Will class distinction survive the democratising influence of a century?
The dress of our own time tends to obliterate the evidence of these distinctions; but a development from heterogeneity to homogeneity is a reversal of the usual law of progress, and it can hardly be called a sign of social advancement that artisans of our day generally wear, when at work, the cast-off clothes of the employing classes, bought second-hand, and for “Sunday best” often ape the fashions of the rich. In a hundred years’ time assuredly no worker will be ambitious to give himself the aspect of an idler, and one may perpend the dry answer of an American to the remark that in the United States there is no leisure-class. “Oh, yes, there is,” said the moralist, “only we don’t call them that; we call them tramps.” Everyone will take pride in his work, when work is no longer treated with the disgraceful contempt which we are only by degrees becoming ashamed of. Consequently the clothes worn at work will no doubt be, in every trade, specially designed to facilitate the exertions of the worker: and in the copious hours of leisure there will be variety, increased by the wearing of special garments for special amusements. It is difficult to believe that anyone, whatever his work, will dispense with the comfort of a complete change of dress when play-time comes: and the ingenious simplification of fastenings, and the reduced number of garments worn, will facilitate the enjoyment of this luxury. Everyone will dress for dinner—but not (one fancies) in a “swallow-tail” coat and stiff shirt. It is quite certain that all our clothes will be soft, supple, porous, light and warm a hundred years hence, and the clear-starcher will no longer have the opportunity to destroy them.
Some attempt has already been made to suggest the general domestic and architectural conveniences of the next century, but the subject of furniture has not been referred to in detail. Allowing for the fact that animal fabrics, as wool, leather, etc., will be absent, there is no particular reason why chairs, carpets and curtains should be very different from what they are now. No doubt light metallic alloys will often be used in the framework of chairs and tables instead of wood, because the tendency of civilisation is to make things lighter and less cumbersome whenever this is possible. At one time it might have been thought that upholstery, carpets and curtains would have to be dispensed with. But to a thoughtful observer there must always have been a difficulty here. A wooden chair, and even a rattan one, however cunningly shaped, is so extremely discomfortable to sit in without cushions, that it was easier to imagine that invention would correct the unhealthiness of cushions and stuffing, than that an advanced age would consent to dispense with these luxuries. The manner in which the former solution of the difficulty would be attained was actually foreseen by the present writer before the introduction of vacuum cleaning was accomplished, and several passages in an earlier chapter had to be rewritten when what had been somewhat fancifully described as a convenience of the future suddenly became an existing factor of the present: and in one or two places innovations have similarly called for changes in the text—a circumstance which, it is to be hoped, will give pause to critics disposed to condemn certain suggestions in this book as chimerical.[2] Obviously, now that we can thoroughly cleanse and free from every particle of dust by a simple mechanical process any fabric or mass of fabrics, there is no longer any reason to expect that our descendants will, on hygienic grounds, find it necessary to dispense with comforts so essential to restful leisure as easy-chairs, soft carpets and wall hangings.
On the other hand, it is quite certain that numerous inventions will enhance and beautify the luxury of an age where rational luxury will reign universally. One source of frequent discomfort to-day is the necessity of living always in rooms of one size. Whether we sit alone, or entertain a number of friends, the same apartment has to serve our needs: consequently we are crowded on one day and chilly on the next. With combustion abolished as a heating device, there will be no objection against light sliding walls—a convenience long since adopted by our allies the Japanese—which would be rather dangerous nowadays and not particularly desirable, at all events in England, where we have no means of warming most rooms except a fire on one side, and no means of cooling them at all except by letting in draughts and noise through the window. No doubt when matches and fireplaces, about equally causative of conflagration, have vanished, and when we have invented methods of warming the air in houses without the horrible drying of it caused by the American pipe-stove system, houses will be much more lightly built: and it is certainly not going to be impossible to use thin, light walls without being able to hear in each room every sound that occurs in the next. Concurrently, we shall be able to change the size of rooms—a convenience greater than might be supposed by those who have not thought about the matter. In summer we shall just as easily cool our houses as we shall heat them in winter. Very few servants will be required (another great comfort); and lighting arrangements will naturally be free from their present inadequacy.
Except that no one has yet troubled to think about it, there is surely no reason why bathing should be such a tedious operation as it is. Probably the speediest dresser of our own day does not consume less than a quarter of an hour over his morning tub and the operation of drying himself. A hundred years hence, people will be so avid of every moment of life, life will be so full of busy delight, that time-saving inventions will be at a huge premium. It is not because we shall be hurried in nerve-shattering anxiety, as it is often complained that we now are, but because we shall value at its true worth the refining and restful influence of leisure, that we shall be impatient of the minor tasks of every day. The bath of the next century will lave the body speedily with oxygenated water delivered with a force that will render rubbing unnecessary, and beside it will stand the drying cupboard, lined with some quickly-moving arrangement of soft brushes, and fed with highly desiccated air, from which, almost in a moment, the bather will emerge, dried, and with a skin gently stimulated, and perhaps electrified, to clothe himself quickly and pass down the lift to his breakfast, which he will eat to the accompaniment of a summary of the morning’s news read out for the benefit of the family, or whispered into his ears by a talking-machine.
Does this manner of beginning the day sound like a nightmare? That is only because the purpose of it has been overlooked. Not because they will be “short” of time will our descendants thus arrange their lives, but because they wish to reserve as much time as possible for culture (physical as well as intellectual) and for thought; which the better distribution of wealth and labour will facilitate; while labour itself, everywhere performed intelligently and with interest, will be no longer irksome. The working man will ply his trade with zest—working for himself and family—instead of seeking every opportunity to shirk and evade it. And, his task accomplished, he will hasten to enjoyments as elevating as labour itself.
Will man then, the critic may ask incredulously, have really been perfected in a century? Decidedly not. But unless we doubt the evidence which shows that improved institutions not only arise out of improved popular character, but also help to promote it, we cannot resist the inference that the removal of many causes of degradation must bring us nearer to perfection, to which the moral evolution of the race is slowly proceeding. There is nothing Utopian in the belief that honesty, truthfulness, respect for the rights of others, will be fostered by the increased intelligence of the new age; and from the moment when this intelligence, disseminated throughout all society, begins to make the moral improvement of the race a prime object in every social reform, in every piece of legislation (emancipating as well as restrictive) we have a right to expect the progress of morality to receive a marked impetus. “Nature, careless of the single life,” will be assisted in the perfecting of the moral type, and the dishonest man, the liar, the sensualist, and the man too stupid to be unselfish, will become with every decade less fit for survival, because the same unwisdom which is at the bottom of his faults will handicap him in the battle of life, will hinder him in the competition for the right to perpetuate his characteristics in children born of his loins. It is only those who conceive of the race as capable of remaining stationary, or moving backward, in morals, while in every other respect it moves forward with constantly-increasing momentum, who imagine that cunning and unscrupulousness are likely to be fostered by enlarged civilisation. So long as we allow the world to be exploited for the selfish advantage of a handful of millionaires, no doubt these characteristics will continue at a premium. But it is impossible to believe that the irresistible power of the mass of humanity will submit in perpetuity to be thus made the tools of a minority. If the “ruling” classes wished to maintain that status they should have kept the people from the schoolroom. Numbers must inevitably prevail, and the world will have reorganised itself in ways which, if we could foresee them in their entirety, would suggest an almost unthinkable perfection.
[1] At least this was the opinion of the editors of the Clarendon Press edition of the Plays. [↑]
[2] While actually correcting the proof sheets I read in a London evening newspaper, The Star, that gramophones had been utilised in certain schools for the teaching of foreign languages, a device I had suggested in the chapter on Education as likely to be adopted in the schools of the future. [↑]