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CHAPTER 2 Benjamin Franklin THE Perfectibility of Man! Ah
heaven, what a dreary theme! The perfectibility of the Ford car! The
perfectibility of which man? I am many men. Which of them are you going to
perfect? I am not a mechanical contrivance. Education! Which of the various me's do you propose to educate,
and which do you propose to suppress? Anyhow, I defy you. I defy you, oh
society, to educate me or to suppress me, according to your dummy standards. The ideal man! And which is he, if
you please? Benjamin Franklin or Abraham Lincoln? The ideal man! Roosevelt or
Porfirio Diaz? There are other men in me, besides
this patient ass who sits here in a tweed jacket. What am I doing, playing
the patient ass in a tweed jacket? Who am I talking to? Who are you, at the
other end of this patience? Who are you? How many selves have
you? And which of these selves do you want to be? Is Yale College going to educate the self
that is in the dark of you, or Harvard College? The ideal self! Oh, but I have a
strange and fugitive self shut out and howling like
a wolf or a coyote under the ideal windows. See his red eyes in the dark?
This is the self who is coming into his own. The perfectibility of man, dear
God! When every man as long as he remains alive is in himself a multitude of
conflicting men. Which of these do you choose to perfect, at the expense of
every other? Old Daddy Franklin will tell you.
He'll rig him up for you, the pattern American. Oh, Franklin was the first
downright American. He knew what he was about, the sharp little man. He set
up the first dummy American. At the beginning of his career
this cunning little Benjamin drew up for himself a creed that should 'satisfy
the professors of every religion, but shock none'. Now wasn't that a real American
thing to do? '
That there is One God, who made all
things.' (But Benjamin made Him.) 'That He governs the world by His
Providence.' (Benjamin knowing all about
Providence.) '
That He ought to be worshipped with
adoration, prayer, and thanks- giving.' (Which cost
nothing.) 'But-' But me no buts, Benjamin, saith
the Lord. 'But that the most acceptable
service of God is doing good to men.' (God having no choice in the
matter.) '
That the soul is immortal.' (You'll see why, in the next
clause.) 'And that God will certainly
reward virtue and punish vice, either here or hereafter.' Now if Mr. Andrew Carnegie, or any
other millionaire, had wished to invent a God to suit his ends, he could not
have done better. Benjamin did it for him in the eighteenth century. God is
the supreme servant of men who want to get on, to produce. Providence.
The provider. The heavenly storekeeper. The everlasting Wanamaker. And this is all the
God the grandsons of the Pilgrim Fathers had left. Aloft on a pillar of
dollars. '
That the soul is immortal.' The trite way Benjamin says it! But man has a soul, though you
can't locate it either in his purse or his pocket-book or his heart or his
stomach or his head. The wholeness of a man is his soul. Not merely
that nice little comfortable bit which Benjamin marks out. It's a queer thing is a man's
soul. It is the whole of him. Which means it is the unknown him, as well as
the known. It seems to me just funny, professors and Benjamins
fixing the functions of the soul. Why, the soul of man is a vast forest, and
all Benjamin intended was a neat back garden. And we've all got to fit into
his kitchen garden scheme of things. Hail Columbia! The soul of man is a dark forest. The Hercynian Wood that scared the Romans so, and out of
which came the white-skinned hordes of the next civilization. Who knows what will come out of
the soul of man? The soul of man is a dark vast forest, with wild life in it.
Think of Benjamin fencing it off! Oh, but Benjamin fenced a little
tract that he called the soul of man, and proceeded to get it into cultivation.
Providence, forsooth! And they think that bit of barbed wire is going to keep
us in pound forever? More fools they. This is Benjamin's barbed wire
fence. He made himself a list of virtues, which he trotted inside like a grey
nag in a paddock. 1.
TEMPERANCE Eat
not to fulness; drink not to elevation. 2.
SILENCE Speak
not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation 3.
ORDER Let
all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its
time. 4.
RESOLUTION Resolve
to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve. 5.
FRUGALITY Make
no expense but to do good to others or yourself
i.e., waste nothing. 6.
INDUSTRY Lose
no time, be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary
action. 7.
SINCERITY Use
no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak
accordingly. 8.
JUSTICE Wrong
none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty. 9.
MODERATION Avoid
extremes, forbear resenting injuries as much as you think they deserve. 10.
CLEANLINESS Tolerate
no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation. 11.
TRANQUILLITY Be
not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable. 12.
CHASTITY Rarely
use venery but for health and offspring, never to dulness,
weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation. 13.
HUMILITY Imitate
Jesus and Socrates. A Quaker friend told Franklin that
he, Benjamin, was generally considered proud, so Benjamin put in the Humility
touch as an afterthought. The amusing part is the sort of humility it
displays. 'Imitate Jesus and Socrates,' and mind you don't outshine either of
these two. One can just imagine Socrates and Alcibiades roaring in their cups
over Philadelphian Benjamin, and Jesus looking at him a little puzzled, and
murmuring: 'Aren't you wise in your own conceit, Ben?' Henceforth be masterless,'
retorts Ben. 'Be ye each one his own master unto himself, and don't let even
the Lord put His spoke in.' 'Each man his own master' is but a puffing up of masterlessness. Well, the first of Americans
practiced this enticing list with assiduity, setting a national example. He
had the virtues in columns, and gave himself good and bad marks according as
he thought his behaviour deserved. Pity these conduct charts are lost to us.
He only remarks that Order was his stumbling block. He could not learn to be
neat and tidy. Isn't it nice to have nothing
worse to confess? He was a little model, was
Benjamin. Doctor Franklin. Snuff-coloured little
man! Immortal soul and all! The immortal soul part was a sort
of cheap insurance policy. Benjamin had no concern, really,
with the immortal soul. He was too busy with social man. (1) He swept and lighted the
streets of young Philadelphia. (2) He invented electrical
appliances. (3) He was the centre
of a moralizing club in Philadelphia, and he wrote the moral humorisms of Poor Richard. (4) He was a member of all the
important councils of Philadelphia, and then of the American colonies. (5) He won the cause of American
Independence at the French Court, and was the economic father of the United
States. Now what more can you want of a
man? And yet he is infra dig., even in Philadelphia. I admire him. I admire his sturdy
courage first of all, then his sagacity, then his glimpsing into the thunders
of electricity, then his common-sense humour. All
the qualities of a great man, and never more than a great citizen.
Middle-sized, sturdy, snuff-coloured Doctor
Franklin, one of the soundest citizens that ever trod or 'used venery'. I do not like him. And, by the way, I always thought books of
Venery were about hunting deer. There is a certain earnest naiveté‚
about him. Like a child. And like a little old man. He has again become as a
little child, always as wise as his grandfather, or wiser. Perhaps, as I say, the most
complete citizen that ever 'used venery'. Printer, philosopher, scientist,
author and patriot, impeccable husband and citizen, why isn't he an
archetype? Pioneer, Oh Pioneers! Benjamin was
one of the greatest pioneers of the United States. Yet we just can't do with
him. What's wrong with him then? Or
what's wrong with us? I can remember, when I was a
little boy, my father used to buy a scrubby yearly almanac with the sun and
moon and stars on the cover. And it used to prophesy bloodshed and famine.
But also crammed in corners it had little anecdotes and humorisms,
with a moral tag. And I used to have my little priggish laugh at the woman
who counted her chickens before they were hatched and so forth, and I was
convinced that honesty was the best policy, also a little priggishly. The
author of these bits was Poor Richard, and Poor Richard was Benjamin
Franklin, writing in Philadelphia well over a hundred years before. And probably I haven't got over those Poor Richard ` tags yet. I rankle still with them.
They are thorns in young flesh. Because, although I still believe
that honesty is the best policy, I dislike policy altogether; though it is
just as well not to count your chickens before they are hatched, it's still
more hateful to count them with gloating when they are hatched. It has taken
me many years and countless smarts to get out of that barbed wire moral
enclosure that Poor Richard rigged up. Here am I now in tatters and scratched
to ribbons, sitting in the middle of Benjamin's America looking at the barbed
wire, and the fat sheep crawling under the fence to get fat outside, and the
watch-dogs yelling at the gate lest by chance anyone should get out by the
proper exit. Oh America! Oh Benjamin! And I just utter a long loud curse
against Benjamin and the American corral. Moral America! Most moral Benjamin.
Sound, satisfied Ben! He had to go to the frontiers of
his State to settle some disturbance among the Indians. On this occasion he
writes: We found that they had made a
great bonfire in the middle of the square; they were all drunk, men and women
quarrelling and fighting. Their dark-coloured
bodies, half-naked, seen only by the
gloomy light of the bonfire, running after and beating one another
with fire-brands, accompanied by their horrid yellings,
formed a scene the most resembling our ideas of hell that could be well
imagined. There was no appeasing the tumult, and we retired to our lodging.
At midnight a number of them came thundering at our door, demanding more rum,
of which we took no notice. This, from the good doctor with such
suave complacency, is a little disenchanting. Almost too good to be true. But there you are! The barbed wire
fence. 'Extirpate these savages in order to make room for the cultivators of
the earth.' Oh, Benjamin Franklin! He even ' used venery' as a cultivator of
seed. Cultivate the earth, ye gods! The
Indians did that, as much as they needed. And they left off there. Who built
Chicago? Who cultivated the earth until it spawned Pittsburgh, Pa? The moral issue! Just look at it!
Cultivation included. If it's a mere choice of Kultur
or cultivation, I give it up. Which brings us right back to our
question, what's wrong with Benjamin, that we can't stand him? Or else,
what's wrong with us, that we kind fault with such a paragon? Man is a moral animal. All right.
I am a moral animal. And I'm going to remain such. I'm not going to be turned
into a virtuous little automaton as Benjamin would have me. 'This is good,
that is bad. Turn the little handle and let the good tap flow,' saith Benjamin, and all America with him. 'But first of
all extirpate those savages who are always turning on the bad tap.' I am a moral animal. But I am not
a moral machine. I don't work with a little set of handles or levers. The
Temperance- silence-order- resolution-frugality-industry-sincerity - justice-
moderation-cleanliness-tranquillity-chastity-humility
keyboard is not going to get me going. I'm really not just an automatic piano
with a moral Benjamin getting tunes out of me. Here's my creed, against
Benjamin's. This is what I believe: 'That I am I.' '
That my soul is a dark forest.' 'That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest.' 'That gods,
strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self,
and then go back.' '
That I must have the courage to let
them come and go.' '
That I will never let mankind put
anything over me, but that I will try always to recognize and submit to the
gods in me and the gods in other men and women.' There is my creed. He who runs may
read. He who prefers to crawl, or to go by gasoline,
can call it rot. Then for a 'list’. It is rather
fun to play at Benjamin. 1. TEMPERANCE Eat and carouse with Bacchus, or
munch dry bread with Jesus, but don't sit down without one of the gods. 2. SILENCE Be still when you have nothing to
say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say, and say it
hot. 3. ORDER Know that you are responsible to
the gods inside you and to the men in whom the gods are manifest. Recognize
your superiors and your inferiors, according to the gods. This is the root of all
order. 4. RESOLUTION Resolve to abide by your own
deepest promptings, and to sacrifice the smaller thing to the greater. Kill
when you must, and be killed the same: the must coming from the gods
inside you, or from the men in whom you recognize the Holy Ghost. 5. FRUGALITY Demand nothing; accept what you
see fit. Don't waste your pride or squander your emotion. 6. INDUSTRY Lose no time with ideals; serve
the Holy Ghost; never serve mankind. 7. SINCERITY To be sincere is to remember that
I am I, and that the other man is not me. 8. JUSTICE The only justice is to follow the
sincere intuition of the soul, angry or gentle. Anger is just, and pity is
just, but judgement is never just. 9. MODERATION Beware of absolutes. There are
many gods. 10. CLEANLINESS Don't be too clean. It
impoverishes the blood. 11. TRANQUILITY The soul has many motions, many
gods come and go. Try and find your deepest issue, in every
confusion, and abide by that. Obey the man in whom you recognize the
Holy Ghost; command when your honour comes to command. 12. CHASTITY Never 'use' venery at all. Follow
your passional impulse, if it be answered in the
other being; but never have any motive in mind, neither offspring nor health
nor even pleasure, nor even service. Only know that 'venery' is of the great
gods. An offering-up of yourself to the very great gods, the dark ones, and
nothing else. 13. HUMILITY See all men and women according to
the Holy Ghost that is within them. Never yield before the barren. There's my list. I have been
trying dimly to realize it for a long time, and only America and old Benjamin
have at last goaded me into trying to formulate it. , And now I, at least, know why I
can't stand Benjamin. He tries to take away my wholeness and my dark forest,
my freedom. For how can any man be free, without an illimitable background?
And Benjamin tries to shove me into a barbed wire paddock and make me grow
potatoes or Chicagoes. And how can I be free, without
gods that come and go? But Benjamin won't let anything exist except my useful
fellow men, and I'm sick of them; as for his Godhead, his Providence, He is
Head of nothing except a vast heavenly store that keeps every imaginable line
of goods, from victrolas to cat-o'-nine tails. And how can any man be free
without a soul of his own, that he believes in and won't sell at any price?
But Benjamin doesn't let me have a soul of my own. He says I am nothing but a
servant of mankind - galley-slave I call it - and if I don't get my wages
here below - that is, if Mr Pierpont Morgan or Mr Nosey Hebrew or the grand United States Government,
the great US, US or SOMEOFUS, manages to scoop in my bit, along with their
lump - why, never mind, I shall get my wages HEREAFTER. Oh Benjaminl
Oh Binjum! You do NOT suck me in any longer. And why, oh why should the snuff-coloured little trap have wanted to take us all in? Why
did he do it? Out of sheer human cussedness, in the first
place. We do all like to get things inside a barbed wire corral. Especially
our fellow men. We love to round them up inside the barbed wire enclosure of
FREEDOM, and make 'em work. 'Work,you free jewel, WORK!' shouts the liberator,
cracking his whip. Benjamin, I will not work. I do not choose to be a free
democrat. I am absolutely a servant of my own Holy Ghost. Sheer cussedness! But there was as
well the salt of a subtler purpose. Benjamin was just in his eyeholes - to
use an English vulgarism, meaning he was just delighted - when he was at
Paris judiciously milking money out of the French monarchy for the overthrow
of all monarchy. If you want to ride your horse to somewhere you must put a
bit in his mouth. And Benjamin wanted to ride his horse so that it would
upset the whole apple-cart of the old masters. He wanted the whole European
apple-cart upset. So he had to put a strong bit in the mouth of his ass. 'Henceforth be masterless.'
That is, he had to break-in the
human ass completely, so that much more might be broken, in the long run. For
the moment it was the British Government that had to have a hole knocked in
it. The first real hole it ever had: the breach of the Amurican
rebellion. Benjamin, in his sagacity, knew
that the breaking of the old world was a long process. In the depths of his
own underconsciousness he hated England, he hated
Europe, he hated the
whole corpus of the European being. He wanted to be American. But you can't
change your nature and mode of consciousness like changing your shoes. It is
a gradual shedding. Years must go by, and centuries must elapse before you
have finished. Like a son escaping from the domination of his parents. The
escape is not just one rupture. It is a long and half-secret process. So with the American. He was a
European when he first went over the Atlantic. He is in the main a recreant
European still. From Benjamin Franklin to Woodrow Wilson may be a long
stride, but it is a stride along the same road. There is no new road. The
same old road, become dreary and futile. Theoretic and materialistic. Why then did Benjamin set up this
dummy of a perfect citizen as a pattern to America ?
Of course, he did it in perfect good faith, as far as he knew. He thought it
simply was the true ideal. But what we think we do is not very
important. We never really know what we are doing. Either we are
materialistic instruments, like Benjamin, or we move in the gesture of
creation, from our deepest self, usually unconscious. We are only the actors, we are never wholly the authors of our own deeds
or works. IT is the author, the unknown inside us or outside us. The best we
can do is to try to hold ourselves in unison with the deeps which are inside
us. And the worst we can do is to try to have things our own way, when we run
counter to IT, and in the long run get our knuckles rapped for our
presumption. So Benjamin contriving money out
of the Court of France. He was contriving the first steps of the overthrow of
all Europe, France included. You can never have a new thing without breaking
an old. Europe happens to be the old thing. America, unless the people in
America assert themselves too much in opposition to the inner gods, should be
the new thing. The new thing is the death of the old. But you can't cut the
throat of an epoch. You've got to steal the life from it through several
centuries. And Benjamin worked for this both directly and indirectly. Directly, at the Court
of France, making a small but very dangerous hole in the side of England,
through which hole Europe has by now almost bled to death. And indirectly in
Philadelphia, setting up this unlovely, snuff-coloured
little ideal, or automaton, of a pattern American. The pattern American, this
dry, moral, utilitarian little democrat, has done more to ruin the old Europe
than any Russian nihilist. He has done it by slow attrition, like a son who
has stayed at home and obeyed his parents, all the while silently hating
their authority, and silently, in his soul, destroying not only their
authority but their whole existence. For the American spiritually stayed at
home in Europe. The spiritual home of America was, and still is, Europe. This
is the galling bondage, in spite of several billions of heaped-up gold. Your
heaps of gold are only so many muck-heaps, America, and will remain so till you
become a reality to yourselves. All this Americanizing and
mechanizing has been for the purpose of overthrowing the past. And now look
at America, tangled in her own barbed wire, and mastered by her own machines.
Absolutely got down by her own barbed wire of shalt-nots, and shut up fast in her own 'productive' machines
like millions of squirrels running in millions of cages. It is just a farce. Now is your chance, Europe. Now
let Hell loose and get your own back, and paddle your own canoe on a new sea,
while clever America lies on her muck-heaps of gold, strangled in her own
barbed wire of shalt-not ideals and shalt-not moralisms.
While she goes out to work like millions of squirrels in millions of cages.
Production! Let Hell loose, and get your own
back, Europe! |