The World Outside and the Pictures in Our Heads
An excerpt from Public Opinion (1922), by WALTER LIPPMANN
There is an island in the ocean where in 1914 a few Englishmen, Frenchmen, and Germans lived. No cable reaches that island, and the British mail steamer comes but once in sixty days. In September it had not yet come, and the islanders were still talking about the latest newspaper which told about the approaching trial of Madame Caillaux for the shooting of Gaston Calmette. It was, therefore, with more than usual eagerness that the whole colony assembled at the quay on a day in mid-September to hear from the captain what the verdict had been. They learned that for over six weeks now those of them who were English and those of them who were French had been fighting in behalf of the sanctity of treaties against those of them who were Germans. For six strange weeks they had acted as if they were friends, when in fact they were enemies.
But their
plight was not so different from that of most of the population of
Looking back we
can see how indirectly we know the environment in which nevertheless we live. We can see
that the news of it comes to us now fast, now slowly; but that whatever we believe to be a
true picture, we treat as if it were the environment itself. It is harder to remember that
about the beliefs upon which we are now acting, but in respect to other peoples and other
ages we flatter ourselves that it is easy to see when they were in deadly earnest about
ludicrous pictures of the world. We insist, because of our superior hindsight, that the
world as they needed to know it, and the world as they did know it, were often two quite
contradictory things. We can see, too, that while they governed and fought, traded and
reformed in the world as they imagined it to be, they produced results, or failed to
produce any, in the world as it was. They started for the
Writing about the year 389, St. Ambrose stated the case for the prisoner in Plato's cave who resolutely declines to turn his head. "To discuss the nature and position of the earth does not help us in our hope of the life to come. It is enough to know what Scripture states. 'That He hung up the earth upon nothing' (Job xxvi. 7). Why then argue whether He hung it up in air or upon the water, and raise a controversy as to how the thin air could sustain the earth; or why, if upon the waters, the earth does not go crashing down to the bottom?... Not because the earth is in the middle, as if suspended on even balance, but because the majesty of God constrains it by the law of His will, does it endure stable upon the unstable and the void."[1]
It does not
help us in our hope of the life to come. It is enough to know what Scripture states. Why
then argue? But a century and a half after St. Ambrose, opinion was still troubled, on
this occasion by the problem of the antipodes. A monk named Cosmas,
famous for his scientific attainments, was therefore deputed to write a Christian
Topography, or "Christian Opinion concerning the World."[2]
It is clear that he knew exactly what was expected of him, for he based all his
conclusions on the Scriptures as he read them. It appears, then, that the world is a flat
parallelogram, twice as broad from east to west as it is long from north to south., In the
center is the earth surrounded by ocean, which is in turn surrounded by another earth,
where men lived before the deluge. This other earth was Noah's port of embarkation. In the
north is a high conical mountain around which revolve the sun and moon. When the sun is
behind the mountain it is night. The sky is glued to the edges of the outer earth. It
consists of four high walls which meet in a concave roof, so that the earth is the floor
of the universe. There is an ocean on the other side of the sky, constituting the
"waters that are above the firmament." The space between the celestial ocean and
the ultimate roof of the universe belongs to the blest. The space between the earth and
sky is inhabited by the angels. Finally, since
Far less should
he go to the
"Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! I took thee for thy better; take thy fortune."
2
Great men, even
during their lifetime, are usually known to the public only through a fictitious
personality. Hence the modicum of truth in the old saying that no man is a hero to his
valet. There is only a modicum of truth, for the valet, and the private secretary, are
often immersed in the fiction themselves. Royal personages are, of course, constructed
personalities. Whether they themselves believe in their public character, or whether they
merely permit the chamberlain to stage-manage it, there are at least two distinct selves,
the public and regal self, the private and human. The biographies of great people fall
more or less readily into the histories of these two selves. The official biographer
reproduces the public life, the revealing memoir the other. The Charnwood
Lincoln, for example, is a noble portrait, not of an actual human being, but of an epic
figure, replete with significance, who moves on much the same level of reality as Aeneas
or St. George. Oliver's
But the most
interesting kind of portraiture is that which arises spontaneously in people's minds. When
M. Jean de Pierrefeu[5] saw hero-worship at first hand, for he was an officer on Joffre's staff at the moment of that soldier's greatest fame:
"For two
years, the entire world paid an almost divine homage to the victor of the
Lunatics,
simpletons, the half-crazy and the crazy turned their darkened brains toward him as toward
reason itself. I have read the letter of a person living in
Finally, some hundreds of young girls, overcoming the timidity of their sex, asked for engagements, their families not to know about it; others wished only to serve him."
This ideal Joffre was compounded out of the victory won by him, his staff and his troops, the despair of the war, the personal sorrows, and the hope of future victory. But beside hero-worship there is the exorcism of devils. By the same mechanism through which heroes are incarnated, devils are made. If everything good was to come from Joffre, Foch, Wilson, or Roosevelt, everything evil originated in the Kaiser Wilhelm, Lenin and Trotsky. They were as omnipotent for evil as the heroes were omnipotent for good. To many simple and frightened minds there was no political reverse, no strike, no obstruction, no mysterious death or mysterious conflagration anywhere in the world of which the causes did not wind back to these personal sources of evil.
3
Worldwide concentration of this kind on a symbolic personality is rare enough to be clearly remarkable, and every author has a weakness for the striking and irrefutable example. The vivisection of war reveals such examples, but it does not make them out of nothing. In a more normal public life, symbolic pictures are no less governant of behavior, but each symbol is far less inclusive because there are so many competing ones. Not only is each symbol charged with less feeling because at most it represents only a part of the population, but even within that part there is infinitely less suppression of individual difference. The symbols of public opinion, in times of moderate security, are subject to check and comparison and argument. They come and go, coalesce and are forgotten, never organizing perfectly the emotion of the whole group. There is, after all, just one human activity left in which whole populations accomplish the union sacrée. It occurs in those middle phases of a war when fear, pugnacity, and hatred have secured complete dominion of the spirit, either to crush every other instinct or to enlist it, and before weariness is felt.
At almost all
other times, and even in war when it is deadlocked, a sufficiently greater range of
feelings is aroused to establish conflict, choice, hesitation, and compromise. The
symbolism of public opinion usually bears, as we shall see,[6]
the marks of this balancing of interest. Think, for example, of how rapidly, after the
armistice, the precarious and by no means successfully established symbol of Allied Unity
disappeared, how it was followed almost immediately by the breakdown of each nation's
symbolic picture of the other:
Whether we
regret this as one of the soft evils of peace or applaud it as a return to sanity is
obviously no matter here. Our first concern with fictions and symbols is to forget their
value to the existing social order, and to think of them simply as an important part of
the machinery of human communication. Now in any society that is not completely
self-contained in its interests and so small that everyone can know all about everything
that happens, ideas deal with events that are out of sight and hard to grasp. Miss Sherwin
of Gopher Prairie,[7]
is aware that a war is raging in
Pictures of French and German soldiers she has seen, but it is impossible for her to imagine three million men. No one, in fact, can imagine them, and the professionals do not try. They think of them as, say, two hundred divisions. But Miss Sherwin has no access to the order of battle maps, and so if she is to think about the war, she fastens upon Joffre and the Kaiser as if they were engaged in a personal duel. Perhaps if you could see what she sees with her mind's eye, the image in its composition might be not unlike an Eighteenth Century engraving of a great soldier. He stands there boldly unruffled and more than life size, with a shadowy army of tiny little figures winding off into the landscape behind. Nor it seems are great men oblivious to these expectations. M. de Pierrefeu tells of a photographer's visit to Joffre. The General was in his "middle class office, before the worktable without papers, where he sat down to write his signature. Suddenly it was noticed that there were no maps on the walls. But since according to popular ideas it is not possible to think of a general without maps, a few were placed in position for the picture, and removed soon afterwards."[8]
The only
feeling that anyone can have about an event he does not experience is the feeling aroused
by his mental image of that event. That is why until we know what others think they know,
we cannot truly understand their acts. I have seen a young girl, brought up in a
Abnormality in
these instances is only a matter of degree. When an Attorney-General, who has been
frightened by a bomb exploded on his doorstep, convinces himself by the reading of
revolutionary literature that a revolution is to happen on
In all these instances we must note particularly one common factor. It is the insertion between man and his environment of a pseudo-environment. To that pseudo-environment his behavior is a response. But because it is behavior, the consequences, if they are acts, operate not in the pseudo-environment where the behavior is stimulated, but in the real environment where action eventuates. If the behavior is not a practical act, but what we call roughly thought and emotion, it may be a long time before there is any noticeable break in the texture of the fictitious world. But when the stimulus of the pseudo-fact results in action on things or other people, contradiction soon develops. Then comes the sensation of butting one's head against a stone wall, of learning by experience, and witnessing Herbert Spencer's tragedy of the murder of a Beautiful Theory by a Gang of Brutal Facts, the discomfort in short of a maladjustment. For certainly, at the level of social life, what is called the adjustment of man to his environment takes place through the medium of fictions.
By fictions I
do not mean lies. I mean a representation of the environment which is in lesser or greater
degree made by man himself. The range of fiction extends all the way from complete
hallucination to the scientists' perfectly self-conscious use of a schematic model, or his
decision that for his particular problem accuracy beyond a certain number of decimal
places is not important. A work of fiction may have almost any degree of fidelity, and so
long as the degree of fidelity can be taken into account, fiction is not misleading. In
fact, human culture is very largely the selection, the rearrangement, the tracing of
patterns upon, and the stylizing of, what William James called "the random
irradiations and resettlements of our ideas."[9]
The alternative to the use of fictions is direct exposure to the ebb and flow of
sensation. That is not a real alternative, for however refreshing it is to see at times
with a perfectly innocent eye, innocence itself is not wisdom, though a source and
corrective of wisdom. For the real environment is altogether too big, too complex, and too
fleeting for direct acquaintance. We are not equipped to deal with so much subtlety, so
much variety, so many permutations and combinations. And although we have to act in that
environment, we have to reconstruct it on a simpler model before we can manage with it. To
traverse the world men must have maps of the world. Their persistent difficulty is to
secure maps on which their own need, or someone else's need, has not sketched in the coast
of
4
The analyst of public opinion must begin then, by recognizing the triangular relationship between the scene of action, the human picture of that scene, and the human response to that picture working itself out upon the scene of action. It is like a play suggested to the actors by their own experience, in which the plot is transacted in the real lives of the actors, and not merely in their stage parts. The moving picture often emphasizes with great skill this double drama of interior motive and external behavior. Two men are quarreling, ostensibly about some money, but their passion is inexplicable. Then the picture fades out and what one or the other of the two men sees with his mind's eye is reënacted. Across the table they were quarreling about money. In memory they are back in their youth when the girl jilted him for the other man. The exterior drama is explained: the hero is not greedy; the hero is in love.
A scene not so
different was played in the United States Senate. At breakfast on the morning of
FACTS NOW ESTABLISHED
"The
following important facts appear already established.
The orders to Rear Admiral Andrews commanding the American naval forces in the
WITHOUT DANIELS' KNOWLEDGE
"Mr.
Daniels was admittedly placed in a peculiar position when cables reached here stating that
the forces over which he is presumed to have exclusive control were carrying on what
amounted to naval warfare without his knowledge. It was fully realized that the British Admiralty might desire to issue orders to Rear
Admiral Andrews to act on behalf of
"It was further realized that under the new league of nations plan foreigners would be in a position to direct American Naval forces in emergencies with or without the consent of the American Navy Department...." etc. (Italics mine).
The first
Senator to comment is Mr. Knox of
So far the
Senators still recognize vaguely that they are discussing a rumor. Being lawyers they
still remember some of the forms of evidence. But as red-blooded men they already
experience all the indignation which is appropriate to the fact that American marines have
been ordered into war by a foreign government and without the consent of Congress.
Emotionally they want to believe it, because they are Republicans fighting the
A few days
later an official report showed that the marines were not landed by order of the British
Government or of the Supreme Council. They had not been fighting the Italians. They had
been landed at the request of the Italian Government to protect Italians, and the American
commander had been officially thanked by the Italian authorities. The marines were not at
war with
The scene of
action was the
5
Whether in this particular case the Senate was above or below its normal standard, it is not necessary to decide. Nor whether the Senate compares favorably with the House, or with other parliaments. At the moment, I should like to think only about the world-wide spectacle of men acting upon their environment, moved by stimuli from their pseudo-environments. For when full allowance has been made for deliberate fraud, political science has still to account for such facts as two nations attacking one another, each convinced that it is acting in self-defense, or two classes at war each certain that it speaks for the common interest. They live, we are likely to say, in different worlds. More accurately, they live in the same world, but they think and feel in different ones.
It is to these special worlds, it is to these private or group, or class, or provincial, or occupational, or national, or sectarian artifacts, that the political adjustment of mankind in the Great Society takes place. Their variety and complication are impossible to describe. Yet these fictions determine a very great part of men's political behavior. We must think of perhaps fifty sovereign parliaments consisting of at least a hundred legislative bodies. With them belong at least fifty hierarchies of provincial and municipal assemblies, which with their executive, administrative and legislative organs, constitute formal authority on earth. But that does not begin to reveal the complexity of political life. For in each of these innumerable centers of authority there are parties, and these parties are themselves hierarchies with their roots in classes, sections, cliques and clans; and within these are the individual politicians, each the personal center of a web of connection and memory and fear and hope.
Somehow or other, for reasons often necessarily obscure, as the result of domination or compromise or a logroll, there emerge from these political bodies commands, which set armies in motion or make peace, conscript life, tax, exile, imprison, protect property or confiscate it, encourage one kind of enterprise and discourage another, facilitate immigration or obstruct it, improve communication or censor it, establish schools, build navies, proclaim "policies," and "destiny," raise economic barriers, make property or unmake it, bring one people under the rule of another, or favor one class as against another. For each of these decisions some view of the facts is taken to be conclusive, some view of the circumstances is accepted as the basis of inference and as the stimulus of feeling. What view of the facts, and why that one?
And yet even this does not begin to exhaust the real complexity. The formal political structure exists in a social environment, where there are innumerable large and small corporations and institutions, voluntary and semi-voluntary associations, national, provincial, urban and neighborhood groupings, which often as not make the decision that the political body registers. On what are these decisions based?
"Modern society," says Mr. Chesterton, "is intrinsically insecure because it is based on the notion that all men will do the same thing for different reasons.... And as within the head of any convict may be the hell of a quite solitary crime, so in the house or under the hat of any suburban clerk may be the limbo of a quite separate philosophy. The first man may be a complete Materialist and feel his own body as a horrible machine manufacturing his own mind. He may listen to his thoughts as to the dull ticking of a clock. The man next door may be a Christian Scientist and regard his own body as somehow rather less substantial than his own shadow. He may come almost to regard his own arms and legs as delusions like moving serpents in the dream of delirium tremens. The third man in the street may not be a Christian Scientist but, on the contrary, a Christian. He may live in a fairy tale as his neighbors would say; a secret but solid fairy tale full of the faces and presences of unearthly friends. The fourth man may be a theosophist, and only too probably a vegetarian; and I do not see why I should not gratify myself with the fancy that the fifth man is a devil worshiper.... Now whether or not this sort of variety is valuable, this sort of unity is shaky. To expect that all men for all time will go on thinking different things, and yet doing the same things, is a doubtful speculation. It is not founding society on a communion, or even on a convention, but rather on a coincidence. Four men may meet under the same lamp post; one to paint it pea green as part of a great municipal reform; one to read his breviary in the light of it; one to embrace it with accidental ardour in a fit of alcoholic enthusiasm; and the last merely because the pea green post is a conspicuous point of rendezvous with his young lady. But to expect this to happen night after night is unwise...."[10]
For the four
men at the lamp post substitute the governments, the parties, the corporations, the
societies, the social sets, the trades and professions, universities, sects, and
nationalities of the world. Think of the legislator voting a statute that will affect
distant peoples, a statesman coming to a decision. Think of the Peace Conference
reconstituting the frontiers of
6
And so before we involve ourselves in the jungle of obscurities about the innate differences of men, we shall do well to fix our attention upon the extraordinary differences in what men know of the world.[11] I do not doubt that there are important biological differences. Since man is an animal it would be strange if there were not. But as rational beings it is worse than shallow to generalize at all about comparative behavior until there is a measurable similarity between the environments to which behavior is a response.
The pragmatic value of this idea is that it introduces a much needed refinement into the ancient controversy about nature and nurture, innate quality and environment. For the pseudo-environment is a hybrid compounded of "human nature" and "conditions." To my mind it shows the uselessness of pontificating about what man is and always will be from what we observe man to be doing, or about what are the necessary conditions of society. For we do not know how men would behave in response to the facts of the Great Society. All that we really know is how they behave in response to what can fairly be called a most inadequate picture of the Great Society. No conclusion about man or the Great Society can honestly be made on evidence like that.
This, then, will be the clue to our inquiry. We shall assume that what each man does is based not on direct and certain knowledge, but on pictures made by himself or given to him. If his atlas tells him that the world is flat he will not sail near what he believes to be the edge of our planet for fear of falling off. If his maps include a fountain of eternal youth, a Ponce de Leon will go in quest of it. If someone digs up yellow dirt that looks like gold, he will for a time act exactly as if he had found gold. The way in which the world is imagined determines at any particular moment what men will do. It does not determine what they will achieve. It determines their effort, their feelings, their hopes, not their accomplishments and results. The very men who most loudly proclaim their "materialism" and their contempt for "ideologues," the Marxian communists, place their entire hope on what? On the formation by propaganda of a class-conscious group. But what is propaganda, if not the effort to alter the picture to which men respond, to substitute one social pattern for another? What is class consciousness but a way of realizing the world? National consciousness but another way? And Professor Giddings' consciousness of kind, but a process of believing that we recognize among the multitude certain ones marked as our kind?
Try to explain social life as the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain. You will soon be saying that the hedonist begs the question, for even supposing that man does pursue these ends, the crucial problem of why he thinks one course rather than another likely to produce pleasure, is untouched. Does the guidance of man's conscience explain? How then does he happen to have the particular conscience which he has? The theory of economic self-interest? But how do men come to conceive their interest in one way rather than another? The desire for security, or prestige, or domination, or what is vaguely called self-realization? How do men conceive their security, what do they consider prestige, how do they figure out the means of domination, or what is the notion of self which they wish to realize? Pleasure, pain, conscience, acquisition, protection, enhancement, mastery, are undoubtedly names for some of the ways people act. There may be instinctive dispositions which work toward such ends. But no statement of the end, or any description of the tendencies to seek it, can explain the behavior which results. The very fact that men theorize at all is proof that their pseudo-environments, their interior representations of the world, are a determining element in thought, feeling, and action. For if the connection between reality and human response were direct and immediate, rather than indirect and inferred, indecision and failure would be unknown, and (if each of us fitted as snugly into the world as the child in the womb), Mr. Bernard Shaw would not have been able to say that except for the first nine months of its existence no human being manages its affairs as well as a plant.
The chief difficulty in adapting the psychoanalytic scheme to political thought arises in this connection. The Freudians are concerned with the maladjustment of distinct individuals to other individuals and to concrete circumstances. They have assumed that if internal derangements could be straightened out, there would be little or no confusion about what is the obviously normal relationship. But public opinion deals with indirect, unseen, and puzzling facts, and there is nothing obvious about them. The situations to which public opinions refer are known only as opinions. The psychoanalyst, on the other hand, almost always assumes that the environment is knowable, and if not knowable then at least bearable, to any unclouded intelligence. This assumption of his is the problem of public opinion. Instead of taking for granted an environment that is readily known, the social analyst is most concerned in studying how the larger political environment is conceived, and how it can be conceived more successfully. The psychoanalyst examines the adjustment to an X, called by him the environment; the social analyst examines the X, called by him the pseudo-environment.
He is, of course, permanently and constantly in debt to the new psychology, not only because when rightly applied it so greatly helps people to stand on their own feet, come what may, but because the study of dreams, fantasy and rationalization has thrown light on how the pseudo-environment is put together. But he cannot assume as his criterion either what is called a "normal biological career"[12] within the existing social order, or a career "freed from religious suppression and dogmatic conventions" outside.[13] What for a sociologist is a normal social career? Or one freed from suppressions and conventions? Conservative critics do, to be sure, assume the first, and romantic ones the second. But in assuming them they are taking the whole world for granted. They are saying in effect either that society is the sort of thing which corresponds to their idea of what is normal, or the sort of thing which corresponds to their idea of what is free. Both ideas are merely public opinions, and while the psychoanalyst as physician may perhaps assume them, the sociologist may not take the products of existing public opinion as criteria by which to study public opinion.
7
The world that we have to deal with politically is out of reach, out of sight, out of mind. It has to be explored, reported, and imagined. Man is no Aristotelian god contemplating all existence at one glance. He is the creature of an evolution who can just about span a sufficient portion of reality to manage his survival, and snatch what on the scale of time are but a few moments of insight and happiness. Yet this same creature has invented ways of seeing what no naked eye could see, of hearing what no ear could hear, of weighing immense masses and infinitesimal ones, of counting and separating more items than he can individually remember. He is learning to see with his mind vast portions of the world that he could never see, touch, smell, hear, or remember. Gradually he makes for himself a trustworthy picture inside his head of the world beyond his reach.
Those features of the world outside which have to do with the behavior of other human beings, in so far as that behavior crosses ours, is dependent upon us, or is interesting to us, we call roughly public affairs. The pictures inside the heads of these human beings, the pictures of themselves, of others, of their needs, purposes, and relationship, are their public opinions. Those pictures which are acted upon by groups of people, or by individuals acting in the name of groups, are Public Opinion with capital letters. And so in the chapters which follow we shall inquire first into some of the reasons why the picture inside so often misleads men in their dealings with the world outside. Under this heading we shall consider first the chief factors which limit their access to the facts. They are the artificial censorships, the limitations of social contact, the comparatively meager time available in each day for paying attention to public affairs, the distortion arising because events have to be compressed into very short messages, the difficulty of making a small vocabulary express a complicated world, and finally the fear of facing those facts which would seem to threaten the established routine of men's lives.
The analysis then turns from these more or less external limitations to the question of how this trickle of messages from the outside is affected by the stored up images, the preconceptions, and prejudices which interpret, fill them out, and in their turn powerfully direct the play of our attention, and our vision itself. From this it proceeds to examine how in the individual person the limited messages from outside, formed into a pattern of stereotypes, are identified with his own interests as he feels and conceives them. In the succeeding sections it examines how opinions are crystallized into what is called Public Opinion, how a National Will, a Group Mind, a Social Purpose, or whatever you choose to call it, is formed.
The first five parts constitute the descriptive section of the book. There follows an analysis of the traditional democratic theory of public opinion. The substance of the argument is that democracy in its original form never seriously faced the problem which arises because the pictures inside people's heads do not automatically correspond with the world outside. And then, because the democratic theory is under criticism by socialist thinkers, there follows an examination of the most advanced and coherent of these criticisms, as made by the English Guild Socialists. My purpose here is to find out whether these reformers take into account the main difficulties of public opinion. My conclusion is that they ignore the difficulties, as completely as did the original democrats, because they, too, assume, and in a much more complicated civilization, that somehow mysteriously there exists in the hearts of men a knowledge of the world beyond their reach.
I argue that representative government, either in what is ordinarily called politics, or in industry, cannot be worked successfully, no matter what the basis of election, unless there is an independent, expert organization for making the unseen facts intelligible to those who have to make the decisions. I attempt, therefore, to argue that the serious acceptance of the principle that personal representation must be supplemented by representation of the unseen facts would alone permit a satisfactory decentralization, and allow us to escape from the intolerable and unworkable fiction that each of us must acquire a competent opinion about all public affairs. It is argued that the problem of the press is confused because the critics and the apologists expect the press to realize this fiction, expect it to make up for all that was not foreseen in the theory of democracy, and that the readers expect this miracle to be performed at no cost or trouble to themselves. The newspapers are regarded by democrats as a panacea for their own defects, whereas analysis of the nature of news and of the economic basis of journalism seems to show that the newspapers necessarily and inevitably reflect, and therefore, in greater or lesser measure, intensify, the defective organization of public opinion. My conclusion is that public opinions must be organized for the press if they are to be sound, not by the press as is the case today. This organization I conceive to be in the first instance the task of a political science that has won its proper place as formulator, in advance of real decision, instead of apologist, critic, or reporter after the decision has been made. I try to indicate that the perplexities of government and industry are conspiring to give political science this enormous opportunity to enrich itself and to serve the public. And, of course, I hope that these pages will help a few people to realize that opportunity more vividly, and therefore to pursue it more consciously.
Notes
[1].
Hexaemeron, i. cap 6, quoted in The Mediæval Mind, by Henry Osborn Taylor, Vol. i, p. 73.
[2].
Lecky, Rationalism in Europe, Vol. I, pp. 276-8.
[3].
[4].
Lytton Strachey, Queen
[5].
Jean de Pierrefeu,
G. Q. G. Trois ans au Grand Quartier General, pp
94-95.
[6].
Part V.
[7].
See Sinclair Lewis,
[8]. Op. cit., p. 99.
[9].
James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. II, p. 638
[10]. G. K. Chesterton,
"The Mad Hatter and the Sane Householder," Vanity
Fair, January, 1921, p. 54
[11].
Cf. Wallas, Our Social Heritage,
pp. 77et se.
[12].
Edward J. Kempf, Psychopathology, p. 116.
[13].