individuals. The same among the masters. The majority are suction-
tubes for Bradburys. But is this Sodom of Industrialism there are
surely ten men, all told. My poor little withered grain of mustard
seed, I am half afraid to take you across to the seed-testing
department!

And if there are men, there is A People's Theatre.

How many tragic situations did Goethe say were possible? Something
like thirty-two. Which seems a lot. Anyhow, granted that men are
men still, that not all of them are bits, parts, machine-sections,
then we have added another tragic possibility to the list: the Strike
situation. As yet no one tackles this situation. It is a sort of
Medusa head, which turns--no, not to stone, but to sloppy treacle.
Mr. Galsworthy had a peep, and sank down towards bathos.

Granted that men are still men, Labour _v_. Capitalism is a tragic
struggle. If men are no more than implements, it is non-tragic and
merely disastrous. In tragedy the man is more than his part. Hamlet
is more than Prince of Denmark, Macbeth is more than murderer of
Duncan. The man is caught in the wheels of his part, his fate, he
may be torn asunder. He may be killed, but the resistant, integral
soul in him is not destroyed. He comes through, though he dies. He
goes through with his fate, though death swallows him. And it is in
this facing of fate, this going right through with it, that tragedy
lies. Tragedy is not disaster. It is a disaster when a cart-wheel
goes over a frog, but it is not a tragedy, not the hugest; not the
death of ten million men. It is only a cartwheel going over a frog.
There must be a supreme STRUGGLE.