them to produce things for us to consume, or to work up into other things for our consumption or that of other peoples.  Thereby we have enriched ourselves and the rest of mankind.  But the question still arises whether this process is one that should be left altogether unchecked, or whether it involves evils which go far to modify its benefits.  In other words is it a good thing for us, socially and politically, to enrich ourselves beyond a certain point by a process which involves our dependence on other countries for food and raw material?

Analogy between a State and a man is often useful, if not pushed too far.  The original man in a primitive state is always assumed to have been bound to find or make everything that he wanted by his own exertions.  He was hut builder, hunter, cultivator, bow-maker, arrow-maker, trapper, fisherman, boat-builder, leather-dresser, tailor, fighter—­a wonderfully versatile and self-sufficient person.  As the process grew up of specialization, and the exchange of goods and services, all the things that were needed by man were made much better and more cheaply, but this was only brought about at the expense of each man’s versatility.  Nowadays we can all of us do something very much better than the primitive savage, but we cannot do everything nearly as well.  We have become little insignificant wheels in a mighty great machine that feeds us and clothes us and provides us with comforts and luxuries of which he could never have dreamt.  He was the whole of his machine, and was thereby a far more completely developed man.  The modern millionaire, in spite of his enormous indirect power over the forces of nature, is a puny and ineffective being by the side of his savage ancestor, in the matter of power to take care of himself with his own hands and feet and eyes, and with weapons made by his own ingenuity and cunning.  Moreover, though in the case of the millionaire and of all the comparatively well-to-do classes we can point to great intellectual and artistic advantages, and many pleasant amenities of life now enjoyed by them, thanks to the process of specialization, these advantages can only be enjoyed to the full by comparatively few.  To the majority specialization has brought a life of mechanical and monotonous toil, with little or none of the pride in a job well done, such as was enjoyed by the savage when he had made his bow or caught his fish; those who work all day on some minute process necessary, among many others, to the turning out of a pin, can never feel the full joy of achievement such as is gained by a man who has made the whole of anything.  Pins are made much faster, but some of the men who make them remain machines, and never become men at all in the real sense of the word.  And when at the same time the circumstances of their lives, apart from their work, are all that they should not be—­bad food, bad clothes, bad education, bad houses, foul atmosphere and dingy and sordid surroundings, it is very obvious that to a large part of working mankind, the benefits of the much vaunted division of labour have been accompanied by very serious drawbacks.  The best that can be said is that if it had not been for the division of labour a large number of them could never have come into existence at all; and the question remains whether any sort of existence is better than none.