Revolution and Other Essays | Page 9

of all lands and all tongues and all time.
Few members of the capitalist class see the revolution. Most of them
are too ignorant, and many are too afraid to see it. It is the same old
story of every perishing ruling class in the world's history. Fat with
power and possession, drunken with success, and made soft by surfeit
and by cessation of struggle, they are like the drones clustered about the
honey vats when the worker-bees spring upon them to end their rotund
existence.
President Roosevelt vaguely sees the revolution, is frightened by it, and
recoils from seeing it. As he says: "Above all, we need to remember
that any kind of class animosity in the political world is, if possible,
even more wicked, even more destructive to national welfare, than
sectional, race, or religious animosity."
Class animosity in the political world, President Roosevelt maintains, is
wicked. But class animosity in the political world is the preachment of
the revolutionists. "Let the class wars in the industrial world continue,"
they say, "but extend the class war to the political world." As their
leader, Eugene V. Debs says: "So far as this struggle is concerned,
there is no good capitalist and no bad working-man. Every capitalist is
your enemy and every working-man is your friend."
Here is class animosity in the political world with a vengeance. And
here is revolution. In 1888 there were only 2,000 revolutionists of this
type in the United States; in 1900 there were 127,000 revolutionists; in
1904, 435,000 revolutionists. Wickedness of the President Roosevelt
definition evidently flourishes and increases in the United States. Quite
so, for it is the revolution that flourishes and increases.
Here and there a member of the capitalist class catches a clear glimpse
of the revolution, and raises a warning cry. But his class does not heed.
President Eliot of Harvard raised such a cry:
"I am forced to believe there is a present danger of socialism never
before so imminent in America in so dangerous a form, because never
before imminent in so well organized a form. The danger lies in the

obtaining control of the trades-unions by the socialists." And the
capitalist employers, instead of giving heed to the warnings, are
perfecting their strike-breaking organization and combining more
strongly than ever for a general assault upon that dearest of all things to
the trades-unions--the closed shop. In so far as this assault succeeds, by
just that much will the capitalist class shorten its lease of life. It is the
old, old story, over again and over again. The drunken drones still
cluster greedily about the honey vats.
Possibly one of the most amusing spectacles of to-day is the attitude of
the American press toward the revolution. It is also a pathetic spectacle.
It compels the onlooker to be aware of a distinct loss of pride in his
species. Dogmatic utterance from the mouth of ignorance may make
gods laugh, but it should make men weep. And the American editors
(in the general instance) are so impressive about it! The old
"divide-up," "men-are-NOT-born-free-and-equal," propositions are
enunciated gravely and sagely, as things white-hot and new from the
forge of human wisdom. Their feeble vapourings show no more than a
schoolboy's comprehension of the nature of the revolution. Parasites
themselves on the capitalist class, serving the capitalist class by
moulding public opinion, they, too, cluster drunkenly about the honey
vats.
Of course, this is true only of the large majority of American editors.
To say that it is true of all of them would be to cast too great obloquy
upon the human race. Also, it would be untrue, for here and there an
occasional editor does see clearly--and in his case, ruled by
stomach-incentive, is usually afraid to say what he thinks about it. So
far as the science and the sociology of the revolution are concerned, the
average editor is a generation or so behind the facts. He is intellectually
slothful, accepts no facts until they are accepted by the majority, and
prides himself upon his conservatism. He is an instinctive optimist,
prone to believe that what ought to be, is. The revolutionist gave this up
long ago, and believes not that what ought to be, is, but what is, is, and
that it may not be what it ought to be at all.
Now and then, rubbing his eyes, vigorously, an editor catches a sudden

glimpse of the revolution and breaks out in naive volubility, as, for
instance, the one who wrote the following in the Chicago Chronicle:
"American socialists are revolutionists. They know that they are
revolutionists. It is high time that other people should appreciate the
fact." A white-hot, brand-new discovery, and he proceeded to shout it
out from the housetops that we, forsooth, were revolutionists. Why, it