The great ideological struggles of the modern era—the conflicts between democracy and authoritarianism, openness and closure, and freedom and suppression—are often understood as external, political battles. They are seen as clashes between systems of government, economic models, or collective ideologies. This is true, but incomplete. Beneath the political, there is a more fundamental conflict, one that is waged not on the battlefield or in the legislature, but within the human psyche. This is the struggle between the "monolithic" and the "plural" self.
Totalitarianism, in this light, is not merely a political system that prohibits opposition parties and controls all spheres of life.1 It is, more foundationally, a psychological condition. It is a state defined by an insistence on a single, total, and indivisible identity. This monolithic self seeks to absorb the entire individual, demanding total allegiance and permitting no internal contradiction, no heretical thought. It is an "unarmed occupation of individuals' lives," one that compels conformity to a singular, state-defined norm.2 This singular psychology is the fertile ground from which various forms of domination—political, religious, and economic—draw their power.
Opposing this condition is pluralism. In this context, pluralism is not just a social arrangement but a psychological recognition. It is the understanding that to be human is to be various; that containing different, even contradictory, thoughts and identities is a natural and healthy condition.3 This internal multiplicity, this "society of mind," is the mechanism that allows for individual flourishing. It is also the very foundation upon which genuine social cooperation is built, enabling tolerance and collaboration between people who are, themselves, internally and externally different.4 This chapter will explore this fundamental opposition, tracing the architecture of the singular, total identity and contrasting it with the pluralistic mind, which is its only durable antidote.
The adoption of a total, monolithic identity is not an expression of strength or deep conviction. It is, rather, a defensive measure, a psychological flight from a state of profound anxiety, powerlessness, and loneliness. The singular self is not built; it is a fortress erected by a hollow and frightened individual.
The social psychologist and philosopher Erich Fromm, writing in the shadow of Nazism's rise, provided a foundational analysis of this phenomenon in Escape from Freedom. Fromm argued that modern history had granted humanity a "freedom from"—emancipation from the rigid, traditional authorities of the medieval world. Yet, it had failed to provide "freedom to," which he defined as the spontaneous, creative, and integrated realization of the self.5 This new, negative freedom left the individual atomized, isolated, and overwhelmed by a sense of personal insignificance and anxiety.5
This anxiety, Fromm observed, is unbearable. The individual, unable to live with the burden of this isolated freedom, seeks "mechanisms of escape".5 The most potent of these is "authoritarianism." This is not just a political structure but a psychological one, a dual impulse to both submit to a higher power—a leader, an institution, a sweeping idea—and, simultaneously, to dominate any person or group perceived as weaker.6 By surrendering the will, the individual "escapes" the anxiety of choice and responsibility. The monolithic identity—"I am a member of the Party," "I am a servant of God's will"—is the structure that facilitates this escape. It provides security by eliminating the self.
The philosopher Hannah Arendt, in her analysis The Origins of Totalitarianism, provided a more precise name for this pre-totalitarian psychological state: loneliness. She was careful to distinguish loneliness from solitude. Solitude, the state of being alone with oneself, is necessary for thought and was valued by Arendt.7 Loneliness, in contrast, is the "experience of not belonging to the world at all".9 It is this experience, Arendt argued, that "has become an everyday experience of the evergrowing masses" and which constitutes the "common ground for terror".9
A totalitarian system, Arendt noted, does not just exploit this loneliness; its primary concern is to "bring this isolation about".9 It systematically destroys both the public realms of political action and the private realms of personal life, leaving behind "isolated men" who are, by definition, "powerless".9 This isolation, when it becomes unbearable, turns into the "desperate experience" of loneliness.9 The total identity offered by the movement is a salve for this desperation. It offers the lonely individual a place to belong, a role to play, and a supreme purpose that consumes their entire being.
The psychologist Mattias Desmet offers a contemporary clinical structure for this process, which he terms "mass formation".11 This collective psychosis emerges when four specific conditions are met in a society:
When these conditions are present, a population is psychologically primed. All that is required is the "emergence of a consistent narrative from government officials, mass media, etc., that exploits and channels frustration and anxiety".11
This narrative—the ideology—acts as a psychological cure. The free-floating anxiety of Fromm and the deep loneliness of Arendt, which are painful because they are non-specific, are suddenly given a name and a source. The anxiety is channeled, focused onto a single point: an external enemy, a scapegoat, or a grand historical mission. By accepting the narrative, the individual's anxiety is relieved. They feel a new, ecstatic sense of connection with the "mass" of other believers.