ing results. In the struggle for higher wages and better conditions of work the workingmen are led to see the important part they play in the mechanism of production and to resent more bitterly the opposition to their demands on the part of employers. With the intensification of the struggle, the feeling of resentment develops into a desire for emancipation from the conditions which make oppression possible; in other words, it grows into complete class consciousness which consists not merely in the recognition of the struggle of classes but also in the determination to abolish the class-character of society. At the same time the struggle necessarily leads the workingmen to effect a higher degree of solidarity among themselves, to develop their moral qualities, and to fortify and consolidate their organizations. The stronger the latter become, the more do they assert themselves in the economic struggle, and the more evident does it become to the workers that their organizations could readily supplant the organizations of the capitalists and assume the control of the economic life of society.

It is evident that unless the Syndicalist could theoretically connect the struggles of the present with his ideal of the future, the latter would remain a beautiful but idle dream even in theory. For the Syndicalist, as has been said, does not believe in the efficacy of benevolent intentions, nor does he think the power of mere abstract ideas sufficient for transforming society. He is bound, therefore, to find concrete social forces working for the realization of his ideal. His position forces him to prove that his ideal is the expression of the interests of a definite class, that it is gradually being accepted by that class under the pressure of circumstances, and that the social destinies of the "revolutionary" class are more and more identified with the Syndicalist ideal. In the theory above outlined the Syndicalist believes he has solved his problem and has found the connecting link between his analysis of the present and his outlook for the future.

Having thus defined the significance of the industrial struggle, the Syndicalist is led to lay down rules of practical activity in accordance with his theory. He cheerfully accepts the conclusion that if industrial strife is creating social harmony his task is to intensify the struggle, to widen its scope, and to perfect its methods—in order that the creative force of the struggle may manifest itself as thoroughly and on as large a scale as possible. He, therefore, logically, assumes a hostile

attitude towards all efforts tending to mitigate the industrial struggle, such as conciliation and arbitration, and definitely enters the economic arena for the purpose of stirring up strife and of accentuating the struggle as much as is in his power.

To those who are anxious to bring about peace between labor and capital on the basis of existing economic and legal institutions, the Syndicalist must necessarily appear as a disturbing factor in the situation. The Syndicalist will not deny this nor will he be forced to change his attitude either by denunciation or by persecution. From his own standpoint, the Syndicalist believes that he is merely sincere in looking facts in the face, logical in drawing the proper conclusions from them, and rationally optimistic in seeing through the mist of the contradictory present the rising sun of a socially harmonious future.

DEMOCRACY AND DIRECT ACTION1

The battle for political democracy has been won: white men everywhere are to live under the regime of parliamentary government. Russia, which for the present is trying a new form of constitution, will probably be led by internal or external pressure to adopt the system favored by the Western powers.

But even before this contest was decided a new one was seen to be beginning. The form of government in the United States, Britain, and France is a capitalistic or plutocratic democracy: the democracy which exists in the political sphere finds no counterpart in the economic world. The struggle for economic democracy seems likely to dominate politics for many years to come. The Russian government, which cares nothing for the forms of political democracy, stands for a very extreme form of economic democracy. A strong and apparently growing party in Germany has similar aims. Of opinion in France I know nothing, but in this country the workers who desire to obtain control of industries subject to state ownership, though not sufficiently strong numerically to have much influence on the personnel of Parliament, are nevertheless able through organization in key industries to exert a powerful pressure on the government and to cause fear of industrial upheavals to become widespread throughout the middle and 1 By Bertrand Russell. Dial. 66:445-8. May 3, 1919.

upper classes. We have thus the spectacle of opposition between a new democratically-elected Parliament and the sections of the nation which consider themselves the most democratic. In such circumstances many friends of democracy become bewildered and grow perplexed as to the aims they ought to pursue or the party with which they ought to sympathize.

The time was when the idea of parliamentary government inspired enthusiasm, but that time is past. Already before the war legislation had come to be more and more determined by contests between interests outside the legislature, bringing pressure to bear directly upon the government. This tendency has been much accelerated. The view which prevails in the ranks of organized labor—and not only there is that Parliament exists merely to give effect to the decision of the government, while those decisions themselves, so far from representing any settled policy, embody nothing but the momentary balance of forces and the compromise most likely to secure temporary peace. The weapon of labor in these contests is no longer the vote, but the threat of a strike-"direct action." It was the leaders of the Confédération Générale du Travail during the twenty years preceding the war who first developed this theory of the best tactics for labor. But it is experience rather than theory that has led to its widespread adoption-the experience largely of the untrustworthiness of parliamentary Socialist leaders and of the reactionary social forces to which they are exposed.

To the traditional doctrine of democracy there is something repugnant in this whole method. Put crudely and nakedly the position is this: the organized workers in a key industry can inflict so much hardship upon the community by a strike that the community is willing to yield to their demands things which it would never yield except under the threat of force. This may be represented as the substitution of the private force of a minority in place of law as embodying the will of the majority. On this basis a very formidable indictment of direct action can be built up.

There is no denying that direct action involves grave dangers, and if abused may theoretically lead to very bad results. In this country, when (in 1917) organized labor wished to send delegates to Stockholm, the Seamen's and Firemen's Union prevented them from doing so, with the enthusiastic approval of the capitalistic press. Such interferences of minorities with the

freedom of action of majorities are possible; it is also possible for majorities to interfere with the legitimate freedom of minorities. Like all use of force, whether inside or outside the law, direct action makes tyranny possible. And if one were anxious to draw a gloomy picture of terrors ahead one might prophesy that certain well-organized vital industries—say the Triple Alliance of Miners, Railwaymen, and Transport Workers—would learn to combine, not only against the employers, but against the community as a whole. We shall be told that this will happen unless a firm stand is made now. We shall be told that, if it does happen, the indignant public will have, sooner or later, to devote itself to the organization of blacklegs, in spite of the danger of civil disturbance and industrial chaos that such a course would involve. No doubt such dan

gers would be real if it could be assumed that organized labor is wholly destitute of common sense and public spirit. But such an assumption could never be made except to flatter the fears of property-owners. Let us leave nightmares on one side and come to the consideration of the good and harm that are actually likely to result in practice from the increasing resort to direct action as a means of influencing government.

Many people speak and write as though the beginning and end of democracy were the rule of the majority. This, for example, is the view of Professor Hearnshaw in his recent book Democracy at the Cross-Ways. But this is far too mechanical a view. It leaves out of account two questions of great importance, namely: (1) What should be the group of which the majority is to prevail? (2) What are the matters with which the majority has a right to interfere? Right answers to these questions are essential if nominal democracy is not to develop into a new and more stable form of tyranny, for minorities and subordinate groups have the right to live, and must not be internally subject to the malice of hostile masses.

The first question is familiar in one form, namely that of nationality. It is recognized as contrary to the theory of democracy to combine into one state a big nation and a small one, when the small nation desires to be independent. To allow votes to the citizens of the small nation is no remedy, since they can always be outvoted by the citizens of the large nation. The popularly elected legislature, if it is to be genuinely democratic, must represent one nation; or, if more are to be represented, it must be by a federal arrangement which safeguards

the smaller units. A legislature should exist for defined purposes, and should cover a larger or smaller area according to the nature of those purposes. At this moment, when an attempt is being made to create a League of Nations for certain objects, this point does not need emphasizing.

But it is not only geographical units, such as nations, that have a right, according to the true theory of democracy, to autonomy for certain purposes. Just the same principle applies to any group which has important internal concerns that affect the members of the group enormously more than they affect outsiders. The coal trade, for example, might legitimately say: "What concerns the community is the quantity and price of the coal that we supply. But our conditions and hours of work, the technical methods of our production, and the share of the produce that we choose to allow to the land-owners and capitalists who at present own and manage the collieries, all these are internal concerns of the coal trade, in which the general public has no right to interfere. For these purposes we demand an internal parliament, in which those who are interested as owners and capitalists may have one vote each, but no more." If such a demand were put forward it would be as impossible to resist on democratic grounds as the demand for autonomy on the part of a small nation. Yet it is perfectly clear that the coal trade could not induce the community to agree to such a proposal, especially where it infringes the "rights of property," unless it were sufficiently well organized to be able to do grave injury to the community in the event of its proposal's being rejected-just as no small nation except Norway, so far as my memory serves me, has ever obtained independence from a large one to which it was subject, except by war or the threat of war.

The fact is that democracies, as soon as they are well established, are just as jealous of power as other forms of government. It is therefore necessary, if subordinate groups are to obtain their rights, that they shall have some means of bringing pressure to bear upon the government. The Benthamite theory, upon which democracy is still defended by some doctrinaires, was that each voter would look after his own interest, and in the resultant each man's interest would receive its proportionate share of attention. But human nature is neither so rational nor so self-centered as Bentham imagined. In practice it is easier, by arousing hatred and jealousies, to induce men