Challenge and Response
Arnold J. Toynbee
[]
Arnold J. Toynbee (1889-1975), perhaps the
greatest modern historian, was educated at Winchester and
Balliol College, Oxford. He was professor of Byzantine and
modern Greek language, literature, and history at King's
College, London (1919-1924). From 1925 to 1955, when he retired,
Toynbee held the Chair of research professor of International
History at the University of London, and was also the director
of studies at the Royal Institute of International Affairs. His
monumental comparison of the historical patterns of twenty-six
civilizations, in A Study of History, was published in ten
volumes between 1934 and 1954. Toynbee's research focused on
questions of how civilizations were created and why some
flourished while others failed. Toynbee discovered that
challenges (such as those of climate and foreign invasion) great
enough to cause extinction of culture if not met successfully,
but not so severe that the culture could not respond creatively,
was the ideal condition in which great civilizations developed.
In "Challenge and Response," from A Study of
History, Toynbee uses analogy as his main expository
principle to synthesize conclusions he reached on the rise and
decline of civilizations.
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THE PROBLEM STATED
What is the essential difference between the primitive and the higher
societies? It does not consist in the presence or absence of
institutions for institutions are the vehicles of the impersonal
relations between individuals in which all societies have their
existence, because even the smallest of primitive societies is built
on a wider basis than the narrow circle of an individual's direct
personal ties. Institutions are attributes of the whole genus "societies"
and therefore common properties of both its species. Primitive
societies have their institutions -- the religion of the annual
agricultural cycle; totemism and exogamy; tabus, initiations and
age-classes; segregations of the sexes, at certain stages of life, in
separate communal establishment -- and some of these institutions are
certainly as elaborate and perhaps as subtle as those which are
characteristic of civilizations.
Nor are civilizations distinguished from primitive societies by the
division of labour, for we can discern at least the rudiments of the
division of labour in the lives of primitive societies also. Kings,
magicians, smiths and minstrels are all "specialists" though
the fact that Hephaestus,[1] the smith of Hellenic legend, is lame,
and Homer, the poet of Hellenic legends, is blind, suggests that in
primitive societies specialism is abnormal and apt to be confined to
those who lack the capacity to be "all-round men" or 'lacks
of all trades."
An essential difference between civilizations and primitive societies
as we know them (the caveat[2] will be found to be
important) is the direction taken by mimesis or imitation. Mimesis is
a generic feature of all social life. Its operation can be observed
both in primitive societies and in civilizations, in every social
activity from the imitation of the style of film-stars by their
humbler sisters upwards. It operates, however, in different directions
in the two species of society. In primitive societies, as we know
them, mimesis is directed towards the older generation and towards
dead ancestors who stand, unseen but not unfelt, at the back of the
living elders, reinforcing their prestige. In a society where mimesis
is thus directed backward towards the past, custom rules and society
remains static. On the other hand, in societies in process of
civilization, mimesis is directed towards creative personalities who
commanded a following because they are pioneers. In such societies, "the
cake of custom," as Walter Bagehot[3] called it in his Physics
and Politics, is broken and society is in dynamic motion along a
course of change and growth.
But if we ask ourselves whether this difference between primitive and
higher societies is permanent and fundamental, we must answer in the
negative; for, if we only know primitive societies in a static
condition, that is because we know them from direct observation only
in the last phases of their histories. Yet, though direct observation
fails us, a train of reasoning informs us that there must have been
earlier phases in the histories of primitive societies in which these
were moving more dynamically than any 'civilized' society has moved
yet. We have said that primitive societies are as old as the human
race, but we should more properly have said that they are older.
Social and institutional life of a kind is found among some of the
higher mammals other than man, and it is clear that mankind could not
have become human except in a social environment. This mutation of
sub-man into man, which was accomplished, in circumstances of which we
have no record, under the aegis of primitive societies, was a more
profound change, a greater step in growth, than any progress which man
has yet achieved under the aegis of civilization.
Primitive societies, as we know them by direct observation, may be
likened to people lying torpid upon a ledge on a mountain-side, with a
precipice below and a precipice above; civilizations may be likened to
companions of these sleepers who have just risen to their feet and
have started to climb up the face of the cliff above; while we for our
part may liken ourselves to observers whose field of vision is limited
to the ledge and to the lower slopes of the upper precipice and who
have come upon the scene at the moment when the different members of
the party happen to be in these respective postures and positions. At
first sight we may be inclined to draw an absolute distinction between
the two groups, acclaiming the climbers as athletes and dismissing the
recumbent figures as paralytics; but on second thoughts we shall find
it more prudent to suspend judgement.
After all the recumbent figures cannot be paralytics in reality; for
they cannot have been horn on the ledge, and no human muscles except
their own can have hoisted them to this halting-place up the face of
the precipice below. On the other hand, their companions who are
climbing at the moment have only just left this same ledge and started
to climb the precipice above; and, since the next ledge is out of
sight, we do not know how high or how arduous the next pitch may be.
We only know that it is impossible to halt and rest before the next
ledge, wherever that may lie, is reached. Thus, even if we could
estimate each present climber's strength and skill and nerve, we could
not judge whether any of them have any prospect of gaining the ledge
above, which is the goal of their present endeavours. We can, however,
be sure that some of them will never attain it. And we can observe
that, for every single one now strenuously climbing, twice that number
(our extinct civilization) have fallen back onto the ledge, defeated.
This alternating rhythm of static and dynamic, of movement and pause
and movement, has been regarded by many observers in many different
ages as something fundamental in the nature of the Universe. In their
pregnant imagery the sages of the Sinic[4] Society described these
alternations in terms of Yin and Yang -- Yin the static and Yang the
dynamic. The nucleus of the Sinic character which stands for Yin seems
to represent dark coiling clouds overshadowing the Sun, while the
nucleus of the character which stands for Yang seems to represent the
unclouded sun-disk emitting its rays. In the Chinese formula Yin is
always mentioned first, and within our field of vision, we can see
that our breed, having reached the "ledge" of primitive
human nature 300,000 years ago, has reposed there for ninety-eight per
cent of that period before entering on the Yang-activity of
civilization. We have now to seek for the positive factor, whatever it
may be, which has set human life in motion again by its impetus.
THE MYHOLOGICAL CLUE
An encounter between two superhuman personalities is the plot of some
of the greatest dramas that the human imagination has conceived. An
encounter between Yahweh[5] and the Serpent is the plot of the story
of the Fall of Man in the Book of Genesis; a second encounter between
the same antagonists, transfigured by a progressive enlightenment of
Syriac souls, is the plot of the New Testament which tells the story
of the Redemption; an encounter between the Lord and Satan is the plot
of the Book of Job; an encounter between the Lord and Mephistopheles
is the plot of Goethe's
Faust; an encounter between Gods and Demons is the plot of the
Scandinavian Voluspa[6] an encounter between Artemis and
Aphrodite[7] is the plot of Euripides' Hippolytus.
We find another version of the same plot in that ubiquitous and
ever-recurring myth -- a "primordial image" if ever there
was one -- of the encounter between the Virgin and the Father of her
Child. The characters in this myth have played their allotted parts on
a thousand different stages under an infinite variety of names: Danae
and the Shower of Gold; Europa and the Bull; Semele the Stricken Earth
and Zeus the Sky that launches the thunderbolt; Creusa and Apollo in
Euripides' Ion; Psyche and Cupid; Gretchen and Faust. The
theme recurs, transfigured, in the Annuniciation. In our own day in
the West this protean myth has re-expressed itself as the last word of
our astronomers on the genesis of the planetary system, as witness the
following credo:
"We believe
that some two thousand million
years ago
a second star, wandering blindly through space,
happened to come within hailing distance of the Sun. Just as the Sun
and Moon raise tides on the Earth, this second star must have raised
tides on the surface of the Sun. But they would be very different
from the puny tides which the small mass of the Moon raises in our
oceans; a huge tidal wave must have travelled over the surface of
the Sun, ultimately forming a mountain of prodigious height, which
would rise ever higher and higher as the cause of the disturbance
came nearer and nearer. And, before the second star began to recede,
its tidal pull had become so powerful that this mountain was torn to
pieces and threw off small fragments of itself, much as the crest of
a wave throws off spray. These small fragments have been circulating
round their parent sun ever since. They are the planets, great and
small, of which our Earth is one."[8]
Thus out of the mouth of the mathematical astronomer, when all his
complex calculations are done, there comes forth, once again, the myth
of the encounter between the Sun Goddess and her ravisher that is so
familiar a tale in the mouths of the untutored children of nature.
The presence and potency of this duality in the causation of the
civilizations whose geneses we are studying is admitted by a Modern
Western archaeologist whose studies begin with a concentration on
environment and end with an intuition of the mystery of life:
"Environment
is not the total causation in
culture-shaping.
It is, beyond doubt, the most conspicuous
single factor.
But there is still an indefinable factor which
may best be designated quite frankly as x, the unknown quantity,
apparently psychological in kind.
If x be not the most
conspicuous factor in the matter, it certainly is the most
important, the most fate4aden."[9]
In our present study of history this insistent theme of the
superhuman encounter has asserted itself already. At an early stage we
observed that "a society
is confronted in the course of
its life by a succession of problems" and that "the
presentation of each problem is a challenge to undergo an ordeal."
Let us try to analyse the plot of this story or drama which repeats
itself in such different contexts and in such various forms. We may
begin with two general features: the encounter is conceived of as a
rare and sometimes as a unique event; and it has consequences which
are vast in proportion to the vastness of the breach which it makes in
the customary course of nature.
Even in the easy-going world of Hellenic mythology, where the gods
saw the daughters of men that they were fair, and had their way with
so many of them that their victims could be marshalled and paraded in
poetic catalogues, such incidents never ceased to be sensational
affairs and invariably resulted in the births of heroes. In the
versions of the plot in which both parties to the encounter are
superhuman, the rarity and momentousness of the event are thrown into
stronger relief. In the Book of Job, "the day when the Sons of
Cod came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also
among them," is evidently conceived of as an unusual occasion;
and so is the encounter between the Lord and Mephistopheles in the "Prologue
in Heaven" (suggested, of course, by the opening of the Book of
Job) which starts the action of Goethe's Faust. In both these
dramas the consequences on Earth of the encounter in Heaven are
tremendous. The personal ordeals of Job and Faust represent, in the
intuitive language of fiction, the infinitely multiple ordeal of
mankind; and, in the language of theology, the same vast consequence
is represented as following from the superhuman encounters that are
portrayed in the Book of Genesis and in the New Testament. The
expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden, which follows the
encounter between Yahweh and the Serpent, is nothing less than the
Fall of Man; the passion of Christ in the New Testament is nothing
less than Man's Redemption. Even the birth of our planetary system
from the encounter of two suns, as pictured by our modern astronomer,
is declared by the same authority to be "an event of almost
unimaginable rarity."
In every case the story opens with a perfect state of Yin. Faust is
perfect in knowledge; Job is perfect in goodness and prosperity; Adam
and Eve are perfect in innocence and ease; the Virgins -- Gretchen,
Danae and the rest -- are perfect in purity and beauty. In the
astronomer's universe the Sun, a perfect orb, travels on its course
intact and whole. When Yin is thus complete, it is ready to pass over
into Yang. But what is to make it pass? A change in a state which, by
definition, is perfect after its kind can only he started by an
impulse or motive which conies from outside. If we think of the state
as one of physical equilibrium, we must bring in another star. If we
think of it as one of psychic beatitude or nirvana,[10] we
must bring another actor on to the stage: a critic to set the mind
thinking again by suggesting doubts; an adversary to set the heart
feeling again by instilling distress or discontent or fear or
antipathy. This is the role of the Serpent in Genesis, of Satan in the
Book of Job, or Mephistopheles in Faust, of Loki in the
Scandinavian mythology, of the Divine Lovers in the Virgin myths.
In the language of science we may say that the function of the
intruding factor is to supply that on which it intrudes with a
stimulus of the kind best calculated to evoke the most potently
creative variations. In the language of mythology and theology, the
impulse or motive which makes a perfect Yin-state pass over into new
Yang-activity comes from an intrusion of the Devil into the universe
of God. The event can best be described in these mythological images
because they are not embarrassed by the contradiction that arises when
the statement is translated into logical terms. In logic, if God's
universe is perfect, there cannot he a Devil outside it, while, if the
Devil exists, the perfection which he comes to spoil must have been
incomplete already through the very fact of his existence. This
logical contradiction, which cannot be logically resolved, is
intuitively transcended in the imagery of the poet and prophet, who
give glory to an omnipotent God yet take it for granted that He is
subject to two crucial limitations.
The first limitation is that, in the perfection of what He has
created already, He cannot find an opportunity for further creative
activity. If God is conceived of as transcendent, the works of
creation are as glorious as ever they were but they cannot "be
changed from glory into glory." The second limitation on God's
power is that when the opportunity for fresh creation is offered to
Him from outside He cannot hut take it. When the Devil challenges Him
He cannot refuse to take the challenge up. God is bound to accept the
predicament because He can refuse only at the price of denying His own
nature and ceasing to be God.
If God is thus not omnipotent in logical terms, is He still
mythologically invincible? If He is bound to take up the Devil's
challenge, is He also bound to win the ensuing battle? In Euripides'
Hippolytus, where God's part is played by Artemis and the
Devil's by Aphrodite, Artemis is not only unable to decline the combat
but is foredoomed to defeat. The relations between the Olympians are
anarchic and Artemis in the epilogue can console herself only by
making up her mind that one day she will play the Devil's role herself
at Aphrodite's expense. The result is not creation but destruction. In
the Scandinavian version destruction is likewise the outcome in
Ragnarok[11] - when "Gods and Demons slay and are slain" --
though the unique genius of the author of Voluspa makes his
Sibyl's vision pierce the gloom to behold the light of a new dawn
beyond it. On the other hand, in another version of the plot, the
combat which follows the compulsory acceptance of the challenge takes
the form, not of an exchange of fire in which the Devil bas the first
shot and cannot fail to kill his man, but of a wager which the Devil
is apparently hound to lose. The classic works in which this wager
motif is worked out are the Book of Job and Goethe's Faust.
It is in Goethe's drama that the point is most clearly made. After
the Lord has accepted the wager with Mephistopheles in Heaven, the
terms are agreed on Earth, between Mephistopheles and Faust, as
follows:
FAUST:
Comfort and quite-no, no! none of these
For me-I ask them not-I seek them not.
If ever I upon the bed of sloth
Lie down and rest, then be the hour in which
I so lie down and rest my last of life.
Caust thou by falsehood or by flattery
Delude me into self-complacent ~miles,
Cheat me into tranquillity? Come then,
And welcome, life's last day-he this our wager.
MEPH:
Done.
FAUST:
Done, say I: clench we at once the bargain.
Soothing my spirits in such oblivion
That in the pleasut trance I would arrest
And hail the happy moment in its course,
Bidding it linger with me.
Then willingly do I consent to perish.[12]
The bearing of this mythical compact upon our problem of the geneses
of civilizations can he brought out by identiying Faust, at the moment
when he makes his bet, with one of those "awakened sleepers"
who have risen from the ledge on which they had been lying torpid and
have started to climb on up the face of the cliff. In the language of
our simile, Faust is saying: "I have made up my mind to leave
this ledge and climb this precipice in search of the next ledge above.
In attempting this I am aware that I am leaving safety behind me. Yet,
for the sake of the possibility of achievement, I will take the risk
of a fall and destruction."
In the story as told by Goethe the intrepid climber, after an ordeal
of mortal dangers and desperate reverses, succeeds in the end in
scaling the cliff triumphantly. In the New Testament the same ending
is given, through the revelation of a second encounter between the
same pair of antagonists, to the combat between Yahweh and the Serpent
which, in the original version in Genesis, had ended rather in the
manner of the combat between Artemis and Aphrodite in the Hippolytus.
In Job, Faust and the New Testament alike it is suggested, or
even declared outright, that the wager cannot be won by the Devil;
that the Devil, in meddling with God's work, cannot frustrate but can
only serve the purpose of God, who remains master of the situation all
the time and gives the Devil rope for the Devil to hang himself. Then
has the Devil been created? Did God accept a wager which He knew He
could not lose? That would be a hard saying; for if it were true the
whole transaction would have been a sham. An encounter which was no
encounter could not produce the consequences of an encounter -- the
vast cosmic consequence of causing Yin to pass over into Yang. Perhaps
the explanation is that the wager which the Devil offers and which Cod
accepts covers, and thereby puts in real jeopardy, a part of Cod's
creation but not the whole of it. The part really is at stake; and,
though the whole is not, the chances and changes to which the part is
exposed cannot conceivably leave the whole unaffected. In the language
of mythology, when one of God's creatures is tempted by the Devil, God
Himself is thereby given the opportunity to re-create the World. The
Devil's intervention, whether it succeeds or fails on the particular
issue and either result is possible -- has accomplished that
transition from Yin to Yang for which God has been yearning.
As for the human protagonist's part, suffering is the keynote of it
in every presentation of the drama, whether the player of the part is
Jesus or Job or Faust or Adam and Eve. The picture of Adam and Eve in
the Garden of Eden is a reminiscence of the Yin-state to which
primitive man attained in the food-gathering phase of economy, after
he had established his ascendancy over the rest of the flora and fauna
of the Earth. The Fall, in response to the temptation to eat of the
Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, symbolizes the acceptance of a
challenge to abandon this achieved integration and to venture upon a
fresh differentiation out of which a fresh integration may -- or may
not -- arise. The expulsion from the Garden into an unfriendly world
in which the Woman must bring forth children in sorrow and the Man
must eat bread in the sweat of his face, is the ordeal which the
acceptance of the Serpent's challenge has entailed. The sexual
intercourse between Adam and Eve, which follows, is an act of social
creation. It bears fruit in the birth of two sons who impersonate two
nascent civilizations: Abel the keeper of sheep and Cain the tiller of
the ground.
In our own generation, one of our most distinguished and
original-minded students of the physical environment of human life
tells the same story in his own way:
"Ages ago a band of naked, houseless, fireless
savages started from their warm home in the torrid zone and pushed
steadily northward from the beginning of spring to the end of
summer. They never guessed that they had left the land of constant
warmth until in September they began to feel an uncomfortable chill
at night. Day by day it grew worse. Not knowing its cause, they
travelled this way or that to escape. Some went southward, but only
a handful returned to their former home. There they resumed the old
life, and their descendants are untutored savages to this day. Of
those who wandered in other directions, all perished except one
small band. Finding that they could not escape the nipping air, the
members of this band used the loftiest of human faculties, the power
of conscious invention. Some tried to find shelter by digging in the
ground, some gathered branches and leaves to make huts and warm
beds, and some wrapped themselves in the skins of the beasts that
they had slain. Soon these savages had taken some of the greatest
steps towards civilization. The naked were clothed; the houseless
sheltered; the improvident learnt to dry meat and store it, with
nuts, for the winter; and at last the art of preparing fire was
discovered as a means of keeping warm. Thus they subsisted where at
first they thought that they were doomed. And in the process of
adjusting themselves to a hard environment they advanced by enormous
strides, leaving the tropical part of mankind far in the rear.[13]
A classical scholar likewise translates the story into the scientific
terminology of our age:
"It is ... a paradox of advancement that, if
Necessity be the mother of Invention the other parent is Obstinacy,
the determination that you will go on living under adverse
conditions rather than cut your losses and go where life is easier.
It was no accident, that is, that civilization, as we know it, began
in that ebb and flow of climate, flora and fauna which characterizes
the fourfold Ice Age. Those primates who just 'got out' as arboreal
conditions wilted retained their primacy among the servants of
natural law, but they forewent the conquest of nature. Those others
won through, and became men, who stood their ground when they were
no more trees to Sit in, who 'made do' with meat when fruit did not
ripen, who made fires and clothes rather than follow the sunshine;
who fortified their lairs and trained their young and vindicated the
reasonableness of a world that seemed so reasonless."[14]
The first stage, then, of the human protagonist's ordeal is a
transition from Yin to Yang through a dynamic act - performed by God's
creature under temptation from the Adversary -- which enables God
Himself to resume His creative activity. But this progress has to be
paid for; and it is not God but God's servant, the human sower, who
pays the price. Finally, after many vicissitudes, the sufferer
triumphant serves as the pioneer. The human protagonist in the divine
drama not only serves God by enabling Him to renew His creation but
also serves his fellow men by pointing the way for others to follow.
THE MYTH APPLIED TO THE PROBLEM
The Unpredictable Factor
By the light of mythology we have gained some insight into the nature
of challenges and responses. We have come to see that creation is the
outcome of an encounter, that genesis is a product of interaction.
We
shall no longer be surprised if, in the production of civilizations,
the same race or the same environment appears to be fruitful in one
instance and sterile in another.
We shall be prepared now to
recognize that, even if we were exactly acquainted with all the
racial, environmental, and other data that are capable of being
formulated scientifically, we should not be able to predict the
outcome of the interaction between the forces which these data
represent, any more than a military expert can predict the outcome of
a battle or campaign from an "inside knowledge" of the
dispositions and resources of both the opposing general staffs, or a
bridge expert the outcome of a game from a similar knowledge of all
the cards in every hand.
In both these analogies "inside knowledge" is not
sufficient to enable its possessor to predict results with any
exactness or assurance because it is not the same thing as complete
knowledge. There is one thing which must remain an unknown quantity to
the best-informed onlooker because it is beyond the knowledge of the
combatants, or players, themselves; and it is the most important term
in the equation which the would-be calculator has to solve. This
unknown quantity is the reaction of the actors to the ordeal when it
actually comes. These psychological momenta, which are inherently
impossible to weigh and measure and therefore to estimate
scientifically in advance, are the very forces which actually decide
the issue when the encounter takes place. And that is why the very
greatest military geniuses have admitted an incalculable element in
their successes. If religious, they have attributed their victories to
God, like Cromwell; if merely superstitious, to the ascendancy of
their "star," like Napoleon.
FOOTNOTES
- The Greek god of fire,
metallurgy, and and craftsmanship.
- Something important to
remember, a significant reservation.
- Nineteenth-century economist.
- "Sinic" refers to
the Chinese.
- Jehovah.
- An ancient eipic poiem in Old
Norse.
- The play by Euripides focuses
on Aphrodite's (the goddess of love) revenue against Hippolytus,
who was vowed to chastity as a follower of Artemis (Diana).
- Sir James Jeans, The
Mysterious Universe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1930), pp.1-2.
- P. A. Means, Ancient
Civilizations of the Andes (New York and London: Scribners,
1931), pp.25-26.
- In Buddhism, a state of
enlightenment free from passion and illusion.
- In the Volupsa, a
destructive battle between the gods and the powers of evil led by
Loki, gives way to a vision (by the Sibyl, Voluspa) of a world
resurrected through the efforts of the god Balder, where the sole
surviving human beings, called "Life" and "Desiring
Life" repopulate the earth.
- Faust, 11. 1692-1706
(John Anster's translation).
- Ellsworth Huntington, Civilization
and Climate, 3rd edition (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1924), pp.405-406.
- J. L. Myers, Who Were the
Greeks? (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1930), pp.
277-278.
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