Whatever definitions we use, or if we use none at all, we cannot escape the sense of the passion and the peril, the joy and the travail of the tremendous and transcendent change we are inwardly and outwardly undergoing. We are already appreciably transfigured by it, and soon shall the news of it be upon pentecostal tongues, and in music such as man has never heard, and in common deeds diviner than divinest dreams. In a little while, in a few decades, in one or two or four hundred years, the change will have been precipitated, the promise will have been fulfilled, and all things will have passed into the keeping of the expanded soul. Another, and different race of men, splendid alike in strength and gentleness, will walk the earth and climb its sky, bearing down the soul’s constrictions and frontiers, even unto the ramparts around the throne of life. Man shall sit upon the throne; he shall hold the keys of his kingdom; he shall make his universe his home, the house of his heart’s desire, shaping it according to the will that love has begotten within him, and founding it upon the truth wherewith love has made him free.
My Utopian Self
(From “A Modern Utopia”)
By H. G. Wells
(A vision of the future world which combines the insight of the poet with the precision of the scientist. In this brief but poignant passage the spiritual side of the problem is touched upon)
It falls to few of us to interview our better selves. My Utopian self is, of course, my better self—according to my best endeavors—and I must confess myself fully alive to the difficulties of the situation. When I came to this Utopia I had no thought of any such intimate self-examination.
The whole fabric of that other universe sways for a moment as I come into his room, into his clear and ordered work-room. I am trembling. A figure rather taller than myself stands against the light.
He comes toward me, and I, as I advance to meet him, stumble against a chair. Then, still without a word, we are clasping hands.
I stand now so that the light falls upon him, and I can see his face better. He is a little taller than I, younger looking and sounder looking; he has missed an illness or so, and there is no scar over his eye. His training has been subtly finer then mine; he has made himself a better face than mine.... These things I might have counted upon. I can fancy he winces with a twinge of sympathetic understanding at my manifest inferiority. Indeed, I come, trailing clouds of earthly confusion and weakness; I bear upon me all the defects of my world. He wears, I see, that white tunic with the purple band that I have already begun to consider the proper Utopian clothing for grave men, and his face is clean shaven. We forgot to speak at first in the intensity of our mutual inspection....
I think of the confessions I have just made to him, the strange admissions both to him and myself. I have stirred up the stagnation of my own emotional life, the pride that has slumbered, the hopes and disappointments that have not troubled me for years. There are things that happened to me in my adolescence that no discipline of reason will ever bring to a just proportion for me, the first humiliations I was made to suffer, the waste of all the fine irrevocable loyalties and passions of my youth. The dull base caste of my little personal tragi-comedy—I have ostensibly forgiven, I have for the most part forgotten—and yet when I recall them I hate each actor still. Whenever it comes into my mind—I do my best to prevent it—there it is, and these detestable people blot out the stars for me.