유토피아 이야기. The Book of The story of utopias by Lewis Mumford

LEWIS MUMFORD 지음

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THE STORY OF UTOPIAS IDEAL COMMONWEALTHS AND SOCIAL MYTHS BY LEWIS MUMFORD With an Introduction by HENDRIK WILLEM VAN LOON
​헨드릭 반룬이 소개한 책으로 루이스 뭄포드가 유토피아의 이야기 를 쓴책으로 , 영연방국가의 이상적인 복지와 사회적인 신화에 대해서 기술함.
​1923년 영국 런던에서 발행.
​
​ Published 1923

by GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO. LTD.
39–41 Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W.C.2

목차

THE STORY OF UTOPIAS IDEAL COMMONWEALTHS AND SOCIAL MYTHS BY LEWIS MUMFORD With an Introduction by HENDRIK WILLEM VAN LOON
​
​ CONTENTS


Introduction by Hendrik Willem van Loon, Ph.D.
Introduction by Hendrik Willem van Loon, Ph.D.
CHAPTER ONE
How the will-to-utopia causes men to live in two worlds, and how, therefore, we re-read the Story of Utopia—the other half of the Story of Mankind. 9
CHAPTER TWO
How the Greeks lived in a New World, and utopia seemed just round the corner. How Plato in the Republic is chiefly concerned with what will hold the ideal city together. 27
CHAPTER THREE
How something happened to utopia between Plato and Sir Thomas More; and how utopia was discovered again, along with the New World. 57
CHAPTER FOUR
How the new Humanism of the Renascence brings us within sight of Christianopolis; and how we have for the first time a glimpse of a modern utopia. 79
CHAPTER FIVE
How Bacon and Campanella, who have a great reputation as utopians, are little better than echoes of the men who went before them. 101
CHAPTER SIX
How something happened in the eighteenth century which made men “furiously to think,” and how a whole group of utopias sprang out of the upturned soil of industrialism. 111
CHAPTER SEVEN
How some utopians have thought that a good community rested at bottom on the right division and use of land; and what sort of communities these land-animals projected. 131
CHAPTER EIGHT
How Étienne Cabet dreamed of a new Napoleon called Icar, and a new France called Icaria; and how his utopia, with that which Edward Bellamy shows us in Looking Backward, gives us a hint of what machinery might bring us to if the industrial organization were nationalized. 149
CHAPTER NINE
How William Morris and W. H. Hudson renew the classic tradition of utopias; and how, finally, Mr. H. G. Wells sums up and clarifies the utopias of the past, and brings them into contact with the world of the present. 171
CHAPTER TEN
How the Country House and Coketown became the utopias of the modern age; and how they made the world over in their image. 191
CHAPTER ELEVEN
How we reckon up accounts with the one-sided utopias of the partisans. 235
CHAPTER TWELVE
How the half-worlds must go, and how eutopia may come; and what we need before we can build Jerusalem in any green and pleasant land. 265
BIBLIOGRAPHY 309

책 속으로

THE STORY OF UTOPIAS IDEAL COMMONWEALTHS AND SOCIAL MYTHS BY LEWIS MUMFORD With an Introduction by HENDRIK WILLEM VAN LOON
​
​ INTRODUCTION


It is a sunny day and I am sitting on the top of a mountain.
Until this morning, it had been the mountain of a fairy story that was twenty centuries old.
Now, it is a mighty hill and I can feel its warm coat of white reindeer-moss, and if I were willing to stretch out my hand, I could pluck the red berries that are in full bloom.
A hundred years from now it will be gone.
For it is really a large chunk of pure iron, dumped by a playful Providence in the very heart of Lapland.
Do you remember an old tale of Norse mythology? How somewhere, far in the north, there stood a high peak of iron, which was a hundred miles high and a hundred miles wide? And how a little bird came to it once every thousand years to sharpen its beak? And how, when the mountain was gone, a single second of all eternity would have passed by?
I heard it told as a child.
I remembered it always, and I told it to my own boys when they began to learn history. It seemed the invention of some prehistoric Hans Christian Andersen. It belonged to the imaginary scenery of our dreams.
The story has come true, and I have found my old mountain where I least expected it.
To make the cycle of coincidence perfect, this hill was named after a bird. The Lapp, with a fine sense of sound, called the ptarmigan “Kiru.” Kirunavaara no longer hears the shrill “kiru-kiru” of rising birds. Twice a day it listens to the terrific detonation of half a hundred charges of dynamite.
Then it is shaken by the little trains which carry the rock to the valley.
In the evening, it sees the lights of the large electric enginesx which hoist the valuable metal across the arctic wilderness of Lake Tornotrask.
Two months later, the ore has been melted and worked into those modern articles of trade which go by the name of bridges and automobiles and ships and apartment houses and a thousand other things which once promised to elevate man from the ranks of the beasts of burden.
What has become of that promise, the survivors of the last eight years know with great if gruesome accuracy.
Even the humble Lapp has heard of the great upheaval, and has asked why the white people should kill each other when the whole world was full of reindeer and when God has given us the hills and the plains so that forever there should be food enough for the long days of summer and the longer nights of the endless winter.

But the ways of the Lapp are not the ways of the white man.
These simple followers of a pure and much undiluted nature follow the even tenor of their ways as their ancestors did, five and ten thousand years ago.
We, on the other hand, have our engines and we have our railroad trains and we have our factories and we cannot get rid of these iron servants without destroying the very basis of our civilization. We may hate these ungainly companions, but we need them. In time to come, we shall know how to be their masters. Then Plato shall give us a revised Republic where all the houses are heated by steam and where all the dishes are washed by electricity.
We are not suffering from too much machinery, but from too little. For let there be enough iron servants and more of us shall be able to sit on the tops of mountains and stare into the blue sky and waste valuable hours, imagining the things that ought to be.
xi
The Old Testament used to call such people prophets. They raised strange cities of their hearts’ delight, which should be based exclusively upon righteousness and piety. But the greatest of all their prophets the Jews killed to make a Roman holiday.
The Greeks knew such wise men as philosophers. They allowed them great freedom and rejoiced in the mathematical precision with which their intellectual leaders mapped out those theoretical roads which were to lead mankind from chaos to an ordered state of society.
The Middle Ages insisted with narrow persistence upon the Kingdom of Heaven as the only possible standard for a decent Christian Utopia.
They crushed all those who dared to question the positive existence of such a future state of glory and content. They built it of stone and precious metals, but neglected the spiritual fundament.

And so it perished.
The sixteenth and seventeenth centuries fought many bitter wars to decide the exact nature of a whitewashed Paradise, erected upon the crumbling ruins of the mediæval church.
The eighteenth century saw the Promised Land lying just across the terrible bulwark of stupidity and superstition, which a thousand years of clerical selfishness had erected for its own protection and safety.
There followed a mighty battle to crush the infamy of ignorance and bring about an era of well-balanced reason.
Unfortunately, a few enthusiasts carried the matter a trifle too far.
Napoleon, realist-in-chief of all time, brought the world back to the common ground of solid facts.
Our own generation drew the logical conclusion of the Napoleonic premises.
Behold the map of Europe and see how well we have wrought.
xii
For alas! this world needs Utopias as it needs fairy stories. It does not matter so much where we are going, as long as we are making consciously for some definite goal. And a Utopia, however strange or fanciful, is the only possible beacon upon the uncharted seas of the distant future.

It encourages us in our efforts. Sometimes the light is hidden by the clouds and for a moment we may lose our way. Then the faint light once more breaks through the darkness and we press forward with new courage.
And when life is dull and meaningless (the main curse of all existence) we find consolation in the fact that a hundred years from now, our children shall reach the shore for which we were bound when we ourselves left the bridge and were lowered to the peaceful bottom of the ocean.

And now the sun has gone down and a chill wind blows from Kebnekajse, where the wild geese of little Nils Holgerson live amidst the endless silence of the eternal snow. Soon the top shall be hidden in the mist and I shall have to find my way back by the noise of the steam shovels, plying their elephantine trade at the foot of the first terrace.
The mountain of my fairy story once more will be the profitable investment of a Company of Iron-mongers.
xiii
But that does not matter.
Lewis Mumford, for whom I am writing this, will understand what I mean.
And I shall be content.

Hendrik Willem van Loon
Kiruna, Lapland,
14 Sept., 1922.

출판사 서평

THE STORY OF UTOPIAS IDEAL COMMONWEALTHS AND SOCIAL MYTHS BY LEWIS MUMFORD With an Introduction by HENDRIK WILLEM VAN LOON
​
​ INTRODUCTION


It is a sunny day and I am sitting on the top of a mountain.
Until this morning, it had been the mountain of a fairy story that was twenty centuries old.
Now, it is a mighty hill and I can feel its warm coat of white reindeer-moss, and if I were willing to stretch out my hand, I could pluck the red berries that are in full bloom.
A hundred years from now it will be gone.
For it is really a large chunk of pure iron, dumped by a playful Providence in the very heart of Lapland.
Do you remember an old tale of Norse mythology? How somewhere, far in the north, there stood a high peak of iron, which was a hundred miles high and a hundred miles wide? And how a little bird came to it once every thousand years to sharpen its beak? And how, when the mountain was gone, a single second of all eternity would have passed by?
I heard it told as a child.
I remembered it always, and I told it to my own boys when they began to learn history. It seemed the invention of some prehistoric Hans Christian Andersen. It belonged to the imaginary scenery of our dreams.
The story has come true, and I have found my old mountain where I least expected it.
To make the cycle of coincidence perfect, this hill was named after a bird. The Lapp, with a fine sense of sound, called the ptarmigan “Kiru.” Kirunavaara no longer hears the shrill “kiru-kiru” of rising birds. Twice a day it listens to the terrific detonation of half a hundred charges of dynamite.
Then it is shaken by the little trains which carry the rock to the valley.
In the evening, it sees the lights of the large electric enginesx which hoist the valuable metal across the arctic wilderness of Lake Tornotrask.
Two months later, the ore has been melted and worked into those modern articles of trade which go by the name of bridges and automobiles and ships and apartment houses and a thousand other things which once promised to elevate man from the ranks of the beasts of burden.
What has become of that promise, the survivors of the last eight years know with great if gruesome accuracy.
Even the humble Lapp has heard of the great upheaval, and has asked why the white people should kill each other when the whole world was full of reindeer and when God has given us the hills and the plains so that forever there should be food enough for the long days of summer and the longer nights of the endless winter.

But the ways of the Lapp are not the ways of the white man.
These simple followers of a pure and much undiluted nature follow the even tenor of their ways as their ancestors did, five and ten thousand years ago.
We, on the other hand, have our engines and we have our railroad trains and we have our factories and we cannot get rid of these iron servants without destroying the very basis of our civilization. We may hate these ungainly companions, but we need them. In time to come, we shall know how to be their masters. Then Plato shall give us a revised Republic where all the houses are heated by steam and where all the dishes are washed by electricity.
We are not suffering from too much machinery, but from too little. For let there be enough iron servants and more of us shall be able to sit on the tops of mountains and stare into the blue sky and waste valuable hours, imagining the things that ought to be.
xi
The Old Testament used to call such people prophets. They raised strange cities of their hearts’ delight, which should be based exclusively upon righteousness and piety. But the greatest of all their prophets the Jews killed to make a Roman holiday.
The Greeks knew such wise men as philosophers. They allowed them great freedom and rejoiced in the mathematical precision with which their intellectual leaders mapped out those theoretical roads which were to lead mankind from chaos to an ordered state of society.
The Middle Ages insisted with narrow persistence upon the Kingdom of Heaven as the only possible standard for a decent Christian Utopia.
They crushed all those who dared to question the positive existence of such a future state of glory and content. They built it of stone and precious metals, but neglected the spiritual fundament.

And so it perished.
The sixteenth and seventeenth centuries fought many bitter wars to decide the exact nature of a whitewashed Paradise, erected upon the crumbling ruins of the mediæval church.
The eighteenth century saw the Promised Land lying just across the terrible bulwark of stupidity and superstition, which a thousand years of clerical selfishness had erected for its own protection and safety.
There followed a mighty battle to crush the infamy of ignorance and bring about an era of well-balanced reason.
Unfortunately, a few enthusiasts carried the matter a trifle too far.
Napoleon, realist-in-chief of all time, brought the world back to the common ground of solid facts.
Our own generation drew the logical conclusion of the Napoleonic premises.
Behold the map of Europe and see how well we have wrought.
xii
For alas! this world needs Utopias as it needs fairy stories. It does not matter so much where we are going, as long as we are making consciously for some definite goal. And a Utopia, however strange or fanciful, is the only possible beacon upon the uncharted seas of the distant future.

It encourages us in our efforts. Sometimes the light is hidden by the clouds and for a moment we may lose our way. Then the faint light once more breaks through the darkness and we press forward with new courage.
And when life is dull and meaningless (the main curse of all existence) we find consolation in the fact that a hundred years from now, our children shall reach the shore for which we were bound when we ourselves left the bridge and were lowered to the peaceful bottom of the ocean.

And now the sun has gone down and a chill wind blows from Kebnekajse, where the wild geese of little Nils Holgerson live amidst the endless silence of the eternal snow. Soon the top shall be hidden in the mist and I shall have to find my way back by the noise of the steam shovels, plying their elephantine trade at the foot of the first terrace.
The mountain of my fairy story once more will be the profitable investment of a Company of Iron-mongers.
xiii
But that does not matter.
Lewis Mumford, for whom I am writing this, will understand what I mean.
And I shall be content.

Hendrik Willem van Loon
Kiruna, Lapland,
14 Sept., 1922.

작가정보

저자(글) LEWIS MUMFORD

THE STORY OF UTOPIAS IDEAL COMMONWEALTHS AND SOCIAL MYTHS BY LEWIS MUMFORD With an Introduction by HENDRIK WILLEM VAN LOON
​영미작가
​
​ THE

STORY OF UTOPIAS
IDEAL COMMONWEALTHS
AND
SOCIAL MYTHS
BY
LEWIS MUMFORD
With an Introduction
by
HENDRIK WILLEM VAN LOON