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...