"And economic freedom?" asked I sharply.
"And economic freedom. People choose the work they like best, and work—freely, more than they have to."
I pondered on this. "Ah, but they have to—labor is compulsory."
Owen grinned. "Yes, labor is compulsory—always was. It is compulsory on everyone now. We used to have two sets who wouldn't work—paupers and the idle rich; no such classes left—all busy."
"But, the freedom of the individual——" I persisted.
"Come, come, brother; society always played hob with the freedom of the individuals whenever it saw fit. It killed, imprisoned, fined; it had compulsory laws and regulations; it required people to wear clothes and furnished no clothes for them to wear. If society has a right to take human life, why has it not a right to improve it? No, my dear man," continued Owen (he was evidently launched on his specialty now) "society is not somebody else domineering over us! Society is us—taking care of ourselves."
I took no exception to this, and he began again. "Society, in our young days, was in a state of auto-intoxication. It generated its own poisons, and absorbed them in peaceful, slow suicide. To think!—it seems impossible now—to think of allowing anybody to sell bad food!"
"That wasn't the only bad thing they sold," I suggested.
"No; unfortunately. Why, look here—" Owen slid a glass panel in the wall and took out a book.
"That's clever," I remarked approvingly. "Bookcases built in!"