The Psychology of Nations / A Contribution to the Philosophy of History

by G. E. Partridge

In the philosophy of education it is with moods that in our view, we have most of all to deal. Man, we have a right to say, is a creature of feeling, not of instinct or of reason. It is not the instinct as a definite reaction to stimulus or as an inner necessity, nor emotion as a subjective response to this stimulus that is the driving force of conduct, but rather the more lasting and deeper and more complex states or processes that we can call by no other name than moods. Since it is in the moods that the most profound longing or tendency or desire is represented, we say that moods are the object of chief concern in a practical philosophy of life. These moods are the repositories, so to speak, of instinct, impulse, tendency, desire, and it is therefore by the control and education of moods that the individual in all his social and in all his personal aspects will be most fundamentally educable if he is educable at all.

It is as the seat of the will to power, we might say, that the moods which are the main sources of human energy are to be conceived. The craving for power, as a generalization of more primitive desires, comes to take the position of the main motive in life. The craving for power is a desire, as we see when we analyze it, that expresses itself as a longing for ecstatic or intense states of consciousness, and an abundant life. It is a craving to be possessed by strong desire and also for the satisfaction of many desires—often vicariously, since the objects desired may be confused and general. So this motive of power and the ecstatic states in which it is expressed or realized is no instinct and no pure emotion. It is an outgrowth and culmination of instincts, a fusion of them into a new product.

It would be going too far afield to try to summarize here the psychology of moods or of the motive of power in the individual and in society, but the main fact needed for the moment seems plain. In this motive and its expression in feeling and conduct there is a very general tendency which is the source of many forms of interest and enthusiasm, of ambition, of the spirit of war, of various kinds of excitement, and to some extent of morbid and criminal tendencies. The spirit of war we think of as a summation of the same forces as those which in other ways appear as the energies behind various enterprises having quite different objectives. War is an anachronism, we may believe, a wrong direction taken by the forces of the social life, an archaic expression now, let us say, of the will to power which might and ought to have different objectives. In the life and the mood of the great city we see a very varied expression of the motive of power. The city life is still a crude life. It satisfies deep desires, but in it desires for we know not what are aroused. It is indeed as the seat of eager, unsatisfied desire that the city is best of all characterized. These desires readily take shape in the city as the spirit of war and as a craving for excitement of various kinds.

These same forces re-directed or finding different objects and working under different conditions appear in moral, religious, or aesthetic forms. In these higher experiences and more progressive moments in history or in the life of the individual, the forces which at other levels emerge in different forms and in search of different objects we may think of as transformed, or given new direction; but to suppose them annihilated or suppressed is to misunderstand, according to our view, the whole process of the development of spirit. Life is not a process in which instincts are balanced, or in which good motives stand in sharp contrast to bad motives, or in which an original selfishness is opposed and gradually overcome by an altruistic motive. We think rather of very complex processes in which many desires, gathered into moods, find many forms of expression. There are prevailing moods—of war and of peace—and these moods are deep forces, containing both the desires and the sources of energy, so to speak, out of which our future will be made. The ecstatic states of the social life, the moods of war and the enthusiasm of the periods of rapid change are conditions in which energies and purposes are deeply stirred. These are the moods of intoxication, if we wish to describe them by pointing out one of their chief common characteristics. Peace is a reverie, we may say, in which the purposes and the results expressed and attained in the more dramatic moments are elaborated and fulfilled, and in which new impulse is gathered of which the dramatic moment is itself the expression. But throughout the whole course of history and through all the life of the individual, the same motives are at work. Life in its fundamental movements and motives, we should argue, is both simple and continuous. It is fragmentary and complex only on its surface.

The whole problem of the nature of education of course resolves itself, from this point of view, into the question whether progress is something inherent in nature, or is something controlled by man. Or if we cannot make so sharp a contrast between nature and will, shall we say that progress is in the main and in all essential ways one or the other? Does conscious effort, the having of ideals, exert any profound effect upon the history of spirit? Does it accelerate, give direction, provide energy? Is the course of history inevitable or is the making of it in our hands? We can see what, in a general way, so far as regards the transformation of the fundamental motives of life, the order of development has been—how the original and basic desires or instincts have become merged and confused in the more general desires and moods, how the motive of power has emerged, finding so varied expression as we see in the whole movement of art and play in the world, how out of these motives of art and play more controlled enthusiasms have arisen. But the part in this movement played by conscious direction does not thus far appear to have been great. A movement of and within consciousness it has been, and no mere biological or physical development, but when we speak of conscious will or any ideals controlling the course of spirit in essential ways, we find as yet only a beginning. And yet, this does not indicate that in the future conscious direction may not be even the greatest factor in evolution. It is difficult to see how we can know with certainty that we have such powers; but to refrain from acting as though we had is also difficult, and indeed impossible.

As a working hypothesis, at least, we seem to be allowed to assume that much will depend, in the future, upon the extent to which conscious factors are brought to bear upon the world's progress as a whole, upon the form in which the world-idea shapes itself, and the power which is put behind that world idea by the educational forces of the world. The world appears now to stand balanced at a critical moment, its future depending upon whether old ideals and primitive emotions shall prevail, or whether a new spirit which is perhaps after all but a sense of direction growing out of the old order shall become the dominating influences. Whether the consciousness of nations shall be creative and progressive seems to depend now upon the extent to which the whole life of feeling is influenced by ideas which, although they are products, as we say, of the primitive biological processes that underlie history, are also outside these processes, as definite purposes, desires, visions, ideals. At least we seem to depend now upon these superior influences for many things that we regard as good—for the rate at which we shall make progress, and for the certainty of making progress at all. Upon these conscious factors directing and shaping the plastic forces represented in the moods of our time, we shall assume, the course of history will depend.

We are no longer to be satisfied with natural progress. We have gone too far and too long, let us say, upon a rising tide of biological forces, and we have not yet realized what conscious evolution might mean. We have been too well satisfied with the physical resources and the psychic energies that seemed sufficient for the need of the day. A world in which democracy is going to prevail can no longer live in this way. It will not grow of itself in a state of nature. Its principle, on the other hand, forbids program-making after the manner of autocratic societies. Democracy, as the form in which the youthful and exuberant spirit of the world now makes ready for creating the next stage of civilization, will advance, we may suppose, neither by nature nor by force. It is the main work of our day to find for ourselves a new and better mode of shaping history, by bringing to bear upon all the social motives of the day the best and strongest influences. Our whole situation is from this point of view an educational problem. Probably there was never a greater need than that the democratic forces of the world now have great leadership. It is a practical world, a world of politics and of business, but it is also a world exceedingly sensitive to many influences, good and bad, a world in which, we may think, nothing great and permanent can be accomplished unless moral, religious and æsthetic influences prevail and give to our civilization its new dominant.

It will depend upon these conscious forces—upon our efforts to make progress and upon the clarity of our vision—it must depend upon these—whether in the future our great war shall be looked back upon as after all an upheaval of primitive forces and a debauch of instincts, or as the beginning of a new life. It is for us to create out of the war the foundation of a better order. We cannot go back to the old régime. Our enthusiasms will either be directed to better things, or the emotions aroused by the war will run riot and finally settle into habits on a low plane, and destroy, it may be, all that civilization has thus far gained. All things seem possible, in this critical time.

Stated in the broadest possible way, the educational problem of our times seems plain. We must lay hold upon and set to work for a higher civilization the motives and purposes that in the past have worked obstructively, and now destructively. A great work of our day is to understand these motives and forces that were the main factors in the cause of the war, and make them count for progress. That they are powerful forces we can have no doubt. They are not for that reason hard to direct, at least not necessarily so. We see that, whether in war or in peace, we need greater power in the social life. Life must be made to satisfy the longing for intensity and abundance of experience. But this abundant life that we now seek cannot be something merely subjective and emotional. To see this is indeed the crucial test. This subjective life cannot remain an ideal in a world determined to become democratic, to make progress, to be a practical and well-coördinated world. Abundant life must now be sought in the performance of functions which express themselves in practical aims and consequences. The prevailing mood and form of this life may still be dramatic, and indeed it must be dramatic. The possession of this quality is the test of its power.

Such views, of course, imply that our practical educational problem is something very different from that of finding an outlet for emotions. For example, to search for a substitute for war now is a superficial way of looking at the problem of the control and education of the social consciousness. We think of the motives that have caused the war, according to these older views, as bad instincts or evil emotions, as we are usually asked to think of the motives behind intemperance, and the habits of gambling and the like. By some form of katharsis we hope to drain off these emotions (unless we undertake merely to suppress them). This we say is a narrow view of the problem, merely because the motives that underlie the conduct we deplore are not bad instincts, or indeed instincts as such at all, but rather feelings or moods which are variable in their expression, complex, and educable. They have no definite object of which they are in search, so that we may think the only way to thwart them is to find some object closely resembling theirs which may surreptitiously be substituted for them. These motives are indeed broad and general. We must do with them what education must do all along the line, find the fundamental desires they contain and utilize the energies expressed in these desires in the performance of functions—these functions being the purposes most fundamentally at work in the social life or representing our social ideals.