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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Why Men Fight - A method of abolishing the international duel - -Author: Bertrand Russell - -Release Date: September 23, 2017 [EBook #55610] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHY MEN FIGHT *** - - - - -Produced by Adrian Mastronardi, Charlie Howard, and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net -(This file was produced from images generously made -available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - - - - WHY MEN FIGHT - - _A METHOD OF ABOLISHING - THE INTERNATIONAL DUEL_ - - - BY - - BERTRAND RUSSELL, M.A., F.R.S. - - Sometime Fellow and Lecturer in Trinity - College, Cambridge - - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK - THE CENTURY CO. - 1920 - - - - - Copyright, 1916, by - THE CENTURY CO. - - - _Published, January, 1917_ - - - - -Le souffle, le rhythme, la vraie force populaire manqua à la réaction. -Elle eut les rois, les trésors, les armées; elle écrasa les peuples, -mais elle resta muette. Elle tua en silence; elle ne put parler qu’avec -le canon sur ses horribles champs de bataille.... Tuer quinze millions -d’hommes par la faim et l’épée, à la bonne heure, cela se peut. -Mais faire un petit chant, un air aimé de tous, voilà ce que nulle -machination ne donnera.... Don réservé, béni.... Ce chant peut-être à -l’aube jaillira d’un cœur simple, ou l’alouette le trouvera en montant -au soleil, de son sillon d’avril. - - MICHELET. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I THE PRINCIPLE OF GROWTH 3 - - II THE STATE 42 - - III WAR AS AN INSTITUTION 79 - - IV PROPERTY 117 - - V EDUCATION 153 - - VI MARRIAGE AND THE POPULATION QUESTION 182 - - VII RELIGION AND THE CHURCHES 215 - - VIII WHAT WE CAN DO 245 - - - - -WHY MEN FIGHT - - - - -I - -THE PRINCIPLE OF GROWTH - - -To all who are capable of new impressions and fresh thought, some -modification of former beliefs and hopes has been brought by the -war. What the modification has been has depended, in each case, upon -character and circumstance; but in one form or another it has been -almost universal. To me, the chief thing to be learnt through the war -has been a certain view of the springs of human action, what they are, -and what we may legitimately hope that they will become. This view, -if it is true, seems to afford a basis for political philosophy more -capable of standing erect in a time of crisis than the philosophy of -traditional Liberalism has shown itself to be. The following lectures, -though only one of them will deal with war, all are inspired by a view -of the springs of action which has been suggested by the war. And all -of them are informed by the hope of seeing such political institutions -established in Europe as shall make men averse to war—a hope which -I firmly believe to be realizable, though not without a great and -fundamental reconstruction of economic and social life. - -To one who stands outside the cycle of beliefs and passions which -make the war seem necessary, an isolation, an almost unbearable -separation from the general activity, becomes unavoidable. At the -very moment when the universal disaster raises compassion in the -highest degree, compassion itself compels aloofness from the impulse -to self-destruction which has swept over Europe. The helpless longing -to save men from the ruin towards which they are hastening makes it -necessary to oppose the stream, to incur hostility, to be thought -unfeeling, to lose for the moment the power of winning belief. It is -impossible to prevent others from feeling hostile, but it is possible -to avoid any reciprocal hostility on one’s own part, by imaginative -understanding and the sympathy which grows out of it. And without -understanding and sympathy it is impossible to find a cure for the evil -from which the world is suffering. - -There are two views of the war neither of which seems to me adequate. -The usual view in this country is that it is due to the wickedness -of the Germans; the view of most pacifists is that it is due to -the diplomatic tangle and to the ambitions of Governments. I think -both these views fail to realize the extent to which war grows out -of ordinary human nature. Germans, and also the men who compose -Governments, are on the whole average human beings, actuated by the -same passions that actuate others, not differing much from the rest of -the world except in their circumstances. War is accepted by men who -are neither Germans nor diplomatists with a readiness, an acquiescence -in untrue and inadequate reasons, which would not be possible if any -deep repugnance to war were widespread in other nations or classes. -The untrue things which men believe, and the true things which -they disbelieve, are an index to their impulses—not necessarily to -individual impulses in each case (since beliefs are contagious), but to -the general impulses of the community. We all believe many things which -we have no good ground for believing, because, subconsciously, our -nature craves certain kinds of action which these beliefs would render -reasonable if they were true. Unfounded beliefs are the homage which -impulse pays to reason; and thus it is with the beliefs which, opposite -but similar, make men here and in Germany believe it their duty to -prosecute the war. - -The first thought which naturally occurs to one who accepts this view -is that it would be well if men were more under the dominion of reason. -War, to those who see that it must necessarily do untold harm to all -the combatants, seems a mere madness, a collective insanity in which -all that has been known in time of peace is forgotten. If impulses -were more controlled, if thought were less dominated by passion, men -would guard their minds against the approaches of war fever, and -disputes would be adjusted amicably. This is true, but it is not by -itself sufficient. It is only those in whom the desire to think truly -is itself a passion who will find this desire adequate to control the -passions of war. Only passion can control passion, and only a contrary -impulse or desire can check impulse. Reason, as it is preached by -traditional moralists, is too negative, too little living, to make a -good life. It is not by reason alone that wars can be prevented, but by -a positive life of impulses and passions antagonistic to those that -lead to war. It is the life of impulse that needs to be changed, not -only the life of conscious thought. - -All human activity springs from two sources: impulse and desire. The -part played by desire has always been sufficiently recognized. When men -find themselves not fully contented, and not able instantly to procure -what will cause content, imagination brings before their minds the -thought of things which they believe would make them happy. All desire -involves an interval of time between the consciousness of a need and -the opportunity for satisfying it. The acts inspired by desire may be -in themselves painful, the time before satisfaction can be achieved -may be very long, the object desired may be something outside our -own lives, and even after our own death. Will, as a directing force, -consists mainly in following desires for more or less distant objects, -in spite of the painfulness of the acts involved and the solicitations -of incompatible but more immediate desires and impulses. All this is -familiar, and political philosophy hitherto has been almost entirely -based upon desire as the source of human actions. - -But desire governs no more than a part of human activity, and that not -the most important but only the more conscious, explicit, and civilized -part. - -In all the more instinctive part of our nature we are dominated by -impulses to certain kinds of activity, not by desires for certain ends. -Children run and shout, not because of any good which they expect to -realize, but because of a direct impulse to running and shouting. Dogs -bay the moon, not because they consider that it is to their advantage -to do so, but because they feel an impulse to bark. It is not any -purpose, but merely an impulse, that prompts such actions as eating, -drinking, love-making, quarreling, boasting. Those who believe that -man is a rational animal will say that people boast in order that -others may have a good opinion of them; but most of us can recall -occasions when we have boasted in spite of knowing that we should -be despised for it. Instinctive acts normally achieve some result -which is agreeable to the natural man, but they are not performed -from desire for this result. They are performed from direct impulse, -and the impulse is often strong even in cases in which the normal -desirable result cannot follow. Grown men like to imagine themselves -more rational than children and dogs, and unconsciously conceal -from themselves how great a part impulse plays in their lives. This -unconscious concealment always follows a certain general plan. When an -impulse is not indulged in the moment in which it arises, there grows -up a desire for the expected consequences of indulging the impulse. -If some of the consequences which are reasonably to be expected are -clearly disagreeable, a conflict between foresight and impulse arises. -If the impulse is weak, foresight may conquer; this is what is called -acting on reason. If the impulse is strong, either foresight will be -falsified, and the disagreeable consequences will be forgotten, or, in -men of a heroic mold, the consequences may be recklessly accepted. When -Macbeth realizes that he is doomed to defeat, he does not shrink from -the fight; he exclaims:— - - Lay on, Macduff, - And damned be him that first cries, Hold, enough! - -But such strength and recklessness of impulse is rare. Most men, when -their impulse is strong, succeed in persuading themselves, usually by -a subconscious selectiveness of attention, that agreeable consequences -will follow from the indulgence of their impulse. Whole philosophies, -whole systems of ethical valuation, spring up in this way: they are -the embodiment of a kind of thought which is subservient to impulse, -which aims at providing a quasi-rational ground for the indulgence of -impulse. The only thought which is genuine is that which springs out -of the intellectual impulse of curiosity, leading to the desire to -know and understand. But most of what passes for thought is inspired -by some non-intellectual impulse, and is merely a means of persuading -ourselves that we shall not be disappointed or do harm if we indulge -this impulse.[1] - -When an impulse is restrained, we feel discomfort or even violent pain. -We may indulge the impulse in order to escape from this pain, and -our action is then one which has a purpose. But the pain only exists -because of the impulse, and the impulse itself is directed to an act, -not to escaping from the pain of restraining the impulse. The impulse -itself remains without a purpose, and the purpose of escaping from pain -only arises when the impulse has been momentarily restrained. - -Impulse is at the basis of our activity, much more than desire. Desire -has its place, but not so large a place as it seemed to have. Impulses -bring with them a whole train of subservient fictitious desires: they -make men feel that they desire the results which will follow from -indulging the impulses, and that they are acting for the sake of these -results, when in fact their action has no motive outside itself. A man -may write a book or paint a picture under the belief that he desires -the praise which it will bring him; but as soon as it is finished, -if his creative impulse is not exhausted, what he has done grows -uninteresting to him, and he begins a new piece of work. What applies -to artistic creation applies equally to all that is most vital in our -lives: direct impulse is what moves us, and the desires which we think -we have are a mere garment for the impulse. - -Desire, as opposed to impulse, has, it is true, a large and increasing -share in the regulation of men’s lives. Impulse is erratic and -anarchical, not easily fitted into a well-regulated system; it may be -tolerated in children and artists, but it is not thought proper to -men who hope to be taken seriously. Almost all paid work is done from -desire, not from impulse: the work itself is more or less irksome, -but the payment for it is desired. The serious activities that fill -a man’s working hours are, except in a few fortunate individuals, -governed mainly by purposes, not by impulses towards those activities. -In this hardly any one sees an evil, because the place of impulse in a -satisfactory existence is not recognized. - -An impulse, to one who does not share it actually or imaginatively, -will always seem to be mad. All impulse is essentially blind, in the -sense that it does not spring from any prevision of consequences. The -man who does not share the impulse will form a different estimate as -to what the consequences will be, and as to whether those that must -ensue are desirable. This difference of opinion will seem to be ethical -or intellectual, whereas its real basis is a difference of impulse. -No genuine agreement will be reached, in such a case, so long as the -difference of impulse persists. In all men who have any vigorous life, -there are strong impulses such as may seem utterly unreasonable to -others. Blind impulses sometimes lead to destruction and death, but -at other times they lead to the best things the world contains. Blind -impulse is the source of war, but it is also the source of science, -and art, and love. It is not the weakening of impulse that is to be -desired, but the direction of impulse towards life and growth rather -than towards death and decay. - -The complete control of impulse by will, which is sometimes preached -by moralists, and often enforced by economic necessity, is not really -desirable. A life governed by purposes and desires, to the exclusion -of impulse, is a tiring life; it exhausts vitality, and leaves a man, -in the end, indifferent to the very purposes which he has been trying -to achieve. When a whole nation lives in this way, the whole nation -tends to become feeble, without enough grasp to recognize and overcome -the obstacles to its desires. Industrialism and organization are -constantly forcing civilized nations to live more and more by purpose -rather than impulse. In the long run such a mode of existence, if it -does not dry up the springs of life, produces new impulses, not of -the kind which the will has been in the habit of controlling or of -which thought is conscious. These new impulses are apt to be worse in -their effects than those that have been checked. Excessive discipline, -especially when it is imposed from without, often issues in impulses -of cruelty and destruction; this is one reason why militarism has a -bad effect on national character. Either lack of vitality, or impulses -which are oppressive and against life, will almost always result if the -spontaneous impulses are not able to find an outlet. A man’s impulses -are not fixed from the beginning by his native disposition: within -certain wide limits, they are profoundly modified by his circumstances -and his way of life. The nature of these modifications ought to be -studied, and the results of such study ought to be taken account of -in judging the good or harm that is done by political and social -institutions. - -The war has grown, in the main, out of the life of impulse, not out of -reason or desire. There is an impulse of aggression, and an impulse of -resistance to aggression. Either may, on occasion, be in accordance -with reason, but both are operative in many cases in which they are -quite contrary to reason. Each impulse produces a whole harvest of -attendant beliefs. The beliefs appropriate to the impulse of aggression -may be seen in Bernhardi, or in the early Mohammedan conquerors, or, -in full perfection, in the Book of Joshua. There is first of all a -conviction of the superior excellence of one’s own group, a certainty -that they are in some sense the chosen people. This justifies the -feeling that only the good and evil of one’s own group is of real -importance, and that the rest of the world is to be regarded merely as -material for the triumph or salvation of the higher race. In modern -politics this attitude is embodied in imperialism. Europe as a whole -has this attitude towards Asia and Africa, and many Germans have this -attitude towards the rest of Europe. - -Correlative to the impulse of aggression is the impulse of resistance -to aggression. This impulse is exemplified in the attitude of the -Israelites to the Philistines or of medieval Europe to the Mohammedans. -The beliefs which it produces are beliefs in the peculiar wickedness of -those whose aggression is feared, and in the immense value of national -customs which they might suppress if they were victorious. When the war -broke out, all the reactionaries in England and France began to speak -of the danger to democracy, although until that moment they had opposed -democracy with all their strength. They were not insincere in so -speaking: the impulse of resistance to Germany made them value whatever -was endangered by the German attack. They loved democracy because they -hated Germany; but they thought they hated Germany because they loved -democracy. - -The correlative impulses of aggression and resistance to aggression -have both been operative in all the countries engaged in the war. -Those who have not been dominated by one or other of these impulses -may be roughly divided into three classes. There are, first, men whose -national sentiment is antagonistic to the State to which they are -subject. This class includes some Irish, Poles, Finns, Jews, and other -members of oppressed nations. From our point of view, these men may -be omitted from our consideration, since they have the same impulsive -nature as those who fight, and differ merely in external circumstances. - -The second class of men who have not been part of the force supporting -the war have been those whose impulsive nature is more or less -atrophied. Opponents of pacifism suppose that all pacifists belong to -this class, except when they are in German pay. It is thought that -pacifists are bloodless, men without passions, men who can look on and -reason with cold detachment while their brothers are giving their lives -for their country. Among those who are merely passively pacifist, and -do no more than abstain from actively taking part in the war, there may -be a certain proportion of whom this is true. I think the supporters -of war would be right in decrying such men. In spite of all the -destruction which is wrought by the impulses that lead to war, there is -more hope for a nation which has these impulses than for a nation in -which all impulse is dead. Impulse is the expression of life, and while -it exists there is hope of its turning towards life instead of towards -death; but lack of impulse is death, and out of death no new life will -come. - -The active pacifists, however, are not of this class: they are not men -without impulsive force but men in whom some impulse to which war is -hostile is strong enough to overcome the impulses that lead to war. It -is not the act of a passionless man to throw himself athwart the whole -movement of the national life, to urge an outwardly hopeless cause, -to incur obloquy and to resist the contagion of collective emotion. -The impulse to avoid the hostility of public opinion is one of the -strongest in human nature, and can only be overcome by an unusual force -of direct and uncalculating impulse; it is not cold reason alone that -can prompt such an act. - -Impulses may be divided into those that make for life and those that -make for death. The impulses embodied in the war are among those that -make for death. Any one of the impulses that make for life, if it is -strong enough, will lead a man to stand out against the war. Some of -these impulses are only strong in highly civilized men; some are part -of common humanity. The impulses towards art and science are among the -more civilized of those that make for life. Many artists have remained -wholly untouched by the passions of the war, not from feebleness of -feeling, but because the creative instinct, the pursuit of a vision, -makes them critical of the assaults of national passion, and not -responsive to the myth in which the impulse of pugnacity clothes -itself. And the few men in whom the scientific impulse is dominant have -noticed the rival myths of warring groups, and have been led through -understanding to neutrality. But it is not out of such refined impulses -that a popular force can be generated which shall be sufficient to -transform the world. - -There are three forces on the side of life which require no exceptional -mental endowment, which are not very rare at present, and might be very -common under better social institutions. They are love, the instinct -of constructiveness, and the joy of life. All three are checked and -enfeebled at present by the conditions under which men live—not only -the less outwardly fortunate, but also the majority of the well-to-do. -Our institutions rest upon injustice and authority: it is only by -closing our hearts against sympathy and our minds against truth that -we can endure the oppressions and unfairnesses by which we profit. The -conventional conception of what constitutes success leads most men to -live a life in which their most vital impulses are sacrificed, and the -joy of life is lost in listless weariness. Our economic system compels -almost all men to carry out the purposes of others rather than their -own, making them feel impotent in action and only able to secure a -certain modicum of passive pleasure. All these things destroy the vigor -of the community, the expansive affections of individuals, and the -power of viewing the world generously. All these things are unnecessary -and can be ended by wisdom and courage. If they were ended, the -impulsive life of men would become wholly different, and the human race -might travel towards a new happiness and a new vigor. To urge this hope -is the purpose of these lectures. - -The impulses and desires of men and women, in so far as they are of -real importance in their lives, are not detached one from another, but -proceed from a central principle of growth, an instinctive urgency -leading them in a certain direction, as trees seek the light. So long -as this instinctive movement is not thwarted, whatever misfortunes -may occur are not fundamental disasters, and do not produce those -distortions which result from interference with natural growth. This -intimate center in each human being is what imagination must apprehend -if we are to understand him intuitively. It differs from man to man, -and determines for each man the type of excellence of which he is -capable. The utmost that social institutions can do for a man is to -make his own growth free and vigorous: they cannot force him to grow -according to the pattern of another man. There are in men some impulses -and desires—for example, those towards drugs—which do not grow out of -the central principle; such impulses, when they become strong enough -to be harmful, have to be checked by self-discipline. Other impulses, -though they may grow out of the central principle in the individual, -may be injurious to the growth of others, and they need to be checked -in the interest of others. But in the main, the impulses which are -injurious to others tend to result from thwarted growth, and to be -least in those who have been unimpeded in their instinctive development. - -Men, like trees, require for their growth the right soil and a -sufficient freedom from oppression. These can be helped or hindered -by political institutions. But the soil and the freedom required for -a man’s growth are immeasurably more difficult to discover and to -obtain than the soil and the freedom required for the growth of a -tree. And the full growth which may be hoped for cannot be defined -or demonstrated; it is subtle and complex, it can only be felt by a -delicate intuition and dimly apprehended by imagination and respect. -It depends not only or chiefly upon the physical environment, but -upon beliefs and affections, upon opportunities for action, and upon -the whole life of the community. The more developed and civilized the -type of man the more elaborate are the conditions of his growth, and -the more dependent they become upon the general state of the society -in which he lives. A man’s needs and desires are not confined to his -own life. If his mind is comprehensive and his imagination vivid, the -failures of the community to which he belongs are his failures, and its -successes are his successes: according as his community succeeds or -fails, his own growth is nourished or impeded. - -In the modern world, the principle of growth in most men and women -is hampered by institutions inherited from a simpler age. By the -progress of thought and knowledge, and by the increase in command over -the forces of the physical world, new possibilities of growth have -come into existence, and have given rise to new claims which must be -satisfied if those who make them are not to be thwarted. There is less -acquiescence in limitations which are no longer unavoidable, and less -possibility of a good life while those limitations remain. Institutions -which give much greater opportunities to some classes than to others -are no longer recognized as just by the less fortunate, though the -more fortunate still defend them vehemently. Hence arises a universal -strife, in which tradition and authority are arrayed against liberty -and justice. Our professed morality, being traditional, loses its hold -upon those who are in revolt. Coöperation between the defenders of the -old and the champions of the new has become almost impossible. An -intimate disunion has entered into almost all the relations of life -in continually increasing measure. In the fight for freedom, men and -women become increasingly unable to break down the walls of the Ego and -achieve the growth which comes from a real and vital union. - -All our institutions have their historic basis in Authority. The -unquestioned authority of the Oriental despot found its religious -expression in the omnipotent Creator, whose glory was the sole end of -man, and against whom man had no rights. This authority descended to -the Emperor and Pope, to the kings of the Middle Ages, to the nobles -in the feudal hierarchy, and even to every husband and father in -his dealings with his wife and children. The Church was the direct -embodiment of the Divine authority, the State and the law were -constituted by the authority of the King, private property in land grew -out of the authority of conquering barons, and the family was governed -by the authority of the pater-familias. - -The institutions of the Middle Ages permitted only a fortunate few -to develop freely: the vast majority of mankind existed to minister -to the few. But so long as authority was genuinely respected and -acknowledged even by its least fortunate subjects, medieval society -remained organic and not fundamentally hostile to life, since outward -submission was compatible with inward freedom because it was voluntary. -The institutions of Western Christendom embodied a theory which was -really believed, as no theory by which our present institutions can be -defended is now believed. - -The medieval theory of life broke down through its failure to satisfy -men’s demands for justice and liberty. Under the stress of oppression, -when rulers exceeded their theoretical powers, the victims were forced -to realize that they themselves also had rights, and need not live -merely to increase the glory of the few. Gradually it came to be seen -that if men have power, they are likely to abuse it, and that authority -in practice means tyranny. Because the claim to justice was resisted -by the holders of power, men became more and more separate units, each -fighting for his own rights, not a genuine community bound together -by an organic common purpose. This absence of a common purpose has -become a source of unhappiness. One of the reasons which led many men -to welcome the outbreak of the present war was that it made each -nation again a whole community with a single purpose. It did this by -destroying, for the present, the beginnings of a single purpose in the -civilized world as a whole; but these beginnings were as yet so feeble -that few were much affected by their destruction. Men rejoiced in the -new sense of unity with their compatriots more than they minded the -increased separation from their enemies. - -The hardening and separation of the individual in the course of the -fight for freedom has been inevitable, and is not likely ever to be -wholly undone. What is necessary, if an organic society is to grow -up, is that our institutions should be so fundamentally changed as -to embody that new respect for the individual and his rights which -modern feeling demands. The medieval Empire and Church swept away the -individual. There were heretics, but they were massacred relentlessly, -without any of the qualms aroused by later persecutions. And they, like -their persecutors, were persuaded that there ought to be one universal -Church: they differed only as to what its creed should be. Among a -few men of art and letters, the Renaissance undermined the medieval -theory, without, however, replacing it by anything but skepticism -and confusion. The first serious breach in this medieval theory was -caused by Luther’s assertion of the right of private judgment and the -fallibility of General Councils. Out of this assertion grew inevitably, -with time, the belief that a man’s religion could not be determined -for him by authority, but must be left to the free choice of each -individual. It was in matters of religion that the battle for liberty -began, and it is in matters of religion that it has come nearest to a -complete victory.[2] - -The development through extreme individualism to strife, and thence, -one hopes, to a new reintegration, is to be seen in almost every -department of life. Claims are advanced in the name of justice, and -resisted in the name of tradition and prescriptive right. Each side -honestly believes that it deserves to triumph, because two theories -of society exist side by side in our thought, and men choose, -unconsciously, the theory which fits their case. Because the battle is -long and arduous all general theory is gradually forgotten; in the end, -nothing remains but self-assertion, and when the oppressed win freedom -they are as oppressive as their former masters. - -This is seen most crudely in the case of what is called nationalism. -Nationalism, in theory, is the doctrine that men, by their sympathies -and traditions, form natural groups, called “nations,” each of which -ought to be united under one central Government. In the main this -doctrine may be conceded. But in practice the doctrine takes a more -personal form. “I belong,” the oppressed nationalist argues, “by -sympathy and tradition to nation A, but I am subject to a government -which is in the hands of nation B. This is an injustice, not only -because of the general principle of nationalism, but because nation A -is generous, progressive, and civilized, while nation B is oppressive, -retrograde, and barbarous. Because this is so, nation A deserves to -prosper, while nation B deserves to be abased.” The inhabitants of -nation B are naturally deaf to the claims of abstract justice, when -they are accompanied by personal hostility and contempt. Presently, -however, in the course of war, nation A acquires its freedom. The -energy and pride which have achieved freedom generates a momentum which -leads on, almost infallibly, to the attempt at foreign conquest, or -to the refusal of liberty to some smaller nation. “What? You say that -nation C, which forms part of our State, has the same rights against -us as we had against nation A? But that is absurd. Nation C is swinish -and turbulent, incapable of good government, needing a strong hand if -it is not to be a menace and a disturbance to all its neighbors.” So -the English used to speak of the Irish, so the Germans and Russians -speak of the Poles, so the Galician Poles speak of the Ruthenes, so -the Austrians used to speak of the Magyars, so the Magyars speak of -the South Slav sympathizers with Serbia, so the Serbs speak of the -Macedonian Bulgars. In this way nationalism, unobjectionable in theory, -leads by a natural movement to oppression and wars of conquest. No -sooner was France free from the English, in the fifteenth century, -than it embarked upon the conquest of Italy; no sooner was Spain freed -from the Moors than it entered into more than a century of conflict -with France for the supremacy in Europe. The case of Germany is very -interesting in this respect. At the beginning of the eighteenth century -German culture was French: French was the language of the Courts, -the language in which Leibnitz wrote his philosophy, the universal -language of polite letters and learning. National consciousness hardly -existed. Then a series of great men created a self-respect in Germany -by their achievements in poetry, music, philosophy, and science. -But politically German nationalism was only created by Napoleon’s -oppression and the uprising of 1813. After centuries during which every -disturbance of the peace of Europe began with a French or Swedish or -Russian invasion of Germany, the Germans discovered that by sufficient -effort and union they could keep foreign armies off their territory. -But the effort required had been too great to cease when its purely -defensive purpose had been achieved by the defeat of Napoleon. Now, a -hundred years later, they are still engaged in the same movement, which -has become one of aggression and conquest. Whether we are now seeing -the end of the movement it is not yet possible to guess. - -If men had any strong sense of a community of nations, nationalism -would serve to define the boundaries of the various nations. But -because men only feel community within their own nation, nothing but -force is able to make them respect the rights of other nations, even -when they are asserting exactly similar rights on their own behalf. - -Analogous development is to be expected, with the course of time, in -the conflict between capital and labor which has existed since the -growth of the industrial system, and in the conflict between men and -women, which is still in its infancy. - -What is wanted, in these various conflicts, is some principle, -genuinely believed, which will have justice for its outcome. The tug -of war of mutual self-assertion can only result in justice through an -accidental equality of force. It is no use to attempt any bolstering -up of institutions based on authority, since all such institutions -involve injustice, and injustice once realized cannot be perpetuated -without fundamental damage both to those who uphold it and to those who -resist it. The damage consists in the hardening of the walls of the -Ego, making them a prison instead of a window. Unimpeded growth in the -individual depends upon many contacts with other people, which must -be of the nature of free coöperation, not of enforced service. While -the belief in authority was alive, free coöperation was compatible -with inequality and subjection, but now equality and mutual freedom -are necessary. All institutions, if they are not to hamper individual -growth, must be based as far as possible upon voluntary combination, -rather than the force of the law or the traditional authority of the -holders of power. None of our institutions can survive the application -of this principle without great and fundamental changes; but these -changes are imperatively necessary if the world is to be withheld from -dissolving into hard separate units each at war with all the others. - -The two chief sources of good relations between individuals are -instinctive liking and a common purpose. Of these two, a common purpose -might seem more important politically, but, in fact, it is often -the outcome, not the cause, of instinctive liking, or of a common -instinctive aversion. Biological groups, from the family to the nation, -are constituted by a greater or less degree of instinctive liking, and -build their common purposes on this foundation. - -Instinctive liking is the feeling which makes us take pleasure in -another person’s company, find an exhilaration in his presence, wish to -talk with him, work with him, play with him. The extreme form of it is -being in love, but its fainter forms, and even the very faintest, have -political importance. The presence of a person who is instinctively -disliked tends to make any other person more likable. An anti-Semite -will love any fellow-Christian when a Jew is present. In China, or the -wilds of Africa, any white man would be welcomed with joy. A common -aversion is one of the most frequent causes of mild instinctive liking. - -Men differ enormously in the frequency and intensity of their -instinctive likings, and the same man will differ greatly at different -times. One may take Carlyle and Walt Whitman as opposite poles in this -respect. To Carlyle, at any rate in later life, most men and women were -repulsive; they inspired an instinctive aversion which made him find -pleasure in imagining them under the guillotine or perishing in battle. -This led him to belittle most men, finding satisfaction only in those -who had been notably destructive of human life—Frederick the Great, -Dr. Francia, and Governor Eyre. It led him to love war and violence, -and to despise the weak and the oppressed—for example, the “thirty -thousand distressed needlewomen,” on whom he was never weary of venting -his scorn. His morals and his politics, in later life, were inspired -through and through by repugnance to almost the whole human race. - -Walt Whitman, on the contrary, had a warm, expansive feeling towards -the vast majority of men and women. His queer catalogues seemed to him -interesting because each item came before his imagination as an object -of delight. The sort of joy which most people feel only in those who -are exceptionally beautiful or splendid Walt Whitman felt in almost -everybody. Out of this universal liking grew optimism, a belief in -democracy, and a conviction that it is easy for men to live together -in peace and amity. His philosophy and politics, like Carlyle’s, were -based upon his instinctive attitude towards ordinary men and women. - -There is no objective reason to be given to show that one of these -attitudes is essentially more rational than the other. If a man finds -people repulsive, no argument can prove to him that they are not so. -But both his own desires and other people’s are much more likely to -find satisfaction if he resembles Walt Whitman than if he resembles -Carlyle. A world of Walt Whitmans would be happier and more capable of -realizing its purposes than a world of Carlyles. For this reason, we -shall desire, if we can, to increase the amount of instinctive liking -in the world and diminish the amount of instinctive aversion. This -is perhaps the most important of all the effects by which political -institutions ought to be judged. - -The other source of good relations between individuals is a common -purpose, especially where that purpose cannot be achieved without -knowing its cause. Economic organizations, such as unions and political -parties are constituted almost wholly by a common purpose; whatever -instinctive liking may come to be associated with them is the result -of the common purpose, not its cause. Economic organizations, such as -railway companies, subsist for a purpose, but this purpose need only -actually exist in those who direct the organization: the ordinary -wage-earner need have no purpose beyond earning his wages. This is a -defect in economic organizations, and ought to be remedied. One of the -objects of syndicalism is to remedy this defect. - -Marriage is (or should be) based on instinctive liking, but as soon -as there are children, or the wish for children, it acquires the -additional strength of a common purpose. It is this chiefly which -distinguishes it from an irregular connection not intended to lead to -children. Often, in fact, the common purpose survives, and remains a -strong tie, after the instinctive liking has faded. - -A nation, when it is real and not artificial, is founded upon a faint -degree of instinctive liking for compatriots and a common instinctive -aversion from foreigners. When an Englishman returns to Dover or -Folkestone after being on the Continent, he feels something friendly -in the familiar ways: the casual porters, the shouting paper boys, the -women serving bad tea, all warm his heart, and seem more “natural,” -more what human beings ought to be, than the foreigners with their -strange habits of behavior. He is ready to believe that all English -people are good souls, while many foreigners are full of designing -wickedness. It is such feelings that make it easy to organize a nation -into a governmental unit. And when that has happened, a common purpose -is added, as in marriage. Foreigners would like to invade our country -and lay it waste, to kill us in battle, to humble our pride. Those -who coöperate with us in preventing this disaster are our friends, -and their coöperation intensifies our instinctive liking. But common -purposes do not constitute the whole source of our love of country: -allies, even of long standing, do not call out the same feelings -as are called out by our compatriots. Instinctive liking, resulting -largely from similar habits and customs, is an essential element in -patriotism, and, indeed, the foundation upon which the whole feeling -rests. - -If men’s natural growth is to be promoted and not hindered by the -environment, if as many as possible of their desires and needs are to -be satisfied, political institutions must, as far as possible, embody -common purposes and foster instinctive liking. These two objects are -interconnected, for nothing is so destructive of instinctive liking -as thwarted purposes and unsatisfied needs, and nothing facilitates -coöperation for common purposes so much as instinctive liking. When a -man’s growth is unimpeded, his self-respect remains intact, and he is -not inclined to regard others as his enemies. But when, for whatever -reason, his growth is impeded, or he is compelled to grow into some -twisted and unnatural shape, his instinct presents the environment as -his enemy, and he becomes filled with hatred. The joy of life abandons -him, and malevolence takes the place of friendliness. The malevolence -of hunchbacks and cripples is proverbial; and a similar malevolence -is to be found in those who have been crippled in less obvious ways. -Real freedom, if it could be brought about, would go a long way towards -destroying hatred. - -There is a not uncommon belief that what is instinctive in us -cannot be changed, but must be simply accepted and made the best -of. This is by no means the case. No doubt we have a certain native -disposition, different in different people, which coöperates with -outside circumstances in producing a certain character. But even the -instinctive part of our character is very malleable. It may be changed -by beliefs, by material circumstances, by social circumstances, and by -institutions. A Dutchman has probably much the same native disposition -as a German, but his instincts in adult life are very different owing -to the absence of militarism and of the pride of a Great Power. It is -obvious that the instincts of celibates become profoundly different -from those of other men and women. Almost any instinct is capable of -many different forms according to the nature of the outlets which -it finds. The same instinct which leads to artistic or intellectual -creativeness may, under other circumstances, lead to love of war. The -fact that an activity or belief is an outcome of instinct is therefore -no reason for regarding it as unalterable. - -This applies to people’s instinctive likes and dislikes as well as -to their other instincts. It is natural to men, as to other animals, -to like some of their species and dislike others; but the proportion -of like and dislike depends on circumstances, often on quite trivial -circumstances. Most of Carlyle’s misanthropy is attributable to -dyspepsia; probably a suitable medical regimen would have given him a -completely different outlook on the world. The defect of punishment, -as a means of dealing with impulses which the community wishes to -discourage, is that it does nothing to prevent the existence of -the impulses, but merely endeavors to check their indulgence by an -appeal to self-interest. This method, since it does not eradicate the -impulses, probably only drives them to find other outlets even when it -is successful in its immediate object; and if the impulses are strong, -mere self-interest is not likely to curb them effectually, since it is -not a very powerful motive except with unusually reasonable and rather -passionless people. It is thought to be a stronger motive than it is, -because our moods make us deceive ourselves as to our interest, and -lead us to believe that it is consistent with the actions to which we -are prompted by desire or impulse. - -Thus the commonplace that human nature cannot be changed is untrue. -We all know that our own characters and those of our acquaintance are -greatly affected by circumstances; and what is true of individuals -is true also of nations. The root causes of changes in average human -nature are generally either purely material changes—for instance, of -climate—or changes in the degree of man’s control over the material -world. We may ignore the purely material changes, since these do not -much concern the politician. But the changes due to man’s increased -control over the material world, by inventions and science, are of -profound present importance. Through the industrial revolution, they -have radically altered the daily lives of men; and by creating huge -economic organizations, they have altered the whole structure of -society. The general beliefs of men, which are, in the main, a product -of instinct and circumstance, have become very different from what -they were in the eighteenth century. But our institutions are not yet -suited either to the instincts developed by our new circumstances, or -to our real beliefs. Institutions have a life of their own, and often -outlast the circumstances which made them a fit garment for instinct. -This applies, in varying degrees, to almost all the institutions which -we have inherited from the past: the State, private property, the -patriarchal family, the Churches, armies and navies. All of these have -become in some degree oppressive, in some measures hostile to life. - -In any serious attempt at political reconstruction, it is necessary -to realize what are the vital needs of ordinary men and women. It -is customary, in political thought, to assume that the only needs -with which politics is concerned are economic needs. This view is -quite inadequate to account for such an event as the present war, -since any economic motives that may be assigned for it are to a great -extent mythical, and its true causes must be sought for outside the -economic sphere. Needs which are normally satisfied without conscious -effort remain unrecognized, and this results in a working theory of -human needs which is far too simple. Owing chiefly to industrialism, -many needs which were formerly satisfied without effort now remain -unsatisfied in most men and women. But the old unduly simple theory of -human needs survives, making men overlook the source of the new lack -of satisfaction, and invent quite false theories as to why they are -dissatisfied. Socialism as a panacea seems to me to be mistaken in this -way, since it is too ready to suppose that better economic conditions -will of themselves make men happy. It is not only more material goods -that men need, but more freedom, more self-direction, more outlet for -creativeness, more opportunity for the joy of life, more voluntary -coöperation, and less involuntary subservience to purposes not their -own. All these things the institutions of the future must help to -produce, if our increase of knowledge and power over Nature is to bear -its full fruit in bringing about a good life. - - - - -II - -THE STATE - - -Under the influence of socialism, most liberal thought in recent years -has been in favor of increasing the power of the State, but more or -less hostile to the power of private property. On the other hand, -syndicalism has been hostile both to the State and to private property. -I believe that syndicalism is more nearly right than socialism in this -respect, that both private property and the State, which are the two -most powerful institutions of the modern world, have become harmful -to life through excess of power, and that both are hastening the loss -of vitality from which the civilized world increasingly suffers. -The two institutions are closely connected, but for the present I -wish to consider only the State. I shall try to show how great, how -unnecessary, how harmful, many of its powers are, and how enormously -they might be diminished without loss of what is useful in its -activity. But I shall admit that in certain directions its functions -ought to be extended rather than curtailed. - -Some of the functions of the State, such as the Post Office and -elementary education, might be performed by private agencies, and are -only undertaken by the State from motives of convenience. But other -matters, such as the law, the police, the Army, and the Navy, belong -more essentially to the State: so long as there is a State at all it is -difficult to imagine these matters in private hands. The distinction -between socialism and individualism turns on the nonessential -functions of the State, which the socialist wishes to extend and -the individualist to restrict. It is the essential functions, which -are admitted by individualists and socialists alike, that I wish -to criticize, since the others do not appear to me in themselves -objectionable. - -The essence of the State is that it is the repository of the collective -force of its citizens. This force takes two forms, one internal and one -external. The internal form is the law and the police; the external -form is the power of waging war, as embodied in the Army and Navy. The -State is constituted by the combination of all the inhabitants in a -certain area using their united force in accordance with the commands -of a Government. In a civilized State force is only employed against -its own citizens in accordance with rules previously laid down, which -constitute the criminal law. But the employment of force against -foreigners is not regulated by any code of rules, and proceeds, with -few exceptions, according to some real or fancied national interest. - -There can be no doubt that force employed according to law is less -pernicious than force employed capriciously. If international law could -acquire sufficient hold on men’s allegiance to regulate the relations -of States, a very great advance on our present condition would have -been made. The primitive anarchy which precedes law is worse than law. -But I believe there is a possibility of a stage to some extent above -law, where the advantages now secured by the law are secured without -loss of freedom, and without the disadvantages which the law and the -police render inevitable. Probably some repository of force in the -background will remain necessary, but the actual employment of force -may become very rare, and the degree of force required very small. -The anarchy which precedes law gives freedom only to the strong; the -condition to be aimed at will give freedom as nearly as possible to -every one. It will do this, not by preventing altogether the existence -of organized force, but by limiting the occasions for its employment to -the greatest possible extent. - -The power of the State is only limited internally by the fear of -rebellion and externally by the fear of defeat in war. Subject to these -restrictions, it is absolute. In practice, it can seize men’s property -through taxation, determine the law of marriage and inheritance, punish -the expression of opinions which it dislikes, put men to death for -wishing the region they inhabit to belong to a different State, and -order all able-bodied males to risk their lives in battle whenever it -considers war desirable. On many matters disagreement with the purposes -and opinions of the State is criminal. Probably the freest States in -the world, before the war, were America and England; yet in America no -immigrant may land until he has professed disbelief in anarchism and -polygamy, while in England men were sent to prison in recent years for -expressing disagreement with the Christian religion[3] or agreement -with the teaching of Christ.[4] In time of war, all criticism of -the external policy of the State is criminal. Certain objects having -appeared desirable to the majority, or to the effective holders of -power, those who do not consider these objects desirable are exposed -to pains and penalties not unlike those suffered by heretics in the -past. The extent of the tyranny thus exercised is concealed by its very -success: few men consider it worth while to incur a persecution which -is almost certain to be thorough and effective. - -Universal military service is perhaps the extreme example of the power -of the State, and the supreme illustration of the difference between -its attitude to its own citizens and its attitude to the citizens of -other States. The State punishes, with impartial rigor, both those who -kill their compatriots and those who refuse to kill foreigners. On -the whole, the latter is considered the graver crime. The phenomenon -of war is familiar, and men fail to realize its strangeness; to those -who stand inside the cycle of instincts which lead to war it all seems -natural and reasonable. But to those who stand outside the strangeness -of it grows with familiarity. It is amazing that the vast majority of -men should tolerate a system which compels them to submit to all the -horrors of the battlefield at any moment when their Government commands -them to do so. A French artist, indifferent to politics, attentive only -to his painting, suddenly finds himself called upon to shoot Germans, -who, his friends assure him, are a disgrace to the human race. A German -musician, equally unknowing, is called upon to shoot the perfidious -Frenchman. Why cannot the two men declare a mutual neutrality? Why not -leave war to those who like it and bring it on? Yet if the two men -declared a mutual neutrality they would be shot by their compatriots. -To avoid this fate they try to shoot each other. If the world loses -the artist, not the musician, Germany rejoices; if the world loses the -musician, not the artist, France rejoices. No one remembers the loss to -civilization, which is equal whichever is killed. - -This is the politics of Bedlam. If the artist and the musician had been -allowed to stand aside from the war, nothing but unmitigated good to -mankind would have resulted. The power of the State, which makes this -impossible, is a wholly evil thing, quite as evil as the power of the -Church which in former days put men to death for unorthodox thought. -Yet if, even in time of peace, an international league were founded to -consist of Frenchmen and Germans in equal numbers, all pledged not to -take part in war, the French State and the German State would persecute -it with equal ferocity. Blind obedience, unlimited willingness to kill -and die are exacted of the modern citizens of a democracy as much as -of the Janizaries of medieval sultans or the secret agents of Oriental -despots.[5] - -The power of the State may be brought to bear, as it often is in -England, through public opinion rather than through the laws. By -oratory and the influence of the Press, public opinion is largely -created by the State, and a tyrannous public opinion is as great an -enemy to liberty as tyrannous laws. If the young man who will not -fight finds that he is dismissed from his employment, insulted in the -streets, cold-shouldered by his friends, and thrown over with scorn by -any woman who may formerly have liked him, he will feel the penalty -quite as hard to bear as a death sentence.[6] A free community requires -not only legal freedom, but a tolerant public opinion, an absence of -that instinctive inquisition into our neighbors’ affairs which, under -the guise of upholding a high moral standard, enables good people -to indulge unconsciously a disposition to cruelty and persecution. -Thinking ill of others is not in itself a good reason for thinking well -of ourselves. But so long as this is not recognized, and so long as the -State can manufacture public opinion, except in the rare cases where it -is revolutionary, public opinion must be reckoned as a definite part of -the power of the State. - -The power of the State outside its own borders is in the main derived -from war or the threat of war. Some power is derived from the ability -to persuade its citizens to lend money or not to lend it, but this -is unimportant in comparison with the power derived from armies and -navies. The external activity of the State—with exceptions so rare -as to be negligible—is selfish. Sometimes selfishness is mitigated -by the need of retaining the goodwill of other States, but this only -modifies the methods employed, not the ends pursued. The ends pursued, -apart from mere defense against other States, are, on the one hand, -opportunities for successful exploitation of weak or uncivilized -countries, on the other hand, power and prestige, which are considered -more glorious and less material than money. In pursuit of these -objects, no State hesitates to put to death innumerable foreigners -whose happiness is not compatible with exploitation or subjection, or -to devastate territories into which it is thought necessary to strike -terror. Apart from the present war, such acts have been performed -within the last twenty years by many minor States and by all the -Great Powers[7] except Austria; and in the case of Austria only the -opportunity, not the will, was lacking. - -Why do men acquiesce in the power of the State? There are many reasons, -some traditional, some very present and pressing. - -The traditional reason for obedience to the State is personal loyalty -to the sovereign. European States grew up under the feudal system, -and were originally the several territories owned by feudal chiefs. -But this source of obedience has decayed, and probably now counts for -little except in Japan, and to a lesser extent in Russia. - -Tribal feeling, which always underlay loyalty to the sovereign, has -remained as strong as it ever was, and is now the chief support for -the power of the State. Almost every man finds it essential to his -happiness to feel himself a member of a group, animated by common -friendships and enmities and banded together for defense and attack. -But such groups are of two kinds: there are those which are essentially -enlargements of the family, and there are those which are based upon a -conscious common purpose. Nations belong to the first kind, Churches to -the second. At times when men are profoundly swayed by creeds national -divisions tend to break down, as they did in the wars of religion -after the Reformation. At such times a common creed is a stronger bond -than a common nationality. To a much slighter extent, the same thing -has occurred in the modern world with the rise of socialism. Men who -disbelieve in private property, and feel the capitalist the real enemy, -have a bond which transcends national divisions. It has not been found -strong enough to resist the passions aroused by the present war, but -it has made them less bitter among socialists than among others, and -has kept alive the hope of a European community to be reconstructed -when the war is over. In the main, however, the universal disbelief in -creeds has left tribal feeling triumphant, and has made nationalism -stronger than at any previous period of the world’s history. A few -sincere Christians, a few sincere socialists, have found in their creed -a force capable of resisting the assaults of national passion, but they -have been too few to influence the course of events or even to cause -serious anxiety to the Governments. - -It is chiefly tribal feeling that generates the unity of a national -State, but it is not only tribal feeling that generates its strength. -Its strength results principally from two fears, neither of which is -unreasonable: the fear of crime and anarchy within, and the fear of -aggression from without. - -The internal orderliness of a civilized community is a great -achievement, chiefly brought about by the increased authority of the -State. It would be inconvenient if peaceable citizens were constantly -in imminent risk of being robbed and murdered. Civilized life would -become almost impossible if adventurous people could organize private -armies for purposes of plunder. These conditions existed in the Middle -Ages, and have not passed away without a great struggle. It is thought -by many—especially by the rich, who derive the greatest advantage from -law and order—that any diminution in the power of the State might -bring back a condition of universal anarchy. They regard strikes as -portents of dissolution. They are terrified by such organizations as -the Confédération Générale du Travail and the International Workers -of the World. They remember the French Revolution, and feel a not -unnatural desire to keep their heads on their shoulders. They dread -particularly any political theory which seems to excuse private crimes, -such as sabotage and political assassination. Against these dangers -they see no protection except the maintenance of the authority of the -State, and the belief that all resistance to the State is wicked. - -Fear of the danger within is enhanced by fear of the danger without. -Every State is exposed at all times to the risk of foreign invasion. -No means has hitherto been devised for minimizing this risk except the -increase of armaments. But the armaments which are nominally intended -to repel invasion may also be used to invade. And so the means adopted -to diminish the external fear have the effect of increasing it, and -of enormously enhancing the destructiveness of war when it does break -out. In this way a reign of terror becomes universal, and the State -acquires everywhere something of the character of the Comité du Salut -Public. - -The tribal feeling out of which the State develops is natural, and the -fear by which the State is strengthened is reasonable under present -circumstances. And in addition to these two, there is a third source of -strength in a national State, namely patriotism in its religious aspect. - -Patriotism is a very complex feeling, built up out of primitive -instincts and highly intellectual convictions. There is love of home -and family and friends, making us peculiarly anxious to preserve our -own country from invasion. There is the mild instinctive liking for -compatriots as against foreigners. There is pride, which is bound up -with the success of the community to which we feel that we belong. -There is a belief, suggested by pride but reinforced by history, that -one’s own nation represents a great tradition and stands for ideals -that are important to the human race. But besides all these, there is -another element, at once nobler and more open to attack, an element of -worship, of willing sacrifice, of joyful merging of the individual life -in the life of the nation. This religious element in patriotism is -essential to the strength of the State, since it enlists the best that -is in most men on the side of national sacrifice. - -The religious element in patriotism is reinforced by education, -especially by a knowledge of the history and literature of one’s own -country, provided it is not accompanied by much knowledge of the -history and literature of other countries. In every civilized country -all instruction of the young emphasizes the merits of their own nation -and the faults of other nations. It comes to be universally believed -that one’s own nation, because of its superiority, deserves support in -a quarrel, however the quarrel may have originated. This belief is so -genuine and deep that it makes men endure patiently, almost gladly, the -losses and hardships and sufferings entailed by war. Like all sincerely -believed religions, it gives an outlook on life, based upon instinct -but sublimating it, causing a devotion to an end greater than any -personal end, but containing many personal ends as it were in solution. - -Patriotism as a religion is unsatisfactory because of its lack of -universality. The good at which it aims is a good for one’s own -nation only, not for all mankind. The desires which it inspires in -an Englishman are not the same as the desires which it inspires in -a German. A world full of patriots may be a world full of strife. -The more intensely a nation believes in its patriotism, the more -fanatically indifferent it will become to the damage suffered by other -nations. When once men have learnt to subordinate their own good to the -good of a larger whole, there can be no valid reason for stopping short -of the human race. It is the admixture of national pride that makes -it so easy in practice for men’s impulses towards sacrifice to stop -short at the frontiers of their own country. It is this admixture that -poisons patriotism, and makes it inferior, as a religion, to beliefs -which aim at the salvation of all mankind. We cannot avoid having more -love for our own country than for other countries, and there is no -reason why we should wish to avoid it, any more than we should wish to -love all individual men and women equally. But any adequate religion -will lead us to temper inequality of affection by love of justice, and -to universalize our aims by realizing the common needs of man. This -change was effected by Christianity in Judaism, and must be effected in -any merely national religion before it can be purged of evil. - -In practice, patriotism has many other enemies to contend with. -Cosmopolitanism cannot fail to grow as men acquire more knowledge of -foreign countries by education and travel. There is also a kind of -individualism which is continually increasing, a realization that every -man ought to be as nearly free as possible to choose his own ends, not -compelled by a geographical accident to pursue ends forced upon him by -the community. Socialism, syndicalism, and anti-capitalist movements -generally, are against patriotism in their tendency, since they make -men aware that the present State is largely concerned in defending the -privileges of the rich, and that many of the conflicts between States -have their origin in the financial interests of a few plutocrats. -This kind of opposition is perhaps temporary, a mere incident in the -struggle of labor to acquire power. Australia, where labor feels its -triumph secure, is full of patriotism and militarism, based upon -determination to prevent foreign labor from sharing the benefits of a -privileged position. It is not unlikely that England might develop a -similar nationalism if it became a socialist State. But it is probable -that such nationalism would be purely defensive. Schemes of foreign -aggression, entailing great loss of life and wealth in the nation which -adopts them, would hardly be initiated except by those whose instincts -of dominion have been sharpened through the power derived from private -property and the institutions of the capitalist State. - -The evil wrought in the modern world by the excessive power of the -State is very great, and very little recognized. - -The chief harm wrought by the State is promotion of efficiency in -war. If all States increase their strength, the balance of power is -unchanged, and no one State has a better chance of victory than before. -And when the means of offense exist, even though their original purpose -may have been defensive, the temptation to use them is likely, sooner -or later, to prove overwhelming. In this way the very measures which -promoted security within the borders of the State promote insecurity -elsewhere. It is of the essence of the State to suppress violence -within and to facilitate it without. The State makes an entirely -artificial division of mankind and of our duties toward them: towards -one group we are bound by the law, towards the other only by the -prudence of highwaymen. The State is rendered evil by its exclusions, -and by the fact that, whenever it embarks upon aggressive war, it -becomes a combination of men for murder and robbery. The present system -is irrational, since external and internal anarchy must be both right -or both wrong. It is supported because, so long as others adopt it, -it is thought the only road to safety, and because it secures the -pleasures of triumph and dominion, which cannot be obtained in a good -community. If these pleasures were no longer sought, or no longer -possible to obtain, the problem of securing safety from invasion would -not be difficult. - -Apart from war, the modern great State is harmful from its vastness -and the resulting sense of individual helplessness. The citizen who is -out of sympathy with the aims of the State, unless he is a man of very -rare gifts, cannot hope to persuade the State to adopt purposes which -seem to him better. Even in a democracy, all questions except a very -few are decided by a small number of officials and eminent men; and -even the few questions which are left to the popular vote are decided -by a diffused mass-psychology, not by individual initiative. This is -especially noticeable in a country like the United States, where, in -spite of democracy, most men have a sense of almost complete impotence -in regard to all large issues. In so vast a country the popular will -is like one of the forces of Nature, and seems nearly as much outside -the control of any one man. This state of things leads, not only in -America but in all large States, to something of the weariness and -discouragement that we associate with the Roman Empire. Modern States, -as opposed to the small city States of ancient Greece or medieval -Italy, leave little room for initiative, and fail to develop in most -men any sense of ability to control their political destinies. The -few men who achieve power in such States are men of abnormal ambition -and thirst for dominion, combined with skill in cajolery and subtlety -in negotiation. All the rest are dwarfed by knowledge of their own -impotence. - -A curious survival from the old monarchical idea of the State is the -belief that there is some peculiar wickedness in a wish to secede -on the part of any section of the population. If Ireland or Poland -desires independence, it is thought obvious that this desire must be -strenuously resisted, and any attempt to secure it is condemned as -“high treason.” The only instance to the contrary that I can remember -is the separation of Norway and Sweden, which was commended but not -imitated. In other cases, nothing but defeat in war has induced States -to part with territory: although this attitude is taken for granted, it -is not one which would be adopted if the State had better ends in view. -The reason for its adoption is that the chief end of almost all great -States is power, especially power in war. And power in war is often -increased by the inclusion of unwilling citizens. If the well-being -of the citizens were the end in view, the question whether a certain -area should be included, or should form a separate State, would be left -freely to the decision of that area. If this principle were adopted, -one of the main reasons for war would be obviated, and one of the most -tyrannical elements in the State would be removed. - -The principal source of the harm done by the State is the fact that -power is its chief end. This is not the case in America, because -America is safe against aggression;[8] but in all other great nations -the chief aim of the State is to possess the greatest possible -amount of external force. To this end, the liberty of the citizens -is curtailed, and anti-militarist propaganda is severely punished. -This attitude is rooted in pride and fear: pride, which refuses to -be conciliatory, and fear, which dreads the results of foreign pride -conflicting with our own pride. It seems something of a historical -accident that these two passions, which by no means exhaust the -political passions of the ordinary man, should so completely determine -the external policy of the State. Without pride, there would be no -occasion for fear: fear on the part of one nation is due to the -supposed pride of another nation. Pride of dominion, unwillingness to -decide disputes otherwise than by force or the threat of force, is a -habit of mind greatly encouraged by the possession of power. Those -who have long been in the habit of exercising power become autocratic -and quarrelsome, incapable of regarding an equal otherwise than as a -rival. It is notorious that head masters’ conferences are more liable -to violent disagreements than most similar bodies: each head master -tries to treat the others as he treats his own boys; they resent such -treatment, and he resents their resentment. Men who have the habit -of authority are peculiarly unfit for friendly negotiation; but the -official relations of States are mainly in the hands of men with a -great deal of authority in their own country. This is, of course, more -particularly the case where there is a monarch who actually governs. -If is less true where there is a governing oligarchy, and still less -true where there is some approach to real democracy. But it is true to -a considerable extent in all countries, because Prime Ministers and -Foreign Secretaries are necessarily men in authority. The first step -towards remedying this state of things is a genuine interest in foreign -affairs on the part of the ordinary citizen, and an insistence that -national pride shall not be allowed to jeopardize his other interests. -During war, when he is roused, he is willing to sacrifice everything -to pride; but in quiet times he will be far more ready than men in -authority to realize that foreign affairs, like private concerns, ought -to be settled amicably according to principles, not brutally by force -or the threat of force. - -The effect of personal bias in the men who actually compose the -Government may be seen very clearly in labor disputes. French -syndicalists affirm that the State is simply a product of capitalism, a -part of the weapons which capital employs in its conflict with labor. -Even in democratic States there is much to bear out this view. In -strikes it is common to order out the soldiers to coerce the strikers; -although the employers are much fewer, and much easier to coerce, -the soldiers are never employed against them. When labor troubles -paralyze the industry of a country, it is the men who are thought to be -unpatriotic, not the masters, though clearly the responsibility belongs -to both sides. The chief reason for this attitude on the part of -Governments is that the men composing them belong, by their success if -not by their origin, to the same class as the great employers of labor. -Their bias and their associates combine to make them view strikes -and lockouts from the standpoint of the rich. In a democracy public -opinion and the need of conciliating political supporters partially -correct these plutocratic influences, but the correction is always only -partial. And the same influences which warp the views of Governments -on labor questions also warp their views on foreign affairs, with the -added disadvantage that the ordinary citizen has much fewer means of -arriving at an independent judgment. - -The excessive power of the State, partly through internal oppression, -but principally through war and the fear of war, is one of the chief -causes of misery in the modern world, and one of the main reasons for -the discouragement which prevents men from growing to their full mental -stature. Some means of curing this excessive power must be found if men -are not to be organized into despair, as they were in the Roman Empire. - -The State has one purpose which is on the whole good, namely, the -substitution of law for force in the relations of men. But this -purpose can only be fully achieved by a world-State, without which -international relations cannot be made subject to law. And although -law is better than force, law is still not the best way of settling -disputes. Law is too static, too much on the side of what is decaying, -too little on the side of what is growing. So long as law is in theory -supreme, it will have to be tempered, from time to time, by internal -revolution and external war. These can only be prevented by perpetual -readiness to alter the law in accordance with the present balance of -forces. If this is not done, the motives for appealing to force will -sooner or later become irresistible. A world-State or federation of -States, if it is to be successful, will have to decide questions, not -by the legal maxims which would be applied by the Hague tribunal, but -as far as possible in the same sense in which they would be decided by -war. The function of authority should be to render the appeal to force -unnecessary, not to give decisions contrary to those which would be -reached by force. - -This view may be thought by some to be immoral. It may be said that the -object of civilization should be to secure justice, not to give the -victory to the strong. But when this antithesis is allowed to pass, -it is forgotten that love of justice may itself set force in motion. -A Legislature which wishes to decide an issue in the same way as it -would be decided if there were an appeal to force will necessarily take -account of justice, provided justice is so flagrantly on one side that -disinterested parties are willing to take up the quarrel. If a strong -man assaults a weak man in the streets of London, the balance of force -is on the side of the weak man, because, even if the police did not -appear, casual passers-by would step in to defend him. It is sheer cant -to speak of a contest of might against right, and at the same time to -hope for a victory of the right. If the contest is really between might -and right, that _means_ that right will be beaten. What is obscurely -intended, when this phrase is used, is that the stronger side is only -rendered stronger by men’s sense of right. But men’s sense of right is -very subjective, and is only one factor in deciding the preponderance -of force. What is desirable in a Legislature is, not that it should -decide by its personal sense of right, but that it should decide in a -way which is felt to make an appeal to force unnecessary. - -Having considered what the State ought not to do, I come now to what it -ought to do. - -Apart from war and the preservation of internal order, there are -certain more positive functions which the State performs, and certain -others which it ought to perform. - -We may lay down two principles as regards these positive functions. - -First: there are matters in which the welfare of the whole community -depends upon the practically universal attainment of a certain minimum; -in such cases the State has the right to insist upon this minimum being -attained. - -Secondly: there are ways in which, by insisting upon the maintenance of -law, the State, if it does nothing further, renders possible various -forms of injustice which would otherwise be prevented by the anger -of their victims. Such injustices ought, as far as possible, to be -prevented by the State. - -The most obvious example of a matter where the general welfare -depends upon a universal minimum is sanitation and the prevention of -infectious diseases. A single case of plague, if it is neglected, may -cause disaster to a whole community. No one can reasonably maintain, -on general grounds of liberty, that a man suffering from plague ought -to be left free to spread infection far and wide. Exactly similar -considerations apply to drainage, notification of fevers, and kindred -matters. The interference with liberty remains an evil, but in some -cases it is clearly a smaller evil than the spread of disease which -liberty would produce. The stamping out of malaria and yellow fever by -destroying mosquitoes is perhaps the most striking example of the good -which can be done in this way. But when the good is small or doubtful, -and the interference with liberty is great, it becomes better to endure -a certain amount of preventable disease rather than suffer a scientific -tyranny. - -Compulsory education comes under the same head as sanitation. The -existence of ignorant masses in a population is a danger to the -community; when a considerable percentage are illiterate, the whole -machinery of government has to take account of the fact. Democracy in -its modern form would be quite impossible in a nation where many men -cannot read. But in this case there is not the same need of absolute -universality as in the case of sanitary measures. The gipsies, whose -mode of life has been rendered almost impossible by the education -authorities, might well have been allowed to remain a picturesque -exception. But apart from such rather unimportant exceptions, the -argument for compulsory education is irresistible. - -What the State does for the care of children at present is less than -what ought to be done, not more. Children are not capable of looking -after their own interests, and parental responsibility is in many -ways inadequate. It is clear that the State alone can insist upon the -children being provided with the minimum of knowledge and health which, -for the time being, satisfies the conscience of the community. - -The encouragement of scientific research is another matter which -comes rightly within the powers of the State, because the benefits of -discoveries accrue to the community, while the investigations are -expensive and never individually certain of achieving any result. In -this matter, Great Britain lags behind all other civilized countries. - -The second kind of powers which the State ought to possess are those -that aim at diminishing economic injustice. It is this kind that -has been emphasized by socialists. The law creates or facilitates -monopolies, and monopolies are able to exact a toll from the community. -The most glaring example is the private ownership of land. Railways -are at present controlled by the State, since rates are fixed by law; -and it is clear that if they were uncontrolled, they would acquire a -dangerous degree of power.[9] Such considerations, if they stood alone, -would justify complete socialism. But I think justice, by itself, is, -like law, too static to be made a supreme political principle: it does -not, when it has been achieved, contain any seeds of new life or any -impetus to development. For this reason, when we wish to remedy an -injustice, it is important to consider whether, in so doing, we shall -be destroying the incentive to some form of vigorous action which is -on the whole useful to the community. No such form of action, so far as -I can see, is associated with private ownership of land or of any other -source of economic rent; if this is the case, it follows that the State -ought to be the primary recipient of rent. - -If all these powers are allowed to the State, what becomes of the -attempt to rescue individual liberty from its tyranny? - -This is part of the general problem which confronts all those who still -care for the ideals which inspired liberalism, namely the problem of -combining liberty and personal initiative with organization. Politics -and economics are more and more dominated by vast organizations, in -face of which the individual is in danger of becoming powerless. The -State is the greatest of these organizations, and the most serious -menace to liberty. And yet it seems that many of its functions must be -extended rather than curtailed. - -There is one way by which organization and liberty can be combined, and -that is, by securing power for voluntary organizations, consisting of -men who have chosen to belong to them because they embody some purpose -which all their members consider important, not a purpose imposed by -accident or outside force. The State, being geographical, cannot be a -wholly voluntary association, but for that very reason there is need -of a strong public opinion to restrain it from a tyrannical use of its -powers. This public opinion, in most matters, can only be secured by -combinations of those who have certain interests or desires in common. - -The positive purposes of the State, over and above the preservation -of order, ought as far as possible to be carried out, not by the -State itself, but by independent organizations, which should be left -completely free so long as they satisfied the State that they were -not falling below a necessary minimum. This occurs to a certain -limited extent at present in regard to elementary education. The -universities, also, may be regarded as acting for the State in the -matter of higher education and research, except that in their case no -minimum of achievement is exacted. In the economic sphere, the State -ought to exercise control, but ought to leave initiative to others. -There is every reason to multiply opportunities of initiative, and to -give the greatest possible share of initiative to each individual, -for if this is not done there will be a general sense of impotence -and discouragement. There ought to be a constant endeavor to leave -the more positive aspects of government in the hands of voluntary -organizations, the purpose of the State being merely to exact -efficiency and to secure an amicable settlement of disputes, whether -within or without its own borders. And with this ought to be combined -the greatest possible toleration of exceptions and the least possible -insistence upon uniform system. - -A good deal may be achieved through local government by trades as -well as by areas. This is the most original idea in syndicalism, and -it is valuable as a check upon the tyranny which the community may be -tempted to exercise over certain classes of its members. All strong -organizations which embody a sectional public opinion, such as trade -unions, coöperative societies, professions, and universities, are to be -welcomed as safeguards of liberty and opportunities for initiative. And -there is need of a strong public opinion in favor of liberty itself. -The old battles for freedom of thought and freedom of speech, which it -was thought had been definitively won, will have to be fought all over -again, since most men are only willing to accord freedom to opinions -which happen to be popular. Institutions cannot preserve liberty -unless men realize that liberty is precious and are willing to exert -themselves to keep it alive. - -There is a traditional objection to every _imperium in imperio_, but -this is only the jealousy of the tyrant. In actual fact, the modern -State contains many organizations which it cannot defeat, except -perhaps on rare occasions when public opinion is roused against them. -Mr. Lloyd George’s long fight with the medical profession over the -Insurance Act was full of Homeric fluctuations of fortune. The Welsh -miners recently routed the whole power of the State, backed by an -excited nation. As for the financiers, no Government would dream -of a conflict with them. When all other classes are exhorted to -patriotism, they are allowed their 4½ per cent. and an increase of -interest on their consols. It is well understood on all sides that an -appeal to _their_ patriotism would show gross ignorance of the world. -It is against the traditions of the State to extort their money by -threatening to withdraw police protection. This is not due to the -difficulty of such a measure, but only to the fact that great wealth -wins genuine admiration from us all, and we cannot bear to think of a -very rich man being treated with disrespect. - -The existence of strong organizations within the State, such as -trade unions, is not undesirable except from the point of view of -the official who wishes to wield unlimited power, or of the rival -organizations, such as federations of employers, which would prefer a -disorganized adversary. In view of the vastness of the State, most men -can find little political outlet for initiative except in subordinate -organizations formed for specific purposes. Without an outlet for -political initiative, men lose their social vigor and their interest -in public affairs: they become a prey to corrupt wire-pullers, or to -sensation-mongers who have the art of capturing a tired and vagrant -attention. The cure for this is to increase rather than diminish the -powers of voluntary organizations, to give every man a sphere of -political activity small enough for his interest and his capacity, -and to confine the functions of the State, as far as possible, to the -maintenance of peace among rival interests. The essential merit of -the State is that it prevents the internal use of force by private -persons. Its essential demerits are, that it promotes the external -use of force, and that, by its great size, it makes each individual -feel impotent even in a democracy. I shall return in a later lecture -to the question of preventing war. The prevention of the sense of -individual impotence cannot be achieved by a return to the small City -State, which would be as reactionary as a return to the days before -machinery. It must be achieved by a method which is in the direction of -present tendencies. Such a method would be the increasing devolution of -positive political initiative to bodies formed voluntarily for specific -purposes, leaving the State rather in the position of a federal -authority or a court of arbitration. The State will then confine itself -to insisting upon _some_ settlement of rival interests: its only -principle in deciding what is the right settlement will be an attempt -to find the measure most acceptable, on the whole, to all the parties -concerned. This is the direction in which democratic States naturally -tend, except in so far as they are turned aside by war or the fear of -war. So long as war remains a daily imminent danger, the State will -remain a Moloch, sacrificing sometimes the life of the individual, and -always his unfettered development, to the barren struggle for mastery -in the competition with other States. In internal as in external -affairs, the worst enemy of freedom is war. - - - - -III - -WAR AS AN INSTITUTION - - -In spite of the fact that most nations at most times, are at peace, war -is one of the permanent institutions of all free communities, just as -Parliament is one of our permanent institutions in spite of the fact -that it is not always sitting. It is war as a permanent institution -that I wish to consider: why men tolerate it; why they ought not to -tolerate it; what hope there is of their coming not to tolerate it; and -how they could abolish it if they wished to do so. - -War is a conflict between two groups, each of which attempts to kill -and maim as many as possible of the other group in order to achieve -some object which it desires. The object is generally either power or -wealth. It is a pleasure to exercise authority over other men, and it -is a pleasure to live on the produce of other men’s labor. The victor -in war can enjoy more of these delights than the vanquished. But war, -like all other natural activities, is not so much prompted by the end -which it has in view as by an impulse to the activity itself. Very -often men desire an end, not on its own account, but because their -nature demands the actions which will lead to the end. And so it is -in this case: the ends to be achieved by war appear in prospect far -more important than they will appear when they are realized, because -war itself is a fulfilment of one side of our nature. If men’s actions -sprang from desires for what would in fact bring happiness, the purely -rational arguments against war would have long ago put an end to -it. What makes war difficult to suppress is that it springs from an -impulse, rather than from a calculation of the advantages to be derived -from war. - -War differs from the employment of force by the police through the fact -that the actions of the police are ordered by a neutral authority, -whereas in war it is the parties to the dispute themselves who set -force in motion. This distinction is not absolute, since the State is -not always wholly neutral in internal disturbances. When strikers are -shot down, the State is taking the side of the rich. When opinions -adverse to the existing State are punished, the State is obviously one -of the parties to the dispute. And from the suppression of individual -opinion up to civil war all gradations are possible. But broadly -speaking, force employed according to laws previously laid down by -the community as a whole may be distinguished from force employed by -one community against another on occasions of which the one community -is the sole judge. I have dwelt upon this difference because I do not -think the use of force by the police can be wholly eliminated, and I -think a similar use of force in international affairs is the best hope -of permanent peace. At present, international affairs are regulated by -the principle that a nation must not intervene unless its interests -are involved: diplomatic usage forbids intervention for the mere -maintenance of international law. America may protest when American -citizens are drowned by German submarines, but must not protest when no -American citizens are involved. The case would be analogous in internal -affairs if the police would only interfere with murder when it happened -that a policeman had been killed. So long as this principle prevails in -the relations of States, the power of neutrals cannot be effectively -employed to prevent war. - -In every civilized country two forces coöperate to produce war. -In ordinary times some men—usually a small proportion of the -population—are bellicose: they predict war, and obviously are not -unhappy in the prospect. So long as war is not imminent, the bulk of -the population pay little attention to these men, and do not actively -either support or oppose them. But when war begins to seem very near, a -war fever seizes hold of people, and those who were already bellicose -find themselves enthusiastically supported by all but an insignificant -minority. The impulses which inspire war fever are rather different -from those which make some men bellicose in ordinary times. Only -educated men are likely to be warlike at ordinary times, since they -alone are vividly aware of other countries or of the part which their -own nation might play in the affairs of the world. But it is only their -knowledge, not their nature, that distinguishes them from their more -ignorant compatriots. - -To take the most obvious example, German policy, in recent years before -the war, was not averse from war, and not friendly to England. It is -worth while to try to understand the state of mind from which this -policy sprang. - -The men who direct German policy are, to begin with, patriotic to an -extent which is almost unknown in France and England. The interests of -Germany appear to them unquestionably the only interests they need take -into account. What injury may, in pursuing those interests, be done to -other nations, what destruction may be brought upon populations and -cities, what irreparable damage may result to civilization, it is not -for them to consider. If they can confer what they regard as benefits -upon Germany, everything else is of no account. - -The second noteworthy point about German policy is that its conception -of national welfare is mainly competitive. It is not the _intrinsic_ -wealth of Germany, whether materially or mentally, that the rulers -of Germany consider important: it is the _comparative_ wealth in -the competition with other civilized countries. For this reason the -destruction of good things abroad appears to them almost as desirable -as the creation of good things in Germany. In most parts of the world -the French are regarded as the most civilized of nations: their art -and their literature and their way of life have an attraction for -foreigners which those of Germany do not have. The English have -developed political liberty, and the art of maintaining an Empire with -a minimum of coercion, in a way for which Germany, hitherto, has shown -no aptitude. These are grounds for envy, and envy wishes to destroy -what is good in other countries. German militarists, quite rightly, -judged that what was best in France and England would probably be -destroyed by a great war, even if France and England were not in the -end defeated in the actual fighting. I have seen a list of young French -writers killed on the battlefield; probably the German authorities have -also seen it, and have reflected with joy that another year of such -losses will destroy French literature for a generation—perhaps, through -loss of tradition, for ever. Every outburst against liberty in our more -bellicose newspapers, every incitement to persecution of defenseless -Germans, every mark of growing ferocity in our attitude, must be read -with delight by German patriots, as proving their success in robbing us -of our best, and in forcing us to imitate whatever is worst in Prussia. - -But what the rulers of Germany have envied us most was power and -wealth—the power derived from command of the seas and the straits, -the wealth derived from a century of industrial supremacy. In both -these respects they feel that their deserts are higher than ours. They -have devoted far more thought and skill to military and industrial -organization. Their average of intelligence and knowledge is far -superior; their capacity for pursuing an attainable end, unitedly and -with forethought, is infinitely greater. Yet we, merely (as they think) -because we had a start in the race, have achieved a vastly larger -Empire than they have, and an enormously greater control of capital. -All this is unbearable; yet nothing but a great war can alter it. - -Besides all these feelings, there is in many Germans, especially in -those who know us best, a hot hatred of us on account of our pride. -Farinata degli Uberti surveyed Hell “_come avesse lo Inferno in gran -dispitto_.” Just so, by German accounts, English officer prisoners -look round them among their captors—holding aloof, as though the enemy -were noxious, unclean creatures, toads or slugs or centipedes, which -a man does not touch willingly, and shakes off with loathing if he -is forced to touch them for a moment. It is easy to imagine how the -devils hated Farinata, and inflicted greater pains upon him than upon -his neighbors, hoping to win recognition by some slight wincing on his -part, driven to frenzy by his continuing to behave as if they did not -exist. In just the same way the Germans are maddened by our spiritual -immobility. At bottom we have regarded the Germans as one regards flies -on a hot day: they are a nuisance, one has to brush them off, but it -would not occur to one to be turned aside by them. Now that the initial -certainty of victory has faded, we begin to be affected inwardly by the -Germans. In time, if we continue to fail in our military enterprises, -we shall realize that they are human beings, not just a tiresome -circumstance. Then perhaps we shall hate them with a hatred which they -will have no reason to resent. And from such a hatred it will be only a -short journey to a genuine _rapprochement_. - -The problem which must be solved, if the future of the world is to be -less terrible than its present, is the problem of preventing nations -from getting into the moods of England and Germany at the outbreak of -the war. These two nations as they were at that moment might be taken -as almost mythical representatives of pride and envy—cold pride and -hot envy. Germany declaimed passionately: “You, England, swollen and -decrepit, you overshadow my whole growth—your rotting branches keep -the sun from shining upon me and the rain from nourishing me. Your -spreading foliage must be lopped, your symmetrical beauty must be -destroyed, that I too may have freedom to grow, that my young vigor may -no longer be impeded by your decaying mass.” England, bored and aloof, -unconscious of the claims of outside forces, attempted absent-mindedly -to sweep away the upstart disturber of meditation; but the upstart was -not swept away, and remains so far with every prospect of making good -his claim. The claim and the resistance to it are alike folly. Germany -had no good ground for envy; we had no good ground for resisting -whatever in Germany’s demands was compatible with our continued -existence. Is there any method of averting such reciprocal folly in the -future? - -I think if either the English or the Germans were capable of thinking -in terms of individual welfare rather than national pride, they would -have seen that, at every moment during the war the wisest course would -have been to conclude peace at once, on the best terms that could have -been obtained. This course, I am convinced, would have been the wisest -for each separate nation, as well as for civilization in general. The -utmost evil that the enemy could inflict through an unfavorable peace -would be a trifle compared to the evil which all the nations inflict -upon themselves by continuing to fight. What blinds us to this obvious -fact is pride, the pride which makes the acknowledgment of defeat -intolerable, and clothes itself in the garb of reason by suggesting -all kinds of evils which are supposed to result from admitting defeat. -But the only real evil of defeat is humiliation, and humiliation is -subjective; we shall not feel humiliated if we become persuaded that -it was a mistake to engage in the war, and that it is better to pursue -other tasks not dependent upon world-dominion. If either the English or -the Germans could admit this inwardly, any peace which did not destroy -national independence could be accepted without real loss in the -self-respect which is essential to a good life. - -The mood in which Germany embarked upon the war was abominable, but it -was a mood fostered by the habitual mood of England. We have prided -ourselves upon our territory and our wealth; we have been ready at all -times to defend by force of arms what we have conquered in India and -Africa. If we had realized the futility of empire, and had shown a -willingness to yield colonies to Germany without waiting for the threat -of force, we might have been in a position to persuade the Germans -that their ambitions were foolish, and that the respect of the world -was not to be won by an imperialist policy. But by our resistance we -showed that we shared their standards. We, being in possession, became -enamored of the _status quo_. The Germans were willing to make war to -upset the _status quo_; we were willing to make war to prevent its -being upset in Germany’s favor. So convinced were we of the sacredness -of the _status quo_ that we never realized how advantageous it was to -us, or how, by insisting upon it, we shared the responsibility for the -war. In a world where nations grow and decay, where forces change and -populations become cramped, it is not possible or desirable to maintain -the _status quo_ for ever. If peace is to be preserved, nations must -learn to accept unfavorable alterations of the map without feeling that -they must first be defeated in war, or that in yielding they incur a -humiliation. - -It is the insistence of legalists and friends of peace upon the -maintenance of the _status quo_ that has driven Germany into -militarism. Germany had as good a right to an Empire as any other Great -Power, but could only acquire an Empire through war. Love of peace has -been too much associated with a static conception of international -relations. In economic disputes we all know that whatever is vigorous -in the wage-earning classes is opposed to “industrial peace,” because -the existing distribution of wealth is felt to be unfair. Those who -enjoy a privileged position endeavor to bolster up their claims by -appealing to the desire for peace, and decrying those who promote -strife between the classes. It never occurs to them that by opposing -changes without considering whether they are just, the capitalists -share the responsibility for the class war. And in exactly the same -way England shares the responsibility for Germany’s war. If actual war -is ever to cease there will have to be political methods of achieving -the results which now can only be achieved by successful fighting, and -nations will have voluntarily to admit adverse claims which appear just -in the judgment of neutrals. - -It is only by some such admission, embodying itself in a Parliament -of the nations with full power to alter the distribution of territory, -that militarism can be permanently overcome. It may be that the present -war will bring, in the Western nations, a change of mood and outlook -sufficient to make such an institution possible. It may be that more -wars and more destruction will be necessary before the majority of -civilized men rebel against the brutality and futile destruction of -modern war. But unless our standards of civilization and our powers -of constructive thought are to be permanently lowered, I cannot doubt -that, sooner or later, reason will conquer the blind impulses which now -lead nations into war. And if a large majority of the Great Powers had -a firm determination that peace should be preserved, there would be -no difficulty in devising diplomatic machinery for the settlement of -disputes, and in establishing educational systems which would implant -in the minds of the young an ineradicable horror of the slaughter which -they are now taught to admire. - -Besides the conscious and deliberate forces leading to war, there are -the inarticulate feelings of common men, which, in most civilized -countries, are always ready to burst into war fever at the bidding of -statesmen. If peace is to be secure, the readiness to catch war fever -must be somehow diminished. Whoever wishes to succeed in this must -first understand what war fever is and why it arises. - -The men who have an important influence in the world, whether for -good or evil, are dominated as a rule by a threefold desire: they -desire, first, an activity which calls fully into play the faculties in -which they feel that they excel; secondly, the sense of successfully -overcoming resistance; thirdly, the respect of others on account of -their success. The third of these desires is sometimes absent: some -men who have been great have been without the “last infirmity,” and -have been content with their own sense of success, or merely with the -joy of difficult effort. But as a rule all three are present. Some -men’s talents are specialized, so that their choice of activities is -circumscribed by the nature of their faculties; other men have, in -youth, such a wide range of possible aptitudes that their choice is -chiefly determined by the varying degrees of respect which public -opinion gives to different kinds of success. - -The same desires, usually in a less marked degree, exist in men who -have no exceptional talents. But such men cannot achieve anything -very difficult by their individual efforts; for them, as units, it is -impossible to acquire the sense of greatness or the triumph of strong -resistance overcome. Their separate lives are unadventurous and dull. -In the morning they go to the office or the plow, in the evening they -return tired and silent, to the sober monotony of wife and children. -Believing that security is the supreme good, they have insured against -sickness and death, and have found an employment where they have little -fear of dismissal and no hope of any great rise. But security, once -achieved, brings a Nemesis of ennui. Adventure, imagination, risk, -also have their claims; but how can these claims be satisfied by the -ordinary wage-earner? Even if it were possible to satisfy them, the -claims of wife and children have priority and must not be neglected. - -To this victim of order and good organization the realization comes, -in some moment of sudden crisis, that he belongs to a nation, that his -nation may take risks, may engage in difficult enterprises, enjoy the -hot passion of doubtful combat, stimulate adventure and imagination -by military expeditions to Mount Sinai and the Garden of Eden. What -his nation does, in some sense, he does; what his nation suffers, he -suffers. The long years of private caution are avenged by a wild plunge -into public madness. All the horrid duties of thrift and order and -care which he has learnt to fulfil in private are thought not to apply -to public affairs: it is patriotic and noble to be reckless for the -nation, though it would be wicked to be reckless for oneself. The old -primitive passions, which civilization has denied, surge up all the -stronger for repression. In a moment imagination and instinct travel -back through the centuries, and the wild man of the woods emerges from -the mental prison in which he has been confined. This is the deeper -part of the psychology of the war fever. - -But besides the irrational and instinctive element in the war -fever, there is always also, if only as a liberator of primitive -impulse, a certain amount of quasi-rational calculation and what is -euphemistically called “thought.” The war fever very seldom seizes a -nation unless it believes that it will be victorious. Undoubtedly, -under the influence of excitement, men over-estimate their chances -of success; but there is some proportion between what is hoped and -what a rational man would expect. Holland, though quite as humane as -England, had no impulse to go to war on behalf of Belgium, because -the likelihood of disaster was so obviously overwhelming. The London -populace, if they had known how the war was going to develop, would -not have rejoiced as they did on that August Bank Holiday long ago. -A nation which has had a recent experience of war, and has come to -know that a war is almost always more painful than it is expected -to be at the outset, becomes much less liable to war fever until a -new generation grows up. The element of rationality in war fever is -recognized by Governments and journalists who desire war, as may be -seen by their invariably minimizing the perils of a war which they -wish to provoke. At the beginning of the South African War Sir William -Butler was dismissed, apparently for suggesting that sixty thousand men -and three months might not suffice to subdue the Boer Republics. And -when the war proved long and difficult, the nation turned against those -who had made it. We may assume, I think, without attributing too great -a share to reason in human affairs, that a nation would not suffer from -war fever in a case where every sane man could see that defeat was -very probable. - -The importance of this lies in the fact that it would make aggressive -war very unlikely if its chances of success were very small. If the -peace-loving nations were sufficiently strong to be obviously capable -of defeating the nations which were willing to wage aggressive war, -the peace-loving nations might form an alliance and agree to fight -jointly against any nation which refused to submit its claims to an -International Council. Before the present war we might have reasonably -hoped to secure the peace of the world in some such way; but the -military strength of Germany has shown that such a scheme has no great -chance of success at present. Perhaps at some not far distant date it -may be made more feasible by developments of policy in America. - -The economic and political forces which make for war could be easily -curbed if the will to peace existed strongly in all civilized nations. -But so long as the populations are liable to war fever, all work for -peace must be precarious; and if war fever could not be aroused, -political and economic forces would be powerless to produce any long -or very destructive war. The fundamental problem for the pacifist is -to prevent the impulse towards war which seizes whole communities from -time to time. And this can only be done by far-reaching changes in -education, in the economic structure of society, and in the moral code -by which public opinion controls the lives of men and women.[10] - -A great many of the impulses which now lead nations to go to war are -in themselves essential to any vigorous or progressive life. Without -imagination and love of adventure a society soon becomes stagnant and -begins to decay. Conflict, provided it is not destructive and brutal, -is necessary in order to stimulate men’s activities, and to secure the -victory of what is living over what is dead or merely traditional. The -wish for the triumph of one’s cause, the sense of solidarity with large -bodies of men, are not things which a wise man will wish to destroy. It -is only the outcome in death and destruction and hatred that is evil. -The problem is, to keep these impulses, without making war the outlet -for them. - -All Utopias that have hitherto been constructed are intolerably dull. -Any man with any force in him would rather live in this world, with -all its ghastly horrors, than in Plato’s Republic or among Swift’s -Houyhnhnms. The men who make Utopias proceed upon a radically false -assumption as to what constitutes a good life. They conceive that it -is possible to imagine a certain state of society and a certain way of -life which should be once for all recognized as good, and should then -continue for ever and ever. They do not realize that much the greater -part of a man’s happiness depends upon activity, and only a very small -remnant consists in passive enjoyment. Even the pleasures which do -consist in enjoyment are only satisfactory, to most men, when they -come in the intervals of activity. Social reformers, like inventors of -Utopias, are apt to forget this very obvious fact of human nature. They -aim rather at securing more leisure, and more opportunity for enjoying -it, than at making work itself more satisfactory, more consonant with -impulse, and a better outlet for creativeness and the desire to employ -one’s faculties. Work, in the modern world, is, to almost all who -depend on earnings, mere work, not an embodiment of the desire for -activity. Probably this is to a considerable extent inevitable. But in -so far as it can be prevented something will be done to give a peaceful -outlet to some of the impulses which lead to war. - -It would, of course, be easy to bring about peace if there were no -vigor in the world. The Roman Empire was pacific and unproductive; the -Athens of Pericles was the most productive and almost the most warlike -community known to history. The only form of production in which our -own age excels is science, and in science Germany, the most warlike -of Great Powers, is supreme. It is useless to multiply examples; but -it is plain that the very same vital energy which produces all that -is best also produces war and the love of war. This is the basis of -the opposition to pacifism felt by many men whose aims and activities -are by no means brutal. Pacifism, in practice, too often expresses -merely lack of force, not the refusal to use force in thwarting others. -Pacifism, if it is to be both victorious and beneficent, must find an -outlet, compatible with humane feeling, for the vigor which now leads -nations into war and destruction. - -This problem was considered by William James in an admirable address on -“The Moral Equivalent of War,” delivered to a congress of pacifists -during the Spanish-American War of 1898. His statement of the problem -could not be bettered; and so far as I know, he is the only writer who -has faced the problem adequately. But his solution is not adequate; -perhaps no adequate solution is possible. The problem, however, is -one of degree: every additional peaceful outlet for men’s energies -diminishes the force which urges nations towards war, and makes war -less frequent and less fierce. And as a question of degree, it is -capable of more or less partial solutions.[11] - -Every vigorous man needs some kind of contest, some sense of resistance -overcome, in order to feel that he is exercising his faculties. Under -the influence of economics, a theory has grown up that what men desire -is wealth; this theory has tended to verify itself, because people’s -actions are more often determined by what they think they desire than -by what they really desire. The less active members of a community -often do in fact desire wealth, since it enables them to gratify a -taste for passive enjoyment, and to secure respect without exertion. -But the energetic men who make great fortunes seldom desire the actual -money: they desire the sense of power through a contest, and the joy of -successful activity. For this reason, those who are the most ruthless -in making money are often the most willing to give it away; there are -many notorious examples of this among American millionaires. The only -element of truth in the economic theory that these men are actuated -by desire for money is this: owing to the fact that money is what is -_believed_ to be desirable, the making of money is recognized as the -test of success. What is desired is visible and indubitable success; -but this can only be achieved by being one of the few who reach a goal -which many men would wish to reach. For this reason, public opinion -has a great influence in directing the activities of vigorous men. In -America a millionaire is more respected than a great artist; this leads -men who might become either the one or the other to choose to become -millionaires. In Renaissance Italy great artists were more respected -than millionaires, and the result was the opposite of what it is in -America. - -Some pacifists and all militarists deprecate social and political -conflicts. In this the militarists are in the right, from their point -of view; but the pacifists seem to me mistaken. Conflicts of party -politics, conflicts between capital and labor, and generally all -those conflicts of principle which do not involve war, serve many -useful purposes, and do very little harm. They increase men’s interest -in public affairs, they afford a comparatively innocent outlet for -the love of contest, and they help to alter laws and institutions, -when changing conditions or greater knowledge create the wish for an -alteration. Everything that intensifies political life tends to bring -about a peaceful interest of the same kind as the interest which leads -to desire for war. And in a democratic community political questions -give every voter a sense of initiative and power and responsibility -which relieves his life of something of its narrow unadventurousness. -The object of the pacifist should be to give men more and more -political control over their own lives, and in particular to introduce -democracy into the management of industry, as the syndicalists advise. - -The problem for the reflective pacifist is two-fold: how to keep his -own country at peace, and how to preserve the peace of the world. It -is impossible that the peace of the world should be preserved while -nations are liable to the mood in which Germany entered upon the -war—unless, indeed, one nation were so obviously stronger than all -others combined as to make war unnecessary for that one and hopeless -for all the others. As this war has dragged on its weary length, -many people must have asked themselves whether national independence -is worth the price that has to be paid for it. Would it not perhaps -be better to secure universal peace by the supremacy of one Power? -“To secure peace by a world federation”—so a submissive pacifist may -argue—“would require some faint glimmerings of reason in rulers and -peoples, and is therefore out of the question; but to secure it by -allowing Germany to dictate terms to Europe would be easy, in view of -Germany’s amazing military success. Since there is no other way of -ending war”—so our advocate of peace at any price would contend—“let -us adopt this way, which happens at the moment to be open to us.” It -is worth while to consider this view more attentively than is commonly -considered. - -There is one great historic example of a long peace secured in this -way; I mean the Roman Empire. We in England boast of the _Pax -Britannica_ which we have imposed, in this way, upon the warring races -and religions in India. If we are right in boasting of this, if we have -in fact conferred a benefit upon India by enforced peace, the Germans -would be right in boasting if they could impose a _Pax Germanica_ upon -Europe. Before the war, men might have said that India and Europe -are not analogous, because India is less civilized than Europe; but -now, I hope, no one would have the effrontery to maintain anything so -preposterous. Repeatedly in modern history there has been a chance of -achieving European unity by the hegemony of a single State; but always -England, in obedience to the doctrine of the Balance of Power, has -prevented this consummation, and preserved what our statesmen have -called the “liberties of Europe.” It is this task upon which we are now -engaged. But I do not think our statesmen, or any others among us, have -made much effort to consider whether the task is worth what it costs. - -In one case we were clearly wrong: in our resistance to revolutionary -France. If revolutionary France could have conquered the Continent and -Great Britain, the world would now be happier, more civilized, and -more free, as well as more peaceful. But revolutionary France was a -quite exceptional case, because its early conquests were made in the -name of liberty, against tyrants, not against peoples; and everywhere -the French armies were welcomed as liberators by all except rulers and -bigots. In the case of Philip II we were as clearly right as we were -wrong in 1793. But in both cases our action is not to be judged by some -abstract diplomatic conception of the “liberties of Europe,” but by the -ideals of the Power seeking hegemony, and by the probable effect upon -the welfare of ordinary men and women throughout Europe. - -“Hegemony” is a very vague word, and everything turns upon the degree -of interference with liberty which it involves. There is a degree of -interference with liberty which is fatal to many forms of national -life; for example, Italy in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries -was crushed by the supremacy of Spain and Austria. If the Germans -were actually to annex French provinces, as they did in 1871, they -would probably inflict a serious injury upon those provinces, and make -them less fruitful for civilization in general. For such reasons -national liberty is a matter of real importance, and a Europe actually -governed by Germany would probably be very dead and unproductive. But -if “hegemony” merely means increased weight in diplomatic questions, -more coaling stations and possessions in Africa, more power of securing -advantageous commercial treaties, then it can hardly be supposed that -it would do any vital damage to other nations; certainly it would not -do so much damage as the present war is doing. I cannot doubt that, -before the war, a hegemony of this kind would have abundantly satisfied -the Germans. But the effect of the war, so far, has been to increase -immeasurably all the dangers which it was intended to avert. We have -now only the choice between certain exhaustion of Europe in fighting -Germany and possible damage to the national life of France by German -tyranny. Stated in terms of civilization and human welfare, not in -terms of national prestige, that is now in fact the issue. - -Assuming that war is not ended by one State conquering all the -others, the only way in which it can be permanently ended is by a -world-federation. So long as there are many sovereign States, each with -its own Army, there can be no security that there will not be war. -There will have to be in the world only one Army and one Navy before -there will be any reason to think that wars have ceased. This means -that, so far as the military functions of the State are concerned, -there will be only one State, which will be world-wide. - -The civil functions of the State—legislative, administrative, and -judicial—have no very essential connection with the military functions, -and there is no reason why both kinds of functions should normally be -exercised by the same State. There is, in fact, every reason why the -civil State and the military State should be different. The greater -modern States are already too large for most civil purposes, but -for military purposes they are not large enough, since they are not -world-wide. This difference as to the desirable area for the two kinds -of State introduces a certain perplexity and hesitation, when it is not -realized that the two functions have little necessary connection: one -set of considerations points towards small States, the other towards -continually larger States. Of course, if there were an international -Army and Navy, there would have to be some international authority -to set them in motion. But this authority need never concern itself -with any of the internal affairs of national States: it need only -declare the rules which should regulate their relations, and pronounce -judicially when those rules have been so infringed as to call for the -intervention of the international force. How easily the limit of the -authority could be fixed may be seen by many actual examples. - -The civil and military State are often different in practice, for many -purposes. The South American Republics are sovereign for all purposes -except their relations with Europe, in regard to which they are subject -to the United States: in dealings with Europe, the Army and Navy of the -United States are their Army and Navy. Our self-governing Dominions -depend for their defense, not upon their own forces but upon our Navy. -Most Governments, nowadays, do not aim at formal annexation of a -country which they wish to incorporate, but only at a protectorate—that -is, civil autonomy subject to military control. Such autonomy is, -of course, in practice incomplete, because it does not enable the -“protected” country to adopt measures which are vetoed by the Power -in military control. But it may be very nearly complete, as in the -case of our self-governing Dominions. At the other extreme, it may -become a mere farce, as in Egypt. In the case of an alliance, there is -complete autonomy of the separate allied countries, together with what -is practically a combination of their military forces into one single -force. - -The great advantage of a large military State is that it increases the -area over which internal war is not possible except by revolution. If -England and Canada have a disagreement, it is taken as a matter of -course that a settlement shall be arrived at by discussion, not by -force. Still more is this the case if Manchester and Liverpool have a -quarrel, in spite of the fact that each is autonomous for many local -purposes. No one would have thought it reasonable that Liverpool should -go to war to prevent the construction of the Manchester Ship Canal, -although almost any two Great Powers would have gone to war over -an issue of the same relative importance. England and Russia would -probably have gone to war over Persia if they had not been allies; as -it is, they arrived by diplomacy at much the same iniquitous result as -they would otherwise have reached by fighting. Australia and Japan -would probably fight if they were both completely independent; but both -depend for their liberties upon the British Navy, and therefore they -have to adjust their differences peaceably. - -The chief disadvantage of a large military State is that, when external -war occurs, the area affected is greater. The quadruple Entente forms, -for the present, one military State; the result is that, because -of a dispute between Austria and Serbia, Belgium is devastated and -Australians are killed in the Dardanelles. Another disadvantage is -that it facilitates oppression. A large military State is practically -omnipotent against a small State, and can impose its will, as England -and Russia did in Persia and as Austria-Hungary has been doing in -Serbia. It is impossible to make sure of avoiding oppression by any -purely mechanical guarantees; only a liberal and humane spirit can -afford a real protection. It has been perfectly possible for England -to oppress Ireland, in spite of democracy and the presence of Irish -Members at Westminster. Nor has the presence of Poles in the Reichstag -prevented the oppression of Prussian Poland. But democracy and -representative government undoubtedly make oppression less probable: -they afford a means by which those who might be oppressed can cause -their wishes and grievances to be publicly known, they render it -certain that only a minority can be oppressed, and then only if the -majority are nearly unanimous in wishing to oppress them. Also the -practice of oppression affords much more pleasure to the governing -classes, who actually carry it out, than to the mass of the population. -For this reason the mass of the population, where it has power, is -likely to be less tyrannical than an oligarchy or a bureaucracy. - -In order to prevent war and at the same time preserve liberty it is -necessary that there should be only one military State in the world, -and that when disputes between different countries arise, it should -act according to the decision of a central authority. This is what -would naturally result from a federation of the world, if such a thing -ever came about. But the prospect is remote, and it is worth while to -consider why it is so remote. - -The unity of a nation is produced by similar habits, instinctive -liking, a common history, and a common pride. The unity of a nation is -partly due to intrinsic affinities between its citizens, but partly -also to the pressure and contrast of the outside world: if a nation -were isolated, it would not have the same cohesion or the same fervor -of patriotism. When we come to alliances of nations, it is seldom -anything except outside pressure that produces solidarity. England -and America, to some extent, are drawn together by the same causes -which often make national unity: a (more or less) common language, -similar political institutions, similar aims in international politics. -But England, France, and Russia were drawn together solely by fear -of Germany; if Germany had been annihilated by a natural cataclysm, -they would at once have begun to hate one another, as they did before -Germany was strong. For this reason, the possibility of coöperation in -the present alliance against Germany affords no ground whatever for -hoping that all the nations of the world might coöperate permanently in -a peaceful alliance. The present motive for cohesion, namely a common -fear, would be gone, and could not be replaced by any other motive -unless men’s thoughts and purposes were very different from what they -are now. - -The ultimate fact from which war results is not economic or political, -and does not rest upon any mechanical difficulty of inventing means -for the peaceful settlement of international disputes. The ultimate -fact from which war results is the fact that a large proportion of -mankind have an impulse to conflict rather than harmony, and can only -be brought to coöperate with others in resisting or attacking a common -enemy. This is the case in private life as well as in the relations of -States. Most men, when they feel themselves sufficiently strong, set to -work to make themselves feared rather than loved; the wish to gain the -good opinion of others is confined, as a rule, to those who have not -acquired secure power. The impulse to quarreling and self-assertion, -the pleasure of getting one’s own way in spite of opposition, is native -to most men. It is this impulse, rather than any motive of calculated -self-interest, which produces war, and causes the difficulty of -bringing about a World-State. And this impulse is not confined to one -nation; it exists, in varying degrees, in all the vigorous nations of -the world. - -But although this impulse is strong, there is no reason why it should -be allowed to lead to war. It was exactly the same impulse which led to -duelling; yet now civilized men conduct their private quarrels without -bloodshed. If political contest within a World-State were substituted -for war, imagination would soon accustom itself to the new situation, -as it has accustomed itself to absence of duelling. Through the -influence of institutions and habits, without any fundamental change -in human nature, men would learn to look back upon war as we look upon -the burning of heretics or upon human sacrifice to heathen deities. If -I were to buy a revolver costing several pounds, in order to shoot my -friend with a view to stealing sixpence out of his pocket, I should -be thought neither very wise nor very virtuous. But if I can get -sixty-five million accomplices to join me in this criminal absurdity, I -become one of a great and glorious nation, nobly sacrificing the cost -of my revolver, perhaps even my life, in order to secure the sixpence -for the honor of my country. Historians, who are almost invariably -sycophants, will praise me and my accomplices if we are successful, -and say that we are worthy successors of the heroes who overthrew the -might of Imperial Rome. But if my opponents are victorious, if their -sixpences are defended at the cost of many pounds each and the lives -of a large proportion of the population, then historians will call me -a brigand (as I am), and praise the spirit and self-sacrifice of those -who resisted me. - -War is surrounded with glamour, by tradition, by Homer and the Old -Testament, by early education, by elaborate myths as to the importance -of the issues involved, by the heroism and self-sacrifice, which -these myths call out. Jephthah sacrificing his daughter is a heroic -figure, but he would have let her live if he had not been deceived by -a myth. Mothers sending their sons to the battlefield are heroic, but -they are as much deceived as Jephthah. And, in both cases alike, the -heroism which issues in cruelty would be dispelled if there were not -some strain of barbarism in the imaginative outlook from which myths -spring. A God who can be pleased by the sacrifice of an innocent girl -could only be worshiped by men to whom the thought of receiving such -a sacrifice is not wholly abhorrent. A nation which believes that its -welfare can only be secured by suffering and inflicting hundreds of -thousands of equally horrible sacrifices, is a nation which has no very -spiritual conception of what constitutes national welfare. It would -be better a hundredfold to forgo material comfort, power, pomp, and -outward glory than to kill and be killed, to hate and be hated, to -throw away in a mad moment of fury the bright heritage of the ages. -We have learnt gradually to free our God from the savagery with which -the primitive Israelites and the Fathers endowed Him: few of us now -believe that it is His pleasure to torture most of the human race in an -eternity of hell-fire. But we have not yet learnt to free our national -ideals from the ancient taint. Devotion to the nation is perhaps the -deepest and most widespread religion of the present age. Like the -ancient religions, it demands its persecutions, its holocausts, its -lurid heroic cruelties; like them, it is noble, primitive, brutal, and -mad. Now, as in the past, religion, lagging behind private consciences -through the weight of tradition, steels the hearts of men against mercy -and their minds against truth. If the world is to be saved, men must -learn to be noble without being cruel, to be filled with faith and yet -open to truth, to be inspired by great purposes without hating those -who try to thwart them. But before this can happen, men must first face -the terrible realization that the gods before whom they have bowed down -were false gods and the sacrifices they have made were vain. - - - - -IV - -PROPERTY - - -Among the many gloomy novelists of the realistic school, perhaps the -most full of gloom is Gissing. In common with all his characters, he -lives under the weight of a great oppression: the power of the fearful -and yet adored idol of Money. One of his typical stories is “Eve’s -Ransom,” where the heroine, with various discreditable subterfuges, -throws over the poor man whom she loves in order to marry the rich man -whose income she loves still better. The poor man, finding that the -rich man’s income has given her a fuller life and a better character -than the poor man’s love could have given her, decides that she has -done quite right, and that he deserves to be punished for his lack of -money. In this story, as in his other books, Gissing has set forth, -quite accurately, the actual dominion of money, and the impersonal -worship which it exacts from the great majority of civilized mankind. - -Gissing’s facts are undeniable, and yet his attitude produces a revolt -in any reader who has vital passions and masterful desires. His worship -of money is bound up with his consciousness of inward defeat. And in -the modern world generally, it is the decay of life which has promoted -the religion of material goods; and the religion of material goods, in -its turn, has hastened the decay of life on which it thrives. The man -who worships money has ceased to hope for happiness through his own -efforts or in his own activities: he looks upon happiness as a passive -enjoyment of pleasures derived from the outside world. The artist or -the lover does not worship money in his moments of ardor, because -his desires are specific, and directed towards objects which only he -can create. And conversely, the worshiper of money can never achieve -greatness as an artist or a lover. - -Love of money has been denounced by moralists since the world began. -I do not wish to add another to the moral denunciations, of which the -efficacy in the past has not been encouraging. I wish to show how the -worship of money is both an effect and a cause of diminishing vitality, -and how our institutions might be changed so as to make the worship -of money grow less and the general vitality grow more. It is not the -desire for money as a means to definite ends that is in question. A -struggling artist may desire money in order to have leisure for his -art, but this desire is finite, and can be satisfied fully by a very -modest sum. It is the _worship_ of money that I wish to consider: the -belief that all values may be measured in terms of money, and that -money is the ultimate test of success in life. This belief is held in -fact, if not in words, by multitudes of men and women, and yet it is -not in harmony with human nature, since it ignores vital needs and the -instinctive tendency towards some specific kind of growth. It makes -men treat as unimportant those of their desires which run counter to -the acquisition of money, and yet such desires are, as a rule, more -important to well-being than any increase of income. It leads men to -mutilate their own natures from a mistaken theory of what constitutes -success, and to give admiration to enterprises which add nothing to -human welfare. It promotes a dead uniformity of character and purpose, -a diminution in the joy of life, and a stress and strain which leaves -whole communities weary, discouraged, and disillusioned. - -America, the pioneer of Western progress, is thought by many to display -the worship of money in its most perfect form. A well-to-do American, -who already has more than enough money to satisfy all reasonable -requirements, almost always continues to work at his office with -an assiduity which would only be pardonable if starvation were the -alternative. - -But England, except among a small minority, is almost as much given -over to the worship of money as America. Love of money in England -takes, as a rule, the form of snobbishly desiring to maintain a certain -social status, rather than of striving after an indefinite increase -of income. Men postpone marriage until they have an income enabling -them to have as many rooms and servants in their house as they feel -that their dignity requires. This makes it necessary for them while -they are young to keep a watch upon their affections, lest they should -be led into an imprudence: they acquire a cautious habit of mind, and -a fear of “giving themselves away,” which makes a free and vigorous -life impossible. In acting as they do they imagine that they are being -virtuous, since they would feel it a hardship for a woman to be asked -to descend to a lower social status than that of her parents, and a -degradation to themselves to marry a woman whose social status was not -equal to their own. The things of nature are not valued in comparison -with money. It is not thought a hardship for a woman to have to accept, -as her only experience of love, the prudent and limited attentions of -a man whose capacity for emotion has been lost during years of wise -restraint or sordid relations with women whom he did not respect. -The woman herself does not know that it is a hardship; for she, too, -has been taught prudence for fear of a descent in the social scale, -and from early youth she has had it instilled into her that strong -feeling does not become a young woman. So the two unite to slip through -life in ignorance of all that is worth knowing. Their ancestors were -not restrained from passion by the fear of hell-fire, but they are -restrained effectually by a worse fear, the fear of coming down in the -world. - -The same motives which lead men to marry late also lead them to limit -their families. Professional men wish to send their sons to a public -school, though the education they will obtain is no better than at a -grammar school, and the companions with whom they will associate are -more vicious. But snobdom has decided that public schools are best, and -from its verdict there is no appeal. What makes them the best is that -they are the most expensive. And the same social struggle, in varying -forms, runs through all classes except the very highest and the very -lowest. For this purpose men and women make great moral efforts, and -show amazing powers of self-control; but all their efforts and all -their self-control, being not used for any creative end, serve merely -to dry up the well-spring of life within them, to make them feeble, -listless, and trivial. It is not in such a soil that the passion which -produces genius can be nourished. Men’s souls have exchanged the -wilderness for the drawing-room: they have become cramped and petty -and deformed, like Chinese women’s feet. Even the horrors of war have -hardly awakened them from the smug somnambulism of respectability. -And it is chiefly the worship of money that has brought about this -deathlike slumber of all that makes men great. - -In France the worship of money takes the form of thrift. It is not -easy to make a fortune in France, but an inherited competence is very -common, and where it exists the main purpose of life is to hand it -on undiminished, if not increased. The French _rentier_ is one of the -great forces in international politics: it is he through whom France -has been strengthened in diplomacy and weakened in war, by increasing -the supply of French capital and diminishing the supply of French men. -The necessity of providing a _dot_ for daughters, and the subdivision -of property by the law of inheritance, have made the family more -powerful, as an institution, than in any other civilized country. In -order that the family may prosper, it is kept small, and the individual -members are often sacrificed to it. The desire for family continuity -makes men timid and unadventurous: it is only in the organized -proletariat that the daring spirit survives which made the Revolution -and led the world in political thought and practice. Through the -influence of money, the strength of the family has become a weakness -to the nation by making the population remain stationary and even tend -to decline. The same love of safety is beginning to produce the same -effects elsewhere; but in this, as in many better things, France has -led the way. - -In Germany the worship of money is more recent than in France, England, -and America; indeed, it hardly existed until after the Franco-Prussian -War. But it has been adopted now with the same intensity and -whole-heartedness which have always marked German beliefs. It is -characteristic that, as in France the worship of money is associated -with the family, so in Germany it is associated with the State. Liszt, -in deliberate revolt against the English economists, taught his -compatriots to think of economics in national terms, and the German -who develops a business is felt, by others as well as by himself, to -be performing a service to the State. Germans believe that England’s -greatness is due to industrialism and Empire, and that our success in -these is due to an intense nationalism. The apparent internationalism -of our Free Trade policy they regard as mere hypocrisy. They have set -themselves to imitate what they believe we really are, with only the -hypocrisy omitted. It must be admitted that their success has been -amazing. But in the process they have destroyed almost all that made -Germany of value to the world, and they have not adopted whatever of -good there may have been among us, since that was all swept aside in -the wholesale condemnation of “hypocrisy.” And in adopting our worst -faults, they have made them far worse by a system, a thoroughness, and -a unanimity of which we are happily incapable. Germany’s religion is -of great importance to the world, since Germans have a power of real -belief, and have the energy to acquire the virtues and vices which -their creed demands. For the sake of the world, as well as for the sake -of Germany, we must hope that they will soon abandon the worship of -wealth which they have unfortunately learnt from us. - -Worship of money is no new thing, but it is a more harmful thing than -it used to be, for several reasons. Industrialism has made work more -wearisome and intense, less capable of affording pleasure and interest -by the way to the man who has undertaken it for the sake of money. The -power of limiting families has opened a new field for the operation -of thrift. The general increase in education and self-discipline has -made men more capable of pursuing a purpose consistently in spite of -temptations, and when the purpose is against life it becomes more -destructive with every increase of tenacity in those who adopt it. The -greater productivity resulting from industrialism has enabled us to -devote more labor and capital to armies and navies for the protection -of our wealth from envious neighbors, and for the exploitation of -inferior races, which are ruthlessly wasted by the capitalist régime. -Through the fear of losing money, forethought and anxiety eat away -men’s power of happiness, and the dread of misfortune becomes a greater -misfortune than the one which is dreaded. The happiest men and women, -as we can all testify from our own experience, are those who are -indifferent to money because they have some positive purpose which -shuts it out. And yet all our political thought, whether imperialist, -radical, or socialist, continues to occupy itself almost exclusively -with men’s economic desires, as though they alone had real importance. - -In judging of an industrial system, whether the one under which we -live or one proposed by reformers, there are four main tests which -may be applied. We may consider whether the system secures (1) the -maximum of production, or (2) justice in distribution, or (3) a -tolerable existence for producers, or (4) the greatest possible -freedom and stimulus to vitality and progress. We may say, broadly, -that the present system aims only at the first of these objects, while -socialism aims at the second and third. Some defenders of the present -system contend that technical progress is better promoted by private -enterprise than it would be if industry were in the hands of the -State; to this extent they recognize the fourth of the objects we have -enumerated. But they recognize it only on the side of the goods and -the capitalist, not on the side of the wage-earner. I believe that the -fourth is much the most important of the objects to be aimed at, that -the present system is fatal to it, and that orthodox socialism might -well prove equally fatal. - -One of the least questioned assumptions of the capitalist system is, -that production ought to be increased in amount by every possible -means: by new kinds of machinery, by employment of women and boys, by -making hours of labor as long as is compatible with efficiency. Central -African natives, accustomed to living on raw fruits of the earth and -defeating Manchester by dispensing with clothes, are compelled to -work by a hut tax which they can only pay by taking employment under -European capitalists. It is admitted that they are perfectly happy -while they remain free from European influences, and that industrialism -brings upon them, not only the unwonted misery of confinement, but -also death from diseases to which white men have become partially -immune. It is admitted that the best negro workers are the “raw -natives,” fresh from the bush, uncontaminated by previous experience of -wage-earning. Nevertheless, no one effectively contends that they ought -to be preserved from the deterioration which we bring, since no one -effectively doubts that it is good to increase the world’s production -at no matter what cost. - -The belief in the importance of production has a fanatical -irrationality and ruthlessness. So long as something is produced, what -it is that is produced seems to be thought a matter of no account. Our -whole economic system encourages this view, since fear of unemployment -makes any kind of work a boon to wage-earners. The mania for increasing -production has turned men’s thoughts away from much more important -problems, and has prevented the world from getting the benefits it -might have got out of the increased productivity of labor. - -When we are fed and clothed and housed, further material goods are -needed only for ostentation.[12] With modern methods, a certain -proportion of the population, without working long hours, could do all -the work that is really necessary in the way of producing commodities. -The time which is now spent in producing luxuries could be spent partly -in enjoyment and country holidays, partly in better education, partly -in work that is not manual or subserving manual work. We could, if we -wished, have far more science and art, more diffused knowledge and -mental cultivation, more leisure for wage-earners, and more capacity -for intelligent pleasures. At present not only wages, but almost all -earned incomes, can only be obtained by working much longer hours than -men ought to work. A man who earns £800 a year by hard work could not, -as a rule, earn £400 a year by half as much work. Often he could not -earn anything if he were not willing to work practically all day and -every day. Because of the excessive belief in the value of production, -it is thought right and proper for men to work long hours, and the -good that might result from shorter hours is not realized. And all the -cruelties of the industrial system, not only in Europe but even more -in the tropics, arouse only an occasional feeble protest from a few -philanthropists. This is because, owing to the distortion produced by -our present economic methods, men’s conscious desires, in such matters, -cover only a very small part, and that not the most important part, of -the real needs affected by industrial work. If this is to be remedied, -it can only be by a different economic system, in which the relation of -activity to needs will be less concealed and more direct. - -The purpose of maximizing production will not be achieved in the long -run if our present industrial system continues. Our present system is -wasteful of human material, partly through damage to the health and -efficiency of industrial workers, especially when women and children -are employed, partly through the fact that the best workers tend to -have small families and that the more civilized races are in danger of -gradual extinction. Every great city is a center of race-deterioration. -For the case of London this has been argued with a wealth of -statistical detail by Sir H. Llewelyn Smith;[13] and it cannot easily -be doubted that it is equally true in other cases. The same is true of -material resources: the minerals, the virgin forests, and the newly -developed wheatfields of the world are being exhausted with a reckless -prodigality which entails almost a certainty of hardship for future -generations. - -Socialists see the remedy in State ownership of land and capital, -combined with a more just system of distribution. It cannot be denied -that our present system of distribution is indefensible from every -point of view, including the point of view of justice. Our system of -distribution is regulated by law, and is capable of being changed -in many respects which familiarity makes us regard as natural and -inevitable. We may distinguish four chief sources of recognized legal -rights to private property: (1) a man’s right to what he has made -himself; (2) the right to interest on capital which has been lent; -(3) the ownership of land; (4) inheritance. These form a crescendo of -respectability: capital is more respectable than labor, land is more -respectable than capital, and any form of wealth is more respectable -when it is inherited than when it has been acquired by our own -exertions. - -A man’s right to the produce of his own labor has never, in fact, -had more than a very limited recognition from the law. The early -socialists, especially the English forerunners of Marx, used to insist -upon this right as the basis of a just system of distribution, but in -the complication of modern industrial processes it is impossible to -say what a man has produced. What proportion of the goods carried by a -railway should belong to the goods porters concerned in their journey? -When a surgeon saves a man’s life by an operation, what proportion of -the commodities which the man subsequently produces can the surgeon -justly claim? Such problems are insoluble. And there is no special -justice, even if they were soluble, in allowing to each man what he -himself produces. Some men are stronger, healthier, cleverer, than -others, but there is no reason for increasing these natural injustices -by the artificial injustices of the law. The principle recommends -itself partly as a way of abolishing the very rich, partly as a way of -stimulating people to work hard. But the first of these objects can be -better obtained in other ways, and the second ceases to be obviously -desirable as soon as we cease to worship money. - -Interest arises naturally in any community in which private property is -unrestricted and theft is punished, because some of the most economical -processes of production are slow, and those who have the skill to -perform them may not have the means of living while they are being -completed. But the power of lending money gives such great wealth -and influence to private capitalists that unless strictly controlled -it is not compatible with any real freedom for the rest of the -population. Its effects at present, both in the industrial world and in -international politics, are so bad that it seems imperatively necessary -to devise some means of curbing its power. - -Private property in land has no justification except historically -through power of the sword. In the beginning of feudal times, certain -men had enough military strength to be able to force those whom they -disliked not to live in a certain area. Those whom they chose to leave -on the land became their serfs, and were forced to work for them in -return for the gracious permission to stay. In order to establish law -in place of private force, it was necessary, in the main, to leave -undisturbed the rights which had been acquired by the sword. The land -became the property of those who had conquered it, and the serfs were -allowed to give rent instead of service. There is no justification for -private property in land, except the historical necessity to conciliate -turbulent robbers who would not otherwise have obeyed the law. This -necessity arose in Europe many centuries ago, but in Africa the -whole process is often quite recent. It is by this process, slightly -disguised, that the Kimberley diamond mines and the Rand gold mines -were acquired in spite of prior native rights. It is a singular example -of human inertia that men should have continued until now to endure -the tyranny and extortion which a small minority are able to inflict -by their possession of the land. No good to the community, of any -sort or kind, results from the private ownership of land. If men were -reasonable, they would decree that it should cease to-morrow, with no -compensation beyond a moderate life income to the present holders. - -The mere abolition of rent would not remove injustice, since it would -confer a capricious advantage upon the occupiers of the best sites and -the most fertile land. It is necessary that there should be rent, but -it should be paid to the State or to some body which performs public -services; or, if the total rental were more than is required for such -purposes, it might be paid into a common fund and divided equally among -the population. Such a method would be just, and would not only help to -relieve poverty, but would prevent wasteful employment of land and the -tyranny of local magnates. Much that appears as the power of capital -is really the power of the landowner—for example, the power of railway -companies and mine-owners. The evil and injustice of the present system -are glaring, but men’s patience of preventable evils to which they are -accustomed is so great that it is impossible to guess when they will -put an end to this strange absurdity. - -Inheritance, which is the source of the greater part of the unearned -income in the world, is regarded by most men as a natural right. -Sometimes, as in England, the right is inherent in the owner of -property, who may dispose of it in any way that seems good to him. -Sometimes, as in France, his right is limited by the right of his -family to inherit at least a portion of what he has to leave. But -neither the right to dispose of property by will nor the right of -children to inherit from parents has any basis outside the instincts of -possession and family pride. - -There may be reasons for allowing a man whose work is exceptionally -fruitful—for instance, an inventor—to enjoy a larger income than is -enjoyed by the average citizen, but there can be no good reason for -allowing this privilege to descend to his children and grandchildren -and so on for ever. The effect is to produce an idle and exceptionally -fortunate class, who are influential through their money, and opposed -to reform for fear it should be directed against themselves. Their -whole habit of thought becomes timid, since they dread being forced -to acknowledge that their position is indefensible; yet snobbery and -the wish to secure their favor leads almost the whole middle-class to -ape their manners and adopt their opinions. In this way they become a -poison infecting the outlook of almost all educated people. - -It is sometimes said that without the incentive of inheritance men -would not work so well. The great captains of industry, we are assured, -are actuated by the desire to found a family, and would not devote -their lives to unremitting toil without the hope of gratifying this -desire. I do not believe that any large proportion of really useful -work is done from this motive. Ordinary work is done for the sake of -a living, and the very best work is done for the interest of the work -itself. Even the captains of industry, who are thought (perhaps by -themselves as well as by others) to be aiming at founding a family, -are probably more actuated by love of power and by the adventurous -pleasure of great enterprises. And if there were some slight diminution -in the amount of work done, it would be well worth while in order -to get rid of the idle rich, with the oppression, feebleness, and -corruption which they inevitably introduce. - -The present system of distribution is not based upon any principle. -Starting from a system imposed by conquest, the arrangements made by -the conquerors for their own benefit were stereotyped by the law, and -have never been fundamentally reconstructed. On what principles ought -the reconstruction to be based? - -Socialism, which is the most widely advocated scheme of reconstruction, -aims chiefly at _justice_: the present inequalities of wealth are -unjust, and socialism would abolish them. It is not essential to -socialism that all men should have the same income, but it is essential -that inequalities should be justified, in each case, by inequality -of need or of service performed. There can be no disputing that the -present system is grossly unjust, and that almost all that is unjust -in it is harmful. But I do not think justice alone is a sufficient -principle upon which to base an economic reconstruction. Justice would -be secured if all were equally unhappy, as well as if all were equally -happy. Justice, by itself, when once realized, contains no source of -new life. The old type of Marxian revolutionary socialist never dwelt, -in imagination, upon the life of communities after the establishment -of the millennium. He imagined that, like the Prince and Princess in -a fairy story, they would live happily ever after. But that is not a -condition possible to human nature. Desire, activity, purpose, are -essential to a tolerable life, and a millennium, though it may be a joy -in prospect, would be intolerable if it were actually achieved. - -The more modern socialists, it is true, have lost most of the religious -fervor which characterized the pioneers, and view socialism as a -tendency rather than a definite goal. But they still retain the view -that what is of most political importance to a man is his income, -and that the principal aim of a democratic politician ought to be -to increase the wages of labor. I believe this involves too passive -a conception of what constitutes happiness. It is true that, in the -industrial world, large sections of the population are too poor to -have any possibility of a good life; but it is not true that a good -life will come of itself with a diminution of poverty. Very few of the -well-to-do classes have a good life at present, and perhaps socialism -would only substitute the evils which now afflict the more prosperous -in place of the evils resulting from destitution. - -In the existing labor movement, although it is one of the most vital -sources of change, there are certain tendencies against which reformers -ought to be on their guard. The labor movement is in essence a movement -in favor of justice, based upon the belief that the sacrifice of the -many to the few is not necessary now, whatever may have been the case -in the past. When labor was less productive and education was less -widespread, an aristocratic civilization may have been the only one -possible: it may have been necessary that the many should contribute -to the life of the few, if the few were to transmit and increase the -world’s possessions in art and thought and civilized existence. But -this necessity is past or rapidly passing, and there is no longer any -valid objection to the claims of justice. The labor movement is morally -irresistible, and is not now seriously opposed except by prejudice -and simple self-assertion. All living thought is on its side; what is -against it is traditional and dead. But although it itself is living, -it is not by any means certain that it will make for life. - -Labor is led by current political thought in certain directions which -would become repressive and dangerous if they were to remain strong -after labor had triumphed. The aspirations of the labor movement are, -on the whole, opposed by the great majority of the educated classes, -who feel a menace, not only or chiefly to their personal comfort, -but to the civilized life in which they have their part, which -they profoundly believe to be important to the world. Owing to the -opposition of the educated classes, labor, when it is revolutionary and -vigorous, tends to despise all that the educated classes represent. -When it is more respectful, as its leaders tend to be in England, the -subtle and almost unconscious influence of educated men is apt to sap -revolutionary ardor, producing doubt and uncertainty instead of the -swift, simple assurance by which victory might have been won. The very -sympathy which the best men in the well-to-do classes extend to labor, -their very readiness to admit the justice of its claims, may have the -effect of softening the opposition of labor leaders to the _status -quo_, and of opening their minds to the suggestion that no fundamental -change is possible. Since these influences affect leaders much more -than the rank and file, they tend to produce in the rank and file a -distrust of leaders, and a desire to seek out new leaders who will be -less ready to concede the claims of the more fortunate classes. The -result may be in the end a labor movement as hostile to the life of the -mind as some terrified property-owners believe it to be at present. - -The claims of justice, narrowly interpreted, may reinforce this -tendency. It may be thought unjust that some men should have larger -incomes or shorter hours of work than other men. But efficiency in -mental work, including the work of education, certainly requires more -comfort and longer periods of rest than are required for efficiency -in physical work, if only because mental work is not physiologically -wholesome. If this is not recognized, the life of the mind may suffer -through short-sightedness even more than through deliberate hostility. - -Education suffers at present, and may long continue to suffer, through -the desire of parents that their children should earn money as soon -as possible. Every one knows that the half-time system, for example, -is bad; but the power of organized labor keeps it in existence. It is -clear that the cure for this evil, as for those that are concerned with -the population question, is to relieve parents of the expense of their -children’s education, and at the same time to take away their right to -appropriate their children’s earnings. - -The way to prevent any dangerous opposition of labor to the life of -the mind is not to oppose the labor movement, which is too strong to -be opposed with justice. The right way is, to show by actual practice -that thought is useful to labor, that without thought its positive aims -cannot be achieved, and that there are men in the world of thought who -are willing to devote their energies to helping labor in its struggle. -Such men, if they are wise and sincere, can prevent labor from becoming -destructive of what is living in the intellectual world. - -Another danger in the aims of organized labor is the danger of -conservatism as to methods of production. Improvements of machinery -or organization bring great advantages to employers, but involve -temporary and sometimes permanent loss to the wage-earners. For this -reason, and also from mere instinctive dislike of any change of habits, -strong labor organizations are often obstacles to technical progress. -The ultimate basis of all social progress must be increased technical -efficiency, a greater result from a given amount of labor. If labor -were to offer an effective opposition to this kind of progress, it -would in the long run paralyze all other progress. The way to overcome -the opposition of labor is not by hostility or moral homilies, but by -giving to labor the direct interest in economical processes which now -belongs to the employers. Here, as elsewhere, the unprogressive part of -a movement which is essentially progressive is to be eliminated, not -by decrying the whole movement but by giving it a wider sweep, making -it more progressive, and leading it to demand an even greater change -in the structure of society than any that it had contemplated in its -inception. - -The most important purpose that political institutions can achieve is -to keep alive in individuals creativeness, vigor, vitality, and the -joy of life. These things existed, for example, in Elizabethan England -in a way in which they do not exist now. They stimulated adventure, -poetry, music, fine architecture, and set going the whole movement out -of which England’s greatness has sprung in every direction in which -England has been great. These things coexisted with injustice, but -outweighed it, and made a national life more admirable than any that is -likely to exist under socialism. - -What is wanted in order to keep men full of vitality is opportunity, -not security. Security is merely a refuge from fear; opportunity is the -source of hope. The chief test of an economic system is not whether -it makes men prosperous, or whether it secures distributive justice -(though these are both very desirable), but whether it leaves men’s -instinctive growth unimpeded. To achieve this purpose, there are two -main conditions which it should fulfil: it should not cramp men’s -private affections, and it should give the greatest possible outlet -to the impulse of creation. There is in most men, until it becomes -atrophied by disuse, an instinct of constructiveness, a wish to make -something. The men who achieve most are, as a rule, those in whom -this instinct is strongest: such men become artists, men of science, -statesmen, empire-builders, or captains of industry, according to the -accidents of temperament and opportunity. The most beneficent and the -most harmful careers are inspired by this impulse. Without it, the -world would sink to the level of Tibet: it would subsist, as it is -always prone to do, on the wisdom of its ancestors, and each generation -would sink more deeply into a lifeless traditionalism. - -But it is not only the remarkable men who have the instinct of -constructiveness, though it is they who have it most strongly. It is -almost universal in boys, and in men it usually survives in a greater -or less degree, according to the greater or less outlet which it is -able to find. Work inspired by this instinct is satisfying, even when -it is irksome and difficult, because every effort is as natural as -the effort of a dog pursuing a hare. The chief defect of the present -capitalistic system is that work done for wages very seldom affords -any outlet for the creative impulse. The man who works for wages has -no choice as to what he shall make: the whole creativeness of the -processes concentrate in the employer who orders the work to be done. -For this reason the work becomes a merely external means to a certain -result, the earning of wages. Employers grow indignant about the trade -union rules for limitation of output, but they have no right to be -indignant, since they do not permit the men whom they employ to have -any share in the purpose for which the work is undertaken. And so -the process of production, which should form one instinctive cycle, -becomes divided into separate purposes, which can no longer provide any -satisfaction of instinct for those who do the work. - -This result is due to our industrial system, but it would not be -avoided by socialism. In a socialist community, the State would be -the employer, and the individual workman would have almost as little -control over his work as he has at present. Such control as he could -exercise would be indirect, through political channels, and would be -too slight and roundabout to afford any appreciable satisfaction. It is -to be feared that instead of an increase of self-direction, there would -only be an increase of mutual interference. - -The total abolition of private capitalistic enterprise, which is -demanded by Marxian socialism, seems scarcely necessary. Most men who -construct sweeping systems of reform, like most of those who defend the -_status quo_, do not allow enough for the importance of exceptions and -the undesirability of rigid system. Provided the sphere of capitalism -is restricted, and a large proportion of the population are rescued -from its dominion, there is no reason to wish it wholly abolished. As a -competitor and a rival, it might serve a useful purpose in preventing -more democratic enterprises from sinking into sloth and technical -conservatism. But it is of the very highest importance that capitalism -should become the exception rather than the rule, and that the bulk of -the world’s industry should be conducted on a more democratic system. - -Much of what is to be said against militarism in the State is also -to be said against capitalism in the economic sphere. Economic -organizations, in the pursuit of efficiency, grow larger and larger, -and there is no possibility of reversing this process. The causes of -their growth are technical, and large organizations must be accepted -as an essential part of civilized society. But there is no reason -why their government should be centralized and monarchical. The -present economic system, by robbing most men of initiative, is one -of the causes of the universal weariness which devitalizes urban and -industrial populations, making them perpetually seek excitement, and -leading them to welcome even the outbreak of war as a relief from the -dreary monotony of their daily lives. - -If the vigor of the nation is to be preserved, if we are to retain any -capacity for new ideas, if we are not to sink into a Chinese condition -of stereotyped immobility, the monarchical organization of industry -must be swept away. All large businesses must become democratic and -federal in their government. The whole wage-earning system is an -abomination, not only because of the social injustice which it causes -and perpetuates, but also because it separates the man who does the -work from the purpose for which the work is done. The whole of the -controlling purpose is concentrated in the capitalist; the purpose of -the wage-earner is not the produce, but the wages. The purpose of the -capitalist is to secure the maximum of work for the minimum of wages; -the purpose of the wage-earner is to secure the maximum of wages for -the minimum of work. A system involving this essential conflict of -interests cannot be expected to work smoothly or successfully, or to -produce a community with any pride in efficiency. - -Two movements exist, one already well advanced, the other in its -infancy, which seem capable, between them, of effecting most of what -is needed. The two movements I mean are the coöperative movement and -syndicalism. The coöperative movement is capable of replacing the wage -system over a very wide field, but it is not easy to see how it could -be applied to such things as railways. It is just in these cases that -the principles of syndicalism are most easily applicable. - -If organization is not to crush individuality, membership of an -organization ought to be voluntary, not compulsory, and ought always -to carry with it a voice in the management. This is not the case with -economic organizations, which give no opportunity for the pride and -pleasure that men find in an activity of their own choice, provided it -is not utterly monotonous. - -It must be admitted, however, that much of the mechanical work which is -necessary in industry is probably not capable of being made interesting -in itself. But it will seem less tedious than it does at present if -those who do it have a voice in the management of their industry. -And men who desire leisure for other occupations might be given the -opportunity of doing uninteresting work during a few hours of the day -for a low wage; this would give an opening to all who wished for some -activity not immediately profitable to themselves. When everything -that is possible has been done to make work interesting, the residue -will have to be made endurable, as almost all work is at present, by -the inducement of rewards outside the hours of labor. But if these -rewards are to be satisfactory, it is essential that the uninteresting -work should not necessarily absorb a man’s whole energies, and that -opportunities should exist for more or less continuous activities -during the remaining hours. Such a system might be an immeasurable -boon to artists, men of letters, and others who produce for their own -satisfaction works which the public does not value soon enough to -secure a living for the producers; and apart from such rather rare -cases, it might provide an opportunity for young men and women with -intellectual ambitions to continue their education after they have -left school, or to prepare themselves for careers which require an -exceptionally long training. - -The evils of the present system result from the separation between the -several interests of consumer, producer, and capitalist. No one of -these three has the same interests as the community or as either of -the other two. The coöperative system amalgamates the interests of -consumer and capitalist; syndicalism would amalgamate the interests -of producer and capitalist. Neither amalgamates all three, or makes -the interests of those who direct industry quite identical with those -of the community. Neither, therefore, would wholly prevent industrial -strife, or obviate the need of the State as arbitrator. But either -would be better than the present system, and probably a mixture of -both would cure most of the evils of industrialism as it exists now. -It is surprising that, while men and women have struggled to achieve -political democracy, so little has been done to introduce democracy in -industry. I believe incalculable benefits might result from industrial -democracy, either on the coöperative model or with recognition of a -trade or industry as a unit for purposes of government, with some -kind of Home Rule such as syndicalism aims at securing. There is -no reason why all governmental units should be geographical: this -system was necessary in the past because of the slowness of means of -communication, but it is not necessary now. By some such system many -men might come to feel again a pride in their work, and to find again -that outlet for the creative impulse which is now denied to all but a -fortunate few. Such a system requires the abolition of the land-owner -and the restriction of the capitalist, but does not entail equality of -earnings. And unlike socialism, it is not a static or final system: it -is hardly more than a framework for energy and initiative. It is only -by some such method, I believe, that the free growth of the individual -can be reconciled with the huge technical organizations which have been -rendered necessary by industrialism. - - - - -V - -EDUCATION - - -No political theory is adequate unless it is applicable to children as -well as to men and women. Theorists are mostly childless, or, if they -have children, they are carefully screened from the disturbances which -would be caused by youthful turmoil. Some of them have written books on -education, but without, as a rule, having any actual children present -to their minds while they wrote. Those educational theorists who have -had a knowledge of children, such as the inventors of Kindergarten and -the Montessori system,[14] have not always had enough realization of -the ultimate goal of education to be able to deal successfully with -advanced instruction. I have not the knowledge either of children or -of education which would enable me to supply whatever defects there -may be in the writings of others. But some questions, concerning -education as a political institution, are involved in any hope of -social reconstruction, and are not usually considered by writers on -educational theory. It is these questions that I wish to discuss. - -The power of education in forming character and opinion is very -great and very generally recognized. The genuine beliefs, though not -usually the professed precepts, of parents and teachers are almost -unconsciously acquired by most children; and even if they depart -from these beliefs in later life, something of them remains deeply -implanted, ready to emerge in a time of stress or crisis. Education is, -as a rule, the strongest force on the side of what exists and against -fundamental change: threatened institutions, while they are still -powerful, possess themselves of the educational machine, and instil a -respect for their own excellence into the malleable minds of the young. -Reformers retort by trying to oust their opponents from their position -of vantage. The children themselves are not considered by either party; -they are merely so much material, to be recruited into one army or the -other. If the children themselves were considered, education would not -aim at making them belong to this party or that, but at enabling them -to choose intelligently between the parties; it would aim at making -them able to think, not at making them think what their teachers think. -Education as a political weapon could not exist if we respected the -rights of children. If we respected the rights of children, we should -educate them so as to give them the knowledge and the mental habits -required for forming independent opinions; but education as a political -institution endeavors to form habits and to circumscribe knowledge in -such a way as to make one set of opinions inevitable. - -The two principles of _justice_ and _liberty_, which cover a very great -deal of the social reconstruction required, are not by themselves -sufficient where education is concerned. Justice, in the literal sense -of equal rights, is obviously not wholly possible as regards children. -And as for liberty, it is, to begin with, essentially negative: it -condemns all avoidable interference with freedom, without giving a -positive principle of construction. But education is essentially -constructive, and requires some positive conception of what constitutes -a good life. And although liberty is to be respected in education as -much as is compatible with instruction, and although a very great -deal more liberty than is customary can be allowed without loss to -instruction, yet it is clear that some departure from complete liberty -is unavoidable if children are to be taught anything, except in the -case of unusually intelligent children who are kept isolated from more -normal companions. This is one reason for the great responsibility -which rests upon teachers: the children must, necessarily, be more -or less at the mercy of their elders, and cannot make themselves -the guardians of their own interests. Authority in education is to -some extent unavoidable, and those who educate have to find a way of -exercising authority in accordance with the _spirit_ of liberty. - -Where authority is unavoidable, what is needed is _reverence_. A man -who is to educate really well, and is to make the young grow and -develop into their full stature, must be filled through and through -with the spirit of reverence. It is reverence towards others that -is lacking in those who advocate machine-made cast-iron systems: -militarism, capitalism, Fabian scientific organization, and all the -other prisons into which reformers and reactionaries try to force -the human spirit. In education, with its codes of rules emanating -from a Government office, its large classes and fixed curriculum and -overworked teachers, its determination to produce a dead level of glib -mediocrity, the lack of reverence for the child is all but universal. -Reverence requires imagination and vital warmth; it requires most -imagination in respect of those who have least actual achievement or -power. The child is weak and superficially foolish, the teacher is -strong, and in an every-day sense wiser than the child. The teacher -without reverence, or the bureaucrat without reverence, easily despises -the child for these outward inferiorities. He thinks it is his duty -to “mold” the child: in imagination he is the potter with the clay. -And so he gives to the child some unnatural shape, which hardens with -age, producing strains and spiritual dissatisfactions, out of which -grow cruelty and envy, and the belief that others must be compelled to -undergo the same distortions. - -Tho man who has reverence will not think it his duty to “mold” the -young. He feels in all that lives, but especially in human beings, and -most of all in children, something sacred, indefinable, unlimited, -something individual and strangely precious, the growing principle of -life, an embodied fragment of the dumb striving of the world. In the -presence of a child he feels an unaccountable humility—a humility not -easily defensible on any rational ground, and yet somehow nearer to -wisdom than the easy self-confidence of many parents and teachers. The -outward helplessness of the child and the appeal of dependence make him -conscious of the responsibility of a trust. His imagination shows him -what the child may become, for good or evil, how its impulses may be -developed or thwarted, how its hopes must be dimmed and the life in it -grow less living, how its trust will be bruised and its quick desires -replaced by brooding will. All this gives him a longing to help the -child in its own battle; he would equip and strengthen it, not for some -outside end proposed by the State or by any other impersonal authority, -but for the ends which the child’s own spirit is obscurely seeking. -The man who feels this can wield the authority of an educator without -infringing the principle of liberty. - -It is not in a spirit of reverence that education is conducted by -States and Churches and the great institutions that are subservient to -them. What is considered in education is hardly ever the boy or girl, -the young man or young woman, but almost always, in some form, the -maintenance of the existing order. When the individual is considered, -it is almost exclusively with a view to worldly success—making money -or achieving a good position. To be ordinary, and to acquire the art -of getting on, is the ideal which is set before the youthful mind, -except by a few rare teachers who have enough energy of belief to break -through the system within which they are expected to work. Almost all -education has a political motive: it aims at strengthening some group, -national or religious or even social, in the competition with other -groups. It is this motive, in the main, which determines the subjects -taught, the knowledge offered and the knowledge withheld, and also -decides what mental habits the pupils are expected to acquire. Hardly -anything is done to foster the inward growth of mind and spirit; in -fact, those who have had most education are very often atrophied in -their mental and spiritual life, devoid of impulse, and possessing only -certain mechanical aptitudes which take the place of living thought. - -Some of the things which education achieves at present must continue to -be achieved by education in any civilized country. All children must -continue to be taught how to read and write, and some must continue -to acquire the knowledge needed for such professions as medicine or -law or engineering. The higher education required for the sciences -and the arts is necessary for those to whom it is suited. Except in -history and religion and kindred matters, the actual instruction is -only inadequate, not positively harmful. The instruction might be given -in a more liberal spirit, with more attempt to show its ultimate uses; -and of course much of it is traditional and dead. But in the main it is -necessary, and would have to form a part of any educational system. - -It is in history and religion and other controversial subjects that -the actual instruction is positively harmful. These subjects touch the -interests by which schools are maintained; and the interests maintain -the schools in order that certain views on these subjects may be -instilled. History, in every country, is so taught as to magnify that -country: children learn to believe that their own country has always -been in the right and almost always victorious, that it has produced -almost all the great men, and that it is in all respects superior to -all other countries. Since these beliefs are flattering, they are -easily absorbed, and hardly ever dislodged from instinct by later -knowledge. - -To take a simple and almost trivial example: the facts about the battle -of Waterloo are known in great detail and with minute accuracy; but -the facts as taught in elementary schools will be widely different in -England, France, and Germany. The ordinary English boy imagines that -the Prussians played hardly any part; the ordinary German boy imagines -that Wellington was practically defeated when the day was retrieved -by Blücher’s gallantry. If the facts were taught accurately in both -countries, national pride would not be fostered to the same extent, -neither nation would feel so certain of victory in the event of war, -and the willingness to fight would be diminished. It is this result -which has to be prevented. Every State wishes to promote national -pride, and is conscious that this cannot be done by unbiased history. -The defenseless children are taught by distortions and suppressions and -suggestions. The false ideas as to the history of the world which are -taught in the various countries are of a kind which encourages strife -and serves to keep alive a bigoted nationalism. If good relations -between States were desired, one of the first steps ought to be to -submit all teaching of history to an international commission, which -should produce neutral textbooks free from the patriotic bias which is -now demanded everywhere.[15] - -Exactly the same thing applies to religion. Elementary schools are -practically always in the hands either of some religious body or of a -State which has a certain attitude towards religion. A religious body -exists through the fact that its members all have certain definite -beliefs on subjects as to which the truth is not ascertainable. Schools -conducted by religious bodies have to prevent the young, who are often -inquiring by nature, from discovering that these definite beliefs are -opposed by others which are no more unreasonable, and that many of the -men best qualified to judge think that there is no good evidence in -favor of any definite belief. When the State is militantly secular, as -in France, State schools become as dogmatic as those that are in the -hands of the Churches (I understand that the word “God” must not be -mentioned in a French elementary school). The result in all these cases -is the same: free inquiry is checked, and on the most important matter -in the world the child is met with dogma or with stony silence. - -It is not only in elementary education that these evils exist. In more -advanced education they take subtler forms, and there is more attempt -to conceal them, but they are still present. Eton and Oxford set a -certain stamp upon a man’s mind, just as a Jesuit College does. It -can hardly be said that Eton and Oxford have a _conscious_ purpose, -but they have a purpose which is none the less strong and effective -for not being formulated. In almost all who have been through them -they produce a worship of “good form,” which is as destructive to life -and thought as the medieval Church. “Good form” is quite compatible -with a superficial open-mindedness, a readiness to hear all sides, -and a certain urbanity towards opponents. But it is not compatible -with fundamental open-mindedness, or with any inward readiness to give -weight to the other side. Its essence is the assumption that what -is most important is a certain kind of behavior, a behavior which -minimizes friction between equals and delicately impresses inferiors -with a conviction of their own crudity. As a political weapon for -preserving the privileges of the rich in a snobbish democracy it is -unsurpassable. As a means of producing an agreeable social _milieu_ for -those who have money with no strong beliefs or unusual desires it has -some merit. In every other respect it is abominable. - -The evils of “good form” arise from two sources: its perfect assurance -of its own rightness, and its belief that correct manners are more to -be desired than intellect, or artistic creation, or vital energy, or -any of the other sources of progress in the world. Perfect assurance, -by itself, is enough to destroy all mental progress in those who have -it. And when it is combined with contempt for the angularities and -awkwardnesses that are almost invariably associated with great mental -power, it becomes a source of destruction to all who come in contact -with it. “Good form” is itself dead and incapable of growth; and by its -attitude to those who are without it it spreads its own death to many -who might otherwise have life. The harm which it has done to well-to-do -Englishmen, and to men whose abilities have led the well-to-do to -notice them, is incalculable. - -The prevention of free inquiry is unavoidable so long as the purpose -of education is to produce belief rather than thought, to compel the -young to hold positive opinions on doubtful matters rather than to -let them see the doubtfulness and be encouraged to independence of -mind. Education ought to foster the wish for truth, not the conviction -that some particular creed is the truth. But it is creeds that hold -men together in fighting organizations: Churches, States, political -parties. It is intensity of belief in a creed that produces efficiency -in fighting: victory comes to those who feel the strongest certainty -about matters on which doubt is the only rational attitude. To produce -this intensity of belief and this efficiency in fighting, the child’s -nature is warped, and its free outlook is cramped, by cultivating -inhibitions as a check to the growth of new ideas. In those whose -minds are not very active the result is the omnipotence of prejudice; -while the few whose thought cannot be wholly killed become cynical, -intellectually hopeless, destructively critical, able to make all -that is living seem foolish, unable themselves to supply the creative -impulses which they destroy in others. - -The success in fighting which is achieved by suppressing freedom of -thought is brief and very worthless. In the long run mental vigor is -as essential to success as it is to a good life. The conception of -education as a form of drill, a means of producing unanimity through -slavishness, is very common, and is defended chiefly on the ground -that it leads to victory. Those who enjoy parallels from ancient -history will point to the victory of Sparta over Athens to enforce -their moral. But it is Athens that has had power over men’s thoughts -and imaginations, not Sparta: any one of us, if we could be born again -into some past epoch, would rather be born an Athenian than a Spartan. -And in the modern world so much intellect is required in practical -affairs that even the external victory is more likely to be won by -intelligence than by docility. Education in credulity leads by quick -stages to mental decay; it is only by keeping alive the spirit of free -inquiry that the indispensable minimum of progress can be achieved. - -Certain mental habits are commonly instilled by those who are engaged -in educating: obedience and discipline, ruthlessness in the struggle -for worldly success, contempt towards opposing groups, and an -unquestioning credulity, a passive acceptance of the teacher’s wisdom. -All these habits are against life. Instead of obedience and discipline, -we ought to aim at preserving independence and impulse. Instead of -ruthlessness, education should try to develop justice in thought. -Instead of contempt, it ought to instil reverence, and the attempt at -understanding; towards the opinions of others it ought to produce, not -necessarily acquiescence, but only such opposition as is combined with -imaginative apprehension and a clear realization of the grounds for -opposition. Instead of credulity, the object should be to stimulate -constructive doubt, the love of mental adventure, the sense of worlds -to conquer by enterprise and boldness in thought. Contentment with the -_status quo_, and subordination of the individual pupil to political -aims, owing to the indifference to the things of the mind, are the -immediate causes of these evils; but beneath these causes there is one -more fundamental, the fact that education is treated as a means of -acquiring power over the pupil, not as a means of nourishing his own -growth. It is in this that lack of reverence shows itself; and it is -only by more reverence that a fundamental reform can be effected. - -Obedience and discipline are supposed to be indispensable if order is -to be kept in a class, and if any instruction is to be given. To some -extent this is true; but the extent is much less than it is thought -to be by those who regard obedience and discipline as in themselves -desirable. Obedience, the yielding of one’s will to outside direction, -is the counterpart of authority. Both may be necessary in certain -cases. Refractory children, lunatics, and criminals may require -authority, and may need to be forced to obey. But in so far as this is -necessary it is a misfortune: what is to be desired is the free choice -of ends with which it is not necessary to interfere. And educational -reformers have shown that this is far more possible than our fathers -would ever have believed.[16] - -What makes obedience seem necessary in schools is the large classes -and overworked teachers demanded by a false economy. Those who have no -experience of teaching are incapable of imagining the expense of spirit -entailed by any really living instruction. They think that teachers can -reasonably be expected to work as many hours as bank clerks. Intense -fatigue and irritable nerves are the result, and an absolute necessity -of performing the day’s task mechanically. But the task cannot be -performed mechanically except by exacting obedience. - -If we took education seriously, and thought it as important to keep -alive the minds of children as to secure victory in war, we should -conduct education quite differently: we should make sure of achieving -the end, even if the expense were a hundredfold greater than it is. To -many men and women a small amount of teaching is a delight, and can be -done with a fresh zest and life which keeps most pupils interested -without any need of discipline. The few who do not become interested -might be separated from the rest, and given a different kind of -instruction. A teacher ought to have only as much teaching as can be -done, on most days, with actual pleasure in the work, and with an -awareness of the pupil’s mental needs. The result would be a relation -of friendliness instead of hostility between teacher and pupil, a -realization on the part of most pupils that education serves to develop -their own lives and is not merely an outside imposition, interfering -with play and demanding many hours of sitting still. All that is -necessary to this end is a (greater expenditure of money), to secure -teachers with more leisure and with a natural love of teaching. - -Discipline, as it exists in schools, is very largely an evil. There is -a kind of discipline which is necessary to almost all achievement, and -which perhaps is not sufficiently valued by those who react against the -purely external discipline of traditional methods. The desirable kind -of discipline is the kind that comes from within, which consists in the -power of pursuing a distant object steadily, foregoing and suffering -many things on the way. This involves the subordination of impulse -to will, the power of a directing action by large creative desires -even at moments when they are not vividly alive. Without this, no -serious ambition, good or bad, can be realized, no consistent purpose -can dominate. This kind of discipline is very necessary, but can only -result from strong desires for ends not immediately attainable, and can -only be produced by education if education fosters such desires, which -it seldom does at present. Such discipline springs from one’s own will, -not from outside authority. It is not this kind which is sought in most -schools, and it is not this kind which seems to me an evil. - -Although elementary education encourages the undesirable discipline -that consists in passive obedience, and although hardly any existing -education encourages the moral discipline of consistent self-direction, -there is a certain kind of purely mental discipline which is produced -by the traditional higher education. The kind I mean is that which -enables a man to concentrate his thoughts at will upon any matter -that he has occasion to consider, regardless of preoccupations or -boredom or intellectual difficulty. This quality, though it has no -important intrinsic excellence, greatly enhances the efficiency of -the mind as an instrument. It is this that enables a lawyer to master -the scientific details of a patent case which he forgets as soon as -judgment has been given, or a civil servant to deal quickly with -many different administrative questions in succession. It is this -that enables men to forget private cares during business hours. In a -complicated world it is a very necessary faculty for those whose work -requires mental concentration. - -Success in producing mental discipline is the chief merit of -traditional higher education. I doubt whether it can be achieved except -by compelling or persuading active attention to a prescribed task. It -is for this reason chiefly that I do not believe methods such as Madame -Montessori’s applicable when the age of childhood has been passed. -The essence of her method consists in giving a choice of occupations, -any one of which is interesting to most children, and all of which -are instructive. The child’s attention is wholly spontaneous, as in -play; it enjoys acquiring knowledge in this way, and does not acquire -any knowledge which it does not desire. I am convinced that this is -the best method of education with young children: the actual results -make it almost impossible to think otherwise. But it is difficult -to see how this method can lead to control of attention by the will. -Many things which must be thought about are uninteresting, and even -those that are interesting at first often become very wearisome before -they have been considered as long as is necessary. The power of giving -prolonged attention is very important, and it is hardly to be widely -acquired except as a habit induced originally by outside pressure. Some -few boys, it is true, have sufficiently strong intellectual desires to -be willing to undergo all that is necessary by their own initiative -and free will; but for all others an external inducement is required -in order to make them learn any subject thoroughly. There is among -educational reformers a certain fear of demanding great efforts, and -in the world at large a growing unwillingness to be bored. Both these -tendencies have their good sides, but both also have their dangers. The -mental discipline which is jeopardized can be preserved by mere advice -without external compulsion whenever a boy’s intellectual interest and -ambition can be sufficiently stimulated. A good teacher ought to be -able to do this for any boy who is capable of much mental achievement; -and for many of the others the present purely bookish education is -probably not the best. In this way, so long as the importance of mental -discipline is realized, it can probably be attained, whenever it is -attainable, by appealing to the pupil’s consciousness of his own needs. -So long as teachers are not expected to succeed by this method, it is -easy for them to slip into a slothful dullness, and blame their pupils -when the fault is really their own. - -Ruthlessness in the economic struggle will almost unavoidably be -taught in schools so long as the economic structure of society remains -unchanged. This must be particularly the case in middle-class schools, -which depend for their numbers upon the good opinion of parents, and -secure the good opinion of parents by advertising the successes of -pupils. This is one of many ways in which the competitive organization -of the State is harmful. Spontaneous and disinterested desire for -knowledge is not at all uncommon in the young, and might be easily -aroused in many in whom it remains latent. But it is remorselessly -checked by teachers who think only of examinations, diplomas, and -degrees. For the abler boys there is no time for thought, no time -for the indulgence of intellectual taste, from the moment of first -going to school until the moment of leaving the university. From first -to last there is nothing but one long drudgery of examination tips -and textbook facts. The most intelligent, at the end, are disgusted -with learning, longing only to forget it and to escape into a life -of action. Yet there, as before, the economic machine holds them -prisoners, and all their spontaneous desires are bruised and thwarted. - -The examination system, and the fact that instruction is treated mainly -as training for a livelihood, leads the young to regard knowledge, from -a purely utilitarian point of view, as the road to money, not as the -gateway to wisdom. This would not matter so much if it affected only -those who have no genuine intellectual interests. But unfortunately it -affects most those whose intellectual interests are strongest, since -it is upon them that the pressure of examinations falls with most -severity. To them most, but to all in some degree, education appears as -a means of acquiring superiority over others; it is infected through -and through with ruthlessness and glorification of social inequality. -Any free, disinterested consideration shows that, whatever inequalities -might remain in a Utopia, the actual inequalities are almost all -contrary to justice. But our educational system tends to conceal this -from all except the failures, since those who succeed are on the way to -profit by the inequalities, with every encouragement from the men who -have directed their education. - -Passive acceptance of the teacher’s wisdom is easy to most boys and -girls. It involves no effort of independent thought, and seems rational -because the teacher knows more than his pupils; it is moreover the -way to win the favor of the teacher unless he is a very exceptional -man. Yet the habit of passive acceptance is a disastrous one in later -life. It causes men to seek a leader, and to accept as a leader whoever -is established in that position. It makes the power of Churches, -Governments, party caucuses, and all the other organizations by which -plain men are misled into supporting old systems which are harmful -to the nation and to themselves. It is possible that there would not -be much independence of thought even if education did everything -to promote it; but there would certainly be more than there is at -present. If the object were to make pupils think, rather than to make -them accept certain conclusions, education would be conducted quite -differently: there would be less rapidity of instruction and more -discussion, more occasions when pupils were encouraged to express -themselves, more attempt to make education concern itself with matters -in which the pupils felt some interest. - -Above all, there would be an endeavor to rouse and stimulate the -love of mental adventure. The world in which we live is various and -astonishing: some of the things that seem plainest grow more and more -difficult the more they are considered; other things, which might have -been thought quite impossible to discover, have nevertheless been laid -bare by genius and industry. The powers of thought, the vast regions -which it can master, the much more vast regions which it can only dimly -suggest to imagination, give to those whose minds have traveled beyond -the daily round an amazing richness of material, an escape from the -triviality and wearisomeness of familiar routine, by which the whole of -life is filled with interest, and the prison walls of the commonplace -are broken down. The same love of adventure which takes men to the -South Pole, the same passion for a conclusive trial of strength which -leads some men to welcome war, can find in creative thought an outlet -which is neither wasteful nor cruel, but increases the dignity of man -by incarnating in life some of that shining splendor which the human -spirit is bringing down out of the unknown. To give this joy, in a -greater or less measure, to all who are capable of it, is the supreme -end for which the education of the mind is to be valued. - -It will be said that the joy of mental adventure must be rare, that -there are few who can appreciate it, and that ordinary education can -take no account of so aristocratic a good. I do not believe this. The -joy of mental adventure is far commoner in the young than in grown -men and women. Among children it is very common, and grows naturally -out of the period of make-believe and fancy. It is rare in later life -because everything is done to kill it during education. Men fear -thought as they fear nothing else on earth—more than ruin, more even -than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and -terrible; thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, -and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent -to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought -looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid. It sees man, a feeble -speck, surrounded by unfathomable depths of silence; yet it bears -itself proudly, as unmoved as if it were lord of the universe. Thought -is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief -glory of man. - -But if thought is to become the possession of many, not the privilege -of the few, we must have done with fear. It is fear that holds men -back—fear lest their cherished beliefs should prove delusions, fear -lest the institutions by which they live should prove harmful, fear -lest they themselves should prove less worthy of respect than they -have supposed themselves to be. “Should the working man think freely -about property? Then what will become of us, the rich? Should young -men and young women think freely about sex? Then what will become -of morality? Should soldiers think freely about war? Then what will -become of military discipline? Away with thought! Back into the shades -of prejudice, lest property, morals, and war should be endangered! -Better men should be stupid, slothful, and oppressive than that their -thoughts should be free. For if their thoughts were free they might -not think as we do. And at all costs this disaster must be averted.” -So the opponents of thought argue in the unconscious depths of their -souls. And so they act in their churches, their schools, and their -universities. - -No institution inspired by fear can further life. Hope, not fear, is -the creative principle in human affairs. All that has made man great -has sprung from the attempt to secure what is good, not from the -struggle to avert what was thought evil. It is because modern education -is so seldom inspired by a great hope that it so seldom achieves a -great result. The wish to preserve the past rather than the hope of -creating the future dominates the minds of those who control the -teaching of the young. Education should not aim at a passive awareness -of dead facts, but at an activity directed towards the world that -our efforts are to create. It should be inspired, not by a regretful -hankering after the extinct beauties of Greece and the Renaissance, -but by a shining vision of the society that is to be, of the triumphs -that thought will achieve in the time to come, and of the ever-widening -horizon of man’s survey over the universe. Those who are taught in this -spirit will be filled with life and hope and joy, able to bear their -part in bringing to mankind a future less somber than the past, with -faith in the glory that human effort can create. - - - - -VI - -MARRIAGE AND THE POPULATION QUESTION - - -The influence of the Christian religion on daily life has decayed very -rapidly throughout Europe during the last hundred years. Not only has -the proportion of nominal believers declined, but even among those who -believe the intensity and dogmatism of belief is enormously diminished. -But there is one social institution which is still profoundly affected -by the Christian tradition—I mean the institution of marriage. The -law and public opinion as regards marriage are dominated even now to -a very great extent by the teachings of the Church, which continue to -influence in this way the lives of men, women, and children in their -most intimate concerns. - -It is marriage as a political institution that I wish to consider, -not marriage as a matter for the private morality of each individual. -Marriage is regulated by law, and is regarded as a matter in which -the community has a right to interfere. It is only the action of the -community in regard to marriage that I am concerned to discuss: whether -the present action furthers the life of the community, and if not, in -what ways it ought to be changed. - -There are two questions to be asked in regard to any marriage system: -first, how it affects the development and character of the men and -women concerned; secondly, what is its influence on the propagation and -education of children. These two questions are entirely distinct, and -a system may well be desirable from one of these two points of view -when it is very undesirable from the other. I propose first to describe -the present English law and public opinion and practice in regard to -the relations of the sexes, then to consider their effects as regards -children, and finally to consider how these effects, which are bad, -could be obviated by a system which would also have a better influence -on the character and development of men and women. - -The law in England is based upon the expectation that the great -majority of marriages will be lifelong. A marriage can only be -dissolved if either the wife or the husband, but not both, can be -proved to have committed adultery. In case the husband is the “guilty -party,” he must also be guilty of cruelty or desertion. Even when -these conditions are fulfilled, in practice only the well-to-do can be -divorced, because the expense is very great.[17] A marriage cannot be -dissolved for insanity or crime, or for cruelty, however abominable, -or for desertion, or for adultery by both parties; and it cannot be -dissolved for any cause whatever if both husband and wife have agreed -that they wish it dissolved. In all these cases the law regards the man -and woman as bound together for life. A special official, the King’s -Proctor, is employed to prevent divorce when there is collusion and -when both parties have committed adultery.[18] - -This interesting system embodies the opinions held by the Church of -England some fifty years ago, and by most Nonconformists then and now. -It rests upon the assumption that adultery is sin, and that when this -sin has been committed by one party to the marriage, the other is -entitled to revenge if he is rich. But when both have committed the -same sin, or when the one who has not committed it feels no righteous -anger, the right to revenge does not exist. As soon as this point of -view is understood, the law, which at first seems somewhat strange, is -seen to be perfectly consistent. It rests, broadly speaking, upon four -propositions: (1) that sexual intercourse outside marriage is sin; (2) -that resentment of adultery by the “innocent” party is a righteous -horror of wrong-doing; (3) that his resentment, but nothing else, may -be rightly regarded as making a common life impossible; (4) that the -poor have no right to fine feelings. The Church of England, under the -influence of the High Church, has ceased to believe the third of these -propositions, but it still believes the first and second, and does -nothing actively to show that it disbelieves the fourth. - -The penalty for infringing the marriage law is partly financial, but -depends mainly upon public opinion. A rather small section of the -public genuinely believes that sexual relations outside marriage are -wicked; those who believe this are naturally kept in ignorance of the -conduct of friends who feel otherwise, and are able to go through life -not knowing how others live or what others think. This small section of -the public regards as depraved not only actions, but opinions, which -are contrary to its principles. It is able to control the professions -of politicians through its influence on elections, and the votes of -the House of Lords through the presence of the Bishops. By these -means it governs legislation, and makes any change in the marriage -law almost impossible. It is able, also, to secure in most cases that -a man who openly infringes the marriage law shall be dismissed from -his employment or ruined by the defection of his customers or clients. -A doctor or lawyer, or a tradesman in a country town, cannot make a -living, nor can a politician be in Parliament, if he is publicly known -to be “immoral.” Whatever a man’s own conduct may be, he is not likely -to defend publicly those who have been branded, lest some of the odium -should fall on him. Yet so long as a man has not been branded, few men -will object to him, whatever they may know privately of his behavior in -these respects. - -Owing to the nature of the penalty, it falls very unequally upon -different professions. An actor or journalist usually escapes all -punishment. An urban workingman can almost always do as he likes. A man -of private means, unless he wishes to take part in public life, need -not suffer at all if he has chosen his friends suitably. Women, who -formerly suffered more than men, now suffer less, since there are large -circles in which no social penalty is inflicted, and a very rapidly -increasing number of women who do not believe the conventional code. -But for the majority of men outside the working classes the penalty is -still sufficiently severe to be prohibitive. - -The result of this state of things is a widespread but very flimsy -hypocrisy, which allows many infractions of the code, and forbids -only those which must become public. A man may not live openly with a -woman who is not his wife, an unmarried woman may not have a child, -and neither man nor woman may get into the divorce court. Subject to -these restrictions, there is in practice very great freedom. It is this -practical freedom which makes the state of the law seem tolerable to -those who do not accept the principles upon which it is based. What -has to be sacrificed to propitiate the holders of strict views is not -pleasure, but only children and a common life and truth and honesty. -It cannot be supposed that this is the result desired by those who -maintain the code, but equally it cannot be denied that this is the -result which they do in fact achieve. Extra-matrimonial relations which -do not lead to children and are accompanied by a certain amount of -deceit remain unpunished, but severe penalties fall on those which are -honest or lead to children. - -Within marriage, the expense of children leads to continually greater -limitation of families. The limitation is greatest among those who -have most sense of parental responsibility and most wish to educate -their children well, since it is to them that the expense of children -is most severe. But although the economic motive for limiting families -has hitherto probably been the strongest, it is being continually -reinforced by another. Women are acquiring freedom—not merely outward -and formal freedom, but inward freedom, enabling them to think and -feel genuinely, not according to received maxims. To the men who have -prated confidently of women’s natural instincts, the result would be -surprising if they were aware of it. Very large numbers of women, when -they are sufficiently free to think for themselves, do not desire to -have children, or at most desire one child in order not to miss the -experience which a child brings. There are women who are intelligent -and active-minded who resent the slavery to the body which is involved -in having children. There are ambitious women, who desire a career -which leaves no time for children. There are women who love pleasure -and gaiety, and women who love the admiration of men; such women will -at least postpone child-bearing until their youth is past. All these -classes of women are rapidly becoming more numerous, and it may be -safely assumed that their numbers will continue to increase for many -years to come. - -It is too soon to judge with any confidence as to the effects of -women’s freedom upon private life and upon the life of the nation. -But I think it is not too soon to see that it will be profoundly -different from the effect expected by the pioneers of the women’s -movement. Men have invented, and women in the past have often accepted, -a theory that women are the guardians of the race, that their life -centers in motherhood, that all their instincts and desires are -directed, consciously or unconsciously, to this end. Tolstoy’s Natacha -illustrates this theory: she is charming, gay, liable to passion, until -she is married; then she becomes merely a virtuous mother, without -any mental life. This result has Tolstoy’s entire approval. It must -be admitted that it is very desirable from the point of view of the -nation, whatever we may think of it in relation to private life. It -must also be admitted that it is probably common among women who are -physically vigorous and not highly civilized. But in countries like -France and England it is becoming increasingly rare. More and more -women find motherhood unsatisfying, not what their needs demand. And -more and more there comes to be a conflict between their personal -development and the future of the community. It is difficult to know -what ought to be done to mitigate this conflict, but I think it is -worth while to see what are likely to be its effects if it is not -mitigated. - -Owing to the combination of economic prudence with the increasing -freedom of women, there is at present a selective birth-rate of a -very singular kind.[19] In France the population is practically -stationary, and in England it is rapidly becoming so; this means -that some sections are dwindling while others are increasing. Unless -some change occurs, the sections that are dwindling will practically -become extinct, and the population will be almost wholly replenished -from the sections that are now increasing.[20] The sections that are -dwindling include the whole middle-class and the skilled artisans. -The sections that are increasing are the very poor, the shiftless and -drunken, the feeble-minded—feeble-minded women, especially, are apt -to be very prolific. There is an increase in those sections of the -population which still actively believe the Catholic religion, such -as the Irish and the Bretons, because the Catholic religion forbids -limitation of families. Within the classes that are dwindling, it -is the best elements that are dwindling most rapidly. Working-class -boys of exceptional ability rise, by means of scholarships, into the -professional class; they naturally desire to marry into the class to -which they belong by education, not into the class from which they -spring; but as they have no money beyond what they earn, they cannot -marry young, or afford a large family. The result is that in each -generation the best elements are extracted from the working classes -and artificially sterilized, at least in comparison with those who are -left. In the professional classes the young women who have initiative, -energy, or intelligence are as a rule not inclined to marry young, or -to have more than one or two children when they do marry. Marriage -has been in the past the only obvious means of livelihood for women; -pressure from parents and fear of becoming an old maid combined -to force many women to marry in spite of a complete absence of -inclination for the duties of a wife. But now a young woman of ordinary -intelligence can easily earn her own living, and can acquire freedom -and experience without the permanent ties of a husband and a family of -children. The result is that if she marries she marries late. - -For these reasons, if an average sample of children were taken out of -the population of England, and their parents were examined, it would -be found that prudence, energy, intellect, and enlightenment were less -common among the parents than in the population in general; while -shiftlessness, feeble-mindedness, stupidity, and superstition were more -common than in the population in general. It would be found that those -who are prudent or energetic or intelligent or enlightened actually -fail to reproduce their own numbers; that is to say, they do not on the -average have as many as two children each who survive infancy. On the -other hand, those who have the opposite qualities have, on the average, -more than two children each, and more than reproduce their own numbers. - -It is impossible to estimate the effect which this will have upon -the character of the population without a much greater knowledge of -heredity than exists at present. But so long as children continue to -live with their parents, parental example and early education must -have a great influence in developing their character, even if we leave -heredity entirely out of account. Whatever may be thought of genius, -there can be no doubt that intelligence, whether through heredity or -through education, tends to run in families, and that the decay of the -families in which it is common must lower the mental standard of the -population. It seems unquestionable that if our economic system and -our moral standards remain unchanged, there will be, in the next two -or three generations, a rapid change for the worse in the character of -the population in all civilized countries, and an actual diminution of -numbers in the most civilized. - -The diminution of numbers, in all likelihood, will rectify itself in -time through the elimination of those characteristics which at present -lead to a small birth-rate. Men and women who can still believe the -Catholic faith will have a biological advantage; gradually a race -will grow up which will be impervious to all the assaults of reason, -and will believe imperturbably that limitation of families leads to -hell-fire. Women who have mental interests, who care about art or -literature or politics, who desire a career or who value their liberty, -will gradually grow rarer, and be more and more replaced by a placid -maternal type which has no interests outside the home and no dislike -of the burden of motherhood. This result, which ages of masculine -domination have vainly striven to achieve, is likely to be the final -outcome of women’s emancipation and of their attempt to enter upon a -wider sphere than that to which the jealousy of men confined them in -the past. - -Perhaps, if the facts could be ascertained, it would be found that -something of the same kind occurred in the Roman Empire. The decay of -energy and intelligence during the second, third, and fourth centuries -of our era has always remained more or less mysterious. But there is -reason to think that then, as now, the best elements of the population -in each generation failed to reproduce themselves, and that the least -vigorous were, as a rule, those to whom the continuance of the race was -due. One might be tempted to suppose that civilization, when it has -reached a certain height, becomes unstable, and tends to decay through -some inherent weakness, some failure to adapt the life of instinct to -the intense mental life of a period of high culture. But such vague -theories have always something glib and superstitious which makes them -worthless as scientific explanations or as guides to action. It is not -by a literary formula, but by detailed and complex thought, that a true -solution is to be found. - -Let us first be clear as to what we desire. There is no importance in -an increasing population; on the contrary, if the population of Europe -were stationary, it would be much easier to promote economic reform -and to avoid war. What is regrettable _at present_ is not the decline -of the birth-rate in itself, but the fact that the decline is greatest -in the best elements of the population. There is reason, however, to -fear in the future three bad results: first, an absolute decline in the -numbers of English, French, and Germans; secondly, as a consequence -of this decline, their subjugation by less civilized races and the -extinction of their tradition; thirdly, a revival of their numbers on -a much lower plane of civilization, after generations of selection of -those who have neither intelligence nor foresight. If this result is -to be avoided, the present unfortunate selectiveness of the birth-rate -must be somehow stopped. - -The problem is one which applies to the whole of Western civilization. -There is no difficulty in discovering a theoretical solution, but -there is great difficulty in persuading men to adopt a solution in -practice, because the effects to be feared are not immediate and -the subject is one upon which people are not in the habit of using -their reason. If a rational solution is ever adopted, the cause will -probably be international rivalry. It is obvious that if one State—say -Germany—adopted a rational means of dealing with the matter, it would -acquire an enormous advantage over other States unless they did -likewise. After the war, it is possible that population questions will -attract more attention than they did before, and it is likely that -they will be studied from the point of view of international rivalry. -This motive, unlike reason and humanity, is perhaps strong enough to -overcome men’s objections to a scientific treatment of the birth-rate. - -In the past, at most periods and in most societies, the instincts of -men and women led of themselves to a more than sufficient birth-rate; -Malthus’s statement of the population question had been true enough -up to the time when he wrote. It is still true of barbarous and -semi-civilized races, and of the worst elements among civilized races. -But it has become false as regards the more civilized half of the -population in Western Europe and America. Among them, instinct no -longer suffices to keep numbers even stationary. - -We may sum up the reasons for this in order of importance, as follows:— - -1. The expense of children is very great if parents are conscientious. - -2. An increasing number of women desire to have no children, or only -one or two, in order not to be hampered in their own careers. - -3. Owing to the excess of women, a large number of women remain -unmarried. These women, though not debarred in practice from relations -with men, are debarred by the code from having children. In this class -are to be found an enormous and increasing number of women who earn -their own living as typists, in shops, or otherwise. The war has opened -many employments to women from which they were formerly excluded, and -this change is probably only in part temporary. - -If the sterilizing of the best parts of the population is to be -arrested, the first and most pressing necessity is the removal of -the economic motives for limiting families. The expense of children -ought to be borne wholly by the community. Their food and clothing -and education ought to be provided, not only to the very poor as a -matter of charity, but to all classes as a matter of public interest. -In addition to this, a woman who is capable of earning money, and who -abandons wage-earning for motherhood, ought to receive from the State -as nearly as possible what she would have received if she had not had -children. The only condition attached to State maintenance of the -mother and the children should be that both parents are physically and -mentally sound in all ways likely to affect the children. Those who -are not sound should not be debarred from having children, but should -continue, as at present, to bear the expense of children themselves. - -It ought to be recognized that the law is only concerned with marriage -through the question of children, and should be indifferent to what -is called “morality,” which is based upon custom and texts of the -Bible, not upon any real consideration of the needs of the community. -The excess women, who at present are in every way discouraged from -having children, ought no longer to be discouraged. If the State is -to undertake the expense of children, it has the right, on eugenic -grounds, to know who the father is, and to demand a certain stability -in a union. But there is no reason to demand or expect a lifelong -stability, or to exact any ground for divorce beyond mutual consent. -This would make it possible for the women who must at present remain -unmarried to have children if they wished it. In this way an enormous -and unnecessary waste would be prevented, and a great deal of needless -unhappiness would be avoided. - -There is no necessity to begin such a system all at once. It might be -begun tentatively with certain exceptionally desirable sections of the -community. It might then be extended gradually, with the experience of -its working which had been derived from the first experiment. If the -birth-rate were very much increased, the eugenic conditions exacted -might be made more strict. - -There are of course various practical difficulties in the way of such a -scheme: the opposition of the Church and the upholders of traditional -morality, the fear of weakening parental responsibility, and the -expense. All these, however, might be overcome. But there remains one -difficulty which it seems impossible to overcome completely in England, -and that is, that the whole conception is anti-democratic, since it -regards some men as better than others, and would demand that the State -should bestow a better education upon the children of some men than -upon the children of others. This is contrary to all the principles -of progressive politics in England. For this reason it can hardly be -expected that any such method of dealing with the population question -will ever be adopted in its entirety in this country. Something of the -sort may well be done in Germany, and if so, it will assure German -hegemony as no merely military victory could do. But among ourselves -we can only hope to see it adopted in some partial, piecemeal fashion, -and probably only after a change in the economic structure of society -which will remove most of the artificial inequalities that progressive -parties are rightly trying to diminish. - -So far we have been considering the question of the reproduction of the -race, rather than the effect of sex relations in fostering or hindering -the development of men and women. From the point of view of the race, -what seems needed is a complete removal of the economic burdens due to -children from all parents who are not physically or mentally unfit, and -as much freedom in the law as is compatible with public knowledge of -paternity. Exactly the same changes seem called for when the question -is considered from the point of view of the men and women concerned. - -In regard to marriage, as with all the other traditional bonds between -human beings, a very extraordinary change is taking place, wholly -inevitable, wholly necessary as a stage in the development of a new -life, but by no means wholly satisfactory until it is completed. All -the traditional bonds were based on _authority_—of the king, the -feudal baron, the priest, the father, the husband. All these bonds, -just because they were based on authority, are dissolving or already -dissolved, and the creation of other bonds to take their place is as -yet very incomplete. For this reason human relations have at present -an unusual triviality, and do less than they did formerly to break down -the hard walls of the Ego. - -The ideal of marriage in the past depended upon the authority of the -husband, which was admitted as a right by the wife. The husband was -free, the wife was a willing slave. In all matters which concerned -husband and wife jointly, it was taken for granted that the husband’s -fiat should be final. The wife was expected to be faithful, while the -husband, except in very religious societies, was only expected to throw -a decent veil over his infidelities. Families could not be limited -except by continence, and a wife had no recognized right to demand -continence, however she might suffer from frequent children. - -So long as the husband’s right to authority was unquestioningly -believed by both men and women, this system was fairly satisfactory, -and afforded to both a certain instinctive fulfilment which is rarely -achieved among educated people now. Only one will, the husband’s, -had to be taken into account, and there was no need of the difficult -adjustments required when common decisions have to be reached by two -equal wills. The wife’s desires were not treated seriously enough to -enable them to thwart the husband’s needs, and the wife herself, unless -she was exceptionally selfish, did not seek self-development, or see in -marriage anything but an opportunity for duties. Since she did not seek -or expect much happiness, she suffered less, when happiness was not -attained, than a woman does now: her suffering contained no element of -indignation or surprise, and did not readily turn into bitterness and -sense of injury. - -The saintly, self-sacrificing woman whom our ancestors praised had her -place in a certain organic conception of society, the conception of the -ordered hierarchy of authorities which dominated the Middle Ages. She -belongs to the same order of ideas as the faithful servant, the loyal -subject, and the orthodox son of the Church. This whole order of ideas -has vanished from the civilized world, and it is to be hoped that it -has vanished for ever, in spite of the fact that the society which it -produced was vital and in some ways full of nobility. The old order -has been destroyed by the new ideals of justice and liberty, beginning -with religion, passing on to politics, and reaching at last the private -relations of marriage and the family. When once the question has been -asked, “Why should a woman submit to a man?” when once the answers -derived from tradition and the Bible have ceased to satisfy, there -is no longer any possibility of maintaining the old subordination. -To every man who has the power of thinking impersonally and freely, -it is obvious, as soon as the question is asked, that the rights of -women are precisely the same as the rights of men. Whatever dangers -and difficulties, whatever temporary chaos, may be incurred in the -transition to equality, the claims of reason are so insistent and so -clear that no opposition to them can hope to be long successful. - -Mutual liberty, which is now demanded, is making the old form of -marriage impossible. But a new form, which shall be an equally good -vehicle for instinct, and an equal help to spiritual growth, has not -yet been developed. For the present, women who are conscious of liberty -as something to be preserved are also conscious of the difficulty of -preserving it. The wish for mastery is an ingredient in most men’s -sexual passions, especially in those which are strong and serious. It -survives in many men whose theories are entirely opposed to despotism. -The result is a fight for liberty on the one side and for life on the -other. Women feel that they must protect their individuality; men feel, -often very dumbly, that the repression of instinct which is demanded -of them is incompatible with vigor and initiative. The clash of these -opposing moods makes all real mingling of personalities impossible; -the man and woman remain hard, separate units, continually asking -themselves whether anything of value to themselves is resulting from -the union. The effect is that relations tend to become trivial and -temporary, a pleasure rather than the satisfaction of a profound need, -an excitement, not an attainment. The fundamental loneliness into which -we are born remains untouched, and the hunger for inner companionship -remains unappeased. - -No cheap and easy solution of this trouble is possible. It is a trouble -which affects most the most civilized men and women, and is an outcome -of the increasing sense of individuality which springs inevitably from -mental progress. I doubt if there is any radical cure except in some -form of religion, so firmly and sincerely believed as to dominate -even the life of instinct. The individual is not the end and aim of -his own being: outside the individual, there is the community, the -future of mankind, the immensity of the universe in which all our -hopes and fears are a mere pin-point. A man and woman with reverence -for the spirit of life in each other, with an equal sense of their own -unimportance beside the whole life of man, may become comrades without -interference with liberty, and may achieve the union of instinct -without doing violence to the life of mind and spirit. As religion -dominated the old form of marriage, so religion must dominate the new. -But it must be a new religion, based upon liberty, justice, and love, -not upon authority and law and hell-fire. - -A bad effect upon the relations of men and women has been produced by -the romantic movement, through directing attention to what ought to be -an incidental good, not the purpose for which relations exist. Love is -what gives intrinsic value to a marriage, and, like art and thought, it -is one of the supreme things which make human life worth preserving. -But though there is no good marriage without love, the best marriages -have a purpose which goes beyond love. The love of two people for -each other is too circumscribed, too separate from the community, to -be by itself the main purpose of a good life. It is not in itself a -sufficient source of activities, it is not sufficiently prospective, -to make an existence in which ultimate satisfaction can be found. It -brings its great moments, and then its times which are less great, -which are unsatisfying because they are less great. It becomes, sooner -or later, retrospective, a tomb of dead joys, not a well-spring of new -life. This evil is inseparable from any purpose which is to be achieved -in a single supreme emotion. The only adequate purposes are those which -stretch out into the future, which can never be fully achieved, but are -always growing, and infinite with the infinity of human endeavor. And -it is only when love is linked to some infinite purpose of this kind -that it can have the seriousness and depth of which it is capable. - -For the great majority of men and women seriousness in sex relations -is most likely to be achieved through children. Children are to -most people rather a need than a desire: instinct is as a rule only -consciously directed towards what used to lead to children. The desire -for children is apt to develop in middle life, when the adventure of -one’s own existence is past, when the friendships of youth seem less -important than they once did, when the prospect of a lonely old age -begins to terrify, and the feeling of having no share in the future -becomes oppressive. Then those who, while they were young, have had -no sense that children would be a fulfilment of their needs, begin to -regret their former contempt for the normal, and to envy acquaintances -whom before they had thought humdrum. But owing to economic causes it -is often impossible for the young, and especially for the best of the -young, to have children without sacrificing things of vital importance -to their own lives. And so youth passes, and the need is felt too late. - -Needs without corresponding desires have grown increasingly common as -life has grown more different from that primitive existence from which -our instincts are derived, and to which, rather than to that of the -present day, they are still very largely adapted. An unsatisfied need -produces, in the end, as much pain and as much distortion of character -as if it had been associated with a conscious desire. For this reason, -as well as for the sake of the race, it is important to remove the -present economic inducements to childlessness. There is no necessity -whatever to urge parenthood upon those who feel disinclined to it, but -there is necessity not to place obstacles in the way of those who have -no such disinclination. - -In speaking of the importance of preserving seriousness in the -relations of men and women, I do not mean to suggest that relations -which are not serious are always harmful. Traditional morality has -erred by laying stress on what ought not to happen, rather than on -what ought to happen. What is important is that men and women should -find, sooner or later, the best relation of which their natures are -capable. It is not always possible to know in advance what will be the -best, or to be sure of not missing the best if everything that can be -doubted is rejected. Among primitive races, a man wants a female, a -woman wants a male, and there is no such differentiation as makes one -a much more suitable companion than another. But with the increasing -complexity of disposition that civilized life brings, it becomes more -and more difficult to find the man or woman who will bring happiness, -and more and more necessary to make it not too difficult to acknowledge -a mistake. - -The present marriage law is an inheritance from a simpler age, and -is supported, in the main, by unreasoning fears and by contempt for -all that is delicate and difficult in the life of the mind. Owing -to the law, large numbers of men and women are condemned, so far -as their ostensible relations are concerned, to the society of an -utterly uncongenial companion, with all the embittering consciousness -that escape is practically impossible. In these circumstances, -happier relations with others are often sought, but they have to be -clandestine, without a common life, and without children. Apart from -the great evil of being clandestine, such relations have some almost -inevitable drawbacks. They are liable to emphasize sex unduly, to be -exciting and disturbing; and it is hardly possible that they should -bring a real satisfaction of instinct. It is the combination of love, -children, and a common life that makes the best relation between a man -and a woman. The law at present confines children and a common life -within the bonds of monogamy, but it cannot confine love. By forcing -many to separate love from children and a common life, the law cramps -their lives, prevents them from reaching the full measure of their -possible development, and inflicts a wholly unnecessary torture upon -those who are not content to become frivolous. - -To sum up: The present state of the law, of public opinion, and of -our economic system is tending to degrade the quality of the race, by -making the worst half of the population the parents of more than half -of the next generation. At the same time, women’s claim to liberty -is making the old form of marriage a hindrance to the development of -both men and women. A new system is required, if the European nations -are not to degenerate, and if the relations of men and women are to -have the strong happiness and organic seriousness which belonged to -the best marriages in the past. The new system must be based upon the -fact that to produce children is a service to the State, and ought -not to expose parents to heavy pecuniary penalties. It will have to -recognize that neither the law nor public opinion should concern itself -with the private relations of men and women, except where children -are concerned. It ought to remove the inducements to make relations -clandestine and childless. It ought to admit that, although lifelong -monogamy is best when it is successful, the increasing complexity of -our needs makes it increasingly often a failure for which divorce -is the best preventive. Here, as elsewhere, liberty is the basis of -political wisdom. And when liberty has been won, what remains to be -desired must be left to the conscience and religion of individual men -and women. - - - - -VII - -RELIGION AND THE CHURCHES - - -Almost all the changes which the world has undergone since the -end of the Middle Ages are due to the discovery and diffusion of -new knowledge. This was the primary cause of the Renaissance, the -Reformation, and the industrial revolution. It was also, very directly, -the cause of the decay of dogmatic religion. The study of classical -texts and early Church history, Copernican astronomy and physics, -Darwinian biology and comparative anthropology, have each in turn -battered down some part of the edifice of Catholic dogma, until, -for almost all thinking and instructed people, the most that seems -defensible is some inner spirit, some vague hope, and some not very -definite feeling of moral obligation. This result might perhaps have -remained limited to the educated minority but for the fact that the -Churches have almost everywhere opposed political progress with the -same bitterness with which they have opposed progress in thought. -Political conservatism has brought the Churches into conflict with -whatever was vigorous in the working classes, and has spread free -thought in wide circles which might otherwise have remained orthodox -for centuries. The decay of dogmatic religion is, for good or evil, -one of the most important facts in the modern world. Its effects have -hardly yet begun to show themselves: what they will be it is impossible -to say, but they will certainly be profound and far-reaching. - -Religion is partly personal, partly social: to the Protestant primarily -personal, to the Catholic primarily social. It is only when the two -elements are intimately blended that religion becomes a powerful -force in molding society. The Catholic Church, as it existed from the -time of Constantine to the time of the Reformation, represented a -blending which would have seemed incredible if it had not been actually -achieved, the blending of Christ and Cæsar, of the morality of humble -submission with the pride of Imperial Rome. Those who loved the one -could find it in the Thebaid; those who loved the other could admire it -in the pomp of metropolitan archbishops. In St. Francis and Innocent -III the same two sides of the Church are still represented. But -since the Reformation personal religion has been increasingly outside -the Catholic Church, while the religion which has remained Catholic -has been increasingly a matter of institutions and politics and -historic continuity. This division has weakened the force of religion: -religious bodies have not been strengthened by the enthusiasm and -single-mindedness of the men in whom personal religion is strong, and -these men have not found their teaching diffused and made permanent by -the power of ecclesiastical institutions. - -The Catholic Church achieved, during the Middle Ages, the most organic -society and the most harmonious inner synthesis of instinct, mind, -and spirit, that the Western world has ever known. St. Francis, -Thomas Aquinas, and Dante represent its summit as regards individual -development. The cathedrals, the mendicant Orders, and the triumph of -the Papacy over the Empire represent its supreme political success. -But the perfection which had been achieved was a narrow perfection: -instinct, mind, and spirit all suffered from curtailment in order to -fit into the pattern; laymen found themselves subject to the Church in -ways which they resented, and the Church used its power for rapacity -and oppression. The perfect synthesis was an enemy to new growth, and -after the time of Dante all that was living in the world had first to -fight for its right to live against the representatives of the old -order. This fight is even now not ended. Only when it is quite ended, -both in the external world of politics and in the internal world of -men’s own thoughts, will it be possible for a new organic society and -a new inner synthesis to take the place which the Church held for a -thousand years. - -The clerical profession suffers from two causes, one of which it shares -with some other professions, while the other is peculiar to itself. -The cause peculiar to it is the convention that clergymen are more -virtuous than other men. Any average selection of mankind, set apart -and told that it excels the rest in virtue, must tend to sink below the -average. This is an ancient commonplace in regard to princes and those -who used to be called “the great.” But it is no less true as regards -those of the clergy who are not genuinely and by nature as much better -than the average as they are conventionally supposed to be. The other -source of harm to the clerical profession is endowments. Property -which is only available for those who will support an established -institution has a tendency to warp men’s judgments as to the excellence -of the institution. The tendency is aggravated when the property is -associated with social consideration and opportunities for petty power. -It is at its worst when the institution is tied by law to an ancient -creed, almost impossible to change, and yet quite out of touch with -the unfettered thought of the present day. All these causes combine to -damage the moral force of the Church. - -It is not so much that the creed of the Church is the wrong one. What -is amiss is the mere existence of a creed. As soon as income, position, -and power are dependent upon acceptance of no matter what creed, -intellectual honesty is imperiled. Men will tell themselves that a -formal assent is justified by the good which it will enable them to do. -They fail to realize that, in those whose mental life has any vigor, -loss of complete intellectual integrity puts an end to the power of -doing good, by producing gradually in all directions an inability to -see truth simply. The strictness of party discipline has introduced the -same evil in politics; there, because the evil is comparatively new, it -is visible to many who think it unimportant as regards the Church. But -the evil is greater as regards the Church, because religion is of more -importance than politics, and because it is more necessary that the -exponents of religion should be wholly free from taint. - -The evils we have been considering seem inseparable from the existence -of a professional priesthood. If religion is not to be harmful in a -world of rapid change, it must, like the Society of Friends, be carried -on by men who have other occupations during the week, who do their -religious work from enthusiasm, without receiving any payment. And such -men, because they know the everyday world, are not likely to fall into -a remote morality which no one regards as applicable to common life. -Being free, they will not be bound to reach certain conclusions decided -in advance, but will be able to consider moral and religious questions -genuinely, without bias. Except in a quite stationary society, no -religious life can be living or a real support to the spirit unless it -is freed from the incubus of a professional priesthood. - -It is largely for these reasons that so little of what is valuable in -morals and religion comes nowadays from the men who are eminent in -the religious world. It is true that among professed believers there -are many who are wholly sincere, who feel still the inspiration which -Christianity brought before it had been weakened by the progress of -knowledge. These sincere believers are valuable to the world because -they keep alive the conviction that the life of the spirit is what is -of most importance to men and women. Some of them, in all the countries -now at war, have had the courage to preach peace and love in the name -of Christ, and have done what lay in their power to mitigate the -bitterness of hatred. All praise is due to these men, and without them -the world would be even worse than it is. - -But it is not through even the most sincere and courageous believers -in the traditional religion that a new spirit can come into the world. -It is not through them that religion can be brought back to those who -have lost it because their minds were active, not because their spirit -was dead. Believers in the traditional religion necessarily look to -the past for inspiration rather than to the future. They seek wisdom -in the teaching of Christ, which, admirable as it is, remains quite -inadequate for many of the social and spiritual issues of modern life. -Art and intellect and all the problems of government are ignored in -the Gospels. Those who, like Tolstoy, endeavor seriously to take the -Gospels as a guide to life are compelled to regard the ignorant peasant -as the best type of man, and to brush aside political questions by an -extreme and impracticable anarchism. - -If a religious view of life and the world is ever to reconquer the -thoughts and feelings of free-minded men and women, much that we are -accustomed to associate with religion will have to be discarded. The -first and greatest change that is required is to establish a morality -of initiative, not a morality of submission, a morality of hope rather -than fear, of things to be done rather than of things to be left -undone. It is not the whole duty of man to slip through the world so -as to escape the wrath of God. The world is _our_ world, and it rests -with us to make it a heaven or a hell. The power is ours, and the -kingdom and the glory would be ours also if we had courage and insight -to create them. The religious life that we must seek will not be one -of occasional solemnity and superstitious prohibitions, it will not be -sad or ascetic, it will concern itself little with rules of conduct. -It will be inspired by a vision of what human life may be, and will -be happy with the joy of creation, living in a large free world of -initiative and hope. It will love mankind, not for what they are to -the outward eye, but for what imagination shows that they have it in -them to become. It will not readily condemn, but it will give praise to -positive achievement rather than negative sinlessness, to the joy of -life, the quick affection, the creative insight, by which the world may -grow young and beautiful and filled with vigor. - -“Religion” is a word which has many meanings and a long history. In -origin, it was concerned with certain rites, inherited from a remote -past, performed originally for some reason long since forgotten, and -associated from time to time with various myths to account for their -supposed importance. Much of this lingers still. A religious man is one -who goes to church, a communicant, one who “practises,” as Catholics -say. How he behaves otherwise, or how he feels concerning life and -man’s place in the world, does not bear upon the question whether he -is “religious” in this simple but historically correct sense. Many men -and women are religious in this sense without having in their natures -anything that deserves to be called religion in the sense in which I -mean the word. The mere familiarity of the Church service has made -them impervious to it; they are unconscious of all the history and -human experience by which the liturgy has been enriched, and unmoved -by the glibly repeated words of the Gospel, which condemn almost all -the activities of those who fancy themselves disciples of Christ. This -fate must overtake any habitual rite: it is impossible that it should -continue to produce much effect after it has been performed so often as -to grow mechanical. - -The activities of men may be roughly derived from three sources, not -in actual fact sharply separate one from another, but sufficiently -distinguishable to deserve different names. The three sources I mean -are instinct, mind, and spirit, and of these three it is the life of -the spirit that makes religion. - -The life of instinct includes all that man shares with the lower -animals, all that is concerned with self-preservation and reproduction -and the desires and impulses derivative from these. It includes vanity -and love of possessions, love of family, and even much of what makes -love of country. It includes all the impulses that are essentially -concerned with the biological success of oneself or one’s group—for -among gregarious animals the life of instinct includes the group. The -impulses which it includes may not in fact make for success, and may -often in fact militate against it, but are nevertheless those of which -success is the _raison d’être_, those which express the animal nature -of man and his position among a world of competitors. - -The life of the mind is the life of pursuit of knowledge, from mere -childish curiosity up to the greatest efforts of thought. Curiosity -exists in animals, and serves an obvious biological purpose; but it -is only in men that it passes beyond the investigation of particular -objects which may be edible or poisonous, friendly or hostile. -Curiosity is the primary impulse out of which the whole edifice of -scientific knowledge has grown. Knowledge has been found so useful -that most actual acquisition of it is no longer prompted by curiosity; -innumerable other motives now contribute to foster the intellectual -life. Nevertheless, direct love of knowledge and dislike of error still -play a very large part, especially with those who are most successful -in learning. No man acquires much knowledge unless the acquisition is -in itself delightful to him, apart from any consciousness of the use -to which the knowledge may be put. The impulse to acquire knowledge -and the activities which center round it constitute what I mean by the -life of the mind. The life of the mind consists of thought which is -wholly or partially impersonal, in the sense that it concerns itself -with objects on their own account, and not merely on account of their -bearing upon our instinctive life. - -The life of the spirit centers round impersonal feeling, as the life -of the mind centers round impersonal thought. In this sense, all art -belongs to the life of the spirit, though its greatness is derived -from its being also intimately bound up with the life of instinct. Art -starts from instinct and rises into the region of the spirit; religion -starts from the spirit and endeavors to dominate and inform the life -of instinct. It is possible to feel the same interest in the joys and -sorrows of others as in our own, to love and hate independently of -all relation to ourselves, to care about the destiny of man and the -development of the universe without a thought that we are personally -involved. Reverence and worship, the sense of an obligation to -mankind, the feeling of imperativeness and acting under orders which -traditional religion has interpreted as Divine inspiration, all -belong to the life of the spirit. And deeper than all these lies the -sense of a mystery half revealed, of a hidden wisdom and glory, of a -transfiguring vision in which common things lose their solid importance -and become a thin veil behind which the ultimate truth of the world is -dimly seen. It is such feelings that are the source of religion, and if -they were to die most of what is best would vanish out of life. - -Instinct, mind, and spirit are all essential to a full life; each has -its own excellence and its own corruption. Each can attain a spurious -excellence at the expense of the others; each has a tendency to -encroach upon the others; but in the life which is to be sought all -three will be developed in coördination, and intimately blended in a -single harmonious whole. Among uncivilized men instinct is supreme, -and mind and spirit hardly exist. Among educated men at the present -day mind is developed, as a rule, at the expense of both instinct and -spirit, producing a curious inhumanity and lifelessness, a paucity -of both personal and impersonal desires, which leads to cynicism and -intellectual destructiveness. Among ascetics and most of those who -would be called saints, the life of the spirit has been developed -at the expense of instinct and mind, producing an outlook which is -impossible to those who have a healthy animal life and to those who -have a love of active thought. It is not in any of these one-sided -developments that we can find wisdom or a philosophy which will bring -new life to the civilized world. - -Among civilized men and women at the present day it is rare to find -instinct, mind, and spirit in harmony. Very few have achieved a -practical philosophy which gives its due place to each; as a rule, -instinct is at war with either mind or spirit, and mind and spirit are -at war with each other. This strife compels men and women to direct -much of their energy inwards, instead of being able to expend it all -in objective activities. When a man achieves a precarious inward peace -by the defeat of a part of his nature, his vital force is impaired, -and his growth is no longer quite healthy. If men are to remain whole, -it is very necessary that they should achieve a reconciliation of -instinct, mind, and spirit. - -Instinct is the source of vitality, the bond that unites the life of -the individual with the life of the race, the basis of all profound -sense of union with others, and the means by which the collective life -nourishes the life of the separate units. But instinct by itself leaves -us powerless to control the forces of Nature, either in ourselves -or in our physical environment, and keeps us in bondage to the same -unthinking impulse by which the trees grow. Mind can liberate us from -this bondage, by the power of impersonal thought, which enables us to -judge critically the purely biological purposes towards which instinct -more or less blindly tends. But mind, in its dealings with instinct, -is _merely_ critical: so far as instinct is concerned, the unchecked -activity of the mind is apt to be destructive and to generate cynicism. -Spirit is an antidote to the cynicism of mind: it universalizes the -emotions that spring from instinct, and by universalizing them makes -them impervious to mental criticism. And when thought is informed by -spirit it loses its cruel, destructive quality; it no longer promotes -the death of instinct, but only its purification from insistence and -ruthlessness and its emancipation from the prison walls of accidental -circumstance. It is instinct that gives force, mind that gives the -means of directing force to desired ends, and spirit that suggests -impersonal uses for force of a kind that thought cannot discredit by -criticism. This is an outline of the parts that instinct, mind, and -spirit would play in a harmonious life. - -Instinct, mind, and spirit are each a help to the others when their -development is free and unvitiated; but when corruption comes into any -one of the three, not only does that one fail, but the others also -become poisoned. All three must grow together. And if they are to grow -to their full stature in any one man or woman, that man or woman must -not be isolated, but must be one of a society where growth is not -thwarted and made crooked. - -The life of instinct, when it is unchecked by mind or spirit, -consists of instinctive cycles, which begin with impulses to more -or less definite acts, and pass on to satisfaction of needs through -the consequences of these impulsive acts. Impulse and desire are not -directed towards the whole cycle, but only towards its initiation: -the rest is left to natural causes. We desire to eat, but we do not -desire to be nourished unless we are valetudinarians. Yet without -the nourishment eating is a mere momentary pleasure, not part of the -general impulse to life. Men desire sexual intercourse, but they -do not as a rule desire children strongly or often. Yet without the -hope of children and its occasional realization, sexual intercourse -remains for most people an isolated and separate pleasure, not uniting -their personal life with the life of mankind, not continuous with the -central purposes by which they live, and not capable of bringing that -profound sense of fulfilment which comes from completion by children. -Most men, unless the impulse is atrophied through disuse, feel a desire -to create something, great or small according to their capacities. -Some few are able to satisfy this desire: some happy men can create an -Empire, a science, a poem, or a picture. The men of science, who have -less difficulty than any others in finding an outlet for creativeness, -are the happiest of intelligent men in the modern world, since their -creative activity affords full satisfaction to mind and spirit as well -as to the instinct of creation.[21] In them a beginning is to be seen -of the new way of life which is to be sought; in their happiness we -may perhaps find the germ of a future happiness for all mankind. The -rest, with few exceptions, are thwarted in their creative impulses. -They cannot build their own house or make their own garden, or direct -their own labor to producing what their free choice would lead them to -produce. In this way the instinct of creation, which should lead on to -the life of mind and spirit, is checked and turned aside. Too often it -is turned to destruction, as the only effective action which remains -possible. Out of its defeat grows envy, and out of envy grows the -impulse to destroy the creativeness of more fortunate men. This is one -of the greatest sources of corruption in the life of instinct. - -The life of instinct is important, not only on its own account, or -because of the direct usefulness of the actions which it inspires, but -also because, if it is unsatisfactory, the individual life becomes -detached and separated from the general life of man. All really -profound sense of unity with others depends upon instinct, upon -coöperation or agreement in some instinctive purpose. This is most -obvious in the relations of men and women and parents and children. -But it is true also in wider relations. It is true of large assemblies -swayed by a strong common emotion, and even of a whole nation in -times of stress. It is part of what makes the value of religion as a -social institution. Where this feeling is wholly absent, other human -beings seem distant and aloof. Where it is actively thwarted, other -human beings become objects of instinctive hostility. The aloofness -or the instinctive hostility may be masked by religious love, which -can be given to all men regardless of their relation to ourselves. But -religious love does not bridge the gulf that parts man from man: it -looks across the gulf, it views others with compassion or impersonal -sympathy, but it does not live with the same life with which they live. -Instinct alone can do this, but only when it is fruitful and sane and -direct. To this end it is necessary that instinctive cycles should be -fairly often completed, not interrupted in the middle of their course. -At present they are constantly interrupted, partly by purposes which -conflict with them for economic or other reasons, partly by the pursuit -of pleasure, which picks out the most agreeable part of the cycle and -avoids the rest. In this way instinct is robbed of its importance and -seriousness; it becomes incapable of bringing any real fulfilment, its -demands grow more and more excessive, and life becomes no longer a -whole with a single movement, but a series of detached moments, some of -them pleasurable, most of them full of weariness and discouragement. - -The life of the mind, although supremely excellent in itself, cannot -bring health into the life of instinct, except when it results in a not -too difficult outlet for the instinct of creation. In other cases it -is, as a rule, too widely separated from instinct, too detached, too -destitute of inward growth, to afford either a vehicle for instinct -or a means of subtilizing and refining it. Thought is in its essence -impersonal and detached, instinct is in its essence personal and tied -to particular circumstances: between the two, unless both reach a -high level, there is a war which is not easily appeased. This is the -fundamental reason for vitalism, futurism, pragmatism, and the various -other philosophies which advertise themselves as vigorous and virile. -All these represent the attempt to find a mode of thought which shall -not be hostile to instinct. The attempt, in itself, is deserving of -praise, but the solution offered is far too facile. What is proposed -amounts to a subordination of thought to instinct, a refusal to allow -thought to achieve its own ideal. Thought which does not rise above -what is personal is not thought in any true sense: it is merely a more -or less intelligent use of instinct. It is thought and spirit that -raise man above the level of the brutes. By discarding them we may lose -the proper excellence of men, but cannot acquire the excellence of -animals. Thought must achieve its full growth before a reconciliation -with instinct is attempted. - -When refined thought and unrefined instinct coexist, as they do in many -intellectual men, the result is a complete disbelief in any important -good to be achieved by the help of instinct. According to their -disposition, some such men will as far as possible discard instinct and -become ascetic, while others will accept it as a necessity, leaving -it degraded and separated from all that is really important in their -lives. Either of these courses prevents instinct from remaining vital, -or from being a bond with others; either produces a sense of physical -solitude, a gulf across which the minds and spirits of others may -speak, but not their instincts. To very many men, the instinct of -patriotism, when the war broke out, was the first instinct that had -bridged the gulf, the first that had made them feel a really profound -unity with others. This instinct, just because, in its intense form, -it was new and unfamiliar, had remained uninfected by thought, not -paralyzed or devitalized by doubt and cold detachment. The sense of -unity which it brought is capable of being brought by the instinctive -life of more normal times, if thought and spirit are not hostile to -it. And so long as this sense of unity is absent, instinct and spirit -cannot be in harmony, nor can the life of the community have vigor and -the seeds of new growth. - -The life of the mind, because of its detachment, tends to separate a -man inwardly from other men, so long as it is not balanced by the life -of the spirit. For this reason, mind without spirit can render instinct -corrupt or atrophied, but cannot add any excellence to the life of -instinct. On this ground, some men are hostile to thought. But no good -purpose is served by trying to prevent the growth of thought, which has -its own insistence, and if checked in the directions in which it tends -naturally, will turn into other directions where it is more harmful. -And thought is in itself god-like: if the opposition between thought -and instinct were irreconcilable, it would be thought that ought to -conquer. But the opposition is not irreconciliable: all that is -necessary is that both thought and instinct should be informed by the -life of the spirit. - -In order that human life should have vigor, it is necessary for the -instinctive impulses to be strong and direct; but in order that human -life should be good, these impulses must be dominated and controlled -by desires less personal and ruthless, less liable to lead to conflict -than those that are inspired by instinct alone. Something impersonal -and universal is needed over and above what springs out of the -principle of individual growth. It is this that is given by the life of -the spirit. - -Patriotism affords an example of the kind of control which is needed. -Patriotism is compounded out of a number of instinctive feelings and -impulses: love of home, love of those whose ways and outlook resemble -our own, the impulse to coöperation in a group, the sense of pride -in the achievements of one’s group. All these impulses and desires, -like everything belonging to the life of instinct, are personal, in -the sense that the feelings and actions which they inspire towards -others are determined by the relation of those others to ourselves, -not by what those others are intrinsically. All these impulses and -desires unite to produce a love of man’s own country which is more -deeply implanted in the fiber of his being, and more closely united to -his vital force, than any love not rooted in instinct. But if spirit -does not enter in to generalize love of country, the exclusiveness of -instinctive love makes it a source of hatred of other countries. What -spirit can effect is to make us realize that other countries equally -are worthy of love, that the vital warmth which makes us love our own -country reveals to us that it deserves to be loved, and that only the -poverty of our nature prevents us from loving all countries as we love -our own. In this way instinctive love can be extended in imagination, -and a sense of the value of all mankind can grow up, which is more -living and intense than any that is possible to those whose instinctive -love is weak. Mind can only show us that it is irrational to love our -own country best; it can weaken patriotism, but cannot strengthen -the love of all mankind. Spirit alone can do this, by extending and -universalizing the love that is born of instinct. And in doing this it -checks and purifies whatever is insistent or ruthless or oppressively -personal in the life of instinct. - -The same extension through spirit is necessary with other instinctive -loves, if they are not to be enfeebled or corrupted by thought. The -love of husband and wife is capable of being a very good thing, and -when men and women are sufficiently primitive nothing but instinct -and good fortune is needed to make it reach a certain limited -perfection. But as thought begins to assert its right to criticize -instinct the old simplicity becomes impossible. The love of husband -and wife, as unchecked instinct leaves it, is too narrow and personal -to stand against the shafts of satire, until it is enriched by the -life of the spirit. The romantic view of marriage, which our fathers -and mothers professed to believe, will not survive an imaginative -peregrination down a street of suburban villas, each containing its -couple, each couple having congratulated themselves as they first -crossed the threshold, that here they could love in peace, without -interruption from others, without contact with the cold outside world. -The separateness and stuffiness, the fine names for cowardices and -timid vanities, that are shut within the four walls of thousands upon -thousands of little villas, present themselves coldly and mercilessly -to those in whom mind is dominant at the expense of spirit. - -Nothing is good in the life of a human being except the very best that -his nature can achieve. As men advance, things which have been good -cease to be good, merely because something better is possible. So it is -with the life of instinct: for those whose mental life is strong, much -that was really good while mind remained less developed has now become -bad merely through the greater degree of truth in their outlook on the -world. The instinctive man in love feels that his emotion is unique, -that the lady of his heart has perfections such as no other woman ever -equaled. The man who has acquired the power of impersonal thought -realizes, when he is in love, that he is one of so many millions of -men who are in love at this moment, that not more than one of all the -millions can be right in thinking his love supreme, and that it is not -likely that that one is oneself. He perceives that the state of being -in love in those whose instinct is unaffected by thought or spirit, -is a state of illusion, serving the ends of Nature and making a man -a slave to the life of the species, not a willing minister to the -impersonal ends which he sees to be good. Thought rejects this slavery; -for no end that Nature may have in view will thought abdicate, or forgo -its right to think truly. “Better the world should perish than that -I or any other human being should believe a lie”—this is the religion -of thought, in whose scorching flames the dross of the world is being -burnt away. It is a good religion, and its work of destruction must be -completed. But it is not all that man has need of. New growth must come -after the destruction, and new growth can come only through the spirit. - -Both patriotism and the love of man and woman, when they are merely -instinctive, have the same defects: their exclusions, their enclosing -walls, their indifference or hostility to the outside world. It is -through this that thought is led to satire, that comedy has infected -what men used to consider their holiest feelings. The satire and the -comedy are justified, but not the death of instinct which they may -produce if they remain in supreme command. They are justified, not as -the last word of wisdom but as the gateway of pain through which men -pass to a new life, where instinct is purified and yet nourished by the -deeper desires and insight of spirit. - -The man who has the life of the spirit within him views the love of man -and woman, both in himself and in others, quite differently from the -man who is exclusively dominated by mind. He sees, in his moments of -insight, that in all human beings there is something deserving of love, -something mysterious, something appealing, a cry out of the night, a -groping journey, and a possible victory. When his instinct loves, he -welcomes its help in seeing and feeling the value of the human being -whom he loves. Instinct becomes a reinforcement to spiritual insight. -What instinct tells him spiritual insight confirms, however much the -mind may be aware of littlenesses, limitations, and enclosing walls -that prevent the spirit from shining forth. His spirit divines in all -men what his instinct shows him in the object of his love. - -The love of parents for children has need of the same transformation. -The purely instinctive love, unchecked by thought, uninformed by -spirit, is exclusive, ruthless, and unjust. No benefit to others is -felt, by the purely instinctive parent, to be worth an injury to one’s -own children. Honor and conventional morality place certain important -practical limitations on the vicarious selfishness of parents, since -a civilized community exacts a certain minimum before it will give -respect. But within the limits allowed by public opinion, parental -affection, when it is merely instinctive, will seek the advantage -of children without regard to others. Mind can weaken the impulse to -injustice, and diminish the force of instinctive love, but it cannot -keep the whole force of instinctive love and turn it to more universal -ends. Spirit can do this. It can leave the instinctive love of children -undimmed, and extend the poignant devotion of a parent, in imagination, -to the whole world. And parental love itself will prompt the parent -who has the life of the spirit to give to his children the sense of -justice, the readiness for service, the reverence, the will that -controls self-seeking, which he feels to be a greater good than any -personal success. - -The life of the spirit has suffered in recent times by its association -with traditional religion, by its apparent hostility to the life of the -mind, and by the fact that it has seemed to center in renunciation. -The life of the spirit demands readiness for renunciation when the -occasion arises, but is in its essence as positive and as capable of -enriching individual existence as mind and instinct are. It brings with -it the joy of vision, of the mystery and profundity of the world, of -the contemplation of life, and above all the joy of universal love. -It liberates those who have it from the prison-house of insistent -personal passion and mundane cares. It gives freedom and breadth and -beauty to men’s thoughts and feelings, and to all their relations with -others. It brings the solution of doubts, the end of the feeling that -all is vanity. It restores harmony between mind and instinct, and leads -the separated unit back into his place in the life of mankind. For -those who have once entered the world of thought, it is only through -spirit that happiness and peace can return. - - - - -VIII - -WHAT WE CAN DO - - -What can we do for the world while we live? - -Many men and women would wish to serve mankind, but they are perplexed -and their power seems infinitesimal. Despair seizes them; those who -have the strongest passion suffer most from the sense of impotence, and -are most liable to spiritual ruin through lack of hope. - -So long as we think only of the immediate future, it seems that what -we can do is not much. It is probably impossible for us to bring the -war to an end. We cannot destroy the excessive power of the State or -of private property. We cannot, here and now, bring new life into -education. In such matters, though we may see the evil, we cannot -quickly cure it by any of the ordinary methods of politics. We must -recognize that the world is ruled in a wrong spirit, and that a change -of spirit will not come from one day to the next. Our expectations -must not be for to-morrow, but for the time when what is thought now by -a few shall have become the common thought of many. If we have courage -and patience, we can think the thoughts and feel the hopes by which, -sooner or later, men will be inspired, and weariness and discouragement -will be turned into energy and ardor. For this reason, the first thing -we have to do is to be clear in our own minds as to the kind of life we -think good and the kind of change that we desire in the world. - -The ultimate power of those whose thought is vital is far greater than -it seems to men who suffer from the irrationality of contemporary -politics. Religious toleration was once the solitary speculation of a -few bold philosophers. Democracy, as a theory, arose among a handful of -men in Cromwell’s army; by them, after the Restoration, it was carried -to America, where it came to fruition in the War of Independence. From -America, Lafayette and the other Frenchmen who fought by the side of -Washington brought the theory of democracy to France, where it united -itself with the teaching of Rousseau and inspired the Revolution. -Socialism, whatever we may think of its merits, is a great and growing -power, which is transforming economic and political life; and socialism -owes its origin to a very small number of isolated theorists. The -movement against the subjection of women, which has become irresistible -and is not far from complete triumph, began in the same way with a few -impracticable idealists—Mary Wollstonecraft, Shelley, John Stuart Mill. -The power of thought, in the long run, is greater than any other human -power. Those who have the ability to think and the imagination to think -in accordance with men’s needs, are likely to achieve the good they aim -at sooner or later, though probably not while they are still alive. - -But those who wish to gain the world by thought must be content to -lose it as a support in the present. Most men go through life without -much questioning, accepting the beliefs and practices which they find -current, feeling that the world will be their ally if they do not -put themselves in opposition to it. New thought about the world is -incompatible with this comfortable acquiescence; it requires a certain -intellectual detachment, a certain solitary energy, a power of inwardly -dominating the world and the outlook that the world engenders. Without -some willingness to be lonely new thought cannot be achieved. And it -will not be achieved to any purpose if the loneliness is accompanied -by aloofness, so that the wish for union with others dies, or if -intellectual detachment leads to contempt. It is because the state -of mind required is subtle and difficult, because it is hard to be -intellectually detached yet not aloof, that fruitful thought on human -affairs is not common, and that most theorists are either conventional -or sterile. The right kind of thought is rare and difficult, but it is -not impotent. It is not the fear of impotence that need turn us aside -from thought if we have the wish to bring new hope into the world. - -In seeking a political theory which is to be useful at any given -moment, what is wanted is not the invention of a Utopia, but the -discovery of the best direction of movement. The direction which is -good at one time may be superficially very different from that which -is good at another time. Useful thought is that which indicates the -right direction for the present time. But in judging what is the right -direction there are two general principles which are always applicable. - -1. The growth and vitality of individuals and communities is to be -promoted as far as possible. - -2. The growth of one individual or one community is to be as little as -possible at the expense of another. - -The second of these principles, as applied by an individual in his -dealings with others, is the principle of _reverence_, that the life -of another has the same importance which we feel in our own life. As -applied impersonally in politics, it is the principle of _liberty_, -or rather it includes the principle of liberty as a part. Liberty in -itself is a negative principle; it tells us not to interfere, but does -not give any basis for construction. It shows that many political and -social institutions are bad and ought to be swept away, but it does not -show what ought to be put in their place. For this reason a further -principle is required, if our political theory is not to be purely -destructive. - -The combination of our two principles is not in practice an easy -matter. Much of the vital energy of the world runs into channels which -are oppressive. The Germans have shown themselves extraordinarily full -of vital energy, but unfortunately in a form which seems incompatible -with the vitality of their neighbors. Europe in general has more vital -energy than Africa, but it has used its energy to drain Africa, through -industrialism, of even such life as the negroes possessed. The vitality -of southeastern Europe is being drained to supply cheap labor for the -enterprise of American millionaires. The vitality of men has been in -the past a hindrance to the development of women, and it is possible -that in the near future women may become a similar hindrance to men. -For such reasons the principle of reverence, though not in itself -sufficient, is of very great importance, and is able to indicate many -of the political changes that the world requires. - -In order that both principles may be capable of being satisfied, what -is needed is a unifying or integration, first of our individual lives, -then of the life of the community and of the world, without sacrifice -of individuality. The life of an individual, the life of a community, -and even the life of mankind, ought to be, not a number of separate -fragments but in some sense a whole. When this is the case, the growth -of the individual is fostered, and is not incompatible with the growth -of other individuals. In this way the two principles are brought into -harmony. - -What integrates an individual life is a consistent creative purpose or -unconscious direction. Instinct alone will not suffice to give unity -to the life of a civilized man or woman: there must be some dominant -object, an ambition, a desire for scientific or artistic creation, a -religious principle, or strong and lasting affections. Unity of life is -very difficult for a man or woman who has suffered a certain kind of -defeat, the kind by which what should have been the dominant impulse -is checked and made abortive. Most professions inflict this kind of -defeat upon a man at the very outset. If a man becomes a journalist, he -probably has to write for a newspaper whose politics he dislikes; this -kills his pride in work and his sense of independence. Most medical -men find it very hard to succeed without humbug, by which whatever -scientific conscience they may have had is destroyed. Politicians are -obliged, not only to swallow the party program but to pretend to be -saints, in order to conciliate religious supporters; hardly any man -can enter Parliament without hypocrisy. In no profession is there any -respect for the native pride without which a man cannot remain whole; -the world ruthlessly crushes it out, because it implies independence, -and men desire to enslave others more than they desire to be free -themselves. Inward freedom is infinitely precious, and a society which -will preserve it is immeasurably to be desired. - -The principle of growth in a man is not crushed necessarily by -preventing him from doing some definite thing, but it is often crushed -by persuading him to do something else. The things that crush growth -are those that produce a sense of impotence in the directions in which -the vital impulse wishes to be effective. The worst things are those to -which the will assents. Often, chiefly from failure of self-knowledge, -a man’s will is on a lower level than his impulse: his impulse is -towards some kind of creation, while his will is towards a conventional -career, with a sufficient income and the respect of his contemporaries. -The stereotyped illustration is the artist who produces shoddy work -to please the public. But something of the artist’s definiteness of -impulse exists in very many men who are not artists. Because the -impulse is deep and dumb, because what is called common sense is often -against it, because a young man can only follow it if he is willing to -set up his own obscure feelings against the wisdom and prudent maxims -of elders and friends, it happens in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred -that the creative impulse, out of which a free and vigorous life might -have sprung, is checked and thwarted at the very outset: the young man -consents to become a tool, not an independent workman; a mere means -to the fulfilment of others, not the artificer of what his own nature -feels to be good. In the moment when he makes this act of consent -something dies within him. He can never again become a whole man, -never again have the undamaged self-respect, the upright pride, which -might have kept him happy in his soul in spite of all outward troubles -and difficulties—except, indeed, through conversion and a fundamental -change in his way of life. - -Outward prohibitions, to which the will gives no assent, are far -less harmful than the subtler inducements which seduce the will. A -serious disappointment in love may cause the most poignant pain, but -to a vigorous man it will not do the same inward damage as is done by -marrying for money. The achievement of this or that special desire is -not what is essential: what is essential is the direction, the _kind_ -of effectiveness which is sought. When the fundamental impulse is -opposed by will, it is made to feel helpless: it has no longer enough -hope to be powerful as a motive. Outward compulsion does not do the -same damage unless it produces the same sense of impotence; and it will -not produce the same sense of impotence if the impulse is strong and -courageous. Some thwarting of special desires is unavoidable even in -the best imaginable community, since some men’s desires, unchecked, -lead to the oppression or destruction of others. In a good community -Napoleon could not have been allowed the profession of his choice, but -he might have found happiness as a pioneer in Western America. He could -not have found happiness as a City clerk, and no tolerable organization -of society would compel him to become a City clerk. - -The integration of an individual life requires that it should embody -whatever creative impulse a man may possess, and that his education -should have been such as to elicit and fortify this impulse. The -integration of a community requires that the different creative -impulses of different men and women should work together towards some -common life, some common purpose, not necessarily conscious, in which -all the members of the community find a help to their individual -fulfilment. Most of the activities that spring from vital impulses -consist of two parts: one creative, which furthers one’s own life and -that of others with the same kind of impulse or circumstances, and -one possessive, which hinders the life of some group with a different -kind of impulse or circumstances. For this reason, much of what is in -itself most vital may nevertheless work against life, as, for example, -seventeenth-century Puritanism did in England, or as nationalism -does throughout Europe at the present day. Vitality easily leads to -strife or oppression, and so to loss of vitality. War, at its outset, -integrates the life of a nation, but it disintegrates the life of the -world, and in the long run the life of a nation too, when it is as -severe as the present war. - -The war has made it clear that it is impossible to produce a secure -integration of the life of a single community while the relations -between civilized countries are governed by aggressiveness and -suspicion. For this reason any really powerful movement of reform -will have to be international. A merely national movement is sure to -fail through fear of danger from without. Those who desire a better -world, or even a radical improvement in their own country, will have -to coöperate with those who have similar desires in other countries, -and to devote much of their energy to overcoming that blind hostility -which the war has intensified. It is not in partial integrations, -such as patriotism alone can produce, that any ultimate hope is to be -found. The problem is, in national and international questions as in -the individual life, to keep what is creative in vital impulses, and at -the same time to turn into other channels the part which is at present -destructive. - -Men’s impulses and desires may be divided into those that are creative -and those that are possessive. Some of our activities are directed to -creating what would not otherwise exist, others are directed towards -acquiring or retaining what exists already. The typical creative -impulse is that of the artist; the typical possessive impulse is -that of property. The best life is that in which creative impulses -play the largest part and possessive impulses the smallest. The best -institutions are those which produce the greatest possible creativeness -and the least possessiveness compatible with self-preservation. -Possessiveness may be defensive or aggressive: in the criminal law it -is defensive, and in criminals it is aggressive. It may perhaps be -admitted that the criminal law is less abominable than the criminal, -and that defensive possessiveness is unavoidable so long as aggressive -possessiveness exists. But not even the most purely defensive forms of -possessiveness are in themselves admirable; indeed, as soon as they are -strong they become hostile to the creative impulses. “Take no thought, -saying, What shall we eat? or What shall we drink, or Wherewithal -shall we be clothed?” Whoever has known a strong creative impulse has -known the value of this precept in its exact and literal sense: it is -preoccupation with possessions, more than anything else, that prevents -men from living freely and nobly. The State and Property are the great -embodiments of possessiveness; it is for this reason that they are -against life, and that they issue in war. Possession means taking or -keeping some good thing which another is prevented from enjoying; -creation means putting into the world a good thing which otherwise -no one would be able to enjoy. Since the material goods of the world -must be divided among the population, and since some men are by nature -brigands, there must be defensive possession, which will be regulated, -in a good community, by some principle of impersonal justice. But all -this is only the preface to a good life or good political institutions, -in which creation will altogether outweigh possession, and distributive -justice will exist as an uninteresting matter of course. - -The supreme principle, both in politics and in private life, should -be _to promote all that is creative, and so to diminish the impulses -and desires that center round possession_. The State at present is -very largely an embodiment of possessive impulses: internally, it -protects the rich against the poor; externally, it uses force for the -exploitation of inferior races, and for competition with other States. -Our whole economic system is concerned exclusively with possession; yet -the production of goods is a form of creation, and except in so far as -it is irredeemably mechanical and monotonous, it might afford a vehicle -for creative impulses. A great deal might be achieved towards this -end by forming the producers of a certain kind of commodity into an -autonomous democracy, subject to State control as regards the price of -their commodity but not as to the manner of its production. - -Education, marriage, and religion are essentially creative, yet all -three have been vitiated by the intrusion of possessive motives. -Education is usually treated as a means of prolonging the _status quo_ -by instilling prejudices, rather than of creating free thought and a -noble outlook by the example of generous feeling and the stimulus of -mental adventure. In marriage, love, which is creative, is kept in -chains by jealousy, which is possessive. Religion, which should set -free the creative vision of the spirit, is usually more concerned -to repress the life of instinct and to combat the subversiveness of -thought. In all these ways the fear that grows out of precarious -possession has replaced the hope inspired by creative force. The wish -to plunder others is recognized, in theory, to be bad; but the fear of -being plundered is little better. Yet these two motives between them -dominate nine-tenths of politics and private life. - -The creative impulses in different men are essentially harmonious, -since what one man creates cannot be a hindrance to what another is -wishing to create. It is the possessive impulses that involve conflict. -Although, morally and politically, the creative and possessive impulses -are opposites, yet psychologically either passes easily into the -other, according to the accidents of circumstance and opportunity. The -genesis of impulses and the causes which make them change ought to be -studied; education and social institutions ought to be made such as -to strengthen the impulses which harmonize in different men, and to -weaken those that involve conflict. I have no doubt that what might be -accomplished in this way is almost unlimited. - -It is rather through impulse than through will that individual lives -and the life of the community can derive the strength unity of a -single direction. Will is of two kinds, of which one is directed -outward and the other inward. The first, which is directed outward, -is called into play by external obstacles, either the opposition of -others or the technical difficulties of an undertaking. This kind of -will is an expression of strong impulse or desire, whenever instant -success is impossible; it exists in all whose life is vigorous, and -only decays when their vital force is enfeebled. It is necessary to -success in any difficult enterprise, and without it great achievement -is very rare. But the will which is directed inward is only necessary -in so far as there is an inner conflict of impulses or desires; a -perfectly harmonious nature would have no occasion for inward will. -Such perfect harmony is of course a scarcely realizable ideal: in all -men impulses arise which are incompatible with their central purpose, -and which must be checked if their life as a whole is not to be a -failure. But this will happen least with those whose central impulses -are strongest; and it will happen less often in a society which aims -at freedom than in a society like ours, which is full of artificial -incompatibilities created by antiquated institutions and a tyrannous -public opinion. The power to exert inward will when the occasion arises -must always be needed by those who wish their lives to embody some -central purpose, but with better institutions the occasions when inward -will is necessary might be made fewer and less important. This result -is very much to be desired, because when will checks impulses which are -only accidentally harmful, it diverts a force which might be spent on -overcoming outward obstacles, and if the impulses checked are strong -and serious, it actually diminishes the vital force available. A life -full of inhibitions is likely not to remain a very vigorous life but -to become listless and without zest. Impulse tends to die when it is -constantly held in check, and if it does not die, it is apt to work -underground, and issue in some form much worse than that in which it -has been checked. For these reasons the necessity for using inward will -ought to be avoided as much as possible, and consistency of action -ought to spring rather from consistency of impulse than from control of -impulse by will. - -The unifying of life ought not to demand the suppression of the casual -desires that make amusement and play; on the contrary, everything ought -to be done to make it easy to combine the main purposes of life with -all kinds of pleasure that are not in their nature harmful. Such things -as habitual drunkenness, drugs, cruel sports, or pleasure in inflicting -pain are essentially harmful, but most of the amusements that civilized -men naturally enjoy are either not harmful at all or only accidentally -harmful through some effect which might be avoided in a better society. -What is needed is, not asceticism or a drab Puritanism, but capacity -for strong impulses and desires directed towards large creative ends. -When such impulses and desires are vigorous, they bring with them, of -themselves, what is needed to make a good life. - -But although amusement and adventure ought to have their share, it is -impossible to create a good life if they are what is mainly desired. -Subjectivism, the habit of directing thought and desire to our own -states of mind rather than to something objective, inevitably makes -life fragmentary and unprogressive. The man to whom amusement is the -end of life tends to lose interest gradually in the things out of -which he has been in the habit of obtaining amusement, since he does -not value these things on their own account, but on account of the -feelings which they arouse in him. When they are no longer amusing, -boredom drives him to seek some new stimulus, which fails him in its -turn. Amusement consists in a series of moments without any essential -continuity; a purpose which unifies life is one which requires some -prolonged activity, and is like building a monument rather than a -child’s castle in the sand. - -Subjectivism has other forms beside the mere pursuit of amusement. -Many men, when they are in love, are more interested in their own -emotion than in the object of their love; such love does not lead to -any essential union, but leaves fundamental separateness undiminished. -As soon as the emotion grows less vivid the experience has served its -purpose, and there seems no motive for prolonging it. In another way, -the same evil of subjectivism was fostered by Protestant religion and -morality, since they directed attention to sin and the state of the -soul rather than to the outer world and our relations with it. None -of these forms of subjectivism can prevent a man’s life from being -fragmentary and isolated. Only a life which springs out of dominant -impulses directed to objective ends can be a satisfactory whole, or be -intimately united with the lives of others. - -The pursuit of pleasure and the pursuit of virtue alike suffer from -subjectivism: Epicureanism and Stoicism are infected with the same -taint. Marcus Aurelius, enacting good laws in order that he might -be virtuous, is not an attractive figure. Subjectivism is a natural -outcome of a life in which there is much more thought than action: -while outer things are being remembered or desired, not actually -experienced, they seem to become mere ideas. What they are in -themselves becomes less interesting to us than the effects which they -produce in our own minds. Such a result tends to be brought about by -increasing civilization, because increasing civilization continually -diminishes the need for vivid action and enhances the opportunities -for thought. But thought will not have this bad result if it is active -thought, directed towards achieving some purpose; it is only passive -thought that leads to subjectivism. What is needed is to keep thought -in intimate union with impulses and desires, making it always itself -an activity with an objective purpose. Otherwise, thought and impulse -become enemies, to the great detriment of both. - -In order to make the lives of average men and women less fragmentary -and separate, and to give greater opportunity for carrying out creative -impulses, it is not enough to know the goal we wish to reach, or to -proclaim the excellence of what we desire to achieve. It is necessary -to understand the effect of institutions and beliefs upon the life of -impulse, and to discover ways of improving this effect by a change -in institutions. And when this intellectual work has been done, our -thought will still remain barren unless we can bring it into relation -with some powerful political force. The only powerful political force -from which any help is to be expected in bringing about such changes -as seem needed is Labor. The changes required are very largely such -as Labor may be expected to welcome, especially during the time of -hardship after the war. When the war is over, labor discontent is sure -to be very prevalent throughout Europe, and to constitute a political -force by means of which a great and sweeping reconstruction may be -effected. - -The civilized world has need of fundamental change if it is to be saved -from decay—change both in its economic structure and in its philosophy -of life. Those of us who feel the need of change must not sit still in -dull despair: we can, if we choose, profoundly influence the future. We -can discover and preach the kind of change that is required—the kind -that preserves what is positive in the vital beliefs of our time, and, -by eliminating what is negative and inessential, produces a synthesis -to which all that is not purely reactionary can give allegiance. As -soon as it has become clear what _kind_ of change is required, it will -be possible to work out its parts in more detail. But until the war is -ended there is little use in detail, since we do not know what kind of -world the war will leave. The only thing that seems indubitable is that -much new thought will be required in the new world produced by the -war. Traditional views will give little help. It is clear that men’s -most important actions are not guided by the sort of motives that are -emphasized in traditional political philosophies. The impulses by which -the war has been produced and sustained come out of a deeper region -than that of most political argument. And the opposition to the war -on the part of those few who have opposed it comes from the same deep -region. A political theory, if it is to hold in times of stress, must -take account of the impulses that underlie explicit thought: it must -appeal to them, and it must discover how to make them fruitful rather -than destructive. - -Economic systems have a great influence in promoting or destroying -life. Except slavery, the present industrial system is the most -destructive of life that has ever existed. Machinery and large-scale -production are ineradicable, and must survive in any better system -which is to replace the one under which we live. Industrial federal -democracy is probably the best direction for reform to take. - -Philosophies of life, when they are widely believed, also have a -very great influence on the vitality of a community. The most widely -accepted philosophy of life at present is that what matters most to -a man’s happiness is his income. This philosophy, apart from other -demerits, is harmful because it leads men to aim at a result rather -than an activity, an enjoyment of material goods in which men are not -differentiated, rather than a creative impulse which embodies each -man’s individuality. More refined philosophies, such as are instilled -by higher education, are too apt to fix attention on the past rather -than the future, and on correct behavior rather than effective action. -It is not in such philosophies that men will find the energy to bear -lightly the weight of tradition and of ever-accumulating knowledge. - -The world has need of a philosophy, or a religion, which will promote -life. But in order to promote life it is necessary to value something -other than mere life. Life devoted only to life is animal without -any real human value, incapable of preserving men permanently from -weariness and the feeling that all is vanity. If life is to be fully -human it must serve some end which seems, in some sense, outside -human life, some end which is impersonal and above mankind, such as -God or truth or beauty. Those who best promote life do not have life -for their purpose. They aim rather at what seems like a gradual -incarnation, a bringing into our human existence of something eternal, -something that appears to imagination to live in a heaven remote from -strife and failure and the devouring jaws of Time. Contact with this -eternal world—even if it be only a world of our imagining—brings a -strength and a fundamental peace which cannot be wholly destroyed -by the struggles and apparent failures of our temporal life. It is -this happy contemplation of what is eternal that Spinoza calls the -intellectual love of God. To those who have once known it, it is the -key of wisdom. - -What we have to do practically is different for each one of us, -according to our capacities and opportunities. But if we have the life -of the spirit within us, what we must do and what we must avoid will -become apparent to us. - -By contact with what is eternal, by devoting our life to bringing -something of the Divine into this troubled world, we can make our own -lives creative even now, even in the midst of the cruelty and strife -and hatred that surround us on every hand. To make the individual life -creative is far harder in a community based on possession than it would -be in such a community as human effort may be able to build up in the -future. Those who are to begin the regeneration of the world must face -loneliness, opposition, poverty, obloquy. They must be able to live -by truth and love, with a rational unconquerable hope; they must be -honest and wise, fearless, and guided by a consistent purpose. A body -of men and women so inspired will conquer—first the difficulties and -perplexities of their individual lives, then, in time, though perhaps -only in a long time, the outer world. Wisdom and hope are what the -world needs; and though it fights against them, it gives its respect to -them in the end. - -When the Goths sacked Rome, St. Augustine wrote the “City of God,” -putting a spiritual hope in place of the material reality that had been -destroyed. Throughout the centuries that followed St. Augustine’s hope -lived and gave life, while Rome sank to a village of hovels. For us, -too, it is necessary to create a new hope, to build up by our thought -a better world than the one which is hurling itself into ruin. Because -the times are bad, more is required of us than would be required in -normal times. Only a supreme fire of thought and spirit can save future -generations from the death that has befallen the generation which we -knew and loved. - -It has been my good fortune to come in contact as a teacher with young -men of many different nations—young men in whom hope was alive, in -whom the creative energy existed that would have realized in the world -some part at least of the imagined beauty by which they lived. They -have been swept into the war, some on one side, some on the other. -Some are still fighting, some are maimed for life, some are dead; of -those who survive it is to be feared that many will have lost the life -of the spirit, that hope will have died, that energy will be spent, -and that the years to come will be only a weary journey towards the -grave. Of all this tragedy, not a few of those who teach seem to have -no feeling: with ruthless logic, they prove that these young men have -been sacrificed unavoidably for some coldly abstract end; undisturbed -themselves, they lapse quickly into comfort after any momentary assault -of feeling. In such men the life of the spirit is dead. If it were -living, it would go out to meet the spirit in the young, with a love -as poignant as the love of father or mother. It would be unaware of -the bounds of self; their tragedy would be its own. Something would -cry out: “No, this is not right; this is not good; this is not a holy -cause, in which the brightness of youth is destroyed and dimmed. It -is we, the old, who have sinned; we have sent these young men to the -battlefield for our evil passions, our spiritual death, our failure to -live generously out of the warmth of the heart and out of the living -vision of the spirit. Let us come out of this death, for it is we who -are dead, not the young men who have died through our fear of life. -Their very ghosts have more life than we: they hold us up for ever to -the shame and obloquy of all the ages to come. Out of their ghosts must -come life, and it is we whom they must vivify.” - - -THE END - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] On this subject compare Bernard Hart’s “Psychology of Insanity” -(Cambridge University Press, 1914), chap. v, especially pp. 62–5. - -[2] This was written before Christianity had become punishable by hard -labor, penal servitude, or even death, under the Military Service Act -(No. 2). [Note added in 1916.] - -[3] The blasphemy prosecutions. - -[4] The syndicalist prosecutions. [The punishment of conscientious -objectors must now be added, 1916.] - -[5] In a democratic country it is the majority who must after all rule, -and the minority will be obliged to submit with the best grace possible -(_Westminster Gazette_ on Conscription, December 29, 1915). - -[6] Some very strong remarks on the conduct of the “white feather” -women were made by Mr. Reginald Kemp, the Deputy Coroner for West -Middlesex, at an inquest at Ealing on Saturday on Richard Charles -Roberts, aged thirty-four, a taxicab driver, of Shepherd’s Bush, who -committed suicide in consequence of worry caused by his rejection from -the Army and the taunts of women and other amateur recruiters. - -It was stated that he tried to join the Army in October, but was -rejected on account of a weak heart. That alone, said his widow, had -depressed him, and he had been worried because he thought he would lose -his license owing to the state of his heart. He had also been troubled -by the dangerous illness of a child. - -A soldier relative said that the deceased’s life had been made “a -perfect misery” by women who taunted him and called him a coward -because he did not join the Army. A few days ago two women in Maida -Vale insulted him “something shocking.” - -The Coroner, speaking with some warmth, said the conduct of such -women was abominable. It was scandalous that women who knew nothing -of individual circumstances should be allowed to go about making -unbearable the lives of men who had tried to do their duty. It was a -pity they had nothing better to do. Here was a man who perhaps had been -driven to death by a pack of silly women. He hoped something would soon -be done to put a stop to such conduct (_Daily News_, July 26, 1915). - -[7] By England in South Africa, America in the Philippines, France -in Morocco, Italy in Tripoli, Germany in Southwest Africa, Russia in -Persia and Manchuria, Japan in Manchuria. - -[8] This was written in 1915. - -[9] This would be as true under a syndicalist régime as it is at -present. - -[10] These changes, which are to be desired on their own account, not -only in order to prevent war, will be discussed in later lectures. - -[11] What is said on this subject in the present lecture is only -preliminary, since the subsequent lectures all deal with some aspect of -the same problem. - -[12] Except by that small minority who are capable of artistic -enjoyment. - -[13] Booth’s “Life and Labour of the People,” vol. iii. - -[14] As regards the education of young children, Madame Montessori’s -methods seem to me full of wisdom. - -[15] THE TEACHING OF PATRIOTISM. HIS MAJESTY’S APPROVAL. - -The King has been graciously pleased to accept a copy of the little -book containing suggestions to local education authorities and teachers -in Wales as to the teaching of patriotism which has just been issued -by the Welsh Department of the Board of Education in connection with -the observance of the National Anniversary of St. David’s Day. His -Private Secretary (Lord Stamfordham), in writing to Mr. Alfred T. -Davies, the Permanent Secretary of the Welsh Department, says that his -Majesty is much pleased with the contents of the book, and trusts that -the principles inculcated in it will bear good fruit in the lives and -characters of the coming generation.—_Morning Post_, January 29, 1916. - -[16] What Madame Montessori has achieved in the way of minimizing -obedience and discipline with advantage to education is almost -miraculous. - -[17] There was a provision for suits _in forma pauperis_, but for -various reasons this provision was nearly useless; a new and somewhat -better provision has recently been made, but is still very far from -satisfactory. - -[18] The following letter (_New Statesman_, December 4, 1915) -illustrates the nature of his activities:— - - -DIVORCE AND WAR. - -_To the Editor of the_ “New Statesman.” - -SIR,—The following episodes may be of interest to your readers. Under -the new facilities for divorce offered to the London poor, a poor woman -recently obtained a decree _nisi_ for divorce against her husband, -who had often covered her body with bruises, infected her with a -dangerous disease, and committed bigamy. By this bigamous marriage -the husband had ten illegitimate children. In order to prevent this -decree being made absolute, the Treasury spent at least £200 of the -taxes in briefing a leading counsel and an eminent junior counsel and -in bringing about ten witnesses from a city a hundred miles away to -prove that this woman had committed casual acts of adultery in 1895 -and 1898. The net result is that this woman will probably be forced by -destitution into further adultery, and that the husband will be able -to treat his mistress exactly as he treated his wife, with impunity, -so far as disease is concerned. In nearly every other civilized -country the marriage would have been dissolved, the children could -have been legitimated by subsequent marriage, and the lawyers employed -by the Treasury would not have earned the large fees they did from -the community for an achievement which seems to most other lawyers -thoroughly anti-social in its effects. If any lawyers really feel that -society is benefited by this sort of litigation, why cannot they give -their services for nothing, like the lawyers who assisted the wife? If -we are to practise economy in war-time, why cannot the King’s Proctor -be satisfied with a junior counsel only? The fact remains that many -persons situated like the husband and wife in question prefer to avoid -having illegitimate children, and the birth-rate accordingly suffers. - -The other episode is this. A divorce was obtained by Mr. A. against -Mrs. A. and Mr. B. Mr. B. was married and Mrs. B., on hearing of the -divorce proceedings, obtained a decree nisi against Mr. B. Mr. B. is at -any moment liable to be called to the Front, but Mrs. B. has for some -months declined to make the decree _nisi_ absolute, and this prevents -him marrying Mrs. A., as he feels in honor bound to do. Yet the law -allows any petitioner, male or female, to obtain a decree _nisi_ and -to refrain from making it absolute for motives which are probably -discreditable. The Divorce Law Commissioners strongly condemned this -state of things, and the hardship in question is immensely aggravated -in war-time, just as the war has given rise to many cases of bigamy -owing to the chivalrous desire of our soldiers to obtain for the _de -facto_ wife and family the separation allowance of the State. The legal -wife is often united by similar ties to another man. I commend these -facts to consideration in your columns, having regard to your frequent -complaints of a falling birth-rate. The iniquity of our marriage laws -is an important contributory cause to the fall in question. - - Yours, etc., - E. S. P. HAYNES. - -_November 29th._ - -[19] Some interesting facts were given by Mr. Sidney Webb in two -letters to _The Times_, October 11 and 16, 1906; there is also a Fabian -tract on the subject: “The Decline in the Birth-Rate,” by Sidney Webb -(No. 131). Some further information may be found in “The Declining -Birth-Rate: Its National and International Significance,” by A. -Newsholme, M.D., M.R.C.S. (Cassell, 1911). - -[20] The fall in the death-rate, and especially in the infant -mortality, which has occurred concurrently with the fall in the -birth-rate, has hitherto been sufficiently great to allow the -population of Great Britain to go on increasing. But there are obvious -limits to the fall of the death-rate, whereas the birth-rate might -easily fall to a point which would make an actual diminution of numbers -unavoidable. - -[21] I should add artists but for the fact that most modern artists -seem to find much greater difficulty in creation than men of science -usually find. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant -preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected. - -Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained; occurrences of -inconsistent hyphenation have not been changed. - -Duplicate hemi-title removed just before first chapter. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Why Men Fight, by Bertrand Russell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHY MEN FIGHT *** - -***** This file should be named 55610-0.txt or 55610-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/6/1/55610/ - -Produced by Adrian Mastronardi, Charlie Howard, and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net -(This file was produced from images generously made -available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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