tive
powers of industry, but a person who manages simply to intercept a
share produced by the industry of others, there is, of course, much to
be said for this view. I cannot now consider that point, for my subject
to-day is the moral aspect of competition considered generally. And
what I have just said suggests what is, I think, the more purely moral
aspect of the question. A reasonable Socialist desires to maintain what
is good in the existing system, while suppressing its abuses. The
question, What is good? is partly economical; but it is partly also
ethical: and it is with that part that I am at present concerned.

Any system of competition, any system which supposes a reward for
virtue other than virtue itself, may be accused of promoting
selfishness and other ugly qualities. The doctrine that virtue is its
own reward is very charming in the mouth of the virtuous man; but when
his neighbours use it as an excuse for not rewarding him, it becomes
rather less attractive. It saves a great deal of trouble, no doubt, and
relieves us from an awkward responsibility. I must, however, point out,
in the first place, that a fallacy is often introduced into these
discussions which Mr. Herbert Spencer has done a great deal to expose.
He has dwelt very forcibly, for example, on the fact that it is a duty
to be happy and healthy; and that selfishness, if used in a bad sense,
should not mean simply regard for ourselves, but only disregard for our
neighbours. We ought not, in other words, to be unjust because we
ourselves happen to be the objects of injustice. The parable of the
good Samaritan is generally regarded as a perfect embodiment of a great
moral truth. Translated from poetry into an abstract logical form, it
amounts to saying that we should do good to the man who most needs our
services, whatever be the accidents which alienate ordinary sympathies.
Now, suppose that the good Samaritan had himself fallen among thieves,
what would have been his duty? His first duty, I should say, would have
been, if possible, to knock down the thief; his second, to tie up his
own wounds; and his third, to call in the police. We should not,
perhaps, call him virtuous for such conduct; but we should clearly
think him wrong for omitting it. Not to resist a thief is cowardly; not
to attend to your own health is to incapacitate yourself for duty; not
to apply to the police is to be wanting in public spirit. Assuming
robbery to be wrong, I am not