WHAT used to be called “illuminism” in the Latin countries and is usually called “rationalism” elsewhere, was an effort to substitute for alleged “irrational” institutions—institutions idealised as “rational.” But this attitude toward public affairs has been pretty well demolished by political journalism in the period between the end of the eighteenth century and our own time; and its fallacies are now generally taken account of in many phrases of common currency, if not in the ideas commonly prevalent on political and social matters. However, the dogmas of rationalism are forever getting to their feet again, undermining existing institutions, sapping the foundations of our faith in them. And there is no simple formula for disposing of its doctrines. We always feel that there is an element of truth in what the rationalists say. So it is always necessary to reclarify our minds as to the logical principle underlying rationalism, and remind ourselves of just what it is that rationalism denies, of the real controversy it gives rise to, of the refutation, finally, that may be made of it.

Taken by and large, the rationalistic method simmers down to an analysis and an argument which shows that one existing institution or another conserves the interests of individuals, groups of individuals, or classes; that it is a selfish institution therefore, and is not based on universal interests, or, as the phrase goes, on Reason. In the course of history the terminology of rationalism (or “illuminism”) has varied from pole to pole, though its doctrines have remained consistent. In the old days the institutions which it criticised were called “unnatural,” contrary to Reason, that is; while those of which it approved were called “natural.” Later on it called the former “natural” because “irrational,” and the latter “human” or “civilised” or “rational.” In fact, if we examine institutions from a certain point of view (and not this or that institution merely, but the whole list of them) we can always find some private interest which they favour. And this applies not only to strictly political institutions, but even to those more general ones that would seem to be indispensable to any society. The family, for instance, may be referred to the physiological instincts of the individual. It may be thought of as a device for protecting women and children; or as an instrument for control and transmission of property and power. So true is this that more extreme and less prudent reformers have thought of destroying this “fester burg” of selfishness, the prop and underpinning of all other selfish interests, substituting society for the family, separating children from their parents, weakening the very institution of matrimony by divorce.

But the error of the critics and publicists of the illuministic school lies in their mistaking private interest, individual interest, “interest,” in short, for selfishness; whereas selfishness is not individual interest, but the assertion of individual interest against the public, the universal, interest. Taken by itself, individual interest is not only not in conflict with universal interests but is the essential prerequisite of the latter, and the latter’s most effective instrument.

What is more privately, more individually interested, what is more “natural,” more indifferent to the public welfare, than a child suckling at its mother’s breast? The baby is exclusively concerned with getting his food and growing. He has not another thought in the world. But it is evident that if he did not do just what he does society would never find its soldiers, its apostles, its workers. Life first, philosophy afterwards! First being, then moral being! What is more lovable than children? And could we love them, if all their “private interest,” all their concentration on themselves, were a reprehensible selfishness?

The fact is, that the advantages and the satisfactions the individual derives from certain institutions do not prevent him from working for the public interest, but rather require him to work for it. Good parents love their children as living parts of themselves; but they do not exploit them on that account. They strive rather to make free and happy citizens out of them. So it is with every institution. It conserves individual interests, but it looks at the same time to objectives beyond the individual and these it attains effectively. This is the “rationality” of institutions, and the only real and concrete rationality that exists or can be thought of. Rationalists may try to devise a society which will be wholly free from individual interests and based on purely universal interests, wholly responsive, that is, to the laws of reason. But they cannot conceive of such a society even as an idea. The rationalistic mind is really an empty mind. A better name for rationalism would be “abstractionism.” And yet, why is it that the rationalists have exerted such a great influence in the past, and still continue to exert such a great one, even in our own time? Not because of their vacuous theory, certainly (vacuity means impotence); but because of something real and true that lies concealed among their fallacies! What this something is we may readily see. Institutions develop in the course of history and they decay in the course of history—what the Lord giveth the Lord taketh away! Institutions come gradually into conflict with the public interest; the selfish element in them grows and grows till it prevails; and this prevalence is their condemnation and in the end their death. The problem, however, is not to make the world over on principles of pure abstraction, but continually and forever to reform or replace institutions where private and public interests have ceased to be identical. The public interest is forever seeking new representatives and new vehicles. So theocracy rose and fell; so feudalism rose and fell; so have risen and fallen many of the organisms created by what is called capitalistic society. So will others come and go.

The person therefore who has some reverence for the truth will never dare to proclaim himself, unilaterally or absolutely, a conservative; nor absolutely or unilaterally a reformer and revolutionary. He will say that he is both at the same time. Such a statement will seem complex and difficult, but only because life is complex and difficult. At all times and on all occasions will he combat that abstract and fallacious, that arid and destructive, rationalising which is forever analysing institutions to discover, and to curse, the private interests—“the interests”—they are found to favour. Individuals try to live and to live the best life possible. Some people seem bent on tearing off all the veils of poetry that beautify this effort, on profaning all the sacredness, on affrighting all the religio, that stands guard over it. But this manner of conceiving reality puts reality to death; it assails, not as it supposes, such institutions as are irrational, but all institutions in their very idea. And what it offers in exchange is as stupid as a proposal that human beings should cease loving, or love according to rules laid down by abstract reason in advance. Every institution, whether newly created or reformed, must, in order to endure, become a private interest of individuals—it must become sentiment, affection, memory, hope, myth, idol, poetry. In the eyes of the rationalist this process will seem to be a process of contamination; but in reality it will be a progressive rejection of abstraction in favour of life. To be sure, this actualising, this concreticising, this realisation, involves the risk that what is moral will become selfish, that what is useful will some day outlive its usefulness. But is not this the fate of all human things?

This institution, or that institution, will pass away some day. But meanwhile it will have lived!