“As to falsehood, treachery and the other military virtues with which you threaten me, I shall go, in them, as far as you; but from arson and assassination I recoil with horror. You see you have very little to burn, and you are not more than half alive anyhow.”
That, I submit, is a pretty fair definition of the position of the rich man who works for himself with his head. It seems worth while to put it on record while he is extant to challenge or verify; for the probability is that unless he mend his ways he will not much longer be rich, nor work, nor have a head.
II
In discussion of such murderous misdoings as those at Homestead and Coeur d’Alene it is amusing to observe all the champions of law and order gravely prating of “principles” and declaring with all the solemnity of owls that these sacred things have been violated. On that ground they have the argument all their own way. Indubitably there is hardly a fundamental principle of law and morals that rioting laborers have not footballed out of the field of consideration. Indubitably, too, in doing so they have forfeited, as they must have expected to forfeit, all the “moral support” for which they do not care. If there were any question of their culpability this solemn insistence upon it would lack something of the humor with which it is now invested, and which saves the observer from death by dejection.
It is not only in discussions of the “labor situation” that we hear this eternal babble of “principles.” It is never out of ear, and in politics is especially clamant. Every success in an election is yawped of as “a triumph of Republican (or Democratic) principles.” But neither in politics nor in the quarrels of laborers and their employers have principles a place as factors in the problem. Their use is to supply to both combatants a vocabulary of accusation and appeal. All the fierce talk of an antagonist’s violation of those eternal principles upon which organized society is founded—and the rest of it—what is it but the cry of the dog with the chewed ear? The dog that is chewing foregoes the advantage of song.
Human contests engaging any number of contestants are struggles, not of principles but of interests; and this is no less true of those decided by the ballot than of those in which the franker bullet gives judgment. Nor, but from considerations of prudence and expediency, will either party hesitate to transgress the limits of the law and outrage the sense of right. At Homestead and Wardner the laborers committed robbery, pillage and murder, as striking workmen invariably do when they dare, and as cowardly newspapers and politicians encourage them in doing. But what would you have? They conceive it to be to their interest to do these things. If capitalists conceived it to be to theirs they too would do them. They do not do them, for their interest lies in the supremacy of the law—under which they can suffer loss but do not suffer hunger.
“But they do murder,” say the labor unions; “they bring in gangs of armed mercenaries who shoot down honest workmen striving for their rights.” This is the baldest nonsense, as they know very well who utter it. The “Pinkerton men” are mere mercenaries and have no right place in our system, but there have been no instances of their attacking men not engaged in some unlawful prank. In the fight at Homestead the workmen were actually intrenched on premises belonging to the other side, where they had not the shadow of a legal right to be. American working men are not fools; they know well enough when they are rogues. But confession is not among the military virtues, and the question, Is roguery expedient? is not so simple that it can be determined by asking the first preacher that you meet.
It would be fair and fine all around if idle workmen would not riot nor idle employers meet force with force, but invoke the impossible sheriff. When the Dragon has been chained in the Bottomless Pit and we are living under the rule of the saints things will be so ordered, but in these evil times “revolutions are not made with rosewater,” and this is a revolution. What is being revolutionized is the relation between our old friends, Capital and Labor. The relation has already been altered many times, doubtless; once, we know, within the period covered by history, at least in the countries that we call civilized. The relation was formerly a severely simple one—the capitalist owned the laborer. Of the difficulty and the cost of abolishing that system it is needless to speak at length. Through centuries of time and with an appalling sacrifice of life the effort has gone on, a continuous war characterized by monstrous infractions of law and morals, by incalculable cruelty and crime. Our own generation has witnessed the culminating triumphs of this revolution, and now, while still the clank of the falling chains is echoing through the world, and still a diminishing multitude of the world’s workers is in bondage under the old system, the others, for whose liberation was all this “expense of spirit in a waste of shame,” are sharply challenging the advantage of the new. The new is, in truth, breaking down at every point. The relation of employer and employee is giving but little better satisfaction than that of master and slave. The difference between the two is, indeed, not nearly so broad as we persuade ourselves to think it. In many industries there is virtually no difference, and the tendency is more and more to effacement of the difference where it exists.
III
The “labor question”—how to get half enough to eat by working for it—is as old as appetite. It burned in Assyrian bosoms and tormented the soul of the ancient Egyptian. In his day and country the medium of exchange was grain. The banks—all except those of the Nile—were granaries, and a check was an order for so much grain. Taxes were paid in grain, salaries and bribes of state officials, soldiers’ wages, pensions, nearly everything. The wages of laborers and other persons improvident enough to work by the day were commonly paid in loaves of bread, as is shown by an account-book of the steward of an “Abode of Rameses,” which was possibly the Ramesseum at Thebes. Among the entries are such as this: “Phamenoth the 8th day. Paid out the bread to the folk, 40 persons, each 2 loaves, making 80”—which shows, too, that the worthy steward had a very pretty knack at arithmetic. When paid by the month, and sometimes when paid by the day, the laborer receiving his wages in corn got also a certain stated quantity of oil, which, however, was not considered as money, but as rations. In a papyrus preserved at Turin one Hanefer imparts some directions to one Hora concerning certain characteristic work of these old pyramid and temple builders: “Note that the men be divided into three gangs, each gang under its captain: six hundred men, making for each gang two hundred. Make them drag the three great blocks which are before the gate of the temple of Maut, and not for one single day let it be omitted to give out their portions of corn and oil.... Also let oil be given to each driver of a pair of oxen.”