Mammonart: An essay in economic interpretation — Context and Discussion

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Sinclair, Upton, 1878-1968 Project Gutenberg 2022 Not confirmed
Literature -- History and criticism -- Theory, etc.; Economics and literature; Arts and society Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Words 158,229
Reading time 688 min
Text sections 18

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Upton Sinclair's 1925 essay interprets Western art and literature through an economic lens, arguing that artists serve the leisure class. Structured as a series of polemical portraits, it moves from ancient Og to modern figures like Gautier, using recurring imagery of slavery and ennui.
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ave America, as of old they had tried to save Judea, from the hands of the defilers and the despoilers?

How did it happen that political agitators, living in the Mississippi Valley at the end of the nineteenth century, were identical in spirit with religious prophets in Asia Minor five hundred years before Christ? The answer is that civilizations rise and fall, and history repeats itself. Let me describe one historic process, and you watch my statement phrase by phrase, and see if you can tell whether I am referring to ancient Judea or to modern Kansas.

A people traveled for a long distance, fleeing from despotism and seeking religious liberty. They were a primitive, hardy people, having a stern faith in one God who personally directed their lives. They came to a rich land, and conquered it by hard fighting, under this personal direction of their God. They built homes, they gathered flocks and herds, they accumulated wealth; and they saw this wealth pouring into cities, to be absorbed by governing and trading classes. Their agricultural democracy evolved into a plutocratic imperialism. The landlords and the tax collectors left them nothing but a bare living; the fruits of their labor paid for palaces and temples with golden roofs, and for golden calves and monkey dinners, and rulers with a thousand chorus girls.

So there was revolt in the country districts, and one after another came prophets of discontent. Always these prophets were radical in the economic sense, voicing the wrongs of the poor and helpless, the widows and the orphans. Always they were conservative in the social and religious sense, calling the people back to simplicity and honesty of life, to faith in the one true God. Always they used the symbols of the old tribal creed; repudiating new-fangled divinities such as Baal and Darwin, and gathering at Armageddon to battle for the Lord. Throughout their lives they were stoned and persecuted and covered with ridicule; when they died they became their country’s glory, and their words were cherished and embodied in sacred records which school children were made to study.

Now, how much of that is Judea, and how much is Kansas?

Let us make clear the point, essential to our present argument, that from cover to cover the “Old Testament” is propaganda. Those who created it created it as propaganda, having no remotest idea of anything else. Nowadays our docile population reads it and accepts it as the literal inspired Word--not realizing that the book is divided between two kinds of propaganda, which exactly cancel each other: the propaganda of a ruling class, teaching reverence for kings and priests, and the propaganda of rebels, clamoring for the overthrow of these same kings and priests!

This Old Testament is also offered to us in the literature classes, so it will be worth our while to consider it from that point of view. Manifestly there is much of it which never pretended to be literature. There are weary chronicles of the doings of kings, and lists of their sons and grandsons. You may find acres of this in our big libraries, but it is classified as genealogy, not literature. Likewise there are the laws of the Hebrews, which belong in the legal department. There are architectural specifications for the temple, and rules of hygiene--all important to a historian, but rubbish to anybody else. There are a great number of legends which are eternally delightful to children, stories of the creation and the fall of man, and of gods and devils and miracles, precisely as important as similar stories among the ancient Anglo-Saxons, or the ancient Greeks, or the ancient Egyptians, or the ancient Hopis.

Among these stories are a few which display fine feeling and narrative skill, and so for the first time we have literature. There is one attempt at a drama; it is crude and confused--any sophomore, having taken a course in dramatic construction at a state university, could show the author of the Book of Job how to clarify his theme and cut out the repetitions. But in the midst of such crudities is magnificent poetry, which our university courses have not yet taught us to equal. Likewise there is some shrewd philosophy--and it is amusing to note that our verbal inspirationalists accept the worldly-wise common sense of the Proverbs and the bleak cynicism of Ecclesiastes as equally divine with the fervor of Isaiah and the fanatical rage of Jeremiah.

Upton Sinclair's Mammonart opens not with a preface but with a table of contents that reads like a satirical index of Western civilization: "Ogi, the Son of Og," "Mrs. Ogi Orders Jazz," "The Communist Almanac." The chapter titles themselves perform the book's central argument—that art and culture are products of economic forces, specifically the patronage of a leisure class. Sinclair structures his essay as a series of short, prosecutorial portraits of artists and writers, from Homer to Walt Whitman, each judged by his relationship to the ruling class. The recurring image is that of the artist as a hired hand, a "brain proprietor" whose work is bought and sold like any other commodity.

The Structure of Economic Portraiture

Mammonart is organized not as a continuous narrative but as a gallery of case studies. Each chapter—there are over eighty—takes up a single figure or theme: "The Lord's Anointed," "The Pious Poisoners," "The Harpooner of Hypocrisy." This structure allows Sinclair to move rapidly from ancient Greece to modern America, always returning to the same thesis: that art is propaganda for the owning class. The chapters are short, often no more than a few pages, and they accumulate like evidence in a prosecutor's brief. The effect is relentless; the reader is never allowed to forget that every aesthetic judgment has a price tag attached.

Recurring Images of Slavery and Ennui

Two images recur throughout the excerpts: the slave and the bored rich man. In his discussion of Théophile Gautier, Sinclair writes that the orgy is "possible only in a slave civilization" and that Gautier's heroes are "people in a besieged castle, living in deadly terror of an enemy who never fails to get them in the end: ennui." The word ennui becomes a kind of refrain, the disease of those who have too much and do nothing. Sinclair contrasts this with the labor of the masses, who "toil to heap up wealth for a privileged few to destroy in a night of riot." The image of the idle hero waiting for "the heavens to open" or "a revolution to break out" is used to expose the emptiness of leisure-class art.

Movement Between Ancient and Modern

Sinclair's essay moves freely across time, juxtaposing ancient and modern to show that the economic basis of art has not changed. The first chapter is "Ogi, the Son of Og," a prehistoric artist; later chapters take up "The Roman Four Hundred" and "The American Empire." This movement is not chronological but thematic: Sinclair is interested in patterns, not progress. He compares the patronage of the Roman patricians to that of the American millionaires, and he finds the same servility in both. The effect is to collapse historical distance, making Homer and Walt Whitman contemporaries in the same struggle against Mammon.

The Artist as Class Traitor or Lackey

Sinclair divides artists into two camps: those who serve the ruling class and those who betray it. The betrayers are few: he praises "The Good Grey Poet" (Whitman) and "The Trumpeter of Revolution" (likely a reference to a radical figure). But most artists, in his view, are lackeys. Gautier is the prime example: he "declares that he has no religion, no politics" but produces "leisure-class art" that glorifies the orgy. Sinclair's language is blunt: "The pretensions of art for art's sake turn out to be buncombe; the reality of the matter is art for orgy's sake." The artist's claim to independence is a lie; his work is always bought and paid for.

Readers approaching Mammonart should be prepared for a polemic, not a balanced survey. Sinclair's method is to reduce every artist to his economic function, and he does so with energy and wit. The book is best read as a performance—a sustained act of unmasking that aims to show the cash behind the canvas. Whether one agrees or not, the structure and imagery reward attention: the chapter titles alone tell a story of class war, and the recurring figure of the bored rich man haunts every page.

Reading Sinclair's relentless march through art’s ledger, I felt the weight of his unblinking gaze. Yet afterwards, the mind drifted to quieter shelves. There is a particular comfort in imagining those long afternoons, the sheer luxury of unhurried wandering between covers, far from any thesis. I thought of Idle Hours in a Library — Reading Companion as a gentler counterpart to his purposeful urgency.

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