{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_20814/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_20814","id":"gutenberg_20814","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20814","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - Warfare","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Psychiatry/Psychology","Education","History -- Philosophy","Philosophy","War"],"text":"Produced by R. Cedron, Jeannie Howse and DP-EU at www.dp.rastko.net.\n\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n    | Transcriber's Note:                                       |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Inconsistent hyphenation, and spelling in the original    |\n    | document have been preserved.                             |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in this  |\n    | text. For a complete list, please see the end of this     |\n    | document.                                                 |\n    |                                                           |\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                      THE PSYCHOLOGY OF\n                           NATIONS\n\n                    A CONTRIBUTION TO THE\n                    PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY\n\n                              BY\n\n                        G.E. PARTRIDGE\n\n\n                           NEW YORK\n                    THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n                             1919\n\n\n\n\n                       COPYRIGHT, 1919\n                   BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\n      Set up and electrotyped. Published, November, 1919\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThis book contains two closely related studies of the consciousness of\nnations. It has been written during the closing months of the war and\nin the days that have followed, and is completed while the Peace\nConference is still in session, holding in the balance, as many\nbelieve, the fate of many hopes, and perhaps the whole future of the\nworld. We see focussed there in Paris all the motives that have ever\nentered into human history and all the ideals that have influenced\nhuman affairs. The question must have arisen in all minds in, some\nform as to what the place of these motives and ideals and dramatic\nmoments is in the progress of the world. Is the world governed after\nall by the laws of nature in all its progress? Do ideals and motives\ngovern the world, but only as these ideals and motives are themselves\nproduced according to biological or psychological principles? Or,\nagain, does progress depend upon historical moments, upon conscious\npurposes which may divert the course of nature and in a real sense\ncreate the future? It is with the whole problem of history that we are\nconfronted in these practical hours. At heart our problem is that of\nthe place of man in nature as a conscious factor of progress. This is\na problem, finally, of the philosophy of history, but it is rather in\na more concrete way and upon a different level that it is to be\nconsidered here,--and somewhat incidentally to other more specific\nquestions. But this is the problem that is always before us, and the\none to which this study aims to make some contribution, however small.\n\nThe first part of the book is a study of the motives of war. It is an\nanalysis of the motives of war in the light of the general principles\nof the development of society. We wish to see what the causes of past\nwars have been, but we wish also to know what these motives are as\nthey may exist as forces in the present state of society. In such a\nstudy, practical questions can never be far away. We can no longer\nstudy war as an abstract psychological problem, since war has brought\nus to a horrifying and humiliating situation. We have discovered that\nour modern world, with all its boasted morality and civilization, is\nactuated, at least in its relations among nations, by very unsocial\nmotives. We live in a world in which nations thus far have been for\nthe most part dominated by a theory of States as absolutely sovereign\nand independent of one another. Now it becomes evident that a logical\nconsequence of that theory of States is absolute war. A prospect of a\nfuture of absolute war in a world in which industrial advances have\nplaced in the hands of men such terrible forces of destruction, an\nabsolute warfare that can now be carried into the air and under the\nsea is what makes any investigation of the motives of war now a very\npractical problem.\n\nIf the urgency of our situation drives us to such studies and makes us\nhasten to apply even an immature sociology and psychology, it ought\nnot to prejudice our minds and make us, for example, fall into the\nerror of wanting peace at any price--an ideal which, as a practical\nnational philosophy, might be even worse than a spirit of militarism.\nWhat we need to know, finally, in order to avoid these errors which at\nleast we may imagine, is what, in the most fundamental way, progress\nmay be conceived to be. If we could discover that, and set our minds\nto the task of making the social life progressive, we might be willing\nto let wars take care of themselves, so to speak, without any radical\nphilosophy of good and evil. We ought at least to examine war fairly,\nand to see what, in the waging of war, man has really desired. A study\nof war ought to help us to decide whether we must accept our future,\nwith its possibility of wars, as a kind of fate, or whether we must\nnow begin, with a new idea of conscious evolution, to apply our\nscience and our philosophy and our practical wisdom seriously for the\nfirst time to the work of creating history, and no longer be content\nmerely to live it.\n\nAs to the details of the study of war--we first of all consider the\norigin and the biological aspects of war; then war as related to the\ndevelopment, in the social life and in the life of the individual, of\nthe motive of power. The instincts that are most concerned in the\ndevelopment of this motive of power are then considered, and also the\nrelations of war to the aesthetic impulses and to art. Nationalism,\nnational honor and patriotism are studied as causes of war. The\nvarious \"causes\" that are brought forward as the principles fought for\nare examined; also the philosophical influences, the moral and\nreligious motives and the institutional factors among the motives of\nwar. Finally the economic and political motives and the historical\ncauses are considered. The conclusion is reached that the motive of\npower, as the fundamental principle of behavior at the higher levels,\nis the principle of war, but that in so general a form it goes but a\nlittle way toward being an explanation of war. We find the real causes\nof war by tracing out the development of this motive of power as it\nappears in what we call the \"intoxication impulse,\" and in the idea of\nnational honor and in the political motives of war. It is in these\naspects of national life that we find the motives of war as they may\nbe considered as a practical problem. But we find no separate causes,\nand we do not find a chain of causes that might be broken somewhere\nand thus war be once for all eliminated. Wars are products of the\nwhole character of nations, so to speak, and it is national character\nthat must be considered in any practical study of war. It is by the\ndevelopment of the character of nations in a natural process, or by\nthe education of national character, that war will be made to give\nway to perpetual peace, if such a state ever comes, rather than by a\npolitical readjustment or by legal enactments, however necessary as\nbeginnings or makeshifts these legal and political changes may be.\n\nThe second part of the book is a study of our present situation as an\neducational problem, in which we have for the first time a problem of\neducating national consciousness as a whole, or the individuals of a\nnation with reference to a world-consciousness. The study has\nreference especially to the conditions in our own country, but it also\nhas general significance. The war has brought many changes, and in\nevery phase of life we see new problems. These may seem at the moment\nto be separate and detached conditions which must be dealt with, each\nby itself, but this is not so; they are all aspects of fundamental\nchanges and new conditions, the main feature of which is the new\nworld-consciousness of which we speak. Whatever one's occupation, one\ncannot remain unaffected by these changes, or escape entirely the\nstress that the need of adjustment to new ideas and new conditions\ncompels. What we may think about the future--about what can be done\nand what ought to be done, is in part, and perhaps largely, a matter\nof temperament. At least we see men, presumably having access to the\nsame facts, drawing from them very different conclusions. Some are\nkeyed to high expectations; they look for revolutions, mutations, a\nnew era in politics and everywhere in the social life. For them, after\nthe war, the world is to be a new world. Fate will make a new deal.\nOthers appear to believe that after the flurry is over we shall settle\ndown to something very much like the old order. These are conservative\npeople, who neither desire nor expect great changes. Others take a\nmore moderate course. While improvement is their great word, they are\ninclined to believe that the new order will grow step by step out of\nthe old, and that good will come out of the evil only in so far as we\nstrive to make it. We shall advance along the old lines of progress,\nbut faster, perhaps, and with life attuned to a higher note.\n\nThe writer of this book must confess that he belongs in a general way\nto the third species of these prophets. There is a natural order of\nprogress, but the good must, we may suppose, also be worked for step\nby step. The war will have placed in our hands no golden gift of a new\nsociety; both the ways and the direction of progress must be sought\nand determined by ideals. The point of view in regard to progress, at\nleast as a working hypothesis, becomes an educational one, in a broad\nsense. Our future we must make. We shall not make it by politics. The\ninstitutions with which politics deals are dangerous cards to play.\nThere is too much convention clinging to them, and they are too\nclosely related to all the supports of the social order. The\nindustrial system, the laws, the institutions of property and rights,\nthe form of government, we change at our own risk. Naturally many\nradical minds look to the abrupt alteration of these fundamental\ninstitutions for the cure of existing evils, and others look there\nfurtively for the signs of coming revolution, and the destruction of\nall we have gained thus far by civilization. But at a different level,\nwhere life is more plastic--in the lives of the young, and in the vast\nunshaped forms of the common life everywhere, all this is different.\nWe do not expect abrupt changes here nor quick and visible results.\nExperimentation is still possible and comparatively safe. There is no\none institution of this common and unformed life, not even the school\nitself, that supports the existing structures, so that if we move it\nin the wrong way, everything else will fall. When we see we are wrong,\nthere is still time to correct our mistakes.\n\nOur task, then, is to see what the forces are that have brought us to\nwhere we stand now, and to what influences they are to be subjected,\nif they are to carry us onward and upward in our course. Precisely\nwhat the changes in government or anywhere in the social order should\nbe is not the chief interest, from this point of view. The details of\nthe constitution of an international league, the practical adjustments\nto be made in the fields of labor, and in the commerce of nations,\nbelong to a different order of problems. We wish rather to see what\nthe main currents of life, especially in our own national life, are,\nand what in the most general way we are to think and do, if the\npresent generation is to make the most of its opportunities as a\nfactor in the work of conscious evolution.\n\nThe bibliography shows the main sources of the facts and the theories\nthat have been drawn upon in writing the book. Some of the chapters\nhave been read in a little different form as lectures before President\nG. Stanley Hall's seminar at Clark University. More or less of\nrepetition, made necessary in order to make these papers, which were\nread at considerable intervals, independent of one another, has been\nallowed to remain. Perhaps in the printed form this reiteration will\nhelp to emphasize the general psychological basis of the study.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n     Preface                                                    v\n\n\nPART I\n\nNATIONAL CONSCIOUSNESS AND THE MOTIVES OF WAR\n\nCHAPTER\n\n   I ORIGINS AND BIOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS                      3\n\n  II UNCONSCIOUS MOTIVES, THE REVERSION THEORIES OF WAR,\n     AND THE INTOXICATION MOTIVE                               17\n\n III INSTINCTS IN WAR: FEAR, HATE, THE AGGRESSIVE IMPULSE,\n      MOTIVES OF COMBAT AND DESTRUCTION, THE SOCIAL INSTINCT   38\n\n  IV AESTHETIC ELEMENTS IN THE MOODS AND IMPULSES OF WAR       70\n\n   V PATRIOTISM, NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL HONOR                78\n\n  VI \"CAUSES\" AS PRINCIPLES AND ISSUES IN WAR                  97\n\n VII PHILOSOPHICAL INFLUENCES                                 110\n\nVIII RELIGIOUS AND MORAL INFLUENCES                           117\n\n  IX ECONOMIC FACTORS AND MOTIVES                             128\n\n   X POLITICAL AND HISTORICAL FACTORS                         142\n\n  XI THE SYNTHESIS OF CAUSES                                  153\n\n\nPART II\n\nTHE EDUCATIONAL FACTOR IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF NATIONS\n\n   I EDUCATIONAL PROBLEMS OF THE DAY                          161\n\n  II INTERNATIONALISM AND THE SCHOOL                          168\n\n III INTERNATIONALISM AND THE SCHOOL _Continued_              184\n\n  IV PEACE AND MILITARISM                                     197\n\n   V THE TEACHING OF PATRIOTISM                               211\n\n  VI THE TEACHING OF PATRIOTISM _Continued_                   226\n\n VII POLITICAL EDUCATION IN A DEMOCRACY                       242\n\nVIII INDUSTRY AND EDUCATION                                   269\n\n  IX NEW SOCIAL PROBLEMS                                      290\n\n   X RELIGION AND EDUCATION AFTER THE WAR                     305\n\n  XI HUMANISM                                                 309\n\n XII AESTHETIC EXPERIENCE IN EDUCATION                        315\n\nXIII MOODS AND EDUCATION: A REVIEW                            319\n\n     BIBLIOGRAPHY                                             327\n\n     INDEX                                                    331\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\nNATIONAL CONSCIOUSNESS AND THE MOTIVES OF WAR\n\n\n\n\nTHE PSYCHOLOGY OF NATIONS\n\nA CONTRIBUTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nORIGINS AND BIOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS\n\n\nThe simplest possible interpretation of the causes of war that might\nbe offered is that war is a natural relation between original herds or\ngroups of men, inspired by the predatory instinct or by some other\ninstinct of the herd. To explain war, then, one need only refer to\nthis instinct as final, or at most account for the origin and genesis\nof the instinct in question in the animal world. Some writers express\nthis very view, calling war an expression of an instinct or of several\ninstincts; others find different or more complex beginnings of war.\n\nNusbaum (86) says that both offense and defense are based upon an\n_expansion impulse_. Nicolai (79) sees the beginning of war in\nindividual predatory acts, involving violence and the need of defense.\nAgain we find the migratory instinct, the instinct that has led groups\nof men to move and thus to interfere with one another, regarded as the\ncause of war, or as an important factor in the causes. Sometimes a\npurely physiological or growth impulse is invoked, or vaguely the\ninability of primitive groups to adapt themselves to conditions, or to\ngain access to the necessities of life. Le Bon (42) speaks of the\nhunger and the desire that led Germanic forces as ancient hordes to\nturn themselves loose upon the world.\n\nLeaving aside for the moment the question of the nature of the\nimpulses or instincts which actuated the conduct of men originally and\nbrought them into opposition, as groups, to one another, we do find at\nleast some suggestion of a working hypothesis in these simple\nexplanations of war. Granted the existence of groups formed by the\naccident of birth and based upon the most primitive protective and\neconomic associations, and assuming the presence of the emotions of\nanger and fear or any instinct which is expressed as an impulse or\nhabit of the group, we might say that the conditions and factors for\nthe beginning of warfare are all present. When groups have desires\nthat can best and most simply be satisfied by the exertion of force\nupon other groups, something equivalent to war has begun.\n\nIf we take the group (as herd or pack) and the instinct as the\noriginal factors or data of society, however, we probably simplify the\nsituation too much. The question arises whether the motives are not\nmore complex, even from the beginning, and whether both the tendencies\nor impulses by which the group was formed or held together and the\nmotives behind aggressive conduct against other groups have not been\nproduced or developed in the course of social relations, rather than\nhave been brought up from animal life, or at any point introduced as\ninstincts. We notice at least that animals living in groups do not in\ngeneral become aggressive within the species. Possibly it was by some\npeculiarity of man's social existence, or his superior endowment of\nintelligence or some unusual quality of his instincts, perhaps very\nfar back in animal life, that has in the end made him a warlike\ncreature. Man does seem to be a creature of _feelings_ rather than of\ninstincts as far back as we find much account of him, and to be\ncharacterized rather by the weakness and variability of his instincts\nthan by their definiteness. It is quite likely, too, that man never\nwas at any stage a herd animal; in fact it seems certain that he was\nnot, and that his instincts were formed long before he began to live\nin large groups at all. So he never acquired the mechanisms either for\naggression or defense that some creatures have. Apparently he\ninherited neither the physical powers nor the warlike spirit nor the\naggressive and predatory instincts that would have been necessary to\nmake of him a natural fighting animal; but rather, perhaps, he has\nacquired his warlike habits, so to speak, since arriving at man's\nestate. Endowed with certain tendencies which express themselves with\nconsiderable variability in the processes by which the functions of\nsex and nutrition are carried out, man never acquired the definiteness\nof character and conduct that some animals have. He learned more from\nanimals, it may be, than he inherited from them, and it is quite\nlikely that far back in his animal ancestry he had greater flexibility\nor adaptability than other animals. The aggressive instinct, the herd\ninstinct, the predatory instinct, the social instinct, the migratory\ninstinct, may never have been carried very far in the stock from which\nman came. All this, however, at this point is only a suggestion of two\nsomewhat divergent points of view in regarding the primitive\nactivities of man from which his long history of war-making has taken\nrise.\n\nThe view is widely held and continually referred to by many writers on\nwar and politics, that the most fundamental of all causes of war, or\nthe most general principle of it, is the principle of selection--that\nwar is a natural struggle between groups, especially between races,\nthe fittest in this struggle tending to survive. This view needs to be\nexamined sharply, as indeed it has been by several writers, in\nconnection with the present war. This biological theory or apology of\nwar appears in several forms, as applied to-day. They say that racial\nstocks contend with one another for existence, and with this goes the\nbelief that nations fight for life, and that defeat in war tends\ntowards the extermination of nations. The Germans, we often hear, were\nfighting for national existence, and the issue was to be a judgment\nupon the fitness of their race to survive. This view is very often\nexpressed. O'Ryan and Anderson (5), military writers, for example, say\nthat the same aggressive motives prevail as always in warfare: nations\nstruggle for survival, and this struggle for survival must now and\nagain break out into war. Powers (75) says that nations seldom fight\nfor anything less than existence. Again (15) we read that conflicts\nhave their roots in history, in the lives of peoples, and the sounder,\nand better, emerge as victors. There is a selective process on the\npart of nature that applies to nations; they say that especially\nincrease of population forces upon groups an endless conflict, so that\nabsolute hostility is a law of nature in the world.\n\nThese views contain at least two very doubtful assumptions. One is\nthat nations do actually fight for existence,--that warfare is thus\nselective to the point of eliminating races. The other is that in\nwarlike conflicts the victors are the superior peoples, the better\nfitted for survival. Confusion arises and the discussion is\ncomplicated by the fact that conflicts of men as groups of individuals\nwithin the same species are somewhat anomalous among biological forms\nof struggle. Commonly, struggle takes place among individuals,\norganisms having definite characteristics and but slightly variable\neach from its own kind contending with one another, by direct\ncompetition or through adaptation, in the first case individuals\nstriving to obtain actually the same objects. Or, again, species\nhaving the same relations to one another that individuals have,\ncontend in a similar manner.\n\nPrimitive groups of men, however, are not so definite; they are not\nbiological entities in any such sense as individuals and species are.\nThey are not definitely brought into conflict with one another, in\ngeneral, as contending for the same objects, and it is difficult to\nsee how, in the beginning, at least, economic pressure has been a\nfactor at all in their relations. Whatever may have been the motive\nthat for the most part was at work in primitive warfare, it is not at\nall evident that _superior_ groups had any survival value. The groups\nthat contended with one another presumably differed most conspicuously\nin the size of the group, and this was determined largely by chance\nconditions. Other differences must have been quite subordinate to\nthis, and have had little selective value. The conclusion is that the\nstruggle of these groups with one another is not essentially a\n_biological_ phenomenon.\n\nThe fact is that peace rather than war, taking the history of the\nhuman race as a whole, is the condition in which selection of the\nfittest is most active, for it is the power of adaptation to the\nconditions of stable life, which are fairly uniform for different\ngroups over wide areas, that tests vitality and survival values, so\nfar as these values are biological. It may be claimed that war is very\noften, if not generally, a means of interrupting favorable selective\nprocesses, the unfit tending to prevail temporarily by force of\nnumbers, or even because of qualities that antagonize biological\nprogress. Viewing war in its later aspects, we can see that it is\noften when nations are failing in natural competition that they resort\nto the expedient of war to compensate for this loss, although they do\nnot usually succeed thereby in improving their economic condition as\nthey hope, or increase their chance of survival, or even demonstrate\ntheir survival value. It is notorious that nations that conquer tend\nto spend their vitality in conquest and introduce various factors of\ndeterioration into their lives. The inference is that a much more\ncomplex relation exists among groups than the biological hypothesis\nallows. Survival value indeed, as applied to men in groups, is not a\nvery clear concept. There may be several different criteria of\nsurvival value, not comparable in any quantitative way among\nthemselves.\n\nScheler (77) says that we cannot account for war as a purely\nbiological phenomenon. Its roots lie deep in organic life, but there\nis no direct development or exclusive development from animal behavior\nto human. War is peculiarly human. That, in a way, may be accepted as\nthe truth. Warfare as we know it among human groups, as conflict\nwithin the species is due in some way to, or is made possible by, the\nsecondary differentiations within species which give to groups, so to\nspeak, a pseudo-specific character. And these differences depend\nlargely upon the conditions that enter into the formation of\ngroups,--upon desires, impulses and needs arising in the social life\nrather than in instinct as such. These characteristic differences are\nnot variations having selective value, but are traits that merely\ndifferentiate the groups as _historical entities_. These secondary\nvariations have not resulted in the elimination of those having\ninferior qualities, but have shared the fortunes of the groups that\npossessed them,--the fortunes both of war and of peace. _War, from\nthis point of view, belongs to history rather than to biology._ It\nbelongs to the realm of the particular rather than to the general in\nhuman life. War has favored the survival of this or that group in a\nparticular place, but has probably not been instrumental in producing\nany particular type of character in the world, either physical or\nmental.\n\nVery early in the history of mankind, in fact as far back as we can\ntrace history, we find these psychic differentiations, as factors in\nthe production of war. There are significant extensions and also\nrestrictions of the consciousness of kind pertaining to the life of\nman, as distinguished from animals. Animals have not sufficient\nintelligence to establish such perfect group identities as man does,\nand they lack the affective motives for carrying on hostilities among\ngroups. They remain more clearly subjected to the simple laws of\nbiological selection, and are guided by instincts which do not impel\nthem to act aggressively as groups toward their own kind. Man proceeds\nalmost from the beginning to antagonize these laws, so that it is very\nlikely that the best, in the biological sense, has always had some\ndisadvantage, in human life, and may still have. The real value that\nhas thus been conserved by this human mode of life consists in\npreserving a relatively large number of secondary types or individual\ngroups, rather than in insuring the predominance of any one\nbiologically superior type. _Man's work in the world is to make\nhistory._ Even though war were a means of making a biologically\nsuperior type of man prevail we should not be justified in saying that\nit is thus vindicated as a method of selection.\n\nMany writers whom we do not need to review in great detail have\ncontributed to the objections to the biological principle as an\nexplanation of war. Trotter (82) examines the doctrine that war is a\nbiological necessity, and says that there is no parallel in biology\nfor progress being accomplished as a result of a racial impoverishment\nso extreme as is caused by war, that among gregarious animals other\nthan man direct conflict between major groups such as can lead to the\nsuppression of the less powerful is an inconspicuous phenomenon, and\nthat there is very little fighting within species, for species have\nusually been too busy fighting their external enemies. Mitchell (10)\nsays that war is not an aspect of the natural struggle for existence,\namong individuals; that there is nothing in Darwinism that explains or\njustifies wars; that the argument from race is worthless since there\nare no pure races. M'Cabe (76) maintains that war is not a struggle\nbetween inferior and superior national types. Dide (20) also discusses\nthe question of differences of race as causes of war, and the use that\nhas been made of this dogma. Chapman (39) says that no race question\nis involved in the present war as has been supposed. There is no\nconflict of economic forces, no nations compelled to seek expansion.\n\nPrecisely how warfare originated (assuming that it arose in one way)\nwe shall probably never know, since we cannot now reconstruct the\nactual history of man. We think of men as living at first in groups\ncontaining a few individuals, and presumably for a long time these\nsmall and isolated groups of men prevailed as the type of human\nsociety. We can already detect the elements of conflict in these\ngroups, but whether warfare in the sense of deadly conflict originated\nthere we cannot know; or whether it was only in the experience of men\nas large migrating hordes which had been formed by the amalgamation of\nsmaller groups under the influence of hunger or climatic change, that\nwarfare in any real sense came into the world. We do not know to what\nextent the small groups of men we find in conditions of savagery now\nrepresent primitive conditions. Fortunately, however, some of these\nproblems of origin are of but little practical importance and their\ninterest is chiefly antiquarian or historical.\n\nThe assumption that in the behavior of original groups of men war\narose as a natural result of the life of the group seems to be an\nallowable hypothesis. Whether warlike conduct came by some\nmodification of the habits brought up from animal life as instinctive\nreactions, or whether man invented warfare from some strong motive\npeculiar to human life, and produced it intelligently, so to speak,\nunder stress of circumstances may have to remain an open question so\nfar as conclusive evidence is concerned. What we lack is a knowledge\nof the type and form of the instincts of man in his first stages, and\nthe degree and kind of intelligence he had. But the reconstructed\npre-human history of man so far as we can make it seems to show, as we\nhave already suggested, that early man could have had no definite herd\ninstincts or pack instincts such as some of the animals have, that his\nhabits were plastic and guided by intelligence rather than by impulse.\nHis social life, his predaceous habits, the habit of killing large\ngame, his warfare must have been a gradual acquisition, and from the\nbeginning have been very different as regards motive and development\nfrom animal behavior which judged externally may seem to be like it in\ncharacter and to have the same ends.\n\nThere are already inherent in any group of human individuals that fits\ninto such knowledge of man past and present as we have, all the\nnecessary motives of warfare in some form. There are the reactions of\nanger made to any threat or injury, fear, the predaceous impulse and\nhabit, originating in hunger, the motives arising in sexual rivalry.\nThese motives are the source of behavior toward both members of the\ngroup and outsiders. There is no absolute distinction between these\nobjects. It is of the nature of man to be both aggressive and social.\nOne instinct or motive did not come from the other, since there are\nemotions and desires at every stage that tend, some of them to unite\nand some to disrupt, the group. The sense of difference of kind and\nthe fear of the strange on the one hand, and the effect of propinquity\nand practical necessity in the conduct in regard to the familiar on\nthe other make the reactions different in degree in the two spheres\nbut not different in kind. There is no aggressive instinct or war\nmotive that is directed exclusively toward the outsider. Certain\ntendencies toward violence and strife, modified and controlled within\nthe group, become unrestrained when directed toward the stranger.\nAmong these motives are those of sexual rivalry, fear, anger, desire,\nand the play motive as an expression of any instinctive habits of\naggression that may have been phyletically established.\n\nSince every individual creature has his needs that can be satisfied\nonly by preying in some way upon other animals of his own species or\nothers, the motives for strife are original in organic life. Every\nanimal lives in a world of which he is suspicious, and rightly so. He\nis suspicious toward the members of his own kind and group, and toward\nall strangers he shows watchfulness and fear. There are two motives,\ntherefore, of a highly practical nature that contribute to a general\nstate of unfriendliness in animal life. Both the motives of conflict\nwithin the group, the habit of aggression and its complement, fear,\nand the jealousy and display motive (the display itself probably\nhaving originated as a show of ferocity on the part of males) must\nhave been transferred to relations between groups as a natural result\nof the proximity of groups to one another, although this process is\nnot quite so simple as this would imply, since in part the outside\ngroups are produced by these very same antagonistic motives in the\ngroup, for example the driving out of young males because of sexual\njealousy. The presence of other groups must have excited all the\nmotives of warfare at a very early stage, and this contrast had the\neffect of stimulating the social feeling of the group and developing\ncontrol of impulses on the part of individuals within the group toward\none another. So the motives of combat, as shown within the group and\ntoward outsiders, developed, so to speak, by a dialectic process.\n\nFear and the predatory impulse, the sexual and display motive, play or\nthe hunting activity as a pleasure for its own sake, with a desire\nperhaps to practice deception and to exercise intelligence, presumably\nintroduced some kind and degree of definite warfare among primitive\ngroups of men at a very early stage of human life, although of course\nsuch a conclusion can be only speculative. Increasing intelligence,\nthe power of discriminating and of reacting to secondary likenesses\nand differences, and especially the recognition of the nature of\ndeath, and the advantages of killing rather than merely overcoming an\nenemy, the discovery of the use of weapons, introduced warfare into\nthe world. Warfare is, then, not simply the negation of some original\nprinciple of mutual aid, nor yet an expression of instinctive\naggressiveness or cruelty, but it is a product of original endowment,\nof conditions of life, and of intelligence all together. It is\npractical, but at no stage can it be said to be _wholly_ practical.\nChanges must have taken place in warfare as in other social reactions\nas men passed through a number of stages from primitive wandering or a\nrelatively unstable life to a stable life, but the motives of conflict\ncannot have been added to in any essential way. Through all the course\nof history all the motives that originally made individuals of a group\nor the groups as wholes antagonistic have remained, although the\nmental processes have become generalized, fused and transformed. If\nGumplowicz is right we can still detect in any great society to-day\nall the primitive individual and group animosities, tempered down and\nheld in check by laws and customs, but still existent and by no means\novercome and made innocuous.\n\nThese motives of warfare might best be traced out in four more or less\ndefinite principles of conduct, or four purposes of war that appear\nthroughout primitive life. These are: 1) thievery, including wife\ncapture; 2) the fear motive; 3) cannibalism; 4) the display motive,\nwith the desire to intimidate and to display power (more or less\nclosely associated with the play motive, the love of hunting, gaming\nand the dramatic motive).\n\nCannibalism, of course, is a special expression of the predatory\nmotive in general, or it is mainly that. Cannibalism was certainly\nestablished early in primitive life, at least early enough to antedate\nall religion, and although its origin and history are shrouded in\nmystery, the motive was quite certainly practical. Evidently it was\nwidespread if not universal. Whether it was introduced as a result of\na failure of animal food, as some think, or has a still more simple\nexplanation as a part of the original impulse which led men at a\ncertain stage of their development to become hunters, cannot be\ndetermined. We know, however, that the alien human being was to some\nextent included under the same concepts as the animal enemy and prey,\nand presumably some of the strongest motives that led men to attack\nanimals also included man as an object, since the alien group was\nregarded as in some degree different in kind from the in-group. It\nmay have been in the great migrations when all the aggressive motives\nwere increased that cannibalism became fixed as a habit.\n\nCannibalism may well have been the primitive motive of warfare as\nserious deadly combat, but all predatory habits must have contributed\nto establishing a more or less habitual state of warfare among all\ngroups of men. The predatory raid, with the reaction of defense, when\ncarried on as a group activity in any form, is in fact war, so far as\nattack and defense were serious and deadly, and intelligence and\nweapons were sufficiently developed to make man a dangerous opponent.\nThis predatory motive, of course, extended to all desired objects, and\nthese objects must have included all objects that could most simply be\nacquired by stealing. They included food, women, and all other\npossessions. The custom of driving out young males from the group, by\nthe jealousy of the old males, and of preventing males from obtaining\nfemales within the group must have been one of the earliest and one of\nthe strongest incentives to predatory warfare. At first all property\nof the group, for so long as groups were wandering, was to some extent\ncommon, and attack and defense must have been common. The objects of\npredatory raids which produced group combat must have changed with the\nsocial life. When habitation became fixed and property therefore more\nindividual, probably the predatory impulse itself became relatively a\nless important factor in combat.\n\nTwo motives grow out of the practical motives of combat, which we may\nassume to have been the original motives. These are both emotional\nrather than instinctive. Fear and anger, that is to say, become more\nor less detached motives for attack. Fear is increased with the\nincrease of intelligence up to a certain point at least--with the\nincrease of the capacity for understanding danger, and of the powers\nof man to become dangerous. All the experience of combat engenders\nanger and hatred, and these moods of hatred toward enemies are\ncumulative, absorb all the detached motives and feelings of antagonism\nbetween groups, preserve and give continuity to the memories of\nconflict, and so produce among groups the fear and hate motive. The\nfeeling of fear arouses the motive of aggression, and the feeling of\nanger; and these in turn generate more fear, until both the moods of\nanger and fear and a perpetual state of animosity and warfare are\ninduced among contending groups. Thus out of primitive motives of\ncombat the feud as a more generalized and psychical antagonism is\nproduced, and these states are possible because of the powers of\ngeneralization in man which extend to the emotions and make possible\nthe formation of deep moods.\n\nIn another direction, also, the practical motives tend to be\nsuperseded by more abstract and more subjective motives. Both in the\nfear and anger reactions and in the motive that originates in the\nsexual impulse--display of males, and combat with reference to\nfemales--consciousness of prowess for its own sake, and the display of\nit in order to intimidate the enemy, arise. Into this motive of war\nthere enter all the antagonisms that come from self-consciousness, the\nwhole force of the diathesis of developing sexuality, with its\njealousy and cruelty, and tendencies to perversion. The force of this\nmotive of prowess must at some period of development have become very\ngreat. It extends out into a love of combat for its own sake,\nreenforces other motives, and issues in the more abstract motives of\nhonor and power that we see playing such a great part in modern\nwarfare.\n\nThese primitive motives of war are not merely numerous. They fuse,\nreenforce one another, and almost from the beginning, we must suppose,\ncreate complex states of consciousness, and form moods. War very\nearly, we say, must contain all the motives that ever enter into it.\nThe predatory impulse, the love of deception, of conquest, the love of\ncombat for its own sake, the hunting impulse, the motive of power, of\nfear and anger, the impulse of display and the more primitive sexual\nmotives, the motives of courage and jealousy, even a beginning of the\naesthetic motive, are all there. They become the warlike mood or\nproduce war, in the sense in which we now understand it, only when the\nintelligence gives to the relations between groups definite intentions\nand directions, and out of the many impulses that lead to combat, a\ndistinctive motive and mood are derived. So we may say with all\ncertainty that the making of war is not a mere perpetuation of some\nalleged instinct of murder, surreptitiously retained by man in his\nrise from an animal state, but it is quite as much a product of his\nwhole social nature. It becomes established as life grows more\ncomplex, as specific desires increase in number. Man is not, as thus\nseen in these genetic views of him, a self-tamed animal. He has not\narrived at a precarious and unstable social condition out of a\nprimitive individualism which is the essence of his warlike nature. On\nthe other hand, he has not degenerated from some ideal pacific state.\nAges ago he was already divinely human, and possessed those capacities\nboth for cooeperation and antagonism out of which war is created.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nUNCONSCIOUS MOTIVES, THE REVERSION THEORIES OF WAR, AND THE\nINTOXICATION MOTIVE\n\n\nThere are several interesting theories of the causes of war, now in\nthe field, most of them inspired by our recent great conflict, all of\nwhich (but no one perhaps completely or quite justly) may be described\nas based upon the view that war is an outbreak of, or reversion to,\ninstincts and modes of activity which as primitive tendencies remain\nin the individual or in the social life and which, from time to time,\nwith or without social cause, may break loose, so to speak, and hurl\nman back into savagery. These theories of war show us, in some cases,\nhuman character in the form of double personality, or liken\ncivilization to a thin and insecure incrustation upon the surface of\nlife, beneath which all that is animal-like and barbaric still remains\nsmoldering. Some of these theories we need to review briefly here.\n\nBertrand Russell, in answer to the question, \"Why do men fight?\" which\nis the title of his book dealing with the causes of war, says, in\nsubstance, that men fight because they are controlled by instinct (and\nalso by authority), rather than by reason. Men will cease fighting\nwhen reason controls instinct, and men think for themselves rather\nthan allow their thinking to be done for them. This view does not\nexplicitly state that war is a reversion, for man may be at no point\nbetter or more advanced than a creature of instinct, but it lays the\nblame for war upon the original nature of man. Man has instincts which\npresumably he has brought with him from his pre-human stage, and some\nof these instincts are, on their motor side, the reactions of\nfighting.\n\nLe Bon (42) speaks of a conscious and an unconscious will in nations,\nand says that the motives behind great national movements may be\nbeneath all conscious intentions, and may anticipate them. The\nEnglishman in particular lives, in a sense, a divided life, since\nthere is a manifest inconsistency between what he really is and what\nhe thinks. What these instincts are, Le Bon does not specify;\npresumably they may be either better or worse than the conscious\nmotives.\n\nTrotter (82) and also Murray (90) consider war from a biological\nstandpoint, regarding it as a herd phenomenon. Trotter's view,\nespecially his interpretation of Germany, which we are not to consider\nhere, is original and important. War is a result of the action of a\n_herd instinct_, a specific instinct which is peculiar in one respect,\nin that it acts upon other instincts but has no definite motor\nreactions of its own. War is the result of the action of the herd\ninstinct in man upon the old instinct of aggression. At least\naggressive war is. Men in all their social relations show the play of\nthese instincts; in war it is the old aggressive instinct, the old\npassion of the pack, that dominates them; and it is the ancestral\nherd-fears that overcome them in their panics. It is the herd instinct\nthat makes men in groups so highly sensitive to the leader, whose\nrelations to the herd or pack are always dependent upon their\nrecognizing him as one of the group; that is, as acting in accordance\nwith the desires of the herd.\n\nIt is by the union of the herd, Murray says, or through the herd\ninstinct, that suppressed unconscious impulses are given an\nopportunity to operate; when the human herd is excited by any external\nstimulus, the old types of reaction are brought into play. Curiously,\nin such times, leadership may be assumed by eccentric and even\nabnormal members of the group--by those who are governed by perverted\ninstincts; by men who are touched with the mania of suspicion, or who\neven suffer from homicidal mania.\n\nThe essential point of these biological views is that, when the human\nherd is subjected to any influences that tend to arouse the herd\ninstinct--that is, to unite the herd in any common emotion or action,\nthe old instinctive forms of response are likely to be brought to the\nfront. Whatever the stimulus, the tendency is for the herd to fixate\nits attention upon some external object, which at once is reacted to\nwith deep emotion. Plainly, if this be true, if herd instinct does\nthrow human society from time to time and from various causes into\nattitudes of defense and offense with the appropriate emotional\nreactions, and if in such times leaders are likely to appear, having\nexaggerated instinctive tendencies, there is always close at hand and\nready a mechanism by which war can be produced, war being precisely of\nthe type of mass action, under strong emotion, of a group closely\nunited under spectacular leadership, with attention cramped upon some\nexternal object hated or feared.\n\nNicolai (79), who believes strongly that war is wholly useless,\ncompares it to the play we turn to when the actions performed in the\nplay are no longer in themselves practical. War is a great debauch,\nperhaps now the last the race will experience. War is like wine: in it\nnations renew their youth. It is not the war itself, but the mood it\nproduces that we crave, and this mood is longed for because in it old\nand sacred feelings of patriotism are aroused, and these feelings are\nthemselves survivals, something romantic, archaic, no longer needed in\nthe present stage of social life.\n\nNovicow (83) says something very similar to this. War is a survival,\nlike the classical languages, for example. Men begin to find beauty\nand glory in these things only after the activities they represent are\nuseless. The principle of their survival is nothing more or less than\nthat of habit. It is habit that keeps war alive; wars are a concession\nto our forebears, a following in the footsteps of a dead past.\n\nWe are presenting these views in a somewhat loose and illogical order,\nbut let us look at still a few more of them. Patrick thinks of war as\nprecisely a plunge into the primeval. War is a reaction, a regression,\nbut still it is something more than a mere slipping of the machinery\nof life. It is _craved_; and it is craved because it offers relief\nfrom the tension of modern life. It is not quite clear whether it is\nbecause we are tired and want rest for our over-worked functions, or\nare merely dull and need renewed life, but in any case, when the\ndesire has accumulated enough, back we fall into the primeval. Then\nall the tensions and inhibitions of civilized society disappear.\nSociety, relieved of its cross-tensions, is resolved and organized\ninto an harmonious and freely acting whole, seeking a definite object.\nLife is simplified, and becomes again primitive. Old and vigorous\nmovements take the place of the cramped thinking of our civilized\nlife. All that keeps us modern and evolved is relaxed.\n\nNaturally the Freudians have their own explanation of war in terms of\nsubconscious wishes, repressed feelings and instincts. Freud (78)\nhimself says that war is a recrudescence (and a mastery over us) of a\nmore primitive life than our own. The child and the primitive man, as\nwe have long known them in the Freudian theories, live still in us and\nare indestructible. We have supposed ourselves to have overcome these\nprimitive impulses, but we are far from being so civilized as we\nthought. The evil impulses, as we call them, which we supposed had at\nleast been transformed are changed only in the sense that they have\nbeen influenced by the erotic motive, or have been repressed by an\nouter restraint, an educational factor, the demands of what we call\ncivilized environment. But let us not deceive ourselves; the old\nimpulses are still alive; the number of people who have been\ntransformed by civilization is less than we supposed. All society is\nat heart barbaric. Judged by our unconscious wishes, we are a band of\nmurderers, for the primitive wish is to kill all who oppose our\nself-interests, and war is precisely a reversion to the method of free\nexpression of our desires in action. Society and the authority of\ngovernment have suppressed these primitive reactions in the\nindividual, but instead of eliminating them altogether from human\nnature (which, of course, no legislation can do in any case),\ngovernment and society as a whole have appropriated all these\nprimitive actions to their own use.\n\nJones (37), the Freudian, distinguishes two quite different groups of\ncauses of war: the conscious causes, all expressed in the feeling of\npatriotism; and the unconscious causes, which grow out of the desire\nto release certain original passions--the passions of cruelty,\ndestruction, loot and lust.\n\nThe central thought of all these views, it is plain, is that war\nbelongs to the past. It is a return to something that, in a\nsignificant sense, is the natural man--is his instinctive and\nunguarded self. It is also plainly implied in these views, here and\nthere, that modern man, by thus lapsing into war, is renewing his\nstock of primitive nature. The modern man is in unstable equilibrium,\nand whatever upsets that equilibrium sends him back through the ages.\nMacCurdy (37), having Jones and Freud in mind, protests against these\nviews to this extent: he says that the present state of man, rather\nthan the past, is the natural state, and that at least in reverting to\nthe primitive state man becomes unnatural.\n\nThe question upon which our discussion of this aspect of war is going\nto hinge is whether, or in what sense, the activities and the feelings\naroused in war are reversions. Wars, beyond a doubt, do involve to a\ngreater extent than peaceful life certain instinctive reactions. Wars\nare so impulsive and so persistent that we must suppose very deep\nmotives to be engaged in war; and the fact that in all wars, and on\nboth sides of every war, the feelings and the reactions are\nfundamentally the same, indicates that war is something less\ndifferentiated than the peaceful life. But that war can be explained\nin terms of instinct as such, or that war can be disposed of as a mere\nrecrudescence of old impulses and types of conduct buried beneath\ncivilization, is very much to be doubted. War, in the first place, in\nits moods and passions, appears to be too complex, too synthetic a\nprocess to be quite what this view would imply. It is too intimately\nrelated to everything that occurs and exists in present day society.\nIt means too much, concretely and with reference to objects\nspecifically desired for the future. War is related to the past, but\nto a great extent, it may be, wars represent and contain the present\nand look toward the future. The distinctions and differences in the\ninterpretation of war thus implied, and the conflicting understanding\nof facts about society and individual life cannot be very clear at\nthis point, but that there are involved fundamental problems of\npsychology, and perhaps divergent ways of thinking of history and\nsociety, and of such principles of philosophy at least as are\nimplicated in aesthetics, and finally of the practical questions that\nare of most interest in these fields to-day, may begin to be evident.\n\nThere is one aspect of war, or one question about war, that seems to\nsuggest that its problems are more subtle and less simple than the\ninstinct-theories imply. War has been, and still is, the great story\nof the world, the center of all that is dramatic and heroic in life.\nIts mood--and that is the essential thing in it, whatever else war may\nhave been, and in spite of all its horrors--is _ecstatic_. War\nproduces, or is produced by, states of mind that affiliate it with all\nthe other ecstasies--of love, religion, intoxication, art. We may well\ndoubt whether any explanation of war can ever be satisfactory that\ndoes not take this quality of it fully into account. One may say, of\ncourse, that war is ecstatic just because it does satisfy instincts,\nthat the satisfaction of all instincts is pleasant, or that pleasure\n_is_ the satisfaction of instincts. But there is more in the problem\nthan that. Love, the source of the other great romance of the world,\nis not exhausted by calling it a gratification of the sexual instinct,\nor a primitive tendency of all organic life. It is at the other end of\nthe process of development of it, so to speak, its place as a present\nmotive in life, that it is most significant, and it is by no means\nexplained by calling it a product of sexuality.\n\nSo with war. Made out of instincts, it may be, but it is not explained\nas the sum of instinctive reactions. _That, at least, is our thesis._\nIt is the fact that war is a great ecstasy of the social life, that it\nholds a high place in art, that history--our selective way of reacting\nupon human experience--is in a large measure the story of war, that\nits representations in dramatic forms are almost endless in variety;\nit is such facts that give us our clew to the nature of the problems\nof war, and also to the practical questions of its future.\n\nHirschfeld (98), in a short study of war, has enumerated and briefly\ndescribed some of the forms in which the ecstasy of war appears, or\nsome of the ecstasies that appear in war. He speaks of the ecstasy of\nheroism, and the ecstatic sense that accompanies the taking part in\ngreat events, the consciousness of making history. On a little lower\nplane there is the excitement of adventure and of travel that gives\nallurement to the idea of war in the mind of the soldier, and which\nalso glorifies the soldier; the sensation hunger; the _cupidus rerum\nnovarum_; the ecstasies of nature and freedom, suggested by the very\nterm \"in the field.\" Add to these the ecstasies of battle and of\nvictory, the _Kampfsrausch_ and the _Siegestrunkenheit_, and the mood\nof war in which acts unlawful for the individual become not only\nlawful but highly honorable when done collectively. There is also in\nthe mood of war the social intoxication, the feeling on the part of\nthe individual of being a part of a body and the sense of being lost\nin a greater whole. The lusts of conquest, and of looting, and of\ncombat, all contribute to this spirit of war. And finally, summing up\nall the other ecstasies, the strong inner movement of the soul\nexpressing itself in strong external movements, and in the sense of\nliving and dying in the midst of vivid and real life.\n\nHirschfeld's analysis of the ecstasy of war discloses deep and\npowerful motives in the individual mind and the social life. We can\nfind this ecstasy everywhere in the history of war, sometimes as a\nnational exaltation, sometimes as a more restricted phenomenon.\nVillard (54), speaking of the first days of the war, says that in\nGermany then one could see \"the psychology of the crowd at its noblest\nheight.\" The exaltation of a people, whatever its content, or its\npurpose, is an awe-inspiring spectacle. There can be no greater\ndisplay of the sources of human power. In this particular time of\nexaltation we can see in action religious ecstasy, the cult of valor,\nand the stirring of more fundamental and more primitive feelings. This\nexaltation has its imaginative side. There is a dream of empire in it.\nThere is an exhibition of the forms of royalty, its display, its color\nand its dramatic moments. There is the spirit of militarism and of\ngreat adventure, the excitement of chance, of throwing all into the\nhands of fate, the aesthetic and the play motives which are never\nseparated from the practical passions in times of great exaltation.\n\nThis mood of war differs, of course, at different times under\ndifferent circumstances. The French people certainly went into the\ngreat war with no such exaltation. We should have to look elsewhere in\nFrench history for the ecstatic war spirit, when the French are moved\nby the motives of glory and prestige, or by the vanity and eroticism\nwhich Reuthe thinks are the essential qualities of the spirit of\nFrance. But taking history as a whole there is no lack of ecstasy in\nthe spirit of war. We find in this ecstasy exalted social feeling, joy\nof overcoming the pain of death, the exultation of sacrifice, love of\ndisplay, feeling of tragedy, the ecstasy of exerting the utmost of\npower, love of danger, the gambling motive, the love of battle, love\nof all the dramatic elements of military life. These separate\necstasies, taken all together, make up the exalted mood of war. They\nrepresent war in its most significant moments.\n\nIn this mood of war instincts are exhibited, but they seem to be in\nsome way transformed, so that the whole has a meaning different from\nthe parts. The mood of war is not a mere effect, a reaction to events.\nIt is a longing--plastic and indefinite it may be--but looking toward\nthe future. It is a craving, not for the release of definite\ninstincts, but is rather a force or a desire which, however misguided\nthe expression of this mood or this energy may be, is the essence of\nwhat individuals and society to-day _are_. We may find in this mood,\nupon superficial examination, mere emotions, but in a final and deeper\nanalysis, we may suppose, its content and its meaning will be found to\nbe specific--purposes which constitute what is deepest and most\ncontinuous in the individual and in society, but which at the same\ntime give to this mood its generality of direction and of form.\n\nIt is the war-mood, then, that must be explained, if we wish to\nunderstand the motives and causes of war. And this war mood, so it\nappears, is related to all the other great ecstasies--of art,\nreligion, intoxication, love. It is, of course, then, a psychological\nproblem, and one having many radiations and deep roots. The view that\nwe are going to take is that in the mood of war we have to do\nessentially with what, relying upon previous studies of the principles\nof art and of the motives that are at work in society that produce the\nphenomena of intemperance we may call the _intoxication motive_. That\nthis intoxication motive is a plastic force, a mood containing desires\nand impulses that may be satisfied in a variety of ways, since as a\nsum of desires it is no longer specific and instinctive, is the main\nimplication of this view. It is this generic quality and compositeness\nof the purpose of the individual and of the spirit of society that\nobscures the meaning of history and often makes individual lives so\nenigmatical, and which also makes these purposes of individuals and\nnations so persistent, sometimes so terribly forceful and insatiable.\n\nAs contrasted with instincts, the motive of intoxication we say, is\nplastic, and its object--and this is one of its most significant\ncharacteristics--is to produce exalted states of consciousness mainly\nfor their own sake. At least this experience of exaltation is the main\nor central thing sought. It is a tendency to seek exalted states, but\nat the same time, we should say, specific instincts gain some kind of\nsatisfaction, although not at all necessarily by the performance of\nthe external movements appropriate to them. They may obtain a certain\nvicarious satisfaction. The mood gives conduct a general direction, it\nprovides a motive and the power, it is the source of interest and of\ndesire, but its objects may be indefinite and variable.\n\nSome general aspects of the moods that we have to consider have\nalready come to light, and these may prove to be valuable clews to a\npsychological analysis of their content. There is the ecstatic state,\nand the craving to experience it, the love of excitement, the desire\nto have a sense of reality, the impulse to seek an abundant life, the\nlove of power and of the feeling of power. These are all related, and\nat least they have something in common, but it is the last mentioned,\nthe motive of power, that seems to be the most definite and to have\nthe clearest biological meaning and implications. Indeed this motive\nof power (and we must here again depend upon previous studies of the\naesthetic motives and other aspects of ecstasy), appears to be\nfundamental in art, in religion, and in history. It is a concept that\ngives us a vantage ground for the interpretation of some of the most\nsignificant parts of life. The idea of power and the craving for power\nas a general motive, but also containing and exploiting specific\npurposes and desires, runs through all the history of art and religion\nand also through history itself. Religion is based upon the desire to\nexert and to feel power, and it is the manifest and indeed the\nexpressly acknowledged purpose of all primitive art, and is concealed\nand implied in all later art. Art is practical, an effort to realize a\nsense of power, to become a god (just as in his motive of play the\nchild desires more than anything else to realize himself as a man), to\ninfluence people, or objects, or gods, to exert magic somewhere in the\nworld. In the feeling of power which the ecstatic state produces, the\nbelief in the power of art is established, and at the same time deep\nand hidden impulses are exploited. On the feeling side, and indeed in\nevery way, this ought to explain how art, religion, and all states of\nintoxication have a common element, if they are not primitively the\nsame.\n\nA psychology of the war moods must undertake to trace the history of\nthe motive of power, considering its beginnings as the desire and\nsense of satisfaction connected with the performance of definite\ninstinctive acts, and with their physiological results, with the\nexertion of power and the production of effects upon objects. It is in\nthe performance of instinctive acts, in which superiority is inborn,\nthat animal and man obtain their original sense of power or\nsuperiority. As capacities are differentiated and multiplied, the\nexperiences of achievement generate a mood and a more general impulse,\na desire to exert power for its own sake. The sensory or organic\nelements tend to predominate in this generalized motive, simply\nbecause the specific actions in which the sense of power is obtained\ncannot so readily, or cannot at all, be generalized. Such an\norganization of actions and states in consciousness demands nothing\nnew in principle, implies nothing different from that found on the\nintellectual side when concepts are formed from concrete experiences.\nThe associative processes and the selective principles everywhere\npresent in mental action are all that are necessary to be assumed\nhere. We may take advantage, however, of the special investigations of\naffective logic, and the like, as giving evidence in support of such\na conception of the formation of moods as is here being worked out. We\nare likely to make the mistake of thinking the specific instincts and\nthe impulses and pleasure states that we find in human experiences,\nsuch as ecstasy, as the whole of these experiences, and to overlook\nthe constant process of generalization that goes on in all the mental\nactivity of the individual. For example, we may think of various plays\nwhich involve instinctive actions as being wholly explained by, or to\nbe made up of, these instinctive acts alone, whereas in most plays\nthat take the form of excitement, abandon or ecstasy, there are being\nemployed processes which are general in the sense of reenforcing all\nthe specific acts alike, and are yet specific in the sense that they\nare themselves, or have been, practical: that is, they are in reality\nprocesses that belong to the fundamental strata of consciousness--to\nthe nutritional and reproductive tendencies. Out of these tendencies\nthe more complex processes of which we speak are made, but they are no\nmere repetition of old forms. That, at least, is the way these\necstatic moods appear from our point of view.\n\nIt is precisely because ecstatic moods are presumably thus general and\ncomposite, and involve fundamental instincts (but in such a way that\nthey are transformed, and no longer present in body, so to speak, but\nare represented by their organic processes rather than appearing as\nspecific concatenated chains of motor events), with their purposes\nchanged and their whole meaning determined by the present states to\nwhich they belong, that we should be inclined to say that to explain\nany great and powerful movement in the lives of individuals or nations\nas merely reversions is very inadequate and indeed wrong. They are\nemotional forces that are at work, composite feelings and moods rather\nthan instincts. They are aspects of the continuity of the life of the\npresent, rather than of the fragmentary past that lives in the\nindividual. These forces are plastic, complex and organized, rather\nthan haphazard and suppressed. They are directive, creative, but\nincidentally they make amends for and satisfy and exploit the past.\n\nIf these principles be valid, their application to the psychology of\nwar seems plain. The central purpose or motive of war to-day is a\ncraving for the realization of the sense of power. This is the\nsubjective side of it, the unconscious, instinctive, mystical motive\nso often observed. The question of the actual power exerted or\ndisplayed is not the most essential point of this war mood. It is the\nmanipulation and the satisfaction of inner factors that make the most\nsignificant aspect of these moods. History, we should hold, is in\ngreat part an unfoldment of this motive. Nations crave, as collective\nor group consciousness, the feeling of power. Just as we say the child\nin his plays wants to be a man, and the individual in his art feels\nhimself a god, so nations in their wars and in their thoughts of wars,\nfeel themselves more real, realize themselves as world powers, and as\nsupreme and divine. To be first and all is indeed the purpose that\nruns in these moods, and this we believe is true, in its way, of the\nmost insignificant and hopelessly decrepit of peoples. This must be\ntaken account of in the interpretation of history, and in that larger\npedagogy, the pedagogy of nations to which we just now look forward.\n\nThese moods which, slumbering, become the ecstasies of war are vague,\neven secretive. They contain aggressive thoughts that are disavowed,\nvanities that are concealed, fears that present a quiet front. But we\nmust not think that the war mood always intends war. Nations have\ntheir subjective lives and inner history, and their vicarious\nsatisfactions. A nation in arms already feels itself victor by reason\nof its sense of power. Otherwise few wars would be entered upon.\nDreams and talk of war may incite to war, but they may also satisfy\nthe desire and need of war. There is a certain narcissism in nations,\nand this is due precisely to the fact that patriotism as a feeling and\nimpulse necessarily lacks in the group consciousness the mechanisms\nfor externalization, except indeed in war. War is an escape, for a\npeople, from a kind of subjectivism, from the evils of a self-love to\nperhaps the greater evils of self-assertion.\n\nNations in war, and even in the thought of war realize their own\npotentiality, take account of stock of their powers, and create an\nideal, romantic and dream world. They make castles-in-air, and these\ncastles-in-air always take the form of empires. War, precisely like\nart, is at first more and then less practical, and sought for\npractical purposes. More and more there is a craving for glory, for\nprestige, for subjective satisfaction and symbols of power. Nations\ntake lands that they cannot use for any good purpose, inflict\nindemnities that may ruin themselves rather than their enemies,\nexploit economic relations that are dangerous to the nations' very\nexistence. It is power that they seek, and it is power they thus\ncreate, but it is often different in form and in value from what the\nconscious purpose holds. They are really seeking general and\nsubjective states in part for their own sake. Psychologically it is\nall one and the same whether we realize this power by actually killing\nan enemy, or believe we overpower him by the performance of some\nmystic and ecstatic act, or in some more modern way become confident\nin our own power and prestige. National life, in order to maintain its\nintegrity, must move upon a plane of intense feeling. It must have\nobjectives, but these objectives are not necessarily of value in\nthemselves. This is the delusion and enigma of history. Peoples enact\ndramas in their own subjective lives, and these things they do have\nreference to the desires for inner experiences. We may say that\nnations, like individuals, crave for luxuries of the emotional life,\nbut to think of these experiences as merely static pleasure-states,\nafter the fashion of a certain conception of the emotions, would be\nwholly to misunderstand this view which we have been trying to\npresent. These subjective states are full of meaning and of purpose.\nThey are not reactions, but rather, in so far as these collective\nlives are normal and progressive, these moods and ecstasies are more\nof the nature of crucibles in which old reactions and feelings are\nfused, given new direction, new forms and in a certain way a new\nnature. History is made in these moods of war. They are subjective\nforces, but they are also objectively creative.\n\nWhat is it that nations really desire? What is it, we might ask, that\nan individual desires? On the side of experience it is an _abundant\nlife_, a life full of the feeling of power. This craving for an\nabundant life is a craving for the satisfaction of many desires,\ninstinctive and acquired, but it is also a craving, in some sense, for\nmore desire. It is not merely to satisfy desires, but to realize more\nlife by creating more desires that experience is sought. That is the\nphilosophy of the life of the superior individual; it is also the\nprinciple of the larger individual--the nation. The creation and the\nsatisfaction of desire are the motives of art. They are also the\nmotives of life.\n\nIn history, it is the intangible value, the unconscious purpose, the\ndesire to realize empires that are only in part material, the desire\nfor glory and prestige and opportunity that seem to be the guiding\nmotives. There is a general and plastic purpose beneath all the\nspecial tendencies and desires directing interest toward specific\nobjects, and also sometimes making the objectives sought indefinite\nand the purposes in seeking them seem mystical. It is the desire to be\na power in the world, or rather to have power over the world, and to\nexperience all the inner exaltation these desires inspire that appears\nto be the creative force in history. These things, moreover, are not\nthe desires and impulses of the geniuses among nations alone; they\nseem to be inherent in all national life.\n\nStudy of the _intoxication motive_ in the individual and as a social\nphenomenon shows that it is not an expression of the need of\nrelaxation from strain, or a reversion, or something that occurs by a\nmere release of primitive instincts. It occurs in the great periods of\nhistory, and in the strong years of the life of the individual, rather\nthan in times of weakness. It is always a spirit of the times rather\nthan of some past reverted to. It may occur in times of disorder or of\nrepression, but it is an experience in which energy and power are\nexpressed. We see it most dominant when life is most abundant, when\nthere is also a craving to make life more abundant still, when there\nis already power and more power is longed for. It is true, however,\nthat two opposite conditions may produce the strongest manifestations\nof this intoxication motive. Something analogous to these conditions\nwe see in the lives of individuals, in the phenomena of intemperance,\nwhich belong in general to the virile years. Social ecstasy is\nproduced in times when there is already a free expression of energy,\nbut also under conditions that cause pain, disorder and repression.\nUnder the latter conditions we think of it not as desire for relief\nfrom strain but desire to be released from obstacles that impede the\nexpression of the growth force. If all this be true, we see war in a\nsomewhat different light from that in which it is ordinarily regarded.\nIt is not, in its typical forms, a reversion to barbarism, and it is\nnot a political mishap. It is rather a readjustment of tendencies or\nforces and an expression and product of the living and progressive\nforces of society--not necessarily a good or even a normal expression\nof them, but an awakening and a realization of such desires as are\nto-day at work in everything we do--forces which for the moment are\nraised to a white heat, so to speak, in which purposes are for the\nmoment fused and it may be confused--but still an expression of what,\nfor better or for worse we _are_, not of what in some remote past time\nwe _were_. We cannot explain war or excuse ourselves for waging wars\nby saying that we lapse for a time into barbarism, but on the other\nhand the heroism we suddenly find in ourselves as nations or as\nindividuals, is not so different from that of ordinary life as we may\nhave supposed. We have perhaps no right to say that all war is thus to\nbe characterized. War is a very complex and a widely variable\nphenomenon, but this is the explanation of that aspect of the motive\nof history which in general produces war. War may have its\nabnormalities, if we may speak of a worse in that which is already bad\nenough. War may satisfy the desperate mind; it may, on occasion, be a\nnarcotic to cover up worse pain, or an evidence of decadence; or even\nbe what those who think of it as a reversion believe. But all these\naspects of war, if our view be sound, are the eccentricities rather\nthan the essence of war.\n\nThe conditions preceding our recent great war will doubtless in the\ncourse of future historical and sociological research, be minutely\nscrutinized, in the effort to find the causes of the war--factors\ndeeper than and different from the political and economic causes and\nthe personal intrigues that are now most emphasized. If we believe\nthat the war was made in Germany rather than elsewhere, we might look\nthere, especially for these psychological factors of war--for our\nintoxication motives and unconscious impulses and our causes of\nreversion, but we should probably not find anything different in kind\nthere from what we should discover in other great countries. Those who\nhave seen in modern industrialism dangers of coming disaster, or who\nnow look back upon it as a genuine cause of the war were probably not\nmistaken. Industrialism has been producing rapidly, and in an intense\nform, what we may call the mood of the city, and this mood of the city\ncontains all the conditions and all the emotions that tend to bring to\nthe surface the deep-lying motives of the social life that we are\ntrying to point out. There are both the joy of the abundant life, the\ncraving for new experiences, and the sense of reality, and also the\ndisorganization of interests and motives, the stress and fatigue and\nmonotony which prepare the mind for culmination in dramatic events.\nThere is, in a word, a deep stirring of all the forces that make for\nprogress and expansion, and also conditions that disorganize the\nindividual and the social life. Lamprecht (59) of all German writers\nseems to have appreciated this. He has written before the war,\ndescribing a condition in Germany which he says began in the seventies\nof the preceding century--a change of German life in which there is a\ngreat increase of the activities of the cities, with haste and\nanxiety, unscrupulous individual energy, general nervous excitement, a\ncondition of neuro-muscular weakness (and he might have added as\nanother sign, over-stimulation of the mind by a great flood of morbid\nliterature).\n\nIn Lamprecht's opinion, this period of excitement, this strong tendency\nto the enjoyment of excitation in general, is a form of socio-psychic\ndissociation. It is a period of relative disorganization, when the\nindividual is subjected to a great variety of new experiences, when\noutside influences prevail over the inner impulses of the individual,\nin which the individual is unsettled and there is a tendency toward\npessimism and melancholia. Lamprecht thinks of this state as something\ntransitory, and already as he writes (in 1905) nearing an end. This\nstate of continuous excitement, with its shallow pathos of the\nindividual and its constant and superficial happiness, its worship of\nthe novel and the extraordinary, the suggestibility and the receptivity\nof the masses, automatic action of the will and the emotions--all this\nLamprecht thinks will pass. It is a stage in the process of a new\nformation. The very elements of dissociation are positively charged, so\nto speak, and contain creative power. A new system of morals, a new\nphilosophy, new religion begin to emerge. There is a strong effort to\nreach a new dominant.\n\nThis is Lamprecht's psychological interpretation of recent German\nhistory. This view and the various aspects of the condition which\nLamprecht describes, the relation of the materialism, the pessimism\nand the melancholy of such a time to the optimistic trends and the\ndeep forward movement need a closer study than we can here give it,\nbut may we not see in it the truth that such conditions as these are\nprone to cause wars as a phase of the process of the inner adjustment\nof national life? Wars occur as forms of expression of those impulses\nwhich appear in the individual life in times of rapid growth and\nrelative dissociation as outbreaks of intemperance and passion--a\nculmination, according to our view and terminology, of the\nintoxication motive. Industrialism itself is perhaps but one\nmanifestation of deep impulses in the life of nations; it is at once\nan intensification and a formalizing of life. Hence perhaps its\nparadoxical appearance as an increase of both joy and distress. There\nis nothing in it that is wholly satisfying.\n\nGermany, says Lamprecht, was seeking, in this transition period, a new\ndominant, a new religion and a new philosophy. But Germany, let us\nhelp Lamprecht to say, since he does not himself draw this conclusion,\nhas failed to emerge upon the level of an exalted ecstasy, failed to\nproduce the philosophical, the moral and religious fruit of its new\nimpulses, _failed, in a word, to find its dominant on a high level_,\nprecisely as often the promising individual fails and has expressed\nhis truly great nature in low forms of activity. So Germany, and the\nworld, dominated by industrialism and all the desires and forces that\nthe rapid development of industrialism has brought into action, has\ncome to a culmination of its efforts in an outbreak unparalleled in\nhistory. On the side of Germany we see a nation governed by a mood of\nwar in which the chief modes of thought and action represented are the\npseudo-mystical and religious longings for new empire, romantic love\nof the past, militarism, and all the motives of the new industrialism\nand the new science. The best motives of the old feudalism and the new\nindustrialism tried to unite, as we might say, into a new and very\ngreat civilization--_and they failed_. What has happened is that the\nmaterial powers and the cynical moods of industrialism have combined\nwith the mystical elements and the superficial aestheticism of the old\nfeudalistic regime to create a philosophy of life, a temporary stage\nit may be, in which force and fanaticism and the uncompromising ideals\nof national honor and brute strength prevail over those of a wider\nefficiency and a broader devotion which might have inspired a greater\nand a better Germany. Convention and political motives have done the\nrest.\n\nBergson says that in the war spirit of Germany one sees matter arrayed\nagainst spirit. One can see some truth in this, but spirit and matter\nare not two armies pitted against one another. In Germany, as we may\nbelieve elsewhere, the spiritual in the sense of creative forces in\nthe subconscious life of nations does try to organize the practical\nlife, with its routine and convention, into an onward moving progress,\nin which, necessarily, exalted moods (if energies are to get\nthemselves expressed at all) must prevail, and must be full of\npossibilities, both of great good and of great evil. Life in its\ncollective form will be abundant, because that is its most fundamental\ncraving. It may be terribly and destructively abundant, or benignly,\nbut progress, as history seems to show us--if reason and psychology do\nnot--can never be orderly and complacent. Order and convention must\nbreak down to introduce new spirit and new desires which are\ncontinually being created in the inner life. These forces may be old\ninstincts which are continually upsetting civilized life, but the\ndesires they produce and the mechanism of their operation seem to be\ndifferent from what our customary psychology and interpretation of\nhistory imply. Just as these moods make the child play and be wholly\nunpractical when one might suppose he could be useful, and the\nindividual, as man, live a certain life of adventure rather than in\nsecurity and routine, so this spirit or mood that dominates nations\nmakes them imperialistic, and causes them to crave those things which\nlead toward war, if they do not crave war itself, when we might think\nthey ought to be most concerned about the economic welfare of the\nworld as a whole.\n\nWhether this spirit of nations be an evil to be overcome, and to\nsuppress, or an untamed force to direct to right objects, or a good\nthat by some logic of events which we do not understand works out the\nright course of history, we do not know. But here, of course, we come\nto problems, which, if they are problems at all in any real sense, are\nphilosophical and ultimate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nINSTINCTS IN WAR: FEAR, HATE, THE AGGRESSIVE IMPULSE, MOTIVES OF\nCOMBAT AND DESTRUCTION, THE SOCIAL INSTINCT\n\n\nWe have found that the essential, and we might say, primary\npsychological datum of war is a war-mood, that the central motive of\nthis war-mood is a general impulse which we called the intoxication\nmotive, and that this intoxication motive, considered generically, and\nin regard to its specific meaning is a craving for power and for the\nexperience of exerting and feeling power. The war-mood is not a mere\ncollection of instincts; it is a new product, in which instincts and\nemotions have a place. There are several reasons, practical and\ntheoretical, for regarding it as a highly important problem to\ndiscover what the actual content of this war-mood is. This mood, being\none of the greatest of all powers of good and evil, and one most in\nneed to-day of education and re-direction, it may be, it will probably\nbe controlled, if ever, upon the basis of a knowledge of what it means\nas a whole, and of what its elements are which appear in the form of\nfused, transformed, truncated, generalized and aborted instincts and\nfeelings.\n\n\n_Primitive Tendencies_\n\nFirst of all, the highly complex emotions, moods and impulses we find\nin the social consciousness as expressed in the moods of war, do\ncontain and revert to instincts and feelings that are part of the\nprimitive equipment of organic life, and are usually identified as\nnutritional and reproductive tendencies. The part played in war by\nthe migratory impulse, the predatory impulse and the like indicates\nthe connection of the war-moods with the nutritional tendencies; and\nthe display elements found already in primitive warfare and, as we\nhave already inferred, in all forms of ecstasy contain factors that\nare at bottom sexual. We no longer eat our enemies, and we do not\nbring home their heads to our women or practice wife stealing, but it\nis easy to observe the remnants of these old feelings and instincts in\nwar. Trophy hunting continues, and we may suppose that even the moods\nof primitive cannibalism have not entirely been lost. The ready\nhabituation of soldiers to some of the scenes of the recent war seems\nto suggest a lingering trace of this motive, while the looting impulse\nwhich plays such a part in war, and some aspects of the destructive\nimpulses and the like that are displayed, are, with a high degree of\nprobability, closely related to instincts that were once specifically\npractical and belong to the fundamental nutritional motives. Nor is it\na mere euphemism, perhaps, when we speak of the greed of nations, nor\nsolely analogical when we compare the ambitions of peoples with\ncertain adolescent phenomena in the life of the individual. Plainly\nthe social consciousness, as a collective mood, does not command the\nspecific reactions connected with sexuality and nutrition, but we may\nobserve the presence of these instinctive reactions in two phases of\nwar. We see them in the tendencies of various individuals, who under\nthe excitements of the war moods are controlled more or less\nspecifically by instinctive reactions. We see also fragments of\ninstinctive reactions and primitive feeling woven into the total\nstates of social consciousness. The hunger motive may, and probably\ndoes, supply some of the elements of the fear and the aggressive moods\nof war; just as the sex motive provides some of the elements of anger\nand hatred, and some of the qualities of combat itself.\n\n\n_The Aggressive Instinct_\n\nA natural, but somewhat naive explanation of war is that it is a\nsurvival of the aggressive instinct that man has brought up with him\nfrom animal life, in which he originated, and that very early in his\ncareer was directed toward his fellow men. This aggressive instinct as\nexpressed in the modern spirit of war does not need, on this view, to\nbe thought of as something reverted to. It is still active throughout\nthe social life. Both the purposes and the methods of it remain. We\nhave referred to one aspect of this before, and to the objection that\ncan be made that the ancestry of man does not show us such an\naggressive instinct. The nearest relatives of man are mainly social\nrather than aggressive in their habits. Even the habits of hunting\nother animals and eating animal food appear to have been acquired\nduring man's career as man, and he never has had the aggressive temper\nthat some creatures have had. Man has acquired a very effectual and\nvery complex adjustment to his environment by piecing together, so to\nspeak, fragments of his original conduct, and developing mechanisms\nthat have been produced in the race as a means of satisfying\nfundamental needs. Modes of reaction produced originally for one\npurpose have apparently been utilized by other motives. Of course the\nmore specific animal instincts are not wholly lacking, but it is also\ntrue that man through his social life has produced habits that\nresemble or are substitutes for primitive instincts. The love of\ncombat, especially as it is shown in play indicates the presence of\ninstinctive roots, but it does not show the existence of a definite\ninstinct of aggression. This play is in part an off-shoot of the\nreproductive motive. These fighting plays of children are in part\nsexual plays, and we see them clearly in their true light in some of\nthe higher mammals most closely related to man.\n\nOne aspect of the aggressive habit of man has been too much neglected.\nIt is highly probable that aggression in man has been far more closely\nrelated to the emotion of fear than to any assumed predatory instinct.\nIt is a question whether the predatory habit of man, ending in\ncannibalism and the hunting of animals for food, did not originate in\nthe time of the long battle man must have had with animals in which\nthe animals themselves for the most part played the part of\naggressors. It was not for nothing, at any rate, that our animal\nancestors took to the trees, and it is certain that the fear element\nin human nature is very strong and very deeply ingrained. We see\nthroughout animal life fear expressed by aggressive movements, by the\nshow of anger, as well as by flight. This is seen especially clearly\nin the birds. With all their equipment for the defensive strategy of\nflight they express fear instinctively by attacking, and this is\napparently not a result merely of the habit of defending the young.\nThe great carnivora also attack from fear, and seem normally never to\nattack such animals as they do not hunt for prey unless they are\nfrightened. The charge of the rhinoceros and other great ungulates is\nprobably always a fear reaction. They appear to have no other\naggressive impulses, certainly none connected with the nutritional\nmotives since they are herbivorous in habit.\n\nThe fear motive is probably much deeper in human nature, both in the\nlower and the higher social reactions than is commonly supposed, the\nconcealment of fear being precisely a part of the strategy of defense.\nFear has created more history than it is usually given credit for. The\naggressive motive alone, in all probability, would never have made\nhistory such a story of battles as it has been. Nations usually\nattribute more aggressive intentions and motives to their neighbors\nthan their neighbors possess, and war is certainly often precipitated\nby an accumulation of mutual distrust and suspicion. Nations are\nalways watching one another for the least signs of aggression on the\npart of their supposed enemies, an attitude which of course is\ninspired only by apprehension.\n\nMoods of fear and pessimism we say are deeply implanted in the\nconsciousness of man, and we must interpret both his optimism, and all\nits expressions in philosophy and in religion, and also his aggressive\nbehavior as in large part the result of a conscious or an unconscious\neffort to overcome his fear. The social consciousness is full of marks\nof age-long dread and suspicion. Fear of fate, fear of losing identity\nas a nation, fear of being overrun by an enemy, fear of internal\ndisruption, are strong motives in national life. Fear runs like a dark\nthread through all the life of nations, and gives to it a quality of\nmysticism, and a touch of sadness which is so characteristic of much\nof the deepest patriotism of the world.\n\nFear is one of the most powerful motives of all aggressive warfare in\nthe world. We find it in every nation, even those which are naturally\nmost aggressive, and in them perhaps most of all. In the history and\nin the war moods of Germany the fear motive is unmistakable. America\nis not without it. Nations conceal their fears, presenting a bold\nfront to the foreigner; but beneath the display one can always detect\nsuspicion, dread and intense watchfulness. America has in the past\nfeared Germany, and America fears the Far East; we look furtively\ntoward Asia, the primeval home of all evils and pestilence, for\nsomething that may arise and engulf us. Small countries fear; large\ncountries with their sense of distances, have their own characteristic\nforms of apprehension. Fear is the motive of preventive wars. It makes\nall nations desire to kill their enemies in the egg. It creates the\ndeath wish toward all who thwart our interests or who may in the\nfuture do so.\n\nThis fear motive runs through all history. Parsons says that men fight\nnot because they are warlike, but because they are fearful. Rohrbach\nthinks that if Germany and England could each be sure the other would\nnot be aggressive there would be no war between them. It is this\naspect of the foreign as the unknown that especially plays upon the\nmotive of fear. This fear is like the child's dread of the dark; it is\nnot what is seen, but what is not seen that causes apprehension. It is\nthe stranger whose psychic nature we cannot penetrate, who causes\nfear. In small countries having only land borders, this attitude of\nsuspicion and fear must become an integral part of the whole psychic\nstructure of the national consciousness. Fear becomes morbid; nations\nhave illusions and delusions based upon fear. There are reasons for\nbelieving that all aggression contains a pessimistic motive, or\nbackground, and that this pessimistic background is based upon the\nemotion of fear. Countries that are most positively aggressive have\nsuch a pessimistic strain. Pessimism is a shadow that lies across the\npath of progress of modern Germany. This fear motive, the quality of\nthe animal that charges when at bay, is to be seen throughout all\nGerman history. Germany's fear of Russia must certainly be blamed for\na great part of the pessimistic strain in the temperament of Germany,\nand therefore as an important factor among the causes of the great\nwar. Every war appears to the people who conduct it as defensive,\nprecisely because every war is to some extent based upon fear, and\nfear in national consciousness is a persistent sense of living by a\ndefensive strategy. It is existence that nations always think and talk\nof fighting for; it is existence about which they have apprehensions.\nBeneath all group life there is this sense of fear, since fear itself\nwas a large factor in creating that life. When people live together,\nrepress individual desires and participate in a common life we may\nknow that one of the strongest bonds of this social life is fear. The\nneed of defense is a more fundamental motive in national life than is\naggression. A \"shudder runs through a nation about to go to battle.\"\nThe lusts of war are aroused later by the overcoming of fear.\n\nGermany's inclination to preventive wars, her incessant plea of being\nabout to be attacked, can by no means be interpreted as pure\ndeception, or as an effort to make political capital. Germany's army\n_was_ primarily for defense, because a defensive strategy is the only\nstrategy that Germany with her position and her temperament can adopt.\nGermany's great army was Germany's compensation, in consciousness, for\nthe insignificance of her territory. It was for defense. It was also a\ncompensation for a feeling of inferiority, in Adler's sense.\nFanaticism, envy, depreciation of others, aggression, morbid and\nexcessive ambition were all fruits from the same stem. The gloom which\nmany have found in German life, and the pessimism in German\nphilosophy, we may explain in part by the experiences of Germany as\nthe scene of so many devastating wars. Upon the background of fear, in\nour interpretation of aggressive motives, is erected German autocracy,\nGerman ambition and the conception of the absolute State, which may be\ninterpreted as almost a specific fear reaction. It comes in time to\nhave other meanings, and like many instinctive reactions, it may be\nput to uses for which it was not originally produced, but there is\nfear concealed in the heart of it. How action can be both defensive\nand strongly aggressive, then, is no mystery if we see that aggression\nmay be a fear reaction, that even the most ardent imperialism is based\nin part upon fear, upon the consciousness at some time of being weak\nand inferior.\n\nFear and suspicion cause aggressive wars even when the fear may be, in\nall reason, groundless. There is no more dangerous individual in the\ncommunity than the one having delusions of persecution, for his mania\nis naturally homicidal. So with nations. Fear is a treacherous and\ndeceptive passion. We may see this fear, if we choose to look for it,\neven in the ecstatic mood of war and the spiritual exaltation of\nGermany during the first few weeks or months of the war. This\nexaltation was in part a reaction of fear--or a reaction from fear.\nGermany was afraid, feared for her existence, and the exaltation was\nin part a sense of taking a terrible plunge into the depths of fate.\nGermany was afraid of Russia and afraid of England, and that fear had\nto be overcome, because the presence of the fear itself was a matter\nof life or death. But the exaltation did not merely succeed the fear.\nIt contained it. And why should Germany, even with all her\npreparedness and her resources not be afraid? An inherited fear is not\nso easily exorcised. Germany arrayed against all Russia and all the\nBritish Empire, Germany no larger than our Texas experienced a state\nof exaltation, overcoming fear. But it required something more than\ncourage to overcome the fear; and that other element was mysticism. To\nthe sense of throwing all into the hands of fate which, by all\nphysical signs must be adverse, was added, as a compensating element,\nGermany's mystical belief in her security as a chosen nation. Fear, by\nits intensity and depth may, like physical pain, become ecstatic and\nthus be overcome.\n\n\n_Hatred_\n\nHatred must be considered both as a cause of war, and as an element in\nthe war moods. Many authors have called hatred one of the deepest\nroots of war. This hatred between nations even Freud says is\nmysterious. But Pfister, referring to Adler's theory, says that war\nmust be understood precisely as we understand enmity among\nindividuals. A sense of inferiority is insulted, and thus aggressive\nfeelings are aroused. The nation, like the individual, is spurred on\nto make good its claim to greatness. It is a feeling of jealousy based\nupon a sense of inferiority that causes hatred. O'Ryan and Anderson\n(5), military writers, say there are two causes of war: those based\nupon an assumed necessity, and those based upon hatred. Nusbaum (86)\nalso finds two causes of war, the expansion impulse and the egoism of\nspecies, which leads to long enmities.\n\nHistory shows that we must accept hatred as an underlying cause of\nwar. The reaction of deep anger which may be aroused by a variety of\nsituations that arise among nations, especially when it is, so to\nspeak, an outbreak of a long continued hatred, is a proximate cause of\nwars. Hatred, the reaction of anger prolonged into a mood, differs as\nnational or group emotion from the anger of the individual in part by\nbeing subject strongly to group suggestion, and in part because in the\ngroup consciousness there is only rarely a means of expression, on the\npart of the individuals of the group, of the feelings of hatred.\nEnemies are far away and inaccessible. Therefore hatred may become\ndeep and chronic.\n\nHatred between nations is usually based upon a long series of\nreprisals and a history of invasions. These invasions are primarily\nphysical invasions, but later invasions in the sphere of invisible\nvalues, offenses to honor and the like are added. These ideal values\ncome to be regarded as more vital than material values. Hatred between\ngroups becomes chronic and often seems to be groundless because the\nvalues concerned have thus become intangible. The chronic moods of\nhatred and dislike become explosive forces, ready to be excited to\naction whenever any difference arises. Veblen (97) says wars never\noccur except when questions of honor are involved, which is of course\nequivalent to saying that the reaction of anger is always required as\nan immediate cause of war. Veblen maintains also that emulation is\nalways involved in the patriotic spirit, that patriotism always\ncontains the idea of the defeat of an opponent, and is based upon\ncollective malevolence. The range of these occasions of crisis is so\ngreat, and the feelings of hatred so persistent and volatile, that the\nmechanism for the production of war is always present. These causes\nrange all the way from violation of property to offense to the most\nabstract ideas of national etiquette. Violation of international law,\nof moral principles, we see now, may have very far-reaching effects as\ninfringing the sphere of honor of nations not directly concerned,\nsince the prestige of all nations as participants in creating law and\nbecoming upholders of it is affected.\n\nIf hatred and its crises are causes of war, they do not fit into the\nmoods in which warfare is generally conducted. Hatred belongs to the\nperiods of peace and of strained relations, when the cause of war is\npresent, but the means of retaliation are not at hand or not in\naction. The prevalence and persistence of hatred in war is a sign of\nimperfect morale. Hatred cannot remain in the war mood of a nation\nacting with full confidence in its powers. Hatred always implies\ninferiority or impotent superiority. Dide (20) says that the spirit of\nhatred does not fit into the soldier's life. It goes with the desire\nfor revenge and is strongest among those who stay at home and can do\nnothing. Hatred is a phase of apprehension. Hatred is a product of the\nfear that cannot be taken up into the optimistic moods, and thus be\ntransformed. It remains as a foreign body and an inhibition. It arises\nwhen obstacles appear to be too great, when there are reverses, and\nthe enemy shows signs of being able to maintain a long and stubborn\nresistance, or flaunts again the original cause of the disagreement.\nScheler (77) says that revenge, which is a form of hate, is not a\njustifiable war motive. We should say also that it is not a normal war\nmood, that it has no sustaining force, but causes a rapid expenditure\nof energy which may be effectual in brief actions, but is even there\nwasteful and interferes with judgment and efficiency. Morale based\nupon hatred is insecure.\n\nHatred must have been a very early factor in the relations of groups\nto one another, and presumably we should need to go back to animal\nlife and study antipathies there in order fully to understand the\nnature of racial and national antagonisms, some of which may be based\nupon physiological traits and primitive aesthetic qualities. The very\nfact of the existence of groups, segregated and well bound together\nfor the purposes of offense and defense implies already a strong\ncontrast of feeling between that of individuals of the group toward\none another and that directed toward the outsider. This contrast\ndeveloped not merely as a reaction, but as a necessity, for groups in\nthe beginning must have had to contend against their own feeble social\ncohesion, and existed only by reason of strong emotions of fear and\nanger felt toward the stranger. Hatred toward all outside the group\nmust at one stage have been highly useful as a means of cementing the\nbonds of the group and maintaining the necessary attitude of defense,\nat a time when all outsiders were likely to be dangerous. Feelings of\nfriendliness toward strangers were dangerous to the life of the group,\nand so hatred possessed survival value.\n\nThe main root of group antipathy is in all probability fear. Hatred is\nan aspect of the aggressive defensive toward the stranger. Hatred is a\npart of the aggressive reaction. As an expression of ferocity toward\nall who are not known to be friendly, it belongs to the first line of\ndefense. Hatred is likely to be strong in the female because the\nattitude of the female is universally defensive.\n\nIn the beginning, as MacCurdy (37) says, the contrasts between groups\nwere sharp, and these definitely separated groups must have felt\ntoward one another not only antagonism but a sense of being different\nin kind. Intensity of feelings of opposition tends to magnify small\ndifferences into specific differences. This sense of specific\ndifference is never lost, not even in the consciousness of enlightened\nnations in regard to one another, and we may see it to-day displayed\nas a mystic belief, on the part of many peoples, in their own\nsuperiority. Nations are always outsiders to one another, and the\nsense of strangeness perennially sustains defensive attitudes and\nmoods of hatred. The friendship of nations can never be very secure,\nbecause the old idea of difference of kind is never quite abandoned.\nSome degree of enmity seems always to be felt toward the foreigner;\nthat is, toward all who are not interested in the protective functions\nof the group. MacCurdy thinks the intensity of suspicion and hatred of\npeoples toward one another belongs to the pathological field, and that\none expression of this is the peculiarity of the mental processes by\nwhich nations always justify their own cause in war. This, however, is\nperhaps an exaggeration, since we can trace these states of mind in\nall the history of the race.\n\nHow deep-seated the enmities and the sense of strangeness among\nnations may be is seen in the fact that national groups living in\nclose proximity to one another tend to become less friendly rather\nthan to become affiliated. These feelings gradually produce conceptual\nentities, which stand for the reality of the foreign. These concepts\nare deposits, so to speak, from a great number of affective reactions,\nand they always contain imaginative content based upon enmity and\nsuspicion. This underlying enmity between neighboring peoples is not\nsomething rare in the world. All foreigners, even in the minds of the\nmost intelligent of peoples, are reconstructions, caricatures. These\nfeelings and attitudes are strong and deep and they prevent genuine\nfriendship among nations. We tend to think of all foreigners as in\nsome degree malicious, as designing, and lacking in the good qualities\nand right habits which we ourselves possess.\n\nMany authors have commented upon the entire inability of nations to\nunderstand one another. There is a deep reason for this, which we have\nalready suggested. They do not wish to understand one another. It is a\npart of the archaic system of defense to maintain an attitude of\ndistrust and misunderstanding and even fear. The fear of the enemy is\na protection--against invasion from without and disruption within.\nNations do not dare to relinquish their fear of one another, and we\nsee something of this voluntary cherishing of fear and enmity in the\npresent hesitation about entering into leagues on the part of many\nnations. Nations really wish to hate one another, it would seem. Other\nevidence of this we have observed in the cult of hate that has been\npromulgated to keep up morale in the recent war. We see enmity\nmaintained when the differences among the peoples holding it are\nsuperficial and must indeed be exaggerated and caricatured in order to\nmake them support feelings of dislike. Small differences in the\ncustoms of closely related peoples are sufficient sometimes to\nmaintain intense antagonism. As Collier (68) says, it is precisely the\nbad manners of a people that cause conflict. These bad manners are of\ncourse manners that are _different from our own_.\n\nGermany's outburst of hatred and its frequent exhibition during the\nwar and its promulgation as a cult and a religion appear to have\nexcited the interest of many writers on the war. As a chapter in the\npsychology of war it has suggested new problems and points of view,\nand it has also appealed to many as an interesting problem of national\npsychology. If our explanation of hatred as especially related to fear\nand to the sense of inferiority is correct Germany of all nations must\nhave been affected with a disorder of morale, or some perversion of\nnational consciousness.\n\nThe hatred of Germany for England is not the only example of\ninternational enmity in the world, but its expression in the war has\nmade it peculiarly interesting. The grievance against England is first\nof all that England is great and prosperous, and lives in comfort upon\nthe unearned fruits of empire, while the German has toiled hard\nthrough the centuries and has caught nothing. England is hated because\nin many ways she has stood squarely in the path of Germany's progress\nand because in the history of European diplomacy, doors leading to\nwider empire have been again and again slammed in Germany's face,\nusually by the hand of England. Germany hates England, according to\nGerman writers, because England, a kindred race, tried to betray\nwestern civilization into the hands of barbarism. Germany hates\nEngland because, to the German mind, England is hypocritical. The\nEnglishman criticizes in others precisely what he does himself;\nPuritanical talk covers a sinful heart. Germany hates England because\nin her sea-policy England has been high handed and arrogant. The\nGermans often call England a robber nation, with the morals of a\nburglar who, having enriched himself by his trade, and having retired\nfrom business, now preaches honesty.\n\nIt is not merely the hatred of England on the part of Germany that is\nof interest for a psychology of war but the fact that Germany has\ntaken her hate for England with a peculiar seriousness, believed it\nunique, has been to the pains of justifying it morally, has covered it\nwith religious exaltation, made it a cult and even expressed it in a\nformula, and made it an educational program. There are many German\nwritings justifying the hatred of England and encouraging hate as a\nweapon of righteousness. Smith (47) (64) has given us the titles of\nforty-four German publications in his own possession, having for\nsubject Germany's hatred of England, and says that there are\nsixty-five more known to him. Some of these expressions of hatred are\nextreme. There is, or was, a pastor in Hamburg who declared from his\npulpit that his people were doing God a service in hating England and\nin taking every step possible to wipe so pestiferous a nation from the\nface of the earth. Frau Reuter says that it is impossible now more\nthan ever to love our enemies, that England who professed love for\nGermany and then betrayed her love must be hated. Stern, in his\nstudies of hate in children found that hate may be strong without any\nclear content, in the minds of German children. That some of this\nhatred of England is a direct effect of the teachings of Treitschke\ncan hardly be doubted, when we recall the great influence his\nteachings have had, and the peculiar bitterness of that dramatic\npersonage for England, for England's pretentiousness, her middle class\nsatisfaction, her insular conceit.\n\nThe further details of the cult of hatred in Germany need not detain\nus, since the purpose is only to suggest here the connection of hatred\nwith the national pessimism, the fear and the inferiority motive of\nGermany. We see a similar attitude in Austria, where there is a\nviolent race hatred toward the Serbians, which Le Bon has regarded as\nthe motive from which Austria went to war. Ferrero comments upon the\nfact that hatred is conspicuously absent in America, and says that the\ngreater hatred in Europe is due not only to the obvious result of\nnations being crowded together, but also to the caste system which\nlimits the freedom of the individual and tends to engender deep\npassions. Dide (20) says that in Germany preoccupation with the idea\nof injustice is a cause of war, and Chapman (39) also remarks that\nGermany had gone mad thinking of her wrongs. That jealousy and fear\nare in general the substratum of national hatred is deeply impressed\nupon one in studying the psychology of Germany. All the hate motive of\nthe late war might well be found in Germany's prayer \"_Gott strafe\nEngland._\" Germany appealed to God to punish England, of course,\nbecause Germany herself could not. Both the appeal and the hatred are\nreactions of fear and a sense of impotence. Germany hated England\nbecause England was secure behind her navy, upon her island, beyond\nthe reach of the war machine which is Germany's symbol of power and\nthe compensation for her sense of inferiority and weakness.\n\n\n_The Instinct of Combat_\n\nWe may distinguish in the motives of war between the aggressive\ntendency, which we have already discussed as a reaction of fear or of\nanger, and a more specific instinct of combat as a possession of the\nindividual, less subject to suggestion, less closely related to the\nphenomena of the herd. The aggressive reaction we associate, or some\nwriters do associate it, with the _predatory instinct_, practical in\nits motive, having in part an economic basis. The love of combat which\nappears especially as a play motive in the child and the youth is\nexpressed as a desire for conquest and in the pleasure of overcoming\nan enemy.\n\nSome see in war a recrudescence of the instinct of combat, and indeed\nthink of war as mainly such a return to primitive instinct. The life\nof peace represses this motive too much, they think. Life is too\norganized and cooeperative and the individual craves release from it.\nThe general objections to such an interpretation of war we have\nalready stated. We think rather of certain specific movements as\navenues of approach to highly complex states of ecstasy, and of these\nstates of ecstasy as representing or containing the real craving for\nwar, so far as there is one. The war mood exploits these movements and\ngives room for instincts to display themselves, and these instincts,\nin their expression, are pleasure-toned because they are archaic and\nhave once been well organized and habitual forms of activity having\npractical objects. But to say that men have a profound but concealed\ndesire to kill one another, that the fighting impulse remains intact\nin some original animal form, is a travesty upon human nature. It is\nprecisely because in war killing is depersonalized, so to speak, that\nit is a moral duty and is performed under conditions in which there is\na summation of many strong motives leading to the act that, as we see\nit, men find joy in battle. The instinct of attack, or the hunting\ninstinct that is involved in this activity, can become pleasure-toned\nonly because of the presence of other motives, and because the object\nis dehumanized for the time. Otherwise we should expect all soldiers,\nonce having their aggressive instincts aroused in battle, to become\ndangerous to the community.\n\nThat there is, however, a residue of pure love of physical combat and\na survival of the instinctive movements of combat is shown in play,\nalthough here too the motives are mixed. The desire to fight, to kill,\nto hunt are still present but for the most part are sublimated in\nadult life into desire for competition in general, love of danger, and\nthe hunting and gambling impulse. But we can here and there in human\nconduct see certain roots of pure instincts having definite\ncooerdinated reactions. These undoubtedly do play a part, but probably\na very small part in the present moods of war. So far as they remain\npurely instinctive their place as a general motive of war seems\nnegligible. It is a question, in fact, whether even in the state of\nsavagery any pure instinct for killing ever played a considerable\npart. There were already practical motives, motives of fear and anger,\nand presumably also complex states of pleasure connected with beliefs,\ncustoms and ceremonies as well as with battle, so that even then men\ncannot be said to have acted upon anything like purely instinctive\nimpulses.\n\nNumerous accounts have come from the scenes of the great war about men\nwho appear for a time to be dominated by irresistible instincts. Gibbs\n(80) says there are some men in every army who like slaughter for its\nown sake. They find an intoxication in it. They love the hunting\nspirit of it all. We have the story of a French soldier of peaceable\ndisposition who appeared to experience an ecstasy of delight as he lay\nconcealed in a shell hole and was able to pick off many of the enemy.\nThis was not the exhilaration and abandon experienced by men while\nmaking attack, when violent muscular exertion produces an\nintoxication of mind, but a dominance of the mind by something which\nseems very much like the hunting spirit, under circumstances in which,\nwe may suppose, the enemy had undergone some process of dehumanization\nin the mind of the hunter. We may suppose also that there are\nindividuals in every army who have pathological impulses or\nperversions, which show themselves in instinctive reactions of a\nspecific nature and in excess of the normal.\n\nBoth the Germans and the French are accused by French and German\nwriters respectively with being the real lovers of battle. German\nwriters say that the Germans are peculiarly peace-loving and by nature\nlacking in the battle spirit, but that the French love battle for its\nown sake, and that this is shown clearly by their history. Others see\nlove of conflict, aggressiveness and cruelty in the German\ndisposition. Boutroux (13) wishes to place among the causes of the\ngreat war the native brutality of the German disposition, a trait\nexisting from long ago, and now become a disciplined cruelty--a\n_zuchtmaessige Grausamkeit_, regarded as right and meritorious. Many\nthink they find this love of fighting, bloodthirst and love of\ndestruction in the German soul. Many attribute pure aggressiveness of\na pronounced type or an exaggerated predatory instinct to the Germans.\nChapman (39) says that the war is a flaming forth of passions that\nhave covertly been burning in the soul of Germany for several decades.\nHe adds that with the Germans war is instinctive; there is no _casus\nbelli_ at all. War 'is for war's sake, and is a need of nature with\nthe German. Smith (64) declares that the German is innately brutal,\nand as one proof of this he shows the statistics of brutal crimes in\nGermany. He writes of the truculent aggressiveness of the Teutonic\nrace, of the hatred and love of destruction displayed by the robber\nknights of the Middle Ages, and regards quarrelsome aggressiveness as\ninnate in German character. Dide (20) thinks that such aggressive\nwarfare as is practiced by the Germans always goes with a pessimistic\ndisposition. Thayer (58) connects bloodthirstiness with the paganism\nof Germany, and says that bloodthirstiness crops out again and again\nin German history. Nicolai (79) also refers to the craving for blood\nin the German character, and says that it has been shown throughout\nthe history of the Germans. The old sacrifices which grew out of\ncannibalism and are due to the persistence of the craving for blood\nshow an instinctive desire for slaughter, or at least a confirmed\nhabit of killing that dies hard. But in all these characterizations of\nnational temperament there is no clear distinction among various\nmotives of conduct. Anger and fear reactions, love of combat itself,\nthe motives of display are all intermingled.\n\nThere can of course be no precise way of estimating the place of a\npure instinct of combat among the causes of war, or in the war moods.\nWe have seen reason for believing that although these instincts remain\nas fragments in the individual and especially are utilized in higher\nprocesses of the social life, they are less influential in determining\nmotives and conduct than is sometimes believed. We cannot at least\nexplain war as a sudden release of these instincts. That primitive\npassions for violence, as MacCurdy (37) maintains, reenforce the herd\nantagonism, and in the midst of the apprehension at the threat of war,\ngive rise to a desire for war, may be true, but such primitive\npassions are not all of the forces that are at work in causing modern\nwars. To say that in the individual of modern society a savage still\nlives is an exaggeration, and does not properly express what social\nconsciousness is or has done. The social life is not a balance in\nwhich primitive instincts are held in leash by other instincts or\nfeelings, but a new product in which there is a synthesis of impulses\nin which the original form of the impulses may be greatly transformed.\nWe live in composite situations to which there correspond composite\nmoods. Often motives which clearly reveal to analysis their\ninstinctive character have no tendency to express themselves in the\ndefinite instinctive movements corresponding to this instinct-feeling,\nhaving permanently become dissociated from the primitive reactions,\neither by a process of generalization and fusion of states and\nprocesses in the individual, or by the inheritance of structural\nchanges. There are, it is true, all degrees of amalgamation of old and\nnew elements or of transformation of old elements, but to think of\ninstincts as remaining intact and unchanged in modern life seems\nwholly wrong.\n\nAfter all man is no longer an animal, and even the distance between\nman as a member of the present complex organized society and man as\nprimitive or savage is considerable. The difference is not entirely in\nthe associations themselves but in all that the associations have\ndone, or that they represent, in modifying instincts, which no longer\nexist in their original form and distinctness. Man is a creature of\nfeeling, but not of instinct we say, and this distinction is important\nin many ways. All analogies between animal and human life have an\nelement of danger in them. To explain human conduct in terms of herd\ninstincts--instincts of aggression and the like--is misleading, since\nthe instincts that are assumed do not exist as such, and perhaps never\ndid. The psychology of the crowd, and the psychology of war, cannot be\ncontained in the psychology of the herd, however attractive the\nsimplicity of these concepts may be. That primitive instincts may\nremain as remnants, that the crowd shows some of the characteristics\nof the herd and the pack cannot be denied, and that in the spirit of\nwar these fragments and traits play a certain part may well be\nbelieved. But the synthetic and highly complex mood we call the war\nspirit, and the causes of war, however archaic some of their elements\nmay be, are very different from any mere sum of instincts. There is no\nspecific craving for combat that we can call a cause of war, or that,\nin our view, plays any considerable part in the causes of war--combat\nas apart from practical motives and the complex moods into which, in\nits modern form, it enters. Some writers appear to be deceived because\nthey assume that war is itself primitive, and do not see that in spite\nof its conventions and its old forms, it is not far behind\ncivilization, not because civilization has made no progress, or is so\ninsecure, but because war, chaos though it be, in some respects\ncontains all our modern feelings. Kerr says that war is due to a\nsuperfluity of animal force that must vent itself, but such\nexplanations of war seem certainly to be very far from the truth. That\ntheory is far from being adequate as an explanation of play. It is\nmuch less so as an explanation of war. The other theory of play that\nis most prevalent and which is offered as a theory of war--that play\nand war are reversions to primitive instincts, is also insufficient.\nWar is neither an overflow of energy nor a reversion to primitive\nstates. Rather it is caused by and involves all the present and active\nmotives of man and all his essential human qualities.\n\n\n_Social Instincts_\n\nWhatever the specific causes of war may be, war is of course possible\nonly because there exists a mechanism or instinct or feeling, because\nof which great groups of people act as a unit in the common interests\nof all. We usually speak of this collective action as the result of\n_social instincts_ or a general _social instinct_. It is the place of\nthis \"instinct\" in the causes and moods of war that we must consider.\nWar is a social phenomenon: it is a movement directed toward an\nobject, but the force that drives the movement is of course social.\n\nSeveral writers, among them MacCurdy (37), Murray (90), and Trotter\n(82), have dealt with this social aspect of war, and have interpreted\nwar as a herd reaction. All these theories are simple. Trotter\nmaintains that in man there are four instincts and no more:\nself-preservative, reproductive nutritional, and herd instincts. The\npeculiarity of the herd instinct is that it does not itself have\ndefinite motor expression, but serves to intensify and direct the\nother instincts. This herd instinct is a tendency, so to speak, which\ncan confer instinctive sanction upon any other part of the field of\naction or belief. The herd instinct, for example, gives instinctive\nquality to the social organization and social proclivities of three\ndifferent types of society, which appear as national characters. These\nare the wolf, the sheep, and the bee types. The aggressive type of\nsocial organization is represented by the Roman and now by the German\ncivilization. This is a declining type, but it was because moral\nequality could not be tolerated in Germany that the rulers were\nobliged to cause Germany to revert to the primitive aggressive form of\ngregariousness. China would be a good example of Trotter's herd of the\nsheep type, for here the defensive instinct seems to be the dominating\nsocial reaction. War becomes, in such a herd, a great stimulus when,\nand only when, it is a threat to the whole nation, and when,\ntherefore, the individual fears for the whole herd rather than for\nhimself.\n\nThe third type is the bee type, well represented by England, although\nstill imperfectly. This is the type toward which the world as a whole\ntends, but as yet there is no complete form of it. At present the\ncapacity for individual reactions to the same stimulus has far\noutstripped the capacity for intercommunication. Intercommunication in\nthe biological sense has been allowed to run at haphazard. When once a\ngreat gregarious unit of this type shall have been thoroughly\norganized, and be subject to conscious direction as a whole, there\nwill appear in the world a new kind of social mechanism and a new\nbiological form. The interest in war will give way to a larger and\nmore dramatic field of interest and of conquest than the mere taking\nand re-taking of land. But there is as yet no such society. Even in\ntimes of a great war, there is an internal differentiation that cannot\nbe overcome, an individualism that creates antagonism, and a type of\nleadership which is conservative and static rather than progressive.\n\nIf we may safely apply Trotter's generalization to the present\nantagonism among groups (within nations, and also national groups) we\nmight say that the rapid differentiation of the human species has had\nan effect of creating within the species _man_ a large number of types\nof sub-specific value, and in this respect man differs greatly from\nany other species. Differences recognized by groups of the same\nspecies of animals are generally not sufficient to create antagonism\namong the groups, but in the case of man these differences have had\nprecisely the effect of marking off groups with antagonistic\ninterests. The animal society dominated by a few instincts directed\nfor the most part toward external objects preserves a state of peace\nwithin the species. Man by reason of his intelligence and his\ncapacities for specialization and the great number of his desires\ntends to prey upon his own kind. This segregation is in part\nartificial, becomes conventional and is subject to the effects of\nleadership that tends to fixate artificial distinctions, but it is\nalso in part an effect of the exigencies of the wider life of man, of\nhis superiority of which variability of conduct is an essential\naspect. This differentiation is one of the conditions of a firmer\norganization in the society of man than any animal society can attain,\nbut at the present time the two processes of differentiation and\norganization are to some extent antagonistic to one another.\n\nTrotter maintains that the tendency of nature is to increase and\nmaintain the homogeneity of the species, but we should say rather that\nthe whole process of differentiation and organization is upon a level\nin which the biological processes that make for or against homogeneity\nhave but little effect. The task before man is social. It is not so\nmuch a consciousness of his destiny as a species that man requires,\nbut of his work as an organized group. It is due to a rapid\ndifferentiation and increase in man's desires that he has become a\nspecies in which there is internal warfare. It must be by the control\nof these desires in a conscious process of organization that he will\nbecome, if ever, a well-ordered and homogeneous group. Trotter thinks\nof such a change as a biological phenomenon, as being one of those\nmomentous steps which a very few times have been taken in the\ndevelopment of organic life in the world.\n\nWe cannot discuss fully here these biological views, as they relate to\nthe future organization of the world. That the explanation of wars\nwithin the human species this view affords is correct so far as it\ngoes one would admit. Men fight among themselves as animals do not,\nbecause of their differences. We should prefer to think of these\ndifferences, however, neither as a phase of biological differentiation\nas structural change nor as functional adaptation by differentiation\nof reactions to the same stimuli, but as the effect of the new\nconsciousness of desires that came with the rise of man from the\nanimal stage, and the conditions under which these desires could and\nmust be realized. It is the complexity of interests that has given to\nman his antagonisms and his differences, and these secondary\ndifferences have been utilized as a means of still further developing\nthe desires and satisfying them, or justifying their satisfaction. It\nis man's intelligence and his capacity for being governed in his\nconduct by many desires that teaches him to make war upon his own\nkind, and the very same qualities make his associations firm and\nlasting. _But just in this way the human group ceases to be a herd and\nto be dominated by herd instincts._ To interpret war, therefore, as an\neffect of social instinct or herd instinct upon the instincts of\naggression or of self-protection, or as the effect of aroused\ninstincts of aggression and self-protection exciting the herd\ninstinct, is unsatisfactory because it is too simple, and erroneously\nundertakes to explain human life in terms of instinct and also carries\nbiological analogies too far. These views, if we understand them, seem\nto have the characteristic faults of all purely biological sociology.\n\nThat, however, the \"herd instinct,\" or the social feeling or the\ncohesive force in groups, whatever it may be, is exceedingly strong\nand persistent is shown by the recent war. We see a world highly\ndifferentiated, and with wide associations which seemed to have become\npermanent becoming at once a world in which the lines of cleavage are\nbased upon propinquity and political organization. All ties, except\nnational ties, were broken up. The nation, conscious of itself,\nbecomes a unit or personality, and the sense of personality of a\nnation becomes greatly intensified in time of war. The individual\nbecomes unimportant, both in his own estimation and in the eye of the\nlaw. It is the life of the nation as a whole that is felt to be\nthreatened and under this threat the group as a whole becomes an\nobject of devotion and solicitude. Nicolai (79) comments upon this\n_Massengefuehl_ and says that, when not counterbalanced by higher\nelements of social consciousness, it may be a low and dangerous\nelement in the consciousness of groups. Sumner (70) also speaks of the\nextraordinary power of gregariousness, and says that when the movement\nis upon a vast scale, the numbers engaged being very large, there is\nalways an exhilaration connected with the movement, and that if the\ncauses involved are believed to be deep and holy, the force of this\ngregarious mood may become demoniacal.\n\nThere are two especially remarkable changes that take place in the\nsocial life in war or in the act of going to war, and which represent\nthe social instinct or feeling at its highest point. These phenomena\nare types of social reaction, but the question may be raised whether\nthey do not represent something more than reactions in the ordinary\nsense. We see in times of war, first, a greatly increased\nsensitiveness to leadership, a craving for devotion to a leader,\nindeed, which is sometimes pathetic in its effort to transform really\ncommonplace men into religious objects. The leader as a concept and an\nideal is a product of the social mood itself, which does for him\nprecisely what romantic love does for its object, exerts a creative\neffect upon him. The leader is magnified to heroic size and held up\nbefore the enemy as a threat. It is plain to be seen that this\ndevotion to leader and imaginative treatment of him is in part a\ndefensive reaction. The individual hides behind this colossal figure,\nand thus feels himself safe. But this protective impulse that creates\nthe invincible leader is not the only motive; at least it is probably\nnot the only one. The leader represents the ideals and the ambitions\nof the people, and his prestige and the forms that surround him,\nespecially everything that is aesthetic or suggests the heroic,\nsymbolize the craving for power in a people. The strength and the\npeculiar abandon and perversity, one may say, of the affections of a\nnation toward the leader in time of war make the rise of such a leader\ndreaded by the political powers in every country. Newspapers, in every\nwar, find some heroic figure whom they exploit as a coming dictator,\nand changes of leadership in the field apparently sometimes have\nreference to these popular currents. But a nation in love with its\nleader is strong in defense, and readily becomes aggressive, and this\nrelation of mass to leader is of course one of the main foundations of\nmilitary morale.\n\nThe second universal social phenomenon of war is the greatly\nintensified feeling of solidarity as shown in comradeship and united\nfeelings on the part of the people. This too is in part, and only in\npart, a protective reaction. The individual becomes safe by becoming a\npart of a whole which then alone seems to have real existence and true\nvalue. The individual loses himself in the whole, but the whole group\nalso becomes absorbed and taken into the sphere of protection and\ninterest of the individual. The individual becomes highly sensitive to\neverything that happens to the group, and peculiarly affected by the\nsocial mood of comradeship. This spirit of comradeship becomes one of\nthe most conspicuous qualities of the social life in time of war.\nComradeship in arms is of course the highest point of this social\nsolidarity. The mass action, the close physical relationship,\nsubjection to the same narrow routine and the common experiences of\ndanger, induce social states that represent the most complete\nexpression of pure social feeling, and excite moods which, upon\noccasion may reach the highest degree of ecstasy or intoxication and\nlead to acts of the most exalted heroism.\n\nThese changes in the social life in time of war are striking and\nfundamental. To explain them would mean to explain social feeling\nitself. We may say that these phenomena of the social life are\nprecisely the _herd reactions_ the biological writers speak of, but to\ndo so would mean, from our point of view, to ignore some very\nsignificant aspects of human social life. It would ignore first of all\nthe ecstatic quality of the higher social life, which is indeed the\nessential quality of the social spirit of war. Instead of saying that\nthis intensity of feeling is merely a reflex of an instinctive\nreaction, we should say that it is the expression of, and in part the\nsatisfaction of, desires that are fulfilled in the social experience\nof war. The intense social life is craved, not as an instinctive\nreaction, but as a complex state expressing explicit desires. The\ncraving for this social solidarity and ecstasy of social feeling is a\nfactor in the causes of war. What we experience socially in times of\npeace is a society in which social feeling is narrow and provincial,\nin which we are conscious of many antagonistic motives. This social\nlife fails to satisfy the desires which are seeking expression in the\nsocial life. That war is in part a creation of the social impulse\nseeking expression may be assumed from the nature of the social\nfeelings that are excited in war. That such social feeling is a\ncreation in the sense that it is desired, we see if in no other way in\nthe fact that social ecstasy is the most universal form of\nsatisfaction of all those impulses which fuse in the intoxication\nimpulse, where we recognize it as the craving for an abundant or real\nlife. Life is most real in its intensely dramatic social forms. Social\necstasy is in part a conscious adaptation. It is something that is\ndesired and induced, and artificially cultivated in various ways,\nespecially by a variety of aesthetic social experiences, and in the\ncults of intoxication. Alcohol has been used specifically throughout\nthe world and from the beginning at least of the historical period for\nthe purpose of creating social feeling. Patriotism is in part, we may\nsay, a cultivated, social emotion, and in the art of manners we see\nthe social life given forms which will increase its susceptibility to\nsuggestion, its persuasive force and its organized expression. Such\nfacts show us social emotion which is something more than the feeling\nside of an instinctive reaction.\n\nThis is hardly the place to try to elucidate the fundamental\nprinciples of the psychology of the social feelings or instincts, but\nit may be helpful to suggest in outline certain divergences in the\ntheory of the social life that seem to be in point. We see on one side\nmany writers who tend to regard social phenomena as mainly the result\nof instinct, as the expression either of a single instinct or of a\ncombination of several specific instinctive tendencies. Contrasted\nwith these views are the theories according to which social life is\nsomething that is mainly created by reason, based, so to speak, upon\nthe observation that in union there is strength. Neither of these\nviews seems to be satisfactory. That social feeling is based upon\ninstinct is clear, but that it is also something created, synthetic,\nand subjected to selective processes seems also evident. Precisely\nwhat the instinctive basis of the social life is, perhaps one cannot\nwith any certainty determine, nor can we say how many specific\ninstincts enter into it. But that social feeling in its higher levels\nis a very complex mood, in which, although there are several\ninstinctive reactions or feelings, there is to be discovered no social\ninstinct as such, is the conclusion which we reach.\n\n_Social behavior is a development of all the fundamental tendencies of\nthe organism._ It has its roots both in the reproductive and the\nnutritional motives. These fundamental tendencies have issued\nphylogenetically in specific reactions that enter into the social life\nat all its levels, and in the life of the individual these reactions,\nexpressing needs and desires, issue in highly complex moods, in which\nfundamental feelings are present but do not constitute the whole of\nthe social moods. The individual does various specific things with\nreference to his fellows which are of the nature of instinctive\nreactions, but both in the phyletic development and the development in\nthe individual, elements that enter into the modern social life as\ninstincts have tended to lose their specific character, have become\ngeneral or merely organic, have been transformed and have to some\nextent lost their original significance.\n\nThe motives of hunger, the reactions of the reproductive mechanisms,\nreactions to visual impressions and to sounds, warmth reactions, the\nhuddling of fear, the influences of suggestion, susceptibility to all\nthe stimuli of the social object enter into social feelings, and\nremain to some extent as instinctive reactions in the higher social\nprocesses. But we do not seem to find any general social instinct, or\nany specific herd instinct or any definite and broadly acting\nprotective and aggressive instincts. As compared with some other views\nof the social feelings ours assumes in one way more and in another\nless of instinct in the social life. There is more instinct in the\nsense that more specific instinctive reactions are recognized in it,\nbut less in assuming that these reactions are derivatives of primitive\nreactions of the organism, and also because they become transformed\nand fused and lose their original forms. They have come from common\nsources in organic life, we might say, and they meet again in the\ngeneral moods which they help to create.\n\n\n_Conclusions_\n\nIt is an important point to observe that most if not all of the\nspecific instinctive reactions and feelings engendered in war, or\noccurring as an incitement to war, are capable of inducing ecstatic\nstates. There are several of these movements and states, each of which\ncan become, so to speak, a foundation for the development of ecstasy.\nCombat may and must do this, and probably war could never be carried\non at all unless danger and death had qualities which arouse ecstatic\nmoods. There is a joy in fighting, in killing, and in the tumult of\nbattle that becomes one of the most important of military assets, and\nis one of the main elements of morale in the field. This capacity of\nhuman nature to make over that which is intrinsically painful into the\npleasurable is one of the paradoxes of human life to be explained and\ntaken into account in the study of the psychology of war. Fear itself\nmay induce an ecstasy, both in the individual, as we know from many\nreported cases from the late war, and as a social mood in which the\nfear contributes a quality of intensity and ferocity to patriotism.\nThe gambling mood, which is in part a play with fear, is another\necstatic reaction seen in war, and it is often the means of clearing\nthe way, so to speak, for free and uninhibited action.\n\nOf course all the purely aesthetic elements in the social life have\nthis effect of arousing exalted moods, and indeed that is precisely\ntheir function. All social impulses tend in this same direction, and\nthere is induced in all intense social states an intoxication mood. In\nthese social states, the reproductive motive is often clearly\ndiscernible, but partly by common consent and convention, and partly\nbecause of the composite and fused form of impulses in the social\nmood, robbed of its specific reactions and converted into a new\nproduct, regarded both as conduct and as feeling.\n\nAll religious states aroused in war tend to become ecstatic. Their\nwork is to overcome the sense of tragedy of war, and it is only by\nbecoming intense and voluminous, so to speak, that they can accomplish\ntheir work at all. Either they must end in a mysticism which includes\nor takes the form of exalted moods, or they must, as can be\naccomplished in some temperaments, become dynamic states by inspiring\na fatalistic attitude, which is at bottom a sense of throwing oneself\nunreservedly into the hands of fate.\n\nWe may best think of these complex war moods as the forces out of\nwhich wars are made, and the spirit in which they are conducted, but\nnot as by their own initiative creating wars. These intoxication moods\nor ecstasies are forces which contain desires that are general, we\nsay; they are mental processes that act as a means of greatly\nincreasing the volume of all social actions. When we analyze them we\nfind specific desires in them, and evidences of instinct and primitive\nfeeling, but they are not in themselves tendencies toward specific\nreactions and in fact the motor tendencies they contain more or less\ninhibit one another.\n\nIn general, these war moods of which we speak are _precipitated_ by\ndefinite and incisive reactions of fear and anger. These emotions of\nfear or anger seem to be the necessary positive stimuli to induce the\nmoods of war. Fear and anger, no one can maintain, are the sole causes\nof war, and they are far from being the sole factors of the war moods,\nbut they are the usual precipitants of war.\n\nFear and anger as social emotions cannot sustain organized and\neffectual social activity upon a large scale; we see them always, in\nwar, taken up, transformed, absorbed in moods which are at once more\npractical, and more exalted and which, as complex processes, can be\nsustained over long periods of time. But these primitive reactions of\nanger and fear enter into the ecstatic moods, become associated with\nor induce aesthetic and religious states of consciousness, gain moral\njustification or religious exploitation, become aspects of directive\nand dynamic moods and so give force and efficiency to morale and\nstrategy.\n\nWar appears as a breakdown of certain modes of volition. Certain types\nof conflict are abandoned, and aggressive activities become more\nsimple and powerful, but war is no reversion to primitive instinct, or\nto any number of instincts. The resulting states of mind are too\nrational as means, and too exalted and ideal to be thus primitive. New\ncontent is introduced into social consciousness and new purposes come\nto light in these ecstasies, even though the consciously sought\nobjectives may be archaic and conventional and the mental states\ntraceable to more elementary states, and the conduct be similar in\npurpose and type to the simpler forms of conduct we find in the animal\nworld What we are trying to impress here is the well known truth that\nthe whole of a thing is not necessarily contained in its parts. It is\nthe meaning of the war-mood as a whole, as a summation of many factors\nof the mental life, and as a direction of social consciousness as a\nwhole that is its most important characteristic.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nAESTHETIC ELEMENTS IN THE MOODS AND IMPULSES OF WAR\n\n\nThat experiences and motives which belong to the field of the\naesthetic play an important part in war can hardly be doubted. The\nwhole history of war shows this, and even in the beginning war seems\nto be an activity carried on in part for its own sake, and not\nentirely for its practical results, and thus has qualities which later\nare explicitly aesthetic. We cannot of course separate sharply the\naesthetic motive from everything else in studying so highly complex an\nobject as war, but that war does partake of the nature of what we call\nthe _beautiful_, and that the craving for the beautiful is a factor in\nthe causes of war seem to be certain. The relation of art to war is of\ncourse no new theme. War has often been praised because of its\naesthetic nature, and its dramatic features. It is called a beautiful\nadventure. It is reproduced in pictorial art, represented in music,\nand thus glorified and adorned, showing at least that it can readily\nbe made to appear beautiful if it does not in itself possess beauty.\nThose who think of war as related to play also connect it with art.\nNicolai (79), who condemns war, says that it is when war as an\ninstinctive action is no longer useful, but is performed for its own\nsake that it becomes beautiful.\n\nWe cannot undertake to enumerate all the aesthetic qualities of war,\nor to show all the relations of the aesthetic aspects to other motives\nof war in detail, since to do so would mean to work out some of the\nfundamental principles of aesthetics. We may begin, however, by saying\nthat war as a whole, as a movement in which there is complete\norganization of social forces shows already the marks of aesthetic\nexperience and of art. As such a unification of interest in a strong\nand uninhibited movement, as a cooerdinated expression of deep desires,\na multiplicity of action with a unity of purpose, so to speak, war is\naesthetic in form although to mention such very general qualities does\nnot go very far toward characterizing an object.\n\nIn its meaning as _tragedy_ war contains and exerts a strong aesthetic\nappeal. With all its horrors, war fascinates the mind. As fate, death,\nhistory it inspires awe, and creates a sense of the inevitableness of\nevents and of the play of transcendental and inexorable forces in\nhuman life. When, under any influence, these feelings appear as an\naccepting and willing of evil, we have the tragic movement as we find\nit in art. The death _motif_ in war is the center of a variety of\nstates which are ecstatic and have aesthetic quality. The religion of\nvalor, the passion that is aroused by abandoning oneself to fate, the\nabsolute devotion of service are aesthetic in form as experience,\nwhatever else they may be. The relation of these motives to love and\nto the reproductive impulses has often been noticed. Devotion and\ndeath appear as beautiful; their representation in art is in part a\nrecognition of this fact; in part it is an effort to transform them\ninto the forms of the aesthetic. Art celebrates, but also creates,\nthis luxury of feeling, and war also in its own dramatic movement\ntransforms ugly and plain facts of life by including them in ecstatic\nstates, and surrounding them with glory.\n\nThe ideal of glorified death plays a large part in the spirit of war.\nIn war the fear of death is not only in great part stilled, but there\nis a longing to tempt fate and also to experience death itself, and\nthis desire may become ecstatic. Here we see in effect one of the most\nimportant functions of the aesthetic, which is to carry on a _drama of\nthe will_ in which something that is in itself painful becomes\npleasant and desired. The desire for war is to some extent a desire\nfor death, a longing for a form of euthanasia in which the individual\ndies but in a sense lives--lives as glorified in death, and also in\nthe continuance of the life of the group and of the country into which\nhe has been absorbed. It is of course its relation to death that more\nthan anything else has made it necessary that war should appeal to\nart, and take an aesthetic form, and without the aid of the aesthetic,\nwar could not maintain itself in the world. As a sheer fulfillment of\nduty war could not survive. By the strength of its aesthetic appeal\nwar must control and overcome the instinct of self-preservation.\n\nWar appeals to the human mind as the great adventure of life. To the\nhealthy normal man this appeal, under certain circumstances, may be\ncompelling in its power. Man feels the call of adventure in his blood.\nWar may seem at times the natural expression of what is most real and\nmost essentially masculine in human nature. War is the essence of all\nthe dramatic and heroic story of the world. The past lives most\nvividly in this theme of war, and the sense of remoteness in time\nlends an aesthetic coloring to all the story of war, and is in part\nits fascination. The dead heroes of to-day are glorified by linking\ntheir names with the great heroes of the past.\n\nTo the glory of the individual, which is an aesthetic appeal, is added\nthe still stronger appeal of the ideal of national glory. The image\ncreated in the mind which sustains the devotion of the individual is\nalso an aesthetic form. It is the idea of a nation transformed by\nstory, symbol and eloquence that is established. The dimness and\nmysticism of the long ago, all dramatic scenes of the national life,\nthe forms of royalty are used in transforming reality into an ideal.\nThe consciousness of a nation is indeed an artist which creates an\nideal nation, glorifying and transforming the past, and painting a\nvivid picture of the empire that is to be. No little part in the\nGerman idea of the fatherland has been taken by the revived image of\nthe old German Empire, and the story of Charlemagne, the Ottonides,\nthe Hohenstaufen and the Hohenzollern which has been woven into the\nlife of the present and has become an aesthetic setting for the idea\nof future greatness.\n\nIn the religion of valor, also, we may find aesthetic elements. Valor\nrepresents in this cult the spirit of the superior man. It is an\naristocratic idea. Military life is full of this theme. The ideals of\n_noblesse oblige_, honor, the spirit of sportsmanship, enter into it,\nand all these concepts are in part aesthetic in nature. It is neither\nas moral nor as practical ideas that they have so deeply influenced\nsociety, but because of their appeal to the sense of the beautiful.\nAll this aspect of war and military life, both in its motives and in\nits forms, is closely related to the pure beauty of art. The play\nspirit also, which in some of its developments at least is aesthetic,\nenters into the motives of war. War, we say, is the great adventure.\nIt is the realization of power. It is an expression of the love of the\nsense of freedom. It is the great game, in which everything is staked.\nThe love of danger and the love of gambling with life that it contains\nhave roots that are also roots of various forms of art.\n\nAnother element, aesthetic in motive and form, obviously related to\nthe reproductive functions of the individual, is the display motive.\nThis motive of display is concerned especially with the idea of\ncourage. It is of course a deep desire of the male to display courage\nbefore the female. This display motive must be the main motive of the\n_uniform_ and all the other ornamental aspects of military life. Rank,\ntitles and decorations belong to the same movement. They are\nindications of the advancement of the man in those essential qualities\nof the soldier, the chief of which is courage. The aesthetic forms in\nwhich courage is represented help to sustain it, and are an important\nelement in morale, and they also serve a purpose in creating or\nadding to the allurement of the service and the fascination of war. It\nis the craving for the display of courage, the desire of the man \"to\nshow the stuff that is in him,\" that gives to war some of its most\npersistent aesthetic forms, and these aesthetic forms help both to\nmake the display of courage effective and to create courage.\n\nAmong these aesthetic elements of war must be considered of course the\nrhythms, the forms, all the concerted action, the marching (which may\nbe regarded as one of the forms of the dance), the parade, the\nmaneuvering and drill that enter into military life. Already in\nprimitive warfare these aesthetic forms begin to appear and indicate\nclearly both their practical significance as means of affecting the\nwill, and their relations to the religious and to the reproductive\nmotives. The warrior tries to create in his person the appearance of\npower, and also by the aesthetic forms he introduces into his warfare,\nthe feeling of power. He believes indeed that through these aesthetic\nforms he actually creates or exerts power. This is the motive of the\nwar dance, which as an aesthetic form produces this ecstasy of the\nfeeling of power. This power is often conceived to be magical; the\nwomen dancing at home are supposed to exert an influence upon the men\nin the field or upon the enemy, and the savage believes that in his\nown displays he actually overcomes the spirit of his enemy. Art is\nhere plainly serving a purpose. Display is a means of creating an\nimpression in the minds of the enemy. It also has the purpose of\ncreating an effect in the mind of the soldier himself. The art in\nmilitary life is, indeed, to give the impression of power to all who\nmust be affected by the exhibition of force.\n\nAll social life contains elements that appeal to the aesthetic sense,\nand these aesthetic elements are by no means solely ornamental. The\nuniversal development of etiquette and manners has reference to very\npractical aspects of the social life. Their function is to influence\nthe will. The highly developed etiquette of military life is not\nmerely to facilitate the military functions, and it is no explanation\nof the formalism of the military life to say that this is a sign of\nits archaic nature. Formalism in this life is one of the means taken\nto cover up all the details of militarism that are repugnant: the\nhardship, the lack of freedom and the like. Etiquette acts\npersuasively upon the will, it helps to make military life desired,\nand to make men submissive under control of absolute leaders. All\nformalism in social life, considered in one aspect of it, is a symbol\nof the resignation of the will of the individual. As thus a symbol it\nmay either convey or mediate social feeling, and when social feeling\nis absent the art of manners may become a substitute for this social\nfeeling, and in both these ways it is a means of giving to society\ncohesion, order and form.\n\nSuch considerations as these help to explain the longing for war or\nits equivalent which persists in the human heart. It helps us to\nrealize the truth of Cramb's (66) assertion that the whole history of\nthe world shows that man has lacked not only the power but the will to\nend war and establish perpetual peace. There are still motives in the\nmind of man that make him approve of war. War is perpetuated because\nof its heroic form, as a form of experience in which the meaning of\nlife is felt to be exploited, in which life is transformed and\nglorified, in which the tragedy of life, which in any case is\ninevitable, becomes a tragedy which, because it bears the form of art,\nis acceptable and even longed for. This is the allurement of war, its\npersistent illusion, perhaps. The aesthetic forms of war take war out\nof the field of reason, and on occasion make it transcend or pervert\nreason. So we may understand why it is true that sometimes those who\nbut little understand why they are to die on the field of battle may\ndisplay the greatest courage and the greatest enthusiasm for war, and\nwe must not say that these causes are fatuous because they exist in\nthe realm of aesthetic values.\n\nIf we take war too realistically, with reference to its practical\nmotives, its mere killing and looting, which we may suspect are\nrelated to the nutritional motive that we always find running through\nhuman conduct, and leave out of account those aspects of war which\nseem to belong mainly to the reproductive motive, to the enthusiasm\nand intoxication and art of the world, we shall to that extent\nmisunderstand it. These motives cannot, of course, be separated\ndefinitely from one another in analyzing conduct, but we cannot be\nvery wrong in differentiating phases of war which belong predominantly\nto the reproductive motive. It is because, at least, all deep\ntendencies of life are involved in war that it is so hard to eliminate\nit from experience. If war were an instinctive reaction it might be\ncontrolled by reason. If it were an atavism or a rudimentary organ\nsome social surgery or other might relieve us of it. But war is a\nproduct of man's idealism, misdirected and impracticable idealism\nthough it may be, but still something very expressive of what man is.\nIt is this idealism of nations, leading them to the larger life, that\nmakes them cling to war, whether for good or for evil. It will avail\nlittle to prove to the world that war is an evil, so long as war is\ndesired, or so long as something which war so readily yields is\ndesired. Statistics of eugenics and proofs that war ruins business\nwill not yet cure us of our habit of war, and not at all so long as\nthere is a vacancy in life which only the dramatic experiences of war\ncan fill. When war is abandoned, it will be given up probably not\nbecause economists and sociologists vote against k, and we see that\npeace is good, but by the consent of a world which, once for all, is\nwilling to renounce something that is dear to it and held to be good,\nif for no other reason, because it symbolizes what life and reality\nare. The world appears to have two minds about war, or at least it\ndoes not hold consistently to any one attitude toward it. Beneath all\njudgments about the evils of war, there is the allurement of these\naesthetic motives which must be reckoned with in any psychology of\nwar, or in any practical plan for eliminating war from the future\nexperience of the race.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nPATRIOTISM, NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL HONOR\n\n\nMany authors find in patriotism or in national honor the chief or the\nsole cause of war. Jones (37), the Freudian, for example, says that\npatriotism is the sum of those causes of war which are conscious as\ndistinguished from the repressed motives. Nicolai (79) says that\npatriotism and chauvinism would have no meaning and no interest\nwithout reference to war, and that for the arts of peace one needs no\npatriotism at all. Hoesch-Ernst (32), another German writer, says that\npatriotism has made history a story of wars. It has developed the\nhighest virtues (and the worst vices), but it creates artificial\nboundaries among peoples, and gives to every fighter the belief that\nhe is contending against brute force. Veblen (97) says that patriotism\nis the only obstacle to peace among the nations. MacCurdy (37) speaks\nof the paradox of human nature seen in the fact that the loyalty we\ncall patriotism, which may make a man a benefactor to the whole race,\nmay become a menace to mankind when it is narrowly focussed. Novicow\nsays that what shall be foreign is a purely conventional matter.\nAnother writer remarks that patriotism is the guise under which the\ninstincts of tiger and wolf run riot.\n\nSeveral writers, Powers (75), and especially Veblen, place questions\nof national honor among the main causes of war. Veblen would hold that\nwars never occur unless the questions involved are first converted\ninto questions of national honor--and are then, but only then,\nsupported as moral issues. Other writers are to be found who make the\nsame claims for honor, saying that wars are always over questions of\nnational honor--honor always meaning here, let us observe, not moral\nprinciple but prestige, dignity, analogous to what we call personal\npride in the individual.\n\nBroadly speaking, we may say that such views of war base it upon the\nfact that nations are individuals, having personality and\nself-consciousness, and are moved by emotions such as dominate the\nindividual, although such analogies between individual and group are\nnever free from objection. But that the consciousness of the group as\nan individual may be exceedingly intense, full of aggressiveness,\nintolerance and pride, of great sensitiveness to all outside the\ngroup, is, of course, obvious from the history of nations. Groups thus\nendowed with a sense of solidarity and sensitiveness become highly\nvitalized and persistent personalities which stalk through the pages\nof history with tremendous power and tenacity of purpose. Nations thus\nlive intensely, and in their intense feelings and personal attributes\nthere are expressed purposes and ideals, conscious and unconscious,\nanalogous to those which make the individual also an historical\nentity.\n\nThere seem to be two aspects of group personality that need to be\ninvestigated in detail in any study of war, and which must be\ndistinguished from one another, as they may be by referring to the\nprimitive or central emotional quality which each has. These are\npatriotism and the sense of honor, the former, for our purposes, to be\nregarded as the sum of the affections a people has for that which is\nits own; the second a sum of those feelings and attitudes, the\nemotional root of which is _pride_. These feelings are the affective\nbasis of the idea of _nationalism_.\n\nPatriotism, or love of country or feeling of loyalty toward country,\nis a highly complex emotion or mood, and its object, an ideal\nconstruction, is formed by a process of abstraction in which certain\nqualities of home, environment, social objects selected by those\nfeelings are made over into a composite whole. Patriotism is\nimmediately connected with the fact that men, by some biological or\nother necessity are formed into groups, in which the consciousness of\nthe individual in regard to the group and its members and its habitat\nis different from the consciousness in regard to everything outside.\nPatriotism is devotion to all that pertains to the group as a separate\nunit, and its form and intensity are dependent upon what the group as\na unit does. The size and organization of the group to which the\npatriotic feeling may go out may, it is obvious, differ widely.\n\nThere appear to be five more or less distinct and different factors in\npatriotism; or, we might say, five or more objects of attachment, the\nlove of which all together constitutes patriotism. These objects are:\nhome, as physical country; the group as collection of individuals;\nmores, the sum of the customs of a people; country as personality or\nhistorical object, and its various symbols; leaders or organized\ngovernment or state, its conventions and representations.\n\nThe deepest of all strata in the very complex feeling of patriotism,\none which is concerned in every relation among nations, is the\ndevotion to, or habituation to--or we might say identity with--the\ngreat complex of ideals, feelings, and the like which make up the\ncustoms, folkways, mores or ethos of a group. The individual as a\nconscious person is to such an extent created by these conscious\nfactors that we find that the reality sense is in part produced by\nthem. We have already referred to the belief on the part of many\npeoples that they alone are real. Foreigners with different mores\nprobably always seem less real than our own people: they may even be\nlooked upon as automata, as not being moved by the feelings and\npurposes that we ourselves have. The language of the foreigner, the\nuneducated man is inclined to think of as having no meaning. Every\ngroup has its own ways, and whatever else war may be, it is in every\ncase an argument for the superiority of the ways of the group. Each\ngroup in war feels that its own most intimate possessions, its\nmorality and its genius are attacked. It guards these instinctively,\nand a part of the purpose of aggression is the desire to make these\nthings prevail in the world, because they are felt to be the only\nright, true and sensible ways. This preference for our own ways, and\nparticipation in them, is the basic fact of nationality.\n\nThe feeling of patriotism is thus primarily an aesthetic appreciation\n(or at least an immediate and intuitive one) of the totality of the\nlife of the group. Just as standards of normality and artistic form in\nregard to the human person and its adornment vary from group to group,\nand are produced in the consciousness of the group, so there is a\nreaction of pleasure to, and attachment for, the whole of the life\nthat surrounds the individual. This appreciation is wider than moral\nfeeling, which indeed is in part based upon it, and is a sense of the\nfitness of any act to belong to the whole of the conduct that promotes\nthe welfare of the group.\n\nPatriotism is best known, or at least it is most celebrated, as an\nattachment to the native land as _place_. This is the poet's\npatriotism. It is, however, something more than a mere love of the\nhomeland as landscape, and we cannot, indeed, separate out any pure\nlove of physical country. The love of country seems to be an expansion\nof the attachment to home, as the place in which the family relations\nare experienced. The sense of place is the core of the love of home,\nbut it is supplemented and reenforced by the personal affections. The\nattachment to place has also its biological roots, the sense of\nfamiliarity of place being, of course, as the basis of orientation, a\ndeep element in consciousness. Fear of the unknown increases the\nattachment to the known. The land as the source of livelihood is\nloved, and there are also older elements in the love of the land as is\nshown by myths and folklore. There is in it the idea of ownership but\nalso the idea of belonging to the land. So there is both the filial\nand the parental attitude in patriotism. As fatherland or motherland\ncountry is superior to and antecedent to us; as possession it is\nsomething to hold and to transmit, to improve and to leave the impress\nof our work upon. As historic land there is the idea of sacred soil,\nof land which persists through all time. Ancestor worship enters; the\nsoil as the resting place of forefathers acquires not only a religious\nmeaning, but there is attached to it such feeling of an aesthetic\nnature as is attached to everything that is full of tradition. The\nprotective attitude is prominent in this patriotic love of land. There\nis in it the fear of invasion, a sense of the sacredness and\ninviolability of the body of a country when it has once been\nestablished as an historical entity. A study of the psychology of\ninvasion and of homesickness would no doubt throw further light upon\nthe still unknown aspects of the intricate moods of home love.\n\nA third element in patriotism is social feeling. This is primitive,\nbut whether it is a herd consciousness or a radiation of the social\nfeelings connected with blood relationship and community of immediate\npractical interests it is not especially important to decide in this\nconnection, except that the assumption of a specific herd instinct as\ndistinguished from social feeling or instinct appears to be\nunnecessary. Loyalty of the individual to the group, which is\naccompanied by or is based upon intensified or ecstatic feeling is one\nof the strongest elements of patriotism. Social feeling as an\nattachment to the widest group, the nation, is in general a latent\nfeeling or an undeveloped one. We see it becoming active and intense\nonly under circumstances in which the whole group is threatened or for\nsome other reason is compelled to act as a unit. The recent psychology\nof the soldier shows us that absolute devotion to or absorption in the\nwhole may be produced automatically by the proper stimuli, and may be\ncontrolled as the mechanism of morale, and that elementary sensations\nenter into it. The wider social consciousness as devotion to the whole\ngroup, the nation, is based upon such reactions, and can probably not\nbe fully, developed without them.\n\nThis transformation of the individual is something desired and sought\nby the individual. It comes as a fulfillment of impulses that are\nlatent in the social life, and these impulses are tendencies to seek\nexalted states of social feeling, rather than to perform specific\nsocial functions. War is seized upon by the social consciousness, so\nto speak, as an opportunity to extend itself and become more intense,\nand indeed in war we see the social consciousness performing a work of\ngenius, overcoming apparently insurmountable obstacles and aversions.\nUnder such circumstances, social feeling becomes strongly fortified\nagainst many suggestions that tend to break it down. An intense\nferocity is directed toward any disloyal member of the group, a\nfictitious character may be attributed to the enemy, and there is an\nimaginative interpretation of all his acts in a manner favorable to\nuniting the sentiment of the group. This does not appear to be merely\na defensive reaction or a result of fear, but an awareness of the\nprecarious condition of the social feeling itself, when it is widely\nextended. In its moments of most extreme and fanatical intensity it is\nlikely to be most unstable. It has been said that the surest way to\nbreak down social feeling is to make it include too much. The\nconditions of war always create that danger. Patriotism is greatly\nintensified, but it is in danger of collapse. The mild patriotism and\nyet secure cohesion of peace is replaced by a social consciousness\nincreased in breadth and depth, but which is liable also to sudden\ncontraction. All nations when at war appear to be quite as much afraid\nof themselves as they are of the enemy. It is in part this\nsusceptibility of social feeling to rapid and extreme variation that\nmakes patriotism so mysterious a force. It may be extended in a moment\nto unite supposed incompatibles, or again apparently strongly cemented\ngroups may fall into disunion. This seems to be due to the fact that\nsocial feeling is plastic and is subject to control and is a force\nand not merely an instinctive reaction.\n\nThe fourth element of patriotism is devotion to leader, to government,\nor to the idea of state. Devotion to leader must have been one of the\nearliest forms of loyalty. The prestige of the leader is acquired as\nthe result of any action of the group under stimuli that produce\neither fear or anger. Just as the necessity for strong action creates\nthe leader out of average humanity, so continuation of this necessity,\nthat is the whole historical movement of the life of the group such as\na nation continues to add elements of prestige to leadership. The\nexaltation and typically to some extent the deification of the leader\nis a natural consequence or aspect of the dramatic life of the group.\nThe leader becomes symbolic of the group, and of its purposes and\nmeaning, so that in devoting itself to a leader the people do more\nthan sustain an emotional relation to a superior person. They transfer\ntheir own individual nature, so to speak, to the leader so that he\nbecomes the essence or the spirit of the people.\n\nThe dynasty is the connecting link between the leader as the object of\ndevotion of a people and the abstract idea of the state as an entity.\nThe prestige and all the supernaturalism contained in the ideas of\ndivine rights and divine descent that have become attached to the idea\nof kings are transferred to the government, or extended to the\ngovernment or state. The illusion of superiority and remoteness is\nkept up by various forms and ceremonials. Becoming an abstract form,\nthe organization or the office remaining while its personnel changes,\nthe state acquires the character of a religious object. It takes on\nthe character of the eternal, while still it retains all the\npersuasive and suggestive qualities that belong to individuals. The\nidea of state thus commands a very high degree of loyalty, and is in a\nsense itself a product of the feeling of loyalty. Once established the\nstate becomes a medium through which patriotism may be subjected to\ncontrol and also be manipulated for political ends. It can be\nextended, transferred, contracted according to what at any time may be\nsubsumed under the government that has thus come to be the central and\ncoordinating factor in the object of patriotism.\n\nAnother element of patriotism appears in the form of a deep reaction\nof the mind of the individual, usually under the influence of social\nstimuli that take the form of artistic or dramatic situations, to the\nidea of country as a historical personage. This stimulus may be\nsymbolic--the flag or any other emblem signifying the life or the\nspirit of a country; or it may be concrete, historic, a story, and\nthis story, which is the content of the idea of country, is in general\na narrative assuming a certain artistic form in which facts are\ntreated at least selectively, and usually imaginatively. This work of\nportrayal of the life of a nation by its story is consciously or\nunconsciously an appeal to the will; it is given artistic rather than\nscientific form for this reason. Its purpose is to present a national\nspirit, or ideal, or principle, and also to persuade the mind to\nbecome loyal to this spirit of country.\n\nAll countries, as the object of the feeling of patriotism, tend to be\npersonified, and it is thus as a person that country commands the\ndeepest loyalty of the individual. Hence the personified\nrepresentation of country whenever the will of the individual is\nappealed to most strongly. Redier (30), a French writer, illustrates\nthis very clearly when he pleads that the interest of the motherland\nmust be placed first. It is not for liberty, or for the civilization\nof the world that the French are fighting, he says, but for France,\n\"that most saintly, animated and tragic of figures.\" It is by this\nprocess of personification of country that the patriotism of the\nindividual becomes most complete. He thus becomes loyal to a living\nreality representing an idea, a spirit. To defend the honor and the\nintegrity of this person, one is willing to sacrifice everything that\nis individually possessed, in causes that can affect one materially\nin no important way. The desire for personal identity and immortality\nmay be transferred to country as thus idealized, and the individual is\nsatisfied to lose himself that country may live. The common man\nrealizes in a simple and concrete way, in regard to country, the\nHegelian conception of state as the reality of mind in the world.\nAbout this idea of country held by the truly patriotic mind, as we\nfind it expressed in history and in literature, there grows up a\nreligious sentiment, which protects from criticism the qualities of\nthe ideal personage. A certain pathos of country attaches itself to\nall who as great individuals represent country, and to all its\nportrayals and symbols. All these symbols acquire a high degree of\nsuggestive force because of the depth of sentiment and the richness of\nthe content of the ideas that have produced them.\n\nPatriotism, then, is a very complex idea and feeling which we realize\nas love of country--or, as we might better say, it is an animation by\nthe idea of a very complex object which is country. It is a profound\nattachment, rooted in the most original and essential relations, and\nappears to be natural and necessary to every normal mind. The\nindividual consciousness is complete only by including the\nattachments, in narrower and broader relations, to precisely the\nelements that enter into patriotism--to place, to the fundamental ways\nand appreciations of the social surroundings, to persons, to\nauthority, to traditions. The composite effects of these attachments\nmay be greater or smaller, as determined by a totality of conditions,\nbut the foundations of patriotism, whatever its object, are deep in\nconsciousness.\n\nThe presence and persistence of patriotism in the world as a deep and\nintense feeling raises questions that are of both theoretical and\npractical importance. Here we are interested mainly in the relation of\npatriotism to war. There is a widespread view that may be expressed\nsomewhat as follows. Patriotism and internationalism or\ncosmopolitanism are two _opposites_. Patriotism delimits groups,\nwhether rightly or wrongly, and therefore produces antagonism in the\nworld, and either causes wars directly or maintains a continual threat\nof wars. On the other hand there is cosmopolitanism, a very little too\nmuch of which might destroy civilization by removing the inspiration\nthat country gives. Patriotism, standing for the integrity of historic\nentities, makes the world a world of nations having separate and\nconflicting wills. Thus we have a choice of evils--between a world of\nardent, quarrelsome, but efficient groups and a world in which the\nchief motive of progress, the vital principle of national growth, is\nleft out.\n\nWhat is the truth about this? What is the relation of patriotism to\nwar? Confusion and difference of views are likely to arise from a\nfailure to distinguish in the idea of nationalism as a whole, between\ntwo very different emotions and purposes. Psychologically, patriotism\nis a sum of affections. As such, it has a distinct character,\nconstitutes a mood, the possession of which may characterize an\nindividual, and dominance by which may be the main fact in life. As a\ndevotion to certain objects, this motive of patriotism enters into the\nsphere of motives of war, but it does so mainly, in our view, as a\npowerful and highly suggestible energy which becomes aggressive only\nunder the stimulus of threat to its objects. Patriotism is indeed\ntolerant by nature, and one may well doubt whether a genuine love of\ncountry is possible without a profound realization of the value of\nother countries as objects of devotion, and of the validity of the\npatriotism of every group. True patriotism must always be to some\nextent devotion to patriotism itself as a progressive force in the\nworld, and it is, therefore, by the very fact of becoming intense and\npure, a motive of internationalism.\n\nSuch patriotism seems to be free from most of the delusions of\ngreatness that affect national consciousness. Its mood is optimistic\nand its spirit tolerant and just. We should say that, instead of\ncausing wars, by any initiative of its own, it is itself caused by\nwars. It grows in a medium of defensive attitudes. It may, of course,\nplay into the hands of all the aggressive motives of war; there are\nalways circumstances creating the illusion of danger, and it is\npossible, even, that there would be little war if there were no\npatriotism as love of country to support it. But on the other hand\npatriotism itself does not seem to be a cause of war. We should say,\nindeed, that patriotism, to the extent that it becomes intelligent and\nis a devotion to an ideal of country, and so is not dominated and\ninfluenced by other motives is a factor of peace in the world, and is\nmoral in its principles and its nature. This is not the place in which\nto speak of internationalism as an ideal, but we may at least observe\nhow, conceivably, patriotism may be cultivated, be greatly deepened\nand intensified, while at the same time and indeed because of this\ndeepening of patriotism all international causes are also served. Such\npatriotism may leave us with the danger of wars, since it leaves us\nwith a world of individuals having wills and self-interests. But this\nworld, with such a danger of wars, would be better after all than a\ncertain kind of cosmopolitanism in a world such as, for example, might\nbe arranged by an unintelligent socialism.\n\n\n_National Honor_\n\nThere is another aspect of nationalism, which is psychologically\ndistinct from patriotism as love of country, because primitively it is\nbased upon a different motive. Emotionally it is expressed finally as\nnational pride, as we use the word mainly with a derogatory\nimplication. Just as patriotic feeling is intensified and crystallized\nby fear, and is in a sense an overcoming of fear, by devotion, so this\nmotive of pride rests upon a basis of jealousy and of hatred, and is\nessentially a movement in which display is used to obtain prestige, to\novercome opposition and to defend consciousness against a sense of\ninferiority. As a display motive it contains the feeling of anger,\nand the impulses of combat, and its relation to the reproductive\nmotive is obvious. It is as an aspect of a deeply pessimistic strain\nin national life, as a process in which an original and naive sense of\nreality and superiority, challenged and attacked and brought into the\nfield of opposition and criticism and thus negated by a feeling of\ninferiority, that this motive becomes of special interest to the\npsychology of nations and of war.\n\nThe roots of this pride and honor process we can find in the impulses\nwhich lead groups to demonstrate power and prowess to one another, and\nin the original feeling of reality which is accompanied by the belief\non the part of the group that its own ways are normal and right. We\nmight mention as significant the widespread belief on the part of very\nprimitive peoples that they alone are real people, or are the superior\npeople of the world. The Lapps, Sumner (70) says, regard themselves as\n\"men\" as distinguished from all other peoples, a form of\nself-consciousness which lingers in all such antitheses as Jew and\nGentile, Greek and barbarian, and the like. This basic idea of\ndifference in reality is not confined to a few peoples, but there is a\ntendency for every group to divide the world into two parties: selves\nand outsiders, and this feeling of difference readily develops into\nthe moods in which there is a mystic sense on the part of a people of\nbeing the chosen people, and into those specific theories of\nsuperiority that run through the history of most if not of all\nnations. It belongs to the psychology of Greeks, Romans, Arabs,\nChinese, Japanese, and also to Americans as well as Germans; and we\nlearn that Russian books and newspapers sometimes discuss the\n_civilizing mission of Russia_.\n\nThat the motives of display and pride have been peculiarly active in\nGermany in the last few decades has been maintained by many writers.\nGerman writers are inclined to believe that the motive for the \"attack\nupon Germany\" was jealousy on the part of her enemies, that Germany\nwas supreme in everything and other countries could tolerate this no\nlonger. Germany has talked about her virtues, her rank, her coming\nplace in the world. Bergson says that Germany's energy comes from\npride. Some see the source of this alleged conceit of Germany and her\nexcessive self-consciousness in Germany's hard experiences--the recent\nslavery, Germany's position as the battle ground of Europe, her late\narrival among the great nations. Germany still lacks, they say, the\nquiet assurance that an old culture gives. Some call Germany morbid\nand quarrelsome. Again we hear the pride of Germany called an\nadolescent phenomenon, and they say that Germany is fighting not for\nprinciple but to see who is superior. Bosanquet (91) thinks that the\nlack of political liberty in Germany has had the effect of producing\nself-consciousness, and a morbid interest in small distinctions of\ntitle and rank, and that it is thwarted national ambition that has\nexpressed itself in such writers as Treitschke and Bernhardi. Bourdon\n(67) thinks Germany is jealous of the culture and the glory and the\npolitical and literary prestige of France. Collier (68) says that\nGermany is forever looking into a mirror rather than out the open\nwindow and even sees herself a little out of focus. The seriousness of\nthe Germans, others think, is an indication that Germany takes\n_herself_ too seriously.\n\nBut national vanity, we see, is certainly not confined to Germany. The\nGermans at least think France is highly self-conscious, always\nthinking of her dignity, glory, prestige and of revenge. Wundt (85)\nfeels much the same about the English. He says they always want to be\nfirst in everything, and to dominate the earth. We know that the\nConfederacy of the United States, at the outbreak of the Civil War,\nappealed to the world on the ground that it had reached the most noble\ncivilization the world had ever seen. The Japanese (73), we have\nheard, believe that they are of divine descent, and that they are\nsupreme in manliness, loyalty and virtue. Every nation presumably has\nsomewhere in the back of its mind a belief in its own supremacy in\nsomething, and has a sense of being or having something that makes it\nunique in the world.\n\nWe can now see in part how the idea of national honor arises out of\nthe pride of nations. Certain fundamental feelings issue in the form\nof claims of superiority or supremacy, which may be either vague and\nunclear or very definite and self-conscious. This claim to superiority\nis precisely what we mean by national vanity. With this consciousness\nthere goes a knowledge that these claims are in general not recognized\nby other nations, or that the prestige which the recognition of this\nsuperiority presupposes is at least insecure. Since, of course, these\nclaims to supremacy cannot all be valid, there must be a great amount\nof inferiority parading in the world as superiority, many fictitious\nand presumably half-hearted assumptions that must not only be defended\nagainst outsiders, but must also be _internally fortified_. The pride\nand the conceit must be justified by the creation of a fictitious\npast, and of an impossible future. The motive of these falsifications\non the part of race consciousness is clear. A nation is defending its\nclaim to superiority by first establishing the claim in its own mind.\nThese claims being really unfounded must be placed beyond criticism.\nThey must be given a religious form. But also external forms and\nrelations of an artificial nature must be established. Nations always\nhide behind barriers of formality. They make displays to one another.\nIn this way the feeling and the appearance of superiority are kept up.\nEverything external to the group and not participating in its illusion\nof supremacy must be _kept_ external to it. The belief which the\nnation itself assumes in regard to its virtue must be demanded from\nall outsiders with whom the nation has relations of any kind. At least\nthe forms of the recognition of the claim must be insisted upon. This\nis the principle of national honor. It is a defense of certain ideal\nor fictitious values in which nations insist that others should\nrecognize these claims and values. National honor is an artifice for\ndefending a claim to superiority and concealing an actual inferiority,\nand it relates to values which, in general, do not exist. Its work is\nconcerned with the maintenance of prestige.\n\nThese ideal values and the integrity of the appearance of supremacy,\nare sustained by the assumption of the forms of empire or the\nimperialistic attitude. Empire is indeed what is dramatized in the\nforms which nations assume, and this dramatization of imperial form is\nthe background of all the ideas of honor. The maintenance of the\nintegrity of the imperial form, as an ideal realization of the\nsupremacy a nation assumes, becomes more important than even the\nsecuring of material possessions, for the imperial form is the very\nreality and existence of the nation. It is at bottom merely the\nassertion that its own mores are supreme and entitled to be universal.\nTo admit that this is not so would be to become to some extent unreal,\nand to lose something essential to a sense of personality. Therefore,\nthere can be thus far no intimate relations among nations. They must\npresent to one another symbolic representations of themselves. It is\ntheir flag, the symbol of their place in the world and of their\nmilitary prowess and courage; their ambassadors, the representatives\nof their dignity and the symbol of their pretended friendliness; their\ndisplay of royal forms, which is the sign of their prestige and their\nimperial nature, about which they are most sensitive. Offenses to\nthese symbols of what a nation assumes itself to be and demands that\nothers should think it, tend to be _mortal_ offenses, because they\ninvade the sphere of what nations hold to be their reality. So the\nrelations of nations to one another must, as we say, always be formal.\nNations can allow no intimacy. Why they cannot one can readily see,\nfor it is not difficult to detect the fear, the jealousy, and the\ninferiority motive behind all this assumption and display. Treitschke\nshows us what national honor may mean when it is carried out into a\nphilosophy of state. Here is the idea of national self-consciousness\nat its greatest height. The state must not tolerate equals, or at\nleast it must reduce the number of equals as much as possible. The\nstate must be absolutely independent. The state, furthermore, cannot\nhave too keen a sense of its dignity and position. A state must\ndeclare war if its flag is insulted, however slight the circumstances\nmay be.\n\nNational honor, its codes and standards and its justification and\nvindication by combat, present so many resemblances to the practice of\ndueling and the idea of personal honor once so generally held by the\nupper class, and still existent where the military spirit prevails,\nthat we ought to study the dueling code with reference to the\npsychology of war. There are psychological features that appear to be\nidentical. The idea of personal honor is associated with a feeling of\nsuperiority that must be defended. Any offense or affront to the\nindividual was a mortal offense. The superiority in question was first\nof all superiority of ancestry; it was this that constituted the value\nof the individual and set the standards that he must maintain. This\nsuperiority was to be judged not so much by conduct as by an assertion\nof it represented by certain external forms. The individual by his\nmanners declared himself a gentleman, and laid claim to forms and\nconsiderations that must not be omitted in relations with him. The\nvirtues he defended so rigorously did not exist as a rule in\ncalculable or practical form, since they did nothing objective. They\nmight be ornamental or purely fictitious. They existed in the form of\nclaims, and the values assigned to them were arbitrary. The man\ndeclared himself possessed of superiority, and was ready uniformly to\nprove this claim by acts purporting to indicate willingness to die.\n\nThis code and belief belonged to a day when relations among\nindividuals were simple and, so to speak, external. They were\nrelations that were readily codified and made invariable, since they\nhad no essential practical content or function. Manners were\nsignificant as substitutes for friendly relations, since the system\nwas lacking in moral and social sentiments. Manners were a means of\nfitting together individuals who really belonged to no functioning\nwhole, except when, for example, they might be united in military\nexploits. Everything was unitary and independent of everything else in\nthis society.\n\nNow this code and this philosophy of life have declined precisely to\nthe extent that the conception of ideal human life has changed, from\nthat of something ornamental and personal to that of something useful\nand moral. Life has become organized, and relations have become more\npractical, so that the values of conduct may now be estimated, and one\nno longer may maintain a claim to virtue based upon forms expressing\nintangible or subjective or unreal virtues. The virtues of a man in a\ndemocratic society are, indeed, more or less obvious and open. Pride\nof family, an ornamental mode of life, and a scorn of death are no\nlonger necessary and sufficient guarantees of worth. Evidence of value\nis both possible and required; before value is admitted it must be\nshown. Self-defense in a legal and moral society are in the main\nsuperfluous, and the values of individuals are so changed that to\njustify them by the duel would seem out of place. Its service being to\ndefend artificial or arbitrary claims to distinction, it ceases or it\nfalls into disuse when the individual's reality and value come to\ndepend upon his functional place in society. It would be highly\nillogical to put to test social values by a process that appears to\nhave nothing but anti-social elements in it.\n\nThat nations exhibit the same type of relation toward one another that\nwe find in dueling and its code seems to be clear, although we must\nalways avoid pressing any analogy between individual and nation too\nfar. A claim to superiority that is deep and irrational, and which\nappears on the surface as sensitiveness in regard to honor and\nvanity, keeps nations always in defensive attitudes, quite apart from\nthe actual fear of aggression. This superficiality or at least\nexternality of relations is the source of actual conflict. The forms\nemployed to maintain these relations are obviously ornamental, are\nelaborations of the forms of courtesy among individuals, are little\ndramas of friendship, so to speak, little plays representing\nfriendliness, while the diplomatic motives are simply to obtain\neverything possible, each nation for itself, without war, and to\nmaintain prestige. These relations are substitutes for social feelings\nthat do not exist. Generally speaking, nations are never friends. They\nnever really share in anything. They are all highly conscious of their\nown prestige and dignity, and they always communicate with one another\nin a formal way. In it all, we see the signs of emotions and habits\nthat extend far back to the beginnings of social life and indeed into\nanimal life. The display which takes the form of social relations\namong nations, represented well by uniformed diplomats, is so plainly\narchaic and its real meaning so obvious that we can hardly fail to\nunderstand what it is all about. That the attitude is really\ndefensive, and the purpose to keep up appearances before strangers, so\nto speak, can hardly be doubted.\n\nThe fact that these questions of national honor are in some respects\ndetached from the main realities of _political relations_, and are,\nindeed, fictitious and exist in the region of the imagination, that\nthey pertain to the conventional and ornamental sides of national\nlife, might be supposed to indicate that they could easily be done\naway with, and all these fertile causes of war be eliminated. That\nmust not be assumed. Vanity has deep roots. The ornamental in life\nsymbolizes the real. It is the point of entrance to the deepest\nmotives. Conventional and archaic forms do not die out, just because\nwe discover that they are irrational and harmful, and the causes they\nserve seem to us to be unreal. This kind of unreality in the\nconsciousness of nations is in fact the ideal for which nations live.\nNations play at being great, and fight to defend their prestige--but\nthis play, as we know, is oftentimes terribly real.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\"CAUSES\" AS PRINCIPLES AND ISSUES IN WAR\n\n\nThe causes for which wars are fought, or which are asserted to be the\ncauses, make one of the important psychological problems of war.\nSometimes these causes are elusive, sometimes they may give occasion\nfor cynicism and a pessimistic view of national morals; again we see\nself-deception, again ideals seeking for light, peoples trying to find\nsomething to live for or to die for. We see in the recent great war as\nin other wars, a great variety of causes for which men are said to be\nfighting. Some would say that the war was entirely a war of\nprinciples; some take a purely political point of view and say that\nprinciples are not involved at all, and others that nothing was\ndisplayed at all of motives except primitive passions which are\nequally devoid of moral issues or any principles.\n\nIt would be interesting from the psychological point of view to make,\nif possible, a complete collection and classification of the causes\nthat have been brought forward as the fundamental things fought for in\nthe late war. Many widely different and divergent views are held. The\nforms in which the issues of the war have been stated are almost\ninnumerable. New definitions and new statements of old conventional\nideas appear continuously. Every writer seems to see the war from a\ndifferent point of view from all others. Eventually, we may suppose,\nall this will be clear, since these \"causes\" of the war will be one of\nthe great themes of future philosophical history. At present we can\nonly formulate such a view as may be suggestive with reference to\ngeneral interpretations of the place of principles and causes in war.\n\nLet us examine a few of the opinions about the issues fought for in\nthe recent war. MacFall (56) says that the whole strategy of the\ncivilized world is bent upon creating permanent peace. Many speak of\nthe war as a war to overcome war; we are told that one of the most\nconscious motives of the soldiers in the field has been to make the\ngreat war the last war the world should ever see. Something of the\nsame idea is involved in the view each nation has that it was\nattacked, and that the purpose of the war was to defeat and punish\naggressors. Apparently every nation and every army engaged in the war\nhas had the feeling that it was fighting in the interests of world\npeace.\n\nThe German explanations of the war and of its issues have been very\nnumerous and widely varied. The German has had his own interpretation\nof the \"white man's burden,\" Tower (57) calls attention to the German\nhybrid word \"Sahibthum,\" expressing the mission of a people. Each\nnation has its essence, which becomes a deep impulse. The German's\nimpulse is translatable in the words \"Be organized.\" The German has\nbeen eager to organize the world. He-believed in all seriousness that\nhe was fighting the fight of order against chaos. It was the fight of\nthe spirit against that which is dead and inefficient. The German\nbelieved that the systematic exploitation of the world was his\npeculiar mission. Ostwald is the great apostle of this view. He said\nthat the war was a battle of the higher life against the lower\ninstincts. Germany represents European civilization. The German\nemperor said that Germany should do for Europe what Prussia had done\nfor Germany--organize it. In the German philosophy of life this\nprinciple of order had become a serious principle. An inefficient and\ndisorderly world had need of Germany. Everywhere there was waste and\nstupidity, and a want of reason in the world. System was to be the\ncure. The fundamental fault in all this disorder the German mind\nrecognized as an excessive individualism. Individual instinct and the\nsocial order were in eternal conflict, as Dietzel expressed the issue,\nand Germany stood for the social order, for reason, since reason is\nprecisely the denial of the instincts and the desires of the\nindividual in the interest of a foreseen result.\n\nShortly after the beginning of the war, we remember, a manifesto\nappeared signed by three thousand German university professors and\nother teachers, saying that they, the signers, firmly believed that\nthe salvation of the whole of European civilization depended upon the\nvictory of German militarism. Hintze (49) said that Germany was\nfighting for the freedom of everybody, meaning presumably according to\nthe German principle that freedom consists in voluntarily submitting\nto order. This freedom is also in Hintze's view a principle of freedom\nand equal rights for all nations, in so far as these nations have\nreached the necessary stage of civilization. The mission of the coming\ncentral management of mankind (_Menschheitzentralverwaltung_) implied\nin the most ideal theory of Germany's mission is the true German\nburden. Haeckel says that the work of the German people to assure and\ndevelop civilization gives Germany the right to occupy the Balkans,\nAsia Minor, Syria, and Mesopotamia, and to exclude from those\ncountries the races that occupy them. Schellendorf says that Germany\nmust not forget her civilizing task, which is to become the nucleus of\na future empire of the west. Koenig says that the spiritual life of\nEurope is at stake, Germany's fight is the fight of civilization\nagainst barbarism--against Russian barbarism he means. This ought to\nbe the cause of all Western Europe, but England and France have\nbetrayed the western civilization into the hands of the East. This\nbelief gave to Germany's cause a deep impulsion (12).\n\nAnother way in which Germany's cause was frequently stated was that\nGermany was a pure, virile and young race which was fighting the\nolder civilizations of the world. Vigor was assured of victory in any\ncase, but young life had a duty to perform--that of clearing the way\nfor new growth. This has found numerous forms of expression among\nGerman writers, some of them highly dramatic and exaggerated; as, for\nexample, that the human race is divided into two species or kinds, the\nmale and the female, assuming that the German is the male among the\nnational spirits.\n\nWith these views of the nature of the German ideal or cause there have\ngone, of course, interpretations of the conscious motives and\nprinciples of other nations. In general other nations had no\nprinciple. German writers have tended to believe that both England and\nAmerica were hypocritical and that their pretended democratic cause\nwas at heart only party and political aspiration. These nations, they\nsaid, claimed to desire the world to enjoy the rights of democracy,\nbut each country assumed that it itself must be the controller of that\ndemocratic principle. Another frequently expressed view of the\npurposes of England and America is that they have purely sordid\ninterests, that they are capable of fighting only for advantage and\nmaterial gain.\n\nMany of these German views of the war imply a principle that runs\nthrough many fields of German thought--that values are something to be\ndetermined objectively. It is a scientific principle. Its conclusions\nrest upon proof, rather than upon subjective principles of valuation.\nThere is another argument which is in part based upon an\ninterpretation of scientific principles, but is in part also a\nfatalistic doctrine--confidence in the issues of battle as a means of\ntesting the right and the validity of culture. The right will prevail,\non this theory, because the right is the stronger or because in some\nsense strength _is_ the right, and because the method of selection of\nthe best by struggle is a basic principle, and may be applied to\neverything that is living or is a product of life.\n\nIf the German interpretation of the German cause has been dominated by\nan ideal of objective proof, we hear on the other side much about\nsubjective rights and subjective evaluations--the right, for example,\nof every people to determine its own life, to have its own culture, to\ndecide upon its own nationality. The Allies have believed that they\nwere fighting to establish this principle throughout the world, and\nthat this principle is diametrically opposed to the German principle.\nThe thought of centralization, of a hierarchy of nations and the like,\nis wholly foreign to this democratic principle. Bergson (17) finds in\nthe idea of industry the cause of the war and the principle of\nopposition in it. The Allies, he says, have been fighting against\nmaterialism with the forces of the spirit. Germany's forces are\nmaterial. A mechanism is fighting against a self-renewing spirit. The\nideal of force is met by the force of the ideal.\n\nBoutroux (13) says that France, in the war, has had before her eyes\nthe idea of humanity; France was fighting for the recognition of the\nrights of personality--rights of each nation to its own existence.\nFrance is a champion of freedom; she wants all the legitimate\naspirations of peoples to be realized. Germanism, with its ideal of\nforce, is contrasted with the ideal of Greek and Christian culture and\nphilosophy. A cult of justice and modesty is contrasted with the cult\nof power; in the former, sentiment and feeling have a place as\ncriteria of values; in the latter the appeal is to science and to\nreason.\n\nHobhouse (34) says that the war is a conflict of the spirit of the\nWest against the spirit of the East (precisely the same as the German\nview, we see, but with a very different identification of the\nchampions). Germany has never felt the spirit of the West. The war is\nfor something far deeper than national freedom; it is a war to justify\nthe primary rules of right. Burnet (18) thinks that the great conflict\nwas a conflict between Kultur as nationalistic, and humanism as\nsomething international--that Germany, in recent years, had abandoned\nan ideal of culture for that of specialization in the service of the\nState. England's answer to the call was not to the specific need and\nappeal of Belgium, but because England felt that there was something\nin Germany incompatible with Western civilization.\n\nLe Bon (42) says that we must always remember that the Teuton is the\nirreconcilable enemy of the civilization of the French and of all it\nstands for, and that he must always be kept at a distance. Durkheim's\nview is that Germany's ambition and energy and will antagonize the\nfreedom of the rest of the world, and the rest of the world felt this\nand the war was the consequence. Dillon (55) says that the future for\nwhich Germany has been striving is a future incompatible with those\nideals which our race cherishes and reveres, and that we must make a\ndefinite choice between our philosophy and religion and our code on\none side and those of the German on the other. Drawbridge (19) says\nthat the war has been a conflict between the ideals of gentleness and\ntact, on one side, and of brutality and ruthlessness on the other. It\nis the Christian spirit against the Nietzschean.\n\nAgain we have been told that the war was simply a war of autocracy\nagainst democracy, of mediaevalism against modern life, of progress\nagainst stagnation, of militarism and war against peace, of the\nNapoleonic against the Christian spirit. Occasionally we hear more\npersonal and subjective notes. Redier (30) says that France was\nfighting solely to retain mastery of her own genius, in order to draw\nfrom it noble joys and just profits.\n\nThe American point of view has been expressed in several forms by the\nPresident of the United States. For example, he has said that we are\none of the champions of the rights of mankind. The world must be made\nsafe for democracy. And again, that America is fighting for no selfish\npurpose, but for the liberation of peoples everywhere from the\naggression of autocratic powers. This view that the war was remedial,\nthat it was in the interest of progress, to prevent that which is\nbelated in civilization from gaining the upper hand, and that it is on\nthe part of America a war of participation and aid in a cause which\nthough supremely good might otherwise be lost, is the prevailing idea.\nThat this spirit of the championship of causes and of justice to other\nnations is a stronger motive in the Anglo-Saxon peoples than in others\nappears to be an opinion that history on the whole can confirm.\n\nIt is relatively easy to obtain the opinion of philosophers about the\n\"causes\" represented in the war; it would be of interest also to know\nwhat the millions of men in the field think. Data are not altogether\nwanting, but there appear to be no general studies. That many men, in\nmore than one army, have no clear knowledge of any cause for which\nthey have fought, except as these causes are nationalistic is certain.\nThat there is ignorance even among the men of our own army in regard\nto the causes and purposes of the war has been made evident. Knowledge\nand enlightenment can hardly have been greater elsewhere. German\nsoldiers are credited with believing that they are defending Germany\nfrom attack. The French soldier was fighting for France. The invasion\nof his country left him no doubt and no choice. The English soldier\nhas often said that he was doing it for the women and the children,\nand one writer says that the deepest motive of two thirds of the\nBritish army was to make this war the last. The American soldier, from\nthe nature of the circumstances under which he himself entered the war\nhas been more conscious of a motive of helpfulness and of comradeship\nwith other peoples who are in distress and danger. Probably the idea\nof America's honor, and the more abstract idea still of the cause of\nfreedom, even though this idea has been, so to speak, our watchword,\nhave not been the most influential motives in the mind of the\nindividual. Germany was attacking people who were in distress, and\nthe American soldier went over to make the scales turn in the\ndirection of victory for the oppressed.\n\nThere is, of course, a literature of the war produced by the soldier\nin the field, in which there are expressed high ideals, abstract\nconceptions and firm principles. The French soldier has written about\nliberty, the German soldier has had considerable to say about a Kultur\nwar. An American volunteer in the British army has written, \"I find\nmyself among the millions of others in the great allied armies\nfighting for all I believe right and civilized and humane against a\npower which is evil and which threatens the existence of all the right\nwe prize and the freedom we enjoy\" (24). But in general the\nconsciousness of the soldier, from all the evidence we have, was\nconcerned, as presumably was that of most of us, mainly with the most\nobvious qualities of opposing forces, their concrete actions, and the\npersonal motives of rulers.\n\nLeaving aside so far as one can one's own partisanship and mores\n(which is not a very easy task), what causes can we say, with a\nconsiderable degree of certainty, have actually been issues in the\npresent war? To some extent what one thinks these causes are will\nremain matters of personal opinion and preference. Are there also\nprinciples which, when once observed, will be accepted as the\nfundamental \"causes\" of the war? There seem to be three at least which\ncharacterize wide differences in the ideals and the civilization of\nthe opposing forces.\n\nThere is, first of all, an issue between the ideals of a relatively\nautocratic form of government and a relatively more democratic form of\ngovernment. This was a cause of the intellectuals, but it was also a\npopular cause. Men in general like the form of government under which\nthey live. From the standpoint of those who hold that a democratic\nform of government is right, the war seemed to be a conflict between a\nmodern and progressive regime and an old and vicious one. So far as\nthis autocratic principle aimed to suppress the rights of individuals,\nor to menace the liberties of small nations, so far as it was\naggressively militaristic and had imperial ambitions, which could be\nachieved only by force, it stood clearly opposed to democracy.\nDemocracy and autocracy were plainly at war with one another, and yet\nif we look closely we shall see that neither one can offer any actual\ndemonstration of its validity as the most superior or the final form\nof government. In part they may appeal to the observable course of\nhistory for their justification, but the final source of judgment\nseems to rest in the mass of opinion in the world. Questions of form\nand taste are not wholly absent. But the believer in democracy and the\nbeliever in autocracy will both assert that deep differences in\nprinciple are involved. They will not admit that democracy and\nautocracy are superficial forms, and are questions of taste, and they\nwill not agree with Munsterberg, who says that the two forms tend\ninevitably toward a compromise, by a process of alternation in which\nfirst one and-then the other is the dominant form in the world.\n\nThe war, in another aspect of it, has been a conflict between the idea\nof nationalism and that of internationalism. It is a conflict between\nan ideal of state, represented in the German philosophy of state by\nthe principle of complete autonomy of the individual nation, and one\nwhich assumes that states, while retaining their rights of sovereignty\nare to be governed by laws which regulate their conduct as functioning\nmembers of a society of nations. The difference is that, relatively,\nbetween a state of anarchy among nations and a state of order. To some\nextent there has been a conflict between the idea of rights and the\nidea of duties of nations. This internationalism is not merely a\nsociological principle, something academic and scientific, as a theory\nof state or society; it is an ethical principle, which contains some\nrecognition of justice as a subjective principle. It has some roots\nin theory, but it is also based upon the immediate recognition of the\nrights of peoples to their own individual lives. Its ideal is a world\ncontaining many nations, cooerdinated by natural processes and not a\nworld in which a single nation or a few may hold the supreme place,\nexcept as this supremacy might come by a process of natural\ndevelopment.\n\nThe third conflict of the war was one which we may call a\npsychological conflict. It was a conflict between two ideas of life,\none based upon a belief in the supremacy of reason, the other implying\nthat the final test of values in life remains in the sphere of the\nfeelings, or is a matter of appreciation. Germany, in her recent\nhistory, has stood conspicuously for the belief that human society may\nand indeed must be controlled and regulated by definite\nprinciples--principles that must be determined according to the\nmethods of science. These principles take the place, in this\nphilosophy of life, of certain typical human reactions that are\nbelieved to be demonstrably irrational. In its visible and most\npractical form the application of this principle is through\norganization.\n\nThis characterization of German life reveals something very much like\na paradox in the principles of the war. We see a conflict in one\ndirection between a certain mediaevalism in government and social forms\nand a more modern and progressive type; we see also a conflict of a\nmodernism of an extreme form, represented by a scientific\ncivilization, united with this mediaevalism, and in opposition to a\nconception of life which is in some respects more naive and more\nprimitive. The explanation of this paradox is that Germany offers an\nillustration of a phenomenon of development that has been seen before\nin history, of an excess of development and specialization in a\ndirection that appears to be off the main line of progress, or at\nleast is an anachronism. Germany has shown us the effects of\nrationalism, some would say a morbid and hypertrophied reason. This\nrationalism is certainly in part a product of systematic education and\npropaganda, a conscious exploitation of science, and it is in part\ntemperamental. Such a result is always possible in a small state with\na highly centralized form of government. It is a notorious fact that\nGermany's type of civilization can be spread neither by persuasion nor\nby force. If we may apply a biological analogy we may say that German\nKultur in its modern form cannot survive. That this German\ncivilization has been felt by the world at large to be abnormal and of\nthe nature of a monstrosity we can hardly doubt, and that therefore to\nsome extent there has been a sense, on the part of the enemies of\nGermany, of fighting to root out a dangerous and rank growth. Germany,\nseeing in her own civilization only the appearance of modernism, has\nbeen inclined to regard all other civilizations as decadent.\n\nGermany, governed by the ideals of rationalism, has assumed that\nhistory can be made, wars conducted, life regulated in accordance with\na program. On the other side we see a very general acceptance of a\nphilosophy of life in which many evils of disorder and waste and the\nnecessity of an experimental attitude toward life are accepted as\nnecessary consequences of the life of freedom. We see implied in this\nphilosophy of life a belief in a morality and a religion that are\nbased upon feeling rather than upon objective evidences, and a way of\njudging conduct more or less naively and simply or according to\nmethods of appreciation that are essentially aesthetic, using the term\nin a wide sense. This mode of life is accepted in the belief that\norder in due season will come out of relative disorder, by a natural\nprocess or by a gradually increasing organization and voluntary\nadjustment. If we accept the validity of this attitude in life we\nshall be inclined to regard rationalism as it is manifested to-day in\nGerman life as an evil. We may believe that in the end the cure for\nthis rationalism will not be less reason but rather more, but we shall\nsee also that it is possible for reason to outstrip and pervert life,\nand indeed involve life in an absurdity, simply because as a method of\ndealing with the whole of life it cannot be sufficiently\ncomprehensive.\n\nAre these and all such issues that we find in war, causes of war? Do\nnations fight for principles? Opinions certainly differ on this point.\nSome think of wars, we say, as essentially conflicts of principles;\nsome interpret wars wholly in terms of political issues. We should say\nthat the truth lies between these assertions or is the sum of their\nhalf-truths. Wars are not in their origin wars of principle. The\npolitical, the personal, the concrete aspects of the relations of\nnations are always in the foreground in causing wars. Wars become wars\nof principle after they have been begun for other reasons. Sanctions\nand motives appear after the fact. Fundamental differences of mores\nwhich include the raw material, so to speak, of principles and causes\nare factors in wars in so far as they create misunderstanding and\nantipathy, but in so far as these differences of nature and of\nprinciple do not enter into the sphere of politics and of national\nhonor, they do not as such cause wars Those deep moods which\naccumulate in the minds of peoples and enter into the causes of war\nare not convictions about principles. They are more generic and\nnatural. History does not seem to show us wars caused by pure\nprinciples. We sometimes say that the Civil War in our own country was\nfought over a principle, but that is something less than the truth.\nThe fundamental question at issue was plainly that of the rights of\ncertain states at a particular time to be independent and free.\n\nPrinciples emerge in war, we say, and then they become secondary\ncauses. And it is precisely this emergence of principles from fields\nof battle that perhaps constitutes the greatest contribution of wars\nto the civilization of the world. We need to reflect upon this deeply,\nsince the whole philosophy of history is concerned in it. The virtues\nthat nations discover in themselves in war they elaborate in peace.\nNations at war become conscious of their spiritual possessions. Since\ntheir existence, they believe, is at stake, it is a part of their\nself-defense to justify their value in the world. They discover in\nthemselves that which is most characteristic of them, and this becomes\ntheir principle. The principle of a nation is that which the national\nconsciousness fixates itself upon as the title of the nation to\ncontinued existence. Nations do not go to war over their causes, or\nabout their distinctive virtues and missions in the world. Rather it\nis their likenesses that precipitate wars,--their resemblances and\nidentities in being the same in ambition, and having the same\nconceptions of national honor and the same motives for war and\ndesiring the same objects. Nations in general do not go to war over\nprinciples because they are not motivated by principles in their\nhistorical course. The principles of nations are aspects of their\ninner development. The \"causes\" of nations at war, according to our\nview, are these inner qualities of which they have become conscious.\nNations discover them in the stress of war, and it is quite natural\nalso that in such times they should not always judge them fairly, and\nthat they should often make for themselves a fictitious character.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nPHILOSOPHICAL INFLUENCES\n\n\nPhilosophy, in the minds of many writers, must be given a high place\namong the causes of war, and a considerable fraction of the literature\nof the late war is devoted to the problem of discovering, in the field\nof abstract thought, the influences that led to the great conflict.\nNietzsche, especially, seems to have been held responsible for the\nEuropean conflagration. As the philosopher of the New Germany, as the\nchief expositor of the doctrine of force, the inventor of the\nsuper-man and of the idea of the beyond-good, Nietzsche seems to stand\nconvicted of furnishing precisely the concepts that have become the\nGerman's gospel of war; and since the German is prone to be guided by\nabstractions, the evidence, even though circumstantial, seems to many\nto be convincing.\n\nSchopenhauer, also, as the great pessimist; Hegel, with his doctrine\nof the supremacy of the State as the representative of the Idea on\nearth; Kant, as the discoverer of the subjective moral principle;\nEnglish utilitarianism as the doctrine of the main chance; empiricism,\nas the philosophy of inconsistency and dual principles of thought and\nconduct; even the whole spirit of the English philosophy, which Wundt\nsays is nothing but an attempt to reconcile thought with the ideas of\npeace and comfort--all these have been charged with being instigators\nof the war.\n\nBergson (17) takes a different view. He says that the desire comes\nfirst, the doctrine afterwards. Germany, determined upon war, invokes\nNietzsche or Hegel. Germany in a moral temper would appeal to Kant, or\nin still a different mood to the Romanticists. Le Bon (42) says that\nnations are pushed forward by forces which they cannot understand, and\nthat rational thoughts and desires play but a little part in war. That\nappears to be true. We cannot say that philosophies do not enter at\nall into the causes of war, but among these causes they must be\ninsignificant as compared with other causes that neither arise from\nabstract thought nor are greatly modified by reason in any way.\nConsider the influence of Napoleon (himself so little a product of any\nphilosophical influence), as compared with Hegel; or of Bismarck as\ncompared with Nietzsche, and this will be apparent. There are in the\ncourse of the centuries books and men that, as rational forces, do\nexert profound effect upon the practical life, but they must be rarer\nthan is sometimes supposed. It is all too easy to assume a relation of\ncause and effect when there is only a similarity between thought and\nsubsequent conduct. Rousseau may or may not have inspired the French\nRevolution. Probably he did not. The recent great war, we might say,\nhas occurred in spite of philosophy, and if Nietzsche's influence\ngravitated toward war, it can hardly be thought to have had any\ndeciding force in turning the scales already so overloaded by fate.\nPhilosophy failed to prevent war. Nietzsche's philosophy did not cause\nit. His philosophy affords a convenient phraseology in which to\nexpress a philosophy of war, granting sufficient misinterpretation of\nhis philosophy. Probably what influence he has had has been due rather\nto his literary impressiveness than to his thought as a contribution\nto philosophy.\n\nDarwin, as the great force behind a new and varied development of\nscience, has had the fate to be, in some sense, a factor in the moods\nand the new habits of life that led toward the final issue in the\ngreat war. It is not so much that his principle, misapplied, or\napplied uncritically may become a justification of war or even its\nbasic principle that has made him so great an influence, but\nprecisely because his thought, by becoming one of the great\ncoordinating principles of all the natural sciences has given power to\na movement which has had various practical consequences, not all of\nthem good, or at least not all yielding fruit for our own age.\nDarwin's great influence as a force turning scholarly interest toward\nnaturalism and away from classicism, as a factor in modern materialism\nand even pessimism, as a background, if no more, for the Haeckels and\nOstwalds of science is no inconsiderable factor in the scientific and\nobjective spirit of the day.\n\nFacts must be faced. It is not such influences as that of\nSchopenhauer, who expresses a logical or at least an abstract and we\nmight add literary form of pessimism, that in the generations just\npast have transformed most of the conceptions of religion, with all\nthe effects upon the practical life that have followed, but the force\nof our modern science combining with tendencies which it fosters but\nperhaps does not create, giving momentum to industrialism and\nspecialization,--it is this change in the ideas of men that we must\nsuspect of being implicated in the present catastrophe of the world,\nif any influence from the rational life is to be counted at all. Hegel\nand Kant hover in the background. The author of the plan for universal\npeace provides us with a subjective principle of morality which can be\ndistorted into a philosophy of moral independence and even of\nindependence from morality, and Hegel must have helped to establish\nthe German theory of the State, although with Treitschke and with the\npractical state-makers like Frederick the Great and his followers, we\ncan hardly believe Hegel indispensable. The causes of war are too\ngeneral, too old and too fundamental to be greatly added to or\ndetracted from as yet by philosophy. Philosophy is the hope of the\nworld, it may be, and by no means a forlorn hope, but it is not yet\none of the great powers. When philosophy is a mere endorsement by\nreason of some motive that has arisen in the practical life, or is a\nliterary expression of views about life, it may give the appearance\nof being a profound force in the world. But this is not real\nphilosophy, in any case. Philosophy has not as yet shown itself highly\ncreative even in the calm fields of education and the moral life.\n\nNo! Philosophy is a factor in the motives of war rather by reason of\nwhat it has not done, than because of its positive teachings. To-day\nwe ought no longer to be under illusions on that point. Neither\nChristianity nor philosophy can make or prevent wars as yet. They have\nnot been able to cope with the practical forces of the world which\nmake for nationalism, partisanship and personal interests. It would\nrequire a greater amount both of religion and of philosophy than we\nnow can bring to bear upon the world to offset the influence of\nNapoleon alone in the practical life of nations. It is the Napoleonic\nspirit that still governs Europe. Philosophy has been thus far a\nscience of being an explanation of the world after the fact, and not\neven to any great extent a science of its progress, except in so far\nas, we may say, beginning with Hegel and with Spencer, there has been\nsome development of the methods and the most formal conceptions of\nsuch a science. It is asking too much of philosophy, in its present\nstage, to expect it to preach the gospel, or to teach school, or to\ndirect politics, and for the same reason it is unjust to charge\nphilosophy with having created the greatest catastrophe of history. If\nphilosophy cannot wield any great power now in those parts of life\nthat are by their nature presumably most amenable to reason, its\neffect upon those events that express the supreme force of human\npassions and the totality of life will not be very important. The\ninfluences of philosophy are academic, and presumably any doctrine of\nlife that preaches achievement, virility and unmorality will include\nin some degree war among the interests that it will affect, within the\nlimits of its academic nature. But youth is inherently warlike,\nbecause above everything else it seeks to realize life in its\nfullness, and war at least does symbolize this reality and abundance\nof life. A philosophy which preached peace would hardly become a great\ninfluence with youth. A philosophy advocating the cause of war would\nform a natural background for the essential motives of youth. If the\nscales were evenly balanced, it might turn them. It is hard at least\nto see the relations of philosophy to the practical life in any other\nlight to-day. Philosophies are tenuous and adaptable things. We see\nthem used to support opposite causes, and they change color under the\ninfluence of strong desires. Bosanquet (91) shows us how Hegel's noble\nconception of the State, if we but substitute for its central thought\nof welfare of the State, that of selfish interest, may be made to\nchange before our eyes into the meanest of maxims. This process is,\nhowever, not unique in the history of the relations of thought and\nlife.\n\nA detailed study of the relations of intellectual factors to war would\nneed to consider the effects of a great number of more or less\nphilosophical ideas which throw their weight on the side of war. So\nfar as these ideas are simple and clear, and especially if they can be\nconveyed in the form of the phrase, their influence cannot wholly be\nignored. Some we have already referred to. The doctrine that might\nmakes right, the conception of state as supreme, the belief in the\ndivine right of kings, the belief in the ordained rights of\naristocracy, belief in militarism as a social institution, the\ndoctrine that life may be controlled by reason, all intellectual\npessimism, skepticism, any form of concept-worship, whether Hegelian\nor other, acceptance of the methods of science and the results of\nscience as applicable to all the problems of life--all such principles\nwhich inhabit the region, so to speak, between philosophy and the\npractical life manifestly have some relation to the spirit of war. In\na very general way they may be counted as philosophical factors in\nwar. For the most part, however, those ideas that have been accused\nof abetting war are exaggerations and perversions of philosophical\nideas. Nietzsche, Darwin and Hegel have all been exploited and made to\nstand sponsor for specific philosophies of war. In the new philosophy\nof life which Patten thinks has greatly influenced German conduct, and\nwhich may be expressed in the words _Dienst_, _Ordnung_, and _Kraft_,\nwe can see both the effects of impulses that have grown out of the new\nlife itself, and the influences of formal philosophy. That such ideas\nhave had relatively a greater influence in Germany than elsewhere must\nbe admitted, but that either this devotion to ideas or the ideas\nthemselves have been derived from philosophical interests and from\nphilosophies that have played any important part in the history of\nthought we may well doubt. We should suspect that the same practical\ninterest that works unceasingly to distort and popularize philosophy\nwould help to create such pseudo-philosophy.\n\nVon Buelow (65) says that the German people have a passion for logic,\nand that this passion amounts to fanaticism:--that when an\nintellectual form or system has been found for anything, they insist\nwith obstinate perseverance on fitting realities into the system.\nDurkheim (16) says that the Germans' organized system of ideas is a\ncause of war. It is also true, we should say, that the tendency to\norganize ideas and even the fundamental ideas by which the Germans\nhave been guided are deeply rooted in temperament, in history and in\nthe social order of the past. Boutroux (13) says that the Germans\nthemselves regard the war as the culmination of their philosophy. We\nshould say on the contrary that the whole war philosophy of Europe is\nalmost wholly a product of strife and comes from impulses that arise\nirresistibly in the practical life. Into these movements philosophy\nfits or may be made to fit, and the presence of ideas in a society in\nwhich the academic life has great prestige, ideas which coincide with\nbeliefs readily gives an illusion of an order governed by the higher\nreason. The fact that Germany's recent wars had all been highly\nsuccessful, the fact that Germany had learned to depend upon her good\nsword in time of need are the chief sources of Germany's doctrines of\nwar: the Hegelian background in the light of what we have learned in\nrecent times about the psychology of nations, must seem to be rather\nof the nature of the ornamental. The ideal of the Prussian State to be\na power directed by intelligence suggests Hegel, but it seems highly\nimprobable, to say the least, that Hegelian philosophy has had much to\ndo with shaping this ideal. Behind all this is the necessity of\nshaping German life in the form which it has taken--necessity if we\naccept, at least, Germany's national temperament itself as a\nnecessity. That other belief, widely held by German intellectuals and\nofficers that war is the testing of the validity of national cultures\nwould also probably never have appeared on the scene had not Germany\nbeen secure in the belief that she herself had both the right and the\nmight on her side. It is possible, of course, that the war has\ndistorted our vision so that the relations of the practical life and\nthe life of reason have all been thrown out of focus, but when we see\nwhat forces have been at work, and what they have done, it is\ndifficult to escape the conviction that we have been inclined to\nbelieve too much in the power of mere ideas. This may be the great\nlesson of the war. We may learn from it how to make ideas become the\npower that hitherto they have failed to be.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nRELIGIOUS AND MORAL INFLUENCES\n\n\nThat war and religion have always been closely associated with one\nanother is one of the outstanding facts of history. This is true both\nof primitive warfare and of warfare to-day. Yet we cannot say that\nreligion as such has been a cause of war. Religious wars are almost\ninvariably also political wars, and as soon as religion and politics\nare separated, religion no longer appears to be a war motive. When\nreligion becomes associated with worldly ideas which it supports and\nmakes dynamic it may become a strong factor in the spirit of war, but\nas a means of segregating men, and giving them unity of action\nreligion can no longer be regarded as a power, if it ever was. Any\nmotive that will not so segregate men and break up all other bonds\ncannot be said to be a very fertile cause of war. Religion as a cause\nof war belongs to a day in which the spirit of nationalism was weak,\nand when religious empire had a visible and political position in the\nworld. Nationalism, growing stronger, became the supreme force\ndominating the motives and interests of men and governing the\nformation of groups, or at least the actions of groups as interrelated\nunits. In the recent war we have seen how the sense of national unity\nhas been able to hold in check all other motives. Neither religion nor\nany class or clan or guild interests could trace the faintest line of\ncleavage so long as the motive of war remained.\n\nThe mood of war always contains a religious element. Not only is this\nshown in primitive wars, where the relations of religion, war and art\nare indicated in such phenomena as the war dance, which is of the\nnature of a magic weapon, but we see it also in the complex moods of\nthe present war spirit of the world. The idea and mood of valor have a\nreligious significance. Cramb says that we can trace in Germany before\nthe war, showing through the transient mists of industrialism and\nsocialism, the vision of the religion of valor which runs through all\nGerman history. The craving for a valorous life, for reality, the\ndesire to lose one's own individuality--these moods of war are\nreligious or mystic whatever else they may be or contain. The\ninseparable relation of war and death necessarily inspires a religious\nconsciousness. Without exalted moods which in some way contain\nreligious faith--faith on the part of the individual in the eternal\nvalues which he represents and in his own security in the hands of\nfate, and in the immortality of the country which he serves, war could\nnot exist.\n\nThe mood of war always contains a religious sanction, and every\nimportant religion sanctions war. This explicit relation between\nreligion and war is seen very early. Wherever there is ghost worship,\nand the warriors justify war and fortify themselves for it by\nbelieving that their ancestors still participate in the combats of\ntheir children, and that in waging war they are doing a duty in\nkeeping up the traditional feuds of their race there is found the root\nof the relation between war and religion. Every war is a holy war; it\nis but a change in degree from these primitive wars in which the ideas\nof ghosts must have had almost the clearness of reality to our modern\nwars with their deeper but more indefinite religious sanctions. Since\nwar always creates the need of moral justification, the war mood at\nall times tends to seek religious sanctions. Christianity, the\ndoctrine of peace and good will, very readily lends its support to\nwar, since wars are almost invariably regarded as defensive by all who\nparticipate in them. War in the service of the weak and endangered\ncan always invoke the spirit of Christianity. The logical ground for\nthis has been laid for us by many writers; Drawbridge (19), one of the\nmost recent, finds no support in Christianity for the doctrines of\npacifism. All nations, when they fight, fight for God, for liberty and\nthe right, with the implied belief that their own country has a\nmission in the world, supported by divine authority.\n\nAll governments have in them a strain of theocracy. We see this in\nmany degrees and forms, from the original totemistic belief in descent\nfrom animals that are also gods to the vaguest remnants of the habit\nof interpreting national interests as guarded by divine powers that we\noften see in the language of practical statesmen. The doctrine of the\ndivine rights of kings of course had its origin in that of divine\ndescent. The most striking revelation of the place such theories may\nhave, even in modern times and in enlightened nations, is to be seen\nin the revival and deliberate use of the doctrine of divine descent as\na fundamental principle of the government and theory of State in the\nNew Japan. All nations hold something of this philosophy; God and\nState are always related and all wars, whatever else they may be, are\nwaged in the service of religion and with the sanction of it. This\nspirit is not wanting even in the most modern democracy. The\nhistorians of Germany have shown us to what an extent the theory of\nthe divinity of state and its divine mission may be intermingled with\npractical politics and have helped to bring to light the psychology of\nthis movement in history.\n\nSeveral writers, but especially Le Bon (42), have written about the\nrelation of mysticism to war. Le Bon said indeed that the main causes\nof war, including the most recent one, are mystical causes. By\nmysticism he means unconscious factors which are religious in quality\nand which contain a race ideal which is both powerful and irrational.\nGerman mysticism appears to have attracted much attention during the\nyears of the war. Germany has presented the picture, we are told, of\na people becoming dangerous by couching national ambition and honor in\nterms of religion. This mysticism of the German contains a powerful\nbelief in race superiority, and in the supremacy of the culture of\ntheir own nation, beliefs which have the clear marks of mysticism\nabout them. The traces of the theory of divine origin still cling to\nthem. Boutroux (13) says the Prussian State is a synthesis of the\ndivine and the human. Another writer observes that the Germans believe\nin the altogether unique and quasi-divine excellence of the German\nrace, and of Germanism, and that the Germans have a new religion which\nthey believe in spreading by the sword. Some see in Germany a serious\ndemand for the revival of the religion of Odin and Thor, the religion\nof conflict of primeval forces, and of the triumph of might. Literary\nexpressions of this religion are certainly to be found, and it may\nfairly be maintained that Germany has never become Christianized to\nthe extent that most modern nations have.\n\nThat mysticism has been a large factor in the war spirit of the\nGermans in the late war can hardly be doubted, or at least that a\nreligious element of some kind has played a great part in it. The war\nbegan as Germany's holy war. A cult of State and of self-worship are\ninvolved in it. If not, innumerable expressions of Germany's cause\namong German writers are simply literary exaggerations. The Germans\nhave believed that they are God's chosen people, that they represent\nGod, and since the German civilization grew up in antagonism to the\nGraeco-Roman civilization, God must have adopted the one and discarded\nthe other. One German writer says that we must eliminate from our\nbelief the last drop of faith in the idea of a progressive movement of\nhumanity as a whole. Reality is represented in one nation at a time,\nand the chosen nation is the leader of all the rest.\n\nWhile such mysticism as this (if it be mysticism) is most conspicuous\nin aristocratic and imperialistic nations, we find it elsewhere. It is\na powerful force in imperialistic Japan and in Russia. We find it\neverywhere in history in some form. In France it is still the \"saintly\nfigure\" of France that inspires the soldier and induces a religious\nmood. There is no longer a vision of an empire of the future, perhaps,\nand this mysticism of France has not in recent history shown itself in\nthe form of aggression, but French mysticism clings to the ideal and\nthe hope of a glorious future for a deathless France soon to be\nrenewed. All peoples that have declined or suffered an adverse fate,\neven the pathetic remnants of the American Indians, expect the return\nof their lost power. Such mysticism is, we may think, the only\ncondition under which national life in many cases can continue. The\nreligious or the mystical mood of nations is created by the need of\nmaking belief dynamic, of overcoming doubts and fears. Hence the\nexaggerated and irrational claims peoples make in regard to the value\nof their culture and about their mission on earth. By their mysticism\nnations justify their aggressive wars and fortify themselves in their\ndefensive wars. Thus nations acquire a feeling of security. They\nbelieve in their star of destiny. They feel that their life which is\nof supreme value to the world cannot perish. It is this spirit that\nnations take with them into battle. It is a mystic force, and this\nmystic force is, in great part, we may believe, one of the by-products\nof the tragedy of history. Faith and hope have one of their roots at\nleast in fear and pessimism.\n\n\n_Moral Motives and War_\n\nThat the attitude of nations toward one another is not, generally\nspeaking, an ethical attitude and that moral principles do not\nmotivate the conduct of peoples we have already suggested. Sumner (70)\nsays that the whole history of mankind is a series of acts open to\ndoubt, dispute and criticism as to their right and justice.\nDifferences end in force, and the defeated side always protests that\nthe results are unjust. And yet wars are always conducted with moral\njustification and in the belief that moral principles are involved.\nThese moral principles, however, are not the points of difference upon\nwhich the beginning of wars depends. Nations never go to war for\npurely moral reasons. Moral feeling may coincide with the interests of\nstate, and a defensive war may of course be conducted in the spirit of\ndeep moral right and duty, but plainly it is never the sense of right\nand duty alone that is the motive of defense. Perhaps after all this\nquestion of the moral element in the causes of war is a futile one,\nand leads to casuistry. There are always political and other practical\nquestions involved, whenever strain occurs between nations, so that\nwholly moral issues can never arise.\n\nIf wars are not moral in the making they are always justified morally,\nwhatever the motives may have been that caused them. Without this\nmoral sanction it is doubtful whether wars could be conducted at all,\nalthough this moral sanction may be based upon very superficial\ngrounds. The higher patriotic feeling runs, says Veblen (97), the\nthinner may be the moral sanction that satisfies the public\nconscience. On the other hand moral sentiment may often be strong and\ndeep in the minds of the masses of people in a nation, and the public\nfeeling of obligation to enter a war may be strong, but in general\nsuch moral feeling does not lead to war. Righteous indignation lacks\ninitiative. Honor as moral obligation requires the aid of honor as\nnational pride and dignity. The relations among allies may at first\nthought seem to be moral relations, but when we observe closely we see\nthat usually nations go to war together because their common interests\nare endangered. When their common interests are not involved they\nusually break treaties and so do not stay together. Actions directed\noffensively against one member of a coalition are usually directed\nagainst the others, so that in most cases the allies of a nation have\nno choice, but must defend themselves.\n\nThe relative importance of moral principles in the motives of war may\nbe observed by comparing the motives assigned by the nations that\nparticipated in the late war with the motives which a study of the\nhistory and political situations of these countries reveals. There are\nwide disparities between these historical causes and the assigned\ncauses. These need not, however, lead us to take a cynical view of\nhistory as many sociologists and students of politics do. We have as\nyet no organized world in which moral principle can operate. The\nworld, we might say, is still infantile or immature. The world is\nstill unmoral. We cannot say that nationalism as the principle of the\nconduct of nations is a wholly selfish principle as contrasted with a\nmoral or altruistic motive, since such an analogy with individual\nmorality fails to take into account the complex nature of nationalism,\nand overlooks the social qualities of patriotism.\n\nEngland's purpose in entering the war has been freely discussed in\nEngland. The popular impression is that England declared war upon\nGermany in order to defend Belgium and to keep her treaty obligations.\nIf we consider conduct in a certain abstraction from the practical\nsetting in which it is performed such a conclusion can be drawn. There\nwas a moral stirring in England, and several writers have commented\nupon the fact that England subverted her own conscious purposes by her\nunconscious and instinctive morality. There was a strong feeling\nagainst war, even a widespread moral sense that England had become too\ncivilized to wage war. There was a shrinking from the economic\nhardships that war would entail. Against these strong tendencies there\nprevailed, at least in popular sentiment, a profound feeling that in\nsome way Germany's civilization was incompatible with England's, and\nthis feeling was in part of the nature of moral aversion. Dillion\n(55), at least, sees a profound ethical motive in Italy in the late\nwar. After a pro-German party had won out in favor of war, he says, a\n_deus ex machina_ in the shape of an indignant nation descended upon\nthe scene. But after making allowance for all moral feeling and the\nunusual and dramatic manner in which moral issues, to a greater degree\nthan ever before in modern history, were brought to the front, we must\nadmit that the political and diplomatic interests and manners of\nnations have taken their usual course in the war. Nations have been\ngoverned by the motives that have always dominated the relations of\ngroups to one another.\n\nGermany presents the most glaring example of the contrast between\npublic opinion and expressed motives and political facts. Such\nexpressions as these: that Germany's ideal is one that does violence\nto no one; that humanity and all human blessings stand under the\nprotection of German arms; that, where the German spirit obtains\nsupremacy, there freedom reigns; that in regard to England's downfall,\nthere can be but one opinion--it is the very highest mission of German\nculture; that Germany's war is a holy war--such expressions as these,\nwhich are psychologically explicable without questioning their\nsincerity, seem out of harmony, to say the least, with what we know of\nGermany's political aspirations. Germany's desire for England's\ndownfall does not appear to us to be based upon a moral motive;\nGermany's war seems far from being a holy war, and it is hard to see\nin it a means of spreading culture abroad in the world. We cannot give\nany place in the causes of this war to a moral desire to make the\nworld better. However much Germany may have been convinced that\nGermany was destined to be a civilizing force in the world, the moral\nobligation thus aroused, we may be sure, did not become the real\nmotive of the war.\n\nThe moral justifications of war are very numerous, and that this\nbelief in war has some effect upon the spirit of war and helps to\nperpetuate it, and is not a mere reflection of the warlike spirit\nitself, may of course be admitted. Many believe that war accomplishes\nwork in the world; war is a great organizing force. There is also a\nview that war is good as a moral stimulant, or as a creative moral\nforce. War is often regarded as the means of moral revival of a people\nthat has become sordid and dull. Schmitz (29) says that war gives\nreality to a country. War strengthens national character, some think.\nIt purges nations. In war people grow hard but pure. Irwin (25) says\nthat such war philosophy as this is to be heard broadly in Europe,\nchiefly in Germany, but also in France and in England. Mach (95) says\nthat disintegration takes place in times of peace. Schoonmaker says\nthat war has taught men socialization. Again we hear that wars are\njust and right because they are necessary. Redier (30) says that war\nis a way of giving back courage to the men of our times. This praise\nof war which comes from the depths of feelings, we must suppose helps\nto give continuity and force to these feelings.\n\n\n_Institutional Factors_\n\nIf the spirit of war is to any extent educable, and is created in\nnational life and is not merely something instinctive, it is\npresumably modified in one way and another by all those institutions\nthat are educational in their effect. Perhaps one of the most pressing\nproblems of education in the near future will be that of the relation\nof education to war. We shall need to know what the school has done to\ncause wars, what changes should be made in the future with reference\nto this influence of education upon the fundamental motives of\nnational life. The schoolmaster has been indicted among other\ninstigators of war. We must see how much truth there is in this\nallegation. We must understand also how the whole educational\nprocess, as we may see it now after the war, may be made if possible\nto become a greater factor in life than it has been in the past, if it\nis at all an important element in the development and the control of\nthe psychic powers of nations.\n\nSchmitz (29) says that the eighteenth century and the French\nRevolution were dominated by the phrase, the nineteenth by money, and\nthat there was a danger that the twentieth century would be dominated\nby the schoolmaster and by the concept, but that this danger is past\nbecause life has become so full of realities. Russell says, we know,\nthat men fight because they have been governed in their beliefs and in\ntheir conduct by authority. If this be true the authority exercised\nupon the mind of the child by all his teachers may be suspected of\nhaving been in one way or another an influence in creating the moral\nattitudes that prevail in regard to war and peace. We have heard the\nquestion raised as to whether in the past the teaching of history as\nthe story of wars, and the presentation of the facts of history from\nthe nationalistic point of view, have not been morally wrong.\n\nGerman schools, and the method of public education the sinister\neffects of which we have abundantly felt--that is, the propaganda,\nshow us educational phenomena that are psychologically of great\ninterest and which are also unique from the educational point of view.\nThe influence of schools seems in general so negative, and there is so\nlittle connection between what is learned as fact and conduct in the\npractical life that, even in the case of the German teaching of war\nphilosophy we must suspect that this teaching has been successful only\nbecause it has gone with the strong tide of feeling in the popular\nmind. That the German schools have directly and indirectly fostered\nthe development of ideas that lead in the direction of war there is no\ndoubt. Even more influential than the specific ideas that have been\nimplanted, is the spirit of these schools: it is their militaristic\nand routine life, the great authority assumed by the teacher, the\nspecialization, that has helped to nourish the warlike spirit of\nGermany, quite as much as the fact, for example, that Daniel's\nGeography teaches that Germany is the heart of Europe, surrounded by\ncountries that were once a part of Germany and will be again.\n\nGerman education, we say, seems to be unique in the extent to which it\ninfluences public sentiment and national conduct. In general,\neducation has appeared among the influences that lead to war rather by\ndefault of positive teaching than by anything positive it has done.\nEven in Germany, we should say, the spirit of war has been made to\nflourish less by the teaching of a narrow nationalism, by inculcating\nhatred, and implanting wrong conceptions of German history than by\nfailing to provide youth with means of deep satisfaction, by failing\nto coordinate deep desires of the individual, and to organize\nindividuals in a normal social life. This is true everywhere.\nEducation has not affected life as a whole, and it has not thus far\nbeen an influence which, to any appreciable extent, has accelerated\nthe development of peoples in their especially national aspects and\nrelations. It has nowhere fostered any conception of the whole world\nas an object of social feeling. It has everywhere accepted a certain\nprovincialism as natural and necessary, and has tacitly assumed that\nnational boundaries are the horizon of the practical life of the\nchild. The school has in fact failed to take advantage of its\nunmatched opportunity to use the imagination of the child to develop\nhis social powers. Sociologists say that if sociologists had been more\ndiligent in spreading abroad information about the social life, the\ngreat war would perhaps never have happened. That we may certainly\ndoubt; something more profound must be done by education than to\ndisseminate knowledge, if it would undertake to be a power in the\nworld and to do anything more than add its influence to the tendencies\nof the day, or perhaps temporarily change the direction of these\ntendencies.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nECONOMIC FACTORS AND MOTIVES\n\n\nThus far we have considered the motives of war mainly from the\npsychological point of view, discovering its main movement and\ndevelopment in the world to be a product of the psychic forces in the\nsocial order. This method, however, did not exclude the objective\nfacts, and did not ignore the practical motives. We found that war is\na manifestation of many tendencies, and in fact is related to all the\ndeep movements in the life of society and of the individual. War comes\nout of the whole of life in a way to preclude the interpretation of it\nin terms of any single principle, or at least to prevent our finding a\nsingle cause of war. We ought to try to see now how such a\npsychological view of war stands in relation to certain more objective\nviews of it, which in a very general way may be said to be centered in\ntwo closely related views. One is that war is almost exclusively an\neconomic phenomenon, and the other that war is the work of\nindividuals. One is the economic interpretation of history, and the\nother is the great man view of history.\n\nWe still see a lingering theory that war is a result of the ancient\nmigratory or expansion impulse--that over-population and the pressure\nof various economic conditions are the source of the impulses that\nlead to war. We have seen reasons for believing, however, that war,\neven in the beginning, has not been a wholly practical matter. Hunger,\npressure of population, migratory movements because of economic\nconditions, will not explain the origin and the persistence of wars.\nWars are not simple as these views would imply, at any stage. That at\nthe present time economic advantage, whether or not it be the motive\nof war, is in general not gained seems to be very clearly indicated.\nThe taking of colonies and other lands may be a detriment rather than\na gain to the conquering nation. The industry and the finance, of all\nconcerned in war, are likely to suffer disaster. Peace is the great\nproducer of wealth. War is a terrible destroyer of it. Ross says that\nas industry progresses, wars become continually more expensive and\nless profitable, that the drain is not upon man power so much as upon\neconomic power; nations bleed the treasure of one another until some\none of them is exhausted and must yield.\n\nThe theory that war is caused by the pressure of population,\nespecially as applied to the recent war, now appears to have been very\nnaive. It was maintained that Germany needed more room for her growing\npopulation, that Germany must have more land at home and more\ncolonies. Claes (46), among several writers, shows that this is not\ntrue. Germany had no pressing need of more land, except for political\npurposes, or such land as provided the raw materials for her military\nindustries. Bourdon (67) maintains that it is not true that Germany's\npopulation was becoming excessive. Le Bon (42) says that this theory\nof over-population is a myth. Still others have shown that in a\ncountry that is rapidly becoming industrial, as was Germany, where\npopulation is becoming massed in the great cities, emigration ceases;\nand that actually, in Germany's case, labor was imported every year,\nand that there are great tracts of arable land in Germany still but\nsparsely populated. Nicolai (79) also attacks the theory that war is\nsought for economic gain and says that an economic war among the\nEuropean states is an absurdity.\n\nThe need of colonies is often put forward as a real and also a\nlegitimate motive for war. Colonies must be provided, they say, for\nthe overflow of population from the homeland; colonies are the\nfoundation of the trade of nations--trade follows the flag. They think\nof colonies as the offspring of nations, and nations without colonies\nseem sterile and destined to extinction. We know that Germany's desire\nfor colonies is one of the causes of the European crisis, and that the\ncolonial question has been a fertile cause of trouble in Europe for\nmany years. And yet we have evidence that in the present economic\nstage of the world, colonies do not perform to any great extent either\nof the functions that are claimed for them. Trade does not in general\nfollow the flag; industrial nations do not need colonies either to\nprovide for over-population or for commercial reasons. The acquisition\nof colonies does not as such benefit the great industrial and\nfinancial interests. Why, then, do nations so ardently desire\ncolonies; and why, without colonies, do they feel themselves inferior\nand at a disadvantage? Why, in a stage of industry, in which it is\npresumably more to their advantage to conduct aggressive campaigns in\ncountries already densely populated, are nations so willing even to\nfight to obtain colonies? Powers (75) says that the desire for\ncolonies comes from the idealistic tendencies of nations. This appears\nto be true. Correspondingly we find that colonies are of more interest\nto general staffs and admiralties than to captains of industry.\nColonies are wanted for military reasons, more than for trade reasons.\nColonies are desired as bases of operation in the game of empire\nbuilding by conquest. There is still another reason. The race for\ncolonies perpetuates an ideal which has grown out of an earlier stage\nof the life of nations. Colonies were once actually the means of the\ngreatness of nations. The longing for colonial possessions, for the\nextension of commerce, the great jealousy and apprehension of peoples\nin regard to their trade routes, and the fear nations have for their\ncommerce, quite out of relation to present needs and conditions, hark\nback to an old romance of the sea. The waterways of the world, the\nislands and new continents have a traditional appeal, which comes down\nto us from the days when the small countries of Europe, one after\nanother--Portugal, Holland, Spain, England--became great in wealth,\nand grew to be world powers, by their commerce and their colonial\npossessions. In those days the expansion of nations was not at all due\nto economic pressure at home. The landowners, the rules, the\nprivileged class in general were interested in colonies, because in\nthat direction stretched the path to fabulous wealth, and because over\nthe seas were the lands of adventure. The seeking of colonies was both\nthe business and the pleasure of the nations. To-day the gaining of\ncolonies may be only a loss to nations economically, but they satisfy\nthe craving for visible empire, and also a longing that is deep and\nintense because tradition and romance are deeply embedded in it.\n\nProbably no one now believes that war among modern nations is due to a\npure predatory instinct or to a migratory instinct which is supposed\nto have led primitive hordes to seek new habitats and to prey upon\nother peoples. Hunger does not now drive people in companies from\ntheir homes and pour them into other lands, although it is true that\nany threat which excites the old hunger-fear tends to arouse the war\nspirit and to stir the migratory impulse; and a deep sensitiveness to\nclimatic conditions and a claustrophobia of peoples have remained long\nafter the need of land urged as the main cause of war, and we hear war\njustified on the ground that crowded peoples require more land. This\n_land hunger_ is an old motive and it still remains deep in the\nconsciousness of peoples long after its economic significance has\nceased. Just as we say the threat of hunger is often imagined, and the\nfear of hunger and a deep and persistent fear of peoples and the sense\nof danger of being engulfed and destroyed by other peoples linger in\nconsciousness, so the consciousness of the old struggle for land\nremains as one of the most powerful of traditions, and any threat,\nnear or remote, to a nation's land arouses all the forces of the war\nspirit, and the thought of aggression as a means of conquest of land\nis always alluring.\n\nLand was once the main possession and the main need. To-day it is the\nchief symbol of the power of a nation. The possession of it is desired\nwhen it gives nothing in return, certainly when there are no valid\neconomic reasons for taking it. This land hunger becomes the excuse of\nnations for their sins of aggression. A differentiated society, so\norganized that only the few, if any at all, can by any possibility\nprofit by the taking of lands still hungers for this primitive\npossession. To a great extent land as a national possession has an\nideal rather than a practical value. It was one of the original\nsources of prestige and distinction, having become the main material\ninterest of man as soon as he came to have fixed abode. The whole\nhistoric period of the world has been a story of a struggle for land.\nIt is the memory of this land struggle, which is one of the deep\nmotives of war, which often determines the strategy of war, and the\npolicies of nations.\n\nPrecisely how the system of great land ownership originated is\nobscure. Sumner (70) says that the belief that nobles have always held\nlands, and are noble by reason of this possession, is false. Nobles\nhave in one way and another enriched themselves and bought land; or\nrather having acquired land they have succeeded in acquiring titles of\nnobility, and establishing their lines. In all nations which have\nretained any traces of the feudalistic form, and to some extent\neverywhere, land continues to be the basis of wealth, and also of\npower, and the land-owning classes are still mainly the ruling\nclasses. This land-owning class is still dominated by the old\ntraditions of the landed aristocracy. It is the fighting class, and\nsupplies great numbers of officers for the armies. It upholds the idea\nof national honor in its ancient forms as related to private honor;\nit provides the great number of diplomatic and decorative officers.\nJapan, Russia, Germany and to some extent England, at least up to the\ntime of the war, have retained feudalistic institutions, and the land\ninterest still remains as a motive of war. In all these nations,\ncertainly in those which have remained feudalistic in fact, it is the\naristocratic and owning class that usually represents the war\ninterest. It both rules and owns. It sends out the peasant and the\nworker to extend the state. It is the protected class. Laws and\nconstitutions favor it. Taxes fall lightly upon it. Originally this\nwas the class that received all the benefits of war. To-day it suffers\nless from war than do other classes. Even when it does not gain by war\nin a material way, it is likely to gain in power (100).\n\nWe have seen this system of class rule at work in very recent times,\nand it is a question whether the old ideal of land possession did not\nwork to the ruin of Germany economically, and indirectly antagonize\nthe industrial interests of the nation. German politics had been\ntrying to serve two masters, who were not entirely in agreement.\nGermany was still a country of landed proprietors, and these\nproprietors always have thrown their weight to the side of war. They\nwere by no means dominated by a motive of pure greed, and they did not\nseek war entirely for their own advantage, but because, we might say,\nthey are ruled through and through by motives that can be satisfied\nonly in a militaristic state of society. Their gain from a successful\nwar is mainly a gain in prestige and distinction. An unsuccessful war,\nas we have seen, threatens their extinction as a class. All democratic\nmovements tend toward land division, or is indeed in part precisely\nthis process. Aristocracy without land cannot maintain itself.\n\nThe economic theory of war comes to its own in the view that industry\nnow controls the world, that industry is the power behind politics,\nand that industrial needs are the real energies that make wars. We\nlive in an industrial age, they say, and industry rules. Plainly to\nfind the whole truth about this relation of industry to war is no\nsimple matter. There are at least three more or less separate\nquestions involved in it. We need to know whether an industrial state\nof society, or the industrial stage of economic development, is\nespecially prone to cause wars, as distinguished from more general\npolitical and economic interests. We need to know whether wars, in an\nindustrial stage, do really serve either the interests of industry or\ncountries as a whole. Finally, there is the question whether those who\ncontrol industry and finance do actually create wars.\n\nIn the industrial and financial stages of economic development new\nconditions arise which certainly must be taken into account in any\ntheory of war. There are deep changes in national life. The moods of\nthe city become a new force or a new factor in national life.\nSocialistic ideas and new aspects of nationalism and patriotism\nappear. There is a spirit of unrest; both pessimistic and optimistic\ntendencies in society are increased; the motive of power takes new\nforms, and there is a deep stirring of fundamental feelings and\nimpulses. The crowd instincts, the old hunger motives, are felt\nbeneath the surface of life. This is the effect of industrialism upon\nthe psychic forces of peoples in their collective aspects. Nations\nalso become as wholes more specialized in the industrial life; they\nare dependent upon one another as never before. All the ancient\nmotives of commerce are stimulated, and the minds of nations revert to\nthe old fears and the old romance connected with the thought of the\nseas. The growing interdependence of nations produces a peculiar and\nparadoxical condition. Competition in regard to markets arises, with\nall the complications and strains that we have seen in recent years.\nThere are new motives of aggression, but at the same time the need and\nmotives for peace are increased. Industries in general thrive best in\nan era of assured peace. They live upon the wealth and prosperity\nthey themselves create. Intrigue, not force, is their proper weapon.\nLe Bon (42) says, that the desire to create markets was not the cause\nof the great war, because expansion went on very well in the time of\npeace. Germany had no aggressive designs except commercial designs we\nare told. Mach (95) tells us Germany's whole future, the success of\nher carefully laid plans for industrial development and supremacy,\ndepended upon continued peace.\n\nThat such views of the relation of industry to war are in the main\ncorrect can hardly be doubted. Industrial relations create strains\namong nations, but when as a result of these strains war occurs it\nmust be regarded as a disaster from the point of view of the\nindustrial interests. Industry we say thrives upon the wealth that it\ncreates. A war which destroys half the wealth of the world must be a\ncalamity for all great industries except at the most a very few having\npeculiar relations to the activities of war.\n\nBut there is another aspect of the relations of industry to war.\nIndustrialism as a great institution and movement of modern life\nbecomes in itself a political power. Howe (100) says that with the end\nof Bismarck's wars personal wars and nationalistic wars came to an\nend. The old aristocracy of the land merged with the new aristocracy\nof wealth and this wealth has become the great political power in the\nworld. But this is only a half truth. Industry has become a factor in\nthe foreign relations of nations, and has become a power in politics,\nbut the motives and powers we call political are exceedingly complex,\nand the interests of business, industry and finance are by no means\nthe whole of or coincident with political interests. There are of\ncourse certain industries and financial interests which may even\ninstigate wars, and some writers give them a high place among the\ncauses of war. Especially the makers of munitions and armaments are\ncredited with a baneful influence in the world. With their\ninternational understandings, their influence in legislative bodies,\ntheir control of newspapers, they are open to the charge of\nmanipulating public sentiment, and bringing influence to bear upon\ngovernments. They are accused of equipping small countries and setting\nthem against one another, of deliberately encouraging the race for\nmilitary and naval supremacy. No one can doubt that their\nopportunities for trouble-making are many and enticing, but to think\nof these influences as anything more than the incidental and secondary\ncauses of war seems to be a curious way of understanding history\n(100).\n\nThe inside history of the great financiering projects would no doubt\ngive us some of the main clews to the present diplomatic relations of\nnations to one another. If we take into account the various intrigues\nin connection with the building of the Bagdad route, the financing of\nthe Balkan States in their wars, the bargaining of the Powers in\nTurkey for financial concessions, the great business interests\ninvolved in the Russo-Japanese war, the loans to China and all the\nrest of the financial history of a few decades we should have in hand\nmaterials that no one could deny the importance of for an\nunderstanding of current history. Diplomacy has had added to its\nalready complex duties the art of securing financial advantages. In\ngeneral the art of this diplomacy is to secure these advantages\nwithout war, but there can be no doubt that financial relations have\nmultiplied the points of contact and strain among peoples, and that\nthese financial relations have become the main occasional causes of\nwars. Howe (100) thinks that surplus capital is to blame for a great\nmany of the great disasters of modern times--that it destroyed\nEgyptian independence, led France into Morocco, Germany into Turkey,\nand into the farther East, embroiled the Balkan States; and that the\ngreat war has been a conflict over conflicting interests of Russia,\nEngland and Germany in Turkey. Under the guise of expansion of trade\nthis invisible wealth has been exploiting the most vital interests of\nforeign countries. Veblen would go so far as to say that wars are\ngovernment-made, that patriotism is exploited by governments in\nadvance of pre-arranged hostilities to produce the spirit of war (97).\n\nIf we hold that these economic causes are now the most important\ncauses of wars, it is easy to accept the conclusion that the most\nfundamental, and even perhaps the sole cause of war is the evil\nprinciple of ownership, as is actually maintained by many economists.\nIf men in cliques, and men as individuals did not own privately great\nparts of the wealth of the world, these conflicts in which wealth and\nits distribution are the most vital interests would not take place.\nMany socialists, we know, hold these views, asserting that wars are\ndue solely to industrial competition among nations, and to the fact\nthat industrialism is based upon the wholly wrong principle of private\nownership. Hullquist, a socialist, says that wars are likely to become\nmore frequent and more violent as the capitalist system of production\napproaches its climax. The working classes, the socialists say, who\nhave nothing permanent, are the natural enemies of war; the\ncapitalists, who have much and want more, are constantly placing peace\nin jeopardy. The protective system of tariff also receives much abuse\nfrom these writers. Novicow (71) places the tariff system high among\nthe causes of war. The belief that it is good to sell and bad to buy,\nhe says, is the great trouble maker in the world. This was also the\nprinciple of Cobden the great English free-trader of the middle of the\nlast century. The Manchester school of which he was the leader would\ndo away with wars by making the world economically a unit.\n\nVeblen (97) charges the price system with being a fundamental cause of\nwar, and says that it must now come up for radical examination and\nperhaps modification. The theory of the rights of property and\ncontract which have been taken as axiomatic premises by economic\nscience may itself fail, or at least be thrown open to question.\nEither the price system will go, or there will be wars between nations\nin the future as there have been in the past, because of the need of\nprotection of ownership rights, and because of the nationalism these\nrights create. To some extent these rights of property _have_ been\ncurtailed, Veblen remarks; the old feudalistic rights have in large\npart been annulled, and the world is at least owned by more people\nthan was once the case. That these changes and readjustments of\nproperty rights will be carried still further he thinks there can be\nno doubt.\n\nStevens draws similar conclusions about the evil effects of property\nrights. The great war and all wars, he asserts, are based upon\nexisting social conditions--upon the organization of the family, the\nschool, the state, the church, upon the institution of property, with\nits corollaries of foreign markets and other industrial relations.\nProtection of trade, which works in the interest of the owner classes,\nindirect taxes which fall upon the consumer, the labor system by\nwhich, at the present time, the laborer receives but a small share of\nthe profits, but must become when necessary the defender of the\ninterests in which he does not share--all these things we hear being\ncharged vigorously with being the causes of wars, including the recent\ngreat conflict. This system is blamed not only for our great\ninternational wars, but it is looked upon as the germ of wars to come,\ninternal wars, when international wars shall have ceased, or\ntemporarily have been abated. When, perhaps, the restrictions that\nassume that the gain of one country is the loss of another have\nsatisfactorily been adjusted, the system that maintains that the\ncapitalist can prosper only at the expense of the laborer will come up\nfor final settlement (97).\n\nAll these views, from a psychological point of view, seem to be open\nto the criticism that they tend to consider the world one-sidedly and\nby a certain abstraction. They are dealing with a world governed only\nby economic laws. It is easy to construct these ideal worlds. They are\nsimple and they lend themselves readily to the purposes of a political\ncalculus. Finding economic motives in individual life, in the social\nlife and in politics, and in history it is tempting both to explain\nthe past and plan the future in terms of the entities and principles\nof economics. But after all it is only when we consider economic\nmotives in their relations to all the motives behind human conduct\nthat we are likely to see the economic motives in history in their\ntrue light. Then we shall very much doubt whether property has been in\nany real sense the cause of wars, or that the abrogation of property\nrights will be the means of establishing perpetual peace. We shall see\nthat economic motives themselves are but aspects of deeper motives,\nand involve desire for objectives that are not sought for their\nmaterial value, and also objectives that are not material at all. The\nprocess of development of present human society, so far back as we can\nsee, and as far into the future as we can with any confidence predict,\nseems to contain as a necessity some form and degree of human slavery.\nThis appears to be inherent in the fact itself of the existence of\nindividual wills, having in any degree individual or personal\ninterests as they must, and the impossibility of devising any social\norder or government that will give to the individual an ideal freedom,\nif such a conception be indeed possible at all. We may conjecture at\nleast that in a world in which every trace of an economic motive had\nbeen removed, if this were possible, there would still be slavery of\nsome kind, and the inexorable logic of individuality would in the end\nproduce conflict and war.\n\nNations, like individuals, live, and they pass through certain stages\nthat seem in a general way to be necessary phases of their\ndevelopment. During this process of development certain objects\nbecome, one after another, of the most vital concern because they are\nnecessary to the satisfaction of the motives which guide the lives of\nthese nations. But these objects are never so definitely marked off\nthat they become to the exclusion of other motives the causes of wars.\nThe social life is never so simple as this would imply. The past is\nalways involved in the present. One after another certain types of\neconomic objects-become more or less central in the interests of\nnations, but the minds of nations, like those of individuals, are\nalways influenced by the tradition. Objects are desired with reference\nto the satisfaction of motives that represent complex and general\ndesires. There are ideal objects as well as material objects; and the\nmaterial object is often sought because of its possible use as a means\nof satisfying the desire for ideal values. First food, then land, then\ncommerce, then industry, then wealth itself,--this has been the order\nin which economic values have become objects for the consciousness of\npeople as groups, and have become involved in and more or less\ncompletely represent the relations among peoples we call political.\nThat which is, relatively speaking, an object of necessity at one\nstage tends to become an ideal or romantic object of the next stage.\nThe relations of economic objects to the desires of nations and to war\nare complex and not precisely what they may on the surface appear to\nbe. Nations, like individuals, do not know what they need, and they do\nnot even understand clearly what they desire. Their desires are\ncomplex: elementary economic motives, political motives, personal\nmotives, the motives of industry and finance, the motive of power and\nthe craving for certain states of consciousness all exist together,\nand to some extent antagonize one another. The present practical\ndesire is confused by the traditional object. The will of a nation is\na composite will, and its history is full of contradictory impulses,\nand also full of surprises. Nations often think they are fighting for\neconomic reasons when their real motives are plainly to gain military\ndistinction. The reputation is quite as satisfying as any material\nprosperity gained. There is an illusion and a delusion about it all.\nAll these economic advantages that nations are always seeking have\nsomething unreal about them. Nations seek them long after they\nrepresent real values. Nations seek colonies when, if business is what\nthey want, it could better be obtained nearer home. Finance looks for\nadvantages overseas, when there are quite as safe investments at home\npaying quite as large profits. Nations have desires to do great\nthings, not merely to live and prosper.\n\nThat is the way these economic problems of war appear, at least when\nthey are examined in relation to other aspects of war and of society.\nThese economic problems are merged into and subordinate to the\npolitical or the historical problems, and economic causes of war must\nbe considered with reference to the psychological principles that are\nat the bottom of all social development.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nPOLITICAL AND HISTORICAL FACTORS\n\n\nWe think of political causes of war mainly as an aspect of the fact\nthat nations desire always certain _geographical objectives_. These\ndesires are represented in part by the policies of governments and\nleaders, but we must also think of nations as a whole as having\ndesires, and as being moved by profound purposes. At once the question\narises whether we shall think of these political objectives, and the\nwars the desires for them cause, as essentially the objects and the\nwork of individuals. Do individuals in any real sense create history?\nThis, of course, is a profound question and involves fundamental\ntheories of history. Shall we accept the \"great man\" theory of\nhistory, and say that history is mainly the work of a few who are able\nto shape events with reference to policies of their own, or shall we\nthink that forces that determine history reside rather in the\ninstincts or desires of the common life of the people?\n\nA psychological study of history inclines us to the belief that the\nforces that make history are mainly forces that do not exist as\nconscious purposes and are therefore not essentially political forces.\nOne of the conditions of leadership seems to be that the leader shall\nseek his own personal ends and realize his own purposes for his\ncountry only within the field of the traditional and common objectives\nwhich are held by the people as a whole as their purpose in history.\nThese are the materials with which the leader must work. Historically\nhis work may seem decisive. Psychologically it is to be regarded as a\ncomplex effect of lawfully related social reactions. The motives of\nleader and people must have large common factors. The leader holds\nhis power and his prestige by embodying in his own will and\nrepresenting in his own conscious policies the will of the people and\ntheir idea of country as an historic entity. The leader is leader only\nin so far as he is recognized as representing the will of the \"herd.\"\nAs genius, this leader is manifestly creative, but the true genius in\nstatesmanship is even rarer than genius elsewhere. The great leader is\nan artist. He must take certain vague or clear ambitions of the\npeople, must accept the nation's historic objectives as the\nfoundations of his policies, and working with these objects and\ndesires make his own page of history. His glory and his prestige\ndepend upon his fulfilling deep desires of his people. The forces with\nwhich he deals are plastic, but only within narrow limits. Leadership\nat best is a fragile thing. However autocratic the power, it is after\nall dependent upon the good will of the people, and the acceptance of\nthe leader as one who is serving the interests of the people.\n\nWhen we consider the nature and the objects of the ambitions and\ndesires that the statesman or leader must fulfill, we see why the\nrelations of ruler to people are difficult to understand. Nations do\nnot know with clearness either what they desire or why at heart they\ndesire the objectives that seem of most importance. People give\neconomic and political reasons, but the consciousness of nations is\nsubject to deep moods, and is influenced by remote events and\ntraditions. Nations have generic desires as well as specific ones.\nThey always crave empire; they all desire to have rank. They are\nalways ambitious, jealous and watchful of one another. These general\nand more or less subconscious desires make their desires for specific\nobjects intense, but they also make them peculiarly irrational. The\nheroic examples of history, hereditary emotions and the effects of\nspecific events in the history of peoples complicate their politics,\nand often make rational politics impossible. Nations will not act in\ntheir own best interests, because they are governed by irrational\nmotives. In this way certain disparities are often produced between\nthe people and their practical statesmen, but history seems to show us\nthat when these disparities exist in the region of fundamental desires\nand policies it is the leader who must yield. History seems to show us\nalso that wars, coming in general out of the deeper motives of\nnations, do not belong to such an extent as is often supposed to the\nrealm of politics. Political causes are often incidental causes and\ndetermine the time and place of wars but do not create them. Cramb\n(66) says that wars persist in spite of their unreason, because there\nis something transcendental that supports them, and this\ntranscendental purpose is the desire for empire. Powers (75) says that\nnations fight for tangible things and also for intangible things. The\ntangible things are existence, commerce, independence, territory;\nnations also desire objects that are not useful, the worth of which\nconsists in their satisfaction of taste. The ambition to own colonies,\nPowers thinks, is of this nature. Colonies are quite as much\nornamental as they are useful. They convey the feeling and impression\nof power.\n\nThat these deep desires of nations as expressed in the ambition to\nreach certain geographical objectives are exceedingly strong, often if\nnot always irrational, brutally arrogant and tenacious, the whole\ncourse of history teaches us. These desires are indeed the forces\nbehind historical movements. They create politics and policies. War\npreexists in these irrational purposes. These purposes are charged\nwith emotion, with prejudice, and tradition. It is with these motives\nthat all practical politics must contend, and these motives are the\nforces that the statesman must use and make more rational.\n\nThe purposes of nations are usually if not always we say obscure and\ndeep, existing in the form of ideals and tendencies, and likely to\ntake the form of visions of empire wholly unrealizable. And yet there\nare always certain perfectly clear objectives upon which all the\nforce of these half understood motives impinge. These objectives may\nor may not be economically rational or morally justifiable. We always\nknow with certainty certain of these objectives for which any nation\nwill if necessary fight. These objectives have often a long history\nbehind them. They are surrounded by tradition, sincerely and even\nreligiously sought. They are ideal objects which nations feel they\nhave a right to possess. Every nation apparently believes itself the\nlogical possessor of something it does not now hold (99). All peoples\nhave their longings for these possessions, which are their vision of a\ngreater self. These objects are often desired for reasons that are\nclear enough to all; but they are also often but the symbols of deeper\ndesires. As such, nations act toward them with almost instinctive\ncompulsion.\n\nWe may suppose that no great historical event is ever enacted that is\nnot determined more by traditional desires than by conscious politics.\nA thousand years of strife have provided the motives for the great\nEuropean war. Memories of time-honored objectives have arisen in the\nconsciousness of many peoples, and these memories cannot be recalled\nwithout exciting passions that make all rational politics unavailing.\nEurope has been fighting over again her battles of the past, and at\nthe moment of the present writing is carrying them into the conference\nof peace. The plans of statesmen and the intrigues of finance have but\nlittle success in contending against these forces. Since the leaders\nthemselves are not free from the prejudices and the compulsion of\ntraditions and the unconscious desires and deep impulses which move\ntheir people, they can with but dubious success bring international\npolitics into the sphere of reason. They do not represent merely the\nselfish desires of their people. They are not merely spokesmen of the\ninterests of class or individual. They are embodiments of the whole\nhistory of their nations.\n\nAll history, and all the present relations of nations to one another\nmay, of course, be considered in terms of the desires for specific\nobjectives caused by the imperial desires of peoples, these desires\nthemselves being regarded as a sum of motives, the effects of past\npolitical relations, and containing both rational and irrational\nelements. The world is a vast field of stress in which the powers at\nwork are national wills rather than political forces as the projects\nof rulers and the diplomats. These powers, when fully aroused, are\nquite beyond the control of statesmen acting in their ordinary\ncapacities, and their final issues no historian ought now to try to\npredict. History has been full of surprises because of the nature of\nthe forces which create history, and these surprises seem to have been\nsometimes the greatest for those who were most intimately concerned in\nmaking history. Events seldom run smoothly according to well laid\nplans.\n\nIt would not fall within the scope of a psychological study of war to\ndescribe or analyze the complex system of strains that exist in the\nworld to-day, and to point out the conditions that led to the great\nwar would be for the most part unnecessary, since they must be obvious\nto all. The main items in such a study of history, however, may well\nbe recalled to mind. One would need to show the effects of England's\nirresistible development through several centuries; the struggle for\nthe control of the Mediterranean; Germany's efforts to extend her\nempire toward the East, and the closing of doors against Germany's\nadvance; Russia's pressure upon the Teutonic peoples, the ancient and\nterrible dread of Russia on the part of the nations of Western Europe,\nthe shadow under which Turkey, Germany, and England had lived because\nof the presence of the great Slavic state, with its mysticism, its\ndynastic ambitions and its great growth force, its need of open ports,\nand vital interest in the amalgamation of the South Slavic peoples,\nand the determination to own Constantinople and to succeed to the\nplace of the Turkish Empire. We should need to take into account the\nlong history of the struggle for colonies, the colonial trust of\nRussia, England and France, the ambitions of France for empire in\nAfrica, the operations of French finance in the Balkans and elsewhere,\nAustria's aggressive hatred of Serbia, and her effort to prevent the\nrevival of Poland, the conflicts of Germany and Austria with Italy in\nregard to the AEgean and the Adriatic and their shores, the fierce\nirredentism of Italy, and the ambitions of Italy that have brought her\ninto conflict with the Teutonic powers and with Turkey, all the\nconflicting purposes and ambitions of Greece, Roumania, Bulgaria, and\nSerbia, and the added strain in the Balkans because of the vital\ninterests of all the Great Powers there, and many other conflicts and\ncauses of conflicts. These conflicts we see repeated in kind in the\nrelations of Japan, China and Russia and the other powers interested\nin the geography of Asia, and in the waters of the Pacific, and once\nmore in the growing strains between the East and the West (99).\n\nTaking our world as we find it, and viewing the nature of nations in\nthe light of their history and of their persistent antagonisms, one\nmight readily believe that the causes of war and war itself will\ncontinue into a far future. No war, the pessimist might well argue,\nwill destroy national vitality or neutralize the many points of\nstrain. There may be great coalitions and even Leagues of Nations, but\nthese may only make wars more terrible when they come. The friendship\nof nations will still be insecure and shifting. The great strategic\npoints of the world will remain. Small countries will continue to be\nambitious and jealous of one another. Island countries will still be\nfaced by coasts that contain possibilities of danger. The\nConstantinoples and the Gibraltars will remain; Suez and Panama will\nbe left, and Verdun will still be something more than a historic\nmemory (99).\n\nThat these objectives might all be brought into a permanent state of\nequilibrium, by some ideal world politics, that nations _ought_ to\nabandon their ideas of empire or at least see how crude these ideas\nare, how out of relation to our modern ideas of value, and how out of\nplace in a practical world--all this we can readily understand, but\nwho will expect nations to become very different from what they are\nnow, and who shall say how many imperial eggs there are in the world\nyet to be hatched? There are many ways of justifying these\nambitions--Germany justifies hers by reason, and the researches of her\ngreat historians--the Treitschkes and the Mommsens; Russia bases her\nclaims upon her religion and her ethos; Japan brings her divinity and\nher traditions, her vitality and her intelligence; England offers her\njustice and above all her proved genius for government as a\njustification of empire. But after all, these desires for empire lie\ndeeper than proof and reason can go. Poetic, dramatic and religious\nelements enter into them. There are geniuses among nations. The\ncreative force in a nation is its life force, its essence and its\nreality. In some sense the desire to be an empire is the whole meaning\nof a nation, for without the ambition to be supreme, peoples, some of\nthem, would be nothing. It is the vision of empire, however forlorn\nand hopeless, that keeps many nations alive, perhaps all. Nations seek\nto express in visible form the evidence of their inner and potential\ngreatness. The historic and time-honored art of empire-building is the\nonly art they know. Whether this is the tragedy of history, the\nworld's fate and the condemnation of it to perpetual warfare--or is\nbut a term in the logic by which nations rise to other and higher\nforms; or finally is a crime or a mistake which it is within the power\nof the will of man to abandon or amend--these are problems of the\nphilosophy of history.\n\n\n_Historical Causes_\n\nHistorical causes of war are in part the sequences of events that the\npolitical causes of war produce (political as the causes inherent in\nthe wills of nations), and we must suppose they are mainly this.\nHistory, from this point of view, is the working out of the motives or\nthe desires contained in these national wills. The causes of our late\nwar, for example, are to be sought mainly in the wills of the great\npowers that are concerned in it. Economic forces, the laws of the\ngrowth of nations (both psychological and physical laws), the\nconditions of the geographical distributions of peoples over the\nearth--all these are involved in the cause of wars. There are also\ngreat personages whose actions must to some extent be considered apart\nfrom these general laws; these personages contribute factors to the\ncausation of any given war that are not entirely inherent in the laws\nof growth or the psychology of nations. Shall we say also that there\nare fortuitous factors, historical causes that are not contained in\nany logic of human desires? Can we say, perhaps, that these fortuitous\ncauses are indeed the main causes--in a word that wars are not\ndesired, mainly, but are the product, indeed, either of the mere logic\nof chance, or of a design that transcends human will altogether? Are\nwars willed, or are they the results of the complex, the illogical and\nuncontrollable factors of the world's existence and movement? These\nmay not be practical problems, but they are serious problems, since in\nthe end they implicate the whole of philosophy.\n\nWhat place shall we give, in the laws of history, to the sudden and\nchance turn of affairs; to the quick shift of the wheels of fortune;\nto the incidents, the accidents, the mis-judgments of rulers and the\nslips of the diplomats? Are wars after all a product of the logic of\nlife, or are they mere fortuitous syntheses of events which in their\nparticular combination make a total that is not involved, either as\ndesire or as tendency, in the sum of the particulars that enter into\nthe whole? How completely, in a word, do the interests and purposes of\nnations determine wars? May we speak of motives that always tend to\nproduce wars, but never seem to will them?\n\nHistory seems to show us that wars are less directly willed than we\nhave sometimes supposed, and perhaps that there is a large element of\nchance in them as regards a given war at any time and in any place.\nWar in general is inherent in, or is a natural effect of, the laws of\ndevelopment of nations. Wars as historical events are not completely\ndescribable in terms of these laws. It is the old contrast between the\nhistorical and the scientific explanation of things that appears here.\nNations have deep and vague desires, we say. They want satisfaction of\ntheir honor; they crave a dramatic life, even military prestige and\nglory, but we do not often find war itself definitely willed. The\ndesires of nations, we repeat, tend to be too fundamental to be\nspecific. Their specific desires are indeed and for that reason likely\nto be contradictory. They desire both war and peace at the same time,\nand have interests that may be served by both. They live in indecision\nlike individuals. Motives conflict. They hesitate, and doubt, and\nfear. They shrink from taking the plunge. It requires the sharp and\nclear event, the chance event, most often, to precipitate them into\nwars. It is always to-morrow that they are to wage wars. So wars do\nnot usually occur by the rational plans and devices of any man or any\nhistorical sequences of men, we may believe, and it is a question\nwhether wars are very often intended in a real sense by any one. Wars\noccur as crises in events. The strains that produce them are certainly\ninherent in the relations of nations at all times, and even in the\nmotives of personal politics, but in general these relations as\nconsciously governed relations are in the direction of seeking the\ngreatest advantage with the least show of force. The conditions must\nall be present, both the match and the powder, before war can take\nplace. There must be a condition of strain, having certain\npsychological features none of which can be missing, the condition\nbeing something complex and not readily analyzable, at any given time.\nIn addition to these strains events must take place which, in all\ntheir appearances, are fortuitous.\n\nOne might argue from this that the cure of war consists in eternal\nwatchfulness to see that the match does not touch the powder, that we\nmust watch these events that precipitate wars and safeguard peoples\nfrom being affected by them. This, of course, is more or less the\nmethod of diplomacy; to some minds the league of nations is a device\nfor doing this on a larger and more systematic scale. But when we\nstudy history and see what these war-causing incidents are, how\nnumerous and how variable, we can see that diplomacy and statesmanship\nundertake an impossible task when they try to steer the world along\nits narrow historical course, with only historical landmarks for\nguides.\n\nThe war that is so vividly in mind now furnishes us with an\nillustration of the complexity of the causes of war, and allows us to\nsee clearly contrasting views of the causal factors in great wars in\ngeneral. We see here a closely fitting series of events, each in\nitself having but little reference to the great crisis, all fitting\ntogether, and for want of any one of which, if one takes the purely\nhistorical view, we might suppose the war would never have happened,\nor might have been postponed indefinitely. If Venezelos, to go back no\nfurther than that, had remained in Crete and had been content to be an\nisland politician, would not the course of events in the Balkans have\nbeen very different? Out of his course came events which no one could\nhave foreseen, but which, without similar actions on the part of\nindividuals producing other links in the chain, would not have taken\nplace. If some diplomat or some foreign office had made a decision\nslightly different from what was actually decided; if the three\nemperors had had a little more reliable information about one\nanother; if the statisticians of the German service had computed a\nlittle better England's resources, and had put the moral factor into\nthe sum--would the war have happened at all?\n\nIn this direction, of course, lies the chaos of history and its\nmadness--and also its philosophy. We may be driven on the one hand to\nthink of all history as a matter of the chance relations of\nindividuals and of detached particular events, having significance as\na series but never planned or controlled as a whole, or we may resort\nto the opposite way of thinking, and say that all of history, in every\nparticular and detail, is divinely planned and prearranged, and each\nevent fits into a rational whole. This, of course, is our final\nproblem of history, we say, as it is the final problem of every\nquestion that considers life as concrete events having value precisely\nas the particular sequence that it is--when we view life historically,\nin a word, rather than by the methods of the quantitative sciences, or\nby the genetic methods such as are used mainly in the psychological\nsciences, and which we may say stand between history and the sciences\nof matter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE SYNTHESIS OF CAUSES\n\n\nIt appears to be no very difficult matter to discover causes of war,\nand indeed a considerable number of causes. In fact the problem seems\nto yield an embarrassment of riches, especially if our chief interest\nhappens to be a practical one, and we wish to find the causes of war\nin order to see how they may be controlled. We might even have\ndiscovered all the causes of war and still be as far as before from\nany real understanding of the cause of war. Unless one can know the\nrelative importance of the causes, and the manner in which the causes\ncombine to produce wars; unless the results give in some way a\nsynthetic view of the causes of war, show _dominating_ causes, or\nreveal a total cause which is not merely a summation of stimuli, but\nis both a necessary and a sufficient situation for the production of\nwar; unless we have shown some fundamental cause and movement in the\nsocial order, we are still left in search of the cause of war.\n\nWe have, indeed, found a number of causes of war, but at the same time\nthe causes have not appeared to exist as separate causes. We are\nalways catching sight of a movement in the development of nations and\nof the world--of certain fundamental motives, the most basic of all,\nthe most general, being the motive of power. These causes of war do\nnot appear, however, to be of the nature of a _chain_, giving us the\nimpression that in order to break the habit of war, all we need do is\nto discover the weakest link in the chain of causes, break the chain\nthere, and so interrupt the whole mechanism of war-making in the\nworld. Above all, although fortuitous events as causes of war must\nnot be overlooked, war is not continually being made anew by the\nappearance again and again of accidental situations, which are thus to\nbe regarded as the cause of war.\n\nWar is, first of all, a natural expression of the social life, resting\nprimarily upon the fact of the existence, universally, of groups of\nindividuals acting as units. But here cause and effect are lost in one\nanother. Conflict cements the group, and the existence of the group,\nagain, is the cause of conflict. War is an aspect of the social\nsolidarity of the group acting under certain conditions, and these\nconditions are the presence of deep desires that can, in general, be\nsatisfied only by the exertion of force on the part of communities\nacting as wholes.\n\nThese primitive motives and moods of war that we find in the nature of\nthe social group itself, emerge finally in three aspects of the life\nof nations, and it is these aspects of the life of nations that appear\nto us as the causes of war. They are not separate and independent\nfeatures of the social life, and it is in part only for the sake of\nconvenience that they are sharply separated at all. They are all at\nbottom manifestations of the motive of power that runs through all\nhistory, and all the social and individual life. On one side this\nmotive appears in moods and impulses that we called the \"intoxication\"\nmoods and impulses. National honor was found to be another effect of\nit. The political motives of war are its concrete expression. These\nmotives all together--all being but phases of a deep, powerful energy\nand purpose, are the source of the main movement in history out of\nwhich war comes. In this movement all the motives of the social life\nare always present and active at the same time. The good and the bad\nof national life are phases of a single purpose and are not two\ncontrasted principles or moments. The past is always contained in the\npresent.\n\nWar, then, is the result of certain motives which are fundamental to\nthe group life. It is a natural form in which, given a certain degree\nof intelligence and of complexity of the social life, these motives\nexpress themselves. All the motives and forms of expression are\npresent in germ at least from the beginning of the development of the\nsocial life. Considering the whole history of war we see that it is a\npart of a very complex movement in human society, and yet that no war\nappears to be the final term of a process of inexorable logic. Taking\nhistory as a whole, we see that the natural laws involved and the\nnature of the social consciousness make a state of war from time to\ntime highly probable, but war is not a necessary consequence of any\nnatural law. Nations are self-conscious personalities. Perhaps in the\nfuture they may change their ways, abandon voluntarily their desires,\nsubject themselves to discipline, or deliberately invent a plan of\ninternational relations that will have the effect of eliminating war\nfrom their lives altogether.\n\nIt is always dangerous, but at the same time it is always tempting to\ntry to explain national life, or all life and history, in terms of the\nindividual and his experience. Once more, however, we may yield to\nthat temptation and say that the world to-day is in a stage of\ndevelopment which has many traits that show its relation in some very\nsignificant ways to certain undeveloped conditions found in\nindividuals, which in fact always appear as phases of the life of all\nindividuals in some degree and form. Nations have acquired a high\ndegree of subjectivism, partly on account of the geographical\nconditions under which they have lived, and the many barriers between\nnations due to difference of origin and of language, and the\nfundamental emotions of fear and jealousy which, as we have seen, play\nso large a part in the life and conduct of groups. Nations, however\nclose to one another, have remained isolated in spirit; they have\nlacked both the initiative and the means for becoming definitely\nrelated to one another in purposive and sustained activities.\nTherefore all their relations have remained highly emotional,\nsubjective, influenced by mysticism, filled with hatred and fear, hero\nworship and illusion. Nations have lacked both the power, and we might\nsay, the organs, for externalizing their spirit. They have dreamed\ndreams and played plays, and followed their illusions of empire. Even\ntheir wars have not, until perhaps now, become wholly real and serious\nin a measure commensurate with their powers and resources. The present\nwar more than any other, and more than any other event in history,\nrepresents an escape on the part of nations from their subjectivism,\nand a beginning, it may be, of the realization of a more mature, or\nshall we say more _normal_ conception of the world. Nations have\nplayed at being great and have really produced but little true\ngreatness. Now, let us say, their dream is over. We see that these\nnations can no longer play. Their wooden weapons have at last been\nturned to steel. They can fight no longer indeed without destroying\none another. They must now _live_ in practical and moral relations,\ngive up their bright dreams of empire after the old heroic order, and\nbe content to be imperial (if they are born to be imperial) by\nperforming distinguished service in the world, by their own genius of\nleadership. There is work in the world for nations to do; there are\nempires of the spirit, it may be, greater than have yet been dreamed\nof in the nations' childish philosophies of life. The consciousness of\nnations contains, it may be, unsuspected powers, suppressed in the\npast by narrow nationalism, by fear, habit and convention. These\npowers may now, if ever, blossom forth; they have been wasted too long\nin patriotic feeling and in idle dreamery. They must now show what\nthey can do in a practical world that will have no more of mere\nassertions.\n\nThe world stands to-day balanced between two ideals. Human spirit, the\nspirit of nations, is a free and plastic force; it is also a sum of\nmotives and desires; but most fundamentally of all it is a growing,\nliving, creative and personal spirit. It still clings to its luxuries\nof feeling, to its provincial life, it is still fascinated by its\nbeautiful romance of empire. On the other hand we see the stirring of\na new idea. A new world arises, less dramatic in its appeal than the\nold world, but a world appealing by its practical problems both to the\nwill and to the intellect. Shall we yield to the fascination of the\nold romance and go back to our hero worship; or shall we be inspired\nnow by this vision of a new and greater social order, create out of\nour own powers of imagination the forms this world must assume if it\nis to appeal to the deepest feelings of all peoples, and make this new\nworld real by our own intelligence and determination?\n\nWe stand to-day at a dramatic moment in history; a more dramatic\nmoment than when the victory itself hung in the balance. Perhaps our\nsense of responsibility for the future is an illusion; perhaps we are\ndriven by an inexorable logic of history, and we do not after all\nchoose what our world shall be. But certainly the sense of human power\nin the world has never been greater than now nor seemed better\njustified; nor, if we are deceived, has the reality ever been more out\nof harmony with the ambitions of man.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nTHE EDUCATIONAL FACTOR IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF NATIONS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nEDUCATIONAL PROBLEMS OF THE DAY\n\n\nEducation, like all other institutions, has been charged, we know,\nwith having contributed its share to the causes of the war. The\nPrussian school system, we have been told, was mainly a school of war;\nall the emotions and ideas necessary to produce morbid nationalism,\ndistorted views of history, and a belief in and a love of war were\nthere fostered and deliberately cultivated. There is, of course, some\ntruth in this; it is a truth that is deceiving, however, if we regard\nit as at all indicating the true relation between education and\npractical affairs. If the school was a factor in the late war, such a\ncreative effect of education appears to be rare in history. In general\nit is the negative effect of the school that is most conspicuous. It\nis what the school has not done to prevent war, what it has failed to\ndo in not bringing nations out of their perverted nationalism into a\nlife of more practical relationship with one another that really best\ncharacterizes the school.\n\nIt is difficult or impossible for us now, of course, to perceive what\nthe war has done--in what way, all in all, the future will be\ndifferent from the past. It is very easy and natural to look at\neverything dramatically now, see revolution everywhere and believe\nthat all institutions are now to be radically changed. Or, going to\nthe other extreme, we may become cynical, and say that, human nature\nbeing unchangeable, we shall soon settle down into the old routine and\nwe shall see presently that nothing revolutionizing has transpired.\nSome will say, and indeed are saying that education must now be\nentirely remodeled; some will think that education had best go on as\nbefore--that nothing has happened certainly to require any new\nphilosophy of the school, or any profound change in its form. We see\nthese two tendencies in many phases of our present situation: in\npolitics, in education, and in the business world.\n\nIt is impossible, we may repeat, to make wholly safe judgments now\nabout the future, but still something must in the meantime be done. We\nmust either stand still or go forward--or backward; we must act either\nwith a theory or without one. The school is involved in this\nnecessity. There is a new content of history that we cannot ignore,\nbut must in some way _teach_. We must say something about the war;\ncurrent events can hardly be kept out of the school, and to understand\ncurrent events there must be a wider content of history than we have\nhad in the past. There are new, or at least disturbed, conditions in\nthe industrial and in all the social life, and these conditions cannot\nfail to have some effect upon the school. The school must adjust\nitself to them, and it must surely take into account new needs that\nhave arisen. Patriotism may need to be taught now, or taught in a\ndifferent manner. There is a problem of war and peace, the question of\nwhat ideals of national life we are to convey. Internationalism\ndemands some recognition on the part of the school. It seems probable,\ntherefore, and even necessary that a new interest in the function of\neducation will be felt and must be aroused. Must we not indeed now\nexamine once more all the foundations upon which our ideas about\neducation rest? Certainly there will never be a more favorable time,\nor more reasons for such a task.\n\nIt is the impending internationalism, or the idea of internationalism\nnow so vividly put before us all, that most incites new thought about\neducation, and about all the means of controlling the ideas and\nfeelings of the people. We hear much about _re_construction and\n_re_adjustment, and these terms obviously imply the old ways and the\nold institutions. But internationalism is something new, having many\npossibilities; it means new relations among peoples; it opens up new\npractical fields and new phases of sociology and economics. It is\nbecause of this new phase of the social life and social consciousness\nof man, we might suppose, that education is most likely to be affected\nin its foundations, so that no mere readjustment will be enough. A new\npolitics and a new science of nations appear, and we cannot fail to\nsee that there is at the present time something decidedly lacking in\neducation; that there is a larger life perhaps for which our present\nways of educating children would not sufficiently prepare, and that to\nprepare for this larger life something more would be needed than an\nadded subject in the curriculum. This is because internationalism is\nnot simply more of something we have already; it is a turn in the\nroad, and a turn which, it can hardly be denied, will finally affect\nall institutions. If internationalism has come to stay, it will need,\nand it must have, powerful support from all educational forces. It\nwill need something more than support; education must produce creative\nhabits of mind, which shall make and nourish new relations in the\nworld, and it must make people intelligent, so that they can\nunderstand what the new and larger relations mean and what must be\naccomplished by them.\n\nA casual observation of the educational situation might indicate that\neducation is limited in two ways, so far as being a means of meeting\nour present needs is concerned. _It is lacking in power_; it treats\nchildren and youths still in a fragmentary way, and the process of\nlearning is somewhat detached from the totality of living. There is a\nlack of richness of content, and a lack of responsiveness in the\nschool to the stirring life outside the school. If we may say that\nhistory now turns a new page, and that society stands at a change of\ntide, education is also in a peculiar and interesting position. The\nschool may, from now on, if our view of it be at all just, be expected\nto do one of two things: it may settle down to a relatively successful\nwork, in a limited sphere of usefulness, training children well,\nespecially fitting them to enter into our present social order; or, on\nthe other hand, the school may now become a much greater power, and\nmay seize hold upon fundamental things in life and society under the\nstimulus of new conditions--find a way to a deeper philosophy, a more\nconsistent theory, attain a more exalted mood and higher purpose, and\nbecome a far more potent factor in civilization.\n\nThat education will remain unaffected in profound ways by the war, is\ndifficult to believe. One may very readily, as we say, see these\nimpending changes in too dramatic a way, and begin to talk about\nprofound upheavals and ideals that certainly will never be realized (and\nwe ought to guard against this easy idealizing, which leaves human\nnature out of the reckoning); still we cannot but feel that in some way\na new dimension has been added to the social life as a result of the\nwar, and that education, in dealing with this greater society, must\nitself be raised to a higher power. If we think, educationally speaking,\nin terms of a world at all, rather than in terms of individuals, or\ncommunities, families and nations, we are quickly impressed by the sense\nof living in a new order of educational problems, and possessing, it may\nbe, a new variety of self-consciousness. Nations in this new view are\nthought of as parts of a world, as having many external relations,\nwhereas formerly almost all education has had reference at the most to\nthe internal life of nations. Patriotism has been the expression of its\nmost distant horizon.\n\nIf we believe that anything new is about to be realized in education,\nit might seem natural to begin to think about changes from the\nstandpoint and in the terms of the old chapters and topics. We might\nask what this or that subject of the curriculum means or must produce\nthat it did not mean and did not produce before; or we might consider\nthe old and the new requirements in the education of the feelings, the\nwill, the intellect; or we might take any other of the educational\ncategories as a basis for a discussion of the philosophy of the\nschool. These programs, however, do not seem to be very inspiring.\nWould it not be better now to try to distinguish the main fields of\nlife and the main interests in regard to which new questions and new\nneeds have arisen, and see what changes in our educational thought are\nreally demanded by them? On such a plan, internationalism itself would\nfirst demand attention, and indeed most of all. In a sense all\nquestions about education must now be considered with reference to\ninternationalism in some way. Then there are the problems already\nraised during the war and widely discussed, about the teaching of\npatriotism. Patriotism becomes a new educational problem, a chapter in\nour theory of education, in which we become conscious of ourselves in\na new way, and are aware of our larger field and changed conditions.\nThere are questions, too, about the teaching of the lessons of the\nwar, what we shall think about war in general as a good or an evil,\nhow we shall conceive peace and its values. Changes are taking place\nin government, and in our ideas of government, and governments are\nbeing put to new tests. Political education can hardly fail to be now\none of our most serious concerns. Democracy appears to be our great\nword; the control and education of the democratic forces and the\ndemocratic spirit becomes an urgent need. Industry acquires new\nmeanings; we must take up again all the theory of industrial\neducation, for we have seen of late that industry contains\npossibilities of evil we did not before understand. Social problems\narise in changed forms. The new world-idea or world-consciousness\nbecomes an educational problem of the social life. Class difference\ncan never again be ignored as it has been in the past in the schools.\nMoral, religious and aesthetic education seems to have a different\nplace in the school, just to the extent that all life has become more\nserious on account of the war. These demands made upon the deepest\nelements of the psychic life suggest the need once more of a new\nphilosophy of education, or, at the least, a greatly increased\nrecognition and application of the philosophy we already have.\n\nBefore the war there was a sense of security and the feeling that our\neducation was adequate to meet all demands. We were proud of our\neducational system. Our democratic ideals, people said, were safe in\nthe hands of the public school. Industrial education was meeting\nfairly well the needs of the industrial life. There were no very\npressing class problems. The troubles of capital and labor, although\nalways threatening, seemed to demand no educational interference. The\nreligious problem was temporarily not acute. Aesthetic forms had been\nattended to in the curriculum sufficiently to meet the demands of the\nday. Hygiene and physical education and individual attention seemed to\nbe making rapid advances. All of these had been influenced by the\nscientific methods of treating educational questions. On the whole we\nseemed to have a good school. But now the question must be asked\nwhether this school of yesterday will be adequate to meet the needs of\nto-morrow; whether new conditions do not call for new thought, new\nphilosophy, new schools. These things of course cannot be had for the\nasking. We cannot give orders to genius to produce them for us. But a\ngeneration that does not hope for them, we might suspect of not having\nrealized what the war has cost. For so great a price paid have we not\na right to expect much in return, especially if we are willing to\nregard the war as a lesson rather than as a debt to us, and bend all\nour energies to make it count for a better civilization?\n\nWe may already see in a general way what the effect of the war is to be\nupon the mind of the educator. The journals begin to be filled with\nplans for the participation of the school in the work of\nreconstruction. There are many suggestions for the improvement of the\nschool. Industrial education, the classics, history, military\neducation, social education are all being discussed. Evidently many\nminds are at work. Some of them, indeed many of them, are apparently\nmost concerned about what changes we shall make at once in the day's\nwork of the school. Many wish to know what we are going to do now with\nLatin, or history, and how we can improve the method of teaching in\nthis or that particular. But there are some deeper notes. Thinkers are\nasking elementary questions about the whole of human nature. They wish\nto know what the original nature of man is, and what the limits of our\ncontrol over human nature are. Such books as Hocking's \"Human Nature\nand its Re-making\" and Russell's \"Principles of Social Reconstruction,\"\nwhich grapple with the basic problems of human life, are signs of the\ntimes. No one can yet predict what the final result of the increased\nintellectual ardor that has come out of the war will be, but it seems\ncertain that that striving of the mind which has made the literature of\nthe war so remarkable a page in the history of the human spirit will\ncontinue, and in the field of education as elsewhere in the practical\nlife there will be new vitality and earnestness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nINTERNATIONALISM AND THE SCHOOL\n\n\nIf we take a serious and an optimistic view of education as a social\ninstitution, and think of it at all as standing in functional\nrelationships with the social life as a whole, we must conclude that\ninternationalism as a new movement and idea, and the school as an\ninstitution in which changes in the social order are reflected (but in\nwhich also changes in the social order are created) are closely\nrelated. Adjustment is a relatively easy matter; it is the conception\nof the school as a creative factor that challenges our best efforts.\nLet us think of the school as a workshop in which there must be\ncreated the forces by which we must make a desired and an otherwise\nunrealizable future come to pass and we have a new and inspiring view\nof education. The school perhaps must do even more than educate the\nforces; it must help even to create the vision itself by which the\nfuture is to be directed. _The school becomes, so to speak, the\nworking hypothesis of civilisation._ In it the ideas and the desires\nby which nations live must be made to take shape.\n\nThe idea of internationalism implies certain changes in the external\nrelations of nations which, whatever the form internationalism will\ntake on its political side, are not difficult to perceive. These in\nturn imply internal changes. We might readily outline or\npsychologically analyze what could be called the mood of\ninternationalism, in order to see its relations to education. It\ncontains a number of factors, more or less related to one another.\n_First_, there is a recognition of a world of growing, living\nhistorical entities which we call nations; and this recognition\nimplies new understanding and an enrichment of knowledge. _Second_,\nthere is a change in the consciousness of nations, slow but visible,\nby which they become more willing to investigate freely and fairly\ntheir own place in history, understand their own desires, functions,\nvirtues, faults, the value of their culture and civilization. Without\nsuch an attitude all talk of internationalism in any real sense is\nidle. _Third_, there is a new and different practical interest. We\nbegin to conceive our world as a world of complex practical relations,\nand this idea of a practical world is likely to become one of the\nleading thoughts of the future. _Fourth_, by extending, so to speak,\nthis idea of a world of practical relations, we idealize a world in\nwhich there is a common interest in great international\nachievements,--a world devoted more than it is now to cooerdinated\nefforts to accelerate progress, more conscious of the needs of a\ndistant future, perhaps, or even of an ideal of universal efficiency\nas a means of realizing some one world purpose or many good purposes.\nThis is not now, as it once might have been called, merely an Utopian\ndream. In some slight degree it is already being accomplished.\n_Fifth_, social and moral feelings are widened in scope, and must be\nstill further extended; it is in the form of the _democratic spirit_,\nthat these feelings must find expression. And this democratic spirit\nis on one side practical, but it is also something more than the\nemergence of the common mind; it is the _aristocratic idea carried out\nuniversally_ that we look forward to, an enthusiasm for all true\nvalues, a mood and activity in which all people participate. _Sixth_,\nthere is a necessary attitude toward world organization or world\ngovernment, according to which we think of world government or world\norganization as a means of accomplishing results which fulfill\nfundamental desires and purposes of the peoples of the earth; as a\ngrowing structure, something to be added to and improved. _Seventh_,\nif so general a tendency and demand may be made clear, there is a\nphilosophical mood, which must be made a part of the ideal and the\nattitude of the future, _if that future is to realize even the\npractical hopes of the world_. This philosophical attitude is first of\nall a way of living comprehensively and more universally, in the world\nboth of facts and of ideas. It means a less provincial and a more\nwidely enriched life for all. It means also an ability to choose the\ngood not according to preconceptions and narrow principles, but\naccording to the wisdom contained in the experience and the selective\npowers of mankind as a whole. This means a life in which men live, so\nto speak, more collectively.\n\nThese factors of the idea of internationalism, whatever we may think\nof the possibility of their realization, make in their totality an\neducational problem: they are specifications, so to speak, laid before\nus for the making of a new educational product. If we say that it is\nuseless to think of such things, we are saying merely that it is\nuseless to hope to be a factor in conscious evolution, or that the\nworld as a whole has no purpose and no goal. If we believe education\nhas any function in the larger work of the world, educational\nphilosophy must take these things into account, see how they may be\ncreated or sustained, and how they can be made to work together to\nhelp bring to pass the kind of future men are talking so much about.\n\n\n_I. The Essential World Idea_\n\nOur present situation has plainly made it necessary for us to\nunderstand the world in which we live far better than we have in the\npast, and to be willing to make more dispassionate judgments about it.\nFor better or for worse we have entered upon a new stage of history,\nin which heavy responsibilities fall upon all peoples, and upon none\nmore than upon ourselves. Enlightenment beyond all our present\nunderstanding is a necessity. We have been peculiarly isolated and\nseparated from the world's affairs; now we are peculiarly involved. We\nhave, however, one great and unusual advantage. In our case it is\nignorance rather than prejudice that we must overcome in ourselves.\nThe world feels this and recognizes the unusual place this gives us.\nWe have no thousand years of continuous strife to distort our\nhistorical perspective. We out to be able to be just interpreters of\nthe history of the world. Our universities ought to be the greatest\ncenters of historical learning, and as a people we should feel\nourselves called upon above all other people to know the world.\n\nAs a nation we pass out of a local into a broader political field. We\nbecome citizens of a world, but this world is no mere habitation of\nindividuals who are to be affiliated with one another. It is a world\nof _national wills_. Internationalism is first of all a recognition of\nthe legitimate desires of nations. But such a recognition of the\nlegitimate desires of nations cannot be effected merely by spreading\nabroad good will. A widespread education in the meaning of history\nmust first be made the foundation of international justice in the\nminds of the people. Current history and future events seen in the\nlight of all history, of history as the science and story of all human\nexperience, become our chief intellectual interest to-day. The war has\ntaught us how little the people in the world know bout the world as a\nwhole. All history thus far has been _local_ history. Everywhere there\ntends to be the prejudice in some degree that comes from the private\nneed of using history for political ends. Unless we can now put\nhistory, real history, at the head of our sciences, the war will have\nfailed of a great result, whatever in particular, in a political way,\nit may have accomplished.\n\nWith such an understanding of what is to be meant by history we say,\nif that seems an adequate way of expressing it, that the teaching of\nhistory becomes one of the fundamental problems of the educational\nwork of the day. It might be better to say that living in the\nhistorical spirit is demanded as a way of salvation of the world.\nHowever, adding geography and economics to history we have a content\nthat must somehow be taught in the schools. History, as the most\nconcrete science of the actual world in which we live, now seems to\nhave become a new center for the curriculum. Hitherto we have tended\nto regard history too lightly, as the _story_ of the world; now there\nmust be a deeper view of it. We must have an understanding of the\nmotives and the desires of peoples; history must not only be broader\nand more comprehensive but more penetrating and psychological. It is\nthe purposes of nations, working themselves out in their history, that\nwe must understand. There must no longer be great unknown places on\nthe earth. Germany, Russia, Japan must not continue to be mysteries.\nNational psychology must be made a part of historical interpretation.\nThis new history must be the means of showing us our world in a more\ntotal view than we have thus far had of it, so that we may better\ndiscern the continuity, if there be one, behind the detached movements\nand multiplicity of facts presented by the world's story; for perhaps,\nin this way, we should better understand what the future is to\nproduce, and what, more important still, it ought to be made to\nproduce.\n\nThe need first of all is for a continuation of the interest inspired\nby the war--an interest showing itself in the form of an universal\ninterest in all history, and an intensive investigation of history. We\nneed now, indeed, the most comprehensive study of the world that has\never been conceived or dreamed of by man. This is the duty of the\nhistorians. This new history must show us what nations are at heart,\nwhat they desire, what they can do. Such an understanding of nations\nis, we say, the real beginning of internationalism. It is a necessary\nfoundation for it, if internationalism is to be anything more than a\nmerely practical, prudential or political arrangement among nations.\nIn the school-room eventually, and indeed beginning now, there is\ndemanded a readjustment of interest by which history takes a new and\nmore central place. We must endeavor to give the new generation a\n_world-idea_. And upon the nature and clearness of this world-idea\nmuch, in the future, will depend.\n\nSuch a demand upon the school opens once more, of course, all the old\nproblems of the teaching of history. All the dreary questions of the\nprecise order in which history should be taught--whether backwards or\nforwards, local first or the reverse, may be brought up if one chooses\nto do so. But after all, these questions are not very fruitful. What\nwe need most is the historical _spirit_. We want a dramatic\npresentation of the world's whole story, by which the true meaning of\nhistory is conveyed. The methods of art must be added to the methods\nof fact. A persuasive use of the materials of history must be made.\nThis means a change finally, perhaps, not only in the methods of\nteaching history, but in the whole mood and spirit of the school.\nMethods are likely to adapt themselves to necessity. Certainly the\nslow methods of presenting facts, sometimes if not generally employed,\nthe tedious lingering upon details, seems wholly out of place. We need\na broader outlook in history. Even the young child must have a more\ncomprehensive world-idea, some sense of the whole of the great world\nin which he lives. This is one of the instances, it may be, in which\nwe must set about breaking up any recapitulatory order, natural to the\nchild, which suggests an advance from the local to the more general\nand wider knowledge. The universal interests of the day so strongly\naffect the child, the social consciousness so dominates the individual\nconsciousness that even the natural law of development must to some\nextent yield if necessary. This social consciousness, the interests\nand purposes expressed in the child's social environment, present the\nexperience of the adult world dramatically and intensively, exerting\nas we might say, a creative power upon the mind. That indeed is\nprecisely what the higher teaching, whether in the form of art, or in\nthe form of vivid experience, conveyed though the practical life does\neverywhere in education.\n\nWe do not yet know what history, taught thus dramatically and\nintimately, under the stimulus of the greatest events of all time\nmight do for the mind of the child or for all the future of the world.\nWe have never had the most favorable conditions for the teaching of\nuniversal history. We have been obliged to create interest. History\nhas been taught externally, from the standpoint of a far-away\nobserver. Now history may and must be taught more as it is lived. The\nworld has become more real to every one; this sense of reality of a\nworld of historical entities must be made to persist. We must not go\nback to our unreal and intellectualized history. The spirit of the\nnations must be made to live again, so to speak, in the minds of the\ncoming generation. What each nation stands for, its ethos, its\npersonality, must be made clear. Powers says that all governments and\nall nations are _sincere_. It is the soul of nations, then, their own\nrealization of themselves that must be made the real object of\nhistory. We must go back of the individual and the event at least, to\nthe desires that have made history what it is; we must see why events\nhave taken place, and while sacrificing nothing of our own principles\nand standards, understand and feel what the principles and the nature\nof these widely differing nations really are. For the actual teaching\nof history, it is likely that the story, carried to its highest point\nof art, will still be the chief method. But pictorial art must be\nheavily drawn upon, and all the resources of symbolic art, as we pass\nfrom the lower to the higher stages in education, or, we had perhaps\nbetter say, as we try more and more to convey moods and the spirit of\nnations and epochs and to appeal to the deep motives in the\nsubconscious life of the individual. Plainly there is much work to do\nin the investigation and the teaching of history for every grade and\ndepartment of the educational system, from the government and the\nhigher universities to the teacher of the young child. It is an age of\nhistory, a day in which all sciences have as one of their tasks to aid\nin the understanding of history. In the broader world and the\nuniversal life which the idea and the reality of internationalism has\nopened up to us, all must live in some way, if only in imagination.\nHistory is a part of the necessary equipment for that life.\n\n\n_II. The Reeducation of National Desires_\n\nThe second factor in internationalism is also, on its educational\nside, related to a knowledge of history. This is the attitude which\npeoples must take toward their own purposes and ambitions. We must\nbegin to speak of the education of national consciousness. This\nprocess of the education of nations must be such as will teach peoples\nto surrender certain visions most of them have in regard to a future\nwhich cannot now be realized. The content of the desires of nations\nmust now be changed. The future of many peoples will depend upon the\nextent to which they can remain progressive and enthusiastic without\nthe stimulus of imperialistic ambitions.\n\nConsidering our own situation in America, it seems plain that we have\nconfronting us a serious educational problem, that of imparting to the\nrising generation and of acquiring for ourselves, a better\nunderstanding of the meaning and place of our country in the world,\nand a more earnest interest in its functions and its welfare. This\nrequires something more than a teaching of American history. It is\ntime for us to take stock of all our material and all our spiritual\npossessions. We need perhaps to discover what our ideals really are\nand what the ideas and the forces are that have made our history what\nit has been; and what in the future we are likely to do and to be, and\nought to do and be. We must question deeply at this time our own soul;\nwe must look to our institutions, our literature and our art for an\nunderstanding of ourselves.\n\nThis more profound knowledge of ourselves must be made the basis of\nour especial educational philosophy. Here is the most urgent of all\nour educational problems. Education is, or should be, a process by\nwhich national character is constantly being molded. In the school the\nnation must learn much that cannot be read in books. It must learn to\nbelieve things that cannot be proved, or perhaps even definitely\nformulated as truth. The soul of the nation must be subjected, in a\nword, to some kind of _spiritual leadership_. Constructive\nstatesmanship must be felt as an influence in the school. The problem\nis really nothing less than that of educating and forming national\ncharacter. Now that we stand less alone as a nation our character\ncannot safely be left so much to chance and to the effects of our\nfavorable environment and our original stock of virtues. We cannot\ncontinue to be so naive and so unconscious of our country as we have\nbeen. What we are and what we must do as a people, we say, ought to be\nbetter understood. We should bring these ideals of ours out of the\nmists of partisan thinking and give them more definite shape, and at\nthe same time translate them into the language of sincere living.\nNational honor ought to be made a clearer idea. We ought at least to\nbe sure it contains the idea of honesty. Such prejudices as our\nhistory has encouraged in us must be recognized, and computed in our\npersonal equation. These prejudices we certainly harbor--in regard to\nour own particular type of government, our culture and education, our\nfreedom and our democracy and our security. Every nation appears to\nhave its own idols, its concealments and its self-deceptions, its\nbelief in its own supremacy and divine mission, and its innocent\nfaith in its own mores. To overcome such narrowness and perversion\nwithout introducing worse faults is a difficult problem of education.\nIn either direction there appear to be real dangers. A nation steeped\nin provincial ways, plunged as we are now into the midst of world\npolitics, has difficulties lying before it compared to which\ncontributing a decisive military power is small. There are dangers in\nstanding aloof from other peoples. But if we surrender too readily our\nprejudices and homespun ways, and too rapidly absorb influences from\nwithout, we shall be no safer, for carried too far, that would mean to\nlose our mission and our vision. There appears to be, moreover, no\nsafe and easy middle course which we can follow. Our only course seems\nto be clearly to understand ourselves, rise above our limitations and\ndifficulties, turn our faults into virtues, and make ourselves secure\nby our own inner worth and power.\n\nPlainly there are difficult problems ahead of the teachers of American\nhistory. They must not inculcate suspicion and fear, but they must not\npresent our security in a false light. They must not inspire the\nwar-like spirit and imperialistic ambitions, but they must do nothing\nto lessen our seriousness of purpose and enthusiasm for the future.\nThey must not teach national vanity, but they must not on the other\nhand encourage a spirit which is in any way over-critical and cynical\nor supercilious. There must be political wisdom on the part of the\npeople but not a sophisticated state of mind. These teachers must\ninspire a wholesome pride, without creating an inflamed sense of honor\nsuch as has caused so many wars. They must make clear the virtue and\nthe individuality of our own national life, but in doing this they\nmust not disparage the foreign and give rise to prejudice and\nantagonism. How to establish us still more firmly in our own essential\ntraits and philosophy of life without making us conceited and closed\nto good influences from without; how to give us a strong sense of\nsolidarity without the attendant sense of opposition to everything\noutside the group is a part of our educational work which, in a broad\nsense, falls to the teacher of history.\n\nThe central problem of the education of national consciousness, in our\nview, is to make desires more conscious and to subject them to\ndiscipline and the influence of the best ideals of American life.\nMacCurdy says that by making instincts conscious we take a great step\nin advance. That we should say is true, if we make them conscious in\nthe right way, and do not try to substitute rational principles for\nthem. But we need to go further; we must not only understand and\ncontrol the impulses of aggression, jealousy, fear and the like that\nhave played such a sinister part in history, but we must know more\nabout those complex and subtile things we call moods, which are really\nthe main forces in modern life. These moods are accumulations and\nrepositories of interests and desires, and they must be appreciated by\nall who as educators, undertake to direct the forces in our national\nlife. These desires must be made more definitely conscious everywhere,\nand be subjected to influence and education. It is not simply\ninstitutions, organizations and factions that must be watched and\ncontrolled, just because these are the more obvious and most easily\naffected expressions of tendencies and desires, but all the subtile\nfeelings or moods which are the raw materials, so to speak, of future\nconduct, ideals, and institutions.\n\nHere comes to view, of course, our whole problem of assimilation of\nheterogeneous elements. Favored by our geographical position, and by\nthe fortunate success and the great suggestive power of the ideal of\nliberty with which our history began, America has had, as we all\nrealize, thus far an unusual career. We have been able to assimilate\nforeign elements with great rapidity. We may not be so fortunate in\nthe future. Distances which have severed our new peoples from their\nold ties have become strangely shortened by the war. Our problems of\nadjustment have become more subtile and complex. The necessity of\nsucceeding in unifying our population is more urgent. Therefore our\nfuture development, as a nation, becomes to a greater extent a process\nof conscious direction; what we have done naively and by sheer force\nof our powers of growth, we must do now, it is likely, more\ndeliberately and efficiently.\n\nWe have before us in America the highly important and by no means\neasy task of harmonizing, under new conditions, all sorts of forces\nand desires by directing them in ways and toward ends which cannot\nnow be wholly determined. There is both a psychological and a\npedagogical aspect of the situation. Psychology must perform for\nAmerican life something very much like a psycho-analysis; we should\nexpect to see as a result of the war a greatly increased interest, on\nthe part of the American people, in themselves; self-understanding\nand self-interpretation, we should suppose, would be advanced; all\nthe sciences of human nature we should think would be called upon to\nhelp us to make a new American history and to formulate the purposes\nof our national life.\n\nOn the pedagogical side we might expect reasonably to see a deepened\nsincerity on the part of all who in any way stand in the position of\nteachers. We are dependent upon leaders in a democratic country, and\nall leaders in whatever place in society would now, one might hope,\nfeel a heightened sense of duty, both to understand and to influence\nAmerican life, to represent in their own persons and teachings the\nhighest ideals, and indeed to become truly creative forces in\nsociety. Boutroux says that Germany is a product of an external\nphenomenon--_education_. America, we should say, must become more and\nmore a product of an internal phenomenon--_education_. That is, the\nforces that will continue to shape our country must be in the form of\nleadership growing out of the best impulses and the true meaning of\nour civilization. No forces will make of us something we are not by\nnature; our strength must continue to come from within, but it is the\naristocratic spirit, the aristocracy of genius in the fields of\nintellect, morality and art that must of course have the fullest\nopportunity to influence all our institutions, even the school room.\n\nSo to organize our educational system that it shall be thrown wide\nopen to all new and good influences; so to conduct the school that it\nshall be immediately responsive to these influences, is one of the\nmost urgent needs of the internal life of the nation. This, rather\nthan the introduction of any new content into the school is now our\nchief need. Some of these influences must be personal, belonging to\nthe present. Some belong to the past. We must make American history,\npoetry, oratory, science, art and philosophy serve more completely\nthan they do now the ideals and the right ambitions of the nation.\nThis is the way we must both bring the past to fuller realization and\nalso create new life which shall make amends for the deficiencies of\nthe past.\n\n\n_III. Practical Interests_\n\n_The foundation of internationalism, in our view, is the recognition\nof the legitimate desires and needs of peoples._ The desires of\npeoples when educated should become interests in the performance of\nall normal functions of national life. The functions are practical;\nthey take the form of many commonplace and daily activities. The\nrecognition of the legitimacy of the desires of nations implies, or at\nleast naturally leads to, cooeperation in their accomplishment. It is\nvery probable, therefore, and it appears to be required in any\ninternationalism that is more than a name, that there shall be in the\nfuture wide cooeperation in the performance of various activities by\ninternational organizations and agreements. If this is to be the order\nof the future, new educational efforts will be demanded, and there\nmust be different methods and different points of view in several\nphases of our educational system, for now all education is devised\nwith reference to an autonomous state of the nation.\n\nIf practical cooeperation becomes a part of our plan of international\norganization in the future, we shall see many problems in applied\neconomics and industry taken up for far more serious consideration\nthan has been possible hitherto. Some of these problems, attacked even\non a national scale, have seemed hopeless, but when viewed in their\ninternational aspects and with a prospect of international interest\nand effort they seem very different. There are many such problems\ntoward the solution of which education must contribute a large part.\nWe might mention the food problem of the world as typical, and point\nto the present world-wide interest and cooeperation as an indication of\nwhat may come in the future in regard to all the problems of\nproduction and distribution of necessities, _if_ we really mean\nanything by our internationalism. Apparently we hold within our hands\nthe means of alleviating most, if not all, the destitution of the\nworld. Organization and education in efficiency are the necessary and\nthe sufficient weapons.\n\nSo we may conclude that an efficient method of educating peoples in\nthe work of food production, and in the habit of conserving\nnecessities would make a wide change in the economic condition of the\nworld. Organization which shall include in some way the service of all\nchildren, will add still more to efficiency, and will contribute an\neducational factor of great importance. In such ways we may to an\nunlimited extent increase the available energies of the world, and\nmake possible, if we will, the further increase and expansion of the\nhuman race. Such a possibility and such an ideal give a totally new\nmeaning to much of the fundamental work of education. All our\ndepartments and accessories of the educational system that have\nanything to do with the elemental occupations acquire a new interest\nand importance from this point of view.\n\nThe whole field of industry offers now, indeed, a broader educational\nopportunity. Children's hands are ready to do many things that will\nincrease the happiness and the powers of the children themselves and\nat the same time add to the world's prosperity. Children must, of\ncourse, not be exploited in tasks that belong to the adult, but there\nis a proper place for practical organization of children in the\nworld's work, and a potential helpfulness in children in the larger\naffairs of society that has not yet been drawn upon, although surely\nwe have seen, during the years of the war, what children might\naccomplish. It is above all in its relations to universal social\nfeeling that such practical education and use of childhood are most\nsignificant. Out of the practical activities, moral results could\nhardly fail to come. It is not too much to expect that the children of\nthe world may sometime be so organized that the power of childish\nenthusiasm, raised to we know not what degree by the suggestive force\nof such world-wide relations as are now possible, may quickly be\nturned to the accomplishment of great tasks,--doing its part in the\nservice, the conservation, the self denial, that any serious interest\nin internationalism will in the future with but little doubt make\nnecessary.\n\nEducation that shall take into account the principles of efficiency\nand economy as applied to universal problems will be a great advance\nupon any teaching hitherto done in the interest of internationalism.\nIt is through practical activity and interest, suggesting and\nrequiring restraint and cooeperation, arousing imagination and the\ndramatic impulses, that fruitful and permanent social affiliations of\nnations with one another will be likely to be made. We may safely\nassume, in fact, that firm affiliations can be made _only_ in some\nsuch way. Internationalism, from this point of view, is at bottom not\na political problem, but an educational problem. The world will be\nunited only through the mediation of its daily practical needs. The\nmotives for such union are themselves commonplace. Moral intentions\nare represented also, and world crises make the conditions ripe for\nsuch cooerdination of interests, but they do not alone produce the\ndefinite organization without which the world will continue to be, as\nDickinson calls Europe, a society in the state of anarchy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nINTERNATIONALISM AND THE SCHOOL (_continued_)\n\n\n_IV. The Higher Industry_\n\nIt is in the higher forms of practical cooeperative activity and in the\nintellectual processes, the interests and social feelings accompanying\nthem that we should expect to see elaborated and made more ideal the\ninternationalism that has first been put to work in the service of the\nworld at a lower level. There is work to do that appeals to profound\nmotives and feelings. The great engineering projects that await us,\nthe work of exploring, colonizing and the like in which universal\ninterest and cooeperation are necessary fascinate the mind. These\nthings satisfy the dramatic instinct, and they may prove to be in the\nfuture an actual substitute for war, as James hoped. The educational\nopportunities of this theme, at least, are great. Any nation that\nexpects to play a great part in the world's politics must expect to do\nmuch in the world's service. These nations must be prepared in every\npossible way to contribute greatly to the material improvement of the\nearth. To this end technical education, all along the line, must be\nkept at a high point of efficiency. Inventive thought in all\nmechanical fields will certainly be a large factor in the culture\nvalues of peoples in the future. When we see what four years of war\nhave accomplished in the way of giving us control over material\nforces, we may realize what, with the continuation of a powerful\nincentive, might be done in the arts of peace. These great practical\nneeds have also, as we say, their power of appeal to all the profound\nmotives of the social life. We must make use of this appeal. All the\npower of the strong story of the day's work must be turned upon this\neducational problem. All industry, indeed, must be made more dramatic,\nas it can be under the inspiration of the larger industrial life which\nthe idea of internationalism opens up before us. Industry must be made\nmore satisfying to the fundamental motives of the individual, while at\nthe same time it is made more efficient, and more social. The new\ngeneration must be filled with the romance of the world's work. Only\nby presenting to young and plastic minds the ideal features of work\nshall we be able to harmonize the individual and the social will. Only\nso, perhaps, in an industrial age shall we be able to escape from\nbeing destroyed by industrialism. Anything that will introduce art and\nimagination into work, anything that will even brighten a little the\ndull moods of toil will help both to prepare the way for the wider\nworld relations we talk about, and to prevent the most destructive\nelements and moods of industrialism gaining the upper hand.\n\n\n_V. The Democratic Spirit_\n\nWe must eventually think of internationalism on its educational side\nas most fundamentally a question of developing in the world the\n_international spirit_. We might quite naturally think of this as the\neducation of social feeling or of the social instinct. This is,\nhowever, not the most productive attitude toward the situation, in our\nview, simply because when we think of the education of the feelings we\nare likely to be satisfied with the principles of an old static\nphilosophy of life and of the school. Moral and social feelings, we\nbelieve, grow best in a practical medium. We cannot expand social\nfeeling at will, or produce a democratic spirit by some simple process\nof education. When we try to extend social feeling too far we make the\nmoral life insincere. To try to expand social feeling and moral\ninterest so as to make it include the foreign, to try to love our\nenemies in advance of all aesthetic and practical relations with the\nforeign seems futile. Distance must first be eliminated by\nimagination. Social and moral codes must be founded upon intimate\nrelations. External and distant relations among peoples make for\ndiplomatic forms and a hypocritical morality. These are substitutes\nfor social feeling. These purely social relations of nations (like\nthose of individuals) always hide enmity and jealousy. We cannot\nexpect, therefore, to create a moral spirit in the relations of\npeoples to one another by teaching alone. We cannot hope to change\nindividualism to altruism merely by exciting feeling. Our main effort\nmust be directed toward establishing ethical relations, rather than to\nstimulating moral sentiments.\n\nIt seems useless to preach universal brotherhood either to the child\nwho lacks entirely the content of experience to make such sentiments\nreal, or to the working masses who now lack enthusiasm in _all_ the\nsocial relations. At least to depend upon such teaching to create\ninternational spirit is futile. Love for mankind is too ideal and too\nremote, as yet, to arouse deep and sincere impulses and feelings. All\nteaching, therefore, whether in the school or elsewhere that is\ndirected exclusively or especially to the moral aspects of peace,\naltruistic behavior and internationalism, seems to-day, to say the\nleast, peculiarly inadequate. Our spirit in education must be broadly\nhumanistic, and must indeed lay deep foundations for all moral and\nsocial relations, but in so far as it ends in being cultural and\nhortatory it can have no deep and lasting effect.\n\nThe teaching of international morality and universal interests, and\nthe development of a _world-consciousness_ depend fundamentally, we\nmay suppose, upon experiences which are perhaps not specifically moral\nin form at all. It is rather even by the aesthetic experience than the\nmoral that the social consciousness will best be expanded and made to\nencircle the world. If we can make the world seem vividly real to the\nchild we shall have the intellectual content for the making of moral\nfeelings. The unmoral nature of international relations and of the\nfeelings of peoples for one another are due in great part precisely to\nthe lack of power of imagination and of that concrete knowledge and\nexperience which would make the foreign seem real. That which is\nremote from us and different in appearance seems shadowy and\nghost-like. The _internal meaning_ of that which is thus far away in\nspace cannot be perceived. Everything that is foreign tends to belong\nin our categories merely to the world of objects. Moral feeling\ntowards objects is manifestly impossible. International law fails to\nhave moral force because nations are in general aware of one another\nonly in these external ways. The world of foreign objects must be\nchanged to a world of persons having history and internal meaning.\nWhen we can interpret and understand international law in terms of\nrelations within human experience and as affecting individuals, it\nwill begin perhaps to seem real and hence morally obligatory.\n\nThere is another aspect of the work of creating and directing the wider\nsocial consciousness and giving it ethical purpose and form, which is\nstill more fundamental, and at the same time, to casual thought,\nperhaps still more remote from definite moral improvement in the world\nand from all the immediately practical problems of internationalism. It\nis the mood of our social life which we call the democratic spirit, and\nwhich, made universal, is the substratum of internationalism that most\nof all needs to be controlled and educated. At the same time this\ndemocratic spirit is least of all susceptible to definite and routine\ndiscipline, of all the factors of internationalism. This democratic\nspirit contains possibilities of the greatest good and of the greatest\nevil. Out of it may grow international order, or international anarchy\nand internal disruption. How to keep this democratic spirit progressive\nand constructive in its temper, broad in sympathy and full of\nenthusiasm, how to free it from infection by all the poisons that are\nprone to attack the popular consciousness is one of our great problems\nof education.\n\nThis democratic spirit is the real power behind internationalism. It\nis as the mood of the city, the whole spirit of the modern urban life,\nthat it is most significant. The mood of the city contains on one side\nthe possibility of an internationalism which is nothing more than a\nsurrender of all patriotism, and is at heart only a mass interest in\nrights and needs. On the other hand all the interests and impulses\nthat make internationalism necessary and possible seem to have their\norigin in the city. The city represents, with all its evil, the higher\nlife and the line of progress. Progress passes through the city. The\ncity is the symbol of creativeness and achievement. Industrialism, the\nessential spirit of the city, is the condition, normal and necessary\nwe must conclude, out of which the necessity of international order\narises. It is a phase of the process by which nations become dependent\nupon one another by being specialized and becoming densely populated.\nIt is also a factor in the cause of wars without and revolutions\nwithin.\n\nThe mood of the city is thus in a sense the essence of life, but it is\nalso the source of disease and death in the national life. It is the\nprice that is paid for civilization that the city tends to become the\nhardened artery of national life. The control of the city moods by\neducational forces we may believe is one of the most fundamental of\nall the problems of conscious evolution. It is the control at the\nfountain-head of the forces out of which internationalism is to be\nmade that we undertake when we try to educate the life of the city,\nwith reference to its good and its evil. The too rapid urbanizing of\nthe life of nations, the production, in the cities, of powers too\ngreat and too rapidly growing to be controlled by the civilizing\nforces in a country is the great danger in modern life. So great\nindeed are the dangers in the accelerated growth of industrialism in\nall the great countries and the increased specialization in the\nindustrial life, that something radical must be done, in our view, to\ncounterbalance this movement, and especially to control and to raise\nto higher levels the psychic factors of city life.\n\nOur educational work is serious. We are trying to save democracy from\nitself--from being destroyed by forces which accumulate in the cities.\nWe must keep life from becoming sophisticated before its time. We must\nprevent enthusiasm from degenerating into mob spirit, and from\nbecoming attached to wholly material interests. _There must be found,\nin some way, means of causing counter-currents to set in against the\ntide that flows so strongly from country to city._ Germany's fate\nshould teach us the dangers of this city life, and show us how the\nforces that gather in the great cities can be turned in the direction\neither of fanatical nationalism or toward the lowest of all forms of\ninternationalism, in which all form of government is thrown down. It\nmust teach us also how to catch the note of new \"dominants\" that are\nconcealed in the roar of city life, and to make these prevail.\n\nThe control of the formation of the city moods, and the direction and\nutilization of the great energies contained in them, now require, if\never anything were demanded of conscious creative effort, _more power\non the part of all our educational factors_. The school appears now to\nbe at the parting of the ways, we say, when it must either settle down\nto its routine and limited occupation of preparing children for life,\nor become a far greater power in the world than it has as yet been. We\nmust decide whether the school is to control, or to be controlled by,\nthe political and industrial forces of the day. We must see whether\nthe school is going to reflect the culture and the moods of the\nenvironment, or whether the school shall exert a creative influence\nupon its surroundings.\n\nIt is plain that nothing less than a radical change in the school can\nnow greatly alter its position, and release it from its bondage to\npolitics and from the overwhelming influences of its environment, and\nprevent the leveling downward and the stereotyping process that is\ntaking place in the school, both as regards its intellectual and moral\nproduct and the training and selection of teachers. Nothing less than\na movement which shall break up some of the deepest and most firmly\nrooted habits and conventions of the school and throw the school back,\nso to speak, upon more generic and primitive motives than those that\nnow control it will be sufficient. _The school needs more than\nanything else a change of scene_--a change of _venue_, if a legal term\nbe allowed. The school everywhere, but especially the school of the\ncity, is surrounded by influences that prejudice it to fixed habits of\nthought and keep it true to a type which has long since ceased to be\nnecessary. The school is causing an in-breeding of the city spirit in\nall the great industrial countries.\n\nNo single change in any institution, in our view, could strike closer\nto the roots of our whole educational problem of the future than the\nbodily transfer of the city school far out into the open country. Such\na move seems wholly practicable, economic from every point of view,\neven the financial, and it would place the school in a position in\nwhich profound changes in its whole plan and organization could hardly\nfail to follow almost automatically. With our present facilities for\ntransportation, the daily exodus of children from the surroundings in\nwhich are being produced the elements of our civilization that are\nhardest to control would be entirely possible. The effects upon the\nwhole of education, and upon all the future life of countries like our\nown could hardly fail to be profound. _The fundamental moods of\nchildhood would be changed, and everything contained in child life\nwould be more amenable to control._ Schools would become more variable\nand more experimental, and new selective influences would be exerted\nupon teachers presumably in the direction of raising the social and\nintellectual average of the profession. A much larger field would be\nopened up for all those methods of work in education that may be\ndesignated as aesthetic--that is, that contain qualities of freedom,\nactivity and creativeness.\n\n\n_VI. Idea of World Organization_\n\nSome form of organization of nations having definite representation,\nconstitution, and laws, and with a certain degree of centralization\nand embodiment in visible institutions and locations will exist, we\nmay suppose, for all future time in the world. The existence, even in\nidea, of such organization presents to us inevitable educational\nproblems. Instruction in a general way and universally in world\npolitics, familiarizing all with the meaning of these laws and\npolitical bodies, is but a part, although a necessary part, of the\nwork. Our democratic principle demands that more and more interest and\nparticipation in all forms of government be acquired by the people,\nthat peoples and not merely governments shall be the units which are\nbrought together, that there be more organizations of the people\nperforming group functions. If the loyalty of nations to one another\nis to be secured, as seems necessary, by establishing practical\nrelations among them, the education of the coming generations in these\nrelations and organizations and in all practical affairs seems\nunavoidable. The people must have a proper appreciation of common\ninterests as implying common work, and not be encouraged to believe\nthat rights of representation are their chief concern. All must know\nthe power of organization. All must see that the international\nstructures of our own day, however complete in form, are but a\nbeginning and basis of function, and that there must be put behind\nthese forms all the energies of the people, young and old, made\neffective through organization for practical efforts.\n\nIt is through participation in activities that are international in\nscope that, in our opinion, the best education in the idea of\ninternationalism will be obtained. This is the way to the good will\nwithout which political ideas will be likely to remain nationalistic\nin fact whatever political cooerdinations may exist among nations. It\nis as a practical idea that internationalism needs now to be impressed\nupon the minds of all. An international organization must be looked\nupon as something useful, which will remain only if it performs\nfunctions in which all are interested and in which all can in some way\ntake part. _It is a sense of living in the world_ rather than of\nbelonging exclusively to one locality that must be taught. It is the\nidea of a world of nations in organic unity rather than a world of\nnations attached to one another by political bonds that we need to\nconvey.\n\nIt is active participation in the business of a world that must be\nregarded as the necessary basis for education in the idea of\ninternationalism. World government must be conceived in terms of world\nfunctions. But we must also provide for the most dramatic possible\nrepresentation of everything contained in the idea of internationalism\nand represented in its laws and forms. The most vivid possible\npresentation must be made of everything that is done internationally,\nif we wish to keep alive the spirit which now prevails in the world.\nWe must lose no opportunity to make current history impressive; we\nmust bring out all its dramatic features in order to fixate once for\nall the idea of the organic unity of the race, and its necessary\ncooerdination in tangible forms. International law must be made\nintelligible to very young minds, and now that we are to have an\ninternational seat of congresses and courts the utmost must be made\nof its existence to give reality to the idea of internationalism.\n\nThose who plan for the future of the international idea will do well\nto take into account these pedagogical aspects of it. _It is quite as\nimportant to make the international idea pedagogically persuasive as\nto make it politically sound._ Such an idea must have a place and an\nembodiment if it is to seize hold upon the popular mind. An\ninternational city seems indispensable, and the further the thought of\nit can be removed from that of existing countries the more readily\nwill it aid the young mind in making the abstractions necessary to\nconceive the true interests of all nations or all humanity as distinct\nfrom the interests of one nation. In this we are making beginnings to\nbe realized perhaps in a far distant future. We want no unnatural and\nsentimental internationalism, but there is every reason now for\nwishing to plant the seed of a higher and more organic life than at\nthe present time exists in the world.\n\nThe question of the possibility of an universal language arises again.\nThe invention of a new language, if we may judge at all by the past,\nis not practicable. But the extension universally of some living\nlanguage seems possible. This seems to be demanded in the interest of\nthe international idea. It is desirable and quite possible to make all\ncivilized peoples bilingual, for of course we should not expect\nanywhere to see a foreign language supplant the native tongue. It is\nnot alone to facilitate intercourse and give a sense of solidarity\nthat the possession of an universal language is to be desired. We\nthink quite as much of the impetus thus given to the production of an\nuniversal literature, in which there will be expressed not only ideas\nabout the world, but moods which will not be found expressed in\nnational literatures at all. This literature might be the beginning of\na solidarity in the world which is not now definitely conceivable.\nSuch an extension of language, however, we should hardly expect to\ntake place except in the course of development of practical relations\nwhich first stimulate the desire for such common language.\n\n\n_VII. The Philosophical Attitude_\n\nThere is an element in the idea and mood of internationalism which we\ncan call nothing else but philosophic. The ideality and universality\nof internationalism itself are expressions of the philosophic spirit.\nInternationalism, we might say, is a philosophic idea, although this\nmight mean to some that we place it among the unrealizable and Utopian\nplans. But this is not the case. The philosophic spirit is, in our\nview, the most practical of moods, since it is the creative, liberal,\nand progressive attitude and the source of the most profoundly right\njudgments even in practical affairs. The philosophic spirit is a\nbackground, we may say, for all the more specific moods, thoughts and\nactivities that enter into the idea of internationalism.\n\nAnd yet, real and important as the philosophic spirit is, we cannot\nreadily discuss it as a definite aspect of education. The reason is\nthat it involves the educational foundations themselves. The spirit,\nthe method and the content of the school are all involved in it. We\ncan, however, find some concrete manifestations of this philosophic\nattitude. In the first place we might say that it is a religious mood\nin education. It is demanded of any school that hopes to play a large\npart in the affairs of the world that, in a broad sense, its whole\nspirit be _religious_. The school must be deeply touched by the sense\nof a spiritual world. The history of the world must be felt to be\nreal--that is, as an unfoldment of purpose in the world. The values\nand the meaning of everything are to be appreciated and understood,\naccording to this view, through a process of enrichment of the mind\nunder the influence of the highest social ideals expressed in the most\npersuasive forms. Education thus centers in the work of developing the\npower to appreciate values in all experience. Anything, too, that\nsustains optimistic moods helps to create the philosophical spirit,\nand one function of this philosophic spirit is to forestall the\ncynical moods and the narrow and prejudiced ways of thinking which are\namong the most dangerous tendencies of the times. The tendency to form\njudgments upon insufficient evidence and to act according to narrow\nand one-sided principles is incompatible with the philosophic\nattitude.\n\nIt is of course by no means the actual teaching of philosophy to every\none, or the spreading broadcast of any particular philosophical\nprinciple that one would advocate as a preventive culture or to cure\nexisting evils. It is rather a mode of living and of thinking\nthroughout society and in all the educational process that is wanted.\nWhat we need is a better quality of mental product, more capacity to\npenetrate into the heart and substance of experience, greater\nresponsiveness to good influences, greater ability to judge values,\nand a more plastic and more freely flowing mental life. These are of\ncourse large demands and imply faith and an interest in a remote\nfuture. _But a school which is religions through and through in its\nattitude toward life and is deeply touched by the influence of art in\nall its ways of dealing with the child will go a long way toward\nfulfilling the requirements of an education in the spirit of\nphilosophy._\n\nSuch conclusions as these might at least serve, we should suppose, as\na working hypothesis, upon the basis of which we may consider in\ndetail a variety of questions of the day. New problems have arisen\nbefore the eyes of the teacher, and indeed obtrude themselves upon all\nwho must take part in the practical life of others. Some of these\nproblems are due to changed external relations of countries to one\nanother. Some are problems of internal adjustment and reconstruction.\nAt least they may so be classified for purposes of discussion. In\nreality all changes are too closely bound up with one another to allow\nus to treat them practically as independent. No nation any longer\nstands alone. Internationalism is an idea that penetrates all other\npractical ideas. And no internal problems of any nation can be wholly\nlocal. The world is in a peculiar but also an inspiring way at the\npresent time a single field of labor for the educational thinker and\nindeed the teacher in every field of human life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nPEACE AND MILITARISM\n\n\nAmong the many pedagogical questions raised and given new significance\nby the war, is that of the teaching about war and about peace. This is\na question of ideals, and of values and the teaching of history. There\nare practical and superficial questions to be considered. There are\nalso more profound problems, since all our teaching of good and evil\nis implicated. Shall we continue, in one moment, to assume that war is\nthe greatest glory in the world, and in the next to condemn it as the\ngreatest of evils? Shall we as teachers take the standpoint of\npacifism? Or shall we be still apostles of the heroic order? This is\nreally no simple matter, and it is not one to be laid aside, directly\nit begins to disturb us, as unimportant. No one passing through the\nexperiences of the past four years can have wholly escaped this\ndilemma, or can have kept himself entirely aloof from the doubts and\nperplexities that must always be attached to religious and\nphilosophical problems of good and evil. These doubts and hesitations\nare necessarily increased when we try to become consistent teachers\nand wise counselors of the young.\n\nIt would be of psychological interest at least to collect all the\narguments and opinions that have been put forth about the good and\nevil of war. There is a tendency for moralists to go to extremes. The\nwriters on war are likely to be either ardent pacifists or strong\nmilitarists. They do not try to strike a balance between good and\nevil, but war is either a great blessing upon mankind or the greatest\ncurse of the ages. In general they do not seek to base their\nconclusions upon ultimate philosophical principles, but rather upon\nmoral or biological principles, or, again, upon preferences for the\nactivities of war or the arts of peace. How very different the good\nand evil of war and peace may seem from different points of view is\nwell shown by the following excerpt from a daily newspaper:\n\n                          A DEADLY PARALLEL\n\n THIS IS THE WAY GERMANY TALKS    | THIS IS WHAT THE SCOUT\n TO YOUNG BOYS OF SCOUT AGE       | ORGANIZATION TEACHES AMERICAN\n                                  | BOYS\n                                  |\n                                  | From the \"Handbook for Boys,\"\n                                  | 17th edition, page 454.\n                                  |\n \"War is the noblest and          | \"The movement is one for\n holiest expression of human      | efficiency and patriotism. It\n activity. For us, too, the       | does not try to make soldiers\n glad great hour of battle        | of boy scouts, but to make\n will strike. Still and deep      | boys who will turn out as men\n in the German heart must live    | to be fine citizens, and who\n the joy of battle and the        | will if their country needs\n longing for it. Let us           | them make better soldiers for\n ridicule to the utmost the       | having been scouts. No one\n old women in breeches who        | can be a good American unless\n fear war and deplore it as       | he is a good citizen, and\n cruel and revolting. No; war     | every boy ought to train\n is beautiful. Its august         | himself so that as a man he\n sublimity elevates the human     | will be able to do his full\n heart beyond the earthly and     | duty to the community. I want\n the common. In the cloud         | to see the boy scouts not\n palace above sit the heroes,     | merely utter fine sentiments,\n Frederick the Great and          | but act on them, not merely\n Blucher and all the men of       | sing 'My Country, 'Tis of\n action--the Great Emperor,       | Thee,' but act in a way that\n Moltke, Roon, Bismarck are       | will give them a country to\n there as well, but not the       | be proud of. No man is a good\n old women who would take away    | citizen unless he so acts as\n our joy in war. When here on     | to show that he actually uses\n earth a battle is won by         | the Ten Commandments, and\n German arms and the faithful     | translates the Golden Rule\n dead ascend to Heaven, a         | into his life conduct--and I\n Potsdam lance corporal will      | don't mean by this\n call the guard to the door       | exceptional cases under\n and 'Old Fritz' (Frederick       | spectacular circumstances,\n the Great), springing from       | but I mean applying the Ten\n his golden throne, will give     | Commandments and the Golden\n the command to present arms.     | Rule in the ordinary affairs\n That is the Heaven of Young      | of everyday life. I hope the\n Germany.                         | boy scouts will practice\n                                  | truth and square dealing and\n \"Because only in war all the     | courage and honesty, so that\n virtues which militarism         | when as young men they begin\n regards highly are given a       | taking a part not only in\n chance to unfold, because        | earning their own livelihood,\n only in war the truly heroic     | but in governing the\n comes into play, for the         | community, they may be able\n realization of which on earth    | to show in practical fashion\n militarism is above all          | their insistence upon the\n concerned; therefore, it         | great truth that the eighth\n seems to us who are filled       | and ninth commandments are\n with the spirit of militarism    | directly related to everyday\n that war is a holy thing, the    | life, not only between men as\n holiest on earth, and this       | such in their private\n high estimate of war in its      | relations, but between men\n turn makes an essential          | and the government of which\n ingredient of the military       | they are a part. Indeed, the\n spirit. There is nothing that    | boys, even while only boys,\n trades-people complain of so     | can have a very real effect\n much as that we regard it as     | upon the conduct of the\n holy.\"                           | grown-up members of the\n                                  | community, for decency and\n                                  | square dealing are just as\n                                  | contagious as vice and\n                                  | corruption.\"\n\nThe praise of war takes many forms, and invokes many fundamental\nprinciples--ethical, aesthetic, biological, sociological. From\nLeibnitz' saying that perpetual peace is a motto fit only for a\ngraveyard to Moltke's that peace is only a dream and not even a\nbeautiful dream, there is a long list of defenses of war. This\nphilosophy of war is by no means peculiarly German, although German\nwriters seem to have been the most ardent apologists of war in recent\ntimes. Treitschke, Schmitz (29), Scheler (77), Nusbaum (86), Arndt,\nSteinmetz, Lasson, Engelbrecht, Schoonmaker, all sing the praises of\nwar as the most glorious work of man, or as performing for\ncivilization some noble good. Even Hegel said that wars invigorate\nhumanity just as the storm preserves the sea from putrescence.\n\nBut this praise of war, we say, is by no means exclusively German.\nThucydides thought war a noble school of heroism, the exercise ground\nof the nations. To Mohammed and his Arabs war seemed not only in\nitself a heroism, we are told, but a divine act. This belief in war as\ndivine is an idea that is very wide-spread among primitive peoples.\nCramb, the English writer, says that it is very easy to demonstrate\nthat the glory of battle is an illusion, but by the same argument you\nmay demonstrate that all glory and life itself is an illusion and a\nmockery. Redier says that the war has brought us all the noble joys so\nnecessary to stimulate mankind, and one no longer finds happiness,\ntherefore, in sleeping comfortably, but only in living bravely.\n\nThere is no lack, indeed, of recognition of the heroic motive in war.\nSometimes the argument appeals to religion, sometimes to art,\nsometimes to morality. Sometimes the advocates of war are thinking of\nwar as the great adventure. War and the thought of war induce an\necstasy, a glow of the feelings. War is thought of as an expression of\nnormal, healthy life, as making life more abundant and more beautiful.\nWar brings out fundamental virtues in the individual; it also destroys\nthe weaker and the meaner race and leaves the strong and the virtuous.\nStruggle, they say, is the method of civilization. Again, it is urged\nthat war is always just in its issues. Like the old ordeal which\nalways registered the decrees of heaven, war is the just arbiter of\nfate. The saving of the world through bloodshed, the uniting of the\nworld through war, war as the great teacher of mankind, war as the\ncreator of great personalities--all these are persistent themes in the\nliterature of war. There is no place for the pacifist in the minds of\nthese apologists of the heroic order. The crises of war are historic\nnecessities; they come when it is time to release people from the\nbondage of the past and to bring individualistic generations back to\nthe sense of duty and of loyalty to great causes. This is the belief\nof many, even now.\n\nOn the other side we find the great variety of pacifistic minds. War\nto the pacifists is wrong, unholy, morally sinful, biologically and\neconomically and in every other way evil. The conscientious objector's\npoint of view is very simple. War antagonizes some principle which is\nreligiously or morally supreme for him. Therefore there can be no\njustification of war whatever, and it ought to be abolished at any\nprice. When you ask the objector to go to war, you invite him to\ncommit a flagrant sin. The English literature of pacifism is full of\nthis moral and religious protestation against war which in the minds\nof the objectors becomes a finality beyond which it is futile to ask\nthem to go.\n\nThe psychological and the biological pacifists are hardly less\nemphatic in their condemnation of war. The biological thinker\nundertakes to refute the theory that war is selective. He counts the\ncost of war in terms of human life and of racial vitality, and\nproduces a condemning document. That war indeed selects but selects\nunfavorably and in an adverse direction is the conclusion of many,\namong them Savorgnan in his book \"La Guerra e la Populazione,\" in\nwhich he calls war _dysgenic_. The psychologist tends to see in war a\nreversion, a lapse to barbarism. War is a product of the original\nsavage in man, whom civilization has never tamed, as Freud would say.\nWar lingers because of man's love of old institutions. We cling to old\nhabits and customs, which take on a semblance of the aesthetic, because\nof their antiquity and old associations. This is the explanation by\nNicolai. Russell thinks men fight because they are still ignorant and\ndespotic. Patrick thinks of war as a slip in the psychic machinery.\nMacCurdy (37) and others think of war as a mental or a social disease.\n\nUpon the hardships of war, its economic futility and its sheer\nsenselessness, when looked at from the standpoint of any rational\ndesire, many base their conclusion that war is evil. The working man\nand all the masses are likely to concur in this opinion. When they\nexamine war they see that they themselves as they think are used in\nthe interest of the few, that they shed their blood for a glory in\nwhich they do not share. They say, all men are brothers, and so why\nshould they kill one another. Men seem more real to them than do\nboundaries of countries which they never see, and the interests of\nwealth that is also invisible.\n\nSuch thought as this has behind it some of the most powerful minds, as\nwe know. It is Tolstoi's philosophy, and it is the argument of such\nmen as Novicow. The professional economist and the student of history\nadd their protests. They say that military peoples fade away, while\nthe peaceful live and prosper, that \"the country whose military power\nis irresistible is doomed.\" These are the words of Roberts. Some try\nto demonstrate that nothing is gained economically by war; that all\nthe work of war is destructive, to every one engaged in it. It is\nargued that the nation that is suited to live will prevail without\nwars; and that without this inner superiority, war will avail nothing.\nWar is bad business, in the opinion of these economic thinkers. War is\nlike setting the dog on the customer at the door, the practical man in\nEngland complained at the beginning of the present war. As to war\nbeing associated with intelligence and with virtue in nations, or as\nto its ever producing either intellectual or moral qualities, many\nwould flatly deny that war ever has such a result. The opposite would\nseem nearer the truth to them. Military nations are unintelligent\nnations, and militarism is always brutalizing.\n\nSuch pacifism and the dream of universal peace are no new ideas in the\nworld. Like the philosophy of war pacifism has a long history. There\nhave been pacifists everywhere and presumably at all times, since\npacifism is quite as much a temperament as it is an idea or a\nphilosophy. Cramb tells us that all recent centuries have had their\ndoctrines of pacifism, each century having its own characteristic\nvariety. In the time of the Marlborough wars, there appeared the book\nof Abbe de St. Pierre denouncing all wars. In the middle of the\nnineteenth century there is the doctrine of the Manchester school,\nmaintaining that the peace of Europe must be secured not by religion,\nbut by the cooeperation of the industrial forces of the continent.\nFinally, says Cramb, we see the characteristic thought of the\ntwentieth century in the position that war is bad because it is\ncontrary to social well-being and is economically profitless, alike to\nthe victor and the vanquished. This is the pacifism of the socialist\nwho holds that the ties of common labor and economic state are\nfundamental, and divisions into nationality are secondary and\nunimportant; and that militarism belongs to the pernicious state of\nsociety which perpetuates capitalism and privilege and to government\nas a function of the favored classes.\n\nThis is certainly not the place to try to put order into this\nconflicting mass of opinion about war and peace by working out the\nprinciples of a philosophy of good and evil, since this would mean to\nattack one of the most fundamental of all problems of philosophy. It\nseems to be plain, however, that neither upon biological grounds nor\nby ethical principles, nor by finding any consensus in the desires and\nopinions of thinkers can we reach any hard and fast conclusions about\nthe good and evil of war. It is rather by a broad interpretation of\nthe world and of history and the nature of national consciousness, by\nsome genetic view of national life, that we are most likely to see our\nway toward a practical view of the present good and evil of war. War\nis a phase of the whole process of social development of nations. We\nthink of nations as living and growing, and of a world which is\ngradually maturing. War obtains a natural explanation on sociological\nand psychological principles, not as a disease, but as a natural\nconsequence and condition of the formation of nations, or of any type\nof horde or group. In the course of the development of nations we see\npsychological factors coming more and more to the front. Desires which\nare more or less consciously avowed become the motives of history. It\nis in the play of these desires: their fixation, their generalization,\nand transformation, the manner in which they become attached to\nspecific objects, that we seek the explanation of wars and of the\nespecial psychology of nations. Nations have lived secluded and\nguarded lives, because of the nature of the desires which were most\nfundamental in their lives, and the objects upon which these desires\nhave become directed. Now nations show some signs of emerging from\ntheir seclusion, of abandoning their ambitions of empire, and leading\na more complex and more practical life.\n\nIn this progress we see the possibility of the final disappearance of\nwar. But we have no right to pervert either history or education in\nthe effort to eliminate war, or even to pass judgments upon war\nprematurely or upon the basis of personal preferences, or the moods of\nany moment. The whole world might, conceivably, be brought together\nand be made to declare solemnly that there should be no more war.\nNations would thereby voluntarily relinquish their aggressive\nthoughts, put aside the love they have for the heroic and take justice\nand peace as their watchwords. And all this would seem ideal. But if\nthe elimination of war should mean that we have no longer anything for\nwhich men are willing to die, if merely to escape from war we\nvoluntarily sacrifice good that more than counterbalances the evil we\novercome, we should say that peace had been bought at too high a\nprice. _Terrible as war is, it cannot be judged by itself alone._ We\nhave a right to look forward to a time when there shall be no more\nwar, just as everywhere it seems to be instinctive for us to try to\ngain good without its attendant trouble and evil. In the meantime the\nworld had best busy itself, mainly, in our view, with creating those\nthings that are best, rather than in destroying those things that are\nworst. Nations, like individuals, must lead bravely hazardous lives,\nwithout too much thought of dangers. Peace as a sole program for the\nmaking of history appears to be too narrow, and especially too\nunproductive. Internationalism that is merely a combination of peoples\nto prevent war is not very inspiring, especially since it is doubtful\nwhether it even leads to peace. A broad historical view that will\nenable us just now to make good come out of the evil of war will be a\nbetter organ of conscious evolution than a philosophy of peace can\npossibly be.\n\nSuch views as these give us at least some clews to the educational and\npedagogical problems of war and peace. We can distinguish between an\neducation which deals specifically with such problems, endeavoring to\ntreat them sharply and with finality, making clear moral decisions,\nand an education which by enriching the mind and by educating all the\nselective faculties leads to an appreciation of all great practical\nand moral questions as aspects of the whole of history and of life.\n\nLet us see what the specific teaching of peace may and may not\ninclude. First of all we cannot, for educational purposes, judge\neverything in the lives of nations by _moral_ principles. The ideal of\nuniversal brotherhood and cooeperation, of sacrifice and altruism,\ncannot be realized in the present stage of history. On the other hand,\nthe stern picture of justice is one that fits into the present mood of\nthe world. Justice is the natural link between individualism and\naltruism. A world determined upon seeing justice done, a world which,\nwithout setting absolute values upon peace and war, does distinguish\nbetween just and unjust wars, between the demands and the needs of\npeoples, leans toward the moral life. It has little to say about\nduties as yet, or comparatively little, but it has a strong conception\nof rights. A deep enough interest in justice, by its own momentum,\nintroduces duties into the practical life. In time the world will\nperhaps not be satisfied with seeing and recognizing justice, and\nensuring it in great crises; it will make justice as a matter of\ncourse.\n\nThis idea of justice seems, on the whole, to be the best basis for the\nteaching now of international morality. The teaching of pacifism,\nenlarging upon the biological waste of war, trying to present the\nrealism of war in its worst light in order to overcome the warlike\nspirit and to assist the doctrines of internationalism to take effect\nupon the mind seems to be the wrong way of teaching peace. We seem to\nbe obligated to teach war as it is. We cannot conceal its heroic side\nfor fear of perpetuating war, and we must not conceal the brutality of\nwar for fear of destroying morale and the fighting spirit. And it is\nto be much doubted whether it is _ever_ necessary to teach history\nunfairly and one-sidedly in times either of war or of peace. We depend\nupon larger effects and deeper judgments than can be produced by\nselecting and distorting the facts. Nothing is meaner in national life\nthan dishonest history.\n\nEducation in the ideal of peace, which we may hope to be the state of\nthe world in the future, will be an adjustment of the mind to new and\npractical modes of life rather than the establishing of a principle.\nThe educated attitude of mind which will best safeguard the peace of\nthe world must include an intelligent knowledge of all the agencies\nproposed to aid in establishing this state of harmony toward which we\nlook forward. We must all know about arbitration, leagues of nations,\ncourts of honor, understand diplomacy better and the arguments for\ndisarmament, understand the economic and the industrial situation, the\npossibilities of cooeperation, reduction of the rights and privileges\nof classes, democratic movements. The inculcation of such knowledge is\nan education for peace. There is little that is abstruse in any of\nthese ideas, and the very young child is not too young to know\nsomething of these wider aspects of the social life. All these may be\npresented in a concrete form as a part of the work of conveying a\nknowledge of current history.\n\nWe may think of various cures for war, and various efforts that might\nbe made educationally to prevent war. Peace might effectually be\ncultivated by an educational propaganda. But after all it is not such\ncures of war as this that we are most concerned about in the work of\neducation. We might even tend to establish in this way a peace which\nwould be detrimental to the higher interests of civilization. _A true\neducational philosophy, at any rate, is not to be dislodged from its\npurpose of keeping education constructive rather than inhibitory._\nThis institution of education must not be too much influenced by the\ntemporary moods of the day, by the present gloomy evidences of the\ndevastation of war. We must teach and prepare for an abundant life in\nwhich there is glory and wide opportunity, and in which the motives of\npower may be satisfied. Then peace can take care of itself. But this\nabundant life must be a life of _activity_, not of mere patriotism and\nsubjective glorification and nationalistic interest. Vanity, the low\norder of enthusiasms, the glory of display, can no longer have a place\nin this national life.\n\nThere appears to be a pedagogical lesson in the contrast between the\nheroic and the moral view of teaching war and peace illustrated by the\nGerman philosophy of war and the ideal of the Boy Scout organization.\nDeducting something for literary exaggeration, we may say that\neducation cannot afford to neglect either of these attitudes, but must\nindeed in some way combine them. The exaggeration consists on one side\nin praising the specific act of war; but on the other side there is\nplainly lacking something of the dramatic appeal which any ideal life\nfor the young must have. War is an evil, but the spirit that makes war\nis by no means an evil. The philosophy of war proves its failure by\nignoring the moral ideal altogether, or regarding morality as\nsomething solely national, but the other, it may be, puts the moral\nideal in a pedagogically impossible position. Both the content and the\nform must be taken into account in any educational plan that hopes to\nexert power or to be influential in any important way now, and it is\nthe form which, more than anything else, is still lacking in our whole\nprocedure of education.\n\n\n_Preparedness and Military Training_\n\nMilitary training has now of course become a practical question with\nus and with every nation. It is the military use of military education\nthat must first of all be considered. For that reason it must\nprimarily be a problem upon which political authorities and military\nexperts must decide. These experts must be competent to tell us what\nmilitary equipment is necessary at any time to meet the requirements\nof our political situation, and they must be able to advise about the\namount and kind of actual military training necessary to make this\nphysical equipment most effective. All this, plainly, must be provided\nwhether it be good or bad from a general educational standpoint. But\npreparedness and national defense mean, of course, more than the\npossession of guns and more than military training as such. And there\ncan be no hard and fast line between military preparedness and the\nwider technical preparedness in which all the equipment and skill of\nscientific and mechanical activities of the country are always ready\nto be mobilized in the defense of it; or between these and the still\nmore general preparedness through the organization and control of the\nhuman factor in ways that are not specifically military or\nmechanically technical at all.\n\nIf preparation for defense is by no means exhausted by military\ntraining, on the other hand not all military training is intended for\ndefense. Decision about the actual amount and kind of military\ntraining, we say, may be left to the expert, but it is for the\npsychologist and the educator to decide whether we need a mere minimum\nof such training or a general military training for educational\npurposes. After all, however, this is perhaps more a matter of taste\nin educational practices than of learning. There is plenty of opinion\nat least on both sides. Some maintain that military discipline is of\nvery great benefit to the man and to society. From the German point of\nview it is the equivalent of hygiene for the individual. It is a\nnational regimen for physical and mental health. It is also the symbol\nand the expression of social solidarity. Many believe that the\ndiscipline of soldiering would be especially good for all American\nboys. But there is no dearth of evidence on the other side--that\nmilitary training in so far as it is really conducted in the military\nmanner is brutalizing.\n\nAfter all, we say this may be a matter of preference. Some like\nmilitary discipline in the schools and everywhere; some do not. The\npresent writer for one will confess that he does not. It is not the\ndanger of making a people warlike that one sees in it, so much as the\ncertainty of introducing into all the daily life a spirit that is\ninconsistent with our stage of civilization and with the most\nwholesome spirit of education. It savors of the unprogressive. It\nmeans, in our opinion, the introduction into the school, in a far too\neasy and simple way, and consequently at far too low a level,\nsomething that ought to be put into education in a different manner.\nThe sense of solidarity and the idealism which the German has found in\nhis military discipline we must express in some other way. It is\nespecially the unproductiveness of military life, and the constant\nsuggestion of that which is archaic without either the practical\nsetting or the ornamental life to which such things belong, that are\nespecially to be charged against militarism.\n\nWe ought to ask, rather, how peace morale, and the essentials of the\nwarlike spirit may be maintained _without military training_. Is it\nnot rather by way of the more general and untechnical processes of\neducation which make for physical expertness, by fundamental social\neducation, by giving attention to our foundations of religious\neducation, that we shall be able to create and sustain the most\nefficient morale? The best foundation for all necessary military\nactivities of a free people appears to be a by-product, so to speak,\nof peaceful life sustained at a high point of efficiency and\nenthusiasm. Military training disconnected from its immediate use and\napplication in war must appear to some and indeed to many as a misfit\nin modern civilized life. This is not an argument for pacifism,\nhowever. The war has taught us that militarism and military capacity\nin high degree may spring up from very peaceful soil, and also that\nmilitary training, however perfect, is no substitute for the generic\nvirtues out of which courage and patriotism grow. In the long run will\nit not be the country that can do without military training that will\nhave the advantage? Or the country in which military preparedness is\nso merged in everything else as to be indistinguishable from the rest\nof life? Is there not, in a word, a preparedness that will make a\ncountry superior and safe both in war and in peace?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE TEACHING OF PATRIOTISM\n\n\nIt would be hard to find a word (unless it be democracy) about which\nso many questions gather as now cling to the word \"patriotism.\"\nPatriotism is praised as the highest virtue; it is also cursed as the\ncause of war. Some think of it as the _sole_ cause of war. Some would\nlike to see it disappear for the reason that they believe it at best\nan old and out-lived social virtue, now having become merely\nornamental and an obstacle to the true socialization of the world.\nSome think patriotism still the center of the moral and the social\nlife.\n\nThis is not the place to attempt a psychological analysis of\npatriotism, but we may at least try to enumerate the principal factors\nin it, and say what we think patriotism as a virtue--or a vice--is.\n_Patriotism in our view is normally loyalty to country as a\nfunctioning unit in a world of nations. It is devotion to all the\naspects and functions of a country as an historical entity._ We must\nthink of these historical entities, moreover, as leading lives in\nwhich, although their own ambitions for honor and greatness are\nlegitimate, there must be a practical recognition of the legitimacy of\nsimilar interests on the part of all other nations, and in which the\nrecognition of the common interests of nations is also freely made.\nSince nations perform no one single function and have no single motive\nof life in their normal state, patriotism can be no devotion to a\nsingle purpose or cause. Such patriotism as this, we may say, does not\nantagonize internationalism. Loyalty to country is loyalty to the\nfunctions and interests that properly belong to country. The\nindividual, the family, the country and all intervening groups and\nentities are natural formations. To each of these entities there is\ndue a loyalty precisely measured by the character of the functions\nwhich these entities perform.\n\nThis view of patriotism is plainly, both in its theoretical aspect and\nits practical consequences, widely different from those that end in\npure internationalism. Its essential feature is that it recognizes the\nvalidity of all entities and groups about which deep feeling has grown\nup. This means, of course, that as criteria of social values these\nfeelings are placed ahead of certain logical or scientific\nconsiderations. Pure internationalism of the intellectual type\nrecognizes the validity only of the whole world group. Nicolai, for\nexample, says that there is a morality and there are rights pertaining\nto the individual and to the whole of humanity, but all intervening\ngroups are temporary and artificial. That, certainly, we should not\nagree with. The coming greater cooerdination of the world we may\nsuppose will deepen and intensify patriotism, rather than diminish it.\nThe homogeneity toward which the biologists tell us we are tending and\nought to approach is one in which, it is likely, still sharper\nnational outlines may well appear. The ambitions, the functions, and\nthe culture of nations ought to be made clearer rather than be lost in\nthe coming internationalism. We shall still in the Hegelian sense find\nour reality in and through the state. An aroused sense of the function\nand worth of country will be the basis of patriotism. Advancement\ntoward internationalism will be made by a generalized patriotism\nrather than by outgrowing patriotism. That is, it is by passing from a\ndeepened loyalty to country through a sense of the validity and right\nof the patriotism of all peoples that international social\nconsciousness will be developed.\n\nSo all those very numerous views of patriotism which assert that it is\nonly through a decline of patriotism that a rational international\norder can ever be established, appear to be wrong. A fundamental\nquestion is at issue here. It concerns in part the criteria of\nvaluation in the field of the social life. The kind of cosmopolitanism\nand internationalism that demands the final abrogation of the\nsentiment of patriotism is, as we have intimated, a rationalistic\ndoctrine. It is an attempt to extend objective principles into the\nrealm of social values. Reason tells us, they say, that we ought to\norganize universally and obliterate national lines. Reason tells us we\nshould make no distinction between ourselves and strangers, between\nenemies and allies. But by the same rationalism we may break up any\nloyalty. Patriotism is an inner, a spiritual force, and it has its\nroots in moods and forms of appreciation which have a certain finality\nabout them, for the reason that they are deposits from the whole\ncourse of human history. Veblen says it is a matter of habit to what\nparticular nationality a man will become attached on arriving at years\nof discretion. That is true, and it is of course the whole secret of\nloyalty. But it is not a matter of unimportance whether a man shall\nbecome attached to any country. It is the dynamic power of loyalty\nthat is in question, if we consider its practical value. Loyalty grows\nbecause it has a use, which is related to the most basic feelings. It\nis not a product of reason, and cannot justly be judged on purely\nrational grounds.\n\nAny political ideal, or any plan for a world order, that would\nminimize patriotism is unnatural. The forms of socialism that do this\nand the _laissez faire_ tendencies appear to have left out of the\nreckoning some of the modes of evaluating experience which are most\nbasic. We may recognize all the excess of provincialism in the native\npatriotism of the peasant, and all the egoistic motives in the\npatriotism of the aristocrat and the militarist, but still we see no\nplace in the world for the man without a country. It is not yet the\nworkmen of the cities, who say that all men are brothers, who can lead\nus to a better social order. Patriotism must be educated, modernized,\nmade more productive, but certainly its work is not yet done. It\ncannot be cast aside as something archaic and only a part of the\nornamental and useless encumbrances of life. _It is not by weakening\nloyalty to country, but by strengthening it, that internationalism\nwill be made secure._ If patriotism fits into modern life like sand in\nthe machinery, as Veblen says, we must see how patriotism may be made\nto do better service.\n\nSome views about patriotism which thus disparage it seem to be based\nupon a biological conception of it. Not a few writers apparently think\nof patriotism as a fixed trait of the human organism, even as a kind\nof mendelian character unrelated to other social qualities. This trait\nantagonizes social progress, but it is preserved because of secondary\nvalues which it represents, such as moral or aesthetic values.\nAccording to these views patriotism may be complex, but it acts like a\nunitary character. It is subject, theoretically, to selection, but as\na matter of fact it remains a strong factor in the temperament of\nnearly all races.\n\nBut in our view patriotism is something less precise than all this\nwould imply. It is a form in which the most fundamental and general of\ndesires are expressed, in becoming fixated upon their most natural and\nnecessary objects. It is an aspect of the whole process of development\nof the affective life. Leaving out patriotism (if such a thing were\npossible) would mean a break in the continuity of the social life. It\nwould leave one group of functions without their natural support in\ndesire. Economists sometimes seem to leave out of account the profound\nemotional forces and the irresistible tendencies which make social\ngroups. They want organizations without the moods and impulses by\nwhich alone social bodies are formed or sustained; and they expect to\nsee organization broken up or interest in it lost while all the\nconditions that keep alive the passion for it are intact. Patriotism\nand the existence of nations seem, however, to be the opposite sides\nof the same fact. And we may assume that so long as nations exist, at\nany rate, patriotism will exist, and one of the most necessary\nfunctions of public education will be the regulation of the motives\nand feelings which are contained in this sentiment.\n\nPatriotism is first of all to be considered, then, as a phase of the\nsocial life as a whole, rather than as an unique emotion or a special\nvariety of loyalty. It is a way in which the sum of tendencies that\nenter into the social life become fixated upon certain qualities of\nthe environment, or upon certain objects. Patriotism will best be\nunderstood in a practical way by observing its objects. Patriotism is\na total mood; country is a total object. But the mood of patriotism\nexpresses varied desires, and the object of patriotism is a highly\ncomplex and variable object. In being loyal to or devoted to country\nin the sense which we usually mean when we say one is patriotic, we\nare devoted to at least the following objects: 1) physical country as\nhome; 2) the ways, customs, standards and beliefs of the country; 3)\nthe group of people constituting the nation; and here race, social\nsolidarity, ideal constructions of an united people having common\npurposes and possessions enter; 4) leaders; 5) country as an\nhistorical entity having rights and interests--a living being having\nexperiences, ideals and characteristics. The educational problem is of\ncourse the regulation of the attachment of the individuals of a nation\nto these objects. In one sense this educational problem of patriotism\nis nothing less than that of developing social consciousness itself.\nIt is precisely the task of fostering or creating in the child the\nbasis of all loyalty. Given a loyal mind in the child and a normal\nenvironment, we need to be concerned but little about the causes and\nthe groups upon which that loyalty will expend itself, for the\nconditions are all present for forming an attachment to every natural\ngroup. Considered generically and psychologically there is no\npatriotism, we say, marked off from everything else, and there is no\none object that excites patriotic loyalty. All educational influences\nthat strengthen attachment to home, all social feeling, devotion to\nthe ways of any group and obedience to its standards, respect for all\nlaw and authority, all appreciation of historic relations, help to\ndevelop patriotism, merely because country, in these aspects, is an\nomnipresent object to which the feelings thus engendered will\nautomatically become to some extent attached.\n\nThe first task in the teaching of patriotism (first at least as\nregards the obviousness of the need) is to give all children a vivid\nsense of country as physical object, and a deep aesthetic appreciation\nof this object--although of course this idea of physical country\ncannot be detached from everything else. Each country has its\ndifferent problem. Ours is to create a total country, in the\nimagination of the young. A German writer not long ago predicted that\nthe future of America lay in the direction of breaking up into a\nlittle England, a little Ireland, and a little of the other\nnationalities here represented. That particular danger may seem remote\nenough, but in another way we do continue to be lacking in unity. Our\npatriotism has been too local, and America, even after the great war,\nis to some extent still a collection of geographical regions. New\nEngland, the South, the Coast are more real to many than country as a\nwhole. Our great distances, and the impossibility of clearly imagining\nthem have necessarily presented obstacles thus far to a unified image\nof country. The time may come, and perhaps soon, when such a divided\nconsciousness of country will be a grave flaw in our national life.\n\nIt must be a serious function of some kind of geography to give\nreality to the idea of country, although of course we cannot separate\nentirely geographical from historical idea of country. The teaching of\nthe geography of the native land must be different from other\ngeography. Native land must have a warmth and home feeling about it\nthat other countries do not have, but as yet the psychological\nconditions for this have apparently not been worked out. With our\npresent facilities in pictorial art, the geographical element in the\nidea of country seems controllable. The minds of children are\nexceedingly impressionable in this direction. Intensity of feeling and\nvividness of imagination are at the disposal of the educator. The love\nof color, especially, must be used to make lasting impressions upon\nthe mind. We need to notice also that the idea of physical country\nthat enters most into patriotic feeling is not an idea of city streets\nbut of the open country. It is the country that inspires the strongest\nhome feeling, and it is the country that is the basis of the sense of\nchangelessness and eternity of native land, that is a strong element\nin patriotic sentiment. This element of patriotism, it is plain, is\nsomething aesthetic. It is not so much a moral loyalty to country that\nis inspired by the everlasting hills, as an aesthetic love of it as\nthe home land. This aesthetic love of the home land is a response to\nsuch stimuli as the beautiful arouses everywhere. It is susceptible,\ntherefore, to all the influences of art--of music, picture, symbol;\nthese must all be employed in teaching patriotism. The theme of home\nis especially sensitive to the effects of music. It is this idea of\nhome, enlarged and enriched by pictorial representation of country,\ndeeply impressed and influenced by music, and unified and imbued with\nthe feeling of personal possession by the story of country that is the\ncore of patriotic feeling. It is the function of art, especially of\nmusic, to help to make the home feeling of the child normal and\nenthusiastic--to raise it above the stage of being an \"anxiety of\nanimal life,\" as Nicolai terms the primitive love of home. Art must\nhelp to remove the fears and depressions that may lurk in the idea of\nhome, which are great obstacles to the development of the higher\ndevotions. It is the lack of normal love of home in the city, we\nshould say, that makes socialism and all forms of internationalism\nthat breed so rapidly there such dangerous moods in a democracy.\nWithout true home love, we may conclude, the wider loyalties can never\nbe quite wholesome, although they may be intense and fanatical.\n\nThe second element in patriotism we identify as the love of, or\nloyalty to, the sum of the customs, beliefs, and standards that make\nup the _mores_ of a people. A peculiarly perplexing educational\nproblem arises, since there are two opposite evils to be avoided We\nmay too readily cultivate a spirit which either takes the form of a\nnarcissistic love of one's own ways, or which, extraverted, so to\nspeak, becomes a fanatical ambition to impose one's own culture upon\nthe world; or, on the other hand we might become too self-critical,\ntoo cosmopolitan, and too receptive toward all foreign culture.\nNational conceit, complacency and destinism face us in one direction,\nthe danger of losing our identity and our individuality and our\nmission in the other. These problems of course confront all nations;\nthey are especially urgent in America, because of the composite nature\nof our national life and the rapid changes that take place in it, and\nalso because of the ideal nature of the bond that holds us together.\nWe are still a somewhat inchoate and flowing mass of social elements,\nimperfectly cooerdinated, manifestly, yet deeply united by ideals which\nappeal to very deep emotions. Our work is to maintain social\nsolidarity, preserve and educate certain fundamental qualities of our\nnational life which are our real claims to individuality as a people.\nThese essential traits, perhaps because of our newness as a form of\ncivilization, appear to be less clearly defined, less definitely\nrepresented in institutions, and to be more abstract than the\nqualities that make up the essential character of other peoples.\n\nOur educational problem is, naturally, different from all others. We\nare committed to an idea of liberty. We make this principle of freedom\nthe dominant in all our national life. We have not tried, and cannot\nconsistently attempt to centralize our educational institutions very\nmuch, or even allow our culture to become crystallized into a definite\ntype, for this would be almost as bad as denying our principle of\nreligious freedom. But we cannot, in the other direction, become too\ndiversified intellectually, and still less in regard to more\nfundamental aspects of life, for this would break up our unity\naltogether, or determine it more and more in the direction of\npolitical coercion. Thus far, it appears, it has been our great virtue\nas a people that we have remained united by emotional forces, or by\nthe suggestive power of an idea. Sooner or later we shall need to see\nwhither our present tendencies lead, and education must in all\nprobability be put to work to control and regulate the elements that\nmake for unity and for disruption in our life. _Our work as educators\nwill be to maintain a working harmony in the affective and instinctive\nlife of the people._ We need now, and we shall need more and more,\nreligious, moral and aesthetic unity in our life as a nation--not a\nforced and superficial agreement, but a deep harmony of ideals and\nmoods. This purpose must never be lost sight of by the educator. It\nmust be made to pervade all our educational philosophy and all our\nplans for the school. This educational problem exists of course\neverywhere in some degree, and in regard to all manner of social\ngroups. But American life as a whole is peculiarly a growth in which\ndiverse and even divergent elements must continue to be brought\ntogether and held together through the power of ideas which are\nsubject to many influences. Diversity and differentiation are added as\nfast as the process of assimilation can be carried on. There can be no\nclosing up of differences in a final perfection and security.\n\nMust we not, then, make the education of instincts and feelings, and\nthe control of the basic moods, rather than the development and\nstimulation of specialization and differentiation our first and chief\nconcern? Must we not do this even at a loss of efficiency in some\ndirections, if necessary? Certainly we must not go too fast nor too\nfar towards industrialism. To control any tendency to over\ndifferentiation and industrialism that is now likely to occur we must\nhave a broad humanitarianism and a humanistic ideal of culture (by\nwhich we do not mean classicism). _The sharing of all experiences that\nrepresent our spirit and purpose and American ideas, and equal\nopportunity to realize them, must be our thought in planning our\neducational work._ The future of America may well depend upon our\npower, or upon the power of our original idea, to hold people together\nby the essential moods in which our American ideas are represented.\nThe production, out of these elemental moods, of common interests on a\nhigh level will be, we take it, the only preventive in the end of the\ngrowth of common interests on a low level, which is always threatened\nin democracies, and is the way democracies tend to destroy themselves\nby their democracy. Education in the fundamentals of industrial life,\nin social relations, in play and in art, in religion, is what we most\nneed--the latter, we may conclude, most of all. We must have in some\nway a greater religious unity and more religion, not by attempting an\nimpossible amalgamation of creeds as was promulgated by some of the\nfounders of the New Japan, but by an education that includes and\nbrings forth all that is common in religion. That at least is the only\nkind of unity that offers hope finally of making a world safe with\ndemocracy in it. This is not a plea for a back-to-nature movement, for\nthe simple life, for a life which tends away from industrialism.\nIndustrialism will go on, if for no other reason, because pastoral or\nagricultural peoples would soon be at a disadvantage in an industrial\nworld as it is organized now, for want of rapid increase in\npopulation. But it is implied that industry itself must be made\nsuitable for the democratic life. It means that we must go back of the\nidentities of language and obedience to common laws, and take as our\neducational foundations that which American life is in truth based\nupon: physical power and motor freedom, the sense of liberty, the\ncolonial spirit of comradeship and devotion to common cause, the ideal\nof an abundant and enthusiastic life. Merely becoming conscious of\nthese and observing their meaning and their place in our national life\nis in itself a large contribution to the sources out of which\npatriotism may be drawn. _When our patriotism is sincere enough so\nthat we shall be milling to sacrifice for country our religious\nintolerance and bigotry, our social antipathies, and our industrial\nadvantages, we shall have a morale which for peace or for war will be\nwholly sufficient._\n\nMust our ambition be to teach American children that American ways are\nthe best, and that these ways ought to be established in the world?\nThere is both an evil and a good, both an absurdity and a sublime\nloyalty in the view which all nations have, that their own culture and\nlife are the best. This conceit is in part a product of isolation, and\nis pure provincialism. But it is also of the very essence of the\nreality feeling and the sense of solidarity of peoples and of their\nloyalty to country. It must not be dealt with too ruthlessly. There is\na primitive stratum of it that must remain in all peoples. Nations,\nhowever benighted, will not be dispossessed of this idea, but\nexperience and education will make nations more discriminating so that\nthey can at least see what is essential and what is superficial in\ntheir own characteristics. Certainly whatever is ethical in our\nfoundations we, and all other peoples, will be expected to hold to. We\nfeel it a duty to spread our moral truth abroad and our mores are\nnecessarily right for us, and this idea of rightness of mores must\nimply a desire to make them prevail in the world. We may recognize,\nabstractly, other standards of conduct, but there is something in\nmoral belief which, of course, cannot voluntarily be changed, and\nwhich must stand for the ultimately real in consciousness so long as\nit is held to be so by the mass of the people. This must extend also\nto aesthetic standards, and to all final judgments of values to some\nextent.\n\nFor these reasons we must suppose that the spirit of competition among\nnations, certainly so far as it concerns the ambition for empires of\nthe spirit, must remain. Belief on the part of a people in the\nsuperiority of their own culture cannot and should not be eliminated.\nBy this spirit the good, we may be sure, will prevail, but prevail\nonly through opposition and competition. There can be no real\ncompromise in the field of these moral possessions and appreciations.\n_We_ must be Americans, and react with American ideas. True\nnationalists everywhere appear to recognize and to be guided by this\ntruth. We cannot voluntarily lay aside our own beliefs nor help\nbelieving they are right, although we may see that were we differently\nsituated we might change them.\n\nThere are three things at least, as regards our mores that cannot be\naccomplished. For this we may take our evidence and our warning from\nGermany. Culture cannot be spread by force, since force does not\nconquer spirit. Devotion to the basic principles of one's civilization\ncannot rationally nor safely be extended to include all customs and\nmanners, so that we may assume that there is a right way in everything\nwhich is ours and a wrong way which is foreign. The mores of a people\ncannot be changed or manipulated by education and propaganda without\nuprooting the moral structures of society. When we begin to practice a\nSocial-politik we enter upon dangerous ground.\n\nAre we not, then, to take the attitude in education that _our culture\nis an experimental culture and represents an experimental\ncivilization_? Although for us our ways and beliefs are final criteria\nof values in conduct, and we cannot hope or wish to free ourselves\nfrom them or to be guided by objective data, still we put them forward\nin the spirit of the enquirer, rather than as eternal principles. If\nthis be right, we are not to guard our civilization jealously, hedge\nit about with national jealousy and bigotry but rather send our\nculture abroad on a mission. We are to understand and to teach the\nculture of every other nation sympathetically, trusting to our own\nfoundations to hold firm. We must be so fortified in our own virtue\nthat we shall not be afraid to send our spirit abroad to compete with\nwhatever it shall meet in the old world or the new. This impulse to\nextend one's culture and philosophy is a deep one, and we believe it\nto be well-grounded. It has been said that the deepest impulse of\nBritish imperialism has been to extend English ways of thought\nthroughout the world. There is truth in this. We may conclude also\nthat unless a nation can feel sincerely that it is founded upon\nsomething that ought to endure and at least to have an opportunity to\nbecome universal, it lacks a growth principle and its civilization is\nnot very secure. Certainly it lacks a great pedagogical advantage in\nall the internal work of education.\n\nThe work of the intellectual leaders of a people is to uncover this\nkernel of sincere belief and worth, and strip nationalism at the same\ntime of its encrustations of vanity and deception. There are, we may\nsuppose, at the bottom of every nation's consciousness such sincere\nprinciples which are entitled to a fair field in the competition of\nthe civilizations and the cultures of the world. We may be sure that\nthere is Americanism that needs to be taught both for the sake of the\nworld and for our own sake; something which constitutes our best\ncontribution to an experimental world in which the over-emphasis of\nall sincere principles can ultimately do no harm. Americanism, with\nall the errors it may contain, and all the limitations it may have as\na universal principle is better for us and for all, we may believe,\nthan any dispassionate and well considered intellectualism, or a\ncosmopolitanism that is based upon a fear of provincialism. Let us be\nprepared, therefore, to go forth not to conquer but to participate in\nthe life of the world.\n\nAs regards materials by means of which we are to teach a patriotism\nthat shall be a strong devotion to the mores of the nation, there\nappear to be three important elements. We have, first, a literature\nwhich contains in part at least the spirit of our national life,\nalthough it does so _only_ in part. Secondly, we have a beginning at\nleast of an interpretation of American life through an American\nhistory that is to be something more than a history of political\nevents, and shall be a true history of the American people. This\nhistory must include the history of our ideas and our ideals, our\nliterature, institutions, art, and be indeed a true social history.\nThis history must be the main source book for teaching what our\ncountry has meant to those who have lived in it, and what these people\nhave really been and done. This is national character study. Character\nstudy, a truly psychological and interpretative history, should teach\nus what we are likely to do and what we ought to do in all typical\nsituations with which we are likely to be confronted. How far we are\nas yet from such a general knowledge in regard to ourselves needs\nhardly to be suggested. The third element in this aspect of the\nteaching of patriotism is something more tangible and more immediately\npractical. Our ideals have to some extent at least been crystallized\nin our institutions, where they will still further be elaborated. The\nparticipation on the part of all in some way in these institutions is\na part of our required training for good American life. A book\nknowledge of institutions is, of course, better than none at all, but\nthere is no reason why knowledge should end there. All people,\nespecially those now being educated, ought to have more direct and\nmore intimate part in all the representative institutions of our\ncountry, even in the political institutions, and perhaps in them most\nof all. Americanism, whatever else it may be, must be a practical\nAmericanism. It must have ideals and clear visions, it goes without\nsaying, but it is the making and shaping of institutions by living in\nand through them that must be the main feature of our social life and\nof our education. When the individual and the social form are molded\nand developed together, patriotism will be a natural phase of mental\ngrowth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE TEACHING OF PATRIOTISM (_continued_)\n\n\nPatriotism we thought to be, in the third place, devotion to the\n_group_. Here the problem of the teaching of patriotism becomes\nspecifically a question of social education. The question arises as to\nprecisely what the objects of the devotion we call loyalty to the\ngroup are, and what factors in group-consciousness need most to be\nemphasized or educated as patriotism. Is it race or manners or the\npure fact of propinquity or herd contact or all together that are the\nobjects of social desire and the feeling of solidarity?\n\n_Race_ has been emphasized as the prime interest in group loyalty, but\nthere seems to be doubt about this. At least there are difficulties in\nisolating anything we can call love of race. We can never separate\nrace from propinquity, for example, or from mores, or from the bonds\ndue to common possession of causes. Race loyalty appears to be a\nprimitive feeling. When races were pure, groups small and possession\ncommon, all the elements of loyalty to group were present at once and\ncoextensive. As civilization progressed the bond of pure race\nlessened. All races have now become mixed, we are told, and kinship in\na group has ceased to be a fact. Nicolai maintains that race\npatriotism has grown out of family instinct, as something quite\nseparate from herd instinct, but it seems likely that common\ninterests, organization under necessity, or the social attraction\nresulting from any common cause must have been stronger than any\nconsciousness of kinship, or any herd instinct as such--which may\nindeed not have existed at all.\n\nIt is this more conscious bond of function and propinquity at least that\nmust be taken into account in the education of patriotism--certainly\nAmerican patriotism. We in America can hardly emphasize race patriotism,\nwithout producing internal disruption. It is common function that is\nthe distinguishing mark of the individuals of a group, rather than\ncommon origin. Common function, especially subsumption under one\nordered government, particularly if the purpose be that of securing\ncommon protection, can plainly overcome all loyalty to race. Common\nreligion antagonizes race consciousness, and we see therefore within\nnations races splitting up along lines of religious difference. We see\nwithin races also greater antagonism and greater lack of common\ninterest between classes than between the same classes as found in\ndifferent races. Aristocrats everywhere, for example, appear to have\ngreater mutual sympathy and sense of nearness than do the upper and\nlower classes of the same race.\n\nOne of our own urgent educational problems is that of overcoming race\ndifferences and of utilizing racial bonds for practical ends. We try\nto put loyalty to group first, and we assume that race patriotism can\nbe supreme only among those who have no country worth being loyal to.\nLoyalty to race, however, has a pedagogical use. We see it being\nemployed to extend social feeling beyond the point to which\npropinquity and common cause can carry it. It was used, we know, in\nthe propaganda and educational campaign by which German statesmen and\nhistorians hoped to develop a wider German consciousness. The racial\nobject in this case is apparently purely fictitious. We see the same\nconcept being used now to create or expand social feeling throughout\nthe Anglo-Saxon race. What we mean mainly by Anglo-Saxon race is\nreally English speaking peoples, having common or similar mores and\nideals. It is, of course, by emphasizing and participating in common\nfunctions that loyalty either to an Anglo-Saxon union or to the total\ngroup in our own nation will be developed. Our own type of\npatriotism, in which there can be little or no racial loyalty as such,\nmust be built upon more ideal and abstract conceptions than that of\nrace. It is loyalty to group having a common idea, we say, which must\nbe the basis of American group loyalty. This we must regard as higher\nthan any race patriotism. All nations are now, as Boutroux remarks, to\na greater or less extent _psychological races_. The factors that have\nproduced them are the factors that have caused men to become\nfunctioning units.\n\nThis gives us a clew at least to a practical principle for the\neducation of social loyalty. We must secure participation on the part\nof the individual in every function that belongs to each group to\nwhich the individual himself is attached. Thus all degrees and kinds\nof loyalty may be made to exist in the same mind without conflict or\nconfusion, precisely because the loyalty desired is loyalty to people\nas groups or organizations having causes, not to collections of\nindividuals as such.\n\nThe teaching of loyalty to any cause appears to be a lesson in\npatriotism. So far as teaching of patriotism is centered directly upon\nthe production of loyalty to the whole group which constitutes the\nnation, the first object must be to create a sense of reality of the\ngroup in the mind of the individual. We may expect to do this in part\nby the teaching of geography and history in an adequate way, but we\nmust also instill such patriotism by inducing individuals to\nparticipate in nation-wide organizations, which are capable of\nrealizing dramatic effects. The experiences of the war have taught us\nto see this. It is organization or cooeperation for practical ends,\nunder conditions in which deep feeling is aroused, that most quickly\nand effectually creates the sense of solidarity in great groups of\nindividuals. We must study the psychological side of this matter, and\nsee how the power and momentum that are so readily gained in time of\nneed can be better controlled for all the routine purposes of\neducation and the practical daily life. The organization of national\nactivities by means of voluntary associations will be likely to be one\nof the main educational methods of the future. If we are far-seeing we\nshall try to utilize the powers of organization, cooeperation and\ncommunication to overcome many antagonisms now existing in society.\nWar temporarily suspends class distinctions and many other forms of\nsocial dualism. The reaction after the war may be in the direction of\nincreasing all the former antagonisms. To attain a strong morale and\nunity in times less dramatic than those of war is an educational\nproblem, in a wide sense, but it is also a problem of the practical\norganization of all the social life.\n\nAll nation-wide affiliations of children which in any way\ncross-section classes or antagonistic interests of any kind tend to\ncreate materials out of which patriotic sentiment is made. The school\nitself has tended to produce social unity, but it has also tended to\nlevel downward, and also to mediate associations which do not touch\nupon the activities and interests and differences of society. Our\nschools are democratic by default of social interest in them, so to\nspeak. We need organizations that shall level upward and to a greater\nextent involve the home. Then we shall see how democratic and how\nunified our social life really is. These organizations must be both\ndemocratic and practical. They must engage the interests of all\nclasses. We know little as yet about the potential power, both for\npractical accomplishment and for the building of a higher type of\nloyalty and patriotism, there may be in wide organization. Here we can\nbest combine the initiative and spirit that usually come from the\nupper classes with the great powers of achieving aggregate results\ninherent in the people as a whole. If we are to have a nation which\nshall be a unit, the people as a whole must have practical interests\nthat require daily exertion and attention. They must be not merely\nunited in spirit as a people, but united in common tasks that are\ndefinite and real. Devotion to the functions of the people is loyalty\nto the nation. This we should say is but an elaboration of the old\ncolonial spirit of cooeperation, when merely living in a community\nmeant a certain daily service to all the community. We must continue\nto do now more consciously and with more technique, so to speak, what\nwas once done more spontaneously and in a more primitive way. It is\nthus that the idea of neighbor might extend throughout the country as\na whole. All the materials are at hand for an unlimited development of\nthe practical life. _The sense of solidarity and the comradeship and\nhelpfulness that grow naturally in a small community, where conditions\nare hard and dangers imminent, we must still maintain in a great\nnation by organization._ This is at heart an educational problem. It\nis a work of national character building. It is training in\npatriotism.\n\nIn this, as in all other phases of education now, we must consider how\nthe great energies hidden in the aesthetic experiences can be put to\nuse. The aesthetic, especially in its dramatic form, is a power to be\nreckoned with. Interest, organization, moral obligation do not control\nor release all the energies contained in the social life. We need the\nhigh moods of dramatic situations to reach the most fundamental\nmotives. The teacher must not only present ideas; he must generate\npower. And this is true of all efforts to employ for any end the\ninterests of the people, old or young. The social life, if it is to be\neffective, must constantly be brought under the influence of dramatic\nstimuli. Dillon, a political writer, earnestly pleads for an extension\nand deepening of the sympathies of children, and says that patriotic\nsentiment must be engrafted upon the sensitive soul of the child. No\none could refuse to admit this. The question, however, is of ways and\nmeans. In our view it is mainly through play, or better, art, that the\nsoul of the child is thus made sensitive. A dramatic social life must\nbe the main condition upon which we depend for thus extending and\ndeepening the sympathies of the child.\n\nAmong these dramatic social effects we seek, the use of national\nholidays, all methods of symbolizing events, causes, or functions\nwhich are nationally significant are of course not to be ignored, but\nafter all it is through practical activity made social and raised to\ndramatic expression or feeling, either by its own inherent idea and\nsuggestive power, or by the addition of aesthetic elements, that\nloyalty to the greater group and its functions will best be educated.\nIt is precisely the lack of these dramatic elements and these mass\neffects in the social life that now leaves the social sense in its\nnational aspects weak, and allows the various dividing lines\nthroughout society to make even the most necessary activities to a\ngreater or less degree ineffectual.\n\nThe educational problem itself is plain. Unity of public interests,\nwhich can apparently now be obtained only under threat to national\nexistence, must be maintained, not artificially, but voluntarily. We\nwant the morale of war and the social solidarity of war in the times\nand activities of peace--in those activities that represent service to\ncountry and also those which consist of the service _of_ country in\nthe performance of its broader functions as a member of a family or\nsociety of nations.\n\nA fourth factor in patriotism we recognize as loyalty to government,\nto state, or to leader. The place of such loyalty in a truly\ndemocratic country as contrasted with an autocratically governed\ncountry seems plain. It is not only sovereignty but statesmanship as\nwell that must reside in the people. The people must not only have the\npower but the wisdom to rule. Even the ideals of the country must come\nout of the common life, or there at least be abundantly nourished. The\nGerman writers protest that the purely native ideals of the people do\nnot represent the meaning and purpose of the State. The natural\nfeelings of the people lack purpose and definiteness. The State is\nsomething very different from the sum of the people and the\nrepresentation of their will. The native sense of solidarity is not\nat all like the organization that comes through the State. But this\nabstract conception of the State as a being different from the people\nis precisely, in the view of such writers as Dickinson, the cause of\nwars. Upon this point Dickinson sees now a wide parting of the ways.\nWe must have either one kind of world or the other. We must continue\nour warlike habits, and make the God-state the object of our religion,\nor abandon all this for a thorough-going democracy. It is the special\ninterest that is assumed to inhere in the God-state that is the menace\nto peace everywhere. The abstract theory of State inspires far-seeing\npolicies, democracy lives more by its natural instincts and feelings.\nThe theory of necessary expansion, the right to grow and to intrude,\nis a natural deduction from the conception of the God-state; loyalty\nto the State demands ever increasing lands and population in order to\nhave more military power.\n\nThe democracy, of course, can harbor no such conception of State.\nLoyalty, in the democracy, must be to state and to statesmen rather as\nleaders of the people. The first and most necessary factor in\npatriotism as loyalty to authority is that authority _must_ represent\ninterests of country and people and must for that reason deserve\nloyalty. Educationally, the problem is quite the reverse of the\neducational problem of the autocracy. The people are not to be trained\nin obedience and subservience to the state, but we have mainly to\ncreate in the minds of all people the capacity to recognize true\nleaders. It is not loyalty to authority as such, we say, that is\nwanted, but loyalty to leader _who has no power at all except the\npower of the good and its forceful presentation_. A democracy is a\nsociety in which the aristocrats rule by persuasion, although we must\nthink of this aristocracy as an aristocracy of intellect and morality\nrather than of birth and wealth. The ideal, we suppose, toward which\nour definition of democracy leads is a state in which authority as\nrepresented in the institutions of government, and leadership\nrepresented in natural superiority coincide. It is a State in which\nthe good and the great shall govern. But in general, parliaments\ncannot now be the sources of moral and intellectual leadership of the\npeople. They are subjected to too many conflicting interests. The time\nmay come, we say, when authority and superiority will coincide, when\nlaws will be made and executed by those who ought to do these things\nrather than by those who merely have the power to gain opportunity to\ndo so. At any time and place we _may_, of course, behold great\nleadership combined with great authority. A true democracy is a state\nin which such coincidence will be inevitable.\n\nThe minds of men are now full of these themes. They ask how nations\nmay become unified without injustice and autocracy. Trotter says that\nnational unity is what is wanted most of all things now in England.\nEngland must become conscious of itself, he says, and infuse into\npublic affairs a spirit that will carry leaders far beyond their own\npersonal interests. England has survived until now in spite of a\nstrong handicap of discord. He speaks of the imperfect morale of\nEngland, shown in the war, which arose from the preceding social\ndiscord, and shows that the only perfect morale is that which is based\nupon social unity in the nation. All this is true also of ourselves.\nWe also have our problem of creating loyalty to government and a\nnational unity upon which a perfect morale both for peace and for war\nmay be assured, by inspiring an ideal of honor, honesty, and\nefficiency in all public service, and also by arousing an intense\ninterest in public service and deep appreciation of what public\nservice and leadership mean, on the part of all the people. This is\nplainly not merely a work of _cleaning politics_. It is a work of\npublic education. The attitude of a people toward authority and\nleadership is something more than a _susceptibility_ to leadership and\ninfluence. There is a desire for the experience of ecstatic social\nmoods, the craving to be active and to be led. We make a great mistake\nif we think all that democracy means is an instinct of individual\nindependence, a desire to take part in the government as an\nindividual. It is also a social craving that is involved. The presence\nof the great leader, even in times of peace, stimulates social\nfeeling, and raises it to a productive level. This social feeling, we\nsay, is not a mere reaction. It is the expression of a desire and\nreadiness on the part of the people to participate in social\nactivities, and to attach themselves to worthy leaders, or to those\nnow who appeal to the most dominant selective faculties.\n\nIt is precisely at this point that the educational problem comes into\nview. We are likely to think of the public education required in a\ndemocracy as too exclusively political education, education that will\nenable the individual to assert himself--to know, to criticize, to\nvote, to take an active part in politics. This spirit is especially\nprominent in English life. It is all very good in itself and\nnecessary. But we need to educate ourselves also so that _we may have\na capacity to be led, in the right direction_. To increase\nsensitiveness to leadership, but also to make that sensitiveness\nselective of true values, is one of the great educational problems of\na democracy.\n\nIt seems to be a part of the work of education to create popular\nheroes, to do upon a higher level what the public press does in its\nown way, but mainly partisanly and too often from wholly unworthy\nmotives--make reputations. We must do more in the teaching of history\nand biography than to glorify the lives of dead heroes. We need to be\nquite as much concerned about coming heroes. We must excite the\nimagination of the young and prejudice the public mind through\neducational channels, in favor of sincere and true leaders. The\nopportunity of the story teller is large, in this work, and we need\nalso to develop to a very high degree of excellence the educational\nnewspaper. One of our great needs in education in this country is a\ndaily newspaper for all schools--one that shall be both informing and\ninfluential, appealing by every art to the selective faculties,\ngoverned absolutely by ethical, or at least not by political and\npartisan motives. The power of such a press might be very great\nindeed. As an unifying influence and a ready means of communication,\nand an instrument of use in the organization of all children, the\nfunction of this press would be a highly important one.\n\nAll means of creating political ideals from within, of forging the\nlinks between leader and people in the plastic minds of children and\nyouths, will be an education in one of the fundamental elements of\npatriotism. Such an education would be very different, however, from\nthe state planned and authorized education that has been carried on\nunder autocratic regimes. The difference is one of spirit and result,\nrather than of method. In one case the State becomes a kind of\nNirvana, in the thought of which personality and individuality are\nnegated. Patriotism produced in the minds of the young under the\ninfluence of a democratic spirit tends to become a creative force\nrather than a blind devotion to an accepted order. Institutions are\nmade and advanced rather than merely obeyed and defended in this\neducational process. The widest scope and the freest opportunity are\nallowed for superior qualities of leaders and for right principles to\nhave an effect upon society (and the result we invite indeed is a\nprofound hero worship on the part of the young), but the conditions\nwould be such that no other kind of authority would be able to exert a\nwide influence. To secure these conditions is, of course, one of the\nchief tasks of all the administrative branches of our educational\nservice.\n\nThe final factor of patriotism, according to our analysis, is loyalty\nto country as an historical object. The ideas and the feelings\ncentering about the conception of country as personal, as living, as\nhaving rights and experience, duties and individuality are likely to\nbe vivid and intense. They are the inspirers of supreme devotion to\ncountry, and also at times, of morbid national pride and fanatical\ncountry-worship. The education of this idea of country we should\nsuppose would be one of the fundamental problems of the development of\npatriotism. Presumably we are not to try to destroy this idea of\ncountry that all people seem to have, or to show it as one of the\nillusions of personification. Country is, of course, different from\nthe mere sum of the people. It has continuity and it performs\nfunctions and it is an historic entity. Modernize and reform this\nidea, we must, but we cannot do away with it as something archaic and\nsuperstitious. Country is real, the concepts of honor and right belong\nto it, and country is something to which the mind must do homage.\n\nBoutroux says that a nation is a _person_, and has a right to live and\nto have its personality recognized as its own. Granting this to be\ntrue, and that we must think of country as personal and active, the\nquestion arises whether this concept of country is something that\n_requires in any definite way educational interference_. We should say\nthat if countries are essentially living historic entities having as\nsuch a high degree of reality, this reality-sense will be an important\nelement in the practical life of peoples. There can be no thought in\nour historical era of breaking up these entities we call nations. It\nis a day of intensified rather than of diminished nationalism. The\nsense of reality of nations must, we might think, be made more\nintense; pride of country must remain; we may find some place even for\nthe idea of the divine nature of country, which is an element in the\npatriotic spirit everywhere. That this conception of country is a very\nnecessary element in the morale of a country in war seems clear; that\nthe morale of peace must be founded upon the same personal and\nreligious sentiments we can hardly doubt.\n\n_Ambition for country_ is a normal result of the acceptance of the\nidea of country as personal, and ambition for country appears to be\nthe very essence of any patriotic sentiment that is sincere. Still\nambition for country has been, in some of its forms, a cause of wars.\nWhat other conclusion can we come to, then, than that ambition for\ncountry must be subjected to radical educational influences? This is\nthe reverse side of political progress. Ambition must be given new\ncontent and new direction. All the power and the sentiment of the old\nimperialistic motive must remain, but all peoples must now be educated\nto see that the maintenance of its position in the world on the part\nof any nation is now a far more difficult and far more complex task\nthan ever before. The building of empire must be shown to have been\nfar easier and far less heroic, and much less a test of the\nsuperiority of a nation than we have supposed. We can show that\nmilitary virtues are much more nearly universal than has often been\nassumed, and that nations that are inherently superior must abandon\nvoluntarily their ambitions of aggression, if they wish to remain\nsuperior and to have a place of honor in the world.\n\nThis implies no teaching of pure internationalism. We still recognize\nas fundamental the whole spirit of nationalism. Country must remain\nfirst after all. All must indeed learn to take in some way the\nstatesman's point of view in regard to country--with its sense of the\nfuture, of wide relations and long periods of time, and its practical\nvision. It is futile to think of this future as one wholly without\nstruggle and competition. We must teach history also far more with the\nforward view. History has dealt too exclusively even in America with\nthe past. National ambition that has as its aim to realize, with\nindependence and power, all the good that an enlightened nation\ncontains, but at the same time to act with justice and with the\nthought of the nation as a part of a cooerdinated world must take this\npoint of view.\n\nIt is a median course between merely naive and day by day living, such\nas Lehmann (15) complains about as the natural tendency of uneducated\npatriotism, and the kind of program making that takes into account\nonly the purposes of a single nation that we must follow in teaching\nthis forward view of national history. There is a danger in either\nextreme. We may remain a nature people, without a true historic sense,\nand be conscious only of a dramatic past which appeals to sentiment\nand a still more ambiguously glorious future; or, on the other hand we\nmay become too definitely ambitious and too conscious of some special\nmission in the world. A nation with a program, a nation that does not\nrecognize the experimental nature of history, is a dangerous element\nin the society of nations, even though its ambitions be not purely\nselfish. Excessive rationalism in national consciousness is itself a\nmenace. We must live by our historic sense, by some ideal of a future\nfor our nation; the people must have _some_ vision of a glorious\nfuture, and not be expected to see only an unending vista of problems\nand labors, but this history must be understood and taught intimately\nand appreciatively and not merely objectively and logically. We must\ntake an interest in the careers of all nations, and understand history\npsychologically and be willing to judge it ethically. So far we have\nhad the opposite view in most of our teaching and writing of history.\nWe must take a fair and tolerant view of the power motive that exists\nin all nations, and try to understand what it means to be of another\nnationality and to have ambitions like our own. Without such an\nattitude, we should argue, no one can be truly patriotic, if\npatriotism means having at heart the true interests of one's own\ncountry.\n\nIt is not only possible and fair, therefore, but necessary that\npatriotism be enlightened. It is possible to be devoted each one first\nof all to his own country, to have few illusions about its values, and\nat the same time to have tolerance for all other nations. What other\nspirit is there, in fact, in which our history can now be taught? It\nseems absurd to say that such a spirit is weak. It implies\nconsciousness of strength, of being able to hold one's own in a fair\nfield, to have the dignity and sense of maturity that come from\ncontact with a real world. With such a spirit it would not be\nnecessary to accept as inevitable the brutality of all national\ndevelopment, to use the words of Mach, a recent writer. We need no\nlonger believe that war is the only thing that can prevent national\ndisintegration, as many maintain. National consciousness certainly\nmakes progress even without such dramatic and tragic events as have\nrecently taken place. Boutroux says that in France, after the Dreyfus\naffair, although strong nationalistic feeling was stirred, there was\nalso a new vision of the destiny of the French people as not only\ndefenders of their own country but as champions of the rights of all\nnationalities. German writers have not failed to notice this, and have\nbeen inclined to regard this spirit of France as a sign of\ndegeneration and decay of the national life. We see now that\ngenerosity and justice are far from being evidences of weakness, and\nalso that in the larger logic of history these weaknesses generate\nstrength; at least they bring powerful friends in time of need.\n\nOnce Germany herself was affected by such ideals of history. In the\ntime of Goethe, Cramb reminds us, mankind, culture and humanity were\nthe great words. But upon this love of humanity and culture and love\nof the homeland a political spirit was engrafted, and this new spirit\nof Germany has manifestly now led to her downfall. No! there is no\nthreat to national existence and no disloyalty to country in the form\nof internationalism that now is before us. As social consciousness\nwidens and social relations become more intricate and more practical,\nnational lines are not lost, but indeed become clearer. These national\nboundaries are not temporary or artificial or imaginary lines, for\nthey represent and define activities and interests that engage the\nmost fundamental and the most persistent of human motives.\n\nIt is in this spirit that loyalty to country as historic object\nshould, we believe, be taught. This idea we teach of course through\nhistory, in part, but history alone in any ordinary sense, as we might\nthink of it as a subject in the curriculum of a school, is not enough.\nThese ideas must be made persuasive and dynamic. For this as we see\nover and over again, art is the true method. The object to be\npresented and which must inspire devotion is an ideal object. It is\ncomplex and it performs practical functions, but it is through and\nthrough such an object as appeals most deeply to the aesthetic\nfeelings. The image of this object must be made impressive. Since the\nideal of our country is more abstract than that of most countries, as\nan object still less vivid and less personal, since it lacks some of\nthe means of appeal to the feelings that imperialistic countries have,\nthere is all the more need of art to make the figure of ideal country\nstand out sharply before us. As we pass beyond the patriotism which is\nonly a love of home, or a devotion to a political unit, to a\npatriotism that is a loyalty to a more abstract and more intangible\nidea, the art by which the idea of country is conveyed would, we\nshould suppose, also become more abstract. Hocking says that it is\nthrough symbols that the mind best gropes its way to the realization\nof ideas. Feeling and imagery, we know, are very susceptible to the\ninfluences of the symbol, and also to the phrase which is a lower\norder of symbol. Dramatic representation, all pageantry, pictorial\nart, music, even the art of the poster artist and the cartoonist have\na place in the work of portraying country as an ideal object, and\ninspiring devotion to it and its causes. A far-seeking educational\npolicy will scorn none of these in its effort to crystallize the\nconcept of country and give it power and reality.\n\nFinally this idea of country must be put to work in every mind and in\nevery life. Otherwise all education of patriotism will tend toward\ninevitable jingoism, and arouse all the violent and introverted\nfeelings that have made history a long story of wars without end. This\nidea of country has been too aristocratic. It must now become\naccustomed to a life of daily toil, and not merely expend itself in\nenthusiasm and in self-sacrifice in crises such as war. Country as an\nidol of the aristocratic patriotism has always been too far removed\nfrom practical affairs. This patriotism has been too personal and too\nexclusive. Glory, honor and fame have played too large a part in it.\nOn the other hand, the common idea of country needs to be made more\nvivid and more glorious. This spirit is accustomed to toil but not to\nhave enthusiasm. It certainly needs more of art in its patriotism as\nwell as in its daily life. We all need historical perspective. We must\nhave through education what tradition has failed to give us. It is\njust by lacking the patriotism that a vivid sense of country as\nhistoric personage gives, by lacking imagination and the ability to\ndetach themselves from the reality and the surroundings of the daily\nlife that the working classes are so likely to be affected by\ninfluences that tend to break down _all_ patriotism.\n\nWe shall have a true patriotism, we should say, only when country is\nan idea that is worked for by all classes; when it is an idea that is\nwoven into the daily lives of the people; when it makes the daily toil\nlighter and touches it with glory, and when it enters into all the\nenthusiasm of the more favored classes and inspires it with the spirit\nof daily service.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nPOLITICAL EDUCATION IN A DEMOCRACY\n\n\nOne of the results of the war has been to raise in the minds of all\npeoples, to an extraordinary degree, the most earnest questions about\nthe nature and validity of government. The political sense of all\npeoples has been stimulated. We see on every hand new conceptions of\ngovernment and demands for more and better government, but also the\nmost radical criticism and the denial of all government. The\ndetermination in very fundamental ways of what government is, and must\nbe, what ideas must prevail, what must be suppressed, what an ideal\ngovernment is, if such an ideal can be formed, the question of evils\ninherent in the idea of government itself (if such evils there be),\nthe laws of development of government in all their practical\naspects--all these questions now come up for examination, and will not\nbe repressed. If we do not take them at one level we must upon\nanother. Naively or scientifically, philosophically or radically, the\nnature of government must be dealt with.\n\nGovernment is now being examined, we all see, from points of view not\nhitherto taken. The conscientious objector raises the question of the\nultimate basis of the right of the many to control the lives of\nindividuals, and he asks especially whether there is any ground for\nthe assumption that in this sphere, more than in any other, might\nmakes right. Conscription, in fact, has driven us to consider the\nmeaning of liberty and the foundations upon which the right to it\nrests. This stern fact of conscription, the realization that in a\nmoment the most democratic governments in the world are capable of\nbringing to bear, quite constitutionally, absolute control over the\nmost basic possessions of the individual, has led many to ask\nseriously whether government is after all a good in itself, or is\nmerely a necessity having many attendant evils. They wish to know\nwhether there is in the principle of government something that takes\nprecedence over all the assumed rights of the individual. Does\ngovernment, they inquire, have a _right_ to the individual; or is it\nonly in _serving_ the individual that it is entitled to exercise\nauthority that limits the individual?\n\nThese are questions, manifestly, that involve the whole foundation of\nsociology, but we need not be unduly dismayed at that. This is a time\nwhen naive thinking and exact science must make compromises with one\nanother. For better or for worse we must find some working hypothesis\nupon which a fair adjustment may be made in the practical life of the\npresent moment. This _working hypothesis_ must also serve--and perhaps\nthat is after all its main function--as something to guide us,\nsomething having solidity upon which we can stand, in performing our\nwork as educators.\n\nWhat we need, what we believe all feel now the need of, is a\nconception of government satisfying to the multitude of common people.\nWe wish to know whether we live for the state, we say, or whether the\nstate lives for us. We wish to understand what the basic rights and\nduties of the individual are. As average individuals, willing to give\nservice in any cause that seems good, we do not ask so much to have\ndetermined for us precisely what type of government best satisfies the\nrequirements of science or philosophy, but what the best working basis\nfor harmonious adjustment in the social life of the future is to be.\nThese enquiring moods on the part of the people are a part of the\ntemperament that has issued from the war. We shall make a mistake if\nwe regard it as a mere passing effect, however; _it means a deep\nstirring of the political consciousness of people throughout the\nworld_.\n\nSignificant differences may be observed in the general attitude toward\ngovernment among the people in the great nations of the world. Each\nnation appears to have its own political temperament, and this quite\napart from the views represented especially by political parties and\nthe like, and quite independently of the scientific and philosophical\nconceptions of government and its functions of which there are a great\nnumber, and among them certainly no agreement upon the main issues and\nvalues.\n\nTaking public opinion as a whole, Germany, England, France and America\nseem to represent distinctly different attitudes toward government. The\nState in the German philosophy of life, as every one is now aware, is\nall; the individual derives his reality and his value, so to speak,\nfrom the idea of the supreme state. Individuality and freedom in this\nphilosophy of life do not refer to _political_ individuality and\nfreedom at all. In England, and perhaps to some extent in all\ndemocratic countries, the prevailing thought seems to be that the\ngovernment that governs the least is, on the whole, the best\ngovernment. The English government is supposed to be the servant of the\npeople, and the individual has been in the habit of looking to the\ngovernment for many services. The individual, free and self-determined,\nis the unit of value and of society, and the regulation of his conduct\nby government is at best a necessary evil. It came as a surprise to the\nEnglishman when he realized that the state could command the most\npersonal service and the most complete surrender of the property rights\nof the individual.\n\nLe Bon says that the Frenchman, too, thinks of the state as something\nto be kept at a minimum and to a certain extent to be opposed.\nOpposition to the government is a part of the Frenchman's plan of\nlife. Boutroux says the same--that in France the habit of thinking of\nthe government and of society as two rivals has not been overcome.\n\nOur own idea of government is certainly somewhat different from these.\nWe are watchful of individual right, but we do not tend to think of\ngovernment either as opponent or as servant. We do not ask the\ngovernment to take care of us as individuals, and we do not feel in\nthe public attitude the resistance to government that the French\nwriters observe in France. The American expects on the whole to look\nout for his own interests and he has never felt the pressure and\nover-powering force of government--until perhaps now. Mabie says that\nthe American has conceived of his government as existing to keep the\nhouse in order while the family lived its life freely, every\nindividual following the bent of his own genius.\n\nThese temperamental attitudes toward government, we said, seem quite\napart from scientific and philosophic conceptions of state. We see,\nhowever, something of the temperament reflected in the philosophies.\nPhilosophers do not wholly detach themselves from the mores of their\nrace. The monarchy of Germany, Munsterberg says, appeals to the _moral\npersonality and the aesthetic imagination_. Its main function, however,\nis to safeguard the German people. Its faults are the faults of its\nvirtues. Other German writers praise the German government especially\nfor its efficiency, for its incomparable body of officials--indeed for\nits very clock-work perfection that Bergson hates in Prussian life.\nLehmann goes so far as to say that the German state had reached the\n_perfect balance_ between individualism and communism. These writers\nsee plenty of self-realization in German society, and quite enough of\nparticipation, on the part of the individual, in the government.\nSchmoller (51) denies that Germany ever lacked the spirit of free\ninstitutions, and even compares Germany with ancient Attica, which he\nthinks was great not because of the rule of the _demos_, but because\nthe people followed their aristocratic leaders. Troeltsch tries to\nshow that the German idea of freedom is different from, and indeed\nsuperior to, that of all other peoples. The French, he says, rest\ntheir idea of freedom upon the doctrine of the equality of all\ncitizens, but in reality lawyers and plutocrats prevail. The English\nidea of freedom comes from Puritanic ideas; the individual's\nindependence of the state is based upon the idea of natural rights,\nand upon the theory of the creation of the state by the individual.\nBut German freedom is something entirely different. Here freedom is in\neducation, and in the spiritual content of individuality. German\nfreedom is the freedom that comes from the spontaneous recognition of\nrights and duties. Parliaments are good in their place, but after all\nthey are not the essence of freedom.\n\nTotally different conceptions of state are easily found. Consider, for\nexample, the views of Russell. Through every page of his book there\nshines the determined belief in the inalienable rights of the\nindividual. Self-expression of the individual through creative\nactivity is the basic value, or at least the fundamental means of\nrealizing values. Russell sees nothing sacred or final in any form of\nexisting government. He would like to see government expanded in some\ndirections and contracted in others, for the functions of government\ncannot all be vested in one body or organization. For defense the\nnation is _not large enough_. For all civic government the nation is\n_too large_. In its internal control it treats the individual too\nruthlessly. Wasteful and in large part even unnecessary, it\nantagonizes the free development of the individual. Government should\ncease its oppression, it should no longer support unnatural property\nrights, or interfere with the personal affairs of individuals. At the\npresent time, however, we should not expect a radical cure for all the\nevils of government. If only we can find the right direction in which\nto make advance, we should be satisfied with something less perfect\nthan an ideal.\n\nThe state in Russell's view, instead of being an ideal institution, is\neven harmful in many ways and terribly destructive. It promotes war.\nIt makes the individual helpless, and crushes him with a sense of his\nunimportance. It abets the injustice of capitalism. It excludes\ncitizens from any participation in foreign affairs. We must indeed not\nlet this incubus of state overwhelm us. We must keep it in its proper\nplace, even in performing its necessary functions, such as preserving\npublic health. It is better to take some risk, even in such matters,\nthan to override too much the individual's personal rights. All the\nfunctions of the state must be made to center more about the welfare\nof the individual, and in doing this the state must plainly regard as\nfundamental the right of the individual to free growth and the\ndevelopment of all his powers. We must learn to think more in terms of\nindividual welfare and less in terms of national pride.\n\nIn syndicalism in some form Russell sees the most promise for reform\nof government. Some type of government at least which does not make\nthe geographical unit the basis of everything must be the government\nof the future. This would lead in the end to a higher state than that\nbased primarily upon law, for it would be a government in which free\norganization would be the first principle.\n\nPlainly we are to-day in a time of flux in which ideas and\ninstitutions are unsettled, and there is a great variety of political\ntheories of all kinds. We can hope to find no agreement among\ntheorists and certainly no common ground for the reconciliation of\nconflicting parties. Still, even for the most practical daily life we\nmust find some guiding principles. We must look for some means of\nbringing order out of the present diversity and conflict. Some\nvaluation of government, some idea of the ultimate purpose of\ngovernment ought to be agreed upon, if for no other reason that we may\nhave some principle which will give us continuity in our educational\nwork.\n\nConsider the varieties of political creed now offered us, and there\ncan be little doubt both of the difficulty and the necessity of\nfinding guiding principles for the practical life and to preserve\nsanity of mind. The monarchical idea still lingers; there is a variety\nof conceptions of democracy, differing widely; there are\nsocialists--state socialists, Marxian socialists of the old line,\nBolshevists, regionalists, syndicalists, and others--and anarchists of\npure blood. Of internal and party differences, policies, and plans\nthere is no end. Through all these we have to thread our way, and\nreach what conclusions we can.\n\nNo American can of course be expected to see the question of\ngovernment otherwise than through American eyes. He is to some extent\nprejudiced and bound to the ideas of liberty, individualism, and\ndemocracy, whatever his variety of party politics be. Democracy he may\nregard as an assumption, but it will seem now even more than ever a\nnecessary assumption upon which to build a working conception of\ngovernment.\n\nWe have to look somewhere in actual life for the elements and\nprinciples of government. Why should we not look for them in American\nlife, where government has grown up comparatively free from traditions\nand prejudices and where it has been by all the ordinary tests\n_successful_? There has been something both ideal and generic in\nAmerican life. Whatever personal equation may be involved in saying\nthis, the point of view has some objective justification. It is a\ngenetic method, at least. In early American life society was simple,\nand life was earnest, and we see government and the individual in\ntheir essential relations to one another.\n\nIn this primitive and yet modern society we see the individual as a\ncollection of functions, so to speak, existing in a group. The\nindividual also has various desires, which do not appear to be wholly\nin agreement with his social functions. Some of these desires of\nindividuals are strongly antagonistic to society. In this society,\ngovernment is plainly the means of protecting the individual or the\ngroup, by the suggestion or the exertion of lawful force, from the\nthreat of lawless force. Law is a means of enabling and also\ncompelling the individual _to perform the various functions which_\nbelong to him as an individual or as a member of the group. To some\nextent the law also _aids_ the individual in performing his functions.\nBut this simple social order already shows certain basic disharmonies.\nIt is an experimental regulation of the individual. Every restriction\nthe individual helps to put upon other individuals by participating in\nor acquiescing in the establishment of government and law reacts to\nlimit his own freedom, in ways which he cannot wholly predict. Freedom\nof the individual, even in the simplest social order, becomes greatly\nlimited, if not necessarily, at least naturally--and indeed\nnecessarily, since the only choice appears to be between lawful and\nlawless limitation of freedom. From the beginning, therefore, there\ncan be no perfect satisfaction of individual desires or of either\ngeneral or individual needs, in the ordered social life. Society as a\nwhole regulates the conduct of the individual both by aiding and by\ninhibiting his activities, and must do so. In doing this, it is plain,\nit promotes all or most of the functions of the individual. Ordered\nsociety widens the total sphere of action of the individual. The\nindividual left to himself tends to become an end-in-himself. Law\nmakes him to a greater extent a means. In doing this it serves him and\nit also uses him, and there can never be any guarantee, in any\nindividual case, of what the sum of these services and restraints\nshall be. Society uses the individual in part, but not exclusively, in\nhis own service. The good and the evil, the necessity and the dilemma\nof all government are outgrowths of this primitive service of the\nsocial organization and this original disharmony among the wills of\nindividuals and the will of the group to serve the individual and also\nat the same time certain general purposes which may not in any given\ncase coincide with either the desire or the need of the individual.\nFor this reason we conclude that there can be no _perfect_ government.\nAll government is experimental and exists by compromise.\n\nWhat, then, in the most general way, can we say is the legitimate\nfunction or purpose of government? Hocking says that government is the\nmeans of assuring the individual that his achievements will be\npermanent. To this end it puts order into the structure of society. In\nour view something similar, but not identical with this, is true. We\ncan say that in its complex forms it is in principle only what we\nfound it to be in its primitive or simple forms. _Government is\nideally a means of aiding all the functions of every individual._\n_Functions_, let us observe and not primarily desires are served.\nThese functions are such functions as the individual has as a member\nof every group to which he naturally belongs. Government, then, so to\nspeak, has no standing of its own. Its proper function is to\nfacilitate all other functions. Neither individuals nor governments\nhave any rights as abstracted from the sum of functions which they\nessentially are.\n\nIf this be true, we can certainly define no one best and eternal type\nof government, any more than a fixed and perfect plan of life for an\nindividual can be defined. Government might be supposed properly to\nchange according to the functions which from time to time were most\nimportant for the society in question. Social life, under government,\ndiffers from a free and unorganized social life mainly in that a\ncertain _objectivity_ is acquired in regard to the functions of the\nindividual. The individual becomes a creature of functions rather than\nof desires and needs. Common interests, or the interests of the group\nare served, we say; in doing this the individual is made to serve his\nown interests, perhaps, but the most outstanding fact is that in this\norganized life the _immediate desires of the individual are likely to\nbe thwarted_. Regularity is put into conduct, and conduct is made to\nserve multiple and distant ends. The functions of the individual, left\nto the desire of the individual, will seldom be harmoniously\nperformed. They will lack precisely objective consideration. But in\nthe organized social life there will also be no perfect order and\nharmony, no final balance of functions. Everything is still relative\nand experimental. Government is a system in which any one individual\nat any moment may gain or may lose. But _on the whole_, under the good\ngovernment, both more freedom for the individual and better conditions\nand better life for the individual will presumably be obtained than in\nany possible disordered or unorganized society. But government will\nreally add nothing that does not already belong to the functions that\nnaturally develop in any social group.\n\nThe actual functions of governments are, therefore, highly complex,\nbecause it is in some way involved in all the functions of the\nindividuals themselves. Governments will be judged good or bad in two\nparticulars: according to the completeness with which they include all\nthe social functions, and as regards their efficiency in facilitating\nthese functions. We must not make the mistake of judging a government\nmerely by its form. Under the same constitution and holding the same\nideals, there is room for widely different forms of activity on the\npart of the government, and great differences in efficiency and in the\nfunctions performed. The same functions may be performed and the same\ndegree of efficiency reached apparently with different organizations.\nCleveland shows, for example, how our own government might become much\nmore efficient and make radical changes in the mechanism of the\nlegislative and executive functions without sacrificing any principle\nwe hold to, and perhaps without any change in our constitution.\n\nIt is this idea of the proper functions of government and the relative\nadequacy of existing governments to perform them that seems to be\ndeeply questioned. Life has suddenly grown more complex. The\nindividual is brought face to face with new demands upon him. He\nbecomes, it may be, a member of new groups, having new functions.\nGovernment also, and correspondingly, expands. The question is not now\nof the efficiency of government in doing what it has hitherto\nundertaken; we wish to feel sure that government is adequate to meet\nthe requirements of a rapidly changing social order. That just now is\nindeed a very vital question. Governments, we say, may be obliged to\nadapt themselves to entirely new tasks. Society assumes new external\nrelations, and therefore we should expect that new organs would be\nneeded for performing these new functions.\n\nIn all this we have been making _objective_ valuations of government.\nAn ideal or a definition of government in terms of its functions and\nthe degree of efficiency in the performance of them might still, we\nought to observe, leave a wide scope for preference in regard to\nforms, and other subjective valuations. Even between aristocratic and\ndemocratic forms, there may be still room for valid appreciations on\naesthetic or moral grounds. Our objective valuations of government must\nin fact in various ways impinge upon fundamental questions in which no\npurely scientific considerations will be wholly decisive.\n\nWe can certainly find no precise way of valuing in detail or in their\ntotality existing or proposed forms of government. Our most valid\nmethod, however, appears to be to refer at every step the functions of\ngovernment back to the functions of the individuals who make up\nsociety. Every phase of legitimate government must thus go back to the\nindividual, and his desires and functions. If we do this we shall see\nagain why in national life we have the same kind of experimental\nproblem that we have in the life of the individual. There can be no\nperfect adjustment among the acts of an individual, and no final\nvaluation of them. There is no perfect balance between present use and\nfuture good, between individual and social values, between desires or\nneeds and functions. The reason for this, we say, is that life is so\ncomplicated and made up of so many functions and of so many\nconflicting desires that it cannot be conducted according to any\nsingle principle or combination of principles. If we think of\ngovernment as only a phase of the widest social living, and so as\nbeing through and through of the nature of the life of the individual,\nwe ought to have the right point of view for all practical\nconsideration of it. We must not expect consistency or perfection in\ngovernment, and we can have no hope of passing absolute and final\njudgments upon it. Radical politics, in our present situation, must be\nregarded as one of our greatest dangers.\n\nDemocracy has become the \"great idea of the age.\" It is our own\nfundamental principle, so we of all people ought to be able to\nunderstand and to defend it--and to _define it_. Yet many writers\ncomplain and more imply that the idea of democracy has never been very\nclear, and perhaps not even very sincere. Sumner says that democracy\nis one of the many words of ambiguous meaning that have played such a\nlarge part in politics. Democracy, he says, is not used as a parallel\nword to aristocracy, theocracy, autocracy, and the like, but is\ninvoked as a power from some outside origin which brings into human\naffairs a peculiar inspiration and an energy of its own.\n\nDemocracy has apparently meant quite different things to different\npeople. To some it is essentially a form of government in which\ncontrol is represented as in the hands of the majority of the people.\nSome seem to have no further interest in democracy, if only they see\nthat the democratic form in government is preserved and jealously\nguarded and the majority by its ballot rules. To some it is the aspect\nof democracy as individualism that has appealed most--freedom of the\nindividual even from the restraint of law and custom--or again\nequality of opportunity. These perhaps think of freedom as a supreme\nvalue in itself. Some think of democracy more in terms of its internal\nconditions or its results. They think of freedom as a means of\n_accomplishing_ good, not as merely _being_ a good. They believe that\nthe good of the individual is not necessarily represented by the\nsatisfaction of his desires, and so perhaps think of the law and order\nof the democratic community, the control and regulation of the\nindividual in his daily life by the will of all, as the essential\nfeature of a democracy.\n\nHere in America, taking our history and our life as a whole, it seems\ncertain that the dominating mood has been the love of _individual\nfreedom_. Our democracy is founded upon the idea of the _rights of the\nman_. But these rights and privileges of the man can be secured only\nby social organization that immediately takes away some of them. So\nour national life, just because of the strong individualism with which\nit began, also began with a firm principle of law and order modifying\nthe idea of freedom. Some would say it began thus in a paradox or a\ndelusion. Even to be morally free was not allowed. The group, in the\nPuritan society at least, exercised strict supervision over the moral\nlife of the individual. Giddings says, in fact, that this experiment\nin moral control on the part of the people over all individuals is one\nof the chief characteristics of American life.\n\n_Our history is the story of an experiment in freedom_, in which\naccording to some we have more and more suppressed the individual.\nGrabo says that the history of democracy here is the story of a dream\nrather than an accomplishment. Such views, however, do not appear to\nbe true representations of the case. They assume that the independence\nof the individual is more real or more realizable than it can be in\nany society. Is it not rather true that _our apparent relinquishment\nof the idea of freedom is the reverse side, so to speak, of the\npersistence throughout our history of an impossible ideal of\nindependence of the individual_? It is individualism, rather than\ncontrol, that has increased. The original freedom was a freedom such\nas comes from the willing participation of the individual in an order\nin which the control was immediate and vested in the whole. Control\nhas become more definite and precise as the individual has become\nfurther removed from the direct influence of the social environment.\nWe have developed relatively too much our original idea of\nindependence, and from time to time elements have been added to our\nnational life that represent an ideal of radical individualism, as for\nexample Jacksonian democracy. Willingness to participate freely in the\nfunctions of society, and desire on the part of the individual to\nperform all his functions, have been relatively too slight. Even in\npolitics it is not so much by the desire to participate in government\nthat we have shown our democratic spirit as by the desire not to be\nindividually governed. The old colonial spirit of cooeperation and\nneighborliness with which we started has been (speaking relatively\nagain) neglected. We have developed toward individualism and control\nrather than toward free association under leadership. We have lacked\nability as individuals to see ourselves from the standpoint of the\nwhole of society. Now, therefore, we are faced by the apparent still\nfurther decline of our principle of freedom, because we see that we\nmay have _efficiency_ only by increasing _authority_.\n\nThe question may fairly be asked whether we are not at a parting of\nthe ways, when our democratic idea must be more clearly defined, and\nwe must decide whether we shall change toward autocracy; or now, at\nthe end of our stage of primitive democracy, enter upon a plane of\nhigher democracy. Sumner says that always in a democracy it is a\nquestion what class shall rule, that the control in a democracy always\ntends to remain either in the hands of the upper class or the lower\nclass, and that the great middle class, the seat of vast powers, is\nnever organized to rule. Such conditions show, again, the effects of\nthe individualism that prevails--national unity and the capacity for\nfree organization without individual or special motives are wanting.\n\nCramb has stated a fundamental truth, from our point of view, in\nsaying that hitherto _democracy has been more interested in its rights\nthan in its duties_. It is very true that the _subjective state of\nfreedom_ has been the real attraction and appeal in our social life.\nIt has brought to our shores vast numbers of people who would\notherwise never have crossed the seas. Perhaps it has brought us too\nmany, and those with too keen a love of freedom. At any rate, the\nquestion is now whether as a people we shall be able to take a more\nadvanced view of the individual, a more functional view, so to speak,\na new and enlarged conception of the meaning and place of the\nindividual man in society. Democracy, in a word, must henceforth,\ncertainly if it is to be a world state or order and not a condition of\nworld-wide anarchy, go beyond the negative idea of _freedom, justice\nand equality_, to a more positive idea of service, in which we think\nof individuals as having more complex, more free and more internal\nrelations among themselves.\n\nIn this idea of democracy, freedom is seen to mean first of all\nfreedom to perform all the functions which belong to an individual as\na part of a highly organized society. It does not include, however,\nfreedom not to perform these functions. It is freedom to lead a normal\nlife, in a word, not freedom to lead an abnormal life. Whether, in\nthis democracy, the performance of these functions will be more or\nless under compulsion, whether the individual will voluntarily\nsurrender certain _rights_ assumed to be inherent in the principle of\n_freedom_, or whether these rights will be taken away by the show of\nforce on the part of authority, seems to depend now mainly upon two\nthings: whether in this society superior leadership will have an\nopportunity and be strong enough to exert deep influence upon the\npeople; and whether, in general, such an educational program can be\ncarried on as will make men susceptible to such leadership, capable of\njudging its values and able also to organize freely for the\naccomplishment of the purpose and functions of the social life. In\nsuch a democratic society as this, it is plain, the evils of\nindividualism and also the evils of control will _tend_ to disappear.\nPerfect identity of individual and social will we should not expect to\nbe attained anywhere.\n\nThe evils of our present democratic society--the individualism, party\npolitics and class rule--appear in sharp relief when we compare\nexisting institutions and the present spirit with what is required in\na true democracy. The old idea that the will of the majority must\nprevail is seen to be inadequate, if we mean by will of the majority\nthe average or the sum of the desires and opinions of the majority.\nThese do not necessarily represent the good, and indeed under existing\nconditions, they cannot. We want the will of the superior man to\nprevail, but to prevail not by force, but by the power of influence.\nThe politicians talk about the soundness of the instincts of the\npeople Something more than instinct is wanted in a democracy.\nInstincts are not progressive. Individualism, the pleasure of the\nmoment, and mediocrity are represented too much by instincts and in\nevery expression of the mere will of the majority. People in the mass\nare governed too much by impulse. Conduct and purpose are too\ndiscontinuous and fragmentary; or perhaps we had better say that the\nstimuli of the moment are too likely to control conduct. Whereas\nsocial life under the influence of the highest type of leadership is\ngoverned by more complex states of consciousness, by moods, which are\nmore original and creative, and in which desires and impulses are no\nlonger the controlling factors in conduct.\n\nThis view of democracy shows that democracy is something still to\ncome. It is not an achieved social order or a well-founded doctrine\nthat must merely be exploited and spread abroad over the world.\nDemocracy is experimental civilization. We do not know whether it\nrepresents the ultimate good in government and society or not, and\nwhether it is destined to continue and to prevail. That will depend,\nwe suppose, upon what we make it. We have our evidences of history,\nbut after all democracy is still based upon assumptions. It is an\nexperimental order, we say, in which we try to realize many desires\nand to harmonize many functions. The final justification of democracy\nmust be in the far future. It must be judged then by its fruits,\nrather than by rationally testing the validity of its principle. Thus\nfar it is a working hypothesis.\n\nThe precise form which government in a democracy ought to take is,\nfrom our present point of view, of secondary importance. Democracy is\na spirit, an idea, a social quality, first of all. A monarchial\ngovernment, though it might be otherwise out of date, might be\nentirely democratic in spirit; and republics, we know, may be anything\nbut democratic. Where control is in the hands of the people and not of\na class, but of the people subject to the best leadership--a\nleadership that is based upon influence rather than upon any excess of\nauthority or show of force, there is democracy, and of this, of\ncourse, the ballot itself is by no means the only test. But where thus\nfar shall we find any democratic society that is so sound that it can\noffer itself as a model to the rest of the world?\n\nMost of the political questions of the day appear to be relative and\nconditioned questions. The question of governmental control of\nindustry is an example. This seems to be a question of expediency, and\nto be conditional upon local needs and the status of particular\ngovernments. It is certainly no fundamental question of the social\norder. Those who make socialism a supreme and universal principle also\nappear to be too radical. Sellars says that socialism is a democratic\nmovement, the purpose of which is to secure an economic organization\nof society that will give a maximum of justice, liberty and\nefficiency. Drake, in \"Democracy Made Safe,\" says that socialism\nimplies equality everywhere; more than that, it means social,\npolitical, economic and legal equality throughout the earth. One\ncannot but feel that these enthusiastic writers are making the mistake\nof undertaking to do by political mutation, so to speak, that which\ncan be accomplished, we may suppose, only by a slow process of\nexperimentation in government, and the still slower but more certain\nmethod of education, in which all people are trained in fundamental\nsocial relations. Radical and venturesome change in so great and\ncomplex an organism as a great nation is now dangerous, because only a\npart of the conditions can be taken into account, and the result,\ntherefore, must be conjectural.\n\nRadical socialism that threatens to throw political power into the\nhands of a political class, or of any social or economic class,\nbolshevism which Dillon (speaking of Russia especially) says is doomed\nto failure because of its sheer economic impossibility, any plan which\ntends to concentrate authority in any class is threatening to our\nfuture. The democratic spirit must hold fast against the rising tide\nfrom the lower classes, just as it has been obliged to contend against\nautocracy. Democracy has on one side to assimilate aristocracy, and\nnot overturn it. So it resists the rise of the proletariat, not to\nturn this force back, even if this were possible, but to control it.\nIt is precisely because of the deep movement of the people--the world\nrevelation and the world revolution, as Weyl calls it--that we must\nmake all political institutions flexible and adjustible, and also\nthrow into the balance all the powers of education and thus save\ndemocracy from itself.\n\nThese dangers to democracy are not to be taken too lightly. Democracy\nindeed faces two dangers. Hobson in \"Democracy After the War\" has\nstated one of them. He says that the war will result in no easy\nvictory for democracy, for the system of caste and bureaucracy is very\nlikely to become fixed. Democracy therefore must be worked for, and to\nthat end there must be a union of all types of reformers. We must play\noff the special interests against one another, says Hobson, work for\nindustrial democracy, educate the people. On the other hand there is\nthat danger from the rising of the masses which Weyl heralds. This war\nunderneath and after the war is as Weyl sees it, the war of the poor\nand exploited against all the exploiters. These elements are at heart\nantagonistic to government. Democracy, if all this be true, is neither\nwell defined as an idea nor well established in the world. An unjust\nand privileged class above and an unwise and uneducated class beneath\nthreaten it. But the case seems by no means hopeless. Indeed the\nremedies and the way of escape seem in a general way plain. Political\nchanges on one side and political education on the other must become,\nwe should suppose, the order of the day.\n\nOf the actual political changes impending and those that ought to be\nadvocated this is not the place to speak, except to say that they must\nby their nature be tentative and experimental. The radical mind is\nto-day one of the most dangerous elements in society, just because all\nthe world over men are very ready to be influenced and are eager for\nchange and are uncritical. Cleveland in an essay entitled _Can\nDemocracy be Efficient?_ exhibits a type of thinking about political\nquestions that ought to appeal to all practical thinkers. It is his\nmethod rather than, in this connection, his conclusions that one\nshould notice. Cleveland would study all countries with reference to\nthe efficiency of their governments in fulfilling what seem to him to\nbe the proper and essential functions of a government, working under\nour present conditions. Germany, France, England and America, he\nobserves, have all adopted different ways of conducting the work of\ngovernment. These essentials of government he reduces to five: 1)\nStrong executive leadership; 2) a well disciplined line organization;\n3) a highly specialized staff organization; 4) adequate facilities for\ninquiry, criticism, and publicity by a responsible personnel\nindependent of the executive; 5) means of effective control in the\nhands of the people and their representatives. Of these principles,\nGermany used only the first three, England left out the second and the\nthird, France used all (but was late in seeing the need), America has\nleft out all of them.\n\nThis is the type of thought, we suggest, that seems best adapted to\nmeet present requirements for a practical theory of government.\nAnalysis of the functions of government, critical examination of the\nneeds of the present time, and a plan of modifying what already\nexists, rather than of making revolutionary changes, seem to be the\nright direction of progress.\n\nIf the source of power in the future is to be vested in the people,\nthe education of the people with reference to their function as rulers\nwill naturally be one of the most vital and permanent of the\nrequirements of the social life. Dickinson says that the time has gone\nby for entrusting the destinies of nations to the wisdom of experts.\nIf this be true, and popular opinion is to supersede the wisdom of the\nexperts, if the people are really to have power, and be competent\ncritics of good government, or merely to become good material in the\nhands of constructive statesmanship, education must include or be\nessentially _political education_. The people must be educated _for_\ndemocracy, but also made competent to _create_ democracy.\n\nOf course everything we do in the school, the intention of the school\nto represent what is best in civilization, and to be a center in which\ncreative forces come together has some reference to education for the\ndemocratic life, but there are also more definite and more\nspecifically political things to be taught. And yet, if what we have\nsaid before has any truth in it, it seems certain that no educational\npolicy at the present time can include the teaching of specific\npolitical _doctrines_, or try to prejudice the minds of children or\nthe people to any political creed. We are in a position in regard to\npolitical teaching very similar to that in which we stand about\nreligion: we must not teach creed, but we may and must teach natural\nreligion. We cannot teach politics as such, but we must teach natural\ndemocracy, or at least the fundamental social habits and functions.\n\nThere are two essential educational problems of democracy that have\nespecial reference to the political aspects of it. The first is to\nteach universally in as practical a manner as possible the materials\nout of which political wisdom may be derived. We maintain that the\nlack of political education and experience is one of the most serious\ndefects of the German people. These people are at first submissive to\nan extraordinary degree and then they become dangerously\nrevolutionary. The lack of political competence is shown in both\ncases. We wish, of course, neither of these excesses in our own\ncountry. And yet we do have to cope at the present time with both a\ntendency to fanaticism, radicalism and intense partisanship, and with\nindifference and ignorance of the nature and purpose of our\ninstitutions and government. Both the indifference and the\npartisanship play into the hands of party politics, and no advantages\ngained by the balance of parties in opposition to one another can\ncompensate for the loss of energy and the encouragement of inefficient\nservice the system fosters.\n\nTo help offset these tendencies it must be possible to give to all\nyouths, and of course we mean both sexes, through our educational\nsystem and otherwise an education in politics, and besides this some\npractical experience in public service in institutions and in\norganizations. This is a vital spot in education in a democracy; we\nhave tried too much to reform or make progress in government from\nwithin the political system itself, and too little by going back to\nthe ultimate sources of social life and educating the people as a\nwhole with reference to playing their part in political life.\n\nThe work of education in the field of politics is not merely to give\ninformation, but to establish what we may best call _morale_. We need\nan attitude and spirit throughout the public life of the nation in\nwhich there shall be constantly displayed the same qualities which we\nsee so quickly coming to light in time of war. Enthusiasm, seriousness\nof purpose, devotion of the individual to common purpose are the\nessential elements of this war spirit. To produce and sustain this in\nthe activities of peace is an _educational_ problem. The first task is\npresumably to establish the causes and the organizations through which\nthey may be served, but _political education itself consists largely\nin the production of public spirit_. The correction of evils in the\npolitical system is of course but a small part of the work of\npolitical reform. Dowd says that it is the low personal idealism of\nmankind that creates our multitudinous social problems and strews the\npath of history with wreck and ruin. That is of course true. Raising\nthe quality of the personal idealism of the people is the real work of\npolitical education. Political thought which is most concerned as it\nis now with securing advantage for party, class and individual must be\nsuperseded by a wider interest in government as a means of aiding the\nperformance of the functions of the individual and the group. It is\nthe purpose to be accomplished by government, not its form, and\ncertainly not the interest of the few or of any class that must be\nemphasized, until partisan politics no longer dominates our political\nlife. To accomplish this change means, we say, raising the quality of\nthe personal idealism of the people. This may seem an ideal and\nimpossible task, but we have some of our experiences of the war at\nleast to give us encouragement.\n\nIf we wish to consider details, we may notice that in an educational\nprocess having such ends as we have suggested, the teaching of civics,\nfor example, becomes more functional, the teaching of what an\nindividual in a community and what all governments do, rather than\nanalyzing the structure of government. Such civics teaches the meaning\nof individuals as having functions which are represented and fulfilled\nin the institutions and organizations of society, including every\ndepartment of government. It is not the intention to enter here into\nthe special problems in regard to the content and method of teaching\ncivics in the schools, although it is evident that this subject must\nhave an increased place in the future. We already see advances both in\nthe purpose and the plan of civics teaching and in the literature\nprepared for the schools. Dunn, for example, makes fundamental in all\nthe teaching of civics the question, What are the common interests\nwhich people in communities are seeking? Tufts also tries to deal with\nthe fundamental ideas upon which government is based.\n\nPresentation of facts is surely a necessary part of all education, for\nit is an indispensable means of giving the content of experience upon\nwhich wisdom as a selective appreciation of experience is based. But\nerudition is only a part of education. We must hold firmly now to the\nprinciple which is indeed an aspect of the democratic ideal itself,\nthat participation is also a necessary part of education.\nInstitutions become real to the child through the child's association\nwith them in some active way. We shall probably see the idea of free\norganization carried far, and in every organization and every\ninstitution, private and public, there must, we believe, be some place\nfor the services and the interest of all. Let us take the position\nthat there is nothing in government, in any of its branches, that is\noutside the sphere of the practical life of the individual and we\nshall have the right point of view even for the work of the school\nroom. Government, in a word, is not a specialization of function in\nwhich the few are involved, but it is a generic function, the means,\nwe assert, of carrying to completion all the projects of individuals\nin all their social relations. Therefore all, not merely those who\njust now are included among voters, but all women and children, must\nhave a part in the general education for democracy and also have a\npart in some way in the institutions of government. From first to last\ngovernment must be thought of and understood in terms of what it does,\nas a phase of the total social life of the nation, not as something\noutside the social order. Government is a collective activity. It is\nas an aspect of the day's work of the nation, that government must be\nimpressed upon all--both legal citizens and citizens in the making.\n\nThe second phase of the educational problem in regard to government is\nperhaps after all only the first in another form. If we hope to have a\ndemocratic civilization in any real sense anywhere, we must secure\nefficiency and superiority both in individual and in social conduct,\nnot mainly by the exertion of authority (except as a temporary\nmake-shift) but by making all the people of a nation susceptible to\nthe influences of the best life and thought the nation contains. This\nmeans the voluntary and intentional development of leadership. This we\nhave spoken of as a general need; it is also a phase of political\neducation. The genius, the leader, must of course himself be produced\nin part by education. We must have such conditions as shall allow\nnatural leadership to come to the surface, and every spark of genius\nmust be carefully nourished. But there must be also opportunity for\nwhat the genius produces to work its effect upon all, as a stimulating\nand directing force, in turn arousing the creative activities of the\npeople. Democracy seems to be wholly dependent upon what seems now the\naccident of genius for raising it above the mediocrity of the average,\nor even preventing a decline in its civilization. It is this idea of\nthe relation of the best to the average that James evidently thought\nto be the fundamental point in education. Education consists in his\nview in the development of ability to recognize the good in every\ndepartment of life, the ability to recognize all sham and inferiority\nand the habit of responding to and choosing the best. Applied to the\nproblems of government, this means such a method of educating the\nyoung as will make all susceptible to and appreciative of the superior\nqualities of mind and character that may be exhibited in public life.\nSuch responsiveness being itself creative and a powerful factor in\nproducing and bringing to the front the superior man, it must be\nregarded as one of the most necessary and fundamental qualities of a\ndemocracy.\n\nWe might single out the teaching of history and biography as the best\nmeans of educating the appreciative powers in regard to values in\nhuman life, and the best means of facilitating the emergence of the\nbest individuals and the best principles, and of making their\ninfluence powerful, but after all it is something more than any or all\nteaching that is required. Most fundamentally, no one can refuse to\nadmit it is such an organization of the whole educational situation as\nwill allow, or rather cause and encourage, precisely the total of the\ngood and progressive life of the world to play upon the mood and the\nspirit of the school. Assuredly the school is not to-day so\nfortunately situated. It is too much removed from some influences and\nfar too closely joined to others. Much of the good of society is\nwalled out from the school by barriers that arise in politics, City\nways, all the bad life of the streets, the trivial interests of the\nday, affect the school too much. We are greatly at fault in all this,\nbecause we do not take education as yet seriously enough. There must\nbe now a decision. Either the school must be content to remain what it\nis now, a local institution performing a very limited service, or it\nmust arise to quite new heights, and mean far more as a civilizing and\ncreative force than it has thus far. The school must occupy more hours\nof the day and more days in the year. It must claim the child more\ncompletely. It must extend its influences further, and draw its life\nfrom a deeper soil. We certainly shall never allow the school to\nbecome a great evil in society, but it is almost as bad morally to\nleave it but a feeble good. Let no one speak any longer of good\nschools. Our schools were good for yesterday, perhaps. But of\nto-morrow's needs they are not yet even fully aware. The school has\nyet to learn with certainty to lay hold upon the fundamental things in\nthe nature of the child, and to appreciate the child's real and\ngreatest needs. Continuity and creativeness are still for the most\npart beyond the powers of the school.\n\nBut perhaps after all we are asking the impossible. Perhaps the forces\nneeded cannot be brought to bear upon the child. Perhaps conditions\nare too unfavorable, and an educational situation cannot be devised\nthat will be greatly superior to what we have already. Perhaps the\ntime is too short. Perhaps worst of all the nature of the child\nhimself is too trivial and unpromising. But if we believe this, we\ncertainly at the same time conclude that democracy is a failure and is\nnot in any true sense possible at all. Democracy cannot be created by\nforces from without, for this would be indeed a negation of its\nnature. Democracy is self-creative. It grows from within. But how can\nit grow from within unless the new life which enters into it be\ncreative; and how can this life be creative and progressive unless it\nbe so lived that it shall absorb all the good the old life has in it,\nand also be inspired to go beyond it in every possible way? Unless\ndemocracy is merely a product and natural direction of growth in\nsociety, democracy and education are not unrelated to one another. If\ndemocracy is a good that can be obtained only by conscious effort, we\nmay suppose that one of the greatest factors in producing it will be\neducation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nINDUSTRY AND EDUCATION\n\n\nWe have as yet no deep philosophy of industry. For better or for worse\nwork came into the world as a result of desire. Men did not desire\nwork, but they desired that which could be obtained only by work.\nThese desires multiplied and the modern industrial world is the\nresult. When material objects alone were desired, the motive of work\nwas relatively simple; but as we pass from the desire for goods to the\ndesire for wealth, and to the desire for wealth as a means of gaining\npower and prestige, the industrial movement becomes more complex. We\ngo on and on, producing ever greater wealth and generating more and\nmore power, and we do this we say with no deep purpose and with no\nphilosophy of life. For the justification of it all, if it be under\nour control at all, we can only say that through industry we realize\nan abundant and enriched life.\n\nThe good and evil of work put upon us some of the most perplexing of\nour problems. Industry, we say, is the way to the rich and the\nabundant life. It makes life more complex. The relations of life are\nmultiplied by it. It represents and it achieves man's conquest over\nnature. It puts force into his hands. It has its ideal side and its\nromance. It gives scope to pure motives of creativeness. But the\nindustrial life has also its dark side. It has created the city with\nall its good and its evil. It has created great nations, but see what\nthe added populations consist of. It brings on the old age of nations.\nIt stands for struggle that is often fruitless and unproductive. It\nengenders moods and arouses interests and powers that lead to wars\nand revolutions. It fosters sordid interests, and has made almost\nuniversal the necessity of an excess of toil in order barely to live.\nThe great majority of workers do not live in their work, because they\nproduce nothing that is in itself satisfying. The spirit remains\noutside their daily life. Life is divided into a period of toil\nwithout deep interest and motive, and play which may be only a\nnarcotic to kill the sense of monotony and fatigue. Individuals have\nspecialized at the expense of a whole life. Men have been exploited\nand used like material things. Bergson says that by industry man has\nincreased his physical capacities, but now it is likely that his soul\nwill become mechanized rather than that his soul will become great\nlike his new body. Industry, worst of all, has become an end in\nitself, rather than a means to higher ends. To live, on the one hand,\nto gain wealth on the other, men give all there is in them to toil.\n\nWe saw all this before the war, but one important result of the war\nhas been that we now see that this industrial life which has so\nrapidly created new institutions, and which grips the world almost\nlike a physical law, is not in all its ways so fixed and inevitable as\nwe had perhaps thought. In regard to the industrial life, more than in\nany other department of life, we see new and radical thought, and the\npossibility of conscious effects, although it must be admitted that\nsome of the proposed changes may well cause apprehension.\n\nWe had hoped, even before the war, to see industry and art become\ngradually more closely related, and to see industry become more\nsocialized. Its physical hardships were to some extent already being\nameliorated. We hoped to separate the great industrial interests from\npolitics, and to curb the powers industry has that make it a trouble\nproducer in the world. But now, after the war, we see possibilities of\nmore fundamental changes in the industrial order than these\nimprovements implied. Our thoughts now touch upon the whole theory of\nthe industrial life. We see that by a cooerdinated effort and common\nunderstanding which it is no longer chimerical to hope for, the\nconditions of the industrial life might be very different. In the\nfirst place we are convinced that the world could produce vastly more\nand could use its products with far greater economy than now. We see\nthat much greater return for less labor could be gained. Even the\ndesires themselves upon which many of the evils of industrialism are\nbased have shown themselves to be controllable. It is no longer idle\nto believe that the restraint and cooeperation necessary to eliminate\nmost of the poverty from the world are possible to be attained. The\nisolation of the individual worker, which has made his struggle so\nhard, seems about to be relieved to some extent at least. We even hope\nfor permanently better relations between the capitalist and the\nlaborer, and to see some of the evils of competition, even the\nindustrial competition among nations, lessened.\n\nAlthough the interest here is in the relations of industry to\neducation, rather than in the practical changes pending in the\nindustrial world, we must think of the two as related. Changes that\ntake place in political and industrial conditions will be likely to be\ntemporary and ineffectual unless they are supported by changes in the\nfield of education. The reformer and the educator must work together.\n\nNoyes says that the most fundamental change that has occurred during\nthe war has been the world-wide assertion of public control of\nindustry by the government. Perkins says that centralization is the\norder of the day, and that the government now properly takes on many\nfunctions that once belonged to the states, and that this process of\ncentralization naturally extends to international relations. Smith\nspeaks of the growing interdependence of government and industry which\nwill especially give security to investment in productive enterprises.\nHesse says that there must be national team work in all industries,\nand that in a democracy everything that autocracy can accomplish must\nbe repeated, but upon a basis of voluntary cooeperation. In France it\nhas been proposed by Alfassa that there shall be established a\ndepartment of national economy, to bring about a closer cooeperation\nthan there has been in the past among private interests, and to\ncentralize industry. Wehle thinks that in America, even before the\nwar, industrial concentration was leading to political concentration\nand that the states were losing their relative political importance.\nThe grappling of states individually with large industrial problems is\nnow, he says, at an end. Dillon has expressed the view that England\nought to adopt industrial compulsion. Clementel, the French minister\nof commerce, thinks France ought to substitute for liberty without\nrestraint in the industrial field, liberty organized and restricted.\n\nThere can be no doubt that the world is thoroughly awake to the need\nof more effectual cooeperation in industry, and it is natural that the\nfirst thoughts should turn to government control as the simplest and\nreadiest method of securing it. When we examine these suggestions\nabout the cooerdination and centralization of industries it becomes\nevident that most writers have been strongly influenced by Germany's\nremarkable success, both in peace and war, under the system of\ngovernmental control of industries. The manner in which the German\ngovernment turned all the country into one great industrial plant has\nappealed to the imagination, and many writers see in centralization\nunder the control of government the means of curing most of the evils\nof industrialism. There are many proposals, all the way from the plan\nto introduce cabinet ministers with limited power to have oversight\nover industry to the total abolishment of the capitalistic system and\nall the rights of property. Many of course, while still believing in\nconcentration and cooeperation, cling to the system of private and\nindividual ownership, and believe that the best results will be\nobtained in the end without any radical change in the relations\nbetween government and industry, and without resorting to any\nsocialistic reform.\n\nAnother phase of the problem of industry in which we may expect to see\ngreat changes in the future concerns the status of labor and its\nrelation to capital. The rising of the laboring class is certainly the\ngreatest internal result of the war. Here again the question is\nwhether the changes will take place by cooeperation or by\ncompulsion--either on the part of government or of some organized\nclass. Will labor and capital continue to be antagonistic, or will\nthey find common interest; or will the only solution be again some\nradical change involving change of government or abrogation entirely\nof our present system of ownership? That the position of labor has\nbecome stronger as a result of the war no one can doubt. Perkins says\nwe are just entering upon a period of copartnership, when the\ntool-user will be part tool-owner, and capital and labor will share\nmore equally in the profits. Increase in wages will not be the remedy,\nbut only profit sharing. Others think the same; they see that the\nlaborer's discontent is not all a protest against his hard physical\nconditions. He wants more social equality, more equality of status in\nthe industrial world. He objects not so much to what the capitalist\nhas as to what he is.\n\nThere has no more illuminating document come out of the war than the\nreport on reconstruction made by a subcommittee of the British Labor\nParty. This report calls for a universal minimum wage; complete state\ninsurance of the workers against unemployment; democratic control of\nindustries; thorough participation by the workers in such control on\nthe basis of common ownership of the means of production; equitable\nsharing of the proceeds by all who engage in production; state\nownership of the nation's land; immediate nationalization of\nrailroads, mines, electric power, canals, harbors, roads and\ntelegraph; continued governmental control of shipping, woolen,\nleather, clothing, boots and shoes, milling, baking, butchering, and\nother industries; a system of taxation on incomes to pay off the\nnational debt, without affecting the living of those who labor.\n\nAlthough such a document as this could hardly up to the present time\nhave been produced by American workmen, since here political doctrines\nof socialism have never obtained a strong hold upon the laboring\nclasses, in England these radical demands are nothing surprising. They\nhave the support at many points of so keen a thinker as Russell.\nRussell does not, it is true, believe that Marxian socialism is the\nsolution of the problem of capital and labor, but he does believe in\nthe state ownership of all land, that the state therefore should be\nthe primary recipient of all rents, that a trade or industry must be\nrecognized as a unity for the purposes of government, with some kind\nof home rule such as syndicalism aims at securing. Industrial\ndemocracy, as planned in the cooeperative movement, or some form of\nsyndicalism, appears to him to be the most promising line of advance.\n\nThat such demands and proposals as these are significant signs of the\ntimes can hardly be doubted. That from now the status of the workman\nwill be changed and changed in directions more satisfactory to the\nworkman we may accept as one of the chief results of the war.\nPolitically the laborer is prepared to assert his independence. Both\nhis social and his industrial status are likely to be improved. He\nwill be better safeguarded against unemployment. Wages in the old form\nand the old tradition that the worker has no contract with his\nemployer will, in all probability, be less generally acceptable. Work,\nif these new conditions are realized, will mean more to the worker.\nHis own interests and the purposes of his work will be more\nharmoniously related. The individual made more secure in his work,\nprotected more by law and participating more in the affairs of\nbusiness and government, will have a sense of playing a more dignified\npart in the social economy. Conceal as we may the inferiority of the\nlaborer's position under the pretenses of democracy and liberty and\nequality, this inferiority of position exists and the inequality that\nprevails in democratic society is certainly one of the fertile sources\nof evil in the world to-day. We have still to see to what extent the\nworkman, his lot ameliorated in many ways, and his position changed,\nwill himself become a new and different man, and thus make the world\nitself a different place in which to live. All that is thus suggested\nwe have a right at least to hope for now. If it is also worked for\nwith intelligence and good will, why should it not come to pass?\n\nThe third idea which is beginning to make great changes in the whole\nfield of the industrial life and throughout all the practical life is\nthe _idea of economy_. This means that in many ways questions of the\nvalues, the purposes, and the ways and means of what is done in the\nworld are being sharply examined. Labor has been uncritical of its\npurposes, and lavish and wasteful of its energies, however watchful it\nmay have been of its rights. Production has been governed too much by\ndesire, too little by careful consideration of need. Distribution has\nbeen carelessly conducted, allowing large losses of time and material.\nConsumption has been quite as careless as the rest, and has been\nthoroughly selfish as well. The war has changed many of our ideas.\nThrift has become a word with a new meaning. We see what industry at\nits worst might do in the world, and on the other hand what wise\ncontrol of all the motives and processes that enter into labor and all\nthe economic life might accomplish.\n\nSome of these changes are coming from readjustment in the cooerdination\nof industrial processes themselves. We hear much of standardization\nand stabilization. An economic technique and the control of\nfluctuating conditions might do much to increase the efficiency of\nindustry in every way. This idea of the application of scientific\nprocedure to life we see extending to the control of the energies of\nthe human factor. We have already spoken of guarantees that affect the\nspirit and the morale of labor. We hear of the prevention of\nunemployment, the removal of the bugbear of \"losing the job.\" Most\nadvance of all is being made in the application of the principles of\nmental and physical hygiene and of scientific management to the actual\ndetails of movement and the whole process of expenditure of energy,\ncounting costs in terms of time and energy, in much the same way as\nall the items of value that enter into production are estimated. Some\nwriters, for example Gilbreth, see in this movement a great advance.\nIt is a way of giving equal opportunity to all. Economy becomes a\nfactor in freedom, since it helps to eliminate the drudgery and\ndepression of toil.\n\nPlainly, then, economy or thrift has a much wider meaning than mere\nsaving. It is many-sided, and the study of economy in the use of\nessentials is but a part of it. The war has, of course, emphasized\nthis, and this idea of saving has served the purpose of awakening an\ninterest in the whole theory and purpose of work. There is a better\nunderstanding of values, and of the difference between the essential\nand the unessential, and we see that not all labor that commands pay\nis useful labor. Many things that the public knew but little about\nbefore are becoming better understood. Industry, finance, business,\ntaxes, transportation, have all to some extent become popular\nsubjects. The present high cost of living raises questions in the\ntheory of the economic aspect of life that have compelled the\nattention of the public. The theory of money, interest, savings,\nforeign investments, the place of gold in the world's economy is\ncarried a step further and is popularly more extended. We hear all\nsorts of proposals about the production, the distribution and the\nconsumption of goods, which are intended to make living easier and\nless expensive. Increased production of staples and more direct route\nfrom producer to consumer are urged upon all, and the economists have\nmany suggestions for increasing our prosperity: while financiers try\nto direct to the best purpose our investments at home and abroad.\nFisher attacks the whole theory of costs at what he believes its root,\nsuggesting a plan of \"stabilizing the dollar itself\" by using the\nindex numbers of standard articles as units of value, and regulating\nthe weight of gold in the dollar according to the fluctuations of\nthese. All these plans, hasty and narrowly conceived as many of them\nseem to be, are of interest and have value, for they indicate a\nserious determination to solve the fundamental problems of the\npractical life.\n\nAny educational theory that could hope to deal adequately with the\nneeds and the impending changes in the industrial situation of to-day\nmust take into consideration the basic facts both of the individual\nand the social life. Teaching of industry and all attempts to teach\nvocation must be seen by all now to be but a small part of education\nwith reference to the industrial life. We must do much more\nfundamental things than these. We must plan far ahead and seek to lay\na firm foundation for the idea of cooeperation which appears to be the\nleading thought of industrialism to-day. Every individual, we should\nsay, ought to be educated in the fundamentals of labor, so that he may\nunderstand for himself what labor means. Finally the idea of thrift in\nall its implications must be made a part of the educational program.\nAll this may seem too ideal and impracticable to think of in\nconnection with industrial education, but if we consider industry and\nindustrialism as the center of our whole civilization, as it appears\nto be now, what less ideal educational foundation will be sufficient\nas preparation for and control of the industrial life? No teaching of\ntrades, we assert, will be enough. We shall need to apply, in\nindustrial education or in an educational plan that takes industry\ninto account, all the methods of teaching: those that employ industry\nitself, but also art, erudition, and play.\n\nIt is first with industrialism as a world condition that education is\nconcerned. Industrialism has been, as all must recognize, too\nindividualistic. It has motives and moods and products, and it grows\nin social conditions, that are full of danger for society.\nIndustrialism lacks a soul, as Bergson would say. Yet it is a movement\nthat sweeps on with almost irresistible force. Its most characteristic\nproduct is not what it turns out in shops, but city life itself. Many\nwould agree with Russell in saying that all the great cities are\ncenters of deterioration in the life of their nations. Education,\nthen, must undertake to control industrialism. This does not mean,\nnecessarily, that it must try to check it, but that the motives in\nindividual and social life that produce industrialism must in some way\nbe under the control of educational forces.\n\nFirst of all it seems certain that no political arrangement, and no\nchange taking place entirely within the industrial system itself, and\nno simple and direct educational procedure will give us control over\nthe forces of industrialism. It is mainly by preventing the city\nspirit or mood from developing too fast and thus engulfing the\nchildren of the nation that we can introduce a conscious factor strong\nenough to hold industrial development within bounds. This means, we\nmust earnestly demand, turning back the flow of life from country to\ncity by educating all children in the environment of the country. This\nwould have a double effect upon the industrialism of the day. _It\nwould break up the present inevitable inheritance by the city child of\nall the ideals and moods of the city, and it would give opportunity\nfor training in the activities that are basic to all industry, which\nalone, in our view, can give to industry a solid and normal\nfoundation._ By such effects, in such a general way, upon the children\nof an industrial nation, we might reasonably hope to prevent the evil\neffects upon our national life from the fatigue, the routine, and the\ndeadening of the spirit which even under improved conditions cannot be\novercome in an industrial life that is left to its monotonous grind\nand its morbid excitements and exaggerations.\n\nAnother work that education must in the end do for the industrial life\nis to infuse into it an ideal and a purpose. Industry is too\nindividualistic, we say. It works for a living, for power, from\nnecessity. It lacks through and through as yet the spirit of free and\nintelligent cooeperation for common and remote ends. Cooeperation in the\nindustrial world, we have seen reason to believe, is likely to be the\ngreat word of the future. It is precisely the work of education to\nmake the future of industry an expression of free activity, to make it\ndemocratic, and to such an extent, we might hope, that socialism,\nwhether as a governmental interference or as a class system, would not\nbe necessary--or possible. In trying to give industrialism an ideal,\nwe must presumably go back to elemental mental processes. We must, in\nthe beginning, present the world's work dramatically to the child. We\nmust give work interest, and it is certainly one of the chief purposes\nof that nondescript subject we call geography thus to give the child a\ndeep appreciation of the world as a world of men and women engaged in\nwork. We must show industry as a world-wide purpose, not as something\nessentially individual and competitive. We must show it as an\nadventure on the part of man in which he goes forth to seek conquest\nover the physical world; we must think of it as a means to an end, of\nfulfilling purposes not all of which perhaps can as yet be foreseen,\nbut which certainly can be no mere satisfaction of the individual's\ndesires of the day. This is what we mean by putting a soul into\nindustry. Soul means purpose--purpose which includes more than the\ndesires of the individual, and in which the interests of the world as\na whole are involved. Industry that has thus a purpose, and that is\nimbued with a spirit of freedom takes its place among the psychic\nforces and becomes a part of the mechanism of mental evolution. It is\nthis idealism of industry, toward the production of which we must turn\nevery educational resource, that must offset its materialism. This is,\nin part, the work of the aesthetic experiences, the dramatic\npresentation of the day's work to the child; but art can of course\nwork only upon the soil of experience; the child must see the world\nteeming with human activity, but he must observe it in a detached way,\nrather than as a participant in its realism and its dull and its\nunwholesome moods. Then we shall have a content upon which the\naesthetic motives can work. In this idealized industrial experience, we\ntry to make visible the real motives which in the future must dominate\nthe world's work.\n\nAll this may seem too general and too ideal, but if we do not begin\nwith broad plans, and if we do not take a far look ahead, we shall\nfail now at a vital point of the social development of man. The result\nat which we aim is _the socialisation of the motives of industry_. We\nmake work voluntary by bringing into it persuasively and insidiously\ndeep motives and interests which represent social purposes and ideals.\nGiven these motives and the beginning of a change from the relatively\nmore individualistic to the relatively more social spirit in industry,\nthe actual means of cooeperation would not be far to seek. Work would\nbecome by its own inner development under such conditions, something\ndifferent from an unwilling service of the individual, a compulsory\nservice to family or state. Everything we can do to give to children\nand to all workers an intelligent appreciation of the social meaning\nand purpose of work is both industrial training and an education in\nbasic social relations. This socialization of the moods of work and\nthe founding of them upon the necessary experiences, is as important\nas anything education is at the present time called upon to do. Given\nthis foundation, precisely the form industrial education, in the\nordinary sense, shall take, seems to be of secondary importance.\n\nTurning now to another phase of the industrial problem on its\neducational side, one cannot escape the conviction that the rising\ntide of the powers of labor presents urgent problems to the educator.\nThe common man, as we call him, is to take a greater part in the\naffairs of business and state, and the education of the common man\nwith reference to the especial capacity, as worker, in which he seeks\nthis new position, becomes highly important. This education of the\npeople with specific reference to work is of course something more\nthan teaching vocation. Education, indeed, with any explicit attention\nto labor itself, whether in its industrial or its political\nimplications, is but a part of the educational problem. All education\nfor the democratic life is involved in it. The whole problem of\nspecialization comes up, and indeed all questions of social education\nin one form or another.\n\nSpecialization, in particular, can no longer be treated with the\nindifference that has so far characterized our industrial education.\nThe ideal of fitting the boy for work is as naive in one way as that\nof our generalized education is in another. _If the war has taught us\nanything beyond a doubt, it is that specialization must never be such\na differentiation as shall infringe upon the common ground of human\nnature._ We must take this into consideration in all our vocational\ntraining. We must preserve an identity in all the fundamental\nexperiences. In a democracy this appears to be wholly necessary, and\nto outweigh all considerations of efficiency. The individual must be\nkept whole and generic, so that each individual is an epitome, so to\nspeak, of the virtues and the ideals of the nation. The humanity of\nthe man must be first, and his special function secondary. This does\nnot imply that we must not give to all children individual and\nvocational training. All must be directed towards life work. We may\neven carry vocational training further than it has been extended\nanywhere as yet, but we must see that industry occupies the right\nplace in the school, and in all educational processes. It is neither\nthe whole method and purpose of the school, nor something simply added\nto the curriculum. It is a phase of the life of the school, both in\nits active and its receptive states. The child must live in an\natmosphere in which both present and future usefulness are assumed and\nprovided for. The idea of a life of work must be made early an\naccepted plan of the child, and it must be one of the entirely general\ntasks of the school to see that the tendency of the child in the\nschool is toward occupation. Occupation must in fact be made to grow\nnaturally out of the life the child leads in the school.\n\nAll those disharmonies in our industrial countries such as the\nprevalent discord between working and capitalistic classes seem, we\nhave said, to be social rather than economic in nature. Social\neducation, then, is the main cure for them, if we wish to attack them\nat their root. The motives of pride and the sense of inferiority have\nto be dealt with in a practical manner. We sometimes quite overlook\nthe importance of habitual moods or states of feeling in society and\nin the school. These moods are powers which motivate conduct. Any form\nof education in which the poorer and less favored are given an\nopportunity to acquire the experiences, and through these the moods,\nthat especially distinguish the more favored class, strikes at the\ngeneral disparity in society which takes form in such antagonisms as\nthat between capital and labor. It is not difference in degree but\ndifference in kind of experience that appears to separate the classes\nfrom one another. The difference seems to lie in those parts of life\nwhich are sometimes believed to be the unessentials and which indeed\nour whole educational policy assumes apparently to be trivial. _The\nfundamental differences between the poor and the rich, the favored and\nthe common people, is in the sphere of the aesthetic._ Distinction of\nmanner and an environment rich in aesthetic qualities are the main\nadvantages of the few, as compared with the many. Social experience is\nwhat is most needed by the many, but of course this experience can\nnever be gained by making the educational institutions merely\ndemocratic, and especially social experience cannot be gained in a\nschool in which all situations are studiously avoided in which really\nsignificant social relations are likely to be experienced. We gain no\nsocial experience in the naive and the highly special activities of\nthe school which for the most part is arranged in such a way as to\nexclude organized social relations. This is a process in which such\nleveling as there is tends to be downward, whereas what we need is for\nall the truly aristocratic elements in our national life to have an\nopportunity to propagate themselves and to extend to the many. Leaving\naside the need of a differently organized social life in the school,\nwe might say that there is hardly a greater need in democratic\ncountries now than that of recruiting the rank and file of teachers\nfrom a socially superior class. These socially favored individuals\nhave given themselves loyally to the service of country in a time of\nwar, for two if no more of their deepest motives have been appealed\nto--the dramatic interest and the spirit of _noblesse oblige_. There\nare duties in times of peace which are quite as important, but which\nas yet appeal to no strong motive, and have not even been presented in\nthe form of obligation. Once these common tasks were made to appear a\npart of the fulfillment of duty to country, the way to finding deep\nsatisfaction in them might be opened. Social and dramatic elements\nwould be introduced as a matter of course.\n\nAnother need throughout our whole effort to educate all in and for a\nlife of work, one which has appealed to many writers in recent years,\nis the need of making all the experience of work more creative or more\nfree and animated or joyous in mood. _This means, again, that in all\nindustrial education the mood must be social and the form aesthetic or\ndramatic._ Social values must be felt through social activity, and the\nsense of worth in labor and of value of the product which is felt in\nthe social mood must be enhanced by the dramatic form of the activity\nand the artistic quality of the product. This is also the condition\nfor creative activity. Some writers apparently now see in this need of\nmaking the activity of all those who work more creative, more free and\nmore joyous the crucial problem of education and of social adjustment.\nThis is Russell's constant theme. Helen Marot in \"Creative Industry\"\nsays that our problem is to develop an industrial system that shall\nstimulate and satisfy the native impulse for creative production. It\nis difficult to see how, by any other educational process than one\nwhich is essentially aesthetic and social, we can make much headway\ntoward changing the conception of work from the now prevalent one of a\nmeans of making a living, more or less under compulsion, to that of a\nvoluntary social act done both for its utility from the standpoint of\nthe individual and also because of its social value, and performed to\nsome extent, however humble the work, in the spirit of the creative\nartist.\n\nFor the adult generation that now works (and for how many generations\nto come we do not know), we cannot hope to make ideal conditions. Work\nwill still be work, with its evil implications, as toil without\ncomplete inner satisfaction, and without sufficiently free motives.\nBut the direction in which practical changes should be made seems\nclear. There must still be a lessening of the hours of routine labor,\nuntil there are perhaps no longer more than six or five devoted to\nvocation. The remainder of life is not for idleness but must be in\npart productive or the lessened hours of routine will not be possible.\nThere must be possibility of both practical and recreational\nactivities outside the regular day's work, as well as for educational\nwork, all of these in part at least publicly provided for. This\nactivity may serve many purposes and accomplish a variety of results.\nAs educational it ought to open up new opportunities; it must fulfill\nthe desire for creative activity; it must be a socializing power; it\nmust lead to an appreciation of the nature and value of skill and\nefficiency; it must introduce all to the higher world of art and the\nintellectual life. Above all it must impress deeply the truth that\ngrowth in the normal life is never ended.\n\nThe third phase of industrial education which is to be emphasized now\nis the teaching of what we have called _thrift_. This idea of thrift,\nfor pedagogical purposes, is equivalent to the broad principle that\npurposes in this world are achieved by the expenditure of force--by\nthe control of energies which are not unlimited in amount as now\ncontrolled and which are subject to definite laws. Since objects which\nare to be secured by the expenditure of energy differ in value it is a\npart of this education in thrift, indeed an important and necessary\npart, to give to all such knowledge and powers of appreciation as will\nenable them to recognize that which is essential, and to give the\nessential and the unessential their proper places in the whole economy\nof life.\n\nIt will never be right of course to inspire a parsimonious spirit in\nregard either to goods or to energies. Life itself and all its\nenergies must be given freely; material goods must not be evaluated\ntoo minutely. The miserly life is not what we wish to teach. Still\nthere is a wise attitude toward all material things and toward all\nvalues which recognizes goods as means to ends, which places true\nvalues high and demands economy in the use of all things that must be\nconserved in order to attain them.\n\nIt must be a part of the work of physiology, which thus branches out\ninto psychology, to teach to all the efficient use of human energies.\nThese energies are the precious things in the world; they must be\nvalued and respected as the source of all efficiency. The idea of\neconomy of movement, from this standpoint, has an important place in\nall motor or industrial or manual training. Processes must be\nregarded as definite series of acts in which we may approach\nperfection. Technique in motor operations is not to be regarded\nlightly as a mere finish applied to useful acts. It is the expression\nof an ideal of efficiency and economy. Children recognize the value of\ntechnique in games; its wider and more practical application needs to\nbe impressed.\n\nIn the same way knowledge of the precise values and uses of material\nthings ought to be imparted. The war has had the effect of showing all\nof us the values of materials and the relations of materials to one\nanother. It has given us a sense of the great powers of natural\nwealth, and also of its limitations and the weak points that exist now\nin our economy. The war has proved to us how closely related the\nthings we use lavishly and wastefully may be to the most ideal\npossessions. It has shown that the production, the distribution and\nthe use of wealth of all kinds are parts of the accomplishment of the\nmain purposes of life and that all these things belong to the sphere\nof _duty_; and that no individual can escape obligations in regard to\neconomy.\n\nEducation, therefore, must lay foundations both for an understanding\nof economy and for the practice of it. First of all, every individual,\nwe may assume, ought to have some experience in the production of the\nelementary forms of material goods, and in the conversion of them into\nhigher values and in their conservation. We looked carefully to some\nof these activities as a war measure. It is hardly less necessary in\ntimes of peace. We should teach these things, not simply because the\npractice of them is educational, but because the practice of them is\nuseful, and is a necessary service, on the part of every individual,\nto the world. Adding to the world's store of goods and consciousness\nof the need of doing this directly or indirectly should be regarded as\na fundamental duty and habit. To establish both the habit and the\nsense of duty, we may suppose, a stage is necessary in which the\nindividual's contribution shall be direct and tangible. Hence the\nvalue of those educational activities that deal with foods and their\nconservation.\n\nOn a little higher plane, and in a little different way we can apply\nthe same thoughts to the whole cycle of material things. The\ndistribution of wealth is of course in part a technical and a\ntheoretical problem. It is also a practical and a general one. All at\nleast ought to be judges of the waste that now goes on in the\nindustrial life because the \"middleman\" has occupied such a place of\nvantage in the economic order. In teaching occupation and in all\npreparation for vocation ought we not to take this into consideration?\nOccupations that are purely distributive and which involve a great\nwaste of human energies and of materials have been unduly emphasized,\nat least by default of more positive preparation, by the school.\nBecause they are easy and untechnical and have a little elegance about\nthem, in some cases, they fit in very well with the generality and\nbookishness and detachment from real life that the school sometimes\nrepresents.\n\nThe occupations that are more creative, both in the field of material\nthings and of ideas, have, relatively speaking, been neglected.\nInventiveness especially seems to be a quality that we have supposed\nto be a gift of the gods, and we have given but little attention to\nproducing it, or even giving it an opportunity to display itself. Have\nwe not gained from the war new impressions both about the powers of\nthe human mind in producing new thoughts and in controlling both\nmaterial and psychic forces, and also about the necessity for\ndeveloping originality and independence? Is it too much to expect now\nthat greater ingenuity be displayed in education itself to the end of\nproducing more originality? This is a hackneyed request to make of the\nschool, but it seems certain that we do not succeed in obtaining\nthrough our educational processes the highest possible degree of\nproductiveness of mind, as regards either quantity or quality. It is\nbecause indeed we seem to be very far from our limit in these\nrespects, and because better results might perhaps so easily be gained\nthat it seems necessary to make this plea so often. More activity,\nmore art, greater enrichment of the mind, ought to have the desired\nresult, especially if the environment of the school could be so\nchanged that its moods would be more joyous and intense. These changes\nare at any rate demanded for so many other reasons that if they fail\nto make the intellect more productive, they will not be completely a\nfailure.\n\nEducation in the use of wealth must now be regarded as a part of\n_moral_ education. In America we have ignored the necessity of thrift,\nand the idea of thrift has certainly had no part in education. The\nproper use of everything we produce or own is a fundamental part of\nconduct, and it ought to be a persistent theme in education. We have\nnow the interest and incentive that have come from the war, we say,\nfor we have felt, if only remotely, what poverty means, and we have\nseen that no amount of natural wealth and no degree of civilization\ncan wholly insure us against famine and disaster. We need throughout\nour national life now, again, something like the old New England\nconscience in the uses of things, applied in a different way, of\ncourse, and now made more effectual by our broader science. The\nencouragement of this spirit will perhaps make the difference in the\nend between having a world seriously engaged in progressive tasks with\nits material forces well in hand, and a world which in all its\npractical affairs, large and small, is operated according to the\nprinciple or the lack of principle of a _laissez faire_ attitude\nthroughout life. Saving in a good cause, and with a clear conscience\nand determined purpose, is one of the elements of the higher life and\nis far removed from miserliness. It is a principle of _adaptation of\nmeans to ends_, and that any school which trains this power is\nreaching fundamental principles of the practical life needs hardly to\nbe said.\n\nThe higher uses and appreciation of wealth which we are wont to call\nplain living and high thinking, the moral idea of philanthropy, the\naesthetic values and hygienic implications of the right kind of\nsimplicity must not be omitted from the educational idea of thrift. To\nimpart something of the spirit of restraint and generosity, and to\nmake the child feel what living simply, and with definite purpose, and\nmaking means serve one's real ends in life imply, to teach the joys of\nthe higher uses of common things, is no mean achievement. But can we\nindeed do these things which after all have their main virtue in being\ngeneral and social, and a part of a program? All we can say is that if\nwe are to have a better order, and if we think education has any place\nin it, economy in its broadest sense, but economy also as applied to\nthe details of daily life must also have a place in it. It is both\nfatuous and insincere to talk about good things to come, and not be\nwilling to pay the price in labor and in sacrifice necessary to obtain\nthem honestly. Especially when the price of these things is in itself\nno demand for the sacrificing of any real good, but quite to the\ncontrary is a summons to a more joyous life, we should be glad to pay\nit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nNEW SOCIAL PROBLEMS\n\n\nThe social problems of education that have arisen because of our new\nworld relations and new internal conditions in our own country are of\ncourse only special phases of social education as a whole, and social\neducation cannot indeed be separated sharply from other educational\nquestions. There are, however, new demands and new evidences, and new\npoints of view from which we see social education (or better,\neducation in its social aspects), in a somewhat new and different\nlight, as compared with our ideas of the school in the days before the\nwar. We have discussed some of these social problems. Now we must\nconsider them both in their general significance, and also in their\nmore specifically pedagogical aspects.\n\nThere appear to be two things that social education needs especially\nto do now: create and sustain a firmer unity at home--a wider and\ndeeper loyalty on the part of the individual to all the causes and to\nall the groups to which he is attached; and to make our\n_world-consciousness_ a more productive state of mind. It is perhaps\nbecause such educational proposals as these are generally left in the\nform of ideals and things hoped for in a distant future, and are not\nexamined to see whether they may be made definite programs, and are\nlegitimate demands to be made now, that we are likely to regard all\nsuggestions of this nature as impracticable. And yet the production of\n_morale_ at home and a social consciousness adequate for our new\nrelations abroad seems to be a proper demand to make even upon the\nschool. In part, of course, and perhaps largely, the need is first of\nall for practical relations, but we must consider educationally also\nthe fundamental and creative factors of the psychic process itself\nwhich must in the end sustain the relations that we have established\nat such cost and shall now begin to elaborate as practical functions.\n\nThe greatest work of social education to-day is to infuse into all the\nsocial relations a new and more ardent spirit. It is the elevation of\nthe social moods to a more productive level, we might say, that is\nwanted. AEsthetic elements, imagination, and the harmonizing of\nindividual and social motives are needed. War has shown us the\npossibilities of exalted social moods; what we ought to do now is to\nconsider how we may make our morale of peace equal in efficiency and\nin power to our war morale. This is in great part a problem of social\neducation.\n\nEvery nation has its own especial social problems which must become\neducational problems, and be dealt with in some way according to the\nmethods available in schools. In England the social questions seem to\nbe more in mind and to be better understood than here. They are more\nconscious there of social disharmony and of living a socially divided\nlife than we are. They have seen at close range the dangers of class\ninterests and individual interests. Individualism, class distinction\nand party politics and the independence of labor came near proving the\nruin of England. The Bishop of Oxford has expressed himself as\nbelieving that the blank stupid conservatism of his country, as he\ncalls it, is really broken and that a new sense of service is actually\ndawning in all directions. Trotter says (and he too is thinking of\nEngland) that a very small amount of conscious and authoritative\ndirection, a little sacrifice of privilege, a slight relaxation in the\nvast inhumanity of the social machine might at the right moment have\nmade a profound effect in the national spirit. Generalizing, and now\nthinking of social phenomena in terms of the psychology of the herd, he\nsays that the trouble in modern society is that capacity for\nindividual reaction--that is for making different reactions to the same\nstimulus--has far outstripped the capacity for intercommunication.\nSociety has grown in complexity and strength, but it has also grown in\ndisorder.\n\nSuch disharmony of the social life of course exists also in America.\nWe have not the sharp division of classes and interests and the\ndemonstrative and protesting individualism that are to be found in\nEngland (our individual rights are taken more for granted perhaps) but\nfor that very reason, it may well be, our disharmonies are all the\nmore dangerous and difficult to overcome. The tension of the\nindividual and the social will (using MacCurdy's expression) is great.\nWe are highly individualistic in our mode of life, as is shown both in\ndomestic and in public affairs. Specialization and an intense interest\nin occupations that bring individual distinction and large financial\nreturns have certainly taken precedence over the more fundamental and\ncommon activities and interests.\n\nIt is these fundamental and common activities and interests and\nsympathies that ought to be the chief concern of social education, or\nperhaps we had better say that all our educational processes ought so\nto be socialized as to broaden sympathies and make activities common.\nEducation must constantly strive to make the common background of our\nnational life more firm and strong. More important to-day than any\nfurther education in the direction of specialization of life in\nAmerica is the securing of a strong cohesion throughout society by\nmeans of common interests and moods. It is true that specialization\ncarried out in some ideal way may provide just the conditions needed\nfor the best social order, but this can be only in so far as\nindividuals become specialized within the whole of society, so to\nspeak, in which individuals continue to have a common life.\nIndividuals as wholes must not be differentiated and left to find\ntheir own means of cooerdination and association, or be brought\ntogether artificially by law or convention. Specialization must be\nmade the reverse side, as it were, of a social process in which at\nevery point cooerdination is also provided for. At the present time, it\nis the latter rather than the former that is of most importance to us.\n\nSocial education in a democratic country must always be a matter of the\ngreatest concern. In autocratic societies the cohesive force exists in\ntraditions or can at any moment be generated executively. The\nautocratic country can be held together in spite of social antagonism.\nIn a democracy this cannot be. We voluntarily accept some degree of\nincooerdination and confusion for the sake of our ideals of freedom. We\ndo not wish cohesion based upon any form of pessimism or fear--fear of\nenemies without or of powers within. To secure unity in our own\nnational life we must work for it incessantly, and we ought to be\nwilling to, for unity means so much to us. It is not cohesion at any\nprice that we want, but voluntary and natural union, and to secure that\nwe should not hesitate to make our educational institutions broad\nenough to include the education of the most fundamental relations of\nthe individual to society. We want neither a \"healthy egoism\" nor a\nmorbid self-denying spirit that is only a step removed from\nslavery--neither instinctive independence nor an artificial and\nenforced social organization. We must not be deceived either by a vague\nand false idea of liberty or by the equally vicious ideal of militarism\nwith its superficiality of social relations and its pedagogical\nsimplicity. Both these ideas represent social life on a low plane.\nHealthy individualism, even with its strong sense of tolerance and\ncomradeship and its respect for law and order, is not the kind of\nsocial ideal that we should now cultivate, for it is too primitive a\nstate to fit into our already complex social life, or to be a basis for\nthe firm solidarity we need for the future. As for militarism, it may\nbecome a mere shell, giving the appearance of social unity when its\nbonds are mere shreds and the last drop of moral vitality has gone out\nof it.\n\nOur need and problem are plain enough. We wish to develop social\ncohesion and unity upon a natural and permanent basis of social\nfeeling expressed in, and in turn produced by, social organization,\nvoluntarily entered into for practical and for ideal purposes. Such\nsolidarity can neither be made nor unmade by external forces. We must\nform and sustain it by creating internal bonds. We live, in any great\nsociety, always over smoldering fires, however highly civilized the\nsociety, and we are always threatened with the eruption of volcanic\nforces. It is fatuous to ignore this, and to make a fool's paradise of\nour democracy. Our problem is to produce such a social life as shall\nkeep us safe through all dangers--dangers from enemies without, and\nwithin, and underneath. A democracy, or indeed any society after all\nand at its best, contains the makings of the crowd and the mob.\nOrganized as it is, it is always an order made of material units which\n_may_ enter into disorder. Society is based upon social consciousness,\nupon the consciousness of kind, but it also has _collective force_.\nThe crowd and the collective force are always contained in society.\nHowever far human nature is removed from its primitive form, the\nsocial order is always fragile. Mental operations that are not\nintelligent and are not emotional in the ordinary sense, but which\nconsist, so to speak, of common factors among primitive feelings, may\ngain and for a time hold the ascendancy. Eruptions in the social\nconsciousness are of the nature of morbid phenomena, and are rare and\nexceptional expressions of the collective life, but we are never free\nentirely from the menace of them. Social order, we say, is always\nfragile. We must not overlook that fact. It is this characteristic of\nthe social life, the potentiality of mob spirit and the forces of\nprimitive anger and fear, that lead some writers to think, wrongly we\nbelieve, that this is the psychological basis of wars in general. War\ncomes out of the order of society. The higher ecstatic states and the\nideals of man enter into them. These things we speak of are of the\nnature of disorder, or are only the order of pure momentum. But\nwhatever the truth may be about the relation of instinct to war and\nhowever remote the dangers to ourselves from the forces which in\nsociety make for disorder, it is the work of social education to\ncontrol, transform and utilize all social and collective forces, the\nprimitive emotions and instincts, the moods of intoxication and all\nthe higher ecstasies of the social life, and it is only, we suppose,\nby thus consciously and with premeditation controlling these forces\nthat in any real sense we can \"make democracy safe for the world.\"\n\nIt is the idea of society cooerdinated by intelligence and by common\ninterests and moods that we must always hold before us. Trotter says\nthat civilization has never brought a well-cooerdinated society, and\nthat a gregarious unit consciously directed would be a new type of\nbiological organism. If this be so, the time seems peculiarly ripe to\nmake advance toward this better social solidarity. Both the promise\nand the need seem greatest in the great English speaking countries\nnow. There is waiting, we may truly think, a larger sphere of life for\nall democratic countries. If it be conscious direction alone that can\nbring about the change, education has a long and a hard task before\nit, to make the democratic peoples capable of such conscious\ndirection. This must come in part by the development of the idea of\nleadership, and by the production of all the conditions that make\nleadership possible. In part it must come by the clear perception of\ndefinite tasks to be performed by nations and by all organizations\nwithin nations--tasks which have all grown out of the relations\nexisting within society. In part it means cultivating intelligent\nappreciation of social values, and developing in every possible way\nall the social powers.\n\nWhat we appear to need most in our social education just now is a\nconception of what the individual is and what the social life is in\nterms of the desires and the functions they embody. These are the raw\nmaterials with which we work. We should then treat all our social\nproblems in a somewhat different way from that in which they are\nmainly dealt with now. We should try especially to make harmony in\nsociety not by maneuvering so that we might have peace and good\nfeeling for their own sakes, but by coordinating the functions which\nare expressed in the life of the individual and in all social\nrelations. That is precisely what is not being done now, in our\npresent stage of society, either in the life of the individual, or in\nthe wider life of society. People live without deep continuity in\ntheir lives, and we are not conscious enough of the ideal\nrelationships individuals should have with one another, in order to\nmake the social life productive. In a word we do not sufficiently take\naccount of the purposes to be achieved, but are too conscious of\nstates of feeling. We do not yet appear to see all the possibilities\ncontained in the social life, what voluntary unions are necessary, and\nwhat kind of community life must be developed before we can have a\nreally democratic order.\n\nWe must not be content, certainly, with a merely superficial and\nexternal solidarity or the purely practical gregariousness of the\nshops or the artificial forms of the conventional social life. Society\nmust more and more accomplish results by the social life. Coordination\nin the performance of a few obvious functions, and enthusiasm for a\nfew partisan causes, will not be enough. Nor will such order as\nmilitarism represents suffice. Is it not plain, indeed, that democracy\nmust rest upon deeper and far more complex cooerdinations than we have\nnow, and that social feelings or moods must be made more creative? It\nis the desire to accomplish ends through social organization, rather\nthan the desire to possess and enjoy, that must be made to dominate\nit. To effect such changes in the social life must be in great part\nthe work of education.\n\nSocial education in our present time and conditions might very well be\nconsidered in terms of the antinomies which exist in society. These\nantinomies represent the obstacles to national unity. They stand for\ninhibitions which are expressed in feelings that are wholly\nunproductive. Each one of them is a measure of so much waste, so much\nfailure and lack of momentum, so much disorder and disorganization. A\nprogram of social education, we say, might be based upon a\nconsideration of these antinomies. It would consider mainly how the\nwaste and obstruction of these conflicting purposes of the social life\nmight be overcome by giving desires more harmonious and more positive\ndirection. A complete account of social education from this standpoint\nwould need to take notice of many disharmonies now very evident in our\nlife as a nation. Among them would be found sectional antagonisms,\nparty opposition, frictions of social classes and industrial classes,\nreligious differences, disharmony between the sexes, racial\nantipathies. Some of these we have already touched upon briefly. Some\nothers seem to require further mention in the present connection.\n\nThe lack of understanding and sympathy between lower and upper classes\nin society plays a larger part in democratic America than we are\nusually inclined to admit. There are divided interests, divergent\nmores, lack of unity and cooerdination in some of the most urgent\nduties because of the antagonism of classes and the lack of\nunderstanding, on the part of one, of the ways of another. Especially\nin civic life the unproductiveness of the situation is very apparent.\nWhat money and advantage on one side combined with willing hands on\nthe other might do is left undone.\n\nIn part this antagonism of classes is merely the result of difference\nin manners. There are manners and forms that constitute a common bond\namong the members of a class everywhere. Ought we not to take\nadvantage of this example and use the suggestion it offers for\nbridging over the differences that we complain of? We have seen during\nthe war, also, how well common tasks can unite all classes. Does not\nour educational institution afford us opportunity to continue this\nadvantage, and make common service lead more directly to understanding\nand appreciation, not for the sake of the sympathy alone, but because\nof all the practical consequences and the opportunities for the future\nthat are thus opened up? We assume that social feeling may be created\nthrough social organization. Mabie says that America is distinguished\nby its capacities for forming helpful organizations. We must make the\nmost of this habit, which presumably is derived from the\nneighborliness and comradeship of our original colonial life. We need\nmany group causes, not artificially planned as trellises upon which to\ngrow social feelings, but, first of all certainly, in order to\naccomplish those things that can be done effectively only socially.\n\nThe secret of harmony among classes is presumably not to allow any\nclass to have vital interests which are exclusively its own, since to\nhave an exclusive vital interest means of course to live defensively\nor to carry on offensive strategy. The chief interest of the great\nworking class at the present time is plainly to secure a living, and\nit is the sense of isolation in this struggle which in part at least\nis the cause of many unfavorable conditions in our present social\norder. Ought not education to prepare the way for a different attitude\nin which all should become vitally interested in the economic problems\nof all? This does not mean an education directed toward enlarging the\nspirit of philanthropy; it means mainly organization to serve common\npurposes.\n\nThese social problems are very numerous. They are both national and\nlocal. Any city which will undertake to solve in its civic relations\nthis problem of securing greater social unity in social causes will\nprovide an object lesson which will be of the greatest value. It is in\nthese local groups perhaps that some of the best experimental social\nwork may be done. Here the educational and the political modes of\nattack can best be cooerdinated, results can be made most tangible, and\nthe primitive and simple forms of solidarity most nearly realized. It\nis indeed by going back to these simpler forms of social life and\nseeking means of coordinating the group in fundamental activities that\nthe greatest headway will be made in the solution of wider social\nproblems.\n\nAnother of the disharmonies which social education must from now on\nundertake to control is the disharmony and the inequality of the\nsexes, not so much as this appears in the domestic life as in the\nbroader relations of the social life. Brinton says that the ethnic\npsychologist has no sounder maxim than that uttered by Steinthal, that\nthe position of women is the cardinal point of all social relations.\nEvery one, of course, now recognizes the fact that the position of\nwomen is to-day in a transitional and experimental stage. Conflicting\nmotives are at work, and on the part of neither sex do the highest\nmotives seem to prevail, nor is there a full realization anywhere of\nthe values that are at stake. Men are thinking of the question of the\nposition of women too much from the standpoint of expediency, and are\nscrutinizing too closely the immediate future. Women perhaps are\nthinking too much just now of their _rights_. There is a decadent form\nof chivalry or at least a sexuality that perpetuates conventions and\ninterests that on the whole seem to interfere with progress. Jealousy\nand in general the tense emotional relations between the sexes obscure\nlarger issues. Thus misunderstanding or antagonism, or at least\ndisharmony, prevails in relations in which there should be perfect\nharmony of ideals and purposes, and productive activities of the\nhighest nature. The education of women, whether for the domestic life\nor for the life outside the home is plainly but a part of the\neducational problem. The sexes have different desires, and it is\nprecisely the work of harmonizing these desires, and regulating and\ncoordinating activities and functions, that is the most important part\nof social education in regard to the sexes.\n\nIt is not at all difficult to see what the basic need is. It is not so\neasy to find practical means of applying the remedy in the form of\neducation, because the whole system of living of the sexes must in some\nway be affected. The generalized principle on the practical side seems\nclear. All classes or groups in society must learn to think and to act\nnot in terms of and with reference to the desires of their class alone,\nbut with regard to wider tasks and values that are not fully realized by\nthe most natural and the conventional activities of the class. The\nquestion is not one of making a moral change--converting individuals or\nclasses from a spirit of selfishness to that of altruism. What we need\nis an educational process and a social life in which the nature of the\nindividual and of the class is revealed as social, as best represented\nand satisfied in situations in which both the individual and the wider\nsocial idea work together.\n\nPractically, we should say, the problem of education of the sexes with\nreference to one another and to a wider social life consists first of\nall in actually educating them together not merely in juxtaposition\nbut in relations of a practical character. The relations of the sexes\nhave evidently been mainly domestic and emotional, or in cases where\nthey are practical the position of women has been little better than\nservitude. Of social cooerdination there has been little. _Education of\nthe sexes through situations in which the special abilities of each\nsex are brought into action_, doing for the wider social life what the\nnatural and instinctive differentiation of activities has accomplished\nin its way for the domestic life seems to be the main principle now to\nbe employed in the education of the sexes. Women must be made to see\nthat the ideal of independence which is uppermost at the present time\nis only the mark of a transitional stage, and that cooerdination in\nwhich of course competition of various kinds cannot be entirely\neliminated will be the final adjustment. We should have no fear of\nplacing the sexes, in their educational situations, in positions where\ncompetition is necessary, since through competition fundamental\ndesires may be brought to the surface and regulated. Provided we admit\nat all that a new social adjustment is needed between the sexes, we\ncan hardly fail to see that it is primarily in a practical life lived\ntogether that both education for the new order will best be conducted\nand the new order itself realized.\n\nThe details of method of what we have called social education for\ndemocracy we can only suggest here and of course in a very imperfect\nand tentative way. All aspects of education and every department of\nthe school are involved; and every available method employed in\neducation must in some way be turned to the purpose of developing\nsocial relations. In a very general way we think of these specific\nprocesses of the school as methods of learning, methods of art, and\nmethods of activity, although of course in reality there can be no\nsuch sharp separation of them as this might imply.\n\nThere must be some place in the school now for a subject which in a\ngeneral way might be designated as social history. We must teach the\nwhole story of the social life of our country in such a way as to\nreveal the motives of classes, parties, sections, and of all\norganizations, institutions and principles. Such teaching should have\nthe effect of bringing to light the causes of the disharmonies of\nsociety, and it should also be a means of conveying the feelings and\nmoods as well as the ideas that govern the conduct of all groups that\nmake up our national life. We must teach _sympathetically_ what the\ndesires and intentions of all are, on the assumption that behind all\nconduct there are natural causes and essentially sound instincts. By\nshowing the desires of groups in their relation to one another, their\ndisharmony and their possible harmony, we indicate what society as a\nfunctioning whole may be, and we may say that it is the chief end to\nbe gained by the intellectual treatment of the social life to make\nclear what the ideal of social unity for practical life is, and what\nthe main obstacles are that now stand in the way of it. By this social\nhistory we do not mean, moreover, something abstruse and academic\nsuited for the college alone. Wherever the social antagonism is\nexperienced, at whatever age, there is the opportunity to begin to set\nthe mind at work about it, and to prevent the formation of prejudice\nand resentment. These states of mind begin very early indeed, and they\nare hard to eradicate.\n\nA very large part in the work of social education is played by methods\nof education that we may call aesthetic. This must mean not only the\ninclusion of the methods of art in presenting facts, but we must bring\nto bear all kinds of aesthetic influences upon the social life. Social\nlife in which there is introduced the dramatic moment is one of the\nmain objectives of all education. It is in the recreational life that\nsome of the best conditions for the realization of social moods in\ndramatic or aesthetic form are obtained. In the recreational experience\nthe social states must be made productive of social harmony, as they\nthemselves tend to be. In these experiences the conflicting motives of\nthe individual and society, and of individual with individual, and the\nopposing desires of the individual are harmonized by means of ideal\nexperiences in which the desires are exploited. Since we here touch\nupon the whole theory of the aesthetic in its practical application, we\ncannot be very explicit and clear, but the main service of the\naesthetic social life experienced typically in the form of recreational\nactivities, ought to be plain. Recreation is a means of giving the\ncommon experience so much needed in democratic countries like our\nown--common feelings, common activities and interests. This store of\ncommon life, containing exalted social feelings, expressed in play and\nart--languages which all nationalities can understand--must constantly\nbe increased. All institutions that control the leisure hours of the\npeople must be made educational as means of raising the social life to\na higher level and making it more harmonious and productive of common\ninterests. It is indeed one of the functions of the recreational\nactivities and institutions to create and sustain public morale.\n\nIn the recreational experiences under control of the school we have\nthe opportunity to educate the deepest and most powerful of motives.\nPlay and art we should suppose, therefore, ought to have a greater\npart and more serious recognition in the school. We cannot of course\naccomplish much merely by crowding more arts and plays and games into\nthe curriculum. It is something larger and more transforming that is\nwanted. We need to make the school take a greater place in the life of\nthe child; it must reach a deeper level of human nature, in which the\nmotives of play and art lie, and there must be a broader exposure of\nall young life to those influences of the social life everywhere which\ncontain our highest social ideals. The place of art and to some extent\nof play as the methods and the spirit of the school is to convey\npersuasively to the child this larger and better life in which we\nexpect him to take part.\n\nNeither erudition nor art nor both together can, of course, fulfill\nall the requirements for a social education suited to our present\nneeds. It is presumably in the social life itself, in the form of a\npractical activity, that social education will in great part be\ngained. This educational social life, which is also practical, will,\nhowever, be one in which every opportunity is taken to show the social\nlife in its historical perspective, and to make clear its purposes\nand meaning; and in which sympathetic moods and intense social states\nare realized by conducting this social life, so far as possible, so\nthat it will be subjected to the influences of what we may call in a\nbroad way _art_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nRELIGION AND EDUCATION AFTER THE WAR\n\n\nThe war, which has left no field of human interest untouched, has\nraised many questions about religion that must be dealt with in new\nways--about its validity, its power, its future. The impression the\nwhole experience of the war seems to convey is that religion has\nfailed to be either a great creative force or a great restraining\npower, although to express this as a failure of religion may imply\nmore than we have a right to expect of it. Religion did not cause the\nwar, but it certainly did not prevent it. It had no power to make\npeace. Yet we see that now religion is needed more than ever, and that\nif the social life be not deeply infused with the religious spirit,\nand if we do not live as a world more in the religious spirit,\nsomething fundamental and necessary will be wanting which may be the\nmost essential factor of progress and civilization. The war leaves us\nwith the feeling, perhaps, that until now the world has had far too\nmany religions and too little religion. There has been too much of\ncreed and too little of deep and sustaining religious moods. Perhaps,\nas Russell says, we are to be convinced that religion has been too\nprofessional; there has been too much paid service, and too little\nvoluntary service.\n\nSuch conclusions of course have in them all the reservation that\npersonal reactions must have, but it is easy to believe that in the\nlife of such a nation as our own, and indeed in the world, no\npractical unity will ever be permanently reached unless there be a\nfirm basis in a common religious foundation. This we might say is made\nprobable by the truth that religion is the most fundamental thing in\nlife, and if there be no unity and common understanding in that\nsphere, there can be none in reality anywhere in life. Differences in\ncreed mean little, except in so far as they conceal basic agreement\nand make artificial barriers; differences in the way of understanding\nand valuing the world mean everything. We want a common religious\nfaith--common in the possession at least of the moods which make a\nharmonious social life possible, and of the spirit in which the\nworld's work can, we may believe, alone be done.\n\nUpon such grounds one might maintain that a very important part of the\nwork of education everywhere is to teach now more _natural religion_,\nor rather perhaps _that the school must be everywhere conducted to a\ngreater extent in the spirit of religion_. Then we might hope to see\nreligion becoming actually a power in the social life, helping to\ntransform the crude forces and purposes of the day into higher ones.\nWith such a religious basis we might begin to see the working of God\nin history and in the world as a whole, and we should feel in the\nhistory of the world and in the world that is before us the presence\nof reality. Then we should have a common ground for the sympathy and\nunderstanding without which not even the most practical affairs can be\nconducted efficiently. That ideal in education, often expressed by the\neducator, which holds that the purpose of all teaching is to convey\nthe meaning of the world to the child, to make the world live in\nepitome, so to speak, in the soul of every child, is religious and\nnothing else, and quite satisfies the demands of our present day.\n\nIf such a standpoint be the right one, certainly the ambition of any\nnation (or indeed of any group) to have a religion peculiar to itself\nand an outgrowth of its own culture is unfortunate, and indeed comes\nfrom the very essence of morbid nationalism. In such desires there is\nthinly veiled the hope that through religion the old claim of nations\nto the right to temporal supremacy may be vindicated. Lagarde, in\nabout 1874, was probably the first to say that Germany must have a\nnational religion, but during the war this hope has been expressed\nagain and again--Germany must have a new religion, befitting a great\nindependent people, and must no longer be dependent for its religion\nupon an old and inferior race. Whether this longing for a new religion\nhas not been in reality a longing to be upheld again by the old pagan\nfaith, which was a fitting cult for the nationalistic temper, with its\nideal of force, may justly be asked. It is interesting to remember\nthat in Japan also, in recent times, there has been a demand for a\nnational religion that should unite all the creeds in one. That this\nidea of a national religion, as contrasted with an universal religion,\nis opposed to the spirit of Christianity is plain, and the claim that\nGermany has not been able to understand the key-note of Christianity,\nas it is revealed in humanity and justice, may therefore be said to\nhave some foundation in truth.\n\nCan we say that the work of education, in the religious life, is that\nof inculcating and extending Christianity? It might indeed so be\ninterpreted, and with a liberal enough understanding of Christianity\nwe should say that this is true. But after all, it is Christianity as\nthe vehicle of certain fundamental religious moods and ideals that,\nfrom an educational point of view at least, is of the greatest\nconcern. It is the optimistic mood, the ideal of justice and humanity,\nthe recognition of the worth of the soul of the individual, the ideal\nof service--it is these qualities of Christianity rather than its\nspecific doctrines that we must now emphasize in our wider social\nlife, and such religion is natural religion, or philosophy or\nChristianity as we may choose to call it. Any experience, indeed, that\nfosters such moods and ideals has a place in religious education. Who\ncan doubt that such religion must henceforth have a large place in the\nworld? It will be the test in the end of the possibility of sincere\ninternationalism. Unless we can have common religious moods we can\nhave no universal morality that is founded upon secure feeling and\nprinciples, and unless we can include the whole world in our religion,\nwe shall certainly not be able to include it in any sincere way in our\npolitics.\n\nNo religion, finally, will be profound enough and have great enough\npower to be thus a support of a future world-consciousness unless it\nbe a religion of feeling rather than primarily of ideas--_a religion\nin fact capable of inspiring ecstatic moods_. And this ecstasy of\nfeeling can never in our modern world be a prevailing quality of the\nreligious life unless religion be something that extends over all life\nand draws its power from all the energies and capacities of the\npsychic life. The religion of our new era, we may be sure, if it be in\nany real sense a religion of the world, will not be something apart\nfrom and above other experiences. It will be a secular religion and a\ndemocratic religion, a quality and spirit of life as a whole.\nExperience referred to what we believe is real and universal, and\nsubjected sincerely to all the capacities and criteria of appreciation\nthat we possess is religious experience. Religion, educationally\nconsidered, is a means of giving to life a sense of reality and of\nvalue. That spirit should pervade and inspire all we do in the work of\neducation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nHUMANISM\n\n\nThere has much been said during the war to the effect that the great\nstruggle was essentially a conflict between the spirit of humanism and\nsome principle or other which was conceived to be the opposite of\nhumanism. Humanism is said to be opposed to rationalism, or to\nnationalism, or specialization, or paganism, or Germanism as a whole,\nhumanism often being thought of as the spirit of Greek or Christian\nthought and philosophy.\n\nThere is truth, we should say, in these views. Humanism in a broad\nsense emerged from all the purposes of the war as the principle of the\ngreater part of the world, as opposed to the idea of Germanism. This\nspirit of humanism, however, is no single motive or feeling. It is a\ncomplex mood, so to speak, and it is not to be regarded as strange\nthat it has been felt and described in various ways, and that it is\nnot yet clearly understood. _Humanism appears to be most deeply felt\nas the appreciation of the common and fundamental things in human\nnature._ It inclines toward the employment of feeling, or at least to\nsubjective rather than to purely objective principles in the\ndetermination of fundamental values in life. Humanism includes an\ninterest in personality, which is of course the most basic of the\ncommon possessions of man, and it is therefore interested in justice\nand in freedom. Humanism as thus an appreciation of fundamental values\nin life by feeling rather than by principle, belongs to the deeper\ncurrents of life, those that flow in the subconscious--it is close to\ninstinct, to moods, and the religious and the aesthetic experiences.\n\nThe later German philosophy of life we might mention as a denial of\nmuch that humanism asserts. Here we see a doctrine of force, an ideal\nof life based upon the elevation of conscious will to its first\nprinciple. If we seek concrete contrasts to this anti-humanism we\nmight mention our own national life, governed by an idea of free\nliving, which has made possible the assimilation of many stocks, in a\nlife in which common human nature is regarded as the supreme value.\nExtreme specialization, rational principles, objective standards are\nwatchwords of the plan of life that is most opposed to humanism. In\nthis life instincts and values determined by feelings are brought out\ninto the clear light of consciousness and are there judged with\nreference to their fitness to serve ends determined by reason. It is\nall noon-day glare in this rational consciousness. Collectivism is\nbased upon coercion and upon calculation of the value of order in\nserving practical purposes, themselves determined by a theory of\nsociety, instead of upon social feeling or upon a natural process of\nassimilation of the different and the individual into a common life.\nSpecialization also, in this philosophy, is a result of calculation\nrather than of a belief in the value of the individual, and is gained\nby the sacrifice of those experiences which, if we hold to the\nhumanistic ideal, we regard as essential to the life of the individual\nand to society. This calculus of values extends, of course, into the\nfield of international life. Here too conduct is based upon estimation\nof effects, freedom is relative to and subordinate to economic values.\nA theory of the state takes precedence over all subjective ethical\nprinciples, and there must be a disavowal of all native sentiments and\njudgments as regards justice which issue from an appreciation of the\nworth of personality and other fundamental human values and\npossessions; and all common human sentiments which would stand in the\nway of carrying out the decisions of reason and state-theory or any\npolitical policy must of course also be denied.\n\nThis contrast, however inadequate our analysis of the spirit of\nhumanism and its opposite may be, will at least show that the idea of\njustice, which in the humanistic ideal grows directly out of the\nappreciation of the value of personality is the central practical\nprinciple of humanism, and it is exactly as an opponent of the idea of\njustice on the ground of its alleged weakness, that the rationalistic\nor the nationalistic philosophy is best conceived.\n\nIt is upon this question of justice that we must take our stand for or\nagainst humanism. If we are humanists we believe in the rights of\nindividuals, whether men or nations, to their own life and\nindependence, which they are entitled to preserve through all forms of\nsocial processes. Justice means recognition of the right of\nindividuals to perform all their functions as individuals, and\nhumanism is precisely an appreciation of the values of the individual\nas such a functioning whole. If we are humanists we believe that this\nprinciple of justice, and this feeling of justice ought to be\ncultivated and made world-wide. This is the ideal of equal rights to\nall human values. Hence it is the mortal enemy of all philosophies of\nlife which place any principle above that of justice and its moral\nimplications, Whether in the narrower or the wider social life. This\nis humanism.\n\nThere are various ways of interpreting humanism as a practical\nphilosophy or principle of education. Burnet says, perhaps not very\ncompletely expressing what he means, that the humanistic ideal of\neducation, as contrasted with the merely formal, is that the pupils\nshould above all be led to feel the meaning and worth of what they are\nstudying. We should say that the meaning of humanism in education is\nthat _the child should understand and appreciate the meaning and worth\nof all human life_. This requires that education should so be\nconducted that the child may learn to see--rather to feel and\nappreciate--the inner rather than the merely external nature of all\nlife that is presented to him, and in which he participates. Not\nlanguage, but thought; not history, but experience, is his field.\nJustice depends wholly upon an ability to come upon reality in the\nrealm of human nature. This implies not only intellectual penetration,\nbut a form of sympathy which consists of putting oneself as completely\nas possible into the life of that which is studied.\n\nAll this means, it is plain, a power in the educational process, a\nspirit and a mood in all education which we have not yet in any very\nlarge measure attained. What is required is indeed that children\nshould live more intimately with reality, so to speak, and that we\nshould not be satisfied when they have merely learned about it. We\nshall not be content, however, with an educational process which, in\nfulfilling these requirements for more life, becomes merely _active_.\nLife must also be dramatic and intense and abundant. All the mental\nprocesses--the feelings, the intellectual functions and not the will\nalone must participate in this active life.\n\nWe shall soon see, no doubt, and in fact we are beginning already to\nsee a renewed interest in all the arguments for and against a\nhumanistic as opposed to a scientific culture and curriculum for our\nschools. It is the humanistic side from which, it is likely, we shall\nnow hear the most pleas, for the war has ended, they say, in victory\nfor humanity and for humanism--hence for the humanities. It is the\nChristian and the Graeco-Roman civilization that has prevailed.\nVictorious France, whose culture is founded upon that of the Greek and\nthe Roman, has vindicated the supreme value of that culture. On the\nother hand we hear that our present age has become an age of science.\nIf science has been a factor in causing the war, science has also won\nit. If industrialism involved the world in disaster, the world will be\nsaved by more and better work, more practical living, wider\norganization for the production of goods and of wealth. Therefore our\ncurriculum must become more practical. We must have more of business\nand industry, more vocational training, more training that sharpens\nthe intelligence.\n\nThere is a truth which cannot be overlooked in the claim of the\nhumanists, but the acceptance of it as it stands as a philosophy of\neducation is not without its serious dangers. What we may well\napprehend is a reactionary philosophy of education, and of all\nculture. We begin to hear very strong pleas, for example, for a school\nin which language, literature, and perhaps history become the center.\nWest[1] asks for a wider recognition of the humanities after the war.\nMoore[2] says that the war is a victory of the civilization finally\nestablished by the Romans on the basis of law, over the barbaric ideas\nof power. Seeing this he is led to plead for a closer union now\nbetween Latin and modern studies, binding civilization of to-day with\nthe thought and feeling of old Rome. Butler[3] says that we are surely\ncoming back to the classical languages and literature.\n\nSuch conclusions as these raise many questions and perhaps doubts and\napprehension. The ideal they express of penetrating the heart of\ncivilization and experiencing in the educational process the inner\nlife rather than the outer form of life, must indeed appeal to all,\nand we should all as humanists agree that this ideal expresses what\nhumanism means and is the center of a true philosophy of\neducation--but whether this ideal can be realized by any school that\nclings to the old classical learning, even in spirit, is quite another\nmatter. To-day, if ever, we need to go forward in education. Our\nspirit must be that of the searcher for new truth, and for a better\nlife. The old will not satisfy us either as a model and ideal or as a\nmethod. No already accumulated culture material will be adequate for\nour new school.\n\n_Our schools of to-morrow, we should conclude, must still be inspired\nby the scientific spirit, but what we need is science humanised, and\nscience in the service of moral principles._ One may well ask whether\nit is not now the most opportune time to leave our classical learning\nbehind, and try to find a more adequate culture in which to convey the\nspirit of our new humanism. If we have won a victory for humanity, as\nwe think, and have kept alive the Christian spirit by means of a\nmeager culture, we need not still cling to that culture if we can find\nsomething better. Even if modern Germany has misused science and\nbrought it to reproach, we need not be prejudiced against science. We\nneed more science but we need to bring science into closer relation to\nthe whole of human life. We need more of all the psychological\nsciences as an aid to our appreciation of history as the story and a\nrevelation of the meaning of spirit in the world--and it is this way\nrather than through _language_ that we must undertake to know and to\nexplain life. On the other hand, it is for the business of practical,\nsocial living that the material sciences should have most significance\nin education. There is no science, not even mathematics, that cannot\nbe taught as a phase of the adventure of spirit in the world, and none\nthat cannot in some way be made to aid spirit in finding and keeping\nits true course in the future. Such use of all culture is what we mean\nby humanism. The secret of the difference in the educational ideals of\nthose whom we may call the old humanists and the new is that to one\neducation means predominantly _learning_, and to the other it means\nmainly _living_. Living, for the child, means growing into the life of\nthe world by participating in spirit and in body, according to the\nchild's needs and capacities, in the activities of the world. To gain\na consciousness of the meaning of those activities through a knowledge\nof their history and by an appreciation of their purpose is indeed the\nmain purpose of learning.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: _Educational Review_, February, 1919.]\n\n[Footnote 2: _Educational Review_, February, 1919.]\n\n[Footnote 3: _Teachers College Record_, January, 1919.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nAESTHETIC EXPERIENCE IN EDUCATION\n\n\nThroughout this study we have again and again been led to consider the\nrelations of the aesthetic experiences to the practical life. It is as\nthe repository of deep desires and as the appreciation of values that\nthe aesthetic may be most readily seen to be practical, but it\nperforms other functions. As ecstatic experience it is the source of\n_power_ in the conscious life, and it was indeed the belief in art as\na means of attaining power that has given art its place in the world.\nThe aesthetic experience is the form also in which desires are brought\ninto relation to one another, harmonized and transformed, or\ntransferred to new objects. So the aesthetic is the type of adaptation\nin the inner life.\n\nWe have asserted that all life, and certainly the educational process,\nmust have its dramatic moments, since the dramatic experience, as\necstasy of the social life, is the expression of social feeling in its\nhighest form. The aesthetic experience is the central point of\nexperience, so to speak, at which social ideals impinge upon and\ninfluence and mold pure nature. Art is the form in which play,\nrepresenting biological forces, is carried to a higher stage, and made\na factor in conscious evolution. The aesthetic experience is a\npractical attitude in another way. It is by our aesthetic\nappreciation, more than we commonly understand, that we judge life as\na totality, that we estimate the fitness of its parts to belong to the\nwhole, and that indeed we guide life when we judge it not according to\nprinciples which so often are seen to be inadequate, but when we try\nto bring to bear our utmost of powers of appreciation and to find\nultimate values.\n\nSuch a recognition of the relation of art or the aesthetic to life we\nsee often expressed in the literature of the day. It is a sign of the\ntimes--of an effort to attain higher powers, to take more\ncomprehensive views of life, and to gain deeper insight into it. It is\na phase of the seriousness of purpose which the war has aroused in us.\nDide speaks of a deep but obscure need that drives all human beings to\nput themselves in harmony with the universal, and says that this is\nthe end and purpose of the aesthetic tendencies. This phase of the\nplace of the aesthetic is seen and expressed in various ways. Some\nthink of it as a significant change in the attitude of life which is\nto bring about an era of peace. Clutton-Brook, an English writer, says\nthat unless we attain to some kind of beauty and art, we shall have no\nlasting peace. We shall never have freedom from war until we have a\npeace that is worth living. Some see in the humanistic spirit an\nessentially aesthetic principle. The fairness and justice of the\nFrench, the spirit of the English that expresses itself in their ideal\nof sportsmanship, some attribute to the aesthetic spirit.\n\nAll this is in keeping with our new experiences of life in all its\ndynamic expressions. It becomes easier for us to see the truth about\nthe nature of the aesthetic and of all other powers of consciousness,\nsince consciousness has revealed itself to us as itself so great a\npower. The aesthetic experience may no longer appear to be only a joy,\nsomething subjective, but, indeed, as a practical force in the world.\nThe aesthetic is a feeling of power, but it is also an experience in\nwhich mental power is generated, and it must be employed to such an\nend. The aesthetic mood is a mood of happiness, but it is also a mood\nof persuasion, in which something is being done to the will, and in\nwhich desires are being turned continually toward new objects, and\ncomposite feelings are being formed which will direct the course of\nfuture experience. So art and the aesthetic experience are not things\napart from life, but may even be thought of as the method and the\nquality of life in some of its most dynamic forms. They are not added\nto life as an ornament or a luxury, but are the spirit in which life\nis lived when it is indeed most productive.\n\nWhen we make specific analyses of aesthetic experience we find\nrepresented in it all the deep motives and tendencies, of life. This\ngives us our clew to the practical application of the aesthetic in the\nbusiness of life. All it contains, all the art and the play of the\nworld must be put to work, although this is a conclusion that might\nreadily be misunderstood. We do not expect to harness the powers of\nchildhood to the world's tasks, or expect industry to become fine art,\nbut we do expect art and play to be something more than passive and\nunproductive states. We expect them to sustain and to create the\nenergies by which the world's work is to be carried on. We would\nutilize them to give more power to life at every point, and to make\nall activities of the practical life more free and creative. And was\nthere ever a time when power was more greatly needed--in industry, in\npolitical life and in every phase of life both of the individual and\nof society?\n\nBut it is not only in creating and doing that the world needs art\nto-day, in the sense in which we mean to define it. An aroused world\nis called upon to feel to the depths of reality, and to draw from\nthese depths new and more profound valuations. We stand at a point\nwhere many things in life must be tested and judged anew, where the\ndanger of perverting and misjudging many things is great. It is by the\npowers of appreciation gained in dynamic states of consciousness, we\nmay believe, rather than by discoveries and an accumulation of data\nthat we shall be most certain of finding true values, and the way of\nextrication from our present grave doubts.\n\nCan one hesitate to conclude, then, that in all our educational\nexperiences, we must try not only to train these powers that we call\naesthetic, but to give opportunity at every point for the exercise of\nthem as selective functions, and as a means of creating and expressing\npower in the mental life?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nMOODS AND EDUCATION: A REVIEW\n\n\nIn the philosophy of education it is with moods that in our view, we\nhave most of all to deal. Man, we have a right to say, is a creature\nof _feeling_, not of instinct or of reason. It is not the instinct as\na definite reaction to stimulus or as an inner necessity, nor emotion\nas a subjective response to this stimulus that is the driving force of\nconduct, but rather the more lasting and deeper and more complex\nstates or processes that we can call by no other name than moods.\nSince it is in the moods that the most profound longing or tendency or\ndesire is represented, we say that moods are the object of chief\nconcern in a practical philosophy of life. These moods are the\nrepositories, so to speak, of instinct, impulse, tendency, desire, and\nit is therefore by the control and education of moods that the\nindividual in all his social and in all his personal aspects will be\nmost fundamentally educable if he is educable at all.\n\nIt is as the seat of the will to power, we might say, that the moods\nwhich are the main sources of human energy are to be conceived. The\ncraving for power, as a generalization of more primitive desires,\ncomes to take the position of the main motive in life. The craving for\npower is a desire, as we see when we analyze it, that expresses itself\nas a longing for ecstatic or intense states of consciousness, and an\nabundant life. It is a craving to be possessed by strong desire and\nalso for the satisfaction of many desires--often vicariously, since\nthe objects desired may be confused and general. So this motive of\npower and the ecstatic states in which it is expressed or realized is\nno instinct and no pure emotion. It is an outgrowth and culmination\nof instincts, a fusion of them into a new product.\n\nIt would be going too far afield to try to summarize here the\npsychology of moods or of the motive of power in the individual and in\nsociety, but the main fact needed for the moment seems plain. In this\nmotive and its expression in feeling and conduct there is a very\ngeneral tendency which is the source of many forms of interest and\nenthusiasm, of ambition, of the spirit of war, of various kinds of\nexcitement, and to some extent of morbid and criminal tendencies. The\nspirit of war we think of as a summation of the same forces as those\nwhich in other ways appear as the energies behind various enterprises\nhaving quite different objectives. War is an anachronism, we may\nbelieve, a wrong direction taken by the forces of the social life, an\narchaic expression now, let us say, of the will to power which might\nand ought to have different objectives. In the life and the mood of\nthe great city we see a very varied expression of the motive of power.\nThe city life is still a crude life. It satisfies deep desires, but in\nit desires for we know not what are aroused. It is indeed as the seat\nof eager, unsatisfied desire that the city is best of all\ncharacterized. These desires readily take shape in the city as the\nspirit of war and as a craving for excitement of various kinds.\n\nThese same forces re-directed or finding different objects and working\nunder different conditions appear in moral, religious, or aesthetic\nforms. In these higher experiences and more progressive moments in\nhistory or in the life of the individual, the forces which at other\nlevels emerge in different forms and in search of different objects we\nmay think of as transformed, or given new direction; but to suppose\nthem annihilated or suppressed is to misunderstand, according to our\nview, the whole process of the development of spirit. Life is not a\nprocess in which instincts are balanced, or in which good motives\nstand in sharp contrast to bad motives, or in which an original\nselfishness is opposed and gradually overcome by an altruistic\nmotive. We think rather of very complex processes in which many\ndesires, gathered into moods, find many forms of expression. There are\nprevailing moods--of war and of peace--and these moods are deep\nforces, containing both the desires and the sources of energy, so to\nspeak, out of which our future will be made. The ecstatic states of\nthe social life, the moods of war and the enthusiasm of the periods of\nrapid change are conditions in which energies and purposes are deeply\nstirred. These are the moods of _intoxication_, if we wish to describe\nthem by pointing out one of their chief common characteristics. Peace\nis a _reverie_, we may say, in which the purposes and the results\nexpressed and attained in the more dramatic moments are elaborated and\nfulfilled, and in which new impulse is gathered of which the dramatic\nmoment is itself the expression. But throughout the whole course of\nhistory and through all the life of the individual, the same motives\nare at work. Life in its fundamental movements and motives, we should\nargue, is both simple and continuous. It is fragmentary and complex\nonly on its surface.\n\nThe whole problem of the nature of education of course resolves\nitself, from this point of view, into the question whether progress is\nsomething inherent in nature, or is something controlled by man. Or if\nwe cannot make so sharp a contrast between nature and will, shall we\nsay that progress is in the main and in all essential ways one or the\nother? Does conscious effort, the having of ideals, exert any profound\neffect upon the history of spirit? Does it accelerate, give direction,\nprovide energy? Is the course of history inevitable or is the making\nof it in our hands? We can see what, in a general way, so far as\nregards the transformation of the fundamental motives of life, the\norder of development has been--how the original and basic desires or\ninstincts have become merged and confused in the more general desires\nand moods, how the motive of power has emerged, finding so varied\nexpression as we see in the whole movement of art and play in the\nworld, how out of these motives of art and play more controlled\nenthusiasms have arisen. But the part in this movement played by\nconscious direction does not thus far appear to have been great. A\nmovement of and within consciousness it has been, and no mere\nbiological or physical development, but when we speak of conscious\nwill or any ideals controlling the course of spirit in essential ways,\nwe find as yet only a beginning. And yet, this does not indicate that\nin the future conscious direction may not be even the greatest factor\nin evolution. It is difficult to see how we can _know_ with certainty\nthat we have such powers; but to refrain from acting as though we had\nis also difficult, and indeed impossible.\n\nAs a working hypothesis, at least, we seem to be allowed to assume\nthat much will depend, in the future, upon the extent to which\nconscious factors are brought to bear upon the world's progress as a\nwhole, upon the form in which the world-idea shapes itself, and the\npower which is put behind that world idea by the educational forces of\nthe world. The world appears now to stand balanced at a critical\nmoment, its future depending upon whether old ideals and primitive\nemotions shall prevail, or whether a new spirit which is perhaps after\nall but a sense of direction growing out of the old order shall become\nthe dominating influences. Whether the consciousness of nations shall\nbe creative and progressive seems to depend now upon the extent to\nwhich the whole life of feeling is influenced by ideas which, although\nthey are products, as we say, of the primitive biological processes\nthat underlie history, are also outside these processes, as definite\npurposes, desires, visions, ideals. At least we seem to depend now\nupon these superior influences for many things that we regard as\ngood--for the rate at which we shall make progress, and for the\ncertainty of making progress at all. Upon these conscious factors\ndirecting and shaping the plastic forces represented in the moods of\nour time, we shall assume, the course of history will depend.\n\nWe are no longer to be satisfied with _natural progress_. We have gone\ntoo far and too long, let us say, upon a rising tide of biological\nforces, and we have not yet realized what conscious evolution might\nmean. We have been too well satisfied with the physical resources and\nthe psychic energies that seemed sufficient for the need of the day. A\nworld in which democracy is going to prevail can no longer live in\nthis way. It will not grow of itself in a state of nature. Its\nprinciple, on the other hand, forbids program-making after the manner\nof autocratic societies. Democracy, as the form in which the youthful\nand exuberant spirit of the world now makes ready for creating the\nnext stage of civilization, will advance, we may suppose, neither by\nnature nor by force. It is the main work of our day to find for\nourselves a new and better mode of shaping history, by bringing to\nbear upon all the social motives of the day the best and strongest\ninfluences. Our whole situation is from this point of view an\neducational problem. Probably there was never a greater need than that\nthe democratic forces of the world now have great leadership. It is a\npractical world, a world of politics and of business, but it is also a\nworld exceedingly sensitive to many influences, good and bad, a world\nin which, we may think, nothing great and permanent can be\naccomplished unless moral, religious and aesthetic influences prevail\nand give to our civilization its new dominant.\n\nIt will depend upon these conscious forces--upon our efforts to make\nprogress and upon the clarity of our vision--it must depend upon\nthese--whether in the future our great war shall be looked back upon\nas after all an upheaval of primitive forces and a debauch of\ninstincts, or as the beginning of a new life. It is for us to create\nout of the war the foundation of a better order. We cannot go back to\nthe old regime. Our enthusiasms will either be directed to better\nthings, or the emotions aroused by the war will run riot and finally\nsettle into habits on a low plane, and destroy, it may be, all that\ncivilization has thus far gained. All things seem possible, in this\ncritical time.\n\nStated in the broadest possible way, the educational problem of our\ntimes seems plain. We must lay hold upon and set to work for a higher\ncivilization the motives and purposes that in the past have worked\nobstructively, and now destructively. A great work of our day is to\nunderstand these motives and forces that were the main factors in the\ncause of the war, and make them count for progress. That they are\npowerful forces we can have no doubt. They are not for that reason\nhard to direct, at least not necessarily so. We see that, whether in\nwar or in peace, we need greater power in the social life. Life must\nbe made to satisfy the longing for intensity and abundance of\nexperience. But this abundant life that we now seek cannot be\nsomething merely subjective and emotional. To see this is indeed the\ncrucial test. This subjective life cannot remain an ideal in a world\ndetermined to become democratic, to make progress, to be a practical\nand well-cooerdinated world. Abundant life must now be sought in the\nperformance of functions which express themselves in practical aims\nand consequences. The prevailing mood and form of this life may still\nbe dramatic, and indeed it must be dramatic. The possession of this\nquality is the test of its power.\n\nSuch views, of course, imply that our practical educational problem is\nsomething very different from that of finding an _outlet for\nemotions_. For example, to search for a substitute for war now is a\nsuperficial way of looking at the problem of the control and education\nof the social consciousness. We think of the motives that have caused\nthe war, according to these older views, as bad instincts or evil\nemotions, as we are usually asked to think of the motives behind\nintemperance, and the habits of gambling and the like. By some form of\nkatharsis we hope to drain off these emotions (unless we undertake\nmerely to suppress them). This we say is a narrow view of the problem,\nmerely because the motives that underlie the conduct we deplore are\nnot _bad instincts_, or indeed instincts as such at all, but rather\nfeelings or moods which are variable in their expression, complex, and\neducable. They have no definite object of which they are in search, so\nthat we may think the only way to thwart them is to find some object\nclosely resembling theirs which may surreptitiously be substituted for\nthem. These motives are indeed broad and general. We must do with them\nwhat education must do all along the line, find the fundamental\ndesires they contain and utilize the energies expressed in these\ndesires in the performance of functions--these functions being the\npurposes most fundamentally at work in the social life or representing\nour social ideals.\n\nSuch an ideal of education invites us to work beneath the political\nand all formal, institutional and merely practical affairs and to lay\nour foundations in the depths of human nature. There we shall begin to\nestablish or to lay hold upon continuity, and there bring together the\nfragments of purpose which we find in the life we seek to direct. This\nwhich one can so easily say in a sentence is, of course, the whole\nproblem of education. These things are what we must work for in\nestablishing and sustaining our democracy, for we must, to this end,\nmake forces work together, instead of separately and antagonistically\nas they themselves tend to do. It is the same problem, at heart, in\nthe education of the individual--to harmonize desires, and to create a\nhigher synthesis of energies than nature itself will yield. And in the\nnew and wider field of international life that opens up before us, the\nproblem is still educational. The educational forces of the world must\nbegin now the gigantic task of national character building. The spirit\nof the nations, the divergent motives of power, of glory, of comfort\nand pleasure-seeking that are said to dominate nations, the justice,\nand loyalty, and steadfastness and truth which at least they put upon\ntheir banners and into their songs must be made to work together in a\npractical and progressive world, or to make such a world possible.\n\nThe Germans like to interpret the tricolor of their flag as signifying\n_Durch Nacht und Blut zur Licht_. But plainly the night and bloodshed\ndo not always lead to light, and of themselves they cannot. Nor, must\nwe think, need the world continue always to seek its way toward light\nonly through the blackness and guilt of wars and revolutions. In some\ndistant day, let us think, justice and morality will have been bred\ninto all the social life, and life will be lived more in the spirit of\nart and religion. Then they will see that, under the influence of\nthese forces we call now educational, an old order will have given way\nto a new by imperceptible degrees, and it will be no longer through\ndarkness and bloodshed that the world must make its way to light, but\nneed only go through light to greater light.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY\n\n\nThe following list contains the titles of a few books and articles\nthat have contributed data or suggestions to this study. It is neither\ncomplete nor systematic. Numbers in the text refer to this list.\n\n  1. A.W. Small, General Sociology.\n\n  2. C. Andler, Frightfulness in Theory and Practice.\n\n  3. W.E. Walling, The Sociologists and the War.\n\n  4. H. Hauser, Germany's Commercial Grip of the World.\n\n  5. J.F. O'Ryan and W.D.A. Anderson, The Modern Army in Action.\n\n  6. R. Dunn, Five Fronts.\n\n  7. Mrs. Henry Hobhouse, I Appeal Unto Caesar.\n\n  8. F.H. Giddings, The Western Hemisphere in the World of\n     To-morrow.\n\n  9. O.H. Kahn, Prussianized Germany.\n\n 10. C. Mitchell, Evolution, and the War.\n\n 11. A. Wehrmann, Deutsche Aufsaetze Ueber den Weltkrieg, etc.\n\n 12. J.P. Bang, Hurrah and Hallelujah.\n\n 13. E. Boutroux, Philosophy and the War.\n\n 14. M.A. Morrison, Sidelights on Germany.\n\n 15. R. Lehmann, Was Ist Deutsch? (In Vom kommenden Frieden.)\n\n 16. Durkheim, Germany Over All.\n\n 17. H. Bergson, The Meaning of the War.\n\n 18. J. Burnet, Higher Education and the War.\n\n 19. C.L. Drawbridge, The War and Religious Ideals.\n\n 20. M. Dide, Les Emotions et la Guerre.\n\n 21. D.G. Brinton, The Basis of Social Relations.\n\n 22. Ernesta R. Bullitt, An Uncensored Diary from the Central\n     Empires.\n\n 23. Hundert Briefe Aus dem Felde.\n\n 24. Mrs. Denis O'Sullivan, Harry Butters \"An American Citizen.\"\n\n 25. W. Irwin, Men, Women and War.\n\n 26. G. Roethe, Von Deutscher Art and Kultur.\n\n 27. J.W. Gerard, My Four Years in Germany.\n\n 28. W.R. Roberts, Patriotic Poetry: Greek and English.\n\n 29. Schmitz, Das Wirkliche Deutschland.\n\n 30. Redier, Comrades in Courage.\n\n 31. Igglesden, Out There.\n\n 32. Madame Lucy Hoesch-Ernst, Patriotismus und Patriotitis.\n\n 33. W.E. Ritter, War, Science and Civilization.\n\n 34. Hobhouse, The World in Conflict.\n\n 35. G.S. Fullerton, Germany of To-day.\n\n 36. A. Pinchot, War and the King Trust.\n\n 37. J.T. MacCurdy, The Psychology of War.\n\n 38. E.L. Fox, Behind the Scenes in Warring Germany.\n\n 39. J. Chapman, Deutschland Ueber Alles.\n\n 40. G. Blondel, Les Embarras de l'Allemagne.\n\n 41. P. Bigelow, The German Emperor and His Eastern Neighbors.\n\n 42. G. Le Bon, The Psychology of the Great War.\n\n 43. T.A. Cook, Kultur and Catastrophe.\n\n 44. Cheradame, The German Plot Unmasked.\n\n 45. J.B. Booth, The Gentle Cultured German.\n\n 46. J. Claes, The German Mole.\n\n 47. T.F.A. Smith, The Soul of Germany.\n\n 48. W.N. Willis, What Germany Wants.\n\n 49. Hintze, The Meaning of the War. (Modern Germany.)\n\n 50. Zitelmann, The War and International Law. (Modern Germany.)\n\n 51. Schmoller, Origin and Nature of German Institutions. (Modern\n     Germany.)\n\n 52. Hintze, Germany and the World Powers. (Modern Germany.)\n\n 53. F. Meinecke, Kultur Policy of Power and Militarism. (Modern\n     Germany.)\n\n 54. O.G. Villard, Germany Embattled.\n\n 55. E.J. Dillon, Ourselves and Germany.\n\n 56. R. MacFall, Germany at Bay.\n\n 57. C. Tower, Changing Germany.\n\n 58. W.R. Thayer, Germany vs. Civilization.\n\n 59. Lamprecht, What Is History?\n\n 60. B.T. Curtin, The Land of Deepening Shadows.\n\n 61. P. Bigelow, Prussian Memories.\n\n 62. E. Troeltsch, The Spirit of German Kultur. (Modern Germany.)\n\n 63. A. Guilland, Modern Germany and Her Historians.\n\n 64. T.F.A. Smith, What Germany Thinks.\n\n 65. Von Buelow, Imperial Germany.\n\n 66. J.A. Cramb, Germany and England.\n\n 67. G. Bourdon, The German Enigma.\n\n 68. P. Collier, Germany and Germans.\n\n 69. H.B. Swope, Inside the German Empire.\n\n 70. Sumner, Folkways.\n\n 71. J. Novicow, Les Luttes Entre Societes Humaines en Leur Phases\n     Successives.\n\n 72. H. Gibson, A Journal from Our Legation in Belgium.\n\n 73. A.M. Pooley, Japan at the Cross-Roads.\n\n 74. F.J. Adkins, The War.\n\n 75. H.E. Powers, The Things Men Fight For.\n\n 76. J. M'Cabe, The Soul of Europe.\n\n 77. Scheler, Der Genius des Krieges und der Deutsche Krieg.\n\n 78. S. Freud, Reflections on War and Death.\n\n 79. Nicolai, Die Biologie des Krieges.\n\n 80. P. Gibbs, The Soul of the War.\n\n 81. T. Roosevelt, America and the World War.\n\n 82. W. Trotter, Instincts of the Herd in Peace and War.\n\n 83. J. Novicow, Der Krieg und Seine Angeblichen Wohltaten.\n\n 84. G.R.S. Taylor, The Psychology of the Great War.\n\n 85. W. Wundt, Die Nationen und Ihre Philosophie.\n\n 86. Nusbaum, Der Krieg im Lichte der Biologie.\n\n 87. Edith Wharton, Fighting France.\n\n 88. Crile, A Mechanistic View of War and Peace.\n\n 89. Eleanor M. Sidgwick, The Morality of Strife in Relation to the\n     War. (The International Crisis.)\n\n 90. G. Murray, Herd Instinct and the War. (The International\n     Crisis.)\n\n 91. Bosanquet, Patriotism in the Perfect State. (The International\n     Crisis.)\n\n 92. A.G. Bradley, International Morality. (The International\n     Crisis.)\n\n 93. L.P. Jacks, The Changing Mind of a Nation at War. (The\n     International Crisis.)\n\n 94. G.F. Stout, War and Hatred. (The International Crisis.)\n\n 95. E. Mach, What Germany Wants.\n\n 96. F. Peil, Der Weltkrieg.\n\n 97. T. Veblen, The Nature of Peace.\n\n 98. Hirschfeld, Kriegsbiologisches.\n\n 99. H.A. Gibbons, The New Map of Europe.\n\n100. F.C. Howe, Why War?\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\nAEsthetic, elements in war, 70-77;\n  in education, 230, 315-318\n\nAggressive instinct, 40-45\n\nAmerican life, 248;\n  mores, 221\n\nAnger, 14\n\nAutocracy and democracy, 104\n\n\nBergson, 36, 101, 110\n\nBiological principles, 3 ff.\n\nBourdon, 90, 129\n\nBoutroux, 55, 101, 236\n\nBoy Scouts, 198\n\nBritish Labor Party, 273\n\nBurnet, 311\n\n\nCannibalism, 13-14\n\nCauses in war, 97-109\n\nChapman, 52\n\nChristianity, 307\n\nCity, moods, 188, 278;\n  school, 190\n\nCivics, 264\n\nClaes, 129\n\nCleveland, 260\n\nCobden, 137\n\nCollier, 90\n\nColonies, 129\n\nCombat, instinct of, 53-58\n\nConscientious objectors, 200\n\nConsciousness of kind, 8\n\nCramb, 75, 256\n\nCreative activity, 283\n\n\nDarwin, 111\n\nDeath, 71\n\nDemocracy, 232, 253 ff.;\n  spirit of, 185-191\n\nDickinson, 261\n\nDide, 52\n\nDillon, 102, 272\n\nDisplay, 74\n\nDominant, 35\n\nDrawbridge, 102\n\nDuelling, 93\n\nDurkheim, 115\n\n\nEconomic factors, 128-141\n\nEconomy, 275\n\nEcstasy, 23, 64\n\nEducational problems, 161-167\n\nEmpire, 148\n\nEngland, 123, 244\n\n\nFear, 14, 41\n\nFerrero, 52\n\nFeudalism, 35\n\nFinance, 134\n\nFrench, The, 24, 55, 244\n\nFreudians, 20\n\nFuture, The, viii\n\n\nGermany, 34, 43, 50, 55, 89, 98, 106, 115, 124, 126, 198, 239, 245\n\nGibbs, 54\n\nGovernment, 242 ff.;\n  functions of, 251\n\n\nHatred, 46-52\n\nHerd, The, 4, 10, 18, 57, 62\n\nHeroes, 234\n\nHintze, 99\n\nHirschfeld, 23\n\nHistorical causes in war, 149\n\nHistory, teaching of, 173, 266\n\nHobhouse, 101\n\nHobson, 260\n\nHocking, 167\n\nHome-love, 81, 216\n\nHomogeneity of species, 60\n\nHowe, 135, 136\n\nHullquist, 137\n\nHumanism, 309, 314\n\nHumanities, 312\n\n\nIndustrialism, 33, 134, 220\n\nIndustry, and education, 269-289;\n  the higher, 184\n\nInstincts, 4-5, 28, 38-69\n\nInstitutional factors in war, 125\n\nInternational law, 192\n\nInternationalism, 168-196\n\nIntoxication motive, 31\n\n\nJames, 266\n\nJapanese, 90, 119\n\nJones, 21\n\nJustice, 205, 311\n\n\nLamprecht, 34\n\nLand hunger, 131\n\nLeadership, 84, 142, 176\n\nLe Bon, 3, 18, 102, 111, 119, 129, 135, 244\n\nLehmann, 237\n\nLoyalty, 228;\n  to leaders, 231\n\n\nM'Cabe, 9\n\nMacCurdy, 48, 56, 58, 201\n\nMach, 135\n\nMarot, 284\n\nMilitarism, 197 ff.\n\nMilitary training, 208-210\n\nMitchell, 9\n\nMoods, in education, 319\n\nMoral influences in war, 117-127\n\nMurray, 18\n\nMysticism, 120\n\n\nNapoleon, 113\n\nNational, character study, 224;\n  desires, 175;\n  honor, 88-96\n\nNationalism, 79-96;\n  and internationalism, 105\n\nNicolai, 3, 19, 56, 70, 78, 129, 217\n\nNietzsche, 110\n\nNovicow, 19, 137\n\nNoyes, 271\n\nNusbaum, 45\n\nNutritional motive, 38\n\n\nObjectives, 140, 143\n\nO'Ryan and Anderson, 45\n\nOstwald, 98\n\n\nPacifists, 200\n\nPatriotism, 79-96, 211-241;\n  elements of, 80, 215\n\nPatten, 115\n\nPeace, 197 ff.;\n  ideals of, vi, 205\n\nPessimism, 43\n\nPfister, 45\n\nPhilosophical, attitude, 194;\n  influences in war, 110-116\n\nPolitical, education, 242-268;\n  factors, 142-152;\n  ideals, 235\n\nPower, motive of, 29, 130\n\nPowers, 130\n\nPractical interests, 180-183\n\nPraise of war, 199\n\nPreparedness, 208-210\n\nPresident of the United States, 102\n\nPressure of population, 129\n\nPreventive wars, 44\n\nPrimitive tendencies, 38\n\nProgress, v, 321\n\nProperty, 138\n\nProphets, viii-ix\n\nPsycho-analysis, 179\n\n\nRace patriotism, 226\n\nRationalism and humanism, 107\n\nRecreational life, 303\n\nRedier, 85\n\nReligion and education, 305-308\n\nReligious influences in war, 117-127\n\nReproductive motive, 38, 66, 73, 76\n\nReuter, Frau, 51\n\nReversion theories of war, 17-23\n\nRussell, 17, 167, 246, 305\n\n\nSavorgnan, 201\n\nScheler, 7, 47\n\nSciences, 314\n\nScientific movement, 112\n\nSelection, 5 ff.\n\nSexes, 299\n\nSmith, 51\n\nSocial, education, 282 ff. 290-304;\n  feeling, 82;\n  history, 301;\n  instincts, 58;\n  solidarity, 63\n\nSocialism, 259\n\nSpecialization, 281\n\nStevens, 138\n\nSumner, 121, 132\n\nSynthesis of causes, 153-157\n\n\nThayer, 56\n\nThrift, 285\n\nTower, 98\n\nTragedy, 71\n\nTrotter, 9, 18, 58, 233, 291, 295\n\n\nUnconscious motives, 17 ff.\n\nUniversal language, 193\n\n\nVeblen, 46, 78, 137\n\nVenezelos, 151\n\nVon Buelow, 115\n\n\nWar, as dramatic story, 22;\n  motives of, vii, 13, 15;\n  moods, 25 ff., 70 ff.;\n  origin of, 3 ff.\n\nWorld, idea, 170;\n  organization, 191\n\nWundt, 90\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n    | Typographical errors corrected in text:                   |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Page  53: cooperative replaced with cooeperative           |\n    | Page 230: cooperation replaced with cooeperation           |\n    | Page 252: artistocratic replaced with aristocratic        |\n    | Page 272: cooperation replaced with cooeperation           |\n    |                                                           |\n    | The author's inconsistent spelling of 'aesthetic' (70)    |\n    | versus 'aesthetic' (39) has been retained.                 |\n    |                                                           |\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n\n       *       *       *       *       *","title":"The Psychology of Nations: A Contribution to the Philosophy of History","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":109540}