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 The Ethics of Sogiulism 
 
 ERNEST tJt.L.FORT BAX 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924030339513 
 
Cornell University Library 
 HX528 .B35 1890 
 
 The ethics of socialism / 
 
 olin 
 
 3 1924 030 339 513 
 
THE 
 
 ETHICS OF SOCIALISM 
 
 Jurtfjer lEssags in iloiem Socialist (ICrittctsm, ^c 
 
 ERNEST BELFORT BAX, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ' The Religion of Socialism," " Handbook to the History of Philosophy,^ 
 '■ Jean Paul Marat," etc., etc. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 SWAN S N N E N S C H E I N ct CO., 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The New Ethic 
 
 REVOLUTIOJf OF THE 19tH CeNTUEY 
 
 Criminal Law under Socialism . 
 
 Concerning " Justice " 
 
 The Morrow of the Revolution . 
 
 On Some Forms op Modern CAfi'T/r 
 
 Men rersns Classes 
 
 The Curse of Civilisation 
 
 The Will op the Majority ] i 
 
 " That Blessed Word " 
 
 The Odd Teick 
 
 CORr^ELL 
 
 <S^TY! 
 
 J 
 
 Doctor Faustus and his Contemporaries 
 Immortality . . . . . 
 
 A. Free Fantasia on Thinus Divine and Human 
 
 1 
 
 31 
 
 56 
 
 75 
 
 84 
 
 90 
 
 99 
 
 106 
 
 120 
 
 129 
 
 138 
 
 U7 
 
 180 
 
 189 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In submitting a new collection of short piecea, most of 
 which bear directly or indirectly on Socialism, I have to 
 thank the socialistic and socialistically-synipathetic 
 public for the favourable reception accorded to a similar 
 little book published some two years ago under the 
 title " The Religion of Socialism." That the hints con- 
 tained in the former series have been found suggestive 
 by many Socialists is a suificient excuse for publishing 
 the present volume, which differs from the preceding 
 mainly in the greater variety of its contents. There are 
 two papers dealing with speculative matters, and one 
 of a purely historical character. The rest all turn more 
 or less on the subject of Socialism. 
 
 The opening paper on " The New Ethic," which may 
 be regarded as a pendant to that on " Universal History," 
 was originally published in January, 1888, in German in 
 the Stuttgart Neue Zeit. As now given, it contains a 
 few passages which had on that occasion to lie sup- 
 
iv Preface. 
 
 pressed in view of the Anti-Socialist law. Otherwise it 
 is the same. " The Revolution of the 19th Century " 
 was addressed in the first instance mainly to secularist 
 hearers and readers in the earlier stages of the English 
 Socialist movement : and to those who have followed 
 the subsequent literature of the movement it may seem 
 to contain a good deal that has been said before, both by 
 myself and others. It was thought, however, that, in 
 view of the fact that there are still a considerable num- 
 ber of persons who profess a zeal for " fi-eethought," and 
 yet do not embrace the ideal of Socialism., it might be 
 worth while to include it in the series. The article, 
 " Criminal Law under Socialism," is practically a con- 
 tinuation of that on " Civil Law under Socialism " con- 
 tained in the former volume. Of the other socialistic 
 articles it is unnecessary to say anything by way of pre- 
 face beyond the fact that their intention is suggestion 
 rather than lengthy exposition. 
 
 The advance of the Socialistic movement within 
 the last two years, i.e., since the publication of 
 the "Religion of Socialism," has been marked in Eno-- 
 land in two ways. Firstly, the Trades' Unions have 
 begun to be penetrated by socialistic ideas. The 
 solid front of true British stupidity, of which, un- 
 fortunately, hitherto, they have been the embodiment, 
 has at length, to say the least, been broken. Economic 
 causes must infallibly do the rest before very long. The 
 
Preface. v 
 
 second noteworthy point in the progress of the English 
 movement is the steady accession of what is sometimes 
 termed the " intellectual proletariat " to the cause of 
 Socialism. By the " intellectual proletariat " is to be 
 understood the increasing class of young men of the 
 middle-classes, who, while provided with a good, and, in 
 some cases, a " liberal " education, can find no opening for 
 a livelihood in modern society. These persons are often 
 possessed of the " higher culture " (to employ a phrase 
 which has become current di-awing-room slang), and yet 
 they are commonly driven to the greatest shifts to gain 
 a bare subsistence. While they have often to endure the 
 hardships of the manual proletariat, their suffering is 
 increased by the very fact of their education. This class 
 is, if we mistake not, likely to do " yeoman's service " in 
 the cause of the Social Revolution in those countries 
 where, as in England, it is largely represented. Although 
 sprung" from the middle-classes, economic progress can 
 hardly fail to force it, as a class, into the struggle on 
 the side of the " fourth estate." 
 
 As regards those papers which are mainly non- 
 socialistic in character, that on "Dr. Faustus and his 
 Contemporaries " (first published in Macmiilan's Maga- 
 zine), claims to put a fairly complete statement of all 
 that can be said on the subject of the rise and develop- 
 ment of the Faust-mythos. The short essay on '' Immor- 
 tality " criticises the dogma or belief from the standpoint 
 
vi Preface. 
 
 of metaphysical analysis ; and the concluding essay of 
 the volume offers suggestions critical and otherwise on 
 subjects of popular and speculative interest. 
 
 In conclusion, the author would like to say a word to 
 the malignantly-hostile critic, if such there be, who may 
 perchance deign to notice the present volume. He would 
 particularly request that this gentleman would confine 
 his animadversions to mere rude personal remarks if he 
 finds any satisfaction therein, and not by manipulating 
 extracts torn from their context, and placing sentences 
 in "quotes," with important words left out or interpolated, 
 make the author responsible for statements and style of 
 which he is wholly innocent. The author is aware that 
 the malignantly-hostile critic whose intellectual resources 
 are limited may be under some temptation to act thus, 
 but he feels himself compelled to enter a protest against 
 the practice, inasmuch as the general public has a super- 
 stition that even reviewers of reactionary "religious " 
 journals draw the line at hard lying in their attempts to 
 damage writers of whom they disapprove. 
 
THE NEW ETHIC. 
 
 Probably few subjects have been more written about 
 and discussed, both by the philosopher proper and the 
 ordinary man of letters, than the meaning and basis of 
 Ethic. But in all that has been talked on the subject of 
 Ethic, it has been for the most part tacitly assumed, that 
 moral obligation or duty was capable of being treated as 
 a fact more or less isolated from the rest of human 
 nature. Again, the sanctions of conscience have either 
 been regarded by moral philosophy as something super- 
 natural and absolute, or else they have been confounded 
 with the mere phenomena of the moral consciousness. 
 The first of these standpoints is that of the old meta- 
 physical schools, and of those modern semi-theological 
 writers who found more or less upon them ; the second 
 is that of the modern Empiricists, who in this as in other 
 departments, think they have exhausted the essence of a 
 thing after they have merely traced the series of its 
 phenomenal expressions. With these latter, as with the 
 ibrmer, morality is a matter centring in the individual 
 character; the individual living in society that is in 
 combination with other individuals, finding it necessary 
 to his own enjoyment, or even existence, to recognise 
 certain obligations towards those other individuals on con- 
 dition of their recognising the same towards himself. This 
 position, which is the ethical side of the social contract 
 theory, has been handed down from Bacon, Hobbes, and 
 Locke, to Bentham, Mill, and the rest of the English 
 
 A 
 
The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 .School, and treats society as an aggregate o£ indi- 
 viduals. It resolves all morality into a question of 
 personal utility — for tliis, despite all protestations to the 
 contrary, is the necessary outcome of the theory. The 
 former, metaphysical, theological, or mystical, (as we like 
 to term it) theory, is not less individualistic than the one 
 just referred to. According to this theory, moral sanc- 
 tions are absolute and eternal, inasmuch as they consti- 
 tute part of the relations of the individual soul to its 
 divine source ; and their connection with society is thus 
 purely accidental. 
 
 It will be seen, therefore, that both the recognised 
 theories, the ordinary spiritualistic theory, and the 
 ordinary materialistic theory, alike regard morality as 
 having for its end — the individual. The theological Ethic 
 finds its criterion and aim in the " purity," " humility," 
 " likeness to God," &c. of the individual ; the empirical 
 Ethic iinds it in the fulfilment by the individual of the 
 pledges towards other individuals which his existence in 
 community with them implies — his non-interference with 
 their equal lights as individuals. Self interest is the 
 key note of both moral systems. The theological or 
 spiritualistic system apotheosises the " soul ; " its method 
 being a continuous introspection or communing of the 
 individual with this apotheosised self or soul. The 
 empirical or utilitarian system apotheosises " self interest," 
 which for it is the ultimate fact in human nature. Its 
 problem is, therefore, to deduce morality from self 
 interest, and its method to seek to identify the necessary 
 i-equirements of social existence with self interest — by 
 self interest being understood, the interest of the indivi- 
 cual qua individual. 
 
The New Ethic. 
 
 Now, it will be observed, as before remarked, that both 
 these theories treat Ethic as a fact to be explained apart 
 from the concrete synthesis of human nature to which it 
 belongs. Such an abstract treatment as this necessarily 
 results, when we neglect to take into account the entire 
 evolution of society in which human nature is shown in 
 the making, so to speak ; and the several elements con- 
 stituting it are displayed in their interconnection. This 
 has not been altogether unrecognised. Auguste Comte 
 and Herbert Spencer, although taking their stand on 
 empirical Ethics, have both endeavoured to deduce 
 morality from general social evolution ; but the empirical 
 method which tliey adopted hindered them from attain- 
 ing any real insight into the matter. The mere collation 
 of the phenomena of the moral consciousness, and the 
 forcing of them into accordance with the fundamental 
 assumption that the antagonism of self interest and 
 social interest is ultimate, and that morality must 
 always imply a conscious effort to reconcile tlie two — can 
 never afford any but a one-sided and fallacious view of 
 things. Auguste Comte labours under the additional dis- 
 advantage of feeling it incumbent upon him to unite the 
 current utilitarian Ethic with the relics of the older 
 theological or introspective Ethic. As a result, neither of 
 the writers in question can be said to have added anything 
 new to the discussion. Before we can liope to attain a 
 real insight, we must, I think, get rid of the notion that 
 society is in the last resort, merely an aggregate of in- 
 dividuals, with its necessary corollary, that there must 
 always exist a latent or overt opposition between 
 individual and community ; in short, that the category 
 individual has any meaning per se and separated from 
 
Tlie Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 the category community or society. The recognition of 
 the fallacy of this conception is only the obverse side of 
 the recognition of tlie dependence of morality, that is, of 
 the view taken of duty or of the nexus between indi- 
 vidual and individual, or between individual and com- 
 munity, on material conditions, social and economical. 
 As soon as society can be said to exist at all, ethical 
 sentiment must exist, implicitly if not explicitly. The 
 ethical sentiment is the correlate in the ideal sphere, of 
 the fact of social existence itself in the material sphere. 
 The one is as necessarily implied in the other, as the man 
 is implied in his shadow ; and just as the shadow bears 
 the impress of the particular man whose shadow it is, so 
 the Ethic bears the impress of the particular society 
 whose Ethic it is. The above, of course, merely states a 
 fact — we do not profess to deal with the metaphysical 
 question of tlie basis or ultimate significance of the fact, 
 a point which lies outside the scope of the present paper. 
 The sentiment of duty in general will be found on ex- 
 amination to be ultimately reducible to the followino- 
 expression ; viz., tliat the content, the meaning, of in- 
 dividuality is not coincident with the form of the living- 
 individual or personality. Otherwise expressed, this 
 content is not exhausted in its form, but seeks its 
 completion outside its form. It implies that the 
 individual is, in other words, dependent ; he is not a self- 
 contained whole in himself, but merely an element in a 
 larger whole. It is a trite thesis in philosophy, that the 
 telos or end of every reality or thing, is to reach its 
 highest expression, i.e. to perfect, complete, or realise 
 itself. Now, as I conceive it, moral sentiment, and what 
 is the same thing in a higher potency, religious sentiment. 
 
The New Ethic. 5 
 
 consists in tlie consciousness of tlie inadequacy, of the 
 form of individuality to the content of individuality, and 
 in the desire to adequately realise or Miform, this content. 
 If the above be admitted it follows that there can be no 
 greater absurdity than to attempt to found moralit}'' on 
 a calculation of proiit and loss to the individual, or in 
 other words, on the self-interest of the utilitarian 
 empiricists. Out of pni-e individualism it is obviously 
 impossible to get an Ethic at all, if morality be that side 
 of the individual or personality considered per se, which 
 proclaims his inadequacy to himself, since in this case 
 Ethic is nothing but the expression of the abiding 
 contradiction of the individual within himself. 
 
 In one respect the crudely materialistic Ethic of the 
 British School has less plausibility even, than the old 
 theological or mystical Ethic. The latter at least recog- 
 nises that the root of the ethical problem, as has been 
 stated, lies in the inadequacy of the content of indivi- 
 duality to its form ; it at least sees that the individual is 
 not a self-contained or concrete whole in himself. The 
 solution it offers, to wit, that in God as the telos of all 
 things, the individual finds that perfection, that realisa- 
 tion he has sought for in vain in himself considered jjec 
 se, and the want of which is indicated in the moral and 
 religious sentiment, is, to say the least, in one sense an 
 intelligible explanation, which is more than can be said 
 of the Benthamite theory. If the individual be a com- i 
 plete and independent totality ; if his end be in himself, 
 then any voluntary self-restraint, let alone self sacrifice 
 on the part of the individual is unintelligible. We are 
 aware, of course, of the attempts made to evade tiiis 
 difficulty — of " enlightened self-interest," and the rest. 
 But allowing the greatest possible latitude to tlit! 
 
The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 "enlightenment" displayed in the "profit and loss" 
 calculation, we still contend that it leaves the main body 
 
 "^ of moral activity unexplained. Admitting the hypothe- 
 sis, when and where was the account originally cast up, 
 and how has it come to be modified ? If the individual 
 contains his end within himself as person, whore can the 
 
 nH obligaiion lie to prefer a painful course (let us say) which 
 can never possibly redound to the ulterior interest, 
 " enlightened " or otherwise, of his personality, to a 
 pleasurable one which cannot (we will suppose) result in 
 any ulterior pain to himself as individual ? To talk of 
 obligation in the case supposed is plainly absurd, if the 
 standard of obligation be supposed to lie, so to speak, 
 within the skin of the individual ; for on the above hy- 
 pothesis neither the enlightened nor unenlightened 
 interest of tlie individual is concerned in the matter. 
 To affirm merely that "enlightened" self interest 
 always lies on the side of virtue, is simply to beg the 
 question in the baldest manner, and to explain nothing. 
 
 Let us now first of all take the theological-metaphysical 
 hypothesis, that the telos or end of the self individual, 
 pei-sonality, is realisable not per se, but in the divinity 
 between whom and the soul or personality there is a 
 mystical connection. It is here recognised that the form 
 of the personality is inadequate to its content. Morality, 
 duty, religion, are the expression of this inadequacy of 
 form to content. But the theologian, or the dogmatic 
 metaphysician seeks to attain the adequacy per saltuvi. 
 The scdtus proves itself a scdtus mortuUti ; since it 
 removes him altogether from the sphere of the concrete 
 or real world. He creates an ideal sphere in which the 
 soul shall find its satisfaction; in which that element 
 
Tlie New Ethic. 
 
 witliin him which proclaims himself inadequate to him- 
 self and therewith his entire personality shall reach its 
 completion and perfection. Now let it be observed that 
 in this theors' the principle of individualism while 
 formuilly surrendered is really maintained. It is felt, it 
 is true, that there is a permanent contradiction involved 
 in the individual when viewed abstractly, or as a thing 
 existing by itself. So far, so good, but how is the con- 
 tradiction dealt with ? By the attempted suppression of 
 one of its terms. From the speculative standpoint the 
 natural personality is absorbed as to its end and object 
 in a supernatural being ; from the practical standpoint 
 the natural personality, as such, is suppressed, or rather 
 supposed to be suppressed. For, and this is the important 
 point, it has passed unnoticed that the contradiction is 
 not only not resolved, but that the term which was 
 sought to be suppressed, is not suppressed, but holds its 
 own more firmly than ever. The personality on these 
 grounds " is as the air invulnerable, and our vain blows 
 malicious mockery." The attention of the individual is 
 now more than ever before rivetted on self. The attempt 
 of mysticism to transcend individualism at a stroke has 
 recoiled upon itself. The individual and his God, though 
 professedly distinct, are really one and the same. That 
 this is so as regards the actual concrete world is obvious; 
 since it is admitted even by the theologian, that all that 
 goes on is in the " heart" of the individual, and relates to a 
 spiritual world revealed to his own soul alone. The renun- 
 ciation of the theologian ormystic istherefore adouble-dyed 
 egoism. His personality continues under other conditions 
 and on another plane, the focus of attention. It is, to em- 
 ploya mathematical phrase,individiialism to the n"' power. 
 
The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 To the worldly selfishness of the empirical or utilitarian 
 individualism, it opposes an other-worldlj' selfishness ; 
 since from tlie point of view of the natural or real world 
 (that is so far as society is concerned), the divine nature 
 in which the imperfect natural individual claims to be 
 lealising the higher perfection of his individuality, 
 appears only as the subjective reflex of that individuality, 
 with its natural tendencies, in some cases exaggerated, in 
 others completely inverted. 
 
 We have as yet dealt with the two fundamental ethical 
 theories hitherto current, so to speak, statically. It now 
 remains to show their origin, meaning, and connection, 
 in the dynamics of human evolution. The particular 
 view of the moral relation which obtains, is, as we said 
 before, conditioned by the social forms of which it is the 
 outcome. The empirical utilitarian theory of the British 
 school, is, it is quite clear, no more than the speculative 
 formulation or expression of the principle obtaining 
 under that competitive capitalism, which reached its 
 earliest development in the Anglo-Saxon race of modern 
 times, but the basis of which (viz. property) and con- 
 sequently the tendency towards which, has been more 
 or less present since the dawn of civilisation. The other 
 and equally individualistic theory, that of the theologians, 
 though not so obviously the outcome of social conditions 
 having this same basis, is none the less realty so, as we 
 shall hope to show directly. But to understand this 
 clearly, we must consider the original nature, object, and 
 meaning of the ethical consciousness ; its meaning, that 
 is, in those earliest forms of society wherein its mani- 
 festations were so different from what they are in the world 
 of to-day. We have first of all to remember then, that 
 
Tlie New Etidc. 
 
 in tlie ancient world and in earlier phases of society, 
 morality affirmed itself as the solidarity of the individual 
 with his kin, his " gens," his " tribe," his " people." ^ 
 There was then no opposing interest between individual 
 and community; the interest of the individual was 
 absolutely identified with that of the race. He had not as 
 yet drawn the distinction between himself and the society 
 to which he belonged. The Greek of the pre-Homeric 
 age, the Hebrew in the period echoes of which are dis- 
 cernible in the Pentateuch, the Teuton as described by 
 Tacitus and many later writer.s, did not exist for himself 
 or others as an independent individuality ; his significance 
 consisted in the particular clan of which he was a member, 
 or in the particular tribe or group of tribes he represented. 
 His personal tdos was identified Avith the social whole 
 into which he entei'ed. But at the same time 
 that he had no interest independent of his race, he 
 had likewise no duties outside that race. Society, 
 and therefore Ethics, existed on the basis of Kivship 
 and of kinship alone. Within the charmed circle all was 
 sacred, without it all was profane. The primitive society 
 
 ^ It. would be unnecessary here to offer detailed illustrations of a 
 fact admitted in principle by every anthropological or historical 
 authority of the present day. For an exposition of the principles 
 on which early society is based, it will suffice to refer the reader to 
 the well-know-n works of Sir Henry Maine, of the late Lewis Morgan, 
 &c., to the celebrated treatise of Fustel de Coulanges "La Cite 
 Antique ;" and in German to the works of Von Maurer, of Bachofen 
 and others. The "primitive" or "natural" communism of ancient 
 society is at present a recognised scientilic fact ; and the ethic which 
 accompanied it, and which survived into the stages of society shortly 
 removed from it, is obvious to every student of the early annals of 
 mankind and the traditions they contain. 
 
10 The Ethics of Socialisiil. 
 
 of kinship then, was a .self-centred organism, apart from 
 which the constituent units, the individuals composing it, 
 had no significance. The individual, tlie personality, 
 unconsciously I'ecognised his ii'los in the societj^ The 
 incompatibility of the form of the individual to the 
 content of individuality had not as yet become explicit, 
 since the individual had not as yet been thrown back 
 upon himself. His life was an objective one ; objectivised 
 in the society. But now mark the gradual change which 
 took place, a change of the process of which, the great 
 historical type is to be found in the annals of Greece and 
 Rome. The society by the very fact of its own develop- 
 ment merged into the staU. With the growth of the 
 state, property tended more and more to supplant kinship 
 as the basis of things social. For a long while the two 
 principles continued to exist side by side. It took time 
 for the principle of property to gain the upper hand, and 
 it was long before the personal nature of property was 
 fully realised. No sooner was this the case ; no sooner 
 had personal property become definitively the basis of 
 social order, -than the naive ethical sentiment of early 
 society was at an end, and an individualistic Ethic had 
 taken its place. Tiiis individualistic Ethic was of a two- 
 fold-nature ; on the one side it was an attempt to realise 
 happiness or the end of individuality within the limits of 
 tlie natural individual, on the other it was an attempt to 
 realise tiie end of individuality on a supernatural plane. 
 With the one as with the other, the individual became 
 the centre of attention. Man as individual awoke 
 to a consciousness of himself as formally distinct fiom 
 man as society. It was not long before the f(jimal dis- 
 tinction became converted into a real separation of 
 
The New Etliic. 1 1 
 
 sympathy and interest ; consequent on which the society 
 came to be regarded as a mere appendage, as merely 
 organic to the individual life or soul. The problem of 
 morality became henceforward as a necessary consequence 
 — how to reconcile individual interest with the exigen- 
 cies of social existence. In the later classical period, we 
 find the Stoics, Epicureans, and Sceptics, all attempting 
 to solve this problem of the greatest possible happiness 
 for the individual, on an empirical basis ; that is, within 
 the limits of the life of the individual. Duty was by 
 tliese sought to be explained, it might be by some abstract 
 formula, or by the classical prototype of the " enlightened 
 self-interest" doctrine of our modern utilitarians — I.e., by 
 the somewhat daring assumption, that morality in the 
 long run coincidos with self-interest as such. These 
 schools assumed that the individual was self-sufficient, 
 that he was an independent entity having only casual 
 relations with the community ; in other words, that the 
 meaning of personality and therewith of morality, 
 exhausted itself within the bounds of the individual 
 epidermis. The other school spoken of, of which were the 
 later Stoics, the Neo-Platonists, the Gnostics, and the 
 numberless theosophiccults which sprang up and flourish- 
 ed througliout the Roman world during the first three 
 centuries of the Christian era, recognised the fact that 
 the empirical self implied more than it expressed ; that its 
 content was not exhausted in its form. The old feeling 
 of duty, of the ought, still survived, but without its old 
 object, and without its old basis. Metaphorically speaking, 
 it " wandered through dry places, seeking rest and finding 
 none." It was already long since man had begun to 
 reflect, and through reflection to distinguish not merely 
 
The Ethics of Socialisnt. 
 
 his own personality from society and the universe at 
 large, but also to distinguish his thinking self from his 
 corporeal self; and the sense of the importance of these 
 distinctions was growing on him year by year. It was 
 out of the depths of his introspection, coupled with his 
 dissatisfaction at the then orthodox official morality 
 which had now lost its meaning for him, that a solution 
 of the enigma and an object for his moral consciousness 
 seemed to offer itself. Was not the material universe 
 like his body, the outward manifestation of a soul or self ? 
 Nothing could be more obvious, as it seemed to him. 
 Further, was not this personality enshrined in the body 
 of the universe the immeasurably higher counterpart of 
 the personality enshrined in his body ? and was not this 
 higher personality at once his source and end ?^ No less 
 assuredly as he thought. He, the feeble reflection of the 
 divinity, had as his chief end the fulfilment of the divine 
 will preparatory to his ultimate union with the divinity. 
 Morality, duty towards his fellow man, might be, it is 
 true, a part of the divine system of things, and conscience 
 even a spark of the divine flame ; yet nevertheless the 
 only ultimate sanction of morality was the will of God. 
 This chief end was not to be found in any relation 
 between his individual self and society, which was only 
 incidental and by the way, but in the relation between 
 this self and the divinity. It was by careful searching 
 
 ^ " What is fitting is incumbent, and obedience is founded on com- 
 mands. And those being, as they are, the same as counsels —having 
 truth for their aim, train up to the ultimate goal of aspiration, which 
 is conceived of as the end. And the end of piety is eternal rest in 
 God, and the beginning of eternity is our end." Clement of Alex- 
 andria, Ante-Nicene Library, vol. 4, page 185. 
 
TJie New Ethic. 13 
 
 of bis own heart, by lengthened self-introspection, tliat 
 the divine will might be discovered. The tirst and chief 
 end of all ir.orality was to purify his highest self from 
 the gross taint of material desires. ^ He must negate and 
 subdue his inferior part, his body, which was the greatest 
 hindrance to his higher perfection and of which his soul 
 was independent, just as the Deity was essentially 
 independent of the physical univei'se. The result was 
 that the aim of moral action became diverted into the 
 negation of bodily desire — asceticism.^ 
 
 It is to this moment in the evolution of the moral 
 consciousness which we liave briefly sketched as ex- 
 hibited in its typical historical instance, that the concep- 
 tions of holiness and sin, with their derivatives, belonsf. 
 The highest and most complete expression of this phase 
 is to be found in Christianity, though it is also embodied 
 in its essential features, in all the great ethical religions 
 (so-called) as well as those later philosophies and theo- 
 feophies of the Pagan world which Christianity super- 
 ^ "For whenever anyone who has been brought away by the 
 Word from external things, and from attention to the body itself to 
 the mind, acquires a clear view of what happens according to nature 
 in man, he will know that he is not to be earnestly occupied about 
 external things but about what is proper and peculiar to man — to 
 purge the eye of the soul, and to sanctify also his flesh. For that 
 he is clean rid of these things which constitute him still dust, what 
 else has he more serviceable than himself for walking in the way 
 which leads to the comprehension of God ? " Clement of Alexandria, 
 Ante Nicene Library, vol. 4, page 187. 
 
 2 It may perhaps be alleged that the Cynics evolved an ascetic 
 morality from their empirical standpoint. This is quite true ; the 
 mere egoism which delights to show superior power to the average 
 man of course also tends to asceticism ; but this does not alter the 
 fact that an ascetic morality is, generally speaking and in the main; 
 the offspring of a mystical attitude of mind. 
 
14 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 seded. The way of the ancient social morality was 
 broad and clear, a knowledge of duty had not to be con- 
 sciously evolved from a creed, it was not embodied in 
 abstract propositions, neither had it to be sought out in 
 the mysterious depths of the individual conscience. 
 But this broad highway to moral justification did not 
 satisfy the new individualist Ethic. The broad way 
 was declared to lead to destruction. Now it was the 
 task of every man to search out by the narrow, tortuous 
 and labyrinthine paths of casuistry and -personal intro- 
 spection, his moral goal. As a pendant to the narrow 
 way of the Christ, we have the " eight-fold path of duty " 
 of the Buddha. The great negative characteristic of this 
 movement was the definitive abolition of racial morality. 
 The moral relation being a personal one between the in- 
 dividual soul and the divinity revealing himself thereto, 
 it is quite clear that the old limited tribal notions of 
 " Greek, barbarian, bond or free " had lost all meaning. 
 The Roman Empire had broken down the old import- 
 ance of these distinctions, and it now became evident 
 that the barbarian or even the slave, must, as a person- 
 ality, be equal before God with the man of noble race, 
 or with the free citizen ; provided he attained to that holi- 
 ness which was within the power of every human 
 personality as such. All men were equal from the highest 
 point of view since in this connection every case rested 
 on its individual merits alone. The test of a man was no 
 longer one of kinship or of blood, but of personality. 
 The supreme power of the universe could take no ac- 
 count of the tribal distinctions among men, but only of 
 the spiritual element in each individual which was above 
 all such distinctions. At last then in the notion of a 
 
The New Ethic. 15 
 
 transcendent yet immanent God, the end of man, that is 
 of the individual man (the only aspect of man that was 
 now considered) was found. In God this individual man 
 saw the completion and perfection he lacked when 
 considered as an independent being. Duty in the 
 worldly sense was in the last resort merely a condition 
 prescribed by God for attaining individual holiness. The 
 crucial point in this theological or mystical Ethic is, 
 that while it recognises the incompatibility of form to 
 content in the individual, (in other words his incom- 
 pleteness per se) as the fundamental fact of the moral and 
 religious consciousness, it seeks to obviate this incom- 
 patibilit3', to resolve this contradiction, as already 
 observed, per saltum. The individual, as individual it 
 rightly concludes, cannot be an end or telos to himself ; 
 but this end it seeks to realise by a magic key which 
 eliminates the concrete world altogether from the cal- 
 culation. This done, the rest follows " with ease " and 
 without any " shufHing." The ethical consciousness hav- 
 ing disposed of the real world of concrete relations, pro- 
 ceeds to create an ideal world of abstract relations in 
 which it seeks satisfaction. It must not be supposed 
 that there is anything arbitrary in this proceeding. The 
 social medium in which morality first arose has changed ; 
 the individual and his interest has supplanted the com- 
 munity and its interest economically, socially, and politi- 
 cally ; hence the ethical consciousness can, by no possibility, 
 find satisfaction in the real world. The most that 
 reasoning can do for it, is to seek to explain it away by 
 Epicurean or Benthamite theories of " enlightened self- 
 interest " and the like. These, however, as theories, for 
 the most part only touch the man of learned leisure, and 
 
1 6 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 exercise but little real influence on the world at large. 
 So that it is what we have termed the theological or 
 mystical morality which alone really holds the field. 
 And the apparent satisfaction that the latter carries with 
 it can only exhaust itself and pass away with the con- 
 ditions which have given it birth. It was more or less 
 in abeyance with the mass of mankind during the Middle 
 Ages, when the social ethics of the German races asserted 
 themselves concurrently with those remains of primitive 
 communism which entered into the compo.sition of the 
 Feudal System. But it obtained .sporadically neverthe- 
 less, and under Protestantism sprang up into rank 
 luxuriance. With the modern middle-class man it is the 
 only alternative to the other individualist doctrine of 
 " enlightened self-interest.'' But the Individualist Ethic, 
 whether mystical and introspective, or empirical and 
 ])ractical, is to-day rapidly evolving its own contradiction 
 as its economic base is dissolving. While the man of the 
 middle classes can conceive of no goodness that is not 
 centred in the individual — be it in his soul or in his 
 pocket — the man of the working classes finds his indi- 
 viduality merged in the collective existence of the group 
 of producers to which he belongs. The whole life of the 
 working classes of to-day under the conditions of the 
 great industry is a collective one, inasmuch as the labour 
 of the individual is merged in the labour of the group ; 
 the grou]) again in that of other group.s, and so on 
 throughout tiie entire industrial and commercial system. 
 The workman of the great industry has never, as a rule 
 paid much attention to his soul, to the vvai, the heau, the 
 hien, as embodied in his character. Personal holiness 
 has never been his ethical aim, as it has been the pro- 
 
The New Ethic. IJ 
 
 fessed (and in some cases, doubtless, sincerely professed) 
 aim of the moral man, and still more of the moral woman, 
 among the middle classes. The idea of a " holy '' woi-k- ^J 
 ing man is even grotesque. The virtues which the 
 working classes at their best have recognised, have been 
 rather those of integrity, generosity, sincerity, good 
 comradeship, than those of "meekness," "purity," "piety,'' 
 " self-abnegation," and the like ; in short, social and ob- 
 jective virtues — those immediately referable to the social 
 environment — rather than those individual and subjec- 
 tive ones referable to tlie personality as such. The 
 working man has no time, he will commonly tell you, to 
 trouble about his " soul ; " he leaves that to the man of 
 leisure. 
 •^ The decline of the introspective morality is of course 
 largely connected with the dissolution by modern thought 
 of its old ideologic basis. While the working classes 
 have for the most part, in so far as they think about the 
 matter, frankly renounced the old theology, the middle 
 classes have occupied themselves with the endeavour 
 to find out every conceivable compromise by which they 
 might evade overtly breaking with the speculative tra- 
 dition. But that it is possible for the introspective 
 morality to survive its speculative basis is evidenced by 
 the Positivists, who, while repudiating this basis, never- 
 theless retain the introspective Ethic of Christian In- 
 dividualism in its most accentuated form, even to the 
 extent of erecting into a devotional breviary the Imitatio 
 Christi. As for the other form of the individualist Ethic, 
 the latter-day counterpart of Epicureanism, namely, 
 " enlightened self-interest," that, like its forerunner in the 
 classical world, is essentially the formulated Ethic of the 
 
The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 full belly and the full pocket. " Self-interest," from the 
 workman's point of view, might lead him, should a safe 
 opportunity offer itself, to plunder his employer's till, or 
 at least husband his- labour-power by giving as little 
 work as possible for his wages ; but this, according to 
 the advocates of the theory, would not be " enlightened." 
 On the other hand, " enlightenment " in the bourgeois 
 sense, would lead the workman (c.f. Professor Huxley 
 in " Lay Sermons ") " to starve rather than to steal ; " 
 but this would not be " self-interest " from the workman's 
 point of view, however " enliglitened " it might be. So 
 that altogether the workman seems rather " out of it,'' in 
 so far as the gospel of " enlightened self-interest " is 
 concerned. 
 
 The objective social morality, of which we see the 
 germs even in the working classes of to-day when at their 
 best — and when they are not, as they are to a large extent 
 in this country, completely brutalised by the conditions 
 of their life — becomes, when translated into a higher 
 plane, the basis of the religion of socialism, which con- 
 sists in a sense of oneness with the social body ; in an 
 identification of self-interest with social interest, the im- 
 mediate form of which is an identification of self-interest 
 with that of the oppressed class which is struggling 
 toward emancipation. In the supreme aim and endeavour 
 to aid the economic new birth of society, the Revolu- 
 tionist has no time and cares not to be continuously look- 
 ing within either to admire the beauty or to measure the 
 imperfections of his individual character. His highest 
 instincts are directed not within, but without ; not on 
 himself, but on the social cause he has in view — the 
 cause which means as it^ final issue the abolition of 
 
The Nezv Ethic. 19 
 
 classes and the brotherhood of man. Most of us are 
 familiar with the well-known story of the National 
 Guard who, asked during the last days of the Commune, 
 when death at the barricade was often a matter of 
 moments, for what he was fighting, replied: " Foior la 
 solidariti humaine." It is quite possible that this 
 poor workman understood but little of scientific socialism 
 and of the precise meaning of the solidarity for which he 
 fought ; yet his instincts and those of hia fellows were 
 true— they had the religion of socialism at heart — they 
 knew they were fighting for the emancipation of their 
 class, and that in this emancipation human solidarity was 
 involved. According to Christianity and the Ethics oi-^ 
 religion of Introspection generally, regeneration must 
 come from within, must begin in the heart and mind of 
 the individual. The ethic and religion of modern 
 Socialism, on the contrary, look' for regeneration from 
 without, from material conditions and a higher social life. 
 The ethic and religion of Socialism seek not the ideal 
 society through the ideal individual, but conversely the 
 ideal individual through the ideal society. It finds in an 
 adequate, a free and harmonious social life, at once the 
 primary condition and the end and completion of in>/ 
 dividuality. 
 
 It seems here a fitting place to analyse briefly the 
 notion of self-sacrifice or asceticism, which plays so large 
 a part in the theory of the Ethics of inwardness or intro- 
 spection. Its origin we take to be as follows. The in- 
 trospectionist, recognising the fact that the motive-power 
 of morality or religion breaks through the mere form of 
 individual interest, and frequently even contradicts the 
 latter, mistakes this merely negative element in the 
 
20 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 moral consciousness for its salient feature, and holds the 
 highest morality to consist in a continual mortification of 
 self. His spiritualistic theory of the universe, his con- 
 tempt for nature and reality, according to whicli matter 
 and all its belongings is intrinsically evil, of course con- 
 firms him in this view, and gives it a speculative ground- 
 work. Now, as we before pointed out, the votary of in- 
 trospection, while he seeks to kill off one self, does so 
 only in the interest of another and still more exacting 
 self. Its object is only the individual in another form. 
 Pleasure i.s its great hete noir, the annihilation of pleasure 
 its great end. The habit of mind proper to the intro- 
 spective Ethic, and which is roughly expressed by tlie 
 word Puritanism, has indeed the ascetic tendency so 
 strongly developed that the possessor of it is never happy 
 unless he is finding out that something or other, to do 
 which pleases his fellow-men, is wrong. It is aptly 
 illustrated by Punch's joke of the little girl who directs 
 her brother " to go and see what baby is doing, and tell 
 him he mustn't." To refrain is the only end of the being 
 in question. The effects of the ascetic poison, as before 
 said, outlive their cause ; the introspective Ethic of 
 which it is part survives its theoretical basis. Thus, 
 even where this basis is no longer present, the mind cast 
 in this mould will endeavour to find a possible evil in 
 everything which induces to pleasui'e. The taint of in- 
 trospection vitiates this view of life ; it must seek by 
 sophistry to poison life for itself and others. Thus in the 
 instance supposed where the Divine fiat or the in- 
 herent evil of matter can no longer be appealed to, and 
 where directly evil social results cannot be proved, it will 
 have recourse to vague and lofty phrases such as " human 
 dignity," "social order," &c. 
 
The Neiv Ethic. 21 
 
 Now the New Ethic of Socialism has no part nor lot 
 with asceticism. In the first place, it giudges the amount 
 of energy required to be expended by the individual in 
 his efTort to acquire the " self-discipiine," so called, which 
 is only another name for the moral tight-rope dancing 
 which the Ethic of inwardness postulates as its end. 
 It despises the introspectionist's love of striking an 
 ethical attitude. The mere discomfort or the sacrifice of 
 the individual per se is for it no virtue, but a folly, 
 unless it be part of the means to a clearly defined social 
 end. We italicise the words clearly defined since, as 
 above indicated, it is possible to smuggle in, under some 
 vague, high-sounding phrase, such as those already given, 
 the old theological Ethic, asceticism included. The nega- 1 
 tion of the individual only becomes a virtue for the New 
 Ethic when it occurs, not for its own sake, but as a m6re 
 incident in the attainment of a definite social end. The j 
 highest expression of socialist morality — socialist re- i 
 ligion — is of course the readiness to sacrifice all, including ' 
 life itself, for the cause. In the case of the French 
 National Guard, we have a type of this true moral and 
 religious heroism, as also in the thousands of nameless 
 martyrs who are at this moment sealing their testimony 
 with their blood in Russian dungeons or on the road to 
 Siberia. Tiie New Ethic of Socialism, moreover, exhibits 
 f<jr the first time in the world's history the conscious 
 sacrifice of the individual to the social whole. Early man 
 was ready enough to fall for his tribe or gens, but then 
 he had not awakened to the full consciousness of him- 
 self as an indejiendent being, any more than he had 
 awakened to the conception of an equal humanity out- 
 side his tribe. He was so completely identified with the 
 
22 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 society in which he lived that he could not conceive of 
 his having an independent interest, ox even of life itself, 
 apart therefrom. It is not so now. In the modern 
 world the self-consciousness of the individual qnA in- 
 dividual is fully developed. The Paiis workman con- 
 sciously surrendered himself, the contradiction between 
 the content of his moral personality and its form (viz., 
 the personality as living individual) was absolute, and 
 the form succumbed. La solidartie humavne, the social 
 Ethic, triumphed over individualism, the personal Ethic. 
 The Russian Nihilist or the Paris workman, in de- 
 liberately exposing himself to certain death, believing in 
 no personal immortality, that is, in no sort of continual 
 existenc3 for himself as individual, for the sake of the 
 cause of human brotherhood, we again repeat, embodies 
 the highest expression of the new Ethic the world has 
 yet seen. Martyrs to the introspective, individualist re- 
 ligions there have been without number, martyrs wlio 
 believed that while their pain endured but for a moment, 
 their joy would be everlasting ; that their souls would 
 rise to higher realms, the personality to union with the 
 Divinity. All very fine, all very noble, doubtless, but 
 without a gleam of aught but sublimated individualism 
 and rarified self-seeking. How differently the work- 
 man who died for his class, and througli his class, for 
 humanity ! 
 
 Having traced the self-denial of the introspectionist to 
 its source, and found that, after all, it was only an in- 
 verted form of self-assei-tion, we will now turn to the 
 self-interest of the utilitarian, and examine its grounds. 
 The doctrine of self-interest has an extremely plausible 
 sound. " All I do," sa3's the empirical philosopher, " is 
 
Tlie New Ethic. 23 
 
 simply done to please myself ; my apparently most dis- 
 interested actions are at bottom selfish ; I should not do 
 them if it did not please me to do them — I cannot trans- 
 cend myself." Now, this sounds like common-sense — 
 irrefutable common-sense. But in reality this root-prin- 
 ciple of utilitarianism, like all the saws of the empirical 
 philosophy of the eighteenth century which sound so 
 plausible, is but one of those half-truths which, when 
 diligently investigated, evince themselves the most insidi- 
 ous of fallacies. It is quite true that externally and 
 formally ever}^ motive actuating the individual has the 
 stamp of his individuality upon it. This is a very 
 obvious, and, at the same time, a very harmless proposi- 
 tion ; but it does not by a long way carry with it the 
 implication which the empii-ical utilitarian would put 
 upon it. Though the form of the motive may be in- 
 dividualistic, it does not follow that the content must 
 necessarily also be so. The content may transcend the 
 form ; that is, it may have for its end something wholly 
 apart from, and even antagonistic to, individual interest 
 as such. A man is said to have a high moral character, 
 precisely wlieii the material of his motives does not pre- 
 dominantly coincide with their mere superficial form, or, 
 in other words, his personal interest. He has a low 
 moral character when this motive-material does pre- 
 dominantly coincide with its form, and he has no moral 
 character at all, or, in other words, his character is 
 criminal, when the form and the matter — i.e., individual 
 interest and motive material — absolutely balance one 
 another. This latter is of course the ideal criminal 
 towards which the actual criminal approximates in 
 varying degrees. 
 
24 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 The belief that in the ought of conscience there is any 
 element that is not personal and individual (Herbert 
 Spencer's modification of the theory by incorporating 
 with it the notion of heridity does not affect the case), 
 this belief the utilitarian tells you is an illusion, and in 
 confirmation thereof he points to the stamp of self- 
 interest which every action on the part of the individual 
 apparently bears upon its face. Now, what I contend is, 
 that the illusion is on his side, and that it results from his 
 confounding the merely superficial /crai of the action with 
 its end, or, in other words, with the motive-jnaterial which 
 is its content. Just as the introspective individualist 
 has been deceived by the mere superficial form of the 
 denial of self which commonly accompanies high moral 
 action, into mistaking this subsidiary element for the 
 whole of morality, or at least its most important part, 
 so the utilitarian individualist has been deceived by the 
 mere supeificial form of self-interest which necessarily 
 accompanies every action of the individual, iuto mistaking 
 this barren and abstract form for tlie content, motive- 
 material, or end, which is the real source of the action. 
 His proceeding is exactly analogous to that of the meta- 
 physician, who thinks he has made a wonderful dis- 
 covery, when he has reduced everything to the category 
 of "pure being." No one denies the singularly vapid 
 proposition, tliat ever3' action emanating from the human 
 personality or individual bears on it the stamp of its em- 
 pirical source. What is denied is that this proposition 
 carries with it the implication with which it is credited 
 or in fact that it advances the problem one step. What 
 the ordinary person means by self-iiitei'est is not merely 
 that the action begins with the individual, but that it 
 
The New Ethic. 
 
 25 
 
 ends there, that its telos is the personality. As in a great 
 many similar cases, by a verbal juggle two distinct thino-s 
 are confounded in one. To say that I am actuated by 
 self-interest when I among others place myself in front 
 of a miti-ailleuse with the dead certainty of having my 
 natural self annihilated and without any kind of belief 
 in a personal immortality — to say that this is self- 
 interest, that I do it to please myself, is either the most 
 insipid of platitudes, or else a piece of the wildest con- 
 ceivable nonsense. It may be either, according as we take 
 it, the truth being that in this case the motive-material 
 or the content of the action has absorbed and thereby 
 abolished its form. The individual in that very act of 
 will by which he apparently affirms himself, " pleases 
 himself," really negates himself, contradicts himself, and 
 a fortiori the interest, pleasure, or happiness, which is 
 identified with himself. Of course, the example chosen, 
 that of the deliberate choice of immediate death for a 
 cause into the realisation of which the individual <i-f< in- 
 dividual does not enter, is an extreme one ; but the same 
 principle holds good in the case of working for such a 
 cause, that is, sacrificing personal pleasure, interest, or 
 convenience, for results which we believe we shall never 
 see. Here, though the form of self-interest is not imme- 
 diately abolished, the individual does not completely ne- 
 gate himself as in the former instance, he yet nevertheless 
 supersedes his interest as individual — the material of im- 
 pulses and motives proclaims the inadequacy of their 
 form. The man who sincerely, that is, without personal 
 advantage in view, works for such a cause, by this very 
 fact tacitly admits the inadequacy of himself as an end 
 to himself. And this brings us back to the point from 
 
26 Tlie Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 which we started, and thei-ewith to our concluding sum- 
 mary of the results of this investigation. 
 
 First, then, we find that the meaning of the ougM of 
 " conscience," of the moral impulse, moral sense, moral 
 consciousness, or by whatever other name it may be called, 
 is nothing more nor less than iiiie implicit or explicit 
 conficiousness of the inadeq tiMcy of the individual and 
 /lis interests cos an end to himself. This consciousness is 
 pre-supposed in the existence of human society at all. 
 But although conscience, or the moral consciousness is 
 ultimate, the forms of its manifestation no less than its 
 object, are determined by the conditions of social and 
 economic evolution. 
 
 At first the "society of kinship" is the end of all 
 duty; the individual implicitly conscious of his own 
 inadequacy is sunk in the society, knows and cares for 
 no existence outside the society. This is from the 
 Socialist point of view the highest morality which up to 
 now has been generally prevalent in the world. But 
 with the dissolution of early tribal society with its 
 kinship basis, with the rise of political society with its 
 property basis, and the leisure thence resulting, the old 
 ethical object of the individual gradually lost its power. 
 He now became explicitly conscious of his own inadequacy 
 to himself; but tried to resolve this consciousness and to 
 abolish the dissatisfaction of which it was the cause, by 
 (1) resolutely turning his attention in upon himself and 
 definitely with conscious purpose placing self-interest 
 before him as his end (Cynics, Cyrenaics, earlier Stoics and 
 Epicureans) ; and (2) by holding up before himself a pro- 
 fessedly extra-individual,but also extra-natural ideal, as his 
 end (later Stoics, Neo-Platonists, Gnostics, and Christians). 
 
Tlie Nczv Etiiic. 27 
 
 Man as individual thus no longer recognised liis end in 
 the society, but rather in himself considered either as 
 natural individual, or as spiritual individual. Hence 
 arose the two systems of individualist Ethic which 
 though they have passed through many variations of 
 aspect, have remained substantially the same from that 
 day to this. On the one hand, amongst the well-to-do 
 you have, in the shape as it were of a light froth, the 
 Epicurean-Benthamite Ethic of "enlightened self- 
 interest;" on the other the Stoic-Christian Ethic of 
 personal " holiness " and " sin." This though it reaches 
 its classical historic expression in Christianity is 
 fundamentally the same in Neo-Platonism, Buddhism, 
 Parseeism, and even Islamism. It boasts a gigantic 
 literature from the noble musings of a Marcus Aurelius 
 Antoninus, the Sermon on the Mount, and the Tmitdtio 
 Christi, down (and verily great is the fall) to the last 
 goody-goody volume of edification, published by Messrs. 
 Griffith & Farran or Nisbet & Co. 
 
 The Ethic of the early tribal world was a naively 
 objective Ethic; this is a naively subjective Ethic. 
 With the waning of this Ethic the consciousness of a 
 new meaning to the term goodness is now gradually 
 dawning on men. Even the Christian or other introspec- 
 tionist (and this is one of the surest signs of a change) is 
 driven on to the defensive, and feels himself compelled 
 to read a social meaning into the essentially personal 
 Ethics of his creed. The old ethical sentiment, he in- 
 stinctively feels, has exhausted itself, and is passing over 
 into its opposite although its form may still remain 
 intact. The ethical telos is now vaguely or clearly felt 
 to be no longer self-renunciation or self-glorification in 
 
28 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 the abstract, but the identification of self-interest with 
 social interest. Men are now beginning to feel that any 
 morality of which self-renunciation is an end or even an 
 essential element is one-sided and fallacious. In what I 
 may term a concrete Ethic, self-sacrifice can never be 
 more than an accident ; the substance of such Ethic con- 
 sisting as beforesaid not in the humiliation of self before 
 God, but in the identification of self with humanity. 
 By this we should observe is not especially to be under- 
 stood the " living for others " of the current Christian 
 Ethics, which at best means sacrificing oneself for other 
 individuals, as individuals. What we here mean is, we 
 must again repeat to avoid all possible misunderstanding, 
 iliat ajjirniation of self ivitli, or identification of self in, 
 society, ivhich in the first instance can only he hrought 
 uhout by the identification of the material conditions of 
 individual well-being with those of socicd well-being. 
 At last with the dawn of a new economic era, the era of 
 social production for social uses, we shall have also the 
 dawn of a new Ethic ; an Ethic whose ideal is neither 
 personal holiness nor personal interest, but social happi- 
 ness — for which the perfect individual will ever be sub- 
 ordinate to the perfect society. The test of personal 
 character will here be not self-renunciation in the absti-act, 
 but the possession of social qualities and the zeal for 
 positive and definite social ends. This may be termed 
 in a sense an absolute Ethic. It is no .longer naively 
 objective like the Ethic of the primitive world, when the 
 individual was unconscious of possible interests apai't 
 from the community ; and still less is it naively subjective, 
 the attention of the individual being no longer primarily 
 directed towards the mortification of self, but rather to- 
 
The New Ethic. 
 
 wards the broad issues of social life and progress. He 
 will recognise the call of duty to do and to forbear only 
 in things which directly affect the society ; all actions 
 not having a direct social bearing being roorally indifferent 
 for him. In this new conception of duty, the individual 
 consciously subordinates himself to the community, this 
 time not a community of kinship but of principle ; not 
 limited by frontier but world-embracing. 
 
 Thus in the new Ethic the two previous ethical mo- 
 menta are, so to say, at once preserved and destroyed. 
 The naivete and limitation of the first tribal Ethic have 
 passed away never to return. The abstract individual- 
 ism of the second has also passed away never to return. 
 The separation of Ethics from Politics and of both from 
 Religion, is finally abolished. In Socialism, Ethics be- 
 come Political, and Politics become Ethical ; while 
 Religion means but the higher and more fax'-reaching 
 aspect of that ethical sense of obligation, duty, fraternity, 
 which is the ultimate bond of every-day society. Yet 
 nevertheless, all that was vital in the two earlier stages 
 of the moral consciousness will be preserved in this one ; 
 the social object of the first; the conscious definiteness of 
 the second. 
 
 In treating the subject of Ethics I might have pro- 
 ceeded very differently. I might have filled these pages 
 with an account of various practises and customs drawn 
 from every source, ancient and modern, savage, barbaric 
 and civilised, and in this way have interested many ; but 
 this which has often been done before was not my object. 
 My object was, by indicating the salient points in a 
 thorough-going analysis of the moral consciousness to 
 lead the reader to reflect on Ethic in its essential character 
 
30 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 and as embodied in the historic races, rather than as 
 many do, to content himself with the mere co-ordination 
 of the casual manifestations which are its temporary and 
 local expression. 
 
 Again, I have purposely refi-ained here from entering 
 upon tlie speculative problems which lie on the confines 
 of the subject. To ti-eat such even in outline would re- 
 quire, not one, but a series of essays like the present. I 
 will mention in conclusion one only of these pi'o- 
 blems. A very obvious question arises as to the 
 telos of society itself, and the connection between the 
 moral consciousness and this telos. May we regard the 
 inadequacy of the individual as an end to himself as the 
 indication that the final i^urpose. of society as such is 
 not to be merely for the consciousness of its component 
 individuals or personalities, but that these are in the end 
 destined to be absorbed in a corporate social conscious- 
 ness : just as the separate sentiencies of the organic com- 
 ponents of the animal or human body are absorbed in 
 the unified sentience or intelligence of that body. I 
 offer this as a closing suggestion for those who are of 
 what is sometimes known as a "speculative turn of mind." 
 
THE REVOLUTION OF THE iqth 
 CENTURY. 
 
 A LECTURE DELIVERED IN 1883. 
 
 Though the observation that our age is one of transition, 
 is perhaps somewhat trite among thinking men, the 
 number of unthinking men who are still possessed by the 
 remains of an "as it was in the beginning, is now, and 
 ever shall be " theory of the world and of human nature, 
 is sufficiently great to render its occasional illustration 
 and enforcement desirable. The most obvious way to 
 bring home this fact to the mind incapable of seeing it 
 unaided, is by fixing on a terminus a quo, and showing 
 that while it logically leads to a certain terinin as ad quern, 
 we are, histoiically, but half-way towards tlie said 
 termimis ad qiLcm ; in other words, that the present state 
 of things involves a contradiction. This is the method 
 we shall accordingly pursue in the following observa- 
 tions. The expression, " age of transition," is, of course, 
 only relative. In one sense the whole of history is a 
 vast transition. " All things flow,'' said Herakleitos — 
 and truly ; but the flowing sometimes takes the form of 
 a cataract, at others of an even, and almost imper- 
 ceptible, current. This is only another way of saying 
 that the usually slow and gradual course of evolution is, 
 at certain stages, interrupted by a more or less prolonged 
 period of revolution. The embryo, arrived at matui-itj'. 
 
32 TJlc Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 breaks the eggshell, the imago insect its chrysalis skin. 
 The process of transformation, from being gradual and 
 imperceptible, becomes spasmodic and perceptible. 
 
 Let our terminns a quo, then, be the mediaeval- system 
 of Europe, and we shall see that every advance, every 
 departure, from that system, has led us deeper and 
 deeper into the region of unresolved contradiction, is fast 
 leading us through incompatibility to impossibility, and 
 thence, let us hope, to a reorganisation of human life 
 which shall mean the resolution of these contradictions. 
 We will examine the system of Medisevalism first of all 
 in its industrial organisation. With its industrial system 
 is most closely bound up the whole social and family 
 life of a people. But no aspect of a civilisation can be 
 logically separated from the other. The social and the 
 political life, and the intellectual conceptions of an age, 
 act and react upon one another. They are the insepar- 
 able a.spec;s of that particular phase in the evolution of 
 the one organic, or, if you will, super-organic, whole — 
 Humanity. 
 
 The economical system of antiquity, which was founded 
 on slavery — production being entirely, or almost entirely, 
 confined to slaves, consisting either of prisoners taken in 
 conquest or their descendants, or else of the persons of 
 debtors seized in default of payment — became gi'adually 
 modified, on the disruption of the Roman Empire, into 
 serfage. As the feudal system consolidated itself, serfao-e 
 finally and definitely superseded slavery. The serf 
 could not, like the slave, be bought and sold at pleasure, 
 but was generally inseparable from the soil on which he 
 was born. Nevertheless, as with the slave, all that he 
 and his family produced over and above what was barely 
 
The Revolution of the \gili Century. 
 
 necessary for food and clothing, was the property of the 
 lord. But since, if the number of h's serfs was diminished 
 or their labour-power impaired by ill-treatment, others 
 were not so readily obtainable, as in the case of slaves in 
 ancient times, it became the interest of the lord to main- 
 tain tliem as far as possible in a healthy and contented 
 condition. Besides this it must be remembered that the 
 main object of the feudal lord was not gain, beyond 
 what was necessary for his personal use and that of his 
 retainers what he cared for was to rule over men — to 
 possess a numerous and devoted tenantry. Hence serf- 
 age was a distinct advance on slavery, as regards the 
 condition of the labourer. If we look a little more closely 
 at the conditions of production on a feudal estate, we 
 shall find that it was within itself, generally speaking; 
 an industrial whole, the links connecting it with the 
 outer world being at most few, and even these seldom 
 indispensable to its existence. The total of the com- 
 modities consumed on the estate was, in most cases, 
 derived directly from its own ground. The peasant and 
 his sons tilled the soil, hunted the wild animals, raised 
 domestic stock, or felled trees for building or firewood ; 
 while the wife and daughters spun the raw flax and 
 carded the wool, which they worked up into articles of 
 clothing, distilled the mead or assisted in the in-gathering 
 of the grapes, tlie making the wine, and, in some 
 cases, in the rougher work of production. Division of 
 labour and distribution, in a society composed on this 
 plan, were obviously, alike, if not unknown, at least 
 unessential. This was the system that continued to 
 form the frame-work of society throughout Europe for 
 centuries. 
 
34 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 But with the decline of the mediseval civilisation, town- 
 ships began to arise, and with them a new industrial 
 organisation, based on independent guilds of burghers. 
 The township got the feudal services of the citizens 
 within its domain commuted for an annual due or pay- 
 ment. It was thus that free labour arose. Each man 
 now worked to maintain himself and his family, at a 
 particular handicraft, by exchanging or selling the pro- 
 ducts of his labour. In this way specialisation of labour 
 and an organised system of distribution — of commerce — 
 came into existence. Leagues for mutual protection 
 against the robber nobles of the period were formed, 
 such as the Hanseatic League. With the Renaissance 
 in the fifteenth century, and yet more with the Reforma- 
 tion in the sixteenth, the strength of the mediaeval system 
 pure and simple was practically broken up. The middle 
 or trading classes of the towns became more and more 
 powerful, and, with their power, more and more restive 
 at the imposts laid upon them, and at the restrictions 
 put upon their liberty and dignity by governments con- 
 stituted of the lords of the soil, spiritual and temporal, 
 and the crown. The growing breach between the com- 
 mons or third estate — a name originally applied to the 
 smaller landholders, but now more particularly used for 
 the burgher population — and the first and second estates, 
 consisting respectively of the lords spiritual and temporal, 
 culminated in the great French Revolution of 1789. In 
 this convulsion the third estate was arrayed against the 
 clergy, the nobility, and the crown. But burgher and 
 noble, or, as the French have it, bourgeois and grand 
 seigneur, in their struggles for supremacy, were oblivious 
 of the rise above the social horizon of a little cloud 
 
The Revolution of the igth Century. 53 
 
 destined ultimately to overshadow both their interests 
 alike. This fourth estate, distinct from the peasantry of 
 the country as the new cominonality or third estate was 
 distinct from the copyholding commonality of feudal 
 times, was none other than the modern proletariat or 
 working class. 
 
 On the first rise of the town-system every tradesman, 
 burgher, or citizen combined in his own person, or those 
 of his immediate household, the functions of workman, 
 supervisor, and distributor, as regards his particular 
 commodity. But with the development of the new in- 
 dustrial system these functions became separated. With 
 their separation the distinction between employer and 
 employd, master and workman, bourgeois and proletaire, 
 arose. The whole processes of production and exchange 
 which had hitherto been carried out on the small scale 
 exclusively adapted to individual work, had become 
 gradually changed by simple co-operation, the ever- 
 extending subdivision of labour, and other causes. The 
 distinction between the middle and the working classes 
 first became definitively marked in a political sense dur- 
 ing the French Kevolution, and it has been yearly 
 accentuating itself ever since. The middle, or capitalistic, 
 classes have long ago come to a compromise with the 
 landed aristocracy. This compromise lias taken the 
 political form of constitutional government, in which 
 Toryism, or la,nded interest, and Liberalism, or capitalistic 
 interest, take it by turns to sponge upon the people. 
 The prodigious development of capitalism in this century 
 is due to the sudden and revolutionary acceleration of 
 the process of development referred to as previously tak- 
 ing place gradually, namely, the socialisation of the 
 
36 Tlie Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 modes of production. The sudden acceleration of the pro- 
 cess, amounting ahnost to a transformation of previous 
 conditions, is the result of the introduction oi machinery. 
 It is to machinery that we owe the polarisation of wealth 
 and poverty we see around us : luxury on the one hand 
 and starvation on the other, colossal fortunes and abject 
 misery. This is rendered possible by the fact that while 
 production has become more and more socialised in 
 character, exchange still remains in individual hands. 
 The workers do not own the means of production or the 
 product, either individually or collectively. Hence the 
 capitalist obtains a leverage power by which he can 
 wring from the working classes all the value of their 
 labour over and above what is haxAy necessary to their 
 subsistence. It is thus that interest or profit is obtained. 
 This is facilitated by competition, the competition 
 amongst labourers and the competition amongst capitalists 
 themselves. There is an ever-increasing section of the 
 labouring population on the verge of starvation, and ready 
 to work at starvation wages. Small capitalists are being 
 daily thrown into the ranks of the proletariat by their 
 inability to compete with tlie larger firms. Capital tends 
 daily to a concentration in fewer and fewer hands ; in 
 other words, the bulk of the population are forced to 
 labour in order that a smaller and smaller oligarchy of 
 grasping capitalists may enter into the fruits of their 
 labour. As it is, out of the thirteen hundred millions 
 produced annually by this country, the small minority of 
 capitalists and landowners are said to absorb one thousand 
 millions, leaving just three hundred millions for the 
 overwhelming majority of the community. I should say 
 that the landowners only take a hundred and thirty-six 
 
The Revolution of the igth Century. 37 
 
 millions out of the total, more than half of which is 
 mortgaged back to the capitalist class. This is a fact 
 those who regard land nationalisation alone as the 
 panacea for all evils would do well to consider. Ma- 
 chinery, as employed at present, simply serves to pro- 
 duce profit for the capitalist and to increase the misery 
 of the working-classes. As Mr. Hyndman well puts it : 
 " The socialised system of production revolts against the 
 individualised system of exchange." Here, then, is our 
 first contradiction. The homogeneous communistic pro- 
 duction of the Middle Ages, in which exchange did not 
 exist, gave place to an individualistic mode of production 
 and of exchange. This is, in its turn, superseded to-day 
 by a highly developed social system of production, which 
 yet remains allied to the old individualist principle of 
 exchange. The logical terminus ad quern, the resolution 
 of the contradiction involved in the situation, is obviously 
 — a return to the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries being 
 out of the question- — the completion of the process of 
 socialisation, i.e. the complete socialisation not only of 
 production but of exchange as well. This means no- 
 thing less than the abolition of the current regime of 
 capitalism and landholding, which furnishes the middle 
 and upper classes, so-called, with interest, profit, and 
 rent by the concentration of land, raw material, instru- 
 ments of production, and funded property in the lands 
 of a democratic State really representing the people. 
 That this is impossible with our boards of guardians of 
 vested interests furnished under the various constitu- 
 tional governments, monarchical or republican, it is 
 scarcely necessary to observe. 
 
 We have already touched indirectly upon the political 
 
3 8 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 question in discussing the economical. First, as to its 
 internal, as distinct from its international aspect. In 
 the Middle Ages all political power was in the hands of 
 tbe hierarchy of the Crown, with its advisers, the clergy 
 and the large and small landed proprietors, the three 
 estates as they were termed. On the decline, and especi- 
 ally after the break-up, of the mediaeval system, when 
 the towns and the smaller landed proprietors were be- 
 coming a power as against the old feudal nobles, strong 
 efforts were made by the monarchy to utilise the state of 
 things thence arising for rendering its prerogative abso- 
 lute : a feat which was attempted by all the Tudor and 
 Stuart sovereigns in England, and resulted in the over- 
 throw of Charles I. It was left for the genius of Louis 
 XIV. of France to effectually accomplish the change in 
 the nature of the royal authority. The advent of the 
 first crisis of our revolutionary epoch — the French Re- 
 volution of 1789 — was thus facilitated. The true signi- 
 ficance of this convulsion is the definite assertion by the 
 middle or capitalistic classes of political equality with 
 the noble or landed classes. Although during the actual 
 crisis the fourth estate or proletariat achieved some signal 
 successes, notably in the constitution of '93, yet these 
 were one and all subsequently swept away again in the 
 ebb of the revolution, the only thing left high and dry, 
 past the chance of subsequent loss, being the political 
 power of the boiorgeoisie. Every reform during the 
 present century has tended to increase and consolidate 
 this power. Constitutional government itself is simply 
 a tacit compact for the key of power to be transferred 
 from land to capital, from aristocracy to plutocracy. 
 Even where, as in England, the fundamental basis of the 
 
TJie Revolution of the i <^th Century. 39 
 
 old political order, the Crown, the House of Peers, re- 
 main intact formally, the force they embodied is departed 
 from them into other hands. It will be thus readily 
 seen that the political power of the middle classes has 
 grown with the growth of the capitalistic system and 
 increased with its strength, and that the monopoly of 
 political power by knots- of influential, i.e. moneyed, men, 
 of which modern constitutional governments — be they 
 Liberal or Conservative, monarchical as in England and 
 Germany, or republican as in France and America — one 
 and all consist, is simply the corollary of our industrial con- 
 tradiction, the monopoly of a socialised or semi-socialised 
 system of production and of its fruits by a comparatively 
 small number of individuals. The social system which 
 contradicts the first laws of justice and of human welfare, 
 merely because the majority are at present too stupid to 
 see this, owing to the complexity of the machinery in- 
 volved, has as its natural pendant a corresponding poli- 
 tical system — a system which must stand or falL with it. 
 Now let us look at the other side of the political ques- 
 tion, the international or external. The feudal system 
 was essentially Federal in character. The fulcrum of 
 government lay in the local centre, not in the national 
 centre. The autonomy of the different feudal jurisdic- 
 tions was incomparably greater than is to be found 
 within any existing State. Like the method of produc- 
 tion, the system of government was suited to small and 
 semi-independent communities. Each estate of the feudal 
 hierarchy owed direct allegiance only to the one im- 
 mediately above it ; alter this the allegiance became 
 more and more indirect, more and more shadowy, even 
 where, as in England, it nominally existed, and between 
 
40 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 the extremes was altogether nil. At the same time the 
 whole political system of Europe had for its coping-stone 
 the papacy, and to some extent also the shadowy Roman 
 Emperor of the German nation. But, as we have seen, 
 on the dissolution of the feudal system, monarchy began 
 to assert a centralising influence, and this was the first 
 beginning of our modern State-system. With the Re- 
 formation the political power of the papacy was ended, 
 and hence the two opposite checks to national centralisa- 
 tion, the local and the cosmopolitan, were almost simul- 
 taneously abolished. On the ruins of feudalism and 
 papal domination, then, arose the modern State-system 
 of Europe. As in the case of industrial production the 
 methods are social but in individual hands, so with the 
 State-system, its tendency and machinery, although in- 
 volving international relations at every turn, is admin- 
 istered for national ends. The administrative unit, the 
 feudal commune, is abolished, and the nationality takes 
 its place ; but wiiile the whole system of modern life is 
 cosmopolitan, government is still carried on in the in- 
 terests of this racial unit. The illogicality of this 
 administrative halting-place between the local community 
 and the sj-stem of nations constituting the civilised world, 
 is shown by the empire-tendency of modern States — that 
 empire-tendency which means the ruthless sacrifice of 
 weaker races for the sake of the stronger. Here again 
 we have a parallel ; in industry the larger capitalists 
 absorb the smaller, so in politics the iai-ger States absorb 
 tlie smaller. Hence, as the tendency of capital is to be- 
 come concentrated in a few large firms, so the tendency 
 of government is to become concentrated in a few large 
 empires, the smaller independent centres being crushedout. 
 
The Revolution of the igih Century. 4 J 
 
 I have spoken of nations, but it must be remembered 
 that by this term is meant, in modern politics, merely 
 the privileged and ruling classes of nations. Parliaments 
 are little more than boards consisting of members of 
 these classes; and in voting war estimates, railway guar- 
 antees, grants for expeditions to occupy territory, or for 
 schemes for " opening up " new channels of commerce, 
 new markets, etc. etc., they are only consulting their 
 own interests, under the specious masks of " national 
 honour " and the public welfare. In foreign politics the 
 capitalist is no less king than in domestic. Well nigh 
 every war within the present generation has been the 
 work of a clique of bourse speculators, stock-jobbers, or 
 manufacturers anxious to secure markets. Such was, to 
 a large extent at least, the Franco-German war ; such 
 have been, unblushingly, all our small English " wars '' 
 (so-called), which might more truly be termed cowardly 
 massacres of untrained and ill-armed barbarians. Such 
 have been no less the French expeditions in Tunis, Ton- 
 quin, and Madagascar. What advantage do the workers 
 of a nation derive from the extension of empire ? What 
 does the possession of India, for example, benefit the 
 English working class, or any but the larger capitalists 
 and the functionaries who are their hangers-on ? The 
 working classes are taxed for the maintenance of this 
 imperial system, and have as their reward the somewhat 
 barren honour of belonging to it. 
 
 Chauvinistic nationalism is the political side of the 
 status quo of which capital is the corner-stone. There is 
 nothing more cherished by the ruling classes than a 
 patriotic cry. It is their most serviceable ally in times 
 of danger. Thus, our second great contradiction — the 
 
The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 political — lies in administration being carried on in the 
 quasi-interests of special nationalities in an age when 
 the whole civilised world has really the same interests, 
 as it has the same science, the same inventions, the same 
 communications — in short, when the whole system o£ 
 things is international. We have noticed the connection 
 existing between this political and the industrial contra- 
 diction, in so far as the diplomatic nation really means 
 the " privileged classes " of that nation — or, in other 
 words, the capitalists, the landowners, and their salaried 
 allies. The logical terminus ad quern of the situation is 
 plainly the internationalising of government. The cen- 
 tralisation must be carried to its furthest point, and not 
 arrested at the national frontier, often a mere arbitrary 
 diplomatic or geographical expression. Tliis would have 
 as its natural correlate the rehabilitation within certain 
 limits of the local centre. When we think what the 
 disappeara'nce of capitalism, landlordism, and class privi- 
 lege would really involve, it is easily seen that national 
 and diplomatic boundaries would, under such circum- 
 stances, no longer have any raison d'kre. It is thus, 
 and not by bourgeois propagandism and humanitarian 
 talk that war will be abolished and the ostensible ends 
 of the Peace Society accomplished. 
 
 We come, finally, to the intellectual or religious contra- 
 diction of our epoch. The system of Catholic docma, the 
 religious system of the Middle Ages, formed a coherent 
 whole in itself, and with its industrial and political 
 systems. Furthermore, it was consistent with the entire 
 mental attitude of these ages.^ But, with the new 
 
 1 For a good exposition of the mediaeval speculative position 
 Hitman's History of Latin Christianity (vol. i.) may be consulted. 
 
The Revolution of the igth Century. 43 
 
 learning, all this began to change. Authority in matters 
 of belief became generally shaken. A climax was reached 
 in the Lutheran Reformation when the standard of 
 authority was definitely shifted from church to dogma, 
 from pope to Bible. This change undermined the Chris- 
 tian theology. The infallibility of the canonical scriptures 
 rested, as did every other dogma, on the authority of 
 councils and church tradition, regarded as traceable in a 
 direct line to the apostles, and through them to the titular 
 founder of the Christian religion. Once the doctrine of 
 apostolical succession and the supreme authority of the 
 Church repudiated, the principle of private judgment in 
 matters doctrinal admitted, and the pillar supporting the 
 entire dogmatic edifice was broken, leaving it only a 
 matter of time for the whole superstructure to fall in. 
 Even the granting of the cardinal dogma of dogmatic 
 Protestantism could not much mend matters, since this 
 leaves it open to any person to dispute every other dogma 
 on biblical authority ; seeing that each individual with 
 sufficient ingenuity could devise a system out of that 
 heterogeneous body of literature called the Bible, differing 
 essentially not only from the orthodox one, but from that 
 of his equally original neighbour. Axis der Bihel Idast 
 sich alles heweisen, as the Germans have it. Truly might 
 an eminent Catholic prelate claim for his creed " a com- 
 plete consistency from its first principle to its last con- 
 sequence, and to its least institution"; and well might 
 he accuse the Protestant variations of preserving " forms 
 and doctrines, which must have sprung from a principle 
 
 The hierarchical order of celestial beings founded on the work of 
 the pseudo-Dionyaius beginning with the supreme overlord god, is 
 a striking analogue of the medifeval hierarchy of terrestrial beings. 
 
The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 by them rejected, but which are useless and mistaken the 
 moment they are disjoined from it." Such is, neverthe- 
 less, the doctrine of the modem hoiirgeois. He is 
 Christian. Oh yes ! He must be Christian to the 
 backbone ; but in the logicality of the Catholic system 
 the bourgeois discovers its error. And doubtless he is 
 right from his own point of view. He is himself the 
 outgrowth of a logical contradiction, and hence his whole 
 polity and converse are illogical. The landed aristocrat 
 still adheres to at least some semblance of the old 
 Catholic hierarchy and tradition, such as high Anglican- 
 ism offers ; but the capitalist, large and small, the middle- 
 class man, is the bulwai'k of Protestantism proper — to 
 wit, that illogical non-sequihu; dogma minus sacer- 
 dotalism. The manufacturer or merchant has his 
 evangelical church, the retail linen-draper or grocer his 
 chapel, the butcher or greengrocer his mission-hall, the 
 converted costormonger his open-air service. 
 
 The connection between the trading classes and 
 dogmatic Protestantism holds historically. The Reforma- 
 tion was coincident with the first great expansion of the 
 town population, both politically and industrially. It 
 was the industrial classes that the revocation of the Edict 
 of Nantes drove from France, to found colonies in 
 England and Germany. The pre-eminently industrial 
 nations — the English, the Germans, the Dutch, etc. — 
 adopted Protestantism as their State creed; and even 
 in non-Protestant countries the main strength of the 
 Protestant minority lay in the trading classes. It would 
 not be uninstructive, did space allow, to trace in detail 
 the connection between Protestant cults and dogmas and 
 the aims and aspirations of the middle classes ; and this 
 
Tlie Revolution of the igth Century. 45 
 
 would not be difficult. But we must pass on to a more 
 important aspect of the intellectual contradiction of our 
 civilisation. Every religion presents two sides, an 
 intellectual and a moral. It involves a theory of the 
 how, the whence, and the whither of existence, and an 
 ideal based upon that theory. The theory dominating 
 the mediaeval civilisation was, as we have said. Christian 
 theology in its only consistent form. But the Christian 
 theology is merely the development of a fundamental 
 idea common to the other ethical religions (so-called) of the 
 world, which in other shapes is traceable to paganism, 
 and thence to still more primitive stages of human 
 culture — I mean the hypothesis of the existence of an 
 intelligent being or beings outside the natural order, by 
 whom that order is regulated. This conception is the 
 groundwork of every religion, properly speaking, that 
 has hitherto existed. The conception of law, of an 
 essentially unchangeable order has, however, from the 
 first rise of physical science at the close of the Middle 
 Ages, been steadily growing, and as steadily supplanting 
 the old notion of volition as a casual agent in the several 
 departments of science, till now no region is left other 
 than completely occupied by it. The intellectual attitude 
 of all educated men in the present day, among all peoples, 
 kindreds, and tongues, is hence separated by a yawning 
 chasm from the intellectual attitude of those of all previous 
 ages by this fact alone, just as the material conditions of 
 life in the nineteenth century throughout the civilised 
 world are separated by a similar abyss from those of all 
 previous ages by the invention of machinery as applied 
 to industry, of the railway, the telegraph, etc. The sig- 
 nificance of this change of mental attitude can hardly be 
 
46 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 exaggerated. All previous changes liave left the cardinal 
 principle of supernaturalism practically untouched. It is 
 now, for the first time, that the principle of the invaria- 
 bility of law is universally established. Yet strange to 
 say — and here lies tbe main intellectual contradiction of 
 oar age — v^hile all our science, all our commerce and 
 industry, all the actions of our daily life, are based on 
 this great truth, it still remains, so to speak, officially 
 unrecognised by mankind. Old creeds based upon an 
 entirely alien conception of the universe still remain, out- 
 wardly at least, intact. Men are categorised as Christians, 
 Mussulmans, or as Catholics and Protestants, irrespective 
 of their real beliefs — churches and religious movements 
 abound, and priesthoods exist. Now and again simple- 
 minded persons try to carry out the principles of super- 
 naturalism to their natural conclusion : they trust in the 
 providence of god, and dispense with medical attendance 
 for their dying children, and, mirabile didib I a Christian 
 country arraigns them for manslaugliter, and then, 
 perhaps, this latent contradiction involved in our civilisa- 
 tion comes to light for the nonce. The logical terminus 
 ad quern of the situation, it is obvious, is the definite 
 abandonment and abolition by society in its collective 
 capacity of supernaturalism, and the definite recognition 
 of human reason as the sole means of arriving at truth. 
 
 If on their intellectual side, as theories of the universe, 
 the older religions are a non possumus for us, they are 
 this none the less on their moral side. The local and 
 tribal religions of ancient times were encountered by the 
 newly awakened ethical conscience of the individual as 
 such. Much in them which was natural symbolism to 
 las ancestors, was repellant to him. But Christianity 
 
The Revolution of the igth Century. 47 
 
 itself contains the same opposition in a more developed 
 form. It is useless blinking the fact that the Christian 
 doctrine is more revolting to the higher moral sense of 
 to-day than the Saturnalia or the cult of Proserpine could 
 have been to the conscience of tlie early Christian. And 
 more than this, the social and humanistic tendencies of 
 the age, the consciousness of human welfare and human 
 development as " our being's end and aim,'' as the sole 
 object worthy of human devotion, must instinctively 
 shrink from its antithesis, the theological spirit — and this 
 despite the emasculated free Christian and theistic guise 
 in which the latter may appear at the present time. " Ye 
 cannot serve god and humanity," is the burden of the 
 nobler instincts of our epoch. But here, again, we see the 
 intrinsic unity of the several aspects of human life. What 
 is it which prevents the realisation — ay, and even in most 
 cases the conception — of nobler aims, of a higher intellect- 
 ual, artistic, and moral existence for men ? It is a true 
 saying that though false ideas may be refuted by argu- 
 ment, yet only by true ideas can they be expelled. The 
 true ideal which alone can effectually exorcise the spectre 
 of the Christian theology from our midst is unfortunately 
 confined to a few. And why is it so, but because 
 modern civilisation is composed of two classes, the wor- 
 shippers of capital and the victims of capital ? When 
 " success in life " is the highest ideal of which the majority 
 of men are capable, when the condition of a higher 
 culture is the freedom which the possession of capital 
 alone can afford, we need indeed scarcely be surprised 
 that it is so. The higher human ideal stands in opposition 
 at once to capitalism, the gospel of success, with its refined 
 art of cheating through the process of exchange, or, in 
 
48' Tlie Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 short, to worldliness ; and to Christianism, the gospel of 
 success in a hypothetical other life, or, in short, to otlier- 
 worldliness. But a glance around at our various bodies 
 and organisations, charitable or otherwise, of a Christian 
 character will show that at least two-thirds of modern 
 Christianity is simply '' capitalism" masquerading in a 
 religious guise. Even where this is not the case, Chris- 
 tianity is none the less an integral part of the status quo. 
 Tlie privileged classes instinctively feel this. So long as 
 human aspiration can be kept along the old lines, so long 
 as the further gaze of men can be kept directed lieaven- 
 ward to the cloud-shapes of god, Christ, and immortality, 
 or inward on their own hearts and consciences, and 
 averted from the earthly horizon of social regeneration, 
 all will go well. John Bull's auxiliary, the minister of 
 the gospel, or possibly the wife or daughter of John Bull, 
 must be able to say to him or her who is not blessed with 
 J. B.'s share of the good things of this life, " What does 
 it matter, dear brother or sister ? Why repine ? 'Tis but 
 for a season god has placed us in different stations in this 
 life ; in the lite to come, where we shall hope to meet by- 
 and-bye, all will be well." The idea of the dear brother 
 or sister meeting this consolation in affliction with the 
 rebuff of Faust — 
 
 " Das Driiben mag mich wenig klimmern 
 
 Schliigst du erst diese welt zu trtimmern 
 Die andre mag danach entstehen " — 
 
 or something to the same effect, is naturally repugnant 
 to the bourgeois mind. No, verily, this bringing down 
 
The Revolution of the igt/i Century. 49 
 
 of religion from heaven to earth belongs not to the pre- 
 sent civilisation of expropriation and privilege ! 
 
 And now, a word or two on a point dealt with by me 
 more fully elsewhere, to wit, on the ethical contradiction 
 of our epoch. The moral side of Christianity is centred 
 in the notions of individual holiness and responsibility to 
 a supernatural being. This ethical side of Christianity 
 largely overlaid by other influences during the Middle 
 Ages, with Protestantism come again prominently to the 
 fore, has remained so ever since. But now with the 
 growing sense among all earnest men of social utility as 
 the end of all human endeavour, an Ethic based on the 
 notion of individual likeness to God is in flagrant con- 
 tradiction, a contradiction which can only be resolved by 
 its formal surrender. 
 
 We have now touched upon the two aspects — the 
 intellectual and moral — of our last main contradiction, 
 the religious contradiction. We have pointed to the 
 universal prevalence of a natural conception of the 
 universe, with the universal recognition of a supernatural 
 one. We have further pointed to a humanist ideal of 
 life, growing up cheek by jowl with the commercial ideal 
 of worldly success for the individual, varied occasionally 
 by the Christian ideal of other-worldly success, the whole 
 cemented by the feeling that it is necessary for the 
 " lower orders " to believe " in a sort of a something " 
 which will afford them consolation, and at the same time 
 tend to the stability of society by preventing discontent. 
 As a matter of coui'se, from the three main contradictions 
 — the industrial, the political, and the religious — issues a 
 strain of discord through every sphere of life. A volume 
 might easily be written on the artistic contradiction of 
 
 D 
 
so The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 the present age, but this i.s a direct result o£ the economic 
 and the i-eligious contradictions. Art is degraded to 
 furniture, quantity takes the place of quality in artistic 
 production, comic operas of classical music, simply be- 
 cause art is dominated by capital, and artists impreg- 
 nated with the gospel of commerce. The true artist is 
 oppressed with the lack of the ideal he sees around him, 
 with the contradiction between theory and practice, 
 between what is recognised and what is really believed. 
 
 It has been our object throughout the present lecture 
 to show the mutual im[ilication of the different aspects of 
 the Modern Revolution. Our moral is the futility of 
 attempts to fundamentally change one aspect of the 
 current order of things while conserving another. In 
 vain does one party (of generous and well-meaning men, 
 no doubt) think to batter down current theology, while 
 ignoring, or even justifying, the great ?ocial contradiction 
 of ihe age. In vain do they hurl their thunderbolts at 
 the gaunt spectre of Christian dogma, which only stands 
 " as the air invulnerable," confronting them with its 
 soulless eyes. What, for instance, though they may show 
 the doctrine of vicarious atonement to iiave its roots in a 
 bestial superstition pertaining to the worst side of 
 paganism, a superstition which has borne cruelties in- 
 numerable in the world's history as its fruit — the foul 
 doctrine, with the rest of the system of which it forms a 
 typical part, will continue to be fulminated every week 
 from a thuusand pulpits while these pulpits are sub- 
 sidised by capital, and they will continue to be subsidised 
 so long as the status quo, of which capitalism and 
 Christianity are two of the chi«f elements, subsists. We 
 commend to the attention of secularists the assertion of 
 
The Revolution of the igth Century. 51 
 
 Mx'. Justice North in his summing-up to the jury in the 
 trial of Mr. Foote, to the effect that in the attacking of 
 Christianity the law itself is attacked. Of course ! For 
 the law is simply the exponent of the status quo, the 
 nature of which we have been examining, and of which 
 Christianity is the ideal expression. 
 
 The futility of attempts to change religion on the 
 lines of the current social and political order, is seen in 
 the fact that, despite the prevalent disbelief pervading 
 the middle and upper classes, all attempts at instituting 
 rationalist churches are conspicuous failures. To the one 
 secularist hall, or even Unitarian chapel — you -have your 
 thousand places of Anglican, Catholic, Presbyterian, 
 Baptist, Wesleyan worship. The soil is productive of 
 the one and barren of the other. To the thousands sub- 
 scribed to a new chapel, you have your pence to a new 
 hall of science. Whence the cause of this phenomenon ? 
 Has it never struck the ardent secularist that the old 
 metaphor as to pouring the new wine into old bottles 
 has its application ? The misfortune is that the con- 
 clusion fails. The new wine does not burst the bottle, 
 which possesses the power of contracting its neck so that 
 none goes in, and thus its outer surface only gets affected. 
 Doubtless, could the wine of a humanistic ideal penetrate 
 into the depths of the bourgeois mind, it woxdd " burst '' 
 the status quo. But the capitalistic system itself, and the 
 spirit it generates, effectually prevent this. Unconscious 
 humbug is an important ingredient of the Zeitgeist. 
 The bourgeois' respectability and pietism alike, spring 
 from roots hidden perhaps to himself, but none the less 
 real, to wit, his own pocket, potential and actual, or the 
 pocket of his class generally. He is acute enough to 
 connect Atheism and Communism. 
 
52 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 Again, how vain are the efforts of the International 
 Peace Association at effecting the abolition of war in a 
 political system based on the rivalry of nationalities, and 
 consisting mainly of half a dozen powerful States, each 
 with armaments outvying- tlie other, which supply 
 positions for the younger sons of the landed classes, and 
 of which the trading classes are glad enough to avail 
 themselves when they want new markets or fresh com- 
 mercial channels opened up, little as they may like their 
 cost at other times. The arbitrationists may succeed in 
 getting up a brilliant meeting now and then, in which 
 war is declared to be unchristian ; and Lord Shaftesbury, 
 Mr. Samuel Morley, and other worthies of the same ilk, 
 will expatiate on the need of spreading the gospel in the 
 form of the evangelical tract so dear to the British 
 middle-class heai't. But such attempts will continue to 
 be regarded by society at large, and justly, as the 
 visionary schemes of a few " philanthropic " talkers. 
 
 Lastly, one word on that singular hybrid, the " Chris- 
 tian Socialist." Though the word Socialism has not been 
 mentioned, it will have been sufBciently evident that the 
 goal indicated in the present articles is none other than 
 Socialism. But the association of Christianism with any 
 form of Socialism is a mystery, rivalling the mysterious 
 combination of ethical and other contradictions in the 
 Christian divinity himself. Notwithstanding that the 
 8oi-disant Christian Socialist confessedly finds the natural 
 enemies of his Socialism among Christians of all orthodox 
 denominations, still he persists in retaining the designa- 
 tion, while refusing to employ it in its ordinary signifi- 
 cation. 
 
 It is difficult to divine the motive for thus preserving 
 
The Revolution of the igth Century. 53 
 
 a name which, confessedly, in its ordinary meaning, is 
 not only alien but hostile to the doctrine of Socialism. 
 Does the " Free Christian " want a personal object of 
 reverence ? We can offer him many such, even now. 
 Let him look eastward at those who have indeed places 
 in which to lay their heads, ay, and in some cases 
 mansions and estates, but who renounce them and court 
 the slow death of imprisonment in fortresses and Siberian 
 mines, who flinch not at the sword, and whose utmost 
 good fortune is the liberty of preaching their gospel in 
 the dark places of civilisation, and oftentimes amid a 
 poverty unrelieved by even a Zaccheus. Let them call 
 to mind the massacres of '71, and the Paris workman 
 who, on being asked for what he was fighting and dying, 
 replied, "Pour la solid ariU humaine.'' Or again, let them 
 think of the aged Delescluze closing a life of untiring 
 devotion at the barricades, in harness to the last. Must 
 we for ever insult the living and lately dead, by falling 
 back for our ideal upon the first century ? Do nobleness 
 and devotion, indeed, require to be mellowed by the 
 " dim religious light " of ages before we can recognise 
 them as such? This, however, by the way. Our con- 
 tention is the following. If by Christianity be meant tlie 
 body of dogma usuall}'' connoted by the word, it will 
 probably be conceded by those to whom we refer that it 
 is in hostility to progress. If, on the other hand, this be 
 not meant, but merely the ethical principles Christianity 
 is supposed to embody, then,'even if these principles were 
 distinctly and exclusively Christian which they are not, 
 we challenge them to show this connection or even their 
 computibility with Socialism. If, again, they fail in this, 
 as fail they must, the whole matter is resolved into one 
 
54 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 of sentiment. And for the sake of retaining a catchword, 
 for such it is, and no more, under these circumstances, 
 they would compromise principles, and throw a sop to 
 respectability in its most hypocritical form. To say 
 nothing of the thousands in Europe to whom the name 
 Christian is positively abhorrent, how shall they face 
 the Eastern world when the time comes for so doing ? 
 Only those who can tell the Moslem, the Buddhist, the 
 Confucian, we care not for Jesus of Nazareth any more 
 than for Mohammed, for Gautama, or for Kon-fu-tze ; 
 disputes as to the relative merits or demerits of those 
 teachers are vain as they are endless ; only those who 
 can say we know of greater men than these — greater, in- 
 asmuch as humanity has reached a higher level ; greater, 
 inasmuch as they have not posed as great teachers, but 
 have contented themselves with the rank of humble and 
 equal workers — who come in the form of neither god nor 
 prophet, but of the humanity whose religion is human 
 welfare — not the welfare of a race or a class, but of the 
 whole ; whose doctrine is its attainment, through human 
 solidarity, or, in other words — Socialism ; only those, we 
 repeat, will ever obtain the ear of the Orient, and never 
 they who come in the hated and blood-stained name of 
 Christianity — name indicative of racial and religious 
 rivalry. What in earlier phases of human evolution has 
 been accomplished as in pre-human evolution by the sur- 
 vival of the fittest in the struggle for existence ; in other 
 words, what has been hitherto accomplished physically, 
 or unconsciously, must, in the future, be done 'psychically , 
 or consciously — the struggle for existence must give place 
 to co-operation for existence, and this co-operation though 
 in one sense the result of economical revolution, implies 
 
TJie Revolution of the igth Century. 55 
 
 on another side a correlative change in the basis of 
 Ethics and religion. Then, and not till then will the 
 contradiction of our age be resolved in the unity of a 
 fuller and more complete life than any yet experienced 
 by Humanity. 
 
CRIMINAL LAW UNDER SOCIALISM. 
 
 Probably few persons realise the extent to which crime 
 is reducible to the question of private property. There 
 are few orders of crime which are not traceable directly 
 or indirectly to possession and the desire of possession. 
 A broad division may be drawn between animal crimes 
 or those directly springing from a natural appetite sui.-h 
 as hunger, desire of self-preservation, sudden anger, lust, 
 &c., and "social" or better "civil" crimes or those 
 springing directly or indirectly from the desire of gain 
 or possession. The two classes doubtless overlap, but 
 are easily distinguishable in their general outlines. In 
 the first place we have the largest and most important 
 ■section of offences recognised by law, those which may 
 be comprehended under the phrase "unlawful appro- 
 priation," i.e., theft and robbery in all their forms. Here, 
 of course, is a vast body of crime which would be prac- 
 tically impossible in a state of society in Avhich the 
 necessaries and comforts of life were within the reach of 
 all, and when the fact of possession did not carry with it 
 the possibility of surplus-value. Then, again, there is 
 the indecent class of crime. This is largely a consequence 
 of the hypocritical sexual relations at present obtainino- 
 resulting from the institution of raonogamic marriao-e 
 which is in its turn based on our existing property- 
 relations — although here matters of pure pathology have 
 properly to be taken into account. Thirdly, we have the 
 
Criminal Laiv tinder Socialism. 57 
 
 description of crime coming under the head of brutal 
 assaults, or malicious injuries (including murder). This 
 last is usually associated with one or other of the two 
 former departments, most frequently, but not always, with 
 crimes against property. Fourthly, must be included 
 perjury or false-witness in all its forms. We shall find 
 that all serious crime (as distinguished from mere mis- 
 demeanour, as it is termed, and from political offences) is 
 comprised within these four categories, the first em- 
 bracing all crimes primarily against property, the three 
 last all crimes primarily against the person, it matters 
 not whether the question of property enters secondarily 
 into them or not. 
 
 jSTow, largely as the present condition of society is 
 directly responsible for crime, and still more largely as 
 it is so indirectly, we can hardly hope that a change of 
 economic condition would do more immediately than 
 efface the crimes directly connected with property. The 
 gradual elimination of the remainder might be effected 
 in the process of the development of the new order, but 
 not entirely at once. We cannot, therefore, treat this 
 question in the snakes-in-Iceland fashion we were able 
 to do when dealing with civil law under Socialism on a 
 previous occasion. But, nevertheless, I take it that the 
 regime of a Socialist administration will involve an 
 enormous change of attitude in dealing with crime. 
 Firstly, it will without doubt reduce to the minimum the 
 number of actions characterised by the law as crimes. 
 Secondly, it will certainly regard the greatest possible 
 consideration for the criminal compatible with the 
 maintenance of social existence at all, as its first duty in 
 the matte)-, Thirdly, it will assuredly withdraw the 
 
58 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 right of prosecution from private individuals and vest it 
 wholly and solely in the delegates of society. 
 
 The interest of the legal body, so influential in all 
 modern legislatures, is to increase to the utmost the 
 cognisance of the criminal law over actions. In this they 
 are aided and abetted by a number of persons who enter- 
 tain a pet hobby against particular vices (real or " so- 
 called"), and are always prepared to agitate for their 
 elevation to the rank of crimes. The legal luminaries 
 who assist in this are quite indifferent to the fact, of 
 which they must be well aware, that the wider the range 
 of law-made crime, the greater the chance of innocent 
 persons being, if not convicted at least accused, and their 
 characters thereby blasted. And these, be it remembered, 
 are the gentlemen who are so zealous in defending the 
 law of libel as a necessary protection of character. It is 
 monstrous, they pretend to think, that a man who has 
 done an action deemed discreditable should have it pro- 
 claimed on the platform or in the press, but it is a " mere 
 natural" misfortune incident to human affairs that an 
 innocent person should be put to the annoyance and in- 
 convenience of being " hauled up " before a police-court to 
 answer a trumped-up charge, which it may nevertheless 
 be very difficult to disprove to the satisfaction of the 
 public. 
 
 Of course, all that these " legal gentlemen " care for, is 
 to maintain and increase the business of the courts, civil 
 and criminal. To such commercial principles are their 
 zeal for the protection of character and the suppression 
 of crime in the last resort reducible. A Socialist society, 
 whose aim would be to reduce the machinery of law to 
 the minimum, would rely for the preservation of public 
 
Criminal Law under Socialism. 59 
 
 morals precisely on that publicity which the legal crime- 
 manufacturer tries so energetically to suppress for the 
 protection of character. And in the end, he would un- 
 ioubtedly find this a more powerful agent for the re- 
 pression of crime than the most elaborately comprehensive 
 3ode, designed for laying direct hands on the persons of 
 Dffenders. When there is no interest at stake in the 
 maintenance of judicial machinery, the number of law- 
 made crimes must inevitably diminish. ^ 
 That a Socialist administration would treat delinquents 
 [vith the utmost leniency consistent with the existence 
 )f society will, of course, not be disputed. The failure 
 jf organised brutality as a corrective to crime has been 
 attested over and over again by experience. Were the 
 orutal punishments of earlier' phases of society effectual 
 m repressing crime ? The panegyrists of modern civilis- 
 ition are never tired of impressing upon us the great 
 advances made in respect of crime, both as to diminution 
 md treatment. It has been shown constantly that a 
 Darticular offence has actually diminished on the repeal 
 )f brutal enactments bearing on it. Yet, strange to say, 
 ;hese very panegyrists of modern civilisation are 
 "requently the first to cry out for deterrent punishments 
 md long sentences, and to dilate on the maintenance of 
 Drison " discipline " (the specious euphemism for the in- 
 lumanity practised in our gaols). To convince themselves 
 )f the needlessness of so-called " prison discipline," they 
 lave only to cast an eye on some of the Swiss cantons 
 notably Geneva), where imprisonment means little more 
 ,han simple reclusion, and where they will find that even a 
 bourgeois society holds together without any of the acts 
 )f brutality and petty tyranny dignified in most countries 
 
6o The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 by the name of " prisoa discipline." A brutal officialism 
 and red-tapeism which pay no attention to individual 
 cases must o£ itself breed crime. The bourgeois moralist i 
 should at least be consistent. The chief and, indeed, only 
 real advantage (outweighed by its many disadvantages) 
 which the society of to-day has over that of the Middle 
 Ages, is its relative security from brutal violence, and the 
 relative (I had almost said the co-relative) absence of the 
 more brutal forms of punishment. And the panegyrist 
 of bourgeois society knows this and makes use of it. 
 Of how many a declamatory newspaper leader and plat- 
 form speech is it not the theme ? And yet this same 
 penny-a-liner or platform spouter will often be the first 
 to condemn as sentimentality any protest against the 
 still-existing brutality of our criminal code and prison 
 sj'stem. He will be anxious to minimise to the utmost 
 one of the few points wherein modern civilisation can 
 show any sort of I'eal superiority to that of earlier ages. 
 Such is the consistency of the advocates of class-society 
 and its methods. 
 
 Once more, we have said that a social administration 
 would remove the right of prosecution from the private 
 individual. As to this also I should imagine there could 
 be no doubt, since the right of private prosecution exists 
 only to facilitate recourse to the tribunals in the interest 
 of the legal profession and its offshoots. If an action is 
 injurious to society, it is plainly the part of society to 
 take the initiative in dealing with it, and not allow the 
 individual from his mere lust for revenge to set its judicial 
 machinery in motion. This is also the work of lawyers, 
 whose interest it is to multiply the business of the courts. 
 The individual right of prosecution is a premium on 
 
Criminal Laiv under Socialism. 6i 
 
 extortion in all its forms and personal malice. As things 
 are at present, the only safeguard a man has against 
 malicious prosecution is the clumsy device of in his turn 
 instituting a prosecution for perjury, which he will pro- 
 bably fail in bringing home to the delinquent. 
 
 If we consider now the order of heinousness in the 
 respective classes of crimes enumerated, we must admit 
 that the first, those against property, since they spring 
 directly from a rotten economic condition, must be re- 
 garded as (barring specially aggravating circumstances) 
 the most entitled to consideration. It will be scarcely 
 necessary, however, to controvert the absurd notion put 
 forward by a certain section of Anarchists, that the mere 
 individual appropriation of the property of other indi- 
 viduals, or in plain language, theft (such as that practised 
 by the Anarchist heroes, Stellmacher and Duval), has 
 anything whatever to do with Socialism, and the expro- 
 priation it advocates. On the contrary, Socialism depre- 
 cates robbery in all its forms. The mere change of 
 individual possession of property does not affect the 
 matter in the least. One can very well exonerate the 
 poor man who steals to satisfy his wants ; but when a 
 man who has merely satisfied a personal desire of his 
 own at the expense of another person, seeks to cover this 
 individual act with the mantle of principle, an element 
 of hypocrisy enters into the case which tends consider- 
 ably to exascerbate our opinion of him. Let him steal 
 if he will, but not as an act of devotion to any cause. 
 This, however, by the way. The fact remains that thelt 
 and its allied offences are the immediate result of current 
 economic conditions. It is natural that men should seek 
 to obtain the necessaries and comforts of life, legitimately 
 if economic conditions allow them, if not, illegitimately. 
 
62 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 The second class of offences named, those connected 
 with sexual matters, from rape downwards, may be viewed 
 from two or three different sides, and are complicated in 
 ways which render the subject difficult of discussion in a 
 work intended for promiscuous circulation between the 
 sexes. Here, as in the last case, viz., of theft or robbery, 
 we must be careful in considering such offences, to elim- 
 inate the element of brutality or personal injury which 
 may sometimes accompany them, from the offence itself. 
 For the rest I confine myself to remarking that this class 
 also, though not so obviously as the last, springs from an 
 instinct legitimate in itself, but which has been sup- 
 pressed or distorted. The opinions of most, even en- 
 lightened people, on such matters are, however, so largely 
 coloured by the unconscious survival in their minds of 
 sentiment derived from old theological and theosophical 
 views of the universe, that they are not of much value. 
 This is partly the reason why the ordinary good-natured 
 bourgeois who can complacently pass by on the other 
 side, after casting a careless look on the most fiendish 
 and organised cruelty in satisfaction of the economic 
 craving — gain, is galvanised into a fi-enzy of indignation 
 at some sporadic case of real or supposed ill-usage per- 
 petrated in satisfaction of some bizarre form of the 
 animal craving — lust. Until people can be got to dis- 
 cuss this subject in the white light of physiological and 
 pathological investigation, rather than the dim religious 
 gloom of theosophical emotion, but little progress will be 
 effected towards a due appreciation of the character of 
 the offences referred to.^ 
 
 ^ It is a curious circumstance, as illustrating the change of men's 
 view of offences, that an ordinary indecent assault which in the 
 
Criminal Law under Socialism. 63 
 
 The two last orders of crime named differ from the 
 preceding, in that they do not have even a basis in 
 natural or social instinct as such. A brutal assault or 
 malicious injury {i.e., one not inflicted in self-defence or 
 under immediate and strong provocation) is purely and 
 simply inhuman — criminal without having any direct 
 palliation in the facts of economic conditions, like crimes 
 against property, or in physiological and (possibly) 
 economic conditions combined, like sexual crimes. Bru- 
 tality and cruelty so far outweigh in enormity the two 
 last as to seem almost to swallow them up. For instance, 
 in cases of robbery or rape with violence, it is the per- 
 sonal violence accompanying the substantive crimes 
 which naturally excites one's resentment most ; and pro- 
 perly so, although it is the latter of which the bourgeois 
 law primarily takes cognisance. Any crime causing 
 bodily injury or suffering must surely, in the absence of 
 specially palliative circumstances, be regarded as the 
 most deserving of condemnation at the hands of society. 
 
 The same may be said of false accusation of crime, an 
 offence which is now classed together with others much 
 less serious, under the absurd name of Perjury, the idea 
 being that its gravamen consists not in the injury done 
 to the innocent but in its insult to the majesty of the 
 law. The unperverted sense could scarcely conceive of 
 any crime more monstrous than this,^ and yet it is one 
 which is frequently passed over lightly, with the view 
 possibly of not discouraging prosecutions and thereby 
 
 Middle Ages, in Chaucer's time for instance, would evidently have 
 been regarded as a species of rude joke, should now be deemed one 
 of the most serious of crimes. 
 
 ^ The same applies to chantage, wliich is the attempt to make 
 personal capital out of the knowledge of some misdeed of another, 
 
64 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 injuring the legal interest. By being classed under tbe 
 head o£ perjury, moreover, it sounds less infamous than 
 it really is, mere perjury being a thing recognised and 
 practised in the best social circles, where the co-respon- 
 dent in a divorce case who has been committing adultery 
 swears he hasn't, as a mere matter of form. 
 
 It seems to us that all the serious offences with which 
 any society would have to deal at present may be grouped 
 under the classes named. Of course there are special 
 orders of offences (such as bigamy) which belong essen- 
 tially to it and to it alone, and with which we have not 
 dealt. According to one view of the matter, crime may 
 properly be defined as an action proscribed by law, and 
 hence may or may not be immoral, since many of the 
 most laudable actions have been, and are, proscribed by 
 law. But in the foregoing I have confined myself to 
 such crime as would be universally admitted to be 
 directly anti-social — for, of course, it is with such only 
 that the administration of a Socialist commonM^ealth 
 could be concerned. 
 
 What has been said, we should mention, touches only 
 the new society, conceived as having already passed 
 through the transitional period of revolutionary crisis, 
 during which, the one aim of Socialism being the victory 
 of the revolutionary principle, any means which would 
 be conducive to that end would of necessity be adopted, 
 by threats of disclosure. If anything would- justify the taking of 
 life it is surely this ; and one of the greatest artistic blunders 
 Charles Dickens ever made was in the attempt to awaken sympathy 
 in the reader for such a scoundrel as Tigg, when going to meet his 
 well-deserved doom at the hands of his victim. That Jonas Chuz- 
 zlewit, who inflicted it, was a villain himself does not alter the 
 matter so far as Tigg is concerned. 
 
Criminal Law under Socialism. 65 
 
 For example, the death -penalty, the systematic mainten- 
 ance of which as an institution is one of the most 
 outwardly repulsive features of the criminal code of civ- 
 ilisation, might probably have to be held to, as the 
 temporary measure of a revolutionary crisis. 
 
 And now a final word on the charge of sentimentalism 
 commonly brought against those who object to the 
 repression of crime by organised brutality. It is clear 
 that the distinction between sentimentand sentimentalism 
 in this connection (which has hitherto been conceived as 
 one of degree merely) has been shifted progressively 
 since the sense of horror at the infliction of pain first 
 came prominently to the fore. What in the seventeenth 
 century would have been complacently admitted as a 
 necessity for the repression of crime would now be 
 regarded with loathing (real or feigned) by the most 
 determined supporter of " deterrent " punishments. The 
 notion that there is any fixed point at which justifiable 
 sentiment ends and sentimentalism begins is therefore 
 plainly absurd. But that the distinction has a meaning 
 I am not dis].)osed to deny ; although I do not believe it 
 to consist in any question of degree. Sentimentalism is, 
 as I take it, not excessive but illogical sentiment — that 
 is, unequally distributed sentiment. Where there is a 
 strong sensibility to the feelings of one class or body of 
 persons and a coniparative callousness to the feelings of 
 other classes under like circumstances — there, I think, we 
 have sentimentalism. And the tendency of the modern 
 bourgeois treatment of crime is precisely in the direction 
 of such sentimentalism. 
 
 In the Middle Ages " benefit of clergy " might be claimed 
 by offenders who could read and write, such " benefit " 
 
65 The Eiliics of Socialisvi. 
 
 consisting in exemption from the ordinary punishment 
 for the offence. In the modern world all such wicked 
 and unenlightened distinctions are abolished. The law 
 nowadays makes no distinction of persons between men. 
 True ; hut it makes distinctions between men and ivomev, 
 and where law draws no distinction, practice does. 
 "Benefit of clergy" is superseded by "benefit of sex." 
 Not only are all the more brutal features of " penal 
 discipline " still practised on men abolished as regards 
 women, but the chances of prosecution, of conviction, and 
 if convicted, of heavy sentences, are at least a hundred to 
 one in favour of women. Of course we know that the 
 principle of equality between the sexes, as understood in 
 the present day, demands this, and has been, and is, con- 
 tinually pushing legislation forward in this direction. 
 Unless the social upheaval obliterates current lines of 
 progress beforehand, wo may yet live to see " equality 
 between tlie sexes'" realised, in laws, whereby no female 
 may be prosecuted for any offence whatever, the nearest 
 male relation being substituted, and where the quiet 
 London wayfarer in a lonely street will be in as dangerous 
 a position as the "unprotected male" in the railway- 
 carriage with a lone woman is now. Of course, any one 
 that points this out is not treated seriously. The senti- 
 ment is still on the ascendant, and will have (as things 
 go) to work out its own absurdity by its very excess 
 before it begins to dawn upon the average British. intellect 
 that the distinction between the cohorts of Ormuszd and 
 Ahriman is not invariably based on sex — and that persons 
 who would legislate on this assumption are not quite fit 
 to be at large. Meanwhile our Ormiston Chants, Garrett 
 Andersons, and Co., will probably have the opportunity of 
 
Criminal Laiu under Socialism. 6j 
 
 celebrating, in after-dinner speeches, new triumphs of tha 
 sexual inequality they apparently have at heart. 
 
 In concluding these remarks, we would again point out 
 the truth more than once alluded to in the course of them, 
 that with the establishment of a classless society — a 
 society based on labour for all, leisure for all, and culture 
 for all, through the concentration of its whole productive 
 and distributive capital in its own hands as embodied in 
 its administration — that in such a society crime, and 
 therefore the mode of dealing with crime, must tend to 
 lose its present significance and to become "rudimentary." 
 This i': obvious as regards crimes against pi-operty and 
 all such as are directly traceable to the present constitution 
 of society. It is none the less true, in the long run, of the 
 rest, which are on^y indirectly traceable to it. Given a 
 class bred in squalor, and that class is bound to develop 
 a certain number of individuals in whom the dead-level 
 swamp of coarseness inseparable from squalor will over- 
 flow into criminal brutality. Given a community in 
 which business capacity is identified with ability to 
 beggar one's neighbour ruthlessly under the name of 
 competition, and where temptation offers you will have 
 (1) direct appropriation by individuals of the property of 
 other individuals — or, theft ; and (2) the law-courts made 
 use of to subserve private ends — or, briefly expressed, 
 perjury. 
 
 But the best illustration of the truth in question is 
 afforded by the relative preponderance of crime in the 
 propertied and unpropertied classes of modern civilisation. 
 From what section is the so-called criminal class recruited 
 but from what Marx has termed the " reserve army of 
 industry ' ? And is not this the class the precarious 
 
68 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 conditions of whose existence are continually driving its 
 members to isolated criminal acts, even before they become 
 habituated to a life of crime ? And yet this reserve army 
 of industry is inseparable from capitalistic production. 
 On the other hand, can crime (as defined in this article) 
 be said to be common among any section of the well-to- 
 do classes ? We have here and there sporadic instances 
 of this commented upon as something remarkable, as show- 
 ing the depravity of human nature, it is true, but no one 
 can say it is common. If then we see an habitual absence 
 of crime in one class, and an habitual presence in 
 another class, both living in close proximity, both 
 breathing the moral atmosphere of the Christian 
 civilisation of these latter days, and differing only 
 in the material circumstances of their life, and the 
 results immediately flowing from these, what stronger 
 evidence can we have of the ultimate dependence of 
 crime on economic condition,^and I may add in conclu- 
 sion, what greater earnest of the complete disappearance 
 of crime in that future when generations of social 
 morality shall have created human beings, compared with 
 whom the crimeless bourgeois of to-day is but as the 
 brute beast ? 
 
LEGALITY. 
 
 The respect for law as law is one of the most iwarked 
 cliaracteristics of the middle-class mind. One is particu- 
 larly struck with the strength of this superstition on 
 occasions like attempts on the life of the Czar. There 
 are probably few middle-class Englishmen who would in 
 so many words condone the atrocities and murders of the 
 Russian Government. And yet there are probably few 
 who would refuse the word crime to any act of self- 
 defence initiated by its victims. Here is a case in which 
 you have on the one side what every Englishman 
 (bourgeois though he may be) that knows anything 
 about the matter would in his heart admit to be an 
 organisation of brigands, a mass of corrupt officials, seiz- 
 ing and secretly torturing or murdering, on the slightest 
 pretext, any person they imagine to be obnoxious to 
 them, tearing men away from their families at a 
 moment's notice to serve in an army, not of defence, but 
 of oppression — in short, establishing a reign of terror in 
 all the towns of a vast territory. On the other, you have 
 their victims, the population, who are endeavouring to 
 defend themselves against this organised brigandage. 
 There is a difference, however, a vast line of cleavage, 
 between the two. The one operates under the name of 
 " established govei'nment," and hence, all its transactions, 
 however criminal in themselves, are protected by the 
 trade-mar-k " legality." The other does not operate under 
 
"JO The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 the name of established government, and hence all its 
 hostile transactions, however justifiable in themselves, 
 are contraband as not bearing the trade-mark " legality." 
 For this reason the average bourgeois hesitates or refuses 
 to denounce the one as criminal or to uphold the other as 
 righteous. In this course he is insincere. It may be un- 
 hesitatingly affirmed that any sane man who says he 
 believes it wrong to kill the Czar, lies. No man's con- 
 science is so grotesquely twisted as to make him think 
 thus. For it must be remembered this is not a case of 
 Socialism v. anti-Socialism, but of the most elementary 
 form of the rights of liberty and life. 
 
 The Czar and his bureaucracy render life, even from 
 the ordinary point of view, all but impossible in Russia 
 for any one outside their own body. The man, therefore, 
 who hesitates to justify to the full any action that may 
 be taken in self-defence is plainly dishonest. But his 
 dishonest}^ has its explanation ; " this defect defective 
 comes by cause.'' And the explanation of his dishonesty 
 is to be found in his unwillingness to violate that 
 " blessed word," " legality." But whence the magic of 
 this word ? Thereby hangs the tale, of personal pro- 
 perty, crime, and contract — in short, the tale of civilisa- 
 tion. Law, nowadays, is not usually identified as in 
 Russia with direct personal violence. On the contr-ary, one 
 of the great planks of the boi irgeois in his struggle with 
 Feudalism has ever been security of person and property 
 from overt violence. To this was subsequently added 
 liberty of conscience and the free expression of opinion. 
 Now these principles are (with one partial exception) at 
 least nominally upheld by bourgeois law throughoiit 
 Western Europe. So that speaking generally the hour- 
 
Legality. 7 1 
 
 geois can appeal to legality as embodying his notion of jus- 
 tice and the rights of liberty and property — the two things 
 being in the main identical. In Russia, on the contrary, 
 they are for the most part altogether opposed ; the pet 
 political nostrum of the middle-classes, constitutionalism, 
 is unknown, all opinion is crushed out. Here, then, our 
 worthy bourgeois finds himself on the horns of a dilemma. 
 He cannot consistently with one side of his principles 
 champion or even condone the Russian Government. 
 On the other hand he cannot without endangering the 
 basis of his social order openly pronounce in favour of 
 conspirators against any established government, however 
 bad even from his own point of view. To do so would 
 be to take the side of lawlessness against law. And is 
 not the sacredness of piivate property enshrined 
 historically in the conception of " law " and " govern- 
 ment " ? This is awkward, very. The issue, however, is 
 not long doubtful. Class-interest triumphs. With more 
 or less of hesitation, and in violation of his conscience, he 
 denounces as " assassins " the executioners of a murderous 
 Czar, and as criminals the manufacturers of the munitions 
 of war designed for self-defence against the most in- 
 famous band of oppressors the world has ever seen. 
 
 For the reason above given, the Socialist alone dare 
 speak the naked truth in the matter of Nihilism v. Czar- 
 ism. He has no obligation to respect " established 
 government " or legality as such, inasmuch as the right 
 of property it enshrines has for him no eternal sacred- 
 ness. For him it is indifferent whether so.cial and" 
 political ends are realised by lawful or lawless means. 
 He has not the slightest objection (if he is sensible) to 
 obtaining what he desires by legal and constitutional 
 
72 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 methods, but neither has he any moral objection to 
 employing or seeing employed other methods where 
 these fail. Not discerning any sacredness in the fact of 
 legality, not I'ecognising any patent right to criminality 
 as vested in constitutional authorities or governments, he 
 hesitates not to brand their ringleaders as miscreants 
 when crimes are committed in their name. Just as little 
 does he hesitate to recognise as agents of judicial retribu- 
 tion those who, always at the risk, and in some cases the 
 certain sacrifice of their own lives, take upon themselves 
 the social function of judge or executioner. The fact of 
 wearing a particular garb, being paid a higli salary, and 
 propounding unctuous platitudes from a " bench," is not 
 for him the sina qua non of an administrator of justice. 
 The test of criminal conduct or of judicial functions with 
 him lies in the~ actions themselves and in the circum- 
 stances giving rise to them, and not in the social status 
 or character of those performing them. 
 
 The Socialist alone, then, can unreservedly speak what 
 others only dare to , think — can express his conviction 
 plainly where others casuistically prevaricate. Even the 
 Radical, inasmuch as he still clings in theory at liast to 
 the absolute sacredness of private property, can hardly, 
 if he be consistent, help squirming at the notion of illicit 
 justice. He may have given up many things, but at this 
 he draws back. There is a story of an ancient Tartar 
 prince who one day issued the order to his retinue to 
 draw their bows at every object at which he let fly an 
 arrow, on pain of instant decapitation. He first of all 
 shot one of the royal game. Some of his men hesitating 
 lost their heads. He thereupon shot one of his best 
 horses. Some of his ti'ain held back. Their heads fell 
 
Legality. 73 
 
 immediately. After that he discharged an ari-ow into 
 the body of his favourite wife. (N.B. It must not be 
 supposed that this wife had done anything particular ; 
 but as she happened to be there the prince used her as 
 an illustration, Avhich, though it may seem to argue an 
 inadequate sense of the respect due to woman, does not 
 imply any malice on his part.) Here, again, some of 
 his men hesitated, with the same result as in the former 
 case. Striking at higher game, he then proceeded to 
 pierce with his arrow the finest steed of the reigning 
 khan. On this occasion all the bows were drawn and all 
 the arrows flew. Now for the first time the prince saw 
 that he had got his men well in hand, and that hence- 
 forth they were ready for the final coup. So the next 
 day, riding out with the khan to the chase, he " drew " 
 upon him. The unhappy monarch, to employ the phrase- 
 ology of historians, fell pierced with a thousand wounds, 
 and the prince was that day installed in his place. 
 The moral of this story is evident. Before the working 
 classes are prepared for the Revolution they must place 
 the demands of the Revolution before everything else. 
 The Radical, until he is prepared to transfix that leading 
 steed in the stable of class society — bourgeois legality — 
 is not ready to immolate that society itself and install a 
 more virile one in its room. 
 
 But, says the bourgeois, to come back to the case in 
 point, if you admit what is commonly called political 
 ' assassination, wliere are you to draw the line ? We will 
 see. What is commonly but often incorrectly called 
 political assassination may or may not be morally justi- 
 fiable. In the opinion of the present writer, and that of 
 most Socialists, it is morally justifiable when the right 
 
74 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 of discussion of social or political questions, either by 
 speech or writing, is suppressed as against those who 
 suppress it, and only then. The reason is, that from the 
 point of view of progress such suppression being the 
 strangulation by brute-force of social life itself, the 
 removal of its author or authors is a mere act of self- 
 defence. So long as free discussion exists, there can be 
 no excuse for the use of terrorist methods, which are in 
 this case at once a crime and a blunder. For in these 
 circumstances, when the people are free to organise for 
 this end, if they do not overthrow, either by constitu- 
 tional or other means, a system whose I'ottenness lias been 
 exhibited to them on platform and in press, it is clear as 
 the noonday that conditions are not as yet ripe for such 
 a change. When this is so, no amount of terrorism will 
 avail aught. Terrorism is only effective as the result of 
 a strong but suppressed popular movement ; never as the 
 cause. " Rover's cross this morning and won't play," 
 says the little gii'l to her brother ; " What shall we do ? " 
 " Wag his tail for him," replies the latter. The idea of 
 the Anarchist to stimulate an unprepared proletariat to 
 revolt by wagging the popular tail with dynamite is just 
 as reasonable. 
 
 Applying these remarks, we may observe in conclusion 
 that in Russia, where not only is opinion suppressed, but 
 no man's life or liberty is safe from the autocrat or his 
 myrmidons, terrorism must be pronounced unquestion- 
 ably both morally justifiable and expedient ; in Germany, 
 where discussion is suppressed, though morally justi- 
 fiable, for various reasons inexpedient ; in this country 
 at the present time, and wherever discussion is free, 
 neither morally justifiable nor expedient. 
 
CONCERNING "JUSTICE." 
 
 Plato and the ancients generally deemed the whole of 
 morality to be summed up in the idea of Justice. And 
 indeed, when looked at closely it will be seen that the 
 notion of justice at least supplies the key-note of every 
 ethical system. It is therefore on this notion of juntur 
 that the crucial question turns in debates between the 
 advocates of modern Socialism and of modern Individual- 
 ism respectively. The bourgeois idea of justice is 
 crystallised in the notion of the absolute right of the in- 
 dividual to the possession and full control of such property 
 as he has acqtiired without oveit breach of the boumeois 
 law. To interfere with this right of his, to abolish his 
 possession, is in bourgeois eyes the quintessence of in- 
 justice. The Socialist idea of justice is crystallised in 
 the notion of the absolute right of the community to the 
 possession or control (at least) of all wealth not intended 
 for direct individual use. Hence the abolition of the 
 individual possession and control of such property, or in 
 other words, its confiscation, is the first expression of 
 Socialist justice. Between puHsession and confiscaiion is 
 a great gulf fixed, the gulf between the Bourgeois and 
 the Socialist worlds. Well-meaning men seek to throw 
 bridges over this gulf by schemes of compensation, 
 abolition of inheritance, and the like. But the attempts, 
 as we believe, even should they ever be carried out 
 practically, must fall disastrously short of their mark, and 
 
76 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 be speedily engulphed between the two positions 
 they are intended to unite. Nowhere can the phrase, 
 " He that is not for us is against us/' be more aptly applied 
 than to the moral standpoint of modern Individualism 
 and of modern Socialism. To the one, individual 
 possession is right and justice, and social confiscation is 
 wrong and injustice; to the other, individual possession 
 is wrong and injustice, and confiscation is right and 
 justice. This is the real issue. Unless a man accept the 
 last-named standpoint unreservedly, he has no right to 
 call himself a Socialist. If he does accept it, he will seek 
 the shortest and most direct road to the attainment of 
 justice rather than any longer and more indirect ones, of 
 which it is at best doubtful whether they will attain the 
 end at all. For be it remembered the moment you 
 tamper with the sacredness of private property, no matter 
 how mildly, you surrender the conventional bourgeois 
 principle of justice, while the moment you talk of com- 
 pensation you surrender the Socialist principle of justice; 
 for compensation can only be real if it is adequate, and 
 can only be adequate if it counterbalances and thereby 
 annuls the confiscation. 
 
 It is just, says the Individualist, for a man to be able 
 to do what he likes with his own. Good ; but what is 
 his own ? The " own " of the Roman citizen of the 
 republic included his slaves. These he could cut up to 
 feed his lampreys if he liked, and he doubtless felt it 
 "unjust" when the emperors limited his right to the 
 control of his own property, in this and similar ways, by 
 sundry enactments which (to emplo}' a modern phrase) 
 "savoured of State Socialism." Again, the donkey is 
 the costermonger's " own." But if the costermonger 
 
Concerning "Justice" J7 
 
 stimulates that donkey's flagging energies with a two- 
 pronged fork, the modern State interferes and limits the 
 control of the costermonger over his property. The 
 costermonger perhaps thinks it unjust — "State- 
 Socialistic," and the like ; the humanitarian thinks it 
 just, and is so far untrue to bourgeois principles. But, 
 says the bourgeois advocate, this does not touch us; we 
 only refer to the things which are products of industry 
 and which can be, and have been, lawfully acquired. 
 Now the right to property in human flesh is not admitted 
 in the present day in any sense, and therefore it cannot 
 be lawfully acquired. The property in asinine or other 
 flesh is admitted, only with certain restiictions. Have a 
 care, bourgeois ! You concede, then, that the concepts 
 of "light" and "justice" as regards pi'operty have 
 changed, for it w^as not always so. But no matter. It 
 is just, you say, for a man to possess the product of his 
 industry, or what he has acquired in a lawful manner, 
 and to have the entire control of it. Good. But the 
 feudal baron would not have thought it just to have been 
 deprived of his " dues " taken fiom the industry of his 
 villeins, whom he had acquired with his lands, lands 
 obtained not by industry but by violence. At the sack 
 of a town the medieval knight would have thought it 
 unjust had his lord, in accordance with nineteenth century 
 notions of equity, magnanimously compelled him to 
 surrender his booty to its original lawful owner. And 
 the rest of the world would have agreed with him, owner 
 included. The Frank who broke the vase at Soissons 
 would not have appreciated the justice of Chlodwig any 
 better had he sought to make him surrender it to the 
 Romano-Gaul who had previously possessed it, and had 
 
78 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 ])resumably acquired it in a lawful manner, than he cli<l 
 when he wished to appropriate it himself. But these 
 were bad men, you will say. And it is true that the 
 principle of your iiii<ldle-class conception of "justice ' 
 is opposed to the "justice" of these men, therefore to 
 you tliey are had. 
 
 Having shown by these one or two examples that 
 justice was conceived difi'erently in the past, we will trace 
 the logical working out of your own true bourgeois con- 
 ception — that of the right of every man to the full 
 possession and control of wealtli acquired by the industry 
 of himself, or of others who have voluntarily given or 
 bequeathed it to him. This conception of right or 
 "justice" you have inscribed on youi- banner tliroughout 
 your struggle with the ancient feudal hierarchy — tliose 
 bold bad men who robbed the honest merchant, oppressed 
 the tiller of the soil, despised the receiver of interest, 
 laid onerous imposts on wares, etc. It w^as this that hiy 
 at the root of your struggle with the old territoi-ial 
 ecclesiasticism in the sixteenth century, with the king 
 and noble in the seventeenth, with the ancifniie vohlrssc 
 of France in the eigliteenth. Security of property to the 
 jjevNonal possessor against the remains of the ancient 
 tribal communism and against the exactions of the feudal 
 head whose power directly or indirectly grew out of it, 
 has ever been your watchword, and is so to-day, cv(!n 
 when you demand compensation for improvements and 
 denounce the " unearned increment," just as if any portion 
 of "rent'' were eariicJ. And at first you were perfectly 
 sincere ; your demand seemed the cry of an eternal 
 
 justice," a justice that was ab.solute in its nature and 
 unalterable in its manifestations. " Wealth " did to a 
 
Concerning "Justice." yg 
 
 large extent belong to its immediate producer or to those 
 who had acquired it directly from liim by gift or bequest. 
 The means of production were within the reach of all. 
 Most of those that were so minded could earn wealth by 
 their labour. All that seriously hindered them seemed 
 the fetters of feudalism and semi-feudalism. On the 
 land the peasant cultivated his own plot with his own 
 implements ; in the town the handicraftsman laboured 
 primarily at least on his own account. What the one 
 craved was freedom from the unjust exactions of his 
 lord, and from the tolls and local imposts which obstructed 
 the exchange of his produce. Whai; the other craved was 
 freedom first from aristocratic custom, laws, and ordin- 
 ances, and secondly, from the rules and regulations of the 
 guilds — -the umbilical cord which still united the new- 
 born social organisation with the feudal order and 
 privilege which was its parent. Even later and till some 
 way into the manufacture period — the second stage of 
 capitalism — in spite of the exploitation which went on, 
 the possibility for the vast majority of earning a tolerable 
 livelihood, masked the retreat of truth from within the 
 bourgeois citadel of justice and its occupation by lies. 
 Even the working-classes, for the most part, assumed the 
 " enemy " still to be feudalism, and held that middle-class 
 "justice " was their "justice,'' that the complete possession 
 and control of the product of industry was involved in 
 the freedom of industry from local restrictions, and of 
 trade from undue impositions, and nothing more. 
 
 We have referred to the evacuation by truth of the 
 middle-class concept "justice." This is the point the 
 middle-class advocate invai'iably ignores. He assumes 
 that his principle, the right of the individual possessor 
 
8o The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 to the full control of his lawfully acquired property, 
 means the same thing now, has the same application now, 
 as when wealth meant the direct product of the labour 
 of the individual possessor, or of those from whom he had 
 received it by gift or bequest. It does not occur to him 
 that wealth in the modern capitalist world means some- 
 thing veiy different from this, that neither lias this man 
 sinned nor his father in its production, but that on the 
 contrary the modern possessor and his father are alike 
 innocent of having had any share in the process. If it 
 be alleged that the modern capitalist's ancestor in some 
 golden age of the past created by his personal industry 
 the wealth which was embodied in instruments of pro- 
 duction, we may well call upon our bourgeois advocate 
 to give us souie chronological data on the subject, seeing 
 that the most extended research has as yet failed to dis- 
 cover the primitive ancestral capitalist in question. Go 
 back as we maj', we discover notiiing but essentially the 
 self-same process as at present, though less in scope and 
 intensity, the formation of capitals from unpaid labour, 
 and their division by the scramble of competition, till we 
 reach the feudal period, when status, serfdom, and forcible 
 appropriation reign supreme. The old original capitalist 
 who has rested from his labours, and whose works do 
 follow him — creative, frugal, and laboi'ious — he looms 
 ever " at the back of beyond." It is a beautiful con- 
 ception this of the first capitalist, and only shows that 
 poetry like hope springs eternal in the human breast — 
 even the economical breast. Like Prester John and the 
 Wandering Jew, he has a weird charm about him that 
 almost makes one love him. But our reverence for an 
 old legend must not blind us to historical fact, to wit 
 
Concerning "Justice." 
 
 that the real origin of modern capital is to be found in 
 the forcible expropriation of the peasantry from tlie soil, 
 in oppression laws to keep down wages, in the plunder 
 and enslavement of the inhabitants of the new world and 
 of Africa, in the merciless overworking of children in 
 factories, &e. &c. 
 
 The contradiction between the assumption contained 
 in his formula and the facts of modern life which he 
 stupidly or designedly ignores, is proclaimed by the 
 Socialist, who shows that the maintenance of private 
 property in the means of production is in flagrant oppos- 
 ition to the concept of " Justice " with which he set out, 
 since the former necessarily involves the workman's 
 deprivation of the greater part of the product of his 
 labour, as otherwise such property would be of no value. 
 The concept "Justice," therefore, as meaning the right 
 to the possession and control by the individual of the 
 product of his labour has lost all meaning in modern 
 times. But in the maintenance of the sham, of the 
 assumption, that is, that the meaning remains what it 
 was, lies the whole theoretical strength of the bourgeois 
 position. The means of production are no longer in the 
 bands of the producers, but in those of men or of syndicates 
 who are usually entirely divorced from tlie process of 
 production. Now the only use of means or instruments 
 of production is to produce wealth and commodities. 
 So that to the non-producers who possess them they are 
 of no use whatever, except, and a very important except 
 it is, in so far as they compel others to labour under con- 
 ditions which allotu them only a fractional part of the 
 product of their labour. The only possible use of these 
 means of production is, therefore, to violate the original 
 
f 2 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 bourgeois definition of "Justice." This being so, that 
 definition of " Justice '' cannot be invoked as an excuse 
 for gentle dealings with monopolists, wliose retention of 
 these instruments is a cause of injustice. For the re- 
 moval of what is necessarily cause of injustice cannot 
 itself be unjust. But if it is not unjust it must be 
 just. It is juat therefore, to confiscate all private 
 property in the means of production, i.e., in land or 
 capital. Q.E.D. 
 
 'Now, Justice being henceforth identified with confiscation 
 and injustice with the rights of property, there remains 
 only the question of " ways and means." Our bourgeois 
 apologist admitting as he must that the present possessors 
 of land and capital hold possession of them simply by 
 right of superior force, can hardly refuse to admit the 
 light of the proletariat organised to that end to take 
 possession of them by right of superior force. The only 
 question remaning ishow ? And the only answer is howyou 
 can. Get what you can that tends in the right direction, by 
 parliamentary means or otherwise, bien entendu, the right 
 direction meaning that which curtails the capitalist's 
 power of exploitation. If you choose to ask further how 
 one would like it, the reply is so far as the present writer 
 is concerned, one would like it to come as drastically as 
 possible, as the moral effect of sudden expropriation 
 would be much greater tlian that of any gradual process. 
 But the sudden expropriation, in other words, the re- 
 volutionary crisis, will have to be led up to by a series 
 of non-revolutionary political acts, if past experience 
 has anything to say in the matter. When that 
 crisis comes the great act of confiscation will be 
 the seal of the new era; then and not till then 
 
Conceniing "Justice.'' 83 
 
 will the knell of Civilisation, with its rights of pro- 
 perty and its class-society, be sounded ; then and 
 not till then will Justice — the Justice not of Civilisa- 
 tion but of Socialism — become the corner-stone of the 
 social arch. 
 
THE MORROW OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 Socialists are often asked the question, what would you 
 do if you found yourselves with power in your hands to- 
 morrow ? This question is not an unreasonable one, and 
 I think it is one that Socialists should discuss before the 
 day finds them unpiepared. In Paris eighteen years ago 
 the problem had to be faced in a practical manner, but 
 the leaders of Paris were then unhafipily in utter con- 
 fusion as to its solution. It is true they peiformed the 
 ordinary executive functions of an administration admir- 
 ably ; and it is sufficient to point to their example to 
 confute those who affect to laugh at tlie notion of men 
 unacquainted with official red-tape being put into re- 
 sponsible positions. But when it came to the question 
 of any new departure to be made the council-room of the 
 Commune was the battle-ground of rival propositions. 
 Now it seems to me that it is not unprofitable for 
 Socialists to enter upon the discussion of such points as 
 these at once, and as far as may be to " thrash them out," 
 before rather than after they are called upon to act. 
 
 The usual reply to the question referred to in opening 
 is that we intend to nationalise or communise the means 
 of production and distribution. This is undoubtedly 
 strictly and literally correct, but from the questioner's 
 point of view it may possibly be regar<led as what a 
 celebrated character would have called an "evasive 
 answer." If further elucidation is required we proceed 
 
'1 lie Morroiv of the Revolution. 85 
 
 to explain that we mean to take over the big industries, 
 railways, factories, banks — all, in short, that are suffi- 
 ciently concentrated to admit of being worked by the 
 State — and to proceed by the erection of communal or 
 municipal workshops and stores on a large scale to under- 
 mine by competition the individualist-capitalist pro- 
 duction and distribution. So far so good. But all this 
 takes time to work itself out. " Wliile the grass grows,'' 
 etc., says Hamlet. An objection may be raised, therefore, 
 that in a period of revolution it would be necessary to 
 take certain immediate steps of an ad interim character 
 to satisfy legitimate popular demands and to forestall 
 the panem et circences schemes of reactionary dema- 
 gogues — Tory and Liberal " democrats," to wit. In other ' 
 words, it may be insisted that the ■purely economic action 
 of the organised Socialist administration must be supple- 
 mented by legislative and juridical action for the former 
 to have the chance of taking effect. Tliat this is the 
 case I am myself convinced. Wliat action, then, would 
 be the right one to be taken in addition to the orthodox 
 economic readjustment above refer]-ed to, and which 
 would of course be the mainspring of the great social 
 reconstruction ? In this in.stance, as in many others, I 
 find the traditional three courses present themselves ; 
 with this difference, that here, as I take it, not one only, 
 but all would have to be followed, since they are all more 
 or less interconnected. To be brief, the first is the 
 reduction of the working-day to eight hours or less ; the 
 second, the all-important correlative of this action (witli- 
 out which I fear the limitation of hours would be merely 
 illusory), viz., the enactment of a law of maximum and 
 minimum; and the third, the abrogation of "civil" law 
 
86 The Ethics of Socialisnt. 
 
 especially that largest department of it which is concerned 
 with the enforcement of contract and the recovery of 
 debt. As to the first of these provisions, it is unnecessary 
 to say much, the reduction of the working-day having 
 become a plank in the working-class platform throughout 
 the world. But the second and third may need a word 
 of explanation. By a law of viaximum and minimuvi, 
 then, we mean the fixation of a maximum or compulsory 
 price for all the necessary articles of daily consumption — 
 ordinary food, clotliing, firing, etc. — and a minimum or 
 lowest wage for the day's work in every industrj', or at 
 least in all the more important industries. This, it 
 seems, is a necessary concomitant of a reduction of the 
 working-day, otherwise the price of necessaries must 
 tend to rise in proportion to the increased cost of pro- 
 duction, or wages to fall, or perhaps both. Of the aboli- 
 tion of civil law I have elsewhere spoken, showing this 
 law to be indeed the logical result of an individualist 
 society and the indispensable corollary of such a society, 
 but to have no reason of being in one based on collective 
 possession of the means of production and distribution. 
 The grounds of this are obvious. In an individualist 
 society, where every man is fighting for his own hand in 
 the me/ee of competition, he requires as the first condition 
 that the laws of the war should be observed — that is, that 
 plunder and murder should follow the prescribed I'ules, 
 since if they are departed from his position as a com- 
 batant is prejudiced. In fact, without the enforcement 
 of such rules the fight itself would be impossible, so that 
 they are vital even to the very existence of competition 
 or the commercial system. 
 
 On the other hand, undtr a Collectivist regime they are 
 
The Morroiv of the Revolution. 87 
 
 neither necessary for the system nor ior tlie individual. 
 The latter has his livelihood already assured by the con- 
 stitution of society in return for his contribution to the 
 labour of society. Hence, he is not dependent for his 
 subsistence upon any contract or agreement he may 
 choose to make with other individuals. Any such agree- 
 ment must therefore become a purely subsidiary and 
 private matter, with which he has no right to expect 
 Society to concern itself./ Socialism implying that con- 
 tract has ceased to be the corner-stone of economic con- 
 ditions and social relations, it would be but natural that 
 a revolutionary government should proclaim that fact 
 in abolishing its lecral sanctions. But there are additional 
 reasons, and those of expediency, why this should be an 
 immediate measure: (1) The abolition of enforcement of 
 contract (including recovery of debt) would instantly put 
 a stop to an enormous mass of swindling now carried on 
 under the eyes of the law ; (2) would eifectually preclude 
 the possibility of even temporary competition with the 
 government or municipal industries ; and (3) would as 
 effectually prevent any evasion of the law of maximimn 
 and viiniviiom. In fact, the abolition of the courts 
 taking cognisance of contract (including the recovery of 
 debt) would of itself so dislocate the whole commercial^ 
 system, as to render its resuscitation during any period 
 of temporary reaction well-nigh impossible. 
 
 These three provisions, I take it, ought to be the im- 
 mediate issue of the attainment of power by a Socialist 
 government. For the rest it might be further asked by 
 one desirous for light, what attitude would a Socialist 
 administration adopt towards the existing criminal law ? 
 To this also, so far as I am personally concerned, I am 
 
88 Tlie Ethics of Sociatisin. 
 
 prepared with an answer. The customary laws of Anglo- 
 Saxon tribal society, which form the basis of the so-called 
 common law of England, as they became inappropriate to 
 the new conditions, have been gradually superseded by 
 legislation or by statutes, and these form the main body 
 of our modern criminal law. Westminster has dictated 
 statutes which have taken the place of the local "common 
 law." This is necessarily the case as primitive society 
 merges into civilisation. Civilised law, which is based 
 on the independence of the individual and on the per- 
 sonal possession and control of property, is necessarily 
 opposed to " customary law," which presupposes the 
 dependence of the individual on a group and the collective 
 ownership of property by that group. The latter (viz., 
 customary law) will stretch and may be modified, it is 
 true (as evidenced by the English '' common law "), up to 
 a certain point in accordance with the changed con- 
 ditions ; but beyond this it has to be supplemented, and 
 is finally superseded by legislative enactments or 
 statutes. Now, as Socialists, we believe that civilisation 
 is destined to pass into a new and higher communism, 
 just as tribal communism has passed into civilisation, and 
 that therewith the whole of modern civilisation will 
 become obsolete. But, meanwhile, and until the economic 
 change has worked itself out in ethical change, it is clear 
 that a criminal law must exist. The only question is 
 whether its basis shall be a mass of anomalous statutes 
 and precedents or a logical system. In the one case 
 the sweeping changes which it would be necessary for a 
 Socialist government to make would be complicated and 
 hampered in a thousand ways. In the other they could 
 be effected with ease. Now the most perfectly logical 
 
The Morrotv of the Revolution. 
 
 and connected system of jurisprudence is admitted by all 
 students of law to be the Roman or civil law, and in 
 modern times the system founded upon it prevalent over 
 a part of the Continent, and known as the " Code 
 Napoleon." 
 
 My answer, then, to those who would ask the proper 
 course for a re^'olutionary government to take in the 
 matter of jurisprudence, is that in my view such a 
 government should, in countries where the " Code 
 Napoleon " does not obtain, immediately suspend the 
 existing crimin; 1 law and replace it by this code, at the 
 same time appointing a committee of urgency to expur- 
 gate and amend it in accordance with the new Socialist 
 conceptions. Such expurgation, it is possible, might leave 
 little of the original in tiie end, but that original would 
 have acted as a working basis and so served its purpose. 
 The crucial distinction, it must never be forgotten in all 
 these matters, between the old Society and the new, is 
 that the one is based on the absolute sacredness of per- 
 sonal property, the other recognises the welfare of the 
 community alone as the one absolutely sacred claim, all 
 other claims having validity only in so far as they are 
 derived from this one. 
 
ON SOME FORMS OF MODERN CANT. 
 
 A CONTRIBUTION TO THE PHENOMENOLOGY OF CANT. 
 
 It may be not uninstructive to trace the various forms 
 in which the essentially bourgeois vice of " cant '' pervades 
 the whole world of to-day, and even creeps in among the 
 Socialist harbingers of a new society. These forms are 
 legion, but there are a few cases that may serve as 
 typical. (1) There is the obvious and in this country at 
 least most important " cant," the religious " cant." (2) 
 There is the ordinary political " cant " of moderation. 
 (3) There is the philanthropic cant ; (4) the " purity " 
 cant ; (5) the commercial cant ; (6) the literary cant ; (7) 
 the aesthetic cant ; and (8) the Socialist cant. We must 
 premise that by " cant " we understand the ostentatious 
 assumption of a quality (a virtue or vice) that one has 
 not got, or the " puffing " of an indiflferent quality one 
 Jiappens to have got by nature, as a virtue ! 
 
 Of the general and most usual aspects of the religious 
 cant it is unnecessary to say much, since it is unfortunately 
 too widespread to escape the recognition of any moderate- 
 ly intelligent man. The form, however, which it takes 
 in modern " cultured " circles and which unfortunately 
 in this country is apt to spread outside them is very 
 Eoteworthy. Repudiation of Atheism is a favourite form 
 of speculative cant with us. No matter what a man's 
 belief or absence of belief may be, you may be quite sure 
 
Oil Some Forms of Alodern Cant. 91 
 
 in ninety -nine cases out of a hundred lie will profess to 
 have conscientious scruples as to calling himself an 
 Atheist, The reason of this is not far to seek. The 
 ijuestion of God or no God has very little to do with it. 
 When the popular theory of the mou nted policem anup 
 i bove is dis carded, all that remains is a highly subtle 
 philosophicaT" problem -which it would be the rankest 
 humbug in any ordinary man to pretend he felt the 
 smallest interest in or even understood. The real point 
 in the " not-an-atheist " cant lies in the fact that the word 
 dlieism is supposed in the popular mind to imply the 
 rejection of the current bourgeois morality, the avowed 
 ianctions of which rest on the abnormally-developed- 
 Doliceman theory. It is boui'geois sentiment which is 
 ;he well-spring of objection to the word Atheism, and not 
 suddenly evoked scruples on refined points of metaphysic. 
 [f we abstract from the latter and take words in their 
 jopular sense,^ we have a right to say that the man 
 ;annot be quite sincere who accepts the doctrine of 
 levelopment as opposed to supernatural interposition in 
 luman affairs, and who " kicks " at the word " atheism. "^ 
 The ■' cant " of the politician, like the cant of the 
 ' religious" man, is also protean in its guise, but its chief 
 
 1 Our " Agnostics " have, to suit their own convenience, chosen to 
 ;ive the word Atheism an altogether new and non-natural significa- 
 ion. Until recently it has simply meant, both in its etymology and 
 isage, a non-believer in God. The highly respectable "agnostic" 
 if to-day who accepts this latter position, in order to avoid calling 
 limself an atheist, has ingeniously twisted the word Atheism into 
 [leaning exclusively the attempt to prove dogmatically the 
 on-existence of a deity. Armed with this brand-new definition of 
 itheism he is able to pass in middle-class circles as a highly credit- 
 ble person who is "not an atheist "- oil dear no ! 
 
The Ethics of Sociatisin. 
 
 method is to explain away words. The politician can 
 always show you that he doesn't mean what he says, but 
 something rather different from what he says. Political 
 cant consists in pretending to agreement with hearers, 
 whoever they may be. This cant is part of the stock-in- 
 trade of Q.\Q\y politician, be he Tory, Whig, or Radical, 
 and it is by its means that he tries to haul in stray votes. 
 
 The philanthropic cant is seen in its richest luxuriance 
 when in combination with the religious cant, as for 
 example at May meetings, when the one, so to speak, 
 brings out the flavour of the other. The philanthropic 
 cant has done yeoman's service to modern industrial and 
 commercial enterprise by smoothing the way to new 
 markets for it abroad and by hocussing the workman 
 with sham nostrums at home. Its " anti-slavery," 
 "missionary" (for tliere is a "philanthropic" side to 
 " missions " to which all bourgeois, religious or not, do 
 homage), " temperance" (teetotal), and "thrift" campaigns, 
 have been godsends to the capitalist. On the one side 
 they have constituted him in the eyes of his own middle- 
 class public opinion a saint,and on the other side they have 
 drowned the aspirations of the working classes in a sea of 
 delusion. No wonder, therefore, that the capitalist pours 
 out his thousands freely for religio-philanthropic objects 
 
 Akin to this is the "purity" cant wliich animates 
 "Leagues of the White Cross,'' "Moral iieform Unions," 
 (it hoc genus ovme. This foi-m of humbug, which pretends 
 to regard the fulfilling of a natural physiological function, 
 except under one condition, as something like a crime, 
 may either have at its root deliberate and conscious 
 hypocrisy or else it may arise from the desire to make 
 social capital out of a natural bodily defector peculiarity 
 
On Some Forms of Modern Cant. 93 
 
 — on the principle of tlie fox -without a tail. Now it is a 
 well-known fact that the instinct of sex varies in strength 
 fioin 100, let us say, to 0. In those exceptional cases 
 where it even approaches the zero it is obvious therefore 
 that the social kudos attainable by zeal for the conven- 
 tional morality must outweigh the natural impulse for 
 " gratification." Here, then, we have the conditions of a 
 highly successful prosecution of the cant of purity without 
 any apparent insincerity that the most hostile eye could 
 detect, — in short, we have the " honest fanatic " of 
 " blameless life." And he or she is doubtless the nucleus 
 of the movements in question, which become the rallying- 
 point for conscious hypocrisy and respectability in the 
 /male, and the " sour grapes " of despised love and hope 
 deferred in the female. 
 
 The special form of commercial " cant " here selected 
 consists in the favourite pretence in the present day of 
 " having a profession " or being in business. Money- 
 making being the avowed end of life, a man of the 
 middle-classes looses caste if he does not appear to be 
 engaged in some occupation recognised as lucrative. He 
 is like a knight without his spurs, a Roman senator 
 without his toga. It is amusing to see the fortunes men 
 will squander in keeping up bourgeois style by pretending 
 to be following a professioii or business. I have known 
 a man who could ill afford it spend at the rate of £500 
 a-year in keeping a school. Another studies medicine, an- 
 other law, another engineering. It iswell-known, of course, 
 that all these professions are over-stocked, and that the 
 average j'oung man is about as likely to receive a 
 " next-of-kin " windfall as to cover his expenses with any 
 of them. But the young man of " means " must " have a 
 
94 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 profession" or business even though he die in the work- 
 house in consequence. So he goes through the course, 
 spinning it out as long as possible, and when done takes 
 chambers or offices as barrister or engineer. His expenses 
 cost him two or three hundred per annum, and if his 
 " profession " brings him in ten he is in most cases 
 extremely lucky. When a young man with small means 
 can't afford to go in for a profession, he has to content 
 himself with a small office, where he has his letters 
 addressed. This is sufficient to show he is "doing- 
 something." He goes up to town every day, lounges 
 about, reads the papers, and endeavours to obtain the 
 credit of being " a man of business " by, among other 
 things, pretending always to be in a great hurry. In 
 this way he perhaps manages to come off with no more 
 than a loss of £80 to £100 a year. 
 
 This cant of " business " is peculiarly significant as 
 marking tlie fully developed bourgeois era. Time was 
 when the middle-class man was proud of posing as the 
 "gentleman-at-large" (the remains of the feudal tradition). 
 Now even when he has independent means, as in the 
 cases supposed, he reckons it necessary to " good form " 
 to pretend to be making money whether he is actually 
 doing so or not, and is prepared to squander his substance 
 in that pretence. 
 
 Then there is the literary or rather critical cant. One 
 of its forms is affected hunting after blemishes in style 
 and the pedantry allied thereto. The fact is, of course, 
 that the modern reviewer's taste is not really shocked by 
 half the things he sics or otherwise castigates, but he 
 must find something to say and above all make a show of 
 purism. A great deal of the pretended fuss made about 
 
On Some Forms of Modern Cant. 95 
 
 confusion of metaphor, for example, is cant. All language 
 is, more or less metaphorical, and no one has shown the 
 slightest rational ground why one should not pass from 
 one metaphor to another even in the same sentence. 
 That the sensibility of the ordinary " callow " critic on 
 tlie subject is sham is proved by liis admiration for 
 Shakespeare's confusions of metaphor. When a man can 
 stand taking " arms against a sea of troubles," he ought 
 to be able to stand anything.^ 
 
 The aesthetic cant is a noteworthy product of modern 
 culture. It is a subject about which so much has been 
 said already that I confine myself to noticing one feature 
 of it. Every man aspiring to culture in the present day 
 professes an appreciation of painting. He deems it de, 
 rigueur that he should be able to maunder " some " on 
 the technicalities of picture-criticism. On the other hand 
 the same type of cultured English Philistine, when the 
 conversation turns on the subject of music, will, with an 
 air of smug self-satisfaction (as if he had said a clever 
 thing) tell you that he knows nothing of the subject. 
 One wishes he would only say the same of the sister art, 
 for it would be doubtless quite true. But, unfortimately, 
 painting, or " art " as it is termed (as if there were no 
 other art), is the fashion just now with the Podsnappian 
 type of bourgeois, who must in consequence perforce 
 assume an appreciation of it, while with music he is 
 
 ^ To take the stock instance of "nipping" a tempest "in the 
 bud." Something is likened to a tempest. Tiie tempest is in its 
 turn likened to a blossom. The metajihor of the tempest holds in 
 one connection, of the original fact, the metaphor of the blossom 
 holds in another of the tempest. The metaphor, although a little 
 violent, is not illogical. 
 
9^ The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 under no such obligation. Here, then, we have cant in 
 a double form. 
 
 Lastly, we come to the Sociali.st cant. Here we touch 
 on delicate ground. But we must, nevertheless, face the 
 truth that with the sentimental or semi-sentimental 
 Socialism of the middle-classes there is mingled a good 
 deal of half-unconscious cant. There is a sort of feeling 
 that poverty, sc^ualor, and coarseness are in themselves 
 sacred, and the "good young man" who, instead of join- 
 ing the Y.M.C.A. takes to studying "social questions," 
 •seems to think it incumbent on him to develop a taste 
 for sordid habits and surroundings. A worthy person, 
 with aspect of spotless cleanliness and refinement, was 
 heard to exclaim recently in a moment of wild enthusiasm 
 that he had rather sleep in a bed infested by noisome 
 insects than eat and drink the wedding-breakfast of a 
 baronet. Now this sentiment, it seems to me, is more 
 fitting in the mouth of a retired bacon-factor turned 
 vestryman and presiding at a soup-kitchen, who wants 
 to keep the poor contented with their lot, than in that of 
 a Socialist. Beds, as above, are within the reach of all, 
 even the poorest of our brethren, but baronets' breakfasts 
 are certainly not within the reach of all. Now if the beds 
 in question are better than the baronets' breakfast, where- 
 fore do we seek economic reconstruction ? The present sys- 
 tem supplieseventhe "reserve army of industry " with beds 
 of this description upon demand at the casual ward, and 
 does not trouble them with Yorkshire hams, cold fowl, and 
 champagne, but gives them rather meat and drink in 
 keeping with the beds. So, on the whole, we live under 
 the best possible of systems in the best possible of worlds. 
 I had always thought Socialists wanted to brinw the 
 
On Some Forms of Modern Cant. 97 
 
 baronet's breakfast within the reach of all, and only leave 
 enough " frowsy " beds to supply the wants of eccentric 
 persons like our friend. 
 
 Again, I know of a young man who thinks it an act of 
 Socialistic virtue (not an unfortunate necessity, mind !) to 
 live on 15s. a-week with wife and children. He started 
 with the view of proving that after all money is rather 
 an encumbrance than otherwise to noble aspirations. 
 Now, I really think this young man ought to be " decor- 
 ated " by Baron Rothschild or the Liberty and Property 
 Defence League. If he could prove his thesis, no more 
 crushing argument could be brought against those who 
 doubt the perfection of the present system to satisfy all 
 human requirements. Others, again, jiretend to like 
 dropping h's (a vile cockney corruption of language having 
 only an incidental connection with distinctions between 
 classes), dirty hands, and uncomfortable third-class 
 carriages (such, presumaV;ly, as Sir Edward Watkin's line 
 affords), and many other nasty things — and all because 
 of Socialism. This is very silly, perhaps, but more 
 or less harmless. When, however, middle-class young 
 men take to virtuously entering an already over- 
 stocked labour market, and thus " doing " the pro- 
 letarian in more than one sense, the same cannot be 
 said. 
 
 It is surprising that these essentially individualist and 
 bourgeois notions of the superiority of poverty and 
 squalor, and of the virtue of self-mortification for the 
 mere sake of it, and without any ulterior social ohject 
 (which are radically inconsistent with Socialism), could 
 ever come to be regarded as having any part or lot with 
 
 Socialism, the end and aim of which is to abolish all these 
 
 a 
 
pS The Ethics of Socialisnt. 
 
 things. It only shows the influence of old associations 
 and habits of thought. 
 
 We have characterised " cant " as an eminently- 
 bourgeois vice, and it is certainly true that it is mainly 
 confined to the middle-classes. The working-classes have 
 many faults, as is only natural, but this is not character- 
 istic of them as a class. No working-man, for example, 
 would even profess to prefer sleeping in an insect- 
 haunted bed than partaking of cold turkey and 
 champagne — not even if he were a vegetarian and 
 teetotaller combined. We have only touched upon 
 a few of the forms of cant which have more par- 
 ticularly struck us, but our whole bourgeois civilisation 
 is saturated with it. Other ages have been brutal, but 
 with none but our own has hypocrisy become part of its 
 very nature. The whole subject of "cant" is an inter- 
 esting one, and well merits a scientific analysis. If these 
 few remarks will induce some student to undertake this 
 analj'sis they will not have been in vain. 
 
MEN VERSUS CLASSES. 
 
 In the character of every human being, man or woman, 
 in the present day, we shall be able to detect without 
 much difficulty two sides, more or less distinct, more or 
 less blended. On the one hand, you have the side of 
 friendship, of devotion, of good-nature, of refinement, of 
 the social qualities generally ; on the other, that of ac- 
 quisitiveness (greed), meanness, hypocrisy, coarseness, 
 brutality — in fact, the anti-social qualities. Now, we 
 maintain that in every civilised human being these two 
 elements are present to a greater or less extent ; it is 
 only a question of degree. The anti-social qualities be- 
 long, at bottom, to the anti-human or pre-human nature, 
 which human nature has inherited, and which were 
 superseded by the specifically human nature or qualities 
 which presided over the institution of tribal Society. 
 But, in their present form, we contend they have taken 
 on the forms and become crystallised into expressions of 
 class-opposition. Some of them, indeed {e.g. vulgarity in 
 its various forms, and hypocrisy), are entirely the off- 
 spring of the class-society of modern times. The social 
 qualities, on the other hand, are inherited from the 
 human nature which, as we have just said, superseded 
 men's brute nature in the earliest forms of society. But 
 these, again, have maintained themselves only in spite of 
 the class-system, and have disputed the ground with it 
 inch by inch. It is evident, then, that every man in the 
 
lOO The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 present day, inasmuch as he belongs to one or otlier of 
 the two great modern cla-Sses, the fleecers or the fleeced, 
 the oppressors or the oppressed, the middle-class or the 
 working-class, possesses, in addition to his manhood, a 
 classhood. The classhood necessarily interpenetrates his 
 whole system, although it may not be always obvious. 
 His social qualities may gain the upper hand, and per- 
 manently repress the anti-social qualities and prejudices 
 which he inherits from his class. Again, his class-char- 
 acter riiay completely eat away his human character. 
 Like the cells and fibres of cancer in the human body, 
 his class-character may be latent, and only become active 
 from some external cause. It may then break out in the 
 moht unexpected ways. In any case, the human or 
 social character varies in an inveme jproportion to the 
 class or anti-social character of tlie man. This is an im- 
 portant fact. A mathematician might make a reputation 
 by wrapping it up in curves and equations. 
 
 And it will be observed that I make no distinction 
 here in favour of the working class as such. Many people 
 are apt to think of the new society as essentially the same 
 as the present, only with the relative positions of classes 
 changed. They have a confused notion of the gentle 
 stockbroker being bullied by the coarse and brutal factory 
 hand. They cannot realise that under a developed Social- 
 istic system, the workman type of to-day and the middle- 
 class type of to-day will be alike as extinct as the 
 dodo. Out of the changed conditions a new type 
 must necessarily arise difiering from any of those at 
 present existing, for these all pre-suppose class-conditions. 
 All class-character qua class-character is bad. Were the 
 working man any more than the middle-class man an 
 angel, Socialism would be unnecessary. Socialists who 
 
Men versus Classes. loi 
 
 reco^ise individual character to be the child of social 
 condition, could not expect a class degraded materially 
 to the condition of Proletarianism not to bear the mark 
 of this degradation on the character of its members. 
 We may observe, however, in passing, though it is im- 
 material to the point, that while the class-element alike 
 in the character of Prole taire as of Bourgeois is bad in 
 itself, yet it has probably in the former case been less 
 generally successful in corrupting the human nature into 
 which it has entered than in the latter. Tlie particular 
 class-qualities in the character of the modern capitalist 
 may be roughly indicated by the definition, vulgarity in 
 a solution of hypocrisy ; the particular class-qualities in 
 the character of the modern proletarian as brutality in a 
 solution of servility. 
 
 How plainly both are the outcome of economic condi- 
 tion will be evident at a glance. Open your morning 
 paper, and you will see both illustrated in its columns. 
 They are the obverse and the reverse of the same medal 
 — modern civilisation. But, we repeat, these class- 
 qualities may be reduced to the minimum in favour of 
 the essentially human or social qualities in individual in- 
 stances in either case ; or thej'^ may on the other hand 
 be so highly developed as to exclude the latter altogether. 
 The last case may be best illustrated by types drawn 
 from those concerned in class-politics. Almost any 
 statesman — let us take as types a Harcourt or a Goschen 
 — exhibits the class-element in its purest embodied form. 
 Such men are lumps of class-feeling. A hypocritical 
 vulgarity has in them absorbed humanity. The corre- 
 sponding illustration of the mere proletarian class-element 
 may be looked for in that section of the Anarchist party 
 
102 The Ethics of Socialisiiu 
 
 which pursues the tactics technically known as diebspoli- 
 tik, and of which a Stellmacher or a Duval is a type. 
 Here also the class-element, a servile brutality, the mere 
 bloodthirstiness and lust of gain of the slave, has eaten 
 out humanity. Of course, these are extreme instances 
 on both sides. Human life would be manifestly impos- 
 sible were the whole middle class transformed into 
 Haroourts or Goschens, no less than if the whole prole- 
 tariat were ti'ansformed into Stellmachers or Duvals. 
 Between them lie the great mass of both classes, where 
 human feeling struggles with class-feeling with varying 
 success. In the centre a nucleus is beginning to form. 
 It is the International Socialist Party. And just here 
 the chief superiority of the working class as a class over 
 the middle class comes into view. Among the working 
 classes there is a large section, especially on the Continent 
 of Europe, among whom tlie mere class-qualities have to 
 a large extent succumbed to human qualities, although 
 they necessarily and properly (as we shall show directly) 
 take a class-/o7'm. Such, in the nature of things, is not 
 the case with the middle class. They, as a class, have 
 material power and wealth bound up with their class- 
 being ; so that while with the working-man culture in 
 the natural course of things is a direct avenue to the 
 elevation of the class-feeling within him to a human feel- 
 ing, with the middle-class man it too often only cements 
 it with a thicker varnish of hypocrisy. The educated 
 workman knows that human progress is bound up with 
 the ascendency of his class. The educated bourgeois 
 knows that human progress is bound up with the decay 
 and overthrow of his class; so that where we have amono- 
 the working classes whole sections that arg Socialistic, 
 
Men versus Classes. 103 
 
 we have among the middle classes only isolated in- 
 dividuals. 
 
 How, then, it maj' be said, if we admit class-feeling to 
 be that element in the modern character in which its 
 worst and anti-social features are embodied, can we 
 make the accentuation and exacerbation of cla',s-feeling 
 the starting-point for a social reconstruction in which 
 classes shall be abolished ? Is not the attitude of the 
 benevolent old gentleman who saj's, let us ignore classes, 
 let us regard each other as human beings, more conson- 
 ant with what we-liave been saying ? We answer no, if 
 we are to deal with facts and not with phrases. Classes 
 exist ; you may ignore them, but they will exist still 
 with the respective characters they engender. Though 
 you ignore them they will not ignore you. The differ- 
 ence between the Socialist and the benevolent bourgeois 
 Radical in their respective crusades against classes is, 
 that while the one would affirm the/orm of class-distinc- 
 tion, knowing that thereby the reality of class-distinction 
 will be negated, the other, though ostentatiously denying 
 the /or rrt of class-distinction, would affirm the content or 
 reality of class-distinction, inasmuch as he would leave it 
 untouched. He thinks to get rid of class-instincts while 
 maintaining classes. To be rid of classes, the possessing 
 and expropriating class must be itself expropriated — ex- 
 propriated of its power of expropriating — in other words, 
 of that control of the instruments of production by 
 which its class-character is maintained, when it will dis- 
 appear together with its correlate, the possessed and 
 expropriated class. 
 
 It is not true, as might at first sight be sup- 
 posed, that the political class-feeling of the Socialist 
 
104 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 workman is the mere anti-social class-feeling of the 
 ordinary proletarian (lumpen proletarier), or of the 
 mere blood-thirsty Anarchist. The class-feeling of the 
 former is a class-feeling with a difference. It is a class- 
 feeling that lias already negated itself; otherwise ex- 
 pressed it is human feeling in a class guise. The Socialist 
 workman's conscious end and aspiration is the anniliil- 
 ation of classes, with the class-element in character. He 
 knows well enough that his classhood places him at a dis- 
 advantage. He knows that the fact of his belonging to 
 an oppressed class is an insuperable obstacle to the 
 development of the best within him ; just as the middle 
 class Socialist knows that the fact of his belonging to an 
 oppressing class is equally an obstacle to the develop- 
 ment of his nobler qualities. Mere class-instinct, which 
 2Jer se is necessarily anti-social, can never give us Social- 
 ism. That is why the most degraded section of the 
 proletariat are, to a large extent, useless for the Cause of 
 Socialism. Their lower c?a.ss-instincts are incapable of 
 being purified of their grosser elements, and transformed 
 into that higlier instinct which, though on its face it has 
 the imjiress of a class, is in its essence above and beyond 
 class ; which sees in the immediate triumph of class 
 merely a means to the ultimate realisation of a purely 
 human Society, in which class has disappeared. With 
 those who have attained to this instinct, classhood or 
 class-interest has become identical with humanity or 
 human interest. In the Socialist workman the class- 
 instinct has become transformed into the conviction that, 
 in the words of Lassalle, " he is called to raise the prin- 
 ciple of his class into the principle of the age." He 
 knows that in the moment of victory — of the realisation 
 
Men versus Classes. 105 
 
 of the dominion of his class — the ugly head of class itself 
 must fall, and Society emerge. Militant, his cause is 
 identified with class ; triumphant, with Humanity. 
 
 Meanwhile, we who live to-day, who are the offspring 
 of a class-society, and who breathe the atmosphere of a 
 class-society, bear ineradically the mark of the class- 
 demon upon us. It is engrained in our characters. Even 
 among Socialists, where its grosser features are toned 
 down or obliterated, it shows itself ever and anon. It is 
 only a question of more or less. In no human being 
 born in a class Society can the class-element be altogether 
 absent from his character. In the best working-class 
 Socialist there is a strain of possible brutality. In the 
 best middle-class Socialist there is a strain of possible 
 snobbishness. Meanwhile, we know that these things 
 endure but for a day. We may, therefore, take heart 
 of grace. After one more decisive affirmation of class- 
 interest, we may expect to see the end of Classes (with 
 their hypocritical vulgarity on the one side and their 
 servile brutality on the other) and the beginning of Men. 
 
THE CURSE OF CIVILISATION. 
 
 It is or was a favourite practice of the historical school 
 of Buckle, Spencer, etc., to dwell upon the fact that the 
 attention of the early speculative intellect is more occu- 
 pied with exceptional than with ordinary phenomena — ■ 
 with comets, meteors and eclipses, rather than with the 
 facts and sequences of everyday Nature. Many a 
 generation has passed since this has ceased to apply to 
 progressive man. He is now perfectly alive to the 
 saliency of the common phenomena and operations of 
 Nature (in its narrower sense) and to the comparative 
 unimportance of those exceptional events which so much 
 excited the terror and wonder of his remote ancestor. 
 But in spite of this change of mental attitude as regards 
 inorganic nature, there is one department of phenomena, 
 that of social life and history, ia which the old attitude 
 is unconsciously maintained. It seems to have entirely 
 escaped the notice of students that the current view of 
 history — strange to say, even of modern social life — 
 when we reflect upon it and formulate our reflections, is 
 based mainly on the exceptions of life — battles, murder 
 and pestilence — and thatthe rule — the everyday routine — 
 is, for the most part, left entirely out of the account. 
 This, conjoined with the still widespread assumption of 
 the eighteenth-century fallacy that all progress is in a 
 straight line, has led to the conviction in most, even 
 candid minds, amounting to the strength of an axiom, 
 
The Curse of Civilisation. 107 
 
 that the advance of civilisation has augmented the sum 
 of human happiness ; that hfe under earlier conditions 
 must have been intolerable, and hence that the Socialist 
 contention that the modern world is not only not the 
 best possible, but not the best up to date, is merely a 
 whimsical paradox. 
 
 In discussing tliis subject, two or three points have to 
 be considered. Firstly, we must distinguish between 
 what I may term the dynamic and the static estimation 
 of history. In the first, any particular historical period 
 is regarded as part of the general evolution of history, as 
 a moment merely of that evolution ; it is viewed solely 
 in its relation to what preceded and what followed it. 
 In the second a period is regarded abstractly, in itself and 
 not as the element of a whole ; it is treated as an inde- 
 pendent whole and compared with other periods also re- 
 garded as independent wholes. It is further to be borne 
 in mind, in discussing the subject statically that, the 
 individual being the product of his period and its 
 conditions, it is no answer to the comparative merits of 
 one period over another to point out the impossibility or 
 evil results of suddenly transplanting an individual 
 brought up under the first set of conditions into the 
 second. 
 
 On the dynamic view the proposition, " whatever is, is 
 best," has a certain truth. Every historical period has 
 its meaning or significance for historical progress, con- 
 sidered dynamically, however meaningless considered in 
 itself. Thus, without the decay and dissolution of tribal 
 society and its issue in civilised individualism, a higher 
 universal communism would have been impossible. 
 Nay, without the particular development of civilisation 
 
io8 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 represented by nineteenth century capitalism with its 
 "great industry," the higher, more universal, more com- 
 plex communism, which is the ideal of the modern 
 Socialist, would have been inconceivable. Even for the 
 Socialist, therefore, the worst and more brutal for-ms of 
 civilisation are good. The progress from tribal society 
 to civilisation is thus a progress indeed , every step is a 
 triumph and brings us nearer to the realisation of human 
 hopes. In this sense the Socialist is at one with the 
 Whig historian. But here he joins issue with him. 
 No sooner does he change his standpoint and consider 
 history statically, tlian he finds that every step toward 
 modern civilisation is a step for the worse. Considered 
 by itself, every historical advance has meant a positive 
 loss to human happiness iu the essentials of life, im- ', 
 measurably outweighing any positive gain in the details. 
 The Socialist is bound, there fore, when viewing civilisation 
 statically, to pronounce it unreseivedly an unmitigated 
 evil. 
 
 The ordinary historian, who considers only the ex- 
 ceptional incidents of life and ignores its essential 
 aspects, finds everywhere signs of progress as he under- 
 stands it — that is, signs that the. present is better than 
 the past. In the Middle Ages he observes a state of 
 society in which life was relatively insecure from 
 violence, where flagrant acts of cruelty and injustice were 
 often perpetrated, where terrible plagues every now and 
 then devastated considerable areas of population, where 
 open war v/as a common occurrence. This in the first 
 place. In the second, he finds a complete absence not 
 only of all the modern comforts and luxuries of life, but 
 of many things he is accustomed to regard as necessaries. 
 
TJie Curse of Civilisation. log 
 
 He finds locomotion difficult and dangerous, and all 
 means of communication of the most rudimentary de- 
 scription. In modern life, of course, he sees exactly the 
 reverse of all this. The positive evils mentioned are 
 reduced to a minimum or removed altogether. Life has 
 become a mass of little wants virith the means of satisfy- 
 ing them ready to hand for those who can purchase 
 them. More excitement is required, and can be had for 
 money ; tours round the world replace journeys into the 
 next county. 
 
 I think I cannot be accused of having stated the case 
 unfairly for modern civilisation ; but after all, what does 
 tlie difierence amount to ? In the view of many persons, 
 the mediseval famine, pestilence, war, and host of other 
 evils, are conceived as occurring all in the same place in 
 the same week. Were this popular view of mediasval 
 society correct, it is manifest that no flesh could have 
 survived. But as a matter of fact "flesh" did survive ; 
 and so far as can be gathered, the average length of 
 human life was not much inferior then to what it is now. 
 For if, as is sometimes contended, great age is more fre- 
 quently reached now than then, this is more than 
 counterbalanced by the fact, confirmed by all accounts, 
 that premature death (properly so called) from organic 
 disease was of comparatively rare occurrence. Now, 
 although a fringe of well-to-do people may attain a 
 greater average age than a corresponding set of people 
 in the Middle Ages, in the nineteenth century whole 
 sections of our ever-increasing town population are 
 doomed by the conditions of their life to a premature 
 grave. The difference is this, as I take it : the well-to-do 
 middle and upper classes have the chance of an average 
 
 fe 
 
IIO Ihe Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 year or two's longer life than the wealthy classes of 
 former ages, but the mass of the population, although re- 
 lieved from the fear of famine, sword, and, to a great 
 extent, even of decimating epidemics and other sensa- 
 tional incursions of the grizzly skeleton on their front, 
 are relieved only to iind him stolidly clinging on at the 
 rear, in the shape of anxiety for daily bread, overwork, 
 bad and insufGcient food, squalor, insanitary housing, etc. 
 The ordinary historian sees the exceptional and horrific 
 evils of sword, violence, and famine incidental to the life 
 of past ages ; he passes over the common-place evils 
 essential to modern life. Yet under the one set of 
 conditions early death is certain ; under the other at 
 most only probable. 
 
 Now let us compare two cases — an ancient and a 
 modern — in which the result is the same, and note the 
 diflTerence between them otherwise. Say the modern 
 town artisan dies at forty ; the mediaeval guildsman is 
 killed at forty. But the modern town artisan has been 
 qualifying for death from infancy, every step in his life 
 has been dogged by that death — literally in the midst of 
 life he has been in death. If actual disease be not upon 
 him, potential disease is, in the form of low bodily condi- 
 tion, rendering him absolutely incapable of any enjoy- 
 ment other than "boozing." His tendencies, inherited 
 and acquired, all converge to the one end. He is 
 throughout life decaying. Now take the medissval 
 guildsman. What is his life ? He also works at his 
 trade, but under what conditions ? With plenty of air, 
 food, leisure, work in which he takes an interest and a 
 pride, and in healthy emulation with companions 
 similarly circumstanced to himself, his life is a healthy 
 
The Cnrse of Civilisation. 1 1 1 
 
 and a happy one. Suddenly news comes that a hostile 
 lord is advancing upon the town with his retainers, and 
 that all must arm in its defence. The excitement is a 
 not altogether unwelcome interruption to the peaceful 
 daily life of burghers possessed of nerves begotten of 
 genei-ations of life under healthy conditions. The 
 citizens sally forth and the walls are manned. Our 
 forty-year old workman takes his place. The fight 
 begins ; bolts, arrows, and javelins fly. In the thick of 
 it all our burgher is struck and falls moaning ; he is 
 carried home, and after a few hours of pain, dies. Now 
 here you have your choice : death by the exceptional 
 thunderbolt of mediaeval society; death by the undying 
 worm of modern civilisation. Which do you prefer ? In 
 the one case unsettled conditions, life and property 
 insecure — in short, all the bogies of the Whig historian ; 
 in the other settled conditions, law and order reigning 
 over all the land, and every blessing of civilisation. I 
 think few can hone.stly hesitate as to the answer they give. 
 Now we have just been supposing the case of an indi- 
 vidual with whom the specific evils of mediaeval society were 
 actually operative. But it must be borne in mind that the 
 balance of probabilities against any particular individual 
 being affected by any of tliem was probably almost, if not 
 quite as great as against any given individual in the present 
 day being killed in a railway accident, blown up in an 
 explosion, drowned in an over-insured unseaworthy ship, 
 run over on a London crossing, ci-ushed in a panic at a 
 public building, etc., etc. One or other of these disasters 
 peculiar to modern life is chronicled every day in the 
 newspapers, and often several the same day, yet the ap- 
 prehension of them does not seriously affect the happiness 
 
1 1 2 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 of the modern man, with all his instability of nerve. 
 How much less, then, must the fear of being killed in 
 battle or by robbers or by pestilence have disturbed the 
 equanimity of the mediaeval baron, peasant, or citizen, 
 with his iron nerves and sturdy frame ? 
 
 Bj' far the most powerful popular indictment of mediae- 
 val society in favour of modern civilisation is that of Mr. 
 Owen Pike. In his " History of Crime in England " Mr. 
 Pike has taken a single year — 1349 — and carefully and 
 laboriously collected all the cases of private war, forcible 
 entry, highway robbery, etc., etc., he could iind in the 
 official records as having taken place throughout England 
 in that year. He has certainly done his best to paint 
 tlie Middle Ages as black as possible ; yet after reading 
 his catalogue of crime, spread over a whole year and dis- 
 tributed over the whole of England, one rises with the 
 feeling of an anti-climax. The chief thing that strikes one 
 about medifevai crime is not so much its amount as the 
 brutal frankness, the undisguised straightforwardness, of 
 it. On the whole, the most unfavourable presentment 
 of mediaeval conditions will, we think, confirm what we 
 have just said, in the mind of every candid reader — 
 namely, that the chances of these evils affecting any 
 given person or even locality was, to say the least, not 
 so very much greater than the chances of any given 
 person or locality being affected by the other and often 
 quite as great, if more commonplace, evils peculiar to 
 modern life. Men were at least robust and healthy for 
 the most part until they wei'e cut off by famine, war, or 
 pestilence. They were not harassed by the dread of loss 
 of employment and starvation, or by the horror of their 
 children being left without means of subsistence. If no 
 
Tlie Curse of Civilisation. 1 1 3 
 
 one else did, the Church would always care for them. 
 But here again, the sensational, exceptional evils of 
 mediaeval life are so much more dramatic, appeal to the 
 imagination so much more than the commonplaces of 
 stunted growth, deficiency of vital power, trade depres- 
 sions, strikes and lock-outs, tliat in a general estimate of 
 the respective periods the one is taken prominently into 
 account, while the other is left altogether unnoticed. 
 
 Let us now consider that portion of the indictment of 
 more primitive society — again taking the Middle Ages 
 as its type — which refers to the absence of change, 
 variety, comfort in life ; and in this we will take as an 
 example the subject of locomotion. " Steam " is pre- 
 eminently the material symbol of modern civilisation, 
 and its advocate invariably adduces the blessings of free 
 intercourse and locomotion as against the restricted com- 
 munication of earlier ages as a convincing argument, not 
 merely of the greater capacity of acquiring wealth in the 
 modern world, but of the greater possibilities of happi- 
 ness which the facilities of modern times for change, 
 intercourse, and education, afford. Now there can be no 
 doubt that " steam " has provided the means of travelling 
 long distances for a vastly greater number of persons 
 than have ever been able to travel before. But have our 
 tours round the world or to the most distant countries 
 for the comparatively well-to-do who have a few weeks, 
 or even in some cases a few days, to spare, or our 
 day-trips to distant parts of the same country for the 
 less well-to-do who have only a few hours, — have these 
 things really or only a])parently increased the possibilities 
 of change of scene and ideas and the education thence re- 
 sulting, as against those supplied by the restricted com- 
 
1 14 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 munication of former days ? I am convinced the dis- 
 tinction is merely in appearance, and that the change of 
 ideas derived from a visit to a foreign country to-day is 
 very little more than would have been derived from a 
 visit to another county in the Middle Ages. 
 
 The reason is obvious. Where the steam-engine has 
 penetrated, the bourgeois civilisation which it represents, 
 with the uniformity of condition which specially char- 
 acterises that civilisation, has penetrated also. Every- 
 where tliat the steam-engine carries you, it carries along 
 with it the world you intended to leave behind you ; the 
 same architecture — the big hotel, the railway station, the 
 cheaply-built house as you find them in London, Paris, 
 or Berlin : the same costume — the shoddy cloth of the 
 " world-market," tlie Parisian " cut," the " top " or 
 " bowler " hat ; the country, as at home, cut up by the 
 lailway itself, with its long rows of telegraph posts, its 
 shunting yards, — in short, everything as like as possible to 
 what it is at your own door. You open up a conversation 
 with the natives ; the old local dialect, with the old local 
 diess, customs, and traditions, have long since fled, and in 
 the quondam peasant you find a clumsy approach to the 
 getting-on townsman. 
 
 This is your change, your variety in life, which "steam" 
 has brought you. For none can deny that a railway 
 sooner or later brings all these things in its wake. Is, 
 then, the variety in life, the change of scene, the fresh- 
 ness of intercourse, so much greater here than when every 
 district had its special features ; its own hills and dales 
 unscarred by the ubiquitous " navvy ; " its own manu- 
 factures ; its own characteristic architecture ; its own 
 homespun costume ; its own dialect and mode of express- 
 
Tlie Curse of Civilisation. 1 1 5 
 
 ing its ideas ; its own local laws and customs ; and its 
 own traditions and legends ? Has the modern London 
 bourgeois who occasionally, by the help of Cook, strives 
 to get away from the routine world in which he lives, by 
 a desperate effort and at a considerable expenditure — has 
 he, I ask, so great an advantage over his ancestor of the 
 thirteenth century, who by a stroll into Kent or Surrey 
 on any Church holiday could find himself in a district 
 with an individuality in many respects quite distinct from 
 the one he left ? With a great price the modern bourgeois 
 obtains (or tries to obtain) liis freedom from the dull 
 monotony of his life ; but the mediceval guildsman of 
 London was freeborn. After his day's work he could 
 probably obtain more real change and amusement than 
 the modern " city man " during the whole of his autumn 
 outing. 
 
 But if we must confess thus much of the privileged 
 man, the man of means, how does it stand with the poor 
 mechanic, who on his every holiday has to pay the tax 
 of the railway company, and to be stived up in its cattle- 
 boxes, perhaps for three or four hours, in order to get a 
 breath of fresh air and a glimpse of country, which in 
 earlier ages he could have had, even though he lived in 
 the heart of London, within an hour's walk of his own 
 door ? When rurality and variety were comparatively 
 close at hand, there was no need or desire to travel far 
 afield. Now people travel much and have little change : 
 in former ages they travelled less and had more change. 
 
 It is clear, therefore, that the pseudo-advantages of 
 civilisation (such as they are) refer, in this case at least 
 not only to the exceptions of life rather than to its or- 
 dinary round, but also to the man of exceptional social 
 
Ii6 The Ethics of Socialism, 
 
 advantage ; in other words to the " classes," and not to 
 the "masses." What applies in this case is only typical 
 of the great truth that modern civilisation not only accrues 
 at best solely to the advantage of a propertied and 
 privileged class, but that even that very questionable 
 advantage has been gained by an untold loss for the 
 mass of the people. 
 
 I have selected locomotion as the type of modern pro- 
 gress.but it would be easy to show that the telegraph, a 
 " cheap " press, etc., although they have changed human 
 life, have been no positive benefit — that as much plea- 
 sure was to be had out of the mediaeval ballad-singer's 
 version of Robin Hood as out of the modern newspaper 
 or the penny or shilling dreadful. 
 
 That the exceptionally circumstanced man, the man of 
 the middle and upper classes, and not the ordinary man 
 the man of the people, is the chief beneficiary also by 
 otherreforms whose praises are sung so loudly, is curiously 
 illustrated by the sacredness of the modern statesman or 
 bureaucrat. Time was, when a statesman, if he misbe- 
 haved himself, ran some risk of losing his head, or at 
 least of imprisonment or exile, accompanied by confisca- 
 tion of property. Now the plutocracy have succeeded in 
 making statecraft a perfectly safe trade for themselves 
 and their sattelites, the worst evil that can befall a " man 
 of position " in the country being temporary lossof oifice. 
 Of course it was altogether barbarous when a member of 
 the leading governmental ring who was suspected of 
 having striven to aggrandise himself (whether in reputa- 
 tion, influence, or material wealth) at the expense of 
 justice and the public he was professing to serve could be 
 a'rraigned as a criminal ! Nowadays, even Opposition 
 
The Curse of Civilisation. 1 1 7 
 
 journals of the inostpronounced eharacterwould deprecate 
 with polite horror the bare suggestion of the "honourable 
 gentleman " having been actuated by any but the highest 
 of motives, or being guilty of anything more heinous than 
 an error of judgment. Nevertheless, satisfactory as this 
 arrangement may be in the interests of the governmental 
 industry, and to the vrealtliy classes who have such a 
 large stake in it, there can be no question that it is both 
 reasonable and just that delegates in whose hand vast 
 powers for weal or woe are vested should be criminally 
 responsible for theii " errors of judgment.'' No man is 
 obliged to accept a position of such responsibility, and no 
 age but the present would have thought of allowing him, 
 having done so, to slink out of the consequences of his 
 misdeeds under the cover of their being due to " eri-or of 
 judgment.'' 
 
 What shall we say then? If the benefits of modern 
 life, considered in themselves, concern mainly its ex- 
 ceptions and not its ordinary round, and have -been for 
 the most part achieved at the expense of its ordinary 
 round; if they further mainly benefit an exceptional or 
 privileged class and not the ordinary man, and have been 
 achieved at the expense of the ordinary man, — are we, 
 like Mr. Euskin, to call ourselves conservatives and to 
 hark back upon an impossible past, wiiile renouncing 
 the present as hopelessly bad ? A thousand times No ! 
 But let us make no mistake, or confound two distinct 
 standpoints. The fact that, dynamically viewed, modern 
 capitalism, with all that it entails — railways, machineiy, 
 squalor^is a good (nay, might be better were it inten- 
 sified to the fourth power), since it is the necessary 
 condition of the higher social life to follow, must not 
 
1 1 8 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 blind us to the fact that, statically viewed, modern life 
 is in no sense an improvement on the life of past ages. 
 Do not let us delude ourselves with thinking that railways 
 have in themselves contributed an iota to human happi- 
 ness, or are in themselves anything else than an un- 
 mitigated evil, without a shred of compensating advantage. 
 Again, though the acute evils of earlier ages have indeed 
 gone, let us not fox'get they have gone only to be 
 supplanted by chronic evils in the present. In this static 
 sense I call civilisation a curse. I say, let us cleai-ly recog- 
 nise it as such. And in doing this, one thing there is 
 which will give us cause to take heart of grace: there has 
 been no evil of which mankind has once become conscious 
 as such that mankind has not already half vanquished. 
 The acute dramatic evils of the Middle Ages — insecurity 
 of life and property, feudal trammels and imposts, eccles- 
 iastical abuses — three centuries ago filled the field of 
 human vision. Thinking, forward-looking men saw in 
 the vanquishment of the evils of their upas-tree — effete 
 feudalism — the goal of all human hopes. It steadily and 
 surely withered, and now it is long since first its place 
 knew it no more. The evils they saw were vanquished, 
 with what results we now know. We in our turn see a 
 fatal upas-tree, blasting all human aspiration and happiness. 
 The fact that we see it as it is, is an earnest that its 
 destruction is nigh. We need not be discouraged by the 
 immensity or the solidity of the fabric we see standing. 
 How little could it have seemed to the man of the sixth 
 century, witli all the outer forms of Roman life around 
 him, that the Roman empire was a thing of the past and 
 that a new world was on the point of growing up to take 
 its place; how little to the careless man of the sixteenth, 
 
The Curse of Civilisation. 1 19 
 
 with all the superficial signs of a mediseval civilisation 
 standing, that the era of lord and vassal, knight and 
 squire, was in reality gone, and a world in which the 
 time-honoured symbols, relations, and conceptions of the 
 Middle Ages would be meaningless was fast arising. 
 Much as he might have desired this, it must have seemed 
 impossible to him. So with the Socialist to-day. He 
 sees the great curse, bourgeois civilisation, around him 
 on all sides. The one hope which fills the whole horizon- 
 of his vision is the destruction of that curse. The 
 strength of that hope within him is the streak of liglit 
 denoting the coming of the day. 
 
THE WILL OF THE MAJORITY. 
 
 We are often admonished by the professional politician 
 and by the man of " common sense " of the sacredness of 
 the will of the majority, or as it is sometimes called, the 
 popular will. The expression of this so-called will of the 
 majority in legislation and social and political institutions, 
 is conceived as authoritatively representing the wishes and 
 convictions of the> greater number of persons inhabiting 
 the country or the given area ; a.nd it is assumed as an 
 axiom by the persons in question that the will of a 
 majority has an inviolable claim to respect. The latter 
 proposition, I am here concerned to show, is not true at 
 all as applied to modern society, and can in fact only be 
 true in the case of a society of equals ; further, that even 
 in this case it has one distinct principle of limitation. 
 
 What has been hitherto called tiie will of the people, or 
 the will of the majoi'ity as manifested in the modern con- 
 stitutional state, does not express any act of will at all, 
 but tlie absence of will. It is not the will but the apathy 
 of the majority that is represented. How many of the — 
 not majority, but minority — of persons that vote, con- 
 sciously will a particular line of policy ? Or even if we 
 concede that they consciously ^vill the broad political 
 issue on which the election turns, how much of the sub- 
 ordinate though perhaps as regards social life even more 
 important action, legislative and executive, of the govern- 
 ment they have placed in office do they deliberately 
 
The Will of the Majority. \i\ 
 
 approve ? " To show the utter absurdity of the whole 
 thing we have only to remember tbat in theory the whole 
 common and statute law of England is supposed to be the 
 expression of the public opinion of the existing people of 
 England. Yet if, as in the case of the Swiss referen- 
 dum, the people of England were formally polled (even 
 those possessing votes) and the whole issue respecting 
 every law placed before each, how many laws, now un- 
 disputed, would not be swept away ? It cannot be too 
 empliatically impressed upon the ordinary law-abiding 
 citizen that the greater part of law, as it at present exists, 
 does so by the ignorance of the majority, not by its con- 
 sent. It is the ex]iression, not of the suffrage but of the 
 sufferance of the people. 
 
 But this is not all. Supposing there were a referendum 
 or poll of all the people of England to-morrow, it would 
 be of little avail on any but the very simplest issue. For 
 so long as there is inequality of education and of natural 
 conditions and the majority are at a disadvantage in re- 
 spect of these things, they are necessarily incapable of 
 weighing the issue before tliem. Their very wants are 
 but vaguely present to their minds and in their judgment 
 as to the means of satisfying them they are at the mercy 
 of every passing wind. But given an equality of educa- 
 tion and economic circumstances, there is yet another 
 condition requisite before the opinion of the majority can 
 be accepted as anj'thing like the last resort of wisdom,, 
 and therefore as worthy of all acceptation. It is this, i 
 Public opinion, the verdict of the majority, even in a 
 society of equals, if it is to have any value, presupposes a 
 high sense of public duty — a standard of morality which 
 exacts that every one shall take the requisite interest in 
 
122 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 public questions for forming anindependent judgment on 
 them. The man who has not taken the trouble to train 
 himself to think out these things cannot help to form an 
 effective public opinion on any question presenting itself. 
 ^ Given the conditions mentioned, on the other hand, and 
 the judgment of the majority would unquestionably re- 
 present the highest collective wisdom up to date. But 
 until these conditions are fulfilled, the opinion of the 
 majorit}' as such can have no TiioraJ^cJaini on the alleg- 
 iance of minorities or of individuals, although it may be 
 convenient in many or in most cases to recognise it. 
 
 The only public opinion, the only will of the majority, 
 which has any sort of claim on the recognition of the 
 Socialist in the present day, is that of the majority of 
 those who have like aspirations with him, who have a 
 definite consciousness of certain aims — in other words, 
 the will of the majority of the European Socialist party. 
 Even the Socialist party, owing to the economic conditions 
 under which its members with the rest of society labour, 
 does not fulfil the conditions above stated as necessary for 
 the formation of a public opinion which should command 
 respect. But such as it is, it represents the nearest 
 approach to an authoritative tribunal which we can find 
 to-day. 
 
 As to those persons who prostrate themselves before 
 this idol, the will of the majority ("of present society) — 
 of the mere mechanical majority, or count of heads — 
 and swear they would yield anything to the authorita- 
 tive utterance of " the people " (in this sense), it would 
 be interesting to know how far in the direction of its 
 logical conclusion they would be prepared to carry their 
 principles. There are some among them, we believe, 
 
The Will oj- the Majority. li^ 
 
 who, while avowedly holding the current theology to be 
 pernicious, yet would nevertheless not oppose its being 
 taught in public schools if the " majority of the nation " 
 were in favour of it. Now it must be admitted that it 
 is exceedingly probable that if the majority of the 
 nation were actively in favour of '' religious education " 
 they would get their way. But it is also conceivable 
 that were the majority not very energetic, an energetic 
 minority might carry the day. Yet according to the 
 " majority " culttis, it would be wrong to assist in op- 
 posing the "will" of the majority. Again, we would 
 like to ask the pious majoritist whether he would com- 
 placently see the Holy Inquisition, gladiatorial combats, or 
 bull-fighting established ; or on the other hand, witness 
 the abolition of all means of travelling on Sunday, the 
 total prohibition of alcohol and tobacco, the closing of all 
 theatres, and all because an ignorant majority decreed 
 these things ? Yet unless a man is prepared to follow 
 a majority (so to say) through a quick set hedge, the 
 principle of bare majority worship falls to the ground. 
 Majorities are then tacitly admitted to be nothing per 
 se, but only to be respected in so far as their judgments 
 are themselves reasonable, or at least in so far as it is 
 convenient to respect them. 
 
 The only conditions which can ensure a judgment 
 on the part of the majority representing the highest 
 practical reason of which human nature is capable up to 
 date, as we have already indicated, are — (1) perfect 
 economic and educational equality ; (2) healthy interest 
 in all questions affecting the commonwealth. In a 
 society wherein these conditions were realised, all persons 
 would be competent — some more, some less, of course, 
 
J 24 The Ethics of Sociatism. 
 
 but all more or less — and the verdict of the majority 
 ought clearly to be binding on all, so far as active resis- 
 tance was concerned (and allowance always being made 
 for the right of verbal protest on the part of the min- 
 ority). There is one exception to this, however — thougli 
 perhaps not very likely to occur. It is the principle 
 referred to as limiting the right of all majorities — even 
 though the dissentient minority be only one. I refer to 
 actions which Mill calls self-regard ing, or tliose which in 
 no way directly concern the society or corporate body. 
 Were any majority to enforce a particular line of conduct 
 in such actions, and to forbid another, it is the right and 
 duty of every individual to resist actively such inter- 
 ference. For just as the free motion, development and 
 disintegration of the cellular tissue is essential to the life 
 of the animal body, the cause of death in cases of 
 mineral poisoning being the stoppage of this process, so 
 the healtliy freedom of the individual within its own 
 sphere is essential to the true life of the social body — as 
 much so as the subordination of the individual in 
 matters directly affecting society. Civilisation with its 
 destruction of the ancient solidarity of kinship and its 
 inauguration of the reign of the individual as such, 
 brought a new element into human life, which can never 
 again be completely suppressed, however much it may 
 be modified by the new whole into which it enters. 
 
 Were a majority, therefore, to seek to directly regu- 
 late the details of the private life of individuals in points 
 where it does not directly come in contact with public 
 life, any resistance on the part of individuals would be 
 justified. Those entrusted with the carrying out of the 
 mandates of the majority in such a case should be 
 
The Will of the Majority. 125 
 
 treated as common enemies, and if necessary destroyed. 
 Even tliough the private conduct of individuals might 
 have an indirect bearing on the commonweal, this would 
 not justify direct interference ; any temporary incon- 
 venience would be better than the infraction of the 
 principle of the inviolability of the individual from 
 coercive restraint within his own sphere. Let us suppose 
 a case. The habit becomes prevalent in a Socialist 
 community of sitting up late at night. This habit 
 renders some of those addicted to it not so capable as 
 they would otherwise be of performing their share in the 
 labour of the community. Now an other-wise sane 
 majority might here easily lose its head and enact a 
 curfew. In this it would be clearly going beyond its 
 function, inasmuch as the habit in question is primarily 
 a private and purely self-regarding matter. Let the 
 majority if so minded exact more stringent standards of 
 discipline and eflBciency in work, and enforce obedience 
 to them — such enactments should be binding on all good 
 citizens. But an enactment compelling the citizens to 
 go to bed at a particular time should clearly be resisted 
 at all costs. Of course the probabilities are that a habit 
 which really tended, although indirectly, to be detri- 
 mental to the community, would be voluntarily given up 
 in a society where a social morality prevailed. 
 
 Again, the fact of an action being distasteful to the 
 majonty may be a valid ground for its not being 
 obtruded on public notice, but is no ground for its 
 being forbidden in itself. For instance, a certain 
 order of Parisian palate devours with great gusto a 
 species of large garden snail called Escargot. To the 
 present writer, the notion of eating these snails is 
 
126 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 extremely disgusting. Now supposing an intelligent 
 but unprincipled raajoi'ity took the same view, as very 
 likely it might, there would likely enough be proposals 
 carried for prohibiting the consumption of these articles 
 of diet — on the ground that it was bestial and degrading. 
 Here, again, would be a case for resistance to the knife, 
 But take the other side to this escargot question. The 
 aforesaid molluscs are in Paris hawked about in the 
 early morning in barrows, around the sides of which 
 they crawl, the sight of them tending to produce "nausea 
 and loss of appetite " (to employ the phraseology of the 
 quack medicine advertisement) in those about to take 
 breakfast. Now it is obvious that if this result obtained 
 with the majority, the majority would have a clear 
 right to prohibit the public exposure of these com- 
 modities, even if the would-be consumer were thereby 
 indirectly debarred from obtaining them. 
 
 The same reasoning applies to sexual matters. Society 
 is directly concerned with the (1) production of offspring, 
 (2) with the care that things sexually offensive to the 
 majority shall not be obtruded on public notice, or ob- 
 scenity on "young persons." Beyond this all sexual 
 actions (of course excluding criminal violence or fraud) 
 are matters of pui'ely individual concern. When a 
 sexual act from whatever cause is not and cannot be 
 productive of offspring, the feeling of the majority has no 
 locus standi in the matter. Not only is it properly out- 
 side the sphere of coercion, but it does not concern mor- 
 ality at all. It is a question simply of individual taste. 
 The latter may be good or bad, but this is an Eesthetic and 
 not directly a moral or social question. 
 
 Once more, the drink question, in so far as the consumer 
 
The Will of the Majority. 127 
 
 fjjets what he wants, namely, pure liquor and not 
 adulterated stuff, in a great measure comes under the same 
 category, although not so completely, since the directly 
 injurious effects to society invariably resulting with certain 
 temperaments (irresponsible violence, etc.), from the 
 taking of alcohol, might justifj'' prohibitive treatment as 
 regards those cases. Even this, however, would not excuse 
 any general measure of prohibition. 
 
 The above, then, is what I have termed the principle 
 of limitation, of the coercive lights of all majorities, 
 however enlightened. When tliey overstep the.se limits, 
 whether at the bidding of whim or foolish panic or what- 
 not, the minority or the individual has the right and the 
 duty of resisting it, the efficacy of the means to this end 
 being the only test of their justifiability. On the other 
 side of this clear and distinct line, on the contrary, in a free 
 society of equals, free, that is, economically as well as polit- 
 ically, the will of the majority must be the ultimate 
 court of appeal, not because it is an ideally perfect one, 
 but because, for reasons before given, it is the best 
 available. 
 
 The practical question finally presents itself, What is 
 the duty of the convinced Socialist towards the present 
 mechanical majority — say of the English nation — a 
 majority mainly composed of human cabbage stalks, the 
 growth of the suburban villa and the slum respectively ? 
 The answer is. Make use of it wherever possible without 
 loss of princi])le, but where this is not possible disregard 
 it. The Socialist has a distinct aim in view. If he can 
 carry the initial stages towards its realisation by means 
 of the count-of-heads majority, by all means let him do 
 so. If on the other hand he sees the possibility of carry- 
 
128 The E tides of Socialism. 
 
 ing a salient portion of his programme by trampling on 
 this majority, by all means let him do this also. Such a 
 case, if improbable, is just barely possible, as for instance, 
 supposing Social Democracy triumphant in Germany 
 before other western countries were ripe for the change 
 of their own initiative. It might then be a matter of life 
 and death for Socialist Germany to forestall a military and 
 economic isolation in the face of a reactionary European 
 coalition by immediate action, especially against the 
 stronghold of modern commercialism. Should such an 
 invasion of tlie country take place, it would be the duty 
 of every Socialist to do all in his power to assist the in- 
 vaders to crush the will of the count-of-heads majority of 
 the people of England, Jjnowing that the real welfare of 
 the latter lay therein, little as they might suspect it. The 
 motto of the Socialist should be the shortest way to the 
 goal, be it through the votes of the majority or other- 
 wise. As has been often said before, and said with truth, 
 every successful revolution in history has been at least 
 initiated by an energetic minority acting in opposition to, 
 or at least irrespective of, the, inert mass constituting the 
 numerical majority in the state. And it is most probab'e 
 it will be so again. Be this as it may, the preaching of 
 the cultus of the majority in the modein State, is an 
 absurdity which can only for a moment go down with 
 the Parliamentary Radical who is wallowing in the 
 superstitions of exploded Whiggery. 
 
"THAT BLESSED WORD." 
 
 Talking with a fiiend some time ago, the observation 
 was made to me, how easy it was to evoke emotion by- 
 using traditional channels. My friend went on to relate 
 that he was addressing a public meeting a fevv da^-s 
 previously, and was trying to show that the Liberal 
 Part}' did not always express sentiments favourable to 
 the cause of labour. In the course of his i-eraarks he 
 quoted some observations from a speech of a well- 
 known Radical leader, which wei'e not of a nature to 
 stimulate the enthusiasm of a working-class audience. 
 The views enunciated were, as might have been expected, 
 being vigorously hissed, when some one rose and 
 challenged him to give the name of their author. Ko 
 sooner had he done so, than the hissing changed to equally 
 vigorous cheering. The familiar sound which had been 
 cheered so many times before was quite irresistible. The 
 emotion responded to it by a sort of "reflex action." The 
 same phenomenon may be traced through everything. 
 "Mesopotamia" is by no means tlie only "blessed word" 
 in the economy of human emotion. 
 
 Take the ease of jokes (as my friend further re- 
 marked). Look through the comic papers, go to any 
 circus or music-hall, and yOu will find the old story 
 perennially evoking the old merriment; the time-honour- 
 ed dramatis persona', the mother-in-law, the drunken 
 man trying to open the street-door with his watch-key, 
 
130 Tlie Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 tlie husband who kisses the housemaid on the sly — things 
 that have been laughed at ever since man first began to 
 make jokes. 
 
 Again, in literature and in art how many people 
 persuade themselves they admire what they think they 
 ought to admire, with the most lamb-like simplicity? 
 Quote the merest fustian, and cap it with the "blessed 
 word" Shakespeare, and see if he won't "tumble" to it! 
 Or quote Shakespeare and tell him it is an inferior modern 
 versifier, and see if he will not display emotion accord- 
 ingly! 
 
 But it is in the realm of moral and religious sentiment 
 that "blessed words" most of all assert their efiicacy. 
 Hence the success of "revival" and similar movement?. 
 Hence also the popularity with lecturers or popular 
 orators of phrases about "him who had not where to lay 
 his head," invocations of "our common Christianity," and 
 the like. (An amusing illustration of the possible 
 dangers in the use of the "blessed word" under new 
 conditions was afforded by Mr. Burt at the Trades- 
 union Congress at Pai'is in 1883. The English "labour 
 representative" wound up his speech on the claims of 
 labour with an eloquent peroration in which "our common 
 Christianity" played an important rdle. Poor Mr. Burt 
 doubtless thought this touching allusion would "melt" 
 the French proletarian conference as though it had been 
 a " Liberal" meeting of English philanthropic shop- 
 keepers. His interpreter, however, knew better, and to 
 save Mr. Burt the humiliation of having his oration 
 gi'eeted with a stoi'm of hisses, omitted the Exeter-Hall- 
 stirring climax.) 
 
 There is a tendency in all successful movements to form 
 
Thai Blessed Word!' 131 
 
 deposits of " blessed words," which stir up a kind of 
 bastard enthusiasm or tender emotion by their mere 
 sound, and apart from any intellectual meaning being 
 attached to them. As already hinted, modern Christian- 
 ity is a mere coagulation of " blessed words," as any one 
 may convince himself by listening to a sermon any 
 Sunday morning.^ In France the Great Revolution 
 has left behind it a plentiful crop of such words. How 
 many journalists and platform orators attach any par- 
 ticular meaning to the words "La Edpublique" or "La 
 Revolution"? The proof of their fatuous nature in the 
 mouths of many persons is shown by the fact that they 
 are employed, where an effect has to be produced, indiff- 
 erently by Conservative and Radical Republicans and 
 Socialists, and sometimes even by Imperialists. They all 
 know the magic in the words, the ringing applause which 
 greets them, their potency in fillincf up a vacuum in a 
 discourse or newspaper article! 
 
 Now all this explains the "pull" which the conservative 
 forces of society have over the revolutionary. The former 
 possess an enormous reserve force of these blessed words, 
 the emotion connected with which is inherited, which the 
 latter do not possess. The fact is, most men resent being 
 made to evolve their emotion out of their own thought. 
 It gives them trouble, which they are saved when they 
 can have the emotional tap instinctively turned on by a 
 
 1 For instance, the darker sides of savage ritual surviving in the 
 Christian dogma of the Atonement — the efficacy of blood, wash- 
 ing with blood, etc. — would strike the wives and daughters of the 
 suburban villa as very nasty if they fully realised what it meant — 
 as they assuredly would, but for the conventional associations con- 
 nected with it and the stereotyped phraseology in which it is couched. 
 
132 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 phrase. Every Socialist agitator knows the extreme 
 difficulty of divorcing the working-man from the "Liberal 
 party" — how after apparently enthusiastic insight into 
 the fact that the welfare of his class must be sought out- 
 side the ranks of current political parties, he will yet at 
 every election return flike the dog of holy writ) to his 
 Liberal vomit. He cannot bring himself to separate from 
 what its adherents are pleased to term the "party of 
 progress," or to risk the horrible danger of letting in a 
 "reactionary," a " Tory," who in the general way would be 
 found, in reality, neither more nor less reactionary than 
 his opponent, if the principles of both were compared. 
 But for the revolutionist there is also another side to the 
 matter. Although the average man doesn't want the 
 trouble of thinking, although, unlike the Athenians of 
 old, he doesn't want to hear some new thing, but at most 
 only the old things or phrases put in a slightly new^ 
 setting, yet none of the "blessed words " in which he 
 delights can in the end resist the solvent influence of the 
 genuine thought which is the expression of new condi- 
 tions. Disheartening as it may be to the propagandist 
 of a new truth ±o find the apparently overwhelming 
 influence of the emotional prepossessions attaching to old 
 jingles and catchwords, yet every time the new truth is 
 proclaimed by tongue or pen something crumbles off the 
 surface of the time-worn phrase. Our propagandist may 
 therefore safely adopt the attitude of the villain of 
 transpontine melodrama, and shaking his fist at the 
 crowds applauding the opposition leader, the popular 
 preacher, etc., which he sadly compares with his own 
 "good meetings" of a few people, may enunciate in the 
 deep and measured tones of real conviction, "Never 
 
" That Blessed Word!' 133 
 
 mind — a time will come!" for assuredly it will — when 
 the tables will be turned. 
 
 Let us always remember that most of these " blessed 
 words " have had a meaning once. Although the men 
 who use them now don't think, yet their fathers who 
 invented them have thought. They did not content 
 themselves with hereditary notions. That much abused 
 word Liberty, as implying " freedom of contract," had, as 
 I have before pointed out, a very real meaning when the 
 claims of a superannuated Feudalism were felt to be " the 
 enemy." Even the " blood of Jesus," sin, holiness, etc., 
 were not as now mere jingle — evocative, if of anything 
 at all, of notliing but a mawkish sentiment, empty of all 
 intelligible meaning — to the subject of imperial Rome in 
 the first century, who first used it, with the notion 
 of bloody sacrifice confronting him at every step, and 
 with the disgust at the decaying forms of ancient city-life • 
 driving every serious-minded man to seek satisfaction in 
 self-brooding. As before said, there is a tendency in all 
 great popular movements to form these crystals of 
 " blessed words " which produce emotion by reflex action. 
 The modern Socialist movement is no exception. How 
 often are not the phrases " emancipation of labour,'' 
 " social revolution," " revolutionary crisis," " Socialism 
 and Ludividualism," " Communist-Anarchism " (!) in"the 
 mouths of those for whom they are no better than 
 "blessed words"? This is inevitable to some extent, I 
 know, but for a young movement it is eminently desir- 
 able to prevent this process of crystallisation as much as 
 possible by continually driving into its phrases the fresh 
 air of intelligence. After all, it were perhaps not an 
 altogether unreasonable hope that Socialism might form 
 
134 ^■^^^ Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 an exception to the general rule of popular movements in 
 the matter of " blessed words," and rely for its strength 
 rather on the realities implied in its conceptions than on 
 the words connoting them. The extinction of class- 
 society with all that this society involves, and the rise 
 of a new social order ; the equalisation of the material 
 conditions of human happiness ; the abolition of " shams," 
 speculative as well as practical ; the installation of 
 realities in their place, — this may be difficult for all 
 to fully grasp, but I think we have a right to expect 
 that everyone who calls himself a Socialist, and still 
 more who professes to preach Socialism, should form for 
 himself some conception of what all this means. 
 
 While we are on the subject of "blessed words," it 
 may not be out of place to make a few suggestions on 
 the question of sincerity and insincerity or humbug on 
 the part of those who are or profess to be influenced by 
 them. It is a common thing for Socialists and Free- 
 thinkers to hurl the accusation of hypocrisy at Individual- 
 ists, Malthusians, Liberals, etc., and at Christians. This 
 accusation is of course indignantly repudiated, and plaus- 
 ible cases are adduced in plenty, of persons alleged to be 
 undoubtedly sincere who hold Liberalism or Conserva- 
 tism (as the case may be), Malthusianism, Profit-sharing, 
 or what-not, to be really conducive to the welfare of the 
 people, and Socialism as " impracticable " and " pernici- 
 ous " ; or, who believe the Christian theology to enshrine 
 " eternal verities.'' 
 
 Now it may be said are these people all humbugs ? 
 Their arguments are for the most part little else than 
 " blessed words " spread out thin. But, then, may not 
 they really find satisfaction in them ? The question, in 
 
That Blessed Word!' 135 
 
 s|)ite of its plain appearance, is a complex one, and not 
 susceptible of a simple Yes or No answer. I offer the 
 following as a tentative solution ; Insincerity, Humbug, 
 Hypocrisy, may be divided into four kinds or classes — ■ 
 (I) There is the conscious, deliberate, intentional pi-etence 
 to opinions known or believed to be false for direct 
 personal ends — the humbug or hypocrite of this class is, 
 of course, never anything more nor less than a rogue or 
 scoundrel ; (2) There is the adoption of views, or senti- 
 ments, which the adopter or holder would like to believe 
 were true or correct, because the holding of them redounds 
 to his interest, and which by a process of self-deception 
 he often does really come to think he believes. This is the 
 unconscious humbug of a very large class, the great histori- 
 cal tj^pe of which may probably be found in a popular liv- 
 ing statesman. Each of these types, the conscious and the 
 unconscious humbug, has its pendant. In their simple and 
 primary form it is individual interest which is the object 
 sought after ; in their secondary and derivative form it is 
 not necessarily individual interest directly, but class- 
 interest. No man to-day dare openly confess that he 
 cares only for his own class. No man dare say with 
 Foulon " let the people eat grass." As a consequence, 
 the man who is only capable of that extensicm of 
 self-interest of which class-interest consists, must hide 
 the latter like the former under the mask of interest in 
 truth, or in the commonwealth, as the case may be. It is 
 to the conscious humbug of this kind that the philan- 
 thropic moderate Liberal politician usually belongs. He 
 knows that his nostrums are simply so much dust thrown 
 in the eyes of the working classes, with a view of allaying 
 discontent and bolstering up class-society, just as in his 
 
136 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 heart he despises the dogmas pi'omulgated by the 
 missionary society at whose meeting he presides, but 
 which he thinks a desirable adjunct to the bayonet in 
 procuring fresh commercial outlets. The first concern in 
 such a man as this is very often not personal interest per 
 se, but personal interest as identified with class-interest. 
 As to those whose humbug is based on uiiconscious class- 
 interest their name is legion, embracing as they do the 
 bulli of the middle-classes. Very good people they are 
 too, some of them, in themselves, but so blinded by class- 
 prejudice, inherited or acquired, or both, that thoy 
 instinctively wince at truths which tell against the 
 interests of the dominant classes, and instinctively accept 
 fallacies which tell in favour of those classes. They can- 
 not see straight. Arguments which on an indifferent 
 matter would at once carry conviction to them, in this 
 case appear inadequate ; on tlie other hand, arguments 
 on the other side, which on an indifferent matter would 
 appear grossly inadequate, now carry conviction. Most 
 of the " undoubtedly sincere " belief in the religious world 
 may be I'educed to unconscious humbug, having its root 
 in class-interest. Tlie feeling that religion is "i-espect- 
 able," i.e., proper for the dominant classes to profess, and 
 that it is desirable that the poor should be taught to look 
 to heavenly rather than earthly joys for compensation, 
 is what lies in the background of conscience of many a 
 " gentleman " or " lady '' who tries more or less successfully 
 to persuade himself or herself that it is true, or at least 
 that there is " a sort of something " in it. 
 
 These, then, as it seems to the present writer, are the 
 four forms of humbug, insincerity, or hypocrisy, and for 
 one and all of them " blessed words " are godsends. To 
 
That Blessed Word!' fi,7 
 
 one or other of them may be reduced well-nigh all the 
 fallacies and superstitions influential in the modern world. 
 The first kind is bi'utally apparent, and easily recognis- 
 able ; the third, which corresponds to it, is also easily 
 detected. In both of them the insincerity is intentional. 
 In the second and fourth, on the other hand, when it is 
 more or less unconscious and unintentional in the subject 
 of it, there is much greater difficulty in deciding in any 
 individual case. But here also, it must be remembered, 
 that the humbug although unconscious is none the less 
 tlicie. The thought, or action, is not straight, direct and 
 clear — is not what it professes to be — but directed by a 
 definite pervading tendency, to wit, the inordinate love of 
 self or class as such. 
 
THE ODD TRICK. 
 
 We not unfrequeiitly hear a certain school of senti- 
 mentalists sneer at Socialism as holding before men a 
 merely low sensuous ideal of existence — of good living, 
 etc., etc. We are accused by such of neglecting the 
 higher ideals o£ Humanity for the affairs of the stomach 
 and of still more despised organs. The usual and ob- 
 vious retort to this sort of thing is the ad hominem one, 
 that the persons who make the charge are themselves 
 sufficiently well cared for in these lower matters to be 
 able to afford to ignore them and turn their attention to 
 things above. But though the gist of the matter is often 
 contained in the above retort, it is, as it stands, crude, 
 unformulated, and impolite, even if it were always 
 applicable, which it is not. Let us therefore for the 
 nonce treat these people seriously and develope the 
 answer to their objection in formulated fashion. For in 
 truth this objection springs not merely from deliberate 
 hypocrisy or from thoughtlessness, but has its root in 
 the ethical code in which they have been brought up. 
 This ethical code teaches them that all the highest ideals 
 of man's existence are attainable by a voluntary effort 
 on the part of the individual, irrespective of his material 
 surroundings, which are matters of small concern. The 
 body is in fact a thing rather to be ashamed of than any- 
 thino; else. 
 
The Odd Trick. I39 
 
 I would not say that all our sentimelital friends 
 carry their sentiment to this extent, but that this prin- 
 ciple — the principle of Christian Dualism as opposed to 
 Pagan Monism — underlies their moral consciousness 
 there can be no doubt. It is of course true that this 
 view is facilitated by comfortable bodily conditions. It 
 is easier to think meanly of the " body " when the 
 " body " is all right than when it is not. And this very 
 fact gives us, as we shall show directly, the key to the 
 Socialist position on the subject. There are, however, 
 not a few persons who in all sincerity hold the view 
 that in the overcoming of the body — in the minimisation 
 of all bodily satisfactions— is to be found the portal to 
 the higher life of man, and who act up to their profes- 
 sions. Now it should be observed that to all who 
 earnestly and sincerely accept the current ethical basis, 
 the body still remains an end, although they profess to 
 ignore it. It is an end to them just as much as to the 
 epicure and the libertine, although in another way. 
 
 Now the difference between this orthodox and the 
 Socialist way of viewing human life is, that the Socialist, 
 while not. pretending to ignore the body, yet wishes that 
 it should cease to be the main end of human life. At 
 present the satisfaction of personal bodily wants fills the 
 mental horizon of the immense majority of human 
 beings, the only alternative being with those would-be 
 virtuous individuals whose mental horizon is filled, to a 
 large extent at least, with the idea of the suppression of 
 these same bodily wants. That the first of these condi- 
 tions is unfavourable to the development of a higher life, 
 be it moral, intellectual, or artistic, few would dispute. 
 That the second is scarcely less so is equally obvious on 
 
I46 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 a little reflection. For in the first place the continued 
 struggle against natural wants, to live on next to noth- 
 ing, to bear the greatest privations, in itself draws off 
 vast stores of moral energy which is wasted on mere 
 suppression. But if tlie victory is gained, if the man 
 does not succumb in the process, if bis devotion to his 
 higher aim, of whatever nature it may be, is so excep- 
 tionally great as to carry him through, what has he 
 gained and what has he not lost? He is purified 
 through suffering, says the Christian. But in how many 
 cases he metaphorically leaves his skin behind in the 
 process ; in how many cases he lias lost an essential part 
 of himself, those know who have had much intercourse 
 with or who have studied the lives of the exceptional 
 men who have successfully struggled with adversity, and 
 who have observed the souredness, the onesidedness, the 
 twistedness, so to say, of character thence resulting. No 
 one can fail to admire and to honour the strength of 
 purpose which enables a man to pursue a high aim in 
 the midst of privations ; but no one who looks at the 
 matter without prejudice and in the light of broad 
 human interests, can honestly say that the man is better 
 as man for the privations through which he is come, 
 even though he has accomplished his life-work in spite 
 of them. Instances of this may be found in Chatterton, 
 Beethoven, etc. Of course we leave out of account here 
 the fact that under modem economic conditions it is not 
 a case of being contented with a little which is at least 
 there, but of a desperate and exhausting life-struggle to 
 obtain sufficient to sustain life at all. We do so, as we 
 are addressing not so much the avowed opponents of 
 Socialism as those who, while professing to sympathise 
 
TJie Odd Trick 1-41 
 
 in a manner with its aims, liave lingering prejudices in 
 favour of the ascetic or shall I say the "austere republi- 
 can " . theory of life, and who tiierefore view with 
 disfavour the stress modern Socialistn lays on the satis- 
 faction of mere material wants. 
 
 Even the sentimental moralist in question must admit 
 that at the present time the end-purpose of life is 
 for the majority of men the satisfaction of natural per- 
 sonal wants. There are not a few, it is true, who pursue 
 gain for the sake of gain, but this is generally after they 
 have satisfied their animal wants. Now the apparent 
 ideal of certain sentimental moralists I have heard talk, 
 is an insurance against absolute destitution, and the rigid 
 repression of all further desires over and above this 
 minimum. The Positivists to a great extent hold this 
 view. Such a state of things they think might be at- 
 tainable (by a kind of state-socialism we suppose) within 
 the framework of present society. The theor}^ there- 
 fore, is not distasteful to those who see that capitalism is 
 unstable and indeed impossible to last as at present con- 
 stituted, but who would willingly stave off the complete 
 overthrow of the system. The latter are anxious merely 
 to retain their monopoly of the good things of life, but 
 they find a useful ally in the introspective moralist who 
 winces at the idea of removing the causes of moral evil 
 for fear of depriving the individual of the opportunity 
 of" resisting temptation," and who wants to keep him de- 
 prived of the comforts and conveniencies of life that he 
 may show his strength of mind in being able to do with- 
 out them, shutting their eyes to the fact that they there- 
 by perpetuate moral evil. 
 
 It is the scientific Socialist, who alone seriously wishes 
 
143 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 to lead men to higher aims than merely sensual ones, 
 while caring not one jot for the empty moral gymnastics 
 which are the end of the introspective moralist. He 
 sees that his ideal, human happiness, and that in the 
 highest sense, is realisable rather in the enjoyment of all 
 than in the restraint of each, even in the matter of mere 
 material wants, and that the corrupting influence of 
 luxury hitherto has mainly resided in the fact that it 
 was not enjoyed by all. And his theory is based on 
 knowledge of the " nature of things." 
 
 To the sick man what is the highest ideal ? Health. 
 His whole horizon of aspiration is filled in with the 
 notion of health. To him, health is synonymous with 
 happiness. He recovers his health, and he finds now 
 that there is something beyond that horizon — that over 
 the mountains there are also oxen. Health now becomes 
 a matter of course, which he accepts as such and does not 
 think about ; his mental horizon is now occupied witli 
 other objects. Had he remained sick he might have been 
 resigned, but health would still have irresistibly pre- 
 sented itself to him as the ideal goal of life. So it is 
 with the completion of health, which consists in the full, 
 the adequate saJbisfaction_iif_liQdi!yJSjaa3ts. So long as 
 they remain a desideratum for the majority of mankind, 
 tlie majority of mankind will continue to regard them as 
 the one end of life — notwithstanding the precept and ex- 
 ample of the heroic ascetic who despises such low con- 
 cerns. Let the mass of men once have free access to the 
 means of satisfaction, and they will then for the first 
 time feel the need of higher objects in life. 
 
 As a matter of fact, it is a trite observation that all 
 the " higher life " of the world has been carried on by 
 
The Odd Trick. 143 
 
 those classes who have been free from the presence of 
 material wants, not by those who have been deprived of 
 til em or who have renounced them. What did the 
 really consistent Christian ascetics— the St. Anthonies of 
 the fourth century for example — accomplish beyond see- 
 ing visions, performing astounding feats of self-privation, 
 etc. ? Were they more than moral mountebanks ? Do 
 we not find, on the contrary, that the monks who really 
 led the intellectual life of the middle ages, who were 
 historians, philosophers, etc., spring from the wealthy 
 Benedictines and other orders whose discipline was 
 " lax," who kept a well-filled refectory, and whose mor- 
 ality was said to be questionable ? So long as mon- 
 asticism remained ascetic, intellectual life within tlie 
 monasteries was impossible. Bodily cravings and the 
 struggle to repress those cravings occupied men's whole 
 attention. Another and still more striking instance of 
 how the fact of every possible sensual enjoyment being 
 within reach forces the mind to seek satisfaction in some- 
 thin"', which if it is not intellectual is at least non-sensual, 
 is that of the tyrannos of the ancient city, or the wealthy 
 noble, the provincial governor, the pro-consul, or prefect 
 of the Roman Empire. No one can adequately conceive 
 now-a-days of the luxury and sensuous pleasure in which 
 such characters as these literally weltered — of the gor- 
 geous marble palaces, of the Persian coverings, of the 
 Babylonian couches, the wines, dishes, and spices from 
 every quarter of the known world, of the most well- 
 favoured concubines that could be procured for money 
 from Europe, from Asia, and from Africa — yet, strange 
 to say, the possessor and enjoyer of all these things was 
 never happy unless risking them all and his life in- 
 
144 "^^^^ Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 eluded on the barren chance (in the first instance men- 
 tioned) of conquering another city, or (in the second) of 
 intriguing for the purple, the attainment of which ex- 
 perience had taught, in nine cases out of ten, meant death 
 within a few months. It was not that the conquest of 
 the city or tlie ascent of the throne added to his luxury 
 which would have probably been impossible — this was 
 not his object, but that having already his fill of all 
 sensuous pleasures he looked for something more, and 
 this something more he found in accordance with the 
 manners of his age, in the notion oi glory, the glory of 
 founding a dynasty, or of being saluted absolute master 
 of the world. We see a similar thing nowadays in the 
 tradesman in posse.ssion of all that wealth can purchase, 
 and in absence of all intellectual resources, who also in 
 accordance with the manners of his age, finds his " some- 
 thing more " in commercial " success," which he continues 
 to pursue for its own sake. 
 
 The introspective moralists, Christian, Positivist, or 
 what not, are therefore right when they insist on the 
 satisfaction of material wants not being regarded as the 
 final end of human life. They are only wrong in not 
 seeing that until obtained they must necessarily seem 
 such to the vast majority of men. Tlie signal failure in 
 history of the doctrine of repression, whether it take 
 the form uf the "holiness" of the Christian, or the 
 more plausible " ascetic discipline " of the Positivist, after 
 a reign of two thousand years ought, one would think, to 
 give these good peoplepauseas towhetherrepressionis,after 
 all, so conducive to the higher life of man as satisfaction. 
 
 The true telos of human life, the " rational activity " of 
 Aristotle, " the beautiful, the good, the true " of the 
 
The Odd Trick. 145 
 
 young man who is taking to literary composition, may be 
 compared, not to speak it profanely, to the odd trick in 
 whist, which, though it is the object of the hand to win, 
 yet presupposes the winning of six other tricks. Now 
 the amateur of the "goody-goody" morality — the per- 
 fectionist of individual character — thinks to make the 
 odd trick without having completed his regulation half- 
 dozen. The socialist is rather concerned that the 
 human race as a whole, should each and all " make " the 
 first six tricks, called respectively, good and sufficient 
 food and drink, good housing, good clothing, fuel, un- 
 taxed locomotion, adet[uate sexual satisfaction, knowing 
 that before these are scored the "odd," which is the 
 final purpose of the " deal," will be impossible. With 
 bad and insufficient food, with small and squalid dwell- 
 ings, with scanty and shoddy clothing, with insufiicient 
 firing in cold weather, with the lack of change, and with 
 inadequate satisfaction of a sexual kind, man may exist ; 
 but he (i.e., the average man) will see nothing but these 
 things in front of him, his ideal will still be them, and 
 nothing else but them. When once he possesses them 
 they become a part of his ordinary life, and he ceases to 
 think about them. His horizon is then extended. He 
 •sees the final purpose of his life in things of which 
 before he had never dreamed. 
 
 Once more, I repeat, let us make no mistake, all as- 
 ceticism, all privation, is in itself an unmitigated evil. 
 It is doubtless true that there are occasions when it is 
 our duty, living in a period of struggle, to deprive our- 
 selves, to sacrifice ourselves, for a better society. But 
 even this deprivation, this sacrifice, is in itself an evil. 
 It only becomes a good if it is undergone with the 
 
146 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 purpose of putting an end to the sempiternal privation 
 and sacrifice which civilisation imposes on the majority 
 of our fellow-creatures. One can well appreciate the 
 sacrifice of ourselves, the men of this generation, when 
 necessary for the future, in all the respects named ; but I 
 confess that did I, like the Christians, the Positivists, 
 and t]ie sentimental Socialists, such as I understand 
 Count Tolstoi to represent, believe privation and sacri- 
 fice (even " ascetic discipline,") be it in the most grovel- 
 ling of material matters, to be the permanent lot of 
 Humanity, iixy ardour in the cause of progress would be 
 considerably damped. 
 
 One can scarcely conceive the nobler life which will 
 result from generations of satisfied (rather than re- 
 pressed) animal desires, once they are the lot not of this 
 or that class, but of all. With food, drink, and other 
 creature comforts to be had for the asking, they will 
 cease to occupy the attention of human beings to an 
 extent previously unknown in the world's history. 
 Then for the first time will the higher aspirations and 
 faculties of man have free play, the " something more," 
 the " odd " trick, which is the real goal of human life, 
 will assume a new character, and be pursued with an 
 energy rivalling that hitherto devoted to personal gain, 
 ambition or glory, since the path to these things, at least, 
 in the old sense, will have been closed for ever. 
 
DOCTOR FAUSTUS AND HIS 
 CONTEMPORARIES : 
 
 A STUDY OF SIXTEENTH CENTURY EUROPE. 
 
 There is a fascination peculiarly their own attaching to 
 the great ti'ansitional periods of history. The special 
 characteristics of the civilisation which is expiring, seem 
 in tliem to blossom out, so to speak, ijito rank luxuriance 
 unknown to their days of health and vigour; they ex- 
 hibit a change like the unnatural, morbid appearance 
 of energy which in .some diseases is the herald of death. 
 The manners, customs, and beliefs of the dying epoch 
 assert themselves in an exaggerated and altered form, 
 and, moreover, with a certain self-consciousness, which 
 seems to betoken a sense of insecurity, and a struggle 
 against approaching dissolution, j'et strange to say often 
 unconsciou.sly assimilating the while some of those very 
 tendencies which are destined to supersede them. Thus 
 in the early centuries of the Christian era we find the 
 dominant features of the civilisation of antiquity, appear- 
 ing in the most distorted and bizarre forms. The centre 
 and starting point of ancient life and culture, the " City," 
 has become reduced to a grotesque meaninglessness in 
 the great all-devouring empire-city whose citizenship is de- 
 graded to a commercial value. The religious cults of 
 Paganism receive everywhere new and fantastic accre- 
 tions and developments; weird combinations such as 
 
148 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 Gnosticism arise ; forms which were once instinct with 
 
 life and meaning become crystallized into rigid shapes in 
 
 which the original meaning is lost or forgotten. In the 
 
 same way the period with which the present paper is 
 
 concerned, which constitutes the dividing line between 
 
 the mediseval and the modern worlds, exhibits the spirit 
 
 and many of the institutions of the middle ages in an 
 
 exaggerated yet changed and distorted form. Never 
 
 before has the magnificence of the Prince, the Noble, the 
 
 Ecclesiastic, been so great \ never before has the poverty 
 
 and degradation of the Serf been so real. Of all 
 
 mediaeval pageants, none have equalled in splendour the 
 
 Field of the Cloth of Gold or the entry of Charles V. 
 
 into Antwerp ; or in barbaric indecency that of the 
 
 same monarch into Bruges, including its procession of 
 
 naked burger-maidens. Even the Anabaptists of Munstcr 
 
 inaugurated their " Kingdom of God," with all the pomp 
 
 j,nd circumstance characteristic of the age. Of all the 
 
 feudal oppressions none have approached the oppressions 
 
 of centralizing monarchs and potentates such as Henry 
 
 VIII., Francis I., or Charles I. No mediseval baron 
 
 had exceeded in lawlessness the knights of the Palatinate. 
 
 Never had the Church been more wealthy or more powerful 
 
 outwardly than in the decades immediately preceding the 
 
 Council of Trent ; never throughout the whole period of 
 
 the middle ages had men's minds generally been so 
 
 keenly occupied with Theological questions ; never before 
 
 did Astrology, Alchemy, and the " occult sciences " in 
 
 general, exert such a fascination over so many minds, or 
 
 the Black art excite such apprehension. Like all ages 
 
 of transition, the 16th century was an age of unrest, 
 
 material and intellectual; this double characteristic of 
 
Dr. Faustus and his Contemporaries. 149 
 
 the period was embodied in one of its most noteworth}'- 
 social products — the travelling scholar. The invention 
 of printing had given wide currency to ideas which in 
 an earlier century would have been confined to the 
 monastery. The ideas and aspirations here referred to 
 are immediately traceable to the new learning which 
 had arisen in the preceding age. The emigration 
 from Constantinople had opened up to the Western World 
 the literature of the last period of transition, that of the 
 fall of classical antiquity — the works of the Neo-Platon- 
 ists, of the Pseudo- Orpheus of Hermestrismegistos ; and 
 last but not least, the mysteries of the Jewish Kabbala 
 had been expounded by Reuchlin and others. Learning 
 had now ceased to be the exclusive appanage of the 
 clerical class, and was beginning to be pursued as a call- 
 ing special to itself, with the travelling scholar as its 
 more or less humble representative. The travelling 
 scholar went about from town to town, and from village 
 to village in the combined character of teacher, astrologer, 
 divinator, and medicus, offering his services in return for 
 entertainment and such honararium as the means or 
 liberality of his hosts admitted. Like the minstrel of 
 an earlier age, he was generally welcomed and treated 
 with an amount of respect wherever he went. But the 
 goal of a travelling scholar's ambition was always some 
 sort of appointment, however humble, at one of the 
 established seats of learning. The mythical embodiment 
 of this type is Doctor Faustus. 
 
 In the following pages we propose to consider briefly, 
 first, the question as to the historical existence of Faustus, 
 together with such traces of the myth as are discoverable 
 previous to its receiving literary form in the Frankfort 
 
ISO The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 Faust-Book of 1 587 ; and to attempt the portrayal in a 
 few words of two undoubtedly historical personages who 
 flourished at the same time, and who may be taken as 
 living representatives of the type to which Faust be- 
 longed. If we admit an historical Faustus at all, the 
 special interest attaches to the Faust legend of being the 
 last instance in history of the complete incrustation of a 
 real personality in myth. The mediaeval spirit had 
 always been inclined to assign unusual gifts or learning to 
 an infernal origin ; the notion of a compact with the 
 Devil, itself moreover was not by any means new. It 
 had been embodied in one form or another in sundry 
 early Christian legends, and was generally familiar to 
 popular mediaeval thought. It nevertheless fastened itself 
 with pre-eminent force on the German mind of the 
 16th century, and as a natural consequence speedily 
 assumed the shape of a mythus. The more learned 
 itinerant scholar of the IGtli century had been preceded 
 in the days before the invention of printing and the new 
 learning by the itinerant fortune-teller, who is a notice- 
 able figure in mediaeval society from the 13th 
 century onwards. It would seem that a personage of 
 this description was notoiious in the loth centuiy, who 
 called himself or was called, " Faustus " or " the fortunate 
 one." Of this individual we know nothing, and the only 
 evidence we have of his existence is the inference from 
 the statement of the abbot Johann von Trittenheim in 1507 
 respecting a certain Magister Georglus Sabellicus, then 
 living, who described himself as Faustus the younger.^ This 
 letter of Trithemius is the most important piece of con- 
 
 ^ Risterhuber would seem to regard the expression Faustus minor 
 as intended to distinguish Sabellicus Faust from the Fust or Faus^ 
 the printer. 
 
Dr. Faustus and his Contemporaries. 1 5 1 
 
 terapomiy evidence as to the existence of an historical 
 Faustus whicli we possess. The name indeed appears 
 therein for the first time. The Abbd is writing from 
 Wilrzburg under date August 20tli, 1507, to the Court 
 Astrologer of the Elector Palatine, Johann Virdung von 
 Hasfurt, the same who cast the horoscope of Melancthon. 
 " The man," says he, " of whom you speak, this George 
 Sabellicus, who impudently calls himself the Prince of 
 Necromancers, is a vagabond and impostor who only 
 merits the whip, to the end that in future he may cease 
 to profess ])rinciples so odious and so contrary to the 
 Holy Church. What indeed are the titles that he claims 
 but the mark of a foolish and vain mind in which pride 
 takes the place of Philosophy ! Behold how he styles 
 liimself : Maglster Georgius Sabellicus Faustus Minor, 
 Prince of Necromancers, Astrologer, second Magian, 
 Cheiromancist, Agromancist, Pyromancist, and second 
 HydromancLst ! Behold the mad audacity of this man 
 who dares to proclaim himself the Prince of Necro- 
 mancers, and who, ignorant of all letters should rather 
 style himself fool than master ! But his perversity is 
 known to me. On my return journey last year from 
 Brandenburg I encountered this man at the town of 
 Gelnhausen ; at the hostelry there, I heard speak of the 
 brilliant promises he had the audacity to make. But 
 when he knew of my arrival he left the hostelry and 
 never dared present himself before me. The pretences 
 of his folly which he has had transmitted to you, he has 
 also sent to me by messenger. In the town, priests re- 
 ported to me that he had vaunted in the pi'esence of a 
 great number of people of the possession of so great a 
 science and memory that if all the woi'ks of Plato and 
 
152 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 Aristotle were lost, he, like another Esdras, coulJ resusci- 
 tate them with more elegance than before. Later, when 
 I was at Spire he came to Wiirzburg, and actuated by 
 the same vanity is reported to have said before many 
 people that the miracles of Christ were not so marvellous 
 but that he could do the same things as often as he 
 pleased. During last Lent he came also to Kreuznach, 
 and as boastful as ever he promised all manner of marvels, 
 alleging that he was the first of all the Alchemists, and 
 that he could accomplish every object of men's desires. 
 Just at this time he obtained the post of professor which 
 was vacant, through the interposition of Franz von 
 Sickingen, the bailiff of your Prince and a man much 
 given to mysticism. But soon it was discovered that 
 his system of education consisted of debauches with the 
 students, and he only escaped punishment by a prompt 
 flight ; such is the reliable testimony I have to offer you 
 concerning this man whose arrival you await with so 
 much impatience. When he presents himself before you, 
 you will discover not a philosopher, but a rogue and a 
 charlatan. Adieu, remember ihe." 
 
 The evidence afforded by this letter is manifestly of 
 the first importance, but there are one or two points in 
 it worthy of note, which as far as they go must be 
 allowed to discount the value of its testimony as to the 
 character of its hero. It is evident that Trittenheim had 
 not personally come into contact with George Sabellicus. 
 All that he knew concerning him was from report, and 
 it is quite possible that the ecclesiastic himself, who 
 although he repudiated the " Black Magic " as befitted 
 his position, was nevertheless much addicted to the pur- 
 suit of Alchemy, may not have been above allowing him- 
 
Dr. Faustus and his Contemporaries. 1 5 3 
 
 self to be biased by professional jealousy. That Sabellicus 
 was a man of some learning is indicated by the reference 
 to Plato and Aristotle, also by the Academic post given 
 him by that most enthusiastic patron of letters and " last 
 flower of German chivalry " Franz von Sickingen. 
 
 Tiie next mention we find of the name Faust is in the 
 Acta Philosophica of Heidelberg University under the 
 year 1509, where Johannes Faustus is mentioned as having 
 obtained the degree of batchelor on the loth of January 
 in that j'ear. In 1513 Conrad Muth of Gotha, the 
 " humanist " and friend of Reuchlin, writes in a letter to 
 a brother ecclesiastic : " About eight days ago there came 
 to Erfurt a Chieromancist of the name of Georgius 
 Faushis Hemitheus Heidelbergensis ; he is simply a 
 braggard and a fool. . . . The unlearned, however, are 
 dumfounded by him. It is against him that the theolo- 
 gians should direct their attacks rather than seek to de- 
 stroy a philosopher like Reuchlin. I heard him prate at 
 the Hostelry, but did not chastise his presumption, for what 
 matters to me the folly of a stranger." The questions 
 arise ; is this Faust of Muth identical with the one men- 
 tioned in the Acta of Heidelberg University, and are either 
 of them the same with the George Sabellicus Faust of 
 Trithenicus ? These are questions ver}' difficult to 
 answer. The allusion to Heidelberg in the style and title 
 of the Erfurt Faust of 1513 would seem to point to his 
 identification with the student of 1509, were it not for the 
 difference of Christian names. The one is Johannes, the 
 otlier Georgius ; this discrepancy, however, it is possible, 
 might be susceptible of an explanation. Against the 
 identification of the Heidelberg Faust of 1509 with the 
 Tritthemian Sabellicus may be urged in addition to the 
 
154 '^^^^ Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 discrepancy between the Ohristian names, the much more 
 important fact that the latter had, it appears, some years 
 previously ah-eady occupied a position as teacher. Finally 
 as against the identification of the latter with the Erfurt 
 Faust of 1513 is to be alleged, notwithstanding the omis- 
 sion of any mention of the name Sabellicus and also 
 the allusion to Heidelberg of which Trithemius in his 
 very full report says nothing whatevei'. \ The opinion ex- 
 pressed by Conrad Muth of the desirability of Faustus 
 being exposed by the tlieologians, is not very consistent 
 with his own conduct in allowing him to impose on the 
 good burgers of Erfurt, unrebuked merely on the ground 
 that he was a stranger. 
 
 In the next notice of Faust, we find him described as a 
 guest of the Abb^ of Maulbronn in 1516. A list of the 
 Abb^s of Maulbronn observes respecting Entenfuss the 
 Abb^ in question, that he gave hospitality to his fellow- 
 countryman Faust. The worthy ecclesiastic as might be 
 expected was an enthusiastic Alchemist, and had built a 
 laboratory in one of the cloisters of the monastery which 
 retained till recently the local appellation of " Faust's 
 kitchen." One of the towers of the building was also- 
 called Faust's tower, from a tradition of its having con- 
 tained the apartments he occupied during his stay there. 
 This would seem to close the strictly contemporary evi- 
 dence respecting Di'. Faustus. 
 
 A legend of a later date represents Faust as at Leipzig 
 in 1525, and as having in that year performed his cele- 
 brated exploit of riding out of Auerbach's cellar on the 
 wine tun. Two frescoes dating probably from the 17th 
 century illustrative of this incident may be seen at this 
 day on the walls of the establishment in question. 
 
Dr. Fmisfus and his Contemporaries. 1 5 S 
 
 Stromer, the proprietor of the famous Gasthaus, who took 
 the name of Auerbach from his birth-place in Bavaria., 
 was an ardent follower of the new doctrines in religion 
 as well as of the new leaning. It was v/ith him that 
 Lutlier dined in 1519 when he came to Leipzig to dispute 
 with Eck. It is curious as regards this Leipzig incident 
 that its traditional date 1525 accords with that given in ' 
 some versions of the legend as the year of Faust's death ; 
 it is also a year with which other incidents in the career 
 of the legendary Faust are connected. 
 
 In a little book, bearing date 1539, entitled, "Index 
 Sanitatis. Eyn schon und vast nutzliches Bilchlein 
 genant Zeyger der Gesundhet, etc. Wormbs, 1539," by 
 one Begardi, occurs a reference to " a man of surprising 
 boldness whose name I v/ill not mention, notwithstanding 
 that he does not seek to remain hidden and unknown. 
 For but a few years ago he traversed provinces, principal- 
 ities and kingdoms, otfering his name to those who wished 
 to know it, and boasting of his talents not only in medi- 
 cine but in Chieromancy, Necromancy, Physiognomy, 
 Chrystalomancy, and other such sciences. He i'urther 
 proclaimed himself both in speech and writing as a 
 celebrated master who had acquired complete knowledge. 
 He called himself Faust and claimed the title Philosophus 
 Philosophorum. But a great number have complained 
 to me of having been deceived by him. His promises 
 were as magnificent as those of Thessallus, his renown 
 equalled that of Theophrastus, but his acts to my know- 
 ledge were found to be trickish and deceitful." 
 
 The theologian Gast professed to have supped with 
 Faust at Basle, and describes some miraculous dishes 
 provided by him. It is extremely probable, however, that 
 
156 Tlie E tides of Socialism. 
 
 his narrative is an echo of Paracelsus' residence in Basle. 
 Conrad Gesner alludes to Faust in a letter of the 16th 
 August 1561 as having not been dead so very long and 
 as having enjoyed an extraordinary renown. The legend 
 which makes Faust to have been a friend of Melancthon 
 rests on the supposed testimony of the latter's disciple 
 Meniiet or Manlius in his Collectanea. But the passage 
 has been misinterpreted as a quotation from Melancthon 
 himself, whereas Manlius is speaking in his own person. 
 According to Manlius Faust studied at the University of 
 CracoAV in Poland at that time a renowned seat of 
 occult learning. He also repeats an already current state- 
 ment that his birth-place was the little town of Kundling 
 or Knittlingen in Wlirtemberg. The passage in question 
 from Manlius, contains the original explicit narrative of 
 Faust's last day, and of his seizure and destruction at 
 midnight in a village inn, by demons. Manlius also 
 makes Faust visit Wittenberg and Nuremberg, besides 
 connecting him with the Court of Charles V. and the 
 battle of Pavia, all of v/hich points are incorporated in 
 the later Faust-book. Wier, the pupil of Cornelius 
 Agrippa, in his De pnestigiis doimonum published at Basle 
 in 1563, has two or three references to Faust, but as 
 these are obviously second or third-hand legends, they 
 have no special interest for us here. 
 
 We now come to the important question, is there any 
 autiientic evidence of Luther having referred to Faust ? 
 Widman, the author of the second independent literary 
 redaction of the Faust legend, inserts a chapter headed 
 "The opinion of- Dr. Luther on Dr. Faust," the informa- 
 tion contained in which he profe.sses to have derived 
 from a private document. The edition of Luther's 
 
Dy. Faust us and his Conteiuporaries. 1 57 
 
 Tischrcdcn published in 15G8 at Frankfort, contains 
 a report of a couversation between Luther and hia 
 friends on the subject of Faust similar to that embodied 
 in the chapter in question. He states that Faust re- 
 sided for some time at Magdeburg with the monks, who 
 held him in great esteem. On someone's alluding to 
 some recent achievements of the magician, Luthev is 
 reported to have replied to the effect that " notwith- 
 standing all his arts, Faust was bound to come to a bad 
 end, inasmuch as he was possessed of a haughty and 
 ambitious devil, who arrogated to himself the Glory of 
 God, &c., but adding that "neither he nor his master, 
 the devil, could practice magic against himself." For said 
 he, charactei'istically, " if the devil had wanted to injure 
 me he could have done it long ago ; he has often seized 
 me by the head, but has been always forced to let me 
 go ; I have experienced what sort of a comrade he is 
 since he has often brought me to a state in which I 
 knew not whether I was dead or alive. He has also 
 reduced me to despair," &c. &c. Another of the company 
 relating how that recently Faust had visited the elector 
 of Bavaria, and had organised a hunt, and caused to 
 appear all manner of animals by supernatural means, 
 Luther described how a rich noble had invited him in 
 company with several savants of Wittenberg to his 
 castle to participate in the chase ; and how at a given 
 signal a fine fox made its appearance running almost 
 between the legs of the huntsmen, but that as the 
 leader started to pursue it his horse dropped dead from 
 under him, while the fox mounted in the air and 
 vanished. Another present related, how Faust changed 
 a bag of game some huntsmen had brought home, during 
 
IS8 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 the night into horses' heads, Luther replying, " doubtless 
 he never organises a chase but for the purpose of playing 
 some trick on those engaged in it ; for," he added, " the 
 devil rails at all the exercises of men, for the devil is a 
 spirit of presumption." Commenting on the story of a 
 quarrel between Faust and his host at an Inn at Gotha, 
 in which Faust caused such a disturbance in the cellars, 
 that no one dared venture down, Luthfer observed 
 " that is the system of the devil, when he enters it is 
 difficult to dislodge him." Luther also related how the 
 Italian magician, Luk Gauric, Bishop of Civitate, had 
 told him that once his own familiar spirit appeared to 
 him and tried to force him to leave Italy for Germany, 
 alleging that Dr. Faust possessed a more powerful spirit 
 than himself, who could teach him many things; to 
 which the Bishop diplomatically replied that it was not 
 seemly for one devil to run after another. Of the 
 genuineness of this alleged conversation of Luther, it 
 is impossible to speak with certainty. 
 
 We have now given all the evidence of any import- 
 ance bearing upon the legend in its course of formation, 
 and while it was mainly an oral tradition. The basis of 
 the literary Faust-sage is the Faust-book of 1587 first 
 sold at the Frankfort fair of tliat year, and the title of 
 which runs : " History of Doctor foliann Faust, the 
 renowned magician, and adept in the Black Arts ; how 
 he pledged himself to the devil at an appointed time, 
 what strange adventures lie passed -through meanwhile, 
 ordered and carried out by himself, till in the end he 
 received his well-deserved reward ; for the most part 
 derived from his own zvritings that he left behind ; atid 
 printed, as an awful example, frightful illustration, and 
 
Dr. Fatistus and his Contemporaries. i S9 
 
 earnest warning to all vain, curious, and Godless men!' 
 The work is dedicated by the writer and printer, 
 Johann Spies, to his " most gracious dear lords and 
 friends, Caspar, RoUn, secretary to the Kurflirst of 
 Mainz, and Hieronymus HefF, rent-master in the County 
 of Konigstein." In this little book all the widely dis- 
 persed legends, oral and written, respecting Dr. Faustus, 
 were brought together into literary shape. Its success 
 was unbounded, and imitations sprang up in all direc- 
 tions. A year or two later appeared an English version, 
 the History of the davmable Life and deserved Death of 
 Dr. John Faustus. A continuation appeared in 1594, 
 entitled, The second report of Dr. John Faustics contain- 
 ing his appearances and the deeds of Wagner, etc. Be- 
 fore the end of the century, histories of Faust were 
 circulating throughout well-nigh every country of 
 Western Europe. The only one of these embodying any 
 new material, is that of Widman published at Hamburg 
 in 1599, of which mention has already been made. 
 Widman claims to have based his work mainly on 
 original sources. In addition to the prose vei'sions, 
 numerous ballads appeared, dealing with the history of 
 Dr. Faustus. The subject became immediately a fav- 
 ourite one for dramatists, and every strolling company 
 of players was expected to have some play dealing with 
 the career of the great magician in its repertory. The 
 English Elizabethan poet, Christopher Marlowe, seems 
 to have founded his famous drama on the oiiginal 
 Frankfort book, the story of which at least was in all 
 probability brought over to this country in the year of 
 its publication by an English company of players who 
 had been in the service of the Duke of Saxony, Hence- 
 
i6o The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 forward tbe Faust mytlius was established in the world's 
 literature and art, and only awaited the final form it was 
 to assume at the end of the 18th century from the 
 hand of the immortal master, who in making it the 
 vehicle of his greatest conceptions, raised it to an un- 
 dying place in the higher thought of mankind. 
 
 It will be sufficiently clear from the above summary 
 ot evidence that there are many links wanting to the 
 establishment of any definite historical personality. We 
 cannot feel quite certain that in the Faustus referred to 
 by Trithemius, by the Heidelberg university arcl.ives, 
 by Conrad Muth, by the traditions of the Maulbronn 
 Monastery, by Begardi, by Manlius, &c., respectively, we 
 have before us one person or more than one. The most 
 probable conclusion we can come toj would seem to be 
 that we have to do with a type, rather than a single 
 individual ; that, to use an often quoted expression 
 originally employed in an analogous case, early 16th 
 century Europe presented " a glut " of Fausts, of which 
 the historical Faustus happened to be the bearer of the 
 traditions. One of the established laws of myth -forma- 
 tion probably obtained here, that namely whereby a 
 single individual, either by accident or some slight 
 temporary prominence, becomes the centre round which 
 the characteristics and the traditions, in reality covering 
 a whole class, cluster. Every story of Necromancy or of 
 marvellous adventure, originating in great part in current 
 beliefs, but in the first instance related of various 
 persons henceforth attach themselves to Dr. Faustus. 
 Faust passes out of the domain of history, into that of 
 myth. As illustrating this point we propose now 
 to consider the careers of two well defined historical 
 
Dt. Faustus and his Contemporaries. i6i 
 
 personages, who also liveJ during tbe first half of the 16tli 
 century, and the anecdotes told oi" whom bear a striking 
 resemblance to those connected with the Faust-legend. 
 
 The most prominent name among the Necromantic 
 scholars of the age, in which Faustus is said to have 
 lived, is that of Theophrastus Paracelsus. The real name 
 of this personage was Phillippus Aureolus Theophras- 
 tus Bombast von Hohenheim, or, as some accounts 
 allege, Hbhener, the appellation Paracelsus (above Celsus) 
 being assumed. The birthplace of Paracelsus is said 
 to have been Einsiedeln in Switzerland where his father 
 (who was probably of a Swabian family) driven from his 
 native land by poverty, settled down a short time before 
 his birth in 1493.^ Probably induced by his character- 
 istic love of effect, Paracelsus not content with the 
 names he already possessed, apjiended thereto the name 
 of his birthplace in a Latinized form — -Eremita. The 
 first ten years of his life were spent at Einsiedeln, after 
 which his iather repaired to Villach where he died in 
 1534; he himself imparted to his son his earlier educa- 
 tion, and almo.st as a matter of course his training was in 
 the direction of his father's faculties, that of medicine. 
 Young Theophrastus, it seem*:, early showed the pen- 
 chantfor the occult scienceswhich were characteristic of his 
 age, and as he grew up, states that he received initiation 
 therein from sundry ecclesiastics. " From childhood," 
 he says, " I have pursued this matter and have learned of 
 
 ^ The name of his father appears to have been Wilhehn. 
 Bombast von Hohenheim. The family was an old one and had its 
 seat in the plateau land to the south of Stuttgart. One of its 
 members accompanied Count Eberhard of Wurteniborg to Palestine, 
 another member we find noticed as Forest-ranger of Kurnbacli 
 about the middle of the 15th century. 
 
 L 
 
1 62 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 good instructors, the most deeply read in the adepta 
 philosophia, and wonderfully cunning in these arts. 
 Firstly, Wilhelmus von Hohenheim iny father, who has 
 never forsaken me, and besides him wc-11-nigh too great 
 a number to name ; men who have busied themselves 
 with all manner of writings, old and new, such as are of 
 much authority ; among others Bishop Scheyt von 
 Settgach, Bishop Ei-hartt and his ancestors of Lavantall, 
 Bishop Nicholas von Yppon, Bishop Matthaus Schacht, 
 Suffrigan of Fressingen, and many abbots, as the Abbot 
 of Spannheim, &c." This enumeration must presumably 
 not be taken to refer exclusively to th(jse with whom he 
 had had personal intercourse ; indeed it is possible that 
 he only personally came into contact with the last men- 
 tioned, namely, Johann von Trittenheim (Trithemius). 
 Whether as some assert he worked in the alchemistic 
 , laboratory of the abbot either at Spannheim or at 
 Wurzburg, whither the latter removed in 1506, is un- 
 certain. Paracelsus subsequently turned his attention 
 more exclusively to niedieine, visiting various schools in 
 Germany, Italy and Fi-ance, but the result of his studies 
 was the conclusion that medicine was '" an uncertain art 
 not properly to be employed." Thenceforward his dom- 
 inating thought was the reconstruction of the science of 
 medicine on an alchemistic and theosophical basis, and 
 its rescue from the domination of Aristotle, Galen and 
 Avicenna. About this time he commenceil a series of 
 almost incredible wanderings, in the course of which, as 
 alleged, he visited Spain, Portugal, England, Prussia, 
 Poland, Hungary, Wallachia and Russia. At Moscow he 
 was captured by the Tartars and brought to Constanti- 
 nople by the son of the Khan. All this, if true, must have 
 
t)7'. Pausttis and his Contemporaries. 163 
 
 taken place before his twenty-fifth year, for about this 
 time we find him again in Germany. He has little to relate 
 respecting his journeys, save that he underwent many 
 hardships and was employed in a medical capacity in 
 sundry campaigns. Mining operations seem always to 
 have attracted his attention ; he occupied himself for a 
 long time in the mines of Sigismond Fugger, at Schwatz, 
 in the Tyrol, with researches having for their end the 
 discovery of the great alchemistic secrets, the transmuta- 
 tion of metals, the philosopher's stone, the elixir of life. 
 On his return from Eastern Europe to Germany he once 
 more entered upon the life of travelling scliolar. The 
 foundation of his fame in medicine is traceable, it would 
 appear, to a cure he affected on a bookseller of Basle, by 
 name Johann Probanius, who was suffering from a disease 
 of the ankle w^hich the Basle faculty had declared would 
 render amputation necessary ; under the treatment of 
 Pai'acelsus the worthy bookseller was enabled in a few 
 weeks to carry his wares to the annual fair at Frankfort, 
 the same fair at which some sixty years later one of his 
 successors in the trade offered for sale the original 
 Faust-book which in its narrative of the life of arch- 
 necromancer not improbably embodied many elements 
 from that of Paracelsus. Soon after this success, in 1.526, 
 Paracelsus acquired the post of town physician at Basle 
 and medical professor at the University. His first act on 
 entering the clmir was to consign to the flames the works 
 of Avicenna whose treatise on medicine was then the 
 standard authority. This demonstration was intended 
 to point the moral of the Latin programme of his course 
 for the session of 1527. In this document he proclaimed 
 his intention to cast aside in its entirety all tradition aud 
 
164 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 all the textbooks of liis predecessors, and alone to deliver 
 the results of his own researches. Largo numbers of 
 students flocked from all sides to hear the renowned 
 medicus who had pronounced himself supreme, and 
 assured the world that his shoe latchets possessed more 
 medical learning than Galen and Avicenna together. 
 
 "We may presume that after such an opening the fur- 
 ther development of the course must have been awaited 
 with breathless expectation by the assembled aspirant.s 
 to the jEsculapian art. But the pompous and in some 
 cases unintelligible jargon of which the lectures con- 
 sisted — the character of which has been immortalised ever 
 since in the word bombastic — before long had served 
 effectually to thin his audience. As was naturally to be 
 expected with a man who despised all book learning and 
 who held so high an opinion of his own qualifications, 
 his relations with his academic colleagues had in a little 
 while become to the last degree strained. The unpopu- 
 larity and disgust which he inspired was increased by 
 his intemperate habits. It is alleged that he rarely 
 ascended the professorial chair sober. We cannot there- 
 fore wonder that ho had not occupied the post a year, 
 before it had become practically untenable by him. His 
 precipitate flight from Basle was immediately traceable 
 to his resentment at a legal decision which was palpably 
 animated by spite against himself or servility to his ad- 
 versary or perhaps both. A wealthy canon, Cornelius von 
 Lichtenfels, who was suffering from an attack of in- 
 digestion, offered Paracelsus a hundred gulden if he would 
 cure him ; the cure was readily effected by a small dose 
 of laudanum which seems to have been the main con- 
 stituent in a secret and wonderworking preparation 
 
Dr. FanstJis and Ins Contemporaries. 165 
 
 which Paracelsus employed. The canon finding him- 
 self recovered refused Theophrastus' stipulated" fee ; the 
 dispute coming before the court, the case was decided 
 against Paracelsus in favour of tlie customary honorarium. 
 Upon this Paracelsus broke out into such violent invectives 
 against the judges that lie was advised by Iiis friends to 
 fly from the prosecution with which he was threatened. 
 He settled down at Colmar in Elsass where he remained 
 about two years before recommencing his wandering 
 career. He began now to think about having his manu- 
 scripts printed. The first book of his Grossen Wundarznei 
 was probably printed at Ulm, but the work was com- 
 pleted at Augsburg. Henceforward the places of his 
 temporary sojourn are only to be gathered from the pre- 
 faces and dedications of the various works. From these 
 we infer that he was at Nuremberg in 1 529, and that 
 within the next ten years he visited successively Zurich, 
 St. Gallen, Pfafers, ]\lonchroth, Augsburg, Kromau, &c. 
 In the year 1540, he was summoned by the archbishop 
 to Salzburg where he died on the 24th September, 1541. 
 Paracelsus was eminently a type of the travelling 
 scholar of the period, at least in his mode of life ; whether 
 his appearance and manners may be taken as equally re- 
 presentative, may be doubtful, notwithstanding that it is 
 highly probable that even the average itinerant man of 
 learning did not possess the dignity and polish of his 
 more fortunate brother tlie ecclesiastic or the academic 
 dignatory. According to all accounts Paracelsus was ex- 
 ceptionally coarse in his appearance and habit. He is 
 described as more like a labourer than a scholar; his ad- 
 diction to drink is admitted on all hands. During two 
 years it is said he never undressed himself, but late at 
 
1 66 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 night after hard drinking, he would throw himself upon 
 a couch, .his great sword by his side ; after an hour or 
 two, he would rise up suddenly, whirling the sword in 
 the air, or plunging it violently into the wall or ceiling 
 of the apaitment. His terrified famulus ^ appearing, 
 Paracelsus, his hand on the hilt of his sword, would stand 
 and dictate by the hour together. Opoiinus, the famulus 
 from whose narrative the account is taken, relates that 
 he stood in hourly dread of his master even when absent, 
 believing him to be in a sense omniscient. Another 
 famulus he was in the habit of frightening in his mid- 
 night ravings with the threat of invoking a million 
 devils, upon whicli the miseiable creature would fall upon 
 his knees and beg him not to do so. The latter subse- 
 quently in all seriousness would attribute his own escape 
 from demonic destruction to the earnestness of his en- 
 treaties. Fire, we learn, was always burning in his 
 laboratory where something was always distilling or 
 preparing. The staff of Paracelsus was universally be- 
 lieved to possess a demon enclosed in its handle. The name 
 of Paracelsus descended to generations long subsequent 
 as representing the incarnation of Alchemy and Occult 
 medicine. He left a crowd of followers, who saw in him 
 tlieprophet of the mystiral-theurgic or quasi-scientific ten- 
 dencies which were so popular just before the dawn of 
 physical science proper. 
 
 As Sigwart (Kleine Schriften, vol. I. p. 41) remarks, 
 Paracelsus in spite of his repudiation of tradition and 
 
 ^ The famulus, it is perhaps hardly necessary to explain, was a 
 pdor student who performed menial ofHces for a professor or man 
 of learning in return for board and instruction. He was a recog- 
 nised institution of mediaeval Gerjiian university life, 
 
Dr. Faustus and his Contemporaries. 167 
 
 authority, was quite as much dependent on authority and 
 tradition, as his orthodox opponents of the schools, tliough 
 the tradition was not altogether the same. Paracelsus 
 founded on a tradition " which had flown steadily on in a 
 kind of under-current throughout the middle ages, and 
 in the loth century had, through the zeal of the humanists, 
 suddenly come to the fore." This newer tradition was 
 supplied by the revived Neo-Platonic philosophy, with 
 the astrology and magic which were associated with it, 
 especially in its later phases, and parhaps still more from 
 the cognate doctrines of the Cabala recently opened up 
 by the researches of Reuchlin. The Neo-Platonic notion 
 of a tripartite division of the world, Paracelsus possibly 
 derived more immediately fiom the Medicean Florentine, 
 Marsilius Ficinus, the Nestor of the Humanist movement. 
 The three worlds, the intelligible, the celestial, and the 
 terrestrial, stand in continuous and mysterious communi- 
 cation with one another. The Heaven with its stars, has 
 its counterpart in the Earth, with its metals, plants, and 
 animals of which the heavenly or astral world is the 
 prototype ; that which in the heavens appears as star, or 
 planet, exists as mineral vegetable or animal in the 
 Earth ; he who understands the signatures of things, that 
 is, the signs denoting their connection, understands their 
 true signification and their secret power. All three worlds 
 are bound together by a reciprocal s^'mpathy : on tiiis the 
 possibility of magic rests. Man is a microcosmos, that 
 is, he contains within himself all the elements of the 
 tripartite macrocosmos, his body is compounded of the 
 terrestrial elements, his astral soul is the repository of 
 planetary influences, his rational soul is a part of the 
 Divine or intelligible world principle. As the astral soul 
 
1 68 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 regulates the body, so the rational soul dominates the 
 whole man. Q'he carrying out of tliese positions is, to 
 the last degree, fantastic. Every element has its archoeus 
 or spiritual principle. Human nature, as the unity and 
 piimacle of the universe, comprises within itself the 
 characteristics of the animal world, of the world of 
 elementarj' spirits, and of the angelic world. To the 
 world of elementary spirits, belong the undines, or beings 
 composed of the spiritual principle of water, the gnomes, 
 koboldSjOr earth spirits, beings whose dwelling place is the 
 interior of the Earth : sylphs or lemures, the spirits of 
 air, and salamanders or the creatures native to the 
 eltm3nt of fire. These entities being possessed only of 
 an inferior or elementary soul, can only be rendered 
 immortal by their marriage with human kind. According 
 to the doctrine of Galen the four elements have their 
 counterpait in the four cardinal humours of the human 
 body, the relative preponderance of these gives the dis- 
 tinctions of temperament and constitution, as well as the 
 basis for the diagnosis of disease. Against this Paracelsus 
 vehemently rails, opposing thereto his own doctrine of 
 mercury, sulphury, and salt as the three principles, which 
 he terms the counterpart of the trinity ; ibr with Para- 
 celsus the lecognised four elements did not constitute a 
 hierarchy in themselves, but only one division, the ter- 
 restrial, in the triune hierarchy of the kosmos. In wood 
 the element which passes off in smoke is mercury, the 
 fire is sulphur, while the ash is salt. We refrain from 
 entering with further detail into these quaint conceits. 
 But that a man like Paracelsus should have been regarded 
 as something like a prophet by large numbers, is signifi- 
 cant of the intellectual atmosphere of the 16th century. 
 
Dr. Faustus and Ids Contemporaries. 169 
 
 and indicates a soil ripe for development of such a myth 
 as that of Faustus. We now pass on to the consideration 
 of \'et another figure contemporary with the rise of the 
 Faust legend. 
 
 Heiurich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheira was born 
 of a noble family at Cologne in the year 1487. He re- 
 ceived his early education in the university of his native 
 town, where he entered in the faculties of Law and 
 Medicine. Like a ttue son of liis age, he also soon became 
 attracted to the occult sciences. When about twenty years 
 of age he went to Paris, full of romantic dreams as to the 
 unknown possibilities hidden in the nature of things. 
 In Paris, in conjunction with some other young men of 
 divers nationalities, but all inspired by the same hopes, 
 he instituted a secret society, having for its object the 
 studyand exploitation of the magical sciences for the 
 ends of personal ambition. That they succeeded in 
 obtaining credence for their pretensions is evinced by 
 the fact that Agrippa received a commission from a 
 noble of Catalonia to deliver one of his castles which was 
 besieged by insurrectionary peasants. Agrippa, by dint 
 of cunning and address, but at great personal risk, suc- 
 ceeded in inducing the insurgents to disperse. Escaped 
 without loss of credit from his dangerous adventure, 
 Agrippa seems for the time being to have had enough 
 of the tliaumaturgic profession, and accordingly we find 
 him, in 1509, endeavouring to obtain an academic posi- 
 tion in the Theological Faculty. The 'm3rstical doctrines 
 he professed in this department were founded on Reuch- 
 lin, Mirandola, and the cabalistic writers of tiie period. 
 His lectures, which were well attended, did not succeed 
 in their purpose, for the Franciscan provincial, Catilinet, 
 
170 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 denounced Agrippa before the Duchess of Burgundy who 
 was then holding court in Ghent as a dangerous heretic ; 
 and not even an essay on the superiority of the female to 
 the male sex, with which Agrippa sought to curry favour 
 with the lady in question, sufficed to efface the ecclesias- 
 tical stigma cast upon him as a follower of Reuchlin. 
 Agrippa now came to London, wliere he pursued more 
 theological studies, but in a short time returned to 
 Cologne, delivering lectures against the worship of relics, 
 pictures, as well as against processions, the observance of 
 feast days, and other Catholic practices. He next under- 
 took a journey for the purpose of visiting the renowned 
 Abbot Trittenheim of St. Jacob's cloister at Wurzburg. 
 This personage, as will have been already evident, was 
 the centre of attraction for all students of occult lore in 
 those days. 
 
 Encouraged by the Abbot, Agrippa wrote his first great 
 treatise, " De Occulta Philosophia," which claimed to 
 place magic on a philosophical basis. The whole is 
 founded on the principles of Neo-Platonism, and on the 
 characteristic division of the universe, into a spiritual, 
 astral, and elementary world. The system is in all essen- 
 tials similar to that of Paracelsus, but is rather more 
 coherent, and worked out with greater literary skill. It 
 treats of mysterious affinities, astrological, alchemical, 
 and mystical, the influence of angels, spirits, and demons, 
 etc., etc., in the approved fashion of the time, and of the 
 means, the magical formulse, and signs, etc., by which they 
 may be subjected to man's influence. This work was no 
 sooner finished, than we find Agrippa transformed into an 
 officer in the Imperial army. In this capacity he seems 
 to have attained distinction, being created a knight on 
 
Dr. Faustus and his Contempoi-nries. 17 r 
 
 the battle field. But he soon came back to his old pur- 
 suits, accompanying the Cardinal da Santa Crochet as 
 theologian to the council of Pisa. After returning for a 
 short time to his military career he once more started as 
 teacher, delivering orations on Hermes Trismegistos, in 
 the uniform of the Imperial officer. The success of these 
 lectures was such as to obtain for him the double 
 Doctoi-ate in law and medicine, and what was of still 
 more importance to him, the hand of a noble maiden. 
 But troubles soon followed. Francis I. retreated across 
 the Alps ; the house of Agrippa was plundered in the 
 popular tumult, and it was only through the fidelity of 
 one of his pupils, that his manuscripts were saved. Re- 
 duced to great straits after a temporary sojourn with the 
 Marquis of Montferrat, he was invited simultaneously to 
 become syndic and orator to the town of Metz and to a 
 post with the Papal legate at Avignon. He decided upon 
 Metz whither he repaired with his wife and child in 1519. 
 A sceptical tendency as regards all human knowledge now 
 came over the man whose reputation for magical practice 
 and occult science liad opened for him the gates of 
 palaces. He became involved in disputes with the eccles- 
 iastical authorities. In one of these he succeeded in 
 rescuing a peasant girl, accused of witchcraft, from the 
 Inquisition. She had been tried before the Inquisitor of 
 Metz and bid fair to be condemned to the stake. It has 
 been remarked as one of the singular contradictions in 
 Agrippa's life, that the man who would spend so much 
 time in the study and promulgation of doctrines springing 
 from the same stem as the belief in witchcraft, should 
 nevertheless have risked his livelihood to combat its re- 
 sults in the particular case in question. Soon after this. 
 
1/2 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 becoming disgusted with his position, he returned once 
 more to Cologne, where he encountered Ulrich von 
 Hiltten ; but Hutten's plans for the separation o£ Ger- 
 many from the Roman Church, displeased him. His 
 wife dying about this time, he again set out on his 
 wandering-i ; in the following year we find him at Geneva, 
 a native of which place he married. Soon after this he 
 obtained the post of town Physician at Freiburg, but he 
 did not long remain here. In 1.524 he received the 
 appointment of Physician and Astrologer to the French 
 Court. He accordingly repared to Lyons, when political 
 events consequent on the battle of Pa via proving unfavour- 
 able to him, he began to negotiate with the Constable de 
 Bourbon, the enemy of Francis, but the unsuccessful 
 campaign at Rome in 1527 threw him again on the 
 French Court. About this time he composed his cele- 
 brated work, Declamatio de, incertituAine et vanitate 
 omnium, scienf id ruiin of (irthmn, in which the sceptical 
 tendency, already alluded to, receives its fullest expres- 
 sion in a somewhat dreary declamation against all de- 
 partments of learning, and indeed all human interests 
 wliatever. A call to Antwerp freed Agrippa from the 
 serious financial and other difficulties which surrounded 
 him. An Augustine monk, much addicted to magic, 
 offered him an asylum there. Although owing to delays 
 on the journey, it was several months before he reached 
 his destination, once arrived, it was not long before he 
 obtained through the Duchess Margareta of the Nether- 
 lands the post of Imperial councillor, historiographer, 
 and keeiDev of tlie archives. In this capacity he has left 
 an account of the entry of Charles V. into Antwerp. HijS 
 wife at this tijne died of the plague, then prevalent, and s\, 
 
Dr. Faustus and his Contemporaries. X'j'i, 
 
 t'lird marriage wjich he contracted shortly after, result- 
 ing in a separation, liis house was broken up, and Ins 
 children placed in the hands of strangers. The publica- 
 tion of his work on the vanity of sciences, drew upon 
 him a storm of indignation from all sides. The orthodo.x; 
 men of learning, no less than the humanists, had no words 
 severe enough for a writer who would involve all learnin<^ 
 in a common condemnation as the ofF-spring of the evil 
 one, and as fruitful in nothing but sophistry and illusion. 
 Agrippa, apparently, did not realise the fact that it was 
 impossible for him to remain a courtier after the whole- 
 sale attacks contained in this work on the powers that 
 were, temporal and spiritual, though Erasmus had warned 
 him of the rashness of his proceeding, and had written 
 urgently begging Agrippa not to involve him (Erasmus) 
 in the conflicts with authority which were certain to 
 ensue. The forecast of Erasmus was soon verified. 
 Charles V. withdrew Agrippa's pension, and drove him 
 from the Netherlands, but not until after he had been 
 immured for some time in the debtor's prison at Brussels. 
 In this extremity, however, the free-thinking Archbishoii 
 of Cologne, Herman von Wied, invited him to reside in 
 his castle near Bonn. Under the shelter of this powerful 
 protection, he entered upon a sharp controversy with his 
 opponents. At this time, too, under the patronage of the 
 Archbishop, to whom it was dedicated, the manuscript 
 treatise of Agrippa before-mentioned, " Be, Occulla Philo- 
 sopliia" was for the fir.st time printed. The inconsistencj' 
 of Agrippa's proceeding, in publishing this book after his 
 denunciation of magic in the " De Vanitate," will be 
 especially apparent when we consider a passage from the 
 latter work which expressly repudiates the earlier treatise. 
 
1^4 '^l>-^ Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 " I, being also a young man," says Agrippa (I quote from 
 the EngUsli translation of 15G9), " wrote of magical mat- 
 ters three books in a sufficient lai-ge volume, in which 
 books, whatsoever was then done amiss through curious 
 youth, now being more advised, I will thatit be recanted 
 with tliis rc-tractation, for I have in times past consumed 
 very much time and substance in these vanities. At 
 length 1 got this profit thereby, that 1 know by what 
 means I should discourage and dissuade others from this 
 destruction." 
 
 It is amusing tiiat after having written thus, Agrippa 
 consented to the publication of the work in question, for, 
 it must be remembered, he never doubts of the reality of 
 magic ; the " vanity " that he finds in its pretensions 
 consisting in the fact, that these lure men on to their 
 souls' destruction, instead of fulfilling the promises held 
 out to them. Whether on this particular matter, the 
 Archbishop Herman succeeded in modifying the opinions 
 of Agrippa as expressed in his more recent treatise, or 
 whether a desire of doing honour to his patron, out- 
 weighed his concern for the spiritual welfare of his con- 
 temporaries, we are unable to say. Agrippa for soaie 
 unknown reason left Bonn in lo3o. He was desirous of 
 visiting Lyons and presumably of again paying his 
 attentions to the French king, but he had no sooner 
 crossed the frontier, than he was arrested by order of 
 Francis, on the ground of some disrespectful letters con- 
 cerning the Queen mother he had had printed. His 
 iiiends before long procured his release, whereupon he 
 repaired to Grenoble on the invitation of a friend of 
 position in the town, in whose house he died, in 1536, 
 after a short illness, in the 49th year of his age. 
 
Dr. Faustus and his Contempomriei. 1 7 5 
 
 Legend soon began to fasten itself on to the memory 
 of Cornelius Agrippa. He too was reported as having 
 sold himself to the devil, and as having become possessed 
 of miraculous powers. By means of his incantations it 
 was said, that during the war in Italy events occurring 
 in Milan were simultaneously known in Paris. The 
 story which connects Faust with the battle of Pavia, is, we 
 think, clearly traceable to a legend which relates that 
 the arts of Agrippa contributed to the success of the 
 Imperialists in the engagement. Other stories connect- 
 ing Faust with the court of Charles V. also in all pro- 
 bability have their origin in Agrippa's relations with 
 that monarch. It was said that Agrippa discoursed 
 daily between nine and ten o'clock at Freiburg and 
 between ten and eleven near Mentz. This and other 
 marvellous deeds recorded of him, he is reported to have 
 effected through the agency of a small black dog which 
 remained always close beside him, lying on his writing 
 table and sleeping in his bed, and which was be- 
 lieved to be an incarnate demon that Agrippa had bound 
 to his service by means of a collar whereon was engraved 
 mysterious formalee and signs. Here again, there can be 
 little doubt that we have the origin of the demon-poodle's J 
 part in the Faust-legend. After the death of its master 
 the animal was said to have sprang into the river and 
 never to have been seen again. The character and career 
 of Cornelius Agrippa, so wayward, so contradictory, and 
 so romantic, is an interesting study in itself, but with it 
 we are not here concerned. We have taken Agrippa as 
 we have taken Paracelsus, as the embodiment of a tend- 
 ency which reached the height of its development in 
 the earlier part of the IGth century. At periods like the 
 
176 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 one wi3 speak of, at what we may term the " great divides " 
 of history, the most opposite tendencies co-exiht oi' are 
 separated from each other only by an interval of a few 
 years. In the previous century, the science and philoso- 
 phy of the middle ages proper, had been undermined by the 
 new learning. The pseudo-science based on the ancient 
 literatures newly opened up, which had come into vogue, 
 though apparently opposed to the science which preceded 
 it, was really opposed not so much to this as to the science 
 of modern times which succeeded it. The period of its 
 zenith was also the period when its decline was already 
 written on it. The same century, the first half of which 
 produced a Paracelsus, an Agi-ippa, a Tritliemius, as men 
 representative of its conceptions of nature, produced in 
 its second half a Bacon, a Galilei, a Kepler. Nay, wliile 
 Paracelsus and Agrippa were still alive, and at that 
 seat of occult learning, Cracow,^ at the very t'me too 
 wlien Doctor Faustus was alleged to have been studying 
 there, a Copernicus was pursuing the unpretentious re- 
 searches which were destined to revolutionise in a modern 
 sense at least one department of science. There is no 
 century in which the antithesis of old and new is so 
 sharply manifested as in the ICth. 
 
 With the 16th century and its Faust-legend, the 
 mythos proper finally disappears, as one of the factors of 
 the evolution of liuman culture. There have been of 
 course i)lenty of legendary anecdotes, which have arisen 
 and been current concerning various personage^, since 
 then ; but there has been no great legendary cyclos, 
 whose influence has made itself felt throughout the most 
 advanced nations, which has embodied any special con- 
 ception, or which has taken complete possession of any 
 
Dr. Faitsttis and his Contemporaries. I "jj 
 
 personality, since the Humanism and awakening aspira- 
 tions toward an understanding of nature were seized 
 upon by the theological ideas oi' the time (" reformed " 
 even more than Catholic) from their own point of view 
 and embodied in the legend of the " Lite and Death of the 
 Arch Conjuror and Necromancer, Dr. Faustus." Speaking 
 broadly, we may characterise the Faust myth as portray- 
 ing the antagonism between the " Reformation " and the 
 " New Learning.'' To the dogmatic reformers, to a 
 Luther, a Calvin, a Zwingli, and their followers, the 
 scholarship of an Erasmus, a Conrad Muth, a Reuchlin, 
 with their indifference to the claims of the rival dog- 
 matic systems, (although for the most part nominally 
 adhering to the older church) was an impiety only to be 
 accounted for on the ground of diabolic influence. Any 
 special skill in art or in science, or any new discovery, 
 being immediately attributed by the thought of the age 
 to a supernatural source, it is not difficult to see that the 
 materials for the myth were at hand, for whichever side 
 happened to take them up. 
 
 In thus taking farewell, so to speak, of the ages of 
 myth for that modern period, in which physical science, 
 commerce, and personal gain, succeeds to the old world 
 learning and fancy, with its labour for use and pleasure, 
 i-ather than exchange, and with its dependence on status, 
 it is impossible one would think for any one to avoid 
 putting to themselves very pointedly, the question : 
 How much has the world gained by the improvements of 
 which we are accustomed to hear so much bepraised ? 
 There are probably few who have considered the 
 matter at all, who at least, at times, have not been in- 
 clined to answer in the negative. Who is tliero, for 
 
 M 
 
1/8 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 instance, who as the evening closes comes upon a 
 view of one of those quaint mediaeval towns (which 
 survive, even to the present day, in some parts of 
 Southern Germany, where the break with the past has 
 been less complete than in this country) does not feel as 
 j-omeone recently expressed it, that he would give 
 twenty years of his life to be transported back, even to 
 the period we have been considering, in which, although 
 in many respects corrupt, the main fabric of the middle 
 ages was still intact— so preferable does the rest and 
 peace of the world, typified in tliose narrow -gabled streets, 
 and tiled buildings, seem to him to the turmoil of that 
 other world, typified in the bran new Bahn, and of the 
 shunting yard, and factoiy chimney which will prob- 
 ably not be far off? This may be sentiment, but senti- 
 ment here as elsewhere, has a meaning, which may not be 
 blinked. This sentiment is after all only the ideal ex- 
 pression in one form of the utter and complete failure of 
 modern civilisation, so far as human happiness is con- 
 cerned, even with those who are not materially crushed 
 by it. Looking at it apart from its broader issues, and 
 merely on its artistic and sentimental side, the hideous- 
 ness of the machine-world of to-day only requires a 
 contrast like that indicated, to become apparent to the 
 most casual observer. We feel irresistibly under such 
 circumstances, that even the middle ages in their decay 
 — the world in which a Faustus, a Paracelsus, an 
 Agrippa, lived and wandered from town to town — would 
 compare favourably, with all its superstition, and 
 straightforward ferocity, with the matter-of-fact, hypo- 
 critical 19th century. In taking leave of the world 
 of the Faust-mythos, we cannot help feeling, we are 
 
Dr. Faustiis and his Contemporaries. 1 79 
 
 taking leave to a great extent of contact with reality, 
 the naive simplicity of human nature, and entering 
 upon the beginning of the modern age of shams. There 
 are no three centuries in history which have witnessed 
 so great a change, not only in the surroundings of life, but 
 in human nature itself, as those between the 16th and the 
 19th centuries inclusive. But it is of no use looking back. 
 The hope for humanity of those who think with the pre- 
 sent writer is that the 22nd century will exhibit a vaster 
 and more complete contrast to the 19th century, than the 
 latter does to the age which produced a Faust-mythos. 
 
IMMORTALITY. 
 
 What is it we understand by immortality or the 
 " immortality of the soul ? " Unless we clearly define 
 this we are merely playing with words in discussing the 
 subject. By immortality, then, we here mean the popu- 
 lar conception of a continuance of that object of conscious- 
 ness we term myself, what Kant calls the " object of tlie 
 internal sense," which philosophers generally call the 
 emfirical ego, after death, i.e., after the definitive dis- 
 solution of the organic system or animal body with which 
 it is apparently correlated. Now it should be noted that 
 this conception practically denies the fact of the correla- 
 tion of the mental phenomenon with the material, and 
 affirms their independence. But what is the mental ob- 
 ject or phenomenon we call " myself ? " When we come 
 to examine it, we find it is primarily nothing but a 
 inemorji'-synthesis, that is, a succession of perceptions and 
 thoughts held together by memory and categorised by 
 the active, outlooking, or pure consciousness, subject, or 
 ego, as substance like other substances. 
 
 To drop the technical language of philosophy, I wish 
 to emphasise this fact of memory as being the primary 
 condition of the possibility of the particular personality 
 or individuality. That the principle of Selfhood or Iness 
 v/hich is the condition of all possible consciousness, for 
 ivhich time is, and therefore which is eternal, i.e., apart 
 from time, is not incidental to, or bound up with, the ob- 
 
Iininortatity. 1 8 1 
 
 ject-ego is clear enough when pointed out, hut in most 
 minds there is much confiision as to this, a confusion 
 greatly helped by the popular psychological distinction 
 of subject and object, the "subject" referred to being 
 really object (Kant's object of the internal sense) and not 
 subject at all. Now the question of personal immortality 
 clearly turns on this object, this memory- synthesis, my- 
 self, A. B., as distinct from you, C D. This psychical 
 object is in many points unique. Though it recognises 
 itself as object among other objects, it is nevertheless 
 like the world (universe) an absolute totality within 
 itself. As with the world-object, no definite limits can 
 bo assigned to it in space and time, so with the soul- 
 object no definite limits can apparently be assigned to it 
 in time. " Myself " is therefore a cognised object, i.e., an 
 object in consciousness. But as object, it has in it an 
 element ot jMrticidu r ity which as particularity is unstable 
 and evanescent, since every particular comes and passes 
 away. 
 
 The great question, therefore, remains : is the memory- 
 synthesis which is the primary condition of the person- 
 ality or individuality of the nature of the particular or 
 not ? If it is not, then there is ground for a belief in this 
 personal immortality we are enquiring into, if it is, there 
 is not only no such ground, but we are forced to make 
 the contrary as.sumption. To my thinking this question 
 is very easily decided. For it resolves itself substantially 
 into this, did memory or the memory-synthesis arise in 
 time ? If it did we must assume that it will pass away 
 in time, since a coming neces.sarily implies a going. 
 
 The argument may be put more elaborately as follows: 
 Change is of the essence of the time-content. That 
 
182 Tlie Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 which was not, or which arises, cannot be a necessary and 
 universal element of the Real but is obviously con- 
 tingent and particular. Its existence hinges upon or is 
 bound up with a concurrence of other particulars, and 
 this again is conditioned by others and so on to infinit3^ 
 It therefore belongs to the realm of change and chance, 
 and among the infinity of possible changes which Reality 
 pre-supposes some must arise at some time or other which 
 are incompatible with its existence, in other words which 
 involve its annihilation, i.e., as particular or formal ob- 
 ject, as this object distinguished as such, from other par- 
 ticular objects of the same kind. 
 
 Now, as I take it, it cannot be denied that this object- 
 self held together by memory, as distinguished from the 
 pure Consciousness which knows it, which distinguishes 
 it as such, did arise in time, since there is a time before 
 which memory is silent. It begins on the hither side of 
 the genesis of this body. The thread of memory wliich 
 constitutes that sense of personal identity expressed in 
 the phrase " myself," I can trace back and back in time 
 until I arrive at a period about which it is lost. There 
 is a time therefore, when, speaking popularly, memory 
 may be said to arise, and hence I argue a time when again, 
 speaking popularly, it may be said to cease. In the one 
 case we know that it is correlated with the development 
 of the organic synthesis or animal body, in the other we 
 have every analogical reason to tliink it is equally corre- 
 lated witli the dissolution of that synthesis. This is as 
 much as to say, the memory-synthesis of personal identity 
 as expressed in any given individual belongs to the par- 
 ticular, singular, or perishable. 
 
 Now, let us examine some of the most plausible 
 
Inunorlality. i.83 
 
 arguments in favour of the limitless continuance of 
 particular memory, or of" personal identity." We cannot 
 strictly speaking it is said, assign a time when memory 
 begins, and, therefore, it is argued, plausibly enough, we 
 have no right to assign a time when it ends. Here I 
 think we have a confusion between memory, as a sensible 
 individual particular fact, and memory as the universal 
 condition of individual consciousness. That in this latter 
 plane, memory', personal identity, has neither beginning 
 nor ending may be perfectly true, but that does not affect 
 our present question which concerns this particular 
 individual on the time-plane. AVe are discussing a tem- 
 poral fact, not a metaphysical postulate. " Myself " 
 now speaking is a fact in time. Though concrete con- 
 sciousness may always involve a memory-synthesis, as it 
 always involves time, it nevertheless does not, per sc, 
 involve this memory-synthesis here and now, which only 
 accrues to itper accidens. I, to be concrete, must alwaj's 
 have an object-self, but not necessarily this particular 
 object-self. We may say, therefore, that this memory- 
 synthesis, the foundation of particular personal identity, 
 of the soul or object-self, does arise in time since it carries 
 us back a certain way and then vanishes. The impossi- 
 bility of assigning the moment of its beginning or ending 
 is merely an instance of tlie irrationality of the purely 
 sensible or tlie particular, generally, like the Zeno- 
 problems of the impossibiHty of assigning the moment 
 when motion ceases, or of the extension or intension of 
 space, or the precise moment of going to sleep or waking.^ 
 
 1 All actual, i.e., individual, consciousness presupposes a known 
 past. Memory, therefore, for this reason never can, properly 
 speaking, begin, since it always presupposes memory. I can, it is 
 
184 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 The attempt to find an analogy between the temporai-y 
 break m the memory-synthesis in sleep, swoons, and 
 anaesthesia and the change from infancy to childhood, 
 from death to life, is inept for two or three reasons. 
 Firstly, it may fairly be doubted whether the break is 
 ever complete in these cases. In sleep my observations 
 distinctly traverse this assertion. Even under the 
 influence of an anaesthetic, I have traced the memory- 
 thread of personal identity, gone very thin it is true but 
 still there. But the real gist of the matter lies in the fact 
 that in the one case the break in memory or personal 
 identity (if such) is only a break, in the other it is a 
 complete lapse. Behind vay soundest sleep lies my past 
 life known to me as mine. Behind my present life lies 
 no life known to me as mine. My personal identity 
 begins with a certain j^ear. Beyond that I have no 
 personal identity. Behind that there is no " myself," i.e., 
 no this "myself" that is now speaking, and with any 
 other "myself" we have nothing to do. This memory- 
 synthesis or personal identity carries me back through 
 all the changes in my mental life, etc., up to this year but 
 there it ends. ".There is nothing that comes into being 
 
 true, now recall a time approximately when I was jirst aware of 
 myself or conscious, i.e., before which I cannot recall being aware or 
 conscious. But I am bound to assume that my theik awareness or 
 consciousness must have involved a remembered past, a memory- 
 synthesis, just as does my present consciousness, altho^igh this 
 previous past is now lost to me. At the point of the genesis of the 
 individual subject we lose it in the universal fact — the consciousness 
 in general or universal subject which it presupposes. Tliis particular 
 memory-synthesis in time has not fuller emerged from the 
 universal condition of its possibility — the I of which time and actual 
 or object consciousness is itself the determination. 
 
Immortality. 185 
 
 but it ceases to be," said Herakleitos. Were I conscious 
 of the pre-existence (as regards life) of my jiarticular 
 personality, I could believe in the possibility at least of 
 its post-existence. Did I become conscious, however 
 dimly, however transiently, of " myself" as having lived 
 and played a part amid the life of any past age, then I 
 could believe in a continuance in the future. But I 
 cannot find " myself " in the London of Dr. Johnson, nor 
 in the old Enghsh country house, nor in the salons of 
 Paris, nor amid the workmen of the faubourg St. Antoine, 
 nor anywhere in tlie eighteenth century world. As little 
 can I trace " myself " amid the monasteries, castles, burgs, 
 of the Middle Ages, nor with tlie decaying world of 
 antiquity around me. My particular self, the object of 
 memory, in shoi f, then, has no pre-existence. It is up to 
 date, correlated with the organic synthesis, viz., body. 
 The body is its wedding garment, and hence I argue the 
 body is its shroud. 
 
 The memory-synthesis, personal identity, " mj'self," is, 
 if this be true, one of the infinitude of evanescent 
 particulars, or individuals of which all sensible reality is 
 made up.^ It is one of those ripples which come and 
 which go as they come, leaving the sea, indeed, but made 
 
 1 With regard to this point of the chance-nature of the object- 
 self several curious speculations present themselves to the neophyte. 
 One of these which used to preplex me as a boy, was : how far does 
 the this^iess of consciousness implied in the phrase " myself " 
 depend on the circumstances of parentage or conception ? Should 
 I, the speaker, this I, have existed in any sense uhatever had 
 my parents never met one another but each married differently and 
 so on ? One thing I never could make out was the determinating 
 factor which fixed " myself " here and now and not five hundred 
 years ago or hence, or at the antipodes. The solution of all these 
 
l86 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 up of other ripples. The meaning of human life is not to 
 be sought for in this particular person, but rather in the 
 universal principles which it embodies, or to which, 
 maybe, it gives voice. Why should men strive to believe 
 in a continuity of memory after death which they know 
 does not obtain before birth ? Because they refuse to 
 recognise themselves as essentially unimportant and as 
 only the temporary illustrations of universal notions. Of 
 course in this there is no reason for reproach at all, 
 since the feeling is perfectly natural. But the truth 
 remains that our thoughts, deeds, friendships, anl 
 loves, which are merely the momentary and particular 
 manifestations of certain human traits, we are accus- 
 tomed to regard as the main fact of the universe. We 
 forget that every object of our affection consists of a 
 matter, human nature, and a form, certain particular 
 traits, and that these traits will continue, as they have 
 done, to manifest themselves in other particulars or 
 individuals. Of course it may be objected, this does not 
 concern me; I am concerned only with my particular 
 memory-synthesis, and with what falls within it — ^be it 
 persons or things — •" I " has been saying this ever since 
 the rise of the introspective spirit, i.e., since man first 
 learnt to distinguish himself as individual from, what was 
 to him " humanity," to wit, his clan or tribe. And " I '' 
 says it still. The objection must be allowed, of course, up 
 to a certain point. ' I thus individually can never be 
 fully compensated for the loss of a friend or child, so long 
 as I, i.e., my object-self the memory-synthesis which 
 
 puzzles is to be found of course in the distinction between 
 consciousness as particular actuality or object and consciousness as 
 universal possibility or subject. 
 
Immortality. 187 
 
 includes the friend or child, subsists. But it is surely 
 some consolation to recognise that this synthesis itself is 
 transient no less than its content — that " I " as universal 
 individual in other divisions of time, past and future, 
 with another object-self, another memory-synthesis, pre- 
 sent to it, will have also the same qualities otherwise 
 presented, embodied that is, in other friends and 
 children. 
 
 If it be objected that it is only actual living individuals 
 or those we have known when living that we can cai e 
 for, I answer this entirely overthrows the notion of any 
 duty towards, or concern for an unborn posterity. If any 
 one recognises a duty towards a being unborn or even 
 unconceived (if for instance he admits an obligation not 
 to procreate a child to conditions of certain misery) lie 
 perforce admits that the concrete, real, actual, is not the 
 sole object of his solicitude, but that he can also care for 
 human nature as yet purely potential (nay, abstract in a 
 sense) and unrealised in any particular or individual. How 
 many lives, how many " rayselves " have we not perceived 
 on this very spot ? Do we feel acutely the sorrows of the 
 myriads of nameless individuals, memory-syntheses, 
 myselves, who have thought, acted, loved and hated in 
 mediseval London, or during those four centuries of 
 Roman London, whose remains are beneath our feet and 
 whose history and manner of life are now for ever a total 
 blank ? Why then do we trouble ourselves about this 
 particularity attached to this animal body ? This 
 universal individual realised in and through an infinitude 
 of particulars in space and time, must again and again 
 and yet again present substantially the same combination 
 of universal attributes which we present here now, always 
 
1 88 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 barring, of course, the special direction and colouring these 
 attributes acquire from the historical period in which they 
 manifest themselves. The latter (so far as the modern 
 man is concerned) we would fain hope will not recur. 
 They belong to the substance of humanity, ourselves as 
 particular individuals are its mere temporary accidents. 
 The words "individual" or "person" as commonly used 
 are a little ambiguous for the reason that their derivatives, 
 " individuality " and " personality " are employed to con- 
 note that side of the individual which is universal, while 
 the words in their simple form are more often used as 
 synonymous with the " particular " or the " singular." 
 Thus a man is said to have an " individuality " or a 
 " personality," who has a well-marked and decided 
 character, that is, who embodies prominently certain 
 universal attributes which distinguish Human Nature as 
 opposed to animal nature, in all times and places. The 
 man has no special character, he is a commonplace man, 
 who embodies merely animal cliaracteristics or the 
 ordinary human characteristics which are common to Lis 
 race, his class, his age, or his immediate surroundings. 
 It is these immediate surroundings (race, class, age) which 
 the man of character lifts himself above, and the lifting 
 above is the sign of his character. The universal 
 principle or attribute which he embodies is eternal, it is 
 only himself, its particular embodiment, which is transient 
 and since the memory-synthesis correlated with his animal 
 organism is undeniably part of this particular embodi- 
 ment, I repeat once again we have no reason for believing 
 it— I.e., this focussing of consciousness, here and now — to 
 have any significance or any permanence apart from its 
 physical correlate. 
 
A FREE FANTASIA ON THINGS 
 DIVINE AND HUMAN 
 
 Our theme is "God," and his "Works," a subject 
 certainly not exactly new and perhaps not exactly 
 true, but possessing a perennial interest with a certain 
 order of mind up to date. The first point to determine 
 is what the word "God" connotes for us. A favourite 
 device for justifying the employment of the word is to 
 whittle it down into meaning the correlate of the feeling 
 of awe, of immensity and incomprehensibility with which 
 the universe, or the problems of life and knowledge 
 inspire most of us. The "God" we are now concerned 
 with is not this hypostasised incompx'ehensibility, and we 
 cannot discover any justification, popular or historical, 
 for a use of the word in such a sense. Without going 
 in detail into the philosopliical senses of the term, all of 
 which have had as their first object that of being a shield 
 against the charge of heterodoxy, we may briefly recall 
 the Spinozistic substance-God — nature, or the sum total 
 of all Reality. In itself this was as preposterous a per- 
 version of the word as could well be found, and led 
 naturally to the persistent misunderstanding of Spinoza. 
 But it is connected with the popular usage with which 
 we are here dealing, in so far as there is a natural and 
 unconscious tendency, apart from any theory, to 
 personify the nature of things in general, and we might 
 
190 The Ethics of Socialism, 
 
 add to damn the nature of things as thus personified, for 
 the real object of objurgatory phraseology, when not a 
 liiiman personality, is generally, in foro conscientice, this 
 very personified "nature of things" to which the 
 objurgators, when in an elevated frame of mind, and 
 pressed on the subject of theism, would apply the word 
 " God." The popular formularised theory of God, and one 
 unconsciously adopted in a refined shape by many theists 
 who profess to repudiate it, is that of a demiurge, the 
 creator, producer, artificer and general-director of all 
 tilings, and this is the connotation which ninety-nine out 
 of a hundred persons in the present day connect with the 
 word "God." It is the connotation which obtains in all the 
 great "ethical religions" of the world (Christianity, 
 Judaism, Islamism, &c.) as well as in a more limited sense, 
 though not so often, in the old nature-cults. But at all 
 events one thing is to me clear, as established at once by 
 history and ]iopular usage, to wit, that the word " God" 
 must always imply a personality, that God must always 
 1 e a person in the fullest sense of the word — otherwise 
 he is no God. No one thought of making him anytiiing 
 else (i.e., of excluding the notion of personality) until 
 Spinoza, who was followed after an interval by the 
 German post-Kantian thinkers in whose wake came a 
 crowd of literateurs and heterodox sentimentalists; until 
 m the present day among the elite of culture the word is 
 emptied of all significance whatever. This exordium is 
 necessary, as when we use the word God here, we mean 
 a personality, and as the fullest and only personality, 
 properly speaking, of which we have any conception is 
 the human, we mean in accordance with popular concep- 
 tion, a personality in some way analogous to tlie human 
 
On Things Divine and Human. 19 1 
 
 in kind, ha'.vever differing in degree. As such we exclude 
 all mere objectivised incomprehensibilities, all "sort of a 
 sometliings ;" those fraudulent simulacra of the divinity, 
 which have notliing really whatever to do with the 
 question of Theism. Pantheism, we may observe, in the 
 ordinary sense of the word, we take to be the formulated 
 expression among cultivated persons of the anthropo- 
 morphic or personified nature of things in general, before 
 spoken of as an instinctive theory with most men. 
 
 There is a traditional prejudice that Monotheism is a 
 great advance in nobleness of conception on Polytheism. 
 This is based apparently on the belief that though j'ou 
 cannot have too much of God yet you can have too many 
 of him. The Monotheist looks down with lofty contempt 
 on the Polytheist as a being of inferior, not to say 
 depraved conceptions. Now, seriously, we would really 
 like to know in what consists the superiority of Mono- 
 theism over Polytheism? If we are to assume the 
 existence of extra-natural personality at all, what is there 
 superior in the notion of one irresponsible despot reigning 
 in a solitary, and as one would think, somewhat dreary 
 grandeur to that of a society of extra-natural beings 
 equal among themselves, or a hierarchy of such beings 
 each having an appointed status ami function culminating, 
 ifj'ou will, in a supreme intelligence, but not directly 
 subordinated to its will or caprice? The first of these 
 last-mentioned conceptions generally corresponds to 
 the earlier period of Polytheism, the second to the 
 later, but either of them to my mind offer a more 
 cheerful and agreeable theory of the universe than that 
 of the demiurge seated all alone on high. In the first 
 place the sense of friendship with and nearness to the 
 
192 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 unseen beingis infinitely greater. The god is felt to have 
 a peculiarly intimate and direct relation to his votary. 
 Though powerful he is not omnipotent, his system of 
 action is limited, but within that sphere, and as far as 
 his power extends, his worshippers are under his direct 
 protection. It is all very well to say that the same feel- 
 ing obtains with the devout Monotheist who believes in 
 the "fatherhood of God," but as a matter of fact it does 
 not, as is proved historically by the circumstance that the 
 great Monotheistic religions have been unable to main- 
 tain their Monotheism unimpaired. Thus the immediate 
 object of the Catholic's devotion is not the Ciiristian God 
 but his tutelary saint or the Virgin. Even the Protest- 
 ant shows his want of appreciation of Monotheism by 
 preferring in his meditations and devotions the definite 
 human personality embodied in his conception of Jesus 
 to the lofty but vague one of the Omnipotent demiurge. 
 The Oriental similarly finds relief from his invocations of 
 Allah in doing homage to some departed dervish of local 
 renown. Then again, owing to the absence of the. notion 
 of Omnipotence, and in general even that of creation, the 
 difficulties connected with the existence of evil which be- 
 set the Monotheist at every turn aie entirely obviated on 
 a Pagan theory of the universe. The Pagan had no need 
 to resort to subterfuges in order to exculpate his divinity 
 or to seek to explain away what refuses to be explained 
 away, for his god was not necessarily a creator, and he 
 admitted among his society or hierarchy of supernatural 
 beings some which were avowedly evil, and he did not 
 postulate any absolute power in the rest to hold these in 
 check. So that there was no necessary or even apparent 
 contradiction between his religion and the facts of life. 
 
On Things Divine and Human. 193 
 
 His god was his " patron " who would exert his powers to 
 protect his clieiit,but who was not all-powerful, and, tliere- 
 fore, not accountable for any and every evil which might 
 befall him. As against this. Monotheism postulates a god 
 who is sponsor for every atrocity in nature and its laws. 
 The only consolation the Monotheist has is in persuading 
 himself that to use a popular metaphor " it will all come 
 out in the washing." His theistic faith pays him with 
 bills realisable in an indefinite futurity. The evil is real ; 
 the " good " which is to be " the final goal of ill " is, to 
 say the least, hyperbolically ideal. 
 
 But says the Monotheist, " you would then conceive 
 nature as without an all-pervading mind ? What can be 
 sublimer than the thought of the universe as the work of 
 one supreme intelligence ? " &c., &c. Our Monotheist here 
 merely confounds sublimity with mereabstractness. That 
 Monotheism implies a larger and more abstract generalisa- 
 tion than Polytheism is out of question, but that sublim- 
 ity is necessarily involved in this increased scope is not 
 altogether out of question. If barrenness and abstraction 
 mean sublimity then Monotheism is sublime — "if not, 
 not." For what is gained in extension is lost in fertility 
 of conception. The god of Monotheism, though far re- 
 moved from humanity, is barren and dull as compared 
 with the more concrete inhabitants of Olympus, of the 
 Pantheon, of the city, or of the domestic hearth, of the 
 ancient world. Hence the difiiculty already pointed out 
 of Monotheistic creeds maintaining their principle intact. 
 Mediaeval Catholicism was in point of doctrine but a 
 thinly veiled Paganism, not only amongst the people but 
 even in its most formulated shape. The work of the 
 pseudo-Dionysius which was one of its textbooks was 
 
194 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 little more than a version of the Neoplatonist Proculs 
 with a Christian terminology. The hierarchy of 
 status obtained in the theological as much as in the social 
 world of the middle ages. 
 
 But the strangest claim of all on the part of the Mono- 
 theist is that there is anything edifying in the notion of 
 nature as having been consciously produced by a mind. 
 Yet this is often put forward as an added charm, nay, an 
 indispensable adjunct to the full aesthetic appreciation of 
 nature. On this principle the singing of a mechanical 
 nightingale ought to be infinitely more enjoyable than 
 that of a real one, since the former, it must be admitted, 
 even by the " natural theologians," is niuch more obvi- 
 ously the product of conscious intelligence than the latter. 
 But it seems to the present writer that what gives the 
 charm to the contemplation of nature — to the glittering 
 summer sea, the forest glade in the twilight, the Alpine 
 sunrise, etc., etc., is precisely the absence of mind — of the 
 design or conscious intention of an artificer. We instinct- 
 ively impute to the whole of nature a naive life of its own, 
 of impulse and feeling, a spontaneity as it were. But the 
 moment you introduce your "divine artificer" nature 
 becomes mechanical, and the poetry of nature is destroyed. 
 The fact is one may have too much of "consummate 
 wisdom." " Consummate wisdom " may become con- 
 summately boresome to us weak mortals. So far from 
 nature without God being dead, it becomes not merely 
 dead but mechanical the moment it leads up to a " divine 
 author." Probably the most thorough-going Monotheist 
 that has ever lived was the conventional eighteenth cen- 
 tury deist, and he, though full of sentiment of a certain 
 order, was assuredly also the most thorough-going Philis- 
 
On Things Divine and Human. 195 
 
 tine in matters of jestlietics that the world has ever 
 seen. 
 
 Now let us take the ordinary natural-theological 
 apologetics. One of the great aims of " natural theology '' 
 is to string together a numher of natural facts which can 
 be twisted into an argument for benevolent design in 
 nature. Some of these are naturally of the most trivial 
 character, as maj'- be seen by reference to any work 
 and natural theology. But has it never suggested 
 itself to the natural theologian that an equal 
 number of facts might be adduced in favour of 
 a theory of malevolent design and yet another set which 
 would bring the character of the Demiurge and regu- 
 lator of mundane affairs out in that of a Spottgeist, a 
 Ruhezald, full of mischief and schoolboy tricks ? Let us 
 deal with the latter aspect of the case first. 
 
 We will put ourselves in the position of the theologian 
 and see everything in God, that is, everything as though 
 it happened by design, and trace the experience of the 
 average (as opposed to the exceptionally " lucky ") man. 
 One of his earliest objects of conscious interest is bread 
 and jam, and that object sometimes drops out of his 
 childish fingers on to the floor. There being no apparent 
 reason why it should fall on one side rather than 
 another, one would naturally suppose in accordance with 
 the theory of probabilities that [in a long series of cases 
 it would fall equally on the jammed and on the non- 
 jammed surface. But does it ? Ask any child whether 
 on almost every occasion it does not fall on the jammed 
 surface ? Myself, I know this phenomenon early 
 attracted my attention. Now here, on theological 
 principles, is clearly a case of Providence. A playful 
 
196 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 disposition of Providence wbich amuses itself at the- 
 infant's expense. As the average human being grows up 
 he finds the same principle holds. Nine out of every 
 ten "coincidences" coincide the wrong way for him. 
 We will enumerate a few instances in point, which will 
 be familiar with most people and which are admitted by 
 all those I have questioned on the subject. There is no 
 apparent causation involved in any of them. They are 
 in the true sense of the word coincidences, and yet they 
 do not seem to follow the law of probabilities. If we 
 admit a Providence at all, therefore, they would appear 
 to fall within the scope of Providence or a Supernatural 
 Will, which directs human affairs. Among the cojnmon 
 occurrences of life referred to, is something of this sort ; 
 (1) a particular thing, a letter, a book, or whatnot, 
 otherwise constantly obtruding itself on one's notice is 
 impossible to be found when urgently wanted. This 
 everyone must have noticed as an almost invariable 
 occurrence. Again every one must have observed the 
 following ; (2) He is generally at home, say on a certain 
 day, but on one occasion for the first time in a twelve- 
 month, happens to be out. A friend whom he has not 
 seen for a long time, happens to call that very day, on im- 
 portant business. (3) After repeated experience that 
 letters forwarded by the Post OiEce from some old 
 address contain nothing but worthless circulars or such- 
 like postal flotsam and jetsam, one refuses to receive any 
 more, only to learn that the next missive, i.e. the first 
 one refused, had contained a cheque or post-ofl5ce order 
 for a large sum, that it iias gone back to the sender^ 
 who being in urgent need of it has spent it. (4) Ao-ain 
 one is searching for a particular house in a street, say 
 
On Things Divine and Human. ] 97 
 
 No. 361, one carefully watches the odd numbers, as they 
 pi'Ogross from 1 onwards till one arrives at 359. What 
 follows 359 is not 361 but 363, or perhaps a blank wall 
 or a hoarding. No one has heard of 361, till at last after 
 infinite time and labour sjDent, one discovers that No. 361 
 has been pulled down, or that it is up some corner or 
 bend of the street, the existence of which no one would 
 have ever guessed. This has occurred so often in my ex- 
 perience that 1 am now surprised if on some rare occasion 
 the number I am in search of, follows in the natural order. 
 Now, here is a most striking apparent violation of the law 
 of probabilities, the normal chances being prodigiously 
 against it. (5) Who that has ever entei'ed a railway station 
 without knowing the starting times of the trains, has 
 not discovered that the train he wanted has not left five 
 minutes before, or who that has missed a train owing to 
 its extreme punctuality, has not found that the next one 
 for which he has had to wait, is considerably behind its 
 given time ? (6) One of the most extraordinary 
 instances of apparently designed coincidence is in gamb- 
 ling. Two persons sit down to a game of chance, in- 
 volving little or no skill, or where the skill, if there is 
 any, is equal, and where the possibility of fraud is 
 excluded. Yet one of them will always win three out of 
 four games, in despite of all shuffling of cards, changing of 
 pack or of hands. This case of the persistently winning 
 man and the persistently losing man, no uncommon one, 
 seems almost irresistibly to suggest a " hand unseen " 
 so utterly inexplicable is it on any theory of proba- 
 bilities. (7) It is a trite observation that married 
 couples who earnestly desire children have the greatest 
 difficulty in acquiring them, while those who do not 
 
1 98 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 want tbem endeavour in vain to dam the svirging 
 influx. 
 
 I conclude tbe few cases mentioned, out of the in- 
 numerable instances of which life is made up, of coin- 
 cidences which seem to violate the theory of proba- 
 bilities in a sense adverse to one's interest or con- 
 venience, with one which may seem to be grotesque but 
 which in spite of its triviality is significant. On putting 
 on a pair of boots one instinctively raises one's foot as 
 one picks up one of the boots. I have calculated that 
 nineteen times out of twenty the foot raised is the 
 opposite to the boot picked up. Thus ^if the right foot 
 be raised the left boot will be lifted and vice, versa. 
 
 Now if theologians were really in earnest with their 
 " evidences " they might find in these " coincidences " a 
 mine of plausibility in favour of the theory of a 
 Buperintending providence. But as a matter of fact 
 they ignore an argument which would appeal far more 
 powerfully to many persons than far-fetched attempts 
 to prove benevolent design in Nature, for the simple 
 reason, that though it might lead many to believe in the 
 existence of a deity, it would make the deity appear in a 
 ridiculous light. Instead of theglorified metropolitan police 
 magistrate of the churches, who stands upon bis dignity 
 and has a rooted aversion to any chaflTat his expense. Pro- 
 vidence would come out as a knavish sprite, a veritable 
 poltergeist made up of mischievous and ill-natured pranks. 
 We now come to the point as to the benevolent in- 
 tention, the wonderful adaptation of means to good ends, 
 alleged by theologians to exist in Nature. Here again it 
 is easy enough to read design into natural forms and 
 processes if one is determined to do so. But I maintain 
 
On Things Divine and Human. 199 
 
 that for every instance of apparently beneficent design 
 in Nature there are two of malevolent design. I do not 
 propose here to go into the cruelty, the wanton pain and 
 destruction which enters into the scheme of Nature as 
 an essential element in that scheme, the strong animal 
 preserving itself at the expense of the weaker, the ex- 
 istence of parasitism, etc., etc. Ihis has been often and 
 ably done before, and this, of course, constitutes the 
 gravamen of the indictment of Theism. But I wish to 
 point out a few cases of apparently elaborately organised 
 design in Nature to ends which are not precisel}' benefi- 
 cent. Take the nerves of the teeth and face, the com- 
 plicated network which connects the lower wisdom teeth 
 with the temples. Now here is an exquisite piece of 
 workmanship beautifullj' adapted to an end — to wit, the 
 production and perpetuation of neuralgia. It is thi'ough 
 this arrangement that ths tortures of neuralgia are 
 rendered possible, and the arrangement has no other 
 visible purpose. Of course, I am aware that the champion 
 of Nature, driven hard, is quite capable of alleging that 
 he thinks neuralgia rather a good thing. In answer to 
 this I need only say I write for tlie majority of men who 
 have no argument to subserve and who do not think so. 
 The mere exiv=itence of nerves in teeth can but be viewed 
 from the teleological standpoint, as an institution de- 
 signed for the exclusive purpose of producing toothache, 
 for there is no conceivable reason wliy the means of the 
 mastication should not have been furnished outside the 
 nervous system, like the hoof of animals, the nails, or the 
 hair. The only answer that can be given to this is that 
 it was not and therefore it could not be, which though 
 otherwise valid, is from the present standpoint merely a 
 
200 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 begging of the question. Again, the mucous membrane 
 of the human urethra is liable to a fibrous deposit pro- 
 ducing what is known as stricture, i.e., a narrowing of 
 the passage, which, besides often directly or indirectly- 
 setting up other mischief may increase so as to seriously 
 interfere with the function of the organ in question. 
 Now from a teleological point of view it is noteworthy 
 that the disease in question is peculiar to the one mucous 
 surface where it can do any serious harm in obstructing 
 a vital function. If the same peculiarity attached to 
 other mucous surfaces it would matter little. From the 
 natural theological point of view it looks therefore as 
 though the particular surface were carefully selected 
 with a view to the injury of the organism. Yet again, 
 take the disease of rabies. The animals among which 
 this disease originates are dogs and those of a cognate 
 race whose weapon of offence and defence is their teeth," 
 that is to say, precisely that class of animals by whom a 
 disease transmissible through the saliva would be most 
 readily communicated both to other animals and to 
 human beings. Were rabies a disease affecting sheep, 
 oxen or even hoi'ses or pigs or indeed any non-canine 
 animal, the danger of contagion would be infinitely re- 
 duced, since with no other animal is the biting instinct 
 developed as with the so-called " friend of man." So 
 here we have another instance of the beautiful adapta- 
 tion of means to end in nature. Just that animal has 
 been selected by Providence as the seed-ground of rabies, 
 whose instincts are best adapted to transmit the disease. 
 If we consider the consummate wisdom displayed in 
 Nature what shall we say of the eye which according to 
 Helmholtz (the first living a,uthority in optics) is so de- 
 
On Tilings Divine and Human. 201 
 
 fectlve a piece of work that any ordinary mechanician 
 would be ashamed of it ? What shall we say of the 
 workmanship of a divine artificer who lias so arranged 
 the animal organism that a mere change of temperature 
 (a chill) will often produce disease and even lead to fatal 
 results ? What shall we say of the watering of the 
 earth from above by the clumsy and often disastrous 
 process of rain, rather than by internal springs, or as in 
 Egypt by the overflowing of rivers at necessary intervals? 
 The Esquimaux always speak of the Polar bear with 
 reverence, out of fear lest the beast which they credit 
 with supernatural power should resent any slight cast 
 upon him. We are inclined to think a relic of this class 
 of superstition is at the bottom of the apologetic attitude 
 of the ordinary man towards Nature. We all know the 
 indignation real or feigned with which the aforesaid 
 ordinary man of " natural religion " greets any suggestion 
 that Nature is not perfect. His zeal for the honour and 
 glory of the author of Nature finds vent under such 
 circumstances commonly in irrelevant rudeness to his in- 
 terlocutor. Thus, he will tell the latter he supposes he 
 thinks he could have arranged things better — it's a pity 
 he hadn't the doing of them, &c. &c., all of which may be 
 very true but does not in the least exonerate the creator 
 for having arranged them badly. On this principle 
 when our friend has ordered a pair of shoes and finds 
 that they don't fit him, that they have nails left protrud- 
 ing, or that they are otherwise so ill-constructed that 
 after half-an-hour's walking the epidermis has dis- 
 appeared from the most salient portions of his foot, let 
 him by no means blame the shoemaker, lest the shoe- 
 maker retort "it's a pity you didn't make your own 
 
202 Tlie Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 shoes." Naturally the rejoinder of him of the wounded 
 foot would be, " If I were a shoemaker I would under- 
 take to make better shoes than you do, but as I am a 
 tailor (a candlestick maker or what not) I don't profess 
 to make shoes at all." Similarly, the impugner of the 
 creative excellence, may fairly retort on its rude apologist, 
 " I have never been brought up to the demiurgic profes- 
 sion, but if I had and had had the disposal of the amount 
 of power which is displayed in Nature, I should regard 
 it as a discredit not to have turned out something better." 
 But, as we said, the ordinary man has a lurking super- 
 stitious dread of offending Nature and God, and so tries 
 to persuade himself, like Dr. Pangloss, that everything is 
 on the whole, " for the best in the best possible of 
 worlds." The professed Theist swells himself out to his 
 largest possible dimensions on hearing such a criticism 
 as we have attempted, and in indignant tones pompously 
 declaims against " the finite intellect presuming to 
 measure itsilf with the infinite." The finite intellect 
 when it produces results flattering to the demiurgic 
 pretensions, may, without hesitation, proceed to deal with 
 these matters. Theists, and they sometimes have very 
 finite intellects indeed, may descant with unction on the 
 beneficence displayed in Nature, and on their conviction 
 of everything being ordained for a good purpose. It is 
 only wlien the result happens to be unfavourable to the 
 pretensions of demiurgic wisdom or goodness, that the 
 argument from the finitude of the intellect comes into 
 play. The Theist assumes all-wisdom and all-goodness 
 in the ordering of tlie cosmos, and claims the right to 
 support his assumption by arguments drawn from 
 Nature. The worst he can say of the Anti-Theist (as 
 
Oil Tilings Divine and Human. 203 
 
 we may call him) is that he traverses the original as- 
 sumption with arguments of the same nature as those 
 used in support of it. 
 
 Given the right of the finite intellect of the Theist to 
 assume the existence of "God, the Creator" and his per- 
 fections, the Anti-Theist has an equal rigbt, on his side, 
 to assume (in the words of one of the first of our living 
 poets) that 
 
 " There was a creator called God, 
 And his ways were remarkably odd," 
 
 and to support this assumption by counter-arguments. 
 The contention of the Anti-Theist as we have stated it, 
 that the ordering of the cosmos does not display wisdom 
 or goodness commensurate with the power visible in it 
 (and his case against the Theist who claims perfect 
 wisdom and perfect goodness is made out by a single 
 instance to the contrary) is perfectly justified from 
 the anthropomorphic standpoint which the ordinary 
 Theist occupies. The Theist cannot rebut the Anti- 
 Theist's argument which gives him the alternative of view- 
 ing the demiurge as either pre-eminently foolish or pre- 
 eminently wicked. For if he postulates such a being at 
 all his opinions respecting this being may reasonably be 
 expected to be based, like all other opinions, on available 
 evidence, and not on abstract possibilities which run 
 counter to this evidence. Yet the latter is what the 
 Theist invariably does. In the teeth of facts he asmhmes 
 good, that is, moral and righteous intention, in Nature, 
 
 Once we are outside the vicious circle of Theism the 
 ease is otherwise. The Pagan, although he, too, views 
 the universe anthropomorphically, is not open to the 
 
204 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 above criticism, since the idea of conscious creation is 
 absent or subordinate with him ; and, besides, as already- 
 observed, his gods are limited each to his own sphere, 
 they form a society or hierarchy and are all subordi- 
 nated to that special bogie of the Theist, an irresistible 
 and impei-sonal Fate. Hence the Polytheist might con- 
 sistently, and without any self-deception, worship his god 
 as perfectly good in intention even if his acts fell short. 
 Again, the Atheist who rejects entirely the notion of a 
 personal demiurge (not as according to the common and 
 convenient misrepresentation because he thinks he can 
 •prove the negative proposition, but because he finds the 
 positive absurd and unsatisfactory as a theory of the 
 universe) is in still better case since he does not read 
 morality into nature at all. He does not postulate like 
 the Theist a benevolent demiurge, nor like the Anti. 
 Theist, a malevolent demiurge. Nature for him is 
 neither moral nor immoral, but extra-moi-al. To the 
 Atheist, nature is not like the works and deeds of men, 
 the product of conscious and willing intelligence, but the 
 outcome of an immanent necessity. 
 
 Below and beyond all actuality, reality or finitude of 
 things is presupposed the infinite potentiality, the Eternal 
 Becoming involved in all experience ; of which, concrete 
 consciousness with its thne is the supreme expression, 
 but which for this very reason can never be adequately 
 manifested in &vcj part ic alar or actual consciousness, or 
 in any particular or actual time. We try to fix the I 
 or subject which we find posited as the core and root 
 of all thinking and knowing, and we find we have 
 merely got an object, a particular memorj'-synthesis, i.e., 
 a particular body of thoughts or experiences which pre- 
 
On T/uJigs Divine and Human. 205 
 
 supposes an infinity of other thoughts and expeiiences 
 not expressed in them. The true / is never object, but 
 yet all object exists merelj' in its consciousness, ihat is, 
 as its determination or irro tanto its negation. We try 
 to define or explain the undetermined nisus, or Becoming 
 presupposed in all conscious action of the individual, and 
 we find in any given case we have merely got a given 
 determining motive or motives. So the Becoming, the 
 necessity in nature, to which no beginning nor ending 
 can be assigned, when we analyse it in any given case, 
 resolves itself into a chain of modifications of matter in 
 motion. This is the ultimate fact discernable in the 
 world of space, that is, on the plane of external 
 nature. 
 
 "Above the gods is fate." If we accept the ancient 
 Greek motto as translated into the terms of modern 
 thought, we have no need to perplex ourselves with 
 specially pleading the goodness of a hypothetical creator, 
 nor is there any point in " damning the nature of things," 
 although the apparent malice discernable in the ordering 
 of the world does, it must be admitted, ofier strong 
 temptations to personify with a view to objurgation. 
 If we personify we have Bieu I'ennemi. If we do not 
 personify we have no Dieu but then we have no 
 ennemi. Supposing, then, we reject the demiurgic view 
 as an ultimate theory of the universe and thus reject the 
 Theistic theory, are we driven to Pessimism ? The true 
 statement of the case as regards this point it seems to me 
 is that Optimism and Pessimism are alike abstract and 
 one-sided theories of Teleology, just as the old dogmatic 
 metaphysics and modern Empiricism or Agnosticism are 
 alike .one-sided and abstract theories of Knowledge. Many 
 
206 Tlie Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 persons are doubtless led to Pessimism, or at least 
 Cynicism, by the reflection that tlie categories of Good 
 and Evil, with the subordinate ones of knowledge, and 
 ignorance, beauty and ugliness, are correlative, and 
 therefore both equally, necessary and eternal, in the 
 nature of things. But does such a reflection justify the 
 attitude in question ? Is the fable of the victory of 
 Ormiizd over Arhiman therefore devoid of meaning? 
 Can we no longer believe that— 
 
 "... good shall fall— 
 
 At last — far off — at last, to all, 
 
 And every winter change to spring ? " 
 
 Perhaps not in the old sense, but not the less so in a 
 sense. The metaphor of the light in which is no dark- 
 ness may, it is true, cease to be apt when we reflect that 
 such a light would be indistinguishable from darkness. 
 The conception of an absolute happiness, an absolute 
 knowledge and an absolute beauty, such, namely, which 
 exclude all further possible increase, is obviously abstract 
 and unreal and must be abandoned. A happiness, 
 (knowledge, beauty,) which had no vista before it, which 
 was static, would lose its character as such, as a very little 
 reflection will show. The abstraction in question leaves 
 out of sight the true nature of the concepts themselves. 
 What shall we say then ? What is the nature of these 
 concepts ? Shall good not be the final goal of ill ? Our 
 answer is the " good " {i.e., happiness, knowledge, beauty.) 
 partakes of the nature of all reality. It is essentially a 
 process, an eternal Becoming which is never complete. 
 Evil is always pre-supposed as an element by good, e.g., 
 ignorance by knowledge, ugliness by beauty. Viewed 
 
On Things Divine and Human. 207 
 
 universally and abstractedly the one of these concepts is 
 as necessary as the other. This is true ; but what is not 
 true is that any particular or real evil shall not give way 
 to good. The moment these things put on the vesture of 
 reality or concreteness, the moment they are so particular- 
 ised, the moment they have become embodied in tWs evil, 
 they have become mortal. Every evil foiling within 
 human experience must pass away. All unknownnessthat 
 has become definite must vanish in knowledge. The fact 
 that it is known as unknown is the first step towards its 
 extinction. The ugliness that is recognised as ugly is 
 already doomed. All evils, physical, moral or esthetic 
 that are at any moment within the field of experience 
 are in the nature of things transitory. What remains is 
 the universal, abstract evil. The fallacy of the modern 
 Agnostic consists in laying out an enclosure and saying, 
 within is the unknowable, without is the knowable. In- 
 asmuch as he can say this is the unknowable, he shows 
 that he is not dealing with an unknowable. The un- 
 known may always be with us, but any this unknown 
 we may rest assured must one day cease to be unknown. 
 You cannot formulate a problem as unknowable. The 
 fact of your being able to formulate it is sufiicient proof 
 thatit is not fer se incapableof solution. I am here speak- 
 ing, of course, of real problems and not such as have their 
 origin in a misunderstanding or a false assumption. We 
 may never be able to explain the process of creation out 
 of nothing or to form an inventory of the feathers in the 
 wings of the angel Gabriel, to know whether the devil 
 really has a tail or not, but we may reasonably expect to 
 find a rational formula expressing the essential nature of 
 reality or the concrete world, and of man's relations 
 
2o8 The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 thereto— of Thought and Being, Will and Necessity. When 
 I say " we " I mean, of course, humanity, not necessarily 
 this generation or the next. 
 
 History affords numberless empirical illustrations of 
 what we here have been saying. The concrete realisation 
 of evil in any given thing has been the signal for its de- 
 struction. A physical fact no sooner assumes the char- 
 acter of an evil in the social mind than conscious energy 
 is aroused against it, and sooner or later it disappears. 
 As an illustration take epidemic disease. As soon as 
 Zymosis loomed big as an evil in human consciousness 
 the improved sanitary science began to arise which has 
 found increasingly successful means of checking it with 
 every prospect of its ultimate extinction. The recogni- 
 tion by a William Morris and a Burne Jones and others 
 of the ugliness of modern English decoration has denoted 
 the beginning of its end. But this is particularly notice- 
 able in the moral and social sphere. Any institution, 
 form of society, belief or practice, which man has become 
 conscious of as evil has speedily disappeared. Three cen- 
 turies ago, and more or less until the French Revolution, 
 the evils of Feudalism filled themental horizon of good 
 and thoughtful men. It seemed to them that, were the 
 cruelties and abuses of the Feudal noble, the tyranny of 
 priesthoods, the restrictions of the guild system of local 
 jurisdictions, and the unrestrained caprice of monarchs 
 abolished or mitigated all would be well. Those evils 
 have been all at least mitigated, and some of them 
 abolished. Earnest men to-day see another and totally 
 different set of evils, and the fact of their seeing them as 
 evil is one indication of their disappearance within a 
 measurable distance of time. 
 
On Things Divine and Hiitnan. 209 
 
 But it may be said if "evil" as concrete or particularised 
 is necessarily absorbed through the pressure of the Dialec- 
 tic or Logic of Reality, and thus passes away, is this not also 
 true of its opposite ? The good of to-day becomes the evil of 
 to-morrow. The abolition of serfage and chattel slavery 
 paves the way for wage-slavery. As a matter of fact the 
 case is not precisely the same. The " good " in any evol- 
 utionary process is always the last term in that process, 
 is its telos or end. The evil which that "good" may 
 engender or which may ensue is the beginning of a new 
 process, or a phase of an incomplete process which in its 
 turn is absorbed in another " good,"' organically hio-her 
 than the preceding. Again, taking the evolution of 
 human society in illustration and speaking as a Socialist, 
 one might say — a co-operative social state, in which use 
 was for each and possession for all, in which the powers of 
 nature were employed for the common advantage, the max- 
 imum of prrd'iction with the minimum of labour ; a 
 society of equals interpenetrated by a true culture, a cul- 
 ture not an exotic adjunct to, but an intrinsic element in, 
 ever3'day life ; a society in wliich superstition while re- 
 garded with interest and even afl'ection as an histoi-ical 
 phenomenon had ceased to be operative as a thought- 
 factor — such a society, let us say, is the end, telos or 
 " ultimate good " of human evolution regarded as one 
 process from its beginnings in the darkness of pre-historic 
 ages till the realisation of that society. All the evils we 
 now see around us will then have disappeared for ever, 
 every good we can even imagine for human society will 
 then be realised never again to be completely lost. Man- 
 kind will be happier than ever before. For an indefinite 
 period there will be no consciousness of anything but 
 
2IO The Ethics of Socialism. 
 
 satisfaction. Sooner or later, however, we cannot doubt 
 that new needs and new longings, and therefore new 
 present evils of which we now can have not the remotest 
 conception will dawn on the horizon of consciousness, 
 which will indicate the beginning of a new process open- 
 ing up the vista of a still higher " good " or fefos, and so 
 on, till may-be our time-consciousness itself shall enter 
 upon a completely new phase. If the above be admitted 
 it will thus be seen that supposing we could fix an end to 
 all things in time, a final stage to evolution, optimism 
 would in a measure be justified, for the "last things" 
 would be the embodiment of the highest "good." The 
 final stage of consciousness would be that of absolute 
 happiness. It is because we cannot fix this termimos ad 
 quern, either in the logical process or its temporal mani- 
 festation that we cannot pronounce for optimism. All 
 that analysis of this process discloses to us is an infinite 
 spiral ascent. We have to do with no mere circle con- 
 tinuously returning in upon itself, but with a movement 
 which never touches the same actual spot twice, though it 
 continuously recurs to one analogically the same. All 
 concrete evil, etc., passes away never to return, and the 
 issue of the process of which it forms part is a relative 
 " good " (happiness, knowledge, etc.). That a new cycle 
 arises out of this, also embodying the category of evil in 
 another shape, need not trouble us since we know that 
 here also the final result must be similar, and that the 
 end of every cycle is the "good." 
 
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