CHAPTER XVI GUILD SOCIALISM

WE have the highest possible authority for regarding Guild Socialism as representing for this country the essential parallel to syndicalism in France.¹ It may be regarded as a fairly typical example of Anglo-Saxon compromise and of the national instinct to shun excessive theory, when it becomes too obviously and blatantly impracticable. Syndicalism had abolished the State, leaving a cosmos—or perhaps a chaos—of jostling trade unions. Guild Socialism, though in varying degrees according to the interpreter and the time of the interpretation, endeavoured to retain a State, even if it might be a truncated and emasculated State; yet with this presumed concession to practicability, the guildsmen, in their outlook and vision, were close kinsmen to the syndicalists.

That Guild Socialism, in its purest form, represented a significant departure from the older and more orthodox collectivist socialism is indubitable. The nature of the change may be indicated in various ways. On the one hand, it may be said that while the older collectivists (conveniently exemplified by the Fabians) were primarily interested in the consumers, Guild Socialism, holding that man was firstly and for the greater part of his life a worker, approached the problem fom the producer's end. Again, though it may be but a variation of the same distinction, collectivism was interested above all in what it regarded as a just distribution of the products of industry, whereas Guild Socialism was more interested in the organisation of industry and in the control of industry by the workers. Further, the collectivists (and the Fabians) looked to the State as the rock of their salvation; the Guild Socialists, realising that for this as for most purposes the State was but a broken reed, and in the great class struggle no better than an enemy agent, looked for deliverance to the trade unions, the organisations of the workers as producers.

From this general setting, it further follows that Guild Socialism was extraordinarily prolific in ideas which, even if not the original property of the Guild Socialists, had nevertheless sufficient freshness to startle and surprise. On the one hand, their preoccupation with the State and the whittling down of the State to its proper place in the scheme of things leads to a vast mass of political speculation, so that one approaches Guild Socialism under the shadow of Rousseau and the general will, with Bodin, Maitland, Austin and many more involved in the argument. On the other hand, when the erstwhile Leviathan has been properly pruned and trained and has become sufficiently inoffensive to be drawn out with a hook, there remains the question of fitting its successor, the trade unions, to assume the inheritance. Thus there arose a vast amount of discussion of trade union theory, structure and function. Apart from its criticism of things as they are, which is an ineluctable part of all socialism, Guild Socialism is therefore involved in a considerable volume of speculation relating to general political and social theory, above all with regard to the place of associations in society. Indeed, one of the reasons why Guild Socialism, as a movement, foundered so promptly was that it suffered from too many ideas. It demanded from its devotees a level of mental equipment rarely to be found outside the lonelier altitudes of the more ancient seats of learning.

It has been said above that Guild Socialism is approximately the Anglo-Saxon equivalent of syndicalism, but it would be easy to exaggerate the influence of syndicalism on the formation of the corresponding English school. The process was by no means a mere translation, and indeed, most of the avenues to Guild Socialism were opened before syndicalism was an obvious influence. In the background there is manifest the pervading influence of John Ruskin and William Morris. There was in this country, as elsewhere, a dissatisfaction with the fruits of political action; for, as was argued, the Labour members returned to the 1906 Parliament had, after the shouting had died, been swallowed up in the machine, and had become no better (even if not markedly worse) than Liberal members. In the early development of Guild Socialism much importance is attached to Mr. A. J. Penty's Restoration of the Gild System, published in 1906, which, with an infusion of other points of view peculiar to Mr. Penty throughout, did in fact foreshadow most of the dominant ideas of the later Guildsmen. Later, The New Age became the centre of propaganda for the ‘guild idea’ in articles due to Mr. S. G. Hobson and Mr. A. R. Orage. Mr. G. D. H. Cole can hardly be called one of the original founders of Guild Socialism, though he later became its most obvious leader and most effective exponent. For a time he endeavoured to further the guild idea within the Fabian Society; but indeed the points of divergence were too manifold and too manifest. In 1915 the break took place and the National Guilds League was founded. Popularly, and on the whole justly, Guild Socialism came to be identified with Mr. Cole; but if only because of considerable divergence on certain points, it is wise not to overlook the writings of Mr. Penty, Mr. S. G. Hobson, Mr. Orage, Mr. Stirling Taylor, and a joint work by Mr. Reckitt and Mr. Bechhofer. Beyond this, certain phases of Guild Socialist criticism and ideology are, of course, to be found in writers not intimately connected, or not connected at all, with the Guild Socialist movement. In certain of the writings of Mr. Tawney, Mr. Laski and Mr. Maclver, to mention no more, we get on some points an expression of ideas that have sympathetic kinship with the Guild Socialist outlook.¹

It may be convenient to attempt, as a framework for a more detailed consideration later, a very summarised statement of the leading ingredients of Guild Socialism. The worker, as a worker—it is urged—is not free. The effect of the wage-contract is that ‘labour is a commodity’ while the worker renounces all control over the conditions of his labour and the disposal of his product. He is, in short, a wage-slave. That he may be free, the wage-system must be destroyed, and industry must pass under the control of labour. ‘Industrial democracy’ is no less important than political democracy, which indeed is but an empty phrase, unless industry also is conducted on democratic lines. With wistful glances towards the Middle Ages (seen perhaps through a mist of years), the guild system appears as the ideal; we must therefore revive the spirit and (so far as may be) the structure of the guild system. The obvious nucleus for such transformation to-day can be found only in the trade unions; and therefore trade unions, suitably modified and reorganised, must become the modern guild. These guilds, democratically run from below, will in each case have full and absolute control of the industry concerned. Meanwhile there will of necessity be a corresponding change in the position of the State. Needless to say, no salvation can be expected from the State, or from the collectivest ideal; for the State may be as harsh to its wage-slaves as any ordinary capitalist. We have, however, been in error in any case in our view of the State and its true functions; it does not, in the traditional sense, possess ‘sovereign powers.’ It is an association, just as a trade union is an association; it is merely one association among many, none of whom can claim ‘sovereignty.’ Its true and primary purpose (though the statement varies from time to time) should be to represent the consumers. Thus we have a world of self-governing guilds (sprung from the loins of the trade unions) on the producers’ side; and on the consumers’ side there is left an abridged State, which tended to become ever more abridged as the discussion proceeded. In such a world, the guilds, freed from the lust for profits, will, exist solely to render service. Moreover, labour will no longer be a commodity; the worker will no longer be a wage-slave. For the first time there will be true democracy, covering the whole field; and each one, finding joy in his work and realising himself in it, will become ‘a man among men.’ Such, it is hoped, is a not unfair representation of the general position occupied by the Guild Socialists, the further elaboration of which is the purpose of the remainder of this chapter; but it should be remembered that a composite picture is of necessity inaccurate, and that in the present case there were divergencies as to how far the State could or should be reduced, as to whether the Guilds should be few and national or more numerous and local, as to how far we could or should endeavour to return to the thirteenth century.

But before embarking on a more systematic exposition of Guild Socialism there is one point to which, with reluctance, some reference should be made. It is that the Guild Socialists, in the days of their greatest noisiness, suffered from certain obvious defects as controversialists. Some may feel that they tended overmuch to write each book twice over,

Lest you should think they never could recapture
Their first wild careful rapture.

That, however, is a small matter, and perhaps pardonable in a world where books are published for profit as well as for use. What is not so excusable is that there has probably never been a school of writers so intolerant of the opinions of others, so violent and unrestrained in their language, so extravagantly contemptuous of all and sundry, so assured of their own righteousness as the possessors of a peculiar illumination, so confident that unto them had been committed the oracles of God.¹ Being in a sense a break-away from the Fabians, their finest invective is reserved for the Fabians (and in particular for Mr. Sidney Webb) because these believed in the State, and for Labour Members of Parliament, because presumably these believed in political action. In a passage frequently quoted, Mr. Cole exclaimed that ‘Collectivists may take their choice: they are knaves, who hate freedom, or they are fools, who do not know what freedom means, or they are a bit of both.’² Elsewhere we hear of ‘the dotards of The New Statesman,’³ and of ‘the “Selfridge” State, so loudly heralded these twenty years by Mr. “Callisthenes” Webb’⁴—a reference which will be obscure to the next generation. Mr. and Mrs. Webb become ‘the Sir and Lady Oracle of the Socialist movement.’⁵ Even in 1917, Mr. Webb was a sufficiently venerable figure to command the outward respect of the very young. As it is counselled in the wisest of books: ‘Dishonour not a man in his old age: for even some of us wax old.’ But darkness is everywhere. According to the author of National Guilds, only a handful of socialists in Great Britain have a clear conception of what socialism means; even worse, there are not half a dozen thinkers in the land who take the trouble to understand the real meaning of wages¹—which presumably leaves only three, apart from Mr. Cole and the writer. ‘Criminal fools,’² ‘your well-meaning, socially conscientious idiots,’³ ‘that group of honest but stupid men’⁴—such is the world as seen by the Guild Socialist. And there are even more startling side-lights on our contemporaries. The merchant is the ‘pimp of industrial prostitution’ (whatever that may mean), and the bureaucrat is ‘the eunuch in the palace’—though many have mingled with civil servants for a lifetime without noticing it.⁵ Lastly, in these few illustrative extracts from what might be a Guide to Bad Manners and Vituperation, it is well to ponder the implications of Mr. Cole's dictum that ‘to do good work for a capitalist employer is merely... to help a thief to steal more successfully.’⁶ The world, it is made to appear, is made up of fools and knaves, of thieves and of people of incredible stupidity; on the other hand, ‘we are the world's builders’⁷ even if there may not be half a dozen of us who know the meaning of wages. It is a curious phenomenon that a school of socialism which, more than any other, bears the mark of intellectual ‘refinement’ and high academic equipment should also be pre-eminent in its power of vituperation and abuse. In itself the literary manners of the early Guild Socialists are neither here nor there, except in so far as their intolerance and arrogance contributed greatly to the ineffectiveness of the movement.

In such a vast mass of criticism, theory, and speculation, it is not entirely easy to find the most logical starting-point for purposes of exposition. Probably, however, the initial impulse common to most Guild Socialists is to be found in the degradation of labour resulting from the wage-system. With wearisome reiteration it is asserted that it is universally accepted that labour is a commodity and is treated accordingly, that indeed human beings are treated as commodities, and are bought and sold ‘as a grocer sells butter.’⁸ As butter is not a sufficiently offensive commodity, Mr. Hobson underlines the point by arguing that the status of labour is ‘exactly that of manure.’¹ Labour is, on the contrary, a sacred thing, a sanctified human factor.² At present the worker is a slave—a ‘wage-slave’—living in conditions which in some respects compare unfavourably with chattel-slavery. On the evils of the wage-system—preferably called ‘wagery’—there is no limit to the extravagance of language which Guild Socialist writers allow themselves. The wage-bargain, says Mr. Cole, is still of the essence of slavery.³ It is cruel and wasteful, says Mr. Hobson; it is devilish and inhuman.⁴ To be a wage-earner is in itself dishonourable. In a grotesque flight of the imagination we are assured that every wage-earner carries with him the stigmata of his caste as obviously as if he were a branded slave.⁵ Wagery embodies a vile conception of human relationships.⁶ It follows that the abolition of ‘wagery’ (in some respects the immediate objective of the Guild Socialists) will be a greater event than the abolition of slavery.⁷ Those who write thus have clearly lost all sense of the meaning of words, and have been singularly unobservant in their journey through life. The British workman is neither a slave, nor does he feel himself to be a slave: he is the least obsequious of animals.⁸

Fortunately Mr. Cole, in one familiar passage, condescends to particulars, and enunciates four points which, taken together, mark the degraded status of labour. Abbreviating them slightly, they are as follows: (i) the wage-system abstracts labour from the labourer, so that the one can be bought and sold without the other; (ii) wages are paid only when profitable to the employer; (iii) in return for his wages, the worker surrenders all control over the organisation of production; and also (iv) he surrenders all claim on the product of his labour. The abolition of the wage-system accordingly requires the removal of these ‘marks of degraded status.’ Consequently it is the task of National Guilds to assure the worker (i) payment as a human being; (ii) payment in employment and unemployment, in sickness and in health; (iii) control of the organisation of production by the workers; and (iv) a claim upon the product of his work.⁹ In more ordinary language these involve (i) remuneration otherwise than by wages; (ii) security, so that a worker is definitely ‘on the strength,’ irrespective of trade or health conditions: (iii) workers' control over the productive process, and (iv) over the selling process.

These four pointers, if followed up, give some indication of the transformation in the status of labour which it is desired to effect. The reader may experience a curious sense of anti-climax, when he realises that the effect of the abolition of the wage-system will be that in future the worker will receive ‘pay’ instead of ‘wages.’ It is astonishing how much effort was devoted to persuading an unconvinced world that ‘wages’ and ‘pay’ are worlds apart. Between wages and pay, it is suggested, there is all the difference that there is between slavery and freedom. Again, wages ‘are what the capitalist is constrained to give. Pay is what he who renders a service is entitled to receive.’¹ So, somewhat cumbrously and at great length, Mr. Hobson contrasts salaried Robinson, with a ‘recognised and recompensed personality’ and wage-earner Jones who ‘supplies only a non-human quality, from which his personality is ex hypothesi excluded,² Moreover, and very curiously, attention is frequently drawn to the fact that soldiers receive ‘pay’ and not ‘wages,’ and the alleged reason is that ‘the work done by the soldier is in no sense a commodity. It is a duty, perhaps a privilege.’³ Mr. Hobson, with elephantine humour, goes on to an expression of astonishment that Mr. Sidney Webb should not have demanded that soldiers should be put on ‘wage-rates, piece-work for preference.’⁴ The distinction between the indignity of wages and the honorability of pay bulks so largely in the writings of the Guild Socialists that it may not be ignored; but as presented by them, it is so puerile that any necessary discussion had better be relegated to the smaller type of a footnote.⁵

In fact, waving aside the dispute as to the meaning of ‘wages’ and ‘pay’ as something of an excrescence, the Guild Socialists see in the abolition of the employer the only hope of escaping from the ‘commodity theory of labour’ and the consequent degradation of the wage-system. So long as authority derives from ‘a power which is external to the workers employed, the system will remain a servile system.’¹ Mr. Cole's desiderata are indeed not four separate demands for four independent transformations. They are closely interconnected, and together they require the fading away of the employer and the transfer of the control of industry in some way to the workers themselves. The workers, banded together, will organise production, and dispose of their produce. There will be no ‘wages,’ as defined by the Guild Socialists, because, irrespective of the state of trade, everyone will be maintained in sickness and health by the body of which he is a member. Moreover, the pursuit of gain will no longer direct the course of production; everyone will be inspired by the motive of service. In a much-too-familiar tag, production will be for use and not for profit.

Mingled with this line of approach, there are in certain sections of Guild Socialism somewhat curious remnants of undigested Marxian analysis. The author of National Guilds in particular is marked by an uncritical acceptance of Marxian ideas and phraseology, which provides him with a somewhat different approach to the attack on the wage-system. It is that ‘the profiteer's chief bulwark of defence is the wage-system.’² The first step to freedom and economic emancipation must therefore be sought in the abolition of the wage-system, ‘for it is by means of wages that rent, interest and profits are exacted.’³ Strictly speaking, the guild vision does not require the support of Marxian analysis; and in so far as Marxian strands are woven into the texture of the Guild Socialist case, it probably represented in the long run a source of weakness. For the Marxian analysis is of very doubtful validity, unless viewed from afar and with eyes not too critical; nor have we in this country, apart from a few, ever taken to Marxism as to a natural sustenance.

With the abolition of the wage-nexus and the disappearance of the employer, and with the establishment of workers’ control, the way is opened to ‘democracy in industry’—another of the many phrases to which the Guild Socialists gave currency. If this present sorry scheme of things goes, where—when we seek to remould it nearer to the heart's desire—are we to find the inspiration to provide the spirit, if not the details, of the new order? The answer, perhaps somewhat surprisingly, is in the mediaeval guilds. Not all who have written of mediaeval guilds have been qualified to write competently on what is an abstruse and difficult subject. A very natural nausea with an industrial age inevitably drives a certain type of mind backwards for solace, if only because the past will always win a glory from its being far. Mr. Penty, to whom the Guild Socialist owed so much initial inspiration, was an extreme and consistent mediaevalist, with an uncompromising hatred of inventions and machinery and of division of labour, and with a burning desire to make everyone a skilled craftsman, such as we encounter in the 38th chapter of Ecclesiasticus or in the best historical romances. The Middle Ages certainly represented an era of moderation which frowned on gain and usury and indeed viewed all the things of this world against the background of an eternity to come: it was an age which builded cathedrals which certainly yielded no mundane dividends to their promoters. Its fundamental principle in a sense was that no one, in buying or selling or in any other way, should take advantage of his neighbour. How far Mr. Penty idealised the Middle Ages, seeing in them a Lost Paradise in contrast to the dust and grit, the sweat and dispeace of these times, is a question to be answered only by those who know. Enough that, on the industrial side, Mr. Penty saw in the mediaeval guilds a remedy against our modern sins and deficiencies. In the Middle Ages, as seen through his eyes, industry aimed at service and not at profits; industry was then organised to guarantee quality and a high standard of workmanship, and not merely dividends; and further it was democratic in that there was no sharp cleavage between the worker and the employer.

Where in the world of to-day may we look for something sufficiently similar to the guilds, round which it may be possible to build the world of the future? The Guild Socialists had no hesitation in following the lead of the syndicalists and in replying that for this purpose it is to the trade unions that we must turn. Not indeed that the trade unions as at present constituted are qualified to play the rôle of the mediaeval guilds; it ought, however, to be the purpose of trade union statesmanship to mould them for this place in the new society. Whether the guilds were in fact the appropriate forerunners of the trade unions in the Guild Socialist world may be doubted. As Mr. Penty himself underlines, ‘the mediaeval guilds did not seek to organise industry, but to control it.’¹

The question of trade union reorganisation thus becomes a large part of Guild Socialist propaganda, mingled with much reproof and correction, which may or may not have been welcome. For, to go no further, are not trade unions guilty of lamentable flabbiness and childlike gullibility, due to the fact that they have neither ideas nor policy?² Trade unions need to be well shaken up³; and the changes to be made in their structure and in the shape of things generally are designed to facilitate two ends, which at first sight might not be thought likely of attainment by the same methods. In the first place, trade unions are to be refashioned, so that they may more readily become polished shafts and pillars in the New Jerusalem; at the same time they are to be made more apt instruments for carrying on the class struggle in this present evil world. For, like the syndicalists, the Guild Socialists, or most of them, place class warfare at the centre of things.

The changes necessary in trade union organisation must here be disposed of summarily, if we are to avoid the risk of being beguiled into an endless digression on trade union theory and structure.⁴ If, in future, guilds are to control industries (and the more orthodox Guild Socialism rejected the local mediaeval guild in favour of a national guild), then trade unions must now be arranged so that their frontiers march with the frontiers of the various industries. This raises the whole question of the appropriate basis of trade unions, which, largely but not entirely because of Guild Socialist propaganda, has been in the centre of discussion for the last generation. Trade unions grew up anyhow, workmen who felt that they had common interests joining together for mutual support. But there are all sorts of reasons which might make men feel that they had common interests, and which might therefore form the basis of their union. In part it might be locality—because they lived in the same neighbourhood; it might be because they exercised the same craft, though perhaps working in different industries; it might be because they were engaged in the same industry, though following different crafts therein; it might even be because they served the same employer, which, in these days of active local authorities and large industrial concerns, might result in combining strange bedfellows. The main clash of argument and the primary impulse to trade union amalgamations has centred in the conflict between the industrial union, combining all who work in an industry, no matter what they may be doing in that industry, and the craft union, combining all who possess and exercise a given craft, no matter in what industry they may be employed. On this question the Guild Socialist can give but one answer. If society is in future to be founded on industries, then trade unions should refashion themselves on such a basis forthwith. Thus industrial unionism—one comprehensive ‘all-grades union’ for each industry—becomes the immediate practical objective of the guildsmen. There are in any case too many unions: there is a very long and ineffective tail. Amalgamations should therefore be encouraged in every direction, but they should always be directed towards the replacement of the effete craft union by the industrial union of the future. Moreover, the industrial union provides, it is claimed, a more potent weapon for purposes of the class war. If a craft union goes on strike, it will call out (for example) all the joiners employed in many industries; in consequence it may embarrass many industries, but it will paralyse none. On the other hand, if an industrial union strikes (and if things go according to plan) then the whole industry will come to a standstill at zero hour. Such at least is the theory. But admitting that the industrial union constitutes a heavier bludgeon, there may be a danger that its very weight may cause it to break in the hand when an attempt is made to use it. Possibly all the grades in an industry may not feel community of interest: perhaps the charwomen on the railways, when it comes to the pinch, may refuse to down dusters in order to remedy the grievances of the station-masters.

Secondly, in preparation for the future part assigned to trade unions (and on general principles) the branch of the trade union must be viewed from a different angle. At present the branch is essentially local, so that the members may have little in common apart from the postal address of their sleeping apartment. In a world of industrial democracy the lowest stage of the trade union organisation must combine those who work together. In other words, the branch must be rooted in the ‘shop.’ The shop is a natural fighting and self-governing unit such as is not provided by a branch based on the place of residence.

Thirdly, and obviously, the trade unions must aim at (and achieve) the widest possible extension of membership. While this is true as a general proposition, special emphasis is laid in the Guild Socialist argument on the importance of winning over the supervisory and technical staff. The chemists, the architects and the engineers have to be taught that they are part of the labour army, and that the enemies of the workers are also their enemies. When the trade unions burgeon into self-governing guilds, the supervisory and technical staff—the experts of every kind—will be needed, and they must be won over now, so that when the time comes the guilds will be qualified for their task. Lastly, in the light of the high destiny awaiting them, the trade unions are weak in that there is no adequate method of formulating trade union policy as a whole. It is a just criticism; and even after making full allowance for later developments and for the place of the Trade Union Congress in the scheme of things, a friendly critic might suggest that we do not even now possess a trade union movement, but rather a matter of approximately a thousand trade unions, each enjoying autonomy. Nor indeed without radically modifying the accepted view of trade unions (which, of course, would in itself be no obstacle to the Guild Socialist) is it possible to see how individual trade unions can, on occasion, be made to toe the line, against their own wills and desires.

It has been indicated that the modifications in trade union structure designed to bring them into line with guild ideas will also increase their efficiency in the class war. It is perhaps worth noting how entirely Guild Socialism concurs with syndicalism in its emphasis on the class struggle. The class struggle is a ‘monstrous and irrefutable fact.’¹ The first purpose of trade unions is to fight the employers, and any other activities in which they may engage are to be regarded as secondary and relatively unimportant.² ‘The Commonwealth to-day can only express itself in terms of a class struggle.’³ Moreover, we find undisguised expression given to the view that all strikes under any circumstances are desirable and to be encouraged. As with the syndicalists, ‘every strike... is a contribution to the education of the worker’⁴—which indeed may be true, if we give a sufficiently wide meaning to the word ‘education.’ Less ambiguously, ‘all strikes, however wrong in their particular circumstances, (are) ultimately right and defensible.’⁵ So far from seeking to stop strikes, ‘the aim of every right-minded person should be to stimulate and direct them.’ Nor is there any place for peace. ‘Social peace’ is a sham and a trick: ‘it is the miserable demand of the narrow-minded egotist to be let alone.’ As in other wars, it may at times be to the interest of both sides to call a ‘truce’; but it can be no more than a truce, and the class war continues. Industrial peace must not be permanent.⁶ The violence of the Guild Socialists is worth noting, as there is an impression that in compromising with some of the extremes of the syndicalists they also sacrificed some of the incendiarism of that school. It is not so: the young Guild Socialist was determined that in violence of language at least he should in no way fall short of his tutors.

We have seen the trade unions, reshuffled on industrial lines and transmuted into guilds, awaiting to play a larger part in the new order of Guild Socialism. Before considering the relation of these guilds to the State as it will in future be conceived, it may be as well to consider whether there may not be other paths to freedom and a tolerable life. Two such, with the reasons for their dismissal by the Guild Socialists, certainly call for notice. There is, firstly, the possibility of continuous Parliamentary action, the vision of ‘Reformers’; and there is, secondly, the dream (Guild Socialists would call it the nightmare) of collectivism or State socialism. The complete inefficacy of Parliamentary action is throughout assumed, rather than proved, by the Guild Socialists. That economic power inevitably shapes, moulds and precedes political power is stated as an axiom every few pages by Mr. Hobson (and not by Mr. Hobson alone). It may be true, but under universal suffrage it can be true only up to a point; and it is certainly not an axiom. A clearer indication of the manner in which this fundamental principle operates would have been welcome. Mr. Cole gives a somewhat overwhelming list of reasons for regarding the ordinary machinery of Parliament and the ballot-box as inept,¹ leading to the conclusion that a revolutionary element is unavoidable in any ‘thorough’ policy of social transformation. The doctrine taught in National Guilds is that the democratic forces must turn resolutely away from political action, inasmuch as ‘one of the most disastrous results of political socialism has been to obscure the reality of the class struggle.’² According to Mr. Cole, political reforms merely gilded the chains.³ Legislative reform is condemned to a large extent because it consecrates and accepts the wage-system, and this point of view is revealed in the quite extraordinary bitterness manifested towards the original Insurance Act. Its ‘vicious principle,’ it was alleged, placed the employee in a clearly dependent status, and gave him a new hall-mark of wage-slavery.⁴ So much for well-meaning Parliamentary legislation.

There remains the other possibility of collectivism or nationalisation, to be achieved by vesting industry in the State, This is, of course, the older orthodox socialism, the socialism of the Fabians. Here the Guild Socialists have a clearer target, even if at times their shafts are dipped in that venom which the young naturally feel towards the pit from which they have been digged. Briefly, their contention is that nationalisation is merely State capitalism, just as municipal socialism is municipal capitalism.¹ It opens a wide field for petty tyranny.² It is undemocratic. The accompaniment of State ownership is administrative tyranny.³ If more is wanted, it is stupid and cruel ‘to lure the workmen into a misconceived agitation for mere nationalisation.’⁴ State socialism is no remedy for economic servitude: ‘on the contrary, it rivets the chains a little more securely.’⁵ Fundamentally, the Guild Socialists are right on this point. If nationalisation does no more than displace the private owner in favour of the State, then there need be no change in the position of the worker. If the railways were nationalised, there might be advantages in other directions; but probably not a single ticket-collector would notice the difference. Accordingly, even should Mr. Webb dangle ‘the dainty carrot of State intervention before the nose of the Trade Union donkey,’ the hope was expressed that the Trade Union would not prove itself quite such an ass as it sometimes seems.⁶ It was a favourite theme of Mr. Cole's that syndicalism and collectivism are each statements of an undesirable extreme which are reconciled in the Guild idea; but whereas ‘syndicalism is the infirmity of noble minds: collectivism is at best only the sordid dream of a business man with a conscience.’⁷

So far, we have been reshuffling and exalting trade unions, preparing them to become in the ultimate scheme of things ‘a controlling force, an industrial republic.’⁸ It is now time to turn to the other side of the question and reduce the State to its proper sphere, if only to allow the guilds to attain to the full measure of their stature. In order to avoid embroilment in all the political controversies which have raged since the time of Aristotle, it may be expedient to use an unbecoming brevity in disposing of the political and social background of Guild Socialism.⁹ Expressing it summarily, the Guild Socialist theory involved a frontal attack on the venerable doctrine of the sovereignty of the State, accepted more or less unquestioningly since the time of Bodin down to our own day. With this, there is an attempt to show what precisely the State is, the end-result being to reveal it as merely one association among many, with but limited functions, and of necessity with no claim to that absolute sovereignty commonly attributed to it.

It is necessary on the threshold to get a clear idea of the meaning of certain terms as used by the Guild Socialists. In their view, as expounded by Mr. Cole, we must be on our guard against the ‘facile’ identification of the community and the State.¹ A community is defined as a complex of social life; society, as the complex of organised associations and institutions within the community.² Associations arise because men have many wants; and an association may be defined as existing when a group of persons pursue a common purpose ‘by a course of co-operative action extending beyond a single act.’ An association thus requires a common purpose and rules governing common action.³ So much for the definitions as given by Mr. Cole. There then is the teeming ant-heap in which we live, a maze of associations which men and women have formed in order to give satisfaction to their needs and desires: trade unions of plumbers, of carpenters and of agricultural workers; religious bodies and sects of every shade from the Church of England to Jehovah's Witnesses; associations of master bakers and steam-trawler owners; golf and bridge clubs; right and left clubs; Old Etonians and the ‘Co-op.’; societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals and for the relief of decayed gentlewomen; ‘la ligue contre les mauvais mots’; societies for the abolition of societies; for the promotion or discouragement of every conceivable object; for the practice, or the prevention of the practice by others, of every conceivable activity.

Greift nur hinein in's volle Menschenleben!
Ein jeder lebt's, nicht vielen ist's bekannt,
Und wo ihr's packt, da ist's interessant.

The contemplation of this entanglement of associations brings us to another word occupying a central place in Guild Socialist phraseology. Every association exists for a purpose, and this purpose will ultimately define the ‘function’ of the association—what, in more popular language, it exists for. Now it will be observed that this principle of ‘function,’ which underlies all social organisation, is applicable only to associations, and not to individuals; for the simple reason that, although the Westminster Divines may be so bold as to define the chief end of man, the chief end does not exhaust the sum-total of the ends of man. We are each legion, each ‘universal,’⁴ with many sides and many interests, in a sense with many purposes. Even with this slight equipment of Guild Socialist phraseology, we are now in a position to begin nibbling at the old doctrine of State sovereignty. For what happens, it is argued, is that we each find expression for the various aspects of our personality in the appropriate associations which represent our divergent purposes. In so far as I am a craftsman, I am represented by my trade union; my religious self I entrust to the keeping of the Baptist Church or the Wesleyan Methodists; another bit of myself I give to my bridge club or the association of allotment-holders; and so on. Each of these may represent me, because I surrender to each a part only of myself. In a favourite dictum of the Guild Socialists, true representation must be functional. It follows that any representation that is, not functional, but purports to be general and universal, is bound to be merely misrepresentation. Now it is the underlying theory of a comprehensive State with universal competence that the representatives whom we send to Parliament (or, as Proudhon might have said, who are sent to Parliament in spite of our votes) represent us for all purposes. But, so runs the argument, such universal representation is absurd and impossible. Let any Member of Parliament draw out of a bag the names of the first three constituents whom he is supposed to ‘represent’: A is a plumber, a Plymouth Brother, and a player on the banjo; B is a bookie, a professing atheist, who is happy only in the bar of a music hall; C is the widow of a clergyman who keeps canaries and lodgers, and is interested in the Royal Family. Extend this nucleus of three to a constituency of 30,000, and in what sense can the poor M.P. be said to represent this motley crowd? If it comes to that, is there any rational sense in which it is possible to speak of representing Ipswich or Derby at all? The State fails because it claims to be all-inclusive; Parliament fails because it is based on the hypocrisy of universal representation. In fact, democracy must be functional democracy, and representation must be functional representation.

What then is this State at the mention of which men's knees have quailed? The answer of the most influential section of Guild Socialist teaching is that the State is merely an association like other associations, claiming no doubt ‘an important place, but not a solitary grandeur.’¹ Its functions may be ascertained by considering what are its peculiar marks in the galaxy of associations. For it will be observed that the State, whatever it is, is territorial; for whatever purpose it exists, it ropes in everyone. Now, other associations in a sense exist to mark the differences among men. Plumbers, carpenters and teachers join different trade unions, because men differ from each other in being plumbers, carpenters and teachers. Presbyterians, Methodists and Episcopalians join different churches, because men differ from each other in being Presbyterians, Methodists and Episcopalians. But not so the State: it includes everyone, and therefore it must be concerned with the things which all men have in common, by virtue of the fact that they (more or less) live together and are neighbours. And apparently what men have in common is that they are all consumers. The State therefore exists to represent the consumers' end of things, and is interested in use and enjoyment.

We have thus got rid of what Mr. Cole calls ‘the omnicompetent, omnivorous, omniscient, omnipresent Sovereign State’¹—which is indeed a very pleasant omnibus phrase. To borrow a convenient phrase from theology, we have witnessed the kenosis of the State. It has found its natural level, as one association among others, all existing for certain specific purposes, none claiming supremacy. To these the individual surrenders various aspects of his personality; there may accordingly be a conflict of loyalties, but there is no Leviathan crouching and brooding over everything. The trade unions (to take the type in which we are primarily interested) do not derive their rights from the State; they have an independent existence. Moreover, on this view, the State's exclusive right of legislation also goes. Each functional form of association is its own legislature, and each has its own right to discipline and correct its members.²

We are now in a position to bring the two sides of the picture together, even if only in general terms, since Guild Socialist theory had a certain commendable quality of fluidity. Putting aside the position of the Churches, which is a question for the ecclesiastical politician and Dr. J. N. Figgis in particular,³ and other associations which are less important, we have, on the side which concerns us, production organised in self-governing producers’ guilds, run democratically on the basis of the shop, and with election of foremen and others from the ranks. Here, it is claimed, in contrast to our present electoral procedure, people will be voting on what they know about. The guilds, of which there will be surprisingly few, will be linked together in an Industrial Guilds Congress, which would be in effect the Guild legislature, ‘laying down and interpreting the essential principles of Guild organisation and practice.’⁴ And in this world men will have joy in their work, developing their creative instincts; they will no longer be wage-slaves, but will be free in a true functional democracy, rooted in the shop. As Shakespeare puts it, admittedly in one of his less inspired lines chronicling the happiness of Rome after the banishment of the tyrant, we shall then witness

our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going
About their functions friendly.

This picture of the producers ultimately represented by a Central Guild Congress, confronted by a truncated Parliament representing the consumers, the two being reconciled in some joint body representing both, is admittedly a general impression.¹ For in fact the problem of what to do with the State and of where final sovereignty should be placed was one to which no consistent answer was or could be given. Thus Mr. Hobson was never prepared to sacrifice the State, but his ideas of its functions were rather peculiar. For him ‘politics ought to be the expression of the spiritual life of the nation’²; and on this side the contribution of Guild Socialism would be to relieve the State of all economic functions, so that it might ‘the more freely devote itself to those spiritual problems the solution of which is the distinguishing mark of a great people.’³ It is the duty of the State to interpret, express and accept the spiritual impulse behind the national will.⁴ In a significant phrase, financial considerations ‘corrode’ politics: ‘Remove from statesmanship the incubus of financial puzzledom and it may achieve glory in the things that matter.’⁵ Needless to say, this is an idealist view of politics and of the State which will hardly bear examination. In his earlier approach to the problem, Mr. Cole's purpose appears to be the relatively modest one of freeing the State from ‘the impossible task of regulating all the details of industry’; it should still ‘allot tasks to the members of the national family.’⁶ Later he appears to approach the Marxian view that the State will ‘wither away’ to a very considerable extent, and indeed that it will disappear altogether—either after a frontal attack or by atrophy.⁷ On the relations of the guilds to each other, and of the guilds to the State (or the rump of the State that might be left), the Guild Socialists indulged in an orgy of constitution-mongering which is at least an eloquent testimony to their enthusiasm. The final vision of the Norwich Commune and of the National Commune presented in Guild Socialism Restated is a nightmare which is mildly described by its author as embodying ‘a somewhat disagreeable amount of precision.’⁸ To enter into these questions to-day would, however, be as unprofitable as to linger unduly over the prophecies of Merlin or of Thomas the Rhymour.

It was the great merit of the Guild Socialists that they acted as an irritant—than which, within limits, there is no more useful public function. They started a multitude of what Mr. Dennis Robertson once called pregnant hares—even if, in the nature of things, these hares were foreordained to miscarriage. Moreover, even if the doctrine of multiple sovereignty was derived from other sources, it is a peculiarity and a merit of the Guild Socialists that, more than any other school, they compelled us to think of our economics and our politics together. In concluding this outline of Guild Socialism, it may be advisable, with the brevity necessary in the tail-end of a longish chapter, to offer a few comments indicating the reaction of the plain man to all this mass of theory and speculation.

Taking first the economic analysis, the most ubiquitous point in Guild Socialist literature is their emphasis on ‘wage-slavery,’ and their indignant repudiation of the doctrine that labour is a commodity. In the volume edited by Mr. Orage, it is asserted on almost every page that ‘economists of every school agree that labour is only a commodity to be bought and sold according to the supply and the demand.’¹ Now despite the author (or authors) of these pages and the economists of every school, and despite the framers of the Treaty of Versailles,² labour is not a commodity, and cannot be regarded as such by any sane man. Anyone could reel off a score of reasons showing why labour is not, and cannot be, a commodity. When Mr. Hobson has got his commodity (manure, in his case), he may do what he likes with it. It will not reason or expostulate with him, or insist on the formation of a Whitley Council; it will not indulge in a stay-in strike; it may not refuse to fulfil its appointed function. Labour cannot be separated from the labourer; you may not send it to Penzance or Wick, unless the labourer goes with it: no such consent is required for the transport of Mr. Hobson's manure. Commodities may be stored up in warehouses, barns or granaries; but labour cannot be stored up and used next year. The truth is that the whole of this dismal story about labour being a commodity—raising its head in the strangest places—is merely an illustration of the awful dangers of als ob. Within a certain limited sphere, and for certain restricted purposes, labour may be said to fall in the same category as a commodity; and accordingly in that sphere and for that purpose, it may be regarded as if—als ob—it were a commodity. Thus, for example, in order that any enterprise may achieve fulfilment, under any system of accounting and in any kind of social organisation, labour must be maintained just as raw material must be acquired. An extremely sensitive soul may accordingly say that to that extent labour is treated as if it were on a par with the raw material. In this present sinful world, the claims of debenture holders have also to be met, but that does not confer the status of manure on the debenture-holders, who may happen to be trade unions. Analogies, metaphors, similes—all the tribe of als ob's—are indeed a snare to human weakness; and there is much to be said for banishing poets, the chief traffickers in these wares, from any rational republic. It is so easy to drop out an als ob, and forget that it was ever there. When Robert Burns discovered that his love was like a red, red rose, this analogy did not in fact make her a red, red rose; nor did it subsequently justify him in cutting her.

The other battle-cry of the Guild Socialists, that production should be for use and not for profit, relates to a more substantial point which we have already encountered in John Gray. It has therefore a respectable ancestry, though it may be doubted whether the Guild Socialists put it in such a way as to carry persuasion. First of all, be it noted that there is no concept in economics so difficult to define as that of ‘profit’ That there is no satisfactory theory of profits has, in fact, recently been singled out by Mr. Hawtrey as one of the points on which economic science has failed to give effective guidance.¹ At one stage of his development, Lord Keynes identified profits with windfalls, as something there by accident, and argued that the conditions of equilibrium required that profits should be nil. Without following these refinements, and talking the language of ordinary men, it may be suggested, though with natural trepidation, that there is nothing wrong in aiming at a profit, if thereby is meant that we ought to avoid unprofitable enterprises and entanglements. After all, ‘What shall it profit a man?’ is the supreme question applied to the supreme issue; and to walk after things that do not profit is the supreme condemnation. There is a scriptural injunction contained in the Gospel written by the most communistic of the Apostles, to the effect that before building a tower, we should first sit down and count the cost. The principle is of universal applicability, and is not confined to building towers. In any system of society there ought to be an estimate before an adventure is embarked upon; and at the end (or periodically) there ought to be a balancing of accounts to ascertain whether the venture has been justified. Doubtless the science of accounting and the science of finance may in future collaborate in order to justify an enterprise which on crude nineteenth-century principles would not have ‘paid.’ At present it may be worth while for a State or a municipality to run a business at an apparent financial loss. But it is essential that accounts be kept and audited to show whether an enterprise is worth while, whatever test of worth-whileness be adopted; and as things are at present there is nothing sinful in a business being run at (or for) a profit, nor will it be an easy matter to convince the world at large that there is. Moreover, undue emphasis on the contrast between ‘use’ and ‘profit,’ as if they were for ever diametrically opposed, has the disadvantage of distracting attention from the real point of criticism. May not a business be run, the plain man asks, both for use and profit?

For the real point of criticism is that in a society marked by pronounced inequality, the price-system does not act as the divinely inspired guide to production, as was rather postulated in the complacent orthodoxy of a former generation. The wealthy have an undue influence in the market, and production is therefore directed to satisfy their desires in the first place. Their whims are satisfied before the urgent desires of others are considered. A millionaire who acquires half a county may divert all the building resources of the area to enclosing each of his green fields with a substantial wall fit for a mediaeval keep. Inequality of wealth, as soon as it becomes immoderate, must mean that resources may well be applied in directions which are less socially desirable than some other possible ways of expenditure. This presumably is what the Guild Socialists meant by production being for profit and not for use. In substance they are obviously right; the criticism implied in the preceding paragraph is that they state their proposition in a form which appears to imply something more, and which, so far from inviting assent, rather tends to provoke an uncomprehending stare from ordinary people who do not see why, in their day-to-day occupations, they should not endeavour to avoid a loss.

The political theories associated with Guild Socialism may only be glanced at here. The doctrine of multiple sovereignty is not their special creation, but doubtless they popularised it, or at least made it known. Probably no one in these days holds the State in undue reverence, as the incarnation of the doctrine of sovereignty after the manner of Bodin or Austin, or quakes before the great monster conceived by Hobbes. The State is a human device designed for human needs; and an act of State may be merely the off-hand decision of a very ordinary civil servant, who lives at Balham, where he eats cheese and pickled onions and frequents the Balham Hippodrome. Without qualms, therefore, we may put aside any idea of the divine nature of the State. But having said so much, it may be doubted whether the State is an association exactly like other associations, a little higher than the Lossiemouth Golf Club or the Ramsgate Sea Anglers’ Association, but essentially the same in character. One point the Guild Socialists do not seem to meet adequately lies in the inevitability and the comprehensiveness of the State. Membership of all other associations is now optional, even if at one time membership of the Church may have been in effect compulsory (sometimes, significantly, by injunction of the State). Not only is it possible to go through life without being a member of any of these other numerous associations, but in fact quite a number of surly individualists attain a degree of comparative immunity. But there is no escaping the State: we are born into it without being consulted, and though apparently nowadays there are some who are nationals of no State, it would be difficult to advise a man born and continuing to live in Hackney just precisely how he ought to set about getting rid of his British nationality without acquiring another. This does not in itself, of course, establish the doctrine of sovereignty, but it does point to the State being in some way unique among associations.

Nor can one accept the implications of the argument that other associations also possess coercive powers over their members and may impose penalties upon them. They do and they can; but these coercive powers do not merely differ in degree, they differ in kind from the corresponding powers possessed by the State. If I offend my golf club in any of the usual ways, they may fine me; but if I elect not to pay the fine, and decide to play golf elsewhere or take to billiards, they are powerless to collect the fine. In other words they have disciplinary powers over me for only so long as I choose to submit to their discipline. They may, of course, expel me; but expulsion is not a method of disciplining a member; it is a confession of failure to discipline a member. So also a trade union member who falls into arrears used to be said, in a vivid and picturesque phrase, ‘to run out of the union’; but failure to pay our income tax does not enable us to run out of the State in quite the same way. Also it should be noted that if the reason why I was expelled from my club was that I had pinched a box of the club's cigars, and if the club thinks that, in order to discourage the others, something more drastic than expulsion is necessary, they have to fall back on the machinery of justice provided by the State. They at least cannot send me to prison for fourteen days.

But indeed it may be doubted whether the idea of sovereignty can be so easily exorcised. In the first place, it is difficult to imagine any kind of society where there will not be somewhere, de jure or de facto, an ultimate authority. Nor in fact does Guild Socialist theory, in spite of its repudiation of the State's sovereignty, free itself from the necessity of some kind of sovereignty. In the simpler version there will be some sort of co-ordinating body, representing the guilds and the rump of the State; in the later version of Guild Socialism Restated, there is the rather appalling Commune which, like a seven-cup pudding, containing a bit of everything, is supposed to hold everything together. In the second place, doubts arise as to whether the State is not bound to be something more than a mere expression of the interests of the consumers treated, to use a rather curious phrase, ‘on a basis of neighbourhood or inhabitancy.’¹ The earlier Mr. Cole was perhaps nearer the truth when he visualised the State's functions as including that of ‘allotting tasks.’ And if it allots tasks, it must define tasks, and it must delimit tasks. Even in a world of guilds, there is need of some authority, other than themselves, to define, e.g. the conditions under which all associations (and not merely trade unions or guilds) may exist, may hold property and so on. Ultimately (though heaven forbid that we should be engulfed in the discussion of such depths) the State is probably an expression of protection, and of what men gropingly, and for want of a better word, call justice. It certainly is, and must be, more than an expression of ‘inhabitancy,’ resting on the assumption that consumption is the sole link among men.

Lastly, there are certain questions that arise in connection with the framework and the operation of the guilds. To discuss the habitability of a house that will never be built is a peculiarly unprofitable employment; and there are accordingly many questions once prominent in Guild Socialist controversy which may be ranked with conjectures as to what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women. Whether these guilds—a handful in number, dwarfing in potency the greatest capitalist combine of these days—would develop selfish instincts and exploit the public¹; how redundant labour could be disposed of, or transferred from one guild to another; how they could be restrained if necessary, or whether it would be sufficient to ‘put them on their honour’; what form taxation would take in the new world—these and many more questions may once have been interesting, but are so no longer. But the underlying ideas are of more permanent vitality, and have not been interred with the defunct body of Guild Socialism.

To a few such points reference may be made, even without discussion, but rather in the manner of what Mably called Doutes Proposées. On the whole question of democracy, it is probable that we shall have to redefine and reformulate our ideas in the light of the experience of the last generation. He would be a pessimist who alleged that democracy had broken down or had proved unworkable; but clearly the assumptions underlying the mid-Victorian conception of democracy have not been fulfilled. The Guild Socialists in their criticisms of Parliament and in their views on the nature of representation have, on the intellectual side, been as influential as any in undermining the old attitude towards democracy. The general theory of democracy must then be restated and reassessed. But, apart from this large question, it is perhaps doubtful whether democracy in industry can be placed on quite the same footing as political democracy. This, in effect, is the argument of Mr. Field.¹ Without entirely accepting his point of view, there is this to be said. In industry there must be those who give orders and those who execute them. Legitimate doubts arise as to whether a foreman elected by the workers and liable to recall (i.e., dismissal) by them would be in a position to exercise his authority, undeterred by distracting thoughts and speculations. It is somewhat analogous to the position that would arise if students elected their examiners: the common-sense of the world would not be surprised if under such conditions the standard slowly deteriorated. The flight from authority in fact leads logically to philosophical anarchism, where each man is his own law and his own authority. For, be it noted, my foreman will not be endeared to me merely because he has been elected by the senseless votes of my senseless fellow-workers who, despite my protests, insisted on choosing the wrong man.

Further it may be doubted whether working in an industry does in fact give one an insight into the management of that industry. An engine-driver or a ticket-collector is not really concerned with the kind of work that flows into the ‘In-tray’ of a railway manager. A compositor in the Clarendon Press, though presumably he knows his Greek alphabet, is hardly in a position to decide whether they should or should not issue a new edition of Hesiod—not that he is any the worse for that.

Moreover, the whole idea that an industry should be run solely by those employed within it is open to doubt; and even if accepted, must be accepted with limitations. There is a venerable tag, originally applicable to bees, which begins ‘Sic vos non vobis.’ There are few details in the running of an industry which are not a matter of public concern, and which ought not to be a possible subject of public and general criticism. Doubtless we are not, but we all ought to be, interested in everything. It is not enough to say of an educational matter: ‘We must leave this to the Teachers' Guild.’ They might raise the leaving age to 25, and decree that no teacher should have a class exceeding three in number—both excellent reforms and in the right direction, but not immediately practicable. It is possibly a libel, and it is dangerous to repeat libels; but it is frequently suggested that not a little reduplication of work in the legal profession is ultimately due to the fact that lawyers, more than most, approximate to a self-governing corporation.

One last Doute leads to a large question on which something has already been said in an earlier chapter on the Anarchists; but a few further observations may be offered here on those aspects that relate to Guild Socialism. In effect, it amounts to a hesitant enquiry whether the Guild Socialists knew anything about the psychology of the wage-slaves whose liberation was the end of their crusade, or about what this thing called ‘work’ really is. There is a great deal in Guild Socialism (especially among the mediaevalists) about self-expression, and the creative instinct, and the joy of doing good things well, and much more. Now no one ought to speak lightly of the creative instinct, or of the nobility of craftsmanship.

I too will something make
And joy in the making.

This, if you like, is the highest of all impulses. But the creative instinct, in the true sense, is the possession of but few. Nor is this the result of suppression or of the lack of education. The finest flower of the most ancient seats of learning have frequently little inclination to ‘create’ anything, or any great desire to give expression to such personality as may have survived. Nor can the world's work, as at present run, afford an opening for such self-expression. Short of a collapse of the sum of things, we are not going back to the days when every man clouted his own shoon, and was proud to see that they were clouted as no one else could clout them. To-day a man's job is to punch tramway tickets, or slice bacon to the sixteenth of an inch, or push a revolting mass of putrescent cods' heads and entrails a stage further on in its transforming journey to fishmeal, or periodically clean out the pig-sty of a pig that is not too particular. It does not follow that life is therefore intolerable; it does not follow that there may not be room somewhere for personality or the creative instinct where it exists. But it is idle to hope that the worker can ‘express his personality’ in these ways, or find in these things a ‘joy,’ the prospect of which will make him spring from his bed in delirious excitement that once again yesterday's ecstatic experiences will be repeated. To plan the world's work on the assumption that everyone may find in it the joy of creative work, and that everyone is dying to express himself in his work and is capable of doing so, is merely to court disappointment.

The Guild Socialists are perhaps unique in that they stirred so many waters simultaneously; that they cast their net so wide must be the plea for this disproportionately long section. And though Guild Socialism has passed away, it has been a fertilising influence. The whole trade union movement has become more ‘industrially’ minded, in part because of their doctrines; we tend to think more of ‘function’ because of them; some of our doubts about democracy have been strengthened by their criticisms of our electoral system. So far as concerns the socialist movement as a whole, perhaps their influence has been rather curious. Socialism today is rather like a lost child at the cross-roads, not quite sure where it has come from, and not knowing where exactly it wants to go. For this the Guild Socialists are to a considerable extent responsible. They killed, and killed rather effectively, the old idea of State socialism, meaning thereby straightforward nationalisation; and they showed that it was rather a poor and unimaginative ideal. But having destroyed the old faith of socialism, they have provided no new abiding faith to take its place.

If their merit was that they brought to jaded minds the stimulus which a Brains Trust brings, only to minds that are jaded, their defects are no less obvious. Even more than over the Fabians there weighs upon them the incubus of their middle-class origin and of their overintellectualised upbringing. They would have been more successful as propagandists, if they had been somewhat less prejudiced, not quite so obviously determined to see evil in everything, and generally more tolerant, and with more regard to the graces and courtesies of controversy. In the end the final word on Guild Socialism may be spoken by Mr. Cole himself:

Some of us, who find a large part of our happiness in congenial work, have been too ready to assume that all the world's work can be made as pleasant and as satisfying as our own. We have built Utopias on the assumption that all the irksomeness of this work arises from defects of social organisation, and that in a world rightly organised each man will find pleasure and some measure of selfrealisation in the work which he does on the common behalf. What is more—we have sometimes felt rather proud of ourselves for asserting this, on the ground that our ideal was a higher ideal of pleasure in service than our critics could appreciate. That has been our particular form of cant, and it had for a time a great appeal. But the modern world has seen through it.¹

This is most admirably, courageously and honestly spoken. But did ever a stoic Roman father conduct with less visible sign of emotion the obsequies of his offspring? Of course, it may be said that it never had been a viable child.