tradesmen, accustomed to lie and deceive, they will be suffered . . . only as a necessary evil." In the opinion of Xenophon, "the manual arts are infamous and unworthy of the citizen." Cicero believed commerce to be "a sordid affair, when it is of little consequence," and "only tolerable at best, when conducted on a large scale and to supply the country with provisions." Despite the maxim of the monks, Lahorare est orare, the same vicious views prevailed during the middle ages. In the militant countries of to-day, especially Russia and Germany, they have hardly begun to pass away. But the forces that operate to divide a nation into warriors and workers operate also to divide each into other classes. Not only is there a hierarchy of the nobility, but also an ecclesiastical and industrial hierarchy. If we have princes, dukes, counts, and barons, we have cardinals, bishops, canons, and the minor clergy. Above the slaves and serfs there are various trade and professional guilds, where pride of occupation seeks to make hereditary the barriers it has raised. To emphasize these distinctions in state, church, and industry, to enable the members of one class to observe the deference due the members of another, titles, costumes, decorations, and the other insignia of rank are invented and made obligatory by law.
The despotism that cramps and paralyzes social activity, cramps and paralyzes intellectual activity. In the first place, the necessities of war make it impossible as well as useless to give thought to matters that do not contribute to success in battle.[1] Therefore, the Spartans had neither literature nor philosophy—neither science nor art. Pursuit of these subjects was effeminate; it unfitted men for the better business of fighting. "Instruction in the sciences," said the barbarians that conquered Rome, anticipating a favorite opinion
- ↑ Did space permit, it would be pertinent to show at some length how war diverts attention from all subjects not related to it, and how, even when it does not divert attention from them, it colors them. But any student of sociology will discover abundant proof of this truth in the phenomena growing out of the war with Spain. Take, for example, the New York Evening Post of Saturday, May 7th, a newspaper that was opposed to the war in its inception and does not favor it now. But it has been forced to yield to the war spirit to such an extent that of the four leading articles on the first page of the supplement, especially designed for general family reading, three relate to war. On the second of the news pages will be found another long article on "the signs of its (war's) permeation of city life," showing how even "confectionery and embroidery (are) affected." On the editorial page will be found still another article on War Books, showing in like manner that the effect of the war on the publishing business "is depressing," and that while "books old and new about Spain and Cuba, about strategy, and the navy and sea power, manuals for the naval reserve, works on tactics arc firm to higher, as the market reports say," "belles-lettres, criticism, history, essays, even the novel, are flat and weak, if not stale and unprofitable." Indeed, the student will find in the phenomena in question, including the bitterest intolerance and a startling perversion of the moral sentiments in regard to the taking of life and property, a complete verification of all the principles that I have set forth in this section of my article.
