I pass over much, weighty paragraphs by the hundred, learned arguments
by the dozen, two score and more of closely printed pages. Burton has
much to say and says much that this day needs to hear, especially on
the dangers of Hate, and Greed, of dwelling too long on sex, of giving
way to idle worry, of Jealousy, of Envy, of Malice, of dwelling too
much on the future. Reading all this we come to understand old Dr.
Johnson better and know why the man of Lichfield was the philosopher
that he was, for he owed no end of his philosophy to Burton. But
time is short, so we leap to salient things, especially to a kind of
discussion of fundamental economics.
Poverty may be a way to Heaven, says Burton, and a thing much to be
preferred to riches, yet, in the eyes of the world “it is a most odious
calling, vile and base, a severe torture, almost intolerable burden, we
shun it all, _cane pejus et angue_, (worse than a dog or a snake) we
abhor the name of it being the fountain of all other miseries, cares,
woes, labors, and grievances whatsoever. To avoid which we will leave
no haven, no coast, no creek of the world unsearched, though it be to
the hazard of our lives; we will dive to the bottom of the sea, to the
bowels of the earth, five, six, seven, eight, or nine hundred fathoms
deep, through all five zones, and both extremes of heat and cold; we
will turn parasites and slaves, prostitute ourselves, swear and lie,
damn our bodies and souls, forsake God, adjure religion, steal, rob,
murder, rather than endure this unsufferable yoke of poverty, which
doth so tyrannize, crucify and generally depress us.” Burton comes very
near indeed to the Nietzschean idea that man poor, loses dignity in his
own eyes, therefore strives with might and main to avoid the unblissful
state.
Then follows a long and powerful piece of sarcasm. Small matter,
Burton tells us, that the divines preach about Lazarus and Dives, the
rich man, in the eyes of the world, possesses all the virtues, and
if his vices be so large that no cloak can hide them, then the world
turns a blind eye on them. Be a man never so great a fool, yet, by the
power of his money he may gain places and preferment, may govern this
and that, control all kinds of things. Nay more. Because he has the
strangle-hold, few will there be to dispute his word or argue against
his opinion. All will be subservient to him in all things “for wealth
sways all.” To get away from poverty, all men are eager, in spite of
all counsels of perfection to the contrary.
Burton strikes at the root of things, and, in a way, what he says,
forms the answer to Upton Sinclair’s tantalizing _Goose Step_. For
idealist as Sinclair may be, sincere as he is in his hatred of
capitalism and all that hangs on it, earnest beyond doubt as he is
in his desire that universities may be freed from the grip of those
who have at heart the continuance of the present system, and that
professors and students in universities shall be free to speak as
they choose; yet, at bottom, things are as they are because no very
considerable body of men wish to change them or to see them changed.
“Wealth sways all” because those most concerned are happy that it
should be so. It is something like this. Universities as they are
cannot exist upon student’s fees, and university professors on the
whole are ambitious for the aggrandizement of the institutions that
they gain their livelihood by. As to industry, it is taxed to death,
and where the expenditure is concerned, Mars is preferred before
Minerva. So comes, not the monopolizing hand of the wealthy man reached
out to strangle and compress, but the subtle invitation to the wealthy
man to take his seat on the directorate, because, as old Burton says,
“all eyes are upon him, God Bless His Worship! His Honor! Every
man speaks well of him, seeks and sues to him for his love, favor,
protection, to serve him, to belong to him.” And there’s the rub. Men
seek to belong to the man of wealth. They always have. They probably
always will while human nature is what it is. As for your hypothetical
professor panting to speak his open thought, he simply does not exist.
Or speaking his open thought, he finds himself in company with Scott
Nearing. For the average professor is a diligent seeker of the crumbs
that fall from the table of Dives, he loves to bask in the smile of the
great. It is to his interest to perpetuate the very thing that Upton
Sinclair seeks to destroy, or at least deplores its perpetuation. I
speak from knowledge, for I have been in the mart where stocks and
bonds are bought and sold and know how every penny that your professor
can scrape together will go into little picayunish investments, in
buying odd lots of stocks. Every stockbroker in a small way of business
knows the same. That little knot of professors and educators gathered
on the campus is not usually discussing Aristotle, or Relativity, or
the Haldeman-Julius Little Blue Books. Cock an ear and you will most
assuredly detect fragments of conversation such as “I bought three
shares of so and so,” or “I bought Italian Lire and German Marks,” or
“I got hold of a little Anaconda copper.” Either something like that
or the telling of tales of how “my friend so and so who is worth three
millions, said this that and the other.” Certainly, as to your rich
man, the professor seeks “to belong to him,” as Burton has it. And so
long as that is the case, all the fire that burns in the belly of Upton
Sinclair must burn in vain.