(Burmii ICam ^rl^nol Hthrarg i^erbcrt S. liaubc QloUectiun 1948 Mcmnml O^ift nf tl)c gituJicntH nf lljc (IlnrncU Hatn gicljonl „ Work and life : 3 1924 024 909 966 Cornell University Library The original of tliis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924024909966 WORK AND LIFE A Study Of the Social Problems of To-day BY IRA WOODS HOWERTH, A.M., Ph.D., PROFESSOR OF EDUCATION IN THE UNIVERSITY OP OALIFORNIA> AUTHOR OF "tHB ART OF EDUCATION," ETC Hew BorR STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY 1913 B f^v^f Copyright, 1913 By STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY Set up and electrotyped. PubUBied April, 1913 WITH PILUL RESPECT THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED TO MY FATHER PREFACE It is a commonplace remark that social prog- ress should be by evolution and not by revo- lution. It is, indeed, something more (or less) than a commonplace. Progress is, itself, a phase, and revolution an incident, of evolution. The remark, therefore, easily analyses itself into the expression. Social evolution should come by social evolution, — no momentous con- tribution to social philosophy. If, however, one means by such a remark that progress should be peaceful, it does not yet ex- press all that is desired in a theory of social advancement. For social progress may be peaceful and yet be exceedingly slow, and in- volve excessive waste. It should be not only peaceful but conscious and intelligent. It may then be rapid and permanent. This, however, demands a genuine recognition on the part of the people of the injustice inherent in existing social relationships, and a fairly definite con- ception of social well-being, — of the actual and the ideal, of how we live and how we might Hve, The first step, then, to ordered social prog- ress is general social insight. Before we can have a better society it must somehow get into the minds of the people. Industrial and social Preface justice must be tliougM before it can be real- ised. ' ' Justice in the mind, ' ' says Victor Hugo, "becomes justice in tbe heart," and out of the heart proceed the issues of life. That is to say, right social thinking leads to right action and to better social forms. Whatever promotes social insight, then, ren- ders a social service by contributing in some de- gree to the solution of the social problem of the hour. And insight into the real significance and character of modem industrial relation- ships, and plain talk about them, is the partic- ular need of our time. Industrial society is far from perfect. "Worse than that, it is in large part a pretence. Historically it has served a valuable purpose. But it has been the fate of social institutions, no matter how valu- able in their day, to be supplanted by something better; and who will deny that it must also be said of the present industrial order, "This, too, shall pass away." Such, at all events, is the viewpoint of this book. Its teaching is frankly "progressive." It is not iconoclastic. The author has no illu- sions in regard to a mushroom millennium. He presents no industrial panacea. He does see, however, and clearly, that our present indus- trial system presents the chief immediate ob- stacle to general advancement toward a higher social life, that it gives rise to the Social Prob- lem of To-day, that it must be transformed, that the profit ideal must be eclipsed by the Life Preface ideal — and this view lie would gladly impart to others. The desired change in the industrial system wiU come when all of us see through its pretensions. "What deafness, what stone- blind custom," says Emerson, "what overgrown error you behold, is there only by sufferance, — ^by your sufferance. See it to be a lie, and you have dealt it its mortal blow." The ■ existing relation, then, between "Work and Life, suggests the Social Problem of To-day. It is the problem that arises from the existence of individual and class privilege, and the per- formance of work and the pursuit of profits without due regard to individual and social well-being. It is a problem of industrial jus- tice. It is not, however, as many seem to sup- pose, a purely economic problem; it is social. Hence economics alone is incapable of its solu- tion. No social problem can be comprehended from the viewpoint of any single social science, but only from the viewpoint of society as a whole. From this viewpoint, that is, the social view- point, a few facts rise clearly into prominence. Among them are, that the "solutions" of the social problem that have been proposed are partial and complementary; that the dominant principle of modem industrial society, namely, competition, is only of temporary value, dimin- ishing in importance as we approach the goal of industry, which is co-operation; that, in the interest both of the individual and of society, Preface industry, business, work — that is to say, get- ting a Hving — must be made to conform in all respects to the true end of existence, namely. Life; that a true conception of Life involves a well-defined conception of an ideal society; and, finally, that learning, patriotism, and religion may be employed, far more effectively than they have been employed hitherto, ia the social attempt to realise this social ideal. The author would hope that some slight contribution is here made to substantiate these facts and to impress them upon such readers as may not yet have felt their full force. It remains only to say that some of the chap- ters of this book, in substance but not in form, have appeared in various magazines, including the American Journal of Sociology, the Inter- national Journal of Ethics, and the Educational Review. The ideas advanced have also been presented in a series of popular lectures de- livered in Chicago, Milwaukee, Detroit, Cleve- land, Cincinnati, Kansas City, Omaha, Minne- apolis, St. Paul and other cities of the middle west. If in a new if not wider circle they awaken the same interest and receive the same candid consideration they then evoked, the au- thor will feel justified in embodying them in the form of a book. LW.H. Berkeley, California, February 1, 1913. CONTENTS OTTAPTEB PAGE I. I'HE SOOIAL PbOBLEM OF TO-DAX ...... 3 11. Wealth and Welfaee .-.»,, , „ . 28 III. The Social Viewpoint ,.-...,„. 51 IV. Peoposed Solutions op the Social Peoblbm . 57 V. Competition, Natdbal and Industbial . . - 79 VI. COOPEBATION THE GOAL OF INDUSTEY . . m , 120 VII. Living and Getting a Living 133 VIII. The Social Peoblem as a Municipal Peoblem 158 IX. Labob and Leaeninq . t 174 X. The Social Ideal 189 XI. The Highee Patbiotism 213 XII. Eeligion and the New Sooiai. Oedee . . .232 WORK AND LIFE WORK AND LIFE CHAPTER I The Social Peoblem of To-dat "To all thoUglitful and discerning men it should now be clear that the solution of the social question is the great task which has been laid upon the present epoch in the history of the world." — Kirkup. "The social question is to-day only a zephyr which rustles the leaves, but it will sconi become a hurricane." — Disraeli. The social problem is an expression some- times applied to the general and eternal ques- tion of social well-being. So understood it involves numerous questions, physiological, hy- gienic, psychological, educational, moral, es- thetic, economic, political, etc., in fact everything pertaining to social amelioration and social progress. Thus conceived it is the question of the economy of all the social factors in the main- tenance and promotion of the social life. EusMn had this conception in mind when he formulated it as the question of ordering the lives of the members of society so as to maintain the largest number of noble and happy human beings. Mr. John A. Hobson, a sympathetic 3 Work and Ufe critic of Euskin, expands Euskia's statement into the following form: "Given a number of human beings, with a certain development of physical and mental faculties and of social insti- tutions, in command of given natural resources, how can they best utilise these powers for the attainment of the most complete satisfac- tion?" ^ This is the social problem in its gen- eral aspect. The complexity of such a problem is obvious enough. It is useless to talk of its solution. A solution can only be approximated. Ferdinand Lassalle once said that he never made use of the expression ' ' solution of the social problem ' ' ; for, said he, "the transformation of society will be the work of centuries and of a series of meas- ures and reforms that will grow out of each other organically." ^ This is true if we mean by the social problem the general question of so- cial well-being. When it is said, as it is some- times, that the social problem can never be settled until human nature is transformed, or until the principles of Christianity have taken their rightful place as the basis of all human relationships, it is the general social question that is before the mind. There is, however, another and a more specific meaning sometimes ascribed to the social prob- lem which makes it possible to speak of a solu- 1 "The Social Problem," p. 7. 2 See Waurin, "La Question Sooiale," p. 17. 4 The Social Problem of To-day tion, and rational to expect it. Generally con- sidered it is, as has just been said, a whole congeries of problems, but among them there is almost always some special question that is to the fore, some special obstacle blocking social progress and giving rise to the problem of its removal. Whatever this problem may be it is, for the time, the most important problem. Further social progress demands and requires its solution. It is the social problem. The so- cial problem as a general question is a problem for all time; this special social problem is for one time only, and human intelligence may settle it forever. In this sense there need be no hesi- tancy in speaking of a solution. What, then, is the social problem of our time, the social prob- lem of to-day? A social problem is always a question of re- moving some obstacle to progress. Now, the obstacles in the way of social advancement are of two kinds, natural and artificial — those which nature places in the way, and those which arise from the ignorance and selfishness of man. When, for instance, the PUgrims landed on the bleak and inhospitable shores of New England, fell upon their knees, and then, as Evarts said, got up and fell upon the aborigines, the chief obstacles before them were those presented by the topographic and climatic features of the country. To-day, however, the wilderness has been subdued; desert regions have been re- 5 Work and Life daimed; coal, gas and electricity provide warmth and light; steam, multiplies man's power, and forest, field, air and water yield up their food. The conquest of Nature, though not complete, has met with a success undreamed of. The most serious obstacles remaining are those due to the ignorance and selfishness of in- dividuals embodied in social institutions. It is among these artificial obstacles that we must look for the occasion of the social problem of to- day. Ignorance and selfishness are, of course, as old as the race. Selfishness, however, mani- fests itself in domination and in privilege, and these are supported by ignorance. Once get a privilege established and the conservatism of ignorance wiU tend to uphold it. "It is truly wonderful to a philosophic mind," says an anonymous writer, "what unanimity of speech and action can be evoked from mankind in favor of what is. No matter how irrational, how ia- convenient, how injurious, how flagrantly mon- strous even a thing may be, if it is actually ex- istent, and can boast of antiquity, however limited, the whole world wiU rush to its de- fence." ^ History illustrates the truth of this. Its course has been, roughly speaking, about as follows: The selfishness of the strong or the cunning takes the earliest opportunity to or- ganise and intrench itself in the most available 1 Quoted in "The Social Horizon," p. 80. 6 The Social Problem of To-day institution. Here the few flourish, and, for a time, perform a valuable social function. They luxuriate, grow corrupt, and, drunk with power, indulge in excesses which arouse the many to a sense of injustice. A struggle ensues, endiag in the popular conquest of the oppressive in- stitution. Selfishness is driven out, to rein- trench itself on other vantage ground ; and the same process is repeated. The social question is always a question of the many against the few, a question of privilege, of social justice, and manifests itself invariably in a struggle over some form of institution ; that is to say, a class- struggle. To illustrate the truth of this, as well as to show how the social problem changes its aspect from time to time, let us look a little more closely at the history of the past. In the early stages of social development man was extremely superstitious. His ideas were al- most wholly theological. He was, as Huxley says, "a prey to blind impulses, and a victim of endless illusions which made his mental exis- tence a terror and a burden and filled his phys- ical life. with barren toil and battle." He was consequently most easily ruled through his fear of the gods. The Church, therefore, became the most powerful of institutions. It held the keys of heaven and hell. It had the power to bind and to loose. What more natural than that the exercise of such power should lead to selfishness, 7 Work and Life or that the supremely selfish and ambitious should gain control of the institution? This, as everybody knows, is precisely what hap- pened. The Church became grossly corrupt and oppressive. Heresy — that is to say, inde- pendent thinking — ^was the unpardonable sin. The people, slowly increasing in intelligence, grew restive, and here and there broke out in open revolt. The interests and influences of the ecclesiastics were inimical to change, hence they blocked the pathway of progress. For centuries the most urgent demand of the people was for religious freedom, freedom from the palsying hand of the Church. The social question was a religious question. When Luther, Zwingli, and their associates inaugurated the Reformation of the sixteenth century, they began the closing act of the great historical drama of the struggle for religious liberty. Even yet men are not alto- gether free from ecclesiastical domination, but the power of the Church is broken, and the social problem is no longer primarily reli- gious. The conquest of religious freedom, however, did not destroy human selfishness. Driven from one stronghold, it sought refuge and op- portunity in another. That other was the Gov- ernment, also a necessary institution with a great historic mission, but affording the next best opportunity for domination and the enjoy- ment of privilege. The people soon found that 8 The Social Problem of To-day tHe power formerly "wielded by tlie ecclesiastic was now lodged in the hands of the political potentate. The crozier had but transformed it- self into the sceptre. Hence the battle had to be fought over again. A social movement, more or less conscious, and manifesting itself spas- modically in uprisings and revolutions, took place, culminating in a modification of the power of the ruling class, as in England and Germany, or in a nominal democracy, as in France and the United States. During all this period the dom- inant interest of the people was in matters per- taining to political control. Their greatest need was political freedom. The social problem was a political problem. Of course, it cannot be said that there is even yet anywhere complete political freedom. ■Kings and emperors still claim to rule by the grace of God, and talk of "my people." Fully half of mankind, the "better half," are still in a condition of political subserviency; and even where democracy is most vaunted men are still dominated by "the boss," or are the subjects of their own blind partisanship. Still, for all that, the more civilised nations have passed out of the shadow of political oppression. It is not true of Eussia or Turkey, and it is but partially true of other European countries, but it is practically true of the United States. From the polit- ical situation of the time of Frederick the Great who looked upon the people as upon the deer of 9 Work and Life Ms park; or the days of Bonaparte who re- garded men as food for powder, down to the de- mocracy of Jefferson who demanded "equal privileges for all and special privileges to none," or of Lincoln who declared that God must love the common people because he made so many of them, is a long journey, but it has been made. Opening out before us there lies still the long and steep pathway leading to ideal political conditions in which there will be no common people, because there will be no in- vidious distinctions. But the main question is no longer primarily a political question. Eeligious and political freedom having been practically achieved by the close of the eight- eenth century, so far at least as the more ad- vanced nations are concerned, we should expect to find the dominating spirit and selfishness of men next manifesting themselves in the most available institution. The power of the Church was weakened, and that of the State distributed. But there had been growing up during the sec- ond half of the eighteenth century an institu- tion which, as a means of control, and privilege, was to become more potent than Church or State. That institution was Capitalism, or, speaking generally, the industrial institution. Hitherto privilege had relied on the religious fears and beliefs of men, and on the repression of political opinion. It now foimd at its hand an instrument whereby it could maintain itself 10 The Social Problem of To-day by controlling men through the control of their material means of existence. This control was to be exerted through owner- ship. The private ownership of the material means of production, land, machinery, etc., obviously carries with it the power to rule, and to exploit; that is, to live on the earnings of others. Those who own the tools of production may, by virtue of their property right in them, deny their use to those who must work to live, until the workers agree to surrender a part of the product of their labour for the privilege. No matter what the basis of ownership may be this is the fact. Analysis reveals that ia our present system of industry the labourer pays for his job. He gives profits to get a share of the product. To deny this is to declare that there is no advantage in private ownership, or that business is philanthropy. The common talk about capitalists "giving" employment to la- bour is calculated to provoke a smile from those who have really looked below the surface of economic phenomena. The real "giver" is the labourer, although his, of course, is a forced gift. The control of the industrial institutions, then, whatever else it may signify, does mean power and privilege. Nothing more natural than that such power should be used, and abused. So, the evolution of our modern industrial system has been accompanied by increasing despotic use of the power it has placed in the hands of 11 Work and Life those wlio control it. John. Stuart Mill saw the drift of things, and foretold the resultant char- actei of the social problem. "The social prob- lem of the future," he said, "we considered to be how to unite the greatest individual liberty of action with a common ownership in the raw material of the globe, and an equal participa- tion of all in the benefits of combined labour." ^ He realised that the social problem was to be- come an economic question. The event justi- fied his prediction. "The social question," says Professor Adolph Wagner, in an oft-quoted passage, "comes of the consciousness of a con- tradiction between economic development and the social ideal of liberty and equality which is being realised in political life." ^ That is, the social problem is no longer political, but eco- nomic. ' We read to-day that one man controls this, that, or the other industry, or that a few men are masters of half the railroads in the country. We hear of "Steel Kings," "Copper Kings," "Eailway Magnates," and "Coal Barons." This is but to say that power has concentrated in the hands of those who have secured possession of the instruments of pro- duction, and in some cases that power is greater than that formerly wielded by kings and em- perors. It would be a miracle if this power were 1 "Autobiography" (London, 1873), p. 232. 2 "Lelirbuch der Politischen Oekonomie" (second edition, 1876), p. 36. 12 The Social Problem of To-day not abused. That it lias been no one will deny. In many cases tlie new rulers are only shrewd manipulators of economic distribution. They regard their own interests as primary, their im- mediate welfare as superior to the public weal. Hence "soulless corporation" and "greedy trust" have become common phrases. Cor- porations, trusts, and combinations, whatever may be said of their inherent social possibili- ties, are the instruments laid hold of to main- tain and augment the power of a few men. ffhey are social factors of great potential util- ity, but they are to-day employed primarily for private advantage. The social benefits which now a<3crue from them are considerable, but they are incidental. Their main purpose is to promote the power of the few by skilful manip- ulation of industrial and business forces. Says Professor Ward: ** Those engaged m the distribution of wealth come in contact with such large amounts that they cannot resist the inclination to absorb into their own possession a proportion greater than is sufficient to constitute a just compensation for their labour. Neither have the means been yet devised to prevent this. To do so is the prob- lem of social economy. The combinations, co- operations, and monopolies already established by shrewd distributors of wealth have become so extensive and complicated that it may re- quire a general social revolution to overthrow 13 Work and Idfe tlnem^ These industries have absorbed the most acute minds of the world, because they were the levers of power which intellectual force could lay hold of. They have maintained their grasp by dint of every available form of deception, misrepresentation, and strategy, which is all within the legitimate sphere of natural law. The most potent of all the influences wielded by them is that of securing the acquiescence of the victims — for it is a thankless task to labour for the emancipation of a willing slave. This ob- ject the distributors of wealth have accom- plished by the manufacture of a public senti- ment favourable to their interests. This has been done so successfully that, in this age of pretended practical Efe, any remark bearing upon the greatest economic problem of society — viz., the equitable remuneration of labour and distribution of wealth — is at once branded as 'socialistic' and 'visionary,' as well by those who suffer as by those who profit by this state of things." * The seat of power, then, the opportunity for selfish domination, and the source of oppression are to-day in our industrial institutions. These institutions themselves, like the Church and the State, have performed a great mission. Those in control of them, the capitalist class, have rendered the world a great service by develop- ing and organising the material forces of pro- 1 "Dynaotnic Sociology/' Vol. I, pp. 577, 578. 14 The Social Problem of To-day duction. But here, as in the preceding domi- nant institutions, the temptations to the misuse of power are too great. Oppression has re- sulted, followed by agitation. There is in all the more civilised countries a social movement in the direction of securing popular control of industry, manifesting itself in either a demand for public regulation of great industries or for public management, or for the social ownership and control of all the material means of produc- tion. The social question has become an eco- nomic question, a question of economic freedom. It is the question of securing the management of our industrial institutions in the interest of the people as a whole. It is indicated by the demand for social and industrial justice, and by the inquiry, "Shall the people rule?" The social problem, then, has passed through two distinct phases, the religious and the polit- ical, and is now in a third, namely, the eco- nomic.^ It is to-day, as it has always been, a question of popular freedom, a question of de- mocracy. Many of the struggles of the past for religious and political power have borne no con- scious relation to the social problem. They were merely attempts at settling disputes which had arisen between rival factions of the dom- inant class that were of no particular interest to the people, because to them they meant at 1 Ferri mentions another phase, the civil. See his "Socialism and Science," p. 39. 15 WorTi and Life most only a change of masters. The freedom, which is the immediate object of the social move- nient, is to-day, as it has always been, freedom from selfish domination. Now, it is not to be denied that domination, even class domination, is not an unmixed evil. It has been a factor in social progress. "The whole history of mankind (since the dissolution of the primitive tribal society, holding land in common ownership)," says the famous Com- munist Manifesto of 1848, "has been a history of class-struggles, contests between exploiting and exploited, ruling and oppressed classes." ^ This is true, but the struggle of classes, Kke the conflicts between contiguous tribes or races, has contributed to progress. Says Herbert Spen- cer: "We must recognise the truth that the strug- gles for existence between societies have been instrumental to their evolution. Neither the consolidation and reconsolidation of small groups into large ones; nor the organisation of such compound and doubly compound' groups; nor the concomitant developments of those aids to a higher life which civilisation has brought; would have been possible without in- ter-tribal and inter-national conflicts. Social co-operation is initiated by joint defence and offence; and from the co-operation thus initi- 1 "Manifesto of the Communist Party," by Karl Marx and Frederick Engels; authorised English translation. Preface. 16 The Social Problem of To-day ated all kinds of co-operations have arisen. In- conceivable as have been the horrors caused by this universal antagonism which, beginning with the chronic hostilities of small hordes tens of thousands of years ago, has ended in the occa- sional vast battles of immense nations, we must nevertheless admit that without it the world would still have been inhabited only by men of feeble types, sheltering in caves and living on wild food. "1 So, then, class-combination and class-struggle have been means of social development. In certain critical periods of society, say in war, it is an advantage to have the reins of power in the hands of a class that will organise the so- ciety for military purposes. Such organisation implies the subordination of the many, and their obedience to the ruling authority ; things neces- sary in effective social action. The great dan- ger comes, however, after the crisis is passed, when social existence and advancement are no longer dependent upon the dominance of a par- ticular class, or the exercise by it of exclusive privileges. This danger manifests itself in an undue conservatism on the part of those who profit by the existing condition of affairs, and by the oppression of the "lower" classes as soon as they begiu to manifest indications of a revolt against the injustices practised upon them. Privilege is dear, and is not often wUl- 1 "Pi-inciples of Sociology," Vol. II, p. 241. 17 Work and Life ingly sacrificed. " I do not believe, ' ' said Wen- dell Phillips, "that the upper classes — educa- tion, wealth, aristocracy, conservatism — the men that are in, ever yielded except to fear. I think the history of the race shows that the upper classes never granted a privilege to the lower out of love. As Jeremy Bentham says: 'The upper classes never yielded a privilege without being bullied out of it.' " ^ This disposition of the ruling class to maintain itself in its dominant and privileged position follows not so much from its superior sel- fishness as from the instinct of self-preserva- tion. It is an illusion to suppose that one class in society is animated by the spirit of selfish- ness and greed, while another class alone is vir- tuous and heroic. Selfishness is a principle of human nature, due to the circumstances and ex- igencies under which man has developed, and this principle will manifest itself whenever and wherever there is irresponsible power and priv- ilege. It becomes more assertive and conspicu- ous in a class the power and privilege of which are challenged. In such a class the temptation to employ unjust methods in its own behalf l^e- comes unusually strong. And when we look back over history, we find that in almost every instance it has yielded to the temptation. Among the methods employed by the ruling classes in history to preserve their exclusive 1 "Speeches, Lectures and Addresses," second series, p. 121. 18 The Social Problem of To-day privileges and to mairitaia tliemselves in their domiQant position is, in the first place, the awak- ening of the fear of the lower orders by pun- ishment for the violation of codes, which codes are always consciously or unconsciously inspired in the interests of the social classes that direct the State.* Armies organised ostensibly for the purpose of defending the State against a foreign foe, have been used to protect the privileged class, to hold the subject class in awe, and a special though not acknowledged func- tion of the army to-day is to prevent a rising of the people against injustice. Even the religious element in the nature of man has been made to play an important part in preserving the rel- ative position of the classes ; for the people were led to believe that for any attempt to secure a share of the privileges of the dominant class they would be punished, not only in this life but also in the life to come. Again, the dominant classes have always en- deavoured to pervert the egoism of the lower classes and thus make them believe that it was to their advantage to be ruled. "Kings be- stride the necks of their people," said Abraham Lincoln, "not because they want to do it, but because the people are better off for being rid- den." Naturally the agencies for moulding public opinion have been in the hands of the dominant classes, and they have not failed to 1 See Loria, "Econoanic Foundations of Society," p. 135. 19 Work and Life employ them. A public sentiment favourable to their interests has been developed and main- tained. This is why the idea of divine right has been so long-lived. The idea that God looks with peculiar favour upon a monarchy in com- parison with other forms of government, and that accession by primogeniture is peculiarly sacred, antedates both the Christian and the Mosaic dispensations. This idea that some men are bom to lord it over others has always been an effective instrument for maintaining the dom- ination of the ruling class. Even to-day the intelligent citizen must carefully examine all appeals to his patriotism to see whether there is not lurking behind the appeal the mere desire to utilise his patriotism in maintaining the posi- tion of those in power — that is to say, for par- tisan instead of patriotic purposes. Finally, the dominant classes have naturally enough opposed the advancement of knowledge among the "lower" classes. Knowledge is the foe of privilege. The instinct of self-preserva- tion led even the Church to oppose education in science, or to direct it into "safe" channels. From the dawn of history when, according to the biblical story, our first parents were pro- hibited from eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, down to the time when the attitude of the ecclesiastics provoked the saying that "ignorance is the mother of de- votion," the Church has been hostile to scien- 20 The Social Problem of To-day tific knowledge. Even in recent times a bishop of the English Church could declare, in the pres- ence of a large assemblage, that he could find nothing in either the Old or the New Testament which warranted him in paying deference to mere intellect. Galileo was compelled to bow the knee before the inqtiisitorial Court at Eome and solemnly recant his teaching that the sun is the centre of our system and the earth revolves around it ; and Professor Huxley, for his sincere advocacy of the evolutionary hypothesis, was publicly ridiculed by a bishop of the Church and taunted with being the descendant of a monkey.* There is something of this same spirit mani- fested to-day when a man, by giving honest ut- terance to well-established results of modem biblical criticism, calls down upon himself the scathing denunciation of those whose love of truth is outweighed by their fear that certain interests, supposed by them to be sacred and important, may be jeopardised by the advance- ment of knowledge. Ecclesiastical, political, or industrial, the dominant class has opposed the advancement of knowledge when such advance- 1 Huxley, however, had the wit to hurl back the deserved and withering retort that he would rather be the descendant of an animal of low intelligence and of stooping gait, that grins and chatters as you pass, than to be the descendant of a man, endowed with great eloquence and occupying a splendid posi- tion, who would prostitute these gifts in a skilful appeal to religious prejudice for the purpose of obscuring the truth. See "Life and Letters of Thomas H. Huxley," Vol. I, Chap. XIV, in which several reports of Huxley's famous reply to Bishop .Wilberforce are given. 21 Work and Life ment threatened its privileges. History re- cords the tardiness of the political authorities in providing opportunity for the education of the common people. No serious attempt was made in England by the ruling classes until 1832 to facilitate the education of the people, and edu- cation was not made national and compulsory until 1867.^ It would not have been made so then, perhaps, had it not been for the fact that the power of the people began to be feared, and, as Lord Sherbrooke expressed it in 1870, the ruling class felt that they "must educate their masters." These are some of the methods that have been employed in the past to preserve the dom- inant class in its position of dominancy. It can- not be denied that the temptation to employ similar methods for similar purposes presents itself now to the class occupying the dominant position, or that they yield to the temptation. Witness the capitalistic control of the press, the demand for ' ' safe and sane ' ' economic teaching, the rewards of conformity and the persecution, petty or powerful as circumstances may allow, of those who dare to raise their voice against economic injustice. Thus we have a confronta- tion of the privileged and non-privileged classes and a consequent social problem that is economic in its nature. It involves the elimination of un- earned incomes, the doing away with the "un- igee Graham, "The Social Problem" (London, 1886), p. 24. 22 The Social Problem of To-day productive surplus" which, as J. A. Hobson remarks, is "the only true bone of contention, the only valid cause of conflict between capital and labour," and which "lies in the industrial system a source of continual disturbance, breed- ing economic maladies." ^ This, then, is the social problem of to-day: How are the economic institutions of society, ia which so much power and privilege are concen- trated, and that are essential to the well-being of all, to be effectively organised and conducted so that their benefits may be justly shared by all members of society, and thus the last refuge of the spirit of selfish domination be, like the Church and State, in the hands of the people? It arises from a contest between "Mastership and Fellowship," as William Morris pointed out. "What is the combat we are now entering upon," he inquires, "who is it to be fought be- tween?" Absolutism and Democracy, perhaps some will answer. Not quite, I think; that con- test was practically settled by the great French Eevolution; it is only its embers which are burning now : or at least that is so in the coun- tries which are not belated like Eussia, for instance. Democracy, or at least what used to be considered Democracy, is now triumphant; and though it is true that there are countries where freedom of speech is repressed besides Eussia, as e.g., Germany and Ireland, that only i"The Science of Wealth," New York, 1911, p. 82. 23 Work and Life happens when the rulers of the triumphant Democracy are beginning to be afraid of the new order of things, now becoming conscious of itself, and are being driven into reaction in consequence. No, it is not Absolutism and Democracy as the French Eevolution understood those two words that are the enemies now: the issue is deeper than it was; the two foes are now Mastership and Fellowship. This is a far more serious quarrel than the old one, and involves a much completer revolution. The grounds of conflict are really quite different. Democracy said and says, men shall not be the masters of others, because hereditary privilege has made a race or a family so, and they happen to belong to such race; they shall individually grow into being the masters of others by the development of certain qualities under a system of authority which artificially protects the wealth of every man, if he has acquired it in accordance with this artificial system, from the interference of every other, or from all others combined. The new order of things says, on the con- trary, why have masters at all? let us be fel- lows working in the harmony of association for the common good, that is, for the greatest hap- piness and completest development of every hu- man being in the community." ^ It is sometimes said, sneeringly or dispar- 1 William Morris, "Signs of Change," pp. X76, 177. 24 The Social Problem of To-day agingly, that the social problem is a question of the stomach. In a certain sense it is primarily so. "The animal in us," said Amiel, "must be satisfied first, and we must banish from us all suffering which is superfluous and has its origin in social arrangements, before we can return to spiritual goods." ^ It is as true to- day as it has ever been that man lives not by bread alone. But it is also true that without bread man cannot live at all, and without a fair share of material comforts he is retarded in his development, and oftentimes prevented from attaining that culture of mind and soul, that sweetness and dignity and happiness of Hfe, which it is his right to enjoy, and for the maintenance and furtherance of which society itself exists. The social problem of to-day, then, demands solution, not that we may be freed from all social perplexities, but that one obstacle, and a serious one, be removed from the path of progress, and life become freer and fuller. I Jowmal Intime, translation by Mrs. Humphry Ward, p. 18. 25 CHAPTEE n Wealth and "Welfabb "The life is more than meat, and the body is more than raiment." — 8t. Luke, xii, 23. "Taking economic science as it stands in current English thought, the changes of the last generation have not made it capable of human service in the solution of the Social Ques- tion." — J. A. Eobson. The science wMcli treats immediately of the problems of industry, and is popularly sup- posed to have exclusive jurisdiction in the fields of industrial effort and of industrial reform, is political economy, the science of wealth. To that science one would naturally turn for as- sistance in an examination of the social problem as it was defined in the preceding chapter. Political economy deals with the production, distribution, and exchange of material com- modities. Economists are disposed to include consumption as one of the divisions of the science, but perhaps it would have conduced to clearness of thought, and encouraged a proper division of scientific labour, if the limits of the science as indicated by Turgot, Senior, Eossi, and John Stuart Mill had been generally recog- 26 Wedth and Welfare nised. The early economists usually restricted the term wealth to the material products of the earth, and declared that political economy has nothing to do with Value in use, hut only with Value in exchange.^ Mill declared that political economy has "nothing to do with the consump- tion of wealth, further than as the consideration of it is inseparable from that of production, or from that of distribution. " ^ He probably recognised that to include consumption in the field of his science, except as it is involved in production and distribution, is equivalent to opening the boundary of political economy on that side to an infinite curve. It broadens it into a comprehensive science of human efforts and satisfactions. Dupont de Nemours, the latest of the physiocrats, who had been exiled from France at the Eestoration, wrote, April 22, 1815, from the vessel which was carrying him to America, to J. B. Say, the French econ- omist, reproaching him for having "confined the domain of Political Economy within too nar- row limits." He maintained that it was "the science of justice applied to all social rela- tions."^ But if there is to be a division of labour in the social sciences, nothing but con- fusion is gained by making political economy 1 See Macleod, "The History of Economics," p. 47. 2 "Essays on. Some Unsettled Problems of Political Economy," London, 1844, p. 82, footnote. 3 See De Laveleye, "Luxury," London, 1891, p. 138. 27 Work and Life either the science of justice or of all social re- lations. It is perfectly legitimate to segregate eco- nomic phenomena for special study and to found upon such study an economic science. "Such an 'economic science,' " says Hobson, "can in- vestigate the economy of manufactures and of all productive activities which take definite ' business ' forms. It can collect and order under laws the groups of facts which relate to the structure and functions of different trades and markets, of businesses within the trade, and can examine, from the purely economic stand- point, the relations of the capital, labour, and or- ganising power which constitute the busiaess." ^ But, as he very properly says, and as we shaU see later on, "such a science by its necessary limits can afford no satisfaction to any 'human' curiosity, can contribute no answer to a social question. It must adhere closely to the mon- etary valuation. . . . For, though we may legit- imately detach the 'business life' of a commu- nity for separate study, taking the objective view of business and the monetary standard, as soon as we interpret 'business' in subjective terms of effort and satisfaction, or vital value, we are confronted with serious difficulties in effecting the detachment of the phenomena from the other parts of human life. So long as we confine our attention to the processes of earning 1 "The Social Problem," New York, 1901, p. 53. 28 Wealth and Welfare and spending money-incomes, a Science of Busi- ness is possible. But wlien we proceed to ex- plore the inner bearings and reactions of tbese processes, to ask, How does this kind of work affect the health and character of the worker and his family? how does this kind of consump- tion affect the moral life of the consumer? the larger unity of the human organism, both in its physiological and its psychological aspects, ev- erywhere intrudes." The standpoint of the consumer is really that of the sociologist. "Those economists who proceed from the standpoint of consumption," says Lester F. Ward, "whether they realise it or not, are in so far sociologists."^ No disparagement of political economy is im- plied when we say that, as a matter of fact, it is primarily concerned with material objects, objects possessiug the power to satisfy human desires, and of sufficient scarcity that men are willing to undergo some sacrifice to obtain them. It is the science which investigates the nature of wealth and the laws which govern its-produc- tion, distribution, and^ exchange. As such, it must of course take into consideration a certain section of human activities. Marshall defines it as "a study of mankind in the ordinary busi- ness of life." "It examines that part of indi- vidual and social action," he says, "which is most closely connected with the attainment and 1 "Outlines of Sociology," New York, 1898, p. 287. 29 Work and Life with the use of the material requisites of ma- terial well-being." ^ This, however, is hardly an accurate definition of the science as it is actually set forth m his own or any other text-book ; for activities bear- ing upon the attainment and use of things which do not contribute to ''well-being" are always included in the examination. But even if the definition of Marshall were exact, political economy would still be a special science devoted primarily to a single section of human activities and not to the general conduct of Life. It is "emphatically a business science." ^ ' ' Even in the new and more humane political economy," to quote Hobson once more, "leisure, health, friendship, freedom, love, knowledge, intellect, and virtue are excluded from wealth, and are only taken account of as far as they are means to the production of certain sorts of mar- ketable wares." ^ But the problems of industry, although in one respect problems of business and of wealth, and hence the legitimate subject of economic investi- gation, are from another and higher viewpoint, problems of welfare. For their final treatment, ^therefore, we must look not to the special science of political economy, but to the general science of life. Political economy alone will not fur- 1 "Principles of Economics," New York, 1898, Vol. I, p. 1. ? Amasa Wallier. "Science of Wealth," Boston, 1866, Preface. ' s Op. oit., p. 36. 30 Wealth and Welfare nish us a solution of tlie Social Problem of To- day. To show how inadequate must be the consid- eration of any industrial problem from the view- point of political economy alone, it will be sufficient to consider some of the inconsistencies and contradictions which arise from the appli- cation of economic theory to matters pertaining to the general well-being of the people. An in- cident in our recent economic history affords an interesting illustration. In January, 1905, the press of the United States reported the voluntary and deliberate burning of cotton by planters of the South. The cotton crop of the preceding year was the largest ever produced, amounting to more than twelve million bales. This immense yield of a general necessity ought to have been, it would seem, a source of general satisfaction. And so it would, if cotton were produced for use and not for profit. More cotton, more cloth; and more cloth would mean more clothes for the people. But in the South, this enormous yield of cotton brought not rejoicing but consterna- tion. The planters pronounced it "a more de- plorable circumstance to the South than the defeat of the Democratic party." The farmers were advised "to bum a million bales," and if that did not suffice to raise the price so that a clear profit might be obtained, to "bum another million bales. ' ' It was supposed that, as a con- 31 Work and Life sequence of the gigantic crop, the price of cotton would fall so low that the producers might de- stroy a part of their cotton, thus reducing the supply and consequently raising the price, and still be able to sell the remainder for as much as, or more than, the total crop would bring. This theory of the planters reminds one of the story of the Sibylline books. The Cumsean Sibyl, according to the legend, presented herself before Tarquin the Proud, the seventh and last king of Eome, with nine books for sale. On his refusal to buy them at the price demanded, she went away, burned three, returned and of- fered the remaining six at the same price. Tar- quin again refused, whereupon she cast three more into the fire and demanded the original price for the three remaining. This so aston- ished the King that he bought the books. The planters apparently expected the success of the Sibyl in selling her books to be repeated in theii! case with respect to cotton. The newspaper reports of the actual burning of cotton were probably exaggerated. But there is nothing new or peculiar about the de- struction of goods to influence the price favour- ably to those who have the goods for sale. Fourier long ago reported that the Oriental Company of Amsterdam "publicly burned stores of cinnamon in order to raise the price." "What it did with cinnamon," he says, "it would Lave done with com; but for the fear of 32 Wealth and Welfare being stoned by the populace, it would have burnt com in order to sell the rest at four times its value. Indeed," he continues, "it actually is of daily occurrence in ports, for provisions of grain to be thrown into the sea because mer- chants have allowed them to rot while waiting for a rise. I, myself, when I was a clerk, have had to superintend these infamous proceedings, and in one day caused to be thrown into the sea some forty thousand bushels of rice, which might have been sold at a fair profit had the withholder been less greedy of gain." Such ''infamous proceedings" are a matter of indifference from the standpoint of commer- cial gain, that is, from that of political economy. If the planters of the South, then, had actually burned a part of their crop of cotton, the effect on the price would have been the same as if the cotton burned had not been produced. It would only have been a summary and rather ex- pensive method of "limiting the output" of cotton. It would also have been more certainly successful than the other method sometimes re- sorted to, namely, the restriction by agreement among the planters of the number of acres to be planted in cotton. It is said that once, when a resolution was adopted by the Cotton Growers' Association binding each member to plant a rel- atively small amount of cotton, many of its members, reasoning that the effect of this agree- ment would be a small crop of cotton and a high 33 Work and Life price, and thinking it "wonld be no great matter if they violated the terms of it, put out more cotton than ever before, the outcome being that the supply of cotton was increased instead of being diminished 1 This fiasco reminds one of the story told, I believe, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, to the effect that once upon a time all the people of the earth agreed that at a specified moment each -would yell at the top of his voice. But when the time came, each one thinking it would make no great difference in the volume of sound if he listened instead of crying out, no voice was raised except that of an old woman in New Zealand who was so deaf she couldn't hear the sound of her own voice I "Limiting the production" and reducing the output by destroying a part of the product are not essentially different; either may be profit- able to the producer. The New York Globe declared that "if the planters are really pos- sessed of the notion that by destroying a part of their property they can make the remainder more valuable than the whole, then the political economists, from Adam Smith down, may well ask themselves if their teaching has not been altogether idle. ' ' But political economy teaches, and has always taught, that reducing the supply of a commodity tends to raise the price, and that there is no definite proportional relation between supply 34 Wealth and Welfare and price. The proportional rise in price may greatly exceed the proportional reduction of supply. The cotton planters, then, might have succeeded, by burning some of their cotton, in raising the price of the rest of it so high that it would have yielded a higher aggregate profit than if the entire amount had been sold at the price they could have obtained ; and they would also have saved themselves the trouble of mar- keting that portion of the crop that had been burned. The frequency with which the method of lim- iting production, or restricting the output, is resorted to by business men indicates that it is good "business policy." Manufacturers may be expected to discharge some of their em- ployes in periods of low prices ; companies now and then close up their industrial plants and let their machinery rust; and trusts have been known to shut down a mill, and even pay the owner to remain idle, in order to limit the supply of a commodity and thus raise the price. They count on a higher profit on a smaller pro- duction at a high price than they could obtain on a large production at a low price. Nor are business men the only ones who resort to this practice. Labourers, too, have learned to profit by the operation of the economic law of supply and demand. They limit the quantity of work performed, and endeavour to control the supply of labour, by limiting the number of 35 Work and Life apprentices, by insisting upon the "closed" shop, and by other methods familiar to the pub- lic. But however profitable this practice may be at times to employers or to employes, however advantageous as a business policy, it is plainly inconsistent with pubUc welfare and hence can- not be regarded as a good social policy. It is a method of profit by loss. Society loses while the individual gains. Often the application of the method is the result of an economic situation in which some men have more of a commodity than they can use, or sell at a profit, while others have less than they need. There is a "glut in the market," as we say. It is thus illustrative of an unorganised and irrational distribution of commodities. Now, in the language of political economy, an economic situation such as that just described is called "overproduction," or, more specific- ally, "partial overproduction." This expres- sion fits the case so far as the sellers or producers are concerned. They have produced more of a commodity, or have more on hand, than they can seU at a profit. But obviously it cannot seem like overproduction to those who need the commodities but are unable to buy them. To describe the situation as it affects this other class, some other expression is neces- sary. The word "underconsumption ' ' has been suggested. To the producer it is overproduc- 36 Wealth and Welfare tion ; to tiie consumer, imdercoiisumption, THe producer lias more goods than lie can find sale for at a profit; tlie consumer cannot purchase as many goods as he could profitably use. The producer will not continue to produce without the incentive of profits; the consumer cannot continue to consume without the ability to pur- chase. Thus the circulation of goods, the flow of commodities from producer to consumer, is arrested by the business demand for profits. And when the circulation of a body is inter- rupted, something is wrong with the system. We need, therefore, a term that coimotes this pathological condition of the industrial order; a term that describes the situation as it affects the whole body politic. Perhaps "economic congestion" is sufficiently accurate. And since "congestion" is an inevitable result of produc- tion for profit, the profit system cannot be re- garded as ideal. The words overproduction and undercon- sumption, then, as used in the academic sense, reveal the fact that the viewpoint of political economy, both as a science and as an art, is a partial one. That of the classical economists was, as a matter of fact, almost entirely that of the producing class. The end contemplated by the classical economists was material gain in the form of profits. And the modern econo- mists, as such, are obliged to look at a question from the standpoint of business prosperity. 37 Work and Life But there is a difference between prosperity and progress. Business prosperity has primarily to do with pecuniary profits ; progress, with the lives and happiness of the people. The main question of business is, "What is the profit?" The main question of progress is, "What doth it profit? ' ' The wastes of competition, of over- employment, of child labour, of war, do not nec- essarily restrict business prosperity; they may even enhance it; but they do retard progress. Prosperity involves material gain, often of the few alone; progress involves the fruits of it. In short, business prosperity is primarily a question of money : progress, a question of men. One is a question of material wealth ; the other, a question of social welfare. If, for instance, it is said that the wealth of the country has doubled within a certain period it does not mean necessarily that the people are twice as "well off" as they were before. It might mean that we are infinitely worse off, for if the increase were largely in the hands of those who already had too much, they would be subjected to the greater evils of "swollen fortunes," and the living conditions of the producers might have become like that of the slave. The increase in wealth might imply * ' that we were simply mak- ing greater drudges of ourselves, toiling harder than before after commercial goods under con- ditions of work which disabled us from making a more pleasant or a more profitable use of our 38 Wedth and Welfare increased possessions than our forefathers made of their smaller stock." Of these con- ditions political economy would have nothing to say save as it bore upon the production, distri- bution and exchange of wealth. The restricted viewpoint of political economy may be further illustrated by the specialised use of some of its familiar terms. The word "wealth," for instance, according to the famil- iar definition of Mill, includes "all useful and agreeable things which possess exchangeable value." Useful, in this definition, has refer- ence only to the power of a thing to satisfy a human desire. The term wealth is thus eco- nomically as applicable to a barrel of whiskey as to a barrel of flour. For "useful," as here used, has its specialised sense, meaning the power to satisfy a want, without regard to the character of that want. From the standpoint of political economy, then, dangerously adul- terated food, poisonous intoxicants, the ridicu- lous gimcracks and gewgaws of vanity and ostentation — anything that will exchange for money — are wealth, and belong in the same cat- egory as wholesome bread and meat, good books and pictures, and all the things essential to life. The word "wealth," however, in its original meaning indicated a condition of well-being. It is but a lengthened form of the word "weal." The aflSx "th" means condition of; as, for in- stance, in the word "health," which means the 39 WorJc and Life condition of being healed, or in the word "dearth," the condition of being dear or scarce.^ But in political economy, the word has been wrested from its original meaning and is employed without any ethical signifi- cance. From the viewpoint of welfare, however, there is plainly an inconsistency in calling a thing wealth, which, instead of contributing to well-being, is destructive of it. An immoral book or indecent picture may have an exchange value of thousands of dollars. Each must be re- garded as wealth, according to the economic definition. But those who read the book or are influenced by the picture are worth less than they were before; "they will fulfill their duties less efficiently." The English sell the Chinese millions' worth of opium yearly. And yet, as De Laveleye declares, "if the Emperor had all this opium flung into the sea, so far from Chi- na's losing by it, she would gain immensely by having fewer of her people brutalised and inca- pable of working. . . . Opium has a value for the merchant, when he finds people foolish enough to give him in exchange for it the money which will procure for him useful commodities. But for the nation and for the race it has no value, since it serves only to produce stupefac- tion and idiocy. It is the same in a less degree 1 Caiman, "Theories of Production and Distribution," Lour don^ 1903, p. 1. 40 Wealth and Welfare with tobacco and strong liquors. These are poisons produced at the cost of labour and cap- able of exchange, hence, according to the econ- omists, they are forms of wealth — and yet their complete destruction would be a benefit to man- kind. "^ "Benefit to mankind," that is the funda- mental idea in the social conception of wealth. From the standpoint of welfare, only such things are wealth as tend to make us "well." This economist thought that the commodities before mentioned, the immoral book, opium, etc., are not properly called wealth. They are not, of course, in the original meaning of the term; but since they are bought and sold, and are subject to the same laws of production and distribution as good books and food, they can- not be excluded from the economic category without exasperating confusion of thought. Political economy does not make a distinction between the commodities which contribute to well-being and those which do not. Its defini- tion of wealth is not in terms of life as it should be, but as it is. Euskin defined wealth as those "things which the nature of humanity has rendered in all ages, and must render in all ages to come . . . the objects of legitimate desire";^ and Morris de- fined it as "what nature gives us and what a 1 Op. cit., pp. 139, 140. 2 "Mvmera Pulveris," Sec. 34, note. 41 Work and lAfe reasonable man can make out of the gifts of nature for his reasonable nse."^ Even Mill saw that "the wealth of a country consists of the sum total of the permanent sources of enjoyment, whether material or im- material, contained in it. " ^ So much for the word ''wealth" as illustrat- ing, in its social and economio application, the restricted viewpoint of the science of wealth. The word "value, ' ' as used in political economy,' has also passed through a similar process of specialisation of meaning. Value, as Ruskin long ago pointed out, meant originally the qual-' ity of being well or strong — "strong, in life (if a man), or valiant; strong, for life (if a thing) , or valuable. " To be " valuable, ' ' there^ fore, is, in the original sense, to "avail toward life." And he asserted that the value of a thing is independent of opinion and of quantity. "Think what you will of it," he says, "gain how much you may of it, the value of the thing itself is neither greater nor less. Forever it avails, or it avails not; no estimate can raise, 1 "Signs of Change," London, 1896, p. 149. Morris adds, "The Bunlight, fresh air, the unspoiled face of the earth, food, rai-i ment, and housing, necessary and decent; the storing up of knowledge of all kinds, and the power of disseminating it;l means of free communication between man and man ; the worka of art, the beauty which man creates when he is most a man, most aspiring and thoughtful — all things which serve for pleas- ure or play, free, manly, and uncorrupted ; this is wealth." 2 Mill, "Some Unsettled Problems of Political Economy," p. 82. 42 Wealth and Welfare no disdain depress, tlie power which it holds from the Maker of things and of men."^ This is true, of course, only in an abstract sense. We say of a certain commodity, say a pound of meat, that it has so much food value, that it will produce so much nerve and so much muscle, and no one disputes that it holds that power. But obviously the statement has no practical meaning apart from the consumers of meat, and the condition of a consumer might make the tissue building power of the meat, its value, less than nothing so far as he is concerned. From the viewpoint of welfare, therefore, the values of commodities, their power to sustain life, depends upon the physical, intellectual and moral qualities of the people. In political economy, however, value means "purchasing power," and has no reference to the power of sustaining life. The life ideal has wholly departed from the word. Anything, is valuable that will exchange for money, no matter what its influence may be upon the life of its possessor. If, then, we consider value from the social viewpoint, and regard the value of a commodity as its actual power to promote human life, the axiomatic principle of political economy that "there can be no general rise in values," in- stead of appearing as an axiom, is seen to be an obvious error. If value is "purchasing 1 "Unto This Last," Sec. 61. 43 Work and Life power" or "the ratio at wMcli one commodity exchanges against another," then, of course, there cannot be a general rise of values, because an equal change in all values would leave the ratios the same. But if the value of a com- modity be regarded as its life-giving power, the values of commodities may be generally raised by an increase in the power of the people to use and appreciate them. The education of a people may practically increase the sum of values. The art products of a nation, for in- stance, become more valuable, contribute more to the pleasure, the happiness, the life of the people, the more they are appreciated. Again, since we know that beyond a certain point each, additional increment of wealth gives less and less satisfaction to its possessor, the value of commodities, looking at the matter from the standpoint of life, will be affected by their dis- tribution; for commodities are most valuable in the hands of those who need them. A loaf of bread is worth more to a starving man than to him who has just risen from a good dinner. One further illustration of the specialised sense of economic terms must suffice. The word "demand" has come to be applied and confined in political economy to the desire for economic goods coupled^with the ability to pay for them. The desire for commodities, no mat- ter how intense it may be, if not associated with purchasing power, has no significance for the Wealth and Welfare economist. "A beggar," says John Stuart Mill, "may desire a diamond; but Ms desire, however great, will have no influence on price. Writers have therefore given a more limited sense to demand, and have defined it, the wish to possess, combined with the power of pur- chasing."^ No matter, then, how great the need, there is no economic demand for a com- modity if one has not "the price." We thus see that in the science of political economy, wealth is sometimes not wealth; that the useful, in the economic sense, is sometimes harmful; that the valuable may sometimes de- grade and destroy life instead of upbuilding it ; and that with a starving people — as, for in- stance, in India during a famine — there may be no "demand" for food. On the other hand, from the standpoint of welfare, there is no wealth but that which con- tributes to life ; ^ nothing useful or valuable that does not minister to well-being. And there can be no overproduction until the legitimate and reasonable wants of all members of society are supplied ; until every man, woman, and child is 1 "Principles of Political Economy," LaugUin's edition. New York, 1896, p. 255. 2 The well-known passage from Euakin declares that "there is no wealth but life. Life, including all its powers of love, of joy, and of admiration. That country is the richest which nourishes the greatest number of noble and happy human be- ings; that man is richest who, having perfected the functions of his own life to the utmost, has also the widest helpful in- fluence, both personal, and by means of his possessions, over the lives of others."— -"Unto This I^st," Sec. 77. 45 Work and Life decently and comfortably housed, clothed, and fed — that is to say, until all begin really to live. If further proof of the inability of political economy to treat adequately of a social ques- tion is needed, it may be found in a considera- tion of the fact that social, including of course economic, phenomena are so interrelated and interwoven that no class of them may be com- pletely segregated from all the rest and made the basis of an independent, special science. They constitute an organic whole. Hence there are no economic phenomena that are "purely" economic, and no industrial problem that is "merely" industrial. "The question of an eight-hours' day," says Hobson, "is reck- oned a distinctively 'economic' question; but its real issues, both direct and indirect, involve the most delicate interactions of physical and men- tal forces. The direct issue underlying the question of economic feasibility is the question whether a shortening of hours will be attended by an intensification of labour; whether such intensification is either possible or desirable depends partly upon physical conditions of the compressibility of labour-power, partly upon the operation of the desire of increased leisure, with intenser effort, upon the will. These forces, obviously related in their action, will be of different powers in different trades and for different grades of workers. Equally 46 Wealth and Welfare important is tlie indirect issue, the effect of increased leisure upon the habits of a class", upon the 'standard of life,' and so, by reac- tion, upon efficiency of labour. The rash- ness of the confident opinions commonly ex- pressed as to the way in which 'the work- ing classes,' lumped together as a homoge- neous mass, will use their increased leisure is a pitiable exhibition of the incapacity of the average man to handle a social question by the light of nature and crude personal experience. A similar double root, with wide ramifications, underlies the question of 'the economy of high wages.' Here the distinctively psychological problem of valuations of various forms of ex- penditure merges with the inquiry as to the effect of different foods or forms of recreation upon muscular strength, intelligence, and hon- esty. Even where one of the two related as- pects, physical or psychical, seems at first sight dominant, the other can easily be seen to exer- cise powerful unseen influences. Gambling ap- pears at first sight a distinctively psychical disease, until we come to understand the animal craving for reckless relief from the grinding monotony of mechanised industry, seeking an easy and a not too intellectual outlet ; or, carry- ing the matter further back, the very commercial structure which, in its cardinal workings, di- rectly feeds the spirit of speculation will be traced to the physical conditions of industrial- 47 WorJc and Life ism. So, on the other side, the population and the family, the physiological aspects of which are so prominent, are easily made to disclose the psychical forces which affect the rate of marriage, the size and efficiency of the family. It is needless to labour a point which no thought- ful person is likely to deny. ' ' ^ The nomenclature of political economy, then, however adequate it may be to the needs of the special science of wealth, is not adapted, with its present content, to the description of an economio situation as it affects human life, or the true well-being of men. Political economy speaks in the language of business, and not in the language of life ; in the language of wealth, and not in the language of welfare. This limitation of the sphere and language of political economy, and the consequent restric- tion of its viewpoint, is here pointed out, not with the purpose of casting any discredit upon the science, — that would be a vain and presump- tuous undertaking, — ^but merely to show that as a special science it cannot take cognizance of the general bearing and aspect of an industrial question. Hence we cannot rely upon it to pre- sent a solution of the Social Problem of To-day, or indeed, of any day. So far as a considera- tion of a question of human welfare is concerned, its name might well be like that of certain com- panies organised for a special purpose, or with. 1 "The Social Problem," John Hobaon, pp. 258, 259. 48 Wealth and Welfare certain restrictions, "Political Economy Lim- ited." There is, of course, a valid reason for the limitations of political economy. All commod- ities, life-giving and life-destroying, are subject to the same, or similar, laws of production, dis- tribution, and exchange, the discovery and ex- planation of which laws are the peculiar province of political economy. It is not the business of that science to pass upon the char- acter of the want which a particular commodity supplies; it is the science of wealth, and not the science of welfare. Without a limitation of this kind, as has already been suggested, po- litical economy would pass beyond the range of a special social science and become the general science of life. To say, with Sismondi, that political economy is "the science of- human happiness" would be only to claim for it a wider scope theoretically than has ever been given to it practically. A science of wealth can- not be made to appear the science of human happiness tmless wealth is the only thing essen- tial to happiness. But, whatever the sphere of political economy may be theoretically, there can be no doubt that, as it is actually presented in economic treatises, its viewpoint is necessarily a restricted one and its terms are specialised to suit its peculiar needs. The principles and laws and maxims of political economy must, therefore, be held sub- 49 Work and Life ject to revision ia tlie light of social -well-being. It is a valuable and indispensable science; but it is not adequate to a final consideration of any industrial problem. Its viewpoint is lim- ited to a single pbase of human life. It is not on that account ' ' a dismal science. ' ' It becomes such only in the hands of a writer who proceeds on the assumption that the necessarily narrow view of his special science is the highest view that can be taken, and that his word, as econo- mist, on the problems of industry is final. A science would, indeed, be "dismal" that treated industry as if it were the end of life; profit- making, as if it were synonymous with prog- ress ; and seemed to regard the material welfare of the "business community" as the ultimate end of human energy and effort. The final question concerning any form of human activity is not, "What are its effects upon business? but, What are its effects upon the life of society as a whole? This question can be answered only when the subject is viewed from the high- est possible standpoint, namely, that of human welfare. The viewpoint, then, which must be taken in any profitable consideration of the So- cial Problem of To-day, is the social viewpoint. To a brief consideration of that we shall now turn our attention. 50 CHAPTEE ni The Social Viewpoint "For none of us livetli to himself, and no man dieth to hin> self . . . for we are members one of another." ■ — Rom. xiv, 7; Bph. iv, 24. "Especially must we keep in view the high moral issues to which the economic movement is subservient, and in the absence of which it could never in any great degree attract the interest or fts the attention either of eminent thinkers or of right minded men. The individual point of view will have to be subordinated to the social." — Ingram^. Ix should be perfectly clear that the conclusions arrived at in the study of a social problem will depend very much upon the viewpoint from which such study proceeds. It is a common- place that if we would understand the "views" of an individual or a class we must look at the matter from his or its standpoint. If, for in- stance, in a study of the Social Problem of To- day the interests of the employing class are kept most prominently in mind, the result will not be the same as those that would follow from a study of the problem with the interests of the employed uppermost in thought. Much of the confusion of thought which now obtains with respect to industrial questions, and much of the 51 Work and Life consequent friction between employers and employed, are dne to tlie different viewpoints from which, snch questions are examined. There is one viewpoint, however, and but one, which commends itself to the impartial student. It is the viewpoint of the interests of society as a whole, the social viewpoint. Since the only viewpoint which commends itself to the impartial student is that of human welfare, the social viewpoint, and since this is the viewpoint to be taken throughout this dis- cussion, it will be well to consider briefly just what is meant by "the social viewpoint." The social viewpoint involves the abstraction of the observer as completely as possible from society, and the consideration of a social prob- lem with' absolute impartiality with regard to the interests of all individuals and classes. It implies a due regard for aU the elements of human well-being. It includes a survey of the life of the people as a whole. From it are ob- served both the certain and the probable effects of a proposed measure; its effects not only upon the industrial, political, religious, and so- cial interests of the people, but upon their phys- ical, moral and intellectual life as well. The social viewpoint is that of social welfare, social well-being, of Life in all the width of its mean- ing. Before such a viewpoint can be taken it is necessary to have a clear understanding of the 52' The Social Viewpoint organic conception of society. This feonception lias been so often exaggerated that many are disposed to regard it as fanciful. But, whether society be considered as an organism or merely as an organisation, and however it may be de- fined, it is not wholly figurative language to speak of it as an organic whole. "The human race looked at from the standpoint of its ori- gin," said Condorcet, "appears, in the eyes of the philosopher, an immense whole, which, just as in the case of each individual, has its infancy and its growth."^ And Mackenzie defines so- ciety as "a whole whose parts are intrinsically related to it, which develops from within, and has reference to an end that is involved in its own nature. ' ' ^ Society, then, or a nation, may be rightly regarded as a unit, of which the parts are indi- viduals. Upon the well-being of all the indi- viduals, and not merely upon that of a part of them, the welfare of the whole depends. If one member suffers, all the members suffer with it. Social literature is full of references to this unitary aspect of society. "The human race," said Lessing, "is a collective being animated by its own life, and educated by the Deity," and Browning expressed a similar thought when he said, — • 1 Condorect, "Bsquisse d'un Tableau Historique des Progr&s de L'eaprit Humain," p. 1. 2 "An Introduction to Social Philosophy," New York, 1890, p. 148. 53 Work and Life "A nation is but the attempt of many To rise to the complete life of one." It is easy, of course, to push tMs idea to an extreme, and involve ourselves in fanciful no- tions concerning the organic nature of society. ;We need not be misled, however, by conceiving society as one body, with its own life, its own rights and interests, and dependent for its own well-being upon the conditions, relations and activities of all the individual lives of which it is composed. With this conception, it is easy to see that any social problem is a problem of the whole of society, and that iu the consideration of any subject whatever that is social in its nature we must take into account not only the effects upon individuals and classes but also, and first of all, the effects upon the people as a whole. This involves necessarily a consideration of the sub- ject from the social viewpoint. That it is difficult to abstract oneself from the personal consequences of social change and employ the conception of society as an organic unity, so that a social problem may be viewed in all its social relations, is shown by the small number who seem able to accomplish it. Usu- ally the question of chief importance with re- spect to a proposed improvement in social relations is "How will it affect me?" If so- licitude is manifested with respect to ' ' friends, ' ' it is as much, perhaps, as one may reasonably 54 The Social Viewpoint expect. If ' ' class-consciousness ' ' is manifested it is thought to be a peculiarly high display of altruistic feeling. One day I was standing at the entrance of the Canal Street Depot in Chicago, and happen- ing to look over at the new Northwestern Sta- tion, then under construction, and only a block away, I remarked to a policeman that it would be a fine thing if Chicago could have one great Union Station for all the roads entering the city. "That would be a bad thing," he said. I asked him why he thought so. "Well," said! he, ' ' a friend of mine runs the omnibuses. He, has four hundred horses. What would he do if all the passengers came in and went out at the same station?" In this case the interests of "a friend" loomed so large that they en- tirely obscured the infinitely larger interests of the travelling public. Now, in case of a "teamsters' strike" it is probable that this friend would regard the question at issue almost wholly from the viewpoint of himself, or possi- bly his ' ' union. ' ' It would require considerable self-abnegation to look at the matter from the viewpoint of all whose interests were even re- motely involved. But however difficult it is to assume an atti- tude of impartiality with respect to conditions of which one is a part, and however unusual it may be to find a thinker without bias, it must be plain upon reflection that the social viewpoint 55 Work and Life alone will disclose tlie true aspects of an indus- trial subject ; it is tlie only viewpoint from which. a social problem may be fairly and finally con- sidered. This, then, is the viewpoint we shall endeavour to preserve throughout this entire discussion. 56 CHAPTEE IV Peoposed Solutions of the Social Problem: "Our aim must be the moralisation of the individual, of the government, of the people as a whole. We desire the moralisa- tion not only of political conditions but of industrial condi- tions, so that every force in the coromunity, individual and collective, may be directed towards securing for the average man, and average woman, a higher and better and fuller life, in the things of the body no less than those of the mind and the Boul." — Roosevelt. "The true solution of the great social problem of this age is to be found in the ultimate establishment of a genuine people's government, with ample power to protect society against all forms of injustice, from whatever source, coupled with a warm and dutiful regard for the true interests of each and all, the poor as well as the rich. If this be what is meant by the oft- lepeated phrase 'paternal government,' then were this certainly a consummation devoutly to be wished. But in this concep- tion of governmeaat there is nothing paternal. It gets rid en- tirely of the paternal, the patriarchal, the personal element, and becomes nothing more nor less than the effective expres- sion of the public will, the active agency by which society con- sciously and intelligently governs its own conduct." — Ward. Whoevee from the social viewpoint takes a care- ful look at the industrial system of to-day cannot fail to observe the conspicuous fact that the industrial world with aU its ancillary activ- ities is to a large extent organised, controlled and directed by so-called captains of industry, 57 Work and Life that is to say, by business men, tbose who are in control of the material means of production. Business interests and business ends are pri- marily the interests and objects of these leaders in the industrial world. They determine, within limits, of course, the kind and character of com- modities to be produced and the amount and direction of the labour to be employed. The actual end of industry is, therefore, the end which business men are pursuing. This end is primarily material gain. Men are not in business for their health. Their sole pur- pose is not always and everywhere a sordid one, but, generally speaking, their object is to make money. No business will be long pursued unless it brings to those who are at the head of it the material reward known as profits. The end of business, therefore, and the end of mod- em industry, is the wealth of a few rather than the welfare, of all. From the social viewpoint, however, industry should be the means of realising the social end. Business has no other social justification. The end of society, however, is not material, but spir- itual. Material prosperity is indeed the basis, but it is not the substance, of its realisation. A man may accumulate wealth, and fail in life, and the same is true of a people. An era of material prosperity may be coincident with a period of decadence. "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his soul?" is an 58 'Proposed Solutions of the Social Problem inquiry wMcli might well be addressed to a peo- ple. The soul of society, its higher interests, should be its prime consideration. The end of society cannot be expressed in terms of material gain; it is not private profit, but the public good. It will be seen, then, that there is a dishar- mony, a lack of identity, between the end of business and the end of society. The one is in- dividual gain, the other is the collective good; the one is money, the other is Life; the one is wealth, the other is Welfare. Thus the Social Problem of To-day becomes in reality the prob- lem of harmonising these two discrepant ends ; it is the problem of transforming the end of in- dustry from individual gain to collective good, of bringing the industrial efforts of men into conformity with the demands of social well-be- ing, of subjecting and subordinating the indus- trial activities of society to the higher purposes of human life. The proposed solutions of this problem may be classified, with respect to the point of attack, as individualistic and socialistic. Individual- istic solutions are those which are directed pri- marily at the reform of the individual, while the socialistic are those which aim to revolutionise the "system," and which place the emphasis upon social action to reform industrial condi- tions. With respect to the time required in their application the proposed solutions are 59 Work and Life gradual and convulsive or catastrophic, evolu- tionary and revolutionary, peaceful and violent. The operation of an individualistic solution must obviously be slow. A socialistic solution, even if revolutionary, is not necessarily precipi- tate or effected by violence. But the possibility of a violent and sudden change appeals to many whose patience is easily exhausted. If asked, How may the immorality of the profit system be done away with, and the pursuit of profits be made identical with the effort to promote the commonweal? some would answer, Do away with the profit system 1 Destroy it, root and branch! This is easy to say, but how is it to be done? By revolution, effected by violence? Then appeal must be made to the principles of force and domination, the operation of which constitutes the chief ground of objection to the profit system. Our problem is one of establish- ing rational industrial ends and relations. It can be solved, therefore, not by force but only by reason. Force determines nothing but rela- tive strength. Eeason, and Reason alone, must be the final arbiter of all questions affecting the relations of men. We must therefore reject and discountenance all solutions of the social problem which involve the principles of force and domination. The experience of the world in its attempt to solve the political question should have taught us by this time that the desire for freedom from dom- 60 Proposed Solutions of the Social Problem ination is ineradicable. Liberty, industrial as ■well as political, is "the eternal spirit of the chainless mind"; and wherever it is repressed there will always be the conditions of revolt, and hence an unsolved social problem. "We are left, then, with the only alternative solution, namely, that of evolution, the peaceful methods of orderly progress, and first let us consider the solutions that are individualistic in their nature. Individualistic solutions of the social problem may all be subsumed under the word "moralisa- tion. ' ' To remedy the evils incident to our com- petitive system of industry, we are often told, we must moralise the business man and moralise the labourer. The fact that employers some- times engage in illegitimate enterprise and occupations, that they now and then produce commodities which do not promote life, that they adulterate their goods and misrepresent them by lying advertisements, that they take the high- est price a business will yield, irrespective of the moral claims of others, that they grind down labour and ruthlessly reap success from the fail- ure of others, goes to show that there is a low standard of business ethics. And the like fact that labourers do not always identify the in- terests of the employer with their own, that they sometimes make unjust demands, and resort sometimes to violence, is evidence that they too need moralisation. We must moralise the busi- 61 Work and Life ness man, then, and moralise the labourer so that each will give to the other a ' ' square deal. ' ' This, we are sometimes told, is all that is neces- sary to solve the social problem. Well, there can certainly be no objection to moralising the business man, or the labourer, and there should be no relaxation of effort in that direction. ' ' The leaders of industry, if in- dustry is ever to be led," says Carlyle, "are virtually the captains of the world; if there is no nobleness in them there will never be an aristocracy more. ' ' ^ But those who advocate moralisation as the sole, or the principal, method of harmonising the ends of industry perhaps overlook certain difficulties inherent in a competitive system of industry. These are not merely the psychologi- cal difficulties involved in the process of chang- ing human nature, although these of themselves require time to be overcome. How long, for in- stance, will it be before the character of the average business man is so transformed that he will decline a profit that comes to him. through the operation of the natural laws of trade, as, for instance, the law of supply and demand with reference to labour? It will surely be a long time before the average busi- ness man will do so, and yet Ms refusal to decline such a profit gives rise to what may be called the paradox of modem industry, * Carlyle, "Past and Present.'' 62 Proposed Solutions of the Social Problem To illustrate what is meant by the paradox of industry let us suppose the case of a labourer who is working for an employer at the custo- mary rate of wages. The employer makes a profit on his labour, otherwise he would not be employed at all. Now suppose that there is an increase in the number of labourers seeking em- ployment in his particular trade. What will be the effect upon his wages ? Obviously, they will tend to fail, on account of the increase in the supply of labour, and in the natural course of business operations his wages will be re- duced. But his work is no less profitable to the employer than it was before. He works just as hard ; his productivity is not diminished. The sales of his employer, and consequently his profits, may possibly be increased, because of the increase in the number of consumers. Why, then, does he suffer a loss in wages 1 Obviously it is because the increased competition of labour makes it possible for the employer to lower the wage element in his cost of production, and thus raise his profits, and being a busiaess man he takes advantage of a business opportunity. It will be a long time before the average em- ployer will be moralised to the extent that he will resist the teniptation. Here, then, is the paradox: The workers of society, continually complaining of overwork, and clamorous in their demand for leisure, do not welcome the advent of more labourers to 63 Work and Life help them in their task. The reason for this is clear. The workers are working primarily for their employers and not primarily for so- ciety. Employment is the means by which they live. Their work is not so much a social task as an individual opportunity. A new labourer, therefore, appears to them not in the guise of a friend who would lighten their toil, but in the aspect of an enemy who would jeopardise their job. It is thus a case in which many hands do not make light work, but light wages. The disposition, then, of the business man to accept the profit which the natural laws of trade enable him to take gives rise to the peculiar in- consistency in the industrial order which has just been described, and yet it would hardly be recognised as a demand for moralisation be- cause the taking of such a profit is not ordina- rily regarded as immoral. There are other difficulties, however, which lie plainly in the way of a solution of the social problem by moraHsation. In a competitive sys- tem of industry, for instance, the man who would succeed must observe the rules of the game. He cannot, as a rule, on the average and in the long run, practise a higher morality than his competitors. His success depends upon his ability to compete, and competitive ability, at the present stage of industrial de- velopment, consists not alone in the high moral virtues, but also in the virtues of animal cun- 64 Proposed Solutions of the Social Problem ning, more or less intense egoism, and somewhat calloused sensibilities. For, as John Stuart Mill once said, "If persons are helped in their worldly career by their virtues, so are they, and perhaps quite as often, by their vices : by servility and sycophancy, by hard-hearted and close-fisted selfishness, by the permitted lies and tricks of trade, by gambling speculations, not seldom by downright knavery." Suppose, for instance, that an employer wishes to be unusually generous to his em- ployes and pay them more than the competitive rate of wages. He is compelled to meet the com- petition of less generous men who adulterate or misrepresent their goods, or who fix the aver- age margin of profits by the payment of a nig- gardly wage. By such men he will be un- dersold, and to be undersold in business is to be forced into bankruptcy. It may well be true that superior generosity to employes and strict business honesty are a valuable business asset, but a moral quality is of no business sig- nificance until the returns occasioned by it begin to come in through wider sales and increased profits. This, however, takes time for the busi- ness man's reputation to spread, whereas his success or failure in business may be a matter of a single transaction. Generally speaking, hon- esty is the best policy because it is profit- able for the soul. But honesty is not nec- essarily the best business policy; for busi- 65 Work and Life ness has regard to profits, and sometimes strict honesty will result in a business loss. If it is said that in "the long run" honesty will prove to be always the best policy, the obvious answer is that oftentimes the business man cannot "run that long." If, then, we moralise the business man too successfully we moralise him out of business. It would be another case of "a beau- tiful and successful operation, but the man died." The labourer is in like case. Suppose that a labourer is moralised to the degree that he iden- tifies the interests of his employer with his own, that he would be magnanimous and give his em- ployer the best service of which he is capable. As things now are he can by no means be sure that his superior efificiency will be recognised by an increase in his wages. He will, of course, have the consciousness of duty performed, but there will be a resultant effect that will be likely to disturb his complacency. He will find that his superior productivity as a labourer results not merely in no permanent increase of his own. wages, but that it will be held up by his em- ployer as an excuse for lowering the wages of his fellow-labourers. One of the most conserva- tive labour leaders of my acquaintance declares that in an experience of thirty years he cannot recall a single instance of the rucreased pro- ductivity of a labourer resulting in a permanent increase in wages. "Workmen agree among 66 Proposed 'Solutions of the Social Problem themselves not to do more than a certain quan- tity of work," says Gunton, "because re- peated experience has taught them that if they do, their wages will soon he proportionately re- duced."^ We see, then, that in a competitive system of unequal morahty it is extremely difficult for in- dividual employers, or employes, to rise to a higher level of business honesty or productive efficiency, and thus give to each other a ' ' square deal." The business man cannot be moralised independently and remain a business man, nor the labourer independently without working in- jury to his fellow-labourers. The "square deal" is possible only when all are "square." Moralisation, then, as a means of solving the industrial problem, must be supplemented by collective effort to improve the industrial sys- tem. Such effort must finally take the form of social legislation. By social legislation I mean legislation primarily designed to promote the welfare of society and not specially aimed at securing or maintaining special individual or class privileges. Wise legislation backed by an enlightened public opinion can do much to restrict and improve the methods of industrial competition. Under modern conditions it is difficult for the business man to do right and easy for him to do wrong. Legislation can make it easier to do right in business activities 1 Guaton, "Wealth and Progress," p. 180. ■67 Work and Life and dangerous, if not difficult, to do wrong. It can make the way of the transgressor hard. It can compel the unfair and tricky competitor to regard, if not respect, a higher standard of busi- ness morality. The man who adulterates or misrepresents his goods, for instance, and thus drives his would-be honest competitors to adopt his dishonest practices or retire from business should be compelled by law to forsake his meth- ods or be himself forcibly retired from business with the disgrace that would attend his incar- ceration with his natural associates who wear striped clothes. Germany already has a law forbidding fraudulent advertising, or deception as to quality of goods, and punishes by fine or imprisonment, or both, certain other unfair methods of competition. This is a step in the right direction. Again, the financier who wrecks a corporation engaged in legitimate business, and thus brings ruin and misery to thousands of innocent stockholders, instead of being lauded for his shrewdness ia business should be made to feel the smart of a righteous public indignation manifesting itself through opinion and law. "It is not only highly de- sirable but necessary," said ex-president Eoosevelt, "that there should be legislation . . . which shall discriminate in favour of the honest and humane employer by removing the disad- vantage under which he stands when compared with unscrupulous competitors who have no 68 Proposed Solutions of the Social Problem conscience and will do right only when under fear of punishment. ' ' ^ It has been a favourite policy of the American people to protect infant industry. Perhaps it would he even more profitable if they should devote a larger share of their attention to the protection, through legislation, of ''infant mo- rality." Social legislation, however, is attended by dif- ficulties. Chief among these difficulties is that occasioned by the conflict between established conditions and proposed improvements, be- tween the interests of the individual and the interests of the collectivity. This conflict of interests is often denied. We hear and read the unctuous platitude that the interests of the individuals of society, the labourer and the cap- italist, for instance, are identical. It is uttered as if it were the quintessence of social wisdom. But it is not true. If it were, we should have comparatively plain sailing; for men are not so blind but that they might be made to see the wisdom of legislating to promote the com- mon good if they themselves were to receive no harm and to have a share of its benefits. But the xmfortunate thing about the proposition is that at best it is only a half truth. There is and has always been a conflict between the interests of individuals and the interests of society. 1 Theodore Roosevelt in speech at Minneapolis, Minn., Sept. 2, 1901. 69 Work and Life The truth of the proposition just laid down would hardly seem to need illustration and yet it is so often denied that it may be well to cite a few cases in which it is obviously true. Take, for instance, the interests of the physician and the interests of society. The movement to pro- mote the public health is a social interest, but the physician whose living depends upon his practice could not, as physician, rejoice at the elimination of all disease. It has been esti- mated that we squander a billion dollars every year by getting sick and calling in the doctor, while incidentally the minor ailments which yield to home treatment but involve the loss of time, cost us several hundred millions in addi- tion. It is possible that this loss could be saved in the main, partly by legislation, and partly by personal control, "but," says an eastern ed- itor pertinently enough, though evidently with a muddled condition of mind with respect to so- cial progress, "what would the constantly in- creasing army of doctors be doing in the meantime ? About every reader appreciates the fact that the average doctor is a pretty good sort of fellow. Now, to attempt to cut off the revenue from the faithful practitioner in this way is a little too bad." But it is not the doc- tors alone who would lose by improved physical conditions of the body politic. There are thousands of business men engaged in the sale of drugs and medicines, patent, potent, and hn- 70 Proposed Solutions of the Social Problem potent, -wliose profits woiild diminisH. If so- ciety were fortunate enough, to discover tlie Fabled Fountain of Immortal Youth, so that all "we should have to do would be to drink of its waters and live forever, it would be to the interest of business men to build a wall around it and sell its waters at the highest price which the demand for immortality would bear. Again, society would undoubtedly be better off if all litigation should cease, but if there were no more litigation this would be a "weary, stale and unprofitable" world so far as the lawyer is concerned. The interests of society as a whole would be served by the general in- troduction of useful inventions and labour-sav- ing machinery, and in the diffusion of knowledge of technical processes, in doing away with trade secrets, in publicity. But not so the labourer who is thrown out of employment by the new inventions, or the manufacturer whose success depends upon exclusive knowledge of a technical process, or the corporation whose existence de- pends upon preserving the secrecy of its operations. In certain American industrial es- tablishments, I am told, each employe is pledged to sign papers transferring to the company the titles of all inventions made by him while in its service. These inventions might be highly useful to society at large, but they are often pigeonholed because the company, in no danger of the use of the inventions by competing estab- 71 Work and Life liskments, finds it more profitable to strangle an invention than to bear the expense of the readjustment which wotdd be made necessary by its introduction. Sometimes the inventor himself finds it profitable to exercise his in- genuity in destroying social utilities. A mil- lion dollars, for instance, is the reported payment for a device for preventing a bottle, once emptied, from ever being refilled. One more illustration must suffice. It is fa- miliar, but it is a classic. When the apostle Paul attempted to iatroduce Christianity among the Ephesians he met exactly the same obstacle which confronts the reformer of to-day, namely, the opposition of vested interests. "For a certain man named Demetrius, a silversmith, which made silver shrines for Diana, brought no small gain unto the craftsmen; whom he called together with the workmen of like occupation, and said, 'Sirs, ye know that by this craft we have our wealth. Morover ye see and hear, that . . . this Paul hath persuaded and turned away much people, saying that they be no gods, which are made with hands: so that . . . this our craft is in danger to be set at naught.' " ^ Paul was endeavouring to promote the spiritual welfare of the Ephesians, but the acceptance of his doctrines was seen to be destructive of the material interests of some of the silversmiths, hence they opposed him on selfish and material 1 ActSj xix, 24. 72 Proposed Solutions of the Social Problem grounds, but like men in similar conditions in modem times they pretended solicitude for re- ligion and morality and cried, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians ! ' ' These esamples are perhaps more than suffi- cient to show that the interests of individuals, firms, corporations and the like are not identical "with, but are often opposed to, social interests ; and it is this opposition that makes it so diffi- cult to secure social legislation. Observe how this difficulty manifests itself in any attempt to promote the public well-being by the enactment of law. Suppose, for instance, that a legislature or legislative committee, state or national, presents a bill framed iu the inter- est of the public at large, socially necessary legislation, looking, let us say, to the reduction of the hours of labour, the protection of women and children employed in industry, the regula- tion of railway rates, the establishment of a parcels-post, or some other reform plainly de- manded by public well-being. Immediately petitions are drawn up praying for the emascu- lation or the defeat of the proposed law. The lobby of the legislature or of Congress swarms with the representatives of special interests which would be adversely affected by the pro- posed legislation. Men whose profits will be diminished, or whose wages may be decreased by the proposed change, clamour for the defeat of the proposed measure. Society, then, may 73 Work and Life not have tariff reduction, effective railway regu- lation, a parcels-post, the protection of -women and children in industry, because certain power- ful interests may be injuriously affected thereby. Capitalists are more solicitous for their own property interests than they are for the larger interests of society. But capitalists are not the only persons who oppose social legislation because their material interests may be disturbed. Trades-unionists do the same ; unorganised labourers do the same. Men are all pretty much alike. Capital may complain of the selfishness and tyranny of la- bour, and labour may denounce the cruelty and brutality of capital, but the capitalist is only a labourer in the possession of power, and the labourer a capitalist in reduced circumstances. All alike object to social movements which work harm to them. Now it is customary to disregard private in- terests in attempts at social reform, and to de- nounce men for opposing socially necessary legislation because of its injurious effects upon themselves, that is to say, for looking out for ' ' number one. ' ' They are told that they should prefer the public good to their own. Perhaps they should, but it is asking altogether too much of human nature to expect a man meekly to acquiesce in the promotion of social well-being through, it may be, the destruction of his busi- ness which society at least has permitted, if not 74 Proposed Solutions of the Social Problem, encouraged, Hm to practise and upon -wMcli the living, if not the lives of himself and his family, depends. This is not merely inexpedient, it is unjust. Why should all the discomforts in- volved in a progressive social change be borne by a few? Why should the growing pains of the social body be permitted to concentrate in a minority of its members? When an individual or a group of individuals engaged in legitimate enterprise actually incurs a loss by an onward] movement of society effected by legislation it would seem that it is the duty of the public which profits by the movement to share some of the loss sustained by those to whom the move- ment brings injury. As Adams and Sumner de- clare in their book on Labor Problems (p. 15), * ' society must learn to minimise the unfortunate incidents of progress, and systematically com- pensate those who are injured literally for hu- manity's sake, because it is just this incidental and temporary destructiveness of progress that accounts for the gravest economic and social evils of our epoch. ' ' If this principle had been recognised and ap- plied, the path of progress would have been far smoother than that which history reveals. There would have been fewer wars, fewer riots, fewer strikes, fewer persecutions and feweil martyrs. And if the principle were now ap- plied, one great difficulty of social legislation would be removed. If it is *'an ill wind that 75 JT^prJe and Life blows nobody good," it is a rare wind that blows nobody ill. Social reform results almost invariably in individual loss and disturbance. By distributing among the losers a part of the good achieved, we could destroy the opposition of selfishness by harnessing the self-interest of the individual and making it pull in the direction of progress. Here, then, is a great function and opportu- nity of legislation. Eegarded as a necessary means of bringing the object of industry into conformity with the requirements of life, it should balance the interests of men, so far as these interests are legitimate, and destroy them when they are not. It should reconcile as far as possible individual and corporate interests with the interests of society. It should pro- vide that social gain shall not be at the expense of individual loss. It should convert the force of selfishness into an instrument for promoting the commonweal. Scientific social legislation, then, as well as moralisation, is a necessary means to the solu- tion of the social problem. The difficulties at- tending each of them make progress towards such solution extremely slow, but progress thus attained is sure. "Slow are the steps of Freedom, but her feet Turn never backward; hers no bloody glare; Her light is calm, and innocent, and sweet. And where it enters there is no despair." 76 'Proposed Solutions of the Social Problem iThere are, then, two methods of procedure, and two objects of attack, in every rational at- tempt to solve the Social Problem of To-day — the selfishness of individuals, and our social and industrial organisation. Eliminate undue self- ishness and the problem is practically solved. Destroy all opportunities for selfish domination and we have the same result. Education and religion aim primarily at one ; radical social re- construction at the other. Both objects must be considered. Each may be looked upon as end or means of the other. But inasmuch as all efforts to transform the character of men must consist in some modification of their en- vironment, it would seem that industrial change is the initial means. Says Hobson: — "There are those who seek to retard all social progress by a false and mischievous dilemma which takes the following shape: No radical improvement in industrial organisation, no work of social re- construction, can be of any real value unless it is preceded by such moral and intellectual im- provement in the condition of the mass of work- ers as shall render the new machinery effective ; unless the change in human nature comes first, a change in external conditions will be useless. On the other hand, it is evident that no moral or intellectual education can be brought effect- ively to bear upon the mass of human beings, whose whole energies are necessarily absorbed by the effort to secure the means of bare physi- 77 Work and Life cal support. Tims it is made to appear as if industrial and moral progress must precede each other, which is impossible. The falsehood in the above dilemma consists in the assimiption that industrial reformers wish to proceed by a sud- den leap from an old industrial order to a new one. Such sudden movements are not ia accord- ance with the gradual growth which nature in- sists upon as the condition of wise change. But it is equally in accordance with nature that nat- ural growth precedes the moral. Not that the work of reconstruction can lag far behind. Each step in this industrial advancement of the poor should, and must if the gain is to be permanent, be followed closely, and secured by a correspond- ing advance in moral and intellectual character and habits. But the moral and religious re- former should never forget that in order of time material reform comes first." And, we may add, that a final solution of the problem involves not merely reform but revolution, in. the sense of a complete change in the basis of our industrial relationships, a change from a competitive profit-seeking industrial system to a cooperative industrial commonwealth. 78 CHAPTEE V Competition, Nattjeal and Industbial "The evolution which has created man, which has engendered human society and developed civilisation out of barbarism, is not baaed upon the struggle for existence, but upon an opposed principle by which the struggle for existence is gradually sub- dued, a principle of peace rather than war, of co-operation rather than competition, of love rather than hate." — Hohhouse. "Society is bound up henceforth with the conflict, the in- tensification, and the diffusion of the Struggle for the Life of Others. This is the Further Evolution, the page of history that lies before us, the closing act of the drama of Mam. The Strug- gle may be short or long; but by all scientific analogy the result is sure." — Drmnmond. The fundamental and essential principle of tlie modern industrial order, that is, of Capitalism, is competition. Eemove competition and the whole system would be destroyed, or at least transformed. Hence anything which threatens to endanger this principle is by many almost in- stinctively discredited and opposed. Do the trusts suppress competition'? Then, they must be "smashed." Will Socialism destroy compe- tition? Down, then, with Socialism. This rep- resents the attitude of perhaps a majority of the people,with whom competition is almost a sacred 79 Work and Life principle which it is next thing to sacrilege to question or criticise. To appreciate the prevailing attitude with re- spect to competition it is only necessary to read the declarations of leading politicians in regard to its preservation, or its restoration iu indus- tries that have been partially or wholly monop- olised. Ex-president Taft, for instance, says that he ''would punish with all the severity of crimiaal prosecution every attempt on the part of aggregated capital through illegal means to suppress competition."^ Senator Cummins says that, in his view, "the only path open to a justice-loving country is the preservation of fair and reasonable competition. " ^ To Mr. Bryan all monopolies in private hands look alike ; they are "indefensible and intolerable" because they destroy competition. "At present," he says, "private monopoly is putting upon individual- ism an undeserved odium; and it behooves the individualist to address himself energetically to this problem in order that the advantages of competition may be restored to industry." ^ It would be easy to multiply quotations of a similar character. With such views reiterated by political lead- ers, it is not surprising that the rank and 1 Speech, Columbus, Ohio, Aug. 19, 1907. 2 "A Western Eepublican's View," Appleton's MagasAne, No- vember, 1907. 3 "Individualism versus Socialism," Century Magaeine, Vol. LXXI (April, 1906), p. 859. 80 Competition^ Natural and Industrial file of the two great political parties affirm tlie beneficence of competition and evince a Jack- sonian determination that it "must and shall be preserved. ' ' Another fact which helps to explain the al- most general predisposition in favour of com- petition is that the classical economists from Adam Smith to the present time have taught that competition is indispensable to progress. They have assumed perfect mobility of capital and labour, and, on the part of competitors, a complete knowledge of the market. With this wholly theoretical assumption they have been able easily to show that competition exerts a necessary regulative action in industry, and they have consequently claimed for it the sanc- tion of a natural (or divine) law. It is unnecessary to quote from these econo- mists, whose writings are familiar, or easily accessible, but I must be permitted to introduce here, as representative, a passage from a recent book by a distinguished French economist. Speaking of industry, and after discussing the effects of competition on production and value, he says: "The socialistic cry for regulation, whether by the State or any other artificial authority, is therefore entirely absurd. Eegula- tion is essential, but the two natural laws of Production and Value have long since joined to secure it. We need only refrain from throwing obstacles in the way of their regulative opera- 81 Work and Life tion ; or, if an artificial obstruction opposes that action, to guarantee their freedom in removing the obstruction, according to their own methods. Their action must be secured, but it is to be secured only bi/ refraining from all inter- ference." ^ What society needs, then, accord- ing to this conception, is absolute industrial liberty. Give everybody a fair field and no favour, and competition will usher in the in- dustrial millennium! But in spite of the confident declarations of politicians, and the teachings of the classical school of economists, there are two classes of persons with whom competition has lost some, or all, of its sanctity. These are the large capitalists on the one hand and the socialists on the other. Mr. Carnegie and Mr. Gary have de- clared, before a Congressional investigating committee, that in the steel industry competition is dead. Mr. James J. Hill, who, we may sup- pose, would not brook competition in the rail- road business if he could help it, expressed the opinion before the same committee that "there will be competition just as long as the doctrine of the survival of the fittest lasts." It would perhaps be sufficiently accurate to say that the magnates of industry still believe in competition as applied to consumers, and to unorganised labourers. The latter especially, they think, 1 Molinari, "The Society of To-morrow," New York, 1904, p. xlvii. Italics by the author. 82 Competition, Natural and Industrial need the spur of competition. But with, respect to large units of capital, the waste and instabil- ity of prices occasioned by competition have become so obvious to those who control such units that, by legal combinations, pools, gentle- men's agreements, and the like, they seek to avoid it. So strong is the tendency among cap- italists to combine that it has been said, with truth, that "where combination is possible, com- petition is impossible." With the socialist, of course, competition has no sanctity whatever. He even fails sometimes to recognise its historic value. At all events he denies its rationality .as a principle of in- dustrial organisation, and strives for a co-oper- ative commonwealth. With these two exceptions faith in the benefi- cence of competition seems to be general. We are told that it is "the life of trade"; that it stimulates production and affects favourably both its quantity and its quaUty; that it is the test of efficiency ; that it lowers prices and tends to regulate them ; that it keeps open the avenues of opportunity and preserves individual initia^ tive ; and, finally, that it is a law of nature with which it is folly to try to interfere. A speaker at a recent meeting of the Western Economic So- ciety declared that, "if there, is one thing in the world that the government ought not to do it ought not to attempt to arbitrarily interfere with the natural laws of the economic and busi- 83 WorJe and Life ness worM, wMch are of divine origin. If all tlie congresses from now till doomsday should at- tempt to interfere with the laws of competition on the one hand and monopoly on the other, they would fail just as disastrously as if they should attempt to interfere with or alter the law of gravitation. Trade laws are just as immutable as natural laws in the physical world." ^ Thus the basis of all hope for a solution of the Social Problem of To-day in the conscious construction of an improved industrial order is removed. "We can only stand by and await the operation of the natural laws of trade. Such at least is the practical and sensible policy if the all but general faith in competition is well founded, that is, if competition is a natural law from the operation of which flow all the beneficent results claimed for it. But is competition a natural law "as im- mutable as natural laws in the physical world"? Those who contend that it is base their con- tention upon the universality of the struggle for existence among organic beings. By identi- fying competition with the struggle for existence its advocates derive for it a double sanction. This struggle, we are told, is a law of nature; competition is struggle; ergo, competition is a law of nature. And, again, the struggle for 1 W. T. Denison, assistant attorney-general of the United States, in a, talk on "The Proper Purpose of Regulatory Legis- lation." 84 Competition^ Natural and Industrial existence results in the survival of the fittest; competition is the struggle for existence ; ergo, competition results in the survival of the fittest. Such reasoning is fallacious unless competition and the struggle for existence are the same. That they are not the same becomes obvious if we consider carefully the meaning of the phrase, struggle for existence. "I use this term," said Darwin, "in a large and metaphorical sense, in- cluding dependence of one being on another, and including (which is more important) not only the life of the individual, but success in leaving progeny. Two canine animals, in a time of dearth, may be truly said to struggle with each other which shall get food and live. But a plant on the edge of a desert is said to struggle for life against the drought, though more properly it should be said to be dependent on the mois- ture. A plant which annua,lly produces a thou- sand seeds, of which only one of an average comes to maturity, may be more truly said to struggle with the plants of the same and other kinds which already clothe the ground. The mistletoe is dependent on the apple and a few other trees, but can only in a far-fetched sense be said to struggle with these trees, for, if too many of these parasites grow on the same tree, it languishes and dies. But several seedling mistletoes, growing close together on the same branch, may more truly be said to struggle with each other. As the mistletoe is disseminated 85 Work and Life by birds, its existence depends on tbem; and it may metaphorically be said to struggle with other fruit-bearing plants, in tempting the birds to devour and thus disseminate its seeds. In these several senses, which pass into each other, I use for convenience ' sake the general term of Struggle for Existence." ^ From this explana- tion of its use it should be clear that ' ' struggle for existence ' ' involves what is correctly known as competition — that is, the struggle of individ- uals (or groups) with individuals (or groups) of the same species, and with individuals (or groups) of a different species — and also the struggle of individuals, alone or in combination, against the physical conditions of life. It is obvious that this second form of struggle has nothing whatever to do with competition. And it is not only conceivable but to be ex- pected that among beings sufficiently intelli- gent there would be combination and perfect co-operation to achieve success economic- ally in this form of struggle, that is, in the struggle against nature. At all events, competition, that is, the wasteful strife of living beings with each other, might be conceived as entirely eliminated, and the struggle for ex- istence would still remain. There is no escape, indeed, from struggle. It is required by the yeiy constitution of things. And it is benefi- 1 "Origin of Spedea," sixth London edition, pp. 59, 60. 86 Competition, Natural and Industrial cent, for it is practically sjmonymous witH ac- tivity, which is the basis of all development. "Nature," says Goethe, "knows no pause in progress, and attaches her curse to all inaction." But with increasing intelligence the competitive form of struggle may and ought to be sup- planted by voluntary co-operation, for only by co-operation may the struggle against nature, against unfavourable physical and social con- ditions, be most effectively carried on. Struggle, then, or rather activity, is the law, and not competition. He who engages in the conquest of nature, of disease, of ignorance, of vice and of his own lower self will find all the op- portunity for struggle necessary to his own de- velopment without entering into the competitive strife of man against man. Competition is not an immutable law of nature. Eliminating from the struggle for existence the struggle against nature, there remains com- petition, and it may be freely admitted that, as the struggle is carried on among the lower forms of life, competition is the most conspicu- ous if not the chief element. This follows necessarily from the fact that these forms of life are endowed with marvellous powers of propagation, and exercise no self-restraint. They consequently press upon the food supply and a competitive struggle results. As Goethe expressed it, 87 Work and Life "Round her spindle with unceasing drone, Nature still whirls the unending thread of life. When Being's jarring crowds, together thrown^ Mingle in harsh inextricable strife." It is a fact, of course, that all organic beings tend to increase in a geometrical ratio. If none was destroyed, the progeny of a single pair, even of the slowest breeding, would soon fill the earth. Darwin reckoned that from a single pair of elephants, which are supposed to be the slowest breeders of all known animals, there would be produced, at the minimum natural rate of increase, nineteen million descendants in seven hundred and fifty years.^ It has been calculated that, begianing with two persons and supposing a doubling of the population every fifty years, "at the expiration of three thousand! years the whole surface of the earth, land and sea, would be covered with people piled one on top of the other eight hundred deep. " ^ Profes- sor Huxley introduced in one of his lectures a calculation showing that a plant which produces annually fifty seeds could cover every square foot of the land surface of the earth in less than nine years. Certain low forms of aquatic life increase with such amazing rapidity that, if none was destroyed, they would fill the ocean in a week. Thus all forms of life, high and low, are endowed with great powers of prop- 1 Op. oit., pp. 60, 61. 2 See Ely, "Introduction to Political Economy," p. 163. 88 Competition, Natural and Industrial agation. Nature pours into the arena in- numerable combatants, vastly more than can possibly be sustained, and, under sucb circum- stances, a competitive struggle for food and tO' perpetuate themselves inevitably results. Com- petition may therefore be said to be a biological law. It holds true among beings which have not sufficient intelligence to appreciate its waste- fulness, to restrain their increase, and to practise a higher economy. The competitive form of the struggle for ex- istence is, then, inevitable so far as creatures below man are concerned. And in this struggle, it is true, the fittest survive. But what are the fittest? As has often been pointed out, they are not always the highest types, but merely those best adapted to the circumstances of the particular time and place. It may so happen, and does often happen, that the circumstances are such as to favour the survival of a lower rather than a higher type. The parasite may drive out the paragon. In Paraguay, for in- stance, as we are told by Darwin, "neither cattle nor horses nor dogs have ever run wild, though they swarm southward and northward in a feral state." This is due to the prevalence in that country of a certain kind of fly which lays its eggs in the navels of these animals when first born, which results in their destruction. Thus cattle, horses and dogs are among the unfit in one region of South America, and among the 89 Work and Life fittest in another. Again, in equatorial Africa the tsetse fly, whose bite occasions the sleeping sickness, has depopulated whole regions qf fertile country. Beasts and reptiles, however, are found in great abundance. They are "the fittest" to the conditions which there prevail. And so everywhere, those who survive ia the competitive struggle for existence do not prove thereby that they are superior in any sense. "If our hemisphere were to cool again," says Huxley, "the survival of the fittest might bring about, in the vegetable kingdom, a population of more and more stunted and humbler and hum- bler organisms, until the 'fittest' that survived might be nothing but lichens, diatoms, and such microscopic organisms as those which give red snow its colour; while, if it became hotter, the pleasant valley of the Thames and Isis might be uninhabitable by any animated being save those that flourish in a tropical jungle. They, as the fittest, the best adapted to the changed conditions, would survive." * In the course of social evolution doubtless many tribes of men have succumbed to ferocious animals and venomous serpents. Certainly states posses- sing a "superior" civilisation have been con- quered by "inferior" peoples. In such cases a certain superiority may be claimed for the conquering race, — ^in numbers, in military prow- 1 "Evolution and Ethics and Other Essays," New York, 1899, pp. 80, 81. 90 Competition, Natural and Industrial ess, in hardihood or the like. But in an environ- ment fit only for a low type of beasts or men the lower will drive out the higher, unless the higher has the intelligence to transform the circumstances into fitness for its own survival. Despite the currency of the proverb it is de- monstrably untrue that always "the race is to the swift and the battle to the strong. ' ' "The unfit die; the fit both live and thrive. Alas, who says so? They who do survive! So, when her bonfires lighted hill and plain. Did Bloody Mary think of Lady Jane. So Russia thought of Finland, and her heel Falls heavier on the prostrate commonweal. So Booth of Lincoln thought, and so the High Priests let Barabbas live and Jesus die." The doctrine of the survival of the fittest, then, has no bearing upon the permanence of competition in industrial society or the desirabil- ity of its maintenance as a method of human progress. To say that "we shall have com- petition as long as the doctrine of the survival of the fittest lasts " is to frame a remark which ' ' sounds better than it senses. ' ' If the ' ' fittest ' ' meant the "best," such a statement would he relevant, but, as has been shown here, and as has been pointed out many times by others, it does not mean the best, hence the doctrine of the survival of the fittest has no ethical signifi- cance. It is no obstacle to the belief in the gradual substitution of co-operation for com- 91 Work and Life petition. Paraphrasing the language of Hux- ley, we may say that social progress means a checking of competition at every step and the substitution for it of co-operation, which may be called the ethical process; the end of which is not the survival of those who may happen to be the fittest, in respect of the whole of the natural conditions which obtain, but of those who are ethically best. "In place of ruthless self-assertion it demands self-restraint, in place of thrusting aside, or treading down, all com- petitors, it requires that the individual shall not merely respect, but shall help his fellows; its influence is directed, not so much to the survival of the fittest, as to the fitting of as many as possible to survive. It repudiates the gladiato- rial theory of existence. ' ' ^ It is curious that men will justify competition, and assert its necessity, on the ground of the struggle for existence and the survival of the fittest, and preach non-interference with Nature, when they are continually denying their theory in actual practice. Who believes in the doc- trine of non-interference as applied to the plant world? To rely there upon the doctriae of the survival of the fittest would be to let weeds take the corn. It must have been an early advocate of the virtues of competition who expected to gather grapes from thorns and figs from this- tles! What is cultivation, domestication, art- 1 Op. (At., pp. 81, 82. 92 Competition^ Natural and Industrial ificial selection, education, legislation, but a negation of the general doctrine that Nature is a complex of fixed laws with which it is folly: to try to interfere? A natural law is nothing but a descriptive formula expressing a tend- ency, and what tendency in the organic and social world may not be to some extent coun- teracted by intelligent action? Man does not rely upon the doctrine of the survival of the fittest and let the weeds take his com, or expect to obtain from unrestrained competitive strife the highest type of horse or cow, hog or sheep. No more should he hope for the highest type of man, or of civilisation, to be produced through competition. "The prevailing idea is wholly false," says Professor Lester F. Ward, "which claims that it is the fittest possible that survive in this struggle. The effect of competition is to prevent any form from attaining its maximum development, and to maintain a certain com- paratively low level of development for all forms that succeed in surviving. . . . Wherever com- petition is wholly removed, as through the agency of man in the interest of any one form, great strides are immediately made by the form thus protected, and it soon outstrips all those that depend upon competition for their motive to advancement. Such has been the case with the cereals and fruit trees, and with domestic animals, in fact, with all the forms of life that man has excepted from the biologic law and 93 Work and Life subjected to tHe law of mind. The supposed tendency of sucli forms to revert to their original wild state, about which so much has been said, is simply their inability when re- lianded to their pristine competitive struggle to maintain the high position which they had acquired during their halcyon days of exemp- tion from that struggle, which they can no more do than they can attain that position while subjected to it. Competition, therefore, not only involves the enormous waste which has been described, but it prevents the max- imum development, since the best that can be attained under its influence is far inferior to that which is easily attained by the artificial, t. e., the rational and intelligent, removal of that influence." ^ From the foregoing discussion it should be clear that, so far as industrial competition is concerned, we can get little comfort out of the doctrine of the survival of the fittest, unless industrial conditions are wholly satisfactory. The richest men, the economically successful, are not necessarily the best men. As things now are, success too often depends upon hard- heartedness, cruelty, ruthless aggression, ani- mal cunning, unscrupulousness, and other in- tensely egoistic traits which are foreign to the nature of the highest type of man. "But, at all events," it may be said, "in- 1 "Psychic Factors of Civilisation," Boston, 1901, pp. 260, 261. 94 'CompeUtioiij Natural and Industrial dustrial competition acts upon the producer by; stimulating his powers and capacities of pro- duction. Hence the survivors of such com- petition are at least the most effective pro- ducers." Not even so much can be admitted without qualification. It is true that effectiveness, say in production, is au. element in successful competition, and sometimes a man succeeds in business, that is, drives out his competitors, solely by producing superior goods, or the same goods at a lower cost. But that is by no means the rule. Quality of goods, or cheapness, is not the end the business man is aiming at. His primary object is profits, and profits depend upon price of goods and quan- tity of sale. The stimulus of competition op- erates, therefore, not merely upon quantity and quality of goods produced, but upon methods of sale. Of two producers of equal ability the cheapest seller will survive. Now the arts of sale consist largely in the mis- representation of wares through expensive ad- vertising, "aggression," detraction of rivals, and other "tricks of trade" which have noth- ing to do with improved production. Profits are reaped through adulteration of goods, by; the substitution of shoddy material, by con- vincing customers that you "have something just as good," when you have not, even in larger proportion than by honest striving for 95 Work and Life improved quality or lower cost of production. Say what you will, modesty, sympathy with the unfortunate and the weak, altruism, strict honesty, are not the qualities at premitun in successful industrial competition. And when competition is successful, that is, when a rival is "put out of business," society sustains a loss. For if the defeated rival owes his defeat merely to a more scrupulous conscience, the standard of business ethics is lowered; and even if he be a less efficient producer his services are lost to society until he readjusts himself, during which time his successful com- petitor tends to reap a monopoly advantage. In either case society woxdd be better off through intelligent co-operation. Neither the best men, then, nor the most efficient producers are the certain product of industrial competition. In piratical condi- tions competition produces pirates ; and, under certain circumstances, parasites are the inevi- table results. From no possible point of view may the advocates of competition derive a sanction for it, or assurance of its perpetuity, from the doctrine of the survival of the fittest. Descending, then, from the theory of the general beneficence of industrial competition, may it not be claimed for it that it operates to the advantage of one class of society par- ticularly, namely, the consumers? It is a pop- ular conception encouraged by certain econ- 96 'Competition t Natural and Industrial omists, and by a superficial consideration of the facts, that competition lowers prices. That is, indeed, sometimes, perhaps usually, the first result. But competition usually leads to combination, and when combination is ef- fected the losses which the competitors sustained during their struggle for the market are usually recouped, and thencefoi-vrard prices may be maintained at a higher level than before in order to provide profits on a larger mass of capital. This is well illustrated in the effort of a municipality to secure a cheaper service from piiblic utilities by encouraging competition. A city has, let us say, a gas- plant. This plant is capable of supplying all the service required, but prices are too high. A franchise is granted to another company, another plant is built, competition results and prices are lowered. But it is not long until the plants are united under one management, or there is an agreement as to prices, and thence- forward prices must be sufficiently high to bring the usual return upon twice as much cap- ital as is really needed to supply the service. But there is another and more general reason why competition does not permanently lower prices. Industrial competition, like that which takes place among the lower orders of Hfe, is extremely wasteful. Consider the vast amount of advertising, the armies of salesmen, the superfluous middlemen, the high rents 97, Work and Life paid for favourable locations, all of wMch, for the most part, merely determine wlio sliall sell the goods, and from which buyers get no benefit whatever, and then reflect that all these expenses must be added to the cost of produc- tion and covered by the selling price. This forces prices upward, and if competition is "aggressive," and that is the kind that is pop- ularly approved, they wiU be pushed to the point beyond which buyers will cease to pur- chase in large quantities, and that is all that monopoly can do. The tendency of prices under aggressive competition is to the same point as under monopoly. This point has been so well brought out by Prof. Simon N. Patten that I can do no better than to quote his words. "The effect on prices of the modern system of competition encouraging waste," he says, "is the same as that of a monopoly or combination. Prices are forced to the upper limit, above which they could not go without discouraging trade. When the conditions of a business are such that a large expenditure of money in attracting customers, will give a mer- chant an advantage unless his rivals follow his example, the general use of extensive advertis- ing, travelling salesmen, expensive stores in fashionable localities, raise prices far above the cost of production. The small dealer who has not the capital to increase his trade by such expensive means moves his store nearer 98 CompeUtion, Natural and Industrial to the homes of the customers, so that the ad- vantage of locality may in a measure coun- teract advantages possessed by richer rivals. A multitude of small stores spring up to profit by the advantage of locality, and prices are separated still farther from the cost of pro- duction to allow the dealer to pay his rent and secure his living from the small stock of goods demanded by the locality. When all these causes get in full operation, and each rival re- sorts to new expedients to draw the trade of others to himself, there is no limit to the rise of prices except at the point beyond which the people will cease to purchase in large quanti- ties. So we have practically the same limit to the rise of prices for a system of wasteful com- petition as for monopolies. If they follow their own interest monopolies cannot force prices higher than a system of waste can. To the public as buyers, the effect on retail prices is the same under both systems. All is gotten from the buyer it is possible to do without pre- venting a sale. In the leading professions the same influences are at work by which the price of services is forced to the upper limit. The tendency of law- yers ' fees is not towards the real cost to the lawyer in time and energy, but towards the point beyond which people would cease to em- ploy them. And with the doctors the same tendencies are even more easily seen. A young 99 Work and Life doctor could not rely upon cheapness to attract business. He must in some way get into the good graces of a part of the public, take an active part in some church, or society, and in other ways get himself into notice. But all these means of securing trade cost money, and he must make his bills large enough tp get it all back and leave enough for a good living. The old formula about competition reducing prices has yet so strong a hold on the public that they do not appreciate the changes in the business methods which are now in common use. They think that a multitude of competitors in any trade is a safeguard to low prices. Yet these rivals find that passive cheapness brings little trade. Costly aggressiveness brings ten customers where cheap passivity secures one. Doubtless the public desire cheapness, but they are willing to pay dearly to those who aid them in the search. When dealers recognise these facts and organise their business on an aggressive basis, real cheapness becomes a thing of the past, and prices, in such a business, ap- proximate what they would if they were con- trolled by a trust or an intelligent monopoly. There are, then, good reasons why we should think of the tendencies of wasteful competition towards higher prices as having the same re- sults upon prices, and following the same laws that monopolies do. When we wish to ascertain the effects of present economic conditions we 100 Competition, Natural and Industrial will arrive much more nearly the trutli if we think of a multitude of our industries and trades as monopolies than if we adhere to the old hypothesis that an intense competition in them brings cheapness. The law of monopoly gov- erns the price of drugs just as much as it does of sugar. The retail price has no more tend- ency to conform to the lowest cost of their pro- duction than the price of sugar does imder the present trust. The difference is merely that in the latter case the increased price passes into the hands of the refiners, while in the former it is wasted by the large number of persons who get a living by handling and distributing them. The public think that aggressive competition brings them cheap goods, because they assume that the reduction of price is a necessary re- sult of the action of self-interest in the sellers. But the action of self-interest may lead a dealer to attract trade by expensive means as well as by mere cheapness. In which way his self-interest will prompt him to act is determined not by himself but by the social condition of the people with which he deals. If the people are easily misled and their standard of living does not require all their productive power, aggressive action on the part of the dealer counts for more than mere cheapness. The real limit of the upward movement of prices is fixed by the ac^ tion of buyers and not of sellers. Prices cease 101 Work and Life to rise at tliat point above wMch the demand of the public would rapidly fall off. For this reason the upper limit of prices is the same for aggressive competition as for intelligent monop- oly. The increased net revenue is the control- ling motive of both competing sellers and monopolies. The price is fixed by that buyer who, if he ceased to buy, would reduce the net revenue of the seller." ^ Thus does Professor Patten assail the pre- vailing conception that competition lowers prices. His logic is supported by the plain facts of industrial life. Take, for instance, our 1 "The Principles of Rational Taxation," published by the Philadelphia Social Science Association, 25 pp. 8°. Quoted by Prof. Lester F. Ward, "Psychic Factors of Civilisation," pp. 269-271. See also, Sidney A. Reeve's "Cost of Competition," p. 96. He says: "The wide-spread delusion that business- eflFort consists in keeping prices as low as possible merely shows how universally the profit-seekers have been able to deceive the public, often including themselves. The constant aim of all business-endeavor is undoubtedly to make prices seem low. Owing to the opposition of the other dealers in the same line it is undoubtedly also the aim to make prices actually as low as possible, — if the word possible be interpreted as mcEUiing 'consistent with getting the maximum of profit transferred from the community to their own pockets.' Even if 'quick sales and small profits' be the motto which leads to success, it none the less remains an incontrovertible fact that if the seller thus derives a greater net income he has drawn from the pockets of the people a greater tax for his support; nor does the fact that he has handled more goods ofi'set the loss, for it will be developed later that the total amount of goods thus handled to the community cannot be increased by any such means. What he has handled his competitors have failed to handle; and if the quick sales have been artificially stimu- lated by extra expense in advertising, for all this, too, the buyer must pay, and the cost to the community is thus doubly increased, although trebly disguised," 102 Competition, Natural and Industrial recent experience with tlie Standard Oil Trust. Belief from the tyranny of this oppressive monopoly was to he ohtained, it was generally thought, only hy its dissolution. Thus was com- petition to be restored. Well, the Trust was dissolved, and with what result? An increase in the capital stocks of the former constituent companies, "to adjust the capital so as to make it commensurate with the value of the assets," it is apologetically explained, and an increase in the prices of many oil products ! "Since the dissolution of Standard Oil," said the Chicago Record-Herald of Feb. 8, 1912, "the price of many of the products has been advanced. It is the theory that the old subsidiary companies dissociated and in theoretical competition are entitled to make larger profits than when they were all owned by the old holding concern." And so, it seems, in this case at least, that even "theoretical" competition has the effect of raising prices! We have now seen that, contrary to the pop- ular impression, industrial competition does not result in a permanent reduction of prices ; that it does not secure the survival of the most effi- cient producer ; that in no case does competition necessarily result in the survival of the highest type ; that it is only one element in the struggle for existence; and, finally, that to ground sanc- tion of industrial competition on the doctrine of the struggle for existence and the survival of the 103 Work and lAfe fittest is to evince a gross misconception of the process of organic evolution. But competition is a fact of nature and of industrial society. It is reasonable to suppose that it could not have persisted without an important use. What, then, is the real function of competition? and how long will it persist? As already pointed out, the basis of aU de- velopment is activity. "Without it there could be neither life nor evolution. Now, it is ob- vious that among brutes, and among men, com- petition, if conscious, may be a stimulus to action. If it should suddenly cease as a natural phenomenon the activity of many men, and most animals, would be greatly diminished, and progress, of course, retarded. Among the lower animals the only barriers to increase are defeat and destruction. They know nothing of self-restraint. A want impels to immediate ef- fort to gratify it. Interference on the part of another animal naturally results in conflict. Strife is the normal condition, and "the lust of battle" an advantage. Here competition reigns supreme. It is inevitable, and, although waste- ful in the highest degree, it supplies a powerful stimulus to action. The function of competi- tion, then, is to secure action on the part of unintelligent creatures, creatures incapable of appreciating the waste of energy due to com- petitive strife, and of combining and co-opera- ting to prevent it. It is nature's method of 104 CompeUtion, Natural and Industrial stimulating action until mind is sufficiently de- veloped to supplant it by higher motives. Competition, then, is indeed an incentive to action. Does that not prove its necessity and permanence in industrial society? Not any more than the stimulating quality of anything else proves its necessity and permanence. Fear is an incentive, but we are trying to drive out fear. Goethe ascribes to Satan the exact virtue claimed for competition. In his explanation in "Faust" of the existence of this personage, the Lord says, "All too prone is man activity to shirk. In unconditioned rest "he fain would live; Hence this companion purposely I give, Who stirs, excites, and must as devil work." But as modem theology, reflecting advancing social intelligence, has practically discarded the devil, so, let us hope, that in time the same intelligence may eliminate competition as a nec- essary means of social progress. Competition is an incentive to action, but so is a bull-dog after a tramp ! There are other incentives, and higher. The mere desire to beat somebody does not compare favourably, from an ethical stand- point, with interest in the welfare of wife and children, the joy of the artist, the scientist's love of truth, the delight of the mechanical in- ventor, publicity and honour, to say nothing of the desire to promote the public good, which 105 Work and Life has been shown again and again to be among the most powerful of incentives.^ The necessity of competition, then, can be ad- mitted only with respect to the brute creation in a state of nature, and to such men as do not respond to higher motives. As to its perma- nence, it is significant that those who argue for competition as a necessary incentive usually affirm it with respect to others, not to them- selves. They at least have risen above it! If any man of action has "risen above" compe- tition, then, of course the possibility may be asserted of all. To deny it is to disregard past evolution and the influence of education. Com- petition will gradually disappear, then, as higher types of men are developed. But society will not wait upon individual development for 1 It should be observed that while competition is an incentive it is not itself a "force." The dynamic element in industrial action is fear of want, envy, desire for profit, the "instinct of workmanship," or some other form of feeling. The distinction is not without a diflFerence and an importance. Toynbee de- clared ("Industrial Revolution," p. 87) that competition "is neither good nor evil in itself; it is a force which has to be studied and controlled." "Competition or the unimpeded pres- sure of individual on individual," he says, "has been from the beginning a great force in societies ; but of old it was hindered and controlled by custom; in the future, like the other great physical forces of society, it will be controlled by morality." ("Industrial Revolution," p. 250.) Other economists in their analysis of the industrial system give to competition a place similar to that taken in physical science by the force of gravi- tation. And so to declaim against competition is made to ap- pear as vain as to decry the forces of nature. But the analogy is not well-founded. Competition is not a force, it is an inci- dent of human action. Instead of being of itself dynamic it is frictional. 106 Competitiorij Natural and Industrial the removal of competition. As soon as it be- comes entirely awake to its excessive wasteful- ness and brutality it will put an end to it, even at the risk of weakening, in certain cases, indi- vidual interest and incentive. If society were as intelligent as the average individual, it would not tolerate the waste and anarchy of industrial competition for a single week. We may say, then, that competition, in the natural order, is a necessary incentive to action. Its necessity in industrial society diminishes, however, with advancing intelligence, and ends the moment individuals are sufficiently respon- sive to higher motives to' secure the activity necessary to progress. For the appearance and strengthening of these higher motives we may safely rely upon association, assisted by education and other civilising influences. It is useless to deny, as some do, the possibility of changing human nature. Man has emerged from the brutes. His present nature is as much a product of evolution as he is himself. Its past evolution is a promise of continuing change. Development here as elsewhere may be consciously effected. "Much may be done," says Huxley, "to change the nature of man himself. The intelligence that has converted the brother of the wolf into the faithful guard- ian of the flock ought to be able to do something towards curbing the instincts of savagery in men. ' ' And Kant gave expression to a similar 107 Work and Life view. *'It is delightful to reflect," lie said, "that human nature will always be growing better through education, and that this can be reduced to a form adapted to mankind. This opens up to us the prospect of the future hap- piness of the human race." The argument, if it is to be so dignified, that human nature is not susceptible to change, tells against the "regulation" of competition, as well as against its elimination. Such an argument, however, is really not worth discussing. In social po- lemics the dogma, "You cannot change human nature," is the last refuge of a defeated op^ ponent. It is usually admitted by those who assert the necessity and permanence of competition that it should be raised to higher levels. "Compe- tition," says Prof. Eichard T. Ely, "is a per- manent feature of human society. It begins with the lowest orders of animals and continues its action among the highest orders of men. But it continually mounts to higher and higher elevations, and means rivalry for ever better and better things. We leave behind contests for bare subsistence to engage in contests for noble prizes of the mind and for opportunities for social service. "We can, then, never allow competition to cease." ^ The context shows that Prof. Ely means industrial competition 1 "Evolution of Industrial Society," New York, 1903, pp. 144, 145. 108 Competition, Natural and Industrial should not be allowed to cease. His conclu- sion is a nonsequitur. For, if competition "mounts to higher and higher elevations," it may rise above the industrial plane. This is indeed the view of Hobson, the English econ- omist, who says that the philosophic defence of progressive socialism is "that human progress requires that one after another the lower ma- terial animal functions shall be reduced to rou- tine, in order that a larger amount of individual effort may be devoted to the exercise of higher functions and the cultivation by strife of higher qualities." "AH progress," he says, "from primitive savagedom to modern civilisation (consists) in the progressive socialisation of the lower functions, the stoppage of lower forms of competition and of the education of the more brutal qualities, in order that a larger and larger proportion of individual activity may be engaged in the exercise of higher functions, the practice of competition upon the higher planes, and the education of higher forms of fitness. . . . Under socialised industry progress in the industrial arts would be slower and would ab- sorb a smaller proportion of individual interest, in order that progress in the finer intellectual and moral arts might be faster, and might en- gage a larger share of life." ^ To me, however, it seems that to admit the 1 J. A. Hobson, "The Evolution of Modern Capitalism," New York, 1902, pp. 364, 365. 109 Work and Life obvious fact that competition may and should be raised to higher and higher levels is to give up the case for our competitive system of in- dustry. For when competition is raised so high that it becomes rivalry in "social service" it is no longer competition ; it is transformed into co-operation. To talk, then, of elevating the plane of competition is to admit my contention that strife of man against man is not per- manently essential to progress, and that because it always involves a wasteful expenditure of energy, the elevation of competition by elimina^ ting waste, and supplying worthier objects, must inevitably result in emulation and co-operation. Suppose, for instance, an individual raised to the moral level at which he responds to the scriptural injunction, "Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than them- selves. ' ' Such a man would naturally emulate, but not compete. Suppose, again, two competitors in industry. Their object is profits. To succeed each tries to defeat the other. The thwarting or crippling of one is an advantage to his opponent. Now suppose the object of their rivalry transformed from profits to the public good. Then, if, for any cause, one is rendered less effective the other's aim is to that extent defeated. Each desires the maximum promotion of social well- being. Neither would interfere by any of the 110 Competition, Natural and Industrial methods known to competition to diminish the efficiency of the other. For by so doing he would deny his interest in the public good, or defeat his own purpose. On the contrary, each would help the other. That is to say, they would co-operate, not compete. As differences of opinion here may depend largely on definitions, it will be well to discrim- inate as carefully as possible between compe- tition on the one hand and emulation and co-operation on the other. First let us en- deavour to fix the meaning of competition. In the application of the word competition to the plant world it is used in a figurative sense, just as the word "struggle" is used in the same application. We may therefore leave out of account the so-called competition of plants, and confine our attention to competition in the ani- mal and social world. In this realm competition is the rivalry of individuals or groups for a sat- isfaction which only one competitor may enjoy. The food or sensual gratification which one ani- mal secures is forever lost to another who was striving to obtain it. The primary definition of competition, according to the Century Die^ tionary, is "the act of seeking or endeavouring to gain what another is endeavouring to gain at the same time ; common contest, or the striv- ing for the same object." Industrial competi- tion, then, must be defined as the effort of men to obtain an economic advantage which all in 111 Work and Life pursuit of it may not enjoy. In the case of competition among labourers the object is wages; with employers it is profits. In as much, however, as industry is controlled and directed by the employing class, the chief end of industry is profits, and the whole industrial process may be described with fairness as a struggle for profits. If to this definition of industrial competition it is objected that it brings into undue prom- inence its selfish phase, the answer is. All com- petition is essentially selfish. That is its condemnation. Its motto is * ' Thou shalt starve, ere I want. ' ' No matter how much competition is "regulated" by forbidding the practice of objectionable methods, the selfishness of it re- mains. Prof. Ely asks, "If I knock you down with a sand bag and rob you is that to be called competition? If I fit out an armed ship and prey upon the commerce of the world, is that competition?"^ What is it then? Are these not examples of "unlawful competition?" Rob- bery and piracy have been inevitable incidents of "free" competition. Declare such practices criminal, and punish those who resort to them as robbers and pirates, and you have not changed the essential nature of competition. The eternal and insuperable objection to com- petition, from the moral standpoint, is the selfish state of mind involved, as waste is the 1 Op. oit, p. 127. 112 Competition, Natural and Industrial insuperable objection to it from the economic standpoint. Of course, it is not to be denied that high motives and generous action are often opera- tive in the industrial world. Business men are sometimes philanthropists. But it would be naive to assume that business is philanthropy, and define industrial competition as friendly emulation. We must regard it as what it really is, namely, the strife of men, or groups of men, consciously or unconsciously carried on, with the purpose of economic gain; success being dependent upon the crippling or defeat of rivals. Emulation, benevolence, sympathy, love, are all to be found in the industrial world, but they exist in spite of competition and not because of it. Their presence there should not blind us to the essential nature of industrial competition. Turning now to emulation, I mean by that word the struggle to approach, equal or surpass another in merit or, in the field of industry, in productivity. It is a strong motive power in production, but it differs essentially from com- petition, since its object is the satisfaction of achievement. It involves no waste, and is therefore consistent with a maximum produc- tion at a minimum expenditure, or the law of economy. An emulative industrial order would be vastly superior to the present competitive system, but it would not be the highest, for the complete moralisation of emulation, as of com- 113 Work and Life petition, -would inevitably result in industrial co-operation. To transform competition and emulation into industrial co-operation it is only necessary to raise the end of action from "better and better things" to the best, namely, the public good. Co-operation means, literally, of course, working together. To work together, in the sense im- plied, men must have a common object. It may be noble or ignoble. But always to work to- gether is more effective than to work against. The highest end of action is the social welfare. The highest type of men must be animated by the desire to promote it. Hence, if intelligent, and they must be or they would not be the highest type of men, they must co-operate. For the highest industrial efficiency is possible only when there is common effort for the common good. Co-operation, therefore, as we shaU see more clearly in tHe next chapter, is the goal of industrial evolution. Deep down in biological evolution originated the parental and the gregarious instincts, the "struggle for the life of others," that is, mu- tual aid, or co-operation. These softened and lessened competition within groups, and proved to be an advantage in group competition and group survival. Co-operation in its origin, then, has exactly the same natural sanction as com- petition; it originated spontaneously as an aid to survival. But while out of competition 114 Competition, Natural and Industrial sprang the self -regarding virtues, the other-re- garding virtues owe their origin to co-operation. "Important as the struggle for existence has been and still is," says Darwin, "yet as far as the higher part of man's nature is concerned, there are other agencies more important."* Co-operation, therefore, is the more signifi- cant fact in human evolution. It exerts by far the stronger socialising and moralising influ- ence. If progress continues it seems inevitable, therefore, that competition must grow less and less and co-operation more and more. It might seem that in the upward march of living things those in which mind first appeared would at once see the unnecessary expenditure of energy involved in industrial competition, and combine to prevent it. So they would if mind, at its appearance, had been fully formed. But intelligence began in the simpler feelings and advanced only by slow degrees. What we should expect to find in history, therefore, is a gradual displacement of competition by co-op- eration. And that is exactly what we do find. Every step in civilisation has meant a modifi- cation of the competitive struggle. Men talk of "free" industrial competition, but there is no such thing on any large scale. To restore absolutely free competition we should have to go back to the pre-social stage of human de- velopment. Combinations in productive enter- 1 "Descent of Man," second edition, p. 618. 115 Work and Life prise and trade will continue because of their economy, and complete economy cannot be at- tained without thorough voluntary co-operation. It is sometimes said that even with socialised industry competition would be necessary to de- termine individual efficiency. The most that can be admitted is that socialised industry with a competitive test of efficiency would be a great advance upon the present order. But to say that such a test is ideally necessary is to mis- conceive the real meaning of competition. In a large firm, for instance, each employe is as- signed his work by the conscious direction and control of the manager. If the manager be wise he does not set his men to trying to defeat each other, or to get one another's jobs, in order to determine fitness. He encourages emulation, not competition. What is he there for but to determine efficiency by actual achieve- ment? Conscious selection does not necessarily involve or imply competition. In the selection of men for the giant corps of Frederick the Great stature was the primary test. Five-foot men could hardly be said to compete for a place with men of six feet four. Men were chosen merely because they were tall. Under indus- trial co-operation what a man could actually do would be the rational determinant of his place and duty. So while competition might long remain in socialised industry, it is not a necessary factor. 116 Competition, Natural and Industrial Its necessity will decline witli the increase of intelligence and public spirit. Full and volun- tary co-operation is the ideal. To appreciate the truth that the ideal state must be industrially co-operative, it is only nec- essary to try to conceive what a state would be like in which com^petition were "free," and the business maxim, "Every man for himself," were perfectly applicable. The terrible dis- aster in the Iroquois theatre in Chicago a few years ago affords a suggestive illustration of what we might expect. It shows competition "at its best I" Two thousand people were sit- ting quietly waiting for a performance to begin. Suddenly there was a cry of "Firel" They leaped to their feet and there began a competi- tive scramble for the exits. There was ' ' a fair field and no favour." "Every man for him- self!" The weak, — ^men, women and children, — ^were knocked down and trampled under foot. To help another meant to lose one's own chance of escape. The result was that six hundred people lost their lives. Co-operation would have saved them all. In his poem entitled, "Darkness," Byron sets forth the results which would inevitably follow the extinction of the light and heat of the sun. The poem is too long to quote in full but, if not familiar, it should be read in this connection. "War," he says, 117 Work and Life -"which for a moment was no more, Did glut himself again: — a meal was bought With blood, and each sate sullenly apart Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; 'Tjut two Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies: they met beside The dying embers of an altar-place. Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things For an unholy usage; they raked up. And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath Blew for a little life, and made a flame Which was a mockery; then they lifted up Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld Each other's aspects — saw, and shriek'd, and died. Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Famine had written Fiend." And so, as the final result, -"The world was void. The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonleas, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless, A lump of death — ^a chaos of hard clay." It was a strange conceit of Byron, the ex- tinction of the sun, and the portrayal of the inevitable consequences is one of the most awful descriptions in literature. But the results would be practically the same if sympathy and love were blotted from the human heart, and the principle of competition were left to reign supreme. Enmity, death and darkness would surely follow. Euskin spoke the truth when he said, " Government and Co-operation are in all 118 Competition, Natural and Industrial tMngs the La-ws of Life; AnarcKy and Compe- tition, the Laws of Death," It is vain to tali of a solution of the Social Problem of To-day by restoring, or even whUe preserving, indus- trial competition. ng CHAPTER VI CO-OPBEATION THE GoAL OF INDUSTRY "The real battle of our time — ^the advance wUch is still 'against the wind' — is that rather in the direction of union and of organisation, and it is in this direction that hope now lies." — Mackenaie. "Instead of regarding the public control of the industries of the people as something to be dreaded, and avoided, and ob- structed, we should really look upon it as a goal to which we should push on with all possible speed, consistent with safety and prudence." — Anon. When we look into the evolution of industry, or into the business of the modern world, one of the first things to strike the eye is the effort of individuals to promote economy. The business man improves his organisation, perfects his ma- chinery, and utilises waste products, all for the purpose of promoting economy from the stand- point of his own financial interests. The prin- ciple of his action is maximum return for minimum expenditure. The same desire and the same principle of action lead him to unite with others in the same business as his own in a partnership, corpora- tion or trust. The modem trust with its economies in buying, transportation, manage- ment, advertising and the Uke, is the highest 120 Co-operation the Goal of Industry manifestation of business economy thus far at- tained. The modern tendency is toward perfect economy in individual and corporate enterprise. Economy is the law of busiuess. The principle of economy, however, is capa- ble of the widest application. It runs through all forms of human activity, all social evolution. Intelligence always seeks the highest return for energy expended. The evolution of intelli- gence, individual or social, is characterised by increasing economy. Economy is the law of mind. Now, the social mind has begun to exercise an industrial function. We have social man- agement of certain industries, social regulation of others. The more conscious and intelligent society becomes the more must it approach economy in its own industrial efforts, and the more must it demand that individual economies conform to social economy. But as has already been illustrated (p. 109) separate individual economies, no matter how perfect, can never result in perfect social economy. The word economy is here used, of course, in the broadest sense. As popularly understood, economy is not always a praiseworthy end. This is because popular thought runs on finan- cial economy, and this is often identified with saving. This sometimes becomes niggardli- ness, penuriousness, stinginess — a false econ- omy. It defeats its highest end. "There is 121 Work and Life that seattereth and yet increaseth ; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tend- eth to poverty." In the broader sense economy means the most effective use of all available resources in the attainment of a desired end. In the exercise of social economy the end is ideal social weU-being — Life. The practical so- cial question, therefore, with reference to any industrial practice or policy is: "What is or "will be its effect in the matter of promoting in- dustrial economy? remembering always that the chief element in this economy is not ma- terial wealth, but the lives and happiness of men. Assuming, then, the continuous development of the social mind, the drift of industry must necessarily be toward a socially organised and socially directed industrial system. The com- plete absence of industrial friction, the reduc- tion of labour to that which is socially necessary, and the performance of that labour with the minimum expenditure of energy and with the slightest possible interference with the devel- opment of human life, that is, perfect industrial economy, is the goal of industrial evolution. Such economy, however, is inconceivable with- out co-operation, for without the co-operation of men perfect industrial efficiency is manifestly impossible. Moreover, this co-operation must be voluntary. Compulsion would involve a loss of energy in supervision and in the potential serv^- 122 Cd-operdtion the Goal of Industry ice of those who labour under it. Forced labour is never as efficient as free labour. Increasing economy, then, means necessarily the development of the co-operative type of man — the man who can combine with his fellows to promote the common life, the man who will sub- mit to be organised, subordinated and disci- plined for the sake of humanity, just as a member of an orchestra, as Amiel has suggested, submits himself to be organised, subordinated and disciplined for the sake of his art and for the sake of producing a masterpiece. The co- operation of modern industry is gradually de- veloping such a type. The education of the family, the school and the church tend in the same direction. The trades unions are devel- oping the spirit of co-operation through their collective efforts for mutual benefit. The spirit of co-operation is the inevitable outcome of friendly association. The tendency of the fu- ture, so far as the individual is concerned, pro- viding always that progress continues, is not toward the "Blonde Beast" of Nietzsche, the man of blood and iron, but toward the type of man who is wise enough to be simple, strong enough to be inoffensive and great enough to be humble. "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." Voluntary co-operation, however, implies fel- lowship, brotherhood, love. The tendency, therefore, is toward an ethical, as weU as an 123 Work and Life industrial organisation. It must be ethical to be economical, in the real sense of that word. Love is both cause and effect of co-operation. Whatever promotes the one encourages the other. It would be sheer cowardice to avoid the apparent sentimentality involved in dSclaring that love is the chief ingredient of the solvent of all industrial problems. There is nothing else that will bring employer and employe to- gether, nothing else that will produce a harmo- nious industrial order. A perfect economy cannot be conceived without it. "He that lov- eth another hath fulfilled the law." But co-operation in the spirit of love is not all that is essential to industrial economy. There must be direction of industrial forces. This direction must be by self -chosen, and con- sequently irresponsible individuals, or by so- ciety itself, acting through elected agents. The former method, the method of to-day, is capable of producing a high economy, but it is not ideal, owing to the multiplicity of ends to be served. The ends of industry must be unified. They must become public instead of private. Ideal economy can come, therefore, only through the application of the democratic principle in the industrial world, as it has already been applied in the political world. The application of the principle, however, is not alone sufficient. De- mocracy is not an end, but a means. If in- dustry were wholly democratised, economy 124 Co-operation the Goal of Industry ■would still depend Tipon tHe degree of adminis- trative capacity shown by popular representa^ tives. A society that will elect boodlers to office, and wink at corruption and graft, im- agines a vain thing, if it supposes that the extension of democracy to industry would bring immediate relief from industrial difficulties. The success of democracy, political or indus- trial, must depend upon the spirit and admin- istrative capacity of men chosen by a majority vote. Education and a high sense of civic re- sponsibility are therefore necessary to make industrial democracy effective. The drift of industry, then, is toward an ideal economy in which co-operative labour under democratic direction is necessarily implied. This drift, obvious enough now even to the cas- ual observer, will become more and more pronounced as men grasp the ideal here sug- gested and begin to ask themselves : How shall we act, individually and collectively, so as best to forward the realisation of this ideal? Let me condense the foregoing argument. The industrial ideal must be a perfectly ra- tional order, otherwise it would not be ideal at all. A rational industrial order must manifest itself in industrial economy, which is but the manifestation of reason on the industrial plane. Perfect industrial economy, however, is impos- sible without voluntary co-operation, which in turn is dependent on the co-operative spirit or 12a WorJc and Ldfe love. Finally, tlie effectiveness, tHat is, tHe economy of voluntary co-operative effort, de- pends upon intelligent and unselfish direction of industry, which, can be secured ideally only by means of intelligent democratic control. Hence the drift of our industrial system is toward a perfected industrial democracy, that condition of society in which life is the end of labour and labour is the means of life ; in which capital is accumulated and employed, not to exploit la- bour, but as the indispensable means of render- ing labour most effective; in which everyone does his best at what he can do the best ; and in which material resources are husbanded, and labour is directed, with but one end in view, namely, the attainment of the maximum quan- tity and quality of human life. In thus formulating the goal of industry we have inadvertently set up an ideal of industrial society, and we may so far anticipate the dis- cussion of the tenth chapter of this book as to point out the desirability, even the neces- sity, of such an ideal. A little reflection ought to show that it is of the utmost importance to try to conceive what industrial society ought to be, and what it must become if progress is to continue, and to realise that a rational indus- trial ideal is one of the most practical things that can engage our thought. The ideal is al- ways practical. It implies and demands a plan. Its attractive power is no less dynamic than the 126 Co-operation the Goal of Indiistry propelling power of drcTimstances. There are few who do not recognise this in relation to in- dividual action — for instance, in education and in business. "Without some ideal there is no aim, and nothing to serve as a standard of com- parison. But social ideals are even more prac- tical than individual ideals, since they involve a larger control and direction of energy. The cri- terion by which existing social conditions and institutions and every proposed method of social amelioration and reform are to be tested, is some conception of a social ideal. The precision and finality of the test depend upon the scientific accuracy of this conception. Science, therefore, has no higher or more important function than the formulation, on the basis of existing facts and conditions, of social ideals involving the highest possibilities of life, and which may be progressively realised. This is especially true, owing to the importance of the economic factor in social development, with respect to industry. Industrial science, however, has been slow to recognise the legitimacy and importance of this function. Industrial ideals, it is said, are chi- merical, Utopian; science should have nothing to do with ideals. But it is just because in- dustrial and social ideals have hitherto been fantastic that science should rescue them from the region of fancy and establish them in the region of fact. Such ideals will always appear, and will influence the actions of men. Whether 127 Work and Life they shall be ignes fatui leading us astray, or beacons set up with, care and foresight, science alone can determine. It is folly to say that in- dustrial science should have nothing to do with ideals. What may be industrially is one of the most important objects of thought. It gives the highest significance and consequence to every discovery of what has been. Until an indus- trial ideal which from its scientific character will compel general acceptance is formulated, political economy will deserve to some extent the accusation of sterility. It is then a deplorable fact, due in part to this conception of the limits of science, that as yet we have no generally acceptable and accepted industrial ideal. This lack is the source of in- estimable mental perplexity and political and industrial friction. We have so-called individu- alists and coUectivists, anarchists and socialists, with every shade of intermediate opinion, and a consequent confusion of tongues. The Ee- publican political party, for instance, cries " stand pat," " let well enough alone," im- plying that the majority of voters have no industrial ideal at all, or that the ideal has been already attained. The Democratic party harks back to an antiquated and now im- possible era of free competition. Progres- sives demand social and industrial justice, but appear to have no definitely formulated social or industrial ideal. The Socialists alone 128 Co-operation the Goal of Industry proclaim sucli an ideal as the object of a scientific political programme. They have an ideal, to be sure, but it is as yet the ideal of comparatively a few. It may be said, too, that many of the socialists are themselves so enamoured of their ideal, that they seem un- willing to take the intei^ening steps necessary to attain it. We are, in fact, a nation, prac- tically without an industrial ideal. This fact should awaken anxious solicitude. "Where there is no vision the people perish. ' ' But whether the industrial ideal be con- sciously conceived or not, the drift of industry is toward collectivism. The social regulation of industry, its progressive socialisation, is in ac- cord with the principles of evolution, biolog- ical and social. It reveals itself in the history of industrial progress. It is demanded by the human spirit which, as it evolves in intelligence and purpose, wiU more and more seek release from the toil and moil of present industry by humanising the machine, by doing away with unnecessary labour and by transforming neces- sary industry into art. This means social or- ganisation for the economy of time and energy, and social control for effectiveness. It may mean also a certain sacrifice of initiative by the individual. But what if it does? Industry is not life. If it were, men would do well to resist any movement which might tend to destroy, or even to restrict, individual initiative in the field 129 Work and Life of toil. Industry is but a phase of Kfe, and by no means the highest phase. It consists of those activities of mind and mnscle that are necessary to provide the material means, the physical basis, of life. If it can ever be made to assume right relations to life men will gladly surrender individual initiative there, if need he, for the far more necessary and desirable initia- tive in the higher realms of life. But before industrial democracy can come, in anything but form, the spirit of democracy must grow. External changes in the industrial envi- ronment are necessary. They can do much. But no external change can be permanently ef- fective without moral and psychological changes in men. The industrial millennium implies the principle "all for each and each for all." In how many is the spirit of co-operation suffi- ciently developed to make that the working principle of their lives? It implies universal brotherhood. How many are, at heart, a brother to men of all degree and of all colour? When men advocate, in a spirit of hate, an in- dustrial and social order founded upon love, they should reflect upon their own unfitness for the conditions they seek to promote. The words of Jesus have here a certain application : "Not every one that sayeth Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom; . . . but he that doeth the will." . . . "Many will say in that day: Have we not prophesied in Thy name; and in 130 Co-operation the Goal of Industry Thy name done many wonderful works; then will I profess unto them, I never knew yon; depart from me, ye that work iniquity." Industrial democracy is spirit as well as form. But if industrial democracy is dependent upon the spirit of men, the spirit is also de- pendent upon the form. The form must come to give freedom to the spirit, and unless all signs fail, the form is coming. "The great de- velopment of industrialism," says ex-president Boosevelt, "means that there must be an in- crease in the supervision exercised by the gov^ emment over business enterprises." Where is this supervision to cease? That depends upon your theory of government. If govern- ment is an external and a paternal institution higher than the people, then we may well be jealous of its encroachments in the field of in- dustry. But if the people are supreme, and government but the agency through which the will of the people is manifested and accom- plished, then a hard and fast line cannot be drawn. For industry, after all, is a social function, and there is no limit to the right of the people to regulate their own activities, and manage their own affairs, except the limit of expediency, and this will vary from time to time. It will gradually extend as popular in- telligence and administrative capacity extend. It will extend by leaps and bounds if the greed 131 Woric and Ldfe and insolence of corporations and trusts are not restrained. At all events, if progress may be assumed, the form of industrial democracy is coming. If violently, then woe worth the day! It will mean a reaction that will hurl us backward down the steep declivity up which the race has so slowly and so painfully climbed. But if gradually and peacefully, as men are prepared for it in spirit, intelligence and administrative capacity, it will mean the dawn of a day of progress beyond anything that has entered into our imaginations to conceive. The unrest- ing spirit of man aspiring to become a god, will have broken and cast off the chrysalis of industrial materialism in which work is the end of life, to soar with unfettered wings in the glorious realms of art, where life is the end of work. "Bliss will it be in that dawn to be alive. But to be young will be very heaven." 132 CHAPTER Vn Living and Getting a Living "The world is too much with us ; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!" — Wordsworth. "Since for every idle person, some one else must be working somewhere to provide him with clothes and food, and doing, therefore, double the quantity of work that would be enough for his own needs, it is only a matter of pure justice to compel the idle person to work for his maintenance himself." — Ruskm. Whoever reflects upon tlie industrial life of the modem world will be struck by the fact that it absorbs so much of the time, thought and energy of the people. The labouring man rises in the morning, eats his breakfast by lamp- light, and hurries off to his work. He exhausts his bodily powers in production, and returns to his home, if he is fortunate enough to have a home, late in the evening. To prepare himself for the work of another day he must find re- cuperation in long hours of sleep. The first sound of the morning that reaches his con- sciousness is perhaps that of the factory whistle calling him to work. Thus the life of the 133 Work and Life labourer is almost a continuous round within the circle of industrial life. And the worst of it is that oftentimes this round is purely mechanical. The labourer is set to tend, or co-operate with, a machine. He must observe certain rules, work by certain patterns, do just as he is told. This makes it practically impossible for him to develop an all round character, or to live in any wide mean- ing of that term. "The vastly preponderating mass of the working-class of this country have no more freedom in their daily work, no more scope for the development of individuality of character, than the clanging and clattering machinery with which they are co-operating." If we turn to a consideration of the so-called "business man" we find that he is similarly limited in his activities by the demands of in- dustrial life. He works long hours, is im- mersed in business cares, ages before his time, and dies before he really begins to live. "If conduct," in Matthew Arnold's phrase, "is three-fourths of life," business with the average business man is four-fifths or nine- tenths of it. Business is the dominant interest of the world. The press is its agent. The messages of governors and presidents are al- most exclusively devoted to matters concerning it — the tariff, ship subsidies, the conservation of our material resources, railroad regulation, internal commerce and foreign trade. 134 Living and Getting a Living Now it is the pride and boast of those who sing the praise of the modern industrial order that so much of the attention, energy and in- telligence of men is devoted to business, and "to the perfection of the arts of material pro- duction through mechanical means." But, when we have once grasped the true relation between industrial and social welfare, between work and life, it seems rather to indicate our peculiar barbarism; for the time, the intelli- gence, the enterprise and the genius of men should be progressively released from industry to be devoted to science, literature and art. "The progress of mankind is, under one as- pect," said Herbert Spencer, "a means of liberating more and more life from mere toil, and leaving more and more life available for relaxation — for pleasurable culture, for es- thetic gratification, for travel, for games." ^ The present absorption of so much time, thought and energy in industry is thus the great hin- drance to the real object of life, namely, to live. For, it cannot too often be insisted upon, the true object of life is not work or wealth or power or fame. All these are means to the higher end of living. To the great end of living, all labour and learning, manners and morals, science and art, education, religion, even character itself, are means. Such expressions as "art for art's sake," "truth for truth's sake," "science for X "Autobiography," Vol. I, p. 478. New York, 1908. 135 Work and Life science' sake," etc., imply that there are human pursuits which are ends in themselves. But in reality there is no such pursuit. All are means to the great end of Life. The man who mistakes any of these means of life, such as work, wealth or knowledge, for life itself, and makes it the object of his existence, is as fool- ish as the miser, who craves the dollar for its own sake, and not for what it will buy. "By far the most serious, as well as the most, general, error which results from not deliber-j ately asking which are means and which are; ends, and contemplating their respective| worths," says Spencer in the passage pre-; yiously quoted, "we see in the current ideas about the relation between life and work. Here so profound is the confusion of thought which has, by a combination of causes, been pro- duced, that the means is mistaken for the end, and the end is mistaken for the means. Nay, so firmly established has become the inversion of ideas, that that which, looked at apart from the distorting medium of custom, is seen to be a self-evident error, is, by nearly all, taken for a self-evident truth. In this case their sacred and secular beliefs unite in misleading men. 'Work while it is called to-day, for the night Cometh when no man can work,' is a scriptural injunction which, in the most unmistakable way, implies that work is the end and life the means. And daily conversations show that the in- 136 Living and Getting a Living dustrialism of modem life has so strongly as- sociated the ideas of duty and labour, that a man has come to be regarded as the more praiseworthy the harder he toils, and if he re- laxes greatly in his activities, it is tacitly as- sumed that some apology or explanation is needed. But the whole thing is a superstition. Life is not for work, but work is for life ; and very often work, when it is carried to the ex- tent of undermining life, or unduly absorbing life, is not praiseworthy, but blameworthy. If we contemplate life at large in its ascending forms, we see that in the lowest creatures the energies are wholly absorbed in self-sustenta- tion and the sustentation of the race. Each improvement in organisation, achieving some economy or other, makes the maintenance of life easier, so that the energies evolved from a given quantity of food more than suffice to provide for individual and for progeny. Some unused energy is left. As we rise to the higher types of creatures, having more developed structures, we see that this surplus of energy becomes greater and greater, and the highest show us long intervals of cessation from the pursuit of food, during which there is not an infrequent spontaneous expenditure of unused energy in that pleasurable activity of the facul- ties we call play." Life, then, and not work is the summum honum. The enlargement of life is the con- 137 Work and Life seious aim of all worthy effort, and tlie inspir, ing motive of every worthy soul. "When the Great Teacher of mankind proclaimed the ob- ject of his mission in the world, he said, "I have come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly." And the same great thinker gave expression to a profound economic as well as ethical truth when he said, "For what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his life, or what shall he give in exchange for his life." That living is the true end of life seems ob- vious enough, and yet there is abundant evi- dence to show that it is a truth not generally apprehended. The mad scramble for wealth, in which human dignity, moral refinement and esthetic appreciation are sacrificed, shows that some men are disposed to regard wealth as the end and life as the means. The number of men who needlessly narrow, exhaust and shorten their lives in business or manual labour, the unthinking commendation of such men, and the widespread indifference to, even approval of, industrial conditions which make such narrow- ing, exhaustion and shortening of life a common- place necessity, are plain indications that other men make work the end and life the means. This is all a mistake. It is fundamentally wrong and mischievous. It puts the cart before the horse. Man is the measure of all things, and whatever detracts from the real dignity of 138 Living and Getting a Living man's life, whatever shortens and degrades it, we must learn not to respect and cherish, but to scorn and destroy. Nothing is worthy to endure that does not in some way contribute to true living. This plain and simple truth, that living ia the end of life, commonplace though it be, if applied to modern industrial conditions, would be nothing short of revolutionary. It contains enough dynamite to blow our present industrial system to atoms. Suppose that to- morrow life should be made the end of all labour, that nothing should be done, no articles manufactured, no commodities produced, that would not in some way make life laetter worth living — ^what a radical change would have taken place! Many industries would be abolished, because their products are life- destroying rather than life-giving. The problem of unemployment would be, to be sure, for the moment intensified. Many other difficulties: connected with the re-distribution of labour would arise. And yet how many problems of work and life would be solved or eliminated! Most of these problems are due to a misdi- rection of labour and to the fact that the work of the world, modem competitive industry, is organised and conducted for private profits, and not primarily for life, or social well-being. Industry to-day demands of the labourer, ia the office and in the workshop, his maximum pro- 139 Work and lAfe ductivity. But in most occupations maximum productive activity is fatal to the maximum quantity and quality of life. This is why the demand of labourers for shorter hours in the more arduous occupations is just and reason- able. With the labourer it is a question of life ; with the employer, a question of profits. The chief interest of the employer in regard to the labour day is its relation to output, but the la- bourer must consider it from the standpoint of his own well-being and that of his family. So, too, the struggle of labour for a higher standard of living explains its opposition to many things which at first sight seem fair enough — piece- work, for instance. Piece-work often amounts to the use of the extraordinary man to set for the average man a pace that kills. From the standpoint of profits it is a success, but from the standpoint of life it may not always be so ad- judged. We must not lose sight of the fact that the object of Capital is profits; the object of Labour is life. This nonidentity of the ends of these two great factors in production which, as we have seen, occasions the Social Problem of To-day, should be taken into consideration in all the disputes that arise between them. For we may as well recognise and admit that there will be no end to these disputes, no permanent solu- tion of the problems of industry, until well-be- ing is made its object, until life is exalted above work, living above getting a living. 140 Living and Getting a Living But what are we to understand by living? The word implies two meanings. When we speak of getting a living, the thought, of course, is of the necessaries and comforts, con- veniences and luxuries, which are sought and employed to sustain life. That is its objective meaning. Marshall mentions the following things as necessary to a standard of comfort for the working man: "a well drained dwelling with several rooms, warm clothing, with some changes of underclothing ; pure water, a plenti- ful supply of cereal food, with a moderate al- lowance of meat and milk, and a little tea, etc. ; some education and some recreation, and, lastly, sufficient freedom for his wife from other work to enable her to perform properly her maternal and household duties."^ But this "standard of comfort" is merely one of the conditions of Life. "When we speak of living as the end of life, we have reference to that free exercise and development of the facul- ties which brings happiness, as well as to those external circumstances which are necessary to the highest usefulness and enjoyment. Ruskin declares that there are three material things that are essential to life. No one knows how to live, he says, till he has got them. These are, "Pure air. Water, and Earth." There are also, he says, "three immaterial things," not only useful but essential to life. No one knows 1 "Principle of BcMiomies," Vol. I, Bk. I. Chap. I. 141 Work and Life how to live until he has got them also. These are Admiration, Hope, and Love.^ Perhaps we may best approach a conception of living, as the term is here used, by an analysis of the requirements of Life. The first requisite of complete living is health. Health is the basis of achievement, and conse- quently of happiness. "Give me health and a day," said" Emerson, "and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous." It is "God's best gift." Able men are, as a rule, able-bodied, men. There are exceptions of course, — Spen- cer, Carlyle, Pope, Pascal, Stephens — but a congress of the world's great men would be a fine exhibition of physical manhood. As to the relation of health to happiness, there are few who do not know by experience that the feelings respond to the condition and tone of the body. The word ill is used to designate a state of mind as well as a physical condition. The idea of health, then, is essential to a true conception of living. The second element in this conception is work. No man can really live who has nothing useful to do. Idleness depresses the mind, and leads to ennui, which is painful. Men who think it is a disgrace to work try to relieve them- selves of the pain of ennui by indulging in sports and games, and thus secure the bodily activity necessary to physical health. But to I 'Tors Clavigera," I, p. 67. 142 Living and Getting a Living tone up the mind as well as the body nothing is as good as labour. Self-respect and the happiness which comes from a consciousness of the good-will of others are only possible in the highest sense to the man who is performing his share of the necessary work of the world. And the work that men need is not merely the intellectual form of it. They should do some- thing involving muscular exercise. Euskin and Tolstoi were right in insisting that every man should engage for a part of each day in some form of manual labour. "There is virtue yet in the hoe and the spade," says Emerson, "for learned as well as for unlearned hands." Such work tends to keep a man in health. It is men- tally and morally invigorating. Dulce far niente, sweetly doing nothing, may be an ideal state for the drone, but it is no true elysium for him who is worthy to be called a man. The idea that work is necessarily irksome can be en- tertained only by those who have never engaged in it, or by such unfortunate persons as have been obliged to work at that which possessed no interest for them, or under conditions which deprived them of the joy of work. Work is es- sential to life. Work, however, may be easily carried to ex- cess. With the labouring man it usually is. The interests of life are not all industrial. There are intellectual, artistic, social and other interests. If these are to enter into life, there 143 Work and Life must be some freedom from toil. Leisure is as essential to life as work. Without leisure man is a slave. Continuous toil means ex- istence, not life. Without some freedom, some spare time, a man is likely to be a stranger to literature, music, science and art. When these are lacking, life is empty. Hence true living demands a shortening of the labour day, so that men may avail themselves of all the sources of enjoyment and happiness. "People talk and write as though the work a man does for a living must always be the one great, all-absorb- ing interest of his life. . . . The whole of life, in their conception, is working for a living, and men's whole being, or as much of it as mental and physical endurance will permit, must al- ways be given up to a struggle for mere bread and butter. In any really satisfactory scheme of social life there should always be not only a working-day in which every man may very ad- vantageously to himself submit to disciplinary restraint and organised co-operation with his fellow men, but also a large margin of leisure time." Leisure, however, is only opportunity. If spent in idleness and dissipation it degrades instead of ennobling. It is a blessing only to those who know how to use it. Now the use of leisure depends on education. All men, therefore, should be educated so that they can use their leisure to promote their lives. There 144 Living and Getting a Living sHould be developed in them a love of nature, the power to appreciate and enjoy music and art, and a taste for good literature. With these the labourer has inexhaustible sources of happi- ness. His leisure is transmuted into strength. He is no longer a mere labourer : he is a Man. And so the artist, as Emerson says, "when he has exhausted his materials, when the fancy no longer paints, when thoughts are no longer ap- prehended, and books are a weariness, — has al- ways the resource to live." The man who does not feel his heart leap up when he beholds a rainbow in the sky, who is not moved by a con- cord of sweet sounds, to whom a primrose is only a primrose, or maybe a weed, and a gor- geous sunset only an indication of the weather of to-morrow, has not learned how to live. He has not been truly educated. Education, then, is also essential to our conception of liv- ing. It is obvious that neither education, nor lei- sure is possible without material means of existence. Nor can the bodily wants be sup- plied without food, raiment and shelter. We must not omit wealth, then, from our conception of life. Wants without wealth means misery. Love of the beautiful demands means to bring us into contact with the beautiful. What a blessing it would be if all could share the knowl- edge of science, the beauty of the mountains, and the sea, the delights of travel, the inspira- 145 Work and Life tion of historic places and the glories of art as revealed in the great museums of the world. This would be possible if all had wealth and leisure. Wealth, then, is another element in our conception of life. Finally, no man can be said really to live who does not enjoy the blessing of the most intimate human relationships. Family life, association with brothers and sisters, conjugal, parental, filial love are all essential to the highest kind; of life. Spencer in his * ' Autobiography, ' ' from which I have already quoted, speaks of his mis- fortune in having no brothers and sisters, and of his longing to have his affections called out. "I have been in the habit," he says, "of con- sidering myself but half alive; and have often said that I hope to begin to live some day." "O du lieber Gott, friends!" cries Eobert Louis Stevenson, after mentioning good health, and two to three hundred a year as desiderata. "Life, I repeat, is energy of love IHvine or human; exercdsed in pain, In strife ajid tribulation; and ordained. If so approved and sanctified, to pass. Through shades and silent rest, to endless joy." To live, then, in anything like the ideal con- ception of it, is to enjoy good health, to spend a portion of one's time in useful and health- ful labour, to have a share of leisure for mental improvement and the enjoyment of the beauty 146 Laving and Getting a Living of nature and art, to have an education and means of travel, without which such enjoyment is impossible, to have and deserve the respect and confidence of one's fellows, and, finally, to enjoy the companionship and sympathy of those we love and who love us. Health, wholesome and healthful employment, dignified rest, educa- tion, friendship and love — these are the main requisites of true living. They suggest with sufficient clearness what we mean by "living." ^ This ideal of living, some may say, is im- possible of general attainment. So it is, at present. But it is worth while to remember that it is reasonable and just, and that nothing short of it will bring permanent peace in the iudustrial world. The goal of social evolution is life for all, and not a condition in which some work that others may live. To paraphrase the words of ex-president Eoosevelt in regard to international relations, "The goal set before all mankind is the attainment of the peace of justice, of the peace which comes when each man is not merely safeguarded in his own right to a high order of living, but scrupulously rec- ognises and performs his duty toward others in their efforts to secure that right for them- selves." So much for living. Let us now turn to the 1 An analysis of Life, practically the same as the foregoing, may be found in the author's book on the "Art of Education," pp. 207-210. 147 Work and Life question of getting a living. This is a question in the practical art of getting wealth. Wealth, though only one of the elements of complete living, is obviously an essential element. No wealth, no life. In some manner all who live must get a living, using the word as equivalent to the material means of life. Now aside from 'downright theft or robbery, there are three methods by which a living may be obtained. They are the parasitic, the predatory and the productive methods. The parasitic method of getting a living is most clearly exemphfied by the pauper and the idle rich, though these by no means exhaust the list of social parasites. In the animal and plant worlds a parasite is any organism that lives upon the body of another. So a social parasite is one who gets his living from society by appropriating by virtue of law or custom, or personal relationship, the products of the labour of others, and without resort to fraud, theft or violence. The social parasite need not nec- essarily be idle, but he produces nothing. He may live in rags or in broadcloth, but econom- ically he is a mouth without hands. Society as a rule condemns him, but it does not recog- nise the true extent of the parasitic class. It includes the tramp, the vagabond and the pau- per in its conception, but is slow to recognise that the idle rich belong in the same category. Said Professor Cairnes, the celebrated econ- 148 Laving and Getting a Living bmist, in a passage often quoted, "It is impor- tant, on moral no less than on economic grounds, to insist upon this, that no public benefit of any kind arises from the existence of an idle rich class. The wealth accumulated by their ancestors and others on their behalf, where it is employed as capital, no doubt helps to sus- tain industry ; but what they consume in luxury and idleness is not capital, and helps to sustain nothing but their own unprofitable lives. By all means they must have their rents and their in- terest as it is written in the bond ; but let them take their proper place as drones in the hive, gorging at a feast to which they have contrib- uted nothing. ' ' ^ Economically, then, the pau- per class and the "leisure class" come to the same thing. Both classes exemplify the par- asitic method of getting a living. This method of getting a living carries its own penalty. Parasitism always results in de- generacy. "Atrophy is both more rapid and more complete among parasites than elsewhere. Plants lose their roots and even their leaves. Among animals, the points of contact with the world are minimised in proportion to the degree of parasitism ; the nervous system tends to dis- appear so completely, indeed, that in some species the individual ends in being little more than a sac with reproductive organs. In the world of human life, parasitic degeneration is, 1 "Some Leading Principles of Political Economy," p. 35. , 149 Work and Life above all, cerebral. The intellectual faculties are the first to atrophy from disease; physical degeneration is a later and almost a reflex process."^ This general law is plainly applicable to so- cial parasitism. Dependence brings helpless- ness. The strengthening and ennobling effects of useful labour are lost to social parasites. It is consequently impossible for them to de- velop in themselves the highest character. At the same time they prevent others from attain- ing their highest development. For these rea- sons, if for no others, they should be frowned upon by society. They deserve and will receive the contempt of all right-thinking people. At present, however, some forms of parasit- ism are not only respectable but honourable in the highest degree — royalty, for instance. "How ludicrous would be the account given by some second Micr omegas," says Spencer, "who looking down on the doings of these little beings covering the Earth's surface, told how, to some member of a particular family, they assigned vast revenues and indulgences beyond possibility of enjoyment, ascribed beauty where there was ugliness, intelligence where there was stupidity, traits of character above the average where they were below; and then daily surrounded these idealised persons with 1 "Parasitipme Organique et Parasitisme Social, par Jean Massart et Emile Vauderyelde," Paris, 1898, pp. 101, 102. 150 Ldving and Getting a Living flattering ceremonies, accorded to them exten- sive powers, and treated with, contumely any who did not join in the general worship. Hold- ing that true loyalty consists in honouring that which is intriasically honourable, and show- ing reverence for a worth demonstrated by con- duct and achievement, I feel at present, as in the past, irritated by such observances as those which lately showered multitudinous wedding presents, and contributions of money from countless men and women, on two young people who, enjoying luxurious lives, have neither ben- efited their kiad nor shown the least capacity for benefiting them."^ The second method of getting a living is to obtain by fraud, force or cunning, exerted within the pale of law, a share of the product of labour. It is the method of the grafter, the exploiter, the business man who divorces his business from morals — of all who take from those who make. The essential difference be- tween those who follow this method and those who employ the method previously spoken of, is the difference between the animal parasite and the bird or beast of prey. The first de- pend upon others ; the second prey upon others, hence they are called "predatory." Those who live by the predatory method are not idle. On the contrary they are often among the most active members of society. They may be dis- 1 "Autobiography," Vol. II, pp. 542, 543. 151 WorJe and Life tinguished from the real agents of production, however, by the limitation of their economio function to the matter of altering to their own advantage the distribution of the wealth pro- duced by others. They work, but as it is some- times said, they work the workers. Instead of doing something, they "do" somebody 1 It is obvious that those who live by the pred- atory method are not ethically superior to so- cial parasites. Economically they are alike in this, that neither produces. And yet through- out history the predatory life has been regarded as dignified and honourable. The destructive' soldier, the plundering baron, the exploiting' capitalist, have ever been the men most admired and emulated. "What man to-day does not feel complimented if you speak of his aquiline or' leonine qualities, or who would not get mad) and want to fight if you should liken him to a] sheep or a dog? The lion, the typical beast ofl prey, is still the symbol of our ideal type o^ manhood, and predaceous beasts and birds ariej the emblems of nations. Only one of the gre^tJS teachers of the world has had the wisdom tcfc perceive, and the courage to proclaim, that' the truly ideal qualities are those of the inofn fensive domestic animal. Of course the historical explanation of thg dignity and honour attaching to the predator^ life is simple enough. It is the same as that] of the contempt in which the life of labour has] 152 Ldving and Getting a Living always been held!. Productive labour, at first imposed upon the slave, because more irksome' than hunting and fighting, has brought with it, even into our time, the taint of slavery. Hence to live upon labour, rather than by labour, has always been a badge of respectability. But when we examine the real nature of predation, and its economic results, we see that it differs, from robbery in no respect save its legal sanc-^ tion. The same instinct and perception, how-, ever, that led society to outlaw the thief and the robber must sooner or later induce it to take the same step in regard to all who live by prey- ing upon their fellows. Things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each other. The third method of getting a living is by actually producing the commodities upon which one lives, or their equivalent, or by rendering adequate services in exchange for them. It is illustrated by all who with mind or muscle are engaged in the process of creating utilities. This is the method of productive labour. It is the only method that has even a relative justification. It works no injustice to others. It develops character, individual and social. Society has been slow to recognise its peculiar ethical merits, but the time must come, if right is to prevail, when it alone will be stamped with the mark of social approval. Society, then, may be roughly divided into three classes, determined by the several meth- 153 Work and Life ods of gaining a liveliliood. Tliese are the producers, the plunderers and the parasites. The line between these classes is vague and ill- defined. A man may belong to each of them at different periods of his life. Indeed he may belong to all three at once. Some of his wealth may be produced by himself or earned, and some appropriated parasitioaUy or predatorily. But usually men follow generally one method or the other, and are hence susceptible to classi- fication on the ground here suggested. Eco- nomic function, the mode of getting a living, is indeed the true basis of a scientific division of society into economic classes. Mr. Ghent, in his book entitled "Mass and Class," proceeds upon this ground and divides society into the following classes: Wage-earning producers, self-employing producers, social servants, traders, idle capitalists, and retainers. This classification only represents a more refined analysis. The significant fact is that there are such classes. It is useless to deny their exist- ence. It is absolutely necessary that they be recognised if we are to arrive at an explanation of the present conflict of opinion in regard to questions of capital and labour. For as long as these different methods of getting a living are followed, and as long as the classes arising from them con- tinue to exist, there will be differing and con- flicting views of the problems of life and labour. 154 Uwing and Getting a Living Nothing is clearer than that a man's economic and ethical views are affected by his mode of life. If you wish to know what a man thinks of a given problem, study his interests. Inter- ests determine views more frequently than they are determined by them. , Why is it, for instance, that the employer is likely to be suspicious of trade unions, to oppose the raising of wages, the reduction of the hours of labour, and the closed shop, while the la- bourer may be expected to favour them all? It is not because either is ignorant or dishonest. It is because each belongs to a specific class having specific functions and iaterests, and the thought of each is affected by these interests. The employer may persuade himself that the particular thing which he opposes — the union, picketing, the closed shop — ^is *'tm- American," "subversive of the fundamental principles of our government," a "violation of liberty," etc., and may swell with the soothing conviction that he is the chanipion of human freedom, but the fact will remain that self-interest is, as a rule, his primary motive, and that his profits are the sacred ark of the covenant which he so zeal- ously defends. So the labourer may plume himself on his superior morality, and denounce the villainy of "profit-grinding," the social harmf nines s of the open shop, the degradation of piece-work, and the like, but it will be none the less true that behind it all stands the wage 155 Work and Life scale wHcli is the primary object of Ms jealous care. Does it follow that both are equally right? Not at all. Both may be equally honest, but which one is right depends upon which one stands for the permanent interests of society, which one represents most nearly the ethics that are destined to become universal. Now it so happens that, as has been pointed out, the productive method is, of all the forms of getting a living, freest from the element of spoliation. The ethics of the producing class must therefore most nearly approximate the final form. The two great moral convictions that have arisen and gained general acceptance among productive labourers have been de- scribed by Mr. Ghent as the ethic of usefulness and the ethic of fellowship. The ethio of use- fulness he defines as the conviction that work of social value is the only title to income, that when no social service is rendered no reward is due, that the man who will not work is not entitled to eat. The ethic of fellowship or brotherhood is the conviction of the duty of friendly association and collective effort for mutual benefit. These two ethics are funda- mental and permanent. They must become uni- versal, for they are necessary to the highest kind of living. The method of getting a living that violates either of them must be supplanted ; for the hope of the world is that the life of each 156 Living and Getting a Living will so enlarge and be so ordered that in getting a living no one will in any respect interfere with the rights of others to life, or prevent his own physical, mental, moral and esthetic develop- ment. Ethical considerations, then, demand that the various economic classes of society be merged into one, the producing class. This would lead to identity of interests, which alone can briag unanimity of opinion, and as a consequence in- dustrial peace. It is obvious that this whole matter is primarily a question of creating or transforming opinion, a question of education. Somehow men must be made to see and feel that to live by the labour of others is unjust, degrad- ing and dishonourable. They must be made to realise not merely the respectability of pro- ductive labour, but also that without it as an element of life no man can really live. Living will then become in part the result, as well as the true object, in getting a living. Thus, by inculcating sound ideas with respect to living, and getting a living we shall approach a final solution of the Social Problem of To-day. 157 CHAPTEE Vni The Social Peoblem as a Municipal Peoblem "Yet moments have been, when in thought I saw That city rise upon me from the void, Populous with men : and phantasy would draw Such portraiture of life, that X have joyed In over-measure to behold her work, Kich with the myriad charms, by evil unalloyed." — Arthur Henry Hallam. "In the particular circumstances of a given age or nation, there is scarcely anything, really important to the general in- terest, which it may not be desirable, or even necessary, that the government should take upon itself." — J. 8. Mill. ' It will perhaps clarify tlie conception of tlie Social Problem of To-day ia its general aspect, as that conception lias been set forth in pre- ceding chapters, if it is applied to a smaller group than society, or the nation. "We propose therefore in this chapter to narrow the condi- tions of the problem to those of a city or muni- cipality. What, then, is the Social Problem of To-day in its municipal aspect? The municipal problem, as popularly under- stood, is the problem of good government. It might be stated in this form : Given the condi- tions of a municipality, what form of govern- 158 As a Municipal Prohlenv ment is best applicable to it, and how may tbe adoption of that form be secured? But from our viewpoint the civic problem is something more than the problem of municipal govern- ment. It is the problem of municipal life. The good and evil of a municipal administration are usually measured in terms of the dominant in- terest of the municipality. If these interests were religious, that form of government would be pronounced good which best subserved the interests of the church ; if industrial, that form which best promoted the economic activities of the people. Now, the dominant interests of the average American municipality are industrial and commercial. It is a complimentary remark to say of a city that it is on a "boom." The demand is, therefore, for a business administra- tion, and in more senses than one. Any form of administration of municipal government that drives away business is regarded ipso facto as bad. But the business interests of a city are not its only, nor indeed its chief, interests. They are important, they are fundamental ; and certainly no thinking person would propose or advocate a system of municipal government which would wantonly disturb them. But still business is not sacred; or, if so, it is not as sacred as human life. Therefore, the business which does not contribute to the health and happiness of the people ought not to be con- tinued. The problem with respect to certain 159 Work and Life forms of business is not how to promote them, but how to render them imnecessary. Life is the test of all things — of conduct, of govern- ment, of institutions, of all human activity, in- dividual or collective. Whatever contributes to the quantity of life, no matter how apparently iasignificant it may be, is dignified and noble, is sacred, is divine. On the other hand, what- ever detracts from, or is injurious to, life ; what- ever abates one jot or one tittle from true living, no matter how ancient and respectable it may be, is undignified, unworthy, ignoble. The true object of a city's consideration, and of all its agencies, is the life of its citizens. The social problem, as presented by a municipality, there- fore, is the problem of promoting, improving, enlarging, the life of the people. It is the prob- lem of general civic well-being; not a problem of wealth, but of weal. It is the problem of utilising all the powers of man and nature for the good of all the inhabitants of the city. It may be stated as follows: Given a municipal population with its physical, mental, and moral development, its wealth and its natural re- sources, how can it best utilise these powers for the attainment of the most complete general well-being? The problem so stated may indeed be considered a problem of government, pro- viding we understand by government not an external and more or less independent factor pf control, but a ready servant of the people, 160 As a Municipal Problem the active agency througli which, the collective will of the municipality finds expression. The problem may be conceived also as a problem of the development and economy of force. This is the character, indeed, of every civic or social problem. The negative phase of the municipal problem is the mxmicipal waste of wealth and life. The thought of municipal waste is usually limited to the extravagances and corruption of municipal authorities ; and this in itself consti- tutes an enormous leakage and a grave problem. The rapidly accumulating indebtedness of our cities, the increased annual cost of such gov- ernment as we have, have been noted with alarm by the students of municipal administration. There is not a city in the country, perhaps, which does not pay more for its government than the service is worth ; which does not sup- port supernumerary or superannuated politi- cians — public functionaries who are either barnacles pure and simple, or rudimentary mu- nicipal organs as useless, if not as dangerous, in the municipal anatomy as the appendix ver- mif ormis is in the human. The removal of this latter organ is said to be in the way of becoming a fad. Let us hope it will extend to municipal surgery. Examples of official waste crowd upon the student of municipal government. Some years ago an investigation of the accounts of the West 161 WorJe and Life Town Board and the West Park Board of CEi- cago showed that the taxpayers had been for years systematically robbed by the wasteful and extravagant practices of these boards. On one original bond issue of $667,000 interest amounting to $1,160,400 had been paid, and the issue once refunded was half outstanding. Thel special taxes paid by the people year by year to meet interest and principal had gone chiefly into the pockets of officials, and the estimated waste was about a half million of dollars. That this is a mild illustration of graft could bei shown by other experiences of Chicago, and bys those of other cities ; but it is a typical illustra- tion. Now, graft is, of course, a crime accord- ing to any legitimate definition of that word; and its punishment should be as swift and as severe as that of other crimes of equal enor- mity. Official waste, however, great as it is, is only one phase of the problem, as it appears from our present viewpoint. An Efficiency Board insti- tuted in Chicago reported a waste of fifty thou- sand dollars from duplication of work. It is probably a mere bagatelle in comparison with the total waste. Wealth and energy not util- ised for the public good; unemployed labour power, whether in the slums or on the boule- vard ; the premature exhaustion of labour power by too early, too long, or too strenuous employ- ment, or by the unsanitary, dangerous, or de- 162 As a Municipal Problem grading conditions imposed upon it, are all forms of municipal waste. Most of the money and energy put into the art of industrial com- petition, in puffing articles, good, bad, and indifferent, in pushing trade, is an expenditure for which there is no adequate return. The lives enfeebled and shortened by preventable diseases, and by the conditions of the slums and the sweat-shops, the needlessly dangerous and brutalising conditions under which many are compelled to work, represent an incalcu- lable economic loss. The employment of women and children in hours and conditions which jn- jure their vitality, however profitable it may be tO' the individual employer, is plainly social folly. In view of all the waste of our municipalities, and the narrow conception of government com- monly accepted, Mr. Bryce's oft-quoted state- ment, that the government of cities is the one conspicuous failure of the United States, is ex- tremely charitable. From the standpoint of wholesome and happy human life, the city itself is a failure. Who can contemplate the dirt and disorder, the tenements and flats, and the fact that human beings live in them, without pitying the necessities of the people, or questioning their sanity? Euskin has doubtless uttered many extravagances, but what he said of a modern city is true. It is a place ''where sum- mer and winter are alternatives of heat and 163 Work and Life cold ; where snow never fell white, nor sunshine clear ; where the ground is only a pavement, and the sky no more than a glass roof of an arcade ; where the utmost power of a storm is to choke the gutters, and the finest magic of spring to change mud into dust." We read of the "downward draft" in the cities ; that they must be recruited from the country; that their mor- tality is at least 20 per cent, greater than in the rural districts. This is only another way of saying that life in a city tends to physical and moral degeneration. Now, the relative popu- lation of our cities is rapidly growing larger. How much greater will he the effect on the nation when we are practically an urban peo- ple? Obviously, if the conditions of the cities remain the same, there will be a distinct de- generation of the people, as a royal commission recently reported of Scotland. In England three-fourths of the population live in the cities. The vitalising current from the country grows less and less, and, in spite of improve- ments in municipal administration, the people of England are declining in strength and vigour. This was shown at the recruiting offices during the war ia South Africa. Only about a third of those applying for service were physically fit. It is a plain inference, too, from the ap- pearance and condition of the English working- people. The average life of the English la- bourer, who, of course, suffers most from the 164 "As a Municipal Problem evils of city life, is only twenty-two years, iiji English city is not very different from an Amer- ican city. The effects upon human life are essentially the same. In Massachusetts ' cities, for instance, the average life of a common fac- tory operator is thirty-six and three-tenths years, while that of a farmer is sixty-five and three-tenths years. Obviously, then, there is a great opportunity for the city to promote the economy of one of its best assets, namely, the physical life of the people. Perhaps half the deaths of cities are due to diseases that are preventable. If our municipal authorities should devote half as much time and thought to the physical welfare of the people as they ordinarily do to "politics," mortality might be reduced one-half, and thus the real wealth of the dty be enormously ia- creased. Take, for instance, the economic loss due to the familiar disease known as consumption. The number of deaths annually in the United States from this disease is estimated at from 145,000 to 160,000. A recent writer declares that "one in three of all the deaths between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-four years is due to consumption; one in four, between the ages of thirty-five and forty-four." And he con- tinues : "These are the years wherein a worker is at his best, when he repays to the community what it has spent upon him iu his nurture and 165 Work and Life upbringing. The average man's earnings in the working period of Ms life are about $12,600. .The average earnings of a consumptive, taking into calculation the short period in which he earns full wages, the period when he can work only part of the time at what light tasks he can find, and the still longer period when aU he can do is to gasp for breath, a burden to the family, and more than a burden, a menace — ^the aver- age earnings of a man that dies of consumption are no more than $4,075, a loss of $8,625 on every man. . . . Leaving out of calculation all that it costs for medicines and nursing, counting only the loss of wages, we are out more than a billion and a third of dollars every year by the great White Plague. It is as if every year the city of Columbus, Ohio, were utterly depopu- lated and not a living soul left in it. It is as if ten times what it costs us for the postal system of the United States every year were absolutely thrown away, and we got nothing for it. For this loss of wages by consumptives is a needless loss. They have to die some time, it is true, but they need not die before their time." So much for a single preventable disease. As a further illustration, consider the loss from ty- phoid fever. Thirty-five thousand deaths a year in this country are due to it ; and yet med- ical authorities assure us it is one of the most readily controlled and preventable of diseases. An. epidemic of typhoid in a city, town, or 166 uis a Munidpal Problem village is an evidence of culpable ignorance on the part of the people or criminal negligence on the part of the authorities. Now consider what could be done, if the mu- nicipality gave the same attention to health as to wealth. New York, with attention to the matter by no means ideal, has reduced its mor- tality from consumption 40 per cent. Chicago, by such care as she has given to the promotion of health, reduced her death-rate of 73 per 1,000 in 1854 to 15.43 in 1904. London diminished its death-rate from 29 per 1,000 in 1835 to from 17 to 19 at present. The armies of the leading nations of the world, by the enforcement of sim- ple sanitary measures, have greatly decreased their mortality from disease. In our own army siuce 1872 there has been a decrease of nearly 40 per cent., and officers and men of that army, with their superior knowledge of sanitation, have stamped out yellow fever in Havana. Does it not seem, then, that the wisest expendi- ture of money that a city can make is in the endeavour to approach the sanitary ideal, namely, the absolute prevention of all parasitic diseases? In view of the possibilities in this direction, how childish and foolish are some of the expenditures of municipal funds — in the en- tertainment of a foreign figure-head, for in- stance, or in the jubilee celebrations at the close of the Spanish War I What has just been said of the economic loss 167 Work and Life due to mnnicipal neglect of liealtli might also be said of education. No one can estimate the loss of a municipality from suppressed or un- developed capacities. True economy practised here would take every child out of the factory and off the streets, and put it into school, and keep it there for whole-day sessions until it is sixteen years old. It would more than double the expenditure for teachers and equipment. But it is not our present purpose to point out, much less to consider, all the problems involved in the social problem considered with reference to the municipality. Enough has been said to show that it embraces a whole cluster of prob- lems. It is easy to see that all of these prob- lems are primarily educational. But the problem of education is, from one point of view, a problem of government. A municipal govern- ment truly representative of the people is the active agent for promoting all their interests. iThis implies a liberal theory of the functions of government. Theories of government, how- ever, are relative, not absolute. "When the gov- ernment of a nation or a city is from without ■ — of a nation by a king or a privileged class, or of a city by a state legislature, a ring, or a boss — the laisses faire theory of government has much to commend it. For if history teaches anything at all it is that, as a rule, the business of government will be run in the interest of the governors. It is not strange, then, that with 168 As a Municipal Problem the ignorance, selfishness, and corruption of the governments of the world before their eyes, men like Mr. Spencer should conclude that govern- ment should keep hands off ; that in its attempts to mitigate human suffering it continually in- creases it. All governments have been in the past, and are now, more or less external, and consequently more or less paternal. They should, therefore, be restrained. But restraint is not the end; they should be popularised. !When the government of a city becomes popular in reality as well as in name ; when it is a gov- ernment of, by, and for the people, then selfish and corrupt aims are no longer to be feared — because a city could hardly be said to be corrupt and selfish with regard to itself — and the only danger is ignorance. Then the positive theory of government applies. Then a municipal gov- ernment, no matter how extensive its fimctions, is but the self-directed activity of the munici- pality, which is as wholesome for a city as that sort of activity is for an individual. The dangers of popular ignorance will remain to be feared, blunders will be made, and perhaps the economy will be less than under government by an external agency. Self-government is by no means necessarily the best ia point of immediate achievement. It is only ia the light of its final results that it is superior. Its end is the inter- ests of all, and all public action, no matter how mistaken, is disciplinary. It learns to do by 169 WorJe and Life doing. Tlie action of such a government is not paternalism. What the government as an out- side agency does for the people may be so called; but what the people consciously do for them- selves through the government acting as their agent is not paternalism, but democracy. De- mocracy and paternalism is a contradiction in terms. The first step, then, toward the solution of the municipal problem is to popularise the gov- ernment; to take it out of the hands of the politicians, and put it into the hands of the people. Obviously, the principle of home rule, within certain limits, is a sound one. But home rule alone is not sufficient. Home rule may still be the rule of the boss or the ring. The end is not attained when the government of a city is located within its own limits. It must be brought into right relations to the people. Not home-rule but self-rule is the object to be attained. Hence, direct legislation, popular initiative, the referendum, and the recall are measures that should be approved. They are not designed to destroy or weaken representa- tive government but to strengthen it. They will not remove all the evils of municipal life; but we shall not be on the direct path to a correct solution of municipal problems untU these measures are enacted. There are evils of de- mocracy; but the only cure for them is more democracy. All proposals, therefore, for less- 170 As a Municipal Prohlem ening the activity and the influence of tHe people of the city in their government should be frowned upon. The proposal of a restriction of the suffrage, whether by an educational or by a property qualification, is, I think, reactionary. Such restriction would deprive those who need it most of the experience and discipline without which they never would become good citizens. The immediate results might be better; but to prefer an immediate advantage to a deferred but greater good is not the mark of intelligence in a man or in a municipality. Now the problem of popularising the govern- ment of a city is largely a problem of develop- ing the civic consciousness, which, in turn, is a problem of education. Hence, education in the school and in adult life should be consciously turned toward that end. The evils of city gov- ernment are due in part to defective teaching in the schools. If the social viewpoint were there taken; if relative social values were there al- ways considered, and the habit of estimating them were there formed, there would be a read- justment of the curriculum and an improved quality of citizenship. If the voters of this gen- eration had been taught in the schools the eco- nomic value of health and life, and the social effects of individual ignorance and action, the passage of a health ordinance — as, for instance, ag:ainst spitting in public places — would never have been described as '•* four-flushing," as it 171 Work and Ldfe was by tlie mayor of one of our greatest cities. As the school, however, is not the only educa- tional agency, we need not rely altogether upon it for civic education. There should be the widest diffusion possible of civic knowledge among adults. General publicity of the work of all departments of the municipal service should be secured, not merely by publications of interest to scholars only, but in a form that will appeal to the understanding and the interest of every voter. Formal education, however, is not the only method of developing the collective will. It should be supplemented by experience. For this reason the public ownership of public util- ities is to be encouraged, not only upon economic grounds narrowly conceived, but upon the high- est civic grounds. Until the government of a city is lifted into the high prominence and commanding dignity which the performance of great functions that touch closely the daily life of every citizen gives it, the exercise of the suffrage will not be in the highest degree edu- cational. From the social standpoint, then, mu- nicipal ownership is not merely an ideal to be striven for, it is an educational necessity. This general view of the municipal problem should lead to the conclusion that education and municipalisation should be the watchwords o£ municipal reform. It is not the purpose to speak here of details of legislation and govern- 172 As a Municipal Problem mental machinery, but merely to point ont a few things which the social viewpoint reveals as fundamental. From this viewpoint the mu- nicipal problem is seen to be the problem of all-round civic well-being. The primary condi- tions of its solution are a purified and developed democracy, and an integrated and intelligent municipal consciousness. There is no immedi- ate and final solution of this problem, any more than of the larger social problem ; but that is no excuse for inaction. Here as elsewhere every- thing that leads to life should be desired and striven for, and the things which lead to de- struction should be scorned and destroyed, — < "In the undoubting faith, although It be not granted us to see. Yet that the coming age shall know We have not wrought umneaninglyj When gold and chiysoprase adorn A city brighter than the morn." 173 CHAPTER IX Haboub and Leaening "At present all education is directed towards the end of fit- ting people to take their places in the hierarchy of commerce — these as masters, those as -workmen. The education of the mas- ters is more ornamental than that of the workmen, but it is commercial still; and even at the ancient universities learning is but little regarded, unless it can in the long run be made to pajf." — William Morris. "When government loses its evil charaeteriBtics and becomes an enlightened and progressive agency, state education of the people will be directed to new ends. Its aim will be to impress such knowledge on the rising generations as will not only pre- pare them for social life, but instruct them how to preserve and increase happiness in the world and avert miseiy from all." — Clapperton. A FBEQUENT and emphatic criticism of modern education is that it tends to prepare children for a life of leisure rather than for a life of labour; that the graduate of the public school, or even the college or university, is no better prepared to earn a living than he would have been without his school training; that a young man or a young woman is more or less inca- pacitated industrially and mentally by an edu- cation. There is some truth in this criticism. There 174 Labour and Learning are still people who imagine that leisure is the badge of respectability, and that the chief value of an education is to enable its possessor to live without work. As long as such persons exist their erroneous ideas wiU be reflected in the schools. It should be remembered, however, that when schools were established the conditions which prevailed made it a matter of course that in education no regard should be paid to industry. Everyone who is familiar with the history of manlrind, or with the evolution of industry, is aware that in the early period of society, and imtil even comparatively recent times, produc- tive labour was performed only by slaves and serfs. The ancient civilisations of Greece and Eome were founded upon slavery. In Athens there were ten or a dozen slaves to one free man. In ancient Eome the manual work in agri- culture, mining, trade and commerce was per- formed by slaves. Among the Indians of our own country, as is well-known, the arts of the wigwam and the field were left to the women, who were practically slaves, and the "noble red-man" assumed for himself the more agree- able arts of war and the chase. If he had to work, as one of them expressed it, he preferred to hunt! And so, by preference, in all the earlier societies, those who had the power to do so chose for themselves the militant and sportsman-like occupations, and imposed upon 175 WorJc and Life otKers the task of productive labour. Labour, then, was formerly the badge of subjection. The labourer was condemned as an underling. Hence throughout history productive labour has borne more or less of the taint of slavery and of serfdom, and the struggle for existence has been too often a struggle to escape from labour. Such was the condition and such were the ideas which prevailed when schools came into existence. They were established by the dom- inant, that is to say, the leisure class, for its own members and not for the workers. Hence the schools, or rather the universities, which came into existence before the public schools, devoted their attention exclusively to polite learning, to the ornamental graces suitable to life in the leisure class, and to preparing their students for the learned professions. They paid no attention whatever to the mechanical arts. There was no necessity of doing so, since none of their students was expected to earn his living in the sweat of his face. Learn- ing, therefore, at the beginning was entirely divorced from labour. Now it must be confessed that there are some indications that these early ideas of labour and of education still persist, especially in the higher institutions of learning. The motto of the old- est university in the land is Pro Christo et Ecclesia, For Christ and the Church; and it would be the last place to go to learn a trade. 176 Labour and Learning The subjects pursued by students in the uni- versities are often so remote from practical life as to convey the impression that scholarship is the exclusive possession of outlandish knowl- edge, and that most so-called scientific research is the painstaking and laborious investigation of the trivial and the commonplace. In the "Three Musketeers" D'Artagnan finds his friend Aramis engaged in preparing a thesis upon the highly important subject, "Both hands are indispensable for priests of the inferior or- ders when they give the benediction"; "a sub- ject," said Aramis, "which has not yet been treated, and in which I perceive there is material for magnificent developments. ' ' It would not be difficult to cite a number of equally important topics among the subjects of doctors' theses in any of the larger imiversities. The endeavour to find subjects which have not been treated be- fore often leads to the selection of a subject which, however capable of "magnificent devel- opments," is not worth the time necessary to investigate it. Indeed there are those who are not deterred by the worthlessness of a subject. A professor of pure mathematics is said to have declared iu an after-dinner speech that he thanked the Lord that he cultivated a science that had never been degraded to any practical purposes! The traditions of the universities and of the higher learning are directly against the utilitarian aspects of education, and it will 177 Work and Life be some time before tbe effect of tbese traditions is overcome. The public schools, therefore, which are strongly influenced, when not con- trolled, by the educational institutions above them, might naturally be expected to neglect to some extent the practical side of life when the colleges and the universities set the example. The time has come, however, when this neglect should no longer be condoned or permitted. The basis upon which our public school system is established is entirely different from that of the early educational institutions. Slavery is abol- ished, democracy is the accepted theory of gov- ernment. The school is established for the good of all. The education of all members of society is regarded as a public necessity. Education, to be effective, must devote attention to tie de- velopment of industrial efficiency. It is a demo- cratic doctrine that there should be no leisure class. Labour is required by nature to sustain life, and it is inconsistent with the doctrine of equality of opportunity that some must wor£ that others may live in idleness and luxury. It is gradually dawning upon the world that all who live should work, that service to society is the only just title to income, and that he who will not work neither should he eat. Work is demanded by justice, and it is essential to life. The education which neglects to develop the knowledge and the skill required in labour, and the inclination to perform it, is a false edu- 178 Labour and Learning cation and involves a wasteful if not a useless expenditure of public means. The schools should be adapted to the workers and not to the shirkers. This being the democratic doctrine of educa- tion, there is an effort all over the country to bring the public schools into harmony with it. Massachusetts, New York, New Jersey, Wiscon- sin, and other states are establishing trade schools, commercial schools and schools of do- mestic science. Other states, including Arkan- sas, Mississippi, and Oklahoma, require the teaching of agriculture in the common schools. Oklahoma, indeed, has a complete system of industrial education. The nation has vast nat- ural resources to be conserved and developed. The school is the agency by means of which it may prepare its future citizens to conserve and develop these resources and promote its indus- trial efficiency. Every child is potentially a farmer, a mechanic, a house-keeper, an artisan,, an artist ; and the school system should be care- fully adapted to the development of these potentialities iuto actualities. Industrial ed:u- cation is bound, therefore, to win and keep its place in the education of America. Industrial studies have the same justification as the cul- tural studies. The school without a department of manual training and of domestic science is behind the times ; it lacks adaptation to the life of to-day. No school system is complete that 179 Work and Life does not provide for industrial and vocational training. The present movement toward in- dustrial education deserves the heartiest ap- proval, commendation and support. The school must take on more of the nature of the shop. Learning must ally itself with labour. Industrial training, however, involves more than the development of technical skill and eco- nomic efficiency. If it is worth the name it will involve the inculcation upon the mind of the child of certain moral ideas with respect to work and life. The first great business of edu- cation is to make the future citizen self-support- ing, to develop the power to get a living, but it must at the same time inculcate the idea that living and not getting a living is the true end of life. Work is for life and not life for work. We work to live; we do not live merely to work. The school should not only teach the child to work but give him the right ideas with respect to work. While there is developed in him the power to get a living there should at the same time be developed a moral sense which will lead him to choose to get a living honourably. We have already seen that there are ways of getting a living that cannot be justified ethically. The school should teach, the child to avoid and scorn any method of getting a living that does not involve produc- tive labour. It is not sufficient, then, to establish trade 180 Labour and Learning scHools and commercial departments, to intro- duce agriculture and domestic science into the school curricula, to teach the child how to be self-supporting. He must be led to choose to be self-supporting. He must be made to feel that to work at a trade is honourable, while to be supported by others is dishonourable. The boy must be led to perceive that manual labour is not menial labour, and the girl that it is better to keep house than to be kept by a house. A life without labour, productive labour, is a life without honour, and no amount of learning can dignify and ennoble it. The distinction between productive and un- productive labour leads to the consideration of another idea that should be inculcated in the schools. Productive labour results in com- modities and services; unproductive labour contributes nothing of value to the world, it merely affects the distribution of commodities already produced. It takes but it does not make. In all industrial training we should en- deavour to develop the intellectual and moral discernment that will distinguish between the two. William Morris divides the work of the world into useful work and useless toil. A large part of the work now performed in society is wholly unnecessary from the stand- point of our legitimate wants. The manu- facture of opium, of narcotics, of intoxicants, 181 Work and lAfe of gamblers' outfits and of all the ridiculous gim-oracks and gew-gaws of fashion and lux- urious living absorbs labour that would better be employed in some other direction. Every depraved appetite, every evil and vain desire of men occasions useless toil. History is full of ex- amples. Under the shadow of the pyramids Napoleon reminded his soldiers that forty centuries looked down upon them. According to Herodotus, the largest of these pyramids was built by the forced labour of 100,000 men working for twenty years. "When we remem- ber that there are thirty or forty of these pyramids, and evidences of almost as many more, and all built because of the vain desiro of the Egyptian rulers to perpetuate their names, we are appalled by the enormous amount of labour employed to so little purpose. Gibbon presents striking examples of Eoman extravagance. HeUogabalus with his feast of nightingales' tongues; -iEsop with his plate of the tongues of parrots that had been taught to speak; Caracalla expending the revenues of a province upon a single entertaiament ; Hortensius watering his trees with wine; LucuUus employing thousands of men to cut a channel through rocks and hills to bring salt water to his villa in order that he might have fresh fish for his breakfast : are all indications of the base or insignificant purposes to which labour was directed in Eome. The elder Pliny 182 Labour and Learning tells us of a Roman matron wlio appeared at a betrothal feast in a gown entirely covered "with, pearls and emeralds, which cost forty mil- lion sezterces or about two million dollars. These are conspicuous illustrations of what we may see all about us to-day. We need not delve in ancient history to find examples of foolish extravagance. A rich woman of Chi- cago is said to have hired a Pullman car to take her pet cat to Florida. Society women of a certain famous summer resort are said to have spent much time and money in preparing suits for cats and dogs, and even monkeys, to be worn at a feast. Men and women, the labourers of the country, spend their time and their energy in producing wealth to be con- sumed in expensive entertainments for cats and dogs and monkeys ! This, as some one has expressed it, is carrying ancestor worship a little too far. Now the labour that is expended in miais- tering to vanity and ostentation as well as that which is expended in providmg commodities for the gratification of illegitimate wants is an un- necessary draft on the lives of men and women, and no one should willingly engage in it. The demand for such labour will cease only with the elimination of vice, vanity and ostenta- tion. The schools therefore should be directed to that end. When properly educated, men will be ashamed to occasion by vulgar and 183 Work and Life .vicious indulgence of appetite, and women by; the consumption of articles of equally vulgar ostentation and needless luxury, the labour of men in producing them. Our present economic relations tend to cover up the hideousness of the demands which vice and luxury make upon the lives of others. iWhen we complain of extravagance we are told that the waste of the rich is the salvation of the poor, that if the rich did not roll in luxury the poor would starve. K that were so, it would be the strongest indictment that could be drawn against modem industrial society. It could not be true in a scientifically organised state, for then life, not work, being the end of labour, it would he plain that the waste of anybody would mean more work for somebody. But it is not true; it is one of the most familiar of economic fallacies. The more the rich waste, the more the poor must work. The idler and the spendthrift who prate that their profligate extravagance gives employ- ment to others should be reminded that the pauper and the criminal do the same. The more thieves there are in society the more employment there is for officers of the law and of penal institutions. It is not employment that is the end men are seeking, but life, and giving some sorts of employment to men may be equivalent to depriving them of the oppor- tunity to live. 184 Labour and Learning There is labour, tten, that is useful and labour that is useless. In our attempt to bring the school into more intimate relations with industrial life, there should be careful discrimi- nation between these two kinds of labour. An education is not all that could be desired un- less it leads its possessor to choose an occupa- tion that is necessary to the well-beiag of society. The educated man should prefer to be a farmer, a mechanic, or an engineer, and live by the work of his hands, conscious that he is per- forming his share of the necessary labour of the world, rather than to enter an over-crowded pro- fession and live by his wits. It is often forgotten in our anxiety to im- press the doctrine of the dignity of labour that all labour is not equally dignified. The sacred- ness and dignity of labour depend upon its object and its results, its usefulness and its effect upon the labourer himself. Labour that ministers to vice and vanity, that is not de- manded by the true weU-being of men is neither sacred nor dignified. Work that results in physical exhaustion and mental deterioration, that is so continuous and wearing that it does not allow time and opportunity to straighten the back and take a leisurely look at life, work that stupefies the mind and enervates the body, that stoops the forehead and crooks the shoulders, no matter how necessary it may be, is not a blessing but a curse. 185 Work and lAfe The present demand upon our schools, then, to bring them more into harmony with our in- dustrial life, not only as it is but as it ought to be, to increase their efficiency as a factor in the solution of the Social Problem of To- day, should be for something more than the mere training of the eye and hand, something more than mere skill in execution, than for manual training and domestic science, for trade schools and commercial departments, although all these are exceedingly important. It should be for the development in the boys and girls of correct ideas with regard to life and labour; of a true point of view, a sense of values and a social spirit. The social wrong at the bot- tom of the social problem is not merely the exploitation of the weak by the strong, the poor by the rich, but the lust of the poor for the wealth of the rich. As long as men regard success as something that can be measured by material possessions, as long as they exalt money above manhood, and are worshippers of mammon, so long shall we have the domination of the rich. But when men cease to be hypno- tised by the glitter and glamour of wealth, when they realise that "a good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold," and when the wealth they prize above all other forms of it is wealth of character, then wealth loses its power and the greed of man its incentive, 186 Labour and Learning What cared Diogenes for the wealth, of a Croesus? Wealth gives enormous power and prestige because so many of those who do not possess it worship at its shrine. They look upon the accumulation of material goods as the end and aim of existence. Hence we must develop through education different standards of judgment and of respectability, and a dif- ferent type of man. The youth of our land must be taught that the ti^ie wealth and grandeur of a nation should be measured, not in money, but in men ; and that the worth of a man should be estimated not by what he has but by what he is. For wealth is life, and a man's life consists not in the abundance of things he possesses. Hence real wealth, the .sole wealth that may not take wings and fly away, may be stored up without impoverish- ing any one, and the value of the wealth of a country, even in the economic sense, may be increased by the education of the people. When men become less material in their ideas, and put a truer estimate upon wealth in com- parison with other goods, they will cease to covet a large fortune, or at all events will be unwilling to sell their souls to obtain it. Who- ever and whatever aids in developing this type of man will assist in solving the Social Problem of To-day, Children should be taught that life is the end both of learning and of labour, and that labour and learning and all the in- 187 Work and Life stitutions to whicli they give rise must be tested and judged in terms of life. That which does not contribute to life should be scorned and condemned. The boy who goes out of school with the determination to make money, with- out a true appreciation of the relation of money to the higher ends of his existence, is a boy whose education has been worse than a failure ; and the girl whose mind is absorbed by fashion, who is content to become a mere lay figure for the exhibition of clothes, is worth less to society than her education has cost. Society needs not only men and women who are self-supporting, but men and women who would be ashamed to be supported or to support themselves without productive labour. It needs men and women who can earn money, but who would scorn money obtained by sharp practice, or by the sacrifice of honour and honesty. That learning is worse than useless which does not result in the conviction, so strong that it becomes a moral force, that the great- ness of a man must be measured by his man- hood, and that the greatness of our nation does not depend upon its extent of territory, or its commerce, or its wealth, but upon the industrial efficiency and moral character of its people. 188 CHAPTER X The Social, Ideal "When we in our study of human history, endeavour to gauge the moral force and greatness of a people or race we have, but one standard of measurement — the dignity and permanence of their ideal, and the abnegation wherewith they pursue it." — Maeterlinck. "He who shall have at once a firm grasp of the conea'ete ideal of social well-being, and a clear insight into the condi- tions of its realisation, and the difficulties by which in the actual world it is beset, will be the true social reformer of the future. It is the business of the philosopher to try to define the ideal, and to bring it into relation to those conditions of actuaJ existence which other sciences enable us to discover." — Mackenzie. It tlie ideal of a people is in any degree subject to conscious formulation and acceptance, the social philosopher should labour to construct, the ethical teacher to inculcate, and the legis- lator to realise a social ideal of the highest dignity and permanence. The ideal determines the life. If, then, by taking thought, we could project a social ideal upon which the people could agree, one which, because drawn from facts and existing conditions, and the possibili- ties of human nature, would force its accept- ance on every reflective mind, we should have 189 Work and Life the most effective means of increasing the rapidity of human advancement. Such an ideal would stimulate enthusiasm, promote pro- gressive efforts and unify them by a community of purpose. It would clear away numerous logical barriers in social thought, and straighten the zigzag path of progress. So far are we, however, from any agreement as to what society ought to be that we have not seriously turned our attention to the sub- ject. Indeed, many insist that it is not a legitimate matter for scientific investigation. Science, they say, has nothing to do with ideals ; it must confine its attention to what has been and is. The inference suggested is that all thought concerning what ought to be in human affairs, being unscientific, is consequently use- less, mere idle speculation. But if science is thus limited, the same is not true of philosophy, and the philosophy of to-day aspires to become scientific. Its methods are no less rigid than those of science; its results need be no less exact. Science, even though pursued for its own sake, provides the data for philosophy. Science lays the foundation, philosophy builds the superstructure. "Useless each without the other." Neither exists for itself alone; both are the servants of art ; and the highest service they can offer, the highest that thought can render action, is to determine the ultimate end toward which human efforts should be directed. 190 The Social Ideal It is legitimate, then, and profitable to fashion ideals, correcting them as science provides better and better material, and social philos- ophy is properly engaged in attempting to con- struct a social ideal. The construction or projection of a social ideal is not, as some seem to suppose, a matter of foreseeing the course of the unconscious evo- lution of society. Social phenomena are so complex that social prophecies are likely to be abortive. Still "we are not so helpless even in this respect as a writer in the London Saturday Review represents us. "The Moving Finger writes, and haviag writ moves on/' he says. "We can no more stop or guide its writing than could the wild man whose relics we look for in the drift of another geological period than ours. What is still more humiliating, practically we can no more tell what it is going to write even to-morrow than could that cave-dweller." This could not be true unless we were wholly ignorant of the . social past. All knowledge is, in a sense, fore-knowledge. Vision implies pre- vision. The geolo^st Hutton, writing of his own science, said, "In examining things present we have data from which to reason with regard to what has been; and from what actually has been we have data for concluding with regard to that which is to happen hereafter. ' ' ^ This is no less true of sociology than of geology. 1 See Williajna's "History of Science," Vol. Ill, p. 124. 191 Work and Life But a social ideal differs from a social forecast. It is a conception of what society ought to be, not of what it is inevitably and of itself to be- come. It is ethical. It implies the categorical imperative. It must, therefore, be a work of synthesis, or, if you please, a product of the con- structive imagination. The ideals of society hitherto constructed, and with which men have been most familiar, have been, of course, too largely works of the imagi- nation — the Utopias of Plato, More, Bellamy and the like. They lacked foundation in fact. They were not in harmony with human aspira- tions, desires and frailties. Still, even these were not wholly at fault as predictions, or value- less as ideals. Plato's "Republic" anticipated some modern ideas, and inspired many more. More's "Utopia" is still worth the attention of the social philosopher. "ourselves are full Of social wrong; and maybe wildest dreams Are but the needful preludes of the truth." What we need now, however, and what with our wider knowledge we ought to be able approxi- mately to construct, is an ideal scientifically conceived, in harmony with existing facts and forces, and hence possible of attainment. For, as Mr. John A. Hobson has asserted, "If we are to take a scientific view of human efforts and satisfactions, such as shall furnish a basis 192 The Social Ideal of social treform, we miist have a social ideal constructed to accord with human facts and human possibilities, but transcending existing facts and furnishing a test for conduct."^ Such an ideal would not be separable and dis- tinct from society as we now find it, but its highest manifestation — society purified and transformed by the best elements it now con- tains. At the present stage of knowledge, perhaps at any stage, it is, of course, impossible to con- struct an ideal accurately containing aU the details of social life in its complete perfection. This, like such attempts of the past, might be an interesting intellectual exercise, but it be- longs to the novelist. All that social philoso- phy may profitably undertake is to determine the main features of an ultimate social ideal. It cannot describe the daily life of the citizen of an ideal world, but it can answer the ques- tions: Is the coming society to be based on the class spirit or on the spirit of brotherhood? Is it to be competitive or co-operative? Indi- vidualistic or socialistic? John Stuart Mill wrote, "With those who, like all the best and wisest of mankind, are dissatisfied with human life as it is, and whose feelings are wholly identi- fied with its radical amendment, there are two main regions of thought. One is the region of ultimate aim^s; the constituent elements of the 1 "The Social Problem," p. 66. 193 Work and Life Mghest realisable ideal of human life. THe other is that of the immediately useful and practically attainable. ' ' ^ Neither of these re- gions should claim our whole attention. One is as important as the other. It is significant, however, that ultimate aims are mentioned first. Without them we cannot rightly determine the immediately useful. Confiniag ourselves, then, to "the constituent elements of the highest realisable ideal of hu- man life," we may afiirm that they are three in nimiber: (1) social intelligence; (2) social economy, and (3) voluntary co-operation. Social intelligence has been well defined by Henry George, who calls it "that consensus of individual intelligence which forms a public opinion, a public consciousness, and a public will, and is manifested in law, institutions, and administration. ' ' ^ According to this definition, social intelligence is to be distinguished from the mere snm of individual intelligences. In- telligent men do not necessarily guarantee an intelligent society. Social imbecility is not in- frequently manifested by an intelligent com- munity. This happens because community interests are intrusted to men of low intelli- gence, or to men with lack of public spirit. We Americans are a "free and intelligent people," and yet we sometimes allow ourselves to he represented in the municipal council, in the leg- 1 "Autobiography," p. 189. 2 Henry George, "Social Problems," p. 9. 194 The Social Ideal islature or in the Congress by men who do not represent even the average intelligence of the community. We allow the management of pub- lic utilities to rest in the hands of those who control them for their own individual profit. We allow cesspools to form in the slums of our cities, where poverty, disease and crime are generated, where human beings are huddled to- gether like so many animals, and who in their brutish environment naturally tend to become "like dumb, driven cattle." We are more or less indifferent to the premature exhaustion of our natural resources by greedy corporations, and can witness without manifest alarm the sacrifice of future to present prosperity by the over-employment of women and children. It is only as individuals that we may plume our- selves on our intelligence. Individual enter- prise has opened up the resources of our country and piled up individual fortunes be- yond the dreams of Croesus, and yet as a society we stand practically helpless before the problem of poverty ; inventive genius has revolutionised our methods of industry, but we have not greatly improved our methods of government ; individ- ual enterprise has organised the great indus- tries of our coimtry and is carrying them on with a marvellous degree of skill and economy, while the community sometimes fails in the man- agement of the simplest form of industry.* So- 1 Hid, p. 1. 195 Work and Life cially we are far from brilliant. In intelligence there is an element of knowledge — ^no knowledge, no intelligence. Until the people are socially well informed — mitil they have knowledge of social conditions, know the lessons of social ex- perience, give earnest thought to methods of social improvement, begin to study the require- ments of the general good as they study their own, select public representatives with the same care as private agents — ^no matter how intelli- gent they are with respect to individual affairs, there will be no high manifestation of social in- telligence. This social knowledge and solici- tude are at present rare or wanting. Hence, society as a whole, and with respect to its own interests, is not to be compared in intelligence to any of the higher animals. If regarded as an organism, it must be likened, so far as in- telligence is concerned, to the organisms of low type. "It resembles," says Lester F. Ward, "only some of the very lowest Metazoa, such as the hydra, which possesses no proper presiding and co-ordinating nerve ganglia, or still more closely some of those lower colonies of cells, each of which, like the individual members of society, is practically independent of the gen- eral mass, except that by the simple fact of coherence a certain degree of protection is se- cured to both the individual cells and the aggre- gated mass." ^ I Ward, "PsycMe Factors of Civilisation," p. 274. 196 The Social Ideal Notwithstanding tlie present nidimentary condition of social intelligence, it is the primary element in a rational social ideal. It is impos- sible to conceive a society without collective interests and some necessity for collective ac- tion. These interests cannot be ideally con- served, and this action cannot be ideally effective without the highest degree of collective, i. e., social, intelligence. The ultimate social aim must therefore involve the conception of society as a unitary body thoroughly conscious of its own rights and interests, and the means of securing them, and insistently seeking its interests as the ideally intelligent individual would seek his, and caring for the welfare and comfort of all its members as such an individual would care for the health and soundness of all the organs of his body.^ "The best ordered state," said Plato, "is that which most nearly approaches to the condition of the individual: as in the body, when but a finger is hurt, the whole frame draws toward the soul, and form- ing one realm under the ruling power therein, feels the hurt, and sympathises altogether with the part affected, and we say that a man has a pain in his finger. "^ This is but to say that "the best ordered state," the ideal society, must be ideally intelligent. This ideal intelligence of society involves no 1 lUd, p. 288. 2 Plato, "Republic," p. 462, quoted by Ritchie, "Principles of State Interference," p. 16. 197 Work and Life new creation, no importation of an imaginary element. Some social intelligence now exists. It is formed by the operation of natural causes, and without any special attention on the part of society. It cotnes as an unintended result of social evolution. As individual intelligence had its inception and a part of its development merely as a result of individual experience, so social intelligence began to manifest itself with- out the conscious employment of means and methods of developing it. We may expect the forces operating in the past to continue and raise this intelligence to higher and higher planes.'^ But the formation of social intelligence is arti- ficial as well as natural. Having arrived at a stage of development at which we realise the importance of a corporate consciousness, we have already begun to devise methods of pro- moting it. We are beginning to consider the "social aspect" of our various institutions, the "social function" of the school, the home, the church. This must result in an increase of social knowledge, and an enlarged interest in social affairs. When it is generally recognised and accepted that social intelligence is the fun- damental element in the social ideal for which all should strive, a conscious use of all available means for promoting it will follow. There will 1 De Greef, "Introduction a la Soeiologie," Chap. XIII, La Formation Naturelle de L' Intelligence Sociale. 198 The Social Ideal be a new valuation of knowledge. School cur- ricula will be changed. More attention will be devoted to political economy, social history, politics and sociology. Press and pulpit will become centres for diffusing the most useful knowledge about society. All educational agen- cies will be newly orientated. It is therefore not chimerical to assume perfected social in- telligence as characteristic of the highest form of society, or unreasonable to anticipate its final realisation. Now suppose this element of ideal corporate intelligence realised in society, what would fol- low with respect to social activities? Neces- sarily they would exemplify the law of par- simony or the economy of force, for this is the law of all intelligent action. Intelligence is inconsistent with the employment of greater effort than is necessary to attain a given satis- faction. It adapts means to ends. It avoids waste. Ideal social intelligence therefore im- plies ideal social economy, and this is the second element of our ideal. If social intelligence and social economy are concomitant, the one a manifestation of the other, we should naturally expect the latter to have developed pari passu with the former, and' this we find is true. * ' The history of progress, ' * says Eitchie, "is the record of a gradual dimi- nution of waste. The lower the stage the greater is the waste involved in the attainment 199 Work and lAfe of any end. In the lower organism nature is reckless in her expenditure of life. The higher animals, more able to defend themselves, have the fewest young. When we come to human beings in society, the state is the chief instru- ment by which waste is prevented. The mere struggle for existence between individuals means waste unchecked. The state, by its ac- tion, can in many cases consciously and delib- erately diminish this fearful loss ; in many cases by freeing the individual from the necessity of a perpetual struggle for the mere conditions of life, it can set free individuality and so make culture possible. An ideal state would be one in which there was no waste at all of the lives, and intellects, and souls of individual men and women." ^ Social economy, then, as weU as so- cial intelligence, is initiated by nature and pro- moted by art. Increase of one implies increase of the other. Social economy, however, must manifest itself in social action, and for social action organisation is necessary. The social ideal, then, implies thorough social organisation for the performance of social tasks. This raises the question as to what is properly a social task. It is the old question of the proper sphere of governmental activity, and this is a question of practical expediency. No a priori conclusions should be drawn. Still, from the ideal standpoint, we can see more or 1 Ritchie, "Principles of State Interference," p. 50. 200 The Social Ideal less clearly the kind of task that society should 'undertake. If we conceive society as a unit, we must recognise that as such it has certain needs — protection, sustenance, knowledge and the like. Supply of these needs, up to a certain point, is necessary to its life and its normal activity. This point is the degree in which these needs are universal. A social need is a general need. The matter of supplying the general needs of society, needs which are con- stantly recurring, may be reduced to a fric- tionless routine only by a thorough social organisation. It is properly a social task. There is, then, a limit beyond which social organisation may not go without defeating its purpose. There are products and achievements which in one sense are strictly individual. Such are the highest products of art and invention. Social organisation could not produce an Apollo Belvidere, a Sistine Madonna, a Wagnerian opera, a Shakespearean play, or Lincoln's Get- tysburg speech. It can only release, by system- atising its routine activities, intellectual energy which may be individually employed. An at- tempt to organise the higher intellectual activ- ities would render them impossible. Hence, there must always be a limit to social organi- sation. "The line," says an anonymous writer, "is very undefibaed, not by any means easily discernible, but nevertheless absolutely impassable. On this side the line are all sorts 201 Work and Life of manufactures, producing and distributing agencies; tlie more sucli work can be systema- tised the better. On tbe other side the line are all the artistic, musical, literary, higher scientific, and intellectual activities. You at- tempt to organise and systematise in this de- partment of the world's activities, and you simply annihilate. Personal individuality is one of the very elements of all genuine art and literature and intellectuality. The moment you begin to apply to these mere manufacturing methods of labour and production, the individ- uality vanishes, and the one principle which gave your productions their worth and interest has irretrievably gone."^ Having roughly defined the sphere of social organisation, we have now to determine its ideal form or method. Turning our attention in this direction, we may observe that there are four jways in which it may be accomplished. They I are as follows: (1) by an autocrat; (2) by the ' State (in the restricted sense, which means the governing class); (3) by private individuals acting in their own interests ; (4) by society it- self. Let us glance briefly at each, of these methods. First, then, the autocratic method. It is con- ceivable that the organisation of the routine activities of society might be brought about by one man holding the reins of power and organ- 1 "'Social Horizon," p. 26. 202 The Social Ideal ising and directing the activities of the people as he thought best. Suppose him to be ideally intelligent and animated by a desire for the pub- lic good. So far as the immediate aspect of the situation is concerned, we should then have ideal economy. Misled by this aspect some would argue that such an omnipotent being would be an ideal social functionary. But at best we should have only a benevolent despot, with no assurance that his successor would be equally wise and benevolent. Still more important, the people would be deprived of one of the best opportunities for self-development, namely, the opportunity afforded by the organisation and management of their own affairs. To say noth- ing, then, of the difficulty of catching our benev- olent despot, and of the further difficulty of keeping him benevolent after he is installed, the loss of educational opportunity for the people that self-activity affords, brands this form of organisation as uneconomical in the long run, and hence not ideal. "Unlimited power," says Mark Twaia, "is the ideal thiug when it is in safe hands. The despotism of heaven is the one absolutely perfect government. An earthly despotism would be the absolutely perfect earthly government if the conditions were the same; namely, the despot the perfectest indi- vidual of the human race, and his lease of life perpetual. But as a perishable, perfect man must die, and leave his despotism in the hands 203 Work and Life of an imperfect successor, an eartUy despotism is not merely a bad form of government, it is tlie worst form that is possible. ' ' ^ TMs is per- haps the verdict of political science. "Every constitution, however defective, which gives play to the free self-determination of a majority of citizens infinitely surpasses the most brilliant and human absolutism; for the former is ca- pable of development and therefore living, the latter is what it is and therefore dead." ^ We must, therefore, dismiss this form of organisa- tion from our conception of the ideal. The second method of organisation is organi- sation by the State or govermnent. This is practised more or less in every nation. If ex- tended to industrial activities it is called State socialism, though why the antithesis between individualism and socialism should be confined to the industrial field is not clear. The same objections obtain here as to the previous method. If benevolent, it is impermanent, and always it, deprives the people of the education derived from doing things for themselves. It is imma- terial whether the organising authority is a Louis XIV identifying himself and the State, or a hereditary and privileged class. The results are the same — irresponsible power, organisa- tion for selfish purposes, paternalism, and un- developed popular initiative. Whatever may 1 Century Magazine, Vol. XXXIX, p. 77. zMommsen, "History of Eome," Bng. trans., vol. iv, p. 466. 204 The Social Ideal be said for this method it is certainly not ideal. The third method is that under which the or- ganisation of our industrial activities is now proceeding. A comparatively few men, whom we call captains of industry, own or control the instruments of production and direct our business enterprises for private profit. This is called capitalism. That by this method econ- omy has been promoted and is in high degree attainable, no one will deny. Still it is not the ideal method, for if the number in control should be reduced to one, we should have the exact sit- uation described under the first method. As long as there are more than one, we have con- flicting individual economies which must result in waste. Like both the other methods, it lo- calises power and leads to the temptation to use this power for selfish ends. Its object is profits, and profits is not synonymous with pub- lic good. The more successful it is the more dangerous: prosperity breeds tyranny. The so-called "captains" are not elected or ap- pointed by society, nor are they responsible, except in a limited sense, to anybody or any- thing save their own consciences, and these are not always reliable. They practically control the subsistence of a large number of people, and the control of a man's subsistence practically amounts to the control of his will. Hence, there is an element of despotism in capitalism. Its economy is immediate and cannot be perfected, 205 Work and Life for the reason that perfect social economy is inconsistent with the existence of individual economies looking to private ends. "Material civilisation," says Ward, "cannot be wholly left to individual preferences. Aside from the un- equal and inequitable distribution of the prod- ucts of industry and thought there will always be immense waste. The individual will never make social progress an end of his action. He will always pursue a narrow destructive policy, exhausting prematurely the resources of the earth, earing neither for the good of others now living nor for posterity, but sweeping into the vortex of his own avarice all that he can obtain irrespective of his real needs." ^ There remains but one method of organisa- tion, namely, that by which the people them- selves take the initiative, organise themselves and act in the interest of all. This is democracy. It is government "of the people, by the people, for the people." In industry it is production for use and not for profit. It may not be at present, and in every case, the most economical method of production. It is true that public management is sometimes more expensive than private management. Theoretically this ought to be generally true, for economy depends upon intelligence, and, as already pointed out, social intelligence is as yet unequal to the intelligence of the individual. But society, like the individ- iWard, "Psychic Factors of Civilisation," p. 288. 206 The Social Ideal ual, learns to do by doing, and the educational value of public management should be reckoned in any estimate of it. The economic test is not conclusive. As social intelligence advances, social economy increases ; when the former be- comes ideal, so also does the latter. Social intelligence, then, as well as social economy, demands thorough social or democratic organi- sation for supplying social needs. Such organi- sation must, therefore, be progressively realised as intelligence and economy approach perfec- tion. Democracy is the ultimate form of gov- ernment. It is not ''an experiment which may be abandoned, but an evolution which must be fulfiUed." We have now considered two of the elements set forth as constituting the ultimate social aim. Necessarily accompanying these is a third, namely, voluntary co-operation. Social or- ganisation implies that men shall work together for the common good, consciously or uncon- sciously, under compulsion or voluntarily. If men co-operate either unconsciously or because they are compelled to do so, there is a lack of knowledge and purpose, or a want of interest. In either case there cannot be the highest effect- iveness. Unconscious co-operation is a marked feature of our present 'industrial life. The la- bour of many is involved in* almost every com- pleted product. The precision with which human needs are supplied, the delicate adjust- 207 Work and lAfe ment of supply and demand, though sometimes unduly eulogised, are truly astonishing. They evidence a high degree of managerial iatelli- gence. But ideal social intelligence demands the diffusion of intelligence and consciousness among all members, of society. Co-operation must therefore be conscious. If co-operation is compulsory, it is obvious that the element of compulsion will prevent those subjected to it from manifesting their potential effectiveness. No one will labour as effectively under com- pulsion as he will as a free man inspired by an ideal of the highest good. Compulsion would defeat economy. The co-operation in an ideal society must therefore be voluntary. We have now shown that the social ideal is represented by the conception of a society with a perfectly developed corporate consciousness, democratically organised on the basis of social economy, and having its members inspired by the spirit of conscious and voluntary co-opera- tion for the public good. It is a co-operative commonwealth in which the good of each, while subordinate to, is yet realised in, the good of all. Now of what value is this ideal in respect to the current questions of the day? In reply to this inquiry we may say without hesitation that it has a most practical bearing on the solution of arU our social problems. Dis- putes concerning these problems arise from dif- ferences of opinion, which, while they are the 208 The Social Ideal reflection of conflicting interests, are dne after all to a difference of ideal. In the long conflict of the two sections of our country, for instance, the people of the South held to the ideal of white supremacy. They believed slavery was right, and all their efforts were directed toward its perpetual establishment and extension. The people of the North believed it was wrong. Hence, they sought to limit it and put it in the way of final extinction. Ideals, therefore, had rhuch to do with the practical questions of the Fugitive Slave Law, the Missouri Compromise, the Kansas-Nebraska Act, and all the other measures connected with slavery. To-day the two main conflicting ideals are industrial indi- vidualism and collectivism. The proposed so- lutions of our politico-industrial problems — ^the land question, the labour question, the problem of poverty, the trust question, the questions of railway regulation, child labour, and the like — are consequently individualistic or coUectivistic. If the ideal we have suggested is the true one, it is plain that measures devised to correct the various evils out of which these questions arise must be pointed toward collectivism. They need not be radical. Evolution warns against trying to make haste too rapidly. But they must be to some extent socialistic, hence liable to criticism as such. The ideal is industrial co-operation. Hence, all social legislation should be framed with tlie thought of the grad- 209 Work and Life ual elimination of industrial strife. All at- tempts to rehabilitate the doctrine of laissez- faire and inaugurate a regime of free industrial competition are retrogressive and doomed to failure. The ideal is above and beyond, not be- low and beliind. So much for the bearing of the ideal on the industrial questions of to-day. On the ques- tions more specifically political and educational it throws a light no less luminous. If the end is democratic organisation of social forces for social purposes, we may, hence, infer that what- ever tends to increase popular participation in government, to make it more democratic, more truly "of the people, by the people, for the peo- ple" is, so far, justified in principle. This is what commends such proposals as extension of suffrage, proportional representation, popular initiative, and the referendum. They are calcu- lated to increase popular interest in govern- ment, and bring it more completely under the control of the people — m a word, to socialise it. They are measures preparatory and essential to complete social organisation. So also, if social intelligence is an element in the ultimate social ideal, we know in what direction educational re- form must travel. Knowing the end, we shall favour such changes in educational organisation, curricula, and discipline as most clearly tend to promote it. Such in brief is the practical value of ouk 210 The Social Ideal ideal in current discussions. The end suggests the means. All tMi;igs must be made to work together for the attainment of the preconceived end. The ideal, if we would but admit it, is the most practical thing in the world. There is another value of a lofty ideal which should not be overlooked, and that is the senti- mental. No great thing is ever accomplished without enthusiasm. So say the sages. Noth- ing serves better to kindle enthusiasm than the contemplation of a worthy and attainable ideal. The social ideal we have suggested is attainable, for it demands only the completion of existing elements in society. As to its loftiness and worth, we have only to reflect upon what its approximate realisation would necessarily mean. It would mean a society in which the atrocities of individual and national strife, with their inevitable brood of hatred, envy, malice, jealousy, cruelty, and bloodshed, could no longer take place, because so obviously inconsistent with social intelligence and the spirit of co- operation and brotherhood; a society in which the prophecy of the Scriptures would be fulfilled ■ — ^men would learn war no more, swords would be beaten into ploughshares, and spears into pruning-hooks, and monster ships be built to carry the life-giving products of industry and not the death-dealing implements of war; a so- ciety in which kings and emperors could no longer exist, because the absurd idea that God 211 Work and Ldfe brings some men into the world to lord it over others will no longer be entertained, and the spirit of selfish domination will be held, as it deserves to be held, in ntter detestation; a so- ciety in which the repressive function of government, as distinguished from the admin- istrative function, will no longer be exercised because no longer necessary, as it is no longer necessary to-day with the best elements of our population; a society in which the barriers be- tween nation and nation and race and race will be cleared away, and the true patriot will be not he who loves his country, but he who loves his kind; a society in which there will be no poor, except the poor in spirit; no rich, except those who are rich in goodness, wisdom and love; a society in which there will be no idle, because all will have opportunity for work, and aU will have learned that the joy of living is in doing; a society in which there will be no overworked and broken down, because a fair distribution of the work of the world will lighten the labour of each; a society which, in truth, will mean a new heaven and a new earth where man, un- trammeled by want and evil conditions, may press rapidly onward in his development and mount to the utmost possibilities of his being. 212 CHAPTER XI The Highee Pateiotism "The noblest motive is the public good." — Tergil. "We hesitate to employ a word so much abused as patrMism, whose true sense is almost the reverse of its popular sense. We have no sympathy with that boyish egotism, hoarse with cheering for one side, for one state, for one town: the right patriotism consists in the delight which springs from contrib- uting our peculiar and legitimate advantages to the benefit of humanity." — Emerson. "What right, what true, what fit we justly call. Let this be all my care — ^for this is all." — Pope. "We have now roughly sketched the main fea- tures of a Social Ideal. Whether this ideal is projected along scientific lines the reader him- self may determine. But of one thing we may be sure — some conception of an ideal humanity must in time become the inspiration of patriotic and religious action. This may be easily shown. Let us begin with a consideration of the mean- ing and significance of patriotism. Patriotism cannot be really understood with- out knowing something of its origin and the manner of its development. Primarily it is an identification of the individual with the group to which he belongs — family, tribe, state, or na- 213 Work and Life tion. THe patriot proudly speaks of "my family," "my tribe," "my state," "my peo- ple." This identification is based upon a cer- tain feeling whicli is tbe product of group association, and this feeling is instinctive. Sociology ascribes the origin of patriotism to the family life, the family being the first so- cial group. That this is correct is indicated by the origin of the word patriotism. It is derived from the Greek word ndrpioi: which means of or belonging to one's father. The Indo-Germaxdo root of the word is pa, from which we have the Latin pater and the English words father, pa- ternal, patriarch, patriotism, and many others. Perhaps the root-word itself is but the natural infantile utterance reduplicated in the word papa. At all events the word patriotism has plainly a family origin. The papa, the father, being the providing, protecting, and governing element in the family group, his authority su- preme, dignity, protection, and support being personified in liim, he was naturally the object of reverence and devotion. Loyalty to the pa- ter, the father, the patriarch, was therefore the earliest form of patriotism. Li the course of social evolution the family enlarged into the clan, the gens, or the tribe. The interests of single families were then more or less submerged in the interests of a group of families of which each was a component ele- ment. The chief representative of these larger 214 The Higher Patriotism interests was the head man, the chieftain, in- cluding later the council. Loyalty to the father and family exclusively was inconsistent with clan or tribal life. Hence patriotism extended itself to the interests of the larger group and their tribal representatives. There was, so to speak, an expansion of patriotism. This new form was represented in the clannishness of the early Scot, ' ' owning no tie but to his clan, ' ' the tribal instincts of the American Indian and other primitive peoples, and the partisanship of the early Greeks and Eomans. With the formation of the tribe, patriotism passed from fatherism to tribalism. In the amalgamation of tribes into states and nations the expansion of the feeling now known as patriotism continued. Loyalty to the tribe passed over into loyalty to the state or nation, and the feeling of patriotism became what we ordinarily express as love of country, the feeling which incites the individual to identify his interests more or less with those of his country, and to speak and act in a manner which he supposes will illustrate this identification. Of course, the feeling of patriotism is not confined alone to the personal group of which the individual is a member. It attaches itself also to the natural surroundings of the group. "I love thy rocks and rills, thy woods and tem- pled hills" is the expression of a truly patriotic sentiment. But we may include in our concep- 215 Work and Ldfe tion of a social group the natural conditions wMch surround it, and no misunderstanding need arise from defining patriotism as primarily an instinctive group feeling. Patriotism, then, like all other things in the universe, like the mind and all its manifesta- tions, has had its origin and its development. It originated in association, and association has been the main factor in its growth. Now the fact of the evolution of patriotism, and the manner in which it has taken place are the basis of a safe prophecy with respect to what patriotism is to become, if political and social organisation and amalgamation continue. The affiliation and federation of countries will en- large the feeling of patriotism. The "Parlia- ment of man and federation of the world" would as certainly conduce to cosmopolitanism or political humanism as tribal associations con- duced to tribalism, and the consolidation of tribes into states and staties into nations con- duced to the modem patriotic feeling. Love of country must gradually give place to love of kind. Although patriotism expands with the enlarg- ing composition of the group, it does not neces- sarily sever itself from any point of attachment. The family feeling may still be strong in the tribe, as with the Montagues and Capulets in Eome, for instance; and devotion to the state may be powerful in the citizens of the nation, 216 The Higher Patriotism as "was conspicuously shown in the secession of the Southern States of America. So also the cosmopolitan may retain his love of country. He is not necessarily "a traitor," as some seem to suppose. Neither does this larger and higher patriotism imply a lack of family affection with a Mrs. Jellyby's sentimental in- terest in the inhabitants of Borrioboola-Grha. In pure cosmopolitanism, however, the spirit of national or racial antagonism must neces- sarily vanish, and loyalty to one coimtry or race as against another country or race must be controlled and tempered by devotion to humanity. The narrower and selfish interests of the particular country to which the citizen belongs must be held inferior to the interests of mankind. Of course all these interests may coincide, but the world-patriot cannot stand with his country "against the world," unless his country is right and "the world" is wrong. True loyalty and humanity can mean only de- votion to the principles upon which the well- being of humanity rests. The world-patriot must be loyal to right everywhere against wrong anywhere. He must stand for justice to aU against injustice to any. When the action, or demands of his country conflict with the rights of humanity he must stand for humanity. Hence he may be called by his compatriots un- patriotic, but he is so only as viewed from the interests of the smaller group. The "politi- 217 Work and Life cals" of Eussia, for instance, are nnpatriotic in the eyes of tlie Russian Bureaucracy and its supporters. Though, they be faithful to uni- versal priuciples of liberty and equality, they are unfaithful to the principles of Eussian despotism ; hence, from a certaia Eussian stand- point, they are unpatriotic. George Kennan in the Outlook for March 30, 1907, gives an interesting and pathetic account of the attempt of some of these politicals to man- ifest their devotion to the larger principles of freedom embodied in our own Declaration of Independence. He says : ' ' On the morning of the Fourth of July, 1876, hours before the first daylight cannon announced the beginning of the great celebration in Philadelphia, hun- dreds of small, rude American flags or strips of red, white, and blue cloth fluttered from the grated windows of the politicals around the whole quadrangle of the great St. Petersburg prison, while the prisoners were faintly hurrah- ing, singing patriotic songs, or exchanging greet- ings with one another through the iron pipes which united their cells. The celebration, of course, was soon over. The prison guard, al- though they had never heard of the Declaration of Independence and did not understand the sig- nificance of this extraordinary demonstration, promptly seized and removed the flags and tri- coloured streamers. Some of the prisoners, however, had more material of the same kind in 218 The Higher Patriotism reserve, and at intervals throughout the whole day scraps and tatters of red, white, and blue were furtively hung out here and there from ceU windows or tied around the bars of the gratings. Late in the evening at a precon- certed hour, the politicals lighted their bits of tallow candles and placed them in their windows, and the celebration ended with a faint but per- ceptible illumination of the great prison." This mournful and touching endeavour to celebrate our Fourth of July did not necessarily indicate a greater love of our country than of Eussia, but it did imply a devotion to political principles of universal application. We may conceive that the aspiration and ideal of these politicals was merely that these principles should prevail in their own fatherland. They loved not Eussia less, but freedom more. They at least approximated a "higher patriotism." Thus far we have spoken of patriotism as an instinctive feeling or sentiment. Now, it is characteristic of an instinct that it acts with- out reflection. Though originally purposive in action, and serving as an agent in individual or group preservation, an instinct takes no con- sideration of objective circumstances. It is a blind impulse. When the stimulus is provided it operates; and its operation has often led, in the course of biological and social evolution, to the extinction of individuals and of groups. Patriotism, therefore, so far as it is instinctive, 219 Work and lAfe is impTilsive, blind, unreasoning, and irreflective. It thrills, it hurrahs, it boasts, it fights and dies without calmly considering what it is all about. It resents a fancied insult without stop- ping to ascertaia whether it is real. It flies to the defence of the supposed interests of its group without inquiring whether the interests are worthy or the danger is actual. It is blind patriotism and springs from the emotional side of the mind. It differs in no essential respect from the impulse of the tiger to defend its young, or from that of the wild cattle of the prairie to defend the herd. It is easily aroused and easily "stampeded." On the other hand, there is a patriotism which may be distinguished from instinctive patriotism by the word intelligent. The emo- tions are subject to the control of the intellect. It is the function and power of the intellect to inhibit, restrain, sometimes to eliminate, an instinct. Even the instinct of self-preservation, strong as it is, has sometimes been wholly in- hibited by a duly informed and reflective mind. The proper intelligence may therefore modify, even reverse, the actions springing from instinc- tive feeling. Patriotic sentiment may be held subject to a thorough knowledge of political and social conditions and a sense of justice. When so held it becomes intelligent patriotism. Intelligent patriotism, then, is patriotic feeling, instinctive patriotism, under the control and 220 The Higher Patriotism ^idance of knowledge and reflection. It is love of country and the disposition to serve it, coupled with a knowledge of how to serve it well. It does not yield to impulse. It looks be- fore and after. It restrains a nation from fight- ing when there are no real interests at stake. Now there can be no doubt that the great need of all nations is intelligent patriotism. The modem patriot is too much disposed to act upon impulse. He is "touchy"; he goes off "half-cocked"; he is full of racial prejudice, indulges in national bombast and braggadocio. Chauvinism, Jingoism, and manifests a disposi- tion to whip somebody. His patriotism is chiefly an instinctive patriotism. Such patri- otism is a feeling for one 's country without the control of intelligence ; it is patriotic zeal with- out patriotic knowledge. Under its promptings the patriotic is sometimes the idiotic. The ut- terances and actions evoked by it are sometimes illustrative of the fact that a man may be a patriot and still be a fool. Among the effects of instinctive patriotism is the overweening national egotism manifested by so many "patriots." There is a disease called by the learned megalomania. Its pri- mary symptom is "the delusion of grandeur." So many patriots are megalomaniacs that the disease seems to characterise every nation and every people. It led Israel to regard itself as a "peculiar" people, the favourite of the Al- 221 Work and Life mighty. It induced the Greeks to call all other peoples barbarians. The Chinese, according to their own estimate, are "celestials," and both the English and the Americans speak of them- selves as divinely commissioned to spread the blessings of civilisation among "inferior" peo- ples, even if they smother them in the process. All this is national egotism, social megalomania. It arises from a more or less irreflective in- stinctive patriotism. Obviously great national and social dangers are consequent upon instinctive patriotism. By manifesting itself in antipathy toward another nation, and in irreflective action, it provokes sus- picion, jealousy, hatred, and unnecessary war. Washington, in his Farewell Address, pointed out some of these dangers. "Antipathy in one nation against another," said he, "disposes each more readily to offer insult and injury, to lay hold of slight causes of umbrage, and to be haughty and intractable, when accidental or trifling occasions of dispute occur. Hence, fre- quent collisions; obstinate, envenomed, and bloody contests. The nation, prompted loj ill- will and resentment, sometimes impels to war the government, contrary to the best calculations of policy. The government sometimes partici- pates in the national propensity, and adopts through passion what reason would reject; at other times it makes the animosity of the nation subservient to projects of hostility instigated by 222 The Higher Patriotism pride, ambition, and other sinister and perni- cious motives. Tlie peace often, sometimes perhaps the liberty, of nations has been the victim." Instinctive patriotism forced Presi- dent McKinley into a war with Spain which, with national intelligence and forbearance, might have been avoided. It inspires irrespon- sible and mischievous remarks and comments concerning other nations, which tend to provoke hostility. The following is a sample: "I would be in favour of annexing Canada right now, if I thought England would fight. But just to take Canada and have no brush with England would be too tame. There are hun- dreds of young men in this country who would enjoy a war with England, and some of the young veterans of the war would not be slow in going to the front." This is the language of a former general of the American Army as reported by the Associated Press. The cor- respondent of the Pittsburg Gazette of Decem- ber 15, 1903, when our relations with Colombia were somewhat strained, wrote: "There are a lot of young officers in Washington who are hoping that the complications between this country and Colombia will result in war. They do not expect it will be much of a war even if there is a conflict between the two forces, but at any rate it will open the way to promotion for some of them, and promotion is the sole ambition of the soldiers." Eemarks like these 223 Work and Life are prompted solely by instinctive patriotism, patriotism unrestrained by social intelligence. Such, patriotism not only leads to national bickering and strife, but it also prevents that national receptiveness so essential to progress. "The national egotism which scorns to learn of neighbours," says Brinton, "prepares tbe pathway to national ruin. . . . That nation to- day which is most eager to learn from others, which is furthest from the fatal delusion that all wisdom flows from its own springs will surely be in the van of progress. ' ' ^ But instinctive patriotism is not eager to learn from othei! nations, for the very simple reason that it thinks they have nothing superior to teach. To the instinctive patriot nothing in foreign nations is worthy of emulation or adoption. He speaks without the slightest reverence of "Japs," and ' ' Chinks, ' ' and ' ' Dagoes " ; of " wild Irishmen, ' ' "rat-eating Frenchmen," and "flat-headed Dutchmen. ' ' Such a * ' patriot ' ' may be a gentle- man so far as his more intimate personal re- lationships are concerned, but as a representa- tive of nationality he is often a braggart, a bully, or a fool. His patriotism is irrational and ir- responsible, and consequently a danger to his country. In spite of the dangers of instinctive patri- otism, however, it must be recognised that, like other instincts again, it may serve at times a 1 "Basis of Social Relationahips," New York, 1902, p. 60. 224 TJie Higher Patriotism very useful purpose. Indeed, in the absence of social intelligence, it has been absolutely es- sential to the preservation of social groups. ;When the life of a nation, for instance, is en- dangered, its citizens must rise instantly to its defence. There is no time for serious reflection. To deliberate is to be lost. Hence the disposi- tion to spring to arms is an element of national survival ; for it leads the citizens to act in con- cert, and so more effectively. Without in- stinctive patriotism, no group in a hostile environment could have survived. On the whole, those groups in which it was highest de- veloped are the ones which have persisted. In- stinctive patriotism, then, has unquestionably been an element in social survival, as well as an element in social danger and destruction. But however serviceable this form of patriotism may have been in the past, or however necessary in a critical national exigency, it is not the kind of patriotism that is needed to-day. It in- volves government in needless strife, and it ren- ders the citizens easily susceptible to the pernicious influences of kings, diplomats, and unscrupulous politicians. Hence, it should be supplanted as rapidly as possible by intelligent patriotism. Intelligent patriotism implies a particular kind of knowledge, a knowledge of national and social relationships, and of the principles of in- dustrial and political well-being. In the en- 225 Work and Life deavour to develop it in tlie schools, for instance, teachers may safely rely upon the existence of patriotic feeling and devote attention exclusively to promoting the right kind of intelligence. Saluting the flag, the singing of patriotic songs, Fourth of July celebrations as heretofore con- ducted, to say nothing of most of the patriotic appeals from pulpit and rostrum, are directed merely to developing instinctive patriotism. The really needed and difficult thing, how- ever, is to inform the instinct so that it will operate, even under trying circumstances, to the real advantage and safety of the nation. Edu- cation should be directed not so much to the development of patriotic feeling, but to impart- ing the kind of knowledge by which that feel- ing is restrained and directed. The difference between instinctive patriotism and intelligent patriotism, as I have tried to present it, is not, of course, absolute. Feeling is necessary to action, and the two cannot be separated. But the difference between impul- sive action and rational action is obvious, and so, I think, must be the distinction I have drawn between instinctive patriotism and intelligent patriotism. Instinctive patriotism is not to be supplanted by intelligent patriotism; it is, rather, to be transformed into it by knowledge. With the distinction of the two kinds of patriotism now before us it will be interesting to compare some of the patriotic manifestations 226 The Higher Patriotism in modem political discussion. Instinctive patriotism, -witli a superficial knowledge of science, justifies war on the ground of the law of the survival of the fittest. Intelligent patri- otism analyses the idea of the fittest, finds that it has no ethical signification, and strives to promote all activities calculated to fit our nation to survive. Instinctive patriotism prates in language which to delicate ears sounds almost blasphemous, of the unpremeditated occurrences in our national life as disclosing the will of Providence. Intelligent patriotism recognises that safe and permanent progress is the result of human forethought, that the blunders of a nation are no less deplorable and blameworthy than those of an individual, and that uncon- sidered or ill-considered action on the part of man or nation is quite as likely to disclose the will of the devil as the will of the Lord. In- stinctive patriotism melodramatically declares that the flag of our country whenever or wher- ever, and no matter under what circumstances, it is erected, shall never be hauled down. In- telligent patriotism insists that whenever and wherever the flag is raised in injustice, or as a symbol of oppression and tyranny, the sooner it is hauled down the better ; for the intelligent patriot is likely to have a feeling that unless it is lowered by our own hands, the God of Justice will somehow tear it down and make it a mockery and a mournful memory in the minds 227 Work and Life of men. Instinctive patriotism defiantly pro- claims, ' ' My country, right or wrong. ' ' Intelli- gent patriotism says, "My coimtry, -wlien slie is right, and when she is wrong, my life to set her right." Instinctive patriotism nonplussed by the arguments of the peace advocates, tries to persuade itself that such advocates are un- educated sentimentalists and mollycoddles. In- telligent patriotism quietly continues to organise its peace leagues, associations, and federations, schools, tribunals, and unions, confident that proper intelligence will make war impossible. The difference between the two kinds of patriotism is shown in nothing more clearly than the character of the two national ideals now in- culcated. Instinctive patriotism has much to say about our becoming a "world power," the inev- itableness of war, and of our rightful influence in the council of nations. Intelligent patriotism knows we have long been a world power, that war is neither inevitable nor necessary, and is not so much interested in our rightful influence as that our influence be exercised in the rightful way. The instinctive patriotic ideal is militant ; the intelligent, scientific and industrial. Is it necessary to inquire which is the higher form of patriotism? "Which is the nobler national aspiration, which evinces the loftier patriotism, supremacy in war and the arts of destruction, with hundreds of millions of our wealth locked up in ships, forts, and arsenals, 228 The Higher Patriotism and thousands of men withdrawn from the peaceful pursuits to man these instruments of death, and become a burden on the back of labour, or supremacy in industry, in trade, in science, in art, in literature, and in education, with health, wealth, and happiness for all our people ; and, because we have charity for all and malice toward none, enjoying the good-will and friendship of all the world? For which should we strive as a nation, to evoke the fear of the weaker nations by the strength of our arma- ments (and their hatred also, for hate is the child of fear), or to deserve and compel their respect and admiration by fair dealing, justice, modesty, moderation, courtesy, and charity, and by our sincerity in upholding the principles of liberty, equality, and fraternity? Instinctive patriotism is thrilled by glowing descriptions of America as mighty in battle, or as Mistress of the Seas with hundreds of battle- ships, those grim leviathans of the deep, plough- ing the waves of every sea and proudly tossing from their iron manes the ocean foam ; or rest- ing unwelcome, it may be, because unbidden, guests in the ports of foreign lands ; each bear- ing witness that in this nation of ours, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal, there is a disposition to forsake the principles of the fathers in a lust for power, and to follow in the wake of Babylon and Nineveh, Greece, Borne, and Spam; the 229 Work and Ldfe nations whose bloody history reveals to him who will but read that the nation that relies tipon force must finally become the victim of force. For it is written, "They that take the sword shall perish by the sword. ' ' Intelligent patriotism, on the other hand, is inspired by the ideal of America as a republic supremely powerful by the force of an enlight- ened public opinion, and supremely glorious on account of her successful pursuit of the arts of peace, and because of her acknowledged leader- ship in all that liberates and lifts. The prophet of old declared that there shall come a time when swords shall be beaten into ploughshares and spears into pruning-hooks, and men shall learn war no more ; and that the earth shall be full of knowledge as the waters cover the sea. When these prophecies are to be fulfilled no one can know — "Ah, when shall all men's good be each man's rule, And universal peace lie like a shaft of light across man- kind; Or like a lane of beams athwart the sea Through all the circle of the golden year?" But these prophecies imply a period of con- tiauous peace and general education involving the diffusion of patriotic knowledge. Who can estimate what this will mean to the advancement of the people ? It is not given unto men to fore- tell what this nation is to become; it doth not 230 The Higher Patriotism yet appear what we shall be; but of this we may be sure, that with continuous peace, uni- versal education, and intelligent patriotism, eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither has it entered into the imagination of man to conceive the glorious possibilities of the American Ee- public. To construct upon the basis of exist- ing industrial and social facts, the loftiest pos- sible conception or ideal of social life, to desire its realisation and to work for it — ^that is the Higher Patriotism, So conceived patriotism becomes an important factor ia the solution of the Social Problem of To-day, 231' CHAPTER Xn Eeligioit and the New Social Oedeb'- "The basis of religion is independent of science. Theology, not religion, is the antithesis to science." — Toynbee. "Much of the distracting anxiety, arising at the present day from unsettlement of religious opinion, is caused by an insuffi- cient idea of what religion is in its own essential nature. Whereas, when once that essential nature is realised, it is felt to be indestructible." — Picton. "Thou, thou, the Ideal Man, Fair, able, beautiful, content, and loving. Complete in body and dilate in spirit. Be thou my God. "All great ideas, the races' aspirations, All heroisms, deeds of rapt enthusiasts. Be ye my Gods." — Walt Whitman. If it could once be generally recognised and felt that only in effort to promote the realisa- tion of the social ideal is the individual best promoting his own self-realisation, his own hap- piness here and hereafter, then the spirit of social reform and the religious impulse, if they do not become identical, would at least coalesce I This chapter in substantially its present form was written in 1902; delivered as an address before the University of Chi- cago College for Teachers on Dec. 16 of that year, and pub- lished in the International Journal of Ethics, January, 1903, Vol. XIII, pp. 185-206. 232 Religion and the New Social Order in stimulating to social action. A careful con- sideration of the nature and function of religion will show, I tMnk, that the tendency is toward this unification, and that the religion of the fu- ture will he entirely social. Such consideration requires first and chiefly a careful definition of religion. The divergent and contradictory uses of the word religion are due, one feels, not only to the difficulty of comprehending the nature of re- ligion but also to the disposition of those who have written upon the subject to further an ulterior purpose by the definitions they propose. The Evangelical controversialist, for instance, seems bent on excluding by his definition what he calls the superstitions of man, or of sharply distinguishing between the so-called natural re- ligions and revealed religion. The moralist seeks apparently to disparage the reputed in- fluence of religion on conduct, and the thorough- going secularist wishes to put religion in the way of inevitable extinction. When the subject is approached, as at present, with a purely scientific interest, all such purposes of doctrinal and philosophical strategy must of course be relinquished. "We cannot concern ourselves either with the relative superiority of a par- ticular form of religion or even with the fate of religion itself. The only legitimate purpose of a definition is to define. Although there cannot be two opinions with 233 Work and Life regard to the motive wMcli ought to prompt an inquiry into the nature of religion, it may be said that, owing to the incompleteness of the sciences dealing with the subject, the time has not yet come when an attempt to formulate a definition of religion should be made, or, indeed, can be made with a fair prospect of success. This is true so far as a final scientific defini- tion of religion is concerned. We must, indeed, await further progress in ethnographical and psychological knowledge before we may hope to condense the quintessence of religion into a final definition. Certainly the present writer has a far less ambitious purpose. The need of a more exact definition of religion than is commonly given is not confined, however, to sociology, ethnology, psychology or the philosophy of religion. The greatest demand is in the field of popular discussion, where the utmost confusion reigns in regard to the question of the stability and permanence of religion, and its relation to science and morality. The first step toward a clear understanding of religion is to distinguish carefully between, rehgion and religions. It bears about the same relation to the various religions as a genus to its species. A definition which applies only to one religion is no more a definition of religion than the definition of a particular person is a definition of the genus homo. This is so obvious that it is hard to understand why so many; 234 Religion and the New Social Order definitions are presented •wMcli apply to nothing but Christianity. There is no religion which can be absolutely separated from all others, and a definition that is worth anything at all must apply to all forms of religion from the lowest to the highest. Current definitions of religion, especially; those of a theological character, are usually ex- pressed in terms of belief. Occasionally re- ligion is defined in terms of feeling, and sometimes in terms of conduct or conation, but the popular idea is that religion and belief are identical. The prevalence of this idea is chiefly due to the definitions presented in the writings of a few philosophers and theologians. James Martineau, for instance, defined reli- gion as the "belief in an ever-living God, that is, a Divine mind and will ruling the universe and holding moral relations with mankind;"^ Bishop Butler, as the belief in one God or Creator .and Moral Governor of the world and in a future state of retribution implying im-, mortality ; ^ and many writers, among whom is the pliilosopher Immanuel Kant, have made the belief in immortality the sole basis of reli- gion.* The demand of the church for belief, and the constant association in the New Testa- 1 "Study of Religion," Vol. I, p. 1. 2 Ward, "Dynamic Sociology," Vol. II, p. 160. 8 "Kritik der Reinen Vernunft," Sec. 271, cited by Ward in "Dynamic Sociology," Vol. 11, p. 252. 235 Work and Life ment of belief with salvation, and unbelief witb. its opposite, encourage popular acceptance of these definitions. Theology, however, is not the only science which identifies religion with belief. When we turn to those writers who have approached the subject from the ethnographical side we find the same mistaken conception. De Quatre- fages, Letoumeau, Topinard, Sir John Lub- bock and Prof. E. B. Tylor, to mention only a few of these writers, all define religion in terms of belief. Even Herbert Spencer, who calls it "an a priori theory of the universe," bases re- ligion upon the intellectual element.^ Now, we may readily admit that knowledge or belief is an element in religion, as a more or less specific belief is an element in all reli- gions; but when we define religion as specific belief, — for instance, the belief in God, in im- mortality, or in spiritual beings, — ^we not only recognise an intellectual element in religion but we make religion synonymous with a particular form of belief. This narrows the scope of religion, and in an age of uncompromising criticism, stakes its life upon the accuracy of an intellectual formula. For, considering the 1 See Quatrefages, "L'Espece Humaine," p. 356 ; Letourneau, "L'Evolution Religieuse dans les Diverses Eaees Humanea," p. 4; Topinard, "Science and Faith," p. 246; Sir John Lubbock, "Prehistorio Times," p. 574; Tylor, "Primitive Culture," Vol. I, p. 424; Spencer, "First Principles," p. 43; also Crozier, "Civ- ilisation and Progress," p. 257, vrhere religion is defined as the philosophy of the masses." 236 Religion and the New Social Order present state of knowledge, what formulated belief can be said to be absolutely permanent? None. To base religion upon belief, therefore, is to build the house of religion upon the sand, and when the rain descends, and the floods come, and the winds blow and beat upon it, what assurance can we have that it will not fall? To say of current definitions of religion, however, that they present it as an unstable and vanishing phenomenon is not necessarily to offer against them a fatal objection. The end or purpose of a definition, like that ascribed by Hamlet to playing, is "to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to Nature." If the truth is reflected, that is all we can demand, whatever be the fate of the thing defined. But the quickest way, perhaps, to show that an error is involved in considering religion as a matter of belief is to point out some of the con- sequences of accepting the coromon definition. If we accept the definition, for instance, that religion is belief in one all-wise personal Be- ing, we commit ourselves to the view that the great majority of the human race have lived without religion. For nothing is clearer to those who have any familiarity with the reli- gious ideas of mankind than that the belief in many gods has been far more prevalent than the belief in one. Monotheism is a compara- tively recent development in the history of 237 Work and Life religious thougM. It is sometimes said, to be sure, that "all human beings have the idea of God,'"^ but this is a pleasant fiction invented for theological purposes. "There is no evi- dence," says Darwin, "that man was aborigi- nally endowed with the ennobling belief in the existence of an Omnipotent God. On the con- trary, there is ample evidence, derived not from hasty travellers, but from men who have long resided with savages, that numerous races have existed, and still exist, who have no idea of one or more gods, and who have no words in their languages to express such an idea."* Again, Sir John Lubbock, after citing a score or more of illustrations to prove the point, says that "those who assert that even the lowest savages believe in a supreme Deity, affirm that which is entirely contrary to the evidence."* This is a different question, of course, from that of the universality of religion, with which we are not at present concerned. All we are now trying to show is that by defining religion as the belief in a Supreme Being we exclude from the category of religious the vast major- ity of tbe human race. Not only do primi- tive religions fall outside of the definition, but also one of the world's great religions, namely Buddhism, which numbers more adherents than 1 Outlook, December, 1900, p. 919. 2 "Descent of Man" (Humboldt Library), p. 51. 8 "Prehistoric Times," p. 579. 238 Beligion and the New Social Order any other. Sir Monier Monier-Williams, the learned professor of Sanscrit at Oxford, does indeed declare that Buddhism is not a religion ; but this surprising opinion must be due to his desire to be consistent, for he holds that "a religion, in the proper sense of the word, must postulate the existence of one living and true God of infinite power, wisdom and love, the Creator and Designer and Preserver of all things visible and invisible," and that it "must take for granted the immortality of man's soul or spirit." "Christianity," he asserts, "is a religion, whereas Buddhism, at least in its earliest and truest form, is no religion at all. ' ' ^ If Buddhism is not a religion, pray what is it? Of what value is a definition of religion which includes only Christianity? However con- venient it may be for controversial purposes, it does not satisfy the requirements of science. If, instead of the belief iu a Supreme Being, we accept the view that belief in immortality is identical with religion, we are confronted by the same difficulty. The idea of an unending future existence "does not belong to the lower forms of religion, but is a comparatively recent extension of the early idea of a future life,"^ Mr. John Fiske in the book entitled "Through Nature to God," does indeed assert that "be- 1 Quoted by Dr. Cams, "Buddhism and its Christian Critics," p. 290. 2 Prof. Lester F. Ward, "Dynamic Sociology," Vol. II, p. 280. 239 Work and Life lief in the Unseen world in which human be- ings continue to esist after death," is an indispensable element of religion, and he seems to identify this belief with immortality. Dr. Brinton, also, maintains that the mind of primitive man was so filled with visions of universal and immortal life, that to many there was no such thing as death ; ^ but Prof. Tylor, than whom there is no better authority, posi- tively asserts that "far from a life after death being held by all men as the destiny of all men, whole classes are formally excluded from it," and that "even among races who distinctly accept the doctrine of a surviving soul, this acceptance is not unanimous." "The soul," he says, "as recognised in the philosophy of the lower races, may be defined as an ethereal surviving being, conceptions of which preceded and led up to the more transcendental theory of the immaterial and immortal soul, which forms part of the theology of the higher nations. ' ' ^ Passing over the numerous illus- trations from primitive life cited by Prof. Tylor, we may mention the Greeks, among whom the idea of immortality was very vague, and call to mind the fact that it is by no means generally accepted among us to-day. What has the conception of immortality to do with the religious philosophy of those who hold 1 "Religion of Primitive Peoples," p. 69. 2 "Primitive Culture," Vol. 11, pp. 22, 24. 240 Religion and the New Social Order with. Prof. Huxley, that religion is "reverence and love for the ethical ideal, and the desire to realise that ideal in lif e" ? ^ Or with that of the followers of Herbart who considered sympathy with the universal dependence of men as the es- sential natural principle of religion? ^ We see, then, that a definition of religion in terms of the higher and derived belief is not inclusive. There is involved, however, a more serious consequence. If religion is identified with a form of be- lief, the fate of religion is made to depend upon the permanence of that belief. Thus the very existence of religion may seem to be jeopardised, for, as was said before, no belief may be regarded as perfectly secure against the advancing tide of critical thought. Some may reply that the belief in a personal Crea- tor is absolutely permanent. But many of the greatest thinkers have abandoned this concep- tion.* If the belief in immortality is suggested as one that is unlikely to pass away, we are con- fronted by the fact that some profound thinkers have ceased to hold it. Prof. Haeckel, for instance, in his recent book on "The Eid- 1 "Christianity and Agnosticism" (Humboldt Library), p. 25. 2 "Science of Education," English translation, p. 171. 8 "Dieu," says De Greef, to quote but a single author, "est un. personnage historique, susceptible de naissance, de croissance et de HMrt, comme les dieux, lea fetiches et les esprits en general." — "Introduction a la Sociologie," Tome II, p. 218. 241 Work and Life die of the Universe," dismisses this dogma as hopelessly inconsistent with the most solid truths of science. When Giordano Bruno, whose love for the truth brought him to the stake three hundred years ago, faced his ac- cusers, he was unsupported by either the belief in a personal deity or the belief in immortality. Must we say, then, that this martyr to the truth was an irreligious man? Such must be our conclusion if we accept the idea that belief in immortality is essential to religion. A writer in the Contemporary Review said, some years ago, "If for any reason, mankind does, at any time cease to believe in its own immortality, then religion will also have ceased to exist as a part of the consciousness of humanity."^ There is no need, however, for linking the fate of religion to belief in immortality or to any other specific belief. Whatever religion may be, no unprejudiced student of the subject will contend that it may properly be identified with the higher and de- rived beliefs, like the belief in a personal God or the belief in immortality. The necessity of some more general conception will at once be recognised. We find, therefore, that the ethnographer, while defining religion as belief, seeks the rudimentary and common form of belief from which all others may be derived, 1 Eev. T. W. Fowle, quoted by Professor Ward, "Dynamic Sociology," U. 253. 242 Religion and the New Social Order and identifies religion with that belief. We shall see, however, that the lower we descend among beliefs for an inclusive definition of re- ligion, the more precarious the situation of religion becomes. The broadest definition of religion that has ever been given in terms of belief is that of Prof. Tylor, that is, the belief in Spiritual Be- ings. "The first requisite in a systematic study of the religions of the lower races," he says, "is to lay down a rudimentary definition of religion. By requiring in this definition the belief in a Supreme Deity or judgment after death, the adoration of idols or the practice of sacrifice, or other partially diffused doctrines or rites, no doubt many tribes may be excluded from the category of religious. But Quch narrow definition has the fault of identifying religion rather with particular de- velopments than with the deeper motive which underlies them. It seems best to fall back at once on this essential source, and simply to claim as a minimum definition of religion, the belief in Spiritual Beings." This belief is supposed to be universal. "So far as I can judge from the immense mass of accessible eAddence," says Prof. Tylor, "we have to admit that the belief in Spiritual Beings appears among all low races with whom we have at- tained a thoroughly intimate acquaintance; whereas the assertion of absence of such belief 243 Work and Life must apply either to ancient tribes or to more or less imperfectly described modern ones."^ Prof. Tylor's de&ition leaves nothing to be desired, then, so far as inclusiveness is con- cerned. Like other definitions of religion in terms of a specific belief, however, it is fatal to the claim that religion is a permanent real- ity. To realise the truth of this we have only to consider the evolution of modem religious beliefs. The study of the evolution of modern reli- gious conceptions teaches plainly that they are the natural outgrowth of the primitive concep- tion of Spiritual Beings. The monotheistic con- ception of to-day, for instance, is logically related to polytheism, and is the result of a gradual integration of the God-conception as science has progressed toward the idea of a unitary cause. The orthodox theory of in- spiration, to use another illustration, is the natural product of the primitive idea of souls and possession. Hence religion, if it means primarily a belief, whether high or low, must stand or fall mth the belief in Spiritual Beings. Let us examine the validity of this belief. The belief in Spiritual Beings is derived from two sources. It is a deduction either from such phenomena as dreams, swoons, apo- plexy, shadows, and reflections in water, which were satisfactorily explained to the primitive 1 "Primitive Culture," Vol. I, pp. 424, 425. 244 Religion and the New Social Order mind by the assumption of a double self, or a soul and body, normally but not continuously united; or from the phenomena of objective nature, — the thunder, the lightning, wind, rain, the movements of the clouds, etc., — of which the assumption of invisible beings analogous to men was to the primitive man a sufficient explanation. The genesis of the idea of an- other self, or soul, capable of entering and leaving the body, which is the subjective basis of the belief in Spiritual Beings, is thus ac- counted for by Prof. Tylor: "When the sleeper awakens from a dream" (he is speak- ing of primitive man), '*he believes he has really somehow been away, or that other people have come to him. As it is well known by ex- perience that men's bodies do not go on these excursions, the natural explanation is that every man's living self or soul is his phantom or image, which can go out of his body and see and be seen itself in dreams. Even waking men in broad daylight sometimes see these human phantoms in what are called vi- sions or hallucinations. They are further led to believe that the soul does not die with the body, but lives on after quitting it, for although a man may be dead and buried, his phantom- figure continues to appear to the survivors in dreams and visions. That men have such un- substantial images belonging to them is famil- iar in other ways to the savage philosopher, 245 Work and Life wKo has watched their reflections in still water, or their shadows following them about, fading out of sight to reappear presently somewhere else, while sometimes for a moment he has seen their living breath as a faint cloud, vanishing though one can feel that it is still there, "^ From this subjective source Mr. Spencer de- rives ancestor worship, which he claims is the parent form of all religions. The second method by which the idea of invisible beings may have been derived is quite as simple. Conscious of himself as a cause, the primitive man would by analogy at- tribute some form of life to anything that man- ifested power or movement. Indeed, it is even now contended that by the very nature of our intelligence we are bound to represent the cause of things in terms of ourselves." Dar- win, in opposition to Mr. Spencer, thought that this personification of the causes of nature preceded the belief in a double.^ Here, then, are the two bases which support the belief in. Spiritual Beings. Eemove these and religion, as defined by Mr. Tylor, falls to the ground. We have only to consider for a moment the effect of modern science upon these two ideas which support the belief in question, to ap- preciate the precarious condition of religion 1 "Anthropology," pp. 343, 344. 2 See Crozier, "Civilization and Progress," p. 232. 8 "Descent of Man" (Humboldt Library), p. 51, footnote. 246 Retigion and the New Socicd Order when it is regarded as the belief in Spiritual Beings. No modem psychologist, for instance, would accept the idea of a double to explain the phenomena of dreams, swoons, apoplexy, etc., nor does any one now believe that the forces of nature may properly be interpreted as invisible personal agencies. Prof. Ward in dismissing the idea of the first, or subjective, view of the origin of the belief in question, says, "Does the reflection of a man's face in a pool really indicate that the man possesses two faces, a bodily and a spiritual face? Does the shadow that he casts, or the echo of his voice, really prove that he has an immaterial double ? Does a dream or a trance, in which an alibi is proved to the mind of the ignorant sav- age really demonstrate that his other self ex- ists and has been wandering about, while all his friends declare that his proper self has remained in the same place? Is there any fallacy by which, on this view, the fundamental conception of religion has been arrived at? All will, of course, admit that the premises are utterly false in all these cases. If even the very root of the tree consists wholly of error, is it not reasonable to suppose that the branches and the fruit will partake of the same nature?" And the same writer ends his in- quiry in regard to the second or objective view, as follows: "Is the wind really an im- material spirit? Are the sun, moon and stars 247 Work and Life actual verities? Is the rainbow a goddess or a bridge connecting earth and heaven, or was it placed in the heavens by a Deity as a cove- nant between him and man ? Are meteors ' ex- crements of dirty little star gods'? Or is an eclipse a result of the defecation of the divine orb of day? Does the plant grow, or the tide ebb or flow, or rain descend or the lightning flash, in obedience to spiritual powers above, and outside of nature, having distinct person- alities? All these phenomena are now sat- isfactorily explained on strictly natural prin- ciples. Among peoples acquainted with science, all such supernatural beings have been dis- pensed with, and the belief in them is de- clared to be false, and to always have been false." ^ Thus we see that Prof. Ward rejects the two ideas upon which the belief in Spiritual Beings is based, and it hardly will be denied that both are erroneous, and under the influence of scientific criticism have gradually crumbled away. What then becomes of religion as defined by Mr. Tylor? Obviously it is left without a support. Mr. Spencer does indeed try to save it by his favourite method of finding a "soul of truth in things erroneous." Like Prof. Ward, he discards both the idea of a double and the idea of invisible personal agencies in nature, but "at the outset," he says, "a germ of truth was contained in the primitive conception — 1 "Dynamic Sociology," Vol. II, pp. 266, 268, 269. 248 Eeligion and the New Social Order the trutli, namely, that the power that man- ifests itself in consciousness is hut a differently conditioned form of the power that manifests itself beyond consciousness." ^ As he does not interpret this power in terms of personality, however, he does not save religion as the belief in Spiritual Beings. Incidentally we may remark that in the idea that religion is a form of belief we have an explanation of the supposed conflict between science and religion, and of the confidence ex- pressed by some writers in the present decay and final disappearance of religion. Eegard- ing religion as belief, and witnessing the destructive effects of scientific criticism in every department of knowledge, many thinkers have regretfully, or gleefully, acknowledged that religion must decrease as science increases, and that there will come a time when religion will have entirely disappeared. "The prog- ress of religion," says De Greef, "is in the reduction of religion to an absurdity,"^ and a distinguished socialist says, "Eeligion expires when belief in Supernatural Beings or Super- natural Ruling Powers ceases to exist."' Ob- viously this is true if the idea of religion entertained by these writers is correct. If, 1 "Principles of Sociology," Vol. Ill, pp. 170, 171. 2 "Introduction a la Sociologie," Tome II, p. 208. 3 Bebel, "Woman, Past, Present and Future," p. 178. For a similar opinion, see also Loria, "Economic Foundations of So- ciety," p. 24. 249 Work and Life however, they are mistaken it only slio-ws that there is a strategical blunder in definiag reli- gion as the belief in Spiritual Beings, or as any other specific belief. What has been said thus far is not conclusive, of course, in regard to the expediency of set- ting aside current definitions of religion. As was said before, a true definition of religion is not concerned with the fate of religion, and it is not our purpose to shield religion from criticism or to force it to present an aspect of permanence. The only legitimate purpose of a definition is accurately to mark off the thing defined from every other phenomenon. We must try, therefore, to find a more valid ob- jection than those to which we have already referred. In the preceding discussion we have shown that we must look beyond all specific forms of religious belief, and a fortiori beyond all forms of religion to find religion itself. It does not follow, however, that we can eliminate from religion the element of belief. A religion is in one aspect a complex of beliefs. Buddhism, Christianity, or any organised form of religion, hinges on a system of beliefs, a body of doc- trine. But if we proceed downward through any of the various religions until we come to the common and simplest form of belief out of which all others have sprung, we shall have, not religion itself but always a manifestation 250 Heligion and the 'New Social Order and consequence of religion. In this aspect there is no difference between the crude belief of the savage and the highest religions con- ception of modern Christianity. Both are alike manifestations of religion. Now, below the lowest and simplest form of religions be- lief, that is, the belief in Spiritual Beings, and giving rise to it, there must be a vague rec- ognition or perception of a power or powers which the primitive man regards as outside of himself and responsible for certain puzzling phenomena. "There is one fact," says Prof. Ward, "which all races and peoples, however primitive, and all mankind, however enlight- ened, have universally recognised. This fact is that there is a power outside of themselves which is beyond their control. Eude peoples, living as they always do, in direct contact with nature, are constantly brought into relation- ship with this power and made to feel much more strongly than do civilised races their complete subjection to it." To the primitive man, therefore, the world is full of mysteries. He perceives that there is something beyond himself which acts as a cause. He believes, therefore, in the existence of a powerful and mysterious something. "What this something is he knows not, but that is one of the first questions for which he sought an answer. The earliest philosopher provided him with a theory, and that theory was the existence of invisible, 251 Work and Life Humanlike agencies. This interpretation, how- ever, was not religion but philosophy. Eeli- gion was the antecedent phenomenon. Thus, man was religious prior to the formulation of a specific belief in Spiritual Beings. He rec- ognised vaguely and indefinitely a mysterious power in nature before any definite theory was formulated concerning it. Beyond this vague recognition or percep- tion of a mysterious power in the world, it is impossible to trace religious belief. The ele- ment of belief, or perception, then, is at the beginning of religion, as a specific behef in Spiritual Beings is at the beginning of theol- ogy. The final element in an analysis of re- ligious beliefs, whether of the individual or of the race, is a perception ia the individual con- sciousness of an unknown power or, powers operating in nature. Are those writers correct, then, who define religion, not as a specific belief, but as a mere perception of the Infinite, or the "perception of man's relation to the principles of the uni- verse"? '^ We do not think so. Perception is not the only element in religion. Let us pro- ceed to inquire what other elements are re- vealed by an analysis of religion. 1 Among those who have defined religion as perception are Max Muller and Jevons. Shelley, in his notes to "Queen Mab," defined it as "perception of the relation in which we stand to the principle of the universe." 252 Religion and the New Social Order It will generally be admitted, perhaps, that the very word religion implies restraint upon conduct, and the direction of individual activi- ties. A religious man must be to some extent guided by his religion. He must needs have ' ' scruples. ' ' This is illustrated in all religions, from the primitive forms which induce sacri- fices and obedience to the will of the gods, to Christianity, which authoritatively declares, for instance, that*" If any man thinketh himself to be religious, while he bridleth not his tongue but deceiveth his heart, this man's religion is vain." ^ And it is illustrated as well in the in- dividual, for who could properly be called re- ligious who does not act to some extent in accordance with the principles of his religion? Prof. Lester F. Ward, in a profound article on the "Essential Nature of Eeligion,"^ and Mr. Henry Eutgers Marshall, in his book on "In- stinct and Eeason," which is mainly devoted to religion, bring out with great clearness and power this feature of religion and pronounce it its characteristic element. Prof. Ward's thesis is that "religion is a substitute in the rational world for instinct in the subrational world." "Instinct," he says, "may be looked upon as a device of nature to make the organism desire to perform acts that subserve function, but which would not other- 1 Jas. i, 26. 2 International Journal of Ethics, January, 1898. 253 Work and Life wise be desired." So religion is a device to restrain the individual from activities harmful to the race and to direct him to the perform- ance of safe ones. In tracing the development of organisms from the lowest forms to man, he finds that there have been, at least, three critical periods when the existence of organisms was threatened. "The first of these was when plastic organisms were created, endowed with locomotion, and dependent for subsistence upon organic matter, the condition to the existence of which was feeling. . . . This was the origin of mind. The second ordeal was when the will had so strongly asserted itself that ex- istence was put in jeopardy. This was rem- edied by the development of instincts. Pass- ing over minor ones, we come at last to an ordeal still more severe than any of the pre- vious ones. In the natural upward march of the psychic faculty feeling became at length so potent and its demands so imperative that the direct efforts hitherto employed iii its satisfac- tion no longer sufficed, and a new device was gradually elaborated that should secure the ends of the creature with far greater success. This was the 'indirect method of conation,' and to the affective faculty was now added the perceptive faculty. The intellect was de- veloped as an aid to the will. . . . Bnt with this immense gain from the standpoint of the 254 Religion and the New Social Order individual almost immediately commenced a destruction of the race of beings to which, this faculty had been committed. It was now easy to secure the satisfaction of desire, and desires had grown so manifold and so vehement, and a larger and larger proportion of them not being adapted to function, many indeed being directly opposed to it, that obviously, if, under this new dispensation, everything were allowed to go on without restraint, the race of rational beings must quickly run its course and come to naught. Fortunately, however, this very per- ceptive faculty which was being so freely em- ployed in the interest of feeling regardless of function, was also capable of dimly and in- tuitively perceiving the dangers to which it was leading. Along with the individual mind work- ing thus egoistically for the individual end, keenly pointing out the ways in which pain could be thwarted and pleasure assured, there was also working broadly, deeply, and sub- consciously, what may properly be called a collective or social mind, solemnly warning against the dangers and authoritatively inhibit- ing, all race-destroying actions. A new device, analogous in many respects to instinct on the lower plane, was gradually developed and perfected pari passu with the reason on the higher plane. This device was religion." This profound analysis is correct as far as 255 Work and Life it goes, but it will be observed that Prof. Ward is chiefly concerned with the social function of religion, and describes its genesis as a social instrument for restraining individual action. Our investigation carries us back one step further and inquires into the origin of religion as it manifests itself in the individual, and which by and by is laid hold of by the social group as a means of restraining its members. What has just been said of Prof. Ward's article applies also to the treatment of re- ligion in Mr. Marshall's book. After a long but inconclusive argument to show that religion is instinctive, he concludes by defining religion as a suppression of our falHble wills to what we conceive of as a higher will. "Under my view," he says, "what is here called the sup- pression of our will to the higher will, may be expressed in psychological terms as the re- straint of the individualistic impulses to racial ones; that such restraint has effect upon the moral character being, of course, granted. This restraint seems to me to be of the very essence of religion. The belief in the Deity, as usually found being from the psychological view an attachment to, rather than of the es- sence of, the religious feeling ; and this, whether as metaphysicians we may or may not be com- pelled to the belief in this Absolute Deity. "^ 1 "Instinct and Reason," p. 329. 256 Religion and the New Social Order In another passage lie speaks of this restraint as "the very core and essence of religious func- tioning." Undoubtedly; both Prof. Ward and Mr. Marshall are correct in assigning to religion the element of restraint, or, viewed positively, a directive power in human action; but in the final analysis this element is merely restraint and not social restraint. Social restraint does not appear until the social group, or its leader, becomes conscious of the value of religion as an instrument of restraint and a means of securing from the individual socially beneficial activities. It is, therefore, highly probable from the available evidence that religion arose not as a social, but as a psychological necessity. As a spontaneous variation in the character of the individual it may not have been an ad- vantage to him, but the incipient social mind soon perceived its possibilities as a social in- strument and preserved it as such. If the primitive individual, thrown into an environ- ment of manifestations of a mysterious power, perceives the existence of such a power, and realises his dependence upon it, and strives to propitiate it, he becomes religious whether the activities following from his religion are socially beneficial or not. Probably many in- dividuals and many groups were extinguished by their undirected religious activities before 257 Work and Life a consciousness of the social value of religion arose. Natural selection of individuals and of social groups would alone in time adapt reli- gious functioning to social survival. But it is doubtless true, as Prof. Ward suggests, that religion as a social phenomenon was the prod- uct of both natural selection and reason. The point to be noticed here, however, is that the origin of religion is independent of its social value. Its appearance in the world is an individual phenomenon; its persistence, a social one. Eeligion, then, cannot be correctly defined as a particular form of restraint, any more than it can be correctly defined as a particular form of belief. It is not "being good and do- ing good," as Dr. Chalmers asserted, nor "loving obedience to God's commandments," as Dr. Deems used to say, nor "morality touched with emotion," as Matthew Arnold de- fined it. Eeligion and morality are two genet- ically distinct phenomena. "Eeligion," says John Fiske, "views the individual in his relations to the Infinite Power manifested in a universe of casually connected phenomena, as Morality views him in his relation to his fellow-creatures."^ Prof. Tylor tells us that "The relation of morality to religion is one that only belongs in its rudiments, or not at all, to rudinientary civilisation." And again 1 "Cosmic Philosophy," Vol. II, p. 357. 258 Religion and the New Social Order he says, "One great element of religion, the moral element, which among the higher nations forms its most vital part, is indeed little rep- resented in the religion of the lower races. ' ' ^ And Mr. J. Deniker in his "Eaces of Man," (p. 220) declares • that "Animistic religion is destitute of a moral element, which many persons consider inseparable from religion."^ Morality implies not merely restraint, but social and conventional restraint, and may be based upon public opinion and social conventions as well as upon religious beliefs. As John Fiske somewhere says, the reason why religion and morality are so often identified is that in the higher religions they are practically co-exten- sive. We are thus brought to the conclusion that a definition of religion in terms of a special form of action or conduct is as erroneous as a definition in terms of belief, and yet we must admit that action like belief is an element in religion. Wherever an individual or racial phenom- enon is manifested in belief or action, there is always present also another element, namely, 1 "Primitive Culture," Vol. II, pp. 326-427. 2 The separate origin of religion and morality is, of course, not generally admitted. Pfleiderer, for instance, denies that they stood originally in no connection with each other. "It is an incontrovertible fact," he says, "that the primitive morality stands in very close connection with the primitive religion." — "Philosophy and Development of Religion," Vol. I, Chap. II. On a question of this kind, however, the opinion of an ethnog- rapher is more valuable than that of a theolc^ian. 259 Work and Life feeling. It is not strange, then, that the reli- gious feeling, or the feeling of impotence which the human mind experiences before the forces of nature, and out of which aU religious ideas, however elaborate or complex, are derived, has been fixed upon by some writers as the es- sence of, or the essential element in religion. Schleiermacher's definition of religion as "a feeling of absolute dependence" at once comes to mind. John Fiske declares that the feel- ing of dependence is the essential element in the theistic idea ; ^ and Prof. "Ward says, "It is this sense of helplessness before the majesty of the environment, which if it is not religion itself is the foundation upon which all religion is built. "^ But even those who de- fine religion in terms of feeling do not pretend that a mere feeling is sufficient to constitute re- ligion. Neither Schleiermacher nor Pfleiderer, who emphasise this element, contend that reli- gion is identical with feeling. In every religious act, says the latter philosopher, the whole personality is present. Why then should we define religion in terms of feeling, when feeling, like belief and action, is merely an element in religion? The result of our discussion thus far may be summed up in the following proposition: Eeligion manifests itself in belief, feeling and 1 "The Idea of God," p. 62. 2 International Journal of Ethics, January, 1898. 260 Religion and the New Social Order action, and these three elements are present whether we consider it ethnographically as a social device or psychologically as a phenom- enon of the individual consciousness. A cor- rect definition of religion must then depend upon the relation and relative importance of these three elements. Now the relation in the individual conscious- ness, and the relative importance of perception, feeling and the conative impulse, are questions of psychology. It is to this science,' and not to theology or ethnology, therefore, that we must look for a final definition of religion. The final word, however, on the nature of con- sciousness has not been said. But there seems to he a consensus of opinion among the later psychologists on one point, namely, that it is impossible to break up the individual conscious- ness into the two or three wholly separate processes of knowing, feeling and willing. "The psychic life," says Eibot, "is a con- tinuity beginning with sensation and ending with movement,"^ and this assertion is the working hypothesis and keynote of the new psychology. From sensation to perception, perception to the higher phases of knowledge, . and knowledge to action there is no break, and feeling is an inevitable accompaniment of all. If this is true, if it is true that the religious consciousness is a unity embracing knowledge, 1 "German Psychology of To-day," p. 7. 261 Work and Life feeling and the tendency to act, it does not seem that we ought to identify religion with any one of these mental phenomena. '*To speak of any whole manifestation of life," says Prof. Leuba, "as being in its 'essential' nature intellectual or affective or volitional, is to mis- construe the facts, for, although it is admitted that any expression of conscious life can be analysed into its successive moments (sensa- tion, reflective ideation, desires, impulses, will's determination, etc.), and that one or the other of these constituents can be at times prepon- derantly present to the subject's consciousness, it does by no means follow that that particular pulse of life is an idea, or a volition, or a feel- ing, or that one or the other of these part- processes can properly be looked upon as the essential nature of the whole. A time se- quence may exist, and as a matter of fact, does exist : volition follows upon sensation and idea- tion. But this fact does not constitute volition the essence of psychic life."^ Psychology thus seems to stop us from identifying religion with the perceptive, the affective or the conative element, and to de- mand a form of definition which will include them all. Such a demand may be met, perhaps, by defining religion in terms of desire. Desire plainly implies both perception and feeling, 1 "Introduction to a Psychological Study of Eeligion," The Monist, January, 1901. 262 Beligion and the New Social Order and where these are present action follows, for all mental states produce bodily activity of some sort. If it is considered that there might be a religious desire the influence of which would fall short of producing what is usually regarded as religious activity, the defect may possibly be remedied by the use of the word effective. A desire which produces religious activity may be called an effective desire. Ee- ligion, then, may be defined in terms of effective desire. But desire for what? We have, already, referred to the universal perception of a power not ourselves, which perception lies at the basis of all specific re- ligious beliefs. This power is the objective factor in all the great religions. The conscious recognition of this objective factor, the feeling of dependence upon it and the resultant activity are the indispensable elements of religion. What this objective factor or power is called is not of primary im- portance. That is a matter of intellectual in- terpretation. To the primitive man it is ghosts, to the modern theologian it is a personal God, to the poet it is — "A Sense Sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air; A motion and a spirit which impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things," 263 Work and Life and to the evolutionary philosopher it is "an Infinite and Eternal Energy." All philosophy from the crude explanations of the savage to the prof oundest W elt-anschaumig of the modern savant is but a series of partial interpretations, and no one can say what the final world-concep- tion or God-idea will be. A definition of reli- gion, therefore, should offer no interpretation of this universal power. Given the perception of a power manifest- ing itself in the world, and a feeling of de- pendence upon it, an inevitable result wiU be the desire of the individual to be in right or personally advantageous relations to that power. Conscious religious activity is always in obedience to this desire. i^What is sacrifice, fasting, prayer, and all the other forms of propitiation, but the effort of men to put them- selves in right relation to the power which they apprehend, but do not comprehend? The de- sire of religion, therefore, is a desire for Tight- ness, for adjustment to the xmiversal order, for harmonious relations with a power objectively conceived. We may suggest, then, as a tentative defini- tion of religion, the following : Religion is the effective desire to he in right relations to the power manifesting itself in the universe. If the definition here given is approximately correct, it may be observed that, while it is not framed for that purpose, it is of tactical 264 Beligion and the New Social Order advantage to those who argue that religion is a permanent reality. For, in the first place, by defining religion in terms of desire, religion is at once removed from all danger of science. Science may attack and destroy particular forms of belief, but religion is unassailable. The scythe of scientific criticism may sweep over the field of religious thought, may cut down all modem theological conceptions, but the roots of religion, embedded in the soil of man's nature, will not be touched, and soon new beliefs will spring up to take the place of the old. Eeligion is fundamentally of the heart and not of the head. Science can no more de- stroy religion than it can destroy love. In the second place, it is clear that if reli- gion may be correctly defined in terms of de- sire, more people are religious than are usually so regarded. It sounds paradoxical to speak of a religious agnostic, or a religious atheist. And yet a man who recognises, and desires to be in right relations to, "an Infinite and Eternal Energy from which all things proceed," without claiming to know the ultimate nature of that energy, is religious; and as atheism, as usually understood, is merely the denial of a particular interpretation of this energy, it is not inconsistent with religion. The Buddhist, for instance, is a religious atheist. It does not follow from our definition of re- 265 Work and lAfe ligion, however, that all men are religious. It is conceivable that the recognition of the ob- jective factor in religion may not be followed by an effective desire for right relations. Probably at every stage of belief there have been those who have maiatained toward what they themselves believed to be the source of supreme authority an attitude of indifference or defiance. Such an attitude, however, is surely the exception and not the rule. Un- willingness to accept the beliefs of an age may be an indication of superior intelligence, but the same cannot be said of an irreligious nature. Classic literature furnishes us an impres- sive picture of Ajax defying the lightning, but it is not written that for this proce- dure Ajax exalted his reputation for common- sense. Finally, if religion may be correctly defined in terms of desire, it is not something that has been r'evealed to one people and withheld from another. It springs up naturally as an ele- ment in the nature of man. It is not dependent upon the accuracy of his thought. It appears in the dawn of intelligence in the savage, who sees God in the clouds and hears him in the wind, and manifests itself in every age and amongst every people, — ^in the philosopher who seeks to harmonise his life with what he re- gards as the eternal and unchanging principle of the universe, as well as In the saint, who 266 Religion and the New Social Order looks npon the Lord as a very present help in time of trouble. So much for a tentative definition of reli- gion and for the consequences of defining re- ligion in terms of desire. Desire implies an ob- ject, and the object of the religious desire in the great historical religions has been, we have seen, "to be in right relations to the Power man- ifesting itself in the universe," that "Power" being interpreted usually as a Personal Being. In defining religion, however, in order to include all the religions of the past, we must leave the objective factor in the definition un- interpreted. May not that factor, then, be something other than an objective Power? Huxley's definition makes it an "ethical ideal" — "reverence and love for the ethical ideal, and the desire to realise that ideal in life." This ideal is necessarily social. The "social ideal" may therefore become the object of re- ligion, and we may in the future have a Eeligion of Humanly quite different from Positivism. A religion of this kind would not involve worship, in the ordinary sense, but its adherents would assemble for instruction and inspiration. It would not only welcome but cultivate science, especially the social sciences. Its watchword would be Service. There have been good men who could not honestly testify to their belief in a Supreme Being, or a life after death. Are such men necessarily irreli- 267 Work and Life gious? It has been the custom of the -world! to declare them so, and to treat them with all uncharitableness. But perhaps "with the eye of faith" they saw a "redeemed humanity," and were inspired by that vision to watch and pray and work, so that they might truthfully say of themselves, "to do good is my religion." Assuming religious desires of equal strength in men of equal intelligence it makes not one whit's difference, so far as conduct is con- cerned, whether the object is a deity or an ideal humanity. Now, the churches are complaining of a "decline of faith," but there is numerical as well as other evidence that there is a rise of faith in the possibility of establishing "the kingdom of God" on earth, the possibility of realising the loftiest social ideal that may be scientifically conceived. Men in all civilised countries have risen to the conception of an organised humanity in which every man will find his place and his work; in which labour will be organised and industry conducted on the principle of the social economy of force; in which the energies of the people will not be, as now, almost entirely absorbed in the mere matter of providing for the material wants of mankind, but, by the practice of a superior economy, the work of the world will be, in com- parison with modem toil and drudgery, a mere healthful exercise, and a large margin of time 268 Religion and the New Social Order will be left to each, individual for the cultivation of the higher life ; in which individual character will be so highly developed that each member of society will knowingly and willingly submit to be organised, subordinated and disciplined! in the routine labour necessary to supply his material wants, for the sake of freedom and leisure for the satisfaction of his spiritual life. This conception is entertained by sceptics and by orthodox believers. On the basis of this ideal all may unite, and the effective desire to realise it is a manifestation of religion. Per- haps, therefore, the religion of the future, with- out dogma, inspired by love alone, will lead to the union of all men of good will in the service of mankind. If so, religion will become the most powerful factor in the realisation of the New Social Order. As William Morris has said, "social morality, the responsibility of man towards the life of man, will, in the new order of things, take the place of theological morality, or the responsibility of man to some abstract idea." 269 INDEX INDEX Activity the basis of develop- ment, 86, 104. Advertising, 68, 163. jEsop, 182. Ajax, 266. Amiel, quoted, 25. Amsterdam, 32. Apollo, Belvedere, 201. Arnold, Matthew, quoted, 13'4, 258. Bebel, August, 249. Bellamy, Edward, 192, 207. Benevolent despotism, 203. Bentham, J., quoted, 18. "Blonde Beast," 123. Bonaparte, 10, 182. Borrioboola-Gha, 217. Brotherhood, 139. Browning, E., quoted, 64, 145. Bruno, Giordano, 242. Bryan, W. J., quoted, 64, 145. Bryce, James, quoted, 163. Buddhism, 238. Butler, Bishop, 235. Business, end of, 58, 134, 159. Byron, Lord, quoted, 118, Cannan, E., 40. Cairnes, Prof., quoted, 149. Capitalism, 10, 11. Capitalists, tendency to com- bine, 83. Captains of industry, &7, 68. Caracalla, 182. 273 Carlyle, T., quoted, 62. Carnegie, A., 82. Carus, P., 239. Chalmers, Dr., 258. Chicago, official waste in, 162; efficiency, board of, 162; death rate in, 167. Chicago policeman, narrow so- cial view of, 65. Church, The, 8, 20. Cities, downward drift in, 164; death-jate in, 165. Civic problem, 159. Clapperton, 174. Classes, industrial, 154-167. Class struggle, 7, 16-17. Collectivism, 129, 209. Communist Manifesto, quoted, 16. Competition, natural and in- dustrial, 79-100; prevalent belief in, 89; virtues of, 88; not a natural law, 84; dis- tinguished from struggle, 85; industrial, 95, 96; ef- fect upon consumers, 96- 103; upon prices, 93-103; waste of, 93-103; function of, 104; not a force, 106; regulation of, 108; possible elimination of, 110-115; defined. 111; selfishness of, 112; impossibility of re- storing free, 210. Competitive system, difficul- ties inherent in, 62, 64. CondoTcet, quoted, 63. Indeos Consmnption, 165-6. Contemporary Review, quoted, 242. Cooperation, 113; the goal of industry, 120-132; necessity of voluntary, 122; uncon- scious, 207; conscious, 208. Cotton, burning of, 31. Cotton Growers' Association, 33. Croesus, 187, 195. Crozier, J. B., 236, 246. Darwin, Charles, quoted 85- 86, 89, 115, 238. Death-rate, in cities, 164; in England, 165; in Massa- chusetts, 165; from con- sumption, 165; from ty- phoid, 166; in New York, 167; in Chicago, 167. Deems, Dr., 258. De Greef, G., 198, 241, 249. De Laveleye, E., 27, 40. Demand, general and spe- cialised sense of, 44, 45. Democracy, industrial, 130, 170, 206. Deniker, J., quoted, 259. Dennison, W. T., quoted, 84. De Quatrefages, 236. Diogenes, 187. Direct legislation, approved, 170. Disraeli, quoted, 3. Divine right, 20. Domestic science, 179. Double, idea of a, 247. Drummond, H., quoted, 79. Dupont de Nemours, quoted, 27. ues, 4'4; as solvent of so- cial problems, 77, 124; necessary to complete liv- ing, 145; municipal value of, 168, 171; and labor, 174-188 ; industrial, 175, 178, 179; in patriotism, 226. Eight hour day, question of, 46, Ely, R. T., quoted, 108. Emerson, R. W., quoted, 142, 143, 145, 213. Emulation, 110, 113. Engels, Frederick, 16. English labourers, 164. Ethics, 166, 157. Evarts, W. M., quoted, 6. Ferri, Enrico, 15. Fiske, John, 239, 258, 260. Fourier, Jean Baptiste, quot- ed, 32-33. Fowie, Rev. T. W., 242. Frederick the Great, 9, 116. Friendship, 146. Fugitive Slave Law, 209. Galileo, 21. Gary, Elbridge, 82. George, Henry, quoted, 194. Getting a living, 13ff-169; methods of, 148-157. Ghent, W. J., 163, 166. Gibbon, Edward, 182. Goethe, quoted, 88, 105. Government, the, 8; proper function of, 83; defined, 160-161; theories of, 168. Graham, William, 22. Gunton, 6., quoted, 66-67. Economic congestion, 37. Haeckel, Prof. E., 241. Economic consumption, 29. Hallam, Arthur Henry, quot- Eeonomy, 120. ed, 168. Education, may Increase val- Hamlet, 237. 274 Index Health, a requisite of life, 142. Heliogabalus, 182. Herbart, P., 241. Herodotus, 182. Hill, Jas. J., quoted, 82. History, course of, 6-7. Hobhouse, L. T., quoted, 79. Hobson, J. A., quoted, 4, 23, 26, 28, 46, 48, 77-78, 109, 192-3. Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 34'. Honesty not necessarily the best policy, 65, Hortensius, 182. Hutton, quoted, 191. Huxley, T., quoted, 7, 21, 88, 90, 92, 17, 241, 267. Ideal, sanitary, 167; indus- trial, 125, 126; social, 189- 212; elements of social, 194. Ideals, value of, 189, 208-212. Ignorance, dangers of, 169. Immortality, belief in, 241-2. Industrial forces, social di- rection of, 124. Industrial ideal, 125, 212, 268, 228. Ingram, quoted, 61. Initiative, industrial, 30; popular, 170. Interests, conflict of, 69-73. Invisible beings, 247. Iroquois fire, 117. Jellyby, Mrs., 217. Jesus, quoted, 130, 138. Jevons, Stanley, 252. Kansas-Nebraska Act, 209. Kant, Immanuel, quoted, 108, 235. Kennan, George, quoted, 218. Kirkup, Thomas, quoted, 3 Labour, 175-6, 178; dignity of, 185. Lassalle, Ferdinand, quoted, 4. Learning and labour, 174-188. Legislation, social, 68; diffi- culties in the way of, 73, 74; function to harmonise interests, 75. Leisure, 143. Lessing, G. E., quoted, 53. Letourneau, ch., 236. Leuba, Prof., quoted, 262. Liberty, 61. Life the summer bonum, 1S7; the test, 160. Limiting the output, 34, 35. Lincoln, A., quoted, 10, 19; Gettysburg speech, 201. Living, 138, 139; analysis of, 142-145; defined, 145; methods of getting, 48-156. Lowell, J. E., quoted, 76. Lubbock, Sir John, 236, 238. LucuUus, 182. Luther, Martin, 8. Mackenzie, J. S., quoted, 53, 120, 189. Maeterlinck, M., quoted, 189. Manual training, 179. Marx, Karl, 16. Marshall, A., quoted, 29, 39, 141. Marshall, Henry Eutgers, 253, 256. Martineau, James, quoted, 236. Massart, Jean, quoted, 148. Megalomania, 221. Militancy, 228. Mill, John Stuart, quoted, 12, 26, 27, 39, 42, 45, 65, 158, 193-4. Missouri Compromise, 209. Molinari, G. de, quoted, 81-82. 275 Index Mommsen, T., quoted, 204. Monier-Williams, Sir Monier, quoted, 239. Monotheism, 237. Moralisation, 61, 67; of the business man, 61, 62, 64; of the laborer, 66. More, Sir Thomas, 192. Miiller, Max, 252. Municipal ownership, 172. Municipal problem. The, 158- 173. Municipal waste, 161. Natural law, defined, 93. Nature, conquest of, 6; prodi- gality of, 88. New York death-rate in, 167. New York Globe, quoted, 34. New Zealand, 34. Nietzsche, F., 123. Opium, sale of to Chinese, 40. Organic conception of society, 63. Overproduction, 36, 37, 45. Outlook, The, quoted, 218, 238. Paradox of industry, 63. Paraguay cattle, 89. Parasites, 148. Parasitism, 149-151. Patriot, 217; Russian, 218. Patriotism, 20, 213-231; ori- gin and evolution of, 213- 218; instinctive, 219; in- telligent, 220. Patten, Simon N., quoted, 98- 102. Paul, the apostle, and the Ephesians, 72, 73. Pfleiderer, O, 259. Phillips, Wendell, quoted, 18. Picton, A., quoted, 232. 276 Piece-work, 140. Pilgrims, 5. Pittsburg Gazette, quoted, 223. Plato," 192, 197. Pliny, the elder, 182. Political economy, defined, 26- 27, 29; as a science of busi- ness, 28, 29, 30; limitations of, 48-49; not a "dismal" science, 50. Pope, A., quoted, 213. Positivism, 267. Predation, 151-153. Privilege, 17, 18. Production, 153, 154. Progress and prosperity, 38; and waste, 199-200. Prosperity and progress, 38. Public ownership, 172. Pyramids, 182. Reason, the final arbiter, 60. Reeve, Sidney A., quoted, 102. Referendum, 170. Reformation, The, 8. Religion, 77, 232-269; current definitions of, 235-237; as belief, 235-250; as percep- tion, 252-3; as restraint, 253-5; as feeling, 260; minimum definition of, 243; and morality, 259; tentative scientific defini- tion of, 264; of humanity, 269. Ribot, T. A., quoted, 261. Rice, destruction of, for prof- it, 33. Rich, idle, 149. Ritchie, D. G., quoted, 199- 200. Roman matron, 183. Roosevelt, T., quoted, 57, 68, 131. Rossi, 26. Index Ruling classes, methods of control of, 19. Euskin, J., 3, 4, 41, 42, 45, 118-119, 133, 141, 143, 163- 4. Saturday Review, quoted, 191. Say, J. B., 28. Schleiermacher, F., 260. Schools, 186. School system, basis of, 178. Selfishness, 5, 18, 77. Senior, Nassau, 26. Shakespeare, 201. Shelley, P. B., 252. Sherbrooke, Lord, 22. Sibyl, 32. Sibylline books, 32. Sismondi, J. C, quoted, 49. Sistine Madonna, 201. Smith, Adam, 34, 81. Social advancement, obstacles to, 5. Social economy, 199-202. Social intelligence, 194-199. Social legislation, 69. Social organisation, limits of, 201; methods of, 202. Social phenomena, 28; inter- dependence of, 46. Social problem, the general, 34; the special, 4, 5; of to- day, 5-25; a question of privilege, 7; evolution of the, 7-15; a class struggle, 7; phases of, 15; proposed solutions of, 57-78; munici- pal aspect of, 158. Social task, defined, 201. Social Viewpoint, 51-56, 171, 173. Socialists, 83. Spencer, H., quoted, 16-17, 135, 136-137, 150-151, 169, 236, 246, 248. "Square deal," The, 62, 67. 277 Standard Oil Trust, 102, 103. Stevenson, Robert Louis, quoted, 145. Struggle for existence, 85. Struggle, a necessity, 86. Survival of the fittest, 89; ethical significance of, 91, 92. St. Luke, quotation from, 25. Swollen fortunes, 38. Taft, Ex-president, quoted, 80. Tennyson, Lord Alfred, quot- ed, 192, 230. "Three Musketeers," 177. Toil, useless, 181-2. Tolstoi, Leo., 143. Topinard, P., 236. Toynbee, Arnold, quoted, 106, 232. Tsetse fly, 90. Twain, Mark, quoted, 203-4. Tylor, Prof. E. B., 236; quot- ed, 240, 243, 244-6, 258. Typhoid, 166. Under consumption, 36. Universities, 176, 177. Urban population, 164. Value, defined, 42, 43, 44. Vandervelde, Emile, quoted, 149. Virgil, quoted, 213. Wagner, A., quoted, 12. Wagnerian opera, 201. Walker, Amasa, quoted, 30. Ward, Mrs. Humphry, 24. Ward, Lester F., quoted, 13- 14, 29, 57, 93-94, 102, 196, 206, 235, 239, 247-8, 251-2, 253-5, 260. Waste, social, 36, 99; muni- Index cipal, 161; of the rich, 184; Whitman, Walt, quoted, 232. and progress, 199. Williams, Henry Smith, 191. Wauriu, L., 4. Wordsworth, Wm., quoted. Wealth, defined, 39, 40; nee- 132, 133, 263. essary to life, 145; power Work, a requisite of life, 142- of, 187. 143. Wealth and welfare, 26-50. World-patriot, 217. Western Economic Society, 83. Zwingli, U., 8. 278 HN 6k H85 Author Vol. Howerth, Ira Title Copy Work & life; — Date Borrower's Name