"War is the Health of the State"
(1918)
by Randolph Bourne
War is the health of the State.
It automatically sets in motion throughout society those irresistible
forces for uniformity, for passionate co-operation with the Government
in coercing into obedience the minority groups and individuals which
lack the larger herd sense. The machinery of government sets and
enforces the drastic penalties, the minorities are either intimidated
into silence or brought slowly around by a subtle process of persuasion
which may seem to them to really converting them. Of course the ideal of
perfect loyalty, perfect uniformity is never attained. The classes upon
whom the amateur work of coercion falls are unwearied in their zeal but
often their agitation instead of converting, merely serves to stiffen
their resistance. Minorities are rendered sullen, and some intellectual
opinion, bitter and satirical. But in general, the nation in war-time
attains a uniformity of feeling, a hierarchy of values, culminated at
the undisputed apex of the State ideal, which could not possibly be
produced trough any other agency than war. Other values such artistic
creation, knowledge, reason, beauty, the enhancement of life, are
instantly and almost unanimously sacrificed and the significant classes
who have constituted themselves the amateur agents of the State are
engaged not only in sacrificing these values for themselves but in
coercing all other persons into sacrificing them.
War - or at least modern war waged by a democratic republic against a
powerful enemy - seems to achieve for a nation almost all that the most
inflamed political idealist could desire. Citizens are no longer
indifferent to their Government but each cell of the body politic is
brimming with life and activity. We are at last on the way to full
realization of that collective community in which each individual
somehow contains the virtue of the whole. In a nation at war, every
citizen identifies himself with the whole, and feels immensely
strengthened in that identification. The purpose and desire of the
collective community live in each person who throws himself
whole-heartedly into the cause of war. The impeding distinction between
society and the individual is almost blotted out. At war, the individual
becomes almost identical with his society. He achieves a superb
self-assurance, an intuition of the rightness of all his ideas and
emotions, so that in the suppression of opponents or heretics he is
invincibly strong; he feels behind him all the power of the collective
community. The individual as social being in war seems to have achieved
almost his apotheosis. Not for any religious impulse could the American
nation have been expected to show such devotion en masse, such sacrifice
and labour. Certainly not for any secular good, such as universal
education or the subjugation of nature would it have poured forth its
treasure and its life, or would it have permitted such stern coercive
measures to be taken against it, such as conscripting its money and its
men. But for the sake of a war of offensive self-defence, undertaken to
support a difficult cause to the slogan of "democracy", it would reach
the highest level ever known of collective effort.
For these secular goods, connected with the enhancement of life, the
education of man and the use of the intelligence to realize reason and
beauty in the nation's communal living, are alien to our traditional
ideal of the State. The State is intimately connected with war, for it
is the organization of the collective community when it acts in a
political manner, and to act in a political manner towards a rival group
has meant, throughout all history - war.
There is nothing invidious in the use of the term "herd", in connection
with the State. It is merely an attempt to reduce closer to first
principles the nature of this institution in the shadow of which we all
live, move and have our being. Ethnologists are generally agreed that
human society made its first appearance as the human pack and not as a
collection of individuals or of couples. The herd is in fact the
original unit, and only as it was differentiated did personal
individuality develop. All the most primitive surviving types of men are
shown to live in a very complex but very rigid social organization
where opportunity for individuation is scarcely given.
These tribes remain strictly organized herds; and the difference between
them and the modern State is one of degree of sophistication and
variety of organization, and not of kind.
Psychologists recognize the gregarious impulse as one of the strongest
primitive pulls which keeps together the herds of the different species
of higher animals. Mankind is no exception. Our pugnacious evolutionary
history has prevented the impulse from ever dying out. This gregarious
impulse is the tendency to imitate, to conform, to coalesce together,
and is most powerful when the herd believes itself threatened with
attack. Animals crowd together for protection, and men become most
conscious of their collectivity at the threat of war. Consciousness of
collectivity brings confidence and a feeling of massed strength, which
in turn arouses pugnacity and the battle is on. In civilized man, the
gregarious impulse acts not only to produce concerted action for
defence, but also to produce identity of opinion. Since thought is a
form of behaviour, the gregarious impulse floods up into its realm and
demands that sense of uniform thought which wartime produces so
successfully. And it is in this flooding of the conscious life of
society that gregariousness works its havoc.
For just as in modern societies the sex-instinct is enormously
over-supplied for the requirements of human propagation, so the
gregarious impulse is enormously over-supplied for the work of
protection which it is called upon to perform. It would be quite enough
if we were gregarious enough to enjoy the companionship of others, to be
able to co-operate with them, and to feel a slight malaise at solitude.
Unfortunately however, this impulse is not content with these
reasonable and healthful demands; but insists that like-mindedness shall
prevail everywhere, in all departments of life. So that all human
progress, all novelty, and non-conformity, must be carried against the
resistance of this tyrannical herd-instinct which drives the individual
into obedience and conformity with the majority. Even in the most modern
and enlightened societies this impulse shows little sign of abating. As
it is driven by inexorable economic demand out of the sphere of
utility, it seems to fasten itself even more fiercely in the realm of
feeling and opinion, so that conformity comes to be a thing aggressively
desired and demanded.
The gregarious impulse keeps its hold all the more virulently because
when the group is in motion or is taking any positive action, this
feeling of being with and supported by the collective herd very greatly
feeds that will to power, the nourishment of which the individual
organism so constantly demands. You feel powerful by conforming, and you
feel forlorn and helpless if you are out of the crowd. While even if
you do not get any access of power by thinking and feeling just as
everybody else in your group does, you get at least the warm feeling of
obedience, the soothing irresponsibility of protection. Joining as it
does to these very vigorous tendencies of the individual - the pleasure
in power and the pleasure in obedience - this gregarious impulse becomes
irresistible in society. War stimulates it to the highest possible
degree, sending the influences of its mysterious herd-current with its
inflations of power and obedience to the farthest reaches of the
society, to every individual and little group that can possibly be
affected. An it is these impulses which the State - the organization of
the entire herd, the entire collectivity - is founded on and makes use
of.
There is, of course, in the feeling toward the State a large element of
pure filial mysticism. This sense of insecurity, the desire for
protection, sends one's desire back to the father and mother, with whom
is associated the earliest feeling of protection. It is not for nothing
that one's State is still thought of as Fatherland or Motherland, that
one's relation towards it is conceived in terms of family affection. The
war has shown that nowhere under the shock of danger have these
primitive childlike attitudes failed to assert themselves again, as much
in this country as anywhere. If we have not the intense Father-sense of
the German who worships his Vaterland, at least in Uncle Sam we have a
symbol of protecting, kindly authority, and in the many Mother-posts of
the Red Cross, we see how easily in the more tender functions of war
services, the ruling organization is conceived in family terms. A people
at war have become in the most literal sense obedient, respectful,
trustful children again, full of that naive faith in the all-wisdom and
all-power of the adult who takes care of them, imposes his mild but
necessary rule upon them and in whom they lose their responsibility and
anxieties. In this recrudescence of the child, there is great comfort,
and a certain influx of power. On most people the strain of being an
independent adult weighs heavily, and upon none more than those members
of the significant classes who have had bequeathed to them or have
assumed the responsibilities of governing. The State provides the most
convenient of symbols under which these classes can retain all the
actual pragmatic satisfaction of governing, but can rid themselves of
the psychic burden of adulthood. They continue to direct industry and
government and all the institutions of society pretty much as before,
but in their own conscious eyes and in the eyes of the general public,
they are turned from their selfish and predatory ways, and have become
loyal servants of society, or something greater than they - the State.
The man who moves from the direction of a large business in New York to a
post in the war management industrial services in Washington does not
apparently alter very much his power or his administrative technique.
But psychically, what a transformation has occurred! His is now not only
the power but the glory! And his sense of satisfaction is directly
proportional not to the genuine amount of personal sacrifice that may be
involved in the change but to the extent to which he retains his
industrial prerogative and sense of command.
From members of this class a certain insuperable indignation arises if
the change from private enterprise to State service involves any real
loss of power and personal privilege. If there is to be pragmatic
sacrifice, let it be, they feel, on the field of honour, in the
traditional acclaimed deaths by battle, in that detour of suicide, as
Nietzsche calls war. The State in wartime supplies satisfaction for this
very craving, but its chief value is the opportunity it gives for this
regression to infantile attitudes. In your reaction to an imagined
attack in your country or an insult to its government, you draw closer
to the herd for protection, you conform in word and deed, and you insist
vehemently that everybody else shall think, speak and act together. And
you fix your adoring gaze upon the State, with a truly filial look, as
upon the Father of the flock, the quasi-personal symbol of your definite
action and ideas.