Sunday, July 22, 2018

10 Things You Never Knew About Orwell's "1984"


George Orwell’s novel 1984 was incredibly popular at the time it was published, and it remains incredibly popular to this day. With multiple stars citing the book as one of their favorites – including Stephen King, David Bowie, Mel Gibson, and Kit Harrington – 1984 has been growing in popularity in recent years. The book reappeared on best-seller lists in early 2017, as some argued Orwell’s dystopian vision had finally arrived.

Below are 10 facts you might not know about Orwell’s dark novel.

1. Before he wrote 1984, Orwell worked for the British government during World War II as a propagandist at the BBC. (Perhaps seeing the propaganda industry up close led to his critical portrait in 1984.)

2. Orwell initially named the novel 1980, and then 1982 before settling on 1984. Since it was written in 1948, some think that Orwell devised the title by inverting the year the book was written. Additionally, he thought about naming the novel The Last Man in Europe.

3. While writing the novel, Orwell fought tuberculosis. The disease ultimately consumed him and he died seven months after 1984 was published, with tuberculosis as the sole cause of death.

4. In addition to fighting tuberculosis, Orwell almost died while writing the novel. On a recreational boating trip with his children, he went overboard. Fortunately, neither this episode nor the tuberculosis prevented him from finishing his novel.

5. On an ironic note, Orwell himself was under government surveillance while writing his novel warning about government surveillance. The British government was watching Orwell because they believed he held socialist opinions. This surveillance started after he published The Road to Wigan Pier, a true story about poverty and the lower class in England.

6. The slogan “2 + 2 = 5” originated from Russia, where the Communist regime used it as a motto of sorts in an effort to help them accomplish the goals of their five-year plan in only four years. Though the slogan is still used to point out the ills of totalitarian brainwashing today, it was not coined by Orwell.

7. In addition to borrowing a piece of Russian propaganda, Orwell also borrowed some Japanese propaganda for his novel. The “Thought Police” are based on the Japanese wartime secret police who literally arrested Japanese citizens for having “unpatriotic thoughts.” Their official name was the Kempeitai, and they officially named their pursuit the “Thought War.”

8. When Orwell worked as a propagandist for the BBC, there was a conference room there numbered 101. This room was the room of which he based the location for some of his more horrifying scenes, making the scenes themselves all the more horrifying.

9. According to Orwell’s friends and families, his second wife Sonia Brownell was the model off of which he based the love interest (Julia) of the book’s main character, Winston Smith.

10. Though his book may be popular, Orwell’s novel also makes the list of the world’s top ten most frequently banned books. Some ban it for what they claim are pro-communist points of view, and others have banned it because it is anti-communist. Regardless, it is ironic that a book warning against totalitarianism is often an item for censorship.
Anna Mathews
This article was originally published on FEE.org. Read the original article.

Saturday, July 14, 2018

Utopia: Dream into Nightmare

A former lecturer in philosophy at Tufts College, Dr. Winston has written extensively in the field of history. His most recent book is No Man Knows My Grave: Privateers and Pirates, 1665-1715.
Plato fathered the first blueprint of a planned society, and his descendants still clasp us in a sticky embrace while they rifle our freedoms. His Republic mapped out a spartan state run by benevolent philosophers, defended by a secondary caste of warriors, and supplied with the necessities of life by a mass of farmer artisans whose only political role was to obey. He did away with two obstacles to the ordered state: private property and the family. In the Republic each citizen performs that task for which he is fitted; the lowly toiler’s ignorance is his bliss; and all parts of the body politic function together in well-oiled harmony.
Thomas More’s Utopia (Greek for "noplace") in 1516 gave the name to this whole type of literature. A spate of others followed: Andreae’s Christianopolis (1619), Campanella’s City of the Sun (1623); Bacon’s New Atlantis (1627), to cite a few; then a growing flood rising from the French Revolution and spreading amidst the industrial turmoil of the nineteenth century (Edward Bellamy’s Looking Backward, 1888, being the most popular); and on to our own day in such projections of the future as H.G. Wells’ Modern Utopia (1905) and B.F. Skinner’s Walden Two (1948).
They number by the score, and their variety in detail is as great. The majority rely on rule by an aristocracy of merit, a few try to preserve a modicum of democracy; most are communistic, but one at least (Hertzka’s Freelands, 1890) recognizes self-interest as basic and aims to save capitalism by restraint on overproduction. They may be secular or religious, agricultural or industrial, favorable to education or distrustful of it, resolutely egalitarian or frankly hierarchical.
Common Assumptions
However, certain elements of these multiform visions emerge with such frequency that they deserve our attention. The utopian pictures a static society in which careful planning solves every major problem of human life. Faith is placed in a collectivity that owns or controls all property. Competition for markets or jobs vanishes. Family ties diminish, and the rearing of children by the state is taken for granted. Everything is rationally ordered by those most capable of doing so: Plato’s guardians, More’s king and his advisers, Bacon’s Solomon’s House scientists, Bellamy’s industrial council, Wells’ austere samurai, Saint-Simon’s Council of Newton, Campanella’s quartet of superior men, Skinner’s panel of psychologists.
In utopia everyone works, the women on equal terms with the men. Hours are short — four to six daily—and retirement as early as age fifty, but the wants of the people have a stoic simplicity, and all enjoy a decent living. There is little to quarrel over, the atmosphere is uniformly brotherly, crime is almost unknown and disease rare — a perfect whole of perfect parts, all supremely content. "Utopia," the noplace, is plainly "eutopia" the happy place.
But how to get there? Utopians had no answer to that, and avoided the question. They sprang their flawless states fullarmed from the inkpot, always somewhere else — a distant island, an obscure wilderness, another planet — or at a dim future time. The transition from a callous, exploitive society, its people already deformed by prevalent evil, to one of affection and universal sharing, struck the utopians dumb. Their residue of hope rested in a double view of human nature. They mixed these two elements at will, for each one favored a regeneration of man’s sorry existence. In one they saw man fundamentally good (but perverted by a debasing environment); in the other they saw man quite plastic, molded to the last detail by his surroundings. Either way, the right society would very quickly set men right.
A combination of circumstances after 1800 convinced social idealists that the time was ripe for bringing heaven to earth. The French Revolution had produced a new crop of theorists, the long hours and short pay of the early factory system promised to grind down the poor, and overseas the American republic offered a haven for all who wanted to try something better than mankind had ever known. "Our fathers have not seen it," said Saint-Simon; "our children will arrive there one day, and it is for us to clear the way for them."
American Experiments
The result was more than 130 attempts to establish utopian societies in the United States during the nineteenth century. A ferment of change filled the air, even in staid New England. "We are all a little wild here with numerous projects of social reform," Emerson wrote to Carlyle. "Not a reading man but has a draft of a new community in his waistcoat pocket." Many of the settlements were European in origin as well as theory; some seeking escape from religious persecution, others imbued with recent secular plans for utopia; but all drawn by the cheap land of the American frontier and the easy tolerance of the young republic that had thrown off the shackles of old Europe and considered itself the vehicle of the new age. At last the utopians had before them something very like the fabulous island of the old dreamers. In America they could found minuscule states, as self-sufficient as possible, based on common ownership of property, filled with the brotherly spirit, and isolated from contamination by the outside world. "Our ulterior aim," said young Charles Dana of Brook Farm, "is nothing less than heaven on earth."
As might be expected, some of these starry-eyed experiments were simply preposterous. At Fruitlands that "tedius archangel" Bronson Alcott would not harness workhorses to the plow (unnatural), nor allow sugar (reaped by slaves), nor wear woolen cloth (robbed from sheep), nor spread manure on the fields (filthy stuff), nor burn whale-oil lamps (from slaughtered whales). Shakers led by an illiterate factory girl hailed as "Ann the Word" were strictly celibate, and regulated the lives of the faithful down to such details as what shoe to put on first in dressing, and which trouser leg to step into. An irresistible little fellow in Michigan got himself proclaimed James I of Zion by 2,000 adherents and five wives; "King Benjamin" of the House of David announced that he was the younger brother of Jesus Christ; the final verdict in the early days of the Amana settlement rested with an oracular Werkzeug whose utterances came straight from God; the ruler of a Florida colony taught that we all live inside the earth, our feet on its inner surface. The Lake Erie  Brotherhood of the New Life gave major attention to the sisterhood, in the belief that: "Soul-life and sex-life are at one, In the Divine their pulses run."
Robert Owen and Charles Fourier
Founders of other perfectionist settlements were more sincere and a bit less silly. Robert Owen, a successful English textile manufacturer, believed community of property essential to the good life, and was sure that the individual is totally shaped by his environment. In 1825 he bought up the extensive holdings of a religious community that was moving from Harmony, Indiana. The 900 who flocked in at his open invitation seemed to Owen’s son a "heterogeneous collection of radicals, enthusiastic devotees to principle, honest latitudinarians and lazy theorists, with a sprinkling of unprincipled sharpers thrown in." Owen’s communal system gave full vent to their shabby ways. They couldn’t run anything properly—flour mill, saw mill, tannery or smithy—and their only solution to problems of production was to write another constitution or make another speech. The industrious soon tired of supporting the idle. From the Nashoba, Tennessee Owenite settlement, leader Frances Wright informed Owen that "cooperation has nigh killed us all," and departed. Within two years every Owenite venture, fourteen in all, disintegrated.
Disciples of the unsmiling Frenchman Charles Fourier set up no less than twenty-seven American experiments. Fourier based his utopian ideal less on man’s malleability than on his fundamental goodness. The twelve passions, which he carefully listed and classified, would act in perfect harmony with each other and with society as a whole if given a chance. Let people gather into phalanxes" of some 2,000 members, housed communally in one huge "phalanstery" lying in a spread of 1,600 acres owned in common. Let each choose the work he wished to do. Pay the highest wage for disagreeable but necessary labor, less for the more attractive, and least for work that was downright pleasurable. Bring all goods produced to a single warehouse, where they could be purchased with worktickets. In Fourier’s ample vision all mankind would finally be gathered into three million phalanxes, coordinated by an Omniarch in Constantinople.
Fourier-inspired communes quickly died of dissension, ineptitude, and sheer tomfoolery. An attempt to use some Fourier principles dealt the final blow to the most charming and humane of all the utopian experiments, Brook Farm. The Farm was owned in shares; it intended to support itself by voluntary labor at an equal wage for all (ten cents an hour), and have plenty of time left over for culture. Some choice souls sought refuge there: The Rev. George Ripley, founder; Nathaniel Hawthorne, who soon discovered that forking manure ten hours a day was not conducive to literature; George Curtis, later to edit Harper’s; and Isaac Hecker, a humble German who became a priest and instituted the Paulist Fathers. Good families sent their boys down to be prepared for Harvard at the Farm school.
Into this idyllic but financially precarious community of like minds swept a voluble enthusiast for Fourier, Albert Brisbane. He convinced them that their happy anarchy wouldn’t work. They must organize. Tasks were specialized on Fourier principles; a Sacred Legion took on the dirtier jobs; unequal wages replaced equal pay; work became compulsory; uneducated artisans came in with their ignorant and sharp-tongued wives; and before long the genial spirit that had held Brook Farm together evaporated. Six years after its beginning in 1841 the Farm was sold to West Roxbury (Mass.) for an alms house, thus passing, in the words of one observer, from "the highest ideal" to "the lowest actual."
Two That Remain
Two utopian communes have the distinction of remaining, though much altered, to the present day. In 1848 John Humphrey Noyes settled fifty one Perfectionists along Oneida Creek near Utica, New York, an area so filled with fiery religious fanatics that wits called it "the burned over district." A slab chinned fellow with a scraggly beard and bleating voice, Noyes was nevertheless personally impressive, and a canny manager of people. He quipped that too many agricultural communes had "run aground," and set out to make Oneida industrial. The growing membership (an average of 250) canned farm produce for the market, made traveling bags and a special type of steel trap, spun silk, silver plated dinnerware, and prospered.
Noyes’ word was law. He rested it on divine inspiration, and exerted pressure so gently that no one thought him despotic. The individual at Oneida had no life apart from the community — property in common, personal acts under common scrutiny, sexual sharing on the theory that monogamy was un-Christian "claiming." The women said that they belonged to God first and Noyes next, an order of precedence that they in fact reversed. A system of selective breeding called "stirpiculture" admitted only the most fit to parenthood. Children lived apart, rarely seen by their parents.
For thirty years Oneida adhered to the original plan. By 1880 Noyes had aged; the religious spirit that he had evoked flickered; the young revolted at the idea of sharing spouses and surrendering their children. The commune converted to a joint stock company in an effort to avoid collapse, but its old habits were too ingrained. In 1890 P.B. Noyes, one of the founder’s "stirpiculture" sons (he sired ten) saved the community by transforming it into a typical well run American business. He concentrated on silverware, cut costs, emphasized teamwork, hustled, advertised, and competed. Today Oneida differs in no essential from any other enlightened manufacturing firm.
Where Oneida chose industry, the Amana community of Iowa remained rural, and even more pervasively religious. Eight hundred Germans of the "True Inspiration" sect established it in 1854 on 26,000 choice acres, seven villages spread in a circle around the central one. Every member surrendered all his capital to the common fund (if he left, he got it back with interest) and in return was guaranteed his necessities for life. Under the rule of church elders the maxim, "obey, without reasoning, God, and through God your superiors," kept members in line. Amana supplied its own needs — weavers, cobblers, tailors, watchmakers, pharmacies, print shop — and exported only high grade woolen cloth. As much as possible the members ignored the world around them, even hiring outsiders to serve in the hotel lest their own girls be corrupted.
By 1900 Amana’s piety had waned. Without the invigorating spur of competition the economy lagged badly. In 1932 it became a joint stock company intent on profit. A business manager brought in from the outside trimmed the labor force of its hired hands, closed shops that had run at a loss for years, eliminated fifty two inefficient dining halls, sold businesses into private hands and houses to their occupants. Still quaint and quiet today, Amana is a producing and marketing cooperative, without a vestige of its former communism.
American experiments that went under in two years, as many did, had too large a proportion of misfits whose record outside was one of steady failure. Intimacy bred discord, as people living too close together bumped each other at every turn. The absence of competition resulted in lethargy. None of these eccentrics had any business sense; the purchase of a 300-acre tract in Pennsylvania, for example, was made in midwinter snows by an artist, a doctor and a cooper, and turned out to be rocklands and that had to be abandoned in a year. The Ruskin colony in Tennessee (1894) was ruined by an agent who took such pleasure in making a sale that he sold regularly at a loss. Occasionally plain chicanery was too much for the innocent: the Rev. Adin Ballou lost his "miniature Christian republic" at Hopedale when one of his Christians bought up enough shares to force everyone else out. Worse, the utopians misread human nature. "If men were angels," remark the Federalist Papers, "no government would be necessary." The utopians discovered to their sorrow that men are not angels now, nor can be so shaped.
Displaced by the Welfare State
While these sad little failures gathered dust, Americans awoke to the fact that in the welfare state of the western democracies, and more explicitly in communist Russia, utopia had already arrived on a massive scale. The results in this country stirred up a general unease. Every step that added to the individual’s security detracted from his liberty; every move toward the better life exacted its toll. The United States government assumed vast new powers to tax, spend — and regulate the affairs of its citizens. Mass production and the communications media created a bland uniformity, with the flesh and blood breadwinner converted into a Social Security number. Welfare programs that averted gross poverty also robbed the individual of his initiative. Women’s equality did much to skyrocket divorce. The same technological advance that increased abundance polluted the landscape. Nuclear energy was more bomb than blessing. Parents did all they could to make a heaven on earth, and their children kicked them in the stomach for the effort.
The West edged piecemeal toward the planned society; Russia made it in a leap. Marx had revived the utopian dream and promised its fulfillment: abundance of consumer goods, universal happiness, absolute equality, peace at home and abroad, government that would hardly need to govern — a perfect whole of perfect parts. Liberals who had been beguiled by this splendid vision shuddered at the actuality. In Russia the government clamped an iron grip on the people and showed no inclination to let go. Everything was in short supply except armaments. The mildest critic of the regime was branded a traitor, and shipped off to Siberia. Art and science became tools of the Party; news media spewed nothing but the official line; and the calculated lie became a habit. The planned society, dreamed of through the ages, turned out to be the police state.
Americans who had believed in a steady march to the promised land now quailed at the prospect. Once they had yearned for utopia; now they asked themselves, "What can we do to prevent it?"
Antiutopian novels clanged like warning bells in the night. Eugene Zamiatin’s We (1920) was among the first, and dozens followed (if we include science fiction), notably Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932), Vladimir Nabokov’s Bend Sinister (1947) and George Orwell’s 1984 in 1949. They draw a frightening picture of the planned society: its ruthless manipulation by the rulers of the ruled, its grey-faced homogeneity, its stifling of creative change, its reduction of man to a producing and consuming animal, its hideous distortion of truth. Once the masters of this nightmare society are in the saddle, few can escape or even want to.
Human nature, in these anti-utopias, is infinitely malleable; men can be taught to kiss their chains.
Are we all doomed to this? There is reason to doubt it. The anti-utopian sounds a needed alarm, but he badly overplays his hand. He regards the individual as an empty sack into which any rubbish can be poured. Even the lonely rebels of anti-utopian novels are spineless, stupid, or both. D503 of We can build a cosmic machine, but is otherwise a bumbling idiot; Bernard in Brave New World is a sniveling coward; Smith in 1984 is a perverter of truth by vocation and a lovesick ninny on the side; the renowned philosopher Kruger in Bend Sinister has a backbone of rope. In anti-utopia western man has thrown away every vestige of his hard-won rights, to gain a bovine placidity. All the world is content to chew its cud.
Common Sense May Prevail
Such a view undoes history. Western man has shown himself far too stubborn, restless and plain cussed for any such fate. Once the common man has had a full taste of speaking his mind, no one can shut him up for long. Once he is used to the ballot, and the exhilarating experience of throwing the rascals out, he can be deprived of it only under the most extraordinary conditions. Once real power is firmly established at the base of the political pyramid (as it never was in Russia or China), tyranny from the top becomes an outside chance.
This may be faith, but it is a faith worth having. A man’s essence is his hazardous freedom. It is built in, inexpugnable. For it he has fought wars, rioted, hidden in catacombs, gone to the stake, killed kings, languished in prison, and he does not forget. Freedom disrupts old orders, and sometimes gives the impression that everything nailed down is coming loose, but as long as Americans demand it as their right, the horrors of the police state will stay beyond our borders.
***
Umpire
In general, nothing happens except a change in the weather, unless somebody makes it happen. Under a free economic system, the man who makes things happen is called an enterpriser. With his own savings or savings borrowed from others, he goes into farming, manufacturing, mining, or banking, and begins producing goods or moving them around. That much is basic.
Thomas Nixon Carver, the economist, said the reason many countries are backward is that there was nobody who cared to invest in them. Either the government itself was predatory, or thieves and robbers roamed unmolested. In such countries the rich keep their wealth in the form of unproductive goods — gold and jewels — which they can hide and easily transport when things get too tough.
If a nation wants production and prosperity, the persons to encourage are the enterprisers. Not only should they be encouraged to build and produce, but they should be assured that their property and a decent part of their gains are protected against confiscation. If they lose part or all of their savings in the competitive game, they must take the loss and shut up. Government’s main job is to see that the rules are fair and are enforced.
FROM The William Feather Magazine, November, 1971 
Alexander Winston
This article was originally published on FEE.org. Read the original article.

Sunday, July 8, 2018

My Favorite Libertarian Books (Milton Friedman)

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I am one of the many millions of beneficiaries of Andrew Carnegie’s public libraries. The one in the small town in which I grew up (Rahway, New Jersey) fed my early interest in books, providing a range of reading matter that was available in no other way, since there were few books at home. That started me on a lifelong addiction.

I have been asked what was my first introduction to libertarian thought. I find that hard to answer, involving as it does looking back nearly three quarters of a century. But if I had to make a guess, I would conjecture that it was John Stuart Mill ‘s Essay on Liberty, which I must have read in my first or second year of college.

Herewith are my five favorite libertarian books.

Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations

First, Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations. This book, published in 1776, founded economic science. It introduced the notion of the “invisible hand” and explained how free trade could produce cooperation among people in achieving economic productivity. It remains a book well worth reading, full of wonderful comments to warm a libertarian’s
heart.

Mill’s Essay on Liberty

Second, John Stuart Mill’s Essay on Liberty. The most concise and clearest statement of the fundamental libertarian principle, “The only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others …. ”

Dicey’s Lectures on Law and Public Opinion

Third, A. V. Dicey’s Lectures on the Relation between Law and Public Opinion in England during the Nineteenth Century. A remarkable work initially presented as lectures at Harvard in the 1890s and reprinted with a new and very important preface in 1914. Dicey saw clearly the ultimate outcome of initial social welfare measures in the first decade of the twentieth century. He essentially predicted the emergence of the full-fledged welfare state. More than a century ago, Dicey explained why the rhetoric in terms of the general interest is so persuasive: “The beneficial effect of state intervention, especially in the form of legislation, is direct, immediate, and so to speak, visible while its evil effects are gradual and indirect and lying out of sight …. Hence the majority of mankind must almost of necessity look with undue favor upon governmental intervention.”

Hayek’s The Road to Serfdom

Foutth, F. A. Hayek’s The Road to Serfdom. This profound book was highly influential in the immediate post-World War II period when it was a lone voice presenting the case for libertarian philosophy and pointing out the consequences of an increase in the role of the state. It was certainly one of the most effective works leading people to take libertarian principles seriously.

My Own Favorite: Capitalism and Freedom OR Free to Choose?

Fifth, I have been asked to include one of my own books. I am torn between Capitalism and Freedom, published in 1962 with the assistance of Rose D. Friedman, and Free to Choose, published in 1980 jointly with Rose D. Friedman. Both present the same philosophy and cover many of the same topics. Capitalism and Freedom is more succinct, scholarly, and abstract; it was a product of a series of lectures that I gave in June 1956 at a conference at Wabash College directed by John Van Sickle and Benjamin Rogge [a long-time FEE trustee] and sponsored by the Volker Foundation.
Free to Choose, based on the television program of the same title, is more popular, less abstract, more concrete. It presents a fuller development of the philosophy that permeates both books; it has more nuts and bolts, less theoretical framework. The TV program on which Free to Choose is based is available in videocassette and, if I were to consider it as a book, would clearly be my favorite.
*Excerpted from an insert that appeared in the April 2002 issue of The Freeman.
Milton D. Friedman
Milton D. Friedman
Milton Friedman (1912-2006), recipient of the 1976 Nobel Memorial Prize in Economic Science, is a Senior Research Fellow at the Hoover Institution.
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Sunday, July 1, 2018

The Benefits of a Capitalist Society By James E. Le Rossignol 1921



The Benefits of Capitalism By James Edward Le Rossignol 1921

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CAPITALISM has been the chief cause of the vast improvement in social conditions that has made the nineteenth century notable in the history of mankind. It has explored and settled the wilderness, has improved land, and developed mines. It has built roads, bridges and canals. It has unified the world by steamships, railroads and telegraph lines. It has built great cities where millions of people are fed, clothed and sheltered in a degree of comfort unknown to the aristocrats of former times. It has created schools, colleges, libraries, hospitals, parks, playgrounds, and a thousand agencies for the betterment of social conditions.

Capitalism has increased wages, decreased hours and improved conditions of labor in many ways. It has greatly reduced the death-rate, thus increasing the average duration of human life. It has improved morality, abolished famine and pestilence, and mitigated the horrors of war. It has elevated the working class to the level of the middle class of two hundred years ago, and the middle class it has raised to the level of the nobles and princes of those days.

The countries where capitalism has most prevailed are the countries where the laboring man receives the highest wages and maintains the highest standard of living. The countries where capitalism has done least, such as China, India and Russia, are the countries whose wages are lowest, where the laboring man is ever on the verge of starvation, and where he is most exploited by the merchant, the money lender and the government official.

Capitalism, with all its faults, has done great things for the western world, and will do still more, unless the social revolutionists, running amuck, succeed in breaking up the great machine. If they do, there will be no land owners, no capitalists, no business men, neither rent, interest, profits, nor surplus value of any other kind. The old economic order, the product of centuries of industrial evolution, will be gone, and the proletariat will set itself to the laborious, slow, and painful task of creating a new social order out of the ruins of the old. While this work of reconstruction is going on, doubtless millions of people will die of starvation, but, as the revolutionists would say, what will that matter in a thousand years?

If, on the other hand, the working class listens to counsels of moderation and prudence, they will refuse to destroy what they may not be able to build again. They will watch and wait for the outcome of the great Russian experiment, and for the results of governmental and co-operative effort in their own countries. If governments and co-operative societies show themselves able to compete with private enterprise in producing better results at a lower cost, then these associations, controlled, no doubt, by the working class, will possess the field, by virtue of superior efficiency, and the socialist ideal will be realized by a process of slow and continuous evolution.

But if not, capitalism will continue to exist, and the working class will find it to their advantage to preserve and foster it, while at the same time doing their utmost to remove abuses and to secure as large a share in the joint product as they can without injury to the industrial system of which they are a part. The working-class, no longer the exploited, will become the exploiters, and will protect and cherish capitalism as they would a cow for its milk, or the fabled goose for its golden eggs.

"The nineteenth century was the ultimate product and expression of the intellectual trend of the Renaissance and the Age of Reason, which means: of a predominantly Aristotelian philosophy. And, for the first time in history, it created a new economic system, the necessary corollary of political freedom, a system of free trade on a free market: capitalism.

No, it was not a full, perfect, unregulated, totally laissez-faire capitalism-as it should have been. Various degrees of government interference and control still remained, even in America-and this is what led to the eventual destruction of capitalism. But the extent to which certain countries were free was the exact extent of their economic progress. America, the freest, achieved the most.

Never mind the low wages and the harsh living conditions of the early years of capitalism. They were all that the national economies of the time could afford. Capitalism did not create poverty-it inherited it. Compared to the centuries of precapitalist starvation, the living conditions of the poor in the early years of capitalism were the first chance the poor had ever had to survive. As proof-the enormous growth of the European population during the nineteenth century, a growth of over 300 per cent, as compared to the previous growth of something like 3 per cent per century." ~Ayn Rand

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Sunday, June 24, 2018

Socialism Means Complete Disaster by Florence Parbury 1893


Socialism Equals Complete Disaster by Florence Parbury 1893

Three thousand words are allowed for the enthusiast to criticise or discuss Socialism and the effect it would have upon the nation's welfare were it put into practice! Surely two words will suffice to describe the ultimate result of Socialism—i.e., Complete Disaster.

And now for some of the remainder of those three thousand words! The Socialist ideal is that all means of production shall be owned by the State for the benefit of the community, and that there shall be no social differences. All men shall be equal—working only for the State and Community at large, and in return receiving an equal share with their fellow-men, in the provision for their needs, which the State would make.

This would mean that no individuality would be permitted—there would be regulation food and clothes dealt out to each man by State officials. The man with delicate digestion would not be permitted to work harder that he might obtain better food, as he does to-day, for that would be putting forth his vitality for his own benefit. Likewise the strong individual would not be permitted to satisfy his healthy hunger—because the State would decide that he was eating more than his fair share—in other words, more than the man with the small appetite. Food being one of the most important necessities of life, I have naturally tackled it first, upon a purely Socialistic basis.

Next, we come to clothing and that nice State uniform we shall all be forced to wear. Here is a fearful problem: A, being 6ft. 6in., requires far more material for his uniform than B, who is only 5ft. 2in. Because A needs more, and may work 18 hours a day with the hope of getting it, no recognition of this could be made by a fair-minded State, based upon lines of equality. It would be so unfair to poor little B. The State could not even settle the matter by giving them an equal amount of cloth, because A would use all his and B would have some to spare. This would be abominable from A's point of view, because B would have enough for his State uniform and a piece over.

Now comes the awkward point of argument. What will the State do concerning B's surplus material? B certainly could not keep it because it would be private property, and if B was allowed to hoard his share like that he would have enough to keep a shop on in time. B would not permit the State to take it away from him, for it was only his equal share, actually, with A and all the rest of his fellow-workers. The only way to settle the matter would be for the State to make one stock size—which would be little B's size of course—and there could be no unfairness then. The only trouble would be that thousands of A's would suffer when the cold weather came on, just as they do now.

Perhaps, knowing that the State had given them their fair share, they would be perfectly satisfied to see B looking spruce and snug in his comfortable kit—but to be satisfied with personal discomfort is not in human nature. Besides, the Socialists reckon that their aim is to do away with all the sufferings and discomforts of human nature, by means of a State with the famous motto "Equality" as its guiding law.

The above instances of equality I have given because they concern the primary necessities of existence—all other things, great or small, follow on in like manner—to prove the utter impossibility of running a State and dealing with human nature upon lines of equality.

If we were a community of godlike beings living in a land of promise, under ideal climatic conditions, there would be some possibility of equality, but unfortunately for us we are not, and day by day we have to face the stern reality that human nature is about the worst thing to deal with that it is possible to imagine. Unless we can eliminate human nature—Socialism is impossible.

Everyone attacks Socialism from the economic side of the question, which is quite a waste of time, for if it ever came into power there would very shortly be no economic side to discuss. The labourer cries out now that he creates the wealth which enables the rich minority to hoard and save their gold, and continue to live their idle lives. He does not see that if there are no capitalists there will be no one to buy, and therefore no one for whom to create. With equality as the great national check to progression, no man will have the right to desire anything more valuable than that possessed by his fellow-man—and if he does, he will not have the means to purchase it. Thus, we may safely presume that the manufacture of things of value or beauty or luxury, which could not be made for the general use of the community, would be strenuously forbidden by the State, for the excellent reason that there would be no market for them. Oh! what a dead-lock in the wheel of progression! All evolution would be crushed under the heel of so-called Equality.

As things stand the individual indulges his theories of progression, whatever they may be, at the risk of success or failure to himself and maybe a few others. If he fails the world pities or laughs, but if he succeeds, the world benefits by the fact that he, and perhaps others, have risked much to achieve that which was hitherto undreamed of by the Community or the State.

A Socialist Government, having a hold upon all means of production, could not, under laws of equality, be permitted to dole out material and wealth to an inventor who wanted to experiment, and might fail several times before achieving success. It would be wasting the money of the Community, and the said Community would have an equal voice in the matter, and would say "No." The great majority of beings are possessed of pygmy intellects and because they have no bump of originality in their small minds, they scout all the inventive capacity of others.

Governments are notoriously sceptical and Socialists notoriously cynical—where would individual initiative get a chance with a combination of the two?

But as far as invention and progression are concerned, I am inclined to think those would gradually cease to exist. Human nature being the same all the world over, it is only reasonable to suppose that no man of ingenuity, thrift or self-denial, will think it worth his while to practise those qualities, if the produce of his brain and hard endeavour is to go to any but his own posterity. As I have said before, we are not godlike beings, but human beings, and to crush out ambition, enthusiasm and enterprise by depriving all men of their right to gain, is to bring about mental inertia.

All progression will cease under Socialism, and the only important work and object of the State will be to see that all men work equally hard in order to produce enough food and clothing for the general need of the community—and then we come back to my first argument concerning the equal division of food and clothing. The need of all other things would cease to exist and daily enterprise would be devoted to creating enough food, etc., and dividing it up. So far from improving conditions, we should gradually revert to living the lives of savages.

But enough of the economic and domestic side of the question.

The mental side is the most important, for all the enterprise of a nation is run by mind and imagination. Under Socialism everyone will be provided for, hence irresponsibility will increase. It is the knowledge of responsibility for the well-being of himself, or of his family, which makes a man call forth all the active power of his mind. It is the anxiety which sharpens his wits and fires his ambition and eventually calls into play nerve and brain-force which enable him to achieve some great success, by which not only does he benefit himself and family but probably hundreds and thousands of others. Take away responsibility from that man and you rob him of the cause which brought about the effect. You steal away from him his motive and the universe is robbed, in consequence, of the result of that motive. The spark of mental electricity is left unused, because the necessity of using it is dulled by the encouragement of irresponsibility. The driving power of the human race is that unseen, mental force which is responsible for' all invention and all enterprise. Remove responsibility from the human race and the brain power will be about as actively useful as the electric current would be to a lighting apparatus when disconnected. Responsibility is so to speak, the human sparking plug, and without it no one is very much use.

A Socialist State would, by submerging the individualist in its great desire to equalize things for the collectivist, create a breed of "shirkers" whose main object in life would be no higher than that of daily turning to the State for maintenance. And what kind of State would exist with such a half-hearted nation of supporters. Responsibility, either to the Great Unknown, or to themselves, is quite the last thing Socialists wish to recognise. The "idle rich" are, from all accounts, responsible for all the misery in the world, and yet, if it were not for the prospect of one day becoming either idle or rich or both, mental and physical endeavour would be more or less at a standstill; self-sacrifice would be non-existent, and individual initiative would be crushed into inactivity.

There would be no encouragement for improvement, and little by little it would come to pass that there would be no desire for it.

A Socialist does not, as a general rule, ask himself why he is discontented with his lot, and search for the fault in himself; he merely blames other people and holds them responsible for his misfortune or incapacity. He does not conscientiously ask himself if his reason for becoming a Socialist is really the outcome of a deep longing to give all his time and the fruit of his energy to those less fortunate than himself. At any rate among all the Socialists one hears of very few who actually put this desire into practice, and one can have very little faith in following those who do not practise what they preach.

While giving beautiful descriptions of what would happen if Socialism could be realised, they never hide, or attempt to hide, the vindictive hatred they bear towards the "idle rich," who must be plundered in order to find the money for the working of the Socialist doctrines. What do they offer in exchange for the present conditions of the labourer? They offer a State which will provide each individual if possible with the necessaries of existence and which, in return, will be forced to adopt a slave-driving principle in order to maintain itself and its dependents. Should it come to pass, man will exchange his liberty for so-called equality, and partial servitude for perpetual servitude. Instead of Socialism let us inaugurate "Reformitis" and teach it in the home, in the school and in our daily life. Encourage among our children as well as among ourselves a system of self-analysis, and mental cross-examination upon our motives and our responsibility to God and afterwards to ourselves in all things. As all the ills and sorrows of life are directly caused by some bygone act of selfishness, let us study and teach in our schools a little more self-abnegation even at the cost of the time a little more useless or unnecessary knowledge would require, and there would be less misery in the world—less need of State maintenance for the offspring of the irresponsible parent.

No State can rectify the misery caused by the indulgence of self.

The State may confiscate all private property and all man's liberty, but this would mean ruin to the country's genius, industry and enterprise— far worse still, it would crush out the individual initiative, to which abstract quality, fundamentally, all nations owe their prosperity.

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Why the Catholic Church Cannot Accept Socialism By George Searle


Why the Catholic Church Cannot Accept Socialism By George Mary Searle 1913

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See also Why No Good Catholic can be a Socialist by Kenelm Digby Best 1909 and The History & Mystery of Money & Economics-250 Books on DVDrom

IT may seem strange to many who have a fairly good knowledge of the teaching and practice of the Catholic Church, that there should be such a conflict as we find existing between it and Socialism. For the two seem to have a strong resemblance; and it seems that there should be sympathy rather than antagonism. If Socialism meant anarchy, of course the conflict would be easily understood; for the Church is a well—ordered and governed society. But so is the ideal social state; in it everyone has his proper place and regular duties.

And the ideals or aspirations of both seem really very similar. The Church fully acknowledges that the highest form of its own life is that practised in its religious orders or communities, which is modeled, we may say, on that led by our Lord Himself with His chosen Apostles during His ministry on earth; with a common purse, in charge of one of their number, for the common good. And this form of life was the one adopted in the beginning by the Church of Jerusalem. It did not become that of the whole Church throughout the world; but that was not because it was disapproved as a form of life, but simply because, as men are actually constituted, it could not be successfully carried on by all. But still we find the Church reverting to it here and there, in her religious communities, and carrying it on most successfully; indeed it is only in the Church that it has been an actual success. And it has always, when showing signs or promise of such success, and when undertaken in the manner necessary to produce it, been most highly approved of by the higher Church authority.

Why, then, should the Church condemn in mankind at large what she so highly approves among her own members? Why should she tell men in general not to do what she so strongly recommends and indeed invites some, at least, of her own children to do? This really seems to many a sort of scandal, and to imply that the Church is not quite sincere in this approbation which she gives to the common or, as it may be called, the socialist life in her communities, but only tolerates it, her authorities really preferring to have private property retained by the great mass of her members, and indeed to a very large amount by some of them; and this, it may be said, in order to receive substantial assistance for themselves in this way.

These questions, which are not imaginary, but really raised, are not, however, so puzzling as they may appear. Let us consider the matter carefully, and we shall see why the Church cannot adopt the socialist programme for a general one; why, if so adopted, she must regard it as dangerous to the general welfare.

The first reason is that what we may call the fundamental idea of Socialism is absolutely erroneous, and contradictory to Catholic teaching. And that idea is, that morality is a matter entirely in the jurisdiction of mankind, instead of being subject to the law of God; that it rests on and can be determined by popular vote. This idea may not be expressly formulated in all socialist teaching; but still it exists. In particular, it finds utterance in the dogma, generally held by Socialists, that private ownership of land, or of the means of production in general, is intrinsically wrong, or at any rate can be made so by popular consent. Some Socialists, still recognizing that there is such a thing as Divine law, would content themselves with declaring that private ownership is contrary to this law; but others ignore the existence of any such law. Now the Catholic Church not only holds that there is such a law, but also that private ownership is not forbidden by it; and that no vote or consent of mankind can make it otherwise. The Church of course admits that a man may lawfully abandon this right; but she denies that he can be forced to do so. In what are called the solemn vows of her religious orders, such an abandonment is made, but the Church takes extreme care that it should be perfectly and absolutely voluntary, and that even such vows do not radically abolish the capacity of those who make them to hold property, so that if circumstances justify it, in the judgment of the Church, the capacity may return.

The words of our Lord Himself, Whom some Socialists are desirous to claim as the first of their number, are quite explicit to this effect. We read in St. Matthew’s Gospel (chap. xix.)—and the same event is also recorded by St. Mark and St. Luke—that a rich young man came to our Lord, and inquired what he should do to have life everlasting. Our Lord told him that he should keep the commandments; and on the young man‘s asking Him what commandments He meant, He mentioned several of the Ten Commandments of the Decalogue, adding also that of loving one’s neighbor as oneself. One of the Commandments He mentioned was, “Thou shalt not steal.” The young man answered that he had kept all these. Our Lord did not say, “No, you have not, for you have no right to possess private property of your own, for you, in doing so, are taking what belongs to the community.” No, He acknowledged that the lawful possession of private property is not stealing. But on the young man asking what yet was wanting to him, our Lord said, “If thou wilt be perfect, go sell what thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.” In other words, “join our community.” You will notice that He told the young man to sell what he had. But how could he sell it, if it was not really his to sell? Now notice just what these words of our Lord were in reply to the young man’s repeated question. He told him to sell what he had and give the money to the poor. But He did not absolutely require this. He told the young man to do this, if he wanted to be perfect.

Now the Catholic, and really the only possible, explanation of these last words is that there are some things which a man may do to please God, but which are not required as of obligation, or under pain of sin. These are known in the Church not as laws, but as “counsels of perfection.” They principally come under three heads: namely, the renunciation of property, of marriage, and of one’s own will by obedience to someone to whom one gives a right to require it in the name of God. This obedience, of course, only extends to actions not contrary to the laws of God, or of some regularly constituted general authority—as that of the State—acting also, of course, in a way not contrary to the Divine law.

St. Paul writes specially in his first Epistle to the Corinthians (chap. vii.) of the second of the counsels just named. He himself had never married. He says, “I would that all men were even as myself; but everyone hath his proper gift from God; one after this manner, and another after that. But I say to the unmarried, and to the widows: it is good for them if they so continue, even as I. But if they do not contain themselves, let them marry.”

Now in religious communities or orders, sanctioned by the Church, which may be said to be on the socialist principle as to property, the two other counsels which have been named form a regular part of their rule. To give greater security, as well as merit in their observance, all three are usually strengthened by vows to be faithful to them. When these vows are taken, they of course become not merely counsels, but real laws of conscience; that of obedience, however, only being so under the restrictions mentioned above. No religious Superior can require anything contrary to the laws of God, or of the regular and general authorities which God has established.

These religious communities have been the only experiments on the socialist principle with regard to the first counsel, that of the renunciation of private property, which have ever succeeded for any length of time. And notice that they all rest in the beginning, for each individual, on a voluntary act on his or her part. And, also, the Church has always regarded this act as one resulting from a special call or inspiration on God’s part. She has distinctly, especially at the Council of Trent, forbidden even parents to compel their children to make such an act. She holds that, as St. Paul says, everyone has his proper gift from God. This gift from God she calls a ‘vocation.” And she requires such a vocation even for the priesthood, on account of the second counsel as well as on account of the special sacred duties and responsibilities which those becoming priests undertake. She even requires this vocation for the orders preparatory for the priesthood, of deacon and subdeacon.

It is or should be plain, then, why the Church does not and cannot look with favor on the idea of making the socialist régime or arrangement binding by law on all citizens of the State at large. It can only work successfully when adopted by each individual with absolute freedom of choice, and, moreover, with a special Divine call. To establish it as the right course for all, is in her judgment simply a case of “fools rushing in where angels fear to tread.”

“But,” it may be asked, “if this life in community, with property in common, is so pleasing to God, why should He not give this special call to all who would like to have it, and make it a success for everyone, instead of merely for a few?” This is a question which may be interesting, but one which no one has any Divine commission to answer. The important fact is simply that He does not, and that there is no reason to think He ever will. With all the care, both for the sake of the community and of the individual, that the Church takes in the matter, there are many who, though at first fully persuaded that they have a vocation to this common or— as we call it—religious life, find on trial that they must have been mistaken. An actual trial of it is usually necessary, and it is for this reason that the Church insists on what is called a novitiate, or time of experiment for everyone desiring to engage in it. It is not probable that many who have a Divine vocation to it refuse to make this experiment; so there cannot be many who would succeed in it outside of those who actually try. But the proportion of those who even try is exceedingly small, and many of those who do try fail. So it is evident that a vocation to it is a very rare one, even among Catholics, who have every encouragement to make the trial.

It does not, then, require any great perspicacity to see what would be the result if everyone should be required to make it. All would like to have it tried, if it simply meant that they should have a share of other people’s property; but when it came to giving up their own, the result would not be satisfactory, even if their own subsistence were secure, as is the case in most of the religious communities of the Church. There is absolutely no reason to suppose that if all were required to adopt the socialist manner of life, all would be contented with it. In our religious communities, those who find, in the novitiate, that it does not suit them can leave; and indeed they can do so even afterward. No force compels them to remain. And they can even obtain proper permission to do so. But in a socialist state, comprising all citizens, such would not be the case. The great majority, in fact, would, if not returning by a revolution to the previous conditions, return to them individually by disregarding its regulations so far as possible, and by securing for their own use as large a share of the goods of life as they were able. You can say no one can consider anything as his own; but you cannot prevent his using it as his own, if he wishes, and has an opportunity to do so. And, furthermore, there must be officials of some kind in the social state, as well as in any other; indeed everyone in it would be a sort of official, with regular duties and responsibilities. In other words, you cannot prevent what is known as "grafting" any better under Socialism than you can as things are now. The only thing that can effectually prevent it is conscience, which says to a man: “Thou shalt not steal;” and the force of this Commandment is much weakened if you tell him that no individual has any real right to property. As it is now, people have much less scruple against defrauding the government than they have against cheating an individual; and there is no reason why the government, in a socialist form, should acquire a peculiar sanctity in the general estimation.

The only way in which a socialistic government can hope to succeed would be the same way in which the religious orders succeed, that is to say, by an enthusiastic and persistent devotion to its principles on the part of the whole people. Simply establishing it will not produce such a devotion.

Of course Socialists claim that if it is once introduced, everyone will find its results so agreeable that such a devotion to it will arise. But that is a mere assertion, not borne out by facts, even in the case of religious communities, which always tend to lose their first fervor instead of increasing it, though every individual member has in the first place entered upon this life voluntarily.

For this common sense reason, the propaganda of Socialism, if carefully considered, even though merely advocating that all should begin by entering on it voluntarily, cannot be considered as resting on a sound basis. Human nature cannot be expected to undergo a complete and radical change. If such a change, or rather such a victory over human nature, can only be expected in those who are the very best disposed, and the least selfish of all, who have made the sacrifice of their own property, and of all except the necessities of life, in a Catholic religious order, and if even some of these fail to persevere in these unselfish dispositions; how can it be expected to continue steadily, even in those who first entered into the socialistic agreement; and how much less
can this be expected in their children and their children’s children, or in immigrants who for various reasons enter into a socialistic state? There are quite enough as it is who refuse to admit the obligation in conscience of submitting to any government at all; anarchists we call them. How many more will there be if sacrifices such as the socialistic plan requires are exacted of them? Even if you succeed in convincing them that private ownership is essentially wrong, or can be made so by popular vote, how can you expect them to persevere in this conviction, or to receive it as a certain dogma from their predecessors, in face of the numerous and urgent temptations to a contrary opinion?

No; Socialism, even if adopted in the only possible way that the Church could approve, that is to say in the way in which it exists in her religious orders, by a perfectly free and voluntary consent, would, as was said in the beginning, lead only to disaster; simply because it is certain that the consent of human nature to it would not persevere. Catholics hold that perseverance in the voluntary poverty of the religious life can only be obtained by a special grace of supernatural help from God, which He will grant to those whom He has called to that special virtue, but which it would be rash to expect without such a call. To expect everyone to persevere in it, simply because they had, even voluntarily, begun, would really be almost, if not quite, as rash as to expect men in general to keep absolute virginity through life, which is of course the only lawful alternative to the state of matrimony. And if the poverty of the religious life is not kept perfectly, the evil only affects the delinquent, or at most the particular religious house to which his example may spread; and, moreover, if he finds his virtue inadequate to it, he can be permitted to go. But in attempting the same thing in a whole nation, the government will be a failure, either by the neglect of its principles or the departure of its citizens. The idea that everyone will be even a passably good citizen under it, is simply a rose-colored dream. It invites and is sure to lead to corruption, and consequent failure and disaster; for it is asking from nature more than it can accomplish without a special supernatural help. The world in general may not believe this, but we Catholics, if understanding our religion, know that it is true. This is a quite sufficient reason for us to oppose the socialist plan.

Strangely enough, there is another of the special virtues belonging to religious communities which Socialists would force on the public at large. This is, evidently, the virtue of religious obedience. The socialist plan necessarily involves this. In the present state of things, as far as the government is concerned, a man is quite probably able to fit himself for and enter upon any occupation which seems to him most agreeable and suitable to him. But on the socialist plan he must be assigned to his occupation according to the needs of the community, rather than his own preference. He is to be assigned to his post very much like an officer or soldier in an army. Some pressure may, of course, under the present system, be put on a young man in this way by his parents or others; but he can generally manage, if he has a decided preference, to gratify his own desire. He may want, for instance, to become a medical man; and probably be able, at least, to try. But in Socialism, the government must decide what will be the best disposal of him for the common good. If it considers that there are enough doctors already, or that he could do better at something else, off he goes to that something else. He is, indeed, very much like a Jesuit; for the Jesuits make a special point of the virtue of obedience. But there are not so very many Catholics who have a real vocation to be jesuits. The socialist young man, however, has to be as good a jesuit as he can, without any special vocation. From our somewhat extended experience, success is hardly probable. It is not likely, indeed, that he will even desire it. Love of the socialist régime, even if he has it, is far from being as strong a motive as the love of God.

It would seem, then, very improbable that Socialism can succeed in enabling the average citizen to sacrifice his liberty in the way that it is sacrificed in religious communities. It is liberty which is more prized than anything else by men, especially at the present day and in a country like ours; and the restraints placed on it by government are very slight with us. But Socialism increases them very decidedly. The only way in which the obedience of a religious community can be observed is by regarding it as paid to God through His representative in the Superior; and Socialism does not present this motive to us. Religion is a side issue with it; a man may be religious if he wishes; it does not undertake to prevent him from being so; but certainly religion has nothing to do, in the socialist idea, with his duties in the State.

If we now consider the remaining one of the three virtues of the religious community life, that of absolute chastity, it is quite evident that this does not and cannot form a part of the socialist plan, unless, as among some non-Catholic communities like the Shakers, inviting all to join them, it were proposed as a fitting preparation for the end of the human race. Socialism may then be considered as being the community life on the basis of the other two virtues of poverty and obedience; in other words, of the renunciation of individual ownership and of individual will. But even with these it is quite arduous, as has been seen.

It may be presumed that for absolute chastity, Socialism would substitute the married state, as the world in general does now, always has, and always will. If it would abandon the idea of union for life in marriage, that of course would be more than enough to make any approval of it by the Church utterly impossible. We would need nothing more to show why it could not be accepted by us. We assume, then, that Socialism is to include marriage and the natural existence of families.

But here, again, a difficulty immediately arises, namely, who is to have charge of the family? The logical conclusion of the socialistic scheme would seem to be that the ownership of it, as of property, must reside in the State. It must be supposed to belong to the State, though perhaps under the principal care of the parents. But radically, like everything else, it must be a State asset, and to be taken care of as the State directs. And this seems to be the usual socialist view, as actually held by those who thoroughly develop that view or theory.

Now here we have an irreconcilable difference between the teaching of Socialism and of the Church. In the Catholic view it is to the parents, not to the State, that the direction of the children is divinely committed. Even in case of the neglect of the parents, or of their death, the State has no absolute right over them. It only has the right to see that they are brought up to be good citizens, not to injure the State or their fellow-citizens, and to obey the laws of the State when these are not contrary to the law of God. It must leave them to the control of the parents in other matters, as long as they need such control. They are the natural guardians of their own children, and the State must not take this natural and Divine right to guardianship from them.

The parents are responsible to the State, in some matters, as has just been said; but beside this the Catholic view is that Catholic parents are also responsible to the Church in other matters, particularly in regard to the religious instruction of their children. And it is here that practically a very serious Catholic objection to Socialism comes in.

This difficulty is felt even now to a great extent in the exaggerated ideas prevalent as to the functions of the State in this matter. And it would, in all probability, be much increased by the still more exaggerated idea of the State which is inherent in the socialistic theory.

Religion, with us, is not simply a matter of sentiment, to be felt or carried out by each individual according to his own private taste or preference. It is, in our view and belief, a system of truths and consequent practical duties coming to us as a revelation from God, through Christ and His Apostles, and committed to an organization founded by Divine authority, and known to us as the Church. We do not regard the Church as simply a society like others in general, based on mutual consent and for mutual convenience. No; we look upon it as a Divine association, into which Almighty God requires that all should enter, though many may be excused from sin in not doing so by ignorance of its claims. But for those who do belong to it, its orders, when acting in its proper spiritual sphere, are as binding as any laws of any State can be. And we cannot agree that any secular government has a right to override its orders, or ignore its laws, even though that government, personally, should be in the hands of men who are Catholics; and still greater, necessarily, is the difficulty if they happen to be men who do not recognize the claims of the Church, or who are, perhaps, infidels or even atheists.

There is no need that we should prove our position on this point at present, or even to show any reason for it; we are only saying what the fact is with regard to our belief in this matter; and why, finding considerable difficulty as we do from the opposition to this belief generally prevailing now, we cannot be inclined to accept a system like Socialism, in which the difficulties, owing to the overweening claims of the secular authority under the system, would become much greater than they now are. The probability, of course, with regard to the last point, concerning the family and children, is that the Socialist State would insist on Socialism being taught in all schools, and the Catholic view of the authority of the Church being entirely repudiated.

Let it be thoroughly understood then, that

I. The Church does not reject Socialism in the sense of a voluntary agreement as to the renunciation of individual property, or the sacrifice of the individual will among a certain number of chosen souls called by God to this renunciation and sacrifice, and specially aided by His grace to carry it out.

2. She does absolutely reject it as far as it teaches that individual ownership  is forbidden to all, or that the only right condition of things in any nation is the thorough subjection of all to the State system which Socialism proposes.

3. She holds that this system, so far from being the only right system, is fraught with great dangers to the liberty which we all so highly prize; since it is not in human nature, unaided by a special grace, to carry it out in the perfection necessary to its success; and that, therefore, corruption is sure to ensue in it, and the virtues which it requires to become tyranny on the part of some, slavery on that of others.

Now, in conclusion, it must also be thoroughly understood that the Church fully realizes the great evils which have grown up by the accumulation of immense amounts of wealth in the hands of a few, which threatens to reduce the great majority of mankind to a condition of practical slavery, and that she sympathizes with the advocates of Socialism in their desire to abolish these evils; but that she simply rejects this special plan as being primarily founded on statements as to human rights which are absolutely false, and which, if carried out in practice, would tend to increase these very evils rather than to abate them.

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