scramble in which people are trampled underfoot, but that, given this simplification of the social system, order and decent treatment and the other things can be introduced. All those things are good arguments, and I am not concerned to answer them just now; but I am pointing out that this sense of order, of repose, of the State having reached equilibrium when it becomes a monopolist State, is a very strong argument for the fact that people will not resent or resist or dislike this gradual debasing of the artistic sense and the imagination. They will be at home, exactly as they were at home for centuries in the pagan states of slavery, because slavery is a system that has equilibrium.
That danger of standardisation by a low standard seems to me to be the chief danger confronting us on the artistic and cultural side and generally on the intellectual side at this moment.
I am not going to attempt, as I have already talked far too long, to argue at any great length about the remedy. If I were to mention my own social remedies, I should be talking politics; and if I were to mention my own deeper remedies, I should be talking theology. Broadly speaking, in the ordinary sense of the word, the superficial sense, there is no remedy except that for which this great institution exists, education—in other words, training the minds of men to act upon the community, making the mind a source of creative and critical action. I think that in this connection one may go back with a certain amount of loyalty and gratitude, I had almost said affection, to those great Radical and Rationalist individualists who founded this College and this great educational experiment.
