The Rise and Fall of Elites

Application of Theoretical Sociology

Everett Lee Hunt, Vilfredo Pareto

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2017
• eBook ISBN: 9781351475082
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Sociology
• Index: Social Sciences

Combining a thorough introduction to the work of nineteenth-and early twentieth-century Italian social theorist Vilfredo Pareto with a highly readable English translation of Pareto's last monograph "Generalizations," originally published in 1920, this work illustrates how and why democratic forms of government undergo decay and are eventually reinvigorated. More than any other social scientist of his generation, Pareto offers a well-developed, articulate, and compelling theory of change based on a Newtonian vision of science and an engineering model of social equilibrium. This dynamic involves a shifting balance among the countervailing forces of centralization and decentralization of power, economic expansion and contraction, and liberalism versus traditionalism in public sentiment. By 1920, Pareto had developed a scheme for predicting shifts in magnitude of these forces and subsequent change in the character of society. This book will be of interest to students, teachers, or general readers interested in political science, sociology and late-nineteenth/ early-twentieth century social theory.

1
Some Sociological Laws

The aim of this study is to confront objectively certain sociological theories with facts.

Those who write on topics of sociology or political economy usually have some practical order in mind which they desire to defend. I do not wish here to condemn this habit but would merely inform the reader that I do not follow this practice; and it is only proper to make this statement, because it happens that, as a result of that practice, the words of an author are given a much broader interpretation than is literally intended. Thus, if he describes some defect in a given order A, it is taken for granted that he generally condemns the whole order A, and often, going even further, it is assumed that he favors a certain other order B, as opposed to A.

If a man finds fault with universal suffrage, for instance, it is understood that he favors restricted suffrage; he who decries the evils of democracy is understood to favor the aristocratic form of government; he who praises certain aspects of the monarchy is surely opposed to the republic, or vice versa; in short, every literally specific statement is given a universal meaning. To do so is not altogether wrong; frequently it even hits the nail on the head, for the author intentionally says less that he may be credited with more—a praiseworthy method in literature, but less so in science. That is why I find it important to stress that each statement in this essay carries no more than its own specific meaning and must by no means be given a broader interpretation.

I would further say a few words why I have chosen facts of the present rather than confining myself to facts of the past. These latter certainly have great merit: they can be viewed with a cooler mind and with less sentiment and prejudice. But they have the considerable disadvantage of being known to us very incompletely, and moreover, the aforementioned merit is often more fictitious than real, for we are in the habit of transferring into the past our sentiments of the present. Thus, for example, a German historian fanatically addicted to the Germanic Empire, will not tolerate any evil comments on Caesar or Augustus, and our democrat has his quarrel with Aristophanes.

Let us now enter into the subject matter and begin by stating certain sociological laws, derived from facts, which we will now once more confront with these facts. In this we follow the method recommended by Claude Bernard, which leads from facts to concepts, and from concepts back to the facts. In this published fragment the reader will find only the second part. The first and much longer part will not be omitted in the sociological treatise on which I am now working, if only I shall be able to complete and publish it. For the time being, let us accept the enunciated laws as more or less plausible hypotheses, and we shall see whether with their help we may succeed in explaining the facts.

First, let us note that the greater part of human actions have their origin not in logical reasoning but in sentiment. This is principally true for actions that are not motivated economically. The opposite may be said of economic actions, especially those connected with commerce and industry. Man, although impelled to act by nonlogical motives, likes to tie his actions logically to certain principles; he therefore invents these a posteriori in order to justify his actions. So it happens that an action A, which in reality is the effect of a cause B, is presented by its author as the effect of a very often imaginary cause C. The man who thus deceives his fellowman begins by deceiving himself, and he firmly believes his own contentions.

From this it follows that every sociological phenomenon has two distinct and often entirely diverse forms: an objective form, which determines the relations between real objects, and a subjective form determining the relations between psychological states. Imagine a curved mirror which distorts the objects it reflects: what in reality is straight appears curved, what is small appears large, and vice versa. Similarly, human consciousness reflects the objective phenomenon, which comes to our knowledge through history or the testimony of contemporaries. If, therefore, we wish to know the objective phenomenon, it is important that we do not content ourselves with the subjective phenomenon, but that from the latter we rightly deduce the former. This, in substance, is the task of historical criticism which, going beyond mere material criticism of the sources, proceeds to criticism of the human psyche.

The Athenians, fearing the Persian invasion, sent messengers to interrogate the oracle in Delphi, which, among other things, answered that Zeus granted to Tritogenia a wooden wall which would be unconquerable. Thereupon the Athenians repaired to their fleet and were victorious at Salamis. This is how the phenomenon appeared to many contemporaries, and this is how it was handed down to us by Herodotus. But evidently the objective form is altogether different. In our own day, it is hoped, nobody any longer believes in Apollo, in Athena Tritogenia, or in Zeus; hence some other, more real cause must be found to explain the victory of Salamis; which in fact was prepared by Themistocles when he persuaded the Athenians to appropriate the money of the treasure for the fleet. But it is noteworthy that, in reporting the fact, Herodotus does not hint at the intervention of this real cause. Thanks to a fortunate coincidence, the vessels were ready, so that it was easy to obey the oracle. According to our author, the varying opinions of the Athenians were concerned only with the true meaning of Apollo's response as to which way was the better one to follow; some believing that the wooden walls were those of the rock, while others maintained that the god had hinted at the fleet. Themistocles himself—again according to Herodotus—discussed solely the interpretation of the language of the oracle. Thus the contrast between the real and the subjective phenomenon stands out even more clearly.

It is not enough, though, to study the two phenomena and their mutual relations; a third problem arises: how does the real phenomenon act upon the subjective phenomenon so as to modify it, and vice versa? Darwinism offers a very simple answer to this query, but unfortunately it is true only in part. According to its doctrine, the relationship between the two phenomena would be achieved through the gradual elimination of the individuals who do not fit this relationship.

In our case there was no elimination at all, and we shall never know why the Athenians really inclined toward one rather than the other interpretation of the oracle, nor even whether Themistocles showed good faith in his arguments. At present, when similar facts occur, there is neither absolute belief nor absolute non-belief; hence, were it permissible to judge the people of that time by what people are like today, we would tend to believe that the real cause, that is, the maritime power of Athens, Influenced Themistocles subconsciously; and that under this impulse he first persuaded himself, and then the others, that the god had meant the fleet.

The example we have chosen will seem inadequate to some people as being too obvious. But those who think so would soon change their minds if we were to choose some modern example substantially identical with the ancient one.¹ How many people in France invoke the "immortal principles of 1789" or the "defense of the republic," or, in other countries, the "defense of the glorious monarchy," just as Themistocles interpreted the oracle, and thus they give imaginary causes to their acts while they conceal the real ones. The saying that he who sees the mote in the eye of his fellow-man does not see the beam in his own, was always true, and he who laughs at ancient superstitions has very often substituted modern ones which are no more reasonable or real than those he had rejected.

Let us now turn to considerations which are less well known and which we shall later combine with those just mentioned.

Those economic crises which, to be exact, are merely particular applications of the law of rhythm assigned by Spencer to the law of motion in general, were studied most carefully in our time, especially in the works of Jevons, Clement Juglar, and other worthy gentlemen. In my Cours d'énomie politique I expressed the opinion—in which I have been confirmed by new research—that these crises resulted not only from strictly economic causes, but were also determined by human nature; and further, that they were only one of many manifestations of the psychological rhythm. In other words as I just stated, there is a rhythm of sentiment which we can observe in ethics, in religion, and in politics as waves resembling the business cycle.² These waves did not escape the observation of historians, but except for theories which, like that of the cycles, deviate too much from the natural course, they were not generally regarded as partial manifestations of the overall rhythmic movement. Only here and there do we find some analogy mentioned in the most salient cases.³

Students of Roman history have observed the great wave which caused the educated classes to pass from nonbelief—manifest toward the end of the Republic and in the first century of our era—to belief, which we find toward the end of the Empire.

The religious current that was the wellspring of Christianity—which won its victory not without profound modifications and considerable assimilation of contemporaneous principles and doctrines—was a general movement that swept before it the whole world of antiquity. Pagan authors voice Christian maxims and thoughts—so much so that relations between Seneca and St. Paul were surmised in order to explain the sentiments of the former. Renan realized that Christianity was but one of many forms which the religious sentiment of that time assumed.⁴

We are accustomed to viewing the history of that time as a struggle between Christianity and other religions or doctrines which we believe to be essentially dissimilar, and we imagine that the course of modern history would have been altogether different if, instead of Christianity, the cult of Mithra or some other oriental cult had triumphed, or if paganism had flowered again.

All this does not hold true. There was indeed a violent struggle between sects A, B, C . . ., which all sprang from one single cause X, that is, from the increased religious sentiment. But the main fact is precisely X, and facts A, B, C . . . are only secondary. It cannot be said that they were of no importance at all, since form too has some value in modifying phenomena determined by substance, but the error consists in assigning first place to something that must stand in second place.

D'Orbigny, writing about Bolivia, says: "At the entrance of the valley and on the elevations on both sides I noticed, along the entire route, stone mounds of varying sizes, mostly surmounted by wooden crosses.... I found out that they were apachectas, and later, when I found them throughout the part of the republic of Bolivia that is inhabited by the Indians, confirmed my belief. These mounds existed before the arrival of the Spaniards. They had been piled up by ladened natives, who, climbing the steep slopes with difficulty, rendered thanks to Pachacmac, the invisible god, mover of all things, for having given them the courage to reach the summit, and at the same time praying for new strength to continue their way. They stopped, rested a while, threw some hairs from their eyebrows to the wind, or deposited some of the coca which they were chewing, as the thing most precious to them, onto the mound of stones; or else if they were poor they were satisfied by taking a nearby stone and adding it to the others. Today nothing is changed; except that the native no longer thanks Pachacmac but the god of the Christians, whose cross is the symbol."⁵ "In Sicily" says Maury, "the Virgin took possession of all the sanctuaries of Ceres and Venus, and the pagan rites were in part addressed to her."⁶ It is evident that there is a common sentiment which manifests itself in various forms, and these forms are of secondary importance compared to the sentiment itself. "The fountain" adds Maury, "continues to receive, in the name of a saint, the offerings which it received at other times as a deity."⁷ In this case which Is the main fact? The sentiment which impels men to propitiate the fountain, or the manifestations of that sentiment in the form of invocation of one or the other saint, one or the other deity? The answer cannot remain in doubt. The belief that the intervention of some divine being can cure the eyes is the main fact, and to turn for this purpose to Aesculapius or to Santa Lucia is secondary. So is also the invocation of the Christian demon instead of pagan Hecate, while the principal fact is the belief in the efficacy of such an invocation. It is not quite exact to regard one belief as having its origin in the other; it is much closer to the truth to see both of them as having a common origin—man's feeling that he is capable of coercing mysterious forces to serve him.

Thus it seems evident the victory of sect A over sects B, C . . . is often a victory of form and not of substance. Between the concepts of Lucian on one hand and those of the admirers of the prophet Alexander on the other, there is certainly a question of substance; and if the concepts of Lucian had triumphed, the history of Europe would have been entirely different from the history we know. But between the concepts of the admirers of Alexander and those of the admirers of other prophets there is a question, if not exclusively then almost exclusively, of form, and history would have changed little whether one or another of these ideas had triumphed, the more so since the victor is obliged to make concessions to the defeated, even in regard to form.

This is not the place to investigate how these great currents of sentiment are born and how they grow; whether they have their origin, as the materialist interpretation of history would have it, solely in economic conditions; or whether other elements, to which these cannot be traced, also concur. To wish to solve all problems at once is an essentially unscientific method; one should rather study them one by one. For today let us take the existence of the currents for granted; at another time and place we shall try to launch upon further research.

The people who are carried away—usually unknowingly—by these currents and who, as we have seen, wish to represent involuntary acts as voluntary and nonlogical actions as logical ones, conjure up strangely imaginary reasons, which they use to try to deceive themselves as well as others about the true motives of their actions. Often the disputes of form between sects A, B . . . evaporate in rambling discourses. A man who, for instance, tries to study the disputes of the Christian sects of the Byzantine period, ends by finding himself in a cage for the insane, and in general, even if some question of substance occurs among such questions of form, it is well to remember what Montesquieu says about theology: "Doubly unintelligible by the matter which is treated and by the manner of treating it."⁸ When reading the discourses of certain French nationalists, one begins to doubt whether these people are at all sane, but hidden behind these words, which seem to be and which are, fatuous, is a very grave question of substance; for "nationalism" is the only form of resistance to socialism that exists in France today.

Even when the dispute is reasonable, it seldom happens that the reasons given refer to the substance. In France, on the eve of the Revolution of 1789, the talk was only about "humanity," "sensibility," "fraternity"; while in actuality the assassinations and pillages of the Jacobins were being prepared. Today this beautiful game is starting all over again, and our bourgeoisie is arguing elegantly about "solidarity," while it is actually preparing calamities which will eventually destroy it.

Except during short intervals of time, peoples are always governed by an elite. I use the word elite (It. aristrocrazia) in its etymological sense, meaning the strongest, the most energetic, and most capable—for good as well as evil. However, due to an important physiological law, elites do not last. Hence—the history of man is the history of the continuous replacement of certain elites: as one ascends, another declines. Such is the real phenomenon, though to us it may often appear under another form.

The new elite which seeks to supersede the old one, or merely to share its power and honors, does not admit to such an intention frankly and openly. Instead it assumes the leadership of all the oppressed, declares that it will pursue not its own good but the good of the many; and it goes to battle, not for the rights of a restricted class, but for the rights of almost the entire citizenry. Of course, once victory is won, it subjugates the erstwhile allies, or, at best, offers them some formal concessions. Such is the history of the struggles fought by the plebs and patres in Rome; such is the history of the victory which the bourgeoisie won over the nobility of feudal origin, a victory well noted by modern socialists.

Professor Pantaleoni, in a recent treatise⁹ denies that socialism will win; I have maintained that its victory is most probable and almost inevitable.¹⁰ These two opinions seem to, but do not, contradict each other, for we are discussing different matters: Pantaleoni turns his mind to the subjective phenomenon, I to the objective. Basically we are in agreement.

Let us assume that, at the time when the first Christian communities arose in Judea, someone had argued as follows: "Those people will never be the masters of the world. It is nonsense to believe that all differences of wealth, culture, social status among people could be abolished. It is foolish to assume that all men will truly become brothers, that they will renounce all pleasures of the senses, that in the flesh of woman they will see but the splendors of eternal life. You may take it for granted that a thousand years from now there will be rich and poor, kings and subjects, the powerful and th...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• INTRODUCTION
• 1 Some Sociological Laws
• 2 The Ascending Period of the Religious Crisis
• 3 The Decline of the Old Elite
• 4 The Rise of the New Elite
• 5 The Subjective Phenomenon
• NOTES