"Yes."

"And don't you think that if everyone, including the best men, the
thinkers and great scientists, taking part in the struggle for
existence, each on his own account, are going to waste their time
breaking stones and painting roofs, may not that threaten a grave
danger to progress?"

"Where is the danger?" I asked. "Why, progress is in deeds of love,
in fulfilling the moral law; if you don't enslave anyone, if you
don't oppress anyone, what further progress do you want?"

"But, excuse me," Blagovo suddenly fired up, rising to his feet.
"But, excuse me! If a snail in its shell busies itself over perfecting
its own personality and muddles about with the moral law, do you
call that progress?"

"Why muddles?" I said, offended. "If you don't force your neighbour
to feed and clothe you, to transport you from place to place and
defend you from your enemies, surely in the midst of a life entirely
resting on slavery, that is progress, isn't it? To my mind it is
the most important progress, and perhaps the only one possible and
necessary for man."

"The limits of universal world progress are in infinity, and to
talk of some 'possible' progress limited by our needs and temporary
theories is, excuse my saying so, positively strange."

"If the limits of progress are in infinity as you say, it follows