THE NEW MACHIAVELLI

10

Willersley and I professed ourselves Socialists, but by this time I

knew my Rodbertus as well as my Marx, and there was much in our

socialism that would have shocked Chris Robinson as much as anything

in life could have shocked him. Socialism as a simple democratic

cry we had done with for ever. We were socialists because

Individualism for us meant muddle, meant a crowd of separated,

undisciplined little people all obstinately and ignorantly doing

things jarringly, each one in his own way. "Each," I said quoting

words of my father's that rose apt in my memory, "snarling from his

own little bit of property, like a dog tied to a cart's tail."

"Essentially," said Willersley, "essentially we're for conscription,

in peace and war alike. The man who owns property is a public

official and has to behave as such. That's the gist of socialism as

I understand it."

"Or be dismissed from his post," I said, " and replaced by some

better sort of official. A man's none the less an official because

he's irresponsible. What he does with his property affects people

just the same. Private! No one is really private but an outlaw…

Order and devotion were the very essence of our socialism, and a

splendid collective vigour and happiness its end. We projected an

ideal state, an organised state as confident and powerful as modern

science, as balanced and beautiful as a body, as beneficent as

sunshine, the organised state that should end muddle for ever; it

ruled all our ideals and gave form to all our ambitions.

Every man was to be definitely related to that, to have his

predominant duty to that. Such was the England renewed we had in

mind, and how to serve that end, to subdue undisciplined worker and

undisciplined wealth to it, and make the Scientific Commonweal,

King, was the continuing substance of our intercourse.