I find that the letter which I wrote in the Fors of May to those two
children, generally pleases the parents and guardians of children.
Several nice ones ask me to print it separately: I have done so; and
commend it, to-day, to the attention of the parents and guardians also.
For the gist of it is, that the children are told to give up all they
have, and never to be vexed. That is the first Rule of St. George, as
applied to children,—to hold their childish things for God, and never
to mind losing anything.
But the parents and guardians are not yet, it seems to me, well aware
that St. George’s law is the same for grown-up people as for little
ones. To hold all they have,—all their grown-up things,—for God, and
never to mind losing anything,—silver or gold, house or lands, son or
daughter;—law seldom so much as even attempted to be observed! And,
indeed, circumstances have changed, since I wrote that Fors, which have
caused me to consider much how curious it is that when good people lose
their own son or daughter, even though they have reason to think, God
has found what they have lost, they are greatly vexed about it: but if
they only hear of other people’s losing their sons or daughters,—though
they have reason to think God has not found them, but that the wild
beasts of the wilderness have torn them,—for such loss they are usually
not vexed in anywise. To-day, nevertheless, I am not concerned with the
stewardship of these spirit-treasures, but only with the stewardship of
money or lands, and proper manner of holding such by Christians. For it
is important that the accepted Companions should now understand that
although, in creed, I ask only so much consent as may include
Christian, Jew, Turk, and Greek,—in conduct, the Society is to be
regulated at least by the Law of Christ. It may be, that as we fix our
laws in further detail, we may add some of the heavier yokes of
Lycurgus, or Numa, or John the Baptist: and, though the Son of Man came
eating and drinking, and turning water into wine, we may think it
needful to try how some of us like living on locusts, or wild honey, or
Spartan broth. But at least, I repeat, we are here, in England, to obey
the law of Christ, if nothing more.
Now the law of Christ about money and other forms of personal wealth,
is taught, first in parables, in which He likens himself to the masters
of this world, and explains the conduct which Christians should hold to
Him, their heavenly Master, by that which they hold on earth, to
earthly ones.
He likens himself, in these stories, several times, to unkind or unjust
masters, and especially to hard and usurious ones. And the gist of the
parables in each case is, “If ye do so, and are thus faithful to hard
and cruel masters, in earthly things, how much more should ye be
faithful to a merciful Master, in heavenly things?”
Which argument, evil-minded men wrest, as they do also the other
scriptures, to their own destruction. And instead of reading, for
instance, in the parable of the Usurer, the intended lesson of industry
in the employment of God’s gifts, they read in it a justification of
the crime which, in other parts of the same scripture, is directly
forbidden. And there is indeed no doubt that, if the other prophetic
parts of the Bible be true, these stories are so worded that they may
be touchstones of the heart. They are nets, which sift the kindly
reader from the selfish. The parable of the Usurer is like a mill
sieve:—the fine flour falls through it, bolted finer; the chaff sticks
in it.
Therefore, the only way to understand these difficult parts of the
Bible, or even to approach them with safety, is first to read and obey
the easy ones. Then the difficult ones all become beautiful and
clear:—otherwise they remain venomous enigmas, with a Sphinx of
destruction provoking false souls to read them, and ruining them in
their own replies.
Now the orders, “not to lay up treasures for ourselves on earth,” and
to “sell that we have, and give alms,” and to “provide ourselves bags
which wax not old,” are perfectly direct, unmistakable,—universal; and
while we are not at all likely to be blamed by God for not imitating
Him as a Judge, we shall assuredly be condemned by Him for not, under
Judgment, doing as we were bid. But even if we do not feel able to obey
these orders, if we must and will lay up treasures on earth, and
provide ourselves bags with holes in them,—God may perhaps still, with
scorn, permit us in our weakness, provided we are content with our
earthly treasures, when we have got them, and don’t oppress our
brethren, and grind down their souls with them. We may have our old bag
about our neck, if we will, and go to heaven like beggars;—but if we
sell our brother also, and put the price of his life in the bag, we
need not think to enter the kingdom of God so loaded. A rich man may,
though hardly, enter the kingdom of heaven without repenting him of his
riches; but not the thief, without repenting his theft; nor the
adulterer, without repenting his adultery; nor the usurer, without
repenting his usury.
The nature of which last sin, let us now clearly understand, once for
all.
Mr. Harrison’s letter, published in the Fors for June, is perhaps no
less valuable as an evidence of the subtlety with which this sin has
seized upon and paralyzed the public mind, (so that even a man of Mr.
Harrison’s general intelligence has no idea why I ask a question about
it,) than as a clear statement of the present condition of the law,
produced by the usurers who are ‘law-makers’ for England, though
lawyers are not.
Usury is properly the taking of money for the loan or use of anything,
(over and above what pays for wear and tear,) such use involving no
care or labour on the part of the lender. It includes all investments
of capital whatsoever, returning ‘dividends,’ as distinguished from
labour wages, or profits. Thus anybody who works on a railroad as
platelayer, or stoker, has a right to wages for his work; and any
inspector of wheels or rails has a right to payment for such
inspection; but idle persons who have only paid a hundred pounds
towards the road-making, have a right to the return of the hundred
pounds,—and no more. If they take a farthing more, they are usurers.
They may take fifty pounds for two years, twenty-five for four, five
for twenty, or one for a hundred. But the first farthing they take more
than their hundred, be it sooner or later, is usury.
Again, when we build a house, and let it, we have a right to as much
rent as will return us the wages of our labour, and the sum of our
outlay. If, as in ordinary cases, not labouring with our hands or head,
we have simply paid—say £1000—to get the house built, we have a right
to the £1000 back again at once, if we sell it; or, if we let it, to
£500 rent during two years, or £100 rent during ten years, or £10 rent
during a hundred years. But if, sooner or later, we take a pound more
than the thousand, we are usurers.
And thus in all other possible or conceivable cases, the moment our
capital is ‘increased’ by having lent it, be it but in the estimation
of a hair, that hair’s-breadth of increase is usury, just as much as
stealing a farthing is theft, no less than stealing a million.
But usury is worse than theft, in so far as it is obtained either by
deceiving people, or distressing them; generally by both: and finally
by deceiving the usurer himself, who comes to think that usury is a
real increase, and that money can grow of money; whereas all usury is
increase to one person only by decrease to another; and every grain of
calculated Increment to the Rich, is balanced by its mathematical
equivalent of Decrement to the Poor. The Rich have hitherto only
counted their gain; but the day is coming, when the Poor will also
count their loss,—with political results hitherto unparalleled.
For instance, my good old hairdresser at Camberwell came to me the
other day, very uncomfortable about his rent. He wanted a pound or two
to make it up; and none of his customers wanted their hair cut. I gave
him the pound or two,—with the result, I hope my readers have sagacity
enough to observe, of distinct decrement to me, as increment to the
landlord; and then inquired of him, how much he had paid for rent,
during his life. On rough calculation, the total sum proved to be
between 1500 and 1700 pounds. And after paying this sum,—earned,
shilling by shilling, with careful snippings, and studiously skilful
manipulation of tongs,—here is my poor old friend, now past sixty,
practically without a roof over his head;—just as roofless in his old
age as he was in the first days of life,—and nervously wandering about
Peckham Rye and East Norwood, in the east winter winds, to see if,
perchance, any old customers will buy some balm for their thinning
locks—and give him the blessed balm of an odd half-crown or two, to
rent shelter for his own, for three months more.
Now, supposing that £1500 of his had been properly laid out, on the
edification of lodgings for him, £500 should have built him a
serviceable tenement and shop; another £500 have met the necessary
repairing expenses for forty years; and at this moment he ought to have
had his efficient freehold cottage, with tile and wall right
weatherproof, and a nice little nest-egg of five hundred pounds in the
Bank, besides. But instead of this, the thousand pounds has gone in
payment to slovenly builders, each getting their own percentage, and
doing as bad work as possible, under the direction of landlords paying
for as little as possible of any sort of work. And the odd five hundred
has gone into the landlord’s pocket. Pure increment to him; pure
decrement to my decoratively laborious friend. No gain ‘begotten’ of
money; but simple subtraction from the pocket of the labouring person,
and simple addition to the pocket of the idle one.
I have no mind to waste the space of Fors in giving variety of
instances. Any honest and sensible reader, if he chooses, can think out
the truth in such matters for himself. If he be dishonest, or foolish,
no one can teach him. If he is resolved to find reason or excuse for
things as they are, he may find refuge in one lie after another; and,
dislodged from each in turn, fly from the last back to the one he began
with. But there will not long be need for debate—nor time for it. Not
all the lying lips of commercial Europe can much longer deceive the
people in their rapidly increasing distress, nor arrest their straight
battle with the cause of it. Through what confused noise and garments
rolled in blood,—through what burning and fuel of fire, they will work
out their victory,—God only knows, nor what they will do to Barabbas,
when they have found out that he is a Robber, and not a King. But that
discovery of his character and capacity draws very near: and no less
change in the world’s ways than the former fall of Feudalism itself.
In the meantime, for those of us who are Christians, our own way is
plain. We can with perfect ease ascertain what usury is; and in what
express terms forbidden. I had partly prepared, for this Fors, and am
able to give, as soon as needful, an analysis of the terms ‘Increase’
and ‘Usury’ throughout the Old and New Testaments. But the perpetual
confusion of the English terms when the Greek and Latin are clear,
(especially by using the word ‘increase’ in one place, and ‘generation’
in another, at the English translator’s pleasure,) renders the matter
too intricate for the general reader, though intensely interesting to
any honest scholar. I content myself, therefore, with giving the plain
Greek and plain English of Leviticus xxv. 35 to 37. [61]
Ἐὰν δὲ πένηται ὁ ἀδελφός σου, καὶ ἀδυνατήσῃ ταῖς χερσὶν αὐτοῦ παρὰ σοὶ,
ἀντιλήψῃ αὐτοῦ ὡς προσηλύτου καὶ παροίκου, καὶ ζήσεται ὁ ἀδελφός σου
μετὰ σοῦ.
Οὐ λήψῃ παρ’ αὐτοῦ τόκον, οὐδὲ ἐπὶ πλήθει, καὶ φοβηθήσῃ τὸν θεόν σου·
ἐγὼ κύριος· καὶ ζήσεται ὀ ἀδελφός σου μετὰ σοῦ.
Τὸ ἀργύριόν σου οὐ δώσεις αὐτῷ τόκῳ, καὶ ἐπὶ πλεονασμῷ οὐ δώσεις αὐτῲ
βρώματά σου·
“And if thy brother be poor, and powerless with his hands, at thy side,
thou shalt take his part upon thee, to help him, [62] as thy proselyte
and thy neighbour; and thy brother shall live with thee. Thou shalt
take no usury of him, nor anything over and above, and thou shalt fear
thy God. I am the Lord, and thy brother shall live with thee. Thou
shalt not give him thy money, for usury; and thou shalt not give him
thy food, for increase.”
There is the simple law for all of us;—one of those which Christ
assuredly came not to destroy, but to fulfil: and there is no national
prosperity to be had but in obedience to it.
How we usurers are to live, with the hope of our gains gone, is
precisely the old temple of Diana question. How Robin Hood or Cœur de
Lion were to live without arrow or axe, would have been as strange a
question to them, in their day. And there are many amiable persons who
will not directly see their way, any more than I do myself, to an
honest life; only, let us be sure that this we are leading now is a
dishonest one; and worse, (if Dante and Shakspeare’s mind on the matter
are worth any heed, of which more in due time,) being neither more nor
less than a spiritual manner of cannibalism, which, so long as we
persist in, every word spoken in Scripture of those who “eat my people
as they eat bread,” is spoken directly of us. [63] It may be an
encouragement to some of us—especially those evangelically bred—in
weaning ourselves slowly from such habits, to think of our dear old
converted friend, Friday. We need not fear our power of becoming good
Christians yet, if we will: so only that we understand, finally and
utterly, that all gain, increase, interest, or whatever else you call
it or think it, to the lender of capital, is loss, decrease, and
dis-interest, to the borrower of capital. Every farthing we, who lend
the tool, make, the borrower of the tool loses. And all the idiotical
calculations of what money comes to, in so many years, simply ignore
the debit side of the book, on which the Labourer’s Deficit is
precisely equal to the Capitalist’s Efficit. I saw an estimate made by
some blockhead in an American paper, the other day, of the weight of
gold which a hundred years’ ‘interest’ on such and such funds would
load the earth with! Not even of wealth in that solid form, could the
poor wretch perceive so much of the truth as that the gold he put on
the earth above, he must dig out of the earth below! But the mischief
in real life is far deeper on the negative side, than the good on the
positive. The debt of the borrower loads his heart, cramps his hands,
and dulls his labour. The gain of the lender hardens his heart, fouls
his brain, and puts every means of mischief into his otherwise clumsy
and artless hands.
But here, in good time, is one example of honest living sent me, worth
taking grave note of.
In my first inaugural lecture on Art at Oxford, given in the theatre,
(full crowded to hear what first words might be uttered in the
University on so unheard-of a subject,) I closed by telling my
audience—to the amusement of some, the offence of others, and the
disapproval of all,—that the entire system of their art-studies must be
regulated with a view to the primal art, which many of them would soon
have to learn, that of getting their food out of the Ground, or out of
the Sea.
Time has worn on; and, last year, a Christ-Church man, an excellent
scholar, came to talk with me over his brother’s prospects in life, and
his own. For himself, he proposed, and very earnestly, considering his
youth and gifts, (lying, as far as I could judge, more towards the
rifle-ground than in other directions,) to go into the Church: but for
his brother, he was anxious, as were all his relatives;—said brother
having broken away from such modes of living as the relatives held
orthodox, and taken to catching and potting of salmon on the Columbia
River; having farther transgressed all the proprieties of civilized
society by providing himself violently with the ‘capital’ necessary for
setting up in that line of business, and ‘stealing a boat.’ How many
boats, with nine boilers each in them, the gentlemen of Her Majesty’s
navy construct annually with money violently abstracted out of my poor
pockets, and those of other peaceful labourers,—boats not to catch
salmon with, or any other good thing, but simply to amuse themselves,
and blow up stokers with,—civilized society may perhaps in time learn
to consider. In the meantime, I consoled my young St. Peter as well as
I could for his brother’s carnal falling away; represented to him that,
without occasional fishing for salmon, there would soon be no men left
to fish for; and that even this tremendous violation of the eighth
commandment, to the extent of the abstraction of a boat, might not
perchance, with due penitence, keep the young vagabond wholly hopeless
of Paradise; my own private opinion being that the British public
would, on the whole, benefit more by the proceedings of the young
pirate, if he provided them annually with a sufficient quantity of
potted salmon, than by the conscientious, but more costly, ministry of
his brother, who, provided with the larger boat-apparatus of a nave,
and the mast of a steeple, proposed to employ this naval capital only
in the provision of potted talk.
And finding that, in spite of the opinion of society, there were still
bowels of mercies in this good youth, yearning after his brother, I got
him to copy for me some of the brother’s letters from the Columbia
River, confessing his piratical proceedings, (as to which I, for one,
give him a Christian man’s absolution without more ado;) and account of
his farther life in those parts—life which appears to me, on the whole,
so brave, exemplary, and wise, that I print the letters as chief
article of this month’s correspondence; and I am going to ask the boy
to become a Companion of St. George forthwith, and send him a collar of
the Order, (as soon as we have got gold to make collars of,) with a
little special pictorial chasing upon it, representing the Miraculous
Draught of Fishes.