The sound of breaking glass startled him. This was the first time that Emile Durkheim had heard such a commotion coming from the upstairs room at The Red Lion pub. The downstairs area where he sat was relatively empty (being early in the evening on a Tuesday) save for a few of the pub's more frequent customers. Somewhat of a stranger to the usual atmosphere of taverns on any given night, Durkheim found the noise to be quite troubling.
Durkheim turned toward the barkeep. "What exactly is going on upstairs? Is everything alright?"
The barkeep gave a half-hearted shrug, threw his rag over his shoulder, and directed his attention back to the glasses in the sink before him. Feeling somewhat frustrated at his indifference, Durkheim grabbed his papers from the counter and proceeded to head upstairs to investigate the matter himself.
As he came up the last few steps, he soon discovered the cause of the ruckus. There before him was Karl Marx, trying his best to not spill a drop of beer from his two pints as he stumbled around several tables filled with young factory workers. Despite the fact that the men were no more than two to three feet away from him, he couldn't refrain from speaking at a volume that one could easily argue was even too much for the noise of a pub. Just as Marx was making his way around the corner of the last table he caught sight of Durkheim examining him from the top of the staircase. Marx came to an abrupt stop. The room fell silent.
"COMRADE!" Marx shouted, as he threw both arms in the air, unintentionally spilling his beer over those men unfortunate enough to be nearest him.
"Please - come join us! Join the revolution! We have much to discuss. So much to do! Of course… the revolution comes second. First, we must address other matters. Barkeep!" he screamed over his shoulder. "This man is thirsty. Another of your best, please!"
Marx motioned for Durkheim to take a seat.
"I was just talking to these fine young men about the conditions that they are working under. Very sad conditions, indeed. Enough to make a man not feel like a man, you know? Because you're not. These men are not. These men are not men, that is. Not human. They have been reduced to commodities. They lose themselves! All of what they do is not their own. What of creative spontaneity? Ha! That is something that these men will not know until they are freed. Private property is the bane of my existence. Of mankind's existence! When one has no access to the means of production one must abide by the thoughts and prejudices of the ruling class. This should not be so! Who is with me?!"
A seemingly easy-going man, sitting a few feet to the left of Marx, came to his feet.
"Allow me to speak for my dear friend. It is clear that this awful form of government called capitalism is holding us down. Why should we toil under the rule of someone else? Especially when these men, who work you to the bone, are keeping nearly all of the profits? They are becoming richer and richer as your lives have stayed the same. This system is broken! It is time that we revolt!"
Several of the men raised their pints. Others clapped their hands. A few "huzzahs" echoed throughout the room.
Durkheim turned to Marx.
"Is it really a fair assumption to state that capitalism is a broken system? And this is not to say that I agree with the tenets of capitalism… but why does it continue to survive if, like you're saying, it simply does not work? Capitalism must serve some sort of purpose, yes?"
It was clear from Marx's puzzled expression that this was not the response he expected to hear.
"Of course it does! Its purpose is profit. More and more and MORE profit."
"It serves the purpose of working a man until he is completely removed from the reality of his own existence. And it is these conditions that then shape a man's consciousness. These conditions must change. Young man—I am beginning to think that you are not on the side of these working-class men as I originally supposed... You are either for us or against us… there is no in between."
Durkheim let out a sigh.
"In no way am I meaning to offend you or your cause. I just wonder if we shouldn't take a somewhat different perspective regarding the presence of capitalism in our society today. Perhaps it is simply a natural consequence of the modern society in which we live? It is clear that you believe there is nothing but conflict between the ruling and the working class… However, I challenge you to entertain what I am posing. Maybe the relationship between the capitalist and the worker shouldn't be viewed as conflicting, but harmonious instead. The capitalist needs the worker just as the worker needs the capitalist. Perhap this relationship is more symbiotic than you might like to believe? I just can't help but feel that you are placing entirely too much emphasis on the economic factors of life and the assumption that capitalism creates conflict between the classes."
Marx, enraged by Durkheim's critique, abruptly shot out of his chair. Violently cocking his arm back, he let the half empty (or half full - depending on your own perspective) pint of beer fly from his hand to the wall behind Durkheim. A few shards from the shattered glass managed to find its way back to the table where Durkheim still sat.
"BLASPHEMY!" screamed Marx. "To disregard the influence of material conditions on society— and thus, on man himself, is ludicrous!"
"Workers do not benefit from their relationship to capitalists—they are merely their slaves! The history of mankind is a history of oppression and a history of man's alienation from his labor, himself, and others. Capitalism is the worst form of oppression that has ever been—how can you not see this? Are you daft? I suppose you might also argue that society will continue to evolve, in an appropriate fashion no less, as time marches forward? As if what we see before us is the natural way of things. I, on the other hand, can't say that I am one for waiting for the so-called natural consequences of anything. Communism is the only answer! Revolution is the only answer!"
Once again, Marx's soft spoken friend came to a stand, laying a gentle hand on Marx's shoulder in an attempt to produce some calm.
"Forgive my friend, good sir. I do hope that you do not mistake his passion for this cause as an inability or unwillingness to entertain other modes of thoughts. We are just so very distraught by how oppressive and constricting the structure of capitalism is to the vast majority of the people. After enough time has passed, we believe that the working men of the world will realize this and will come together to overthrow the ruling class… and that things will be much better for everyone involved."
Durkheim let out a hearty laugh.
"I am willing to agree with some of what you two have proposed… but I must say that I think you give entirely too much credit to the idea that these working class men will ever incite a revolution. Not to mention that your intense focus on economics has caused you to disregard all the other structures in a society… like religion, for one. There are a variety of different structures in our society that serve to control and constrict man's behavior on an individual level. It is not purely an issue of material living. Though I must say—your point regarding alienation… especially the alienation from one man to another… is something that worries me greatly with our modern society. I strongly believe that the stability of our society relies heavily on the solidarity of the people within it. And that the relative stability of a society determines the social stability for man at an individual level. Do you know—I've recently come across some very disturbing findings concerning suicide, for instance. Contrary to popular belief, the data I've collected thus far is suggesting that suicide is more than a personal act of an individual man—that it might actually be a social phenomenon. It's amazing what you can learn when you choose to analyze society from a different perspective. Fascinating, yes?"
Despite his best efforts, Durkheim's attempt to find some agreement in his debate with Marx failed miserably. The factory men, who had all but ignored the confrontation up to this point, seemed to suddenly take quite an interest in Durkheim's unwelcome presence at their gathering. Marx, for the first time since he began his interaction with Durkheim, focused his intense gaze at a knot in the wood floor, his nostrils flaring with every shallow breath he took. Although no one said a word, it became quite clear to Durkheim that his last critique of Marx's argument had gone too far for the group that stood before him. To say that tension filled the air would have been wholly inaccurate. It was more than tension. It was electricity. An electricity that was surely going to be directed at Durkheim in the next few moments if he failed to take heed.
Durkheim calmly stood up and gathered his papers. Slightly tipping his head, he proceeded back down the staircase, never to come across Marx again.