Above me towered the colossal3 edifice4 of society, and to my mind the only way out was up. Into this edifice I early resolved to climb. Up above, men wore black clothes and boiled shirts, and women dressed in beautiful gowns. Also, there were good things to eat, and there was plenty to eat. This much for the flesh. Then there were the things of the spirit. Up above me, I knew, were unselfishnesses of the spirit, clean and noble thinking, keen intellectual living. I knew all this because I read “Seaside Library” novels, in which, with the exception of the villains5 and adventuresses, all men and women thought beautiful thoughts, spoke6 a beautiful tongue, and performed glorious deeds. In short, as I accepted the rising of the sun, I accepted that up above me was all that was fine and noble and gracious, all that gave decency7 and dignity to life, all that made life worth living and that remunerated one for his travail8 and misery9.
But it is not particularly easy for one to climb up out of the working-class — especially if he is handicapped by the possession of ideals and illusions. I lived on a ranch10 in California, and was hard put to find the ladder whereby to climb. I early inquired the rate of interest on invested money, and worried my child’s brain into an understanding of the virtues11 and excellences13 of that remarkable14 invention of man, compound interest. Further, I ascertained15 the current rates of wages for workers of all ages, and the cost of living. From all this data I concluded that if I began immediately and worked and saved until I was fifty years of age, I could then stop working and enter into participation16 in a fair portion of the delights and goodnesses that would then be open to me higher up in society. Of course, I resolutely17 determined18 not to marry, while I quite forgot to consider at all that great rock of disaster in the working-class world — sickness.
But the life that was in me demanded more than a meagre existence of scraping and scrimping. Also, at ten years of age, I became a newsboy on the streets of a city, and found myself with a changed uplook. All about me were still the same sordidness and wretchedness, and up above me was still the same paradise waiting to be gained; but the ladder whereby to climb was a different one. It was now the ladder of business. Why save my earnings19 and invest in government bonds, when, by buying two newspapers for five cents, with a turn of the wrist I could sell them for ten cents and double my capital? The business ladder was the ladder for me, and I had a vision of myself becoming a bald-headed and successful merchant prince.
Alas20 for visions! When I was sixteen I had already earned the title of “prince.” But this title was given me by a gang of cut-throats and thieves, by whom I was called “The Prince of the Oyster21 Pirates.” And at that time I had climbed the first rung of the business ladder. I was a capitalist. I owned a boat and a complete oyster-pirating outfit22. I had begun to exploit my fellow-creatures. I had a crew of one man. As captain and owner I took two-thirds of the spoils, and gave the crew one-third, though the crew worked just as hard as I did and risked just as much his life and liberty.
This one rung was the height I climbed up the business ladder. One night I went on a raid amongst the Chinese fishermen. Ropes and nets were worth dollars and cents. It was robbery, I grant, but it was precisely23 the spirit of capitalism24. The capitalist takes away the possessions of his fellow-creatures by means of a rebate25, or of a betrayal of trust, or by the purchase of senators and supreme26-court judges. I was merely crude. That was the only difference. I used a gun.
But my crew that night was one of those inefficients against whom the capitalist is wont28 to fulminate, because, forsooth, such inefficients increase expenses and reduce dividends29. My crew did both. What of his carelessness he set fire to the big mainsail and totally destroyed it. There weren’t any dividends that night, and the Chinese fishermen were richer by the nets and ropes we did not get. I was bankrupt, unable just then to pay sixty-five dollars for a new mainsail. I left my boat at anchor and went off on a bay-pirate boat on a raid up the Sacramento River. While away on this trip, another gang of bay pirates raided my boat. They stole everything, even the anchors; and later on, when I recovered the drifting hulk, I sold it for twenty dollars. I had slipped back the one rung I had climbed, and never again did I attempt the business ladder.
From then on I was mercilessly exploited by other capitalists. I had the muscle, and they made money out of it while I made but a very indifferent living out of it. I was a sailor before the mast, a longshoreman, a roustabout; I worked in canneries, and factories, and laundries; I mowed30 lawns, and cleaned carpets, and washed windows. And I never got the full product of my toil31. I looked at the daughter of the cannery owner, in her carriage, and knew that it was my muscle, in part, that helped drag along that carriage on its rubber tyres. I looked at the son of the factory owner, going to college, and knew that it was my muscle that helped, in part, to pay for the wine and good fellowship he enjoyed.
But I did not resent this. It was all in the game. They were the strong. Very well, I was strong. I would carve my way to a place amongst them and make money out of the muscles of other men. I was not afraid of work. I loved hard work. I would pitch in and work harder than ever and eventually become a pillar of society.
And just then, as luck would have it, I found an employer that was of the same mind. I was willing to work, and he was more than willing that I should work. I thought I was learning a trade. In reality, I had displaced two men. I thought he was making an electrician out of me; as a matter of fact, he was making fifty dollars per month out of me. The two men I had displaced had received forty dollars each per month; I was doing the work of both for thirty dollars per month.
This employer worked me nearly to death. A man may love oysters32, but too many oysters will disincline him toward that particular diet. And so with me. Too much work sickened me. I did not wish ever to see work again. I fled from work. I became a tramp, begging my way from door to door, wandering over the United States and sweating bloody33 sweats in slums and prisons.
I had been born in the working-class, and I was now, at the age of eighteen, beneath the point at which I had started. I was down in the cellar of society, down in the subterranean34 depths of misery about which it is neither nice nor proper to speak. I was in the pit, the abyss, the human cesspool, the shambles35 and the charnel-house of our civilization. This is the part of the edifice of society that society chooses to ignore. Lack of space compels me here to ignore it, and I shall say only that the things I there saw gave me a terrible scare.
I was scared into thinking. I saw the naked simplicities36 of the complicated civilization in which I lived. Life was a matter of food and shelter. In order to get food and shelter men sold things. The merchant sold shoes, the politician sold his manhood, and the representative of the people, with exceptions, of course, sold his trust; while nearly all sold their honour. Women, too, whether on the street or in the holy bond of wedlock37, were prone38 to sell their flesh. All things were commodities, all people bought and sold. The one commodity that labour had to sell was muscle. The honour of labour had no price in the marketplace. Labour had muscle, and muscle alone, to sell.
But there was a difference, a vital difference. Shoes and trust and honour had a way of renewing themselves. They were imperishable stocks. Muscle, on the other hand, did not renew. As the shoe merchant sold shoes, he continued to replenish39 his stock. But there was no way of replenishing the labourer’s stock of muscle. The more he sold of his muscle, the less of it remained to him. It was his one commodity, and each day his stock of it diminished. In the end, if he did not die before, he sold out and put up his shutters40. He was a muscle bankrupt, and nothing remained to him but to go down into the cellar of society and perish miserably41.
I learned, further, that brain was likewise a commodity. It, too, was different from muscle. A brain seller was only at his prime when he was fifty or sixty years old, and his wares42 were fetching higher prices than ever. But a labourer was worked out or broken down at forty-five or fifty. I had been in the cellar of society, and I did not like the place as a habitation. The pipes and drains were unsanitary, and the air was bad to breathe. If I could not live on the parlour floor of society, I could, at any rate, have a try at the attic43. It was true, the diet there was slim, but the air at least was pure. So I resolved to sell no more muscle, and to become a vendor44 of brains.
Then began a frantic45 pursuit of knowledge. I returned to California and opened the books. While thus equipping myself to become a brain merchant, it was inevitable46 that I should delve47 into sociology. There I found, in a certain class of books, scientifically formulated48, the simple sociological concepts I had already worked out for myself. Other and greater minds, before I was born, had worked out all that I had thought and a vast deal more. I discovered that I was a socialist49.
The socialists50 were revolutionists, inasmuch as they struggled to overthrow51 the society of the present, and out of the material to build the society of the future. I, too, was a socialist and a revolutionist. I joined the groups of working-class and intellectual revolutionists, and for the first time came into intellectual living. Here I found keen-flashing intellects and brilliant wits; for here I met strong and alert-brained, withal horny-handed, members of the working-class; unfrocked preachers too wide in their Christianity for any congregation of Mammon-worshippers; professors broken on the wheel of university subservience53 to the ruling class and flung out because they were quick with knowledge which they strove to apply to the affairs of mankind.
Here I found, also, warm faith in the human, glowing idealism, sweetnesses of unselfishness, renunciation, and martyrdom — all the splendid, stinging things of the spirit. Here life was clean, noble, and alive. Here life rehabilitated54 itself, became wonderful and glorious; and I was glad to be alive. I was in touch with great souls who exalted55 flesh and spirit over dollars and cents, and to whom the thin wail56 of the starved slum child meant more than all the pomp and circumstance of commercial expansion and world empire. All about me were nobleness of purpose and heroism57 of effort, and my days and nights were sunshine and starshine, all fire and dew, with before my eyes, ever burning and blazing, the Holy Grail, Christ’s own Grail, the warm human, long-suffering and maltreated, but to be rescued and saved at the last.
And I, poor foolish I, deemed all this to be a mere27 foretaste of the delights of living I should find higher above me in society. I had lost many illusions since the day I read “Seaside Library” novels on the California ranch. I was destined58 to lose many of the illusions I still retained.
As a brain merchant I was a success. Society opened its portals to me. I entered right in on the parlour floor, and my disillusionment proceeded rapidly. I sat down to dinner with the masters of society, and with the wives and daughters of the masters of society. The women were gowned beautifully, I admit; but to my naive59 surprise I discovered that they were of the same clay as all the rest of the women I had known down below in the cellar. “The colonel’s lady and Judy O’Grady were sisters under their skins”— and gowns.
It was not this, however, so much as their materialism60, that shocked me. It is true, these beautifully gowned, beautiful women prattled62 sweet little ideals and dear little moralities; but in spite of their prattle61 the dominant63 key of the life they lived was materialistic64. And they were so sentimentally65 selfish! They assisted in all kinds of sweet little charities, and informed one of the fact, while all the time the food they ate and the beautiful clothes they wore were bought out of dividends stained with the blood of child labour, and sweated labour, and of prostitution itself. When I mentioned such facts, expecting in my innocence66 that these sisters of Judy O’Grady would at once strip off their blood-dyed silks and jewels, they became excited and angry, and read me preachments about the lack of thrift67, the drink, and the innate68 depravity that caused all the misery in society’s cellar. When I mentioned that I couldn’t quite see that it was the lack of thrift, the intemperance69, and the depravity of a half-starved child of six that made it work twelve hours every night in a Southern cotton mill, these sisters of Judy O’Grady attacked my private life and called me an “agitator”— as though that, forsooth, settled the argument.
Nor did I fare better with the masters themselves. I had expected to find men who were clean, noble, and alive, whose ideals were clean, noble, and alive. I went about amongst the men who sat in the high places — the preachers, the politicians, the business men, the professors, and the editors. I ate meat with them, drank wine with them, automobiled with them, and studied them. It is true, I found many that were clean and noble; but with rare exceptions, they were not alive. I do verily believe I could count the exceptions on the fingers of my two hands. Where they were not alive with rottenness, quick with unclean life, there were merely the unburied dead — clean and noble, like well-preserved mummies, but not alive. In this connection I may especially mention the professors I met, the men who live up to that decadent70 university ideal, “the passionless pursuit of passionless intelligence.”
I met men who invoked71 the name of the Prince of Peace in their diatribes72 against war, and who put rifles in the hands of Pinkertons with which to shoot down strikers in their own factories. I met men incoherent with indignation at the brutality73 of prize-fighting, and who, at the same time, were parties to the adulteration of food that killed each year more babies than even red-handed Herod had killed.
I talked in hotels and clubs and homes and Pullmans, and steamer-chairs with captains of industry, and marvelled74 at how little travelled they were in the realm of intellect. On the other hand, I discovered that their intellect, in the business sense, was abnormally developed. Also, I discovered that their morality, where business was concerned, was nil75.
This delicate, aristocratic-featured gentleman, was a dummy76 director and a tool of corporations that secretly robbed widows and orphans77. This gentleman, who collected fine editions and was an especial patron of literature, paid blackmail78 to a heavy-jowled, black-browed boss of a municipal machine. This editor, who published patent medicine advertisements and did not dare print the truth in his paper about said patent medicines for fear of losing the advertising79, called me a scoundrelly demagogue because I told him that his political economy was antiquated80 and that his biology was contemporaneous with Pliny.
This senator was the tool and the slave, the little puppet of a gross, uneducated machine boss; so was this governor and this supreme court judge; and all three rode on railroad passes. This man, talking soberly and earnestly about the beauties of idealism and the goodness of God, had just betrayed his comrades in a business deal. This man, a pillar of the church and heavy contributor to foreign missions, worked his shop girls ten hours a day on a starvation wage and thereby81 directly encouraged prostitution. This man, who endowed chairs in universities, perjured82 himself in courts of law over a matter of dollars and cents. And this railroad magnate broke his word as a gentleman and a Christian52 when he granted a secret rebate to one of two captains of industry locked together in a struggle to the death.
It was the same everywhere, crime and betrayal, betrayal and crime — men who were alive, but who were neither clean nor noble, men who were clean and noble, but who were not alive. Then there was a great, hopeless mass, neither noble nor alive, but merely clean. It did not sin positively83 nor deliberately84; but it did sin passively and ignorantly by acquiescing85 in the current immorality86 and profiting by it. Had it been noble and alive it would not have been ignorant, and it would have refused to share in the profits of betrayal and crime.
I discovered that I did not like to live on the parlour floor of society. Intellectually I was as bored. Morally and spiritually I was sickened. I remembered my intellectuals and idealists, my unfrocked preachers, broken professors, and clean-minded, class-conscious working-men. I remembered my days and nights of sunshine and starshine, where life was all a wild sweet wonder, a spiritual paradise of unselfish adventure and ethical87 romance. And I saw before me, ever blazing and burning, the Holy Grail.
So I went back to the working-class, in which I had been born and where I belonged. I care no longer to climb. The imposing88 edifice of society above my head holds no delights for me. It is the foundation of the edifice that interests me. There I am content to labour, crowbar in hand, shoulder to shoulder with intellectuals, idealists, and class-conscious working-men, getting a solid pry89 now and again and setting the whole edifice rocking. Some day, when we get a few more hands and crowbars to work, we’ll topple it over, along with all its rotten life and unburied dead, its monstrous90 selfishness and sodden91 materialism. Then we’ll cleanse92 the cellar and build a new habitation for mankind, in which there will be no parlour floor, in which all the rooms will be bright and airy, and where the air that is breathed will be clean, noble, and alive.
Such is my outlook. I look forward to a time when man shall progress upon something worthier93 and higher than his stomach, when there will be a finer incentive94 to impel95 men to action than the incentive of to-day, which is the incentive of the stomach. I retain my belief in the nobility and excellence12 of the human. I believe that spiritual sweetness and unselfishness will conquer the gross gluttony of to-day. And last of all, my faith is in the working-class. As some Frenchman has said, “The stairway of time is ever echoing with the wooden shoe going up, the polished boot descending96.”
Newton, Iowa.
November 1905.
The End
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1
sordidness
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| n.肮脏；污秽；卑鄙；可耻 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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excellences
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| n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 )；（只用于所修饰的名词后）杰出的；卓越的；出类拔萃的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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capitalism
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| n.资本主义 | |
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rebate
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| v./n.折扣，回扣，退款；vt.给...回扣，给...打折扣 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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dividends
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| 红利( dividend的名词复数 )； 股息； 被除数； （足球彩票的）彩金 | |
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mowed
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| v.刈，割( mow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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simplicities
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| n.简单，朴素，率直( simplicity的名词复数 ) | |
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wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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replenish
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| vt.补充；(把…)装满；(再)填满 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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vendor
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| n.卖主；小贩 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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delve
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| v.深入探究，钻研 | |
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formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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53
subservience
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| n.有利，有益；从属（地位），附属性；屈从，恭顺；媚态 | |
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rehabilitated
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| 改造（罪犯等）( rehabilitate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使恢复正常生活； 使恢复原状； 修复 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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58
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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59
naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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prattled
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的过去式和过去分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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intemperance
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| n.放纵 | |
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decadent
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| adj.颓废的，衰落的，堕落的 | |
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invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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diatribes
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| n.谩骂，讽刺( diatribe的名词复数 ) | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nil
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| n.无，全无，零 | |
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dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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perjured
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| adj.伪证的，犯伪证罪的v.发假誓，作伪证( perjure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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acquiescing
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的现在分词 ) | |
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immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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worthier
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| 应得某事物( worthy的比较级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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impel
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| v.推动；激励，迫使 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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