Читать книгу The Goose-step: A Study of American Education - Upton Sinclair - Страница 25

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No study of the University of Pennsylvania would be complete which failed to mention that it was founded by Benjamin Franklin, and gave an honorary degree to Thomas Paine. Franklin’s doctrines, political and religious, could not be taught in any university in America today, while as for Paine, he could not keep out of jail in any state of the Union. Theodore Roosevelt described Paine as “a filthy little atheist,” which makes one think of Agassiz’s student, who defined a lobster as “a red fish that swims backwards.” There were only three things wrong with the definition, said Agassiz; a lobster is not red, it is not a fish, and it does not swim backwards. Thomas Paine was not filthy, he was not little, and he wrote: “I believe in one God and no more.” Paine first proposed the Declaration of Independence, he saved the American Revolution by his eloquence, and he will come into his own when Americans are free men. Meantime, the great university which honored him would not dare to mention his name, and his place in the academic sunshine is taken by the Rev. William A. Sunday, D.D.

For the benefit of posterity, I explain that Sunday was an incredibly vulgar and blatant religious revivalist, who abused the labor movement and extolled the rich, and was used by the interlocking directorate to keep the eyes of the masses fixed on heaven. They carried him from one city to another all over the United States, and in Philadelphia they financed for him a four weeks’ campaign. Sunday had already received the degree of doctor of divinity from one American college; he was now welcomed with open arms by the University of Pennsylvania, which had barred Samuel Gompers from speaking, and more recently has barred James Maurer, president of the Pennsylvania State Federation of Labor.

About the reception of the Rev. Billy, you may read in his biography, a chapter headed “A Wonderful Day in a Great University.” “The greatest day of his crowded life,” the biographer comments, and quotes a few samples of the eloquence whereby the great evangelist promoted the cause of culture and scholarship. “Oh, Jesus, isn’t this a fine bunch?” he began his closing prayer. “Hot Cakes Off the Griddle” was the title of his address, and he portrayed the wife of Pilate—“one of those miserable, pliable, plastic, two-faced, two-by-four, lick-spittle, toot-my-own-horn sort of women”; and then Pilate himself—“one of those rathole, pin-headed, pliable, stand-pat, free-lunch, pie-counter politicians.” Speaking in the largest auditorium of the university, before the assembled students and instructors, Billy Sunday declared that “Jesus Christ is either the son of God or the natural offspring of a Jewish harlot.”

You will appreciate this even more when you learn that one of the underground charges laid against Scott Nearing was that he, when asked privately by a student for his opinion of the Episcopal Academy, had said that he would rather send a son of his to hell than to the academy. This shocked a trustee, Mr. Bell, Republican machine politician and ex-attorney general, who had never heard such language used in political life. But Mr. Bell did not object to the Rev. Sunday stating that ex-President Eliot of Harvard University was a man “so low-down he would need an aeroplane to get into hell.” Poor President Eliot, it should be explained, is a Unitarian—that is the reason he gets cussed!^[G]

G. Ordinarily a man’s domestic misfortunes are not proper basis for attack upon his ideas; but when a man sets himself up as a teacher of the young, when he claims that he has the one true and valid moral system, and pours out virulent abuse upon all who differ with his ideas—then it seems reasonable to call attention to the fact that the son of the evangelist, William A. Sunday, Jr., has been arrested in the city of Los Angeles twice within the past fortnight. The first time he was fined two hundred dollars for reckless driving of an automobile; the second time his home was raided, and he and seven of his guests were arrested upon complaint of the neighborhood that they have been conducting drunken debauches for many weeks.

Mr. Bell is not the only pious politician on this pious board. Senator George Wharton Pepper is a devout Episcopalian, leader of the church of J. P. Morgan and Company in the City of Brotherly Love. Mr. Pepper is so pious that he does not believe in education, he believes only in religion. In his book, “A Voice From the Crowd,” he says: “Subtract God and you get—not secular education, but no education at all.” Again he says: “The teacher who interprets all of life in terms of brotherhood is responsible for leading the students to forget God.” So, needless to say, Mr. Pepper was annoyed when Scott Nearing caused to be published in the Philadelphia “North American” a letter addressed to Billy Sunday, advocating the godless idea of brotherhood. Read Nearing’s evil words:

You have declared your interest in the salvation of Philadelphia.

Look around you and ask yourself what salvation means here.

The city is filled with unemployment and poverty; multitudes are literally starving; thousands of little children toil in the city’s factories and stores; its workers, a third of a million strong, have no workmen’s compensation law for their protection. Meanwhile the railroad interests which control the hard coal fields are reaping exorbitant profits; the traction company exacts the highest fares paid by the people of any American city; the manufacturers, intrenched at Harrisburg, are fighting tooth and claw to prevent the passage of up-to-date labor laws, and the vested interests are placing property rights above men’s souls.

These monstrous offenses against humanity—this defiance of the spirit of Christ’s gospel—exist today in the city which hears your message.

And further: the well-fed people, whose ease and luxury are built upon this poverty, child labor and exploitation, sit in your congregation, contribute to your campaign funds, entertain you socially, and invite you to hold prayer meetings in their homes.

These are they that bind grievous burdens on men’s shoulders, that make clean the outside of the cup and the platter—the devourers of widows’ houses, against whom Christ hurled His curses.

Here is Dives; yonder is Lazarus. And it is Dives who has made your campaign financially possible.

Make no mistake! The chief priests, scribes and Pharisees of Philadelphia will never crucify you while you deal in theological pleasantries. Has it occurred to you that their kindness is a return for your services in helping them to divert attention from real, pressing worldly injustice to heavenly bliss? Turn your oratorical brilliancy for a moment against low wages, over-work, unemployment, monopoly and special privilege.

Before you leave Philadelphia will you speak these truths?

We pray “Thy Kingdom come on earth.” While men are underpaid, while women are overworked, while children grow up in squalor, while exploitation and social injustice remain, the Kingdom of God never can come on earth and never will.

It was after the publication of this blasphemy that our interlocking trustees decided that Scott Nearing must go. They knew that the young professor’s colleagues were solidly behind him, and they also knew that there had been no room in Logan Hall big enough to hold the crowds of students who thronged to his lectures. So they must be cunning, and wait until both instructors and students had scattered to the country, and there was no longer a chance of organized action. On June 14 they voted not to reappoint Nearing, and the provost wrote him a brief note advising him of this action; at the same time the trustees voted privately that they would make no statement on the subject—regular gum-shoe work, such as they were accustomed to use when they put a bill through their city council, stealing the socks off the feet of William Penn’s statue!

But some of the alumni got together and formed a committee, and wrote letters to all the trustees, and also wrote letters to the press, and before long the newspaper reporters were dogging the trustees, trying to “smoke them out.” “Why should we make an explanation of what we choose to do as trustees?” demanded Mr. J. Levering Jones, trust company and street railway company and insurance company director and Republican machine politician. “The University of Pennsylvania is not a public institution.” And then the reporters got after the pious Senator Pepper, who also denied that the university was a public institution. The people of the state were putting up a million dollars a year for it—they are now putting up a million and a half; but they have no say as to how this million dollars is spent! The professors of the university were in the same position as Senator Pepper’s secretary, so this pious man declared; he had the same right to discharge them, and they had no more right to demand an explanation. Nor were the trustees obliged to pay attention to the provisions of the Wharton trust deed—in spite of the indignant protests of Mr. Morris, one of the trustees of the Wharton estate.

The agitation continued, and little by little these trustees were smoked out and forced to reveal themselves. Terrible rumors were spread as to what Scott Nearing had done. He had questioned a student, the son of a Philadelphia judge, and not liking the student’s answers, had sneered: “That is the kind of ignorance you would expect to find in judicial circles.” The above statement being widely quoted by the trustees, Nearing’s colleagues produced a signed statement from the student, that he had never met Professor Nearing or spoken to him; he had sat in Nearing’s classes, but had never been asked any oral questions by him.

The real reason behind the whole proceeding was revealed by a legislator up in Harrisburg, who got drunk at the Majestic Hotel and told how “Joe” Grundy, woolen manufacturer of Bristol, and president of the State Manufacturers’ Association, had fixed it up with Senator Buckman, his political boss, that the university should not get its annual appropriation until Nearing was fired. So Nearing was fired, and stayed fired, and that was the end of it. Several of his colleagues quit the university; the rest of them raised a fund to pay Nearing a year’s salary, as tribute of their admiration; but they themselves stayed on and behaved themselves, and there has been no more disturbance at the Wharton School. The University of Pennsylvania professors no longer go out and lecture against child labor, they no longer serve on public commissions—or if they do, their findings are what the interlocking directorate wishes found. There are no longer graft exposures in Philadelphia; as one professor remarked to me: “It’s all inside the heads of people who don’t tell!” And this same professor reported an exclamation which came from the lips of his dean: “Oh, how I hate reformers!”