Part IITHE TRADITIONAL DEMOCRACY
XVIDEMOCRACY NOT “LIBERTY” AND “EQUALITY”: OUR POLITICAL DUALISM
THE purpose of this book is to indicate certain changes which must be made in our political methods in order that the group principle, the most fruitful principle of association we have yet found, shall have free play in our political life. InPart IIIwe shall devote ourselves specifically to that purpose. Here let us examine some of our past notions of democracy and then trace the growth of true democracy in America.
Democracy has meant to many “natural” rights, “liberty” and “equality.” The acceptance of the group principle defines for us in truer fashion those watchwords of the past. If my true self is the group-self, then my only rights are those which membership in a group gives me. The old idea of natural rights postulated the particularist individual; we know now that no such person exists. The group and the individual come into existence simultaneously: with this group-man appear group-rights. Thus man can have no rights apart from society or independent of society or against society. Particularist rights are ruled out as everything particularist is ruled out. When we accept fully the principle of rights involved in the group theory of association, it will change the decisions of our courts, our state constitutions, and all the concrete machinery of government. The truth of the whole matter is that our only concern with “rights” is not to protect them but to create them. Our efforts are to be bent not upon guarding the rightswhich Heaven has showered upon us, but in creating all the rights we shall ever have.[63]
As an understanding of the group process abolishes “individual rights,” so it gives us a true definition of liberty. We have seen that the free man is he who actualizes the will of the whole. I have no liberty except as an essential member of a group. The particularist idea of liberty was either negative, depending on the removal of barriers, or it was quantitative, something which I had left over after the state had restrained me in every way it thought necessary. But liberty is not measured by the number of restraints we do not have, but by the number of spontaneous activities we do have. Law and liberty are not like the two halves of this page, mutually exclusive—one is involved in the other. One does not decrease as the other increases. Liberty and law go hand in hand and increase together in the larger synthesis of life we are here trying to make.
We see that to obey the group which we have helped to make and of which we are an integral part is to be free because we are then obeying ourself. Ideally the state is such a group, actually it is not, but it depends upon us to make it more and more so. The state must be no external authority which restrains and regulates me, but it must be myself acting as the state in every smallest detail of life. Expression, not restraint, is always the motive of the ideal state.
There has been long a kind of balance theory prevalent: everything that seems to have to do with the one is put on one side, everything that has to do with the many, on the other, and one side is called individuality and freedom, and the other, society, constraint, authority. Then the balancing begins: how much shallwe give up on one side and how much on the other to keep the beautiful equilibrium of our daily life? How artificial such balancing sounds! We are beginning to know now that our freedom depends not on the weakness but on the strength of our government, our government being the expression of a united people. We are freer under our present sanitary laws than without them; we are freer under compulsory education than without it. A highly organized state does not mean restriction of the individual but his greater liberty. The individual is restricted in an unorganized state. A greater degree of social organization means a more complex, a richer, broader life, means more opportunity for individual effort and individual choice and individual initiative. The test of our liberty is not the number of limitations put upon the powers of the state. The state is not an extra-will. If we are the state we welcome Our liberty.
But liberty on the popular tongue has always been coupled with equality, and this expression too needs revaluation. The group process shows us that we are equal from two points of view: first, I am equal to every one else as one of the necessary members of the group; secondly, each of these essential parts is the tap from an infinite supply—in every man lives an infinite possibility. But we must remember that there are no mechanical, no quantitative equalities. Democracy in fact insists on what are usually thought of as inequalities. Of course I am not “as good as you”—it would be a pretty poor world if I were, that is if you were no better than I am. Democracy without humility is inconceivable. The hope of democracy is in its inequalities. The only real equality I can ever have is to fill my place in the whole at the same time that every other man is filling his place in the whole.
Much of our present class hatred comes from a distortedview of equality. This doctrine means to many that I have as much “right” to things as any one else, and therefore if I see any one having more things than I have, it is proper to feel resentment against that person or class. Much legislation, therefore, is directed to lopping off here and there. But such legislation is a negative and therefore non-constructive interpretation of equality. The trouble with much of our reform is that it is based on the very errors which have brought about the evils it is fighting. The trade-unionists say that the courts give special privileges to employers and that they do not have equal rights. But this is just the complaint of the employers: that the unionists are doing them out of their time-honored equal rights.[64]
Our distorted ideas of rights and liberty and equality have been mixed up with our false conception of the state, with the monstrous fallacy of manvs.the state. But as we now see that the individual and society are different aspects of the same process, so we see that the citizen and the state are one, that their interests are identical, that their aims are identical, that they are absolutely bound up together. Our old political dualism is now disappearing. The state does not exist for the individual or the individual for the state: we do not exalt the state and subordinate the individual or, on the other hand, apotheosize the individual and give him the state as his “servant.”The state is not the servant of the people.The state mustbethe people before it can reach a high degree of effective accomplishment. The state is one of the collective aspects of the individual;the individual is from one point of view the distributive aspect of the state. The non-existence of self-sufficing individuals gives us the whole of our new theory of democracy. Those who govern and those who are governed are merely two aspects of the common will. When we have a state truly representative of our collective citizenship, then the fear of the state will disappear because the antithesis between the individual and the state will have disappeared.
To sum up: our present idea of the state is that it is not something outside ourselves, that it must flow out from ourselves and control our social life. But it must “control” our life by expressing it. The state is always the great Yes, not the great No. Liberty and restraint are not opposed, because ideally the expression of the social will in restraintisour freedom. The state has a higher function than either restraining individuals or protecting individuals. It is to have a great forward policy which shall follow the collective will of the people, a collective will which embodied through our state, in our life, shall be the basis of a progress yet undreamed of. When we can give up the notion of individual rights, we shall have taken the longest step forward in our political development. When we can give up the idea of national rights—but it is too soon to talk of that yet.
XVIIDEMOCRACY NOT THE MAJORITY: OUR POLITICAL FALLACY
IF many people have defined democracy as liberty and equal rights, others have defined it as “the ascendancy of numbers,” as “majority rule.” Both these definitions are particularistic. Democracy means the will of the whole, but the will of the whole is not necessarily represented by the majority, nor by a two-thirds or three-quarters vote, nor even by a unanimous vote; majority rule is democratic when it is approaching not a unanimous but an integrated will. We have seen that the adding of similarities does not produce the social consciousness; in the same way the adding of similar votes does not give us the political will. We have seen that society is not an aggregation of units, of men considered one by one; therefore we understand that the will of the state is not discovered by counting.[65]This means a new conception of politics: it means that the organization of men in small, local groups must be the next form which democracy takes. Here the need and will of every man and woman can appear and mingle with the needs and wills of all to produce an all-will. Thus will be abolished the reign of numbers.
A crude view of democracy says that when the working-people realize their power they can have what they want, since, their numbers being so great, they can out-vote other classes. But the reason the working-people have not already learned something so very obvious isbecause it is not true—we are never to be ruled by numbers alone.
Moreover, a fatal defect in majority rule is that by its very nature it abolishes itself. Majority rule must inevitably become minority rule: the majority is too big to handle itself; it organizes itself into committees—Committee of Fifty, Fifteen, Three—which in their turn resolve themselves into a committee of one, and behold—the full-fledged era of bosses is at hand, with the “consent of the governed” simply because the governed are physically helpless to govern themselves. Many men want majority rule so that they can be this committee of one; some of our most worthy citizens are incipient Greek tyrants longing to give us of their best—tyranny.
Many working-men are clamoring for majority rule in industry, yet we know how often in their own organizations the rule of the many becomes the rule of the few. If “industrial democracy” is to mean majority rule, let us be warned by our experience of it in politics—it will rend whoever dallies with it.
Yet it will be objected, “But what other means under the sun is there of finding the common will except by counting votes?” We see already here and there signs of a new method. In many committees, boards and commissions we see now a reluctance to take action until all agree; there is a feeling that somehow, if we keep at it long enough, we can unify our ideas and our wills, and there is also a feeling that such unification of will has value, that our work will be vastly more effective in consequence. How different from our old methods when we were bent merely upon getting enough on our side to carry the meeting with us. Some one has said, “We count heads to save breaking them.” We are beginning to see now that majority rule is only a clumsymakeshift until we shall devise ways of getting at the genuine collective thought. We have to assume that we have this while we try to approximate it. We are not to circumvent the majority, but to aim steadily at getting the majority will nearer and nearer to a true collective will.
This may sound absurdly unlike the world as mainly constituted. Is this the way diplomats meet? Is this the way competing industrial interests adjust their differences? Not yet, but it must be. And what will help us more than anything else is just to get rid of the idea that we ever meet to get votes. The corruption in city councils, state legislatures, Congress, is largely the outcome of the idea that the getting of votes is the object of our meeting. The present barter in votes would not take place if the unimportance of votes was once clearly seen.
Even now so far as a majority has power it is not by the brute force of numbers; it is because there has been a certain amount of unifying; it has real power directly in proportion to the amount of unifying. The composition of a political majority depends at present partly on inheritance and environment (which includes sentiment and prejudice), partly on the mass-induced idea (the spread of thought and feeling throughout a community by suggestion), and partly on some degree of integration of the different ideas and the different forces of that particular society. Its power is in proportion to the amount of this integration. When we use the expression “artificial majority” we mean chiefly one which shows little integration, and we have all seen how quickly such majorities tend to melt away when the artificial stimulus of especially magnetic leadership or of an especially catchy and jingoistic idea is withdrawn. Moreover a majority meaning a preponderance of votes caneasily be controlled by a party or an “interest”; majorities which represent unities are not so easily managed. Group organization is, above everything else perhaps, to prevent the manipulation of helpless majorities.
But “helpless majority” may sound amusing to those who are telling us of the tyranny of majorities. From one point of view indeed majority rule tends to become majority tyranny, so we do not want a majority in either case, either as a tyrant or as an inert mass. But those who talk of the tyranny of majorities are usually those who are advocating the “rights of minorities.” If it is necessary to expose the majority fallacy, it is equally necessary to show that the present worship of minorities in certain quarters is also unsound. There is no inherent virtue in a minority. If as a matter of fact we cannot act forcefully without a certain amount of complacency, then perhaps it is a good thing for those in a minority to flatter themselves that of twenty people nine are more apt to be right than eleven. It may be one of those false assumptions more useful than a true one, and in our pragmatic age we shall not deny its value. Still sour grapes hang sometimes just as high and no higher than the majority, and it seems possible to find a working assumption that will work even better than this. In fact the assumption that the minority is always right is just as much an error as the assumption that the majority is always right. The right is not with the majority or minority because of preponderance of numbers or because of lack of preponderance of numbers.
But many people tell us seriously that this is not a question of opinion at all, but of fact: all the great reforms of the past, they say, whose victories are now our common heritage, were inaugurated by an intelligent and devoted few. You can indeed point to many causes led by a faithful minority triumphing in the end over anumerical and inert majority, but this minority was usually a majority of those who thought on the subject at all.
But all talk of majority and minority is futile. It is evident that we must not consider majority versus minority, but only the methods by which unity is attained. Our fetich of majorities has held us back, but most of the plans for stopping the control of majorities look to all kinds of bolstering up of minorities. This keeps majorities and minorities apart, whereas they have both one and only use for us—their contribution to the all-will. Because such integration must always be the ideal in a democracy, we cannot be much interested in those methods for giving the minority more power on election day. The integration must begin further back in our life than this.
I know a woman of small school education, but large native intelligence, who spends her time between her family and the daily laundry work she does to support that family, who, when she goes to her Mothers’ Club at the “School Centre” penetrates all the superficialities she may find there, and makes every other woman go home with higher standards for her home, her children and herself. The education of children, the opportunities of employment for girls and boys, sanitation, housing, and all the many questions which touch one’s everyday life are considered in a homely way on those Thursday afternoons. Sometime these women will vote on these questions, but a true intermingling of majority and minority will have taken place before election day.
Moreover, while representation of the minority, as proportional representation,[66]is always an interesting experiment, just because it is a method of representationand not a mode of association the party can circumvent it. We are told that minority representation tried in the lower house of the Illinois legislature has been completely subverted to their own ends by the politicians. And also that in Belgium, where proportional representation has been introduced, this system has become a tool in the hands of the dominant party. No electoral or merely representative method can save us.
Representation is not the main fact of political life; the main concern of politics ismodes of association. We do not want the rule of the many or the few; we must find that method of political procedure by which majority and minority ideas may be so closely interwoven that we are truly ruled by the will of the whole. We shall have democracy only when we learn to produce this will through group organization—when young men are no longer lectured to on democracy, but when they are made into the stuff of democracy.
XVIIIDEMOCRACY NOT THE CROWD: OUR POPULAR DELUSION
WHEN we define democracy as the “rule of the whole,” this is usually understood as the rule of all, and unless we fully understand the meaning of “all,” we run the danger of falling a victim to the crowd fallacy. The reaction to our long years of particularism, of “individual rights” and “liberty,” which led to special privilege and all the evils in its train, has brought many to the worship of the crowd. Walt Whitman sang of men “en masse.” Many of our recent essayists and poets and novelists idealize the crowd. Miss Jane Harrison in her delightful volume, “Alpha and Omega,” says, “Human life is lived to the full only in and through the herd.” There is an interesting group of young poets in France[67]who call themselves Unanimistes because they believe in the union of all, that an “Altogetherness” is the supreme fact of life. Mr. Ernest Poole in “The Harbor” glorifies the crowd, and the New York “Tribune” said of this book, “‘The Harbor’ is the first really notable novel produced by the New Democracy,” thus identifying the new democracy with the crowd. Another writer, looking at our present socialand political organization and finding it based largely on class and therefore unsound, also leaps to the conclusion that our salvation rests not on this individual or that, this class or that, this body of people or that, but on all together, on “this mass-life, seething, tumultuous, without compass or guide or will or plan.”
This school is doing good service in leading us from the few or the many to the all, in preaching that the race contains within itself the power of its own advancement; but this power which the race contains within itself is not got through its being a crowd, “without guide or will or plan,” but just because it contains the potentialities of guide, will, plan, all within itself, through its capability of being a true society, that is, through its capability of adopting group methods. It is in the group that we get that complex interpenetration which means both modification and adjustment and at the same time coöperation and fulfilment. The group process, not the crowd or the herd, is the social process. Out of the intermingling, interacting activities of men and women surge up the forces of life: powers are born which we had not dreamed of, ideas take shape and grow, forces are generated which act and react on each other. This is the dialectic of life. But this upspringing of power from our hidden sources is not the latent power of the mass but of the group. It is useless to preach “togetherness” until we have devised ways of making our togetherness fruitful, until we have thought out the methods of a genuine, integrated togetherness. Anything else is indeed “blubbering sentimentality,” as Bismarck defined democracy.
But there are two sets of people who are victims of the crowd fallacy: those who apotheosize the crowd and those who denounce the crowd; both ignore the group. The latter fear the crowd because they see in the crowdthe annihilation of the individual. They are opposed to what they call collective action because they say that this is herd action and does not allow for individual initiative. We are told, “Man loses his identity in a crowd,” “The crowd obliterates the individual mind.” Quite true, but these writers do not see that the crowd is not the only form of association, that man may belong to a group rather than to a crowd, and that a group fulfils, not wipes out his individuality. The collective action of the group not only allows but consists of individual initiative, of an individual initiative that has learned how to be part of a collective initiative.
Collective thought, moreover, is often called collective mediocrity. But the collective thought evolved by the group is not collective mediocrity. On the contrary there is always a tendency for the group idea to express the largest degree of psychic force there is in a group, ideally it would always do so. Herein lies the difference between the group idea and the mass idea. When we hear it stated as a commonplace of human affairs that combined action is less intelligent than individual action, we must point out that it all depends upon whether it is a crowd combination or a group combination. The insidious error that democracy means the “average” is at the root of much of our current thought.
The confusion of democratic rule and mass rule, the identification of the people with the crowd, has led many people to denounce democracy. One writer, thinking the collective man and the crowd man the same, condemns democracy because of his condemnation of the crowd man. Another speaks of “the crowd-mind or the state,” and therefore abandons the state. All these writers think that the more democracy, the more complete the control of the crowd. Our faith in democracy means a profound belief that this need not betrue. Moreover this idea that the crowd man must necessarily be the unit of democracy has led many to oppose universal suffrage because they have seen it as a particularist suffrage, giving equal value, they say, to the enlightened and the unenlightened. True democracy frees us from such particularist point of view. It is the group man, not the crowd man, who must be the unit of democracy.
The philosophy of the all is supposed, by its advocates, to be opposed to the philosophy of the individual, but it is interesting to notice that the crowd theory and the particularistic theory rest on the same fallacy, namely, looking on individuals one by one: the crowd doctrine is an attempt to unite mechanically the isolated individuals we have so ardently believed in. This is the danger of the crowd. The crowd idea of sovereignty is thoroughly atomistic. This is sometimes called an era of crowds, sometimes an era of individuals: such apparent opposition of judgment need not confuse us, the crowd spirit and the particularistic spirit are the same; that spirit will continue to corrupt politics and disrupt society until we replace it by the group spirit.
The crowd theory, like the particularist doctrine, has been strengthened by the upholders of the imitation theory of society. Many of our political as well as our sociological writers have seen life as some exceptional individual suggesting and the crowd following without reasoning, without effort of mind or will. Even Bagehot, who did so much to set us in the right way of thinking, overemphasizes the part of imitation. What he says of the “imitative part of our natures” is indeed true, but by not mentioning the creative part of our natures more explicitly, he keeps himself in the crowd school.
It is true that at present the people are to a large extent a mass led by those who suggest. The suggestionand imitation of sociology are the leading and following of politics—the leadership of the boss and the following of the mass. The successful politician is one who understands crowds and how to dominate them. He appeals to the emotions, he relies on repetition, he invents catch phrases. The crowd follows. As long as the corner-stone of our political philosophy is the theory that the individual originates and society accepts, of course any man who can get the people to “accept” will do so. This is the fallacy at the foundation of our political structure. When we have a genuine democracy, we shall not have the defective political machinery of the present, but some method by which people will be able not to accept or reject but to create group or whole ideas, to produce a genuine collective will. Because we have invented some governmental machinery by which clever politicians can rule with the entirely artificial “assent” of their constituencies, does not mean that we know anything about democracy.
It is the ignoring of the group which is retarding our political development. A recent writer on political science says that a study of the interaction between individual and crowd is the basis of politics, and that “the will of nations or states is the sum of individual wills fashioned in accordance with crowd psychology.” In so far as this is true it is to be steadily opposed. Many writers imply that we must either believe in homogeneity, similarity, uniformity (the herd, the crowd), or lose the advantages of fellowship in order to discover and assert our own particularistic ideals. But our alternatives are not the individual and the crowd: the choice is not between particularism with all its separatist tendencies, and the crowd with its levelling, its mediocrity, its sameness, perhaps even its hysteria; there is the neglected group. Democracy will not succeed untilassemblages of people are governed consciously and deliberately by group laws. We read, “No idea can conquer until a crowd has inscribed it on its banner.” I should say, “No idea can finally conquer which has not been created by those people who inscribe it on their banner.” The triumph of ideas will never come by crowds. Union, not hypnotism, is the law of development. There can be no real spiritual unity in the mass life, only in the group life.
Whether the people of America shall be a crowd, under the laws of suggestion and imitation, or follow the laws of the group, is the underlying problem of to-day.
The promise for the future is that there now is in associations of men an increasing tendency for the laws of the group rather than the laws of the crowd to govern. Our most essential duty to the future is to see that that tendency prevail. As we increase the conscious functioning of the group we shall inevitably have less and less of the unconscious response, chauvinists will lose their job, and party bosses will have to change their tactics. People as a matter of fact are not as suggestible as formerly. Men are reading more widely and they are following less blindly what they read.
This largely increased reading, due to reduction in price, spread of railroads, rural delivery, and lessening hours of industry, is often spoken of as making men more alike in their views. Tarde spoke of the “public,” which he defined as the people sitting at home reading newspapers, as a mental collectivity because of this supposed tendency. Christensen confirms this when he says that the people reading the newspapers are “a scattered crowd.” The usually accepted opinion is that the daily press is making us more and more into crowds, but that is not my experience. A man with his daily paper may be obeying the group law or the crowd law as he uniteshis own thoughts with the thoughts of others or as he is merely amenable to suggestion from others, and it seems to me we see a good deal of the former process. The newspaper brings home to us vividly what others are feeling and thinking. It offers many suggestions; we see less and less tendency to “swallow these whole,” the colloquial counterpart of the technical “imitation.” These suggestions are freely criticized, readers do a good deal of thinking and the results are fairly rational. The reader more and more I believe is selecting, is unifying difference. The result of all this is that men’s minds are becoming more plastic, that they are deciding less by prejudice and hypnotism and more by judgment. And it must be remembered that a man is not necessarily a more developed person because he rejects his newspaper’s theories than if he accepts them; the developed man is the group man and the group man neither accepts nor rejects, but joins his own thought with that of all he reads to make new thought. The group man is never sterile, he always brings forth.[68]
Democracy can never mean the domination of the crowd. The helter-skelter strivings of an endless number of social atoms can never give us a fair and ordered world. It may be true that we have lived under the domination either of individuals or of crowds up to the present time, but now is the moment when this must be deliberately challenged. The party boss must go, thewise men chosen by the reform associations must go, the crowd must be abandoned. The idea of the All has gripped us—but the idea has not been made workable, we have yet to find the way. We have said, “The people must rule.” We now ask, “How are they to rule?” It is the technique of democracy which we are seeking. We shall find it in group organization.
XIXTHE TRUE DEMOCRACY
DEMOCRACY is the rule of an interacting, interpermeating whole. The present advocates of democracy have, therefore, little kinship with those ardent writers of the past who when they said they believed in the people were thinking of working-men only. A man said to me once, “I am very democratic, I thoroughly enjoy a good talk with a working-man.” What in the world has that to do with democracy? Democracy is faith in humanity, not faith in “poor” people or “ignorant” people, but faith in every living soul. Democracy does not enthrone the working-man, it has nothing to do with sympathy for the “lower classes”; the champions of democracy are not looking down to raise any one up, they recognize that all men must face each other squarely with the knowledge that the give-and-take between them is to be equal.
The enthusiasts of democracy to-day are those who have caught sight of a great spiritual unity which is supported by the most vital trend in philosophical thought and by the latest biologists and social psychologists. It is, above all, what we have learnt of the psychical processes of association which makes us believe in democracy. Democracy is every one building the single life, not my life and others, not the individual and the state, but my life bound up with others, the individual whichisthe state, the state whichisthe individual. “When a man’s eye shall be single”—do we quite know yet what that means? Democracy is the fullest possible acceptance of the single life.
Thus democracy, although often considered a centrifugal tendency, is rather a centripetal force. Democracy is not a spreading out: it is not the extension of the suffrage—its merely external aspect—it is a drawing together; it is the imperative call for the lacking parts of self. It is the finding of the one will to which the will of every single man and woman must contribute. We want women to vote not that the suffrage may be extended to women but that women may be included in the suffrage: we want what they may have to add to the whole. Democracy is an infinitely including spirit. We have an instinct for democracy because we have an instinct for wholeness; we get wholeness only through reciprocal relations, through infinitely expanding reciprocal relations. Democracy is really neither extending nor including merely, but creating wholes.
This is the primitive urge of all life. This is the true nature of man. Democracy must find a form of government that is suited to the nature of man and which will express that nature in its manifold relations. Or rather democracy is the self-creating process of life appearing as the true nature of man, and through the activity of man projecting itself into the visible world in fitting form so that its essential oneness will declare itself. Democracy then is not an end, we must be weaving all the time the web of democracy.
The idea of democracy as representing the all-will gives us a new idea of aristocracy. We believe in the few but not as opposed to the many, only as included in all. This makes a tremendous change in political thought. We believe in the influence of the good and the wise, but they must exert their influence within the social process; it must be by action and reaction, it must be by a subtle permeation, it must be through the sporting instinct to take back the ball which one has thrown. The wise cannever help us by standing on one side and trying to get their wisdom across to the unwise. The unwise can never help us (what has often been considered the most they could do for the world) by a passive willingness for the wise to impose their wisdom upon them. We need the intermingling of all in the social process. We need our imperfections as well as our perfections. So we offer what we have—our unwisdom, our imperfections—on the altar of the social process, and it is only by this social process that the wonderful transmutation can take place which makes of them the very stuff of which the Perfect Society is to be made. Imperfection meets imperfection, or imperfection meets perfection; it is theprocesswhich purifies, not the “influence” of the perfect on the imperfect. This is what faith in democracy means. Moreover, there is the ignorance of the ignorant and the ignorance of the wise; there is the wisdom of the wise and the wisdom of the ignorant. Both kinds of ignorance have to be overcome, one as much as the other; both kinds of wisdom have to prevail, one as much as the other.
In short, there is not a static world for the wise to influence. This truth is the blow to the old aristocracy. But we need the wise within this living, moving whole, this never-ceasing action and interaction, and this truth is the basis of our new conception of aristocracy. Democracy is not opposed to aristocracy—it includes aristocracy.
As biology shows us nature evolving by the power within itself, so social psychology shows us society evolving by the power of its own inner forces, ofallits inner forces. There is no passive material within it to be guided by a few. There is no dead material in a true democracy.
When people see the confusion of our present life, itsformlessness and planlessness, the servile following of the crowd, the ignorance of the average man, his satisfaction in his ignorance, the insignificance of the collective life, its blindness and its hopelessness, they say they do not believe in democracy. But this is not democracy. The so-called evils of democracy—favoritism, bribery, graft, bossism—are the evils of our lack of democracy, of our party system and of the abuses which that system has brought into our representative government. It is not democracy which is “on trial,” as is so often said, but it is we ourselves who are on trial. We have been constantly trying to see what democracy meant from the point of view of institutions, we have never yet tried to see what it meant from the point of view of men.
If life could be made mechanical, our method would be correct, but as mechanics is creature and life its superabounding creator, such method is wholly wrong. When people say that the cure for the evils of democracy is more democracy, they usually mean that while we have some “popular” institutions, we have not enough, and that when we get enough “popular” institutions, our inadequacies will be met. But no form is going to fulfil our needs. This is important to remember just now, with all the agitation for “democratic control.” You cannot establish democratic control by legislation: it is not democratic control to allow the people to assent to or refuse a war decided on by diplomats; there is only one way to get democratic control—by people learning how to evolve collective ideas. The essence of democracy is not in institutions, is not even in “brotherhood”; it is in that organizing of men which makes most sure, most perfect, the bringing forth of the common idea. Democracy has one task only—to free the creative spirit of man. This is done through group organization. Weare sometimes told that democracy is an attitude and must grow up in the hearts of men. But this is not enough. Democracy is a method, a scientific technique of evolving the will of the people. For this reason the study of group psychology is a necessary preliminary to the study of democracy. Neither party bosses nor unscrupulous capitalists are our undoing, but our own lack of knowing how to do things together.
The startling truth that the war is bringing home to many of us is that unity must be something more than a sentiment, it must be an actual system of organization. We are now beginning to see that if you want the fruits of unity, you musthaveunity, a real unity, a coöperative collectivism. Unity is neither a sentiment nor an intellectual conception, it is a psychological process produced by actual psychic interaction.
How shall we gain a practical understanding of this essential unity of man? By practising it with the first person we meet; by approaching every man with the consciousness of the complexity of his needs, of the vastness of his powers. Much is written of the power of history and tradition in giving unity to a community or nation. This has been overemphasized. If this were the only way of getting unity, there would be little hope for the future in America, where we have to make a unity of people with widely differing traditions, and little hope for the future in Europe where peace is unthinkable unless the past can be forgotten and new ties made on the basis of mutual understanding and mutual obligation. To have democracy we must live it day by day. Democracy is the actual commingling of men in order that each shall have continuous access to the needs and the wants of others. Democracy is not a form of government; the democratic soul is born within the group and then it develops its own forms.
Democracy then is a great spiritual force evolving itself from men, utilizing each, completing his incompleteness by weaving together all in the many-membered community life which is the true Theophany. The world to-day is growing more spiritual, and I say this not in spite of the Great War, but because of all this war has shown us of the inner forces bursting forth in fuller and fuller expression. The Great War has been the Great Call to humanity and humanity is answering. It is breaking down the ramparts to free the way for the entrance of a larger spirit which is to fill every single being by interflowing between them all. France, England, America—how the beacon lights flash from one to the other—the program of the British Labor Party, the speeches of our American President, the news of the indomitable courage of France—these are like the fires in Europe on St. John’s Eve, which flash their signals from hill-top to hill-top. Even the school children of France and America write letters to each other. American men and women are working for the reconstruction of France as they would work for the reconstruction of their own homes—and all this because we are all sharing the same hope. A new faith is in our hearts. The Great War is the herald of another world for men. The coming of democracy is the spiritual rebirth. We have been told that our physical birth and life are not all, that we are to be born again of water and the spirit. Not indeed ofwaterand spirit, but ofbloodand spirit, are the warring children of men, a groaning, growing humanity, coming to the Great Rebirth.
XXTHE GROWTH OF DEMOCRACY IN AMERICA
THE two problems of democracy to-day are: (1) how to make the individual politically effective, and (2) how to give practical force to social policies. Both of these mean that the individual is at last recognized in political life. The history of democracy has been the history of the steady growth towards individualism. The hope of democracy rests on the individual. It is all one whether we say that democracy is the development of the social consciousness, or that democracy is the development of individualism; until we have become in some degree socially conscious we shall not realize the value of the individual. It is not insignificant that a marked increase in the appreciation of social values has gone hand in hand with a growing recognition of the individual.
From the Middle Ages the appreciation of the individual has steadily grown. The Reformation in the sixteenth century was an individualistic movement. The apotheosis of the individual, however, soon led us astray, involving as it did an entirely erroneous notion of the relation of the individual to society, and gave us the false political philosophy of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Men thought of individuals as separate and then had to invent fictions to join them, hence the social contract fiction. The social contract theory was based on the idea of the state as an aggregate of units; it therefore followed that the rights of those units must be maintained. Thus individual rights became a kind of contractual rights. And during the nineteenth century, fostered by Bentham’sideas of individual happiness, by thelaissez-faireof the Manchester school and the new industrial order, by Herbert Spencer’s interpretations of the recent additions to biological knowledge, by Mill, etc., the doctrine of “individual rights” became more firmly entrenched. Government interference was strenuously resisted, “individual” freedom was the goal of our desire, “individual” competition and the survival of the fittest the accredited method of progress. The title of Herbert Spencer’s book, “The Man versus the State,” implies the whole of this false political philosophy built on an unrelated individual.
But during the latter part of the nineteenth century there began to grow up, largely at first through the influence of T. H. Green, influenced in his turn by Kant and Hegel, an entirely different theory of the state. The state was now not to be subordinate to the individual, but it was to be the fulfilment of the individual. Man was to get his rights and his liberty from membership in society. Green had at once a large influence on the political thought of England and America, and gradually, with other influences, upon practical politics. The growing recognition of the right and duty of the state to foster the life of its members, so clearly and unequivocally expressed in the social legislation of Lloyd George, we see as early as the Education Act of 1870, the Factory Act of 1878 (which systematized and extended previous Factory Acts), and the various mines and collieries acts from 1872.
I do not mean to imply that the growing activity of the state was due entirely or mainly to the change of theory in regard to the individual and the state; when the disastrous results oflaissez-fairewere seen, then people demanded state regulation of industry. Theory and practice have acted and reacted on each other. Some one must trace for us, step by step, the interaction of theoryand practice in regard to the individual and his relation to society, from the Middle Ages down to the present day.[69]
What has been the trend of our development in America? Particularism was at its zenith when our government was founded. Our growth has been away from particularism and towards a true individualism.[70]
It is usual to say that the framers of our constitution were individualists and gave to our government an individualistic turn. We must examine this. They did safeguard and protect the individual in his life and property, they did make the bills of rights an authoritative part of our constitutions, they did make it possible for individuals to aggrandize themselves at the expense of society, their ideal of justice was indeed of individual not of social justice. And yet all this was negative. The individual was given no large positive function. The individual was feared and suspected. Our early constitutions showed no faith in men: the Massachusetts constitution expressly stated that it was not a government of men. The law of the land was embodied in written documents with great difficulty of amendment just because the people were not trusted. As we look at the crudities of the Declaration of Independence, as we examine our aristocratic state constitutions, as we study our restricted federal constitution, as we read the borrowed philosophy of our early statesmen, we see very little indication of modern democracy with its splendid faith in man, but a tendency towards aristocracy and a lack of real individualism on every side.
To be sure it was at the same time true that the government was given no positive power. Every one wasthoroughly frightened of governments which were founded on status and resulted in arbitrary authority. The executive power was feared, therefore it was so equipped as to be unequal to its task; the legislative power was feared, so the courts were given power over the legislatures, were allowed to declare their acts valid or invalid; the national government was feared, therefore Congress was given only certain powers. Power was not granted because no man and no institution was trusted. The will to act could not be a motive force in 1789, because no embodiment of the will was trusted; the framers of our constitutions could not conceive of a kind of will which could be trusted. Fear, not faith, suspicion not trust, were the foundation of our early government. The government had, therefore, no large formative function, it did not look upon itself as a large social power. As the individual was to be protected, the government was to protect. All our thinking in the latter part of the eighteenth century was rooted in the idea of a weak government; this has been thought to show our individualism.[71]
But our government as imagined by its founders did not work.[72]Our system of checks and balances gave noreal power to any department. Above all there was no way of fixing responsibility. A condition of chaos was the result. Such complicated machinery was almost unworkable; there was no way of getting anything done under our official system. Moreover, the individual was not satisfied with his function of being protected, he wanted an actual share in the government. Therefore an extra-official system was adopted, the party organization. The two chief reasons for this adoption were: (1) to give the individual some share in government, (2) to give the government a chance to carry out definite policies, to provide some kind of a unifying power.
What effect has party organization had on the individual and on government? The domination of the party gives no real opportunity to the individual: originality is crushed; the aim of all party organization is to turn out a well-running voting machine. The party is not interested in men but in voters—an entirely different matter. Party organization created artificial majorities, but gave to the individual little power in or connection with government. The basic weakness of party organization is that the individual gets his significance only through majorities. Any method which looks to the fulfilment of the individual through the domination of majorities is necessarily not only partial but false. The present demand that the nation shall have the full power of the individual is the heaviest blow that party organization has ever received.
Now consider, on the other hand, what party organization has done for the government. The powers of government moved steadily to political bosses and business corporations. Boss-rule, party domination and combinations of capital filled in the gaps in the system of government we inaugurated in the eighteenth century. The marriage of business and politics, while it has beenthe chief factor in entrenching the party system, was the outcome of that system, or rather it was the outcome of the various unworkabilities of our official government. The expansion of big business, with its control of politics, evasion of law, was inevitable; we simply had no machinery adequate to our need, namely, the development of a vast, untouched continent. The urge of that development was an overwhelming force which swept irresistibly on, carrying everything before it, swallowing up legal disability, creating for itself extra-legal methods. We have now, therefore, a system of party organization and political practice which subverts all our theories. Theoretically the people have the power, but really the government is the primaries, the conventions, the caucuses. Officials hold from the party. Party politics became corrupt because party government was irresponsible government. The insidious power of the machine is due to its irresponsibility.
The evils of our big business have not come because Americans are prone to cheat, because they want to get the better of their fellows, because their greed is inordinate, their ambition domineering. Individuals have not been to blame, but our whole system. It is the system which must be changed. Our constitutions and laws made possible the development of big business; our courts were not “bought” by big business, but legal decision and business practice were formed by the same inheritance and tradition. The reformation of neither will accomplish the results we wish, but the nation-wide acceptance, through all classes and all interests, of a different point of view.
The next step was the wave of reform that swept over the country. The motive was excellent; the method poor. The method was poor because the same method was adopted which these reform movements were organizedto fight, one based on pure crowd philosophy. It was a curious case of astigmatism. The trouble was that the reformers did not see accurately what they were fighting; they were fighting essentially the non-recognition of the individual, but they did not see this, so they went on basing all their own work on the non-appreciation of men. Their essential weakness was the weakness of the party machine—all their efforts were turned to the voter not the man. Their triumphs were always the triumphs of the polls. Their methods were principally three: change in the forms of government (charters, etc.), the nomination of “good” men to office, and exhortation to induce “the people” to elect them.
The idea of “good” men in office was the fetich of many reform associations. They thought that their job was to find three or four “good” men and then once a year to hypnotize the electorate to “do their duty” and put these men into office, and then all would go well if before another year three or four more good men could be found. What a futile and childish idea which leaves out of account the whole body of citizenship! It is only through this main body of citizenship that we can have a decent government and a sound social life. That is, in other words, it is only by a genuine appreciation of the individual, of every single individual, that there can be any reform movement with strength and constructive power. The wide-spread fallacy that good officials make a good city is one which lies at the root of much of our thinking and insidiously works to ruin our best plans, our most serious efforts. This extraordinary belief in officials, this faith in the panacea of a change of charters, must go. If our present mechanical government is to turn into a living, breathing, pulsing life, it must be composed of an entire citizenship educated and responsible.
This the reform associations now recognize, in some cases partially, in some cases fully. The good government association of to-day has a truer idea of its function. The campaign for the election of city officials is used as a means of educating the mass of citizens: besides the investigation and publication of facts, there is often a clear showing of the aims of government and an enlightening discussion of method. Such associations have always considered the interests of the city as a whole; they have not appealed, like the party organizations, to local sentiment.
I have spoken of the relation of the reform movement of the last of the nineteenth century to the body of citizenship. What was its relation to government? The same spirit applied to government meant patching, mending, restraining, but it did not mean constructive work, it had not a formative effect on our institutions. Against any institution that has to be guarded every moment lest it do evil, there is a strong a priori argument that it should not exist. This until recently has not been sufficiently taken into account. Now, however, in the beginning of the twentieth century, we see many evidences that the old era of restraint is over and the constructive period of reform begun. We see it, for instance, in our Bureaus of Municipal Research; we see it in the more progressive sections of our state constitutional conventions. But the chief error of the nineteenth-century reformers was not that they were reactionary, nor that they were timid, nor that they were insincere, nor that they were hedgers. They were wanting in neither sincerity nor courage. Their error was simply that they did not appreciate the value of the individual. Individualism instead of being something we are getting away from, is something we are just catching sight of.
And if our institutions were founded on a false politicalphilosophy which taught “individual rights,” distorted ideas of liberty and equality, and thought of man versus the state, if our political development was influenced by a false social psychology which saw the people as a crowd and gave them first to the party bosses and next to the social reformers, our whole material development was dominated by a false economic philosophy which saw the greatest good of all obtained by each following his own good in his own way. This did not mean the development of individuals but the crushing of individuals—of all but a few. The Manchester school of economics, which was bound to flourish extensively under American conditions, combined with a narrow legal point of view, which for a hundred years interpreted our constitutions in accordance with an antiquated philosophy and a false psychology, to make particularism the dominant note in American life.
The central point of our particularism was the idea of being let alone. First, theindividualwas to be let alone, the pioneer on his reclaimed land or the pioneer of industry. But when men saw that their gains would be greater by some sort of combination, then thetrustswere to be let alone—freedom of contract was called liberty! Our courts, completely saturated with this philosophy, let the trusts alone. The interpretations of our courts, our corrupt party organization, our institutions and our social philosophy, hastened and entrenched the monopolistic age. Natural rights meant property rights. The power of single men or single corporations at the end of the nineteenth century marked the height of our particularism, of our subordination of the state to single members. They were likepâté de foie grasmade by the enlargement of the goose’s liver. It is usual to disregard the goose. The result of our false individualism has been non-conservation of our national resources, exploitationof labor, and political corruption. We see the direct outcome in our slums, our unregulated industries, our “industrial unrest,” etc.
But egotism, materialism, anarchy are not true individualism. To-day, however, we have many evidences of the steadily increasing appreciation of the individual and a true understanding of his place in society, his relation to the state. Chief among these are: (1) the movement towards industrial democracy, (2) the woman movement, (3) the increase of direct government, and (4) the introduction of social programs into party platforms. These are parallel developments from the same root. What we have awakened to now is the importance of every single man.
The first, the trend towards industrial democracy, will, in its relation to the new state, be considered later. The second, the woman movement, belongs to the past rather than to the present. Its culmination has overrun the century mark and makes what is really a nineteenth-century movement seem as if it belonged to the twentieth. It belongs to the past because it is merely the end of the movement for the extension of the suffrage. Our suffrage rested originally in many states on property distinctions; in New Hampshire there was a religious and property qualification,—only Protestant tax-payers could vote. Gradually it became manhood suffrage, then the immigrants were admitted, later the negroes, then Colorado opened its suffrage to women, and now in thirteen states women have the full suffrage. The essence of the woman movement is not that women as women should have the vote, but that women as individuals should have the vote. There is a fundamental distinction here.
The third and fourth indications of the growth of democracy, or the increase of individualism (I speak of these always as synonymous)—the tendency towardsmore and more direct government and the introduction of social programs into party platforms—will be considered in the next chapter together with a third tendency in American politics which is bound up with these two: I refer to the increase of administrative responsibility.
The theory of government based on individual rights no longer has a place in modern political theory; it no longer guides us entirely in legislation but has yielded largely to a truer practice; yet it still occupies a large place in current thought, in the speeches of our practical politicians, in our institutions of government, and in America in our law court decisions. This being so it is important for us to look for the reasons. First, there are of course always many people who trail along behind. Secondly, partly through the influence of Green and Bosanquet, the idea of contract has been slowly fading away, and many people have been frightened at its disappearance because Hegelianism, even in the modified form in which it appears in English theory,seemsto enthrone the state and override the individual.[73]Third, the large influence which Tarde, Le Bon, and their followers have had upon us with their suggestion and imitation theories of society—theories based on a pure particularism. The development of social and political organization has been greatly retarded by this school of sociology. Fourth, our economic development is still associated in the minds of many with the theories of individual rights.
A more penetrating analysis of society during recent years, however, has uncovered the true conception of individualism hidden from the first within the “individualistic” movement. All through history we see the feelingout for the individual; there are all the false trails followed and there are the real steps taken. The false trails led to the individual rights of politics, thelaissez-faireof economics and our whole false particularism. The real steps have culminated in our ideas of to-day. To substitute for the fictitious democracy of equal rights and “consent of the governed,” the living democracy of a united, responsible people is the task of the twentieth century. We seek now the method.