the wrong font

The Japanese expression “seisatu yodatu” is made up of four separate kanji: 生 (sei) meaning “life”; 殺“ (satu) meaning “to end life,” i.e., to kill; 与 (yo) meaning “to give”; and 奪” (datu) meaning “to take.” Historically, it was used for those who held absolute power over their servants, and it embodies the terrible contradiction that someone who can grant mercy–and, in the process, to compel worship–also has the power to withhold it.

Which brings us to Fezziwig.

In Stave II of A Christmas Carol, Scrooge holds the following conversation with the Ghost of Christmas Past, after being shown Fezziwig’s ball. [Emphasis added]:

“A small matter,” said the Ghost, “to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.”

“Small!” echoed Scrooge.

The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig: and when he had done so, said,

“Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money: three or four perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?”

“It isn’t that,” said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter, self. “It isn’t that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count ’em up: what then? The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”

Fezziwig is Scrooge’s role model. He already enjoys that kind of paternalism that Scrooge fancies for himself—balancing the terrible with the beneficent, doling out both in just such measure as to keep its recipients forever off balance and forever in debt.

In the end, Scrooge achieves his dream of becoming Fezziwig. Here he is in Stave V, after his big conversion. [Emphasis added]:

“Now, I’ll tell you what, my friend,” said Scrooge, “I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore,” he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again; “and therefore I am about to raise your salary!”

Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.

“A merry Christmas, Bob!” said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. “A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you, for many a year! I’ll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob! 

What happens to Bob? There is no insurance against Scrooge backsliding, no mention of the thousands of other families that were not so lucky as to be the recipients of supernaturally-derived charity on Christmas, no hint of government safeguards or worker agency. In fact, government isn’t mentioned at all, other than sundry references to the Lord Mayor and “driving a coach-and-six…through a bad young Act of Parliament.” Libertarians need not worry about A Christmas Carol—there’s more of Ayn Rand than of Karl Marx in the thing.

Traumatized old capitalists having sudden healing episodes in the middle of the night is no basis for an equitable system of labor. Or healthcare, for that matter, as we know that one of Scrooge’s “gifts” at the end of the story is his decision—which resides solely in his own power—that Tiny Tim is to live. Yet, somehow, we are meant to find this heartwarming.

Seisatu yodatu, indeed!