Chapter IV Of the Changes That Would Be Wrought in Social Organization and Social Life

We are dealing only with general principles. There are some matters of detail—such as those arising from the division of revenues between local and general governments—which upon application of these principles would come up, but these it is not necessary here to discuss. When once principles are settled, details will be readily adjusted.

We are dealing only with general principles. Some matters of detail would come up in applying them, such as how revenues should be divided between local and general governments, but I need not discuss those here. Once the principles are settled, the details will be easily adjusted.

Nor without too much elaboration is it possible to notice all the changes which would be wrought, or would become possible, by a change which would readjust the very foundation of society, but to some main features let me call attention.

I cannot note every change that would follow from readjusting the very foundation of society without going on too long. But let me call attention to some main ones.

Noticeable among these is the great simplicity which would become possible in government. To collect taxes, to prevent and punish evasions, to check and countercheck revenues drawn from so many distinct sources, now make up probably three-fourths, perhaps seven-eighths of the business of government, outside of the preservation of order, the maintenance of the military arm, and the administration of justice. An immense and complicated network of governmental machinery would thus be dispensed with.

One is the great simplicity that government could achieve. Collecting taxes, punishing evasion, and checking revenues drawn from so many separate sources probably make up three-fourths, perhaps seven-eighths, of the business of government, apart from keeping order, maintaining the military and administering justice. An immense and complicated network of governmental machinery would be done away with.

In the administration of justice there would be a like saving of strain. Much of the civil business of our courts arises from disputes as to ownership of land. These would cease when the state was virtually acknowledged as the sole owner of land, and all occupiers became453 practically rent-paying tenants. The growth of morality consequent upon the cessation of want would tend to a like diminution in other civil business of the courts, which could be hastened by the adoption of the common sense proposition of Bentham to abolish all laws for the collection of debts and the enforcement of private contracts. The rise of wages, the opening of opportunities for all to make an easy and comfortable living, would at once lessen and would soon eliminate from society the thieves, swindlers, and other classes of criminals who spring from the unequal distribution of wealth. Thus the administration of the criminal law, with all its paraphernalia of policemen, detectives, prisons, and penitentiaries, would, like the administration of the civil law, cease to make such a drain upon the vital force and attention of society. We should get rid, not only of many judges, bailiffs, clerks and prison keepers, but of the great host of lawyers who are now maintained at the expense of producers; and talent now wasted in legal subtleties would be turned to higher pursuits.

The administration of justice would be eased in the same way. Much of the civil business of our courts comes from disputes over the ownership of land. These would end once the state was virtually acknowledged as the sole owner of land, and all occupiers had become453 practically rent-paying tenants. Morality would grow as want ceased, and other civil business would shrink with it. We could speed this by adopting Bentham’s common-sense proposal to abolish all laws for collecting debts and enforcing private contracts. Rising wages and easy, comfortable livings open to all would at once reduce, and soon eliminate, the thieves, swindlers and other criminals who spring from the unequal distribution of wealth. So criminal law, with its policemen, detectives, prisons and penitentiaries, would stop draining society’s vital force and attention, as civil law would. We would be rid of many judges, bailiffs, clerks and prison keepers, and of the great host of lawyers now supported at the expense of producers. Talent now wasted on legal subtleties would turn to higher pursuits.

The legislative, judicial, and executive functions of government would in this way be vastly simplified. Nor can I think that the public debts and the standing armies, which are historically the outgrowth of the change from feudal to allodial tenures, would long remain after the reversion to the old idea that the land of a country is the common right of the people of the country. The former could readily be paid off by a tax that would not lessen the wages of labor nor check production, and the latter the growth of intelligence and independence among the masses, aided, perhaps, by the progress of invention, which is revolutionizing the military art, must soon cause to disappear.

The legislative, judicial and executive functions of government would be vastly simplified in this way. I do not think the public debts and standing armies would last long once we returned to the old idea that a country’s land is the common right of its people. Historically, both grew out of the change from feudal to allodial tenures. The debts could easily be paid off by a tax that would not lessen the wages of labor or check production. The standing armies would soon disappear as intelligence and independence grow among the masses, helped perhaps by inventions that are revolutionizing the military art.

Society would thus approach the ideal of Jeffersonian democracy, the promised land of Herbert Spencer, the abolition of government. But of government only as a454 directing and repressive power. It would at the same time, and in the same degree, become possible for it to realize the dream of socialism. All this simplification and abrogation of the present functions of government would make possible the assumption of certain other functions which are now pressing for recognition. Government could take upon itself the transmission of messages by telegraph, as well as by mail; of building and operating railroads, as well as of opening and maintaining common roads. With present functions so simplified and reduced, functions such as these could be assumed without danger or strain, and would be under the supervision of public attention, which is now distracted. There would be a great and increasing surplus revenue from the taxation of land values, for material progress, which would go on with greatly accelerated rapidity, would tend constantly to increase rent. This revenue arising from the common property could be applied to the common benefit, as were the revenues of Sparta. We might not establish public tables—they would be unnecessary; but we could establish public baths, museums, libraries, gardens, lecture rooms, music and dancing halls, theaters, universities, technical schools, shooting galleries, play grounds, gymnasiums, etc. Heat, light, and motive power, as well as water, might be conducted through our streets at public expense; our roads be lined with fruit trees; discoverers and inventors rewarded, scientific investigations supported; and in a thousand ways the public revenues made to foster efforts for the public benefit. We should reach the ideal of the socialist, but not through governmental repression. Government would change its character, and would become the administration of a great co-operative society. It would become merely the agency by which the common property was administered for the common benefit.

Society would then approach the ideal of Jeffersonian democracy and the promised land of Herbert Spencer: the abolition of government. But that would be only government as a454 directing and repressive power. At the same time, and to the same degree, government could realize the dream of socialism. Simplifying and abolishing its present functions would make room for other functions now pressing for recognition. Government could carry messages by telegraph as well as by mail, and build and operate railroads as well as open and maintain common roads. With its present functions so reduced, it could do this without danger or strain, under the watch of a public attention that is now distracted. There would be a great and growing surplus revenue from the taxation of land values, because material progress, going on at a greatly accelerated pace, would keep increasing rent. This revenue from the common property could be used for the common benefit, as the revenues of Sparta were. We might not set up public tables, since they would be unnecessary. But we could set up public baths, museums, libraries, gardens, lecture rooms, music and dancing halls, theaters, universities, technical schools, shooting galleries, playgrounds, gymnasiums and the like. Heat, light and motive power, as well as water, might be piped through our streets at public expense. Our roads could be lined with fruit trees, discoverers and inventors rewarded, and scientific investigations supported. In a thousand ways the public revenues could foster efforts for the public benefit. We would reach the ideal of the socialist, but not through governmental repression. Government would change its character and become the administration of a great co-operative society. It would become merely the agency by which the common property was administered for the common benefit.

Does this seem impracticable? Consider for a moment455 the vast changes that would be wrought in social life by a change which would assure to labor its full reward; which would banish want and the fear of want; and give to the humblest freedom to develop in natural symmetry.

Does this seem impracticable? Consider for a moment455 the vast changes in social life that would follow from assuring labor its full reward. Want and the fear of want would be banished, and even the humblest would be free to develop in natural symmetry.

In thinking of the possibilities of social organization, we are apt to assume that greed is the strongest of human motives, and that systems of administration can be safely based only upon the idea that the fear of punishment is necessary to keep men honest—that selfish interests are always stronger than general interests. Nothing could be further from the truth.

When we think about how society might be organized, we tend to assume that greed is the strongest human motive. We assume systems of administration can be safely based only on the idea that fear of punishment keeps men honest, and that selfish interests always beat general interests. Nothing could be further from the truth.

From whence springs this lust for gain, to gratify which men tread everything pure and noble under their feet; to which they sacrifice all the higher possibilities of life; which converts civility into a hollow pretense, patriotism into a sham, and religion into hypocrisy; which makes so much of civilized existence an Ishmaelitish warfare, of which the weapons are cunning and fraud?

Where does this lust for gain come from? Men trample everything pure and noble underfoot to satisfy it and sacrifice all the higher possibilities of life to it. It turns civility into hollow pretense, patriotism into a sham and religion into hypocrisy. It makes so much of civilized existence a warfare of every man against his neighbor, fought with the weapons of cunning and fraud.

Does it not spring from the existence of want? Carlyle somewhere says that poverty is the hell of which the modern Englishman is most afraid. And he is right. Poverty is the open-mouthed, relentless hell which yawns beneath civilized society. And it is hell enough. The Vedas declare no truer thing than when the wise crow Bushanda tells the eagle-bearer of Vishnu that the keenest pain is in poverty. For poverty is not merely deprivation; it means shame, degradation; the searing of the most sensitive parts of our moral and mental nature as with hot irons; the denial of the strongest impulses and the sweetest affections; the wrenching of the most vital nerves. You love your wife, you love your children; but would it not be easier to see them die than to see them reduced to the pinch of want in which large classes in every highly civilized community live? The strongest of animal passions is that with which we cling to life,456 but it is an everyday occurrence in civilized societies for men to put poison to their mouths or pistols to their heads from fear of poverty, and for one who does this there are probably a hundred who have the desire, but are restrained by instinctive shrinking, by religious considerations, or by family ties.

Does it not spring from the existence of want? Carlyle says somewhere that poverty is the hell the modern Englishman fears most. He is right. Poverty is the open-mouthed, relentless hell that yawns beneath civilized society, and it is hell enough. The Vedas say nothing truer than when the wise crow Bushanda tells the eagle-bearer of Vishnu that the keenest pain is in poverty. For poverty is not mere deprivation. It means shame and degradation. It sears the most sensitive parts of our moral and mental nature as with hot irons, denies our strongest impulses and sweetest affections, and wrenches the most vital nerves. You love your wife and your children. But would it not be easier to see them die than to see them reduced to the pinch of want in which large classes in every highly civilized community live? The strongest animal passion is the one by which we cling to life,456 yet in civilized societies men commonly put poison to their lips or pistols to their heads from fear of poverty. For each who does, there are probably a hundred who want to but are held back by instinctive shrinking, religion or family ties.

From this hell of poverty, it is but natural that men should make every effort to escape. With the impulse to self-preservation and self-gratification combine nobler feelings, and love as well as fear urges in the struggle. Many a man does a mean thing, a dishonest thing, a greedy and grasping and unjust thing, in the effort to place above want, or the fear of want, mother or wife or children.

It is natural that men should make every effort to escape this hell of poverty. Nobler feelings join the impulses of self-preservation and self-gratification, and love urges the struggle as much as fear. Many a man does a mean, dishonest, greedy, grasping and unjust thing in the effort to lift his mother, wife or children above want, or the fear of want.

And out of this condition of things arises a public opinion which enlists, as an impelling power in the struggle to grasp and to keep, one of the strongest—perhaps with many men the very strongest—springs of human action. The desire for approbation, the feeling that urges us to win the respect, admiration, or sympathy of our fellows, is instinctive and universal. Distorted sometimes into the most abnormal manifestations, it may yet be everywhere perceived. It is potent with the veriest savage, as with the most highly cultivated member of the most polished society; it shows itself with the first gleam of intelligence, and persists to the last breath. It triumphs over the love of ease, over the sense of pain, over the dread of death. It dictates the most trivial and the most important actions.

Out of this arises a public opinion that adds to the struggle to grasp and to keep one of the strongest springs of human action, perhaps with many men the very strongest. That is the desire for approbation, the urge to win the respect, admiration or sympathy of our fellows. It is instinctive and universal. Sometimes it is distorted into the most abnormal forms, but it can be seen everywhere. It is as powerful in the veriest savage as in the most highly cultivated member of the most polished society. It shows itself with the first gleam of intelligence and lasts to the final breath. It triumphs over the love of ease, over the sense of pain and over the dread of death. It dictates the most trivial actions and the most important.

The child just beginning to toddle or to talk will make new efforts as its cunning little tricks excite attention and laughter; the dying master of the world gathers his robes around him, that he may pass away as becomes a king; Chinese mothers will deform their daughters’ feet by cruel stocks, European women will sacrifice their own comfort and the comfort of their families to similar457 dictates of fashion; the Polynesian, that he may excite admiration by his beautiful tattoo, will hold himself still while his flesh is torn by sharks’ teeth; the North American Indian, tied to the stake, will bear the most fiendish tortures without a moan, and, that he may be respected and admired as a great brave, will taunt his tormentors to new cruelties. It is this that leads the forlorn hope; it is this that trims the lamp of the pale student; it is this that impels men to strive, to strain, to toil, and to die. It is this that raised the pyramids and that fired the Ephesian dome.

The child just beginning to toddle or talk makes new efforts as its cunning little tricks draw attention and laughter. The dying master of the world gathers his robes around him so that he may pass away as a king should. Chinese mothers deform their daughters’ feet in cruel stocks. European women sacrifice their own comfort and their families’ to the similar457 dictates of fashion. The Polynesian, to win admiration for his beautiful tattoo, holds still while his flesh is torn by sharks’ teeth. The North American Indian, tied to the stake, bears the most fiendish tortures without a moan. He taunts his tormentors to new cruelties so that he may be respected and admired as a great brave. This is what leads the forlorn hope. This is what trims the lamp of the pale student. This is what drives men to strive, to strain, to toil and to die. It raised the pyramids and fired the Ephesian dome.

Now, men admire what they desire. How sweet to the storm-stricken seems the safe harbor; food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, warmth to the shivering, rest to the weary, power to the weak, knowledge to him in whom the intellectual yearnings of the soul have been aroused. And thus the sting of want and the fear of want make men admire above all things the possession of riches, and to become wealthy is to become respected, and admired, and influential. Get money—honestly, if you can, but at any rate get money! This is the lesson that society is daily and hourly dinning in the ears of its members. Men instinctively admire virtue and truth, but the sting of want and the fear of want make them even more strongly admire the rich and sympathize with the fortunate. It is well to be honest and just, and men will commend it; but he who by fraud and injustice gets him a million dollars will have more respect, and admiration, and influence, more eye service and lip service, if not heart service, than he who refuses it. The one may have his reward in the future; he may know that his name is writ in the Book of Life, and that for him is the white robe and the palm branch of the victor against temptation; but the other has his reward in the present. His name is writ in the list of “our substantial citizens;” he has the courtship of men and the flattery of women;458 the best pew in the church and the personal regard of the eloquent clergyman who in the name of Christ preaches the Gospel of Dives, and tones down into a meaningless flower of Eastern speech the stern metaphor of the camel and the needle’s eye. He may be a patron of arts, a Mæcenas to men of letters; may profit by the converse of the intelligent, and be polished by the attrition of the refined. His alms may feed the poor, and help the struggling, and bring sunshine into desolate places; and noble public institutions commemorate, after he is gone, his name and his fame. It is not in the guise of a hideous monster, with horns and tail, that Satan tempts the children of men, but as an angel of light. His promises are not alone of the kingdoms of the world, but of mental and moral principalities and powers. He appeals not only to the animal appetites, but to the cravings that stir in man because he is more than an animal.

Now, men admire what they desire. How sweet the safe harbor seems to the storm-stricken, food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, warmth to the shivering, rest to the weary, power to the weak. So is knowledge to one whose soul’s intellectual yearnings have been aroused. So the sting of want and the fear of want make men admire the possession of riches above all things. To become wealthy is to become respected, admired and influential. Get money, honestly if you can, but at any rate get money! This is the lesson society dins daily and hourly into its members’ ears. Men instinctively admire virtue and truth, but the sting of want and the fear of want make them admire the rich even more and sympathize with the fortunate. It is well to be honest and just, and men will commend it. But a man who gets a million dollars by fraud and injustice will have more respect, admiration and influence, more eye service and lip service, if not heart service, than one who refuses it. The honest man may have his reward in the future. He may know his name is written in the Book of Life, and that the white robe and the palm branch of the victor over temptation are his. But the other has his reward in the present. His name is written in the list of “our substantial citizens.” Men court him and women flatter him.458 He has the best pew in the church and the personal regard of the eloquent clergyman. In the name of Christ, that clergyman preaches the Gospel of Dives and tones the stern metaphor of the camel and the needle’s eye down into a meaningless flower of Eastern speech. He may be a patron of the arts, a Mæcenas to men of letters. He may profit by the conversation of the intelligent and be polished by the friction of the refined. His alms may feed the poor, help the struggling and bring sunshine into desolate places, and noble public institutions may commemorate his name and fame after he is gone. Satan does not tempt the children of men in the guise of a hideous monster with horns and tail, but as an angel of light. His promises are not only of the kingdoms of the world, but of mental and moral principalities and powers. He appeals not only to the animal appetites but to the cravings that stir in man because he is more than an animal.

Take the case of those miserable “men with muckrakes,” who are to be seen in every community as plainly as Bunyan saw their type in his vision—who, long after they have accumulated wealth enough to satisfy every desire, go on working, scheming, striving to add riches to riches. It was the desire “to be something;” nay, in many cases, the desire to do noble and generous deeds, that started them on a career of money getting. And what compels them to it long after every possible need is satisfied, what urges them still with unsatisfied and ravenous greed, is not merely the force of tyrannous habit, but the subtler gratifications which the possession of riches gives—the sense of power and influence, the sense of being looked up to and respected, the sense that their wealth not merely raises them above want, but makes them men of mark in the community in which they live. It is this that makes the rich man so loath to part with his money, so anxious to get more.

Take those miserable “men with muckrakes,” who can be seen in every community as plainly as Bunyan saw their type in his vision. Long after they have gathered wealth enough to satisfy every desire, they go on working, scheming and striving to add riches to riches. It was the desire “to be something” that started them on a career of money getting, and in many cases even the desire to do noble and generous deeds. What compels them to continue long after every possible need is satisfied, and urges them on with unsatisfied and ravenous greed, is not merely the force of tyrannous habit. It is the subtler gratifications riches give: the sense of power and influence, of being looked up to and respected, of being men of mark in their community and not merely raised above want. This is what makes the rich man so loath to part with his money and so anxious to get more.

Against temptations that thus appeal to the strongest impulses of our nature, the sanctions of law and the precepts of religion can effect but little; and the wonder is, not that men are so self-seeking, but that they are not much more so. That under present circumstances men are not more grasping, more unfaithful, more selfish than they are, proves the goodness and fruitfulness of human nature, the ceaseless flow of the perennial fountains from which its moral qualities are fed. All of us have mothers; most of us have children, and so faith, and purity, and unselfishness can never be utterly banished from the world, howsoever bad be social adjustments.

Against temptations that appeal to the strongest impulses of our nature, the sanctions of law and the precepts of religion can do little. The wonder is not that men are so self-seeking, but that they are not much more so. That men are no more grasping, unfaithful and selfish than they are under present circumstances proves the goodness and fruitfulness of human nature. It shows the ceaseless flow of the perennial fountains that feed its moral qualities. All of us have mothers, and most of us have children. So faith, purity and unselfishness can never be utterly banished from the world, however bad the social adjustments.

But whatever is potent for evil may be made potent for good. The change I have proposed would destroy the conditions that distort impulses in themselves beneficent, and would transmute the forces which now tend to disintegrate society into forces which would tend to unite and purify it.

But whatever is potent for evil may be made potent for good. The change I have proposed would destroy the conditions that distort impulses good in themselves. It would turn the forces that now tend to break society apart into forces that tend to unite and purify it.

Give labor a free field and its full earnings; take for the benefit of the whole community that fund which the growth of the community creates, and want and the fear of want would be gone. The springs of production would be set free, and the enormous increase of wealth would give the poorest ample comfort. Men would no more worry about finding employment than they worry about finding air to breathe; they need have no more care about physical necessities than do the lilies of the field. The progress of science, the march of invention, the diffusion of knowledge, would bring their benefits to all.

Give labor a free field and its full earnings. Take for the benefit of the whole community the fund that the community’s growth creates. Then want and the fear of want would be gone. The springs of production would be set free, and the enormous increase of wealth would give the poorest ample comfort. Men would no more worry about finding employment than they worry about finding air to breathe. They would need no more care about physical necessities than the lilies of the field. The progress of science, the march of invention and the spread of knowledge would bring their benefits to all.

With this abolition of want and the fear of want, the admiration of riches would decay, and men would seek the respect and approbation of their fellows in other modes than by the acquisition and display of wealth. In this way there would be brought to the management of public affairs, and the administration of common funds,460 the skill, the attention, the fidelity, and integrity that can now be secured only for private interests, and a railroad or gas works might be operated on public account, not only more economically and efficiently than as at present, under joint stock management, but as economically and efficiently as would be possible under a single ownership. The prize of the Olympian games, that called forth the most strenuous exertions of all Greece, was but a wreath of wild olive; for a bit of ribbon men have over and over again performed services no money could have bought.

With want and the fear of want abolished, the admiration of riches would fade, and men would seek the respect of their fellows in other ways than acquiring and displaying wealth. Then the management of public affairs and common funds460 would get the skill, attention, fidelity and integrity that can now be had only for private interests. A railroad or gas works could be run on public account. It would run more economically and efficiently than now, under joint stock management, and as economically and efficiently as under a single owner. The prize of the Olympian games, which called forth the most strenuous exertions of all Greece, was only a wreath of wild olive. For a bit of ribbon men have over and over again performed services no money could have bought.

Shortsighted is the philosophy which counts on selfishness as the master motive of human action. It is blind to facts of which the world is full. It sees not the present, and reads not the past aright. If you would move men to action, to what shall you appeal? Not to their pockets, but to their patriotism; not to selfishness, but to sympathy. Self-interest is, as it were, a mechanical force—potent, it is true; capable of large and wide results. But there is in human nature what may be likened to a chemical force; which melts and fuses and overwhelms; to which nothing seems impossible. “All that a man hath will he give for his life”—that is self-interest. But in loyalty to higher impulses men will give even life.

Shortsighted is the philosophy that counts on selfishness as the master motive of human action. It is blind to facts the world is full of. It does not see the present and does not read the past rightly. If you would move men to action, to what should you appeal? Not to their pockets but to their patriotism, not to selfishness but to sympathy. Self-interest is, so to speak, a mechanical force. It is potent, and capable of large and wide results. But human nature also holds what may be likened to a chemical force, which melts and fuses and overwhelms, and to which nothing seems impossible. “All that a man hath will he give for his life”: that is self-interest. But in loyalty to higher impulses men will give even life.

It is not selfishness that enriches the annals of every people with heroes and saints. It is not selfishness that on every page of the world’s history bursts out in sudden splendor of noble deeds or sheds the soft radiance of benignant lives. It was not selfishness that turned Gautama’s back to his royal home or bade the Maid of Orleans lift the sword from the altar; that held the Three Hundred in the Pass of Thermopylæ, or gathered into Winkelried’s bosom the sheaf of spears; that chained Vincent de Paul to the bench of the galley, or brought little starving children, during the Indian461 famine, tottering to the relief stations with yet weaker starvelings in their arms. Call it religion, patriotism, sympathy, the enthusiasm for humanity, or the love of God—give it what name you will; there is yet a force which overcomes and drives out selfishness; a force which is the electricity of the moral universe; a force beside which all others are weak. Everywhere that men have lived it has shown its power, and to-day, as ever, the world is full of it. To be pitied is the man who has never seen and never felt it. Look around! among common men and women, amid the care and the struggle of daily life, in the jar of the noisy street and amid the squalor where want hides—every here and there is the darkness lighted with the tremulous play of its lambent flames. He who has not seen it has walked with shut eyes. He who looks may see, as says Plutarch, that “the soul has a principle of kindness in itself, and is born to love, as well as to perceive, think, or remember.”

It is not selfishness that fills the annals of every people with heroes and saints. It is not selfishness that on every page of the world’s history bursts out in sudden splendor of noble deeds or sheds the soft radiance of benevolent lives. It was not selfishness that turned Gautama’s back to his royal home, or told the Maid of Orleans to lift the sword from the altar. It did not hold the Three Hundred in the Pass of Thermopylæ or gather the sheaf of spears into Winkelried’s bosom. It did not chain Vincent de Paul to the bench of the galley. It did not bring little starving children, during the Indian461 famine, tottering to the relief stations with even weaker starvelings in their arms. Call it religion, patriotism, sympathy, enthusiasm for humanity or love of God; give it what name you will. There is still a force that overcomes and drives out selfishness, the electricity of the moral universe, and beside it all other forces are weak. Everywhere that men have lived it has shown its power, and today, as ever, the world is full of it. To be pitied is the man who has never seen and never felt it. Look around! Among common men and women, amid the struggle of daily life, in the noisy street and the squalor where want hides, its flames light the darkness here and there with a tremulous play. Whoever has not seen it has walked with shut eyes. Whoever looks may see, as Plutarch says, that “the soul has a principle of kindness in itself, and is born to love, as well as to perceive, think, or remember.”

And this force of forces—that now goes to waste or assumes perverted forms—we may use for the strengthening, and building up, and ennobling of society, if we but will, just as we now use physical forces that once seemed but powers of destruction. All we have to do is but to give it freedom and scope. The wrong that produces inequality; the wrong that in the midst of abundance tortures men with want or harries them with the fear of want; that stunts them physically, degrades them intellectually, and distorts them morally, is what alone prevents harmonious social development. For “all that is from the gods is full of providence. We are made for co-operation—like feet, like hands, like eyelids, like the rows of the upper and lower teeth.”

This force of forces now goes to waste or takes perverted forms. If we choose, we can use it to strengthen, build up and ennoble society, just as we now use physical forces that once seemed only powers of destruction. All we have to do is give it freedom and scope. The wrong that produces inequality is the one thing that prevents harmonious social development. It tortures men with want in the midst of abundance, or harries them with the fear of want. It stunts them physically, degrades them intellectually and distorts them morally. For “all that is from the gods is full of providence. We are made for co-operation, like feet, like hands, like eyelids, like the rows of the upper and lower teeth.”

There are people into whose heads it never enters to conceive of any better state of society than that which now exists—who imagine that the idea that there could be a state of society in which greed would be banished,462 prisons stand empty, individual interests be subordinated to general interests, and no one seek to rob or to oppress his neighbor, is but the dream of impracticable dreamers, for whom these practical level-headed men, who pride themselves on recognizing facts as they are, have a hearty contempt. But such men—though some of them write books, and some of them occupy the chairs of universities, and some of them stand in pulpits—do not think.

Some people never think of any better state of society than the present one. They imagine that a society without greed,462 with empty prisons, with individual interests subordinated to general interests and no one trying to rob or oppress his neighbor, is only the dream of impracticable dreamers. These practical, level-headed men pride themselves on seeing facts as they are, and they feel hearty contempt for such dreamers. But such men do not think, though some of them write books, some hold university chairs and some stand in pulpits.

If they were accustomed to dine in such eating houses as are to be found in the lower quarters of London and Paris, where the knives and forks are chained to the table, they would deem it the natural, ineradicable disposition of man to carry off the knife and fork with which he has eaten.

Suppose they dined in the eating houses of the lower quarters of London and Paris, where the knives and forks are chained to the table. They would think it man’s natural, ineradicable disposition to carry off the knife and fork he has eaten with.

Take a company of well-bred men and women dining together. There is no struggling for food, no attempt on the part of any one to get more than his neighbor; no attempt to gorge or to carry off. On the contrary, each one is anxious to help his neighbor before he partakes himself; to offer to others the best rather than pick it out for himself; and should any one show the slightest disposition to prefer the gratification of his own appetite to that of the others, or in any way to act the pig or pilferer, the swift and heavy penalty of social contempt and ostracism would show how such conduct is reprobated by common opinion.

Take a company of well-bred men and women dining together. No one struggles for food or tries to get more than his neighbor. No one tries to gorge or to carry off. On the contrary, each is anxious to help his neighbor before he helps himself and to offer others the best rather than pick it out for himself. If anyone showed the slightest inclination to put his own appetite first or to act the pig or pilferer, the swift and heavy penalty of social contempt and ostracism would show how common opinion condemns it.

All this is so common as to excite no remark, as to seem the natural state of things. Yet it is no more natural that men should not be greedy of food than that they should not be greedy of wealth. They are greedy of food when they are not assured that there will be a fair and equitable distribution which will give each enough. But when these conditions are assured, they cease to be greedy of food. And so in society, as at present constituted, men are greedy of wealth because the conditions of distribution are so unjust that instead463 of each being sure of enough, many are certain to be condemned to want. It is the “devil catch the hindmost” of present social adjustments that causes the race and scramble for wealth, in which all considerations of justice, mercy, religion, and sentiment are trampled under foot; in which men forget their own souls, and struggle to the very verge of the grave for what they cannot take beyond. But an equitable distribution of wealth, that would exempt all from the fear of want, would destroy the greed of wealth, just as in polite society the greed of food has been destroyed.

All this is so common that it excites no remark and seems the natural state of things. Yet it is no more natural for men not to be greedy of food than not to be greedy of wealth. They are greedy of food when they are not assured of a fair and equitable distribution that will give each enough. When that is assured, they cease to be greedy of food. So in society as now constituted, men are greedy of wealth because distribution is so unjust that, instead463 of each being sure of enough, many are certain to be condemned to want. It is the “devil catch the hindmost” of present social adjustments that causes the race and scramble for wealth. In it justice, mercy, religion and sentiment are trampled underfoot, and men forget their own souls and struggle to the verge of the grave for what they cannot take beyond. But an equitable distribution of wealth would free everyone from the fear of want. It would destroy the greed of wealth, just as in polite society the greed of food has been destroyed.

On the crowded steamers of the early California lines there was often a marked difference between the manners of the steerage and the cabin, which illustrates this principle of human nature. An abundance of food was provided for the steerage as for the cabin, but in the former there were no regulations which insured efficient service, and the meals became a scramble. In the cabin, on the contrary, where each was allotted his place and there was no fear that every one would not get enough, there was no such scrambling and waste as were witnessed in the steerage. The difference was not in the character of the people, but simply in this fact. The cabin passenger transferred to the steerage would participate in the greedy rush, and the steerage passenger transferred to the cabin would at once become decorous and polite. The same difference would show itself in society in general were the present unjust distribution of wealth replaced by a just distribution.

On the crowded steamers of the early California lines, the manners of the steerage and the cabin often differed markedly, which illustrates this principle of human nature. The steerage was given an abundance of food, as the cabin was. But the steerage had no rules to ensure efficient service, and meals became a scramble. In the cabin, each passenger had his allotted place and no fear that anyone would go without enough. There was none of the scrambling and waste seen in the steerage. The difference was not in the character of the people but simply in this fact. A cabin passenger moved to the steerage would join the greedy rush, and a steerage passenger moved to the cabin would at once become decorous and polite. The same difference would show itself in society at large if a just distribution of wealth replaced the present unjust one.

Consider this existing fact of a cultivated and refined society, in which all the coarser passions are held in check, not by force, not by law, but by common opinion and the mutual desire of pleasing. If this is possible for a part of a community, it is possible for a whole community. There are states of society in which every one has to go armed—in which every one has to hold him464self in readiness to defend person and property with the strong hand. If we have progressed beyond that, we may progress still further.

Consider the existing fact of a cultivated and refined society, where the coarser passions are held in check not by force or law but by common opinion and the mutual desire to please. If this is possible for part of a community, it is possible for a whole one. There are states of society in which everyone has to go armed and hold himself464 ready to defend person and property with the strong hand. If we have progressed beyond that, we may progress still further.

But it may be said, to banish want and the fear of want, would be to destroy the stimulus to exertion; men would become simply idlers, and such a happy state of general comfort and content would be the death of progress. This is the old slaveholders’ argument, that men can be driven to labor only with the lash. Nothing is more untrue.

But it may be said that banishing want and the fear of want would destroy the stimulus to exertion. Men would become simply idlers, and so happy a state of general comfort and content would be the death of progress. This is the old slaveholders’ argument, that men can be driven to labor only with the lash. Nothing is more untrue.

Want might be banished, but desire would remain. Man is the unsatisfied animal. He has but begun to explore, and the universe lies before him. Each step that he takes opens new vistas and kindles new desires. He is the constructive animal; he builds, he improves, he invents, and puts together, and the greater the thing he does, the greater the thing he wants to do. He is more than an animal. Whatever be the intelligence that breathes through nature, it is in that likeness that man is made. The steamship, driven by her throbbing engines through the sea, is in kind, though not in degree, as much a creation as the whale that swims beneath. The telescope and the microscope, what are they but added eyes, which man has made for himself; the soft webs and fair colors in which our women array themselves, do they not answer to the plumage that nature gives the bird? Man must be doing something, or fancy that he is doing something, for in him throbs the creative impulse; the mere basker in the sunshine is not a natural, but an abnormal man.

Want might be banished, but desire would remain. Man is the unsatisfied animal. He has only begun to explore, and the universe lies before him. Each step he takes opens new vistas and kindles new desires. He is the constructive animal. He builds, improves, invents and puts together, and the greater the thing he does, the greater the thing he wants to do. He is more than an animal. Whatever the intelligence that breathes through nature, man is made in its likeness. The steamship, driven through the sea by her throbbing engines, is in kind, though not in degree, as much a creation as the whale that swims beneath. The telescope and the microscope are only added eyes that man has made for himself. The soft webs and fair colors in which our women dress answer to the plumage nature gives the bird. Man must be doing something, or imagine he is, for the creative impulse throbs in him. The mere basker in the sunshine is not a natural man but an abnormal one.

As soon as a child can command its muscles, it will begin to make mud pies or dress a doll; its play is but the imitation of the work of its elders; its very destructiveness arises from the desire to be doing something, from the satisfaction of seeing itself accomplish something. There is no such thing as the pursuit of pleasure for the465 sake of pleasure. Our very amusements amuse only as they are, or simulate, the learning or the doing of something. The moment they cease to appeal either to our inquisitive or to our constructive powers, they cease to amuse. It will spoil the interest of the novel reader to be told just how the story will end; it is only the chance and the skill involved in the game that enable the card-player to “kill time” by shuffling bits of pasteboard. The luxurious frivolities of Versailles were possible to human beings only because the king thought he was governing a kingdom and the courtiers were in pursuit of fresh honors and new pensions. People who lead what are called lives of fashion and pleasure must have some other object in view, or they would die of ennui; they support it only because they imagine that they are gaining position, making friends, or improving the chances of their children. Shut a man up, and deny him employment, and he must either die or go mad.

As soon as a child can command its muscles, it begins to make mud pies or dress a doll. Its play only imitates the work of its elders, and even its destructiveness comes from the desire to be doing something and the satisfaction of seeing itself accomplish something. There is no such thing as pursuing pleasure for the465 sake of pleasure. Our amusements amuse only as they are, or imitate, the learning or doing of something. The moment they stop appealing to our inquisitive or constructive powers, they stop amusing. Tell a novel reader exactly how the story ends and you spoil his interest. Only the chance and skill in the game let the card-player “kill time” by shuffling bits of pasteboard. The luxurious frivolities of Versailles were possible for human beings only because the king thought he was governing a kingdom and the courtiers were pursuing fresh honors and new pensions. People who lead what are called lives of fashion and pleasure must have some other object in view or they would die of ennui. They endure it only because they imagine they are gaining position, making friends or improving their children’s chances. Shut a man up and deny him employment, and he must either die or go mad.

It is not labor in itself that is repugnant to man; it is not the natural necessity for exertion which is a curse. It is only labor which produces nothing—exertion of which he cannot see the results. To toil day after day, and yet get but the necessaries of life, this is indeed hard; it is like the infernal punishment of compelling a man to pump lest he be drowned, or to trudge on a treadmill lest he be crushed. But, released from this necessity, men would but work the harder and the better, for then they would work as their inclinations led them; then would they seem to be really doing something for themselves or for others. Was Humboldt’s life an idle one? Did Franklin find no occupation when he retired from the printing business with enough to live on? Is Herbert Spencer a laggard? Did Michael Angelo paint for board and clothes?

What repels man is not labor in itself, and the natural necessity for exertion is not a curse. What repels him is only labor that produces nothing, exertion whose results he cannot see. To toil day after day and still get only the necessaries of life is indeed hard. It is like the infernal punishment of making a man pump lest he drown, or trudge on a treadmill lest he be crushed. But released from this necessity, men would work harder and better. They would work as their inclinations led them and would seem to be really doing something for themselves or others. Was Humboldt’s life an idle one? Did Franklin find no occupation when he retired from the printing business with enough to live on? Is Herbert Spencer a laggard? Did Michael Angelo paint for board and clothes?

The fact is that the work which improves the condition of mankind, the work which extends knowledge and466 increases power, and enriches literature, and elevates thought, is not done to secure a living. It is not the work of slaves, driven to their task either by the lash of a master or by animal necessities. It is the work of men who perform it for its own sake, and not that they may get more to eat or drink, or wear, or display. In a state of society where want was abolished, work of this sort would be enormously increased.

The fact is that the work that improves the condition of mankind, extends knowledge466 and increases power, enriches literature and elevates thought is not done to secure a living. It is not the work of slaves driven to their task by a master’s lash or by animal necessities. It is the work of men who do it for its own sake, not to get more to eat or drink or wear or display. In a society where want was abolished, work of this sort would increase enormously.

I am inclined to think that the result of confiscating rent in the manner I have proposed would be to cause the organization of labor, wherever large capitals were used, to assume the co-operative form, since the more equal diffusion of wealth would unite capitalist and laborer in the same person. But whether this would be so or not is of little moment. The hard toil of routine labor would disappear. Wages would be too high and opportunities too great to compel any man to stint and starve the higher qualities of his nature, and in every avocation the brain would aid the hand. Work, even of the coarser kinds, would become a lightsome thing, and the tendency of modern production to subdivision would not involve monotony or the contraction of ability in the worker; but would be relieved by short hours, by change, by the alternation of intellectual with manual occupations. There would result, not only the utilization of productive forces now going to waste; not only would our present knowledge, now so imperfectly applied, be fully used; but from the mobility of labor and the mental activity which would be generated, there would result advances in the methods of production that we now cannot imagine.

I am inclined to think that confiscating rent as I have proposed would make labor co-operative wherever large capitals were used. A more equal spread of wealth would unite capitalist and laborer in the same person. But whether that happened matters little. The hard toil of routine labor would disappear. Wages would be too high and opportunities too great to force any man to stint and starve the higher qualities of his nature, and in every occupation the brain would aid the hand. Work, even of the coarser kinds, would become a lightsome thing. The tendency of modern production toward subdivision would not mean monotony or narrowed ability in the worker, because short hours, change, and alternating intellectual and manual occupations would relieve it. The result would be not only the use of productive forces now going to waste and the full use of our present knowledge, now so imperfectly applied. The mobility of labor and the mental activity it would generate would also bring advances in production that we cannot now imagine.

For, greatest of all the enormous wastes which the present constitution of society involves, is that of mental power. How infinitesimal are the forces that concur to the advance of civilization, as compared to the forces that lie latent! How few are the thinkers, the discover467ers, the inventors, the organizers, as compared with the great mass of the people! Yet such men are born in plenty; it is the conditions that permit so few to develop. There are among men infinite diversities of aptitude and inclination, as there are such infinite diversities in physical structure that among a million there will not be two that cannot be told apart. But, both from observation and reflection, I am inclined to think that the differences of natural power are no greater than the differences of stature or of physical strength. Turn to the lives of great men, and see how easily they might never have been heard of. Had Cæsar come of a proletarian family; had Napoleon entered the world a few years earlier; had Columbus gone into the Church instead of going to sea; had Shakespeare been apprenticed to a cobbler or chimney-sweep; had Sir Isaac Newton been assigned by fate the education and the toil of an agricultural laborer; had Dr. Adam Smith been born in the coal hews, or Herbert Spencer forced to get his living as a factory operative, what would their talents have availed? But there would have been, it will be said, other Cæsars or Napoleons, Columbuses or Shakespeares, Newtons, Smiths or Spencers. This is true. And it shows how prolific is our human nature. As the common worker is on need transformed into queen bee, so, when circumstances favor his development, what might otherwise pass for a common man rises into a hero or leader, discoverer or teacher, sage or saint. So widely has the sower scattered the seed, so strong is the germinative force that bids it bud and blossom. But, alas, for the stony ground, and the birds and the tares! For one who attains his full stature, how many are stunted and deformed.

For the greatest of all the enormous wastes in the present constitution of society is the waste of mental power. How tiny are the forces that work for the advance of civilization, compared with the forces that lie latent! How few are the thinkers, discoverers467, inventors and organizers, compared with the great mass of the people! Yet such men are born in plenty. It is the conditions that let so few develop. Men differ infinitely in aptitude and inclination, as they differ so infinitely in physical structure that among a million there will not be two who cannot be told apart. But from both observation and reflection, I am inclined to think that differences of natural power are no greater than differences of stature or physical strength. Turn to the lives of great men and see how easily they might never have been heard of. Suppose Cæsar had come of a proletarian family, or Napoleon had entered the world a few years earlier. Suppose Columbus had gone into the Church instead of to sea, or Shakespeare had been apprenticed to a cobbler or chimney-sweep. Suppose Sir Isaac Newton had been given the education and toil of an agricultural laborer, Dr. Adam Smith had been born in the coal hews, or Herbert Spencer had been forced to earn his living as a factory operative. What would their talents have availed? But there would have been, it will be said, other Cæsars or Napoleons, Columbuses or Shakespeares, Newtons, Smiths or Spencers. This is true, and it shows how prolific human nature is. As the common worker bee is made a queen bee when need arises, so a man who might pass for common rises, when circumstances favor him, into a hero or leader, discoverer or teacher, sage or saint. So widely has the sower scattered the seed, and so strong is the germinative force that bids it bud and blossom. But alas for the stony ground, and the birds and the tares! For one who reaches his full stature, how many are stunted and deformed.

The will within us is the ultimate fact of consciousness. Yet how little have the best of us, in acquirements, in position, even in character, that may be cred468ited entirely to ourselves; how much to the influences that have molded us. Who is there, wise, learned, discreet, or strong, who might not, were he to trace the inner history of his life, turn, like the Stoic Emperor, to give thanks to the gods, that by this one and that one, and here and there, good examples have been set him, noble thoughts have reached him, and happy opportunities opened before him. Who is there, who, with his eyes about him, has reached the meridian of life, who has not sometimes echoed the thought of the pious Englishman, as the criminal passed to the gallows, “But for the grace of God, there go I.” How little does heredity count as compared with conditions. This one, we say, is the result of a thousand years of European progress, and that one of a thousand years of Chinese petrifaction; yet, placed an infant in the heart of China, and but for the angle of the eye or the shade of the hair, the Caucasian would grow up as those around him, using the same speech, thinking the same thoughts, exhibiting the same tastes. Change Lady Vere de Vere in her cradle with an infant of the slums, and will the blood of a hundred earls give you a refined and cultured woman?

The will within us is the ultimate fact of consciousness. Yet how little of what the best of us have, in acquirements, position and even character, can be credited468 entirely to ourselves, and how much to the influences that have molded us. Who is wise, learned, discreet or strong who might not, tracing the inner history of his life, turn like the Stoic Emperor to thank the gods? Here and there, this one and that one set him good examples, brought him noble thoughts and opened happy opportunities. Who has reached the meridian of life with his eyes open and not sometimes echoed the pious Englishman as the criminal passed to the gallows: “But for the grace of God, there go I”? How little heredity counts compared with conditions. We say that this one is the result of a thousand years of European progress and that one of a thousand years of Chinese petrifaction. Yet place a Caucasian infant in the heart of China, and but for the angle of the eye or the shade of the hair, he would grow up like those around him. He would speak the same speech, think the same thoughts and show the same tastes. Change Lady Vere de Vere in her cradle with an infant of the slums, and will the blood of a hundred earls give you a refined and cultured woman?

To remove want and the fear of want, to give to all classes leisure, and comfort, and independence, the decencies and refinements of life, the opportunities of mental and moral development, would be like turning water into a desert. The sterile waste would clothe itself with verdure, and the barren places where life seemed banned would ere long be dappled with the shade of trees and musical with the song of birds. Talents now hidden, virtues unsuspected, would come forth to make human life richer, fuller, happier, nobler. For in these round men who are stuck into three-cornered holes, and three-cornered men who are jammed into round holes; in these men who are wasting their energies in the scramble to be rich; in these who in factories are turned into ma469chines, or are chained by necessity to bench or plow; in these children who are growing up in squalor, and vice, and ignorance, are powers of the highest order, talents the most splendid. They need but the opportunity to bring them forth.

To remove want and the fear of want, and give all classes leisure, comfort, independence, refinement and the opportunity to develop mentally and morally, would be like turning water into a desert. The sterile waste would turn green, and the barren places where life seemed banned would soon be dappled with the shade of trees and musical with the song of birds. Talents now hidden and virtues now unsuspected would come forth to make human life richer, fuller, happier and nobler. For powers of the highest order and the most splendid talents lie in these round men stuck into three-cornered holes and three-cornered men jammed into round holes. They lie in men who waste their energies in the scramble to be rich. They lie in those turned into machines469 in factories or chained by necessity to bench or plow, and in children growing up in squalor, vice and ignorance. They need only the opportunity to bring them forth.

Consider the possibilities of a state of society that gave that opportunity to all. Let imagination fill out the picture; its colors grow too bright for words to paint. Consider the moral elevation, the intellectual activity, the social life. Consider how by a thousand actions and interactions the members of every community are linked together, and how in the present condition of things even the fortunate few who stand upon the apex of the social pyramid must suffer, though they know it not, from the want, ignorance, and degradation that are underneath. Consider these things and then say whether the change I propose would not be for the benefit of every one—even the greatest land holder? Would he not be safer of the future of his children in leaving them penniless in such a state of society than in leaving them the largest fortune in this? Did such a state of society anywhere exist, would he not buy entrance to it cheaply by giving up all his possessions?

Consider the possibilities of a society that gave that opportunity to all. Let imagination fill out the picture, though its colors grow too bright for words to paint. Consider the moral elevation, the intellectual activity, the social life. Consider how a thousand actions and interactions link the members of every community together. Consider how even the fortunate few at the top of the social pyramid now suffer, though they know it not, from the want, ignorance and degradation underneath. Consider these things, and then say whether the change I propose would not benefit everyone, even the greatest land holder. Would he not be safer about his children’s future leaving them penniless in such a society than leaving them the largest fortune in this one? If such a society existed anywhere, would he not buy his way into it cheaply by giving up all his possessions?

I have now traced to their source social weakness and disease. I have shown the remedy. I have covered every point and met every objection. But the problems that we have been considering, great as they are, pass into problems greater yet—into the grandest problems with which the human mind can grapple. I am about to ask the reader who has gone with me so far, to go with me further, into still higher fields. But I ask him to remember that in the little space which remains of the limits to which this book must be confined, I cannot fully treat the questions which arise. I can but suggest some thoughts, which may, perhaps, serve as hints for further thought.

I have now traced social weakness and disease to their source. I have shown the remedy. I have covered every point and met every objection. But the problems we have been considering, great as they are, pass into greater ones, the grandest the human mind can grapple with. I am about to ask the reader who has come this far to go further with me, into still higher fields. But I ask him to remember that in the little space left within the limits of this book, I cannot fully treat the questions that arise. I can only suggest some thoughts that may serve as hints for further thought.