The Iron Heel Page #15

"The Iron Heel" by Jack London, published in 1908, is a dystopian political novel that explores themes of authoritarianism, class struggle, and revolution. It is considered one of the earliest examples of dystopian fiction, influencing later works like 1984 and Brave New World.

• Novel

								

many. And they drew pathetic pictures of what would be the sufferings
of the working class were it not for the employment that they, and they
alone, by their wisdom, provided for it.

 [1] Before Avis Everhard was born, John Stuart Mill, in his essay, On
 Liberty, wrote: “Wherever there is an ascendant class, a large
 portion of the morality emanates from its class interests and its
 class feelings of superiority.”

Fresh from these two masters, I met Ernest and related my experience.
He looked at me with a pleased expression, and said:

“Really, this is fine. You are beginning to dig truth for yourself. It
is your own empirical generalization, and it is correct. No man in the
industrial machine is a free-will agent, except the large capitalist,
and he isn’t, if you’ll pardon the Irishism.[2] You see, the masters
are quite sure that they are right in what they are doing. That is the
crowning absurdity of the whole situation. They are so tied by their
human nature that they can’t do a thing unless they think it is right.
They must have a sanction for their acts.

 [2] Verbal contradictions, called bulls, were long an amiable
 weakness of the ancient Irish.

“When they want to do a thing, in business of course, they must wait
till there arises in their brains, somehow, a religious, or ethical, or
scientific, or philosophic, concept that the thing is right. And then
they go ahead and do it, unwitting that one of the weaknesses of the
human mind is that the wish is parent to the thought. No matter what
they want to do, the sanction always comes. They are superficial
casuists. They are Jesuitical. They even see their way to doing wrong
that right may come of it. One of the pleasant and axiomatic fictions
they have created is that they are superior to the rest of mankind in
wisdom and efficiency. Therefrom comes their sanction to manage the
bread and butter of the rest of mankind. They have even resurrected the
theory of the divine right of kings—commercial kings in their case.[3]

 [3] The newspapers, in 1902 of that era, credited the president of the
 Anthracite Coal Trust, George F. Baer, with the enunciation of the
 following principle: “The rights and interests of the laboring man
 will be protected by the Christian men to whom God in His infinite
 wisdom has given the property interests of the country.”

“The weakness in their position lies in that they are merely business
men. They are not philosophers. They are not biologists nor
sociologists. If they were, of course all would be well. A business man
who was also a biologist and a sociologist would know, approximately,
the right thing to do for humanity. But, outside the realm of business,
these men are stupid. They know only business. They do not know mankind
nor society, and yet they set themselves up as arbiters of the fates of
the hungry millions and all the other millions thrown in. History, some
day, will have an excruciating laugh at their expense.”

I was not surprised when I had my talk out with Mrs. Wickson and Mrs.
Pertonwaithe. They were society women.[4] Their homes were palaces.
They had many homes scattered over the country, in the mountains, on
lakes, and by the sea. They were tended by armies of servants, and
their social activities were bewildering. They patronized the
university and the churches, and the pastors especially bowed at their
knees in meek subservience.[5] They were powers, these two women, what
of the money that was theirs. The power of subsidization of thought was
theirs to a remarkable degree, as I was soon to learn under Ernest’s
tuition.

 [4] Society is here used in a restricted sense, a common usage of
 the times to denote the gilded drones that did no labor, but only
 glutted themselves at the honey-vats of the workers. Neither the
 business men nor the laborers had time or opportunity for society.
 Society was the creation of the idle rich who toiled not and who in
 this way played.

 [5] “Bring on your tainted money,” was the expressed sentiment of the
 Church during this period.

They aped their husbands, and talked in the same large ways about
policy, and the duties and responsibilities of the rich. They were
swayed by the same ethic that dominated their husbands—the ethic of
their class; and they uttered glib phrases that their own ears did not
understand.

Also, they grew irritated when I told them of the deplorable condition
of Jackson’s family, and when I wondered that they had made no
voluntary provision for the man. I was told that they thanked no one
for instructing them in their social duties. When I asked them flatly
to assist Jackson, they as flatly refused. The astounding thing about
it was that they refused in almost identically the same language, and
this in face of the fact that I interviewed them separately and that
one did not know that I had seen or was going to see the other. Their
common reply was that they were glad of the opportunity to make it
perfectly plain that no premium would ever be put on carelessness by
them; nor would they, by paying for accident, tempt the poor to hurt
themselves in the machinery.[6]

 [6] In the files of the Outlook, a critical weekly of the period, in
 the number dated August 18, 1906, is related the circumstance of a
 workingman losing his arm, the details of which are quite similar to
 those of Jackson’s case as related by Avis Everhard.

And they were sincere, these two women. They were drunk with conviction
of the superiority of their class and of themselves. They had a
sanction, in their own class-ethic, for every act they performed. As I
drove away from Mrs. Pertonwaithe’s great house, I looked back at it,
and I remembered Ernest’s expression that they were bound to the
machine, but that they were so bound that they sat on top of it.




CHAPTER V.
THE PHILOMATHS


Ernest was often at the house. Nor was it my father, merely, nor the
controversial dinners, that drew him there. Even at that time I
flattered myself that I played some part in causing his visits, and it
was not long before I learned the correctness of my surmise. For never
was there such a lover as Ernest Everhard. His gaze and his hand-clasp
grew firmer and steadier, if that were possible; and the question that
had grown from the first in his eyes, grew only the more imperative.

My impression of him, the first time I saw him, had been unfavorable.
Then I had found myself attracted toward him. Next came my repulsion,
when he so savagely attacked my class and me. After that, as I saw that
he had not maligned my class, and that the harsh and bitter things he
said about it were justified, I had drawn closer to him again. He
became my oracle. For me he tore the sham from the face of society and
gave me glimpses of reality that were as unpleasant as they were
undeniably true.

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes