25. A Point of Criticism - Page 2

so-called
Socialism--for to me your Socialist is the true and only individualist.
My correspondent's argument is written from the standpoint of the class
in which women have or may have money. But most women have none; and
schemes of reconstruction must be for the benefit of the many. So-called
individualists seem to think that under a more organised social state
they would not be so able to buy pictures as at present, not so free to
run across to California or Kamschatka. I doubt their premiss, for I
believe we should all of us be better off than we are to-day; but let
that pass; 'tis a detail. The main thing is this: they forget that most
of us are narrowly tied and circumscribed at present by endless
monopolies and endless restrictions of land or capital. I should like to
buy pictures; but I can't afford them. I long to see Japan; but I shall
never get there. The man in the street may desire to till the ground:
every acre is appropriated. He may wish to dig coal: Lord Masham
prevents him. He may have a pretty taste in Venetian glass: the flints
on the shore are private property; the furnace and the implements belong
to a capitalist. Under the existing _régime_, the vast mass of us are
hampered at every step in order that a few may enjoy huge monopolies.
Most men have no land, so that one man may own a county. And they call
this Individualism!

In considering any proposed change, whether imminent or distant, in
practice or in day-dream, it is not fair to take as your standard of
reference the most highly-favoured individuals under existing
conditions. Nor is it fair to take the most unfortunate only. You should
look at the average.

Now the average man, in the world as it wags, is a farm-labourer, an
artisan, a mill-hand, a navvy. He has untrammelled freedom of contract
to follow the plough on another man's land, or to work twelve hours a
day in another man's factory, for that other man's benefit--provided
always he can only induce the other man to employ him. If he can't, he
is at perfect liberty to tramp the high road till he drops with fatigue,
or to starve, unhindered, on the Thames Embankment. He may live where he
likes, as far as his means permit; for example, in a convenient court
off Seven Dials. He may make his own free bargain with grasping landlord
or exacting sweater. He may walk over every inch of English soil, with
the trifling exception of the millions of acres where trespassers will
be prosecuted. Even travel is not denied him: Florence and Venice are
out of his beat, it is true; but if he saves up his loose cash for a
couple of months, he may revel in the Oriental luxury of a third-class
excursion train to Brighton and back for three shillings. Such
advantages does the