Popular Science Monthly/Volume 20/November 1881/The Industrial Type of Society







HAVING nearly always to defend themselves against external enemies, while they have to carry on internally the processes of sustentation, societies, as remarked in the last chapter, habitually present us with mixtures of the structures adapted to these diverse ends. Disentanglement is not easy. According as either structure predominates, it ramifies through the other: instance the fact that, where the militant type is much developed, the worker, ordinarily a slave, is no more a free agent than the soldier; while, where the industrial type is much developed, the soldier, volunteering on specified terms, acquires, in so far, the position of a free worker. In the one case the system of status, proper to the fighting part, pervades the working part; while, in the other, the system of contract, proper to the working part, affects the fighting part. Especially does the organization adapted to war obscure that adapted to industry. While, as we have seen, the militant type, as theoretically constructed, is so far displayed in many societies as to leave no doubt about its essential nature, the industrial type has its traits so hidden by those of the still dominant militant type that its ideal form is nowhere more than very partially exemplified. Saying thus much to exclude expectations which can not be fulfilled, it will be well, before proceeding, also to exclude probable misconceptions.

In the first place, industrialism must not be confounded with industriousness. Though the members of an industrially-organized society are habitually industrious, and are, indeed, when the society is a developed one, obliged to be so, yet it must not be assumed that the industrially-organized society is one in which, of necessity, much work is done. Where the society is small, and its habitat so favorable that life may be comfortably maintained with but little exertion, the social relations which characterize the industrial type may coexist with but very moderate productive activities. It is not the diligence of its members which constitutes the society an industrial one in the sense here intended, but the form of coöperation under which their labors, small or great in amount, are carried on. This distinction will be best understood on observing that, conversely, there may be, and often is, great industry in societies framed on the militant type. In ancient Egypt there was an immense laboring population, and a large supply of commodities, numerous in their kinds, produced by it. Still more did ancient Peru exhibit a vast community purely militant in its structure, the members of which worked unceasingly. We are here concerned, then, not with the quantity of labor, but with the arrangements under which it is carried on. A regiment of soldiers can be set to construct earthworks; another to cut down wood; another to bring in water; but they are not thereby reduced for the time being to an industrial society. The united individuals, doing these several things under command, and having no private claims to the products, are, though industriously occupied, not industrially organized. And the same holds throughout the militant society as a whole, in proportion as the regimentation of it approaches completeness.

The industrial type of society, properly so called, must also be distinguished from a type very likely to be confounded with it—the type, namely, in which the component individuals, while exclusively engaged in production and distribution, are under a regulation such as that advocated by socialists and communists. For this, too, involves, in another form, the principle of compulsory coöperation. Directly or indirectly, individuals are to be prevented from severally and independently occupying themselves as they please; are to be prevented from competing with one another in supplying goods for money; are to be prevented from hiring themselves out on such terms as they think fit. There can be no artificial system for regulating labor which does not interfere with the natural system. To such extent as men are debarred from making whatever engagements they like, they are to that extent working under dictation. No matter in what way the controlling agency is constituted, it stands toward those controlled in the same relation as does the controlling agency of a militant society. And how truly the régime, which those who declaim against competition would establish, is thus characterized, we see both in the fact that substantially communistic forms of organization existed in early societies which were predominantly warlike, and in the fact that at the present time communistic projects chiefly originate among, and are must favored by, the more warlike societies.

A further preliminary explanation may be needful. The structures proper to the industrial type of society must not be looked for in distinct forms when they first appear. Contrariwise, we must expect them to begin in vague, unsettled forms. Arising as they do by modification of preëxisting structures, they are necessarily long in losing all trace of these. For example, transition from the state in which the laborer, owned like a beast, is maintained that he may work exclusively for his master's benefit, to the condition in which he is completely detached from master, soil, and locality, and free to work anywhere and for any one, is through gradations. Again, the change from the arrangement proper to militancy, under which subject-persons receive, in addition to maintenance, occasional presents, to the arrangement under which, in place of both, they receive fixed wages, or salaries, or fees, goes on slowly and unobtrusively. Once more it is observable that the process of exchange, originally indefinite, has become definite only where industrialism is considerably developed. Barter did not begin with a distinct intention of giving one thing for another thing equivalent in value, but it began by making a present and receiving a present in return; and even now in the East there continue traces of this primitive transaction. In Cairo the purchase of articles from a shopkeeper is preceded by his offer of coffee and cigarettes; and, during the negotiation which ends in the engagement of a dahabeah, the dragoman brings gifts and expects to receive them. Add to which that there exists under such conditions none of that definite equivalence which characterizes exchange among ourselves: prices are not fixed, but vary widely with every fresh transaction. So that, throughout our interpretations, we must keep in view the truth that the structures and functions proper to the industrial type distinguish themselves but gradually from those proper to the militant type.

Having thus prepared the way, let us now consider what are, a priori, the traits of that social organization which, entirely unfitted for carrying on defense against external enemies, is exclusively fitted for maintaining the life of the society by subserving the lives of its units. As before, in treating of the militant type, so here, in treating of the industrial type, we will consider first the ideal form.

While corporate action is the primary requirement in a society which has to preserve itself in presence of hostile societies, conversely, in the absence of hostile societies, corporate action is no longer the primary requirement.

The continued existence of a society implies, first, that it shall not be destroyed bodily by foreign foes, and implies, second, that it shall not be destroyed in detail by failure of its members to support and propagate themselves. If danger of destruction from the first cause ceases, there remains only danger of destruction from the second cause. Sustentation of the society will now be achieved by the self-sustentation and multiplication of its units. If his own welfare and the welfare of his offspring are fully achieved by each, the welfare of the society is by implication achieved. Very little corporate activity is now required. Each man may maintain himself by labor, may exchange his products for the products of others, may give aid and receive payment, may enter into this or that combination for carrying on an undertaking, small or great, without the direction of the society as a whole. The remaining end to be achieved by public action is to keep private actions within due bounds; and the amount of public action needed for this becomes small in proportion as private actions become duly self-bounded.

So that, whereas in the militant type the demand for corporate action is intrinsic, such demand for corporate action as continues in the industrial type is mainly extrinsic—is called for by those aggressive traits of human nature which chronic warfare has fostered, and may gradually diminish as, under enduring peaceful life, these decrease.

In a society organized for militant action, the individuality of each member has to be so subordinated in life, liberty, and property, that he is largely, or completely, owned by the state; but, in a society industrially organized, no such subordination of the individual is called for. There remain no occasions on which he is required to risk his life while destroying the lives of others; he is not forced to leave his occupation and submit to a commanding officer; and there ceases to be any need that he should surrender for public purposes whatever property may be demanded of him.

Under the industrial régime, the citizen's individuality, instead of being sacrificed by the society, has to be defended by the society: the defense of his individuality becomes the society's essential duty. That, after external protection is no longer called for, internal protection must become the cardinal function of the state, and that effectual discharge of this function must be a predominant trait of the industrial type, may be readily shown.

For it is clear that, other things equal, a society in which life, liberty, and property, are secure, and all interests justly regarded, must prosper more than one in which they are not; and consequently, among competing industrial societies, there must be a gradual replacing of those in which personal rights are imperfectly maintained by those in which they are perfectly maintained. So that by survival of the fittest must be produced a social type in which individual claims, considered sacred, are trenched on by the state no further than is requisite to pay the cost of maintaining them, or, rather, of arbitrating among them. For, the aggressiveness of nature fostered by militancy having died out, the corporate function becomes that of deciding between those conflicting claims the equitable adjustment of which is not obvious to the persons concerned.

With the absence of need for that corporate action by which the efforts of the whole society may be utilized for war, there goes the absence of need for a despotic controlling agency.

Not only is such an agency unnecessary, but it can not exist. For, since, as we see, it is an essential requirement of the industrial type that the individuality of each man shall have the fullest play consistent with the like play of other men's individualities, despotic control, showing itself as it must by otherwise restricting men's individualities, is necessarily excluded. Indeed, by his mere presence an autocratic ruler is an aggressor on citizens; actually or potentially exercising power not given by them, he in so far restrains their wills more than they would be restrained by mutual limitation merely.

Such control as is required under the industrial type can be exercised only by an appointed agency for ascertaining and executing the average will; and a representative agency is the one best fitted for doing this.

Unless the activities of all are homogeneous in kind, which they can not be in a developed society with its elaborate division of labor, there arises a need for conciliation of divergent interests; and, to the end of insuring an equitable adjustment, each interest must be enabled duly to express itself. It is, indeed, supposable that the appointed agency should be a single individual. But no such single individual could arbitrate justly among numerous classes variously occupied, and numerous groups variously localized, without hearing evidence; from each there would need to come representatives setting forth its claims. Hence the choice would lie between two systems, under one of which the representatives privately and separately stated their cases to an arbitrator on whose single judgment decisions depended; and under the other of which these representatives stated their cases in one another's presence, while judgments were openly determined by the general consensus. Without insisting on the fact that a fair balancing of class-interests is more likely to be effected by this last form of representation than by the first, it is sufficient to remark that this last form is more congruous with the nature of the industrial type, since men's individualities are in the smallest degree trenched upon. Citizens, who, appointing a single ruler for a prescribed time, may have a majority of their wills traversed by his during this time, surrender their individualities in a greater degree than do those who, from their local groups, depute a number of rulers; since these, speaking and acting under public inspection and mutually restrained, habitually express the wills of the majority.

The corporate life of the society being no longer in danger, and the remaining business of government being that of maintaining the conditions requisite for the highest individual life, there comes the question, What are these conditions?

Already they have been implied and comprehended under the administration of justice; but so vaguely is the meaning of this phrase commonly conceived that a more specific statement must he made. Justice, then, as here to be understood, means preservation of the normal connections between acts and results—the obtainment by each of as much benefit as his efforts are equivalent to no—more and no less. Living and working within the restraints imposed by one another's presence, justice requires that individuals shall severally take the consequences of their conduct, neither increased nor decreased. The superior shall have the good of his superiority, and the inferior the evil of his inferiority. A veto is therefore put on all public action which abstracts from some men part of the advantages they have earned and awards to other men advantages they have not earned.

That from the developed industrial type of society there are excluded all forms of communistic distribution, the inevitable trait of which is that they tend to equalize the lives of good and bad, idle and diligent, is readily proved. For, when, the struggle for existence between societies by war having ceased, there remains only the industrial struggle for existence, the final survival and spread must be on the part of those societies which produce the largest number of the best individuals—individuals best adapted for life in the industrial state. Suppose two societies, otherwise equal, in one of which the superior are allowed to retain, for their own benefit and the benefit of their offspring, the entire proceeds of their labor, but in the other of which the superior have taken from them part of these proceeds for the benefit of the inferior and their offspring. Evidently the superior will thrive and multiply more in the first than in the second. A greater number of the best children will be reared in the first, and eventually it will outgrow the second.[2]

Otherwise regarded, this system, under which the efforts of each bring neither more nor less than their natural returns, is the system of contract.

We have seen that the régime of status is in all ways proper to the militant type. It is the concomitant of that graduated subordination by which the combined action of a fighting body is achieved, and which must pervade the fighting society at large to insure its corporate action. Under this régime, the relation between labor and produce is traversed by authority. As in the army, the food, clothing, etc., received by each soldier are not direct returns for work done, but are arbitrarily apportioned, while duties are arbitrarily enforced, so throughout the rest of the militant society, the superior dictates the labor and assigns such share of the return as he pleases. But as, with declining militancy and growing industrialism, the power and range of authority decrease and uncontrolled action increases, the relation of contract becomes general, and in the fully-developed industrial type it becomes universal.

Under this universal relation of contract when equitably administered, there arises that adjustment of benefit to effort which the arrangements of the industrial society have to achieve. If each as producer, distributor, manager, adviser, teacher, or aider of other kind, obtains from his fellows such payment for his service as its value, determined by the demand, warrants, then there results that correct apportioning of reward to merit which insures the prosperity of the superior.

Again changing the point of view, we see that, whereas public control in the militant type is both positively regulative and negatively regulative, in the industrial type it is negatively regulative only. To the slave, to the soldier, or to other member of a community organized for war, authority says: "Thou shalt do this; thou shalt not do that." But, to the member of the industrial community, authority gives only one of these orders, "Thou shalt not do that."

For people who, carrying on their private transactions by voluntary coöperation, also voluntarily coöperate to form and support a governmental agency, are, by implication, people who authorize it to impose on their respective activities only those restraints which they are all interested in maintaining—the restraints which check aggressions. Omitting criminals (who under the assumed conditions must be, if not a vanishing quantity, still very few), each citizen, while not wishing to invade others' spheres of action, will wish to preserve uninvaded his own sphere of action, and to retain whatever benefits are achieved within it. The very motive which prompts all to unite in upholding a public protector of their individualities will also prompt them to unite in preventing any interference with their individualities beyond that required for this end.

Hence it follows that, while, in the militant type, regimentation in the army is paralleled by centralized administration throughout the society at large, in the industrial type, administration, becoming decentralized, is at the same time narrowed in its range. Nearly all public organizations save that for administering justice, necessarily disappear; since they have the common character that they either aggress on the citizen by dictating his actions, or by taking from him more property than is needful for protecting him, or by both. Those who are forced to send their children to this or that school, those who have, directly or indirectly, to help in supporting a state-priesthood, those from whom rates are demanded that parish officers may administer public charity, those who are taxed to provide gratis reading for people who will not save money for library subscriptions, those whose businesses are carried on under regulation by inspectors, those who have to pay the cost of state science and art teaching, state emigration, etc., all have their individualities trenched upon; either by compelling them to do what they would not spontaneously do, or by taking away money which else would have furthered their private ends. Coercive arrangements of such kinds, consistent with the militant type, are inconsistent with the industrial type.

With the relatively narrow range of public organizations, there goes, in the industrial type, a relatively wide range of private organizations; the spheres left vacant by the one being filled by the other.

Several influences conspire to produce this trait. Those motives which, in the absence of that subordination necessitated by war, make citizens unite in asserting their individualities, subject only to mutual limitations, are motives which make them unite in resisting any interference with their freedom to form such private combinations as do not involve aggression. Moreover, beginning with exchanges of goods and services under agreements between individuals, the principle of voluntary coöperation is simply carried out in a larger way by any incorporated body of individuals who contract with one another for jointly pursuing this or that business or function. And yet, again, there is entire congruity between the representative constitutions of such private combinations and that representative constitution of the public combination which we see is proper to the industrial type: the same law of organization pervades the society in general and in detail. So that an inevitable trait of the industrial type is the multiplicity and heterogeneity of associations, religious, commercial, professional, philanthropic, and social, of all sizes.

Two indirectly resulting traits of the industrial type must be added. The first is its relative plasticity.

So long as corporate action is necessitated for national self-preservation—so long as, to effect combined defense or offense, there is maintained that graduated subordination which ties all inferiors to superiors, as the soldier is tied to his officer—so long as there is maintained the relation of status which tends to fix men in the positions they are severally born to—there is insured a comparative rigidity of social organization. But, with the cessation of those needs that initiate and preserve the militant type of structure, and with the establishment of contract as the universal relation under which efforts are combined for mutual advantage, social organization loses its rigidity. No longer determined by the principle of inheritance, places and occupations are now determined by the principle of efficiency; and changes of structure follow when men, not bound to prescribed functions, acquire the functions for which they have proved themselves most fit. Easily modified in its arrangements, the industrial type of society is therefore one which adapts itself with facility to new requirements.

The other incidental result to be named is a tendency toward loss of economic autonomy.

While hostile relations with adjacent societies continue, each society has to be productively self-sufficing; but with the establishment of peaceful relations this need for self-sufficingness ceases. As the local divisions composing one of our great nations had, while they were at feud, to produce each for itself almost everything it required, but now, permanently at peace with one another, have become so far mutually dependent that no one of them can satisfy its wants without aid from the rest, so the great nations themselves, at present forced in large measure to maintain their economic autonomies, will become less forced to do this as war decreases, and will gradually become necessary to one another. While, on the one hand, the facilities possessed by each for certain kinds of production will render exchange mutually advantageous, on the other hand, the citizens of each will, under the industrial régime, tolerate no such restraints on their individualities as are implied by interdicts on exchange.

With the spread of the industrial type, therefore, the tendency is toward the breaking down of the divisions between nationalities, and the running through them of a common organization—if not under a single government, then under a federation of governments.

Such being the constitution of the industrial type of society to be inferred from its requirements, we have now to inquire what evidence is furnished by actual societies that approach toward this constitution accompanies the progress of industrialism.

As, during the peopling of the earth, the struggle for existence among societies, from small hordes up to great nations, has been nearly everywhere going on, it is, as before said, not to be expected that we should readily find examples of the social type appropriate to an exclusively industrial life. Ancient records join the journals of the day in proving that thus far no civilized or semi-civilized nation has fallen into circumstances making needless all social structures for resisting aggression, and from every region travelers' accounts bring evidence that, almost universally among the uncivilized, hostilities between tribes are chronic. Still, a few examples exist which show with tolerable clearness the outline of the industrial type in its rudimentary form—the form which it assumes where culture has made but little progress. We will consider these cases first, and then proceed to disentangle the traits distinctive of the industrial type as exhibited by large nations which have become predominantly industrial in their activities.

Among the Indian hills there are many tribes belonging to different races but alike in their partially nomadic habits. Mostly agricultural, their common practice is to cultivate a patch of ground while it yields average crops, and when it is exhausted to go elsewhere and repeat the process. They have fled before invading races, and have here and there found localities in which they are able to carry on their peaceful occupations unmolested: the absence of molestation being, in some cases, due to their ability to live in a malarious atmosphere, which is fatal to the Aryan races. Already, under other heads, I have referred to the Bodo and to the Dhimáls as wholly unmilitary, as having but nominal head-men, as being without slaves or social grades, and as aiding one another in their heavier undertakings; to the Todas, who, leading tranquil lives, are "without any of those bonds of union which man in general is induced to form from a sense of danger," and who settle their disputes by arbitration or by a council of five; to the Mishmies as being unwarlike, as having but nominal chiefs, and as administering justice by an assembly; and I have joined with these the case of a people remote in locality and race, the ancient Pueblos of North America, who, sheltering in their walled villages and fighting only when invaded, similarly joined with their habitual industrial life a free form of government: "The governor and his council are [were] annually elected by the people." Here I may add sundry kindred examples. As described in the Indian Government Report for 1869-70, "the 'white Karens' are of a mild and peaceful disposition; . . . their chiefs are regarded as patriarchs, who have little more than nominal authority"; or, as said of them by Lieutenant McMahon, "they possess neither laws nor dominant authority." Instance again the "fascinating" Lepchas—not industrious, but yet industrial in the sense that their social relations are of the non-militant type. Though I find nothing specific said about the system under which they live in their temporary villages, yet the facts told us sufficiently imply its uncoercive character. They have no castes; "family and political feuds are alike unheard of among them"; "they are averse to soldiering"; they prefer taking refuge in the jungle and living on wild food "to enduring any injustice or harsh treatment"—traits which negative ordinary political control. Take next the "quiet, inoffensive" Santals, who, though they fight if need be with infatuated bravery to resist aggression, are essentially unaggressive. These people "are industrious cultivators, and enjoy their existence unfettered by caste." Though, having become tributaries, there habitually exists in each village a head appointed by the Indian Government to be responsible for the tribute, etc., yet the nature of their indigenous government remains sufficiently clear: while there is a patriarch who is honored, but who rarely interferes, "every village has its council-place. . . where the committee assemble and discuss the affairs of the village and its inhabitants. All petty disputes, both of a civil and criminal nature, are settled there." What little is told us of tribes living in the Shervaroy Hills is, so far as it goes, to like effect. Speaking generally of them, Shortt says they "are essentially a timid and harmless people, addicted chiefly to pastoral and agricultural pursuits"; and, more specifically describing one division of them, he says, "They lead peaceable lives among themselves, and any dispute that may arise is usually settled by arbitration." Then, to show that these social traits are not peculiar to any one variety of man, but are dependent on conditions, may be recalled the before-named instance of the Papuan Arafuras, who, without any divisions of rank or any hereditary chieftainship, lead harmonious lives controlled only by the decisions of their assembled elders. In all which cases we may discern the leading traits above indicated as proper to societies not impelled to corporate action by war. Strong centralized control not being required, such government as exists is exercised by a council informally approved—a rude representative government; class distinctions do not exist, or are but faintly indicated—the relation of status is absent; whatever transactions take place between individuals are by agreement, and the function which the ruling body has to perform is substantially limited to protecting private life by settling such disputes as arise and inflicting mild punishments for the small offenses which occur.

Difficulties meet us when, turning to civilized societies, we seek in them for the traits of the industrial type. Consolidated and organized as they have all been by wars actively carried on throughout the earlier periods of their existence, and mostly continued down to comparatively recent times, and having simultaneously been developing within themselves organizations for producing and distributing commodities, which have little by little become contrasted with those proper to militant activities, the two are everywhere presented so mingled that clear separation of the first from the last is, as said at the outset, scarcely practicable. Radically opposed, however, as is compulsory coöperation, the organizing principle of the militant type, to voluntary cooperation, the organizing principle of the industrial type, we may, by observing the decline of institutions exhibiting the one, recognize, by implication, the growth of institutions exhibiting the other. Hence, if, in passing from the first states of civilized nations, in which war is the business of life, to states in which hostilities are but occasional, we simultaneously pass to states in which the ownership of the individual by his society is not so constantly and strenuously enforced, in which the subjection of rank to rank is mitigated, in which political rule is no longer autocratic, in which the regulation of citizens' lives is diminished in range and rigor, while the protection of them increased, we are by implication shown the traits of a developing industrial type. Comparisons of several kinds disclose results which unite in verifying this truth.

Take first the contrast between the early condition of the more civilized European nations at large and their later condition. Setting out from the dissolution of the Roman Empire, we observe that for many centuries, during which conflicts were effecting consolidations, and dissolutions, and reconsolidations in endless variety, such energies as were not directly devoted to war were devoted to little else than supporting the organizations which carried on war: the working part of each community did not exist for its own sake, but for the sake of the fighting part. While militancy was thus high and industrialism undeveloped, the reign of superior force, continually being established by societies one over another, was equally displayed within each society. From slaves and serfs, through vassals of different grades up to dukes and kings, there was an enforced subordination by which the individualities of all were greatly restricted. And, at the same time that, to carry on external aggression or resistance, the ruling power in each group sacrificed the personal claims of its members, the function of defending its members from one another was in but small degree discharged by it: they were left to defend themselves. If with these traits of European societies in mediæval times we compare their traits in modern times, we see the following essential differences. First, with the formation of nations covering large areas, the perpetual wars within each area have ceased; and, though the wars which from time to time occur are on larger scales, they are less frequent, and they are no longer the business of all freemen. Second, there has grown up in each country a relatively large population which carries on production and distribution for its own benefit; so that, whereas, of old, the working part existed for the benefit of the fighting part, now the fighting part exists mainly for the benefit of the working part—exists ostensibly to protect it in the quiet pursuit of its ends. Third, the system of status, having under some of its forms disappeared and under others become greatly mitigated, has been almost universally replaced by the system of contract. Only among those who, by choice or by conscription, are incorporated in the militant organization does the system of status, in its primitive rigor, still hold so long as they remain in this organization. Fourth, with this decrease of compulsory coöperation and increase of voluntary coöperation, there have diminished or ceased many minor restraints over individual actions. Men are less tied to their localities than they were; they are not obliged to profess certain religious opinions; they are less debarred from expressing their political views; they no longer have their dresses and modes of living dictated to them; they are comparatively little restrained from forming private combinations and holding meetings for one or other purpose—political, religious, social. Fifth, while the individualities of citizens are less aggressed upon by public agency, they are more protected by public agency against aggression. Instead of a régime under which individuals rectified their private wrongs by force as well as they could, or else bribed the ruler, general or local, to use bis power in their behalf, there has come a régime under which, while much less self-protection is required, a chief function of the ruling power and its agents is to administer justice. In all ways, then, we are shown that, with this relative decrease of militancy and relative increase of industrialism, there has been a change from a social order in which individuals exist for the benefit of the state to a social order in which the state exists for the benefit of individuals.

When, instead of contrasting early European communities at large with European communities at large as they now exist, we contrast the one in which industrial development has been less impeded by militancy with those in which it has been more impeded by militancy, parallel results are apparent. Between our own society and Continental societies, as, for example, France, the differences which have gradually arisen may be cited in illustration. After the conquering Normans had spread over England, there was established here a much greater subordination of local rulers to the general ruler than there existed elsewhere; and, as a result, there was not nearly so much internal dissension. Says Hallam, speaking of this period, "We read very little of private wars in England." Though from time to time there were rebellions, and under Stephen a serious one, and though there were occasional fights between nobles, yet for some hundred and fifty years, up to the time of King John, the subjection maintained secured comparative order. Further, it is to be noted that such general wars as occurred were mostly carried on abroad; descents on our coasts were few and unimportant, and conflicts with Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, entailed but few intrusions on English soil. Consequently, there was a relatively small hindrance to industrial life and the growth of social forms appropriate to it. Meanwhile, the condition of France was widely different. During this period and long after, besides wars with England (mostly fought out on French soil) and wars with other countries, there were going on everywhere local wars. From the tenth to the fourteenth century perpetual fights between suzerains and their vassals occurred, as well as fights of vassals with one another. Not until toward the middle of the fourteenth century did the king begin greatly to predominate over the nobles; and only in the fifteenth century was there established a supreme ruler strong enough to prevent the quarrels of local rulers. How great was the consequent repression of industrial development may be inferred from the exaggerated language of an old writer, who says of this period during which the final struggle of monarchy with feudalism was going on, that "agriculture, traffic, and all the mechanical arts ceased." Such being the contrast between the small degree in which industrial life was impeded by war in England and the great degree in which it was impeded by war in France, let us ask, What were the political contrasts which arose? The first fact to be noted is that in the middle of the thirteenth century there began in England a mitigation of villanage, by limitation of labor-services and commutation of them for money, and that in the fourteenth century the transformation of a servile into a free population had in great measure taken place; while in France, as in other Continental countries, the old condition survived and became worse. As Mr. Freeman says of this period, "In England villanage was on the whole dying out, while in many other countries it was getting harder and harder." Besides this spreading substitution of contract for status, which, taking place first in the industrial centers, the towns, afterward went on in the rural districts, there was going on an analogous enfranchisement of the noble class: the enforced military obligations of vassals were more and more replaced by money payments of scutages, so that, by King John's time, the fighting-services of the upper class had been to a great extent compounded for, like the labor-services of the lower class. After diminished restraints over persons, there came diminished invasions of property by the charter, arbitrary tallages on towns and nonmilitary king's tenants were checked; and, while the aggressive actions of the state were thus decreased, its protective actions were extended: provisions were made that justice should be neither sold, delayed, nor denied. All which changes were toward those social arrangements which we see characterize the industrial type. Then, in the next place, we have the subsequently-occurring rise of a representative government; which, as shown in a preceding chapter by another line of inquiry, is at once the product of industrial growth and the form proper to the industrial type. But in France none of these changes took place. Villanage remaining unmitigated, continued to comparatively late times; compounding for military obligation of vassal to suzerain was less general; and, when there arose tendencies toward the establishment of an assembly expressing the popular will, they proved abortive. Detailed comparisons of subsequent periods and their changes would detain us too long: it must suffice to indicate the leading facts. Beginning with the date at which, under the influences just indicated, parliamentary government was finally established in England, we find that for a century and a half, down to the Wars of the Roses, the internal disturbances were few and unimportant compared with those which took place in France; while at the same time (remembering that the wars between England and France, habitually taking place on French soil, affected the state of France more than that of England) we note that France carried on serious wars with Flanders, Castile, and Navarre, besides the struggle with Burgundy; the result being that, while in England popular power as expressed by the House of Commons became settled and increased, such power as the States-General had acquired in France dwindled away. Not forgetting (hat by the Wars of the Roses, lasting over thirty years, there was initiated a return toward absolutism, let us contemplate the contrasts which subsequently arose. For a century and a half after these civil conflicts ended, there were but few and trivial breaches of internal peace, while such wars as went on with foreign powers, not numerous, took place as usual out of England; and during this period the retrograde movement which the Wars of the Roses set up was reversed and popular power greatly increased; so that, in the words of Mr. Bagehot, "the slavish Parliament of Henry VIII grew into the murmuring Parliament of Queen Elizabeth, the mutinous Parliament of James I, and the rebellious Parliament of Charles I." Meanwhile France, during the first third of this period, had been engaged in almost continuous external wars with Italy, Spain, and Austria; while during the remaining two thirds it suffered from almost continuous internal wars, religious and political; the accompanying result being that, notwithstanding resistances from time to time made, the monarchy became increasingly despotic. To make fully manifest the different social types that had been evolved under these different conditions, we have to compare not only the respective political constitutions but also the respective systems of social control. Observe what these were at the time when there commenced the reaction which ended in the French Revolution. In harmony with the theory of the militant type, that the individual is, in life, liberty, and property, owned by the state, the monarch had come to be universal proprietor. Giving nothing in return, he took whatever houses and lands he pleased; and the burdens he imposed on land-owners were so grievous that some of them preferred abandoning their estates to paying. Then, besides the taking of property by the state, there was the taking of labor. One fourth of the working-days in the year went as corvées, due to the king and in part to the feudal lord. Such liberties as were allowed had to be paid for again and again; the municipal privileges of towns being seven times in twenty-eight years withdrawn and resold to them. Military services of nobles and people were imperative to whatever extent the king demanded; and conscripts were drilled under the lash. At the same time that the subjection of the individual to the state was pushed to such an extreme by exactions of money and services that the impoverished people cut the grain while it was green, ate grass, and died of starvation in millions, the state did little to guard their persons and homes. Contemporary writers enlarge on the multitudinous highway robberies, burglaries, assassinations, and torturings of people to discover their hoards; herds of vagabonds, levying black-mail, roamed about, and when, as a remedy, penalties were imposed, innocent persons denounced as vagabonds were sent to prison without evidence. There was no personal security either against the ruler or against powerful enemies: in Paris there were some thirty prisons where untried and unsentenced people might be incarcerated; and the "brigandage of justice" annually cost suitors forty to sixty millions of francs. While the state, aggressing on citizens to such extremes, thus failed to protect them against one another, it was active in regulating their private lives and labors. Religion was dictated to the extent that Protestants were imprisoned, sent to the galleys, or whipped, and their ministers hanged. The quantity of salt (on which there was a heavy tax) to be consumed by each person was prescribed; as were also the modes of its use. Industry of every kind was supervised. Certain crops were prohibited; and vines grown on soils considered unfit were destroyed. The wheat that might be bought at market was limited to two bushels; and sales took place in presence of dragoons. Manufacturers were regulated in their processes and products to the extent that there was destruction of improved appliances and of goods not made according to law, as well as penalties upon inventors. Regulations succeeded one another so rapidly that amid their multiplicity government agents found it difficult to carry them out; and with the increasing official orders came increasing swarms of public functionaries. Turning now to England at the same period, we see that along with progress toward the industrial type of political structure, carried to the extent that the House of Commons had become the predominant power, there had gone on a progress toward the accompanying social system. Though the subjection of the individual to the state was considerably greater than now, it was far less than in France. His private rights were not sacrificed in the same unscrupulous way; and he was not in danger of a lettre de cachet. Though justice was very imperfectly administered, still it was not administered so wretchedly; there was a fair amount of personal security, and aggressions on property were kept within bounds. The disabilities of Protestant dissenters were diminished early in the century; and, later on, those of Catholics. Considerable freedom of the press was acquired, showing itself in the discussion of political questions as well as in the publication of parliamentary debates; and, about the same time, there came free speech in public meetings. While thus the state aggressed upon the individual less and protected him more, it interfered to a smaller extent with his daily transactions. Though there was much regulation of commerce and industry, yet it was pushed to no such extreme as that which in France subjected agriculturists, manufacturers, and merchants, to an army of officials who directed their acts at every turn. In brief, the contrast between our state and that of France was such as to excite the surprise and admiration of various French writers of the time, from whom Mr. Buckle quotes numerous passages showing this.

Most significant of all, however, are the changes in England itself, first retrogressive and then progressive, that occurred during the war period which extended from 1775 to 1815, and during the' subsequent period of peace. At the end of the last century and the beginning of (his, reversion toward ownership of the individual by the society had gone a long way. "To statesmen, the state, as a unit, was all in all, and it is really difficult to find any evidence that the people were thought of at all, except in the relation of obedience." "The Government regarded the people with little other view than as a taxable and soldier-yielding mass." While the militant part of the community had greatly developed, the industrial part had approached toward the condition of a permanent commissariat. By conscription and by press gangs was carried to a relatively vast extent that sacrifice of the citizen in life and liberty which war entails; and the claims to property were trenched upon by merciless taxation, weighing down the middle classes so grievously that they had greatly to lower their rate of living, while the people at large were so distressed (partly no doubt by bad harvests) that "hundreds ate nettles and other weeds." With these major aggressions upon the individual by the state went numerous minor aggressions. Irresponsible agents of the executive were empowered to suppress public meetings and seize their leaders; death being the punishment for those who did not disperse when ordered. Libraries and news-rooms could not be opened without license; and it was penal to lend books without permission. There were "strenuous attempts made to silence the press"; and booksellers dared not publish works by obnoxious authors. "Spies were paid, witnesses were suborned, juries were packed, and, the habeas corpus act being constantly suspended, the crown had the power of imprisoning without inquiry and without limitation." While the Government taxed and coerced and restrained the citizen to this extent, its protection of him was inefficient. It is true that the penal code was made more extensive and more severe: the definition of treason was enlarged, and many transgressions were made capital which were not capital before; so that there was "a vast and absurd variety of offenses for which men and women were sentenced to death by the score": there was "a devilish levity in dealing with human life." But at the same time there was not increase but rather decrease of security. As says Mr. Pike, in his "History of Crime," "It became apparent that the greater the strain of the conflict the greater is the danger of a reaction toward violence and lawlessness." Turn now to the opposite picture. After recovery from the prostration which prolonged wars had left, and the dying away of those social perturbations caused by impoverishment, there began a revival of traits proper to the industrial type. Coercion of the citizen by the state decreased in various ways. Voluntary enlistment replaced compulsory military service; and there disappeared some minor restraints over personal freedom, as instance the repeal of laws which forbade artisans to travel where they pleased, and which interdicted trades-unions. With these manifestations of greater respect for personal freedom may be joined those shown in the amelioration of the penal code: the public whipping of females being first abolished, then the long list of capital offenses being reduced until there finally remained but one, and eventually the pillory and imprisonment for debt being abolished. Such penalties on religious independence as remained disappeared; first by removal of those directed against Protestant dissenters, and then of those which weighed on the Catholics, and then of some which told specially against Quakers and Jews. By the Parliamentary Reform Bill and Municipal Reform Bill, vast numbers were removed from the subject classes to the governing classes. Interferences with the business-transactions of citizens were diminished by allowing free trade in bullion, by permitting joint-stock banks, by abolishing multitudinous restrictions on the importation of commodities—leaving eventually but few which pay duty. And, while by these and kindred changes, such as the removal of restraining burdens on the press, impediments to the free action of the citizen were decreased, the protective action of the state was increased. By a greatly-improved police system, by county courts, and so forth, personal safety and claims to property were better secured.

Not to elaborate the argument further by adding the case of the United States, which repeats with minor differences the same relations of phenomena, the evidence given adequately supports the proposition laid down. Amid all the complexities and perturbations, comparisons show us with sufficient clearness that, in actually-existing societies, those traits which we inferred must distinguish the industrial type show themselves clearly in proportion as the social activities are predominantly characterized by exchange of services under agreement.

As in the last chapter we noted the traits of character proper to the members of a society which is habitually at war, so here we have to note the traits of character proper to the members of a society occupied exclusively in peaceful pursuits. Already in delineating above, the rudiments of the industrial type of social structure as exhibited in certain small groups of unwarlike peoples, some indications of the accompanying personal qualities have been given; but it will be well now to emphasize these and add to them, before observing the kindred personal qualities in the more advanced industrial communities.[3]

Absence of a centralized coercive rule, implying as it does feeble political restraints exercised by the society over its units, is accompanied by a strong sense of individual freedom and a determination to maintain it. The amiable Bodo and Dhimáls, as we have seen, resist "injunctions injudiciously urged with dogged obstinacy."[4] The peaceful Lepchas "undergo great privations rather than submit to oppression or injustice."[5] The "simple-minded Santál" has a "strong natural sense of justice, and, should any attempt be made to coerce him, he flies the country."[6] And so of a tribe not before mentioned, the Jakuns of the South Malayan Peninsula, who, described as "entirely inoffensive," personally brave but peaceful, and as under no control but that of popularly appointed heads who settle their disputes, are also described as "extremely proud": the so-called pride being exemplified by the statement that their remarkably good qualities "induced several persons to make attempts to domesticate them, but such essays have generally ended in the Jakuns' disappearance on the slightest coercion."[7]

With a strong sense of their own claims, these unwarlike men display unusual respect for the claims of others. This is shown in the first place by the rarity of personal collisions among them. Hodgson says that the Bodo and the Dhimáls "are void of all violence toward their own people or toward their neighbors."[8] Of the peaceful tribes of the Neilgherry Hills, Colonel Ouchterlony writes, "Drunkenness and violence are unknown among them."[9] Campbell remarks of the Lepchas, that "they rarely quarrel among themselves."[10] The Jakuns, too, "have very seldom quarrels among themselves"; and such disputes as arise are settled by their popularly-chosen heads "without fighting or malice."[11] And similarly the Arafuras "live in peace and brotherly love with one another."[12] Further, in the accounts of these peoples we read nothing about the lex talionis. In the absence of hostilities with adjacent groups, there does not exist within each group that "sacred duty of blood-revenge" universally recognized in militant tribes and nations. Still more significantly, we find evidence of the opposite doctrine and practice. Says Campbell of the Lepchas: "They are singularly forgiving of injuries; . . . making mutual amends and concessions."[13]

Naturally, with respect for others' individualities thus shown, goes respect for their claims to property. Already, in the preliminary chapter, I have quoted testimonies to the great honesty of the Bodo and the Dhimáls, the Lepchas, the Santáls, the Todas, and other peoples kindred in their form of social life; and here I may add further ones. Of the Lepchas, Hooker says, "In all my dealings with these people, they proved scrupulously honest."[14] "Among the pure Santáls," writes Hunter, "crime and criminal officers are unknown";[15] while of the Hos, belonging to the same group as the Santáls, Dalton says, "A reflection on a man's honesty or veracity may be sufficient to send him to self-destruction."[16] In like manner Shortt testifies that "the Todas, as a body, have never been convicted of heinous crimes of any kind";[17] and, concerning other peaceful tribes of the Shervaroy Hills, he states that "crime of a serious nature is unknown among them."[18] Again, of the Jakuns we read that "they are never known to steal anything, not even the most insignificant trifle."[19] And so of certain natives of Malacca who "are naturally of a commercial turn," Jukes writes: "No part of the world is freer from crime than the district of Malacca. . . a few petty cases of assault; or of disputes about property. . . are all that occur."[20]

Thus free from the coercive rule which warlike activities necessitate, and without that sentiment which makes the needful subordination possible—thus maintaining their own claims while respecting the like claims of others—thus devoid of the vengeful feelings which aggressions without and within the tribe generate—these peoples, instead of the bloodthirstiness, the cruelty, the selfish trampling upon inferiors, characterizing militant tribes and societies, display, in unusual degrees, the humane sentiments. Insisting on their amiable qualities, Hodgson describes the Bodo and the Dhimáls as being "almost entirely free from such as are unamiable."[21] Remarking that "while courteous and hospitable he is firm and free from cringing," Hunter tells us of the Santál that he thinks "uncharitable men" will suffer after death.[22] Saying that the Lepchas are "ever foremost in the forest or on the bleak mountain, and ever ready to help, to carry, to encamp, collect, or cook," Hooker adds, "They cheer on the traveler by their unostentatious zeal in his service"; and he also adds that "a present is divided equally among many, without a syllable of discontent or grudging look or word."[23] Of the Jakuns, too, Favre tells us that "they are generally kind, affable, inclined to gratitude and to beneficence": their tendency being not to ask favors but to confer them.[24] And then of the peaceful Arafuras we learn from Kolff that—

"They have a very excusable ambition to gain the name of rich men, by paying the debts of their poorer fellow-villagers. The officer [M. Bik], whom I quoted above, related to me a very striking instance of this. At Affora he was present at the election of the village chief, two individuals aspiring to the station of Orang Tua. The people chose the elder of the two, which greatly afflicted the other, but he soon afterward expressed himself satisfied with the choice the people had made, and said to M. Bik, who had been sent there on a commission, ' What reason have I to grieve? Whether I am Orang Tua or not, I still have it in my power to assist my fellow-villagers.' Several old men agreed to this, apparently to comfort him. Thus the only use they make of their riches is to employ it in settling differences."[25]

And these various evidences may be enforced by yet others contained in works on Japan, published since these chapters were commenced. Giving a passing notice to the fact that Captain St. John, speaking of the "goodness and kindness" of the people in the "wild part of Japan," where they had not seen Europeans, says, "I always found, the farther from the open ports I went, the nicer in every way were the people,"[26] I pass on to the testimony of Miss Bird concerning the Ainos. These appear to be an aboriginal race, who, like the Hill tribes of India, have retired before an invading race. According to this lady traveler, "they have no traditions of internecine strife, and the art of war seems to have been lost long ago." They are "truthful," "gentle," "considerate"; and when a house was burned down all the men joined to rebuild it. They are "punctiliously honest" in all their transactions; are very anxious to give; and when induced to sell would accept only a moiety of the amount offered. Describing generally their traits of nature she says, "I hope I shall never forget the music of their low sweet voices, the soft light of their mild brown eyes, and the wonderful sweetness of their smile."[27]

With these superiorities of the social relations in permanently peaceful tribes go superiorities of their domestic relations. As I have before pointed out, while the status of women is habitually very low in tribes given to war and in more advanced militant societies, it is habitually very high in these primitive peaceful societies. The Bodo and the Dhimáls, the Kocch, the Santáls, the Lepchas, are monogamic, as were also the Pueblos; and along with their monogamy habitually goes a superior sexual morality. Of the Lepchas Hooker says, "The females are generally chaste, and the marriage tie is strictly kept."[28] Among the Santals, "unchastity is almost unknown" and "divorce is rare."[29] By the Bodo and the Dhimáls, "polygamy, concubinage, and adultery are not tolerated:" "chastity is prized in man and woman, married and unmarried."[30] Further it is to be noted that, among these peoples, the behavior to women is extremely good. "The Santál treats the female members of his family with respect;"[31] the Bodo and the Dhimáls "treat their wives and daughters with confidence and kindness: they are free from all out-door work whatever."[32] And even among the Todas, low as are the forms of their sexual relations, "the wives are treated by their husbands with marked respect and attention."[33] Moreover, we are told concerning sundry of these unwarlike peoples that the status of children is also high; and there is none of that distinction of treatment between boys and girls which characterizes militant tribes.[34]

Of course, on turning to civilized peoples to observe the form of individual character which accompanies the industrial form of society, we encounter the difficulty that the personal traits proper to industrialism are, like the social traits, mingled with those proper to militancy. It is manifestly thus with ourselves. A nation which, besides its occasional serious wars, is continually carrying on small wars with uncivilized tribes; a nation which is mainly ruled in Parliament and through the press by men whose school-discipline led them during six days in the week to take Achilles for their hero, and on the seventh to admire Christ; a nation which at its public dinners habitually toasts its army and navy before toasting its legislative bodies—has not so far emerged out of militancy that we can expect either the institutions or the personal characters proper to industrialism to be shown with clearness. In independence, in honesty, in truthfulness, in humanity, its citizens are not likely to be the equals of the uncultured but peaceful peoples above described. All we may anticipate is an approach to these moral characteristics appropriate to a state undisturbed by international hostilities; and this we find. In the first place, with progress of the régime of contract has come growth of independence. Daily exchange of services under agreement, involving at once the maintenance of personal claims and respect for the claims of others, has fostered a normal self-assertion and consequent resistance to unauthorized power. The facts that the word "independence" in its modern sense was not in use among us before the middle of the last century, and that on the Continent independence is less markedly displayed, suggest the connection between this trait and a developing industrialism. The trait is shown in the multitudinousness of religious sects, in the divisions of political parties, and in minor ways by the absence of those "schools" in art, philosophy, etc., which, among Continental peoples, are formed by the submission of disciples to an adopted master. That in England men show, more than elsewhere, a jealousy of dictation, and a determination to act as they think fit, will not, I think, be disputed. The diminished subordination to authority, which is the obverse of this independence, of course implies decrease of loyalty. Worship of the monarch, at no time with us reaching to the height it did in France early in the last century, or in Russia down to recent times, has now changed into a respect depending very much on the monarch's personal character. Our days witness no such extreme servilities of expression as were used by ecclesiastics in the dedication of the Bible to King James, nor any such exaggerated adulations as those addressed to George III by the House of Lords. The doctrine of divine right has long since died away; belief in an indwelling supernatural power (implied by the touching for king's evil, etc.) is named as a curiosity of the past; and the monarchical institution has come to be defended on grounds of expediency. So great has been the decrease of this sentiment which, under the militant régime, attaches subject to ruler, that nowadays the conviction commonly expressed is that, should the throne be occupied by a Charles II or a George IV, there would probably result a republic. And this change of feeling is shown in the attitude toward the Government as a whole. For not only are there many who dispute the authority of the state in respect of sundry matters besides religious beliefs, but there are some who passively resist what they consider unjust exercises of its authority, and pay fines or go to prison rather than submit. As this last fact implies, along with decrease of loyalty has gone decrease of faith, not in monarchs only but in governments. Such belief in royal omnipotence as existed in ancient Egypt, where the power of the ruler was supposed to extend to the other world, as it is even now supposed to do in China, has had no parallel in the West; but still, among European peoples in past times, that confidence in the soldier-king essential to the militant type displayed itself, among other ways, in exaggerated conceptions of his ability to cure evils, achieve benefits, and arrange things as he willed. If we compare present opinion among ourselves with opinion in early days, we find a decline in these credulous expectations. Though, during the late retrograde movement toward militancy, state-power has been invoked for various ends, and faith in it has increased; yet, tap to the commencement of this reaction, a great change had taken place in the other direction. After the repudiation of a state-enforced creed, there came a denial of the state's capacity for determining religious truth, and a growing movement to relieve it from the function of religious teaching, held to be alike needless and injurious. Long ago it had ceased to be thought that Government could do any good by regulating people's food, clothing, and domestic habits; and over the multitudinous processes carried on by producers and distributors, constituting immensely the larger part of our social activities, we no longer believe that legislative dictation is beneficial. Moreover, every newspaper, by its criticisms on the acts of ministers and the conduct of the House of Commons, betrays the diminished faith of citizens in their rulers. Nor is it only by contrasts between past and present among ourselves that we are shown this trait of a more developed industrial state. It is shown by kindred contrasts between opinion here and opinion abroad. The speculations of social reformers in France and in Germany prove that the hope for benefits to be achieved by state-agency is far higher with them than with us. Along with decrease of loyalty and concomitant decrease of faith in the powers of governments has gone decrease of patriotism—patriotism, that is, under its original form. To fight "for king and country" is an ambition which nowadays occupies but a small space in men's minds; and though there is among us a majority whose sentiment is represented by the exclamation, "Our country, right or wrong!" yet there are large numbers whose desire for human welfare at large so far overrides their desire for national prestige that they object to sacrificing the first to the last. The spirit of self-criticism, which in sundry respects leads us to make unfavorable comparisons between ourselves and Continental nations, leads us more than heretofore to blame ourselves for wrong conduct to other peoples. The denunciations uttered by many on our dealings with the Afghans, the Zooloos, and the Boers, show that there is a large amount of the feeling reprobated by the "Jingo"-class as unpatriotic. That adaptation of individual nature to social needs which, in the militant state, makes men glory in war and despise peaceful pursuits, has partially brought about among us a converse adjustment of the sentiments. The occupation of the soldier has ceased to be so much honored, and that of the civilian is more honored. During the forty years' peace, the popular sentiment became such that "soldiering" was spoken of contemptuously; and those who enlisted, habitually the idle and the dissolute, were commonly regarded as having completed their disgrace. Similarly in America before the late civil war, such small military gatherings and exercises as from time to time occurred, excited general ridicule. Meanwhile, we see that labors, bodily and mental, useful to self and others, have come to be not only honorable, but in a considerable degree imperative. In America the adverse comments on one who does nothing, almost force him into some active pursuit; and among ourselves the respect for industrial life has become such that men of high rank put their sons into business. While, as we saw, the compulsory coöperation proper to militancy forbids, or greatly discourages, individual initiative, the voluntary cooperation which distinguishes industrialism gives free scope to individual initiative, and develops it by letting enterprise bring its normal advantages. Those who are successfully original in idea and act, prospering and multiplying in greater degrees than others, produce, in course of time, a general type of nature ready to undertake new things. The speculative tendencies of English and American capitalists, and the extent to which large undertakings, both at home and abroad, are carried out by them, sufficiently indicate this trait of character. Though, along with considerable qualification of militancy by industrialism on the Continent, there has occurred there, too, an extension of private enterprise, yet the fact that, while many towns in France and Germany have been supplied with gas and water by English companies, there is in England but little of kindred achievement by foreign companies, shows that, among the more industrially modified English, individual initiative is more decided. There is evidence that the decline of international hostilities, going as it does with the decline of hostilities between families and between individuals, is followed by a weakening of revengeful sentiments. This is implied by the fact that in our own country the more serious of these private wars early ceased, leaving only the less serious in the form of duels, which also have at length ceased: their cessation coinciding with the recent great development of industrial life—a fact with which may be joined the fact that in the more militant societies, France and Germany, they have not ceased. So much among ourselves has the authority of the lex talionis waned, that a man, whose actions are known to be prompted by the wish for vengeance on one who has injured him, is reprobated rather than applauded. With decrease of the aggressiveness shown in acts of violence and consequent acts of retaliation has gone decrease of the aggressiveness shown in criminal acts at large. That this change has been a concomitant of the change from a more militant to a more industrial state can not be doubted by one who studies the history of crime in England. Says Mr. Pike in his work on that subject, "The close connection between the military spirit and those actions which are now legally defined to be crimes has been pointed out, again and again, in the course of this history." If we compare a past age in which the effects of hostile activities had been less qualified by the effects of peaceful activities than they have been in our own age, we see a marked contrast in respect of the numbers and kinds of offenses against person and property. We have no longer any English buccaneers; wreckers have ceased to be heard of; and travelers do not now prepare themselves to meet highwaymen. Moreover, that flagitiousness of the governing agencies themselves, which was shown by the venality of ministers and members of Parliament, and by the corrupt administration of justice, has disappeared. With decreasing amount of crime has come increasing reprobation of crime. Biographies of pirate captains, suffused with admiration of their courage, no longer find a place in our literature; and the sneaking kindness for "gentlemen of the road" is, in our days, but rarely displayed. Many as are the transgressions which our journals report, they have greatly diminished; and, though in trading transactions there is much dishonesty (chiefly of the indirect sort), it needs but to read De Foe's "English Tradesman" to see how marked has been the improvement since his time. Nor must we forget that the change of character which has brought a decrease of unjust actions has brought an increase of beneficent actions; as seen in paying for slave emancipation, in nursing the wounded soldiers of our fighting neighbors, in philanthropic efforts of countless kinds.

As with the militant type, then, so with the industrial type, three lines of evidence converge to show us its essential nature. Let us set down briefly the several results, that we may observe the correspondences among them.

On considering what must be the traits of a society organized exclusively for carrying on internal activities, so as most efficiently to subserve the lives of citizens, we find them to be these: A corporate action, subordinating individual actions by uniting them in joint effort, is no longer requisite. Contrariwise, such corporate action as remains has for its end to guard individual actions against all interferences not necessarily entailed by mutual limitation: the type of society in which this function is best discharged being that which must survive, since it is that of which the members will most prosper. Excluding, as the requirements of the industrial type do, a despotic controlling agency, they imply, as the only congruous agency for achieving such corporate action as is needed, one formed of representatives who serve to express the aggregate will. The function of this controlling agency, generally defined as that of administering justice, is more specially defined as that of seeing that each citizen gains neither more nor less of benefit than his activities normally bring; and there is thus excluded all public action involving any artificial distribution of benefits. The régime of status proper to militancy having disappeared, the régime of contract which replaces it has to be universally enforced; and this negatives interferences between efforts and results by arbitrary appointment. Otherwise regarded, the industrial type is distinguished from the militant type as being not both positively regulative and negatively regulative, but as being negatively regulative only. With this restricted sphere for corporate action comes an increased sphere for individual action; and from that voluntary coöperation which is the fundamental principle of the type arise multitudinous private combinations, akin in their structures to the public combination of the society which includes them. Indirectly it results that a society of the industrial type is distinguished by plasticity; and also that it tends to lose its economic autonomy, and to coalesce with adjacent societies.

The question next considered was, whether these traits of the industrial type as arrived at by deduction are inductively verified; and we found that in actual societies they are visible more or less clearly in proportion as industrialism is more or less developed. Glancing at those small groups of uncultured people who, wholly unwarlike, display the industrial type in its rudimentary form, we went on to compare the structures of European nations at large in early days of chronic militancy with their structures in modern days characterized by progressing industrialism; and we saw the differences to be of the kind implied. We next compared two of these societies, France and England, which were once in kindred states, but of which the one has had its industrial life much more repressed by its militant life than the other; and it became manifest that the contrasts which, age after age, arose between their institutions, were such as answer to the hypothesis. Lastly, limiting ourselves to England itself, and first noting how recession from such traits of the industrial type as had shown themselves occurred during a long war period, we observed how, during the subsequent long peace beginning in 1815, there were numerous and decided approaches to that social structure which we concluded must accompany developed industrialism.

We then inquired what type of individual nature accompanies the industrial type of society; with a view of seeing whether, from the character of the unit as well as from the character of the aggregate, confirmation is to be derived. Certain uncultured peoples, whose lives are passed in peaceful occupations, proved to be distinguished by independence, resistance to coercion, honesty, truthfulness, forgivingness, kindness. On contrasting the characters of our ancestors during more warlike periods with our own characters, we see that, with an increasing ratio of industrialism to militancy have come a rising independence, a less-marked loyalty, a smaller faith in governments, and a more qualified patriotism; and while, by enterprising action, by diminished faith in authority, by resistance to irresponsible power, there has been shown a strengthening assertion of individuality, there has accompanied it a growing regard for the individualities of others, as implied by the diminution of aggressions upon them and the multiplication of efforts for their welfare.

To prevent misapprehension it seems needful, before closing, to explain that these traits are to be regarded less as the immediate results of industrialism than as the remote results of non-militancy. It is not so much that a social life passed in peaceful occupations is positively moralizing, as that a social life occupied in war is positively demoralizing. Sacrifice of others to self is in the one incidental only; while in the other it is necessary. Such aggressive egoism as accompanies the industrial life is extrinsic; whereas the aggressive egoism of the militant life is intrinsic. Though very generally unsympathetic, the exchange of services under agreement is now, to a considerable extent, and may be wholly, carried on with a due regard to the claims of others—may be constantly accompanied by a sense of benefit given as well as benefit received; but the slaying of antagonists, the burning of their houses, the appropriation of their territory, can not but be accompanied by vivid consciousness of injury done them, and a consequent brutalizing effect on the feelings—an effect wrought, not on soldiers only, but on those who employ them and contemplate their deeds with pleasure. This last form of social life, therefore, inevitably deadens the sympathies and generates a state of mind which prompts crimes of trespass; while the first form, allowing the sympathies free play, if it does not directly exercise them, favors the growth of altruistic sentiments and the resulting virtues.

  1. Part XI of the series on "The Development of Political Institutions."
  2. It must not be inferred that private and voluntary aid to the inferior is negatived, but only public and enforced aid. Whatever effects the sympathies of the better for the worse spontaneously produce, can not, of course, be interfered with, and will, on the whole, be beneficial. For, while, on the average, the better will not ordinarily carry their philanthropic efforts so far as to impede their own multiplication, they will carry them far enough to mitigate the ill-fortunes of the worse without enabling them to multiply.
  3. Though, as already explained, the references to authorities have been reserved until the final publication of these chapters, yet, as the facts quoted in the succeeding paragraphs are such as to excite surprise, or, it may be, doubt, I think it well to here give at once the means of verification:
  4. Hodgson in "Journal Asiatic Society," Bengal, xviii, 746.
  5. Campbell in "Journal Ethnological Society," for July, 1869.
  6. Hunter's "Annals of Rural Bengal", i, 209; Sherville in "Journal Asiatic Society," xx, 554.
  7. Rev. P. Favre in "Journal of Indian Archipelago." ii, 266, 267.
  8. Hodgson in "Journal Asiatic Society," xviii, 746.
  9. Colonel Ouchterlony, "Memoir of Survey of the N. H.," page 69.
  10. Campbell in "Journal Ethnological Society," for July, 1869.
  11. Rev. P. Favre in "Journal of Indian Archipelago," ii, 266.
  12. Earl's translation of Kolffs "Voyages of the Domga," page 161.
  13. Campbell in "Journal Ethnological Society," of July, 1869.
  14. Hooker's "Himalayan Journals," i, 175, 176.
  15. Hunter's "Annals of Rural Bengal," i, 217.
  16. Dalton's "Des. Ethnology," page 206.
  17. Shortt's "Hill Ranges of S. S. India," part i, 9.
  18. Ditto, part ii, 7, 8.
  19. Favre in "Journal of Indian Archipelago," ii, 266.
  20. Juke's "Voyage of Her Majesty's Ship Fly," i, 219, 220.
  21. Hodgson in "Journal Asiatic Society," xviii, 745.
  22. Hunter, "Annals of Rural Bengal," i, 209, 210.
  23. Hooker's "Himalayan Journal," i, 175, 176; 129, 130.
  24. Favre in "Journal of Indian Archipelago," ii, 266.
  25. Earl's Kolff, 164.
  26. Captain St. John's "The Wild Coasts of Nipon," 142.
  27. Miss Bird's "Unbeaten Tracks in Japan," ii, 103; 74.
  28. Hooker's "Himalayan Journal," i, 134.
  29. Hunter's "Annals of Rural Bengal," i, 208.
  30. Hodgson in "Journal Asiatic Society," xviii, 708.
  31. Hunter's "Annals of Rural Bengal," i, 217.
  32. Hodgson's "Essays," i, 150.
  33. "Journal Ethnological Society," vii, 241.
  34. In a "Symposium" published in the "Nineteenth Century" for April and May, 1877, was discussed "the influence upon morality of a decline in religious belief": the question eventually raised being whether morality can exist without religion. Not much difficulty in answering this question will be felt by those who, from the conduct of these rude tribes, turn to that of Europeans during the Christian era, with its innumerable and immeasurable public and private atrocities, its bloody aggressive wars, its ceaseless family vendettas, its bandit barons and fighting bishops, its massacres, political and religious, its torturings and burnings, its all-pervading crime from the assassinations of and by kings down to the lyings and petty thefts of slaves and serfs. Nor do the contrasts between our own conduct at the present time and the conduct of these so-called savages leave us in doubt concerning the right answer. When, after reading police reports, criminal assize proceedings, accounts of fraudulent bankruptcies, etc, which, in our journals, accompany advertisements of sermons and reports of religious meetings, we learn that the "amiable" Bodo and Dhimáls, who are so "honest and truthful," "have no word for God, for soul, for heaven, for hell" (though they have ancestor-worship and some derivative beliefs), we find ourselves unable to recognize the alleged connection. If side by side with narratives of bank frauds, railway jobbings, turf chicaneries, etc., among people who are anxious that the House of Commons should preserve its theism untainted, we place descriptions of the "fascinating" Lepchas, who are so "wonderfully honest," but who "profess no religion, though acknowledging the existence of good and bad spirits" (to the latter of whom only they pay any attention), we do not see our way to accepting the dogma which our theologians think so obviously true; nor will acceptance of it be made easier when we add the description of the conscientious Santal, who "never thinks of making money by a stranger," and "feels pained if payment is pressed upon him" for food offered; but concerning whom we are told that "of a supreme and beneficent God the Santal has no conception." Admission of the doctrine that right conduct depends on theological conviction becomes difficult on reading that the Veddahs, who are "almost devoid of any sentiment of religion" and have no idea "of a Supreme Being," nevertheless "think it perfectly inconceivable that any person should ever take that which does not belong to him, or strike his fellow, or say anything that is untrue." After finding that, among the select of the select who profess our established creed, the standard of truthfulness is such that the statement of a minister concerning Cabinet transactions is distinctly falsified by the statement of a seceding minister, and after then recalling the marvelous veracity of these godless Bodo and Dhimáls, Lepchas, and other peaceful tribes having kindred beliefs, going to such extent that an imputation of falsehood is enough to make one of the Hos destroy himself, we fail to see that in the absence of a theistic belief there can be no regard for truth. When, in a weekly journal specially representing the university culture shared in by our priests, we find a lament over the moral degradation shown in our treatment of the Boers; when we are held degraded because we have not slaughtered them for successfully resisting our trespasses; when we see that the "sacred duty of blood-revenge," which the cannibal savage insists upon, is insisted upon by those to whom the Christian religion was daily taught throughout their education; and when, from contemplating this fact, we pass to the fact that the unreligious Lepchas "are singularly forgiving of injuries"—the assumed relation between humanity and theism appears anything but congruous with the evidence. If with the ambitions of our churchgoing citizens, who (not always in very honorable ways) strive to get fortunes that they may make great displays, and gratify themselves by thinking that at death they will "cut up well," we compare the ambitions of the Arafuras, among whom wealth is desired that its possessor may pay the debts of poorer men and settle differences, we are obliged to reject the assumption that "brotherly love" can exist only as a consequence of divine injunctions, with promised rewards and threatened punishments; for of these Arafuras we read that, "of the immortality of the soul they have not the least conception. To all my inquiries on this subject they answered, 'No Arafura has ever returned to us after death, therefore we know nothing of a future state, and this is the first time we have heard of it.' Their idea was, when you are dead there is an end of you. Neither have they any notion of the creation of the world. They only answered, 'None of us were aware of this, we have never heard anything about it, and therefore do not know who has done it all.'" Once more, when, after indicating the Ainos' fear of ghosts and some allied superstitions, but saying that "it is nonsense to write of the religious ideas of a people who have none," Miss Bird tells us of these "kind and delightful savages" that for something she wished to buy they would accept only half what she offered; when by contrast we are reminded of Jews who, after three thousand years of monotheism, lend money at enormous rates of interest and ruin their clients by merciless enforcement of their claims—we are shown that the goodness which may exist without theistic belief is as remarkable as the badness which may exist along with it. That which the facts show us is that, so far as men's moral states are concerned, theory is almost nothing and practice is almost everything. No matter how high their nominal creed, nations given to political burglaries, to get "scientific frontiers" and the like, will have among their members many who "annex" others' goods for their own convenience; and with the organized crime of aggressive war will go criminality in the behavior of one citizen to another. Conversely, as these uncultivated tribes prove, no matter how devoid they are of religious beliefs, those who, generation after generation remaining unmolested, inflict no injuries upon others, have their altruistic sentiments fostered by the sympathetic intercourse of a peaceful daily life, and display the resulting virtues. We need teaching that it is impossible to join injustice and brutality abroad with justice and humanity at home. What a pity these heathens can not be induced to send missionaries among the Christians!