The object of this scrutiny seemed somewhat to sense its import, and to shrug it off.
"I could tell it at a glance," he said. "You're one of the most intelligent men I've ever seen escape from that monstrosity of a City. Let me congratulate you! It's a terrible thing to live like that.
"One immense mechanized mass! One big idiot's delight, full of nothing but idiots, or morons at best. Everybody "happy": food, shelter and sex all taken care of, and real human contact at a minimum: a true earthly paradise. A paradise for morons, that is, for people who really prefer to live worse than hogs. God bless the dear technologists, who keep it going: they as stupid as the majority, of course, just morons with a little mechanical know-how, as the phrase was. And bless whatever powers there are, for the library, and the chance to escape!
"I don't know how it came about, but there's something behind it. Just before the poor little fools could blow themselves up, the Disasters hit them: and while they were still traumatized, this system began to take care of them. It's a fine thing, I guess, for those that aren't capable of a life worth living. And for those that are, too: it seems to take hold of them at just the right time. It seems that it gives everyone just what he is best fitted for, and then lets him go.
"It never really let go of me—or got rid of me. I alternate, from city to country: read myself to a standstill, and then travel awhile. It's always pleasant, up here. It's like the coast: the seasons don't change anymore. That is, there aren't any seasons—just hints of them. But maybe you know that by now. Ah—yes. I guessed as much. You look like a man that has been out long enough to—well, to look like a man.
"I wonder how it will end? The birth-rate's way down, and seems to continue decreasing, even in the country. Maybe the race is gradually dying out: evolution getting rid of an unfit species. But I wouldn't expect it to be so gentle about it.
"The more I think about it, the better I see what an infinite amount I've got to learn. Another platitude: Newton picking up pebbles on the sea-shore. Maybe the craze for sheer novelty is one of the things that made this mess. I don't know. But I think that there is such a thing as truth, and that it doesn't adapt itself to conditions: conditions have to adapt themselves to it. Do you agree? Yes, I thought so. I think I'll have to be heading back to the library in a few days. I've seen enough this trek.
"There seems to be a guardian angel, somehow, if you believe in that. The explanation's probably a purely natural one. But people come out and live as they like to, with no hindrance, and they prosper. They do a little simple farming, and always have bumper crops. The weather and the wild animals never hurt them, and they never hurt each other. The ones that like to fight do it, but only with swords and knives, and nobody ever seems to get killed. All the literature and art of the world is preserved, for those that want it: as many copies as demanded. Sometimes I bring copies of books with me. It helps, to read them out here. Nature's a lot vaster and more wonderful than we know.
"Everything seems to be taken care of. Nobody lives in want or fear anymore. Except," he smiled ruefully, "want of understanding, and fear of death. But we can take things philosophically, to use an old popular expression."