CHAPTER I.

The question “Does civilization civilize?” is a fine example of petitio principii. and decides itself in the affirmative; for civilization must needs do that from the doing of which it has its name.  But it is not necessary to suppose that he who propounds is either unconscious of his lapse in logic or desirous of digging a pitfall for the feet of those who discuss; I take it he simply wishes to put the matter in an impressive way, and relies upon a certain degree of intelligence in the interpretation.

Concerning uncivilized peoples we know but little except what we are told by travelers ­who, speaking generally, can know very little but the fact of uncivilization as shown in externals and irrelevances, and are moreover, greatly given to lying.  From the savages we hear very little.  Judging them in all things by our own standards, in default of a knowledge of theirs, we necessarily condemn, disparage and belittle.  One thing that civilization certainly has not done is to make us intelligent enough to understand that the opposite of a virtue is not necessarily a vice.  Because we do not like the taste of one another it does not follow that the cannibal is a person of depraved appetite.  Because, as a rule, we have but one wife and several mistresses each it is not certain that polygamy is everywhere ­nor, for that matter, anywhere ­either wrong or inexpedient.  Our habit of wearing clothes does not prove that conscience of the body, the sense of shame, is charged with a divine mandate; for like the conscience of the spirit it is the creature of what it seems to create:  it comes to the habit of wearing clothes.  And for those who hold that the purpose of civilization is morality it may be said that peoples which are the most nearly naked are, in our sense, the most nearly moral.  Because the brutality of the civilized slave owners and dealers created a conquering sentiment against slavery it is not intelligent to assume that slavery is a maleficent thing amongst Oriental peoples (for example) where the slave is not oppressed.

Some of these same Orientals whom we are pleased to term half-civilized have no regard for truth.  “Takest thou me for a Christian dog,” said one of them, “that I should be the slave of my word?” So far as I can perceive the “Christian dog” is no more the slave of his word than the True Believer, and I think the savage ­allowing for the fact that his inveracity has dominion over fewer things ­as great a liar as either of them.  For my part, I do not know what, in all circumstances, is right or wrong; but I know, if right, it is at least stupid to judge an uncivilized people by the standards of morality and intelligence set up by civilized ones.  An infinitesimal proportion of civilized men do not, and there is much to be said for civilization if they are the product of it.

Life in civilized countries is so complex that men there have more ways to be good than savages have, and more to be bad; more to be happy, and more to be miserable.  And in each way to be good or bad, their generally superior knowledge ­their knowledge of more things ­enables them to commit greater excesses than the savage could widi the same opportunity.  The civilized philanthropist wreaks upon his fellow creatures a ranker philanthropy, the civilized scoundrel a sturdier rascality.  And ­splendid triumph of enlightenment! ­the two characters are, in civilisation, commonly combined in one person.

I know of no savage custom or habit of thought which has not its mate in civilized countries.  For every mischievous or absurd practice of the natural man I can name you a dozen of the unnatural which are essentially the same.  And nearly every custom of our barbarian ancestors in historic times survives in some form today.  We make ourselves look formidable in battle ­for that matter, we fight.  Our women paint their faces.  We feel it obligatory to dress more or less alike, inventing the most ingenious reasons for it and actually despising and persecuting those who do not care to conform.  Within the memory of living persons bearded men were stoned in the streets; and a clergyman in New York who wore his beard as Christ wore his, was put into jail and variously persecuted till he died.  We bury our dead instead of burning them, yet every cemetery is set thick with urns.  As there are no ashes for the urns we do not trouble ourselves to make them hollow, and we say their use is “emblematic.”  When, following the bent of our ancestral instincts, we go on, age after age, in the performance of some senseless act which once had a use and meaning we excuse ourselves by calling it symbolism.  Our “symbols” are merely survivals.  We have theology and patriotism.  We have all the savage’s superstition.  We propitiate and ingratiate by means of gifts.  We shake hands.  All these and hundreds of others of our practices are distinctly, in their nature and by their origin, savage.

Civilization does not, I think, make the race any better.  It makes men know more:  and if knowledge makes them happy it is useful and desirable.  The one purpose of every sane human being is to be happy.  No one can have any other motive than that.  There is no such thing as unselfishness.  We perform the most “generous” and “self-sacrificing” acts because we should be unhappy if we did not.  We move on lines of least reluctance.  Whatever tends to increase the beggarly sum of human happiness is worth having; nothing else has any value.

The cant of civilization fatigues.  Civilization is a fine and beautiful structure.  It is as picturesque as a Gothic cathedral.  But it is built upon the bones and cemented with the blood of those whose part in all its pomp is that and nothing more.  It cannot be reared in the generous tropics, for there the people will not contribute their blood and bones.  The proposition that the average American workingman or European peasant is “better off” than the South Sea Islander, lolling under a palm and drunk with over-eating, will not bear a moment’s examination.

It is we scholars and gentlemen that are better off.

It is admitted that the South Sea Islander in a state of nature is overmuch addicted to the practice of eating human flesh; but concerning that I submit:  first, that he likes it; second, that those who supply it are mostly dead.  It is upon his enemies that he feeds, and these he would kill anyhow, as we do ours.  In civilized, enlightened and Christian countries, where cannibalism has not yet established itself, wars are as frequent and destructive as among the maneaters.  The untitled savage knows at least why he goes killing, whereas the private soldier is commonly in black ignorance of the apparent cause of quarrel ­of the actual cause, always.  Their shares in the fruits of victory are about equal:  the Chief takes all the dead, the General all the glory.  Moreover it costs more human life to supply a Christian gentleman with food than it does a cannibal ­with food alone:  “board;” if you could figure out the number of lives that his lodging, clothing, amusements and accomplishment cost the sum would startle.  Happily he does not pay it.  Considering human lives as having value, cannibalism is undoubtedly the more economical system.

CHAPTER II.

Transplanted institutions grow but slowly; and civilization can not be put into a ship and carried across an ocean.  The history of this country is a sequence of illustrations of these truths.  It was settled by civilized men and women from civilized countries, yet after two and a half centuries with unbroken communication with the mother systems, it is still imperfectly civilized.  In learning and letters, in art and the science of government, America is but a faint and stammering echo of England.

For nearly all that is good in our American civilization we are indebted to England; the errors and mischiefs are of our own creation.  We have originated little, because there is little to originate, but we have unconsciously reproduced many of the discredited and abandoned systems of former ages and other countries ­receiving them at second hand, but making them ours by the sheer strength and immobility of the national belief in their newness.  Newness!  Why, it is not possible to make an experiment in government, in art, in literature, in sociology, or in morals, that has not been made over, and over, and over again.  Fools talk of clear and simple remedies for this and that evil afflicting the commonwealth.  If a proposed remedy is obvious and easily intelligible, it is condemned in the naming, for it is morally certain to have been tried a thousand times in the history of the world, and had it been effective men ere now would have forgotten, from mere disuse, how to produce the evil it cured.

There are clear and simple remedies for nothing.  In medicine there has been discovered but a single specific; in politics not one.  The interests, moral and natural, of a community in our highly differentiated civilization are so complex, intricate, delicate and interdependent, that you can not touch one without affecting all.  It is a familiar truth that no law was ever passed that did not have unforeseen results; but of these results, by far the greater number are never recognized as of its creation.  The best that can be said of any “measure” is, that the sum of its perceptible benefits seems so to exceed the sum of its perceptible evils as to constitute a balance of advantage.  Yet the magnificent innocence of the statesman or philosopher to whose understanding “the whole matter lies in a nutshell” ­who thinks he can formulate a practical political or social policy within the four corners of an epigram ­who fears nothing because he knows nothing ­is constantly to the fore with a simple specific for ills whose causes are complex, constant and inscrutable.  To the understanding of this creature a difficulty well ignored is half overcome; so he buttons up his eyes and assails the problems of life with the divine confidence of a blind pig traversing a labyrinth.

The glories of England are our glories.  She can achieve nothing that our fathers did not help to make possible to her.  The learning, the power, the refinement of a great nation, are not the growth of a century, but of many centuries; each generation builds upon the work of the preceding.  For untold ages our ancestors wrought to rear that “revered pile,” the civilization of England.  And shall we now try to belittle the mighty structure because other though kindred hands are laying the top courses while we have elected to found a new tower in another land?  The American eulogist of civilization who is not proud of his heritage in England’s glory is unworthy to enjoy his lesser heritage in the lesser glory of his own country.

The English are undoubtedly our intellectual superiors; and as the virtues are solely the product of education ­a rogue being only a dunce considered from another point of view ­they are our moral superiors likewise.  Why should they not be?  It is a land not of log and pine-board schoolhouses grudgingly erected and containing schools supported by such niggardly tax levies as a sparse and hard-handed population will consent to pay, but of ancient institutions splendidly endowed by the State and by centuries of private benefaction.  As a means of dispensing formulated ignorance our boasted public school system is not without merit; it spreads it out sufficiently thin to give everyone enough to make him a more competent fool than he would have been without it; but to compare it with that which is not the creature of legislation acting with malice aforethought, but the unnoted outgrowth of ages, is to be ridiculous.  It is like comparing the laid-out town of a western prairie, its right-angled streets, prim cottages, “built on the installment plan,” and its wooden a-b-c shops, with the grand old town of Oxford, topped with the clustered domes and towers of its twenty-odd great colleges; the very names of many of whose founders have perished from human record as have all the chronicles of the times in which they lived.

It is not alone that we have had to “subdue the wilderness;” our educational conditions are otherwise adverse.  Our political system is unfavorable.  Our fortunes, accumulated in one generation, are dispersed in the next.  If it takes three generations to make a gentleman one will not make a thinker.  Instruction is acquired, but capacity for instruction is transmitted.  The brain that is to contain a trained intellect is not the result of a haphazard marriage between a clown and a wench, nor does it get its tractable tissues from a hard-headed farmer and a soft-headed milliner.  If you confess the importance of race and pedigree in a race horse and a bird dog how dare you deny it in a man?

I do not claim that the political and social system that creates an aristocracy of leisure, and consequently of intellect, is the best possible kind of human organization; I perceive its disadvantages clearly enough.  But I do not hold that a system under which all important public trusts, political and professional, civil and military, ecclesiastical and secular, are held by educated men ­that is, men of trained faculties and disciplined judgment ­is not an altogether faulty system.

It is only in our own country that an exacting literary taste is believed to disqualify a man for purveying to the literary needs of a taste less exacting ­a proposition obviously absurd, for an exacting taste is nothing but the intelligent discrimination of a judgment instructed by comparison and observation.  There is, in fact, no pursuit or occupation, from that of a man who blows up a balloon to that of the man who bores out the stove pipes, in which he that has talent and education is not a better worker than he that has either, and he than he that has neither.  It is a universal human weakness to disparage the knowledge that we do not ourselves possess, but it is only my own beloved country that can justly boast herself the last refuge and asylum of the impotents and incapables who deny the advantage of all knowledge whatsoever.  It was an American Senator (Logan) who declared that he had devoted a couple of weeks to the study of finance, and found the accepted authorities all wrong.  It was another American Senator (Morton) who, confronted with certain ugly facts in the history of another country, proposed “to brush away all facts, and argue the question on considerations of plain common sense.”

Republican institutions have this disadvantage:  by incessant changes in the personnel of government ­to say nothing of the manner of men that ignorant constituencies elect; and all constituencies are ignorant ­we attain to no fixed principles and standards.  There is no such thing here as a science of politics, because it is not to any one’s interest to make politics the study of his life.  Nothing is settled; no truth finds general acceptance.  What we do one year we undo the next, and do over again the year following.  Our energy is wasted in, and our prosperity suffers from, experiments endlessly repeated.

One of the disadvantages of our social system, which is the child of our political, is the tyranny of public opinion, forbidding the utterance of wholesome but unpalatable truth.  In a republic we are so accustomed to the rule of majorities that it seldom occurs to us to examine their title to dominion; and as the ideas of might and right are, by our innate sense of justice, linked together, we come to consider public opinion infallible and almost sacred.  Now, majorities rule, not because they are right, but because they are able to rule.  In event of collision they would conquer, so it is expedient for minorities to submit beforehand to save trouble.  In fact, majorities, embracing, as they do the most ignorant, seldom think rightly; public opinion, being the opinion of mediocrity, is commonly a mistake and a mischief.  But it is to nobody’s interest ­it is against the interest of most ­to dispute with it.  Public writer and public speaker alike find their account in confirming “the plain people” in their brainless errors and brutish prejudices ­in glutting their omnivorous vanity and inflaming their implacable racial and national hatreds.

I have long held the opinion that patriotism is one of the most abominable vices affecting the human understanding.  Every patriot in this world believes his country better than any other country.  Now, they cannot all be the best; indeed, only one can be the best, and it follows that the patriots of all the others have suffered themselves to be misled by a mere sentiment into blind unreason.  In its active manifestation ­it is fond of shooting ­patriotism would be well enough if it were simply defensive; but it is also aggressive, and the same feeling that prompts us to strike for our altars and our fires impels us likewise to go over the border to quench the fires and overturn the altars of our neighbors.  It is all very pretty and spirited, what the poets tell us about Thermopylae, but there was as much patriotism at one end of that pass as there was at the other.  Patriotism deliberately and with folly aforethought subordinates the interests of a whole to the interests of a part.  Worse still, the fraction so favored is determined by an accident of birth or residence.  Patriotism is like a dog which, having entered at random one of a row of kennels, suffers more in combats with the dogs in the other kennels than it would have done by sleeping in the open air.  The hoodlum who cuts the tail from a Chinamen’s nowl, and would cut the nowl from the body if he dared, is simply a patriot with a logical mind, having the courage of his opinions.  Patriotism is fierce as a fever, pitiless as the grave, blind as a stone and irrational as a headless hen.

There are two ways of clarifying liquids ­ebullition and precipitation; one forces the impurities to the surface as scum, the other sends them to the bottom as dregs.  The former is the more offensive, and that seems to be our way; but neither is useful if the impurities are merely separated but not removed.  We are told with tiresome iteration that our social and political systems are clarifying; but when is the skimmer to appear?  If the purpose of free institutions is good government where is the good government? ­when may it be expected to begin? ­how is it to come about?  Systems of government have no sanctity; they are practical means to a simple end ­the public welfare; worthy of no respect if they fail of its accomplishment.  The tree is known by its fruit.  Ours, is bearing crab-apples.

If the body politic is constitutionally diseased, as I verily believe; if the disorder inheres in the system; there is no remedy.  The fever must burn itself out, and then Nature will do the rest.  One does not prescribe what time alone can administer.  We have put our criminal class in power; do we suppose they will efface themselves?  Will they restore to us the power of governing them?  They must have their way and go their length.  The natural and immemorial sequence is:  tyranny, insurrection, combat.  In combat everything that wears a sword has a chance ­even the right.  History does not forbid us to hope.  But it forbids us to rely upon numbers; they will be against us.  If history teaches anything worth learning it teaches that the majority of mankind is neither good nor wise.  Where government is founded upon the public conscience and the public intelligence the stability of States is a dream.  Nor have we any warrant for the Tennysonian faith that

     “Freedom broadens slowly down
     From precedent to precedent.”

In that moment of time that is covered by historical records we have abundant evidence that each generation has believed itself wiser and better than any of its predecessors; that each people has believed itself to have the secret of national perpetuity.  In support of this universal delusion there is nothing to be said; the desolate places of the earth cry out against it.  Vestiges of obliterated civilizations cover the earth; no savage but has camped upon the sites of proud and populous cities; no desert but has heard the statesman’s boast of national stability.  Our nation, our laws, our history ­all shall go down to everlasting oblivion with the others, and by the same road.  But I submit that we are traveling it with needless haste.

But it is all right and righteous.  It can be spared ­this Jonah’s gourd civilization of ours.  We have hardly the rudiments of a true civilization; compared with the splendors of which we catch dim glimpses in the fading past, ours are as an illumination of tallow candles.  We know no more than the ancients; we only know other things, but nothing in which is an assurance of perpetuity, and little that is truly wisdom.  Our vaunted elixir vito is the art of printing with moveable types.  What good will those do when posterity, struck by the inevitable intellectual blight, shall have ceased to read what is printed?  Our libraries will become its stables, our books its fuel.

Ours is a civilization that might be heard from afar in space as a scolding and a riot; a civilization in which the race has so differentiated as to have no longer a community of interest and feeling; which shows as a ripe result of the principles underlying it a reasonless and rascally feud between rich and poor; in which one is offered a choice (if one have the means to take it) between American plutocracy and European militocracy, with an imminent chance of renouncing either for a stultocratic republic with a headsman in the presidential chair and every laundress in exile.

I have not a “solution” to the “labor problem.”  I have only a story.  Many and many years ago lived a man who was so good and wise that none in all the world was so good and wise as he.  He was one of those few whose goodness and wisdom are such that after some time has passed their fellowmen begin to think them gods and treasure their words as divine law; and by millions they are worshiped through centuries of time.  Amongst the utterances of this man was one command ­not a new nor perfect one ­which has seemed to his adorers so preeminently wise that they have given it a name by which it is known over half the world.  One of the sovereign virtues of this famous law is its simplicity, which is such that all hearing must understand; and obedience is so easy that any nation refusing is unfit to exist except in the turbulence and adversity that will surely come to it.  When a people would avert want and strife, or having them, would restore plenty and peace, this noble commandment offers the only means ­all other plans for safety or relief are as vain as dreams, and as empty as the crooning of fools.  And behold, here it is:  “All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.”

What! you unappeasable rich, coining the sweat and blood of your workmen into drachmas, understanding the law of supply and demand as mandatory and justifying your cruel greed by the senseless dictum that “business is business;” you lazy workman, railing at the capitalist by whose desertion, when you have frightened away his capital, you starve ­rioting and shedding blood and torturing and poisoning by way of answer to exaction and by way of exaction; you foul anarchists, applauding with indelicate palms when one of your coward kind hurls a bomb amongst powerless and helpless women and children; you imbecile politicians with a plague of remedial legislation for the irremediable; you writers and thinkers unread in history, with as many “solutions to the labor problem” as there are dunces among you who can not coherently define it ­do you really think yourself wiser than Jesus of Nazareth?  Do you seriously suppose yourselves competent to amend his plan for dealing with all the evils besetting states and souls?  Have you the effrontery to believe that those who spurn his Golden Rule you can bind to obedience of an act entitled an act to amend an act?  Bah! you fatigue the spirit.  Go get ye to your scoundrel lockouts, your villain strikes, your blacklisting, your boycotting, your speech-ing, marching and maundering; but if ye do not to others as ye would that they do to you it shall occur, and that right soon, that ye be drowned in your own blood and your pickpocket civilization quenched as a star that falls into the sea.