M i tiii»»iiiiiit!»yil''t>iShHi«pi|i^«i^iiit*S**li>^^ [rali£*Silli£*SallKaiiiig^a»iitfc*aiiii»>*^iitt>*^iiifc«^iiB>«^Hia«aiiiig«aiUig^ain»g*aaBr JC VJ57 SL/" CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE Cornell University Libivry JC423 .W87 olfn 3 1924 030 449 239 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924030449239 DEMOCRACY AND THE WILL TO POWER THE FREE LANCE BOOKS Edited with Introductians By H. L. Mencken i youth and egolatry By Pfo Baroja ii ventures in common sense By E. W. Howe hi the antichrist By F. W. Nietzsche IV we moderns By Edwin Mum V DEMOCRACY AND THE WILL TO POWER By James N. Wood vi in defense of women By H. L. Mencken Other volumes in preparation For sale at ail bookshops ALFRED A. KNOPF, PUBLISHER THE FREE LANCE BOOKS. V EDITED WITH INTRODUCTIONS BY H. L. MENCKEN DEMOCRACY AND THE WILL TO POWER By JAMES N. WOOD NEW YOBK ALFRED • A ■ KNOPF MCMXXI COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY ALFEED A. KNOPF, Inc. 73 v3 PEINTKD VS THB CNITED STATES OF AMEEIOA NO LONGER THE PROPERTY '2£i.'L^4^i4 UNIVERSITY COLUMBIA DNIVKESITY CONTENTS Introduction, by H. L. Mencken, 7 I The Will to Power, 21 II Democracy, Aristocracy and Morality, 47 III The Mob Man, 69 IV Origins and Tendencies, 87 V Power Transition: Industrialism, Socialism and Slavery, 109 VI Woman and Genius, 171 VII The Rationale of Power, 201 VIII Reflections, 227 IX Ancient and Modern: A Study in Con- trasts, 237 INTRODUCTION What we have here is the first serious attempt, at least by an American, to get at the funda- mentals of the democratic process of govern- ment. Upon the superficial phenomena of democracy, of course, there has been endless writing, some of it more or less honest and scien- tific; but all that sort of thing is a study of symptoms, not of the disease itself. / Mr. Wood sees clearly, like Dr. Hans Delflriick, that democracy, in actual practise, has little if any- thing to do with the determination and execution of the popular will, or even of the will of the majority.^ There Dr. Delbriick, in his "Regie- rung und Volkswille," stops; he proves that the common notion is false, but in his approach to the truth he, halts in st, suburb of questions and surmises. /Mr. Wood is bolder, perhaps because he has lived nearer to democracy all his life. The essential process, he argues, is a conflict be- tween superior minority groups — superior, at all events, politically, in strategical sense, in clar- —7— INTRODUCTION ity of purpose and will-pressure — ^with each striving its utmost to arouse and victimize the great masses of the stupid and ignorant, and to convert them into infantry for its army. Un- der democracy, the largest battalions always win. Even when, as Dr. Delbriick shows from Ameri- can history, the victory goes to an absolute minor- ity, it is always relatively a majority. But the issues that mark the primary conflict of wiUs and the issues that are used to beat up recruits • are by no means necessarily identical; in fact, they are seldom if ever identical. Thus there is an esoteric politics and an exoteric politics — a combat for ideas, advantages, position, power, and a combat for mere votes, the symbols of power. It is this disparity that makes the political struggle under democracy so dishonest and so ridiculous. Practical politics consists, not in finding out what the majority wants and exe- cuting it as faithfully as possible, but in mobil- izing an endless series of new majorities by in- venting an endless series of new shibboleths and enthusiasms, most of them bearing no sort of contact with the underlying contest of wills, and many of them quite devoid of any intelligibility INTRODUCTION whatsoever. ' It often happens, indeed, that the phrase used as bait for the general is at com- plete variance with the aim sought to be estab- lished by the will-group employing it. This was plainly the case in the national election of 1916. Here a typical democratic mob-master, eager and determined to take the United States into the war, faced a populace obviously averse to war, and so he had to carry out his enterprise by posing as an advocate and guardian of peace. Once the mob had made him secure in that char- acter, he straightway flew to arms. But maybe I under-rate the self-deception of one in whose soul, after all, there was always much more of the popinjay than of the Maohiavelli. What is to be remembered in every such case is that the politician is not the primary agent.] He belongs to the victimized majority rather than to the ma- chiavellian minority; he is, at best, no more than a kept captain, and if he ends by believing in his own idiotic war-cries, it is no more than a proof that he is full of human juices. In the case I cite there are historians who argue that the prater of peace was actually more or less honestly pacific. But certainly no sane man wiU ever argue that the will-group behind him —9— INTRODUCTION was of like mind. That will-group threw ofi" all disguise the moment the ballots were safely in the box, and its subsequent career of legal and patriotic (and hence highly laudable) brigand- age let in a brilliant light upon the true nature of its original aims and motives. The history of a democracy is largely a his- tory of just such swindles. The bewildered mob-man is forever holding coroner's inquests upon the mortal remains of his great passions of yesterday, j Today a new idea enchants him, and he is full of Christian enthusiasm for it; tomor- row he discovers that it was a mere "cloake to goe invisible" for some enterprise having no sort of relation to it, save perhaps the depressing relation of complete antithesis. Often enough the idea is quite impossible of execution, even presuming the existence of good faith; here the swindle has its rise, not in the sinister opera- tions of some concealed will, but in the very nature of things. The mob-man, in fact, is al- ways crying for the moon. But while he divides himself into two tatterdemalion hosts,! each led ,by leaders who tell him they will get it for him, the ordinary business of the world must go on on more earthly planes, and with greater regard for —10— INTRODUCTION realism. It is on these planes that the so-called Livisible Government lives and has its being. ) /That government is composed of men who deal, not with glittering phrases, but with adamantine facts. Capital is such a fact-^money, credit, the whole machine of orderly trade, t The venal- ity of politicians — rtheir sole concern with their jobs — is another/ /The infinite credulity and sentimentality of the plain people is yet an- other, j It is in terms of such harsh facts that the actuarwork of the state is carried on, even under a democracy. That work involves conflict, the nice adjustment of varying ideas, the triumph of will over will. Despite the alarms of those who scent the process without ever understanding it, there is seldom unanimity among those concealed masters. ( It is quite unusual, indeed, for all of them or nearly all of them to find their interests identica,!, as happened after the elec- tion of 1916. rToo often they make war upon one another) in a Berserker manner, and great bugaboos emerge from the conflict to startle and ride the general. I often wonder that some his- torian does not trace out the ultimate conse- quences, in public turmoil and epidemic indig- nation, of the old conflict between capital the —11— INTRODUCTION manufacturer and capital the merchant — that is, between the protective tariff and free trade. For generations the Republic was rocked by the struggle, and men came to imperishable fame by mouthing the gaudy phrases that it threw off, and millions of anonymous Americans tore all their passions to tatters trying to rise to its in- cessant challenges. The inner history of the Civil War has been investigated, but the long tariff battle is still spoken of in terms of Mc- Kinley, Dingley and Payne, which is precisely as if the American Revolution were spoken of in terms of the Hessians. Again, what lay un- der the League of Nations debate was probably no more than a contest between capital thinking internationally and capital still clinging to na- tionalism — ^between a will to conquer the world and a will to safeguard the loot so ripe for the harvest at home. Here was a genuine clash of wills. But in the practical politics of the time there was nothing save a clash of hollow words — phrases to beguile the inflammatory and unin- telligent. H. G. Wells, sensing this sharp distinction between the sham duel that goes on in sight of the populace and the real duel that goes on —12— INTRODUCTION behind the scenes, is full of plans, in his "Out- line of History," for bringing the latter out upon the stage. ( What we have now, he says, is a "community of faith and obedience"— -that is, the plain people are beguiled into acquiescence by appeals to their loyalties, their prejudices, their whole outfit of stupidities, and so kept from showing too much curiosity as to what is going on in camera. What he proposes to set up is a "commimity of will," which is to say, a social organization in which the plain people wiU be acutely conscious of all the interior issues, and so be in a position to settle them realistically and in their own fashion, without the present confusing intervention of bogus is- sues. A pleasing program, but not one that enters into practical politics. The forgotten factor is the populace's age-old credulity and sentimentality, its insatiable appetite for being fooled. The thing obviously goes beyond the bounds of a misfortune; too often it seems to take on the proportions of a grand passion. Let one demagogue lift the curtain ever so little, and there is always another one to pull it down again, or to choke the opening with flags, bunting and buckets of tears, or to draw attention from it by —13— INTRODUCTION giving a more familiar and hence a more charm- ing show across the stage. In the long run, the odds are inevitably upon this demogogue of the second order. The plain people distrust and dislike truth-teUers, for the truth is something harsh, and they prefer their ease. It is the most comforting soothsayer who is always on top, once the clash of tin swords is over. Wells is not unaware of this disconcerting fact, but, being a thoroughgoing Utopian, he re- fuses to be discouraged. His remedy is educa- tion, a peruna with a name that is somehow familiar. Let in the light! School the prole- tarians! Polish and fertilize their minds until they can tell a hawk from a handsaw at one glance! Fill them with all the known politico- economical and politico-sociological facts, so that not even sobs can fool them more! . . . Alas, what an heroic effort to lift the mob-man by his boot-straps! Who is to do all this whole- sale educating of the uneducatable? Who is to keep the mob supplied with the only true truth? Wells' answer, so far as I can make it out, seems to be: The Government. In other words, the powers that now rule so prosperously and so happily are to engage in a gigantic conspiracy — 14r- INTRODUCTION for their own destruction! Mr. Wood is a good deal less romantically hopeful. He sees quite clearly that nothing of the sort will ever come to pass. The actual agent in any such colossal up- lifting would have to be the professional mob- master that he calls the corsair — and the corsair is no traitor to his beer and skittles. He serves the powers that be, perhaps not always with an easy conscience, but certainly always with a laudable diligence. He is the propagandist of correct ideas, the newspaper editorial writer, the college professor, the lawmaker, the learned judge. WeUs himself, by a curious irony, has been of the fraternity; he served the group of mighty wills that is England, during the war, by preparing and disseminating official balderdash. He is a corsair and doesn't know it. Or per- haps his whole book is subtle propaganda for the same masters — a diabolical attempt, to engage the forward-looking with a new kidney cure, the while the old sugar and albumen keep on accumulating. Mr. Wood offers no remedy, real or quack. He is, in fact, under no illusions about human progress. It may be a fact, or it may be a dream. Viewing the scene at hand, he discerns —15— INTRODUCTION nothing properly describable as improvement. The process of retailing ideas that Wells calls education seems to Wood to be simply propa- ganda, and he points out very penetratingly that its ultimate effect, far from being an increased capacity for judgment and reflection, may be a total destruction of both, with a weakening of the general will for good measure. The Ameri- can newspapers of today are certainly not edu- cational influences, if education has anything to do with a grasp of the facts. They disperse a hundred times as many stupid and base ideas as sound and noble ideas. Nor are the schools and colleges much better. There was a day, perhaps, when the American professor was more or less a free agent — when he yet enjoyed some of the old high immunities of his predecessor, the theologian. But that day is no more. To- day he can exist only as a corsair of docile habits. The moment he tries to expose and ex- pound the realities behind the masquerade he is unfrocked and silenced. If he lets in the light ever so little, the holes must go through his own fair corpse. James N. Wood was born at Petersburg, Va., —16— INTRODUCTION in 1871. On his father's side he is descended from English Quakers who came to Pennsylvania with William Penn; on his mother's side he be- longs to a Virginia family that descends from Bishop Bumet. He was educated in the schools of Alexandria, Va., Washington and Baltimore, and attended Swarthmore College, but did not graduate. His profession is that of a mechani- cal engineer, and he has designed and invented many useful machines, including coal trimmers, cotton presses, cigarette machines, and gas and steam engines. He has taken out more patents for the gin compression of cotton than any other inventor. In 1892 he designed an aeroplane, and was laughed at as a visionary. Always interested in political and philosophi- cal ideas, he became an active Socialist in New York in 1900, and was organizer of Local New York and a member of the State Commit- tee. But the hoUowness of Socialism soon dis- gusted him, and two years afterward he left the party. Later on the Socialists made his sever- ance complete by formally expelling him. He has stood free of all party ties ever since. H. L. Mencken. —17— THE WILL TO POWER I THE WILL TO POWER The Concept of Progress The concept of progress as a basic tendency in social life is derived from the theory of physi- cal evolution, and is accepted by many still in doubt about the latter. He must be courageous who affirms a doubt as to the demonstrated validity of the principle, or even fails to find it clearly enough substantiated to warrant positing it in the category of immutable natural laws, so- oalled. That it is attractive and plausible can- not be denied, but it embraces many contradic- tions that escape its advocates. A scientific ex- amination of it would involve prodigious labour, and this, in turn, might lead to the unfoldment of a novel and quite contrary idea. Physical evo- lution may or may not be true. Within his- torical times, certainly, nothing is observable to indicate any basic alteration in man. The link —21— DEMOCRACY between animal and human, even if it were ever found, would call for ten thousand anterior links, running back in a chain beyond the lower verte- brates. The most intelligent animal, oddly enough, is least like man in conformation: the elephant. The insect world, made up of crea- tures wholly unlike man, includes orders that display astonishing capacities, even for the com- plexities of .social organization. In time, of course, the diverse problems sug- gested by a candid survey of the matter may all be resolved by science. In spite of the nega- tive attitude here assumed, the idea is not at all to question evolution broadly. It is a tremen- dous conception, one, in fact, that makes a power- ful appeal to the mind, even without demonstra- tion. Everything in nature passes through stages of growth: birth, unfoldment, decay. Change greets the vision everywhere. A theory that casts such phenomena into an orderly re- lation has an engaging plausibility, for order is something that man seeks always. Yet, has man descended from the ape, or is the latter his retro- grading descendant? Even a theory as attrac- tive as that of evolution must be approached with an open mind. —22— AND THE WILL TO POWER Scientific Theory Theory, in science, is a changing quantity, responding to an evolutionary process of its own. How few are the brilliant hypotheses that have withstood the test of time, though all of them have been deferred to with enthusiasm in their day by an amazed world! The effort to detect a general principle, applicable to a defi- nite range of relations, embodies an ideal as elusive as the phenomena to which it is sought to apply it. The faculty of generalization, or co- ordination, is perhaps the highest of those to which man owes his greatness. He cannot ob- serve a series of relations without trying to link them to a common principle. Even when he is in error, the broad concept aids him in reaching understanding — but leaves him, alas, no alterna- tive but to abandon the premise by which he achieved it. The history of science shows its share of such remains; they even repeat them- selves, an old idea recurring, and resumifig an importance not before suspected. Witness the mediaeval belief in a primordial substance, a final quintessence from which all other forms —23— DEMOCRACY of matter have arisen. The distillation of mer- cury was repeated hundreds of times to prove the falsity of the theory. Modem chemistry re- turns to it. The indivisible atom diffuses itself into elec- trons, and these resolve into particles even more minute. They are quantities without existence; ethereal conceptions by which the mind essays to fix a series of probabilities that appear to call for transcendental littleness. Even that tenet supreme, the law of the conservation of energy, trembles before the beWildering attributes of radio-active elements. We behold molecular associations so transient that they dissolve spon- taneously, hurling their constituent infiriitesi- malities into the voids of space. There opens ahead a fairy land of conjecture, but the path to positive knowledge is lost in a maze of dancing shadows. Man in the Cosmos If all this is true of quantities that can be fol- lowed through laboratory reactions, quantita- tively and qualitatively, how far off is certainty as to the development of the actual nature of — 24r- AND THE WILL TO POWER man; how obscure his past; how mysterious his future ! All we may say is that, evolving or not, man is, for the time, at any rate, a stationary quan- tity, and that his attitude towards Nature shows a singular disregard of his environment. He wars against it, struggling to adapt it to his shape and will. This spirit seems characteristic of even the most inferior races. Between them and the highest animal there is an abyss of incalculable vastness. The real point to be determined in the natural history of man is not the type of form evolution, as valuable as such knowledge would be, but to what extent the struggle with Nature has modified mental attitudes and capacities; to what extent have they been strengthened or weakened by ages of conflict with the physical wojid. ([The net result, so far, of applying this idea of evolution to social change has been to en- courage formulae.)^The future is mapped out with surprising confidence. V The idealistic state of the coming man is contemplated with an al- most jealous longing, when contrasted with our present unhappy condition. There is doubt of the wisdom of considering the past at all, the —25— DEMOCRACY future is so bright and sure. None the less, the known facts indicate that historical man has not altered in physique, and that if he has altered mentally the nature of the alteration cannot be determined. Morally, his sameness is remark- able. He seems to be as good and as evil today as he was in Greece ; just as, five thousand years before, the Egyptian was as good and as evil as the later Greek. The origin of human quali- ' ties is not to be detected in the habits of the amoeba. It is to be ascertained by a study of man himself, and of the bases of his mental variations. 4 The Struggle for Existence Nature deals with man as with a step-child. He discovers himself at enmity with her from his birth. What he needs must be wrung from her. Between them there is spontaneous and endless antagonism. Man is therefore a child of war, and is gifted with warlike attributes. These are intelligence and will. So armed, he maintains war — and is not always victorious. None the less, his status renders him enormously —26- AND THE WILL TO POWER enterprising and aggressive. He struggles to conquer Nature, and even endeavours to surpass her. This leads him to modify the natural world ; against its order he is forever at.variance. The forest he replaces by cities j his structures avoid the infinite differentiation about him and foUow the geometrical conformations of the microscopic world. But Nature is the least of his opponents ; there is another more potent and that is man himself. Man also fights man, thus facing two powerful antagonists at once. His conflict with Nature is due to the pressure of mere physical necessity, the elementary requirements of the animal func- tions, but when he fights man it is to determine a more complex thing; the quality and scope of the joint battle against environment. There is, then, a distinction between men: the desires of one do not coincide with those of another. This fact, so productive of the worst and most hope- less sorts of strife, has led to singular conse- quences in the mental world: dreams of a com- plete mergence of purposes, universal monotony achieved in a Utopia of peaceful brothers. /The dominant factor in all human activity is —27— DEMOCRACY the will to live and, among the majority it has been, at all times, almost the only recognizable impulse. ^ Among men, however, two classes have always been apparent: those of one class desiring existence merely, and those of the other wishing an environment of their own creation. Let this second wish be called the will to create, as opposed to the mere will to exist. The supe- rior man refuses to accept the limitations of life as he finds them on entering the world. In his imagination he perceives a super-world, and this he desires to make his theatre of action. But his effort lat creation straightway involves opposition from the groups contented with mere living, and the superior then endeavours to sub- ordinate the inferior to his own purnose. This tendency is apparent in all orders. /The humble impose their will on those even less than them- selves, and yield, in turn, to the will of superiors beyond them. / This effort to subordinate the will of one to that of another has been called the will to power. In man it is characteristic. Throughout history it transcends all other fac- tors. It is the cause alike of improvement and of disintegration. A veritable Saturn, it con- —28— AND THE WILL TO POWER sumes its own children. The various orders of the past were erected and destroyed by the force of this will to power in different epochs. So- called social evolution is merely the result of conflicts between rival groups, striving to master the inert and inferior man, to utilize him for tiieir own purposes. The form of expression of this will constantly changes ; its purpose remains invariable. Such struggles are merciless in their nature; they are for existence itself in a definite sense, and admit of no quarter. Nor are they always decided in favour of the superior group. More often, indeed, the relatively inferior triumphs, and long periods elapse before the former level of progress is reached. Nevertheless, it tends to return in the end. The destruction of Greco- Roman civilization by its slave class led to a thousand years of darkness in Europe; the few fragments of a literature that remain are al- most the only living testimonials to the exalted mental attainments of the destroyed order. Yet the influence of these fragments upon the new civilization of the West has been greater than the combined effects of all the other heirlooms —29— DEMOCRACY of antiquity. Their value springs from an in- dependence and clarity of thought still lacking in the modem. 2e Delusion of Equality In spite of the fact that in all times and under !ry social form men have been living witnesses to the truth that no two are 'alike and equal, the error persists, constituting one of the most blat- ant negations of the obvious that has ever marked man's judgment of natural phenomena.^ But while vague allusions to such a fallacy appear in ancient writings, it remained for later genera- tions to discover in equality a basis for political relation. In modern times the idea awoke into significant life during the struggle between a rising mercantile class and a landed aristocracy. Disguised in idealistic garments, it charmed a decaying intellectual caste, and was even ap- plauded by dreamers of the class against which it was leveled. This supreme illusion was enun- ciated by doctrinaires who aimed to break down the bonds of the soil and force the inferior groups of men into cities, there to be exploited by a rising manufacturing power. The theory —30— AND THE WILL TO POWER was promulgated with the idea of convincing the worker that nothing distinguished the supe- rior man from him but opportunity. Many of its leading advocates were men whose lives were a flat denial of it, but Europe at the time was swept by a ruthless spirit of revolt, and nothing was overlooked that promised help in the war against a master class that still ruled, but was beginning to waver and break up. CThe whole movement ofi'ers an example of the ruthless means resorted to by one superior group to wrest from another control of the superior labour element^ No method is considered un- fair that achieves this. Members of a dominant caste are themselves often deceived by the hocus- pocus. It is clear and will become clearer as additional data is examined, that the high water mark of a given caste, that is, the period when it finds itself apparently safely entrenched and proof against attack is, in reality, a critical pe- riod. Other wills assert their power at such times, appealing to the inferior groups, the aim being to remove from a given structure its sup- porting means. In a sense, this subversion is always being attempted, even in the most stable societies, but history notes it only at vital inter- —31— DEMOCRACY vals. The antagonism then takes on the pro- portions of a tangible and bitter conflict. 6 fetzsche The notion of the will to power originated with Friedrich Nietzsche, but he got the germs of it from Arthur Schopenhauer, who, first among modems, attempted a survey of existence with the object of observing it as it actually was and is. J His doctrine of the will to live was the first step forward since Plato's time, and with it he renewed, at a stroke, the link with the Aryans, of which Greek philosiophy had been the reflec- tion in Europe. Schopenhauer recognized the eternal enmity of Nature, and despaired of con- quering it. He viewed the world with the calm pessimism of/ a Christ or a Buddha, finding no good in it. /But Nietzsche detected in the will to power tne means through which man aims and struggles to become superior to his surround- ings ; that is, to Nature itself .j He described man as a being forever at war. (The attempts sub- sequently made to find in this doctrine the in- spiration of a particular war must be classed —32— AND THE WILL TO POWER with the humorous, or pathetic, incidents of his- tory.) The real eminence of this philosopher lies in the fact that he was the first of Europeans to reason philosophically from a scientific view- point. His opinions, as a consequence, em- braced radical conclusions that led to his tem- porary isolation. This is a penalty that every wanderer in strange places must pay. The world resents change, and has no pity for daring spirits. Nietzsche added to his unpopularity by a bitterness of tone that was often derisive — a mental defence, perhaps, against an almost insuperable environment. His final collapse, mentally, has been held a reason for doubting his conclusions. Mediocrity always revels in the weaknesses of the great, and likes to feel that its own obtuseness makes it, in some way, supe- rior to genius. /The impressive thing about Nietzsche is the un^eviating and uncompromising spirit in which he stood before the enigma of life. \ He essayed to view it in aU its fulness — and -all its terror. He beheld man triumphant in his conflict with Nature and his inferior as- sociates, and in the superman he forecasted a —33— DEMOCRACY type that was to be superior to both. He was, therefore, the prophet of the ultimate scientific man: one powerful in will and knowledge, a master of environment and circumstance. Nietzsche is rated one of the pessimistic phil- osophers, but they have considered him only casually who arrive at such a conclusion. That he refused to blind himself to the evil in the world only testifies to his strength. In an age that revels in illusion, in flagrant denial of the obvious, what surer antidote is there than Na- ture? How deny that which obtrudes at every step in her labyrinth, where mercy is ever absent and pity is unknown? Certainly, it is conceiv- able that it may be best for the weak to remain blind, lest their lack of spirit should cause the consciousness of reality to overwhelm them. But the strong man must face truth without fal- tering. Whether a transient monad or an eter- nal identity, he is nothing until he can stand before the cosmic problem unmoved. Nietzsche should be classed among the great optimists. He believed that, even though en- vironed by evil, man can become superior to it, and attain his ends regardless of it. ^34^ AND THE WILL TO POWER The War of Castes The will to power may be taken as an attribute of the individual, and from such a standpoint it has been here discussed, but it may also be thought of as a dominating characteristic of castes, classes and states. In any society, the question of the form of government is secondary. Organization follows purpose, and purpose is the intent of intelligence. The significant question is, what is the nature of the primary means em- ployed to maintain position, to exercise control, to foster the eminence of a controlling individ- ual or group? The latter constitutes the ruling and directing power, and is, in fact, the embodi- ment of the will to power in a social sense. This power, apparent in all societies, may be likened to the crest of a wave, composed of the various particles that have attained separation from the more congested mass, and are bearing themselves onward to a fairer region of free- dom and light. But all this, of course, does not imply any excellence morally or intellectually. It may —35— DEMOCRACY he, indeed, that the more intellectual groups and individuals lack a pristine force, an adaptability to the details of life, that precludes their su- premacy. They may merely become the intelli- gence of the actual over-group, or throw their influence to alternate groups, for, except in so- cieties of phenomenal stability, the highest groups are, as a rule, constantly antagonistic, j Tlie world is more often ruled by fools than by Svise men, for by reason of the vicissitudes of life the latter do not always reach the summit."^ /The genuinely superior man, indeed, often la^ hours under serious handicaps. Against him are combined all his inferiors, and among those of his own order he must contend with char- acters as egoistic as himself. ) Such men prefer to fight alone. Between such rivals the great wars of history have been fought, ending often in mutual disaster. Inferior groups have risen to power on the ruins of systems thus wrecked by desperate encounters among superiors. Only at far separated periods has the world seen men of such transcendent greatness that they have been able to seize control of the whole social struc- ture and mould it to their wills. Even so, their tenure has always been brief. They last until —36— AND THE WILL TO POWER the lesser grasp the exact magnitude of the indi- vidual facing them. A union of forces, hitherto discordant, is then effected and the greater is hurled down. The destruction of such men may lead to calamitous consequences. The assassina- tion of Julius Caesar left anarchy in Rome; a throne established by a man of such enterprise and foresight might have given the Empire a far more secure future. The remark of Plu- tarch that violence stayed the hand of the gods is not without acuteness. So likewise, the fall of Napoleon brought about the instability of modem Europe. 8 The Superior Group ^ From all this it may be safely laid down that i no superior group can hope for an indefinite tenure of life, j Once in power, its aim has al- ways been to snape the social structure with a sole reference to the rights of itself and its heirs, and while such artificial forms may endure for long periods they inevitably fall at last as a result of pressure from below. It is paradoxical of all such efforts, indeed, that they defeat their own purpose. Succeeding generations, bom to —37— DEMOCRACY power, may lack, or ignore, the attributes of those who made possible their dominance. Novel conditions may arise with which they find themselves unable to cope. Their intellectual aides, upon whom a certain dependence is un- avoidable, may desert them. Even so, the form of a social organization, once it is firmly set up, has more vitality than the will of those who moulded it. There is an inertia about it, due to the social functions that co-ordinate within it. As a rule, it is only after great lapses of time that it is completely de- stroyed. To effect so grave a result prolonged labour among subject groups is required; there must be radical changes in popular conceptions, and the secret establishment of novel norms. Even then, the new is composed of much of the old, superficially disguised — different names for similar things. These novelties, intrinsi- cally inferior to what has preceded them, lack a secure basis in habit or experience, but they take on the aspect of dignity when the culture of.the past has been interwoven with the new. / A favourite device of those who have dreamed m perpetuating a permanent caste has been that of breeding.\ All hereditary aristocracies are / —a -^38— AND THE WILL TO POWER based on the assumption that high qualities may be transmitted by blood. But that superior men can be deliberately bred is not a practical deduc- tion of science, even if it is a theoretical one. There is some doubt, too, as to what constitutes general superiority. An excursion through the literature of the subject is not enlightening. It may be safely said, however, that aristocra- cies decline as certainly as political systems, and that there are sound reasons for it. Prima- rily, the very strength of the social order that supports them may prove their undoing. The aggressive element is no longer taxed to exert it- self, and so tends to languish. They may betake themselves to an artificial and exclusive environ- ment, viewing the outer world through the eyes of a mediate class. They may lose themselves in the contemplation of the ideal, or in the en- joyment of an aesthetic luxury. They may lose their aggressive masculinity by imputing to the female moral qualities not actually possessed, thus weakening themselves by devotion to imagi- nary virtues. /Errors cannot be made with impunity by supe- v nor groups, for the lower are ever on the alert, ^ and study to find the means and moment to at- —39— DEMOCRACY tack. No social form has ever been proof against all of these defects; some have existed longer than others; all default at last. 9 Sacerdotal Castes /it is significant of power groups that those evidencing the most security and length of life havQ been of a religious nature] While rising, in time, to control of vast temporal agencies, they yet depend, fundamentally, on control of the mental horizon of their subjects. To accomplish this control extraordinary methods are resorted to. Their personnel is rigourously trained in a regimen of will. The lives of all members are subordinated to the sustained imposition of this will on inferiors. /Celibacy is an invariable pre- requisite in such systems, for it obviates the lia- bility to weakness through allegiance to familyy Woman is viewed as a sex agent, purely, and must be content with the honours accorded her among the divinities. Men odierwise weak are thus transformed into forces of great potentiality. Systems rise and fall about them, but they go on and on, apparently beyond the reach of change. Contrasted with the method of selec- t~40— AND THE WILL TO POWER tion by breeding, the outcome is altogether favourable to the sacerdotal scheme. AU his- tory proves its immeasurably greater effective- ness. There is a democracy in such systems, too, since the avenues of advancement are open to all who choose to contend, and the men attracted to them are of a somewhat higher type than the ordinary, and real excellence and power are quickly recognized. More important still, ex- ceptional characters, men of the genuinely supe- rior orders, men wearied by the ceaseless pres- sure of inferiors, or overcome by the sorrows of life, find here a haven. In such ot^anizations there are always a large number of such men. Their personality is merged in the mass of the order; their satisfaction is derived from helping to sustain it; their egotism is lost in a collective will whieh moves every moment towards a com- mon object. The result is enthusiasm, lhe will's greatest stimulant. Such groups are almost ir- resistible. Only voluntary relapse from a primary ideal, or merciless extinction, as of the Magi in Susa, can dethrone them. Even then, the ideas that they leave behind them must be respected by their conquerors for long periods —41— DEMOCRACY of time, so potent is their grip on the intelligence of inferior men. It is for this reason that re- ligion remains much the same from age to age, merely altering the names of its divinities, and adapting its method to new conditions. 10 The Ebb and Flow of Power The will to power is, therefore, a mobile ele- ment in all organizations; something forever seeking, ever obtaining, ever losing. At any stage it is the best expression of superiority pos- sible under the given conditions. Alteration follows only after the appearance of an individ- ual or group of singular power, or after a com- promise between unequal but related groups. Stability comes through the control of the instru- ments of power, or through a profound influence upon all inferior groups by the agency of specific ideas. \ A study of society which omits a factor so dominant as the will to power cannot be looked on as more than superficial. Through its study the forces underlying surface movements may be detected, and their aim understood. The trems- AND THE WILL TO POWER formations which occur may always be identified as the results of struggles in which new groups have successfully assailed others that have pre- viously controlled. 43- DEMOCRACY, ARISTOC- RACY AND MORALITY II Democracy, Aristocracy and Morality 11 The Democratic Idea f The name of a social orgsuiization is of little importance; it is the nature of the means by which it is maintained that coimts-+-the form of the will to power underlying it, the method pur- sued by its dominant group to maintain superior- ity. These forces are sometimes direct and visi- ble, but in democracies they are rarely so. There, veil conceals veil. Nothing is what it seems to be. The superficial is a cypher, a cryptogram. The democratic form now domin- ates in aU civilized countries, although variously applied and revealed. It is within the limits of democratic society that the operations of the will to power are to be considered here, and the point of view will be further narrowed by con- fining the inquiry to the mass form, so-called, that is, to government by majority, for this is —47— DEMOCRACY the ideal towards which such societies assume to aim. Government within them, if this be true, is ordered by majorities. It is the will of a ma- jority that rules — ^the joint intent of a vast num- ber of individuals. But democracy, itself, is a fluid term. There have been such forms since history began and some of its most brilliant chapters were written under so-called democratic conditions. This was, however, only in appearance. Democracy, in Greece, was aristocratic, in Venice it was oligarchical; tiie various Italian republics were chiefly aristocratic. The opening of new do- mains, following the discovery of America, led to the appearance of such governments under con- ditions distinct from any that had ever been seen before. In the United States, separation from Great Britain, a purely economic matter, was followed by a constitutional republicanism containing principles derived from French ideal- ism. The basis of the American system is a written constitution, a paper formulated by men of an extreme conservatism and plainly distrustful of the people. This is shown by the carefully de- veloped checks to spontaneous action ; the method — 4&— AND THE WILL TO POWER • of balancing one branch against another. French influence is detected in the effort to limit executive power and in the enunciation of broad principles of personal liberty; that is, Ae right of free speech, and of the press, and the privi- lege of bearing arms. Actually, however, this influence was largely imaginary, the chief con- trolling force being fundamentally English, for that nation had ever maintained liberal ideas in this department, a result of the character of her people, going back to their Germanic origins. Northern Europe was the birthplace of modem democracy, the idea coming from the ancient as- semblies in her gloomy forests. France, by reason of the attractive platitudes of her Eight- eenth Century writers, simply became, for a time, the spokesman for all this ancient dem- ocracy. But the long struggle against feudalism, dur- ing which the expression of ideas was curtailed, had made free speech a new fetich in revolu- tionary Europe and its inclusion in the American Constitution must, therefore, be granted to French influence specifically, in spite of the deeper English derivation behind it. At the time, France was the fashion, intellectually, and —49— DEMOCRACY Jefferson, Paine and Franklin were evidently governed by it. Washington was a conservative of the conservatives, and displayed little interest in the technique of Jacobin culture. Jefferson's attachment was largely that of a free thinker of the reserved class. A man of some brilliance, of high position, and given to idealism, his mind apparently wavered. The Declaration of In- dependence, a imiquely incongruous medley of contradictions, expressed the effort of an English mind to parade in terms transiently familiar to the boulevards. Paine, an unfortunate borne down by the pressure of circumstances, dreamed of individual eminence attained by a particular code of laws. He was thus the forerunner of the true American of today, who seeks in legis- lation a panacea for all ills. The social forces behind the American move- ment were aristocratic and mercantile. The merchants of New England joined hands with the landed proprietors of the South, both confident there was room for each in a world new and un- scarred by European traditions. Both were ob- livious of the coming manufacturing caste that was to make them implacable enemies. Noth- ing can be less true than the popular idea that —50— AND THE WILL TO POWER the American Republic was the product of men longing for radical democracy. 12 Democracy in Practice (A pure democracy would be one in which the majority was absolute,) and not limited by a written constitution, but except in negligible communities such commonwealths do not exist. In others, — that is, those of consequence in the world — ^there are either specific constitutions limiting action or legal traditions amounting to constitutional inhibitions but somewhat broader. Some include aristocracies which participate in the government by right of birth. Of all these varieties, the formal constitutional democracies are the least consistent. The fundamental docu- ments upon which they are based are subject to interpretations which may reverse their meaning. Adhesion to them, theoretically demanded, may u::i:sform an individual simple enough to ac- cept their clauses at face value into a criminal. Even mandatory clauses can be construed into negations. All depends upon the definition made by a court, and this adheres to the princi- ple of; expediency. This expediency is public ^51— DEMOCRACY policy and can transcend the paper by which it is supposed to be limited. In mass societies, spe- cifically, the governing will therefore concerns itself with moulding this policy to its interest. The tendency becomes more definite as public morale declines, always a striking phenomenon in such societies. Great contests originate over amendments which, When carried, are openly ignored. The theoretical suffrage rights of the coloured race in th'e United States, so ferociously fought for, exist today only in communities that voluntarily concede them. The right to bear arms, and freedom of speech and of the press, specifically defined, survive only as rhetorical affirmations. There follows the curious contra- diction that a prison sentence may await the man who believes that positive statements convey ideas. /All democracies are affected by a further force, unexpressed, but present in each, to wit, tradition.) This is the sum of the rights and. privileges supposed to attach to the indiTfjdvidual, forming a body of natural rights beyo^j-gnd the scope of law, a resisting quantity to whi^g ch law conforms itselfi. These rights are readi j^Jy de- tected in a given political body, and thig^ tjir ex- —52- AND THE WILL TO POWER tent always defines the limits beyond which legis- lation is resented. Liberty, as an intelligible ex- pression, is embraced by them, for the spirit of independence in a given order always manifests itself by an insistence on the recognition of such rights. This is the unwritten constitution of the inferior group in all societies, and it is rarely threatened, save where the general will force has declined. This is an important observation. The aggressive power of the inferior group not only defines its own strength and importance; it likewise determines the quality of the ruling factions, when compared with those of other so- cieties. From passive collectivities great men do not arise, and it is therefore the constant aim of inferior minds to lower the standard of indi- vidual aggressiveness. By this means the liberty of lower types is assured. Traditional rights are racial; that is, they de- fine the virility of masses, their masculinity and forcefulness. The liberalism of English cus- toms does not trace to Magna Charta, for noth- ing is less justified than the exaggerated impor- tance attached to that document. It results from the stubbornness, the brutality, of the basic Eng- lishman. Men devoid of brutality are men de- —53— DEMOCRACY void of sex. The consequences of this brutality in English life have been, on the whole, bene- ficial. Primarily, it has led to a certain defer- ence to individual liberty that has conferred on the race a deserved reputation for liberalism. But on the other hand, it has fathered a domin- ant caste of great acumen and power, for the reason that real skill and courage were requisite to mastering and directing a stubborn people. The gradual decline of this pristine vigour can alone lead to the fall of the race. The inaugura- tion of mass democracy seems to indicate its im- permanence. The elasticity existing for cen- turies as the result of high class tension is giv- ing way, assuring either an absolute autocracy, or, more probably, a simple democratic state, governed by mediocrity. 13 Aristocratic Functions Aristocracies, in modem societies, acutely af- fect the environment in which they persist. Their influence is spiritual, and to spiritual in- fluence man is always more responsive than he is to merely material stimuli. Embracing the re- sults of the only human breeding experiment ^54— AND THE WILL TO POWER ever attempted, these classes include many men of natural distinction. Their characteristics are egotism and will, inbred for generations, and it is impossible for such individuals to participate in ordinary affairs without attracting attention by the display of these qualities. Even when nobler gifts have gradually been effaced, the former persist, and quite logically, for it was due to them, originally, that the ancestors of the present individuals forced their way to leader- ship. An aristocracy is the natural custodian of a nation's culture. Drawn to the arts through freedom from commercial pursuits, aristocrats treasure the works of genius, as they have been its patrons. The inner nature of such groups is, therefore, complex, including the highest con- ceptions, even when debased by habits that other- wise weaken character. The inner world of the superior man is always extensive when compared to that of the inferior; this is, above all else, the reason of his superiority. Will alone may carry the lowest to power; it is only the man who is profound inwardly, a complex of internal and external ideas, who is noble. The moral effect of such a class is far reach- ing in whatever society it appears. Its presence -55— DEMOCRACY acts as a curb on ignoble tendencies ; it deprives the purely sordid of the satisfaction of being worshipped; it forms a balance against grovel- ling materialism. Far from the common im- pression so often expressed, it views with a friendly air the more dependent classes, and is antagonistic to ruthless methods of dealing with them. Its extinction is always a significant phenomenon, for it shows a moral decline and the inauguration of a mediocre epoch. This element, in America always small, has gradually been effaced here. The blood has be- come diffused in aimless crosses, but it is still marked in individuals at random intervals, and is responsible for occasional displays of spirit in unexpected quarters. On the whole, aggres- siveness is not an American characteristic, nor could it well be so in view of the indiscriminate blending of inferior blood strains that has gone on here. The notion that this condition is favourable to the development of a novel type, uniquely efficient, is not borne out by experience. The thoroughbred is a product of selection, and the great races of history have been isolated and inbred, weakening in the end with the infusion of promiscuous blood lines. It is this tendency —56- AND THE WILL TO POWER that has lowered the individuality of recent peo- ples. Psychologically, it is largely responsible for the childish faith in the future — a character- istic phenomenon of the modem world. 14 Democracy and Wealth In present day democracies life has resolved itself into a struggle for power, and this appears, primarily, as a universal effort to secure the ele- ment held to be synonymous with it, wealth. Through this the subjection of the ordinary and the extraordinary man is secured. Without it the most elementary ambitions come to naught; ideas remain incipient; existence becomes a vain effort to conquer disappointment and despair. Regardless of individual capacity, men strive to first bridge this chasm when birth has not dow- ered them with the key to the halls of power. It is a contest in which all are free to enter, and it acts as a leveller, in that success is taught to be possible to every one. He who fails in this primary test is not only condemned by the world, he condemns himself, since the ordeal has ob- tained the standing of a principle, the individual who fails to show gifts consonant with it being —57— DEMOCRACY rated defective in natural ability. In all mass, or democratic societies, this criterion maintains itself, whether denied or not. Intellectual gifts are esteemed inferior to it, for however desirable they may be, the existence of wealth and its sig- nificance as an open sesame of power, make it superior. In such societies all the relations of life are subordinated to success. The unsuccess- ful man is the weak man, and he repents his weakness as the religious man repents his sins. Since wealth can be derived from no other source than labour, and as labour in abundance is the essential prerequisite of any mode of getting benefits from it, labour, in turn, that is, pro- ductive commercial labour, is idealized too. This view of life is apparent in current American literature, where writers of all kinds evoke with varied formulae the appearance of the daemon. Even God has been likened to a day labourer, thus casting aside the concept of Divinity as Ruler of the universe to accommodate theology to the newly discovered equality of mankind. In this "philosophy" God is supreme where there is no supremacy. None the less, this struggle for wealth is, in a sense, superficial. It is, of itself, only a mode —58— AND THE WILL TO POWER of expressing the innate desire for power. The will to power pervades all effort; each partici- pant desires to impress his ideas and personality on the world. The common war for riches is essayed because it yields immediate capacity, when successful. The methods of success ap- pear to be simple, and they are taught to the least as they are taught to the highest. Even when a man superior to those around him becomes aware of his own incompetence in this direction and turns to other ideas as a possible path to power, he retains a consciousness of the importance of the original means and reverts to it at the first favourable opportunity. 15 The Corsairs The fact that all cannot succeed in the race for riches leads to important consequences in demo- cratic societies. It forces men who have failed to pass the preliminary test to seek other means of reaching their ends. They have recourse to more intellectual efforts, or, more properly, to efforts involving more mental exertion. The most intellectual are rarely found among the holders of great wealth, unless it has come to —59— DEMOCRACY them through inheritance. Instead, the genu- inely superior intellectual groups seek to prey upon the rich, and this they achieve through ideas that they popularize, or by plans they con- ceive that appeal to the upper groups. These plans may be of a varied nature. They may be elementary, in that they cover a mere philan- thropical diversion, or they may be elaborate, involving the development of political and social movements, the success of which requires great sums, but the control of which conveys power. These intellectual groups are peculiar to dem- ocracy and are deeply significant. They absorb great revenues and a diversity of minds, but lead to the development of movements of the greatest importance in maintaining social equi- librium. They are composed of men of a cor- sair spirit, who depend on their knowledge of human nature, its frailties particularly, to make their way. Their utility is increased by the na- ture of the executive problems facing the upper groups. Among these is that of securing mass action, numbers being of more importance than intelligence. It becomes essential to master great groups as a means of furthering the con- stant effort to increase revenue. This condition —60— AND THE WILL TO POWER lends itself to the purpose of the corsairs. They seek to find plausible ideas by which the masses may be swayed, of a character not re- pugnant to their rich supporters. They origin- ate the ideas that they thus aim to popularize, and as these are always of a moral nature a cer- tain sanctity attaches to their labour. This moral nature of their propaganda gives them great influence and power among the lower groups, for the latter look upon all questions of human relation from a moral point of view. The ordinary man cannot free himself from certain conceptions of nature and the individual that are unknown to the superior man. He views everything from a standpoint of right and wrong. The sorrows of life, the mystery of death, the destructive outbursts of Nature, are to him in some way involved with moral delin- quencies. He feels himself an immoral unit in a moral world. The order of the universe is ethical. He is haunted by the inherent sinful- ness of his own consciousness. Pleasure is al- ways under suspicion, even when he indulges it. He is, therefore, peculiarly susceptible to propa- ganda claiming a moral basis. In mass societies morality takes the place of the "right to power" —61— DEMOCRACY in older associations. An idea is vital to the extent that it conforms to mass-moral criteria. The ruling groups, aware of this, seek always to mask their ideas in a moral veil. The prevalence of such propagandas colours social and industrial relations with moral hues. Those who depend on them possess an advantage which disconcerts any opposition. The man op- posed is immoral; he resists moral ideas. Even those strong enough to reject these arbitrary ethical distinctions are swayed to some extent. Their aggressiveness is weakened, the real ques- tion at issue eludes them, for they must first meet the moral claims of those against whom they contend. These claims are supported by the moral sense of the average man, who looks with suspicion on those who do not agree with him. They are thrown on the defensive and half the battle is lost. In mass societies, the moral factor appears in the most unexpected places, no issue being too trivial to miss its stamp. There arises a fixed mental attitude, which responds quickly to any impulse having such a moral basis. The senti- ment of a community is quickly affected. These moral concepts may ran counter to all —62— AISD THE WILL TO POWER the experience of history and ethics, as defined by philosophy and even by religion, and yet still be accepted by the inferior classes. Their nat- ural proneness to place all problems in ethical sub-divisions accentuates their weakness. The corsair plays upon this, nor does he shrink from attacking religious ethics, when they bar his way to power. Only those orders that cherish ideas beyond him are proof against his attack. Com- monplace religion, that is, religion having no basis in tradition, he ruthlessly assails, subordi- nating it to his purpose and altering its morality to suit himself. 16 Corsair Propaganda Corsair propaganda, with all its power, suffers from one defect : it lacks consistency and is there- fore in constant flux. Its want of depth is con- cealed by profusion. Ethical ideals change quickly, to be succeeded by others of greater utility. The word "moral" alone remains con- stant. .' '■■■-f-'^l^ The object of corsair propaganda is quite evident. Fundamentally, it aims to weaken the will of the understrata, and in this it usually —63— DEMOCRACY succeeds. Any elementary faculty of discrimi- nation that may have existed is gradually ef- faced, or rendered n^ligible. This is often shown dramatically when a propaganda is launched that opposes one previously conducted by the same proponents. The mass ignores the palpable inconsistency and accepts the new revelation. During such intervals the corsair is particularly vindictive, no mercy being shown to backward converts of a previous crusade. So deeply had pacifism affected the United States in the days before 1914 that a speaker who advocated rational preparation for war and a military spirit among the people was mobbed at a prominent university — Princeton. Yet later, none were more zealous than these very en- thusiasts in condemning the unfortunates who had taken their ideas seriously, and stood up for them. Even the classes that had mixed religion with their foUy were not spared, experiencing all the opprobrium that follows traitors. Some, of a more stubborn type, of the number that take propaganda to heart, found themselves in jail. A merciful dispensation, for it doubtless saved their lives. So quickly do the weak respond to —64— AND THE WILL TO POWER inferior stimuli; so barren are they of any ra- tional principle; so incapable of consistency! Leaves blown by vagrant winds! 17 Success Religions The ideal of success has called forth reli- gions especially dedicated to it. Some of the most prosperous of these base their doctrines on a psychological method of achieving success, the struggle of life being guided to a benign issue by an attitude of mind. They even go beyond this, finding in introspective forces factors that govern physical processes, with health resolving itself into an affair of thought. The foundation of these beliefs is a morality of Nature, the result of a force devoid of "evil." The ills of the flesh are sins, or mental errors, as is the failure to succeed. Such ideas increase in popularity as the pressure of life rises. They give an excuse to the weak for their unfortunate condi- tion, and they satisfy the successful, who are proud of their innate morality, a personal beati- tude displayed in palpable gifts of the spirit. These peculiar sects, generally of feminine ori- —65— DEMOCRACY gin, contribute to philosophy an apotheosis of materialism that is quite new, for the oriental originators of the underlying concept viewed the world with the indifference of the cynic, no longer attracted by its charm. —66— THE MOB MASS Ill THE MOB MAN 18 The Philosophy of Democracy The will to power under democracy is a will of variance, changing with the nature of the obstacles facing it; bending today; inflexible to- morrow. Decision is prompt and execution en- ergetic, but a lack of foresight is always evident. It is the obvious that is sought; it is the immedi- ate that must be grasped. The impression is general that life consists of the situation at hand; the future is not to be considered, for its beneficence may be depended on. Nor is per- manence important, for it cannot exist. Mo- tion alone is actual, certain and dependable. Expediency is supreme, the expediency of the moment. A warning voice is seldom heard and when it speaks it gets little attention. Among the directing actors a remarkable con- fidence exists, a confidence derived from the —69— DEMOCRACY weakness of the lower groups. The latter are kept in hand by the corsairs, who, ceaselessly active, give to society a generally negative com- plexion. Intellectually, a state of lassitude re- sults, concealed behind constant nervous excite- ment. There is perpetual activity, unsatisfied, nor to be satisfied. The mass below sways like a vast wave, impelled by diverse forces, abrupt, changeful, indefinite. The individuals devel- oped in this strange maze partake of the nature of the forces among which they are. Above: narrow viewed, confident, autocratic; below: ac- tive, excitable, bewildered. Stability is absent. The impression conveyed is that of a concourse of spirits pursued by furies that' deny them rest. The average man of today exists within a me- chanical environment, his life follows a narrower groove than he himself is aware of, and the ad- vantages he believes he enjoys are deterrents to a rational expression of character. He is, un- consciously, part of a great machine and his movements, however swift, have little reason in them. The mind of this elementary man was shaped in the past by the quality of the ideas pervading his society, and by the forces press- —70— AND THE WILL TO POWER ing against him. His mental life was chiefly unconscious, and was made up of wishes and memories derived from the reactions between his inclinations and his consciousness of weak- ness. There thus appeated a form of poetic subconscious life, the simple idealization of de- sire contending vainly with the overmastering power of Fate. This led to a colouring of life with dream pictures that assumed distinct forms in different societies. They came to compose the spiritual life of the lower ranks of men and often embraced conceptions of great strength and beauty. Genius has found them a fruitful source of inspiration, and immortalized many of them in brilliant works. Such is the folk-tra- dition of all peoples: the ideal of a living Na- ture, the pensive melancholy of futile longing, the occasional accomplishment of the long- wished-f or through the unexpected. This body of dreams, purely passive, was strongly influenced by the ideas of the more in- tellectual ranks above, but the concepts of these superior minds underwent strange transforma- tions below, taking on aspects undreamed of by their originators. None the less, there following an ennobling of the inferior man, and the de- —71— DEMOCRACY velopment of attributes that aided him to bear up against the antagonistic forces of actuality. This, in turn, awakened his respect for higher conceptions, sensed, if not understood. There thus arose a deference for art and an embryonic appreciation of its significance. These forces were the forming influences of common tradi- tion; they founded the spiritual life of the ele- mentary man. In modem mass communities the enemy is the successful man; the suspect, the ambitious man, for he may succeed. Society has become an array of individuals pervaded by distrust. The simpler man of primitive days, more allied to nature, and of freer impulse, looked on his superior more candidly. Antagonism was less, for both were bounded by a mysterious sense of danger, the indefinable hostility of Nature. The general view of the world was naive, and such intercourse as there was with superiors in- creased good will. But now the superior is the eternal enemy, not to be defied as an individual but subject to mass attack. He is no longer a moral force, for the old human relation between superior and inferior has ceased. As the forest monarch hears the bay of the pack, so the man of —72— AND THE WILL TO POWER distinction must reckon with the clamour of the throng. Primitive impulses, inborn, take new forms. Failure is Fate, the shadow of a cloud that covers all. Weakness is the inability to pierce the gloom. Against it hope reacts and seeks in activity an antidote for deficiency. The intel- lectual range of the mob man never rises above the material. There is a path to another plane, of this he is sure, but of the latter's character he j's not certain. It will be different, but mis- givings haunt him ; the goal beyond is indefinite, questionable, even immoral, for it doubtless in- volves culture. This he looks on as something foreign to life — a sort of higher dissipation. In such ranks of men there exists no true interior life; the mental process confines itself to the contiguous and transient. Instinctive cul- ture is unknown; the mind concentrates on ex- istence, which must be continued at all hazards. There is a broad contempt for the past, but the future is full of hope. Thus hope becomes a god unconsciously worshipped by the weak, and the strength of men may be largely gauged by the extent of their dependence upon it. This negation of mental life and the mergence —73— DEMOCRACY of identity in the struggle for existence shows itself in a restless spirit, a nervous contempla- tion of the world, a doubt-marred longing for the future. Vitality becomes mere physical exertion; the mental desert takes the bald form of a craving for excitement. There is an insist- ent demand for motion and noise to accentuate the obviousness of the phenomenal wor'ld. Be- yond all else, such men desire to be safe from the consciousness of the inner abyss, a realm, that, to the superior man, is a world of living forms, sustaining him in hours of trial and de- lighting him in moments of reflection. 19 The Corsair Propaganda The effect of propaganda on such human material is far-reaching and assumes a character hitherto unknown. A feverish state is produced, marked, at times, by an astounding credulity and at other times by a blatant doubt. Once the mob is sufficiently excited, no misrepresentation can be too flagrant to escape its acceptance, and every correction is angrily resented. The enun- ciation of facts and principles long axiomatic among rational men has no eff^ect. Great sacri- —74— AND THE WILL TO POWER fices are made for fallacies, momentarily held. The mental world becomes a chaos of half- formed, antagonistic ideas. It is upon such material that the corsair works. The develop- ment of propaganda is his profession. But since a stream cannot transcend its source, so the ceaseless agitation cannot excell the men- tal level of those behind it. This is set by the intelligence of the ruling groups which limits itself to the perfecting of methods of produc- tion and exploitation. These usually take the shape of so-called reforms, a term used to cover improvements which may or may not be real. As such measures never get far beyond the pur- pose of increasing wealth, and never show any true knowledge of the mind of the man to whom they are applied, strange results ensue, as mys- terious to their originators, as to their subjects. Man indeed, is not necessarily what a successful business leader conceives him to be. None the less, the pressure is developed on a masterly scale, and any momentary effect is accepted as nullifying all the experience of time. The net result of all so-called reforms to date has been to magnify the range of psychopathic diseases, by increasing a nerve tension almost at —75— DEMOCRACY the breaking point under a manufacturing system keyed to the highest pitch. For modern in- dustry has achieved more in this direction than was ever dreamed of before. Throughout the nineteenth century individual efficiency was forced upward, the range of working years in a life steadily diminishing until, as a publicist expressed it, the aim came to be to take out "the heart of the steak and throw the rest away." This savage pressure led to a rise in the use of stimulants, and the superior labour grades soon obtained a reputation for excess. On the side of the latter, the pressure was for shorter hours and increased compensation. The policy of the masters was imitated and organization member- ship was curtailed, while alliances with associ- ated trades were formed. These factors, aided by the effects traceable to the increased applica- tion of synthetic chemistry and the more rapid processes of manufacture, brought about a con- dition that favoured aggression, and the use of certain beverages was prohibited. Since relaxation could no longer be secured by an ancient device, nerve tension increased, and is increasing. The political effects are al- ready observable. —76— AND THE WILL TO POWER 20 Two Kinds of Labour In any labour group two classes are to be dis- tinguished, the difference marking itself in mental characteristics. The labour of the great- est capability is high strung, fitful, not always dependable, but extremely efficient in a drive. The other is more deliberate, steady, but incapa- ble of the tense exertion of the other. That this last is the majority group need hardly be stated. The inferior accepts the rule forced on him, and even admits that coercion may be beneficial to him. The superior, more individualistic, re- sents the imposition, and expends all energy in a contest for power, as he understands it: still greater wages and still shorter hours. Bitterly opposed to the authority that he looks on as op- pressive, he listens to radical propaganda, and perceives all employers as conspiring enemies. The radicals in labor groups are always the more intelligent, the more alert, the more ambitious, and it is these with whom the upper classes must finally reckon. The mass, however, brought un- der a new regimen, straightway relax from ef- forts diey cannot maintain, and, for the time, —77— DEMOCRACY become even less rebellious than they were. This subject is to be considered at greater length in a subsequent chapter: summed up broadly the net result of the struggle is a lowering of re- sisting power in the mass, and an accentuation of the symptoms of mass degeneracy. Caffeine and other such stimulants help in a degree to maintain physical stability, and the new forms of amusement momentarily allay the unrest of a class gradually purged of all the deeper facul- ties. Of these amusements, that furnished by the moving picture machine is now supreme. This invention has made it possible to create for the inferior man an artificial soul ; his mind follows without effort the speeding concourse of dream pictures. He readily submits to this stimulus, receiving sympathetically a series of psychological impacts that powerfully influence a brain already negative. The class of subjects and the method of treatment adopted by manu- facturers of such diversions indicate the nature of the intellects to which they appeal. Nothing of depth is attempted. Artistry has not yet been attained; perhaps its futility is accepted as al- ready too apparent. Themes of extravagant ad- —78— AND THE WILL TO POWER venture; the display of great physical strengtfi; the sex lure, grotesquely tinselled; the success- ful man; — ^these appeal to the mob. The actor becomes supreme. He leads a charmed life, the life of a cherished god. The identity of the au- thor is unimportant and rarely known. 21 The Intellectual Level The will to power in commonwealths domi- nated by such influences is limited in range by the nature of the element upon which it acts. It lacks clearness; it is incapable of attaining a stable view of life. Considered socially, it is in a formative stage and has not reached the alti- tude of sound vision. The really superior man is, therefore, at a fearful disadvantage. He must curb his conceptions; he must conceal his objects. Once marked as an individual stand- ing apart from the highways of popular propa- ganda, his position is precarious. Though made safe by the possession of means, the supposed assurance of independence, his usefulness as a social force may be quite destroyed. On the ruling group a reaction follows; they decline in —79— Democracy moral strength. In such societies, the tendency is always to accentuate depression. All social degrees move downward. This state of affairs is the source of great power to the corsairs. In the simpler communi- ties preposterous religions become instruments of political and social prestige. Beyond the few faiths that possess the dignity of taking them- selves seriously, there exist a myriad of beliefs the doctrines of which can be classed only among the dreariest superstitions — strange anomalies in a world of supposed intelligence. Throughout great democratic areas, where the corsair has es- tablished a suzerainty not to be questioned, a concourse of sects co-ordinate, voicing barren ethical codes and finding targets for their anath- emas in the personal habits of men. To them, the nature of man is as inscrutable as the Zohar; the profound depths of the himian mind are utterly tmknown. Self-appointed mentors, their life object is to torment their neighbours. Their fundamental religion may be described as the will to power expressing itself as a mode of de- stroying joy. These types admirably illustrate that doctrine which discovers in certain repressed —80— AND THE WILL TO POWER impulses a stimulant of cruelty. They love to inflict and witness particular kinds of pain. Politically, their influence is extensive. They have dominated elections during great crises. Unable to rise above the ant hills from which they survey the world, they zealously pushed their melancholy propaganda while their country- men were struggling to participate in world-en- terprise, at the sacrifice of life and treasure. Tireless and indefatigable, they climb always to- wards the moon, although the sun is shining. This is not irrational in them, for they see only by reflected light — ^the light thrown from the shad- ows that people their imaginations. ' The nature of these phantoms they declare in the vision they proclaim, for they speak only of evil. The level of intellectual life in such societies is therefore low at all times; sameness prevails; there is aversion to novelty; everywhere is form- ula. This reacts on the individual, making him afraid of being thought difi"erent from others. Anything indicative of individualism is dreaded. Even humour takes stereotyped forms, the adventures of slapstick characters running on from decade to decade, the amusing point —81— DEMOCRACY consisting in the injury of one by another. There is ridicule of all natural goodness — the cynicism of fatigue. Yet, oddly enough, the illusion is widespread in these societies that they are the source of lofty ideals, long neglected. Lack of spiritual tradition thus masks itself in bizarre garments; pseudo-religioiis concepts are derived from the most questionable sources; there is worship of a gospel of success that sacri- fices all the deeper phases of man's nature to the vain adulation of inferior men. The common longing is to be similar. Garb conforms to mass conceptions; divergence from the standard is resented. The mind derives its conclusions from sensing the conclusions around it. Individual discrimination almost disap- pears; the desire is to be of the mass; for num- bers indicate authority and certitude. In num- ber there is strength; the man who stands apart must be wrong. He is suspected, and he sus- pects himself. It is better to yield to the gen- eral pressure. He follows the mob; he acts with the mob ; his mind is the mob mind. To secure action from him the mass must be moved; he can be depended on to follow. It is more important to show him that he is with the —82— AND THE WILL TO POWER larger number than to prove to him that he is right. He avoids forlorn hopes ; they excite his derision. In the political world he desires more to be with the winning side than to stand firmly by a principle, and every fresh attempt to at- tract him has this as a fundamental handicap. -83 — ORIGINS AND TENDENCIES IV Origins and Tendencies 22 The Rivalry of Wills At the risk of monotony an effort must be made to distinguish the elementary impulses that result in the general phenomena of social strife. It is usual to do this by outlining the history of anterior societies, or by tracing evolutionary un- foldment through successive advances of civiliza- tion. This is a method not attempted here, nor will it bear analysis. Man has contact with the world through his will, and it is the purpose he has in view and his manner of applying that will that are important. It is characteristic of mass societies that vast energies must be applied to preliminary work, the forming of convictions among inferiors. Such societies are thus wasteful as efficiency systems. They are like poorly designed ma- chines, in which most of the applied power is lost —87— DEMOCRACY in friction. As they expand the waste increases, from causes to be noted; nevertheless, it must be borne. In any society two elements are at work, one seeking to control, the other to resist. One is motion; the other, inertia. This relation, of course, constantly alters. An impulse to cpntrol wakens in the inert mass ; if it were not f qr this the social status would remain fixed. The in- ferior, in fact, always pushes back, more or less, against the superior. Periods come when this pressure is very powerful. Considered broadly, there is, in a given social structure, a varying antagonism between units, a 'multiple rivalry of wills. Many of these merely neutralize each other, leading to their common elimination. They become negation. From others, of a more decisive character, cer- tain tendencies merge in a given direction, at last expressing themselves as a group will, since they include the common ideas of a large number. A similar conflict then follows between groups, and more of the positive powers are cancelled. There results, in the end, a series of ideas that are the ideas of a dominant class, and these be- come the governing impulses in the society con- —88— AND THE WILL TO POWER I I ■ ' sidered. This class may, or may not, be homo- geneous; it may, or may not, recognize its com- munity of interest. None the less, it does work towards a common end by reason of a similarity of purpose and, in a well established social form, it will assume a shape of visible unity. It is clear that in the psychological differentia- tion here described a vast number of values are infinitesimal, and are quickly eliminated. It is only as stronger impulses develop that fixed quantities appear. These, by addition, increase in potency, to be either cancelled later by equally powerful antagonistic forces or to find them- selves, at last, a part of the paramount social will. There are, in any society, a relatively small number who force their way against all opposi- tion, possessing a natural superiority that notli- ing can withstand. The nature of this class de- pends, to some extent, on the culture of the society in which it acts. Such a class may be military, intellectual, or commercial. That a purely labour group is never to be considered seriously as an executive force will be shown later. The latter, however, may become a pow- erful aid to a dominant group at a vital moment. —89— DEMOCRACY In modem societies commercial groups rule, sometimes alone, but more often in union with military or intellectual sub-groups. The intel- lectual group is forever striving to make head- way, but it is weaker than either the military or the commercial. Aligned with either, it reaches utility and power. 23 The Intellectual Group The so-called intellectuals are an altering force. They compose what may be even termed a transient group-, dividing power with the stronger for intervals only. That group is for- ever separating within itself, for the reason that in the mental world ideas change rapidly, and so wills of the intellectual type tend to combat associated intellects. The holding power in society is not, therefore, the purely intellectual group, but is composed rather of those of a more elementary will-form — those in which there is a driving impulse towards authority for its own sake. Against this force, in a normal society, nothing can stand. As said, however, an alli- ance more or less tangible always exists between —90— AND THE WILL TO POWER ... . iiw r ■ ' the intellectual group and those of pure power, and so social supremacy seems to rest, as a rule, in the hands of the intellectual group, nor is the reason for this far to seek. A transient intellectual group that has been relieved, after a period of rivalry, from the pres- sure of the innumerable minor contestants, finds itself facing new and distinctive units — individ- uals who have actually towered above their fel- lows but who have had to conceal their strength and stature. Once in contact with these, the as- cending group must agree, or undertake war on a higher plane. It most often elects to assume a passive state toward the forces to which it has become contiguous, and a positive one toward the lower forces from which it has risen. It is for this reason that the actual superior group is usually hidden, standing behind the transient intellectual group which it intimidates, and, through it, society as well. Neither form of government or form of society can resist the im- position of this will. They, at best, constitute only its executive aglkcies. The really superior group is thus, essentially, a will group; that is, it includes a minority in whom the will to power —91— DEMOCRACY is particularly strong, power having been its ob- ject at all times. Through the vicissitudes of life, it has established its position, passing all the material tests. The ascending pressure of groups of lesser degree, defective in physical force, inevitably takes on an; intellectual colour. As the end product of a series of conflicts involving great numbers, such a group shows a synthesis of ideas that have become more and more definite through elimination. In addition to this, the final group form, as if aware of its own inferiority from the standpoint of force, endeavours to compensate for the defect by intellectual attrition. Such a group becomes, finally, the actual embodiment of social intelligence. It is the social under- standing, in contradistinction to the social will. This phenomenon is common to all societies and explains the apparent contradiction uni- versally found, to wit, that the actual ruling group is never the more intellectual, although the intellectual always allies with it. On the appearance of a new force group, however, the intellectual group may desert its former associa- tions, and history is full of instances of the kind. —92— AND THE WILL TO POWER 24 The Machinery of Power The relation of the dominant group to the lesser forces co-ordinating with it is not direct. It is distinctive of the will to power in its highest form that it views great masses as mere instru- mentalities which, directly or indirectly, it sways in the way of its purpose. These constitute the machine with which it accomplishes its object in the world. There are at work, at all times, the vast differ- entiated activities through which this supremacy is continued, but the upper is not always aware of their specific nature, for its primary interests lie within the scope of its own immediate under- takings. There sometimes come critical mo- ments when it finds these activities vital, and it may then assume direct control of them, defining specifically their quality and range. As a gen- eral rule, however, this is not done. The factors that ordinarily check the force of will from be- low act as permanent agents of the inferior mass, and are, in a measure, independent. They, of themselves, absorb great units of social strength. —93— DEMOCRACY They furnish avenues through which ambitious men satisfy their craving for power, and to the general enterprise the diverse activities of the corsairs lend themselves admirably. In demo- cratic societies these stabilizing forces are very important, and they become more so as the gen- eral structure grows more complicated. Yet it sometimes happens that the propaganda of this subordinate class, exerted upon the mass, may become antagonistic to the higher groups. This may result from a gradual increase and perfection of organization, or by the complete demoralization of the mass, and the conversion of the latter into a state of uncontrolled fanati- cism. In such an event its very weakness may make it formidable, for it has no sense of re- sponsibility or proportion. Through the efforts of unwise leaders it may become detached from all intellectual and spiritual restraints, ending in the tragedy of a moral frenzy. Religion has sometimes effected such results, but it is also possible in a political state in which the ruling group depends too much on inferior methods. A people wrought to this pitch have only one ob- ject: the utter extirpation of every trace of cul- ture. —94— AND THE WILL TO POWER This danger of the mob running amuck is a menace at all times in every society, but it reaches the critical point only at intervals. Such an outbreak may result from a purposeful agitation, from gradual spiritual degeneration, or from the decline of a once strong caste. The phenomenon has appeared at many times in his- tory, especially during the last days of Rome; and in mediaeval times. It was apparent in Germany during the economic rebellions that are usually traced, erroneously, to religious causes. In England it displayed itself in many outbursts, culminating in the Puritan revolt that destroyed Charles I. Its power during the French revolu- tionary epoch is too recent to call for remark. But at no time has it ever achieved such conse- quences as were involved in the general confu- sion that pervaded Asia Minor at the time of the appearance of Christianity. The remarkable nature of this revolt lies in the mystery sur- rounding it. Its origin was partly due to the relaxation of Roman authority, but the cause of the specific religious form it assumed is un- known. —95— DEMOCRACY 25 Christianity When the tremendous effects of Christianity on western civilization are considered, its ad- vent must remain the greatest enigma of history, certainly, at any rate, until the discovery of docu- ments that will furnish light as to just what tran- spired among the medley of races then blended in Western Asia, which were to witness the fall of the greatest world power of which there is any record. The scriptural accounts are of doubtful value, but, as they have been trans- formed by the successive labours of great minds, they have taken a form of tender and affecting feeling that sways thought far more forcefully than would a cold recital, harmoniously logical. These records have left their mark upon the moral life of a great epoch of civilization. It would appear from the accounts of Josephus, from Roman remains and from Jew- ish tradition that it was a time of great social unrest. That any religious factor was present seems to have escaped the Romans, a race re- markable for tolerance, and also Josephus, save —96— AND THE WILL TO POWER as the peculiar tenets of the Hebrews entered the matter. But the evident excitement among the lower social orders, and the events accom- panying the fall of Jerusalem, infer the reason- ableness of assuming the presence of an agent, or agents, that strove to mould the unrest of the people to a tangible purpose. That spiritual forces played a part is clear. There was a rise of mystical religion, and even philosophy became esoteric. Philo Judaeus evidences the power of mysticism among the most intellectual Jews, and the Neo-Platonists of Alexandria show the ten- dency of the whole mental world. There is sound basis for believing that the lower group, too, was violently agitated, and set itself strongly against the more ordered traditions of Greek philosophy. Not without some parallel in modem times, there was a tendency towards mystical segre- gation. "The Contemplative Life" of Philo is enough to confirm this. The existence of ascetic communities on a large scale is certain. It is as the precise period of Christian origin is ap- proached that the obscurity deepens, the only records that can be found being, apparently, —97— DEMOCRACY those embraced by the Evangels. But that these are only secondary sources is the practically unanimous opinion of modern scholarship. The general nature of the time, however, is sufficiently definite. Old ideas were collapsing, or being pushed aside in a general chaos. The will to power that had made Rome a world mis- tress was in dissolution. The great wasted their strength in futile contests with each other, or diffused themselves in aesthetic debauchery. The gradual decline of Roman citizenship re- sulted in the rise of a frantic rabble, permeated by a desire for liberation from the inevitable ills of life. Toil was its synonym for pain. With- in the confines of the mighty empire great forces, inferior psychologically, began to dream of power. The intellectual world of Alexandria puzzled over Platonic concepts no longer under- stood, or diverted itself in strange speculations that resulted in Gnosticism, a mode of thought of which so little remains that it is difficult to iden- tify it. Lesser minds paused before problems once boldly faced by greater spirits. In the meantime, novel doctrines were appear- ing among the lower classes, and incipient Chris- —98— AND THE WILL TO POWER tianity pointed a certain path towards freedom from sorrow, labour and death. These ideas gradually permeated the social body, through secret associations, and the slave dreamed of a tomorrow when all his ills would be gone. The more intelligent heard, with amazement, of a renewal of bodily functions after death; of a religion so material that it demanded a post mortem rehabilitation of the fleshly envelope that philosophy had heretofore ignored. Thii doctrine, so consonant with the hopes of a de- pendent class, grew rapidly, but as more de- veloped minds were approached, more spiritual conceptions were required, and the ideas of Plato, added in the Gospel of John, probably appeared to allay their dissatisfaction. Society, truly, was in decay. The military powers no longer responded to the master's will; revo- lution and counter revolution followed fast. Beyond, the shadow of the northern horde, still inspired by the wild theology of Scandinavia, crept with remorseless certainty towards the sacred city. That something akin to the spirit of revolu- tibn in modem times flowed through the lower —99— DEMOCRACY strata of society is plainly to be seen. The hatred of woman, so evident among early Chris- tians, was clearly a reflection of the sentiment inspired among the lowly by the self -attained emancipation of the Roman woman from the rigorous moral virtues so long imposed by a masculine race. It was some time before the Egyptian Isis reappeared, resuming sway as the ever-virgin, the earthly mother of Divinity. Of the arguments advanced against the new doc- trines by contemporaries little is known. The works of Celsus on the subject are no more; of other writers we have only fragments. Evi- dence so vital to posterity disappeared, destroyed by over-wrought mobs, or by superior minds that were evilly disposed. The thrilling narrative of Tacitus terminates at a significant point, the fall of Jerusalem. Nothing could confirm more am- ply the moral degeneration everywhere preva- lent. Even the charge that Rome was burned, not by Nero, but by members of a new sect is not as improbable as historians affect to believe it — nay, it is infinitely more credible than the re- ceived version. The possibilities latent in a frenzied populace are clearer today than they once were. The methods of inspiring clamour —100— AND THE WILL TO POWER are better understood, and more deliberately un- dertaken. If the man of genius will die for an idea he believes to be true, the mob-man, with equal fervour, would destroy the Phidian Jove because it declared a God he did not worship, or bum the world's libraries if convinced that they threatened his system of ethics. These transports were allayed by the rise of superior men who moulded the strange doctrines into forms compatible with rational power, and the history of modem Europe began. 26 Mob Emotions Spells of fury are more likely to emanate from weak bodies than from strong, for the former respond to excitants more quickly than the latter. Weak men prefer to act together and, in the security of numbers they feel, for the time, a strength they do not possess. Strong men are patient, forbearing, but resolute in action. Excited, the weak man strikes wildly and furi- ously, carried away by the temporary sense of power that pervades him. He is the agent and the menace of revolution. —101— DEMOCRACY 27 Parvenu Manoeuvres Genuine force, in man, seeks always to con- ceal itself or, more properly, to develop a moral authority for its exercise. The man of trium- phant will covers it with a spiritual garment, and assumes the language and manners of the intel- lectual. Given time, then, any originally pure force group will blend its theory with the ideals and desires of the intellectuals. This gives the spiritual strength requisite to a supremacy. Within limits, this is a refining and stimulating effect. A novel dominant group will, from the same nature, attempt to borrow the motive of a prior group, its personnel evidencing a leaning to- wards the descendants of such groups. It con- cedes the truth of the theory of illustrious de- scent, and, through admixture of blood, attempts to blend an ancient will power with its own. Aristocracies thus perpetuate aristocracies, even when in appearance they have been destroyed. —102— AND THE WILL TO POWER 28 The Virtues of Decadence There is in all societies an apparent effort of Nature, a term here used to cover breeding and association, to produce a unit type — that is, of physical will and perfect understanding, com- bined in single personalities. At rare intervals individuals do appear who approximate such perfection, and at all times partial successes are met with. On the whole, however, the develop- ment of spiritual elements in the physical force man weakens him, even though his ideas may have expanded and his conceptions have become clearer. New qualities assert themselves to re- place a confidence that is slipping away: sub- tlety, diplomacy, craft, cunning. Decadent races always possess these qualities in marked degree. On the other hand, the appearance of this tendency indicates the arrival of a definite period in the history of a dominant group; it no longer aims exclusively at power, which is by now as- sumed to be a right inherent, but turns to the possibility of incorporating persistence in its —103— DEMOCRACY own line. There results, unconsciously, a de- cided effort to limit the reception of recruits from below. The dominant thus essay to check the rise of unknown superior men; that is, men to all intents equal to or, perhaps, more capable than themselves. Such men are continually ap- pearing and may or may not succeed in getting a foothold in the upper group. Failing, they sometimes menace, or even destroy, a social structure, through acutely conceived ideas and plans, with which they work in the lower world. Older societies often try to care for a part of this excess force through honour or emolument. Simpler ones, more confident, ignore it. This tendency towards exclusion is significant always, indicating a formal assumption of posi- tion, and challenging definitely those that strive to rise. It works primarily against the intellectual groups and it is from these, as a consequence, that efforts in rebuttal come. In a well defined social fabric the path to power follows specific lines, and it becomes the task of the dominant group to circumscribe these as much as possible. Thus the very technique of so-called success may prove a bar to genuinely higher types. Such men may then turn their energies towards a slow —104^ AND THE WILL TO POWER and deliberate weakening of the social structure, introducing entirely new elements in the struggle. They will seek to act on the defective will groups, pervading them with their own ideas, inaugurat- ing tendencies, inspiring enthusiasms. This is the weak spot in all societies, and one from which the greatest dangers arise. Revolutionary move- ments follow the struggle, though the period of agitation may extend over so great a time that the changes gradually taking place in popular ideas may escape those, whose tenure they threaten. Whenever a power group has become fixed and surrounded itself with a favourable en- vironment it becomes a target for such efforts. Its inherent strength is thus tested, and in the long run it either attains to still greater power, or gives way to a rising and more virile group. -105— POWER TRANSITION: INDUSTRI- ALISM, SOCIALISM AND SLAVERY Power Transition: Industrialism, Socialism and Slavery 28 The Dawn of the Modern Age From the fall of Rome to the beginning of the modem epoch Europe ran the gamut of vicissi- tudes; it was an era of thrilling events and multi- ple contradictions. Strength was apparent on every hand, the dominating energy of conscious physical power, yet it was balanced by a certain vacillation, a fear of the unknown. There was a daring that did not falter at any obstacle; a willingness to risk all that seemed most dear, re- gardless of odds; a faith that accepted stagger- ing sacrifices for an intangible idea, the spirit of the Crusades. Religious certitude received the representations of barefoot mendicants at their face value and risked life and treasure for a tradition. It was the age of faith par excellence, —109— DEMOCRACY as its successor has been one of doubt. But, at its end, men viewed the broken links that had bound them to it without regret, roused by new promises. There was the chanting song of a golden voice that told of a rosy dawn; mystic syllables that evoked forms as fair as Aphrodite rising from the mist. What dreams, indeed! A coming elysium, a newer earth, where poverty was to be unknown! The brotherhood of man; a reign of virtue and joy! How dismal seemed the past in the light of that glowing expanse! What cruelty and wrong were buried behind dead shadows! Out of darkness into the light, the light of long hid happiness, to feel the rap- ture of a new endeavour! Time keeps a record of its own, and sheds no tears over failure, nor does it smile at success. It indites a tedious chronicle, leaving the wise to decipher the sibylline phrases. Still, it is a story strangely similar; a theme that varies only in its scenes. The plodding worker toils on; the ambitious strive for an unknown prize; the spirit of wisdom seeks new terms in which to tell an oft told tale. —110— AND THE WILL TO POWER 29 Feudalism The decline of the ancient order had made way for anotlier in Europe. To replace the fiat of a world-weary power, feudalism spread among new nations. This system had its own pages to scrawl in the book of human accomplishment and it filled them with many a brilliant line; be- times, with gloomy pictures. It was something not derived from Roman antecedents, although, by degrees, the Latin tradition dominated it. Proceeding deliberately, it built an order based on duties that were graded to suit powers and capacities. From the ground-slave, a mere appa- nage of the soil, to the favoured lord, each was bound by a principle of obligation. If the slave must submit to the limitations of his life, the lord must fulfill the task his position ordered, rendering to each according to his authority. It was a time of childlike belief, and of simple phil- osophy. The problems of life were few; family and state were indissolubly linked. Neither could exist without the other. The industrial order was elementary, yet it did not shrink from high achievement. It reared —111— DEMOCRACY vast piles, dedicated to its kings and to its faith, exhausting talent in their embellishment. Through centuries it laboured to complete an edi- fice, thinking of neither past nor future, but only of the excellence of its own work. Art it could not separate from its lowliest endeavours. The heritage of its artisans is still precious; mute masterpieces of thoroughness and patience. The craftsman's life flowed into his work. It lived on, to verify the immortality of his thought. They laid on canvas eternal tints, and vivified images glimpsed in fleeting visions. The virgin rock took shape, to renew the glory of another age. With all this there was a strange simplic- ity, a delighting candour, a complete human- ness, something they scarcely thought was to pass with them. They were rough in manner, direct in speech. The world was what it seemed to be. They were men bound by much grossness — and sin. But sin was inevitable since, before all else, they were men. Of their sins they re- pented ; of their manhood they were not ashamed. For those who sought a different life, a life apart, they built great edifices where the dream- ers might pursue their own illusions. The exac- tions of those who chose seclusion they bore pa- —112— AND THE WILL TO POWER tiently, for the visions narrated were a source of delight to them. Even the inmates could not cast off the fetters of the natural. It was an age of naivete. Military power has always been supreme as the instrument of authority, but under feudalism it was the law of life. The world was a battle- field and all men were brothers in arms. Physi- cal strength and skill were universal. To bear weapons of the first class was a special privilege. Those who carried them were renowned for deft- ness. Families became celebrated for their swordsmen. Power appeared at its zenith in this primeval form. For the time, the intellect was in abeyance, but it was already weaving new methods for itself. Knowledge was an affair of language; wisdom, of quotations from Latin manuscripts. When Greek returned to Europe, it has been computed that only three men under- stood it. Mental life, stagnant in the mass, found expression in an idealization of the pal- pable. The chivalry of a soldier-race satisfied its longing by a triple phrase that embraced a moral concept of the world : "My God, my Lady and my King." Raising woman to this pedestal followed the warrior's effort to fix, in the pheno- —113— DEMOCRACY menal world, a reflex of his highest thought. It was the outer expression of his inner mind, but this mind was only an abiding place of dreams. In the divinity he had created he beheld all the fairness of his illusions. She became his soul, for with his own he had dowered her. He thus defined three aspects of duty, extending from the unknown to the earth-lord. It was a time of strange fables and delightful tales, the fairyland of history. There was endless war. Men fought for the right to rule and to be ruled. King against king; lord against lord. Ever and anon the memory of Rome returned and centuries of con- flict followed, in the vain hope of renewing the splendour of the Eternal City. This led to the development of great characters and astute minds, and they essayed to use the instruments time had lent them. The intelligible history of the period was that of war and statecraft. The intellectual life em- braced the latter — and the fine arts. Stability came, and cities were filled with free classes that purveyed to the great. It was from these that our modem industrial society came. By de- grees, wealthy citizens began to imitate those —114^ AND THE WILL TO POWER they had once feared. Increasing sources of revenue, growing accumulations, inspired them to muse over equality, something that once would have been madness. As the old age had followed war, so the new began to pursue industry. A natural antag- onism was implied; each needed and sought to control the lower groups, the toiling mass. This struggle was not reconcilable with traditions as they were, and so new doctrines began to be whispered. A condemning finger pointed to those above. From their happiness, it was now argued, came the unhappiness of others. All men were essentially the same. The great had greater chances, that was all. 30 The Process of Transition Each declining caste seems to pass through a final interval of dissipation and folly, attended by a treacherous brilliance that exhausts itself in a pursuit of the fatuous. Historians usually link the phenomenon of this brilliance with the cause of the disaster; the scheme introduces an ethical element that harmonizes with the fancy of die common man. But such phenomena, of DEMOCRACY course, are in no sense responsible for what fol- lows. A social isolation has been effected, but is not yet perceived. A new society is already living, of which the old forms no part. There results a period of irresponsibility, masked as apparent security. Energy centres on enjoy- ment; life has solved its problem, and men for- get the world in the illusions of beauty. Never- theless, an awakening comes. The resources of credit become strained. Unwittingly, income is being divided with an tmknown. Revenue be- comes a problem; fresh methods of raising it must be devised; taxation grows into a burning question ; the path goes downward. There is the temptation to vie with the prodigality of a new caste, the real strength of which is not appre- ciated. Many explanations of the causes lead- ing to the final riot of splendour that accom- panied the fall of the French nobility have been given. The simple, yet probable effort of nomi- nal ruling groups to surpass the opulence of an ascending class has been forgotten, but it is wor- thy of consideration. It cannot be said that the noblesse were effete, or that they were immoral, as compared to the mass. Their a£ts were more open, that was all. They basked in a light that —116— AND THE WILL TO POWER revealed every movement, indifferent, noncha- lant, confident. But impoverishment and ruin were at the door. The Revolution, itself, was only the orgy of a mob, incited to destroy what new groups desired to be rid of. The applause of vapid historians to the contrary notwithstand- ing, there was nothing great about it but its in- famy. When the end sought had been accom- plished peace was restored with little effort. Revolution is a brief holiday for the mob man. He never participates in the division that follows. 31 Industrialism The gradual rise of industrialism in Europe has been described too often to call for retelling the story. It was far advanced when the French Revolution boldly sought to overthrow a caste that got its strength out of the past. The latter proved unequal to the task of defending its herit- age. Masters of industry grasped the sceptre that fell from a trembling hand. In modem society, commercial activity has marked the chief group relations. Within this sphere have occurred the various rivalries of contending wills. —117— DEMOCRACY In the earlier history of the struggle its form was simple, although the numerical factors were relatively greater, at least in so far as the upper groups were concerned. These were composed of a heterogeneous collection of small manufac- turers, balanced by a few whose enterprises rated in the first class. Organization was at a low point, and the actual worker group was a negli- gible participant. The important elements fought among themselves for advantage. There was a single aim: increase of capital. The im- provement of machinery was soon recognized as an aid to this end. It was not until later that the economic fabric assumed a tangible outline, the forerunner of more acute rivalries among holding groups. The period was one of narrow- ness; fantastic systems of political economy marked it. The doctrine of freedom was in every mouth, and absent from every heart. The great slogan was "individual liberty." This consisted in the right to buy labour in the open market — at the lowest price. "Freedom of con- tract" was the phrase employed to cover the ne- cessity that forced an employed class to pro- duce at a minimum rate. To question this prin- ciple was immoral. —118— AND THE WILL TO POWER ■ Between holding groups, diversity of interest at first expressed itself in plain competition in buying and selling, with the object of controlling the market. But this rivalry soon stimulated the improvement of mechanical devices, and af- fected the work and habits of the labourer. The detail system took the form of specialization in machine operation. Facility, in a general sense, was to become less marked. The period of skilled specialism was at hand. The appear- ance of machinery early proved a cause of la- bour difficulties. Resentment against the use of automatic devices was showjn. Subsequently, this took another form. More efficient worker groups opposed the introduction of inferior grades, called to replace them or to share their work with them. Combinations among skilled groups voiced this opposition. Stringent regula- tions limited the membership of such orders. Apprenticeship privileges were made more diffi- cult. Aggressive leaders pushed union ideas. The will to power in these groups manifested itself in a tentative outreaching towards author- ity over automatic production. Within the employing groups the will to power aimed, primarily, at two objects: the mainte- —119— DEMOCRACY nance of supremacy over labour, and the con- quest of competitors among themselves. Corp- orate growth curtailed intrusion by new oppo- nents. The governing idea was extension. It was a time of profound materialism, a day of glory for a triumphant trading caste. Unionism followed the rise of mechanical pro- duction, step by step. It sought to balance the influence of manufacturers by uniting producing units. Great contests occurred, but the issues were of secondary importance: wages, condi- tions, hours. The new group was tangible, how- ever, and its ideas were impelled by industrious leaders. Associations numerically great fol- lowed, but they related to specific trades, each independent. The term "trade" took on a variable meaning. Originally applied to a particular craft, this in- volving a complete process, it came to cover a detail only. Later, broadly unskilled trades ap- peared, those in which the training requisite to efficiency was nominal, permitting the rapid edu- cation of an effective workman. This tendency grew with the perfecting of machinery, manu- falcturers becoming less dependent on highly skilled men. —120— AND THE WILL TO POWER 32 The Union Movement Corporate bodies and individual manufac- turers had, at first, displayed an attitude of great hostility towards organization among employes. All the literature of the period confirms this. It was held, generally, that the efficient worker would not escape recognition and reward, and unions were charged with seeking to force em- ployers to compensate the inefficient as liberally as the efficient. The truth of this charge is partly confirmed by the history of unionism. There have been groups of workers, peculiarly favoured by conditions, who successfully op- posed the introduction of other labour units, regardless of the necessities of the latter, main- taining a wage schedule far beyond the average of other worker groups. Extension of enterprise and growth of mo- nopoly production brought into being a new class of labour leaders. The conception of a single organization, to include all trades, skilled and unskilled, developed. This caused bitter differences, but led to a partial realization of the idea. In the United States, the Knights of —121— DEMOCRACY Labour was the first of these. It had for its basis the theory of a commonalty of interest of all trades. Of brief but furious life, its ap- pearance was portentous of the future, consti- tuting the first serious effort to weld the labour groups into a coherent machine, to be used eco- nomically and politically. The growing power of confederated capital developed a more liberal policy in the ranks of labour, and recognition was accorded to lines of employment previously ignored. The better- ment of mechanical devices really forced the change. The trend towards labour of an aver- age efficiency, adaptable to any, or to various trades, was unmistakable. Meanwhile, collective labour associations passed through stages of antagonism, not un- like those among the controlling groups. New dominant personalities came forward, guided the more advanced movements, and took for their own the advantages of leadership. None the less, as each order is, perforce, limited by the very nature of its ideas and the character of the material upon which it works, none of these could go beyond the heights of their own conceptions. The new trade unionist, there- —122— AND THE WILL TO POWER fore, found himself in turn threatened by new menaces. Within the environment he had formed another force began to act, and it aimed to aher the very principle of united purpose. 33 Socialism Socialism, in genesis, was nothing less than a demand, not for the betterment of industrial conditions, but for the abrogation of the prop- erty rights of the holding class, and their trans- fer to a new will group, struggling to master the actual toilers. The new movement came in gradually, at first merely as a fancy of what appeared to be erratic minds. But superior men eventually took up many of its ideas and worked them into orderly dogmas, with a philosophical basis that appealed to the imagination. Progress, as a principle of life, lent itself powerfully to the new conceptions, for the rationale of action as now defined seemed to follow fixed paths that were laid down by the theory of evolution, but had not been hitherto observed. These were boldly indicated in an aggressive propaganda. The elucidation of such theories was the work —123— DEMOCRACY of a class that was more intellectual than the old class of labour leaders, and, under its tute- lage the novel ideals made headway. The changing order of life and the passing of indi- vidualism aided in all this. The fact that the demand took the form of insistence on greater individual freedom merely indicated the anti- thetical lines along which the common mind is always swayed. Socialism demanded labour's access to a machine to be owned by itself, and passed over the fact that all that made such propaganda plausible was that ownership of the worker had already passed to the machine. 34 The Union Leader The union leader, as a will agent, is of a definite type and his traits are readily distin- guishable. A man of detail, he is well versed in all questions immediately affecting his or- ganization, but his range of thought is narrow. His mental world is composed of a combina- tion of wage and hour issues, and of the vari- ous means by which labour groups may be in- fluenced; he devotes himself to the study of such individuals as may threaten his own posi- —124— AND THE WILL TO POWER tion. Anything in the nature of a general pro- gram he views with suspicion. He is not igno- rant of his own limitations, and opposes any step that may unduly extend the field of labour ac- tivities, since this would involve the rise of a different leader-type, of more intelligence, and perhaps of more character. The propaganda for a general mergence of all organizations into one, to be controlled by a single group, fails to receive his approbation. Political action by labour he likewise distrusts, for it implies other chiefs, more ambitious men, greater deftness and insight. Yet such a trend persists, fostered by determined pressure from Socialist factions. These aim to unite the labour forces into a single political body, specifically opposed to those holding groups that now own and control the social machinery. The threat has engendered a disposition to deal more equitably with labour as a whole. No tendency is more remarkable, at present, than that of the employing caste to increase the com- fort and well-being of the employed, wherever it is economically possible. But the dark records of the past are often stumbling blocks in the way of creating a fraternal feeling, for —125— DEMOCRACY the lower find it difficult to believe that such offerings are rendered in good faith. The ag- gressive efforts of Socialists towards the organi- zation of a universal body, with economic and political aims, never relent, regardless of the opposition of conservative leaders, but even this tendency is limited by the quality of the per- sonnel it is sought to control. In the building up of the industrial order, and of the social forces accompanying it, the character of the in- dividual has been affected. This psychological factor is generally ignored, but throughout the modem era it has played its part. A pro- nounced trend towards personal lassitude has brought about a lowering of the resisting power of the masses. The forces which thus tend to weaken the will of the lower classes become of transcendent im- portance, and their activity is stimulated to an extraordinary degree by artificial means. Radical energy finds itself opposed by many unlooked for agents, and meets effective coun- ter-strokes in unexpected quarters. There are, too, certain effects on the general mind from the very orderliness of everyday life that in- —126— AND THE WILL TO POWER duce habits of dependence not easily shaken, however detrimental they may be to individual- ism. The ordinary man seeks always the path of least resistance, having an inborn aversion to initiative. 35 Women in Industry The increased use of women, both econom- ically and politically, has further reduced the strength of the lower classes. The improvement of machinery, while itself the work of trained minds and hands, has, in many industries, sim- plified production to an astonishing degree. The object of so-called labour saving machin- ery is to effect one of two objects: either to en- large output with fewer employes, or to enable the utilization of greater numbers of the un- skilled. The last is the more important, since it acts as a deteriorating force on labour, for the reason that it dispenses with much of the training once required. Thus the way is made easy for women, but harder for men. That the increased employment of women has resulted from a general increase of mentality —127— DEMOCRACY among them, following superficial education, is one of the popular illusions of the age. As a matter of fact, it has been brought about simply because the mechanism of production has been lifted to a point of effectiveness where the ele- mentary qualifications of the female may be profitably utilized. In the cotton industry, which utilizes some of the most ingenious and complicated devices ever devised by mechanical genius, women have long been employed. Cotton-working machines, through extensive ex- perimentation and test, have been brought to such a degree of perfection that they need only the most nominal oversight. Women can thus manage them. But the entry of women has weakened the labour group and increased the difficulties of those who seek to organize it for aggressive warfare. The ability of inferior so- cial elements to operate machinery has reduced the general level of the stronger section of the labour group. The psychological tendency is always down- ward, and the lower groups show less and less resistance to pressure; accepting readily all novel impositions. On the other hand, the —128— AND THE WILL TO POWER vigour of the holding group augments, due to the reduced morale of the opposition, and the increasing scope of industrial development. The ideal of this class is the perfecting of an industrial process so complete in detail and method that the quality of the operating labour units will not sensibly vary. This is the "aver- age efficiency" so often alluded to, and which is sought by the superior groups as eagerly as it is looked forward to by some of the radical labour advocates. In such a field the extraor- dinary man would not be wanted, and even the ordinarily exceptional man would be out of place. This position, implying that civiliza- tion will rise as man descends, forms an inter- esting commentary on the spirit of the age. Labour was not ignorant of the danger of ad- mitting woman as an associate, but feminine propaganda could not be resisted. This de- manded the right to servitude as a privilege ac- cruing from her "rise," and the "increase" in her intelligence, and as a reasonable compensation for the long period of "subjection" she had been unjustly forced to endure. These pleas iden- tify the object that is really sought, i. e., sex —129— DEMOCRACY liberty, for towards this woman ever drives. Within the labour program there were tenets that furthered her cause. With the intention of strengthening certain theoretical principles, forming part of the spiritual propaganda of labour, her right to work had been allowed, and her equality with the male affirmed. Nevertheless, it is significant of a certain natu- ral insight on the part of those who conduct the war of the more aggressive branches of the labour movement that they have viewed sex equality with suspicion at all times, and that their endorsement of the extension of the suf- frage was always weak. This was and is doubt- less due to the nature of the sex relation among the lower groups of workers. It is more can- did than above; there is an absence of that finesse which appeals to the superior so power- fully. Among the lower classes, too, the moral qualities of the weaker sex are more accurately gauged. In spite of this labour has been forced to accede to the aggressiveness of the feminine through the necessity of standing by its own abstract principles. The activity of the cor- sairs increases the dilemma of the male work- ers, for these corsairs always push woman for- —130— AND THE WILL TO POWER ward as a weakening agent of the first magni- tude. 36 A Glance at History To balance the general argument, and to un- derstand the particular way in which changes have occured in our society, a running historical survey of will-tendencies in the United States must be undertaken. Economic and political development in this country has been unique in modem times. Sequestered from the rest of the world, members of all races here found themselves facing a free domain of xmknown richness and apparently of boundless range. A period of pure agrarianism was quickly passed through. Manufacturers appeared to supply in- creasing needs; discoveries of iron and coal furnished materials. Labour was then a scarce commodity. After awhile railroads and steam- boats opened new areas and broadened the ave- nues of production. The extent of territory im- plied the supremacy of steam highways and their associated trades. The consumption of rails and supplies, and the development of loco- motives and rolling stock, confirmed it. Other —131— DEMOCRACY branches responded to the stimulus. The manu- facturing system of the North soon compared favourably with that of Great Britain. There was an insistent demand for labour, but only one source from which to obtain it — Europe. Immigration was stimulated. There followed a steady influx of skilled and unskilled labour, joined to agriculturists who flowed west- ward, to become new consumers of fabricated products. The growth of urban population fol- lowed the general trend. Increasing factory production compelled it. Cities began to as- sume great magnitude. The atmosphere every- where was that of confidence and ambition. Interest in political questions was marked. Apart from the ever-growing antagonism between the free labour system of the North and that of slavery in the South, the tariff" forged to the front as a vital issue. The new manufacturing groups sought protection from cheaper markets, and a means of assuring profits in th^ future. This South, with agriculture as its source of revenue, contended consistently against a tax that wa^ making the North dangerously rich and power- ful. With it were allied the shipping interests —132— AND THE WILL TO POWER of New York, and the fast disappearing rem- nants of a formerly active maritime group. The influx of immigrants gave to the voting population a changing personnel, and called for frequent modifications to cover a varying elec- torate. The cities became renowned for politi- cal groups that favoured liberal treatment in the matter of franchise privileges; newly incorpo- rated nationalities fell into alignment with the party that treated them best. Election machin- ery was crude; its control meant power. The expanding cities called for improvements con- formable to their growth. Considered rela- tively, municipal contracts were huge. They be- came the support of cliques that wielded a de- cisive influence on national issues, through their control of the concentrated populations of the big cities. This condition led to diff'erences that often ap- proximated wfeling 2necitje,J^«rge folia ' ^^' a?gery was prev- alent, for indation watfg .^^* e/jnentary and ex- treme. / ■Ojous convL ^^P^eeys high. Politi- cal eorrb.^..*^^^*-'^ «. . ^^^,! It was, however, a State that was not to last. Industrial depres- —133— DEMOCRACY sion brought labour to the fore, with new issues to puzzle the politicians. The system of produc- tion expanded faster than its markets. Eras of speculation increased the confusion. Great strikes occurred. The railroads experienced conflicts partaking of the magnitude of civil war; the destruction of property was enormous, and life was not spared. Vast confederated bodies among the worker groups were formed. Labour began to break away from the idea of depending on the efficacy of local wage agreements, and attempted to enforce its will by a refusal to oper- ate entire industries. It was significant of the period outlined that Socialism had not yet appeared in any form. There are records of idealistic colonies having a communistic basis, but a parallel to Socialism as a class issue is not to be found. It was not until a later date that an effort was made to form a branch of the Intornati'^'^psr ^nd it met with no encouragement. TheP ^" ^"^ aployed by la- bour to gain its ends werl ^^^ sourc and more di- rect than any that Sociali^P^^*^ ^ tfJer, and had little basis in reason: th^Do^o^S*f^iolence, se- cret groups given to a policy of terror and re- venge. The MoUie Maguires distinguished —134— AND THE WILL TO POWER themselves in the coal fields by a reign of mur- der. So implicit was confidence in the abstract right of the citizen that all efforts to spread the class idea, so strong abroad, were futile. The American identified this idea with a recognition of aristocracy, of social elements distinguished by birth, and refused to admit its tenability un- der the conditions about him. It is only in the last decade that the principle has made actual progress in the United States, extraordinarily stimulated by the recent war. In the meanwhile, powerful forces were effect- ing changes. The Civil War had passed, leav- ing demoralization in its wake. One section of the country had been practically eliminated as a political factor, even suffering the ills of a con- quered province. In the cities, political organi- zations had become compact bodies, and the tenseness of feeling on general questions assured each one a large following, irrevocably allied. Political affiliation was maintained with the ten- acity of religious conviction, and was deemed as sacred. Behind this, astute groups had inaugu- rated a policy of public exploitation that became a national reproach. The principles so long —135— DEMOCRACY potent during the pre-war period disappeared, or became secondary. Instead, plunder distin- guished all city campaigns. In many places it was openly and defiantly conducted. On the other hand, new commercial groups had followed the war, based on the vast profits derived from it. These became a conservative force. 37 Stages of Power Broadly, the stages of power development in the United States clearly class themselves. During, and immediately after the Revolution, the upper group was an alliance of aristocrats and merchants, including with the latter a con- siderable shipping element. This alliance was succeeded by a rapidly evolved manufacturing group, lacking in organization but united with reference to a general labour policy. In it, a few of the older aristocrats and merchants held on, but they Were disappearing rapidly. The Civil War founded a mercantile class of vastly greater wealth, that was to consummate a con- centration of industry entirely unforeseen. The franchise followed a rational unf oldment. The aggressive partisan of pre-war days main- —136— AND THE WILL TO POWER tained his position, but the pressure of independ- ent units began to be felt. The after-war de- moralization was marked by unusual political corruption. The national stakes had expanded in importance. One or two states insured suc- cess to the party carrying ihem. On the other hand, a growing tension in the struggle for politi- cal supremacy led to strenuous election methods. The voter was watched, challenged; even at- tacked physically. A record of his preference was kept. It was a serious matter to him, since his livelihood might be involved after the ballot- ing. The ward politician was supreme. He had made his trade a profession. Political reform then grew into an issue. The secret ballot was adopted. This move was superficially an improvement, but it indicated a breaking down of primitive self-reliance. Re- gardless of the order and decency following it, the fact remains that individual independence had collapsed. To balance this, the political sentiment of a considerable portion of the popu- lation became aa imknown quantity. The abrupt rise of monopoly production placed in power a group that transcended all others, and that challenged even national author- —137— DEMOCRACY ity. Court decrees appeared always to confirm its eminence. The average man looked on it as practically unassailable on any question in- volving law. The period was one of merciless commercial war on a colossal scale, attended by an utter disregard of private rights. Many an- cient allies were dropped, or ruined irrevocably. The political reformers who arose in the cities during this period are worthy of attention, for they throw an interesting sidelight on the subject of power. Primarily, they voiced a desire on the part of conservative power groups to wrest control of local power from the class that had built up political machines. The reformers were always narrow in ideas, economy in munici- pal or state administration being their one watch- word. This is a negative virtue, politically, and never touches the popular imagination. The worker groups, allied with municipal ring lead- ers, opposed any curtailment of public expendi- ture. Worse, though disguised as reform, these antagonisms were often nothing more than strug- gles between rival corporate interests, bent on controlling the vast contracts involved in city disbursements. This war, from small begin- nings, grew to an extent that developed more —138— AND THE WILL TO POWER insidious objects, and political machines found themselves faced by a reformer of a new class, the moral corsair. New ethical concepts were instilled into the minds of the lower classes. It was a policy that succeeded beyond all hope. Great cities lost their independence, and submit- ted tamely to the domination of rural sections where the moral corsair is lord. The power of the ring leader was broken and, at a stroke, the psychological status of the mob man lowered. Electoral secrecy led to many apparent im- provements. A more intellectual type came forward and often succeeded in wresting a mu- nicipal administration from former incumbents. As a rule, however, the pure reformer had a brief life, politically. There was in him a lack of sympathetic feeling towards the lower, a feeling quickly sensed. His class also included mmi- -bers who, forced out of old occupations by eco- nomic changes, looked to politics for a more stable career. Simultaneously, these dubious reformers worked for legislation favourable to the interests with which they had been allied. The gradual organization of industry, and its rise to stability, simplified issues. The stronger groups modified their opposition to the national —139— DEMOCRACY administration, and effected a moral alliance with it. This led to important changes in the laws, and the recognition of monopoly produc- tion. Events aided in the confirmation of this new status, the upper groups becoming masters of general authority. Intermediate parties, con- servatively radical, received no encouragement from the public. Efforts to form them always failed. The great mass organizations of old held their own; success became certain to one or the other. To the average man, the purpose of elections is always simply to win. He is bound by his adhesion to the religion of success. The independent, in America, has always been an outlaw. 38 The Corsair Triumphs Corsair propaganda has displayed, in nothing, more than in this, its grasp of public character. Specific reforms have been wisely left to special bodies, and propaganda has confined itself to the ethical cloud thrown over each, and to the secret terror inspired among public representatives de- void of character. The result has been a final supremacy, politically, the new element replac- —140— AND THE WILL TO POWER ing the old ring chiefs, but more subtly, more efficiently and with vastly greater resources. Is- sues become secondary to the moral guidance of the mass-man. He naturally approves policies that accord with ethical teachings that he ap- proves. The decay in the significance of the ballot made possible the success of women in their de- mand for it. Just as the development of ma- chine industry made their employment inevita- ble, so the conversion of the franchise into a pas- sive force assured their acquirement of it. The last amusing struggle of a few bewildered men to check their success merely showed a lack of ap- preciation of the changes that had come to pass. The brilliant intrigue of the sex was evidence of their inborn capacity to excel at deception. 39 A Conflict of Two Wills Returning, after this digression, to the main theme, it is clear that unionism, in itself, pre- sents no grave problem to the master groups. The time of deep feeling against it is in the past, when the industrial order was elementary. The destruction of older forms, the downfall of an —141— DEMOCRACY ancient caste, had left the worker groups a legiti- mate prey to the conquerors, and they were ex- ploited without mercy. The overthrow of feud- alism followed hy the vain illusions of equality, brought a term of darkness so far as labour was concerned, from which it is only now emerging. The rise of machine civilization has brought new conditions and a more liberal policy, the result of the activity of strong will determinants in the lower mass. Trades-Unionism has come, at last, to be looked on as something inevitable, and though harassed at times by wage demands, the upper class finds in it a defence against the more insidious menace of Socialism behind it. The apparent intention of labour groups to strive for control of the operation of industrial machinery brings into relief an ancient antago- nism: the will to exist as opposed to the will to create. The perfection of modem production methods has, it would seem, made possible the maintenance of life with little effort. A major- ity of the details of living are performed by auto- matic processes, easily operated. By concen- trating energy on these, eliminating the profits of the dominant group, destroying individual luxury, and diverting the proceeds to the more —142— AND THE WILL TO POWER • i nominal demands of the ordinary man, it is conceived that a general average of comfort may be attained that will definitely solve the question of existence for the mass man. Scientific socialism claims a basis in the doc- trine of evolution, and is taught as the natural symptom of an "upward" tendency. Man arose from the animal, and, after various stages, at- tained to civilization. His forward movements have always paralleled industrial developments, and improvements in the latter field have actually defined his character and ideas at each stage, including in the term "ideas" all cultural ele- ments, art, science, and philosophy. This is "the materialistic conception of history," and it is accompanied by another fundamental princi- ple: "the historic mission of the working class." This "mission" lies in the ultimate seizure of all the means of production, capital, tools and land, to be operated by, and in the interest of, the working class. Since this event will mean the disappearance of all non-working groups, so- ciety will consist of but one class. In other words, the mission of the working class is to abolish class society. This is the general foundation of Socialism, —143— DEMOCRACY It has enlisted many brilliant men, and a propa- ganda has been sedulously pushed in all civilized countries since the labours and enunciations of Karl Marx, Friederich Engels, and Ferdinand Lasselles launched the formal movement. These men taught that in present societies the ruling system is capitalism, a term expressing a formula of exploitation, and that the worker labours only partly for himself, a portion — and usually a major portion — of his product being retained by the employer. This unearned incre- ment they called surplus value ; for it, they said, the artisan receives nothing. It is the use or sale of this portion that yields profit, and the problem that faces the capitalist is how to se- cure that profit. The worker, getting only a part of his own output, obviously cannot buy back the excess in his employer's hands; as a conse- quence, it must be disposed of in foreign mar- kets. There results a constant pressure for such markets among rival capitalist groups, and as the productive power of the modem state con- stantly augments, the problem becomes ever more acute, nay, it is one of life or death. It is be- lieved that the pressure will finally lead to a cataclysm, due to the impossibility of exchang- —144^ AND THE WILL TO POWER ing a mountain of surplus in a world incapable of paying for it. There must, then, come a crisis of such proportions that the capitalist or- der will collapse and the "hour of the class con- scious worker strike." This critical point, always looked forward to, is to find the producer organized and ready, but, more important, efficient as well, since the capi- talist's own machine will have converted him into a capable engineer. The historic mission of the producing class is then, to be effected: "the ex- propriated expropriating the expropriators." Socialism offers the classical example of the application of the theory of evolution to soci- ology. Everything moves with mechanical pre- cision; the ultimate socialistic society is as in- evitable as an eclipse. Indeed, so great has been the confidence on this point that many ad- herents have questioned the utility of an active Socialist movement, "Socialism being inevita- ble," anyway. However this may be, the theory is mechanical and for that reason open to sus- picion, for human relations have never been de- termined by anything approximating the regu- larity of machinery. —145— DEMOCRACY 40 Delusions of Socialism That evolution is a "fixed" law of nature and that man is pushed forward by it with the relent- less certainty of fate, however engaging as a theory, remains a mere theory none the less. The peculiar property of this "law" is that it in- volves movement "upward" and "forward." Societies, therefore, are said to all tend to im- prove; the knowledge of each age transcends that of the preceding, while the condition of humanity grows steadily better. Within historical times there has always been civilization in some form, and in each age great achievements have been wrought by men of genius. The era of universal savagery is hypo- thetical. The civilization of modem times is distinguished by its vast additions to scientific knowledge and by the superiority of its mechan- ical development; it is the latter, particularly, that the popular mind identifies as "progress." The great inventions, such as relate to transpor- tation, the transmission of ideas, and automatic production, are signs of "progress" to the multi- tude, but, however wonderful they may be, they —146— AND THE WILL TO POWER constitute nothing more than instrumentalities developed during the perpetual combat of wills, and may conceivably be dispensed with without "retrogression" in future phases of that conflict. Certain it is that the social will to power as a collective impulse emanating from a master group finds in this very mechanism an aid, even though behind it lurks the threat of a proletariat state. Superficially, the Socialist is right in claiming that the mechanical environment of the superior renders him more vulnerable to attack, but he errs in believing that the perfecting of the system has strengthened the producers morally. Far from that, it has involved them in a web from which they cannot escape. They are, para- doxically, slaves without masters. If there is any tendency so pronounced as to strike the ob- server by its obviousness it is that industrial "evolution" moves, not towards industrial free- dom, but from a condition of involuntary to one of voluntary slavery. The fact that the present organization and trend are gregarious does not imply the absence of the master, it merely alters his form and really increases his strength, since he has become impersonal. But this master will disappear when the ma- —147— DEMOCRACY chine becomes the property of the worker? It cannot become the property of the worker; the most he can hope for is to have it the property of the state; a worker's state, let it be conceded; even so the machine is valuable only because it is one in a chain of machines, all of which co- ordinate. But the output of the machine will belong to the worker, where now the excess over his maintenance passes to a capitalist? The ex- cess will go to the Socialist state, which will find ways to utilize it in the development of further projects, the upkeep of existing equipment, the extension of public improvement. As this is what happens to it now, indirectly, even in the hands of the capitalist, an equality of terms is arrived at. But the capitalist is self-made, self- foisted on the industrial regime; he returns no equivalent to society for the unusual stipend he exacts for his luxuries. This view is exagger- ated, but, conceding it, does it not form the es- sential requirement of any type of overman? But there can be no overman under Socialism. Why not? The Socialist movement is a revolt of an in- tellectual caste and is not, as popularly supposed, a protest of the working class. In the develop- —148— AND THE WILL TO POWER ment of the present commercial order the road to power has been made increasingly difficult to men of a certain mental type — men little inter- ested in the ordinary methods of commercial life, averse to the habits of the business world, and lacking the qualities essential to success in making money. They are, as a rule, men of ideas, but their ideas are remote from the fa- voured atmosphere of everyday life. But they are yet desirous, no less than others, to exert an influence in some way on the life about them. They have been, as a general thing, individuals with no liking for service as corsairs and of a markedly higher type, expressing openly their contempt for aU the partisans of pseudo-reforms. They have been capable of grasping the rationale of the modern world and have, as they believe, discovered how the commercial group can be undermined by means of subversion of the worker groups. The result has been the appear- ance of various philosophies of progress, his- toric parallels, accounts of the gradual rise of labour through the ages; the history of "class society." In addition, some of the most potent psychological supports of the present state have been attacked. Religion has been assailed, and —149— DEMOCRACY all the objections of science to theories of revela- tion have been exploited to the limit. Most im- portant of all, there has been inculcated the con- cept of a solidarity of labour, embraced in the idea of "class consciousness," the belief in the permanence and coming power of a submerged class, by right the lawful heir of all the estates of civilization. The theory of "class consciousness" has ob- tained the status of a principle as fixed as a re- ligious dogma, and once well instilled is prac- tically unshakable. Henceforth, the capitalist and his society are abhorrent to the "wakened" worker, and he dreams of the millennial day just as did the early Christians. This movement, therefore, is the outer mani- festation of a more significant struggle. It is the will to power of an intellectual group endeavour- ing to cope with the will to power of a great commercial class, and it is a movement of vast possibilities, for it does not aim at all at liberat- ing the worker, for that is impossible without destroying mechanical civilization, but would simply replace the present ruling group by one of a non-commercial type. That the tendency of modern industrial growth —150— AND THE WILL TO POWER is towards the Socialist idea in a modified form is undeniable, but it is an error to suppose that the mere operation of the industrial machine by government is Socialism as officially sanctioned. One of the apprehensions of these leaders has been that the capitalist group would effect this very step, renewing their power by the authority of the state exercised over individual and ma- chine, this state being dominated by the capital- ist. It is clear that there is an element of un- certainty here, for if the government is in the hands of one group under a majority system, it can certainly be passed on to another by the mere matter of an election. The superior num- ber is always in the hands of the inferior group. It is understood by the leaders of the movement that any improvement in the condition of the worker militates against them, for it is then difficult to hold in line the men upon whom they have to depend. They are also aware of the power of the vast propaganda agencies at work, maintaining the present order of things, and it is for this reason that hope is entertained at all times that exceptional events may introduce a critical situation, of which instant advantage may be taken, —151— DEMOCRACY 41 The Socialist State The question arises as to what form the will to power would take in such a society. Conced- ing the "triumph" of Socialism, in what way would it differ from the present regime? The force of habit engendered by the new in- dustrial methods is one of the most effective agents for holding the existing status. The mind of the ordinary man is not proof against the insidious influence of that cruel regularity, that essential imitation of the movements of auto- mata. It is a question if even the superior mind can long stand against it, and genius only es- capes because it will have nothing to do with it. The average mind drops into a rut, and there- after desires only the uniformity of life to which it has become accustomed. This tendency ex- tends into many avocations supposed to be be- yond machine influence, because all the processes of life become more ordered and simplified as time passes. Civilization actually threatens to take on the conventionalism of the Egyptian or- der, in which even art succumbed. Standard- ization is the rule throughout; the elimination of —152— AND THE WILL TO POWER — -- — ^ — ^ ^ J originality is always sought; a series of move- ments always the same. The result is a struc- ture that is invariable, or, at all events, that is composed of invariable elements. This trend can hardly escape the thoughtful man. It helps Socialism as a theory, but militates against it as a fact, by reason of the effect on the mind of the individual. It is, broadly, the implacable foe of change. Under Socialism the actual working groups would take a military form of organization, but with the leaders selected by vote. The battle for power would first appear in this primary sphere, but would extend, with time, to the higher and more important directorships, those involving the general handling of the social machine. Unless under this order all the precedents of experience proved inapplicable, the tendency in this higher group would be towards permanency. The question arises as to what method would be em- ployed to assure the higher from the lesser. Ob- viously, the method of increasing the interest and ardour among the contestants of lower grades in their fights for their own coveted niches — a di- version to hold them to the plane to which they belong. Again, there might be an increase in —153— DEMOCRACY the difficulties to be surmounted to reach the up- per, the creation of conditions precluding the as- cent of inferiors. It may be suggested that this would not be an easy matter, the lower being on the alert for all such efforts. But it is the very difficulty of the thing that would attract daring spirits; it is this taste for the difficult which as- sures the eminence of the stronger in any society. The personal element cannot be set aside; some men are naturally more enterprising and daring — and more popular — ^than others. The supe- rior would aim to add to the difficulties, and so discourage faint-hearts. The elimination of directly controlled wealth might prove more helpful to the superior class than now seems likely. In the first place, the struggle for property would have disappeared, with its vast dissipation of energy. The posi- tion of the producer as such would be fixed. The superior man would thus be freer to pursue his own plans. No longer harassed from below, he could concentrate his power against his equals. Observing the past, it is worthy of remark that the strongest orders hitherto have always been those supported by a combination of military and intellectual forces. Contempt for the —154— AND THE WILL TO POWER money maker has been a significant phenomenon in all of them. So profound, indeed, was this sentiment in feudal times that it still persists, and the self-made man of great commercial ability yet suffers from it. Wealth gives power under a certain social form, but only the wealth of an individual, or of a group, can be brought to bear on a given object. In the collective state, the superior group would control the whole wealth of that state. It would sway the state machine, and maintain its power by its intellectual and moral propaganda. The power of propaganda, under such a system, would be taken away from individuals, for their use of it would be looked upon as inimicable to the state; it would, there- fore, assume a state form and would be in the hands of the upper group. Their position would thus become practically unassailable. All systems aim to prevent the rise of the ex- ceptional man but none succeed, except in part. He will, inevitably, force his way. Education cannot change this fact, although the Socialists believe that, combined with average labour effi- ciency, it will effect universal equality. Educa- tion is merely a polish on material, and the finer always reflects a higher lustre. The man of —155— DEMOCRACY ideas will stand apart at all times and, except at moments of fanatical excitement, hold his own. It is this very capacity that makes him exceptional. There is another factor generally overlooked in treating this subject, and that is religion. It is often assumed, because of the remarkable materialism of the modem Socialist movement, that, should it succeed, religion would practically disappear. This reasoning is not sound. The general attitude of Socialism towards religion has been due to a belief among its advocates that ecclesiasticism has had for its object the support of ruling castes, through spiritual control of the mass mind. This is a legacy from the French revolutionary "philosophers." The extreme materialism of nineteenth century science strengthened the attitude, and the Darwinian hypothesis, peculiarly engaging to the scientific Socialist, since it is a master element in his own theory, still further accentuated the distrust of popular religion. In Europe, where govern- ments were more clearly identified as mere in- strumentalities of ruling groups, the support of religion by the state was accepted as palpable evidence of the truth of the position. Religion —156— AND THE WILL TO POWER , ( was viewed, then, as an adjunct of capitalism (in the modern era), and the idea of class con- sciousness was promulgated as an opposing prin- ciple. But as a matter of fact, the general ques- tion is one over which division exists among So- cialists. Some follow idealistic impulses purely, the Socialist program being held to be a means of attaining the passive individual relation de- fined in Christian ethics. In some modem democracies religion has be- come an active political force, due to the influ- ence of corsair propaganda. The general popu- lar distrust of religion as an institution aiming to coalesce church and state no longer exists. To speak plainly, this is a menace feared in con- nection with one church alone, that which was identified with feudalism in Europe. All others participate in political movements without pro- test, their control having passed to the aggres- sive corsair caste, which modifies their ethics to harmonize with political and economic ex- pediency. Religion could thus exist in a social- ist state as fully as in any other, and might, in- deed, develop into an institution of great force, for, should it include the proper spiritual ele- ments to appeal to the ordinary mind, an avenue —157— DEMOCRACY would be furnished through which the will to power of an important class might express it- self. In any consideration of this subject it has to be borne in mind that the trend of will ex- pression among the lower classes is always to- wards negation, and they could readily be led to adapt themselves to new spiritual leadership. Such tendencies would persist under Socialism, regardless of all opposite principles enunciated during the period of revolutionary propaganda. The ultimate union of political and spiritual agencies would thus be easily possible, and the result would be the appearance of an industrial theocracy. 42 The Thirst for Liberty These ideas, admittedly cf /ectural, are of- fered merely in general reb /al of the prevail- ing notion of a democratic industrial order. A state swayed by spontaneous public opinion is an impossibility, for the masses have no opinion, beyond the small things of life, except as it is suggested to them. The ordinary man is, in the main, satisfied with life as he finds it; dissatis- faction is an evil gift of the gods to the superior. —158— AND THE WILL TO POWER Socialism, itself, as an intelligent movement, is the result of the labour and aspiration of men who have aimed to rise to power along novel lines, nor is this a reflection on them, for the motive is essentially human and universal. The rise of democratic systems, whether they are good or bad, has not resulted from the demands of the masses of the people for liberty. They have been created by variations of the mode of expression of the will to power, and have been advocated because and whenever they have furnished a better vehicle for that expres- sion. The democratic form of government has, in modern times, proven itself particularly adapted to such purposes. It is certainly with- in the range of probability that it may some day pass, in the future changes incident to the end- less struggle. No system indeed, can be looked on as per- manent and if history is any criterion the demo- cratic state is the most transient of all. It may give way at any time, to be replaced by some form of the state returning to more primitive models. Science may discover keys that will give a new group an actual physical superiority over the rest of society. The forces of nature are —159— DEMOCRACY as yet but little understood, but the direction of investigation is toward iields promising more concentrated forms of energy. Genius is, in a sense, a constant menace to the inferior, and may finally bind the race in bonds more cruel than any man has ever known. 43 Slavery Of those institutions that have distinguished the past and have been lapped over into the modern epoch none is more misunderstood than slavery. The word is one of reproach, and his- torians love to dilate on the imaginary sufferings the institution caused in another age. But to enter into the true spirit of any question involv- ing another epoch it is necessary to consider the habits and feelings of that epoch. Not other- wise can a correct idea of the conditions it met be obtained. Many things are permissible to- day that once would have been frowned on, and the reverse is also true. Each era has motives of its own; habits distinct from those of others; particular hopes and fears. Of slavery itself the popular conception is, of course, erroneous. It would be more correct —160— AND THE WILL TO POWER to speak of it as a labour system having a com- pulsory form. The great architectural and engi- neering enterprises of antiquity demanded man- ual labour on a prodigious scale. Between the engineers and those who carried out their ideas an immense gap existed. Slaves, themselves, were carefully classified, the heavier burdens going to the physically fit. Intelligence was quickly recognized; it has always been a rarity and, like gold, commands its price. Numerous slaves were men of intellect, even of superior culture, as is conclusively shown by their literary remains. The treatment accorded varied with their position, just as it does in the modem world. The brawny foreman of rough gangs, selected for his ability to drive his men by physi- cal force, had his prototype in the past. The master could punish, and even destroy, but the latter prerogative was limited in civilized societies by the moral influence of the holding groups, for the man who is wantonly cruel has never been popular anywhere. Unquestionably, the slave was the master's property, subject to the commands of an overseer, but this status was not so onerous as it now appears. Prima- rily, he was cared for and, as a rule, well cared —161— DEMOCRACY for. Pleasures were not prohibited him, and, to some extent at least, he partook of the triumphs of the master. In some cases a free marriage relation was respected, but in an age when sex was viewed differently from what it is to-day this was not as important as it now seems. Gen- erally, the condition of a slave under one mas- ter was as good as under another; there was small inducement to wander elsewhere. Distances were great; transportation was poor, there was little reason to long for other scenes and oppor- tunities when it was certain that no improvement would be found. Life was more settled. Wealthy families re- mained so for generations, their fall from af- fluence more often being occasioned by war or politics than by anything else. In the former case, the master certainly suff"ered more than his slaves, although the disaster was common. In the latter case, misfortune overtook the owner alone. That deep attachments existed between certain slaves and their masters is specifically alluded to in many ancient chronicles. It at least proves that the human element was pres- ent, and that it must have been accompanied by its usual concomitant, good feeling. —162— AND THE WILL TO POWER There was a class of free labour, also, in the olden days. The cause of its survival is not far to seek, and is interesting as bearing on the sub- ject of the will to power. All ancient nations were military powers. None could maintain independence or favourable alliances without a professional military caste. It was essential to their existence, therefore, that types suitable to war should compose a permanent part of the population. These were drawn from the agra- rians, the lower nobility, above all, from free labour. Will, in these groups, was stronger; their members were forceful men, easily pre- pared for the hazards of war. Slaves were not generally employed in such pursuits, primarily because they constituted a type defective in ag- gression. There were exceptions to this among some nations, to be sure ; in these some of the sol- diers were actually, or practically, slaves, and were even goaded into action with the whip. But they were not regarded as dependable, and among the more powerful military nations they were not found. The armies of Rome were com- posed of a Latin nucleus, with allies and mer- cenaries; war then constituted a legitimate and permanent trade. —163— DEMOCRACY In more modern times there was the bond slave of Europe, the soil slave who could not leave his plot of ground. Yet he had certain rights. If he was bound to the soil, at least he was free to remain on it; the master could not drive him off, and even on sale or transfer of the ground the occupant's privilege was inviolable. He still retained his right to cultivate, and had to be cared for and protected in the event of war. That he could not go where he pleased seems an evil today, but the world was different then. Travel was a serious matter, involving expense and arms. The highways were dangerous. It is certain that in the social relaxations of those days inferiors had a share, and these entertain- ments were on a scale undreamed of now. Feasting, drinking and games went on for weeks, and the underling had his pleasure with the lord, and no bill to pay. These facts have been lost sight of, on account of the merciless propaganda of the French revo- lutionists, who desired to blacken as much as they could the system they were bent on de- stroying. But no intelligent man now can see anything more in that period of philosophical madness than the summit of a movement that —164— AND THE WILL TO POWER finally broke down feudalism, not to liberate man, but to force him into the arms of a rising factory system. He became free — but only to sell his toil at a sacrifice of privilege, and for a bare subsistence wage. It is notoirious that at the time the factory system arose, when France and England were warring for commercial su- premacy, wages were lower than they had been for centuries, considering their purchasing power. It was only after prolonged labour con- flicts that conditions again approximated ancient levels. The story of the state of English labour at the close of the eighteenth century is almost incredible, and yet the ancestors of this wretched class had been the yeomanry of Merrie England. In more recent days slavery became a burning issue in America. The propaganda against the southern slave owner was charged with misrepre- sentation, wilful and otherwise. No tale of cruelty was too wild to find avid believers. Yet tlidse stories were, in the main, quite untrue. CiTielty existed, to be sure, for there were cruel men in the South, as there were in the North, but they were looked down upon by all decent men. The most cruel class was that of the overseers, and they were often slaves themselves. The —165— DEMOCRACY destruction of the slave system in the South was not, however, due to the propaganda mentioned. That was only an instrument used after the thing had been decided on. An economic antagonism had developed between the sections, and it was not altogether simple in character. Its domi- nant factors were, first, friction over the tariff system of the North, which taxed the planter, whose relations were almost altogether with Europe, since it was there he disposed of his cotton, and secondly, the belief in the North that free coloured labor could be used there to com- pete with the white European. 44 Free Labor i Chattel slavery has now disappeared. In its place there exists a vast system of so-called free labour. This is not only free to bargain for its wages; it also possesses specific political rights. It has become an immense body, and a consider- able portion is organized in unions and federa- tions. In some countries it works together in political parties. It has a degree of liberty which, at first blush, makes its estate seem in- finitely superior to that of the ancient slaves. It —166— AND THE WILL TO POWER can go and come at its own behest; it possesses property rights; it can marry and found fami- lies. For exceptionally gifted individuals all the avenues of advancement are open. On the other hand, these advantages are ac- companied by an environment which does not very much outshine the old environment of the slaves. If the labourers of today may go and come at their own will and expense, their move- ment from point to point can, as a practical mat- ter, have but one object: the obtaining of em- ployment. They must work to live. This ne- cessity forever compels them. They are de- pendent on themselves at all times, and on them- selves alone, for sustenance. Their wage rarely exceeds the cost of maintenance. Property can be acquired only by cruel abstinence; obtained, it is a bond to keep them wherever it may be. A radical change in environment due to an indus- trial crisis may force its sale at a great loss. Their political rights are large, but they must stand on a level with others having the same rights, and their opportunities to judge men and measures are not favourable. They are borne down by ceaseless propaganda, and there is little in their lives to give them the insight to make —167— DEMOCRACY rational distinctions. They are a continued prey to hopes, only to find them deferred. They sometimes have the joy of victory, but rarely its fruits. Age comes apace. They deteriorate early, for the vast machine they feed craves young blood. They step aside unregretted; their savings seldom equalling what they really require for the last days. Hope pursues them like a will o' the wisp. There is no one there with a whip, but hunger is at the door, and it is stronger than the lash. No matter what party they espouse, they find it is only to help another upward — ^beyond them. Yet, in a thousand tongues they hear a siren song of a golden future! —168- WOMAN AND GENIUS VI Woman and Genius 45 Effects of Propaganda It is necessary to determine more precisely than has been done the nature of the forces that further a decline of resisting power among sub- ordinate groups of men, and that, to some extent, debase even the upper groups. Such forces per- vade the general structure of mass societies, though modified partly by counter tendencies that save the affected units from a complete de- struction of the wiU. Tradition is a powerful source of opposition to this decay. It tends to stabilize the attitude of inferior groups, just as it colours the temperament of superiors. In transient societies, therefore, where this factor scarcely exists, the effects of positive depressing influences are better defined. The common mind yields easily, following unconsciously an impetus it does not comprehend. —171— DEMOCRACY Do the changes constantly perceptible on every hand originate in conscious and intelligent prevision, taking on the nature of method or conspiracy? Does the ascending will group be- come so far-seeing that it adopts plans that look to the future and shapes policies having for their object the continued depletion of the lower will? The question must be answered negatively. All such undertakings develop spontaneously and without deliberation from the very nature of the conflict always raging in society, whatever its form. Certainly, experience lends itself to judgment, and the desirability of a course of action may make itself obvious. It has to be kept in mind, too, that the corsairs always in- clude individuals, or minor propaganda groups, alert to shifting circumstances. This is their trade ; they seek weak spots, and capitalize them quickly. But even here the specific object is not necessarily to demoralize the lower groups, and so augment their weakness. What is aimed at is often no more than a mere display of virtuos- ity — ^the imposition of an artificial standard by art — artificial because arbitrary, mali- cious and unnatural. Imbued with this spirit, the corsairs move from phase to —172— AND THE WILL TO POWER phase of social conduct and idea, essaying among other things to eliminate temptation by the sim- ple expedient of destroying all tempting agents. The operation of the mind that has craved the al- leged evils is not considered at all. Why has it looked for and found that which is, apparently, harmful? There must have been a psycho- logical reason, but no attention is given it. This cause persists, in spite of the brutal surgery that seeks to destroy it. Unable to satisfy itself, the old appetite seeks another form of excitement, not necessarily more virtuous. Nevertheless, an important object has been achieved, consciously or unconsciously, and it redounds to the benefit of the corsair. The mass, once imposed upon, gravitates towards the condition of a body that yields to any external pressure. Two positive results follow: first, the will is no longer called on to act for itself in resisting an inclination that may, or may not, be deleterious. Secondly, the will becomes accustomed to conforming to the arbitrary impulses of other wills. In either case, it declines as a resisting force, the in- dividual becoming passive. Such is the result of all corsair morality. —173— DEMOCRACY 46 The Rise of Woman Since it is the stronger who feel these forces most sharply, the weaker being normally nega- tive, it follows that in a general social decline the actual effect will not be noted until those who were once positive have been forced into alignment with the lower level. It is for this reason that delay occurs before sex enters as a factor of importance. Certain masculine groups gradually descend until they are either on a footing with the feminine psychologically, or approximately so. This statement must be qualified. There is not an actual identity of wills, although the masculine has ceased to have its earlier force. Preceding the recent success- ful struggle for equal suffrage, the industrial structure had been accommodating itself to a lower labour class and the male was formed into alignment with the opposite sex in an effort to meet the new conditions. Unable to resist them, he became negative in a double sense, morally and economically. The rise of woman as an active industrial rival and then as a political equal was thus extremely significant, for it indi- — 174r- AND THE WILL TO POWER cated a material deterioration of the will of the male. Within a comparatively brief space of time, historically considered, a group originally strong in all positive qualities reached a station where it was balanced by a group of ages-old inferiors. \ In America, more than in any other modem state, there were agencies that lent themselves to the process, but of which the average man re- mained strangely ignorant. In the first place, the position of woman in an incipient society, and one in which her numerical minority was pronounced, gave an advantage to her in the matter of selection, for in the estimation of the male her value rose with her rarity. This ap- parent value was augmented by her sequestered life, her absence from the excitement of every day strife, her gentleness, and her characteristic shrewd reserve, all of which made her seem apart from the world of action and evil. Vir- tues transcendant were imputed to her, and their imagined existence placed her on a throne where she reigned as a moral paragon — a sort of virgin goddess in a world of sin. Early American lit- erature teems with this idea. It pervades Poe's most affecting lines. It was a source of general —175— DEMOCRACY national pride, and the cause of invidious refer- ences to less favoured lands. The American man deferred to this new image as the feudal gallant bowed down to his. The causes were identical: the masculine pursuit of the ideal, that strange impulse universal among men! — ^the quest for a tangible expression of the intangible! — something that would fix in the external world the elusive visions of the unreal! It is in ele- mentary societies that this tendency is most def- inite — in societies still lacking in avenues of ex- pression, and where spiritual forces are limited in range. Woman worship always fades with the rise of art and intellectual development, for they include surer and better means of revealing the higher longings of the spirit. Deference to women, then, followed the recog- nition of an imaginary moral superiority, and did not result from any regard for her physical weakness. Except for the false effect on the minds of the immature this was not, in itself, an evil, save in so far as ignorance is always of that quality, but during adolescence the conse- quences of any such error are especially pro- nounced, changing the future character. False ideals, in fact, are always traitors to the will, —176— AND THE WILL TO POWER and here, in his most cherished fantasy, man bent in his youth to one that lowered his own strength, and assisted in the growth of a positive will among women. The masculine and feminine principles have been well likened to functions divisible in either, thus allowing for a possible man-woman and woman-man. While this is somewhat overstat- ing the matter, it is undeniable that women often manifest strong masculine traits, and men femi- nine. This becomes marked in those societies where the two are merged on the industrial and political planes, and results ensue which were unknown in earlier times. Woman, among the many, is still looked on as a strange, even mys- terious being, whose true nature is unknowable. She is a veritable sphynx, destroying all who essay to solve her riddle. This view, however, is purely modem and occidental, the ancients and orientals evidencing no perception of an enigma so portentous. That the common man is at last on a plane with her is not, therefore, al- together unfortunate, since he may thereby come to realize the absurdity of the error he has so long cherished. For it is characteristic of mass society that, in its transformation, it has placed —177— DEMOCRACY woman in a position where she is eager to make clear, even to the least, how barren of mystery her impulses are. No learned thesis is required to prove that they actually respond to natural factors that are as simple as her nature. 47 Mam. and the Universe Man is a being of will and it is through his will that he has his contacts with the universe. Against this universe he eternally contends. He surveys it as something apart from himself, as something he must subordinate to his ends. He not only struggles against it, he strives to under- stand it. There is in him this constant craving for knowledge, this resolution to understand, this will to know. He may, indeed, be called a being of both will and understanding, for the two in- volve the very keys of his nature. They result in his thirst for truth; with him, the possession of it is a living necessity. This primal impulse isi observable even in the most inferior. The trait is essentially masculine and forms the basis of man's natural veracity. Flat negation of a truth, and to an equal, he rates an unpardonable sin. ^ —178— AND THE WILL TO POWER It does not follow from this that man either perceives or expresses the truth; the significance lies in his inclination, his attitude. Within him- self he reflects over the answers nature seems to make to him, endeavouring, by his reason, to test their validity. He builds another and superior world as a result of his deductions, and the im- ages he perceives become the impulses of his ac- tions. In this respect he is ever alert. He senses the same quality in other men and, un- consciously, defers to those whose natures are more austere and complex than his own. If the loftier attributes are all weak in the inferior man, they are at least present. In the superior they take on the proportions of nobility. Man, to survive in the world, must be strong and, com- pared to nature, he is so at all times. It is only when balanced against his fellows that degrees of strength appear in him, and these are determined by relative forces of wiU. 48 The Feminine Mind Woman is in the world for an obvious pur- pose, and her nature accords with it. All her functigng converge towards the end she is sup- —179— DEMOCRACY posed to achieve: the bearing and care of chil- dren. Her system and mind agree with this pur- pose, and she cannot escape it any more than a natural object can fail to respond to the impact of natural forces. Her very weakness before the external world defines the quality of her in- ner nature. Deception is, to her, a law as im- mutable as that which causes the tides. To ef- fect the purpose of life she must conquer man, and he is, therefore, her eternal object. All the force she commands, distinct from that absorbed by the mother function, she applies to the con- test with the male. Since she is weak and he is strong, she veils her limitation in profound and perpetual dissimulation. She aims, at all times, to appear the sought, although forever seeking. Mendacity is her life. The search for truth and courage to face it are aspects of existence utterly foreign to her. She beholds the universe only in so far as it relates to sex, and her inner nature is a domain of impulses which she strives to hide, even from herself. These inherent qualities make her, in some re- spects, superior to man. In the natural world she is not hampered by introspective weaknesses. She proceeds more directly towards an object; —180— AND THE WILL TO POWER she does not shrink from little things ; she has no sentiment. She possesses a faculty of patient repetition, almost unknown to man, which adds to her value in the industrial world. Her mind is essentially practical; ideals are, to her, illu- sions purely, and masculine reverence for them bewilders her at times, so foreign is it to her. The right to property she never entirely con- cedes, and her weakness in this respect has made her face many embarrassments. None the less, within range of what is contiguous, she is quicker than man and, seeking only utility, is more prac- tical. She sometimes follows the male in his illusions, for she desires to appear his ally, but once free to make her own choice, she will re- ject the ideals he has sought and return post haste to that which gives immediate, if not last- ing satisfaction. She is, consequently, variable, elusive, un- moral. She is, however, limited in her display of these qualities by the supreme law of her being, sex. This is ever before her; more, it pervades and is herself, since she is sex incar- nate. Submissive to the strong, she affects in- dependence towards the weak. On discovering man bound, as it were — for in his descent he in- —181— DEMOCRACY evitably reaches such a stage — she casts aside dissimulation and boldly unveils. It is a com- mon phenomenon of the time and requires no commentary. For all this, she still hopes to hide the longing that is in her heart. Under the conditions surrounding her she dreams of power within the scope of her inborn capacities, and sees in political rights the possibility of abrogating the limitations within which man has confined her — the abolition of the moral princi- ples he has imputed to her, but which she under- stands clearly that he, himself, imposed on her. The will to power as a positive force in man has no parallel in the nature of woman. This may seem a contradiction, but is so only in ap- pearance. Man seeks to impose his will upon the world. His vision ranges d^seilthe visible universe; it is his theatre; his field\of action. The war in which this attitude involv^ him be- comes his life. He is satisfied only by the con- quest of natural conditions; he values himself according to his ability to effect a return for the energy he expends. His life is will, and this he pours forth in a stream of power. Fail- ure to achieve his object mars his very existence ; more, it is equivalent to his destruction, for he —182— AND THE WILL TO POWER deals with a force that must attain its goal or leave him barren, disappointed, and self-con- demned. His positive life he gives to Nature, seeking, in return, the fulfilment of the visions that have welled from his understanding. For the impalpable, he gives the palpable; for the negative, the positive. This psychological sta- tus is reflected in many of his ordinary quali- ties. Even the commonplace man dreams of a height where largesse will be possible to him. He views this height as a place of freedom, for on it he would liberate his nature from a re- straint that is foreign to it. In woman, the object of life is within her- self; the world is herself, and to that self no sacrifice can be too great. Powerless to face the problems of existence alone, she seeks to learn their import by mastering the masculine will, for through this all that she desires may be obtained. Man's gradual reduction of the onus of life has taken from her much of the labour of other days. But her nature it has not al- tered, for it still impels her to hold her enemy to a path conformable to her wish. Man, stirred by deeper passions, is forever dissatisfied with the result of his achievement. A destiny beyond —183— DEMOCRACY his control urges him to attempt new conquests. The higher the type, the more vuhierable it is to this impulse. Among the greatest the mind al- most loses contact with the actual, so absorbed does it become in the study of its conjectures. It is a favourite vagary of the superficial to speak of woman as an inspiration to the man of genius. Nothing could be less true. The introspective faculty is, to her, an enemy against which she brings to bear all the weapons with which Na- ture has armed her. She perceives in it some- thing that makes man independent of her. Achievement she desires, but the achievement of the average, or something less than herself. She dreads a passion that leads man to pass over the point and circumstance of ordinary things, to reach what to her seems nothing less than a shadow. Woe to the man of talent who permits himself to enter into an alliance with her! His life will become a struggle to escape the com- monplace, to which she will ever lure him. Genius protects itself by inconstancy, and re- ceives for it the derision of mediocrity. The amours of superior men are the delight and de- spair of women. They find themselves matched by a type as variant and subtle as themselves. —184^ AND THE WILL TO POWER \ To awaken masculine sympathy, woman loves to dilate on the limitations nature has placed about her; she even exaggerates her weakness and assumes it a virtue that she is reconciled to a destiny bounded by physical disabilities. She desires that man should feel a certain responsi- bility for this state; that he should understand that in some way he has been the cause of it. However great he may be, he cannot ascend so high that she will not reach him. His failure to admit his guilt becomes an evidence of degraded brutality. The purpose of his life should be to serve this lesser self. The ideal man of woman would labour solely toward such an end. She grasps, with anguish, the painful truth that the sex relation is, to him, only incidental, and that to the man capable of great things it is even less so than to the ordinary. She therefore contends with the inmost nature of her associate, and strives to divert him from its influence. She de- lights in watching his descent, even while she weeps over his unhappiness. His interest in the stars astounds her, incapable as she is of ris- ing above the thought of her own personality. It is only during the adolescence and decline of states that woman becomes powerful. —185— DEMOCRACY 49 Groups of Women But these antagonisms manifest themselves differently on the various social planes. The woman of the lower groups is less marked by the novel developments of "progress," for the reason that her relation to man has always been simpler and less affected. The form and circumstance of her life have paralleled an economic status from which her associate could not free him- self. As the weaker of the feminine orders she has taken little part in the demand for enfran- chisement, the gift being forced on her, rather, by more positive groups. These embrace the more independent women above her, themselves divisible into grades. Among the latter another element has led to great consequences. In the extension of mechanical improvement vast changes have been wrought in the living condi- tions of a class of women once bound by house- hold and family detail almost as closely as those of the lower groups. So great has been the ex- tent of this emancipation that a new class has actually been created, a newly rich group that, paradoxically, need not be rich at all to enjoy —186— AND THE WILL TO POWER an enforced leisure. It consists of a mixture of middle class independents and wives of sal- aried men. This group form is so much freed from the minutiae of life that it can pursue ideas, and these ideas visualize themselves as political and pseudo-philanthropical movements, through which the promoters aim to make more positive and important their relation to society. Such groups tend to be increased in strength by the mechanical achievements of man. True to her nature, woman avails herself of the opportunity thrust upon her and forms an important branch of the corsair group, and insists on the exploita- tion of her "moral" qualities by becoming a "moral" criterion. In all movements which aim to convert ethics into a negative virtue she is found as an active agent. She assumes this "moral" superiority, but begins to doubt the authenticity of its basis, the maternal function, and insists on the right to control the latter. She claims that this function is, in itself, an inher- ently "moral one," and that the discharge of it makes her super-moral. None the less, she begins to question the desirability of exercising it, and discovers many new "moral" prob- lems involved in the bearing of children, the sum —187— DEMOCRACY of which amounts to a tacit demand to be free from the obligation altogether. But she still insists on all the privileges accorded the child- bearing woman. The situation is complicated by the fact that women themselves are divisible into classes by varying manifestations of the sex impulse. There are women who naturally desire children ; there are others in whom the maternal instinct fades into a wish to influence man without its exercise. Such women reach a high degree of culture, and nature often gives them great pow- ers of fascination. Barrenness among them be- comes very conspicuous, but they veil it under a "moral" propaganda, involving the duties and responsibilities of maternity. In any society in which man declines as a positive force such femi- nine rebellions tend to increase and so the con- trasting will-forces come to equilibrium. 50 The Barren Woman The activity of the barren woman in the world follows her innate character. She wishes to con- trol the relations of men by sex, and she also desires to regulate the movements of other —188— AND THE WILL TO POWER ''»^^l^■■■^^— ■■!■■ — ^i^^» 111 M I 1^^^— — ^^^■M»^^ women, and to interfere with the vestiges of fam- ily life that still persist. The poor are her prey; the powerful must be wary to escape her machinations. Her native secrecy makes the spy's task congenial. She loves to trace the peccadillos of her own sex and those of her natu- ral enemy, the male. She transforms a simple physical relation into a problem of the ages. Special tribunals have been devised for her where she may exercise her craving for lubricity. Her powers extend to the children of others; she is able to drag them from their parents on sworn statements, often of questionable authentic- ity. Defense is difficult, the authority wielded being extraordinary. Few experiences can yield more of the harrowing than a visit to one of these so-called children's courts. Here is to be wit- nessed the delight such paid spies derive from the exercise of their functions. It is in the na- ture of a revelation to observe the writhing of impotent spirits, dazed by a malice shrouded in the gloom and majesty of law. The separation of families once cited against the South in the days of slavery is here a commonplace event. For, if woman is the natural antagonist of man she is, more particularly, the bitter enemy DEMOCRACY of her own sex, and this fact has been sharpened in modern times by potent psychological forces that are but little understood. Mutual distrust has always distinguished women, but between the distinct divisions of the sex itself there is a deeper hostility. To the mother woman, the normal of her kind, since she obviously observes the intent of nature, the view of life is modified by her physical relation to it. Man, to her, is not only the means by which she achieves her object; he is also the instrument by which she finds a necessary shelter from the world. Her regard for him springs from this. Her love de- pends on the extent of his adhesion to his duty. Maternity marks her passion; her mate is also a child for whom she cares. Virtue, with her, lies in maintaining the ascendancy of the mater- nal. She regards her partner favourably only to the degree that he proves faithful to the obliga- tion he has taken. The barren woman, or superwoman aims at a diff'erent object. She desires to hold man by a simpler means, and with what seems a simpler rule. His imagination becomes the weak spot; he is assailed by suggestion. This is a type that has always played a broad part in the world, but —190— AND THE WILL TO POWER under novel conditions it has discovered new forms of power. In its most brilliant aspect it has been contrasted with genius in man, but where genius is creative, the other is destructive. By it, all the nobler masculine impulses are sub- ject to attack, for the members of this insidious class can discover no other object in life than the fleeting satisfaction, often illusory, of a primal power. If nature has often made them sterile, it has balanced the imperfection with all the subtleties of grace. During decadent epochs they always appear in increased numbers, as if some super-social force impelled them forward as warning signs of impending calamity. 51 The Third Sex Between the mother and the neuter there is natural war, and the latter is usually the stronger. The environment of modem life favours her, and her antagonist is thrown on the defensive. The war leads to a vast over-ac- centuation of sex, accompanied by its partial nullification. A real neutral species comes into the world, to which no definite analogy can be drawn from the past. Expressed in terms of —191— DEMOCRACY mathematics, it may be described as that of a mean between the positive and negative sexes. A transient genus, among which women have no sex and men no masculinity. These strange individuals experience the sensations of eroti- cism by purely mental processes. In them nat- ural impulses have all but disappeared, and are replaced by inexplicable longings that baffle and control their lives. Their existence is one of suppressed frenzy, displaying itself in a vicious deception that speaks only in terms of a vitiated morality. It is to this class that moving pic- tures of a certain type have become a spiritual food. In the spectacle of exaggerated allure- ment they discover a satisfaction not otherwise to be experienced. They feel and display their new power by becoming ascendant over the more ordered class whose lives follow rational paths. From them come many curious reformers, aesthetic oddities, bewildered illuminati — most dangerous, the spy personnel that preys upon the weak. They are true children of Lilith, but if she was without soul, they, alas, are also without bodies. They are ghouls, whose joy comes from dead dreams. —192— AND THE WILL TO POWER 52 The Sex Struggle. The sex struggle has taken a new form. Un- der the extraordinary conditions now prevailing in the world it becomes possible to force and hold man into an inferior position regardless of his will, by reason of his fanatical allegiailce to the social contract. Particularly is this true among the lower groups, in whom the aggressive spirit has fallen to a negligible point. Women thus have reason to harbour hope of attaining even more remarkable authority than they have today, but their activity will lead to consequences little dreamed of by the thoughtless. Epochs in which such movements appear must be viewed as extraordinary, decadent and lacking in equili- brium — periods destined to pass. 53 The Man of Genius There are, however, men of a singular nature upon whom the forces that affect other men seem to operate without result. The vast energies of the political and economic worlds slip by them, leaving them untouched. The rise of ordinary —193— DEMOCRACY men and the aggressive demands of women are alike lost on them. Living, as it were, charmed lives, they partake of the common life like mem- bers of a superior and alien race, whom the flit- ting panorama only momentarily diverts from a realm in which they survey more pleasing vistas. Of striking personality and extreme egoism, such men display an astonishing aptness for whatever they incline to undertake. With an extraordinary capacity for absorbing knowledge they join a faculty of intuition by which their mastery of a given subject follows swiftly any grasp of its basic facts. Given one link in a chain of ideas, they quickly find the others, and even add to them. Many definitions of genius have been at- tempted, some based on rational ideas, others, and these are more frequently met with, en- deavouring to connect it with the laws governing mediocrity, that divinity of equality. In indus- trial societies it has been defined "as an infinite capacity for taking pains," an explanation very popular, for the reason that it implies a genuflec- tion to the god of toil and success. The thing is not, of course, explained by the definition. It —194— AND THE WILL TO POWER should be said, rather, that the ends of genius are attained by an infinite capacity for understand- ing, and an infinite facility. The man of genius sees beyond the range of other men, and ac- complishes easily what to others is an affair of great difficulty. Labour, with him, remains sec- ondary to introspection, and is indulged in only at feverish moments. The endless rush and striving of the inferior man he passes over with contempt, and is equally critical of the superior, when superiority boasts a material basis. Above all else, he is self-confident, and has little re- spect for the opinions around him, convinced, as he is, that they are erroneous. Apparently a synthesis of the intellectual world, the man of genius is no part of the intel- lectual group that supports what has been termed the dominant class. He more usually takes um- brage at both, and criticizes them as mercilessly as they criticize the lower. Such men seldom show interest in power of itself. The will to power in them expresses itself as thought, in contradistinction to knowledge, popularly con- ceived — that is, encyclopedic culture, adhesion to accredited forms, the everlasting obeisance of —195— DEMOCRACY mediocrity to formula. They cannot touch the most ordinary theme without hitting on some- thing new. Genius naturally gravitates towards aristo- cratic associations, finding in them a certain re- gard for its peculiarities, and respect for its moral independence, since in this environment there is a broader view of the ethical ideas to which the inferior shows such deference. It also finds here the atmosphere of ease and cul- ture that it forever seeks, and is encouraged to display its gifts. The fact that genius may manifest itself in any station of life, from the humblest to the highest, is often advanced as a reason for claim- ing it to be essentially democratic, but this no- tion is not supported by the facts. Society is so artificial a thing that it offers no true criteria of the standing of individuals, save as its in- stitutions harmonize with the phenomena of will or have favoured the breeding of specific types. A dominant caste will always attempt to continue its own cardinal traits, and these will relate especially to the will to power, but the formula does not, evidently, cover the origin of genius, ^ny more than do the indiscriminate crosses of —196— AND THE WILL TO POWER the inferior. The precise reason for the singu- lar balance of mental gifts in these characters is still a mystery to science. Nevertheless, their extremely egoistic traits must identify them with the more exclusive realm of the dominant group in any coherent society. There is always in them a profound and unconcealed aversion to mediocrity, that god of the obscure. Their horizon embraces nature and man, but these they conceive as ideas, and to fathom the quality of them seems an inborn craving. As a result, they often foresee tendencies which do not appear in the deductions of science until long after. This is not mere imaginative specu- lation with them but the result of a naivete to- wards the world that makes them supremely im- pressionable to its phenomena. Genius is an ex- clusive masculine quality, representing man in his highest manifestation. Woman cannot rise above sex, and is incapable of that impersonal- ity that is essential to the mind that seeks to con- template truth. Within elementary societies such characters play a difficult part. They are, to begin with, moral outcasts, refusing utterly to abide by the ethical pronunciamentos of the corsairs, and re- —197— DEMOCRACY maining, at all times, a law unto themselves. When endured at all — that is, after a transient recognition has been accorded some achievement to which the lesser can but defer — ^the moment of tolerance is succeeded by a pressure but too briefly relaxed. They are looked on as men marred by a species of insanity, and receive, therefore, much the same sort of respect that the ancients accorded the mad. In mass democracies, the phenomena of genius is not frequent, nor is it desired or sought. In such societies indeed the activity of such types may be artificially limited, or even suppressed altogether as a consequence of their natural con- tempt for the forms popularly favoured or au- thorized by the corsair class. Indeed, what of- ten passes for genius in such societies is scarcely more than a clever mediocrity which repopular- izes the once popular. The weak dread novel ideas, for they compel a change in their concept of themselves, and of the world. —198- THE RATIONALE OF POWER VII THE RATIONALE OF POWER 54 Revolution In democratic societies the forces of antag- onistic purpose exjpress themselves chiefly in specific political movements, but these, in turn, simply reflect the ideas in the underlying moral- ity. The latter marks the limits within which the mass' mind acts. Only those movement|s get anywhere which harmonize with the common ideas. Revolutionary propaganda is possible only when it includes the basic ideas that are popularly held. The struggle in mass societies is not altogether between holding and non-holding groups. Pri- marily the interests of all the powerful groups are similar, but diff'erences arise that lead to sharp conflicts. Friction follows divergence as to the precise method of using the economic ma- chine. Except in the case of genius, there is, —201— DEMOCRACY among the higher groups, consideration for power alone, and men and states are measured by the degree to which they manifest it. The great struggles in society are civil wars between such types. It is only during so-called revo- lutionary periods that there appears to be a de- cline of aggressiveness between the upper groups. The common danger draws them to- gether. Revolutions are fruitless save when these groups have experienced deterioration. They thus offer a chance for exceptional indi- viduals of the lower group to force their way to eminence, for the resistance above is slackened. The primal aim is always mastery, and this implies the subordination of the weaker. Even when there is no visible revolution there is al- ways a persistent drive towards control of the law, its nature and execution, and a consequent interest in the personnel of legislative and politi- cal bodies. Through these, weaker groups are restrained from full participation in the fruits of power. They are held to enterprises that are not inimical to the interests of the superior. But there are tinies when vast undertakings must be consummated, even beyond the power of the highest, and then co-operation must be used. —202— AND THE WILL TO POWER The narrow line between the Socialist state and the modem commonwealth here clearly stands out. 55 Political Leadership In the political world all leadership must ac- cord with the mediocre concepts of the inferior groups. The characters who play their parts within it are of a type that can sympathetically entertain the viewpoint of those whom they domi- nate. They are men thoroughly conscious of the power of sentiment and are often themselves swayed by it. Obviously, men so swayed are the only sincere proponents of the propaganda employed, but they defer at all times to the more cynical and discerning; that is, to those who have grasped the secret of converting specific interests into terms of general sentiment. Greatness, as a human attribute, cannot be granted the mere politician, for his sole claim to genius lies in a certain acumen in gauging mass prejudices and mass situations. Exceptional individuals of course, sometimes do appear. But once their native egoism has been sensed, their destruction follows swiftly. Nevertheless, broad conse- —203— DEMOCRACY quences are sometimes effected by them before their fall. It is only when the affairs of a given state force relations with other states that men to whom true greatness may be conceded manifest them- selves; these are rarely politicians. Foreign re- lations, so-called, are determined by men of broad knowledge, devoid of illusions, cold and unyielding, except to superior power. Save at important junctures the connection between the upper groups and the politician is psycho- logical only. Normally, politics is carried on in the more hospitable mental atmosphere of the lower groups. Its intellectual character is shaped by the persistent labours of corsairs, and politicians are too lacking in reflective power to be able to distinguish the nature of the influences surrounding theml Elemental passions har- monize with the nature of politics. It quickly responds to like and dislike as actuating princi- ples. Love and hate waken it to life, hate more especially, so nearly allied to envy, the uncon- scious concomitant of all inferiority. During power conflicts among the higher groups, the verdict may be left to the lower. At such times society is at war with itself. Control —204— AND THE WILL TO POWER of electorates then calls for extended and con- centrated labour. Uncertainty adds to the inter- est; political characters select sides, their judg- ment identifying their intelligence. During such periods the vast extent of the franchise privilege aids the stronger and more daring, for when doubt exists novel and irrelevant issues may be pushed forward, championed by popular individuals. The mass divides into smaller groups, absorbed in the fortunes of factions newly aligned. Men of real force are often dis- posed of in this way, their fire and energy dif- fused in unimportant contests. But the tendency in democratic societies is in the direction of more subtle coercive measures, and these aim to lower the quality and power of the law-maker. They imply his limitation as a free agent in the expression of his views; as a moral factor by negativing any personal acute- ness that may have distinguished him in the legis- (lative struggle. This trend involves the sub- mission to electorates of legislative questions; the right of reviewing the actions of officials ; the power to abruptly terminate official tenure. These systems greatly affect the general charac- f:er of the individuals who aspire to public emi- —205— DEMOCRACY nence, for the strong man, of conviction and in- dependence, will not participate in a struggle where his position is to be one neither of trust nor of honor. Inferiors only will take part where personal merit and integrity are of no con- sequence. Under such conditions the general temper is governed by organized propaganda, the voters merely echoing ideas that have been made popular among them. Propaganda be- comes the ruling power. Its impersonality adds to its effectiveness. There follows the natural deduction, sup- ported by all experience, that the legislative per- sonnel in such societies tends to a low moral standard, nor can it be otherwise. Apparently the representatives of electorates, the law-makers are, in fact, nothing more than mirrors that re- flect decisions already made by the powers con- trolling the mental world of the electors. Aware of these secret tribunals, private conviction is put in abeyance; the acts of the legislature are regulated by the intent of the will behind the propaganda. The power of the corsair under these conditions is too obvious to be remarked. —206— AND THE WILL TO POWER 56 "Educating" the Masses Men of great resources may privately encour- age specific corsair groups, or even, when suffi- ciently wealthy, undertake great changes in the morals of states. These movements are anarchi- cal in basis, since they are not founded on any rational psychological principle, but merely voice the private views of some sombre or pecul- iar individual. This extension of private power offers a novel means of attack on groups other- wise unassailable. Their property and position may be outlawed morally and destroyed, because incompatible with a transient ethic. Public ex- penditure, the source of all exchange, becotmes subject to unforeseen regulation. Commercial groups are enabled to prey on each other in a novel and insidious way. The income of some may be extinguished or diverted to channels con- trolled by rivals. Economic war thus evokes moral propaganda, and finds in it a potent ally. The character of the individuals composing the dominant groups in commercial societies, and the nature of the means by which they have risen to power, encourage all the tendencies described. —207— DEMOCRACY The commercial mind cannot get away from the principle of expediency; it surveys man and the world merely as producing engines. The indi- vidual is regarded as an object of value only in so far as he participates in social labour, and on the most economical basis. The very abstemi- ousness of some individuals of the superior type often develops in them an unconscious aversion to any act that does not relate itself to the mate- rial details of existence. They dream of labour made into a perfect producing agent, and capable of no motion foreign to that end. The diminu- tion of such labour's wants must, over a period of time, lead to a lowering of the expense of maintenance. The withdrawal of temptations to extravagance is thus desirable, since a cheapen- ing of the labour product will ultimately follow. Although usually unexpressed, such reasons are constant concepts in the purely commercial mind and play a part in the philanthropical diversions of great individuals. There enters, also, the profound effect of sadism, reflecting an innate hatred of pleasure. There is yet another phase of this subject, and one more relevant in cases of genuine benevo- lence of intention. As he rises abruptly to —208— AND THE WILL TO POWER wealth from narrow origins, the will to power impels the recipient to apply his means along channels that, to him, seem abstract and there- fore altruistic. With no conception of the beau- tiful, beyond an apprehension of it as something infinitely dangerous, he seeks a moral course through which to express his power. The habits of inferiors are sufficiently diverse to supply a range for such essays. He also, by this process, controls equals who find solace in the form of pleasure upon which he has centred his indigna- tion. His reward, in the event of triumph, is double: there is the satisfaction inspired by the consciousness that he can arbitrarily modify the conduct of his inferiors, and a colder and deeper joy attends the moral mastering of his equals. These tendencies are elementary outreachings towards an expression of the philanthropist's in- ner nature, and reveal his soul in its grim naked- ness. The social machinery necessary to the success of these demonstrations of individual power also lends itself to other purposes. The inaugura- tion of specific inhibitions compels the simultane- ous creation of involved systems of espionage, the powers of which may be later diverted to any —209— DEMOCRACY other enterprise. Distrust and suspicion become universal phenomena, and the mass-man cringes before a force that follows his every movement and inflicts its penalties with pitiless inflexibility. The creation in this manner of artificial crimes, and the legal recognition of grave public off"ences in acts of personal immorality, when combined with a developed system of espionage, may serve as a weapon against individuals whom it would be diflScult to reach otherwise. Such a system may furnish a pretext for abrupt and un- expected access to private records, otherwise pro- tected by the fundamental principles of law, or it may eff'ect a sudden detention of the per- son. So thorough has been the development of the public attitude towards certain off"enses, par- ticularly where they relate to sex, that when a charge is made it overwhelms the accused. His private character may never recover from the taint, and at the moment of accusation all his social rights may automatically cease. It is for this reason that murderers so often attack the reputations of those whom they have slain, pub- lic sentiment applauding an act the basis of whicji it accepts as sound. Only individuals of great power can withstand such attacks. They —210— AND THE WILL TO POWER thus favour the ascendancy of the higher sort of man, for the inferior, recognizing his own help- lessness, seldom offers resistance. But psycho- logically, the use of espionage is a symptom of weakness, for it indicates apprehension, another word for fear. History marks the phenomena as an unfailing sign of approaching disaster. The reason for this is so simple that it should be obvious. Power, fixed and sustained by cogent individuals, is always bold, confident and daring. The truly superior recognize the perpetual immi- nence of danger, but are certain of their ability to master it. To accept, as essential, the risk of circumstance is the candour of the strong. It is from this spirit that magnanimity is derived: a moral quality only possible to the great. Transitory though these "moral" tendencies may be in the United States, they are worthy of note, for they convey an idea of underlying social conditions, and define clearly the extent of will-decline in the nation. With the appearance of stronger intellectual groups greater tolerance and frankness are to be expected. Their influ- ence always brings in cultural epochs, during which natural impulses have a rational sway. Art awakens a true concept of Nature and the —211— DEMOCRACY world, and the gap between the upper and lower classes leaves each freer to follow its own im- pulses. The slave overseer has always been a harsh master. 57 The Decline of Legislatures In the political world, the gradual submer- gence of individualistic representation and its re- placement by organized propaganda has led to the disappearance of the fundamental traditional rights of the lower groups. Each principle involved has passed, in turn, under a moral ban. There is now little opposition to this, — a result of the persistent decline of will, due to the con- stant pressure. It is worthy of note, when there is such a gradual lapse of theoretical democracy, that the last vestiges of it linger in the higher representative bodies ; those, in fact, less directly chosen, of longer official tenure, and more remote from the immediately selected groups. The cause of this is not difficult to fathom, for the members of these higher bodies were, from the first, of a more responsible and assertive class, and hence morally superior — usually men of wealth and independent position, not bound by —212— AND THE WILL TO POWER circumstances to seek the offices they occupied. As a result, while always conservative to an ex- treme degree towards economic questions, there was, and is, among them, the natural independ- ence inseparable from their superior caste. From them there has been a certain resistance to the extensive propaganda forces that have elimi- nated their lower associates as responsible moral agents. But now even this higher group tends to fall, for the system of indirect selection gradu- ally gives way, thus opening the path to high office to less courageous characters, men more easily moulded by corsair influence. None the less, in the last stages of a representative system, it stands longest against the engulfing tide of mediocre irresponsibilities. The phenomena is not confined to democratic systems, for in monar- chical orders the invasion of mediate classes has also usually been followed by periods of national •nj,elancholy and materialism. sfifipediments to Power i Because the avenues of influence are so varied that success would appear to be always a cer- tainty, it does not follow that checks do not inter- —213— DEMOCRACY fere with the plans of master groups. The com- plexity of the modern state, the numerous minor castes that are constantly struggling to play some part in the general exercise of authority, the un- expected appearance 'of rare individuals, ob- structive of plans in contemplation, are elements that affect the situation. At times, they lead to the cautious abandonment of a line of action, ol unexpected disappointment from a popular ver- dict. Such results are healthy, for they give confidence to the lower orders, assuring them of the good faith underlying the system they sup- port and sustaining the theory of democracy. Such setbacks, too, are often helpful to the supe- rior, who are far from a perfection that cannot err. Restrained or delayed in the accomplish- ment of one purpose, they may throw their en- ergy into another more matured. They always have the advantage of being able to follow a fixed policy, which, persisting over a long period of time, eventually succeeds, for the opposition of the lower is, as a rule, sporadic, passionglg and therefore not lasting. ; These conditions are most prevalent where H certain vitality still exists among unsettled and divided upper groups, with passing enmities —214— AND THE WILL TO POWER leading a faction to side occasionally with the inferior. As society becomes more stable these differences languish or are satisfied, the machin- ery of propaganda and legislation acts more har- moniously, and the executive branches of the government grow more positive and important. So pronounced becomes this movement that the masses eventually turn to administrative leader- ship rather than to that of legislative bodies. The former is positive and dramatic. It ap- peals to" the popular imagination. Weakness al- ways defers to strength and has for it an involun- tary respect, even though this be tinctured with fear. In moments of national gravity, nothing remains of governmental forms but the upper. Any effort to limit the prerogatives of the latter is resented by popular clamour. 59 The Nature of Revolt The word "revolution" is greatly misused. Often, comparatively innocuous movements are so labelled, when, as a matter of fact, they are only minor changes advocated by interest or enthusiasm and are in no sense antagonistic to existing tradition or order. This confusion is —215— DEMOCRACY due to the intensive employment of sentiment in moving the mass mind, the average man yielding to the effects of this impulse unconsciously. The profound significance of personal or group interest escapes him altogether. Sentiment also accords with his moral view of the world, and causes him to observe with feeling any effort that may change it. To identify an idea with revolution is, to him, equivalent to condemning it, the question actually involved being given no consideration. Actual revolution is an affair of slow growth, at once its weakness and its strength. No movement is genuinely of this nature that does not include a change in fundamental social concepts and the destruction, or replacement, of established ruling groups. In modem society Socialism alone measures up to this standard. Anarchism is nothing more than individualism gone mad, and merits no attention. Imminence of revolution often leads to des- perate diversions, for the really intelligent ap- preciate the gravity of the situation at hand, and the portentous possibilities with which the future may be fraught. Extreme measures are often tried; for example, war, or vast luxury in public works. These may stay the torrent for a time, —216— AND THE WILL TO POWER but unless the moral forces of the old order have the virility that comes from rational and solid foundations, foundations barren of illusion, the hour of force can only be delayed, and the final issue must fall to the decision of arms. During revolutionary periods, when an estab- lished order is fighting for its life, the immediate problem of the victors — ^where these are the revolutionists — is to satisfy the ardour of their partisans. The great promises made, the scope of the hopes spread broadcast, call for quick amelioratives, for in the excited state induced by dramatic scenes strange characters may enter and threaten the success of those who have tri- umphed. Great coups are possible, having for their object the accomplishment of privately cher- ished ends. All is uncertain; the air is vibrant with fearful rumours. The masters of the old have passed and the new have not yet made themselves secure. It is for this reason that the attention of adherents is so often turned to the persons and tangible property of the fallen, the latter being sacrificed to the passions of the lowest. Nor is this course unreasonable, for all revolutionists discover, in the moment of victory, that they have nothing to offer their followers —217— DEMOCRACY but a change of names and a modified system of labour. They learn, abruptly, that the vast sur- plus revenue looked for is inadequate utterly to meet the demands of an eager multitude that has so long coveted what they have not under- stood. The surrender of the upper caste to them, the practical outlawry of the latter, saves the new leaders from the effects of a disappoint- ment that might redound against themselves. They leave the lesser to tire themselves out by the very force of fury. In the respite thus ob- tained the beginnings of a new order may be de- veloped, or differences between ambitious parti- sans fought out. The elementary feelings that then glut them- selves with blood and loot are the pent up emo- tions, long repressed, that are always present in the inferior mind. Envy and hate satiate them- selves for imaginary wrongs; propaganda silences every noble impulse and justifies every excess. This repletion is, to the inferior orders, the fruit of victory and is all they derive from it. It is not without value, even though transient. So intense is their gratification that the eflFects linger for generations, effectually concealing the futility of hopes long cherished. This is the —218— AND THE WILL TO POWER menace that hangs over each ruling caste, and explains the often remorseless measures adopted to hold back the revolutionary spirit. In these antagonisms neither wants to yield anything. Compromise fails. This is due to the impossi- bility of making an agreement that does not call for the sacrifice of essential numbers of the rul- ing class, to make way for new units. It is clear that the personnel of such groups must, perforce, be limited. Revolutions, once at the apex of success, un- dergo swift alteration in purpose and idea. The group of propagandists to whose labours the con- clusion is due find themselves facing characters that had lurked in the background, awaiting the critical and opportune moment when their own plans might be pushed forward. With revolu- tion as a watchword, they attack the ordinary men who still cherish the illusion that they are, at last, on the threshold of great achievement. The new group boldly essays to dominate the seething mass about it, labouring to recast society along lines favourable to its ends. This is the reason that such struggles always result in disappoint- ment to those immediately concerned ; the tempo- rary excitement gives them their only solace. —219— DEMOCRACY The enthusiasm characteristic of revolution- ary epochs is a sovereign force in compelling the lower to accept new — and often — more re- lentless masters. To question the integrity of the revolution becomes a supreme crime, and the inferior is bound again in the very bonds he has dreamed of seeing on others. That physical force must be appealed to at last does not imply the necessary fall of an older ruling caste. It may prove equal to the crisis by which it is faced and beat down the assailing forces. These struggles are of unmatched fury and bitterness, the effects sometimes enduring for centuries and changing the entire future of races. 60 Democracy and Revolution In democratic societies it is difficult for such a catastrophe to take place, so far-reaching are the means that interest finds to guide the popular mind, and so diverse the political forms that grant satisfaction to the masses. In these so- cieties, as they develop, there is a constant aug- mentation of interest in purely political contests, elections multiplying and novel questions com- —220— AND THE WILL TO POWER ing forward. These movements constitute a sportive phase of life and popular interest be- comes absorbed in the fortunes of parties and individuals. Issues excite little attention. The concept of success, so important in life, appears again in another world, where each longs to be with the victor. All democracies are autocracies in embryo; the change ensues upon their moral collapse. It does not follow, however, that, superficially, any alteration takes place in the actual form of organization, for democratic forms may persist for an indefinite period, even flaring up into transient importance, and always furnishing channels for the expression of the ambitions of inferior men. 61 On Greatness The changes in states that mark the steps of what is termed progress are nothing more than intervals of transition — ^the descent of an old power group; the ascent of a new. Greatness in commonwealths is distinguished by the character of those who compose such groups. The bril- liance or pusillanimity of nations is simply a —221— DEMOCRACY reflection of brilliant or pusillanimous personali- ties. The state does not create greatness in indi- viduals, but greatness in individuals creates greatness in states. Civilization itself is only a manifestation of the effect of powerful spirits on the primary human relations. The quality of an epoch, morally and intellectually, can be no higher than those qualities among its superior groups. This becomes transparent after serious national disasters, in which an older caste either disappears or becomes impotent. An immediate change is apparent in the ideas and actions of the masses. The spell of the great mind is gone ; mediocrity is ascendant. It is as if a new nation had been bom. Nothing of the old remains but a name and a tradition. It is certain from this that every state will, at intervals, undergo mental decline, rising again as stronger characters appear and achieve their will. The war that forever maintains among men is this struggle, and nothing else. In it there will be periods when real eminence will be impossible, and at such times and in such na- tions long lapses of vacillation and weakness must ensue. In modem times the diverse agen- cies that control public thought make it possible —222— AND THE WILL TO POWER for combinations of mediocrities to balance or surpass actually superior types. Intellectually, this fact limits all real greatness, and even ordi- nary thought is hampered. It is only in com- monwealths dominated by powerful minds that a free expression of opinion is tolerated. The mediocre man takes no risk that can be avoided and harshly confines the range of permissible ideas to those that favour his cringing path. He is beset by fear, the guerdon of the weak, but the strong, swayed by no such weakness, remain in- different to sentiments that, to them, are casual and puerile. They feel superior to them at all times. It has been under the protection of the great that the world's periods of apex culture have been attained. This is a universal principle, and one confirmed by every record. -223— REFLECTIONS VIII Reflections 62 The Struggle for Self -Expression The eternal struggle of the superior man for independence: such is the history of society, rightly understood. It is apparent that his aim is never achieved. He can, at best, become but part of a dominant caste, and even here his path is lined with difficulties. Obstacles face him at every step. The lives of the truly great are therefore always tragical. Mediocrity, even when exalted by a transient fire, eventually turns upon and destroys them. The man of genius alone attains some ap- proach to freedom, but this is due to the peculiar, even unique, expression that the will to power assumes in such personalities. Disdainful of environment, they treat the world more as idea than as reality, and act upon it as they would act —227— DEMOCRACY upon other ideas. Genius may be regarded as an essay of nature to produce a master type, the so-called superman, but if so the effort so far has failed. It is curious, also, that such men rarely perpetuate themselves or, if they do, their offspring evince few of their gifts. Nor is their low fecundity due to any neglect of sex, for their singular characteristics and brilliant personali- ties prove irresistible attractions to women. In the will war woman always appears as a weakening factor. This position is logical, for Nature ever impels her to war upon the male. The study of her status is important, for from it is to be inferred the degree of masculinity, or will, in man. Woman does not "rise," the world to the contrary notwithstanding. Her relation to society is constant; she is Sex, and cannot es- cape her inborn limitation; nor should this, in any sense, be held derogatory. The mere fact that such a view may be entertained confirms the falseness of her present position. That the con- sequences must be fruitful of evil in their effects on breeding is to be deplored, but cannot be avoided. Under the conditions existing, the masculine will must experience further deteri- oration, but that eventually a balancing counter —228— AND THE WILL TO POWER tendency will appear is reasonably certain, since this has always been the case in the past. The ascendant woman is not new to history. 63 Happiness Happiness and pleasure are often confounded. The latter is really a form of pain, and gives satisfaction because it offers a variation in sen- sation. To that degree, it may be termed happi- ness, but it is of a transitory nature. Such as it is, it is accessible to all, and particularly to the weak. The nature of the superior man defines the limit of his access to the internal satisfaction that constitutes happiness as a moral experi- ence. His driving impulse is the will to power, and he is bound by it as remorselessly as is woman by sex. It is in the expression of this will to power, in the imposition of this will, that he finds joy. Happiness comes to him, there- fore, as the result of war. Genius attains the nearest approach to it of all, but that is because it lives in a world of its own. -229— DEMOCRACY 64 Evolution and the Machine The idea of evolution is confounded with much that is irrelevant to it. The development and improvement of machinery is a favourite theme with the prophets of social evolution. All the problems of life are to be solved by more perfect mechanical devices. Machinery is a means of making profit- able many forms of labour otherwise value- less. It appeared with the increase of raw materials that followed trade extensions to America and the Indies, and it made avail- able great labour deposits of a crude form. The triangular contest of England, Hol- land and France to hold the skilled artisan is a matter of history. The machine eased a difficult situation, and it proved a stepping stone by which a new ruling caste rose to power. Of itself, machinery is only one of the many modes the will to power has adopted to achieve its constant pur- pose. Its broad use has led to many changes in the details of living, but the method by which man works and moves from point to point does not, of itself, prove that a change has occurred —230— AND THE WILL TO POWER in him so fundamental that it can be said that "he has progressed." Men still walk, although aviators can fly; the latter is not more civilized than the pedestrian. To the philosopher, evolution can be interest- ing only in so far as its effects can be traced on will and understanding. It is in the mind, there- fore, that significant changes must be sought. Had he been given the calculus could the ancient Egyptian have understood and used it? Could his mind have assimilated the theoretical prin- ciples involved? Is the mind of the man of to- day peculiar to itself, and perhaps distinguished from that of his ancestors by greater range and effectiveness? If it is, it has progressed, evolved, gone on. Would the ancient Greek, brought into the modern world, absorb its knowl- edge? Or fail by mental incapacity? This is progress, if there is any. The number of arms or legs a man may have is of no importance. 65 The Goal of Progress A survey of the general tendencies of civiliza- tion during the past two thousand years makes it difficult to resist the conclusion that the entire —231— DEMOCRACY period is only a part, and a small part at that, of an epoch in which all social and govern- mental elements are in a condition of flux. That these may crystallize into a fixed form eventu- ally does not seem an unreasonable conjecture; nevertheless, it is conjecture, purely. If the latter be true, however, the point of destination is still too obscured by distance to enable its being reached by even mental vision. In what is transpiring no phenomenon is revealed from which the probable nature of the future may be inferred. Broadly, the world has been in chaos ever since the decline of Greco-Roman civilization. The extent of that disaster has never been thoroughly grasped, and the rise of machine civilization has helped to conceal it. 66 Will Deterioration The weakening of the will of the lower mass may be carried to a point where it becomes a source of weakness to the controlling group. A condition of such lassitude may ensue that it de- stroys the activity of worker groups. Their ef- ficiency departs. Anything that tends to pro- duce negative qualities weakens will. A soli- —^32— AND THE WILL TO POWER tary man on a desert island is not necessarily a saint, although the corsair would have it that he is one. Oriental races have shown admirably the ef- fects of extreme will deterioration; can it be possible that the "vices" of the Occident are re- newing their place in the world? ■^233— ANCIENT AND MODERN: A STUDY IN CONTRASTS IX Ancient and Modern: A Study in Contrasts 67 The Ancient Historians Between ancient and modem historians there is a marked difference in method. Among the former a singular broadness prevails. In such writers as Herodotus, Thucydides and Tacitus, names taken at random, the fact is very evident. The first of these, the so-called father of history, has been reproached with many things, but his lucid survey of a world that he looked at in the living flesh remains a triumph of descriptive work that baffles imitation. This is particularly significant when it is borne in mind that to the Greek the world beyond Hellena was barbarous. Notwithstanding a limitation so fundamental, wars and institutions are described without prej- udice, the aim being to elucidate the bald fact —237— DEMOCRACY — truth as it was conceived to be. Such candour is not to be found among modems, where bias marks every inspection of circumstance. The delightful feature of the old writers is their superb simplicity, their singleness of purpose, their childish intentness towards act as act. Ap- parently, they had no idea of the psychological or the apologetic. The absence of the deductive or prophetic also distinguishes them. The consequences of a ser- ies of movements were left to the reader — if, for that matter, he ever exercised such a faculty, or was expected to. Certainly it may be said that stories and legends interspersed the narrative. But what of it? Perhaps the reader was not as naive as he is now thought to have been. Humour is not a modern invention. The an- cients laughed more frequently than we, their descendants. We smile lugubriously, through many tears. In seeking for an explanation of this lack of sibylline power, so conspicuous today, the rea- son may be ventured that the contrast arises from the greater stability of form of living and of in- stitutions among the ancients. It will, of course, be contended that this could not have been true ; —238— AND THE WILL TO POWER that, as a matter of fact, governments then suf- fered frequent overthrow and war was a constant menace. Nevertheless, the alterations that fol- lowed in the long ago were slight. Tradition and the social norms were not affected. War and its consequences were viewed as essential elements of life, unchangeable factors, simple manifestations of the innate tendency of ambi- tion. Even Plato, in his ideal Republic, ex- tolled the mjilitary profession as one of the noblest. Each man was to be an able soldier. These differences are worthy of attention. What historian of today would consider his work finished without a homily on the future? With- out deductions from the events he has described? If he overlooks so general a duty he may rest assured that another will do it for him. Proph- ecy has become one of the most popular of the arts. They formerly left it to oracles. The modem historian approaches his subject with an a priori theory, and the text must har- monize with it. If he is a royalist, the rise of democracy is described as retrogression. If he is a democrat, civilization improves as the fran- chise extends. If he is a socialist, all progress follows industrial forms, changing with them. —239— DEMOCRACY There is an even more distinctly modem method, not to be paralleled in the past. This is the use of pseudo-history, in which everything is shown to be moving towards a specific end, to wit, the writer's hobby. The idea of progress is peculiar to modern history. It suggests a marked change in the mental attitude of man. Of course, something akin to progress appears in the work of the ancients, but there it takes a purely psychological form. Plato's "becom- ing" related to variations in the life of the soul rather than to differences in the dealings of men with each other, or in the details of life. As the modem world has dismissed all spiritual ele- ments as nothing more than phases of intellectual development, the idea of "becoming" can hardly be construed into an earlier conception of pro- gress, or as being prophetic of its later advent. 68 Nietzsche the Greek It is at least an interesting coincidence that, of modems, Nietzsche alone confines progress to the change that takes place in man himself. That is, he makes it a psychological matter rather than a process depending on alterations in en- —240— AND THE WILL TO POWER vironment. Yet he views man from a purely materialistic standpoint. His much misunder- stood superman is a being tempered by experi- ence and wisdom, controlling environment and life by his mastery of natural laws, his perfect imderstanding of cause and effect in nature and in man. The more popular notion today is that man is a creature of his surroundings, changing with them. This is the basis of so-called scien- tific Socialism. Some writers foresee bald headed races and toothless men. Others astound reason by descriptions of coming monsters that are to be all brain. These possibilities are proper subjects for prayer. Nietzsche reflects a more ancient view, and one decidedly Greek. This Greek outlook is characteristic of all his work. 69 Ancient and Modem Views Man's attitude towards the world is mental, whether he will have it so or not. It presents itself to him as a means and an obstacle. He seeks to transform it through his will. The an- cients assumed that in Nature man was supreme, shadowed only by destiny, the hazard of action. —241— DEMOCRACY He was immeasurably above his surroundings. This seems odd today when his relative helpless- ness before Nature is universally admitted. To the ancient, the external world could act on him only to the degree that his wiU was weakened. Today it is believed that environment can modify that will. It is a complete reversal of view. 70 The Subtle Modern There rises a greater problem: the method by which intellectual means are used to modify gen- eral ideas. Here the same contrast between an- cient and modem looms. In one, act predomi- nates; in the other, there is more regard to thought. But thought must take a moral form — and obviously follow an ethics to the author's taste. Nevertheless, being morality, it is not debatable. Right is right. Here is a radical divergence in point of view: life as something being formed, rather than as something forming itself — will being willed rather than will willing. What is indicated is a change in the method of applying will, an altera- tion in the mode of manifesting the will to power. This leads directly to the problem of how domi- —242— AND THE WILL TO POWER nant spirits assert their power. It embraces the entire record of so-called progress. It is, in- deed, the secret history of all systems. Just as the elder chronicles were more candid, so were the ways of the ancients more direct. There was no meandering. Violence proceeded directly to its object. The new way is indirect; the end sought is to control thought. This achieved, the rest follows. Written history thus becomes a field for philosophical analysis, not to discover an ideal system, but to ascertain the nature of the impelling ideas that appear on the surface only through their effects. The distinction between the work of ancient historians, contrasted with modems is, therefore, the result of a change in the means by which forms of supremacy are maintained. In one, the actor moved directly; with the other there is more of the devious, yet it is stronger. The mass responds to the treatment it receives be- cause it is trained to accept certain principles as beyond dispute. Its norm is submission. Here, ancient and modem meet on common ground. —243— DEMOCRACY 71 The Eternal Struggle Aspects of the course of this struggle have formed the theme of these pages. It is a vast expanse and only an outline has been attempted. Broadly, it appears that the aim is constantly to harass the weak, imposing authority in one way or another. Bult this view is superficial. It re- sults from an undue emphasis on the dramatic acts in the world of action. The real struggle is between powerful minds. Among these there is a tacit assumption that the mass will respond to the stimulation of intelligent purpose. The question at issue is merely that of primacy be- tween the contending spirits. It is a struggle that never ends, although its forms alter. Mediocrity, ever at bay, ever es- says to rise, but intellect and will achieve their object, even though great personalities go down. More cogent masters peer from the future. In- tervals of lassitude interlap. Thus the end never varies, but method changes with circum- stance. Historical work will, then, more than ever reflect this fact. It will become part of the men- —244— AND THE WILL TO POWER tal equipment of the corsairs. It will deal less with fact and more with popular philosophy. It will not be a record of events, purely as such, but of a moral point of view: that of the will which is imposed on the minds of majorities. THE END TB Aiufwo aravres for commtotitv wORsrsaj COLOTIBIA TJUIVEESITlf