a pale, dark-complexioned young man, elegantly attired, sits before me. his hair is neatly parted on the side and boldly thrown back over his forehead; he is clearly half snob and half artist; in short, one of that remarkable type of young man that is so common in a modern metropolis. his complaints are the customary complaints of the modern neurotic. he is tired and weak, incapable of prolonged mental application. he is a clerk in an office, and has already lost one position because of his inability to use his brains any longer. with some difficulty his father had secured a position for him in a bank where a bright future seems to await him but where a dull present bears him down. all day it’s nothing but figures, figures, figures. he cannot endure that. his patience is almost exhausted; the figures swim before his eyes, and he makes more mistakes than is tolerable in an official of a bank. he begs me for a certificate that will officially vouch for his unendurable condition and make it possible for him to resign from his office in an honourable way before he is discharged for incompetence.
“yes, and what will you do then? have you another position in prospect?”
[pg 58]
“certainly,” he replied, with a certain alacrity which was in striking contrast with his careless melancholy. “i want to make myself independent. i am not fitted for office work, and i can’t bear to be bossed around and instructed by every tom, dick, or harry who happens to have been on the job a few years longer than i.”
“ah! now i understand your inability to figure. you are living in a state of permanent psychic conflict. because you have no desire to work you cannot work. but what kind of business do you wish to go into? what have you learned?”
“learned? to tell the truth, only what one learns in a trade school. i don’t want to go into business. i only want the certificate to show my father that my health will not permit me to work in an office. do you think it’s good for anybody to work from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., with only one hour for luncheon?”
“that would be only eight hours work a day! i assure you that there are thousands who would be happy to work only so little. shall you work less when you are independent?”
“certainly. then i won’t have to work at all.”
“so!” i replied in amazement. “i am curious to know what sort of business that is where one doesn’t have to work. what do you intend to do when your father gives you money?”
a blissful smile passed over the interesting [pg 59]youth’s face like a beam of celestial light. “i know all about sports. i’m going to play the races!”
i must admit i was considerably taken aback. i know how reluctant to work many a modern man is whose whole energy is expended in dreams. but that a sensible man should think of such a thing was new to me. such a peculiar motivation for the purpose of becoming independent. the matter kept running through my head a long time. i soon noticed that this youth was only an extreme type of a very common species—a species that expresses itself in a passion for independence. when we investigate the deeper causes of this passion we invariably find the desire to secure for oneself the utmost amount of pleasure from a very small investment. but independence is only apparently the coveted ideal; behind it lies not only the desire for freedom, not only the proud feeling of self-reliance. no, in many cases the kernel of the matter is—laziness.
independence! proud, brazen word! how many sacrifices hast thou not demanded and dost still demand daily! who is ignorant of these little daily tragedies of which no newspaper makes mention! the salesman who, after he had for years enjoyed a care-free and assured position, has fallen a victim to the craving for independence, and has to contend with cares and worries so long that at last, broken down and battered, he renounces his beautiful dream and [pg 60]willingly submits his once proud neck to the yoke; the writer who starts his own newspaper and sees his hard-saved gold flow away in beautifully printed sheets; the actor who becomes the director of his own company; the merchant who builds his own factory,—an endless procession of men who wished to make themselves independent.
it would be one-sided not to admit that in addition to the aforementioned element of wanting to make one’s work easier there is also a certain ambition to get ahead of one’s neighbours. modern man is linked to life by a thousand bonds. he is only a little screw in a vast machine—a screw that has little or no influence on the working efficacy of the complicated apparatus, that can be lightly thrown aside or replaced. we all feel the burden of modern life, and instinctively we all fret under it and work against it. we long to sever the link that ties us to commonplace day and to become the lever that sets the machinery in motion.
stupid beginning! hopeless and thankless! who can be independent and absolute nowadays? is there any calling that can boast of standing outside life? it is a delusive dream which beckons and betrays us. we change masters only. that’s very simple. but we are far from becoming independent thereby. we have a hundred masters instead of one. the employee who has made himself “independent” has lost his master but becomes the slave of innumerable [pg 61]new tyrants to whose wills he must bow: his customers. therein he resembles the so-called free professions which are in reality not free. the physician is dependent upon the whims of his patients; the lawyer woos the favour of his clients; the writer groans under the knout of the cruelest of all tyrants: the public. and, strange to say, it is this last calling that appeals to most persons as the ideal of independence. it is almost a weekly occurrence to see some discontented youngster or an unhappy girl with a thick manuscript in his or her portfolio, begging to be recommended to some publisher and thus open a writer’s career to them. they want to become self reliant, independent. it is vain to point out to them that an author’s bread is not sweetened with the raisins of independence. others who have never written a line suddenly make up their minds to become journalists. they think that the will to become a journalist is all that is needed to be so. evidences of adequate preparation and qualification they find in the excellence of their school compositions. they do not suspect that the journalist’s independence is a myth that is credited only by those who have never smelled to journalism. that the journalist is the slave not only of the public but also of the hour. that not a minute of the day is his, and that he would gladly exchange his pen for any other, more massy tool, if such a thing were possible.
dissatisfaction with one’s calling is also one [pg 62]of the factors that sets the feeling for independence in motion. who is nowadays satisfied with his calling, or with himself?! this may be easily proved by referring to a striking phenomenon. in doing so we need not sing the praises of the “good old days.” but happiness in one’s work and contentment with one’s calling were certainly much more common than they are now. otherwise it could never have come to pass that the father’s calling should be transmitted to the sons generation after generation. how is it with us to-day? the physician cries: my son may be anything but a physician. the public official: my son shall be more fortunate than i; under no circumstances shall he be a public official. the actor: be what you will, my son, but not an artist; art is the bitterest bread. the merchant wants to make a lawyer of his son, the lawyer a merchant, etc.
we envy others because we are all dissatisfied with ourselves and unhappy. the great ideal that floats before our eyes is to become a clipper of coupons. money alone guarantees the road to independence. but if we were to ask the rich about this we would hear some surprising things. i know a lady who possesses a vast fortune and who is the absolute slave of her money. i recommended her to take a trip for her health’s sake. she replied: “do you think that i can go away for a week? you have no idea of all the work i have to do. now [pg 63]it’s something with the bureau of taxes, now it’s engaging a new superintendent! then there are the receptions! i am busy from morning till night.” when i advised her to hire a manager she laughed merrily: “i’d be in a fine fix if i did that! then i would lose the only recompense i have: my independence!”
wherever we look, the higher we go, the less of true independence do we find. what does the psychology of modern social feelings teach us? it shows us everywhere the same cry for independence which in the single individual we have described as the basic feeling of his social attitude. norway wanted its independence and got it. hungary stormily clamoured for independence. ireland, poland, persia, india, egypt, and numerous colonies are struggling for independence. in the structure of the state the urge for independence begets continual turmoil. austria can sing a plaintive song as to this. the demand of certain states for autonomy is the outcome of the same motive.
political tune—scurvy tune. however—wholly unintentionally our analysis brings us from the consideration of the individual to that of the group. that a modern state can never again attain that measure of independence that it once enjoyed is as clear to the political economist as to the sociologist. what we have said of the individual applies also to peoples.
must we then conclude that there is no independence? isn’t it possible then for man to [pg 64]elevate himself above his environment and take a loftier point of view?
there certainly is such a thing as independence. but we must draw a sharp line of distinction between two different kinds of independence. there is an inner and an outer independence. but it is only the inner independence that one can hope to attain wholly. it alone is capable of giving us that modicum of outward independence which may be laboriously wrested from life. a healthy philosophy of life that frees the spirit, makes renunciation easier and wishing harder, and a certain spiritual and bodily freedom from wanting for things,—these alone can give us that independence that the world affords. that is why the poorest of the poor is more independent than the richest of the rich.
we all know the beautiful story of the king whose physicians promised him health if he could wear the shirt of a happy man. messengers searched every corner of the world but, alas! could not find a happy man, till finally they came upon a merry hermit in the thickest part of a dark forest who seemed to be perfectly happy. but he, the only happy man in the wide world, had no shirt!
we would have to divest ourselves of many shirts to become independent within. we wear and lug about with us numberless suits, wrappings, which cover up our true selves and apparently safeguard us, whereas in reality they drag us down to the base earth.
