Searching for the Public

If one wishes to realize the distance which may lie between “facts” and the meaning of facts, let one go to the field of social discussion. Many persons seem to suppose that facts carry their meaning along with themselves on their face. Accumulate enough of them, and their interpretation stares out at you. The development of physical science is thought to confirm the idea. But the power of physical facts to coerce belief does not reside in the bare phenomena. It proceeds from method, from the technique of research and calculation. No one is ever forced by just the collection of facts to accept a particular theory of their meaning, so long as one retains intact some other doctrine by which he can marshal them. Only when the facts are allowed free play for the suggestion of new points of view is any significant conversion of conviction as to meaning possible. Take away from physical science its laboratory apparatus and its mathematical technique, and the human imagination might run wild in its theories of interpretation even if we suppose the brute facts to remain the same.

If you want to see how far “facts” may be from their meaning, look at discussions of social issues. Many people seem to assume that facts make their meaning obvious. Gather enough facts, and their interpretation will stare you in the face. The development of physical science is thought to support this idea. But the power of physical facts to compel belief does not come from the bare facts themselves. It comes from methods, from techniques of research and calculation. A collection of facts alone never forces anyone to accept a particular theory about their meaning. This remains true as long as that person keeps another doctrine intact and can use it to organize the facts. A significant change in beliefs about meaning is possible only when facts can freely suggest new points of view. Take away physical science’s laboratory equipment and mathematical techniques, and the human imagination might run wild in interpreting the facts. This might happen even if we assume that the raw facts remain the same.

In any event, social philosophy exhibits an immense gap between facts and doctrines. Compare, for example, the facts of politics with the theories which are extant regarding the nature of the state. If inquirers confine themselves to observed phenomena, the behavior of kings, presidents, legislators, judges, sheriffs, assessors and all other public officials, surely a reasonable consensus is not difficult to attain. Contrast with this agreement the differences which exist as to the basis, nature, functions and justification of the state, and note the seemingly hopeless disagreement. If one asks not for an enumeration of facts, but for a definition of the state, one is plunged into controversy, into a medley of contradictory clamors. According to one tradition, which claims to derive from Aristotle, the state is associated and harmonized life lifted to its highest potency; the state is at once the keystone of the social arch and is the arch in its wholeness. According to another view, it is just one of many social institutions, having a narrow but important function, that of arbiter in the conflict of other social units. Every group springs out of and realizes a positive human interest; the church, religious values; guilds, unions and corporations material economic interests, and so on. The state, however, has no concern of its own; its purpose is formal, like that of the leader of the orchestra who plays no instrument and makes no music, but who serves to keep other players who do produce music in unison with one another. Still a third view has it that the state is organized oppression, at once a social excrescence, a parasite and a tyrant. A fourth is that it is an instrument more or less clumsy for keeping individuals from quarreling too much with one another.

In any case, social philosophy shows an enormous gap between facts and theories. Compare, for example, the facts of politics with existing theories about the nature of the state. Suppose researchers limit themselves to observed events and behavior. They study kings, presidents, legislators, judges, sheriffs, tax assessors, and all other public officials. Surely, reaching reasonable agreement about these observations is not difficult. Contrast this agreement with the differences over the state's basis, nature, functions, and justification. On these questions, agreement seems hopeless. Ask for a definition of the state rather than a list of facts, and you are plunged into controversy. You face a jumble of contradictory claims. According to one tradition, which claims to come from Aristotle, the state brings shared, harmonious life to its fullest expression. The state is both the keystone of the social arch and the whole arch itself. According to another view, the state is just one of many social institutions. Its role is narrow but important: to settle conflicts among other social groups. Every group grows out of and fulfills a positive human interest. The church serves religious values, while guilds, unions, and corporations serve material economic interests, and so on. The state, however, has no interest of its own. Its purpose is to coordinate, like an orchestra conductor who plays no instrument and makes no music. Instead, the conductor keeps the players who do make music in harmony with one another. A third view holds that the state is organized oppression: an abnormal social growth, a parasite, and a tyrant. A fourth sees the state as a more or less clumsy tool for keeping individuals from quarreling too much.

Confusion grows when we enter subdivisions of these different views and the grounds offered for them. In one philosophy, the state is the apex and completion of human association, and manifests the highest realization of all distinctively human capacities. The view had a certain pertinency when it was first formulated. It developed in an antique city-state, where to be fully a free man and to be a citizen participating in the drama, the sports, the religion and the government of the community were equivalent affairs. But the view persists and is applied to the state of to-day. Another view coördinates the state with the church (or as a variant view slightly subordinates it to the latter) as the secular arm of Deity maintaining outward order and decorum among men. A modern theory idealizes the state and its activities by borrowing the conceptions of reason and will, magnifying them till the state appears as the objectified manifestation of a will and reason which far transcend the desires and purposes which can be found among individuals or assemblages of individuals.

Confusion grows when we examine variations within these different views and the reasons given for them. In one philosophy, the state is the highest and most complete form of human association. The state also represents the fullest development of all distinctly human abilities. This view had some relevance when first formulated. The view developed in an ancient city-state. There, being a fully free man meant being a citizen participating in the community’s drama, sports, religion, and government. But the view persists and is applied to the state today. Another view places the state alongside the church as God’s secular arm, maintaining outward order and proper conduct among people. A variation of this view places the state slightly below the church. A modern theory idealizes the state and its activities by borrowing the concepts of reason and will. The theory magnifies these concepts until the state appears as the concrete expression of a will and reason far beyond human ones. This will and reason far surpass the desires and purposes found in individuals or groups of individuals.

We are not concerned, however, with writing either a cyclopedia or history of political doctrines. So we pause with these arbitrary illustrations of the proposition that little common ground has been discovered between the factual phenomena of political behavior and the interpretation of the meaning of these phenomena. One way out of the impasse is to consign the whole matter of meaning and interpretation to political philosophy as distinguished from political science. Then it can be pointed out that futile speculation is a companion of all philosophy. The moral is to drop all doctrines of this kind overboard, and stick to facts verifiably ascertained.

However, we are not trying to write either an encyclopedia or a history of political doctrines. So we stop with these arbitrarily chosen examples of how little common ground has been found between facts and interpretation. The facts concern political behavior, and the interpretations concern what that behavior means. One way out of this deadlock is to assign all questions of meaning and interpretation to political philosophy. Political philosophy is then treated as separate from political science. Then one can point out that pointless speculation accompanies all philosophy. The lesson is to throw out all doctrines of this kind and stick to facts that can be verified.

The remedy urged is simple and attractive. But it is not possible to employ it. Political facts are not outside human desire and judgment. Change men’s estimate of the value of existing political agencies and forms, and the latter change more or less. The different theories which mark political philosophy do not grow up externally to the facts which they aim to interpret; they are amplifications of selected factors among those facts. Modifiable and altering human habits sustain and generate political phenomena. These habits are not wholly informed by reasoned purpose and deliberate choice—far from it—but they are more or less amenable to them. Bodies of men are constantly engaged in attacking and trying to change some political habits, while other bodies of men are actively supporting and justifying them. It is mere pretense, then, to suppose that we can stick by the de facto, and not raise at some points the question of de jure: the question of by what right, the question of legitimacy. And such a question has a way of growing until it has become a question as to the nature of the state itself. The alternatives before us are not factually limited science on one hand and uncontrolled speculation on the other. The choice is between blind, unreasoned attack and defense on the one hand, and discriminating criticism employing intelligent method and a conscious criterion on the other.

The proposed remedy is simple and attractive. But we cannot use it. Political facts are not separate from human desires and judgments. Change people’s view of the value of existing political institutions and forms, and those institutions and forms change to some degree. The different theories of political philosophy do not develop independently of the facts they seek to explain. Instead, these theories expand on selected aspects of those facts. Human habits, which can and do change, sustain and produce political realities. These habits are far from being fully guided by reasoned purposes and deliberate choices. But habits are more or less open to such guidance. Groups of people constantly attack some political habits and try to change them. Meanwhile, other groups actively support and justify those habits. So we are only pretending when we suppose we can stick to de facto questions, questions about what actually exists. We cannot avoid raising de jure questions at some points: questions about rights and legitimacy. And questions of legitimacy tend to grow until they become questions about the nature of the state itself. Our alternatives are not limited to science confined to facts on one side and unchecked speculation on the other. The choice is between blind, unreasoned attack and defense, and careful criticism using an intelligent method and a consciously chosen standard.

The prestige of the mathematical and physical sciences is great, and properly so. But the difference between facts which are what they are independent of human desire and endeavor and facts which are to some extent what they are because of human interest and purpose, and which alter with alteration in the latter, cannot be got rid of by any methodology. The more sincerely we appeal to facts, the greater is the importance of the distinction between facts which condition human activity and facts which are conditioned by human activity. In the degree which we ignore this difference, social science becomes pseudo-science. Jeffersonian and Hamiltonian political ideas are not merely theories dwelling in the human mind remote from facts of American political behavior. They are expressions of chosen phases and factors among those facts, but they are also something more: namely, forces which have shaped those facts and which are still contending to shape them in the future this way and that. There is more than a speculative difference between a theory of the state which regards it as an instrument in protecting individuals in the rights they already have, and one which conceives its function to be the effecting of a more equitable distribution of rights among individuals. For the theories are held and applied by legislators in congress and by judges on the bench and make a difference in the subsequent facts themselves.

The mathematical and physical sciences enjoy great prestige, and rightly so. But some facts are what they are regardless of human desires and efforts. Other facts depend partly on human interests and purposes, and change as those interests and purposes change. No method can erase this difference. The more seriously we take facts, the more important this distinction becomes: some facts shape human activity, while others are shaped by human activity. To the extent that we ignore this difference, social science becomes pseudoscience. Jeffersonian and Hamiltonian political ideas are not merely theories in people's minds, disconnected from the facts of American political behavior. These ideas express selected aspects and factors of that behavior. But these ideas are also more than that. They are forces that have shaped American political behavior and still compete to shape its future in different directions. Consider two theories of the state. One sees the state as a tool for protecting individuals' existing rights. The other sees the state's role as bringing about a more equal distribution of rights among individuals. The difference between these theories is more than a matter of abstract thought. Legislators in congress and judges on the bench hold and apply these theories. As a result, the theories change the facts that follow.

I make no doubt that the practical influence of the political philosophies of Aristotle, the Stoics, St. Thomas, Locke, Rousseau, Kant and Hegel has often been exaggerated in comparison with the influence of circumstances. But a due measure of efficacy cannot be denied them on the ground which is sometimes proffered; it cannot be denied on the ground that ideas are without potency. For ideas belong to human beings who have bodies, and there is no separation between the structures and processes of the part of the body that entertains the ideas and the part that performs acts. Brain and muscles work together, and the brains of men are much more important data for social science than are their muscular system and their sense organs.

I have no doubt that the practical influence of certain political philosophies has often been exaggerated compared with circumstances. These include the philosophies of Aristotle, the Stoics, St. Thomas, Locke, Rousseau, Kant and Hegel. But these philosophies cannot be denied their fair share of influence on a basis sometimes offered. Their influence cannot be denied on the grounds that ideas have no power. For ideas belong to human beings with bodies. There is no separation between the structures and processes of the body parts that think and those that act. Brain and muscles work together. And human brains are far more important subjects for social science than human muscular systems and sense organs.

It is not our intention to engage in a discussion of political philosophies. The concept of the state, like most concepts which are introduced by “The,” is both too rigid and too tied up with controversies to be of ready use. It is a concept which can be approached by a flank movement more easily than by a frontal attack. The moment we utter the words “The State” a score of intellectual ghosts rise to obscure our vision. Without our intention and without our notice, the notion of “The State” draws us imperceptibly into a consideration of the logical relationship of various ideas to one another, and away from facts of human activity. It is better, if possible, to start from the latter and see if we are not led thereby into an idea of something which will turn out to implicate the marks and signs which characterize political behavior.

We do not intend to discuss political philosophies. The concept of the state, like most concepts introduced by “The,” is too rigid and controversial to be readily useful. It is easier to approach the concept indirectly than head-on. The moment we say “The State,” a score of intellectual ghosts rise to cloud our vision. Without our intending or noticing it, the idea of “The State” gradually draws us away from the facts of human activity. Instead, we find ourselves considering how various ideas relate logically to one another. It is better, if possible, to start with the facts of human activity. We can then see whether those facts lead us toward an idea of something with the distinguishing features of political behavior.

There is nothing novel in this method of approach. But very much depends upon what we select from which to start and very much depends upon whether we select our point of departure in order to tell at the terminus what the state ought to be or what it is. If we are too concerned with the former, there is a likelihood that we shall unwittingly have doctored the facts selected in order to come out at a predetermined point. The phase of human action we should not start with is that to which direct causative power is attributed. We should not look for state-forming forces. If we do, we are likely to get involved in mythology. To explain the origin of the state by saying that man is a political animal is to travel in a verbal circle. It is like attributing religion to a religious instinct, the family to marital and parental affection, and language to a natural endowment which impels men to speech. Such theories merely reduplicate in a so-called causal force the effects to be accounted for. They are of a piece with the notorious potency of opium to put men to sleep because of its dormitive power.

There is nothing new about this approach. But a great deal depends on what we choose as our starting point. Much also depends on whether we choose that starting point to show what the state ought to be or what it is. If we focus too much on the former, we risk unknowingly distorting our chosen facts to reach a predetermined conclusion. We should not start with the aspect of human action assumed to have direct causal power. We should not look for forces that create the state. If we do, we are likely to get caught up in mythology. Explaining the state's origin by saying that humans are political animals is circular reasoning. It is like explaining religion by a religious instinct, or the family by marital and parental affection. It is also like explaining language by a natural ability that drives people to speak. Such theories merely rename the effects they are supposed to explain, calling those effects a causal force. These theories are no different from the notorious explanation that opium puts people to sleep because of its sleep-inducing power.

The warning is not directed against a man of straw. The attempt to derive the state, or any other social institution, from strictly “psychological” data is in point. Appeal to a gregarious instinct to account for social arrangements is the outstanding example of the lazy fallacy. Men do not run together and join in a larger mass as do drops of quicksilver, and if they did the result would not be a state nor any mode of human association. The instincts, whether named gregariousness, or sympathy, or the sense of mutual dependence, or domination on one side and abasement and subjection on the other, at best account for everything in general and nothing in particular. And at worst, the alleged instinct and natural endowment appealed to as a causal force themselves represent physiological tendencies which have previously been shaped into habits of action and expectation by means of the very social conditions they are supposed to explain. Men who have lived in herds develop attachment to the horde to which they have become used; children who have perforce lived in dependence grow into habits of dependence and subjection. The inferiority complex is socially acquired, and the “instinct” of display and mastery is but its other face. There are structural organs which physiologically manifest themselves in vocalizations as the organs of a bird induce song. But the barking of dogs and the song of birds are enough to prove that these native tendencies do not generate language. In order to be converted into language, native vocalization requires transformation by extrinsic conditions, both organic and extra-organic or environmental: formation, be it noted, not just stimulation. The cry of a baby can doubtless be described in purely organic terms, but the wail becomes a noun or verb only by its consequences in the responsive behavior of others. This responsive behavior takes the form of nurture and care, themselves dependent upon tradition, custom and social patterns. Why not postulate an “instinct” of infanticide as well as one of guidance and instruction? Or an “instinct” of exposing girls and taking care of boys?

This warning is not aimed at an imaginary target. Consider attempts to explain the state, or any other social institution, using strictly “psychological” facts. Explaining social arrangements by appealing to a herding instinct is the clearest example of this lazy mistake. People do not come together and merge into a larger mass like drops of mercury. Even if they did, the result would not be a state or any form of human association. At best, instincts explain everything in general and nothing in particular. This holds whether we call them sociability, sympathy, a sense of mutual dependence, or domination paired with humiliation and submission. At worst, the supposed instincts and natural abilities offered as causes are themselves physical tendencies already shaped by social conditions. Those very conditions have turned these tendencies into habits of action and expectation, yet the tendencies supposedly explain those conditions. People who have lived in herds become attached to the group they are used to. Children forced to live in dependence develop habits of dependence and submission. The inferiority complex is socially acquired, and the “instinct” for showing off and dominating is just its other side. We have bodily organs that naturally produce vocal sounds, just as a bird’s organs produce song. But dogs’ barking and birds’ songs are enough to prove that these inborn tendencies do not produce language. For inborn vocal sounds to become language, conditions outside those tendencies must transform them. These conditions include both bodily processes and the surrounding environment. Notice that this means shaping the sounds, not just triggering them. A baby’s cry can doubtless be described entirely in terms of bodily processes. But the cry becomes a noun or verb only through the responses it brings about in others. Those responses take the form of nurture and care, which themselves depend on tradition, custom, and social patterns. Why not assume an “instinct” for killing infants as well as one for guiding and teaching them? Or an “instinct” for abandoning girls to die while caring for boys?

We may, however, take the argument in a less mythological form than is found in the current appeal to social instincts of one sort or another. The activities of animals, like those of minerals and plants, are correlated with their structure. Quadrupeds run, worms crawl, fish swim, birds fly. They are made that way; it is “the nature of the beast.” We do not gain anything by inserting instincts to run, creep, swim and fly between the structure and the act. But the strictly organic conditions which lead men to join, assemble, foregather, combine, are just those which lead other animals to unite in swarms and packs and herds. In describing what is common in human and other animal junctions and consolidations we fail to touch what is distinctively human in human associations. These structural conditions and acts may be sine qua nons of human societies; but so are the attractions and repulsions which are exhibited in inanimate things. Physics and chemistry as well as zoölogy may inform us of some of the conditions without which human beings would not associate. But they do not furnish us with the sufficient conditions of community life and of the forms which it takes.

We may, however, put the argument in less mythological terms than today’s appeals to social instincts of various kinds. The activities of animals, like those of minerals and plants, are linked to their structure. Four-legged animals run, worms crawl, fish swim, birds fly. Their bodies are built that way. It is “the nature of the beast.” We gain nothing by inserting instincts to run, crawl, swim, and fly between bodily structure and action. But the biological conditions that lead humans to gather and unite also lead other animals to form swarms, packs, and herds. Describing what human and other animal groupings have in common does not capture what makes human associations distinctly human. These bodily conditions and actions may be necessary conditions for human societies. But so are the forces of attraction and repulsion found in nonliving things. Physics and chemistry, as well as zoology, may explain some conditions without which human beings would not associate. But these sciences do not provide the sufficient conditions for community life or the forms community life takes.

We must in any case start from acts which are performed, not from hypothetical causes for those acts, and consider their consequences. We must also introduce intelligence, or the observation of consequences as consequences, that is, in connection with the acts from which they proceed. Since we must introduce it, it is better to do so knowingly than it is to smuggle it in in a way which deceives not only the customs officer—the reader—but ourselves as well. We take then our point of departure from the objective fact that human acts have consequences upon others, that some of these consequences are perceived, and that their perception leads to subsequent effort to control action so as to secure some consequences and avoid others. Following this clew, we are led to remark that the consequences are of two kinds, those which affect the persons directly engaged in a transaction, and those which affect others beyond those immediately concerned. In this distinction we find the germ of the distinction between the private and the public. When indirect consequences are recognized and there is effort to regulate them, something having the traits of a state comes into existence. When the consequences of an action are confined, or are thought to be confined, mainly to the persons directly engaged in it, the transaction is a private one. When A and B carry on a conversation together the action is a trans-action: both are concerned in it; its results pass, as it were, across from one to the other. One or other or both may be helped or harmed thereby. But, presumably, the consequences of advantage and injury do not extend beyond A and B; the activity lies between them; it is private. Yet if it is found that the consequences of conversation extend beyond the two directly concerned, that they affect the welfare of many others, the act acquires a public capacity, whether the conversation be carried on by a king and his prime minister or by Cataline and a fellow conspirator or by merchants planning to monopolize a market.

In any case, we must start with actions people actually take, not hypothetical causes of those actions. We must then consider their consequences. We must also bring in intelligence, meaning the observation of consequences as consequences, connected to the actions that produce them. Since we must bring intelligence in, we should do so openly rather than smuggle it in. Smuggling it in deceives not only the customs officer (the reader), but ourselves as well. So we start with an objective fact: human actions have consequences for others, and some of those consequences are noticed. Noticing those consequences leads to later efforts to control actions, so as to achieve some consequences and avoid others. Following this clue, we find two kinds of consequences. Some affect the people directly involved in an interaction. Others affect people beyond those immediately involved. This difference is the starting point for the distinction between private and public. When indirect consequences are recognized and people try to regulate them, something with the features of a state emerges. When an action's consequences are confined mainly to those directly involved, or are thought to be, the interaction is private. When A and B have a conversation, their action is a trans-action: both take part in it. Its results pass, so to speak, from one to the other. Either or both may be helped or harmed by the conversation. But presumably, the benefits and harms do not extend beyond A and B. The activity stays between them and is private. Yet suppose the conversation's consequences are found to extend beyond the two participants and affect many other people's welfare. Then the act takes on a public character. This is true whether the conversation involves a king and his prime minister, Cataline and a fellow conspirator, or merchants planning to monopolize a market.

The distinction between private and public is thus in no sense equivalent to the distinction between individual and social, even if we suppose that the latter distinction has a definite meaning. Many private acts are social; their consequences contribute to the welfare of the community or affect its status and prospects. In the broad sense any transaction deliberately carried on between two or more persons is social in quality. It is a form of associated behavior and its consequences may influence further associations. A man may serve others, even in the community at large, in carrying on a private business. To some extent it is true, as Adam Smith asserted, that our breakfast table is better supplied by the convergent outcome of activities of farmers, grocers and butchers carrying on private affairs with a view to private profit than it would be if we were served on a basis of philanthropy or public spirit. Communities have been supplied with works of art, with scientific discoveries, because of the personal delight found by private persons in engaging in these activities. There are private philanthropists who act so that needy persons or the community as a whole profit by the endowment of libraries, hospitals and educational institutions. In short, private acts may be socially valuable both by indirect consequences and by direct intention.

The distinction between private and public is therefore not at all the same as the distinction between individual and social. This remains true even if we assume that the distinction between individual and social has a definite meaning. Many private acts are social. Their consequences contribute to the community’s well-being or affect its condition and prospects. In a broad sense, any transaction deliberately carried out between two or more people is social. Such a transaction is a form of joint activity, and its consequences may influence further relationships. Someone running a private business may serve others, even the community at large. To some extent, Adam Smith was right about how our breakfast table is supplied. Farmers, grocers, and butchers conduct their private businesses for private profit. Their combined efforts supply our breakfast table better than if they served us out of charity or public spirit. Communities have gained works of art and scientific discoveries because private individuals found personal pleasure in these activities. Some private philanthropists fund libraries, hospitals, and educational institutions so that people in need or the whole community benefit. In short, private acts may have social value both through their indirect consequences and through their direct purpose.

There is therefore no necessary connection between the private character of an act and its non-social or anti-social character. The public, moreover, cannot be identified with the socially useful. One of the most regular activities of the politically organized community has been waging war. Even the most bellicose of militarists will hardly contend that all wars have been socially helpful, or deny that some have been so destructive of social values that it would have been infinitely better if they had not been waged. The argument for the non-equivalence of the public and the social, in any praiseworthy sense of social, does not rest upon the case of war alone. There is no one, I suppose, so enamored of political action as to hold that it has never been short-sighted, foolish and harmful. There are even those who hold that the presumption is always that social loss will result from agents of the public doing anything which could be done by persons in their private capacity. There are many more who protest that some special public activity, whether prohibition, a protective tariff or the expanded meaning given the Monroe Doctrine, is baleful to society. Indeed every serious political dispute turns upon the question whether a given political act is socially beneficial or harmful.

An act’s private nature therefore does not necessarily make it non-social or anti-social. Nor can the public be equated with what benefits society. One of the most regular activities of politically organized communities has been waging war. Even the most warlike militarists would hardly claim that all wars have benefited society. Nor would they deny that some wars have been so destructive of social values that avoiding them would have been infinitely better. But war is not the only reason to distinguish the public from the social, when “social” means something worthy of praise. No one, I suppose, admires political action so much as to claim it has never been shortsighted, foolish, and harmful. Some people even hold that we should always expect social harm when public officials undertake tasks private individuals could perform. Many more argue that some particular public activity harms society. Examples include prohibition, a protective tariff, or the broader meaning given to the Monroe Doctrine. Indeed, every serious political dispute centers on whether a particular political act benefits or harms society.

Just as behavior is not anti-social or non-social because privately undertaken, it is not necessarily socially valuable because carried on in the name of the public by public agents. The argument has not carried us far, but at least it has warned us against identifying the community and its interests with the state or the politically organized community. And the differentiation may dispose us to look with more favor upon the proposition already advanced: namely, that the line between private and public is to be drawn on the basis of the extent and scope of the consequences of acts which are so important as to need control, whether by inhibition or by promotion. We distinguish private and public buildings, private and public schools, private paths and public highways, private assets and public funds, private persons and public officials. It is our thesis that in this distinction we find the key to the nature and office of the state. It is not without significance that etymologically “private” is defined in opposition to “official,” a private person being one deprived of public position. The public consists of all those who are affected by the indirect consequences of transactions to such an extent that it is deemed necessary to have those consequences systematically cared for. Officials are those who look out for and take care of the interests thus affected. Since those who are indirectly affected are not direct participants in the transactions in question, it is necessary that certain persons be set apart to represent them, and see to it that their interests are conserved and protected. The buildings, property, funds, and other physical resources involved in the performance of this office are res publica, the common-wealth. The public as far as organized by means of officials and material agencies to care for the extensive and enduring indirect consequences of transactions between persons is the Populus.

Behavior is not antisocial or outside social life simply because someone acts privately. Likewise, behavior is not necessarily socially valuable because public officials act in the public’s name. The argument has not taken us far. But at least it warns us against equating the community and its interests with the state, or politically organized community. And this distinction may make us more receptive to the proposal already presented. The boundary between private and public should depend on how far the consequences of actions reach. The consequences must also be important enough to require control, whether by restricting or encouraging the actions. We distinguish private and public buildings, private and public schools, private paths and public highways, private assets and public funds. We also distinguish private persons and public officials. Our argument is that this distinction provides the key to the nature and role of the state. The word origins matter here: “private” is defined in contrast to “official.” A private person is someone without a public position. The public consists of all those affected by the indirect consequences of transactions. Those effects must be significant enough that systematically managing the consequences is considered necessary. Officials are the people who watch over and care for the interests affected in this way. Since those indirectly affected do not participate directly in the transactions, certain people must be designated to represent them. These representatives must ensure that the affected people’s interests are preserved and protected. The buildings, property, funds, and other physical resources used to perform this role are res publica, the common wealth. The public, when organized through officials and material resources for this purpose, is the Populus. That purpose is to manage the widespread and lasting indirect consequences of transactions between people.

It is a commonplace that legal agencies for protecting the persons and properties of members of a community, and for redressing wrongs which they suffer, did not always exist. Legal institutions derive from an earlier period when the right of self-help obtained. If a person was harmed, it was strictly up to him what he should do to get even. Injuring another and exacting a penalty for an injury received were private transactions. They were the affairs of those directly concerned and nobody else’s direct business. But the injured party obtained readily the help of friends and relatives, and the aggressor did likewise. Hence consequences of the quarrel did not remain confined to those immediately concerned. Feuds ensued, and the blood-quarrel might implicate large numbers and endure for generations. The recognition of this extensive and lasting embroilment and the harm wrought by it to whole families brought a public into existence. The transaction ceased to concern only the immediate parties to it. Those indirectly affected formed a public which took steps to conserve its interests by instituting composition and other means of pacification to localize the trouble.

It is well known that communities did not always have legal bodies to protect their members and their property. Nor did they always have legal means to remedy the wrongs their members suffered. Legal institutions grew out of an earlier period when people had the right to take matters into their own hands. If someone was harmed, deciding how to get even was entirely up to that person. Injuring someone and punishing someone for an injury were private matters. Such matters concerned only the people directly involved and were nobody else’s direct business. But the injured person could readily get help from friends and relatives, and the aggressor could do the same. So the quarrel’s consequences did not remain limited to those directly involved. Feuds followed, and a blood feud might involve many people and last for generations. Recognizing how widely these conflicts spread, how long they lasted, and how they harmed whole families brought a public into existence. The conflict no longer concerned only those directly involved. Those indirectly affected formed a public and took steps to protect their interests. They introduced compensation settlements and other ways of restoring peace to keep the trouble from spreading.

The facts are simple and familiar. But they seem to present in embryonic form the traits that define a state, its agencies and officers. The instance illustrates what was meant when it said that it is fallacy to try to determine the nature of the state in terms of direct causal factors. Its essential point has to do with the enduring and extensive consequences of behavior, which like all behavior proceeds in ultimate analysis through individual human beings. Recognition of evil consequences brought about a common interest which required for its maintenance certain measures and rules, together with the selection of certain persons as their guardians, interpreters, and, if need be, their executors.

The facts are simple and familiar. But they seem to show, in early form, the features that define a state, its agencies, and its officials. This example illustrates the earlier point: trying to define the state through direct causes is a mistake. The key to understanding the state lies in the lasting and widespread consequences of behavior. Like all behavior, this behavior ultimately takes place through individual human beings. Recognizing harmful consequences created a shared interest. Maintaining that shared interest required certain measures and rules. It also required choosing certain people to safeguard and interpret those measures and rules and, if necessary, enforce them.

If the account given is at all in the right direction, it explains the gap already mentioned between the facts of political action and theories of the state. Men have looked in the wrong place. They have sought for the key to the nature of the state in the field of agencies, in that of doers of deeds, or in some will or purpose back of the deeds. They have sought to explain the state in terms of authorship. Ultimately all deliberate choices proceed from somebody in particular; acts are performed by somebody, and all arrangements and plans are made by somebody in the most concrete sense of “somebody.” Some John Doe and Richard Roe figure in every transaction. We shall not, then, find the public if we look for it on the side of originators of voluntary actions. Some John Smith and his congeners decide whether or not to grow wheat and how much, where and how to invest money, what roads to build and travel, whether to wage war and if so how, what laws to pass and which to obey and disobey. The actual alternative to deliberate acts of individuals is not action by the public; it is routine, impulsive and other unreflected acts also performed by individuals.

If this account is at all on the right track, it explains the gap already noted between political action and theories of the state. People have looked in the wrong place. They have sought the key to the state’s nature in those who act, or in some will or purpose behind their actions. They have tried to explain the state by identifying who is responsible for actions. Ultimately, all deliberate choices come from particular people. Someone performs each act, and someone makes every arrangement and plan, in the most concrete sense of “somebody.” Some John Doe and Richard Roe are involved in every transaction. So we will not find the public by looking at those who initiate voluntary actions. Some John Smith and others like him decide whether to grow wheat and how much. They decide where and how to invest money, and what roads to build and travel. They decide whether to wage war and, if so, how. They decide what laws to pass and which laws to obey or disobey. The actual alternative to deliberate acts by individuals is not action by the public. It is routine, impulsive, and other unthinking acts, also performed by individuals.

Individual human beings may lose their identity in a mob or in a political convention or in a joint-stock corporation or at the polls. But this does not mean that some mysterious collective agency is making decisions, but that some few persons who know what they are about are taking advantage of massed force to conduct the mob their way, boss a political machine, and manage the affairs of corporate business. When the public or state is involved in making social arrangements like passing laws, enforcing a contract, conferring a franchise, it still acts through concrete persons. The persons are now officers, representatives of a public and shared interest. The difference is an important one. But it is not a difference between single human beings and a collective impersonal will. It is between persons in their private and in their official or representative character. The quality presented is not authorship but authority, the authority of recognized consequences to control the behavior which generates and averts extensive and enduring results of weal and woe. Officials are indeed public agents, but agents in the sense of factors doing the business of others in securing and obviating consequences that concern them.

Individuals may lose their identity in a mob, a political convention, a joint-stock corporation, or at the polls. But no mysterious collective power is making decisions. Instead, a few people who know what they are doing use the crowd’s combined power for their own purposes. They steer the mob, control a political machine, and manage corporate business. When the public or the state makes social arrangements, the public or state still acts through specific people. These arrangements include passing laws, enforcing a contract, and granting a franchise. The people acting are now officials who represent a shared public interest. The distinction is important. But the distinction is not between individual human beings and an impersonal collective will. The distinction is between people acting privately and people acting as officials or representatives. What matters is not who originates an action, but who has authority. That authority comes from recognized consequences and governs behavior that produces or prevents widespread, lasting benefits and harms. Officials are indeed public agents. But they are agents in the sense of people conducting others’ business, securing or preventing consequences that affect those people.

When we look in the wrong place we naturally do not find what we are looking for. The worst of it is, however, that looking in the wrong place, to causal forces instead of consequences, the outcome of the looking becomes arbitrary. There is no check on it. “Interpretation” runs wild. Hence the variety of conflicting theories and the lack of consensus of opinion. One might argue a priori that the continual conflict of theories about the state is itself proof that the problem has been wrongly posed. For, as we have previously remarked, the main facts of political action, while the phenomena vary immensely with diversity of time and place, are not hidden even when they are complex. They are facts of human behavior accessible to human observation. Existence of a multitude of contradictory theories of the state, which is so baffling from the standpoint of the theories themselves, is readily explicable the moment we see that all the theories, in spite of their divergence from one another, spring from a root of shared error: the taking of causal agency instead of consequences as the heart of the problem.

When we look in the wrong place, we naturally fail to find what we are looking for. But the worst part is that looking at causes instead of consequences makes our findings arbitrary. There is nothing to keep them in check. “Interpretation” runs wild. Hence the many conflicting theories and the lack of agreement. One might argue a priori that the continuing conflict among theories of the state itself proves the problem has been framed wrongly. For, as we have already noted, the main facts of political action are not hidden, even when they are complex. Political activity does vary enormously across times and places. But the facts concern human behavior and are open to human observation. The many contradictory theories of the state are baffling when viewed from within the theories themselves. But their existence is easily explained once we recognize that all these theories, despite their differences, share a fundamental error. They make causes, rather than consequences, the heart of the problem.

Given this attitude and postulate, some men at some time will find the causal agency in a metaphysical nisus attributed to nature; and the state will then be explained in terms of an “essence” of man realizing itself in an end of perfected Society. Others, influenced by other preconceptions and other desires, will find the required author in the will of God reproducing through the medium of fallen humanity such an image of divine order and justice as the corrupt material allows. Others seek for it in the meeting of the wills of individuals who come together and by contract or mutual pledging of loyalties bring a state into existence. Still others find it in an autonomous and transcendent will embodied in all men as a universal within their particular beings, a will which by its own inner nature commands the establishment of external conditions in which it is possible for will to express outwardly its freedom. Others find it in the fact that mind or reason is either an attribute of reality or is reality itself, while they condole that difference and plurality of minds, individuality, is an illusion attributable to sense, or is merely an appearance in contrast with the monistic reality of reason. When various opinions all spring from a common and shared error, one is as good as another, and the accidents of education, temperament, class interest and the dominant circumstances of the age decide which is adopted. Reason comes into play only to find justification for the opinion which has been adopted, instead of to analyze human behavior with respect to its consequences and to frame polities accordingly. It is an old story that natural philosophy steadily progressed only after an intellectual revolution. This consisted in abandoning the search for causes and forces and turning to the analysis of what is going on and how it goes on. Political philosophy has still in large measure to take to heart this lesson.

Given this attitude and assumption, some people at some point will find the cause in a metaphysical drive within nature. They will then explain the state through an “essence” of humanity fulfilling itself in the goal of a perfected Society. Others, guided by different preconceptions and desires, will find the needed creator in the will of God. They see God working through fallen humanity to reproduce an image of divine order and justice. That image is only as faithful as the corrupt human material allows. Others seek the cause in the coming together of individual wills. These individuals create a state through a contract or mutual pledges of loyalty. Still others find the cause in an independent, transcendent will present in all people. This will exists as something universal within each person's particular being. By its own inner nature, this will commands the creation of external conditions that allow its freedom to find outward expression. Others find the cause in mind or reason, understood either as a property of reality or as reality itself. At the same time, they lament the differences and multiplicity of individual minds. They regard individuality as an illusion produced by the senses, or as mere appearance, unlike the single reality of reason. When different opinions all arise from the same shared error, one is as good as another. Which opinion people adopt depends on accidents of education, temperament, class interest, and the dominant circumstances of their time. Reason serves only to justify the opinion already adopted. It does not analyze human behavior in terms of its consequences and shape political arrangements accordingly. It is a familiar story that natural philosophy made steady progress only after an intellectual revolution. That revolution meant abandoning the search for causes and forces and turning to analyzing what happens and how it happens. Political philosophy still has, to a large extent, to take this lesson to heart.

The failure to note that the problem is that of perceiving in a discriminating and thorough way the consequences of human action (including negligence and inaction) and of instituting measures and means of caring for these consequences is not confined to production of conflicting and irreconcilable theories of the state. The failure has also had the effect of perverting the views of those who, up to a certain point, perceived the truth. We have asserted that all deliberate choices and plans are finally the work of single human beings. Thoroughly false conclusions have been drawn from this observation. By thinking still in terms of causal forces, the conclusion has been drawn from this fact that the state, the public, is a fiction, a mask for private desires for power and position. Not only the state but society itself has been pulverized into an aggregate of unrelated wants and wills. As a logical consequence, the state is conceived either as sheer oppression born of arbitrary power and sustained in fraud, or as a pooling of the forces of single men into a massive force which single persons are unable to resist, the pooling being a measure of desperation since its sole alternative is the conflict of all with all which generates a life that is helpless and brutish. Thus the state appears either a monster to be destroyed or as a Leviathan to be cherished. In short, under the influence of the prime fallacy that the problem of the state concerns causal forces, individualism, as an ism, as a philosophy, has been generated.

The problem is to recognize the consequences of human action carefully and fully, including the consequences of neglect and inaction. It is also to establish measures and means for dealing with those consequences. Failure to recognize this problem has done more than produce conflicting and irreconcilable theories of the state. It has also distorted the views of people who understood the truth up to a point. We have argued that all deliberate choices and plans are ultimately the work of individual human beings. Completely false conclusions have been drawn from this observation. Still thinking in terms of causal forces, some have concluded that the state, or the public, is a fiction. In this view, the state is a mask for private desires for power and position. Not only the state but society itself has been reduced to a collection of unrelated desires and wills. Logically, this view leads to two ways of understanding the state. Either the state is nothing but oppression, born of arbitrary power and maintained through deception. Or the state combines individuals' forces into a massive force that no individual can resist. This pooling of forces is seen as a desperate measure. The only alternative is a conflict of everyone against everyone, producing a helpless and brutish life. Thus the state appears either as a monster to destroy or as a Leviathan to cherish. In short, individualism as an ideology, as a philosophy, has grown out of a fundamental error. That error is the belief that the problem of the state concerns causal forces.

While the doctrine is false, it sets out from a fact. Wants, choices and purposes have their locus in single beings; behavior which manifests desire, intent and resolution proceeds from them in their singularity. But only intellectual laziness leads us to conclude that since the form of thought and decision is individual, their content, their subject-matter, is also something purely personal. Even if “consciousness” were the wholly private matter that the individualistic tradition in philosophy and psychology supposes it to be, it would still be true that consciousness is of objects, not of itself. Association in the sense of connection and combination is a “law” of everything known to exist. Singular things act, but they act together. Nothing has been discovered which acts in entire isolation. The action of everything is along with the action of other things. The “along with” is of such a kind that the behavior of each is modified by its connection with others. There are trees which can grow only in a forest. Seeds of many plants can successfully germinate and develop only under conditions furnished by the presence of other plants. Reproduction of kind is dependent upon the activities of insects which bring about fertilization. The life-history of an animal cell is conditioned upon connection with what other cells are doing. Electrons, atoms and molecules exemplify the omnipresence of conjoint behavior.

Although the doctrine is false, it starts from a fact. Wants, choices, and purposes exist in individual beings. Behavior expressing desire, intention, and resolve comes from these beings as individuals. But only intellectual laziness leads us to assume that because thinking and deciding are individual, their content is purely personal. Even if “consciousness” were entirely private, as the individualist tradition in philosophy and psychology assumes, one fact would remain. Consciousness is of objects, not of itself. Association, in the sense of connection and combination, is a “law” of everything known to exist. Individual things act, but they act together. Nothing has been discovered that acts in complete isolation. Everything acts along with other things. This “along with” means that each thing’s behavior changes through its connections with others. Some trees can grow only in a forest. Seeds of many plants can germinate and develop successfully only under conditions created by the presence of other plants. Reproduction of their kind depends on the activities of insects that bring about fertilization. The life history of an animal cell depends on its connection with the activities of other cells. Electrons, atoms, and molecules show how joint activity exists everywhere.

There is no mystery about the fact of association, of an interconnected action which affects the activity of singular elements. There is no sense in asking how individuals come to be associated. They exist and operate in association. If there is any mystery about the matter, it is the mystery that the universe is the kind of universe it is. Such a mystery could not be explained without going outside the universe. And if one should go to an outside source to account for it, some logician, without an excessive draft upon his ingenuity, would rise to remark that the outsider would have to be connected with the universe in order to account for anything in it. We should still be just where we started, with the fact of connection as a fact to be accepted.

There is no mystery in the fact that things act together and affect the activity of individual parts. There is no point in asking how individuals come to be associated. They exist and act in association. If there is any mystery here, it is why the universe is the kind of universe it is. That mystery could not be explained without going outside the universe. And suppose someone turned to an outside source to explain the universe. Some logician would point out that the outside source would have to be connected to the universe to explain anything in it. The logician would not need much ingenuity to make this observation. We would still be right where we started, with connection as a fact we have to accept.

There is, however, an intelligible question about human association:—Not the question how individuals or singular beings come to be connected, but how they come to be connected in just those ways which give human communities traits so different from those which mark assemblies of electrons, unions of trees in forests, swarms of insects, herds of sheep, and constellations of stars. When we consider the difference we at once come upon the fact that the consequences of conjoint action take on a new value when they are observed. For notice of the effects of connected action forces men to reflect upon the connection itself; it makes it an object of attention and interest. Each acts, in so far as the connection is known, in view of the connection. Individuals still do the thinking, desiring and purposing, but what they think of is the consequences of their behavior upon that of others and that of others upon themselves.

There is, however, a clear question to ask about human association. The question is not how individuals or separate beings become connected. It is how they become connected in the particular ways that give human communities such different traits. These traits distinguish human communities from groups of electrons, trees in forests, insect swarms, sheep herds, and star constellations. When we consider this difference, we immediately find that the consequences of joint action gain new significance when observed. Noticing the effects of acting together forces people to reflect on the connection itself. The connection becomes a focus of attention and interest. To the extent that each person understands the connection, each acts with that connection in mind. Individuals still do the thinking, desiring, and planning. But what they think about is how their behavior affects others’ behavior and how others’ behavior affects their own.

Each human being is born an infant. He is immature, helpless, dependent upon the activities of others. That many of these dependent beings survive is proof that others in some measure look out for them, take care of them. Mature and better equipped beings are aware of the consequences of their acts upon those of the young. They not only act conjointly with them, but they act in that especial kind of association which manifests interest in the consequences of their conduct upon the life and growth of the young.

Every human being is born an infant, immature, helpless, and dependent on what others do. The survival of many of these dependent beings proves that others look after them to some extent. Mature, better-equipped people recognize how their actions affect the actions of the young. They not only act together with the young. They also form a special kind of relationship, showing concern for how their behavior affects young people's lives and growth.

Continued physiological existence of the young is only one phase of interest in the consequences of association. Adults are equally concerned to act so that the immature learn to think, feel, desire and habitually conduct themselves in certain ways. Not the least of the consequences which are striven for is that the young shall themselves learn to judge, purpose and choose from the standpoint of associated behavior and its consequences. In fact, only too often this interest takes the form of endeavoring to make the young believe and plan just as adults do. This instance alone is enough to show that while singular beings in their singularity think, want and decide, what they think and strive for, the content of their beliefs and intentions is a subject-matter provided by association. Thus man is not merely de facto associated, but he becomes a social animal in the make-up of his ideas, sentiments and deliberate behavior. What he believes, hopes for and aims at is the outcome of association and intercourse. The only thing which imports obscurity and mystery into the influence of association upon what individual persons want and act for is the effort to discover alleged, special, original, society-making causal forces, whether instincts, fiats of will, personal, or an immanent, universal, practical reason, or an indwelling, metaphysical, social essence and nature. These things do not explain, for they are more mysterious than are the facts they are evoked to account for. The planets in a constellation would form a community if they were aware of the connections of the activities of each with those of the others and could use this knowledge to direct behavior.

Keeping the young physically alive is only one part of our concern with the effects of living together. Adults are equally concerned to help the young learn to think, feel, desire, and routinely behave in certain ways. One important goal is for the young themselves to learn to judge, set goals, and choose. They should learn to do so with shared activity and its consequences in mind. In fact, all too often, adults try to make the young believe and plan just as adults do. This example alone shows that individuals think, want, and decide as individuals. But what they think and strive for, the content of their beliefs and intentions, comes from their relationships with others. Thus, people do not merely live together de facto. Each person becomes a social animal through the formation of ideas, feelings, and deliberate behavior. What people believe, hope for, and aim at results from living and interacting with others. Only one thing makes the influence of social relationships on individual desires and actions seem obscure and mysterious. It is the attempt to explain society through supposed special, original forces that bring society into being. These supposed forces include instincts, acts of personal will, an inherent and universal practical reason, or an inborn metaphysical social essence or nature. Such forces explain nothing, because they are more mysterious than the facts they supposedly explain. The planets in a constellation would form a community if they knew how each planet's activities connected with the others' activities. They would also need to be able to use this knowledge to guide their behavior.

We have made a digression from consideration of the state to the wider topic of society. However, the excursion enables us to distinguish the state from other forms of social life. There is an old tradition which regards the state and completely organized society as the same thing. The state is said to be the complete and inclusive realization of all social institutions. Whatever values result from any and every social arrangement are gathered together and asserted to be the work of the state. The counterpart of this method is that philosophical anarchism which assembles all the evils that result from all forms of human grouping and attributes them en masse to the state, whose elimination would then bring in a millennium of voluntary fraternal organization. That the state should be to some a deity and to others a devil is another evidence of the defects of the premises from which discussion sets out. One theory is as indiscriminate as the other.

We have shifted from discussing the state to the broader topic of society. But this detour helps us distinguish the state from other forms of social life. An old tradition treats the state and fully organized society as the same thing. In this view, the state fully embodies all social institutions and includes them all. All the benefits of any and every social arrangement are gathered together and credited to the state. The opposite approach is philosophical anarchism. It gathers all the evils arising from all forms of human association and blames them as a whole on the state. Eliminating the state would then usher in a golden age of voluntary, brotherly organization. Some see the state as a god, while others see it as a devil. This contrast further shows the flaws in the assumptions from which the discussion begins. Both theories are equally sweeping in their judgments.

There is, however, a definite criterion by which to demarcate the organized public from other modes of community life. Friendships, for example, are non-political forms of association. They are characterized by an intimate and subtle sense of the fruits of intercourse. They contribute to experience some of its most precious values. Only the exigencies of a preconceived theory would confuse with the state that texture of friendships and attachments which is the chief bond in any community, or would insist that the former depends upon the latter for existence. Men group themselves also for scientific inquiry, for religious worship, for artistic production and enjoyment, for sport, for giving and receiving instruction, for industrial and commercial undertakings. In each case some combined or conjoint action, which has grown up out of “natural,” that is, biological, conditions and from local contiguity, results in producing distinctive consequences—that is, consequences which differ in kind from those of isolated behavior.

There is, however, a clear standard for distinguishing the organized public from other forms of community life. Friendships, for example, are nonpolitical forms of association. They involve an intimate, subtle appreciation of the benefits of personal interaction. Friendships give experience some of its most precious values. The network of friendships and attachments is the main bond in any community. Only the demands of a preconceived theory could lead anyone to confuse this network with the state. Only those demands could lead anyone to insist that the state depends on this network for its existence. People also form groups for scientific research, religious worship, artistic creation and enjoyment, sports, teaching and learning, and industrial and commercial ventures. In each case, some joint action develops from “natural,” or biological, conditions and from people living near one another. This joint action produces distinctive consequences. These consequences differ in kind from the consequences of acting alone.

When these consequences are intellectually and emotionally appreciated, a shared interest is generated and the nature of the interconnected behavior is thereby transformed. Each form of association has its own peculiar quality and value, and no person in his senses confuses one with another. The characteristic of the public as a state springs from the fact that all modes of associated behavior may have extensive and enduring consequences which involve others beyond those directly engaged in them. When these consequences are in turn realized in thought and sentiment, recognition of them reacts to remake the conditions out of which they arose. Consequences have to be taken care of, looked out for. This supervision and regulation cannot be effected by the primary groupings themselves. For the essence of the consequences which call a public into being is the fact that they expand beyond those directly engaged in producing them. Consequently special agencies and measures must be formed if they are to be attended to; or else some existing group must take on new functions. The obvious external mark of the organization of a public or of a state is thus the existence of officials. Government is not the state, for that includes the public as well as the rulers charged with special duties and powers. The public, however, is organized in and through those officers who act in behalf of its interests.

When people understand these consequences intellectually and emotionally, a shared interest develops. That shared interest changes the nature of their interconnected behavior. Each form of association has its own distinct quality and value. No one in their right mind confuses one form with another. The public’s character as a state arises from a fact about all forms of group activity. All such activities may have widespread and lasting consequences for people beyond those directly involved. When people recognize these consequences in thought and feeling, that recognition reshapes the conditions that produced the consequences. The consequences must be addressed and watched over. The original groups cannot carry out this supervision and regulation themselves. The very consequences that bring a public into being extend beyond the people directly responsible for them. So special agencies and measures must be established to address these consequences, or some existing group must take on new functions. The obvious outward sign that a public or state has been organized is therefore the existence of officials. Government is not the state, because the state includes both the public and rulers with special duties and powers. The public, however, is organized in and through those officials who act on behalf of its interests.

Thus the state represents an important although distinctive and restricted social interest. From this point of view there is nothing extraordinary in the preëminence of the claims of the organized public over other interests when once they are called into play, nor in its total indifference and irrelevancy to friendships, associations for science, art and religion under most circumstances. If the consequences of a friendship threaten the public, then it is treated as a conspiracy; usually it is not the state’s business or concern. Men join each other in partnership as a matter of course to do a piece of work more profitably or for mutual defense. Let its operations exceed a certain limit, and others not participating in it find their security or prosperity menaced by it, and suddenly the gears of the state are in mesh. Thus it happens that the state, instead of being all absorbing and inclusive, is under some circumstances the most idle and empty of social arrangements. Nevertheless, the temptation to generalize from these instances and conclude that the state generically is of no significance is at once challenged by the fact that when a family connection, a church, a trade union, a business corporation, or an educational institution conducts itself so as to affect large numbers outside of itself, those who are affected form a public which endeavors to act through suitable structures, and thus to organize itself for oversight and regulation.

Thus the state represents an important social interest, though a distinct and limited one. From this perspective, there is nothing extraordinary about the organized public’s claims taking priority over other interests when those claims arise. Nor is it extraordinary that, under most circumstances, the state is entirely unconcerned with friendships or scientific, artistic, and religious associations. Under those circumstances, the state has no bearing on them. If the consequences of a friendship threaten the public, that friendship is treated as a conspiracy. Usually, a friendship is not the state’s business or concern. People naturally form partnerships to do work more profitably or to defend one another. But if a partnership’s activities go beyond a certain limit, outsiders find their security or prosperity threatened. Suddenly, the machinery of the state engages. Thus, rather than absorbing and encompassing everything, the state is sometimes the most inactive and empty of social arrangements. Nevertheless, these examples tempt us to generalize and conclude that the state, by its nature, has no significance. But that conclusion is immediately challenged by another fact. A family connection, church, trade union, business corporation, or educational institution may act in ways that affect many outsiders. When that happens, those affected form a public. That public tries to act through suitable structures, organizing itself to oversee and regulate those activities.

I know of no better way in which to apprehend the absurdity of the claims which are sometimes made in behalf of society politically organized than to call to mind the influence upon community life of Socrates, Buddha, Jesus, Aristotle, Confucius, Homer, Vergil, Dante, St. Thomas, Shakespeare, Copernicus, Galileo, Newton, Boyle, Locke, Rousseau and countless others, and then to ask ourselves if we conceive these men to be officers of the state. Any method which so broadens the scope of the state as to lead to such conclusion merely makes the state a name for the totality of all kinds of associations. The moment we have taken the word as loosely as that, it is at once necessary to distinguish, within it, the state in its usual political and legal sense. On the other hand, if one is tempted to eliminate or disregard the state, one may think of Pericles, Alexander, Julius and Augustus Cæsar, Elizabeth, Cromwell, Richelieu, Napoleon, Bismarck and hundreds of names of that kind. One dimly feels that they must have had a private life, but how insignificant it bulks in comparison with their action as representatives of a state!

Some claims made on behalf of politically organized society are absurd. I know of no better way to grasp that absurdity than to recall certain people’s influence on community life. Consider Socrates, Buddha, Jesus, Aristotle, Confucius, Homer, Vergil, Dante, St. Thomas, Shakespeare, Copernicus, Galileo, Newton, Boyle, Locke, Rousseau and countless others. Then ask ourselves whether we think of these men as officials of the state. Any approach that defines the state so broadly as to reach that conclusion merely makes “state” mean all associations. Once we use the word so loosely, we immediately need to distinguish the state in its usual political and legal sense. On the other hand, if we are tempted to dismiss or disregard the state, we might consider another group. Think of Pericles, Alexander, Julius and Augustus Cæsar, Elizabeth, Cromwell, Richelieu, Napoleon, Bismarck and hundreds of others like them. We vaguely feel that these men and women must have had private lives. But how insignificant those lives seem compared with their actions as representatives of a state!

This conception of statehood does not imply any belief as to the propriety or reasonableness of any particular political act, measure or system. Observations of consequences are at least as subject to error and illusion as is perception of natural objects. Judgments about what to undertake so as to regulate them, and how to do it, are as fallible as other plans. Mistakes pile up and consolidate themselves into laws and methods of administration which are more harmful than the consequences which they were originally intended to control. And as all political history shows, the power and prestige which attend command of official position render rule something to be grasped and exploited for its own sake. Power to govern is distributed by the accident of birth or by the possession of qualities which enable a person to obtain office, but which are quite irrelevant to the performance of its representative functions. But the need which calls forth the organization of the public by means of rulers and agencies of government persists and to some extent is incarnated in political fact. Such progress as political history records depends upon some luminous emergence of the idea from the mass of irrelevancies which obscure and clutter it. Then some reconstruction occurs which provides the function with organs more apt for its fulfillment. Progress is not steady and continuous. Retrogression is as periodic as advance. Industry and inventions in technology, for example, create means which alter the modes of associated behavior and which radically change the quantity, character and place of impact of their indirect consequences.

This view of statehood does not imply that any particular political act, policy, or system is proper or reasonable. Observations of consequences are at least as open to error and illusion as perceptions of natural objects. Decisions about what to do to regulate those consequences, and how, are as prone to error as other plans. Mistakes accumulate and become established in laws and administrative practices. These laws and practices cause more harm than the consequences they were originally meant to control. And as all political history shows, holding public office brings power and prestige. These rewards make political rule something people seek and exploit for its own sake. Governing power is distributed by accidents of birth or by qualities that enable people to gain office. Yet those qualities have nothing to do with carrying out the representative duties of office. But the need to organize the public through rulers and government agencies persists. To some extent, that need takes concrete form in political life. Whatever progress political history records depends on the idea becoming clear amid the mass of irrelevant things that obscure it. Some restructuring then takes place, providing institutions better suited to carrying out their function. Progress is not steady or continuous. Backward movement occurs as periodically as forward movement. Industry and technological inventions, for example, create tools that change how people act together. These tools radically change the amount and nature of the indirect consequences of those activities, and where those consequences fall.

These changes are extrinsic to political forms which, once established, persist of their own momentum. The new public which is generated remains long inchoate, unorganized, because it cannot use inherited political agencies. The latter, if elaborate and well institutionalized, obstruct the organization of the new public. They prevent that development of new forms of the state which might grow up rapidly were social life more fluid, less precipitated into set political and legal molds. To form itself, the public has to break existing political forms. This is hard to do because these forms are themselves the regular means of instituting change. The public which generated political forms is passing away, but the power and lust of possession remains in the hands of the officers and agencies which the dying public instituted. This is why the change of the form of states is so often effected only by revolution. The creation of adequately flexible and responsive political and legal machinery has so far been beyond the wit of man. An epoch in which the needs of a newly forming public are counteracted by established forms of the state is one in which there is increasing disparagement and disregard of the state. General apathy, neglect and contempt find expression in resort to various short-cuts of direct action. And direct action is taken by many other interests than those which employ “direct action” as a slogan, often most energetically by intrenched class-interests which profess the greatest reverence for the established “law and order” of the existing state. By its very nature, a state is ever something to be scrutinized, investigated, searched for. Almost as soon as its form is stabilized, it needs to be re-made.

These changes occur outside political structures, which keep going under their own momentum once established. The new public that emerges remains unformed and unorganized for a long time because it cannot use inherited political institutions. If those institutions are complex and firmly established, they block the new public from organizing. They prevent new forms of the state from developing. Such forms might develop quickly if social life were more fluid, less fixed in rigid political and legal patterns. To take shape, the public has to break existing political structures. Breaking those structures is hard because they are themselves the normal means of bringing about change. The public that created those political structures is passing away. But the officials and institutions created by that dying public still hold power and cling greedily to it. This is why the form of states so often changes only through revolution. So far, humanity has lacked the ingenuity to create political and legal systems that are flexible and responsive enough. When established state structures work against the needs of an emerging public, the state faces growing criticism and disregard. Widespread apathy, neglect, and contempt lead people to take various shortcuts through direct action. And many interests use direct action, not just those who adopt “direct action” as a slogan. Entrenched class interests often use it most energetically, while professing the greatest respect for the existing state’s established “law and order”. By its very nature, a state must always be examined, investigated, and sought out. Almost as soon as its form becomes stable, it needs to be remade.

Thus the problem of discovering the state is not a problem for theoretical inquirers engaged solely in surveying institutions which already exist. It is a practical problem of human beings living in association with one another, of mankind generically. It is a complex problem. It demands power to perceive and recognize the consequences of the behavior of individuals joined in groups and to trace them to their source and origin. It involves selection of persons to serve as representatives of the interests created by these perceived consequences and to define the functions which they shall possess and employ. It requires institution of a government such that those having the renown and power which goes with the exercise of these functions shall employ them for the public and not turn them to their own private benefit. It is no cause for wonder, then, that states have been many, not only in number but in type and kind. For there have been countless forms of joint activity with correspondingly diverse consequences. Power to detect consequences has varied especially with the instrumentalities of knowledge at hand. Rulers have been selected on all kinds of different grounds. Their functions have varied and so have their will and zeal to represent common interests. Only the exigencies of a rigid philosophy can lead us to suppose that there is some one form or idea of The State which these protean historic states have realized in various degrees of perfection. The only statement which can be made is a purely formal one: the state is the organization of the public effected through officials for the protection of the interests shared by its members. But what the public may be, what the officials are, how adequately they perform their function, are things we have to go to history to discover.

Thus, discovering the state is not just a task for theorists studying institutions that already exist. It is a practical problem for people living together, for humanity as a whole. It is a complex problem. It requires the ability to recognize the consequences of people’s actions in groups and trace those consequences to their sources. It involves choosing people to represent the interests arising from these recognized consequences. It also involves defining the functions these representatives will have and carry out. It requires establishing a government whose officials use the prestige and power of their positions for the public. These officials must not turn that prestige and power to their own private benefit. It is no surprise, then, that states have been many, not only in number but also in type. For there have been countless forms of shared activity, with equally varied consequences. The ability to identify consequences has varied, especially with the tools for gaining knowledge available at the time. Rulers have been chosen on all kinds of different grounds. Their functions have varied, as have their willingness and eagerness to represent common interests. Only the demands of a rigid philosophy can make us suppose there is one form or idea of The State. Such a philosophy treats the many changing historical states as versions of that ideal, realized with varying degrees of perfection. The only statement we can make is purely formal: the state is the public organized through officials to protect its members’ shared interests. But we must turn to history to discover what the public may be and who the officials are. History must also show us how adequately those officials perform their function.

Nevertheless, our conception gives a criterion for determining how good a particular state is: namely, the degree of organization of the public which is attained, and the degree in which its officers are so constituted as to perform their function of caring for public interests. But there is no a priori rule which can be laid down and by which when it is followed a good state will be brought into existence. In no two ages or places is there the same public. Conditions make the consequences of associated action and the knowledge of them different. In addition the means by which a public can determine the government to serve its interests vary. Only formally can we say what the best state would be. In concrete fact, in actual and concrete organization and structure, there is no form of state which can be said to be the best: not at least till history is ended, and one can survey all its varied forms. The formation of states must be an experimental process. The trial process may go on with diverse degrees of blindness and accident, and at the cost of unregulated procedures of cut and try, of fumbling and groping, without insight into what men are after or clear knowledge of a good state even when it is achieved. Or it may proceed more intelligently, because guided by knowledge of the conditions which must be fulfilled. But it is still experimental. And since conditions of action and of inquiry and knowledge are always changing, the experiment must always be retried; the State must always be rediscovered. Except, once more, in formal statement of conditions to be met, we have no idea what history may still bring forth. It is not the business of political philosophy and science to determine what the state in general should or must be. What they may do is to aid in creation of methods such that experimentation may go on less blindly, less at the mercy of accident, more intelligently, so that men may learn from their errors and profit by their successes. The belief in political fixity, of the sanctity of some form of state consecrated by the efforts of our fathers and hallowed by tradition, is one of the stumbling-blocks in the way of orderly and directed change; it is an invitation to revolt and revolution.

Nevertheless, our view offers a standard for judging how good a particular state is. The standard is how well the public is organized and how well its officials are equipped to serve public interests. But no advance rule can be laid down that, if followed, will bring a good state into existence. The public is never the same in any two ages or places. Different conditions produce different consequences from collective action, and different knowledge of those consequences. The means by which a public can make the government serve its interests also vary. We can describe the best state only in general terms. In actual organization and structure, no form of state can be called the best. At least, we cannot make that judgment until history has ended and we can survey all the state's varied forms. The formation of states must be an experimental process. Such experiments may proceed with varying degrees of blindness and chance. They may involve uncontrolled trial and error, fumbling and groping. People may lack insight into what they seek or fail to recognize a good state even when they achieve one. Or the process may proceed more intelligently because knowledge of the necessary conditions guides it. But the process is still experimental. And because conditions of action, inquiry, and knowledge are always changing, the experiment must always be repeated. The State must always be rediscovered. Again, beyond a general statement of the conditions to be met, we have no idea what history may yet produce. The task of political philosophy and science is not to determine what the state in general should or must be. They may help develop methods that make experimentation less blind, less dependent on chance, and more intelligent. With such methods, people may learn from their errors and benefit from their successes. Belief in an unchanging political order is one obstacle to orderly, directed change. So is belief in the sacredness of a form of state established through our ancestors' efforts and honored by tradition. Such belief invites revolt and revolution.

As the argument has moved to and fro, it will conduce to clearness to summarize its steps. Conjoint, combined, associated action is a universal trait of the behavior of things. Such action has results. Some of the results of human collective action are perceived, that is, they are noted in such ways that they are taken account of. Then there arise purposes, plans, measures and means, to secure consequences which are liked and eliminate those which are found obnoxious. Thus perception generates a common interest; that is, those affected by the consequences are perforce concerned in conduct of all those who along with themselves share in bringing about the results. Sometimes the consequences are confined to those who directly share in the transaction which produces them. In other cases they extend far beyond those immediately engaged in producing them. Thus two kinds of interests and of measures of regulation of acts in view of consequences are generated. In the first, interest and control are limited to those directly engaged; in the second, they extend to those who do not directly share in the performance of acts. If, then, the interest constituted by their being affected by the actions in question is to have any practical influence, control over the actions which produce them must occur by some indirect means.

As the argument has moved back and forth, summarizing its steps will help make it clearer. Joint, combined, or associated action is a universal feature of how things behave. Such action has results. Some results of collective human action are noticed and taken into account. People then develop purposes, plans, measures, and means to secure the consequences they like and eliminate those they find objectionable. In this way, recognizing consequences creates a common interest. Those affected by the consequences necessarily have a stake in everyone’s conduct when they jointly help produce those results. Sometimes the consequences affect only those directly involved in the activity producing them. In other cases, the consequences reach far beyond those directly involved. These different consequences create two kinds of interests and two kinds of measures for regulating actions in light of their consequences. In the first case, the interest and control are limited to those directly involved. In the second, the interest and control extend to people who do not directly take part in the actions. These people have an interest because the actions affect them. If their interest is to have any practical influence, the actions must be controlled through some indirect means.

So far the statements, it is submitted, set forth matters of actual and ascertainable fact. Now follows the hypothesis. Those indirectly and seriously affected for good or for evil form a group distinctive enough to require recognition and a name. The name selected is The Public. This public is organized and made effective by means of representatives who as guardians of custom, as legislators, as executives, judges, etc., care for its especial interests by methods intended to regulate the conjoint actions of individuals and groups. Then and in so far, association adds to itself political organization, and something which may be government comes into being: the public is a political state.

So far, I suggest, these statements describe actual facts that can be verified. Now comes the hypothesis. People indirectly and seriously affected, for good or ill, form a group distinct enough to need recognition and a name. The name chosen is The Public. This public is organized and made effective through representatives. As guardians of custom, legislators, executives, judges, and so on, these representatives look after the public’s specific interests. They do so through methods intended to regulate the joint actions of individuals and groups. Then, and to that extent, association takes on political organization, and something that may be government comes into being. The public is a political state.

The direct confirmation of the hypothesis is found in the statement of the series of observable and verifiable matters of fact. These constitute conditions which are sufficient to account, so it is held, for the characteristic phenomena of political life, or state activity. If they do, it is superfluous to seek for other explanation. In conclusion, two qualifications should be added. The account just given is meant to be generic; it is consequently schematic, and omits many differential conditions, some of which receive attention in subsequent chapters. The other point is that in the negative part of the argument, the attack upon theories which would explain the state by means of special causal forces and agencies, there is no denial of causal relations or connections among phenomena themselves. That is obviously assumed at every point. There can be no consequences and measures to regulate the mode and quality of their occurrence without the causal nexus. What is denied is an appeal to special forces outside the series of observable connected phenomena. Such causal powers are no different in kind to the occult forces from which physical science had to emancipate itself. At best, they are but phases of the related phenomena themselves which are then employed to account for the facts. What is needed to direct and make fruitful social inquiry is a method which proceeds on the basis of the interrelations of observable acts and their results. Such is the gist of the method we propose to follow.

The hypothesis is directly supported by the series of observable, verifiable facts presented here. These facts, we argue, describe conditions sufficient to explain the characteristic features of political life, or state activity. If these conditions explain those features, no further explanation is needed. In closing, two qualifications should be added. The account just given is meant to be general. It therefore provides only an outline and leaves out many conditions that distinguish particular cases. Some of these conditions are discussed in later chapters. The second qualification concerns the argument against theories that explain the state through special causal forces and agencies. This argument does not deny causal relationships or connections among the phenomena themselves. Those relationships are clearly assumed throughout. Without causal connections, there could be no consequences or measures to regulate how those consequences occur and what they are like. What we reject is an appeal to special forces outside the series of observable, connected phenomena. Such causal powers are no different in kind from the occult forces that physical science had to free itself from. At best, these powers are merely aspects of the related phenomena themselves, then used to explain the facts. To guide social inquiry and make it fruitful, we need a method based on observable actions and their interrelated results. That is the core of the method we propose to follow.