The New Freewoman: No. 1, Vol. 1, June 15th 1913.
by Dora Marsden
This is the epoch of the gadding mind. The mind "not at home" but given to something else, occupied with alien "causes" is of the normal order, and as such must be held accountable for that condemning of the lonely occupant of the home-the Self-which is the characteristic of the common mind. With the lean kind-the antithesis of those "Fat" with whom latterly we have be come so familiarised-the most embarrassing notion is that of the possession of a self having wants. To be selfless is to have attained unto that condition of which leanness is the fitting outcome. Hence, the popularity of the "Cause" which provides the Ideal to which the "desired self-sacrifice can be offered". The greater the sacrifice the Idol can accept the greater is it as a "Cause," whether it be liberty, equality, fraternity, honesty or what not. If ten thousand starving men, with their tens of thousands of dependants, starve in the Cause of Honesty, how great is Honesty. If a woman throws away her life for freedom, how great is freedom. And no mistake.
"Great is the Cause and small are men," is the creed of the lean kind. Consider the Cause of Honesty-the righteous frenzy for the maintenance of the status quo in regard to property. True it is that all worshippers of honesty have no property; but what of that: the greater the sacrifice: good is it to be a vessel of dishonour if thereby is achieved the greater glory of the Cause.
It is true one may choose one's "Cause," but choice appears to fall fairly uniformly into classes, and as for the lean kind, they choose honesty. "Poor but honest," is the lean one's epitaph. He makes it his honour to see to it that property shall remain "just so". He will fight and die and play policeman with zeal, that property should remain just so. There have been those, however, who have maintained that "Property was theft" Monsieur Proudhon said so, and Monsieur Shaw supports him. "The only true thing which has been said about property," says Mr. Shaw. We-and the lean-beg leave to dissent, what though in dissenting, we differ. The lean scout the base notion, for where would the Cause, Honesty, be if horribly it should prove true? It is therefore not true for the lean. And for us? If the pick and the shovel are the discovered gold, then property is theft. But if the shovel and pick be as a means to an end-the acquiring of gold-then theft is to property in the same relation. Theft is the time-honoured, success-crowned means to property. All the wholesale acquirements of property have come, do come, will come, in this way. Whether Saxon robs Celt, and Dane robs Saxon, and Norman robs all three: whether William Shortlegs robs the English to give property to his fellow-bandits, or bandits, grown bolder, rob the Church for themselves, or the Trust-maker robs whom he will, the process is one and the same. A constant state of flux (Oh, Cause of Honesty), flux of property, from hands which yield into hands which seize. Small wonder the lean kind love not this truth, and cover their eyes with their Cause. Hands which seize are not their kind of hands, the spirit of their Cause makes the muscles relax and the grip grow feeble.
Property once seized, the seizers set about to make flux static. They declare a truce. They send forth a proclamation: "Henceforth the possessed--and our children must remain possessors: and the dispossessed remain the dispossessed forever: these shall not raise disturbing hands against the state of things: should they, the STATE will visit upon them the penalities due. For notice: in the process of proclamation, the victors have taken the proclamation for the deed; they have not merely said "this state, now established, shall remain," they have said, without pause for breath "this shall be" and "this is." "The State now is-and we, are the State." And so it turns out. The dispossessed-the lean-make answer: "Yea- great conquerors, as you say, so it is." The STATE IS. Though we perish, let the State live for ever. Thus the State takes birth, the mobile takes on immobility; the Iron Mask upon which its makers write the law for the lean to keep, descends; hence forth, the lean, the law-abiding, the honest, are the pillars of the STATE, while the possessors of it are left well-established, free to pursue chance and adventure in the flux which has never ceased to flow in the secret order above the State. Hence comes high finance- a game of sport best played like cricket, with limited numbers.
The law of honesty is the first precept written out on the Iron Mask. Honesty is a rule of convenience whose purpose is to keep back the crowd from the excellent game of the select few. But, "Among your selves, seize what you can," which reminds us of Mr. Cecil Chesterton. Mr. Chesterton charged the financial sportsmen with corruption, and tried to prove his charge by Law. Extraordinary forgetfulness. The law is not for those who make it. It is for the dispossessed only. Mr. Chesterton tried to establish a charge of dishonesty in a sphere where honesty- quite rightly- is a term of reproach. The holders of "un-earned increment" are not concerned with honesty-that Cause of the Canaille-the retail-property holders virtue. He might with as much relevance have charged Mr. Isaacs with doing no work. Working is a lean-man's virtue and so is honesty, but neither are the virtues of the makers of the State. The reason Mr. Chesterton is mulcted of £10,000 is, that he used a word-corruption-which is not held in favour among the herd, who cannot expected to understand that what is crime to them is the sport of a higher order; to whom theft, for instance, is not theft. It carries no stigma as it does with the lean. The State itself has no blush when it reveals its sole right to our money to be its might: makes us pay up for fear of wishing that we had, later, no blush that it steals because it can. All of which goes to prove it is a poor job calling names and explains why we are giving our first article to the lean kind. It is to protest against the irrelevance for the Lean of the doings of the Fat. During the last few months there has appeared amongst us an artist of foremost rate, an artist who is a satirist, who has revealed the very lineaments of the soul of his "Fat Men." Mr. Will Dyson's cartoons, now appearing daily in the "Herald," are the event of recent journalism. The power and truth, the pull and thrust of arm, the clutch upon their material, the face-to-face revelation- that these things should appear now in England is almost incredible. Yet we have not so far forgotten the satiric rage of Swift to be wholly without criterion for judgement of the measure of strength with which he wields this lightning flail, and, notwithstanding their truth and stretch of arm, union of brain and soul, the quality of Swift which leaves us seared and but barely alive, is absent from Mr. Dyson's work. For all his contempt for his thick-necked breed of "fat-men," contempt which we believe Mr. Dyson means to be the last word with his work, this does not create the ache, the burning wound which is at the kernel of contempt, and is that which the outer rage of contempt is meant to hide. He draws "fat men" as though he hated them, yet his artists' revelation is truer than his interpretation of it. He has seen the breed of Fat men, and has seen he cannot for the life of him hate them as Swift hated his Yahoos. They are all redeemed by a quality which Mr. Dyson sees revealed, but which he does not know. The last glance at the cartoons always carries a smile. With the arm to wield the superhuman rage of Swift, he does not do so. Did he, his subjects would be shattered. He appears himself to feel he may not let himself go. There exists something he would shrink from destroying.
Mr. Dyson's choice of subjects (unless due, and one hopes to an accidental connection with a spirited journal which itself is engaged in a futile "War! against Fat,") illustrates his difference in relation to Swift, as a difference in what each fears. We hate what we fear and if what is feared is not in itself hateful, the hate recoils back upon us, only in part assuaged. Dyson fears brutal, stupid strength. Swift feared, loathed, writhed at the bare suggestion of weakness, meekness, and what these imply. Swift was girding at the thing which is the woe of men and the tragedy of the Godhead which Arnold assures us "would do all things well but sometimes fails in strength." Swift touches men in the quick; he reveals the shameful sore which we all walk enshrouded to hide. His Yahoo is each of us. His lay figures which bear the virtues, his Houyhnhnms have no soul to save in a bath of fire. He has not misdirected his rage. He lives with the Immortals because of his stupendous courage which dared to turn an unwinking eye upon that which other men dare approach only by stealth and with averted gaze. He saw, knew and uttered forth, what none but a giant may look upon. Dyson on the other hand, looks and sees, but his head is turned in the wrong direction. What he sees is merit smothered over with accidental demerits. The filthy vestures that meet his gaze, and which a finer breed than these thick-necked Fat would throw off in repulsion and disgust, are the outcome, not of the quality which Dyson reveals in his "Fat," but of the lack of this quality in the figures which crouch behind him- the lean. The vitriolic passion of repudiation which is satire, is with him never called into being. His primary occupation is with what should be his lay figures. He has directed his withering flame against his Houyhnhnms-the Fat, in stead of against his Yahoos-the Lean. At present his work, while it makes the "Daily Herald" notable, is not out of place there, but we trow a man would have a heart of flint who insisted on Yahoos with, shall we say, Mr. George Lansbury, insisted that is on truth the lean are spoon-fed with lies-a diet with no fattening qualities. Even Mr. Dyson's drawings of "the worker" are sentimental. None dare tell the "worker" the blunt truth, that his leanness blights the landscape and that he is responsible. The tales of leanness' woes are told to the discredit of fat) but they recoil in truth to the discredit of lean. It is the last resort of the downtrodden to seek comfort in the relating thereof. There is only one thing the down-trodden with retained dignity can do, and that is to Get Up. And there is only one thing for the lean and that is, to get fat, get property: and it is the one thing they will not do. The efforts to dodge the responsibility of self-defence, self-appropriation, to assume the mastership in their own person, is the unmistakeable mark of the lean. The first conscious effort of mind in any prospective change of circumstance is to look for the chain and the collar and the next retreat. Someone to whom they may belong, serve, work for. If not the slave-owner, then the employer; (employer- someone who keeps him busy!) if not the individual employer, then the State; if not these then the Commune or the Trade Union or the Trade Guild: an "employed person," worker, for ever. Let reproaches be directed where cause lies-home-and then they may bear fruit. As Mr. Tillett might have remembered when he called upon the Deity to perform a task which he could have done for himself had he cared, what a man wants doing, he will do himself. And what is true in relation to the deity is true in relation to fat men. The fat man is just as likely to endow the lean scolders as is the Almighty-none at all. He is satisfied in the knowledlge that they can achieve their own endowment as he and his achieved theirs, by taking from yielding hands.
The New Freewoman: No. 1, Vol. 1, June 15th 1913.
by Dora Marsden
"The Cause to which I have given my life." This is a message, the last but one of Mrs. Pankhurst. The Cause is the "Vote." With so many shoddy phrases extant we prefer to examine what Mrs. Pankhurst has given in order to secure the privilege of the vote, rather than be put off with the phrase "my life," which may well be rhetorical, as was that of her daughter when she spoke of "doing her bit, for her seven years" and then left the bit and the years to others. Six years ago Mrs. Pankhurst would have said: "I want the vote given to me." Now she has to say "I have given myself to the Cause-the Vote." The alteration in attitude displayed does indeed illustrate what (rhetoric apart) Mrs. Pankhurst has given of herself in this agitation. She has literally abandoned her judgment and her original ambition, which was to be an active participant in state politics. A member of the Labour Party she fell an honest victim to the illusion regarding political power which made Mr. Tom Mann in 1891 say, "When next we strike, we shall strike on the ballot-box," an illusion which increased in intensity until 1905-6 when the attention bestowed on the political side of labour organisation had its effect in the return of a greatly augmented labour party to the House of Commons, and at which time Mrs. Pankhurst's union actually took birth. Its formation was the high tempered response of a capable woman to the snubs and neglects suffered by women in an organization wholly man led. Her ambition for herself was to be of the same order of power, if of better quality-as the Macdonalds, Hardies and Snowdens. For her daughter, having provided her with the legal training so advantageous to political guile, her ambitions were boundless. She was to be given the choice of office, Prime Minister or Lord Chancellor, and either position she would have adorned. A legitimate ambition founded on a legitimate basis-the Vote. Therefore "I want the vote" six years ago. And now? The first wild passion of women's insistence spent; the effective mouthpieces and actionists fallen out from her ranks; herself in the process of rapidly advancing invalidism, alternating between prison and nursing home, her mouth effectually closed; her daughter settled as a quiet pamphleteering suffragist abroad; and the vote? In the dim and speculative future! What has happened? She has pinioned herself with words-words-words, and these, not her own. She ventured into the maze of the symbolists, whose vulturous progeny-the empty concepts-got her! She began to "lead a Cause," and imperceptibly the Cause became Leader-leading where all causes tend-to self-annihilation. Mrs. Pankhurst may die and great is the Cause. What Cause? The Cause of the empty concept-the fount of all insincerity: the Cause of the Symbol-the Nothing worked upon by the Dithyramb.
"Miss Emily Davison has gladly laid down her life for woman's freedom." This is Mrs. Pankhurst's latest message. Here, then, we have it-the cause of Freedom. Freedom is the devil which drives. We must get a nearer view of it. What have we in mind when we say Freedom? We detect three elements: two notions and an atmosphere. There is the notion of a force, and a notion of a barrier which the force breaks through. A "breaking through" is the single complex which is the "getting free." A definite action, therefore, with a positive beginning and a definable end: limited in time and complete in its operation. There exists nothing in this which explains the vague unending thing called "freedom." To "get free" apparently is not freedom which is something which carries on an independent existence on its own account. This separate existence is the atmosphere. Freedom therefore is made up of loose association with the two notions which coalesce into the one action of getting free, plus an atmosphere. The action is the individual affair, the thing which must be done for oneself and permits of no vicariousness: the other, i.e., the atmosphere, is the part which one can create for others. This atmosphere is an interesting study: examined, it reveals itself, half swoon, half thrill. It is the essence of sensation, the food of the voluptuary. The thrill is the memory, the aroma of far-off fair deeds: the swoon is the suspension of intellect which allows vague association to make these deeds appear in part as one's own. Deeds, mark you ! definite things. Now we can ask the question: What is the relationship of the simple, normal, definable life-process of over-coming specific resistances which we call getting free to the vague symbolic indefinable thing called Freedom. The second is a blatant exploitation of the first. The first is an individual affair which must be operated in one's own person and which once done is over. The second is not an action: it is a worked up atmosphere, secured by culling special nose-gays of "free-ings," the most notable deeds of the most notable persons by preference- bunching them together and inhaling their decaying sweetness with exactly the same type of pleasure as that which the drugtaker and the drunkard get out of their vices. As tippling is the vicious exploitation of the normal quellching of thirst so the following after "Freedom" is the vicious exploitation of the normal activity of working oneself free of difficulties.
When therefore a person "dies for the cause of women's freedom" the effect of such a death is to give a crowd of degenerate orgiasts a new sensation. The motive may be,-a motive arrived at by a tragically mistaken process of reasoning-the belief that thereby others can be freed. Such is a tragic delusion. There is only one person concerned in the freeing of individuals: and that is the person who wears and feels and resents the shackles. Shackles must be burst off: if they are cut away from outside, they will immediately reform, as those whose cause is "our poor sisters" and "poor brothers" will find. The prostitution and poverty problems will be solved when the prostitute refuses to be prostituted and the poor refuse to be poor. Flogging the prostitutor, or railing at the exploiter is idle, for the defect is not primarily in these.
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But these voluptuous mooners apart, what of freedom? The answer is, that these voluptuaries apart, there is no "freedom"-and the Cause of Freedom is one long course of banalities and mis-statements unlimited. "Freedom" presumes a state and there is no state of being free; there is an activity of free-ing but the activity is limited by time to the duration of the act itself; the act completed, the free-ing is ended. To advance the concept of freedom as a reality is to attempt to give to that which has no meaning apart from expansion of a force, the laid-out, static quality of the objective world; it seeks to establish in space-in the static- that which has an existence only in time; of which the termination is the motive which engenders the beginning. There is no freedom and hence there can be no fight for it. Free-states, (amazing contradiction) free-speech, free-assemblage have just as much to do with the power which works itself free, as amassed collections of wreckage-specimens picked up from a cyclone-area have to the departed cyclone- i e., associations which call it to mind, and no more. Remote connection indeed, for let the storm sweep through once more and in the second wreckage these same specimens will have lost their identity, they will be recognisable no more. So the patient advocates of "free states," "free speech," "free assemblage," what are they but deluded children in the vicinity of forces they do not comprehend? If they want to assemble and speak without let or hindrance, let them increase their own power, their strength of arm until they can speak and meet as they will. But to ask for free speech and free meeting, what is it but an acknowledgement of tutelage, inferiority. If what they ask is given them, what will their speech be but "permitted" speech, something graciously allowed to inferiors and minors. Oh Freedom, subtle deceiver, what chains are forged and rivetted in thy Name. (It will be noted that one falls inevitably into rhetoric immediately the blighting word is addressed. Unreal itself, it rallies unrealities to itself as kind to kind.) We have flogged "freedom" and we hope to extinction. We cannot, for the nonce, deal with other members of this confusion-fostering class of words- those of the Empty Concept, the Nothings worked on by the Dithyramb- whose use and implications have gangrened all culture. Their number is legion- Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, Unity, Justice, Truth, Humanity, Law, Mumbo-Jumbo, Mesopotamia, Albracadabra, Om-Tat-Sat. Intellectual concepts all- futile products of men who pursue their own shadow. Since Plato, literary philosophers have been digging pitfalls into which a lying Culture lures them and their fellow-men. A true concept is the framework which the intellect puts round something felt: feeling experienced either directly in the Soul, or indirectly through the perceptions of sense. An intellectual concept is not, strictly speaking, a concept at all: it represents the giving of a "local habitation and a name" to a "Nothing!" It is a verbal trick, put through from many different and mainly sub-conscious motives, and its immediate outcome is sentimentality- an intellectual "fake" touched up with associated emotion- an easeful, "pleasant" mechanical process, and one almost universally practised' It is the formation of the intellectual concept which makes every successive culture a poison-diet for the peoples which create it. A virile people turns to thought, creates a culture which promptly turns upon it to encompass its destruction. There has been as yet no exception in the history of mankind. Today we see the same process illustrated in the lives of individuals. The unreal concept is at the back of every "Cause". Hear of a Cause and look for the hag, and it will be found in these lying creations of the idle brain. It is the natural sequence, since the brain must guide life's action, that these will o' the wisps should lead the individual astray, and the higher the quality of the individual, the more disastrous are the consequences. "Causes" are the diversion of the feeble- of those who have lost the power of acting strongly from their own nature. They are for the titillation of the senses of the herd, and a person who can act strongly should shun all Cause-ites and their works. Strong natures, who act out their beliefs in their own person, not realising that such grounds for actions as Causes proffer are in place only among those who having lost the instinct for action amuse themselves by words, occasionally are fascinated by the jargon, with consequences disastrous in the highest degree to themselves. Miss Davison, for instance, was in the presence of something innocuous to most of her companions, but very deadly in relation to herself when she lent ear to the pleadings of the great Cause "Freedom." Her soul strong for action, sucked in the poison which would have harmed little one less sincere. Miss Davison we know has long held that in her "Cause" a death was necessary. Were it not for the tragic sequel, one might smile at the naively-honest mind arguing so simply with issues so stupendous. It was inevitable, that, short of abandoning the "Cause" some such tragedy should gather round her. A fatalism must inevitably attach to those who cannot abandon the phrases of their yesterdays: who must spend more on them; because they have already spent much. She like so many others, trying to endow a state of affairs purely spectacular with the verisimilitude of the dramatic, felt that the situation was not "moving" yet she had not the requisite malice to inform her what was wrong. That the "movement" was engineered, i.e. mechanical not living, that all that was desired was the kind of movement which can be effected by a cinematograph- not a surging, living up rising, taking its own wayward living course. Miss Davison never realised the difference, or realising, like a handful of other persons, was too much bound by the hopes and deeds of her yesterdays to act upon the realisation.
She did not understand that the presence of the tiny handful of people like herself in a spectacular affair was a very considerable embarrassment to the situation, which accounted for the suspicion and semi-disgrace in which they were constantly held; that their presence was just tolerated because occasionally the organization might need to dump them down, one here and one there to act as living beings for an occasion, and then return them to the role of automaton. And yet she might have. If we remember rightly, the last occasion upon which we saw her, more than a year ago, she was under warning of dismissal from her "post with a pittance" (twenty shillings weekly if we remember aright) upon her next attempt to "militate" on her own account, a dismissal which we believe actually had effect later. Apparently she continued to work at the dead situation, as an artist might try to touch up a few bits in someone's daub so to give the thing which has never lived the "air" of life. If a death would be a relieving touch in the monotony of the stale spectacle, then a death there should be.
There has, indeed, been an outcry for "a death," for quite a time. Some male fool stated the need very clearly in an interested section of the press some time back. Mrs. Pankhurst herself appears to have felt it, and has called herself a "dying woman" for nearly a year now. We can find the heart to be sorry for Mrs. Pankhurst, in spite of this tragedy due to the criminally silly situation she has allowed to obtain. We suggest to her, that she takes the first step, sets the example to the others, and casts her yesterdays. For her, in truth, success has been heavily streaked with failures: To gain a crowd, she gave up the best part in herself- her reality. Having gained them, the worst part of her promptly lost them. She has dignity and self-respect and she has put herself in a position which allows of neither. The argument of suffering is not respectable. There is something to be said for a "death as a spectacle", but there is nothing to be said for "dying-long-drawn out" as an argument. There is no virtue in suffering: To be relying on pity as a main argument is the tactic of the weak. Mrs. Pankhurst hunger-striking, negates the spirit of successful defiance which the hunger-strike embodied. She has counted without the ingenuity of her opponents. By adopting the hunger-strike at all, she entered upon a tactic, the meaning of which was that she should bring herself so near to death that a prison would not hold her. The State's reply was to contrive a means of enabling her to leave prison for just so long and upon such terms as would enable her to be held in prison- a negation of her own tactic. The hunger-strike, a brave but brutal thing in itself, is one which can be continued only as it began- in the brutal spirit. When the State turns her out of prison in order to get well enough to return, the logical, solely effective retort is "I will go out of prison, not to befit myself to return, but to carry on my work and do as I will." It would be a great gamble- but only so could Mrs. Pankhurst hope to prevent her sword being turned against her self- only so could she expect to make their cat and mouse effort non-effective. And the situation is not worth it. Far better and stronger would it be for her to take measures to bring the preposterous situation to an end and start afresh. There should be for her an added inducement in the truly horrible position of Christabel Pankhurst who, for \24340 or \24350 a month, wags the militant dog by the tip of a tail attenuated by stretching a few hundred miles. We will not enlarge upon the situation: it should be sufficient merely to state it. We suggest that Mrs. Pankhurst should judge of it with a little sensitiveness, and end it. For Miss Davison, one can only say that she in deadly circumstances maintained entire her integrity of Soul: her sincerity, which was such because her strength was such. It could not be gainsaid by any chance circumstances in which it became entangled. Her courage one recognises, note and remember. And we are grateful that in her final effort luck was with her. Chance betrays so many occasions, for her as for all who attempt to fill in a spectacle, and her experience had had its bitterne success. Here, luck crowned her courage; she has heen permitted to secure what we know she cared to have: the well-done of those whose work she chose to do. And we are profoundly glad. A daring deed, a perfect spectacle, and the cost all hers. It might have been otherwise and recriminations.
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With the rapid decline of faith in politics and political method, and the collapse of Mrs. Pankhurst's campaign, the fictitious interest which has been worked up for votes for women since 1906 has already largely died down. The method of "influence" in politics has shown its superiority. It has the crowning merit of success- naturally so since where all is guile, methods must be of guile to have effect. Accordingly, it is realised that votes will be given to women, if and when, the fortuitous collection of women holding the positions of first females in the household of members of some future administration decide that it would please them to have them. The prospect of having to win the favour of, say, Mrs. Asquith, does not seem to grace the situation with dignity: but then politics have no dignity. The mistake in the "vote" agitation lay in thinking they had, though it now appears difficult to understand. How it could have been imagined that anything of intrinsic value could be in the gift of the six hundred members of parliament whose personal wills stood between the women and the vote. Understanding, however, is the fruit of making mistakes, and it is now clear that the "woman movement" must find its definition and activity in matters unrelated to voting "rights."
For fear of being guilty of supporting the power of another "empty concept" we hasten to add that the term "Woman Movement" is one which deserves to go the way of all such- freedom, liberty and the restd- to destruction. Accurately speaking, there is no "Woman Movement." "Woman" is doing nothing- she has indeed, no existence. A very limited number of individual women are emphasising the fact that the first thing to be taken into account with regard to them is that they are individuals and can not be lumped together into a class, a sex, or a "movement." They- this small number- regard themselves neither as wives, mothers, spinsters, women, nor men. They are themselves, each cut off from and differing from the rest. What each is and what each requires she proposes to find by looking into her own wants- not "class" or "race" wants- which explains her repudiation of "descriptions by function." If primarily women are to regard themselves as Woman or as the Mother, their satisfactions as individuals would be subordinated to an external authority: the requirements of the development of Woman or Mother as such- Empty concepts again. "Woman as such" and "mother as type" has no reality: the subordination of the individual to the Interest (another word for Cause) of motherhood, or the "Interest of the Race" is the old trick, subjugating the real to the unreal. A woman as a mother, takes on the accidental "mother characteristic" merely by the way, wholly for her own satisfaction. She is so because she wants, not be cause of any wants of the community, the State, the Race, or any other faked-up authority. The centre of the Universe lies in the desire of the individual, and the Universe for the individual has no meaning apart from their individual satisfactions, a means to an end. The few individual women before mentioned maintain that their only fitting description is that of Individual: Ends-in-themselves. They are Egoists. They are Autocrats, and government in their autocracy is vested in the Self which holds the reins in the kingdom of varying wants and desires, and which defines the resultant of these different forces as the Satisfaction of Itself. The intensive satisfaction of Self is for the individual the one goal in life.