Chapter II: Part 2

Before the war what were called civilised countries, our own included, had reached a point of artificial living as disastrous to them as it had been to Rome and Byzantium in their decadence. We, the English, were growing idle, neglecting agriculture, buying from foreign markets instead of creating our own. We were ceasing to be a productive nation. Whatever we could borrow we borrowed. We propped up Germany, who grew rich out of our lack of foresight and imagination. Ideals were laughed at and Plutus was the god worshipped; never mind how wealth was gotten or spent, wealth was all in all. Education, notwithstanding half-hearted and ill-digested Bills passed through Parliament, was neglected save in so far as it might be money-providing. It is out of such a degenerating state of things that we must be dragged if we cannot be drawn. Artificial life as made by Industrialism must be rectified if England is to make intellectual progress and take again the honourable and respected place she held. What are we making to show to generations to come? Nothing as compared to what the past has left for us! A few iron and steel bridges which time will destroy, a few exceedingly hideous railway stations, a great many railway tracks, a vast amount of “rolling stock,” which will presently be of the value of scrap iron.

Herds of motor cars and new flights of aeroplanes; monstrous ironclads which are no sooner completed than they become out of date; a partial and growing destruction of agriculture; and, in the meantime, necessary expenses of even a rigid economist are trebled, if not more, and wages rise to a point where it seems unlikely that resources will be able to meet them, profiteering by tradesmen has become the habit. If this be so, instead of leaving on our tracks a well-organised road, we shall leave debts and a desert. Shall England be turned into an ash heap? If so, the reason for doing so must be better explained than hitherto.

§ 14

Science and industry misapplied may prove to be a curse! They _are_ misapplied when used for purposes of destruction. What folly it is when it is regarded coolly, rationally and with common sense! Millions upon millions of money are wasted, which, if spent in the construction of national intellectual stability, upon education and all that education would provide, would ennoble the nation. The great war, made by politicians, by egoists, has been the most devastating in the history of mankind. Science has been applied to it with acrid avidity. Without the misapplication of scientific inventions the disasters caused by the war would have been impossible. Science wrongly applied, facilities invented as aids to peaceful transport and international as well as national contact abused, have worked havoc. The age of iron and steel, of cheap and accessible fuel, coal and oils, of easy communication between races instinctively and by tradition antagonistic, has said its say in something very near the destruction of Europe. Every discovery made to be used to promote prosperity and peace has been used for the destruction of both. Terrible things science has done during the last five years. Without railways, without motors, without factories, without aeroplanes, without chemistry, each in its way desirable, if used for construction, the great war would have been impossible; impossible as it has been enacted. Wars will be as long as man remains foolish. As yet it appears the folly of men is more potent than their wisdom. They _invent_ for peace, they _use_ for war. What a contradiction this implies! They are answerable for this misapplication of science.

§ 15

When wisdom is uppermost war will cease. Governments will not influence one way or another when the democracy is educated and so has become wise, when it declines to use genius in an evil direction, when, having learnt to use well and for national good the facilities for it which inventive genius has provided, democracy will see straight. Governments are at a discount just now. Looking over the world as it is at this moment it is difficult, perhaps impossible, so far to find one which is stable or wise. Wisdom must be born out of the people. Wisdom can only be gained by education, which means discrimination. The free will of a people can only serve for good when it is guided by _right_, not _wrong_, when people have been so mentally trained as to be able to discriminate between ephemeral and permanent welfare. If democracy is not to be a deadly failure and a deadly curse the people must retain their soul, their honesty, their good fellowship established upon intellectual more than emotional fellowship.

If good is to prevail over evil the working class, the noblest of England’s product in the past, must be led into the path which leads to Freedom by a sense of duty owing to the whole community which it is bound to be called upon to exercise, and to the full, in the future. It is for “the People” to make the final choice upon which the future of England depends--peace and prosperity or war and anarchy! When the people are educated to see straight agitators may roar themselves hoarse, may tell lies under cover of specious argument, but they will not prevail.

§ 16

Agitators have never led a country as a whole, they have infected the less enlightened members of it with discontent, perhaps with imitable frenzy, but never have they turned the course of the stream of progress permanently.

Agitators ruffle the surface of the waters as little boys blow upon it, thinking they are creating a storm, which, however, is only severe enough to upset toy ships; only so far are they really dangerous. Agitators may roar against capitalists, but they cannot do without them; indeed, their Utopia would be to become capitalists. When capital says, “I will not be wasted,” and Labour says, “My work shall not be destroyed because it is part of my best self which I reverence,” we shall be on the high road to national and international peace.

§ 17

Politicians may dabble in “Leagues” (we all know what they mean, to be broken when conditions appear which seem against their continuity). Statesmen may try to make up for previous mistakes by twisting arguments to suit new methods, but as long as it does not come right home to the people that war and internal dissension spells destruction to Labour as to Capital, in the long run war, within and without, is certain to occur again. And the next war! Every effort made by science, plus the experience of the last five years, will be used to destroy that which it set out to preserve.

The more splendid the services of science the more terrible will, and must be their misapplication. Nothing that has happened in Europe, Russia or the East, however cruel and terrible it has been, will compare with the horrors of the next war. Cities, entire districts, fleets and armies will cease to exist in moments, not even in days. God’s sky will be full of destroying agents against which every defence will be in vain. We are only out of the last great war by the skin of our teeth. Shall we profit by the lessons it has offered or shall we forget? That is the question.

§ 18

Shall we draw closer together as a people whose motto is “Fraternity,” or drift apart? We can draw closer if we choose and each one of us resolves to do “the utmost for the highest.” Civil dissension can be as morally destructive as military rule. It sets every instrument of the orchestra out of tune; it creates a hideous discord and chaos which can only be resolved by the greatest enemy to democracy--a military Government. The very thing we have been fighting to expel from Germany may have to be enacted here in free England if anarchical methods prevail, and there is danger (we do not say probability) that they may if the heart of the country becomes _rotten_. The heart of the country is Labour, but labour not selfishly, graspingly, and tyrannically used, but as the bulwark of protection to the community in part and as a whole. If Labour is to take a prominent part in the affairs of the country, in legislation, for example, its votaries _must be educated_; at present they are not, and therefore had they the power they seek or that is demanded for them by agitators who are only less ignorant than they, it is impossible to gauge the difficulties and dangers into which the country would be plunged. Before Labour is fit to govern it must learn how to use leisure. The shorter the hours of labour the more imperative will become education. Are our working men prepared to use the leisure they demand for the good of the community or only to please their, as yet, primitive instincts? From a class which is idle or mischievous during leisure hours we can expect no wisdom, and without wisdom no man can rule himself, much less his fellows. From rulers we expect wide wisdom, not class prejudice. The former is impossible, the latter certain, without education.

One hears an answer to the assertion we have made: “Give us power and see how we use it!” That is all very well, but before power is added to that already in possession we must be sure that the best is being made of what has been already attained. If the workmen of England or of any other country are to hold offices of State in which ripe judgment, experience and knowledge of the world, of the complications to which it has been subjected from the earliest times, are required, they must have a very different Utopia in the back of their minds to that which is evident as yet. They will have to learn that to legislate entirely in the interests of Labour (and that is what Labour would do now) would be tantamount to the ultimate destruction of the very thing they wish to promote--the wealth of Labour as opposed to that of the capitalist. Before power, and such power, is granted to a class which has had no experience of its exercise we must be certain that their previous use of their higher energies has justified their demands, namely, that they have fulfilled the demands which their work should have made, well and honestly. First of all, the workman must have given his best work to his employer, and, having done that as the first duty to his neighbour and to himself as an honourable man, he must have proved by the good use of his hours of leisure that he is in earnest, that he desires not only to become a _decent_ citizen but a _capable_ one.

Now, the best instructed of us and the most intellectually endowed know by experience how difficult it is to so train the mind to be ready and prompt to employ leisure to the best advantage, that is to say, in such a manner that is useful and ennobling, not detrimental and decadent! This is a matter which hinges on principle as well as choice. Industry is engendered by effort as well as by theory. If a man is industrious he has trained himself to be so by acting upon a theory which he has found to be advantageous. Advanced democrats will tell us: “You have no right to interfere with the hours of leisure of a citizen. If he elects to get drunk, why not? If he gambles, why not? If he prefers dog fighting and the prize ring to improving his mind; if he prefers to beat his wife to treating her decently, why not? She does not mind it. If he prefers to spend his money in travelling about to see football matches to taking his earnings home to his family, why not?” Yes, Mr. Democrat, but by doing so is your pet working man even on the road to be a worthy ruler or responsible statesman, or even in a minor degree to take part in framing laws, or seeing that when made they are put into action? If your working man spends his leisure in barbarous pursuits he is still, by preference, a barbarian! If he wastes his earnings, taking little of them home to provide for and educate a family, in the first place, does he deserve higher wages, while those he is already receiving he uses ill? Is a man that acts so fit to rule? Certainly not! If he abuses his own wages, do you think he will not waste or abuse the use of public money? Of course he will! The democrat who has added the sauce of anarchy to his favourite dish, whose logic is framed upon assertion unjustified by reasoning, will tell you: “You let him alone. He fills the pockets of the big pots. If he likes to get drunk, why not? I likes liberty, I does.” And yet the fool who says this will be the first to urge class tyranny and claim for the idle workman a place in a Ministry, perhaps the first place. Good God! No; before the working classes are granted grave responsibilities they must prove they are worthy of them by exercising a firm purpose, doing what they are already called to do honourably and well, and show signs by industry during leisure hours that they are men, not barbarians, and good citizens, not anarchists!

They must prove by their private lives that their public acts will not be a disgrace, that a high principle has been their guide, that their souls are straight and active for good, and that a true Fraternity, wide and embracing, has finally ruled out selfish class prejudice. They must prove that they are in no humour to be levelled down by their noisy leaders. They must prove their higher ambition by not listening to the cry, “Strike again, Bill! Force the governor if _’e_ won’t give in! The Government is weak: force it to a decision in your favour! You ’ave the power to starve the country if you choose. Don’t yer see yer power? Why, then, man, use it!”

§ 19

Wise people do not wish to give added power to a class that listens to and acts upon such folly. They know if they did that the country would suffer as a whole and become the prey to a tyranny, and a mob tyranny, the most dangerous of all.

Before they are granted new powers we want to see the British workman doing his work as well as he used to do it, to see him an honest man by giving his best work for good pay.

§ 20

Paying a bad or indolent workman the same wages as an efficient and industrious one is to put a tax on skill; it discourages the good workman and encourages the idle one in his idleness. To forbid a bricklayer to lay more than a minimum number of bricks per hour is to encourage the lazy and discourage the honest workman; therefore to curtail the production of work in quantity and quality is directly injurious to the needs of the country and indirectly to the progress of trade; moreover, it is unfair to the good workman as it places him on a level with the inferior or bad one, which is not only morally wrong but economically silly. Trades union laws have grown to be tyrannical. They contradict what was good in their initiative. As at present enacted they prove their authors to be ignorant men, ignorant of the first principles of political economy and of the results which must inevitably follow upon their acceptance. If an honest workman has the will to lay as many bricks per hour (so he does it well) it is tyranny to forbid him. It is neither to his interest nor of the trade he represents to coerce him. For the reason he does better and more work than his idle or incompetent fellow he has a right to a higher wage; to deny him that right is to lower the standard of workmanship generally and particularly. To oblige men to down tools at the command of leaders against their will is tyranny! So we find after all that grandiloquent talk about Liberty is gas. Trades union leaders are tyrants; even more, they are slave drivers! Labour would do well to strike against them instead of striking against doing their duty and being honourable members of society. Indeed, they would do well to duck them in the nearest pond as enemies, not friends, to their cause. The fact is that as soon as the workmen find out they have been misled retribution is likely to follow and quickly. When the honest workman sees clearly that a false position has been pressed upon him he will resent it and drastically. The last railway strike is a black spot in the history of generous and liberal England. The majority of the railway men did not wish it. It was forced on them by the audacity and ambition of their leaders. That statement is proved by the avidity of their return to work. Perchance they thought it was just possible that while they were starving others, and the helpless, they themselves would suffer with them. An empty belly is a very valuable medicine.

Englishmen of whatever class, rich or poor, would never consent to starve out their comrades, their children, their old fathers and mothers. Our workmen are, _au fond_, too good fellows to do that, even to descend to threaten it. The threat to starve the country was not made by them but by their leaders, who, if they do not know better how to conduct men only a little less ignorant than they, will have to be taught to do so, and quickly.

§ 21

British workmen laboured like men to win the war. Once or twice signs were evident that arrogant leaders were trying to seduce them, but they failed in the long run. But after the immediate danger zone was past, with reprehensible persistency the same leaders shook off their reserve forced upon them by a perilous situation and started a new war cry of class against class which the war and all the suffering it caused should have killed. But no! While we were all admiring the straightforward patriotism so tried by grave danger, anarchical leaders were considering the steps they would take to achieve an end by brutal force, thereby copying the tyrannical Germany that was being thrust from civilised companionship with the rest of the world. These are but mimics of a fallen power which had killed its soul, killed every instinct of justice, all pity and human kindness to bring about an end to gratify lust of conquest and overwhelming tyranny under the mark of Kultur. Trades union leaders threatened to starve London. Unable to coerce a none too strong Government by specious proposals and platform oratory, their threat was, happily, taken seriously, and the Government, in this instance, gave evidence of a power of forethought which it had too often neglected in the past. Those leaders were cheated of their prey of dead children and old people starving for want of milk. It is difficult to abstain from stronger words than are here used, difficult not to permit harsh words, so dastardly cowardly was the attempt which, although it failed, was made with a coldbloodedness that was more German than English. That it failed to succeed was not the fault of the authors of the scheme, who intended it to force the pace, intimidate the people and the Government, and establish trades union leaders as rulers of the country. In point of fact, it was blackmail! On the contrary, they have secured obloquy from every decent man and woman, and have happily placed themselves in a position of disorder which we hope will continue. If they try the same game again, if they are not met with physical resistance, they ought to be, and if the leaders of what is in reality “conspiracy” are not “doing time,” the Government will have to answer some not pleasant questions from a majority of orderly citizens which is resolved not to be set out of order by a minority of exploiters entirely out for their own interests and self-aggrandisement. If the Government had shown weakness, as it so often has done in somewhat similar circumstances, its doom would have been sealed. It has too often tried the patience of the country by unfulfilled promises and shifting ground when obstacles were obstinate, and an entirely reprehensible policy of compromise. This time it surprised the country by being prepared to deal with a crafty trap. It caught the vermin in the trap they had set to intimidate the country. That strike has gone far to prove that Labour, as at present led and organised, is no more fitted to rule than a naughty, ill brought up child is to rule its parents. We believe the soul of the British workman is still clean, _au fond_; it has been tempted to be otherwise by bad guides, taught to be dishonest by them, to be selfish, hard, even brutal, but enough of the old stamina has survived to encourage the belief that, under good, wise and sympathetic, but at the same time strong leadership, the British workmen will regain the confidence they have lost and the position of respect which has been compromised for them.

§ 22

They deserve _good_ wages, that is to say, wages which enable them to lead decent lives under decent environment. They deserve a better education than they get, and, above all, better guides in their early school days, guides who shall furnish the sensitive period of the first stages of youth with first principles of conduct; taught that they are citizens of no mean country, hence that a grave responsibility is theirs, not only to themselves but to their neighbours. Taught that _thou_ as well as _I_ is an essential pronoun; that civilisation is based upon _Fraternity_, not _Equality_, because there is no such thing and never can be. That one’s neighbour is a bit of oneself is a moral truth beyond question. It is a truth that is in the very foundation of society. It is the root of the tree of all progress, it is as the water that feeds it, and as the sun which ripens its fruit. Duty to God is implied in duty to the neighbour. God made the neighbour, the _thou_ as well as the _I_ is His design; the two are really inseparable. This principle, driven home in the earliest years, will form a guide for life, because the mental impressions then received are never wholly eradicated. “I must take care of myself to take care of you” is a truism. But “I must prop you in failure, stand by you in trouble, and joy in your joy” is surely a higher form of ethics! This simple principle of life is the summing up of Christian teaching, and not only of that, but of the writings of such great pagan philosophers as Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus, to name only two of many. To be _able_ to read is one thing, what is read is another. Bad books are more detrimental than no books, as _bad_ education is worse than _none_. To know one book well is better than to have superficially read a hundred. There are essential and not essential as well as _positively destructive_ books; plenty, indeed, of the last named, and they grow like weeds! Only two or three of the best books should be set before children. “Robinson Crusoe,” “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” and carefully selected portions of the Bible would not be a bad selection. Teachers must not be hacks or machines, but wise and sympathetic guides. History is a complicated study, and one which the busy worker, agricultural or craftsman, has not time to master. But the chief events, those which have moulded social life and profoundly led progress, can be tabulated and learned by heart. The young should be taught that presently they will be called to make history, and that in its making absolute _honesty_ is the first condition of success. The agricultural labourer is helping to feed his country, the craftsman is making desirable and durable goods for his own as well as foreign markets, and they must be the best he can turn out to his honour!

§ 23

Ancestors of the craftsman of to-day erected and adorned the monuments we now prize; it is the business of the modern craftsman to make such as will be reverenced and esteemed by-and-bye. Ancient craftsmen loved their work, that we can see at a glance. Are the modern craftsmen taught or encouraged to do so by their leaders? No! They are taught to grab high wages for bad work as good for trade, a lamentable fallacy which could only have been framed by ignorant men, and unprincipled to boot. As the duty to a neighbour should be instilled, as it were, with mother’s milk, so to do good and only good work should be the mainspring of a boy-craftsman guidance. The habit of doing good work must be acquired in youth! It must be begun early and continued as a habit to the end of it. Duty to our neighbour and duty to our employers are synonymous. Pride in turning out good and shame in turning out bad. Do Labour leaders teach that? No! They advocate the reverse. They would have it that while labour is essential it is derogatory to freedom, to insist on good work for good pay is _tyranny_, but to demand high wages for bad work is _justice_. They teach “As little effort as possible to attain the highest level of wages.” Is this wise? No, it is the height of folly.

The true answer to those false leaders is to tell the workmen that all work is honourable when _well done_, dishonourable when _ill done_. When primary education is conducted upon the simple lines above indicated we shall be on the road to supply the best possible education to the greater number. It is worse than useless to cram young minds with facts before the first principle of selection has been instilled. Much, indeed most, of England’s foundation of greatness was laid when the majority could neither read nor write. It was _character_, not education in _facts_, that made England great. Honesty, not grasping, was the watchword which guided the deeds of our great ancestors. Soil must be prepared before it is ready to receive fruitful seed. We do not plant lilies on dustheaps or corn on the ashes of factories’ furnaces. Honourable dealing with the neighbour, honourable _quid pro quo_ are, as it were, the bricks of which a nation is built, and without them as primaries no nation has been or will bequeath a noble heritage. What are we making for the future? To what end is the intelligence of craftsmanship directed with all the facilities at their hands? To get _enormous wages_ with the least possible effort. These are hard words, but they are true. The welfare of the neighbour is not in the calculation, and _honesty of work has taken a back seat_. That is what is the matter with England! It is a malady which affects the commercial attitude of to-day from bottom to top. Under so depressing a social atmosphere is it a matter for wonder that we are creating so little that will be a joy or stimulus to aftercomers? Work in which joy has not taken part will never provide pleasure to the doer or receiver. A creator who slaves as a drudge, is unwilling and discontented, is a neuter; he will neither derive nor breed pleasure.

§ 24

The war compelled Labour; without it it would have been lost. But are there signs that Labour will work for Peace? What ideal has it? What stimulus is being provided for Labour and by Labour to make England rich in intellect, purer in heart, more fertile of ideas, less materialistic and more spiritual?

§ 25

The spirit giveth life! Matter is like an eggshell. We have gone round in a circle in the later pages, and come back to the point of starting. The soul of a country is what matters; it and it alone can control the matter of it! We have seen a great country break down under the curse of materialism. Explosives, foul gas, and every instrument of destruction have been the gods of the Germans, and they have ruined them. Germany sold her soul to the Devil to attain her lust, the conquest of the world. She failed because she killed the spirit of God in her, setting in His place monsters of iron, steel and poison. If matter divorced from spirit can win, Germany would have won. Is England going to imitate Germany, the country that is fallen from a high estate to an abject condition of failure? Or are we to be influenced by Russian disorder and anarchy? Both are bad, and neither should influence us except to avoid the grievous errors which have led to such disaster. Anarchy, as every plague, is catching. It seems to promise to uneducated and undisciplined minds a panacea. It may offer that, but it grants only additional miseries. Over and over again it has been tried and has invariably failed!

So let us not repeat a blunder, but shape a new course upon ground which has never revealed pitfalls, which is not subject to earthquakes, that is on rock, not sand, that is productive, not sterile, fruitful, not destructive. Let us see that the Great Spirit which inspired England is with us still, but in a wider measure than heretofore--the spirit that gave her Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Shelley, Blake, Keats, Wordsworth, Tennyson, Browning and Morris in poetry; in science, Harvey, Bacon, Locke, the Herschells, Faraday, Darwin, Huxley and Lister, to mention only a few great names in occult and humane science. The spirit which inspired our great artists--Reynolds, Wren, Chambers, Blake, Gainsborough, Turner, Constable, Wilson, Alfred Stephens, Rossetti, Hunt, Millais, Leighton and Watts. For music we cannot claim so many, but in folk song England has been rich, perhaps richer than any other country, while her stately Church music has been quietly developing from Purcell to Sam Wesley, the last of the severe Church composers. Of novelists, Richardson, Fielding, Goldsmith, Thackeray, Dickens, the five kings of that art; while in the second order Meredith, G. Eliot and Charlotte Brontë are eminent. Let us emulate the builders, craftsmen and decorators who made our cathedrals, which we now see denuded of much of their wealth of beauty by wrong-headed Puritans and religious faddists who have worked so much mischief to the country in too many directions.

But, we shall be asked, “Is it possible to work our several faculties simultaneously in opposite directions: those which are seeking utility, facilities for still more rapid translation from place to place, for a restless life which leaves few moments for thought, but which do not conduce to wealth inasmuch as money can give it, but which must, if they are further developed, stultify other faculties which, to reach their highest point of excellence, demand concentration, leisure and peace?” Yes, it is possible; it has been done, but it cannot be done if the point is overstrained, which is to say, if wealth, as applied to money, means that money only matters, if to get rich is the ideal towards which the whole nation strains. Money is only a means to an end. Like labour, it is mischievous when wrongly applied, and it is so wasted upon implements of destruction, gambling and coarse pleasures which poison or atrophy the higher senses and nobler ambitions. It is wasted also when spent upon idle officials, unnecessary committees, the fetish of politicians when they have got themselves into a muddle. Before spending money surely the first question should be: “Is the object of _lasting_ or purely ephemeral importance? Will it return an interest commensurate to the expenditure _pro bono publico_, _i.e._, a national more than individual interest?” Thousands upon thousands of public money were wasted in war time to support political or party schemes for which we pay dearly now. Money is being wasted upon extravagant wages in all directions and at this moment when the nation is deeply in debt. Taxes and rates are at a fabulous premium, raised to pay for experiments, mistakes and reckless extravagance, and have to be met by increased taxation which is impoverishing enterprise of every description, so much so that no surplus is left to meet demands that are necessary for the intellectual progress of the country. Does any one suppose that the Labour leaders are doing their mischief unpaid? They are living (on the contrary) on the fat of the land. Their salaries are large and are taken from their followers, who claim to be in such straits. These mischievous agents of Anarchy are better off _quâ_ money than thousands of their betters, than men whose education has been expensive and who are the intellectual bulwarks of Britain.

§ 26

Scholars, every form of research in the arts, science, literature and education are suffering from want of means to do justice to their studies and to keep up the level of intellectual attainment to a point of excellence necessary to the welfare and progress of England. The so-called idle rich (a term of obloquy justifiable to a small section) came out well during the war; they sacrificed their wealth and energies for the public good. How could the huge sums of money have been collected and dispensed without capital? It was capital which came to the rescue in those dark hours. Had capital been less, how could the huge wages have been paid to war workers? Increase of wages necessitates larger not smaller capital. Breaking up capital and distributing it in sections, giving it to a class which has had no experience of its value and uses, would be to commit social suicide! Upon the whole, Labour behaved well in the war. It was not unnatural that the rise in prices of the necessities of life (leaving out luxuries which can easily be dispensed with) raised discontent sometimes, but by no means justifiable. That certain foodstuffs became expensive was inevitable. The war, unprepared for by short-sighted politicians, took the majority by surprise, although a more thoughtful minority had seen it approaching for years. The stores of food were small. Insistence upon the prominent pre-eminence of the Juggernaut of Industrialism had caused agriculture to fall away, or so to decrease as to form a secondary (whereas it should be the first) consideration of an island that should be (as far as possible) self-supporting, save for such luxuries which our climate is unable to produce. But that the prices of food necessary to life--meat, bread, and milk--went up to excess has been the fault of grasping, selfish, unpatriotic tradesmen, who, seeing the opportunity of their neighbours’ distress, the moment to put money in their purses, did so, utterly regardless of the suffering such action must entail. Not all, but the majority of tradesmen, behaved ill while their country was on the road to starvation, so ill as to command a decision that, as a class, tradesmen, unchecked, are not fit for prominent posts in the Government, national or municipal. They proved that they are egoistic and selfish, a character suspected, and not without reason, but perhaps never brought so prominently into the light before.

It would be tedious did we give a list (it would be a long one) of necessary foodstuffs refused to applicants excepting at a price they could ill afford or could not afford to pay at all. It was a system of blackmailing wholly discreditable to a class which, having power, exercised it with a cold-blooded arbitrariness that was, to say the least, unmanly; the worst, cowardly and criminal. To hit a man when he is down and unable to protect himself is the act of a coward; to cause, for selfish reasons, suffering to the neighbour is criminal. We cannot refrain from the hope that the dark side of tradesmen’s morality, so distinctly pronounced during the late war, will result in an abstention in granting them powers, national or municipal, which will offer them chances for extended _jobbery_ in the future. That, having become aware of their disposition, tradesmen will never again be allowed a free hand in any form of Government. That to them is largely due the rise in wages which is straining the capital of England is unquestionable, therefore they belong to a class which needs careful watching in the future. If, instead of striking at the whole nation, trades unions had struck against the prices demanded by tradesmen, they would have had right on their side in that they struck against an initial cause. It has been said just now that money is well spent when dedicated to causes that are permanent, not ephemeral. Wealth is a necessity for a nation, and wealth without capital is out of the question.

§ 27

Athens at her great time was rich; Egypt, when the city of Memphis covered four times the area of London, was rich. Rome was rich, first by her agriculture; she began to decline when she ceased to grow corn, getting it from her colonies. Byzantium was full of gold when she enriched herself still more by the buildings she erected that live among the most treasured possessions of to-day. When Venice was producing her great architects and painters, her consummate builders and craftsmen, her merchants were rich, proud, too, of making their city as we now see it and know it, one of the most beautiful in the world. Florence and Genoa were rich when they took a high place in the arts and intellectual culture of all kinds. France was rich when she built her unsurpassed cathedrals; so was England at her prime when she gave us much more than has survived destruction of the beauty her artists and craftsmen created. Surely wealth was then used as a permanent means for a permanent supply of honour to which we bow now in the beauty that remains of the noble labours of great peoples. The men who acquired the means to do so spent money for national honour with the ambition to make their city or cities as attractive and beautiful as possible. They employed the greatest creators of their generation to leave their mark not only on the present but the future. The labours of the great spirits of the past are a heritage than which nothing can be greater or more valuable. Bad men as many of the Roman Pontiffs were, they used the wealth (not always honestly attained) with distinction, whether for the exaltation of the Church or not does not matter to us; they made Rome as we see it now (deducting the abominations of industrialism which deface the grand old city).

What do we go to Italy for? Not to hear discourses of politicians or to listen to Socialists talking about what they do not understand, or to see tramways blocking up narrow and picturesque streets. We have enough of those restless, fugitive obstacles here. We go to study the immortal works of art of all the centuries from Romulus to the 16th century of our era; a pretty wide field of interest and instruction, so richly provided is that highly endowed country. What do we go to Egypt for? Surely not to see the havoc Western ambitions in commercialism is causing, with very doubtful results upon the prosperity of the fellah; nor only to bask in her glorious sunshine, her pure air, not yet poisoned by the atmosphere of industrialism in promotion there and quite out of keeping with the distinction of that great country and the transcendent interests of its history; but to study, admire and learn from her remote past, that had so much to do with the formation of intellectual energy which gave birth to so much that is no less valuable now than it was in the past.

To us, overtaken by an artificial life, by a destructive force called Utilitarian, indiscriminating and reckless, the past has much to teach. It is all very well to sweep away traditions which the labours of our forefathers provided, under specious excuses, under plausible arguments; but what we destroy is irrevocable, and cannot be replaced. The mad course pursued by Industrialism has had disastrous effects; it has absorbed land that was under cultivation, it has broken up priceless records of the past by destruction of noble buildings, it has turned thousands of acres of valuable land into deserts, filled the air with poisonous fumes, darkened the face of the sun; it has sown squalor where once was order, and, above all, it has hardened our people, who have been on the verge of soul starvation; it has been turning them into machines. Industrialism has not forwarded Liberty, it has retarded it. Its tendency has been to make all men alike, to, as it were, take moulds of their minds, and sell the casts to the highest bidder. It has encouraged avarice on the one hand and extravagance on the other. Industrialism carried to excess is an incentive to war. It bears no relation to the Arts of Peace. It is a tyrant; wherever it goes it leaves a track of destruction as an invading army does. It has created a spirit of unrest, hence it is the enemy of research, of the arts, and of those faculties of a nation which make them intellectually great. By providing machinery it has crippled craftsmanship. While, in a narrow sense, it has provided _occupation_ (and that word is used advisedly), industrialism has damped the spirit of creative labour. By turning out thousands of articles exactly alike its handmade machinery has almost swept the board of creative instincts, of good and discriminating taste, thereby leaving in its tracks little indeed of æsthetic value and rarely, perhaps, any work of craftsmanship in whatever trade that will be an honour to our generation in the judgment of the future. What the craftsman makes with his finely trained hand, inspired by a creative instinct which is his distinction, the machine can only _copy badly_. The man who made it had a soul which he used in his production which fulfilled it, gave it shape, made it interesting always, even if the workmanship were rough and ready; it reflected its producer, and so a work of art is produced and not the product of a dead machine.

To sum up (and they are hard words that are used) Industrialism is the enemy of the soul of a nation _en masse_; in particular of man, by killing his individuality, his productive genius, his observation, his loyalty to himself, his ambition for fame as a craftsman, the civilised progress of his country and last, not least, his liberty. To succeed (and who does not wish it success?) democracy depends upon the Demos. An unenlightened, self-indulgent, ignorant, uninspired, misdirected Demos must ruin the chances of a successful Democracy!

§ 28

What is “of the people” must come “from the people.” If the people represent the roots of a nation they must be pruned, nourished, and kept clear of poisonous weeds; if not, their product will be sterile. If a fruit tree bears ill the fault is to be found in the roots and in the soil that surrounds them. The embryo of its fruit is in the roots of a tree. Labour is numerically superior, and rightly, because no country can exist without it. It is imperative, therefore, that if Labour is finally to rule it must prepare itself to do so, not by making itself a nuisance and a danger by striking work, by shirking effort, by giving the _minimum_ of its energy to do its share of work for the community, but by strenuously following the old maxim: “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” To take part in the rule of the community is a more complicated affair than to rule a household; it follows logically that the man who fails in the latter will do so in the former. Unable to rule himself, to be his own conscience guide, how can he be accepted to rule over his fellows? A man, be he who he may, rich or poor, who uses the leisure he has ill, brutally or wastefully, has not yet qualified himself for more. If the ideal of such a one is dog fighting, man fighting, gambling or any other brutalising sport, his is not likely to be an ideal of the use of leisure serviceable to himself and his family, nor is it one which justifies his voice to be heard or his deeds to influence the affairs of his country, for which he has shown neither interest or inclination. Among intelligent and instructed men as colleagues he would find himself quite out of place, and _rightly_. A limited outlook upon life is one of the penalties which untrained, undisciplined minds have to pay. The narrow mind is a selfish one almost always. It is egoistic, it places the social class to which it belongs in a position of importance far above its merits, for whose well being, in a material sense, it would legislate to the disadvantage of every other class.

§ 29

If there is one lesson pre-eminently prominent taught by the experience of the Great War it is the absolute necessity for a _revival of agriculture in the British Isles_. And more than that, viz., that the growth of grain, fruit and vegetables should no longer be permitted to be crushed by an increase of industrialism. Further, that forests should be planted wherever possible, that we may in a large measure derive our wood from our own land. Our people need work, they need to be encouraged to hand labour, to an outdoor, healthy life. Every machine made to hasten results, while it provides work for mechanics, takes away from agricultural labourers. One man employed to drive a corn-reaping machine is enough to reap three or four acres in a day. How many does this mean thrown out of work? Thirty or forty and more. It is true the machine does the job quicker, but is rapidity of execution overwhelmingly important? There is a boot-making machine we hear of which can turn out dozens of finished boots in a day. If this is used what is to become of the bootmakers? They must either starve or take to another trade!

And so, instance after instance might be quoted to prove the narrowing effect produced by industrialism upon labour when carried to such an extent as to absorb the majority of the energies and activities of a people. Although the author has visited many industrial towns where he must confess to have been received with kindness, and from a section of their inhabitants sympathy, he wished to improve his acquaintance and go to one which shall be nameless to have a good look round. Before he relates the story of his impressions and paints a picture of them he wishes to preface it with a few words. In his opinion, which has been formed upon experience, there are undoubtedly great efforts made to render industrial life possible. There is in all industrial cities a small coterie of enlightened men who, as manufacturers, are powerful, and who are making an effort to achieve better conditions of life. There are art galleries, there are museums, there are mechanics’ institutes, schools, and many appliances for a better education. But as far as the author has seen, the people who should be influenced are not reached, they remain outside; they remain a _class apart_, not perhaps ungrateful for their chances, but indifferent to them; they are suspicious. Civilising influences rarely reach them; if they do, they are disregarded.

In point of fact, the Demos of “labour” is distinct from the Demos of intellectual culture. Intellectual culture and Labour are out of touch. Labour seems to belong to another world, to live another life, to have no _need_ for what is put for them to take. That is surely because classes are too abruptly divided, they do not mix enough; hence each class mistrusts the other! Labour mistrusts the Capitalist, and the Capitalist mistrusts Labour. Each is apt to regard the other as of a different species of humanity and one that is inevitably in antagonism, forgetting that no labour means no capital and the reverse. It is unfortunate that there is a gulf between the classes where there should be neutral ground on which they could meet. _Coercion_ will never create that meeting ground, neither will continued suspicion and unrest. High wages even will not tend to reconstruction as long as there is no intellectual basis of sympathy and desire. The working class (I dislike the term) must make an effort to rise, it must desire _acquisitiveness_, and I believe many of it do desire it. It is very little use to place advantages before people who do not want to use them. They must be _taught_ or guided to want them, and by degrees to use them. The middleman is an atrocious invention. The agitator is a middleman. He keeps up friction. He is neither the “boss” nor the workman; he fiddles for his own dancing. It is not impossible that he is responsible for the absence of touch between employed and employer. Trades Unions widen the differences.

The middleman thrives on labour of all kinds. He is represented in the arts by the dealer, who, in most instances, secures a larger share of profit than the producer. The musical middleman (or agent) takes a large profit from the composer; the singer and executant are alike sufferers. This constitutes a difficulty by no means easy to get out of. As long as “advertisement” holds such a sway as it does now, the wrong men make the chief profit, which is an entirely unnatural state of things, demonstrating something wrong in the relations existing between the public and the producer. “The State” has not the power, inclination, or capacity to deal with what is, after all, _authorised_ blackmail. It is only by force of public opinion that a change in economics is likely to come about! By public opinion we do not mean unenlightened, unskilled, ill-disciplined agitation, but one arrived at by a better tone generated by ethical as well as practical education, and a closer touch between teachers and taught. Justice is not likely to be delivered by a class which holds that its own interests are paramount; and that undoubtedly is the present attitude of the class called Labour, which is apt to forget that we are all, or ought to be, labourers, from the King to the humblest peasant. Now let us move our ground. I ask my readers to accompany me on a journey and share with me my observation while reading the thoughts it has given rise to, and afterwards to the Dream consequent, I suppose, upon those thoughts.

§ 30

I travelled in a not too clean third-class carriage from London, which I left in a not uncommon black drizzle. Although it was morning and a summer day, according to the calendar, the station was partly lit by electric light which only seemed to accentuate the smoky gloom within and without. It was depressing, passengers looked depressed, porters were irritable, everybody seemed to be in everybodies’ way. There was the impression of Pandemonium in this specimen of civilization. I wondered at all the pains that had been taken over the strange medley of squalor, convenience and inconvenience. It presented one vast, ugly muddle. This, then, is the chief railway station in the, supposed to be, most civilized city in the world. I looked forward to getting out of the noise, the smoke, and the mud, away from the mad hurry of a people with no time to think, so bent are they in pushing their fellows out of the way. I knew I was going from bad to worse. Curiosity was taking me to a manufacturing town in the north. I should have said City, for it possesses a Lord Mayor, Corporation, and Cathedral, and other conventional essentials.

The journey was uneventful, nobody spoke to his neighbour, babies howled, buns and oranges galore, and the floor was well littered with slippery débris; I was not sorry to reach my destination. I had resolved to leave the train at a station some three miles from the City--a dirty little station it was--that I might walk thither. A hot, damp atmosphere, charged with sulphuric acid, greeted me. The land was undulating. What had once been beautiful has been rendered a poisonous desert; the country surrounding the emporium of nastiness, a capital of Industrialism, was a wreck. Occasionally a white circle appeared and disappeared behind clouds of smoke and mist, beaten up into a greasy black soup. It was the sun, but never a shadow did it cast. The atmosphere, rendered solid by dirt, was heated as in a furnace. Oxygen was at a minimum; hydrogen, in plenty, played its part entirely up to date according to modern ideas of civilization.