The human mind, it seems, was originally developed to
think about the individual; it thinks reluctantly about the species.
It takes refuge from that sort of thing if it possibly can. And so
the second great preventive of clear thinking is the tranquillising
platitude.
The human mind is an instrument very easily fatigued. Only a few
exceptions go on thinking restlessly--to the extreme exasperation of
their neighbours. The normal mind craves for decisions, even wrong or
false decisions rather than none. It clutches at comforting falsehoods.
It loves to be told, "_There_, don't you worry. That'll be all right.
That's _settled._" This war has come as an almost overwhelming challenge
to mankind. To some of us it seems as it if were the Sphynx proffering
the alternative of its riddle or death. Yet the very urgency of this
challenge to think seems to paralyse the critical intelligence of very
many people altogether. They will say, "This war is going to produce
enormous changes in everything." They will then subside mentally with a
feeling of having covered the whole ground in a thoroughly safe manner.
Or they will adopt an air of critical aloofness. They will say, "How
is it possible to foretell what may happen in this tremendous sea of
change?" And then, with an air of superior modesty, they will go on
doing--whatever they feel inclined to do.
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