hero rose to political stature largely by means of attending to the
needs of the district, befriending the poor and the helpless and
having a friendly, encouraging word for his constituents, high or low.
The American public welcomed the book because it was glad to see the
boss vindicated by these human qualities, and to think that there was
a saving grace of unselfish service in the composition of the average
successful politician. It would be unjust to the big four were I not
to acknowledge that they have been shrewd or human enough to pursue in
some measure this affable policy, and that the neighborhood and the
district in which they live recognize them as hustlers to obtain
office, privileges, and jobs for the humble citizen wishing to be
employed by or to sell something to the City Government. To this
constituency the comparatively small tax levied seems all in the day's
work, a natural incident of the principle that when a man does
something, he ought to be paid for it. To them the distinction that
public service is a trust which has no right to pecuniary profit
beyond the salary attached, and a reasonable amount of stationery,
seems to savor of the millennium and to suggest a lack of practical
intelligence on the part of its advocates. They pay the lawyer and the
doctor; why not the Alderman?
To _A Political Optimist_. 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
standpoint 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, that 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
torch-light 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 four hundred dollars
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 possible 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 any one 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. Some
one'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 disordered 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 dillydally 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 business-like, and
there is little risk of tangible disclosure. Practically aloof from
them, except for a few moments on election day, stand 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
mug-wump, 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.
_THE END_
_D. B. Updike
The Merrymount Press
104 Chestnut Street
Boston_