Talk about Socialism with an old shopmate

by Anonymous

Now I had heard of the Socialists before, and as I had not the best opinion of them, I thought my Bible quite as good, and a pretty deal better than their books. “Tom,” says I, “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. If I shut my Bible, you are not likely to open as good a book, I have a notion; so we had better let well alone.” But Tom was very pressing; and so, putting his books on the table, he began to tell me, that the Socialists had no object in the world but the good of mankind; that everything had been for ages, and now was, all sixes and sevens; and that matters were not likely to be mended, till, burning our Bibles, and putting aside religion, and all our other fanciful notions, we became Socialists.

Thinks I to myself, Great cry and little wool, Tom; but as I had never looked into any of the books of the Socialists, I picked up the one that lay at the top, and turned over a few pages, dipping here and there.

I suppose the colour came into my cheeks; for Tom looked hard at me. “Tom,” says I, “if so be that I haven’t been walking on my head instead of my heels all the days of my life, and if I know black from white, why then this book of yours is an indecent and abominable book, that I should be ashamed to put into any body’s hand. Is it possible that Tom Fletcher, my old shopmate, can hold—” “Oh,” says Tom, looking as sharp as a hawk at the book in my hand, “oh,” says he, “I didn’t mean you to see that! I thought I had put that number a one side. I don’t hold exactly with it.” “Don’t hold exactly with it!” says I; “why it’s no more fit to be touched than a tarred stick. If the rest of your books are like it, a precious lot they must be altogether.”

Tom looked a little queerish, as if he was ashamed of the book and of himself too. Thinks I to myself, Now’s my time to have a rap at him; for though I feel kindly to him, yet as he seems to want it, a rap on the knuckles mayhap will do him good.

“And so, Tom,” says I, “this is one of the books of the Socialists, is it? One of the books that you want to recommend to me? Now tell me if you really think in your heart and conscience that that book is fit to be read by anybody?”

Tom looked first one way, then another; he was all abroad. At last, says he, “I meant to burn that book.” “Glad to hear it,” says I; so taking up the book, with his consent, I poked it between the bars of the grate, and a rare blaze it made, flaring half way up to the mantel piece, giving more light to the world than it had ever done before, or ever would have done in any other way.

Says I to Tom, when the filthy book was burned, says I, “Tom, when a man goes to market to buy a cheese, and the cheesemonger pushes in his borer that he may taste it, if he doesn’t like the bit that he bores out, it sets him against the whole cheese; for he naturally expects that one is like the other. Now it is just the same with your books: birds of a feather, you know, flock together; and as one of them has turned out to be a black crow, I hardly expect to find the rest of ’em to be white pigeons.”

Well, I took up all his books, one after another: some things in them I did understand and some I did’nt; for there was so much about impressions, and principles, and institutions, and propensities and organizations that it flustered me. It was clear that a longer head than mine had been concerned in getting ’em up; so all that I could do was to try to get at some of the marrow of them here and there.

I’m not over clever at book learning, but still I had gumption enough to make out a few points that settled my opinion about Socialism. I saw, or thought I saw, that the god of the Socialists was only a “Cause of all existences;” that he never troubled his head about us, and that we ought never to trouble our heads about him. That, in fact, there was no such God, in the Socialists’ opinion, as the gracious Almighty Being whom Christians worship.

I saw, too, that Socialists believed the Bible to be a lie, trumped up to keep silly people in bondage: that marriage was considered “the greatest crime against nature,” that ought to be done away with; that theft, adultery, blasphemy, and murder were no crimes, for man was “not a responsible being;” he was “neither to be blamed or praised, rewarded or punished for either his thoughts, feelings, or actions;” that death was “simply a change of one organization for another;” and that the Christian notions of hell, heaven, and hereafter were all a bag full of moonshine.