No highest good of the community, however, would give him the
vital fulfilment of his soul. He knew this. But he did not
consider the soul of the individual sufficiently important. He
believed a man was important in so far as he represented all
humanity.
He could not see, it was not born in him to see, that the
highest good of the community as it stands is no longer the
highest good of even the average individual. He thought that,
because the community represents millions of people, therefore
it must be millions of times more important than any individual,
forgetting that the community is an abstraction from the many,
and is not the many themselves. Now when the statement of the
abstract good for the community has become a formula lacking in
all inspiration or value to the average intelligence, then the
"common good" becomes a general nuisance, representing the
vulgar, conservative materialism at a low level.
And by the highest good of the greatest number is chiefly
meant the material prosperity of all classes. Skrebensky did not
really care about his own material prosperity. If he had been
penniless--well, he would have taken his chances. Therefore
how could he find his highest good in giving up his life for the
material prosperity of everybody else! What he considered an
unimportant thing for himself he could not think worthy of every
sacrifice on behalf of other people. And that which he would
consider of the deepest importance to himself as an
individual--oh, he said, you mustn't consider the community
from that standpoint. No--no--we know what the
community wants; it wants something solid, it wants good wages,
equal opportunities, good conditions of living, that's what the
community wants. It doesn't want anything subtle or difficult.
Duty is very plain-keep in mind the material, the immediate
welfare of every man, that's all.
So there came over Skrebensky a sort of nullity, which more
and more terrified Ursula. She felt there was something hopeless
which she had to submit to. She felt a great sense of disaster
impending. Day after day was made inert with a sense of
disaster. She became morbidly sensitive, depressed,
apprehensive. It was anguish to her when she saw one rook slowly
flapping in the sky. That was a sign of ill-omen. And the
foreboding became so black and so powerful in her, that she was
almost extinguished.
Yet what was the matter? At the worst he was only going away.
Why did she mind, what was it she feared? She did not know. Only
she had a black dread possessing her. When she went at night and
saw the big, flashing stars they seemed terrible, by day she was
always expecting some charge to be made against her.
He wrote in March to say that he was going to South Africa in
a short time, but before he went, he would snatch a day at the
Marsh.