The Problem of Method

Perhaps to most, probably to many, the conclusions which have been stated as to the conditions upon which depends the emergence of the Public from its eclipse will seem close to denial of the possibility of realizing the idea of a democratic public. One might indeed point for what it is worth to the enormous obstacles with which the rise of a science of physical things was confronted a few short centuries ago, as evidence that hope need not be wholly desperate nor faith wholly blind. But we are not concerned with prophecy but with analysis. It is enough for present purposes if the problem has been clarified:—if we have seen that the outstanding problem of the Public is discovery and identification of itself, and if we have succeeded, in however groping a manner, in apprehending the conditions upon which the resolution of the problem depends. We shall conclude with suggesting some implications and corollaries as to method, not, indeed, as to the method of resolution, but, once more, the intellectual antecedents of such a method.

Perhaps most readers, and probably many, will find the conclusions just stated nearly a denial that a democratic public is possible. These conclusions concern the conditions needed for the Public to emerge from its eclipse. For what the comparison is worth, one might point to the enormous obstacles facing physical science a few short centuries ago. Those obstacles suggest that hope need not be entirely desperate, nor faith entirely blind. But our concern is analysis, not prediction. For now, clarifying the problem is enough. That means recognizing that the Public’s central problem is to discover and identify itself. It also means understanding, however tentatively, the conditions on which solving that problem depends. We will conclude by suggesting some implications and related conclusions about method. Once again, we mean not the method for solving the problem, but the intellectual groundwork such a method requires.

The preliminary to fruitful discussion of social matters is that certain obstacles shall be overcome, obstacles residing in our present conceptions of the method of social inquiry. One of the obstructions in the path is the seemingly engrained notion that the first and the last problem which must be solved is the relation of the individual and the social:—or that the outstanding question is to determine the relative merits of individualism and collective or of some compromise between them. In fact, both words, individual and social, are hopelessly ambiguous, and the ambiguity will never cease as long as we think in terms of an antithesis.

Before we can discuss social matters productively, we must overcome certain obstacles in our current ideas about social inquiry methods. One obstacle is the seemingly deeply rooted belief that the relationship between the individual and society is the central problem. According to this belief, that relationship is the first and last problem we must solve. In other words, the main question is whether individualism, collectivism, or some compromise between them is better. In fact, both words, individual and social, are hopelessly ambiguous. That ambiguity will never disappear as long as we think of them as opposites.

In its approximate sense, anything is individual which moves and acts as a unitary thing. For common sense, a certain spatial separateness is the mark of this individuality. A thing is one when it stands, lies or moves as a unit independently of other things, whether it be a stone, tree, molecule or drop of water, or a human being. But even vulgar common sense at once introduces certain qualifications. The tree stands only when rooted in the soil; it lives or dies in the mode of its connections with sunlight, air and water. Then too the tree is a collection of interacting parts; is the tree more a single whole than its cells? A stone moves, apparently alone. But it is moved by something else and the course of its flight is dependent not only upon initial propulsion but upon wind and gravity. A hammer falls, and what was one stone becomes a heap of dusty particles. A chemist operates with one of the grains of dust, and forthwith it disappears in molecules, atoms and electrons—and then? Have we now reached a lonely, but not lonesome, individual? Or does, perhaps, an electron depend for its single and unitary mode of action upon its connections, as much as the stone with which we started? Is its action also a function of some more inclusive and interacting scene?

In a rough sense, anything that moves and acts as a single unit is an individual. Common sense sees physical separation as the sign of this individuality. A thing is one when it stands, lies, or moves as a unit, independently of other things. This applies to a stone, tree, molecule, drop of water, or human being. But even everyday common sense immediately adds some qualifications. A tree stands only when rooted in the soil. The tree lives or dies according to its connections with sunlight, air, and water. The tree is also a collection of interacting parts. Is the tree any more a single whole than its cells are? A stone moves, apparently alone. But something else sets the stone in motion. Its path depends not only on the initial push but also on wind and gravity. A hammer strikes, and what was one stone becomes a heap of dust particles. A chemist works with one grain of dust. At once, the grain disappears into molecules, atoms, and electrons. And then? Have we now reached an individual that is alone, but not lonely? Or does an electron perhaps depend on its connections to act as a single unit, just as the stone did? Is the electron's action also determined by a larger setting of interacting things?

From another point of view, we have to qualify our approximate notion of an individual as being that which acts and moves as a unitary thing. We have to consider not only its connections and ties, but the consequences with respect to which it acts and moves. We are compelled to say that for some purposes, for some results, the tree is the individual, for others the cell, and for a third, the forest or the landscape. Is a book or a leaf or a folio or a paragraph, or a printer’s em the individual? Is the binding or the contained thought that which gives individual unity to a book? Or are all of these things definers of an individual according to the consequences which are relevant in a particular situation? Unless we betake ourselves to the stock resort of common sense, dismissing all questions as useless quibbles, it seems as if we could not determine an individual without reference to differences made as well as to antecedent and contemporary connections. If so, an individual, whatever else it is or is not, is not just the spatially isolated thing our imagination inclines to take it to be.

From another perspective, we must qualify our rough idea of an individual as something that acts and moves as a unit. We must consider not only its connections and ties, but also the consequences of its actions and movements. We have to say that for some purposes and results, the tree is the individual. For others, the cell is the individual. For still others, the forest or landscape is the individual. Is a book, a leaf, a folio, a paragraph, or a printer’s em the individual? Does a book’s binding give it individual unity, or does the thought it contains? Or does each of these define an individual according to the consequences relevant to a particular situation? We could take the familiar escape route of common sense and dismiss all these questions as pointless quibbles. Unless we do, it seems we cannot identify an individual without considering the differences it makes. We must also consider its past and present connections. If so, whatever else an individual is or is not, it is not merely a thing isolated in space. Yet that is how our imagination tends to picture an individual.

Such a discussion does not proceed upon a particularly high nor an especially deep level. But it may at least render us wary of any definition of an individual which operates in terms of separateness. A distinctive way of behaving in conjunction and connection with other distinctive ways of acting, not a self-enclosed way of acting, independent of everything else, is that toward which we are pointed. Any human being is in one respect an association, consisting of a multitude of cells each living its own life. And as the activity of each cell is conditioned and directed by those with which it interacts, so the human being whom we fasten upon as individual par excellence is moved and regulated by his associations with others; what he does and what the consequences of his behavior are, what his experience consists of, cannot even be described, much less accounted for, in isolation.

This discussion is neither particularly advanced nor especially deep. But it may at least make us wary of defining an individual in terms of separateness. It points us toward a distinctive way of acting together and in connection with other distinctive ways of acting. It does not point toward a self-contained way of acting, independent of everything else. In one respect, every human being is an association of many cells, each living its own life. Each cell’s activity is shaped and directed by the cells it interacts with. In the same way, the human being we regard as the individual par excellence is influenced and regulated by associations with others. We cannot even describe, much less explain, what a person does in isolation from those associations. The same holds for the consequences of that person’s behavior and the content of that person’s experience.

But while associated behavior is, as we have already noted, a universal law, the fact of association does not of itself make a society. This demands, as we have also seen, perception of the consequences of a joint activity and of the distinctive share of each element in producing it. Such perception creates a common interest; that is concern on the part of each in the joint action and in the contribution of each of its members to it. Then there exists something truly social and not merely associative. But it is absurd to suppose that a society does away with the traits of its own constituents so that it can be set over against them. It can only be set over against the traits which they and their like present in some other combination. A molecule of oxygen in water may act in certain respects differently than it would in some other chemical union. But as a constituent of water it acts as water does as long as water is water. The only intelligible distinction which can be drawn is between the behaviors of oxygen in its different relations, and between those of water in its relations to various conditions, not between that of water and the oxygen which is conjoined with hydrogen in water.

But as we have already noted, acting together is a universal law. Still, association alone does not create a society. As we have also seen, society requires awareness of the consequences of joint activity. It also requires awareness of each participant’s distinct contribution to those consequences. This awareness creates a common interest. That means each participant cares about the joint activity and every member’s contribution to it. Then something truly social exists, rather than mere association. But it is absurd to suppose that a society erases its members’ traits so it can be contrasted with them. Society can only be contrasted with the traits its members and others like them show in some other combination. An oxygen molecule in water may act differently in some respects than it would in another chemical combination. But as part of water, the oxygen acts as water does, as long as water remains water. The only meaningful distinctions concern how oxygen behaves in its different relationships and how water behaves under various conditions. We cannot meaningfully distinguish water’s behavior from the behavior of the oxygen joined with hydrogen in that water.

A single man when he is joined in marriage is different in that connection to what he was as single or to what he is in some other union, as a member, say, of a club. He has new powers and immunities, new responsibilities. He can be contrasted with himself as he behaves in other connections. He may be compared and contrasted with his wife in their distinctive rôles within the union. But as a member of the union he cannot be treated as antithetical to the union in which he belongs. As a member of the union, his traits and acts are evidently those which he possesses in virtue of it, while those of the integrated association are what they are in virtue of his status in the union. The only reason we fail to see this, or are confused by the statement of it, is because we pass so easily from the man in one connection to the man in some other connection, to the man not as husband but as business man, scientific investigator, church-member or citizen, in which connections his acts and their consequences are obviously different to those due to union in wedlock.

When a single man marries, he differs as a husband from who he was when single. He also differs from who he is in another association, such as a club. He has new powers and protections, new responsibilities. He can be contrasted with himself as he acts in other relationships. He may be compared and contrasted with his wife in their distinct roles within the marriage. But as a member of the marriage, he cannot be treated as opposed to the union he belongs to. As a member of the marriage, his traits and actions clearly arise from his membership in that union. In turn, the traits and actions of the marriage as a whole depend on his place within it. We fail to see this connection, or find its explanation confusing, for only one reason. We move so easily from considering the man in one relationship to considering him in another. We consider him not as a husband but as a businessman, scientific researcher, church member, or citizen. In these roles, his actions and their consequences clearly differ from those arising from marriage.

A good example of the fact and of the current confusion as to its interpretation is found in the case of associations known as limited liability joint-stock companies. A corporation as such is an integrated collective mode of action having powers, rights, duties and immunities different from those of its singular members in their other connections. Its different constituents have also diverse statuses—for example, the owners of stock from the officers and directors in certain matters. If we do not bear the facts steadily in mind, it is easy—as frequently happens—to create an artificial problem. Since the corporation can do things which its individual members, in their many relationships outside of their connections in the corporation, cannot do, the problem is raised as to the relation of the corporate collective union to that of individuals as such. It is forgotten that as members of the corporation the individuals themselves are different, have different characteristics, rights and duties, than they would possess if they were not its members and different from those which they possess in other forms of conjoint behavior. But what the individuals may do legitimately as members of the corporation in their respective corporate rôles, the corporation does, and vice versa. A collective unity may be taken either distributively or collectively, but when taken collectively it is the union of its distributive constituents, and when taken distributively, it is a distribution of and within the collectivity. It makes nonsense to set up an antithesis between the distributive phase and the collective. An individual cannot be opposed to the association of which he is an integral part nor can the association be set against its integrated members.

Limited liability joint-stock companies offer a good example of this fact and the current confusion about its meaning. A corporation is an organized form of collective action. Its powers, rights, duties, and legal protections differ from those of its individual members in their other relationships. Its members also have different statuses. For example, shareholders differ from officers and directors in certain matters. If we do not keep these facts clearly in mind, we can easily invent a false problem, as often happens. A corporation can do things its individual members cannot do in their many relationships outside the corporation. This difference raises a question about the relationship between the corporation as a collective body and individuals as such. But this question overlooks how membership changes the individuals themselves. As corporation members, individuals have characteristics, rights, and duties they would not have without that membership. These also differ from the characteristics, rights, and duties they have in other forms of joint action. But whatever individuals may legitimately do as corporation members in their respective corporate roles, the corporation does, and vice versa. A collective whole may be considered either in terms of its individual members or as a group. But considered as a group, the whole is the union of its individual members. Considered in terms of individual members, those members are parts of, and within, the collective whole. It makes no sense to treat these individual and collective aspects as opposites. An individual cannot be set against an association of which that individual is an integral part. Nor can the association be set against the members who together make it up.

But groups may be opposed to one another, and individuals may be opposed to one another; and an individual as a member of different groups may be divided within himself, and in a true sense have conflicting selves, or be a relatively disintegrated individual. A man may be one thing as a church member and another thing as a member of the business community. The difference may be carried as if in water-tight compartments, or it may become such a division as to entail internal conflict. In these facts we have the ground of the common antithesis set up between society and the individual. Then “society” becomes an unreal abstraction and “the individual” an equally unreal one. Because an individual can be disassociated from this, that and the other grouping, since he need not be married, or be a church-member or a voter, or belong to a club or scientific organization, there grows up in the mind an image of a residual individual who is not a member of any association at all. From this premise, and from this only, there develops the unreal question of how individuals come to be united in societies and groups: the individual and the social are now opposed to each other, and there is the problem of “reconciling” them. Meanwhile, the genuine problem is that of adjusting groups and individuals to one another.

But groups may oppose one another, and individuals may oppose one another. An individual who belongs to different groups may also be divided within himself. In a real sense, he may have conflicting selves or lack a unified sense of self. A man may be one thing as a church member and another as a member of the business community. He may keep these roles separate, as if in watertight compartments. Or the division may create internal conflict. These facts provide the basis for the familiar opposition between society and the individual. Then “society” becomes an unreal abstraction, and “the individual” becomes an equally unreal one. An individual can be separate from any particular group. He need not be married, belong to a church, vote, or belong to a club or scientific organization. Because of this, we imagine an individual who remains after all group memberships are removed and belongs to no association. From this premise, and only this premise, comes the unreal question of how individuals come together in societies and groups. The individual and the social are now set against each other, creating the problem of “reconciling” them. Meanwhile, the real problem is how to adjust groups and individuals to one another.

The unreal problem becomes particularly acute, as we have already noted in another connection, in times of rapid social change, as when a newly forming industrial grouping with its special needs and energies finds itself in conflict with old established political institutions and their demands. Then it is likely to be forgotten that the actual problem is one of reconstruction of the ways and forms in which men unite in associated activity. The scene presents itself as the struggle of the individual as such to liberate himself from society as such and to claim his inherent or “natural” self-possessed and self-sufficing rights. When the new mode of economic association has grown strong and exercises an overweening and oppressive power over other groupings, the old fallacy persists. The problem is now conceived as that of bringing individuals as such under the control of society as a collectivity. It should still be put as a problem of readjusting social relationships; or, from the distributive side, as that of securing a more equable liberation of the powers of all individual members of all groupings.

This false problem becomes especially pressing in times of rapid social change, as we have already noted in another context. For example, a new industrial group, with its particular needs and energies, may clash with established political institutions and their demands. People are then likely to forget the real problem: reshaping the ways people come together and act together. Instead, the conflict appears to be a struggle between the individual and society as such. The individual seeks freedom from society and claims inherent or “natural” rights that are independently held and sufficient in themselves. When the new form of economic association grows strong and exerts excessive, oppressive power over other groups, the old mistake persists. The problem is now seen as bringing individuals, simply as individuals, under the control of society as a whole. Yet the problem should still be understood as one of readjusting social relationships. Or, viewed in terms of how opportunities are distributed, the goal is to free everyone's abilities more equally. That means all individual members of all groups.

Thus our excursion has brought us back to the theme of method, in the interest of which the excursion was taken. One reason for the comparative sterility of discussion of social matters is because so much intellectual energy has gone into the supposititious problem of the relations of individualism and collectivism at large, wholesale, and because the image of the antithesis infects so many specific questions. Thereby thought is diverted from the only fruitful questions, those of investigation into factual subject-matter, and becomes a discussion of concepts. The “problem” of the relation of the concept of authority to that of freedom, of personal rights to social obligations, with only a subsumptive illustrative reference to empirical facts, has been substituted for inquiry into the consequences of some particular distribution, under given conditions, of specific freedoms and authorities, and for inquiry into what altered distribution would yield more desirable consequences.

So our detour has brought us back to the question of method, the reason we took the detour. One reason discussions of social matters produce relatively little is that so much intellectual energy goes into an imagined problem. That problem concerns the relationship between individualism and collectivism in broad, sweeping terms. The idea that the two are opposites also distorts many specific questions. As a result, thinking turns away from the only productive questions, those that investigate facts, and becomes a debate about concepts. The “problem” becomes how the concept of authority relates to freedom, and personal rights to social obligations. Actual facts enter only as examples fitted into these concepts. This conceptual debate has replaced inquiry into the consequences of a particular distribution of specific freedoms and powers under given conditions. It has also replaced inquiry into how changing that distribution would produce more desirable consequences.

As we saw in our early consideration of the theme of the public, the question of what transactions should be left as far as possible to voluntary initiative and agreement and what should come under the regulation of the public is a question of time, place and concrete conditions that can be known only by careful observation and reflective investigation. For it concerns consequences; and the nature of consequences and the ability to perceive and act upon them varies with the industrial and intellectual agencies which operate. A solution, or distributive adjustment, needed at one time is totally unfitted to another situation. That social “evolution” has been either from collectivism to individualism or the reverse is sheer superstition. It has consisted in a continuous re-distribution of social integrations on the one hand and of capacities and energies of individuals on the other. Individuals find themselves cramped and depressed by absorption of their potentialities in some mode of association which has been institutionalized and become dominant. They may think they are clamoring for a purely personal liberty, but what they are doing is to bring into being a greater liberty to share in other associations, so that more of their individual potentialities will be released and their personal experience enriched. Life has been impoverished, not by a predominance of “society” in general over individuality, but by a domination of one form of association, the family, clan, church, economic institutions, over other actual and possible forms. On the other hand, the problem of exercising “social control” over individuals is in its reality that of regulating the doings and results of some individuals in order that a larger number of individuals may have a fuller and deeper experience. Since both ends can be intelligently attained only by knowledge of actual conditions in their modes of operation and their consequences, it may be confidently asserted that the chief enemy of a social thinking which would count in public affairs is the sterile and impotent, because totally irrelevant, channels in which so much intellectual energy has been expended.

As we saw in our earlier discussion of the public, some activities should be left largely to voluntary initiative and agreement. Others should come under public regulation. Where to draw the line depends on the time, place, and specific conditions. These conditions can be understood only through careful observation and thoughtful investigation. The question concerns consequences. Both the consequences themselves and our ability to recognize and address them vary with the industrial and intellectual forces at work. A solution, or division of responsibilities, needed at one time is completely unsuited to another situation. The belief that social “evolution” has moved either from collectivism to individualism or in the opposite direction is sheer superstition. Instead, social change has continually rearranged forms of social organization on one side and individuals’ abilities and energies on the other. Individuals find themselves restricted and discouraged when an established, dominant form of association absorbs their potential. They may think they are demanding purely personal freedom. But they are actually creating greater freedom to participate in other associations. Through those associations, more of their individual potential can develop, and their personal experience can grow richer. Life has been impoverished, but not because “society” in general has prevailed over individuality. Rather, one form of association has dominated other existing and possible forms. The dominant form may be the family, clan, church, or economic institutions. On the other hand, exercising “social control” over individuals really means regulating some individuals’ actions and their consequences. The purpose is to allow a larger number of individuals to have fuller and deeper experiences. Both goals can be achieved intelligently only by understanding actual conditions, how those conditions work, and their consequences. We can therefore confidently identify the chief enemy of social thinking that could make a difference in public affairs. That enemy is the barren and powerless lines of thought on which so much intellectual energy has been spent. Those lines of thought are barren and powerless because they are completely irrelevant.

The second point with respect to method is closely related. Political theories have shared in the absolutistic character of philosophy generally. By this is meant something much more than philosophies of the Absolute. Even professedly empirical philosophies have assumed a certain finality and foreverness in their theories which may be expressed by saying that they have been non-historical in character. They have isolated their subject-matter from its connections, and any isolated subject-matter becomes unqualified in the degree of its disconnection. In social theory dealing with human nature, a certain fixed and standardized “individual” has been postulated, from whose assumed traits social phenomena could be deduced. Thus Mill says in his discussion of the logic of the moral and social sciences: “The laws of the phenomena of society are, and can be, nothing but the laws of the actions and passions of human beings united together in the social state. Men, however, in a state of society are still men; their actions and passions are obedient to the laws of individual human nature.”¹³ Obviously what is ignored in such a statement is that “the actions and passions” of individual men are in the concrete what they are, their beliefs and purposes included, because of the social medium in which they live; that they are influenced throughout by contemporary and transmitted culture, whether in conformity or protest. What is generic and the same everywhere is at best the organic structure of man, his biological make-up. While it is evidently important to take this into account, it is also evident that none of the distinctive features of human association can be deduced from it. Thus, in spite of Mill’s horror of the metaphysical absolute, his leading social conceptions were, logically, absolutistic. Certain social laws, normative and regulative, at all periods and under all circumstances of proper social life were assumed to exist.

The second point about method is closely related. Political theories have shared the absolutist outlook of philosophy in general. This means much more than philosophies of the Absolute. Even philosophies that claim to rely on experience have treated their theories as final and permanently valid. In other words, these philosophies have ignored history. They have separated their subject matter from its connections. The more any subject is cut off from its connections, the more it appears to hold without qualification. Social theories about human nature have assumed a fixed, standardized “individual.” They have then treated social phenomena as something that could be deduced from this individual’s assumed traits. Thus Mill writes in his discussion of the logic of the moral and social sciences: “The laws governing social phenomena are, and can only be, the laws governing human actions and passions in society. People in society, however, are still people. Their actions and passions obey the laws of individual human nature.”¹³ Clearly, this statement ignores how individuals’ actual “actions and passions,” including their beliefs and purposes, depend on their social environment. These actions and passions are what they are because of the society in which people live. Both current culture and inherited culture influence them throughout, whether people conform to that culture or protest against it. At best, what is common to all people everywhere is their physical structure, their biological makeup. Clearly, taking this biological makeup into account is important. But clearly, none of the distinctive features of human association can be deduced from biology. Thus, despite Mill’s horror of the metaphysical absolute, his main social concepts were logically absolutist. He assumed that certain social laws existed to set standards and govern proper social life, at all times and under all circumstances.

The doctrine of evolution modified this idea of method only superficially. For “evolution” was itself often understood non-historically. That is, it was assumed that there is a predestined course of fixed stages through which social development must proceed. Under the influence of concepts borrowed from the physical science of the time, it was taken for granted that the very possibility of a social science stood or fell with the determination of fixed uniformities. Now every such logic is fatal to free experimental social inquiry. Investigation into empirical facts was undertaken, of course, but its results had to fit into certain ready-made and second-hand rubrics. When even physical facts and laws are perceived and used, social change takes place. The phenomena and laws are not altered, but invention based upon them modifies the human situation. For there is at once an effort to regulate their impact in life. The discovery of malaria does not alter its existential causation, intellectually viewed, but it does finally alter the facts from which the production of malaria arises, through draining and oiling swamps, etc., and by taking other measures of precaution. If the laws of economic cycles of expansion and depression were understood, means would at once be searched for to mitigate if not to do away with the swing. When men have an idea of how social agencies work and their consequences are wrought, they at once strive to secure consequences as far as desirable and to avert them if undesirable. These are facts of the most ordinary observation. But it is not often noted how fatal they are to the identification of social with physical uniformities. “Laws” of social life, when it is genuinely human, are like laws of engineering. If you want certain results, certain means must be found and employed. The key to the situation is a clear conception of consequences wanted, and of the technique for reaching them, together with, of course, the state of desires and aversions which causes some consequences to be wanted rather than others. All of these things are functions of the prevalent culture of the period.

The theory of evolution changed this idea of method only on the surface. For “evolution” itself was often understood without regard to history. People assumed that social development must follow a predetermined path through fixed stages. Ideas borrowed from the physical science of the time shaped this assumption. People took for granted that social science was possible only if it could identify fixed, uniform patterns. But any such approach makes free, experimental inquiry into society impossible. Researchers did investigate observable facts, of course. But their findings had to fit into ready-made categories borrowed from elsewhere. When even physical facts and laws are understood and put to use, society changes. The physical phenomena and laws do not change, but inventions based on them change human conditions. For people immediately try to control how these phenomena and laws affect their lives. Discovering how malaria arises does not change its actual causes, considered intellectually. But the discovery does eventually change the conditions that produce malaria. People drain swamps, treat them with oil, and take other precautions. If the laws governing economic cycles of expansion and depression were understood, people would immediately seek ways to reduce the swings. They would try to eliminate the swings altogether if possible. When people understand how social forces work and produce their effects, they immediately try to secure desirable effects and prevent undesirable ones. These facts are matters of everyday observation. But people rarely notice how decisively these facts undermine the idea that social patterns are equivalent to physical ones. “Laws” of social life, when that life is genuinely human, are like laws of engineering. If you want certain results, you must find and use certain means. The key is a clear understanding of the desired results and the methods for achieving them. Also essential, of course, are the desires and aversions that make some results desirable rather than others. All these things depend on the prevailing culture of the period.

While the backwardness of social knowledge and art is of course connected with retarded knowledge of human nature, or psychology, it is also absurd to suppose that an adequate psychological science would flower in a control of human activities similar to the control which physical science has procured of physical energies. For increased knowledge of human nature would directly and in unpredictable ways modify the workings of human nature, and lead to the need of new methods of regulation, and so on without end. It is a matter of analysis rather than of prophecy to say that the primary and chief effect of a better psychology would be found in education. The growth and diseases of grains and hogs are now recognized as proper subjects of governmental subsidy and attention. Instrumental agencies for a similar investigation of the conditions which make for the physical and moral hygiene of the young are in a state of infancy. We spend large sums of money for school buildings and their physical equipment. But systematic expenditure of public funds for scientific inquiry into the conditions which affect the mental and moral development of children is just beginning, and demands for a large increase in this direction are looked upon askance.

Our limited social knowledge and practical skills are, of course, connected to our limited understanding of human nature, or psychology. But even an adequate science of psychology could not give us control over human activities comparable to physical science’s control over physical energies. Supposing otherwise is absurd. Greater knowledge of human nature would directly change how human nature works, in unpredictable ways. Those changes would require new methods of regulation, and the process would continue without end. Analysis, rather than prediction, tells us that better psychology would have its first and greatest effect on education. The growth and diseases of grain crops and hogs are now recognized as proper subjects for government funding and attention. But the institutions needed for similar research into conditions supporting young people’s physical and moral health are still in their infancy. We spend large sums on school buildings and equipment. But regular public funding for scientific research into conditions affecting children’s mental and moral development is only beginning. And calls for much greater spending on such research are viewed with suspicion.

Again, it is reported that there are more beds in hospitals and asylums for cases of mental disturbance and retardation than for all diseases combined. The public pays generously to take care of the results of bad conditions. But there is no comparable attention and willingness to expend funds to investigate the causes of these troubles. The reason for these anomalies is evident enough. There is no conviction that the sciences of human nature are far enough advanced to make public support of such activities worth while. A marked development of psychology and kindred subjects would change this situation. And we have been speaking only of antecedent conditions of education. To complete the picture we have to realize the difference which would be made in the methods of parents and teachers were there an adequate and generally shared knowledge of human nature.

Again, reports say hospitals and psychiatric institutions have more beds for mental illness and intellectual disability than for all diseases combined. The public pays generously to care for the effects of poor conditions. But there is no comparable attention or willingness to fund research into the causes of these problems. The reason for this imbalance is clear enough. People are not convinced that the sciences of human nature have advanced enough to make public funding worthwhile. Major advances in psychology and related fields would change this situation. And so far, we have discussed only the conditions that come before education. To complete the picture, we must consider how parents’ and teachers’ methods would change with adequate, widely shared knowledge of human nature.

But such an educational development, though intrinsically precious to the last degree, would not entail a control of human energies comparable to that which already obtains of physical energies. To imagine that it would is simply to reduce human beings to the plane of inanimate things mechanically manipulated from without; it makes human education something like the training of fleas, dogs and horses. What stands in the way is not anything called “free-will,” but the fact that such a change in educational methods would release new potentialities, capable of all kinds of permutations and combinations, which would then modify social phenomena, while this modification would in its turn affect human nature and its educative transformation in a continuous and endless procession.

But such an advance in education, though immensely valuable in itself, would not give us comparable control over human energies. We already have that degree of control over physical energies. To imagine comparable control over people is simply to treat human beings as lifeless things, mechanically controlled from outside. It makes human education something like training fleas, dogs, and horses. The obstacle is not anything called “free-will.” Rather, such a change in teaching methods would release new human possibilities, capable of combining and recombining in all kinds of ways. These possibilities would then change social conditions. Those changes would, in turn, affect human nature and how education transforms it. This process would continue without end.

The assimilation of human science to physical science represents, in other words, only another form of absolutistic logic, a kind of physical absolutism. We are doubtless but at the beginning of the possibilities of control of the physical conditions of mental and moral life. Physiological chemistry, increased knowledge of the nervous system, of the processes and functions of glandular secretions, may in time enable us to deal with phenomena of emotional and intellectual disturbance before which mankind has been helpless. But control of these conditions will not determine the uses to which human beings will put their normalized potentialities. If any one supposes that it will, let him consider the applications of such remedial or preventive measures to a man in a state of savage culture and one in a modern community. Each, as long as the conditions of the social medium remained substantially unaltered, will still have his experience and the direction of his restored energies affected by the objects and instrumentalities of the human environment, and by what men at the time currently prize and hold dear. The warrior and merchant would be better warriors and merchants, more efficient, but warriors and merchants still.

Treating the science of human life as physical science is, in other words, just another form of absolutist thinking. It is a kind of physical absolutism. We are undoubtedly only beginning to discover how much we can control the physical conditions of mental and moral life. Advances in physiological chemistry and knowledge of the nervous system and glandular secretions may eventually help us treat emotional and intellectual disturbances. Until now, humanity has been helpless against these disturbances. But controlling these conditions will not determine how people use their restored abilities. If anyone supposes otherwise, consider applying such treatments or preventive measures to two people. One lives in a culture described as savage, the other in a modern community. As long as their social surroundings remain substantially unchanged, those surroundings will still shape each person's experience and restored energies. The objects and tools in their human environment will continue to exert their influence. So will whatever people at the time value and cherish. Warriors and merchants would become better, more efficient warriors and merchants. But they would remain warriors and merchants.

These considerations suggest a brief discussion of the effect of the present absolutistic logic upon the method and aims of education, not just in the sense of schooling but with respect to all the ways in which communities attempt to shape the disposition and beliefs of their members. Even when the processes of education do not aim at the unchanged perpetuation of existing institutions, it is assumed that there must be a mental picture of some desired end, personal and social, which is to be attained, and that this conception of a fixed determinate end ought to control educative processes. Reformers share this conviction with conservatives. The disciples of Lenin and Mussolini vie with the captains of capitalistic society in endeavoring to bring about a formation of dispositions and ideas which will conduce to a preconceived goal. If there is a difference, it is that the former proceed more consciously. An experimental social method would probably manifest itself first of all in surrender of this notion. Every care would be taken to surround the young with the physical and social conditions which best conduce, as far as freed knowledge extends, to release of personal potentialities. The habits thus formed would have entrusted to them the meeting of future social requirements and the development of the future state of society. Then and then only would all social agencies that are available operate as resources in behalf of a bettered community life.

These considerations suggest briefly discussing how today's absolutist thinking affects the methods and aims of education. Education here means not just schooling, but all the ways communities try to shape their members' attitudes and beliefs. Educational efforts do not always aim to preserve existing institutions unchanged. Even so, people assume that education must begin with a mental picture of a desired personal and social outcome. They assume that this fixed, clearly defined goal should guide education. Reformers share this belief with conservatives. The followers of Lenin and Mussolini compete with the leaders of capitalist society in shaping attitudes and ideas toward a predetermined goal. If there is a difference, the followers of Lenin and Mussolini pursue this aim more consciously. An experimental approach to society would probably show itself first by abandoning this idea of a fixed goal. Every effort would be made to provide young people with the physical and social conditions best suited to developing their potential. Those conditions would reflect the fullest available knowledge, freed from constraints. The habits formed under those conditions would be relied on to meet future social needs and shape society's future. Then, and only then, would all available social institutions and organizations serve as resources for improving community life.

What we have termed the absolutistic logic ends, as far as method in social matters is concerned, in a substitution of discussion of concepts and their logical relations to one another for inquiry. Whatever form it assumes, it results in strengthening the reign of dogma. Their contents may vary, but dogma persists. At the outset we noted in discussion of the state the influence of methods which look for causal forces. Long ago, physical science abandoned this method and took up that of detection of correlation of events. Our language and our thinking is still saturated with the idea of laws which phenomena “obey.” But in his actual procedures, the scientific inquirer into physical events treats a law simply as a stable correlation of changes in what happens, a statement of the way in which one phenomenon, or some aspect or phase of it, varies when some other specified phenomenon varies. “Causation” is an affair of historical sequence, of the order in which a series of changes takes place. To know cause and effect is to know, in the abstract, the formula of correlation in change, and, in the concrete, a certain historical career of sequential events. The appeal to causal forces at large not only misleads inquiry into social facts, but it affects equally seriously the formation of purposes and policies. The person who holds the doctrine of “individualism” or “collectivism” has his program determined for him in advance. It is not with him a matter of finding out the particular thing which needs to be done and the best way, under the circumstances, of doing it. It is an affair of applying a hard and fast doctrine which follows logically from his preconception of the nature of ultimate causes. He is exempt from the responsibility of discovering the concrete correlation of changes, from the need of tracing particular sequences or histories of events through their complicated careers. He knows in advance the sort of thing which must be done, just as in ancient physical philosophy the thinker knew in advance what must happen, so that all he had to do was to supply a logical framework of definitions and classifications.

In social matters, the approach we have called absolutistic logic replaces inquiry with discussion of concepts and their logical relationships. Whatever form this approach takes, it strengthens the rule of dogma. The content of dogmas may vary, but dogma persists. At the outset, in discussing the state, we noted the influence of methods that look for causal forces. Physical science abandoned this method long ago and began looking instead for correlations between events. Our language and thinking are still saturated with the idea of laws that phenomena “obey.” But in practice, scientists investigating physical events treat a law simply as a stable correlation between changes. A law states how one phenomenon, or some aspect or stage of it, varies when another specified phenomenon varies. “Causation” concerns historical sequence, the order in which a series of changes occurs. In abstract terms, knowing cause and effect means knowing the formula that describes how changes are correlated. In concrete terms, it means knowing the particular course of a sequence of events. Appealing to causal forces in general not only misleads inquiry into social facts. Such appeals have an equally serious effect on the formation of goals and policies. Anyone committed to the doctrine of “individualism” or “collectivism” has a program decided in advance. For such a person, the task is not to discover what specifically needs doing and how best to do it under the circumstances. Instead, the task is to apply a rigid doctrine that follows logically from a preconception about the nature of ultimate causes. The doctrine frees its follower from responsibility for discovering the concrete correlations between changes. The follower need not trace particular sequences or histories of events through their complicated courses. Such a person knows in advance what sort of thing must be done. In the same way, thinkers in ancient physical philosophy knew in advance what must happen. So all those thinkers had to do was supply a logical framework of definitions and classifications.

When we say that thinking and beliefs should be experimental, not absolutistic, we have then in mind a certain logic of method, not, primarily, the carrying on of experimentation like that of laboratories. Such a logic involves the following factors: First, that those concepts, general principles, theories and dialectical developments which are indispensable to any systematic knowledge be shaped and tested as tools of inquiry. Secondly, that policies and proposals for social action be treated as working hypotheses, not as programs to be rigidly adhered to and executed. They will be experimental in the sense that they will be entertained subject to constant and well-equipped observation of the consequences they entail when acted upon, and subject to ready and flexible revision in the light of observed consequences. The social sciences, if these two stipulations are fulfilled, will then be an apparatus for conducting investigation, and for recording and interpreting (organizing) its results. The apparatus will no longer be taken to be itself knowledge, but will be seen to be intellectual means of making discoveries of phenomena having social import and understanding their meaning. Differences of opinion in the sense of differences of judgment as to the course which it is best to follow, the policy which it is best to try out, will still exist. But opinion in the sense of beliefs formed and held in the absence of evidence will be reduced in quantity and importance. No longer will views generated in view of special situations be frozen into absolute standards and masquerade as eternal truths.

When we say thinking and beliefs should be experimental rather than absolute, we mean a particular method of reasoning. We do not primarily mean conducting experiments like those in laboratories. This method involves the following factors. First, concepts, general principles, theories, and arguments developed through reasoning are essential to systematic knowledge. They must be shaped and tested as tools of inquiry. Second, policies and proposals for social action must be treated as working hypotheses, not programs to follow and carry out rigidly. These policies will be experimental in the following sense. When put into practice, their consequences must be constantly observed with adequate resources. The policies must also remain open to prompt, flexible revision in light of the consequences observed. If these two conditions are met, the social sciences will become tools for conducting investigations and recording and interpreting results. Interpreting those results means organizing them. These tools will no longer be mistaken for knowledge itself. Instead, they will be understood as intellectual means for discovering socially significant phenomena and understanding their meaning. Differences of opinion will still exist about the best course to follow or the best policy to try. But opinions formed and held without evidence will become fewer and less important. Views developed in response to particular situations will no longer harden into absolute standards and masquerade as eternal truths.

This phase of the discussion may be concluded by consideration of the relation of experts to a democratic public. A negative phase of the earlier argument for political democracy has largely lost its force. For it was based upon hostility to dynastic and oligarchic aristocracies, and these have largely been bereft of power. The oligarchy which now dominates is that of an economic class. It claims to rule, not in virtue of birth and hereditary status, but in virtue of ability in management and of the burden of social responsibilities which it carries, in virtue of the position which superior abilities have conferred upon it. At all events, it is a shifting, unstable oligarchy, rapidly changing its constituents, who are more or less at the mercy of accidents they cannot control and of technological inventions. Consequently, the shoe is now on the other foot. It is argued that the check upon the oppressive power of this particular oligarchy lies in an intellectual aristocracy, not in appeal to an ignorant, fickle mass whose interests are superficial and trivial, and whose judgments are saved from incredible levity only when weighted down by heavy prejudice.

We can conclude this part of the discussion by considering how experts relate to a democratic public. One part of the earlier case for political democracy has largely lost its force. That part rested on opposition to dynastic and oligarchic aristocracies, which have largely lost their power. The oligarchy that now dominates is an economic class. Its members claim the right to rule not because of their birth or inherited status, but because of their management abilities. They also point to the burden of social responsibilities they carry. Their claim rests on the position their superior abilities have given them. In any case, this oligarchy is shifting and unstable, and its membership changes rapidly. Its members are more or less at the mercy of accidents beyond their control and of technological inventions. So the argument has now been reversed. An intellectual aristocracy, it is argued, can check the oppressive power of this particular oligarchy. The alternative is to appeal to an ignorant, fickle mass of people whose interests are superficial and trivial. According to this argument, only the weight of deep prejudice keeps their judgments from being incredibly frivolous.

It may be argued that the democratic movement was essentially transitional. It marked the passage from feudal institutions to industrialism, and was coincident with the transfer of power from landed proprietors, allied to churchly authorities, to captains of industry, under conditions which involved an emancipation of the masses from legal limitations which had previously hemmed them in. But, so it is contended in effect, it is absurd to convert this legal liberation into a dogma which alleges that release from old oppressions confers upon those emancipated the intellectual and moral qualities which fit them for sharing in regulation of affairs of state. The essential fallacy of the democratic creed, it is urged, is the notion that a historic movement which effected an important and desirable release from restrictions is either a source or a proof of capacity in those thus emancipated to rule, when in fact there is no factor common in the two things. The obvious alternative is rule by those intellectually qualified, by expert intellectuals.

Some may argue that the democratic movement was essentially a transition. It marked the shift from feudal institutions to industrialism. At the same time, power passed from landowners allied with church authorities to leaders of industry. Under these conditions, the masses gained freedom from legal restrictions that had previously held them back. But the argument continues: turning this legal freedom into a rigid belief is absurd. Freedom from old forms of oppression does not give people the intellectual and moral qualities needed to help govern. According to this argument, the fundamental error in democratic belief concerns the link between liberation and the ability to govern. A historical movement brought important and desirable freedom from restrictions. But democratic belief treats that movement as either creating or proving the freed people's ability to govern. In fact, the argument holds, liberation and the ability to govern have nothing in common. The obvious alternative is rule by people with the necessary intellectual qualifications, by intellectual experts.

This revival of the Platonic notion that philosophers should be kings is the more taking because the idea of experts is substituted for that of philosophers, since philosophy has become something of a joke, while the image of the specialist, the expert in operation, is rendered familiar and congenial by the rise of the physical sciences and by the conduct of industry. A cynic might indeed say that the notion is a pipe-dream, a revery entertained by the intellectual class in compensation for an impotence consequent upon the divorce of theory and practice, upon the remoteness of specialized science from the affairs of life: the gulf being bridged not by the intellectuals but by inventors and engineers hired by captains of industry. One approaches the truth more nearly when one says that the argument proves too much for its own cause. If the masses are as intellectually irredeemable as its premise implies, they at all events have both too many desires and too much power to permit rule by experts to obtain. The very ignorance, bias, frivolity, jealousy, instability, which are alleged to incapacitate them from share in political affairs, unfit them still more for passive submission to rule by intellectuals. Rule by an economic class may be disguised from the masses; rule by experts could not be covered up. It could be made to work only if the intellectuals became the willing tools of big economic interests. Otherwise they would have to ally themselves with the masses, and that implies, once more, a share in government by the latter.

This revival of the Platonic idea that philosophers should be kings is more appealing because experts replace philosophers. Philosophy has become something of a joke. But the rise of the physical sciences and the way industry operates have made working specialists familiar and welcome. A cynic might indeed call the idea a pipe dream. Intellectuals indulge in this fantasy to compensate for their powerlessness. That powerlessness results from the separation of theory and practice, and from specialized science’s distance from everyday life. The gap is bridged not by intellectuals, but by inventors and engineers hired by industrial leaders. It is closer to the truth to say that the argument proves too much for its own good. Suppose the masses are as hopelessly unintelligent as the argument assumes. Even then, the masses have too many desires and too much power to allow experts to rule. Their alleged ignorance, bias, frivolity, jealousy, and instability supposedly make them incapable of taking part in politics. But those same traits make them even less capable of passively accepting rule by intellectuals. Rule by an economic class may be hidden from the masses. Rule by experts could not be hidden. Such rule could work only if intellectuals became the willing tools of powerful economic interests. Otherwise, intellectuals would have to ally themselves with the masses. And that alliance would, once again, mean giving the masses a share in government.

A more serious objection is that expertness is most readily attained in specialized technical matters, matters of administration and execution which postulate that general policies are already satisfactorily framed. It is assumed that the policies of the experts are in the main both wise and benevolent, that is, framed to conserve the genuine interests of society. The final obstacle in the way of any aristocratic rule is that in the absence of an articulate voice on the part of the masses, the best do not and cannot remain the best, the wise cease to be wise. It is impossible for high-brows to secure a monopoly of such knowledge as must be used for the regulation of common affairs. In the degree in which they become a specialized class, they are shut off from knowledge of the needs which they are supposed to serve.

A more serious objection is that expertise is most easily gained in specialized technical matters of administration and execution. These matters assume that general policies have already been properly framed. Experts’ policies are assumed to be mostly wise and well-intentioned, designed to protect society’s genuine interests. The final obstacle to any rule by an elite is that ordinary people must have a clear voice. Without that voice, the best do not and cannot remain the best, and the wise stop being wise. Intellectuals cannot monopolize the knowledge needed to manage shared affairs. To the extent that intellectuals become a specialized class, they lose touch with the needs they are supposed to serve.

The strongest point to be made in behalf of even such rudimentary political forms as democracy has already attained, popular voting, majority rule and so on, is that to some extent they involve a consultation and discussion which uncover social needs and troubles. This fact is the great asset on the side of the political ledger. De Tocqueville wrote it down almost a century ago in his survey of the prospects of democracy in the United States. Accusing a democracy of a tendency to prefer mediocrity in its elected rulers, and admitting its exposure to gusts of passion and its openness to folly, he pointed out in effect that popular government is educative as other modes of political regulation are not. It forces a recognition that there are common interests, even though the recognition of what they are is confused; and the need it enforces of discussion and publicity brings about some clarification of what they are. The man who wears the shoe knows best that it pinches and where it pinches, even if the expert shoemaker is the best judge of how the trouble is to be remedied. Popular government has at least created public spirit even if its success in informing that spirit has not been great.

The strongest argument for even the basic political forms democracy has already achieved is that they encourage consultation and discussion. Popular voting, majority rule, and similar practices help reveal social needs and problems to some extent. This is their great political strength. De Tocqueville made this point almost a century ago when examining democracy’s prospects in the United States. He accused democracy of tending to choose mediocre elected leaders. He also acknowledged that democracy is vulnerable to bursts of passion and foolishness. Yet his central point was that popular government educates people in ways other forms of political rule do not. Popular government forces people to recognize that they have common interests, even though their understanding of those interests is confused. By requiring discussion and public attention, popular government helps make those interests somewhat clearer. The person wearing the shoe knows best whether it pinches and where. Still, the expert shoemaker may be the best judge of how to fix the problem. Popular government has at least created a spirit of public concern, even if its success in informing that concern has been limited.

A class of experts is inevitably so removed from common interests as to become a class with private interests and private knowledge, which in social matters is not knowledge at all. The ballot is, as often said, a substitute for bullets. But what is more significant is that counting of heads compels prior recourse to methods of discussion, consultation and persuasion, while the essence of appeal to force is to cut short resort to such methods. Majority rule, just as majority rule, is as foolish as its critics charge it with being. But it never is merely majority rule. As a practical politician, Samuel J. Tilden, said a long time ago: “The means by which a majority comes to be a majority is the more important thing”: antecedent debates, modification of views to meet the opinions of minorities, the relative satisfaction given the latter by the fact that it has had a chance and that next time it may be successful in becoming a majority. Think of the meaning of the “problem of minorities” in certain European states, and compare it with the status of minorities in countries having popular government. It is true that all valuable as well as new ideas begin with minorities, perhaps a minority of one. The important consideration is that opportunity be given that idea to spread and to become the possession of the multitude. No government by experts in which the masses do not have the chance to inform the experts as to their needs can be anything but an oligarchy managed in the interests of the few. And the enlightenment must proceed in ways which force the administrative specialists to take account of the needs. The world has suffered more from leaders and authorities than from the masses.

A class of experts inevitably becomes so distant from common interests that it develops private interests and private knowledge. In social matters, such private knowledge is not knowledge at all. As people often say, ballots are a substitute for bullets. But more importantly, counting votes requires discussion, consultation, and persuasion beforehand. By contrast, the very purpose of using force is to cut these methods short. Majority rule, considered simply as majority rule, is as foolish as its critics say. But it is never merely majority rule. As the practical politician Samuel J. Tilden said long ago: “How a majority becomes a majority is more important.” This process includes earlier debates and changes in views to accommodate minority opinions. It also includes the relative satisfaction minorities gain from having had a chance and possibly becoming the majority next time. Consider what the “problem of minorities” means in certain European states. Compare their situation with the position of minorities in countries governed by the people. It is true that all valuable ideas, as well as all new ideas, begin with minorities, perhaps just one person. What matters is giving each idea a chance to spread and become shared by the wider public. Any government by experts must give the masses a chance to tell the experts what they need. Otherwise, it can only be an oligarchy run in the interests of the few. And this communication must happen in ways that force administrative specialists to take those needs into account. The world has suffered more from leaders and authorities than from the masses.

The essential need, in other words, is the improvement of the methods and conditions of debate, discussion and persuasion. That is the problem of the public. We have asserted that this improvement depends essentially upon freeing and perfecting the processes of inquiry and of dissemination of their conclusions. Inquiry, indeed, is a work which devolves upon experts. But their expertness is not shown in framing and executing policies, but in discovering and making known the facts upon which the former depend. They are technical experts in the sense that scientific investigators and artists manifest expertise. It is not necessary that the many should have the knowledge and skill to carry on the needed investigations; what is required is that they have the ability to judge of the bearing of the knowledge supplied by others upon common concerns.

The essential need, in other words, is to improve the methods and conditions of debate, discussion, and persuasion. That is the problem the public faces. We have argued that this improvement depends on making inquiry free and more effective, and improving how its findings spread. Inquiry is indeed the work of experts. But their expertise lies not in creating and carrying out policies, but in discovering and sharing the facts policies depend on. They are technical experts in the same sense that scientific researchers and artists show expertise. The public does not need the knowledge and skills to conduct the necessary investigations. Instead, people need the ability to judge how the knowledge others provide relates to shared concerns.

It is easy to exaggerate the amount of intelligence and ability demanded to render such judgments fitted for their purpose. In the first place, we are likely to form our estimate on the basis of present conditions. But indubitably one great trouble at present is that the data for good judgment are lacking; and no innate faculty of mind can make up for the absence of facts. Until secrecy, prejudice, bias, misrepresentation, and propaganda as well as sheer ignorance are replaced by inquiry and publicity, we have no way of telling how apt for judgment of social policies the existing intelligence of the masses may be. It would certainly go much further than at present. In the second place, effective intelligence is not an original, innate endowment. No matter what are the differences in native intelligence (allowing for the moment that intelligence can be native), the actuality of mind is dependent upon the education which social conditions effect. Just as the specialized mind and knowledge of the past is embodied in implements, utensils, devices and technologies which those of a grade of intelligence which could not produce them can now intelligently use, so it will be when currents of public knowledge blow through social affairs.

It is easy to overestimate the intelligence and ability needed to make such judgments serve their purpose. First, we are likely to base our estimate on present conditions. But one major problem today is undoubtedly the lack of facts needed for sound judgment. No inborn mental ability can make up for missing facts. Secrecy, prejudice, bias, misrepresentation, propaganda, and sheer ignorance must give way to inquiry and public access to information. Until then, we cannot tell how well the public’s existing intelligence may equip people to judge social policies. That intelligence would certainly accomplish much more than it does now. Second, effective intelligence is not something people are born with. People may differ in inborn intelligence, assuming for the moment that intelligence can be inborn. Whatever those differences, how the mind actually functions depends on the education that social conditions provide. The specialized thinking and knowledge of the past are built into tools, utensils, devices, and technologies. People whose level of intelligence would not allow them to create these things can now use them intelligently. Just as this is possible with tools and technologies, so it will be when public knowledge flows through social affairs.

The level of action fixed by embodied intelligence is always the important thing. In savage culture a superior man will be superior to his fellows, but his knowledge and judgment will lag in many matters far behind that of an inferiorly endowed person in an advanced civilization. Capacities are limited by the objects and tools at hand. They are still more dependent upon the prevailing habits of attention and interest which are set by tradition and institutional customs. Meanings run in the channels formed by instrumentalities of which, in the end, language, the vehicle of thought as well as of communication, is the most important. A mechanic can discourse of ohms and amperes as Sir Isaac Newton could not in his day. Many a man who has tinkered with radios can judge of things which Faraday did not dream of. It is aside from the point to say that if Newton and Faraday were now here, the amateur and mechanic would be infants beside them. The retort only brings out the point: the difference made by different objects to think of and by different meanings in circulation. A more intelligent state of social affairs, one more informed with knowledge, more directed by intelligence, would not improve original endowments one whit, but it would raise the level upon which the intelligence of all operates. The height of this level is much more important for judgment of public concerns than are differences in intelligence quotients. As Santayana has said: “Could a better system prevail in our lives a better order would establish itself in our thinking. It has not been for want of keen senses, or personal genius, or a constant order in the outer world, that mankind has fallen back repeatedly into barbarism and superstition. It has been for want of good character, good example, and good government.” The notion that intelligence is a personal endowment or personal attainment is the great conceit of the intellectual class, as that of the commercial class is that wealth is something which they personally have wrought and possess.

What always matters is the level of action made possible by embodied intelligence. In a primitive culture, a highly gifted person will surpass his peers. But in many matters, his knowledge and judgment will lag far behind a less gifted person in an advanced civilization. Abilities are limited by the objects and tools available. Abilities depend even more on prevailing habits of attention and interest, shaped by tradition and institutional customs. Meanings follow channels formed by the tools we use. Ultimately, the most important tool is language, the medium of both thought and communication. A mechanic can discuss ohms and amperes as Sir Isaac Newton could not in his day. Many people who have tinkered with radios can judge matters Faraday never dreamed of. Saying that Newton and Faraday, if alive today, would make the amateur and mechanic look like infants misses the point. That reply only highlights the point: different objects to think about and different meanings in circulation make a difference. A more intelligent social order would be better informed by knowledge and more guided by intelligence. Such an order would not improve anyone's natural abilities at all. But such an order would raise the level at which everyone's intelligence operates. For judging public concerns, that level matters much more than differences in intelligence quotients. As Santayana said: “If a better system prevailed in our lives, a better order would take shape in our thinking. Humanity has repeatedly fallen back into barbarism and superstition. The cause has not been a lack of sharp senses, individual genius, or a consistent order in the outside world. The cause has been a lack of good character, good example, and good government.” The intellectual class's great conceit is the belief that intelligence is an individual gift or achievement. The commercial class has a similar conceit: that its members have personally created and own their wealth.

A point which concerns us in conclusion passes beyond the field of intellectual method, and trenches upon the question of practical re-formation of social conditions. In its deepest and richest sense a community must always remain a matter of face-to-face intercourse. This is why the family and neighborhood, with all their deficiencies, have always been the chief agencies of nurture, the means by which dispositions are stably formed and ideas acquired which laid hold on the roots of character. The Great Community, in the sense of free and full intercommunication, is conceivable. But it can never possess all the qualities which mark a local community. It will do its final work in ordering the relations and enriching the experience of local associations. The invasion and partial destruction of the life of the latter by outside uncontrolled agencies is the immediate source of the instability, disintegration and restlessness which characterize the present epoch. Evils which are uncritically and indiscriminately laid at the door of industrialism and democracy might, with greater intelligence, be referred to the dislocation and unsettlement of local communities. Vital and thorough attachments are bred only in the intimacy of an intercourse which is of necessity restricted in range.

One final point takes us beyond methods of thought and into the practical task of reshaping social conditions. In its deepest and richest sense, a community must always depend on face-to-face interaction. This is why families and neighborhoods, despite all their shortcomings, have always been the main sources of nurture. Through them, lasting attitudes take shape, and people acquire ideas that take root deep in their character. The Great Community, understood as free and full communication among all, is possible to imagine. But it can never have all the qualities of a local community. Its ultimate role will be to organize relationships among local groups and enrich their experience. Outside forces beyond local control have invaded and partly destroyed the life of these groups. This invasion and destruction directly cause the instability, breakdown, and restlessness that mark the present age. People blame industrialism and democracy for social ills without examining or distinguishing among those ills. A more thoughtful view might trace those ills to the disruption and uprooting of local communities. Deep, vital bonds develop only through close interaction, and such interaction necessarily has a limited reach.

Is it possible for local communities to be stable without being static, progressive without being merely mobile? Can the vast, innumerable and intricate currents of trans-local associations be so banked and conducted that they will pour the generous and abundant meanings of which they are potential bearers into the smaller intimate unions of human beings living in immediate contact with one another? Is it possible to restore the reality of the lesser communal organizations and to penetrate and saturate their members with a sense of local community life? There is at present, at least in theory, a movement away from the principle of territorial organization to that of “functional,” that is to say, occupational, organization. It is true enough that older forms of territorial association do not satisfy present needs. It is true that ties formed by sharing in common work, whether in what is called industry or what are called professions, have now a force which formerly they did not possess. But these ties can be counted upon for an enduring and stable organization, which at the same time is flexible and moving, only as they grow out of immediate intercourse and attachment. The theory, as far as it relies upon associations which are remote and indirect, would if carried into effect soon be confronted by all the troubles and evils of the present situation in a transposed form. There is no substitute for the vitality and depth of close and direct intercourse and attachment.

Can local communities be stable without standing still, and progressive without merely changing? Can the vast, countless, complex currents of connections beyond local communities be channeled into small, close-knit groups living together? Can these currents bring the rich and abundant meanings they potentially carry into those groups? Can smaller community organizations be made real again, and their members filled with a sense of local community life? At present, at least in theory, there is a movement away from organization based on territory toward “functional,” or occupational, organization. Older forms of association based on territory certainly do not meet present needs. Ties formed through shared work, whether in industry or the professions, certainly have a strength they once lacked. But these ties can support lasting, stable organizations that remain flexible and responsive only when rooted in direct interaction and attachment. To the extent that the theory relies on distant, indirect associations, putting it into practice would soon expose its limits. All the troubles and evils of the present situation would reappear in a different form. Nothing can replace the vitality and depth of close, direct interaction and attachment.

It is said, and said truly, that for the world’s peace it is necessary that we understand the peoples of foreign lands. How well do we understand, I wonder, our next door neighbors? It has also been said that if a man love not his fellow man whom he has seen, he cannot love the God whom he has not seen. The chances of regard for distant peoples being effective as long as there is no close neighborhood experience to bring with it insight and understanding of neighbors do not seem better. A man who has not been seen in the daily relations of life may inspire admiration, emulation, servile subjection, fanatical partisanship, hero worship; but not love and understanding, save as they radiate from the attachments of a near-by union. Democracy must begin at home, and its home is the neighborly community.

People rightly say that world peace requires us to understand the peoples of other countries. But how well, I wonder, do we understand our next-door neighbors? People have also said that anyone who does not love a fellow human being they have seen cannot love God, whom they have not seen. Concern for distant peoples seems no more likely to be effective without close experience of neighborhood life. Such experience brings insight into and understanding of our neighbors. Someone we have not known in daily life may inspire admiration, imitation, blind obedience, fanatical loyalty, or hero worship. But that person cannot inspire love and understanding unless those feelings grow out of the bonds of a close community. Democracy must begin at home, and its home is the neighborly community.

It is outside the scope of our discussion to look into the prospects of the reconstruction of face-to-face communities. But there is something deep within human nature itself which pulls toward settled relationships. Inertia and the tendency toward stability belong to emotions and desires as well as to masses and molecules. That happiness which is full of content and peace is found only in enduring ties with others, which reach to such depths that they go below the surface of conscious experience to form its undisturbed foundation. No one knows how much of the frothy excitement of life, of mania for motion, of fretful discontent, of need for artificial stimulation, is the expression of frantic search for something to fill the void caused by the loosening of the bonds which hold persons together in immediate community of experience. If there is anything in human psychology to be counted upon, it may be urged that when man is satiated with restless seeking for the remote which yields no enduring satisfaction, the human spirit will return to seek calm and order within itself. This, we repeat, can be found only in the vital, steady, and deep relationships which are present only in an immediate community.

Exploring the prospects for rebuilding face-to-face communities is beyond the scope of our discussion. But something deep in human nature draws us toward lasting relationships. Inertia and the tendency toward stability belong to emotions and desires as well as to masses and molecules. Happiness filled with contentment and peace is found only in lasting ties with others. These ties reach beneath conscious experience and form its undisturbed foundation. No one knows how much of life's shallow excitement, frantic activity, restless dissatisfaction, and need for artificial stimulation reflects a desperate search. The search is for something to fill the emptiness left by weakened bonds of shared, direct experience. If anything in human psychology can be relied on, we may argue for the following possibility. When people have had enough of restlessly seeking distant things that offer no lasting satisfaction, the human spirit will turn inward. There, the human spirit will seek calm and order. As we have said, such calm and order can be found only in lively, steady, and deep relationships. Such relationships exist only in a community whose members share direct experience.

The psychological tendency can, however, manifest itself only when it is in harmonious conjunction with the objective course of events. Analysis finds itself in troubled waters if it attempts to discover whether the tide of events is turning away from dispersion of energies and acceleration of motion. Physically and externally, conditions have made, of course, for concentration; the development of urban, at the expense of rural, populations; the corporate organization of aggregated wealth, the growth of all sorts of organizations, are evidence enough. But enormous organization is compatible with demolition of the ties that form local communities and with substitution of impersonal bonds for personal unions, with a flux which is hostile to stability. The character of our cities, of organized business and the nature of the comprehensive associations in which individuality is lost, testify also to this fact. Yet there are contrary signs. “Community” and community activities are becoming words to conjure with. The local is the ultimate universal, and as near an absolute as exists. It is easy to point to many signs which indicate that unconscious agencies as well as deliberate planning are making for such an enrichment of the experience of local communities as will conduce to render them genuine centers of the attention, interest and devotion for their constituent members.

This psychological tendency, however, can emerge only when it works in harmony with the actual course of events. Analysis runs into difficulty when asking whether events are moving away from scattered energies and ever-faster activity. In physical and external terms, conditions have, of course, favored concentration. There is ample evidence: urban populations growing at the expense of rural ones, concentrated wealth organized into corporations, and organizations of all kinds expanding. But huge organizations can coexist with the destruction of the ties that hold local communities together. They can replace personal relationships with impersonal connections and create constant change that undermines stability. Our cities, organized business, and large associations that swallow up individuality also bear witness to these effects. Yet there are signs pointing the other way. “Community” and community activities are becoming powerful rallying words. The local is the ultimate universal, and as close to an absolute as anything that exists. Many signs are easy to find: both unplanned forces and deliberate planning are enriching the experience of local communities. Such enrichment will help make local communities genuine centers of their members’ attention, interest, and devotion.

The unanswered question is how far these tendencies will reëstablish the void left by the disintegration of the family, church and neighborhood. We cannot predict the outcome. But we can assert with confidence that there is nothing intrinsic in the forces which have effected uniform standardization, mobility and remote invisible relationships that is fatally obstructive to the return movement of their consequences into the local homes of mankind. Uniformity and standardization may provide an underlying basis for differentiation and liberation of individual potentialities. They may sink to the plane of unconscious habituations, taken for granted in the mechanical phases of life, and deposit a soil from which personal susceptibilities and endowments may richly and stably flower. Mobility may in the end supply the means by which the spoils of remote and indirect interaction and interdependence flow back into local life, keeping it flexible, preventing the stagnancy which has attended stability in the past, and furnishing it with the elements of a variegated and many-hued experience. Organization may cease to be taken as an end in itself. Then it will no longer be mechanical and external, hampering the free play of artistic gifts, fettering men and women with chains of conformity, conducing to abdication of all which does not fit into the automatic movement of organization as a self-sufficing thing. Organization as a means to an end would reënforce individuality and enable it to be securely itself by enduing it with resources beyond its unaided reach.

The unanswered question is how far these tendencies will restore what was lost as family, church, and neighborhood broke down. We cannot predict the outcome. But we can confidently say that the forces behind standardization, mobility, and distant, invisible relationships contain no unavoidable barrier. Nothing in those forces inherently prevents their benefits from flowing back into people's local communities. Uniformity and standardization may provide a foundation for individual differences and the release of individual potential. They may become unconscious habits, taken for granted in the mechanical parts of life. These habits may form a soil in which personal sensitivities and talents can flourish richly and steadily. Mobility may eventually allow the gains from distant, indirect interaction and mutual dependence to flow back into local life. In doing so, mobility may keep local life flexible and prevent the stagnation that has accompanied stability in the past. Mobility may also enrich local life with varied and colorful experiences. Organization may stop being treated as an end in itself. Then organization will no longer be mechanical and imposed from outside. It will no longer hinder the free expression of artistic gifts or chain men and women to conformity. Nor will it encourage people to surrender everything that does not fit its automatic workings, as though organization needed no purpose beyond itself. Organization used as a means to an end would strengthen individuality. It would give individuals resources beyond their unaided reach, enabling them to be securely themselves.

Whatever the future may have in store, one thing is certain. Unless local communal life can be restored, the public cannot adequately resolve its most urgent problem: to find and identify itself. But if it be re-established, it will manifest a fullness, variety and freedom of possession and enjoyment of meanings and goods unknown in the contiguous associations of the past. For it will be alive and flexible as well as stable, responsive to the complex and world-wide scene in which it is enmeshed. While local, it will not be isolated. Its larger relationships will provide an exhaustible and flowing fund of meanings upon which to draw, with assurance that its drafts will be honored. Territorial states and political boundaries will persist; but they will not be barriers which impoverish experience by cutting man off from his fellows; they will not be hard and fast divisions whereby external separation is converted into inner jealousy, fear, suspicion and hostility. Competition will continue, but it will be less rivalry for acquisition of material goods, and more an emulation of local groups to enrich direct experience with appreciatively enjoyed intellectual and artistic wealth. If the technological age can provide mankind with a firm and general basis of material security, it will be absorbed in a humane age. It will take its place as an instrumentality of shared and communicated experience. But without passage through a machine age, mankind’s hold upon what is needful as the precondition of a free, flexible and many-colored life is so precarious and inequitable that competitive scramble for acquisition and frenzied use of the results of acquisition for purposes of excitation and display will be perpetuated.

Whatever the future may bring, one thing is certain. Unless local community life is restored, the public cannot adequately solve its most urgent problem: finding and identifying itself. But if local community life is restored, people will possess and enjoy meanings and goods with unprecedented fullness, variety, and freedom. Earlier communities based on physical proximity never offered these possibilities. Restored community life will be lively and flexible as well as stable. It will respond to the complex, worldwide setting in which it is embedded. Although local, the community will not be isolated. Its wider relationships will supply a flowing, though exhaustible, reserve of meanings. The community can draw on that reserve with confidence that its needs will be met. Territorial states and political boundaries will remain. But these boundaries will not cut people off from one another and impoverish their experience. Nor will boundaries become rigid divisions that turn physical separation into jealousy, fear, suspicion, and hostility. Competition will continue, but it will focus less on acquiring material goods. Instead, local groups will strive to outdo one another in enriching direct experience with intellectual and artistic riches. People will appreciate and enjoy those riches. If the technological age can give humanity a firm and widespread foundation of material security, a humane age will absorb it. Technology will take its place as a tool for sharing and communicating experience. But without passing through a machine age, humanity's access to life's necessities remains precarious and unequal. These necessities are the foundation of a free, flexible, and varied life. Without that foundation, the competitive scramble to acquire things will continue. So will the frantic use of what people acquire for stimulation and display.

We have said that consideration of this particular condition of the generation of democratic communities and an articulate democratic public carries us beyond the question of intellectual method into that of practical procedure. But the two questions are not disconnected. The problem of securing diffused and seminal intelligence can be solved only in the degree in which local communal life becomes a reality. Signs and symbols, language, are the means of communication by which a fraternally shared experience is ushered in and sustained. But the wingèd words of conversation in immediate intercourse have a vital import lacking in the fixed and frozen words of written speech. Systematic and continuous inquiry into all the conditions which affect association and their dissemination in print is a precondition of the creation of a true public. But it and its results are but tools after all. Their final actuality is accomplished in face-to-face relationships by means of direct give and take. Logic in its fulfillment recurs to the primitive sense of the word: dialogue. Ideas which are not communicated, shared, and reborn in expression are but soliloquy, and soliloquy is but broken and imperfect thought. It, like the acquisition of material wealth, marks a diversion of the wealth created by associated endeavor and exchange to private ends. It is more genteel, and it is called more noble. But there is no difference in kind.

We have said that considering this particular condition for creating democratic communities and a public able to express itself takes us beyond intellectual method. It brings us to questions of practical action. But these two questions are connected. Intelligence can become widespread and generate new ideas only to the extent that local community life becomes a reality. Signs and symbols, including language, are the means of communication that create and sustain experience shared in fellowship. But the flying words of direct conversation have a vital significance missing from the fixed, frozen words of writing. Creating a true public requires systematic, ongoing inquiry into all the conditions affecting how people associate. It also requires publishing the findings in print. But inquiry and its results are only tools, after all. They become fully real through the direct give and take of face-to-face relationships. Logic, when fully realized, returns to the word’s original meaning: dialogue. Ideas that are not communicated, shared, and given new life through expression are merely private monologues. And private monologue is only fragmented, imperfect thought. Like the accumulation of material wealth, private monologue diverts wealth created through shared effort and exchange toward private ends. It is more refined, and people call it nobler. But there is no difference in kind.

In a word, that expansion and reënforcement of personal understanding and judgment by the cumulative and transmitted intellectual wealth of the community which may render nugatory the indictment of democracy drawn on the basis of the ignorance, bias and levity of the masses, can be fulfilled only in the relations of personal intercourse in the local community. The connections of the ear with vital and out-going thought and emotion are immensely closer and more varied than those of the eye. Vision is a spectator; hearing is a participator. Publication is partial and the public which results is partially informed and formed until the meanings it purveys pass from mouth to mouth. There is no limit to the liberal expansion and confirmation of limited personal intellectual endowment which may proceed from the flow of social intelligence when that circulates by word of mouth from one to another in the communications of the local community. That and that only gives reality to public opinion. We lie, as Emerson said, in the lap of an immense intelligence. But that intelligence is dormant and its communications are broken, inarticulate and faint until it possesses the local community as its medium.

In short, the community’s accumulated and shared knowledge can expand and strengthen personal understanding and judgment. This growth may discredit the case against democracy based on the ignorance, prejudice, and carelessness of the masses. But such growth can happen only through personal interaction in the local community. Hearing connects far more closely and in many more ways than sight with living, outward-reaching thought and emotion. Sight observes. Hearing participates. Publication alone is incomplete. The public it creates remains only partly informed and developed until the meanings it conveys pass from mouth to mouth. Shared intelligence can circulate by word of mouth from person to person within the local community. When it does, there is no limit to how much it may expand and strengthen limited individual intellectual abilities. This exchange, and only this exchange, makes public opinion real. As Emerson said, we lie in the lap of an immense intelligence. But that intelligence remains dormant until it finds its means of expression in the local community. Until then, its communications remain broken, unclear, and faint.