The dreams of avarice, we all have them

 I often wish'd that I had clear,

For life, six hundred pounds a year.

 

-- Jonathan Swift 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Samuel Johnson, who quoted Jonathan Swift more than three thousand times in his dictionary, had himself to write for money most of his life, until he received a royal pension of £300 a year from King George III in 1762, the equivalent of about £53,400 today, or about $72,500.

 

In death, Johnson left his servant and friend Francis Barber an annuity of but £70 a year, from a fortune of just £750. This, however, turned out to be too generous an annual sum, seeing that only skilled tradesmen might make as much as £50 a year. A prudent man could have lived comfortably on less.

 

The money did run out in the hands of the spendthrift Barber. Not many years later he was forced to sell off Johnson memorabilia which he had inherited to pay debts he had incurred, and he died in poverty not seventeen years after Johnson had died.

 

This means that, for his part, Johnson himself had run through about £5,800 or so by the time he died in 1784. The servant had learned from his master. 

 

Swift, meanwhile, had died with a fortune of £12,000 in 1745. 

Tom Holland, author of DOMINION, observes that Christianity is the grandmother of Bolshevism, just as Oswald Spengler had maintained

Inescapable Influence, ‘How the Christian Revolution Remade the World’:

“That’s fine,” I seem to hear a skeptical reader saying. “This may work in the case of the Enlightenment, but you are not going to say that Marxism or Communism, for example, also had Christian roots, are you?” That’s precisely one of the subtler points Holland is making in Dominion. In the foundational texts of Christianity there are places where a fundamental solidarity with the poor and the hungry, the powerless and downtrodden, is formulated.  Jesus himself called these people “brothers,” and identified with them unreservedly (“Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me”), whereas for those at the other end of the power spectrum, he had a different message (“Woe to you who are rich!”). And the first generations of Christians understood quite well what Christ had meant: “We have become the scum of the earth, the refuse of the world,” writes Paul (1 Corinthians 4:13). Importantly, such a social vision is not just a peripheral feature of Christianity, or something added later by charitable souls, but stems from the central doctrine of Christianity: the Incarnation. As Holland puts it, “by making himself nothing, by taking on the very nature of a slave,” Christ had “plumbed the depths to which only the lowest, the poorest, the most persecuted and abused of mortals were confined.” In early Christian communities, all were “brothers” and “sisters,” everything was held in common, and power was deliberately shunned—a radical response to the radicalism of Christ’s own message. Various forms of what would later be called “socialism” or “communism,” recurrent throughout Christian history (from the Taborites to the Münster Anabaptists to countless other fringe groups) took those early communities as a good model to follow.

By the time Karl Marx entered the scene, then, Christianity already had a long and colorful history of toying with the communist idea. Coming from a solid rabbinical environment as he did, Marx didn’t fail to recognize a great Jewish teacher when he saw one, even when that teacher had ended up inspiring another religion altogether. Even the terminology used by Marx “to construct his model of class struggle—‘exploitation,’ ‘enslavement,’ ‘avarice’—owed less to the chill formulations of economists than to something far older: the claims to divine inspiration of the biblical prophets.” Marx’s famous formulation “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs” looks to Holland like a cheeky act of plagiarism from the Acts of the Apostles: “Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to everyone as he had needed.” 

The tyrant Lucre

 

Up, up, says Avarice; thou snor'st again,

Stretchest thy limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain:

The tyrant Lucre no denial takes;

At his command the unwilling sluggard wakes.

-- John Dryden