Of our teachers. The Teachers had said to us all:
"Dare not choose in your minds the work you would like to do when
you leave the Home of the Students. You shall do that which the
Council of Vocations shall prescribe for you. For the Council of
Vocations knows in its great wisdom where you are needed by your
brother men, better than you can know it in your unworthy little
minds. And if you are not needed by your brother man, there is no
reason for you to burden the earth with your bodies."
We knew this well, in the years of our childhood, but our curse
broke our will. We were guilty and we confess it here: we were
guilty of the great Transgression of Preference. We preferred
some work and some lessons to the others. We did not listen well
to the history of all the Councils elected since the Great
Rebirth. But we loved the Science of Things. We wished to know.
We wished to know about all the things which make the earth
around us. We asked so many questions that the Teachers forbade
it.
We think that there are mysteries in the sky and under the water
and in the plants which grow. But the Council of Scholars has
said that there are no mysteries, and the Council of Scholars
knows all things. And we learned much from our Teachers. We
learned that the earth is flat and that the sun revolves around
it, which causes the day and the night. We learned the names of
all the winds which blow over the seas and push the sails of our
great ships. We learned how to bleed men to cure them of all
ailments.
We loved the Science of Things. And in the darkness, in the
secret hour, when we awoke in the night and there were no
brothers around us, but only their shapes in the beds and their
snores, we closed our eyes, and we held our lips shut, and we
stopped our breath, that no shudder might let our brothers see or
hear or guess, and we thought that we wished to be sent to the
Home of the Scholars when our time would come.
All the great modern inventions come from the Home of the
Scholars, such as the newest one, which was found only a hundred
years ago, of how to make candles from wax and string; also, how
to make glass, which is put in our windows to protect us from the
rain. To find these things, the Scholars must study the earth and
learn from the rivers, from the sands, from the winds and the
rocks. And if we went to the Home of the Scholars, we could learn
from these also. We could ask questions of these, for they do not
forbid questions.
And questions give us no rest. We know not why our curse makes us
seek we know not what, ever and ever. But we cannot resist it. It
whispers to us that there are great things on this earth of ours,
and that we can know them if we try, and that we must know them.
We ask, why must we know, but it has no answer to give us. We
must know that we may know.
So we wished to be sent to the Home of the Scholars. We wished it
so much that our hands trembled under the blankets in the night,
and we bit our arm to stop that other pain which we could not
endure. It was evil and we dared not face our brothers in the
morning. For men may wish nothing for themselves. And we were
punished when the Council of Vocations came to give us our life
Mandates which tell those who reach their fifteenth year what
their work is to be for the rest of their days.
The Council of Vocations came on the first day of spring, and
they sat in the great hall. And we who were fifteen and all the
Teachers came into the great hall. And the Council of Vocations
sat on a high dais, and they had but two words to speak to each
of the Students. They called the Students’ names, and when the
Students stepped before them, one after another, the Council
said: “Carpenter” or “Doctor” or “Cook” or “Leader.” Then each
Student raised their right arm and said: “The will of our
brothers be done.”
Now if the Council has said “Carpenter” or “Cook,” the Students
so assigned go to work and they do not study any further. But if
the Council has said “Leader,” then those Students go into the
Home of the Leaders, which is the greatest house in the City, for
it has three stories. And there they study for many years, so
that they may become candidates and be elected to the City
Council and the State Council and the World Council—by a free and
general vote of all men. But we wished not to be a Leader, even
though it is a great honor. We wished to be a Scholar.
So we awaited our turn in the great hall and then we heard the
Council of Vocations call our name: “Equality 7-2521.” We walked
to the dais, and our legs did not tremble, and we looked up at the
Council. There were five members of the Council, three of the
male gender and two of the female. Their hair was white and their
faces were cracked as the clay of a dry river bed. They were old.
They seemed older than the marble of the Temple of the World
Council. They sat before us and they did not move. And we saw no
breath to stir the folds of their white togas. But we knew that
they were alive, for a finger of the hand of the oldest rose,
pointed to us, and fell down again. This was the only thing which
moved, for the lips of the oldest did not move as they said:
“Street Sweeper.”
We felt the cords of our neck grow tight as our head rose higher
to look upon the faces of the Council, and we were happy. We knew
we had been guilty, but now we had a way to atone for it. We
would accept our Life Mandate, and we would work for our
brothers, gladly and willingly, and we would erase our sin
against them, which they did not know, but we knew. So we were
happy, and proud of ourselves and of our victory over ourselves.
We raised our right arm and we spoke, and our voice was the
clearest, the steadiest voice in the hall that day, and we said:
“The will of our brothers be done.”
And we looked straight into the eyes of the Council, but their
eyes were as cold blue glass buttons.
So we went into the Home of the Street Sweepers. It is a grey
house on a narrow street. There is a sundial in its courtyard, by
which the Council of the Home can tell the hours of the day and
when to ring the bell. When the bell rings, we all arise from our
beds. The sky is green and cold in our windows to the east. The
shadow on the sundial marks off a half-hour while we dress and
eat our breakfast in the dining hall, where there are five long
tables with twenty clay plates and twenty clay cups on each
table. Then we go to work in the streets of the City, with our
brooms and our rakes. In five hours, when the sun is high, we
return to the Home and we eat our midday meal, for which one-half
hour is allowed. Then we go to work again. In five hours, the
shadows are blue on the pavements, and the sky is blue with a
deep brightness which is not bright. We come back to have our
dinner, which lasts one hour. Then the bell rings and we walk in
a straight column to one of the City Halls, for the Social
Meeting. Other columns of men arrive from the Homes of the different
Trades. The candles are lit, and the Councils of the different Homes
stand in a pulpit, and they speak to us of our duties and of our brother men. Then visiting Leaders mount the
"Dare not choose in your minds the work you would like to do when
you leave the Home of the Students. You shall do that which the
Council of Vocations shall prescribe for you. For the Council of
Vocations knows in its great wisdom where you are needed by your
brother men, better than you can know it in your unworthy little
minds. And if you are not needed by your brother man, there is no
reason for you to burden the earth with your bodies."
We knew this well, in the years of our childhood, but our curse
broke our will. We were guilty and we confess it here: we were
guilty of the great Transgression of Preference. We preferred
some work and some lessons to the others. We did not listen well
to the history of all the Councils elected since the Great
Rebirth. But we loved the Science of Things. We wished to know.
We wished to know about all the things which make the earth
around us. We asked so many questions that the Teachers forbade
it.
We think that there are mysteries in the sky and under the water
and in the plants which grow. But the Council of Scholars has
said that there are no mysteries, and the Council of Scholars
knows all things. And we learned much from our Teachers. We
learned that the earth is flat and that the sun revolves around
it, which causes the day and the night. We learned the names of
all the winds which blow over the seas and push the sails of our
great ships. We learned how to bleed men to cure them of all
ailments.
We loved the Science of Things. And in the darkness, in the
secret hour, when we awoke in the night and there were no
brothers around us, but only their shapes in the beds and their
snores, we closed our eyes, and we held our lips shut, and we
stopped our breath, that no shudder might let our brothers see or
hear or guess, and we thought that we wished to be sent to the
Home of the Scholars when our time would come.
All the great modern inventions come from the Home of the
Scholars, such as the newest one, which was found only a hundred
years ago, of how to make candles from wax and string; also, how
to make glass, which is put in our windows to protect us from the
rain. To find these things, the Scholars must study the earth and
learn from the rivers, from the sands, from the winds and the
rocks. And if we went to the Home of the Scholars, we could learn
from these also. We could ask questions of these, for they do not
forbid questions.
And questions give us no rest. We know not why our curse makes us
seek we know not what, ever and ever. But we cannot resist it. It
whispers to us that there are great things on this earth of ours,
and that we can know them if we try, and that we must know them.
We ask, why must we know, but it has no answer to give us. We
must know that we may know.
So we wished to be sent to the Home of the Scholars. We wished it
so much that our hands trembled under the blankets in the night,
and we bit our arm to stop that other pain which we could not
endure. It was evil and we dared not face our brothers in the
morning. For men may wish nothing for themselves. And we were
punished when the Council of Vocations came to give us our life
Mandates which tell those who reach their fifteenth year what
their work is to be for the rest of their days.
The Council of Vocations came on the first day of spring, and
they sat in the great hall. And we who were fifteen and all the
Teachers came into the great hall. And the Council of Vocations
sat on a high dais, and they had but two words to speak to each
of the Students. They called the Students’ names, and when the
Students stepped before them, one after another, the Council
said: “Carpenter” or “Doctor” or “Cook” or “Leader.” Then each
Student raised their right arm and said: “The will of our
brothers be done.”
Now if the Council has said “Carpenter” or “Cook,” the Students
so assigned go to work and they do not study any further. But if
the Council has said “Leader,” then those Students go into the
Home of the Leaders, which is the greatest house in the City, for
it has three stories. And there they study for many years, so
that they may become candidates and be elected to the City
Council and the State Council and the World Council—by a free and
general vote of all men. But we wished not to be a Leader, even
though it is a great honor. We wished to be a Scholar.
So we awaited our turn in the great hall and then we heard the
Council of Vocations call our name: “Equality 7-2521.” We walked
to the dais, and our legs did not tremble, and we looked up at the
Council. There were five members of the Council, three of the
male gender and two of the female. Their hair was white and their
faces were cracked as the clay of a dry river bed. They were old.
They seemed older than the marble of the Temple of the World
Council. They sat before us and they did not move. And we saw no
breath to stir the folds of their white togas. But we knew that
they were alive, for a finger of the hand of the oldest rose,
pointed to us, and fell down again. This was the only thing which
moved, for the lips of the oldest did not move as they said:
“Street Sweeper.”
We felt the cords of our neck grow tight as our head rose higher
to look upon the faces of the Council, and we were happy. We knew
we had been guilty, but now we had a way to atone for it. We
would accept our Life Mandate, and we would work for our
brothers, gladly and willingly, and we would erase our sin
against them, which they did not know, but we knew. So we were
happy, and proud of ourselves and of our victory over ourselves.
We raised our right arm and we spoke, and our voice was the
clearest, the steadiest voice in the hall that day, and we said:
“The will of our brothers be done.”
And we looked straight into the eyes of the Council, but their
eyes were as cold blue glass buttons.
So we went into the Home of the Street Sweepers. It is a grey
house on a narrow street. There is a sundial in its courtyard, by
which the Council of the Home can tell the hours of the day and
when to ring the bell. When the bell rings, we all arise from our
beds. The sky is green and cold in our windows to the east. The
shadow on the sundial marks off a half-hour while we dress and
eat our breakfast in the dining hall, where there are five long
tables with twenty clay plates and twenty clay cups on each
table. Then we go to work in the streets of the City, with our
brooms and our rakes. In five hours, when the sun is high, we
return to the Home and we eat our midday meal, for which one-half
hour is allowed. Then we go to work again. In five hours, the
shadows are blue on the pavements, and the sky is blue with a
deep brightness which is not bright. We come back to have our
dinner, which lasts one hour. Then the bell rings and we walk in
a straight column to one of the City Halls, for the Social
Meeting. Other columns of men arrive from the Homes of the different
Trades. The candles are lit, and the Councils of the different Homes
stand in a pulpit, and they speak to us of our duties and of our brother men. Then visiting Leaders mount the