The Background of Plato's Attack
10: The Open Society and its Enemies
He will restore us to our original nature, and heal us, and make us happy and blessed.
-- Plato.
There is still something missing from our analysis. The contention that Plato's political programme is purely totalitarian, and the objections to this contention which were raised in chapter 6, have led us to examine the part played, within this programme, by such moral ideas as Justice, Wisdom, Truth, and Beauty. The result of this examination was always the same. We found that the role of these ideas is important, but that they do not lead Plato beyond totalitarianism and racialism. But one of these ideas we have still to examine: that of Happiness. It may be remembered that we quoted Grossman in connection with the belief that Plato's political programme is fundamentally a 'plan for the building of a perfect state in which every citizen is really happy', and that I described this belief as a relic of the tendency to idealize Plato. If called upon to justify my opinion, I should not have much difficulty in pointing out that Plato's treatment of happiness is exactly analogous to his treatment of justice; and especially, that it is based upon the same belief that society is 'by nature' divided into classes or castes. True happiness [1], Plato insists, is achieved only by justice, i.e. by keeping one's place. The ruler must find happiness in ruling, the warrior in warring; and, we may infer, the slave in slaving. Apart from that, Plato says frequently that what he is aiming at is neither the happiness of individuals nor that of any particular class in the state, but only the happiness of the whole, and this, he argues, is nothing but the outcome of that rule of justice which I have shown to be totalitarian in character. That only this justice can lead to any true happiness is one of the main theses of the Republic.
In view of all this, it seems to be a consistent and hardly refutable interpretation of the material to present Plato as a totalitarian party- politician, unsuccessful in his immediate and practical undertakings, but in the long run only too successful [2] in his propaganda for the arrest and overthrow of a civilization which he hated. But one only has to put the matter in this blunt fashion in order to feel that there is something seriously amiss with this interpretation. At any rate, so I felt, when I had formulated it. I felt perhaps not so much that it was untrue, but that it was defective. I therefore began to search for evidence which would refute this interpretation [3]. However, in every point but one, this attempt to refute my interpretation was quite unsuccessful. The new material made the identity between Platonism and totalitarianism only the more manifest.
The one point in which I felt that my search for a refutation had succeeded concerned Plato's hatred of tyranny. Of course, there was always the possibility of explaining this away. It would have been easy to say that his indictment of tyranny was mere propaganda. Totalitarianism often professes a love for 'true' freedom, and Plato's praise of freedom as opposed to tyranny sounds exactly like this professed love. In spite of this, I felt that certain of his observations on tyranny [4], which will be mentioned later in this chapter, were sincere. The fact, of course, that 'tyranny' usually meant in Plato's day a form of rule based on the support of the masses made it possible to claim that Plato's hatred of tyranny was consistent with my original interpretation. But I felt that this did not remove the need for modifying my interpretation. I also felt that the mere emphasis on Plato's fundamental sincerity was quite insufficient to accomplish this modification. No amount of emphasis could offset the general impression of the picture. A new picture was needed which would have to include Plato's sincere belief in his mission as healer of the sick social body, as well as the fact that he had seen more clearly than anybody else before or after him what was happening to Greek society. Since the attempt to reject the identity of Platonism and totalitarianism had not improved the picture, I was ultimately forced to modify my interpretation of totalitarianism itself. In other words, my attempt to understand Plato by analogy with modern totalitarianism led me, to my own surprise, to modify my view of totalitarianism. It did not modify my hostility, but it ultimately led me to see that the strength of both the old and the new totalitarian movements rested on the fact that they attempted to answer a very real need, however badly conceived this attempt may have been.
In the light of my new interpretation, it appears to me that Plato's declaration of his wish to make the state and its citizens happy is not merely propaganda. I am ready to grant his fundamental benevolence [5]. I also grant that he was right, to a limited extent, in the sociological analysis on which he based his promise of happiness. To put this point more precisely: I believe that Plato, with deep sociological insight, found that his contemporaries were suffering under a severe strain, and that this strain was due to the social revolution which had begun with the rise of democracy and individualism. He succeeded in discovering the main causes of their deeply rooted unhappiness — social change, and social dissension — and he did his utmost to fight them. There is no reason to doubt that one of his most powerful motives was to win back happiness for the citizens. For reasons discussed later in this chapter, I believe that the medico-political treatment which he recommended, the arrest of change and the return to tribalism, was hopelessly wrong. But the recommendation, though not practicable as a therapy, testifies to Plato's power of diagnosis. It shows that he knew what was amiss, that he understood the strain, the unhappiness, under which the people were labouring, even though he erred in his fundamental claim that by leading them back to tribalism he could lessen the strain, and restore their happiness.
It is my intention to give in this chapter a very brief survey of the historical material which induced me to hold such opinions. A few critical remarks on the method adopted, that of historical interpretation, will be found in the last chapter of the book. It will therefore suffice here if I say that I do not claim scientific status for this method, since the tests of an historical interpretation can never be as rigorous as those of an ordinary hypothesis. The interpretation is mainly a point of view, whose value lies in its fertility, in its power to throw light upon the historical material, to lead us to find new material, and to help us to rationalize and to unify it. What I am going to say here is therefore not meant as a dogmatic assertion, however boldly I may perhaps sometimes express my opinions.
I
Our Western civilization originated with the Greeks. They were, it seems, the first to make the step from tribalism to humanitarianism. Let us consider what that means.
The early Greek tribal society resembles in many respects that of peoples like the Polynesians, the Maoris for instance. Small bands of warriors, usually living in fortified settlements, ruled by tribal chiefs or kings, or by aristocratic families, were waging war against one another on sea as well as on land. There were, of course, many differences between the Greek and the Polynesian ways of life, for there is, admittedly, no uniformity in tribalism. There is no standardized 'tribal way of life'. It seems to me, however, that there are some characteristics that can be found in most, if not all, of these tribal societies. I mean their magical or irrational attitude towards the customs of social life, and the corresponding rigidity of these customs.
The magical attitude towards social custom has been discussed before. Its main element is the lack of distinction between the customary or conventional regularities of social life and the regularities found in 'nature'; and this often goes together with the belief that both are enforced by a supernatural will. The rigidity of the social customs is probably in most cases only another aspect of the same attitude. (There are some reasons to believe that this aspect is even more primitive, and that the supernatural belief is a kind of rationalization of the fear of changing a routine — a fear which we can find in very young children.) When I speak of the rigidity of tribalism I do not mean that no changes can occur in the tribal ways of life. I mean rather that the comparatively infrequent changes have the character of religious conversions or revulsions, or of the introduction of new magical taboos. They are not based upon a rational attempt to improve social conditions. Apart from such changes — which are rare — taboos rigidly regulate and dominate all aspects of life. They do not leave many loop-holes. There are few problems in this form of life, and nothing really equivalent to moral problems. I do not mean to say that a member of a tribe does not sometimes need much heroism and endurance in order to act in accordance with the taboos. What I mean is that he will rarely find himself in the position of doubting how he ought to act. The right way is always determined, though difficulties must be overcome in following it. It is determined by taboos, by magical tribal institutions which can never become objects of critical consideration. Not even a Heraclitus distinguishes clearly between the institutional laws of tribal life and the laws of nature; both are taken to be of the same magical character. Based upon the collective tribal tradition, the institutions leave no room for personal responsibility. The taboos that establish some form of group- responsibility may be the forerunner of what we call personal responsibility, but they are fundamentally different from it. They are not based upon a principle of reasonable accountability, but rather upon magical ideas, such as the idea of appeasing the powers of fate.
It is well known how much of this still survives. Our own ways of life are still beset with taboos; food taboos, taboos of politeness, and many others. And yet, there are some important differences. In our own way of life there is, between the laws of the state on the one hand and the taboos we habitually observe on the other, an ever-widening field of personal decisions, with its problems and responsibilities; and we know the importance of this field. Personal decisions may lead to the alteration of taboos, and even of political laws which are no longer taboos. The great difference is the possibility of rational reflection upon these matters. Rational reflection begins, in a way, with Heraclitus [6]. With Alcmaeon, Phaleas and Hippodamus, with Herodotus and the Sophists, the quest for the 'best constitution' assumes, by degrees, the character of a problem which can be rationally discussed. And in our own time, many of us make rational decisions concerning the desirability or otherwise of new legislation, and of other institutional changes; that is to say, decisions based upon an estimate of possible consequences, and upon a conscious preference for some of them. We recognize rational personal responsibility.
In what follows, the magical or tribal or collectivist society will also be called the closed society, and the society in which individuals are confronted with personal decisions, the open society. A closed society at its best can be justly compared to an organism. The so-called organic or biological theory of the state can be applied to it to a considerable extent. A closed society resembles a herd or a tribe in being a semi-organic unit whose members are held together by semi-biological ties — kinship, living together, sharing common efforts, common dangers, common joys and common distress. It is still a concrete group of concrete individuals, related to one another not merely by such abstract social relationships as division of labour and exchange of commodities, but by concrete physical relationships such as touch, smell, and sight. And although such a society may be based on slavery, the presence of slaves need not create a fundamentally different problem from that of domesticated animals. Thus those aspects are lacking which make it impossible to apply the organic theory successfully to an open society.
The aspects I have in mind are connected with the fact that, in an open society, many members strive to rise socially, and to take the places of other members. This may lead, for example, to such an important social phenomenon as class struggle. We cannot find anything like class struggle in an organism. The cells or tissues of an organism, which are sometimes said to correspond to the members of a state, may perhaps compete for food; but there is no inherent tendency on the part of the legs to become the brain, or of other members of the body to become the belly. Since there is nothing in the organism to correspond to one of the most important characteristics of the open society, competition for status among its members, the so-called organic theory of the state is based on a false analogy. The closed society, on the other hand, does not know much of such tendencies. Its institutions, including its castes, are sacrosanct — taboo. The organic theory does not fit so badly here. It is therefore not surprising to find that most attempts to apply the organic theory to our society are veiled forms of propaganda for a return to tribalism [7].
As a consequence of its loss of organic character, an open society may become, by degrees, what I should like to term an 'abstract society'. It may, to a considerable extent, lose the character of a concrete or real group of men, or of a system of such real groups. This point which has been rarely understood may be explained by way of an exaggeration. We could conceive of a society in which men practically never meet face to face — in which all business is conducted by individuals in isolation who communicate by typed letters or by telegrams, and who go about in closed motor-cars. (Artificial insemination would allow even propagation without a personal element.) Such a fictitious society might be called a 'completely abstract or depersonalized society'. Now the interesting point is that our modern society resembles in many of its aspects such a completely abstract society. Although we do not always drive alone in closed motor cars (but meet face to face thousands of men walking past us in the street) the result is very nearly the same as if we did — we do not establish as a rule any personal relation with our fellow-pedestrians. Similarly, membership of a trade union may mean no more than the possession of a membership card and the payment of a contribution to an unknown secretary. There are many people living in a modern society who have no, or extremely few, intimate personal contacts, who live in anonymity and isolation, and consequently in unhappiness. For although society has become abstract, the biological make-up of man has not changed much; men have social needs which they cannot satisfy in an abstract society.
Of course, our picture is even in this form highly exaggerated. There never will be or can be a completely abstract or even a predominantly abstract society — no more than a completely rational or even a predominantly rational society. Men still form real groups and enter into real social contacts of all kinds, and try to satisfy their emotional social needs as well as they can. But most of the social groups of a modern open society (with the exception of some lucky family groups) are poor substitutes, since they do not provide for a common life. And many of them do not have any function in the life of the society at large.
Another way in which the picture is exaggerated is that it does not, so far, contain any of the gains made — only the losses. But there are gains. Personal relationships of a new kind can arise where they can be freely entered into, instead of being determined by the accidents of birth; and with this, a new individualism arises. Similarly, spiritual bonds can play a major role where the biological or physical bonds are weakened; etc. However this may be, our example, I hope, will have made plain what is meant by a more abstract society in contradistinction to a more concrete or real social group; and it will have made it clear that our modern open societies function largely by way of abstract relations, such as exchange or co-operation. (It is the analysis of these abstract relations with which modern social theory, such as economic theory, is mainly concerned. This point has not been understood by many sociologists, such as Durkheim, who never gave up the dogmatic belief that society must be analysed in terms of real social groups.)
In the light of what has been said, it will be clear that the transition from the closed to the open society can be described as one of the deepest revolutions through which mankind has passed. Owing to what we have described as the biological character of the closed society, this transition must be felt deeply indeed. Thus when we say that our Western civilization derives from the Greeks, we ought to realize what it means. It means that the Greeks started for us that great revolution which, it seems, is still in its beginning — the transition from the closed to the open society. II Of course, this revolution was not made consciously. The breakdown of tribalism, of the closed societies of Greece, may be traced back to the time when population growth began to make itself felt among the ruling class of landed proprietors. This meant the end of 'organic' tribalism. For it created social tension within the closed society of the ruling class. At first, there appeared to be something like an 'organic' solution of this problem, the creation of daughter cities. (The 'organic' character of this solution was underlined by the magical procedures followed in the sending out of colonists.) But this ritual of colonization only postponed the breakdown. It even created new danger spots wherever it led to cultural contacts; and these, in turn, created what was perhaps the worst danger to the closed society — commerce, and a new class engaged in trade and seafaring. By the sixth century B.C., this development had led to the partial dissolution of the old ways of life, and even to a series of political revolutions and reactions. And it had led not only to attempts to retain and to arrest tribalism by force, as in Sparta, but also to that great spiritual revolution, the invention of critical discussion, and, in consequence, of thought that was free from magical obsessions. At the same time we find the first symptoms of a new uneasiness. The strain of civilization was beginning to be felt.
This strain, this uneasiness, is a consequence of the breakdown of the closed society. It is still felt even in our day, especially in times of social change. It is the strain created by the effort which life in an open and partially abstract society continually demands from us — by the endeavour to be rational, to forgo at least some of our emotional social needs, to look after ourselves, and to accept responsibilities. We must, I believe, bear this strain as the price to be paid for every increase in knowledge, in reasonableness, in co-operation and in mutual help, and consequently in our chances of survival, and in the size of the population. It is the price we have to pay for being human.
The strain is most closely related to the problem of the tension between the classes which is raised for the first time by the breakdown of the closed society. The closed society itself does not know this problem. At least to its ruling members, slavery, caste, and class rule are 'natural' in the sense of being unquestionable. But with the breakdown of the closed society, this certainty disappears, and with it all feeling of security. The tribal community (and later the 'city') is the place of security for the member of the tribe. Surrounded by enemies and by dangerous or even hostile magical forces, he experiences the tribal community as a child experiences his family and his home, in which he plays his definite part; a part he knows well, and plays well. The breakdown of the closed society, raising as it does the problems of class and other problems of social status, must have had the same effect upon the citizens as a serious family quarrel and the breaking up of the family home is liable to have on children [8]. Of course, this kind of strain was felt by the privileged classes, now that they were threatened, more strongly than by those who had formerly been suppressed; but even the latter felt uneasy. They also were frightened by the breakdown of their 'natural' world. And though they continued to fight their struggle, they were often reluctant to exploit their victories over their class enemies who were supported by tradition, the status quo, a higher level of education, and a feeling of natural authority.
In this light we must try to understand the history of Sparta, which successfully tried to arrest these developments, and of Athens, the leading democracy.
Perhaps the most powerful cause of the breakdown of the closed society was the development of sea-communications and commerce. Close contact with other tribes is liable to undermine the feeling of necessity with which tribal institutions are viewed; and trade, commercial initiative, appears to be one of the few forms in which individual initiative [9] and independence can assert itself, even in a society in which tribalism still prevails. These two, seafaring and commerce, became the main characteristics of Athenian imperialism, as it developed in the fifth century B.C. And indeed they were recognized as the most dangerous developments by the oligarchs, the members of the privileged, or of the formerly privileged, classes of Athens. It became clear to them that the trade of Athens, its monetary commercialism, its naval policy, and its democratic tendencies were parts of one single movement, and that it was impossible to defeat democracy without going to the roots of the evil and destroying both the naval policy and the empire. But the naval policy of Athens was based upon its harbours, especially the Piraeus, the centre of commerce and the stronghold of the democratic party; and strategically, upon the walls which fortified Athens, and later, upon the Long Walls which linked it to the harbours of the Piraeus and Phalerum. Accordingly, we find that for more than a century the empire, the fleet, the harbour, and the walls were hated by the oligarchic parties of Athens as the symbols of the democracy and as the sources of its strength which they hoped one day to destroy.
Much evidence of this development can be found in Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian War, or rather, of the two great wars of 431-421 and 419-403 B.C., between Athenian democracy and the arrested oligarchic tribalism of Sparta. When reading Thucydides we must never forget that his heart was not with Athens, his native city. Although he apparently did not belong to the extreme wing of the Athenian oligarchic clubs who conspired throughout the war with the enemy, he was certainly a member of the oligarchic party, and a friend neither of the Athenian people, the demos, who had exiled him, nor of its imperialist policy. (I do not intend to belittle Thucydides, the greatest historian, perhaps, who ever lived. But however successful he was in making sure of the facts he records, and however sincere his efforts to be impartial, his comments and moral judgements represent an interpretation, a point of view; and in this we need not agree with him.) I quote first from a passage describing Themistocles' policy in 482 B.C., half a century before the Peloponnesian war: 'Themistocles also persuaded the Athenians to finish the Piraeus ... Since the Athenians had now taken to the sea, he thought that they had a great opportunity for building an empire. He was the first who dared to say that they should make the sea their domain . . . ' [10]— Twenty-five years later, 'the Athenians began to build their Long Walls to the sea, one to the harbour of Bhalerum, the other to the Piraeus' [11]. But this time, twenty- six years before the outbreak of the Peloponnesian war, the oligarchic party was fully aware of the meaning of these developments. We hear from Thucydides that they did not shrink even from the most blatant treachery. As sometimes happens with oligarchs, class interest superseded their patriotism. An opportunity offered itself in the form of a hostile Spartan expeditionary force operating in the north of Athens, and they determined to conspire with Sparta against their own country. Thucydides writes: 'Certain Athenians were privately making overtures to them' (i.e. to the Spartans) 'in the hope that they would put an end to the democracy, and to the building of the Long Walls. But the other Athenians ... suspected their design against democracy.' The loyal Athenian citizens therefore went out to meet the Spartans, but were defeated. It appears, however, that they had weakened the enemy sufficiently to prevent him from joining forces with the fifth columnists within their own city. Some months later, the Long Walls were completed, which meant that the democracy could enjoy security as long as it upheld its naval supremacy.
This incident throws light on the tenseness of the class situation in Athens, even twenty-six years before the outbreak of the Peloponnesian war, during which the situation became much worse. It also throws light on the methods employed by the subversive and pro-Spartan oligarchic party. Thucydides, one must note, mentions their treachery only in passing, and he does not censure them, although in other places he speaks most strongly against class struggle and party spirit. The next passages quoted, written as a general reflection on the Corcyraean Revolution of 427 B.C., are interesting, first as an excellent picture of the class situation; secondly, as an illustration of the strong words Thucydides could find when he wanted to describe analogous tendencies on the side of the democrats of Corcyra. (In order to judge his lack of impartiality we must remember that in the beginning of the war Corcyra had been one of Athens' democratic allies, and that the revolt had been started by the oligarchs.) Moreover, the passage is an excellent expression of the feeling of a general social breakdown: 'Nearly the whole Hellenic world', writes Thucydides, 'was in commotion. In every city, the leaders of the democratic and of the oligarchic parties were trying hard, the one to bring in the Athenians, the other the Lacedaemonians . . . The tie of party was stronger than the tie of blood . . . The leaders on either side used specious names, the one party professing to uphold the constitutional equality of the many, the other the wisdom of the nobility; in reality they made the public interest their price, professing, of course, their devotion to it. They used any conceivable means for getting the better of one another, and committed the most monstrous crimes ... This revolution gave birth to every form of wickedness in Hellas . . . Everywhere prevailed an attitude of perfidious antagonism. There was no word binding enough, no oath terrible enough, to reconcile enemies. Each man was strong only in the conviction that nothing was secure.' [12]
The full significance of the attempt of the Athenian oligarchs to accept the help of Sparta and stop the building of the Long Walls can be gauged when we realize that this treacherous attitude had not changed when Aristotle wrote his Politics, more than a century later. We hear there about an oligarchic oath, which, Aristotle said, 'is now in vogue'. This is how it runs: 'I promise to be an enemy of the people, and to do my best to give them bad advice!' [13] It is clear that we cannot understand the period without remembering this attitude.
I mentioned above that Thucydides himself was an anti-democrat. This becomes clear when we consider his description of the Athenian empire, and the way it was hated by the various Greek states. Athens' rule over its empire, he tells us, was felt to be no better than a tyranny, and all the Greek tribes were afraid of her. In describing public opinion at the outbreak of the Peloponnesian war, he is mildly critical of Sparta and very critical of Athenian imperialism. 'The general feeling of the peoples was strongly on the side of the Lacedaemonians; for they maintained that they were the liberators of Hellas. Cities and individuals were eager to assist them and the general indignation against the Athenians was intense. Some were longing to be liberated from Athens, others fearful of falling under its sway.' [14] It is most interesting that this judgement of the Athenian empire has become, more or less, the official judgement of 'History', i.e. of most of the historians. Just as the philosophers find it hard to free themselves from Plato's point of view, so are the historians bound to that of Thucydides. As an example I may quote Meyer (the best German authority on this period), who simply repeats Thucydides when he says: 'The sympathies of the educated world of Greece were ... turned away from Athens.' [15]
But such statements are only expressions of the anti-democratic point of view. Many facts recorded by Thucydides — for instance, the passage quoted which describes the attitude of the democratic and oligarchic party leaders — show that Sparta was 'popular' not among the peoples of Greece but only among the oligarchs; among the 'educated', as Meyer puts it so nicely. Even Meyer admits that 'the democratically minded masses hoped in many places for her victory' [16], i.e. for the victory of Athens; and Thucydides' narrative contains many instances which prove Athens' popularity among the democrats and the suppressed. But who cares for the opinion of the uneducated masses? If Thucydides and the 'educated' assert that Athens was a tyrant, then she was a tyrant.
It is most interesting that the same historians who hail Rome for her achievement, the foundation of a universal empire, condemn Athens for her attempt to achieve something better. The fact that Rome succeeded where Athens failed is not a sufficient explanation of this attitude. They do not really censure Athens for her failure, since they loathe the very idea that her attempt might have been successful. Athens, they believe, was a ruthless democracy, a place ruled by the uneducated, who hated and suppressed the educated, and were hated by them in turn. But this view — the myth of the cultural intolerance of democratic Athens — makes nonsense of the known facts, and above all of the astonishing spiritual productivity of Athens in this particular period. Even Meyer must admit this productivity. 'What Athens produced in this decade', he says with characteristic modesty, 'ranks equal with one of the mightiest decades of German literature.' [17] Pericles, who was the democratic leader of Athens at this time, was more than justified when he called her 'The School of Hellas'.
I am far from defending everything that Athens did in building up her empire, and I certainly do not wish to defend wanton attacks (if such have occurred), or acts of brutality; nor do I forget that Athenian democracy was still based on slavery [18]. But it is necessary, I believe, to see that tribalist exclusiveness and self-sufficiency could be superseded only by some form of imperialism. And it must be said that certain of the imperialist measures introduced by Athens were rather liberal. One very interesting instance is the fact that Athens offered, in 405 B.C., to her ally, the Ionian island Samos, 'that the Samians should be Athenians from now on; and that both cities should be one state; and that the Samians should order their internal affairs as they chose, and retain their laws.' [19] Another instance is Athens' method of taxing her empire. Much has been said about these taxes, or tributes, which have been described — very unjustly, I believe — as a shameless and tyrannical way of exploiting the smaller cities. In an attempt to evaluate the significance of these taxes, we must, of course, compare them with the volume of the trade which, in return, was protected by the Athenian fleet. The necessary information is given by Thucydides, from whom we learn that the Athenians imposed upon their allies, in 413 B.C., 'in place of the tribute, a duty of 5 per cent, on all things imported and exported by sea; and they thought that this would yield more' [20]. This measure, adopted under severe strain of war, compares favourably, I believe, with the Roman methods of centralization. The Athenians, by this method of taxation, became interested in the development of allied trade, and so in the initiative and independence of the various members of their empire. Originally, the Athenian empire had developed out of a league of equals. In spite of the temporary predominance of Athens, publicly criticized by some of her citizens (cp. Aristophanes' Lysistrata), it seems probable that her interest in the development of trade would have led, in time, to some kind of federal constitution. At least, we know in her case of nothing like the Roman method of 'transferring' the cultural possessions from the empire to the dominant city, i.e. of looting. And whatever one might say against plutocracy, it is preferable to a rule of looters [21].
This favourable view of Athenian imperialism can be supported by comparing it with the Spartan methods of handling foreign affairs. They were determined by the ultimate aim that dominated Sparta's policy, by its attempt to arrest all change and to return to tribalism. (This is impossible, as I shall contend later on. Innocence once lost cannot be regained, and an artificially arrested closed society, or a cultivated tribalism, cannot equal the genuine article.) The principles of Spartan policy were these. (1) Protection of its arrested tribalism: shut out all foreign influences which might endanger the rigidity of tribal taboos. — (2) Anti-humanitarianism: shut out, more especially, all equalitarian, democratic, and individualistic ideologies. — (3) Autarky: be independent of trade. — (4) Anti-universalism or particularism: uphold the differentiation between your tribe and all others; do not mix with inferiors. — (5) Mastery: dominate and enslave your neighbours. — (6) But do not become too large: 'The city should grow only as long as it can do so without impairing its unity' [22], and especially, without risking the introduction of universalistic tendencies. — If we compare these six principal tendencies with those of modern totalitarianism, then we see that they agree fundamentally, with the sole exception of the last. The difference can be described by saying that modern totalitarianism appears to have imperialist tendencies. But this imperialism has no element of a tolerant universalism, and the world-wide ambitions of the modern totalitarians are imposed upon them, as it were, against their will. Two factors are responsible for this. The first is the general tendency of all tyrannies to justify their existence by saving the state (or the people) from its enemies — a tendency which must lead, whenever the old enemies have been successfully subdued, to the creation or invention of new ones. The second factor is the attempt to carry into effect the closely related points (2) and (5) of the totalitarian programme. Humanitarianism, which, according to point (2), must be kept out, has become so universal that, in order to combat it effectively at home, it must be destroyed all over the world. But our world has become so small that everybody is now a neighbour, so that, to carry out point (5), everybody must be dominated and enslaved. But in ancient times, nothing could have appeared more dangerous to those who adopted a particularism like Sparta's, than Athenian imperialism, with its inherent tendency to develop into a commonwealth of Greek cities, and perhaps even into a universal empire of man.
Summing up our analysis so far, we can say that the political and spiritual revolution which had begun with the breakdown of Greek tribalism reached its climax in the fifth century, with the outbreak of the Peloponnesian war. It had developed into a violent class war, and, at the same time, into a war between the two leading cities of Greece.
III
But how can we explain the fact that outstanding Athenians like Thucydides stood on the side of reaction against these new developments? Class interest is, I believe, an insufficient explanation; for what we have to explain is the fact that, while many of the ambitious young nobles became active, although not always reliable, members of the democratic party, some of the most thoughtful and gifted resisted its attraction. The main point seems to be that although the open society was already in existence, although it had, in practice, begun to develop new values, new equalitarian standards of life, there was still something missing, especially for the 'educated'. The new faith of the open society, its only possible faith, humanitarianism, was beginning to assert itself, but was not yet formulated. For the time being, one could not see much more than class war, the democrats' fear of the oligarchic reaction, and the threat of further revolutionary developments. The reaction against these developments had therefore much on its side — tradition, the call for defending old virtues, and the old religion. These tendencies appealed to the feelings of most men, and their popularity gave rise to a movement to which, although it was led and used for their own ends by the Spartans and their oligarchic friends, many upright men must have belonged, even at Athens. From the slogan of the movement, 'Back to the state of our forefathers', or 'Back to the old paternal state', derives the term 'patriot'. It is hardly necessary to insist that the beliefs popular among those who supported this 'patriotic' movement were grossly perverted by those oligarchs who did not shrink from handing over their own city to the enemy, in the hope of gaining support against the democrats. Thucydides was one of the representative leaders of this movement for the 'paternal state' [23], and though he probably did not support the treacherous acts of the extreme anti-democrats, he could not disguise his sympathies with their fundamental aim — to arrest social change, and to fight the universalistic imperialism of the Athenian democracy and the instruments and symbols of its power, the navy, the walls, and commerce. (In view of Plato's doctrines concerning commerce, it may be interesting to note how great the fear of commercialism was. When after his victory over Athens in 404 B.C. the Spartan king, Lysander, returned with great booty, the Spartan 'patriots', i.e. the members of the movement for the 'paternal state', tried to prevent the import of gold; and though it was ultimately admitted, its possession was limited to the state, and capital punishment was imposed on any citizen found in possession of precious metals. In Plato's Laws, very similar procedures are advocated [24]).
Although the 'patriotic' movement was partly the expression of the longing to return to more stable forms of life, to religion, decency, law and order, it was itself morally rotten. Its ancient faith was lost, and was largely replaced by a hypocritical and even cynical exploitation of religious sentiments. [25] Nihilism, as painted by Plato in the portraits of Callicles and Thrasymachus, could be found if anywhere among the young 'patriotic' aristocrats who, if given the opportunity, became leaders of the democratic party. The clearest exponent of this nihilism was perhaps the oligarchic leader who helped to deal the death-blow at Athens, Plato's uncle Critias, the leader of the Thirty Tyrants. [26]
But at this time, in the same generation to which Thucydides belonged, there rose a new faith in reason, freedom and the brotherhood of all men — the new faith, and, as I believe, the only possible faith, of the open society.
IV
This generation which marks a turning point in the history of mankind, I should like to call the Great Generation; it is the generation which lived in Athens just before, and during, the Peloponnesian war. [27] There were great conservatives among them, like Sophocles, or Thucydides. There were men among them who represent the period of transition; who were wavering, like Euripides, or sceptical, like Aristophanes. But there was also the great leader of democracy, Pericles, who formulated the principle of equality before the law and of political individualism, and Herodotus, who was welcomed and hailed in Pericles' city as the author of a work that glorified these principles. Protagoras, a native of Abdera who became influential in Athens, and his countryman Democritus must also be counted among the Great Generation. They formulated the doctrine that human institutions of language, custom, and law are not of the magical character of taboos but man-made, not natural but conventional, insisting, at the same time, that we are responsible for them. Then there was the school of Gorgias — Alcidamas, Lycophron and Antisthenes, who developed the fundamental tenets of antislavery, of a rational protectionism, and of anti-nationalism, i.e. the creed of the universal empire of men. And there was, perhaps the greatest of all, Socrates, who taught the lesson that we must have faith in human reason, but at the same time beware of dogmatism; that we must keep away both from misology [28], the distrust of theory and of reason, and from the magical attitude of those who make an idol of wisdom; who taught, in other words, that the spirit of science is criticism.
Since I have not so far said much about Pericles, and nothing at all about Democritus, I may use some of their own words in order to illustrate the new faith. First Democritus: 'Not out of fear but out of a feeling of what is right should we abstain from doing wrong . . . Virtue is based, most of all, upon respecting the other man . . . Every man is a little world of his own . . . We ought to do our utmost to help those who have suffered injustice ... To be good means to do no wrong; and also, not to want to do wrong ... It is good deeds, not words, that count ... The poverty of a democracy is better than the prosperity which allegedly goes with aristocracy or monarchy, just as liberty is better than slavery . . . The wise man belongs to all countries, for the home of a great soul is the whole world.' To him is due also that remark of a true scientist: 'I would rather find a single causal law than be the king of Persia! ' [29]
