The Crowd - Gustave le Bon (classic fiction .txt) 📗

a

very considerable degree.

 

Organised crowds have always played an important part in the life

of peoples, but this part has never been of such moment as at

present. The substitution of the unconscious action of crowds

for the conscious activity of individuals is one of the principal

characteristics of the present age.

 

I have endeavoured to examine the difficult problem presented by

crowds in a purely scientific manner—that is, by making an

effort to proceed with method, and without being influenced by

opinions, theories, and doctrines. This, I believe, is the only

mode of arriving at the discovery of some few particles of truth,

especially when dealing, as is the case here, with a question

that is the subject of impassioned controversy. A man of science

bent on verifying a phenomenon is not called upon to concern

himself with the interests his verifications may hurt. In a

recent publication an eminent thinker, M. Goblet d’Alviela, made

the remark that, belonging to none of the contemporary schools, I

am occasionally found in opposition of sundry of the conclusions

of all of them. I hope this new work will merit a similar

observation. To belong to a school is necessarily to espouse its

prejudices and preconceived opinions.

 

Still I should explain to the reader why he will find me draw

conclusions from my investigations which it might be thought at

first sight they do not bear; why, for instance, after noting the

extreme mental inferiority of crowds, picked assemblies included,

I yet affirm it would be dangerous to meddle with their

organisation, notwithstanding this inferiority.

 

The reason is, that the most attentive observation of the facts

of history has invariably demonstrated to me that social

organisms being every whit as complicated as those of all beings,

it is in no wise in our power to force them to undergo on a

sudden far-reaching transformations. Nature has recourse at

times to radical measures, but never after our fashion, which

explains how it is that nothing is more fatal to a people than

the mania for great reforms, however excellent these reforms may

appear theoretically. They would only be useful were it possible

to change instantaneously the genius of nations. This power,

however, is only possessed by time. Men are ruled by ideas,

sentiments, and customs—matters which are of the essence of

ourselves. Institutions and laws are the outward manifestation

of our character, the expression of its needs. Being its

outcome, institutions and laws cannot change this character.

 

The study of social phenomena cannot be separated from that of

the peoples among whom they have come into existence. From the

philosophic point of view these phenomena may have an absolute

value; in practice they have only a relative value.

 

It is necessary, in consequence, when studying a social

phenomenon, to consider it successively under two very different

aspects. It will then be seen that the teachings of pure reason

are very often contrary to those of practical reason. There are

scarcely any data, even physical, to which this distinction is

not applicable. From the point of view of absolute truth a cube

or a circle are invariable geometrical figures, rigorously

defined by certain formulas. From the point of view of the

impression they make on our eye these geometrical figures may

assume very varied shapes. By perspective the cube may be

transformed into a pyramid or a square, the circle into an

ellipse or a straight line. Moreover, the consideration of these

fictitious shapes is far more important than that of the real

shapes, for it is they and they alone that we see and that can be

reproduced by photography or in pictures. In certain cases there

is more truth in the unreal than in the real. To present objects

with their exact geometrical forms would be to distort nature and

render it unrecognisable. If we imagine a world whose

inhabitants could only copy or photograph objects, but were

unable to touch them, it would be very difficult for such persons

to attain to an exact idea of their form. Moreover, the

knowledge of this form, accessible only to a small number of

learned men, would present but a very minor interest.

 

The philosopher who studies social phenomena should bear in mind

that side by side with their theoretical value they possess a

practical value, and that this latter, so far as the evolution of

civilisation is concerned, is alone of importance. The

recognition of this fact should render him very circumspect with

regard to the conclusions that logic would seem at first to

enforce upon him.

 

There are other motives that dictate to him a like reserve. The

complexity of social facts is such, that it is impossible to

grasp them as a whole and to foresee the effects of their

reciprocal influence. It seems, too, that behind the visible

facts are hidden at times thousands of invisible causes. Visible

social phenomena appear to be the result of an immense,

unconscious working, that as a rule is beyond the reach of our

analysis. Perceptible phenomena may be compared to the waves,

which are the expression on the surface of the ocean of

deeplying disturbances of which we know nothing. So far as the

majority of their acts are considered, crowds display a

singularly inferior mentality; yet there are other acts in which

they appear to be guided by those mysterious forces which the

ancients denominated destiny, nature, or providence, which we

call the voices of the dead, and whose power it is impossible to

overlook, although we ignore their essence. It would seem, at

times, as if there were latent forces in the inner being of

nations which serve to guide them. What, for instance, can be

more complicated, more logical, more marvellous than a language?

Yet whence can this admirably organised production have arisen,

except it be the outcome of the unconscious genius of crowds?

The most learned academics, the most esteemed grammarians can do

no more than note down the laws that govern languages; they would

be utterly incapable of creating them. Even with respect to the

ideas of great men are we certain that they are exclusively the

offspring of their brains? No doubt such ideas are always

created by solitary minds, but is it not the genius of crowds

that has furnished the thousands of grains of dust forming the

soil in which they have sprung up?

 

Crowds, doubtless, are always unconscious, but this very

unconsciousness is perhaps one of the secrets of their strength.

In the natural world beings exclusively governed by instinct

accomplish acts whose marvellous complexity astounds us. Reason

is an attribute of humanity of too recent date and still too

imperfect to reveal to us the laws of the unconscious, and still

more to take its place. The part played by the unconscious in

all our acts is immense, and that played by reason very small.

The unconscious acts like a force still unknown.

 

If we wish, then, to remain within the narrow but safe limits

within which science can attain to knowledge, and not to wander

in the domain of vague conjecture and vain hypothesis, all we

must do is simply to take note of such phenomena as are

accessible to us, and confine ourselves to their consideration.

Every conclusion drawn from our observation is, as a rule,

premature, for behind the phenomena which we see clearly are

other phenomena that we see indistinctly, and perhaps behind

these latter, yet others which we do not see at all.

 

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION THE ERA OF CROWDS