The Importance of E.M. Forster, Names, Mythology and History
in The Machine Stops

Actress Gwyneth Paltrow and her husband Chris Martin caused quite a stir in the entertainment world when they named their firstborn daughter “Apple.” Of course, the baby did not receive this moniker because she resembled a somewhat spherical fruit.  Rather, her mother explained, “It sounded so sweet and it conjured such a lovely picture for me – you know, apples are so sweet and they're wholesome and it's biblical – and I just thought it sounded so lovely and … clean! And I just thought, ‘Perfect!’ " (Hello! Magazine).  Although this situation seems rather trivial in the grand scheme of life, the sheer degree of debate and attention it garnered among the public is nonetheless a real-life illustration of a universal truth: names are of the utmost importance. More than simple morphemes used to distinguish objects and people from one another, names tie their bearers to a rich assortment of symbolism, history, and nuances from which we derive a common heritage. It is a phenomenon that, along with personal inspiration and familiar mythological symbols, E.M. Forster uses to connect his readers to the far-off dystopian world of “The Machine Stops.”

First of all, it is imperative that one examine the life of the author. Four years before writing “The Machine Stops,” Forster lived in Germany for many months as the tutor for the children of his friend Count Henning August von Arnim (The Literature Network), where he undoubtedly became well acquainted with the German language, elements of which play a key role in the work (examples of which will be discussed in greater detail further on).  Forster would also have come into contact with his friend’s wife, the Countess Elizabeth von Arnim.  Born in Sydney, Australia, the Countess was an accomplished author who anonymously published many novels throughout her life; her most famous work is the twenty-times reprinted Elizabeth and her German Garden (1889), the journal of a woman who finds peace in the solitude of her garden (World Wide School).  She was also a good friend of Forster’s fellow Englishmen H.G. Wells.  It worth noting, then, that in the introduction to The Collected Tales of E.M. Forster (1928) Forster states, “The Machine Stops is a counterblast to one of the heavens of H.G. Wells.” Like the main character of the Countess’ novel, Vashti is a woman who prefers physical solitude and is an extremely learned individual who excelled in her personal area of expertise, music from the Brisbane school in Australia, not terribly far from Elizabeth von Arnim’s hometown of Sydney.  These parallels provide ample evidence that Forster’s residence in Germany had a great impact upon “The Machine Stops.”

The most prominent symbolic feature in this story lies in the name of the main character, Vashti.  Meaning “the beautiful one” in Persian (Baby Name Network), Vashti was the name of the first wife of King Xerxes I, who ruled Persia from 485 to 465 B.C. (“Esther”).  Her story is chronicled in the Deuteronicals/Apocrypha books commonly included in Catholic versions of the Bible.

 “In the third year of his reign, the king gave a banquet… On the seventh day of his banquet the king was feeling happy, so he called in the seven eunuchs…He ordered them to bring in the queen, so that he could place the royal crown on her head and show off to the officials and all his guests, for she was a beautiful woman.  But Queen Vashti refused to obey and would not come with the servants.  This embarrassed the king and made him furious… So Muchaeus said to the king…“ Your Majesty, issue a royal proclamation that Vashti may never again appear before the king.  Have it written into the laws of Media and Persia.”  The king and his officials liked this idea, and the king did as Muchaeus suggested.”(Precious Moments Bible: Today’s English Version)

Like her namesake, Vashti of “The Machine Stops” too declines to acquiesce to the will of another: specifically the will of her son Kuno.  Although the bond of a mother and son is hardly that of a king and a queen, both relationships suffer similar effects of prideful rejection.

“ ‘Pay me a visit, so that we can meet face to face, and talk about the hopes that are in my mind.’ She replied that she could scarcely spare the time.  His image in the blue plate faded…He had isolated himself.” (“The Machine Stops”)

While Kuno issues no “royal proclamation that Vashti may never again appear” before him, Kuno does send her in to a sort of exile from his affections, later saying  “I will not talk to you…until you come.” (“The Machine Stops”) when his mother attempts to contact him through the Machine. Another translation of Vashti, though not as firmly substantiated by etymologists, also exists: it is thought to be a Hebrew name meaning “thread” (Behind the Name.com).  This idea comes into play when one examines the dynamics between Vashti and Kuno. Despite the fact that they live in opposite hemispheres and her initial reluctance to leave her room to visit him, Vashti nonetheless acknowledges a particular connection to her son:

“She thought of Kuno as a baby, his birth…‘Parents, duties of,’ said the book of the Machine, ‘cease at moment of birth.’  True, but there was something special about Kuno…” (“The Machine Stops”)

Threads are primarily used to connect two objects together, both literally and figuratively; in some cases, the fragility of individual threads serves as symbol of the strength of a bond: one common expression in the English language used to describe an uncertain union is “hanging by a thread.”  Therefore, the use of the Hebrew meanings of Vashti offers a subtle, clever illustration of the relationship between Vashti and Kuno and how they will ultimately spend the final moments of their lives, despite their conflict: connected.  

Kuno’s name adds another layer of linguistic depth. Derived from the German Kuoni, meaning “brave” (Behind the Name.com), it gives apt description to this restless character “…possessed of a curious physical strength,” in a world where “it was a demerit to be muscular”(“The Machine Stops”) We are given valuable insight into Kuno’s character during the first conversation with his mother, when he describes a constellation:

“Did you not know four big stars that form an oblong, and three stars close together in the middle of the oblong, and hanging from these stars, three other stars?” (“The Machine Stops”)

Even the most amateur of astronomers would probably be able to recognize this constellation.  However, Vashti replies in the negative, and Kuno goes on:

“I had an idea that they were like a man…The four big stars are the man’s shoulders and his knees.  The three stars in the middle are like the belts that men wore once, and the three stars hanging are like a sword…Men carried swords about with them, to kill animals and other men.” (“The Machine Stops”)

The symbolism here is not extremely subtle.  Orion was a famous yet doomed hunter in Greek mythology whose ego led him to believe that he could do anything: including obliterating all of the wildlife on earth.  His quest was thwarted when died after stepping on Scorpio the scorpion (Orion: The Hunter).  The constellation appears in the northern sky during winter in the Northern Hemisphere, situated geographically and metaphorically at this next time to the Northern Star and the concept of True North: the point to which a magnet will always point, and upon which the lost traveler may always rely (“The Constellations and Their Stars”).   Kuno, the brave but doomed hunter of truth stranded in the prison of the Machine during the winter of man’s dominion over earth, looks to Orion, looks north, for inspiration and hope.  When he believes himself capable of escaping the Machine and sets out to achieve this goal he, like Orion, is stopped, this time by a giant mechanical worm that hugs the ground.  These parallels, and the fact the Kuno interpreted the composition of Orion’s stars in exactly the same manner as the ancient Greeks did only serves further associate him with the hero that has both strength of mind and body, but can nonetheless fail to escape human emotion and limitations.

Forster uses Greek mythology again to introduce and reinforce two more important motifs: sunlight and knowledge.  On board the air-ship en route to the Northern hemisphere after finally acquiescing to Kuno’s request that she visit,

“Vashti found her cabin invaded by a rosy finger of light…the sun crept higher, its radiance entered direct, brimming down the wall, like a golden sea…Unless she was careful, it would strike her face.  A spasm of horror shook her.”  ("The Machine Stops")

Later in the evening, slightly recovered from her earlier encounter, Vashti braves a look out of the window.

“ ‘No ideas here,’ murmured Vashti…she looked again.  They were crossing a golden sea, in which lay many small islands and one peninsula.  She repeated, ‘No ideas here,’ and hid Greece behind a metal blind.”("The Machine Stops")

Vashti’s intense fear of the light of day (or, as Homer would say, “Dawn with her rose-red fingers…”) and the lack of inspiration she derives from the “golden sea” of Greece perfectly illustrates the frivolity of the lifestyle she to which she treasures so ardently. Deep under the ground in her little hexagon of the great hive, she confines herself to an unnatural existence by supporting and even loving a machine that deprives her of almost all need for true will and volitions. She has access to plenty of artificial light whenever she wishes it, and is connected to virtually any bit of information that she could possibly want, but when she does venture out, and sprawling in sunlit splendor before her eyes is the very cradle of democracy, of ideas—she sees nothing in the darkness of her ignorance. Without protection from the fiery, illuminating truth and goodness the sun symbolizes, Vashti perishes when the figurative light of truth dawns at the destruction of the machine.

Another important historical reference made in the final chapter of “The Machine Stops” must be examined under the light of the same sun Vashti so fears: The French Revolution.  The Revolution foreshadows the decline and traumatic end of the Machine and its inhabitants: Tyranny brought to an end by a violent and devastating blow.  It is fitting then, that this particular speech is the last, and indeed the only, lecture of the many described in the story that is quoted at any length.

“Let your ideas be second-hand, and if possible, tenth-hand…Do not learn anything about this subject of mine—the French Revolution.  Learn instead what I think that Enicharmon thought Urizen…thought Mirabeau said about the French Revolution.  Through the medium of these…great minds, the blood that was shed at Paris and the windows that were broken at Versailles will be clarified to an idea which you may employ most profitably in your daily lives…You who listen to me are in a better position to judge about the French Revolution than I am.  Your descendants will be even in a better position…” (“The Machine Stops”)

In a way, the advice is good—after all, hindsight is 20/20, as the colloquial expression goes, and every person has a different and equally valid opinion to add to the fabric of human experience.   But the next lines render any good in the beginning of the lecture irrelevant.

“…and in time…there will come a generation…‘seraphically free from taint of personality’ that will see the French revolution not as it happened, nor as they would like it to have happened, but as it would have happened had it taken place in the days of the Machine.” (“The Machine Stops”)

The audience of this speech, tucked securely in their respective hives of the humming Machine, are so far removed from the initial experience of the French Revolution, from any situation even remotely approaching the magnitude of the Revolution, that they have no frame of reference in which to begin to truly appreciate the value of these second to tenth-hand observations upon which they place such value.  And if they cannot comprehend what an event was actually like when it took place, how would they be able in turn to imagine its effects on the world had it taken place in the days of the Machine?  The answer: they would not.  If, by some miracle, they did, then they also would have thought about complacency and inaction—and what it did to the monarchy of old that ate it spread over their breakfast baguettes.  From there, they would have realized sooner that they were standing underneath the blade of a newer, and much more dangerous, guillotine.

Forster enthusiast Beatrice Battaglia explains the success of Forster’s prose:                                  

“The narrator avails himself of all his technical ability in order to envelop the reader in the atmosphere of the daily life of his Machine Age, thus making him feel through this emotional dimension that that Machine Age is not so far away as it seems and that its roots are already established, though still hidden, in the present.”  (Histories of the Future)

These words are sobering upon reflection. The world of today is indeed similar to Forster’s dystopian society.  We may not be sitting in identical individual hexagonal cells deep underneath the ground, our only contact with other humans taking place through an omnipresent machine, but we are sitting inside, in front of our computers, texting or instant-messaging friends that are no farther than a moment’s walk into the next room.  We are in the early stages of the Machine; it may not have physical structure, but it has already begun constructions in our minds. We would do well to heed the lessons Forster imparts to us through history, mythology, and meaning, and stop our machine before it becomes a Machine that stops.