"We have, of course, made it our first business to train out, to breed out, when possible, the lowest types.""Breed out?" I asked. "How could you--with parthenogenesis?""If the girl showing the bad qualities had still the power to appreciate social duty, we appealed to her, by that, to renounce motherhood. Some of the few worst types were, fortunately, unable to reproduce. But if the fault was in a disproportionate egotism--then the girl was sure she had the right to have children, even that hers would be better than others.""I can see that," I said. "And then she would be likely to rear them in the same spirit.""That we never allowed," answered Somel quietly.
"Allowed?" I queried. "Allowed a mother to rear her own children?""Certainly not," said Somel, "unless she was fit for that supreme task."This was rather a blow to my previous convictions.
"But I thought motherhood was for each of you--""Motherhood--yes, that is, maternity, to bear a child. But education is our highest art, only allowed to our highest artists.""Education?" I was puzzled again. "I don't mean education.
I mean by motherhood not only child-bearing, but the care of babies.""The care of babies involves education, and is entrusted only to the most fit," she repeated.
"Then you separate mother and child!" I cried in cold horror, something of Terry's feeling creeping over me, that there must be something wrong among these many virtues.
"Not usually," she patiently explained. "You see, almost every woman values her maternity above everything else. Each girl holds it close and dear, an exquisite joy, a crowning honor, the most intimate, most personal, most precious thing. That is, the child-rearing has come to be with us a culture so profoundly studied, practiced with such subtlety and skill, that the more we love our children the less we are willing to trust that process to unskilled hands--even our own.""But a mother's love--" I ventured.
She studied my face, trying to work out a means of clear explanation.
"You told us about your dentists," she said, at length, "those quaintly specialized persons who spend their lives filling little holes in other persons' teeth--even in children's teeth sometimes.""Yes?" I said, not getting her drift.
"Does mother-love urge mothers--with you--to fill their own children's teeth? Or to wish to?""Why no--of course not," I protested. "But that is a highly specialized craft. Surely the care of babies is open to any woman --any mother!""We do not think so," she gently replied. "Those of us who are the most highly competent fulfill that office; and a majority of our girls eagerly try for it--I assure you we have the very best.""But the poor mother--bereaved of her baby--""Oh no!" she earnestly assured me. "Not in the least bereaved.
It is her baby still--it is with her--she has not lost it. But she is not the only one to care for it. There are others whom she knows to be wiser. She knows it because she has studied as they did, practiced as they did, and honors their real superiority. For the child's sake, she is glad to have for it this highest care."I was unconvinced. Besides, this was only hearsay; I had yet to see the motherhood of Herland.
