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Possessions
“The Gentler View,” Harper’s Weekly (February 19, 1910) : 27
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      To possess one’s possessions is one of the difficult achievements in a complicated life. To be possessed by them is the fate of the many, the undignified submersion we are all straining toward. It is a form of drowning we do not dislike, a manner of extinction we — the paradox is pleaded for — thrive under. One is forced into the attitude, on visiting those sunk to great depths, of kneeling in a glass-bottomed boat with eyes straining to see the creatures who move about in a tangle of sea-weed, shells, reflected lights, and hurrying currents. There they are, darting about, apparently absorbed in something, though it may only be in the completeness of their submersion, but quite unable to come into the pleasant air and sunlight or share the freedom which one is so completely enjoying. On rising from the kneeling position one is ecstatically conscious of the light, untrammelled buoyancy of one’s own state. It leads to a skipping of the spirit, the more to emphasize the lack of ballast. A vagabondish pace carries one rakishly along, the instinct to carol aroused solely by those weighted folk who suppose they are happy with not so much as their noses abovewater.
      No matter what one’s natural element — and there are humid moments when air seems a poor thing to boast of — no one can argue that she is satisfied to breathe furniture. To be buried under a pile of sofas and pianofortes and to insist that one likes it, is merely to argue that one is insensible and so can balance tons on one’s chest. The difficulty of flinging off mountains of possessions is the only argument for continuing to lie buried beneath them, and the only reason that such people are not abandoned by their friends is a morbid curiosity on the part of the friends which leads them continually to call down questioning “Hullo, there’s!” by way of making out if those below are still alive. Even after a final decision that it is not worth while to communicate with any one through masses of material possessions, a definite walking off is out of the question. A rooted disbelief that any one can live in such an atmosphere leads us back for just one more rap on the dividing wall, which, if answered, always brings from us a surprised, excited, “Yep, they’re still there.” Continued life under such circumstances seems so marked a triumph of money over mind.
      To have things because they are convenient and render life more livable is obviously the basis on which collectors of encumbrances start, but it would seem that they forget their original intentions almost immediately, for in a very short time they are the harassed hosts of more things than a dozen families have need of, their lives given over to providing shelter to chairs and cars, their nerves worn to a shred preventing these things which they do not want from being stolen from them. It would be an act of kindness to burgle them monthly. It would be an act of kindness to burgle them monthly. The persons who do so at less regular intervals may be tender-hearted friends acting at great personal risk in their best interests. Any one running for a train would stop to free a trapped kitten with whom she had no acquaintance whatever; yet, with abundant leisure on our hands, and knowing these trapped people intimately, we hesitate to loosen them from their three houses and four automobiles, or, if one has the type of mind, it is possible to be equally in need of unshackling from a canary and a four-room flat.
      It does not really signify how much one has, it is the susceptibility to an inverted mode of life which is one’s undoing. Apparently sensible folk, who would be deeply hurt if accused, are in reality living on the theory that instead of chairs being a means of their resting they are the chairs’ one chance of not feeling lonely. A home is not a place for them to return to when they are tired of travelling, they are people prevented from travelling because of the necessity of keeping the home aired and warmed. Trunks do not carry what they need; they carry assurance which their faltering trunks need, and in an effort to banish their baggage’s fear that it may be ill treated, or even lost, abjure trips where baggage is not encouraged. One’s head whirls at the fantastic reasoning such matter-of-fact folk are capable of.
      A party of ruddy Englishmen who would have reeled at the simplest metaphysical proposition were able for an hour to discuss, to an accompaniment of heavy breakfasting, how they were going to reach a polo match, with their extra ponies, men, grooms, wives, and motors. The combinations they suggested were marvels of ingenuity, but none of them suited, as they still left at least three ponies and two cars unused. They were in danger of missing the match altogether, when one of the wives offered to drive one of the cars. This used up a wife, but put a chauffeur out of employment. They grew seriously worried, as some of the ponies must be ridden because they were fresh and others because they would be stiff if they were not ridden, and yet the roads over which they were to ride were perfect for motoring. The mass of things to be used at no matter what cost to the owner grew so addling that a bystander with a crumbling brain murmured, “Oh, why don’t they feed the grooms to the horses, put the horses in the cars, and transport the whole blooming thing by a dirigible balloon?” “Oh, why don’t they feed the grooms to the horses, put the horses in the cars, and transport the whole blooming thing by a dirigible balloon?”
      Women are lost in their wardrobes, and it is with a thrill of amazement we see their chins peeking over their collars. It requires a staunch effort to push one’s way through so much lace and cloth. Their appearance is greeted with applause for their plucky survival. They at least have the right idea. They faintly realize that they are of greater importance than their clothes, and before they sing for the third and last time we frantically incite them to a brave struggle which may end in an overthrow of their possessions. It is shocking to our rightly exalted idea of ourselves to see a human cowed by inanimate objects. In the multitude of tyrannies to be overthrown this seems the most important.It is shocking to our rightly exalted idea of ourselves to see a human cowed by inanimate objects. In the multitude of tyrannies to be overthrown this seems the most important. We beg these prostrate slaves to rise and throw off the influence of velour curtains and mahogany polish.
      A revolution against furniture is recommended. It is almost bound to be a success, for there is no way in which these really stupid things can revenge themselves, once they are downed. We took them on our shoulders; it is for us to get them off. If courage could only be summoned and a general uprising organized! Face them bravely, ask them what in the name of all pretenders they pretend to be, and see how little they will have to say for themselves. Tell them that the time has come when they are to wait upon your convenience, not you on theirs; do not be afraid; in spite of their seeming power they are really quite harmless, and if there is not room in the same house for both you and them, do not hesitate about which should go. Turn them out neck and crop, and the spiritless band that scurries away will show of what poor stuff tyrants are made.
 

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