The Ideals of Totalitarianism

Hannah Arendt's book, The Origins of Totalitarianism, raises several fascinating questions concerning one's perception of an ideal government. Today's focus on liberalism in the Western World is accepted as good leadership, while nationalist dictators that have, and still do rule over African and Asian countries, are viewed as bad leaders. While I believe it to be true that such men are, (to use the cliche), evil hearted, I also think Arendt's argument that this does not make their basic ideologies of rule, evil, quite thought-provoking. That is to say, a strong minded state that can still operate under the free-minded laws of Rousseau's social contract, to my mind, would be the ideal form of leadership. But is this possible?

People, as a collective race, unconsciously seek any kind of residing authority to whom they may be answerable, while at the same time, look to for guidance. This may be demonstrated in all walks of life, from the hierarchies of universities and international corporations, to the natural parenthood within families. All the while, every citizen is answerable to the police, or more specifically, the law, for the police too are subject to the very rules that they uphold.

Law, one would think, is untouchable - an invisible, omnipresent force that binds society together and cannot be questioned. But of course, it can be. Every week, our own Parliament discusses the introduction, abolishing, or revision of Acts that directly impact our lives. Thus, it may be argued that one cannot feel he or she obeys the laws of any society absolutely, as such laws are constantly changing. The law against murder, for example, may be scrapped tomorrow. One may argue that there are laws to prevent such happenings, but what if those laws were to be abolished too in a mass uprising? After all, laws can only be enforced (and therefore exist) if they are obeyed by a majority.

To refer back to Arendt, her book argues that the one form of leadership that can prevent disorder is that of totalitarianism. This is because of the 'essence' that drives it forward; terror - an emotion that we experience innately and so therefore cannot oppose, placing us firmly and undeniably under the constraints of the regime, (a clear binary opposition to the ideas of Rousseau).

As a concept, it works first through transforming the classes into 'the masses', before supplanting the party system and establishing a foreign policy that leads toward world domination. It thus acts as a virus, spreading its influence until it consumes every last nation and integrates them into its machine-like system of rule and authority. Power is shifted from the army to the police, creating an internal network of surveillance to aid in upholding the state. And yet the newly formed masses supposedly embrace this form of total rule, albeit after a certain length of time. Ironically, the regime works to defy its own laws in the interest of the majority, thus allowing it to survive and prosper, before these laws no longer satisfy the new majority and so the cycle begins again. Arendt describes this as 'liberating the laws of Nature and History'.

The basis of the totalitarian state exists as an efficient law of living, rather than killing, but in order to do so, it must destroy free thinking, (and here is where I certainly do not believe in the concept). A combination of physical and mental terror destroys a person's logic, the former being achieved through the threat of death and the latter through the threat of isolation. Forcing a man or woman to live through only work eliminates interaction with other people, (another innate desire that we feel we need to be free). Thus, isolation works to both drive the economic engine of the state forward, as well as help it to exist in the first place.

So, we see that totalitarianism effectively gives with one hand and immediately takes away with the other. But this is a constant cycle, which is how a pure totalitarian regime would survive. Under the guidance of evil dictators, (who try to utilise the state to their own ends), however, the concept fails and is overthrown. Thus, I become something of an idealist, as unfortunately, the concept of totalitarianism is clearly not compatible with the favourable ideologies of Rousseau, whereby citizens are given licence to be individuals working towards a greater cause. There can be no 'pure hybrid', so to speak, and so it is to the discretion of each nation to find a middle ground between the two extremes.

Sorry for the late post. Have a great Christmas everyone!

Survival of the Fittest Nation

I've never been the biggest follower of politics before, but last Thursday I happened to switch on that quintessential British political show, Question Time, where I found myself listening very intently to the panelists' debate. They were discussing the fall of the euro and more importantly, how crucial it was that the UK hadn't joined the currency when it was initially proposed. One panelist brought up the point that the entire purpose of the euro was to create a unified continent, with merging economies, in which each country would effectively become a state (or a part of the 'whole'). In other words, it was to create a 'United States of Europe'.

This hit me as a somewhat desperate act to curb the ever-growing power and global influence of the USA and I was immediately thrown back to the week's lecture, concerning the rise of the 'nation-state'.

Every nation possesses its own identity, which is born out of a 19th century ideology called 'nationalism'. The great writers, artists, musicians, political leaders, sports men and women (the list goes on) work their way into the history of their native country, becoming canonized as timeless 'examples' that embody the 'spirit' of said nation. In turn, these individual stories become 'myth'; untouchable legends that are ingrained into the very fabric of culture.

But are they truly eternal stories?

Indeed, one might argue that the spirit of a nation is itself just myth, used to collectivise society by giving individual citizens a sense of identity themselves - something by which they may use to identify and distinguish themselves from (to use Carey's term) the global masses. So in several hundred years time, the inhabitants of the nation we know as the United Kingdom, may be very different from those of today, (us), and bestow an alternate indentity upon the country. The 'eternal spirit' of good ol' Blighty will have been washed away and that quintessential British show won't be so quintessential anymore!

Returning to my point, this sense of identity can give a nation its international authority. The USA is renowned for being 'the New World', which shunned and resisted the control of that age-old powerhouse, the British Empire. America may be described as an 'artificial nation', (due to its collection of diverse peoples over the last centuries), but it is one that has accumulated power through its association with freedom. The Declaration of Independence is, after all, the most endearing document in American history.

So, would a United States of Europe create a stronger, more unified nation? The answer is probably no. Each European country has its own historical identity, evidenced through their very different cultures, and so simply merging them together on an economic basis would not create the sense of unification that is present within America. As Rousseau would argue, a 'social contract' can exist only where each part works for the benefit of the entire entity, without alterior motives.

The perception that the euro could be used to unite the continent is perhaps an example of 'social Darwinism', on a national scale. That is, the constant race to stay ahead or catch up with other nations, the fight to 'out-evolve' everyone else. It's survival of the fittest.

John Carey's Audience...?

An interesting point that was raised in this week's seminar concerned Carey's target audience for his book, The Intellectuals and the Masses. Upon first reading it, I assumed he was, if anything, more empathetic towards those that he described as 'the masses', i.e. lower and middle classes. This was largely down to the conspiratory voice which he seemed to employ throughout the book, revealing and condemning small snippets of private letters, (such as that of D H Lawrence, which I touched upon in my seminar paper).

However, one may argue that Carey does, at times, seem anxious of the masses themselves and their power to create 'products of mass culture', which are antagonistic to the public, as he cites Nietzsche as an example (pp.4). They have the freedom to represent what and who they desire, as they can be 'reshaped at will, in accordance with the wishes of the imaginer' (pp.23).

So in this respect, Carey may be sitting on the fence, championing the rights of the individual and fragmenting the intellectuals' interpretations of the masses, while also appreciating their worries and concerns over the direction of a 'mass society' in the future. This does, in turn, raise the question over how exactly to distinguish one as being a stand alone intellectual, or simply a cog in the monstrous social machine.

In times gone by, it was thought that an isolated knowledge, protected from the vast majority, defined a man (or back then to a lesser extent, a woman), as superior, due to this 'esoteric doctrine' being inaccessible to 'the herd', (as quoted from D H Lawrence - pp.71). A far simpler solution was to consider your social position as hereditary.

But as Carey continually points out, the concept of the masses is just that - a concept, an imaginary phenomenon that society seems to accept as real. The rift between classes may be real, but being wealthy or not doesn't determine a person's intellectual capacity and in this way, the aforementioned 'intellectuals' have been successful in embedding this mentality into the public, to create this fantastical divide. A loyal reader of The Sun may see him/herself as being incapable of understanding the more informative-based broadsheets, like The Times, but this may only be because said reader does not allow him/herself to understand them. The rift exists, but only in our minds.

Thus, while readers of his book may initially interpret Carey as 'the hero of the masses', I think he may actually be trying to distance himself from the term. Indeed, while not condoling the ideologies of the intellectuals either, he instead attempts to undermine the idea he is discussing, warning of the continued negative impact it may have in years to come.

Seminar Paper - John Carey's 'The Intellectuals and the Masses'

John Carey’s book, The Intellectuals and the Masses, first published in 1992, critically explores culture’s canonized writers and artists and their self-proclamation of superiority, which society has seemingly learned to accept. Throughout, Carey argues that these intellectual greats actively seek to distinguish themselves from lower and middle classes, collectively termed as ‘the masses’.

The very term would seem to dehumanize this inferior majority, reinforcing the intellectuals’ air of authority, echoing the ideas of Friedrich Nietzsche and the Superman. In the same way that his fictional prophet, Zarathustra, declares that man must evolve into superior beings, the canons portray themselves as such by belittling the illiterate, thus metaphorically placing them closer to God.

Nietzsche’s impact upon twentieth century writers becomes apparent elsewhere. Over the last several hundred years, concerns over population explosion have escalated, as the masses derive from this what has become known as, ‘the state’, from which they may obtain ‘material pleasures they desire’ (pp.4). This is a form of social power that Nietzsche declared would destroy the individual. Many intellectuals sought a leader to step forward from the masses, keeping them under control. This wish would later be granted in the form of Adolf Hitler.

However, the rise in population was not solely blamed for the ‘revolt of the masses’, (as phrased by Spanish philosopher, Ortega). The Education Act of 1871 lead to vast improvements in the country’s schooling system, producing more literate young people and thus blurring the intellectual division that had been established centuries before. The emergence of newspapers at the end of the nineteenth century typified this concern, allowing previously uneducated, uncouth people access to news and information, as well as an emerging form of entertainment that novelists could not provide; public gossip.

The intellectuals believed that education should be reserved for those most worthy. While this may be an elitist statement and the right to learn should be taken away from no one, their concerns are still relevant to some debates today. With rising averages at GCSE and A-Level and the increasing number of university graduates, some may argue that the education system has been devalued in recent decades and that change is needed to reassess it, perhaps by presenting fresh, new challenges to students.

The irrational revulsion for the general public extended to extraordinary lengths. The masses were viewed as ‘dead’, ‘soulless’ machines (pp.10) and that to eliminate them was to prune society. These ideas are chillingly echoed by some of the most famous writers of the century, Nietzsche included. D. H. Lawrence, for example, writes of building ‘a lethal chamber as big as the Crystal Palace’, before leading in ‘all the sick, the halt, and the maimed’ (pp.12); a terrifying foreshadowing of the Holocaust. The science of eugenics was also commonly discussed as a method of breeding out inferiority, while war was seen as a convenience for wiping out the weak and the feeble.

It is easy to see reflections of Hitler’s totalitarian state in such ideologies, and it is to this man that Carey turns as a case study, later in his book.

Adolf Hitler may be a worthy comparison to some past intellectuals, in so far as he too disregarded the talentless workings of the mass media and worried over its creation of ‘dangerous’ masses. He admired the likes of Swift, Mozart and Rubens and believed in a divine presence in the timeless greats of art. He used this as justification of his Aryan race, citing that most great artists were German; therefore God lived in most Germans.

The masses, he believed, shared the mentality of women and children. ‘Ruled by sentiment rather than reasoning’ (pp.203) and longing for male domination, they would readily accept anything presented to them through the means of communication most familiar to them; the media. Hitler then, although disgusted by how mass media created mindless mass movement, utilised German press, radio and cinema to weld these masses into a strong, unified nation that shared the same purpose. Although hugely hypocritical, his propaganda was tragically successful.

In his view, however, foreign masses were unworkable. The Jews, in particular, were dangerously rooted into society, in his mind seeking to spread Marxism and socialism and take control themselves.

Hitler’s final solution resulted in horrific extermination. The incineration of millions is a throwback thousands of years to the origins of the word, ‘mass’. The term, ‘massa damnata’, refers to ‘condemned masses’ that superior beings decided must burn in hell. In this way, Hitler was physically enacting the beliefs of the ancient Romans, which had filtered through the centuries, perhaps for the most part unknowingly, via the hands of the great intellectuals.

The consequences of this intellectual division had finally been realised, admittedly to the extreme. The intellectuals’ determination to distinguish themselves as a separate class reached a climax in the early half of the twentieth century. Perhaps warning signs may have been noticed in the birth of a new form of art, which sought to communicate its ideas in a fashion that even literate people did not necessarily understand. Modernism, as it became known, was a final effort in alienating the masses, allowing the intellectuals to discuss and debate in the confidence of only one another.

As Carey suggests himself, this mentality is not only damaging to relations in society, but is largely nonsensical. A key theme of the modernist movement is individuality and the need to express oneself. Yet, as presented in the book, the views of the canonized artists would seem to contradict this opinion. By classing those who read, listen to and admire their work as ‘the masses’, the individual is destroyed. In this way, the media may be necessarily viewed as not collectivising an expanding society, but providing it with a platform to share individual views and opinions.

Seeing Ourselves in 'Ulysses'

Unsurprisingly I suppose, the week's seminar was largely dedicated to discussing the bizarre nature of James Joyce's novel. Ulysses is not just complicated in content, but also in the way that the author presents this content to us as readers.

The various methods of interpreting such a vast, complex text range from reading it as an experiment and tribute to the works of Sigmund Freud, to a backhanded critique of Christianity, (in particular, catholicism in Ireland, where Joyce was born). I think that the book is both of these things. The early twentieth century church still possessed great power and authority within society, which may be one explanation as to why the modernists wished to oppose its long-standing conformity. The opening passage of the book utilises a great deal of imagery when describing certain aspects around the central characters. For example, nature is seemingly depicted as beautiful and elegant - the sea is referred to as 'mother' - which would appear to echo sections of the bible. However, Joyce exaggerates the smallest details to the point that he seems to be writing a mocking parody, going so far as to present nature as godlike in itself.

While this is a valid and interesting take on the meaning of Ulysses, I find the psychoanalytic approach to be more useful in identifying the true, unique quality of the novel. While reading the stream of consciousness, I found myself thinking that Joyce is ultimately only portraying the thoughts of an ordinary person on an ordinary day. We each allow our minds to drift between abstract and concrete ideas nearly every second of the day - and those ideas are interpreted differently by every other person. Were we to enter the mind of a close friend or complete stranger for a day, our experience would not be far from that of reading Joyce's novel - obscure and baffling.

There is rarely a linear narrative to our thought patterns, particularly during the night when we slip into unconsciousness and lose control all together. This, I believe, to be why the book stands out as a truly classic example of modern literature, in that Joyce is so accurately able to portray the inner workings of the human mind, when the distinction is blurred between fantasy and reality.

In a way, although we may not like to think so, there is a little bit of Molly Bloom in us all...

Freud in 'Ulysses'

The work of Sigmund Freud in the functioning of the human brain has had profound influences on thousands of artists over the last hundred years. From Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho in 1960, to Chuck Palahniuk's novel, Fight Club, in 1996, the exploration of the unconscious mind has become one of the most fascinating genres of the modern day.

As with Freud's original books and essays, such as the famous, The Interpretation of Dreams, these works pertain to the same bold, shocking, disturbing nature that aim to stimulate their audience. Indeed, Freud's mentality in approaching delicate, often unexplored subject matters epitomises the revolutionary take on life of the modernist era, as we saw with Nietzsche's theories on God last week. He was unafraid to speak his views, regardless of how controversial or seemingly mad. In this way, modernism still lives on today.

Perhaps the work that most encaptures this Freudian mentality, however, is James Joyce's epic novel, Ulysses. Originally published in separate episodes between 1918 and 1920, it is often described as THE seminal piece of twentieth century literature. The novel itself is set within the time frame of one solitary day, opening on a morning exchange between two friends, Buck Mulligan and Stephen Dedalus. Although Joyce utilises a lot of imagery within his first episodes, thus presenting them in an almost dreamlike fashion, the reader is able to follow and understand a conventional narrative. There are certain aspects that are reminiscent of the modernist movement though, such as the theme of the oppression of the individual, symbolised by the subservience of Dedalus. Joyce is here perhaps alluding towards the renewed importance of individualism within society.

However, later in the novel, Freud's influence becomes far more apparent, after the story shifts to the narrative of a new character, Leopold Bloom. The reader is exposed to a bombardment of largely abstract imagery that has no direct relevance to the plot, (or what the audience originally perceived to be the 'plot'). Bloom reveals his fears and anxieties that are brought to within his conscious thinking by everyday objects and events, such as the clouds and interaction with neighbours. A sexual tension between himself, and wife, Molly, also dominates the prose, and so the novel begins to transform itself into a psychoanalysis of the human brain, and more disturbingly to early twentieth century readers, a psychoanalysis of an apparently sane, everyday man.

By the very last few pages of the book, all conventional narrative techniques have been abandoned, instead replaced by incredibly long soliloquies that are presented to us by Molly. These represent her stream of unconscious thought, and contain no punctuation to emphasise the limitless ability and 'freedom' of the mind. Her thoughts range from the oppression of women, to speaking Spanish abroad, and to the sexual experiences that she fantasizes about with another man.

This in itself is a revolutionary passage of writing, not just for its controversial graphic descriptions and crude language, but for its unreserved championing of the power of the human brain. I think Joyce is applying Freudian theory to the modernist ideolgies of the time, namely the desire for the mind to be free, open, an individual that does not conform to the constraints of society - and this is reflected clearly in his style of writing.

Although Ulysses is difficult to read and understand, even today, it is still an incredibly important work, as all readers are still able to empathise with the concepts that Joyce was relating to - the innate need for the freedom of the 'inner self'.

The Original Superman

Friedrich Nietzsche's novel, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, cites the author's critique of late nineteenth century society and its beliefs in faith or religion. The protagonist, a prophet named Zarathustra, descends from his mountain caves, promising to enlighten the world. This is an echo of Socrates' famous allegory, concerning the promised enlightenment of those men and women who step away from the dark shadows of our perceived world and into true reality. Thus, Nietzsche seems almost to be alluding towards a new renaissance.

The key belief that Zarathustra preaches, is that of God being 'dead', declaring instead that mankind must itself become 'godlike'. Whether Nietzsche believed in a divine being is somewhat irrelevant. He is suggesting that the idea of a God and religion can no longer maintain a strong society and dismisses them as 'old' theories. Instead, the new ideology is that of the 'Superman'.

Zarathustra tells the people that man must overcome itself, fighting against innate weaknesses, including everyday human emotions and even hunger and fatigue. In so doing, man evolves to become the ultimate being, the Superman, and achieve its destiny. Those who refute it, become a part of 'The Last Man', left behind to effectively 'de-evolve', standing still within time.

The book seems almost dictatorial, demanding readers to accept its ideas and scorning those who do not. Indeed, I would argue Nietzsche feels embarassed by mankind and its failures to achieve its higher purpose, instead sitting in idleness, holding one another back. This may be reflected in the short section describing the rope-dancer, who is assaulted midway through his performance by a fellow madman, plunging to his death. The author even makes this symbolic meaning clear, when he talks of a metaphorical bridge between man and the Superman, which must be crossed before achieving enlightenment.

He is thus introducing a new take on the ancient, eternal conflict between good and evil; one that has been acknowledged since the days of Plato and Aristotle. This strive for power, he is insinuating, is one that must be fought within the 'inner self', as we seek to cast aside our mortal souls in search of a purer form of existence. This reflects the emphasis on the importance of individualism that was prevalent at the time, and was a key theme in the modernist movement.

Thus Spoke Zarathustra is a work that provokes much thought amongst readers. For example, it's subtitle, 'A Book for All and None', is literally paradoxical and on the surface makes no sense to readers. However, after closer thought, it may be interpreted as a philosophical statement that stresses the contrast between man and the Superman; the novel is for those who are not yet enlightened (those being the former), while those who have evolved into a godlike being (the latter), have no need for material possessions such as books.

As for the idea of the Superman itself, I'm of the belief that in its current state, mankind would find it impossible to evolve into such a being. Although Nietzsche's ideas are greatly self-encouraging, allowing readers to pertain to the idea that they have a greater purpose in life, his prediction that religion would soon collapse has somewhat been found out. With the emergence of science, religion may have slipped into decline over the last few hundred years, however it is still a major part of society.

Perhaps Nietzsche and Zarathustra were ahead of their time, and mankind was not and still is not yet ready for the coming of a super human.

Radical Modernism

The turn of the century also witnessed the birth of a new movement and one which reacted against all past ideologies of the enlightenment era. It's roots originate from the middle of the 19th Century, when the composer, Richard Wagner, completed the piece, Tristan and Isolde. It was critically received, Wagner having broken all time-honoured rules of classical composition to create a dark, brooding piece that shocked the Western World. Here was born the modernist movement, intended to revolutionize the way in which people considered traditional, often dogmatic, values and thus change the way the world was viewed.

Perhaps the most famous and influential philosopher of the time was a man named Friedrich Nietzsche, whose novel, Thus Spake Zarathustra, would seem to epitomise the new, radical concepts of the time. His aphorism, 'God is dead', introduced an entirely revolutionary take on the debate between science and religion. Nietzsche argued that whether God did exist or not, the universe was now 'Godless', and mankind now stood alone in its fight to evolve. Individualism was key, and a democratic society was no longer workable if man hoped to achieve a higher status within the universe.

The 'Superman' is the highest of all entities; man must fight everyday weaknesses that make us mortal, such as hunger and fatigue, and all unnecessary emotions, in the pursuit of his ultimate destiny.

Nietzsche seems to be suggesting that this be the answer to life itself and echoes the theories of Hegel, in that mankind has a greater purpose in reaching an ultimate haven, (reminiscent of a 'Garden of Eden'), and becoming 'godlike'. What distinguishes modernist views on life, from those of past centuries, however, is that religion is wholly disregarded as part of the old mentality, and must also be overcome to achieve this 'perfection'. It was proposed that we live in a 'de-centred universe', in that all matter is relative only to itself, and that space will continue to expand forever, into infinity, dwarfing everything until it is entirely empty.

The movement continued to shock the post-romantic world. Operas and plays were largely sombre, moving productions and often sexually explicit in their content. Feminism branched out of this, particulalry as the century wore on, and women began to gain positions of greater importance, and thus greater success. Marie Curie is one example, winning two Nobel Prizes for her exploits in both physics and chemistry.

While modernism may no longer be considered 'modern', the movement itself can be credited with injecting new and exciting ideas into society, thus overseeing a crucial stage in its development into what we know today. What used to be considered radical, no longer is.

Lord Northcliffe... The British Hearst?

In this week's seminar, we discussed the life and achievements of Alfred Harmsworth. The first of Britain's great newspaper barons, he incorporated into his considerable empire both the Daily Mail and more upmarket The Times newspapers, around the turn of the 20th Century. He gained peerage in 1905 and the new title, by which he is more commonly known, Lord Northcliffe.

Perhaps one of his more notable papers is one of his own creation, namely the Daily Mirror, founded as an offshoot to the Mail and originally written by and for women. In its youth, Northcliffe's new paper struggled with circulation and very soon became 'the laughing stock of Fleet Street', as described in Chris Horrie's Tabloid Nation. The owner quickly scrapped the women's newspaper, re-modelling it as the Daily Illustrated Mirror; a piece of journalism that could be read by men on the move, either on their way to work in the mornings, or while sitting down to lunch in the afternoons.

It saw the birth of what has become known as 'photojournalism', utilising the new technology of cameras to encapture news stories in a way that had never been done before. It was described as journalism that would avoid 'mental paroxysm'; Northcliffe was thus effectively aiming his increasingly successful creation at the illiterate working classes. He hired Hannen Swaffer as pictorial editor, a media-driven man with a ruthless competitive edge, seemingly unwilling to allow morals to impede his pursuit of a juicy story. He printed the first photos of the deceased Edward VII at his funeral, while he ran an exclusive edition of images depicting the Titanic, upon the sinking of the luxury liner.

The new fad of photojournailsm became intoxicating to the country, as millions of amateur photos were sent into Swaffer's office, all looking to gain some easy profit. It was the new craze, perhaps seen as Harry Potter-style, moving images might be perceived in today's, modern newspapers.

For a time, Lord Northcliffe would have appeared to have saved his floundering baby. However, in 1913, he sold it (now reverted back to its former title) to brother, Harold, later Lord Rothermere. Northcliffe wished to elevate his standing in society, in order to have greater political influence, (though he never aspired to become Prime Minister), thus severing his connections to the sensationalist tabloid. Here I believe to be the difference between him and his American counterpart, Hearst. While the New York-based journalist was driven solely by his publishing company and its stories, Northcliffe had alterior motives in gaining more power within the House of Lords. Indeed, the title of ruthless 'bad boy' at the Mirror belonged to Swaffer.

The younger Harmsworth, Rothermere, having inherited the empire, also used the papers to gain his own political leverage, promoting far-right rallies and movements that verged on the fascist, even threatening an allegiance with the growing Nazi agenda. By such time, the Daily Mirror itself was beginning to struggle again, losing the battle in 'free giveaways' that had been initiated by the Daily Herald and Daily Express. It would not be until Rothermere's removal that the paper would experience its second revival.

Although the Harmsworths were as close to a British 'Hearst equivalent' as there was, it seems clear that they did not possess the same business acumen in later life, or the hunger, that made the American so successful. All three men were certainly powerful though; proof that power in all forms would seem to corrupt...

Revisiting Hearst

Our first lecture of the new year focussed on revising the general overview of one of America's first newspaper barons, William Randolph Hearst. Indeed, the man may be largely credited for introducing the world to tabloid journalism as we know it today... so Murdoch may have someone to thank in this respect.

Hearst's father, George, was originally lured to the promise land of California in the mid 19th century, where he, along with many hopeful European immigrants, hoped to strike it rich in the Gold Rush. I think that in many ways, here was born the fledgling American Empire, as the idea of a 'manifest destiny' began to spread, giving the country a mentality of inherited rights to expand and develop. One offshoot of this may be seen in the subsequent Indian Wars, a battle for land and territory.

George Hearst, having made a decent living in mining, went on to invest in a successful publishing company and soon began to form his own business empire. Toward the end of his life, his son, William Randolph, insisted on inheriting this investment. One such paper, was the San Francisco Examiner. The young Hearst seemed already to have an eye for the potential power of the press and its propaganda.

But, after the death of his father, Hearst raced on to create one of the greatest newspaper corporations of his time. There is certainly a case for recognising him as one of the true geniuses of the century, with incredible business acumen. He transformed dry journalism into sensationalist 'art', employing bigger, bolder headlines, reducing the size and number of stories, and perhaps most importantly, introducing pictures and illustrations that would 'attract the eye and stimulate the imagination' to 'materially aid comprehension'. The frontpage was critical to Hearst, as he recognised this as his selling pitch to millions of consumers.

As was mentioned in previous blogs, Hearst was not alone in his endeavours. Having moved to New York late on in the century, he competed with Joseph Pulitzer and his paper, New York World. I think this war of circulation may be epitomised in Hearst's poaching of one of Pulitzer's popular cartoon characters, the Yellow Kid, in 1896. He saw how audiences empathised with and loved the character, and so in his ruthless competitiveness, he effectively stole the idea. Pulitzer responded by creating 'a new' Yellow Kid, and so saw the birth of the term, 'yellow journalsim', or what may now be more commonly referred to as the 'red top papers'.

Although it is difficult not to respect what Hearst achieved in his lifetime, (evidenced by his lasting influences on contemporary journalism), there is also a darker side to the man, which may not be ignored. Whereas it is one thing to poach the asset of a direct competitor, for the sake of circulation numbers, it is another to verge on the illegality of war mongering.

Before the outbreak of the Spanish War, Hearst would naturally have been attracted by the possibility of increasing readers. He sent an investigator to report back important information as to its developments, but upon his man telegraphing no news, Hearst was thought to have allegedly replied; 'Please remain. You furnish the pictures and I'll furnish the war'. While it is important to stress that these are allegations, it is seemingly not altogether beyond the man to have wished for as much.

Yes, William Randolph Hearst was a genius of his kind. But to use the old cliche, he was perhaps one of a flawed nature.

The Final Seminar...

Our last seminar of the academic year has broken into the study of tabloids in earnest. Their development in the United Kingdom is largely down to Lord Northcliffe, one of the country's very first newspaper barons, who accumulated his fortune through the assembly of several different national papers, such as The Daily Mirror and The Sunday Times, to form a vast empire that greatly resembles that of Rupert Murdoch today.

Chris Horrie's book, Tabloid Nation, covers this period of history in some detail. Indeed, Northcliffe included many similar features in his own tabloids that were present in those of Hearst, including new extras like competitions and far more visuals aimed at engaging more audiences. He went great distances to ensure his pursuit of a monopolised market would end in more success, recognising the potential to take advantage of a generally unexplored business venture. Modern journalism in the UK was fast accelerating; money was 'no object' to the wealthy baron as he continued to invest in his own gold mine. He justified his new brand of press as a product for the working man, on the way to his job in the mornings, or sitting down to lunch in the middle of the day; tabloids were newspapers that could 'occupy their minds without thinking'. It seems that, like his America-based counterpart, Lord Northcliffe possessed the business acumen and know-how to reap the rewards of a newly exposed market that continues to flourish in today's society.

On the subject of Hearst, I'd just like to present one more point of view regarding the film, Citizen Kane. The 1941 movie is widely regarded as one of, if not the, greatest picture presentations of all time. It follows the life and times of a very familiar journalist and politician, Kane, however, my point does not regard the success of the film. As was discussed in the seminar this week, it seems Orson Welles' portrayal of his protagonist greatly resembles that of Hearst himself. While Welles always denied the charcter was based upon the man, it seems evidently clear he at least took inspiration from the American baron, shown through the great similarity between each of their political lives, to the simple fact they both owned such grande and imposing mansions!

Regardless, it seems fitting that one of the greatest films to hit theatres, is so closely related to one who may be described as the 'kingpin' of media during the 20th century and still bears his impact on the tabloids currently sitting on our tables at home.

That's all I guess folks. Here's to a great summer!!!

Hearst and the beginning of Modern Journalism

The mid-19th Century proved to be the turning point in the history of journalism, as we know it today. America was becoming 'The New World', whereby ordinary people were given the chance to start a new, prosperous life and many Europeans began to turn their heads to this tempting prospect.

The 'Gold Rush' of San Francisco in 1849, (although this proved a false story in the main), the 'Railways Boom' throughout the 1850s, the emerging capital of the world, New York City; all of this exemplified the growing attravtiveness of the States and the wealth that could be found there. A 'North American Empire' was being born and with it, the emergence of a new, more market-driven form of journalism. Two men in particular can be credited with this.

Joseph Pulitzer was an Hungarian journalist who moved to New York, having served time in the military. The city was fast becoming the epicentre of this new-born American hope, soon labelled the richest and most powerful in the world. He himself believed in the evils of imperialsim and often cited the potential dangers of another world Empire. His main paper, the New York World, opposed such wars as that for Cuba, greatly altering American perceptions of the time. He also adopted a somewhat more human-interest approach to many of his stories, proving hugely popular against the traditionally dry predecessors.

However, Pulitzer did not have the luxury of monopolising the market. William Randolph Hearst set out to dominate the newspaper sector himself and furthered the revolution in journalism by introducing an ever more sensationalist view, along with a wider use of art and pictures and even competitions for readers, such as bingo. Such ideas had injected the market with a fresh outlook and greater impetus to sell stories to the information-hungry public. The battle for distribution and circulation was extremely competitive.

Indeed, both of these men played a hugely significant role in the tabloidization of newspapers. The legacy of Hearst, for example, is demonstrated by the common method used by journalists today, named after himself. It forms the basis for many stories that can be read in your favourite papers, consisting of two main steps. Find a story to write about, then gain sufficient evidence to prove it worthy of publication.

So the next time you pick up a copy of The Sun or Daily Star, thank two men in particular for those juicy columns...

The Spectre of Communism

Marx used the Manifesto as a means through which to translate his frustration at the fundamental failings of worldwide capitalism, as well as spread his own word as to the impending new system, known as communism.

He argued, along with contemporary, Frederick Engels, that the existence of 'class' exemplified the incompatability of old capitalist beliefs with the natural instincts of society; that is, the desire for total equality and an harmonious community. Class creates property, which is based upon the antagonism of capital and wage labour and Marx believed that capitalism was utilising both as forms of leverage over poorer individuals. Thus, the bourgeoisie and their methods of control had to be abandoned, in favour of a fairer society.

The Communists wished to abolish property, and in so doing, end the historical struggles of class to create 'the perfect world'. Everybody works for the sake of everybody else, perhaps somewhat of a throwback to Sir Thomas More's Utopia, or Rousseau's social contract. The Manifesto states that such a system is already in existence, (it 'haunts Europe' like a 'spectre'), and merely needs to be put into action. It sums up the key aspects of communism in the following points:

1. Abolition of property in land and application of all rents of land to public purposes.
2. A heavy progressive or graduated income tax.
3. Abolition of all rights of inheritance.
4. Confiscation of the property of all emigrants and rebels.
5. Centralization of credit in the banks of the state, by means of a national bank with state capital and an exclusive monopoly.
6. Centralization of the means of communication and transport in the hands of the state.
7. Extension of factories and instruments of production owned by the state; the bringing into cultivation of waste lands, and the improvement of the soil generally in accordance with a common plan.
8. Equal obligation of all to work. Establishment of industrial armies, especially for agriculture.
9. Combination of agriculture with manufacturing industries; gradual abolition of all the distinction between town and country by a more equable distribution of the populace over the country.
10. Free education for all children in public schools. Abolition of children's factory labor in its present form. Combination of education with industrial production, etc.

As was pointed out in this week's seminar, through these points, communism becomes an extremely idyllic system.

And so it proved popular. The Manifesto not only explains practical ideas in simple sentences, but it also relates and reaches out to the majority - the working class. It significantly improved the lives of those living in poverty and has since been implemented across many nations all over the world, including such larger countries as China and Russia.

But would communism work in our own society, today? The Western World often associates such policies with an underhanded evil motive, due to the lasting resonations of the Cold War. But as Marx points out, those opposed to the 'radical' beliefs of communism are simply borne upon the bourgeois mentality of old. Perhaps socialism will one day appear in the west, but I think that it could only be introduced gradually over time, due to the deep-seated capitalist roots of the last few centuries.

Marxism

Even before our last lecture, I'd found it almost impossible to escape the beliefs and ideas of Karl Marx on almost a daily basis. Marxism crops up in a variety of topics and debates, particularly when you are studying Creative Writing and Journalism for your degree, so I was intrigued to learn more about him.

What I find most remarkable in the work of Marx, what separates him from most other philosophers of the past and present, is his focus on understanding the exact mechanics of the failings of man and society. Rather than merely interpreting the world around him, he set out to show what could be done to harmonise this world. He answered the question of 'how', as well as that of 'why'.

His views are perhaps some that I do not agree with in their own right, though. Marx was greatly influenced by Hegel before him, and so much of his philosophy derives from the Hegelian theory in the pursuit of a 'perfect society'. He was thus an advocate of the process of 'Thesis-Antithesis-Synthesis', however, believed that history unfolds in this manner as a result of the eternal struggles in class - perhaps the most famous belief of Karl Marx. He identified the primary struggle as that between the Bourgoise of society, (i.e. those who controlled the majority of wealth in a country), and the proleteriats, who own no individual rights over others. Marx was a well-known communist and believed the only way of defeating capitalism was to see a 'proleterian revolution', whereby the unification of classes would result in the fulfillment of society's purpose, granting entry into a 'Garden of Eden'.

Marx's views still hold strong today and I believe greatly influence the ideologies of many strong-minded politicals. For example, he described religion as a simple means to escape the reality of the world, as an 'opium of the people'. He also stated that politics itself was a method of control, whereby stronger classes could easily manipulate the poorer, weaker ones. Indeed, it may be seen why Karl Marx could have been seen as a very controversial figure to many, particularly those capitalist minds of the west, in the early twentieth century after his death.

A writer of several important works, like that on economics called 'Das Capital', his most widely known is 'The Communist Manifesto', in which he reflected on the globalisation of the Bourgoise. Marx was and still is a very complex, yet fascinating, character, but perhaps after next week's seminar and having read the 'Manifesto', we'll be able to delve a little deeper into his true political nature.

Cobbett's Legacy

My final reflections on Cobbett regard the nature of the man himself and the successes, (if any), which he may claim.

Upon reading his book, Rural Rides, my impression is of a man who was deeply fond of rural life, perhaps considering the countryside as the heart of Britain. Here is a man who, for 4 years, travelled the country in order to experience first hand, the declining standards of living for vulnerable farmers. He did not simply hide away from the public eye, when writing his radical pamphlets, but willingly engaged with those he was defending, gathering much support along his journeys.

It may be argued that his exertions were, at times, somewhat extreme, exemplified by the charges that were placed upon him, for his public advocation of the Swing Riots. These were the movements of labourers in 1830, who vented their frustration at the corruption of government by vandalising rural machinery.

But perhaps his actions were not in vain; in 1832, the Reform Act was passed through Parliament, allowing for greater fairness in electoral measures. Cobbett himself was later elected to the seat of Oldham, where he continued his attacks on government, and in particular, the Poor Law of 1834, which adhered to the extremist utilitarian views of Jeremy Bentham, forcing the poorest of families into the horrendous conditions of workhouses.

And yet, as was pointed out in this week's seminar, we may only need to leave the familiarity of our towns and cities, to find fields and fields, acres upon acres of uninhabited country; a scar upon the work of Cobbett and his contemporaries. To this extent, the radicals may have failed in their attempts to repopulate the rural areas, as the importance of technology in industry has continued to escalate over the last two centuries. Agriculture has not been reinstated as the main artery of British trade and commerce, while heavy duty factories have popped up in every major urban population.

However, this is not what Cobbett's success should be measured by. Instead, his generation should be remembered for the vast amounts of support that was harnessed in altering governmental policies towards the public voice and the changes that can be made by strong willed determination. This, in my view, is the legacy that Cobbett has left us.

The 'tale of two revolutions'

After the booming years that the British economy enjoyed during the Napoleonic War, the beginning of the 19th Century also saw the start of not only the Industrial Revolution, but that of a political nature as well. The French domination of Europe was over, and the British Empire was becoming the strongest in the world, benefitting greatly from the foreign trade of textiles, coal and cotton. And yet, this period in history has become known as one of the most horrendous in which the British population was forced to endure.

With the end of the war, the number of British exports rapidly declined, creating a big hole in various industries, including that of agriculture. In order to protect it, the government introduced the Corn Laws, which placed considerable tariffs upon imported grain. Foreign prices thus rose considerably and forced many of families away from the 'bread line'. Starvation raged across the country.

During this time, Parliament was considered to be extremely corrupt - only 2% of the population was even allowed to vote! It took a strong policy of repression towards any dissent by the public, threatening exportation to one of the new colonies abroad. In 1819 though, thousands gathered in protest of governmental policy, leading to the Peterloo Massacre, in which the cavalry were sent in to disperse the crowds, killing 11 people in the process. This public outcry continued however, and in 1846, the Corn Laws were finally abolished.

By such a time, the developments that were beginning to be made in technology began to see a gradual shift in emphasis towards industry in the cities anyway. The Enclosure Acts cut off the rural land significantly, forcing vast numbers of workers into the city. Again though, living conditions were appaling, due to such large workforces leading to much lower wages. The Industrial Revolution had begun.

During this period, extreme members of the public voiced their opinions as to the damaging effects that technology was causing to British lifestyles and values. One such person was William Cobbett. He was devastated at seeing the countryside being emptied of people, feeling that Parliament's power-hungry policies were simply destroying the country from the inside. He began to distribute one of history's very first pieces of radical press, in the form of a pamphlet named the Political Register. In it, he condemned the government's treatment of the British workforce, particularly those farmers who had been pushed off their own land. He was later sent to prison.

Another radical was a certain Charles Dickens. Like Cobbett, he believed firmly in the harm the government was causing in its chase for world domination, but unlike his contemporary, preached against the horrendous conditions in the city. His criticism of the inadequacy of workhouses, which were slowly starving many thousands of families, is most notable in his novel, Oliver Twist. He was seen very much as an heroic figure to the working classes, condemning the laws which seemed intent on criminalizing the poor.

Indeed, this period is noted as one of the most important in Britain's history, and saw the foundations laid for the country to become one of the most powerful in the modern world. However, it is undoutedly the case that governmental policies were horrendously extreme and perhaps all too guilty of placing the growing Empire before the population itself. Cobbett and Dickens were just two members of the public, who tried vigorously to voice these concerns, and in my view, are rightly commended for doing so.

The Complexities of 'being'

Having studied both Kant and Hegel a little more over the last week, I've come to the conclusion that it is really impossible to avoid a brief discussion of one of philosophy's deepest and most thought-provoking debates; the theories of existence itself.

As was touched upon in last week's post, Kant's views were based largely upon his noumenal and phenomenal worlds. This was what became known as the Copernican Revolution, i.e. rather than sharing the belief in the influence the world has upon us, he essentially believed in the power of the mind, shaping the universe into how we know it. Or how we think we know it.

Indeed, one of the most interesting parts of the seminar this week was the discussion on whether or not every individual perceives objects within the universe in exactly the same way. I think that by Kant's philosophy, he would agree that everyone would see a tree, for example, in exactly the same way. But I would suggest that there is room for an argument, which says that the perceptions of over six billion people cannot surely be identical. It might very well be possible that my perception of the colour blue, is actually yours of the colour green. Perhaps Kant's yellow is my red. It may even be possible to take the argument a step further and suggest that the way in which we conceive dimensions will be somewhat differing. Perhaps my world is stretched entirely out of proportion to that of another person's? It certainly becomes a dizzying subject and one that can perhaps be left to the scrutiny of our modern philosophers.

My closing point considers a philosophical view of Hegel's. He believed in the universe as being one entity, or one organism, which he called the 'Absolute'. In it, everything is directly and undeniably related to God. This is perhaps one idea that I simply cannot agree with, as through such logic, nothing within the universe could be distinguished at all, as nothing would have a singular quality to define it. I find much of his philosophy to be far fetched in this way, including his belief in the ultimate perfection that the universe is inexorably heading towards - though as our seminar leader pointed out, perhaps this is just me being pessimistic.

In any case, as I anticipated, there is much room for debate around these subjects, which I'm sure shall continue for some time into the future, however, both Kant and Hegel are sure to have influenced many philosophers' views to date and shall continue to do so.

Kant and Hegel

Infamously complex and widely regarded as one of the last influential philosophers of 'modern times', Immanuel Kant was born in early 18th Century Germany. His Critique of Pure Reason may be one of the most thought-provoking philosophical works of the past millenium, meticulously analysing and taking apart the mechanics of the human mind and its perception of the universe.

He was certainly not an empiricist, though neither was he an extreme rationalist. Kant effectively believed in the existence of two worlds; the noumenal and the phenomenal. People, animals, objects, (in fact the entire universe), exist initially within the noumenal world, one in which 'things' exist solely within themselves and are not perceived. Only when they enter the phenomenal, do they actively play a 'role' within space. This was a view that expanded somewhat upon those of predecessors, (such as those of Hume and Berkley), who believed that objects simply flash into existence when they come into contact with the sensory perceptions of another living being, before flashing back out again.

Kant was stating that the universe and everything within it, including not just perceptions, but also emotions, appear and feel the way they do through a perceptive apparatus that is received 'supernaturally' by the human mind, (perhaps his form of 'God'). In effect, nothing is actually real, but nor is anything non-existent to the brain. It takes objects from the noumenal world, and presses them into the phenomenal.

Almost a generation later, another German philosopher, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, proposed a differing interpretation of Kant's views. He suggested that each idea of the Critique of Pure Reason implied its own negation; everything within the universe is subject to a changing cycle, and so he is thus proposing an undeniable progress of mankind to an ultimate 'bliss' and a reunion with God. Hegel greatly believed in the purpose of history and the role it has to play in the future, perhaps making him one of the first modern philosophers to openly propose an acknowledgement of what is commonly known today as, fate.

Both of these philosophers, as Bertrand Russell says, played great roles in the evolution of philosophy into what it is today. Their seemingly endless theories and proposals marked both the end of an era, which introduced to us the likes of John Locke, as well as the beginning of a new, modern one. When we consider such theories, for example, as Kant's Categorical Imperative, (which emphasised the importance of the results of one's actions, rather than one's intentions), and Hegel's views on thesis (existence), leading to the creation of synthesis (history), I get the feeling that we may have only just scratched the surface...

Hypocrisy and Utilitarianism

Two interesting questions were raised for me in this week's seminar, the first being; Was Mary Wollstonecraft a hypocrit?

As discussed in last week's post, Wollstonecraft fought all her life for the recognition that she felt women deserved. Witnessing first hand the brutality with which her father treated her mother, she set out to open the public's eyes to the disadvantages and inequality that the fairer sex suffered from during the 18th Century, most noticeably through her writing of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Her arguments revolved around the superficial education that women received, as the male gender were regarded as possessing far more potential in life, while the future of the females was seen to be centred around the home and properly raising children. It was this lack of schooling, Wollstonecraft argued, which fostered the sensibilities that women had become associated with, forming a dependence upon their male counterparts. Indeed, it was regarded as a success in life for a woman to become married and reliant on a husband.

As one of the very first active feminists to emerge in recent centuries, she sought after equal rights for both genders and a fairer chance at future success, with greater prospects. She felt that women should stand up for themselves and become independent from their husbands and brothers. But, rather ironically, these calls for justice came from a woman who attempted suicide by jumping into the Thames, when she began to experience problems with her own lover...

I jumped at this action during the seminar, citing Wollstonecraft as a hypocrit and perhaps somewhat of a traitor to her beliefs. But as was pointed out, Wollstonecraft lived during the 18th Century herself, at such a time when society had drilled into her the current ideals of 'the woman's place'. Afterall, she herself had received a meagre education, but was fighting for future generations, so can she really be blamed? Perhaps you can still criticise her for not resisting more so, those ideals that she so despised, but I for one certainly hold my hands up in deciding to retain a certain amount of empathy for her situation.

The final brief point that I wanted to make was the debate over utilitarianism - the 'science of happiness'. My question is just that - can happiness, (or any other human emotion for that matter), be treated as a science? Jeremy Bentham was a great advocate of such, proposing that the exact nature of a person's happiness at a given time was down to a number of different factors and variables, including the length of time such happiness lasts. One of Bentham's students, however, a certain John Stuart Mill, rejected his theories somewhat, suggesting that some 'happy moments' are of a much higher standard than others, and cannot be compared with other inferior ones, (for example, the completion of a great novel or piece of literature, will always supercede the happiness gained from watching your favourite TV show).

In my own opinion, I would have to take sides with Mill. Human emotions are difficult to understand at the best of times and far too complex to interpret as methodically as Bentham perceived it possible to do so. This is entering territory, which may take mankind many more centuries to understand.