by Jack London
In a fair comparison of the average Innuit and the average Englishman, it will be seen that life is less rigorous for the Innuit; that while the Innuit suffers only during bad times from starvation, the Englishman suffers during good times as well; that no Innuit lacks fuel, clothing, or housing, while the Englishman is in perpetual lack of these three essentials. In this connection it is well to instance the judgment of a man such as Huxley. From the knowledge gained as a medical officer in the East End of London, and as a scientist pursuing investigations among the most elemental savages, he concludes, "Were the alternative presented to me, I would deliberately prefer the life of the savage to that of those people of Christian London."
The creature comforts man enjoys are the products of man's labour. Since Civilisation has failed to give the average Englishman food and shelter equal to that enjoyed by the Innuit, the question arises: HAS CIVILISATION INCREASED THE PRODUCING POWER OF THE AVERAGE MAN? If it has not increased man's producing power, then Civilisation cannot stand.
But, it will be instantly admitted, Civilisation has increased man's producing power. Five men can produce bread for a thousand. One man can produce cotton cloth for 250 people, woollens for 300, and boots and shoes for 1000. Yet it has been shown throughout the pages of this book that English folk by the millions do not receive enough food, clothes, and boots. Then arises the third and inexorable question: IF CIVILISATION HAS INCREASED THE PRODUCING POWER OF THE AVERAGE MAN, WHY HAS IT NOT BETTERED THE LOT OF THE AVERAGE MAN?
There can be one answer only--MISMANAGEMENT. Civilisation has made possible all manner of creature comforts and heart's delights. In these the average Englishman does not participate. If he shall be forever unable to participate, then Civilisation falls. There is no reason for the continued existence of an artifice so avowed a failure. But it is impossible that men should have reared this tremendous artifice in vain. It stuns the intellect. To acknowledge so crushing a defeat is to give the death-blow to striving and progress.
One other alternative, and one other only, presents itself. CIVILISATION MUST BE COMPELLED TO BETTER THE LOT OF THE AVERAGE MEN. This accepted, it becomes at once a question of business management. Things profitable must be continued; things unprofitable must be eliminated. Either the Empire is a profit to England, or it is a loss. If it is a loss, it must be done away with. If it is a profit, it must be managed so that the average man comes in for a share of the profit.
If the struggle for commercial supremacy is profitable, continue it. If it is not, if it hurts the worker and makes his lot worse than the lot of a savage, then fling foreign markets and industrial empire overboard. For it is a patent fact that if 40,000,000 people, aided by Civilisation, possess a greater individual producing power than the Innuit, then those 40,000,000 people should enjoy more creature comforts and heart's delights than the Innuits enjoy.
If the 400,000 English gentlemen, "of no occupation," according to their own statement in the Census of 1881, are unprofitable, do away with them. Set them to work ploughing game preserves and planting potatoes. If they are profitable, continue them by all means, but let it be seen to that the average Englishman shares somewhat in the profits they produce by working at no occupation.
In short, society must be reorganised, and a capable management put at the head. That the present management is incapable, there can be no discussion. It has drained the United Kingdom of its life-blood. It has enfeebled the stay-at-home folk till they are unable longer to struggle in the van of the competing nations. It has built up a West End and an East End as large as the Kingdom is large, in which one end is riotous and rotten, the other end sickly and underfed.
A vast empire is foundering on the hands of this incapable management. And by empire is meant the political machinery which holds together the English-speaking people of the world outside of the United States. Nor is this charged in a pessimistic spirit. Blood empire is greater than political empire, and the English of the New World and the Antipodes are strong and vigorous as ever. But the political empire under which they are nominally assembled is perishing. The political machine known as the British Empire is running down. In the hands of its management it is losing momentum every day.
It is inevitable that this management, which has grossly and criminally mismanaged, shall be swept away. Not only has it been wasteful and inefficient, but it has misappropriated the funds. Every worn-out, pasty-faced pauper, every blind man, every prison babe, every man, woman, and child whose belly is gnawing with hunger pangs, is hungry because the funds have been misappropriated by the management.
Nor can one member of this managing class plead not guilty before the judgment bar of Man. "The living in their houses, and in their graves the dead," are challenged by every babe that dies of innutrition, by every girl that flees the sweater's den to the nightly promenade of Piccadilly, by every worked-out toiler that plunges into the canal. The food this managing class eats, the wine it drinks, the shows it makes, and the fine clothes it wears, are challenged by eight million mouths which have never had enough to fill them, and by twice eight million bodies which have never been sufficiently clothed and housed.
There can be no mistake. Civilisation has increased man's producing power an hundred-fold, and through mismanagement the men of Civilisation live worse than the beasts, and have less to eat and wear and protect them from the elements than the savage Innuit in a frigid climate who lives to-day as he lived in the stone age ten thousand years ago.
CHALLENGE
I have a vague remembranceOf a story that is toldIn some ancient Spanish legendOr chronicle of old.
It was when brave King SancheWas before Zamora slain,And his great besieging armyLay encamped upon the plain.
Don Diego de OrdenezSallied forth in front of all,And shouted loud his challengeTo the warders on the wall.
All the people of Zamora,Both the born and the unborn,As traitors did he challengeWith taunting words of scorn.
The living in their houses,And in their graves the dead,And the waters in their rivers,And their wine, and oil, and bread.
There is a greater armyThat besets us round with strife,A starving, numberless armyAt all the gates of life.
The poverty-stricken millionsWho challenge our wine and bread,And impeach us all as traitors,Both the living and the dead.
And whenever I sit at the banquet,Where the feast and song are high,Amid the mirth and musicI can hear that fearful cry.
And hollow and haggard facesLook into the lighted hall,And wasted hands are extendedTo catch the crumbs that fall
And within there is light and plenty,And odours fill the air;But without there is cold and darkness,And hunger and despair.
And there in the camp of famine,In wind, and cold, and rain,Christ, the great Lord of the Army,Lies dead upon the plain.
LONGFELLOW
Footnotes:
{1} This in the Klondike.--J. L.
{2} "Runt" in America is the equivalent of the English "crowl," the dwarf of a litter.
{3} The San Francisco bricklayer receives twenty shillings per day, and at present is on strike for twenty-four shillings.
End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The People of the Abyss, by Jack London
