ntly made by creating a local and temporary monopoly, which
enables the vendor to squeeze the purchaser. In all such transactions
one man's gain is another man's loss. This state of things, the evils of
which are almost universally recognised and deplored, marks the end of
the glorification of productive industry which was one result of the
Reformation.

Hardly anything distinguishes modern from medieval ethics more sharply
than the emphasis laid by Protestant morality on the duty of making and
producing something tangible. Theoretically the Protestant may hold that
'doing ends in death,' and he may sing these words on Sunday; but his
whole life on week days is occupied in strenuous 'doing.' We find in
Calvinism and Quakerism the genuinely religious basis of the modern
business life, which, however, has degenerated sadly, now that the
largest fortunes are made by dealing in money rather than in
commodities. In the books of Samuel Smiles, and in Clough's poem
beginning 'Hope ever more and believe, O Man,' we find the Gospel of
productive work preached with fervour. It is out of favour now in
England; but in America we still see quaint attempts to make business a
religion, as in the Middle Ages religion was a business. In these
circles, it is productive activity as such to which value is attached,
without much enquiry as to the utility of the product. The result has
been an immense accumulation of the apparatus of life, without any
corresponding elevation in moral standards. The mischiefs wrought by
modern commercialism are largely the fruit of the purely irrational
production which it encourages. There are, says Professor Santayana,
Nibelungen who toil underground over a gold which they will never use,
and in their obsession with production begrudge themselves all
inclinations to recreation, to merriment, to fancy. Visible signs of
such unreason appear in the relentless and hideous aspect which life
puts on; for those instruments which emancipate themselves from their
uses soon become hateful. 'A barbaric civilisation, built on blind
impulse and ambition, should fear to awaken a deeper detestation than
could ever be aroused by those more beautiful tyrannies, chivalrous or
religious, against which past revolutions have been directed.' We
cannot, indeed, be surprised that this ideal of productive work as a
means of grace, precious for its own sake, has no attraction for the
masses, and that independent thinkers like Edward