I
have been reading The Triumph of Human
Empire by Rosalind Williams. The author ties the biographies of Jules
Verne, William Morris, and Robert Louis Stevenson around a common theme:
Humanity has extended its dominion over every part of the globe, and while this
may be inevitable, it results in great losses not only to wild nature but to
human nature.
For
example, in the writings of Jules Verne, Captain Nemo explores the vast unknown
expanses of the oceans, in which he desires to leave behind the conflicts of
the human race, which take place on land or on the surface of the sea; but he
cannot leave behind his own conflict with the human race. He sees the oceans as
the ultimate freedom, but he is not really free. And whether it is Captain Nemo
revealing the secrets of the oceans, or riders in a balloon revealing what the
unknown center of Africa is like, the very act of exploration brings these wild
and unknown spaces into the range of human knowledge and therefore dominion.
Verne wanted to explore the unknown world, but at the same time regretted the end
of the frontier.
I
would like to concentrate on William Morris, a writer about whom I knew
literally nothing until I read Williams’ book. He was most famous as one of the
leading British socialists of the late nineteenth century. He despised
capitalism because it oppressed the poor workers, but also because it substituted
cheapness for craftsmanship. He inherited a fortune and also ran a successful interior
decorating business, for which he was criticized as being a socialist
hypocrite. But he ran his business by artisinal, rather than industrial,
standards; he particularly detested artificial dyes, and spent a lot of effort
on improving natural dyes.
The
triumph of cheapness in the economy was just part of the larger picture of
ugliness that was gripping the world, in Morris’ view. He loved the Old Norse
sagas, and mourned the loss of ancient heroism. He went to Iceland to see the
places where the events in the sagas took place. While there, he was enraptured
by the wildness of the volcanic landscape, and enchanted by the relative
equality of all the people, country people without a rich class of capitalists.
But he also loved sailing up the Thames from dirty London into the agrarian
countryside. The countryside was ordered into woodlots and fields, and
therefore conquered, but it was still filled with plants and animals. Morris
despised the loss of the beauties of a farmed countryside.
So,
what did Morris do? He spent a fair amount of time in socialist activism. But
he knew that no matter how much he did, socialism would remain an elusive goal:
the forces of money and power opposed it, so it didn’t matter whether socialism
was better for the people or not. Instead, he spent most of his time writing
poems and novels about heroic struggles in faraway or nonexistent lands. That
is, he was one of the first prominent writers of fantasy. He was much revered
by C. S. Lewis (Perelandra and Narnia) and J. R. R. Tolkein (Hobbit and Lord of the Rings). (Tolkein was also enraptured by the Old Norse
sagas.)
This
might seem like simple escape. The world is ugly and getting uglier, so we
should like in our imaginations. But that is not how Morris saw it. He strongly
objected to “escape” as a description of his writings. Instead, what he was doing
was to create a vision of what the world could be like, how we could live, if
we pursued beauty instead of ugliness. Morris could not convince very many
people of socialism, but he got thousands of people to imagine a beautiful
world, and many of these, in cumulative small ways, helped to partially reverse
the slide toward ugliness. Morris stirred up a feeling of heroism in the minds
of thousands; and, through his successor Tolkein, millions.
This
is what I am devoting most of my time to, also. I do not spend very much time
in political activism. Instead, my main activities are teaching and writing. This
summer, my focus is on writing fiction. I have many novels that need to be
refined and perfected, and a few that have not yet been written. Am I wasting
my time on a dilettante activity while the masses of poor suffer violence and
oppression? I hope not. I hope that my writings, about people real or imagined
who pursue beauty and peace against massive opposition, will inspire thousands
of other people, who will collectively do more to make the world better than I
could ever do myself. My fiction is either historical (e.g. about the Cherokee
leader Nancy Ward, or about the writer of Ecclesiastes, or about Heloïse and Abélard)
or alternative-futures (What would happen if a new Confederacy arose in
Oklahoma? What would happen if a man actually tried to quixotically live a life
of altruism?) rather than fantasy like the writings of Morris, and I hope that
my writings will have more impact than his did (most of which are forgotten
today except by scholars).
William
Morris failed to change the world. I expect to fail also. But he succeeded, and
I hope to succeed, more by writing than would have been possible by a complete
devotion to political action. Lots of people can participate in political
action, but only I can write the books that are currently dormant on my
computer drives. Now that I have finished this essay, that is what I am going
to do right now.