“To labor incessantly, to strain the muscles, fret the mind, and weary the soul, and to shorten the life, all for the sake of supplying the wants of the body, and nothing more, is, I think, an inconceivable hardship. And to have invoked the forces of the insensate elements and laid our burdens upon them, is a glorious triumph.”
“Yes, if all men are profited by it,” I returned doubtfully.
“They are, of course,” said he, “at least with us. I was shocked to find it quite different in Paleveria. There, it seemed to me, machinery—which has been such a boon to the laborers here—has been utilized simply and solely to increase the wealth of the rich. I saw a good many people who looked as though they were on the brink of starvation.”
“I don’t see how you manage it otherwise,” I confessed.
“It belongs to the history of past generations,” he replied. “Perhaps the hardest struggle our progenitors had was to conquer the lusts of the flesh,—of which the greed of wealth is doubtless the greatest. They began to realize, generations ago, that Mars was rich enough to maintain all his children in comfort and even luxury,—that none need hunger, or thirst, or go naked or houseless, and that more than this was vanity and vain-glory. And just as they, with intense assiduity, sought out and cultivated nature’s resources—for the reduction of labor and the increase of wealth—so they sought out and cultivated within themselves corresponding resources, those fit to meet the new era of material prosperity; namely, generosity and brotherly love.”
“Then you really and truly practice what you preach!” said I, with scant politeness, and I hastened to add, “Severnius told me that you recognize the trinity in human nature. Well, we do, too, upon the Earth, but the Three have hardly an equal chance! We preach the doctrine considerably more than we practice it.”
“I understand that you are a highly intellectual people,” remarked Calypso, courteously.
“Yes, I suppose we are,” said I; “our achievements in that line are nothing to be ashamed of. And,” I added, remembering some felicitous sensations of my own, “there is no greater delight than the travail of intellect which brings forth great ideas.”
“Pardon me!” he returned, “the travail of soul which brings forth a great love—a love willing to share equally with others the fruits of intellectual triumph—is, to my mind, infinitely greater.”
We had reached the terrace, or little plateau, on which my friends’ house stood; it was like a strip of green velvet for color and smoothness.