Complete Prose Works: Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My FancyWhitman, Walt
History
Complete Prose Works: Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy
Whitman, Walt
American literature
I say we had best look our times and lands searchingly in the face, like
a physician diagnosing some deep disease. Never was there, perhaps,
more hollowness at heart than at present, and here in the United States.
Genuine belief seems to have left us. The underlying principles of the
States are not honestly believ'd in, (for all this hectic glow, and
these melo-dramatic screamings,) nor is humanity itself believ'd in.
What penetrating eye does not everywhere see through the mask? The
spectacle is appaling. We live in an atmosphere of hypocrisy throughout.
The men believe not in the women, nor the women in the men. A scornful
superciliousness rules in literature. The aim of all the _littérateurs_
is to find something to make fun of. A lot of churches, sects, &c., the
most dismal phantasms I know, usurp the name of religion. Conversation
is a mass of badinage. From deceit in the spirit, the mother of all
false deeds, the offspring is already incalculable. An acute and candid
person, in the revenue department in Washington, who is led by the
course of his employment to regularly visit the cities, north, south
and west, to investigate frauds, has talk'd much with me about his
discoveries. The depravity of the business classes of our country is
not less than has been supposed, but infinitely greater. The official
services of America, national, state, and municipal, in all their
branches and departments, except the judiciary, are saturated in
corruption, bribery, falsehood, mal-administration; and the judiciary
is tainted. The great cities reek with respectable as much as
non-respectable robbery and scoundrelism. In fashionable life,
flippancy, tepid amours, weak infidelism, small aims, or no aims at
all, only to kill time. In business, (this all-devouring modern word,
business,) the one sole object is, by any means, pecuniary gain. The
magician's serpent in the fable ate up all the other serpents; and
money-making is our magician's serpent, remaining today sole master of
the field. The best class we show, is but a mob of fashionably dress'd
speculators and vulgarians. True, indeed, behind this fantastic farce,
enacted on the visible stage of society, solid things and stupendous
labors are to be discover'd, existing crudely and going on in the
background, to advance and tell themselves in time. Yet the truths are
none the less terrible. I say that our New World democracy, however
great a success in uplifting the masses out of their sloughs, in
materialistic development, products, and in a certain highly-deceptive
superficial popular intellectuality, is, so far, an almost complete
failure in its social aspects, and in really grand religious, moral,
literary, and esthetic results. In vain do we march with unprecedented
strides to empire so colossal, outvying the antique, beyond Alexander's,
beyond the proudest sway of Rome. In vain have we annex'd Texas,
California, Alaska, and reach north for Canada and south for Cuba. It
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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