Part 39 (1/2)

The millionaire remarked:

”I suppose the human outlook has s.h.i.+fted with the years. Democracy hyas changed your old point of view.”

”a.s.suredly. No American, no modern of any race, I fancy, can divest himself of the notion that one man is as good as another; in the eyes of G.o.d, they add--meaning in their own eyes. No Greek, no ancient of any race, I fancy, could have burdened himself with so preposterous a delusion. Democracy has killed my point of view. It has subst.i.tuted progress for civilization. To appreciate things of beauty, as do the Americans, a man requires intelligence. Intelligence is compatible with progress. To create them, as did the Greeks, he requires intelligence and something else as well: time. Democracy, in abolis.h.i.+ng slavery, has eliminated that element of time--an element which is indispensable to civilization.”

”We have some fine slavery in America at this moment.”

”I am using the word in the antique sense. Your modern slavery is of another kind. It has all the drawbacks and few of the advantages of the cla.s.sic variety. It gives leisure to the wrong people--to those who praise the dignity of labour. Men who talk about the Dignity of Labour had better say as little as possible about civilization, for fear of confusing it with the North Pole.”

The American laughed.

”That's one for me!” he remarked.

”On the contrary! You are an admirable example of that happy graft which we mentioned just now.”

”Progress and civilization!” exclaimed Mr. Heard. ”One uses those words so much in my walk of life that, thinking it over, I begin to wonder whether they mean more than this: that there are perpetual readjustments going on. They are supposed to indicate an upward movement, some vague step in the direction of betterment which, frankly, I confess myself unable to perceive. What is the use of civilization if it makes a man unhappy and unhealthy? The uncivilized African native is happy and healthy. The poor creatures among whom I worked, in the slums of London, are neither the one nor the other; they are civilized. I glance down the ages, and see nothing but--change! And perhaps not even change. Mere differences of opinion as to the value of this or that in different times and places.”

”Pardon me! I was using the words in a specific sense. What I mean by progress is the welding together of society for whatever ends. Progress is a centripetal movement, obliterating man in the ma.s.s. Civilization is centrifugal; it permits, it postulates, the a.s.sertion of personality. The terms are, therefore, not synonymous. They stand for hostile and divergent movements. Progress subordinates. Civilization co-ordinates. The individual emerges in civilization. He is submerged in progress.”

”You might call civilization a placid lake,” said the American, ”and the other a river or torrent.”

”Exactly!” remarked Mr. Heard. ”The one is static, the other dynamic.

And which of the two, Count, would you say was the more beneficial to humanity?”

”Ah! For my part I would not bring such consideration to bear on the point. We may deduce, from the evolution of society, that progress is the newer movement, since the State, which welds together, is of more recent growth than the individualistic family or clan. This is as far as I care to go. To debate whether one be better for mankind than the other betrays what I call an anthropomorphic turn of mind; it is therefore a problem which, so far as I am concerned, does not exist. I content myself with establis.h.i.+ng the fact that progress and civilization are incompatible, mutually exclusive.”

”Do you mean to say,” asked the millionaire, ”that it is impossible to be progressive and civilized at the same time?”

”That is what I mean to say. Now if America stands for progress, this old world may be permitted--with a reasonable dose of that flattery which we accord to the dead--to represent civilization. Tell me, Mr. van Koppen, how do you propose to amalgamate or reconcile such ferociously antagonistic strivings? I fear we will have to wait for the millennium.”

”The millennium!” echoed Mr. Heard. ”That is another of those unhappy words which are always cropping up in my department.”

”Why unhappy?” asked Mr. van Koppen.

”Because they mean nothing. The millennium will never come.”

”Why not?”

”Because n.o.body wants it to come. They want tangible things. n.o.body wants a millennium.”

”Which is very fortunate,” observed the Count. ”For if they did, the Creator would be considerably embarra.s.sed how to arrange matters, seeing that every man's millennium differs from that of his neighbour.

Mine is not the same as yours. Now I wonder, Mr. van Koppen--I wonder what your millennium would be like?”

”I wonder! I believe I never gave it a thought. I have had other things to puzzle out.”

And the millionaire straightway proceeded to think, in his usual clear-cut fas.h.i.+on. ”Something with girls in it,” he soon concluded, inwardly. Then aloud:

”I guess my millennium would be rather a contradictory sort of business. I should require tobacco, to begin with. And the affair would certainly not be complete, Count, without a great deal of your company.

The millennium of other people may be more simple. That of the d.u.c.h.ess, for example, is at hand. She is about to join the Roman Catholic Church.”