Preface to an Educational Philosophy 9780231888479

Table of contents :
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PREFACE
CONTENTS
Part One: THE NATURE OF EDUCATIONAL PHILOSOPHY
Chapter One. THE CALL FOR PHILOSOPHY IN EDUCATION
Chapter Two. A RETURN TO METAPHYSICS ?
Chapter Three. IS PHILOSOPHY MERELY A HYPOTHESIS ?
Chapter Four. THE IDEAL WITHIN THE REAL AS A BASIS FOR RECONSTRUCTION
Part Two DEMOCRACY AS A SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY
Chapter Five. THE ETHICAL ROOT OF DEMOCRACY IN THE RELIGIOUS TRADITION
Chapter Six. STEPS IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF POLITICAL DEMOCRACY
Chapter Seven. ESSENTIALS OF POLITICAL DEMOCRACY TODAY
Chapter Eight. FORCE, INTELLIGENCE—AND ASSOCIATION
Chapter Nine THE ECONOMIC FULFILLMENT OF DEMOCRACY
Part Three: ASPECTS OF A RECONSTRUCTED EDUCATIONAL POLICY
Chapter Ten. COMMON WELFARE AND SOCIAL CHANGE
Chapter Eleven. NATIONAL UNITY AND RACE DISCRIMINATION
Chapter Twelve. THE AUTONOMOUS FUNCTION OF THE SCHOOL
Chapter Thirteen. OUGHT, CAN, DARE THE SCHOOL BUILD A NEW SOCIAL ORDER?
Chapter Fourteen. CONCLUSION: EDUCATION AND THE EMERGING ERA
REFERENCES
INDEX

Citation preview

P R E F A C E TO A N EDUCATIONAL PHILOSOPHY

PREFACE T O A N EDUCATIONAL PHILOSOPHY I. B. B E R K S O N

NEW

YORK: MORNINGSIDE

HEIGHTS

COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY 1 9 4 0

PRESS

COPYRIGHT

1940

C O L U M B I A U N I V E R S I T Y PRESS, N E W Y O R K Foreign agents: OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS, Humphrey Milford, Amen House, London, E.C. 4, England, AND B. I. Building, Nicol Road, Bombay, I n d i a ;

MARUZEN

COMPANY, LTD., 6

Nihonbashi,

Tori-Nichome, Tokyo, J a p a n M A N U F A C T U R E D IN T H E U N I T E D STATES OF A M E R I C A

To L. S. B.

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S S P E C I A L ACKNOWLEDGMENT is due a number of publishers for permission to quote at some length from the following books:

D. Appleton Century (W. H . Kilpatrick, editor, The Educational Frontier, 1 9 3 3 ; Henry Harap, editor, The Changing Curriculum, 1937) Harcourt, Brace and Company (R. H . Tawney, Religion and the Rise of Capitalism, 1926; Lewis Mumford, The Culture of Cities, 1938) Houghton Mifflin Company (Frank Bobbitt, How to Make a Curriculum, 1924; Robert R. Rusk, The Philosophical Bases of Education, 1929) The Macmillan Company (John Dewey, Democracy and Education, 1 9 1 6 ; Charles A. Beard, The Open Door at Home, 1934) G. P. Putnam's Sons (John Dewey, Liberalism Social Action, 1935)

and

PREFACE His small book was written in an attempt to sketch out the contours of a social philosophy for American education. Let me hasten to add, however, that this bold statement of purpose carries with it no claim to novelty and no pretension to completeness. Even a more seasoned writer on the subject might hesitate to set down anything as definitive at the present time, in the midst of the wide difference of opinion among leaders of American educational thought. The very conflict of views, however, impels one to seek to formulate some position; if the statement here made reflects a sense of conviction, this arises not from any illusion as to finality but from the feeling that the ideas expressed, whatever their first source, have been assimilated into a consciously unified pattern of thought. T h e chapters were written out in the first instance to help me find a rational position for myself —as parent and as teacher of education—in the face of the current educational controversy concerning social fundamentals. At the heart of the controversy is the question of education's relation to social change. On one side are

X

PREFACE

those w h o believe t h a t the school must a d a p t itself to the changing c h a r a c t e r

of

civilization;

indeed,

they

g o f u r t h e r and assert that in the present juncture of events the school has an i m p o r t a n t p a r t t o play in helping to bring about a much needed

reconstruction

o f our economic and social system. O n the o t h e r side are those who point out t h a t education h a s been concerned essentially with

always

the transmission

of

the social heritage f r o m the p a s t ; t h a t its p r i m a r y purpose has m o r e t o do with the p r e s e r v a t i o n o f social stability than with the p r o b l e m o f c h a n g e ; t h a t necessary changes must first be m a d e by adult society outside the school, and t h a t the new points o f view should be introduced into the education o f the young only a f t e r general acceptance in society a t l a r g e . T o w a r d one o r the o t h e r o f these poles o f t h o u g h t and endeavor educators t h r o u g h o u t the country have tended to g r a v i t a t e : in one g r o u p a r e the " t r a d i t i o n a l i s t s " and the " e s s e n t i a l i s t s " w h o place the emphasis on preserving the cultural h e r i t a g e ; in the o t h e r

group

a r e the " p r o g r e s s i v e s " and " r e c o n s t r u c t i o n i s t s "

who

would build a new social o r d e r with the a i d o f

the

school. These

contrasting views,

of

course,

represent

old philosophic contest which b e c o m e s intensified

an in

critical times. O n e view draws attention t o the e l e m e n t o f change in nature and society and sees in c h a n g e the opportunity f o r a continuous enhancement o f l i f e . T h e o t h e r sets a high value on the stable and the p e r m a nent and places the emphasis on what has a l r e a d y been achieved in the racial experience. A resolution o f this

PREFACE

XI

conflict cannot be found in terms of generalities; in simple reiteration of the importance of stability

as

against change ( o r vice v e r s a ) ; in the bland recommendation " t o treat the w o r l d as changing and

as

s t a b l e " ; or in the conciliatory solution of "the middle w a y . " W e are always confronting definite situations and we need to know what concrete changes are to be made, w h a t parts of the heritage are to be kept, and how the old and the new elements are to be fused in the modified cultural pattern. But it is not to be denied that the general orientation largely influences what is seen and w h a t is valued, and it makes a vast difference on which side of the social G r e a t D i v i d e one stands. T h e point of view taken in the f o l l o w i n g essays will, I believe, be found to be in accord with the position of the "reconstructionists" mentioned above, of those w h o hold that education must participate

in

bringing about social change. T h i s position is an outgrowth of two m a j o r conceptions in the philosophy of D e w e y and K i l p a t r i c k : ( i ) the general view that the work in the schools must be related to the activities of society; ( 2 ) the special emphasis on the necessity of reckoning with the social effects of the scientific and industrial revolutions in the revision of educational theory and practice. A s is evident throughout, my educational views have been largely shaped by the teachings of these t w o leaders of American

educational

thought. M o s t of all, I am indebted to them f o r the idea of democracy as a comprehensive philosophy of life, a broad principle finding expression in the intellectual and

xii

PREFACE

social, as well as in the political, sphere. T h i s conception they helped to crystallize in my mind a score of years ago and I utilized it as a guiding assumption in (published as a doctoral Theories of Americanization dissertation at Teachers College, C o l u m b i a ) , in which I tried to sketch the outlines of a democratic orientation in connection with the problem of cultural pluralism in the United States. In the present book I attempt a more studied analysis of this democratic thesis as the underlying social philosophy with which our education must be in accord. T h e r e is then a basic philosophic agreement with the "Dewey school." H o w e v e r , there is one idea or emphasis in this general line of thought which I have been able to accept only with a substantial modification. I refer to the notion, usually associated with pragmatism, that an educational philosophy should be considered a "hypothesis." Duly recognizing the importance of this concept as a counterbalance to the other extreme view, namely, that education should be based on unchanging first principles and final ends, I feel, nevertheless, t h a t the need of having a definite set of purposes to guide education has been greatly underestimated by disciples of the experimentalist philosophy, at least in some of the current formulations. T h e view underlying the following treatment is that an explicit philosophy of life, a reasoned conviction as to basic human values is prerequisite to the conduct of educational processes; that a social philosophy is the reflection of an era of civilization r a t h e r than the result of individual experience; and that, while it is true

PREFACE

xiii

that philosophies may—indeed, must—change, this will happen only when there is epochal change in the character of science and society. In rewriting for publication I did not try overmuch to adjust the presentation to the requirements of a conventional textbook. In some places I have merely restated current views; at other times I have tried to scratch below the surface of the usual positions, following my own inclination, at the time, as to what the argument required. Perhaps this method is not wholly disadvantageous; as the student or general reader follows the discussion and uses the references—if he does —he will be tracing out and thinking through variously opposed arguments. It is my hope that the book will be useful in the classroom and in study groups as a guide to the current educational discussion with reference to the larger issues of common interest to educator and layman. Besides the general acknowledgment above, I owe a special debt to Professor Kilpatrick for most careful reading and annotating of the script. The publication of the essays would not have been possible without his encouragement and that of John L. Childs of Teachers College, Columbia University; of Louis M . Hacker of the Economics Department of Columbia University; and of Sidney Hook, Chairman of the Department of Philosophy, New York University; to all of whom I am greatly indebted for much helpful criticism. I would also like to express my thanks to Sol Bluhm of the Education Department of Hunter College, who has made a number of constructive sug-

PREFACE

XIV

gestions. T h o u g h they h a v e n o t r e a d the manuscript, I

wish

to

express

my

appreciation

to

Professors

C o u n t s and K a n d e l , w h o h a v e , on opposite sides of the a r g u m e n t , stirred m y thinking t h r o u g h their writings. T h o u g h I c a n n o t a g r e e with K a n d e l on the main issue, it is, nevertheless, evident to me t h a t the point o f v i e w which

he upholds must be included in any

balanced s t a t e m e n t o f the educational p r o b l e m .

My

o b l i g a t i o n t o C o u n t s stands clear f r o m the m a n y references to his f o r c e f u l writings. F i n a l l y , I should like t o say t h a t the manuscript has h a d the benefit of a p a i n s t a k i n g r e a d i n g b y M r . C h a r l e s H . S e a v e r whose able e d i t o r i a l eye a n d h a n d are to be credited f o r not a f e w revisions a n d clarifications. I t m a y n o t be superfluous to a d d that the b o o k w a s d r a f t e d in 1 9 3 8 , w a s p a r t l y r e w r i t t e n f o r publication d u r i n g the s u m m e r o f

1 9 3 9 , and w a s completed, ex-

cept f o r stylistic revisions, b e f o r e the o u t b r e a k of the present E u r o p e a n w a r . I f w r i t t e n w i t h the b a c k g r o u n d of w a r

some p a s s a g e s w o u l d undoubtedly

have

as-

sumed a n o t h e r f o r m . T h e m a i n difference, I believe, would

have

urgency o f

been

to

put

the need of

greater

emphasis

r e a d j u s t i n g our

on

the

educational

p h i l o s o p h y and p r a c t i c e a l o n g the lines indicated. I . B. B . M O U N T VERNON, N E W OCTOBER,

1939

YORK

C O N T E N T S PART ONE T H E N A T U R E OF EDUCATIONAL

PHILOSOPHY

I. The Call for Philosophy in Educacation I I . A Return to Metaphysics? III.

Is Philosophy Merely a Hypothesis?

I V . The Ideal within the Real Basis for Reconstruction

as a

PART TWO DEMOCRACY AS A SOCIAL

PHILOSOPHY

V. The Ethical Root of Democracy in the Religious Tradition VI. VII.

Steps in the Development of Political Democracy Essentials of Political Today

Democracy

VIII.

Force, Intelligence—and Association

i

IX.

The Economic Fulfillment of Democracy

i

xvi

CONTENTS PART THREE

ASPECTS OF A RECONSTRUCTED EDUCATIONAL POLICY

X.

Common W e l f a r e and Social Change

143

XI.

National Unity and Race Discrimination

161

T h e Autonomous School

177

XII. XIII. XIV.

Function of

the

Ought, Can, Dare the School Build a N e w Social Order?

191

Conclusion: Education and the Emerging Era

205

References

231

Index

239

Part One T H E N A T U R E OF EDUCATIONAL

PHILOSOPHY

THE

BASE

OF

ALL

METAPHYSICS And now, gentlemen, A word I give to remain in your memories and minds, As base and finale too for all metaphysics. (So to the students the old professor, At the close of his crowded course.) Having studied the new and antique, the Greek and Germanic systems, Kant having studied and stated, Fichte and Schelling and Hegel, Stated the lore of Plato, and Socrates greater than Plato, And greater than Socrates sought and stated, Christ divine having studied long, I see reminiscent today those Greek and Germanic systems, See the philosophies all, Christian churches and tenets see, Yet underneath Socrates clearly see, and underneath Christ the divine I see, T h e dear love of man for his comrade, the attraction of friend to friend, Of the well-married husband and wife, of children and parents, Of city for city and land for land. — W a l t Whitman.

Chapter One T H E C A L L FOR P H I L O S O P H Y IN

O

EDUCATION

NE OF the signs of change in the American climate of opinion is a growing recognition of the need of philosophy as a basis f o r education. A dozen years ago the tendency was to go to extremes in the opposite direction. T h e demand was f o r breaking up general statements of educational aims into "specific objectives." T h e scientific and utilitarian movement in education, stimulated by Herbert Spencer's famous essays, had reached its apogee. In opposition to the long prevailing belief in the exceptional value of the study of the classics as a basis f o r thorough mental discipline, he had championed the view that education was f o r the purpose of preparing the child f o r a useful and happy life in current society. H e broke up his general conception of "education f o r complete living" into five main divisions: ( i ) f o r physical and mental well-being, ( 2 ) f o r making a living, ( 3 ) f o r the duties of parenthood, ( 4 ) f o r participation in political and social affairs, ( 5 ) f o r use of leisure time. T h i s method of conceiving the purpose of education in terms of the main areas of life became very popu-

4

THE

CALL

FOR

PHILOSOPHY

lar, particularly in America, and our pedagogical literature is replete with statements of basic aims or "cardinal principles." F o r the most p a r t moderation attended the use of this m e t h o d ; the number of aims stated ranged, generally, f r o m five to ten; that is, enough to give concrete illustration of the conception of "complete living," but not so many as to destroy the idea that education is, a f t e r all, a unitary process. However, during the decade a f t e r the W o r l d W a r — p r i d e f u l era of the practical, of technological triumph, and business success—the movement went f a r beyond the moderate position of the enlightened utilitarians of the previous period. Some writers seemed to proceed on the theory that if it was a good thing to divide the main purpose of education into five or ten aims, it would be still better to break up the m a j o r aims into tens, hundreds, or even thousands of processes or activities. A climax was reached in C h a r t e r s ' Curriculum Construction and Bobbitt's How to Make a Curriculum. Charters, f o r instance, expresses the view t h a t Plato and Comenius were failures—despite their great ideals—because they did not embody their broad aims in related, concrete educational activities. R e f e r r i n g to all educators of the past, he says that in every case there is "an arbitrary mental leap f r o m the aim to the subject matter." 1 If we could abolish this gap and use analysis to work out the specific activities—as we do in a cooking recipe or in an application f o r a clerical job in a department store—then we could make edu1

W . W . Charters, Curriculum

Construction,

p. 7.

THE

CALL

FOR P H I L O S O P H Y

5

cation efficient, ideals w o u l d become a c t u a l i z e d ,

and

society w o u l d

the

really be

improved.

Incidentally,

m a j o r objectives are not, a f t e r all, to be d e r i v e d f r o m P l a t o or C o m e n i u s . T h e ideals are to be ascertained in a m o d e r n w a y — d e m o c r a t i c , scientific, and o b j e c t i v e — b y studying the " s o c i a l d e m a n d , " and by c o n s i d e r i n g c a r e f u l l y the opinions o f men in public and p r i v a t e l i f e today. Bobbitt, w h o represents, perhaps, the m o s t e x t r e m e d e v e l o p m e n t o f this position, first a n a l y z e s the b r o a d r a n g e of human experience into ten m a j o r fields, and then

subdivides

each

"activity-analysis"

into

field

through

numerous

the

process

related

of

objectives

and abilities. 2 In his illustrative list, he indicates several

hundred

of

such " a b i l i t i e s , "

without

venturing

to detail the v o c a t i o n a l abilities which comprise tenth m a j o r

field,

w h e r e " t h e r e are hundreds,

his even

thousands o f specialized occupations." In o t h e r w o r d s , efficiency m e t h o d s taken o v e r f r o m v o c a t i o n a l

train-

i n g and industrial engineering are applied to g e n e r a l education, in the b r a v e hope that

this

proverbially

ineffectual social enterprise m a y be m a d e t o m e e t the tests o f business administration. T h e r e is s o m e t h i n g in all this, no doubt, b o t h f r o m the p e d a g o g i c a l

standpoint

and the b r o a d e r

educa-

t i o n a l v i e w ; but when w e come to examine the lists o f concrete a c t i v i t i e s — w h i c h , w e h a v e so confidently been told, will once f o r all cure education of its chronic disease o f i n e f f e c t i v e n e s s — w e seem to encounter m a n y o f the old difficulties a g a i n . F o r instance, w h i l e N o . 9 2 F r a n k ! in Bobbitt, Mow

to Mokt

& Curriculum,

pp. 8 ff,

6

THE

CALL

FOR

PHILOSOPHY

on Bobbitt's list—"Ability to spell the words of one's writing vocabulary"—is altogether reasonable, since here we are in the field of specific skills where the method is undoubtedly appropriate, we may justly become skeptical when we reach No. 107—"Ability to carry oneself and to move and act with ease, grace, and precision." Not that we doubt the desirability of such an ability; but does calling it an "ability" and not an "aim" really bring us nearer the achievement? By the time we reach No. 206, the whole thing looks like a reductio ad absurdum. Just as one of sixteen "specific" abilities listed under M a j o r Objectives I I I —Efficient Citizenship—we find: "Ability to protect oneself from social, economic, and political fallacies, illusions, misrepresentation, petty mindedness, fragmentary mindedness, sentimentality, selfish prejudices, and the like, through one's continual reliance upon facts and principles." The objectives do not become more precise in the other categories, General Social Contacts, Leisure Occupations, Mental Efficiency, Parental Responsibility, Religious Attitudes, into which Bobbitt classifies the major human activities. In his Modern Educational Theories, Bode has made a devastating criticism of the pretensions of the educational engineers. A s he points out, the lists of objectives or abilities are either too long or too short. If we are concerned with specific processes involved in teaching, Bobbitt's list, for instance, is altogether too short, and the abilities indicated as necessary are in most places too vaguely described. If we are talking about the general aims of education, the extraordi-

THE

CALL

FOR

PHILOSOPHY

7

nary list tends r a t h e r to create confusion. N o r

does

the attempt t o achieve impartiality t h r o u g h consensus f a r e any b e t t e r under his sharp analysis.

Important

issues are omitted, d e b a t a b l e points are c o v e r e d up, " p e r s o n a l bias is s m u g g l e d in under the guise o f an impersonal d e t e r m i n a t i o n o f f a c t . "

8

T h e method

of

the efficiency expert designed to be specific and objective is n e i t h e r : it turns out to be n o t h i n g else than an unwitting d e f e n s e o f the status

quo;

lead in the direction of a " p r o g r e s s i v e

it does not humanization

o f the social o r d e r , " which, as B o d e holds, lies at the v e r y heart o f the A m e r i c a n democratic conception. T o d a y there is a m a r k e d reaction against the extreme empiricism and philosophic neutralism in education which w e r e so p o p u l a r in the first h a l f of the twenties. N o w comes a call f o r philosophy, and the introductory chapter t o a b o o k on the principles

of

education n o w a d a y s is a p t to begin w i t h a p r o m i s i n g b r i e f . A case is s t a t e d : " E d u c a t i o n must be

related

to a definite p h i l o s o p h y . " T h e argument g o e s on t o show ( a s indicated a b o v e ) that " p r a c t i c a l " educators w h o t r y to set up educational aims w i t h o u t benefit o f philosophy must end haplessly, frequently f a l l i n g prey t o the v e r y ills they seek to a v o i d . T h e

"scientific"

e d u c a t o r wishes to eliminate subjective v i e w s in the determination o f educational a i m s ; he resorts to consensus ; the result is t h a t he helps to strengthen current prejudices. T h e " t e c h n i c i a n " educator, w i t h his " j o b a n a l y s i s " and "specific o b j e c t i v e s , " m a y aid us in find3 Boyd M . Bode, Modern through Chaps. I - V I .

Educational

Theories,

pp. 84 ff. and

paaim

8

THE

CALL

FOR

PHILOSOPHY

ing precise teaching procedures f o r the t h r e e R ' s and f o r skills which require manual d e x t e r i t y ; but such devices are w o r s e than useless f o r construction of the course o f study as a w h o l e , o r f o r guidance of teaching in the social sciences, w h e r e a point o f v i e w is essential. A s illustrated in B o d e ' s criticism, an examination of aims, d e r i v e d t h r o u g h the a l l e g e d l y and

efficient m e t h o d s

shows

them

up

as

of

the

vague,

educational

and

even

exact

engineer,

contradictory,

despite the self-conscious air o f technological efficiency which attends their elaboration. The

philosopher's

contention

is that

without

"a

definite philosophy o f education supported by a gene r a l philosophic

f o u n d a t i o n , " 4 w e h a v e no

possible

guidance f o r any of the m u l t i f a r i o u s aspects o f

the

teaching process. Since there is a l w a y s some underlyi n g orientation, it is best to become conscious o f

it

and to make an explicit statement o f our p u r p o s e and point o f v i e w . W i t h o u t philosophy in education, we h a v e no key to subject m a t t e r , to spirit o f instruction, o r even t o m e t h o d ; w e can g i v e no direction to the d e v e l o p m e n t o f habits and a t t i t u d e s ; we can construct no f r a m e of reference f o r relating the t e a c h i n g in the schools to the educational processes of o t h e r institutions, the home, the church, the state. T h e p l e a a

philosophic

basis

for

education

s u m m a r i z e d in the f o l l o w i n g brief

has

been

for

neatly

statement:

"The

answer to every educational question is u l t i m a t e l y influenced

by

our

philosophy

of

1 M i c h a e l D e m i a s h k e v i c h , An Inti oduction cation, pp. 35-42.

life.

Although

to ihe Philosophy

of

few Edu-

THE

CALL

FOR

PHILOSOPHY

9

formulate it, every system o f education must

have

an aim, and the aim o f education is relative to the aim o f life. Philosophy formulates what it conceives to be the end o f l i f e ; education offers suggestions as to how this end is to be achieved."

6

T h e indictment o f the purely practical approach to education looks like a true bill, and the argument made in b e h a l f o f philosophy seems very persuasive.

We

are in a receptive mood, ready to entertain the philosopher's proposal. Unfortunately,

however, as we

proceed to examine what some o f those who speak most eloquently on behalf o f philosophy have to offer in the way o f a positive conception o f guidance, we are likely to be deeply disappointed once m o r e ;

for

not infrequently we find ourselves lost in a m a z e o f metaphysical analysis with no outlet to any

educa-

tional program whatsoever. In the prologue, we were led to expect a serious play revolving about the drama o f l i f e ; what we often get in the performance is just one more review o f the philosophy-book positions; o f idealism, naturalism, pragmatism; o f monism, evolulutionism, transcendentalism; and o f what not, with little o r no relation to the educational problem. T h e s e terms, regularly associated with what H u m e called "school metaphysics," may be important f o r the professional philosopher in the discussion o f the problems o f ontology or the nature o f being, but, obviously enough, they do not describe philosophies

of life

in the sense that gives plausibility to statements about the necessary relation between philosophy and educa5

Robert R. Rusk, The Philosophical

Bases of Education, p. 15.

IO

THE

CALL

FOR

PHILOSOPHY

tion. N o doubt, a philosophy of life can often be shown to have a certain general affinity with a particular metaphysical theory; may, perhaps, to some extent be influenced by metaphysics; might conceivably, in the case of rare individuals, be based on metaphysics. While we would not accept at anything like its face value the assertion: " W h a t is essential and intrinsic in every religion . . . always lies in the concept of reality and an ethics that conforms to this concept," 6 it is not the intention here to deny ofl-hand and utterly all relation between religion and ethics on the one side, and conceptions of the nature of reality on the other. T h e r e is, however, a crucial point to note, viz., a philosophy of life has at its core a pattern of ideal personal and social conduct, more stable and more significant than any intellectual base or rational support that may be claimed f o r it. It represents an integrated behavior system, in which speculative thought about the universe may have a part, but in which action, in the sense of " a way of l i f e , " remains the essential. A highly consistent thinker, no doubt, adjusts his conception of values to changed conceptions of reality, but even f o r such an unusual person the character of Nature would rightly be only one factor in the total unified conception of the worth and the meaning of the L i f e of M a n . F o r the most part even philosophers have cut their metaphysical cloth—not unwisely—to suit their deeper convictions concerning 6

Benedetto Croce, History of Europe in the Nineteenth Century, pp. 18 and 27.

THE

CALL

FOR

PHILOSOPHY

II

the good life. Catholicism remained catholicism in all its essence both with Augustine the Platonist and with Aquinas the Aristotelian. Communism, doubtless, will remain for its followers an ideal of social organization, even if its metaphysical framework of dialectic materialism is unrecognizably reinterpreted or even entirely abandoned. The Stoics began by attacking the two problems "how to live" and "what to believe"; they were concerned about the second problem because it was thought to be a basis for the first. But despite the inability of Zeno and his followers to prove that there was rational and beneficent purpose in the world, Stoicism has kept its position as one of the several truly great philosophies of life. 7 Indeed, as is notorious, much of the confusion in philosophy arises from the fact that there is so much influence the other way round: our moral conceptions influence our ontological ideas; our view of what is desirable, good, rational, determines what we think is real. There is an old and powerful urge in us to find a friendly cosmic framework for our own good aspirations. Aldous Huxley says in Ends and Means: " I t is in the light of our beliefs about the ultimate nature of reality that we formulate our conceptions of right and w r o n g . . . So f a r from being irrelevant, our metaphysical beliefs are the finally determining factors in all our actions." 8 But despite this extreme statement he makes the old ethical ideals of Justice, Peace, and Charity the guiding principles of all his analysis of 7 8

Gilbert Murray, The Stoic Philosophy, pp. 59 ff. Aldous Huxley, Ends and Means, p. 1 1 .

12

THE

CALL

FOR

PHILOSOPHY

modern life. Obviously, whatever metaphysics he has is dependent on his ethics, not vice versa. If there is anything to the contention that philosophy has meaning f o r education, it is because the term "philosophy" can be used to denote an ideal way of living, as well as a correct way of thinking. " W h e n e v e r philosophy has been taken seriously," P r o f e s s o r Dewey has written, "it has always been assumed that it signified achieving a wisdom which would influence the conduct of life. Witness the fact t h a t almost all ancient schools of philosophy were also organized ways of living, those who accepted their tenets being committed to certain distinctive modes of conduct; witness the intimate connection of philosophy with the theology of the Roman Church in the Middle Ages, the frequent associations with religious interests, and, at national crises, its association with political struggles." 9 In accordance with this line of thought, philosophy, in the pregnant sense, would be illustrated by Catholicism, Stoicism, Communism, not by Realism, M a t e rialism, or Experimentalism. N o t e in how many significant ways the two sets of "isms" differ. T h e religious, ethical, and social philosophies all involve associations of men; they find their ultimate expression in social organization and in types of personality. T h e ideal mode of life is supported on the one side by a body of beliefs, by pervasive attitudes, or by formulated dogmas; on the other side it is strengthened by customs, rituals, or rules of etiquette; but 9

John Dewey, Democracy and Education, p. 378.

THE

CALL

FOR P H I L O S O P H Y

13

always at the center is the behavior pattern which gives character to each system. The chosen way of life can be followed by the great and by the common man; can be confined more narrowly to a system of practice or informed with spiritual significance. Catholicism, Stoicism, Communism, however different in content, can be bracketed together as falling into the same type of "ism" because in each of them an "organized way of living," pervaded by an ideal, is the heart of the matter; because intellectual, emotional, and practical elements are harmoniously fused and unified through and for this "organized way of living." The term philosophy certainly has other important meanings than the one described in the paragraph from Democracy and Education, but indeed only such usage is "serious" in connection with education. Involved in all this are two propositions which are to be discussed further: a) A philosophy of education must be related to a religious, ethical, or social system—metaphysics is not enough. b) A particular "organized way of living" must be envisaged; just "religious," "ethical," or "social" is not enough. This way of formulating the matter is designed to guard against certain difficulties in two other viewpoints, each of which is in turn opposed to the other. One time-honored approach, the metaphysical, tends to leave out of consideration the social aspects of educational philosophy. The opposite one, variously referred to as pragmatic, experimental, or experiential,

14

THE

CALL

FOR

PHILOSOPHY

usually gives recognition to social factors but, at times, seems to underestimate the significance of a plan, pattern, a formulated ideal, as prerequisite to educational organization, and—as appears to some of its friendly as well as to its hostile critics—to be lacking in that measure of definiteness and clarity necessary f o r rational guidance. T h e next two chapters are to be devoted to some analysis of these contrasting views.

Chapter A

R E T U R N

TO

Two

METAPHYSICS?

r EXTREME example of the metaphysical approach to the philosophy of education is to be found in the much discussed proposals of Robert M . Hutchins, President of the University of Chicago, particularly as presented in The Higher Learning in America.1 Hutchins' criticisms are timely and important. In a forceful, popular style he has given expression to widespread dissatisfaction with the upper ranges of our educational system. H e has attacked well-recognized evils: the confusion concerning the proper function of the higher learning; the ambivalence of our high school, which "cannot make up its mind whether it is preparing students f o r life or f o r college"; the "service station" conception of many universities, which are ready to provide any sort of course providing there is a popular, profitable demand; the multiplication of isolated subjects treated in fragmentary fashion; the excessive vocationalism of our law schools; in general, the utilitarianism, empiricism, sci1 For a discussion of his conceptions, see the series of articles by Dewey and reply by Hutchins in The Social Frontier, Dec., 1936, Jan., Feb., March, 1937; and Harry D. Gideonse, The Higher Learning in America and Democracy.

16

A RETURN

TO

METAPHYSICS?

entificism, athleticism p e r v a d i n g our schools o f higher learning.

"Thus

strangest o f

the

modern

temper

modern phenomena,

produces

an

that

anti-intellectual

u n i v e r s i t y . " H e voices the disappointment of both the academicians and the laity with the A m e r i c a n college f o r its failure to g i v e a unified liberal education o f any kind, classic o r m o d e r n . As

an

a t t a c k against

existing

evils

the

essay

is

brilliant. It m a y also be said that a m o n g his concrete p r o p o s a l s are s o m e — a s f o r instance the concentration o f university studies into main divisions,

Philosophy,

N a t u r a l Science, and Social S t u d i e s — w h i c h are w o r t h y of the most serious c o n s i d e r a t i o n ; indeed, they reflect w i d e l y held views a m o n g educators. E v e n the m a j o r emphasis on philosophy is welcome

at this time

as

b r i n g i n g to the f o r e g r o u n d the need of some underlying conception to u n i f y and direct the process. H o w e v e r ,

Hutchins

the w h o l e discussion of

educational

has, u n f o r t u n a t e l y ,

the higher

led

l e a r n i n g into

a

q u a g m i r e by insisting that the guiding principle o f our h i g h e r learning must be " m e t a p h y s i c s . " H e exalts this to the position o f an independent and superior categ o r y , to rule all the other branches of s t u d y ; and he h a s m a d e confusion w o r s e c o n f o u n d e d by n a i v e l y disclaiming any desire to p r o p o u n d any p a r t i c u l a r kind o f metaphysics and at the same time d r a w i n g ences t h a t w o u l d be possible only f o r one w h o

inferhad

held converse with a m e d i e v a l t h e o l o g i a n or w i t h his disembodied spirit. W h a t

metaphysics consists o f

is

not made v e r y clear. One thing is c e r t a i n — t h e underlying principle is not to be a conception o f an ideal

A RETURN

TO M E T A P H Y S I C S ?

17

society or o f an ideal type of personality. As M r . Hutchins seems to conceive it, "metaphysics" appears to be an increate intellectual principle hovering over the waters of life, an ordering conception prior to all experience. Hutchins tells us that the Greeks, above all other peoples, had such a principle, and ordered their life and thought through it; the Middle Ages had it too, although in a less pure form of theology; and he is even brought to utter an expression of respect for the Marxists because they understand the importance of metaphysics: " T h e y realize it is impossible to have social order without intellectual order." One may say that the three examples, Hellenism, Catholicism, and Communism, could not be better chosen if the purpose were to prove the opposite: the effect of a given social order—or conception of i t — on its own supporting intellectual foundations. In each of these—the national culture, the religious system, and the political philosophy respectively—it is an "organized way of living" which dominates the whole. In each a definite type o f social and personal virtue is held up as an ideal; this is primary, metaphysics being secondary, designed to rationalize and to support the preferred way o f life. It would be particularly difficult to defend Hutchins' assertion t h a t : "Metaphysics, as the highest science, ordered the thought o f the Greek world, as theology ordered that o f the Middle Ages." In the first place, Greek thought was not at all "ordered," in the sense that Hutchins implies. It was, rather, marked by great

18

A

RETURN

TO

METAPHYSICS?

diversity and by great conflict of opinion on all major philosophic issues. 2 T h e distinctive contribution of the Hellenic civilization, it is generally agreed, lies in its relative freedom f r o m the domination of traditional authority. Characteristic of the Greeks was their "questioning and denying of the accepted order of things," 3 their tendency " t o approach each fresh problem as a matter of investigation," 4 their zest f o r discussion, f o r pursuit of the argument wherever it led. W i t h these critical tendencies the best minds of Greece aimed to unite a love f o r the clearly defined, the intellectually conceived, the urge to grasp the essential, unchanging aspects of reality. It is true that the Greeks never altogether transcended the metaphysical modes of explanation which conditioned all ancient thinking, but the advances they made in the classic period, which have given them their place in the history of thought, were in the direction of a critical, logical analysis and a free spirit of scientific investigation. T o use Aristotle as Hutchins does, to support his metaphysical view, is skating on very thin ice. 5 T h e r e is, of course, a traditional picture of Aristotle which identifies him with " T h e Philosopher" of the Middle Ages, who is imagined to have been the creator of an all-embracing, finished system in which "the highest 2

A s an antidote to Hutchins' oversimplified generalizations about the Greeks, see A Cultural History of the Modern Age ( I I , 334) by the late Egon Friedell. 3 R . H. S. Crossman, Plato Today, p. 48. * M . Rostovtzeff, A History of the Ancient World, I, 239 ff. 5 T h e conception of Aristotle's v i e w s here presented follows closely that of the eminent authority, W e r n e r J a e g e r . Aristotle: Fundamentals of the History of His Development.

A R E T U R N TO M E T A P H Y S I C S ?

19

place appeared to belong to metaphysics, the

study

o f pure being, an over-arching dome beneath which all departmental sciences were included, presupposed, and thereby cancelled."

1

But reference to history com-

pletely r e f u t e s the idea that the original Aristotle w a s a sort o f non-theological St. T h o m a s Aquinas. W h a t the real A r i s t o t l e thought of the relation of

meta-

physics to other disciplines—to science, ethics, politics, education—admits

of

no simple statement

such

as

Hutchins makes, particularly as, a f t e r a lifetime of wrestling with the problem, Aristotle himself had no such simple solution to offer. It is to be remembered that the "first philosophy," later termed "metaphysics," was not f o r A r i s t o t l e a set of final truths, but, as he commonly calls it, " t h e science we are seeking." T h e whole discussion in the Metaphysics

has the character

of investigating a problem, of suggesting concepts f o r intellectual comprehension of perceptible realities: it is not at all in the category of a dogmatic statement of an a priori position or a closed system of fixed principles. It is true that there was a conflict in his mind which he never satisfactorily resolved. A deep urge f o r unity o f conception, as well as the p o w e r f u l influence exerted on him by Plato, inclined him to an emphasis on the "first philosophy," or the study of first principles; on the other hand, he recognized the importance of the knowledge of the facts as leading up to first principles. A n d he was keenly aware that the difference between these t w o approaches eIbid.,

p. 124

constituted

20

A

RETURN

TO

METAPHYSICS?

7

a problem. M o r e o v e r , his own main contributions arose out of the analytic character of his thinking, out of indefatigable labor on specialized problems, 8 one might say, out of an investigating, experimental attitude of mind. 8 F a r from being the outcome of an application of a priori principles, the results of his many studies and investigations were only later, with great difficulty, brought into a roughly unified structure. T o w a r d the end of his life, he placed the balance of emphasis on empirical research as a means of arriving at complete and certain knowledge. 1 0 H e then justified metaphysics as a sort of concession to the everlasting yearning of the human heart to penetrate the mysteries of life. H e could not altogether transcend the character of his period, and did not entirely emancipate himself f r o m the metaphysical. But the distinguishing feature of his view, after all, is that "his metaphysics is construed on the basis of physics," 1 1 and thus takes a direction opposite to the view of Plato who held that certainty was rooted only in the invisible, intelligible world of ideas. 7 "But we must not fail to observe the distinction between the reasonings which proceed from first principles and the reasonings which lead up to first principles. For Plato was right in raising the difficult question whether the true way was from first principles or to first principles, as in the race course from the judges to the goals, or vice versa. We must begin then with the facts that are known. But the facts may be known in two ways, i.e., either relatively to ourselves, or absolutely. It is probable then that vie must begin with such facts as are known to us, i.e., relatively." Ethics, Welldon's translation, p. 6. 8 Werner Jaeger, Aristotle, p. 374. 9 Compare M. Rostovtzeff, op. cit., I, 339 ff. 10 Werner Jaeger, op. cit., Chap. X I I I , especially pp. 338 ff.

11

Ibid., p. 379.

A RETURN With science,

TO M E T A P H Y S I C S ?

21

reference t o the relation of metaphysics

to

Hutchins'

at

interpretation

of

Aristotle

is

least understandable in the light of the scholastic tradition, and p a r d o n a b l e , one might say, in v i e w o f the equivocal tendencies in the writings as they have come d o w n to us. H o w e v e r , the preconceptions o f our m o d ern scholastic h a v e also led him to misconstrue educational

views

when

have

these

of

his

been

master

expressed

philosopher, with

the

the even

greatest

clarity. F o r instance, Hutchins thinks that

Aristotle

v a l u e d pure reasoning f o r attaining w i s d o m in practical affairs, and, to s u p p o r t this erroneous inference, perversely

quotes the well-known

A r i s t o t l e g o e s out o f

passage

in

his w a y t o say the

which

opposite.

" H e n c e the y o u n g are not p r o p e r students of political science, as they h a v e no experience of the actions o f life which f o r m the premises and subjects o f ing."

reason-

12

It is A r i s t o t l e ' s

plain purpose

in this section

to

m a k e a distinction between the exact sciences on the one

hand—for

example,

mathematics—and

on

the

o t h e r h a n d the practical s c i e n c e s — f o r example, politics, medicine, m i l i t a r y s c i e n c e — w h i c h latter branches of

knowledge

he

compares

with

the

arts.

In

the

f o r m e r , demonstrative p r o o f and a k n o w l e d g e o f univ e r s a l are essential; in the latter, " p r o b a b l e

reason-

i n g " and a k n o w l e d g e o f particulars, both resting on a f o u n d a t i o n of experience, are fundamental. " B u t it 12 Ethics, Welldon's translation, Book I, Chap. I, p. 4. See also Chap. V I I , p. 17, where it is pointed out that in the arts and in practical affairs, "the fact is itself a first point or principle."

22

A

RETURN

TO

METAPHYSICS?

is difficult to see w h a t benefit a cobbler or a carpenter will get in reference t o his a r t by knowing the absolute good, or how the contemplation of the absolute idea will make a better physician or general. F o r it appears that a physician does not regard health abstractly but regards the health of man, or perhaps of a particular man, since he gives his medicine to individuals." 13 T h i s position is also maintained in the Metaphysics, where he a d d s : " W i t h a view to action experience seems in no respect inferior to art, and men of experience succeed even better than those who have theory without experience." 14 It has been suggested that Aristotle takes such great pains to make his point clear because he is arguing against Plato's view, which he f o r m e r l y shared but has now altogether abandoned. 1 5 W e now come to the main p o i n t : Aristotle did not by any means deduce his educational conceptions f r o m his metaphysics; he derived them f r o m what we would nowadays term his social philosophy. It is by no means an accident t h a t makes Aristotle deliver the explicit exposition of his educational theory in the Politics. Even if we g r a n t t h a t he retained the view expressed in the Metaphysics t h a t final ends must be determined by "a science t h a t investigates the first principles and causes," 18 it is political science which, in Aristotle's opinion, is unquestionably most authoritative or architectonic with reference to education. " F o r it is the political science or faculty which determines what sci13

Ibid., Book I, Chap. V, p. 12. ™ Metaphysics, 981a.

15 16

W e r n e r Jaeger, op. (it., p. 86. Metaphysics, 982b.

A R E T U R N TO M E T A P H Y S I C S ?

23

ences are necessary in states, and w h a t kind of sciences should be learnt, and h o w f a r they should be learnt by particular p e o p l e . "

17

A s everyone knows, it

is to Aristotle that w e owe the clear formulation of the doctrine that the character of

any

educational

system must be relative to the character of the s t a t e ; e.g.,

"a

democratic

character

in

a

democracy,

an

oligarchical in an o l i g a r c h y . " T h i s stands as the decisive refutation of the interpretation of Hutchins, who, starting f r o m his metaphysical premise, comes to the conclusion that "education should be e v e r y w h e r e the s a m e , " and that the heart of every course of study . . . will be, if education is rightly understood, the same at any time, in any place, under any political, social, or economic conditions."

18

O f course, Aristotle r e g a r d e d the intellectual studies, the knowledge of universals, and the pursuit of knowledge f o r its own sake as more estimable than the practical and utilitarian studies. T h i s w a s

not,

however, the result of his theory of learning but of his ethical evaluations which in turn rested on his social conceptions. B y no means does he hold Hutchins view that

"if

education

is rightly

the

under-

stood, it will be understood as the cultivation of the intellect." Aristotle recognizes the indispensability and the value of all educations needed f o r the business of life and the w e l f a r e of the state, and he would, as already noted, use in each kind of education the "natural o r appropriate w a y , " be it experience, habit formation, or reasoning. 17

Ethics, Book I, p. 2.

But he admonishes 18

the

free

J . M. Hutchins, op. cit., p. 66.

24

A

RETURN

TO

METAPHYSICS?

citizens of A t h e n s — a m o n g w h o m he himself

would

not include hired laborers or a r t i s a n s — t h a t a f t e r all leisure was the end of business and peace the object of w a r , so that an educational p r o g r a m must not omit the highest purpose, that of preparing f o r the cultiv a t e d use of leisure in times of peace. In his educational plan he emphasizes moral discipline and artistic training, as well as cultivation of the intellect, inasmuch as prosperous citizens " w i l l need culture, temperance, and justice in proportion as their life is one of leisure amidst a rich abundance of such g o o d s . " Speculative highest

philosophy

f o r m of

he

regarded

as

human activity, an end

the

19

very

supremely

desirable in itself (not a means to other learnings o r activities). It was of

all occupations the one

most

calculated to bring happiness to the few choice spirits, who, g i f t e d by divine grace, happy financial circumstance, and proper mental training, were able to enjoy its pursuit. T h r o u g h

this divine discipline the

indi-

vidual becomes self-sufficient, master of his own inner f a t e , free f r o m the contingencies of life, and, as f a r as is possible, independent of his fellow men. A m o n g the Athenians, as distinct f r o m the Spartans,

there

had developed the conception of education as it concerned individual happiness as well as the state's welfare, and Aristotle's high aim of cultivation of soul through philosophy was "Aristotle

the

final

the

denouement.

discovers that in every man the

highest

part of the soul can only find perfect satisfaction outside the state. T h i s discovery 19

Politici.

marks the

Welldon's translation. Book IV, Chap. X V .

transition

A

RETURN

TO

METAPHYSICS?

25

f r o m a merely civic education to the broader education f r o m which nothing that is human is alien."

20

T h u s there is revealed a conflict between civic and spiritual morality, of which Aristotle w a s no doubt conscious, but which he could not possibly solve in the light of the inner contradictions in his own social conceptions and in view of the political disorders and catastrophies of his day. It should be understood, however, that he never renounced the world and " t h e r e is no abstract individualism in A r i s t o t l e . "

21

In

final

analysis he remains true to the positive position of the G r e e k classic period, namely, the primacy of the individual's dependence on civil society and on the state. T h i s brief analysis of Aristotle's views gives plenty of warrant, if needed, f o r the proposition submitted in the last chapter, that is, that a pattern f o r individual

and

social

living,

rather

than

a

metaphysical

theory of the nature of the universe, must underlie a philosophy of education. It should be borne in mind that while Aristotle makes the more direct presentation of his educational plan in the Politics, sion in the Ethics

the discus-

is pervaded throughout by the edu-

cational problem. T h e same approach is exemplified by P l a t o in the Republic,

where education is conceived as

being the function of a state, reconstructed in economic base and political administration to harmonize with his conception of justice. 22 T h e study of G r e e k life and W i l l i a m B o y d , History of Western Education, p. 44. W e r n e r J a e g e r , op. cit., p. 400. 2 2 C o m p a r e M . R o s t o v t z e f f , op. cit., I, 337. " F o r the history of G r e e k c i v i l i z a t i o n it is i m p o r t a n t to note that P l a t o w a s the first definitely to c o n c e n t r a t e his attention, a s student and as thinker, on m a n and not 20 21

26

A R E T U R N TO

METAPHYSICS?

of Greek educational theory is indeed invaluable f o r the philosophy of education, although in a sense f a r different f r o m that intended by Hutchins. W e cannot accept the solutions of the ancients, not only because of their inadequate knowledge of the nature of the learning process, but, what is of f a r greater moment, because their educational plans were predicated on a static conception of a class society. But their formulation of the nature of the problem was exemplary and this we shall adopt—namely, an ethics conjoined with an appropriate politics gives the ground plan f o r a philosophy of education. W i t h o u t explicit reference to ethics and politics, the idealism of the educational philosopher lays itself open to the charge that it retards needed social change by taking our minds off the consideration of undeniable present evils to contemplate the beauties of an ideal universe of discourse. T h i s is accomplished by confining the ideal to the idea and by disregarding the social source and reference of ideals and ideas. If those who approach the problem of education f r o m the viewpoint of philosophic idealism would think in terms of ethics instead of in terms of metaphysics, they would make forcible the element of truth in their contention. "Ethics," implying an ideal, connotes also a type of conduct; and "conduct" has a more obvious social f r a m e w o r k than pure thought. But even the concept "ethics" taken alone gives due emphasis to only one on the external world, and that he g a v e to ethics and to politics, reg a r d e d by him as inseparable f r o m one another, the precedence over other sciences."

A

RETURN

TO

METAPHYSICS?

27

aspect; it might imply a type of personal life with a minimum of social contacts and conditions. I t becomes necessary, therefore, to unite with the ethical, also the political—including in this term economic, as well as main civic relations, f o r which we today use the term "social." " It is Hutchins' failure to relate the educational conceptions of the Greeks to their social philosophy which, in the final analysis, has led him to his many misconceptions. Likewise, it is the neglect of the social concept—in the realistic Greek sense of the political and economic—as a source of the philosophy of education which vitiates Hutchins' whole program of educational r e f o r m . Superficially, he too makes a "social" diagnosis of the root of the evil, of the disorder of our higher learning. Quoting Plato, he points out that the state of education depends on the state of the nation, just as the state of the nation depends on the state of education. Hutchins thinks that the root of the trouble lies in the American people's love of money and their belief that education is just one more way of getting it; the universities, dependent on the people, respond and organize their work on the basis of this view. " H o w can we break this vicious circle?" asks Hutchins innocently. Is D r . Hutchins, like Plato, dreaming of a new social o r d e r ? If so, he gives us no inkling of this. A t no 23 C o m p a r e W e r n e r Jaeger, Paideia: the Ideals of Greek Culture. T h i s thoroughgoing study of the interaction of Greek intellectual processes and ethical ideals with the underlying historical and political situations has just been made available in an English translation by Gilbert Highet.

28

A RETURN

TO

METAPHYSICS?

time does it seem to occur to him that the extreme vocationalism of many of our universities has something to do with the necessities of making a living in a competitive society. H e seems to think that the love of money is something in the nature of "original sin," of which we must be purged by means of school education. H e would have us believe that we can abolish our acquisitive society, if the universities will courageously show our people what higher learning really is. T h e profit motive is to be eliminated f r o m the heart of students—and from society—by the study of metaphysics; verily, salvation by syllogism! In practice the metaphysical approach will be found ranged on the side of conservatism, designed to maintain traditional courses of study. Despite its high claims, the metaphysical approach is guilty of the very fault ascribed to the method of "specific objectives," f o r it evades the necessity of criticism of social realities. In so f a r as it is different, it is likely to be worse; the metaphysical approach is even more conservative; it is retrospective; it looks to the good old values in the forms established in the past. T h e "specific objectives" approach, being more utilitarian, considers values current and accepted now, and is relevant to the immediate satisfactions of the needs of the many. Neither approach is favorable to a reconstruction of education in accordance with a critical ethical-social philosophy.

Chapter Three IS P H I L O S O P H Y A

MERELY

HYPOTHESIS?

I

is to mean anything to education, it is to social philosophy that we must look for guidance. This conclusion, in the foregoing discussion, reflects the view generally held by the liberal school of American educational thought. 1 It has found expression particularly in the writings of John Dewey and his followers. T h e emphasis on the "social" is a first principle of the Dewey school of thought; closely joined with this is the term "experience." By means of these concepts the intellectualist, the static pattern of traditional education, has been successfully attacked. The Dewey educational philosophy has emphasized the need of giving due consideration to social realities, and to contemporaneous knowledge, conditions, and ideals; it has made evident the necessity of the reconstruction of education in the light of a changing civilization. The concept F PHILOSOPHY

1 See Boyd M . Bode, Modern Educational Theories, and Ross L. Finney, A Sociological Philosophy of Education. TTie view has been explicitly enunciated recently in W . H. Kilpatrick (editor), The Educational Frontier, especially Chap. IX formulated by Professors Dewey and Childs. See also the Report of the Commission of the Social Studies of the American Historical Society, Conclusions and Recommendations, Chap. III.

3O

PHILOSOPHY

AS

A

HYPOTHESIS?

"experience" has served as ground f o r the thesis that a philosophy of education is not given once and f o r a l l — e i t h e r by tradition or by an a priori

conception.

Education must have meaning f o r those w h o are being educated; must be subject to the test of the common man's judgment, as distinct f r o m specialized academic opinion; may be modified, indeed even creatively reconstructed, by the insight gained in the meeting of problems as they arise in educational practice. In this conception the school ceases to be a specialized organ of society dealing with abstractions and symbols of culture. It becomes a miniature community, 2 active with the typical occupations o f the larger community, pervaded with the spirit of k n o w l e d g e , o f art, o f social ideals. T h e school, through the youth it trains f o r the community, reflects back into social life its own refashioned ideals and improved knowledge, and thus becomes an agent of a continuous reconstruction of society. T h e D e w e y school of thought is justly reg a r d e d as the m a j o r contribution to educational philosophy of our day. A doctrine o f social relevancy and social responsibility has been applied to the problem o f education. But this fruitful point of view is sometimes used to deprecate the formulation of a definite social philosophy prior to the educational process. T h u s much o f its force is lost. A certain direction o f social policy is, of course, implied in the D e w e y educational conceptions, and in the course of the years, this underlying philosophy has become more definite and more clearly 2

John Dewey, The School and Society, 2d ed., pp. 26-28.

PHILOSOPHY

AS

A

HYPOTHESIS?

31

avowed. In School and Society, written at the turn of the century, the emphasis is on the term "social" itself. At that stage, it was important to counteract the individualistic, isolated character of school work by drawing attention to the social function and relation of the school. It was necessary to point out that the school must take cognizance of the growth of industrial society, not only to adapt itself to such change, but also to compensate for it through modifications in curriculum and method designed to preserve the vital social character of real education. One more step is taken in Democracy and Education, the more formal and complete exposition of Dewey's educational views published during the World War. Dewey goes so f a r as to say that the "conception of education as a social process and function has no definite meaning until we define the kind of society we have in mind." But the kind of society we have in mind —the democratic—is only vaguely defined as possessing two main characteristics: ( 1 ) a great number and variety of shared common interests, ( 2 ) a continuous readjustment to new situations produced by free interplay between social groups. 3 This characterization gives a notion of the quality of life in a democracy; it reflects the liberal's opposition to fixed social classes and his hope for continuous progress. But it does not give a sufficiently clear picture of the nature and workings of a democratic society, or of the many real problems, political and economic, that face us in achieving a democratic society. 5

John Dewey, Democracy and Education, p. 100.

32

PHILOSOPHY

AS

A

HYPOTHESIS?

In some of the more recent writings of Dewey and others, particularly of the Reconstructionists, 4 the suggestions are more direct, and unmistakably in the socialist direction; some of the writers have at times used the term "collectivism" to indicate their social conception. But even now the picture of the desired society is implied rather than clearly drawn. T h e overtones of the Dewey philosophy are richer than the explicitly stated position; and, no doubt, a complete social philosophy can be constructed f r o m the principles. But the Dewey school itself has preferred to keep its social philosophy implicit, and to suggest rather than formulate. T h i s avoidance of an explicit statement is, no doubt, intentional. It arises, presumably, in part f r o m a realization that the unity, simplicity, and lucidity of philosophic formulation are specious, and tend to belie human experience more than to reveal it. 5 Perhaps, even stronger is the apprehension that formulation may lead to fixity; that is, the philosophic statement may crystallize the educational process which should remain fluent, a moving adjustment to changing conditions. T h i s last mentioned aspect of the matter finds expression in the idea of "continuing interaction," as expressed in the following recent statement: " A philosophy based upon actual experience is so framed, 4

The term "Reconstructionist" is used to describe the general point of view expressed in The Educational Frontier, the Yearbooks of the John Dewey Society, and in the editorial position of The Social Frontier. 5 See comment by Professor Dewey, in Contemporary American Philosophy, II, 16-17.

PHILOSOPHY

AS A H Y P O T H E S I S ?

33

in other words, as to react, through the plan of action which it projects, back into an experience which is directly realized and not merely conceived. M o r e o v e r , it is not implied that philosophy comes to a completion as a preliminary, and that then action takes place afterwards. T h e r e is a continuing interaction."

6

This statement may be made the basis of some criticism. W e may, however, first freely grant its validity if we consider fairly long intervals of social history, and if we aim thereby to emphasize the need of a periodic reconstruction of the philosophy of education as epochal changes take place in the material conditions of life, in economic and political organization, or in intellectual and ethical orientations. T h e reflex arc of influences may be seen as "continuing interaction" if time be measured by the psalmist's clock of eternity. " A thousand years are in T h y eyes but as a day gone by." But considering the matter more closely, is this a valid or useful conception f o r any given age; is it valid in the task that actually confronts the educator in the conduct of the daily work at any given time and place? M u s t not a philosophy be formulated in order to be effective, indeed, in order to be at all? " E v e n though the ideal be changing—to be an ideal it must be envisaged and have f o r the while, at least, the character of order and repose."

7

H o w e v e r close the reflexive

relationship between thought and action, interval and distinction there must be. Thought cannot be entirely 6

W . H. K i l p a t r i c k , editor, The Educational Frontier, p. 295. Henry S i d g w i c k , Outlines of the History of Ethics for English Readers; with an Additional Chapter by A. E. Widgery. 7

34

PHILOSOPHY

AS

A

HYPOTHESIS?

identified with intelligent action; and a philosophy formulated on the basis of experience is nevertheless not the experience itself. Even though we grant that in human history experience was prior to formulated thought, the philosophy that we are to use, or apply in any particular situation, must be p r i o r — a t least in some essentials—to the particular educational process with which we are concerned. T h e difficulty of the conception of "continuing interaction" becomes even greater as the doctrine of "experience," already fraught with ambiguities, is ridden hard in the direction of a philosophy of "experimentalism," with its air of adventurous pioneering on the one hand, and of dignified association with scientific method on the other. 8 D o we not have to set up before ourselves some conception of an "organized way of living" to guide us? A n d though we consider our conception only a hypothesis, must we not have time to test it out? Does one seriously propose to experiment with diverse ways of life as did Heinrich H e i n e ? Of him it is recorded: " A t an early age he quit his spiritual home in Judaism, as a prodigal son 'tended Hegelian swine,' wandered through the f a r countries of Catholicism, Protestantism, Spinozaism, Paganism, St. Simonism, Atheism, and Communism, and in the end returned to Jehovah the Father without even the reward of a fatted c a l f . " 9 Can a philosophy of life be adequately tested out in 8

John L. Childs, Education and the Philosophy of Chap. V. 9 Marvin Lowenthal, in the Nation, Dec. n , 1937.

Experimentalijm,

PHILOSOPHY

AS A H Y P O T H E S I S ?

35

this way? " I t is the labor of a lifetime to make one's true self known," Rabindranath T a g o r e has written. Is it not at least "the labor of a lifetime" to test out one's personal philosophy? T o say, "the work of generations," would be nearer the truth, f o r the test can hardly be made except through one's children and children's children, unto the third generation. T h e analogy with hypothesis, experimentalism, and scientific method becomes impossibly difficult when we consider that education is not only a school matter, but always at the same time a theory and a practice of social life. T o carry out the idea of an "experimental hypothesis" in education, we should have to engage in every generation in the frequent reconstruction of our whole society. Furthermore, the extreme experimentalists do not pay due attention to the fact that a scientific hypothesis is first of all a formulation. Only p a r t of the concept of "hypothesis" is considered in most of the recent educational discussions. W h e n the "experimentalists" say that the philosophy of education is comparable to a hypothesis, they mean to emphasize its provisional nature; that is, it is to be entertained tentatively until tested by events and experiences. In science the hypothesis, whether it arises in imagination, or comes as a suggestion during manipulation, is, nevertheless, a mental construction. T h e scientific hypothesis must, above all, be clear and definite and prior to the experiment by which it is to be tested. If one should give due emphasis to this aspect of the term "hypothesis"—its character as a formulation—one should indeed arrive at the position that a positive philosophy of life, envisaged

36

PHILOSOPHY

AS

A

HYPOTHESIS?

b e f o r e h a n d , is prerequisite to any educational philosophy, " e x p e r i m e n t a l i s t " as well as " e s s e n t i a l i s t . " T h e criticism thus f a r is not to be regarded, necessarily, as a rejection of the notion of hypothesis, but as seeking a m o r e balanced emphasis on both aspects of " h y p o t h e s i s " — t h e one that implies formulation as well as the one which implies tentative holding until tested. T h e " e x p e r i m e n t a l i s t " m a y accept this criticism and d e f e n d his overemphasis on practical g r o u n d s ; that is, the urgent need at the present time of breaking up old static conceptions and of seeking new solutions. H e m a y agree that education necessitates long-range hypotheses in any case. 1 0 T h i s reconciliation leaves a wide ground f o r a common position f o r idealist and experimentalist in the actual w o r k in educational practice. It is, nevertheless, right to note that there is a deeper difficulty with the conception of hypothesis as applied to social a f f a i r s and to education than indicated above.

The

whole analogy of an ethical o r social philosophy with the scientific hypothesis is seriously open to question; the problem at issue has ever been a bone of philosophic contention. Is our conception of the good l i f e subject to the same kind of verification as is possible and necessary in science? T o so hold would seem to neglect the p r i m a r y distinction between philosophy and science; the latter is k n o w l e d g e — n o t wisdom. Science has to do with the sequential relation

of

events, with the correlation of facts, with the association of one variable with another. Science tells us w h a t happens under certain conditions, regularly, o r with 10

John L. Childs, op. cit., p. 124.

PHILOSOPHY

AS

A

HYPOTHESIS?

37

such great probability as to permit prediction of certain results when other events we name "causes" are present. Verification in science consists in establishing that event a (under stated conditions) is regularly followed or associated with event b. T h e correlation of events may be classified in accordance with one scheme or another and can be used—as has been said a thousand times in a thousand different ways—either f o r man's (or certain men's) welfare or f o r his (or their) destruction. A hypothesis in science is a theory concerning the invariant relations among events; whether the hypothesis is true can be discovered by going to nature and finding out whether the actual facts are in accord with the hypothesis. There is only a question of an " i s " here, no question of an "ought." On the other hand, philosophy, which is the search f o r wisdom, is concerned f r o m first to last with man's welfare. I t always implies a theory of values; and values are not subject to verification in the strict scientific sense. T h i s is so, not because of our present inadequacy of knowledge or poverty of experience, but in the very nature of the case. 1 1 A social and personal philosophy, like religion, 12 is the good life envisaged, and it may be tenaciously adhered to despite consequences which appear unhappy, and may indeed be unhappy, as happiness is conceived of by the many. Even when a man turns away from his old philosophy as a result of his experience, the new one will not be the mere reflex of the flux of experience. T h e germinal 11 12

C. E. M. Joad, Return to Philosophy, pp. 172-173. John Dewey, A Common Faith, p. 27.

38

PHILOSOPHY

AS

A

HYPOTHESIS?

seed of the philosophy of life is still within man, in a need, a purpose, or a vision. Experience may help us decide whether our conception of the good life is practical or valid, but the judgment depends, in part at least, on what our conception of the good life was in the first place. T h e long history of ethical theory does not seem to have gotten us out of the impasse; we are not much further than Aristotle's circular opinion that it is an essential of good conduct to contain an end in itself and be chosen f o r its own sake. John Stuart Mill contradicted himself when he insisted that the question of ultimate ends is not amenable to direct proof and then proceeded to prove that the end was pleasure. Benedetto Croce believes that moral conduct consists of the readjustment of competing claims in the direction of the enhancement of l i f e ; but we properly ask what is " l i f e " and wherein lies its enhancement. In all these views there is some conception of the "best," and, while, given an accepted social framework, the best obviously has some practical tests, there is also within the word an irreducible core concerning which the argument travels in a circle. 13 One can v e r i f y the value of justice, peace, or charity through experience, only in the experience of those who begin with some love of these virtues. Science may, indeed, influence our conception of values, but it cannot furnish us with one. Even when it destroys old ideals, it cannot, of itself, create new ones. Although there is an interplay between thought and 13

Henry Sidgwick, op. at., pp. 56 ff., 310.

PHILOSOPHY

AS

A

HYPOTHESIS?

39

action, both in science and in philosophy, the relationship between theory and experience is not the same in both cases. It is only in science that theory is essentially instrumental; it is a means to knowledge and understanding. In philosophy the theory is fundamentally an end of action, an outcome highly desired, a purpose strongly determined upon. In science several theories may be simultaneously h e l d — a n d any one or all discarded without regret if shown to be untenable. T h e scientist may use different hypotheses in different contexts and postpone adjusting inconsistencies. 1 * H e is in the last analysis, qua scientist, concerned with ascertaining the facts, with obtaining exact k n o w l e d g e concerning the relations between events, or between systems of events. In the end the scientist will also wish to eliminate inconsistencies; this appears t o be of help in making knowledge o f

the

w o r l d even more accurate. A n d since the scientist is a l w a y s something o f a philosopher (as all men a r e ) , he will wish to u n d e r s t a n d — n o t only to k n o w — a n d understanding means placing the phenomenon observed within a broad f r a m e w o r k of a conceptual system. W h a t is last f o r the scientist is, however, first f o r the philosopher. F o r him the unification of

life—its

harmony and enhancement—is the first principle and the ultimate end. T h e philosopher will maintain his ideal o f life as against circumstances, and, if f o r c e d to yield in the end, will do so reluctantly in a sense of tragedy, in the realization that natural existence cannot support the ideal vision. In a social and personal M

M. R. Cohen, Reason and Nature, p. 217.

40

PHILOSOPHY

AS A

HYPOTHESIS?

p h i l o s o p h y the t h e o r y is not only instrumental, it is the end as w e l l as the m e a s u r e of the g o o d l i f e . Science a i m s to reflect the c h a r a c t e r o f n a t u r e ; p h i l o s o p h y seeks to r e v e a l the h e a r t of m a n ; and while nature a n d m a n a r e continuous and interactive, they a r e a t the

same

time distinct and c o n t r a s t e d . T h e emphasis and m o v e m e n t o f science and p h i l o s o p h y a r e in d i f f e r e n t direct i o n s : the scientific h y p o t h e s i s g l a d l y yields to n a t u r e , a n d becomes m o r e and m o r e i m p e r s o n a l ; the

moral

hypothesis is a quest f o r the h u m a n e essence, and its u l t i m a t e is p e r s o n a l i t y . T h e v i e w taken h e r e , then, is that a p h i l o s o p h y o f l i f e is a p r e f e r r e d w a y of l i v i n g ; to the v e r y last it retains an element o f assertion o f f a i t h , o f conviction, o f congeniality. A s a p r e f e r r e d w a y of living, it must a l s o be a principle of renunciation. T h e true philoso p h e r — l i k e the f a i t h f u l b e l i e v e r — t e n d s to p u r s u e his ideal w a y of l i f e despite o r d i n a r y e x p e r i e n c e ; he rejects the current uncriticized l i f e f o r an ideal v e r s i o n o f it. In one critical aspect o f the p r o b l e m the idealists a r e r i g h t ; the ideal h a s to be set up, f o r m u l a t e d , described. I f the p h i l o s o p h y o f education is to be h e l p f u l , it must p r o p o s e a definite educational conception, within a definite type of society. Definiteness, h o w e v e r , should not be c o n f u s e d w i t h finality.

A p h i l o s o p h y , t h o u g h c l e a r l y f o r m u l a t e d , need

n o t be final f o r all times and p l a c e s ; nor need it be w o r k e d out b e f o r e h a n d in all detail. T h e main p a t t e r n o f values, the central line o f conduct, the f u n d a m e n t a l intellectual assumptions must be stated. A

philosophy

must give an intimation of a w a y of l i f e , as d o C a t h o l i -

PHILOSOPHY

AS

A

HYPOTHESIS?

41

cism, Stoicism, and Communism. The viewpoint must be clear enough to permit unequivocal statement, definite enough to serve as a basis for an operational policy, full enough to describe a type of community life. It must give guidance as to what is to be done, the spirit of action, the organization of the work. The philosophy of education, we may say in summary, implies not alone the critical consideration of problems as they arise in contemporary life, 15 but unavoidably also the explicit statement of a point of view in reference to which problems are seen to arise, and for which solutions are found. T o reverse a phrase used in The Educational Frontier, we must, in some senses, have a "planned" education as well as a "planning" education. T o put the matter in the direct—if oversimplified— manner of the writers quoted in the first chapter, "Education must have an aim and this aim must be related to the aim of life." Or with St. Thomas: "First one must consider the final end of human life, and then those things through which man may attain this end, or deviate from it. F o r one must accept from an end the rationale of those things which are ordained to that end." 16 In the moral field we shall not altogether escape from this logic which "looks to Plato and Aristotle," no matter how we may reinterpret, modify, or elaborate. There are no insurmountable difficulties in reconciling this viewpoint with the Dewey philosophy, despite 15 18

John Dewey, Democracy and Education, p. 386. Quoted from H. O. Taylor, The Mediaeval Mind, II, 439.

42

PHILOSOPHY

AS A

HYPOTHESIS?

the latter's avowed contrary orientation. Dewey's view opposes the assumption of a "single, fixed, and final g o o d . " T o point out the plurality of goods, in no way, however, denies the need of organic unity in behavior or in conception of values. T o insist that society is changing, should not prevent us from seeing that civilization advances by stages or epochs, and that social philosophy, in part the expression of the character of an age, will have a certain constancy of validity throughout that age. Opposition to conceiving the end as a final terminus, or static limit, need not obscure the insight that man, as man, has determinate character; that philosophy is, above all, concerned with defining the function of man, with describing his place in the universe, and with setting up a unified conception of the significance of the life of man as a guide to man's activity. W e may, of course, discard the antique phrase, ultimus finis, as too much burdened with old associations. F o r us the good life is not to be stated as a metaphysical doctrine, a religious dogma, or a scientific l a w ; it should be stated in terms of a personal and social philosophy. Our conception must be more than a dream, an opiate, or a poetic consolation; it must help to transform life and thus be more than an idea; it must be conceived quite consciously in terms of two mutually penetrating opposites—ethical and political—and be synthesized in an incorporating unity of an ideal life in this world. T h e "ethical" points to an ideal of personality, to a pattern of life f o r man as man, in any place, time, or economic circumstances. I t aspires to

PHILOSOPHY

AS A H Y P O T H E S I S ?

free man f r o m the state o f affairs, f r o m the status

43 quo,

f r o m the coercive f o r c e o f the state in its many f o r m s . T h e " p o l i t i c a l " — u s i n g the t e r m in the b r o a d s e n s e — recalls to us t h a t w e can n e v e r be a l t o g e t h e r

freed

f r o m circumstance, n o t because o f i m p e r f e c t i o n in ourselves or o f evil in the w o r l d , but in the v e r y nature o f things, since existence depends on conditions. A sufficient definition of our idea is impossible without reference t o conditions; nor can our idea be m a d e effective except t h r o u g h

organization

of

conditions.

Conditions are ubiquitous and necessary; there must be some economic b a s e ; all social structures require administration; and there must be protection f r o m the desire f o r domination, an instinct deeply r o o t e d in men a l o n g with o t h e r u r g e s t o w a r d love, art, and w i s d o m . In its complete f o r m a living philosophy will be d r a w n within the f r a m e w o r k o f a social o r g a n i z a t i o n as well as against the b a c k g r o u n d of a conception of reality.

Chapter Four THE

IDEAL WITHIN

A BASIS

FOR

THE REAL

AS

RECONSTRUCTION

the demand for a philosophy of education is the need for a program of guidance, the desire for a norm, the feeling that there must be an "ought" to direct the educational program. There is another abiding notion that goes together with this need for direction: life must be unified, our actions consistent, conduct in harmony with thought, the accompanying emotions consonant. The quest for unity seems to be one of the great needs of man, along with the quest for certainty and for security. "We have an instinct or presentiment that we can get the best out of life only by pulling things together in this world so as thereby to pull ourselves together. Man, in a word, is a universe builder by right of his spiritual constitution." 1 The position taken here is that the needed ideal pattern of guidance can adequately be stated only in terms of an ethics and a politics reconciled to each other. However, to set up an ideal ethical-political order, as the ground plan for an educational system, does not make the problem any easier to solve, and NDERLYING

1

R. R. Marrett in Foreword to John Murphy, Primitive

Man, p. viii.

THE

IDEAL

WITHIN

THE

REAL

45

p r a c t i c a l educators m a y immediately put aside such a f r a m e of reference as Utopian.

There stands the great Platonic masterpiece, The Republic, to warn us. This magnificent plan to bring justice, society, and education into harmony has ever remained a source of philosophy, but its value in the problem of bringing up the young is dubious. Despite its important position in the history of education, its influence on educational practice is not discernible. And the matter is certainly not as simple as is indicated by those who, like Charters, would have us believe that the cause of Plato's failure was his neglect to provide proper educational techniques and efficient pedagogical devices, so that now, presumably, we are ripe for putting the old ideals into practice, since we have discovered "activities related to aims," "major and minor objectives," "job analysis," and "projects," and all the other paraphernalia of the new education.2 Even "tender-minded" Plato suspected there were more serious difficulties. H e realized that an ideal education could only be given in an ideal state, and he knew that the nature of the state was related to its fundamental economic system. H e saw no way out of the difficulty of the rational conduct of society and education, unless political power and philosophic wisdom could somehow be united. But he had no solution for the problem hidden by the "somehow." N o r could the more realistic, "tough-minded" Aristotle get much further. He did, indeed, realize the impracticality of Plato's wishful thinking and clearly formulated the 2 W . W . Charters, Chap. I, p. 4.

46

THE

IDEAL

WITHIN

THE

REAL

problem o f political p o w e r . " B u t he did not reach a s a t i s f y i n g solution."

s

T h e tension and unbalance between the ethical and the political may lead to either of t w o extreme responses. I f the " e t h i c a l " be f o l l o w e d to its logical conclusion, it m a y lead to a w i t h d r a w a l f r o m society in the feeling that we cannot change matters f o r the better in any case, and that it will be wiser to turn to our own personal salvation. A s Seneca says, " B u t to w h a t republic shall a man betake h i m s e l f ? T h e r e is scarce any government to be f o u n d that will endure a wise man, or which a wise man will endure; so that privacy is made necessary, because the only thing which is better is nowhere to be h a d . " T h e philosophies of contemplation

and

the

other-worldly

religions

of

the

Hellenistic w o r l d are, no doubt, rooted in an overwhelming sense o f political impotence. Paradoxically, if personal happiness be our concern, these methods o f renunciation need not be rejected out of hand as many moderns have done. F o r those w h o understand this w a y o f life, the concentration on inner spiritual v a l u e s — s o m e f o r m of "nonattachment," as A l d o u s H u x l e y has recently termed i t — i s no doubt to be considered a path f a l l i n g within the bounds of the life of reason. T h e objections to such immersion in the spiritual are not practical, but in a p r o f o u n d

sense

ethical. Plainly, the leisure to contemplate, to invite the soul, to concentrate on the "inner w o r l d , " must be bought at the cost of extra labor f o r others; turning one's back on the w o r l d implies a passive acquiescence > W e r n e r Jaeger, Aristotle,

p. 399.

THE

IDEAL

WITHIN

THE

REAL

47

in the enslavement of the many; in the end it offers no lasting solution, f o r there still must remain the danger of subjection to overweening political domination. Still (it may be remarked parenthetically) some measure of renunciation and withdrawal f r o m the current conflict must at all times be cherished as a necessary element in achieving happiness. Another alternative, more in accord with popular present-day trends, is activist, namely: to remake the political in harmony with the ideal by whatever forceful methods are thought adequate—seizing political power and ordering social life in accordance with a conception of justice. But here, too, there are evils and dangers; not only the absolute evil of violence and bloodshed and the hazard of chaos attendant on possible failure, but also the danger that a successful revolution may bring in its train the likelihood that its own purpose may be betrayed. Instead of a "withering away of the state," we may get an exaltation of the state and unbridled tyranny over the thought and lives of man. Still, like renunciation, also this extreme, the radical resetting of the actual conditions of life—the revolutionists' doctrine—will always recur in the effort to restore a balance. Both alternatives, the extreme ethical and the extreme political, cannot be dismissed as never to be resorted to; the thought of them will always rise to trouble us when problems become too difficult, or when we find ourselves afflicted by the soul-destroying compromises of our daily life in the world. H o w e v e r , neither of these two extremes appears congenial to the general climate of American opinion. A

48

THE

IDEAL

WITHIN

THE

REAL

certain diffidence seems to dog us; we do not venture to make a bold assertion about the meaning of life, to affirm a well-defined religious, philosophic, or social position; not even, one might say, to choose a style of life, and gaily or stubbornly to live by it. A r e we too fond of our conveniences, and do we shrewdly sense that every acceptance of a position is a renunciation of some good things? A r e we too sophisticated, well aware that no position can be shown to have unassailable validity? O r are we all too conscious of the immense difficulty of squaring the facts with the ideal? Perhaps, if we were honest with ourselves, we would candidly admit that there are factors such as these underneath our reluctance to state a clear philosophy of life as a basis of educational policy. But this retreat f r o m perfection may be the better part of wisdom, a f t e r all. T h e r e is a case f o r those who fly f r o m " i s m s " of all sorts, f r o m the philosophic as well as f r o m the religious and the social. W e are rightly warned against "the impotency and harmfulness of any and every ideal that is proclaimed wholesale and in the abstract, that is, as something in itself apart f r o m the detailed concrete existences whose moving possibilities it embodies." * It is essential f o r our problem to bear in mind that whatever unity and ideality has actually been attained in life—in the case of all but a relatively f e w men—has been achieved by living in a definite community, by following its traditions, and by participating in its institutional life. In our word " e t h o s , " borrowed f r o m the Greek, there has 4

John Dewey, Reconstruction in Philosophy, p. 129.

THE

IDEAL WITHIN T H E

REAL

49

been well p r e s e r v e d the conception o f the ideal, as the spirit, disposition, the c h a r a c t e r o f a p e o p l e o r a community expressed in its customs, tastes, and institutions. T h e e v o l v e d p a t t e r n o f culture in any g i v e n society will be f a r f r o m m e e t i n g t h a t p h i l o s o p h e r ' s test of phil o s o p h y w h o says, " P h i l o s o p h i e s must be criticized on t h e i r success in w e a v i n g into as simple, coherent, and a d e q u a t e a scheme as possible o u r b e l i e f s and j u d g ments about the w o r l d in which w e l i v e . "

5

But every

culture embodies a certain d e g r e e o f o r g a n i c unity, a minimum consistency and c o o r d i n a t i o n , the result o f the interplay of m a n y f a c t o r s and o f l o n g p e r i o d s o f living t o g e t h e r in communities. W e

m a y l a y it d o w n as a

rule that, w h e n no definite social, religious, o r ethical p h i l o s o p h y is explicitly a v o w e d , w e a r e h a v i n g recourse to " p h i l o s o p h y " as it is implicit in the h i s t o r y of the society in w h i c h w e live. W e m a y turn o u r attention here to s e v e r a l direct implications o f this conception t h a t the ethical ideal is a l w a y s t o be seen in t e r m s o f a p a t t e r n o f community l i f e . F i r s t we should e m p h a s i z e t h a t our ideal must be set within the f r a m e w o r k o f a definite unit o f human o r g a n i z a t i o n w h i c h is at once g e o g r a p h i c and political. In the case o f P l a t o and A r i s t o t l e it w a s a city-state; in our o w n times it is a n a t i o n a l state. In b o t h o f these cases there is coordination b e t w e e n a definite t e r r i t o r y and a p a r t i c u l a r f o r m o f political control. T h e r e is implied here an organic relation b e t w e e n a r e g i o n a l backg r o u n d o f n a t u r a l conditions and the social f o r m s in urban and rural living, necessary f o r o r g a n i z i n g , using, 5

J. E. Boodin,

Contemporary

American

Philosophy,

I,

145.

50

THE

IDEAL

WITHIN

THE

REAL

and enjoying the natural resources. Requisite f o r a genuine social ideal is a love of country in the double sense of love of the land of one's habitation and devotion to its government. " T h e

local and the intense

must be balanced off against the universal and the widespreading: the

first

telligible. T h e

second must become more

must become more broadly innarrowly

applicable. Universals that cannot take root are o f the same order as roots f r o m whose sprouts no issues and no seeds disseminate themselves."

flower

8

A n o t h e r point concerns the evolutionary character of society. Culture is always rooted in history and society; institutions are in part pure custom, maintained as a matter o f habit; in part their persistence is due to the f a c t that they have been found useful or w o r t h y ; in some measure, also, the social tradition is animated by ideals, by suggestions of better ways, stirred by old dreams and new visions. " H u m a n beings and groups are the outcomes of an historic complex, their inheritance, and they move t o w a r d a conditioned but uncertain destination, their future. T h e assimilation of the past and the making of the future are the two everpresent poles of existence in a human community."

7

In times of rapid and g r e a t change the social tradition, never completely homogeneous or

harmonized,

becomes subject to inner conflicts; the rate of cultural l a g in different institutions varies and life becomes inconsistent. A t such times there arises a great need o f selecting f r o m the traditional heritage and f r o m cur* Lewis Mumford, The 7 Ibid., p. 301.

Culture

of Cities,

p. 321.

THE

IDEAL

WITHIN

THE

REAL

51

rent practice and ideals, such elements as appear to be consonant with forward-looking tendencies; these elements must be brought together into a conception to some extent unified. Such a selection necessitates some ideal criterion, explicitly stated or tacitly assumed. When no revolutionary resetting of society is proposed, the ideal which animates the social reconstruction must also be drawn f r o m tradition. And thus it turns out that the progressive social philosopher and educator — i f they aim at a continuously developing society— unavoidably must have recourse to the past no less than the conservative. This, indeed, on any examination, seems to be the essential position of the "Reconstructionist" in education. In the underlying philosophy of education of The Educational Frontier8 the basic criteria of an intelligently chosen position are stated to be as f o l l o w s : ( 1 ) Does the choice depend upon a survey and interpretation which discloses existing social conditions and trends? Does it, in short, rest upon genuine, thorough observation of the moving forces of a given state of social culture? ( 2 ) Does it sense and formulate the deeper and more intangible aspirations, purposes, and values, for our own educational philosophy in our own American scene and life?

These two brief statements, made almost casually in the course of the analysis, constitute the heart of the liberal American educational philosophy. Despite more radical connotations associated with the "reconstructionist" educational philosophy, it is the American tradition which is at the basis, not any conception of a 8

Chap. IX, p. 294.

52

THE

IDEAL

WITHIN

THE

REAL

new hypothetical or experimental social order. T h e fundamental thesis which gives unity to the conception is the maintenance and liberalization of American society. Some organized way of living must be assumed as a basis of an educational philosophy. Conceivably this might be a religious system, for example, Catholicism; a philosophic school, such as Stoicism; or a socioeconomic order, as for instance, Communism. It might even be a class style of living, patterned a f t e r the way of life of "Society," the " F o u r H u n d r e d , " or of the provincial " M i d d l e t o w n . " In the philosophy of education for the American public schools, none of these types is considered acceptable. Our philosophy of education can be nothing else than a national philosophy of education, openly avowed and elaborated as such. W e must immediately add that America is neither isolated nor self-contained; its culture is p a r t of the stream of Western civilization; it is closer to some European nations in its traditions, affiliations, and interests than to others; and the problems of all nations are becoming more closely interrelated f r o m day to day. All these factors enter into the problem of a national philosophy of education. But lines of history, heritage of language, political and social institutions, common struggles in the recent past, common problems today, and, above all, the common territory and common government, make of America a definite, distinct social-cultural " o r d e r . " It is the American nation t h a t gives the tangible base for a unified educational philosophy.

THE

IDEAL

WITHIN

THE

REAL

53

The imponderable, ideal unity, the cluster of values, attitudes, and aspirations, the essence of America finds expression in the term "Democracy." "On Democracy we take our stand," is the slogan of American liberalism.® T o make a true philosophy of life out of this slogan, it must be more completely elaborated; its meaning must be expounded again and again; its applications to current issues must be made clear in great detail. Applying the thesis presented in Chapter II, above, it is suggested that consideration of the important relevances would be safeguarded if the philosophy of democracy were written out with conscious reference to the two poles of the social, ( a ) the ethical ideal, ( b ) the political program. The ethical-political is always partly drawn from experience, partly the product of creative imagination. The ideal elements are reconstructed, strengthened, and presented through rational formulation. It is not enough to leave educational policy to intelligence-in-the-flux-ofexperience; the educator must have in his mind a definite pattern of values and a conception of social organization. A definite social philosophy based on American history and experience, and a correlative philosophy of education, sufficiently definite, must be stated and avowed. In "Democracy" we have implicit and ethical-political configuration. The theme and its overtones have arisen out of American history; but since American history is part of human history, democracy's roots go deeper than American experience; and since democracy !l

The Educational

Frontier,

p. 72.

54

THE

IDEAL

WITHIN

THE

REAL

is an ideal, it goes beyond America's isolated interests; it goes beyond all particular experience to the humane and the universal. F u r t h e r m o r e , since our ideal is meant to apply to the actual betterment of life, it must be related to political realities in the whole contemporary scene, as well as to ideal meanings. Thus, an educational philosophy for America must be preceded by a statement and commentary on democracy aiming to reveal its fundamental meanings; and a social program related to the necessities of the day must be outlined. In this way we would gain f o r our conception something of the devotion of religious belief, something of the clarity of a philosophic system, and something of the realism of a political policy. Even so, we shall not attain that perfect simplicity of design, beloved of the philosopher, nor meet the uncompromising ideal of the prophet of the N e w Social O r d e r . But what we lose in aesthetic and rational perfection may be gained in social applicability, and what we yield f r o m absolute justice may be compensated by freedom f r o m violence.

Part Two D E M O C R A C Y AS A SOCIAL PHILOSOPHY

Chapter Five T H E E T H I C A L ROOT OF DEMOCRACY I N T H E R E L I G I O U S TRADITION democracy is still applied mainly to political affairs, and is dominated by implications arising out of the basic principle of popular sovereignty. This is particularly true as regards British writers, among whom an even narrower usage is observable, that is, a limitation to methods of government. Lord Bryce, a high authority, has it that the essence of democracy is "the rule of the majority." 1 In America, too, we have our conservatives who treat with a certain aristocratic superciliousness any attempt to broaden the meaning of democracy by giving to it the wider significance of a social program and a humane ideal. 2 Indubitably, however, the tendency in America has been to extend the meaning of democracy beyond its political connotations. Deeply rooted in American life is the idea that democracy aims at social as well as political equality; but going far beyond this, American poets HE

1 =

TERM

James Viscount Bryce, Modern Democracies, E d w a r d McChesney Sait, Democracy.

Vol. I, Chap. I I I .

58

DEMOCRACY

IN T H E

RELIGIOUS

TRADITION

and philosophers h a v e heralded democracy as an allpervading, liberating principle. T h e attempt has also been made to trace the metaphysical associations

of

democracy, its affinities with p r a g m a t i s m and experimentalism. M o r e recently, in a defensive response to the rival ideologies of Fascism and Communism, democracy, it may be said, is essaying to f o r m u l a t e its own position more fully and carefully. D e m o c r a c y in A m e r i c a is beginning more and more to s i g n i f y a w a y of life, one might almost say a religious ideal. In attempting here to expound the democratic thesis as an underlying philosophy of education, a middle course will be chosen between its n a r r o w meaning as a system of government and the v e r y b r o a d meaning of a complete philosophy of life. T h e attention will be directed, particularly, to democracy as a social philosophy. N o position will be taken on the metaphysical question which requires an analysis beyond the scope of this relatively brief treatment. It is assumed that democracy will always accept the

findings

of science

in the v e r y wide, but nevertheless limited, realm where science properly holds sway, and will be consonant with the spirit of inquiry and desire f o r verification. A n d it may be asserted that the scientific view precludes any reliance on the supernatural, any defense, indirect, of dogmatic.

the theistic, or any sympathy But

subject

to

such

limitations,

however with the democ-

racy is conceived to be consistent with many logical, imaginative, even m y s t i c 3 constructions of the nature 3 If the term "mysticism" is to be used in the sense suggested by M. R. Cohen in the Preface to Reason and Nature, where he says:

DEMOCRACY IN T H E RELIGIOUS T R A D I T I O N

59

of the universe, and as compatible likewise with the several styles of living, the contemplative, the active, and the aesthetic " w a y s of l i f e . " H e r e the discussion will be limited to the social aspects, a f t e r having noted that the area of life called "social" lies within the larger universes of the " r e a l " and of the "spiritual." T h e term "social" must also be further delimited, f o r the word itself, pointing, as it does, to the whole sphere of human relationships, is too broad to give adequately definite meanings. Democracy will have its mores as well as its ethics; it will be revealed in manners, dress, and adornment, in its attitude toward titles, orders of precedence, and in its type of courtesy. In an adequate analysis the relation of democracy to the family and to the church would have to receive full consideration. It is evident that major educational influences stem from the family life, and the religious association. A complete philosophy of education would deal with these fundamental issues and relate them to the work of the school. H o w e v e r , that is f a r beyond what is here contemplated. These areas of interest are mentioned to accentuate the limited character of the present treatment, which is directed more narrowly to commenting on some salient issues as raised in the current educational discussion. Following the analysis in the first chapter, we shall describe democracy from the two complementary aspects, the ethical and the political. T h e "ethical" gives the base line of guidance; the "political" indicates " I am a mystic in holding that all w o r d s point to a realm of being deeper and w i d e r than the w o r d s themselves."

60

DEMOCRACY IN T H E RELIGIOUS

TRADITION

means and conditions and always implies the economic. A n d since the economic basis of the political situation is a matter of special concern today, it is necessary to add a direct discussion of the economic implications of democracy. Within this triangular figure of meanings, the ethical, political, and economic, there will be inscribed a number of the principles, implications, and methods of democracy deemed adequate to give an unmistakable delineation of our fundamental social philosophy. N o t all that democracy means today or may mean in the future can be contained within these lines of analysis. It is the problem of each generation to work out the full embodiment. But a skeletal structure may thus be erected which will serve as a framework on which to build.

In its ethical aspect democracy means a belief in the inestimable worth of each individual person. Democracy thus carries on in modern terms the main teaching of our religious tradition, the doctrine that every human being has a soul worth saving. Highborn or low, rich or poor, of whatever nation or race, sound or crippled, even useless as well as useful, all human beings have absolute worth. Indivisibly a part of the doctrine is the idea that all men have equal worth. T h e same attitude pervades the conception of natural equality espoused by eighteenth-century thinkers. T h e ideals of liberty, equality, fraternity are rooted in this feeling of the sacredness of human personality, of the intrinsic value of human life. Religion says that we

DEMOCRACY

IN

THE

RELIGIOUS

TRADITION

6l

are all equal in the eyes of G o d ; democracy considers us of equal worth in the society of men. " T h e r e has been a long conflict between the sentiment of N a t u r a l Equality and the stubborn fact of Natural Inequality." * In this sentence is reflected the widespread notion that the equality which democracy demands is based on the theory that all men are—apart from education, environment, and fortune—of equal ability, natively are capable of equal achievement if given equal opportunities. But, in reality, the ethical concept of democracy was never based on the belief that all men are alike, or that they are equally capable. It is a moral equality, an equality of worth, that is at the heart of the democratic teaching. T h e likeness of human worth is there despite other differences, an identity in man's essence persists despite many other inequalities; this is the belief which inspires the religious and ethical aspiration, the conviction which animates the democratic ideal. " A man's a man f o r a' that." Certainly in the Judeo-Christian religious scheme, the equality of men before God had nothing to do with their efficiency. N o r did the rationalistic eighteenthcentury thinkers, who held so strongly that all should enjoy equal rights and opportunities, believe that all men were born with equal talents. Even the Communist doctrine, despite its strong equalitarian impulse, asserts the ultimate g o a l to be: " F r o m everyone in accordance with his ability, and to everyone in accordance with his needs." In all these schemes of thought the ques* James Bryce, op. cit., p. 65.

62

DEMOCRACY IN T H E R E L I G I O U S

TRADITION

tion of each man's natural ability is secondary, the primary consideration being man's human character. In practice, democracy, as an applied social philosophy, is a reconciliation of a number of considerations, a compromise that does not go as f a r as do these idealistic doctrines. In recent history democracy has been associated in men's minds with reward of talent and industry, with equality of opportunity to rise in the scale of life, rather than with absolute equality of property or income; and even as an ideal today, it may be said democracy implies differentials in rewards. But democracy has a common root with the Utopian social philosophies, and regarding the matter f r o m the ethical standpoint alone, has the same basis, namely, an equal concern f o r each person regardless of natural inequality in abilities and of variations in practical, even social, effectiveness. Such a doctrine may at first appear to arise solely out of human sentiment and to be quite impractical as a basis for social organization. But it is to be recalled that the Judeo-Christian system, reflecting the ethics of family life, has an historical basis in a definite type of social experience. It may be traced back to a morality adapted to primitive society based on kinship, communal property, and a strong sense of mutual responsibility. Even today, within our more limited type of family, the same ethical pattern prevails. W e do not pay an allowance to wife and children in accordance with what they earn or merit, and our sense of filial responsibility does net end when our parents are no longer useful to us. T h e family is one corner of mod-

DEMOCRACY

IN T H E

RELIGIOUS

TRADITION

63

ern life in which the "cash nexus" does not normally exert the decisive influence. T h e Utopian socialist principle of " f r o m everyone in accordance with his abilities and to everyone in accordance with his needs," is the ethic that guides the family relationships. T h e ideals of the Hebrew Prophets were influenced by the memory of an old morality drawn from the nomad life where, as in all simple primitive societies, a relatively large degree of equality was the rule. T h e prophetic admonition was, in part, directed against polytheism and idolatry, against luxury and licentiousness; that is, against excesses associated with Ashtoreth, goddess of fertility and generation. But it was also—and with at least equal intensity—a social and economic protest; that is, against excesses associated with Baal, symbol of ownership of the land. T h e message of the prophets included a secular condemnation of the rich baal (the ordinary Hebrew word f o r owner and master) who swallowed up the smaller owner, and turned former kinsman and equal into debtor and slave. It may have been quite impractical f o r the prophets to have expected the ideals of a relatively simple kinship community to persist into a period when private ownership of the land had become accepted as the basis of a more efficient system of settled cultivation. But in their uncompromising belief in the old ideals, they helped to fix in the minds of men a conception of a just and equal, of a gracious and merciful relationship, as a basis f o r social organization. Jerusalem became a symbol of ideal morality woven on the pattern of the ethics of the family. In the figure

64

D E M O C R A C Y IN T H E R E L I G I O U S

TRADITION

a r e t h e lines o f l o v e , w h i c h b i n d p a r e n t s a n d c h i l d r e n ; o f j u s t i c e , w h i c h is m e e t a m o n g b r o t h e r s ; o f

charity,

which

for

is t h e s e n s i t i v e

consideration

of

each

his

f e l l o w m a n . E s s e n t i a l in t h e s p i r i t a n d m e t h o d o f dem o c r a c y is its d e e p d i s t r u s t o f v i o l e n c e , its h a t r e d o f w a r , its a s p i r a t i o n f o r p e a c e . W h e r e h u m a n p e r s o n a l i t y is h i g h l y r e g a r d e d , t h e r e c o e r c i o n is a n a b s o l u t e evil. T h e f a m i l y c o m m u n i t y is c e m e n t e d by l o v e in its m a n y aspects, and with love only persuasion

is

consonant.

F r o m t h e i n t e r p l a y o f c o n s i d e r a t i o n in m a t i n g ,

from

t h e s o c i a l i m p u l s e in r e a r i n g c h i l d r e n , f r o m t h e sense o f m u t u a l a i d p r e s e n t in t h e f a m i l y , t h e m o o d s

and

a t t i t u d e s i m p l i e d in d e m o c r a c y a r e d e r i v e d . Rome

crystallized

another

system

of

ethics,

one

based on the practical needs o f life, on effective prod u c t i o n o f g o o d s a n d w e a l t h , o n efficient a d m i n i s t r a t i o n o f l i f e ' s a f f a i r s , o n t h e p o w e r f u l rule o f m a n o v e r m e n . T h e s e purposes, effectively pursued, led to the enslavement

of

great

numbers,

to

the

inequality

of

ranks

t h r o u g h o u t the social structure, t o a type of subordinat i o n a n d o f discipline d e r i v e d f r o m m i l i t a r y

organiza-

tion, t o t h e c o n s o l i d a t i o n o f a u t h o r i t y i n t o d i c t a t o r s h i p . The

foundation stone of

the whole

structure

is the

inviolability o f the rights of p r o p e r t y . I n the J u d e o - C h r i s t i a n s y s t e m t h e r e is t h e to

make

property

relations

conform

to

the

attempt family

e t h i c s o f j u s t i c e a n d c o n s i d e r a t i o n ; in t h e R o m a n syst e m t h e r e v e r s e o c c u r s . E v e n t h e f a m i l y r e l a t i o n s become

assimilated

to

the

basic

property

i l l u s t r a t e d in t h e h a r s h l a w o f patria

concept,

potestas,

as

which

g a v e t h e f a t h e r a b s o l u t e r i g h t s o v e r h i s children,

"to

DEMOCRACY

IN

THE

RELIGIOUS

TRADITION

65

imprison, scourge . . . to sell or slay." On this unlovely system was erected the mightiest power that the world has ever seen, symbol of imperialism, apotheosis of power, glorification of the state. Rome, it is true, later developed a great system of effective law, which was moderated by the universalistic trends of the Stoic philosophy. T h e gross barbarities of the T w e l v e T a b l e s were indeed eliminated. Nevertheless there was retained the pattern of its ground plan, a debtor and creditor relation, the subordination of man to master, the ultimate sanction of force f o r the protection of property. 5 T h e conflict between equality and inequality is not only a conflict between sentiment and fact. M o r e profoundly, it is a conflict between two systems of ethics, reflecting two systems of social organization. T h e one derives its ideal f r o m a civilization in which the bond of kinship was a central factor in human society and colored the whole social ethic. T h e other rests on a f o r m of social organization in which efficiency and power are the main ends, in which the state and its 5 It is instructive to compare the tendencies of the early H e b r e w codes with those of the early Roman with reference to the treatment of slave and debtor. T h e deuteronomic legislation, f o r instance, provides f o r the periodic emancipation of H e b r e w slaves, forbids the return of f u g i t i v e s l a v e s to their masters, and prescribes punishment in case of maiming or killing a s l a v e by the master. ( A . W . F. Blunt, Israel before Christ, p. 48.) T h e attitude t o w a r d the debtor is perv a d e d with sympathy and the humane spirit (Deuteronomy, 2 4 : 1 0 - 1 5 ) . T h e provisions of the T w e l v e T a b l e s are f a r more p r a c t i c a l : they provide that the creditor may put his debtor to death or sell him to any stranger across the T i b e r . A n d with a precise sense of Roman justice provision is made, in case there are several creditors, that the body may be cut up and divided, " a n y one taking more than his just share shall be held guiltless." (Paul Monroe, Source Book in the History of Education, p. 336 ff.)

66

DEMOCRACY

IN

THE

RELIGIOUS

TRADITION

ethic has become dominant over the family as the main f a c t o r in social cohesion. Latter-day Judaism and early Christianity, echoing the ideals of a simple, primitive civilization in a complex

culture,

humanitarian

met

conditions

doctrine. T h e i r

to

their

view became in

recalcitrant

large

measure a memory of a golden age in the past and a d r e a m of bliss in a w o r l d to come. But something of the vision was embodied in a social l i f e ; the ethical conceptions of the church were, in a measure, applied to some of its institutions; nor did the church fail altog e t h e r in its attempt to influence the temporal order. "Constantine, in adopting their f a i t h , " writes

Lord

A c t o n , in tracing out the Christian influence on the development of democracy, "intended neither to abandon

his predecessors'

scheme of

policy nor

to

re-

nounce the fascinations of arbitrary authority, but to strengthen his throne with the support of a religion which had astonished the w o r l d by its power of resistance. . . N o b o d y

warned

him that

by

promoting

the Christian religion he was tying one of his hands and surrendering the prerogatives of the C a e s a r s . "

6

T h e medieval w o r l d saw a division of social control between the church and the state, and a constant struggle between them f o r sovereignty. In the hierarchy of theoretic values, morality and religion, resting on the authority of the Bible, stood at the apex of the whole. T o what degree actual practice, within and outside the church, conformed to the ethical and religious ideals cannot be stated briefly: we may be sure that economic 6

J. E. E. D . Acton, History of Freedom

and Other Essays, pp. 30-31.

DEMOCRACY

IN

THE

RELIGIOUS

TRADITION

67

and political forces played important, if not dominant roles. And finally, in modern times, the state, the principle of Caesar's Rome, triumphed in theory as well as in practice. But, as P r o f e s s o r T a w n e y concludes, 7 there is, nevertheless, a differential of gain. T h e problem of the subordination of economic and political interests to the ethical and religious had been raised and fought f o r , and in a measure actually incorporated in the social institutions of the church; the concept of common ownership had been exemplified in the monastic orders; through the education and offices of the church some men of humble origin were afforded the opportunity of rising to positions of authority and power in social life. A n d above all, the ideal of the sanctity of human life, of the intrinsic worth of the person was preserved and strengthened, transmitted to modern times to become an integral part of the synthesis we call "democracy." Democracy, it has been said, is an expression of the scientific and industrial tendencies of our own age. 8 T h i s is true as regards its f o r m ; its essence is one with the age-old doctrine of the equal, inestimable worth of all men. F r o m our religious tradition we derive the ethical essence of democracy. Democracy, like religion, we may say, is concerned with the salvation of man, of the individual person and of mankind as a whole. Restating our fundamental principle in phrases appropriate to our own day, we reiterate three old tenets: 7 8

R. H. Tawney, Religion and the Rise of Capitalism, pp. 55 ff. John Dewey, The Influence of Dariuin on Philosophy, p. 59.

68

DEMOCRACY

IN T H E

RELIGIOUS

TRADITION

E v e r y individual is an end in himself; the preservation of his life, the pursuit of his happiness, the development of his personality are ultimate ideals. M e n are mutually interdependent and responsible one f o r the other. A m o n g them exists an intricate network of communication and interchange on which the integrity of each person depends. T h e scope of social interdependence is world wide. M a n k i n d , the great family, is the great society. T h e other numerous associations, the nation, the church, the trade union, are intermediate and instrumental. T h e s e are as important as they are necessary, but they are to be considered as justified by their service to the great ends, the person and world society. 9

T h e s e principles may be considered the ultimates of democracy, its final ends. T h e political and economic principles of democracy are "the rationale of those things which are ordained" to these ends. T h e political and economic factors are of significance in so f a r as they tend in ever greater degree to make actual the ideals here envisaged, the creation of a human order in which men will be regarded as of equal worth, mutually interdependent, all members of a world society. F o r effective embodiment the terms personality, mutual interdependence, world society, must be described more definitely, and at any particular stage will be realized only in some concrete form. It is indispensable, then, to have stated the ethical ideal at the outset, as a frame of reference never to be forgotten as we consider the political means and the economic systems necessary f o r the embodiment of the ideal. T h e ethical definition of democracy is not suffi9 Compare I. B. Berkson, "The Doctrines of Democracy," in J . M. JacobsoD, The Development of American Political Thought, pp.

699-706.

DEMOCRACY IN T H E R E L I G I O U S T R A D I T I O N

69

cient, but without it, we have no definition of democracy at all. Whether respect f o r human worth and gracious consideration

f o r each other can be har-

monized with productive efficiency and the necessary division of labor in large, complex societies is still not beyond question. Democracy holds fast to the belief that it can be done; this requires not merely a reassertion of religious faith in democracy, but also setting our hands to the arduous tasks of realization. In the actual development of our democratic institutions, religion has been only one of the factors and has exercised its influence in interaction with other elements. Religion, itself, on the whole has not directed men's attention to the need of changing institutions; the contrary is nearer the truth. It is through a change in the heart of man that religious teachers have hoped to improve the world. Strongly moved by the desire f o r goodness, religious teachers exhort men to self-correction by an appeal direct to the conscience. " W a s h you, make you clean, put away the evil of your doings from before M y eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do well." T h e new heaven and the new earth are to be brought about by a new heart and a new spirit. A l s o in this, in the call f o r a change of heart, our religious tradition contains a lasting—if partial—truth. Religion has given full recognition to the fact that men have the power to redirect and to energize their own actions. Much harm has been done in private lives and in social affairs by certain modern schools of psychology which deny the existence of " w i l l . " It may be freely admitted that the will cannot ever move mountains by

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direct command, and t h a t sometimes its practical effectiveness cannot be counted on at all. N e w terms, "mindset," "integrated behavior," "purposeful activity," may be more accurate f o r scientific study, or more useful f o r educational purposes. All this has its place, providing it does not make us neglect the more fundamental insight into human character, namely, that man has the power to mobilize his own energies by taking thought in advance, by concentration of emotional attitudes, by setting himself firmly t o w a r d a predetermined goal. Religion has grasped the significance of this human potentiality and has long ago learned that it can be raised by what appear to be immaterial means, by exhortation, encouragement, inspiration, and the instilling of faith. T h e r e is another element of fundamental truth in the religious view: the realization that external changes must be incorporated into the character of each person. T h e just society cannot be maintained by force of legal enactments alone; right conduct must be supported by the disposition to do right, f o r no society could enforce its customs and laws only through fear. Besides, the greater p a r t of human relations are beyond the scope of law or even the scrutiny of public opinion. In final analysis, "society" is the process of interaction among persons, and "social ideals" are ways of behaving in intimate personal relations. A social ethic must eventuate in a personality with the attitudes and habits which embody the ideal. These p r o f o u n d insights of religion deserve a full measure of appreciation. Nevertheless, the unescapable

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verdict of history is that an exclusive or even a m a j o r dependence on spiritual forces to affect social conduct is always inadequate, and may under certain circumstances become obstructive to progress. Of course neither Judaism nor Catholicism depended only on religion in the restricted modern sense. Judaism developed a complete system of law, supported by tradition, inculcated through education, and fortified by large powers of excommunication, behind which at no great distance stood the non-Jewish state power. And it is to be remarked t h a t J u d a i s m in its basic system of property relations and other fundamental issues tended to become assimilated to the general laws and practices of the civilizations under which Jews lived. T h e church, consenting to be p a r t of the European social system, compromised more with the state early in its career. As the story is generally told, it soon became ensnared by the power politics in which the state finds its natural element, was later corrupted by ambitions f o r wealth and pomp, and finally confused the defense of its spiritual message with the protection of its prerogatives and its property. Democracy, in the modern sense, is as much a revolt against ecclesiasticism and religious authoritarianism as it is against despotism and a r b i t r a r y government. T h u s , while it is true that the ideals of democracy are p a r t of the religious tradition of the western w o r l d ; t h a t a number of its basic political principles were formulated by scholastic theologians in the M i d d l e Ages; that both Cromwell, the Puritan, and Rousseau, the apostle of Naturalism, drew inspiration f r o m the Bible; that the

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independent organization of congregational churches served as a model f o r the democratic township in the N e w W o r l d ; nevertheless, the embodiment of democracy as a political doctrine and a stable governmental f o r m came only with the major cooperation of secular forces.

Chapter Six STEPS I N T H E D E V E L O P M E N T OF POLITICAL DEMOCRACY of political democracy seems to be as old as the history of government itself. O u r schoolbooks usually tell us that democratic government originated with the Greeks, and there is warrant f o r this view if we mean by it a consciously realized theory and a quite definite practice. But there are deeper roots. T h e fact is that the origins of political, as well as of ethical democracy are to be found in early civilizations where there was little division of labor, property, or classes; when a large degree of social homogeneity still existed as compared with later periods. T o trace the beginnings of popular rule, we would have to go back to tribal organization as illustrated among the early Hebrews, the Greek-speaking clans of Homeric times, or to the Celtic and Teutonic peoples described by Caesar and Tacitus. HE HISTORY

In all of these widely separated groups there are features which make for a virile, if primitive, type of democracy. T h e despotic f o r m of royalty characteristic of the ancient world had not succeeded in destroying the old liberties. T h e king was head or chief of his

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clan, working and fighting along with his people; while his position was usually hereditary, he might be set aside if he degenerated or proved ineffective, and another leader chosen. Furthermore, his power was restricted by the necessity of convincing the council of elders, and, at times, also obtaining the consent or acclaim of the whole body of tribesmen in assembly. A b o v e all, it should be borne in mind that in primitive civilizations it was the custom of the tribe which was truly sovereign. An oath to rule justly, in accordance with the traditions and customs of the people, appears to have been a general feature of the ceremonial of consecration since the emergence of kingship. T h e democratic elements in these early societies stand out even more significantly if they are contrasted with the absolute despotisms of the same or later periods. In the vast empires of E g y p t and Mesopotamia great inequalities had developed; private property and surplus wealth created a relationship of lordship and dependence; class division of labor appeared, and society came to rest on a foundation of slavery. T h e whole system was supported by a double coercion: a mental and spiritual constraint exercised by an established esoteric priesthood with its holy writings and rigid, unchanging doctrines; and the physical repression secured by the king's troops, equipped with the iron instruments of w a r , and regimented with the iron discipline of military command. T h e history of political democracy might well be written in terms of a struggle between the two polar forces: the more natural type of cooperation and leadership prevalent

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in primitive times in the society of equals bound by consciousness of kind and by a general community of interests; and, on the o t h e r hand, the highly centralized administration and rule f r o m above necessary in a state organization dominated by property, great differences of wealth, and class struggle. M a n y of the fundamental elements of our complex modern democracy and much of its inspiration can be traced back to the hardy roots of the natural democracy of early times. T h e Teutonic folkmoot, as we know, is the remote beginning of our own representative institutions; popular sovereignty goes back through classic times to the days of the ancient Greeks. L o r d Acton uses the experience of ancient Israel to illustrate basic principles in the agelong struggle for f r e e d o m : its resistance to monarchy; the exclusion of legislation f r o m the royal prerogative a f t e r monarchy had been reluctantly accepted; the yielding of sovereignty only to the law, at once the voice of the people and the voice of G o d ; the unfailing example of the prophets who "appealed f r o m the established authorities, f r o m the king, the priests, and the princes of the people, to the healing forces that slept in the uncorrupted consciences of the masses." T h e H e b r e w nation, L o r d Acton concludes, laid down the parallel lines on which all freedom has been won—the conception of a developing national tradition and of a higher universal law. 1 Important as it was in its ultimate and indirect influence, we can, however, hardly regard this primitive 1

J. E. E. D. Acton, The History Other Essays, p. 4.

of the Freedom

of Thought,

and

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democracy as a definite governmental form. As such, democracy makes its appearance with the organized city life of the highly developed classic civilizations of Greece and Rome and is most clearly illustrated in the Athenian polis, or city-state, that halfway house between kinship community and impersonal property based state. Its development is connected with economic changes that brought into being commercial, artisan, and laboring classes strong enough to challenge the rule of the old landed aristocratic families. It was the outcome of severe social strife in which poorer freeborn citizens struggled to keep an equality of political power and to attain a fair distribution of wealth, both of which they regarded as their heritage as full-blooded Athenians. If their claim was based on the memory of more equal conditions in ancient days, their success was due to the state's need of the services of their class to maintain the military and naval superiority on which Athenian economic power rested. 2 Democracy, as defined by the Greeks, has two related, yet contrasted, meanings. In Herodotus it denotes "that form of government in which the ruling power of a state is legally vested, not in any particular class or classes, but in the members of the community as a whole." 3 Aristotle recognized this definition as correct in theory, making equality of political rights among all citizens the preeminent characteristic of the abstract democratic conception. But, like other Greek thinkers, he regards democracy in practice as one of 2 3

A . F. Hattersley, A Short Hiitory James Bryce, op. cit., I, 20.

of Democracy,

p. 28.

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several forms of class rule. In this realistic sense he defines it as the rule of the poor who are in the majority, and contrasts it with oligarchy, which is the rule of the rich who are few. Aristotle maintains that the decisive factor in politics is the economic one; the power of wealth and prestige, as well as the force of numbers, must be taken into consideration in any analysis of the political situation in any state. 4 Both in its narrower and broader sense democracy in Athens contained several fundamentals. First and foremost is the principle of active participation in government on the part of the whole body of qualified citizens. T o be sure, the free citizens comprised only a part of the inhabitants of the city of Athens; slaves and alien residents were regularly excluded and the number entitled to vote or to hold office was at times restricted by property or occupational qualification. But even in this limited form, the principle of participation by the general body of citizens was unprecedented, quite different f r o m a kingship, either in its primitive or despotic form. Under the Athenian democracy equality was the practice as well as the prin4 Politics, Welldon's translation, Book VI, Chap. IV, pp. 257 fif. The many constitutions of Greece, which he collected and carefully studied, could be divided, he held, into the two main types of Oligarchy and Democracy, depending on which class was in control. His own conception of a mixed constitution or "polity" was a synthesis of the ideal view of Herodotus and the realistic class view of government prevalent in his time. He believes that the best type would be one in which the rich and poor would all participate, but the balance of power would be held by the middle class, or moderately well to do, whose function would be to reconcile the conflicting interests in the community. Aristotle regarded his polity as falling under the general democratic category and in fact it comes quite close to the practice of democracy in modern times.

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ciple, both with reference to the membership in the assembly, and to eligibility f o r office in the courts and the magistracies. T h e second important point is the supremacy of the ecclesia, the popular assembly composed of the whole body of citizens. In earlier Athenian times the traditional laws were regarded as sacred and unchangeable, and even in the sixth century the constitution, protected by the aristocratic Areopagus, was the sovereign power. In the age of Pericles, however, actual legislation had in effect come into the hands of the popular assembly, although in theory the constitution still remained supreme. Already in the days of Solon, the magistrates or executive officials were subordinated to the popular will through the jury courts. T h e r e were also other means by which the people retained mastery of the political situation, as illustrated by the "ostracism," a drastic species of recall by which an unpopular leader could be retired f r o m public life through banishment. Discussion and persuasion played a large part in the procedures of the various bodies, in the Assembly, the Council of Five Hundred, and in the law courts. T h e substitution of deliberation and suasion f o r command and coercion as a main method of government must be regarded as an incalculable step f o r w a r d in the progress toward democracy. Conservative observers, ancient and modern, have attributed the downfall of Athens to excessive parliamentarism and a too wide range of popular powers. But the balanced judgment is that the democratic system worked "with marked abil-

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79 5

ity and moderation," at least in internal affairs. T h i s may have been due, in part, to the smallness of the city-state and the restricted character of the electorate. T h e r e were, of course, elements in the whole situation, both procedures and conditions, which counterbalanced the absolute supremacy of the popular will. Chief among such countervailing processes, generally practiced in the Greek cities, was some limitation of the power of constitutional amendment. In Athens, where this was not directly possible, an expedient was found in the "indictment f o r illegality." T h i s was a rule by which a member of the ecclesia could be prosecuted f o r introducing a measure which transgressed the laws. In this way a degree of constitutional stability was afforded without limiting the legislative competence of the assembly as a whole. T h e problem of the relation of popular government to the constitution was thus clearly perceived by the ancients. Aristotle was particularly concerned about it, and insisted that powers of government, whether in a democracy or in an oligarchy, must be kept within a constitutional framework. H e considered a government unlimited by a constitution as essentially monarchical or despotic in character, in fact, no proper government at all. A s already indicated, the Greeks tended to regard all actual government as a rule by one predominant class. T h e main forms of government were three: aristocracy which represented the interests of the large landowners; oligarchy, the merchants and the manufacturers; democracy, the "proletariat," that is, the 5

A. F. Hattersley, op. cit., p. 31.

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artisans and laborers, who were, of course, free citizens, not slaves or resident aliens.® T h e supremacy of one class over another was achieved by various methods, such as the regulation of the qualifications of the citizens, by interpretation of the range of

constitu-

tional authority, or by making one branch of government rather than another responsible f o r decisions. T h e several forms of government were, therefore, not essentially different as f a r as principles were concerned, and all contain the following exceedingly

important

elements: I. participation in government by the whole body of citizens; 2. discussion and deliberation as a prerequisite of decision; 3. control of legislation and supervision of officials by the popular assembly; 4. a balance between the sovereignty of the people, as the law giver, and the supremacy

of

the

constitution.

Marxists would undoubtedly add another principle, the concept of class struggle and class rule. 7 Rome added another principle important f o r the later development of true democracy: citizenship becomes a civic and political institution—no longer conditioned by lineage—and is extended widely to allied and conquered communities. But what it gained in breadth it lost in significance: actual participation in government, the heart of Athenian democracy, is miss6

R. H. S. Grossman, Plato Today, pp. 25-26. Marx, of course, did not invent the idea of class conflict but took it over from classic theory and "bourgeois historians." (See Lenin, State and Revolution, p. 29.) T o understand the Marxist discussion of democracy, it should be realized that it defines democracy in the specific Greek sense as domination by the working class, and not in the general sense of rule by the people as a whole through reconciliation of the different interests. 7

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8L

ing, and so is the supreme power of the popular assembly. In sharp contrast to the Athenian ecclesia, which retained final control over all decisions, despite the fact that legally it was not sovereign, the corresponding body, the Roman comitia, had sole legislative power. In practice, however, it was dependent on the magistrates f o r initiation of legislation, and on the senate f o r a p p r o v a l ; it had no power to discuss proposals or to make amendments. T h e magistrates and the senate, mainly a body of ex-magistrates, held the real power. T h e Roman aristocracy were ready to grant a great deal in theory, providing they held on to the reins of power in actual practice. Thus, even in the earlier days though Roman institutions were democratic in form, they were aristocratic in operation and spirit; and, needless to say, there was no genuine democracy in the empire, inasmuch as the government rested in the hands of a dictator, whose decisions, as time went on, were more and more controlled by the army. By the first century B.C. popular institutions h a d been shorn of all real powers, and in the second century A.D. Roman lawyers no longer had any idea that citizenship implied a share in the government of the state. But they, nevertheless, stoutly continued to maintain that the state existed f o r the promotion of the welfare of its citizens and t h a t no government was legitimate which did not derive its authority f r o m the will of the people. And this legal position became p a r t of the heritage of the Middle Ages, and an important factor in the struggle for democracy in later times.

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T h e ancients thus worked out some of the basic principles of political democracy, and were keenly aware of some of its main problems. But, as L o r d Acton says: " T h e r e are three things wanting, namely, representative government, the emancipation of slaves, and liberty of conscience," all of which are essential to our own conception of democracy. F o r the development of these several elements of democracy, unrecognized in the classic period, the seeds are to be found in the Middle Ages. A fourth element, stimulated by the Renaissance and the Reformation, should be a d d e d : namely, the belief in the free development of the individual personality, which may be said to be the moving force of modern democracy. T h e r e are two generally recognized forces in medieval life that worked toward democracy: one was Christianity, with its emphasis on the fundamental humanity of all men and the need of inner spiritual f r e e d o m ; the other is derived f r o m the political freedom of the underlying European tribal life, particularly of the Teutonic stocks who had invaded and settled in England. In the actuality, with reference to democracy, as in all else, the medieval period reflects two worlds. On the one hand there is a hierarchy of fixed classes and of unchanging doctrines; political rule and spiritual domination are f r o m the top down; there is an exclusion of all but the upper class f r o m participation in government. On the other hand, there are also many factors which enter into the development of modern democracy. These may be enumerated briefly: the church, op-

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posed to the state by its very existence, preventing a totalitarian subjection of the individual to the lay power, a basis f o r the later more general freedom of conscience;

the

rise

of

representative

government

through district courts of shire and hundred up to the establishment of the elected national assembly; the contractual relation of feudalism in which absolutism in government was held in check by a code of rights and duties, and in which, be it noted, default in obligation on the part of the lord was held to justify withdrawal of allegiance; the recognition of corporations and guilds f o r commerce, industry, and education with their broad autonomous regulation of inner relations; the generally accepted principle that no tax was valid unless granted by the class that paid it. Finally, there was the step f r o m slavery to serfdom. L o w l y as was his place in the social ladder, the serf was still a human being, theoretically equal before G o d to all other men, a position f a r in advance of the slave whom the nobleminded Aristotle considered only animate property and servile in nature as well as in status. T h e seeds of democracy in medieval life began to germinate in the period between the eleventh and the fourteenth centuries, which may be regarded as the culmination of the Middle Ages in some respects, and in others as the beginning of modern times. With the rapid growth of commercial activity and of wealth, civic self-government is restored in the Italian cities in the eleventh century, and towns in France

and

Flanders develop as free municipalities under royal charters. In the twelfth century a rudimentary parlia-

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ment, the representative Cortes, appears in Spain. T h e line of development of our own independence begins in the thirteenth century in England, when the baronage, with the help of various elements in the community, wrested the M a g n a Charta f r o m the unwilling hands of King John. Among the Swiss cantons and towns, forms of pure and modified democracy were well developed in the fourteenth century a f t e r the resistance to Habsburg domination. In the same century the English parliament begins to meet regularly, no longer merely an occasional factor in government. When these movements are examined, it will be found that a new class of men, whose power depends on wealth gained through industry and commerce, not on income from inherited lands, play a main part in the development in direct as well as indirect ways. In the middle of this period of transition excellent formulations of liberal political theory are made by the scholastics, still the intellectual elite of European society. Marsilius of Padua, foremost representative of the Ghibelines, made an exemplary statement on popular sovereignty, constitutional rule, and civic rights. On this issue he agreed with his hated opponent, St. Thomas, leader of the Guelphs, in the fundamental points which included the right of insurrection against a king who did not rule in the interests or with the authority of the nation. T h e positions taken are an ideal elaboration of medieval thought rather than anticipations of the new age, but they are nevertheless in the line of political progress. B e f o r e modern democracy actually emerges, how-

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ever, a period of retrogression intervenes in the absolute monarchism under the Spanish Habsburgs, the French Bourbons, and the English Stuarts. When democracy wins again in the struggle in England in the seventeenth century, eventuating in the Bill of Rights of 1 6 8 9 , we find it better established and perhaps more explicitly stated. But what is even more important is the fact that the question of civil and religious liberty becomes primary. It is noteworthy that this element in the new democracy, particularly characteristic of the English development, does not rise out of the claims of the masses of the people, but comes f r o m the demands of the upper and middle classes. Civil liberties are claimed in the first instance by the lords, once peers with the king in power, who resolutely oppose the arbitrary levying of taxes and enactment of ordinances without the consent of Parliament, in those days still an aristocratic body. T h i s claim is now fortified by the new class of merchants who wish to be free to acquire property through their own industrious efforts, who hold that property so acquired should entitle them to all the prerogatives hitherto enjoyed by the landowners of gentle birth. Together with this revolt against arbitrary government, there is a struggle against ecclesiastical oppression in the spiritual domain. H a v i n g no doubt an origin in conscience, religious liberty, as with Locke, is defended on the ground of the rights of property. On the other hand, the principle of political equality, forgotten in the medieval Christian compromise and now emphasized anew, has its source not among the

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aristocrats but among commoners. T h i s theme is emphasized by the Puritans and Independents, sturdy members of the middle class, who lean on the old Jewish equalitarian tradition. T h e i r view is that all Christians, as Christians, are free and equal and therefore entitled to a voice in the affairs of the Christian state as well as in the Christian congregation. M o r e over, the independent churches embody in ecclesiastical affairs the doctrine of social contract as between individuals, and the congregation becomes a voluntary association of equals organized on a democratic basis. Among the American colonists this conception reacts again on secular affairs, and in New Plymouth, for instance, legislation belongs to the popular assembly composed of all adult male colonists. T h e r e is no doubt ground for the view that the successful working of democracy in the independent congregation served as inspiration to political democracy, particularly in AngloSaxon countries. 8 Acton, however, thinks that the influence of the Reformation on political liberty is less than generally supposed. I t is true that the tendency of the Reformation at first was to promote governmental absolutism, and there is much in Calvin and Luther to support the monarchical principle. But in the long run and in the deeper aspects of the issue, the Protestant revolt gave strong support to the basic tendencies of modern democracy. T h e conception of a direct relationship of the individual to G o d ; the appeal to individual conscience; the insistence on direct access to, and free 8

A. F. Hattersley, A Short History of Democracy,

pp. n 6 f f .

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interpretation of the Bible; the establishment of many sects with the necessary—although in most cases reluctant—agreement to toleration of religious differences : these were components of a new mental attitude which undermined the whole premodern pattern of absolute sovereignty, royal and ecclesiastical, and the dogmatic authoritarianism that went with it. Returning now to the underlying secular development, it remains to state briefly the ideas of J o h n Locke, defender of the English Revolution of 1 6 8 8 , and conceptual g o d f a t h e r of the American and French Revolutions which came a century later. H e was no savior of the masses, no pleader f o r abstract rights of humanity, but a practical and intelligent statesman who was ready to have the rising upper middle class share political power with gentlemen. T h e protection of property rights—of all property, movable as well as landed—of each and every individual was the cornerstone on which he built. H e expounded "the right of citizens to overthrow governments that took their property without their consent," 9 as Beard, with a touch of irony, sums up his doctrine. T o do him justice one must admit, however, that Locke's political catechism was not as short as all that. Underlying is the basic concept of "inalienable rights" of life, and liberty of conscience as well as of property. Government is conceived as a contract between individuals to effectuate these rights, not merely as a compact between a people destined to be subjects and a king born to rule. 0 C. A. and M. R. Beard, The Rise of American Civilization, I, 187 and 240.

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If government fails to satisfy a majority of the people who set it up, they may change it—if necessary through revolution. T h e last point gives the snap to the whip; indeed, Locke taught that in such a case, it was not only the right but the duty of the people to rebel. T h e combination of political ideas—equality f o r citizens, representative government, civil liberties, religious toleration, parliamentary discussion and the right of a majority of the people to change their f o r m of government—was finally formulated in a definite pattern in the eighteenth century by the enlightened thinkers of that memorable age, and crystallized as a political f o r m through the momentous American and French Revolutions. T h e doctrine of democracy receives a broad human significance by being associated with the ethical conception of the Rights of M a n , as well as a firmer foundation than ever through written constitutions. T h e "Heavenly City of the EighteenthCentury Philosophers," to use Carl Becker's title, is inspired by the determination to abolish privilege, the basis of the old social order, and to establish a new, more equalitarian order with the help of all the people. T h e new constitution rests on the natural rights of the individual man, which are considered prior and more authoritative than the laws of the state. Voluntary contract replaces the concept of status. Education is to be provided to help the common man make the best use of whatever talents he has, and take advantage of opportunities which are to be open to all equally. Underlying the new society is not the class, but the free individual citizen. If we call ethical democracy, as

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enunciated by ancient seers of Israel, a first stage in the development of democracy, we may call political democracy, as culminating in the conception of modern philosophs, the second great stage. T h e r e was a large element of the visionary in the thought of these eighteenth-century prophets, too. It is true that democracy as an actuality achieved relatively more in the nineteenth century than in any previous period. But the main reforms revolved about the two pivots of property and nationality, rather than about the embodiment of the universal and humanitarian ideals of the dreamers. Abrogation of privilege took the form of a legally equal right to acquire and use property without governmental interference. In the light of past conditions, this was a liberal advance and gave wider opportunities to more individuals, even if it did not improve much the lot of the great mass of workers. T h e second element, that of nationality, was a prime liberal force in the first half century a f t e r the revolutions. By means of it feudal divisions within the country were broken down, and the new ideas spread to other countries. T h e Declaration of the Rights of M a n , a universal document, was carried through Europe with the help of French patriotism. 10 Individualism, property, and nationalism were moving principles of liberalism and democracy in the nineteenth century. In the framework of the twentieth century these forces, now overgrown, are not working f o r social advance in the same way, and their place will, of necessity, need reconsideration. 10

A. E. Zimmern, The Third

British

Empire,

pp. 169 ff.

Chapter Seven E S S E N T I A L S OF DEMOCRACY

POLITICAL TODAY

O

shows t h a t political democracy is deeply rooted in men's fundamental needs and aspirations and has h a d a long and many-sided development. I t has never been embodied adequately in human institutions; yet it is prior to despotism, and although it has yielded to despotism, on occasion even willingly, it has regularly been reestablished, generally on a broader and firmer foundation. T h e motive force of democracy may be seen in two m a j o r aspects, the struggle f o r redress of particular grievances, and the urge f o r a life of human dignity, equality, and liberty. T h e r e are revealed in its history an interplay of the spiritual and the material, of ideas and institutions, of imponderables and specific devices. M o r e o v e r , it is by no means a static doctrine or f o r m ; in each age it must be seen in its historical and social context, and related to the economic situation and current intellectual and moral assumptions. UR R A P I D SURVEY

In the present chapter we shall rehearse f o r ourselves the main principles of political democracy as conceived in the modern age, adding in each case a

POLITICAL

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TODAY

comment directed to the present-day

91

discussion.

In

v i e w of the many forces at play in the development of democracy, any single-lined definition should be questioned. W i t h all due respect to the authority and learning of L o r d Bryce, it is impossible, in the light of the historical material which he himself presents, to agree to

the

definition

of

democracy

which

he

chooses,

namely, " N e i t h e r more nor less than the rule of the majority." democracy

1

It is an error in the first place to consider as a governmental device only,

separate

f r o m the human purposes and ideals it serves; but even as such, it is a combination of methods and principles, not the elaboration o f a single factor. T o give an outline of the principles of political democracy, as developed in the recent past, one should have to discuss it under at least f o u r headings: the Bill of Rights and Constitution, P o p u l a r Sovereignty and M a j o r i t y Rule, Pluralism and the Rights of Minorities, Parliamentary Discussion; and, as will be indicated in a later section, contemporary conditions are bringing to the fore a fifth principle, that of V o l u n t a r y THE

BILL

OF

Democracy's

RIGHTS

AND

constitution

THE

always

Association.

CONSTITUTION

contains

a

pre-

amble, stated or implicit, which proclaims all men's equality, their inalienable rights to security of life, and to full personal d e v e l o p m e n t ; it is f o r these ends that government is instituted a m o n g men. T h e of "inalienable

conception

r i g h t s " is a first step in converting

democracy f r o m an abstract ethical and spiritual prin1

James Bryce, op. cit., p. 20.

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ciple t o a political d e m a n d . T h e p r i m a r y human c l a i m s c a l l e d " n a t u r a l r i g h t s " f a l l b r o a d l y into t h r e e a r e a s : the p r o t e c t i o n of l i f e i t s e l f ; the m e a n s necessary to sustain l i f e ; f r e e d o m f o r the soul, the spirit, o r the p e r s o n . W h i l e these g e n e r a l human r i g h t s r e m a i n basically the s a m e , t h e i r r e a l i z a t i o n depends on the conditions and possibilities of some definite s o c i e t y ; their f o r m u l a t i o n will thus v a r y at different times. W h a t w e call " t h e B i l l of R i g h t s " is r e a l l y the f o r m u l a t i o n , in concrete t e r m s , of w h a t a r e conceived to be the p r i m a r y

rights

of

h u m a n beings at some p a r t i c u l a r stage o f social develo p m e n t . T h e Bill of R i g h t s is by no m e a n s an a f t e r t h o u g h t , even t h o u g h — a s in o u r o w n w r i t t e n constit u t i o n — i t a p p e a r s as an a m e n d m e n t ; in reality, it is p r i o r to a n d basic to the constitution. A s conceived in the constitutions of m o d e r n democracies, the B i l l of R i g h t s w o u l d include u n d e r the three m a i n divisions noted a b o v e : person,

(i)

freedom f r o m arbitrary

the security of a r r e s t or

the

detention

w i t h o u t t r i a l by j u r y , the r i g h t to m o v e f r o m one p a r t o f the country to a n o t h e r ;

(2)

f r e e d o m of

contract

a n d the r i g h t to inherit, acquire, hold p r o p e r t y

and

also to e n j o y unhindered the p r o f i t s f r o m its u s e ;

(3)

f r e e d o m of conscience and w o r s h i p , f r e e d o m of speech and the p r e s s , f r e e d o m of a s s e m b l y and o f association. T h e s e concrete exemplifications are to be considered basic r i g h t s on which m o d e r n republican

government

is f o u n d e d . T o thus hold is not to maintain, h o w e v e r , t h a t the p r i m a r y r i g h t s as s t a t e d in these p a r t i c u l a r f o r m s a r e unchangeable. should a r r i v e

If

o u r society as a

at the conviction that n e w

whole

conditions

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make it impossible to fulfill the old fundamental purposes through these particular formulations, then new formulations of the natural, inalienable rights might be made. F o r instance, today in the economic field the validity of the rights to use private property without m a j o r consideration of the public interest is being subjected to wide challenge, and the right to work, that is, the right of the great majority to have access to the means necessary to sustain life, is coming to be regarded as more fundamental. An old formulation may well be abandoned if it no longer serves to fulfill the underlying human needs and claims; but then it is to be borne in mind t h a t a fresh formulation, a new determinate statement, will have to be made to replace the one discarded. T h e r e are, then, perdurable—if not eternal—rights, concerned with life, liberty, and economic welfare, properly regarded as inalienable. In a democracy these "inalienable rights" expressed in the Bill of Rights in terms corresponding to the economic, intellectual, and social conceptions of each epoch furnish the directives and the limitations of government. T h e constitution is, itself, a f u r t h e r step by which government either by a particular administration, or even by the majority of the people is limited. P e r h a p s we may say that the Bill of Rights relates to universal human needs, the constitution more to the conditions and instrumentalities of a particular age and country. T h e constitution too, is conceived as being the expression of the will of the people, but relates to their needs over a period of generations rather than to the interests of a particular electorate. T h e constitution may

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be modified, o f course, by i n t e r p r e t a t i o n and legislation, but it h a s a relatively stable a u t h o r i t y o v e r l o n g p e r i o d s o f time. T h e main point here is that the range of the a u t h o r i t y o f g o v e r n m e n t , even w h e n g o v e r n m e n t is by m a j o r i t y rule, is a l r e a d y limited at the start by the basic l a w consisting of the Bill o f R i g h t s and the constitution; and this conception t h a t d e m o c r a c y is g o v ernment

by

established

law

is just

as

fundamental

and as ancient as is the conception o f p o p u l a r sovereignty w i t h w h i c h it has been m o r e closely associated in recent times. POPULAR

SOVEREIGNTY

AND

MAJORITY

RULE

T o effectuate the purposes contained in the p r e a m b l e , in the Bill o f R i g h t s , and in the constitution, g o v e r n ments, w i t h their legislative,

executive,

and

functions, must be set up. In the m o d e r n

judicial

democracy

the p o w e r to choose and c o n t r o l the g o v e r n m e n t is vested in the m e m b e r s of the community as a w h o l e by means o f a number o f techniques, namely, suffrage, representative

government,

universal

responsible offi-

cials, and so f o r t h . It is h e r e t h a t " m a j o r i t y

rule"

comes in, p i v o t a l in d e m o c r a t i c technique, a necessary aspect of its m e t h o d , not the essential of its principle. Many

v o l u m e s of

serious treatises and of

light-

minded g i b i n g h a v e been w r i t t e n concerning this fund a m e n t a l technique o f d e m o c r a c y . N o doubt, there are real p r o b l e m s not lightly set aside, involved in a system of g o v e r n m e n t responsible to masses of men. Particularly in our complex a g e it w o u l d be f o o l h a r d y to maintain that the a v e r a g e citizen is competent to make

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independent, intelligent decisions on the many difficult problems of government, or that he is able to exercise good judgment in voting for representatives whose names he barely knows. And were government by majority rule resting on the sovereignty of the people, the only plank in political democracy—without the protection of law, tradition, and the other principles of democracy outlined—the case for democracy would, indeed, not be very strong. As a matter of experience, however, the case for popular sovereignty is relatively strong, and the best answer to attacks on it from the point of view of effectiveness is its record. With due acknowledgment of their deficiencies, modern democracies have been able to give a relatively good account of themselves both in peace and in war. Productive efficiency, science, and governmental stability have thus fared better, on the whole, than under other systems; and the liberty of conscience and personal freedom achieved is a priceless gain over and above this material profit. Whether this will be true in the future remains to be seen. But the new ideologies, Russian Communism, Italian Fascism, and German Nazism, have yet to prove that they can do as well, even in regard to material goods and long-range security. By what combination of processes majority rule achieves its relatively favorable results, it is not necessary here to analyze in great detail. A number of causes have been suggested. In the first place, chance operates; the mass of haphazard and unintelligent votes cancel each other, leaving the decision to the

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minority of more thoughtful and better informed opinion. A more generous view grants the average citizen a measure of common sense in practical affairs; in times of crisis, when important issues are at stake, even the indolent are aroused to a realization of their own interests; experience will demonstrate if any errors are made, and the voter has the opportunity of correcting his error at the next election. Government is difficult in any case, and tends to the abuse of power (which is its necessary condition) but majority government is better in practice than the best of the perfectionists' imagination. Undoubtedly, also, the experience with popular rule has left a deposit of habits and of insights suitable to its own character. Policies are judged pragmatically by their effects rather than by a thorough a priori analysis; piecemeal and gradual solutions to problems are made; no irrevocable decisions are taken. These empirical methods may not seem admirable to the meticulous, rational mind, or to those who seek counsels of perfection in social reform. But they correspond well with the methods of judgment used by the ordinary person in daily life, and there is much to defend them even as a manner of dealing with social and political problems, a sphere in which we lack scientific knowledge. From time to time, great leaders arise and focus the will of the people on programs enlightened by knowledge and directed to the general welf a r e ; and, at all times, many writers and teachers are spreading knowledge and stirring the conscience of the people.

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These reflections on the practical validity of popular government are, however, quite incidental to the main argument of the present analysis. T h e real justification f o r the concept of the general will lies in the relation of democracy as a political form to its ethical requirement. Democracy does not rest on the belief in equality of ability or of intelligence, but on the idea that each man is an end in himself. T h i s being the case, there can be no substitute for the judgment that each man must render of his own needs and interests. W e may attempt to safeguard against ignorance, against the impulsive following of desire, but no decision can be imposed f r o m without in the matter of needs and aspirations. In the final analysis each man's judgment is an indispensable check on the processes and results of government. Democracy must find ways to make knowledge and intelligence ever greater factors in government, but, however techniques may be changed, the basic principle of popular sovereignty and the basic method of majority rule must continue to underlie the system of democracy. THE

RIGHTS

OF

MINORITIES

T h e r e can be no greater error, however, than to confuse the expedient of majority rule with the principle that the majority is always right and that minorities must therefore conform. T h e germ of this frequent error is found in Rousseau. H e a r i n g in the voice of the people the voice of an omniscient divinity, and seeing in consensus an immutable natural and scientific law, he exalted the practical notion of the "general will"

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to a mystic principle of absolute, perfect truth. T h u s , misled by a sort of religious ecstasy, he concluded t h a t the minority must accept the decrees of the majority not on the grounds of practical expediency; n o ! it must humble itself and with contrite mind declare its intellectual and moral error. " W h e n , however, an opinion contrary to mine prevails, it only shows that I was mistaken, and that what I supposed to be the general will was not general. If my individual opinion had prevailed, I should have done something other than I had intended, and then I should not have been f r e e . " As F. J . C. H e a r n s h a w points out, in this mystic conception of the general will lies the germ of the collectivist idea of the state, the source of the Hegelian political conceptions and of dictatorships which claim moral sanction f o r their systems of coordinated violence. 2 Democracy has not accepted the totalitarian aspect of Rousseau's conception of the general will. On the contrary, the right of minorities to differ is its fundamental thesis today. L o r d Acton has put the matter in a nutshell: " T h e most certain test by which we judge whether a country is really free is the amount of liberty enjoyed by minorities." 3 H . F . A r m s t r o n g has recently given us an exemplary formulation of the democratic doctrine in terms particularly appropriate t o d a y : " T h e democratic principle is that the majority has the right to govern and that the minority has the right to criticize and oppose the majority. T h e liberty 2

F. J. C. Hearnshaw, The Social and Political Ideals of Some Great French Thinkers of the Age of Reason, pp. 189 ff. 3 J. E. E. D. Acton, o f . cit., p. 4.

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of the majority is limited by the right of the minority to dissent from the majority; in this right originate all other rights of the citizen." * T h e right of the majority therefore cannot be understood in isolation f r o m the coexisting right of the minorities. T h e minorities have, in fact, all the rights enjoyed by the majority except the right to administrate the government at that particular time. In true democracies the rights of the minorities are very wide and are exercised in many ways. First may be mentioned the dual or multiple party system without which the rule of the majority immediately becomes arbitrary and undemocratic. T h e criticism of minority parties is indispensable to democratic government, and the minority party of today has the chance of becoming the majority of tomorrow. T h e Bill of Rights, as already noted, guarantees civil liberties and freedom of speech and religion; our tradition also ranks academic freedom as an inviolable right, at least in the sphere of higher learning. Freedom to conduct educational institutions, though surrounded by serious limitations—particularly in the American single public system—nevertheless illustrates the same point; there is still a great superiority in comparison with the totalitarian systems. T h e division of functions within the government and its various branches, legislative, judicial, and executive, and the emphasis on local government as against centralization, are all aspects of the same tendency. In the conception of democracy the state and society 4

Hamilton Fish Armstrong, fPe or They, p. 102.

IOO

POLITICAL

DEMOCRACY

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are f a r f r o m identical, and social functions are never to be considered the state's monopoly. T h u s democracy rejects domination of all sorts, of the majority, of totalitarian government, of the omni-competent state. T h e r e are, of course, limitations to the rights of minorities, as there are to those of the majority. Even in the m a t t e r of religion, in which our freedom is unquestionably wide, there are limitations imposed by law and current conceptions. But democracy's essential tendency is to permit the greatest possible divergence compatible with unity and with the other equally valid democratic principles which we are attempting here to describe. Democracy, in all aspects, tends toward diversity and pluralism. One of the most difficult problems of our own day is to reconcile the strongly pluralistic tendency of democracy with the need of large scale coordination and planning, made necessary by our highly complex, very specialized, and consequently interdependent industrial society. T h e opposition to necessary governmental coordination now comes most strongly f r o m forces which have a vested interest in maintaining the power t h a t private business has had in determining wages, hours, and the main conditions of employment, and in the unregulated exploitation of natural resources f o r unlimited private profit. T h i s has driven some liberals, who recognize the untenability of laissez-faire, into the opposite direction of strong sympathy with collectivistic conceptions. But, obviously, if democracy is to be preserved, equal attention must be given to the factors making f o r independence f r o m absolute state

POLITICAL

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IOI

control. N e w ways will have to be found to maintain the balance of forces which democracy seeks. T h i s need not be in the direction of compromise. A s in the Scandinavian countries, the much heralded "middle w a y " may be no middle way between old opposing forces, but a new synthesis, rising out of strong multiple organizations within the state along many lines, such as consumers' and producers' cooperatives, the firm organization of trade unions, well-developed labor parties, all factors which reflect new realities and appropriate conceptions. 6 PARLIAMENTS

AND

THE

FACTOR

OF

DISCUSSION

Our legislative assemblies in their various f o r m s — particularly the Parliament or Congress of the central national state p o w e r — a r e in many ways the embodiment of the principles already described. These bodies make the laws in the name of the people, guard the Bill of Rights and amend it, reconcile conflicting interests, control the government's purse, serve as a check against usurpation of power by the executive, the judiciary, or the civil service. Conceivably all these things might be accomplished merely by the process of voting, the various factions deciding, each in secret caucus, how the ballots of their members should be cast. But in all true democracies the element of discussion is essential. T h e British Parliament, when traced back to its beginnings in the Middle Ages, is found to have two roots. T h e deputies sent to the 5 M . W . Childs, This is Democracy: Collective Bargaining in Scandinavia. Also, Finn Moe, "Does Norway's Labor Seek the Middle W a y ? " edited by Elsie Glück, Nevi Frontiers, April, 1937.

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national council had the duty of deciding on money grants to the King for public services. But once in Parliament, they were regarded as members of the great council of the nation, originating in the witan of old England, with whom the King was wont to consult on matters of importance. T h e Parliament derives in p a r t f r o m the old idea of acting wisely in matters of state, f r o m the ancient belief t h a t "in the multitude of counsellors there is safety." Even in ancient tribal times there was the taking of counsel by the chieftains, and modern dictators do not really decide on policies in lonely isolation. But under democracy discussion of policy becomes an essential principle and is of such scope and character that it takes on a completely new significance. First and foremost democracy requires that the discussion be public. In this way, somehow or other, the whole people, the press, writers of books, scholars, and experts are drawn in ultimately as participants in the discussion. Facts and a wide range of opinion are brought to bear. T h e discussion initiated by the government goes far beyond the congressional record of speeches delivered on the floor; it invades the whole apparatus of government: the work of committees, special reports of experts, investigating commissions of the legislature o r of the executive, the reasoned judicial decisions, the addresses of the president. T h e factor of knowledge and intelligence must grow immensely under such circumstances. T h e more enlightened views in the government, or among the public at large, may not be accepted immediately; frequently they may be defeated

POLITICAL

DEMOCRACY

TODAY

I03

by conservatism or institutional inertia, or by strong special interests. But if enough time be given—if the democratic processes are not interrupted by war, by a serious breakdown of the economic system, or by the seizure of power by one dictatorial group—the more intelligent and the more reasonable plan is bound to gain headway as a result of the comprehensive public discussion. Democratic government, then, is inseparably associated with the play of knowledge and intelligence. A thought element has worked itself into government by the extension of the range of discussion. This does not mean that the discussion is wholly objective, or that it is mainly an effort to discover the best way for the community as a whole. There is not only a difference of views, but also a conflict of views, and behind the conflict there is a clash of interests. But the clash of interests, moderated through parliament, is no longer a bareknuckled fight to gain this or that advantage; it is modified by the use of language and the need to appeal to a wider group. Votes must be won over by persuasion, and even the shrewdest special pleader must use some facts and follow a line of argument. Once words are employed in attempting to find a solution, an element of reason imperceptibly enters. On the other hand, in admitting that the parliamentary debate is the reflection of a clash of interests, the possibility of irreconcilability is also admitted. Even if the best intelligence were applied under any system, there are differences which cannot be resolved in a satisfactory manner, and government rests in its

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very final sanction on force, not on reason. A l l that is here maintained is that democratic government widens immeasurably the range of reconcilability through its method of discussion, either by effecting working compromises, or by adopting more comprehensive programs of action. T h e complete fulfillment of the claims of all sides can rarely, if ever, be achieved. T h e position here is that of the many conflicts the government must solve, some, at least, are reconcilable; that the area of peaceful solution is much larger than would at first be apprehended; and that, before exploring most carefully the solutions offered by democratic parliamentary methods, there is no warrant f o r asserting the inevitability of irreconcilable conflict, even in major issues. H o w e v e r f a r the liberal on the left is inclined to travel along with Marxists in the theoretical analysis of the current situation, he will in the end be forced to part company with them on the question of parliamentarism. Even the most authoritative of expounders, M a r x and Lenin themselves, are, of course, ready to use parliament as an expedient when the situation is not ripe f o r revolution, but at the same time, they have an undisguised contempt f o r it. " T o decide once every few years which member of the ruling class is to repress or oppress the people is the real essence of bourgeois parliamentarism," says Lenin, quoting M a r x . T h i s drastic judgment is not due only to their view that parliament under capitalism, pretending to represent the whole people, is really a class instrument f o r the bourgeoisie. A s Lenin makes clear, the central

POLITICAL

DEMOCRACY

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IO5

object of attack is the whole conception of a legislative body separated f r o m the executive. Under Communism representative institutions are to be converted " f r o m mere 'talking shops' into working bodies." . . . H e adds, using M a r x ' s phrase, " ' A working, not a parliamentary body'—this hits the vital s p o t . . . " 6 T h i s contrast in evaluating the significance of discussion— separated f r o m immediate action—as a major factor in the direction of social life, reflects a profound difference of conception concerning the nature of mind, the self, and society, and in final analysis, constitutes an unbridgeable gap between the genuine believer in democracy and the honest advocate of Communism. 6

V. I. Lenin, State and Revolution, pp. 39 ff.

Chapter Eight FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE—AND ASSOCIATION

M E T H O D of discussion and reconciliation of interests as worked into the institutions of democracy has hitherto been regarded by liberals as the very heart of political wisdom. In recent years, however, doubts have become all too evident. 1 T h e reference here is not to the extreme views either of the Fascist, who rejects the whole scheme of human values on which democracy rests, or of the Communist, whose ultimate aim is equality, justice, and peace, but whose ideology of irreconcilable class conflict and inevitable revolution carries with it a lack of faith in the democratic method. T h e concern is with that liberal view which holds fast to the doctrine of democracy, but which seems to share, in some measure at least, the current lack of faith in the method of discussion as a crucial element of the democratic process. HE

A trickle of disbelief seems to have penetrated into 1

T h i s chapter w a s written more than a year ago, before the effects of the Moscow trials and of the Russo-German pact on the eve of the present w a r turned the left liberal w i n g in a direction more f a v o r able to the customary democratic processes. T h e issue, however, is a perennial one and the chapter has been allowed to stand as it w a s written.

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

107

the minds even of the staunchest of democracy's supporters. For instance, Dewey's address entitled "Renascent Liberalism" in the Page-Barbour Lectures 2 is not altogether free from a tinge of disparagement of that element in democracy's method which has until now been regarded as crucial—the element of "discussion and dialectic." Dewey sets out to attack the doctrine of "force" as propounded by Marxists; but in the course of his analysis, he betrays a large measure of agreement with the opposite side concerning the inadequacy of the political contest and the parliamentary method for directing intelligent social reconstruction. H e thinks that the intelligence operating in our present political institutions cannot be depended upon for the initiation of the comprehensive plans required today, and also that the kind of intelligence now accepted in politics relies too much on language, that is, on word symbols which often take the place of realities. "The crisis in democracy demands the substitution of the intelligence that is exemplified in scientific procedure for the kind of intelligence that is now accepted." 3 It is not suggested of course that Professor Dewey wishes to dispense with the parliamentary system; he fully recognized that the substitution of conference and discussion has been a great advance over the method of arbitrary rule. However, he immediately weakens the force of this acknowledgment by adding: "But the better is too often the enemy of the still better." Unless the writing misinter2 3

John Dewey, Liberalism Ibid., p. 72.

and Social Action, Chap. III.

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prets the intent, Dewey would have us consider the parliamentary method as a secondary f a c t o r ; what is now to be primary in the direction of social life is: "Approximation to use of scientific method in investigation and of the engineering mind in the invention and projection of far-reaching social plans is dem a n d e d . " 4 T h u s it appears t h a t Dewey concedes that the old method of democracy is not adequate— but while the Marxists propose " f o r c e " as the way out, he offers "intelligence," modeled on scientific procedure and engineering inventiveness; he expounds an antithesis, intelligence versus force. T h e r e is no practical answer here, however, to the proponents of force. As a matter of fact, Dewey adduces much to strengthen the case of this school of M a r x i s t thought. H e brings out the fact that "Force, r a t h e r than intelligence, is built into the existing social system," and explains that this force—"regularly as coercion, in times of crisis as overt violence"—is used to maintain the present economic institutions against needed change. T h i s is, of course, the very basis of the Marxist analysis r e f e r r e d to. T h e Marxist would say that he, above all men, wishes society to be directed by reason and science, but is convinced that this cannot be achieved under the present politico-economic system in which coercive force plays such a dominant part. H e would use force, if necessary, to dislodge force, and then would build a society in which it would be possible to be guided by the kind of intelligence which Dewey proposes. And under the circumstances he would cer4

Ibid., p. 7J.

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

I09

tainly hold t h a t his method constitutes "intelligent action." T h e r e is also a weakness in Dewey's position on the constructive side; he does not suggest the concrete social institutions and procedures through which "intelligence" would become operative. T h e abstract notion of "intelligence," of the scientific variety, gives no tangible substitute f o r the ordinary sort of intelligence which results f r o m wide public discussion and which does, a f t e r all, in some manner and degree, get itself embodied in life. N o r does he give due weight to the fact that some of the results of the application of the scientific method to social affairs—in universities, government departments, private institutions, and multifarious other researches—do succeed in getting through the gauntlet of public and congressional discussion. W e certainly need a more consistent application of scientific method to social affairs, and a more regular and surer scheme to make the results function in government than, for instance, the half-legendary "Brain T r u s t . " But it would seem that, however inadequate, our knowledge of what needs to be done is already f a r in advance of our power to implement it f o r the social good. T h e main question today is how to obtain the political influence needed to make our knowledge effective, and to turn inventiveness in the direction of the common welfare. Underlying the difficulties in this discussion, there appears to be a division of opinion as between two schools of liberals concerning the main cause f o r the failure of science and reason to solve the ills of society.

IIO

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

One group thinks more in terms of conflict between the "old" and the "new," the other is concerned with the conflict of groups with reference to present interests. T o the former, "inertia" and "social lag" are the key words; to the second group, "vested interests" and "class conflict" are the leading ideas. The solution is not to be found by deciding that one view is superior to the other, or by hovering between the two camps of opinion. It should be obvious that the problem of change can never rightly be understood except when it is on every point related to the problem of conflicting interests. N o doubt the factor of inertia does operate; men cling to old habits just because they are accustomed to them. But the observation may be made that men change rapidly enough when it is in their interest to do so. As a matter of fact, one might say that the critical difficulties today rise from the fact that modern industry, in search of profit, changes its methods too rapidly. T h a t neither business nor the state provides adequately for the resulting unemployment is not due just to "inertia." T h e main problems arise from the fact that changes have different consequences for different groups of men. T h e increased social control over private industry required by changing conditions is fought with such obstinacy, not because of lack of intelligence, but because it would endanger the position of many important groups, who hold the strings of influence and power though constituting a minority. Even among the majority, the lower middle class and the workers, who would as a whole be benefited by

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

III

the new proposals, there are also great differentials of interest; and analysis of the problems involved in getting different sections of the country and different individuals to organize or to vote in "their own interest" would reveal numberless conflicting interests. T o say that in the long run all groups and classes would benefit by intelligent and scientific change is not enough consolation f o r the actual groups and individuals who would stand to lose; and as seen f r o m the point of view of these opponents, the strong resistance offered to change is certainly not unintelligent. Dewey is, of course, aware of all this, and yet he does not seem to give the merited consideration to the actual conflict of interests. I t should be obvious that the scientific determination of solutions to social problems can be made a reality only when the element of conflict of interests is negligible, and power is equally distributed among various classes and groups which make up society. Only then can we hope that the decisions of the scientific investigators would be accepted without a struggle. But these conditions are the opposite of those which confront us today. T h e inadequacy of much of the liberal discussion arises f r o m failure to give the dynamic conflict of purposes among men its due place in the analysis of the contemporary social situation. T h e problem of gaining political power, necessary f o r the rational direction of social advance, is not sufficiently emphasized. Once we realize that at the very heart of human activity are needs, drives, and purposes, the consideration of conflicting aims must become primary in all questions of

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INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

social and political organization. T o be sure, as Dewey says, society depends on cooperation, but conflict is at least an equally constant and inescapable factor. F o r this basic reason, the concept of "dialectic"—the recognition of the existence of real conflict in nature and society, and the constant need of progressive synthesis and reconciliation—cannot be dispensed with, even though we may reject H e g e l ' s over-simplified, formal, idea-biased conception of the triad. A n d for a similar reason, the parliamentary a p p a r a t u s with its wide and public discussion of opposing views must not be relegated to a position secondary to a Utopian scientific procedure in social affairs, but must remain a paramount and fully emphasized factor in the democratic method f o r an indefinitely long period in the future. T h e antithesis, " f o r c e or intelligence," does more to obscure the relevant problems than to clarify them. In fact, it hardly appears to be an antithesis in real life. Everyone is f o r intelligence in the abstract as against force in the abstract. T h e r e is, however, another antithesis pervading the whole discussion in Liberalism and Social Action, which appears much more worthy of emphasis than the opposition of intelligence to force; and it is this which gives the key to the solution of the problem under discussion. W h a t is revealed throughout is the weakness of individual, as opposed to organized, effort. Even in the analysis of scientific procedure, the important point emphasized by Dewey is that the results of science are due to social cooperation. T h e scientific discovery, which in the popular mind seems to be a tour de force of the

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

II3

individual genius, of an Edison or an Einstein, is in reality the final result of a long process of social cooperation in which the findings of all scientists are open to public inspection, criticism, and use. Dewey's main thesis is that the fatal weakness of the democratic process in contemporary life arises f r o m its continued association with individualism, appropriate in the first period of liberalism's advance in modern times, but now no longer tenable. In our complex social structure, with industry corporation-owned and controlled, the individual worker is powerless—despite all his legal right of free contract—unless correspondingly strong union organizations are developed. Each voter thinks himself independent in his curtained ballot booth, but how much reality is there in this freedom, when the efficiently organized p a r t y machine is in control? T h e individual scientific worker may abhor the misuse of his research f o r antisocial aims, but his unorganized protest against the state or private business is a voice crying in the wilderness. T h e remedy f o r democracy's weakness is not in the yielding of any of its basic procedures but in strengthening all of them through the organization of men in line with their basic functions and interests in society. It is the recognition of the importance of the cooperative principle which marks off the "renascent" liberalism which Dewey proposes f r o m the nineteenthcentury laissez-faire individualism, which now has become an obstruction to f u r t h e r democratic advance. T h e democracy of the future must rest on a basis of cooperative association along various lines. Such

114

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

association includes the organization of the worker to improve conditions of labor, to raise standards of living, to develop a relevant system of adult education, and to exercise united political power. Another area of development, and in this the United States lags behind Great Britain and the Scandinavian countries— is the organization of consumers' and producers' cooperatives to counteract monopoly, to furnish "yardsticks," and for incidental political effort. On still another plane is the organization of teachers, scholars, and scientists by means of a variety of associations for the maintenance of professional standards and the propagation of ideals; here, too, the political aspect is not to be neglected. It is not on any one of these systems of organization, as f o r instance, "the organization of the working class," that we must rely. I t is to the cooperation of these many associations with their autonomous functions and interlocking social and political interests that we must look f o r protection f r o m domination either by the corporate business interests, already grown excessively powerful through the recognition of the value of combination, or by the state, growing more powerful every day through the necessity of coordination. M o d e r n democracies must remain pluralistic; under present conditions pluralism cannot depend alone on individual variations; it must rely on the existence of strong sub-organizations within the state on lines of common, definite interests. In the future, perhaps, our representative institutions may reflect the occupational ^nd other organizations within the state as well as

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

II5

territorial divisions. F o r the present, it is sufficient to underscore the importance of "organization" f o r the furtherance of democracy. T h e practical alternative to be offered to those who point out the weakness of parliamentary democracy and who propound the doctrine of force is to be found in the field of organization, that is, of voluntary corporative association, among all men—not only the owners of industry—in line with their vocational functions and their various interests. "Organization" may be conceived possibly as a synthesis which unites the elements of strength implied in the term " f o r c e , " with the directed comprehensive purpose implied in the term "intelligence." Organization is concerned with the fulfillment of common interests, and in some measure this must be intelligently directed toward social purposes. It implies a degree of control, intermediate between the coercive power of the state and the persuasive force of the w o r d — t h e reason-bearing symbol which is, unfortunately, too often "debauched," as Dewey says, and made devoid of real meaning. T h o u g h voluntary, it brings in its train the discipline of helping to make, and of accepting socially determined decisions. By means of the occupational and economic associations, the individual can regain a degree of participation in government which has largely been lost, at least in the large urban centers. Similarly, through such organization, powerful educational influence can be exerted: here, as elsewhere, there is danger of propaganda f o r the n a r r o w group purposes, but there is also opportunity f o r a vital type of adult education in which

Il6

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

the study and promotion of the organization's interests can be made the gateway for understanding the problems of the community as a whole. Organization may be regarded as "the project method" in life, as education through purposeful activity, or as education in which "there is a real motive behind, and a real outcome ahead." 5 And finally, while the antithesis, "intelligence against force" divides one group of liberals from another, the concept "organization" can unite them all in a common platform and in common work. Here we may pause for a summary: political democracy is a composite, fairly well-integrated pattern of ideas and practices. Five aspects of political democracy have been selected as fundamental: a)

The Bill of Rights and the constitution, which gives concrete expression in each age to the general idea of " n a t u r a l " h u m a n rights, and subordinates g o v e r n m e n t to law. b) The rule of the majority, which, together w i t h universal s u f f r a g e and representative institutions, embodies the prim a r y principle of the sovereignty of the people. c ) The pluralistic state, which tolerates differences, allows wide scope to minorities, encourages all sorts of associations, and puts its t r u s t in an o r d e r rising out of a balance of forces, r a t h e r t h a n in a system based on domination of one class, one race, or one idea. d) The parliament, which gives rise to wide discussion and investigation, and f u r t h e r s the principle of intelligent reconciliation of conflicting interests. e) Cooperative organization, which, in the light of large-scale organization in all aspects of life, is required today to buttress all other procedures of democracy, t h r o u g h workers' organizations, producers' and consumers' cooperatives, professional associations, all active in the political sphere as will as in their own special concerns. 5

The phrase is from John Dewey, School and Society.

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

II7

T h e methods of political democracy are not to be considered static; the techniques within each principle or method mentioned above are subject to change as new conditions demand; but the main principles of political democracy are well established and should be considered indispensable. These procedures have been elaborated in a long course of human experience, and constitute the precious heritage of political practice of Western civilization. T h i s is not to say that the five fundamental methods, as summarized above, are to be considered "eternal principles"; an era may come when they will be so modified as to require a very different formulation. But in our day and epoch, the yielding or even weakening of any one of them must be considered a harmful departure from true democratic theory. Another point must be emphasized. T h e structure of political ideas and practices must be regarded as organic, as being elements in a pattern in which the whole conception gives character to each of the parts. W e may get an entirely different effect if one aspect be isolated from the others. For instance, the rule of the majority without civil liberties, becomes the worst sort of oppression. Indeed, Nazism frequently makes the claim of being the most democratic of all governments because it is allegedly congruous with the German will, the choice of the overwhelming majority of the Folk.* Whether the present form of government in Germany has been kept in power by a majority, we have no real way of ascertaining, f o r unless a minority be permitted to function, we can never know whether there 6

Henri Lichtenberger, The Third Reich, p. 368.

I 18

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

is a m a j o r i t y . But even if it were true, even if, to use Bryce's phrase, " a majority of qualified citizens," supported N a z i s m , that barbarous doctrine, based on inequality, racialism, and terror, could never be made into anything but the very perversion of

democracy.

Similarly, "corporative o r g a n i z a t i o n , " on which emphasis has been placed as a necessary element in the democracy of the future, becomes just one more instrument of regimentation in the Fascist state, where all elements of voluntarism have been destroyed. A n d the proud system of the U . S. S. R., built as a pyramid, tier upon tier, f r o m the local soviet of collective f a r m or of f a c t o r y to the A l l U n i o n Supreme Council with its t w o chambers of Council of Nationalities, o f the masses,"

of the Union

and

Council

has, despite "this wide participation 7

no real basis in self-government by

the people since all m a j o r policies and proposals have already been decided upon in advance by the dialectic and the dictatorship, just as the choice o f representatives has itself been predetermined. It is of the essence of the matter to conceive of modern political democracy as a pattern of processes internally interacting, complementing, and counterbalancing each other. T o try to reduce this complex of forces to one basic principle is to miss the main point. F o r today, democracy as a f o r m of government attempts to deal with the multiplicity of factors in human nature and in social structure which must be taken into account in the organization of the interests of community 7

as a whole. T h e

last-named

A. R. Williams, The Soviets, pp. 49-50.

the

conception,

FORCE,

INTELLIGENCE,

ASSOCIATION

II9

"government in the interests of the community as a whole," is another essential of democracy. Democracy does not assume that these interests are homogeneous or identical f o r all; on the contrary, it recognizes a diversity of interests of the individual, of the group, and of the class. But democracy is predicated on the assumption that there is an underlying substratum of common interests, and that the different interests, though often conflicting even to the breaking point, are in the end, not irreconcilable. Marxists call all history to witness to prove otherwise. 8 T h e i r doctrine teaches that all government is class government, and that no fundamental social change has ever been achieved except as a result of violent conflict between two opposing classes in which one ultimately mastered the other. T h e r e is, doubtless, enough in the M a r x i s t argument to shake liberals out of their optimistic belief in peaceful and continuous progress; as an antidote to all forms of pious idealism there is no better medicine than a careful reading of the materialist conception of history. But arguments drawn f r o m the past would not be conclusive, even if they were thoroughly convincing. Our own defense of democracy rests on a conviction—not an infallible certainty—but in so f a r as history can " p r o v e " anything, it should, all in all, rather strengthen than weaken the conviction. Furthermore, modern democracy is a new s K a r l M a r x who denied being "a Marxist," allowed possible exceptions to his general principle (see Sidney Hook, Towards an Understanding of Karl Marx, pp. 3 and 291). Lenin holds that conditions have so changed that the exceptions allowed by Marx are no longer applicable (see State and Revolution, p. 34).

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factor to be considered, and admitting the many disappointments and granting all the usual reservations, we may say that wherever it has been established experience with it warrants a sober faith in " T h e Coming V i c t o r y " — t o use T h o m a s M a n n ' s phrase.

Chapter T H E

ECONOMIC OF

Nine F U L F I L L M E N T

D E M O C R A C Y

F

OR A CENTURY and a half the problem of achieving political democracy was the main issue in European civilization. Only a fraction of the world—in fact, only the smaller part of Europe—actually attained it even in partial form. N o w , in the midst of the struggle f o r political democracy, the center of attention has been shifted to the problem of economic democracy, to the problem of giving the ethical concept of equality an economic embodiment. T h e further growth of democracy requires better political techniques and the full development of the principle of organization f o r protection against all forms of monopoly, including the totalitarian tendencies of the state. But more important than improvements in the methods of political democracy is the problem of relating the concept of human equality more closely to that of economic equality. Such an economic fulfillment is necessary f o r the effective realization of democracy in the broad sense of " a n equal claim f o r the common stock of human welf a r e , " 1 and urgent also f o r saving political democracy wherever it still exists. 1

H. J . Laski, Nationality

and the Future of Civilization,

p. 47.

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ECONOMIC

That

FULFILLMENT

OF

DEMOCRACY

human equality and economic questions

are

closely related is a truism long recognized by religious leaders and lay statesmen, and this idea has

found

expression throughout the ages. T h e Sabbatical Y e a r and the Jubilee in ancient Israel were designed

for

relief o f slaves and debtors, f o r communal sharing o f the yield o f the soil, and, in general, f o r redressing inequalities due to private ownership o f the land by periodic restoration o f the more equalitarian system o f tribal times. 2 T h e Christian Church, in its earlier period, clearly held communal ownership to be the only f o r m in harmony with its teachings; the toleration o f private property was a later concession to the urgencies world.

5

of

man's

sinful

nature

in the

temporal

T h e eighteenth century revolutionary thinkers,

both French and American, had a very realistic understanding of the fact that political equality without economic equality meant very little or nothing, and the writings of that momentous period are replete with this conception. " E q u a l i t y , in f a c t , " says Condorcet, " i s the final aim o f the social technique, since inequality in riches, inequality in conditions, and inequality

of

education are the main causes of all evils." * One o f the clearest expressions of this idea is the oft-quoted statement of Daniel W e b s t e r : " T h e freest government, if it could exist, would not long be acceptable if the tendency o f the laws was to create a rapid accumulation of property in few hands and to render the great 2 A. W . F. Blunt, Israel Before Christ, pp. n z f. Also Jewish clopedia, "Sabbatical Y e a r . " 3 M a x Beer, The History of British Socialism, pp. 8, 14. 4 H. J . Laski, Studies in Law and Politics, p. 83.

Ency-

ECONOMIC

FULFILLMENT

OF

DEMOCRACY

mass of the population dependent and

123

penniless." 5

Aristotle, father of the school of thought which held economics to be the basis of politics, lays down the principle that a revolutionary

situation exists when

men, w h o consider themselves equals, are forced to live in a society in which there are great disparities

of

wealth." Political democracy is, a f t e r all, a means to the end of ethical equality, and ethical equality becomes no more than

a verbal

ideal without

some

embodiment in the necessary economic conditions. P o litical democracy is both unreal and insecure unless it is supported by a condition of general economic equality. N o doubt, the p o w e r of modern socialism lies in its having made this v i e w — t h e economic basis of politics and e t h i c s — t h e first principle of its conception and p r o g r a m . W h a t until now may have been keen insight, a philosophic or religious doctrine, or just

another

factor to be taken into consideration has in socialism become the very cornerstone of a comprehensive theory of life and the foundation of a plan f o r complete social reconstruction. M o r e o v e r , modern socialism conceives the public ownership of all, or of the m a j o r , instruments of production as a necessary, essential corollary. A t this point, democracy, even though it may recognize the force of the economic considerations, may adopt a different or a modified position. Democracy may accept socialism in its entirety, or follow it in p a r t ; but it Charles Beard, The Economic Basis of Politics, p. 39. "It is inequality, as w e have seen, that is everywhere the cause of sedition." Politics, Welidon's translation, p. 341. 5

6

124

ECONOMIC

FULFILLMENT

OF

DEMOCRACY

may also theoretically at least devise other economic modes f o r the fulfillment of its purposes. Democracy is not a priori associated with any specific economic scheme, although at any given time it may f a v o r embodiment in one economic arrangement rather than in another. D e m o c r a c y does not, of logical necessity, deny the validity of private property, espouse the cause of communal or state ownership of the means o f production, or tie itself indissolubly to any other economic systems. Laissez-faire capitalism, it is generally agreed, has served to bring about in the recent past an advance in the common w e l f a r e , even if it may not w o r k toward that end under present conditions. Socialism and democracy are not identical; it is only when we define socialism in very general terms as a system of

production

spread benefits on

and

distribution

a continually

wider

designed scale7

to that

democracy tends to coalesce with it; but such a broad definition does not suffice to characterize either democracy or socialism. T h e r e is indeed a point of similarity in the common opposition to great inequalities. Democracy, if we may essay to formulate very briefly its attitude on this point, regards the economic w e l f a r e of the majority of the people as more important than the riches of the f e w ; it holds g r e a t inequalities of wealth suspect at all times, and repugnant when the masses of the people lack a sufficiency; it aims f o r a greater relative equality so that an even higher average standard of living may be available f o r all. A b o v e all, democracy views the situation in its dynamic di7

H. J. Laslci, Studies in La