Proposed Roads to Freedom
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1918

People :
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Author : Bertrand Russell

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communal ownership of land and capital, improvement in the methods of production, law of the concentration of capital, private ownership of land and capital, ownership of land and capital, doctrine of the class war, proletarians have nothing to lose, parliament and the guild congress, power of the existing state, power of the state.

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    * Introduction
        2,663 Words; 16,335 Characters

    * Part 1 : Marx And Socialist Doctrine, Bakunin And Anarchism, The Syndicalist Revolt
        19,801 Words; 123,327 Characters

    * Part 2 : Work And Pay, Government And Law, International Relations, Science And Art Under Socialism, The World As It Could Be Made
        30,746 Words; 184,564 Characters

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* Introduction


Proposed Roads
To Freedom




By
Bertrand Russell




INTRODUCTION

THE attempt to conceive imaginatively a better
ordering of human society than the destructive and
cruel chaos in which mankind has hitherto existed
is by no means modern: it is at least as old as Plato,
whose ``Republic'' set the model for the Utopias of
subsequent philosophers. Whoever contemplates the
world in the light of an ideal--whether what he seeks
be intellect, or art, or love, or simple happiness, or
all together--must feel a great sorrow in the evils
that men needlessly allow to continue, and--if he be
a man of force and vital energy--an urgent desire to
lead men to the realization of the good which inspires
his creative vision. It is this desire which has been
the primary force moving the pioneers of Socialism
and Anarchism, as it moved the inventors of ideal
commonwealths in the past. In this there is nothing
new. What is new in Socialism and Anarchism, is
that close relation of the ideal to the present
sufferings of men, which has enabled powerful political
movements to grow out of the hopes of solitary thinkers.
It is this that makes Socialism and Anarchism
important, and it is this that makes them dangerous
to those who batten, consciously or unconsciously
upon the evils of our present order of society.
The great majority of men and women, in ordinary
times, pass through life without ever contemplating
or criticizing, as a whole, either their own
conditions or those of the world at large. They find
themselves born into a certain place in society, and
they accept what each day brings forth, without any
effort of thought beyond what the immediate present
requires. Almost as instinctively as the beasts of
the field, they seek the satisfaction of the needs of
the moment, without much forethought, and without
considering that by sufficient effort the whole
conditions of their lives could be changed. A certain
percentage, guided by personal ambition, make the effort
of thought and will which is necessary to place
themselves among the more fortunate members of the
community; but very few among these are seriously
concerned to secure for all the advantages which they
seek for themselves. It is only a few rare and exceptional
men who have that kind of love toward mankind
at large that makes them unable to endure
patiently the general mass of evil and suffering,
regardless of any relation it may have to their own
lives. These few, driven by sympathetic pain, will
seek, first in thought and then in action, for some
way of escape, some new system of society by which
life may become richer, more full of joy and less
full of preventable evils than it is at present. But
in the past such men have, as a rule, failed to interest
the very victims of the injustices which they wished
to remedy. The more unfortunate sections of the
population have been ignorant, apathetic from excess
of toil and weariness, timorous through the imminent
danger of immediate punishment by the holders of
power, and morally unreliable owing to the loss of
self-respect resulting from their degradation. To
create among such classes any conscious, deliberate
effort after general amelioration might have seemed
a hopeless task, and indeed in the past it has
generally proved so. But the modern world, by the
increase of education and the rise in the standard of
comfort among wage-earners, has produced new
conditions, more favorable than ever before to the
demand for radical reconstruction. It is above all
the Socialists, and in a lesser degree the Anarchists
(chiefly as the inspirers of Syndicalism), who have
become the exponents of this demand.

What is perhaps most remarkable in regard to
both Socialism and Anarchism is the association of a
widespread popular movement with ideals for a better
world. The ideals have been elaborated, in the
first instance, by solitary writers of books, and yet
powerful sections of the wage-earning classes have
accepted them as their guide in the practical affairs
of the world. In regard to Socialism this is evident;
but in regard to Anarchism it is only true with some
qualification. Anarchism as such has never been a
widespread creed, it is only in the modified form of
Syndicalism that it has achieved popularity. Unlike
Socialism and Anarchism, Syndicalism is primarily
the outcome, not of an idea, but of an organization:
the fact of Trade Union organization came first, and
the ideas of Syndicalism are those which seemed
appropriate to this organization in the opinion of
the more advanced French Trade Unions. But the
ideas are, in the main, derived from Anarchism, and
the men who gained acceptance for them were, for
the most part, Anarchists. Thus we may regard
Syndicalism as the Anarchism of the market-place
as opposed to the Anarchism of isolated individuals
which had preserved a precarious life throughout the
previous decades. Taking this view, we find in
Anarchist-Syndicalism the same combination of ideal
and organization as we find in Socialist political
parties. It is from this standpoint that our study
of these movements will be undertaken.

Socialism and Anarchism, in their modern form,
spring respectively from two protagonists, Marx and
Bakunin, who fought a lifelong battle, culminating
in a split in the first International. We shall begin
our study with these two men--first their teaching,
and then the organizations which they founded or
inspired. This will lead us to the spread of Socialism
in more recent years, and thence to the Syndicalist
revolt against Socialist emphasis on the State
and political action, and to certain movements outside
France which have some affinity with Syndicalism--
notably the I. W. W. in America and Guild
Socialism in England. From this historical survey
we shall pass to the consideration of some of the
more pressing problems of the future, and shall try
to decide in what respects the world would be happier
if the aims of Socialists or Syndicalists were
achieved.

My own opinion--which I may as well indicate
at the outset--is that pure Anarchism, though it
should be the ultimate ideal, to which society should
continually approximate, is for the present impossible,
and would not survive more than a year or two
at most if it were adopted. On the other hand, both
Marxian Socialism and Syndicalism, in spite of many
drawbacks, seem to me calculated to give rise to a
happier and better world than that in which we live.
I do not, however, regard either of them as the best
practicable system. Marxian Socialism, I fear,
would give far too much power to the State, while
Syndicalism, which aims at abolishing the State,
would, I believe, find itself forced to reconstruct a
central authority in order to put an end to the
rivalries of different groups of producers. The BEST
practicable system, to my mind, is that of Guild
Socialism, which concedes what is valid both in the
claims of the State Socialists and in the Syndicalist
fear of the State, by adopting a system of federalism
among trades for reasons similar to those which
are recommending federalism among nations. The
grounds for these conclusions will appear as we
proceed.

Before embarking upon the history of recent
movements In favor of radical reconstruction, it will
be worth while to consider some traits of character
which distinguish most political idealists, and are
much misunderstood by the general public for other
reasons besides mere prejudice. I wish to do full
justice to these reasons, in order to show the more
effectually why they ought not to be operative.

The leaders of the more advanced movements
are, in general, men of quite unusual disinterestedness,
as is evident from a consideration of their careers.
Although they have obviously quite as much ability
as many men who rise to positions of great power,
they do not themselves become the arbiters of
contemporary events, nor do they achieve wealth or the
applause of the mass of their contemporaries. Men
who have the capacity for winning these prizes, and
who work at least as hard as those who win them,
but deliberately adopt a line which makes the winning
of them impossible, must be judged to have an
aim in life other than personal advancement;
whatever admixture of self-seeking may enter into the
detail of their lives, their fundamental motive must
be outside Self. The pioneers of Socialism, Anarchism,
and Syndicalism have, for the most part,
experienced prison, exile, and poverty, deliberately
incurred because they would not abandon their
propaganda; and by this conduct they have shown that
the hope which inspired them was not for themselves,
but for mankind.

Nevertheless, though the desire for human welfare
is what at bottom determines the broad lines of such
men's lives, it often happens that, in the detail of
their speech and writing, hatred is far more visible
than love. The impatient idealist--and without some
impatience a man will hardly prove effective--is
almost sure to be led into hatred by the oppositions
and disappointments which he encounters in his
endeavors to bring happiness to the world. The more
certain he is of the purity of his motives and the truth
of his gospel, the more indignant he will become when
his teaching is rejected. Often he will successfully
achieve an attitude of philosophic tolerance as
regards the apathy of the masses, and even as regards
the whole-hearted opposition of professed defenders
of the status quo. But the men whom he finds it
impossible to forgive are those who profess the same desire
for the amelioration of society as he feels himself,
but who do not accept his method of achieving this
end. The intense faith which enables him to withstand
persecution for the sake of his beliefs makes
him consider these beliefs so luminously obvious that
any thinking man who rejects them must be dishonest,
and must be actuated by some sinister motive
of treachery to the cause. Hence arises the spirit of
the sect, that bitter, narrow orthodoxy which is the
bane of those who hold strongly to an unpopular
creed. So many real temptations to treachery exist
that suspicion is natural. And among leaders,
ambition, which they mortify in their choice of a
career, is sure to return in a new form: in the desire
for intellectual mastery and for despotic power
within their own sect. From these causes it results
that the advocates of drastic reform divide
themselves into opposing schools, hating each other with
a bitter hatred, accusing each other often of such
crimes as being in the pay of the police, and demanding,
of any speaker or writer whom they are to
admire, that he shall conform exactly to their
prejudices, and make all his teaching minister to their
belief that the exact truth is to be found within the
limits of their creed. The result of this state of
mind is that, to a casual and unimaginative attention,
the men who have sacrificed most through the
wish to benefit mankind APPEAR to be actuated far
more by hatred than by love. And the demand for
orthodoxy is stifling to any free exercise of intellect.
This cause, as well as economic prejudice, has made
it difficult for the ``intellectuals'' to cooperate practically with the more extreme reformers, however they
may sympathize with their main purposes and even
with nine-tenths of their program.

Another reason why radical reformers are
misjudged by ordinary men is that they view existing
society from outside, with hostility towards its
institutions. Although, for the most part, they have
more belief than their neighbors in human nature's
inherent capacity for a good life, they are so
conscious of the cruelty and oppression resulting from
existing institutions that they make a wholly
misleading impression of cynicism. Most men have
instinctively two entirely different codes of behavior:
one toward those whom they regard as companions or
colleagues or friends, or in some way members of the
same ``herd''; the other toward those whom they
regard as enemies or outcasts or a danger to society.
Radical reformers are apt to concentrate their
attention upon the behavior of society toward the
latter class, the class of those toward whom the
``herd'' feels ill-will. This class includes, of course,
enemies in war, and criminals; in the minds of those
who consider the preservation of the existing order
essential to their own safety or privileges, it includes
all who advocate any great political or economic
change, and all classes which, through their poverty
or through any other cause, are likely to feel a
dangerous degree of discontent. The ordinary citizen
probably seldom thinks about such individuals or
classes, and goes through life believing that he and
his friends are kindly people, because they have no
wish to injure those toward whom they entertain no
group-hostility. But the man whose attention is
fastened upon the relations of a group with those
whom it hates or fears will judge quite differently.
In these relations a surprising ferocity is apt to be
developed, and a very ugly side of human nature
comes to the fore. The opponents of capitalism
have learned, through the study of certain historical
facts, that this ferocity has often been shown by the
capitalists and by the State toward the wage-earning
classes, particularly when they have ventured to
protest against the unspeakable suffering to which
industrialism has usually condemned them. Hence
arises a quite different attitude toward existing
society from that of the ordinary well-to-do citizen:
an attitude as true as his, perhaps also as untrue,
but equally based on facts, facts concerning his
relations to his enemies instead of to his friends.

The class-war, like wars between nations,
produces two opposing views, each equally true and
equally untrue. The citizen of a nation at war,
when he thinks of his own countrymen, thinks of them
primarily as he has experienced them, in dealings
with their friends, in their family relations, and so
on. They seem to him on the whole kindly, decent
folk. But a nation with which his country is at
war views his compatriots through the medium of a
quite different set of experiences: as they appear
in the ferocity of battle, in the invasion and subjugation
of a hostile territory, or in the chicanery of a
juggling diplomacy. The men of whom these facts
are true are the very same as the men whom their
compatriots know as husbands or fathers or friends,
but they are judged differently because they are
judged on different data. And so it is with those who
view the capitalist from the standpoint of the
revolutionary wage-earner: they appear inconceivably
cynical and misjudging to the capitalist, because the
facts upon which their view is based are facts which
he either does not know or habitually ignores. Yet
the view from the outside is just as true as the view
from the inside. Both are necessary to the complete
truth; and the Socialist, who emphasizes the outside
view, is not a cynic, but merely the friend of the
wage-earners, maddened by the spectacle of the needless
misery which capitalism inflicts upon them.

I have placed these general reflections at the
beginning of our study, in order to make it clear to
the reader that, whatever bitterness and hate may
be found in the movements which we are to examine,
it is not bitterness or hate, but love, that is their
mainspring. It is difficult not to hate those who
torture the objects of our love. Though difficult, it
is not impossible; but it requires a breadth of
outlook and a comprehensiveness of understanding which
are not easy to preserve amid a desperate contest.
If ultimate wisdom has not always been preserved by
Socialists and Anarchists, they have not differed in
this from their opponents; and in the source of their
inspiration they have shown themselves superior to
those who acquiesce ignorantly or supinely in the
injustices and oppressions by which the existing
system is preserved.


* Part 1 : Marx And Socialist Doctrine, Bakunin And Anarchism, The Syndicalist Revolt


Proposed Roads
To Freedom




By
Bertrand Russell



PART I - 

HISTORICAL
CHAPTER I

 MARX AND SOCIALIST DOCTRINE 

SOCIALISM, like everything else that is vital, is
rather a tendency than a strictly definable body of
doctrine. A definition of Socialism is sure either to
include some views which many would regard as not
Socialistic, or to exclude others which claim to be
included. But I think we shall come nearest to the
essence of Socialism by defining it as the advocacy
of communal ownership of land and capital. Communal
ownership may mean ownership by a democratic
State, but cannot be held to include ownership
by any State which is not democratic. Communal
ownership may also be understood, as Anarchist
Communism understands it, in the sense of
ownership by the free association of the men and
women in a community without those compulsory
powers which are necessary to constitute a State.
Some Socialists expect communal ownership to arrive
suddenly and completely by a catastrophic revolution,
while others expect it to come gradually, first
in one industry, then in another. Some insist upon
the necessity of completeness in the acquisition of
land and capital by the public, while others would
be content to see lingering islands of private ownership,
provided they were not too extensive or powerful.
What all forms have in common is democracy
and the abolition, virtual or complete, of the present
capitalistic system. The distinction between Socialists,
Anarchists and Syndicalists turns largely upon
the kind of democracy which they desire. Orthodox
Socialists are content with parliamentary democracy
in the sphere of government, holding that the evils
apparent in this form of constitution at present
would disappear with the disappearance of capitalism.
Anarchists and Syndicalists, on the other
hand, object to the whole parliamentary machinery,
and aim at a different method of regulating the political
affairs of the community. But all alike are
democratic in the sense that they aim at abolishing
every kind of privilege and every kind of artificial
inequality: all alike are champions of the wageearner in existing society. All three also have much
in common in their economic doctrine. All three
regard capital and the wages system as a means of
exploiting the laborer in the interests of the possessing
classes, and hold that communal ownership, in one
form or another, is the only means of bringing freedom
to the producers. But within the framework
of this common doctrine there are many divergences,
and even among those who are strictly to be called
Socialists, there is a very considerable diversity of
schools.
Socialism as a power in Europe may be said
to begin with Marx. It is true that before his time
there were Socialist theories, both in England and in
France. It is also true that in France, during the
revolution of 1848, Socialism for a brief period
acquired considerable influence in the State. But
the Socialists who preceded Marx tended to indulge
in Utopian dreams and failed to found any strong or
stable political party. To Marx, in collaboration
with Engels, are due both the formulation of a coherent
body of Socialist doctrine, sufficiently true or
plausible to dominate the minds of vast numbers of
men, and the formation of the International Socialist
movement, which has continued to grow in all
European countries throughout the last fifty years.

In order to understand Marx's doctrine, it is
necessary to know something of the influences which
formed his outlook. He was born in 1818 at Treves
in the Rhine Provinces, his father being a legal
official, a Jew who had nominally accepted
Christianity. Marx studied jurisprudence, philosophy,
political economy and history at various German
universities. In philosophy he imbibed the doctrines
of Hegel, who was then at the height of his fame,
and something of these doctrines dominated his
thought throughout his life. Like Hegel, he saw in
history the development of an Idea. He conceived
the changes in the world as forming a logical development,
in which one phase passes by revolution into
another, which is its antithesis--a conception which
gave to his views a certain hard abstractness, and a
belief in revolution rather than evolution. But of
Hegel's more definite doctrines Marx retained nothing
after his youth. He was recognized as a brilliant
student, and might have had a prosperous career as
a professor or an official, but his interest in politics
and his Radical views led him into more arduous
paths. Already in 1842 he became editor of a newspaper,
which was suppressed by the Prussian Government
early in the following year on account of
its advanced opinions. This led Marx to go to Paris,
where he became known as a Socialist and acquired
a knowledge of his French predecessors.[1] Here in the
year 1844 began his lifelong friendship with Engels,
who had been hitherto in business in Manchester,
where he had become acquainted with English Socialism
and had in the main adopted its doctrines.[2] In
1845 Marx was expelled from Paris and went with
Engels to live in Brussels. There he formed a German
Working Men's Association and edited a paper
which was their organ. Through his activities in
Brussels he became known to the German Communist
League in Paris, who, at the end of 1847, invited him
and Engels to draw up for them a manifesto, which
appeared in January, 1848. This is the famous
``Communist Manifesto,'' in which for the first time
Marx's system is set forth. It appeared at a fortunate
moment. In the following month, February,
the revolution broke out in Paris, and in March it
spread to Germany. Fear of the revolution led the
Brussels Government to expel Marx from Belgium,
but the German revolution made it possible for him
to return to his own country. In Germany he again
edited a paper, which again led him into a conflict
with the authorities, increasing in severity as the
reaction gathered force. In June, 1849, his paper
was suppressed, and he was expelled from Prussia.
He returned to Paris, but was expelled from there
also. This led him to settle in England--at that
time an asylum for friends of freedom--and in England,
with only brief intervals for purposes of agitation,
he continued to live until his death in 1883.

The bulk of his time was occupied in the composition
of his great book, ``Capital.''[3] His other
important work during his later years was the formation
and spread of the International Working Men's
Association. From 1849 onward the greater part
of his time was spent in the British Museum, accumulating,
with German patience, the materials for his
terrific indictment of capitalist society, but he
retained his hold on the International Socialist movement.
In several countries he had sons-in-law as
lieutenants, like Napoleon's brothers, and in the
various internal contests that arose his will generally
prevailed.

The most essential of Marx's doctrines may be
reduced to three: first, what is called the material-
istic interpretation of history; second, the law of the
concentration of capital; and, third, the class-war.

The Materialistic Interpretation of History.--
Marx holds that in the main all the phenomena of
human society have their origin in material conditions,
and these he takes to be embodied in economic
systems. Political constitutions, laws, religions,
philosophies--all these he regards as, in their broad
outlines, expressions of the economic regime in the
society that gives rise to them. It would be unfair
to represent him as maintaining that the conscious
economic motive is the only one of importance; it
is rather that economics molds character and opinion,
and is thus the prime source of much that appears
in consciousness to have no connection with them.
He applies his doctrine in particular to two revolutions,
one in the past, the other in the future. The
revolution in the past is that of the bourgeoisie
against feudalism, which finds its expression, according
to him, particularly in the French Revolution.
The one in the future is the revolution of the wageearners, or proletariat, against the bourgeoisie,
which is to establish the Socialist Commonwealth.
The whole movement of history is viewed by him as
necessary, as the effect of material causes operating
upon human beings. He does not so much advocate
the Socialist revolution as predict it. He holds, it
is true, that it will be beneficent, but he is much more
concerned to prove that it must inevitably come.
The same sense of necessity is visible in his exposition
of the evils of the capitalist system. He does
not blame capitalists for the cruelties of which he
shows them to have been guilty; he merely points out
that they are under an inherent necessity to behave
cruelly so long as private ownership of land and
capital continues. But their tyranny will not last
forever, for it generates the forces that must in the
end overthrow it.
The Law of the Concentration of Capital.--
Marx pointed out that capitalist undertakings tend
to grow larger and larger. He foresaw the substitution
of trusts for free competition, and predicted
that the number of capitalist enterprises must diminish
as the magnitude of single enterprises increased.
He supposed that this process must involve a diminution,
not only in the number of businesses, but also
in the number of capitalists. Indeed, he usually
spoke as though each business were owned by a single
man. Accordingly, he expected that men would be
continually driven from the ranks of the capitalists
into those of the proletariat, and that the capitalists,
in the course of time, would grow numerically weaker
and weaker. He applied this principle not only to
industry but also to agriculture. He expected to
find the landowners growing fewer and fewer while
their estates grew larger and larger. This process
was to make more and more glaring the evils and
injustices of the capitalist system, and to stimulate
more and more the forces of opposition.
The Class War.--Marx conceives the wage-
earner and the capitalist in a sharp antithesis. He
imagines that every man is, or must soon become,
wholly the one or wholly the other. The wage-earner, who possesses nothing, is exploited by the
capitalists, who possess everything. As the capitalist
system works itself out and its nature becomes more
clear, the opposition of bourgeoisie and proletariat
becomes more and more marked. The two classes,
since they have antagonistic interests, are forced
into a class war which generates within the capitalist
regime internal forces of disruption. The working
men learn gradually to combine against their
exploiters, first locally, then nationally, and at last
internationally. When they have learned to combine
internationally they must be victorious. They
will then decree that all land and capital shall be
owned in common; exploitation will cease; the tyranny
of the owners of wealth will no longer be
possible; there will no longer be any division of
society into classes, and all men will be free.
All these ideas are already contained in the
``Communist Manifesto,'' a work of the most amazing
vigor and force, setting forth with terse compression
the titanic forces of the world, their epic battle, and
the inevitable consummation. This work is of such
importance in the development of Socialism and
gives such an admirable statement of the doctrines
set forth at greater length and with more pedantry
in ``Capital,'' that its salient passages must be
known by anyone who wishes to understand the hold
which Marxian Socialism has acquired over the intellect
and imagination of a large proportion of working-class
leaders.

``A specter is haunting Europe,'' it begins, ``the
specter of Communism. All the Powers of old
Europe have entered into a holy alliance to exorcize
this specter--Pope and Czar, Metternich and Guizot,
French Radicals and German police-spies. Where
is the party in opposition that has not been decried
as communistic by its opponents in power? Where
the Opposition that has not hurled back the branding
reproach of Communism against the more
advanced opposition parties, as well as against its
re-actionary adversaries?''

The existence of a class war is nothing new:
``The history of all hitherto existing society is the
history of class struggles.'' In these struggles the
fight ``each time ended, either in a revolutionary
re-constitution of society at large, or in the common
ruin of the contending classes.''

``Our epoch, the epoch of the bourgeoisie . . .
has simplified the class antagonisms. Society as a
whole is more and more splitting up into two great
hostile camps, into two great classes directly facing
each other: Bourgeoisie and Proletariat.'' Then follows
a history of the fall of feudalism, leading to a
description of the bourgeoisie as a revolutionary
force. ``The bourgeoisie, historically, has played a
most revolutionary part.'' ``For exploitation, veiled
by religious and political illusions, it has substituted
naked, shameless, direct, brutal exploitation.'' ``The
need of a constantly expanding market for its products
chases the bourgeoisie over the whole surface
of the globe.'' ``The bourgeoisie, during its rule of
scarce one hundred years, has created more massive
and more colossal productive forces than have all
preceding generations together.'' Feudal relations
became fetters: ``They had to be burst asunder;
they were burst asunder. . . . A similar movement
is going on before our own eyes.'' ``The weapons
with which the bourgeoisie felled feudalism to the
ground are now turned against the bourgeoisie itself.
But not only has the bourgoisie forged the weapons
that bring death to itself; it has also called into
existence the men who are to wield those weapons--
the modern working class--the proletarians.''

The cause of the destitution of the proletariat
are then set forth. ``The cost of production of a
workman is restricted, almost entirely, to the means
of subsistence that he requires for his maintenance
and for the propagation of his race. But the price
of a commodity, and therefore also of labor, is equal
to its cost of production. In proportion, therefore,
as the repulsiveness of the work increases, the wage
decreases. Nay more, in proportion as the use of
machinery and diversion of labor increases, in the
same proportion the burden of toil also increases.''

``Modern industry has converted the little workshop
of the patriarchal master into the great factory
of the industrial capitalist. Masses of laborers,
crowded into the factory, are organized like soldiers.
As privates of the industrial army they are placed
under the command of a perfect hierarchy of officers
and sergeants. Not only are they slaves of the bourgeois
class, and of the bourgeois State, they are
daily and hourly enslaved by the machine, by the
over-looker, and, above all, by the individual
bourgeois manufacturer himself. The more openly this
despotism proclaims gain to be its end and aim, the
more petty, the more hateful, and the more embittering
it is.''

The Manifesto tells next the manner of growth
of the class struggle. ``The proletariat goes
through various stages of development. With its
birth begins its struggle with the bourgeoisie. At
first the contest is carried on by individual laborers,
then by the work people of a factory, then by the
operatives of one trade, in one locality, against the
individual bourgeois who directly exploits them.
They direct their attacks not against the bourgeois
conditions of production, but against the instruments
of production themselves.''

``At this stage the laborers still form an incoherent
mass scattered over the whole country, and broken
up by their mutual competition. If anywhere they
unite to form more compact bodies, this is not yet
the consequence of their own active union, but of
the union of the bourgeoisie, which class, in order to
attain its own political ends, is compelled to set the
whole proletariat in motion, and is moreover yet, for
a time, able to do so.''

``The collisions between individual workmen and
individual bourgeois take more and more the character
of collisions between two classes. Thereupon
the workers begin to form combinations (Trades
Unions) against the bourgeois; they club together
in order to keep up the rate of wages; they found
permanent associations in order to make provision
beforehand for these occasional revolts. Here and
there the contest breaks out into riots. Now and
then the workers are victorious, but only for a time.
The real fruit of their battles lies, not in the immediate
result, but in the ever-expanding union of
the workers. This union is helped on by the improved means of communication that are created
by modern industry, and that place the workers
of different localities in contact with one another.
It was just this contact that was needed to centralize
the numerous local struggles, all of the same character,
into one national struggle between classes.
But every class struggle is a political struggle. And
that union, to attain which the burghers of the
Middle Ages, with their miserable highways, required
centuries, the modern proletarians, thanks to railways,
achieve in a few years. This organization of
the proletarians into a class, and consequently into
a political party, is continually being upset again by
the competition between the workers themselves. But
it ever rises up again, stronger, firmer, mightier. It
compels legislative recognition of particular interests
of the workers, by taking advantage of the divisions
among the bourgeoisie itself.''

``In the conditions of the proletariat, those of
old society at large are already virtually swamped.
The proletarian is without property; his relation
to his wife and children has no longer anything in
common with the bourgeois family-relations; modern
industrial labor, modern subjection to capital, the
same in England as in France, in America as in
Germany, has stripped him of every trace of national
character. Law, morality, religion, are to him so
many bourgeois prejudices, behind which lurk in
ambush just as many bourgeois interests. All the
preceding classes that got the upper hand, sought
to fortify their already acquired status by subjecting
society at large to their conditions of appropriation.
The proletarians cannot become masters
of the productive forces of society, except by abolishing
their own previous mode of appropriation, and
thereby also every other previous mode of appropriation.
They have nothing of their own to secure and to
fortify; their mission is to destroy all previous
securities for, and insurances of, individual property.
All previous historical movements were movements
of minorities, or in the interest of minorities. The
proletarian movement is the self-conscious, independent
movement of the immense majority, in the
interest of the immense majority. The proletariat,
the lowest stratum of our present society, cannot
stir, cannot raise itself up, without the whole superincumbent strata of official society being sprung
into the air.''

The Communists, says Marx, stand for the proletariat
as a whole. They are international. ``The
Communists are further reproached with desiring
to abolish countries and nationality. The working
men have no country. We cannot take from them
what they have not got.''

The immediate aim of the Communists is the conquests
of political power by the proletariat. ``The
theory of the Communists may be summed up in the
single sentence: Abolition of private property.''

The materialistic interpretation of history is
used to answer such charges as that Communism is
anti-Christian. ``The charges against Communism
made from a religious, a philosophical, and, generally,
from an ideological standpoint, are not deserving
of serious examination. Does it require deep
intuition to comprehend that man's ideas, views and
conceptions, in one word, man's consciousness,
changes with every change in the conditions of his
material existence, in his social relations, and in his
social life?''

The attitude of the Manifesto to the State is not
altogether easy to grasp. ``The executive of the
modern State,'' we are told, ``is but a Committee for
managing the common affairs of the whole bourgeoisie.''
Nevertheless, the first step for the proletariat
must be to acquire control of the State. ``We have
seen above, that the first step in the revolution by the
working class, is to raise the proletariat to the position
of ruling class, to win the battle of democracy.
The proletariat will use its political supremacy to
wrest, by degrees, all capital from the bourgeoisie,
to centralize all instruments of production in the
hands of the State, i.e., of the proletariat organized
as the ruling class; and to increase the total of productive
forces as rapidly as possible.''

The Manifesto passes on to an immediate program
of reforms, which would in the first instance
much increase the power of the existing State, but
it is contended that when the Socialist revolution is
accomplished, the State, as we know it, will have
ceased to exist. As Engels says elsewhere, when the
proletariat seizes the power of the State ``it puts an
end to all differences of class and antagonisms of
class, and consequently also puts an end to the State
as a State.'' Thus, although State Socialism might,
in fact, be the outcome of the proposals of Marx and
Engels, they cannot themselves be accused of any
glorification of the State.

The Manifesto ends with an appeal to the wage-earners of the world to rise on behalf of Communism.
``The Communists disdain to conceal their views and
aims. They openly declare that their ends can be
attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing
social conditions. Let the ruling classes tremble
at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have
nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world
to win. Working men of all countries, unite!''

In all the great countries of the Continent,
except Russia, a revolution followed quickly on the
publication of the Communist Manifesto, but the
revolution was not economic or international, except
at first in France. Everywhere else it was inspired
by the ideas of nationalism. Accordingly, the rulers
of the world, momentarily terrified, were able to
recover power by fomenting the enmities inherent
in the nationalist idea, and everywhere, after a very
brief triumph, the revolution ended in war and
reaction. The ideas of the Communist Manifesto
appeared before the world was ready for them, but
its authors lived to see the beginnings of the growth
of that Socialist movement in every country, which
has pressed on with increasing force, influencing
Governments more and more, dominating the Russian
Revolution, and perhaps capable of achieving
at no very distant date that international triumph to
which the last sentences of the Manifesto summon
the wage-earners of the world.

Marx's magnum opus, ``Capital,'' added bulk
and substance to the theses of the Communist Manifesto.
It contributed the theory of surplus value,
which professed to explain the actual mechanism
of capitalist exploitation. This doctrine is very
complicated and is scarcely tenable as a contribution
to pure theory. It is rather to be viewed as a translation
into abstract terms of the hatred with which
Marx regarded the system that coins wealth out of
human lives, and it is in this spirit, rather than in
that of disinterested analysis, that it has been read
by its admirers. A critical examination of the theory
of surplus value would require much difficult and
abstract discussion of pure economic theory without
having much bearing upon the practical truth or
falsehood of Socialism; it has therefore seemed impossible
within the limits of the present volume. To
my mind the best parts of the book are those which
deal with economic facts, of which Marx's knowledge
was encyclopedic. It was by these facts that
he hoped to instill into his disciples that firm and
undying hatred that should make them soldiers to
the death in the class war. The facts which he
accumulates are such as are practically unknown to
the vast majority of those who live comfortable lives.
They are very terrible facts, and the economic system
which generates them must be acknowledged to be
a very terrible system. A few examples of his choice
of facts will serve to explain the bitterness of many
Socialists:--

Mr. Broughton Charlton, county magistrate, declared,
as chairman of a meeting held at the Assembly Rooms,
Nottingham, on the 14th January, 1860, ``that there was
an amount of privation and suffering among that portion
of the population connected with the lace trade, unknown
in other parts of the kingdom, indeed, in the civilized
world. . . . Children of nine or ten years are dragged
from their squalid beds at two, three, or four o clock in
the morning and compelled to work for a bare subsistence
until ten, eleven, or twelve at night, their limbs wearing
away, their frames dwindling, their faces whitening,
and their humanity absolutely sinking into a stone-like
torpor, utterly horrible to contemplate.''[4]

Three railway men are standing before a London coroner's
jury--a guard, an engine-driver, a signalman.
A tremendous railway accident has hurried hundreds of
passengers into another world. The negligence of the
employes is the cause of the misfortune. They declare
with one voice before the jury that ten or twelve years
before, their labor only lasted eight hours a day. During
the last five or six years it had been screwed up to
14, 18, and 20 hours, and under a specially severe pressure
of holiday-makers, at times of excursion trains, it
often lasted 40 or 50 hours without a break. They
were ordinary men, not Cyclops. At a certain point their
labor-power failed. Torpor seized them. Their brain
ceased to think, their eyes to see. The thoroughly
``respectable'' British jurymen answered by a verdict that
sent them to the next assizes on a charge of manslaughter,
and, in a gentle ``rider'' to their verdict, expressed the
pious hope that the capitalistic magnates of the railways
would, in future, be more extravagant in the purchase of
a sufficient quantity of labor-power, and more ``abstemious,''
more ``self-denying,'' more ``thrifty,'' in the
draining of paid labor-power.[5]

In the last week of June, 1863, all the London daily
papers published a paragraph with the ``sensational''
heading, ``Death from simple over-work.'' It dealt with
the death of the milliner, Mary Anne Walkley, 20 years
of age, employed in a highly respectable dressmaking
establishment, exploited by a lady with the pleasant name
of Elise. The old, often-told story was once more recounted.
This girl worked, on an average, 16 1/2 hours,
during the season often 30 hours, without a break, whilst
her failing labor-power was revived by occasional supplies
of sherry, port, or coffee. It was just now the
height of the season. It was necessary to conjure up
in the twinkling of an eye the gorgeous dresses for the
noble ladies bidden to the ball in honor of the newly-
imported Princess of Wales. Mary Anne Walkley had
worked without intermission for 26 1/2 hours, with 60
other girls, 30 in one room, that only afforded 1/3 of
the cubic feet of air required for them. At night, they
slept in pairs in one of the stifling holes into which the
bedroom was divided by partitions of board. And this
was one of the best millinery establishments in London.
Mary Anne Walkley fell ill on the Friday, died on Sunday,
without, to the astonishment of Madame Elise,
having previously completed the work in hand. The doctor,
Mr. Keys, called too late to the death bed, duly bore
witness before the coroner's jury that ``Mary Anne
Walkley had died from long hours of work in an overcrowded workroom, and a too small and badly ventilated
bedroom.'' In order to give the doctor a lesson in good
manners, the coroner's jury thereupon brought in a verdict
that ``the deceased had died of apoplexy, but there
was reason to fear that her death had been accelerated
by over-work in an over-crowded workroom, &c.'' ``Our
white slaves,'' cried the ``Morning Star,'' the organ of the
free-traders, Cobden and Bright, ``our white slaves, who
are toiled into the grave, for the most part silently pine
and die.''[6]

Edward VI: A statue of the first year of his reign,
1547, ordains that if anyone refuses to work, he shall be
condemned as a slave to the person who has denounced
him as an idler. The master shall feed his slave on bread
and water, weak broth and such refuse meat as he thinks
fit. He has the right to force him to do any work, no
matter how disgusting, with whip and chains. If the
slave is absent a fortnight, he is condemned to slavery for
life and is to be branded on forehead or back with the
letter S; if he runs away thrice, he is to be executed as
a felon. The master can sell him, bequeath him, let him
out on hire as a slave, just as any other personal chattel
or cattle. If the slaves attempt anything against the
masters, they are also to be executed. Justices of the
peace, on information, are to hunt the rascals down. If it
happens that a vagabond has been idling about for three
days, he is to be taken to his birthplace, branded with a
redhot iron with the letter V on the breast and be set
to work, in chains, in the streets or at some other labor.
If the vagabond gives a false birthplace, he is then to
become the slave for life of this place, of its inhabitants,
or its corporation, and to be branded with an S. All persons
have the right to take away the children of the
vagabonds and to keep them as apprentices, the young
men until the 24th year, the girls until the 20th. If
they run away, they are to become up to this age the
slaves of their masters, who can put them in irons, whip
them, &c., if they like. Every master may put an iron
ring around the neck, arms or legs of his slave, by which
to know him more easily and to be more certain of him.
The last part of this statute provides that certain poor
people may be employed by a place or by persons, who
are willing to give them food and drink and to find them
work. This kind of parish-slaves was kept up in England
until far into the 19th century under the name of
``roundsmen.''[7]

Page after page and chapter after chapter of
facts of this nature, each brought up to illustrate
some fatalistic theory which Marx professes to have
proved by exact reasoning, cannot but stir into fury
any passionate working-class reader, and into
unbearable shame any possessor of capital in whom
generosity and justice are not wholly extinct.

Almost at the end of the volume, in a very brief
chapter, called ``Historical Tendency of Capitalist
Accumulation,'' Marx allows one moment's glimpse
of the hope that lies beyond the present horror:--

As soon as this process of transformation has
sufficiently decomposed the old society from top to bottom,
as soon as the laborers are turned into proletarians, their
means of labor into capital, as soon as the capitalist
mode of production stands on its own feet, then the
further socialization of labor and further transformation
of the land and other means of production into socially exploited and, therefore, common means of production,
as well as the further expropriation of private proprietors,
takes a new form. That which is now to be
expropriated is no longer the laborer working for himself,
but the capitalist exploiting many laborers. This
expropriation is accomplished by the action of the immanent
laws of capitalistic production itself, by the
centralization of capital. One capitalist always kills
many, and in hand with this centralization, or this
expropriation of many capitalists by few, develop, on
an ever extending scale, the cooperative form of the
labor-process, the conscious technical application of
science, the methodical cultivation of the soil, the
transformation of the instruments of labor into instruments
of labor only usable in common, the economizing of all
means of production by their use as the means of production
of combined, socialized labor, the entanglement
of all peoples in the net of the world-market, and with
this, the international character of the capitalistic regime.
Along with the constantly diminishing number of the
magnates of capital, who usurp and monopolize all
advantages of this process of transformation, grows the
mass of misery, oppression, slavery, degradation, exploitation;
but with this, too, grows the revolt of the working
class, a class always increasing in numbers, and disciplined,
united, organized by the very mechanism of the
process of capitalist production itself. The monopoly of
capital becomes a fetter upon the mode of production,
which has sprung up and flourished along with, and
under it. Centralization of the means of production and
socialization of labor at last reach a point where they
become incompatible with their capitalist integument.
This integument is burst asunder. The knell of capitalist
private property sounds. The expropriators are
expropriated,[8]

That is all. Hardly another word from beginning
to end is allowed to relieve the gloom, and in this
relentless pressure upon the mind of the reader lies
a great part of the power which this book has
acquired.

Two questions are raised by Marx's work: First,
Are his laws of historical development true? Second,
Is Socialism desirable? The second of these questions
is quite independent of the first. Marx professes
to prove that Socialism must come, but scarcely concerns
himself to argue that when it comes it will be
a good thing. It may be, however, that if it comes,
it will be a good thing, even though all Marx's arguments
to prove that it must come should be at fault.
In actual fact, time has shown many flaws in Marx's
theories. The development of the world has been
sufficiently like his prophecy to prove him a man of
very unusual penetration, but has not been sufficiently
like to make either political or economic history
exactly such as he predicted that it would be.
Nationalism, so far from diminishing, has increased,
and has failed to be conquered by the cosmopolitan
tendencies which Marx rightly discerned in finance.
Although big businesses have grown bigger and have
over a great area reached the stage of monopoly,
yet the number of shareholders in such enterprises
is so large that the actual number of individuals
interested in the capitalist system has continually
increased. Moreover, though large firms have grown
larger, there has been a simultaneous increase in
firms of medium size. Meanwhile the wage-earners,
who were, according to Marx, to have remained at
the bare level of subsistence at which they were in
the England of the first half of the nineteenth century,
have instead profited by the general increase
of wealth, though in a lesser degree than the capitalists.
The supposed iron law of wages has been
proved untrue, so far as labor in civilized countries
is concerned. If we wish now to find examples of
capitalist cruelty analogous to those with which
Marx's book is filled, we shall have to go for most
of our material to the Tropics, or at any rate to
regions where there are men of inferior races to
exploit. Again: the skilled worker of the present day
is an aristocrat in the world of labor. It is a question
with him whether he shall ally himself with the
unskilled worker against the capitalist, or with the
capitalist against the unskilled worker. Very often
he is himself a capitalist in a small way, and if he
is not so individually, his trade union or his friendly
society is pretty sure to be so. Hence the sharpness
of the class war has not been maintained. There
are gradations, intermediate ranks between rich and
poor, instead of the clear-cut logical antithesis
between the workers who have nothing and the capitalists
who have all. Even in Germany, which
became the home of orthodox Marxianism and developed
a powerful Social-Democratic party, nominally
accepting the doctrine of ``Das Kapital'' as all but
verbally inspired, even there the enormous increase
of wealth in all classes in the years preceding the
war led Socialists to revise their beliefs and to adopt
an evolutionary rather than a revolutionary attitude.
Bernstein, a German Socialist who lived long in
England, inaugurated the ``Revisionist'' movement
which at last conquered the bulk of the party. His
criticisms of Marxian orthodoxy are set forth in
his ``Evolutionary Socialism.''[9] Bernstein's work,
as is common in Broad Church writers, consists
largely in showing that the Founders did not hold
their doctrines so rigidly as their followers have
done. There is much in the writings of Marx and
Engels that cannot be fitted into the rigid orthodoxy
which grew up among their disciples. Bernstein's
main criticisms of these disciples, apart from such as
we have already mentioned, consist in a defense of
piecemeal action as against revolution. He protests
against the attitude of undue hostility to Liberalism
which is common among Socialists, and he blunts the
edge of the Internationalism which undoubtedly is
part of the teachings of Marx. The workers, he
says, have a Fatherland as soon as they become
citizens, and on this basis he defends that degree of
nationalism which the war has since shown to be
prevalent in the ranks of Socialists. He even goes
so far as to maintain that European nations have a
right to tropical territory owing to their higher
civilization. Such doctrines diminish revolutionary
ardor and tend to transform Socialists into a left
wing of the Liberal Party. But the increasing prosperity
of wage-earners before the war made these
developments inevitable. Whether the war will have
altered conditions in this respect, it is as yet
impossible to know. Bernstein concludes with the wise
remark that: ``We have to take working men as they
are. And they are neither so universally paupers as
was set out in the Communist Manifesto, nor so free
from prejudices and weaknesses as their courtiers
wish to make us believe.''

In March, 1914, Bernstein delivered a lecture in Budapest
in which he withdrew from several of the positions he had taken
up (vide Budapest ``Volkstimme,'' March 19, 1914).

Berstein represents the decay of Marxian orthodoxy
from within. Syndicalism represents an attack
against it from without, from the standpoint of a
doctrine which professes to be even more radical and
more revolutionary than that of Marx and Engels.
The attitude of Syndicalists to Marx may be seen in
Sorel's little book, ``La Decomposition du Marxisme,''
and in his larger work, ``Reflections on
Violence,'' authorized translation by T. E. Hulme
(Allen & Unwin, 1915). After quoting Bernstein,
with approval in so far as he criticizes Marx, Sorel
proceeds to other criticisms of a different order. He
points out (what is true) that Marx's theoretical
economics remain very near to Manchesterism: the
orthodox political economy of his youth was accepted
by him on many points on which it is now known to
be wrong. According to Sorel, the really essential
thing in Marx's teaching is the class war. Whoever
keeps this alive is keeping alive the spirit of Socialism
much more truly than those who adhere to the
letter of Social-Democratic orthodoxy. On the basis
of the class war, French Syndicalists developed a
criticism of Marx which goes much deeper than those
that we have been hitherto considering. Marx's
views on historical development may have been in a
greater or less degree mistaken in fact, and yet the
economic and political system which he sought to
create might be just as desirable as his followers
suppose. Syndicalism, however, criticizes, not only
Marx's views of fact, but also the goal at which he
aims and the general nature of the means which he
recommends. Marx's ideas were formed at a time
when democracy did not yet exist. It was in the
very year in which ``Das Kapital'' appeared that
urban working men first got the vote in England and
universal suffrage was granted by Bismarck in
Northern Germany. It was natural that great hopes
should be entertained as to what democracy would
achieve. Marx, like the orthodox economists,
imagined that men's opinions are guided by a more
or less enlightened view of economic self-interest, or
rather of economic class interest. A long experience
of the workings of political democracy has shown
that in this respect Disraeli and Bismarck were
shrewder judges of human nature than either Liberals
or Socialists. It has become increasingly difficult
to put trust in the State as a means to liberty,
or in political parties as instruments sufficiently
powerful to force the State into the service of the
people. The modern State, says Sorel, ``is a body of
intellectuals, which is invested with privileges, and
which possesses means of the kind called political for
defending itself against the attacks made on it by
other groups of intellectuals, eager to possess the
profits of public employment. Parties are constituted
in order to acquire the conquest of these
employments, and they are analogous to the State.''[10]

Syndicalists aim at organizing men, not by party,
but by occupation. This, they say, alone represents
the true conception and method of the class war.
Accordingly they despise all POLITICAL action through
the medium of Parliament and elections: the kind of
action that they recommend is direct action by the
revolutionary syndicate or trade union. The battlecry of industrial versus political action has spread
far beyond the ranks of French Syndicalism. It is
to be found in the I. W. W. in America, and among
Industrial Unionists and Guild Socialists in Great
Britain. Those who advocate it, for the most part,
aim also at a different goal from that of Marx. They
believe that there can be no adequate individual
freedom where the State is all-powerful, even if the
State be a Socialist one. Some of them are out-and-out Anarchists, who wish to see the State wholly
abolished; others only wish to curtail its authority.
Owing to this movement, opposition to Marx, which
from the Anarchist side existed from the first, has
grown very strong. It is this opposition in its older
form that will occupy us in our next chapter.


CHAPTER II

BAKUNIN AND ANARCHISM

IN the popular mind, an Anarchist is a person
who throws bombs and commits other outrages,
either because he is more or less insane, or because
he uses the pretense of extreme political opinions as
a cloak for criminal proclivities. This view is, of
course, in every way inadequate. Some Anarchists
believe in throwing bombs; many do not. Men of
almost every other shade of opinion believe in throwing
bombs in suitable circumstances: for example,
the men who threw the bomb at Sarajevo which
started the present war were not Anarchists, but
Nationalists. And those Anarchists who are in
favor of bomb-throwing do not in this respect differ
on any vital principle from the rest of the community,
with the exception of that infinitesimal portion
who adopt the Tolstoyan attitude of nonresistance.
Anarchists, like Socialists, usually believe
in the doctrine of the class war, and if they use
bombs, it is as Governments use bombs, for purposes
of war: but for every bomb manufactured by an
Anarchist, many millions are manufactured by Governments,
and for every man killed by Anarchist
violence, many millions are killed by the violence of
States. We may, therefore, dismiss from our minds
the whole question of violence, which plays so large
a part in the popular imagination, since it is neither
essential nor peculiar to those who adopt the Anarchist
position.
Anarchism, as its derivation indicates, is the
theory which is opposed to every kind of forcible
government. It is opposed to the State as the
embodiment of the force employed in the government
of the community. Such government as Anarchism
can tolerate must be free government, not merely in
the sense that it is that of a majority, but in the sense
that it is that assented to by all. Anarchists object
to such institutions as the police and the criminal
law, by means of which the will of one part of the
community is forced upon another part. In their
view, the democratic form of government is not very
enormously preferable to other forms so long as
minorities are compelled by force or its potentiality
to submit to the will of majorities. Liberty is the
supreme good in the Anarchist creed, and liberty
is sought by the direct road of abolishing all forcible
control over the individual by the community.

Anarchism, in this sense, is no new doctrine. It
is set forth admirably by Chuang Tzu, a Chinese philosopher,
who lived about the year 300 B. C.:--

Horses have hoofs to carry them over frost and snow;
hair, to protect them from wind and cold. They eat grass
and drink water, and fling up their heels over the champaign.
Such is the real nature of horses. Palatial
dwellings are of no use to them.

One day Po Lo appeared, saying: ``I understand the
management of horses.''

So he branded them, and clipped them, and pared
their hoofs, and put halters on them, tying them up by
the head and shackling them by the feet, and disposing
them in stables, with the result that two or three in
every ten died. Then he kept them hungry and thirsty,
trotting them and galloping them, and grooming, and
trimming, with the misery of the tasseled bridle before
and the fear of the knotted whip behind, until more than
half of them were dead.

The potter says: ``I can do what I will with Clay.
If I want it round, I use compasses; if rectangular, a
square.''

The carpenter says: ``I can do what I will with
wood. If I want it curved, I use an arc; if straight, a
line.''

But on what grounds can we think that the natures
of clay and wood desire this application of compasses and
square, of arc and line? Nevertheless, every age extols
Po Lo for his skill in managing horses, and potters and
carpenters for their skill with clay and wood. Those
who govern the empire make the same mistake.

Now I regard government of the empire from quite
a different point of view.

The people have certain natural instincts:--to weave
and clothe themselves, to till and feed themselves. These
are common to all humanity, and all are agreed thereon.
Such instincts are called ``Heaven-sent.''

And so in the days when natural instincts prevailed,
men moved quietly and gazed steadily. At that time
there were no roads over mountains, nor boats, nor
bridges over water. All things were produced, each for
its own proper sphere. Birds and beasts multiplied,
trees and shrubs grew up. The former might be led by
the hand; you could climb up and peep into the raven's
nest. For then man dwelt with birds and beasts, and
all creation was one. There were no distinctions of good
and bad men. Being all equally without knowledge,
their virtue could not go astray. Being all equally
without evil desires, they were in a state of natural
integrity, the perfection of human existence.

But when Sages appeared, tripping up people over
charity and fettering them with duty to their neighbor,
doubt found its way into the world. And then, with
their gushing over music and fussing over ceremony, the
empire became divided against itself.[11]

The modern Anarchism, in the sense in which we
shall be concerned with it, is associated with belief
in the communal ownership of land and capital, and
is thus in an important respect akin to Socialism.
This doctrine is properly called Anarchist Com-
munism, but as it embraces practically all modern
Anarchism, we may ignore individualist Anarchism
altogether and concentrate attention upon the
communistic form. Socialism and Anarchist Communism
alike have arisen from the perception that private
capital is a source of tyranny by certain individuals
over others. Orthodox Socialism believes that the
individual will become free if the State becomes the
sole capitalist. Anarchism, on the contrary, fears
that in that case the State might merely inherit the
tyrannical propensities of the private capitalist.
Accordingly, it seeks for a means of reconciling communal
ownership with the utmost possible diminution
in the powers of the State, and indeed ultimately with
the complete abolition of the State. It has arisen
mainly within the Socialist movement as its extreme
left wing.

In the same sense in which Marx may be regarded
as the founder of modern Socialism, Bakunin may
be regarded as the founder of Anarchist Communism.
But Bakunin did not produce, like Marx, a finished
and systematic body of doctrine. The nearest
approach to this will be found in the writings of his
follower, Kropotkin. In order to explain modern
Anarchism we shall begin with the life of Bakunin[12]
and the history of his conflicts with Marx, and shall
then give a brief account of Anarchist theory as set
forth partly in his writings, but more in those of
Kropotkin.[13]

Michel Bakunin was born in 1814 of a Russian
aristocratic family. His father was a diplomatist,
who at the time of Bakunin's birth had retired to his
country estate in the Government of Tver. Bakunin
entered the school of artillery in Petersburg at the
age of fifteen, and at the age of eighteen was sent as
an ensign to a regiment stationed in the Government
of Minsk. The Polish insurrection of 1880 had just
been crushed. ``The spectacle of terrorized Poland,''
says Guillaume, ``acted powerfully on the heart of
the young officer, and contributed to inspire in him
the horror of despotism.'' This led him to give up
the military career after two years' trial. In 1834
he resigned his commission and went to Moscow,
where he spent six years studying philosophy. Like
all philosophical students of that period, he became
a Hegelian, and in 1840 he went to Berlin to continue
his studies, in the hope of ultimately becoming a
professor. But after this time his opinions underwent
a rapid change. He found it impossible to
accept the Hegelian maxim that whatever is, is
rational, and in 1842 he migrated to Dresden, where
he became associated with Arnold Ruge, the publisher
of ``Deutsche Jahrbuecher.'' By this time he had
become a revolutionary, and in the following year
he incurred the hostility of the Saxon Government.
This led him to go to Switzerland, where he came in
contact with a group of German Communists, but, as
the Swiss police importuned him and the Russian
Government demanded his return, he removed to
Paris, where he remained from 1843 to 1847. These
years in Paris were important in the formation of his
outlook and opinions. He became acquainted with
Proudhon, who exercised a considerable influence on
him; also with George Sand and many other well-known people. It was in Paris that he first made
the acquaintance of Marx and Engels, with whom he
was to carry on a lifelong battle. At a much later
period, in 1871, he gave the following account of his
relations with Marx at this time:--

Marx was much more advanced than I was, as he
remains to-day not more advanced but incomparably more
learned than I am. I knew then nothing of political
economy. I had not yet rid myself of metaphysical
abstractions, and my Socialism was only instinctive. He,
though younger than I, was already an atheist, an
instructed materialist, a well-considered Socialist. It
was just at this time that he elaborated the first foundations
of his present system. We saw each other fairly
often, for I respected him much for his learning and his
passionate and serious devotion (always mixed, however,
with personal vanity) to the cause of the proletariat,
and I sought eagerly his conversation, which was always
instructive and clever, when it was not inspired by a
paltry hate, which, alas! happened only too often. But
there was never any frank intimacy between as. Our
temperaments would not suffer it. He called me a
sentimental idealist, and he was right; I called him a
vain man, perfidious and crafty, and I also was right.

Bakunin never succeeded in staying long in one
place without incurring the enmity of the authorities.
In November, 1847, as the result of a speech
praising the Polish rising of 1830, he was expelled
from France at the request of the Russian Embassy,
which, in order to rob him of public sympathy, spread
the unfounded report that he had been an agent of
the Russian Government, but was no longer wanted
because he had gone too far. The French Government,
by calculated reticence, encouraged this story,
which clung to him more or less throughout his life.

Being compelled to leave France, he went to
Brussels, where he renewed acquaintance with Marx.
A letter of his, written at this time, shows that he
entertained already that bitter hatred for which
afterwards he had so much reason. ``The Germans,
artisans, Bornstedt, Marx and Engels--and, above
all, Marx--are here, doing their ordinary mischief.
Vanity, spite, gossip, theoretical overbearingness
and practical pusillanimity--reflections on life, action
and simplicity, and complete absence of life,
action and simplicity--literary and argumentative
artisans and repulsive coquetry with them: `Feuerbach
is a bourgeois,' and the word `bourgeois' grown
into an epithet and repeated ad nauseam, but all of
them themselves from head to foot, through and
through, provincial bourgeois. With one word, lying
and stupidity, stupidity and lying. In this society
there is no possibility of drawing a free, full breath.
I hold myself aloof from them, and have declared
quite decidedly that I will not join their communistic
union of artisans, and will have nothing to do
with it.''

The Revolution of 1848 led him to return to Paris
and thence to Germany. He had a quarrel with
Marx over a matter in which he himself confessed
later that Marx was in the right. He became a member
of the Slav Congress in Prague, where he vainly
endeavored to promote a Slav insurrection. Toward
the end of 1848, he wrote an ``Appeal to Slavs,''
calling on them to combine with other revolutionaries
to destroy the three oppressive monarchies, Russia,
Austria and Prussia. Marx attacked him in print,
saying, in effect, that the movement for Bohemian
independence was futile because the Slavs had no
future, at any rate in those regions where they happened to be subject to Germany and Austria.
Bakunin accused Mars of German patriotism in
this matter, and Marx accused him of Pan-Slavism,
no doubt in both cases justly. Before this dispute,
however, a much more serious quarrel had taken
place. Marx's paper, the ``Neue Rheinische Zeitung,''
stated that George Sand had papers proving
Bakunin to be a Russian Government agent and one
of those responsible for the recent arrest of Poles.
Bakunin, of course, repudiated the charge, and
George Sand wrote to the ``Neue Rheinische
Zeitung,'' denying this statement in toto. The denials
were published by Marx, and there was a nominal
reconciliation, but from this time onward there was
never any real abatement of the hostility between
these rival leaders, who did not meet again until 1864.

Meanwhile, the reaction had been everywhere
gaining ground. In May, 1849, an insurrection in
Dresden for a moment made the revolutionaries masters
of the town. They held it for five days and
established a revolutionary government. Bakunin
was the soul of the defense which they made against
the Prussian troops. But they were overpowered,
and at last Bakunin was captured while trying to
escape with Heubner and Richard Wagner, the last
of whom, fortunately for music, was not captured.

Now began a long period of imprisonment in
many prisons and various countries. Bakunin was
sentenced to death on the 14th of January, 1850, but
his sentence was commuted after five months, and he
was delivered over to Austria, which claimed the
privilege of punishing him. The Austrians, in their
turn, condemned him to death in May, 1851, and
again his sentence was commuted to imprisonment for
life. In the Austrian prisons he had fetters on hands
and feet, and in one of them he was even chained to the
wall by the belt. There seems to have been some
peculiar pleasure to be derived from the punishment
of Bakunin, for the Russian Government in its turn
demanded him of the Austrians, who delivered him
up. In Russia he was confined, first in the Peter and
Paul fortress and then in the Schluesselburg. There
be suffered from scurvy and all his teeth fell out.
His health gave way completely, and he found almost
all food impossible to assimilate. ``But, if his body
became enfeebled, his spirit remained inflexible. He
feared one thing above all. It was to find himself
some day led, by the debilitating action of prison,
to the condition of degradation of which Silvio Pellico
offers a well-known type. He feared that he might
cease to hate, that he might feel the sentiment of
revolt which upheld him becoming extinguished in
his hearts that he might come to pardon his persecutors
and resign himself to his fate. But this fear
was superfluous; his energy did not abandon him a
single day, and he emerged from his cell the same
man as when he entered.''[14]

After the death of the Czar Nicholas many political
prisoners were amnested, but Alexander II with
his own hand erased Bakunin's name from the list.
When Bakunin's mother succeeded in obtaining an
interview with the new Czar, he said to her, ``Know,
Madame, that so long as your son lives, he can never
be free.'' However, in 1857, after eight years of
captivity, he was sent to the comparative freedom of
Siberia. From there, in 1861, he succeeded in escaping
to Japan, and thence through America to London.
He had been imprisoned for his hostility to
governments, but, strange to say, his sufferings had
not had the intended effect of making him love those
who inflicted them. From this time onward, he
devoted himself to spreading the spirit of Anarchist
revolt, without, however, having to suffer any further
term of imprisonment. For some years he lived in
Italy, where he founded in 1864 an ``International
Fraternity'' or ``Alliance of Socialist Revolutionaries.''
This contained men of many countries, but
apparently no Germans. It devoted itself largely to
combating Mazzini's nationalism. In 1867 he moved
to Switzerland, where in the following year he
helped to found the ``International Alliance of So-
cialist Democracy,'' of which he drew up the program.
This program gives a good succinct resume of
his opinions:--

The Alliance declares itself atheist; it desires the
definitive and entire abolition of classes and the political
equality and social equalization of individuals of both
sexes. It desires that the earth, the instrument of labor,
like all other capital, becoming the collective property of
society as a whole, shall be no longer able to be utilized
except by the workers, that is to say, by agricultural and
industrial associations. It recognizes that all actually
existing political and authoritarian States, reducing
themselves more and more to the mere administrative functions
of the public services in their respective countries,
must disappear in the universal union of free
associations, both agricultural and industrial.

The International Alliance of Socialist Democracy
desired to become a branch of the International
Working Men's Association, but was refused admission
on the ground that branches must be local, and
could not themselves be international. The Geneva
group of the Alliance, however, was admitted later,
in July, 1869.

The International Working Men's Association
had been founded in London in 1864, and its statutes
and program were drawn up by Marx. Bakunin at
first did not expect it to prove a success and refused
to join it. But it spread with remarkable rapidity
in many countries and soon became a great power
for the propagation of Socialist ideas. Originally
it was by no means wholly Socialist, but in successive
Congresses Marx won it over more and more to his
views. At its third Congress, in Brussels in September,
1868, it became definitely Socialist. Meanwhile
Bakunin, regretting his earlier abstention, had
decided to join it, and he brought with him a
considerable following in French-Switzerland, France,
Spain and Italy. At the fourth Congress, held at
Basle in September, 1869, two currents were strongly
marked. The Germans and English followed Marx
in his belief in the State as it was to become after the
abolition of private property; they followed him also
in his desire to found Labor Parties in the various
countries, and to utilize the machinery of democracy
for the election oœ representatives of Labor to
Parliaments. On the other hand, the Latin nations in
the main followed Bakunin in opposing the State and
disbelieving in the machinery of representative
government. The conflict between these two groups grew
more and more bitter, and each accused the other
of various offenses. The statement that Bakunin
was a spy was repeated, but was withdrawn after
investigation. Marx wrote in a confidential
communication to his German friends that Bakunin was
an agent of the Pan-Slavist party and received from
them 25,000 francs a year. Meanwhile, Bakunin
became for a time interested in the attempt to stir
up an agrarian revolt in Russia, and this led him
to neglect the contest in the International at a crucial
moment. During the Franco-Prussian war Bakunin
passionately took the side of France, especially after
the fall of Napoleon III. He endeavored to rouse
the people to revolutionary resistance like that of
1793, and became involved in an abortive attempt at
revolt in Lyons. The French Government accused
him of being a paid agent of Prussia, and it was
with difficulty that he escaped to Switzerland. The
dispute with Marx and his followers had become
exacerbated by the national dispute. Bakunin, like
Kropotkin after him, regarded the new power of
Germany as the greatest menace to liberty in the
world. He hated the Germans with a bitter hatred,
partly, no doubt, on account of Bismarck, but probably
still more on account of Marx. To this day,
Anarchism has remained confined almost exclusively
to the Latin countries, and has been associated with, a
hatred of Germany, growing out of the contests
between Marx and Bakunin in the International.

The final suppression of Bakunin's faction
occurred at the General Congress of the International
at the Hague in 1872. The meeting-place was
chosen by the General Council (in which Marx was
unopposed), with a view--so Bakunin's friends contend--
to making access impossible for Bakunin (on
account of the hostility of the French and German
governments) and difficult for his friends. Bakunin
was expelled from the International as the result of
a report accusing him inter alia of theft backed; up
by intimidation.

The orthodoxy of the International was saved,
but at the cost of its vitality. From this time onward,
it ceased to be itself a power, but both sections continued
to work in their various groups, and the Socialist
groups in particular grew rapidly. Ultimately
a new International was formed (1889) which continued
down to the outbreak of the present war. As
to the future of International Socialism it would be
rash to prophesy, though it would seem that the
international idea has acquired sufficient strength to
need again, after the war, some such means of expression
as it found before in Socialist congresses.

By this time Bakunin's health was broken, and
except for a few brief intervals, he lived in retirement
until his death in 1876.

Bakunin's life, unlike Marx's, was a very stormy
one. Every kind of rebellion against authority
always aroused his sympathy, and in his support he
never paid the slightest attention to personal risk.
His influence, undoubtedly very great, arose chiefly
through the influence of his personality upon important
individuals. His writings differ from Marx's as
much as his life does, and in a similar way. They are
chaotic, largely, aroused by some passing occasion,
abstract and metaphysical, except when they deal
with current politics. He does not come to close
quarters with economic facts, but dwells usually in
the regions of theory and metaphysics. When he
descends from these regions, he is much more at the
mercy of current international politics than Marx,
much less imbued with the consequences of the belief
that it is economic causes that are fundamental. He
praised Marx for enunciating this doctrine,[15] but
nevertheless continued to think in terms of nations.
His longest work, ``L'Empire Knouto-Germanique et
la Revolution Sociale,'' is mainly concerned with the
situation in France during the later stages of the
Franco-Prussian War, and with the means of resisting
German imperialism. Most of his writing was
done in a hurry in the interval between two insurrections.
There is something of Anarchism in his lack
of literary order. His best-known work is a fragment
entitled by its editors ``God and the State.''[16]

In this work he represents belief in God and belief in
the State as the two great obstacles to human liberty.
A typical passage will serve to illustrate its style.

The State is not society, it is only an historical form
of it, as brutal as it is abstract. It was born historically
in all countries of the marriage of violence, rapine, pillage,
in a word, war and conquest, with the gods successively
created by the theological fantasy of nations.
It has been from its origin, and it remains still at present,
the divine sanction of brutal force and triumphant
inequality.

The State is authority; it is force; it is the ostentation
and infatuation of force: it does not insinuate
itself; it does not seek to convert. . . . Even when
it commands what is good, it hinders and spoils it, just
because it commands it, and because every command provokes
and excites the legitimate revolts of liberty; and
because the good, from the moment that it is commanded,
becomes evil from the point of view of true morality, of
human morality (doubtless not of divine), from the point
of view of human respect and of liberty. Liberty, morality,
and the human dignity of man consist precisely
in this, that he does good, not because it is commanded,
but because he conceives it, wills it and loves it.

We do not find in Bakunin's works a clear picture
of the society at which he aimed, or any argument
to prove that such a society could be stable.
If we wish to understand Anarchism we must turn
to his followers, and especially to Kropotkin--like
him, a Russian aristocrat familiar with the prisons
of Europe, and, like him, an Anarchist who, in spite
of his internationalism, is imbued with a fiery hatred
of the Germans.

Kropotkin has devoted much of his writing to
technical questions of production. In ``Fields,
Factories and Workshops'' and ``The Conquest of
Bread'' he has set himself to prove that, if production
were more scientific and better organized, a
comparatively small amount of quite agreeable work
would suffice to keep the whole population in comfort.
Even assuming, as we probably must, that he
somewhat exaggerates what is possible with our
present scientific knowledge, it must nevertheless be
conceded that his contentions contain a very large
measure of truth. In attacking the subject of production
he has shown that he knows what is the really
crucial question. If civilization and progress are to
be compatible with equality, it is necessary that
equality should not involve long hours of painful
toil for little more than the necessaries of life, since,
where there is no leisure, art and science will die and
all progress will become impossible. The objection
which some feel to Socialism and Anarchism alike on
this ground cannot be upheld in view of the possible
productivity of labor.

The system at which Kropotkin aims, whether or
not it be possible, is certainly one which demands a
very great improvement in the methods of production
above what is common at present. He desires
to abolish wholly the system of wages, not only, as
most Socialists do, in the sense that a man is to be
paid rather for his willingness to work than for the
actual work demanded of him, but in a more fundamental
sense: there is to be no obligation to work,
and all things are to be shared in equal proportions
among the whole population. Kropotkin relies upon
the possibility of making work pleasant: he holds
that, in such a community as he foresees, practically
everyone will prefer work to idleness, because work will
not involve overwork or slavery, or that excessive
specialization that industrialism has brought about,
but will be merely a pleasant activity for certain
hours of the day, giving a man an outlet for his
spontaneous constructive impulses. There is to be no
compulsion, no law, no government exercising force;
there will still be acts of the community, but these
are to spring from universal consent, not from any
enforced submission of even the smallest minority.
We shall examine in a later chapter how far such
an ideal is realizable, but it cannot be denied that
Kropotkin presents it with extraordinary persuasiveness
and charm.

We should be doing more than justice to Anarchism
if we did not say something of its darker side,
the side which has brought it into conflict with the
police and made it a word of terror to ordinary citizens.
In its general doctrines there is nothing essentially
involving violent methods or a virulent hatred
of the rich, and many who adopt these general doctrines
are personally gentle and temperamentally
averse from violence. But the general tone of the
Anarchist press and public is bitter to a degree that
seems scarcely sane, and the appeal, especially in
Latin countries, is rather to envy of the fortunate
than to pity for the unfortunate. A vivid and readable,
though not wholly reliable, account, from a
hostile point of view, is given in a book called ``Le
Peril Anarchiste,'' by Felix Dubois,[17] which
incidentally reproduces a number of cartoons from anarchist
journals. The revolt against law naturally leads,
except in those who are controlled by a real passion
for humanity, to a relaxation of all the usually
accepted moral rules, and to a bitter spirit of
retaliatory cruelty out of which good can hardly come.

One of the most curious features of popular
Anarchism is its martyrology, aping Christian forms,
with the guillotine (in France) in place of the cross.
Many who have suffered death at the hands of the
authorities on account of acts of violence were no
doubt genuine sufferers for their belief in a cause,
but others, equally honored, are more questionable.
One of the most curious examples of this outlet for
the repressed religious impulse is the cult of Ravachol,
who was guillotined in 1892 on account of
various dynamite outrages. His past was dubious,
but he died defiantly; his last words were three lines
from a well-known Anarchist song, the ``Chant du
Pere Duchesne'':--


 Si tu veux etre heureux,
 
Nom de Dieu!
 
Pends ton proprietaire.

As was natural, the leading Anarchists took no part
in the canonization of his memory; nevertheless it
proceeded, with the most amazing extravagances.

It would be wholly unfair to judge Anarchist
doctrine, or the views of its leading exponents, by
such phenomena; but it remains a fact that Anarchism
attracts to itself much that lies on the borderland
of insanity and common crime.[18] This must be
remembered in exculpation of the authorities and
the thoughtless public, who often confound in a common
detestation the parasites of the movement and
the truly heroic and high-minded men who have elaborated
its theories and sacrificed comfort and success
to their propagation.

The terrorist campaign in which such men as
Ravachol were active practically came to an end in
1894. After that time, under the influence of Pelloutier,
the better sort of Anarchists found a less
harmful outlet by advocating Revolutionary Syndicalism
in the Trade Unions and Bourses du Travail.[19]

The ECONOMIC organization of society, as conceived
by Anarchist Communists, does not differ
greatly from that which is sought by Socialists.
Their difference from Socialists is in the matter of
government: they demand that government shall
require the consent of all the governed, and not only
of a majority. It is undeniable that the rule of a
majority may be almost as hostile to freedom as the
rule of a minority: the divine right of majorities is a
dogma as little possessed of absolute truth as any
other. A strong democratic State may easily be led
into oppression of its best citizens, namely, those
those independence of mind would make them a force
for progress. Experience of democratic parliamentary
government has shown that it falls very far
short of what was expected of it by early Socialists,
and the Anarchist revolt against it is not surprising.
But in the form of pure Anarchism, this revolt has
remained weak and sporadic. It is Syndicalism, and
the movements to which Syndicalism has given rise,
that have popularized the revolt against parliamentary
government and purely political means of emancipating
the wage earner. But this movement must
be dealt with in a separate chapter.



CHAPTER III

THE SYNDICALIST REVOLT

SYNDICALISM arose in France as a revolt against
political Socialism, and in order to understand it
we must trace in brief outline the positions attained
by Socialist parties in the various countries.
After a severe setback, caused by the Franco-
Prussian war, Socialism gradually revived, and in all
the countries of Western Europe Socialist parties
have increased their numerical strength almost
continuously during the last forty years; but, as is
invariably the case with a growing sect, the intensity
of faith has diminished as the number of believers
has increased.

In Germany the Socialist party became the
strongest faction of the Reichstag, and, in spite of
differences of opinion among its members, it preserved
its formal unity with that instinct for military
discipline which characterizes the German nation.
In the Reichstag election of 1912 it polled a third
of the total number of votes cast, and returned 110
members out of a total of 397. After the death of
Bebel, the Revisionists, who received their first
impulse from Bernstein, overcame the more strict
Marxians, and the party became in effect merely one
of advanced Radicalism. It is too soon to guess what
will be the effect of the split between Majority and
Minority Socialists which has occurred during the
war. There is in Germany hardly a trace of Syndicalism;
its characteristic doctrine, the preference of
industrial to political action, has found scarcely
any support.

In England Marx has never had many followers.
Socialism there has been inspired in the main by the
Fabians (founded in 1883), who threw over the
advocacy of revolution, the Marxian doctrine of
value, and the class-war. What remained was State
Socialism and a doctrine of ``permeation.'' Civil
servants were to be permeated with the realization
that Socialism would enormously increase their
power. Trade Unions were to be permeated with the
belief that the day for purely industrial action was
past, and that they must look to government (inspired
secretly by sympathetic civil servants) to bring
about, bit by bit, such parts of the Socialist program
as were not likely to rouse much hostility in the rich.
The Independent Labor Party (formed in 1893) was
largely inspired at first by the ideas of the Fabians,
though retaining to the present day, and especially
since the outbreak of the war, much more of the
original Socialist ardor. It aimed always at
cooperation with the industrial organizations of
wage-earners, and, chiefly through its efforts, the
Labor Party[20] was formed in 1900 out of a
combination of the Trade Unions and the political
Socialists. To this party, since 1909, all the important
Unions have belonged, but in spite of the fact
that its strength is derived from Trade Unions, it
has stood always for political rather than industrial
action. Its Socialism has been of a theoretical and
academic order, and in practice, until the outbreak
of war, the Labor members in Parliament (of whom
30 were elected in 1906 and 42 in December, 1910)
might be reckoned almost as a part of the Liberal
Party.

France, unlike England and Germany, was not
content merely to repeat the old shibboleths with
continually diminishing conviction. In France[21] a new
movement, originally known as Revolutionary
Syndicalism--and afterwards simply as Syndicalism--
kept alive the vigor of the original impulse, and
remained true to the spirit of the older Socialists,
while departing from the letter. Syndicalism, unlike
Socialism and Anarchism, began from an existing
organization and developed the ideas appropriate
to it, whereas Socialism and Anarchism began with
the ideas and only afterwards developed the organizations
which were their vehicle. In order to understand
Syndicalism, we have first to describe Trade
Union organization in France, and its political
environment. The ideas of Syndicalism will then
appear as the natural outcome of the political and
economic situation. Hardly any of these ideas are
new; almost all are derived from the Bakunist section
of the old International.[21] The old International
had considerable success in France before the Franco-Prussian War; indeed, in 1869, it is estimated to
have had a French membership of a quarter of a million.
What is practically the Syndicalist program
was advocated by a French delegate to the Congress
of the International at Bale in that same year.[22]

The war of 1870 put an end for the time being
to the Socialist Movement in France. Its revival
was begun by Jules Guesde in 1877. Unlike the Ger-
man Socialists, the French have been split into many
different factions. In the early eighties there was a
split between the Parliamentary Socialists and the
Communist Anarchists. The latter thought that the
first act of the Social Revolution should be the
destruction of the State, and would therefore have
nothing to do with Parliamentary politics. The
Anarchists, from 1883 onward, had success in Paris
and the South. The Socialists contended that the
State will disappear after the Socialist society has
been firmly established. In 1882 the Socialists split
between the followers of Guesde, who claimed to represent
the revolutionary and scientific Socialism of
Marx, and the followers of Paul Brousse, who were
more opportunist and were also called possibilists
and cared little for the theories of Marx. In 1890
there was a secession from the Broussists, who followed
Allemane and absorbed the more revolutionary
elements of the party and became leading spirits in
some of the strongest syndicates. Another group
was the Independent Socialists, among whom were
Jaures, Millerand and Viviani.[23]

The disputes between the various sections of
Socialists caused difficulties in the Trade Unions and
helped to bring about the resolution to keep politics
out of the Unions. From this to Syndicalism was
an easy step.

Since the year 1905, as the result of a union
between the Parti Socialiste de France (Part; Ouvrier
Socialiste Revolutionnaire Francais led by
Guesde) and the Parti Socialiste Francais (Jaures),
there have been only two groups of Socialists, the
United Socialist Party and the Independents, who
are intellectuals or not willing to be tied to a party.
At the General Election of 1914 the former secured
102 members and the latter 30, out of a total of 590.

Tendencies toward a rapprochement between the
various groups were seriously interfered with by an
event which had considerable importance for the
whole development of advanced political ideas in
France, namely, the acceptance of office in the Waldeck-Rousseau Ministry by the Socialist Millerand
in 1899. Millerand, as was to be expected, soon
ceased to be a Socialist, and the opponents of political
action pointed to his development as showing
the vanity of political triumphs. Very many French
politicians who have risen to power have begun their
political career as Socialists, and have ended it not
infrequently by employing the army to oppress
strikers. Millerand's action was the most notable
and dramatic among a number of others of a similar
kind. Their cumulative effect has been to produce a
certain cynicism in regard to politics among the more
class-conscious of French wage-earners, and this
state of mind greatly assisted the spread of Syndicalism.

Syndicalism stands essentially for the point of
view of the producer as opposed to that of the consumer;
it is concerned with reforming actual work,
and the organization of industry, not MERELY with
securing greater rewards for work. From this point
of view its vigor and its distinctive character are
derived. It aims at substituting industrial for political
action, and at using Trade Union organization
for purposes for which orthodox Socialism would
look to Parliament. ``Syndicalism'' was originally
only the French name for Trade Unionism, but the
Trade Unionists of France became divided into two
sections, the Reformist and the Revolutionary, of
whom the latter only professed the ideas which we
now associate with the term ``Syndicalism.'' It is
quite impossible to guess how far either the organization
or the ideas of the Syndicalists will remain intact
at the end of the war, and everything that we shall say
is to be taken as applying only to the years before
the war. It may be that French Syndicalism as a
distinctive movement will be dead, but even in that
case it will not have lost its importance, since it has
given a new impulse and direction to the more vigorous
part of the labor movement in all civilized countries,
with the possible exception of Germany.

The organization upon which Syndicalism de-
pended was the Confederation Generale du Travail,
commonly known as the C. G. T., which was founded
in 1895, but only achieved its final form in 1902. It
has never been numerically very powerful, but has
derived its influence from the fact that in moments
of crisis many who were not members were willing
to follow its guidance. Its membership in the year
before the war is estimated by Mr. Cole at somewhat
more than half a million. Trade Unions (Syndicats)
were legalized by Waldeck-Rousseau in 1884,
and the C. G. T., on its inauguration in 1895, was
formed by the Federation of 700 Syndicats. Alongside
of this organization there existed another, the
Federation des Bourses du Travail, formed in 1893.
A Bourse du Travail is a local organization, not of
any one trade, but of local labor in general, intended
to serve as a Labor Exchange and to perform such
functions for labor as Chambers of Commerce perform
for the employer.[24] A Syndicat is in general
a local organization of a single industry, and is thus
a smaller unit than the Bourse du Travail.[25] Under
the able leadership of Pelloutier, the Federation des
Bourses prospered more than the C. G. T., and at
last, in 1902, coalesced with it. The result was an
organization in which the local Syndicat was fed-
erated twice over, once with the other Syndicat in
its locality, forming together the local Bourse du
Travail, and again with the Syndicats in the same
industry in other places. ``It was the purpose of the
new organization to secure twice over the membership
of every syndicat, to get it to join both its local
Bourse du Travail and the Federation of its industry.
The Statutes of the C. G. T. (I. 3) put this point
plainly: `No Syndicat will be able to form a part of
the C. G. T. if it is not federated nationally and an
adherent of a Bourse du Travail or a local or departmental
Union of Syndicats grouping different associations.'
Thus, M. Lagardelle explains, the two sections
will correct each other's point of view: national
federation of industries will prevent parochialism
(localisme), and local organization will check the
corporate or `Trade Union' spirit. The workers will
learn at once the solidarity of all workers in a locality
and that of all workers in a trade, and, in learning
this, they will learn at the same time the complete
solidarity of the whole working-class.''[26]

This organization was largely the work of Pellouties,
who was Secretary of the Federation des Bourses
from 1894 until his death in 1901. He was an Anarchist
Communist and impressed his ideas upon the
Federation and thence posthumously on the C. G. T.
after its combination with the Federation des
Bourses. He even carried his principles into the
government of the Federation; the Committee had
no chairman and votes very rarely took place. He
stated that ``the task of the revolution is to free
mankind, not only from all authority, but also from
every institution which has not for its essential purpose
the development of production.''

The C. G. T. allows much autonomy to each unit
in the organization. Each Syndicat counts for one,
whether it be large or small. There are not the
friendly society activities which form so large a part
of the work of English Unions. It gives no orders,
but is purely advisory. It does not allow politics
to be introduced into the Unions. This decision was
originally based upon the fact that the divisions
among Socialists disrupted the Unions, but it is now
reinforced in the minds of an important section by
the general Anarchist dislike of politics. The C. G.
T. is essentially a fighting organization; in strikes, it
is the nucleus to which the other workers rally.

There is a Reformist section in the C. G. T., but
it is practically always in a minority, and the C. G.
T. is, to all intents and purposes, the organ of
revolutionary Syndicalism, which is simply the creed
of its leaders.

The essential doctrine of Syndicalism is the class-
war, to be conducted by industrial rather than politi-
cal methods. The chief industrial methods advocated
are the strike, the boycott, the label and sabotage.

The boycott, in various forms, and the label,
showing that the work has been done under trade-
union conditions, have played a considerable part
in American labor struggles.

Sabotage is the practice of doing bad work, or
spoiling machinery or work which has already been
done, as a method of dealing with employers in a
dispute when a strike appears for some reason
undesirable or impossible. It has many forms, some
clearly innocent, some open to grave objections. One
form of sabotage which has been adopted by shop
assistants is to tell customers the truth about the
articles they are buying; this form, however it may
damage the shopkeeper's business, is not easy to
object to on moral grounds. A form which has been
adopted on railways, particularly in Italian strikes,
is that of obeying all rules literally and exactly, in
such a way as to make the running of trains practically
impossible. Another form is to do all the
work with minute care, so that in the end it is better
done, but the output is small. From these innocent
forms there is a continual progression, until we come
to such acts as all ordinary morality would consider
criminal; for example, causing railway accidents.
Advocates of sabotage justify it as part of
war, but in its more violent forms (in which it is
seldom defended) it is cruel and probably inexpedient,
while even in its milder forms it must tend to encourage
slovenly habits of work, which might easily persist
under the new regime that the Syndicalists wish
to introduce. At the same time, when capitalists
express a moral horror of this method, it is worth
while to observe that they themselves are the first
to practice it when the occasion seems to them appropriate.
If report speaks truly, an example of this
on a very large scale has been seen during the Russian
Revolution.

By far the most important of the Syndicalist
methods is the strike. Ordinary strikes, for specific
objects, are regarded as rehearsals, as a means of
perfecting organization and promoting enthusiasm,
but even when they are victorious so far as concerns
the specific point in dispute, they are not regarded
by Syndicalists as affording any ground for industrial
peace. Syndicalists aim at using the strike,
not to secure such improvements of detail as employers
may grant, but to destroy the whole system of
employer and employed and win the complete emancipation
of the worker. For this purpose what is
wanted is the General Strike, the complete cessation
of work by a sufficient proportion of the wage-earners
to secure the paralyzes of capitalism. Sorel, who
represents Syndicalism too much in the minds of the
reading public, suggests that the General Strike is to
be regarded as a myth, like the Second Coming in
Christian doctrine. But this view by no means suits
the active Syndicalists. If they were brought to
believe that the General Strike is a mere myth, their
energy would flag, and their whole outlook would
become disillusioned. It is the actual, vivid belief
in its possibility which inspires them. They are much
criticized for this belief by the political Socialists
who consider that the battle is to be won by obtaining
a Parliamentary majority. But Syndicalists have
too little faith in the honesty of politicians to place
any reliance on such a method or to believe in the
value of any revolution which leaves the power of the
State intact.

Syndicalist aims are somewhat less definite than
Syndicalist methods. The intellectuals who endeavor
to interpret them--not always very faithfully--
represent them as a party of movement and change,
following a Bergsonian elan vital, without needing
any very clear prevision of the goal to which it is to
take them. Nevertheless, the negative part, at any
rate, of their objects is sufficiently clear.

They wish to destroy the State, which they
regard as a capitalist institution, designed essentially
to terrorize the workers. They refuse to
believe that it would be any better under State Socialism.
They desire to see each industry self-governing,
but as to the means of adjusting the relations between
different industries, they are not very clear. They
are anti-militarist because they are anti-State, and
because French troops have often been employed
against them in strikes; also because they are
internationalists, who believe that the sole interest of the
working man everywhere is to free himself from the
tyranny of the capitalist. Their outlook on life is
the very reverse of pacifist, but they oppose wars
between States on the ground that these are not
fought for objects that in any way concern the
workers. Their anti-militarism, more than anything
else, brought them into conflict with the authorities
in the years preceding the war. But, as was to be
expected, it did not survive the actual invasion of
France.

The doctrines of Syndicalism may be illustrated
by an article introducing it to English readers in
the first number of ``The Syndicalist Railwayman,''
September, 1911, from which the following is quoted:--

``All Syndicalism, Collectivism, Anarchism aims at
abolishing the present economic status and existing private
ownership of most things; but while Collectivism
would substitute ownership by everybody, and Anarchism
ownership by nobody, Syndicalism aims at ownership by
Organized Labor. It is thus a purely Trade Union
reading of the economic doctrine and the class war
preached by Socialism. It vehemently repudiates Parliamentary
action on which Collectivism relies; and it is,
in this respect, much more closely allied to Anarchism,
from which, indeed, it differs in practice only in being
more limited in range of action.'' (Times, Aug. 25, 1911).

In truth, so thin is the partition between Syndicalism
and Anarchism that the newer and less familiar ``ism''
has been shrewdly defined as ``Organized Anarchy.'' It
has been created by the Trade Unions of France; but it
is obviously an international plant, whose roots have
already found the soil of Britain most congenial to its
growth and fructification.

Collectivist or Marxian Socialism would have us believe
that it is distinctly a LABOR Movement; but it is
not so. Neither is Anarchism. The one is substantially
bourgeois; the other aristocratic, plus an abundant output
of book-learning, in either case. Syndicalism, on the contrary,
is indubitably laborist in origin and aim, owing
next to nothing to the ``Classes,'' and, indeed,, resolute to
uproot them. The Times (Oct. 13, 1910), which almost
single-handed in the British Press has kept creditably
abreast of Continental Syndicalism, thus clearly set forth
the significance of the General Strike:

``To understand what it means, we must remember
that there is in France a powerful Labor Organization
which has for its open and avowed object a Revolution,
in which not only the present order of Society, but the
State itself, is to be swept away. This movement is called
Syndicalism. It is not Socialism, but, on the contrary,
radically opposed to Socialism, because the Syndicalists
hold that the State is the great enemy and that the
Socialists' ideal of State or Collectivist Ownership would
make the lot of the Workers much worse than it is now
under private employers. The means by which they hope
to attain their end is the General Strike, an idea which
was invented by a French workman about twenty years
ago,[27] and was adopted by the French Labor Congress in
1894, after a furious battle with the Socialists, in which
the latter were worsted. Since then the General Strike
has been the avowed policy of the Syndicalists, whose
organization is the Confederation Generale du Travail.''

Or, to put it otherwise, the intelligent French worker
has awakened, as he believes, to the fact that Society
(Societas) and the State (Civitas) connote two separable
spheres of human activity, between which there is no
connection, necessary or desirable. Without the one, man,
being a gregarious animal, cannot subsist: while without
the other he would simply be in clover. The ``statesman''
whom office does not render positively nefarious
is at best an expensive superfluity.

Syndicalists have had many violent encounters
with the forces of government. In 1907 and 1908,
protesting against bloodshed which had occurred in
the suppression of strikes, the Committee of the C.
G. T. issued manifestos speaking of the Government
as ``a Government of assassins'' and alluding
to the Prime Minister as ``Clemenceau the murderer.''
Similar events in the strike at Villeneuve St. Georges
in 1908 led to the arrest of all the leading members
of the Committee. In the railway strike of October,
1910, Monsieur Briand arrested the Strike Committee,
mobilized the railway men and sent soldiers
to replace strikers. As a result of these vigorous
measures the strike was completely defeated, and
after this the chief energy of the C. G. T. was directed
against militarism and nationalism.

The attitude of Anarchism to the Syndicalist
movement is sympathetic, with the reservation that
such methods as the General Strike are not to be
regarded as substitutes for the violent revolution
which most Anarchists consider necessary. Their
attitude in this matter was defined at the International
Anarchist Congress held in Amsterdam in
August, 1907. This Congress recommended ``comrades
of all countries to actively participate in autonomous
movements of the working class, and to
develop in Syndicalist organizations the ideas of
revolt, individual initiative and solidarity, which are
the essence of Anarchism.'' Comrades were to
``propagate and support only those forms and manifestations
of direct action which carry, in themselves,
a revolutionary character and lead to the
transformation of society.'' It was resolved that
``the Anarchists think that the destruction of the
capitalist and authoritary society can only be realized
by armed insurrection and violent expropriation,
and that the use of the more or less General Strike
and the Syndicalist movement must not make us
forget the more direct means of struggle against
the military force of government.''

Syndicalists might retort that when the movement
is strong enough to win by armed insurrection
it will be abundantly strong enough to win by the
General Strike. In Labor movements generally, success
through violence can hardly be expected except
in circumstances where success without violence is
attainable. This argument alone, even if there were
no other, would be a very powerful reason against
the methods advocated by the Anarchist Congress.

Syndicalism stands for what is known as industrial
unionism as opposed to craft unionism. In this
respect, as also in the preference of industrial to
political methods, it is part of a movement which
has spread far beyond France. The distinction
between industrial and craft unionism is much dwelt
on by Mr. Cole. Craft unionism ``unites in a single
association those workers who are engaged on a single
industrial process, or on processes so nearly akin
that any one can do another's work.'' But ``organization
may follow the lines, not of the work done,
but of the actual structure of industry. All workers
working at producing a particular kind of commodity
may be organized in a single Union. . . .
The basis of organization would be neither the craft
to which a man belonged nor the employer under
whom he worked, but the service on which he was
engaged. This is Industrial Unionism properly
so called.[28]

Industrial unionism is a product of America,
and from America it has to some extent spread to
Great Britain. It is the natural form of fighting
organization when the union is regarded as the means
of carrying on the class war with a view, not to
obtaining this or that minor amelioration, but to a
radical revolution in the economic system. This is
the point of view adopted by the ``Industrial Workers
of the World,'' commonly known as the I. W. W.
This organization more or less corresponds in America
to what the C. G. T. was in France before the
war. The differences between the two are those due
to the different economic circumstances of the two
countries, but their spirit is closely analogous. The
I. W. W. is not united as to the ultimate form which
it wishes society to take. There are Socialists,
Anarchists and Syndicalists among its members. But it
is clear on the immediate practical issue, that the
class war is the fundamental reality in the present
relations of labor and capital, and that it is by
industrial action, especially by the strike, that
emancipation must be sought. The I. W. W., like the
C. G. T., is not nearly so strong numerically as it is
supposed to be by those who fear it. Its influence
is based, not upon its numbers, but upon its power
of enlisting the sympathies of the workers in moments
of crisis.

The labor movement in America has been characterized
on both sides by very great violence. Indeed,
the Secretary of the C. G. T., Monsieur Jouhaux,
recognizes that the C. G. T. is mild in comparison
with the I. W. W. ``The I. W. W.,'' he says,
``preach a policy of militant action, very necessary
in parts of America, which would not do in France.''[29]
A very interesting account of it, from the point of
view of an author who is neither wholly on the side
of labor nor wholly on the side of the capitalist, but
disinterestedly anxious to find some solution of the
social question short of violence and revolution, is
the work of Mr. John Graham Brooks, called ``American
Syndicalism: the I. W. W.'' (Macmillan, 1913).
American labor conditions are very different from
those of Europe. In the first place, the power of the
trusts is enormous; the concentration of capital has
in this respect proceeded more nearly on Marxian
lines in America than anywhere else. In the second
place, the great influx of foreign labor makes the
whole problem quite different from any that arises
in Europe. The older skilled workers, largely American
born, have long been organized in the American
Federation of Labor under Mr. Gompers. These
represent an aristocracy of labor. They tend to
work with the employers against the great mass of
unskilled immigrants, and they cannot be regarded as
forming part of anything that could be truly called
a labor movement. ``There are,'' says Mr. Cole,
``now in America two working classes, with different
standards of life, and both are at present almost
impotent in the face of the employers. Nor is it possible
for these two classes to unite or to put forward
any demands. . . . The American Federation
of Labor and the Industrial Workers of the
World represent two different principles of
combination; but they also represent two different
classes of labor.''[30] The I. W. W. stands for industrial
unionism, whereas the American Federation of
Labor stands for craft unionism. The I. W. W. were
formed in 1905 by a union of organizations, chief
among which was the Western Federation of Miners,
which dated from 1892. They suffered a split by the
loss of the followers of Deleon, who was the leader of
the ``Socialist Labor Party'' and advocated a
``Don't vote'' policy, while reprobating violent
methods. The headquarters of the party which he
formed are at Detroit, and those of the main body
are at Chicago. The I. W. W., though it has a less
definite philosophy than French Syndicalism, is quite
equally determined to destroy the capitalist system.
As its secretary has said: ``There is but one bargain
the I. W. W. will make with the employing class--
complete surrender of all control of industry to the
organized workers.''[31] Mr. Haywood, of the Western
Federation of Miners, is an out-and-out follower
of Marx so far as concerns the class war and the
doctrine of surplus value. But, like all who are in
this movement, he attaches more importance to industrial
as against political action than do the European
followers of Marx. This is no doubt partly
explicable by the special circumstances of America,
where the recent immigrants are apt to be voteless.
The fourth convention of the I. W. W. revised a
preamble giving the general principles underlying
its action. ``The working class and the employing
class,'' they say, ``have nothing in common. There
can be no peace so long as hunger and want are
found among millions of the working people and the
few, who make up the employing class, have all the
good things of life. Between these two classes, a
struggle must go on until the workers of the world
organize as a class, take possession of the earth and
the machinery of production, and abolish the wage
system. . . . Instead of the conservative motto,
`A fair day's wages for a fair day's work,' we must
inscribe on our banner the revolutionary watchword,
`Abolition of the wage system.' ''[32]

Numerous strikes have been conducted or encouraged
by the I. W. W. and the Western Federation
of Miners. These strikes illustrate the class-war
in a more bitter and extreme form than is to be found
in any other part of the world. Both sides are always
ready to resort to violence. The employers have
armies of their own and are able to call upon the
Militia and even, in a crisis, upon the United States
Army. What French Syndicalists say about the
State as a capitalist institution is peculiarly true in
America. In consequence of the scandals thus arising,
the Federal Government appointed a Commission
on Industrial Relations, whose Report, issued in 1915,
reveals a state of affairs such as it would be difficult
to imagine in Great Britain. The report states that
``the greatest disorders and most of the outbreaks
of violence in connection with industrial `disputes
arise from the violation of what are considered
to be fundamental rights, and from the perversion
or subversion of governmental institutions''
(p. 146). It mentions, among such perversions,
the subservience of the judiciary to the mili-
tary authorities,[33] the fact that during a labor
dispute the life and liberty of every man within
the State would seem to be at the mercy of the
Governor (p. 72), and the use of State troops
in policing strikes (p. 298). At Ludlow (Colorado)
in 1914 (April 20) a battle of the militia and the
miners took place, in which, as the result of the fire
of the militia, a number of women and children were
burned to death.[34] Many other instances of pitched
battles could be given, but enough has been said to
show the peculiar character of labor disputes in the
United States. It may, I fear, be presumed that this
character will remain so long as a very large
proportion of labor consists of recent immigrants.
When these difficulties pass away, as they must
sooner or later, labor will more and more find its
place in the community, and will tend to feel and
inspire less of the bitter hostility which renders the
more extreme forms of class war possible. When

that time comes, the labor movement in America will
probably begin to take on forms similar to those of
Europe.

Meanwhile, though the forms are different, the
aims are very similar, and industrial unionism,
spreading from America, has had a considerable
influence in Great Britain--an influence naturally
reinforced by that of French Syndicalism. It is
clear, I think, that the adoption of industrial rather
than craft unionism is absolutely necessary if Trade
Unionism is to succeed in playing that part in altering
the economic structure of society which its advocates
claim for it rather than for the political
parties. Industrial unionism organizes men, as craft
unionism does not, in accordance with the enemy
whom they have to fight. English unionism is still
very far removed from the industrial form, though
certain industries, especially the railway men, have
gone very far in this direction, and it is notable that
the railway men are peculiarly sympathetic to Syndicalism
and industrial unionism.

Pure Syndicalism, however, is not very likely to
achieve wide popularity in Great Britain. Its spirit
is too revolutionary and anarchistic for our temperament.
It is in the modified form of Guild Socialism
that the ideas derived from the C. G. T. and the I. W.
W. are tending to bear fruit.[35] This movement is as
yet in its infancy and has no great hold upon the rank
and file, but it is being ably advocated by a group
of young men, and is rapidly gaining ground among
those who will form Labor opinion in years to come.
The power of the State has been so much increased
during the war that those who naturally dislike
things as they are, find it more and more difficult to
believe that State omnipotence can be the road to the
millennium. Guild Socialists aim at autonomy in
industry, with consequent curtailment, but not abolition,
of the power of the State. The system which
they advocate is, I believe, the best hitherto proposed,
and the one most likely to secure liberty without
the constant appeals to violence which are to be
feared under a purely Anarchist regime.

The first pamphlet of the ``National Guilds
League'' sets forth their main principles. In industry
each factory is to be free to control its own
methods of production by means of elected managers.
The different factories in a given industry are to be
federated into a National Guild which will deal with
marketing and the general interests of the industry
as a whole. ``The State would own the means of
production as trustee for the community; the Guilds
would manage them, also as trustees for the community,
and would pay to the State a single tax or
rent. Any Guild that chose to set its own interests
above those of the community would be violating
its trust, and would have to bow to the judgment of
a tribunal equally representing the whole body of
producers and the whole body of consumers. This
Joint Committee would be the ultimate sovereign
body, the ultimate appeal court of industry. It
would fix not only Guild taxation, but also standard
prices, and both taxation and prices would be periodically
readjusted by it.'' Each Guild will be
entirely free to apportion what it receives among its
members as it chooses, its members being all those who
work in the industry which it covers. ``The distribution
of this collective Guild income among the
members seems to be a matter for each Guild to decide
for itself. Whether the Guilds would, sooner or later,
adopt the principle of equal payment for every member,
is open to discussion.'' Guild Socialism accepts
from Syndicalism the view that liberty is not to be
secured by making the State the employer: ``The
State and the Municipality as employers have turned
out not to differ essentially from the private capitalist.''
Guild Socialists regard the State as consisting
of the community in their capacity as consumers,
while the Guilds will represent them in their capacity
as producers; thus Parliament and the Guild Congress
will be two co-equal powers representing consumers
and producers respectively. Above both will
be the joint Committee of Parliament and the Guild
Congress for deciding matters involving the interests
of consumers and producers alike. The view of the
Guild Socialists is that State Socialism takes account
of men only as consumers, while Syndicalism takes
account of them only as producers. ``The problem,''
say the Guild Socialists, ``is to reconcile the two
points of view. That is what advocates of National
Guilds set out to do. The Syndicalist has claimed
everything for the industrial organizations of producers,
the Collectivist everything for the territorial
or political organizations of consumers. Both are
open to the same criticism; you cannot reconcile two
points of view merely by denying one of them.''[36]
But although Guild Socialism represents an attempt
at readjustment between two equally legitimate points
of view, its impulse and force are derived from
what it has taken over from Syndicalism. Like Syndicalism;
it desires not primarily to make work better
paid, but to secure this result along with others by
making it in itself more interesting and more democratic
in organization.

Capitalism has made of work a purely commercial
activity, a soulless and a joyless thing. But substitute
the national service of the Guilds for the profiteering of
the few; substitute responsible labor for a salable commodity;
substitute self-government and decentralization
for the bureaucracy and demoralizing hugeness of the
modern State and the modern joint stock company; and
then it may be just once more to speak of a ``joy in
labor,'' and once more to hope that men may be proud
of quality and not only of quantity in their work. There
is a cant of the Middle Ages, and a cant of ``joy in
labor,'' but it were better, perhaps, to risk that cant
than to reconcile ourselves forever to the philosophy of
Capitalism and of Collectivism, which declares that work
is a necessary evil never to be made pleasant, and that
the workers' only hope is a leisure which shall be longer,
richer, and well adorned with municipal amenities.[37]

Whatever may be thought of the practicability
of Syndicalism, there is no doubt that the ideas which
it has put into the world have done a great deal
to revive the labor movement and to recall it to certain
things of fundamental importance which it had
been in danger of forgetting. Syndicalists consider
man as producer rather than consumer. They are
more concerned to procure freedom in work than to
increase material well-being. They have revived the
quest for liberty, which was growing somewhat
dimmed under the regime of Parliamentary Socialism,
and they have reminded men that what our modern
society needs is not a little tinkering here and there,
nor the kind of minor readjustments to which the
existing holders of power may readily consent, but
a fundamental reconstruction, a sweeping away of
all the sources of oppression, a liberation of men's
constructive energies, and a wholly new way of
conceiving and regulating production and economic
relations. This merit is so great that, in view of it,
all minor defects become insignificant, and this merit
Syndicalism will continue to possess even if, as a
definite movement, it should be found to have passed
away with the war.


Notes:

[1] Chief among these were Fourier and Saint-Simon, who
constructed somewhat fantastic Socialistic ideal commonwealths.
Proudhon, with whom Marx had some not wholly friendly relations,
is to be regarded as a forerunner of the Anarchists rather
than of orthodox Socialism.
[2] Marx mentions the English Socialists with praise in ``The
Poverty of Philosophy'' (1847). They, like him, tend to base
their arguments upon a Ricardian theory of value, but they
have not his scope or erudition or scientific breadth. Among
them may be mentioned Thomas Hodgskin (1787-1869), originally
an officer in the Navy, but dismissed for a pamphlet critical
of the methods of naval discipline, author of ``Labor Defended
Against the Claims of Capital'' (1825) and other works;
William Thompson (1785-1833), author of ``Inquiry into the
Principles of Distribution of Wealth Most Conducive to Human
Happiness'' (1824), and ``Labor Rewarded'' (1825); and
Piercy Ravenstone, from whom Hodgskin's ideas are largely
derived. Perhaps more important than any of these was Robert
Owen.

[3] The first and most important volume appeared in 1867;
the other two volumes were published posthumously (1885 and
1894).

[4] Vol. i, p. 227.

[5] Vol. i, pp. 237, 238.

[6] Vol. i, pp. 239, 240.

[7] Vol. i, pp. 758, 759.

[8] Vol. i pp. 788, 789.

[9] Die Voraussetzungen des Sozialismus und die Aufgaben
der Sozial-Demokratie.''

[10] La Decomposition du Marxisme,'' p. 53.

[11] ``Musings of a Chinese Mystic.'' Selections from the Philosophy
of Chuang Tzu. With an Introduction by Lionel Giles,
M.A. (Oxon.). Wisdom of the East Series, John Murray, 1911.
Pages 66-68.

[12] An account of the life of Bakunin from the Anarchist
standpoint will be found in vol. ii of the complete edition of
his works: ``Michel Bakunin, OEuvres,'' Tome II. Avec une
notice biographique, des avant-propos et des notes, par James
Guillaume. Paris, P.-V, Stock, editeur, pp. v-lxiii.

[13] Criticism of these theories will be reserved for Part II.

[14] Ibid. p. xxvi.

[15] ``Marx, as a thinker, is on the right road. He has established
as a principle that all the evolutions, political, religious,
and juridical, in history are, not the causes, but the effects of
economic evolutions. This is a great and fruitful thought, which
he has not absolutely invented; it has been glimpsed, expressed
in part, by many others besides him; but in any case to him
belongs the honor of having solidly established it and of having
enunciated it as the basis of his whole economic system. (1870;
ib. ii. p. xiii.)

[16] This title is not Bakunin's, but was invented by Cafiero
and Elisee Reclus, who edited it, not knowing that it was a
fragment of what was intended to he the second version of
``L'Empire Knouto-Germanique'' (see ib. ii. p 283).

[17] Paris, 1894.

[18] The attitude of all the better Anarchists is that expressed
by L. S. Bevington in the words: ``Of course we know that
among those who call themselves Anarchists there are a minority
of unbalanced enthusiasts who look upon every illegal and sensational
act of violence as a matter for hysterical jubilation.
Very useful to the police and the press, unsteady in intellect
and of weak moral principle, they have repeatedly shown themselves
accessible to venal considerations. They, and their violence,
and their professed Anarchism are purchasable, and in
the last resort they are welcome and efficient partisans of the
bourgeoisie in its remorseless war against the deliverers of the
people.'' His conclusion is a very wise one: ``Let us leave
indiscriminate killing and injuring to the Government--to its
Statesmen, its Stockbrokers, its Officers, and its Law.'' (``Anarchism
and Violence,'' pp. 9-10. Liberty Press, Chiswick, 1896.)
[19] See next Chapter.

[20] Of which the Independent Labor Party is only a section.

[20] And also in Italy. A good, short account of the Italian
movement is given by A. Lanzillo, ``Le Mouvement Ouvrier en
Italie,'' Bibliotheque du Mouvement Proletarien. See also Paul
Louis, ``Le Syndicalisme Europeen,'' chap. vi. On the other
hand Cole (``World of Labor,'' chap. vi) considers the strength
of genuine Syndicalism in Italy to be small.

[21] This is often recognized by Syndicalists themselves. See,
e.g., an article on ``The Old International'' in the Syndicalist
of February, 1913, which, after giving an account of the struggle
between Marx and Bakunin from the standpoint of a sympathizer
with the latter, says: ``Bakounin's ideas are now more alive
than ever.''

[22] See pp. 42-43, and 160 of ``Syndicalism in France,'' Louis
Levine, Ph.D. (Columbia University Studies in Political Science,
vol. xlvi, No. 3.) This is a very objective and reliable account
of the origin and progress of French Syndicalism. An admirable
short discussion of its ideas and its present position will be
found in Cole's ``World of Labor'' (G. Bell & Sons), especially
chapters iii, iv, and xi.

[23] See Levine, op. cit., chap. ii.

[24] Cole, ib., p. 65.

[25] ``Syndicat in France still means a local union--there are
at the present day only four national syndicats'' (ib., p. 66).

[26] Cole, ib. p. 69.

[27] In fact the General Strike was invented by a Londoner
William Benbow, an Owenite, in 1831.

[28] ``World of Labor,'' pp. 212, 213.

[29] Quoted in Cole, ib. p. 128.



[30] Ib., p. 135.

[31] Brooks, op. cit., p. 79.

[32] Brooks, op. cit., pp. 86-87.

[33] Although uniformly held that the writ of habeas corpus
can only be suspended by the legislature, in these labor disturbances
the executive has in fact suspended or disregarded the
writ. . . . In cases arising from labor agitations, the judiciary
has uniformly upheld the power exercised by the military,
and in no case has there been any protest against the use of
such power or any attempt to curtail it, except in Montana,
where the conviction of a civilian by military commission was
annulled'' (``Final Report of the Commission on Industrial
Relations'' (1915) appointed by the United States Congress,''
p. 58).

[34] Literary Digest, May 2 and May 16, 1914.

[35] The ideas of Guild Socialism were first set forth in
``National Guilds,'' edited by A. R. Orage (Bell & Sons, 1914),
and in Cole's ``World of Labor'' (Bell & Sons), first published
in 1913. Cole's ``Self-Government in Industry'' (Bell &
Sons, 1917) and Rickett & Bechhofer's ``The Meaning of
National Guilds'' (Palmer & Hayward, 1918) should also be
read, as well as various pamphlets published by the National
Guilds League. The attitude of the Syndicalists to Guild
Socialism is far from sympathetic. An article in ``The
Syndicalist'' for February, 1914, speaks of it in the following
terms: a Middle-class of the middle-class, with all the shortcomings
(we had almost said `stupidities') of the middle-
classes writ large across it, `Guild Socialism' stands forth
as the latest lucubration of the middle-class mind. It is a
`cool steal' of the leading ideas of Syndicalism and a deliberate
perversion of them. . . . We do protest against the `State'
idea . . . in Guild Socialism. Middle-class people, even
when they become Socialists, cannot get rid of the idea that the
working-class is their `inferior'; that the workers need to be
`educated,' drilled, disciplined, and generally nursed for a very
long time before they will be able to walk by themselves. The
very reverse is actually the truth. . . . It is just the plain
truth when we say that the ordinary wage-worker, of average
intelligence, is better capable of taking care of himself than the
half-educated middle-class man who wants to advise him. He
knows how to make the wheels of the world go round.''

[37] ``The Guild Idea,'' No. 2 of the Pamphlets of the National
Guilds League, p. 17.


* Part 2 : Work And Pay, Government And Law, International Relations, Science And Art Under Socialism, The World As It Could Be Made


Proposed Roads
To Freedom




By
Bertrand Russell



PART II - 

PROBLEMS OF THE FUTURE







CHAPTER IV

 WORK AND PAY

 


THE man who seeks to create a better order of
society has two resistances to contend with: one that
of Nature, the other that of his fellow-men. Broadly
speaking, it is science that deals with the resistance
of Nature, while politics and social organization are
the methods of overcoming the resistance of men.
The ultimate fact in economics is that Nature only
yields commodities as the result of labor. The necessity
of SOME labor for the satisfaction of our wants
is not imposed by political systems or by the exploitation
of the working classes; it is due to physical
laws, which the reformer, like everyone else, must
admit and study. Before any optimistic economic
project can be accepted as feasible, we must examine
whether the physical conditions of production impose
an unalterable veto, or whether they are capable of
being sufficiently modified by science and organization.
Two connected doctrines must be considered
in examining this question: First, Malthus' doctrine
of population; and second, the vaguer, but very
prevalent, view that any surplus above the bare
necessaries of life can only be produced if most men
work long hours at monotonous or painful tasks,
leaving little leisure for a civilized existence or
rational enjoyment. I do not believe that either
of these obstacles to optimism will survive a close
scrutiny. The possibility of technical improvement
in the methods of production is, I believe, so
great that, at any rate for centuries to come, there
will be no inevitable barrier to progress in the general
well-being by the simultaneous increase of commodities
and diminution of hours of labor.

This subject has been specially studied by Kropotkin,
who, whatever may be thought of his general
theories of politics, is remarkably instructive, concrete
and convincing in all that he says about the
possibilities of agriculture. Socialists and Anarchists
in the main are products of industrial life, and
few among them have any practical knowledge on the
subject of food production. But Kropotkin is an
exception. His two books, ``The Conquest of Bread''
and ``Fields, Factories and Workshops,'' are very
full of detailed information, and, even making great
allowances for an optimistic bias, I do not think it
can be denied that they demonstrate possibilities in
which few of us would otherwise have believed.

Malthus contended, in effect, that population
always tends to increase up to the limit of subsistence,
that the production of food becomes more expensive
as its amount is increased, and that therefore, apart
from short exceptional periods when new discoveries
produce temporary alleviations, the bulk of mankind
must always be at the lowest level consistent with
survival and reproduction. As applied to the civilized
races of the world, this doctrine is becoming
untrue through the rapid decline in the birthrate;
but, apart from this decline, there are many other
reasons why the doctrine cannot be accepted, at any
rate as regards the near future. The century which
elapsed after Malthus wrote, saw a very great
increase in the standard of comfort throughout the
wage-earning classes, and, owing to the enormous
increase in the productivity of labor, a far greater
rise in the standard of comfort could have been
effected if a more just system of distribution had
been introduced. In former times, when one man's
labor produced not very much more than was needed
for one man's subsistence, it was impossible either
greatly to reduce the normal hours of labor, or
greatly to increase the proportion of the population
who enjoyed more than the bare necessaries of life.
But this state of affairs has been overcome by modern
methods of production. At the present moment,
not only do many people enjoy a comfortable income
derived from rent or interest, but about half the
population of most of the civilized countries in the
world is engaged, not in the production of commodities,
but in fighting or in manufacturing munitions
of war. In a time of peace the whole of this
half might be kept in idleness without making the
other half poorer than they would have been if the
war had continued, and if, instead of being idle, they
were productively employed, the whole of what they
would produce would be a divisible surplus over and
above present wages. The present productivity of
labor in Great Britain would suffice to produce an
income of about 1 pound per day for each family, even
without any of those improvements in methods which
are obviously immediately possible.

But, it will be said, as population increases, the
price of food must ultimately increase also as
the sources of supply in Canada, the Argentine,
Australia and elsewhere are more and more used up.
There must come a time, so pessimists will urge, when
food becomes so dear that the ordinary wage-earner
will have little surplus for expenditure upon other
things. It may be admitted that this would be true
in some very distant future if the population were to
continue to increase without limit. If the whole
surface of the world were as densely populated as
London is now, it would, no doubt, require almost
the whole labor of the population to produce the
necessary food from the few spaces remaining for
agriculture. But there is no reason to suppose that
the population will continue to increase indefinitely,
and in any case the prospect is so remote that it may
be ignored in all practical considerations.

Returning from these dim speculations to the
facts set forth by Kropotkin, we find it proved in
his writings that, by methods of intensive cultivation,
which are already in actual operation, the amount of
food produced on a given area can be increased far
beyond anything that most uninformed persons suppose
possible. Speaking of the market-gardeners in
Great Britain, in the neighborhood of Paris, and in
other places, he says:--

They have created a totally new agriculture. They
smile when we boast about the rotation system having
permitted us to take from the field one crop every year,
or four crops each three years, because their ambition is
to have six and nine crops from the very same plot of
land during the twelve months. They do not understand
our talk about good and bad soils, because they make
the soil themselves, and make it in such quantities as to
be compelled yearly to sell some of it; otherwise it would
raise up the level of their gardens by half an inch every
year. They aim at cropping, not five or six tons of
grass on the acre, as we do, but from 50 to 100 tons of
various vegetables on the same space; not 5 pound sworth of
hay, but 100 pounds worth of vegetables, of the plainest description,
cabbage and carrots.[38]

As regards cattle, he mentions that Mr. Champion
at Whitby grows on each acre the food of two or
three head of cattle, whereas under ordinary high
farming it takes two or three acres to keep each head
of cattle in Great Britain. Even more astonishing
are the achievements of the Culture Maraicheres
round Paris. It is impossible to summarize these
achievements, but we may note the general
conclusion:--

There are now practical Maraichers who venture to
maintain that if all the food, animal and vegetable,
necessary for the 3,500,000 inhabitants of the Departments
of Seine and Seine-et-Oise had to be grown on
their own territory (3250 square miles), it could be
grown without resorting to any other methods of culture
than those already in use--methods already tested on a
large scale and proved successful.[39]

It must be remembered that these two departments
include the whole population of Paris.

Kropotkin proceeds to point out methods by
which the same result could be achieved without long
hours of labor. Indeed, he contends that the great
bulk of agricultural work could be carried on by
people whose main occupations are sedentary, and
with only such a number of hours as would serve to
keep them in health and produce a pleasant diversification.
He protests against the theory of excessive division of labor. What he wants is INTEGRATION,
``a society where each individual is a producer of
both manual and intellectual work; where each able-
bodied human being is a worker, and where each
worker works both in the field and in the industrial
workshop.''[40]

These views as to production have no essential
connection with Kropotkin's advocacy of Anarchism.
They would be equally possible under State
Socialism, and under certain circumstances they
might even be carried out in a capitalistic regime.
They are important for our present purpose, not
from any argument which they afford in favor of one
economic system as against another, but from the
fact that they remove the veto upon our hopes which
might otherwise result from a doubt as to the productive
capacity of labor. I have dwelt upon agriculture
rather than industry, since it is in regard
to agriculture that the difficulties are chiefly supposed
to arise. Broadly speaking, industrial production
tends to be cheaper when it is carried on on
a large scale, and therefore there is no reason in
industry why an increase in the demand should lead
to an increased cost of supply.

Passing now from the purely technical and material
side of the problem of production, we come
to the human factor, the motives leading men to
work, the possibilities of efficient organization of
production, and the connection of production with
distribution. Defenders of the existing system
maintain that efficient work would be impossible without
the economic stimulus, and that if the wage
system were abolished men would cease to do enough
work to keep the community in tolerable comfort.
Through the alleged necessity of the economic motive,
the problems of production and distribution
become intertwined. The desire for a more just
distribution of the world's goods is the main inspiration
of most Socialism and Anarchism. We must,
therefore, consider whether the system of distribution
which they propose would be likely to lead to
a diminished production.

There is a fundamental difference between Socialism
and Anarchism as regards the question of distribution.
Socialism, at any rate in most of its
forms, would retain payment for work done or for
willingness to work, and, except in the case of persons
incapacitated by age or infirmity, would make
willingness to work a condition of subsistence, or at
any rate of subsistence above a certain very low
minimum. Anarchism, on the other hand, aims at
granting to everyone, without any conditions whatever,
just as much of all ordinary commodities as
he or she may care to consume, while the rarer commodities, of which the supply cannot easily be
indefinitely increased, would be rationed and divided
equally among the population. Thus Anarchism
would not impose any OBLIGATIONS of work, though
Anarchists believe that the necessary work could be
made sufficiently agreeable for the vast majority of
the population to undertake it voluntarily. Socialists,
on the other hand, would exact work. Some of
them would make the incomes of all workers equal,
while others would retain higher pay for the work
which is considered more valuable. All these different
systems are compatible with the common ownership
of land and capital, though they differ greatly
as regards the kind of society which they would
produce.

Socialism with inequality of income would not
differ greatly as regards the economic stimulus to
work from the society in which we live. Such differences
as it would entail would undoubtedly be to the
good from our present point of view. Under the
existing system many people enjoy idleness and
affluence through the mere accident of inheriting land
or capital. Many others, through their activities in
industry or finance, enjoy an income which is certainly
very far in excess of anything to which their
social utility entitles them. On the other hand, it
often happens that inventors and discoverers, whose
work has the very greatest social utility, are robbed
of their reward either by capitalists or by the failure
of the public to appreciate their work until too
late. The better paid work is only open to those who
have been able to afford an expensive training, and
these men are selected in the main not by merit but
by luck. The wage earner is not paid for his willingness
to work, but only for his utility to the employer.
Consequently, he may be plunged into destitution by
causes over which he has no control. Such destitution
is a constant fear, and when it occurs it produces
undeserved suffering, and often deterioration
in the social value of the sufferer. These are a few
among the evils of our existing system from the
standpoint of production. All these evils we might
expect to see remedied under any system of Socialism.

There are two questions which need to be considered
when we are discussing how far work requires
the economic motive. The first question is: Must
society give higher pay for the more skilled or socially
more valuable work, if such work is to be done in
sufficient quantities? The second question is: Could
work be made so attractive that enough of it would
be done even if idlers received just as much of the
produce of work? The first of these questions concerns
the division between two schools of Socialists:
the more moderate Socialists sometimes concede that
even under Socialism it would be well to retain
unequal pay for different kinds of work, while the
more thoroughgoing Socialists advocate equal
incomes for all workers. The second question, on the
other hand, forms a division between Socialists and
Anarchists; the latter would not deprive a man of
commodities if he did not work, while the former in
general would.

Our second question is so much more fundamental
than our first that it must be discussed at once, and
in the course of this discussion what needs to be said
on our first question will find its place naturally.

Wages or Free Sharing?--``Abolition of the
wages system'' is one of the watchwords common
to Anarchists and advanced Socialists. But in its
most natural sense it is a watchword to which only
the Anarchists have a right. In the Anarchist conception
of society all the commoner commodities will
be available to everyone without stint, in the kind
of way in which water is available at present.[41] Advocates of this system point out that it applies already
to many things which formerly had to be paid for,
e.g., roads and bridges. They point out that it
might very easily be extended to trams and local
trains. They proceed to argue--as Kropotkin does
by means of his proofs that the soil might be made
indefinitely more productive--that all the commoner
kinds of food could be given away to all who demanded
them, since it would be easy to produce them in quantities
adequate to any possible demand. If this system
were extended to all the necessaries of life,
everyone's bare livelihood would be secured, quite
regardless of the way in which he might choose to
spend his time. As for commodities which cannot
be produced in indefinite quantities, such as luxuries
and delicacies, they also, according to the Anarchists,
are to be distributed without payment, but on a system
of rations, the amount available being divided
equally among the population. No doubt, though
this is not said, something like a price will have
to be put upon these luxuries, so that a man may
be free to choose how he will take his share: one man
will prefer good wine, another the finest Havana
cigars, another pictures or beautiful furniture. Presumably,
every man will be allowed to take such luxuries
as are his due in whatever form he prefers, the
relative prices being fixed so as to equalize the
demand. In such a world as this, the economic stimulus
to production will have wholly disappeared, and
if work is to continue it must be from other motives.[42]

Is such a system possible? First, is it technically
possible to provide the necessaries of life in such
large quantities as would be needed if every man and
woman could take as much of them from the public
stores as he or she might desire?

The idea of purchase and payment is so familiar
that the proposal to do away with it must be thought
at first fantastic. Yet I do not believe it is nearly
so fantastic as it seems. Even if we could all have
bread for nothing, we should not want more than
a quite limited amount. As things are, the cost of
bread to the rich is so small a proportion of their
income as to afford practically no check upon their
consumption; yet the amount of bread that they consume
could easily be supplied to the whole population
by improved methods of agriculture (I am not speaking
of war-time). The amount of food that people
desire has natural limits, and the waste that would
be incurred would probably not be very great. As
the Anarchists point out, people at present enjoy
an unlimited water supply but very few leave the
taps running when they are not using them. And
one may assume that public opinion would be opposed
to excessive waste. We may lay it down, I think,
that the principle of unlimited supply could be
adopted in regard to all commodities for which the
demand has limits that fall short of what can be
easily produced. And this would be the case, if production
were efficiently organized, with the necessaries
of life, including not only commodities, but also
such things as education. Even if all education were
free up to the highest, young people, unless they were
radically transformed by the Anarchist regime,
would not want more than a certain amount of it.
And the same applies to plain foods, plain clothes,
and the rest of the things that supply our elementary
needs.

I think we may conclude that there is no technical
impossibility in the Anarchist plan of free
sharing.

But would the necessary work be done if the individual
were assured of the general standard of comfort
even though he did no work?

Most people will answer this question unhesitatingly
in the negative. Those employers in particular
who are in the habit of denouncing their
employes as a set of lazy, drunken louts, will feel quite
certain that no work could be got out of them except
under threat of dismissal and consequent starvation.
But is this as certain as people are inclined to suppose at first sight? If work were to remain what
most work is now, no doubt it would be very hard to
induce people to undertake it except from fear of
destitution. But there is no reason why work should
remain the dreary drudgery in horrible conditions
that most of it is now.[43] If men had to be tempted to
work instead of driven to it, the obvious interest of
the community would be to make work pleasant. So
long as work is not made on the whole pleasant, it
cannot be said that anything like a good state of
society has been reached. Is the painfulness of work
unavoidable?

At present, the better paid work, that of the
business and professional classes, is for the most part
enjoyable. I do not mean that every separate
moment is agreeable, but that the life of a man who
has work of this sort is on the whole happier than
that of a man who enjoys an equal income without
doing any work. A certain amount of effort, and
something in the nature of a continuous career, are
necessary to vigorous men if they are to preserve
their mental health and their zest for life. A considerable
amount of work is done without pay. People
who take a rosy view of human nature might have
supposed that the duties of a magistrate would be
among disagreeable trades, like cleaning sewers; but
a cynic might contend that the pleasures of vindictiveness
and moral superiority are so great that there is
no difficulty in finding well-to-do elderly gentlemen
who are willing, without pay, to send helpless wretches
to the torture of prison. And apart from enjoyment
of the work itself, desire for the good opinion of
neighbors and for the feeling of effectiveness is quite
sufficient to keep many men active.

But, it will be said, the sort of work that a man
would voluntarily choose must always be exceptional:
the great bulk of necessary work can never be anything
but painful. Who would choose, if an easy life
were otherwise open to him, to be a coal-miner, or a
stoker on an Atlantic liner? I think it must be conceded
that much necessary work must always remain
disagreeable or at least painfully monotonous, and
that special privileges will have to be accorded to
those who undertake it, if the Anarchist system is ever
to be made workable. It is true that the introduction
of such special privileges would somewhat mar the
rounded logic of Anarchism, but it need not,
I think, make any really vital breach in its system.
Much of the work that needs doing could be rendered
agreeable, if thought and care were given
to this object. Even now it is often only long hours
that make work irksome. If the normal hours of
work were reduced to, say, four, as they could be by
better organization and more scientific methods, a
very great deal of work which is now felt as a burden
would quite cease to be so. If, as Kropotkin suggests,
agricultural work, instead of being the lifelong
drudgery of an ignorant laborer living very
near the verge of abject poverty, were the occasional
occupation of men and women normally employed in
industry or brain-work; if, instead of being conducted
by ancient traditional methods, without any
possibility of intelligent participation by the wage-
earner, it were alive with the search for new methods
and new inventions, filled with the spirit of freedom,
and inviting the mental as well as the physical cooperation
of those who do the work, it might become
a joy instead of a weariness, and a source of health
and life to those engaged in it.

What is true of agriculture is said by Anarchists
to be equally true of industry. They maintain
that if the great economic organizations which
are now managed by capitalists, without consideration
for the lives of the wage-earners beyond
what Trade Unions are able to exact, were turned
gradually into self-governing communities, in which
the producers could decide all questions of methods,
conditions, hours of work, and so forth, there would
be an almost boundless change for the better: grime
and noise might be nearly eliminated, the hideousness
of industrial regions might be turned into beauty, the
interest in the scientific aspects of production might
become diffused among all producers with any native
intelligence, and something of the artist's joy in creation
might inspire the whole of the work. All this,
which is at present utterly remote from the reality,
might be produced by economic self-government.
We may concede that by such means a very large
proportion of the necessary work of the world could
ultimately be made sufficiently agreeable to be preferred
before idleness even by men whose bare livelihood
would be assured whether they worked or not.
As to the residue let us admit that special rewards,
whether in goods or honors or privileges, would have
to be given to those who undertook it. But this need
not cause any fundamental objection.

There would, of course, be a certain proportion
of the population who would prefer idleness. Provided
the proportion were small, this need not matter.
And among those who would be classed as idlers
might be included artists, writers of books, men
devoted to abstract intellectual pursuits--in short,
all those whom society despises while they are alive
and honors when they are dead. To such men, the
possibility of pursuing their own work regardless
of any public recognition of its utility would be
invaluable. Whoever will observe how many of our
poets have been men of private means will realize how
much poetic capacity must have remained undeveloped
through poverty; for it would be absurd to
suppose that the rich are better endowed by nature
with the capacity for poetry. Freedom for such men,
few as they are, must be set against the waste of
the mere idlers.

So far, we have set forth the arguments in favor
of the Anarchist plan. They are, to my mind, sufficient
to make it seem possible that the plan might
succeed, but not sufficient to make it so probable that
it would be wise to try it.

The question of the feasibility of the Anarchist
proposals in regard to distribution is, like so many
other questions, a quantitative one. The Anarchist
proposals consist of two parts: (1) That all the common
commodities should be supplied ad lib. to all
applicants; (2) That no obligation to work, or economic
reward for work, should be imposed on anyone.
These two proposals are not necessarily inseparable,
nor does either entail the whole system of Anarchism,
though without them Anarchism would hardly be
possible. As regards the first of these proposals, it
can be carried out even now with regard to some
commodities, and it could be carried out in no very
distant future with regard to many more. It is a
flexible plan, since this or that article of consumption
could be placed on the free list or taken of as
circumstances might dictate. Its advantages are
many and various, and the practice of the world tends
to develop in this direction. I think we may conclude
that this part of the Anarchists' system might
well be adopted bit by bit, reaching gradually the
full extension that they desire.

But as regards the second proposal, that there
should be no obligation to work, and no economic
reward for work, the matter is much more doubtful.
Anarchists always assume that if their schemes were
put into operation practically everyone would work;
but although there is very much more to be said
for this view than most people would concede at first
sight, yet it is questionable whether there is enough
to be said to make it true for practical purposes.
Perhaps, in a community where industry had become
habitual through economic pressure, public opinion
might be sufficiently powerful to compel most men
to work;[44] but it is always doubtful how far such
a state of things would be permanent. If public
opinion is to be really effective, it will be necessary
to have some method of dividing the community into
small groups, and to allow each group to consume
only the equivalent of what it produces. This will
make the economic motive operative upon the group,
which, since we are supposing it small, will feel that
its collective share is appreciably diminished by each
idle individual. Such a system might be feasible, but
it would be contrary to the whole spirit of Anarchism
and would destroy the main lines of its economic
system.

The attitude of orthodox Socialism on this question
is quite different from that of Anarchism.[45]
Among the more immediate measures advocated in the
``Communist Manifesto'' is ``equal liability of all
to labor. Establishment of industrial armies, especially
for agriculture.'' The Socialist theory is that,
in general, work alone gives the right to the enjoyment
of the produce of work. To this theory there
will, of course, be exceptions: the old and the very
young, the infirm and those whose work is temporarily
not required through no fault of their own.
But the fundamental conception of Socialism, in regard
to our present question, is that all who can
should be compelled to work, either by the threat
of starvation or by the operation of the criminal
law. And, of course, the only kind of work recognized
will be such as commends itself to the authorities.
Writing books against Socialism, or against
any theory embodied in the government of the day,
would certainly not be recognized as work. No more
would the painting of pictures in a different style
from that of the Royal Academy, or producing plays
unpleasing to the censor. Any new line of thought
would be banned, unless by influence or corruption
the thinker could crawl into the good graces of the
pundits. These results are not foreseen by Socialists,
because they imagine that the Socialist State
will be governed by men like those who now advocate
it. This is, of course, a delusion. The rulers of the
State then will bear as little resemblance to the present Socialists as the dignitaries of the Church after
the time of Constantine bore to the Apostles. The
men who advocate an unpopular reform are exceptional
in disinterestedness and zeal for the public
good; but those who hold power after the reform
has been carried out are likely to belong, in the main,
to the ambitious executive type which has in all ages
possessed itself of the government of nations. And
this type has never shown itself tolerant of opposition
or friendly to freedom.

It would seem, then, that if the Anarchist plan
has its dangers, the Socialist plan has at least equal
dangers. It is true that the evils we have been foreseeing
under Socialism exist at present, but the purpose
of Socialists is to cure the evils of the world
as it is; they cannot be content with the argument
that they would make things no worse.

Anarchism has the advantage as regards liberty,
Socialism as regards the inducements to work. Can
we not find a method of combining these two advantages?
It seems to me that we can.

We saw that, provided most people work in
moderation, and their work is rendered as productive
as science and organization can make it, there is no
good reason why the necessaries of life should not be
supplied freely to all. Our only serious doubt was
as to whether, in an Anarchist regime, the motives for
work would be sufficiently powerful to prevent a dangerously large amount of idleness. But it would be
easy to decree that, though necessaries should be free
to all, whatever went beyond necessaries should only
be given to those who were willing to work--not, as
is usual at present, only to those in work at any
moment, but also to all those who, when they happened
not to be working, were idle through no fault
of their own. We find at present that a man who
has a small income from investments, just sufficient
to keep him from actual want, almost always prefers
to find some paid work in order to be able to afford
luxuries. So it would be, presumably, in such a
community as we are imagining. At the same time, the
man who felt a vocation for some unrecognized work
of art or science or thought would be free to follow his
desire, provided he were willing to ``scorn delights
and live laborious days.'' And the comparatively
small number of men with an invincible horror of
work--the sort of men who now become tramps--
might lead a harmless existence, without any grave
danger of their becoming sufficiently numerous to be
a serious burden upon the more industrious. In this
ways the claims of freedom could be combined with
the need of some economic stimulus to work. Such
a system, it seems to me, would have a far greater
chance of success than either pure Anarchism or pure
orthodox Socialism.

Stated in more familiar terms, the plan we are
advocating amounts essentially to this: that a certain
small income, sufficient for necessaries, should be
secured to all, whether they work or not, and that a
larger income, as much larger as might be warranted
by the total amount of commodities produced, should
be given to those who are willing to engage in some
work which the community recognizes as useful. On
this basis we may build further. I do not think it
is always necessary to pay more highly work which
is more skilled or regarded as socially more useful,
since such work is more interesting and more respected
than ordinary work, and will therefore often be
preferred by those who are able to do it. But we
might, for instance, give an intermediate income to
those who are only willing to work half the usual
number of hours, and an income above that of most
workers to those who choose a specially disagreeable
trade. Such a system is perfectly compatible with
Socialism, though perhaps hardly with Anarchism.
Of its advantages we shall have more to say at a
later stage. For the present I am content to urge
that it combines freedom with justice, and avoids
those dangers to the community which we have found
to lurk both in the proposals of the Anarchists and
in those of orthodox Socialists.


CHAPTER V

GOVERNMENT AND LAW

GOVERNMENT and Law, in their very essence, consist
of restrictions on freedom, and freedom is the
greatest of political goods.[46] A hasty reasoner might
conclude without further ado that Law and government
are evils which must be abolished if freedom
is our goal. But this consequence, true or false, cannot
be proved so simply. In this chapter we shall
examine the arguments of Anarchists against law and
the State. We shall proceed on the assumption that
freedom is the supreme aim of a good social system;
but on this very basis we shall find the Anarchist
contentions very questionable.
Respect for the liberty of others is not a natural
impulse with most men: envy and love of power lead
ordinary human nature to find pleasure in interferences
with the lives of others. If all men's actions
were wholly unchecked by external authority, we
should not obtain a world in which all men would be
free. The strong would oppress the weak, or the
majority would oppress the minority, or the lovers
of violence would oppress the more peaceable people.
I fear it cannot be said that these bad impulses are
WHOLLY due to a bad social system, though it must
be conceded that the present competitive organization
of society does a great deal to foster the worst
elements in human nature. The love of power is an
impulse which, though innate in very ambitious men,
is chiefly promoted as a rule by the actual experience
of power. In a world where none could acquire
much power, the desire to tyrannize would be much
less strong than it is at present. Nevertheless, I
cannot think that it would be wholly absent, and
those in whom it would exist would often be men of
unusual energy and executive capacity. Such men,
if they are not restrained by the organized will of
the community, may either succeed in establishing
a despotism, or, at any rate, make such a vigorous
attempt as can only be defeated through a period
of prolonged disturbance. And apart from the love
or political power, there is the love of power over
individuals. If threats and terrorism were not prevented
by law, it can hardly be doubted that cruelty would
be rife in the relations of men and women, and of
parents and children. It is true that the habits of
a community can make such cruelty rare, but these
habits, I fear, are only to be produced through the
prolonged reign of law. Experience of backwoods
communities, mining camps and other such places
seems to show that under new conditions men easily
revert to a more barbarous attitude and practice.
It would seem, therefore, that, while human nature
remains as it is, there will be more liberty for all in a
community where some acts of tyranny by individuals
are forbidden, than in a community where the law
leaves each individual free to follow his every impulse.
But, although the necessity of some form of government
and law must for the present be conceded, it is
important to remember that all law and government
is in itself in some degree an evil, only justifiable when
it prevents other and greater evils. Every use of the
power of the State needs, therefore, to be very closely
scrutinized, and every possibility of diminishing its
power is to be welcomed provided it does not lead to
a reign of private tyranny.

The power of the State is partly legal, partly
economic: acts of a kind which the State dislikes can
be punished by the criminal law, and individuals who
incur the displeasure of the State may find it hard
to earn a livelihood.

The views of Marx on the State are not very
clear. On the one hand he seems willing,, like the
modern State Socialists, to allow great power to the
State, but on the other hand he suggests that when
the Socialist revolution has been consummated, the
State, as we know it, will disappear. Among the
measures which are advocated in the Communist
Manifesto as immediately desirable, there are several
which would very greatly increase the power of
the existing State. For example, ``Centralization
of credit in the hands of the State, by means of a
national bank with State capital and an exclusive
monopoly;'' and again, ``Centralization of the
means of communication and transport in the hands
of the State.'' But the Manifesto goes on to say:

When, in the course of development, class distinctions
have disappeared, and all production has been concentrated
in the hands of a vast association of the whole
nation, the public power will lose its political character.
Political power, properly so called, is merely the organized
power of one class for oppressing another. If the
proletariat during its contest with the bourgeoisie is
compelled, by the force of circumstances, to organize
itself as a class, if, by means of a revolution, it makes
itself the ruling class, and, as such, sweeps away by
force the old conditions of production, then it will,
along with these conditions, have swept away the conditions
for the existence of class antagonisms, and of
classes generally, and will thereby have abolished its
own supremacy as a class.

In place of the old bourgeois society, with its classes
and class antagonisms, we shall have an association, in
which; the free development of each is the condition for
the free development of all.[47]

This attitude Marx preserved in essentials
throughout his life. Accordingly, it is not to be
wondered at that his followers, so far as regards their
immediate aims, have in the main become out-and-out
State Socialists. On the other hand, the Syndicalists,
who accept from Marx the doctrine of the class
war, which they regard as what is really vital in his
teaching, reject the State with abhorrence and wish
to abolish it wholly, in which respect they are at one
with the Anarchists. The Guild Socialists, though
some persons in this country regard them as extremists,
really represent the English love of compromise.
The Syndicalist arguments as to the dangers inherent
in the power of the State have made them dissatisfied
with the old State Socialism, but they are
unable to accept the Anarchist view that society can
dispense altogether with a central authority.
Accordingly they propose that there should be two
co-equal instruments of Government in a community,
the one geographical, representing the consumers,
and essentially the continuation of the democratic
State; the other representing the producers, organized,
not geographically, but in guilds, after the
manner of industrial unionism. These two authorities will deal with different classes of questions.
Guild Socialists do not regard the industrial authority
as forming part of the State, for they contend
that it is the essence of the State to be geographical;
but the industrial authority will resemble the present
State in the fact that it will have coercive powers,
and that its decrees will be enforced, when necessary.
It is to be suspected that Syndicalists also, much as
they object to the existing State, would not object
to coercion of individuals in an industry by the
Trade Union in that industry. Government within
the Trade Union would probably be quite as strict
as State government is now. In saying this we are
assuming that the theoretical Anarchism of Syndicalist
leaders would not survive accession to power,
but I am afraid experience shows that this is not a
very hazardous assumption.

Among all these different views, the one which
raises the deepest issue is the Anarchist contention
that all coercion by the community is unnecessary.
Like most of the things that Anarchists say, there
is much more to be urged in support of this view
than most people would suppose at first sight. Kropotkin,
who is its ablest exponent, points out how
much has been achieved already by the method of free
agreement. He does not wish to abolish government
in the sense of collective decisions: what he does wish
to abolish is the system by which a decision is en-
forced upon those who oppose it.[48] The whole system
of representative government and majority rule is
to him a bad thing.[49] He points to such instances
as the agreements among the different railway systems
of the Continent for the running of through
expresses and for cooperation generally. He points
out that in such cases the different companies or
authorities concerned each appoint a delegate, and that
the delegates suggest a basis of agreement, which has
to be subsequently ratified by each of the bodies ap-
pointing them. The assembly of delegates has no
coercive power whatever, and a majority can do
nothing against a recalcitrant minority. Yet this has
not prevented the conclusion of very elaborate systems
of agreements. By such methods, so Anarchists
contend, the USEFUL functions of government can be
carried out without any coercion. They maintain
that the usefulness of agreement is so patent as to
make cooperation certain if once the predatory
motives associated with the present system of private
property were removed.

``It seems to me, however, that State and government represent
two ideas of a different kind. The State idea implies quite
another idea to that of government. It not only includes the
existence of a power placed above society, but also a territorial
concentration and a concentration of many functions of the life
of society in the hands of a few or even of all. It implies new
relations among the members of society.

``This characteristic distinction, which perhaps escapes
notice at first sight, appears clearly when the origin of the State
is studied.'' Kropotkin, ``The State.'' p. 4.

Attractive as this view is, I cannot resist the
conclusion that it results from impatience and
represents the attempt to find a short-cut toward the
ideal which all humane people desire.

Let us begin with the question of private crime.[50]
Anarchists maintain that the criminal is manufactured
by bad social conditions and would disappear
in such a world as they aim at creating.[51] No doubt
there is a great measure of truth in this view. There
would be little motive to robbery, for example, in an
Anarchist world, unless it were organized on a large
scale by a body of men bent on upsetting the Anarchist
regime. It may also be conceded that impulses
toward criminal violence could be very largely eliminated
by a better education. But all such contentions,
it seems to me, have their limitations. To take
an extreme case, we cannot suppose that there would
be no lunatics in an Anarchist community, and some
of these lunatics would, no doubt, be homicidal.
Probably no one would argue that they ought to be
left at liberty. But there are no sharp lines in nature;
from the homicidal lunatic to the sane man
of violent passions there is a continuous gradation.
Even in the most perfect community there will be
men and women, otherwise sane, who will feel an
impulse to commit murder from jealousy. These are
now usually restrained by the fear of punishment,
but if this fear were removed, such murders would
probably become much more common, as may be
seen from the present behavior of certain soldiers
on leave. Moreover, certain kinds of conduct arouse
public hostility, and would almost inevitably lead to
lynching, if no other recognized method of punishment
existed. There is in most men a certain natural
vindictiveness, not always directed against the worst
members of the community. For example, Spinoza
was very nearly murdered by the mob because he was
suspected of undue friendliness to France at a time
when Holland was at war with that country. Apart
from such cases, there would be the very real danger
of an organized attempt to destroy Anarchism
and revive ancient oppressions. Is it to be supposed,
for example, that Napoleon, if he had been born into
such a community as Kropotkin advocates, would
have acquiesced tamely in a world where his genius
could find no scope? I cannot see what should prevent
a combination of ambitious men forming themselves
into a private army, manufacturing their own
munitions, and at last enslaving the defenseless citizens,
who had relied upon the inherent attractiveness
of liberty. It would not be consistent with the principles
of Anarchism for the community to interfere
with the drilling of a private army, no matter what
its objects might be (though, of course, an opposing
private army might be formed by men with different
views). Indeed, Kropotkin instances the old volunteers
in Great Britain as an example of a movement
on Anarchist lines.[52] Even if a predatory army were
not formed from within, it might easily come from a
neighboring nation, or from races on the borderland
of civilization. So long as the love of power exists,
I do not see how it can be prevented from finding an
outlet in oppression except by means of the organized
force of the community.



The conclusion, which appears to be forced upon
us, is that the Anarchist ideal of a community in
which no acts are forbidden by law is not, at any
rate for the present, compatible with the stability of
such a world as the Anarchists desire. In order to
obtain and preserve a world resembling as closely
as possible that at which they aim, it will still be
necessary that some acts should be forbidden by
law. We may put the chief of these under three
heads:

Theft.
Crimes of violence.
The creation of organizations intended to subvert
the Anarchist regime by force.

We will briefly recapitulate what has been said
already as to the necessity of these prohibitions.
Theft.--It is true that in an Anarchist world
there will be no destitution, and therefore no thefts
motivated by starvation. But such thefts are at present
by no means the most considerable or the most
harmful. The system of rationing, which is to be
applied to luxuries, will leave many men with fewer
luxuries than they might desire. It will give
opportunities for peculation by those who are in control
of the public stores, and it will leave the possibility of
appropriating such valuable objects of art as would
naturally be preserved in public museums. It may
be contended that such forms of theft would be prevented
by public opinion. But public opinion is not
greatly operative upon an individual unless it is the
opinion of his own group. A group of men combined
for purposes of theft might readily defy the public
opinion of the majority unless that public opinion
made itself effective by the use of force against them.
Probably, in fact, such force would be applied
through popular indignation, but in that case we
should revive the evils of the criminal law with the
added evils of uncertainty, haste and passion, which
are inseparable from the practice of lynching. If,
as we have suggested, it were found necessary to provide
an economic stimulus to work by allowing fewer
luxuries to idlers, this would afford a new motive for
theft on their part and a new necessity for some form
of criminal law.

Crimes of Violence.--Cruelty to children,
crimes of jealousy, rape, and so forth, are almost
certain to occur in any society to some extent. The
prevention of such acts is essential to the existence
of freedom for the weak. If nothing were done to
hinder them, it is to be feared that the customs of a
society would gradually become rougher, and that
acts which are now rare would cease to be so. If
Anarchists are right in maintaining that the existence
of such an economic system as they desire would
prevent the commission of crimes of this kind, the
laws forbidding them would no longer come into
operation, and would do no harm to liberty. If, on
the other hand, the impulse to such actions persisted,
it would be necessary that steps should be taken to
restrain men from indulging it.

The third class of difficulties is much the most
serious and involves much the most drastic interference
with liberty. I do not see how a private army
could be tolerated within an Anarchist community,
and I do not see how it could be prevented except by
a general prohibition of carrying arms. If there
were no such prohibition, rival parties would organize
rival forces, and civil war would result. Yet, if there
is such a prohibition, it cannot well be carried out
without a very considerable interference with individual
liberty. No doubt, after a time, the idea of
using violence to achieve a political object might die
down, as the practice of dueling has done. But such
changes of habit and outlook are facilitated by legal
prohibition, and would hardly come about without
it. I shall not speak yet of the international aspect
of this same problem, for I propose to deal with that
in the next chapter, but it is clear that the same
considerations apply with even greater force to the
relations between nations.

If we admit, however reluctantly, that a criminal
law is necessary and that the force of the community
must be brought to bear to prevent certain kinds of
actions, a further question arises: How is crime to be
treated? What is the greatest measure of humanity
and respect for freedom that is compatible with the
recognition of such a thing as crime? The first thing
to recognize is that the whole conception of guilt or
sin should be utterly swept away. At present, the
criminal is visited with the displeasure of the community:
the sole method applied to prevent the occurrence
of crime is the infliction of pain upon the
criminal. Everything possible is done to break his
spirit and destroy his self-respect. Even those
pleasures which would be most likely to have a civilizing
effect are forbidden to him, merely on the ground
that they are pleasures, while much of the suffering
inflicted is of a kind which can only brutalize and
degrade still further. I am not speaking, of course,
of those few penal institutions which have made a
serious study of reforming the criminal. Such
institutions, especially in America, have been proved
capable of achieving the most remarkable results, but
they remain everywhere exceptional. The broad rule
is still that the criminal is made to feel the displeasure
of society. He must emerge from such a treatment
either defiant and hostile, or submissive and cringing,
with a broken spirit and a loss of self-respect.
Neither of these results is anything but evil. Nor
can any good result be achieved by a method of treatment
which embodies reprobation.
When a man is suffering from an infectious disease
he is a danger to the community, and it is necessary
to restrict his liberty of movement. But no one
associates any idea of guilt with such a situation.
On the contrary, he is an object of commiseration to
his friends. Such steps as science recommends are
taken to cure him of his disease, and he submits as
a rule without reluctance to the curtailment of liberty
involved meanwhile. The same method in spirit ought
to be shown in the treatment of what is called
``crime.'' It is supposed, of course, that the criminal
is actuated by calculations of self-interest, and
that the fear of punishment, by supplying a contrary
motive of self-interest affords the best deterrent,

 The dog, to gain some private end,
 Went mad and bit the man.
This is the popular view of crime; yet no dog goes
mad from choice, and probably the same is true of the
great majority of criminals, certainly in the case
of crimes of passion. Even in cases where self-interest
is the motive, the important thing is to prevent
the crime, not to make the criminal suffer. Any
suffering which may be entailed by the process of
prevention ought to be regarded as regrettable, like the
pain involved in a surgical operation. The man who
commits a crime from an impulse to violence ought
to be subjected to a scientific psychological treatment,
designed to elicit more beneficial impulses. The
man who commits a crime from calculations of self-interest ought to be made to feel that self-interest
itself, when it is fully understood, can be better served
by a life which is useful to the community than by one
which is harmful. For this purpose it is chiefly necessary
to widen his outlook and increase the scope of his
desires. At present, when a man suffers from insufficient
love for his fellow-creatures, the method of
curing him which is commonly adopted seems scarcely
designed to succeed, being, indeed, in essentials, the
same as his attitude toward them. The object of
the prison administration is to save trouble, not to
study the individual case. He is kept in captivity in
a cell from which all sight of the earth is shut out: he
is subjected to harshness by warders, who have too
often become brutalized by their occupation.[53] He is
solemnly denounced as an enemy to society. He is
compelled to perform mechanical tasks, chosen for
their wearisomeness. He is given no education and no
incentive to self-improvement. Is it to be wondered
at if, at the end of such a course of treatment, his
feelings toward the community are no more friendly
than they were at the beginning?

Severity of punishment arose through vindictiveness
and fear in an age when many criminals escaped
justice altogether, and it was hoped that savage
sentences would outweigh the chance of escape in the
mind of the criminal. At present a very large part
of the criminal law is concerned in safeguarding the
rights of property, that is to say--as things are
now--the unjust privileges of the rich. Those whose
principles lead them into conflict with government,
like Anarchists, bring a most formidable indictment
against the law and the authorities for the unjust
manner in which they support the status quo. Many
of the actions by which men have become rich are far
more harmful to the community than the obscure
crimes of poor men, yet they go unpunished because
they do not interfere with the existing order. If the
power of the community is to be brought to bear to
prevent certain classes of actions through the agency
of the criminal law, it is as necessary that these
actions should really be those which are harmful to
the community, as it is that the treatment of ``criminals''
should be freed from the conception of guilt
and inspired by the same spirit as is shown in the
treatment of disease. But, if these two conditions
were fulfilled, I cannot help thinking that a society
which preserved the existence of law would be preferable
to one conducted on the unadulterated principles
of Anarchism.

So far we have been considering the power which
the State derives from the criminal law. We have
every reason to think that this power cannot be
entirely abolished, though it can be exercised in a
wholly different spirit, without the vindictiveness and
the moral reprobation which now form its essence.

We come next to the consideration of the economic
power of the State and the influence which it
can exert through its bureaucracy. State Socialists
argue as if there would be no danger to liberty in a
State not based upon capitalism. This seems to me an
entire delusion. Given an official caste, however selected,
there are bound to be a set of men whose whole
instincts will drive them toward tyranny. Together
with the natural love of power, they will have a rooted
conviction (visible now in the higher ranks of the
Civil Service) that they alone know enough to be able
to judge what is for the good of the community. Like
all men who administer a system, they will come to
feel the system itself sacrosanct. The only changes
they will desire will be changes in the direction of
further regulations as to how the people are to
enjoy the good things kindly granted to them by their
benevolent despots. Whoever thinks this picture overdrawn
must have failed to study the influence and
methods of Civil Servants at present. On every matter
that arises, they know far more than the general
public about all the DEFINITE facts involved; the one
thing they do not know is ``where the shoe pinches.''
But those who know this are probably not skilled in
stating their case, not able to say off-hand exactly
how many shoes are pinching how many feet, or what
is the precise remedy required. The answer prepared
for Ministers by the Civil Service is accepted by the
``respectable'' public as impartial, and is regarded
as disposing of the case of malcontents except on a
first-class political question on which elections may
be won or lost. That at least is the way in which
things are managed in England. And there is every
reason to fear that under State Socialism the power
of officials would be vastly greater than it is at
present.

Those who accept the orthodox doctrine of democracy
contend that, if ever the power of capital were
removed, representative institutions would suffice to
undo the evils threatened by bureaucracy. Against
this view, Anarchists and Syndicalists have directed
a merciless criticism. French Syndicalists especially,
living, as they do, in a highly democratized country,
have had bitter experience of the way in which the
power of the State can be employed against a
progressive minority. This experience has led them to
abandon altogether the belief in the divine right of
majorities. The Constitution that they would desire
would be one which allowed scope for vigorous minorities,
conscious of their aims and prepared to work
for them. It is undeniable that, to all who care for
progress, actual experience of democratic representative
Government is very disillusioning. Admitting--
as I think we must--that it is preferable to any
PREVIOUS form of Government, we must yet acknowledge
that much of the criticism directed against it by
Anarchists and Syndicalists is thoroughly justified.

Such criticism would have had more influence if
any clear idea of an alternative to parliamentary
democracy had been generally apprehended. But it
must be confessed that Syndicalists have not presented
their case in a way which is likely to attract
the average citizen. Much of what they say amounts
to this: that a minority, consisting of skilled workers
in vital industries, can, by a strike, make the economic
life of the whole community impossible, and can in
this way force their will upon the nation. The action
aimed at is compared to the seizure of a power
station, by which a whole vast system can be paralyzed.
Such a doctrine is an appeal to force, and
is naturally met by an appeal to force on the other
side. It is useless for the Syndicalists to protest that
they only desire power in order to promote liberty:
the world which they are seeking to establish does not,
as yet, appeal to the effective will of the community,
and cannot be stably inaugurated until it does do so.
Persuasion is a slow process, and may sometimes
be accelerated by violent methods; to this extent such
methods may be justified. But the ultimate goal of
any reformer who aims at liberty can only be reached
through persuasion. The attempt to thrust liberty
by force upon those who do not desire what we consider
liberty must always prove a failure; and Syndicalists,
like other reformers, must ultimately rely
upon persuasion for success.

But it would be a mistake to confuse aims with
methods: however little we may agree with the proposal
to force the millennium on a reluctant community
by starvation, we may yet agree that much of
what the Syndicalists desire to achieve is desirable.

Let us dismiss from our minds such criticisms of
parliamentary government as are bound up with the
present system of private property, and consider
only those which would remain true in a collectivist
community. Certain defects seem inherent in the
very nature of representative institutions. There is
a sense of self-importance, inseparable from success
in a contest for popular favor. There is an all-but
unavoidable habit of hypocrisy, since experience
shows that the democracy does not detect insincerity
in an orator, and will, on the other hand, be shocked
by things which even the most sincere men may think
necessary. Hence arises a tone of cynicism among
elected representatives, and a feeling that no man
can retain his position in politics without deceit.
This is as much the fault of the democracy as of the
representatives, but it seems unavoidable so long as
the main thing that all bodies of men demand of their
champions is flattery. However the blame may be
apportioned, the evil must be recognized as one which
is bound to occur in the existing forms of democracy.
Another evil, which is especially noticeable in large
States, is the remoteness of the seat of government
from many of the constituencies--a remoteness which
is psychological even more than geographical. The
legislators live in comfort, protected by thick walls
and innumerable policemen from the voice of the
mob; as time goes on they remember only dimly the
passions and promises of their electoral campaign;
they come to feel it an essential part of statesmanship
to consider what are called the interests of the community
as a whole, rather than those of some discontented
group; but the interests of the community as
a whole are sufficiently vague to be easily seen to
coincide with self-interest. All these causes lead
Parliaments to betray the people, consciously or
unconsciously; and it is no wonder if they have produced
a certain aloofness from democratic theory in the
more vigorous champions of labor.

Majority rule, as it exists in large States, is
subject to the fatal defect that, in a very great number
of questions, only a fraction of the nation have
any direct interest or knowledge, yet the others have
an equal voice in their settlement. When people have
no direct interest in a question they are very apt
to be influenced by irrelevant considerations; this is
shown in the extraordinary reluctance to grant autonomy
to subordinate nations or groups. For this
reason, it is very dangerous to allow the nation as a
whole to decide on matters which concern only a small
section, whether that section be geographical or
industrial or defined in any other way. The best
cure for this evil, so far as can be seen at present,
lies in allowing self-government to every important
group within a nation in all matters that affect that
group much more than they affect the rest of the
community. The government of a group, chosen by
the group, will be far more in touch with its constituents,
far more conscious of their interests, than a
remote Parliament nominally representing the whole
country. The most original idea in Syndicalism--
adopted and developed by the Guild Socialists--is the
idea of making industries self-governing units so far
as their internal affairs are concerned. By this
method, extended also to such other groups as have
clearly separable interests, the evils which have shown
themselves in representative democracy can, I believe,
be largely overcome.

Guild Socialists, as we have seen, have another
suggestion, growing naturally out of the autonomy
of industrial guilds, by which they hope to limit the
power of the State and help to preserve individual
liberty. They propose that, in addition to Parliament,
elected (as at present) on a territorial basis
and representing the community as consumers, there
shall also be a ``Guild Congress,'' a glorified successor
of the present Trade Union Congress, which
shall consist of representatives chosen by the Guilds,
and shall represent the community as producers.

This method of diminishing the excessive power
of the State has been attractively set forth by Mr.
G. D. H. Cole in his ``Self-Government in Industry.''[54]
``Where now,'' he says, ``the State passes a Factory
Act, or a Coal Mines Regulation Act, the Guild Congress
of the future will pass such Acts, and its power
of enforcing them will be the same as that of the
State'' (p. 98). His ultimate ground for advocating
this system is that, in his opinion, it will tend to preserve
individual liberty: ``The fundamental reason
for the preservation, in a democratic Society, of both
the industrial and the political forms of Social organization
is, it seems to me, that only by dividing the
vast power now wielded by industrial capitalism can
the individual hope to be free'' (p. 91).

Will the system suggested by Mr. Cole have this
result? I think it is clear that it would, in this
respect, be an improvement on the existing system.
Representative government cannot but be improved
by any method which brings the representatives into
closer touch with the interests concerned in their
legislation; and this advantage probably would be
secured by handing over questions of production to
the Guild Congress. But if, in spite of the safeguards
proposed by the Guild Socialists, the Guild Congress
became all-powerful in such questions, if resistance
to its will by a Guild which felt ill-used became practically
hopeless, I fear that the evils now connected
with the omnipotence of the State would soon reappear.
Trade Union officials, as soon as they become
part of the governing forces in the country, tend to
become autocratic and conservative; they lose touch
with their constituents and gravitate, by a psychological
sympathy, into cooperation with the powers
that be. Their formal installation in authority
through the Guilds Congress would accelerate this
process. They would soon tend to combine, in effect
if not obviously, with those who wield authority in
Parliament. Apart from occasional conflicts, comparable
to the rivalry of opposing financiers which
now sometimes disturbs the harmony of the capitalist
world, there would, at most times, be agreement
between the dominant personalities in the two
Houses. And such harmony would filch away from
the individual the liberty which he had hoped to
secure by the quarrels of his masters.

There is no method, if we are not mistaken, by
which a body representing the whole community,
whether as producers or consumers or both, can
alone be a sufficient guardian of individual liberty.
The only way of preserving sufficient liberty (and
even this will be inadequate in the case of very small
minorities) is the organization of citizens with special
interests into groups, determined to preserve autonomy
as regards their internal affairs, willing to
resist interference by a strike if necessary, and
sufficiently powerful (either in themselves or through
their power of appealing to public sympathy) to be
able to resist the organized forces of government
successfully when their cause is such as many men
think just. If this method is to be successful we
must have not only suitable organizations but also
a diffused respect for liberty, and an absence of
submissiveness to government both in theory and practice.
Some risk of disorder there must be in such a
society, but this risk is as nothing compared to the
danger of stagnation which is inseparable from an
all-powerful central authority.

We may now sum up our discussion of the powers
of Government.

The State, in spite of what Anarchists urge, seems
a necessary institution for certain purposes. Peace
and war, tariffs, regulation of sanitary conditions
and of the sale of noxious drugs, the preservation of
a just system of distribution: these, among others,
are functions which could hardly be performed in
a community in which there was no central government.
Take, for example, the liquor traffic, or
the opium traffic in China. If alcohol could be
obtained at cost price without taxation, still more
if it could be obtained for nothing, as Anarchists
presumably desire, can we believe that there would not
be a great and disastrous increase of drunkenness?
China was brought to the verge of ruin by opium,
and every patriotic Chinaman desired to see the traffic
in opium restricted. In such matters freedom is
not a panacea, and some degree of legal restriction
seems imperative for the national health.

But granting that the State, in some form, must
continue, we must also grant, I think, that its powers
ought to be very strictly limited to what is absolutely
necessary. There is no way of limiting its
powers except by means of groups which are jealous
of their privileges and determined to preserve their
autonomy, even if this should involve resistance to
laws decreed by the State, when these laws interfere in
the internal affairs of a group in ways not warranted
by the public interest. The glorification of the State,
and the doctrine that it is every citizen's duty to serve
the State, are radically against progress and against
liberty. The State, though at present a source of
much evil, is also a means to certain good things,
and will be needed so long as violent and destructive
impulses remain common. But it is MERELY a means,
and a means which needs to be very carefully and
sparingly used if it is not to do more harm than good.
It is not the State, but the community, the worldwide
community of all human beings present and
future, that we ought to serve. And a good community
does not spring from the glory of the State,
but from the unfettered development of individuals:
from happiness in daily life, from congenial work
giving opportunity for whatever constructiveness
each man or woman may possess, from free personal
relations embodying love and taking away the roots
of envy in thwarted capacity from affection, and
above all from the joy of life and its expression in
the spontaneous creations of art and science. It is
these things that make an age or a nation worthy
of existence, and these things are not to be secured
by bowing down before the State. It is the individual
in whom all that is good must be realized, and the
free growth of the individual must be the supreme end
of a political system which is to re-fashion the world.


CHAPTER VI

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS

THE main objects which should be served by international
relations may be taken to be two: First, the
avoidance of wars, and, second, the prevention of the
oppression of weak nations by strong ones. These
two objects do not by any means necessarily lead in
the same direction, since one of the easiest ways of
securing the world's peace would be by a combination
of the most powerful States for the exploitation and
oppression of the remainder. This method, however,
is not one which the lover of liberty can favor. We
must keep account of both aims and not be content
with either alone.
One of the commonplaces of both Socialism and
Anarchism is that all modern wars are due to capitalism,
and would cease if capitalism were abolished.
This view, to my mind, is only a half-truth; the half
that is true is important, but the half that is untrue
is perhaps equally important when a fundamental
reconstruction of society is being considered.

Socialist and Anarchist critics of existing society
point, with perfect truth, to certain capitalistic factors
which promote war. The first of these is the
desire of finance to find new fields of investment in
undeveloped countries. Mr. J. A. Hobson, an author
who is by no means extreme in his views, has well
stated this point in his book on ``The Evolution of
Modern Capitalism.''[55] He says:

The economic tap-root, the chief directing motive of
all the modern imperialistic expansion, is the pressure of
capitalist industries for markets, primarily markets for
investment, secondarily markets for surplus products of
home industry. Where the concentration of capital has
gone furthest, and where a rigorous protective system prevails,
this pressure is necessarily strongest. Not merely
do the trusts and other manufacturing trades that restrict
their output for the home market more urgently require
foreign markets, but they are also more anxious to secure
protected markets, and this can only be achieved by extending
the area of political rule. This is the essential
significance of the recent change in American foreign
policy as illustrated by the Spanish War, the Philippine
annexation, the Panama policy, and the new application
of the Monroe doctrine to the South American States.
South America is needed as a preferential market for
investment of trust ``profits'' and surplus trust products:
if in time these states can be brought within a Zollverein
under the suzerainty of the United States, the financial
area of operations receives a notable accession. China
as a field of railway enterprise and general industrial
development already begins to loom large in the eyes of
foresighted American business men; the growing trade
in American cotton and other goods in that country will
be a subordinate consideration to the expansion of the
area for American investments. Diplomatic pressure,
armed force, and, where desirable, seizure of territory for
political control, will be engineered by the financial magnates
who control the political destiny of America. The
strong and expensive American navy now beginning to
be built incidentally serves the purpose of affording
profitable contracts to the shipbuilding and metal industries:
its real meaning and use is to forward the aggressive
political policy imposed upon the nation by the economic
needs of the financial capitalists.

It should be clearly understood that this constant
pressure to extend the area of markets is not a necessary
implication of all forms of organized industry. If competition
was displaced by combinations of a genuinely
cooperative character in which the whole gain of improved
economies passed, either to the workers in wages,
or to large bodies of investors in dividends, the expansion
of demand in the home markets would be so great
as to give full employment to the productive powers of
concentrated capital, and there would be no self-accumulating
masses of profit expressing themselves in new
credit and demanding external employment. It is the
``monopoly'' profits of trusts and combines, taken either
in construction, financial operation, or industrial working,
that form a gathering fund of self-accumulating credit
whose possession by the financial class implies a contracted
demand for commodities and a correspondingly
restricted employment for capital in American industries.
Within certain limits relief can be found by stimulation
of the export trade under cover of a high protective
tariff which forbids all interference with monopoly of
the home markets. But it is extremely difficult for
trusts adapted to the requirements of a profitable tied
market at home to adjust their methods of free competition
in the world markets upon a profitable basis of
steady trading. Moreover, such a mode of expansion is
only appropriate to certain manufacturing trusts: the
owners of railroad, financial and other trusts must look
always more to foreign investments for their surplus
profits. This ever-growing need for fresh fields of investment
for their profits is the great crux of the financial
system, and threatens to dominate the future economics
and the politics of the great Republic.

The financial economy of American capitalism exhibits
in more dramatic shape a tendency common to the
finance of all developed industrial nations. The large,
easy flow of capital from Great Britain, Germany, Austria,
France, etc., into South African or Australian mines,
into Egyptian bonds, or the precarious securities of South
American republics, attests the same general pressure
which increases with every development of financial machinery
and the more profitable control of that machinery
by the class of professional financiers

The kind of way in which such conditions tend
toward war might have been illustrated, if Mr. Hobson
had been writing at a later date, by various more
recent cases. A higher rate of interest is obtainable
on enterprises in an undeveloped country than in a
developed one, provided the risks connected with an
unsettled government can be minimized. To minimize
these risks the financiers call in the assistance of the
military and naval forces of the country which they
are momentarily asserting to be theirs. In order to
have the support of public opinion in this demand
they have recourse to the power of the Press.

The Press is the second great factor to which
critics of capitalism point when they wish to prove
that capitalism is the source of modern war. Since
the running of a big newspaper requires a large capital,
the proprietors of important organs necessarily
belong to the capitalist class, and it will be a rare
and exceptional event if they do not sympathize with
their own class in opinion and outlook. They are
able to decide what news the great mass of newspaper
readers shall be allowed to have. They can
actually falsify the news, or, without going so far
as that, they can carefully select it, giving such items
as will stimulate the passions which they desire to
stimulate, and suppressing such items as would provide
the antidote. In this way the picture of the
world in the mind of the average newspaper reader
is made to be not a true picture, but in the main
that which suits the interests of capitalists. This is
true in many directions, but above all in what concerns the relations between nations. The mass of the
population of a country can be led to love or hate
any other country at the will of the newspaper proprietors,
which is often, directly or indirectly, influenced
by the will of the great financiers. So long as
enmity between England and Russia was desired,
our newspapers were full of the cruel treatment meted
out to Russian political prisoners, the oppression of
Finland and Russian Poland, and other such topics.
As soon as our foreign policy changed, these items
disappeared from the more important newspapers,
and we heard instead of the misdeeds of Germany.
Most men are not sufficiently critical to be on their
guard against such influences, and until they are, the
power of the Press will remain.

Besides these two influences of capitalism in
promoting war, there is another, much less emphasized
by the critics of capitalism, but by no means less
important: I mean the pugnacity which tends to be
developed in men who have the habit of command.
So long as capitalist society persists, an undue measure
of power will be in the hands of those who have
acquired wealth and influence through a great position
in industry or finance. Such men are in the
habit, in private life, of finding their will seldom
questioned; they are surrounded by obsequious satellites
and are not infrequently engaged in conflicts
with Trade Unions. Among their friends and
acquaintances are included those who hold high positions
in government or administration, and these men
equally are liable to become autocratic through the
habit of giving orders. It used to be customary to
speak of the ``governing classes,'' but nominal democracy
has caused this phrase to go out of fashion.
Nevertheless, it still retains much truth; there are
still in any capitalist community those who command
and those who as a rule obey. The outlook of these
two classes is very different, though in a modern
society there is a continuous gradation from the extreme
of the one to the extreme of the other. The
man who is accustomed to find submission to his will
becomes indignant on the occasions when he finds
opposition. Instinctively he is convinced that opposition
is wicked and must be crushed. He is therefore
much more willing than the average citizen to resort
to war against his rivals. Accordingly we find,
though, of course, with very notable exceptions,
that in the main those who have most power are
most warlike, and those who have least power are
least disposed to hatred of foreign nations. This is
one of the evils inseparable from the concentration
of power. It will only be cured by the abolition of
capitalism if the new system is one which allows very
much less power to single individuals. It will not be
cured by a system which substitutes the power of
Ministers or officials for the power of capitalists
This is one reason, additional to those mentioned in
the preceding chapter, for desiring to see a diminution
in the authority of the State.

Not only does the concentration of power tend
to cause wars, but, equally, wars and the fear of them
bring about the necessity for the concentration of
power. So long as the community is exposed to
sudden dangers, the possibility of quick decision is
absolutely necessary to self-preservation. The cumbrous
machinery of deliberative decisions by the
people is impossible in a crisis, and therefore so long
as crises are likely to occur, it is impossible to abolish
the almost autocratic power of governments. In this
case, as in most others, each of two correlative evils
tends to perpetuate the other. The existence of men
with the habit of power increases the risk of war,
and the risk of war makes it impossible to establish
a system where no man possesses great power.

So far we have been considering what is true in
the contention that capitalism causes modern wars.
It is time now to look at the other side, and to ask
ourselves whether the abolition of capitalism would,
by itself, be sufficient to prevent war.

I do not myself believe that this is the case. The
outlook of both Socialists and Anarchists seems to
me, in this respect as in some others, to be unduly
divorced from the fundamental instincts of human
nature. There were wars before there was capital-
ism, and fighting is habitual among animals. The
power of the Press in promoting war is entirely due
to the fact that it is able to appeal to certain
instincts. Man is naturally competitive, acquisitive,
and, in a greater or less degree, pugnacious. When
the Press tells him that so-and-so is his enemy, a whole
set of instincts in him responds to the suggestion. It
is natural to most men to suppose that they have
enemies and to find a certain fulfillment of their nature
when they embark upon a contest. What a man
believes upon grossly insufficient evidence is an index
to his desires--desires of which he himself is often
unconscious. If a man is offered a fact which goes
against his instincts, he will scrutinize it closely, and
unless the evidence is overwhelming, he will refuse to
believe it. If, on the other hand, he is offered something
which affords a reason for acting in accordance
with his instincts, he will accept it even on the slenderest
evidence. The origin of myths is explained in this
way, and much of what is currently believed in
international affairs is no better than myth. Although
capitalism affords in modern society the channel by
which the instinct of pugnacity finds its outlet, there
is reason to fear that, if this channel were closed,
some other would be found, unless education and
environment were so changed as enormously to diminish
the strength of the competitive instinct. If an
economic reorganization can effect this it may provide a real safeguard against war, but if not, it is
to be feared that the hopes of universal peace will
prove delusive.

The abolition of capitalism might, and very likely
would, greatly diminish the incentives to war which
are derived from the Press and from the desire of
finance to find new fields for investment in undeveloped
countries, but those which are derived from the
instinct of command and the impatience of opposition
might remain, though perhaps in a less virulent
form than at present. A democracy which has power
is almost always more bellicose than one which is
excluded from its due share in the government. The
internationalism of Marx is based upon the assumption
that the proletariat everywhere are oppressed by
the ruling classes. The last words of the Communist
Manifesto embody this idea--

Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic
revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but
their chains. They have a world to win. Working men
of all countries, unite!

So long as the proletarians have nothing to lose
but their chains, it is not likely that their enmity
will be directed against other proletarians. If the
world had developed as Marx expected, the kind of
internationalism which he foresaw might have inspired
a universal social revolution. Russia, which developed more nearly than any other country upon the
lines of his system, has had a revolution of the kind
which he expected. If the development in other countries
had been similar, it is highly probable that this
revolution would have spread throughout the civilized
world. The proletariat of all countries might have
united against the capitalists as their common
enemy, and in the bond of an identical hatred they
might for the moment have been free from hatred
toward each other. Even then, this ground of union
would have ceased with their victory, and on the morrow
of the social revolution the old national rivalries
might have revived. There is no alchemy by which
a universal harmony can be produced out of hatred.
Those who have been inspired to action by the doctrine
of the class war will have acquired the habit
of hatred, and will instinctively seek new enemies
when the old ones have been vanquished.

But in actual fact the psychology of the working
man in any of the Western democracies is totally
unlike that which is assumed in the Communist
Manifesto. He does not by any means feel that he
has nothing to lose but his chains, nor indeed is this
true. The chains which bind Asia and Africa in
subjection to Europe are partly riveted by him. He is
himself part of a great system of tyranny and
exploitation. Universal freedom would remove, not only
his own chains, which are comparatively light, but
the far heavier chains which he has helped to fasten
upon the subject races of the world.

Not only do the working men of a country like
England have a share in the benefit accruing from the
exploitation of inferior races, but many among them
also have their part in the capitalist system. The
funds of Trade Unions and Friendly Societies are
invested in ordinary undertakings, such as railways;
many of the better-paid wage-earners have put their
savings into government securities; and almost all
who are politically active feel themselves part of the
forces that determine public policy, through the
power of the Labor Party and the greater unions.
Owing to these causes their outlook on life has become
to a considerable extent impregnated with capitalism
and as their sense of power has grown, their
nationalism has increased. This must continue to
be true of any internationalism which is based upon
hatred of the capitalist and adherence to the doctrine
of the class war. Something more positive
and constructive than this is needed if governing
democracies are not to inherit the vises of governing
classes in the past.

I do not wish to be thought to deny that capitalism
does very much to promote wars, or that wars
would probably be less frequent and less destructive
if private property were abolished. On the contrary,
I believe that the abolition of private ownership of
land and capital is a necessary step toward any
world in which the nations are to live at peace with
one another. I am only arguing that this step, necessary
as it is, will not alone suffice for this end, but that
among the causes of war there are others that go
deeper into the roots of human nature than any that
orthodox Socialists are wont to acknowledge.

Let us take an instance. In Australia and California
there is an intense dislike and fear toward the
yellow races. The causes of this are complex; the
chief among them are two, labor competition and
instinctive race-hatred. It is probable that, if racehatred did not exist, the difficulties of labor competition
could be overcome. European immigrants also
compete, but they are not excluded. In a sparsely
populated country, industrious cheap labor could,
with a little care, be so utilized as to enrich the existing
inhabitants; it might, for example, be confined to
certain kinds of work, by custom if not by law. But
race-hatred opens men's minds to the evils of
competition and closes them against the advantages of
cooperation; it makes them regard with horror the
somewhat unfamiliar vises of the aliens, while our
own vises are viewed with mild toleration. I cannot
but think that, if Australia were completely socialized,
there would still remain the same popular objection
as at present to any large influx of Chinese or
Japanese labor. Yet if Japan also were to become a
Socialist State, the Japanese might well continue to
feel the pressure of population and the desire for an
outlet. In such circumstances, all the passions and
interests required to produce a war would exist, in
spite of the establishment of Socialism in both countries.
Ants are as completely Socialistic as any community
can possibly be, yet they put to death any
ant which strays among them by mistake from a
neighboring ant-heap. Men do not differ much from
ants, as regards their instincts in this respect, where-
ever there is a great divergence of race, as between
white men and yellow men. Of course the instinct of
race-hostility can be overcome by suitable circumstances;
but in the absence of such circumstances it
remains a formidable menace to the world's peace.

If the peace of the world is ever to become secure,
I believe there will have to be, along with other
changes, a development of the idea which inspires the
project of a League of Nations. As time goes on, the
destructiveness of war grows greater and its profits
grow less: the rational argument against war acquires
more and more force as the increasing productivity
of labor makes it possible to devote a greater
and greater proportion of the population to the work
of mutual slaughter. In quiet times, or when a great
war has just ended, men's moods are amenable to
the rational grounds in favor of peace, and it is
possible to inaugurate schemes designed to make wars
less frequent. Probably no civilized nation would
embark upon an aggressive war if it were fairly
certain in advance that the aggressor must be defeated.
This could be achieved if most great nations
came to regard the peace of the world as of such
importance that they would side against an aggressor
even in a quarrel in which they had no direct interest.
It is on this hope that the League of Nations is based.

But the League of Nations, like the abolition of
private property, will be by no means sufficient if it
is not accompanied or quickly followed by other
reforms. It is clear that such reforms, if they are
to be effective, must be international; the world must
move as a whole in these matters, if it is to move at
all. One of the most obvious necessities, if peace is to
be secure, is a measure of disarmament. So long as
the present vast armies and navies exist, no system
can prevent the risk of war. But disarmament, if it
is to serve its purpose, must be simultaneous and by
mutual agreement among all the Great Powers. And
it is not likely to be successful so long as hatred and
suspicion rule between nations, for each nation will
suspect its neighbor of not carrying out the bargain
fairly. A different mental and moral atmosphere
from that to which we are accustomed in international
affairs will be necessary if agreements between nations
are to succeed in averting catastrophes. If once such
an atmosphere existed it might be perpetuated and
strengthened by wise institutions; but it cannot be
CREATED by institutions alone. International cooperation
requires mutual good will, and good will, however
it has arisen, is only to be PRESERVED by cooperation.
The international future depends upon the possibility
of the initial creation of good will between nations.

It is in this sort of matter that revolutions are
most useful. If the Russian Revolution had been
accompanied by a revolution in Germany, the dramatic
suddenness of the change might have shaken
Europe, for the moment, out of its habits of thought:
the idea of fraternity might have seemed, in the
twinkling of an eye, to have entered the world of
practical politics; and no idea is so practical as the
idea of the brotherhood of man, if only people can be
startled into believing in it. If once the idea of
fraternity between nations were inaugurated with the
faith and vigor belonging to a new revolution, all the
difficulties surrounding it would melt away, for all
of them are due to suspicion and the tyranny of
ancient prejudice. Those who (as is common in the
English-speaking world) reject revolution as a
method, and praise the gradual piecemeal development
which (we are told) constitutes solid progress,
overlook the effect of dramatic events in changing
the mood and the beliefs of whole populations. A
simultaneous revolution in Germany and Russia
would no doubt have had such an effect, and would
have made the creation of a new world possible here
and now.

Dis aliter visum: the millennium is not for our
time. The great moment has passed, and for ourselves
it is again the distant hope that must inspire
us, not the immediate breathless looking for the
deliverance.[56] But we have seen what might have been,
and we know that great possibilities do arise in times
of crisis. In some such sense as this, it may well
be true that the Socialist revolution is the road to
universal peace, and that when it has been traversed
all the other conditions for the cessation of
wars will grow of themselves out of the changed
mental and moral atmosphere.

There is a certain class of difficulties which surrounds
the sober idealist in all speculations about the
not too distant future. These are the cases where
the solution believed by most idealists to be universally
applicable is for some reason impossible, and is,
at the same time, objected to for base or interested
motives by all upholders of existing inequalities. The
case of Tropical Africa will illustrate what I mean.
It would be difficult seriously to advocate the immediate
introduction of parliamentary government for
the natives of this part of the world, even if it were
accompanied by women's suffrage and proportional
representation. So far as I know, no one supposes
the populations of these regions capable of self-determination, except Mr. Lloyd George. There can
be no doubt that, whatever regime may be introduced
in Europe, African negroes will for a long time to
come be governed and exploited by Europeans. If
the European States became Socialistic, and refused,
under a Quixotic impulse, to enrich themselves at the
expense of the defenseless inhabitants of Africa,
those inhabitants would not thereby gain; on the
contrary, they would lose, for they would be handed
over to the tender mercies of individual traders,
operating with armies of reprobate bravos, and committing
every atrocity to which the civilized barbarian
is prone. The European governments cannot divest
themselves of responsibility in regard to Africa.
They must govern there, and the best that can be
hoped is that they should govern with a minimum
of cruelty and rapacity. From the point of view of
preserving the peace of the world, the problem is to
parcel out the advantages which white men derive
from their position in Africa in such a way that no
nation shall feel a sense of injustice. This problem
is comparatively simple, and might no doubt be solved
on the lines of the war aims of the Inter-Allied Socialists.
But it is not this problem which I wish to discuss.
What I wish to consider is, how could a Socialist
or an Anarchist community govern and administer
an African region, full of natural wealth, but
inhabited by a quite uncivilized population? Unless
great precautions were taken the white community,
under the circumstances, would acquire the
position and the instincts of a slave-owner. It
would tend to keep the negroes down to the bare level
of subsistence, while using the produce of their
country to increase the comfort and splendor of the
Communist community. It would do this with that
careful unconsciousness which now characterizes all
the worst acts of nations. Administrators would be
appointed and would be expected to keep silence as
to their methods. Busybodies who reported horrors
would be disbelieved, and would be said to be actuated
by hatred toward the existing regime and by a perverse
love for every country but their own. No doubt,
in the first generous enthusiasm accompanying the
establishment of the new regime at home, there would
be every intention of making the natives happy, but
gradually they would be forgotten, and only the
tribute coming from their country would be
remembered. I do not say that all these evils are
unavoidable; I say only that they will not be avoided
unless they are foreseen and a deliberate conscious
effort is made to prevent their realization. If the
white communities should ever reach the point of
wishing to carry out as far as possible the principles
underlying the revolt against capitalism, they will
have to find a way of establishing an absolute
disinterestedness in their dealings with subject races. It
will be necessary to avoid the faintest suggestion of
capitalistic profit in the government of Africa, and
to spend in the countries themselves whatever they
would be able to spend if they were self-governing.
Moreover, it must always be remembered that backwardness
in civilization is not necessarily incurable,
and that with time even the populations of Central
Africa may become capable of democratic self-government,
provided Europeans bend their energies to
this purpose.

The problem of Africa is, of course, a part of the
wider problems of Imperialism, but it is that part in
which the application of Socialist principles is most
difficult. In regard to Asia, and more particularly
in regard to India and Persia, the application of
principles is clear in theory though difficult in political
practice. The obstacles to self-government which
exist in Africa do not exist in the same measure in
Asia. What stands in the way of freedom of Asiatic
populations is not their lack of intelligence, but only
their lack of military prowess, which makes them an
easy prey to our lust for dominion. This lust would
probably be in temporary abeyance on the morrow of
a Socialist revolution, and at such a moment a new
departure in Asiatic policy might be taken with
permanently beneficial results. I do not mean, of
course, that we should force upon India that form
of democratic government which we have developed
for our own needs. I mean rather that we should
leave India to choose its own form of government, its
own manner of education and its own type of civilization.
India has an ancient tradition, very different
from that of Western Europe, a tradition highly
valued by educated Hindus, but not loved by our
schools and colleges. The Hindu Nationalist feels
that his country has a type of culture containing elements
of value that are absent, or much less marked,
in the West; he wishes to be free to preserve this,
and desires political freedom for such reasons rather
than for those that would most naturally appeal to
an Englishman in the same subject position. The
belief of the European in his own Kultur tends to be
fanatical and ruthless, and for this reason, as much as
for any other, the independence of extra-European
civilization is of real importance to the world, for it is
not by a dead uniformity that the world as a whole is
most enriched.

I have set forth strongly all the major difficulties
in the way of the preservation of the world's peace,
not because I believe these difficulties to be insuperable,
but, on the contrary, because I believe that they
can be overcome if they are recognized. A correct
diagnosis is necessarily the first step toward a cure.
The existing evils in international relations spring,
at bottom, from psychological causes, from motives
forming part of human nature as it is at present.
Among these the chief are competitiveness, love of
power, and envy, using envy in that broad sense in
which it includes the instinctive dislike of any gain
to others not accompanied by an at least equal gain
to ourselves. The evils arising from these three
causes can be removed by a better education and a
better economic and political system.

Competitiveness is by no means wholly an evil.
When it takes the form of emulation in the service
of the public, or in discovery or the production of
works of art, it may become a very useful stimulus,
urging men to profitable effort beyond what they
would otherwise make. It is only harmful when it
aims at the acquisition of goods which are limited
in amount, so that what one man possesses he holds at
the expense of another. When competitiveness takes
this form it is necessarily attended by fear, and out
of fear cruelty is almost inevitably developed. But a
social system providing for a more just distribution
of material goods might close to the instinct of
competitiveness those channels in which it is harmful,
and cause it to flow instead in channels in which it
would become a benefit to mankind. This is one great
reason why the communal ownership of land and capital
would be likely to have a beneficial effect upon
human nature, for human nature, as it exists in adult
men and women, is by no means a fixed datum, but
a product of circumstances, education and opportunity
operating upon a highly malleable native
disposition.

What is true of competitiveness is equally true
of love of power. Power, in the form in which it is
now usually sought, is power of command, power of
imposing one's will upon others by force, open or
concealed. This form of power consists, in essence, in
thwarting others, for it is only displayed when others
are compelled to do what they do not wish to do.
Such power, we hope, the social system which is to
supersede capitalist will reduce to a minimum by the
methods which we outlined in the preceding chapter.
These methods can be applied in international no
less than in national affairs. In international affairs
the same formula of federalism will apply: self-determination for every group in regard to matters which
concern it much more vitally than they concern
others, and government by a neutral authority embracing
rival groups in all matters in which conflicting
interests of groups come into play; lout always
with the fixed principle that the functions of government
are to be reduced to the bare minimum compatible
with justice and the prevention of private
violence. In such a world the present harmful outlets
for the love of power would be closed. But the
power which consists in persuasion, in teaching, in
leading men to a new wisdom or the realization of
new possibilities of happiness--this kind of power,
which may be wholly beneficial, would remain untouched,
and many vigorous men, who in the actual
world devote their energies to domination, would in
such a world find their energies directed to the creation
of new goods rather than the perpetuation of
ancient evils.

Envy, the third of the psychological causes to
which we attributed what is bad in the actual world,
depends in most natures upon that kind of fundamental
discontent which springs from a lack of
free development, from thwarted instinct, and
from the impossibility of realizing an imagined
happiness. Envy cannot be cured by preaching;
preaching, at the best, will only alter its manifestations
and lead it to adopt more subtle forms of concealment.
Except in those rare natures in which
generosity dominates in spite of circumstances, the
only cure for envy is freedom and the joy of life.
From populations largely deprived of the simple
instinctive pleasures of leisure and love, sunshine and
green fields, generosity of outlook and kindliness
of dispositions are hardly to be expected. In such
populations these qualities are not likely to be found,
even among the fortunate few, for these few are
aware, however dimly, that they are profiting by an
injustice, and that they can only continue to enjoy
their good fortune by deliberately ignoring those
with whom it is not shared. If generosity and kindliness
are to be common, there must be more care
than there is at present for the elementary wants of
human nature, and more realization that the diffusion
of happiness among all who are not the victims of
some peculiar misfortune is both possible and imperative.
A world full of happiness would not wish to
plunge into war, and would not be filled with that
grudging hostility which our cramped and narrow
existence forces upon average human nature. A world
full of happiness is not beyond human power to
create; the obstacles imposed by inanimate nature
are not insuperable. The real obstacles lie in the
heart of man, and the cure for these is a firm hope,
informed and fortified by thought.


CHAPTER VII

SCIENCE AND ART UNDER SOCIALISM

SOCIALISM has been advocated by most of its
champions chiefly as a means of increasing the welfare
of the wage earning classes, and more particularly
their material welfare. It has seemed accordingly,
to some men whose aims are not material, as
if it has nothing to offer toward the general
advancement of civilization in the way of art and
thought. Some of its advocates, moreover--and
among these Marx must be included--have written,
no doubt not deliberately, as if with the Socialist
revolution the millennium would have arrived, and
there would be no need of further progress for the
human race. I do not know whether our age is more
restless than that which preceded it, or whether it
has merely become more impregnated with the idea
of evolution, but, for whatever reason, we have
grown incapable of believing in a state of static
perfection, and we demand, of any social system,
which is to have our approval, that it shall contain
within itself a stimulus and opportunity for progress
toward something still better. The doubts thus
raised by Socialist writers make it necessary to
inquire whether Socialism would in fact be hostile to
art and science, and whether it would be likely to
produce a stereotyped society in which progress
would become difficult and slow.
It is not enough that men and women should be
made comfortable in a material sense. Many members
of the well-to-do classes at present, in spite of
opportunity, contribute nothing of value to the life
of the world, and do not even succeed in securing for
themselves any personal happiness worthy to be so
called. The multiplication of such individuals would
be an achievement of the very minutest value; and
if Socialism were merely to bestow upon all the
kind of life and outlook which is now enjoyed by
the more apathetic among the well-to-do, it would
offer little that could inspire enthusiasm in any
generous spirit.

``The true role of collective existence,'' says M.
Naquet,[57]'' . . . is to learn, to discover, to know.
Eating, drinking, sleeping, living, in a word, is a
mere accessory. In this respect, we are not
distinguished from the brute. Knowledge is the goal.
If I were condemned to choose between a humanity
materially happy, glutted after the manner of a
flock of sheep in a field, and a humanity existing in
misery, but from which emanated, here and there,
some eternal truth, it is on the latter that my choice
would fall.''

This statement puts the alternative in a very
extreme form in which it is somewhat unreal. It may
be said in reply that for those who have had the
leisure and the opportunity to enjoy ``eternal
truths'' it is easy to exalt their importance at the
expense of sufferings which fall on others. This is
true; but, if it is taken as disposing of the question,
it leaves out of account the importance of thought
for progress. Viewing the life of mankind as a whole,
in the future as well as in the present, there can be
no question that a society in which some men pursue
knowledge while others endure great poverty offers
more hope of ultimate good than a society in which
all are sunk in slothful comfort. It is true that
poverty is a great evil, but it is not true that material
prosperity is in itself a great good. If it is to have
any real value to society, it must be made a means to
the advancement of those higher goods that belong
to the life of the mind. But the life of the mind does
not consist of thought and knowledge alone, nor
can it be completely healthy unless it has some
instinctive contact, however deeply buried, with the
general life of the community. Divorced from the
social instinct, thought, like art, tends to become
finicky and precious. It is the position of such art
and thought as is imbued with the instinctive sense
of service to mankind that we wish to consider, for
it is this alone that makes up the life of the mind
in the sense in which it is a vital part of the life of
the community. Will the life of the mind in this
sense be helped or hindered by Socialism? And will
there still be a sufficient spur to progress to prevent
a condition of Byzantine immobility?

In considering this question we are, in a certain
sense, passing outside the atmosphere of democracy.
The general good of the community is realized only
in individuals, but it is realized much more fully in
some individuals than in others. Some men have a
comprehensive and penetrating intellect, enabling
them to appreciate and remember what has been
thought and known by their predecessors, and to
discover new regions in which they enjoy all the
high delights of the mental explorer. Others have
the power of creating beauty, giving bodily form to
impalpable visions out of which joy comes to many.
Such men are more fortunate than the mass, and also
more important for the collective life. A larger share
of the general sum of good is concentrated in them
than in the ordinary man and woman; but also their
contribution to the general good is greater. They
stand out among men and cannot be wholly fitted
into the framework of democratic equality. A social
system which would render them unproductive would
stand condemned, whatever other merits it might
have.

The first thing to realize--though it is difficult in
a commercial age--is that what is best in creative
mental activity cannot be produced by any system
of monetary rewards. Opportunity and the stimulus
of an invigorating spiritual atmosphere are important,
but, if they are presented, no financial inducements
will be required, while if they are absent,
material compensations will be of no avail. Recognition,
even if it takes the form of money, can bring a
certain pleasure in old age to the man of science
who has battled all his life against academic
prejudice, or to the artist who has endured years of
ridicule for not painting in the manner of his
predecessors; but it is not by the remote hope of such
pleasures that their work has been inspired. All
the most important work springs from an uncalculating
impulse, and is best promoted, not by rewards
after the event, but by circumstances which keep the
impulse alive and afford scope for the activities
which it inspires. In the creation of such circumstances
our present system is much at fault. Will
Socialism be better?

I do not think this question can be answered
without specifying the kind of Socialism that is intended:
some forms of Socialism would, I believe, be
even more destructive in this respect than the present
capitalist regime, while others would be immeasurably
better. Three things which a social system can
provide or withhold are helpful to mental creation:
first, technical training; second, liberty to follow
the creative impulse; third, at least the possibility of
ultimate appreciation by some public, whether large
or small. We may leave out of our discussion both
individual genius and those intangible conditions
which make some ages great and others sterile in art
and science--not because these are unimportant, but
because they are too little understood to be taken
account of in economic or political organization.
The three conditions we have mentioned seem to cover
most of what can be SEEN to be useful or harmful
from our present point of view, and it is therefore
to them that we shall confine ourselves.

1. Technical Training.--Technical training at
present, whether in science or art, requires one or
other of two conditions. Either a boy must be the
son of well-to-do parents who can afford to keep
him while he acquires his education, or he must show
so much ability at an early age as to enable him to
subsist on scholarships until he is ready to earn his
living. The former condition is, of course, a mere
matter of luck, and could not be preserved in its
present form under any kind of Socialism or Communism.
This loss is emphasized by defenders of the
present system, and no doubt it would be, to same
extent, a real loss. But the well-to-do are a small
proportion of the population, and presumably on the
average no more talented by nature than their less
fortunate contemporaries. If the advantages which
are enjoyed now by those few among them who are
capable of good work in science or art could be
extended, even in a slightly attenuated form, to all
who are similarly gifted, the result would almost
infallibly be a gain, and much ability which is now
wasted would be rendered fruitful. But how is this
to be effected?

The system of scholarships obtained by competition,
though better than nothing, is objectionable
from many points of view. It introduces the competitive
spirit into the work of the very young; it
makes them regard knowledge from the standpoint
of what is useful in examinations rather than in the
light of its intrinsic interest or importance; it places
a premium upon that sort of ability which is displayed
precociously in glib answers to set questions
rather than upon the kind that broods on difficulties
and remains for a time rather dumb. What is perhaps
worse than any of these defects is the tendency
to cause overwork in youth, leading to lack of vigor
and interest when manhood has been reached. It
can hardly be doubted that by this cause, at present,
many fine minds have their edge blunted and their
keenness destroyed.

State Socialism might easily universalize the
system of scholarships obtained by competitive examination,
and if it did so it is to he feared that it
would be very harmful. State Socialists at present
tend to be enamored of the systems which is exactly
of the kind that every bureaucrat loves: orderly,
neat, giving a stimulus to industrious habits, and
involving no waste of a sort that could be tabulated
in statistics or accounts of public expenditure.
Such men will argue that free higher education is
expensive to the community, and only useful in the
case of those who have exceptional abilities; it
ought, therefore, they will say, not to be given to all,
but only to those who will become more useful members
of society through receiving it. Such arguments
make a great appeal to what are called ``practical''
men, and the answers to them are of a sort which it
is difficult to render widely convincing. Revolt
against the evils of competition is, however, part
of the very essence of the Socialist's protest against
the existing order, and on this ground, if on no other,
those who favor Socialism may be summoned to look
for some better solution.

Much the simplest solution, and the only really
effective one, is to make every kind of education free
up to the age of twenty-one for all boys and girls
who desire it. The majority will be tired of education
before that age, and will prefer to begin other
work sooner; this will lead to a natural selection of
those with strong interests in some pursuit requiring
a long training. Among those selected in this way
by their own inclinations, probably almost all tho
have marked abilities of the kind in question will be
included. It is true that there will also be many
who have very little ability; the desire to become a
painter, for example, is by no means confined to
those who can paint. But this degree of waste could
well be borne by the community; it would be immeasurably
less than that now entailed by the support
of the idle rich. Any system which aims at
avoiding this kind of waste must entail the far more
serious waste of rejecting or spoiling some of the
best ability in each generation. The system of free
education up to any grade for all who desire it is
the only system which is consistent with the principles
of liberty, and the only one which gives a reasonable
hope of affording full scope for talent. This system
is equally compatible with all forms of Socialism
and Anarchism. Theoretically, it is compatible with
capitalism, but practically it is so opposite in spirit
that it would hardly be feasible without a complete
economic reconstruction. The fact that Socialism
would facilitate it must be reckoned a very powerful
argument in favor of change, for the waste of talent
at present in the poorer classes of society must be
stupendous.

2. Liberty to follow the creative impulse.--
When a man's training has been completed, if he is
possessed of really great abilities, he will do his best
work if he is completely free to follow his bent,
creating what seems good to him, regardless of the
judgment of ``experts.'' At present this is only
possible for two classes of people: those who have
private means, and those who can earn a living by
an occupation that does not absorb their whole
energies. Under Socialism, there will be no one with
private means, and if there is to be no loss as
regards art and science, the opportunity which now
comes by accident to a few will have to be provided
deliberately for a much larger number. The men
who have used private means as an opportunity for
creative work have been few but important: one
might mention Milton, Shelley, Keats and Darwin as
examples. Probably none of these would have produced
as good work if they had had to earn their
livelihood. If Darwin had been a university teacher,
he would of course have been dismissed from his post
by the influence of the clerics on account of his
scandalous theories.

Nevertheless, the bulk of the creative work of the
world is done at present by men who subsist by
some other occupation. Science, and research generally,
are usually done in their spare time by men
who live by teaching. There is no great objection to
this in the case of science, provided the number of
hours devoted to teaching is not excessive. It is
partly because science and teaching are so easily
combined that science is vigorous in the present age.
In music, a composer who is also a performer enjoys
similar advantages, but one who is not a performer
must starve, unless he is rich or willing to pander to
the public taste. In the fine arts, as a rule, it is not
easy in the modern world either to make a living by
really good work or to find a subsidiary profession
which leaves enough leisure for creation. This is
presumably one reason, though by no means the only
one, why art is less flourishing than science.

The bureaucratic State Socialist will have a
simple solution for these difficulties. He will appoint
a body consisting of the most eminent celebrities in
an art or a science, whose business it shall be to judge
the work of young men, and to issue licenses to those
whose productions find favor in their eyes. A licensed
artist shall be considered to have performed his duty
to the community by producing works of art. But of
course he will have to prove his industry by never
failing to produce in reasonable quantities, and his
continued ability by never failing to please his
eminent judges--until, in the fullness of time, he
becomes a judge himself. In this way, the authorities
will insure that the artist shall be competent,
regular, and obedient to the best traditions of his
art. Those who fail to fulfill these conditions will be
compelled by the withdrawal of their license to seek
some less dubious mode of earning their living. Such
will be the ideal of the State Socialist.

In such a world all that makes life tolerable to
the lover of beauty would perish. Art springs from
a wild and anarchic side of human nature; between
the artist and the bureaucrat there must always be
a profound mutual antagonism, an age-long battle
in which the artist, always outwardly worsted, wins
in the end through the gratitude of mankind for the
joy that he puts into their lives. If the wild side
of human nature is to be permanently subjected to
the orderly rules of the benevolent, uncomprehending
bureaucrat, the joy of life will perish out of the
earth, and the very impulse to live will gradually
wither and die. Better a thousandfold the present
world with all its horrors than such a dead mummy
of a world. Better Anarchism, with all its risks,
than a State Socialism that subjects to rule what
must be spontaneous and free if it is to have any
value. It is this nightmare that makes artists, and
lovers of beauty generally, so often suspicious of
Socialism. But there is nothing in the essence of
Socialism to make art impossible: only certain forms
of Socialism would entail this danger. William
Morris was a Socialist, and was a Socialist very
largely because he was an artist. And in this he
was not irrational.

It is impossible for art, or any of the higher
creative activities, to flourish under any system which
requires that the artist shall prove his competence to
some body of authorities before he is allowed to follow
his impulse. Any really great artist is almost
sure to be thought incompetent by those among his
seniors who would be generally regarded as best
qualified to form an opinion. And the mere fact of
having to produce work which will please older men
is hostile to a free spirit and to bold innovation.
Apart from this difficulty, selection by older men
would lead to jealousy and intrigue and back-biting,
producing a poisonous atmosphere of underground
competition. The only effect of such a plan would be
to eliminate the few who now slip through owing to
some fortunate accident. It is not by any system,
but by freedom alone, that art can flourish.

There are two ways by which the artist could
secure freedom under Socialism of the right kind.
He might undertake regular work outside his art,
doing only a few hours' work a day and receiving
proportionately less pay than those who do a full
day's work. He ought, in that case, to be at liberty
to sell his pictures if he could find purchasers. Such
a system would have many advantages. It would
leave absolutely every man free to become an artist,
provided he were willing to suffer a certain economic
loss. This would not deter those in whom the impulse
was strong and genuine, but would tend to
exclude the dilettante. Many young artists at
present endure voluntarily much greater poverty
than need be entailed by only doing half the usual
day's work in a well-organized Socialist community;
and some degree of hardship is not objectionable,
as a test of the strength of the creative impulse, and
as an offset to the peculiar joys of the creative life.

The other possibility[58] would be that the necessaries
of life should be free, as Anarchists desire, to
all equally, regardless of whether they work or not.
Under this plan, every man could live without work:
there would be what might be called a ``vagabond's
wage,'' sufficient for existence but not for luxury.
The artist who preferred to have his whole time for
art and enjoyment might live on the ``vagabond's
wage''--traveling on foot when the humor seized him
to see foreign countries, enjoying the air and the
sun, as free as the birds, and perhaps scarcely less
happy. Such men would bring color and diversity
into the life of the community; their outlook would be
different from that of steady, stay-at-home workers,
and would keep alive a much-needed element of lightheartedness which our sober, serious civilization tends
to kill. If they became very numerous, they might
be too great an economic burden on the workers;
but I doubt if there are many with enough capacity
for simple enjoyments to choose poverty and freedom in preference to the comparatively light and
pleasant work which will be usual in those days.

By either of these methods, freedom can be preserved
for the artist in a socialistic commonwealth--
far more complete freedom, and far more widespread,
than any that now exists except for the possessors of
capital.

But there still remain some not altogether easy
problems. Take, for example, the publishing of books.
There will not, under Socialism, be private publishers
as at present: under State Socialism, presumably the
State will be the sole publisher, while under Syndicalism
or Guild Socialism the Federation du Livre
will have the whole of the trade in its hands. Under
these circumstances, who is to decide what MSS. are
to be printed? It is clear that opportunities exist
for an Index more rigorous than that of the Inquisition.
If the State were the sole publisher, it would
doubtless refuse books opposed to State Socialism.
If the Federation du Livre were the ultimate arbiter,
what publicity could be obtained for works criticizing
it? And apart from such political difficulties
we should have, as regards literature, that
very censorship by eminent officials which we agreed
to regard as disastrous when we were considering the
fine arts in general. The difficulty is serious, and a
way of meeting it must be found if literature is to
remain free.

Kropotkin, who believes that manual and intellectual
work should be combined, holds that authors
themselves should be compositors, bookbinders, etc.
He even seems to suggest that the whole of the manual
work involved in producing books should be done by
authors. It may be doubted whether there are
enough authors in the world for this to be possible,
and in any case I cannot but think that it would
be a waste of time for them to leave the work they
understand in order to do badly work which others
could do far better and more quickly. That, however,
does not touch our present point, which is the
question how the MSS. to be printed will be selected.
In Kropotkin's plan there will presumably be an
Author's Guild, with a Committee of Management,
if Anarchism allows such things. This Committee
of Management will decide which of the books submitted
to it are worthy to be printed. Among these
will be included those by the Committee and their
friends, but not those by their enemies. Authors
of rejected MSS. will hardly have the patience to
spend their time setting up the works of successful
rivals, and there will have to be an elaborate system
of log-rolling if any books are to be printed at all.
It hardly looks as if this plan would conduce to harmony
among literary men, or would lead to the publication
of any book of an unconventional tendency.
Kropotkin's own books, for example, would hardly
have found favor.

The only way of meeting these difficulties, whether
under State Socialism or Guild Socialism or Anarchism,
seems to be by making it possible for an author
to pay for the publication of his book if it is not
such as the State or the Guild is willing to print at
its own expense. I am aware that this method is contrary
to the spirit of Socialism, but I do not see what
other way there is of securing freedom. The payment
might be made by undertaking to engage for
an assigned period in some work of recognized utility
and to hand over such proportion of the earnings as
might be necessary. The work undertaken might
of course be, as Kropotkin suggests, the manual part
of the production of books, but I see no special reason
why it should be. It would have to be an absolute
rule that no book should be refused, no matter what
the nature of its contents might be, if payment for
publication were offered at the standard rate. An
author who had admirers would be able to secure their
help in payment. An unknown author might, it is
true, have to suffer a considerable loss of comfort
in order to make his payment, but that would give
an automatic means of eliminating those whose writing
was not the result of any very profound impulse
and would be by no means wholly an evil.

Probably some similar method would be desirable
as regards the publishing and performing of new
music.

What we have been suggesting will, no doubt, be
objected to by orthodox Socialists, since they will find
something repugnant to their principles in the whole
idea of a private person paying to have certain
work done. But it is a mistake to be the slave of a
system, and every system, if it is applied rigidly, will
entail evils which could only be avoided by some
concession to the exigencies of special cases. On the
whole, a wise form of Socialism might afford infinitely
better opportunities for the artist and the man of
science than are possible in a capitalist community,
but only if the form of Socialism adopted is one
which is fitted for this end by means of provisions
such as we have been suggesting.

3. Possibility of Appreciation.--This condition
is one which is not necessary to all who do creative
work, but in the sense in which I mean it the great
majority find it very nearly indispensable. I do not
mean widespread public recognition, nor that ignorant,
half-sincere respect which is commonly accorded
to artists who have achieved success. Neither of
these serves much purpose. What I mean is rather
understanding, and a spontaneous feeling that things
of beauty are important. In a thoroughly commercialized
society, an artist is respected if he makes
money, and because he makes money, but there is no
genuine respect for the works of art by which his
money has been made. A millionaire whose fortune
has been made in button-hooks or chewing-gum is
regarded with awe, but none of this feeling is
bestowed on the articles from which his wealth is
derived. In a society which measures all things by
money the same tends to be true of the artist. If he
has become rich he is respected, though of course
less than the millionaire, but his pictures or books
or music are regarded as the chewing-gum or the button-
hooks are regarded, merely as a means to money.
In such an atmosphere it is very difficult for the artist
to preserve his creative impulse pure: either he is
contaminated by his surroundings, or he becomes
embittered through lack of appreciation for the object
of his endeavor.

It is not appreciation of the artist that is necessary
so much as appreciation of the art. It is difficult
for an artist to live in an environment in which
everything is judged by its utility, rather than by its
intrinsic quality. The whole side of life of which
art is the flower requires something which may be
called disinterestedness, a capacity for direct
enjoyment without thought of tomorrow's problems and
difficulties. When people are amused by a joke they
do not need to be persuaded that it will serve some
important purpose. The same kind of direct pleasure
is involved in any genuine appreciation of art.
The struggle for life, the serious work of a trade or
profession, is apt to make people too solemn for
jokes and too pre-occupied for art. The easing of
the struggle, the diminution in the hours of work, and
the lightening of the burden of existence, which would
result from a better economic system, could hardly
fail to increase the joy of life and the vital energy,
available for sheer delight in the world. And if this
were achieved there would inevitably be more spontaneous
pleasure in beautiful things, and more enjoyment
of the work of artists. But none of these good
results are to be expected from the mere removal
of poverty: they all require also a diffused sense of
freedom, and the absence of that feeling of oppression
by a vast machine which now weighs down the individual
spirit. I do not think State Socialism can give
this sense of freedom, but some other forms of Socialism,
which have absorbed what is true in Anarchist
teaching, can give it to a degree of which capitalism is
wholly incapable.

A general sense of progress and achievement is
an immense stimulus to all forms of creative work.
For this reason, a great deal will depend, not only
in material ways, upon the question whether methods
of production in industry and agriculture become
stereotyped or continue to change rapidly as they
have done during the last hundred years. Improved
methods of production will be much more obviously
than now to the interest of the community at large,
when what every man receives is his due share of the
total produce of labor. But there will probably not
be any individuals with the same direct and intense
interest in technical improvements as now belongs
to the capitalist in manufacture. If the natural
conservatism of the workers is not to prove stronger
than their interest in increasing production, it will
be necessary that, when better methods are introduced
by the workers in any industry, part at least
of the benefit should be allowed for a time to be
retained by them. If this is done, it may be presumed
that each Guild will be continually seeking for new
processes or inventions, and will value those technical
parts of scientific research which are useful for this
purpose. With every improvement, the question will
arise whether it is to be used to give more leisure or to
increase the dividend of commodities. Where there
is so much more leisure than there is now, there will
be many more people with a knowledge of science or
an understanding of art. The artist or scientific
investigator will be far less cut off than he is at
present from the average citizen, and this will almost
inevitably be a stimulus to his creative energy.

I think we may fairly conclude that, from the
point of view of all three requisites for art and science,
namely, training, freedom and appreciation, State
Socialism would largely fail to remove existing
evils and would introduce new evils of its own; but
Guild Socialism, or even Syndicalism, if it adopted
a liberal policy toward those who preferred to work
less than the usual number of hours at recognized
occupations, might be immeasurably preferable to
anything that is possible under the rule of capitalism.
There are dangers, but they will all vanish if the
importance of liberty is adequately acknowledged.
In this as in nearly everything else, the road to all
that is best is the road of freedom.


CHAPTER VIII

THE WORLD AS IT COULD BE MADE

IN the daily lives of most men and women, fear
plays a greater part than hope: they are more
filled with the thought of the possessions that others
may take from them, than of the joy that they might
create in their own lives and in the lives with which
they come in contact.
It is not so that life should be lived.

Those whose lives are fruitful to themselves, to
their friends, or to the world are inspired by hope
and sustained by joy: they see in imagination the
things that might be and the way in which they are
to be brought into existence. In their private relations
they are not pre-occupied with anxiety lest
they should lose such affection and respect as they
receive: they are engaged in giving affection
and respect freely, and the reward comes of
itself without their seeking. In their work they
are not haunted by jealousy of competitors, but
concerned with the actual matter that has to be done.
In politics, they do not spend time and passion defending
unjust privileges of their class or nation, but
they aim at making the world as a whole happier, less
cruel, less full of conflict between rival greeds, and
more full of human beings whose growth has not
been dwarfed and stunted by oppression.

A life lived in this spirit--the spirit that aims at
creating rather than possessing--has a certain
fundamental happiness, of which it cannot be wholly
robbed by adverse circumstances. This is the way
of life recommended in the Gospels, and by all the
great teachers of the world. Those who have found
it are freed from the tyranny of fear, since what they
value most in their lives is not at the mercy of outside
power. If all men could summon up the courage
and the vision to live in this way in spite of obstacles
and discouragement, there would be no need for the
regeneration of the world to begin by political and
economic reform: all that is needed in the way of reform
would come automatically, without resistance,
owing to the moral regeneration of individuals. But
the teaching of Christ has been nominally accepted
by the world for many centuries, and yet those who
follow it are still persecuted as they were before the
time of Constantine. Experience has proved that
few are able to see through the apparent evils of an
outcast's life to the inner joy that comes of faith
and creative hope. If the domination of fear is to be
overcome, it is not enough, as regards the mass of
men, to preach courage and indifference to misfortune:
it is necessary to remove the causes of fear,
to make a good life no longer an unsuccessful one in
a worldly sense, and to diminish the harm that can
be inflicted upon those who are not wary in self-
defense.

When we consider the evils in the lives we know
of, we find that they may be roughly divided into
three classes. There are, first, those due to physical
nature: among these are death, pain and the
difficulty of making the soil yield a subsistence.
These we will call ``physical evils.'' Second, we may
put those that spring from defects in the character
or aptitudes of the sufferer: among these are ignorance,
lack of will, and violent passions. These we
will call ``evils of character.'' Third come those
that depend upon the power of one individual or
group over another: these comprise not only obvious
tyranny, but all interference with free development,
whether by force or by excessive mental influence
such as may occur in education. These we will call
``evils of power.'' A social system may be judged
by its bearing upon these three kinds of evils.

The distinction between the three kinds cannot
be sharply drawn. Purely physical evil is a limit,
which we can never be sure of having reached: we
cannot abolish death, but we can often postpone it by
science, and it may ultimately become possible to
secure that the great majority shall live till old age;
we cannot wholly prevent pain, but we can diminish
it indefinitely by securing a healthy life for all; we
cannot make the earth yield its fruits in any abundance
without labor, but we can diminish the amount
of the labor and improve its conditions until it ceases
to be an evil. Evils of character are often the result
of physical evil in the shape of illness, and still more
often the result of evils of power, since tyranny
degrades both those who exercise it and (as a rule)
those who suffer it. Evils of power are intensified
by evils of character in those who have power, and by
fear of the physical evil which is apt to be the lot of
those who have no power. For all these reasons, the
three sorts of evil are intertwined. Nevertheless,
speaking broadly, we may distinguish among our
misfortunes those which have their proximate cause in
the material world, those which are mainly due to
defects in ourselves, and those which spring from our
being subject to the control of others.

The main methods of combating these evils are: for
physical evils, science; for evils of character, education
(in the widest sense) and a free outlet for all
impulses that do not involve domination; for evils
of power, the reform of the political and economic
organization of society in such a way as to reduce
to the lowest possible point the interference of one
man with the life of another. We will begin with the
third of these kinds of evil, because it is evils of power
specially that Socialism and Anarchism have sought
to remedy. Their protest against Inequalities of
wealth has rested mainly upon their sense of the evils
arising from the power conferred by wealth. This
point has been well stated by Mr. G. D. H. Cole:--

What, I want to ask, is the fundamental evil in our
modern Society which we should set out to abolish?

There are two possible answers to that question, and
I am sure that very many well-meaning people would
make the wrong one. They would answer POVERTY,
when they ought to answer SLAVERY. Face to face
every day with the shameful contrasts of riches and
destitution, high dividends and low wages, and painfully
conscious of the futility of trying to adjust the balance
by means of charity, private or public, they would answer
unhesitatingly that they stand for the ABOLITION
OF POVERTY.

Well and good! On that issue every Socialist is with
them. But their answer to my question is none the less
wrong.

Poverty is the symptom: slavery the disease. The
extremes of riches and destitution follow inevitably upon
the extremes of license and bondage. The many are not
enslaved because they are poor, they are poor because
they are enslaved. Yet Socialists have all too often
fixed their eyes upon the material misery of the poor
without realizing that it rests upon the spiritual degradation
of the slave.[59]

I do not think any reasonable person can doubt
that the evils of power in the present system are
vastly greater than is necessary, nor that they
might be immeasurably diminished by a suitable form
of Socialism. A few fortunate people, it is true, are
now enabled to live freely on rent or interest, and
they could hardly have more liberty under another
system. But the great bulk, not only of the very
poor, but, of all sections of wage-earners and even
of the professional classes, are the slaves of the need
for getting money. Almost all are compelled to
work so hard that they have little leisure for enjoyment
or for pursuits outside their regular occupation.
Those who are able to retire in later middle age are
bored, because they have not learned how to fill
their time when they are at liberty, and such interests
as they once had apart from work have dried up.
Yet these are the exceptionally fortunate: the majority
have to work hard till old age, with the fear of
destitution always before them, the richer ones dreading
that they will be unable to give their children
the education or the medical care that they consider
desirable, the poorer ones often not far removed from
starvation. And almost all who work have no voice
in the direction of their work; throughout the hours
of labor they are mere machines carrying out the will
of a master. Work is usually done under disagreeable
conditions, involving pain and physical hardship.
The only motive to work is wages: the very idea that
work might be a joy, like the work of the artist, is
usually scouted as utterly Utopian.

But by far the greater part of these evils are
wholly unnecessary. If the civilized portion of mankind
could be induced to desire their own happiness
more than another's pain, if they could be induced to
work constructively for improvements which they
would share with all the world rather than destructively
to prevent other classes or nations from stealing
a march on them, the whole system by which the
world's work is done might be reformed root and
branch within a generation.

From the point of view of liberty, what system
would be the best? In what direction should we wish
the forces of progress to move?

From this point of view, neglecting for the
moment all other considerations, I have no doubt that
the best system would be one not far removed from
that advocated by Kropotkin, but rendered more
practicable by the adoption of the main principles of
Guild Socialism. Since every point can be disputed,
I will set down without argument the kind of organization
of work that would seem best.

Education should be compulsory up to the age
of 16, or perhaps longer; after that, it should be continued
or not at the option of the pupil, but remain
free (for those who desire it) up to at least the age
of 21. When education is finished no one should be
COMPELLED to work, and those who choose not to work
should receive a bare livelihood, and be left completely
free; but probably it would be desirable that there
should be a strong public opinion in favor of work,
so that only comparatively few should choose idleness.
One great advantage of making idleness economically
possible is that it would afford a powerful
motive for making work not disagreeable; and no
community where most work is disagreeable can be
said to have found a solution of economic problems.
I think it is reasonable to assume that few would
choose idleness, in view of the fact that even now at
least nine out of ten of those who have (say) 100 pounds
a year from investments prefer to increase their income
by paid work.

Coming now to that great majority who will not
choose idleness, I think we may assume that, with the
help of science, and by the elimination of the vast
amount of unproductive work involved in internal and
international competition, the whole community
could be kept in comfort by means of four hours'
work a day. It is already being urged by experienced
employers that their employes can actually produce
as much in a six-hour day as they can when they
work eight hours. In a world where there is a much
higher level of technical instruction than there is now
the same tendency will be accentuated. People will
be taught not only, as at present, one trade, or one
small portion of a trade, but several trades, so that
they can vary their occupation according to the
seasons and the fluctuations of demand. Every industry
will be self-governing as regards all its internal
affairs, and even separate factories will decide for
themselves all questions that only concern those who
work in them. There will not be capitalist management,
as at present, but management by elected representatives,
as in politics. Relations between different
groups of producers will be settled by the Guild
Congress, matters concerning the community as the
inhabitants of a certain area will continue to be
decided by Parliament, while all disputes between
Parliament and the Guild Congress will be decided
by a body composed of representatives of both in
equal numbers.

Payment will not be made, as at present, only for
work actually required and performed, but for willingness
to work. This system is already adopted in
much of the better paid work: a man occupies a certain
position, and retains it even at times when there
happens to be very little to do. The dread of unemployment
and loss of livelihood will no longer haunt
men like a nightmare. Whether all who are willing
to work will be paid equally, or whether exceptional
skill will still command exceptional pay, is a matter
which may be left to each guild to decide for itself.
An opera-singer who received no more pay than a
scene-shifter might choose to be a scene-shifter until
the system was changed: if so, higher pay would
probably be found necessary. But if it were freely
voted by the Guild, it could hardly constitute a
grievance.

Whatever might be done toward making work
agreeable, it is to be presumed that some trades would
always remain unpleasant. Men could be attracted
into these by higher pay or shorter hours, instead of
being driven into them by destitution. The community
would then have a strong economic motive
for finding ways of diminishing the disagreeableness
of these exceptional trades.

There would still have to be money, or something
analogous to it, in any community such as we are
imagining. The Anarchist plan of a free distribution
of the total produce of work in equal shares
does not get rid of the need for some standard of
exchange value, since one man will choose to take his
share in one form and another in another. When
the day comes for distributing luxuries, old ladies
will not want their quota of cigars, nor young men
their just proportion of lap-dog; this will make it
necessary to know how many cigars are the equivalent
of one lap-dog. Much the simplest way is to
pay an income, as at present, and allow relative
values to be adjusted according to demand. But if
actual coin were paid, a man might hoard it and in
time become a capitalist. To prevent this, it would
be best to pay notes available only during a certain
period, say one year from the date of issue. This
would enable a man to save up for his annual holiday,
but not to save indefinitely.

There is a very great deal to be said for the
Anarchist plan of allowing necessaries, and all
commodities that can easily be produced in quantities
adequate to any possible demand, to be given away
freely to all who ask for them, in any amounts they
may require. The question whether this plan should
be adopted is, to my mind, a purely technical one:
would it be, in fact, possible to adopt it without much
waste and consequent diversion of labor to the production
of necessaries when it might be more usefully
employed otherwise? I have not the means of answering
this question, but I think it exceedingly probable
that, sooner or later, with the continued
improvement in the methods of production, this
Anarchist plan will become feasible; and when it does,
it certainly ought to be adopted.

Women in domestic work, whether married or unmarried,
will receive pay as they would if they were
in industry. This will secure the complete economic
independence of wives, which is difficult to achieve
in any other way, since mothers of young children
ought not to be expected to work outside the home.

The expense of children will not fall, as at present,
on the parents. They will receive, like adults,
their share of necessaries, and their education will
be free.[60] There is no longer to be the present
competition for scholarships among the abler children:
they will not be imbued with the competitive spirit
from infancy, or forced to use their brains to an
unnatural degree with consequent listlessness and lack
of health in later life. Education will be far more
diversified than at present; greater care will be taken
to adapt it to the needs of different types of young
people. There will be more attempt to encourage
initiative young pupils, and less desire to fill their
minds with a set of beliefs and mental habits regarded
as desirable by the State, chiefly because they help
to preserve the status quo. For the great majority
of children it will probably be found desirable to
have much more outdoor education in the country.
And for older boys and girls whose interests are not
intellectual or artistic, technical education, undertaken
in a liberal spirit, is far more useful in promoting
mental activity than book-learning which they
regard (however falsely) as wholly useless except for
purposes of examination. The really useful education is that which follows the direction of the child's
own instinctive interests, supplying knowledge for
which it is seeking, not dry, detailed information
wholly out of relation to its spontaneous desires.

Government and law will still exist in our
community, but both will be reduced to a minimum.
There will still be acts which will be forbidden--for
example, murder. But very nearly the whole of that
part of the criminal law which deals with property
will have become obsolete, and many of the motives
which now produce murders will be no longer operative.
Those who nevertheless still do commit crimes
will not be blamed or regarded as wicked; they will
be regarded as unfortunate, and kept in some kind
of mental hospital until it is thought that they are
no longer a danger. By education and freedom and
the abolition of private capital the number of crimes
can be made exceedingly small. By the method of
individual curative treatment it will generally be
possible to secure that a man's first offense shall also
be his last, except in the case of lunatics and the
feeble-minded, for whom of course a more prolonged
but not less kindly detention may be necessary.

Government may be regarded as consisting of
two parts: the one, the decisions of the community
or its recognized organs; the other, the enforcing of
those decisions upon all who resist them. The first
part is not objected to by Anarchists. The second
part, in an ordinary civilized State, may remain
entirely in the background: those who have resisted
a new law while it was being debated will, as a rule,
submit to it when it is passed, because resistance is
generally useless in a settled and orderly community.
But the possibility of governmental force remains,
and indeed is the very reason for the submission which
makes force unnecessary. If, as Anarchists desire,
there were no use of force by government, the majority
could still band themselves together and use
force against the minority. The only difference
would be that their army or their police force would
be ad hoc, instead of being permanent and professional.
The result of this would be that everyone
would have to learn how to fight, for fear a well-
drilled minority should seize power and establish an
old-fashioned oligarchic State. Thus the aim of the
Anarchists seems hardly likely to be achieved by
the methods which they advocate.

The reign of violence in human affairs, whether
within a country or in its external relations, can only
be prevented, if we have not been mistaken, by an
authority able to declare all use of force except by
itself illegal, and strong enough to be obviously
capable of making all other use of force futile, except
when it could secure the support of public opinion as
a defense of freedom or a resistance to injustice.
Such an authority exists within a country: it is the
State. But in international affairs it remains to be
created. The difficulties are stupendous, but they must
be overcome if the world is to be saved from periodical
wars, each more destructive than any of its predecessors.
Whether, after this war, a League of Nations
will be formed, and will be capable of performing this
task, it is as yet impossible to foretell. However that
may be, some method of preventing wars will have to
be established before our Utopia becomes possible.
When once men BELIEVE that the world is safe from
war, the whole difficulty will be solved: there will then
no longer be any serious resistance to the disbanding
of national armies and navies, and the substitution
for them of a small international force for protection
against uncivilized races. And when that stage has
been reached, peace will be virtually secure.

The practice of government by majorities, which
Anarchists criticize, is in fact open to most of the
objections which they urge against it. Still more
objectionable is the power of the executive in matters
vitally affecting the happiness of all, such as
peace and war. But neither can be dispensed with
suddenly. There are, however, two methods of diminishing
the harm done by them: (1) Government by
majorities can be made less oppressive by devolution,
by placing the decision of questions primarily affecting
only a section of the community in the hands of
that section, rather than of a Central Chamber. In
this way, men are no longer forced to submit to decisions
made in a hurry by people mostly ignorant of
the matter in hand and not personally interested.
Autonomy for internal affairs should be given, not
only to areas, but to all groups, such as industries or
Churches, which have important common interests
not shared by the rest of the community. (2) The
great powers vested in the executive of a modern
State are chiefly due to the frequent need of rapid
decisions, especially as regards foreign affairs. If
the danger of war were practically eliminated, more
cumbrous but less autocratic methods would be possible,
and the Legislature might recover many of the
powers which the executive has usurped. By these
two methods, the intensity of the interference with
liberty involved in government can be gradually
diminished. Some interference, and even some danger
of unwarranted and despotic interference, is of the
essence of government, and must remain so long as
government remains. But until men are less prone
to violence than they are now, a certain degree of
governmental force seems the lesser of two evils. We
may hope, however, that if once the danger of war is
at an end, men's violent impulses will gradually grow
less, the more so as, in that case, it will be possible
to diminish enormously the individual power which
now makes rulers autocratic and ready for almost
any act of tyranny in order to crush opposition. The
development of a world where even governmental
force has become unnecessary (except against lunatics)
must be gradual. But as a gradual process it
is perfectly possible; and when it has been completed
we may hope to see the principles of Anarchism
embodied in the management of communal affairs.

How will the economic and political system that
we have outlined bear on the evils of character? I
believe the effect will be quite extraordinarily
beneficent.

The process of leading men's thought and imagination
away from the use of force will be greatly
accelerated by the abolition of the capitalist system,
provided it is not succeeded by a form of State Socialism
in which officials have enormous power. At present,
the capitalist has more control over the lives of
others than any man ought to have; his friends have
authority in the State; his economic power is the
pattern for political power. In a world where all men
and women enjoy economic freedom, there will not be
the same habit of command, nor, consequently, the
same love of despotism; a gentler type of character
than that now prevalent will gradually grow up. Men
are formed by their circumstances, not born readymade. The bad effect of the present economic system
on character, and the immensely better effect to be
expected from communal ownership, are among the
strongest reasons for advocating the change.

In the world as we have been imagining fit, economic
fear and most economic hope will be alike
removed out of life. No one will be haunted by the
dread of poverty or driven into ruthlessness by the
hope of wealth. There will not be the distinction of
social classes which now plays such an immense part
in life. The unsuccessful professional man will not
live in terror lest his children should sink in the scale;
the aspiring employee will not be looking forward to
the day when he can become a sweater in his turn.
Ambitious young men will have to dream other daydreams
than that of business success and wealth
wrung out of the ruin of competitors and the degradation
of labor. In such a world, most of the nightmares
that lurk in the background of men's minds
will no longer exist; on the other hand, ambition and
the desire to excel will have to take nobler forms than
those that are encouraged by a commercial society.
All those activities that really confer benefits upon
mankind will be open, not only to the fortunate few,
but to all who have sufficient ambition and native
aptitude. Science, labor-saving inventions, technical
progress of all kinds, may be confidently expected to
flourish far more than at present, since they will be
the road to honor, and honor will have to replace
money among those of the young who desire to
achieve success. Whether art will flourish in a
Socialistic community depends upon the form of Socialism adopted; if the State, or any public authority,
(no matter what), insists upon controlling art, and
only licensing those whom it regards as proficient, the
result will be disaster. But if there is real freedom,
allowing every man who so desires to take up an
artist's career at the cost of some sacrifice of comfort,
it is likely that the atmosphere of hope, and
the absence of economic compulsion, will lead to a
much smaller waste of talent than is involved in our
present system, and to a much less degree of crushing
of impulse in the mills of the struggle for life.

When elementary needs have been satisfied, the
serious happiness of most men depends upon two
things: their work, and their human relations. In the
world that we have been picturing, work will be free,
not excessive, full of the interest that belongs to a
collective enterprise in which there is rapid progress,
with something of the delight of creation even for
the humblest unit. And in human relations the gain
will be just as great as in work. The only human
relations that have value are those that are rooted in
mutual freedom, where there is no domination and no
slavery, no tie except affection, no economic or
conventional necessity to preserve the external show when
the inner life is dead. One of the most horrible
things about commercialism is the way in which it
poisons the relations of men and women. The evils of
prostitution are generally recognized, but, great as
they are, the effect of economic conditions on marriage
seems to me even worse. There is not infrequently,
in marriage, a suggestion of purchase, of acquiring
a woman on condition of keeping her in a certain
standard of material comfort. Often and often, a
marriage hardly differs from prostitution except by
being harder to escape from. The whole basis of
these evils is economic. Economic causes make marriage
a matter of bargain and contract, in which
affection is quite secondary, and its absence constitutes
no recognized reason for liberation. Marriage
should be a free, spontaneous meeting of mutual
instinct, filled with happiness not unmixed with a
feeling akin to awe: it should involve that degree of
respect of each for the other that makes even the
most trifling interference with liberty an utter
impossibility, and a common life enforced by one against
the will of the other an unthinkable thing of deep
horror. It is not so that marriage is conceived by
lawyers who make settlements, or by priests who give
the name of ``sacrament'' to an institution which pretends
to find something sanctifiable in the brutal lusts
or drunken cruelties of a legal husband. It is not in
a spirit of freedom that marriage is conceived by
most men and women at present: the law makes it an
opportunity for indulgence of the desire to interfere,
where each submits to some loss of his or her own liberty,
for the pleasure of curtailing the liberty of the
other. And the atmosphere of private property
makes it more difficult than it otherwise would be for
any better ideal to take root.

It is not so that human relations will be conceived
when the evil heritage of economic slavery has ceased
to mold our instincts. Husbands and wives, parents
and children, will be only held together by affection:
where that has died, it will be recognized that nothing
worth preserving is left. Because affection will
be free, men and women will not find in private life an
outlet and stimulus to the love of domineering, but all
that is creative in their love will have the freer scope.
Reverence for whatever makes the soul in those who
are loved will be less rare than it is now: nowadays,
many men love their wives in the way in which they
love mutton, as something to devour and destroy.
But in the love that goes with reverence there is a
joy of quite another order than any to be found by
mastery, a joy which satisfies the spirit and not only
the instincts; and satisfaction of instinct and spirit
at once is necessary to a happy life, or indeed to any
existence that is to bring out the best impulses of
which a man or woman is capable.

In the world which we should wish to see, there
will be more joy of life than in the drab tragedy of
modern everyday existence. After early youth, as
things are, most men are bowed down by forethought,
no longer capable of lighthearted gaiety, but only of
a kind of solemn jollification by the clock at the
appropriate hours. The advice to ``become as little
children'' would be good for many people in many
respects, but it goes with another precept, ``take no
thought for the morrow,'' which is hard to obey in a
competitive world. There is often in men of science,
even when they are quite old, something of the
simplicity of a child: their absorption in abstract
thought has held them aloof from the world, and
respect for their work has led the world to keep them
alive in spite of their innocence. Such men have
succeeded in living as all men ought to be able to live;
but as things are, the economic struggle makes their
way of life impossible for the great majority.

What are we to say, lastly, of the effect of our
projected world upon physical evil? Will there be
less illness than there is at present? Will the produce
of a given amount of labor be greater? Or will population
press upon the limits of subsistence, as Malthus
taught in order to refute Godwin's optimism?

I think the answer to all these questions turns,
in the end, upon the degree of intellectual vigor to be
expected in a community which has done away with
the spur of economic competition. Will men in such
a world become lazy and apathetic? Will they cease
to think? Will those who do think find themselves
confronted with an even more impenetrable wall of
unreflecting conservatism than that which confronts
them at present? These are important questions; for
it is ultimately to science that mankind must look
for their success in combating physical evils.

If the other conditions that we have postulated
can be realized, it seems almost certain that there
must be less illness than there is at present. Population
will no longer be congested in slums; children will
have far more of fresh air and open country; the
hours of work will be only such as are wholesome, not
excessive and exhausting as they are at present.

As for the progress of science, that depends very
largely upon the degree of intellectual liberty existing
in the new society. If all science is organized and
supervised by the State, it will rapidly become
stereotyped and dead. Fundamental advances will not be
made, because, until they have been made, they will
seem too doubtful to warrant the expenditure of
public money upon them. Authority will be in the
hands of the old, especially of men who have achieved
scientific eminence; such men will be hostile to those
among the young who do not flatter them by agreeing
with their theories. Under a bureaucratic State
Socialism it is to be feared that science would soon
cease to be progressive and acquired a medieval respect
for authority.

But under a freer system, which would enable all
kinds of groups to employ as many men of science as
they chose, and would allow the ``vagabond's wage''
to those who desired to pursue some study so new as
to be wholly unrecognized, there is every reason to
think that science would flourish as it has never done
hitherto.[61] And, if that were the case, I do not believe
that any other obstacle would exist to the physical
possibility of our system.

The question of the number of hours of work
necessary to produce general material comfort is
partly technical, partly one of organization. We
may assume that there would no longer be unproductive
labor spent on armaments, national defense,
advertisements, costly luxuries for the very rich, or
any of the other futilities incidental to our competitive
system. If each industrial guild secured for a term of
years the advantages, or part of the advantages, of
any new invention or methods which it introduced, it
is pretty certain that every encouragement would be
given to technical progress. The life of a discoverer
or inventor is in itself agreeable: those who adopt it,
as things are now, are seldom much actuated by economic
motives, but rather by the interest of the work
together with the hope of honor; and these motives
would operate more widely than they do now, since
fewer people would be prevented from obeying them
by economic necessities. And there is no doubt that
intellect would work more keenly and creatively in
a world where instinct was less thwarted, where the
joy of life was greater, and where consequently there
would be more vitality in men than there is at present.

There remains the population question, which,
ever since the time of Malthus, has been the last
refuge of those to whom the possibility of a better
world is disagreeable. But this question is now
a very different one from what it was a hundred
years ago. The decline of the birth-rate in all
civilized countries, which is pretty certain to continue,
whatever economic system is adopted, suggests
that, especially when the probable effects of the war
are taken into account, the population of Western
Europe is not likely to increase very much beyond
its present level, and that of America is likely only to
increase through immigration. Negroes may continue
to increase in the tropics, but are not likely to
be a serious menace to the white inhabitants of temperate
regions. There remains, of course, the Yellow
Peril; but by the time that begins to be serious
it is quite likely that the birth-rate will also have
begun to decline among the races of Asia If not,
there are other means of dealing with this question;
and in any case the whole matter is too conjectural
to be set up seriously as a bar to our hopes. I conclude
that, though no certain forecast is possible,
there is not any valid reason for regarding the possible
increase of population as a serious obstacle to
Socialism.

Our discussion has led us to the belief that the
communal ownership of land and capital, which constitutes
the characteristic doctrine of Socialism and
Anarchist Communism, is a necessary step toward the
removal of the evils from which the world suffers at
present and the creation of such a society as any
humane man must wish to see realized. But, though
a necessary step, Socialism alone is by no means
sufficient. There are various forms of Socialism: the
form in which the State is the employer, and all who
work receive wages from it, involves dangers of
tyranny and interference with progress which would
make it, if possible, even worse than the present
regime. On the other hand, Anarchism, which avoids
the dangers of State Socialism, has dangers and
difficulties of its own, which make it probable that,
within any reasonable period of time, it could not
last long even if it were established. Nevertheless, it
remains an ideal to which we should wish to approach
as nearly as possible, and which, in some distant age,
we hope may be reached completely. Syndicalism
shares many of the defects of Anarchism, and, like it,
would prove unstable, since the need of a central
government would make itself felt almost at once.

The system we have advocated is a form of Guild
Socialism, leaning more, perhaps, towards Anarchism
than the official Guildsman would wholly approve. It
is in the matters that politicians usually ignore--
science and art, human relations, and the joy of life
--that Anarchism is strongest, and it is chiefly for the
sake of these things that we included such more or
less Anarchist proposals as the ``vagabond's wage.''
It is by its effects outside economics and politics, at
least as much as by effects inside them, that a social
system should be judged. And if Socialism ever
comes, it is only likely to prove beneficent if non-
economic goods are valued and consciously pursued.

The world that we must seek is a world in which
the creative spirit is alive, in which life is an adventure
full of joy and hope, based rather upon the impulse
to construct than upon the desire to retain
what we possess or to seize what is possessed by
others. It must be a world in which affection has free
play, in which love is purged of the instinct for
domination, in which cruelty and envy have been
dispelled by happiness and the unfettered development
of all the instincts that build up life and fill it with
mental delights. Such a world is possible; it waits
only for men to wish to create it.

Meantime, the world in which we exist has other
aims. But it will pass away, burned up in the fire
of its own hot passions; and from its ashes will spring
a new and younger world, full of fresh hope, with
the light of morning in its eyes.
Notes:


[38] Kropotkin, ``Fields, Factories and Workshops,'' p. 74.
[39] Ib. p. 81.

[40] Kropotkin, ``Field, Factories, and Workshops,'' p. 6.

[41] ``Notwithstanding the egotistic turn given to the public
mind by the merchant-production of our century, the Communist
tendency is continually reasserting itself and trying to
make its way into public life. The penny bridge disappears before
the public bridge; and the turnpike road before the free
road. The same spirit pervades thousands of other institutions.
Museums, free libraries, and free public schools; parks and
pleasure grounds; paved and lighted streets, free for everybody's
use; water supplied to private dwellings, with a growing tendency
towards disregarding the exact amount of it used by the
individual, tramways and railways which have already begun to
introduce the season ticket or the uniform tax, and will surely
go much further on this line when they are no longer private
property: all these are tokens showing in what direction further
progress is to be expected.''--Kropotkin, ``Anarchist Communism.''

[42] An able discussion of this question, at of various others,
from the standpoint of reasoned and temperate opposition to
Anarchism, will be found in Alfred Naquet's ``L'Anarchie et le
Collectivisme,'' Paris, 1904.

[43] ``Overwork is repulsive to human nature--not work. Overwork
for supplying the few with luxury--not work for the well-
being of all. Work, labor, is a physiological necessity, a necessity
of spending accumulated bodily energy, a necessity which
is health and life itself. If so many branches of useful work are
so reluctantly done now, it is merely because they mean overwork,
or they are improperly organized. But we know--old
Franklin knew it--that four hours of useful work every day
would be more than sufficient for supplying everybody with the
comfort of a moderately well-to-do middle-class house, if we all
gave ourselves to productive work, and if we did not waste our
productive powers as we do waste them now. As to the childish
question, repeated for fifty years: `Who would do disagreeable
work?' frankly I regret that none of our savants has ever been
brought to do it, be it for only one day in his life. If there is
still work which is really disagreeable in itself, it is only
because our scientific men have never cared to consider the
means of rendering it less so: they have always known that there
were plenty of starving men who would do it for a few pence
a day.'' Kropotkin, ```Anarchist Communism.''

[44] ``As to the so-often repeated objection that nobody would
labor if he were not compelled to do so by sheer necessity, we
heard enough of it before the emancipation of slaves in America,
as well as before the emancipation of serfs in Russia; and we
have had the opportunity of appreciating it at its just value.
So we shall not try to convince those who can be convinced only
by accomplished facts. As to those who reason, they ought to
know that, if it really was so with some parts of humanity at
its lowest stages--and yet, what do we know about it?--or if
it is so with some small communities, or separate individuals,
brought to sheer despair by ill-success in their struggle against
unfavorable conditions, it is not so with the bulk of the civilized
nations. With us, work is a habit, and idleness an artificial
growth.'' Kropotkin, ``Anarchist Communism,'' p. 30.

[45] ``While holding this synthetic view on production, the
Anarchists cannot consider, like the Collectivists, that a
remuneration which would be proportionate to the hours of labor
spent by each person in the production of riches may be an
ideal, or even an approach to an ideal, society.'' Kropotkin,
``Anarchist Communism,'' p. 20.

[46] I do not say freedom is the greatest of ALL goods: the best
things come from within--they are such things as creative art,
and love, and thought. Such things can be helped or hindered
by political conditions, but not actually produced by them; and
freedom is, both in itself and in its relation to these other goods
the best thing that political and economic conditions can secure.

[47] Communist Manifesto, p. 22.

[48] ``On the other hand, the STATE has also been confused with
GOVERNMENT. As there can be no State without government, it
has been sometimes said that it is the absence of government,
and not the abolition of the State, that should be the aim.

[49] Representative government has accomplished its historical
mission; it has given a mortal blow to Court-rule; and by
its debates it has awakened public interest in public questions.
But, to see in it the government of the future Socialist society,
is to commit a gross error. Each economical phase of life
implies its own political phase; and it is impossible to touch the
very basis of the present economical life--private property--
without a corresponding change in the very basis of the political
organization. Life already shows in which direction the change
will be made. Not in increasing the powers of the State, but
in resorting to free organization and free federation in all those
branches which are now considered as attributes of the State.''
Kropotkin, ``Anarchist Communism,'' pp. 28-29.

[50] On this subject there is an excellent discussion in the
before-mentioned work of Monsieur Naquet.

[51] ``As to the third--the chief--objection, which maintains
the necessity of a government for punishing those who break the
law of society, there is so much to say about it that it hardly can
be touched incidentally. The more we study the question, the
more we are brought to the conclusion that society itself is
responsible for the anti-social deeds perpetrated in its midst, and
that no punishment, no prisons, and no hangmen can diminish
the numbers of such deeds; nothing short of a reorganization of
society itself. Three-quarters of all the acts which are brought
every year before our courts have their origin, either directly or
indirectly, in the present disorganized state of society with
regard to the production and distribution of wealth--not in the
perversity of human nature. As to the relatively few anti-social
deeds which result from anti-social inclinations of separate
individuals, it is not by prisons, nor even by resorting to the
hangmen, that we can diminish their numbers. By our prisons,
we merely multiply them and render them worse. By our detectives,
our `price of blood,' our executions, and our jails, we
spread in society such a terrible flow of basest passions and
habits, that he who should realize the effects of these institutions
to their full extent, would be frightened by what society is
doing under the pretext of maintaining morality. We must
search for other remedies, and the remedies have been indicated
long since.'' Kropotkin, ``Anarchist Communism,'' pp. 31-32.

[52] ``Anarchist Communism,'' p. 27.

[53] This was written before the author had any personal
experience of the prison system. He personally met with
nothing but kindness at the hands of the prison officials.

[54] Bell, 1917.

[55] Walter Scott Publishing Company, 1906, p. 262.

[56] This was written in March, 1918, almost the darkest
moment of the war.

[57] ``L'Anarchie et le Collectivisme,'' p. 114.

[58] Which we discussed in Chapter IV.

[59] ``Self-Government in Industry,'' G. Bell & Sons, 1917, pp.
110-111.

[60] Some may fear that the result would be an undue increase
of population, but such fears I believe to be groundless. See
above, (Chapter IV, on ``Work and Pay.'' Also, Chapter vi of
``Principles of Social Reconstruction'' (George Allen and
Unwin, Ltd.).
[61] See the discussion of this question in the preceding chapter.


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