III

I am reminded by Josephine that I seem to be getting into the dumps,

which does not befit one who claims to be an optimistic philosopher.

The drama just set before you is not, I admit, encouraging as a national

exhibit, and I can imagine that you are already impatient to retort that

the municipal stage is no fair criterion of public life in this country.

I can hear you assert, with that confident air of national righteousness

peculiar to the class of blind patriots to which you belong, that the

leading politicians of the nation disdain to soil their hands by contact

with city politics. Yet there I take issue with you squarely, not as to

the fact but as to the truth of the lofty postulate seething in your

mind that the higher planes of political activity are free from the

venal and debasing characteristics of municipal public service—from

the influence of the money power operating on a low public standard of

honesty.

Most of us—even philosophers like myself—try to cling to the fine theory

that the legislators of the country represent the best morals and brains

of the community, and that the men elected to public office in the

Councils of the land have been put forward as being peculiarly fitted

to interpret and provide for our needs, by force of their predominant

individual virtues and abilities. Most of us appreciate in our secret

souls that this theory is not lived up to, and is available only for

Fourth of July or other rhetorical purposes. Yet we dislike to dismiss

the ideal as unattainable, even though we know that actual practice

is remote from it; and patriots still, we go on asserting that this

is our method of choice, vaguely hoping, like the well-intentioned

but careless voter, that some day we shall get a decent government,

municipal, state, national—that is decent from the stand-point of

our democratic ideal. And there is another theory, part and parcel of

the other, which we try to cling to at the same time, that our public

representatives, though the obviously ornamental and fine specimens of

their several constituencies, are after all only every-day Americans

with whom a host of citizens could change places without disparagement

to either. In other words, our theory of government is government by the

average, and that the average is remarkably high. This comfortable view

induces many like yourself to wrap themselves round with the American

flag and smile at destiny, sure that everything will result well with

us sooner or later, and impatient of criticism or doubts. As a people

we delight in patting ourselves on the back and dismissing our worries

as mere flea-bites. The hard cider of our patriotism gets readily into

the brain and causes us to deny fiercely or serenely, according to our

dispositions, that anything serious is the matter.

Yet whatever Fourth of July orators may say to the contrary, the fact

remains that the sorry taint of bargain and sale, of holding up on the

political highway and pacification by bribery in one form or another,

permeates to-day the whole of our political system from the lowest

stratum of municipal public life to the Councils which make Presidents

and United States Senators. To be sure, the Alderman in his capacity of

low comedian dictating terms to corporations seeking civic privileges

is the most unblushing, and hence the most obviously flagrant case;

but it is well recognized by all who are brought in contact with

legislative bodies of any sort in the country that either directly or

indirectly the machinery of public life is controlled by aggregations

of capital working on the hungry, easy-going, or readily flattered

susceptibilities of a considerable percentage of the members. Certainly

our national and State assemblies contain many high-minded, honest,

intellectually capable men, but they contain as many more who are

either dishonest or are so ignorant and easily cajoled that they permit

themselves to be the tools of leading villains. Those cognizant of what

goes on behind the scenes on the political stage would perhaps deny

that such men as our friend Thomas Barnstable or his agent, Dowling,

attempt to dictate nominations to either branch of the legislature on

the tacit understanding that a member thus supported is to advocate

or vote for their measures, and by their denial they might deceive

a real simon-pure philosopher. But this philosopher knows better,

and so do you, my optimistic friend. It is the fashion, I am aware,

among conservative people, lawyers looking for employment, bankers

and solid men of affairs, to put the finger on the lips when this evil

is broached and whisper, "Hush!" They admit confidentially the truth

of it, but they say, "Hush! What's the use of stirring things up? It

can't do any good and it makes the public discontented. It excites the

populists." So there is perpetual mystery and the game goes on. Men who

wish things good or bad come reluctantly or willingly to the conclusion

that the only way to get them is by paying for them. Not all pay cash.

Some obtain that which they desire by working on the weaknesses of

legislators; following them into banks where they borrow money, getting

people who hold them in their employ or give them business to interfere,

asking influential friends to press them. Every railroad corporation in

the country has agents to look after its affairs before the legislature

of the State through which it operates, and what some of those agents

have said and done in order to avert molestation would, if published,

be among the most interesting memoirs ever written. Who doubts that

elections to the United States Senate and House of Representatives are

constantly secured by the use of money among those who have the power

to bestow nominations and influence votes? It is notorious, yet to

prove it would be no less difficult than to prove that Peter Lynch,

Alderman for ten years without occupation, has received bribes from

his fellow-citizens. How are the vast sums of money levied on rich men

to secure the success of a political party in a Presidential campaign

expended? For stationery, postage stamps, and campaign documents? For

torchlight processions, rallies, and buttons? Some of it, certainly.

The unwritten inside history of the political progress of many of the

favorite sons of the nation during the last forty years would make the

scale of public honor kick the beam though it were weighted with the

cherry-tree and hatchet of George Washington. In one of our cities where

a deputation of city officials attended the funeral of a hero of the

late war with Spain, there is a record of $400 spent for ice-cream.

Presumably this was a transcript of petty thievery inartistically

audited. But there are no auditings of the real use of the thousands of

dollars contributed to keep a party in power or to secure the triumph

of a politically ambitious millionaire.

(_Note._—Josephine, who had been sitting lost in thought since

the conclusion of the drama, and who is fond of problem plays,

inquired at this point whether I consider the low comedians

or the leading villains the most to blame for the existing

state of things.

"It is a pertinent question, Josephine, and one not easily

answered. What is your view of the matter?"

"I suppose," she answered, "as you have termed the bribers

the leading villains, they are the worst. And I do think

that the temptation must be very great among the class of men

who are without fine sensibilities to let themselves become

the tools of rich and powerful people, who, as you have

indicated, can help them immensely in return for a vote. It

is astonishing that those in the community who are educated,

well-to-do citizens, should commit such sins against decency

and patriotism."

"Yes, it seems astonishing, but their plea is pathetic, as

I have already stated, and somewhat plausible. Suppose for a

minute that I am Thomas Barnstable defending himself and see

how eloquent I can be. 'What would you have me do, Madam? I

am an honest man and my directors are honest men; the bills

we ask for are always just and reasonable. I have never in my

life approached a legislator with an improper offer, nor have

I used direct or indirect bribery so long as it was absolutely

impossible to avoid doing so. But when a gang of cheap and

cunning tricksters block the passage of my corporation's

measures, and will not let them become law until we have

been bled, I yield as a last resort. We are at their mercy.

It is a detestable thing to do, I admit, but it is necessary

if we are to remain in business. There is no alternative.

The responsibility is on the dishonest and incapable men

whom the American public elects to office, and who under the

specious plea of protecting the rights of the plain people

levy blackmail on corporate interests. Corporations do not

wish to bribe, but they are forced to do so in self-defence.'

There! Is not that a tear-compelling statement?"

"I can see your side," said Josephine.

"Pardon me," I interrupted. "It is Mr. Barnstable's side, not

mine. I am not a capitalist, only a philosopher."

"Well, his side then; and I feel sorry for him in spite of the

weakness of his case. Only his argument does not explain the

others. I should not suppose that men like Mr. Prendergast

could truthfully declare that all the legislation they ask

for is just and reasonable."

"Precisely. Yet they buy their desires in the open market from

the free-born representatives of the people. If anyone states

so at the time he is hushed up, if possible; if not, there is

an investigation, nothing is proved, and the integrity of the

legislative body is vindicated. I can shed a tear on behalf of

men like Mr. Barnstable, a crocodile tear, yet still a tear.

But there is the larger army of hard-headed, dollar-hunting,

practical capitalists, who are not forming corporations for

their health, so to speak, to be reckoned with. My eloquence

is palsied by them. They would tell you that they were obliged

to bribe, but they do not waste much time in resistance or

remorse. They seem to regard the evil as a national custom,

unfortunate and expensive, but not altogether inconvenient.

Confidentially over a cigar they will assure you that the

French, the Spanish, the Turks, and the Chinese are infinitely

worse, and that this is merely a passing phase of democracy,

whatever that may mean."

"Dreadful," said Josephine. "And then there are the people

with money who aid and abet their own nominations for

Congress. I think I could mention some of them."

"Well, you mustn't. It might hurt their feelings, for they

may not know exactly what was done except in a general way.

After all is over they ask 'how much?' draw a check and make

few inquiries. That is the genteel way. But in some states it

is not necessary or politic to be genteel. The principle is

the same, but the process is less subtle and aristocratic. But

haven't you a word of extenuation to offer on behalf of the

low comedians? Think of Jeremiah Dolan and the little Dolans."

"I suppose he also would say it wasn't true," said Josephine.

"Oh, yes. 'Lady, there isn't a word of truth in the whole

story. Someone's been stuffing you.'"

"They must be dreadfully tempted, poor wretches."

"'Lady, it's all make-believe. But it's one thing to talk and

another to sit still and have a fellow whisper in your ear

that you have only to vote his way to get five thousand in

clean bills and no questions asked. When a man has a mortgage

on his house to pay, five thousand would come in handy. I'm

only supposing, lady, and no one can prove I took a cent.'"

"Fred," said Josephine, after a solemn pause, "the dreadful

thought has just occurred to me that the American people may

not be—are not strictly honest."

"Sh!" I shouted eagerly, and seizing a tea table-cloth I threw

it over her head and stayed her speech.

"My dear, do you realize what you are saying?"

"Do you realize that you are tumbling my hair?"

I paid no heed to this unimportant interjection, but said,

"If any true patriot were to hear you make such an accusation

you would subject yourself and me to some dreadful punishment,

such as happened to Dreyfus, or 'The Man Without a Country.'

Not honest? By the shades of George Washington, what are you

thinking of? Why, one of the chief reasons of our superiority

to all the other nations of the world is because of our

honesty—our immunity from the low moral standards of effete,

frivolous despotisms and unenlightened masses who are without

the blessings of freedom. Not strictly honest? Josephine, your

lack of tact, if nothing else, is positively audacious. Do you

expect me to break this cruel piece of news to the optimistic

patriot to whom this letter is addressed?"

"I think you are silly," said my wife, freeing herself from

the tea table-cloth and trying to compose her slightly

discomposed tresses. "I only thought aloud, and I said

merely what you would have said sooner or later in more

philosophical terms. I saw that you were tempted by the fear

of not seeming a patriot to dilly-dally with the situation and

avoid expressing yourself in perspicuous language. T-h-i-e-f

spells thief; B-r-i-b-e-r-y spells bribery. I don't know much

about politics, and I'm not a philosopher, but I understand

the meaning of every-day English, and I should say that we

were not even pretty honest. There! Those are my opinions,

and I think you will save time if you send them in your

letter instead of beating about the bush for extenuating

circumstances. If you don't, I shall—for really, Fred, it's

too simple a proposition. And as for the blame, it's six of

one and half a dozen of the other."

"Josephine, Josephine," I murmured, "there goes my last

chance of being sent to the Philippines, in my capacity as a

philosopher, to study whether the people of those islands are

fit for representative government.")

You have read what Josephine says, my optimistic friend. She has stated

that she would write to you her summing up of the whole matter if I did

not, so I have inserted her deduction in all its crudity. She declares

the trouble to be that the American people are dishonest. Of course, I

cannot expect you to agree with any such conclusion, and I must admit

that the boldness of the accusation is a shock to my own sensibilities

as a patriot. Of course, Josephine is a woman and does not understand

much about politics and ways and means, and it is notorious that women

jump at conclusions instead of approaching them logically and in a

dignified manner. But it is also said that their sudden conclusions

are apt to be right. Dishonest? Dear me, what a dreadful suggestion.

I really think that she went a little too far. And yet I am forced to

agree that appearances are very much against us, and that if we hope

to lead the world in righteousness and progress we must, to recur

to political phraseology, mend our moral fences. I do not indulge in

meteoric flights, like Josephine. Let us argue the matter out soberly.

You and I, as men of the world, will agree that if the American people

prefer or find it more serviceable to cherish bribery as a federal

institution, no one will interfere. The fact that it is ethically wrong

is interesting to real philosophers and to the clergy, but bribery will

continue to flourish like a bay-tree if it is the sort of thing which

the American people like. Now, to all outward appearances they find

it, if not grateful and comforting, at least endurable and convenient.

Certainly, except among the class of people whom you would be apt

to stigmatize as "holier than thous," there is comparatively little

interest taken in the question. The mass of the community seek refuge

behind the agreeable fiction that the abuse doesn't exist or exists

only in such degree as to be unimportant. Many of these people know

that this is false, but they will not admit that they think so in order

not to make such doings familiar, just as their custom is to speak of

legs as lower limbs in order not to bring a blush to the cheek of the

young person. For thorough-going hypocrisy—often unconscious, but still

hypocrisy—no one can equal a certain kind of American. It is so much

easier in this world, where patting on the back is the touch-stone of

preferment and popularity, to think that everything is as serene as the

surface indicates, though you are secretly sure that it is not. How much

more convenient to be able to say truthfully, "I have no knowledge of

the facts, so don't bother me," than to be constantly wagging the head

and entertaining doubts concerning the purity of one's fellow-citizens,

and so making enemies.

As I have indicated earlier in this letter, the ideal is dear to our

patriotic sensibilities that we are governed by average opinion, and

that the average is peculiarly high. The fastidious citizen in this

country has been and still is fond of the taunt that men of upright

character and fine instincts—what he calls gentlemen—will not enter

public life, for the reason that they will not eat dirt. The reply has

been that the real bugaboo of the fastidious citizen is one of manners,

and that in the essentials of character, in strong moral purpose and

solid worth, the average American voter is the peer of any aristocracy.

The issue becomes really one of fact, and mere solemn assertion will

not serve as evidence beyond a certain point. If the majority prefer

dishonesty, the power is in their hands to perpetuate the system, but

believing as you and I do that the majority at heart is honest, how

are we to explain the continued existence of the evil? How as patriots

shall we reconcile the perpetuation in power of the low comedians, Peter

Lynch and Jeremiah Dolan, except on the theory that it is the will of

the majority that they should continue to serve the people? This is

not a question of kid gloves, swallow-tailed coats, and manners, but

an indictment reflecting on the moral character and solid worth of the

nation. How are we to explain it? What are we to say? Can we continue

to declare that we are the most honest and aspiring people in the world

and expect that portion of the world which has any sense of humor not

to smile? Are we, who have been accustomed to boast of our spotless

integrity as a people, ready to fall back on and console ourselves with

the boast, which does duty nowadays on lenient lips, that we are as

honest as any of the nations of Europe except, possibly, England? That

is an indirect form of patriotic negation under the shadow of which

low comedians and leading villains could ply their trade comparatively

unmolested.

As a philosopher, who is not a real philosopher, I find this charge of

Josephine's a difficult nut to crack, and I commend it respectfully

to your attention to mull over at your leisure, trusting that it may

temper the effulgence of your thoughts on Independence Day. Yet having

had my say as a philosopher, let me as an optimist, willing to succor a

fellow-optimist, add a few considerations indicating that the situation

may not be so ultimately evil as the existing state of affairs and

Josephine would have us believe. I write "may not be," because I am not

altogether confident that my intelligence is not being cajoled by the

natural cheeriness and buoyancy of my disposition. The sole question at

issue is whether the majority of the American people are really content

to have the money power of the country prey upon and be the prey of the

lowest moral sense of the community.

We have before us an every-day spectacle of eager aggregations of

capital putting aside scruples as visionary and impractical, and hence

"un-American," in order to compass success, and at the other side of

the counter the so-called representatives of the people, solemn in their

verbiage but susceptible to occult and disgraceful influences. The two

parties to the intercourse are discreet and businesslike, and there

is little risk of tangible disclosure. Practically aloof from them,

except for a few moments on election day, stands the mass of American

citizens busy with their own money-getting or problem-solving, and only

too ready to believe that their representatives are admirable. They

pause to vote as they pause to snatch a sandwich at a railroad station.

"Five minutes for refreshments!" Five minutes for political obligations!

Individually there are thousands of strictly honest and noble-hearted

men in the United States. Who doubts it? The originality and strength

of the American character is being constantly manifested in every field

of life. But there we speak of individuals; here we are concerned with

majorities and the question of average morality and choice. For though

we have an aspiring and enlightened van of citizens to point the way,

you must remember that emigration and natural growth has given us

tens of thousands of ignorant, prejudiced, and sometimes unscrupulous

citizens, each of whose votes counts one. Perhaps it is true—and here is

my grain of consolation or hope—that the average voter is so easy-going,

so long-suffering, so indisposed to find fault, so selfishly busy with

his own affairs, so proud of our institutions and himself, so afraid

of hurting other people's feelings, and so generally indifferent as to

public matters, provided his own are serene, that he chooses to wink at

bribery if it be not in plain view, and likes to deceive himself into

believing that there is nothing wrong. The long and short of it seems

to be that the average American citizen is a good fellow, and in his

capacity of good fellow cannot afford to be too critical and particular.

He leaves that to the reformer, the literary man, the dude, the college

professor, the mugwump, the philosopher, and other impractical and

un-American people. If so, what has become of that heritage of his

forefathers, the stern Puritan conscience? Swept away in the great

wave of material progress which has centred all his energies on what

he calls success, and given to the power of money a luring importance

which is apt to make the scruples of the spirit seem unsubstantial and

bothersome. An easy-going, trouble-detesting, self-absorbed democracy

between the buffers of rapacity and rascality.

A disagreeable conclusion for an optimist, yet less gloomy than the

other alternative. This condition admits of cure, for it suggests a

torpid conscience rather than deliberate acquiescence. It indicates that

the representatives are betraying the people, and that there is room for

hope that the people eventually may rise in their might and call them to

account. If they do, I beg as a philosopher with humorous proclivities,

to caution them against seizing the wrong pig by the ear. Let them fix

the blame where it belongs, and not hold the corporations and the money

power wholly responsible. It may be possible in time to abolish trusts

and cause rich men sleepless nights in the crusading name of populism,

but that will avail little unless at the same time they go to the real

root of the matter, and quicken the average conscience and strengthen

the moral purpose of the plain people of the United States. There will

be leading villains and low comedians so long as society permits, and

so long as the conscience of democracy is torpid. The players in the

drama are, after all, only the people themselves. Charles the First was

beheaded because he betrayed the liberties of the people. Alas! there

is no such remedy for a corrupt democracy, for its heads are like those

of Hydra, and it would be itself both the victim and the executioner.