Sometimes a peek back in history brings a ray of light to the dark
recesses of our mind, and we can feast on old thoughts that seem
fresh.
Carl Jarvis
*******
Free Thought and Official Propaganda (1922)
By Bertrand Russell
Moncure Conway, in whose honour we are assembled today, devoted his
life to two great objects: freedom of thought and freedom of the
individual. In regard
to both these objects, something has been gained since his time, but
something also has been lost. New dangers, somewhat different in form
from those of
past ages, threaten both kinds of freedom, and unless a vigorous and
vigilant public opinion can be aroused in defence of them, there will
be much less
of both a hundred years hence than there is now. My purpose in this
address is to emphasize the new dangers and to consider how they can
be met.
Let us begin by trying to be clear as to what we mean by “free
thought.” This expression has two senses. In its narrower sense it
means thought which does
not accept the dogmas of traditional religion. In this sense a man is
a “free thinker” if he is not a Christian or a Mussulman or a Buddhist
or a Shintoist
or a member of any of the other bodies of men who accept some
inherited orthodoxy. In Christian countries a man is called a “free
thinker” if he does not
decidedly believe in God, though this would not suffice to make a man
a “free thinker” in a Buddhist country.
I do not wish to minimize the importance of free thought in this
sense. I am myself a dissenter from all known religions, and I hope
that every kind of
religious belief will die out. I do not believe that, on the balance,
religious belief has been a force for good. Although I am prepared to
admit that
in certain times and places it has had some good effects, I regard it
as belonging to the infancy of human reason, and to a stage of
development which
we are now outgrowing.
But there is also a wider sense of “free thought,” which I regard as
of still greater importance. Indeed, the. harm done by traditional
religions seems
chiefly traceable to the fact that they have prevented free thought in
this wider sense. The wider sense is not so easy to define as the
narrower, and
it will be well to spend some little time in trying to arrive at its essence.
When we speak of anything as “free,” our meaning is not definite
unless we can say what it is free from. Whatever or whoever is “free”
is not subject to
some external compulsion, and to be precise we ought to say what this
kind of compulsion is. Thus thought is “free” when it is free from
certain kinds
of outward control which are often present. Some of these kinds of
control which must be absent if thought is to be “free” are obvious,
but others are
more subtle and elusive.
To begin with the most obvious, thought is not “free” when legal
penalties are incurred by the holding or not holding of certain
opinions, or by giving
expression to one’s belief or lack of belief on certain matters. Very
few countries in the world have as yet even this elementary kind of
freedom. In England,
under the Blasphemy Laws, it is illegal to express disbelief in the
Christian religion, though in practise the law is not set in motion
against the well-to-do.
It is also illegal to teach what Christ taught on the subject of
non-resistance. Therefore, whoever wishes to avoid becoming a criminal
must profess to
agree with Christ’s teaching, but must avoid saying what that teaching
was. In America no one can enter the country without first solemnly
declaring that
he disbelieves in anarchism and polygamy; and, once inside, he must
also disbelieve in communism. In Japan it is illegal to express
disbelief in the divinity
of the Mikado. It will thus be seen that a voyage round the world is a
perilous adventure. A Mohammedan, a Tolstoyan, a Bolshevik, or a
Christian cannot
undertake it without at some point becoming a criminal, or holding his
tongue about what he considers important truths. This, of course,
applies only to
steerage-passengers; saloon-passengers are allowed to believe whatever
they please, provided they avoid offensive obtrusiveness.
It is clear that the most elementary condition, if thought is to be
free, is the absence of legal penalties for the expression of
opinions. No great country
has yet reached to this level, although most of them think they have.
The opinions which are still persecuted strike the majority as so
monstrous and immoral
that the general principle of toleration cannot be held to apply to
them. But this is exactly the same view as that which made possible
the tortures of
the Inquisition. There was a time when Protestantism seemed as wicked
as Bolshevism seems now. Please do not infer from this remark that I
am either a
Protestant or a Bolshevik.
Legal penalties are, however, in the modern world, the least of the
obstacles to freedom of thought. The two great obstacles are economic
penalties and
distortion of evidence. It is clear that thought is not free if the
profession of certain opinions makes it impossible to earn a living.
It is clear also
that thought is not free if all the arguments on one side of a
controversy are perpetually presented as attractively as possible,
while the arguments on
the other side can only be discovered by diligent search. Both these
obstacles exist in every large country known to me, except China,
which is the last
refuge of freedom. It is these obstacles with which I shall be
concerned — their present magnitude, the likelihood of their increase,
and the possibility
of their diminution.
We may say that thought is free when it is exposed to free competition
among beliefs — i.e., when all beliefs are able to state their case,
and no legal
or pecuniary advantages or disadvantages attach to beliefs. This is an
ideal which, for various reasons, can never be fully attained. But it
is possible
to approach very much nearer to it than we do at present.
Three incidents in my own life will serve to show how, in modern
England, the scales are weighted in favour of Christianity. My reason
for mentioning them
is that many people do not at all realize the disadvantages to which
avowed agnosticism still exposes people.
The first incident belongs to a very early stage in my life. My father
was a freethinker, but died when I was only three years old. Wishing
me to be brought
up without superstition, he appointed two freethinkers as my
guardians. The courts, however, set aside his will, and had me
educated in the Christian faith.
I am afraid the result was disappointing, but that was not the fault
of the law. If he had directed that I should be educated as a
Christadelphian or a
Muggletonian or a Seventh-day Adventist, the courts would not have
dreamed of objecting. A parent has a right to ordain that any
imaginable superstition
shall be instilled into his children after his death, but has not the
right to say that they shall be kept free from superstition if
possible.
The second incident occurred in the year 1910. I had at that time a
desire to stand for Parliament as a Liberal, and the Whips recommended
me to a certain
constituency. I addressed the Liberal Association, who ex pressed
themselves favourably, and my adoption seemed certain. But, on being
questioned by a
small inner caucus, I admitted that I was an agnostic. They asked
whether the fact would come out, and I said it probably would. They
asked whether I should
be willing to go to church occasionally, and I replied that I should
not. Consequently, they selected another candidate, who was duly
elected, has been
in Parliament ever since, and is a member of the present Government.
The third incident occurred immediately afterwards. I was invited by
Trinity College, Cambridge, to become a lecturer, but not a Fellow.
The difference
is not pecuniary; it is that a Fellow has a voice in the government of
the College, and can not be dispossessed during the terms of his
Fellowship except
for grave immorality. The chief reason for not offering me a
Fellowship was that the clerical party did not wish to add to the
anti-clerical vote. The
result was that they were able to dismiss me in 1916, when they
disliked my views on the War.
1
If I had been dependent on my lectureship, I should have starved.
These three incidents illustrate different kinds of disadvantages
attaching to avowed free-thinking even in modern England. Any other
avowed freethinker
could supply similar incidents from his personal experience, often of
a far more serious character. The net result is that people who are
not well-to-do
dare not be frank about their religious beliefs.
It is not, of course, only or even chiefly in regard to religion that
there is lack of freedom. Belief in communism or free love handicaps a
man much more
than agnosticism. Not only is it a disadvantage to hold those views,
but it is very much more difficult to obtain for the arguments in
their favour. On
the other hand, in Russia the advantages and disadvantages are exactly
reversed: comfort and power are achieved by professing atheism,
communism, and free
love, and no opportunity exists for propaganda against these opinions.
The result is that in Russia one set of fanatics feels absolute
certainty about
one set of doubtful propositions, while in the rest of the world
another set of fanatics feels equal certainty about a diametrically
opposite set of equally
doubtful propositions. From such a situation war, bitterness, and
persecution inevitably result on both sides.
William James used to preach the “will-to-believe.” For my part, I
should wish to preach the “will-to-doubt.” None of our beliefs is
quite true; all have
at least a penumbra of vagueness and error. The methods of increasing
the degrees of truth in our beliefs are well-known; they consist in
hearing all sides,
trying to ascertain all the relevant facts, controlling our own bias
by discussion with people who have the opposite bias, and cultivating
a readiness
to discard any hypothesis which has proved inadequate. These methods
are practiced in science, and have built up the body of scientific
knowledge. Every
man of science whose outlook is truly scientific is ready to admit
that what passes for scientific knowledge at the moment is sure to
require correction
with the progress of discovery; nevertheless, it is near enough to the
truth to serve for most practical purposes, though not for all. In
science, where
alone something approximating to genuine knowledge is to be found,
men’s attitude is tentative and full of doubt.
In religion and politics on the contrary, though there is as yet
nothing approaching scientific knowledge, everybody considers it de
rigueur to have a
dogmatic opinion, to be backed up by inflicting starvation, prison,
and war, and to be carefully guarded from argumentative competition
with any different
opinion. If only men could be brought into a tentatively agnostic
frame of mind about these matters, nine-tenths of the evils of the
modern world would
be cured. War would become impossible, because each side would realize
that both sides must be in the wrong. Persecution would cease.
Education would aim
at expanding the mind, not at narrowing it. Men would be chosen for
jobs on account of fitness to do the work, not because they flattered
the irrational
dogmas of those in power. Thus rational doubt alone, if it could be
generated, would suffice to introduce the millennium.
We have had in recent years a brilliant example of the scientific
temper of mind in the theory of relativity and its reception by the
world. Einstein,
a German-Swiss-Jew pacifist, was appointed to a research professorship
by the German Government in the early days of the war; his predictions
were verified
by an English expedition which observed the eclipse of 1919, very soon
after the armistice. His theory upset the whole theoretical framework
of traditional
physics; it is almost as damaging to orthodox dynamics as Darwin was
to Genesis. Yet physicists everywhere have shown complete readiness to
accept his
theory as soon as it appeared that the evidence was in its favour. But
none of them, least of all Einstein himself, would claim that he has
said the last
word. He has not built a monument of infallible dogma to stand for all
time. There are difficulties he cannot solve; his doctrines will have
to be modified
in their turn as they have modified Newton’s. This critical undogmatic
receptiveness is the true attitude of science.
What would have happened if Einstein had advanced something equally
new in the sphere of religion or politics? English people would have
found elements
of Prussianism in his theory; anti-Semites would have regarded it as a
Zionist plot; nationalists in all countries would have found it
tainted with lily-livered
pacifism, and proclaimed it a mere dodge for escaping military
service. All the old-fashioned professors would have approached
Scotland Yard to get the
importation of his writings prohibited. Teachers favourable to him
would have been dismissed. He, meantime, would have captured the
Government of some
backward country, where it would have become illegal to teach anything
except his doctrine, which would have grown into a mysterious dogma
not understood
by anybody. Ultimately the truth or falsehood of his doctrine would be
decided on the battlefield, without the collection of any fresh
evidence for or
against it. This method is the logical outcome of William James’s
will-to-believe. What is wanted is not the will-to-believe, but the
wish to find out,
which is its exact opposite.
If it is admitted that a condition of rational doubt would be
desirable, it becomes important to inquire how it comes about that
there is so much irrational
certainty in the world. A great deal of this is due to the inherent
irrationality and credulity of average human nature. But this seed of
intellectual
original sin is nourished and fostered by other agencies, among which
three play the chief part — namely, education, propaganda, and
economic pressure.
Let us consider these in turn.
(1) Education. Elementary education, in all advanced countries, is in
the hands of the State. Some of the things taught are known to be
false by the officials
who prescribe them, and many others are known to be false, or at any
rate very doubtful, by every unprejudiced person. Take, for example,
the teaching
of history. Each nation aims only at self-glorification in the school
text books of history. When a man writes his autobiography he is
expected to show
a certain modesty; but when a nation writes its autobiography there is
no limit to is boasting and vainglory. When I was young, schoolbooks
taught that
the French were wicked and the Germans virtuous; now they teach the
opposite. In neither case is there the slightest regard for truth.
German schoolbooks,
dealing with the battle of Waterloo, represent Wellington as all but
defeated when Blücher saved the situation; English books represent
Blücher as having
made very little difference. The writers of both the German and the
English books know that they are not telling the truth. American
schoolbooks used to
be violently anti-British; since the war they have become equally
pro-British, without aiming at truth in either case (see The Freeman,
Feb 15 1922, p.532).
Both before and since, one of the chief purposes of education in the
United States has been to turn the motley collection of immigrant
children into “good
Americans.” Apparently it has not occurred to anyone that a “good
American,” like a “good German” or a “good Japanese,” must be, pro
tanto, a bad human
being. A “good American” is a man or woman imbued with the belief that
America is the finest country on earth, and ought always to be
enthusiastically
supported in any quarrel. It is just possible that these propositions
are true; if so, a rational man will have no quarrel with them. But if
they are true,
they ought to be taught everywhere, not only in America. It is a
suspicious circumstance that such propositions are never believed
outside the particular
country which they glorify. Meanwhile, the whole machinery of the
State, in all the different countries, is turned on to making
defenceless children believe
absurd propositions the effect of which is to make them willing to die
in defence of sinister interests under the impression that they are
fighting for
truth and right. This is only one of countless ways in which education
is designed, not to give true knowledge, but to make the people
pliable to the will
of their masters. Without an elaborate system of deceit in the
elementary schools it would be impossible to preserve the camouflage
of democracy.
Before leaving the subject of education, I will take another example
from America
2
— not because America is any worse than other countries, but because
it is the most modern, showing the dangers that are growing rather
than those that
are diminishing. In the State of New York a school cannot be
established without a license from the State, even if it is to be
supported wholly by private
funds. A recent law decrees that a license shall not be granted to any
school “where it shall appear that the instruction proposed to be
given includes
the teachings of the doctrine that organized governments shall be
overthrown by force, violence, or unlawful means.” As the New Republic
points out, there
is no limitation to this or that organized government. The law
therefore would have made it illegal, during the war, to teach the
doctrine that the Kaiser’s
Government should be overthrown by force; and, since then, the support
of Kolchak or Denikin against the Soviet Government would have been
illegal. Such
consequences, of course, were not intended, and result only from bad
draughtsmanship. What was intended appears from another law passed at
the same time,
applying to teachers in State schools. This law provides that
certificates permitting persons to teach in such schools shall be
issued only to those who
have “shown satisfactorily” that they are “loyal” and “obedient” to
“the Government of this State and of the United States,” and shall be
refused to those
who have advocated, no matter where or when, “a form of government
other than the government of this State or of the United States.” The
committee which
framed these laws, as quoted by the New Republic, laid it down that
the teacher who “does not approve of the present social system … must
surrender his
office,” and that “no person who is not eager to combat the theories
of social change should be entrusted with the task of fitting the
young and old for
the responsibilities of citizenship.” Thus, according to the law of
the State of New York, Christ and George Washington were too degraded
morally to be
fit for the education of the young. If Christ were to go to New York
and say, “Suffer the little children to come unto me,” the President
of the New York
School Board would reply: “Sir, I see no evidence that you are eager
to combat theories of social change. Indeed, I have heard it said that
you advocate
what you call the kingdom of heaven, whereas this country, thank God,
is a Republic. It is clear that the government of your kingdom of
heaven would differ
materially from that of New York State, therefore no children will be
allowed access to you.” If he failed to make this reply, he would not
be doing his
duty as a functionary entrusted with the administration of the law.
The effect of such laws is very serious. Let it be granted, for the
sake of argument, that the government and the social system in the
State of New York
are the best that have ever existed on this planet; yet even then both
would presumably be capable of improvement. Any person who admits this
obvious proposition
is by law incapable of teaching in a State school. Thus the law
decrees that the teachers shall all be either hypocrites or fools.
The growing danger exemplified by the New York law is that resulting
from the monopoly of power in the hands of a single organization,
whether the State
or a trust or federation of trusts. In the case of education, the
power is in the hands of the State, which can prevent the young from
hearing of any doctrine
which it dislikes. I believe there are still some people who think
that a democratic State is scarcely distinguishable from the people.
This, however,
is a delusion. The State is a collection of officials, different for
different purposes, drawing comfortable incomes so long as the status
quo is preserved.
The only alteration they are likely to desire in the status quo is an
increase of bureaucracy and the power of bureaucrats. It is,
therefore, natural that
they should take advantage of such opportunities as war-excitement to
acquire inquisitorial powers over their employees, involving the right
to inflict
starvation upon any subordinate who opposes them. In matters of the
mind, such as education, this state of affairs is fatal. It puts an
end to all possibility
of progress or freedom or intellectual initiative. Yet it is the
natural result of allowing the whole of elementary education to fall
under the sway of
a single organization.
Religious toleration, to a certain extent, has been won because people
have ceased to consider religion as important as it was once thought
to be. But
in politics and economics, which have taken the place formerly
occupied by religion, there is a growing tendency to persecution,
which is not by any means
confined to one party. The persecution of opinion in Russia is more
severe than in any capitalist country. I met in Petrograd an eminent
Russian poet,
Alexander Blok, who has since died as the result of privations. The
Bolsheviks allowed him to teach aesthetics, but he complained that
they insisted on
his teaching the subject “from a Marxian point of view.” He had been
at a loss to discover how the theory of rhythmics was connected with
Marxism, although,
to avoid starvation, he had done his best to find out. Of course, it
has been impossible in Russia ever since the Bolsheviki came into
power to print anything
critical of the dogmas upon which their regime is founded.
The examples of America and Russia illustrate the conclusion to which
we seem to be driven — namely, that so long as men continue to have
the present fanatical
belief in the importance of politics, free thought on political
matters will be impossible, and there is only too much danger that the
lack of freedom
will spread to all other matters, as it has done in Russia. Only some
degree of political scepticism can save us from this misfortune.
It must not be supposed that the officials in charge of education
desire the young to become educated. On the contrary, their problem is
to impart information
without imparting intelligence. Education should have two objects:
first, to give definite knowledge — reading and writing, language and
mathematics, and
so on; secondly, to create those mental habits which will enable
people to acquire knowledge and form sound judgments for themselves.
The first of these
we may call information, the second intelligence. The utility of
information is admitted practically as well as theoretically; without
a literate population
a modern State is impossible. But the utility of intelligence is
admitted only theoretically, not practically; it is not desired that
ordinary people should
think for themselves, because it is felt that people who think for
themselves are awkward to manage and cause administrative
difficulties. Only the guardians,
in Plato’s language, are to think; the rest are to obey, or to follow
leaders like a herd of sheep. This doctrine, often unconsciously, has
survived the
introduction of political democracy, and has radically vitiated all
national systems of education.
The country which has succeeded best in giving information without
intelligence is the latest addition to modern civilization, Japan.
Elementary education
in Japan is said to be admirable from the point of view of
instruction. But, in addition to instruction, it has another purpose,
which is to teach worship
of the Mikado — a far stronger creed now than before Japan became modernized.
3
Thus the schools have been used simultaneously to confer knowledge
and to promote superstition. Since we are not tempted to
Mikado-worship, we see clearly
what is absurd in Japanese teaching. Our own national superstitions
strike us as natural and sensible, so that we do not take such a true
view of them
as we do of the superstitions of Nippon. But if a travelled Japanese
were to maintain the thesis that our schools teach superstitions just
as inimical
to intelligence as belief in the divinity of the Mikado, I suspect
that he would be able to make out a good case.
For the present I am not in search of remedies, but am only concerned
with diagnosis. We are faced with the paradoxical fact that education
has become
one of the chief obstacles to intelligence and freedom of thought.
This is due primarily to the fact that the State claims a monopoly;
but that is by no
means the sole cause.
(2) Propaganda. Our system of education turns young people out of the
schools able to read, but for the most part unable to weigh evidence
or to form an
independent opinion. They are then assailed, throughout the rest of
their lives, by statements designed to make them believe all sorts of
absurd propositions,
such as that Blank’s pills cure all ills, that Spitzbergen is warm and
fertile, and that Germans eat corpses. The art of propaganda, as
practised by modern
politicians and Governments, is derived from the art of advertisement.
The science of psychology owes a great deal to advertisers. In former
days most
psychologists would probably have thought that a man could not
convince many people of the excellence of his own wares by merely
stating emphatically that
they were excellent. Experience shows, however, that they were
mistaken in this. If I were to stand up once in a public place and
state that I am the most
modest man alive, I should be laughed at; but if I could raise enough
money to make the same statement on all the busses and on hoardings
along all the
principal rail way lines, people would presently become convinced that
I had an abnormal shrinking from publicity. If I were to go to a small
shopkeeper
and say: “Look at your competitor over the way, he is getting your
business; don’t you think it would be a good plan to leave your
business and stand up
in the middle of the road and try to shoot him before he shoots you?”
— if I were to say this, any small shopkeeper would think me mad. But
when the Government
says it with emphasis and a brass band, the small shopkeepers become
enthusiastic, and are quite surprised when they find afterwards that
business has
suffered. Propaganda, conducted by the means which advertisers have
found successful, is now one of the recognized methods of government
in all advanced
countries, and is especially the method by which democratic opinion is created.
There are two quite different evils about propaganda as now practised.
On the one hand, its appeal is generally to irrational causes of
belief rather than
to serious argument; on the other hand, it gives an unfair advantage
to those who can obtain most publicity, whether through wealth or
through power. For
my part, I am inclined to think that too much fuss is sometimes made
about the fact that propaganda appeals to emotion rather than reason.
The line between
emotion and reason is not so sharp as some people think. Moreover, a
clever man could frame a sufficiently rational argument in favour of
any position
which has any chance of being adopted. There are always good arguments
on both sides of any real issue. Definite misstatements of fact can be
legitimately
objected to but they are by no means necessary. The mere words “Pear’s
Soap,” which affirm nothing, cause people to buy that article. If,
wherever these
words appear, they were replaced by the words “The Labour Party,”
millions of people would be led to vote for the Labour party, although
the advertisements
had claimed no merit for it whatever. But if both sides in a
controversy were confined by law to statements which a committee of
eminent logicians considered
relevant and valid, the main evil of propaganda, as at present
conducted, would remain. Suppose, under such a law, two parties with
an equally good case,
one of whom had a million pounds to spend on propaganda, while the
other had only a hundred thousand. It is obvious that the arguments in
favour of the
richer party would become more widely known than those in favour of
the poorer party, and therefore the richer party would win. This
situation is, of course,
intensified when one party is the Government. In Russia the Government
has an almost complete monopoly of propaganda, but that is not
necessary. The advantages
which it possesses over its opponents will generally be sufficient to
give it the victory, unless it has an exceptionally bad case.
The objection to propaganda is not only its appeal to unreason, but
still more the unfair advantage which it gives to the rich and
powerful. Equality of
opportunity among opinions is essential if there is to be real freedom
of thought; and equality of opportunity among opinions can only be
secured by elaborate
laws directed to that end, which there is no reason to expect to see
enacted. The cure is not to be sought primarily in such laws, but in
better education
and a more sceptical public opinion. For the moment, however, I am not
concerned to discuss cures.
(3) Economic Pressure. I have already dealt with some aspects of this
obstacle to freedom of thought, but I wish now to deal with it on more
general lines,
as a danger which is bound to increase unless very definite steps are
taken to counteract it. The supreme example of economic pressure
applied against
freedom of thought is Soviet Russia, where, until, the
trade-agreement, the Government could and did inflict starvation upon
people whose opinions it disliked
— for example, Kropotkin. But in this respect Russia is only somewhat
ahead of other countries. In France, during the Dreyfus affair, any
teacher would
have lost his position if he had been in favour of Dreyfus at the
start or against him at the end. In America, at the present day, I
doubt if a university
professor, however eminent, could get employment if he were to
criticize the Standard Oil Company, because all college presidents
have received or hope
to receive benefactions from Mr. Rockefeller. Throughout America
Socialists are marked men, and find it extremely difficult to obtain
work unless they
have great gifts. The tendency, which exists wherever industrialism is
well developed, for trusts and monopolies to control all industry,
leads to a diminution
of the number of possible employers, so that it becomes easier and
easier to keep secret black books by means of which anyone not
subservient to the great
corporations can be starved. The growth of monopolies is introducing
in America many of the evils associated with state socialism as it has
existed in
Russia. From the standpoint of liberty, it makes no difference to a
man whether his only possible employer is the State or a trust.
In America, which is the most advanced country industrially, and to a
lesser extent in other countries which are approximating to the
American condition,
it is necessary for the average citizen, if he wishes to make a
living, to avoid incurring the hostility of certain big men. And these
big men have an
outlook — religious, moral, and political — with which they expect
their employees to agree, at least outwardly. A man who openly
dissents from Christianity,
or believes in a relaxation of the marriage laws, or objects to the
power of the great corporations, finds America a very uncomfortable
country, unless
he happens to be an eminent writer. Exactly the same kind of
restraints upon freedom of thought are bound to occur in every country
where economic organization
has been carried to the point of practical monopoly. Therefore the
safe guarding of liberty in the world which is growing up is far more
difficult than
it was in the nineteenth century, when free competition was still a
reality. Whoever cares about the freedom of the mind must face this
situation fully
and frankly, realizing the inapplicability of methods which answered
well enough while industrialism was in its infancy.
There are two simple principles which, if they were adopted, would
solve almost all social problems. The first is that education should
have for one of
its aims to teach people only to believe propositions when there is
some reason to think, that they are true. The second is that jobs
should be given solely
for fitness to do the work.
To take the second point first. The habit of considering a man’s
religious, moral, and political opinions before appointing him to a
post or giving him
a job is the modern form of persecution, and it is likely to become
quite as efficient as the Inquisition ever was. The old liberties can
be legally retained
without being of the slightest use. If, in practice, certain opinions
lead a man to starve, it is poor comfort to him to know that his
opinions are not
punishable by law. There is a certain public feeling against starving
men for not belonging to the Church of England, or for holding
slightly unorthodox
opinions in politics. But there is hardly any feeling against the
rejection of atheists or Mormons, extreme communists, or men who
advocate free love.
Such men are thought to be wicked, and it is considered only natural
to refuse to employ them. People have hardly yet waked up to the fact
that this refusal,
in a highly industrial State, amounts to a very rigorous form of persecution.
If this danger were adequately realized, it would be possible to rouse
public opinion, and to secure that a man’s beliefs should not be
considered in appointing
him to a post. The protection of minorities is vitally important; and
even the most orthodox of us may find himself in a minority some day,
so that we
all have an interest in restraining the tyranny of majorities. Nothing
except public opinion can solve this problem. Socialism would make it
somewhat more
acute, since it would eliminate the opportunities that now arise
through exceptional employers. Every increase in the size of
industrial undertakings makes
it worse, since it diminishes the number of independent employers. The
battle must be fought exactly as the battle of religious toleration
was fought.
And as in that case, so in this, a decay in the intensity of belief is
likely to prove the decisive factor. While men were convinced of the
absolute truth
of Catholicism or Protestantism, as the case might be, they were
willing to persecute on account of them. While men are quite certain
of their modern creeds,
they will persecute on their behalf. Some element of doubt is
essential to the practice, though not to the theory, of toleration.
And this brings me to
my other point, which concerns the aims of education.
If there is to be toleration in the world, one of the things taught in
schools must be the habit of weighing evidence, and the practice of
not giving full
assent to propositions which there is no reason to believe true. For
example, the art of reading the newspapers should be taught. The
schoolmaster should
select some incident which happened a good many years ago, and roused
political passions in its day. He should then read to the
school-children what was
said by the newspapers on one side, what was said by those on the
other, and some impartial account of what really happened. He should
show how, from the
biased account of either side, a practised reader could infer what
really happened, and he should make them understand that everything in
newspapers is
more or less untrue. The cynical scepticism which would result from
this teaching would make the children in later life immune from those
appeals to idealism
by which decent people are induced to further the scheme of scoundrels.
History should be taught in the same way. Napoleon’s campaigns of 1813
and 1814, for instance, might be studied in the Moniteur, leading up
to the surprise
which Parisians felt when they saw the Allies arriving under the walls
of Paris after they had (according to the official bulletins) been
beaten by Napoleon
in every battle. In the more advanced classes, students should be
encouraged to count the number of times that Lenin has been
assassinated by Trotsky,
in order to learn contempt for death. Finally, they should be given a
school-history approved by the Government, and asked to infer what a
French school
history would say about our wars with France. All this would be a far
better training in citizenship than the trite moral maxims by which
some people believe
that civic duty can be inculcated.
It must, I think, be admitted that the evils of the world are due to
moral defects quite as much as to lack of intelligence. But the human
race has not
hitherto discovered any method of eradicating moral defects; preaching
and exhortation only add hypocrisy to the previous list of vices.
Intelligence,
on the contrary, is easily improved by methods known to every
competent educator. Therefore, until some method of teaching virtue
has been discovered,
progress will have to be sought by improvement of intelligence rather
than of morals. One of the chief obstacles to intelligence is
credulity, and credulity
could be enormously diminished by instructions as to the prevalent
forms of mendacity. Credulity is a greater evil in the present day
than it ever was
before, because, owing to the growth of education, it is much easier
than it used to be to spread misinformation, and, owing to democracy,
the spread of
misinformation is more important than in former times to the holders
of power. Hence the increase in the circulation of newspapers.
If I am asked how the world is to be induced to adopt these two maxims
— namely: (1) that jobs should be given to people on account of their
fitness to
perform them; (2) that one aim of education should be to cure people
of the habit of believing propositions for which there is no evidence
— I can only
say that it must be done by generating an enlightened public opinion.
And an enlightened public opinion can only be generated by the efforts
of those who
desire that it should exist. I do not believe that the economic
changes advocated by Socialists will, of themselves, do anything
towards curing the evils
we have been considering. I think that, whatever happens in politics,
the trend of economic development will make the preservation of mental
freedom increasingly
difficult, unless public opinion insists that the employer shall
control nothing in the life of the employee except his work. Freedom
in education could
easily be secured, if it were desired, by limiting the function of the
State to inspection and payment, and confining inspection rigidly to
the definite
instruction. But that, as things stand, would leave education in the
hands of the churches, because, unfortunately, they are more anxious
to teach their
beliefs than freethinkers are to teach their doubts. It would,
however, give a free field, and would make it possible for a liberal
education to be given
if it were really desired. More than that ought not to be asked of the law.
My plea throughout this address has been for the spread of the
scientific temper, which is an altogether different thing from the
knowledge of scientific
results. The scientific temper is capable of regenerating mankind and
providing an issue for all our troubles. The results of science, in
the form of mechanism,
poison gas, and the yellow press, bid fair to lead to the total
downfall of our civilization. It is a curious antithesis, which a
Martian might contemplate
with amused detachment. But for us it is a matter of life and death.
Upon its issue depends the question whether our grandchildren are to
live in a happier
world, or are to exterminate each other by scientific methods, leaving
perhaps to negroes and Papuans the future destines of mankind.
*
Bertrand Russell, Free Thought and Official Propaganda (New York: B.
W. Huebsch, Inc., 1922)
1
I should add that they re-appointed me later, when war-passions had
begun to cool
2
See The New Republic, February 1, 1922, p. 259 ff.
3
See “The Invention of a New Religion,” Professor Chamberlain, of
Tokyo Published by the Rationalist Press Association (Now out of
print)
