfactory answer from an insane person than from a sane one. That is because insanity is less infectious than crime.

We kill a serpent if we go in danger by it, simply for being such and such a serpent in such and such a place; but we never say that the serpent has only itself to blame for not having been a harmless creature. Its crime is that of being the thing which it is: but this is a capital offence, and we are right in killing it out of the way, unless we think it more danger to do so than to let it escape; nevertheless we pity the creature, even though we kill it.

We kill a snake if it puts us in danger, simply because it is that kind of snake in that place. But we never say the snake has only itself to blame for not being harmless. Its crime is being what it is. But this is a crime punishable by death, and we are right to kill it to remove the danger. We should not kill it, though, if doing so would be more dangerous than letting it escape. Nevertheless, we pity the creature, even as we kill it.

But in the case of him whose trial I have described above, it was impossible that any one in the court should not have known that it was but by an accident of birth and circumstances that he was not himself also in a consumption; and yet none thought that it disgraced them to hear the judge give vent to the most cruel truisms about him. The judge himself was a kind and thoughtful person. He was a man of magnificent and benign presence. He was evidently of an iron constitution, and his face wore an expression of the maturest wisdom and experience; yet for all this, old and learned as he was, he could not see things which one would have thought would have been apparent even to a child. He could not emancipate himself from, nay, it did not even occur to him to feel, the bondage of the ideas in which he had been born and bred.

In the case of the man whose trial I described above, everyone in court must have known something. Only an accident of birth and circumstances had kept each of them from having tuberculosis too. Yet none of them thought it shameful to hear the judge make the cruelest remarks about him, stating the obvious. The judge himself was a kind and thoughtful person. He had a magnificent and kindly presence. He was clearly in excellent health, and his face showed great wisdom and experience. Yet, for all this, and despite his age and learning, he could not see things that should have been obvious even to a child. He could not free himself from the hold of the ideas he had grown up with. Indeed, it never even occurred to him that those ideas held him captive.

So was it also with the jury and bystanders; and—most wonderful of all—so was it even with the prisoner. Throughout he seemed fully impressed with the notion that he was being dealt with justly: he saw nothing wanton in his being told by the judge that he was to be punished, not so much as a necessary protection to society (although this was not entirely lost sight of), as because he had not been better born and bred than he was. But this led me to hope that he suffered less than he would have done if he had seen the matter in the same light that I did. And, after all, justice is relative.

The jury and bystanders felt the same way, and, most astonishing of all, so did the prisoner. Throughout, he seemed fully convinced that he was being treated fairly. The judge told him he was being punished mainly because he had not been born and raised better than he was. The need to protect society had not been entirely forgotten, but it was not the main reason for his punishment. The prisoner saw nothing unjustified in this. But his attitude gave me hope that he suffered less than he would have if he had seen the matter as I did. And, after all, justice is relative.

I may here mention that only a few years before my arrival in the country, the treatment of all convicted invalids had been much more barbarous than now, for no physical remedy was provided, and prisoners were put to the severest labour in all sorts of weather, so that most of them soon succumbed to the extreme hardships which they suffered; this was supposed to be beneficial in some ways, inasmuch as it put the country to less expense for the maintenance of its criminal class; but the growth of luxury had induced a relaxation of the old severity, and a sensitive age would no longer tolerate what appeared to be an excess of rigour, even towards the most guilty; moreover, it was found that juries were less willing to convict, and justice was often cheated because there was no alternative between virtually condemning a man to death and letting him go free; it was also held that the country paid in recommittals for its over-severity; for those who had been imprisoned even for trifling ailments were often permanently disabled by their imprisonment; and when a man had been once convicted, it was probable that he would seldom afterwards be off the hands of the country.

I should mention that, only a few years before I arrived, the treatment of all convicted invalids had been much more barbaric. They received no medical treatment. Prisoners were forced to do the hardest labor in all kinds of weather. As a result, most soon died from the extreme hardships they suffered. This was thought to be beneficial in some ways, since it cost the country less to maintain its criminal class. But growing luxury had led to a relaxation of the old severity. A sensitive age would no longer tolerate what seemed like excessive harshness, even toward the most guilty. Juries were also found to be less willing to convict. Justice was often thwarted because the only alternatives were to virtually sentence a man to death or let him go free. It was also believed that the country paid for its excessive severity through repeated imprisonments. Even those imprisoned for minor ailments were often permanently disabled by their imprisonment. Once a man had been convicted, he would probably remain the country’s responsibility for most of his life.

These evils had long been apparent and recognised; yet people were too indolent, and too indifferent to suffering not their own, to bestir themselves about putting an end to them, until at last a benevolent reformer devoted his whole life to effecting the necessary changes. He divided all illnesses into three classes—those affecting the head, the trunk, and the lower limbs—and obtained an enactment that all diseases of the head, whether internal or external, should be treated with laudanum, those of the body with castor-oil, and those of the lower limbs with an embrocation of strong sulphuric acid and water.

These evils had long been known and recognized. Yet people were too lazy and too indifferent to others’ suffering to do anything to end them. At last, a benevolent reformer devoted his whole life to making the necessary changes. He divided all illnesses into three classes: those affecting the head, the trunk, and the lower limbs. He secured a law requiring all diseases of the head, whether internal or external, to be treated with laudanum. Diseases of the body were to be treated with castor oil. Diseases of the lower limbs were to be treated with a lotion of strong sulphuric acid and water.

It may be said that the classification was not sufficiently careful, and that the remedies were ill chosen; but it is a hard thing to initiate any reform, and it was necessary to familiarise the public mind with the principle, by inserting the thin end of the wedge first: it is not, therefore, to be wondered at that among so practical a people there should still be some room for improvement. The mass of the nation are well pleased with existing arrangements, and believe that their treatment of criminals leaves little or nothing to be desired; but there is an energetic minority who hold what are considered to be extreme opinions, and who are not at all disposed to rest contented until the principle lately admitted has been carried further.

One might say that the classification was not careful enough and that the remedies were poorly chosen. But starting any reform is difficult. It was necessary to introduce the principle gradually, so the public could become familiar with it. So it is not surprising that even among such a practical people, there is still room for improvement. Most of the nation is happy with the current arrangements. They believe their treatment of criminals leaves little or nothing to be desired. But an energetic minority holds what are considered extreme views. They will not be satisfied until the recently accepted principle has been taken further.

I was at some pains to discover the opinions of these men, and their reasons for entertaining them. They are held in great odium by the generality of the public, and are considered as subverters of all morality whatever. The malcontents, on the other hand, assert that illness is the inevitable result of certain antecedent causes, which, in the great majority of cases, were beyond the control of the individual, and that therefore a man is only guilty for being in a consumption in the same way as rotten fruit is guilty for having gone rotten. True, the fruit must be thrown on one side as unfit for man’s use, and the man in a consumption must be put in prison for the protection of his fellow-citizens; but these radicals would not punish him further than by loss of liberty and a strict surveillance. So long as he was prevented from injuring society, they would allow him to make himself useful by supplying whatever of society’s wants he could supply. If he succeeded in thus earning money, they would have him made as comfortable in prison as possible, and would in no way interfere with his liberty more than was necessary to prevent him from escaping, or from becoming more severely indisposed within the prison walls; but they would deduct from his earnings the expenses of his board, lodging, surveillance, and half those of his conviction. If he was too ill to do anything for his support in prison, they would allow him nothing but bread and water, and very little of that.

I took some trouble to discover these men’s opinions and their reasons for holding them. Most people hate them and regard them as enemies of all morality. The malcontents, on the other hand, argue that illness is the inevitable result of earlier causes. In the great majority of cases, these causes were beyond the individual’s control. They therefore say that a man is guilty of having consumption only as rotten fruit is guilty of going rotten. True, the fruit must be set aside as unfit for human use. And the man with consumption must be imprisoned to protect his fellow citizens. But these radicals would punish him only by taking away his freedom and keeping him under strict supervision. As long as he was prevented from harming society, they would let him make himself useful by meeting whatever needs he could. If he succeeded in earning money this way, they would make him as comfortable in prison as possible. They would restrict his freedom only as much as necessary to prevent his escape or keep him from becoming more seriously ill in prison. But they would deduct the costs of his food, lodging, supervision, and half the costs of his conviction from his earnings. If he was too ill to do anything to support himself in prison, they would give him nothing but bread and water, and very little of that.

They say that society is foolish in refusing to allow itself to be benefited by a man merely because he has done it harm hitherto, and that objection to the labour of the diseased classes is only protection in another form. It is an attempt to raise the natural price of a commodity by saying that such and such persons, who are able and willing to produce it, shall not do so, whereby every one has to pay more for it.

They say society is foolish to refuse help from a man merely because he has harmed it in the past. They also say that opposition to work by the diseased classes is just another form of protectionism. It is an attempt to raise the natural price of a product. It does this by forbidding certain people from producing it, even though they are able and willing to do so. As a result, everyone has to pay more for it.

Besides, so long as a man has not been actually killed he is our fellow-creature, though perhaps a very unpleasant one. It is in a great degree the doing of others that he is what he is, or in other words, the society which now condemns him is partly answerable concerning him. They say that there is no fear of any increase of disease under these circumstances; for the loss of liberty, the surveillance, the considerable and compulsory deduction from the prisoner’s earnings, the very sparing use of stimulants (of which they would allow but little to any, and none to those who did not earn them), the enforced celibacy, and above all, the loss of reputation among friends, are in their opinion as ample safeguards to society against a general neglect of health as those now resorted to. A man, therefore, (so they say) should carry his profession or trade into prison with him if possible; if not, he must earn his living by the nearest thing to it that he can; but if he be a gentleman born and bred to no profession, he must pick oakum, or write art criticisms for a newspaper.

Besides, as long as a man has not actually been killed, he is our fellow human being. He may, however, be a very unpleasant one. Others are largely responsible for what he is. In other words, the society that now condemns him is partly responsible for him. They say there is no danger of disease increasing under these circumstances. Prisoners would lose their freedom and be kept under watch. A considerable deduction from their earnings would be compulsory. Stimulants would be allowed only sparingly. Few would be allowed to anyone, and none to those who did not earn them. Prisoners would also be forced to remain celibate. Above all, they would lose their standing among friends. In their opinion, these measures would protect society against widespread neglect of health just as well as those now used. A man should therefore, they say, continue his profession or trade in prison if possible. If not, he must earn his living by doing the nearest thing to it that he can. But if he is a gentleman by birth and has been trained for no profession, he must pick oakum or write art criticism for a newspaper.

These people say further, that the greater part of the illness which exists in their country is brought about by the insane manner in which it is treated.

These people also say that most illness in their country is caused by the insane way it is treated.

They believe that illness is in many cases just as curable as the moral diseases which they see daily cured around them, but that a great reform is impossible till men learn to take a juster view of what physical obliquity proceeds from. Men will hide their illnesses as long as they are scouted on its becoming known that they are ill; it is the scouting, not the physic, which produces the concealment; and if a man felt that the news of his being in ill-health would be received by his neighbours as a deplorable fact, but one as much the result of necessary antecedent causes as though he had broken into a jeweller’s shop and stolen a valuable diamond necklace—as a fact which might just as easily have happened to themselves, only that they had the luck to be better born or reared; and if they also felt that they would not be made more uncomfortable in the prison than the protection of society against infection and the proper treatment of their own disease actually demanded, men would give themselves up to the police as readily on perceiving that they had taken small-pox, as they go now to the straightener when they feel that they are on the point of forging a will, or running away with somebody else’s wife.

They believe that illness is often just as curable as the moral diseases they see cured every day. But great reform is impossible until people better understand what causes physical disorders. People will hide their illnesses as long as they are shunned when others learn they are ill. It is the shunning, not the medical treatment, that makes them hide their illnesses. Suppose a man believed his neighbours would receive news of his illness as a regrettable fact. They would also understand that it was the result of causes that necessarily led to it, just as if he had broken into a jeweller’s shop and stolen a valuable diamond necklace. They would know that the same thing might just as easily have happened to them. They had merely been lucky enough to be better born or raised. And suppose he also believed that he would be made no more uncomfortable in prison than necessary. His confinement would be only as uncomfortable as protecting society from infection and properly treating his disease required. Then, on realizing he had caught smallpox, he would turn himself over to the police. He would do so as readily as people now go to the straightener when they feel close to forging a will or running away with someone else’s wife.

But the main argument on which they rely is that of economy: for they know that they will sooner gain their end by appealing to men’s pockets, in which they have generally something of their own, than to their heads, which contain for the most part little but borrowed or stolen property; and also, they believe it to be the readiest test and the one which has most to show for itself. If a course of conduct can be shown to cost a country less, and this by no dishonourable saving and with no indirectly increased expenditure in other ways, they hold that it requires a good deal to upset the arguments in favour of its being adopted, and whether rightly or wrongly I cannot pretend to say, they think that the more medicinal and humane treatment of the diseased of which they are the advocates would in the long run be much cheaper to the country: but I did not gather that these reformers were opposed to meeting some of the more violent forms of illness with the cat-of-nine-tails, or with death; for they saw no so effectual way of checking them; they would therefore both flog and hang, but they would do so pitifully.

But their main argument is that their approach would save money. They know they will reach their goal sooner by appealing to men’s pockets than to their heads. Men generally have something of their own in their pockets. Their heads, for the most part, contain little but borrowed or stolen property. The reformers also believe that cost is the easiest test to apply and has the most to show for itself. Suppose a course of action can be shown to cost a country less. It must not achieve this through dishonorable savings or indirectly increase spending in other ways. The reformers believe it would then take a great deal to overcome the arguments for adopting it. Whether rightly or wrongly, I cannot pretend to say, they think their more medical and humane treatment of the sick would cost the country much less in the long run. But I did not gather that these reformers opposed using the cat-of-nine-tails or death against some more violent forms of illness. They saw no more effective way to check them. So they would both flog and hang, but they would do so with pity.

I have perhaps dwelt too long upon opinions which can have no possible bearing upon our own, but I have not said the tenth part of what these would-be reformers urged upon me. I feel, however, that I have sufficiently trespassed upon the attention of the reader.

Perhaps I have spent too long on opinions that could have no possible bearing on our own. But I have not mentioned a tenth of what these would-be reformers urged upon me. Even so, I feel I have taken up enough of the reader’s attention.