It is possible to succeed in a manner in portraying to ourselves the life of past times: that is, our imaginations will show us a picture of them which may include such accurate information as we may have of them. But though this may be a vivid delineation, and though the information may be just, yet it will not be a picture of what really took place; it will be made up of the present which we experience, and the past which our imagination, drawing from our experience, conceives of—in short, it will be our picture of the past. If this be the case with the past, of which we have some concrete data, still more strongly may it be said of the future, of 288 which we have none, nothing but mere abstract deductions from historic evolution, the logical sequence of which may be interfered with at any point by elements whose force we have not duly appreciated; and these are abstractions also which are but the skeleton of the full life which will go on in those times to come.
Therefore, though we have no doubt of the transformation of modern civilisation into Socialism, yet we cannot foretell definitely what form the social life of the future will take, any more than a man living at the beginning of the commercial period, say Sir Thomas More or Lord Bacon, could foresee the state of society at the end of the nineteenth century.
Admitting that we are unable to realise positively the life of the future, in which the principle of real society will be universally accepted and applied in practice as an everyday matter, yet the negative side of the question we can all see, and most of us cannot help trying to fill up the void made by the necessary termination of the merely militant period of 289 Socialism. The present society will be gone, with all its paraphernalia of checks and safeguards; that we know for certain. No less surely we know what the foundation of the new society will be. What will the new society build on that foundation of freedom and co-operation? That is the problem on which we can do no more than speculate.
It must be understood therefore that in giving this outline of the life of the future, we are not dogmatising, but only expressing our opinion of what will probably happen, which is of course coloured by our personal wishes and hopes. We ask our readers, therefore, not to suppose that we have here any intention of making a statement of facts, or prophesying in detail the exact form which things will take; though in the main, what we here write will be accepted by the majority of Socialists.
As to the political side of the new society, civilisation undertakes the government of persons by direct coercion. Socialism would deal primarily with the administration of things, and only secondarily and indirectly would have to do 290 with personal habit and conduct. Civil law, therefore, which is an institution essentially based on private property, would cease to exist, and criminal law, which would tend to become obsolete, would, while it existed, concern itself solely with the protection of the person. It is clear, therefore, that there is no foundation for the outcry sometimes raised against Socialism for proposing to interfere with the liberty of the individual, which would be, in fact, only limited by the natural and inevitable restrictions of individual will incident to all societies whatever.
As to the machinery by means of which this administration of things would be carried out, we ask our readers to try to conceive of some such conditions as these.
As we hinted in our last chapter, during the transitional period the federal principle would assert itself; and this, we believe, would develop at last into a complete automatic system.
As indicated above, this principle would work in a twofold way. First, locally, as determined by geographical 291 and topographical position, race, and language. Second, industrially, as determined by the occupations of people. Topographically, we conceive of the township as the lowest unit; industrially, of the trade or occupation organised somewhat on the lines of a craft-guild. In many instances the local branch of the guild would be within the limits of the township.
On the other hand, the highest unit would be the great council of the socialised world, and between these would be federations of localities arranged for convenience of administration. The great federal organising power, whatever form it took, would have the function of the administration of production in its wider sense. It would have to see to, for instance, the collection and distribution of all information as to the wants of populations and the possibilities of supplying them, leaving all details to the subordinate bodies, local and industrial. But also it would be its necessary duty to safeguard the then recognised principles of society; that is, to guard against any country, or place, or occupation reverting 292 to methods or practices which would be destructive or harmful to the socialistic order, such as any form of the exploitation of labour, if that were possible, or the establishment of any vindictive criminal law. Though in the lower units of this great Federation direct expression of opinion would suffice for carrying on the administration, we cannot see any other means than delegation for doing the work of the higher circles. This means that the development of society beyond what we may call the administrative period cannot be foreseen as yet.
We now deal with the religious and ethical basis of which the life of communal society may be called an expression; although from another aspect the religion is an expression of that life—the two thus forming a harmonious whole.
The word religion is still in most minds connected with supernatural beliefs, and consequently its use has been thought unjustifiable where this element is absent. But, as we shall proceed to show, this element is rather accessory to it than essential.
At first religion had for its object the 293 continuance and glory of the kinship-society, whether as clan, tribe, or people, ancestor-worship forming the leading feature in its early phases. That religion should then have been connected with what we now call superstition was inevitable, since no distinction was drawn between human and other forms of existence in animal life or in inanimate objects, all being alike considered conscious and intelligent.
Consequently, with the development of material civilisation from the domination of things by persons to that of persons by things, and the falling asunder of society into two classes, a possessing and dominating class, and a non-possessing and dominated one, there arose a condition of life which gave leisure for observation and reflection to the former, that is, the privileged class. Out of this reflection arose, the distinction of man as a conscious being apart from the rest of nature. From this again was developed a dual conception of things: on the one hand was man, familiar and known; on the other nature, 294 mysterious and relatively unknown. In nature itself there grew up a further distinction between its visible objects, now regarded as unconscious things, and a supposed motive power or “providence” acting on them from behind. This was conceived of as man-like in character, but above mankind in knowledge and power, and no longer indwelling in natural objects, but without them, moving and controlling them.
Another set of dual conceptions arose along with this: firstly, the distinction between the individual and society, and secondly, within the individual, the distinction between the soul and the body. Religion now became definitely supernatural, and at last superstitious, in the true sense of the word (superstites, surviving), as far as the cultured class was concerned, since it had gradually lost its old habit of belief in it.
At this stage there arose a conflict not only of belief but also of ethical conceptions; the ceremonies and customs based on the earlier ideas of a nature composed of beings who were all conscious, became meaningless and in many cases repulsive 295 to the advanced minds of the epoch; hence was born a system of esoteric explanation, often embodied in certain secret ceremonials termed Mysteries. These Mysteries were a cultus embodying a practice of the ancient rude ceremonies, treated as revelations to certain privileged persons of this hidden meaning, which could not be understood by the vulgar. That is, people began to assume that the ancient rude and sometimes coarse ceremonies (belief in which directly as explanations of actual events now appeared to them incredible) wrapped up mystical meanings in an allegorical manner; e.g. a simple sun-myth would be turned into an allegory of the soul and the divinity,—their relative dealings with a present and future life. An importance began to be attached to the idea of such future life for the individual soul, which had nothing in common with the old existence of a scarcely broken continuity of life, founded not on any positive doctrine, but on the impossibility of an existing being conceiving of its non-existence. This idea is naively expressed in the burial ceremonies of all 296 early races, in which food, horses, arms, etc., are interred with the dead man as a provision for his journey to the unknown country. Similar notions, and the doctrines and ceremonies embodying them, grow in number and bulk as the stream of history broadens down, till they finally issue in the universal or ethical religions (as opposed to the tribal or nature-religions). Of these religions Buddhism and Christianity are the great historical examples, and in them the original ceremonies and their meanings have become fused with each other, and with the new ethics, which they are supposed to express more or less symbolically. An illustration of what has here been said may be found in the fusion of the ancient notions of sacrifice in the Christian dogma of the atonement.211
We have said that with the rise of civilisation tribal society became divided into classes, owing to the growth of individual, as opposed to corporate ownership of property. The old relations of persons to society were thus 297 destroyed, and with them much of the meaning of.the old ethical ideas. In the tribal state the responsibility of the individual to the limited community of which he formed a part was strongly felt, while he recognised no duty outside this community. In the new conception of morality that now arose he had, it is true, duties to all men as a man, irrespective of his social group, but they were vague, and could be evaded or explained away with little disturbance of the conscience; because the central point round which morality revolved was a spiritual deity, who was the source and goal of all moral aspiration, and directly revealed himself to the individual conscience. These two are the two ethical poles, first, the tribal ethics, the responsibility to a community however limited, and, secondly, the universal or introspective ethics, or responsibility to a divinity, for whom humanity was but a means of realising himself. In these ethics the duties of man to man were of secondary importance. But though the tendency was in this direction from the beginnings of civilisation, it took historically 298 many centuries to realise itself, and only reached its final development in Christianity. ‘
As regards the future form of the moral consciousness, we may safely predict that it will be in a sense a return on a higher level to the ethics of the older world, with the difference that the limitation of scope to the kinship group in its narrower sense, which was one of the causes of the dissolution of ancient society, will disappear, and the identification of individual with social interests will be so complete that any divorce between the two will be inconceivable to the average man.
It will be noticed that we have above been speaking of religion and morality as distinct from one another. But the religion of Socialism will be but the ordinary ethics carried into a higher atmosphere, and will only differ from them in degree of conscious responsibility to one’s fellows. Socialistic Ethics would be the guide of our daily habit of life; socialistic religion would be that higher form of conscience that would impel us to actions on behalf 299 of a future of the race, such as no man could command in his ordinary moods. As to the particulars of life under the Socialistic order, we may, to begin with, say concerning marriage and the family
that it would be affected by the great change, firstly in economics, and secondly in ethics. The present marriage system is based on the general supposition of economic dependence of the woman on the man, and the consequent necessity for his making provision for her, which she can legally enforce. This basis would disappear with the advent of social economic freedom, and no binding contract would be necessary between the parties as regards livelihood; while property in children would cease to exist, and every infant that came into the world would be born into full citizenship, and would enjoy all its advantages, whatever the conduct of its parents might be. Thus a new development of the family would take. place, on the basis, not of a predetermined lifelong business arrangement, to be formally and nominally held to, irrespective of circumstances, but on mutual inclination and affection, an 300 association terminable at the will of either party. It is easy to see how great the gain would be to morality and sentiment in this change. At present, in this country at least, a legal and quasi moral offence has to be committed before the obviously unworkable contract can be set aside. On the Continent, it is true, even at the present day the marriage can be dissolved by mutual consent; but either party can, if so inclined, force the other into subjection, and prevent the exercise of his or her freedom. It is perhaps necessary to state that this change would not be made merely formally and mechanically. There would be no vestige of reprobation weighing on the dissolution of one tie and the forming of another. For the abhorrence of the oppression of the man by the woman or the woman by the man (both of which continually happen to-day under the ægis of our would-be moral institutions) will certainly be an essential outcome of the ethics of the New Society. We may here note, as an example of the hypocrisy of the modern marriage system, that in the highest circles of 301 our society morganatic marriages incur no blame at all.
The next point we have to call attention to is the occupations of mankind under Communism. In the present state of things, which is dominated by capitalism and wage-earning, the repulsiveness of all labour is assumed, the sole motive power being economic coercion from one end of the scale to the other. Now it is true that the original root of incitement to labour is necessity; but throughout the sentient world this is accompanied by pleasure in the successful exercise of energy. Indeed, as beings rise in the scale of development, the proportion of pleasure due to the latter as compared with the pain produced by coercion increases, always presupposing the absence of artificial and privileged coercion. For example, the horse in his natural state delights in running, and the dog in hunting, while in the elementary conditions of savage human life, certain ceremonies, and adornments of weapons and the like, point to a sense of pleasure and dignity even in the process of the 302 acquisition of food. When we emerge from vague primitive into early historic barbarism, we find that this expression of some degree of pleasure in labour receives fresh impetus, and is everywhere present in needful occupations. It was from this turning of a necessary work into amusement that definite art was finally born.
As Barbarism began to give place to early Civilisation, this solace of labour fell asunder into duality like everything else, and art became incidental and accessory on the one side and independent and primary on the other. We shall take the liberty here of coining words, and calling the first adjective, and the second substantive art: meaning by adjective art that which grew up unconsciously as an amusement blended with the production of ordinary wares more or less permanent, from a house to a garment-pin ; and by substantive, a piece of craftsmanship whose raison d’ètre was to be a work of art, and which conveyed a definite meaning or story of some kind.
In the civilisation of Greece, which 303 was so vigorous in throwing off barbarism, substantive art progressed very speedily, more or less to the prejudice of adjective art. As Roman despotism dragged the ancient world into staleness the triumphant substantive art withered into lifeless academicism, till it was met by the break-up of classical society. Under the new access of barbarism, art, acted on and reacting by, the remains of the classical life, changed completely. Substantive art almost disappeared and gave place to a fresh development of adjective art, so rich and copious as to throw into the shade entirely the adjective art of the past, and to fill up the void caused by the waning of substantive art. Architecture, complete and elastic to adapt itself to our necessities, was the birth of this period; the blossoming time of which is dated by the name of the Emperor Justinian (c. 520 a.d.) This great adjective art developed into perfection in the early Middle Ages, its zenith being reached at the middle of the thirteenth century. But its progress was marked by the birth and gradual growth of a new substantive art; which, 304 as the architecture of the Middle Ages began to decline, became, if not more expressive, yet at least more complex and more completely substantive till the Middle Ages were on the verge of dissolution. At last came the great change in society marked by the Renaissance enthusiasm and the Reformation: and as the excitement of that period began to pass away, we find adjective art almost gone, and substantive unconscious of any purpose but the display of intellect and dexterity of hand, the old long enduring duality dying out into mere nullity.
The upshot of this, so far as it concerns the solace of necessary occupation is, that while substantive art went on with many vicissitudes, amusing the upper classes, commercialism killed all art for the workman, depriving him necessarily of the power of appreciating its higher and the opportunity of producing its subsidiary form. In fact popular art and popular religion were alike unsuitable to the working of the new system of society, and were swept away by it.
It is no wonder then that almost all 305 modern economists (who seldom study history, and never art), judging from what is going on before their eyes, assume that labour generally must be repulsive, and that hence coercion must be always employed on the necessarily lazy majority. Though it must be said, to the credit of the Utopist socialists and of Fourier especially, that they perceived instinctively how futile was any hope of the improvement of the race under such circumstances.
We have seen that the divorce of the workman from pleasure in his labour has only taken place in modern times, for we assert that, however it may be with artless labour, art of any kind can never be produced without pleasure. In this case then, as in others, we believe that the New Society will revert to the old method, though on a higher plane. With a very few exceptions Fourier was right in asserting that all labour could be made pleasurable under certain conditions. These conditions are, briefly: freedom from anxiety as to livelihood; shortness of hours in proportion to the stress of the work; variety of occupation 306 if the work is of its nature monotonous; due use of machinery, i.e. the use of it in labour which is essentially oppressive if done by the hand; opportunity for every one to choose the occupation suitable to his capacity and idiosyncrasy; and lastly, the solacing of labour by the introduction of ornament, the making of which is enjoyable to the labourer. As to this matter of occupation we may here say a word on machinery, which, as is now supposed (not without reason), will one day do away with all handiwork except, as is thought, with the highest arts.
We should say that machinery will be used in a way almost the reverse of the present one. Whereas we now abstain from using it in the roughest and most repulsive work, because it does not pay, in a socialist community its use will be relegated almost entirely to such work, because in a society of equality everything will be thought to pay which dispenses the citizen from drudgery. For the rest it must be admitted that the tendency of modern industrialism is towards the entire extinction of handiwork by machinery; but there is no doubt that in the long run this will work out its own contradiction. Machinery having been perfected, mankind will turn its attention to something else. We shall then begin to free ourselves from the terrible tyranny of machinery, and the results of the great commercial epoch which it has perfected; we fully admit that these results seem destined to overlap from the capitalistic into the socialistic period.
We have dealt first with the adjective arts because the practice of them is directly affected by the change in economics which is at the basis of the transformation of Civilisation into Socialism; let us now look at the substantive arts, beginning, however, with architecture, which is the link between the two categories, embracing as it does, when complete, all the arts which appeal to the eye.
Architecture, which is above all an art of association, we believe must necessarily be the art of a society of co-operation, in which there will certainly be a tendency towards the absorption of small 308 buildings into big; and it must be remembered that of all the arts it gives most scope to the solace of labour by due ornament. Sculpture, as in past times, will be considered almost entirely a part of fine building, the highest expression of the beauty which turns a utilitarian building into a great artistic production.
Pictures again will surely be mostly used for the decoration of buildings which are specially public; the circumstances of a society free from chronic war, public, corporate, and private, cannot fail to affect this art largely, at least in its subjects, and probably will reduce its independent importance. The arts deduced from it, such as engraving, will be no doubt widespread and much used by persons in their private capacities.
As to literature, fiction as it is called, when a peaceful and happy society has been some time afoot, will probably die out for want of material. The pabulum of the modern novel in its various dressings is mostly provided by the anomalies and futilities of a society of inequality wielded by a conventional false sense of 309 duty, which produces the necessary imbroglio wherewith to embarrass the hero and heroine through the due number of pages. Literature, however, need by no means die; for we can neither limit nor foresee the development of the great art of poetry which has changed so little in essentials since the Homeric epics.
We must also note the difference (not generally considered) between literature as a fine art and the numberless useful books which are adjuncts, or tools rather, for other occupations, physical science in all its branches amongst the number. Science again will be freed from the utilitarian chains which commerce has cast over it, and, cultivated once more for its own sake, and not merely as a servant of profit-making industrialism, may be expected to develop in a manner at present undreamed of.
To return again to the subject of art proper. Of ancient Music we know little in spite of Aristotle and Boetius. Modern music begins at the close of the Middle Ages with the birth of counterpoint; its great development has been during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and 310 has been in its earlier period synchronous with the most degraded period of all the other arts. Classical music (technically so-called) would seem to have reached its zenith about the middle of the present century; but the great revolution in dramatic music, effected by Wagner during the second half of the century, has occupied the field for the present, though what future developments it may have we cannot foresee. Of one thing, however, we may be very certain, that under a quite changed social condition Music will develop completely new styles of its own no less than the other arts. And in our belief Music and Architecture, each in its widest sense, will form the most serious occupation of the greatest number of people. In this connection we may observe that Music is on the executive side largely dependent on co-operation, notwithstanding that on the creative side it is more, rather than less, individual than painting.
A word may be said about the Drama, connected as it is on one side with Music and on the other with Literature. It is again as to its execution 311 wholly a co-operative art, while its creation is necessarily subordinate to the possibilities of execution inherent in a given time and place. For the rest its production does not require the same amount of training as any other of the arts; and therefore could be more easily and pleasantly dealt with by a communal society working co-operatively.
Though the question of costume may seem a petty one, it has much to do with the pleasure of life. In the future the tyranny of convention will be abolished; reason and a sense of pleasure will rule. It must be remembered that bad costume, of which there are hardly any examples before the Tudor period, always either muffles up or caricatures the body; whereas good costume at once veils and indicates it. Another fault may be noted in all bad periods (as in the present), that an extreme difference is made between the garments of the sexes. It is not too much to hope that the future society which will revolutionise architecture, will not fail to do as much for costume, which is as necessary an adornment as architecture.
To turn to some other phases of life 312 under the new order. We believe that on no consideration will the dirt and squalor which now disgrace a manufactory or a railway station be tolerated. As things go this wretchedness of externals is unchallenged because, once more, it does not pay even to reduce the filth to a minimum. But, as we said before, everything that makes towards the pleasure of life in a communal state will pay if it be possible to be done. Therefore it is clear that the degradation of a whole country by careless industrialism will not be allowed. Granted the dirt and squalor reduced to a minimum, which we think would leave but a small residuum, how is the burden of even that small residuum to be dealt with? It being understood that the manufacture in question is a necessary one, say, for example, iron-founding, there would be two ways, either of which might be chosen. First, to have volunteers working temporarily in a strictly limited and comparatively small “black-country,” which would have the advantage of leaving the rest of the country absolutely free from 313 the disorder and dirt. And secondly, to spread the manufacture in small sections over a territory so large that in each place the disadvantages would be little felt. This would have the gain of enabling those who worked at it to live amidst tolerably agreeable surroundings.
A difficulty of the same sort would have to be met with in the towns. Great aggregations of houses would clearly not be absolutely necessary. These are now of two kinds: first, the manufacturing towns, which are seldom capitals, or of importance as centres of anything else than the commerce connected with their special industries, Manchester being an obvious example of this class of great town. The other kind of overgrown town gives us examples of great capitals, which are essentially seats of centralised government, and of general financial operations, and incidentally and consequently of intellectual movement. For example, institutions like the British Museum, the Louvre or Bibliotheque Nationale, the Berlin Royal Library, or the Galleries at Dresden could hardly exist except in 314 capital cities. As to the manufacturing towns, it is clear that according to either of the theories of factory work put forward above, they would be superfluous, while on the other hand there would be no great centres of government or finance to attract huge populations or to keep them together. In the future therefore towns and cities will be built and inhabited simply as convenient and pleasurable systems of dwelling-houses, which would include of course all desirable public buildings.
Again we give three theories of the transformation of the modern town, industrial or capital, into the kind of entity to suit the new social conditions. The first would leave the great towns still existing, but would limit the population on any given space; it would insist on cleanliness and airiness, the surrounding and segregation of the houses by gardens; the erecting of noble public buildings; the maintenance of educational institutions of all kinds— of theatres, libraries, workshops, taverns, kitchens, etc. This kind of town might be of considerable magnitude, and the 315 houses in it might not be very different in size and arrangement from what they are now, although the life lived in them would have been transformed. It is understood, of course, that any association in dwelling in such places would be quite voluntary, although in view of the limitation above mentioned, no individual or group could be allowed to engross an undue area.
The second method of dealing with the unorganised and anarchic towns of to-day proposes their practical abolition, and the supplanting of them in the main by combined dwellings built more or less on the plan of the colleges of our older English universities. As to the size of these, that would have to be determined by convenience in each case, but the tendency would be to make them so large as to be almost small towns of themselves; since they would have to include a large population in order to foster the necessary give and take of intellectual intercourse, and make them more or less independent for ordinary occupation and amusement.
It is to be understood that this system 316 of dwellings would not necessarily preclude the existence of quite small groups, and houses suitable to them, although we think that these would tend to become mere eccentricities.
Yet another suggestion may be sketched as follows:— a centre of a community, which can be described as a very small town with big houses, including various public buildings, the whole probably grouped about an open space. Then a belt of houses gradually diminishing in number and more and more spaced out, till at last the open country should be reached, where the dwellings, which would include some of the abovementioned colleges, should be sporadic.
We might go on furnishing suggestions, in which, however, as above, cross divisions are sure to occur. What we have given, however, we think quite enough, for they are clearly the birth of our own prepossessions. One thing, however, all such schemes must take for granted as a matter of principle, to wit the doing away of all antagonism between town and country, and all tendency for the one to suck the life out of the other.
As regards Education, it should be 317 borne in mind that it must of necessity cease to be a preparation for a life of commercial success on the one hand, or of irresponsible labour on the other; and therefore in either case a short and perfunctory exercise with a definite object, more or less sordid in view. It will become rather a habit of making the best of the individual's powers in all directions to which he is led by his innate disposition; so that no man will ever “finish” his education while he is alive, and his early training will never lie behind him a piece of mere waste, as it most often does now.
In what we have been stating we have only been dealing with some of the elementary principles of Socialism Triumphant, and certain of those aspects of life resulting from them that lie nearest the surface; but at least we have tried to make our belief clear, that in the new order of things, while no one will be hampered by false ideas of duty, every one will have before him a broad ideal by which he may regulate his conduct with assurance and peace of mind. He 318 will find his pleasure in the satisfaction, first, of his bodily desires, and then of the intellectual, moral, and aesthetic needs which will inevitably arise when a man is not at odds with his body, and 1s not exhausting his intellect in a vain combat with its urgent promptings. It will be necessary for him then as always to labour in order to live, but he will share that labour in equitable proportions with all his fellows; and, moreover, he will at last be able to turn man’s mastery over nature to account in relieving him of the mere drudgery of toil. What remains of labour, by wise use of opportunity and due observation of the various capacities of mankind he will turn into a pleasurable exercise of his energies; and thus between his rest and his work will at the least lead a life of happiness, which he will be able to enjoy without imputing it to himself for wickedness; a habit of mind which, under the prevailing ethical ideas, casts a gloom over so many of those who may be considered to belong to the more intellectual of the well-to-do classes.
As to his external surroundings, the 319 society of the future will be wealthy enough to spare labour from the production of the only things now allowed to be utilities, for cultivating the decencies of life, so that all manufacture will be carried on in an orderly and cleanly manner, and the face of the earth will be beautified and not degraded by man’s labour and habitation. Another tyranny will be overthrown in our release from the compulsion of living in over-grown and over-crowded towns, and our houses and their surroundings will be dealt with in a reasonable manner.
Education will no longer be applied to the fortuitous cramming of unwilling children, and of young men intensely desirous of doing anything else than being educated,—and only submitting to that process for the sake of getting on in their careers,—and will become one of the most serious businesses of life even to men of the greatest natural capacities. Such a life, it is clear, will be pretty much the reverse of that which some opponents of the new order, scientists as well as meaner personages, profess to see 320 in the advancing “tyranny of Socialism.” But we are convinced that this life, which means general happiness for all men, free from any substratum of slavery, will be forced on the world. Yet that world will not be wholly conscious of the gradual and natural compulsion which it will have to yield to, and which it will find by its results to have been wholly beneficent.
We may be asked, since we have been continuously putting forward the doctrine of evolution throughout these pages, what Socialism in its turn will evolve. We can only answer that Socialism denies the finality of human progress, and that any particular form of Socialism of which we can now conceive must necessarily give way before fresh and higher developments, of the nature of which, however, we can form no idea. These developments are necessarily hidden from us by the unfinished struggle in which we live, and in which therefore for us the supreme goal must be Socialism as we have here expounded it. We would be the very last to wish to set any bounds to human ideals or 321 aspirations; but the Socialism which we can foresee, and which promises to us the elevation of mankind to a level of intelligent happiness and pleasurable energy unattained as yet, is to us enough as an ideal for our aspirations and as an incentive to our action.
211. Cf. the article on “Sacrifice,” by Professor Robertson Smith, in the Encyclopædia Britannica, 9th edition.Back