Arowhena

The reader will perhaps have learned by this time a thing which I had myself suspected before I had been twenty-four hours in Mr. Nosnibor’s house—I mean, that though the Nosnibors showed me every attention, I could not cordially like them, with the exception of Arowhena who was quite different from the rest. They were not fair samples of Erewhonians. I saw many families with whom they were on visiting terms, whose manners charmed me more than I know how to say, but I never could get over my original prejudice against Mr. Nosnibor for having embezzled the money. Mrs. Nosnibor, too, was a very worldly woman, yet to hear her talk one would have thought that she was singularly the reverse; neither could I endure Zulora; Arowhena however was perfection.

By now, the reader may have realized something I had suspected before spending twenty-four hours in Mr. Nosnibor’s house. Though the Nosnibors were very attentive to me, I could not genuinely like them. The exception was Arowhena, who was quite different from the rest. The Nosnibors were not typical Erewhonians. I met many families they visited, and their manners charmed me more than I can say. But I could never overcome my initial prejudice against Mr. Nosnibor for having embezzled the money. Mrs. Nosnibor, too, was a very worldly woman. Yet, to hear her talk, one would have thought she was remarkably unworldly. Nor could I stand Zulora. Arowhena, however, was perfection.

She it was who ran all the little errands for her mother and Mr. Nosnibor and Zulora, and gave those thousand proofs of sweetness and unselfishness which some one member of a family is generally required to give. All day long it was Arowhena this, and Arowhena that; but she never seemed to know that she was being put upon, and was always bright and willing from morning till evening. Zulora certainly was very handsome, but Arowhena was infinitely the more graceful of the two and was the very ne plus ultra of youth and beauty. I will not attempt to describe her, for anything that I could say would fall so far short of the reality as only to mislead the reader. Let him think of the very loveliest that he can imagine, and he will still be below the truth. Having said this much, I need hardly say that I had fallen in love with her.

She ran all the little errands for her mother, Mr. Nosnibor, and Zulora. She showed sweetness and unselfishness in a thousand ways, as one member of a family is generally expected to do. All day long, it was Arowhena this and Arowhena that. But she never seemed to realize she was being taken advantage of. She was always cheerful and willing from morning till evening. Zulora was certainly very beautiful, but Arowhena was infinitely more graceful and the very height of youth and beauty. I will not try to describe her. Anything I could say would fall so far short of reality that it would only mislead the reader. Let the reader imagine the loveliest person possible, and even that will fall short of the truth. Having said this much, I hardly need to say that I had fallen in love with her.

She must have seen what I felt for her, but I tried my hardest not to let it appear even by the slightest sign. I had many reasons for this. I had no idea what Mr. and Mrs. Nosnibor would say to it; and I knew that Arowhena would not look at me (at any rate not yet) if her father and mother disapproved, which they probably would, considering that I had nothing except the pension of about a pound a day of our money which the King had granted me. I did not yet know of a more serious obstacle.

She must have seen how I felt about her, but I tried my hardest not to show it in the slightest. I had many reasons for hiding my feelings. I had no idea what Mr. and Mrs. Nosnibor would say about them. And I knew that Arowhena would not consider me if her parents disapproved. At least, she would not consider me yet. They probably would disapprove, since all I had was the pension the King had granted me. It amounted to about a pound a day in our money. I did not yet know of a more serious obstacle.

In the meantime, I may say that I had been presented at court, and was told that my reception had been considered as singularly gracious; indeed, I had several interviews both with the King and Queen, at which from time to time the Queen got everything from me that I had in the world, clothes and all, except the two buttons I had given to Yram, the loss of which seemed to annoy her a good deal. I was presented with a court suit, and her Majesty had my old clothes put upon a wooden dummy, on which they probably remain, unless they have been removed in consequence of my subsequent downfall. His Majesty’s manners were those of a cultivated English gentleman. He was much pleased at hearing that our government was monarchical, and that the mass of the people were resolute that it should not be changed; indeed, I was so much encouraged by the evident pleasure with which he heard me, that I ventured to quote to him those beautiful lines of Shakespeare’s—

Meanwhile, I should mention that I had been presented at court. I was told that my reception had been exceptionally gracious. I had several meetings with both the King and Queen. During these meetings, the Queen gradually got everything I owned, including my clothes. The only exceptions were the two buttons I had given to Yram. The loss of those buttons seemed to annoy her a good deal. I was given a court suit, and her Majesty had my old clothes put on a wooden dummy. They are probably still there, unless they were removed after my later downfall. His Majesty had the manners of a cultivated English gentleman. He was very pleased to hear that our government was a monarchy. He was also pleased that most of the people were determined to keep it that way. In fact, his obvious pleasure encouraged me so much that I dared to quote those beautiful lines of Shakespeare’s:

but I was sorry I had done so afterwards, for I do not think his Majesty admired the lines as much as I could have wished.

But I regretted doing so afterward, because I don't think his Majesty admired the lines as much as I had hoped.

There is no occasion for me to dwell further upon my experience of the court, but I ought perhaps to allude to one of my conversations with the King, inasmuch as it was pregnant with the most important consequences.

There is no need to say more about my experience at court. But I should perhaps mention one conversation with the King, because it had very important consequences.

He had been asking me about my watch, and enquiring whether such dangerous inventions were tolerated in the country from which I came. I owned with some confusion that watches were not uncommon; but observing the gravity which came over his Majesty’s face I presumed to say that they were fast dying out, and that we had few if any other mechanical contrivances of which he was likely to disapprove. Upon his asking me to name some of our most advanced machines, I did not dare to tell him of our steam-engines and railroads and electric telegraphs, and was puzzling my brains to think what I could say, when, of all things in the world, balloons suggested themselves, and I gave him an account of a very remarkable ascent which was made some years ago. The King was too polite to contradict, but I felt sure that he did not believe me, and from that day forward though he always showed me the attention which was due to my genius (for in this light was my complexion regarded), he never questioned me about the manners and customs of my country.

He had been asking me about my watch. He wanted to know whether such dangerous inventions were allowed in my country. I admitted, with some embarrassment, that watches were not uncommon. But when I saw how serious the King’s face became, I ventured to say that watches were quickly dying out. I added that we had few, if any, other machines he was likely to disapprove of. He then asked me to name some of our most advanced machines. I did not dare tell him about our steam engines, railroads, and electric telegraphs. I was struggling to think of an answer when, of all things, balloons came to mind. I told him about a very remarkable balloon ascent that had taken place some years earlier. The King was too polite to contradict me, but I felt sure he did not believe me. From that day on, he never asked me about the manners and customs of my country. He always showed me the attention due to my genius, though, for that was how my complexion was regarded.

To return, however, to Arowhena. I soon gathered that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Nosnibor would have any objection to my marrying into the family; a physical excellence is considered in Erewhon as a set off against almost any other disqualification, and my light hair was sufficient to make me an eligible match. But along with this welcome fact I gathered another which filled me with dismay: I was expected to marry Zulora, for whom I had already conceived a great aversion. At first I hardly noticed the little hints and the artifices which were resorted to in order to bring us together, but after a time they became too plain. Zulora, whether she was in love with me or not, was bent on marrying me, and I gathered in talking with a young gentleman of my acquaintance who frequently visited the house and whom I greatly disliked, that it was considered a sacred and inviolable rule that whoever married into a family must marry the eldest daughter at that time unmarried. The young gentleman urged this upon me so frequently that I at last saw he was in love with Arowhena himself, and wanted me to get Zulora out of the way; but others told me the same story as to the custom of the country, and I saw there was a serious difficulty. My only comfort was that Arowhena snubbed my rival and would not look at him. Neither would she look at me; nevertheless there was a difference in the manner of her disregard; this was all I could get from her.

But to return to Arowhena. I soon learned that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Nosnibor would object to my marrying into the family. In Erewhon, physical excellence is considered enough to make up for almost any other disqualification. My light hair alone made me an eligible match. But along with this welcome news, I learned something that filled me with dismay. I was expected to marry Zulora, whom I had already come to dislike intensely. At first I hardly noticed the little hints and tricks used to bring us together. But after a while they became too obvious to miss. Whether Zulora loved me or not, she was determined to marry me. A young gentleman I knew often visited the house, and I greatly disliked him. In talking with him, I learned that a sacred and unbreakable rule governed marriage into a family. The person marrying into the family had to marry the eldest daughter who was still unmarried. The young gentleman pressed this rule on me so often that I finally saw he loved Arowhena himself. He wanted me to get Zulora out of the way. But others told me the same thing about the custom of the country, and I saw a serious difficulty. My only comfort was that Arowhena snubbed my rival and would not look at him. She would not look at me either. Even so, there was a difference in the way she disregarded me. That was all I could get from her.

Not that she avoided me; on the contrary I had many a tête-à-tête with her, for her mother and sister were anxious for me to deposit some part of my pension in the Musical Banks, this being in accordance with the dictates of their goddess Ydgrun, of whom both Mrs. Nosnibor and Zulora were great devotees. I was not sure whether I had kept my secret from being perceived by Arowhena herself, but none of the others suspected me, so she was set upon me to get me to open an account, at any rate pro formâ, with the Musical Banks; and I need hardly say that she succeeded. But I did not yield at once; I enjoyed the process of being argued with too keenly to lose it by a prompt concession; besides, a little hesitation rendered the concession itself more valuable. It was in the course of conversations on this subject that I learned the more defined religious opinions of the Erewhonians, that coexist with the Musical Bank system, but are not recognised by those curious institutions. I will describe them as briefly as possible in the following chapters before I return to the personal adventures of Arowhena and myself.

Not that she avoided me. On the contrary, I had many private conversations with her. Her mother and sister wanted me to deposit part of my pension in the Musical Banks. This was what their goddess Ydgrun demanded, and both Mrs. Nosnibor and Zulora were devoted followers of hers. I was not sure whether I had managed to keep my secret from Arowhena herself. But none of the others suspected me, so they sent her to persuade me to open an account with the Musical Banks, at least as a formality. I hardly need say that she succeeded. But I did not give in at once. I enjoyed being argued with too much to end it by agreeing promptly. Besides, a little hesitation made my agreement more valuable. During these conversations, I learned about the more clearly defined religious beliefs of the Erewhonians. These beliefs exist alongside the Musical Bank system, but those curious institutions do not recognize them. I will describe them as briefly as possible in the following chapters before returning to the personal adventures of Arowhena and myself.

They were idolaters, though of a comparatively enlightened kind; but here, as in other things, there was a discrepancy between their professed and actual belief, for they had a genuine and potent faith which existed without recognition alongside of their idol worship.

They worshipped idols, though they were relatively enlightened idolaters. But here, as in other matters, their stated beliefs differed from their actual beliefs. Alongside their idol worship, they had a genuine and powerful faith that they did not recognize.

The gods whom they worship openly are personifications of human qualities, as justice, strength, hope, fear, love, &c., &c. The people think that prototypes of these have a real objective existence in a region far beyond the clouds, holding, as did the ancients, that they are like men and women both in body and passion, except that they are even comelier and more powerful, and also that they can render themselves invisible to human eyesight. They are capable of being propitiated by mankind and of coming to the assistance of those who ask their aid. Their interest in human affairs is keen, and on the whole beneficent; but they become very angry if neglected, and punish rather the first they come upon, than the actual person who has offended them; their fury being blind when it is raised, though never raised without reason. They will not punish with any less severity when people sin against them from ignorance, and without the chance of having had knowledge; they will take no excuses of this kind, but are even as the English law, which assumes itself to be known to every one.

The gods they worship openly are human qualities given human form, such as justice, strength, hope, fear, love, and so on. The people believe that the original forms of these qualities really exist in a realm far beyond the clouds. Like the ancients, they believe that these gods have bodies and passions like those of men and women. But the gods are even more beautiful and powerful, and they can make themselves invisible to human eyes. People can win the gods’ favor, and the gods can help those who ask for their aid. The gods take a keen interest in human affairs and are generally kind. But they become very angry if neglected. They punish whoever they first come across, rather than the person who actually offended them. Their fury is blind once stirred, though it is never stirred without reason. The gods punish people just as severely for offending them out of ignorance, even if they had no chance to know better. They accept no such excuses. In this, they are like English law, which assumes that everyone knows it.

Thus they have a law that two pieces of matter may not occupy the same space at the same moment, which law is presided over and administered by the gods of time and space jointly, so that if a flying stone and a man’s head attempt to outrage these gods, by “arrogating a right which they do not possess” (for so it is written in one of their books), and to occupy the same space simultaneously, a severe punishment, sometimes even death itself, is sure to follow, without any regard to whether the stone knew that the man’s head was there, or the head the stone; this at least is their view of the common accidents of life. Moreover, they hold their deities to be quite regardless of motives. With them it is the thing done which is everything, and the motive goes for nothing.

They have a law that two pieces of matter cannot occupy the same space at the same time. The gods of time and space jointly oversee and enforce this law. Suppose a flying stone and a man’s head try to offend these gods by occupying the same space at once. In the words of one of their books, they are “claiming a right they do not possess.” Severe punishment is sure to follow, sometimes even death itself. It makes no difference whether the stone knew the man’s head was there, or the head knew about the stone. At least, this is how they view the ordinary accidents of life. They also believe their gods pay no attention to motives. For them, the act is everything, and the motive counts for nothing.

Thus they hold it strictly forbidden for a man to go without common air in his lungs for more than a very few minutes; and if by any chance he gets into the water, the air-god is very angry, and will not suffer it; no matter whether the man got into the water by accident or on purpose, whether through the attempt to save a child or through presumptuous contempt of the air-god, the air-god will kill him, unless he keeps his head high enough out of the water, and thus gives the air-god his due.

They therefore hold that a man is strictly forbidden to go without ordinary air in his lungs for more than a few minutes. If he happens to get into water, the air-god becomes very angry and will not tolerate it. It makes no difference whether the man entered the water by accident or on purpose. He may have been trying to save a child or showing arrogant contempt for the air-god. Either way, the air-god will kill him unless he keeps his head high enough above the water, giving the air-god his due.

This with regard to the deities who manage physical affairs. Over and above these they personify hope, fear, love, and so forth, giving them temples and priests, and carving likenesses of them in stone, which they verily believe to be faithful representations of living beings who are only not human in being more than human. If any one denies the objective existence of these divinities, and says that there is really no such being as a beautiful woman called Justice, with her eyes blinded and a pair of scales, positively living and moving in a remote and ethereal region, but that justice is only the personified expression of certain modes of human thought and action—they say that he denies the existence of justice in denying her personality, and that he is a wanton disturber of men’s religious convictions. They detest nothing so much as any attempt to lead them to higher spiritual conceptions of the deities whom they profess to worship. Arowhena and I had a pitched battle on this point, and should have had many more but for my prudence in allowing her to get the better of me.

That is how they regard the deities who manage physical affairs. Besides these, they personify hope, fear, love, and so on. They give them temples and priests and carve their likenesses in stone. They truly believe these are faithful representations of living beings. These beings are different from humans only in being more than human. Suppose someone denies that these deities actually exist. He might say that no beautiful woman called Justice really lives and moves in a distant, heavenly realm, blindfolded and holding scales. He might say that justice is merely the personification of certain ways humans think and act. They would say that, by denying Justice's existence as a person, he denies the existence of justice itself. They would also call him a reckless disturber of people's religious beliefs. They hate nothing more than any attempt to lead them to higher spiritual ideas of the deities they claim to worship. Arowhena and I had a fierce argument about this. We would have had many more, but I was wise enough to let her win.

I am sure that in her heart she was suspicious of her own position for she returned more than once to the subject. “Can you not see,” I had exclaimed, “that the fact of justice being admirable will not be affected by the absence of a belief in her being also a living agent? Can you really think that men will be one whit less hopeful, because they no longer believe that hope is an actual person?” She shook her head, and said that with men’s belief in the personality all incentive to the reverence of the thing itself, as justice or hope, would cease; men from that hour would never be either just or hopeful again.

I am sure she had doubts about her own position, because she returned to the subject more than once. “Can you not see,” I had exclaimed, “that justice is still admirable, even if people do not believe she is a living being? Can you really think people will be any less hopeful because they no longer believe hope is a real person?” She shook her head. She said that if people stopped believing in the person, they would have no reason to respect justice or hope itself. From that moment on, people would never again be just or hopeful.

I could not move her, nor, indeed, did I seriously wish to do so. She deferred to me in most things, but she never shrank from maintaining her opinions if they were put in question; nor does she to this day abate one jot of her belief in the religion of her childhood, though in compliance with my repeated entreaties she has allowed herself to be baptized into the English Church. She has, however, made a gloss upon her original faith to the effect that her baby and I are the only human beings exempt from the vengeance of the deities for not believing in their personality. She is quite clear that we are exempted. She should never have so strong a conviction of it otherwise. How it has come about she does not know, neither does she wish to know; there are things which it is better not to know and this is one of them; but when I tell her that I believe in her deities as much as she does—and that it is a difference about words, not things, she becomes silent with a slight emphasis.

I could not change her mind, and I did not seriously want to. She deferred to me in most things, but never hesitated to defend her opinions when they were questioned. To this day, she has not lost the slightest bit of her faith in the religion of her childhood. Yet, after I repeatedly begged her, she allowed herself to be baptized into the English Church. She has, however, added one qualification to her original faith. She believes her baby and I are the only people the deities will not punish for disbelieving in their existence as persons. She is quite sure we are exempt. Otherwise, she would never feel so strongly that we are. She does not know how this exemption came about, and she does not want to know. Some things are better left unknown, and this is one of them. But I tell her that I believe in her deities as much as she does. I say that we differ about words, not things. When I tell her this, she falls silent with a slight emphasis.

I own that she very nearly conquered me once; for she asked me what I should think if she were to tell me that my God, whose nature and attributes I had been explaining to her, was but the expression for man’s highest conception of goodness, wisdom, and power; that in order to generate a more vivid conception of so great and glorious a thought, man had personified it and called it by a name; that it was an unworthy conception of the Deity to hold Him personal, inasmuch as escape from human contingencies became thus impossible; that the real thing men should worship was the Divine, whereinsoever they could find it; that “God” was but man’s way of expressing his sense of the Divine; that as justice, hope, wisdom, &c., were all parts of goodness, so God was the expression which embraced all goodness and all good power; that people would no more cease to love God on ceasing to believe in His objective personality, than they had ceased to love justice on discovering that she was not really personal; nay, that they would never truly love Him till they saw Him thus.

I admit that she very nearly convinced me once. I had been explaining the nature and qualities of my God to her. She asked what I would think if she told me that God was only an expression of humanity’s highest idea of goodness, wisdom, and power. To imagine this great and glorious idea more vividly, people had given it a human form and a name. She said that it was unworthy to think of God as a person, because that made it impossible to free him from the limitations of human life. What people should really worship was the Divine, wherever they could find it. “God” was only humanity’s way of expressing its sense of the Divine. Just as justice, hope, wisdom, and the like were all parts of goodness, so God was the expression that embraced all goodness and all good power. People would no more stop loving God when they stopped believing he existed as a person than they had stopped loving justice when they discovered that she was not really a person. Indeed, she said, they would never truly love him until they saw him in this way.

She said all this in her artless way, and with none of the coherence with which I have here written it; her face kindled, and she felt sure that she had convinced me that I was wrong, and that justice was a living person. Indeed I did wince a little; but I recovered myself immediately, and pointed out to her that we had books whose genuineness was beyond all possibility of doubt, as they were certainly none of them less than 1800 years old; that in these there were the most authentic accounts of men who had been spoken to by the Deity Himself, and of one prophet who had been allowed to see the back parts of God through the hand that was laid over his face.

She said all this in her simple, natural way, and much less coherently than I have written it here. Her face lit up. She felt sure she had convinced me that I was wrong and that justice was a living person. Indeed, I did flinch a little. But I quickly recovered and pointed out that we had books whose authenticity was beyond all possible doubt. None of them was less than 1,800 years old. They contained the most reliable accounts of men whom God himself had spoken to. They also told of one prophet who was allowed to see God’s back through the hand covering his face.

This was conclusive; and I spoke with such solemnity that she was a little frightened, and only answered that they too had their books, in which their ancestors had seen the gods; on which I saw that further argument was not at all likely to convince her; and fearing that she might tell her mother what I had been saying, and that I might lose the hold upon her affections which I was beginning to feel pretty sure that I was obtaining, I began to let her have her own way, and to convince me; neither till after we were safely married did I show the cloven hoof again.

That settled the matter. I spoke so solemnly that she was a little frightened. She only replied that they too had books in which their ancestors had seen the gods. I saw that further argument was very unlikely to convince her. I also feared she might tell her mother what I had been saying. And I was becoming fairly sure that I was winning her affection, which I feared I might lose. So I began to let her have her way and convince me. Only after we were safely married did I show my cloven hoof again.

Nevertheless, her remarks have haunted me, and I have since met with many very godly people who have had a great knowledge of divinity, but no sense of the divine: and again, I have seen a radiance upon the face of those who were worshipping the divine either in art or nature—in picture or statue—in field or cloud or sea—in man, woman, or child—which I have never seen kindled by any talking about the nature and attributes of God. Mention but the word divinity, and our sense of the divine is clouded.

Nevertheless, her remarks have haunted me. Since then, I have met many deeply religious people who knew a great deal about theology but had no sense of the divine. I have also seen a radiance on the faces of people worshipping the divine in art or nature. They found it in pictures or statues, in fields or clouds or the sea, in men, women, or children. I have never seen that radiance lit by talk about the nature and qualities of God. Merely mention the word divinity, and our sense of the divine is clouded.