Chapter 1

When one has lived for long within a particular culture[^1] and has often striven to discover its origins and the path of its development, one feels for once the temptation to turn one’s attention in the other direction and to ask what further fate awaits this culture and what transformations it is destined to undergo. But one soon finds that the value of such an enquiry is diminished from the outset by several considerations. Above all, by the fact that there are only a few people who can survey human activity in all its ramifications. Most people have been compelled to restrict themselves to a single, or to a few, spheres of interest; but the less a man knows of the past and the present the more unreliable must his judgement of the future prove. And further it is precisely in the matter of this judgement that the subjective expectations of the individual play a part that is difficult to assess; for these prove to be dependent on purely personal factors in his own experience, on his more or less hopeful attitude to life, according as temperament, success or failure has prescribed for him. And finally one must take into account the remarkable fact that in general men experience the present naïvely, so to speak, without being able to estimate its content; they must first place it at a distance, i.e. the present must have become the past before one can win from it points of vantage from which to gauge the future.

When you have lived for a long time within a particular culture[^1], you have often sought its origins and traced its development. You may then feel tempted, for once, to look in the other direction. What future awaits this culture, and what changes is it destined to undergo? But you soon find that several considerations limit the value of such an inquiry from the start. Above all, few people can grasp human activity in all its branches. Most people have had to limit themselves to one or a few fields of interest. But the less someone knows about the past and present, the less reliable their judgment of the future must be. Moreover, personal expectations play a role in this judgment that is difficult to assess. These expectations depend on purely personal experiences and on how hopefully someone views life. That outlook, in turn, is shaped by temperament, success, or failure. Finally, we must consider a remarkable fact. People generally experience the present naively, so to speak, without being able to assess what it contains. They must first gain some distance from the present, that is, the present must become the past. Only then can they find perspectives in it from which to judge the future.

And so he who yields to the temptation to deliver an opinion on the probable future of our culture will do well to remind himself of the difficulties just indicated, and likewise of the uncertainty that attaches quite universally to every prophecy. It follows from this that in hasty flight from so great a task I shall seek out the small tract of territory to which my attention has hitherto been directed, as soon as I have defined its position in general.

So anyone tempted to predict the likely future of our culture should remember the difficulties just mentioned. They should also remember the uncertainty that comes with every prediction. For these reasons, I shall hastily retreat from so great a task to the small area I have focused on until now. First, though, I shall explain where this area fits into the larger picture.

Human culture—I mean by that all those respects in which human life has raised itself above animal conditions and in which it differs from the life of the beasts, and I disdain to separate culture and civilization—presents, as is well known, two aspects to the observer. It includes on the one hand all the knowledge and power that men have acquired in order to master the forces of nature and win resources from her for the satisfaction of human needs; and on the other hand it includes all the necessary arrangements whereby men’s relations to each other, and in particular the distribution of the attainable riches, may be regulated. The two tendencies of culture are not independent of each other, first, because the mutual relations of men are profoundly influenced by the measure of instinctual satisfaction that the existing resources make possible; secondly, because the individual can himself take on the quality of a piece of property in his relation to another, in so far as this other makes use of his capacity for work or chooses him as sexual object; and thirdly, because every individual is virtually an enemy of culture, which is nevertheless ostensibly an object of universal human concern. It is remarkable that little as men are able to exist in isolation they should yet feel as a heavy burden the sacrifices that culture expects of them in order that a communal existence may be possible. Thus culture must be defended against the individual, and its organization, its institutions and its laws, are all directed to this end; they aim not only at establishing a certain distribution of property, but also at maintaining it; in fact, they must protect against the hostile impulses of mankind everything that contributes to the conquest of nature and the production of wealth. Human creations are easy to destroy, and science and technical skill, which have built them up, can also be turned to their destruction.

Human culture includes all the ways human life has risen above animal conditions and differs from animal life. I refuse to distinguish between culture and civilization. As is well known, culture has two aspects. On the one hand, culture includes all the knowledge and power people have acquired to master nature’s forces. They use this knowledge and power to draw resources from nature to meet human needs. On the other hand, culture includes all the arrangements needed to regulate people’s relationships, especially the distribution of available wealth. These two aspects of culture are not independent of each other, for three reasons. First, people’s relationships are deeply influenced by how much satisfaction of their instincts the available resources allow. Second, individuals can themselves become a kind of property in their relationship with another person. This happens insofar as the other person uses their ability to work or chooses them as a sexual object. Third, every individual is, in effect, an enemy of culture, although culture supposedly concerns everyone. It is remarkable that people can hardly live in isolation, yet find the sacrifices culture demands so burdensome. Culture demands these sacrifices to make communal life possible. Culture must therefore be defended against the individual. Its organization, institutions, and laws all serve this purpose. They aim not only to establish a particular distribution of property, but also to maintain that distribution. In fact, they must protect everything that helps people master nature and produce wealth against humanity’s hostile impulses. Human creations are easy to destroy. The science and technical skills that built these creations can also be used to destroy them.

So one gets the impression that culture is something which was imposed on a resisting majority by a minority that understood how to possess itself of the means of power and coercion. Of course it stands to reason that these difficulties are not inherent in the nature of culture itself, but are conditioned by the imperfections of the cultural forms that have so far been developed. Indeed it is not difficult to point out these defects. While mankind has made solid advances in the conquest of nature and may expect to make still greater ones, no certain claim can be established for a corresponding advance in the regulation of human affairs, and probably at every period, as again now, many men have asked themselves whether this fragment that has been acquired by culture is indeed worth defending at all. One might suppose that a reorganization of human relations should be possible, which, by abandoning coercion and the suppression of the instincts, would remove the sources of dissatisfaction with culture, so that undisturbed by inner conflict men might devote themselves to the acquisition of natural resources and to the enjoyment of the same. That would be the golden age, but it is questionable if such a state of affairs can ever be realized. It seems more probable that every culture must be built up on coercion and instinctual renunciation; it does not even appear certain that without coercion the majority of human individuals would be ready to submit to the labour necessary for acquiring new means of supporting life. One has, I think, to reckon with the fact that there are present in all men destructive, and therefore anti-social and anti-cultural, tendencies, and that with a great number of people these are strong enough to determine their behaviour in human society.

So culture seems to have been imposed on a resisting majority by a minority. This minority knew how to gain control of the means of power and coercion. Of course, it stands to reason that these difficulties are not part of culture’s nature. Rather, they arise from flaws in the forms of culture developed so far. Indeed, these flaws are not hard to identify. Humanity has made real progress in mastering nature and may expect to make still greater progress. But we cannot confidently claim any matching progress in managing human affairs. Probably in every age, just as today, many people have questioned whether culture’s limited gains are worth defending at all. We might suppose that human relations could be reorganized without coercion or the suppression of instincts. Such a change would remove the sources of dissatisfaction with culture. Free from inner conflict, people could then devote themselves to obtaining and enjoying natural resources. That would be the golden age, but whether such a state can ever be achieved is doubtful. It seems more likely that every culture must be built on coercion and the renunciation of instinctual desires. Without coercion, it is not even certain that most people would willingly do the work needed to secure new livelihoods. We must, I think, recognize that all people have destructive tendencies, which therefore work against society and culture. In a great many people, these tendencies are strong enough to determine how they behave in society.

This psychological fact acquires a decisive significance when one is forming an estimate of human culture. One thought at first that the essence of culture lay in the conquest of nature for the means of supporting life, and in eliminating the dangers that threaten culture by the suitable distribution of these among mankind, but now the emphasis seems to have shifted away from the material plane on to the psychical. The critical question is whether and to what extent one can succeed, first, in diminishing the burden of the instinctual sacrifices imposed on men; secondly, in reconciling them to those that must necessarily remain; and thirdly, in compensating them for these. It is just as impossible to do without government of the masses by a minority as it is to dispense with coercion in the work of civilization, for the masses are lazy and unintelligent, they have no love for instinctual renunciation, they are not to be convinced of its inevitability by argument, and the individuals support each other in giving full play to their unruliness. It is only by the influence of individuals who can set an example, whom the masses recognize as their leaders, that they can be induced to submit to the labours and renunciations on which the existence of culture depends. All is well if these leaders are people of superior insight into what constitute the necessities of life, people who have attained the height of mastering their own instinctual wishes. But the danger exists that in order not to lose their influence they will yield to the masses more than these will yield to them, and therefore it seems necessary that they should be independent of the masses by having at their disposal means of enforcing their authority. To put it briefly, there are two widely diffused human characteristics which are responsible for the fact that the organization of culture can be maintained only by a certain measure of coercion: that is to say, men are not naturally fond of work, and arguments are of no avail against their passions.

This psychological fact becomes crucial when we assess human culture. At first, people thought culture was essentially about controlling nature to obtain the resources needed to sustain life. They also thought it meant distributing these resources suitably among people to remove the dangers threatening culture. But now the emphasis seems to have shifted from material concerns to psychological ones. The crucial question is whether, and how far, we can succeed in three tasks. First, can we reduce the burden of the sacrifices people must make by restraining their instincts? Second, can we reconcile people to the sacrifices that must remain? Third, can we compensate people for these sacrifices? Rule over the masses by a minority is just as indispensable as coercion in the work of civilization. For the masses are lazy and unintelligent, and they have no desire to give up satisfying their instincts. Arguments cannot convince them that such sacrifices are inevitable, and individuals encourage one another to give their unruliness free rein. Only individuals who can set an example, and whom the masses recognize as leaders, can persuade the masses to submit. This submission involves the work and the restraint of instincts on which culture depends. All is well if these leaders have a superior understanding of life's necessities and have mastered their own instinctual desires. But there is a danger that leaders will give in to the masses to avoid losing their influence. The leaders may yield more to the masses than the masses yield to them. It therefore seems necessary for leaders to be independent of the masses, with the means to enforce their authority. In short, two widespread human traits explain why culture can be maintained only through a certain amount of coercion. People are not naturally fond of work, and arguments have no power against their passions.

I know what objections will be brought against these arguments. It will be said that the character of the masses, here delineated, which is supposed to prove that one cannot dispense with coercion in the work of civilization, is itself only the result of defective cultural organization, through which men have become embittered, revengeful and unapproachable. New generations, brought up kindly and taught to have a respect for reason, who have experienced the benefits of culture early in life, will have a different attitude towards it; they will feel it to be their very own possession, and they will be ready on its account to make the sacrifice in labour and in instinctual renunciation that is necessary for its preservation. They will be able to do without coercion and will differ little from their leaders. If no culture has so far produced human masses of such a quality, it is due to the fact that no culture has yet discovered the plan that will influence men in such a way, and that from childhood on.

I know what objections will be raised against these arguments. Critics will point to my description of the masses, which is supposed to show that civilization cannot do without coercion. They will say that the masses have become this way only because civilization is poorly organized. This poor organization has made people bitter, vengeful, and unapproachable. New generations will have a different attitude toward civilization if raised kindly and taught to respect reason. These generations will have experienced civilization’s benefits early in life. They will see civilization as their very own possession. To preserve it, they will willingly do the necessary work and give up the necessary instinctual satisfactions. They will be able to do without coercion and will differ little from their leaders. If no civilization has yet produced masses of this kind, it is because none has yet found the right approach. Such an approach would shape people in this way from childhood onward.

It may be doubted whether it is possible at all, or at any rate just now, in the present stage of our conquest of nature, to establish a cultural organization of this kind; it may be asked where the throng of superior, dependable and disinterested leaders, who are to act as educators of the future generations, are to come from; and one may be appalled at the stupendous amount of force that will be unavoidable if these intentions are to be carried out. But one cannot deny the grandeur of this project and its significance for the future of human culture. It is securely based on a piece of psychological insight, on the fact that man is equipped with the most varied instinctual predispositions, the ultimate course of which is determined by the experiences of early childhood. But the limitations of man’s capacity for education set bounds to the efficacy of such a cultural transformation. One may question whether and in what degree it would be possible for another cultural milieu to efface the two characteristics of human masses that make the guidance of men’s affairs so very difficult. The experiment has not yet been made. Probably a certain percentage of mankind—owing to morbid predisposition or too great instinctual vigour—will always remain asocial, but if only one can succeed in reducing to a minority the majority that is to-day hostile to culture, one will have accomplished a great deal, perhaps indeed everything that can be accomplished.

We may doubt whether this kind of cultural organization is possible at all, or at least possible now. Our ability to control nature may not yet be advanced enough. We may ask where so many exceptional, reliable, and selfless leaders will come from to educate future generations. And we may be appalled by the enormous force that carrying out these plans will inevitably require. But we cannot deny the scale and ambition of this project, or its importance for the future of human culture. The project rests firmly on a psychological insight. Human beings have a wide variety of instinctive tendencies, whose eventual direction is determined by early childhood experiences. But there are limits to how much education can change people. These limits restrict how effective such a cultural transformation can be. We may question whether a different cultural environment could eliminate the two traits that make human masses so difficult to govern. And if eliminating those traits is possible, we may question to what extent. The experiment has not yet been tried. Some percentage of humanity will probably always remain unable to live socially with others. This may be due to unhealthy predispositions or excessively strong instincts. But suppose we can turn today's majority, hostile to culture, into a minority. We will then have achieved a great deal, perhaps even everything that can be achieved.

I should not like to give the impression that I have wandered far away from the chosen path of my enquiry. I will therefore expressly assert that it is far from my intention to estimate the value of the great cultural experiment that is at present in progress in the vast country that stretches between Europe and Asia. I have neither the special knowledge nor the capacity to decide on its practicability, to test the expediency of the methods employed, or to measure the width of the inevitable gulf between intention and execution. What is there in course of preparation eludes investigation, for which it is not ready; for this our long consolidated culture presents the material.

I would not want to seem to have strayed far from the chosen path of my inquiry. So let me be clear: I have no intention of judging the value of the great cultural experiment now underway. It is taking place in the vast country stretching between Europe and Asia. I have neither the specialized knowledge nor the ability to judge whether the experiment is workable. Nor can I assess whether its methods are suitable or measure the inevitable gap between intention and execution. What is taking shape there cannot yet be studied, because it is not ready. Our own long-established culture, however, provides material for such study.