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B. PSYCHOLOGICAL CAUSES OF LEADERSHIP

1. CHAPTER I
THE ESTABLISHMENT OF A CUSTOMARY RIGHT TO THE OFFICE OF DELEGATE

One who holds the office of delegate acquires a moral right to that office, and delegates remain in office unless removed by extraordinary circumstances or in obedience to rules observed with exceptional strictness. An election made for a definite purpose becomes a life incumbency. Custom becomes a right. One who has for a certain time held the office of delegate ends by regarding that office as his own property. If refused reinstatement, he threatens reprisals (the threat of resignation being the least serious among these) which will tend to sow confusion among his comrades, and this confusion will continue until he is victorious.

Resignation of office, in so far as it is not a mere expression of discouragement or protest (such as disinclination to accept a candidature in an unpromising constituency), is in most cases a means for the retention and fortification of leadership. Even in political organizations greater than party, the leaders often employ this stratagem, thus disarming their adversaries by a deference which does not lack a specious democratic color. The opponent is forced to exhibit in return an even greater deference, and this above all when the leader who makes use of the method is really indispensable, or is considered indispensable by the mass. The recent history of Germany affords numerous examples showing the infallibility of this machiavellian device for the maintenance of leadership. During the troubled period of transition from absolute to constitutional monarchy, during the ministry of Ludolf Camphausen, King Frederick William IV of Prussia threatened to abdicate whenever liberal ideas were tending in Prussian politics to gain the upper hand over the romanticist conservatism which was dear to his heart. By this threat the liberals were placed in a dilemma. Either they must accept the king's abdication, which would involve the accession to the throne of Prince William of Prussia, a man of ultra-reactionary tendencies, whose reign was likely to be initiated by an uprising among the lower classes; or else they must abandon their liberal schemes, and maintain in power the king now become indispensable. Thus Frederick William always succeeded in getting his own way, and in defeating the schemes of his political opponents. Thirtyfive years later Prince Bismarck, establishing his strength with the weapon of his indispensability, consolidated his omnipotence over the German empire which he had recently created, by again and again handing in his resignation to the Emperor William I. His aim was to reduce the old monarch to obedience, whenever the latter showed any signs of exercising an independent will, by suggesting the chaos in internal and external policy which would necessarily result from the retirement of the “founder of the empire,” since the aged emperor was not competent to undertake the personal direction of affairs. [49] The present president of the Brazilian republic, Hermes da Fonseca, owes his position chiefly to a timely threat of resignation. Having been appointed Minister of War in 1907, Fonseca undertook the reorganization of the Brazilian army. He brought forward a bill for the introduction of universal compulsory military service, which was fiercely resisted in both houses of parliament. Through his energetic personal advocacy, sustained by a threat of resignation, the measure was ultimately carried, and secured for its promoter such renown, that not only did he remain in office, but in the year 1910 was elected President of the Republic by 102,000 votes against 52,000.

It is the same in all political parties. Whenever an obstacle is encountered, the leaders are apt to offer to resign, professing that they are weary of office, but really aiming to show to the dissentients the indispensability of their own leadership. In 1864, when Vahlteich proposed a change in the rules of the General Association of German Workers, Lassalle, the president, was very angry, and, conscious of his own value to the movement, propounded the following alternative: Either you protect me from the recurrence of such friction as this, or I throw up my office. The immediate result was the expulsion of the importunate critic. In Holland to-day, Troelstra, the Dutch Lassalle, likewise succeeds in disarming his opponents within the party by pathetically threatening to retire into private life, saying that if they go on subjecting his actions to an inopportune criticism, his injured idealism will force him to withdraw from the daily struggles of party life. The same thing has occurred more than once in the history of the Italian socialist party. It often happens that the socialist members of parliament find themselves in disagreement with the majority of the party upon some question of importance, such as that of the opportuneness of a general strike; or in the party congresses they may wish to record their votes in opposition to the views of their respective branches. It is easy for them to get their own way and to silence their opponents by threatening to resign. If necessary, they go still further, and actually resign their seats, appealing to the electors as the only authority competent to decide the question in dispute. In such cases they are nearly always re-elected, and thus attain to an incontestable position of power. At the socialist congress held at Bologna in 1904, some of the deputies voted in favor of the reformist resolution, in opposition to the wishes of the majority of the comrades whose views they were supposed to represent. When called to account, they offered to resign their seats, and the party electors, wishing to avoid the expense and trouble of a new election, and afraid of the loss of party seats, hastened to condone the deputies' action. In May, 1906, twenty-four out of the twentyseven members of the socialist group in the Chamber resigned their seats, in consequence of the difference of views between themselves and the rank and file on the subject of the general strike, which the deputies had repudiated. All but three were re-elected.

Such actions have a fine democratic air, and yet hardly serve to conceal the dictatorial spirit of those who perform them. The leader who asks for a vote of confidence is in appearance submitting to the judgment of his followers, but in reality he throws into the scale the entire weight of his own indispensability, real or supposed, and thus commonly forces submission to his will. The leaders are extremely careful never to admit that the true aim of their threat to resign is the reinforcement of their power over the rank and file. They declare, on the contrary, that their conduct is determined by the purest democratic spirit, that it is a striking proof of their fineness of feeling, of their sense of personal dignity, and of their deference for the mass. Yet if we really look into the matter we cannot fail to see that, whether they desire it or not., their action is an oligarchical demonstration, the manifestation of a tendency to enfranchise themselves from the control of the rank and file. Such resignations, even if not dictated by a self-seeking policy, but offered solely in order to prevent differences of opinion between the leaders and the mass, and in order to maintain the necessary harmony of views, always have as their practical outcome the subjection of the mass to the authority of the leader.

2. CHAPTER II
THE NEED FOR LEADERSHIP FELT BY THE MASS

A DISTINGUISHED French dramatist who devoted his leisure to writing prose studies of serious social questions, Alexandre Dumas fils, once observed that every human advance was, at its outset, opposed by ninety-nine per cent of humanity. “Mais c'est sans aucune importance puisque ce centième auquel nous appartenons, depuis le commencement du monde a fait faire aux quatre-vignt-dix-neuf autres toutes les rélformes dont ils se trouvent très bien aujourd'hui tout en protestant contre celles qui restent à faire.” In another passage he adds: “Les majorités ne sont que la preuve de ce qui est,” whereas “les minorotés sont souvent le germe de ce qui sera.” [50]

There is no exaggeration in the assertion that among the citizens who enjoy political rights the number of those who have a lively interest in public affairs is insignificant. In the majority of human beings the sense of an intimate relationship between the good of the individual and the good of the collectivity is but little developed. Most people are altogether devoid of understanding of the actions and reactions between that organism we call the state and their private interests, their prosperity, and their life. As de Tocqueville expresses it, they regard it as far more important to consider “s'il faut faire passer un chemin au bout de leur domaine” [51] than to interest themselves in the general work of public administration. The majority is content, with Stirner, to call out to the state, “Get away from between me and the sun!” Stirner makes fun of all those who, in accordance with the views of Kant, preach it to humanity as a “sacred duty” to take an interest in public affairs. “Let those persons who have a personal interest in political changes concern themselves with these. Neither now nor at any future time will 'sacred duty' lead people to trouble themselves about the state, just as little as it is by 'sacred duty' that they become men of science, artists, etc. Egoism alone can spur people to an interest in public affairs, and will spur them—when matters grow a good deal worse.” [52]

In the life of modern democratic parties we may observe signs of similar indifference. It is only a minority which participates in party decisions, and sometimes that minority is ludicrously small. The most important resolutions taken by the most democratic of all parties, the socialist party, always emanate from a handful of the members. It is true that the renouncement of the exercise of democratic rights is voluntary; except in those cases, which are common enough, where the. active participation of the organized mass in party life is prevented by geographical or topographical conditions. Speaking generally, it is the urban part of the organization which decides everything; the duties of the members living in country districts and in remote provincial towns are greatly restricted; they are expected to pay their subscriptions and to vote during elections in favor of the candidates selected by the organization of the great town. There is here at work the influence of tactical considerations as well as that of local conditions. The preponderance of the townsmen over the scattered country members corresponds to the necessity of promptness in decision and speed in action to which allusion was made in an earlier chapter.

Within the large towns there goes on a process of spontaneous selection, in virtue of which there is separated from the organized mass a certain number of members who participate more diligently than the others in the work of the organization. This inner group is composed, like that of the pious frequenters of the churches, of two very distinct categories: the category of those who are animated by a fine sense of duty, and the category of those whose attendance is merely a matter of habit. In all countries the number of this inner circle is comparatively small. The majority of the members are as indifferent to the organization as the majority of the electors are to parliament. Even in countries like France, where collective political education is of older date, the majority renounces all active participation in tactical and administrative questions, leaving these to the little group which makes a practice of attending meetings. The great struggles which go on among the leaders on behalf of one tactical method or another, struggles in fact for supremacy in the party, but carried out in the name of Marxism, reformism, or syndicalism, are not merely beyond the understanding of the rank and file, but leave them altogether cold. In almost all countries it is easy to observe that meetings held to discuss questions of the hour, whether political, sensational, or sentimental (such as protection, an attack upon the Government, the Russian revolution, and the like), or those for the discussion of matters of general interest (the discovery of the North Pole, personal hygiene, spiritualism), attract a far larger audience, even when reserved to members of the party, than do meetings for the discussion of tactical or theoretical questions, although these are of vital importance to the doctrine or to the organization. The present writer knows this from personal experience in three typical great cities, Paris, Frankfort-on-the-Main, and Turin. Notwithstanding differences of atmosphere, there was observable in each of these three centers the same indifference to party affairs and the same slackness of attendance at ordinary meetings. The great majority of the members will not attend meetings unless some noted orator is to speak, or unless some extremely striking warcry is sounded for their attraction, such as, in France, “A bas la vie chère!” or, in Germany, “Down with personal government!” A good meeting can also be held when there is a cinema-show, or a popular scientific lecture illustrated by lantern-slides. In a word, the ordinary members have a weakness for everything which appeals to their eyes and for such spectacles as will always attract a gaping crowd.

It may be added that the regular attendants at public meetings and committees are by no means always proletarians—especially where the smaller centers are concerned. When his work is finished, the proletarian can think only of rest, and of getting to bed in good time. His place at meetings is taken by petty bourgeois, by those who come to sell newspapers and picture-postcards, by clerks, by young intellectuals who have not yet got a position in their own circle, people who are all glad to hear themselves spoken of as authentic proletarians and to be glorified as the class of the future.

The same thing happens in party life as happens in the state. In both, the demand for monetary supplies is upon a coercive foundation, but the electoral system has no established sanction. An electoral right exists, but no electoral duty. Until this duty is superimposed upon the right, it appears probable that a small minority only will continue to avail itself of the right which the majority voluntarily renounces, and that the minority will always dictate laws for the indifferent and apathetic mass. The consequence is that, in the political groupings of democracy, the participation in party life has an echeloned aspect. The extensive base consists of the great mass of electors; upon this is superposed the enormously smaller mass of enrolled members of the local branch of the party, numbering perhaps one-tenth or even as few as onethirtieth of the electors; above this, again, comes the much smaller number of the members who regularly attend meetings; next comes the group of officials of the party; and highest of all, consisting in part of the same individuals as the last group, come the half-dozen or so members of the executive committee. Effective power is here in inverse ratio to the number of those who exercise it. Thus practical democracy is represented by the following diagram:— [53]

Though it grumbles occasionally, the majority is really delighted to find persons who will take the trouble to look after its affairs. In the mass, and even in the organized mass of the labour parties, there is an immense need for direction and guidance. This need is accompanied by a genuine cult for the leaders, who are regarded as heroes. Misoneism, the rock upon which so many serious reforms have at all times been wrecked, is at present rather increasing than diminishing. This increase is explicable owning to the more extensive division of labour in modern civilized society, which renders it more and more impossible to embrace in a single glance the totality of the political organization of the state and its ever more complicated mechanism. To this misoneism are superadded, and more particularly in the popular parties, profound differences of culture and education among the members. These differences give to the need for leadership felt by the masses a continually increasing dynamic tendency.

This tendency is manifest in the political parties of all countries. It is true that its intensity varies as between one nation and another, in accordance with contingencies of a historical character or with the influences of racial psychology. The German people in especial exhibits to an extreme degree the need for someone to point out the way and to issue orders. This peculiarity, common to all classes not excepting the proletariat, furnishes a psychological soil upon which a powerful directive hegemony can flourish luxuriantly. There exist among the Germans all the preconditions necessary for such a development: a psychical predisposition to subordination, a profound instinct for discipline, in a word, the whole still-persistent inheritance of the influence of the Prussian drill-sergeant, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages; in addition, a trust in authority which verges on the complete absence of a critical faculty. It is only the Rhinelanders, possessed of a somewhat more conspicuous individuality, who constitute, to a certain extent, an exception to this generalization. The risks to the democratic spirit that are involved by this peculiarity of the German character were well known to Karl Marx. Although himself a party leader in the fullest sense of the term, and although endowed to the highest degree with the qualities necessary for leadership, he thought it necessary to warn the German workers against entertaining too rigid a conception of organization. In a letter from Marx to Schweitzer we are told that in Germany, where the workers are bureaucratically controlled from birth upwards, and for this reason have a blind faith in constituted authority, it is above all necessary to teach them to walk by themselves. [54]

The indifference which in normal times the mass is accustomed to display in ordinary political life becomes in certain cases of particular importance, an obstacle to the extension of the party influence. The crowd may abandon the leaders at the very moment when these are preparing for energetic action. This happens even in connection with the organization of demonstrations of protest. At the Austrian socialist congress held at Salzburg in 1904, Dr. Ellenbogen complained: “I am always anxious when the party leaders undertake any kind of action. It seems simply impossible to arouse the interest of the workers even in matters which one would have expected them to understand. In the agitation against the new military schemes, we found it impossible to organize meetings of a respectable size.” [55] In Saxony, in 1895, when it was proposed to restrict the suffrage, that is to say to limit the political rights of thousands of workers, the socialist leaders vainly endeavoured to arouse a general agitation, their attempts being rendered nugatory by the general apathy of the masses. The language of the press was inflammatory. Millions of leaflets were distributed. Within the space of a few days a hundred and fifty meetings of protest were held. All was without effect. There was no genuine agitation. The meetings, especially in the outlying districts, were very scantily attended. [56] The leaders, alike the Central Committee and the district organizers, were overwhelmed with disgust at the calm indifference of the mass, which rendered serious agitation altogether impossible. [57] The failure of the movement was due to an error of omission on the part of the leaders. The rank and file did not recognize the importance of the loss they were to suffer because the leaders had neglected to point out all its consequences. Accustomed to being ruled, the rank and file needs a considerable work of preparation before they can be set in motion. In default of this, and when signals which the rank and file do not understand are unexpectedly made by the leaders, they pay no attention.

The most striking proof of the organic weakness of the mass is furnished by the way in which, when deprived of their leaders in time of action, they abandon the field of battle in disordered flight; they seem to have no power of instinctive reorganization, and are useless until new captains arise capable of replacing those that have been lost. The failure of innumerable strikes and political agitations is explained very simply by the opportune action of the authorities, who have placed the leaders under lock and key. It is this experience which has given rise to the view that popular movements are, generally speaking, artificial products, the work of isolated individuals termed agitators (Aufwiegler, Hetzer, Meneurs, Sobillatori), and that it suffices to suppress the agitators to get the upper hand of the agitation. This opinion is especially favored by certain narrow-minded conservatives. But such an idea shows only the incapacity of those who profess to understand the intimate nature of the mass. In collective movements, with rare exceptions, the process is natural and not “artificial.” Natural above all is the movement itself, at whose head the leader takes his place, not as a rule of his own initiative, but by force of circumstances. No less natural is the sudden collapse of the agitation as soon as the army is deprived of its chiefs.

The need which the mass feels for guidance, and its incapacity for acting in default of an initiative from without and from above, impose, however, heavy burdens upon the chiefs. The leaders of modern democratic parties do not lead an idle life. Their positions are anything but sinecures, and they have acquired their supremacy at the cost of extremely hard work. Their life is one of incessant effort. The tenacious, persistent, and indefatigable agitation characteristic of the socialist party, particularly in Germany, never relaxed in consequence of casual failures, nor ever abandoned because of casual successes, and which no other party has yet succeeded in imitating, has justly aroused the admiration even of critics and of bourgeois opponents. In democratic organizations the activity of the professional leader is extremely fatiguing, often destructive to health, and in general (despite the divison of labour) highly complex. He has continually to sacrifice his own vitality in the struggle, and when for reasons of health he ought to slacken his activities, he is not free to do so. The claims made upon him never wane. The crowd has an incurable passion for distinguished orators, for men of a great name, and if these are not obtainable, they insist at least upon an M.P. At anniversaries and other celebrations of which the democratic masses are so fond, and always during electoral meetings, demands pour in to the central organization, and close always on the same note, “we must have an M.P.!” In addition, the leaders have to undertake all kinds of literary work, and should they happen to be barristers, they must give their time to the numerous legal proceedings which are of importance to the party. As for the leaders of the highest grade, they are simply stifled under the honorary positions which are showered upon them. Accumulation of functions is, in fact, one of the characteristics of modern democratic parties. In the German socialist party we not infrequently find that the same individual is a towncouncilor, a member of the diet, and a member of the Reichstag, or that, in addition to two of these functions, he is editor of a newspaper, secretary of a trade union, or secretary of a cooperative society; the same thing is true of Belgium, of Holland, and of Italy. All this brings honor to the leader, gives him power over the mass, makes him more and more indispensable; but it also involves continuous overwork; for those who are not of exceptionally strong constitution it is apt to involve a premature death.

3. CHAPTER III
THE POLITICAL GRATITUDE OF THE MASSES

IN addition to the political indifference of the masses and to their need for guidance, there is another factor, and one of a loftier moral quality, which contributes to the supremacy of the leaders, and this is the gratitude felt by the crowd for those who speak and write on their behalf. The leaders acquire fame as defenders and advisers of the people; and while the mass, economically indispensable, goes quietly about its daily work, the leaders, for love of the cause, must often suffer persecution, imprisonment, and exile.

These men, who have often acquired, as it were, an aureole of sanctity and martyrdom, ask one reward only for their services, gratitude. Sometimes this demand for gratitude finds written expression. Among the masses themselves this sentiment of gratitude is extremely strong. If from time to time we encounter exceptions to this rule, if the masses display the blackest ingratitude towards their chosen leaders, we may be certain that there is on such occasions a drama of jealousy being played beneath the surface. There is a demagogic struggle, fierce, masked, and obstinate, between one leader and another, and the mass has to intervene in this struggle, and to decide between the adversaries. But in favoring one competitor, it necessarily displays “ingratitude” towards the other. Putting aside these exceptional cases, the mass is sincerely grateful to its leaders, regarding gratitude as a sacred duty. As a rule, this sentiment of gratitude is displayed in the continual re-election of the leaders who have deserved well of the party, so that leadership commonly becomes perpetual. It is the general feeling of the mass that it would be “ungrateful” if they failed to confirm in his functions every leader of long service.

4. CHAPTER IV
THE CULT OF VENERATION AMONG THE MASSES

THE socialist parties often identify themselves with their leaders to the extent of adopting the leaders' names. Thus, in Germany from 1863 to 1875 there were Lassallists and Marxists; whilst in France, until quite recently, there were Broussists, Allemanists, Guesdists, and Jaurèsists. The fact that these personal descriptive terms tend to pass out of use in such countries as Germany may be attributed to two distinct causes: in the first place, there has been an enormous increase in the membership and especially in the voting strength of the party; and secondly, within the party, dictatorship has given place to oligarchy, and the leaders of this oligarchy are inspired by sentiments of mutual jealousy. As a supplementary cause may be mentioned the general lack of leaders of conspicuous ability, capable of securing and maintaining an absolute and indisputable authority.

The English anthropo-sociologist Frazer contends that the maintenance of the order and authority of the state is to a large extent dependent upon the superstitious ideas of the masses, this being, in his view, a bad means used to a good end. Among such superstitious notions, Frazer draws attention to the belief so frequent among the people that their leaders belong to a higher order of humanity than themselves. [58] The phenomenon is, in fact, conspicuous in the history of the socialist parties during the last fifty years. The supremacy of the leaders over the mass depends, not solely upon the factors already discussed, but also upon the widespread superstitious reverence paid to the leaders on account of their superiority in formal culture—for which a much greater respect is commonly felt than for true intellectual worth.

The adoration of the led for the leaders is commonly latent. It reveals itself by signs that are barely perceptible, such as the tone of veneration in which the idol's name is pronounced, the perfect docility with which the least of his signs is obeyed, and the indignation which is aroused by any critical attack upon his personality. But where the individuality of the leader is truly exceptional, and also in periods of lively excitement, the latent fervor is conspicuously manifested with the violence of an acute paroxysm. In June 1864, the hot-blooded Rhinelanders received Lassalle like a god. Garlands were hung across the streets. Maids of honor showered flowers over him. Interminable lines of carriages followed the chariot of the “president” with overflowing and irresistible enthusiasm and with frenzied applause were received the words of the hero of the triumph, often extravagant and in the vein of the charlatan, for he spoke rather as if he wished to defy criticism than to provoke applause. It was in truth a triumphal march. Nothing was lacking—triumphal arches, hymns of welcome, solemn receptions of foreign deputations. Lassalle was ambitious in the grand style, and, as Bismarck said of him at a later date, his thoughts did not go far short of asking whether the future German Empire, in which he was greatly interested, ought to be ruled by a dynasty of Hohenzollerns or of Lassalles. We need feel no surprise that all this adulation excited Lassalle's imagination to such a degree that he soon afterwards felt able to promise his fiancee that he would one day enter the capital as president of the German republic, seated in a chariot drawn by six white horses.

In Sicily, in 1892, when the first agricultural labourers' unions, known as fasci, were constituted, the members had an almost supernatural faith in their leaders. In an ingenuous confusion of the social question with their religious practices, they often in their processions carried the crucifix side by side with the red flag and with placards inscribed with sentences from the works of Marx. The leaders were escorted on their way to the meetings with music, torches, and Japanese lanterns. Many, drunk with the sentiment of adoration, prostrated themselves before their leaders, as in former days they had prostrated themselves before their bishops. [59] A bourgeois journalist once asked an old peasant, member of a socialist fascio, if the proletarians did not think that Giuseppe De Felice Giuffrida, Garibaldi Bosco, and the other young students or lawyers who, though of bourgeois origin, were working on behalf of the fasci, were not really doing this with the sole aim of securing their own election as county councilors and deputies. “De Felice and Bosco are angels come down from heaven!” was the peasant's brief and eloquent reply. [60]

It may be admitted that not all the workers would have replied to such a question in this way, for the Sicilian populace has always had a peculiar tendency to heroworship. But throughout southern Italy, and to some extent in central Italy, the leaders are even to-day revered by the masses with rites of a semi-religious character. In Calabria, Enrico Ferri was for some time adored as a tutelary saint against governmental corruption. In Rome also, where the tradition of the classic forms of paganism still survives, Ferri was hailed in a public hall, in the name of all the “proletarian quirites,” as “the greatest among the great.” The occasion for this demonstration was that Ferri had broken a window as a sign of protest against a censure uttered by the President of the Chamber (1901). [61] In Holland, in the year 1886, when Domela Nieuwenhuis was liberated from prison, he received from the people, as he himself records, greater honors than had ever been paid to any sovereign, and the halls in which he addressed meetings were profusely adorned with flowers. Such an attitude pn the part of the mass is not peculiar to backward countries or remote periods; it is an atavistic survival of primitive psychology. A proof of this is afforded by the idolatrous worship paid to-day in the department of the Nord (the most advanced industrial region in France) to the Marxist prophet, Jules Guesde. Moreover, in certain parts of England, we find that the working classes give their leaders a reception which recalls the days of Lassalle.

The adoration of the chiefs survives their death. The greatest among them are canonized. After the death of Lassalle, the Allgemeiner Deutscher Arbeiterverein, of which he had been absolute monarch, broke up into two sections, the “fraction of the Countess Hatzfeld” or “female line,” as the Marxist adversaries sarcastically styled it, and the “male line” led by J. B. von Schweitzer. While quarreling fiercely with one another, these two groups were at one, not only hi respect of the honor they paid to Lassalle's memory, but also in their faithful observance of every letter of his program. Nor has Karl Marx escaped this sort of socialist canonization, and the fanatical zeal with which some of his followers defend him to this day strongly recalls the hero-worship paid to Lassalle. Just as Christians used to give and still give to their infants the names of the founders of their religion, St. Peter and St. Paul, so socialist parents in certain parts of central Italy call their boys Lassallo and their girls Marxina, as an emblem of the new faith. Moreover, the zealots often have to pay heavily for their devotion, in quarrels with angry relatives and with recalcitrant registration officials, and sometimes even in the form of serious material injury, such as loss of employment. Whilst this practice is at times no more than a manifestation of that intellectual snobbery from which even the working-class environment is not wholly free, it is often the outward sign of a profound and sincere idealism. Whatever its cause, it proves the adoration felt by the masses for the leaders, an adoration transcending the limits of a simple sense of obligation for services rendered. Sometimes this sentiment of hero-worship is turned to practical account by speculative tradesmen, so that we see in the newspapers (especially in America, Italy, and the southern Slav lands) advertisements of “Karl Marx liqueurs” and “Karl Marx buttons”; and such articles are offered for sale at public meetings. A clear light is thrown upon the childish character of proletarian psychology by the fact that these speculative activities often prove extremely lucrative.

The masses experience a profound need to prostrate themselves, not simply before great ideals, but also before the individuals who in their eyes incorporate such ideals. Their adoration for these temporal divinities is the more blind in proportion as their lives are rude. There is considerable truth in the paradoxical phrases of Bernard Shaw, who defines democracy as a collection of idolaters, in contradistinction to aristocracy, which is a collection of idols. [62] This need to pay adoring worship is often the sole permanent element which survives all the changes in the ideas of the masses. The industrial workers of Saxony have during recent years passed from fervent Protestantism to socialism. It is possible that in the case of some of them this evolution has been accompanied by a complete reversal of all their former intellectual and moral valuations; but it is certain that if from their domestic shrines they have expelled the traditional image of Luther, it has only been in order to replace it by one of Bebel. In Emilia, where the peasantry has undergone a similar evolution, the oleograph of the Blessed Virgin has simply given place to one of Prampolini; and in southern Italy, faith in the annual miracle of the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius has yielded before a faith in the miracle of the superhuman power of Enrico Ferri, “the Scourge of the Camorra.” Amid the ruins of the old moral world of the masses, there remains intact the triumphal column of religious need. They often behave towards their leaders after the manner of the sculptor of ancient Greece who, having modelled a Jupiter Tonans, prostrated himself in adoration before the work of his own hands.

In the object of such adoration, megalomania is apt to ensue. [63] The immeasurable presumption, which is not without its comic side, sometimes found in modern popular leaders, is not dependent solely on their being self-made men, but also upon the atmosphere of adulation in which they live and breathe. This overweening selfesteem on the part of the leaders diffuses a powerful suggestive influence, whereby the masses are confirmed in their admiration for their leaders, and it thus proves a source of enhanced power.

5. CHAPTER V
ACCESSORY QUALITIES REQUISITE TO LEADERSHIP

IN the opening days of the labour movement, the foundation of leadership consisted mainly, if not exclusively, in oratorical skill. It is impossible for the crowd to escape the æsthetic and emotional influence of words. The fineness of the oratory exercises a suggestive influence whereby the crowd is completely subordinated to the will of the orator. Now the essential characteristic of democracy is found in the readiness with which it succumbs to the magic of words, written as well as spoken. In a democratic regime, the born leaders are orators and journalists. It suffices to mention Gambetta and Clemenceau in France; Gladstone and Lloyd George in England; Crispi and Luzzatti in Italy. In states under democratic rule it is a general belief that oratorical power is the only thing which renders a man competent for the direction of public affairs. The same maxim applies even more definitely to the control of the great democratic parties. The influence of the spoken word has been obvious above all in the country in which a democratic regime first came into existence. This was pointed out in 1826 by an acute Italian observer: “The English people, so prudent in the use of its time, experiences, in listening to a public speaker, the same pleasure which it enjoys at the theater when the works of the most celebrated dramatists are being played.” [64] A quarter of a century later, Carlyle wrote: “No British man can attain to be a statesman or chief of workers till he has first proved himself a chief of talkers.” [65] In France, Ernest-Charles, making a statistical study of the professions of the deputies, showed that, as far as the young, impetuous, lively, and progressive parties are concerned, almost all the parliamentary representatives are journalists and able speakers. [66] This applies not only to the socialists, but also to the nationalists and to the anti-Semites. The whole modern history of the political labour movement confirms the observation. Jaurès, Guesde, Lagardelle, Herve, Bebel, Ferri, Turati, Labriola, Ramsay Macdonald, Troelstra, Henriette Roland-Hoist, Adler, Daszynski5 — all, each in his own fashion, are powerful orators.

On the other hand, it is the lack of oratorical talent which largely explains why, in Germany, such a personality as that of Eduard Bernstein has remained in comparative obscurity, notwithstanding the vigour of his doctrinal views and his great intellectual influence; why, in Holland, Domela Nieuwenhuis has in the end lost his leading position; why, in France, a man possessed of so much talent and cultivation as Paul Lafargue, closely connected by family ties with Karl Marx, failed to attain such a position in the councils of the party as Guesde, who is far from being a man of science, or even a man of very powerful intelligence, but who is a notable orator.

Those who aspire to leadership in the labour organizations fully recognize the importance of the oratorical art. In March 1909 the socialist students of Ruskin College, Oxford, expressed discontent with their professors because these gave to sociology and to pure logic a more important place in the curriculum than to oratorical exercises. Embryo politicians, the students fully recognized the profit they would derive from oratory in their chosen career. Resolving to, back up their complaint by energetic action, they went on strike until they had got their own way.

The prestige acquired by the orator in the minds of the crowd is almost unlimited. What the masses appreciate above all are oratorical gifts as such, beauty and strength of voice, suppleness of mind, badinage; whilst the content of the speech is of quite secondary importance. A spouter who, as if bitten by a tarantula, rushes hither and thither to speak to the people, is apt to be regarded as a zealous and active comrade, whereas one who, speaking little but working much, does valuable service for the party, is regarded with disdain, and considered but an incomplete socialist.

Unquestionably, the fascination exercised by the beauty of a sonorous eloquence is often, for the masses, no more than the prelude to a long series of disillusionments, either because the speaker's practical activities bear no proportion to his oratorical abilities, or simply because he is a person of altogether common character. In most cases however, the masses, intoxicated by the speaker's powers, are hypnotized to such a degree that for long periods to come they see in him a magnified image of their own ego. Their admiration and enthusiasm for the orator are, in ultimate analysis, no more than admiration and enthusiasm for their own personalities, and these sentiments are fostered by the orator in that he undertakes to speak and to act in the name of the mass, in the name, that is, of every individual. In responding to the appeal of the great orator, the mass is unconsciously influenced by its own egoism.

Numerous and varied are the personal qualities thanks to which certain individuals succeed in ruling the masses. These qualities, which may be considered as specific qualities of leadership, are not necessarily all assembled in every leader. Among them, the chief is the force of will which reduces to obedience less powerful wills. Next in importance come the following: a wider extent of knowledge which impresses the members of the leader's environment; a catonian strength of conviction, a force of ideas often verging on fanaticism, and which arouses the respect of the masses by its very intensity; self-sufficiency, even if accompanied by arrogant pride, so long as the leader knows how to make the crowd share his own pride in himself; in exceptional cases, finally, goodness of heart and disinterestedness, qualities which recall in the minds of the crowd the figure of Christ, and reawaken religious sentiments which are decayed but not extinct.

The quality, however, which most of all impresses the crowd is the prestige of celebrity. As we learn from modern psychology, a notable factor in the suggestive influence exercised by a man is found in the elevation to which he has climbed on the path leading to the Parnassus of celebrity. Tarde writes: “En réalité, quand un esprit agit sur notre pensée, c'est avec la collaboration de beaucoup d'autres esprits à travers lesquels nous le voyons et dont l'opinion se réflète dans la nôtre, à notre insu. Nous songeons vaguement à la considération qu'on a pour lui... à l'admiration qu'il inspire.... S'il s'agit d'un homme célèbre, c'est en masse et confusément que le nombre considérable de ses appréciateurs nous impressionne, et cet influence revêt un air de solidarité objective, de réalité impersonelle, qui fait le prestige propre aux personnes glorieuses.” [67] It suffices for the celebrated man to raise a finger to make for himself a political position. It is a point of honor with the masses to put the conduct of their affairs in the hands of a celebrity. The crowd always submits willingly to the control of distinguished individuals. The man who appears before them crowned with laurels is considered a priori to be a demigod. If he consents to place himself at their head it matters little where he has gained his laurels, for he can count upon their applause and enthusiasm. It was because Lassalle was celebrated at once as poet, philosopher, and barrister that he was able to awaken the toiling masses, ordinarily slumbering or drawn in the wake of the bourgeois democracy, to group them round his own person. Lassalle was himself well aware of the effect which great names produce upon the crowd, and for this reason he always endeavoured to secure for his party the adhesion of men of note. In Italy, Enrico Ferri, who while still a young man was already a university professor, and had at the same time acquired wide distinction as the founder of the new Italian school of criminology, had merely to present himself at the Socialist Congress of Reggio Emilia in the year 1893 to secure the leadership of the Italian Socialist Party, a leadership which he retained for fifteen years. In like manner, Cesare Lombroso, the anthropologist, and Edmondo De Amicis, the author, had no sooner given in their adhesion to the socialist party than they were immediately raised to positions of honor, one becoming the confidential adviser and the other the official Homer of the militant Italian proletariat. Yet not one of these distinguished men had become a regular subscribing member; they had merely sent certain congratulatory telegrams and letters. In France, Jean Jaurès, already distinguished as an academic philosopher and as a radical politician, and Anatole France, the celebrated novelist, attained to leading positions in the labour movement as soon as they decided to join it, without having to undergo any period of probation. In England, when the poet William Morris, at the age of forty-eight, became a socialist, he immediately acquired great popularity in the socialist movement. Similar was the case in Holland of Herman Gorter, author of the fine lyric poem Mei, and the poetess Henriette Roland-Holst. In contemporary Germany there are certain great men, at the zenith of their fame, who are intimate sympathizers with the party, but have not decided to join it. It may, however, be regarded as certain that if Gerhard Hauptmann, after the success of his Weavers, and Werner Sombart, when his first published writings had attracted such wide attention, had given in their official adhesion to the German socialist party, they would now be amongst the most honored leaders of the famous three million socialists of Germany. In the popular view, to bear a name which is already familiar in certain respects constitutes the best title to leadership. Among the party leaders will be found men who have acquired fame solely within the ranks of the party, at the price of long and arduous struggles, but the masses have always instinctively preferred to these those leaders who have joined them when already full of honor and glory and possessing independent claims to immortality. Such fame won in other fields seems to them of greater value than that which is won under their own eyes.

Certain accessory facts are worth mentioning in this connection. History teaches that between the chiefs who have acquired high rank solely in consequence of work for the party and those who have entered the party with a prestige acquired in other fields, a conflict speedily arises, and there often ensues a prolonged struggle for dominion between two factions. As motives for this struggle, we have, on the one side, envy and jealousy, and, on the other, presumption and ambition. In addition to these subjective factors, objective and tactical factors are also in operation. The great man who has attained distinction solely within the party commonly possesses, when compared with the “outsider,” the advantage of a keener sense for the immediately practical, a better understanding of masspsychology, a fuller knowledge of the history of the labour movement, and in many cases clearer ideas concerning the doctrinal content of the party programme.

In this struggle between the two groups of leaders, two phases may almost always be distinguished. The new arrivals begin by detaching the masses from the power of the old leaders, and by preaching a new evangel which the crowd accepts with delirious enthusiasm. This evangel, however, is no longer illuminated by the treasury of ideas which as a whole constitute socialism properly so-called, but by ideas drawn from the science or from the art in which these great men have previously acquired fame, and it is given a suggestive weight owing to the admiration of the great amorphous public. Meanwhile, the old leaders, filled with rancor, having first organized for defense, end by openly assuming the offensive. They have the natural advantage of numbers. It often happens that the new leaders lose their heads because, as great men, they have cherished the illusion that they are quite safe from such surprises. Are not the old leaders persons of mediocre ability, who have acquired their present position only at the price of a long and arduous apprenticeship? In the view of the newcomers, this apprenticeship does not demand any distinguished intellectual qualities, and from their superior platform they look down with mingled disdain and compassion. There are, however, additional reasons why the men of independent distinction almost invariably succumb in such a struggle. Poets, æsthetes, or men of science, they refuse to submit to the general discipline of the party, and attack the external forms of democracy. But this weakens their position, for the mass cherishes such forms, even when it is ruled by an oligarchy. Consequently their adversaries, though no more truly democratic, since they are much cleverer in preserving the appearance of democracy, gain credit with the crowd. It may be added that the great men are not accustomed to confront systematic opposition. They become enervated when prolonged resistance is forced upon them. It is thus easy to understand why, in disgust and disillusion, they so often abandon the struggle, or create a little private clique for separate political action. The few among them who remain in the party are inevitably overthrown and thrust into the background by the old leaders. The great Lassalle had already found a dangerous competitor in the person of the simple ex-workman, Julius Vahlteich. It is true that Lassalle succeeded in disembarrassing himself of this opponent, but had he lived longer, he would have had to sustain a merciless struggle against Liebknecht and Bebel. William Morris, after he had broken with the old professional leaders of the English labour movement, was reduced to the leadership of his little guard of intellectuals at Hammersmith. Enrico Ferri, who at his first entrance into the party had to encounter the tenacious mistrust of the old leaders, subsequently committed theoretical and practical errors which ended by depriving him once for all of his position as official chief of the Italian socialists. Gorter and Henriette RolandHolst, after having for some years aroused intense enthusiasm, were finally overthrown and reduced to complete impotence by the old notables of the party.

Thus the dominion dependent upon distinction acquired outside the party is comparatively ephemeral. But age in itself is no barrier whatever to the power of the leaders. The ancient Greeks said that white hairs were the first crown which must decorate the leaders' foreheads. Today, however, we live in an epoch in which there is less need for accumulated personal experience of life, for science puts at every one's disposal efficient means of instruction that even the youngest may speedily become thoroughly well instructed. Today everything is quickly acquired, even that experience in which formerly consisted the sole and genuine superiority of the old over the young. Thus, not in consequence of democracy, but simply owing to the technical type of modern civilization, age has lost much of its value, and therefore has lost, in addition, the respect which it inspired and the influence which it exercised. It might rather be said that age is a hindrance to progress within the party, just as in any other career which it is better to enter in youth because there are so many steps to mount. This is true at least in the case of well organized parties, and where there is a great influx of new members. It is certainly different as far as concerns leaders who have grown old in the service of the party. Age here constitutes an element of superiority. Apart from the gratitude which the masses feel towards the old fighter on account of the services he has rendered to the cause, he also possesses this great advantage over the novice that he has a better knowledge of his trade. David Hume tells us that in practical agriculture the superiority of the old farmer over the young arises in consequence of a certain uniformity in the effects of the sun, the rain, and, the soil upon the growth of plants, and because practical experience teaches the rules that determine and guide these influences. [68] In party life, the old hand has a similar advantage. He possesses a profounder understanding of the relationships between cause and effect which form the framework of popular political life and the substance of popular psychology. The result is that his conduct is guided by a fineness of perception to which the young have not yet attained.

6. CHAPTER VI
ACCESSORY PECULIARITIES OF THE MASSES

TO enable us to understand and properly to appreciate the superiority of the leaders over the mass it is necessary to turn our attention to the characteristics of the rank and file. The question arises, what are these masses?

It has already been shown that a general sentiment of indifference towards the management of its own affairs is natural to the crowd, even when organized to form political parties.

The very composition of the mass is such as to render it unable to resist the power of an order of leaders aware of its own strength. An analysis of the German trade unions in respect of the age of their members gives a sufficiently faithful picture of the composition also of the various socialist parties. The great majority of the membership ranges in age from 25 to 39 years. [69] Quite young men find other ways of employing their leisure; they are heedless, their thoughts run in erotic channels, they are always hoping that some miracle will deliver them from the need of passing their whole lives as simple wage-earners, and for these reasons they are slow to join a trade union. The men over forty, weary and disillusioned, commonly resign their membership (unless retained in the union by purely personal interest, to secure out-of-work pay, insurance against illness, and the like). Consequently there is lacking in the organization the force of control of ardent and irreverent youth and also that of experienced maturity. In other words, the leaders have to do with a mass of members to whom they are superior in respect of age and experience of life, whilst they have nothing to fear from the relentless criticism which is so peculiarly characteristic of men who have just attained to virility.

Another important consideration as to the composition of the rank and file who have to be led is its fluctuating character. It seems, at any rate, that this may be deduced from a report of the socialist section of Munich for the year 1906. It contains statistics, showing analytically the individual duration of membership. The figures in parenthesis indicate the total number of members, including those members who had previously belonged to other sections.

MEMBERSHIP CLASSIFIED ACCORDING TO DURATION.

Less than 6 months........................ 1,502 about 23% (1,582)
From 6 months to 2 years.............. 1,620 “ 24% (1,816)
“ 2 to 3 years.................. 684 “ 10% (995)
“ 3 to 4 “................ 1,020 “ 15% (1,965)
“ 4 to 5 “................ 507 “ 7 1/2% (891)
“ 5 to 6 “................ 270 “ 4% (844)
“ 6 to 7 “................ 127 “ 2% (604)
“ 7 to 8 “................ 131 “ 2% (1,289)
More than 8 “................... 833 “ 12 1/2% (1,666) [70]

The fluctuating character of the membership is manifest in even greater degree in the German trade unions. This has given rise to the saying that a trade union is like a pigeon-house where the pigeons enter and leave at their caprice. The German Metalworkers' Federation (Deutscher Metallarbeiterverband) had, during the years 1906 to 1908, 210,561 new members. But the percentage of withdrawals increased in 1906 to 60, in 1907 to 83, and in 1908 to 100. [71] This shows us that the bonds connecting the bulk of the masses to their organization are extremely slender, and that it is only a small proportion of the organized workers who feel themselves really at one with their unions. Hence the leaders, when compared with the masses, whose composition varies from moment to moment, constitute a more stable and more constant element of the organized membership.