Its Basis and Principles.



Reprinted, by permission, from the " Nineteenth Century " of February and Aitgustf iSSy ; and revised by the Author.


FREEDOM PRESS, 127, OstuUton Street. London, N.W. 1.


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Anarchy, the No-Government system of Socialism, has * double origin. It is an outgrowth of the two great movements of thought in the economical and the political fields which characterise our century, and especially its second part. In common with all Socialists, the Anarchists hold that the private ownership of land, capital, and machinery has had its time; that it is condemned to disappear; and that all requisites for production must, and will, become the common property of society, and be managed in common by the producers of wealth. And, in common with the most advanced representatives of political Radicalism, they maintain that the ideal of the political organisation of society is a condition of things where the functions of government are reduced to a minimum, and the individual recovers his full liberty of initiative and action for satisfying, by means of freo groups and federations—freely constituted— all the infinitely varied needs of the human being. As regards Socialism, most of the Anarchists arrive at its ultimate conclusion, that is, at a complete negation of the wage-9ystom and at Communism. And with reference to political organisation, by giving a further development to the above-mentioned part of the Radical programme, they arrive at tho conclusion that the ultimato aim of society is the reduction of the functions of govornmont to nil—that is, to a society without government, to An-archy. The Anarchists maintain, moreover, that such being the ideal of social and political organisation, they must not remit it. to future centuries, but that only thoec changes in our social oiganisation which are in accordance with the above double ideal, and constitute an approach to it, will have a chance of life and be beneficial for the commonwealth.


As to the method followed by the Anarchist thinker, it entirely differs from that followed by the Utopists. The Anarchist thinker does not resort to metaphysical conceptions (like " natural rights," the " duties of the State," and so on) to establish what are, in his opinion, the best conditions for realising the greatest happiness of humanity. He follows, on the contrary, the course traced by the modern philosophy of evolution—without entering, howover, the slippery route of mere analogies so often resorted to by Herbert Sponcor. He studios human society as it is now and was in the past; and, without either endowing men altogether, or separate individuals, with superior qualities which they do not possess, ht merely considers society as an aggregation of organisms trying to find out tho bost ways of combining the wants of the individual with those of co-operation for the welfare of the species. He studies society and tries to discover its tendencies, past and present, its growing needs, intellectual and economical, and in his ideal he merely points out in which direction evolution goes. He distinguishes between the real wants and tendencies of human aggregations and the accidents (want of knowledge, migrations, wars, conquests) which have prevented these tendencies from being satisfied, or temporarily paralysed them. And he coucludes that the twe most prominent, although often unconscious, tendencies throughout our history have been: a tendency towards integrating labour for the production of all riches in common, so as finally to render it impossible to discriminate the part of the common production due to tke separate individual; and a tendency towards the fullost freedom of the individual in the prtsecution of all aims, beneficial both for himself and for society at largo. Tho ideal of the Anarchist it thus a mere summing-up of what he considers to be the next phase of evolution. It is no longer a matter of faith; it is * matter for scientific discussion.

In fact, one of the leading features of our century is the growth of Socialism and the rapid spreading of Socialist views among the working-classes. How could it be otherwise ? We have witnessed during the last seventy years an unparalleled sudden increase of our powers of production, resulting in an accumulation of wealth whioh has outstripped the most sanguine expectations. But, owing to our wage system, this increase of wealth—due to the combinod efforts of men of scienee, of managers, and workmen as well—has resulted only in an unprevented aecumulation of wealth in the hands of the owners of capital; whilo an increase of misery for great numbers, and an insecurity of life for all, have been the lot of the workmen. The unskilled labourers, in continuous search for labour, are falling into an unheard-of destitution ; and even the best paid artisans and skilled workmen, who undoubtedly are living now a more comfortable life than before, labour under the permanent menace of being thrown, in their turn, into the same conditions as the unskilled paupers, in consequence of some of the continuous and unavoidable fluctuations of industry and caprices of capital. The chasm between the modern millionaire who squanders the produce of human labour in a gorgeous and vain luxury, and the pauper reduced to a miserable and insecure existence, is thus growing wider and wider, so as to break the very unity of society—the harmony of its life—and to endanger the progress of its further development. At the same time, working men are less and leas inclined patiently to endure thie division of society into two classes, as they themselves become more and more conscious of the wealth-producing power of modern in dustry, of the part played by labour in the production of wealth, and of their own capacities of organisation. In proportion as all classes of the community take a more lively part in public affairs, and knowledge spreads among the masses, their longing for equality becomes stronger, and their demands for social reorganisation become louder and louder: they can bo ignored no more. The worker claims his share in the riches he produces ; he claims his share in the management of production ; and he claims not only some additional well-being, but also his full rights in the highor enjoyments of science and art. These < claims, which formerly wero uttered only by the social reformer, begin now to be made by a daily growing minority of those who work in the factory or till the acre \ - and they so conform to our feelings of justice, that they find support in a daily growing minority amidst the privileged clossos themselves. Socialism becomes thus the idea of the nineteenth century ; and neither coercion nor pseudo-reforms can stop its further growth.

Much hope of improvement was placed, of course, in the extension of political rights to the working classes. But these concessions, un* supported as they were by corresponding changes in economical relations, proved delusory. They did not materially improve the conditions of the great bulk of the workmen. Therefore, the watchword of Socialism is: " Economical freedom, as the only secure basil for political freedom." And as long a3 the present wage system, with all ita bad consequences, remains unaltered, the Socialist watchword will continue to inspire the workmen. Socialism will continue to grow until it has realised its programme.

Side by side with this great movement of thought in economical matters, a like movemont has been going on with regard to political rights^ political organisation, and the functions of government. Government has been submitted to the same criticism as Capital. While most of the Radicals saw in universal suffrage and republican institutions the last word of political wisdom, a further step was made by tbe few. The very functions of government and the State, as also their relations to the individual, were submitted to a sharper and deeper criticism. Representative government having been tried by experiment on a wide field, its dofeets became more and more prominent. It became obvious that these defects are not merely accidental, but inherent in the system itself. Parliament and its executive proved to be unable to attend to all tho numberless affairs of the community and to conciliate the varied and often oppo-cite interests of the separate parts of a State. Election proved unable to find out the men who might represent a nation, and manage, otherwise than in a party spirit, the affairs they are compelled to legislate upon. These defects became so striking that the very principles of the representative system were criticised and their justness doubted. Again, the dangers of a centralised government became still more conspicuous when the Socialists came to the front and asked for a furthor increase of the powers of government by entrusting it with the management of the immense field covered now by the economical relations between individuals. The question was asked, whether a government, entrusted with the management of industry and trade, would not become a permanent danger for liberty and peace, and whether it even would be able to be a good manager 1

The Socialists of the earlier part of this century did not fully realise the immense difficulties of the problem. Convinced as they were of the necessity of economical reforms, most of them took no notice of the need of freedom for the individual; and we have had social reformers ready to submit society to any kind of theocracy, dictatorship, • or even Csesarism, in order to obtain reforms in a Socialist sense. Therefore we have seen, in this country and also on theContinent, the division of men of advanced opinions into political Radicals and Socialists—the former looking with distrust on the latter," as they saw in them a danger for "'khe political liberties whick have been won by the civilised nations after a long series of struggles. And even now, when the Socialists all over Europe are becoming political parties, and profess the democratic faith, there remains tmong most impartial men a well-founded fear of the Tolksstaat or 1 popular State' being as great a danger for liberty as any form of autocracy, if its government be entrusted with the management of all the social organisation, including the production and distribution of wealth.

The evolution of the last forty years has prepared, however, the way for showing tho neces»ity and possibility of a higher form of social organisation which may guarantee economical freedom without reducing the individual to the rdle of a slave to tho State. The origin* of government have been carefully studied, and all metaphysical conceptions as to its divine or 'social contract' derivation having been laid •aide, it appears that it is among us of a relatively modern origin, and that its powers have grown precisely in proportion as the division of society into the privileged and unprivileged classes was growing la the course of ages. Representative government has also been reduced to its real value:—that of an instrument which has rendered services in the struggle against autocracy, but not an ideal of free political organisation. As to the system of philosophy which lawin the State (the Kultur-Staat) a leader of progress, it was more and more shaken a8 it became evident that progress is the more effective when it is not checked by State interference. It has thus become obvious that a further advance in social life does not lie in the direction of a further concentration of power and regulative functions in the hands of a governing body, but in the direction of decentralisation, both territorial and functional—in a subdivision of public functions with respect both to their sphere of action and to the character of the functions ; it is in the abandonment to the initiative of freely constituted groups of all those functions which are now considered ae the functions of government.

This current of thought has found its expression not merely in literature, but also, to a limited extent, in life. The uprise Of the Paria Commune, followed by that of tho Commune of Cartagena—a movement of which the historical bearing seems to have been quite over looked in this country—opened a new page of history. If we analyse not only this movement in itself, but also the impression it left in the minds and the tendencies manifested during the eommunal revolution, we must recognise in it an indication showing that, in the future, human agglomerations which are more advanced in their social development will try to start an independent life; end that they will endeavour to convert the more backward parts of a mation by example, instead of imposing thefr opinions by law and force, or submitting themselves to the majority-rule, which always is a msdioerity-rule. At the same time the failure of representative go-▼eminent within the Commune itself proved that self-government and self-administration must be carried further than in a merely territorial sense; to be effective they must also he carried into the various functions of life within the free community; a merely territorial limitation of the sphere of action of government will not do—representative government being as deficiont in a city as it is in * nation. Life gave thus a further point in favour of the no-government theory, and a new impulse to anarchist thought.

Anarchists recognise the justice of both the just-mentioned tendencies towards economical and political freedom, and see in them two different manifestations of the very same need of equality which constitutes the very essence of all struggles mentioned by history. Therefore, in common with all Socialists, the Anarchist says to the political reformer: * Iso substantial reform in the sense of political •quality, and no limitation of the powers of government, can be made as long as society is divided into two hostile camps, and the labourer remains, economically speaking, a serf to his employer. But to the Popular State Socialist we say also : ' You cannot modify the existing conditions of property without deeply modifying at the same time the political organisation. You must limit the powers of government and renounce Parliamentary rule. To each new economical phase of life corresponds a new political phase. Absolute monarchy—that is, Court-rule—corresponded to the-system of serfdom. Representative government corresponds to Capital-rule. Both, however, are class-rule. But in a society where the distinction » between capitalist and labourer has disappeared, there is no need of such a government; it would be an anachronism, a nuisance. Free workers would require a free organisation, and this cannot have another basis than free agreement and free co-operation, without sacrificing the autonomy of the individual to the all-pervading interference of the State, The no-capitalist system implies the no-govern ment system.'

Meaning thus the emancipation of man from the oppressive powers of capitalist and government as well, the system of Anarchy becomes a synthesis of the two powerful currents of thought which characterise our century. - •

In arriving at these conclusions Anarchy proves to be in accord, anoe with the conclusions arrived at by the philosophy of evolution-By bringing to light the plasticity of organisation, the philosophy *f evolution has shown the admirable adaptivity of organisms to

their conditions of life, and the ensuing development of such faculties as render more complete both the adaptations of the aggregates to their surroundings and those of each of the constituent parts of the aggregate to the needs of free co-operation. It has familiarized us with tho ciroumstance that throughout organic nature the capacities for life in common grow in proportion as the integration of organisms into compound aggregates becomes more and more complete; and it has enforced thus the op.inion already expressed by social moralists m to the perfectibility of human nature. It has shown us that, in the long run of the struggle for existence, 1 the fittest' will prove to be those who combine intellectual knowledge with the knowledge necessary fo2 the production of wealth, and not those who are now the richest because they, or their ancestors, have been momentarily the strongest. By showing that the 1 struggle for existence' must be conceived, not merely in its restricted sense of a struggle between individuals for the means of subsistence, but in its widtr sens* of adaptation of all individuals of the species to the best conditions for the survival of the species, as well as for tho greatest possible sum of life and happiness for each and all, it has permitted us to deduce the laws of moral science from the social needs and habits of mankind. It has shown us the infinitesimal part played by positive law in moral evolution, and the immonse part played by tho natural growth of altruistic feelings, which develop as soon as the conditions of life favour their growth. It has thus enforced the opinion of social reformers as to tho necessity of modifying the conditions of life for improving man, instead of trying to improve human nature fcy moral teachings while life works in an opposite direction. Finally, by studying human society from the biological point of view, it has oome to the conclusions arrived at by Anarchists from the study of kiatory and present tendencies, as to further progress being in the line of socialisation of wealth and integrated labour, combined with the fullest possible freedom of the individual.

It is not a mere coincidence that Herbert Spencer, whom we may consider as a pretty fair expoundor of the philosophy of evolution, kaa been brought to conclude, with regard to political organisation, that "that form of society towards which we are progressing 'V*. " one in which government will be reduced to the smallest amount posiible, and freedom increased to the greatest amount possible." *

When ho opposes in these words the conclusions of his synthetic philosophy to those of Augusto Comtc, he arrives at very nearly the same conclusion as Proudhon t and Bakunin.^ More than that, the very methods of argumentation and the illustrations retorted to by Herbert Spencer (daily supply of food, post-offico, and so on) art the same which we find in the writings of the Anarchists. The channels of thought wore the same, although both were unaware of each other's endeavours.

Again, when Mr. Spencer so powerfully, and even not without a touch of passion, argues (in his Appendix to the third edition of the Data of Ethics) that human societies are marching towards a state when a further identification of altruism with egoism will be made " in the sense that personal gratification will come from the gratification of others;" when he says that " wo are shown, undeniably, that

is a perfectly possible thing for organisms to become so adjusted to the requirements of their lives, that energy expended for the general welfare may not only bo adequate to check energy expended for the individual welfare, but may come to subordinate it so far as to leave individual welfare no greater part than is necessary for maintenance of individual life"—provided the conditions for such relations between the individual and the community be maintained* —he derives from tho study of nature the very same conclusion* as the forerunners of Anarchy, Fourier and Kobert Owen, derived from a study of human character.

When wo see further Mr. Bain so forcibly elaborating the theory of moral habits, and the French philosopher, M. Guyau, unveiling in a most remarkable work the basis of Morality without Obligation or Sanction; when J. S. Mill so sharply criticises representative government and discusses the problem of liberty, although failing to establish its necessary conditions; when modern biology brings us to understand tho importance of froo co-operation and mutual aid in the animal world; when Lewis Morgan (in Ancient Society) shows us the parasitical development of State and property amidst the free institutions of our earliest ancestors, and modem history follows the same lines of argumentation,—when, in short, every year, by bringing some new arguments to the philosophy of evolution, adds at the same time some new arguments to the philo-sophy of Anarchy—we must recognise that this last, although differing as to its starting-point, follows the same sound methods of scientific investigation. Our confidence in its conclusions is still more increased. The difference between Anarchists and the just-named philosophers may be immense as to tho presumed speed of evolution, and as to tho lino of conduct which one ought to assume as soon as he has had an insight into the aims towards which society is marching. No attempt^ however, has been made scientifically to determine the ratio of evolution, nor has the chief element of the problem (the state of mind of the masses) ever been taken into account by tho evolutionist philosophers. As to bringing ono's action into accordanco with his philosophical conceptions, we know that, unhappily, intellect and will are too often separated by a chasm not to be filled by mere philosophical speculations, however deep and elaborate.

There is, however, between the just-named philosophers and the Anarchists a wide difference on one point of primordial importance. This difference is the stranger as it arises on a point which might be discussed figures in hand, and which constitutes tho very basis of all further deductions, as it belongs to what biological sociology would describe as the physiology of nutrition.

There is, in fact, a widely spread fallacy, maintained by Mr. Spencer and many others, as to the causes of the misery which ws see round about us. It was affirmed forty years ago, and it is affirmed now by Mr. Spencer and his folio wore, that misery. in eivilized society is due to our insufficient production, or rather to the circumstance'that "population presses upon the means of subsistence." It would be of no use to inquire into the origin of such a mUreprtaentatiom of facts, which might be easily verified. It may have its origin in inherited misconceptions which have nothing to do with the philosophy of evolution. But to be maintained and advocated by philosophers, there must be, in the conceptions of these philosopher*, some confusion as to the different aspects of the struggle fer existenoe. Sufficient importance is not given to the difference between the struggle which goes on among organisms which do not ce-operate for providing the means of subsistence, and those which »o. In this last case again there must be soms confusion between those afgregates whose members find thsirmeans of subsistsnce in the ready-made produce of the vegetable and animal kingdom, and those whose members artificially grow thoir means of subsistence and are enabled to increase (to a yet unknown amount) the productivity of eack spot of the surface of the globe. Hunters who hunt, oach of them for his own sake, and hunters who unite into societies for hunting, stand quite differently with regard to the means of subsistence as they are in nature, and to civilized men who grow their food and produce by machinery all requisites for a comfortablo life. In this last case—the stock of potential energy in nature being little short of infinite in comparison with the present population of the globe—the moans of availing ourselves of the stock of energy are increased and perfected precisely in proportion to the density of population and to the previously accumulated stock of technical knowledge; so that for human beings who aro in possession of scientific knowledge, and co-operate for the artificial production of tke means of subsistence and comfort, the law is quite the reverse of that of Malthus. The accumulation of means of subsistence and comfort is going on at a much speedier rate than the increase of population. The only conclusion which we can deduce from the laws of evolution and of multiplication of effocts is that the available amount of means of subsistence increases at a rate which increases itself in proportion as population becomes denser—unless it be artificially (and temporarily) checked by some defects of social organisation. As to our powers of production (our potential production), they increase at a still speedier rate in proportion as scientific knowledge grows, the means for spreading it aro rendered easier, and inventive genius is stimulated by all previous inventions. •

If the fallacy as to the pressmre of population on the means of subsistsnce could be maintained a hundred years ago, it can be maintained no more, since we have witnessed the effccts of science on industry, and the enormous increase of our productiv® powers during the last hundred years. We know, in fast, that while the gi»wth of population in England has be§n from 16£ millions in 1144 to 26| millions in 1883, showing thus an increase of 62 per cent., the growth of national wealth (as testified by schedule A of the Income Tax Act) haa increased twice as fast; i* has grown from 221 to 507J millions—that is, by 130 per oent. And we know that the same increase of wealth has taken place in France, where population remains almost stationary, and that it has gone on at a still speedier rate in the United States, where population ie increasing every year by immigration.

But the figuret just mentioned, while showing the real increase of production, give only a faint idea of what our production might be under a more reasonable economical organisation. We know well that the owners of capital, while trying to produce more wares with fewer "hauds," are continually endeavouring at the samo time to limit the production, in order to sell at higher prices. When the profits of a ooncern are going down, the owner of the capital limits the production, or totally suspends it, and prefers to engage his capital in foreign loans or shares in Patagonian gold-mines. Just now there are plenty of pitmen in England who ask for nothing better than t# be permitted to extract coal and supply with cheap fuel the households where children aro shivering before empty chimneys. # There are thousands of weavers who ask for nothing better than to weave •tuffs in order to replace the ragged dress of the poor with docent clothing. And so in all branches of industry. How can we talk about a want of moans of subsistence when thousands of factories lie idle in Great Britain alone; and when there are, just new, thousands and thousands of unemployed in London alone; thousands of men who would consider themselves happy if they were permitted to transform (under the guidance of experienced agriculturists) the clay of Middlesex into a rich soil, and to cover with cornfields and orchards the acres of meadow-land which now yields only a few pounds' worth of hay f But they are prevented from doing so by the owners of the land, of the weaving factory, and of the coal-mino, because capital finds it more advantageoue to •upply the Khedive with harems and tho Russian Government with u strategic railwaye " and Krupp guns. Of course the maintenance of harems pays: it gives ten or fifteen per cent, on the capital, while the extraction of coal does not pay—that is, it brings three or ive per cent.—and that is a sufficient reason for limiting the production aid permitting would-be economists to indulge in reproachee te the wtrking classes aa to their too rapid multiplicatien !

Here we have imstances of a direct and conscious limitation of production, due to the circumstance that the requisites for production belong to the few, and that these few have the right of disposing of them at their will, without caring about the interests of the community. But there is also the indirect and unconscious limitation of production—that which results from squandering the produce of human labour in luxury, instead of applying it to a further increas® of production.

This last cannot even bo estimated in figures, but a walk through the rich shops of any city and a glance at the manner in which money is squandered now, can give an approximate idea of this indirect limitation. When a rich man spends a thousand pounds for his stables, ho squanders five to six thousand days of human labour, which might bo used, under a better social organisation, for ■applying with comfortable homes those who are compelled to live now in dens. And when a lady spends a hundred pounds for her dress, we cannot but say that she squanders, at least, two years of human labour, which, again under a hotter organisation, might have •upplied a hundred women with docent dresses, and much more if applied to a further improvement of the instruments of produotion. Preachers thunder against luxury, because it is shameful to squander money for feeding and sheltering hounds and horses, when thousands live in the East End on sixpence a day, and other thousands have not even their miserable sixpence every day. But the economist sees more than that in our modern luxury: when millions of days of labour are spent every year for the satisfaction of the stupid vanity of the rich, he says that so many millions of workers have been diverted from the manufacture of those useful instruments which would permit us to decuple and centuple our present production of means of subsistence and of requisites for comfort.

In short, if we take into account both tho real and tho potential increase of our wealth, and consider both the direct and indirect limitation of production, which are unavoidable under our present economical system, we must recognise that the supposed " pressure of population on tho means of subsistence " is a mere fallacy, repeated, like many other fallacios. without even taking the trouble of submitting it to a moment's criticism. The causes of the present social disease must be sought elsewhere.

Let us take a civilized country. The forests have been cleared, the swamps drained. Thousands of roads and railways intersect it in all directions; the rivers have been rendered navigable, and the seaports are of easy access. Canals connect the seas. The recks have been pierced by deep shafts; thousands of manufactures oovsr the land. Science has taught man how to use the energy of nature for the satisfaction of his needs. Cities have slowly grown in the oourse of ages, and treasures of science and art are accumulated in these centres of civilization. But—who has made all these marvels t

The combined efforts of scores of generations have contributed towards tho achievement of these results. The forests have been cleared centuries ago ; millions of men have spent years and years of labour in draining tho swamps, in tracing the roads, in building the railways. Other millions have built the cities and created the civilization wo boast of. Thousands of inventors, mostly unknown, mostly dying in poverty and neglect, have elaborated the machinery in which man admires his genius. Thousands of writers, philosophers and men of science, supported by many thousands of compositors, printers, and other labourers whose name is legion, have contributed to elaborating and spreading knowledge, to dissipating errors, to creating the atmosphere of scientific thought, without which the marvels of our century never would have been brought to life. The genius of a Mayer and a Grove, the patient work of a Joule, surely have done more to give a now start to modern industry than all the capitalists of the world ; but these men of gonius themselves are, in their turn, the children of industry: thousands of engines had to transform heat into mechanical force, and mechanical force into sound, light, and electricity—and they had to do so lor years, every day, under the eyes of humanity— boforo some of our contemporaries proclaimed the mechanical origin of heat and the correlation of physical forces, and before we ourselves became prepared to listen to them and understand thoir teachings. Who knows for how many decades we should continue to be ignorant of this theory which now revolutionises industry, were it not for the inventive powers and skill of those unknown workers who have improved the steam-engine, who have brought all its parts to perfection, so as to snake steam more manageable than a horse, and to render the use of the engine nearly universal 1 But tho same is true with regard to each smallest part of our machinery. In each machine, however simple, we may read a whole history—a long history of sleepless nights, of delusions and joys, of partial inventions an 1 partial iMjffovcmenta which have brought it to its present state. Nay, nearly every now machine is a synthesis, a result of thousands of partial inventions made, not only in on® special department of machinery, but in all departments of the wide field of mechanics.

Oui chies, connected by roads and brought into easy communication with all peopled parts of the globe, are the growth of oenturies; and each house in these cities, each factory, each shop, derives its value, its very ration d'etre, from the fact that it is situated on a

spot of the globe where thousands or millions have gathered together. Every smallest part of the immense whole which we call the wealth of civilizcd nations dorives its value precisely from being a part of this whole. What would bo the value of an immense London . shop or warehouse were it not situated precisely in London, which has bccome the gathering spot for five millions of human beings? And what the value of our coal-pits, our manufactures, our shipbuilding yards, were it not for the immense traffic which goes on across the seas, for the railways which transport mountains of merchandise, for the cities which number their inhabitants by millions 1 Who is, then, the individual who has the right to step forward and, laying his hand on the smallest part of this immense whole, to say, " I have produced this ; it belongs to me n t And how can we discriminate, in this immense interwoven whole, the part which the isolated individual may appropriate to himself with the slightest approach to justice 1 Houses and streets, canals and railways, machines and works of art, all these have been created by tbe combined efforts of generations past and present, of men living on these islands and men living thousands of miles away.

But it has happened in the long run of ages that everything which permits men further to incroaso their production, or even to continue it, has been appropriated by tho few. The land, which derives its value precisely from its being necessary for an ever-increasing population, belongs to the few, who may prevent the community from cultivating it. The coal-pits, which represent the labour of generations, and which also derive their value from tho wants of the manufactures and railroads, from the immense trade carried on and the density of population (what is the value of coal-layers in Transbaikalia t), belong again to the few, who have even the right of stopping the extraction of coal if they chooso to give another use to their capital. Tho lace-weaving machine, which represents, in its present state of perfection, tho work of three generations of Lancashire weavers, belongs again to the few ; and if the grandsons of the very same weaver who invented the first lace-weaving machine claim their right to bring one of these machines into motion, they will be told " Hands off ! this machine does not belong to you ! " Tho railroads, which mostly would be useless heaps of iron if Great Britain had not its present dense population, its industry, trade, and traffic, belong again to the few—to a few shareholders, who may not even know«whore the railway is situated which brings them a yearly income larger than that of a mediseval king; and if the children of

those people who died by thousands in digging the tunnels should gather and go—a raggod and starving crowd—to ask bread or work from the shareholders, they would be met with bayonets and bullets.

Who is the sophist who will dare to say that such an organisation la just? But what is unjust cannot be beneficial to mankind; and U is not. In consequence of this monstrous organisation, the son oft workman, when he is able to work, finds no acre to till, no machine to set in motion, unless he agrees to sell his labour for a sum inferior to its real value. His father and grandfather have contributed to drain tho field, or erect tho factory, to the full extent of their capacities—and nobody can do more than that—but he comei into the world more destitute than a savage. If he resorts to agriculture, he will bo permitted to cultivate a plot of land, but on the condition that he gives up one quarter of his crop to the landlord. If he resorts to industry, he will be permitted to* work, but on the condition that out of the thirty shillings he has produced, ten shillings or more will be pocketed by tho ownor of the machine. We cry out against the feudal barons who did not permit anyone to settle on the land otherwise than on payment of one quarter of the crops to the lord of the manor; but we continue to do as they did—wo extend their •ystem. Tho ferms have changod, but tho essenco has remained the same. And the workman is compelled to accept the feudal condition! which we call "free contract," because nowhero will ho find better conditions. Everything has been appropriated by somebody ; he must accept the bargain, or starve.

Owing to this circumstance our production takes a wrong turn. It takes no care of the needs of the community ; its only aim is to increase the profits of the capitalist. Therefore—the continuous fluctuations of industry, the crisis coming periodically nearly every ten years, and throwing out of employment soveral hundred thousand men who are brought to complete misery, whose children grow up in the gutter, ready to become inmates of the prison and workhouse. The workmen being unable to purchase with their Wages the riches they are producing, industry must search for markets elsewhere, amidst the middle classes of other nations. It must find marketi, in the East, in Africa, anywhere; it must increase, by trade, the number of its serfs in Egypt, in India, on the Congo. But everywhere it finds competitors in other nations which rapidly enter into the same line of industrial development. And wars, continuous wars, must be fought for the supremacy in the world-market—wars for the possession of the East, wars for getting possession of the seas, wars for tho right of imposing heavy duties on foreign merchandise. Tho thunder of European guns never ceases ; whole generations are slaughtered from time to time; and wo spend in armaments the third of the revenue of our States—a revenue raised, the poor know with what difficulties.

Education is the privilege of tho few. Not because we can find no teachers, not because the workman's son and daughter are less able to receive instruction, but bocause one can rocoivo no reasonable instruction whon at the age of fifteen he descends into the mine, or goes selling newspapers in tho stroots. Society becomes divided into two hostile camps; and no freedom is possible under such conditions. While the Radical asks for a further extension of liberty, tho statesman answers him that a further increase of liberty would bring about an uprising of tho paupers ; and those political liberties which have cost so dear are replaced by coercion, by exceptional laws, by military rule.

And finally, the injustice of our partition of wealth exercises the most deplorable effect on our morality. Our principles of morality say : " Love your noighbour as yourself" ; but lot a child follow this principle and take ofF his coat to give it to the shivering pauper, and hit mother will tell him that he must never understand moral principles in their direct senso. If ho lives according to them, he will go barefoot, without alleviating tho misery round about him ! Morality is good on the lips, not in deeds. Our preachers say, " Who works, prays," and everybody endeavours to make others work for him. They say, " Never lio!" and politics are a big lie. And we accustom ourselves and our children to live under this double-faced morality, which is hypocrisy, and to conciliate our doublo-facednoss by sophistry. Hypocrisy and sophistry become the very basis of our life. But society cannot live under such * morality. It cannot last so : it must, it will, be changed.

The question is thus no more a mere question of bread. It covers the whole field of human activity. But it has at its bottom a question of social economy, and wo conclude: Tho means of production and of satisfaction of all needs of society, having been created by the eommon efforts of all, must be at the disposal of all. Tho private appropriation of requisites for production is neither just nor beneficial. All must be placed on the same footing as producers and consumers of wealth. That will be the only way for socioty to step out of the bad conditions which have been created by centuries

wars and oppression. That will be the only guarantee for further progress in a direction of equality and freedom, which have always been the real, although unspoken goal of humanity.


The views taken in the above as to the combination of efforts being tho chicf sourco of our wealth explain why most Anarchists see in Communism the only equitable solution as to the adequate remuneration of individual efforts. There was a time when a family engaged in agriculture supplemented by a few domestic trades, could consider the corn they raised and tho plain woollen cloth they wove as productions of their own and nobody else's labour. Even then such a view was not quite correct: there were forests cleared and roads built by common efforts; and even the» the family had continually to apply for communal help, as is still the case in so many village communities. But now, in the extremely interwoven state of industry of which each branch supports all others, such an individualistic view can be held no more. If the iron trade and the cotton industry of this country have reached so high a degree of development, they have done so owing to the parallol growth of thousands of other industries, great and small; to the extension of the railway system ; to an increase of knowledge among both the skilled engineers and the mass of the workmen; to a certain training in organisation slowly developed among British producers ; and, above all, to the world-trade which has itself grown up, thanks to works executed thousands of miles away. The Italians who died from cholera in digging the Suez Canal, or from "tunnel-disease " in the St. Gothard Tunnel, have contributed as much towards tho onrichment of this country as the British girl who is prematurely growing old in serving a machine at Manchester \ and this girl as much as the engineer who made a labour-saving improvement in our machinery. IIow can wo pretend to estimate the exact part of each of them in the riches accumulated around ust

We may admire tho inventive genius or tho organising capacities of an iron lord ; but we must recognise that all his genius and energy would not realise one-tenth of what they realise here if they were spent in dealing with Mongolian shepherds or Siberian peasants instead of British workmen, British engineers, and trustworthy managers. An English millionaire who succeeded in giving a powerful impulse to a branch of home industry was asked the other day what were, in his opinion, the real causes of his success 1 His answer was:—" I always sought out the right man for a given branch of the concern, and I left him full independence—maintaining, of eeurse, for myself the general supervision." " Did you never fail to find such men ?" was tho next question. " Never." u But in the aaw branches which you introduced you wanted a number of new inventions." "No doubt; we spent thousands in buying patents." This little colloquy sums up, in my opinion, the real case of those industrial undertakings which are quoted by the advocates of "an adequate remuneration of individual efforts" in the shape of millions bestowed on the managers of prosperous industries. It shows in how far tho offorts are really " individual." Leaving aside the thousand conditions which sometimes permit a man to show, and sometimes prevent him from showing, his capacities to their full extent, it might be asked in how far the same capacities could bring out the same results, if the very same employer could find no trustworthy managers and no skilled workmen, and if hundreds of inventions were not stimulated by the mechanical turn of mind of so many inhabitants of this country. British industry is the work of the British nation—nay, of Europe and India taken together—not of separato individuals.

"While holding this synthetic view on production, the Anarchists eannot consider, like the Collectivists, that a remuneration which would be proportionate to the hours of labour spent by each person in the production of riches may be an ideal, or even an approach to an ideal, society. Without entering here into a discussion as to how far tke exchange value of each merchandise is really measured now by the amount of labour necessary for its production—a separate study must be devoted to the subject—we must say that the Collectivist ideal ■eems to us Merely uurealisable in a society which has been brought to consider the nectssaries for production as a common property. Such a society would bo compelled to abandon the wage-system altogether. It appears impossible that tho mitigated Individualism of the Colleo-tiviat school could co-exist with the partial Communism implied by holding land and machinery in common—unless imposed by a powerful government, much more powerful than ail those of our own times. The present wage-system has grown up from the appropriation of the neceisaries for production by tho few; it was a necessary condition for the growth of the present capitalist production ; and it can-met outlive it, even if an attempt be made to pay to the worker the fall value of hia produce, and hours-of-labour-chcques be substituted fer moasy. Common possession of the necessaries for production implies the common enjoyment of the fruits of the common production ; and we consider that an equitable organisation of society can only arise when every wage-system is abandoned, and when everybody, contributing for the common well-being to the full extent of his capacities, shall enjoy also from the common stock of society to the fullest possible extent of his needs.

We maintain, moreover, not only that Communism is a desirable state of society, but that the growing tendency of modern society is precisely tewards Communism—free Communism—notwithstanding the seemingly contradictory growth of Individualism. In the growth of Individualism (especially during the last three centuries) we merely see the endeavours of the individual towards emancipating himself from the steadily growing powers of Capital and the State. But side by side with this growth we see also, throughout hiitery up to our own times, the latent struggle of the producers of wealth to maintain tho partial Communism of old, as well aa to reintroduce Communist principles in a new shape, as aoon aa favourable conditions permit it. As soon as the communes of the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth centuries were enabled to start their •wn independent life, they gave a wide extension to work in common, to trade in common, and to a partial consumption in common. All this has disappeared ; but the rural commune fights a hard struggle to maintain its old features, and it succeeds in maintaiaing them in many places of Eastern Europe, Switzerland, and even France and Germany; while new organisations, baser! on tho same principles, never fail to grow up wherever it is possiblo. Notwithstanding the egotiatic turn given to the public mind by the merchant-production of our century, the Communist tendency is continually reasserting itaelf and trying to make its way into public life. The penny bridge disappears before the public bridge ; and the turnpike road before the frco road. The same spirit pervades thousands of other institutions. Museums, free libraries, and free public acheela; parks and pleasure grounds; pavod and lighted streets, free for everybody's u»e ; water supplied to private dwellings, with a growiig tendency towards disregarding the exact amount of it ueed ley the individual; tramways and railways which have already begun U> introduce the season ticket or the uniform tax, and will surely go Much farther on this lino when they are no longer private preperty: all theae are tokens showing in what direction further progress is te lie expected.

It ia in the direction of putting the wants of the individual above the valuation of the services he has rendered, or might render, to aociety; in considering society as a whole, so intimately connected together that a service rendered to any individual is a service rendered to the whole socioty. The librarian of the British Museum does not ask the reader what havo been his previous services to society, he simply gives him the books he requires; and for a uniform fee, a scientific Society leaves its gardens and museums at tho free disposal of oach member. The crew of a lifeboat do not ask whother the men of a distressed ship are entitled to be rescued at a risk of lifo; and the Prisoners' Aid Socioty do not inquire what a released prisoner is worth. Here are men in need of a service ; they aro fellow men, and no further rights are required. And if this very city, so egotistic to-day, be visited by a public calamity—let it be besieged, for example, like Paris in 1871, and experience during the siege a want of food—this very same city would be unanimous in proclaiming that the first needs to bo satisfied aro those of the children and old, no matter what services they may render or have rendered to society. And it would take care of tho active defenders of tho city, whatever the degrees of gallantry displayed by each of them. But, this tendency already existing, nobody will deny, I suppose, that, in proportion as humanity is relieved from its hard struggle for life, the same tendency will grow stronger. If our productive powers wore fully applied to increasing tho stock of the staple necessities for life ; if a modification of the present conditions of property increased the number of producers by all those who aro not producers of wealth now; and if manual labour reconquered its place of honour in society—all this decuplating our production and rendering labour easier and more attractive—the Communist tendencies already existing would immediately enlarge their sphere of application.

Taking all this into account, and still more tho practical aspects of tho question as to how private property might become common property, most of the Anarchists maintain that the very next step to be made by society, as soon as the present regime of property undergoes a modification, will be in a Communist sense. Wo are Communists. But our Communism is not that of either the Phalanstery or the authoritarian school: it is Anarchist Communism, Communism without government, free Communism, It is a synt-hesis of the two chief aims prosecuted by humanity since the dawn of its history— economical freedom and political freedom.

I have already said that anarchy means no-government. We know well that the word " anarchy " is also used in current phraseology as synonymous with disorder. But that moaning of " anarchy," being a derived one, implies at least two suppositions. It implies, first, that wherever there is 110 government there it disorder; and it implies, moreover, that order, due to a strong government'and a strong police, is always beneficial. Both implications, however, are anything but proved. There is plenty of order—we should say, of harmony—in many branches of human activity where the government, happily, does not interfere. As to tho beneficial effects of order, the kind of order that reigned at isaples under the Bourbons surely was not preferable to some disorder started by Garibaldi; while the Protestants of this country will probably say that the good deal of disorder made by Luther was preferable, at any rate, to the order wliich reigned under tho Pope. As to the provorbial " order" which was once " resttorod at Warsaw," there are, I suppose, no two opinions about it. While all agree that harmony is always desirable, there is no 6uch unanimity about order, and still less about the " order" which is supposod to reign in our modern societies; so that wo have no objection whatever to the use of the word " anarchy " as a negation of what has been often described as order.

By taking for our watchword anarchy, in its sense of no-government, we intend to express a pronounced tendency of human society. In history we see that precisoly those epochs when small parts of humanity broke down tho power of their rulers and reaasumed their freedom were epochs of the greatest progress, economical and intellectual. Be it tho growth of the free cities, whose unrivalled monuments—free work of free associations of workers—still testify of the revival of mind and of the well-being of the citizen; be it the great movement which gave birth to the Reformation—those epochs when the individual recovered some part of his freedom witnessed tho groatest progress. And if we carefully watch tho present development of civilized nations, we cannot fail to discover in it a marked and ever-growing movement towards limiting more and more tho sphere of action of government, so as to leave more and more liberty to the initiative of tho individual After having tried all kinds of government, and endeavoured to solve the insoluble problem of having a government "which might compel the individual to obedience, without escaping itself from obedience to collectivity," humanity is trying now to free itself from the bonds of any government whatever, and to respond to its needs of organisation by the free understanding between individuals prosecuting the sama common aims. Ifome Rule, even for tho smallest territorial unit or group, becomes a growing need; free agreement is becoming a substitute for law; and free co-operation a substitute for governmental guardianship. One after the other those functions which were considered as the functions of government during the last two centuries, are disputed; society moves bettor the less it is governed. And the mere we study the advance made in this direction, as well as the inadequacy of governments to fulfil the expectations placed in them, the more we are bound to conclude that Humanity, by steadily limiting the functions of government, is marching towards reducing them filially to nil; and wo already foresee a state of society where the liberty of the individual will be limited by no laws, no bonds— by nothing else but his own social habits and the necessity, which everyone feels, of finding co-operation, support, and sympathy among his neighbours.

Of course, the no-government ethics will meot with at least as many objections as the no-capital economics. Our minds have been eo nurtured in prejudices as to tho providential functions of government that Anarchist ideas must be received with distrust. Our whole education, from childhood to the grave, nurtures the belief in tho aeceieity of a government and its beneficial effects. Systems of

) support this view; history has

theories of law have been circu-

lated and taught for the same purpose. All politics are based on the aame principle, each politician eaying to people he wants to support him : " Give me the governmental power; I will, I can, relieve you from the hardships of your present life." All our education ie permeated with the samo teachings. We may open any book of sociology, history, law, or ethics: everywhere wo find government, its organisation, its deeds, playing so prominent a part that we grow accustomed to suppose that the State and tlio political men are everything ; that there is nothing behind the big statesmen. The same teaehings are daily repeated in the Press. Whole columns aro filled *p with minutest records of parliamentary debates, of movements of political persons j and, while reading these columns, we too often forget that thero is an immense body of men—mankind, in fact— growing and dying, living in happiness or sorrow, labouring and eoaeuming, thinking and creating, besides those few men whose importance has been so swollen up as to overshadow humanity.

And yet, if wo rovert; from the printed matter to our real life, and cast a broad glance on society as it is, wo are struck with the infinitesimal part played by government in our life. Millions of human beings live and die without having had anything to do with government. Every day millions of transactions are made without the slightost interference of government; and those who enter into agreements have not the slightest intention of breaking bargains Nay, those agreements which are not protected by government (those of tho Exchange, or card debts) are perhaps better kept than any others. Tho simple habit of keeping one's word, the desire #f net not losing confidence, are quite sufficient in an overwhelming majority of cases to enforce the keeping of agreements. Of course, it may be said that there is still the government which might enforce them if necessary. But not to speak of the numberless cases which could not even be brought beforo a court, everybody who ha« the slightest acquaintance with trade will undoubtedly confirm the insertion that, if there were not so strong a feeling ef honour in keeping agreements,trade itself would become utterly impossible. Even those merchauts and manufacturers who feel not the slightest remorse when poisoning their customers with all kinds of abominable drugs, duly labelled, oven thoy also keep their commercial agreements. But, if such a relative morality as commercial honesty exists now, under the present conditions, when enrichment is the chief motive, the same feeling will further develop very fast as soon as robbing somebody of tho fruits of his labour is no longer the economical basis of our life.

Another striking feature of our century tells in favour of the same no-government tendency. It is the steady enlargement of the field covered by private initiative, and the recent growth of large organisations resulting merely and simply from froe agreement. The railway net of Europe—a confederation of so many scores of separate societies—and the direct transport of passengers and merchandise over so many lines which were built independently and fodorated together, without even so much as a Central Board of European Railways, are a most striking instance of what is already done by mere agreement. If fifty yoars ago somebody had predicted that railway! built by so many separate companies finally would constitute so perfect a net as they do to-day, he surely would have been treated as a fool. It would have been urged that so many companies, prosecuting their own interests, would novor agree without an International Board of Railways, supported by an International Convention of the European States, and endowed with governmental powers. But no such board was resorted to, and the agreement came nevertheless. The Dutch Beurden, or associations of ship and boat owners, are extending now their organisations over the rivers of Germany, and even to the shipping trade of the Baltic; the numberless amalgamated manufacturers' associations, and the syndicates of France, are so many instances in point. If c it be argued that many of these organisations are organisations for exploitation that proves nothing, becauso, if men prosecuting their own egotistla, often very narrow, interests can agree together, better inspired men, compelled to be more closely connected with other groups, will necessarily agree still more easily and still better.

But there also is no lack of free organisations for nobler pursuits One of the noblest achievements of our century is undoubtedly the Lifeboat Association. Since its first humble start, which we all remember, it has saved no less than 32,000 human lives. It makes appeal to the noblest instincts of man; its activity is entirely dependent upon devotion to the common causo; while its internal organisation is entirely based upon the independence of the local committees. The Hospitals Association and hundreds of like organisations, operating on a large scale and covering each a wide field, may also be mentioned under this hoad. But, while wo know everything about governments and their deeds, what do we know about the results achieved by free co-operation 1 Thousands of volumes have been written to record the acts of governments; the most trifling amelioration due to law has boen recorded ; its good effects have been exaggeratod, its bad effects passed by in silence. But where is the book recording what has been achieved by free co-operation of well-inspired men?—At tho samo time, hundreds of societies are constituted every day for the satisfaction of some of the infinitely varied needs of civilized man. We have societies for all possible kinds of studies—somo of them embracing tho whole field of natural science, others limited to a small special branch; societies for gymnastics, for shorthand-writing, for tho study of a separate author, for games and all kinds of sports, for forwarding tho science of maintaining life, and for favouring the art of destroying it; philosophical and industrial, artistic and anti-artistic; for serious work and for mere amusement—in short, there is not a single direction in which men exorcise their faculties without combining together for the prosecution of some common aim. Evory day new societies aro formed, while every year tlio old ones aggregate together into larger units, federate across the national frontiers, and co-operate in some common work.

The most striking feature of these numberless free growths k that they continually encroach on what was formerly the domain of the State or the Municipality. A householder in a Swiss village on the banks of Lake Leman belongs now to, at least, a dozen different societies which supply him with what is considered slse-where as a function of the municipal government. Frco federation of independent communes for temporary or pormanont purposes lies at the very bottom of Swiss life, and to these federations many a part of Switzerland is indebted for its roads and fountains, its rich vineyards, well-kept forests, and meadows which tho foreigner admires. And besidos these small societies, substituting themselves for the State within some limited sphere, do wo not see other societies doing the same on a much wider scale ? Each German Burger is proud of tho German army, but few of them know how much of its etrength is borrowed from the numberless private societies for military studies, oxercisos, and games; and how few are those who understand that their army would become an incoherent mass of men on the day when each soldier was no longer inspired by the feelings which in-ipiro him now t In this country, even the task of defending the territory—that is, the chief, the great function of tho State—has been undertaken by an army of Volunteers, and this army surely might stand against any army of slaves obeying a military despot. More than that: a private society for the defence of the coasts of England has been seriously spoken of. Lot it only come into life, and surely it will bo a more effective weapon for self-defenco than the ironclads of tho navy. One of the most remarkable societies, howover, which has recently arisen is undoubtedly tho Ecd Cross Society. To slaughter mon on the battle-fields, that remains the duty of the State; but those very States recognise their inability to take care of their own wounded: they abandon the task, to a great extent, to private initiative. What a deluge of mockeries would not have been cast over the poor " Utopist" who should have darod te •ay twenty-five years ago that the care of the wounded might be left to private societies ! " Nobody would go into the dangerous places 1 Hospitals would all gather whero there was no need of them I National rivalrios would result in the poor soldiers dying without any help, and so on,"—such would have been tho outcry. The war of 1871 has shown how perspicacious thoso prophets are who never believe in human intelligence, devotion, and good sense.

Those facts—so numerous and so customary that we pass by with-, out even noticing them—aro in our opinion one of the most prominent features of the second half of our century. The just-mentioned organisms grew up so naturally ; thoy so rapidly extended and so. easily aggregated togothor; they are such unavoidable out-growths of the multiplication of needs of the civilized man, and they so well replace State-inttrference, that we must recognise in them a growing faetor of our life. Modern progress is really towards the free aggregation of free individuals so as to supplant government in all those lumetione whieh formerly were entrusted to it, and which it mostly performed so badly.

At to parliamentary rule, and representative government altogether, they are rapidly falling into decay. The few philosophers who already have shown their defects have only timidly summed up the growing public discontent. It is becoming evident that it is aerelv stupid to elect a few men, and to entrust them with the task of making laws on all possible subjects, of which subjects most of them are utterly iguorant. It is becoming understood that Majority rule ia as defective as any other kind of rule; and Humanity searches, and finds, new channels for resolving the pending questions. The Postal Union did not elect an international postal parliament in order to make laws for all postal organisations adherent to the Union. The railways of Europe did- not elect an international railway parliament in order to regulate the running of the trains and the partition of the income of international traffic; and the Meteorological and Geological Societies of Europe did not elect either meteorological or geological parliaments to plan polar stations, or to establish a uniform subdivision of geological formations and % uniform coloration of geological maps. They proceeded by means of agreement. To agree together they resorted to congresses; but, while lending delegates to their congresses, they did not elect M,P.'s bons k tout f aire ; they did not say to them, " Vote about everything you like—we shall obey." They put questions and discussed them first themselves; then they sent delegates acquainted with the apecial question to be discussed at the congress, and they sent delegates—not rulers. Their delegates returned from the congress with Slo laws in their pockets, but with proposals of agreements. Such is the way assumed now (the very old way, too) for dealing with questions of public interest—not the way of law-making by means of a lepresentative government. Representative government has accomplished its historical mission; it has given a mortal blow to Court-role ; and by its debates it has awakened public interest in public

Sueations. But, to see in it the government of the future Socialist kiety, it to commit a gross error. Each economical phaso of life implies its own political phase; and it is impossible to touch the ▼•ry basis of the present economical life—privato property—without m corresponding change in the very basis of the political organisa-fe>n. Life already shows in which direction the change will be made. Not in increasing the powers of tho State, but in resorting to free organisation and free federation in all those branches which are now considered as attributes of the State.

The objections to the abovo may be easily foreseen. It will be said of course : " But what is to be done with those who do' not keep their agreements? What with those who are not inclined to work t What with thoso who would prefer breaking the written laws of society, or—on the Anarchist hypothesis—its unwritten customs ? Anarchy may be good for a higher humanity,—not for the men of our own times."

First of all, there are two kinds of agreements: there is the free one which is entered upon by free consent, as a free choice between different course? equally open to each of the agreeing parties; and there is the enforced agreement, imposed by ono party upon the other, and accepted by the latter from sheor necessity ; in fact, it is no agreement at all; it is a mere submission to necessity. Unhappily, the great bulk of what are now described as agreements belong to the latter category. When a workman sells hi3 labour te an employer, and knows perfectly well that some part of the value of his produce will be unjustly taken by the employer; when ho sell» it without even tho slightest guarantee of being employed so much as six consecutive months—and he is compelled to do so because he and his family would otherwise starve next week—it is a sad mockery to call that a free contract. Modern economists may call it free, but the father of political economy—Adam Smith—was never guilty of such a misrepresentation. As long as three-quarters of humanity are compelled to enter into agreements of that description, force is, of course, necessary, both to enforce the supposed agreements and to maintain such a state of things. Force—and a good doal of force —is necessary to prevent tho labourers from taking possession of what they consider unjustly appropriated by the few; and force is necessary to continually bring new u uncivilized nations " under the samo conditions. The Sponcerian no-forco party perfectly well understand that; and while thoy advocato no force for changing the existing conditions, they advocate still more force than is now ustd for maintaining them. As to Anarchy, it is obviously as incompatible with plutocracy as with any other kind of cracy.

But we do net see the necessity of force for enforcing agreement! freely entered upon. We never heard of a penalty imposed on a man who belonged to the crew of a lifeboat and at a given moment preferred to abandon the association. All that liis comrades would do with him, if he were guilty of a gross neglect, would be probably to refuse to do anything further with him. Nor did we hear of fines imposed on a contributor to Mr. Murray's Dictionary lor a delay in his wo^k, or of gendarmes driving the volunteers of Garibaldi to the battle-field. Free agreements need not bo onforced.

As to the so often repeated objection that nobody would labour if ho were not compelled to do so by sheer necessity, we heard enough of it before the emancipation of slaves in America, as well as before the emancipation of sorfs in Russia ; and wo have had the opportunity of appreciating it at its just value. So we shall not try to convince those who can be convinced only by accomplished facts. As to those who reason, they ought to know that, if it really was so with some parts of humanity at its lowest stages—and yet, what do fciow about it t—or if it is so with some small communities, or aeparato individuals, brought to sheer despair by illsuccess in their struggle against unfavourable conditions, it is not so with the bulk of the civilized nations. With us, work is a habit, and idlenoss an artificial growth. Of conrse, when to be a manual worker means to bo compelled to work all trie's life long for ten hours a day, and often more, at producing somo part of something—a pin's head, for instance; when it means to be paid wages on which a family can live only on the condition of the strictest limitation of all its needs ; when it means to bo always under the menace of being thrown to-morrow out of employment—and wo know how frequent are the industrial crises, and what misery they imply; when it means, in a very great number of cases, premature death in a paupers' infirmary, if not in the workhouse; when to be manual worker signifies to wear a life-long stamp of inferiority in the eyes of thoso very peoplo who live on the work of their " hands ;" when it always means the renunciation of all thoso higher enjoyments that science and art give to man—oh, then there is no wonder that everybody—the manual worker as well—has but one dream : that of rising to a condition where others would work for him. When I see writers who boast that they are the workers, and write that the manual workers are an inferior race of lazy and improvident fellows, I must ask them: Who, then, has made all you see round about you : the houses you live in, the chairs, the carpets, the streets you enjoy, the clothes you wear ? Who built the universities where you were taught, and who provided you with food during your school years ? And what would become of your readiness to " work," if you wera compelled to work in the above conditions all your life at a pin's head ? No doubt, anyhow you would be reported as a la«y fellow ! And I affirm that no intelligent man can be closely acquainted with the life of the European working classes without wondering, on the contrary, at their readiness to work, even under such abominable conditions.

Overwork is repulsive to human nature—not work. Overwork for supplying the few with luxury—not work for tho well-being of all. Work, labour, is a physiological necessity, a necessity of spending accumulated bodily energy, a necessity which is health and life itself. If so many branches of useful work are so reluctantly done now, it is merely because they moan overwork, or they are improperly organised. But we know—old Franklin knew it—that four hours of useful work every day would be more than sufficient for supplying everybody with the comfort of a moderately well-to-do middle-class house, if wo all gave ourselves to productive work, and if we did no„ waste our productive powers as we do waste thorn now. As to the childish question, repeated for fifty years: " Who would do disagreeable work ?" frankly I regret that none of our savants has ever been brought to do it, bo it for only one day in his life. If there is still work which is really disagreeable in itself, it is only because our scientific men have never cared to consider the means of rendering it less so : they have always known that there were plenty of starving men who would do it for a few pence a day.

As to the third—the chief—objection, which maintains the necessity of a government for punishing those who broak the law of society, there is so much to say about it that it hardly can be touched incidentally.* The more we study the question, the more we are brought to the conclusion that society itself is responsible for the anti-social deeds perpetrated in its midst, and that no punishment, no prisons, and no hangmen can diminish the numbers of such deeds; nothing short of a re-organisation of society itself. Three quarters of all tho acts which aro brought every year before our courts have their origin, eithor directly or indirectly, in tho present disorganised state of society with regard to the production and distribution of wealth—not in the perversity of human nature. As to the relatively fow antisocial deeds which result from anti-social inclinations of separate individuals, it is not by prisons, nor even by resorting to the hangmen, that we can diminish their numbers. By our prisons, we merely multiply them and render them worse. By our detectives, our " price of blood/' our executions, and our jails,

•Some Aore upon this subject is said in tbe last two chapters of In Russian and French Prisons.

we spread in sooiety such a terrible flow of basest passions and habits, that he who should realise the effects of these institutions to their full extent, would be frightened by what society is doing under the pretext of maintaining morality, We must search for other remedies, and the remedies have been indicated long since.

Of course now, when a mother in search of food aud shelter for her children must pass by shops filled with tho most refined deli-eacies of refined gluttony; when gorgeous and insolent luxury is displayed side by side with the most execrable misery : when the dog and the horse of a rich man are far better cared for than millions ef children whose mothers earn a pitiful salary in tho pit or the manufactory; when each "modest" evening dross of a lady represents eight months, or one year, of human labour; when enrichment at somebody else's expense is the avowed aim of the " upper classes," and mo distinct boundary can be traced betwoen honest and dishonest Means of making money—then force is the only means for maintaining such a state of things; then an army of policemen, judges, and hangmen becomes a necessary institution.

But if all our children—all children are our children—received a sound instruction and education—and wo have the means of giving it; if every family lived in a decent home —and they could at the present high pitch of our production; if every boy and girl were taught a handicraft at the same time as he or she receives scientific instruction, and not to bo a manual producer of wealth were considered as a token of inferiority ; if men lived in closer contact with •ne another, and had continually to come into contact on those public affairs which now are vested in the few; and if, in consequence of a closer contact, we were brought to take as lively an interest in our neighbours' difficulties and pains as we formerly took in those of our kinsfolk—then we should not resort to policemen amd judges, to prisons and cxocutionis. Anti-social deeds would be mippid in the bud, not punished; tho few contests which would arise would be easily settled by arbitrators; and no more force weuld be necessary to impose their decisions than is required now for enforcing the decisions of the family tribunals of China, or of the Valencia water-courts.

And here we are brought to consider a great question : what would Weome of morality in a society which recognised no laws and proclaimed the full freedom of the individual ? Our answer is plain. Public morality is independent from, and anterior to, law and rtKfita. Until now, the teachings of morality have been associated with religious teachings. But the influence which religious teachings formerly exercised on the mind has faded of late, and the sanction which morality derived from religion has no longer the power it formerly had. Millions and millions grow in our cities who have lost the old faith. Is it a reason for throwing morality overboard, and for treating it with the same sarcasm aa primitive coamogony ?

Obviously not. No society is posaible without certain principles of morality generally recognised. If everybody grew accuatomed to deceive his fellow-men ; if we never could rely on each other's promise and words; if everybody treated his fellow as an enemy, againat whom every means of warfare is justifiable—no aociety could exist. And wo see, in fact, that notwithstanding the decay of religious beliefs, the principles of morality remain unshaken. We even aeo irreligious people trying to raise tho current standard of morality. The fact is that moral principles are independent of religious beliefs: they are anterior to them. The primitive Tchuktchis have no religion : they have only superstitions and fear of the hostile forces of nature; and nevertheless we find with them the very same principles of morality which are taught by Christians and Buddhists, Muaaulmans and Hebrews. Nay, some of their practices imply a much higher standard of tribal morality than that which appears in ouf civilized society. In fact, each new religion takes its moral principles from the only real stock of morality—the moral habits which grow with men as soon as they unite to li7e together in tribes, cities, or nations. No animal society is possible without resulting in a growth of certain moral habits of mutual support and even self-sacrifice for the common well-being. These habits are a necessary condition for the welfare of tho species in its struggle for life—cooperation of individuals being a much more important factor in tho struggle for the preservation of the species than the ao-much-apoken-of physical struggle between individuals for the means of existence. The " fittest" in the organic world are those who grow accuatomed te life in society; and life in society necessarily implies moral habits. As to mankind, it has, during its long existence, developed in its midst a nucleus of social habits, of moral habits, which cannot disappear as long as human societies exist. And therefore, notwithstanding the influences to the contrary which aTe now at work is consequence of our present economical relations, the nucleus of on* moral habits continues to exist. Law and religion only formulate them and endeavour to enforce them by]their sanction.

Whatever the variety of theories of morality, all can be brought undor three chief catagories : tho morality of religion ; the utilitarian morality; and the theory of moral habits resulting from tho very needs of life in society. Each religious morality sanctifies its prescriptions by making them originate from revelation ; and it tries to impress its teachings on tho mind by a promise of reward, or punishment, cither in this or in a future life. Tho utilitarian morality maintains the idea of reward, but it finds it in man himself. It invites men to analyse their pleasures, to classify them, and to give preference to those which are most intense and most durable. Wo must recognise, however, that, although it has exercised somo influence, this system has been judged too artificial by the great mass of human beings. And finally—whatever its varieties—there is tho third system of morality which sees in moral actions—in those actions which aro most powerful in rendering men best fitted for life in society—a more necessity of tho individual to enjoy the joys of his brethren, to suffer when some of his brethren aro suffering; a habit and a sccond nature, slowly elaborated and perfected by life in society. That is the morality of mankind; and that is also the morality of Anarchy.

I could not bettor illustrate the difference between the throe systems of morality than by repeating the following example. Suppose a child is drowning in the rivor, and three men stand on the bank of the river: the religious moralist, the utilitarian, and the plain man of the people. The religious man is supposed, first, to say to himself that to save tho child would bring him happiness in this or another life, and then save the child; but if ho does so, he is merely a good reckoner, no more. Then comes the utilitarian, who is supposed to reason thus : " The enjoyment of life may be of tho higher and of the lower description. To save the child would assure me the higher enjoyment. Therefore, let me jump into the river." But, admitting that there ever was a man who reasoned in this way, again, he would be a mere reckoner, and society would do better not to rely very much upon him : who knows what sophism might pass one day through his head ! And hore is the third man. He does not calculate, much But he ha3 grown in the habit of always feeling the joys of those who surround him, and feeling happy when others are happy; of suffering, deeply suffering when others suffer. To act accordingly is his second nature. Ho hears the cry of tho mother, he sees tho child struggling for life, and he jumps into the river like a good dog, and saves the child, thanks to the energy of his feelings. And when the mother thanks him, he answers : " Why ! I could not do otherwise than I did." That is the real morality. That is the morality of the masses of the people ; tho morality grown to a habit, which will exist, whatever the ethical theories made by philosophers, and will steadily improve in proportion as the conditions of our social life are improved. Such a morality needs no law for its maintenance. It is a natural growth favoured by tho genoral sympathy which every advance towards a wider and higher morality fin'Is in all fellow men.

Such are, in a very brief summary,the leading principles of Anarchy. Each of them hurts many a prejudice, and yet each of them results from an analysis of the very tendencies displayed by human society. Each of them is rich in consequences and implies a thorough revision of many a current opinion. And Anarchy is not a mere insight into a remote future. Already now, whatever the sphero of action of the individual, he can act, either in accordance with Anarchist principles or on an opposite line. And all that may be done in that direction will be done in the direction whereto further development goes. All that •nav be done in the opposite way will bo an attempt to force numamty *o go wnere it will not go.


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1  lilt 6ur la Revolution ati XIXt tiicle; and Confetriont (Tun rivolutionnatre.

X Ltttres & un Fran$ais sur la crinactuclle; IS Empire knouto-germanifut; The State's Idoa and Anarchy (Russian).

• * Pages 500 to 302. In fact, the whole of this chapter, whicH 414 not appear in the first two editions, ought to be quoted.

2  Mssmps, vol. iii. I am fully aware that in the very same Essays, a fen pagos farther, Herbert Spencer destroys the force of the foregoing statement by tki following words : " Not only do 1 contend " he says " that the retraining power of th« Stat* over individuals and bodies, or classes of iudi-