Monday, March 29, 1999




(1)The Problem Stated
(2) Race
(3) Environment


(1) The Mythological Clue
(2) The Myth Applied To The Problem



(1) The Stimulus of Hard Countries
(2) The Stimulus of New Ground
(3) The Stimulus of Blows
(4) The Stimulus of Pressures
(5) The Stimulus of Penalizations


(1) Enough and Too Much
(2) Comparisons in Three Terms

None the less, it can be proved that challenges can be too severe: i.e. the
maximum challenge will not always produce the optimum response. The Viking emigrants from Norway responded splendidly to the severe challenge of Iceland but collapsed before the severer challenge of Greenland. Massachusetts presented European colonists with a severer challenge than 'Dixie' and evoked a better response, but Labrador, presenting a severer challenge still, proved too much for them. Other examples follow: e.g. the stimulus of blows can be severe, especially if prolonged, as in the effect of the Hannibalic War on Italy. The Chinese are stimulated by the social challenge involved in emigrating to Malaya but are defeated by the severer social challenge of a white man's country, e.g. California. Finally, varying degrees of challenge presented by civilizations to neighboring barbarians are reviewed.

(3) Two Abortive Civilizations

(4) The Impact of Islam on the Christendoms



(1) Polynesians, Eskimos and Nomads
(2) The ‛Osmanlis

The challenge to which the Ottoman system was a response was the transference of a Nomad community to an environment in which they had to rule sedentary communities. They solved their problem by treating their new subjects as human flocks and herds, evolving human equivalents of the sheep-dogs of the Nomads in the form of a slave 'household' of administrators and soldiers. Other examples of similar Nomad empires are mentioned the Mamlūks for instance; but the 'Osmanli system surpassed all others in efficiency and duration. It suffered, however, like Nomadism itself from a fatal rigidity.

(3) The Spartans
(4) General Characteristics
Note: The Sea and Steppe as language conductors


(1) Two False Trails
(2) Progress towards Self-determination


(1) The Relation between Growing Civilizations and Individuals

{III.C.II.(a)p.236} ...If the creative genius fails to bring about in his milieu the mutation which he has achieved in himself, his creativeness will be fatal to him. he will have put himself out of gear with his field of action; and in losing the power of action he will lose the will to live—even if his former fellows do not harry him to death, as abnormal members of the swarm of hive or herd or pack are harried to death by the rank and file in the static social life of gregarious animals of insects. This is the penalty of the genius whose failure to transform his social milieu convicts him of having been 'before his time'. On the other hand, if our genius does succeed in overcoming the passive inertia or active hostility of his former fellows and does triumphantly transform the social milieu which has hitherto been common ground between him and them into a new order in harmony with his transfigured self, he thereby makes life impossible for men and women of common clay unless they can succeed in adapting their own selves, in turn, to the new social milieu that has now been imposed upon them by the triumphant genius's masterfully creative will.

This is the meaning of a saying attributed to Jesus in the gospels:

'Think not that I am come to send peace on Earth; I came not to send peace but a sword.
'For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law.
'And a man's foes shall be they of his own household.' 1

1 Matthew x. 34-6. Compare Luke xii. 51-3.

{p. 241} Our Western scientific knowledge of which we boast, and even our Western
technique for turning this knowledge to practical account—a technique on which we depend for the maintenance of our wealth and strength—is perilously esoteric. The great new social forces of Democracy and Industrialism, which our Western Civilization has thrown up in the course of its growth, have been evoked from the depths by a tiny creative minority. Even this minority is wondering to-day whether it will be able to control and guide much longer these forces that it has loosed—as witness Sir Alfred Ewing's presidential address to the British Association in 1932.1 And the main reason why this would-be Western Salt of the Earth is in fear, to-day, of losing its savour is because the great mass of the Western body social has remained unsalted.

To-day this great mass of humanity still remains on substantially the same intellectual and moral level on which it lay—a century ago, or a century and a half—before the titanic new social forces began to emerge. The measure of this intellectual and moral retardation or stagnation or degradation of the mass is given with remorseless accuracy by the character of 'the Yellow Press'. In the latter-day perversion of our Western press, we see the 'drive' of Western Industrialism and Democracy being employed to keep the mass of Western Humanity culturally depressed at, or perhaps even below, its pre-industrial and pre-democratic spiritual level; and the same new 'drive' has been put, with similar evil consequences, into the old institutions of War and Tribalism and Slavery and Property.2 The creative minority in the modern Western World is in danger of seeing its advance brought to a standstill and the ground that it has conquered filched away by an act of betrayal that has prostituted the new-won powers and the new-made apparatus of this handful of pioneers to the anti-social function of debauching the rest of Society. This betrayal is a dastardly crime; and yet, in exposing it, we have not really probed to the bottom of the mischief. For the life of the many could never have been debauched so effectively by adroitly misapplying the inventions of the few if the many had not remained morally and intellectually stationary all

2 See III.C (i)(d), p. 212, above, and IV. C. (iii) (b) 2-7, vol. iv, pp. 137-98, below.

{p.242} the time while the few were making their tremendous moral and intellectual advance. This stagnation of the masses is the fundamental cause of the crisis with which our Western Civilization is confronted in our day. Ant the intensity of the this crisis seems to bear out the Hindu controversialist's contention that the blemish which the Western observer perceives in the social structure of Hinduism is not peculiar to the Hindu Society, but is likewise discernible in the contemporary Western World.1 This common predicament of two living societies may be regarded as a regular phenomenon on the life of all civilizations that are, or at any time have been, in process of growth.

The very fact that the growths of civilizations are the work of creative individuals creative minorities caries the implication that the uncreative majority will be left behind unless the pioneers can contrive some means of carrying this sluggish rear-guard along with them in their eager advance. And this consideration requires us to qualify the definition of the difference between civilizations and primitive societies on which we have hitherto worked. At an earlier point in this Study,2 we found that the primitive societies, as we have known them, are in a static condition, whereas the civilizations—or, at any rate, the growing civilizations—are in a dynamic movement. We should now rather say that growing civilizations differ from static primitive societies in virtue of the dynamic movement, in their bodies social, of creative personalities; and we should add that these creative personalities at their greatest numerical strength, never amount to more than a small minority in the society which their action pervades and animates. In every growing civilization, even at the times when it is growing the most

2 In Part II. B., vol. i, pp. 192-5.

{p.243} lustily, the great majority of the participant individuals are in the same stagnant quiescent condition as the members of a primitive society which is in a state of rest. More than that, the great majority of the participants in any civilization in any phase are men of like passions—of identical human nature—with Primitive Mankind.

'The truth is that, if Civilization has profoundly modified Man, it has done so by making the social milieu into a kind of reservoir for accumulating habits and skill which are poured into the individual by Society in each successive generation. Scratch the surface and efface what we receive from an education which never ceases, and we shall rediscover something very like primitive humanity in the depths of our nature....Human Nature is the same to-day as it always has been.' 1

It will be seen that, although the difference between static primitive societies
growing civilizations is traceable to a difference in nature between the two types
individual which are respectively characteristic of the two species of society, the individual participants in societies of the higher species do not conform exclusively, or indeed predominantly, to the type if individual which is characteristic of this species of society. The characteristic type of individual whose action turns a primitive society in to a civilization and causes a growing civilization to grow is the 'superior personality' or 'genius' or 'great mystic' or 'superman'; but in any growing society at any given moment the individuals of this type are always in a minority. They are no more than a leaven in a lump of ordinary humanity; and this ordinary humanity is no different in nature from the human type which is typical of primitive societies.

Thus the line of spiritual demarcation between superior personalities and ordinary human beings does not coincide with the line of social demarcation between civilizations and primitive societies. There is an overwhelming majority of ordinary people in the membership of even the most advanced and progressive civilization; and the humanity of all these people is virtually primitive humanity.

'Those beliefs and customs of Savage Man are "primitive" which are the product of that "primitive" type of mind, or non-primitive mind

1 Bergson, op. cit., pp. 133 and 169. See further pp. 106-7 and 150-70 for the author's whole argument against the thesis that primitive Human Nature in primitive societies differs in kind from ordinary Human Nature in the societies that are in process of civilization. The great French philosopher's opinion on this question is shared by a great English anthropologist: 'The truth seems to be that to this very day the peasant remains a pagan and savage at heart; his civilization is merely a thin veneer which the hard knocks of Life soon abrade, exposing the solid core of paganism and savagery below.' (Frazer, Sir J. G.: The Golden Bough, 3rd ed., Part VII: 'Balder the Beautiful' (London 1913, Macmillan), Preface, pp. viii-ix. Cp. Meyer, E.: Geschichte des Altertums, vol. i(i), 4th ed. (Stuttgart and Berlin 1921, Cotta), p. 145.)

{p.244} which from some cause or other keeps the co-ordinative reasoning controlling power in abeyance. That man is "primitive", whether his is a Veddah of Ceylon or a European peasant, whose ideas and practices are of that character.'1

'a double effort is demanded: and effort on the part of some people to make a new invention, and an effort on the part of all the rest to adopt it and adapt themselves to it. A society can be called a civilization as soon as these acts of initiative and this attitude of docility are both found together. As a matter of fact, the second condition is more difficult to secure than the first. The indispensable factor which had not been at the command of the uncivilized societies is, in all probability, not the superior personality (there seems no reason why Nature should not have had a certain number of these felicitous vagaries at all times and places). The missing factor is more likely to have been the opportunity for individuals of this stamp to display their superiority and the disposition in other individuals to follow their lead.'3

This problem of securing that the uncreative majority shall in

1 Murphy, J.: Primitive Man: His Essential Quest (London 1927, Milford), p. 10.
3 Bergson, op. cit. p. 181. Compare the following passage of Plato (in Laws, 951 B-C): "Among the mass of Mankind there is always a certain number—though a very small number—of godlike individuals whose inspiration is of priceless social value. These rare individuals are no more apt to emerge in socially progressive societies than in others; so the members of the socially progressive societies ought to be constantly on their tracks scouring sea and land in order to discover sterling representatives of the species [and to derive from them inspiration for] revising the existing body of social institutions.'

{p.245} fact follow the creative minority's lead appears to have two solutions, the one practical and the other ideal.

'How is one to get purchase upon the will [of another person]? There are two ways open to the educator. The one was is by drill (dressage)...the other is by mysticism....The first method inculcates a morality consisting of impersonal habits; the second induces the imitation of another personality, and even a spiritual union, a more or less complete identification, with it.'1

The classic description of this second, mystical method is given in Plato's indignant refusal of Dionysius's request for a short and simple exposition of the Platonic philosophy in writing.

'I have one thing to say about all writers, past or future, who claim to understand my philosophy either as a result of oral communications received from me or from others or by the unaided light of their own genius. All such claimants stand convicted of charlatanism on my showing. At any rate there is no written work of my own on my philosophy, and there never will be. For this philosophy cannot possibly be put into words as other sciences can. The sole way of acquiring it is be strenuous intellectual communion and intimate personal intercourse, which kindle it in the soul instantaneously like a light caught from a leaping flame; and, once alight, it feeds its own flame thenceforward. Of course I know very well that the best presentation of it, oral of written, would be my own. I also know that I should be the first to be pained by a written presentation which failed to do it justice.
And if I believed that an adequate popular presentation, either written or verbal, were possible, what finer life-work could I have set myself than to write something of real benefit for Mankind; something which would bring the nature of the Universe into light of day for all eyes to see? Unhappily, I do not consider that the study of my philosophy is good for people, with the exception of a few who are capable of discovering it for themselves with the aid of a minimum of demonstration. As for the rest, I fancy that some would be filled perversely with a misguided contempt and others with soaring, windy expectation—in the belief that they had learnt something tremendous.'2

The direct kindling of creative energy from soul to soul, which Plato here enjoins, is no doubt the ideal way. Yet to enjoin this way exclusively is a counsel of perfection. The problem of bringing the uncreative rank and file of a growing society into line with the creative pioneers, in order to save the pioneers' own advance from being brought to a halt, cannot be solved in practice, on the social scale, without also bringing into play the faculty of sheer mimesis—one of the less exalted faculties of Human Nature which has more in it of drill than of inspiration.

To bring mimesis into play is indispensable for the purpose in

1 Bergson, op. cit. pp. 98-9.
2 Plato's Letters, No. 7, 341 B-E.

{p.246} hand because mimesis, at any rate, is one of the regular faculties of ordinary Primitive Man.


The Movement of Withdrawal-and-Return

The action of the creative individual may be described as a twofold motion of withdrawal-and-return; withdrawal from the purpose of his personal enlightenment, return for the task of enlightening his fellow men. This is illustrated from Plato's parable of the Cave, Saint Paul's analogy of the seed, from the Gospel story and from elsewhere. It is then shown in practical action in the lives of great pioneers...

Saint Paul

Saint Benedict

Saint Gregory the Great

The Buddha



Muhammad was born into the Arabian external proletariat of the Roman Empire in an age when the relations between the Empire and Arabia were coming to a crisis. At the turn of the sixth and seventh centuries of the Christian Era the saturation-point had been reached in the impregnation of Arabia with cultural influences from the Empire. Some reaction from Arabia, in form of a counter-discharge of energy, was bound to ensue; it was the career of Muhammad (whose lifetime was circa A.D. 570-632) that decided the form that the reaction was to take; and a movement of Withdrawal-and-Return was the prelude to each of the two crucial new departures upon which Muhammad's life-history hinges.

There were two features in the social life of the Roman Empire in Muhammad's day that would make a particularly deep impression on the mind of an Arabian observer because, in Arabia, they were both conspicuous by their absence. The first of these was monotheism in religion. The second law and order in government. Muhammad's life-work consisted in translating each of the elements in the social fabric of 'Rūm' into an Arabian vernacular version and incorporating both his Arabianized monotheism and his Arabianized imperium into a single master-institution—the all-embracing institution of Islam—to which he succeeded in imparting such titanic driving-force that the new dispensation, which had been designed by its author to meet the needs of the barbarians of Arabia, burst the bounds of the peninsula and captivated the entire Syriac World from the shores of the Atlantic to the coasts of the Eurasian Steppe.

This life-work, upon which Muhammad appears to have embarked in about his fortieth year (circa A.D. 609), was achieved in two stages. In the first stages Muhammad was concerned exclusively with his religious mission; in the second stage the religious mission was overlaid, and almost overwhelmed, by the political enterprise. Muhammad's original entry upon a purely religious mission was a sequel to his return to the parochial life of Arabia after a partial withdrawal of some fifteen years' duration into the life of a caravan-trader between the Arabian oases and the Syrian desert-ports of the Roman Empire along the fringes of the North Arabian Steppe. The second, or politico-religious, stage in Muhammad's career was inaugurated by the Prophet's withdrawal or Hegire (Hijrah) from his native oasis of Mecca to the rival oasis of Yathrib, thenceforth known par excellence as Medina: 'the City' (of the Prophet). In the Hijrah, which has been adopted as the inaugural date of the Islamic era, Muhammad left Mecca as a hunted fugitive. After a seven years' absence (A.D. 622-9) he returned to Mecca, not as an amnestied exile, but as lord and master of half Arabia. It will be seen that the first stage of Muhammad's career is comparable with the career of Solon1 and the second stage with the career of Caesar.2

2 For the significance of Muhammad's political success, see further the sceond Annex to this chapter, on pp. 466-72, below.



Ibn Khaldūn


{V.C.II.(b),p.328} The same motif of Withdrawal-and-Return appears in the life of the Sinic social philosopher Confucius (vivbat circa 551-479 B.C.)—a life which was outwardly not unlike the life of Ibn Khaldūn.

Born in the Sinic World within a century of the breakdown of the Sinic
Civilization,1 at a time when the destructive internecine warfare between a plurality of sovereign states was rapidly gathering momentum, the young Confucius aspired to enter politics in order to arrest the disintegration of the Sinic Society by systematizing and enforcing the observance of traditional ceremonies and customs and institutions. Unlike Ibn Khaldūn, who evidently took

1 If this breakdown is to be dated by any external event, a convenient date is the outbreak of warm in 634 B.C., between the peripheral states of the Tsin and Ch’u for the hegemony over the cluster of smaller states at the centre of the Sinic World. (See Maspéro, H. Le Chine Antique (Paris 1927, Boccard), p. 323.)

{p.329} politics lightly as a profitable and diverting outlet for his practical energies, Confucius placed his whole treasure in the life of practical action, and found little consolation in imparting to a band of admiring disciples the precepts which he yearned to put into practice as a minister of state. hence Confucius's life was a life of personal disappointment;1 for the local princes of the contending states had little use for the services of a pedant in their cynical and perilous struggle for existence. Accordingly, Confucius had difficulty in obtaining an official appointment at all; and when at last he did attain a minor administrative post in his native state of Lu (one of the smaller states of the centre), he did not succeed in retaining it. His resignation was followed by his withdrawal from his native country; and he spent the next fourteen years in a peripatetic way of life—presenting himself in the capital of one state after another in the hope that some foreign prince might offer employment to a prophet who had found too little honour at home. This hope was never fulfilled; and Confucius's wanderings abroad were only brought to an end by an invitation to return to Lu which was extended to him as an act of grace without any accompanying offer of reinstatement in office. By then Confucius was sixty-eight years old; and when death overtook him five years later he was still in a private station. But this disappointing return to his little native state of Lu at the close of his life in the flesh was not the final way in which Confucius returned to the public life which he had quitted à contre-cœur fourteen years earlier. For the energies which the unsuccessful administrator was no longer able to apply to practical affairs found their outlet thereafter through literary and educational channels.

Confucius in exile collected and edited the literary monuments of the traditional lore which Confucius in office had sought to put into practice; the disciples who gathered round the philosopher's person accompanied him in his wanderings from place to place followed suit by collecting and editing their master's oral precepts; the long crescendo on internecine warfare between the contending states had ended in the 'knock-out blow' of 221 B.C., and when bitter experience had taught the Sinic World to appreciate the stabilizing power of a pedantic Confucian êthos, the Corpus Confucianum was actually adopted by the Government of a Sinic universal state as its official canon of statesmanship.2 The final

1 For a critical sifting of the attested facts in Confucius's life-history, see Maspéro, op. cit., pp. 454-9. For the traditional; biography, see Hirth, F.: The Ancient History of China to the End of the Chou Dynasty (New York (reprint of) 1923, Columbia University press), pp. 241-8.
2 See Hu Shih: 'The Establishment of Confucianism as a State Religion during the Han Dynasty' (in the Journal of the North China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, vol. lx, 1929, pp. 26-7). See also Shryock, J. K.: The Origin and Development of the State of Cult of Confucius (London 1932, Century Company).

{p.330} step was taken in 125 B.C.,1 when a competitive public examination in the Confucian Classics was instituted as the avenue of entry into the Imperial Civil Service; and the official reign of the Confucius, which dates from that year, may be said to have lasted until the abolition of the examination system in A.D. 1905.

During these two thousand years, the posthumous ascendancy of Confucius survived interregnum (circa A.D. 175-475) which followed the break-up of the Empire of the Han; it survived the influx of barbarians. And the far more revolutionary influx of the Mahayana, into the new Far Eastern World; and it survived the latter-day barbarian invasions of Khitan and Kin and Mongol and Manchu. The one power that has ever seriously disputed the hold of Confucius over Chinese minds since the sage's ethereal reign began is the Civilization of the West, which is making its forcible impact upon the traditional life of China ion the present generation. For the moment, maybe, the Western impact has driven Confucius from his millennial throne; yet, even if he has been officially deposed, the unconquerable sage is still contriving to govern where he no longer reigns by ruling incognito. For the essence of the Confucian social system, as it was instituted two thousand years ago, is government by students under the auspices of a sage whose personality and precepts are regarded with all the more veneration since the man of flesh and blood has departed this life and has received his apotheosis; and the lineaments of this system can still be detected in the life of a revolutionary China beneath all the scum and froth that have gathered on its agitated surface. In this twenty-eighth year after the abolition of the Confucian examinations, China is still being governed by students in a dead philosopher's name. The veneration long paid to Confucius has been transferred provisionally to Sun Yat-sen; and the borrowed prestige of the founder of the Kuomintang had secured the long-suffering acquiescence of the Chinese People in the conduct of public affairs by Dr. Sun's political legatees, who (to China's undoing) have received their education abroad in the social and physical sciences of the West, instead of being educated in the Confucian Classics like their predecessors of sixty generations. The moral and political bankruptcy of these Western-educate student-politicians of the Kuomintang may conceivably bring King Confucius back into his own again; and thus, even now, we cannot foresee the end of the mighty kingdom which this Sinic sage unwittingly acquired when he lost his official post in the petty principality of Lu.

1 This is Hu Shih's date in op. cit., p. 27. The date is given as 124 B.C. by Franke, O.: Geschichted des Chinesischen Reiches, vol. i (Berlin and leipzig, de Gruyter), p. 301.


Penalized Minorities

{V.C.II.(b),p.333} Other illustrations of the same motif are to be found in the experiences of some among those 'penalized minorities' whose histories we have already surveyed in another connexion.3

In the history of Jewry, for example, in face of the challenge presented by the impact of Hellenism, the Pharisees withdrew4 in the second century B.C. not only from the cultural movement of Hellenization which had been unsuccessfully promoted by the High Priest Joshua-Jason but also from the triumphant military and political reaction against the Hellenic Selucid Power which was captioned by the Maccabees. And then, in the first century of the Christian Era, the greatest Pharisee that ever lived returned from this two-centuries-long segregation, with a mighty spiritual impetus, to sweep away all cultural barriers between Jew and Greek5 by preaching the transfigured Judaism of Jesus as a means of salvation for the whole of Humanity.6

3 In II. D. (vi), vol. ii, above.
4 The name 'Pharisees' literally means 'those who separate themselves'.
5 Col. iii. 11.
6 For the motif of Withdrawal-and-Return in the personal life-history of Paul, see the present chapter, pp. 263-4, above, It is to be noted that the particular Pharisee who accomplished this Christian return from the Pharisaic withdrawal was an exceptional individual. The rank-and-file of the minority of Jewry marched into the same blind alley as the rank-and-file of the Spartiate soldiers and the Hellenic philosophers. They duly withdrew, but they never made their withdrawal fructify by returning in new capacities to create new worlds.

{p.334} In a similar movement, the Nestorians withdrew, under pressure from the following wave of Islam, right out of the domain of their native Syriac Society into the remote interior of the Eurasian Steppe; and thence in due course they returned as conquerors on the crest of the wave of the Mongol invasion.1 The Constaninto-politian Greeks, driven out of public life by the ottoman conquest, withdrew into the realm of private business in order to emerge again into public life, some two centuries later, as the Phanariots—the efficient secretaries of state whose business training made their political services indispensable to the Ottoman government in its hour of adversity.2 The English Nonconformists, 3 who had made their stormy entrance on to the stage of English history in the Civil War and the Commonwealth, thereafter withdrew and returned in somewhat similar circumstances to those that evoked the corresponding movement among the Ottoman Greek Orthodox Christians. Dropping out of public life from the morrow of the Restoration until the eve of the passage of the Reform Bill,4 they likewise reacted by withdrawing into the realm of private business in order to return omnipotent, a century and a half later, as the authors of the Industrial Revolution.5

1 In II. D. (vi), vol. 11, p. 236-8, above.
2 Ibid., pp. 222-8, above
3 Ibid., pp. 220-1 and 250, above.
4 The exclusion of the Nonconformists from public life may be dated from the passage of the Corporation Act in A.D. 1661 and the Test Act in A.D. 1673. Their readmission may be dated from the repeal of these two Acts in A.D. 1828.
5 In the examples of Withdrawal-and-Return here cited from the histories of certain 'penalized minorities', the two beats of the movement make a sequence in Time—the withdrawal coming first and the return following after a perceptible Time interval. But there is also a sense in which the very response of a penalized minority to the challenge penalization is itself an example of Withdrawal-and-Return, even when the two beats of the movement are virtually simultaneous. Some of the most conspicuous representatives of the 'penalized minorities'— e.g. the Jewish Diasporà—have never returned at all in the literal sense; but in the ethereal sense they undoubtedly have returned to the World in a new capacity and with enhanced power in the act of concentrating their social energies on other fields, and excelling in these fields, in response to the challenge of being handicapped in, or altogether excluded from, the most highly regarded fields of social activity. (See II. D (vi), vol. ii, p. 209, above.)
This 'timeless' exhibition of the Withdrawal-and-Return motif is characteristic of what may be called the 'institutional penalized minorities': e.g. the Buddhist and Christian monastic orders of the Roman Catholic celibate clergy. It is indeed a common practice in primitive societies to penalize, by the imposition of tabus, those minorities or individuals who serve as institutions incarnate. The notion underlying this practice seems to be that, the more drastically such incarnate institutions are compelled to withdraw from the ordinary activities of social life, the more vigorously they will return to Society on the plane of magical or religious activity which has been assigned to them as their special field. In fact, their fellows deal with them as the man with the pollarding-axe deals with the willow (See I. C (iii) (b), vol. i, p. 168, above) or the pruner with the vine of the mower with the meadow. A classic example of such compulsory withdrawal being imposed upon an incarnate institution by tabu is the treatment of the Toda 'palol', or sacral dairyman, by the pastoral Toda Society in the Niligiri Hills of Southern India. (See Rivers, W. H. R.: The Todas (London 1906, Macmillan), pp. 98-105.) The 'palol', who is solely charged with the management of the sacral duty, is not allowed to visit his home or any ordinary village. He has to do all his business with ordinary people through an intermediary. He may not cross a bridge. He must be celibate (except in the celebration of his eighteenth year of office!). He may not attend a funeral under pain of having to resign his office. he may not be approached at all by ordinary Todas on two days in the week. Neither he nor his dairy must be touched by any ordinary person. He may not cut his hair or nails. Compare the tabus imposed upon the Grand Lama in Tibet. And compare likewise the role of 'the prisoner of in the Vatican' which, in modern Western Christendom, has been played by the Pope for more than half a century, from A.D. 1870 to A.D. 1929. As 'the prisoner of the Vatican', the Pope has been able to move the feelings and imaginations of Roman Catholics all over the World more powerfully than he had ever moved them when he was the temporal sovereign of an Italian principality extending from the Mediterranean to the Adriatic and from the Po to the Carigliano. At the time of writing, it remains to be seen what will be the ultimate psychological consequences of the Lateran Agreements of 1929 between the Holy See and Kingdom of Italy, under which 'the prisoner of the Vatican' has emerged from his masterly captivity to resume the role of the a territorial sovereign over the miniature territory of the Vatican City. (For the Lateran Agreements, see further Toynbee, A. J., and Bouylter, V. M.: Survey of International Affairs for 1929, Part V (i).)

England in the Third Chapter of the Growth of the Western Society

{V.C.II.(b),p.358} The difficulty lay in the very nature of Society; for every social system is a coherent whole; and it is therefore inherently difficult to acquire any one part of an alien social system without acquiring the rest. In the natural evolution of the medieval Italian city-state, the growth of democracy and the growth of industry and commerce had been complimentary to one another. They had been synonymous with the political and economic rise of the bourgeoisie; and no class can rise beyond a certain point in any one sphere of social life without rising simultaneously and proportionately in the other.1 In Italy, the old bourgeoisie began to decline in economic prosperity as soon as its political liberty had been taken from it by the new autocracy. On this showing, it was hardly likely that, when this Italian autocratic from of government was transplanted to the Transalpine kingdoms, a vigorous new Transalpine bourgeoisie would grow up under its shadow ion communities that had remained till then predominantly agrarian and feudal. And, in the event, there was no such miraculous departure in the Transalpine countries from the regular order of Nature.

In Spain, the autocracy of Ferdinand and Isabella grew in stature until it became the grander autocracy of Philip II; and in France, in similar fashion, the autocracy of Louis XI rankled into that of Louis XIV; but two centuries passed without any creative political advance from autocracy towards democracy in either of the these two Transalpine countries.2 In both Spain and France, the introduction

1 This is the limitation of our law (which we have traced out in II. D (vi), above) that specialization is the response to the challenge of penalization. It is quite true that a penalized minority which responds to this challenge does find compensation for being excluded from certain spheres of social activity by winning for itself a supremacy of monopoly in other spheres. But it is also true that the responsive penalized minority cannot succeed beyond a certain point, even in the restricted sphere which it has made particularly its own, unless it ultimately returns to communion with the general life of the society from which it has been ostracized. A pertinent case in point is the history of the English Nonconformists (see the present chapter, p. 334, above). The English Nonconformists responded to the challenge of their partial exclusion from public life for a century and a half (circa A.D. 1673-1828) by starting the Industrial Revolution; but they could hardly have carried the Industrial Revolution through if they had not returned to public life (without forfeiting their supremacy in private business) in the nineteenth century. It was after this that Industrialism in England attained its apogee.

{p.359} of the new Italian institution of despotic government caused the traditional feudal institutions to atrophy, without evoking any new institutions to take their place. The result was political stagnation; and in this dead-alive political atmosphere it is not surprising to observe that the wealth of the New World did not save Spanish commerce and industry from decadence and that the governmental patronage of French commerce and industry under Colbert did not enable France to compete successfully on the economic plane with Holland and England.1 It was in England that the problem of translating democracy from the city-state scale to the kingdom-state scale was successfully solved; and it was therefore in England thereafter that Western commerce and industry first entered upon a new phase of activity on a scale that dwarfs the medieval commerce and industry of Italy or Flanders or the Hansa Towns in the measure of the difference in calbre between a United Kingdom of Great Britain and an isolated city-state like thirteenth-century Florence of Venice.

For some reason, the introduction of the new despotism, which had a deadening political effect in Spain and France, had the opposite effect in England. In England it was taken as a challenge which demanded a response; and the English response was to breathe new life and import new functions into the traditional constitution of the Transalpine body politic which was an English as well as a French and a Spanish heritage from the common past of Western Christendom.

One of the traditional Transalpine institutions2 was the periodical holding of a parliament or conference between the Crown and the Estates of the Realm for the double purpose of ventilating grievances and obtaining a vote of supply for the Crown from the Estates as a quid pro quo for an honourable undertaking on the Crown's part that well-founded grievances should be redressed. In the gradual evolution of this institution of Parliament, the Transalpine king-

1 There were, of course, movements in both Spain And France to anticipate or emulate the commercial and industrial achievements of the Dutch and the English. But it is significant that in both countries these movements were made by penalized minorities who were ultimately driven out to find an asylum among their step-mother countries' economic rivals. It was Holland and England, and not Spain and France, that ultimately benefited by the business ability of t he Spanish Jews and the French Huguenots.
2 The institution of Parliament was not, of course, exclusively Transalpine in origin; for assemblies of states were not unknown in medieval Italy; and the congressional method of dealing with public business may have been part of the common social heritage of Western Christendom from the Church (see p. 360, footnote 2). In Northern and Central Italy, however, the growth of the institution was cut short by the rise of city-states, so that it became, in effect, a Transalpine institution as it developed.

{p.360} doms had discovered how to overcome their regional problem of material scale—the problem of unmanageable numbers and impracticable distances—by inventing, or rediscovering, the legal fiction of 'representation'. The duty or right of every person concerned in the business of Parliament to take a personal part in the proceedings—a duty or right which is self-evident in a polity on the scale of a city-state—was attenuated in these unwieldy Transalpine feudal kingdoms1 into a right to be represented by proxy, and a duty, on the proxy's part, to shoulder the burden of travelling, even from the extremity of the Kingdom, to the place where the Parliament was being held.2

This feudal institution of a periodical representative and consultative assembly was well fitted for its original purpose of serving as a liaison between the Crown and its subjects in a feudal monarchy. In particular, it enabled the Crown to raise larger revenues by consent, in exchange for concessions on matters of policy, than it could raise by mere insistence upon exacting its customary feudal dues. On the other hand, the medieval Transalpine Parliament was originally not at all well fitted for the task—to which it was success-

1 It is only the invention of railways and telegraphy and other mechanical means of communication that modern England and France have become smaller—in terms of human geography—than Attica or Laconia were in the Hellenic World.
2 Where and when the institution of Parliament came to be of sufficient political importance for membership to become a contested privilege instead of a detested duty, the practice arose of choosing between rival candidates by the method of election (in the modern sense of selection by majority vote, as opposed to the original sense of the Latin word eligere = simply 'to pick out', without connoting that the act of selection is performed by the majority of an electorate rather than by the individual will of a personal sovereign or his representative). Among students of parliamentary history, it appears to be a still unsettled question whether the application of the electoral system, in its modern sense, in the parliamentary field was an original invention or whether it was suggested to the minds of its inventors by analogy from the ecclesiastical field, in which the idea of election was familiar to the medieval Western Society as a traditional device for appointing, not the members of consultative bodies, but individual executive officers. The election of executive officers was a part of the constitutional machinery of the Hellenic city-state, which had been borrowed by the Christian Church as a method of appointing abbots, bishops, patriarchs, and other ecclesiastical dignitaries. When the Christian Church was taken into partnership by the Roman Empire in the fourth century of the Christian Era, autocracy tended to encroach upon self-government in the ecclesiastical field, as it had already superseded in the secular field. But this process was arrested by the break-up of the Empire; and since in Western Christendom, unlike Orthodox Christendom, the Imperial Power was not effectively revived, the system of electing executive officers survived in the Western Church as 'a going concern' to a sufficient extent to make the notion of election familiar to the minds of medieval Western constitution-builders. The new Western constitutional invention (which may or may not have been inspired by ecclesiastical precedents) was to apply the device of election to secular feudal consultative bodies as a means of making them 'representative'. The idea of 'representation', as well as the device of election, had made its appearance in Hellenic constitutional history; but in Hellenic history the two things had never been combined. The device of election, had been reserved for the appointment of executive officers, while the 'representativeness' of consultative bodies had been secured, logically enough, by employing the device of the lot. At Athens, for example, the Council of Five Hundred, which was instituted by Cleisthenes in 508-507 B.C., was appointed annually by lot on a fixed allocation of seats. (Fifty seats were Allocated to each of the ten Cleisthenic ‘tribes’ (Aristotle: The Constitution of Athens, xliii. 1), and within each 'tribe' these fifty seats were distributed among the 'demes' (parishes) in proportion to their populations.)

{p.361} fully adapted in England in the seventeenth century—of undertaking the Crown's work instead of merely consulting with and bargaining with the Crown as to the manner in which the royal prerogatives should be exercised.

Between deliberation and diplomacy on the one hand and executive action on the other there is a great gulf fixed. The two lines of political activity demand, and evoke, quite different outlooks and habits and capacities; and although the institution of Parliament had become well established in Transalpine Europe in general, and in the Kingdom of England in particular, in the course of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, there was still no indication at the turn of fifteenth and sixteenth centuries that this Transalpine institution was capable of becoming the germ of a new form of self-government for the bodies politic of the kingdom-state scale. In that generation, these things were hidden from the wise and prudent.1 There is no inkling of the future course of transalpine constitutional development in Machiavelli's otherwise penetrating studies of France and Germany;2 and if the lynx-eyed Florentine publicist had happened, in the course of his official career, to have been sent on a diplomatic mission to England, we may doubt whether he would have divined the future even on the spot. Indeed, an Italian observer visiting England a hundred years after Machiavelli’s day, in the early decades of the seventeenth century of the Christian Era, would probably have pronounced that the old-fashioned loval institution of Parliament was destined to succumb to the newfangled Italian institution of autocracy in England as surely as in the other Transalpine countries. He would hardly have guessed that, before the century ran out, the English would have brought the triumphal Transalpine progress of autocracy to a halt by achieving the constitutional tour de force of turning the medieval Transalpine institution of Parliament into a still more effective engine of executive political action than the personal government of Matteo Visconti or a Henry Tudor or a Louis Valois.

1 Matthew xi. 25.
2 In the dispatches relating to his embassies to the French Court, and in the Ritratti delle Cose della Francia, there appears to be no allusion at all to the French Estates. (The five Parlements are mentioned in the Ritratti; but these, of course, were courts of law and not parliamentary bodies on the English sense.) In the dispatches relating to his embassy to the Emperor, and again in the Ritratti delle Cose dell' Alamagna, and the Rapporto di Cose della magna, there are a few references to certain sessions of the Imperial Diet and to one session of the local Diet of the Tyrol; and here Machiavelli does show a clear realization of the power of the purse which was exercised by these parliamentary bodies in the Holy Roman Empire. Perhaps the most interesting reference to a Transalpine parliamentary body in Machiavelli's works is the notice of th Swiss Federal Diet in the second dispatch (dated Botzen, the 17th January, 1507) relating to his mission to the Emperor. Machiavelli here reports that 'il corpo principale de' Svizzeri sono dodeci comunanze collegat insieme, le quali chiamano cantoni....Costoro sono in modo collegati insieme, che quello che nelle loro Diete è deliberato, è sempre osservato da tutti, nè alcun cantone vi si opporrebbe'.

{p.362} Why was it that England took up, and met successfully, a challenge with which no other contemporary Transalpine kingdom proved able to cope? Why did the Transalpine feudal monarchy grow into a constitutional monarchy in England when it gave way to an absolute monarchy in France?

'It was because the English monarchy became national before it ceased to be feudal, at a time when the feudal element disappeared, as it ultimately did in both kingdoms, in England its place was taken by a government in which the Estates had already begun to share; in France there was no power in existence to replace the feudal monarchy but the uncontrolled power of an absolute king. The difference is owing to the regular participation of the Estates in England before the feudal monarchy disappeared—a participation which existed in that period of French history, with one exception, only on the rare occasions of popular unrest. On the decline of Feudalism in France, there was no authority, and no body of men, politically prepared permanently to take over or even to share with the king in the centralized government that was replacing feudal decentralization. That place could be taken only by an authority that was at once centralized and national, and the only one then in existence to do it was a strong, national, but practically absolute monarch. To put it otherwise, in England there was participation and there was representation while feudal conditions still remained, and therefore when these conditions disappeared the strong centralized national power which emerged was one which retained the participation of the Estates. In France, since this participation had not begun during the period when feudal conditions flourished, so it could not continue when they began to decline, and the feudal monarchy was replaced by one practically, even if not theoretically, absolute.... The decisive factor in determining [the] results for England was the early centralization of administration—a centralization which came far sooner there than elsewhere. It was this that made England the only Western country with a common law little influenced by Rome, and this too ultimately made her a constitutional instead of an absolute monarchy.' 1

These were the predisposing conditions that stimulated the English body politic to take up and meet successfully a challenge which the other Transalpine bodies scarcely attempted to face. Yet, even when full allowance for these favourable conditions had been made, the English achievement of pouring the new wine of Renaissance Italian administrative efficiency into the old bottles of medieval Transalpine parliamentarism, without allowing these old bottles to burst, is a constitutional triumph that can only be regarded as an astonishing tour de force. And this English constitutional tour de force of carrying Parliament across the gulf that

1 Professor C.H. McIlwaine in The Cambridge Medieval
, vol. vii (Cambridge 1932, University Press), pp. 709-10.

{p.363} divides the conduct from criticism of government was the political act of creation which was performed for the Western Society by the English creative minority during its period of withdrawal. This political invention provided a propitious social setting for the subsequent English economic invention of Industrialism.1 'Democracy' in the sense of a system of government in which the executive is responsible to a parliament which is representative of the people, and 'Industrialism' in the sense of a system of machine-production by 'hands' concentrated in factories to tend the machinery, are the two master-institutions that still dominate the life of the Western World in our age;2 they have come to prevail because they offer the best solutions which the Western Society has been able to find for the problem of transposing the achievements of the Italian city-state culture from city-state scale to the kingdom-state scale; and both these solutions have been worked out for the Western Society in England in an age when England had been temporarily aloof from the general life of the Western World.

What is to be Russia's Role in our Western History?

In the contemporary history of the Great Society into which our Western Christendom has grown, can we again discern symptoms of that tendency to overbalance which is a symptom, that the process of growth is still continuing? Now that the problems set us by Italian solutions of earlier problems have received their English solutions, are these English solutions giving rise to new problems in their turn? We are already alive, in our generation, to new challenges to which we have been exposed by the triumph of challenges to which we have been exposed by triumph of Democracy and Industrialism in the current meaning of these terms. In particular, the economic system of Industrialism, which means local specialization in skilled and costly production for a world-wide scale. And, in general, both Industrialism and Democracy demand from Human Nature a greater individual self-control and mutual tolerance and public-spirited co-operation than the human 'social animal' has been apt to practise, because these new institutions have put an unprecedentedly powerful material 'drive' into all human social actions. We shall have to consider these two challenges more closely when we come to estimate the future prospects of our Western Civilization.3 In this

1 It is noteworthy that the English, in making their political invention of parliamentary government in the seventeenth century, took advantage of a previous industrial invention, namely, the art of printing. The printing press greatly facilitated the circulation and publication of documents.
2 See I. A, imit., in vol. i, above.

{p.364} place, we merely suggest, in this connexion, that these challenges which confront us here and now are altogether different in kind from those in other times.1 Our purpose at the moment in reminding ourselves of our current challenges is not to investigate them for their own sakes but simply to observe whether they have yet evoked any fresh examples of the movement of Withdrawal-and-Return.

In the Russian Communist Movement, we have detected, under a Westernizing masquerade, a 'Zealot' attempt to break away from the policy of Westernization which has been imposed upon Russia, two centuries before Lenin's day, by Peter the Great; and at the same time we have seen this masquerade passing over, willy nilly, into earnest. We have concluded that a Western revolutionary

1 For example, the challenge of being called upon to create a political world-order the framework for an economic world-order is bound to confront any society that has accomplished the economic change from a locally-subsistent and 'extensive' economy to an 'intensive' and oecumenically interdependent economy. The Hellenic Society was confronted by this challenge after if had adopted the new economy of Solonian Athens (see Part III.B.,p.122, footnote 3, and the present chapter, p. 340, footnote 1, above, and IV. C (iii) (b) 10, vol. iv, pp. 206-14, below); and the same challenge confronted the medieval Western city-state cosmos, which practised an economy of the intensive interdependent type from the outset. (We may note in passing that this challenge, which now confronts our Modern Western society, was never successfully met either in the medieval Western city-state cosmos of in the Hellenic World and that their failure to meet this challenge caused both these societies to break down.) Again, the challenge of the increase in material 'drive' which Industrialism and Democracy entail was not unknown to either of these two societies, though it perhaps confronts our own society in our day in an unprecedentedly high degree. The increase in material 'drive', which Hellas acquired in the course of the half-century between the repulse of Xerxes' invasion and the outbreak of the Atheno-Pelopennesian War is reflected in the Thucydidean usage of the word πασαχυνή (For the significance of the subsequent change in the meaning of this Greek word, see Part VII, below.) As for the medieval Western city-state, they too were defeated by the challenge of the increase in 'drive', as well as by the challenge of the demand for world-order. Indeed, it is the internal failure of the medieval Western city-state cosmos to respond successfully to these two challenges that accounts for its subsequent external failure to refashion the rest of Western Christendom in its own image. This latter failure, as we have seen, had the consequence that the problem of 'world-order' and 'material drive' were in abeyance so long as the problem of 'change of scale' was in the forefront. This latter problem substantially solved in the latter part of the nineteenth century; and now, in the twentieth century, the problem of 'world-order' and 'material drive', which found no solution in the medieval city-state cosmos, have presented themselves again—and this time more intensely than ever—on the newly-achieved scale of the Great Society.

{p.365} movement which has been taken up by an unwillingly Westernized Russia as an anti-Western gesture has turned out, unintentionally and unexpectedly, to be a more potent agency of Westernization in Russia than any application of the conventional Western social creed; and we have tried to express this outcome of the latest phase of the social intercourse between Russia and the West in the formula that a relation which was once an external contact between two separate societies has been transformed into an internal experience of the Great Society into which Russia has been incorporated. Can we go on to discern more clearly and define more closely what form this experience is taking? Can we explain the apparent contradiction of Communist Russia's simultaneous centrifugal and centripetal movement vis-a-vis the Western Society in the formula of Russia, while at the same time attempting to make a temporary withdrawal from the general life of the society in which she has been enrolled by force majeure; and that she is making this attempt to withdraw in order to play the part of a creative minority which will strive to work out some solution for the Great Society's current problems? If this is really the explanation of Russia's present course, it is not difficult to understand why it is that Russian minds are drawn in this direction; for a withdrawal in these circumstances and with this aim promises to give some satisfaction to two strong Russian desires. it satisfies the impulse, which Russians have inherited form their own non-Western past, to escape from the Western toils; and it also holds out the prospect that if, after all, it proves impossible for Russia to break away permanently from her Western entanglements, she may at least make her return to the bosom of Western Society in a creative role which will enable her to re-cast the general shape of Western life on more of less Russian pattern.

The Working of Withdrawal-and-Return in the Histories of Civilizations

Having now completed our survey of the withdrawals and returns of creative minorities, we may find ourselves able to establish what the general features of these movements are when a creative minority and not a creative individual is the protagonist.1

1 There are, of course individuals at the back of all creative minorities, on the hypothesis that some individual human being is the ultimate author of every creative human act. (For this hypothesis, see III.C.(ii)(a), above.) In the case of several of the creative minorities that we have passed under review, the originating individuals can be identified. Behind sixth-century and fifth-century Athens we can discern the personality of Solon, and behind the third-century Achaean Confederacy the personality of Aratus. But who was the architect of the Aetolian Confederacy in the preceding generation? Or the nameless Ionian or Aeolian refugee who invented the Hellenic city-state in the Dark Age? And we can put our finger on the individual Italians or the individual Englishmen who have been ultimately responsible for the contributions that have been made by a creative Italian minority and by a creative English minority to the growth of our Western Civilization? In these cases we may infer the unseen presence of a creative individual from the visible existence and activity of a creative group; but since we cannot identify the creative individual in fact, we are constrained to deal with such cases either in terms of a group or not at all.


ANNEX II TO III. C. (ii) (b)


{p. 466} ...under successive régimes of the Umayyads and the ‛Abbasids, this great empire remained 'a going concern' for some three hundred years; and this immense political achievement was the outcome of Muhammad's political success during the second or politico-religious stage of his career.

Thus Muhammad's political activity is noteworthy as a factor of first-rate historical importance in the histories of civilizations; and it is also noteworthy as a phenomenon in Muhammad's own personal career, because it makes this particular career an exception to a rule which appears to hold good in the case of every other career that we have reviewed in our survey of the Withdrawal-and-Return motif in the lives of individuals.

This rule is the law of 'etherealization' which we have taken as our criterion of growth2 and which is in fact obeyed in the growths of the other personalities whose careers we have cited as illustrations of the motif of Withdrawal-and-Return. In each of these other cases, the capacity in which the growing personality has returned to Society after his temporary withdrawal has been more ethereal than the same personality’s social capacity in the first chapter of his career, before his withdrawal has taken place. David and Philopoepmen withdraw as soldiers and return as statesmen; Solon withdraws as a merchant and returns as a statesman; Caesar withdraws as a politician and returns as a statesman; Loyola withdraws as a soldier and returns a saint; and all these changes of capacity are in the direction of 'etherealization'. On the other hand,
{p.467} Muhammad's career taken as a whole, appears to have been a movement in the opposite sense. For though in the first stage of his career he withdraws as a merchant and returns a prophet, in the second stage he withdraws as a prophet and returns as a conqueror. In other words, the second stage of Muhammad's career, which is the conspicuously successful stage, is apparently the exact inverse of the career of Loyola; and if Loyola's career is a striking example of spiritual transfiguration, Muhammad's, by the same token, is an equally striking example of spiritual bathos. This exceptional feature on Muhammad's career calls for further examination.

Muhammad's overwhelming political success has undoubtedly made a deep impress on Islam—the great institution of which Muhammad is the founder. This impress has lasted down to our own day; and it comes out clearly in the contrast between Islam and Christianity; for, broadly speaking, each of the two religious has tended, in its attitude toward politics, to follow the course which its founder indicated either by precept or by example. The Christian Churches have been guided, on the whole, by the injunction to 'render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and unto God the things that are God's'; 1 and though the Orthodox and Protestant 'Established Churches' are important exceptions to this rule, the incorporation of the these 'Established Churches' into the bodies politic of the secular states that have enslaved them has always remained imperfect and continued to appear unnatural. In Islam, on the other hand, the relation between the religious and the political elements of the institutions is not that of a belated and artificial organic unity; so that, in Islamic sociology, such dichotomies as 'religious and secular', 'ecclesiastical and civil', 'clerical and lay' have no application. In the Islamic Society, Church and State are actually identical; and, in this undifferentiated social entity, the secular interest and secular spirit have hitherto predominated over the religious in a fashion which makes even the most thoroughly enslaved of the Christian 'Established Churches' appear comparatively 'un-political' and 'other-worldly' by this Islamic standard of comparison.2

{p.468} Thus the political, secular, mundane element has been exceptionally prominent not only in Muhammad's personal career, but if the subsequent history of the institution which is the monument of Muhammad's life-work. In quarters hostile to Islam and to its founder, this 'worldliness' has always been a popular object of denunciation; and, on impartial consideration, there is evidently much to be said for the view that Islam, as an institution, has suffered throughout its history from the note of secularity which has been characteristic of it hitherto. In so far as this note of secularity has been a social blemish in the history of Islam, it must also be regarded as having been a personal misfortune in the career of Muhammad. The monument of Muhammad's life-work might have been something more ethereal than Islam as Islam has been and is, if only the Prophet’s career had not taken this decisively political turn in its last chapter. they denounce Muhammad's unfortunate metamorphosis, after his Hijrah, from a prophet into a conqueror as a mark of moral turpitude. And this judgment cannot, in equity, be allowed to pass without taking into consideration the circumstances in which the metamorphosis occurred.

Was Muhammad a vulgar imposter, who posed as a prophet with his eye upon a throne from the outset? This calumny is conclusively refuted by the record of Muhammad's life during the thirteen years, or thereabouts, that intervened between his first announcement of his prophetic mission in Mecca circa A.D. 609 and his flight in A.D. 622 from Mecca to Medina. The announcement was first made secretly to an intimate circle which sis not extend beyond his wife and family and a handful of personal friends; and this secrecy was justified by the sequel; for, when the propaganda came to public notice after the secret had been preserved for three years. The Meccan Prophet and his followers at once found themselves exposed to the vehement and active hostility of the ruling oligarchy, in whose belief the new doctrine was calculate to place the vital interests of Mecca in jeopardy.1 Muhammad's life was only saved from death by violence because his uncle Abu Tālib, who was the head of his clan, would not consent to his being outlawed, so that it was impossible for the dominant conservative party to take Muhammad's life without precipitating a blood-feud; yet, in the fifth year of the mission, the persecution became so

1 The point in Muhammad's message which incensed the Quraysh was the denunciation of idolatry, which was the corollary of the proclamation of the unity of God. The Quraysh feared that this impiety, if it prevailed, would not only bring down upon Mecca the wrath of the divinities whose existence was being denied by the blasphemer, but would also ruin the pilgrimage traffic, which was attracted to Mecca by the presence there of the shrines and cults of a number of other divinities, besides Allah, who enjoyed a Pan-Arabian prestige.

{p.469} severe that a number of the faithful had to take refuge overseas in the Christian Kingdom of Abyssinia; and the persecutors then retaliated by boycotting Muhammad and his clansmen an blockading them in their own quarter of Mecca, with the intention of starving them into recantation in lieu of putting them to the sword at the cost of civil war. Down to the thirteenth year of the mission, when Muhammad finally withdrew from Mecca to Medina and abandoned the purely prophetic for the politico-religious career, Muhammad's preaching was manifestly, from the worldly point of view, an utter failure. As the result of thirteen years of propaganda, he had won no more than a handful of converts—most of whom had been compelled to fly the country—and he had drawn upon himself the implacable and apparently invincible hostility of the dominant powers in his native community. A prophet who persisted in his mission in these circumstances for this number of years can only have been animated by a deep and genuine religious conviction; and he can only have supposed that he was sacrificing his worldly prospects. He cannot have suspected that he was on the road to making his worldly fortune.

Muhammad, therefore, must be acquitted of the charge of having entertained ulterior political designs during the Meccan period of his prophetic mission. But we have still to explain how it was that he eventually took, nevertheless, to the political career in which he was afterwards so triumphantly successful.

Perhaps the explanation is to be found in the nature of the social milieu into which Muhammad happened to be born. If it is asked why he did not 'render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's' the obvious answer is that, unlike Jesus, Muhammad did not happen to live under Caesar's jurisdiction. Whereas Jesus was a member of the internal proletariat of the Roman Empire, and, as such, was at the Roman Government's mercy, Muhammad was a member of the external proletariat whose home was in the no-man's-land outside the Roman frontiers and beyond the reach of Caesar's arm. This extreme difference of milieu explains, at least in part, the extreme difference between the earthly fortunes of these two prophets who, in addressing themselves to their fellow men, each 'claimed to be the messenger of the their God, bringing them a strange message, wholly subversive of their former beliefs and practices: claiming, in short, to be their dictator, though dictating not his own words, but God's'. 1

'There is no example in history of such a claim being at first favourably received, unless by any chance it is made by one already sovereign.2

1 Margoliouth, D.S.: Mohammedanism (Home University Library Series: London, no date, Williams and Norgate), p. 51.
2 For this rather rare situation and its usual outcome, see V. C. (i) (d 6 (δ) Annex, in vol. v, below.—A.J.T.

{p.470} In most communities it has meant death, or at best condign punishment, for the person who makes it. The better the order of the community, the less chance has a prophet. The execution of Socrates took place after a legal trial, in the most highly civilized and most tolerant state of Antiquity.' 1

We may add that Jesus, in spite of His rendering unto Caesar the things that were Caesar's, and in spite of His refusal to allow His followers to resort to violence in order to save Him from arrest,2 was nevertheless put to death by the Roman authorities. His mortal offence in Roman eyes was that 'he one having authority' 3—an attitude which no Sovereign power is willing, in the mast resort, top tolerate in any of its subjects.

Muhammad's attitude, in proclaiming his prophetic message, was the same; and assuredly he would have met the same fate at the same early stage if he had been conducting his prophetic mission inside, instead of outside, the Roman frontiers; either in Jesus's day or in his own. In this situation, it would have made no difference to Muhammad's immediate personal fortunes whether, when the Roman authorities had sought his life, he had chosen the path of non-resistance or had turned at bay; for Jesus was not the only Jewish prophet of his age who met his death at Roman hands. The same fate overtook the Theudases and Judases who desperately resorted, within the ambit of the Roman imperium, to the militant tactics which the historical Muhammad was able to execute with brilliant success in the no-man's-land of Arabia. If Muhammad had been living under Roman rule, his mission would have resulted in his losing his life, whatever line he had taken in dealing with the Roman authorities; and we can only conjecture, on the historic analogy of Jesus and the Christian Church, that if Muhammad had lived in these circumstances and had died, as Jesus had died, without offering resistance, then Islam might have become something different from, and spiritually higher than, what it has become in fact. The historic development of Islam is a consequence of the fact that Muhammad's career, in Muhammad's actual circumstances, developed quite differently. Instead of sealing his prophetic message with his blood by becoming Caesar's victim, it was Muhammad’s ironic destiny to compromise and debase his prophetic message by becoming an Arabian Caesar himself.

'The was it that he escaped death when once his mission had been proclaimed? And the reply is: Because there was no orderly government.... Justice, it would seem, could only be executed within the tribe, was impossible to assail the Pro-

1 Margoliouth, op. cit., pp. 51-2
2 Matt. xxvi. 51-4; John xviii. 11 and 36.
3 Matt. vii. 29.

{p.471} phet ... for such an assault would have led to civil war between the Meccan tribes: a consequence which it was their common interest to avert.' 1

We have seen how this political situation was brought about by Abu Tālib's refusal to withdraw his patriarchal protection from his nephew. The result was a political stalemate, which was not unlike the stalemate that followed the introduction of Christianity, some four centuries later, into the similarly constituted Scandinavian Society in Iceland.2 The operation of the primitive social system of kin-group-solidarity and blood-feud in a political vacuum made it impossible for the new religion to be stamped out by violence and likewise impossible for it to prevail by peaceful propaganda; and there were only two possible issues from this impasse: either the negotiation of a modus vivendi between the pagans and the religious revolutionaries or the creation, by the one or the other party, of a body politic to fill the political vacuum and thus to pave the way for a solution by force. In this predicament, the Icelanders adopted the former alternative and Muhammad the latter. The Icelanders negotiated a modus vivendi which averted civil war and obviated the necessity for establishing an effective government in Iceland, at the price of a voluntary general acceptance of the new faith. Muhammad, on the other hand, embraced the opportunity, when it came his way, of arming himself in the panoply of political power and using this power as an instrument for imposing Islam upon Mecca by force.

No doubt, when he accepted the fateful invitation to organize a government in Medina, Muhammad assured his own conscience that he was acting as single-heartedly as ever in the cause of God. Had not God laid upon him the duty of conveying the revelation of God's truth to his fellow men? And would he not be executing this duty if he embraced this heaven-sent opportunity of providing the new religion, whose path had been obstructed for ten years by human force majeure, with a human political vehicle without which, as ten years' personal experience showed, Islam could make no further practical progress? No doubt, Muhammad reasoned with his own conscience thus; and no doubt he was deceiving himself in yielding to his own arguments; for, in the event, the temporal power with which the Arabian Prophet endowed—or encumbered—his Islam at this crucial point in his career has proved to be not a vehicle but a prison-house, which has cribbed and cabined and confined the spirit of Islam ever since.

The truth, then, seems to be that, in the invitation to Medina,

1 Margoliouth, op. cit., pp. 52-3

{p.472} Muhammad was confronted with a challenge to which his spirit failed to rise. In accepting the invitation, he was renouncing the sublime role of the nobly un-honoured prophet and contenting himself with the commonplace role of the magnificently successful statesman. The prospect of effective practical action which the call to Medina opened up for the Prophet's long repressed and thwarted practical genius blinded the Prophet's vision and warped his judgment. For even on the eve of the worldly call, in the second phase of his thirteen-years-long worldly failure in Mecca, Muhammad had been content with the faithful performance of a prophet's duty, as is shown by his apostrophe to the idolators: 'Is aught else laid upon God's messengers but a plain delivery of the message?' 1 This simple understanding and acceptance of his prophetic mission were thrown to the winds by the Prophet when a new career was offered him in the alien political sphere; and, in the language of worldly wisdom, this volte-face was amply 'justified by success'. The Prophet's latent political genius was so transcendent that the modest office of 'honest broker' in the anarchy-ridden Arabian oasis2 was transformed in his hands into the sovereignty of a state which was destined to eclipse the Empire of Rome and emulate the Empire of Achaemenidae. This tragic worldly success of the founder of Islam—a success which was pernicious for the institution which he had founded—points the truth that, for a prophet, to be felix opportunitate mortis3 is the highest good and to be capex imperii4 the unkindest gift that the Gods can bestow upon him. The chance to prove his political mettle in action, which Fortune brought, was just as fatal to the prophet manqué, Muhammad, as it was the Caesar manqué, Galba.

1 Qur’an, Surah xvi, verse 35:
2 The arbitral function which Muhammad was invited to perform at Medina in mediating between the local clans and factions who could not make peace unaided, was not unlike the funciton of an aesymnêtês in a Hellenic city-state or a podestà in a medieval Italian commune.
3 Tacitus" Agricola, ch. 45.
4 Tacitus" Histories, i. 40.





I. SAEVA NECESSITAS ? ......... 7


(a) The Physical Environment... 39

(b) The Human Environment ....... 56

1. ‘The Triumph of Barbarism and Religion’ ? .... 56

2. The Triumph of an Alien Civilization ? ..... 76

3. A Negative Verdict...115


(a) The Mechanicalness of Mimesis...119

(b) The Intractability of Institutions...... 133

1. New Wine in Old Bottles....... 133

2. The Impact of Industrialism upon Slavery . ... .137

3. The Impact of Democracy and Industrialism upon War . .141

4. The Impact of Democracy and Industrialism upon
Parochial Sovereignty... 156

5. The Impact of Nationalism upon the Historic Political Map ... 185

6. The Impact of Industrialism upon Private Property . . . 191

7. The Impact of Democracy upon Education .... 192

8. The Impact of Italian Efficiency upon Transalpine Government ... 198

9. The Impact of the Solonian Economic Revolution
upon the Domestic Politics of the Hellenic City-States ... 200

10. The Impact of the Solonian Economic Revolution
upon the International Politics of the Hellenic World .... 206

11. The Impact of Parochialism upon the Western Christian Church... 214

12. The Impact of the Sense of Unity upon Religion . . . 222

13. The Impact of Religiosity upon Caste ..... 229

14. The Impact of Civilization upon the Division of Labour . .. 232

15. The Impact of Civilization upon Mimesis .... 244

(c) The Nemesis of Creativity.......245

1. The Problem of Περιπέτεια.......245

2. 'Resting on One's Oars’.......261

(α) The Idolization of an Ephemeral Self.....261

A Definition of Idolatry . . .261


Athens.......... 263

Venice.......... 274

South Carolina .......... 289


The Self-Hypnotization of Narcissus.....296

The War Cabinet.........298

The Religion of Humanity.......300

(β) The Idolization of an Ephemeral Institution . . . 303

The Hellenic City-State.......303

The East Roman Empire.......320

The Pharaonic Crown .... 408

The Mother of Parliaments.......414

Scribes, Priests, and Janissaries ... 418

(γ) The Idolization of an Ephemeral Technique ... 423

Reptiles and Mammals.....423

Manchester and Osaka ..... 428

Goliath and David........431

3. Κόρος,“Υβρις, “Ατη........465

(α) The Suicidalness of Militarism ... 465

The Strong Man Armed.......465

Assyria .......... 468

The Burden of Nineveh ... 484

Charlemagne ......... 488

TimurLenk...... . . 491

The Margrave turned Moss-trooper . . . . .501

(β) The Intoxication of Victory . .. 505

The Roman Republic . ..505

The Roman See.........512

IV. C 1 Annex: Which are the True Catastrophes:
the Breakdowns of Civilizations or their Births ? ... 585

III (c) 2 (β) Annex I: The Transadriatic Expedition of the
Emperor Constans II and its Antecedents in Hellenic History.......589

Annex II: The Abortive Resistance of the Church to the
Revival of 'Caesaro-papism' in Orthodox Christendom ....... 592

Annex III; Paulcians, Bogomils, Cathars .... 624

(γ) Annex: Idolatry and Pathological Exaggeration . . 635

3 (α) Annex: Militarism and the Military Virtues . .. 640
(β) Annex: Innocent Ill's Response to the Challenge of
Catharism........ 652





(a) The Physical Environment

{IV.C.II.(a) p. 42}…In the seventh century of the Christian Era the reconditioning of these hydro-engineering works was left in default in a large section of South-Western ‛Irāq after the works had been put out of action by a flood which had probably done no more serious damage than many floods that had come and gone in the course of the preceding four thousand years. Thereafter, in the thirteenth century, the entire irrigation-system of ‛Irāq was allowed to go to ruin, "Why, on these occasions, did the inhabitants of ‛Irāq abandon the conservation of a system which their predecessors had successfully maintained for some thousands of years without a break—a system, moreover, on which the agricultural productivity of the country depended and, therewith, its "capacity for supporting the existing population at its existing standard of living? At first sight, this

{p. 43} manifestly suicidal neglect looks so perverse that a sheer inability to perform the \\ork, owing to a loss of technique, might appear to be the only plausible explanation. Vet no historical evidence of this hypothetical loss of engineering technique appears to be forthcoming; and the true explanation seems to be that the abandonment of the works was not the cause but was rather the consequence of a decline in population and in prosperity which was itself the result of social causes. The ancient irrigation-system of the Land of Shinar was allowed to fall locally derelict in the seventh century of the Christian lira and to go to ruin altogether in the thirteenth century because, in each of those two ages, the Syriac Civilization was at so low an ebb in ‛Irāq, and the consequent general state of insecurity was so extreme, that nobody at the time had either the means of investing capital, or the motive for employing energy, in river-conservancy and irrigation work. So far from it being a loss of technique that wrecked the irrigation-system of' ‛Irāq and thereby contributed to the decline and fall of the Syriac Civilization, it was this social decline and fall that caused the progressive abandonment of the ‛Irāqī irrigation-system by overwhelming the people of ‛Irāq under a succession of social catastrophes: the great Romano-Persian War of A.I). 603-28; the consequent, and immediately subsequent, overrunning of ‛Irāq by the Primitive Muslim Arabs; and the Mongol invasion of A.D. 1258 which dealt the moribund Syriac Civilization its coup de grace.1 By the same token, our examination of the technical factor leaves the decline and fall of the Syriac Civilization still unexplained.

The conclusion that the decline and fall of the Syriac Civilization is to be regarded not as an effect but rather as the cause of the progressive ruin of the irrigation-system of ‛Irāq in the sixth, seventh, and thirteenth centuries of the Christian Era is supported by an historical precedent; for the Syriac Society was not, of course, the first civilization that had installed itself in the Land of Shinar. In this portion of its eventual domain the Syriac Society was the residuary legatee of the Babylonic (which was itself the successor of a Sumeric Society which had been the original creator of the fields and cities of Sumer and Akkad out of an inhospitable and untenanted jungle-swamp2); and the unrepaired ruin of the irrigation«svstem"of the whole of the Land of Shinar in the course of the

1 In a similar way the anticipatory physical disaster in the reign of Kawādh [Qubādh] I can be explained as the reflexion of an earlier bout of social catastrophes: e.g. the destruction of the Emperor Pīrūz and his army by the Ephthalite Eurasian Nomads in A.D. 484 (see V. C. (i) (c) 3, vol.. v, p. 279, footnote 1, and V. C. (i) (c) 3, Annex II, vol. v, p. 600, below); the romano-Persian wars of A.D. 502-5 and 528-32; and the social upheaval, fathered by the Prophet Mozdak, which came to a head circa A.D. 528-9 (see V. C. (i) (c) 2, vol. v, p. 129, below).
2 See II. C. (ii) <b) 2, vol I, pp. 315-18, above.

{p. 44} last eight centuries of Syriac history has an analogue in the unretrieved destruction of the local network of drainage- and irrigation-canals in the territory of the ancient city-state of Ur in an earlier age when the Babylonic Civilization was in extremis.

At other points in this Study1 the disintegration of the Babylonic Civilization is traced through a 'Time of Troubles', which was precipitated by the social disease of Assyrian militarism, into a universal state which was inaugurated by the Neo-Babyloman Kmpire and was continued in the form of the Achaemenian and Seleucid régimes; and it was under these last two political dispensations that the moribund Babylonic Society was progressively absorbed into the tissues of an encircling Syriac Society until the last vestiges of a distinctive Babylonic culture were obliterated in the last century B.C. It was also in this age that, in the territory of Ur, the local irrigation and agriculture which had been maintained there over a previous period of at least 3,000 years were permanently put out of action by a shift in the course of the Euphrates which worked havoc that was never repaired.2 Thus, here again, we find a decline of civilization and a decay of irrigation proceeding pari passu but, here again likewise, there is no suggestion that the failure to retrieve the physical disaster was either the consequence of a loss of technique or the cause of the accompanying dissolution of an ancient society. According to the greatest living authority on the subject, it is rather the decrepitude into which the Babylonic Civilisation had already sunk, by the time when the physical disaster occurred, that accounts for the failure to bring the waters under human control again.

'To make good the disaster required a co-ordinated effort which the country then was too poor or too ill-organized to attempt. . . . [For] everything depended on hard work and upon system. The boast of ;I Sumerian king was that he had honoured the gods, had overcome his enemies, had secured equal justice for his people, and had built canals.
The last was not the least important function of the Government; but the task did not stop with the building. The cleaning of the channels,

1 See I. C (i) (b), vol. I, pp. 79-81, and II. D. (v), vol. ii, pp. 137-8, above, and IV. C (ii) (b) 2, in the present volume, and IV. C (iii) (c) 3 (a), pp. 468-84, below.
2 The fatal economic effects of this unretrieved physical disaster are forcefully described in the following passage from the pen of Sir Leonard Woolley, the modern Western archaeologist who has rescued Ur from an oblivion under which the famous city lay for more than two thousand years:
‘The River Euphrates burst its banks and, flowing across the open plain, made a new bed for itself more or less where it runs now, eleven miles to the east; and with that change the entire system of water-supply was broken up. The old irrigation-canals that had trapped the river further up were left high and dry; the new river course, not yet confined within artificial banks was a wide lake whose waters, level with the plain, blocked the end of the drainage-channels so that these become stagnant back-waters. The surface of the plain was scorched by the tropic sun, the subsoil was saturated, and the constant process of evaporation left in the earth such quantities of salt that to-day irrigation brings to the surface a white crust like hoar-frost which blights all vegetation at birth’ (Woolley, C. L.: Abraham (London 1936, Faber), p. 69).

{p. 45} the upkeep of the banks, the fair allotment of water as between different villages and different landowners—all this entailed constant work and constant supervision; and whilst the peasant's industry was amply rewarded so long as a strong hand kept control, the collapse of the Government might well mean, and in the end did involve, the utter ruin of the country.'1

This explanation of the failure to repair the havoc that the Euphrates had made of the irrigation-system in the territory of Ur gains point when we consider the date to which the disaster is assigned by the authority just quoted. 'We do not know exactly when the change came, but it was not so very long after [Herodotus's] visit, perhaps about the end of the reign of Alexander the Great, towards 300 B.C.'2 If so, this unretrieved physical disaster descended upon South-Western Babylonia at a moment when a long train of social calamities had just mounted up to its climax. As far back as the turn of the sixth and fifth centuries B.C. the spirit and prosperity of the Babylonian people had been broken by the quelling of the insurrection against Darius I and by the more drastic repression of the insurrection against Xerxes. Then the Pax Achaemenia, which had at any rate been something to set against the loss of Babylonian independence, had been brought to a violent end by the impact of Alexander the Great.3 And finally the premature death of the Macedonian conqueror had condemned the whole of the derelict Achaemenian domain to be turned into an arena for the wars of succession between the Diadochi.4 It is manifest that in the fourth century B.C., as in the sixth and seventh and thirteenth centuries of the Christian Era, the physical failure of Alan to maintain over Nature the command which Man had once imposed upon her was the consequence and not the cause of Man's social failure to manage his relations with his human neighbour.

1 Woolley, op, cit., pp. 69 and 73-4.
2 Wooley, op. cit., p. 69.
3 The presumption that the overthrow of the Achaemenian Empire was economically disadvantageous to the Babylonians is not, of course, incompatible: with the fact that it was politically agreeable to them (for the welcome which the Babylonians gave to Alexander, see IV. C. (i) (c) 2, p, 100, footnote 4; V. C (i) (c) 2, vol. v, pp. 94and 123, with footnote 2; V. C. (i)(c) 4, vol. v, pp. 347-8; and V. C. (ii) (a), Annex II, vol. vi, p. 442, below).
4 The conquest of South-Western Asia from the Aehacmenidae by the Macedonians, and the subsequent civil wars among the victors over the division of their spoils, were as devastating as the corresponding social convulsions in the same region in the seventh century the Christian Era, when the Arabs first overthrew the Roman and Sasanian Powers and then turned their arms against each other.

(b) The Human Environment
2. The Triumph of an Alien Civilization?

{p. 96} In the histories of the declines and falls of the Hindu and Andean and Babylonic civilizations the process of assimilation into the tissues of an alien body social supervened, as in the cases of Japan and Russia, when the declining societies were in their universal states and before these universal states had reached the normal term of their existence. In these other three cases, however, the process took a more catastrophic turn; for the statesmen of the declining societies did not remain masters of the situation even to the extent of being able to accomplish their own social metamorphosis on their own initiative; and they did not succeed in preserving their universal states, as the Russians preserved the Romanov Empire and the Japanese preserved the Tokugawa Shogunate, by transforming them into states members of an alien political comity. In all three cases the declining society suffered an alien military conquest, and the universal state in which it had previously been embodied was superseded by a new polity which was imposed by the conquerors.

In Hindu history one such alien polity, imposed by conquest, has been the British Rāj; and the brief century of this British Rāj may still dune in retrospect with the serene beauty of an 'Indian Summer'—and this perhaps even in Indian eyes. For the British

See II. D (v), vol. ii, pp. 154 and 158-9, above.

{p.97} Rāj was only founded after the antecedent universal state of the Hindu World had broken down into an anarchy which has made the eighteenth century of the Christian Era as evil a memory in Hindu history as the third century was in the history of the Roman Empire. It was this post-Mughal anarchy, and not the Pax Mogulica which preceded it, that the British conquest of India swept away by force. The Pax Britannica, which the British conquerors then imposed, has been more effective, more pervasive, and, in Western eyes at any rate, more beneficent than the peace which had been imposed, two centuries earlier, by Akbar (imperabat A.D. 1556-1605); and if the British and the Mughal régimes in India are to be compared, it cannot be argued that, even if the British régime is superior in practical achievement, the Mughal régime is morally more admirable in virtue of being a native product; for the founders of the Mughal Rāj were as utterly alien as the founders of the British Rāj were from the native social order of Hinduism; and a Babur, cast away in Hindustan through the fortunes of war in Central Asia, was just as homesick for the temperate clime of his native Farghana as any English sojourner in India has ever been for Kentish hop-fields or for Yorkshire moors.1 On this point the Mughal Rāj can have no greater sentimental appeal than the British Rāj to an unprejudiced Hindu mind; and although, nevertheless, a favourable verdict upon the British Rāj may be almost impossible for a Hindu of our generation to accept—particularly when it proceeds from a Western observer's mouth—the British Rāj, as it passes, may be content to await the verdict of History; for the future consensus of enlightened and disinterested opinion seems unlikely to convict the British Rāj of responsibility for the breakdown of the Hindu Civilization. The future historian seems more likely to pronounce that, at a time when the Hindu Society was already far advanced in its decline, and when the Mughal attempt to provide the Hindu World with a universal state had miscarried, the British Rāj gave India a political unity and efficiency and stability which neither Mughal nor Hindu had ever succeeded in giving her; and that, when the assimilation of the Hindu Society into the body social of the West was already inevitable, and when the only question left open was the way in which the metamorphosis was to take place, the existence of the British Rāj gave India an opportunity of entering the Great Society on the relatively favourable terms which had been secured—by
1 In the Indian chapters of Babur's memoirs there are repeated expressions of the author's dislike for the Hindu World upon which he had forcibly inflicted himself; and, if these querulous passages were quoted anonymously, in isolation from their context, they might easily be taken for the indiscretions of some disgruntled twentieth-century English lieutenant-governor of an Indian province.

{p.98} native and not by alien initiative—for Russia and Japan, instead of having to undergo the tribulation which the Greek? and the Turks and the Chinese had undergone on their thorny paths towards the goal of Westernization.

° —« •., -1 _ £ ^-L ^ 1

lization lies on the Hindus’ invader of India cannot be made to serve as the scapegoat, it may still be possible to conscript the overland Turkish ^invader ^and to cast him, in the Englishman's place, for the scapegoat's part. Turkish Akbar, who has perhaps deserved well of Hinduism in endowing the Hindu World with a first attempt at a universal state, was after all the grandson of Turkish Babur; and Babur was the last of a long line of Turkish invaders from Central Asia who had made havoc in India from the last quarter of the tenth to the first quarter of the sixteenth century of the Christian Era.1 Is this series of Turkish invasions the cause to which the breakdown of the Hindu Civilization is to be ascribed? There can be little doubt that, if the English had never made their appearance on the Indian stage or were not playing a prominent part on it to-day, the twentieth-century Hindu apologist for the decline and fall of Hinduism would be as vociferous as the twentieth-century Greek apologist for the decline and fall of Orthodox Christendom in denouncing 'the unspeakable Turk' as the guilty party.

(3) A Negative Verdict



{IV.C.III.(a).p.122} consider only those twenty-one civilizations that have been born alive and have proceeded to grow, we are faced with the fact that thirteen out of the twenty-one are dead and buried already; that seven out of the eight living civilizations are apparently in decline; and that the eighth, which is our own Civilization of the West, may also have passed its zenith for all that we know. On an empirical test the career of a growing civilization would appear to be a dangerous activity; and, if we now recall our analysis of Growth in a previous part of this Study,2 we shall realize that on our own showing, the danger is constant and acute because it lies in the very nature of the course which a growing civilization is constrained to take.

This course is not the narrow way 'which leadeth unto life—and few there be that find it';3 for, although the few that do find this way are precisely those creative personalities who set a civilization in motion and carry it forward, they cannot simply lay aside every weight and run the race that is set before them4 on that infallible road to the goal of human endeavors which is visible to eyes that have seen salvation.5 They cannot take this simple course, because, being 'social animals', they cannot go on moving forward themselves unless they can contrive to carry their fellows with them in their advance; and the uncreative rank-and-file on Mankind, which in every known society hitherto has always been in an overwhelm-

2 See III. C (ii), in vol. iii, above.
3 Matt. vii. 14.
4 Hebrews xii. 1.
5 Luke ii. 30.

{p. 123} ing majority, cannot be transfigured en masse in the twinkling of an eye. In these conditions, which are inherent in the very nature of social life, the higher personalities, who arise here and there and now and then by a mutation of ordinary Human Nature, are challenged to attempt a tour de force: 'to convert a species, which is essentially a created thing, into creative effort; to make a movement out of something which, by definition, is a halt.'1

This tour de force is not impossible to achieve; and indeed there is a perfect way: the 'strenuous...communion and intimate...intercourse' that impart the divine fire from one soul to another 'like the light caught from a leaping fire'. 2 This is the perfect way because the receptive soul, 'once alight, feeds its own flame thenceforward'. 3 Yet it is an unpractical counsel of perfection to enjoin this way, as Plato enjoins it, to the exclusion of all others; for the inward spiritual grace through which an unilluminated soul is fired by communion with a saint is almost as rare as the miracle that has brought the saint himself into the World. The world in which the creative personality finds himself, and in which he has to work, is a society in which his fellows are ordinary human beings. His task (Plato concedes)4 is to make his fellows into followers; and Mankind in the mass can only be set in motion towards a goal beyond itself by enlisting the primitive and universal faculty of mimesis.5 For this mimesis is a kind of social drill;6 and the dull ears that are deaf to the unearthly music of Orpheus' lyre are well attuned to the drill-sergeant's raucous word of command.7 When

5 See III. C (ii)(a), vol. iii, p. 245, above.
6 See the quotation, in loc. cit., from Bergson, op. cit., p. 99; and compare Frobenius, L.: Paideuma (Frankfurt 1928, Frankfurter Societāts-Druckerei), p. 234.

{p.124} the Piper of Hamelin assumes King Frederick William's Prussian voice, and the rank-and-file, who have stood stolid hitherto, mechanically break into movement in obedience to the martinet's orders, and the evolution which he causes them to execute brings them duly to heel; but they can only catch him by taking a short cut,1 and they can only find room to march in formation by deploying into a broad way that leadeth to destruction.2 When the road to destruction has perforce to be troden on the quest of Life, it is perhaps no wonder that the quest should sometimes end in disaster.

2 See III. C (ii)(a), vol. iii, p. 247-8, above.
2 Matt. vii. 13.

{p. 127} Thus a risk of catastrophe proves to be inherent in the use of the faculty of mimesis, which is the vehicle of mechanization on the medium of Human Nature; and it is evident that this inherent risk will be greater in degree when the faculty of mimesis is called into play in a society which is in dynamic movement than when the same faculty is given rein in a society which is in a state of rest. The weakness of mimesis lies in its being a mechanical response to a suggestion from some alien source, so that the action that is performed through mimesis is ex hypothesi, an action that would never have been performed by its performer upon his own initiative. Thus all action that proceeds from mimesis is essentially precarious because it is not self-determined; and the best practical safeguard against the danger of its breaking down is for the exercise of the faculty of mimesis to become crystallized in the form of habit or custom3—as it actually is in primitive societies in the Yin-state, which is the only stage of their history in which we know them.4 In 'the cake custom' the double-edged blade of mimesis is comfortably padded. But the breaking of 'the cake of custom' is of the essence of the change through which the state of the rest that is the

{p.128} last phase in the history of a primitive society gives place to the fresh dynamic movement that we call a civilization.1 The mimesis which has been directed towards the older generation of the living members of the society, as incarnations of an accumulated social heritage, is now reoriented towards creative personalities whose eyes have seen on the horizon a further goal of human endeavours, and whose wills have become bent upon leading their fellows with them towards this promised land. In this new movement the edged tool of mimesis is not discarded, but is employed with enhanced effect now that the breaking of the 'cake of custom' has laid its cutting edges bare. This baring of the blade means the removal of a safeguard; and the necessity of using the tool of mimesis without the protection of a customary régime—a necessity which is the price of growth—condemns a growing civilization to live dangerously. More than that, the danger is perpetually imminent, since the condition which is required for the maintenance of the Promethean élan of growth is a condition of unstable equilibrium in which 'the cake of custom' is never allowed to set hard before it is broken up again.2 The tour de force of the exploit of Civilization lies in this necessity of resorting to mimesis without a possibility of taking precautions at any stage. In this hazardous pursuit of the goal of human endeavours there can never be such a thing as a provisional insurance against the perils which mimesis entails. There can only be an ultimate and radical solution of the problem through the complete elimination of mimesis in a society which has transformed itself into a communion of saints; and this consummation, which is nothing less than the attainment of the goal, has never been even distantly approached by any known civilization hitherto.

{p. 129} In times of stress the mask of civilization is torn away from the primitive countenance of raw Humanity in the rank-and-file; but the moral responsibility for the breakdown of civilizations lies upon the heads of the leaders.

'Woe unto the World because of offences! For it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!' 2

The creative personalities in the vanguard of a civilization who have had the recourse to the mechanism of mimesis are exposing themselves to the risk of failure...

2 Matt. xviii. 7.

{p. 132}...and in the language of another simile this failure is familiar to us already. It is that 'disintegration' of a broken-down civilization which declares itself in 'the Secession of the Proletariat' from a ci devant band of leaders which has degenerated into a 'Dominant Minority'. 1 The successive transformations of the prophet into the drill-sergeant and of this martinet into a terrorist explain the declines and falls of civilizations in terms of leadership.

A corresponding loss of harmony attends the flagging of the Promethean élan in a personality, which is a whole whose parts are spiritual faculties, and in a society, which is a whole whose parts are institutions. In the movement of Life a change in any one part of a whole ought to be accompanied by sympathetic adjustments of the other parts if all is to go well; but when Life is mechanical one part may be altered while others are left as they have been, and a loss of harmony is the result.

In any whole of parts a loss of harmony between the parts is paid for by the whole in a corresponding loss of self-determination; and the fate of a declining civilization is described in Jesus's prophecy to Peter:

'When thou wast young, thou girdest thyself, and walkedst whither thou wouldest; but when thou shalt be old ... another shall gird thee and carry thee whither thou wouldest not.' 3

A loss of self-determination is the ultimate criterion of breakdown; and this conclusion is what we should expect, since it is the inverse of the conclusion, which we have reached in an earlier

1 For an explanation of these terms see I. B (iv), vol. i, p. 41, and I. C (i)(a), vol. i, pp. 53-62, above.
3 John xxi. 18.

{p.133} part of this Study, that a progress towards self-determination is the criterion of growth.1 In the rest of this Part we shall examine some of the forms in which this loss of self-determination through loss of harmony is manifested.

1 See III. C (i)(d), vol. iii, p. 216, above.


1. New Wine in Old Bottles

{IV.C.III.(b)1, p. 133} In the last chapter we came to the conclusion that a society breaks down through a loss of harmony between its parts which is paid for by the society as a whole in a loss of self-determination. One source of disharmony between the institutions of which a society is composed is the introduction into the life of the society of new social forces—aptitudes or emotions or ideas2—which the existing set of institutions was not originally designed to carry.

The destructive effect of this incongruous juxtaposition of 'things new and old' 3 has been pointed out in one of the most famous of the sayings that are attributed to Jesus:

'No man putteth a piece of new cloth unto an old garment, for that which is put in to fill it up taketh from the garment, and the rent is made worse. Neither do men put new wine into old bottles—else the bottles break and the wine runneth out and the bottles perish; but they put new wine into new bottles, and both are preserved.'4

In the domestic economy from which this simile is taken the precept can, of course, be carried out to the letter, because the cloth and the garment and the wine and the bottles are material chattels over which the householder has an absolute power of disposal. But in the economy of social life men's power to order their affairs at will on a rational plan is narrowly restricted, since a society is not the chattel of any owner, but is the common ground of many men's fields of action; and for this reason a precept which is common sense in the economy of the household and practical wisdom in the life of the spirit is a counsel of perfection in social affairs.

Ideally, no doubt, the introduction of any new dynamic forces or creative movements into the life of a society ought to be accompanied by a reconstruction of the whole existing set of institutions if a healthy social harmony is to be preserved; and, in the actual history of any growing civilization, there is in fact a constant remodelling or readjustment of the most flagrantly anachronistic institutions ex hypothesi, at least to the minimum extent that is necessary in order to save the civilization from breaking down. At

1 See III. C (i) (d), vol. iii, p. 216, above.
2 See Part II. B, vol.i, p. 191, above.
3 Matt. xiii. 52.
4 Matt. ix. 16-17.

{p.134}the same time, sheer vis inertiae tends at all times to keep most parts of the social structure as they are, in spite of their frequent incongruity with the new social forces that are constantly being brought into action by the creative energies of the growing society as its growth proceeds;1 and in this situation the new forces are apt to operate in two diametrically opposite ways simultaneously. On the one hand they perform the creative work which it is their business to perform by finding vent either in new institutions \\hich they have established for themselves or in old institutions which they have successfully adapted to serve their purposes; and, in pouring themselves into these harmonious channels, they promote the welfare of the civilization by giving fresh impetus to its clan. At the same time they also enter, indiscriminately, into any institutions which happen to lie in their path—as some immensely powerful head of steam which had forced its way into an engine-house might rush into the works of any old engine that happened to be installed there.

In such an event one or other of two alternative disasters is apt to occur. Either the pressure of the new head of steam is so very much higher than the maximum pressure which the old-fashioned engine was originally built to bear that the works simply explode and are blown to pieces when the steam has entered into them; or else the antique plates and castings do 'stand the racket’, and then the disaster takes an even more destructive and a far more monstrous turn. The unprecedentedly powerful 'drive’ of the new motive-force then sets the old machinery to work in a way which was never contemplated by its makers. If it was a rather unsatisfactory machine, the tolerably bad results which it originally produced are now magnified to an intolerable degree; and even if it was a fairly satisfactory machine, the tolerably good performance that was originally obtained from it may have amazing and appalling effects now that the machine has been so powerfully ‘keyed up'. The dentist's implement which delicately files away the decayed tip of a tooth when it is operated with the proper power may perhaps pierce the palate to the brain, and cause the patient's death instead of giving him a salutary relief, if the strength of the electric

1 It was in this aspect, as obstacles to progress, that institutions were envisaged by the eighteenth-century French Encyclopaedists, and in particular by Condorcet (Bury, J. B.: The idea of Progress (London 1924, Macmillan), pp.210-11) The same point is made by Walter Bagehot in his Physics and Politics, 10th edition (London 1894, Kegan Paul), p. 149: ‘The very institutions which most aid at step number one are precisely those which most impede at step number two.’ Bagehot illustrates this thesis by the case of the institution of Caste. After pointing out (op. cit., p. 148) that Caste is of value to primitive societies in helping them to reconcile the two desiderata of social igidity and social variety, he goes on (op. cit., p. 149) to point out that ‘several non-caste nations have continued to progress, but all caste nations have stopped early, though some have lasted long’. In fact, 'progress would not have been the rarity it is if the early food had not been the late poison’ (op. cit., p. 74).

{p.135} current is suddenly increased out of all measure. Similarly, a drug which acts as a potent stimulant when it is taken in a minute quantity may work with equal potency as a poison if the dose is largely increased.

To translate these parables into terms of social life, the explosions of the old engines which cannot stand the new steam-pressure—or the burstings of the old bottles which cannot stand the fermentation of the new wine—are the revolutions which sometimes overtake institutions that have become anachronisms.1 On the other hand the baneful performances of the old engines which have successfully stood the strain of being 'keyed up’ are the social enormities which a ‘die-hard’ institutional anachronism sometimes engenders.

Revolutions may be defined as retarded, and proportionately violent, acts of mimesis. The mimetic element is of their essence; for every revolution always has reference to something that has happened already elsewhere—at an earlier moment and on a different spot from the place and the time at which the revolutionary outbreak of violence occurs—and it is always manifest, when the revolution is studied in its historical setting, that this outbreak would never have occurred of itself if it had not been thus evoked by a previous play of external forces.2 The element of retardation is likewise of the essence of revolutions; and it is this that accounts for the violence which is their most prominent feature. Revolutions are violent because they are the belated triumphs of powerful new social forces over tenacious old institutions which have been temporarily thwarting and cramping these new expressions of life. The longer the obstruction holds out, the greater becomes the pressure of the force whose outlet is being obstructed;

1 For tins theory of the nature of revolutions see Teggart, F. J.: The Processes of History (New Haven 1918, Yale University Press), p. 130, following Walter Bagehot's Physics and Politics.
2 This external factor in the genesis of revolutions is impossible to ignore in those cases where a revolution in the social structure of one society is evoked by the impact of social forces that emanate from a different society (this class of cases is dealt with in Parts IX and X below). But the operation of the external factor can always be detected, on close inspection, in the history of any revolution, even when the whole movement works itself out within one single society's bosom. For instance, 'the confluence of French theory with American example caused the [French] Revolution to breakout' when it did (Lord Acton, quoted by Bury, J. B.: The Idea of Progress (London 1924, Macmillan, p. 203). In both these varieties of a substantially identical experience the social structure of the passive party to the encounter is apt to oppose so obstinate a resistance to the impinging force that, when this force does eventually break through, the resolution of forces takes a revolutionary form. 'The great events of history that strike the eye are generally the sequel to a long process of preparation, and most of them constitute the conclusion and climax of some process that is less conspicuous than they are. It is only when the Hellenic idea has quietly and silently permeated the East that Alexander—following the direction thereby given to him—goes on the war-path and founds his empire. It is only when the French idea has pushed its way right across Germany and on beyond into Russia that Napoleon goes on the war-path and seeks to extend the realm of French glory by force of arms' (Frobenius, L.: Paideuma (Frankfurt 1928, Frankfurter Societä ts-Druckerei), p. 276).

{p.136} and the greater this pressure, the more violent the explosion in which the imprisoned force ultimately breaks through.'

As for the social enormities that are the alternatives to revolutions these may be defined as the penalties that a society has to pay when the act of mimesis which ought to have brought an old institution into harmony with a new social force has been, not simply retarded, but frustrated altogether.

It will be seen that, whenever some new aptitude or emotion or idea arises in the life of any society, this new force is likely, in proportion to its strength and its range and its importance, to come into collision with a greater or a lesser number of the society's existing institutions, and each of these collisions may have any one of three alternative outcomes. The obstructive institution may either be brought into harmony with the new force promptly and peaceably through some constructive social adjustment; or it may be eliminated tardily and violently through a revolution; or it may succeed in defying both adjustment and elimination, and in this last event some social enormity will result from the unnatural 'drive’ which will now be put into the intractable institution automatically by the new force that has failed to master it. It is evident that, whenever the existing institutional structure of a society is challenged by the impact of a new social force, each and all of these three possible alternative outcomes of the collision may actually he realized simultaneously in respect of different parts of the structure; and it is further evident that the ratio in which the three outcomes are represented in the total result of this particular round of Challenge-and-Response will be a matter of momentous importance in the working out of the society's destiny.

If the adjustments predominate over the revolutions and the enormities, then the well-being of the society will be maintained and the continuation of its growth will be assured during the current chapter of its history. If the predominant outcomes are revolutionary, then the fortunes of the society in this chapter will he 'on the razor's edge'. It is possible that the revolutions may save the society's life by blasting away a number of anachronistic institutions which have not proved amenable to pacific adjustment and which would have rankled into enormities if they had proved altogether intractable; it is equally possible that the havoc made

1 This explains, for example, the violence of the revolution through which a Catholic France caught up with a Protestant England at the close of the eighteenth century. The reason why there was no explosion of that violence in England at that time was that in England, in contrast to France, the medieval institutional obstructions to the modern social forces had already been partially broken down by stages in previous centuries—in a sixteenth-century religious reformation and in a seventeenth-century political upheaval. On this point see Masaryk, T. G.: The Spirit of Russia, English translation (London 1919, Allen & Unwin, 2 vols.), vol. ii, pp. 495 and 517-23.

{p.137} by the revolutionary outbreaks may be so great (and, in every revolution, there is always a heavy bill of social damages to pay) that no amount of social liberation can compensate for it, and then the society may suffer almost as severely as if the predominant outcomes in this instance had been not revolutions but enormities. Finally, if the perversion of anachronistic institutions into enormities predominates over the elimination of them through violent revolutions or the conversion of them, through pacific and constructive adjustments, into satisfactory vents for the new social forces, then the dislocation of the whole social structure may be so serious that a breakdown may be virtually impossible to avoid.1

In the historic breakdowns of civilizations this working out of the principle of Challenge-and-Response in the medium of institutions has indeed played an important part; and now that we have formulated it a priori in the imagery of a parable, we shall perhaps do well to study it in the life by resorting once more to our well-tried method of an empirical survey.

1 'Catastrophes are necessary to free the World from the monstrosities that periodically torment it. Powerful as he is, Man is an imperfect and unbalanced creature, and he always ends by exaggerating the principles, aspirations and needs most in keeping with his nature to such a monstrous pitch that they become unbearable afflictions. The most splendid civilisations have perished either directly through the action of these insufferable miscreations or indirectly through Man's desperate efforts to get rid of them (Ferrero, G.: Peace and War, English translation (London 1933, Macmillan), pp. 92-3). Thin tendency in human nature is discussed further in this Study in IV. C (iii) (c) 2 (γ), Annex, pp. 635-9, below.

8. The Impact of Italian Efficiency upon Transalpine Government

{IV.C.III.(b)8, p. 198} We have now examined six formidable disharmonies that have been produced in the institutional structure of our Western Society, directly or indirectly, by the impact of the two new forces of Democracy and Industrialism within the last hundred and fifty years. We may glance next at one or two similar events in earlier chapters of our Western history and in the histories of certain other civilizations, and we may close the inquiry upon which we are here engaged by observing the same play of forces in several situations which are apt to arise in the histories of all civilizations alike.

One example from an earlier chapter of our own Western history is the disharmony that was produced, in the transition between our 'Medieval' and our ‘Modern’ Age, by the impact of Italian Efficiency upon Transalpine Government.

We have observed already, at an earlier point in this Study, that in the medieval Italian cosmos of city-states Efficiency impinged upon Government, and was perverted into Autocracy, from the opening of the fourteenth century of the Christian Era onwards;1 and that, when the medieval Italian culture radiated out into the Transalpine parts of Western Christendom, one of the effects, in the political sphere, was to transform the medieval Transalpine feudal monarchies into autocracies on a supra-Italian scale but on the efficient Italian pattern—with the result that, in every Transalpine country except England, the indigenous Transalpine parliamentary institutions wilted away. This introduction, into the Transalpine World, of an Italian political absolutism which was alien to the Transalpine genius threatened to produce a political enormity which might provoke, in turn, a revolutionary reaction. The response

1 See III. C (ii) (b), vol. iii, pp. 354-7, above.

{p.199} which was demanded by this challenge to the political abilities of the Transalpine peoples was manifestly an avoidance of the autocratic short cut through some adjustment of the old indigenous parliamentary institutions to the new standard of administrative efficiency; and in England this response was duly made because in England, by the time of the Italian impact, the parliamentary system had already been developed to a higher degree of efficiency than in France or in Aragon or in Castile.1 In England the attempt of the Crown in the sixteenth century to impose the Italian standard of administrative efficiency upon the country at the price of Autocracy was victoriously resisted in the seventeenth century by the Parliament, which demonstrated its ability to govern at least as efficiently as the Crown without the sacrifice of the country's traditional institutions. In its victory over the English Crown the English Parliament found a path for the peoples of other Transalpine countries to follow; but this path was not easy.

Even in England itself the parliamentary solution of the problem did not prevail over the autocratic solution without a certain delay and therefore not altogether without a revolutionary struggle. From the accession of King Henry VII to the accession of King Charles I it looked—at any rate on a superficial view—as though in England, as in other Transalpine countries, Autocracy on the Italian pattern was to sweep the medieval system of government away; and this English trend towards Autocracy persisted for about a hundred and fifty years before it was violently reversed during the momentous half-century that began with the outbreak of the Civil War in A.D. 1642 and ended with 'the Glorious Revolution’ of A.D. 1688. Indeed, if the abortive revival of Autocracy in the early years of King George III is taken into the reckoning, it may even be argued that it required the American Revolutionary War in the New World to make English parliamentary government finally secure at home.

A fortiori it required revolutions to overthrow an Autocracy which had secured a tighter grip, over a longer period, upon the political life of the Continental Transalpine countries and of the British colonies in North America—towards which the Parliament at Westminster showed the countenance of a Strafford and not of a Hampden. Accordingly, in the Thirteen Colonies, the overthrow of Autocracy exacted the price of the Revolutionary War of A.D. 1775-83, and, in France, the price of the series of political eruptions which began in 1789 and continued until 1871. The French in the nineteenth century and the Americans in the eighteenth century had to pay a heavier price than the British in the seventeenth

1 See III. C (ii) (b), vol. iii, pp. 357-62, above.

{p.200} century in order to purchase the same political benefits;1 but the nemesis of delay is demonstrated still more forcibly by the case of Germany. Alone among the leading peoples of the Western World, the Germans retained an element of Autocracy in their government after A.D. 1871; and, although there was a large infusion of Parliamentarism in the constitution of the Bismarckian Reich, the survival into the twentieth century of even a remnant of a sixteenth-century autocratic régime in the government of one of the Great Powers of the Western World was sufficient to involve not only Germany herself, but all the other countries that were members of the Great Society of the day, in the catastrophe of A.D. 1914.

1 This retardation in the replacement of Autocracy by Parliamentarism in the Governments of the United States and France—a delay which condemned these two countries to purchase their constitutional transformation at the cost of a more destructive political and social upheaval than England had to undergo in passing through the same process at an earlier date—had the posthumous effect of making the, derivative forms which this Parliamentarism took, in its belated acclimatization on French and American soil, more convenient models for mimesis by the rest of the World than the English original. In general the latter-day parliamentary institutions of the Central and East European countries have been inspired less by English Parliamentarism than by French, and those of the Latin-American countries, again, less by the English model than by the Constitution of the United States. This fact, and the explanation of it, have already been noticed above (in III. C (ii) (b), vol. iii, pp. 370-1). The explanation is that the English original has been virtually impossible to transplant because it is a spontaneous and peculiar outcrop from the English soil, whereas the American and French derivatives, being the successful products of a deliberate and artificial transplantation, lend themselves much more readily to a repetition of the same process. The unwritten constitution of the Kingdom of England, and of the United Kingdom into which it incorporated itself in A.D. 1707, has evolved, in and since the seventeenth century, quite empirically, as a direct embodiment of political practice, without either a prelude or an aftermath of political theory. On the other hand, in the history of both the American and the French Parliamentarism, the effect of the retardation in achievement ha« been to make theory (based on a study of English practice and not on first-hand American and French experience) come first, so that in these two cases theory, instead of being anticipated and elbowed out by practice, has had time to establish itself in its own right as a recognized political authority to which subsequent political experience must bow, It is this course of historical events that has given the French and American Parliamentarism that doctrinaire or academic touch which distinguishes them both from our British Parliamentarism; and it is precisely this academic quality—the mellow fruit of a belated development—that has made the French and American constitutions more convenient than the British to imitate.

10. The Impact of the Solonian Economic Revolution upon the
International Politics of the Hellenic World

{IV.C.III(b)10,p.206} The contrast, which we have just touched upon, between the political histories of Athens and Rome has brought out the fact that the comparative success of Athens in her domestic politics was offset by a signal Athenian political failure in the field of international affairs; and this may serve to remind us that we have still

{p.207} to examine the effect, in this field, of the impact of the Solonian economic revolution upon Hellenic political life. In a previous age, when exceptionally favourable opportunities for sheer extensive geographical expansion had made it possible for the Hellenic Society to provide for a growing population without departing from the old-fashioned economic system of subsistence farming, the self-sufficiency (αύτάρκεια) of each single Hellenic city-state, on every plane of social activity, was a simple matter of fact. The Solonian economic revolution was needed in order to solve the new economic problem of continuing to provide for a population which had not ceased to grow, yet finding this provision within the limits of a Hellenic World whose expansion had been cut short by the successfully organized resistance of its Syriac and barbarian neighbours. The solution lay, as we have seen,1 in changing over from subsistence farming to a specialized production—industrial as well as agrarian—with a view to exchange; but this solution involved the abandonment of economic self-sufficiency, since the new economic system of specialization and exchange could not be made to yield the enhanced productivity which was its object, so long as its field of action was confined within the narrow limits of the standard-size city-state domain.

In order to produce its fruits, the new economy must burst the bounds of the single city-state and operate freely over a vastly larger area, embracing not only the entire Hellenic World but also Egypt in one direction and Scythia in another and the African and European hinterlands of the West Mediterranean Basin in a third. In fact, the Solonian economic revolution could not be carried out without enlarging the ordinary working unit of Hellenic economic life from a city-state scale to an oecumenical scale; and the historical fact that this economic revolution did take place means that this great enlargement of the field of economic operations was actually achieved. By the beginning of the fifth century B.C. the immense area whose range has just been indicated had actually come to be the normal field of economic activity for the wine-growers and olive-oil producers and potters and merchants and sailors of economically progressive Hellenic city-states like Miletus and Corinth and Aegina and Athens. But this expansion of the range of economic activity from a parochial to an oecumenical scale solved an economic problem only to create a political problem; and the solution of the economic problem remained precarious so long as the consequent political problem had not been solved with equal success along its own lines.

The Milesians and Aeginetans could never count, for certain,

1 In IV. C (iii) (b) 9, p. 201, above.

{p.208} on the livelihood which they had learnt to gain through an oecumenical economic activity, unless their freedom of economic action in this oecumenical field were guaranteed by the establishment of some kind of political order on the same oecumenical scale. So long as the ordinary working unit of Hellenic political life continued to be the city-state whose limits had now been so far transcended on the economic plane, it was possible that a political conflict between city-states, in the shape of war or privateering or piracy, might at any moment arbitrarily cut short those oecumenical economic activities which had now become indispensable for the maintenance of the increased and increasing population of Aegina or Miletus individually and of Hellas as a whole. In short, in the international field the Solonian economic revolution confronted the Hellenic Society with the necessity for establishing a political world order. The accomplished fact of the abolition of city-state self-sufficiency on the economic plane now called for its abolition on the political plane as well; and when the transition from a parochial to an oecumenical range had just been successfully achieved on the one plane, there was no apparent reason, a priori, why it should not be achieved on the other plane in due course.

The obstacle in the way was the inherited political institution of City-State Sovereignty; and the removal of this obstacle to political solidarity was the task which was set by Fate to Hellas when the fifth century B.C. opened. The obstacle, however, became more formidable in the act of being grappled with; for this City-State Sovereignty which had previously been taken for granted began to draw attention and inspire affection as soon as it became evident that its existence was threatened. From the opening of the fifth century B.C. onwards the whole of the rest of Hellenic political history can be formulated in terms of an endeavour to transcend City-State Sovereignty and of the resistance which this endeavour evoked.1 Before the fifth century closed, the obstinacy of the resistance to the accomplishment of this urgent political task had brought the Hellenic Civilization to its breakdown; and though the problem which had baffled an Athenian first attempt to solve it was eventually solved in a fashion by Rome, it was not solved in time to prevent the disintegration of the Hellenic Society from running its course to its final dissolution.2 In this outcome of the impact of the Solonian economic revolution upon the international

1 For the idolization, in the Hellenic World, of the institution of the Sovereign City-State see IV. C (iii) (c) 2 (β), pp. 303-20, below.
2 This explanation of the breakdown and disintegration of the Hellenic Civilization has been touched upon, by anticipation, in Part III. B, vol. iii, p. 122, footnote 3, and in III. C (ii) (b), vol. iii, p. 340, footnote 1, above. See also V. C (ii) (b), vol. vi, pp. 287-91, below.

{p.209} politics of the Hellenic World the alternatives of adjustment, revolution, and enormity present themselves once again.

In this case the solution of the problem through adjustment lay in a permanent limitation of City-State Sovereignty by voluntary agreement between the city-states themselves for the sake of providing the necessary political security for a now indispensable economic intercourse.

A treaty apparently dating from about the middle of the fifth century B.C., and embodying an agreement to such effect between two city-states on the western shore of the Crisaean Gulf, has come into the hands of the modern Western historian through the accident of archaeological discovery;1 and since the two high contracting parties were, both of them, small and obscure communities, while the district in which they were situated—the Ozolian or 'colonial' Locris—is included by Thucydides in a region of North-Western Continental Greece which he takes as a 'living museum’ of the elsewhere obsolete Hellenic Society of the Dark Age,2 we may reasonably conjecture that a practice which had spread to this backward part of Hellas by about the year 440 B.C. had become general throughout the Hellenic World in the course of the first half of the fifth century. The type of treaty of which this surviving treaty between Oeanthea and Chaleum may be taken as a late and unimportant example, is a bilateral agreement between two city-states for the enactment between them, ad hoc, of a rudimentary code of international law to govern their economic relations with each other; and no doubt this expedient for dealing with the new problem of international politics was useful as far as it went. At the same time it is manifest that the results must have fallen far short of what was needed. For instance, the treaty between Oeanthea and Chaleum, by itself, can hardly have contributed appreciably to the security of international trade and seafaring even in the waters of the Crisaean Gulf; for there were several other equally small and obscure, but also equally sovereign, city-states which were likewise 'riverain Powers'; and all the 'riverain Powers', between them,

1 The bronze tablet on which the text is inscribed was found at Galaxfdhi (the latter-day equivalent of the Hellenic Oeanthea) and is now in the British Museum. The text is printed, with a translation and commentary, by E. L. Hicks and G. F. Hill in A Manual of Greek Historical Inscriptions, 2nd edition (Oxford 1901, Clarendon Press), pp. 73-6. The treaty provides that 'no Oeanthean, if he make a seizure, shall carry off a foreign merchant from Chalean soil, nor a Chalean a merchant from Oeanthean soil; nor shall either Oeanthean or Chalean seize a merchant's cargo within the territory of the other city. If any one breaks this rule, it shall be lawful to seize him with impunity....' On the same tablet there is also inscribed, in a different hand, the text of regulations made in one of the two contracting states (presumably in Oeanthea, where the tablet was found) for assuring to resident aliens the enjoyment of their treaty-made legal rights.
2 Thucydides, Book I, chap. 5. For this social backwardness of North-Western and Northern Greece in the second chapter of the history of the growth of the Hellenic Civilization see III. C (ii) (b), Annex IV, vol. iii, pp. 478-9, above.

{p.210} would only have accounted for a small fraction of the shipping which plied within sight of their shores; for this waterway was one of the main approaches to the Pan-Hellenic shrine at Delphi, and in the fifth century B.C. Delphi was in communication with almost every community in the Hellenic World, as far afield as Cyrene and Trebizond and Marseilles. In order to provide effectively, by means of bilateral treaties, for the security of all ships and merchandise that had occasion to traverse the Crisaean Gulf, the single bilateral treaty between Oeanthea and Chaleum would have to be supplemented by a vast network of such treaties, not only binding the local riverain Powers among themselves, but also binding each of them to almost every other state-member of the Hellenic Society,1 When we consider further that the Crisaean Gulf, though an important sea-route in itself, was only a minute fraction of the total surface of the Mediterranean and its annexes, and that almost the whole of this area was embraced, at this date, in the field of Hellenic maritime trade,2 we can see at once that the creation of anything like a comprehensive and uniform system of oecumenical law-and-order in the Hellenic World on a basis of voluntary bilateral treaties was a Psyche's task.

As a matter of historical fact, we find that, in those attempts at establishing a Hellenic world order which came the nearest to success, a network of voluntary bilateral treaties was only one of several bases on which the structure was reared. In these relatively successful experiments a local enterprise in treaty-making was re-inforced by the stimulus of a general emergency and by the leadership of a single predominant Power. The Delian League (vivebat 478-454 B.C.) was established under the stimulus of the Pan-Hellenic war of defence and liberation (gerebatur 480-478 B.C.) against the Achaemenian Power, and under the leadership of Athens, whose naval strength had made her the saviour of Hellas and left her the mistress of the Eastern Mediterranean. The Roman Empire was established under the stimulus of a paroxysm of war and revolution which threatened the Hellenic Society with imminent dissolution in the last century B.C., and under the leadership of Rome, who had already (between 220 and 168 B.C.) delivered 'the knock-out blow’

1 It is significant that the bilateral Chaleo-Oeanthean treaty, above quoted, goes on to say that 'the property of a foreigner (i.e. a citizen of any third state) may be seized on the sea without incurring the penalty, except in the actual harbour of the city'.
2 The only Mediterranean waters that were a mare clausum to the Hellenes at this time were those bounded by the north coast of North Africa west of a point just north by west of Carthage, by the south-east coast of Spain as far as a point at some unknown distance north-east of (the future site of) Cartagena, and by the Carthaginian insular possessions in the Balearic Islands, Sardinia, and the western tip of Sicily. For the light thrown upon the limits of this Carthaginian preserve by the terms of successive commercial treaties between Carthage and Rome see Strachan-Davidaon, J. L.: Selections from Polybius (Oxford 1888, Clarendon Press), pp. 65-70.

{p.211} to all other Great Powers in the Hellenic World of that age.1 The circumstances show that, in Hellenic history, the establishment of a political world order by process of adjustment was never even approached without a potent admixture of the untoward elements of revolution and enormity. The revolutionary way of constructing an oecumenical political framework for an oecumenical field of economic activity was to abrogate the institution of City-State Sovereignty altogether, by force majeure, and to bring the whole of the ground, when it had been cleared of previous obstructions by this high-handed method, under the common roof of a single universal state. The enormity which was the penalty of failure to achieve a world order by either adjustment or revolution was an agglomeration of city-states in which a certain measure of city-state autonomy was preserved, but in which the association between the participating communities was neither on a voluntary basis nor on an equal footing, but was maintained by a forcible and selfish domination of some single city-state over all the rest. This inequitable system of association was evidently the line of least resistance for arriving at a compromise between an old parochial tradition and the new necessity of transcending it; but it was none the less an enormity inasmuch as it only transcended the old parochialism in a material sense, while morally it capitulated to it by allowing one strong parochial community to indulge its egotism to an unprecedented degree at its weaker neighbours' expense. The moral condemnation which this enormity evoked in Hellenic consciences was not averted by the euphemistic title of 'hegemony' (das Führerprinzip) by which a 'tyrant-city’ preferred to describe its twofold exploitation of its own superiority in military power and of the World's need for political unity.

If we let our minds run over the course of Hellenic history, we shall observe that this enormity of 'hegemony’, as well as the revolutionary alternative of the Gleichschaltung of City-State Sovereignty by a merger into a universal state, was already a familiar phenomenon in the Hellenic World before the foundation of the Delian League; and we shall also observe that in the Roman Empire—which belatedly and partially succeeded, where the Delian League had failed, in establishing a Hellenic world order through an association of city-states—the vicious element of 'hegemony’ far outweighed the salutary element of freedom, and was only eliminated, in the course of the Empire's history, by a gradual process of Gleichschaltung which destroyed the autonomy of all Rome's subject cities pari passu with the ascendancy of Rome herself.

If we examine rather more in detail the circumstances in which

1 See the quotation from Polybius in III. C (ii) (b), vol. iii, pp. 312-13, above.

{p.212} the Delian League was founded in 478 B.C., we shall find, as we might expect, that its organizer, the Athenian statesman Aristeides, was working, not in a political vacuum, but in an atmosphere of political precedents of which his work distinctly bears the marks. It would have been strange if Aristeides had borrowed nothing from the institution of 'hegemony', when Athens herself had been living under the 'hegemony' of Sparta, off and on and in varying degrees, ever since the Spartan King Cleomenes had expelled the Peisistratidae from Athens in 511 B.C.1 Indeed, the very occasion which had called for the establishment of the Delian League was the renunciation of this Spartan hegemony in 478 B.C. in respect of Athens and those Asiatic Greek communities which had just been liberated from Achaemenian rule; and if the Lacedaemonian Government had not made this deliberate withdrawal2 it is safe to say that the Delian League would never have been called into existence at all. In the circumstances it was natural that the Athenians should step into the Spartans' shoes and should include an element of Athenian 'hegemony' in the structure of an Athenian-made experiment in a Hellenic world order.

It was equally natural that, in framing a new international régime for a constellation of Hellenic city-states which had been incorporated, for some sixty or seventy years past, in the Achaemenian Empire, Aristeides should borrow certain convenient institutions to which these communities had grown accustomed under the Achaemenian régime from which they had just been liberated. The Achaemenian precedent is unmistakably accountable for an arrangement so alien from the indigenous Hellenic tradition of city-state sovereignty as the imposition of a money-contribution to a federal war-chest at Delos upon states-members of the League which were unable, or disinclined, to contribute an effective contingent of warships to the federal navy;3 and the same alien tendency towards Gleichschaltung, in the characteristic vein of the Achaemenian Empire and of every other universal state,4 may perhaps be discerned

1 See III. C (ii) (b), vol. iii, p. 336, footnote 3, above.
2 For the motives which inspired this Spartan policy see Part III. A, vol. iii, pp. 70-1, above.
3 The majority of the city-states which acquiesced in the payment of a money-tribute as their contribution to the League, and which accepted the assessment that was made by Aristeides, were 'liberated' communities which had previously belonged to the Achaemenian Empire; and for these the tribute was something to which they had long since been broken in. It made little difference to them that the money previously payable to a treasury at Sardis or Dascylium should now be made payable, instead, to a treasury at Delos. It is perhaps significant that Scyros and Carystus,- which were the only two city-states that were brought into the Delian League at the beginning by coercion instead of by consent, had neither of them ever lost their independence to the Achaemenian Empire; and it may also be noted that Naxos and Thasos, which were the first two members of the League that endeavoured to secede, had neither of them had more than a brief taste of Achaemenian domination—Thasos for only thirteen years and Naxos for only eleven years, ending in 479 B.C.
4 For the character and genius of universal states see further Part VI below.

{p.213} likewise in the progressive centralization, in the courts at Athens, of private litigation in suits to which citizens of the 'allied' cities were parties: an infringement of local sovereignty which was perhaps more bitterly resented than the exaction of the monetary tribute. This Athenian attempt to establish a Pan-Hellenic common law and a Pan-Hellenic jurisdiction on an Athenian basis would have been impossible if the Athenians had not possessed, and employed, the means of coercion; this coercion was only thinly veiled by the network of treaties, between Athens and her associates in the Delian League, on which the process of judicial centralization was formally grounded; and this expedient of conjuring into existence an oecumenical system of law-and-order by compelling the city-states to enter into a network of treaties, wholesale, was demonstrably borrowed by the Athenians from their Achaemenian predecessors in the dominion over the Asiatic Greeks. It is recorded that, after the Achaemenian Government had succeeded in suppressing the great Asiatic Greek revolt of 499-494 B.C., Darius's brother ‘Artaphernes, the Statthalter at Sardis, summoned delegates from the [re-subjugated] city-states to his presence, and compelled the Asiatic Greeks to enter into treaties with one another for the regulation, by judicial procedure, of disputes [between their respective ressortissants], in substitution for their [traditional] practice of seeking satisfaction, in such cases, by [methods of barbarism like] piracy and brigandage'.1

It will be seen that if the Delian League was, in one aspect, an endeavour to provide the Hellenic Society with a political world order by a process of voluntary adjustment, it was also partly inspired by the precedents of a Spartan 'hegemony’ and an Achaemenian Gleichschaltung; and in this light the disastrous failure of this endeavour, and of all its successors, no longer appears surprising. Every one of these successive Hellenic attempts at a world order was morally a hybrid product; and the healthy ingredient in the social compound was always eventually overcome by the poisonous ingredients with which it had been contaminated from the outset. Within the brief Time-span of the Pentecontaetia’ (478-431 B.C.) the Delian League degenerated into the international tyranny of the Athenian Empire; the chastisement with whips, which this Athenian imperialism inflicted upon the Hellenic World during the half-century ending in 404 B.C., was renewed and out-done by the chastisement with scorpions which a Roman imperialism inflicted, in its turn, during the two centuries that followed the outbreak of the Hannibalic War; and even when, at last, the long Roman oppression was transmuted into a belated Hellenic world

1 Herodotus: Book VI, chap. 42.

{p.214} order by the genius of Caesar and the remorse of Augustus this magnified reflexion-or travesty-of the Dehan League did not escape in the long run the untoward metamorphosis which had so swiftly overtaken its original. The ultimate fate of the Hellenic cosmos of city-states under the aegis of the Caesars was a Gleichschaltung of the kind to which the Asiatic Greek communities had been subjected already both after the foundation of the Delian League, under the aegis of Athens, and before the foundation of the Delian League, under the aegis of the Achaemenidae. In short, the history of Hellenic endeavours to create a political world order is a tragedy whose gloom is hardly relieved by one brief gleam of sunshine in a Periclean spring and another in an Antonine Indian Summer.1

1 For the Age of the Antonines as ‘the Indian Summer’ of the Hellenic decline and fall see IV. C (ii) (b) 1, pp. 58-61, above.

15. The Impact of Civilization upon Mimesis.

{IV.C.III.(b)15, p. 244} A reorientation of the faculty of mimesis away from the elders and towards the pioneers is, as we have seen,3 the change in the direction of this faculty that accompanies the mutation of a primitive society into a civilization; and the aim in view is the raising of the uncreative mass to a new level that has been reached by a new creative minority. But, because this resort to mimesis is a short cut,4 the attainment of the goal along this road is apt to be illusory.

Where a genuine transmission of the divine fire from soul to soul would have transformed the inner man and have admitted him, in transforming him, into the Communion of Saints, the glib response of mimesis is apt to do no more than transmogrify the Natural Man, Homo Integer Antiquae Virtutis, into the shoddy 'Man in the Street’: a Homo Vulgaris Northcliffii or a Homo Demoticus Cleonis. In that event the impact of Civilization upon mimesis begets the enormity of a pseudo-sophisticated urban crowd, living for its panem et circenses 5 which, on any spiritual criterion, is as signally inferior to the Natural Man in a primitive society as are 'the beasts that perish'.6 This vulgar social enormity is not so inevitable that it cannot be avoided by an adjustment. In fifth-century Athens, for example, the Demos which was exposed to the corrupting influence of the demagogue Cleon's travesty of 'the Education of Hellas' was at the same time being offered pure draughts of the milk of the word7 in the celebrations at the Dionysiac theatre.

1 See Butler, Samuel: Erewhon (London 1872, Triibner), chap. 20 ad fin. and chaps. 2i, 22. 23. Compare the chapter entitled Der Mensch als Sklave der Maschine' in Spengler, O.: Der Untergang des Abendlandes, vol. ii: 'Welthistorische Perspektiven', 1st-15th edition (Munich 1922, Beck), pp. 624-35.
2 For the perilously ambiguous nature of machinery see IV. C (iii) (a), pp. 124-7, above.
3 In Part II. B, vol. i, pp. 191-5, and IV. C (iii) (a), in the present volume, pp. 119-33, above.
4 See III. C (ii) (a), vol. iii, pp. 245-8; and IV. C (iii) (a), in the present volume, p. 128, above.
5 Juvenal, Satires, No. x, 1. 81, quoted already in II. D (vi), vol. ii, p. 214, above.
6 'Man that is in honour and understandeth not is like the beasts that perish' (Psalm xlix. 20).
7 1 Peter ii. 2.

{p.245} Here was a traditional institution which was part of the common people's birthright and in which they remained thoroughly at home while the most daring aesthetic and moral and intellectual pioneers of the age were now using the folk-drama, without ever breaking its traditional mould, as a vehicle for the expression of their own creative ideas. In the fifth-century Attic drama the happy accident that had converted a primitive institution into a mouthpiece for men of genius gave men of goodwill a fleeting opportunity of competing for the guidance of the souls of the Demos against men of Cleon's stamp. But a survey of History seems to show that such opportunities are few and far between; and, even in this Attic case, the opportunity was not successfully taken. Cleon won; and the social enormity which he evoked by stamping the Dêmos with his own image had to be exorcized in the end, not by adjustment, but by revolution. The Cleonian 'Man in the Street', whose entry upon the stage of Hellenic history before the close of the fifth century B.C. is one of the unmistakable symptoms of social decline, eventually redeemed his soul by repudiating, outright, a culture which had failed to satisfy his spirtual hunger because he had only succeeded in filling his belly with the husks.1 As the spiritually awakened child of a dissident proletariat, he worked out his own salvation through the discovery of a higher religion.2

Perhaps these examples may suffice to illustrate the part that is played in the breakdowns of civilizations by the intractability of old institutions to the touch of new social forces.

1 Luke xv. 16
2 For the secession of the internal proletariat from the dominant minority of the Hellenic Society see I. B (iv), vol. i, pp. 40-2, and I. C (i) (a), vol. i, pp. 53-62, above, and Part V. C (i) (c) 2, vol. v, pp. 58-82, below.


2. 'Resting on One's Oars’

(α) The Idolization of an Ephemeral Self.

A Definition of Idolatry.

{IV.C.III.(c)2(α), p. 261} While the attitude of 'resting on one's oars' may be described as the passive way of succumbing to the nemesis of creativity, the negativeness of this mental posture does not certify an absence of moral fault. A fatuous passivity towards the Present springs from an infatuation with the Past; and this infatuation is the sin of idolatry which, in the primitive Hebrew scheme of religion, is the sin most apt to evoke the vengeance of 'a jealous god’. Idolatry may be defined as an intellectually and morally purblind worship of the part instead of the whole, of the creature instead of the Creator, of Time instead of Eternity;1 and this abuse of the highest faculties of the human spirit, and misdirection of its most potent energies, has a fatal effect upon the object of idolization. It accomplishes the perverse and disastrous miracle of transforming one of 'the ineffably sublime works' 2 of God into an 'abomination of desolation, standing where it ought not'.3 In practical life this moral aberration may take the comprehensive form of an idolization of the idolater's own personality, or own society, in some ephemeral phase of the never-ceasing movement from challenge through response to further challenge which is the essence of being alive;4 or, again, it may take the limited form of an idolization of some particular institution, or particular technique, which has once stood the idolator in good stead. It may be convenient to examine these different forms of idolatry separately, and we may start with the idolization of the self, because this will offer us the clearest illustrations of the nature of the sin that we are now setting out to study.
If it is indeed the truth

That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things,5

then the idolator who commits the error of treating one dead self, not as a stepping-stone, but as a pedestal, will be alienating him-

1 See Part I. A, vol. i, p. 9, with footnote 3, and IV. C (iii) (b) 4 and s{ in the present volume, pp. 141-85, above, for the nature of idolatry as exemplified in our modern Western political aberration of Nationalism.
2 Goethe: Faust, 1. 249, quoted in II. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. i, pp. 276 and 279, above.
3 Mark xiii. 14 = Matt. xxiv. 15; cf. Luke xxi. 20. These passages in the New Testament are reminiscences of Daniel ix. 27 and xii, 11.
4 See Part III. B, vol. iii, above.
5 Tennyson: In Memoriam.

{p.262} self from the life of God1 as conspicuously as the stylite devotee who maroons himself on the summit of a lonely column dissevers himself from the world of men.


{IV.C.III.(c)2(α),p. 262} The most notorious historical example of this idolization of an ephemeral self is the error of the Jews which is exposed in the New Testament in a series of passages that we have already quoted2 as incomparable expressions of the motif of περιπέτεια. In a period of their history which began in the infancy of the Syriac Civilization and which culminated in the Age of the Prophets of Israel, the people of Israel and Judah raised themselves head and shoulders above the Syriac peoples round about in responding to the challenge of a Time of Troubles' by rising to a higher conception of Religion.3 Keenly conscious, and rightly proud, of the spiritual treasure which they had thus wrested from an ordeal that had broken the spirit of their Aramaean and Phoenician and Philistine neighbours, the Jews allowed themselves to be 'betrayed, by what' was 'false within',4 into an idolization of this notable, yet transitory, phase of their own spiritual growth. It was, indeed, a mighty feat of spiritual intuition to perceive in the lineaments of a primitive volcano-demon of the Arabian Wilderness the epiphany of a God who was omnipresent and omnipotent. What the Israelites had come to see in their hereditary tribal divinity Yahweh was never apprehended in Chemosh by the Moabites or in Rimmon by the Damascenes or in Melkart by the Tyrians5 or in Dagon by the Philistines. In this chapter of their history the Children of Israel had been gifted with an unparalleled spiritual insight. And then, after having divined a truth which was absolute and eternal, they allowed themselves to be captivated by a temporary and relative half-truth. They persuaded themselves that Israel's discovery of the One True God had revealed Israel itself to be God's Chosen People; and this half-truth inveigled them into the fatal error of looking upon a momentary spiritual eminence, which they had attained by labour and travail, as a privilege conferred upon them by God in a covenant which was everlasting.6 In this delusion—which was a moral as well as an intellectual fault—the Jews 'rested on their oars' when they were called upon to respond to a new challenge which was

1 Ephesians iv. 18.
2 In IV. C (iii) (c) 1, on p. 247, above.
3 See III. C (i) (a), vol. iii, pp. 140-1, above.
4 Meredith: Love's Grave, quoted in IV. C (iii) (a), on p. 120, above.
5 The identification of the Tyrian Melkart with the Hellenic Hêraklês, and the possible influence of this act of religious syncretism upon the mythology and theology of Christianity, are discussed in V. C (ii) (a), Annex II, vol. vi, pp. 465-76, below.
6 See the passages quoted from the Old Testament in II. C (ii) (a) 1, vol. i, p. 246, above.

{p.263} presented to the Syriac Society post Alexandrum by the impact of Hellenism;1 and, through persisting in this posture, they 'put themselves out of the running' for serving once more as pioneers in the next advance of the Syriac spirit. Brooding over a talent which they had perversely sterilized by hiding it in the earth,2 they rejected the still greater treasure which God was now offering them. 'A son of man the Son of God? Was a generation in Jewry that was heir to the whole of God's revelation to Abraham and Moses and the Prophets now called upon to betray this magnificent Jewish spiritual heritage by accepting one of those childishly shocking Hellenic contes of the amours of Zeus which the wisdom of the Greeks themselves had long ago rejected as being neither intellectually nor morally credible of the Godhead?'3 The question had only to be framed in order to answer itself in the negative in the mind of an orthodox Jew of the generation of Jesus. And so it came to pass that the Gospel of a Jewish Messiah who was God Himself incarnate was preached by Galilaeans and taken to heart by Gentiles.

1 For this challenge see III. C (ii) (b), vol. iii, pp. 263-4, above, and V. C (i) (d) 9 (β), vol. vi, pp. 103-5, below.
2 Matt, xxv. 25.
3 For the points of likeness and difference between the story of the conception and birth of Jesus in the Matthaean and Lucan prologues to the Gospel and the similar stories that are told of certain pagan heroes of Hellenic history see V. C (ii) (a), vol. vi, pp. 267-75, and V. C (ii) (a), Annex II, vol. vi, pp. 450-1. below.

The Religion of Humanity.

{IV.C.III.(c2(α), p. 300} In all the instances of idolization which we have examined in this chapter so far, the idol on to which the adulation of an ephemeral self has been projected has been fashioned out of some fraction of Mankind: a camarilla or a community or a race. We have still to consider the case in which the self is idolized in the shape of Humanity at large with a capital “H’.

This idolatrous worship of Leviathan has been advocated in all seriousness by one of our modern Western philosophers,1 Auguste Comte (vivebat A.D. 1798-1857).

’The whole of Positive conceptions [is condensed in] the one single idea of an immense and eternal Being, Humanity…. Around this real Great Being, the prime mover of each existence, individual or collective, our affections centre by as spontaneous an impulse as do our thoughts and our actions….The growing struggle of Humanity against the sum of the necessities under which it exists2 offers the heart no less than the

1 The Hellenic philosopher-king Alexander's gospel of 'the Brotherhood of Man' (όμόνοια) appears to have been grounded on a worship, not of Humanity but of a God who is the common father of all men (see V. C (i) (d) 7, vol. Vi, pp. 8-10, and V. C (ii) (a), vol. vi, p. 246, footnote 5, below).
2 In this passage, as in many others, Comte frankly admits that his corporate human object of worship is not an absolute or omnipotent godhead (see Caird, E.: The Social Philosophy and Religion of Comte (Glasgow 1885, MacLehose), p. 31). Comte maintained thqat the new science of Scoiology had made it plain that thims limited object of worship was a satisfactory one (Caird, op. cit., pp. 28-9). But hi might not have found it easy to meet his Scottish critic’s objection that ‘a relative religion is not a religion at all’ (Caird, op. cit., p. 165). —A.J.T.

{p.301} intellect a better object of contemplation than the necessarily capricious omnipotence of its theological predecessor1....Humanity definitely substitutes Herself for God, without ever forgetting his provisional services2. . . . We adore Her not as the older god, to compliment Her, but in order to serve Her better by bettering ourselves.’ 3

Comte dreamed of embodying his 'Religion of Humanity’ in the institution of a universal church; but this dream has not yet come true ‘in real life’. Though the atheist French philosopher did his best to animate a lay-figure by dressing it out in garments—at once venerable and familiar—which he ostentatiously plucked from the living body of the Catholic Church, he has not gained the advantage that he expected from his cold-bloodedly pedantic resort to the strategy of Archaism;4 and in our day, when nearly a hundred years have passed since the floruit of the Positivist Prophet, Positivism nowhere survives as a church with a corporate life and a regular order of public worship, except in England, where it has merely added one more to an already long muster-roll of insular sects, and in Brazil.5 It is true that a far wider, as well as more rapid, success has been achieved in our time by a younger and grimmer worship of Humanity which is part and parcel of the creed of Communism.6 The Communist dogmatically and fanatically rules out a belief in the existence of God which the Positivist merely discards as superfluous. Yet while there is no doubt at all about the sincerity of the

1 Comte, A.: The Catechism of Positive Religion, English translation, second edition (London 1883, Trübner), pp. 45-6.
2 Comte, op. cit., p. 294.
3 Comte, pp. cit., p. 61. See further eundem: Système de Politique, vol. 1 (Paris 1851 Matties, Carilian, Goeury et Delmont), Discours Prélimmaire, Conclusion Générale: 'Religion de l’Humanité’; vol. ii (1852), chap, i: 'Théorie Générale de la Religion, ou Théorie Positive de l’Unité Humaine'; vol. iv (1854), ‘Conclusion Générale du Tome ivme, p. 524, on the emancipation of the Vrai Grand Être from a fictitious God.
4 For the deliberately imported vein of Archaism in Comte's 'Religion of Humanity’ see V. C (i) (d) 8 (δ), vol. vi, p. 83, footnote 2, below.
5 After Comte's death his followers in England parted company with those in France .over the question whether the apostles of the Positivist Church should, or should not, wait till they had convinced the intellect before they appealed to the emotions. The English Positivists were in favour of going out into the highways and hedges and seeking to convert the women and the proletarians en masse and, in support of this policy of giving the claims of the heart a priority over those of the head, they cited the precedent of the Primitive Christian Church as well as the authority of their own Master, Comte, himself. An account of this controversy in the bosom of the Positivist Church in its Apostolic Age will be found in Caird, E.: The Social Philosophy and Religion of Comte (Glasgow 1885, MacLehose), pp. 171-6.
6 On the vexed question whether Communism is to be reckoned as a religion or as a philosophy or merely as a political programme, it will be sufficient—for our present purpose—to point out that Communism at any rate answers to the definition of what constitutes a religion according to Comte. In Comte's view a religion is a comprehensive coherent conception of the Universe which gives us an object upon which we can fix all our affections and an aim to which we can devote all our energies (Caird, op. cit., pp. 24-7; cr. p. 159). The nature and tendency of Communism are examined further in this Study in V. C (i) (c) 2, vol. v, pp. 177-88, below.

{302} Communist's rejection of the worship of anything superhuman or divine, there is a distinct and increasing doubt about the constancy of his allegiance to an all-embracing Humanity. At any rate in the Soviet Union, where Communism is to-day the established idéologie d'état, there has been showing itself, under the Stalinian régime, a strongly pronounced tendency to withdraw allegiance from Humanity at large in order to concentrate it upon that fraction of the living generation of Mankind that is at present penned within the frontiers of the U.S.S.R.1 In other words, Soviet Communism seems at this moment to be changing under our eyes from a worship of Humanity into the worship of a tribal divinity of the type of Athene Polias or the Lion of Saint Mark or Kathleen na Hoolihan or Britannia.2 And this change suggests that Russian Communism, like British Positivism, may be destined to contract to the dimensions of a parochial sect instead of realizing the dream of its founder by growing into a universal church.

Do these apparently unpromising prospects of both Russian Communism and British Positivism portend in their turn a setback to the worship of the Self in the shape of Humanity at large ? This does not necessarily follow; for, while Comte's dream may not yet have been translated into reality, it is nevertheless still in the air.

'II existe, par-dessus les classes et les nations, une volontéde l’espèce
de se rendre maitresse des choses et, quand un etre humain s'envole en
quelques heures d'un bout de la terre à l’autre, c’est toute la race humaine qui frémit d'orgueil et s’adore comme distincte parmi la creation. . . .
On peut penser parfois qu’un tel mouvement s’affirmera de plus en plus
et que c’est de cette voie que s’éteindront les guerres interhumaines;
on arrivera ainsi à une "fraternité universelle", mais qui, loin d’être
l’abolition de l’esprit de nation avec ses appétits et ses orgueils, en sera
au contraire la forme supreme, la nation s’appelant l’Homme et l’en-
nemi s’appelant Dieu.’ 3

When a worship of the Self is thus projected on to a human hive or columbarium that has room in it for every human being—'dead, living, and unborn—and leaves none but God out in the cold, does the Self cease to be ephemeral and the worship cease to be idolatrous ? This question will be answered in the affirmative not only by Communists and Positivists but also by the more numerous adherents of a vaguer, yet perhaps just on that account more representative, school of humanist thinkers and humanitarian men

1 This change which seems to be coming over the Communism of the Soviet Union is examined further in V. C (i) (c) 2, vol. v, pp. 183-6, below.
2 For the personified political communities that are the idols of a modern Western World, see I. C (iii) (e), Annex, vol. i, pp. 442-3, above.
3 Benda, J.: La Trahison des Clercs (Paris 1927, Grasset), pp. 246-7.

{p.303} of action whose outlook has become the dominant Weltanschauung of our Western Society in its Modern Age.1

Is this answer the last word? The self-worshipper who has given expression to his heart's desire by substituting an image of Humanity for the presence of a Living God in his panorama of the Universe can no doubt proclaim

I am monarch of all I survey;
My right there is none to dispute.

But is there no bitterness in the boast which Cowper has placed in the mouth of Alexander Selkirk ? Is not this monarch a castaway? And must he not pay for his undisputed dominion by living in a spiritual solitude which is an abomination of desolation ?

'Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools and changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible Man ... because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful, bat became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened.' 2

1 At the moment when he was putting these words on paper, the writer of this Study had before him on his desk a letter from an English scholar-statesman who was a humanist and a humanitarian in one; and this letter contained an observation on another passage of the present work (V. C (i) (c) 2, vol. v, pp. 160-1, below) which is perhaps even more pertinent to the present passage:
‘"Self-worship of the Tribe": very good phrase—yet isn't it only wrong because the "self" is so limited? Once get "humanitarian" and make all Humanity your object—
or, better still, if, like the Stoic, you make the Great City of Gods and Man
[see V. C (i) (d) 7, Annex, vol. vi, pp. 332-8, below—A.J.T.] your object—the self-worship gets pretty right and becomes a "higher religion".'
2 Romans i. 22-3 and 21.

(4) The Nemesis of Creativity: Idolization of an Ephemeral Technique
(5) The Suicidalness of Militarism

The Intoxication of Victory

{p. 534} If Hildebrand himself on his death-bed couid have confronted, with foreknowledge of the event, the long array of his coming successors, he would assuredly have cried out, in his Master's words, 'Verily I say unto you that one of you shall betray me';1 and the only plea that could have been offered in self-defence by a then unborn Benedetto Gaetani or Sinibaldo Fieschi would have been that his future betrayal of Hildebrand was already predetermined by Hildebrand's own betrayal of himself. Our catalogue of great Popes, from Gregory VII to Boniface VIII inclusive, proclaims that the elements of greatness which created the Papal Respublica Christiana were also the elements that destroyed it, and that these seeds of destruction were being sown from the outset.

The fall of the Hildebrandine Church is as extraordinary a spectacle as its rise; for all the virtues that had carried it to its zenith seem to change, as it sinks to its nadir, into their own exact antitheses. The divine institution which had been fighting and winning a battle for spiritual freedom against material force was now infected with the very evil which it had set itself to cast out from the body social of Western Christendom. The Holy See which had taken the lead in the struggle against simony now required the clergy throughout the Western World to pay their dues at a Roman receipt of custom for those ecclesiastical preferments which Rome herself had forbidden them to purchase from any local secular power.2 The Roman Curia which had been the head and front of moral and intellectual progress—a tower of strength for the saints who were raising the monastic life to new heights, and for the schoolmen who were creating the universities—now turned itself into a fastness of spiritual conservatism. The ecclesiastical sovereign power in the Christian Republic now suffered itself to be deprived by its local secular underlings—the princes of the rising parochial states of Western Christendom—of the lion's share of the product of financial and administrative instruments which the Papacy itself had skilfully devised in order to make its authority effective;3 and this forfeiture of a share in the product was followed by a forfeiture have reached its apogee until after the migration to Avignon, and the autocratic authority of the Papacy over the Church was only established in and after the pontificate of Martin V (see the present chapter, pp. 573-6, below). On the other hand the moral authority of the Papacy did, surely,1 never recover from the shock which it had sustained in the days of Innocent IV and Boniface VIII.

1 Matt. xxvi. 21.

2 Fees for investiture with ecclesiastical offices had, of course, always been paid to some one—i.e. to the local ordinary and his officials—before ever the controversy over Investiture arose; and, moreover, the payment of a fee upon appointment was not the same thing as the purchase of an office. Yet the essence of the evil which Hildebrand was attacking was the subjection of the life of the spirit to the power of the purse; and this was an evil in which the Papal Curia itself became deeply implicated when its budget was swollen by the portentous cost of the internecine conflict with the Emperor

3 On this point see further pp. 539-40, below.


(1) A General Survey

Is disintegration a necessary and variable consequence of breakdown? Eygptiac and Far Eastern history show that there is an alternative, namely petrification, which was also nearly the fate of the Hellenic Civilization and may be the fate of our own. The outstanding criterion of disintegration is the schism of the body social into three fractions: dominant minority, internal proletariat and external proletariat. What has already been said about these fractions is recapitulated, and the plan of the following chapters is indicated.

(2) The Movement of Schism-and-Palingenesia

In an anticipatory attempt3 to picture to ourselves the progressive estrangement of the Proletariat from the Dominant Minority in the Hellenic World, in the course of the decline of the Hellenic Civilization, we helped ourselves out by quoting a brilliant and penetrating passage from a famous work of a nineteenth-century French philosopher, de Gobineau.4 We may fitly cap this quotation now by another from the Summa Philosophiae of de Gobineau's countryman of an older generation, Saint-Simon,1 for in this passage the social schism that follows the transition from an 'organic period' (i.e. an age of growth) to a 'critical period' (i.e. and age of disintegration)2 is delineated in general terms and not merely with reference to the Hellenic instance.


This Saint-Simonian sketch of the social strife that accompanies the disintegration of any civilization has been almost effaced in the minds of Posterity by that tremendous picture of the class-war which has been painted—in colours borrowed from apocalyptic visions of a repudiated religious tradition—by another Western philosopher of a later generation: the German Jew Karl Marx (vivebat A.D. 1818-83). The extraordinary impression which Marxian materialist apocalypse has made upon so many millions of minds—and this often at second or third hand, and at levels of intellectual culture at which the Master's ipsissima verba would be unintelligible—is, of course, due in part to the political militancy, as well as to the philosophical impressiveness, of the Marxian

3 Bazard, 'Exposition de la Doctrine Saint-Simonienne' in Œuvres de Saint-Simon et d'Enfantin, vol. xli (Paris 1877, Leroux), pp. 171-4.

{p.25} diagram; for while this 'blue-print' is the kernel of a general philosophy of history, it is also a revolutionary call to arms in which the industrial proletariat of our latter-day Western World is incited to secede from a 'capitalist' dominant minority and is invited to carry this act of odious and intolerable yoke against which it is assumed already to have risen in spiritual revolt. Whether the invention and the vogue of the Marxian formula of the class-war are to be taken as signs that the civilization of our Western World, in which the path of disintegration, is a question which will occupy us in a later part of this Study 1 when we come to look at the prospects of this Western Civilization of ours. In this place we have cited Marx for other reasons: first, because he is the classic exponent of the doctrine of the class-war for our world in our age; and, second, because his formula conforms to the traditional Zoroastrian and Jewish and Christian apocalyptic pattern in unveiling, beyond a violent climax, the vision of a gentle finale.

According to the Communist prophet's intuition of the operations of his familiar goddess Historical Materialism or Determinism or Necessity, the class-war is bound to issue in a victorious proletarian revolution; but this bloody culmination of the struggle will also be the end of it; for the victory of the Proletariat will be decisive and definitive and 'the Dictatorship of the Proletariat', by which the fruits of the victory are to be safeguarded and harvested during the post-revolutionary period, is not to be a permanent institution. A time is to come when a new society that has been classless from birth will be old enough and strong enough to dispense with 'the Dictatorship of the Proletariat'—as, in the Gospel story, the paralytic who has been miraculously healed by Jesus demonstrates the reality of the cure by obeying the Master's command to take up his bed and walk.2 Indeed, in its final—and permanent—acme of well-being the New Society of the Marxian Millennium will be able to cast away no only 'the Dictatorship of the Proletariat' but also every other institutional crutch, including the State itself; for in that Marxian earthly paradise to come 'they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels which are in Heaven'.3

The interest of the Marxian eschatology for our present inquiry lies in the surprising yet unquestionable fact that this lingering political shadow of a vanished religious belief does acutely

1 In Part XII, below.

{p.26} plot out the actual course which the class-war, or 'horizontal' schism, in a broken-down society is apt to follow as a matter of historical fact that can be ascertained from an empirical survey of the histories of societies in disintegration. History duly reveals to us in the phenomenon of disintegration a movement that runs through War to Peace; through Yang to Yin;1 and through an apparently wanton and savage destruction of precious things, created in the Past by Time and Toil and Love, to fresh worlds of creation that seen to owe their special quality to the devouring glow of the flame in which they have been forged.

The schism is itself a product of two negative movements, each of which is inspired by an evil passion. First the Dominant Minority attempts to hold force—against all right and reason—a position of inherited privilege which it has ceased to merit; and then the Proletariat repays injustice with resentment, fear with hate, and violence with violence when it executes its acts of secession. Yet the whole movement ends in positive acts of creation—and this on the part of all the actors in the tragedy of disintegration. The Dominant Minority creates a universal state, the Internal Proletariat a universal church, and the External Proletariat a bevy of barbarian war-bands.

These three achievements are, no doubt, extremely unequal in the respective degrees of the creativity that they manifest. We have noticed at an earlier point2 that the universal church, alone of the three, has a prospect in the Future as well as a footing in the Past, while the universal state and the war-bands belong to the Past exclusively. And it hardly needs to be pointed out that, of the two-backward-looking institutions, the barbarian war-bands are poor affairs indeed compared with the universal state. By creating a universal state the Dominant Minority performs the worthy feat of checking, for a time, the process of social disintegration which its own past action has precipitated, and thus enabling the temporarily reprieved society to enjoy a brief 'Indian Summer'.3 In creating barbarian war-bands the External Proletariat has merely sharpened its predatory beak and claws in preparation for a carrion-crow's feast upon a dead civilization's carcass. Nevertheless there is a gleam of creativeness to be discerned, even here, in the contrast that strikes our eye if we compare the war-bands that were led by Theodoric the Ostrogoth to Rome, or by Mu`āwīyah the Umayyad to Damascus, with the hordes of Cimbri and

2 In I.C.(i) (a), vol.i, pp. 56-62, above
3 For the phenomenon of 'Indian Summer' in the penultimate stage of the disintegrations of civilizations see IV.C(ii)(b)I, vol. iv, pp. 56-76, above.

{p.27} Teutones that had flooded across the Alps at the turn of the second and the last century B.C., or with the hordes of Ituraeans that had silted up, at about the same date, out of the North Arabian Desert against the eastern flanks of the Hermon and Antilibanus.1

Thus the social schism that is the outward criterion of the disintegration of a broken-down society is not just a schism and nothing more. When we grasp the movement as a whole, from beginning to end, we find that we have to describe it as Schism-and-Palingenesia2 if we wish to give it a title that does it justice. And, considering that a secession is manifestly a particular manner of withdrawal, we may classify the specific double movement of

2 'Palingenesia' is a Greek word (παλιγγενεσία) which occurs twice in the New Testament—in Matt. xix.28 and in Titus iii.5—and which in both these passages is translated by the English word 'regeneration' in the Authorized Version. This compound abstract substantive noun is derived from the verbal phrase πάλιν γίγνεσθαι, which is used by Plato, in a passage (Timœus, 23 в) that has been quoted in IV.C(i), vol. iv, pp. 24-5, above, to describe the fresh start which has to be made periodically by Human Society in Hellas and elsewhere, in contrast to an allegedly unbroken continuity of Civilization in the Eygptiac World. The substantive was perhaps coined out of the verbal phrase in order to serve as a technical term in the vocabulary of the Stoic philosophy (see Dey, J.: Παλιλλενεσία (Munster i. W. 1937, Aschendorff), pp. 6-13 and 25), which needed a special word to describe the opening of each round of an endlessly and unvaryingly repeated cyclic movement of the Universe. (For this theory of cycles, which is not peculiar to Stoicism, see IV.C(i), vol. iv, pp. 23-38, above.) There is a clear case of this Stoic usage of the word from a Stoic hand in Marcus Aurelius Antonius: Meditations, Book XI, chap. I, and there are nine examples of it
Anti-Stoic treatise De Aeternitate Mundi which is traditionally attributed to the Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria (Dey, op. cit. pp. 8-11). Somewhat later the word seems to have been either borrowed of independently invented for the description of the transmigration of souls in those schools of Hellenic thought into which this doctrine spread (Dey, op. cit., pp. 13-24, 25, and 32). Thereafter the currency of the word spread from the metaphysical to the mundane sphere on the one hand and to the religious sphere on the other. In the mundane sphere πάλιγγενεσία had made its way, by the last century B.C., into the non-technical vocabulary of cultivated circles, and in this environment at this time it was used in a variety of contexts which provide us with our earliest extant historical evidence for its employment (see Dey, op. cit,. pp. 25-30 and 32-3). For example, Josephus uses it (in The Antiquities of the Jewish People, Book XI, sec. 3, chap. 9, § 66) in the sense of a political risorgimento (the return to Judea from Babylonish Captivity), and Cicero (Ad Atticum, vi. 6) in the sense of a personal reinstatement into a temporarily forfeited political position (Cicero's amnesty and return from banishment). In the religious sphere, outside the Christian field, the only worships in which the presence of the concept of παλιγγενεσία can be traced with any certainty are the Hermetic variety of Gnosticism, the so-called 'Mithras Liturgy', and the personal religion of Philo of Alexandria, in so far as this can be reconstructed from his surviving literary works (Dey, op. cit., pp. 36-128 and 132). In the Epistle of Titus the word (παλιγγενεσία) is used to describe the spiritual effect, upon the Soul, of the Christian rite of Baptism; in the Gospel according to Saint Matthew it is used to describe the social effect of the inauguration of the Kingdom of the Messiah.

The literal meaning of 'palingenesia' is 'a recurrence of birth' or, more vaguely, 'a recurrence of coming into existence' (Dey, op. cit., pp. 23 and 33); and in either variant of this meaning there is an element of ambiguity; for the recurrence might refer exclusively to the event of birth (or of coming into existence) or alternatively its reference might extend to the nature of the thing being born (or brought into existence); and while in the latter use of the word 'palingenesia' would mean a repetitive re-birth of something that has been born before, in the former use it would mean an unprecedented new birth of something that is now being born the first time. The Stoic and Orphico-Pythagorean origins of the term indicate (see Dey, op. cit., pp. 7, 23-24, 33, and 125) that, as a matter of history, the use of the word in the sense of 'repetitive re-birth' was the original one. For an application of it in the other possible use, in which it figures in the New Testament, see V.C.(i)(e), vol. vi pp. 160-75, below.

{p.28} Schism-and-Palingenesia as one version of the generic double movement of Withdrawal-and return.1

Schism-and-Palingenesia certainly runs true to the type of Withdrawal-and-Return in so far as the second of beat the movement is the significant feature in it. The happiness of the palingenesia is not only a reparation for the foregoing agony of the schism; it is also the point of the schism, or, in frankly teleological language, its purpose. And in fact we find that, when once the schism has occurred, nothing but frustration results from a closing of the breach before the due palingenesia has been accomplished. A case in point is the 'union sacrée' between the dominant minority of the Eygptiac Society and its internal proletariat against the external proletariat as represented by the Hyksos;2 for it was this reconciliation at the eleventh hour that prolonged the existence of the Eygptiac Society——in a petrified state of life-in-death3—for two thousand years beyond the date when the process of disintegration would otherwise have reached its natural term of dissolution. And this life-in-death was not merely an unprofitable burden to the moribund Eygptiac Society itself: it was also a fatal blight upon the growth of the living Osirian Church4 which had been created by the Eygptiac internal proletariat; for the 'union sacrée' between internal proletariat and dominant minority took the form of an amalgamation of the living worship of Osiris with the dead worship of the official Eygptiac Pantheon; and this artificial act of syncretism killed the religion of the internal

1 For this movement of Withdrawal-and-Return see III. C (ii) (b), in vol. iii, above.
4 The word 'church' is used here, and throughout this Study, to mean no more than the collectivity of the devotees of a certain worship. A collectivity of this kind may be united solely by the inward-spiritual bond of their common worship of the same divinity, or alternatively the inward unity may find an outward expression in some kind of social organization. The classic example of an organised church is, of coarse, the Primitive Christian Church; and this feature of the life of the original Christian community has been preserved no only in the Western Catholic Church but also, on a smaller scale and on a looser rein, in many of the other branches into which the Christian Church has ramified in the course of its history. Another example of a highly organized church is the Eygptiac Church which was established under the presidency of the Chief Priest of Amon-Re of Thebes, by the Pharaoh Thothmes III in the restoration period of Eygptiac history, after the expulsion of the Hyksos (see I.C(iii), vol. ii, p. 145, footnote 5, and IV. C(iii)(c)2(β), vol. iv, p. 421, above, and V.C(ii)(d)6(δ), in the present volume, p. 530, and V.C(ii)(d)6(δ), Annex, pp. 653-4 and 695, below). On the other hand the Osirian Church (see V.C(i))(c)2, pp. 150-2, below), its offshoot the Isiac Church in the post-Alexandrine Hellenic World (see V.C(i)(c)2, pp. 81, and V.C(i)(c)2, the present volume, pp. 84-87, below, are examples of churches of the unorganized kind. For the distinction between these two types of church see further, for the Isiac Church, Nock, A.D.: Conversion (Oxford 1933, Clarendon Press), pp. 135-6 and 147; for the Orphic Church, Boulanger, A.: Orphée Paris 1925, Rieder), p. 50 and Fracassini, U.: Il Misticismo Greco e il Christianesimo (Città di Castello 1922, 'Il Solco'), pp. 83-5. The structure of the Orphic and Isiac churches was 'congregational' rather than 'hierarchical'.

{p.29}proletariat without availing to bring the religion of the dominant minority back to life.

The unfortunate outcome of this Eygptiac 'union sacrée' suggests that this exceptional sequel to a social schism is one of those exceptions to a proven rule; and we may take the broken rule to be that a new birth, rather than a healing of the breach, is the one possible happy ending of a schism, besides being the normal ending of this particular variation on the movement of Withdrawal-and-Return.

We shall hardly be permitted, however, to take our interpretation of Schism-and-Palingenesia in terms of Withdrawal-and-Return for granted without being challenged to account for one feature in Schism-and-Palingenesia which, at first sight, might look as though it were quite incompatible with the nature of Withdrawal-and-Return as this is displayed in the process of growth. We have seen that civilizations owe their growth to the withdrawal and return of a minority——the Creative Minority which withdraws in order to find a response to some challenge that is confronting the whole society, and then returns in order to persuade an uncreative majority to follow it along the path which it has opened up. On the other hand, in the movement of Schism-and-Palingenesia that manifests itself in the process of disintegration, it would seem, at first sight. To be a majority that withdraws in the Secession of the Proletariat, while a minority—'the Dominant Minority'—now remains stolidly stationary. Is not this an exact inversion of the minority's and the majority's respective roles? And does not this mean that, after all, the movement of Schism-and-Palingenesia is of a different order from the movement of Withdrawal-and-Return, instead of being—as we had thought—a variation upon a theme with which we are already familiar?

Our best approach to this question will be to consider one difference, of which we have not yet taken note, between the Dominant Minority in a disintegrating civilization and the Creative Minority to which a growing civilization owes its growth.

In the succession of victorious responses to challenges in which the process of growth consists, the Creative Minority to whose enterprise and energy and resoluteness the victory is due is apt to be recruited from different individuals, with different social heritages and different ideas and ideals, at each successive performance of the drama.1 This is the rule in a growing society even where the powers of government, in the widest sense of the word,
{p.30} are the hereditary monopoly of a close aristocracy of birth;1 for in such circumstances the rule operates within these social limits no less surely than it operates throughout the society in cases where the whole of the society is enfranchised. In an aristocratically governed society that is in process of growth, we find on group of aristocratic families playing the part of Creative Minority in response to one challenge, and a different group in response to the next; and, if eventually the society is confronted with some challenge which is not successfully met by any group at all within the closed aristocratic circle, the aristocracy's failure does not necessarily bring the society's growth to an end; for the new challenge may still evoke a victoriously creative response from some minority in a stratum of the society that has hitherto been given no opportunity of playing a leading part in the society's affairs; and thus the series of challenges and responses, as it lengthens, may give occasion the enfranchisement of one social stratum after another. In the history of the Hellenic Society, for example, we have seen how the old agrarian aristocracy was eventually worsted by the Malthusian problem when this was presented in a new form in the sixth century B.C. owing to the success of hostile neighbours in bring the sheer extensive expansion of the Hellenic Society to a halt; and in the case of Attica (for which our historical record of this age happens to be less meagre than it is for other parts of Hellas) we have observed how the problem was solved nevertheless by the new-fangled class of merchants which made its appearance at Athens in the person of Solon, and how the consequences of the Solonian 'bourgeois' revolution led on in time to the enfranchisement of a new urban working class, side by side with the new urban bourgeoisie.2 In the history of our own Western Society, in the so-called 'medieval' chapter of its growth, we can see another instance of the rise of successive creative minorities, outside the circle of a hereditary aristocracy, in the enfranchisement first of a bourgeoisie, and then of an urban working class, in the bodies politic of the North Italian city-states.

This tendency in a growing society for the Creative Minority to be recruited on each successive occasion from a new source can be accounted for by the combined operation of two distinct causes, one positive and the other negative. The positive cause is to be found in a fact which has already come to our notice.3 A con-
{p.31} tinuance of growth implies that, in each successive round of Challenge-and-Response, the challenge which is presented is a new one (since ex hypothesi, if growth is still being maintained, the last challenge has been victoriously met and, in being met, has been disposed of). But if the challenge, each time, is new, it is only to be expected that this new challenge will be met, each time, by a newly recruited minority which can bring some hitherto unutilized talent into play in wrestling with a hitherto unfamiliar problem. The tendency for a new creative minority to be called up, in each successive emergency, by the operation of this positive factor will be accentuated by the effect of a negative factor which we have found to be a potent cause of the breakdown of civilizations. We have seen in that context1 that the gift of creativity is subject to its own peculiar nemesis; and that a minority which has demonstrated its creative power by responding to one challenge victoriously is likely to inhibit itself from repeating its exploit—that is to say, from responding, later on, to a different challenge with equal success—by succumbing to one or other of the two diverse temptations with which a very successful creative minority of individual is beset: the temptation to rest on one's oares and the antithetical temptation to kick over the traces and run amok.

For this combination of reasons the Creative Minority in a growing society is apt to be perpetually changing—and this not simply in its personnel, but more profoundly, by fat, in its ideas and its ideals. By contrast, the Dominant Minority in a disintegrating society tends to degenerate into a close corporation whose ideas and ideals have the legendary rigidity of the unchanging 'laws of the Medes and Persians'—and this even when its personnel is radically re-cast through the admission of novi homines to some share in the corporation's jealously guarded privileges.2

1 In IV.C(iii)(c), vol. iv, above.
2 The personnel of the Dominant Minority does frequently change almost completely in its physical composition in the course of the Dominant Minority's career between the original breakdown and the final dissolution of the disintegrating society; for the Dominant Minority is violently self-destructive, and it would be likely to annihilate itself long before it had come to the end of its brief turn on the stage if its strength were not perpetually recruited by infusions of fresh blood. The Dominant Minority does its best—or worst—to destroy itself by indulging in dissensions in its own ranks ion the midst of its truceless warfare with the Proletariat. Its members exterminate one another in civil wars within the bosom of a single commonwealth as well as in wars between state and state; and at the same time they sap their own vitality by running to extremes of luxuriousness and vice and of sluggishness and frenzy. The new blood—'viscera magnarum domuum dominique futuri' (Juvenal: Satires, III, I. 72; quoted again in V.C(i)(c)2, p, 67, below)——which keeps the Dominant Minority alive is drawn in ever larger draughts from ever more alien sources. Foe example, the Roman senatorial class which represented the dominant minority of the Hellenic Society in the penultimate phase of its disintegration——between the convulsions in the third century of the Christian Era and the death-throes of the fifth and sixth centuries—would perhaps not have been able to trace more than a tincture in its blood back to the veins of the Roman senatorial class of the Republican Era, with which it was officially identical. The families which were representatives at the turn of the fourth centuries of the Christian Era were probably descended in the physical sense almost entirely from ci-devant members of the internal and external proletariats; from Orientals and barbarians who had acquired the Roman citizenship, or even from slaves who had purchased their freedom. Indeed, in terms of 'Race' there was almost certainly a much greater infusion of new blood into the Roman senatorial class in its decadence as a dominant minority than the aristocracies of the Roman Republic or the Macedonian Kingdom of the Athenian City-State had ever received in their prime when they were still furnishing creative minorities for a growing civilization. In physical race it is the Creative Minority of the springtime, rather than the Dominant Minority of the decadence, that is able to boast of its 'purity'. At first sight this will seem paradoxical; but on a closer view it will be seen to confirm our previous conclusion (reached in II.C(ii)(a)I, vol. i, above) that Race counts for very little in human affairs. The telling factors are the ideas and the ideals. The Dominant Minority remains, from first to last, the rigid and static corporation that we have described, because the novi homines who change its racial composition are only allowed to bring their new blood on condition of accepting the old tradition of the body into which they are being initiated. Conversely, an aristocracy in a society in the growth-stage may keep itself racially 'pure' without ceasing to throw up one creative minority after another so long as its members forbear to steel their souls against the influence of the spirit that bloweth where it listeth.

{p.32} The social and mental and spiritual fixity that is characteristic of dominant minorities, in contrast to creative minorities, and that persist through one round after another of the series of unsuccessful responses that constitutes the disintegration of a civilization, in contrast to its growth, the challenge that is presented in each successive bout of Challenge-and-Response is always, now, the same.1 The unanswered challenge recurs again and again, and the discomfited minority keeps the field in order to invite and incur as many successive defeats at the hands of an adversary whom it can neither overcome nor elude. The discomfiture, each time, is a foregone conclusion, ex hypothesi, to be creative. The defensive posture which it substitutes for a creative activity may be either indolent or recalcitrant; but, whether it is insanely defying the lightning of inertly resting on its oars, in either posture the Dominant minority is refusing to hand over to the other aspirants the protagonist's role which it has already proved itself incompetent to play.

These postures that remain rigidly the same, through one bout after another of a losing battle, are the marks of the Dominant Minority in a disintegrating civilization. The contrast to the fluidity and versatility of the successive creative minorities in a growing civilization is extreme. The creative minorities are in perpetual flux because they are successive incarnations of the diverse forms in which the creative spirit manifests itself in response to challenges which are never the same twice running. The Dominant Minority stands stiff, like a pillar of salt into which Lot's wife was transformed as the penalty for looking back upon the abandoned Cities of the Plain instead of turning her face
{p.33} resolutely towards the mountain in which she might have found a happier habitation.

In so far as it takes this stand, the Dominant Minority condemns itself, in advance, to have no further part or lot in the work of creation; but in making its 'great refusal' it impoverishes no one but itself. By disqualifying itself from serving as an instrument, it does not bring the work to an end; for, while this civilization is falling and that civilization is rising, the work of creation still goes on. It not only goes on; it also continues to be performed through that action of Challenge-and-Response and Withdrawal-and-Return with which we have become familiar in our analysis of the process of growth. When the growth of a civilization is cut short by a breakdown, and the would-be creative minority that has stiffened into a dominant minority begins to repeat an ineffective gesture which never varies at each onset of an unanswered challenge which never ceases to recur, this monotonous celebration of the tragedy of defeat is not the only drama that is played upon the broken-down civilization's social stage. During the disintegration of a civilization two separate plays with different plots are being performed simultaneously side by side. While an unchanging dominant minority is perpetually rehearsing its own defeat, fresh challenges are perpetually evoking fresh creative responses from newly recruited minorities which proclaim their own creative power by rising, each time, to the occasion.

These ever-changing new creative minorities stand in no fixed relation to the Dominant Minority which persists in holding the floor side by side with them for as long as it retains the strength to remain upon its feet. They are not bound a priori to be recruited entirely outside its ranks,1 any more than they are bound to coincide with the Dominant Minority in their membership, either wholly of in part. Manifestly the chances are in favour of their being recruited from among outsiders, since ex hypothesi the Dominant Minority has placed itself in a rigid posture which is inimical to creativity; yet the creative spirit does not wholly depart from the souls of the Dominant Minority before it has performed through them at least two mighty works: the creation of a school of philosophy, which prepares the way for a universal church—filling some of the valleys and bringing some of the mountains low2 in the spiritual wilderness of a society in disintegration—and the creation of a universal state as a material framework within which a universal church can flower in its tender infancy. Both these

1 For the recruitment of leaders of the Internal Proletariat from the ranks of the Dominant Minority see V.C(ii)(a),, pp. 236-41, below.
2 Luke iii. 4-5

{p.34} things are the work of creative minorities and creative individuals who arise among the members of the Dominant Minority; but at the same time they are only a part of the work of creation that is being accomplished during the age of disintegration in the disintegrating society's ambit; for at the same time another creative minority's handiwork can be discerned in the creation of a universal church, and another's, again, in the creation of a bevy of barbarian war-bands.

We have now found our answer to the question whether the movement of Schism-and-Palingenesia, as we see it in the process of disintegration, does not differ from the movement of Withdrawal-and-Return, as we have seen this in the process of growth, in the point that in Schism-and-Palingenesia it is a majority that withdraws from a minority. We can see now that the answer to our question is, after all, in the negative. In Schism-and-Palingenesia it is still a minority that withdraws—and this, as before for the purpose of finding a creative response to a challenge. But in a disintegrating civilization the uncreative mass, from which the Creative minority distinguishes itself, is differently constituted from the uncreative mass of a civilization that is still in growth. Instead of consisting wholly of an impressionable rank-and-file whom the Creative Minority, when it returns, can induce to follow its lead by playing upon the faculty of mimesis, the uncreative mass now also consists in part of a Dominant Minority which is almost entirely intractable to the new creative minority's influence. What we are watching in the Secession of the Proletariat is thus not really the withdrawal of a majority from a minority. It is the performance of the Creative Minority's familiar work in the familiar way, but in the teeth of another minority of a different order——a recalcitrant minority which is persisting in a hopeless attempt to dominate a situation in which it does not any longer command the initiative. The secession which is thus accomplished by a creative minority under these special difficulties only appears to be the work of a majority because the Creative Minority attracts to itself, as usual, the mimesis of the uncreative mass apart from the fraction of the mass which is now stubbornly resisting this attraction because it has cast itself for the Dominant Minority's role. As usual, 'the floating vote' is given to the Creative minority every time, while the Dominant Minority attracts no mimesis to itself and can do no more than withhold its own support from its creative rival. It is only this negative power of making 'the great refusal' that distinguishes the Dominant Minority from the rest of the uncreative mass;1 and this distinction is not fundamental. The

1 A classic illustration of this is afforded by the contrast between the status and the state of mind of the French noblesse on the eve of the Revolution (see the quotation from de Tocqueville in IV. C(iii)(c)2(γ), Annex, vol. iv, p. 638, footnote 6, above). In the France of that generation the aristocracy had stamped itself unmistakably as a dominant minority, whereas in the England of the same generation the aristocracy had not yet ceased to be creative.

{p.35} most significant, though not the most conspicuous, line of division is still that which divides the whole of the uncreative mass from the Creative Minority in each successive round of Challenge-and-Response.

That the Secession of the Proletariat should thus prove, after all, to be the work of a minority and not of a majority is only what we might have expected. For an act of secession is manifestly an act that requires the exercise of initiative and courage and imagination in a high degree; and these are not the virtues of sheep without a shepard. This point is illustrated by the historic 'Secessions of the Plebs' in the history of the Roman Republic—in allusion to which our own term "Secession of the Proletariat' has been coined. It is notorious that in the earlier bouts of the conflict between Plebeians and Patricians the Plebs strove in vain to break its economic and political chains. It was only gradually that the challenge of oppression evoked the latent powers of leadership in a minority of the Plebeian mass; and it was this creative minority—an inchoate 'Plebeian aristocracy', to describe it through a contradiction in terms—that conceived and executed the plan of secession as a stratagem fro bringing the oppressive Patricians to their knees. If this minority had not taken the lead, the rank-and-file of the Plebeians would assuredly never struck out for themselves the master-stroke of first escaping from the pen in which their oppressors fancied that they held them corralled, and then turning at bay in the security of the open wilderness.


(1) Dominant Minorities

{V.C.I.(c),p. 40} If we look for wastrels to match the Roman plunderers of a conquered Hellenic World in the age preceding the establishment of the Pax Augusta, we shall find them in the war-lords, lay and ecclesiastic, who ground thge faces of the Japanese peasantry in the age preceding the foundation of the Tokugawa Shogunate. We shall find their like again, in the Arabic World, in the Mamlūks who ground the faces of the Egyptian peasantry more outrageously in their military decadence than in an earlier age when they were performing a certain public service in return for their feudal dues.2 And our own Western history in its latter days furnishes a long gallery of portraits which are unmistakable examples of the same type: from the flauntingly predatory princes of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries—a Rudolfo Gonzaga of Castiglione and a Henry VIII of England and a Louis XIV of France—who had shaken off the moral discipline of the medieval Church,3 to the more discreetly predatory plutocrats of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, who have put the princes in irons in order to usurp for their own bourgeois profit the adventurer's self-conferred privilege of playing the game of Raubwirtschaft with the whole World for their oyster.

Similarly, if we look for the hangmen to match a Crassus and Titus, we shall find them in the Assyrian war-lords, from Tiglath-Pileser III and Asshurbanipal, as they wrestle ever more savagely with their self-imposed tour de force of holding down a conquered

3 For the revolt of the local secular princes against the moral authority of the Catholic Church in the Western World at the beginning of the Modern Age, and for the princes' seizure and exploitation of the instruments and methods of public administration which the Papal Curia had invented, see IV. C. (iii) (c) 3 (β), vol. iv, pp. 534-5 and 539-40, above.

{p.41} Syria with one hand and a conquered Babylonia with the other, with no hand left free for retaining their hold upon Egypt.1 We shall find other representatives of the hangman type in the Tsars—an Ivan the Terrible and a Peter the Great and a Nicholas I—who have had recourse to all the weapons in the armoury of political repression in order to keep the yoke of a universal state upon the shoulders of a restive nobility and a ground-down peasantry and a thwarted intelligentsia. And the hangman type, like the wastrel type, presents itself in our own Western World as well. It is unmistakably represented by the sinister figures of sixteenth-century German princes hanging and burning alive their relious Anabaptist peasants3 (with the approbation of a Martin Luther!). And the same type reappears as plainly in the figures of these princes' latter-day National-Socialist supplanters, who, at the moment of these words were being written, were attempting to break the spirit of Jews, Marxians, Liberals, Pacificists, Christians, and Prussian officers by employing our twentieth-century methods of barbarism in pursuit of a sixteenth-century aim. Nor is this savagery a mere local German departure from a milder Western norm; for the English observer, writing smugly in his study, will find his pen refusing to obey his fingers if he begins to thank God that he and his kinsfolk are not as men are on the Continent. If he is tempted to offer the Pharisee's thanksgiving, his conscience will rise up to remind him of the English-speaking peoples' responsibility for the crime of Negro Slavery,3 and of those English penal laws4—repealed scarcely a century ago—under which an English labourer convicted of a petty theft might be sentenced by an English magistrate to deportation for life in he were lucky enough to escape the gallows.

If we want an example of the wastrel and the hangman combined in one person, we shall find in in the Eygptiac World in the Pyramid-Builder5 whose hold over his subject peasantry was so complete that he could wear them out for the gratification of his own megalomania without having to fear that his victims would rebel under the lash.

We can also add portraits from the histories of other disintegrating civilizations to our gallery of Hellenic conquerors.

The fratricidal warfare within the bosom of the dominant minority of the Hellenic Society which ended the delivery of

2 For the Anabaptists see V. C. (i) (c) 2, pp. 167-72, below.
3 See IV. C. (iii) (b) 2, vol. iv, above.
4 See IV. C. (iii) (c) 2 (γ), Annex, vol. iv, p. 638, above.
5 See III. C (i) (d), vol. iii, pp.212-15, and IV. C (iii) (c) 2 (β), vol. iv, pp. 408-10, above.

{p.42} a Roman ' knock-out blow' has its analogue in the Sinic World in the struglle between the contending states which ended in the triumph of Ts’in,1 and i nthe Far Eastern Society in Japan in that Ishmaelitish warfare of all against all which the required three successive Caesars—a Nobunaga and a Hideyoshi and an Ieyasu—to bring it to a close.2 The disintegrration of the Babylonic and Iranic civilizations was carried to its consummation by a duel between two sister Powers: Assyria and Babylonia in the one case, and the ‛Osmanlis and the Safawis in the other.4 In Orthodox Christendom the duel between the East Roman Empire and Bulgaria in the tenth century of the Christian Era opened the way for the Frankish and Turkish inroads of the century following.5 And in the Syriac and Hindu worlds a similar orgy of fratricidal warfare likewise opened the way for the Assyrian inroads into Syria6 and for the Turkish inroads into Hindustan.7 In Central America the fircible incorporation of the Yucatec Society into the Mexic Society seems to have been one of hte penalties of the fratricidal 'War of mayapan' in which a Yucatec dominant minority had enlisted Mexic mercenaries to help it in the suicidal work of tearing itself to pieces;8 and it is certain that it was the war between the Aztecs and the Tlaxcalecs that afterwards condemned the Mexic Society to become the prey of the Spanish conquistadores.9

In the abortive cosmos of city-states which tried and failed, in the second chapter of our Western history, to convert a feudal society, within which had arisen, to its own way of life, this failure can be traced everywhere—in Italy and in Flanders, in Swabia and in the Rhineland—to the internecine strife between the patriciates of one city-state and another.10 In consequence of this failure our Western Society discarded the city-state and fell back, as we have seen, upon the old-fashioned kingdom-state, with its feudal heritiage, when it was groping after a new standard unit of parochial civic organization at the beginning of the third chapter of our Western history. And, when we remind ourselves of that curious check and throwback with which the political history of this third chapter began, we are led to assk oursleves whether by making this fresh start the princes and oligarchies and

1 I. C. (i) (b) vol. i, p. 89; IV. C. (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, pp. 65-6, above.
2 IV. C. (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, p. 94, above, and V. C (ii) (a), vol. vi, pp. 186, 188, and 191, below.
3 IV. C. (iii) (c) 3 (α), vol. iv, pp. 476-84, above.
4 I. C. (i) (b), Annex I, vol. i, pp. 377-400, above.
5 IV. C (iii) (c) 2 (β), vol. iv, pp. 384-404, above.
6 IV. C (ii) (b) 1 vol. iv, pp. 67-8, above.
7 IV. C (ii) (b) 2 vol. iv, pp. 99-100, above.
8 I. C (i) (b) vol. i, pp. 123-4; IV. C. (ii) (b) 2, vol iv, pp. 105-6, above. above.
9 I. C (i) (b) vol. i, pp. 120, and IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, pp. 105, above.
10 See III. C (ii) (b) vol. iii, pp. 341-50, especially pp. 348-9, above.

{p.43} democracies of our latter-day Western kingdom-states and national states have succedded—while this third chapter in our Western history had been running its course and finally passing into a fourth,1—in avoinding the fratricidal warfare through which the fair promise of the medieval Western city-states was blighted, in an earlier chapter of the same story, by the perverse pugnacity of the city-state patriciates. Unhappily the answer to this fateful question is emphatically in the negative.2

As soon as the modern political map of our Western World began to take shape, the masters of the new-model states made haste ot engage in fratricidal warfare on the scale which their ampler resources made possible for them. the contest for hegemony between the Hapsburgs and the Bourbons, which inaugurated the Modern Age of our Western history, has been followed by teh wars of Philip II and the wars of louis XXiv and teh Revolutionary and Napoleanic Wars of A.D. 1792-1815; our own 'Post-modern' Age has been inaugurated by the General War of 1914-18; and every one of these majore conflicts has brought with it a crop of minor wars—some preceeding it as its overture, and others following it as its sequel.3 The life of our Western Society had been as grieviously infested by the plague of War during these last four centuries as in any earlier age; adn wer have already observed4 how this social evil, in persisting, has been keyed up to an unprecedented intensity by a new 'drive' that had been put into it since the invnetion of Democracy and Industrialism, unbtil the former 'sport of kings' has become the absorbing business of whole nations" la Guerre Totale. If a furore of fratricidal warfare within the bosom of a society is presumptive evidence that a dominant minority has come on to the scene, we must confess that, to judge by the recent course of our Western history, our Western Society, in its present fourth chapter, has arrived at the stage upon which the Hellenic Society entered after the opening of the third hapter of Hellenic history post Alexandrum

Nor has the dominant minority of the disintegrating Hellenic Civilization been unique in begetting conquerors who turn their arms against aliens.

For example, there are other disintegrating civilizations, besides the hellenic, that can show their Alexanders (though these non-

1 For the transition from the third to the fourth chapter of our Western history in the last quarter of the nineteenth century of the Christian Era see Part I. A, vol. i, ad init.
2 See IV. C (iii) (b) 3, vol. iv, pp. 141-55, above, and V. C (ii) (b), vol. vi, pp. 312-21, below.
3 For the rhythm that can be discerned in the recurrences of wars in the histories of civilizations see V. C (ii) (b), vol. vi, and part XI, below.
4 In IV. C (iii) (b) 3, vol. iv, above.

{p.44} Hellenic Alexanders are apt to be mere men of blood unredeemed by the spiritual vision of Alexander the Great). The Sumeric Society can display a string of them: Lugalzaggisi, Sargon, Naramsin.1 The Eygptiac Society can show the militarists of 'the New Empire'—a Thothmes I and a Thothmes III and a Ramses II—who conquered and re-conquered the domain of an abortive Syriac, Civilization2 from Gaza to the Euphrates. In the disintegration of the main body of the Orthodox Christian Society the ‛Osmanlis had no sooner completed their work of establishing a universal state in which a Pax Ottomanica was imposed upon the whole of Orthodox Christendom apart from Russia3 than they sought new worlds to conquer, both east and west. Selīm I was consciously following in the footsteps of Alexander when he marched against the Persians; and, though his Janissaries insisted on turning back at Tabrīz instead of allowing themselves to be led, like Alexander's Macedonians, to the banks of the Beas,4 Selīm did successfully repeat Alexander's exploit of conquering Eygpt;5 and his successor Suleymān the Magnificent attempted the superhuman feat of mastering the Safawī empire with one hand and Western Christendom with the other. The disintegration of the Far Eastern Civilization in Japan produced a counterpart of Suleymān in Hideyoshi, who had scarcely completed Nobunaga's work in the Japanese Isles before he recklessly diverted an exhausted society's last energies to grandiose schemes of conquest on the Continent—only to be foiled in Korea without ever coming within range of China. the same megalomania was displayed by the Muscovite makers of the Orthodox Chrisitian universal state in Russia whgen they attempted to expand their dominions simultaneously at the expense of Western Christendom in the Balticum and Finland and Poland and at the expense of the Iranic World in teh Caucusus and Central Asia. This insatiable appetite for territory in potentates who are already gorged,a nd who cannot dogest the resources of the vasat tracts wqhich they have inherited, is an example of that mania for sheer magnitude which we have already recognized6 as a pathological effort to find some alternative means of self-expression in lieu of a lost creative power. Again, the Iranic Society threw up, in the course of the its ddistintegration, a Nādir Shāh7 (dominabatur A.D. 1936-47) whose career looks like nothing so

1 See I. C (i) (b), vol i, p. 109; IV. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, p. 64, above.
2 For this abortive Syriac Civilization see II. D. (vii), vol. ii, pp. 388-91, above.
3 For this Pax Ottomanica see Part III. A, vol. iii, pp. 26-7, above.
4 See I. C (i) (b), Annex I, in vol. i, pp. 385-6, above.
5 I. C (i) (b), Annex I, in vol. i, pp. 388; IV C (iii) (c) 2 (γ), vol. iv, pp. 450-2, above.
6 In I. C (i) (a), vol. iii, pp. 153-4, above,
7 See I. C (i) (b), Annex I, vol. i, p. 399, above, and V. C (i) (d) 6 (δ), Annex, vol. v, pp. 679-80, below.

{p.45} so much as a caricature of Alexander's as we watch this parvenu Avshār soldier of fortune ramping up and down the famous macedonian's historic South West Asian stage—now showing his falg for a moment in Baghddad, and now rushing off to plunder Delhi—until suddenly we see him, to our astonishment, being enlightened by a gleam of the genuine Alexandrine vision of reconciliation and unity, and courting—in his daring effort to bring back the Shī‛ah to teh Sunnah—the assassination that swiftly overtakes him.1

These non-Hellenic counterparts of Alexander the great can be matched by corresponding counterparts of the Roman conquerors of the West European and North-West African barbarians. There is a Roman touch in the conquest of Nubia by the Caesars of the Eygptiac universal state—an Amenemhat I (imperabat circa 2000-1971 B.C.) and a Senwosret III (imperabat circa 1887-1850 B.C.)2—and likewise in the conquest of Yunnan by the Mongol makers of Far Eastern Society on the Asiatic Continent, while in the insular offshoot of the Far Eastern Society of Japan the subjugation of the primitive Ainu in an age when the Japanese war-lords were strenuously engaged in rending one another3 is as astonishing a feat as the Roman subjugation of Gaul and Numidia inb the age of the Roman civil wars.

{p. 47} It is now manifest that our own Western Society, as well as the other non-Hellenic societies, acan furcnish us with examples of three social types—the conqueror, the wastrel, and the hangman—of which we identified our first specimens among the members of the dominant minority of the Hellenic Society in its disintegration. Happily, however, the comparison works out for the good as well as for evil; for we have also seen that the Hellenic dominant minority displays a wide range of spiritual varieyt beyond the narrow limits of the se three repulsive types; and the figures that are blazoned on the brighter side of a Hellenic shield can likewise be matched by examples from the membership of he other civilizations.

{p. 52} We have now managed to marshal a consideravble array of evidence for the capacity of dominant minorities to produce an admirable governing class; and this evidence is borne out by the catalogue of the unbiversal states that have been created by the dominant minorities of disintegrating civilizations; for the establishment and maintenance of a universal state presupposes the existence of a governing class with a high standard of conduct, a strong esprit de corp, and a persistent tradition.

In the course of previous inquiries2 we have found incidentlally that, out of twenty-one civilizations which have unquestionably broken down, 3 no less than fifteen have passed through a universal state on their road from breakdown towards dissolution. We have identified a Hellenic universal state in the Roman Empire;4 an Andean in the Empire of the Incas;5 a Sinic in the Empire of the Ts’in and Han dynasties;6 a Minoan in 'the thalassocracy of Minos';7 a Sumeric on the Empire of the Sumer and Akkad;8 a Babylonic in the Neo-babylonic Empire of Nabopolassar and Nebuchadnezzar;9 a Mayan in 'the Old Empire' of the Mayas;10 an Eygptiac in 'the Middle empire' of the Eleventh and Twelfth Dynasties;11 a Syriac in the Achaemenian Empire;12 an Indic in

1 For the effect of Alexander's discovery of the Persians' true character in lauding the Macedonian man of genius to his greater discovery of the unity of Mankind see V. C (i) (d) 7, vol. vi, p. 9, below.
2 In I. C (i) (b), vol. i, and IV. C (ii), vol. iv, above.
3 These twenty include all those, with the single uncertain exception of our own Western Civilization, that have not either miscarried before birth or become arrested immediately after it.
4 I. C (i) (a), vol. i, pp. 52-3; IV. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, p. 61, above.
5 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, pp. 120-2; IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, p. 103, above.
6 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, pp. 89; IV. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, p. 65, above.
7 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, pp. 93-4; IV. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, p. 64, above.
8 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, pp. 106; IV. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, p. 63-4, above.
9 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, pp. 119; IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, p. 100, above.
10 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, pp. 125-7; IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, p. 108, above.
11 I. C (ii), vol. i, p. 137; IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, p. 85, above.
12 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, pp. 75-6; IV. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, p. 67, above.

{p.53} the Empire of the Mauryas;1 a Hindu in the Timurid Empire of the Akbar and Awrangzīb.2 We have distinguished a Russsian Orthodox Christian universal state in the Muscovite 'Empire of All the Russias',3 and another orthodix Chrisitan universal state, embracing thet main body of Orthodox Christendom, in the Ottoman Empire;4 and in the Far Eastern World we have met with a corresponding pair: the Tokugawa Shogunate in Japan5 and the Mongol Empire in China.6

We have also observed that a number of these universal states have been prolonged (to their natural term) or restored (after a lapse) or reintegrated (after an interval of alien intrusion) by other hands than those which originally created them. The Empire of the Incas was taken over forcibly by the Spaniards and prolonged in the Spanish Viceroyalty of Peru.7 The Empire of Sumer and Akkad was restored by the First Dynasty of Babylon in the reign of Hammurabi.8 The Neo-Babylonian Empire was engulfed in the Achaemenian Empire9 and this in its turn was taken over forcibly by Alexander, and was prolonged by Alexander's Seleucid successors, before it was eventually broken up by Roman and Parthian hammer-strokes and was subsequently reintegrated by the labours of the Umayyads and 'Abbasids after the complete and final expulsion of the Hellenic intruders from the Syriac Society's domain,10 The Eyptiac ‘Middle Empire’ of the Eleventh and Twelfth Dynasties was re-established, after a very much shorter breach of continuity, in 'the New Empire’ of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Dynasties.11 The Empire of the Mauryas was partially taken over and prolonged by Hellenic conquerors from Bactria, and by these Greek empire-builders' Kushan successors’ and was eventually reintegrated by the Guptas, who stand to the Mauryas as the ‛Abbasids stand to the Achacmemdae12 The Timurid Empire of Akbar and Awrangzīb was restored—in more solid masonry and also, perhaps, cm a sounder architectural plan—in the British Rāj,13 The Mongol Empire over China was re-established, to all

1 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, p. 86; IV. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, p. 66, above.
2 IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, p. 97, above.
3 IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, p. 88, above.
4 Part III. A, vol. iii, pp. 26-7; IV. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, p. 70, above.
5 IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, p. 88, above.
6 IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, p. 87, above.
7 IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, pp. 80 and 103, above.
8 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, pp. 106; IV. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, p. 63-4, above.
9 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, p. 119, above.
10 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, pp. 72-7; It is noteworthy that this final reversal of Alexander's feat of imposing Hellenism upon the Syriac World by force of arms was followed by voluntary reception of Hellenic culture on the part of the Syriac Society in th« ‛Abbasid Age. This cultural contact, between the Syriac and Hellenic societies at this stage of their intercourse is examined in Part IX, below.
11 I. C (ii), vol. i, p. 138-9, above.
12 I. C (i) (b), vol. i, pp. 84-6; IV. C (ii) (b) 1, vol. iv, p. 66, above.
13 IV. C (ii) (b) 2, vol. iv, pp. 96-7, above.

{p.54} Chinese intents and purposes, in the Manchu Empire,1 which stands to it as the Egyptiac 'New Empire' stands to the Egyptiac ‘Middle Empire',

It will be observed that—as might have been expected a priori—these works of rehabilitation have been performed, more often than not, by new arrivals on the scene who have been culturally alien from the original builders. The Spaniards, for example, were wholly alien from the Incas; the Achaemenidae from the Babylonians; the Macedonians from the Achaemenidae; the Greek and Kushan invaders of India from the Mauryas; and the British from the Timurids (as well as from the Hindus). Even the Amorite Hammurabi, though he was the sixth of his line to reign in Babylon, was probably looked askance at, as a not yet completely reclaimed barbarian, by his Akkadian subjects and a fortiori by their Sumerian fellow citizens of that 'Empire of the Four Quarters’ which actually owed its restoration to Hammurabi's prowess and statesmanship. And this was certainly the attitude of the Chinese to the Manchus from beginning to end of the Manchu régime, in spite of the Manchus' almost complete freedom from that tincture of an alien civilization which had evoked in Chinese hearts a fanatical hatred against the Manchus1 predecessors, the Mongols.2

We shall even find several further examples of alien handiwork among those universal states which were ‘original work' and were not restorations of some older building. For example, the Timurid Turks, who made the first essay in providing the disintegrating Hindu Society with a universal state, were children of the Iranic Society and, by this token, were just as alien from the Hindu World as are their British successors. The 'Osmanlis, who gave the main body of Orthodox Christendom the only universal state that it has ever known, were the Timurids’ cultural as well as racial brethren. The Mongols, who gave the main body of the Far Eastern Society its first universal state, were decidedly more alien in culture from their Chinese subjects than were the Manchus who afterwards repeated the Mongols' feat.3 Of the other original creators of universal states, a majority—which includes the Romans, the Incas, the Achaemenidae, the Ts'in, the Theban Dynasties, the Muscovites, and the Tokugawas—were Powers which had qualified for the role of empire-builders

1 IV. C (ii) 2, vol. iv, p. 87, above.
2 For the cultural reltaion of the manchus to the Chinese and to the Mongols respectively see Part III. A., vol. iii, pp. 16, 19, and 31, footnote 1, above, and V. C (i) (c) 3, in the present volume, pp. 309-10, and V. C (i) (c) 4, pp. 348-51, below.
3 For the tinge of Far Eastern Christian culture in the social 'make-up' of the Mongols see II. D (vi), vol. ii, pp. 237-8, and ii. D (vii), Annex VIII, vol. ii, above, and V. C (i) (c) 4, in the present volume, p. 348, below.

{p.55} by serving an apprenticeship as wardens of the marches;1 and these frontiersmen on an imperial throne have often been viewed by their more cultivated but less capable subjects in the interior with the eyes of a Sumerian litteratus looking down his nose at a Hammurabi. This, as we know from their own written testimony, was the attitude of Greek men-of-letters towards Roman statesmen and administrators as late as the Age of the Antonines, when these Romans were actually practising, with an effectiveness that no Greek had ever approached, that benevolent 'Hellenic superintendence' (‛Ελληνική έπιέλεια) which, five hundred years before, had been so earnestly commended to King Philip by Isocrates.2

In so far as the universal states of which we have made this summary surveys prove to have been the work of alien hands, they cannot, of course, be taken as evidence of creative power in any fraction of the disintegrating society on whose ground they have been set up. It would, however, be hypercritical to stigmatize the frontiersmen empire-builders as aliens simply because the people of the interior have affected to regard them as such. If we examine more closely the Hellenic case in point, we shall probably come to the conclusion that the Greek rhetor's sensitiveness to the barbarism of the Roman official was not an entirely genuine feeling, but was partly the expression of a self- defensive mental attitude—a refusal to face the humiliating fact that the converted barbarian had proved himself, by Isocrates' own test, to be a better Hellene than the Greek himself.4 It would, indeed, be a paradox to maintain that the Romans were no true representatives of the Hellenic

1 For 'the stimulus of pressures’ which has so often given 'marches’ an ascendancy over 'interiors' see II. D (v), vol. ii, above.
2 Isocrates : Philippus.
3 A complete table of the universal states that come within the purview of the present Study will be found at the end of V. C (iii), in vol. vi, p. 327, below.
4 In an earlier chapter of the story of the Greeks' encounter with the Romans—at a stage in which the Romans were still engaged in wrecking the Hellenic Society that they were afterwards to reconstruct—the Greek pretence that the Romans were barbarians had proved impossible to keep up:
‘lt is said that when Pyrrhus caught his first bird's eye view, from an observation post, of the Roman army in formation, he remarked that he could see nothing barbarous about the barbarians’ order of battle; and similar confessions were extorted from Greeks who were making their first acquaintance with Titus [Quinctius Flamininus]. They had had it from the Macedonians that a fellow in command of a barbarian host was on the war-path, conquering and enslaving as he came; and now they found themselves in the presence of a young man of gracious mien who was a Greek in speech and accent and was ambitious to deserve true honour. Of course they were extraordinarily charmed, and, when they left his presence to go off to their respective homes, they turned the tide of public feeling in Titus's favour—bringing tidings of him as a leader who had come to conduct the Greeks into the promised land of freedom’—Plutarch: Life of Titus Quinctius Flamininus, chap. 5. The fourth-century Greek scholar Heracleides Ponticus hit the mark when, in the earliest mention of Rome in extant Greek literature he described her as 'a Hellenic city’ (see V. C (i) (c) 3, p. 212, footnote 3, below.

{p.56} dominant minority, or the Thebans of the Egyptiac. And, even if we leave the borderline cases on one side, there are a number of instances still left in which there can be no dispute over the claim of the creators of a universal state to be representatives of the dominant minority of the society in whose domain the state has been established. Among these unquestionable exponents of a dominant minority's political creative power we may cite the Han Dynasty and 'Minos', the dynasty of Ur and the Neo-Babylonians, the Mauryas and the Guptas.

Is this political capacity the only kind of creative power that is a common attribute of dominant minorities? The question presents itself because in our analysis of the various types of character and activity in the Hellenic dominant minority we found that the creative type was not, in this case, confined to the political field. It was represented not only by the Roman public servant but also by the Greek philosopher;1 and, if we now repeat the procedure, which we have been following so far, of surveying the lives of the other civilizations in their disintegration in order to learn whether the Hellenic phenomena reappear in them, we shall see that the Greek philosopher, as well as the Roman public servant, has his non-Hellenic counterparts. While we have found about ten disintegrating civilizations, besides the Hellenic, in which the Dominant Minority can be credited with the creative achievement of having established a universal state, we can find at least three, besides the Hellenic, in which the Dominant Minority has also thought out a philosophy.

In the history of the Babylonic Society, for example, the terrible eighth century B.C., which saw the beginning of the Hundred Years' War between Babylonia and Assyria,2 seems also to have seen a sudden great advance in astronomical knowledge.3 In this age Babylonic men of science discovered that the rhythm of cyclic recurrence, which had been patent, from time immemorial, in the alternations of Night and Day and in the waxing and waning of the Moon and in the Solar Cycle of the Year, was also discernible on a vaster scale in the secular motions of a heavenly host which included the planets. These stars which were traditionally named ‘the wanderers’ par excellence, in allusion to their apparently erratic courses, now proved to be bound by as strict a discipline as the Sun or the Moon or ‘the fixed stars’ of the Firmament in the Cosmic Cycle of a Magnus Annus;4 and this exciting Babylonic discovery

1 See pp. 31-40, above.
2 See IV. C (iii) (c) 3 (α), vol. iv, pp, 476-80, above.
3 See Meyer, E.: Geschichte des Altertums, vol. i, part (ii), third edition (Stuttgart and Berlin 1913, Cotta), pp. 591-5; vol. iii, first edition (Stuttgart 1901, Cotta), pp. 132-4.
4 See IV. C (i) vol. iv, pp. 23-4 and 37, above.

{p.57} of a hitherto unsuspected application of a familiar law of Physical Nature had much the same effect as our recent Western scientific discoveries have had upon the discoverers' conception of the Universe.

The never broken and never varying order that had thus been found to reign in all the known movements of the stellar cosmos was now assumed to govern the Universe as a whole: material and spiritual, inanimate and animate.1 If an eclipse of the Sun or a transit of Venus could be dated with certainty to some precise moment hundreds of years back in the past, or predicted with equal certainty as bound to occur at some precise moment in an equally remote future, then was it not reasonable to suppose that human affairs were just as rigidly fixed and just as accurately calculable? And since the cosmic discipline implied that all these members of the Universe that moved in so perfect a unison were ‘in sympathy'—en rapport—with each other, was it unreasonable to assume that the newly revealed pattern of the movements of the stars was a key to the riddle of human fortunes, so that the observer who held this astronomical clue in his hands would be able to forecast his neighbour's destinies if once he knew the date and moment of his birth? Reasonable or not, these assumptions were eagerly made; and thus a sensational scientific discovery gave birth to a fallacious philosophy of Determinism which has captivated the intellect of one civilization after another and is not quite discredited yet after a run of nearly 2,700 years.

The seductiveness of Astrology lies in its pretension to combine a theory which explains the whole machina mundi with a practice that will enable Tom, Dick, and Harry to spot the Derby Winner here and now. Thanks to this twofold attraction the Babylonic philosophy was able to survive the extinction of the Babylonic Civilization in the last century B.C. ;2 and the Chaldean mathematictus who imposed upon a prostrate Hellenic Society3 was represented until yesterday by the Court Astrologer at Peking and the Munejjim Bāshy at Istanbol.

We have dwelt on this Babylonic philosophy of Determinism because it has a greater affinity than any of the Hellenic philosophies

1 For the belief in a rule of Fate, which is one of the intellectual expressions of a sense of drift that is itself one of the symptoms of a schism in the Soul, see V, C (i) (d) 4, pp. 412—31, below.
2 For the incorporation of Astrology into Mithraism see V. C (i) (d) 6 (δ), p. 540, below.
3 See Wendland, P.: Die Hellenistisch~Römische Kultur, 2nd and 3rd editions (Tübingen 1912, Mohr), pp. 132-3, and Tarn, W. W.: The Greeks in Bactria and India (Cambridge 1938, University Press), pp. 59—60. In taking over Astrology from its Babylonic fathers in and after the 2nd century B.C. the Hellenes put their own imprint upon it, as is witnessed by the fact that, in India at the present day, some of the current technical terms of the practitioners of this pseudo-science are etymologically of Greek origin.

{p.58} have with the still perhaps rather callow philosophical speculations of our own Western World in its present Cartesian Age. On the other hand there are counterparts of almost all the Hellenic schools of thought in the philosophies of the Indie and the Sinic World. The dominant minority of a disintegrating Indie Civilization brought forth the Jainism of Mahavira, the Primitive Buddhism of Siddhartha Gautama,1 the transfigured Buddhism of the Mahayana2 (which differs from its acknowledged original at least as profoundly as Neoplatonism differs from the philosophy of Socrates), and the diverse Buddhistic philosophies that are part of the mental apparatus of a post-Buddhaic Hinduism. The dominant minority of a disintegrating Sinic Civilization brought forth the moralized ritualism and ritualized morality of Confucius and the paradoxical wisdom of the Tao which is ascribed to the legendary genius of Lao-tse.3

1 See I. C (i) (b), vol. i, p. 87, above, and V. C (i) (c) 2, in the present volume, pp. 131—35, below.
2 See I. B (iii), vol. i, p. 35; II. D (vi), Annex, vol. ii, p. 405, footnote 1; IV. C (ii)(b) 1, vol. iv, p. 65, above; and V. C (i) (c) 2, in the present volume, pp. 133-46, below.
3 See I. C (i) (b), vol. i, p. 89, and III. C (i) (c), vol. iii, pp. 187-9, above, and V. C (i) (c) at, in the present volume, pp. 146—7, below.

(2) Internal Proletariats
(3) The Internal Proletariat of the Western World

Abundant evidence can be adduced of the existence of an internal proletariat here—among other things, the existence of an 'intelligentsia' recruited from the proletariat as an agent of the dominant minority. The characteristics of an intelligentsia are discussed. The internal proletariat of the modern Western Society has, however, shown itself markedly unfertile in the production of new 'higher religions', and it is suggested that this is due to the continued vitality of the Christian Church from which Western Christendom was born.

(4) External Proletariats
(5) The External
Proletariat of the Western World

The Bosniaks were a rear-guard of the Continental European barbarians who had previously had to endure the unusual——and usually painful——experience of being taken between the fires of two aggressive civilizations, those of Western and of orthodox Christendom. The radiation of the orthodox Christian Civilization, which had been the first to reach the Bosniaks, had been rejected by them in its Orthodox form, and had only been able to inundate itself in the schismatic guise of Bogomilism. This heresy had drawn upon them in the hostile attentions of both Christian civilizations, and in the circumstances they had welcomed the arrival of the Muslim ‛Osmanlis, abandoned their Bogomilism and 'turned Turk' so far as religion was concerned. Thereafter, under Ottoman protection, the Jugoslav converts to Islam took to playing, on the Ottoman side of the Ottoman-Hapsburg frontier, the same part as was played on the Hapsburg side by Jugoslav Christian refugees from the territories which had fallen under Ottoman rule. The two opposing sets of Jugoslavs found an ideological occupation in raiding, on the one side the Ottoman empire and on the other side the Hapsburg monarchy; and on the same fertile soil of the border warfare two independent schools of 'heroic' poetry, both using the Serbo-Croat language, grew up and flourished side by side, apparently without exercising and influence on one another.

In North-Eastern Iran it seems possible that the North-West Frontier problem of India may finally be solved, not by any drastic action against the untamed barbarians on the Indian side of the Indo-Afghan frontier, but rather by the voluntary Westernization of Afghanistan itself. For if this Afghan endeavour were to achieve success, one of its effects would be to place the war-bands on the Indian side between two fires and thereby make their position ultimately untenable. The Westernizing movement in Afghanistan was launched by King Amānallāh (A.D. 1919-29) with a radical excess of zeal which cost the royal revolutionary his throne; but Amānallāh's personal fiasco is less significant that the fact that this check has not proved fatal to the movement. By 1929 the process of Westernization had gone too fat for the people of Afghanistan to put up with unmitigated barbarian reaction of the brigand rebel Bacha-i-Sakkā; and under the régime of King Nādir and his successor the Westernizing process has been unobtrusively resumed.

But the outstanding Westernizer of a beleaguered barbarian fastness is ‛Abd-al-‛Aziz Āl Sa‛ūd, the King of the Najd and the Hijāz: a soldier and statesman who, since 1901, has raised himself out of the political exile into which he was born until he has made himself master of all Arabia west of the
Rub’-al-Khāli and north of the Yamanī kingdom of San‛ā. As a barbarian war lord Ibn Saū‛d may be compared in point of enlightenment with the Visigoth Atawulf. He has apprehended the potency of modern western scientific technique and has shown a discerning eye for those applications of it——artesian wells and motor-cars and aeroplanes——that are particularly effective in the Central Arabian Steppe. But above all he has seen that the indispensable foundation for a Western way of life is law and order.

When the last obstinate enclave has been eliminated, in one way or another, from the cultural map of a Westernized world, shall we be able to congratulate ourselves on having seen the last of barbarism itself? A complete elimination of the barbarism of the external proletariat would warrant no more than a mild elation, since we have convinced ourselves (if there is any virtue in this Study) that the destruction which has overtaken a number of civilizations in the past has never been the work of any external agency, but has always been in the nature of an act of suicide.

(6) Alien and Indigenous Inspirations


(1) Alternative Ways of Behavior, Feeling and Life
(2) 'Abandon' and Self-Control
(3) Truancy and Martyrdom
(4) The Sense of Drift and the Sense of Sin
(5) The Sense of Promiscuity
a. Vulgarity and Barbarism in Manners
b. Vulgarity and Barbarism in Art
c. Lingue Franche
d. Syncretism in Religion


e. Cuius Regio euis Religio?

(6) The Sense of Unity
(7) Archaism
(8) Futurism
(9) The Self-transcendence of Futurism
(10) Detachment And Transfiguration
(11) Palingenesia


(1) The Creative Genius as a Savior
(2) The Savior with the Sword
(3) The Savior with the Time Machine
(4) The Philosopher masked by a King
(5) The God incarnate in a Man







(1) The Conductivity of Universal States
(2) The Psychology of Peace
(3) The Serviceability of Imperial Institutions
Garrisons and Colonies
Capital Cities
Official Languages and Scripts
Calendars; Weights and Measures; Money
Standing Armies
Civil Services



(1) Churches as Cancers
(2) Churches as Chrysalises
(3) Churches as a Higher Species of Society

(a) A New Classification
(b) The Significance of the Churches Past
(c) The Conflict Between Heart and Head
(d) The Promise of the Churches Future

5. The Promise of Exorcizing the Perilousness of Mimesis

{VII.A.III.(d).5.p.524} ...when an inevitable failure has bred an inevitable disillusionment, the discredited leader is apt to resort to force in order to retain authority that is morally forfeit. In the Civitas Dei this peril is exorcized by a fresh transfer of mimesis—this time from limitedly and precariously creative human personalities who are the ephemeral leaders of mundane civilizations to a God who is the source of all human creativity and whose own divine creativity is infinite.

This mimesis of God can never expose human souls that devote themselves to it to those disappointments and disillusionments that are apt to attend the mimesis of even the most godlike human beings, and that produce, when they do arise, that moral alienation of a restive proletariat from a now merely dominant minority which is one of the symptoms of social decline and fall. The communion between the Soul and the One True God cannot thus degenerate into the bondage of a slave to a despot, for in each of the higher religions, in diverse measure, the vision of God as Power is transfigured by a vision of Him as Love; and presentation of this Loving God as a Dying God Incarnate is a theodicy which makes the imitation of Christ immune against the tragedy inherent in any mimesis that is directed towards unregenerate human personalities.

In the story of Christ's temptation in the wilderness at the beginning of His Ministry,2 and of His Passion at the close of it,3 He is presented in the Gospels as refusing, at the price of the Cross, to exercise a spiritually sterile option of imposing His divine will by an act of power. Let the renegade Dionysus indulge an ungodlike lust for human glory by conquering all the Kingdoms of the World,4 and an unedifying animus against his pitifully unsuspecting human persecutor by dealing him, out of the blue, a blasting blow. A divinity who subjugates India and takes revenge on Pentheus5 demonstrates his power of taming men's bodies at the cost of alienating their feelings, while a God who suffers death on the Cross draws all men unto Him.6

'The story of the Temptations is, of course, a parable of His spiritual wrestlings....It represents the rejection, under three typical forms of all existing conceptions of the Messianic task which was to inaugurate the Kingdom of God. Should He use the power of which, as Messiah, He is endowed to satisfy the creature wants of Himself, and His human brethren, so fulfilling the hope of a "good time coming" which prophets had presented in the picture of the Messianic Banquet—(cf. e.g. Isaiah ix. 6,7)? Should he provide irresistible evidence of His divine mission, appearing in the Temple courts upbourne by angels, so that doubt would

2 Matt. iv. 1-11. Mark i. 12-13; Luke iv. 1-13.
3 Matt. xxvi. 53; John xviii. 36; xix. 11.
4 Matt. iv. 8; Luke iv. 5.
5 See V. vi. 265-6
6 John xii. 32.

{p.525} be impossible—(cf. e.g. Daniel vii. 13, 14 and Enoch)? Every one of these conceptions contained truth. When men are obedient to the Kingdom of God and His justice, everyone will have what he needs for food and clothing (St. Matthew vi, 33). The Kingdom of God is the realm of the perfect justice where God's righteous will is done (St. Matthew vi, 10). The authority of Christ is absolute and can claim the support of the hosts of Heaven (St. Matthew xxviii, 18; xxvi, 53). Yet, if any or all of these are taken as fully representative of the Kingdom and its inauguration, they have one fatal defect. They all represent ways of securing the outward obedience of men apart from inward loyalty; they are ways of controlling conduct, but not ways of controlling hearts and wills...and the Kingdom of God, who is Love, cannot be established in that way.' 1

In the imitation of Christ, this God who is Love draws the Soul towards Himself by evoking a love that is a response to His; and because, in this communion of loves, there is no alloy of coercion, a travail on the Soul which begins as an exercise of mimesis bears fruit in a reception of grace, through which the Soul is enabled to partake of the inward spiritual qualities whose outward visible manifestations it has taken as its rule of life. Instead of ending in frustration, disillusionment, and strife, 'imitation' (μίμησις) here flowers into 'assimilation' (όμοίσιως) of Man's nature to God's.2 The 'light caught from a leaping flame', which was imparted to Plato's disciples 'by strenuously intellectual communion and intimate personal intercourse' with the master,3 now reappears as the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost;4 but, instead of being an esoteric initiation within the sanctum of an Academy which none but a properly qualified mathematician may enter,5 the pentecostal fire is a grace that God can give to any human soul that truly seeks it.6

1 Temple, William: Readings in St. John's Gospel: First Series, Chapters i-xii (London 1939, Macmillan), pp. xxvi-xxvii.
2 See Plato, Theaetus, 176-E, quoted in V. vi 165, n. 6, and Athanasius, De Incarnatione, chap. liv, § 3, quoted on p. 513, n. 2, above.
3 Plato's Letters, No. 7, 341B-E, quoted in III. iii. 245.
4 Acts ii. 1-4.
5 Μηδεις άγεωμέτρητος ε εισίτω is said to have been inscribed over the entrance to Plato's institute of philosophy at Athens (Tzetzes; Chiliades, Book VIII, 1. 973).
6 See V. vi. 165-6.


(1) Civilizations as Overtures

{VII.B.II.p.530} One of the features of the Christian liturgy was a recurrence of its ritual in both annual and weekly cycles. The Christian liturgical week was modeled on a Jewish prototype; and, though the Christian copy had been differentiated from the Jewish original by making the first day of the week the holy day instead of the seventh, the Christian adaptation still followed the pristine Jewish dispensation in retaining the Jewish name for the eve of the Sabbath. In the Greek Christian vocabulary, Friday continued to be called 'the preparation' (παρασκευή)—in accordance with a Jewish usage in which this elliptical term explained itself. In the psychological atmosphere of a post-Exhilic Judaism, in which a stateless diasporà maintained its esprit de corps by a common devotion to the keeping of the Mosaic Law, 'the preparation' sans phrase could mean nothing but 'the preparation for the Sabbath'. By analogy it is evident that the inevitable connotation of the word would be, not a liturgical, but a political one in the psychological atmosphere of a pre-Alexandrine Athenian sovereign city-state whose citizens worshipped their own then still potent corporate political power under the name of Athena poliûchus. In the usage of Thucidides, writing for an Athenian public for whom politics were the breath of life, and whose political-mindedness was being accentuated in the historian's generation by the military ordeal of the Great Atheno-Pelopennesian War, the word παρασκευή could be used as elliptically as it was afterwards to be used in the Septuagint to convey, just as unmistakably, an entirely different meaning. Thucydides uses the word to signify what a generation of Englishmen, overtaken unawares by a world was in the year A.D. 1914, learnt ruefully to take to heart as 'preparedness' when they found themselves within an ace of defeat owing to their pre-war neglect to emulate the Germans in building up a stock of armaments to stand them in good stead in a fight for their national existence.

(2) Civilizations as Regressions

{VII.B.II.p.534} The Christian Holy Communion, in which the communicants experience their fellowship in and with Christ, had been implicated in a struggle for equality of rights which, in itself, had been a legitimate quest for justice, but which, at each successive stage in a history that had now run through many chapters, had been waged in ever grosser terms for an ever more material stake. In Bohemia in the fourteenth century of the Christian Era the battle for equality had been opened on sacramental ground; the issue had been between the laity and the clergy; and the stake had been communion in both kinds, which the Utraquists had demanded for the laity as against a clergy which had come to reserve the cup as a privilege for clerks in holy orders. In Holland and England in the Early Modern Age of Western History, and the Western World as a whole after the outbreak of the French Revolution, the battle for equality, which by then had long ceased to be fought at the altar rails, had found a new field in a political arena, where the bourgeoisie now demanded a share in the political power that had been exercised under the ancien régime by oligarchies, aristocracies, and monarchies. In the twentieth century the industrial working class of a Western Society that had now become literally world-wide was demanding equality in the distribution of economic wealth of which the lion's share had been appropriated by the middle-class authors of an eighteenth-century and nineteenth-century industrial revolution. In the twentieth-century class-war, which was being fought for an economic stake, the militant movement on the anti-bourgeois side had adopted the name 'Communism' to signify that it was fighting for a 'commune' in which there should be a community of world goods. Communion in this kind, not communion in the body and blood of Christ, was the connotation that this Latin word had come to have in secular twentieth-century Western minds. The twentieth-century Communists had travelled far indeed from their battle-ground of the fourteenth-century Utraquist forerunners. And, though, in their obsession with a legitimate struggle for economic justice, they had raised the emotional temperature of a political 'ideology' to a religious heat, the authentic leaf that they had torn out of the book of Christianity1 was as unedifying out of its context as it was salutary in itself.





{VIII.A.p.2}...The fluid from of a running warfare is neither so definite nor impassable a barrier as is the military frontier (limes) into which the fluid front crystallizes when the stage of stationary warfare is reached.1 The contrast in configuration and character between an original limen-zone and an eventual limes-line is the geographical expression of the conditions that generate an heroic age.

An heroic age is, in fact, the social and psychological consequence of the crystallization of a limes,* and our purpose in this Part is to trace this sequence of events by our customary empirical method of investigation. A necessary background to this undertaking is, of course, a survey of the barbarian war-bands that had breasted the divers sectors of the limites of divers universal states during the history of Man in Process of Civilization up to date. A survey of this kind has already been attempted in a previous Part.2 In that place, a considerable muster of barbarian war-bands has been reviewed, and in passing, we have also there taken note of their distinctive achievements in the two fields of sectarian religion and epic poetry. In our present inquiry this foregoing survey can be drawn upon for purposes of illustration without having to be recapitulated.

1 See V. v. 208. Ibn Khaldūn defines the frontier of an empire as the lines at which the imperial government's authority peters out. 'A dynasty is much more powerful at its seat of government than it is at the extremities of its empire'. He compares the loss of energy in the radiation of its power to the gradual dying away of rays of light streaming out from the central point, or of the circular ripple which spread over the surface of a piece of water when one strikes it (Muqaddamāt, translated by de Slane, Baron McG. (Paris 1863-8, Imprimerie Impériale, 3 vols.) vol. I, p. 332).
2 In V. v. 210-237
* {nobs Ed. pronounced lǐm-ez, i.e. limits}

(1) A Social Barrage
(2) The Accumulation of Pressure

The Wreckful Siege of Battering Days'

{VIII.C.p.13}...'A long period of 'education", in which a semi-civilized people has been profoundly affected from without by the influence of a civilized people,3 is the necessary prelude4 to the 'heroic age' in which the barbarians have their fling when a sagging and tottering limes at last collapses.

3 Chadwick, The Heroic Age, p. 458.
4 Apropos of the Serb heroic age at the climax of the Orthodox Christian Time of Troubles, after the Bulgarian and East Roman Empires and before the imposition of the Pax Ottomanica, Chadwick points out in op. cit., on p. 448, that, 'here again..., as in the Teutonic and Cumbrian heroic ages, we have the case of a semi-civilized and "juvenile" nation exposed for a long period to the influences of a civilized but decaying empire'. Chadwick has, in fact, established an historical 'law' to the effect that the precipitation of an heroic age is normally the cumulative effect of the radiation of a decaying civilization into a primitive society over a period of time that is to be measured not in years, but in generations. Since the publication of Chadwick's The Heroic Age in A.D. 1912 it had, however, been demonstrated by Hitler that a diabolically perverse process of mis-education can artificially produce the same psychological effect in a community that has advanced as far along the path of civilization as pre-Nazi Germany, and that, under these artificial conditions, the process of barbarization can be so greatly speeded up as to be 'telescoped' into the span of a single generation. The deliberate uprooting of the boys and youths of Nazi Germany from the habit, expectation, and love of a settled life by the systematic application of Modern Western methods of mass-suggestion had evoked a caricature of an heroic age by a process of 'speeding-up' that was counterpart, on a psychological plane, of the visual effect produced by speeding up the display of a film.

The Impracticality of a Policy of Non-Intercourse

The erection of a limes sets in motion a play of social forces which is bound to end disastrously for the builders. A policy of non-intercourse with the barbarians beyond is quite impracticable. Whatever the imperial government may decide, the interests of traders, pioneers, adventurers, and so forth will inevitably draw them beyond the frontier.

The Barbarians Exploitation of their Civilized Neighbours' Weapons

{VIII.C.p.16} The transfrontier barbarian is not, however, content simply to practice the superior tactics which he has learnt from an adjoining civilization without proceeding to adapt them to the local terrain.
Ex hypothesi he already has the initial advantage of being at home in a theatre of military operation in which his opponent is a stranger, since the limes is situated in barbarian territory which the civilization has occupied, up to this line, by force of arms in an aggressive previous chapter of history. When the barbarian combines his hereditary mastery of the local situation with a creative adaptation of borrowed weapons and tactics, superior to his own, to suit the local conditions of warfare, he becomes formidable indeed. His best opportunities for putting his civilized adversary at this military disadvantage arise where the local terrain displays some strongly pronounced physical characteristic which is unfamiliar and adverse to the civilized belligerent and yet at the same time lends itself to the employment, with adroit modifications, of weapons and tactics that have been borrowed from him by his barbarian antagonist.

The Barbarians Exploitation of their Native Terrain

{p.19} On the local anti-barbarian frontiers of the still surviving parochial states of a Westernizing World which, at the time of this writing, embraced all but a fraction of the total habitable and traversable surface of the planet, two of the recalcitrant barbarian's faithful non-human allies had already been outmanœvered by a Modern Western industrial technique. The Forest had long since fallen victim to cold steel, while the Steppe, from its parkland fringe to its desert heart, had been penetrated by the petrol-driven internal combustion engine of the aeroplane and the terrestrial motor vehicle travelling on the treads of a revolving belt over
{p.20}terrain where wheels could no longer convey it. The barbarian's mountain ally, however, had proved a harder nut to crack, and the nineteenth-century Russian feat of taming the Caucuses and twentieth-century French feat of taming the Atlas and the Rīf had not yet been emulated by any corresponding domestication of either the western of the eastern rim of the Iranian Plateau. At this date the serried tiers of the Zagros Range, astride a theoretical Perso-Turkish and Perso-‛Irāqī frontier, were still serving as fastnesses for wild Kurds, Lūrs, Bakhtiyārīs, and the motley wild highlanders of Fars, while the Sulaymān Range and its ramifications were performing the same service for wild Pathans and Balūchīs who were hardly conscious of a theoretical Indo-Afghan frontier that had been drawn across the map of their homelands in A.D. 1893 and had been inherited in A.D. 1947 from a British Indian Empire by a Pakistan that was one of its three successor-states.

{p.22} 'The elaborate and costly equipment which had been invented on the European battlefields of the General War [of A.D. 1914-1918], in operations on level ground between two highly organised armies, was very much less effective when employed against parties of tribesmen lurking in a tangle of mountains.'1

On the other hand,

'as a fighting man the Wazīr and the Mahsūd, always more particularly the latter, when in his own country, may be classed very high, Agile and enduring, he is possessed on his own hillsides of an astonishing mobility, which is intensified by complete disregard of impedimenta, as well as by a natural hardiness that greatly simplifies all supply problems. His skill with the small -bore rifle is considerable, and is only surpassed by a great capacity to exploit the slightest weakness shown by his enemy. Disregard of methods of security on the one hand, a too slavish routine in these faults have been repeatedly penalized by the Mahsūd and Wazīr. The tribesman is gifted with untiring patience and vigilance in observing an enemy when the latter is on the move, a characteristic which makes it extremely difficult to outflank or to surprise him. He is an expert in the attack of detached posts and in the surprise of small parties. This skill may be enhanced by the employment of ruses which can justly be stigmatized as closely akin to treachery.' 2

1 Toynbee, A.J.: Survey of International Affairs, 1925, vol. i (London 1927, Milford), p. 557).
2 de Watteville, H.: Waziristan, 1919-1920 (London 1925, Constable), p. 23. Evidence bearing out this appreciation will be found passim. There are striking examples on pp. 130, 156, 207-9, and 213. The quotations from this book have been made with the permission of the publishers.

The Besieged Civilization's Inability to Redress the Balance by Recourse of Organization and Technique

{p.25} In an economically complex civilization with a money economy, any increase in the numerical strength of a regular standing army entails a corresponding increase in the pressure of taxation upon national income. The division of an intolerably large, and still insatiably growing, proportion of a dwindling national income to meet rising costs of public services is the most conspicuous of the social maladies that were the death of the Roman Empire in the West in the fifth century and in the Centre and East in the seventh century of the Christian Era; and, while the cause of this cancerous growth of the fiscal burden on the backs of the Roman Imperial Government's subjects was an increase in the personnel of the Imperial Civil Service to fill an administrative vacuum arising from the progressive decay of local-government,5 a second cause—which would probably turn out to have been by far the more potent of the two, if all relevant figures were known to us—was the increase in the man-power of the Imperial Army which was required in order to meet the increase in the transfrontier barbarians' military efficiency. We do know that, in the annual budgets of the British Rāj in India during the last century of its existence, the coast of defence (which, in practice, meant the defence of the North-West Frontier) was an item that absorbed a disconcerting proportion of the revenue.6

{p. 26} Thus, if the chronic warfare between the defenders and assailants of a limes is waged in terms of competitive staying power, the defence is bound to collapse sooner or later, since, so far as it is able to hold its own, it can achieve this only by exerting an effort which becomes more and more disproportionate to the effort exacted from its increasingly efficient barbarian adversaries.1 In this situation there are two obvious courses to which the defence may resort in the hope of arresting, by one means or other, the progressive deterioration of its own capacity for organization and technique, in which a civilization is superior to its barbarian neighbours almost ex hypothesi or its barbarian adversaries' capacity for taking military advantage of the local terrain through which the limes runs. These two policies of elaborating its own organization and armaments and of recruiting barbarian man-power are not, of course, mutually exclusive, and a harassed Power behind a limes had usually resorted to both in its desperate search for some means of reversing the accelerating inclination of the scales of war in its barbarian opponents' favour which is the inexorable effect of the passage of Time on a frontier where the civilized party is content to remain passive.

1 The difference in the degree of the effort required from a civilized army and from a barbarian war-band in order to produce an equal quantum of military effect was once expressed in quaintly concrete financial terms by a correspondent of the present writer's in a comparison between the respective performances of the British Army and the Hijīzā Army against the Turkish Army in the General War of A.D. 1914-18. 'From first to last, the military operations of the Hijīzā Army accounted for 65,000 Turkish troops at the cost of less than £100 per head of subsidy, whereas in the British Army's operations against the Turks, each Turkish casualty or prisoner cost from £1500 to £2000' (Toynbee, A.J.: Survey of International Affairs, 1925, vol. i (London 1927, Milford), p. 283, n. 2).

{p.28} This attempt to solve the problem of defence by an improvements in organization, which was such a brilliant failure in the military history of the Diocletianic Roman Empire, had brought in better returns to Powers burdened with anti-barbarian frontiers in a Modern Western World. General Sir C.C. Monro's lightning victory over the Afghans in A.D. 1919 was a triumph of organization in a sudden emergency; Marchal Lyautey's gradual pacification of the Atlas highlands between A.D. 1907 and A.D. 19343 was a still more signal triumph of organization applied to the deliberate execution of a long-term plan; and these are merely two illustrations out of a multitude lying ready to the historian's hand. In the policy of Modern Western imperial governments, however, the resort to organization as a means of redressing an unfavourable inclining balance in the defence of a limes was overshadowed by the resort to technique in an age when Western technology was advancing at an unprecedented pace in to a previously undreamed-of wonderland of scientific discovery and practical 'know-how'.

In such circumstance the Western parties to the conflict between Civilization and barbarism might well feel confident of being able to set so hot a pace in the progressive application of technology to border warfare that their barbarian competitors would find themselves run off their
{p.29} feet. If the barbarian had shown himself able to procure from abroad and even passably imitate at home a relatively simple product of the Modern Western technique, such as an up-to-date breach-loading rifle, was it not the obvious retort for his Western adversary to raise the technological level of competition in armaments from small-arms to artillery, from fire-arms to the aeroplane, and—in terms of the release of atomic energy—from the non-fissile to the fissile type of explosive for the manufacture of bombs? For, even if the barbarians could procure aeroplanes from abroad and could learn to become as skillful an air-pilot as he had already become a marksman, it was hardly conceivable that he could provide for the servicing of aeroplanes, not to speak of installing the plant for manufacturing them, and it was virtually out of the question for him to procure atom bombs from abroad, and quite out of the question for him to acquire and apply the 'know-how' of manufacturing them and detonating them. When Western Man had crowned a century of scientific achievement by discovering how to harness atomic energy to the service of War, it looked indeed as if it now lay in his power (if he could reconcile this with his conscience) literally to annihilate the last unsubdued territory of Barbarism in their last remaining pockets of unsubdued territory—always supposing that these condemned barbarian prisoners of a ubiquitous industrial Western Civilization were not reprieved, after all, by seeing the Western masters of the World destroy one another first in an atomic fratricidal warfare.

This thesis that technique is a winning card in Civilization's hand is forcefull presented in a passage from the pen of a brilliant observer of a campaign in which a Modern Western Power overthrew a barbarian opponent on his own ground by bringing into action against him the Western technique of the Pre-Atomic Age.

'Halfa is nearly four hundred miles from Atbara; yet it was the decisive point of the campaign; for in Halfa was being forged the deadliest weapon that Britain has ever used against Mahdism—the Sudan Military Railway. In the existence of the railway lay all the difference between the extempore, amateur scrambles of Wolseley's campaign and the machine-like precision of Kitchener's. When Civilization fights with Barbarism it must fight with civilized weapons; for with his own arts on his own ground the barbarian is almost certain to be the better man. To go into the Sudan without complete transport and certain communications is as near madness as to go with spears and shields. Time has been on the Sirdar's side, whereas it was dead against Lord Wolseley; and of that, as of every point in his game, the Sidar has known to ensure the full advantage. There was fine marching and fine fighting in the campaign of the Atbara; the campaign would have failed without them; but without the railway there could never have been any campaign at all. The battle of the Atbare was won in the workshops of the Wady Halfa.'1

1 Stevens, G.W.: With Kitchener to Khartum (Edinburgh and London 1898, Blackwood) chap. 3, ad imit., pp. 22-23.

{p.30} A generation later, when this Western feat of harnessing steam-power had been eclipsed by the more extraordinary feat of harnessing atomic energy, it was a temptation for Western minds to assume that the problem of anti-barbarian frontiers had now been solved decisively by the progress of Western technology up to date. At the time of writing, however, atomic energy had not yet been used for the destruction of either Barbarism or Civilization; and the recent experience of Western Powers in trying to offset their barbarian opponents' skill in adapting the use of Modern Western weapons and tactics to the local terrain by bringing into action, on their own side, additional Modern Western weapons of ever more elaborate kinds, had demonstrated that the elaborations of technique, like the elaboration of organization, carried with it certain inherent drawbacks in addition to the untoward social effect of its crushingly heavy cost to the tax-payer and the untoward educational effect of its initiation of the barbarian into the ever more formidable tricks of his civilized adversary's trade.2 these inherent drawbacks to an elaboration of technique might go far towards neutralizing even the military effect of this expedient for redressing the balance of power between Civilization and Barbarism along a static limes.

2 'The development of an strategic perception or of a more far-seeing or reasoned leading among the frontier tribes is perhaps improbable. On the other hand, should any such tendencies creep into their conduct of war, and should the tribesman ever, by any chance, be supported by skilled advice, or find themselves in the possession of efficient artillery, numerous machine guns or stocks of grenades and analogous adjuncts of war, the prospect of entering on a campaign of this nature without highly trained troops is not alluring' (de Watteville, op. cit., p. 210).

The Barbarian's Military Elusiveness and Economic Parasitism

{p.35} The fact is that punitive measures defeat their own object by accentuating an already prevalent tendency in the transfrontier barbarian's social evolution which is precisely what has made him such an awkward neighbour.3 If the transfrontier barbarian had remained an unmodified primitive man living in the static Yin-state in which the genuinely primitive societies were found as far back in Time as the existing evidence carried a twentieth-century western historian's knowledge of them, a decidedly greater proportion of his total energies would have been devoted to the arts of peace and a correspondingly greater coercive effect would have been produced upon him by the punitive destruction of the products of his pacific labours. The tragedy of a ci-devant primitive society's moral alienation from an adjoining civilization by which it has previously been attracted is that the consequent deterioration of their relation from one of progressive cultural radiation-and-mimesis to one of chronic hostilities leads the barbarian to neglect his former peaceful avocations in order to specialize in the art of border warfare—first in self-defence, in order to save himself from subjugation or annihilation at the hands of a civilization that has turned savage, and later—when his growth in military efficiency on his own terrain has gradually reversed the balance of military advantage in his favour—as an alternative means of making his livelihood. To plough and reap vicariously with sword and spear 4 is more lucrative for the barbarian now that a civilization which has been thrown on the defensive can be mulcted of its wealth by way of either loot or subsidies, and this is also more congenial to him now that the
{p. 36} barbarian has become a warrior first and foremost and has remained only secondarily a husbandman. The barbarian adjoining a limes thus ceases to be economically self-supporting and becomes an economic parasite on the civilization on the other side of the military front.

1 While this economic retrogression of the barbarian in a 'reservoir' damned back by a limes is one of the general effects of the erection of a limes in any physical environment, the effect naturally varies in degree in proportion to the extent of the difference between the regions segregated from one another by the limes in point of relative economic attractiveness of unattractiveness. Evidently the ‘reservoir’ barbarian will be the more prone to seek his livelihood by plundering his civilized neighbour's garden than to seek it by cultivating his own wilderness, the more forbidding the wilderness is, and the more smiling the garden. A case in point is the poverty of the Pathan highlands by comparison with the adjoining lowlands of Afghanistan as well as Pakistan (see Toynbee, A.J.: Survey of International Affairs, 1925, vol. i (London 1927, Milford), p. 546-7).
This point is of some importance, because one of the considerations that are apt to decide an empire-builder to draw his limes along a particular line, short of having reached 'a natural frontier', is that, along this line, he has found himself at the limit of the area that he can reckon on being able to exploit economically, with profit to himself, by means of the economic technique of which he is master—at whatever stage of technological 'know-how' he may happen to be at the time when he is choosing the line for his limes. This last qualification has to be added because a country-side that is economically profitable for a society at one level of economic technique may be economically unprofitable for a society at another level. For the Romans round about the beginning of the Christian Era it was economically unprofitable to saddle themselves either with Northern European territories in which the post-glacial forest still had the upper hand over a primitive agriculturist's attempts to clear it, or with an Arabian desert which the sedentary husbandman could never hope to dispute with the stock-breeding Nomad. Accordingly the Romans drew their European limes just short of the coal-deposits in the Ruhr, and the Syrian limes short of the oil-deposits in Arabia.
The Romans did not live to regret this economic blindness of theirs, since their empire came and went before the technique for turning coal and mineral oil to economic account was discovered by the latter-day children of a Western Civilization sprung from the Roman Empire's ruins. On the other hand, there were Modern Western governments that had had the provoking experience of seeing territories in which they had lightheartedly disinterested themselves, in the belief that they were valueless, turn out to be of inestimable economic value in terms of new technological discoveries. The Powers more or less interested in a latter-day Arabia had no sooner completed the delimitation of frontiers in that peninsula after the General War of 1914-18 than they were made aware, by the subsequent pioneer work of Western oil-prospectors, that the sub-soil of the desert which they had been dividing between them was oozing with oil An equally undreamed-of wealth of oil had likewise belatedly been discovered to underlie the surface of lands in the eastern part of the State of Oklahoma that had become the property of Indians descended from 'the five civilized nations' who had been relegated there since A.D. 1825 in the belief that, for the White Man, this was the least desirable piece of country within the whole vast area of the United States. In A.D. 1952 there was a strange irony in the contrast between the respective current economic values of these oil lands in Oklahoma, to which 'the five civilized nations' had been deported, and the cotten-lands of Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi, from which they had been evicted. A similar reflection was suggested at the same date in England by the grass-clad solitudes that had replaced, on the Downs, the cultivation which the Romans had once found there in an age when the forest-clad plains of Britain were inaccessible to the Celtic husbandman as the forest-clad plains of North America were to the Indian hunter at the time of the arrival of the White Man in the New World.
On the morrow of a latter-day Western discovery of the technique of splitting the atom of one particular chemical element, it looked as if a revolution of the planet's wealth in terms of uranium instead of gold might produce even more sensational surprises; and such surprises were bound to evoke the correspondingly poignant regrets in the hearts of the makers of frontiers in a politically divided society embracing the entire surface of the globe.

The Self-Defeat of a Policy of Setting a Thief to Catch a Thief

{p. 39} This striking inequality in the material consequences of border warfare for the two belligerents is reflected in a great and growing inequality between them in moral for the children if a disintegrating civilization that is standing on the defensive―at any rate for a demilitarized majority that is standing in the interior, as distinct from a barbarianized minority in the marches―the interminable border warfare wit the barbarians beyond the limes spells the burden of an ever-increasing financial charge and the anxiety of a never solved military and political problem. For the barbarian belligerent, on the other hand, the same warfare has the very opposite psychological associations. For him, it is not a burden but an opportunity, not an anxiety but an exhilaration. A contest that is always harassing for the civilized party―and utterly devastating for him when he finds himself no nearer to being within sight of the end of it after he has mobilized all his resources of organization and technique―is the very breath of life for the militarized barbarian. This great and always
{p. 39} increasing inequality in 'psychological armament' makes the discomfiture of the civilized belligerent inevitable sooner or later.1

{p.41}...In this place we need only to recall our previous finding2 that this alluring expedient for averting a collapse of the limes actually precipitates the catastrophe which it is designed to forestall, and we may proceed to inquire into the explanation of this apparent paradox.

Part of the explanation is, of course, to be found in the consideration that, in taking the barbarians into his service, the Power behind the limes is also taking them into his confidence and is thereby subjecting them to an intensive course of instruction in a military and political 'know-how' which they can afterwards employ, if they choose, to their own profit at their teachers' expense.

'It can be said of the Roman, Chinese and British Indian empires alike that the method that worked best was one of enlisting the services of the very tribes that were supposedly excluded by the boundary, thus turning them about so that they faced away from the boundary instead of toward it ... nevertheless, it was a method that haunted the imperial state responsible for it, because it created a sword of two edges capable of striking outward when held in a strong hand but of cutting inward when the had weakened. From border societies of this kind, linked with boundary-maintaining empires, were drawn the "barbarian auxiliaries" of Rome and the "tributary barbarians" of China; from a similar society the British Empire in India recruits both regular troops and tribal levies. From the same societies came invaders and conquerors of both Rome and China; and the people of the same kind with whom the British now deal are as dangerous as they are useful.'2

2 Lattimore, O.; Inner Asian Frontiers of China (New York 1940, American Geographical Society), pp. 245-6.

{p.43} The truth is, in enlisting the barbarian in its service, the Power behind the limes is attempting, under altogether unpropitious psychological conditions, to recapture the relation between Barbarism and Civilization that prevailed in days when the civilization had not yet broken down, and the limes had not yet some into existence. The defence of the civilization by an inner ring of barbarians against an outer ring of barbarians was something that happened of itself, without any contract between the parties, so long as the growing civilization was attracting the barbarians by its charm. Under these psychological conditions an inner ring of barbarians served spontaneously both as a conductor through which the civilization radiated its cultural influence into barbarian societies at a farther remove and as a buffer which absorbed the shocks of the se outer barbarians' attempt to take by force1 a cultural kingdom which, in its heyday, had for them the fascination of the Kingdom of Heaven. In these happy psychological circumstances the inner barbarian proselytes of the one day became the cultural converts the next, while today's outer barbarian assailants became tomorrow's inner barbarian proselytes. The growing civilization progressively extended its borders through the successive assimilation of one ring after another of its barbarian neighbours―a very different story from the subsequent history of a broken-down civilization’s expansion by force, up to the

1 Matt. xi. 12.

{p.43} limit to which sheer force could carry it, at the expense of barbarians whom it has ceased to charm.

{p.44}...In these psychological circumstances a corps of barbarian foederati will never turn into a unit of the Imperial Regular Army; it will always remain an unassimilated barbarian was-band retaining its own weapons and tactics, taking its orders from its own war-lord, feeling its own esprit de corps, nursing its own ambitions. In the same circumstances a settlement of barbarian laeti5 will never turn into a civil community of imperial citizens; it will remain an unassimilated imperium in imperio which, short of being annihilated, will find its political destiny sooner ore later in becoming the nucleus of a dissident successor-state doomed to failure; and, as this expedient is the last forlorn hope of the tottering Power behind the limes, its failure is immediately followed by the limes collapse.

(3) The Cataclysm and its Consequences

A Reversal of Roles

{VIII.D.p.45}...This episode in Man's contest with Physical Nature is an apt simile of what happens in Man's struggle with Human Nature, in his neighbours and in himself, upon the collapse of the military barrage of a limes. The resulting social cataclysm is a calamity for all concerned; but in the human, as in the physical, disaster the incidence of the devastation is unequal, and in this case likewise the distribution of the damage is the reverse of what might have been expected a priori. There is, in fact, here a paradoxical reversal of roles.2 So long as the representatives of a disintegrating civilization were successful in saving a tottering limes from collapse, the tribulation which it cost them to perform this tour de force was progressively aggravated, as we have see, 3 out of all proportion to the progressive increase in the pressure exerted by the transfrontier barbarians. On the other hand, now that the disaster, so long dreaded and so long averted by the Power behind the limes, has at last duly descended upon the doomed civilization's devoted head, the principal sufferers are no longer the ex-subjects of the defunct universal state, over whose fields and cities the deluge of barbarian invasion now rolls unchecked, but the ostensibly triumphant barbarians themselves. The hour of their triumph, for which they have thirsted so long, proves to be
{p.46} the occasion of a discomfiture which they nor their defeated adversaries had foreseen.

The Demoralization of the Barbarian Conquerors

What is the explanation of this apparent paradox? The answer is that the limes, whose resistance the transfrontier barbarian has been seeking all the time to overcome, has served, not only as the bulwark of the Civilization that its builders and defenders had intended it to provide against an outer Barbarism, but also as a providential safeguard for the aggressive barbarian himself against demonically self-destructive psychological forces within his own bosom.

...provided by the existence of the very limes which the barbarian is bent on destroying for the limes, so long as it holds, supplies a substitute, in some measure, for the indispensable discipline of which Primitive Man is deprived when the breaking of his cake of primitive custom3 converts him into a transfrontier barbarian. This discipline is partly imposed on him externally; for, so long as the perennial border warfare continues, the barbarian belligerent, whether his role be that of raider, hostage, or mercenary, is being trained continually perforce in a stern yet at the same time instructive military school; but the limes disciplines him most effectively in the psychological sense of giving him tasks to perform, objectives to reach, and difficulties to contend with that call forth his highest powers and constantly keep his efforts up to mark.

With the sudden collapse of the limes sweeps this safeguard away, the nascent creative powers that have been evoked in the transfrontier barbarian by the challenge of the limes are daunted and defeated by being called upon, suddenly and prematurely, top perform new tasks that are altogether too great and too difficult for them to cope with; and in this hour of bewilderment, when there is no more spirit in them,4 these frail

3 See the phrase quoted from Bagehot in II.i.192.
4 2 Chron. ix. 4.

{p.47} shoots of tender wheat are quickly stifled by the tares in the spiritual field of the barbarian's soul―his abandon1 and his ferocity―which find boundless opportunities for luxuriant growth now that the former raider and mercenary has entered into his long-coveted kingdom. If the transfrontier barbarian is more brutal, as well as a more sophisticated, being than his ancestor the primitive tribesman, the latter-day barbarian who has broken through the limes and carved a successor-state out of the derelict domain of a defunct universal state becomes differentiated from his already barbarian predecessor beyond the pale in the same two senses in still a higher degree. As soon as the barbarian has left no-man's-land behind him and set foot in a ruined world which is for him an earthly paradise, his malaise rankles into demoralization...

{p.48}...the barbarians in patribus civilium cast themselves, as we have observed by anticipation, for the sordid role of vultures feeding on carrion or maggots crawling in a carcass; and it has been noticed by Ibn Khaldūn that they are apt to display a most unheroic prudence in keeping at a safe distance from their dying victims body until the life has gone out of him that there is no danger any longer of his being able to offer any resistance.

'[The future founders of a successor-state] give way to baseless fears whenever they hear talk of the [flourishing] state of the existing empire and of the vast resources that it has at its command. This is enough to deter them from attacking it, and so their chief is obliged to have patience and to bide his time. But, when the empire has fallen into complete decadence, as invariably happens, and when its military and financial strength has suffered mortal injuries, this chief is rewarded for having waited so long by now finding himself able to take advantage of the opportunity of conquering the empire....When the will of God has made itself manifest, and the old empire is on the point of collapse, after having reached the term of its existence, and has become disorganised in all its parts, its feebleness and exhaustion attract its adversary's notice....Encouraged by this open discovery, the people of the new empire prepare with one accord to open the attack; the imaginary dangers that had shaken their resolution up to that moment now disappear, the period of waiting comes to an end, and the conquest is accomplished by force of arms.' 5

5 Ibn Khaldūn: Muqaddamāt, translated by de Slane, Baron McG. (Paris 1863-8, Imprimerie Impériale, 3 vols.) vol. ii, p. 134-5.

The Bankruptcy of a Fallen Civilized Empire's Barbarian Successor-states

{VIII.D.p.52} A barbarian successor-state blindly goes into business on the strength of the dishonoured credits of a universal state that has already gone into bankruptcy; and these boors in office hasten the advent of their inevitable doom by a self-betrayal through the outbreak, under stress of a moral ordeal, of something fatally false within;1 for a polity based solely on a gang of armed desperados' fickle loyalty to an irresponsible military leader,2 while it may be adequate for the organization of a raid or, at a pinch, for the administration and defence of a march, is morally unfit for the government of a community that has made even an unsuccessful attempt at civilization.3 It is far more unfit than would have been the unsophisticated yet respectable primitive rule of custom interpreted by the living leaders of the tribe4 into whose swept and gar-

2 'Irresponsible power, uncontrolled by any traditions of ordered freedom, will often assert itself of defend itself by savage cruelty. The catalogue of such enormities is too long and monotonous to be told in detail' (Dill, S. Roman Society in Gaul in the Merovingian Age (London 1926, Macmillan), p. 133, introducing an anthology of Merovingian atrocities).

{p.53} nished house1 this gangster-constitution has forced its entry since the radiation of a disintegrating civilization has perverted that decadent society's once primitive neighbours into bands of adolescent barbarians.2

The Restraining Inluences of Aidôs, Nemesis, and Hilm.

The barbarian trespassers in partibus civilium have, in fact, condemned themselves to suffer a moral breakdown as an inevitable consequence of their own adventurous act.4 Yet they do not yield to their

1 Matt. xii. 44; Luke xi. 25.
2 The moral inferiority of the adolescent barbarian to his predecessor has been pointed out by H. G. Wells in The Outline of History (London 1920, Casell). p. 298, in a passage which is a fine example of his intuitive genius. In order to transpose this passage into the terminology of the present Study, Wells' term 'barbarism' has. Of course, to be construed as 'primitive life', and his term 'savage' as 'primitive'.)
'It is frequently said that Europe in the sixth and seventh centuries relapsed into barbarism, but that does not express the reality of the case very well. Barbarism is social order of an elementary type, orderly within its limits; the state of Europe beneath its political fragmentation was a social disorder. Its moral was not that of kraal, but that of a slum. In a savage krall a savage knows that he belongs to a community, and lives and acts accordingly; in a slum the individual neither knows of, nor acts in relation to, and greater being.'

4 Ibn Khaldūn traces the stages of this demoralization with a masterly hand, and with a wealth of illustrations from the histories of Arab and Berber barbarian interlopers, in op. cit., vol. i, especially pp 292-7 and 342-59: Muqaddamāt, translated by de Slane, Baron McG. (Paris 1863-8, Imprimerie Impériale, 3 vols.) vol. i, p. 134-5.

{p.54} self-decreed doom without a spiritual struggle that has left its traces in their literary records of myth and ritual and standards of conduct.

'The great characteristic of [Aidôs and Nemesis], as of Honour generally is that they only come into operation when a man is free: when there is no compulsion. If you take people ... who have broken away from all their old sanctions and select among them some strong and turbulent chief who fears no one, you will first think that such a man is free to do whatever enters his head. And then, as a matter of fact, you find that, amid his lawlessness, there will crop up some possible action which somehow makes him feel uncomfortable. If he has done it, he "rues" the deed and is haunted by it. If he has not done it, he "shrinks" from doing it. And this, not because anyone forces him, nor yet because any particular result will accrue to him afterwards, but simply because he feels aidôs....2
'Aidôs is what you feel about an act of your own; Nemesis is what you

2 It will be seen that, in H. G Wells' term (see the passage quoted on p. 53, n. 2, above), Aidôs is essentially a virtue of 'a slum' in which 'the individual neither knows of, nor acts in relation to, any greater being.'—A.J.T.

{p.55} feel for the act of another. Or, most often, it is what you imagine that others will feel about you....But suppose no one sees. The act, as you know well, remains νεμεσητόν—a thing to feel nemesis about; only there is no one there to feel it. Yet, if you yourself dislike what you have done, and feel aidôs for it, you inevitably are conscious that somebody or something dislikes or disapproves of you....The Earth, Water, and Air [are] full of living eyes; of theoi, of daimones, of kêres....And it is they who have seen you and are wroth with you for the thing which you have done.'1

In contrast to Aidôs and Nemesis, which enter into all aspects of social life, Hilm is a vertu des politiques.4 Before the inauguration of Islam the practice of Hilm had been learnt by Abu Sufyān, the father of a Mu‛āwīyah who was to found the Umayyad power, in the school of the mercantile republic of Mecca:5 a cultural as well as physical oasis in the desert of Arab barbarism where the rudiments of city-state life had been propagated by a radiation of Syriac and Hellenic influences which, at earlier dates, had produced more brilliant fruits of the kind at Palmyra and at Petra.6 Abu Sufyān's son the Caliph Mu‛āwīyah I claimed that Hilmwas an Umayyad family virtue,7 and Mu‛āwīyah himself came ot figure as the classical exponent of it.8 On of Mu‛āwīyah's dicta was that 'Hilm would be universal if everyone had Abu Sufyān for an ancestor'.9 But 'the qualities which, when found in combination, the Arabs designed by the name of Hilm' were 'as rarely met with as

1 Murray, Gilbert: The Rise of the Greek Epic, 3rd ed. (Oxford 1924, Clarendon Press), pp. 83-84.
5 Lammens, S.J., Père H.: Études sur le Règne du Calife Omaiyade Mo‛âwia Ier (Bayrūt 1908, Imprimerie Catholiquee; Paris 1908, Geuthner), p. 89.
7 See Lammens, op. cit., p. 88, n. 3.
8 See Lammens, op. cit., p. 66-67. A monograph entitled The Hilm of Mu‛āwīyah is on of the lost works of the Classical Arabic literature (Lammens, op. cit., p. 89), but Lammens has collected anecdotes on the subject, from surviving works, in op. cit. 9. 91-103.
9 ibid., p. 88, n. 3.

{p.56} they were highly prized among a passionate people whose temperament was a bundle of nerves—nerves almost showing the skin and reacting the slightest external shock'1

'Hilm is thus something more sophisticated than Aidôs and Nemesis, and consequently also something less attractive. Hilm is emphatically not an expression of humility; it's aim is rather to humiliate an adversary: to surprise him by displaying the contrast of one's own superiority; to surprise him by displaying the dignity and calm of one's own attitude' 3 The practice of Hilm is not incompatible with inward feelings of resentment, animus, and vindictiveness.4 Hilm is not within the competence of anyone who is not rich and powerful, and it presupposes order to injure one's neighbour without having to fear the consequences of one's action.5

'in the desert, every true "gentleman" must have in his moral coach-house (remise—or, as we are tempted to say, in his moral stable (ècurie—two steeds to choose between at his pleasure. On the one, he makes a parade of clemency. The other—is the one which he prefers to mount—allows him to show himself in his true colours....6
'At bottom, Hilm, like most Arab qualities, is a virtue for bravado and display, with more ostentation in it than real substance: one form of Nomad stoicism—a stoicism tinged with pharisaism. Among a theatrical people that is the devitalised heir of a race which has been initiated into civilization at a very early date, but which has since relapsed into the state of nature, a reputation for Hilm can be acquired at the cheap price of an elegant gesture of a sonorous mot: it does not pre-suppose a serious spiritual struggle against passions, against pride, or against desire for vengeance. It can be combined with brutality in daily life...7
'In reality Hilm (as Ahnaf has remarked with profound insight) was not so much a virtue as an attitude—a prudent opportunism serving as a safeguard against abuses of authority, which are always regrettable, under a régime which in principle was democratic; opportune above all in as anarchic milieu, such as the Arab Society was, where every act of violence remorselessly provoked a retaliation. It was no feeling of humanity, but a fear of the thar (émeute), that inspirited the Badawī with a horror of bloodshed. And thus the virtue of Hilm was revealed to him by the disagreeableness of the consequences of a passionate word or gesture. From this point of view, Hilm was something that could not be ignored by the chiefs, who obliged by their situation to maintain an equilibrium between the elements of disorder that were rife within the bosom of the tribe. Given the parliamentary institutions [of the Arab heroic age], Hilm became, for the depository of [political] power, a virtue of the first order....8

1Lammens, op. cit., p. 69.
2 Ibid. p. 67
3 Ibid. p. 68
4 See ibid, p. 69
5 See ibid, pp. 72 and 79
6 Ibid. p. 76
7 Ibid. p. 81
8 Ibid. p. 87

{p.57} 'Hilm as practiced by [Mu‛āwīyah Umayyad successors], facilitated their task of giving the Arabs a political education; it sweetened for their pupils the bitterness of having to sacrifice the anarchic liberty of the Desert in favour of sovereigns who were condescending enough to draw a velvet glove over the iron hand with which they ruled their empire.'1

As Aidôs and Nemesis thus fade from view, their disappearance draws a cry of despair from the weary watcher of the skies. 'Pain and grief are the portion that shall be left for mortal men, and there shall be no defence against the evil day'4 Hesiod is harrowed by his illusory conviction—which it never occurs to him to doubt—that the withdrawal of the glimmering light that has sustained the children of the Dark Age through their vigil is a potent of the onset of an unmitigated and perpetual night; and he has no inkling that, on the contrary, this extinguishing of beacons is a harbinger of the return of day. The truth is that Aidôs and Nemesis reascend into Heaven as soon as the imperceptible emergence of a nascent new civilization has made their sojourn on Earth superfluous by bringing into currency other virtues that are socially more constructive though aesthetically they may be less attractive. The Iron Age into which Hesiod lamented that he had been born, because it was the age that had seen Aidôs and Nemesis shake the dust of this Earth from off their feet, was in fact the age in which a living Hellenic Civilization was arising out of a dead Minoan Civilization's ruins; and the ‛Abbisids, who had no use for the Hilm that had been their Umyyad predecessors' arcanum imperii, were the statesmen who had set the seal on the Umayyad's tour de force of profiting by the obliteration of the Syrian limes of the roman Empire through the demonic outbreak of the Primitive Muslim Arabs in order to reinaugurate a Syriac universal state that had been prematurely overthrown, a thousand years before, by Alexander the Great.5

'With the ‛Abbisids, Hilm will lose its value in the sphere of government, to become a virtue of private life. After the destruction of the former

1 Ibid. p. 103.

{p.58} Arab supremacy and Arab society....absolutism, now firmly established from one end the Islmaic world to the other, no longer felt the necessity of resorting to Hilm in order to overcome the recalcitrance of a public opinion which, thenceforward, was condemned to silence....In undermining, at its foundations, the organisation of the former Arab Society and in forcing all necks to bow before beneath the dead level of despotism, the ‛Abbisids régime was to obtain more decisive results than the lectures (mercuriales) delivered [by Umayyad governors] from the tribunes at Kūfah and Basrah.'1

It was significant that, in order to ensure the salvaging of the Syriac Civilization from the chaos of a post-Hellenic Arab heroic age, there had to be a change of political régime, a barbaric turbulence of Arab war-bands could be reduced to order at the price of suppressing their aristocratic freedom; for the Primitive Muslim Arabs had been perhaps the most gifted of all barbarian warriors, and the Umayyads of all barbarian statesmen, that had so fat fitted across the stage of History. Umayyad statesmanship had achieved the unparalleled feat of transforming an Arab barbarian successor-state of the Roman Empire in Syria in an avatar of the universal state that had originally been provided for the Syriac Civilization, eleven hundred years before, by the Empire of the Achaemenidae. This was an achievement of which the Umayyads' Ghassanid forerunners had never dreamed, and to which the Ghassanids' Palmyrene predecessors had aspired with disastrous consequences for themselves. Yet the raw material of Arab barbarism proved so intractable even to the Umayyad genius2 that an Umayyad David's work had to be completed by an ‛Abbisid Solomon. The exacting, though misguided, task of evoking, in a noscent Far Eastern Western Christian Society, a ghost of the antecedent civilization’s universal state was likewise beyond the interloping barbarians' powers. It is not surprising that, before this task could be taken in hand
{p.59} in Western Christendom, the fainéant Merovingian epigoni of Clovis had to make way for the Carolingians. It is more remarkable that, in the Far East, the epigoni of the Eurasian Nomad barbarian interlopers, who had been so receptive in their attitude towards the legacy of the Sinic culture,1 should have had likewise to make way of for the sedantary barbarian To Pa, and these still more receptive barbarians,2 in their turn, for successor-states, which were harbingers of the imperialo Sui and T’ang.

The Outbreak of an Invincible Criminality

To employ the terminology of the post-Hellenic Arab age, Hilm is worsted—and is bound to be worse—sooner or later by its antithesis and adversary Jahl. While the literal meaning of the Arabic word is 'ignorance', it has a connotation of 'passionateness (emportement), violence, and a brutality which, among Arabs, was sometimes confused with virility',4 The nick-name Abu Jahl means, not 'the ignorant', but 'the impetuous' or 'the emotional (le passionneé)'. 5

'In its usage as conveying the antithesis of Hilm, Jahl incarnates all the faults of deriving from rusticity and drom lack of savoir-vivre, all the passionateness (l'emportement) of youth, all the excesses committed by brute force when it escapes from the control of the Reason. The jāhil is the enemy of the peace-lovers of peace-makers,6 he is destitute of the strict idea of justice,7 he is the victim of pleasure, and allows himself to be captivated by the seductive charms of women.8 He is also the unreflective character, the impotens sui of the Latins—incapable of mastering the angry passions. Jahl is ... the roughness of the manners of the Desert, the absence of restraint in language, an obliviousness of decorum. It is Jahl that betrays its addicts into violations of the code of honour laid down in the customs of the Desert, and into failures to live up to the convenances of social inter-

1 Lammens, S.J., Père H.: Études sur le Règne du Calife Omaiyade Mo‛âwia Ier (Bayrūt 1908, Imprimerie Catholiquee; Paris 1908, Geuthner), p. 106 and 86-87. For the anti-aristocratic egalitarianism of the despotic ‛Abbisid régime, see the present Study, VI. vii. 149-52.

{p.60} course, the laws of hospitality, the duties of friendship, and, in short, "the new spirit", inaugurated by Islam, to which ... the Badu never succeeded in conforming.'1

Indeed, when the Badawī frankly looked back to the Jāhilīyah as 'the good old times when people were able to live without constraint, "without suspecting the existence of Muhammad"'. 2 In the social and psychological landscape of the Arab heroic age the jāhil and the halīm were complementary characterizations which, between them, provided a temperamental classification for the whole of Mankind;3 but the issue of the struggle between the two temperments was a foregone conclusion, since the weights on the respective scales were utterly unequal. Not only did the juhalā outnumber the hulamā, and this by an overwhelming majority; the most deadly weakness of the exponents of Hilm was not their numerical inferiority but their lack of genuine belief in, and sincere devotion to, their own principle. Hilm, as we have seen,4 'was not so much a virtue as an attitude'. For Mu‛āwīyah himself, who was the halīm par excellence,

'Hilm was something that appealed to the ambition of this man of genius, not as an end, but as a means; nos to much as a moral quality perfecting [the character of] the individual as for its utility as an instrument of government.' 5

When the halīm himself is jāhil at heart, it is evident that an attitude thus struck, without conviction, by a sceptically sophisticated minority has no prospect of prevailing.

The works of the Jahl that Hilm has failed to chasten and that Aidôs and Nemesis have been impotent to abash have left scares which have been the barbarian's authentic marks in the record of history. His characteristic brutality declares itself at his first break-through...

1 Lammens, op. cit., pp. 85-86.
2 Ibid., p. 83, quoting Ahtal, 321. 4.
3 Ibid., p. 82, quoting Al-Mubarrad: Kamil, 425. 9.
4 In the passage quoted, on p. 56, above, from Lammens, op. cit., p. 87.
5 Ibid. p. 91.

{p. 61} Such wholesale atrocities are the individual crimes of violence that are the outstanding features of the Heroic Age both in history and legend. The demoralized barbarian society in which these dark deeds are perpetrated is so familiar with their performance and so obtuse to their horror2 that the bards whose task it is to immortalize the memory of the war-lords do not hesitate to saddle their heroes and heroines with sins of which they have been innocent in real life, when a blackening of the characters can heighten the artistic merit of the story.3 This readiness to magnify a character's artistic interest at the cost of his moral reputation might incline the latter-day critic to discount the evidence of legend unsupported by independent historical testimony, were it not that almost every enormity celebrated in epic and saga is accredited by historically recorded parallels for which the evidence is impeccable.

'In A.D. 1723 [Mahmūd] put to death in cold blood some three hundred of the nobles and the chief citizens, and followed up this bloody deed with the murder of about two hundred children of their familiars. He also killed some three thousand of the deposed Shah's bodyguard, together with many other persons whose sentiments he mistrusted or whose influence he feared.' 2

On the 7th of February, 1725, Mahmūd went on to murder all surviving members of the imperial family except Husayn himself and two of his younger children—a crime which was overtaken by poetic justice when, on the 22nd April following, Mahmūd in his turn was assassined by his own cousin Ashraf for the prize of an usurped Iranian imperial crown.3

The murder of a defenceless prince is the highest rung on a descending ladder of barbarian criminality. At the next level below this in the inferno of the Heroic Age we behold the barbarian war-band, murdering, not an enemy prince, but their own leader—in violation of the personal duty of the retainer to his chief which is the most sacred obligation in the barbarian moral code. This offence is so outrageous in the eyes even of a barbarian bard and his audience that it might be difficult to find a legendary counterpart of the historic murder of the Caliph ‘Uthmān by a soldiery who had been thrown off their balance by the intoxification of victory.4 At the next level below this we see a drunken Alexander murdering Cleitus who can boast of having saved his slayer-leader's life at the battle of Granicusū—and this in the presence of Hellenes whose already decadent civilization still shines so bright by contrast with a Macedonian barbarism that it makes these horrified witnesses look like demi-gods.5. From the murder of a fosterkinsman6 comrade-in-arms it is a short step downwards in the progressive demoralization of the Heroic Age to the murder of a kinsman by blood.

2 See Browne, E. G." A Literary History of Persia, vol. iv (Cambridge 1928, University Press), pp. 130.
3 See Ibid., p. 131.

{p. 64} When the members of a barbarian war-lord's kin-group turn their murderous hands against one another, it is not surprising to see a dead leader's royal blood exterminated by the hands of impious alien usurpers in the next chapter of the story—as the family of Alexander was liquidated by Cassander, and the grandson of Muhammad by the Umayyads.3. A slaughtered Husayn received the posthumous recompense of being idealized as a martyr whose etherialized blood mingled with his father's4 to become the seed of the Shī‘ī Church; but Olympus, Roxana, and the child Alexander IV did not even find a pagan bard to make poetry of their painful deaths.

Such mass-murders are mere incidents in civil strife within the bosom of barbarian communities that are highly enough organized to be swift and facile conquests of derelict worlds in the heroic ages of the Western Christian Spanish conquerors of the Aztecs and the Incas, the Hellenized Macedonian conquerors of the Achaemenidae, the subsequent Hellenic conquerors of the Mauryan Empire of India,5 and the Primitive Muslim Arab conquerors of the Romans and the Sasanidae—Arabs who, to damn them with faint praise, had been perhaps the least barbarous of all barbarians up to date. These episodes need not be recapitulated here, since they have been surveyed already, in a different context,6 as examples of the militarist's 'burden of Ninevah'. In this place we need only point to the manifest conclusion that 'every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation, and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand'. 7

3 In justice to the Umayadds it should not be forgotten that Husayn brought his death upon himself by his own folly. The Umayyad Government would have given a fortune to see him die in his bed as their pensioner, like his elder brother Hasan after his abdication from the succession to their father. ‛Ali (the allegation what Hasan met his death, not by disease, but by poison, ahs been dismissed as non-proven by Lammens, S.J., Père H.: Études sur le Règne du Calife Omaiyade Mo‛âwia Ier (Paris 1908, Geuthner), pp 149-53.
4 ‛Ali's assassin was a fellow Arab, but, so far from being an agent of Mu‛āwīyah's, he was a Kharijite.
6 In IV. iv. 484-6.
7 Matt. xii. 25. Cp. Mark iii. 24-25; Like xi. 17.

(4) Fancy and Fact
Note: 'The Monstrous Regiment of Women'




(1) Plan of Operations
(2) Operations According to Plan

(a) Encounters with the Modern Western Civilization
(i) The Modern West and Russia
Russia's 'Western Question'
Alternative Russian Responses to the Challenge
of Western Technology

(ii) The Modern West and the Main Body of Orthodox Christendom
The Reception of a Modern Western Culture by the Ottoman Orthodox Christians and its Political Consequences

(iii) The Modern West and the Hindu World
(iv) The Modern West and the Islamic World
The Postponement of the Crisis
The Muslim Peoples Military Approach to the Western Question

(v) The Modern West and the Jews
(vi) The Modern West and Far Eastern and Indigenous American Civilizations
(vii) Characteristics of the Encounters between the Modern West and its Contemporaries

(b) Encounters with Medieval Western Christendom

(i) The Flow and Ebb of the Crusades
(ii) The Medieval West and the Syriac World
(iii) The medieval West and Greek Orthodox Christendom

(c) Encounters between Civilizations of the First Two Generations

(i) Encounters with the Post-Alexandrine Hellenic Civilization
(ii) Encounters with the Pre-Alexandrine Hellenic

(iii) Tares and Wheat


(1) Concatenations of Encounters
(2) Diversities of Response


(1) Aftermaths of Unsuccessful Assaults
(2) Aftermaths of Successful Assaults

(a) Effects on the Body Social
(b) Responses of the Soul

(i) Dehumanization
(ii) Zealotism and Herodianism
(iii) Evangelism
Note ‘Asia’ and ‘Europe’: Facts and Fantasies



(1) Introduction ‘The Renaissance’
(2) Renaissances of Political Ideas and Institutions
(3) Renaissances of Systems of Law
(4) Renaissances of Philosophies
(5) Renaissances of Languages and Literatures
(6) Renaissances of Visual Arts
(7) Renaissances of Religious Ideals and Institutions





(1) The Meaning of 'Law'
(2) The Antinomianism of Modern Western Historians


(1) A Survey of the Evidence

(a) The Private Affairs of Individuals
(b) The Industrial Affairs of Modern Western Societies
(c) The Rivalries of Parochial States: The Balance of Power
(d) The Disintegrations of Civilizations
(e) The Growth of Civilizations
(f) ‘There is no armour against Fate’

(2) Possible Explanations of the Currency of ‘Laws of Nature’ in History
(3) Are Laws of Nature current in History inexorable or controllable?







(1) Western Experiences with Non-Western Precedents
(2) Unprecedented Western Experiences







The Crescendo and Diminuendo of Militarism in Western Europe
The Significance of Hitler's Bid for World-Dominion
The Temper generated by Militarization in the Non-Western Peasantry
The Temper in the Soviet Union and in the United States
The Psychological Consequences of Atomic Warfare



(2) Mechanization and Private Enterprise
(5) Living happy ever after?





I. RECEPTIVITY ....... 3

II. CURIOSITY ....... 7





(a) MINUSCULA....... 50


1. Inspirations from Social Milieux ... 59

Clarendon, Procopius, Josephus, Thucydides, Rhodes . ..59

Polybius . . 63

Josephus and Ibn al-Tiqtaqā . . .66

‛Alā-ad-Dīn Juwaynī and Rashīd-ad-Dīn Hamadānī ...69

Herodotus . . .80

Turgot ....... 82

Ibn Khaldūn ....... 84

Saint Augustine . . 87

A Twentieth-century Western Student of History. 91

2. Inspirations from Personal Experiences . 98

Gibbon ....... 98

Volney ....... 107

Peregrinus Wiccamicus . . 107

Yosoburo Takekoshi . . . 111




XIII B (iii), Annex: A Business School of Intellectual Action … 145


I. The Problem .. .167

II. The Case for the Goodman-Martinez-Thompson Correlation of the Yucatec and Mayan Chronology with Years of the Christian Era … 169

III. The Current Controversy over the Dating of the First Dynasty of Babylon in terms of Years B.C. . . . . .171

The Overthrow of Eduard Meyer's Reconstruction of the Chronology of South-West Asian History . . . . . 171

The Stratigraphical Evidence from Sites in North Syria . . 173

The Evidence of the Mari Archives . . . 174

The Evidence of the Khorsabad List of Kings of Assyria . . 175

The Chronological Significance of Ammi-şaduga's Venus Observations… 180

The Relative Certainty of the Dating of the Egyptiac 'Middle Empire’...182

The Picture presented by the Mari Archives and by Babylonian Documents dating from the Reign of Hammurabi . . .184

The Nemesis of Hammurabi's Imperialism .. .186

An Egyptiac Chronological Framework for the 210 years of South-West Asian History running from the Earliest of the Letters in the Diplomatic Correspondence of King
Šamši-Adad I of Assyria down to the Hittite War-Lord Muršiliš I's Raid on Babylon…187

The Twelfth Dynasty's Ascendancy over Syria and the Dating of Šamši-Adad I’s Diplomatic Correspondence . . .188

The Eighteenth Dynasty's Ascendancy over Syria and the Dating of Muršiliš I's Raid on Babylon . .. .192

The Contemporaneity of Ikhnaton's Reign with Suppiluliuma's and the Dating of Muršiliš I's Raid on Babylon . . . 195

The Hyksos Conquest of Egypt and the Dating of the Reign of Hammurabi ....... 197

The Kassite Conquest of Babylonia and the Dating of the Reign of Hammurabi ...208

Some Provisional Conclusions from the Evidence as it stood in A.D. 1952 ......210

The Chronology adopted in Volumes vii-x of this Study . . .212


I. To Marcus, for teaching me to return Thanks to my Benefactors . 213

II. To my Mother, for making me an Historian . . .213

III. To Edward Gibbon, for showing me, by Example, what an Historian could do…213

IV. To People, Institutions, Landscapes, Monuments, Pictures, Languages, and Books, for exciting my Curiosity . . .213

V. To People and Books, for teaching me Methods of Intellectual Work ........226

VI. To People and Books, for teaching me Methods of Literary Presentation....229

VII. To People, Monuments, Apparatus, Pictures, Books, and Events, for giving me Intuitions and Ideas. . . . .231

VIII. To People and Institutions, for showing Kindness to me . . 236





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