The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions: A Review of The Psychology of Totalitarianism by Mattias Desmet [Firebrand Big Read]
We are living in a New Age of the Holy Spirit. Fresh manifestations of the Holy Spirit’s grace and power arose at the beginning of the twentieth century at a prayer meeting in Topeka, Kansas, in 1901, continued in the revival at Azusa street in 1906, where racial walls began to tumble, and blossomed in the charismatic movement, first among Anglicans in 1960, later among Presbyterians and Lutherans in 1962, and finally among exuberant Roman Catholics in 1967, demonstrating its across-the-traditions breadth as well as its ecumenical significance.
Since the twentieth century much has been written about the person and work of the Holy Spirit, and entire books have been devoted to the gifts of the Spirit, the fruit of the Spirit and even the baptism of the Holy Spirit in ways that would warm Wesleyan, Pentecostal, and Roman Catholic hearts alike. The theological virtues of faith, hope, and love have naturally played out in this literature to the edification of readers, but what has been less prominent in many of these accounts is a thoroughgoing and at times painful discussion of–wait for it now–truth! Yes, truth! In any discussion of the Holy Spirit, whether it be about the gift of tongues or spiritual discernment or a particular fruit of the Spirit, it must first of all be heartily acknowledged that one of the most important and well-worked affirmations about the Holy Spirit in Scripture is that the Spirit is none other than the Spirit of Truth! We are already familiar with the statement of Jesus about himself that he is “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6), but how many of us realize that the person of the Holy Spirit is referred to as the Spirit of Truth no less than four times in the New Testament: John 14:16-17, John 15:26, John 16:13, and 1 John 5:6? Of course, we are all grateful for the ministry of Spirit & Truth in Wesleyan circles but how many other Christian traditions have such an emphasis on truth in quite this way?
Beyond this, the Bible places special emphasis on the importance of truth as evidenced in the gospels when Pontius Pilate asked Jesus, “What is truth?” (John 18:38). What other body of religious writings has that? Though Jesus at the time offered no answer, the Bible, the New Testament in particular, does indeed fill this out in ways that may actually challenge us and call our assumptions into question.
Are we surprised by this? Truth, as Scripture understands it, embraces a number of levels. It’s not a simple matter. Of course, factual accuracy is clearly affirmed by Scripture, and this may be as far as many people are willing to go. They will, of course, entertain facts about objects (events, places, and things) so long as none of this touches them personally. But the Bible does indeed go much further than this to offer the truth not only about ourselves, in a very deep and honest way, but also about our communities and our nations in the sight of God, or what Martin Luther had referred to as knowledge coram Deo. It is that framework, that reference point, that makes all the difference.
Knowledge of ourselves coram Deo is when truth, the facticity of something, is no longer a simple matter (impersonal and removed) but may become increasingly difficult and even challenging. As a consequence some may start heading for the doors. Why? Because deeper knowledge of the truth, a richer acquaintance with the Holy Spirit, will entail increasing illumination about ourselves and our world, and some people will not appreciate the exposure, the unveiling, that will take place. In other words, they would rather hide in the shadows because truth in this setting means exposure, and all of this may prove to be much too painful. Rod Dreher has already cautioned us to Live Not by Lies, the title of his recent book. That’s not easy to do. The Apostle John wrote about this same dynamic much earlier in the following way: “Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God” (John 3:20-21; NIV).
However, the grace of God manifested in Jesus Christ is greater, much greater, than any evil we may have done, that’s part of the Good News of the Gospel, and so the avoidance of illumination and truth is unnecessary. All people, young and old, rich and poor, white or black, male or female, can bear the light of God’s presence, with its increasing illumination, mindful that the grace of God is ever greater in both the forgiveness of sins and the transforming power of the new birth, when all things really do become new. Fear can be replaced by faith. That’s the miracle of God’s grace and love.
If knowing the truth about ourselves can be both difficult and painful, and it surely is, then how much more will this be the case in terms of acknowledging the truth of our communities, cultures, and nations in the sight of God, coram Deo? Are we willing to admit to ourselves uncomfortable truths about our society even when such truths challenge our own vision, our sense of what is right and true, even our well established understanding of what is real? What happens when whole societies and cultures stubbornly and purposively refuse to consider their own lives coram Deo simply because the entire vertical dimension of life is now gone or at least ignored? Enter Mattias Desmet who is a Professor of Clinical Psychology at the University of Ghent in Belgium. In his most recent book, The Psychology of Totalitarianism (Chelsea Green Publishing, 2022, 240 pp.), this well-read researcher makes the case that given the history of Western societies, some countries today across the globe are now poised to descend unwittingly into the morass of totalitarianism, a prospect of which Hannah Arendt in her own celebrated work had predicted decades ago. Desmet cites the Israeli scholar Yuval Harrari in pointing out the baffling and largely unconscious nature of this descent: “Most people wouldn’t even notice the shift toward a totalitarian regime. We associate totalitarianism mainly with labor, concentration, and extermination camps, but those are merely the final, bewildering stage of a long process” (9-10).
What makes Desmet’s contribution to the genre of dystopian Western societies so distinct is that he discerns a psychological grounding among the masses that will eventually give rise to the totalitarian regime. However, before that psychological grounding can be explored in its various phases, it is first of all necessary to consider, however briefly, the broad intellectual moves in Western societies that have led to such a psychological transformation. Along these lines, Desmet maintains that the “Grand Narrative” of Western societies, that is, mechanistic materialism, in which humanity is reduced to biological operations, actually hails from the Enlightenment. Accordingly, in Kant’s clarion call of “dare to reason,” Desmet recognizes that the earlier Grand Narrative of the Middle Ages and the Reformation that had allowed for a vertical dimension to life, that is, for God and for an elevated human spirit, was by and large displaced by an autonomous reason that was unwilling or at least very reluctant to acknowledge anything higher than itself. God as a regulating principle in the moral dimension just wouldn’t cut it. This massive worldview shift eventually led to the Grand Narrative of mechanistic materialism (celebrated by both communists and capitalists alike) in part through the rise of science in which the transcendent was now gone and humanity was greatly reduced either to chemical and physical operations, according to many biologists, or in the psychology of B.F. Skinner, to a repertoire of behaviors. However, in each instance the result was basically the same: transcendence was eliminated and the essence of humanity was vacated, emptied out. And if the very nature of humanity was now gone as the Existentialists Sartre and Camus had proclaimed in their own works during the twentieth century (“existence precedes essence”), then humanity was owed little or nothing at all. Put another way, if God, the transcendent One, was removed from the horizon, then such a move necessarily had consequences for humanity as well. The train of Enlightenment autonomy does indeed stop at the station of Nietzsche. Simply put, if God is dead, then so too is humanity.
In light of this history, Desmet maintains that “a narrative that “ignores the psychological, symbolic, and ethical dimensions of human beings…has a devastating effect on the level of human relationships” (15). Indeed, it is precisely this psychological damage, left in the wake of the Grand Narrative shift, that forms the fertile soil out of which mass formation can arise on the way to a totalitarian order. Four conditions must be present in society before mass formation can take place. The first of these is a “generalized loneliness, social isolation, and lack of social bonds among the population” (116). With scripts of rampant, autonomous freedom in play, what used to be called a family, for example, rooted in biology and nature, has now become any gathering of people, biologically related or not, who call themselves a family. This self-driven script was clearly evident when Jimmy Carter called the Council on the Family back in 1979, and it is still in play today. Moreover, since the sexual revolution in the 1960’s, single-mother households have been on the rise, and according to Pew Research only about 64 percent of children today live in homes with two parents who are married. Relationships that should be in place are no longer there. So much for autonomy.
“The first deterioration of social connectedness,” Desmet contends, “leads to the second condition: lack of meaning in life” (117). In other words, because humanity is a social animal, because we find fulfillment in living in relation to the other, weakening or removing the social bonds here through the corrosive acids of alienation and isolation, results in a loss of meaning to life. Today persons as well as whole populations are wandering aimlessly through life, with little rhyme or reason, because not only is the vertical dimension of life gone or very much debased and obscured, but also because the horizontal dimension of meaningful human relationships, the kind that make people care about the “other,” have been greatly damaged in modern Western societies. In short, social atomization has led to aimlessness.
Each of these psychological conditions is related to the others, and the first two already discussed actually prepare for the third and fourth components of mass formation, namely, widespread free-floating anxiety which unfortunately can result in free-floating frustration and aggression. Alienated and lacking a larger purpose in life, whole masses of people suffer a pervasive and annoying anxiety that does not yet have a definite object for its focus, and the ongoing frustration left in the wake of such anxiety will make such people ripe for being swayed by a leader who will direct both their frustration and their aggression to a definite, clearly defined object.
With these four psychological conditions in place, all of this would not yet be sufficient to lead to mass formation, the kind of mass hypnosis (to use the language of the nineteenth-century French psychologist Gustave Le Bon whom Desmet cites often), that led to the rise, for example, of the National Socialists in Germany during the 1930’s, when all sorts of Germans, from ditch diggers to clergy, from intellectuals to bankers, from pharmacists to beggars, all joined in. What more would be required for such a transformation is a pivot, in the form of a story or ideology, whereby the anxiety previously roaming throughout society could now be “linked to a specific cause” (119). Second, the by-now-celebrated ideology will start to offer a common struggle with a clearly identified “enemy,” whereby, as Desmet puts it, “the disintegrating society regains its coherence, energy, and rudimentary meaning” (119). This transition, wanted on so many levels, can be a very heady experience, psychologically speaking, and as a result the newfangled story will be eagerly embraced by more and more people. “Through this process,” Desmet points out, “an individual pivots from a highly aversive and painful psychological state of social isolation to the maximum interconnectedness that exists among the masses” (119). They now belong to something much greater than themselves, and their lives are as a consequence flush with meaning! What’s more, “this creates a kind of intoxication, which is the actual impetus to go along with the mass-forming narrative” (119).
As this process of mass formation continues apace, three clearly distinct groups emerge in this social order. The first group wholeheartedly believes the story or ideology that offers so many social benefits. These are the “true believers,” as Desmet terms them, who are themselves hypnotized, caught up in powerful social forces of which they are only dimly aware. They are the most fanatical in the holding of the script, and they are therefore the least tolerant of any opposing views. They make up about a third of the population. The second group, interestingly enough, is both similar and dissimilar to the first group. On the one hand, it does not actually believe the story (it does indeed realize that it’s a fiction), but on the other hand, it will go along anyway by not publicly opposing it. In the end, this group simply doesn’t care all that much about truth. Put another way, this second group in the larger context of mass formation (and it can be as high as fifty or sixty percent of the population), will remain quiet simply because in its judgment the social goods to be enjoyed are so great (popularity and social power) and the social evils to be suffered (for the sake of truthfulness!) are so bad that they are best avoided. However, what is sacrificed by this second group in this odd exchange is not only the truth of things but also the integrity of conscience. Again, unlike the first group, this second one actually knows that it is living a lie but it does so anyway--in silence, of course, and perhaps even in despair.
As this pivot plays out in its narrative form in new phases, the earlier psychological components of frustration and the desire for aggression now find their objects in the form of those who, for all sorts of reasons, refuse to go along with the narrative now reigning in the culture and with the mass formation that is occurring. This is the third group, and they represent humanity at its best. As Desmet observes, “Those who do not join in the collective madness and quietly and sincerely continue to assert their opposing voice are, by doing so, steadily elevated in their humanity” (175). For one thing, the members of this third group do not believe the ideological narrative spun out by society’s leaders. For them it is and remains fictive. No amount of gussying it up will ever work. More importantly, unlike the second group, these folk speak out against the reigning narrative, often at great personal cost while their consciences remain intact.
Many social and cultural leaders, even key academic and ecclesiastical figures, will find the speech of this third group to be so disturbing, a clear affront to their sense of what is good, decent and even appropriate, that they will demonize its members, going the ad hominem route. In other words, they will categorize this third-group speech as “hateful,” and in the end they will censure such offending language in any way possible. One approach is to engage in word games that don’t invite serious reflection or critical thinking at all, but that simply attempt to shut down these truth-seeking processes by offering the unthinking masses catchphrases and slogans, such as the label of conspiracy theories and the like. These word games keep the population well within the walls of the mass formation that has already occurred and with no desire to check any sources or to gather any additional information. “La passion de l’ignorance (the passion for ignorance) is flourishing like never before” (167).
The leaders of this mass formation society on the way to totalitarianism, however, have a great cause for concern. Their fears are not idle but are well grounded. As Desmet observes, it is the members of the third and last group, only about ten percent or so of the population, who can cause these leaders so many problems. Indeed, this small but vocal group has the power to undo the ideological mischief and the mass formation along with it. That is, if its small number of members continue to speak out, if they unswervingly refuse to be silent, regardless of cost, more and more public expressions of disbelief will occur and the spell of the ideological narrative will be broken for many. As Desmet explains, “The first and foremost task is to keep speaking out. Everything stands or falls with the act of speaking out. It is in the interest of all parties. The specific manner in which the act of speaking out takes place…is of less importance; everyone who, in his own way, speaks out about the truth contributes to the cure of the ailment that is totalitarianism.” (175)
For the sake of greater understanding in terms of the larger social, cultural and political processes that are playing out here in any given nation, totalitarianism and the mass formation that can lead to it must be clearly distinguished. First of all, mass formation is a social and psychological process, arising out of isolation, alienation, and meaninglessness among other things, as just noted earlier. More importantly, it can lead to totalitarianism which itself is a form of government, a particular kind of rule. That is, totalitarianism attempts to assert total control, both publicly and privately, over the lives of its citizens. As Desmet explains, “totalitarianism has its roots in the “insidious psychological process of mass formation” (9-10), but these two entities are very different things.
Second, totalitarian regimes can also be distinguished from dictatorships. As Hannah Arendt had argued much earlier, dictators can instill fear of physical violence whereby the despot will be free unilaterally to impose a social contract upon an unwilling though compliant people. In contrast to this, the totalitarian state arises not so much from above as from below in terms of those social-psychological processes of mass formation that give the totalitarian leader such enormous power. Again, whereas classical dictators will limit their monopoly of speech to the public sphere, the totalitarian leader will “censure alternative voices in the private sphere as well” (124), even to the point of the content of people’s thoughts.
Since the masses are now composed of atomized individuals whose bonds of family, school, church, community and nation have been greatly diminished or effectively washed out in favor of a now-reigning popular ideology (which offers a new and engorged sense of meaning and purpose), totalitarian leaders will therefore be free to redefine the private sphere. They will accomplish this, in part, through another round of language games (artful forms of lying) in which any contrary evidence against the reigning narrative will immediately become “disinformation” and all opposing facts will be labeled “fictions.” These same leaders will therefore face little opposition from the sleepy masses as they continually attempt to silence the dissident voices (the ten percenters) in the society by attaching to these leaders the most negative labels possible. As Desmet points out: “The ideal subject of totalitarian rule is not the convinced Nazi or the convinced Communist, but people for whom the distinction between fact and fiction and the distinction between true and false no longer exist” (10-11). Or to put it once again in the language of Arendt, “the emergence of a new totalitarianism will no longer be led by such flamboyant ‘mob leaders’ such as Joseph Stalin or Adolf Hitler but by dull bureaucrats and technocrats” (9).
Though the power dynamics in totalitarian regimes are enormous, it would be a mistake to conclude, as Desmet warns, that power itself or the money that it can amass are the ultimate goals here. They clearly are not. Rather, such things are merely instrumental to an even larger purpose, namely, the grand utopia that is the capstone of the reigning ideology, and for which all are (or at least should be) willing to sacrifice. Indeed, the totalitarian leaders themselves are also caught up in the story and they are, interestingly enough, replaceable. In other words, they are simply the functionaries of the masses that they lead and of the ideology that they themselves fully embrace and under which they both live and rule. And since all human beings in this totalitarian order are now viewed in an utterly instrumental manner on the way to the utopia, then gone are the “braking” concepts of the older, now displaced Grand Narrative of Western societies, such as the image of God, human rights, and of course human freedom. Simply put, the repeated failure to speak the truth in love to one another over time can have such catastrophic consequences. Who knew?
So where is the church in all of this? If Christian believers claim to be filled with the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Truth, does this mean that they will be faithful and true not only in their personal lives but in their public ones as well? Will they overcome the lingering divide between a personal faith and a social one? Will they speak the truth in love in all venues of life: in their families, jobs, schools, churches, social media and nation even when it comes with a price? Do they dare to become sanctified by the Holy Spirit with the prospect of then becoming unpopular? Will they, like John Wesley (who actually wrote a sermon on the subject), refuse to engage in evil speaking or to idly stand by when they see their neighbors unjustly held up to ridicule and scorn because they are on the wrong side of some reigning narrative?
Or will they hide their social and public faces, keep their thoughts to themselves, and take comfort in the notion that they are after all personally holy and in the end isn’t that what matters? Don’t they, like others, have a right to their privacy? Moreover, don’t they have many loved ones to protect and for whom they are responsible? Isn’t that what real leadership looks like? Aren’t faith, hope and love enough especially when lived out in the local church and in family life? Isn’t it the small world that really counts, the world of personal, face-to-face relationships, and that all the rest is just politics or someone else’s particular philosophy, both of which are best avoided? Won’t concerns about social justice or reigning narratives inevitably politicize the Gospel and in a way that will harm the church? Doesn’t speaking out inevitably create a partisan divide and rigorous censure? Isn’t that far too aggressive and messy a departure from the gentle ways of peace? Shouldn’t the church, after all, be culturally powerful, for the sake of mission, and ever remain on the right side of history?
Ah, but then comes that one last and annoying question that topples so many of the others of the preceding paragraph: “But is silence, in the end, actually complicity?” And who hides their light under a bushel, anyway? How then can we as Christians live a life of truth today under the authority of the Holy Spirit both within the church and well beyond its walls? Desmet’s new book, which deserves a careful reading, lays the groundwork on which Christians can raise so many imperative questions for themselves, many of which they have not yet answered. Given our current distress, it's high time to do the hard and painful work that truth-telling requires. It’s what being a disciple of Jesus Christ looks like in the twenty-first century.
Kenneth J. Collins is Professor of Historical Theology and Wesley Studies at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, KY, and a member of Firebrand’s Editorial Board.