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Title: Democracy
Author: Dora Marsden
Date: 1914
Language: en
Topics: egoism, democracy, The Egoist
Source: Retrieved on 09/26/2021 from https://modjourn.org/issue/bdr520337/
Notes: Originally published in The Egoist Volume I Number 8 (April 15, 1914). Title is unofficial and derived from the text.

Dora Marsden

Democracy

The offending aspect of the pretensions of "democracy" is not that in

the name of what the "majority" supposedly thinks we are supposed to be

pleased and happy to be "ruled" by a clique "for our good." Far from it,

since, in truth, but few of us are "ruled" at all. It is merely our

little foible to pretend we are. We give our "rulers" to understand they

"rule" us because it pleases them so greatly to think they do: and then

there is the consideration that a docile demeanour serves to divert

their too too kind attention; probably the most servile-seeming member

of a "state" the most bent upon fulfilling the role of step-grandmother

fundamentally is untouched by "rule." The obedient attitude is a very

convenient garb for the perverse to wear: and if the mere doing of it

does not jar the temper too much, appearing to submit will define the

line of least resistance to doing what, under the circumstances is what

we please. Thus under the shelter of the servile demeanour there forms a

residue- of mulish waywardness, especially in those who appear to

present their parts to receive the kicks which keep them going between

gutter and cesspool: a waywardness which even more than temper succeeds

in making them into a kind of clay unmeet to the hand which would

govern. The great unwashed will accept the infliction of the bath which

cuts a slice off the space of their limited premises with resignation

and reflect that it will indeed have a use as a wardrobe and coal-place.

Though they are cast down by such things they are not defeated. "Rule"

slides from them, as water slides from a duck. "Rule" has effect only on

those who are indoctrinated with the Dogma: those who are under the

spell of the "Word." Even these—these intellectuals—are not placed in

bondage by the rulers: theirs is a voluntary bondage—true freedom,

according to the Word—and if they act as automata it is that they

subscribe to the dogma that it is their duty to be as automata. They

submit themselves to the law: because they approve not always indeed of

the law, but of the attitude which submits to law.

---

It is not therefore for its supposed prowess in the line of government

that democracy's claims are obnoxious. It earns its odium through the

commodity which the "rulers" offer in exchange for their investiture

with authority to govern. "Rulers" appear contemptible not for what they

take but what they give. That they lay hold of authority and all the

ready cash which their positions render available is, if regrettable,

yet tolerable: the machine will go until it breaks; the vexatious thing

is that in order to become installed in their position of advantage they

must needs undermine and bemuse by flattery the intelligence of those

whose lack of it is sufficiently evidenced by their willingness to have

truck with them.

---

Once upon a time, we heard—or read—about a soldier belonging to the

ranks who by the workings of some chance which we forget, found himself

dining at the officers' mess. Finding himself unable to guess the use to

which he might be expected to put ice which was placed before him, he

hazarded putting it in the soup; whereupon the officers laughed: all,

that is, save one—the highest in rank. This noble one, in order to

administer the rebuke to the manners of his brother-officers, and

further to cover the confusion of the guest, straightway placed ice in

his soup also. This edifying story as we remember it did not stop at

this point but went on to explain how true gentility and true democracy

reveal themselves in so fine an essence of Christian good-breeding, but

it will serve our purpose better to regard the story as here finished

and use it as an analogy in a totally different sense, thus: those who

use the flattery of the democratic "equality" argument in order to win

the support of the mob do their uttermost to confuse the import of

"gentility": how far they have succeeded the influence of the concept of

"natural rights" bears witness. They encourage "claims" to be laid to

things which from their nature can only be freely given. A delicacy

which merely seeks not to press the confusion which error brings in

misconstrued into a concession that no error exists: rather, indeed,

that those who fail to perpetuate it are themselves in error.

---

Every new creed is ninety-nine parts rechauffe of all the creeds which

by virtue of its hundredth part it is supposed to supersede: the fact

that the ingredients are incongruous proving no bar to such rehashing.

To mince the whole to a uniform state of non-recognition where possible,

and to accept whole what resists the process according to its external

merits, is the method of treatment. Naturally therefore in the cult of

equality-cum-democracy it is not surprising to be met with the spirit of

"Noblesse oblige," "notwithstanding the fact that democracy knows no

"Noblesse." How this curious combination of exclusives is worked in

together is illustrated by the incident narrated above. The "noble"

officer acted in the spirit which lies behind the attitude "Noblesse

oblige"—the attitude that a superior can always afford to concede a

point: it is the spirit of chivalry: the meaning of the handicap: it is

to be found almost everywhere where the relatively strong and weak,

superior and inferior meet together. It is the swagger of the superior

at their subtlest and suavest, since it wins a conscious recognition of

superiority by the very act which would seem to minimise it. Now the

confusion which is effected by the demagogues: those would-be rulers who

in order to win their way to authority must flatter the mob, lies in the

implication that while still "Noblesse oblige," the tacit acknowledgment

of relative merit on which it is built is there no longer. It has been

submerged in democratic equality. Therefore a superior not merely may

ice his soup: he ought and must; in fact, we supposedly, all prefer iced

soup now: the new creed having created a new procedure. If incompetence

is the equal of competence and the incompetent outnumber the competent,

then by the "right" of democracy and the "will of the greatest number"

the incompetent must set the procedure. There is nothing of course in

the ways of procedure already existing which is not the result of "class

prejudice" and autocratic naughtiness: nothing in the relative quality

of men's intelligence and the nature of things otherwise to explain why

the relative positions have arranged themselves as they have. All this

wicked disparity is purely superficial and will be combated by a

judicious mixture of scolding and pleading. Hark unto Mr. Lansbury's

paper on the subject: "Every private must be as free as any dandy

officer." "Must" no less ! Suppose he had said "can be"! Why did he not?

Presumably because "he" can't be. Then what is the route, between point

and point of which, "Can't be" becomes "Must be" in a mind like Mr.

Lansbury's? What magic human alchemy is worked on the way and who works

it? Mr. Asquith or Mr. Macdonald or even Mr. Lansbury himself? Or does

Mr. Lansbury find hope in the temper of "privates" themselves? To us

they seem to be conspicuously silent. We may be sure the privates are as

free as they can be, and when they can be more free, thev will be.

"Free" is such an odd sort of a word. It has the power of suggesting

itself to be something which can be conferred, like rations and

uniforms, and yet when it has been followed through a long series of

disillusionings it lets one-down to the truth that it is in itself

representative only; it merely marks the limit of one's individual

power, like the index-needle on those machines where one hits on a sort

of anvil with a hammer to test one's strength. The index will move up

and down the scale in the most obliging manner within the limits of

one's power to strike. And similarly with the privates' freedom: it is

anything their power can make it. If their power of "freedom" were equal

to that of officers: why did they not become officers and so become

"free" and dandy too? They would then have avoided the grounds of

suspicion that it was less. It is to be assumed they did not become

privates because in comparison with being officers they preferred to.

Parents' poverty? But we must accept parents. Our parents are our one

not-uncertain inheritance. What they are and what they do is part of

what one inevitably comes by, inevitably as we come by our features and

our gifts. Unequal opportunity? But there can be no equal opportunities.

Moreover Fortune keeps in stock at least ten thousand opportunities per

man. It is not the opportunities that are lacking but the power to

accept them. And if all, out of a man's ten thousand opportunities fail

to suit, it always lies open to him to create a wholly new one unique

for himself. All of which may well appear if not indeed, but doubtfully

true, at least quite unhelpful as to the telling. To which the reply is

that it is quite true and would be helpful to a real democrat, if only

one could find such. As a matter of fact, this "democrat" is a very rare

bird and not a nice one. The illusion that he exists in his hundreds of

thousands is a simple fiction put into currency by journalists:

"democracy" a label unmeritedly attached to a community of

self-respecting egoistic common-sense people, who only very occasionally

and shamefacedly talk about their abstract rights, equality, the will of

the people and the rest. There is not, for instance, one person in one

hundred thousand who could recite this tirade of Mr. Lansbury's with an

unembarrassed countenance.

"There seem to be two recognised and main ways of serving humanity. The

exponent of one method deduces from his love of people in general a love

of himself in particular. Charity, he argues, enlightenment,

idealism—these must begin at home; and with a loyal and logical

conscience he proceeds to bleed out of that same suffering world either

fortune or social position, influence, power. And for the damnable

wholeness of his flesh (if men had but the eyes to see it) the leprosy

of humanity festers and reeks the more." —Daily Herald, Saturday, April

11.

---

In fact, the conclusion to which one is pressed is that we—that is the

people who talk and write—take all theories, politics and propagandas

too seriously: far more so than ever was intended by those who amuse

themselves by such species of Sport. The permanent role of propagandists

and politicians is that of public entertainer; and they stand or fall by

the answer to the question, "Do they entertain?" And it must be admitted

that they still exert a draw. Star turns like Sir Edward C arson or Mr.

Asquith can compete without shame with a football match before the

season gets exciting: with a "cinema" entertainment. It is true that

they have the entire strength of the advertising power of the Press of

both parties to boost them and create a fictitious interest. The minor

characters of course have a harder time of it, though for these the

services of the Press are always available. The "principles," the

"creeds" of politicians have nothing to do with their pull on the public

attention: everything depends upon their ability to organise a good

display (whether they run a one-man show or a team matters nothing)

which will provide a reasonable excuse for the backers of the favourite,

or the home team, shouting themselves delirious with delight. When

politicians, through some defect of horse-sense, mistake their vocation,

and imagine themselves to be teachers and preachers with a message and

think that the message will make good their failure to entertain with

the public, they are quickly put to rights. The present unpopularity of

the suffragettes following so rapidly on their former popularity will

illustrate the case. When their "propaganda" was worked as a smart,

prompt, unfailingly successful show, it was an enthusiastic success: a

sort of Vesta Tilley on the political stage. Now that it has betaken

itself to seriousness, to stretchers, "tragedies" and ugly scenes, it is

vaguely disliked by its former enthusiastic backers. Their "principle"

is exactly what it was, but because the entertainment they put on the

boards is voted a poor show, what were "heralds of the dawn" are now

labelled misguided fanatics. Sir Edward Carson offers another instance.

It is because he has made it clear he can put up a smart exhilarating

show that the "people" are prepared to offer to the Conservative Grand

Opera Company a prospect of future patronage; and Mr. Balfour showed a

sure "statesmanship" in picking up the cue and appearing as stump orator

in Hyde Park. Again — Mr. Asquith. He was intelligent enough to see that

it was not an argument the recent "political" situation required: it was

a counter-hero: and did his best. Very nicely too: his success can be

gauged by what his audience was prepared to swallow whole. A more

laughable speech was never uttered than the one this gentleman offered

at Ladybank a week ago. Had he not been a "hero" it would have been

riddled through' with laughter. Consider the remark: the top-note on

which he was bold enough even to pause—for applause: "The Army will hear

nothing of politics from me, and in return I expect to hear nothing of

politics from the Army." You bet he doesn't. The "Army will hear nothing

of politics from me." Of course not, but to make a "ruler" gaily ruling

hear something of politics from them is the Army's very proper business.

One must confess that so finely-nerved a stroke commands one's

admiration. After this master-stroke "your army" is merely the purring

approval a pleased operator will show to a patient who has stood a

trying operation well.

---

Still, Mr. Asquith must have felt he was making a desperate,

neck-or-nothing experiment. It must be a wearing method of providing for

a wife and family of an elderly gentleman to accept all odds offered, on

the strength of one's ability to move to slow music and talk vague

theory in a recitative calculated to hypnotise any intelligence which

may be lurking hidden in one's audience. Melodrama is dangerous as an

occupation for people past their first youth: one snigger from a devotee

suddenly illumined with an intelligent gleam might destroy the career

into which have been built the hopes of a lifetime. It seems inevitable

politicians will be driven seriously to consider the advisability of

getting a little ahead of the more lagging intelligences, by changing

their role from melodrama to comedy. The change will melt away their

dignity; the sense of the actual thrown on heroics is a sure solvent,

but on the precipitate of comic relief which the process ultimately

throws down will be laid a far surer foundation for those "careers" from

which they hope so much. There is in short a far greater scope for

display of talent in a character of W.S. Gilbert, than in the most

heroic of Grand Opera heroes, and a Dan Leno will go far deeper into the

affections of the public than can a Sir Henry Irving; accordingly a

politician who worked indiscretion into a conscious habit, who allowed

fact to make its commentary on the interpretation of facts, baiting the

interpretation with the fact as the comic spirit baits the "noble" one,

such a one would really enrich the community with a new kind of art. If

a clever man entered political circles with the realisation that by the

side of, say, the collected political utterances of a "correct"

politician like Sir Edward Grey, the simple narration of a servant

girl's carryings-on with the butcher's man is an artistic document of

relatively high worth, dulness which is the only evil would take wings

and depart. The actual doings of politicians must have some human

interest: whereas those by which they choose to be known in public have

none. Instantly the veil slips aside, things become luminous. Turned

indiscreet side out, they lose their smug smoothness. An indiscreet

politician assisted in well-doing by an indiscreet press would realise

that their proper business is just with those things which at present

are enabled remotely to tickle our sense in the shape of the scandalous

memoirs of circles now fifty years dead. Scandal, in short, is the only

news worth retailing. It represents public life in earnest whereas at

present we get public life by pretence. There is scope for a "creative"

genius in such a rĂ´le.