Professional Responsibility

Gaining Recognition

Jack London in Martin Eden (1913) tells the story of a young, uneducated, uncouth, but world-wise young man who struggles heroically to gain the affections of a young woman of "class." Martin Eden believes he will make himself worthy of Ruth Morris's love if he can educate himself and acquire the manners he has not learned as a seaman. To gain Ruth's love he must gain her respect. Martin, unable to afford a formal education, determines to educate himself, and in doing so discovers stories worth telling, stories about the life he and others have lived, stories that draw on his experiences in a class disfavored by Ruth, her brothers, parents, and their social circle.

Martin educates himself, gains Ruth's affection and love, and decides to make his living as a writer rather than a bank clerk, teacher, or lawyer. As he becomes more committed to the use of his new knowledge of language to tell stories, fictional and autobiographical, that give voice to his past as a seaman, to his education in worldly, profane matters, he develops his skills and talents.

Eden's self-education is tested when introduced to Ruth's bright, well-educated friends and teachers. Martin discovers that his knowledge holds up, that in fact, his self-education has given him a better understanding of life and politics than those who have received the formal credentials of education. Eden becomes ever more convinced that he can write and that his stories will sell, that he can make a living as a writer. He is, however, discouraged by his family, and more importantly, since Eden undertook his self-education to win Ruth Morris's love, discouraged by Ruth and her parents.

Martin tries to win Ruth's support by sharing with her what he writes, by encouraging her to use her critical intelligence to confirm for herself that his stories have value and that others will want to read them. Eden continues to write, developing an obsessive self-confidence in the face of repeated rejection of his stories by publishers.

With every hour devoted to writing, and still without an audience for his stories, Martin becomes a poor man and unacceptable to the class conscious (unconscious?) Ruth. In time, Martin is rejected by Ruth, her parents, and the socially prominent friends of her family. His stories remain unpublished.

But just when the rejection is most devastating and his future imperiled, there is a stroke of fate. One of Martin's obscure, non-fiction manuscripts, heavily philosophical, and by no means his best work, is published and wins acclaim. But by the time of its publication, he has given up writing. He is physically weak from starving himself, emotionally drained, and at the time of success, a defeated man. His defeat is so complete, and experienced so deeply, that the success does not buoy his spirits, even about writing. He submits, to now eager publishers, writings earlier rejected. He goes to dinner with socially prominent people but cannot overcome the knowledge that they are the very same people who rejected him prior to his new found public acclaim as a writer.

Martin, now publicly acclaimed, finally tells himself, they accept me now "for work already done." He is accepted by Ruth and her family, for the exact work, the exact same skills and stories, for which he had been rejected when he was poverty-stricken and unpublished. Martin knows, and cannot forget, that Ruth's love and acceptance depend on his new fame. Martin's fame is deserved, but his experience of rejection helps him see the falseness of fame. Martin knows that the absence of social recognition blinded Ruth and others in her circle to seeing what was valuable and worthwhile.

Jack London's story of Martin Eden exposes fame and the quixotic fate of artistic work (or for that matter beauty and justice) that turns on the fate of recognition. Ruth's education and knowledge, and that of her parents, and educated bothers and friends, had not prepared them to know good writing and how to value it. Ruth was able to love Martin, ultimately, only when the world confirmed what her education and class consciousness had not prepared her to accept, that the good, and the good life, is not a matter of who gets published, social acclaim, or mass acceptance (or even majority rule). The masses, the majority, society, those who get published and those who decide to publish them, are all significant benchmarks in knowing what is to be valued, who is to be honored, and to whom prizes will be conferred, but Martin Eden's story suggest caution in placing our faith in the value judgment of those who represent the establishment. Publishers decide what to publish, but publishers are no more immune from blindness and ignorance than Ruth and her family. The publishers who sought to publish Martin Eden and pay him handsomely for his stories sought the exact work they had earlier rejected. Martin Eden's despair did not prevent him from obtaining the devilish satisfaction that came from seeing publishers grovel over work that they had earlier rejected.

The moral lesson of Martin Eden's story is not that good prevails. Martin Eden did, eventually, get his work published and receive deserved acclaim. Jack London cuts the reader off from a simplistic reading of the story by having Eden set sail for a South Sea island to escape the hypocrisy in the world of his new found success. The book ends with Eden slipping quietly out of the hatch window of his suite into the dark waters as the ship sails on to its destination.

Martin Eden's fame speaks to how we judge what is good, and how society (and particular forms of class consciousness) lead to harmful mistakes in judgment about what (and who) is good. Eden's story, a story about desire, education and knowledge, poverty, class consciousness, and how one might live a good life, is in a story about ethics. Martin Eden fails ever as he succeeds. It is a failure to secure even with his commitment to and skill at writing authentic stories, of real value for real people, even a modicum acceptance, that pushes Martin to continue his work. But one is saddened by the knowledge that work of value is lost because it cannot be recognized. The problem is not simply a writer seeking an audience, but a problem each of us face as we seek others who can see our true worth.