THE NEW STATE

THE NEW STATE

GROUP ORGANIZATION THE SOLUTION

OF POPULAR GOVERNMENT

BY

M. P. FOLLETT

AUTHOR OF

“THE SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES”

LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO.

FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK

39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON

BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADRAS

1918

COPYRIGHT, 1918

BY LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO.

CONTENTS

THE NEW STATE

THE NEW STATE
INTRODUCTION

OUR political life is stagnating, capital and labor are virtually at war, the nations of Europe are at one another’s throats—because we have not yet learned how to live together. The twentieth century must find a new principle of association. Crowd philosophy, crowd government, crowd patriotism must go. The herd is no longer sufficient to enfold us.

Group organization is to be the new method in politics, the basis of our future industrial system, the foundation of international order. Group organization will create the new world we are now blindly feeling after, for creative force comes from the group, creative power is evolved through the activity of the group life.

We talk about the evils of democracy. We have not yet tried democracy. Party or “interests” govern us with some fiction of the “consent of the governed” which we say means democracy. We have not even a conception of what democracy means. That conception is yet to be forged out of the crude ore of life.

We talk about the tragedy of individualism. The individual we do not yet know, for we have no methods to release the powers of the individual. Our particularism—our laissez-faire, our every-man-for-his-own-interests—has little to do with true individualism, that is, with the individual as consciously responsible for the life from which he draws his breath and to which he contributes his all.

Politics do not need to be “purified.” This thought is leading us astray. Politics must be vitalized by a new method. “Representative government,” party organization, majority rule, with all their excrescences, are dead-wood. In their stead must appear the organization of non-partisan groups for the begetting, the bringing into being, of common ideas, a common purpose and a collective will.

Government by the people must be more than the phrase. We are told—The people should do this, the people should do that, the people must be given control of foreign policy, etc. etc. But all this is wholly useless unless we provide the procedure within which the people can do this or that. What does the “sovereign will” of the people amount to unless it has some way of operating? Or have we any “sovereign will?” There is little yet that is practical in “practical politics.”

But method must not connote mechanics to any mind. Many of us are more interested in the mechanism of life than in anything else. We keep on putting pennies in the slot from sheer delight in seeing something come out at the other end. All this must change. Machines, forms, images, moulds—all must be broken up and the way prepared for our plastic life to find plastic expression. The principle of democracy may be the underlying unity of men, the method of democracy must be that which allows the quickest response of our daily life to the common faith of men.

Are we capable of a new method? Can the inventive faculty of the American people be extended from mechanical things to political organization? There is no use denying that we are at a crisis in our history. Whether that crisis is to abound in acute moments which will largely wreck us, or whether we are going to be wise enough to make the necessary political and social adjustments—that is the crucial question which faces America to-day.

Representative government has failed. It has failed because it was not a method by which men could govern themselves. Direct government is now being proposed. But direct government will never succeed if (1) it is operated from within the party organization as at present, or (2) if it consists merely in counting all the votes in all the ballot-boxes. Ballot-box democracy is what this book is written to oppose.

No government will be successful, no government will endure, which does not rest on the individual, and no government has yet found the individual. Up to the present moment we have never seen the individual. Yet the search for him has been the whole long striving of our Anglo-Saxon history. We sought him through the method of representation and failed to find him. We sought to reach him by extending the suffrage to every man and then to every woman and yet he eludes us. Direct government now seeks the individual; but as we have not found him by sending more men to the ballot-box, so we shall not find him by sending men more often to the ballot-box. Are our constitutional conventions to sit and congratulate themselves on their progressive ideas while they are condemning us to a new form of our old particularism? The ballot-box! How completely that has failed men, how completely it will fail women. Direct government as at present generally understood is a mere phantom of democracy. Democracy is not a sum in addition. Democracy is not brute numbers; it is a genuine union of true individuals. The question before the American people to-day is—How is that genuine union to be attained, how is the true individual to be discovered? The party has always ignored him; it wants merely a crowd, a preponderance of votes. The early reform associations had the same aim. Both wanted voters not men. It makes little difference whether we follow the boss or follow the good government associations, this is all herd life—“following the lead”—democracy means a wholly different kind of existence. To follow means to murder the individual, means to kill the only force in the world which can make the Perfect Society—democracy depends upon the creative power of every man.

We find the true man only through group organization. The potentialities of the individual remain potentialities until they are released by group life. Man discovers his true nature, gains his true freedom only through the group. Group organization must be the new method of politics because the modes by which the individual can be brought forth and made effective are the modes of practical politics.

But who is the individual we have been seeking, who is the individual we are to find within the group? Certainly not the particularist individual. Every man to count as one? That was once our slogan. Now we have relegated it to a mechanical age. To-day we see that every man must count for infinitely more than one because he is not part of a whole, a cog in a machine, not even an organ in an organism, but from one point of view the whole itself. A man said to me the other day, “That is not democracy, that is mysticism.” But why mysticism? It is our daily life as lived from hour to hour. We join with one group of men at work, with another at play, another in our civic committee, another in our art club. Man’s life is one of manifold relatings. His vote at the polls must express not his particularist self, but the whole complex of his related life, must express as much of the whole as these multiple relations have brought into existence for him, through him. I find my expression of the whole-idea, the whole-will, through my group life. The group must always dictate the modes of activity for the individual. We must put clearly before us the true individual with his infinite relations, expressing his infinite relations, as the centre of politics, as the meaning of democracy. The first purpose of genuine politics is to make the vote of every man express the All at his special coign of outlook. In every man is the potentiality of such expression. To call it forth is the aim of all training, the end sought by all modes of real living.

Thus group organization releases us from the domination of mere numbers. Thus democracy transcends time and space, it can never be understood except as a spiritual force. Majority rule rests on numbers; democracy rests on the well-grounded assumption that society is neither a collection of units nor an organism but a network of human relations. Democracy is not worked out at the polling-booths; it is the bringing forth of a genuine collective will, one to which every single being must contribute the whole of his complex life, as one which every single being must express the whole of at one point. Thus the essence of democracy is creating. The technique of democracy is group organization. Many men despise politics because they see that politics manipulate, but make nothing. If politics are to be the highest activity of man, as they should be, they must be clearly understood as creative.

What is there inherent in the group which gives it creative power? The activity which produces the true individual is at the same time interweaving him and others into a real whole. A genuine whole has creative force. Does this seem “mystical?” The power of our corporations depends upon this capability of men to interknit themselves into such genuine relations that a new personality is thereby evolved. This is the “real personality” of modern legal theory. Are our company directors and corporation lawyers usually mystics?

The seeing of self as, with all other selves, creating, demands a new attitude and a new activity in man. The fallacy of self-and-others fades away and there is only self-in-and-through-others, only others so firmly rooted in the self and so fruitfully growing there that sundering is impossible. We must now enter upon modes of living commensurate with this thought.

What American politics need to-day is positive principles. We do not want to “regulate” our trusts, to “restrain” our bosses. The measure of our progress is never what we give up, but what we add. It may be necessary to prune the garden, but we do not make a pile of the dead branches and take our guests to see them as evidence of the flourishing state of the garden.

The group organization movement means the substitution of intention for accident, of organized purpose for scattered desire. It rests on the solid assumption that this is a man-made not a machine-made world, that men and women are capable of constructing their own life, and that not upon socialism or any rule or any order or any plan or any utopia can we rest our hearts, but only on the force of a united and creative citizenship.

We are asking for group organization in order to leap at once from the region of theory, of which Americans are so fond, to a practical scheme of living. We hear a good deal of academic talk about “the functioning of the social mind”; what does it all amount to? We have no social mind yet, so we have no functioning of the social mind. We want the directive force of consciously integrated thought and will. All our ideas of conscious self-determination lead us to a new method: it is not merely that we must be allowed to govern ourselves, we must learn how to govern ourselves; it is not only that we must be given “free speech,” we must learn a speech that is free; we are not given rights, we create rights; it is not only that we must invent machinery to get a social will expressed, we must invent machinery that will get a social will created.

Politics have one task only—to create. To create? But what are politics to create? The state? The state is now discredited in many quarters. The extremists cry, “The state is dead, Down with the state.” And it is by no means the extremists alone who are saying that our present state has played us false and that therefore we are justified in abolishing it. An increasing number of men are thinking what one writer has put into words, “We have passed from the régime of the state to that of the groups.” We must see if it is necessary to abolish the state in order to get the advantage of the group.

Many trickles have gone to feed the stream of reaction against the state: (1) an economic and industrial progress which demands political recognition, which demands that labor have a share in political power, (2) the trend of philosophic thought towards pluralism and the whole anti-intellectualistic tendency, (3) a progressive legal theory of the “real personality” of groups, (4) a growing antagonism to the state because it is supposed to embody the crowd mind: our electorate is seen as a crowd hypnotized by the party leaders, big words, vague ideas and loose generalizations, (5) our life of rapidly increasing intercourse has made us see our voluntary associations as real and intimate, the state as something remote and foreign to us, and (6) the increasing alignment before the war of interests across state lines.

Every one of these reasons has force. Almost any one of these reasons is sufficient to turn political theory into new channels, seeking new currents of political life. Yet if our present state is taken from us and we are left with our multiple group life, we are at once confronted with many questions. Shall the new state be based on occupational groups or neighborhood groups? Shall they form a unifying or a plural state? Shall the group or the individual be the basis of politics? The pluralist gives us the group as the unit of politics, but most of the group theories of politics are as entirely particularistic as the old “individualistic” theories; our particularism is merely transferred from the individual to the group.

Pluralism is the most vital trend in political thought to-day, but there are many dangers lurking in pluralism as at present understood. The pluralists apotheosize the group; the average American, on the other hand, is afraid of the group because he thinks of it chiefly in the form of corporation and trust. Both make the same mistake: both isolate the group. The group in relation must be the object of our study if that study is to be fruitful for politics. The pluralists have pointed out diversity but no pluralist has yet answered satisfactorily the question to which we must find an answer—What is to be done with this diversity?

Some of the pluralists tend to lose the individual in the group; others, to abandon the state for the group. But the individual, the group, the state—they are all there to be reckoned with—we cannot ignore or minimize any one. The relation of individual to group, of group to group, of individual and group to state—the part that labor is to have in the new state—these are the questions to the consideration of which this book is directed.

This book makes no attempt, however, to construct the new state, only to offer certain suggestions. But before the details of a new order are even hinted at, we must look far enough within for our practical suggestions to have value. In [Part I ]we shall try to find the fundamental principles which must underlie the new state; in [Part II] we shall see how far they are expressed in present political forms; in [Part III] we shall consider how they can be expressed. When they are fully expressed, then we shall have the true Federal State, then we shall see appearing the World State.

To sum up this Introduction: The immediate problem of political science is to discover the method of self-government. Industrial democracy, the self-government of smaller nations, the “sovereignty” of an International League, our own political power,—how are these to be attained? Not by being “granted” or “conferred.” Genuine control, power, authority are always a growth. Self-government is a psychological process. It is with that psychological process that this book is largely concerned. To free the way for that process is the task of practical politics.

New surges of life are pounding at circumference and centre; we must open the way for their entrance and onflow. To-day the individual is submerged, smothered, choked by the crowd fallacy, the herd theory. Free him from these, release his energies, and he with all other Freemen will work out quick, flexible, constantly changing forms which shall respond sensitively to every need.

Under our present system, social and economic changes necessary because of changing social and economic conditions cannot be brought about. The first reform needed in our political practice is to find some method by which the government shall continuously represent the people. No state can endure unless the political bond is being forever forged anew. The organization of men in small local groups gives opportunity for this continuous political activity which ceaselessly creates the state. Our government forms cannot be fossils from a dead age, but must be sensitive, mobile channels for the quick and quickening soul of the individual to flow to those larger confluences which finally bring forth the state. Thus every man is the state at every moment, whether in daily toil or social intercourse, and thus the state itself, leading a myriad-membered life, is expressing itself as truly in its humblest citizen as in its supreme assembly.

The principle of modern politics, the principle of creative citizenship, must predominantly and preëminently body itself and be acknowledged by every human being. Then will “practical politics” be for the first time practical.

A few words of explanation seem necessary. I have no bibliography simply because any list of references which I could give would necessarily be a partial one since much of this book has come by wireless. Besides all that is being written definitely of a new state, the air to-day is full of the tentative, the partial, the fragmentary thought, the isolated flash of insight from some genius, all of which is being turned to the solution of those problems which, from our waking to our sleeping, face us with their urgent demand. I am here trying to show the need of a wide and systematic study of these problems, not pretending to be able to solve them. Much interweaving of thought will be necessary before the form of the new state appears to us.

Moreover, I have not traced the strands of thought which have led us to our present ideas. That does not mean that I do not recognize the slow building up of these ideas or all our indebtedness to the thinkers of the past. I speak of principles as “new” which we all know were familiar to Aristotle or Kant and are new to-day only in their application.

The word new is so much used in the present day—New Freedom, New Democracy, New Society etc.—that it is perhaps well for us to remind ourselves what we mean by this word. We are using the word new partly in reaction to the selfishness of the nineteenth century, in reaction to a world which has culminated in this war, but more especially in the sense of the live, the real, in contrast to the inert, the dead. It is not a time distinction—the “new” (the vital) claims fellowship with all that is “new” (vital) in the past. When we speak of the “New” Freedom we mean all the reality and truth which have accumulated in all the conceptions of freedom up to the present moment. The “New” Society is the “Perfect Society.” The “New” Life is the Vita Nuova, “when spring came to the heart of Italy.”

It is I hope unnecessary to explain that in my frequent use of the term “the new psychology,” I am not referring to any definitely formulated body of thought; there are no writers who are expounding the new psychology as such. By the “new psychology” I mean something now in the making: I mean partly that group psychology which is receiving more attention and gaining more influence every day, and partly I mean simply that feeling out for a new conception of modes of association which we see in law, economics, ethics, politics, and indeed in every department of thought. It is a short way of saying that we are now looking at things not as entities but in relation. When our modern jurists speak of the growing emphasis upon relation rather than upon contract—they are speaking of the “new psychology.”

There is, however, another and very important aspect of contemporary psychology closely connected with this one of relation. We are to-day seeking to understand the sources of human motives,[^[1]] and then to free their channels so that these elemental springs of human activity (the fundamental instincts of man) shall not be dammed but flow forth in normal fashion, for normal man is constructive. A few years ago, for instance, we were satisfied merely to condemn sabotage and repudiation of law; now we are trying to discover the cause of this deviation from the normal in order to see if it can be removed. This necessity for the understanding of the nature and vital needs of men has not yet reached full self-consciousness, but appears in diverse forms: as the investigation of the I. W. W., as a study of “Human Nature in Politics,” an examination of “The Great Society,” as child-study, as Y. M. C. A. efforts to nourish all sides of men at the front, etc. etc. To-day the new psychology speaks in many voices. Soon we may hope for some unified formulation of all this varied and scattered utterance. Soon we may hope also that the connection will be made between this aspect of contemporary psychology and the group psychology upon which this book is mainly founded.

I wish to add my reason for giving quotations from many writers whose names I have not cited. This has been chiefly because often the sentence or phrase quoted taken away from all context does not give a fair idea of the writer’s complete thought, and I have used it not in an attempt to refute these writers, but merely as illustrating certain tendencies to which we are all more or less subject at present. Many of the writers with whom I have disagreed in some particular have been in the main my teachers and guides.

A certain amount of repetition has seemed necessary in order to look at the same idea from a number of angles and to make different applications of the same principle.

From a few friends I have received much help. My thanks are especially due to my teacher and counsellor of many years, Miss Anna Boynton Thompson, who went over the first copy of the manuscript with me and gave to it the most careful consideration and criticism, offering constantly invaluable suggestion and advice; to her unflagging and most generous help the final form owes more than I can quite express. The inception of the book is due to my friends and fellow-workers, Mrs. Louis Brandeis, Mrs. Richard Cabot and Mr. Arthur Woodworth, as also much of its thought to the stimulus of “group” discussion with them. Mrs. Charles W. Mixter, Professor Albert Bushnell Hart, Professor H. A. Overstreet, Professor W. Ernest Hocking and Mr. Roscoe Pound have read the manuscript in full or in part and have given me many valuable suggestions. I owe to my friend, Miss Isobel L. Briggs, daily help, advice and encouragement in the development of the book, and the revision of manuscript and proofs.

Part I
THE GROUP PRINCIPLE

I
THE GROUP AND THE NEW PSYCHOLOGY

POLITICS must have a technique based on an understanding of the laws of association, that is, based on a new and progressive social psychology. Politics alone should not escape all the modern tendency of scientific method, of analysis, of efficiency engineering. The study of democracy has been based largely on the study of institutions; it should be based on the study of how men behave together. We have to deal, not with institutions, or any mechanical thing, or with abstract ideas, or “man,” or anything but just men, ordinary men. The importance of the new psychology is that it acknowledges man as the centre and shaper of his universe. In his nature all institutions are latent and perforce must be adapted to this nature. Man not things must be the starting point of the future.

But man in association, for no man lives to himself. And we must understand further that the laws of association are the laws of the group. We have long been trying to understand the relation of the individual to society; we are only just beginning to see that there is no “individual,” that there is no “society.” It is not strange, therefore, that our efforts have gone astray, that our thinking yields small returns for politics. The old psychology was based on the isolated individual as the unit, on the assumption that a man thinks, feels and judges independently. Now that we know that there is no such thing as a separate ego, that individuals are created by reciprocal interplay, our whole study of psychology is being transformed.

Likewise there is no “society” thought of vaguely as the mass of people we see around us. I am always in relation not to “society” but to some concrete group. When do we ever as a matter of fact think of “society”? Are we not always thinking of our part in our board of directors or college faculty, in the dinner party last night,[^[2]] in our football team, our club, our political party, our trade-union, our church? Practically “society” is for every one of us a number of groups. The recognition of this constitutes a new step in sociology analogous to the contribution William James made in regard to the individual. James brought to popular recognition the truth that since man is a complex of experiences there are many selves in each one. So society as a complex of groups includes many social minds. The craving we have for union is satisfied by group life, groups and groups, groups ever widening, ever unifying, but always groups. We sometimes say that man is spiritually dependent upon society; what we are referring to is his psychic relation to his groups. The vital relation of the individual to the world is through his groups; they are the potent factors in shaping our lives.

Hence social psychology cannot be the application of the old individual psychology to a number of people. A few years ago I went to a lecture on “Social Psychology,” as the subject was announced. Not a word was said except on the nervous systems and other aspects of individual psychology, but at the last moment the lecturer told us that had there been time he would have applied what he had said to social conditions! It reminded me of our old acquaintance Silas Wegg who, when he wanted to know something about Chinese metaphysics, first looked up China in the encyclopedia and then metaphysics and put them together. The new psychology must take people with their inheritance, their “tendencies,” their environment, and then focus its attention on their interrelatings. The most careful laboratory work must be done to discover the conditions which make these interrelatings possible, which make these interrelatings fruitful.

Some writers make “socially minded” tendencies on the part of individuals the subject of social psychology, but such tendencies belong still to the field of individual psychology. A social action is not an individual initiative with social application.[^[3]] Neither is social psychology the determination of how far social factors determine the individual consciousness. Social psychology must concern itself primarily with the interaction of minds.

Early psychology was based on the study of the individual; early sociology was based on the study of society. But there is no such thing as the “individual,” there is no such thing as “society”; there is only the group and the group-unit—the social individual. Social psychology must begin with an intensive study of the group, of the selective processes which go on within it, the differentiated reactions, the likenesses and unlikenesses, and the spiritual energy which unites them.

The acceptance and the living of the new psychology will do away with all the progeny of particularistic psychology: consent of the governed, majority rule, external leadership, industrial wars, national wars etc. From the analysis of the group must come an understanding of collective thought and collective feeling, of the common will and concerted activity, of the true nature of freedom, the illusion of self-and-others, the essential unity of men, the real meaning of patriotism, and the whole secret of progress and of life as a genuine interpenetration which produces true community.

All thinking men are demanding a new state. The question is—What form shall that state take? No one of us will be able to give an answer until we have studied men in association and have discovered the laws of association. This has not been done yet, but already we can see that a political science which is not based on a knowledge of the laws of association gained by a study of the group will soon seem the crudest kind of quackery. Syndicalism, in reaction to the so-called “metaphysical” foundation of politics, is based on “objective rights,” on function, on its conception of modes of association which shall emphasize the object of the associated and not the relation of the associated to one another. The new psychology goes a step further and sees these as one, but how can any of these things be discussed abstractly? Must we not first study men in association? Young men in the hum of actual life, practical politicians, the members of constitutional conventions, labor leaders—all these must base their work on the principles of group psychology.

The fundamental reason for the study of group psychology is that no one can give us democracy, we must learn democracy. To be a democrat is not to decide on a certain form of human association, it is to learn how to live with other men. The whole labor movement is being kept back by people not knowing how to live together much more than by any deliberate refusal to grant justice. The trouble with syndicalism is that its success depends on group action and we know almost nothing of the laws of the group.

I have used group in this book with the meaning of men associating under the law of interpenetration as opposed to the law of the crowd—suggestion and imitation. This may be considered an arbitrary definition, but of course I do not care about the names, I only want to emphasize the fact that men meet under two different sets of laws. Social psychology may include both group psychology and crowd psychology, but of these two group psychology is much the more important. For a good many years now we have been dominated by the crowd school, by the school which taught that people met together are governed by suggestion and imitation, and less notice has been taken of all the interplay which is the real social process that we have in a group but not in a crowd. How men behave in crowds, and the relation of the crowd conception of politics to democracy, will be considered in later chapters. While I recognize that men are more often at present under the laws of the crowd than of the group, I believe that progress depends on the group, and, therefore, that the group should be the basis of a progressive social psychology. The group process contains the secret of collective life, it is the key to democracy, it is the master lesson for every individual to learn, it is our chief hope for the political, the social, the international life of the future.[^[4]]

II
THE GROUP PROCESS: THE COLLECTIVE IDEA

LET us begin at once to consider the group process. Perhaps the most familiar example of the evolving of a group idea is a committee meeting. The object of a committee meeting is first of all to create a common idea. I do not go to a committee meeting merely to give my own ideas. If that were all, I might write my fellow-members a letter. But neither do I go to learn other people’s ideas. If that were all, I might ask each to write me a letter. I go to a committee meeting in order that all together we may create a group idea, an idea which will be better than any one of our ideas alone, moreover which will be better than all of our ideas added together. For this group idea will not be produced by any process of addition, but by the interpenetration of us all. This subtle psychic process by which the resulting idea shapes itself is the process we want to study.

Let us imagine that you, I, A, B and C are in conference. Now what from our observation of groups will take place? Will you say something, and then I add a little something, and then A, and B, and C, until we have together built up, brick-wise, an idea, constructed some plan of action? Never. A has one idea, B another, C’s idea is something different from either, and so on, but we cannot add all these ideas to find the group idea. They will not add any more than apples and chairs will add. But we gradually find that our problem can be solved, not indeed by mechanical aggregation, but by the subtle process of the intermingling of all the different ideas of the group. A says something. Thereupon a thought arises in B’s mind. Is it B’s idea or A’s? Neither. It is a mingling of the two. We find that A’s idea, after having been presented to B and returned to A, has become slightly, or largely, different from what it was originally. In like manner it is affected by C and so on. But in the same way B’s idea has been affected by all the others, and not only does A’s idea feel the modifying influence of each of the others, but A’s ideas are affected by B’s relation to all the others, and A’s plus B’s are affected by all the others individually and collectively, and so on and on until the common idea springs into being.

We find in the end that it is not a question of my idea being supplemented by yours, but that there has been evolved a composite idea. But by the time we have reached this point we have become tremendously civilized people, for we have learned one of the most important lessons of life: we have learned to do that most wonderful thing, to say “I” representing a whole instead of “I” representing one of our separate selves. The course of action decided upon is what we all together want, and I see that it is better than what I had wanted alone. It is what I now want. We have all experienced this at committee meetings or conferences.

We see therefore that we cannot view the content of the collective mind as a holiday procession, one part after another passing before our mental eyes; every part is bound up with every other part, every tendency is conditioned by every other tendency. It is like a game of tennis. A serves the ball to B. B returns the serve but his play is influenced as largely by the way the ball has been served to him as it is by his own method of return. A sends the ball back to B, but his return is made up of his own play plus the way in which the ball has been played to him by B plus his own original serve. Thus in the end does action and reaction become inextricably bound up together.

I have described briefly the group process. Let us consider what is required of the individual in order that the group idea shall be produced. First and foremost each is to do his part. But just here we have to get rid of some rather antiquated notions. The individual is not to facilitate agreement by courteously (!) waiving his own point of view. That is just a way of shirking. Nor may I say, “Others are able to plan this better than I.” Such an attitude is the result either of laziness or of a misconception. There are probably many present at the conference who could make wiser plans than I alone, but that is not the point, we have come together each to give something. I must not subordinate myself, I must affirm myself and give my full positive value to that meeting.

And as the psychic coherence of the group can be obtained only by the full contribution of every member, so we see that a readiness to compromise must be no part of the individual’s attitude. Just so far as people think that the basis of working together is compromise or concession, just so far they do not understand the first principles of working together. Such people think that when they have reached an appreciation of the necessity of compromise they have reached a high plane of social development; they conceive themselves as nobly willing to sacrifice part of their desire, part of their idea, part of their will, in order to secure the undoubted benefit of concerted action. But compromise is still on the same plane as fighting. War will continue—between capital and labor, between nation and nation—until we relinquish the ideas of compromise and concession.[^[5]]

But at the same time that we offer fully what we have to give, we must be eager for what all others have to give. If I ought not to go to my group feeling that I must give up my own ideas in order to accept the opinions of others, neither ought I to go to force my ideas upon others. The “harmony” that comes from the domination of one man is not the kind we want. At a board of directors’ meeting once Mr. E. H. Harriman said, “Gentlemen, we must have coöperation. I insist upon it.” They “coöperated” and all his motions were put through. At the end of the meeting some one asked Mr. Harriman to define coöperation. “Oh, that’s simple,” he said, “do as I say and do it damned quick.”

There are many people who conscientiously go to their group thinking it their duty to impose their ideas upon others, but the time is coming soon when we are going to see that we have no more right to get our own way by persuading people than by bullying or bribing them. To take our full share in the synthesis is all that is legitimate.[^[6]]

Thus the majority idea is not the group idea. Suppose I belong to a committee composed of five: of A, B, C, D and myself. According to the old theory of my duties as a committee member I might say, “A agrees with me, if I can get B to agree with me that will make a majority and I can carry my point.” That is, we five can then present this idea to the world as our group idea. But this is not a group idea, although it may be the best substitute we can get for the moment. To a genuine group idea every man must contribute what is in him to contribute. Thus even the passing of a unanimous vote by a group of five does not prove the existence of a group idea if two or three (or even one) out of indifference or laziness or prejudice, or shut-upness, or a misconception of their function, have not added their individual thought to the creation of the group thought. No member of a group which is to create can be passive. All must be active and constructively active.

It is not, however, to be constructively active merely to add a share: it must be a share which is related to and bound up with every other share. And it must be given in such a way that it fits in with what others are giving. Some one said to me the other day, “Don’t you think Mr. X talks better than anyone else in Boston?” Well the fact is that Mr. X talks so well that I can never talk with him. Everything he says has such a ring of finality, is such a rounding up of the whole question, that it leaves nothing more to be said on the subject. This is particularly the kind of thing to be avoided in a committee meeting or conference.

There are many people, moreover, who want to score, to be brilliant, rather than to find agreement. Others come prepared with what they are going to say and either this has often been said long before they get a chance to speak, or, in any case, it allows no give-and-take, so they contribute nothing; when we really learn the process our ideas will be struck out by the interplay. To compare notes on what we have thought separately is not to think together.

I asked a man once to join a committee I was organizing and he replied that he would be very glad to come and give his advice. I didn’t want him—and didn’t have him. I asked another man and he said he would like very much to come and learn but that he couldn’t contribute anything. I didn’t have him either—I hadn’t a school. Probably the last man thought he was being modest and, therefore, estimable. But what I wanted was to get a group of people who would deliberately work out a thing together. I should have liked very much to have the man who felt that he had advice to give if he had had also what we are now learning to call the social attitude, that is, that of a man willing to take his place in the group, no less and no more. This definition of social attitude is very different from our old one—the willingness to give; my friend who wanted to come and give advice had that, but that is a crude position compared with the one we are now advocating.

It is clear then that we do not go to our group—trade-union, city council, college faculty—to be passive and learn, and we do not go to push through something we have already decided we want. Each must discover and contribute that which distinguishes him from others, his difference. The only use for my difference is to join it with other differences. The unifying of opposites is the eternal process.[^[7]] We must have an imagination which will leap from the particular to the universal. Our joy, our satisfaction, must always be in the more inclusive aspect of our problem.

We can test our group in this way: do we come together to register the results of individual thought, to compare the results of individual thought in order to make selections therefrom, or do we come together to create a common idea? Whenever we have a real group something new is actually created. We can now see therefore that the object of group life is not to find the best individual thought, but the collective thought. A committee meeting isn’t like a prize show aimed at calling out the best each can possibly produce and then the prize (the vote) awarded to the best of all these individual opinions. The object of a conference is not to get at a lot of different ideas, as is often thought, but just the opposite—to get at one idea. There is nothing rigid or fixed about thoughts, they are entirely plastic, and ready to yield themselves completely to their master—the group spirit.[^[8]]

I have given some of the conditions necessary for collective thinking. In every governing board—city councils, hospital and library trustees, the boards of colleges and churches, in business and industry, in directors’ meetings—no device should be neglected which will help to produce joint rather than individual thinking. But no one has yet given us a scientific analysis of the conditions necessary or how to fulfil them. We do not yet know, for instance, the best number to bring out the group idea, the number, that is, which will bring out as many differences as possible and yet form a whole or group. We cannot guess at it but only get it through scientific experiments. Much laboratory work has to be done. The numbers on Boards of Education, on Governors’ Commissions, should be determined by psychological as well as by political reasons.

Again it is said that private sessions are undemocratic. If they contribute to true collective thinking (instead of efforts to dazzle the gallery), then, in so far, they are democratic, for there is nothing in the world so democratic as the production of a genuine group will.

Mr. Gladstone must have appreciated the necessity of making conditions favorable to joint thinking, for I have been told that at important meetings of the Cabinet he planned beforehand where each member should sit.

The members of a group are reciprocally conditioning forces none of which acts as it would act if any one member were different or absent. You can often see this in a board of directors: if one director leaves the room, every man becomes slightly different.

When the conditions for collective thinking are more or less fulfilled, then the expansion of life will begin. Through my group I learn the secret of wholeness.[^[9]] The inspiration of the group is proportionate to the degree in which we do actually identify ourselves with the whole and think that we are doing this, not Mr. A and Mr. B and I, but we, the united we, the singular not the plural pronoun we. (We shall have to write a new grammar to meet the needs of the times, as non-Euclidean geometries are now being published.) Then we shall no longer have a feeling of individual triumph, but feel only elation that the group has accomplished something. Much of the evil of our political and social life comes from the fact that we crave personal recognition and personal satisfaction; as soon as our greatest satisfaction is group satisfaction, many of our present problems will disappear. When one thinks of one’s self as part of a group, it means keener moral perceptions, greater strength of will, more enthusiasm and zest in life. We shall enjoy living the social life when we understand it; the things which we do and achieve together will give us much greater happiness than the things we do and achieve by ourselves. It has been asked what, in peace, is going to take the place of those songs men sing as they march to battle which at the same time thrill and unite them. The songs which the hearts of men will sing as they go forward in life with one desire—the song of the common will, the social will of man.

Men descend to meet? This is not my experience. The laissez-aller which people allow themselves when alone disappears when they meet. Then they pull themselves together and give one another of their best. We see this again and again. Sometimes the ideal of the group stands quite visibly before us as one which none of us is quite living up to by himself. We feel it there, an impalpable, substantial thing in our midst. It raises us to the n^th power of action, it fires our minds and glows in our hearts and fulfils and actuates itself no less, but rather on this very account, because it has been generated only by our being together.

III
THE GROUP PROCESS: THE COLLECTIVE IDEA
(CONTINUED)

WHAT then is the essence of the group process by which are evolved the collective thought and the collective will? It is an acting and reacting, a single and identical process which brings out differences and integrates them into a unity. The complex reciprocal action, the intricate interweavings of the members of the group, is the social process.

We see now that the process of the many becoming one is not a metaphysical or mystical idea; psychological analysis shows us how we can at the same moment be the self and the other, it shows how we can be forever apart and forever united. It is by the group process that the transfiguration of the external into the spiritual takes place, that is, that what seems a series becomes a whole. The essence of society is difference, related difference. “Give me your difference” is the cry of society to-day to every man.[^[10]]

But the older sociology made the social mind the consciousness of likeness. This likeness was accounted for by two theories chiefly: the imitation theory and the like-response-to-like-stimuli theory. It is necessary to consider these briefly, for they have been gnawing at the roots of all our political life.

To say that the social process is that merely of the spread of similarities is to ignore the real nature of the collective thought, the collective will. Individual ideas do not become social ideas when communicated. The difference between them is one of kind. A collective thought is one evolved by a collective process. The essential feature of a common thought is not that it is held in common but that it has been produced in common.

Likewise if every member of a group has the same thought, that is not a group idea: when all respond simultaneously to the same stimulus, it cannot be assumed that this is in obedience to a collective will. When all the men in a street run round the corner to see a procession, it is not because they are moved by a collective thought.

Imitation indeed has a place in the collective life, it is one of the various means of coadaptation between men, but it is only a part and a part which has been fatally overemphasized.[^[11]] It is one of the fruits of particularism. “Imitation” has been made the bridge to span the gap between the individual and society, but we see now that there is no gap, therefore no bridge is necessary.

The core of the social process is not likeness, but the harmonizing of difference through interpenetration.[^[12]] But to be more accurate, similarity and difference can not be opposed in this external way—they have a vital connection. Similarities and differences make up the differentiated reactions of the group; that is what constitutes their importance, not their likeness or unlikeness as such. I react to a stimulus: that reaction may represent a likeness or an unlikeness. Society is the unity of these differentiated reactions. In other words the process is not that merely of accepting or rejecting, it is bound up in the interknitting. In that continuous coördinating which constitutes the social process both similarity and difference have a place. Unity is brought about by the reciprocal adaptings of the reactions of individuals, and this reciprocal adapting is based on both agreement and difference.

To push our analysis a little further, we must distinguish between the given similarity and the achieved similarity. The common at any moment is always the given: it has come from heredity, biological influences, suggestion and imitation, and the previous workings of the law of interpenetration. All the accumulated effect of these is seen in our habits of thinking, our modes of living. But we cannot rest in the common. The surge of life sweeps through the given similarity, the common ground, and breaks it up into a thousand differences. This tumultuous, irresistible flow of life is our existence: the unity, the common, is but for an instant, it flows on to new differings which adjust themselves anew in fuller, more varied, richer synthesis. The moment when similarity achieves itself as a composite of working, seething forces, it throws out its myriad new differings. The torrent flows into a pool, works, ferments, and then rushes forth until all is again gathered into the new pool of its own unifying.

This is the process of evolution. Social progress is to be sure coadapting, but coadapting means always that the fresh unity becomes the pole of a fresh difference leading to again new unities which lead to broader and broader fields of activity.

Thus no one of course undertakes to deny the obvious fact that in order to have a society a certain amount of similarity must exist. In one sense society rests on likeness: the likeness between men is deeper than their difference. We could not have an enemy unless there was much in common between us. With my friend all the aims that we share unite us. In a given society the members have the same interests, the same ends, in the main, and seek a common fulfilment. Differences are always grounded in an underlying similarity. But all this kind of “similarity” isn’t worth mentioning because we have it. The very fact that it is common to us all condemns it from the point of view of progress. Progress does not depend upon the similarity which we find but upon the similarity which we achieve.

The new psychology, therefore, gives us individual responsibility as the central fact of life because it demands that we grow our own like-mindedness. To-day we are basing all our hopes not on the given likeness but the created unity. To rest in the given likeness would be to annihilate social progress. The organization of industry and the settlement of international relations must come under the domination of this law. The Allies are fighting to-day with one impulse, one desire, one aim, but at the peace table many differences will arise between them. The progress of the whole world at that moment will depend upon the “similarity” we can create. This “similarity” will consist of all we now hold in common and also, of the utmost importance for the continuance of civilization, upon our ability to unify our differences. If we go to that peace table with the idea that the new world is to be based on that community of interest and aim which now animates us, the disillusion will be great, the result an overwhelming failure.

Let us henceforth, therefore, use the word unifying instead of similarity to represent the basis of association. And let us clearly understand that unifying is a process involving the continuous activity of every man. To await “variation-giving” individuals would be to make life a mere chance. We cannot wait for new ideas to appear among us, we must ourselves produce them. This makes possible the endless creation of new social values. The old like-minded theory is too fortuitous, too passive and too negative to attract us; creating is the divine adventure.

Let us imagine a group of people whom we know. If we find the life of that group consisting chiefly of imitation, we see that it involves no activity of the real self but crushes and smothers it. Imitation condemns the human race. Even if up to the present moment imitation has been a large factor in man’s development, from this moment on such a smothering of all the forces of life must cease.

If we have, however, among this group “like-response,” that is if there spring up like thoughts and feelings, we find a more dignified and worthy life—fellowship claims us with all its joys and its enlargement of our single self. But there is no progress here. We give ourselves up to the passive enjoyment of that already existing. We have found our kindred and it comforts us. How much greater enhancement comes from that life foreshadowed by the new psychology where each one is to go forth from his group a richer being because each one has taken and put into its right membership all the vital differences of all the others. The like-mindedness which the new psychology demands is the like-mindedness which is brought about by the enlargement of each by the inflowing of every other one. Then I go forth a new creature. But to what do I go forth? Always to a new group, a new “society.” There is no end to this process. A new being springs forth from every fresh contact. My nature opens and opens to thousands of new influences. I feel countless new births. Such is the glory of our common every-day life.

Imitation is for the shirkers, like-mindedness for the comfort lovers, unifying for the creators.

The lesson of the new psychology is then: Never settle down within the theory you have chosen, the cause you have embraced; know that another theory, another cause exists, and seek that. The enhancement of life is not for the comfort-lover. As soon as you succeed—real success means something arising to overthrow your security.

In all the discussion of “similarity” too much importance has been put upon analogies from the animal world.[^[13]] We are told, for instance, and important conclusions are drawn in regard to human society, that the gregarious instinct of any animal receives satisfaction only through the presence of animals similar to itself, and that the closer the similarity the greater the satisfaction. True certainly for animals, but it is this fact which keeps them mere animals. As far as the irrational elements of life give way to the rational, interpenetration becomes the law of association. Man’s biological inheritance is not his only life. And the progress of man means that this inheritance shall occupy a less and less important place relatively.

It has been necessary to consider the similarity theory, I have said, because it has eaten its way into all our thought.[^[14]] Many people to-day seem to think that progress depends upon a number of people all speaking loudly together. The other day a woman said to me that she didn’t like the Survey because it has on one page a letter from a conservative New York banker and on another some radical proposal for the reconstruction of society; she said she preferred a paper which took one idea and hammered away on that. This is poor psychology. It is the same reasoning which makes people think that certain kindred souls should come together, and then by a certain intensified thinking and living together some noble product will emerge for the benefit of the world. Such association is based on a wrong principle. However various the reasons given for the non-success of such experiments as Brook Farm, certain religious associations, and certain artistic and literary groups who have tried to live together, the truth is that most of them have died simply of non-nutrition. The bond created had not within it the variety which the human soul needs for its nourishment.

Unity, not uniformity, must be our aim. We attain unity only through variety. Differences must be integrated, not annihilated, nor absorbed.[^[15]] Anarchy means unorganized, unrelated difference; coördinated, unified difference belongs to our ideal of a perfect social order. We don’t want to avoid our adversary but to “agree with him quickly”; we must, however, learn the technique of agreeing. As long as we think of difference as that which divides us, we shall dislike it; when we think of it as that which unites us, we shall cherish it. Instead of shutting out what is different, we should welcome it because it is different and through its difference will make a richer content of life. The ignoring of differences is the most fatal mistake in politics or industry or international life: every difference that is swept up into a bigger conception feeds and enriches society; every difference which is ignored feeds on society and eventually corrupts it.

Heterogeneity, not homogeneity, I repeat, makes unity. Indeed as we go from groups of the lower types to groups of the higher types, we go from those with many resemblances to those with more and more striking differences. The higher the degree of social organization the more it is based on a very wide diversity among its members. The people who think that London is the most civilized spot in the world give as evidence that it is the only city in which you can eat a bun on a street corner without being noticed. In London, in other words, difference is expected of us. In Boston you cannot eat a bun on the street corner, at least not without unpleasant consequences.

Give your difference, welcome my difference, unify all difference in the larger whole—such is the law of growth. The unifying of difference is the eternal process of life—the creative synthesis, the highest act of creation, the at-onement. The implications of this conception when we come to define democracy are profound.

And throughout our participation in the group process we must be ever on our guard that we do not confuse differences and antagonisms, that diversity does not arouse hostility. Suppose a friend says something with which I do not agree. It may be that instantly I feel antagonistic, feel as if we were on opposite sides, and my emotions are at once tinged with some of the enmity which being on opposite sides usually brings. Our relations become slightly strained, we change the subject as soon as possible, etc. But suppose we were really civilized beings, then we should think: “How interesting this is, this idea has evidently a larger content than I realized; if my friend and I can unify this material, we shall separate with a larger idea than either of us had before.” If my friend and I are always trying to find the things upon which we agree, what is the use of our meeting? Because the consciousness of agreement makes us happy? It is a shallow happiness, only felt by people too superficial or too shut-up or too vain to feel that richer joy which comes from having taken part in an act of creation—created a new thought by the uniting of differences. A friendship based on likenesses and agreements alone is a superficial matter enough. The deep and lasting friendship is one capable of recognizing and dealing with all the fundamental differences that must exist between any two individuals, one capable therefore of such an enrichment of our personalities that together we shall mount to new heights of understanding and endeavor. Some one ought to write an essay on the dangers to the soul of congeniality. Pleasant little glows of feeling can never be fanned into the fire which becomes the driving force of progress.

In trying to explain the social process I may have seemed to over emphasize difference as difference. Difference as difference is non-existent. There is only difference which carries within itself the power of unifying. It is this latent power which we must forever and ever call forth. Difference in itself is not a vital force, but what accompanies it is—the unifying spirit.

Throughout my description of the group process I have taken committee-meetings, conferences etc. for illustration, but really the object of every associating with others, of every conversation with friends, in fact, should be to try to bring out a bigger thought than any one alone could contribute. How different our dinner parties would be if we could do this. And I mean without too labored an effort, but merely by recognizing certain elementary rules of the game. Creation is always possible when people meet; this is the wonderful interest of life. But it depends upon us so to manage our meetings that there shall be some result, not just a frittering away of energy, unguided because not understood. All our private life is to be public life. This does not mean that we cannot sit with a friend by our fireside; it does mean that, private and gay as that hour may be, at the same time that very intimacy and lightness must in its way be serving the common cause, not in any fanciful sense, but because there is always the consciousness of my most private concerns as tributary to the larger life of men. But words are misleading: I do not mean that we are always to be thinking about it—it must be such an abiding sense that we never think of it.

Thus the new psychology teaches us that the core of the group process is creating. The essential value of the new psychology is that it carries enfolded within it the obligation upon every man to live the New Life. In no other system of thought has the Command been so clear, so insistent, so compelling. Every individual is necessary to the whole. On the other hand, every member participates in that power of a whole which is so much greater than the addition of its separate forces. The increased strength which comes to me when I work with others is not a numerical thing, is not because I feel that ten of us have ten times the strength of one. It is because all together we have struck out a new power in the universe. Ten of us may have ten, or a hundred, or a thousand times the strength of one—or rather you cannot measure it mathematically at all.

The law of the group is not arbitrary but intrinsic. Nothing is more practical for our daily lives than an understanding of this. The group-spirit is the pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night—it is our infallible guide—it is the Spirit of democracy. It has all our love and all our devotion, but this comes only when we have to some extent identified ourselves with It, or rather perhaps identified It with all our common, every-day lives. We can never dominate another or be dominated by another; the group-spirit is always our master.

IV
THE GROUP PROCESS: THE COLLECTIVE FEELING

THE unification of thought, however, is only a part of the social process. We must consider, besides, the unification of feeling, affection, emotion, desire, aspiration—all that we are. The relation of the feelings to the development of the group has yet to be sufficiently studied. The analysis of the group process is beginning to show us the origin and nature of the true sympathy. The group process is a rational process. We can no longer therefore think of sympathy as “contagion of feeling” based on man’s “inherited gregarious instinct.” But equally sympathy cannot belong to the next stage in our development—the particularistic. Particularistic psychology, which gave us ego and alter, gave us sympathy going across from one isolated being to another. Now we begin with the group. We see in the self-unifying of the group process, and all the myriad unfoldings involved, the central and all-germinating activity of life. The group creates. In the group, we have seen, is formed the collective idea, “similarity” is there achieved, sympathy too is born within the group—it springs forever from interrelation. The emotions I feel when apart belong to the phantom ego; only from the group comes the genuine feeling with—the true sympathy, the vital sympathy, the just and balanced sympathy.

From this new understanding of sympathy as essentially involved in the group process, as part of the generating activity of the group, we learn two lessons: that sympathy cannot antedate the group process, and that it must not be confused with altruism. It had been thought until recently by many writers that sympathy came before the social process. Evidences were collected among animals of the “desire to help” other members of the same species, and the conclusion drawn that sympathy exists and that the result is “mutual aid.” But sympathy cannot antedate the activity. We do not however now say that there is an “instinct” to help and then that sympathy is the result of the helping; the feeling and the activity are involved one in the other.

It is asked, Was Bentham right in making the desire for individual happiness the driving force of society, or was Comte right in saying that love for our fellow creatures is as “natural” a feeling as self-interest? Many such questions, which have long perplexed us, will be answered by a progressive social psychology. The reason we have found it difficult to answer such questions is because we have thought of egoistic or altruistic feelings as preëxisting; we have studied action to see what precedent characteristics it indicated. But when we begin to see that men possess no characteristics apart from the unifying process, then it is the process we shall study.

Secondly, we can no longer confuse sympathy and altruism. Sympathy, born of our union, rises above both egoism and altruism. We see now that a classification of ego feelings and alter feelings is not enough, that there are always whole feelings to be accounted for, that true sympathy is sense of community, consciousness of oneness. I am touched by a story of want and suffering, I send a check, denying myself what I have eagerly desired in order to do so,—is that sympathy? It is the old particularistic sympathy, but it is not the sympathy which is a group product, which has come from the actual intermingling of myself with those who are in want and suffering. It may be that I do more harm than good with my check because I do not really know what the situation demands. The sympathy which springs up within the group is a productive sympathy.

But, objects a friend, if I meet a tramp who has been drinking whiskey, I can feel only pity for him, I can have no sense of oneness. Yes, the tramp and I are bound together by a thousand invisible bonds. He is a part of that society for which I am responsible. I have not been doing my entire duty; because of that a society has been built up which makes it possible for that tramp to exist and for whiskey drinking to be his chief pleasure.

A good illustration of both the errors mentioned—making sympathy antedate the group process and the confusion of sympathy and altruism—we see frequently in the discussion of coöperation in the business world. The question often asked, “Does modern coöperation depend upon self-interest or upon sympathy?” is entirely misleading as regards the real nature of sympathy. Suppose six manufacturers meet to discuss some form of union. There was a time when we should have been told that if each man were guided entirely by what would benefit his own plant, trusting the other five to be equally interested each in his own, thereby the interest of all would be evolved. Then there came a time when many thinkers denied this and said, “Coöperation cannot exist without some feeling of altruism; every one of those manufacturers must go to the meeting with the feeling that the interests of the other five should be considered as well as his own; he must be guided as much by sympathy as by self-interest.” But our new psychology teaches us that what these men need most is not altruistic feelings, but a consciousness of themselves as a new unit and a realization of the needs of that unit. The process of forming this new unit generates such realization which is sympathy. This true sympathy, therefore, is not a vague sentiment they bring with them; it springs from their meeting to be in its turn a vital factor in their meeting. The needs of that new unit may be so different from that of any one of the manufacturers alone that altruistic feelings might be wasted! The new ethics will never preach alter feelings but whole feelings. Sympathy is a whole feeling; it is a recognition of oneness. Perhaps the new psychology has no more interesting task than to define for us that true sympathy which is now being born in a society which is shedding its particularistic garments and clothing itself in the mantle of wholeness.

To sum up: sympathy is not pity, it is not benevolence, it is one of the goals of the future, it cannot be actualized until we can think and feel together. At present we confuse it with altruism and all the particularist progeny, but sympathy is always a group product; benevolence, philanthropy, tenderness, fervor, ardor, pity, may be possible to me alone, but sympathy is not possible alone. The particularist stage has been necessary to our development, but we stand now on the threshold of another age: we see there humanity consciously generating its own activity, its own purpose and all that it needs for the accomplishment of that purpose. We must now fit ourselves to cross that threshold. Our faces have turned to a new world; to train our footsteps to follow the way is now our task.

This means that we must live the group life. This is the solution of our problems, national and international. Employers and employed cannot be exhorted to feel sympathy one for the other; true sympathy will come only by creating a community or group of employers and employed. Through the group you find the details, the filling-out of Kant’s universal law. Kant’s categorical imperative is general, is empty; it is only a blank check. But through the life of the group we learn the content of universal law.

V
THE GROUP PROCESS: THE COLLECTIVE WILL

FROM the group process arise social understanding and true sympathy. At the same moment appears the social will which is the creative will. Many writers are laying stress on the possibilities of the collective will; what I wish to emphasize is the necessity of creating the collective will. Many people talk as if the collective will were lying round loose to be caught up whenever we like, but the fact is we must go to our group and see that it is brought into existence.

Moreover, we go to our group to learn the process. We sometimes hear the advantages of collective planning spoken of as if an act of Congress or Parliament could substitute collective for individual planning! But it is only by doing the deed that we shall learn this doctrine. We learn how to create the common will in our groups, and we learn here not only the process but its value. When I can see that agreement with my neighbor for larger ends than either of us is pursuing alone is of the same essence as capital and labor learning to think together, as Germany and the Allies evolving a common will, then I am ready to become a part of the world process. To learn how to evolve the social will day by day with my neighbors and fellow-workers is what the world is demanding of me to-day. This is getting into the inner workshop of democracy.

Until we learn this lesson war cannot stop, no constructive work can be done. The very essence and substance of democracy is the creating of the collective will. Without this activity the forms of democracy are useless, and the aims of democracy are always unfulfilled. Without this activity both political and industrial democracy must be a chaotic, stagnating, self-stultifying assemblage. Many of the solutions offered to-day for our social problems are vitiated by their mechanical nature, by assuming that if society were given a new form, the socialistic for instance, what we desire would follow. But this assumption is not true. The deeper truth, perhaps the deepest, is that the will to will the common will is the core, the germinating centre of that large, still larger, ever larger life which we are coming to call the true democracy.

VI
THE UNITY OF THE SOCIAL PROCESS

WE have seen that the common idea and the common will are born together in the social process. One does not lead to the other, each is involved in the other. But the collective thought and the collective will are not yet complete, they are hardly an embryo. They carry indeed within themselves their own momentum, but they complete themselves only through activity in the world of affairs, of work, of government. This conception does away with the whole discussion, into which much ardor has gone, of the priority of thought or action in the social life. There is no order. The union of thought and will and activity by which the clearer will is generated, the social process, is a perfect unity.

We see this in our daily life where we do not finish our thought, construct our will, and then begin our actualizing. Not only the actualizing goes on at the same time, but its reactions help us to shape our thought, to energize our will. We have to digest our social experience, but we have to have social experience before we can digest it. We must learn and build and learn again through the building, or we must build and learn and build again through the learning.

We sit around the council table not blank pages but made up of all our past experiences. Then we evolve a so-called common will, then we take it into the concrete world to see if it will work. In so far as it does work, it proves itself; in so far as it does not, it generates the necessary idea to make it “common.” Then again we test and so on and so on. In our work always new and necessary modifications arise which again in actualizing themselves, again modify themselves. This is the process of the generation of the common will. First it appears as an ideal, secondly it works itself out in the material sphere of life, thereby generating itself in a new form and so on forever and ever. All is a-making. This is the process of creating the absolute or Good Will. To elevate General Welfare into our divinity makes a golden calf of it, erects it as something external to ourselves with an absolute nature of its own, whereas it is the ever new adjusting of ever new relatings to one another. The common will never finds perfection but is always seeking it. Progress is an infinite advance towards the infinitely receding goal of infinite perfection.

How important this principle is will appear later when we apply these ideas to politics. Democratic ideals will never advance unless we are given the opportunity of constantly embodying them in action, which action will react on our ideals. Thought and will go out into the concrete world in order to generate their own complete form. This gives us both the principle and the method of democracy. A democratic community is one in which the common will is being gradually created by the civic activity of its citizens. The test of democracy is the fulness with which this is being done. The practical thought for our political life is that the collective will exists only through its self-actualizing and self-creating in new and larger and more perfectly adjusted forms.

Thus the unity of the social process becomes clear to us. We now gain a conception of “right,” of purpose, of loyalty to that purpose, not as particularistic ideas but as arising within the process.

RIGHT

We are evolving now a system of ethics which has three conceptions in regard to right, conscience and duty which are different from much of our former ethical teaching: (1) we do not follow right, we create right, (2) there is no private conscience, (3) my duty is never to “others” but to the whole.

First, we do not follow right merely, we create right. It is often thought vaguely that our ideals are all there, shining and splendid, and we have only to apply them. But the truth is that we have to create our ideals. No ideal is worth while which does not grow from our actual life. Some people seem to keep their ideals all carefully packed away from dust and air, but arranged alphabetically so that they can get at them quickly in need. But we can never take out a past ideal for a present need. The ideal which is to be used for our life must come out from that very life itself. The only way our past ideals can help us is in moulding the life which produces the present ideal; we have no further use for them. But we do not discard them: we have built them into the present—we have used them up as the cocoon is used up in making the silk. It has been sometimes taught that given the same situation, the individual must repeat the same behavior. But the situation is never the same, the individual is never the same; such a conception has nothing to do with life. We cannot do our duty in the old sense, that is of following a crystallized ideal, because our duty is new at every moment.

Moreover, the knowledge of what is due the whole is revealed within the life of the whole. This is above everything else what a progressive ethics must teach—not faithfulness to duty merely, but faithfulness to the life which evolves duty. Indeed “following our duty” often means mental and moral atrophy. Man cannot live by tabus; that means stagnation. But as one tabu after another is disappearing, the call is upon us deliberately to build our own moral life. Our ethical sense will surely starve on predigested food. It is we by our acts who progressively construct the moral universe; to follow some preconceived body of law—that is not for responsible moral beings. In so far as we obey old standards without interpenetrating them with the actual world, we are abdicating our creative power.

Further, the group in its distributive aspect is bringing such new elements into the here and now that life is wholly changed, and the ethical commands therein involved are different, and therefore the task of the group is to discover the new formulation which these new elements demand. The moral law thus gathers to itself all the richness of science, of art, of all the fulness of our daily living.

The group consciousness of right thus developed becomes our daily imperative. No mandate from without has power over us. There are many forms of the fallacy that the governing and the governed can be two different bodies, and this one of conforming to standards which we have not created must be recognized as such before we can have any sound foundation for society. When the ought is not a mandate from without, it is no longer a prohibition but a self-expression. As the social consciousness develops, ought will be swallowed up in will. We are some time truly to see our life as positive, not negative, as made up of continuous willing, not of restraints and prohibition. Morality is not the refraining from doing certain things—it is a constructive force.

So in the education of our young people it is not enough to teach them their “duty,” somehow there must be created for them to live in a world of high purpose to which their own psychic energies will instinctively respond. The craving for self-expression, self-realization, must see quite naturally for its field of operation the community. This is the secret of education: when the waters of our life are part of the sea of human endeavor, duty will be a difficult word for our young people to understand; it is a glorious consciousness we want, not a painstaking conscience. It is ourselves soaked with the highest, not a Puritanical straining to fulfil an external obligation, which will redeem the world.

Education therefore is not chiefly to teach children a mass of things which have been true up to the present moment; moreover it is not to teach them to learn about life as fast as it is made, not even to interpret life, but above and beyond everything, to create life for themselves. Hence education should be largely the training in making choices. The aim of all proper training is not rigid adherence to a crystallized right (since in ethics, economics or politics there is no crystallized right), but the power to make a new choice at every moment. And the greatest lesson of all is to know that every moment is new. “Man lives in the dawn forever. Life is beginning and nothing else but beginning. It begins ever-lastingly.”

We must breed through the group process the kind of man who is not fossilized by habit, but whose eye is intent on the present situation, the present moment, present values, and can decide on the forms which will best express them in the actual world.

To sum up this point: morality is never static; it advances as life advances. You cannot hang your ideals up on pegs and take down no. 2 for certain emergencies and no. 4 for others. The true test of our morality is not the rigidity with which we adhere to standard, but the loyalty we show to the life which constructs standards. The test of our morality is whether we are living not to follow but to create ideals, whether we are pouring our life into our visions only to receive it back with its miraculous enhancement for new uses.

Secondly, I have said that the conception of right as a group product, as coming from the ceaseless interplay of men, shows us that there is no such thing as an individual conscience in the sense in which the term is often used. As we are to obey no ideals dictated by others or the past, it is equally important that we obey no ideal set up by our unrelated self. To obey the moral law is to obey the social ideal. The social ideal is born, grows and shapes itself through the associated life. The individual cannot alone decide what is right or wrong. We can have no true moral judgment except as we live our life with others. It is said, “Every man is subject only to his own conscience.” But what is my conscience? Has it not been produced by my time, my country, my associates? To make a conscience by myself would be as difficult as to try to make a language by myself.[^[16]]

It is sometimes said, on the other hand, “The individual must yield his right to judge for himself; let the majority judge.” But the individual is not for a moment to yield his right to judge for himself; he can judge better for himself if he joins with others in evolving a synthesized judgment. Our individual conscience is not absorbed into a national conscience; our individual conscience must be incorporated in a national conscience as one of its constituent members.[^[17]] Those of us who are not wholly in sympathy with the conscientious objectors do not think that they should yield to the majority. When we say that their point of view is too particularistic, we do not mean that they should give up the dictates of their own conscience to a collective conscience. But we mean that they should ask themselves whether their conscience is a freak, a purely personal, conscience, or a properly evolved conscience. That is, have they tried, not to saturate themselves with our collective ideals, but to take their part in evolving collective standards by freely giving and taking. Have they lived the life which makes possible the fullest interplay of their own ideas with all the forces of their time? Before they range themselves against society they must ask themselves if they have taken the opportunities offered them to help form the ideas which they are opposing. I do not say that there is no social value in heresy, I only ask the conscientious objectors to ask themselves whether they are claiming the “individual rights” we have long outgrown.

What we want is a related conscience, a conscience that is intimately related to the consciences of other men and to all the spiritual environment of our time, to all the progressive forces of our age. The particularistic tendency has had its day in law, in politics, in international relations and as a guiding tendency in our daily lives.

We have seen that a clearer conception to-day of the unity of the social process shows us: first, that we are not merely to follow but to create “right,” secondly, that there is no private conscience, and third, that my duty is never to “others” but to the whole. We no longer make a distinction between selfishness and altruism.[^[18]] An act done for our own benefit may be social and one done for another may not be. Some twenty or thirty years ago our “individual” system of ethics began to be widely condemned and we have been hearing a great deal of “social” ethics. But this so-called “social” ethics has meant only my duty to “others.” There is now emerging an idea of ethics entirely different from the altruistic school, based not on the duty of isolated beings to one another, but on integrated individuals acting as a whole, evolving whole-ideas, working for whole-ideals. The new consciousness is of a whole.

PURPOSE

As right appears with that interrelating, germinating activity which we call the social process, so purpose also is generated by the same process. The goal of evolution most obviously must evolve itself. How self-contradictory is the idea that evolution is the world-process and yet that some other power has made the goal for it to reach. The truth is that the same process which creates all else creates the very purpose. That purpose is involved in the process, not prior to process, has far wider reaching consequences than can be taken up here. The whole philosophy of cause and effect must be rewritten. If the infinite task is the evolution of the whole, if our finite tasks are wholes of varying degrees of scope and perfection, the notion of causality must have an entirely different place in our system of thought.

The question is often asked, “What is the proposed unity of European nations after the war to be for?” This question implies that the alliance will be a mere method of accomplishing certain purposes, whereas it is the union which is the important thing. With the union the purpose comes into being, and with its every step forward, the purpose changes. No one would say that the aims of the Allies to-day are the same as in 1914, or even as in April, 1917. As the alliance develops, the purpose steadily shapes itself.

Every teleological view will be given up when we see that purpose is not “preëxistent,” but involved in the unifying act which is the life process. It is man’s part to create purpose and to actualize it. From the point of view of man we are just in the dawn of self-consciousness, and his purpose is dimly revealing itself to him. The life-force wells up in us for expression—to direct it is the privilege of self-consciousness.[^[19]]

LOYALTY

As this true purpose evolves itself, loyalty springs into being. Loyalty is awakened through and by the very process which creates the group. The same process which organizes the group energizes it. We cannot “will” to be loyal. Our task is not to “find” causes to awaken our loyalty, but to live our life fully and loyalty issues. A cause has no part in us or we in it if we have fortuitously to “find” it.

Thus we see that we do not love the Beloved Community because it is lovable—the same process which makes it lovable produces our love for it. Moreover it is not enough to love the Beloved Community, we must find out how to create it. It is not there for us to accept or reject—it exists only through us. Loyalty to a collective will which we have not created and of which we are, therefore, not an integral part, is slavery. We belong to our community just in so far as we are helping to make that community; then loyalty follows, then love follows. Loyalty means the consciousness of oneness, the full realization that we succeed or fail, live or die, are saved or damned together. The only unity or community is one we have made of ourselves, by ourselves, for ourselves.[^[20]]

Thus the social process is one all-inclusive, Self-sufficing process. The vital impulse which is produced by all the reciprocally interacting influences of the group is also itself the generating and the vivifying power. Social unity is not a sterile conception but an active force. It is a double process—the activity which goes to make the unity and the activity which flows from the unity. There is no better example of centripetal and centrifugal force. All the forces which are stored up in the unity flow forth eternally in activity. We create the common will and feel the spiritual energy which flows into us from the purpose we have made, for the purpose which we seek.

VII
THE INDIVIDUAL

AS the collective idea and the collective will, right and purpose, are born within the all-sufficing social process, so here too the individual finds the wellspring of his life. The visible form in which this interplay of relations appears is society and the individual. A man is a point in the social process rather than a unit in that process, a point where forming forces meet straightway to disentangle themselves and stream forth again. In the language of the day man is at the same time a social factor and a social product.

People often talk of the social mind as if it were an abstract conception, as if only the individual were real, concrete. The two are equally real. Or rather the only reality is the relating of one to the other which creates both. Our sundering is as artificial and late an act as the sundering of consciousness into subject and object. The only reality is the interpenetrating of the two into experience. Late intellectualism abstracts for practical purposes the ego from the world, the individual from society.

But there is no way of separating individuals, they coalesce and coalesce, they are “confluent,” to use the expression of James, who tells us that the chasm between men is an individualistic fiction, that we are surrounded by fringes, that these overlap and that by means of these I join with others. It is as in Norway when the colors of the sunset and the dawn are mingling, when to-day and to-morrow are at the point of breaking, or of uniting, and one does not know to which one belongs, to the yesterday which is fading or the coming hour—perhaps this is something like the relation of one to another: to the onlookers from another planet our colors might seem to mingle.

The truth about the individual and society has been already implied, but it may be justifiable to develop the idea further because of the paramount importance for all our future development of a clear understanding of the individual. Our nineteenth-century legal theory (individual rights, contract, “a man can do what he likes with his own,” etc.) was based on the conception of the separate individual.[^[21]] We can have no sound legal doctrine, and hence no social or political progress, until the fallacy of this idea is fully recognized. The new state must rest on a true conception of the individual. Let us ask ourselves therefore for a further definition of individuality than that already implied.

The individual is the unification of a multiplied variety of reactions. But the individual does not react to society. The interplay constitutes both society on the one hand and individuality on the other: individuality and society are evolving together from this constant and complex action and reaction. Or, more accurately, the relation of the individual to society is not action and reaction, but infinite interactions by which both individual and society are forever a-making: we cannot say if we would be exact that the individual acts upon and is acted upon, because that way of expressing it implies that he is a definite, given, finished entity, and would keep him apart merely as an agent of the acting and being acted on. We cannot put the individual on one side and society on the other, we must understand the complete interrelation of the two. Each has no value, no existence without the other. The individual is created by the social process and is daily nourished by that process. There is no such thing as a self-made man. What we think we possess as individuals is what is stored up from society, is the subsoil of social life. We soak up and soak up and soak up our environment all the time.

Of what then does the individuality of a man consist? Of his relation to the whole, not (1) of his apartness nor (2) of his difference alone.

Of course the mistake which is often made in thinking of the individual is that of confusing the physical with the real individual. The physical individual is seen to be apart and therefore apartness is assumed of the psychic or real individual. We think of Edward Fitzgerald as a recluse, that he got his development by being alone, that he was largely outside the influences of society. But imagine Fitzgerald’s life with his books. It undoubtedly did not suit his nature to mix freely with other people in bodily presence, but what a constant and vivid living with others his life really was. How closely he was in vital contact with the thoughts of men.

We must bear in mind that the social spirit itself may impose apartness on a man; the method of uniting with others is not always that of visible, tangible groups. The pioneer spirit is the creative spirit even if it seems to take men apart to fulfil its dictates. On the other hand the solitary man is not necessarily the man who lives alone; he may be one who lives constantly with others in all the complexity of modern city life, but who is so shut-up or so set upon his own ideas that he makes no real union with others.

Individuality is the capacity for union. The measure of individuality is the depth and breadth of true relation. I am an individual not as far as I am apart from, but as far as I am a part of other men. Evil is non-relation. The source of our strength is the central supply. You may as well break a branch off the tree and expect it to live. Non-relation is death.

I have said that individuality consists neither of the separateness of one man from the other, nor of the differences of one man from the other. The second statement is challenged more often than the first. This comes from some confusion of ideas. My individuality is difference springing into view as relating itself with other differences. The act of relating is the creating act. It is vicious intellectualism to say, “Before you relate you must have things to relate, therefore the differences are more elemental: there are (1) differences which (2) unite, therefore uniting is secondary.” The only fact, the only truth, is the creative activity which appears as the great complex we call humanity. The activity of creating is all. It is only by being this activity that we grasp it. To view it from the outside, to dissect it into its different elements, to lay these elements on the dissecting table as so many different individuals, is to kill the life and feed the fancy with dead images, empty, sterile concepts. But let us set about relating ourselves to our community in fruitful fashion, and we shall see that our individuality is bodying itself forth in stronger and stronger fashion, our difference shaping itself in exact conformity with the need of the work we do.

For we must remember when we say that the essence of individuality is the relating of self to other difference, that difference is not something static, something given, that it also is involved in the world of becoming. This is what experience teaches me—that society needs my difference, not as an absolute, but just so much difference as will relate me. Differences develop within the social process and are united through the social process. Difference which is not capable of relation is eccentricity. Eccentricity, caprice, put me outside, bring anarchy; true spontaneity, originality, belong not to chaos but to system. But spontaneity must be coördinated; irrelevancy produces nothing, is insanity. It is not my uniqueness which makes me of value to the whole but my power of relating. The nut and the screw form a perfect combination not because they are different, but because they exactly fit into each other and together can perform a function which neither could perform alone, or which neither could perform half of alone or any part of alone. It is not that the significance of the nut and screw is increased by their coming together, they have no significance at all unless they do come together. The fact that they have to be different to enter into any fruitful relation with each other is a matter of derivative importance—derived from the work they do.

Another illustration is that of the specialist. It is not a knowledge of his specialty which makes an expert of service to society, but his insight into the relation of his specialty to the whole. Thus it implies not less but more relation, because the entire value of that specialization is that it is part of something. Instead of isolating him and giving him a narrower life, it gives him at once a broader life because it binds him more irrevocably to the whole. But the whole works both ways: the specialist not only contributes to the whole, but all his relations to the whole are embodied in his own particular work.

Thus difference is only a part of the life process. To exaggerate this part led to the excessive and arrogant individualism of the nineteenth century. It behooves us children of the twentieth century to search diligently after the law of unity that we may effectively marshal and range under its dominating sway all the varying diversities of life.

Our definition of individuality must now be “finding my place in the whole”: “my place” gives you the individual, “the whole” gives you society, but by connecting them, by saying “my place in the whole,” we get a fruitful synthesis. I have tried hard to get away from any mechanical system and yet it is difficult to find words which do not seem to bind. I am now afraid of this expression—my place in the whole. It has a rigid, unyielding sound, as if I were a cog in a machine. But my place is not a definite portion of space and time. The people who believe in their “place” in this sense can always photograph their “places.” But my place is a matter of infinite relation, and of infinitely changing relation, so that it can never be captured. It is neither the anarchy of particularism nor the rigidity of the German machine. To know my place is not to know my niche, not to know whether I am cog no. 3 or cog no. 4; it is to be alive at every instant at every finger tip to every contact and to be conscious of those contacts.

We see now that the individual both seeks the whole and is the whole.

First, the individual, biology tells us, is never complete, completeness spells death; social psychology is beginning to show us that man advances towards completeness not by further aggregations to himself, but by further and further relatings of self to other men. We are always reaching forth for union; most, perhaps all, our desires have this motive. The spirit craves totality, this is the motor of social progress; the process of getting it is not by adding more and more to ourselves, but by offering more and more of ourselves. Not appropriation but contribution is the law of growth. What our special contribution is, it is for us to discover. More and more to release the potentialities of the individual means the more and more progressive organization of society if at the same time we are learning how to coördinate all the variations. The individual in wishing for more wholeness does not ask for a chaotic mass, but for the orderly wholeness which we call unity. The test of our vitality is our power of synthesis, of life synthesis.

But although we say that the individual is never complete, it is also true that the individual is a being who, because his function is relating and his relatings are infinite, is in himself the whole of society. It is not that the whole is divided up into pieces; the individual is the whole at one point. This is the incarnation: it is the whole flowing into me, transfusing, suffusing me. The fulness, bigness of my life is not measured by the amount I do, nor the number of people I meet, but how far the whole is expressed through me. This is the reason why unifying gives me a sense of life and more unifying gives me a sense of more life—there is more of the whole and of me. My worth to society is not how valuable a part I am. I am not unique in the world because I am different from any one else, but because I am a whole seen from a special point of view.[^[22]]

That the relation of each to the whole is dynamic and not static is perhaps the most profound truth which recent years have brought us.[^[23]] We now see that when I give my share I give always far more than my share, such are the infinite complexities, the fulness and fruitfulness of the interrelatings. I contribute to society my mite, and then society contains not just that much more nourishment, but as much more as the loaves and fishes which fed the multitude outnumbered the original seven and two. My contribution meets some particular need not because it can be measured off against that need, but because my contribution by means of all the cross currents of life always has so much more than itself to offer. When I withhold my contribution, therefore, I am withholding far more than my personal share. When I fail some one or some cause, I have not failed just that person, just that cause, but the whole world is thereby crippled. This thought gives an added solemnity to the sense of personal responsibility.

To sum up: individuality is a matter primarily neither of apartness nor of difference, but of each finding his own activity in the whole. In the many times a day that we think of ourselves it is not one time in a thousand that we think of our eccentricities, we are thinking indirectly of those qualities which join us to others: we think of the work we are doing with others and what is expected of us, the people we are going to play with when work is over and the part we are going to take in that play, the committee meeting we are going to attend and what we are going to do there. Every distinct act of the ego is an affirmation of that amount of separateness which makes for perfect union. Every affirmation of the ego establishes my relation with all the rest of the universe. It is one and the same act which establishes my individuality and gives me my place in society. Thus an individual is one who is being created by society, whose daily breath is drawn from society, whose life is spent for society. When we recognize society as self-unfolding, self-unifying activity, we shall hold ourselves open to its influence, letting the Light stream into us, not from an outside source, but from the whole of which we are a living part. It is eternally due us that that whole should feed and nourish and sustain us at every moment, but it cannot do this unless at every moment we are creating it. This perfect interplay is Life. To speak of the “limitations of the individual” is blasphemy and suicide. The spirit of the whole is incarnate in every part. “For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate”—the individual from society.

VIII
WHO IS THE FREE MAN?

THE idea of liberty long current was that the solitary man was the free man, that the man outside society possessed freedom but that in society he had to sacrifice as much of his liberty as interfered with the liberty of others. Rousseau’s effort was to find a form of society in which all should be as free as “before.” According to some of our contemporary thinkers liberty is what belongs to the individual or variation-giving-one. But this tells only half the tale. Freedom is the harmonious, unimpeded working of the law of one’s own nature. The true nature of every man is found only in the whole. A man is ideally free only so far as he is interpermeated by every other human being; he gains his freedom through a perfect and complete relationship because thereby he achieves his whole nature.

Hence free-will is not caprice or whim or a partial wish or a momentary desire. On the contrary freedom means exactly the liberation from the tyranny of such particularist impulses. When the whole-will has supreme dominion in the heart of man, then there is freedom. The mandate of our real Self is our liberty. The essence of freedom is not irrelevant spontaneity but the fulness of relation. We do not curtail our liberty by joining with others; we find it and increase all our capacity for life through the interweaving of willings. It is only in a complex state of society that any large degree of freedom is possible, because nothing else can supply the many opportunities necessary to work out freedom. The social process is a completely Self-sufficing process. Free-will is one of its implications. I am free for two reasons: (1) I am not dominated by the whole because I am the whole; (2) I am not dominated by “others” because we have the genuine social process only when I do not control others or they me, but all intermingle to produce the collective thought and the collective will. I am free when I am functioning here in time and space as the creative will.

There is no extra-Will: that is the vital lesson for us to learn. There is no Will except as we act. Let us be the Will. Thereby do we become the Free-Will.

Perhaps the most superficial of all views is that free-will consists in choice when an alternative is presented. But freedom by our definition is obedience to the law of one’s nature. My nature is of the whole: I am free, therefore, only when I choose that term in the alternative which the whole commands. I am not free when I am making choices, I am not free when my acts are not “determined,” for in a sense they always are determined (freedom and determinism have not this kind of opposition). I am free when I am creating. I am determined through my will, not in spite of it.

Freedom then is the identifying of the individual will with the whole will—the supreme activity of life. Free the spirit of man and then we can trust the spirit of man, and is not the very essence of this freeing of the spirit of man the process of taking him from the self-I to the group-I? That we are free only through the social order, only as fast as we identify ourselves with the whole, implies practically that to gain our freedom we must take part in all the life around us: join groups, enter into many social relations, and begin to win freedom for ourselves. When we are the group in feeling, thought and will, we are free: it does what it wishes through us—that is our liberty. In a democracy the training of every child from the cradle—in nursery, school, at play—must be a training in group consciousness.

Then we shall have the spontaneous activity of freedom. Let us not be martyrs. Let us not give up bread and coal that the ends of the Great War may be won, with the feeling of a restricted life, but with the feeling that we have gained thereby a fuller life. Let us joyously do the work of the world because we are the world. Such is the élan de vie, the joy of high activity, which leaps forward with force, in freedom.

We have to begin to-day to live the life which will give us our freedom. Savants and plain men have affirmed the freedom of the will, but at the same time most of us, even while loudly claiming our freedom, have felt bound. While determinism has many theoretical adherents, it has many more practical ones; we have considered ourselves bound in thousands of ways—by tradition, by religion, by natural law, by inertia and ignorance, etc., etc. We have said God is free but man is not free. That we are not free has been the most deadening fallacy to which man has ever submitted. No outside power indeed can make us free. No document of our forefathers can “declare” us “independent.” No one can ever give us freedom, but we can win it for ourselves.

It is often thought that when some restraint is taken away from us we are freer than before, but this is childish. Some women-suffragists talk of women as “enslaved” and advocate their emancipation by the method of giving them the vote. But the vote will not make women free. Freedom is always a thing to be attained. And we must remember too that freedom is not a static condition. As it is not something possessed “originally,” and as it is not something which can be given to us, so also it is not something won once for all. It is in our power to win our freedom, but it must be won anew at every moment, literally every moment. People think of themselves as not free because they think of themselves as obeying some external law, but the truth is we are the law-makers. My freedom is my share in creating, my part in the creative responsibility. The heart of our freedom is the impelling power of the will of the whole.

Who then are free? Those who win their freedom through fellowship.

IX
THE NEW INDIVIDUALISM

THE new freedom is to be founded on the new individualism. Many people in their zeal for a “socialized” life are denouncing “individualism.” But individualism is the latest social movement. We must guard against the danger of thinking that the individual is less important because the collective aspect of life has aroused our ardor and won our devotion. Collectivism is no short cut to do away with the necessity of individual achievement; it means the greatest burden possible on every man. The development of a truly social life takes place at the same time that the freedom and power and efficiency of its members develop. The individual on the other hand can never make his individuality effective until he is given collective scope for his activity. We sometimes hear it said that the strong man does not like combination, but in fact the stronger the man the more he sees coöperation with others as the fitting field for his strength.

But we must learn the method of a real coöperation. We cannot have any genuine collectivism until we have learned how to evolve the collective thought and the collective will. This can be done only by every one taking part. The fact that the state owns the means of production may be a good or a poor measure, but it is not necessarily collectivism or a true socialism. The wish for socialism is a longing for the ideal state, but it is embraced often by impatient people who want to take a short cut to the ideal state. That state must be grown—its branches will widen as its roots spread. The socialization of property must not precede the socialization of the will. If it does, then the only difference between socialism and our present order will be substituting one machine for another. We see more and more collectivism coming: so far as it keeps pace with the socialization of the will, it is good; so far as it does not, it is purely mechanical. Some people’s idea of socialism is inventing a machine to grind out your duties for you. But every man must do his work for himself. Not socialization of property, but socialization of the will is the true socialism.

The main aim in the reconstruction of society must be to get all that every man has to give, to bring the submerged millions into light and activity. Those of us who are basing all our faith on the constructive vision of a collective society are giving the fullest value to the individual that has ever been given, are preaching individual value as the basis of democracy, individual affirmation as its process, and individual responsibility as its motor force. True individualism has been the one thing lacking either in motive or actuality in a so-called individualistic age, but then it has not been an individualistic but a particularistic age. True individualism is this moment piercing through the soil of our new understanding of the collective life.

X
SOCIETY

WE have seen that the interpenetrating of psychic forces creates at the same time individuals and society, that, therefore, the individual is not a unit but a centre of forces (both centripetal and centrifugal), and consequently society is not a collection of units but a complex of radiating and converging, crossing and recrossing energies. In other words we are learning to think of society as a psychic process.

This conception must replace the old and wholly erroneous idea of society as a collection of units, and the later and only less misleading theory of society as an organism.[^[24]]

The old individualism with all the political fallacies it produced—social contract of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, majority rule of the nineteenth, etc.—was based on the idea of developed individuals first existing and then coming together to form society. But the basis of society is not numbers: it is psychic power.

The organic theory of society has so much to recommend it to superficial thinking that we must examine it carefully to find its fatal defects. But let us first recognize its merits.

Most obviously, an organic whole has a spatial and temporal individuality of its own, and it is composed of parts each with its individuality yet which could not exist apart from the whole. An organism means unity, each one his own place, every one dependent upon every one else.

Next, this unity, this interrelating of parts, is the essential characteristic. It is always in unstable equilibrium, always shifting, varying, and thereby changing the individual at every moment. But it is always produced and maintained by the individual himself. No external force brings it forth. The central life, the total life, of this self-developing, self-perpetuating being is involved in the process. Hence biologists do not expect to understand the body by a study of the separate cells as isolated units: it is the organic connection which unites the separate processes which they recognize as the fundamental fact.

This interrelating holds good of society when we view it externally. Society too can be understood only by the study of its flux of relations, of all the intricate reciprocities which go to make the unifying. Reciprocal ordering—subordinating, superordinating, coördinating—purposeful self-unifyings, best describe the social process. Led by James, who has shown us the individual as a self-unifying centre, we now find the same kind of activity going on in society, in the social mind. And this interrelating, this unity as unity, is what gives to society its authority and power.

Thus the term organism is valuable as a metaphor, but it has not strict psychological accuracy.

There is this world-wide difference between the self-interrelatings of society and of the bodily organism: the social bond is a psychic relation and we cannot express it in biological terms or in any terms of physical force. If we could, if “functional combination” could mean a psychological relation as well as a physiological, then the terms “functional” and “organic” might be accepted. But they denote a different universe from that of thought. For psychical self-unitings knit infinitely more closely and in a wholly different way. They are freed from the limitations of time and space. Minds can blend, yet in the blending preserve each its own identity. They transfuse one another while being each its own essential and unique self.

It follows that while the cell of the organism has only one function, the individual may have manifold and multiform functions: he enters with one function into a certain group of people this morning and with another function into another group this afternoon, because his free soul can freely knit itself with a new group at any moment.[^[25]]

This self-detaching, self-attaching freedom of the individual saves us from the danger to democracy which lurks in the organic theory. No man is forced to serve as the running foot or the lifting hand. Each at any moment can place himself where his nature calls. Certain continental sociologists are wholly unjustified in building their hierarchy where one man or group of men is the sensorium, others the hewers and carriers, etc. It is exactly this despotic and hopeless system of caste from which the true democracy frees man. He follows the call of his spirit and relates himself where he belongs to-day, and through this relating gains the increment of power which knits him anew where he now belongs and so continually as the wind of spirit blows.

Moreover in society every individual may be a complete expression of the whole in a way impossible for the parts of a physical organism.[^[26]] When each part is itself potentially the whole, when the whole can live completely in every member, then we have a true society, and we must view it as a rushing of life—onrush, outrush, inrush—as a mobile, elastic, incalculable, Protean energy seeking fitting form for itself. This ideal society is the divine goal towards which life is an infinite progress. Such conception of society must be visibly before us to the exclusion of all other theories when we ask ourselves later what the vote means in the true democracy.[^[27]]

XI
THE SELF-AND-OTHERS ILLUSION

IT is now evident that self and others are merely different points of view of one and the same experience, two aspects of one thought. Neither of these partial aspects can hold us, we seek always that which includes self and others. To recognize the community principle in everything we do should be our aim, never to work with individuals as individuals. If I go to have a talk with a mother about her daughter, I cannot appeal to the mother, the daughter, or my own wishes, only to that higher creation which we three make when we come together. In that way only will spiritual power be generated. Every decision of the future is to be based not on my needs or yours, nor on a compromise between them or an addition of them, but on the recognition of the community between us. The community may be my household and I, my employees and I, but it is only the dictate of the whole which can be binding on the whole. This principle we can take as a searchlight to turn on all our life.

It is the lack of understanding of this principle which works much havoc among us. When we watch men in the lobbies at Washington working for their state and their town as against the interests of the United States, do we sometimes think, “These men have learnt loyalty and service to a small unit, but not yet to a large one?” If this thought does come to us, we are probably doing those men more than justice. The man who tries to get something in the River and Harbor appropriation for his town, whether or not it needs it as much as other places, is pretty sure back in his own town to be working not for that but for his own pocket. It is not because America is too big for him to think of, that he might perhaps think of Ohio or Millfield, it is just because he cannot think of Ohio or Millfield. There he thinks of how this or the other local development, rise in land values etc., is going to benefit himself; when he is in Washington he thinks of what is going to benefit Millfield. But the man who works hardest and most truly for Millfield and Ohio will probably when he comes to Washington work most truly for the interests, not of Millfield and Ohio, but of the United States, because he has learned the first lesson of life—to think in wholes.

The expressions social and socially-minded, which should refer to a consciousness of the whole, are often confused with altruism. We read of “the socialized character of modern industry.” There is a good deal of altruism in modern industry, but little that is socialized yet. The men who provide rest rooms, baths, lectures, and recreation facilities for their employees, do not by so doing prove themselves to be socially-minded; they are altruistically-minded, and this is involved in the old individualism.[^[28]] Moreover, in our attempts at social legislation we have been appealing chiefly to the altruism of people: women and children ought not to be overworked, it is cruel not to have machinery safeguarded, etc. But our growing sense of unity is fast bringing us to a realization that all these things are for the good of ourselves too, for the entire community. And the war is rapidly opening our eyes to this human solidarity: we now see health, for instance, as a national asset.

All of us are being slowly, very slowly, purged of our particularistic desires. The egotistic satisfaction of giving things away is going to be replaced by the joy of owning things together. As our lives become more and more intricately interwoven, more and more I come to suffer not merely when I am undergoing personal suffering, more and more I come to desire not only when I am feeling personal desires. This used to be considered a fantastic idea not to be grasped by the plain man, but every day the plain man is coming more and more to feel this, every day the “claims” of others are becoming My desires. “Justice” is being replaced by understanding. There are many people to-day who feel as keenly the fact of child labor as if these children were their own. I vote for prohibition, even although it does not in the least touch me, because it does touch very closely the Me of which I am now coming into realization.

The identification of self and others we see in the fact that we cannot keep ourselves “good” in an evil world any more than we can keep ourselves well in a world of disease. The method of moral hygiene as of physical hygiene is social coöperation. We do not walk into the Kingdom of Heaven one by one.

The exposition of the self-and-others fallacy has transformed the idea of self-interest. Our interests are inextricably interwoven. The question is not what is best for me or for you, but for all of us. My interests are not less important to the world than yours; your interests are not less important to the world than mine. If the “altruistic” man is not a humbug, that is, if he really thinks his affairs of less importance to the world than those of others, then there is certainly something the matter with his life. He must raise his life to a point where it is of as much value to the world as any one’s else.

The self-and-others fallacy has led directly to a conception which has wrought much harm among us, namely, the identification of “others” with “society” which leads the self outside society and brings us to one of the most harmful of dualisms. The reason we are slow to understand the matter of the subordination of the individual to society is because we usually think of it as meaning the subordination of the individual to “others,” whereas it does not at all, it means the subordination of the individual to the whole of which he himself is a part. Such subordination is an act of assertion; it is fraught with active power and force; it affirms and accomplishes. We are often told to “surrender our individuality.” To claim our individuality is the one essential claim we have on the universe.

We give up self when we are too sluggish for the heroic life. For our self is after all the greatest bother we ever know, and the idea of giving it up is a comfortable thought for sluggish people, a narcotic for the difficulties of life. But it is a cowardly way out. The strong attitude is to face that torment, our self, to take it with all its implications, all its obligations, all its responsibilities, and be ourselves to the fullest degree possible.

I do not mean to imply, however, that unselfishness has become obsolete. With our new social ideal there is going to be a far greater demand on our capacity for sacrifice than ever before, but self-sacrifice now means for us self-fulfilment. We have now a vision of society where service is indeed our daily portion, but our conception of service has entirely changed. The other day it was stated that the old idea of democracy was a society in which every man had the right to pursue his own ends, while the new idea was based on the assumption that every man should serve his fellow-men. But I do not believe that man should “serve his fellow-men”; if we started on that task what awful prigs we should become. Moreover, as we see that the only efficient people are the servers, much of the connotation of humility has gone out of the word service! Moreover, if service is such a very desirable thing, then every one must have an equal opportunity for service.

We have had a wrong idea of individualism which has made those who had more strength, education, time, money, power, feel that they must do for those who had less. In the individualism we see coming, all our efforts will be bent to making it possible for every man to depend upon himself instead of depending upon others. So noblesse oblige is really egoistic. It is what I owe to myself to do to others. Noblesse oblige has had a splendid use in the world, but it is somewhat worn out now simply because we are rapidly getting away from the selfish point of view. I don’t do things now because my position or my standing or my religion or my anything else demands it, nor because others need it, but because it is a whole-imperative, that is, a social imperative. We cannot transcend self by means of others, but only through the synthesis of self and others. Wholeness is an irresistible force compelling every member. The consciousness of this is the wellspring of our power.

An English writer says that we get leadership from the fact that men are capable of being moved to such service by the feeling of altruism; he attributes public spirit to love, pity, compassion and sensitiveness to suffering. This is no doubt largely true at the present moment, but public spirit will sometime mean, as it does to-day in many instances, the recognition that it is not merely that my city, my nation needs me, but that I need it as the larger sphere of a larger self-expression.

I remember some years ago a Boston girl just entering social work, fresh from college, with all the ardor and enthusiasm of youth and having been taught the ideals of service to others. She was talking to me about her future and said that she was sorry family circumstances obliged her to work in Boston instead of New York, there was so much more to reform in New York! She seemed really afraid that justice and morality had reached such a point with us that she might not be afforded sufficient scope for her zeal. It was amusing, but think of the irony of it: that girl had been taught such a view of life that her happiness, her outlet, her self-expression, depended actually on there being plenty of misery and wretchedness for her to change; there would be no scope for her in a harmonious, well-ordered world.

The self-and-others theory of society is then wrong. We have seen that the Perfect Society is the complete interrelating of an infinite number of selves knowing themselves as one Self. We see that we are dependent on the whole, while seeing that we are one with it in creating it. We are separate that we may belong, that we may greatly produce. Our separateness, our individual initiative, are the very factors which accomplish our true unity with men. We shall see in the chapter on “Political Pluralism” that “irreducible pluralism” and the self-unifying principle are not contradictory.

XII
THE CROWD FALLACY

MANY people are ready to accept the truth that association is the law of life. But in consequence of an acceptance of this theory with only a partial understanding of it, many people to-day are advocating the life of the crowd. The words society, crowd, and group are often used interchangeably for a number of people together. One writer says, “The real things are breathed forth from multitudes ... the real forces of to-day are group forces.” Or we read of “the gregarious or group life,” or “man is social because he is suggestible,” or, “man is social because he likes to be with a crowd.” But we do not find group forces in multitudes: the crowd and the group represent entirely different modes of association. Crowd action is the outcome of agreement based on concurrence of emotion rather than of thought, or if on the latter, then on a concurrence produced by becoming aware of similarities, not by a slow and gradual creating of unity. It is a crowd emotion if we all shout “God save the King.” Suggestibility, feeling, impulse—this is usually the order in the crowd mind.

I know a little boy of five who came home from school one day and said with much impressiveness, “Do you know whose birthday it is to-morrow?” “No,” said his mother, “whose?” “Ab’m Lincoln’s,” was the reply. “Who is he?” said the mother. With a grave face and an awed voice the child replied, “He freed the slates!” and then added, “I don’t know whether they were the big kind like mine or the little kind like Nancy’s.” But his emotion was apparently as great, his sentiment as sincere, as if he had understood what Lincoln had done for his country. This is a good example of crowd suggestion because thought was in this case inhibited by contagious emotion.

Suggestion is the law of the crowd, interpenetration of the group. When we study a crowd we see how quickly B takes A’s ideas and also C and D and E; when we study a group we see that the ideas of A often arouse in B exactly opposite ones. Moreover, the crowd often deadens thought because it wants immediate action, which means an unthinking unanimity not a genuine collective thought.[^[29]] The group on the other hand stimulates thought. There are no “differences” in the crowd mind. Each person is swept away and does not stop to find out his own difference. In crowds we have unison, in groups harmony. We want the single voice but not the single note; that is the secret of the group. The enthusiasm and unanimity of a mass-meeting may warm an inexperienced heart, but the experienced know that this unanimity is largely superficial and is based on the spread of similar ideas, not the unifying of differences. A crowd does not distinguish between fervor and wisdom; a group usually does. We do not try to be eloquent when we appear before a board or a commission; we try merely to be convincing. Before a group it is self-control, restraint, discipline which we need, we don’t “let ourselves go”; before a crowd I am sorry to say we usually do. Many of us nowadays resent being used as part of a crowd; the moment we hear eloquence we are on the defensive. The essential evil of crowds is that they do not allow choice, and choice is necessary for progress. A crowd is an undifferentiated mass; a group is an articulated whole.

It is often difficult to determine whether a number of people met together are a crowd or a group (that is, a true society), yet it is a distinction necessary for us to make if we would understand their action. It is not in the least a question of numbers: it is obvious that according to our present definition a group is not a small number of people and a crowd a large number. If someone cries “Fire,” and you and I run to the window, then you and I are a crowd. The difference between a group and a crowd is not one of degree but of kind. I have seen it stated in a sociological treatise that in any deliberative assembly there is a tendency for the wisest thought to prevail. This assumes that “any deliberative assembly” is more like a group than a crowd—a very pleasant thing to assume!

Some writers seem to think that the difference between a crowd and a not-crowd is the difference between organized and unorganized, and the example is given of laborers unorganized as a crowd and of a trade-union as a not-crowd. But a trade-union can be and often is a crowd.

We have distinguished between the crowd and the group; it is also necessary to distinguish between the crowd and the mob. Often the crowd or mass is confused with the mob. The examples given of the mass or crowd mind are usually a lynching-party, the panic-stricken audience in a theatre fire, the mobs of the French Revolution. But all these are very different from a mass of people merely acting under the same suggestion, so different that we need different names for them. We might for the moment call one a crowd and the other a mob.

An unfortunate stigma has often attached itself to the crowd mind because of this tendency to think of the crowd mind as always exhibiting itself in inferior ways. Mass enthusiasm, it is true, may lead to riots, but also it may lead to heroic deeds. People talk much of the panic of a crowd, but every soldier knows that men are brave, too, in a mass. Students have often studied what they called the mass mind when it was under the stress of great nervous strain and at a high pitch of excitement, and then have said the mass acts thus and so. It has been thought legitimate to draw conclusions concerning the nature of the mass mind from an hysterical mob. It has been assumed that a crowd was necessarily, as a crowd, in a condition of hysteria. It has often been taken for granted that a crowd is a pathological condition. And color has been given to this theory by the fact that we owe much of our knowledge of the laws of suggestion to pathologists.

But the laws of the mass can be studied in ordinary collections of people who are not abnormally excited, who are not subjects for pathologists. The laws of the mass as of the mob are, it is true, the laws of suggestion and imitation, but the mob is such an extreme case of the mass that it is necessary to make some distinction between them. Emotion in the crowd as in the mob is intensified by the consciousness that others are sharing it, but the mob is this crowd emotion carried to an extreme. As normal suggestibility is the law of the mass, so abnormal suggestibility is the law of the mob. In abnormal suggestibility the controlling act of the will is absent, but in normal suggestibility you have the will in control and using its power of choice over the material offered by suggestion. Moreover, it must be remembered that emotional disturbance is not always the cause of the condition of suggestibility: the will may lose its ascendancy from other causes than excitement; suggestibility often comes from exhaustion or habit.

The fact is we know little of this subject. Billy Sunday and the Salvation Army, political bosses and labor agitators, know how to handle crowds, but the rest of us can deal with individuals better than with the mass; we have taken courses in first-aid to the injured, but we have not yet learned what to do in a street riot or a financial panic.

Besides the group and the crowd and the mob, there is also the herd. The satisfaction of the gregarious instinct must not be confused with the emotion of the crowd or the true sense of oneness in the group. Some writers draw analogies from the relation of the individual to the herd to apply to the relation of man to society; such analogies lead to false patriotism and wars. The example of the wild ox temporarily separated from his herd and rushing back to the “comfort of its fellowship” has adorned many a different tale. The “comfort” of feeling ourselves in the herd has been given as the counterpart of spiritual communion, but are we seeking the “comfort” of fellowship or the creative agonies of fellowship? The latter we find not in herd life, but in group life.

Then besides the group, the crowd, the mob, the herd, there are numbers as mere numbers. When we are a lot of people with different purposes we are simply wearied, not stimulated. At a bazaar, for instance, far from feeling satisfaction in your fellow-creatures, you often loathe them. Here you are not swayed by one emotion, as in a crowd, nor unified by some intermingling of thought as in a group.

It must be understood that I do not wish to make any arbitrary dictum in regard to distinctions between the crowd and the herd, the crowd and mere numbers, etc. I merely wish to point out that the subject has not yet received sufficient study. What is it we feel at the midnight mass of the Madeleine? It is not merely the one thought which animates all; it is largely the great mass of people who are feeling the one thought. But many considerations and unanswered questions leap to our mind just here. All this is an interesting field for the further study and close analysis of psychologists.

We must not, however, think from these distinctions that man as member of a group and man as member of a crowd, as one of a herd or of a mob or of a mere assemblage, is subject to entirely different laws which never mingle; there are all the various shadings and minglings of these which we see in such varied associations as business corporation, family, committee, political meeting, trade-union etc. Our herd traditions show in our group life; there is something of the crowd in all groups and there is something of the group in many crowds, as in a legislative assembly. Only further study will teach us to distinguish how much herd instinct and how much group conviction contribute to our ideas and feelings at any one time and what the tendencies are when these clash. Only further study will show us how to secure the advantages of the crowd without suffering from its disadvantages. We have all felt that there was much that was valuable in that emotional thrill which brings us into a vaster realm although not a coördinated realm; we have all rejoiced in the quickened heart-beat, the sense of brotherhood, the love of humanity, the renewed courage which have sometimes come to us when we were with many people. Perhaps the ideal group will combine the advantages of the mass and the group proper: will give us collective thought, the creative will and at the same time the inspiration for renewed effort and sustained self-discipline.

Crowd association has, however, received more study than group association because as a matter of fact there is at present so much more of the former than of the latter. But we need not only a psychology which looks at us as we are, but a psychology which points the way to that which we may become. What our advanced thinkers are now doing is to evolve this new psychology. Conscious evolution means giving less and less place to herd instinct and more to the group imperative. We are emerging from our gregarious condition and are now to enter on the rational way of living by scanning our relations to one another, instead of bluntly feeling them, and so adjusting them that unimpeded progress on this higher plane is secured.

And now that association is increasing so rapidly on every hand, it is necessary that we see to it that this shall be group association, not crowd association. In the business world our large enterprises are governed by boards, not by one man: one group (corporation) deals with another group (corporation). Hospitals, libraries, colleges, are governed by boards, trustees, faculties. We have committees of arbitration, boards of partial management (labor agreements) composed of representatives of employers and employed. Many forms of coöperation are being tried: some one must analyze the psychological process of the generation of coöperative activity. All this means a study of group psychology. In the political world there is a growing tendency to put the administrative part of government more and more into the hands of commissions. Moreover, we have not legislatures swayed by oratory and other forms of mass suggestion, but committee government. Of course legislative committees do not try to get the group idea, they are largely controlled by partisan and financial interests, but at any rate they are not governed wholly by suggestion. In the philanthropic world we no longer deal with individuals: we form a committee or association to deal with individuals or with groups of individuals. The number of associations of every kind for every purpose increases daily. Hence we must study the group.

XIII
THE SECRET OF PROGRESS

I HAVE said that the essence of the social process is the creating of ever new values through the interplay of all the forces of life. But I have also tried to show that these forces must be organized; from confusion nothing is born. The spiritual order grows up within us as fast as we make new correlations. Chaos, disorder, destruction, come everywhere from refusing the syntheses of life.

The task of coadaptation is unending, whether it means getting on with a difficult member of my family, playing the game at school or college, doing my part in my business, my city, or whether it means Germany and the Allies living together on the same planet.

Nietzsche thought that the man who showed the most force was the most virtuous. Now we say that all this brute energy is merely the given, that the life-process is the unifying of the given—he who shows the unifying power in greatest degree is the superman. Progress is not determined then by economic conditions, by physical conditions nor by biological factors solely, but more especially by our capacity for genuine coöperation.

This idea of progress clear-cuts some long-established notions. We see now the truth and the fallacy in the assertions (1) that social evolution depends upon individual progress with imitation by the crowd, (2) that evolution means struggle and the survival of the fittest.

For some years the generally accepted theory of the social process was that the individual invents, society spreads. We have already examined one half of this theory; let us look at the other half—the idea that the individual originates.

If a man comes forward with an idea, what do we mean by saying that he is more “original” than his fellows? So far as the quality of originality can be described, do we not mean that his capacity for saturation is greater, his connection with the psychic reservoir more direct, so that some group finds in him its most complete interpreter? Or even if it is quite evident that in a particular instance a particular individual has not derived his idea from the group of which he is at the moment a member, but has brought it to the group, none of us believes that that idea arose spontaneously in his mind independent of all previous association. This individual has belonged to many other groups, has discussed with many men, or even if he has lived his life apart he has read newspapers and magazines, books and letters, and has mingled his ideas with those he has found there. Thus the “individual” idea he brings to a group is not really an “individual” idea; it is the result of the process of interpenetration, but by bringing it to a new group and soaking it in that the interpenetration becomes more complex. The group idea he takes away is now his individual idea so far as any new group is concerned, and in fact it becomes an active agent in his progress and the progress of society only by meeting a new group. Our life is more and more stagnant in proportion as we refuse the group life.

According to the old theory, the individual proposes, society accepts or rejects; the individual is forever walking up to society to be embraced or rejected—it sounds like some game but is hardly life.

There is an interesting theory current which is the direct outcome of the fallacy that the individual originates and society imitates, namely, the great man theory. While it seems absurd in this age to be combating the idea of special creation, yet it is something very like this that one comes up against sometimes in the discussion of this theory. The question is often asked, “Does the great man produce his environment or is he the product of his environment?” Although for my purpose I may seem to emphasize the other side of things, not for a moment do I wish to belittle the inestimable value of genius. But the fact of course is that great men make their environment and are made by their environment. There wells up in the individual a fountain of power, but this fountain has risen underground and is richly fed by all the streams of the common life.[^[30]]

I have spoken of fallacies in the individual invention theory and in the struggle theory. But I am using the word struggle as synonymous with strife, opposition, war; effort, striving, the ceaseless labor of adjustment will always be ours, but these two ideas represent opposite poles of existence. In the true theory of evolution struggle has indeed always been adaptation. For many years the “strongest” man has been to science the being with the greatest number of points of union, the “fittest” has been the one with the greatest power of coöperation. Darwin we all know believed that the cause of the advance of civilization was in the social habits of man. Our latest biologists tell us that “mutual aid” has from the first been a strong factor in evolution, that the animal species in which the practice of “mutual aid”[^[31]] has attained the greatest development are invariably the most numerous and the most prosperous. We no longer think of the animal world as necessarily a world of strife; in many of its forms we find not strife but coördinated activities.

But to too many people struggle suggests conquest and domination; it implies necessarily victors and vanquished. Some sociologists call the dissimilar elements of a group the struggle elements, and the similar elements the unifying elements. But this is a false distinction which will, as long as persisted in, continue the war between classes and between nations. The test of our progress is neither our likenesses nor our unlikenesses, but what we are going to do with our unlikenesses. Shall I fight whatever is different from me or find the higher synthesis? The progress of society is measured by its power to unite into a living, generating whole its self-yielding differences.

Moreover, we think now of the survival of groups rather than of individuals. For the survival of the group the stronger members must not crush the weaker but cherish them, because the spiritual and social strength which will come from the latter course makes a stronger group than the mere brute strength of a number of “strong” individuals. That is, the strength of the group does not depend on the greatest number of strong men, but on the strength of the bond between them, that is, on the amount of solidarity, on the best organization.

But it might be said, “You still evidently believe in struggle, only you make the group instead of the individual the unit.” No, the progress of man must consist in extending the group, in belonging to many groups, in the relation of these groups. If we accept life as endless battle, then we shall always have the strong overcoming the weak, either strong individuals conquering the weak, or a strong group a weak group, or a strong nation a weak nation. But synthesis is the principle of life, the method of social progress. Men have developed not through struggle but through learning how to live together.

Lately the struggle theory has been transferred from the physical to the intellectual world. Many writers who see society as a continuous conflict think its highest form is discussion. One of these says, “Not for a moment would I deny that fighting is better carried on by the pen than by the sword, but some sort of fighting will be necessary to the end of the world.” No, as long as we think of discussion as a struggle, as an opportunity for “argument,” there will be all the usual evil consequences of the struggle theory. But all this is superficial. If struggle is unavailing, it is unavailing all along the line. It is not intellectual struggle that marks the line of progress, but any signs of finding another method than struggle. Two neighbors quarrelling in words are little more developed than two men fighting a duel. We must learn to think of discussion not as a struggle but as experiment in coöperation. We must learn coöperative thinking, intellectual team-work. There is a secret here which is going to revolutionize the world.

Perhaps the most profound reason against struggle is that it always erects a thing-in-itself. If I “fight” Mr. X, that means that I think of Mr. X as incapable of change—that either he or I must prevail, must conquer. When I realize fully that there are no things-in-themselves, struggle simply fades away; then I know that Mr. X and I are two flowing streams of activity which must meet for larger ends than either could pursue alone.

Is Germany the last stronghold of the old theory of evolution, is she the last being in a modern world to assert herself as a thing-in-itself? President Wilson’s contribution to this war is that he refuses to look upon Germany as a thing-in-itself.

The idea of adaptation to environment has been so closely connected with the “struggle for existence” theory that some people do not seem to realize that in giving up the latter, the former still has force, although with a somewhat different connotation. We now feel not only that adaptation to environment is compatible with coöperation, but that coöperation is the basis of adaptation to environment. But our true environment is psychic, and as science teaches adaptation to the physical, so group psychology will teach the secret of membership in the psychic environment, will teach the branch to know its vine, where its own inner sources of life are revealed to it. Then we shall understand that environment is not a hard and rigid something external to us, always working upon us, whose influence we cannot escape. Not only have self and environment acted and reacted upon each other, but the action and reaction go on every moment; both self and environment are always in the making. The individual who has been affected by his environment acts on an environment which has been affected by individuals. We shall need an understanding of this for all our constructive work: it is not that formative influences work on a dead mass of inertia, but formative influences work on an environment which has already responded to initiatives, and these initiatives have been affected by the responses. We cannot be practical politicians without fully understanding this.

Progress then must be through the group process. Progress implies respect for the creative process not the created thing; the created thing is forever and forever being left behind us. The greatest blow to a hide-bound conservatism would be the understanding that life is creative at every moment. What the hard-shelled conservative always forgets is that what he really admires in the past is those very moments when men have strongly and rudely broken with tradition, burst bonds, and created something. True conservatism and true progressivism are not two opposites: conservatives dislike “change,” yet they as well as progressives want to grow; progressives dislike to “stand pat,” yet they as well as conservatives want to preserve what is good in the present. But conservatives often make the mistake of thinking they can go on living on their spiritual capital; progressives are often too prone not to fund their capital at all.

What we must get away from is “the hell of rigid things.” There is a living life of the people. And it must flow directly through our government and our institutions, expressing itself anew at every moment. We are not fossils petrified in our social strata. We are alive. This is the first lesson for us to learn. That very word means change and change, growth and growth. To live gloriously is to change undauntedly—our ideals must evolve from day to day, and it is upon those who can fearlessly embrace the doctrine of “becoming” that the life of the future waits. All is growing; we must recognize this and free the way for the growth. We must unclose our spiritual sources, we must allow no mechanism to come between our spiritual sources and our life. The élan vital must have free play.

Democracy must be conceived as a process, not a goal. We do not want rigid institutions, however good. We need no “body of truth” of any kind, but the will to will, which means the power to make our own government, our own institutions, our own expanding truth. We progress, not from one institution to another, but from a lesser to a greater will to will.

We know now that there are no immutable goals—there is only a way, a process, by which we shall, like gods, create our own ends at any moment—crystallize just enough to be of use and then flow on again. The flow of life and we the flow: this is the truth. Life is not a matter of desirable objects here and there; the stream flows on and he who waits with his object is left with a corpse. Man is equal to life at every moment, but he must live for life and not for the things life has produced.

Yet while it is true that life can never be formalized or formulated, that life is movement, change, onwardness, this does not mean that we must give up the abiding. The unchangeable and the unchanging are both included in the idea of growth.[^[32]] Stability is neither rigidity nor sterility: it is the perpetual power of bringing forth.

Writers are always fixing dates for the dividing line between the ancient and the modern world, or between the mediæval and the modern world. Soon the beginning of modern times, of modern thought, will, I believe, be dated at the moment when men began to look at a plastic world, at a life constantly changing, at institutions as only temporary crystallizations of life forces, of right as evolving, of men as becoming.

The real work of every man is then to build. The challenge is upon us. This is the task to which all valiant souls must set themselves. We are to rise from one mastery to another. We are to be no longer satisfied with the pace of a merely fortuitous progress. We must know now that we are coworkers with every process of creation, that our function is as important as the power which keeps the stars in their orbits. We are creators here and now. We are not in the anteroom of our real life. This is real life.

We cannot, however, mould our lives each by himself; but within every individual is the power of joining himself fundamentally and vitally to other lives, and out of this vital union comes the creative power. Revelation, if we want it to be continuous, must be through the community bond. No individual can change the disorder and iniquity of this world. No chaotic mass of men and women can do it. Conscious group creation is to be the social and political force of the future. Our aim must be to live consciously in more and more group relations and to make each group a means of creating. It is the group which will teach us that we are not puppets of fate.

Then will men and women spend their time in trivial or evil ways when they discover that they can make a world to their liking? We are sometimes told that young men and women working all day under the present very trying industrial conditions live in our great cities a round of gaiety at night. Go and look at them. It is a depressing sight. A tragedy is a tragedy and has its own nobility, but this farce of a city population enjoying itself at night is a pitiful spectacle. Go to clubs, go to dances, go to theatres or moving-pictures, and the mass of our young people look indifferent and more or less bored—they have not found the joy of life. Play, as useless idling, does not give us joy. Work, as drudgery, does not give us joy. Only creating gives us joy. When we see that we are absolute masters of our life, that in every operation, however humble, we are working out the fundamental laws of being, then we shall walk to our daily work as the soldiers march to the Marseillaise.

We know what happened on that lonely island in a distant sea when the young Prince came to the people of the Kingdom of Cards, who had always lived by Rules, and taught them to live by their Ichcha, their will. Images became men and women, rules gave place to wills, the caste of the Court cards was lost, a mechanism changed into life. The inhabitants of the Kingdom of Cards, who had never thought, who had never made a decision, learned the royal power of choosing for themselves. Regulations were abandoned, and the startling discovery was made that they could walk in any direction they chose. This is what we need to learn—that we can walk in any direction we choose. We are not a pack of cards to be put here and there, to go always in rows, to totter and fall when we are not propped up. We must obey our Ichcha.

Already the change has begun. I have said that we are beginning to recognize this power—there are many indications that we are beginning to live this power. We are no longer willing to leave human affairs to “natural” control: we do not want war because it is “natural” to fight; we do not want a haphazard population at the dictates of “nature.” We no longer believe that sickness and poverty are sent by God; people are being taught that they need not be sick, that it is largely in their own hands, their own collective hands (social hygiene etc.). Modern charity is not aimed at relieving individual poverty, but at freeing the individual from the particular enslavement which has produced his poverty, in freeing society from the causes which produce poverty at all.[^[33]]

Our once-honored blind forces are more and more losing their mastery over us. We are at this moment, however, in a difficult transition period. We are “freer” than ever before; the trouble is we do not know what to do with this freedom. It is easy to live the moral, the “social,” life when it consists in following a path carefully marked out for us, but the task given us to-day is to revalue all the world values, to steer straight on and on into the unknown—a gallant forth-faring indeed. But conscious evolution, the endless process of a perfect coördinating, demands vital people. War is the easy way: we take to war because we have not enough vitality for the far more difficult job of agreeing. So also that kind of religion which consists of contemplation of other-worldliness is the easy way, and we take to that when we have not enough vitality deliberately to direct our life and construct our world. It takes more spiritual energy to express the group spirit than the particularist spirit. This is its glory as well as its difficulty. We have to be higher order of beings to do it—we become higher order of beings by doing it. And so the progress goes on forever: it means life forever in the making, and the creative responsibility of every man.

Conscious evolution is the key to that larger view of democracy which we are embracing to-day. The key? Every man sharing in the creative process is democracy; this is our politics and our religion. People are always inquiring into their relation to God. God is the moving force of the world, the ever-continuing creating where men are the co-creators. “Chaque homme fait dieu, un peu, avec sa vie,” as one of the most illumined of the younger French poets says.[^[34]] Man and God are correlates of that mighty movement which is Humanity self-creating. God is the perpetual Call to our self-fulfilling. We, by sharing in the life-process which binds all together in an active, working unity are all the time sharing in the making of the Universe. This thought calls forth everything heroic that is in us; every power of which we are capable must be gathered to this glorious destiny. This is the True Democracy.[^[35]]

XIV
THE GROUP PRINCIPLE AT WORK