The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas.docx

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas.docx

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TheOnesWhoWalkAwayFromOmelas

TheOnesWhoWalkAwayFromOmelas

http:

//www.miafarrow.org/omelas.html

byUrsulaK.LeGuin

Withaclamorofbellsthatsettheswallowssoaring,theFestivalofSummercametothecityOmelas,bright-toweredbythesea.Theriggingoftheboatsinharborsparkledwithflags.Inthestreetsbetweenhouseswithredroofsandpaintedwalls,betweenoldmoss-growngardensandunderavenuesoftrees,pastgreatparksandpublicbuildings,processionsmoved.Someweredecorous:

oldpeopleinlongstiffrobesofmauveandgrey,gravemasterworkmen,quiet,merrywomencarryingtheirbabiesandchattingastheywalked.Inotherstreetsthemusicbeatfaster,ashimmeringofgongandtambourine,andthepeoplewentdancing,theprocessionwasadance.Childrendodgedinandout,theirhighcallsrisingliketheswallows’crossingflightsoverthemusicandthesinging.Alltheprocessionswoundtowardsthenorthsideofthecity,whereonthegreatwater-meadowcalledtheGreenFieldsboysandgirls,nakedinthebrightair,withmud-stainedfeetandanklesandlong,lithearms,exercisedtheirrestivehorsesbeforetherace.Thehorsesworenogearatallbutahalterwithoutbit.Theirmaneswerebraidedwithstreamersofsilver,gold,andgreen.Theyflaredtheirnostrilsandprancedandboastedtooneanother;theywerevastlyexcited,thehorsebeingtheonlyanimalwhohasadoptedourceremoniesashisown.FarofftothenorthandwestthemountainsstooduphalfencirclingOmelasonherbay.TheairofmorningwassoclearthatthesnowstillcrowningtheEighteenPeaksburnedwithwhite-goldfireacrossthemilesofsunlitair,underthedarkblueofthesky.Therewasjustenoughwindtomakethebannersthatmarkedtheracecoursesnapandflutternowandthen.Inthesilenceofthebroadgreenmeadowsonecouldhearthemusicwindingthroughthecitystreets,fartherandnearerandeverapproaching,acheerfulfaintsweetnessoftheairthatfromtimetotimetrembledandgatheredtogetherandbrokeoutintothegreatjoyousclangingofthebells.

Joyous!

Howisonetotellaboutjoy?

HowdescribethecitizensofOmelas?

Theywerenotsimplefolk,yousee,thoughtheywerehappy.Butwedonotsaythewordsofcheermuchanymore.Allsmileshavebecomearchaic.Givenadescriptionsuchasthisonetendstomakecertainassumptions.GivenadescriptionsuchasthisonetendstolooknextfortheKing,mountedonasplendidstallionandsurroundedbyhisnobleknights,orperhapsinagoldenlitterbornebygreat-muscledslaves.Buttherewasnoking.Theydidnotuseswords,orkeepslaves.Theywerenotbarbarians.Idonotknowtherulesandlawsoftheirsociety,butIsuspectthattheyweresingularlyfew.Astheydidwithoutmonarchyandslavery,sotheyalsogotonwithoutthestockexchange,theadvertisement,thesecretpolice,andthebomb.YetIrepeatthatthesewerenotsimplefolk,notdulcetshepherds,noblesavages,blandutopians.Theywerenotlesscomplexthanus.Thetroubleisthatwehaveabadhabit,encouragedbypedantsandsophisticates,ofconsideringhappinessassomethingratherstupid.Onlypainisintellectual,onlyevilinteresting.Thisisthetreasonoftheartist:

arefusaltoadmitthebanalityofevilandtheterribleboredomofpain.Ifyoucan’tlick‘em,join‘em.Ifithurts,repeatit.Buttopraisedespairistocondemndelight,toembraceviolenceistoloseholdofeverythingelse.Wehavealmostlosthold;wecannolongerdescribeahappyman,normakeanycelebrationofjoy.HowcanItellyouaboutthepeopleofOmelas?

Theywerenotnaiveandhappychildren—thoughtheirchildrenwere,infact,happy.Theyweremature,intelligent,passionateadultswhoseliveswerenotwretched.Omiracle!

butIwishIcoulddescribeitbetter.IwishIcouldconvinceyou.Omelassoundsinmywordslikeacityinafairytale,longagoandfaraway,onceuponatime.Perhapsitwouldbebestifyouimagineditasyourownfancybids,assumingitwillrisetotheoccasion,forcertainlyIcannotsuityouall.Forinstance,howabouttechnology?

Ithinkthattherewouldbenocarsorhelicoptersinandabovethestreets;thisfollowsfromthefactthatthepeopleofOmelasarehappypeople.Happinessisbasedonajustdiscriminationofwhatisnecessary,whatisneithernecessarynordestructive,andwhatisdestructive.Inthemiddlecategory,however—thatoftheunnecessarybutundestructive,thatofcomfort,luxury,exuberance,etc.—theycouldperfectlywellhavecentralheating,subwaytrains,washingmachines,andallkindsofmarvelousdevicesnotyetinventedhere,floatinglight-sources,fuellesspower,acureforthecommoncold.Ortheycouldhavenoneofthat;itdoesn’tmatter.

Asyoulikeit.IinclinetothinkthatpeoplefromtownsupanddownthecoasthavebeencomingintoOmelasduringthelastdaysbeforetheFestivalonveryfastlittletrainsanddouble-deckedtrams,andthatthetrainstationofOmelasisactuallythehandsomestbuildingintown,thoughplainerthanthemagnificentFarmers’Market.Butevengrantedtrains,IfearthatOmelassofarstrikessomeofyouasgoody-goody.Smiles,bells,parades,horses,bleh.Ifso,pleaseaddanorgy.Ifanorgywouldhelp,don’thesitate.Letusnot,however,havetemplesfromwhichissuebeautifulnudepriestsandpriestessesalreadyhalfinecstasyandreadytocopulatewithanymanorwoman,loverorstranger,whodesiresunionwiththedeepgodheadoftheblood,althoughthatwasmyfirstidea.ButreallyitwouldbebetternottohaveanytemplesinOmelas—atleast,notmannedtemples.Religionyes,clergyno.Surelythebeautifulnudescanjustwanderabout,offeringthemselveslikedivinesoufflestothehungeroftheneedyandtheraptureoftheflesh.Letthemjointheprocessions.Lettambourinesbestruckabovethecopulations,andthegloryofdesirebeproclaimeduponthegongs,and（anotunimportantpoint）lettheoffspringofthesedelightfulritualsbebelovedandlookedafterbyall.OnethingIknowthereisnoneofinOmelasisguilt.Butwhatelseshouldtherebe?

Ithoughtatfirsttherewerenotdrugs,butthatispuritanical.Forthosewholikeit,thefaintinsistentsweetnessofdroozmayperfumethewaysofthecity,droozwhichfirstbringsagreatlightnessandbrilliancetothemindandlimbs,andthenaftersomehoursadreamylanguor,andwonderfulvisionsatlastoftheveryarcanaandinmostsecretsoftheUniverse,aswellasexcitingthepleasureofsexbeyondbelief;anditisnothabit-forming.FormoremodesttastesIthinkthereoughttobebeer.Whatelse,whatelsebelongsinthejoyouscity?

Thesenseofvictory,surely,thecelebrationofcourage.Butaswedidwithoutclergy,letusdowithoutsoldiers.Thejoybuiltuponsuccessfulslaughterisnottherightkindofjoy;itwillnotdo;itisfearfulanditistrivial.Aboundlessandgenerouscontentment,amagnanimoustriumphfeltnotagainstsomeouterenemybutincommunionwiththefinestandfairestinthesoulsofallmeneverywhereandthesplendoroftheworld’ssummer:

thisiswhatswellstheheartsofthepeopleofOmelas,andthevictorytheycelebrateisthatoflife.Ireallydon’tthinkmanyofthemneedtotakedrooz.

MostoftheprocessionhavereachedtheGreenFieldsbynow.Amarveloussmellofcookinggoesforthfromtheredandbluetentsoftheprovisioners.Thefacesofsmallchildrenareamiablysticky;inthebenigngreybeardofamanacoupleofcrumbsofrichpastryareentangled.Theyouthsandgirlshavemountedtheirhorsesandarebeginningtogrouparoundthestartinglineofthecourse.Anoldwomen,small,fat,andlaughing,ispassingoutflowersfromabasket,andtallyoungmenwhereherflowersintheirshininghair.Achildofnineortensitsattheedgeofthecrowd,alone,playingonawoodenflute.Peoplepausetolisten,andtheysmile,buttheydonotspeaktohim,forheneverceasesplayingandneverseesthem,hisdarkeyeswhollyraptinthesweet,thinmagicofthetune.

Hefinishes,andslowlylowershishandsholdingthewoodenflute.

Asifthatlittleprivatesilencewerethesignal,allatonceatrumpetsoundsfromthepavilionnearthestartingline:

imperious,melancholy,piercing.Thehorsesrearontheirslenderlegs,andsomeofthemneighinanswer.Sober-faced,theyoungridersstrokethehorses’necksandsoothethem,whispering,“Quiet,quiet,theremybeauty,myhope....”Theybegintoforminrankalongthestartingline.Thecrowdsalongtheracecoursearelikeafieldofgrassandflowersinthewind.TheFestivalofSummerhasbegun.

Doyoubelieve?

Doyouacceptthefestival,thecity,thejoy?

No?

Thenletmedescribeonemorething.

InabasementunderoneofthebeautifulpublicbuildingsofOmelas,orperhapsinthecellarofoneofitsspaciousprivatehomes,thereisaroom.Ithasonelockeddoor,andnowindow.Alittlelightseepsindustilybetweencracksintheboards,secondhandfromacobwebbedwindowsomewhereacrossthecellar.Inonecornerofthelittleroomacoupleofmops,withstiff,clotted,foul-smellingheadsstandneararustybucket.Thefloorisdirt,alittledamptothetouch,ascellardirtusuallyis.Theroomisaboutthreepaceslongandtwowide:

amerebroomclosetordisusedtoolroom.Intheroomachildissitting.Itcouldbeaboyoragirl.Itlooksaboutsix,butactuallyisnearlyten.Itisfeeble-minded.Perhapsitwasborndefective,orperhapsithasbecomeimbecilethroughfear,malnutrition,andneglect.Itpicksitsnoseandoccasionallyfumblesvaguelywithitstoesorgenitals,asitsitshunchedinthecornerfarthestfromthebucketandthetwomops.Itisafraidofthemops.Itfindsthemhorrible.Itshutsitseyes,butitknowsthemops