R.U.R., a Czech play written by a man named Karel Čapek and first staged in the year 1920, is a literary work that might not be familiar to many readers. But whether you have heard of Čapek and R.U.R. or not, this author and his play have influenced your life – because in this play, Čapek gave the world not only the first literary presentation of robots in creative literature, but also the very word “robot.”
Čapek was born into a Kingdom of Bohemia that was a constituent part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire; by the time he died in 1938, at the age of 48, he had lived to see an independent Czechoslovak republic established. But Czechoslovakia, at the time of his death, teetered precipitously on the verge of annihilation, in the wake of the Munich conference and Hitler’s annexation of the Czech Sudetenland. When one considers the turbulent history that Čapek lived through, it should be no surprise that his literary work was characterized by a penchant for serious consideration of thought-provoking philosophical ideas.
R.U.R. is characteristic, in that regard, of Čapek’s work; and before proceeding further with the review, I think it is important to note that the seemingly enigmatic title is simply the acronym for a fictional corporation – Rossum’s Universal Robots – that has mastered the technological processes necessary for the production of humanoid robots. Imagine a play being titled IBM, or A T & T, or BP, and then it becomes easy to imagine a playwright crafting a story showing how some innovation by one of those companies, in a field like information processing or telecommunications or fuel production, might lead to unexpected problems.
As R.U.R. begins, the production of Robots is already an accomplished fact, even though the company’s original founder and creator of the Robot production process, “old Rossum,” has long since passed on, leaving only his production notes. Harry Domin, central director of R.U.R., cannot recreate the process himself. Neither can his subordinates: Fabry (engineering, general technical director), Dr. Gall (head of Robot physiology and research), Dr. Hallemeier (head of Robot psychology and education), Busman (general marketing and legal counsel), and Alquist (builder and chief of construction) all know their respective fields, but none of them really knows how the whole process of Robot production works. From the beginning, it all seems terribly irresponsible.
The visit to the R.U.R. headquarters of a beautiful and elegant woman – Helena Glory, daughter of President Glory – sets the plot in motion. Helena, it turns out, is concerned about the rights of the human-like robots that R.U.R. is manufacturing, and Domin tries to dismiss her concerns: “My dear Miss Glory, Robots are not people. They are mechanically more perfect than we are, they have an astounding intellectual capacity, but they have no soul” (p. 9). Domin adds that “If you were to read them a twenty-volume encyclopedia, they could repeat the contents in order, but they never think up anything original” – and further states that “They’d make fine university professors” (p. 13). Ouch!
It turns out, when Helena is introduced to a Robot, that she cannot tell the Robot from a human being. These Robots are not mechanical automatons like Robby from the film Forbidden Planet; rather, they are human-like androids like the replicants from Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982), constructed through a process that synthesizes flesh, blood, and tissue.
And the Robots of R.U.R. are made to work for humans; Fabry assures Helena that “One Robot can do the work of two and a half human laborers” (p. 17). This seems a good point at which to address the genesis of the term “robot.” Coined by Čapek’s brother, the word “robot” goes back to Slavonic roots: in Old Slavonic, rabota meant “servitude.” In later iterations of the Czech language, robota meant “compulsory labour,” while robotník referred to a serf or peasant compelled to perform such labour.
In earlier times, the idea of a different sort of sentient being that could perform work for human beings usually involved magic, as with the djinn or “genie” of classical Arabia, or the golem of Jewish folklore. It was R.U.R. that applied science to that notion, introducing the concept of a technologically manufactured human being that could perform the kind of difficult, unpleasant, repetitive, and/or dangerous work that human beings don’t want to perform.
The corporate leaders of R.U.R. harbour utopian dreams of what their Robots will do for humankind. When Helena states that Robots will cause unemployment among humans, corporate director Domin insists that the ultimate results will be a poverty-free world in which Robots will do all the work, while “People will do only what they enjoy. They will live only to perfect themselves” (p. 20). It sounds too good to be true, and it is.
Domin, who falls in love with Helena at first sight, persuades her to marry him. Ten years pass between the play’s prologue and its first act; and over those ten years, a statement from Fabry to Helena, from earlier in the play – that “The human machine, Miss Glory, was hopelessly imperfect. It needed to be done away with, once and for all” (p. 17) – has turned out to be tragically prophetic. Robots have begun acting of their own volition, resisting and refusing human commands. Helena reminds a stubborn Domin of how his plans have backfired: “When workers rose up against the Robots and destroyed them, and when people gave the Robots weapons to defend themselves and the Robots killed so many people…And when governments began using Robots as soldiers and there were so many wars and everything, remember?” (p. 29)
There are other signs of trouble as well. After ten years of marriage, Helena is still childless; indeed, women all over the world are no longer having children. Helena’s devoutly religious nurse, Nana, is convinced that fatal human pride is bringing about the end of the human world. Alquist, who over the course of the play takes on qualities of a choral figure, likewise feels that the human race has become so spiritually sterile that physical sterility is an unsurprising outcome. Like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818), Čapek’s R.U.R. asks a troubling philosophical question: if living human beings can be manufactured through a scientific process, what happens to the traditional process of passing on human life through sexual reproduction?
Dr. Gall, looking at the changes that R.U.R. has brought to the world, says bitterly of Domin that “People with ideas should not be allowed to have an influence on affairs of this world” (p. 39). Domin himself remains in something of a state of denial, even as he reads a Robot manifesto that declares a state of war between humans and Robots – a manifesto in which Robots “assert that they are higher than man on the evolutionary scale. That they are stronger and more intelligent. That man lives off them like a parasite” (p. 47). Domin fails to see the terrible logic of it all. If Robots do all the work, and humans do nothing useful at all, then why are humans necessary?
Soon, R.U.R.’s island production center is surrounded and besieged by Robots. Domin insists that his intentions were good – “I wanted to transform humanity into a worldwide aristocracy. Unrestricted, free, and supreme people. Something even greater than people” (p. 54). But Busman – the financial wizard who, at one point, seems to think that he can buy his way out of the apocalypse – states grimly that “history is not made by great dreams, but by the petty wants of all respectable, moderately thievish and selfish people – that is, of everyone” (p. 59). That line must have resonated with the play’s first audiences back in 1920, two years after the end of the Great War that had killed so many millions.
And Alquist – an older man whose background is much more working-class than that of the slick, polished R.U.R. executives – suggests that the motivations for Robot manufacture, going all the way back to “old Rossum” the scientific innovator and “young Rossum” the marketing genius who first sold the idea of Robots, were much less idealistic than Domin might have us believe: “Old Rossum thought only of his godless hocus-pocus and young Rossum of his billions. And that wasn’t the dream of your R.U.R. shareholders, either. They dreamed of the dividends. And on those dividends humanity will perish” (p. 54).
By Act Three, Alquist is the spokesperson for threatened humankind, and the Robots start sounding “human-like” in all the worst ways: one Robot, Damon, declares that “You have to kill and rule if you want to be like people. Read history! Read people’s books! You have to conquer and murder if you want to be people!” (p. 74). Yet this grim play ends on a surprising note of humanistic hope.
R.U.R., as an “idea play,” is sometimes awkward in terms of characterization and plot movement. Yet few plays in history have been as influential. Within six years after its first staging, filmmaker Fritz Lang, in Metropolis (1926), gave the world an all-powerful, R.U.R.-like corporation capable of manufacturing a human-like robot in order to put down rebellion among the company’s workers. And think of all the movie robots and androids that have followed, in The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), Forbidden Planet (1956), Silent Running (1971), Star Wars (1977), Alien (1979), Blade Runner (1982), RoboCop (1987), A.I.: Artificial Intelligence (2001), and countless other films.
For that matter, think of the role of robots in our lives. Chances are that the car you drive was built mainly by robots, with human beings playing only a supervisory role. On the campus of George Mason University in Virginia, where I teach, one of the most popular majors is Artificial Intelligence; students in the major alternately exult in the field’s possibilities and worry that A.I. entities will bring about the end of humankind, in some sort of R.U.R.-style scenario.
I worry about these things from time to time – and then, if it is lunchtime, I take my cellphone and order lunch; and my pizza and coffee are brought to the English Department building by a four-wheeled robot that arrives in front of the building and cheerfully tells me, “Hi! Your lunch is ready!” I take my lunch out of the robot’s boxlike central compartment, and the robot says, “Thank you! Have a nice day!” before wheeling off to help other customers. A robot brings me the food I want for lunch; and R.U.R., the first literary work to forecast a robot-heavy future, provides much food for thought in our robot-heavy present.