Erewhon

“We next to never know when we are well off: but this cuts two ways,—for if we did, we should perhaps know better when we are ill off also; and I have sometimes though that there are as many ignorant of the one as of the other. He who wrote, ‘O fortunatos nimium sua si bona norint agricolas,’ might have written quite as truly, “O infortunatos nimium sua si mala norint;” and there are few of us who are not protected from the keenest pain by our inability to see what it is that we have done, what we are suffering, and what we truly are. Let us be grateful to the mirror for revealing to us our appearance only.”

The Latin quote is taken from Virgil’s The Georgics, and it means that farmers would consider themselves lucky if they knew how good their lives were, while the reverse means that farmers would consider themselves unlucky if they know how bad their lives were. In both cases, the narrator is commenting that people never know their true circumstances, which allows unfortunate people to be happy and fortunate people to be unhappy. For his own circumstances, the narrator is reflecting that he could be on the precipice of a great discovery, which would justify his struggles, or he could be heading to his death alone in the mountains.

“It is a dreadful feeling, that of being cut off from all one’s kind. I was still full of hope, and built golden castles for myself as soon as I was warmed with food and fire; but I do not believe that any man could long retain his reason in such solitude, unless he had the companionship of animals. One begins doubting one’s own identity. I remember deriving comfort even from the sight of my blankets, and the sound of my watch ticking—things which seemed to link me to other people; but the screaming of the wood-hens frightened me, as also a chattering bird which I had never heard before, and which seemed to laugh at me; though I soon got used to it, and before long could fancy that it was many years since I had first heard it.”

In this passage, the narrator feels the existential weight of solitude as he realizes how his isolation warps his sense of self and reality. The objects that he identifies as remedies to this condition are human tools like the watch, which remind him of civilization. At the same time, nature frightens him, and this contrast sets ups a dynamic in which nature is antithetical to humanity, while technology is explicitly comforting for its definite connection to human action and influence. However, these links do not last long, and the narrator soon finds himself at home with the woodland noises, showing how adaptation and exposure can overcome conditioning.

“He was indeed stony ground, but by digging about him I might have at any rate deprived him of all faith in the religion of his tribe, which would have been half way towards making him a sincere Christian; and now all that was cut off from me, and I could neither be of further spiritual assistance to him nor he of bodily profit to myself: besides, any company was better than being quite alone.”

As with most colonial or imperialist texts, there is a consistent focus on influencing and controlling Indigenous populations. Here, the narrator reflects on how Chowbok is “stony ground,” meaning that it is difficult to convince him of anything. However, the specific task that prompts this comparison is that of converting Chowbok to Christianity, which requires overwriting Chowbok’s own religion. While the narrator believes this will benefit to Chowbok, the reverse perspective is equally true, and it can be assumed that the narrator would be equally as stubborn and offended if Chowbok were to try to convert him to his religion.

“On my arrival I had been pleased at noticing that nearly all the plants and birds were very like common English ones: thus, there was a robin, and a lark, and a wren, and daisies, and dandelions; not quite the same as the English, but still very like them—quite like enough to be called by the same name; so now, here, the ways of these two men, and the things they had in the house, were all very nearly the same as in Europe. It was not at all like going to China or Japan, where everything that one sees is strange. I was, indeed, at once struck with the primitive character of their appliances, for they seemed to be some five or six hundred years behind Europe in their inventions; but this is the case in many an Italian village.”

A critical element of imperialist perception of foreign cultures is often called Orientalism, a process through which foreign cultures are rendered both interesting and offensive to European sentiments. As such, China and Japan are depicted as being entirely strange, and Erewhon is held separate from cultures outside of Europe. The statement that Erewhon is similar to Italy implies that the narrator perceives Erewhon to be more “civilized” and progressive than other Indigenous groups. By noting similarities between the Erewhonians and Europeans, the narrator (and Butler) is signaling that these are not “savages,” but civilized, reasonable people. However, this conclusion is drawn from discriminatory and prejudiced views of non-European cultures, making it implicitly problematic.

“She saw that I was really ignorant, and had had no intention of being rude to her; whereon it came out that illness of any sort was considered in Erewhon to be highly criminal and immoral; and that I was liable, even for catching cold, to be had up before the magistrates and imprisoned for a considerable period—an announcement which struck me dumb with astonishment.”

This passage shows both how cultural differences can lead to misunderstandings and how the Erewhonian culture differs from most cultures that the narrator and reader have likely encountered. Yram is angry with the narrator for suggesting that he is ill, but this anger is soon explained by the Erewhonian laws and societal expectations that view a claim of illness to be equivalent to the confession of a crime. As with many of the situations the narrator finds himself in, the excuse he has is ignorance of these customs, and fortunately, he is now in a position to explain himself more fully.

“One day, being tired and cold, and weary of saying the same thing over and over again, I turned a little brusquely on my questioner and said that I was exceedingly cross, and that I could hardly feel in a worse humour with myself and every one else than at that moment. To my surprise, I was met with the kindest expressions of condolence, and heard it buzzed about the room that I was in an ill temper; whereon people began to give me nice things to smell and to eat, which really did seem to have some temper-mending quality about them, for I soon felt pleased and was at one congratulated upon being better.”

In direct contrast to his interaction with Yram upon catching a cold, the narrator finds that admitting to a bad mood or irritation provokes the kind of response he would expect if he were sick. People try to improve his mood in the same way that one might care for a sick friend with food and comfort.

“The strange part of the story, however, is that though they ascribe moral defects to the effect of misfortune either in character or surroundings, they will not listen to the plea of misfortune in cases that in England meet with sympathy and commiseration only. Ill luck of any kind, or even ill treatment at the hands of others, is considered an offence against society, inasmuch as it makes people uncomfortable to hear of it. Loss of fortune, therefore, or loss of some dear friend on whom another was much dependent, I punished hardly less severely than physical delinquency.”

This passage clearly outlines the satire that Butler is aiming for in the use of crime and illness as different sides of a similar issue. The idea of broader “misfortune” or bad luck being punishable by law combines the two, forcing the reader to see how both illness and crime are the result of a person’s circumstances. This comparison suggests that criminal punishment is as unreasonable as punishing people for catching an illness, or, as in this passage, punishing someone for losing a friend or family member.

“No one with any sense of self-respect will place himself on an equality in the matter of affection with those who are less lucky than himself in birth, health, money, good looks, capacity, or anything else. Indeed, that dislike and even disgust should be felt by the fortunate for the unfortunate, or at any rate for those who have been discovered to have met with any of the more serious and less familiar misfortunes, is not only natural, but desirable for any society, whether of man or brute.”

The narrator exposes the critical issue behind the Erewhonian, and, by extension, European methods of social hierarchy. The statement that people of different classes should have a healthy distaste for one another is ridiculous, and, by taking this position for granted, the narrator is able to uncover the root cause of the misfortunes of both Erewhonian and European societies. The idea of “self-respect” as the motivation behind such distaste reveals how self-perception is rooted in social conditioning, leading the wealthy or conventionally attractive to feel innately superior to those deemed “poor” or “ugly” in society.

“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.”

In discussing Erewhonian law, the narrator makes two comparisons to animals: the sheep that is raised to be killed and eaten, and the snake that is killed to avoid danger. In both examples, the narrator is pointing to the pattern of both Erewhonian and European law of assigning responsibility for certain actions or conditions, blaming people for their circumstances. In the case of the snake, the narrator acknowledges that it must be killed, but he calls it a “pity,” opening up a discussion of whether the killing is truly necessary, or if the snake could be avoided or rendered harmless in another way.

“Was there nothing which I could say to make them feel that the constitution of a person’s body was a thing over which he or she had had at any rate no initial control whatever, while the mind was a perfectly different thing, and capable of being created anew and directed according to the pleasure of its possessor? Could I never bring them to see that while habits of mind and character were entirely independent of initial mental force and early education, the body was so much a creature of parentage and circumstances, that no punishment for ill-health should be ever tolerated save as a protection from contagion, and that even where punishment was inevitable it should be attended with compassion?”

In this passage, the narrator confronts the fact that the Erewhonians, much like the English, are set in their ways, and the possibility of conversion is not likely. While, to the narrator, it is obvious that a person’s actions are their choice while the health of their bodies is often beyond their control, the opposite is true for the Erewhonians. Here, one must understand that the Erewhonians have not convinced the narrator that illness is a punishable offense, any more than he is able to convince them that immorality, not illness, should be punished. The question of moral relativity, here, is whether either culture is truly correct, or if both viewpoints need to be ameliorated.

“Thus they have a law that two pieces of matter may not occupy the same space that 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 dure 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.”

As with many basic beliefs, the Erewhonian belief that the gods prevent objects from colliding by punishing them with the collision is a classic example of how superstitions are used to explain physical reality. The importance of the belief lies in the physical understanding of how two objects interact, rather than in the divine origin of those laws. That the narrator explains this as “their view” of common accidents makes it seem as if the Erewhonians are odd for believing this, and yet is it the predominant view of most of the world that physical reality is governed by immutable laws like this one.

“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 of 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.”

This passage is one of the few in which the narrator questions his own beliefs, as Arowhena uses the same logic to refute Christianity that the narrator uses to refute Erewhonian religion. From that point, the narrator is no longer sure if divinity is a concept developed by humanity to promote good behavior, or if it is truly the inspiring force of his own deity. As he reflects on this question, much like with Erewhonian deities of justice and hope, he finds that many people who do not understand Christianity behave like “good” Christians, while many professed Christians do not behave as well as he would expect.

“No one, he answered, expected that the boy either would or could know all that he said he knew; but that the world was full of compromises; and there was hardly any affirmation which would bear being interpreted literally. Human language was too gross a vehicle of though—though being incapable of absolute translation. He added, that as there can be no translation from one language into another which shall not scant the meaning somewhat/ or enlarge upon it, so there is no language which can render thought without a jarring and a harshness somewhere—and so forth; all of which seemed to come to this in the end, that it was the custom of the country, and that the Erewhonians were a conservative people; that the boy would have to begin compromising sooner or later, and this was part of his education in the art.”

The practice of the birth formula in many ways mirrors the Christian ideas of original sin and baptism. Upon birth, Christian children are baptized to make them Christians, though this action is not something to which they can consent. Then, the child is expected to reaffirm their faith over the course of their life, regardless of whether the religion has truly been instilled in them by society. In either case, as the professor notes, all children are essentially lied to in some ways by society, and they, in turn, learn which lies are the correct ones as they age.

“The mythology is obviously an unfair and exaggerated representation of life and things; and had its authors been so minded they could have easily drawn a picture which would err as much on the bright side as this does on the dark. No Erewhonian believes that the world is as black as it has been here painted, but it is one of their peculiarities that they very often do not believe or mean things which they profess to regard as indisputable.”

In any work of satire, phrasing like “obviously” and “unfair and exaggerated” is intended to call attention to a topic or idea that is reflective of reality. In this case, it is the Erewhonian tendency to profess beliefs that they do not truly believe, such as that life is miserable. The actual details of this belief are not so ridiculous as the narrator makes them sound, for they largely focus on the fact that people do not choose the circumstances of their birth. In fact, the opposite of the Erewhonian belief that life is “black” is the English insistence on life being “bright.” In the narrator’s mind, it is uncouth to acknowledge the experience of those born in unfortunate situations, as per the English saying of “quiet desperation,” in which people are expected to keep their struggles private.

“They argue thus—that to teach a boy merely the nature of the things which exist in the world round him, and about which he will have to be conversant during his whole life, would be giving him but a narrow and shallow conception of the universe, which it is urged might contain all manner of things which are not now to be found therein. To open his eyes to these possibilities, and so to prepare him for all sorts of emergencies, is the object of this system of hypothetics. To imagine a set of utterly strange and impossible contingencies, and require the youths to give intelligent answers to the questions that arise therefrom, is reckoned the fittest conceivable way of preparing them for the actual conduct of the affairs in after life.”

The narrator here describes the Erewhonian field of hypothetics, and, while this description may seem ridiculous as intended, it is actually a description of the higher levels of study in traditional English educational systems, in which the student progressively encounters more information and situations that are less likely to occur. As an example, the humanities often cover situations in psychology, literature, and sociology that may have happened once or have yet to happen, but the process of reasoning through these scenarios allows for broader critical thinking that can then be applied to real-world examples. In either case, Butler is making the argument that most or all students should be taught trades that have a more immediate financial benefit than such theoretical exercises.

“And yet perhaps, after all, it is better for a country that its seats of learning should do more to suppress mental growth than to encourage it. Were it not for a certain priggishness which these places infuse into so great a number of their alumni, genuine work would become dangerously common. It is essential that by far the greater part of what is said or done in the world should keep good for twenty-four hours, or even twice as long, but it should not be good enough a week hence to prevent people from going on to something else. No doubt the marvellous development of journalism in England, as also the fact that our seats of learning aim rather at fostering mediocrity than anything higher, is due to our subconscious recognition of the fact that it is even more necessary to check exuberance of mental development than to encourage it.”

The narrator directly compares Erewhon to England, sarcastically acknowledging the benefit of keeping people from inventing too many new things or developing too much in their understanding. The reason he gives is that people would become consumed with making new things and developing too much understanding, which is intended to be ridiculous. The critique aimed at journalism and education in this passage is that neither dwells long enough on anything to develop a real understanding. As such, Butler claims that the English people have too short an attention span, and that students are not taught to be excellent but simply adequate for later work.

“But who can say that the vapour engine has not a kind of consciousness? Where does consciousness begin, and where end? Who can draw the line? Who can draw any line? Is not everything interwoven with everything? Is not machinery linked with animal life in an infinite variety of ways? The shell of a hen’s egg is made of a delicate white ware and is a machine as much as an egg-cup is: the shell is a device for holding the egg, as much as the egg-cup for holding the shell: both are phases of the same function; the hen makes the shell in her inside, but it is pure pottery. She makes her nest outside of herself for convenience’ sake, but the nest is not more of a machine than the egg-shell is. A ‘machine’ is only a ‘device.’”

In this passage, the author of the Book of the Machines begins by establishing the broad standard on which he builds his understanding of “machinery,” noting that animals make devices that serve specific purposes for them. Butler’s audience would find the author’s claims ridiculous because an English person in 1870 would not likely agree that an eggshell is as much a machine or “technology” as a steam engine. Nonetheless, this comparison establishes the underlying tone of mischievous absurdity, for although the author of the Book of the Machines believes his own musings with deadly seriousness, Butler’s intention is to highlight the ridiculousness of such comparisons.

“Who shall say that a man does see or hear? He is such a hive and swarm of parasites that it is doubtful whether his body is not more theirs than his, and whether he is anything but another kind of ant-heap after all. May not man himself become a sort of parasite upon the machines? An affectionate machine-tickling aphid?”

The author’s question, here, addresses the mind/body problem, an issue in philosophy that struggles to determine if the essence of a person is simply a brain or a summation of their entire body. The author seems to take the initial view, and, even then, seems to think that the person is their consciousness alone, with the brain serving as another “parasite” to aid in human functioning. However, this comparison reverses the common understanding of machines as tools that humans use, instead framing humans as a collection of tools and machines that require the creation of more tools and machines to thrive and succeed as a species.

“After all then it comes to this, that the difference between the life of a man and that of a machine is one rather of degree tan of kind, though differences in kind are not wanting. An animal has more provision for emergency than a machine. The machine is less versatile; its range of action is narrow; its strength and accuracy in its own sphere are superhuman, but it shows badly in a dilemma; sometimes when its normal action is disturbed, it will lose its head, and go from bad to worse like a lunatic in a raging frenzy: but here, again, we are met by the same consideration as before, namely, that the machines are still in their infancy; they are mere skeletons without muscles and flesh.”

The premise of the author is fully developed, here, that machines are organisms like animals, in that they function according to a pattern. For any gaps in this analogy, the author defers to the idea that machines are not yet fully developed, which allows for any error to be covered by a blanket defense. As such, Butler intends the reader to disbelieve the author’s comparison, since it cannot be refuted due to this defense. Additionally, overexaggerated examples of personification such as “raging frenzy” and “lose its head” are used to ascribe human characteristics to machines, and this stylistic choice deliberately creates a tone of absurdity.

“The handle of the spade is like the knob at the end of the humerus; the shaft is the additional bone, and the oblong iron plate is the new form of the hand which enables its possessor to disturb the earth in a way to which his original hand was unequal. Having thus modified himself, not as other animals are modified, by circumstances over which they have had not even the appearance of control, but having, as it were, taken forethought and added a cubit to his stature, civilization began to dawn upon the race, the social good offices, the genial companionship of friends, the art of unreason, and all those habits of mind which most elevate man above the lower animals, in the course of time ensure.”

The counterargument to the Book of the Machines, as expressed in this passage, is more likely Butler’s view of the role of machinery in humanity. Instead of machines being distinct from humans, this author envisions machinery as the next evolutionary adaptation of humanity in the development of the human species. As such, a machine is not asserted to be an independent species, as in the Book of the Machines, but rather an extension of the operator. Like the Book of the Machines, though, this author also makes a comparison between tools and organisms, characterizing a shovel as an arm. The broader claim, here, is that tools are the basis of civilization, and Butler’s audience would likely agree with this assertion.

“It will be easily believed that at first there were many who gave the new rules outward observance, but embraced every opportunity to indulging secretly in those flesh-pots to which they had been accustomed. It was found that animals were continually dying natural deaths under more or less suspicious circumstances. Suicidal mania, again, which had hitherto been confined exclusively to donkeys, became alarmingly prevalent even among such for the most part self-respecting creatures as sheep and cattle. It was astonishing how some of these unfortunate animals would scent out a bitcher’s knife if there was one withing a mile of them, and run right up against it if the butcher did not get it out of their way in time.”

This passage begins the allegory of law-breaking that Butler focuses on in the chapters concerning the prophet and philosopher on eating meat and vegetables. The premise, here, is that people will disobey the laws if the laws run against what they are “accustomed” to. The keyword “accustomed” reflects the customs and “common sense” of the society in question. For the Erewhonians, eating meat is culturally acceptable, so even when laws are passed that forbid this behavior, they simply find other ways of acquiring meat.

“Those who take this view hold that he knew how impossible it would be to get the nation to accept legislation that it held to be sinful; he knew also how hopeless it would be to convince people that it was not wicked to kill a sheep and eat it, unless he could show them that they must either sin to a certain extent, or die. He, therefore, it is believed made the monstrous proposals of which I will now speak.”

Though the narrator is disgusted by the philosopher’s argument regarding the consumption of vegetables, he posits that the philosopher’s intention was actually to remove any legal restrictions against eating any kind of food. The method of the philosopher is to make an argument in favor of laws so restrictive that people have no choice but to break the law, which then renders all of the laws irrelevant. The argument can be rephrased as a conditional: if people have to sin at all, then they should be able to sin as much as they want.

“What can be in store for him on emerging? Surely something even wilder and more desolate than that which he has seen already; yet his imagination is paralysed, and can suggest no fancy or vision of anything to surpass the reality which he had just witnessed. Awed and breathless he advances; when lo! The light of the afternoon sun welcomes him as he leaves the tunnel, and behold a smiling valley—a babbling brook, a village with tall belfries, and meadows of brilliant green—these are the things which greet him, and he smiles to himself as the terror passes away and in another moment is forgotten.”

The narrator’s description of his and Arowhena’s perilous journey in the balloon inspires this comparison, which is more aptly placed as an allegory for social progress. As society progresses, the thought of progress seems frightening, and people fear that progress might be worse than prior beliefs and customs. However, once progress has been adopted, people tend to adapt to it and find that they have forgotten the fear they had of the progress to begin with. This passage is therefore a statement regarding Butler’s overall messaging in Erewhon, which is that England is on the cusp of progress, and people need to embrace the development of their society rather than rejecting it.