OSTRACIZED

Walking along the street one day, my mind occupied with the urgency of getting money that I might be successful, I came upon an object prone upon the sidewalk. “Some drunken old woman,” I muttered to myself, as I passed slowly on. After having taken a few steps I stopped, seemingly compelled to look back upon the woman; I saw that she was struggling to get up on her feet. She had seen my action, and now as her eyes rested upon me, she stretched forth her arms and said:

“Sister, help me to get up, and I will make you free.”

My sympathies went out to her at once; a desire came over me to help her, not because of her promise to make me free, as I was not aware that I was otherwise than free. We have freedom all over this great country of ours. Nevertheless, I was conscious of a hesitation, due doubtless to a fear that my yielding to compassion in giving a helping hand would be ruinous to my career.

“What will the people say,” thought I. “They will surely laugh and guy me.” With this thought I was about to proceed on my way, when the woman called out:

“I am not drunk, child; I am only weak from being knocked about so much.” Her voice won me, it being rich, melodious, and soothing. I stepped toward her and at once assisted her to arise.

“For this kind act I will reward you. I will tell you the history of my life,” she said. I know now that I did wrong in listening to her. As I look over the past I can see that it was she who arrested what might have proved a successful career. My evil nature managed to get the better of me. I gave her my arm and walked her away from the crowd, as though we were very intimate.

“I hate crowds,” she said; “they are always so stupid that they are not accountable for their actions. They have eyes, yet do not see; ears they have, but hear not; minds they have, but think not. I hope you are not one of the kind to be found in that crowd.”

She paused, focused her big, brilliant eyes on me, and continued:

“My story is this: When I was very young and handsome I fell in love with a young prince, and he with me. His father, the King, did not oppose the match, so in due time we were united. My prince was the handsomest and most accomplished in the world, learned, and a master of sciences. For miles people came to hear his lectures. He was sought by the sick; the lame he made to walk and the blind to see. His fame spread from one end of the world to the other. Beloved by all was he. We were happy, the prince and I. Our children—you should have seen them! Words do not exist to portray them. The interruption to our happiness was due to the jealousy of a neighboring couple who were wrought up with envy because of the serene content I was enjoying. So one dark night, there being a violent storm, they crept into our house and imprisoned the prince. Thereupon they installed themselves—her husband as the prince, and herself as the princess. My beautiful children banished, and I know not where they are now. The imposters claim that their children are the children of royalty. I am broken-hearted!”

“It is strange,” I said, “that a thing like that could happen and I should not hear of it.”

“The people know it not,” she said, “they cannot even suspect it, since things go on in our household as of yore.”

“The pretender to my husband’s estate gives lectures with grand display. The crowds who hear him applaud these deliverances. Their lack of lucidity invests them with an air of wondrous wisdom. So bitterly have they inflamed the people against us that I am the target of stones and revilement whenever I assert myself.”

I begged her to tell me the names of herself and husband. Her name was Truth, she said, and that of her husband was Wisdom. Their children were Happiness, Justice, Art, Love, Progress. Falsehood and Deception were the usurpers.

“That story of yours is a strange one indeed, madam,” I said, “but I have the impression that Wisdom will be found at the university.”

“That’s what they all say,” she said, “but I have sought him there, and found him not. My husband’s teachings are universal, not university. There the people have the privilege only of contributing. They who are debarred provide the food, shelter, and raiment for them who do not toil.

“The buildings are tainted by the sweat and blood of the disinherited, who ‘built but enter not in.’ It is the home of dissected half-truths—acrobatic intellectuality. They chew over the indigestible, unnourishable yesterday, to be vomited and injected into others tomorrow.”

“Surely the university is better than no education,” I interposed.

“Education! The university has corrupted the very word. Instead of ‘drawing out’ or educing the powers of the student by the process of unfoldment and expansion of the faculties of mind and body, the university’s education means that some exterior influence is exerted on something to make it act, do, or think, contrary to the natural bent of the real self.

“When you say ‘educated dog,’ it means a dog that can turn somersaults, walk on two legs, and do things foreign to the real nature of dogs. An educated elephant is one that can waltz, stand on one leg, and drink whiskey. An educated horse is one that can waltz, keep time to music—accomplishments which were not intended for it by nature. An educated horse is unreliable at the plow or other horse work. An educated man is one taught to live that which is not himself. His education deals largely with clothing, manner of walk, how to sit at the table and eat. To talk about things you don’t like and look pleasant; act as if you enjoyed it, although you are bored. It unfits man for the work nature intended for him. He then becomes a helpless creature, living on the good will of others. No, my child, Wisdom is not in the university.”

At this I said, “I can tell you where Art can be found. Perhaps she knows where her father is. We have a beautiful art conservatory here; it is the home of art, where all the doings in the art world must be brought and their merits discovered and approved or tagged officially inartistic. There is much learning in the critics’ heads, so they tell me.”

“It is true, my child,” she said, “that Art is Wisdom’s child. She is our first born, and was closest to my husband’s heart. She is the pleasure and the happiness of those who know her, and is closely associated with all that brings joy to man. But Art is not where you suppose her to be. This curiosity shop, filled with statues, copies and imitations from the Mediæval and Greek, is a bedizened prostitute posing as my daughter Art.

“Art is life itself. It must come as an expression from within the man. His environment and his whole life must be expressed therein. The Mediæval and Greek art express this. The pictures and the statues that were carved, the bronzes that were hammered, had places in the buildings; those buildings had space in the old city, which as a united whole expressed the life of those people. To call an abstract or carved figure art is like calling an abstract nose man. It is ridiculous!

“Art is in all the activities of man. Art is not mysterious; it is life, not limited to the palette and the chisel; it is the joy of work and the result of a labor of love. When the housewife goes about her work and sings, there is art. When a mother makes a nightshirt for the child she loves, no matter how crude it is, that is art, for the real essence of art is instilled into it; it is a work of love, a work of happiness. To recognize art you must sense the conditions that environ the man who made the thing. Did he derive pleasure from doing it? If the artist or the artisan has interwoven his heart and his life into his work, art is there, and radiates from the product and illumines it.

“You cannot confine it to walls. Like life, it is spontaneous. It cannot be planned, organized, bottled, or labeled. It is the fruit of the heart. It always is. When we aim to be artistic and organize for it we become art-less. Think of the futility of planning and organizing an affair of the heart! Think of organizing yourself to fall in love! We find evidences of such fatuity in the Municipal Art League, organized to make Chicago a beautiful city. The result is so natural that its executive officer obstructs the street before his place of business with barrels, bundles, bales, and boxes.”

“Now I have it,” I said to the woman; “Justice will tell where Wisdom is, for where Justice is Wisdom cannot be far away. We will go together to the place where they punish a man if he does not deal in a brotherly manner. You can surely have nothing to say against this noble institution of Justice, where life and property are protected, and without which man would kill his brother and escape punishment for the crime.”

“You are wrong, my child,” she said. “The institution that is called Justice is conducted by the usurpers, who run it for their own benefit, and not at all for the happiness or advantage of the people. No specie of animal would tolerate being in prison and tortured by its own kind. Truth, Justice, and Wisdom need no force to compel obedience. Falsehood in the guise of protecting property needs force; and injunctions are issued against the toilers of the earth.

“This very morning,” she went on to say, “I visited one of these market-houses. I saw one man justified for killing a fellow-man who had taken a pair of shoes, and another condemned for taking a bit of food to stay the hunger of a famished family conducted to a prison cell. The father was denied the opportunity of continuing his fruitless search for work whereby to earn them a pittance, and his children are still hungry. And there were young girls who had been deprived of means to save themselves from want imprisoned for street-walking, by people who claim that the streets belong to the people. No, my child, neither Justice nor Wisdom will be found in such a place. It, too, is under the influence of Deception.”

“Why don’t you try the Church?” I asked. “There surely we may discover Wisdom. It is claimed God is there. The devotees at that shrine claim to be in constant communion with him, and they are very fine and honorable. They devote their time to fasting and praying; and are saving souls constantly. Think of the grandeur of such devotion! Yes, surely the Church will reveal the whereabouts of Wisdom, for I have been told that where God is, there is Wisdom.”

“Alas, my child,” sighed Truth, “you are wrong again. Two places there are where man seeks God and finds him not, within the walls of the temple, and at the graveside. ‘You cannot imprison me between walls,’ says God, ‘neither is my place with the dead. I am the living God of the living. Where misery is I am. My abode is with the rebel, the thief, the sick, the prostrate, and the prostitute.’ The churches save not; they sear the soul of man. Hypocrisy and Falsehood sit enthroned there. Neither these nor their disciples can ‘save the unsavable.’ Nor is that soul worth saving that would save itself. That soul that realizes the general welfare is saved. Whoso, then, strives for the tranquillity of the social whole and ‘seeketh not his own will find rest.’”

“I know the very people,” I suggested. “Think of the gentle and generous men and women in the Social Settlement work, who devote their lives and means to a kindly solution of social problems. These ‘modern saints’ are animated by brotherhood and good will; surely we shall find Wisdom there.”

“Wisdom is not there,” she responded. “The Social Settlement is only one other way of staying progress. Such expedients serve to palliate injustice—to quell the righteous insurgency of the disinherited and despoiled. It is a sop to the conscience of the amiable oppressor. This paltering with conscience is so much easier and cheaper than to ‘get off the backs’ of the beneficiaries. It is ‘jolly’ palmed off as justice. If you were obliged to carry a boil on your neck for the remainder of your life, its appearance would be improved if you decorate it. Better find a way to get rid of the boil.”

“Look here, madam,” I protested, with anger, “this wholesale condemning process will not do. This tearing down because there is some evil is uncalled for. You wish to destroy the Social Settlement and offer us nothing in place of the Benevolent Ice Fund and the Humane Pure Milk Supply. You wish to rob us of all. Truth would not tear down everything; it would preserve the good that is in the bad. I believe you are an impostor, madam, and—”

“Hush, child, not another word.” She put her hand over my mouth so I could not speak and said:

“The Red Cross Society with its skilled surgeons and nurses, along with their surgical instruments, bandages, and liniments, and words of good cheer, do a good work to the wounded; likewise does he who rubs down the prize fighter; but in the name of my beloved Wisdom, let the war cease.

“Stop the music! Stay the hands of the Red Cross! Let the horror of war be seen as it is! Remove the glittering wrapper of patriotism! Let civilization be seen in its nakedness! Let the cries and grunts of the maimed, limbless, and brainless patriots who are lying on the battle-field of commerce pierce the Heavens and reach the soul of God! ‘Your sacrifice nauseates me,’ said God, my Father. Wisdom says that it is not evil that is to be feared; it is the good which is in evil which decoys innocence and snares the unwary. It is not the trap that plays havoc with the rat; it is that virtuous, good, and noble bait, that pious, saintly piece of roast beef enshrined on its altar which allures the rodent to the trap. If you are not in position to fill the hole in the pathway of humanity, for God’s sake do not cover it with a spider-web. Falsehood by itself could harm no one; it could not exist. The interwoven grain of truth in falsehood is what works mischief.

“In place of war you shall have peace. You shall have sound limbs in place of crutches. Broad acres I will give you in place of stuffy garrets; instead of bottle milk you shall have pure mother milk, distilled from nutritious food and fresh air, among the songs of the birds and the poetry of nature.

“Let there be justice and you will not need charity.”

In despair I suggested that in the camps of the Socialists we might end our quest. “These good people,” I declared, “make great and noble sacrifices in a worthy cause. Let them enroll a majority of the voters, and an era of peace on earth, good will to man, will be ushered in. No more the struggle for subsistence. No competition, no thefts, no harlotry, no jails. Every one will have plenty. The petty quarrels that might still arise could be speedily settled by judges selected by all the people, whereas under the present régime, capital administers government for its own protection.”

“Wrong again, my child,” she said. “Wisdom is not in that camp. Capital is not the oppressor of mankind. It is the power back of capital that perverts society. Capital is a servant. When it attains mastery it becomes mischievous. Possession of wealth is desirable. The triumph of socialism would centralize it. When your industries are administered by the State, every foreman in the shop will be a politician. The rights and privileges you still retain will be denied you under socialism. The freedom of the individual will be lessened. Your little satraps, drunk with power, will seize more and more power, and you will lose even your slender privilege to ‘kick.’ No man, be he ever so pure, is strong enough and good enough to hold in his keeping the liberties of another. In short, you cannot obtain or maintain peace by force. The terms contradict each other.”

All at once her eyes brightened and her mien transformed to a beauty and a grandeur that amazed me.

“See,” she cried, as one enraptured, “I have found them—my mate and our bairns!”

I seemed to be floating in space. Presently I became aware of a bright and shining light. I was in the presence of a farmer spreading dung over the land, and he spoke to me while working.

“The more the stench of the dung, the more fragrant flowers it will produce,” he said. “The rottener the manure, the more strength-giving fruit it will bring forth. Life has so decreed that when a thing has become so vile that it cannot get worse, then it is so good that it makes other things better. There is nothing in life so great that the very least cannot become greater by becoming still less; letting itself be used as fertilizer to make other things greater. When thoughts become very, very, foolish they become unexcelled as fertilizer. No being has so much knowledge that the one who knows not cannot excel it by knowing still less. Everything has its use. All is one. Until you understand—.”

My heart trembled with fear, for a great darkness spread over the horizon. My senses were leaving me. I felt myself in the dung which was spread over the ground. I felt myself becoming a part of the earth, a part of the grass, a part of everything there is. Then again I felt that all there was of me was gathered up and put into a body again, and I was still in the presence of Wisdom, Truth, and their offspring.

Wisdom held me in his arms; his hand pointed to what appeared at first as a cloud. Each moment it became more dense.

It was a monster with a thousand tongues ever and ever changing form. I discerned familiar phases.

There were swords and bludgeons. Caps and gowns and books. Reformers, Social Settlements. Successful business men, Christian Scientists, and prostitutes. Virtuous women, corsets, clubs, law and order, Bibles, and crucifixes.

And all these and more made up the monster, Prejudice.

I realized that I was now alone. I heard as from a thousand raucous throats a great cry, addressed, I knew, to me:

“Thou fool: thou art ostracized.”