This Ugly Civilization
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THIS UGLY CIVILIZATION by RALPH BORSODI NEW YORK SIMON AND SCHUSTER 1 9 2 9 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED COPYRIGHT, 1929, BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC. 37 WEST 57 STREET NEW YORK PRINTED IN U. S. A. BY VAIL-BALLOU PRESS, BINGHAMTON BOUND BY H. WOLFF EST., N. Y. Dedicated to MYRTLE MAE BORSODI Whose Courage, Initiative and Resourcefulness Made the adventure possible Which inspired this book And for whose patient cooperation in its production A tribute of mere words is wholly Inadequate --PREFACE-- This book in its present form is an attempt, still largely unsatisfactory to myself, to project certain ideas evolved from a quest of comfort--material and philosophical--in some respect quite different from that which engages most of us today. If I have ventured to step from the humdrum practicality of economics to the sacred and dangerous precincts of philosophy, it is because philosophers generally seem to forget that the acquisition of food, clothing and shelter is prerequisite to the pursuit of the good, the true and the beautiful. Epistemology, ethics and esthetics acquire reality only if related to economics. While not too sanguine about my success in venturing into this field, the book cannot wholly fail if here and there it spurs men and women to free themselves from the ugliness of this civilization. If it directs the attention of even a few thinkers to the questions with which it deals, I will feel fully justified in having published it. It is impossible to acknowledge my indebtedness to all from whom I have taken counsel in the preparation of this book, but special mention must be made of my friend Guy M. Carleton, with whom I have discussed almost every point in it, and who has been good enough not only to study the manuscript, but to make many suggestions for its, improvement. RALPH BORSODI Suffern, New York. August, 1929 --CONTENTS-- BOOK I THE QUEST OF COMFORT PART I THIS UGLY CIVILIZATION I THIS UGLY CIVILIZATION II MACHINES III EFFICIENCY PART II THE FACTORY IV THE FACTORY ITSELF V THE FACTORY'S PRODUCTS VI THE FACTORY WORKERS VII THE FACTORYS CUSTOMERS VIII THE CONQUERING FACTORY SYSTEM PART III THE PERSONS IN THE DRAMA The Great Men and the Small IX THE PERSONS IN THE DRAMA X JOHN DOE, AVERAGE MAN: THE HERD-MINDED TYPE XI JOHN D. ROCKEFELLER: THE QUANTITY-MINDED TYPE XII CHARLES W. ELIOT: THE QUALITY-MINDED TYPE BOOK II THE CONQUEST OF COMFORT PART IV THE MATERIAL ASPECT XIII COMFORT XIV FOOD, CLOTHING AND SHELTER: THE ESSENTIALS OF COMFORT XV THE FACTORS IN THE QUEST OF COMFORT: I. THE HOMESTEAD XVI THE FACTORS IN THE QUEST OF COMFORT: II. TIME XVII THE FACTORS IN THE QUEST OF COMFORT: III MACHINES XVIII THE FACTORS IN THE QUEST OF COMFORT: IV. WISDOM PART V THE PHILOSOPHIC ASPECT XIX THE CONQUEST OF COMFORT XX THE BARRIERS TO COMFORT The Economic Barrier The Physiological Barrier The Social Barrier The Biological Barrier The Religious Barrier The Political Barrier The Moral Barrier The Psychological Barrier The Educational Barrier The Individual Barrier L'ENVOI XXI L'ENVOI REFERENCES BOOK I THE QUEST OF COMFORT Since humanity came into being man hath Enjoyed himself too little: that alone, my brethren, is our original sin. --Thus Spake Zarathustra. PART I THIS UGLY CIVILIZATION Shame, shame, shame– that is the history of man. --Thus Spake Zarathustra. CHAPTER I THIS UGLY CIVILIZATION THIS is an ugly civilization. It is a civilization of noise, smoke, smells, and crowds--of people content to live amidst the throbbing of its machines; the smoke and smells of its factories; the crowds and the discomforts of the cities of which it proudly boasts. The places in which the people work are noisy. The factories are filled with the recurring, though not the rhythmic, noises of machines and the crash and clatter incidental to their operation. The offices, too, are noisy with the rat-tat-tat of typewriters, the ringing of telephones, the grinding of adding machines. The streets on which the people move about, and around which they work and play, resound with the unending clatter of traffic--the roar of motors, the squeaks of brakes, the shrieks of sirens, and the banging of street cars. And even the homes in which they are supposed to rest are noisy because they are not only packed close together but built tier on tier so that the pianos, phonographs, and radios in them blare incongruously above, below, and on all sides of them. The people of this factory-dominated civilization accept its noisiness. For noise is the audible evidence of their prowess; the inescapable accompaniment of their civilization's progress. The greater the noise, the greater the civilization. The people of Pittsburgh, a city of more than half a million souls, live in a cloud of soot. Soot shuts out the sun by day; the moon and stars by night. Soot blackens Pittsburgh's churches and courthouses; its humble dwellings and towering office buildings. It creeps and sifts into Pittsburgh's homes. It smuts the walls, the draperies, the rugs, the furnishings in Pittsburgh's homes. In Pittsburgh people accept a sooty civilization because soot makes Pittsburgh great. The people of Chicago, a city of over three million souls, live under an encircling and overpowering smell. At breakfast, at luncheon, at dinner: while working and, playing; awake and asleep; Chicago's millions inhale penetrating smells from the mountains of dung and offal in its great stockyards. The greater the smells the stockyards make, the greater their contributions to Chicago. In Chicago people accept a smelly civilization because smells make Chicago great. The people of New York, a city of over six million souls, shuttle back and forth morning and night between their flats at one end and their jobs at the other end of a series of long underground tubes. Twice each work day throughout their lives New Yorkers push and are pushed into their noisy, sweaty, obscenely crowded subways, elevated railroads, street cars and busses. In New York people accept a civilization of crowded homes, crowded streets, crowded stores, crowded offices, crowded theatres because crowds make New York great. Pittsburgh is not our only sooty factory city; Chicago is not our only smelly stockyards town; New York is not our only crowded metropolis. The cities of the country differ from one another only in degrees of sootiness, smelliness, noisiness and crowdedness. What is most discouraging, those not so sooty as Pittsburgh, nor so smelly as Chicago, nor so crowded as New York, aspire to equal these three shining jewels of our civilization in the very things that make for ugliness. Travel on the Erie Railroad from New York to Buffalo and you will see how this civilization scars what should be one of the most beautiful regions of the world. The train moves through a countryside that is one unending delight--a succession of hills and valleys, fields and streams of entrancing loveliness. From the time it leaves the factory dotted area of northern New Jersey, which the sprawling cities of Jersey City, Passaic and Paterson make hideous, it travels through a region that should inspire all of those who dwell in it to the building of beautiful places in which to work and play. Instead, the cities and towns are eyesores, especially those that contain factories, and most of them do; made more hideous because of the contrast between the dingy places built by men and the natural beauty about them. What the factory has left undone to mar the country seems to have been done by the signs and billboards advertising factory products; by the huddle of stores and warehouses in which factory products are distributed; by the drab, box-like houses in which dwell the makers of factory products. Between the factory itself and these by-products of a factory dominated countryside all has been done that could be done to make the country ugly. Above all, this civilization is ugly because of the subtle hypocrisy with which it persuades the people to engage in the factory production of creature comforts while imposing conditions which destroy their capacity for enjoying them. With one hand it gives comforts--with the other hand it takes comfort itself away. The servitude to the factory which it enforces uniformly upon all men harnesses skilled workers and creative individuals in a repetitive treadmill which makes each muscle in their bodies, every drop of blood in their veins, the very fibres of their being, cry out in voiceless agony that they are being made to murder time--the irreplaceable stuff of which life itself is composed. For America is a respecter of things only, and time--why time is only something to be killed, or butchered into things which can be bought and sold. Wherever the factory dominates, there you will find the factory-generated waste of human life and natural resources, and the noise, soot, smell and crowds of industrialized America. For the misdirection of human energy which destroys beauty is neither exclusively American nor exclusively modern. Ugliness has existed in all ages and is to be found among all the peoples of the earth. The tragic universality of the "misfortune" to which Friedrich Nietzsche calls attention in "Thus Spake Zarathustra" has made ugliness the common curse of mankind. Says Nietzsche: There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny, than when the mighty of the earth are not also the first men. For "the mighty of the earth," when bereft of wisdom, have to devote themselves ruthlessly to perpetuating their own might.