The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

by Robert Tressell

  During the delivery of this part of the lecture, the audience began to manifest symptoms of impatience and dissent. Perceiving this, Owen, speaking very rapidly, continued:

  ‘If you go down town, you will see half a dozen drapers’ shops within a stone’s-throw of each other – often even next door to each other – all selling the same things. You can’t possibly think that all those shops are really necessary? You know that one of them would serve the purpose for which they are all intended – to store and serve as a centre for the distribution of the things that are made by work. If you will admit that five out of the six shops are not really necessary, you must also admit that the men who built them, and the salesmen and women or other assistants engaged in them, and the men who design and write and print their advertisements are all doing unnecessary work; all really wasting their time and labour, time and labour that might be employed in helping to produce these things that we are at present short of. You must admit that none of these people are engaged in producing either the necessaries of life or the benefits of civilization. They buy them, and sell them, and handle them, and haggle over them, and display them, in the plateglass windows of “Stores” and “Emporiums” and make profit out of them, and use them, but these people themselves produce nothing that is necessary to life or happiness, and the things that some of them do produce are only necessary to the present imbecile system.’

  ‘What the ’ell sort of a bloody system do you think we ought to ’ave, then?’ interrupted the man on the pail.

  ‘Yes: you’re very good at finding fault,’ sneered Slyme, ‘but why don’t you tell us ’ow it’s all going to be put right?’

  ‘Well, that’s not what we’re talking about now, is it?’ replied Owen. ‘At present we’re only trying to find out how it is that there is not sufficient produced for everyone to have enough of the things that are made by work. Although most of the people in number three work very hard, they produce Nothing.’

  ‘This is a lot of bloody rot!’ exclaimed Crass, impatiently.

  ‘Even if there is more shops than what’s actually necessary,’ cried Harlow, ‘it all helps people to get a livin’! If half of ’em was shut up, it would just mean that all them what works there would be out of a job. Live and let live, I say: all these things makes work.’

  ‘’Ear, ’ear,’ shouted the man behind the moat.

  ‘Yes, I know it makes “work”,’ replied Owen, ‘but we can’t live on mere “work”, you know. To live in comfort we need a sufficiency of the things that can be made by work. A man might work very hard and yet be wasting his time if he were not producing something necessary or useful.

  ‘Why are there so many shops and stores and emporiums? Do you imagine they exist for the purpose of giving those who build them, or work in them, a chance to earn a living? Nothing of the sort. They are carried on, and exorbitant prices are charged for the articles they sell, to enable the proprietors to amass fortunes, and to pay extortionate rents to the landlords. That is why the wages and salaries of nearly all those who do the work created by these businesses are cut down to the lowest possible point.’

  ‘We knows all about that,’ said Crass, ‘but you can’t get away from it that all these things makes Work; and that’s what we wants – Plenty of Work.’

  Cries of ‘’Ear, ’ear,’ and expressions of dissent from the views expressed by the lecturer resounded through the room, nearly everyone speaking at the same time. After a while, when the row had in some measure subsided, Owen resumed:

  ‘Nature has not provided ready-made all the things necessary for the life and happiness of mankind. In order to obtain these things we have to Work. The only rational labour is that which is directed to the creation of those things. Any kind of work which does not help us to attain this object is a ridiculous, idiotic, criminal, imbecile, waste of time.

  ‘That is what the great army of people represented by division number three are doing at present: they are all very busy – working very hard – but to all useful intents and purposes they are doing Nothing.’ ‘Well, all right,’ said Harlow. ‘’Ave it yer own way, but there’s no need to keep on repeating the same thing over an’ over again.’

  ‘The next division,’ resumed Owen, ‘stands for those who are engaged in really useful work – the production of the benefits of civilization – the necessaries, refinements and comforts of life.’

  ‘Hooray!’ shouted Philpot, leading off a cheer which was taken up enthusiastically by the crowd, ‘Hooray! This is where we comes in,’ he added, nodding his head and winking his goggle eyes at the meeting.

  ‘I wish to call the chairman to horder,’ said the man on the pail.

  When Owen had finished writing in the list of occupations several members of the audience rose to point out that those engaged in the production of beer had been omitted. Owen rectified this serious oversight and proceeded:

  ‘As most of the people in number four are out of work at least one quarter of their time, we must reduce the size of this division by one fourth – so. The grey part represents the unemployed.’

  ‘But some of those in number three are often unemployed as well,’ said Harlow.

  ‘Yes: but as they produce nothing even when they are at work we need not trouble to classify them unemployed, because our present purpose is only to discover the reason why there is not enough produced for everyone to enjoy abundance; and this – the Present System of conducting our affairs – is the reason of the shortage – the cause of poverty. When you reflect that all the other people are devouring the things produced by those in number four – can you wonder that there is not plenty for all?’

  ‘“Devouring” is a good word,’ said Philpot, and the others laughed.

  The lecturer now drew a small square upon the wall below the other drawing. This square he filled in solid black.

  ‘This represents the total amount of the benefits of civilization and necessaries of life produced by the people in number four. We now proceed to “Share Out” the things in the same way as they are actually divided amongst the different classes of the population under the present imbecile system.

  ‘As the people in divisions one and two are universally considered to be the most worthy and deserving we give them – two-thirds of the whole.

  ‘The remainder we give to be “Shared Out” amongst the people represented by divisions three and four.

  ‘Now you mustn’t run away with the idea that the people in three and four take their share quietly and divide the things equally between them. Not at all. Some get very little, some none, some more than a fair share. It is in these two divisions that the ferocious “Battle of Life” rages most fiercely; and of course in this battle the weak and the virtuous fare the worst. Even those whose exceptional abilities or opportunities enable them to succeed, are compelled to practise selfishness, because a man of exceptional ability who was not selfish would devote his abilities to relieving the manifest suffering of others, and not to his own profit, and if he did the former he would not be successful in the sense that the world understands the word. All those who really seek to “Love their neighbour as themselves”, or to return good for evil, the gentle, the kind, and all those who refrain from doing to others the things they would not like to suffer themselves; all these are of necessity found amongst the vanquished; because only the worst – only those who are aggressive, cunning, selfish and mean are fitted to survive. And all these people in numbers three and four are so fully occupied in this dreadful struggle to secure a little, that but few of them pause to inquire why there are not more of the things they are fighting for, or why it is necessary to fight like this at all!’

  For a few minutes silence prevailed, each man’s mind being busy trying to think of some objection to the lecturer’s arguments.

  ‘How could the small number of people in number one and two consume as much as you’ve given ’em in your drorin’?’ demanded Crass.

  ‘They don’t actually consume al
l of it,’ replied Owen. ‘Much of it is wantonly wasted. They also make fortunes by selling some of it in foreign countries; but they consume a great part of it themselves, because the amount of labour expended on the things enjoyed by these people is greater than that expended in the production of the things used by the workers. Most of the people who do nothing get the best of everything. More than three-quarters of the time of the working classes is spent in producing the things used by the wealthy. Compare the quality and quantity of the clothing possessed by the wife or daughter of a rich man with that of the wife or daughter of a worker. The time and labour spent on producing the one is twenty times greater in one case than in the other; and it’s the same with everything else. Their homes, their clothing, boots, hats, jewellery, and their food. Everything must be of the very best that art or long and painful labour can produce. But for most of those whose labour produces all these good things – anything is considered good enough. For themselves, the philanthropic workers manufacture shoddy cloth – that is, cheap cloth made of old rags and dirt; and shoddy, uncomfortable ironclad boots. If you see a workman wearing a really good suit of clothes you may safely conclude that he is either leading an unnatural life – that is, he is not married – or that he has obtained it from a tallyman on the hire system and has not yet paid for it – or that it is someone else’s cast-off suit that he has bought second-hand or had given to him by some charitable person. It’s the same with the food. All the ducks and geese, pheasants, partridges, and all the very best parts of the very best meat – all the soles and the finest plaice and salmon and trout –’

  ‘’Ere, chuck it,’ cried Harlow, fiercely. ‘We don’t want to ’ear no more of it,’ and several others protested against the lecturer wasting time on such mere details.

  ‘– all the very best of everything is reserved exclusively for the enjoyment of the people in divisions one and two, while the workers subsist on block ornaments, margarine, adulterated tea, mysterious beer, and are content – only grumbling when they are unable to obtain even such fare as this.’

  Owen paused and a gloomy silence followed, but suddenly Crass brightened up. He detected a serious flaw in the lecturer’s argument.

  ‘You say the people in one and two gets all the best of everything, but what about the tramps and beggars? You’ve got them in division one.’

  ‘Yes, I know. You see, that’s the proper place for them. They belong to a Loafer class. They are no better mentally or morally than any of the other loafers in that division; neither are they of any more use. Of course, when we consider them in relation to the amount they consume of the things produced by others, they are not so harmful as the other loafers, because they consume comparatively little. But all the same they are in their right place in that division. All those people don’t get the same share. The section represents not individuals – but the loafer class.’

  ‘But I thought you said you was goin’ to prove that money was the cause of poverty,’ said Easton.

  ‘So it is,’ said Owen. ‘Can’t you see that it’s money that’s caused all these people to lose sight of the true purpose of labour – the production of the things we need? All these people are suffering from the delusion that it doesn’t matter what kind of work they do – or whether they merely do nothing – so long as they get money for doing it. Under the present extraordinary system, that’s the only object they have in view – to get money. Their ideas are so topsy-turvey that they regard with contempt those who are engaged in useful work! With the exception of criminals and the poorer sort of loafers, the working classes are considered to be the lowest and least worthy in the community. Those who manage to get money for doing something other than productive work are considered more worthy of respect on that account. Those who do nothing themselves, but get money out of the labour of others, are regarded as being more worthy still! But the ones who are esteemed most of all and honoured above all the rest, are those who obtain money for doing absolutely nothing!’

  ‘But I can’t see as that proves that money is the cause of poverty,’ said Easton.

  ‘Look here,’ said Owen. ‘The people in number four produce everything, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes; we knows all about that,’ interrupted Harlow. ‘But they gets paid for it, don’t they? They gets their wages.’

  ‘Yes, and what does their wages consist of?’ said Owen.

  ‘Why, money, of course,’ replied Harlow, impatiently.

  ‘And what do they do with their money when they get it? Do they eat it, or drink it, or wear it?’

  At this apparently absurd question several of those who had hitherto been attentive listeners laughed derisively; it was really very difficult to listen patiently to such nonsense.

  ‘Of course they don’t,’ answered Harlow scornfully. ‘They buy the things they want with it.’

  ‘Do you think that most of them manage to save a part of their wages – put it away in the bank?’

  ‘Well, I can speak for meself,’ replied Harlow amid laughter. ‘It takes me all my bloody time to pay my rent and other expenses and to keep my little lot in shoe leather, and it’s dam little I spend on beer; p’r’aps a tanner or a bob a week at the most.’

  ‘A single man can save money if he likes,’ said Slyme.

  ‘I’m not speaking of single men,’ replied Owen. ‘I’m referring to those who live natural lives.’

  ‘What about all the money what’s in the Post Office Savings Bank, and Building and Friendly Societies?’ said Crass.

  ‘A very large part of that belongs to people who are in business, or who have some other source of income than their own wages. There are some exceptionally fortunate workers who happen to have good situations and higher wages than the ordinary run of workmen. Then there are some who are so placed – by letting lodgings, for instance – that they are able to live rent free. Others whose wives go out to work; and others again who have exceptional jobs and work a lot of overtime – but these are all exceptional cases.’

  ‘I say as no married workin’ man can save any money at all!’ shouted Harlow, ‘not unless ’e goes without some of even the few things we are able to get – and makes ’is wife and kids go without as well.’

  ‘’Ear, ’ear,’ said everybody except Crass and Slyme, who were both thrifty working men, and each of them had some money saved in one or other of the institutions mentioned.

  ‘Then that means,’ said Owen, ‘that means that the wages the people in division four receive is not equivalent to the work they do.’

  ‘Wotcher mean, equivalent?’ cried Crass. ‘Why the ’ell don’t yer talk plain English without draggin’ in a lot of long words wot nobody can’t understand?’

  ‘I mean this,’ replied Owen, speaking very slowly. ‘Everything is produced by the people in number four. In return for their work they are given – Money, and the things they have made become the property of the people who do nothing. Then, as the money is of no use, the workers go to shops and give it away in exchange for some of the things they themselves have made. They spend – or give back – All their wages; but as the money they got as wages is not equal in value to the things they produced, they find that they are only able to buy back a very small part. So you see that these little discs of metal – this Money – is a device for enabling those who do not work to rob the workers of the greater part of the fruits of their toil.’

  The silence that ensued was broken by Crass.

  ‘It sounds very pretty,’ he sneered, ‘but I can’t make no ’ead or tail of it, meself.’

  ‘Look here!’ cried Owen. ‘The producing class – these people in number four are supposed to be paid for their work. Their wages are supposed to be equal in value to their work. But it’s not so. If it were, by spending all their wages, the producing class would be able to buy back All they had produced.’

  Owen ceased speaking and silence once more ensued. No one gave any sign of understanding, or of agreeing or of disagreeing with what he had s
aid. Their attitude was strictly neutral. Barrington’s pipe had gone out during the argument. He relit it from the fire with a piece of twisted paper.

  ‘If their wages were really equal in value to the product of their labour,’ Owen repeated, ‘they would be able to buy back not a small part – but the Whole.’…

  [At this, a remark from Bundy caused a shout of laughter, and when Wantley added point] to the joke by making a sound like the discharge of a pistol the merriment increased tenfold.

  ‘Well, that’s done it,’ remarked Easton, as he got up and opened the window.

  ‘It’s about time you was buried, if the smell’s anything to go by,’ said Harlow, addressing Wantley, who laughed and appeared to think he had distinguished himself…

  ‘But even if we include the whole of the working classes,’ continued Owen, ‘that is, the people in number three as well as those in number four, we find that their combined wages are insufficient to buy the things made by the producers. The total value of the wealth produced in this country during the last year was £1,800,000,000, and the total amount paid in wages during the same period was only £600,000,000. In other words, by means of the Money Trick, the workers were robbed of two-thirds of the value of their labour. All the people in numbers three and four are working and suffering and starving and fighting in order that the rich people in numbers one and two may live in luxury, and do nothing. These are the wretches who cause poverty: they not only devour or waste or hoard the things made by the worker, but as soon as their own wants are supplied – they compel the workers to cease working and prevent them producing the things they need. Most of these people!’ cried Owen, his usually pale face flushing red and his eyes shining with sudden anger, ‘most of these people do not deserve to be called human beings at all! They’re devils! They know that whilst they are indulging in pleasures of every kind – all around them men and women and little children are existing in want or dying of hunger.’