The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

Another influence on Tressell was Robert Blatchford who, in 1891, founded the Clarion, a socialist newspaper, which sold up to 90,000 copies a week. He also wrote two highly popular Utopian socialist essays, Merrie England (1895) and Britain for the British (1902), both of which are alluded to in The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Frankie, Owen’s son, when he tries to convert the local butcher by getting him to read ‘the two very best [socialist tracts] Happy England and England for the English’ (p.228). Whereas Morris was concerned with work, Blatchford was concerned with leisure. He believed that greater use of machines would mean that people had more free time which could be spent in education, self-improvement and in acquiring knowledge of the cultural heritage of the nation, ideas which form an important part of The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists. Owen, for example, argues that ‘civilisation – the accumulation of knowledge which has come down to us from our forefathers…is by right the common heritage of all’ (pp.29-30) The same point, together with other related issues, is expanded in detail in the chapter entitled ‘The Great Oration’, where Barrington describes the ideal socialist society.

The various socialist theories in the novel have drawn some criticism over the years, in particular in their negative portrayal of women, an attitude which reflects the decidedly anti-feminist drift within some areas of the late nineteenth century socialist movement. For example H. M. Hyndman, founder of the Social Democratic Federation, was utterly dismissive of feminist and sexual politics asserting in 1883 that he was ‘quite content to bear the reproach of chauvinism’.3 Pamela Fox has argued that The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists is biased towards maleness by its emphasis on traditional notions of work and production. She also notes how women are excluded not just from the workplace but also from the men’s leisure activities.4 While there is some truth in this argument it overlooks the fact that Tressell shows Ruth as having a far better grasp of economics than her husband, as is shown when he tries to balance their household budget (Chapter 3). Her greater understanding of money and, by implication, the capitalist system, gives her an advantage over the philanthropists who, despite Owen’s patient expositions, remain profoundly ignorant of its workings. Women, that is, have precisely the sort of insight that may precipitate change.

A more serious charge against the socialism of the novel is its denigration of working class culture which is judged wanting against a middle class one of ‘books, theatres, pictures[and] music’ (p.29). Without these accoutrements the philanthropists ‘might just as well be savage[s]’ (ibid.). The use of the word ‘savages’ bears traces of the imperialist period in which the book was written. Indeed, Owen’s whole approach to his fellow workers is that of a missionary assiduously trying to convert the natives. The philanthropists are encouraged to abandon their ‘primitive’ culture of football, betting and sex (p.545) for the ‘civilised’ one of temperance cafes, mechanics institutes and public lectures.

This attitude towards working class pastimes was characteristic of British socialists like the Fabians who urged the value of ‘rational recreation’ as opposed to a view of leisure as amusement, diversion or the pursuit of pleasure. Indeed, it was because so many socialists held the belief that ‘culture’ could exert a ‘civilising’ influence that they could not fully understand the realities of working class life. And this explains, in part, their inability to win widespread support for their cause. Owen, in other words, is as much to blame as the philanthropists for the failure of socialism in the novel. His scornful attitude towards their enjoyments alienates the philanthropists, making them unsympathetic to both his analysis of capitalism and his advocacy of socialism.

Society has of course changed in the eighty-five years since Tressell’s book was first published. The Marxist idea of class for instance, which prevails in the novel, has been criticised for being too simplistic. In particular it is now claimed that political, social and cultural phenomena are not merely the effects of the economic base but have their own autonomy and dynamic laws of development. The Marxist idea of class took no account of gender, or ethnicity or how people perceived their own class position. In addition, while someone could be categorised as working class because of their occupation, they could also be deemed middle class because of their cultural pursuits. Moreover, the term ‘working class’ presumes a uniformity of beliefs and practices which is not borne out by the diversity of ‘working class’ experience. Accordingly, modern commentators tend to study the history of ‘the working class’ less in terms of the growth of the trade union movement and the rise of the Labour party and more in terms of attitudes toward the home, the market place, the locality and the body.

But these ‘new’ ideas about class can also be found in The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists alongside the more traditional view. The novel demonstrates that class is composed of a number of different levels; it is not exclusively economic but also political, ideological and cultural. Moreover, there is no necessary connection between these different levels; Owen, for example, a member of ‘the working class’ values ‘high culture’ (p.29) whereas ‘The Brigands’, members of ‘the ruling class’ have no sense or understanding of culture at all (chapter 38); ‘[d]evoid of every ennobling thought or aspiration, they grovelled on the filthy ground, tearing up the flowers to get at the worms’(p.459).

With the abandonment of the Marxist concept of class, the view that capitalism is not going to be violently overthrown has now been accepted. The emphasis is on resistance, not revolution. This resistance which is rooted in the practices of everyday life, involves one adapting, manipulating or tricking the system so as to create one’s own meanings in opposition to those the system would like to impose.5 This view of resistance can also be found in The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists. Work, as Tressell shows, provides opportunities to make tactical raids on the system. Philpot, for example, ceases work to enjoy a ‘quiet smoke, remarking to himself: “This is where we get some of our own back.”’ (p.38), an idea that is repeated in chapters 8, 9, 21, and 42. The drawback is that such resistance, isolated and individual, never poses a real threat to the system and that is why Tressell ultimately emphasises the importance of class consciousness since that, he believes, is the basis for real change in society.

Tressell’s socialism is firmly rooted in its time, but this does not mean that it has no relevance to our society where there are still extremes of wealth and where one third of the working population is in low paid, insecure employment. Its relevance lies in its Utopian quality, and Utopia never goes out of fashion. What The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists proposes is a ‘co-operative commonwealth’ where ‘the benefits and pleasures conferred…by science and civilisation will be enjoyed equally by all’ (p.485). As such it provides a model by which to critique the present and plan for the future. The power of the novel lies in its ability to move us by the promise of a better life not in the tensions of its various socialisms. Indeed, the variety of socialisms in the novel make it eclectic rather than doctrinaire. Although this leads to certain inconsistencies, for example Tressell demanding the overthrow of capitalism while simultaneously supporting it by subscribing to its cultural heritage, it does not diminish the appeal of its vision. It is that vision which still has something to say to us today.

The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists as Literature

Despite, or perhaps because of its enormous popularity The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists has not received the critical attention it deserves. Its status as art has been compromised by its espousal of socialism. Such partisan writing goes against the tradition of the English novel which ‘first explore[s] to find “the true facts of this world” and then face[s] them to enable the reader to draw the necessary conclusions.’6 Angus Wilson, on the other hand, has argued that, since Jane Austen, ‘the English novel has shied away from essentials, reducing good and evil to mere right and wrong.’7 Seen in this light the passionate commitment of Tressell’s book represents a return to the fundamental duty of novel writing: to elaborate and advocate a notion of the good.

The literary credentials of Tressell’s novel are manifold, and are apparent in its imaginative force, its unity and its relation to tradition. Imaginative force refers to the quality of writing; the vividness of character, the sharply realised situations and the intensity of the vision. All these combine to produce a powerful effect on the reader. As a review in 1914 enthuses, ‘There is no one, no one at all, who will be, after reading it, quite the same as he was before.’8 Within the novel, imagination is also a stimulus to change. It is Owen’s ability to imagine his own son, Frankie, in the position of the young apprentice, Bert, toiling in the cold, poisonous workshop (p. 562) that enables him to demand that Rushton give the boy a fire. More generally, imagination is also the ability to envisage a different order of society, something of which the philanthropists are consistently incapable. ‘“That’s the worst of your arguments” says Crass to Owen, ‘[y]ou can’t never get very far without supposing some bloody ridiclus thing or other. Never mind about supposing things wot ain’t true; let’s ’ave facts and common sense’” (p. 29). This is a singularly ironic remark since, as the novel shows quite plainly, it is Crass who is ignorant of the facts and devoid of common sense. It is this failure of the philanthropists to understand the society they live in that prevents them from imagining a better one. The society of the imagination is one built on relationships not barriers. It is therefore inclusive and, in this way, the imaginative vision of the novel transcends the limitations of its class based analysis.

One of the reasons why the novel’s imaginative vision is so compelling lies in its fundamental unity, especially of imagery. This quality only became apparent when the full text was published in 1955. The main image in the book is that of a house, which represents both capitalist and socialist society. In repairing and decorating the house known as the ‘Cave’ the philanthropists are seen to be perpetuating the system that oppresses them. Barrington also uses the image of a house to explain the co-operative nature of socialism. ‘The men who put the slates on’, he notes, ‘are just as indispensable as the men who lay the foundations’ (p. 492). The use of the same image for both socialism and capitalism suggests that there is an affinity between the two systems and this complicates other parts of the novel where they are shown to exist in complete opposition to one another.

Capitalism itself is described as the ‘Battle of Life’ (p. 204). There are two main images associated with this battle; crime and evolution, the former being the most obvious. Throughout the novel the philanthropists are ironically referred to as criminals, ironically because it is not they who are shown to commit any illegal acts but rather Rushton, Didlum and Sweater who ‘robbed everybody’ (p.405). That, of course, is why they are called ‘the brigands’. The philanthropists are likened to criminals because their work is equivalent to being sentenced to ‘thirty years’ hard labour’ (p. 130). They are under constant surveillance ‘as if says Philpot to Harlow, ‘we was a couple of bloody convicts’ (p. 157). This remark recalls the design of Victorian prisons whereby inmates, confined to separate cells, were kept under permanent observation by officers stationed on a tower, the panoptican, in the middle of the building.

The system means that ‘[o]ne must either trample on others or be trampled upon oneself (p.204). This is why Tressell refers to it as the ‘Battle of Life’. He claims that this is a Christian description (ibid.) but the same phrase is also deployed by Darwin who talked about the ‘great and complex battle of life.’9 Tressell’s use of Darwinian ideas and idioms, while it is another instance of unity in the novel, nevertheless complicates its vision of socialism. Owen, for example, believes that the existing order is ‘bound to fall to pieces because of its own rottenness’ (p.369). That rottenness lies in the way everybody has to compete with everybody else but it is precisely this struggle, according to Darwin, which ensures stability and balance; in short the continuation of the present system. A further point is that while socialism is regarded as ‘inevitable’ (p. 545), the culmination of the historical process, evolution is ongoing and without any predetermined end. Finally, evolution proposes that nothing could have happened any differently to the way it did, and this view finds expression in the novel through the frequent repetition of the word ‘compel’. The meaning of this term, however, is severely at odds with the educational aim of the book which is to teach people that things could be ordered otherwise. In short, the socialism of The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists is skewed by its evolutionary imagery and diction.

The novel also shows great unity of plot. Incidents are anticipated and situations paralleled. Ruth’s baby calls out ‘Dad! Dad! Dad!’ (p.181) to Slyme, an incident which looks ahead to her giving birth to his child. Similarly, the accidents that Harlow and Easton narrowly avoid while up a ladder (pp.400-1) prefigure Philpot’s death in Chapter 46. An example of situations paralleling one another would be the respective meetings of the philanthropists and the brigands. The former gather to organise their annual ‘Beano’ (Chapter 41) while the latter manipulate a council meeting for their own ends (Chapter 39). The philanthropists are shown to have an exaggerated respect for procedure while the brigands have a cynical disregard of it. The purpose of juxtaposing these scenes in the novel is to underline the point that the philanthropists, in contrast to the brigands, are incapable of taking charge of their own destiny. There is also the further suggestion that democracy is a bankrupt system since its apparatus appears as either farcical or corrupt; a suggestion which reinforces the latent revolutionary socialism of the novel.

The unity of The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists can be read in three ways. First, as a metaphor for the socialist society of the future where everything is connected and interdependent. Second, the intricate architecture of the work represents the values of craftsmanship against the ‘scamping’ that the men are forced to practice by their employers. The third way of reading the unity of the novel is altogether less positive. This way perceives the tightly interlocking structure as an analogy for the capitalist system itself. The parallels and repetitions are symptomatic of the way capitalism seems able to reproduce itself, and this problematises Tressell’s repeated claim that the existing state of things can be changed.

The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists and the English Novel Tradition

Jack Mitchell has situated The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists within the English novel tradition.10 One characteristic of that tradition is to see society as a whole, as a community, and another is to resolve whatever prevents that community from being realised. Both these inform the ‘condition of England’ novels of the nineteenth century of which Tressell’s is perhaps the last.

Mitchell traces Tressell’s line of descent from John Bunyan through, among others, Jonathan Swift, Daniel Defoe, Henry Fielding and Charles Dickens. Tressell himself said that he read Fielding and Dickens while he was writing The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists but it is the influence of Dickens which is most evident in the book, particularly in the way the reader’s attention is directed to the sufferings of children: how their bodies are deformed, how their minds are stultified and their sensibilities brutalised. But the children in the novel are not just victims, they also represent hope for the future: they disregard the class distinctions (pp. 77-8) and, in contrast to the selfishness which the system demands, they show themselves willing to share (p. 136).

In addition to signifying the contradictory qualities of pathos and optimism the term ‘children’ is frequently used of the philanthropists. This brings into relief the latent paternalism in the novel, present in such gestures as Barrington’s gift of £10 to the Owens. Here again Tressell shows his indebtedness to Dickens whose kind hearted capitalists, such as the Cheeryble brothers in Nicholas Nickleby, implied that the system did not need to be fundamentally changed.

Tressell’s novel can also be seen as belonging to the tradition of working class writing. The standard working class novel of the nineteenth century such as Thomas Martin Wheeler’s Sunshine and Shadows (1849) or H. J. Bramsbury’s A Working Class Tragedy (1895), was highly partisan but ‘failed to get inside working class life’ because it relied on the formula of the romance, mystery or adventure novel.11 Tressell was able to overcome this limitation by recourse to the techniques of the realistic novel, those techniques themselves being modified by the commitment to socialism. Hence, unlike the bourgeois novel, The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists is more interested in the fate of the community than just the individual.

The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists and Modernism

The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists was finished in 1910 – the year, according to Virginia Woolf, that Modernism began.12 Hence it is not surprising that the novel has certain modernist characteristics, specifically an interest in the unifying power of symbol and a self-consciousness about the problems of artistic representation. The first is apparent in Tressell’s symbol of the house which gives a formal unity to a text riddled by contradictions, for example the conflicting notion that people are compelled to behave in certain ways while simultaneously being free to change that behaviour. In this respect Tressell’s symbolism operates like that of T. S. Eliot’s or James Joyce’s; it draws the fragments of modern experience into an ordered whole.

The novel’s self-consciousness about art, another modernist feature, is more problematic. One of the basic ideas of modernist art was that ‘the principle of reality [had become] peculiarly difficult to grasp.’13 This is registered in Tressell’s novel by Owen’s constant struggle to express reality in such a way that the philanthropists will recognise it (p. 267). At the same time, however, Owen is in no doubt about the nature of that reality; it is completely knowable.

The Modernists were concerned with the process of fiction making, and the political aspect of this is explored in the critique of newspapers, The Obscurer and the Daily Chloroform. Their fictions, or false pictures of reality, distract the reader’s attention from what is actually going on around them. Hence they are like those stories in which readers become so absorbed that they bump into things on the street (p.400). The irony is that the criticism of these fictions takes place within a text that is itself a fiction. Tressell may claim that he has ‘invented nothing’ (p.14) but this elides his huge debt to the tradition which posits the theory that the novel is a set of techniques for representing reality. Fictions, it seems, can only be exposed by other fictions and this complicates Owen’s claim to ‘know’ reality. At this point, the novel ceases to be a corrective of false consciousness and instead approximates to the modernist preoccupation with the nature of consciousness itself. Indeed it could be argued that The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists supplies the answer to its own question of why the philanthropists cannot see the truth – because there is none to see.

The implication that there is no single truth reflects the break up of a common culture. This opens the way to there being a variety of realities, something which is implicit in the frequent references to the philanthropists each ‘telling a different story’ (p. 140). These stories are never heard; they are occluded by Owen’s lectures on socialism which thereby devalue the philanthropists’ experience in much the same way that the system itself does. This is consistent with the operation of ‘high’ culture in the novel; it is identified with ‘humanity’ whereas the workers with their ‘beer, football, betting and, of course, one other subject [are] ‘wild beasts’ (p. 545). Owen’s lectures and the artefacts of ‘high’ culture are used to place the workers at the bottom of the social hierarchy. This is exactly how the bible is used by the ruling class in the novel; its authority is used to maintain the workers in a subservient role. Owen, too, does not really want the philanthropists to have their own ideas but to agree with him. Once again, the novel seems to participate in the economy of repression that it sets out to criticise.

Although The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists seems, at times, to be a demonstration of how the system uses fiction and its power to situate persons in order to perpetuate itself, it is also the case that the novel encourages a sceptical approach to these aspects of textuality. The hallucinatory power of fiction is criticised in Chapter 29, ‘The Pandorama’, which contains the same ideas found in the rest of the novel but which presents them in a way which anticipates some of the techniques of Brecht’s epic theatre. The very fact that they are presented as scenes is itself a disruption of the written word, as are those diagrams, charts and worksheets found throughout the novel.

The scenes are commented upon by Bert, whose commentary prevents the audience from becoming too absorbed in what they see. This is further prevented by the scenes being complete in themselves. Hence a storm at sea is followed by police breaking up a crowd in Berlin. Such sharp juxtapositions encourage a detached scrutiny rather than an imaginative identification with what is depicted. The discrete procession of scenes breaks with the novel’s linked sequence of episodes which stimulate the reader to want to know what happens next rather than concentrate on what is happening now. The use of song either as a direct comment or else an ironic contrast is also used to break the spell of immediacy and inhibit the emotional involvement that characterises the rest of the novel. And, in Chapter 21, it is further suggested that the philanthropists can break the spell of fiction if they act it out, so distancing themselves from it.

The power of fiction to define and place people is also criticised even as it is practised in the novel. This is apparent when a speaker, who claims to believe every word in the bible, is challenged to drink poison which will not, says the bible, harm one of Christ’s followers. In declining the invitation the speaker undermines the authority of the bible to legitimise social divisions. Owen’s adherence to ‘high’ culture is also interrogated in the novel, primarily through his having to consistently argue his case with the philanthropists. Moreover, Owen’s negative attitude towards the body expressed in his unease at the philanthropists’ interest in sex (p.141) and in his revulsion at their humorous indulgence in ‘downward explosions of flatulence’ (p.220) gives his position a strictly abstract appeal. The culture of the philanthropists, with its emphasis on physical activities, has a certain vital energy that is missing from the ‘rational pleasure[s]’ (p. 494) of socialists. Indeed, it is this energy that is the source of the philanthropists’ occasional acts of resistance mentioned earlier.

Conclusion