from Christian faith and Christian prejudice, and that this may be attained, a department has been created in Moscow for the production of vulgar and revolting blasphemies calculated to have their effect on young and ingenuous minds.

Anticipating a social order in which human relationships and every aspect of human life will have suffered a sea change, the Bolshevists already repudiate the moral restrictions and obligations commonly recognised in existing civilised communities. They accept nothing because it is traditional. Everything must be thought out afresh. There is a striking example in the strategy of the Third International of the repudiation of recognised rules of honour and conduct. Until the last few months, the Third International has striven for a united front of the Socialist and Communist parties in every country while, at the same time, abusing and intriguing against the moderate Socialist leaders. This policy has been summarised in the line of Racine, 'I embrace my rival, but it is the better to choke him.' The curious thing is that, with all their intelligence, the Bolshevists never seem to realise that advances made to parties and individuals, whom they habitually denounce and insult, are unlikely to be received with any enthusiasm. But this is another proof of the certainty of their own position and of ultimate triumph.

'As an institutional system,' says Prof. Laski, 'the Communist International resembles nothing so much as the Roman Catholic Church. There is the same width and intensity of discussion before dogma is imposed; there is the same authoritarian imposition of dogma; there is the same ruthless purging of dissident elements which show unwillingness to accept the decision made.'

And of the Communist propagandists all over the world, he says: 'They have the passionate zeal of a Jesuit missionary who sets out to conquer a new world for his creed.' In another place, Prof. Laski says of Bolshevism: 'It offers dogmas to those whom scepticism troubles; it brings to its believers the certitude which all great religions have conferred; above all, perhaps, it implants in its adherents the belief in their ultimate redemption.'

The conviction that the individual and society are both moulded by external conditions, the result of forces over which humanity has no control, is evidently incompatible with the doctrine of free will. To the Bolshevist, man is as much the slave of circumstances as to the Greek he was the blind sport of the gods. Impelled by irresistible economic forces, society journeys towards the Communist State. An individual or group of individuals may, as I have said, hasten or retard the progress; they cannot avert the ultimate end. The Bolshevist 'rejects all divinity, all spiritual powers, all the lumber of the past and paves the way for man to become in truth master of the forces both of nature and of society.' Platonism and all forms of philosophic idealism are as much opposed to the Bolshevist philosophy and as calculated to mislead humanity as Christianity itself. All idealistic considerations,' wrote Bukharin, 'lead in the end to a kind of conception of divinity and are therefore pure nonsense in the eyes of Marxists.' In the early days of the revolution, the works of Kant, Schopenhauer, Herbert Spencer. and Nietzsche were banished from all Russian public libraries, and even the teaching of science was carefully supervised in order that the students might not be misled by 'arguments for the existence and sway of a spiritual world.'

Herr Fülöp-Miller points out that in preaching dialectical materialism, Lenin depended far more on invective than on knowledge and argument. He was interested in philosophy 'only as one is interested in an enemy.' The crass materialism of the Bolshevist was rejected two generations ago by all thinkers of any consequence. As Herr Fülöp-Miller says, 'the conception that all mental activity is merely a combination of material physiological conditions was finally and completely superseded in western Europe as early as the 'sixties.' But it was obviously necessary to popularise a discredited delusion if men were to be persuaded that there was nothing for them but to be the slaves of machines.

Religion is merely a means of confusing the national consciousness.' It is 'a poison for the people.' The Church, with everything else, the creation of economic conditions, has existed, as part of the bourgeois con

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spiracy, to dope the people into humility and obedience. 'Faith in God,' Bukharin says, 'is thus a reflexion of loathsome earthly conditions; it is faith in a slavery which exists presumably not only on earth, but throughout the universe.' And Lenin said, 'Religion is an opiate for the people, a sort of spiritual vodka.' The destruction of the Church has been a far more difficult task than was anticipated. Information about existing conditions is bewildering in its contradictions, but it is at least clear that the Russian Church is still powerful enough for Stalin to seek its aid on not altogether unfavourable terms. It is probable that the faith of the peasant has been little affected by Bolshevist propaganda, but the persistent atheistic teaching in the towns, and particularly in the schools, must have had its effect, and there must be now a generation of adolescents in Russia scornful alike of the suggestion of the existence of God and of the restrictions of Christian morality.

Herr Fülöp-Miller gives a detailed and, as always, an impartial account of the split in the Russian Church which has occurred since the revolution, and was in the circumstances unavoidable. The Russians in exile are naturally devoted to the Church as it existed before the revolution. The more intelligent of the priests and laity in Russia, even those holding most earnestly to the faith, are equally naturally anxious to adapt themselves, so far as it is possible, to the new conditions. This may mean a reformation in doctrine and practice. On the other hand, if religious freedom is ever recovered, the obvious incompetence of the Orthodox hierarchy as a whole, and the inability of the Church successfully to face the unprecedented troubles of the revolution, may lead to wholesale conversions to the Roman Church. It is clear that this is in the mind of the Vatican which, mainly for the conversion of the East, has authorised the Benedictine establishment of the Monks of Unity at Amy in Belgium, and has, at the moment, a number of astute ecclesiastics on the Russian border.

The war against religion has resulted in appalling sex immorality. Marriage in Russia has become nothing more than licensed concubinage. Divorces are more easy to obtain in Moscow than they are in Reno. In certain circumstances abortion is legally permitted, and sexual promiscuity is regarded by the Communists as a social duty. Herr Fülöp-Miller quotes a Mme Smidovitch who wrote in 'Pravda': 'Every student, man or girl, considers it as axiomatic that in affairs of love they should impose the least possible restraint on themselves.

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Every woman student on whom the choice of one of these young men of strong principles has fallen, must obey unquestionably.' The girl who refuses sex proposals is sure to be rewarded with insults and worse. young Communists live in a 'heavy sexual atmosphere,' and orgies are followed by innumerable suicides. The unmorality of the new intelligentsia is summarised by Mme Kollontai, the Soviet diplomat, who in her novel, 'The Love of Three Generations,' makes one of her characters, a young girl, say: 'You seem to be taken aback mainly because I can give myself to men merely because they please me, without waiting to fall in love. But look here, you need time to fall in love. I have no time. At present we have very responsible work on hand in the department.' This is Bolshevism in practice.

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Bolshevist culture is entirely utilitarian. I quote Mr Karlgren: 'The Bolshevists are only interested in such things as serve the ends of the workers and their social scheme. All else may be sifted out as worthless.' The State has urgent need of scientific teaching to carry out the work of Europeanisation. Technical and engineering science is therefore encouraged as are hygiene and preventive medicines, while the problem of the many nationalities within the Soviet orbit make extended sociological investigation necessary. 'But there are sciences,' says Trotsky scornfully, which are idealistic, abstract, high-flown, deception from beginning to end, bound up with eternal truths and such-like fanciesthese we sweep aside one and all.'

Drama has been encouraged because of the large part that it has always played in Russian national life. But the repertoire is carefully censored. 'Lohengrin' is banned because of its mystical tendencies; 'Werther' is banned because it is sentimental; Schiller's 'Marie Stuart' is banned because it is religious. The endeavour to develop a true Socialist art in the theatre has resulted

in almost childish reaction, and the Russian theatre is now, according to Herr Fülöp-Miller, devoted to 'acrobatic displays, somersaults, horizontal bar and trapeze work, tight-rope dancing, juggling and balancing feats.'

Before it is printed, poetry is carefully scrutinised by sound Communist censors, whose business it is 'to test the number of adjectives used and the metre of lines, rhythms, and sound combinations from the point of view of their fitness to produce revolutionary effects on the audience.' The Bolshevist poet's business is to 'Socialise rage and skull-smashing, and to perform the smaller functions of acclaiming the fight against laziness in government offices and to emphasise the necessity for re-asphalting the streets. No Bolshevist poet can be regarded as a satisfactory citizen unless he has acquired 'Chicagoism of the soul.'

While the performance of what may be called conventional music is permitted by the authorities, and excellent concerts and operatic performances are regularly given in Moscow, there are attempts at the development of a new proletarian music, written with a complete disregard of rule and tradition. Herr Fülöp-Miller describes the music of a ballet, which has made a great sensation in Russia, as characterised by 'the grotesque wild rhythms and a savagery which often recalls the colour effects of mountebanks' posters.' The ballet remains a great national institution, patronised by the Soviet as it was patronised by the Czar, but 'a new proletarian dance culture' has been called into being, the object of which is to symbolise in dances the movements of motors, levers, and fly-wheels. With this worship of the machine there is a curious worship of noise. Bolshevist Russia is treated to the performances of noise orchestras composed of motor-horns, sirens, hooters, and any and everything that will make a din. A performance was given at Baku in 1922 by 'the fog horns of the whole Caspian fleet, all the victory sirens, two batteries of artillery, several infantry regiments, a machine-gun section, real hydroplanes, and finally choirs in which all spectators joined.' In this love of noise, the Bolshevists are kin to the forerunners of Italian Fascism. It may be remembered that Signor Marinetti used to interrupt the recitation of his poems