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Title: Anarchism and Other Essays Author: Emma Goldman Date: 1910 Language: en Topics: anti-voting, art, classical, education, feminist, introductory, nationalism, prison, religion, sexuality Source: Retrieved on February 15th, 2009 from http://dwardmac.pitzer.edu/Anarchist_Archives/goldman/GoldmanCW.html Notes: Text from the Dana Ward’s copy of Emma Goldman’s Anarchism and Other Essays. Second Revised Edition. New York-London: Mother Earth Publishing Association, 1911
Propagandism is not, as some suppose, a “trade,”
because nobody will follow a “trade” at which you
may work with the industry of a slave and die with
the reputation of a mendicant. The motives of any
persons to pursue such a profession must be
different from those of trade, deeper than pride,
and stronger than interest.
George Jacob Holyoake
Among the men and women prominent in the public life of America there
are but few whose names are mentioned as often as that of Emma Goldman.
Yet the real Emma Goldman is almost quite unknown. The sensational press
has surrounded her name with so much misrepresentation and slander, it
would seem almost a miracle that, in spite of this web of calumny, the
truth breaks through and a better appreciation of this much maligned
idealist begins to manifest itself. There is but little consolation in
the fact that almost every representative of a new idea has had to
struggle and suffer under similar difficulties. Is it of any avail that
a former president of a republic pays homage at Osawatomie to the memory
of John Brown? Or that the president of another republic participates in
the unveiling of a statue in honor of Pierre Proudhon, and holds up his
life to the French nation as a model worthy of enthusiastic emulation?
Of what avail is all this when, at the same time, the living John Browns
and Proudhons are being crucified? The honor and glory of a Mary
Wollstonecraft or of a Louise Michel are not enhanced by the City
Fathers of London or Paris naming a street after them — the living
generation should be concerned with doing justice to the living Mary
Wollstonecrafts and Louise Michels. Posterity assigns to men like Wendel
Phillips and Lloyd Garrison the proper niche of honor in the temple of
human emancipation; but it is the duty of their contemporaries to bring
them due recognition and appreciation while they live.
The path of the propagandist of social justice is strewn with thorns.
The powers of darkness and injustice exert all their might lest a ray of
sunshine enter his cheerless life. Nay, even his comrades in the
struggle — indeed, too often his most intimate friends — show but little
understanding for the personality of the pioneer. Envy, sometimes
growing to hatred, vanity and jealousy, obstruct his way and fill his
heart with sadness. It requires an inflexible will and tremendous
enthusiasm not to lose, under such conditions, all faith in the Cause.
The representative of a revolutionizing idea stands between two fires:
on the one hand, the persecution of the existing powers which hold him
responsible for all acts resulting from social conditions; and, on the
other, the lack of understanding on the part of his own followers who
often judge all his activity from a narrow standpoint. Thus it happens
that the agitator stands quite alone in the midst of the multitude
surrounding him. Even his most intimate friends rarely understand how
solitary and deserted he feels. That is the tragedy of the person
prominent in the public eye.
The mist in which the name of Emma Goldman has so long been enveloped is
gradually beginning to dissipate. Her energy in the furtherance of such
an unpopular idea as Anarchism, her deep earnestness, her courage and
abilities, find growing understanding and admiration.
The debt American intellectual growth owes to the revolutionary exiles
has never been fully appreciated. The seed disseminated by them, though
so little understood at the time, has brought a rich harvest. They have
at all times held aloft the banner of liberty, thus impregnating the
social vitality of the Nation. But very few have succeeded in preserving
their European education and culture while at the same time assimilating
themselves with American life. It is difficult for the average man to
form an adequate conception what strength, energy, and perseverance are
necessary to absorb the unfamiliar language, habits, and customs of a
new country, without the loss of one’s own personality.
Emma Goldman is one of the few who, while thoroughly preserving their
individuality, have become an important factor in the social and
intellectual atmosphere of America. The life she leads is rich in color,
full of change and variety. She has risen to the topmost heights, and
she has also tasted the bitter dregs of life.
Emma Goldman was born of Jewish parentage on the 27^(th) day of June,
1869, in the Russian province of Kovno. Surely these parents never
dreamed what unique position their child would some day occupy. Like all
conservative parents they, too, were quite convinced that their daughter
would marry a respectable citizen, bear him children, and round out her
allotted years surrounded by a flock of grandchildren, a good, religious
woman. As most parents, they had no inkling what a strange, impassioned
spirit would take hold of the soul of their child, and carry it to the
heights which separate generations in eternal struggle. They lived in a
land and at a time when antagonism between parent and offspring was
fated to find its most acute expression, irreconcilable hostility. In
this tremendous struggle between fathers and sons — and especially
between parents and daughters — there was no compromise, no weak
yielding, no truce. The spirit of liberty, of progress — an idealism
which knew no considerations and recognized no obstacles — drove the
young generation out of the parental house and away from the hearth of
the home. Just as this same spirit once drove out the revolutionary
breeder of discontent, Jesus, and alienated him from his native
traditions.
What role the Jewish race — notwithstanding all anti-Semitic calumnies
the race of transcendental idealism — played in the struggle of the Old
and the New will probably never be appreciated with complete
impartiality and clarity. Only now we are beginning to perceive the
tremendous debt we owe to Jewish idealists in the realm of science, art,
and literature. But very little is still known of the important part the
sons and daughters of Israel have played in the revolutionary movement
and, especially, in that of modern times.
The first years of her childhood Emma Goldman passed in a small, idyllic
place in the German-Russian province of Kurland, where her father had
charge of the government stage. At that time Kurland was thoroughly
German; even the Russian bureaucracy of that Baltic province was
recruited mostly from German Junkers. German fairy tales and stories,
rich in the miraculous deeds of the heroic knights of Kurland, wove
their spell over the youthful mind. But the beautiful idyl was of short
duration. Soon the soul of the growing child was overcast by the dark
shadows of life. Already in her tenderest youth the seeds of rebellion
and unrelenting hatred of oppression were to be planted in the heart of
Emma Goldman. Early she learned to know the beauty of the State: she saw
her father harassed by the Christian chinovniks and doubly persecuted as
petty official and hated Jew. The brutality of forced conscription ever
stood before her eyes: she beheld the young men, often the sole support
of a large family, brutally dragged to the barracks to lead the
miserable life of a soldier. She heard the weeping of the poor peasant
women, and witnessed the shameful scenes of official venality which
relieved the rich from military service at the expense of the poor. She
was outraged by the terrible treatment to which the female servants were
subjected: maltreated and exploited by their barinyas, they fell to the
tender mercies of the regimental officers, who regarded them as their
natural sexual prey. These girls, made pregnant by respectable gentlemen
and driven out by their mistresses, often found refuge in the Goldman
home. And the little girl, her heart palpitating with sympathy, would
abstract coins from the parental drawer to clandestinely press the money
into the hands of the unfortunate women. Thus Emma Goldman’s most
striking characteristic, her sympathy with the underdog, already became
manifest in these early years.
At the age of seven little Emma was sent by her parents to her
grandmother at Königsberg, the city of Immanuel Kant, in Eastern
Prussia. Save for occasional interruptions, she remained there till her
13^(th) birthday. The first years in these surroundings do not exactly
belong to her happiest recollections. The grandmother, indeed, was very
amiable, but the numerous aunts of the household were concerned more
with the spirit of practical rather than pure reason, and the categoric
imperative was applied all too frequently. The situation was changed
when her parents migrated to Königsberg, and little Emma was relieved
from her role of Cinderella. She now regularly attended public school
and also enjoyed the advantages of private instruction, customary in
middle class life; French and music lessons played an important part in
the curriculum. The future interpreter of Ibsen and Shaw was then a
little German Gretchen, quite at home in the German atmosphere. Her
special predilections in literature were the sentimental romances of
Marlitt; she was a great admirer of the good Queen Louise, whom the bad
Napoleon Buonaparte treated with so marked a lack of knightly chivalry.
What might have been her future development had she remained in this
milieu? Fate — or was it economic necessity? — willed it otherwise. Her
parents decided to settle in St. Petersburg, the capital of the Almighty
Tsar, and there to embark in business. It was here that a great change
took place in the life of the young dreamer.
It was an eventful period — the year of 1882 — in which Emma Goldman,
then in her 13^(th) year, arrived in St. Petersburg. A struggle for life
and death between the autocracy and the Russian intellectuals swept the
country. Alexander II had fallen the previous year. Sophia Perovskaia,
Zheliabov, Grinevitzky, Rissakov, Kibalchitch, Michailov, the heroic
executors of the death sentence upon the tyrant, had then entered the
Walhalla of immortality. Jessie Helfman, the only regicide whose life
the government had reluctantly spared because of pregnancy, followed the
unnumbered Russian martyrs to the étapes of Siberia. It was the most
heroic period in the great battle of emancipation, a battle for freedom
such as the world had never witnessed before. The names of the Nihilist
martyrs were on all lips, and thousands were enthusiastic to follow
their example. The whole intelligenzia of Russia was filled with the
illegal spirit: revolutionary sentiments penetrated into every home,
from mansion to hovel, impregnating the military, the chinovniks,
factory workers, and peasants. The atmosphere pierced the very casemates
of the royal palace. New ideas germinated in the youth. The difference
of sex was forgotten. Shoulder to shoulder fought the men and the women.
The Russian woman! Who shall ever do justice or adequately portray her
heroism and self-sacrifice, her loyalty and devotion? Holy, Turgeniev
calls her in his great prose poem, On the Threshold.
It was inevitable that the young dreamer from Königsberg should be drawn
into the maelstrom. To remain outside of the circle of free ideas meant
a life of vegetation, of death. One need not wonder at the youthful age.
Young enthusiasts were not then — and, fortunately, are not now — a rare
phenomenon in Russia. The study of the Russian language soon brought
young Emma Goldman in touch with revolutionary students and new ideas.
The place of Marlitt was taken by Nekrassov and Tchernishevsky. The
quondam admirer of the good Queen Louise became a glowing enthusiast of
liberty, resolving, like thousands of others, to devote her life to the
emancipation of the people.
The struggle of generations now took place in the Goldman family. The
parents could not comprehend what interest their daughter could find in
the new ideas, which they themselves considered fantastic utopias. They
strove to persuade the young girl out of these chimeras, and daily
repetition of soul-racking disputes was the result. Only in one member
of the family did the young idealist find understanding — in her elder
sister, Helene, with whom she later emigrated to America, and whose love
and sympathy have never failed her. Even in the darkest hours of later
persecution Emma Goldman always found a haven of refuge in the home of
this loyal sister.
Emma Goldman finally resolved to achieve her independence. She saw
hundreds of men and women sacrificing brilliant careers to go v narod,
to the people. She followed their example. She became a factory worker;
at first employed as a corset maker, and later in the manufacture of
gloves. She was now 17 years of age and proud to earn her own living.
Had she remained in Russia, she would have probably sooner or later
shared the fate of thousands buried in the snows of Siberia. But a new
chapter of life was to begin for her. Sister Helene decided to emigrate
to America, where another sister had already made her home. Emma
prevailed upon Helene to be allowed to join her, and together they
departed for America, filled with the joyous hope of a great, free land,
the glorious Republic.
America! What magic word. The yearning of the enslaved, the promised
land of the oppressed, the goal of all longing for progress. Here man’s
ideals had found their fulfillment: no Tsar, no Cossack, no chinovnik.
The Republic! Glorious synonym of equality, freedom, brotherhood.
Thus thought the two girls as they travelled, in the year 1886, from New
York to Rochester. Soon, all too soon, disillusionment awaited them. The
ideal conception of America was punctured already at Castle Garden, and
soon burst like a soap bubble. Here Emma Goldman witnessed sights which
reminded her of the terrible scenes of her childhood in Kurland. The
brutality and humiliation the future citizens of the great Republic were
subjected to on board ship, were repeated at Castle Garden by the
officials of the democracy in a more savage and aggravating manner. And
what bitter disappointment followed as the young idealist began to
familiarize herself with the conditions in the new land! Instead of one
Tsar, she found scores of them; the Cossack was replaced by the
policeman with the heavy club, and instead of the Russian chinovnik
there was the far more inhuman slave driver of the factory.
Emma Goldman soon obtained work in the clothing establishment of the
Garson Co. The wages amounted to two and a half dollars a week. At that
time the factories were not provided with motor power, and the poor
sewing girls had to drive the wheels by foot, from early morning till
late at night. A terribly exhausting toil it was, without a ray of
light, the drudgery of the long day passed in complete silence — the
Russian custom of friendly conversation at work was not permissible in
the free country. But the exploitation of the girls was not only
economic; the poor wage workers were looked upon by their foremen and
bosses as sexual commodities. If a girl resented the advances of her
“superiors,” she would speedily find herself on the street as an
undesirable element in the factory. There was never a lack of willing
victims: the supply always exceeded the demand.
The horrible conditions were made still more unbearable by the fearful
dreariness of life in the small American city. The Puritan spirit
suppresses the slightest manifestation of joy; a deadly dullness
beclouds the soul; no intellectual inspiration, no thought exchange
between congenial spirits is possible. Emma Goldman almost suffocated in
this atmosphere. She, above all others, longed for ideal surroundings,
for friendship and understanding, for the companionship of kindred
minds. Mentally she still lived in Russia. Unfamiliar with the language
and life of the country, she dwelt more in the past than in the present.
It was at this period that she met a young man who spoke Russian. With
great joy the acquaintance was cultivated. At last a person with whom
she could converse, one who could help her bridge the dullness of the
narrow existence. The friendship gradually ripened and finally
culminated in marriage.
Emma Goldman, too, had to walk the sorrowful road of married life; she,
too, had to learn from bitter experience that legal statutes signify
dependence and self-effacement, especially for the woman. The marriage
was no liberation from the Puritan dreariness of American life; indeed,
it was rather aggravated by the loss of self-ownership. The characters
of the young people differed too widely. A separation soon followed, and
Emma Goldman went to New Haven, Conn. There she found employment in a
factory, and her husband disappeared from her horizon. Two decades later
she was fated to be unexpectedly reminded of him by the Federal
authorities.
The revolutionists who were active in the Russian movement of the 80’s
were but little familiar with the social ideas then agitating western
Europe and America. Their sole activity consisted in educating the
people, their final goal the destruction of the autocracy. Socialism and
Anarchism were terms hardly known even by name. Emma Goldman, too, was
entirely unfamiliar with the significance of those ideals.
She arrived in America, as four years previously in Russia, at a period
of great social and political unrest. The working people were in revolt
against the terrible labor conditions; the eight-hour movement of the
Knights of Labor was at its height, and throughout the country echoed
the din of sanguine strife between strikers and police. The struggle
culminated in the great strike against the Harvester Company of Chicago,
the massacre of the strikers, and the judicial murder of the labor
leaders, which followed upon the historic Haymarket bomb explosion. The
Anarchists stood the martyr test of blood baptism. The apologists of
capitalism vainly seek to justify the killing of Parsons, Spies, Lingg,
Fischer, and Engel. Since the publication of Governor Altgeld’s reasons
for his liberation of the three incarcerated Haymarket Anarchists, no
doubt is left that a fivefold legal murder had been committed in
Chicago, in 1887.
Very few have grasped the significance of the Chicago martyrdom; least
of all the ruling classes. By the destruction of a number of labor
leaders they thought to stem the tide of a world-inspiring idea. They
failed to consider that from the blood of the martyrs grows the new
seed, and that the frightful injustice will win new converts to the
Cause.
The two most prominent representatives of the Anarchist idea in America,
Voltairine de Cleyre and Emma Goldman — the one a native American, the
other a Russian — have been converted, like numerous others, to the
ideas of Anarchism by the judicial murder. Two women who had not known
each other before, and who had received a widely different education,
were through that murder united in one idea.
Like most working men and women of America, Emma Goldman followed the
Chicago trial with great anxiety and excitement. She, too, could not
believe that the leaders of the proletariat would be killed. The 11^(th)
of November, 1887, taught her differently. She realized that no mercy
could be expected from the ruling class, that between the Tsarism of
Russia and the plutocracy of America there was no difference save in
name. Her whole being rebelled against the crime, and she vowed to
herself a solemn vow to join the ranks of the revolutionary proletariat
and to devote all her energy and strength to their emancipation from
wage slavery. With the glowing enthusiasm so characteristic of her
nature, she now began to familiarize herself with the literature of
Socialism and Anarchism. She attended public meetings and became
acquainted with socialistically and anarchistically inclined working
men. Johanna Greie, the well-known German lecturer, was the first
Socialist speaker heard by Emma Goldman. In New Haven, Conn., where she
was employed in a corset factory, she met Anarchists actively
participating in the movement. Here she read the Freiheit, edited by
John Most. The Haymarket tragedy developed her inherent Anarchist
tendencies; the reading of the Freiheit made her a conscious Anarchist.
Subsequently she was to learn that the idea of Anarchism found its
highest expression through the best intellects of America: theoretically
by Josiah Warren, Stephen Pearl Andrews, Lysander Spooner;
philosophically by Emerson, Thoreau, and Walt Whitman.
Made ill by the excessive strain of factory work, Emma Goldman returned
to Rochester where she remained till August, 1889, at which time she
removed to New York, the scene of the most important phase of her life.
She was now twenty years old. Features pallid with suffering, eyes large
and full of compassion, greet one in her pictured likeness of those
days. Her hair is, as customary with Russian student girls, worn short,
giving free play to the strong forehead.
It is the heroic epoch of militant Anarchism. By leaps and bounds the
movement had grown in every country. In spite of the most severe
governmental persecution new converts swell the ranks. The propaganda is
almost exclusively of a secret character. The repressive measures of the
government drive the disciples of the new philosophy to conspirative
methods. Thousands of victims fall into the hands of the authorities and
languish in prisons. But nothing can stem the rising tide of enthusiasm,
of self-sacrifice and devotion to the Cause. The efforts of teachers
like Peter Kropotkin, Louise Michel, Elisée Reclus, and others, inspire
the devotees with ever greater energy.
Disruption is imminent with the Socialists, who have sacrificed the idea
of liberty and embraced the State and politics. The struggle is bitter,
the factions irreconcilable. This struggle is not merely between
Anarchists and Socialists; it also finds its echo within the Anarchist
groups. Theoretic differences and personal controversies lead to strife
and acrimonious enmities. The anti-Socialist legislation of Germany and
Austria had driven thousands of Socialists and Anarchists across the
seas to seek refuge in America. John Most, having lost his seat in the
Reichstag, finally had to flee his native land, and went to London.
There, having advanced toward Anarchism, he entirely withdrew from the
Social Democratic Party. Later, coming to America, he continued the
publication of the Freiheit in New York, and developed great activity
among the German workingmen.
When Emma Goldman arrived in New York in 1889, she experienced little
difficulty in associating herself with active Anarchists. Anarchist
meetings were an almost daily occurrence. The first lecturer she heard
on the Anarchist platform was Dr. H. Solotaroff. Of great importance to
her future development was her acquaintance with John Most, who exerted
a tremendous influence over the younger elements. His impassioned
eloquence, untiring energy, and the persecution he had endured for the
Cause, all combined to enthuse the comrades. It was also at this period
that she met Alexander Berkman, whose friendship played an important
part throughout her life. Her talents as a speaker could not long remain
in obscurity. The fire of enthusiasm swept her toward the public
platform. Encouraged by her friends, she began to participate as a
German and Yiddish speaker at Anarchist meetings. Soon followed a brief
tour of agitation taking her as far as Cleveland. With the whole
strength and earnestness of her soul she now threw herself into the
propaganda of Anarchist ideas. The passionate period of her life had
begun. Though constantly toiling in sweat-shops, the fiery young orator
was at the same time very active as an agitator and participated in
various labor struggles, notably in the great cloakmakers’ strike, in
1889, led by Professor Garsyde and Joseph Barondess.
A year later Emma Goldman was a delegate to an Anarchist conference in
New York. She was elected to the Executive Committee, but later withdrew
because of differences of opinion regarding tactical matters. The ideas
of the German-speaking Anarchists had at that time not yet become
clarified. Some still believed in parliamentary methods, the great
majority being adherents of strong centralism. These differences of
opinion in regard to tactics led, in 1891, to a breach with John Most.
Emma Goldman, Alexander Berkman, and other comrades joined the group
Autonomy, in which Joseph Peukert, Otto Rinke, and Claus Timmermann
played an active part. The bitter controversies which followed this
secession terminated only with the death of Most, in 1906.
A great source of inspiration to Emma Goldman proved the Russian
revolutionists who were associated in the group Znamya. Goldenberg,
Solotaroff, Zametkin, Miller, Cahan, the poet Edelstadt, Ivan von
Schewitsch, husband of Helene von Racowitza and editor of the
Volkszeitung, and numerous other Russian exiles, some of whom are still
living, were members of the group. It was also at this time that Emma
Goldman met Robert Reitzel, the German American Heine, who exerted a
great influence on her development. Through him she became acquainted
with the best writers of modern literature, and the friendship thus
begun lasted till Reitzel’s death, in 1898.
The labor movement of America had not been drowned in the Chicago
massacre; the murder of the Anarchists had failed to bring peace to the
profit-greedy capitalist. The struggle for the eight hour day continued.
In 1892 broke out the great strike in Pittsburg. The Homestead fight,
the defeat of the Pinkertons, the appearance of the militia, the
suppression of the strikers, and the complete triumph of the reaction
are matters of comparatively recent history. Stirred to the very depths
by the terrible events at the seat of war, Alexander Berkman resolved to
sacrifice his life to the Cause and thus give an object lesson to the
wage slaves of America of active Anarchist solidarity with labor. His
attack upon Frick, the Gessler of Pittsburg, failed, and the
twenty-two-year-old youth was doomed to a living death of twenty-two
years in the penitentiary. The bourgeoisie, which for decades had
exalted and eulogized tyrannicide, now was filled with terrible rage.
The capitalist press organized a systematic campaign of calumny and
misrepresentation against Anarchists. The police exerted every effort to
involve Emma Goldman in the act of Alexander Berkman. The feared
agitator was to be silenced by all means. It was only due to the
circumstance of her presence in New York that she escaped the clutches
of the law. It was a similar circumstance which, nine years later,
during the McKinley incident, was instrumental in preserving her
liberty. It is almost incredible with what amount of stupidity,
baseness, and vileness the journalists of the period sought to overwhelm
the Anarchist. One must peruse the newspaper files to realize the
enormity of incrimination and slander. It would be difficult to portray
the agony of soul Emma Goldman experienced in those days. The
persecutions of the capitalist press were to be borne by an Anarchist
with comparative equanimity; but the attacks from one’s own ranks were
far more painful and unbearable. The act of Berkman was severely
criticized by Most and some of his followers among the German and Jewish
Anarchists. Bitter accusations and recriminations at public meetings and
private gatherings followed. Persecuted on all sides, both because she
championed Berkman and his act, and on account of her revolutionary
activity, Emma Goldman was harassed even to the extent of inability to
secure shelter. Too proud to seek safety in the denial of her identity,
she chose to pass the nights in the public parks rather than expose her
friends to danger or vexation by her visits. The already bitter cup was
filled to overflowing by the attempted suicide of a young comrade who
had shared living quarters with Emma Goldman, Alexander Berkman, and a
mutual artist friend.
Many changes have since taken place. Alexander Berkman has survived the
Pennsylvania Inferno, and is back again in the ranks of the militant
Anarchists, his spirit unbroken, his soul full of enthusiasm for the
ideals of his youth. The artist comrade is now among the well-known
illustrators of New York. The suicide candidate left America shortly
after his unfortunate attempt to die, and was subsequently arrested and
condemned to eight years of hard labor for smuggling Anarchist
literature into Germany. He, too, has withstood the terrors of prison
life, and has returned to the revolutionary movement, since earning the
well deserved reputation of a talented writer in Germany.
To avoid indefinite camping in the parks, Emma Goldman finally was
forced to move into a house on Third Street, occupied exclusively by
prostitutes. There, among the outcasts of our good Christian society,
she could at least rent a bit of a room, and find rest and work at her
sewing machine. The women of the street showed more refinement of
feeling and sincere sympathy than the priests of the Church. But human
endurance had been exhausted by overmuch suffering and privation. There
was a complete physical breakdown, and the renowned agitator was removed
to the “Bohemian Republic” — a large tenement house which derived its
euphonious appellation from the fact that its occupants were mostly
Bohemian Anarchists. Here Emma Goldman found friends ready to aid her.
Justus Schwab, one of the finest representatives of the German
revolutionary period of that time, and Dr. Solotaroff were indefatigable
in the care of the patient. Here, too, she met Edward Brady, the new
friendship subsequently ripening into close intimacy. Brady had been an
active participant in the revolutionary movement of Austria and had, at
the time of his acquaintance with Emma Goldman, lately been released
from an Austrian prison after an incarceration of ten years.
Physicians diagnosed the illness as consumption, and the patient was
advised to leave New York. She went to Rochester, in the hope that the
home circle would help to restore her to health. Her parents had several
years previously emigrated to America, settling in that city. Among the
leading traits of the Jewish race is the strong attachment between the
members of the family, and, especially, between parents and children.
Though her conservative parents could not sympathize with the idealist
aspirations of Emma Goldman and did not approve of her mode of life,
they now received their sick daughter with open arms. The rest and care
enjoyed in the parental home, and the cheering presence of the beloved
sister Helene, proved so beneficial that within a short time she was
sufficiently restored to resume her energetic activity.
There is no rest in the life of Emma Goldman. Ceaseless effort and
continuous striving toward the conceived goal are the essentials of her
nature. Too much precious time had already been wasted. It was
imperative to resume her labors immediately. The country was in the
throes of a crisis, and thousands of unemployed crowded the streets of
the large industrial centers. Cold and hungry they tramped through the
land in the vain search for work and bread. The Anarchists developed a
strenuous propaganda among the unemployed and the strikers. A monster
demonstration of striking cloakmakers and of the unemployed took place
at Union Square, New York. Emma Goldman was one of the invited speakers.
She delivered an impassioned speech, picturing in fiery words the misery
of the wage slave’s life, and quoted the famous maxim of Cardinal
Manning: “Necessity knows no law, and the starving man has a natural
right to a share of his neighbor’s bread.” She concluded her exhortation
with the words: “Ask for work. If they do not give you work, ask for
bread. If they do not give you work or bread, then take bread.”
The following day she left for Philadelphia, where she was to address a
public meeting. The capitalist press again raised the alarm. If
Socialists and Anarchists were to be permitted to continue agitating,
there was imminent danger that the workingmen would soon learn to
understand the manner in which they are robbed of the joy and happiness
of life. Such a possibility was to be prevented at all cost. The Chief
of Police of New York, Byrnes, procured a court order for the arrest of
Emma Goldman. She was detained by the Philadelphia authorities and
incarcerated for several days in the Moyamensing prison, awaiting the
extradition papers which Byrnes intrusted to Detective Jacobs. This man
Jacobs (whom Emma Goldman again met several years later under very
unpleasant circumstances) proposed to her, while she was returning a
prisoner to New York, to betray the cause of labor. In the name of his
superior, Chief Byrnes, he offered lucrative reward. How stupid men
sometimes are! What poverty of psychologic observation to imagine the
possibility of betrayal on the part of a young Russian idealist, who had
willingly sacrificed all personal considerations to help in labor’s
emancipation.
In October, 1893, Emma Goldman was tried in the criminal courts of New
York on the charge of inciting to riot. The “intelligent” jury ignored
the testimony of the twelve witnesses for the defense in favor of the
evidence given by one single man — Detective Jacobs. She was found
guilty and sentenced to serve one year in the penitentiary at
Blackwell’s Island. Since the foundation of the Republic she was the
first woman — Mrs. Surratt excepted — to be imprisoned for a political
offense. Respectable society had long before stamped upon her the
Scarlet Letter.
Emma Goldman passed her time in the penitentiary in the capacity of
nurse in the prison hospital. Here she found opportunity to shed some
rays of kindness into the dark lives of the unfortunates whose sisters
of the street did not disdain two years previously to share with her the
same house. She also found in prison opportunity to study English and
its literature, and to familiarize herself with the great American
writers. In Bret Harte, Mark Twain, Walt Whitman, Thoreau, and Emerson
she found great treasures.
She left Blackwell’s Island in the month of August, 1894, a woman of
twenty-five, developed and matured, and intellectually transformed. Back
into the arena, richer in experience, purified by suffering. She did not
feel herself deserted and alone any more. Many hands were stretched out
to welcome her. There were at the time numerous intellectual oases in
New York. The saloon of Justus Schwab, at Number Fifty, First Street,
was the center where gathered Anarchists, littérateurs, and bohemians.
Among others she also met at this time a number of American Anarchists,
and formed the friendship of Voltairine de Cleyre, Wm. C. Owen, Miss Van
Etton, and Dyer D. Lum, former editor of the Alarm and executor of the
last wishes of the Chicago martyrs. In John Swinton, the noble old
fighter for liberty, she found one of her staunchest friends. Other
intellectual centers there were Solidarity, published by John Edelman;
Liberty, by the Individualist Anarchist Benjamin R. Tucker; the Rebel,
by Harry Kelly; Der Sturmvogel, a German Anarchist publication, edited
by Claus Timmermann; Der Arme Teufel, whose presiding genius was the
inimitable Robert Reitzel. Through Arthur Brisbane, now chief lieutenant
of William Randolph Hearst, she became acquainted with the writings of
Fourier. Brisbane then was not yet submerged in the swamp of political
corruption. He sent Emma Goldman an amiable letter to Blackwell’s
Island, together with the biography of his father, the enthusiastic
American disciple of Fourier.
Emma Goldman became, upon her release from the penitentiary, a factor in
the public life of New York. She was appreciated in radical ranks for
her devotion, her idealism, and earnestness. Various persons sought her
friendship, and some tried to persuade her to aid in the furtherance of
their special side issues. Thus Rev. Parkhurst, during the Lexow
investigation, did his utmost to induce her to join the Vigilance
Committee in order to fight Tammany Hall. Maria Louise, the moving
spirit of a social center, acted as Parkhurst’s go between. It is hardly
necessary to mention what reply the latter received from Emma Goldman.
Incidentally, Maria Louise subsequently became a Mahatma. During the
free-silver campaign, ex-Burgess McLuckie, one of the most genuine
personalities in the Homestead strike, visited New York in an endeavor
to enthuse the local radicals for free silver. He also attempted to
interest Emma Goldman, but with no greater success than Mahatma Maria
Louise of Parkhurst-Lexow fame.
In 1894 the struggle of the Anarchists in France reached its highest
expression. The white terror on the part of the Republican upstarts was
answered by the red terror of our French comrades. With feverish anxiety
the Anarchists throughout the world followed this social struggle.
Propaganda by deed found its reverberating echo in almost all countries.
In order to better familiarize herself with conditions in the old world,
Emma Goldman left for Europe, in the year 1895. After a lecture tour in
England and Scotland, she went to Vienna where she entered the
Allgemeine Krankenhaus to prepare herself as midwife and nurse, and
where at the same time she studied social conditions. She also found
opportunity to acquaint herself with the newest literature of Europe:
Hauptmann, Nietzsche, Ibsen, Zola, Thomas Hardy, and other artist rebels
were read with great enthusiasm.
In the autumn of 1896 she returned to New York by way of Zurich and
Paris. The project of Alexander Berkman’s liberation was on hand. The
barbaric sentence of twenty-two years had roused tremendous indignation
among the radical elements. It was known that the Pardon Board of
Pennsylvania would look to Carnegie and Frick for advice in the case of
Alexander Berkman. It was therefore suggested that these Sultans of
Pennsylvania be approached — not with a view of obtaining their grace,
but with the request that they do not attempt to influence the Board.
Ernest Crosby offered to see Carnegie, on condition that Alexander
Berkman repudiate his act. That, however, was absolutely out of the
question. He would never be guilty of such forswearing of his own
personality and self-respect. These efforts led to friendly relations
between Emma Goldman and the circle of Ernest Crosby, Bolton Hall, and
Leonard Abbott. In the year 1897 she undertook her first great lecture
tour, which extended as far as California. This tour popularized her
name as the representative of the oppressed, her eloquence ringing from
coast to coast. In California Emma Goldman became friendly with the
members of the Isaak family, and learned to appreciate their efforts for
the Cause. Under tremendous obstacles the Isaaks first published the
Firebrand and, upon its suppression by the Postal Department, the Free
Society. It was also during this tour that Emma Goldman met that grand
old rebel of sexual freedom, Moses Harman.
During the Spanish-American war the spirit of chauvinism was at its
highest tide. To check this dangerous situation, and at the same time
collect funds for the revolutionary Cubans, Emma Goldman became
affiliated with the Latin comrades, among others with Gori, Esteve,
Palaviccini, Merlino, Petruccini, and Ferrara. In the year 1899 followed
another protracted tour of agitation, terminating on the Pacific Coast.
Repeated arrests and accusations, though without ultimate bad results,
marked every propaganda tour.
In November of the same year the untiring agitator went on a second
lecture tour to England and Scotland, closing her journey with the first
International Anarchist Congress at Paris. It was at the time of the
Boer war, and again jingoism was at its height, as two years previously
it had celebrated its orgies during the Spanish-American war. Various
meetings, both in England and Scotland, were disturbed and broken up by
patriotic mobs. Emma Goldman found on this occasion the opportunity of
again meeting various English comrades and interesting personalities
like Tom Mann and the sisters Rossetti, the gifted daughters of Dante
Gabriel Rossetti, then publishers of the Anarchist review, the Torch.
One of her life-long hopes found here its fulfillment: she came in close
and friendly touch with Peter Kropotkin, Errico Malatesta, Nicholas
Tchaikovsky, W. Tcherkessov, and Louise Michel. Old warriors in the
cause of humanity, whose deeds have enthused thousands of followers
throughout the world, and whose life and work have inspired other
thousands with noble idealism and self-sacrifice. Old warriors they, yet
ever young with the courage of earlier days, unbroken in spirit and
filled with the firm hope of the final triumph of Anarchy.
The chasm in the revolutionary labor movement, which resulted from the
disruption of the Internationale, could not be bridged any more. Two
social philosophies were engaged in bitter combat. The International
Congress in 1889, at Paris; in 1892, at Zurich, and in 1896, at London,
produced irreconcilable differences. The majority of Social Democrats,
forswearing their libertarian past and becoming politicians, succeeded
in excluding the revolutionary and Anarchist delegates. The latter
decided thenceforth to hold separate congresses. Their first congress
was to take place in 1900, at Paris. The Socialist renegade Millerand,
who had climbed into the Ministry of the Interior, here played a Judas
role. The congress of the revolutionists was suppressed, and the
delegates dispersed two days prior to the scheduled opening. But
Millerand had no objections against the Social Democratic Congress,
which was afterwards opened with all the trumpets of the advertiser’s
art.
However, the renegade did not accomplish his object. A number of
delegates succeeded in holding a secret conference in the house of a
comrade outside of Paris, where various points of theory and tactics
were discussed. Emma Goldman took considerable part in these
proceedings, and on that occasion came in contact with numerous
representatives of the Anarchist movement of Europe.
Owing to the suppression of the congress, the delegates were in danger
of being expelled from France. At this time also came the bad news from
America regarding another unsuccessful attempt to liberate Alexander
Berkman, proving a great shock to Emma Goldman. In November, 1900, she
returned to America to devote herself to her profession of nurse, at the
same time taking an active part in the American propaganda. Among other
activities she organized monster meetings of protest against the
terrible outrages of the Spanish government, perpetrated upon the
political prisoners tortured in Montjuich.
In her vocation as nurse Emma Goldman enjoyed many opportunities of
meeting the most unusual and peculiar characters. Few would have
identified the “notorious Anarchist” in the small blonde woman, simply
attired in the uniform of a nurse. Soon after her return from Europe she
became acquainted with a patient by the name of Mrs. Stander, a morphine
fiend, suffering excruciating agonies. She required careful attention to
enable her to supervise a very important business she conducted, — that
of Mrs. Warren. In Third Street, near Third Avenue, was situated her
private residence, and near it, connected by a separate entrance, was
her place of business. One evening, the nurse, upon entering the room of
her patient, suddenly came face to face with a male visitor, bull necked
and of brutal appearance. The man was no other than Mr. Jacobs, the
detective who seven years previously had brought Emma Goldman a prisoner
from Philadelphia and who had attempted to persuade her, on their way to
New York, to betray the cause of the workingmen. It would be difficult
to describe the expression of bewilderment on the countenance of the man
as he so unexpectedly faced Emma Goldman, the nurse of his mistress. The
brute was suddenly transformed into a gentleman, exerting himself to
excuse his shameful behavior on the previous occasion. Jacobs was the
“protector” of Mrs. Stander, and go-between for the house and the
police. Several years later, as one of the detective staff of District
Attorney Jerome, he committed perjury, was convicted, and sent to Sing
Sing for a year. He is now probably employed by some private detective
agency, a desirable pillar of respectable society.
In 1901 Peter Kropotkin was invited by the Lowell Institute of
Massachusetts to deliver a series of lectures on Russian literature. It
was his second American tour, and naturally the comrades were anxious to
use his presence for the benefit of the movement. Emma Goldman entered
into correspondence with Kropotkin and succeeded in securing his consent
to arrange for him a series of lectures. She also devoted her energies
to organizing the tours of other well known Anarchists, principally
those of Charles W. Mowbray and John Turner. Similarly she always took
part in all the activities of the movement, ever ready to give her time,
ability, and energy to the Cause.
On the sixth of September, 1901, President McKinley was shot by Leon
Czolgosz at Buffalo. Immediately an unprecedented campaign of
persecution was set in motion against Emma Goldman as the best known
Anarchist in the country. Although there was absolutely no foundation
for the accusation, she, together with other prominent Anarchists, was
arrested in Chicago, kept in confinement for several weeks, and
subjected to severest cross-examination. Never before in the history of
the country had such a terrible man-hunt taken place against a person in
public life. But the efforts of police and press to connect Emma Goldman
with Czolgosz proved futile. Yet the episode left her wounded to the
heart. The physical suffering, the humiliation and brutality at the
hands of the police she could bear. The depression of soul was far
worse. She was overwhelmed by the realization of the stupidity, lack of
understanding, and vileness which characterized the events of those
terrible days. The attitude of misunderstanding on the part of the
majority of her own comrades toward Czolgosz almost drove her to
desperation. Stirred to the very inmost of her soul, she published an
article on Czolgosz in which she tried to explain the deed in its social
and individual aspects. As once before, after Berkman’s act, she now
also was unable to find quarters; like a veritable wild animal she was
driven from place to place. This terrible persecution and, especially,
the attitude of her comrades made it impossible for her to continue
propaganda. The soreness of body and soul had first to heal. During
1901–1903 she did not resume the platform. As “Miss Smith” she lived a
quiet life, practicing her profession and devoting her leisure to the
study of literature and, particularly, to the modern drama, which she
considers one of the greatest disseminators of radical ideas and
enlightened feeling.
Yet one thing the persecution of Emma Goldman accomplished. Her name was
brought before the public with greater frequency and emphasis than ever
before, the malicious harassing of the much maligned agitator arousing
strong sympathy in many circles. Persons in various walks of life began
to get interested in her struggle and her ideas. A better understanding
and appreciation were now beginning to manifest themselves.
The arrival in America of the English Anarchist, John Turner, induced
Emma Goldman to leave her retirement. Again she threw herself into her
public activities, organizing an energetic movement for the defense of
Turner, whom the Immigration authorities condemned to deportation on
account of the Anarchist exclusion law, passed after the death of
McKinley.
When Paul Orleneff and Mme. Nazimova arrived in New York to acquaint the
American public with Russian dramatic art, Emma Goldman became the
manager of the undertaking. By much patience and perseverance she
succeeded in raising the necessary funds to introduce the Russian
artists to the theatergoers of New York and Chicago. Though financially
not a success, the venture proved of great artistic value. As manager of
the Russian theater Emma Goldman enjoyed some unique experiences. M.
Orleneff could converse only in Russian, and “Miss Smith” was forced to
act as his interpreter at various polite functions. Most of the
aristocratic ladies of Fifth Avenue had not the least inkling that the
amiable manager who so entertainingly discussed philosophy, drama, and
literature at their five o’clock teas, was the “notorious” Emma Goldman.
If the latter should some day write her autobiography, she will no doubt
have many interesting anecdotes to relate in connection with these
experiences.
The weekly Anarchist publication Free Society, issued by the Isaak
family, was forced to suspend in consequence of the nation-wide fury
that swept the country after the death of McKinley. To fill out the gap
Emma Goldman, in co-operation with Max Baginski and other comrades,
decided to publish a monthly magazine devoted to the furtherance of
Anarchist ideas in life and literature. The first issue of Mother Earth
appeared in the month of March, 1906, the initial expenses of the
periodical partly covered by the proceeds of a theater benefit given by
Orleneff, Mme. Nazimova, and their company, in favor of the Anarchist
magazine. Under tremendous difficulties and obstacles the tireless
propagandist has succeeded in continuing Mother Earth uninterruptedly
since 1906 — an achievement rarely equalled in the annals of radical
publications.
In May, 1906, Alexander Berkman at last left the hell of Pennsylvania,
where he had passed the best fourteen years of his life. No one had
believed in the possibility of his survival. His liberation terminated a
nightmare of fourteen years for Emma Goldman, and an important chapter
of her career was thus concluded.
Nowhere had the birth of the Russian revolution aroused such vital and
active response as among the Russians living in America. The heroes of
the revolutionary movement in Russia, Tchaikovsky, Mme. Breshkovskaia,
Gershuni, and others visited these shores to waken the sympathies of the
American people toward the struggle for liberty, and to collect aid for
its continuance and support. The success of these efforts was to a
considerable extent due to the exertions, eloquence, and the talent for
organization on the part of Emma Goldman. This opportunity enabled her
to give valuable services to the struggle for liberty in her native
land. It is not generally known that it is the Anarchists who are mainly
instrumental in insuring the success, moral as well as financial, of
most of the radical undertakings. The Anarchist is indifferent to
acknowledged appreciation; the needs of the Cause absorb his whole
interest, and to these he devotes his energy and abilities. Yet it may
be mentioned that some otherwise decent folks, though at all times
anxious for Anarchist support and co-operation, are ever willing to
monopolize all the credit for the work done. During the last several
decades it was chiefly the Anarchists who had organized all the great
revolutionary efforts, and aided in every struggle for liberty. But for
fear of shocking the respectable mob, who looks upon the Anarchists as
the apostles of Satan, and because of their social position in bourgeois
society, the would-be radicals ignore the activity of the Anarchists.
In 1907 Emma Goldman participated as delegate to the second Anarchist
Congress, at Amsterdam. She was intensely active in all its proceedings
and supported the organization of the Anarchist Internationale. Together
with the other American delegate, Max Baginski, she submitted to the
congress an exhaustive report of American conditions, closing with the
following characteristic remarks:
“The charge that Anarchism is destructive, rather than constructive, and
that, therefore, Anarchism is opposed to organization, is one of the
many falsehoods spread by our opponents. They confound our present
social institutions with organization; hence they fail to understand how
we can oppose the former, and yet favor the latter. The fact, however,
is that the two are not identical.
The State is commonly regarded as the highest form of organization. But
is it in reality a true organization? Is it not rather an arbitrary
institution, cunningly imposed upon the masses?
Industry, too, is called an organization; yet nothing is farther from
the truth. Industry is the ceaseless piracy of the rich against the
poor.
We are asked to believe that the Army is an organization, but a close
investigation will show that it is nothing else than a cruel instrument
of blind force.
The Public School! The colleges and other institutions of learning, are
they not models of organization, offering the people fine opportunities
for instruction? Far from it. The school, more than any other
institution, is a veritable barrack, where the human mind is drilled and
manipulated into submission to various social and moral spooks, and thus
fitted to continue our system of exploitation and oppression.
Organization, as we understand it, however, is a different thing. It is
based, primarily, on freedom. It is a natural and voluntary grouping of
energies to secure results beneficial to humanity.
It is the harmony of organic growth which produces variety of color and
form, the complete whole we admire in the flower. Analogously will the
organized activity of free human beings, imbued with the spirit of
solidarity, result in the perfection of social harmony, which we call
Anarchism. In fact, Anarchism alone makes non-authoritarian organization
of common interests possible, since it abolishes the existing antagonism
between individuals and classes.
Under present conditions the antagonism of economic and social interests
results in relentless war among the social units, and creates an
insurmountable obstacle in the way of a co-operative common wealth.
There is a mistaken notion that organization does not foster individual
freedom; that, on the contrary, it means the decay of individuality. In
reality, however, the true function of organization is to aid the
development and growth of personality.
Just as the animal cells, by mutual co-operation, express their latent
powers in formation of the complete organism, so does the individual, by
co-operative effort with other individuals, attain his highest form of
development.
An organization, in the true sense, cannot result from the combination
of mere nonentities. It must be composed of self-conscious, intelligent
individualities. Indeed, the total of the possibilities and activities
of an organization is represented in the expression of individual
energies.
It therefore logically follows that the greater the number of strong,
self-conscious personalities in an organization, the less danger of
stagnation, and the more intense its life element.
Anarchism asserts the possibility of an organization without discipline,
fear, or punishment, and without the pressure of poverty: a new social
organism which will make an end to the terrible struggle for the means
of existence, — the savage struggle which undermines the finest
qualities in man, and ever widens the social abyss. In short, Anarchism
strives towards a social organization which will establish well-being
for all.
The germ of such an organization can be found in that form of
trades-unionism which has done away with centralization, bureaucracy,
and discipline, and which favors independent and direct action on the
part of its members.”
The very considerable progress of Anarchist ideas in America can best be
gauged by the remarkable success of the three extensive lecture tours of
Emma Goldman since the Amsterdam Congress of 1907. Each tour extended
over new territory, including localities where Anarchism had never
before received a hearing. But the most gratifying aspect of her
untiring efforts is the tremendous sale of Anarchist literature, whose
propagandistic effect cannot be estimated. It was during one of these
tours that a remarkable incident happened, strikingly demonstrating the
inspiring potentialities of the Anarchist idea. In San Francisco, in
1908, Emma Goldman’s lecture attracted a soldier of the United States
Army, William Buwalda. For daring to attend an Anarchist meeting, the
free Republic court-martialed Buwalda and imprisoned him for one year.
Thanks to the regenerating power of the new philosophy, the government
lost a soldier, but the cause of liberty gained a man.
A propagandist of Emma Goldman’s importance is necessarily a sharp thorn
to the reaction. She is looked upon as a danger to the continued
existence of authoritarian usurpation. No wonder, then, that the enemy
resorts to any and all means to make her impossible. A systematic
attempt to suppress her activities was organized a year ago by the
united police force of the country. But like all previous similar
attempts, it failed in a most brilliant manner. Energetic protests on
the part of the intellectual element of America succeeded in
overthrowing the dastardly conspiracy against free speech. Another
attempt to make Emma Goldman impossible was essayed by the Federal
authorities at Washington. In order to deprive her of the rights of
citizenship, the government revoked the citizenship papers of her
husband, whom she had married at the youthful age of eighteen, and whose
whereabouts, if he be alive, could not be determined for the last two
decades. The great government of the glorious United States did not
hesitate to stoop to the most despicable methods to accomplish that
achievement. But as her citizenship had never proved of use to Emma
Goldman, she can bear the loss with a light heart.
There are personalities who possess such a powerful individuality that
by its very force they exert the most potent influence over the best
representatives of their time. Michael Bakunin was such a personality.
But for him, Richard Wagner had never written Die Kunst und die
Revolution. Emma Goldman is a similar personality. She is a strong
factor in the socio-political life of America. By virtue of her
eloquence, energy, and brilliant mentality, she moulds the minds and
hearts of thousands of her auditors.
Deep sympathy and compassion for suffering humanity, and an inexorable
honesty toward herself, are the leading traits of Emma Goldman. No
person, whether friend or foe, shall presume to control her goal or
dictate her mode of life. She would perish rather than sacrifice her
convictions, or the right of self-ownership of soul and body.
Respectability could easily forgive the teaching of theoretic Anarchism;
but Emma Goldman does not merely preach the new philosophy; she also
persists in living it, — and that is the one supreme, unforgivable
crime. Were she, like so many radicals, to consider her ideal as merely
an intellectual ornament; were she to make concessions to existing
society and compromise with old prejudices, — then even the most radical
views could be pardoned in her. But that she takes her radicalism
seriously; that it has permeated her blood and marrow to the extent
where she not merely teaches but also practices her convictions — this
shocks even the radical Mrs. Grundy. Emma Goldman lives her own life;
she associates with publicans — hence the indignation of the Pharisees
and Sadducees.
It is no mere coincidence that such divergent writers as Pietro Gori and
William Marion Reedy find similar traits in their characterization of
Emma Goldman. In a contribution to La Questione Sociale, Pietro Gori
calls her a “moral power, a woman who, with the vision of a sibyl,
prophesies the coming of a new kingdom for the oppressed; a woman who,
with logic and deep earnestness, analyses the ills of society, and
portrays, with artist touch, the coming dawn of humanity, founded on
equality, brotherhood, and liberty.”
William Reedy sees in Emma Goldman the “daughter of the dream, her
gospel a vision which is the vision of every truly great-souled man and
woman who has ever lived.”
Cowards who fear the consequences of their deeds have coined the word of
philosophic Anarchism. Emma Goldman is too sincere, too defiant, to seek
safety behind such paltry pleas. She is an Anarchist, pure and simple.
She represents the idea of Anarchism as framed by Josiah Warren,
Proudhon, Bakunin, Kropotkin, Tolstoy. Yet she also understands the
psychologic causes which induce a Caserio, a Vaillant, a Bresci, a
Berkman, or a Czolgosz to commit deeds of violence. To the soldier in
the social struggle it is a point of honor to come in conflict with the
powers of darkness and tyranny, and Emma Goldman is proud to count among
her best friends and comrades men and women who bear the wounds and
scars received in battle.
In the words of Voltairine de Cleyre, characterizing Emma Goldman after
the latter’s imprisonment in 1893: The spirit that animates Emma Goldman
is the only one which will emancipate the slave from his slavery, the
tyrant from his tyranny — the spirit which is willing to dare and
suffer.
Hippolyte Havel.
New York, December, 1910.
Some twenty-one years ago I heard the first great Anarchist speaker —
the inimitable John Most. It seemed to me then, and for many years
after, that the spoken word hurled forth among the masses with such
wonderful eloquence, such enthusiasm and fire, could never be erased
from the human mind and soul. How could any one of all the multitudes
who flocked to Most’s meetings escape his prophetic voice! Surely they
had but to hear him to throw off their old beliefs, and see the truth
and beauty of Anarchism!
My one great longing then was to be able to speak with the tongue of
John Most, — that I, too, might thus reach the masses. Oh, for the
naivety of Youth’s enthusiasm! It is the time when the hardest thing
seems but child’s play. It is the only period in life worth while. Alas!
This period is but of short duration. Like Spring, the Sturm und Drang
period of the propagandist brings forth growth, frail and delicate, to
be matured or killed according to its powers of resistance against a
thousand vicissitudes.
My great faith in the wonder worker, the spoken word, is no more. I have
realized its inadequacy to awaken thought, or even emotion. Gradually,
and with no small struggle against this realization, I came to see that
oral propaganda is at best but a means of shaking people from their
lethargy: it leaves no lasting impression. The very fact that most
people attend meetings only if aroused by newspaper sensations, or
because they expect to be amused, is proof that they really have no
inner urge to learn.
It is altogether different with the written mode of human expression. No
one, unless intensely interested in progressive ideas, will bother with
serious books. That leads me to another discovery made after many years
of public activity. It is this: All claims of education notwithstanding,
the pupil will accept only that which his mind craves. Already this
truth is recognized by most modern educators in relation to the immature
mind. I think it is equally true regarding the adult. Anarchists or
revolutionists can no more be made than musicians. All that can be done
is to plant the seeds of thought. Whether something vital will develop
depends largely on the fertility of the human soil, though the quality
of the intellectual seed must not be overlooked.
In meetings the audience is distracted by a thousand non-essentials. The
speaker, though ever so eloquent, cannot escape the restlessness of the
crowd, with the inevitable result that he will fail to strike root. In
all probability he will not even do justice to himself.
The relation between the writer and the reader is more intimate. True,
books are only what we want them to be; rather, what we read into them.
That we can do so demonstrates the importance of written as against oral
expression. It is this certainty which has induced me to gather in one
volume my ideas on various topics of individual and social importance.
They represent the mental and soul struggles of twenty-one years, — the
conclusions derived after many changes and inner revisions.
I am not sanguine enough to hope that my readers will be as numerous as
those who have heard me. But I prefer to reach the few who really want
to learn, rather than the many who come to be amused.
As to the book, it must speak for itself. Explanatory remarks do but
detract from the ideas set forth. However, I wish to forestall two
objections which will undoubtedly be raised. One is in reference to the
essay on Anarchism; the other, on Minorities versus Majorities.
“Why do you not say how things will be operated under Anarchism?” is a
question I have had to meet thousands of times. Because I believe that
Anarchism can not consistently impose an iron-clad program or method on
the future. The things every new generation has to fight, and which it
can least overcome, are the burdens of the past, which holds us all as
in a net. Anarchism, at least as I understand it, leaves posterity free
to develop its own particular systems, in harmony with its needs. Our
most vivid imagination can not foresee the potentialities of a race set
free from external restraints. How, then, can any one assume to map out
a line of conduct for those to come? We, who pay dearly for every breath
of pure, fresh air, must guard against the tendency to fetter the
future. If we succeed in clearing the soil from the rubbish of the past
and present, we will leave to posterity the greatest and safest heritage
of all ages.
The most disheartening tendency common among readers is to tear out one
sentence from a work, as a criterion of the writer’s ideas or
personality. Friedrich Nietzsche, for instance, is decried as a hater of
the weak because he believed in the Uebermensch. It does not occur to
the shallow interpreters of that giant mind that this vision of the
Uebermensch also called for a state of society which will not give birth
to a race of weaklings and slaves.
It is the same narrow attitude which sees in Max Stirner naught but the
apostle of the theory “each for himself, the devil take the hind one.”
That Stirner’s individualism contains the greatest social possibilities
is utterly ignored. Yet, it is nevertheless true that if society is ever
to become free, it will be so through liberated individuals, whose free
efforts make society.
These examples bring me to the objection that will be raised to
Minorities versus Majorities. No doubt, I shall be excommunicated as an
enemy of the people, because I repudiate the mass as a creative factor.
I shall prefer that rather than be guilty of the demagogic platitudes so
commonly in vogue as a bait for the people. I realize the malady of the
oppressed and disinherited masses only too well, but I refuse to
prescribe the usual ridiculous palliatives which allow the patient
neither to die nor to recover. One cannot be too extreme in dealing with
social ills; besides, the extreme thing is generally the true thing. My
lack of faith in the majority is dictated by my faith in the
potentialities of the individual. Only when the latter becomes free to
choose his associates for a common purpose, can we hope for order and
harmony out of this world of chaos and inequality.
For the rest, my book must speak for itself.
Emma Goldman
The history of human growth and development is at the same time the
history of the terrible struggle of every new idea heralding the
approach of a brighter dawn. In its tenacious hold on tradition, the Old
has never hesitated to make use of the foulest and cruelest means to
stay the advent of the New, in whatever form or period the latter may
have asserted itself. Nor need we retrace our steps into the distant
past to realize the enormity of opposition, difficulties, and hardships
placed in the path of every progressive idea. The rack, the thumbscrew,
and the knout are still with us; so are the convict’s garb and the
social wrath, all conspiring against the spirit that is serenely
marching on.
Anarchism could not hope to escape the fate of all other ideas of
innovation. Indeed, as the most revolutionary and uncompromising
innovator, Anarchism must needs meet with the combined ignorance and
venom of the world it aims to reconstruct.
To deal even remotely with all that is being said and done against
Anarchism would necessitate the writing of a whole volume. I shall
therefore meet only two of the principal objections. In so doing, I
shall attempt to elucidate what Anarchism really stands for.
The strange phenomenon of the opposition to Anarchism is that it brings
to light the relation between so-called intelligence and ignorance. And
yet this is not so very strange when we consider the relativity of all
things. The ignorant mass has in its favor that it makes no pretense of
knowledge or tolerance. Acting, as it always does, by mere impulse, its
reasons are like those of a child. “Why?” “Because.” Yet the opposition
of the uneducated to Anarchism deserves the same consideration as that
of the intelligent man.
What, then, are the objections? First, Anarchism is impractical, though
a beautiful ideal. Second, Anarchism stands for violence and
destruction, hence it must be repudiated as vile and dangerous. Both the
intelligent man and the ignorant mass judge not from a thorough
knowledge of the subject, but either from hearsay or false
interpretation.
A practical scheme, says Oscar Wilde, is either one already in
existence, or a scheme that could be carried out under the existing
conditions; but it is exactly the existing conditions that one objects
to, and any scheme that could accept these conditions is wrong and
foolish. The true criterion of the practical, therefore, is not whether
the latter can keep intact the wrong or foolish; rather is it whether
the scheme has vitality enough to leave the stagnant waters of the old,
and build, as well as sustain, new life. In the light of this
conception, Anarchism is indeed practical. More than any other idea, it
is helping to do away with the wrong and foolish; more than any other
idea, it is building and sustaining new life.
The emotions of the ignorant man are continuously kept at a pitch by the
most blood-curdling stories about Anarchism. Not a thing too outrageous
to be employed against this philosophy and its exponents. Therefore
Anarchism represents to the unthinking what the proverbial bad man does
to the child, — a black monster bent on swallowing everything; in short,
destruction and violence.
Destruction and violence! How is the ordinary man to know that the most
violent element in society is ignorance; that its power of destruction
is the very thing Anarchism is combating? Nor is he aware that
Anarchism, whose roots, as it were, are part of nature’s forces,
destroys, not healthful tissue, but parasitic growths that feed on the
life’s essence of society. It is merely clearing the soil from weeds and
sagebrush, that it may eventually bear healthy fruit.
Someone has said that it requires less mental effort to condemn than to
think. The widespread mental indolence, so prevalent in society, proves
this to be only too true. Rather than to go to the bottom of any given
idea, to examine into its origin and meaning, most people will either
condemn it altogether, or rely on some superficial or prejudicial
definition of non-essentials.
Anarchism urges man to think, to investigate, to analyze every
proposition; but that the brain capacity of the average reader be not
taxed too much, I also shall begin with a definition, and then elaborate
on the latter.
ANARCHISM: The philosophy of a new social order based on liberty
unrestricted by man-made law; the theory that all forms of government
rest on violence, and are therefore wrong and harmful, as well as
unnecessary.
The new social order rests, of course, on the materialistic basis of
life; but while all Anarchists agree that the main evil today is an
economic one, they maintain that the solution of that evil can be
brought about only through the consideration of every phase of life, —
individual, as well as the collective; the internal, as well as the
external phases.
A thorough perusal of the history of human development will disclose two
elements in bitter conflict with each other; elements that are only now
beginning to be understood, not as foreign to each other, but as closely
related and truly harmonious, if only placed in proper environment: the
individual and social instincts. The individual and society have waged a
relentless and bloody battle for ages, each striving for supremacy,
because each was blind to the value and importance of the other. The
individual and social instincts, — the one a most potent factor for
individual endeavor, for growth, aspiration, self-realization; the other
an equally potent factor for mutual helpfulness and social well-being.
The explanation of the storm raging within the individual, and between
him and his surroundings, is not far to seek. The primitive man, unable
to understand his being, much less the unity of all life, felt himself
absolutely dependent on blind, hidden forces ever ready to mock and
taunt him. Out of that attitude grew the religious concepts of man as a
mere speck of dust dependent on superior powers on high, who can only be
appeased by complete surrender. All the early sagas rest on that idea,
which continues to be the Leitmotiv of the biblical tales dealing with
the relation of man to God, to the State, to society. Again and again
the same motif, man is nothing, the powers are everything. Thus Jehovah
would only endure man on condition of complete surrender. Man can have
all the glories of the earth, but he must not become conscious of
himself. The State, society, and moral laws all sing the same refrain:
Man can have all the glories of the earth, but he must not become
conscious of himself.
Anarchism is the only philosophy which brings to man the consciousness
of himself; which maintains that God, the State, and society are
non-existent, that their promises are null and void, since they can be
fulfilled only through man’s subordination. Anarchism is therefore the
teacher of the unity of life; not merely in nature, but in man. There is
no conflict between the individual and the social instincts, any more
than there is between the heart and the lungs: the one the receptacle of
a precious life essence, the other the repository of the element that
keeps the essence pure and strong. The individual is the heart of
society, conserving the essence of social life; society is the lungs
which are distributing the element to keep the life essence — that is,
the individual — pure and strong.
“The one thing of value in the world,” says Emerson, “is the active
soul; this every man contains within him. The soul active sees absolute
truth and utters truth and creates.” In other words, the individual
instinct is the thing of value in the world. It is the true soul that
sees and creates the truth alive, out of which is to come a still
greater truth, the re-born social soul.
Anarchism is the great liberator of man from the phantoms that have held
him captive; it is the arbiter and pacifier of the two forces for
individual and social harmony. To accomplish that unity, Anarchism has
declared war on the pernicious influences which have so far prevented
the harmonious blending of individual and social instincts, the
individual and society.
Religion, the dominion of the human mind; Property, the dominion of
human needs; and Government, the dominion of human conduct, represent
the stronghold of man’s enslavement and all the horrors it entails.
Religion! How it dominates man’s mind, how it humiliates and degrades
his soul. God is everything, man is nothing, says religion. But out of
that nothing God has created a kingdom so despotic, so tyrannical, so
cruel, so terribly exacting that naught but gloom and tears and blood
have ruled the world since gods began. Anarchism rouses man to rebellion
against this black monster. Break your mental fetters, says Anarchism to
man, for not until you think and judge for yourself will you get rid of
the dominion of darkness, the greatest obstacle to all progress.
Property, the dominion of man’s needs, the denial of the right to
satisfy his needs. Time was when property claimed a divine right, when
it came to man with the same refrain, even as religion, “Sacrifice!
Abnegate! Submit!” The spirit of Anarchism has lifted man from his
prostrate position. He now stands erect, with his face toward the light.
He has learned to see the insatiable, devouring, devastating nature of
property, and he is preparing to strike the monster dead.
“Property is robbery,” said the great French Anarchist Proudhon. Yes,
but without risk and danger to the robber. Monopolizing the accumulated
efforts of man, property has robbed him of his birthright, and has
turned him loose a pauper and an outcast. Property has not even the
time-worn excuse that man does not create enough to satisfy all needs.
The A B C student of economics knows that the productivity of labor
within the last few decades far exceeds normal demand. But what are
normal demands to an abnormal institution? The only demand that property
recognizes is its own gluttonous appetite for greater wealth, because
wealth means power; the power to subdue, to crush, to exploit, the power
to enslave, to outrage, to degrade. America is particularly boastful of
her great power, her enormous national wealth. Poor America, of what
avail is all her wealth, if the individuals comprising the nation are
wretchedly poor? If they live in squalor, in filth, in crime, with hope
and joy gone, a homeless, soilless army of human prey.
It is generally conceded that unless the returns of any business venture
exceed the cost, bankruptcy is inevitable. But those engaged in the
business of producing wealth have not yet learned even this simple
lesson. Every year the cost of production in human life is growing
larger (50,000 killed, 100,000 wounded in America last year); the
returns to the masses, who help to create wealth, are ever getting
smaller. Yet America continues to be blind to the inevitable bankruptcy
of our business of production. Nor is this the only crime of the latter.
Still more fatal is the crime of turning the producer into a mere
particle of a machine, with less will and decision than his master of
steel and iron. Man is being robbed not merely of the products of his
labor, but of the power of free initiative, of originality, and the
interest in, or desire for, the things he is making.
Real wealth consists in things of utility and beauty, in things that
help to create strong, beautiful bodies and surroundings inspiring to
live in. But if man is doomed to wind cotton around a spool, or dig
coal, or build roads for thirty years of his life, there can be no talk
of wealth. What he gives to the world is only gray and hideous things,
reflecting a dull and hideous existence, — too weak to live, too
cowardly to die. Strange to say, there are people who extol this
deadening method of centralized production as the proudest achievement
of our age. They fail utterly to realize that if we are to continue in
machine subserviency, our slavery is more complete than was our bondage
to the King. They do not want to know that centralization is not only
the death-knell of liberty, but also of health and beauty, of art and
science, all these being impossible in a clock-like, mechanical
atmosphere.
Anarchism cannot but repudiate such a method of production: its goal is
the freest possible expression of all the latent powers of the
individual. Oscar Wilde defines a perfect personality as “one who
develops under perfect conditions, who is not wounded, maimed, or in
danger.” A perfect personality, then, is only possible in a state of
society where man is free to choose the mode of work, the conditions of
work, and the freedom to work. One to whom the making of a table, the
building of a house, or the tilling of the soil, is what the painting is
to the artist and the discovery to the scientist, — the result of
inspiration, of intense longing, and deep interest in work as a creative
force. That being the ideal of Anarchism, its economic arrangements must
consist of voluntary productive and distributive associations, gradually
developing into free communism, as the best means of producing with the
least waste of human energy. Anarchism, however, also recognizes the
right of the individual, or numbers of individuals, to arrange at all
times for other forms of work, in harmony with their tastes and desires.
Such free display of human energy being possible only under complete
individual and social freedom, Anarchism directs its forces against the
third and greatest foe of all social equality; namely, the State,
organized authority, or statutory law, — the dominion of human conduct.
Just as religion has fettered the human mind, and as property, or the
monopoly of things, has subdued and stifled man’s needs, so has the
State enslaved his spirit, dictating every phase of conduct. “All
government in essence,” says Emerson, “is tyranny.” It matters not
whether it is government by divine right or majority rule. In every
instance its aim is the absolute subordination of the individual.
Referring to the American government, the greatest American Anarchist,
David Thoreau, said: “Government, what is it but a tradition, though a
recent one, endeavoring to transmit itself unimpaired to posterity, but
each instance losing its integrity; it has not the vitality and force of
a single living man. Law never made man a whit more just; and by means
of their respect for it, even the well disposed are daily made agents of
injustice.”
Indeed, the keynote of government is injustice. With the arrogance and
self-sufficiency of the King who could do no wrong, governments ordain,
judge, condemn, and punish the most insignificant offenses, while
maintaining themselves by the greatest of all offenses, the annihilation
of individual liberty. Thus Ouida is right when she maintains that “the
State only aims at instilling those qualities in its public by which its
demands are obeyed, and its exchequer is filled. Its highest attainment
is the reduction of mankind to clockwork. In its atmosphere all those
finer and more delicate liberties, which require treatment and spacious
expansion, inevitably dry up and perish. The State requires a taxpaying
machine in which there is no hitch, an exchequer in which there is never
a deficit, and a public, monotonous, obedient, colorless, spiritless,
moving humbly like a flock of sheep along a straight high road between
two walls.”
Yet even a flock of sheep would resist the chicanery of the State, if it
were not for the corruptive, tyrannical, and oppressive methods it
employs to serve its purposes. Therefore Bakunin repudiates the State as
synonymous with the surrender of the liberty of the individual or small
minorities, — the destruction of social relationship, the curtailment,
or complete denial even, of life itself, for its own aggrandizement. The
State is the altar of political freedom and, like the religious altar,
it is maintained for the purpose of human sacrifice.
In fact, there is hardly a modern thinker who does not agree that
government, organized authority, or the State, is necessary only to
maintain or protect property and monopoly. It has proven efficient in
that function only.
Even George Bernard Shaw, who hopes for the miraculous from the State
under Fabianism, nevertheless admits that “it is at present a huge
machine for robbing and slave-driving of the poor by brute force.” This
being the case, it is hard to see why the clever prefacer wishes to
uphold the State after poverty shall have ceased to exist.
Unfortunately, there are still a number of people who continue in the
fatal belief that government rests on natural laws, that it maintains
social order and harmony, that it diminishes crime, and that it prevents
the lazy man from fleecing his fellows. I shall therefore examine these
contentions.
A natural law is that factor in man which asserts itself freely and
spontaneously without any external force, in harmony with the
requirements of nature. For instance, the demand for nutrition, for sex
gratification, for light, air, and exercise, is a natural law. But its
expression needs not the machinery of government, needs not the club,
the gun, the handcuff, or the prison. To obey such laws, if we may call
it obedience, requires only spontaneity and free opportunity. That
governments do not maintain themselves through such harmonious factors
is proven by the terrible array of violence, force, and coercion all
governments use in order to live. Thus Blackstone is right when he says,
“Human laws are invalid, because they are contrary to the laws of
nature.”
Unless it be the order of Warsaw after the slaughter of thousands of
people, it is difficult to ascribe to governments any capacity for order
or social harmony. Order derived through submission and maintained by
terror is not much of a safe guaranty; yet that is the only “order” that
governments have ever maintained. True social harmony grows naturally
out of solidarity of interests. In a society where those who always work
never have anything, while those who never work enjoy everything,
solidarity of interests is non-existent; hence social harmony is but a
myth. The only way organized authority meets this grave situation is by
extending still greater privileges to those who have already monopolized
the earth, and by still further enslaving the disinherited masses. Thus
the entire arsenal of government — laws, police, soldiers, the courts,
legislatures, prisons, — is strenuously engaged in “harmonizing” the
most antagonistic elements in society.
The most absurd apology for authority and law is that they serve to
diminish crime. Aside from the fact that the State is itself the
greatest criminal, breaking every written and natural law, stealing in
the form of taxes, killing in the form of war and capital punishment, it
has come to an absolute standstill in coping with crime. It has failed
utterly to destroy or even minimize the horrible scourge of its own
creation.
Crime is naught but misdirected energy. So long as every institution of
today, economic, political, social, and moral, conspires to misdirect
human energy into wrong channels; so long as most people are out of
place doing the things they hate to do, living a life they loathe to
live, crime will be inevitable, and all the laws on the statutes can
only increase, but never do away with, crime. What does society, as it
exists today, know of the process of despair, the poverty, the horrors,
the fearful struggle the human soul must pass on its way to crime and
degradation. Who that knows this terrible process can fail to see the
truth in these words of Peter Kropotkin:
“Those who will hold the balance between the benefits thus attributed to
law and punishment and the degrading effect of the latter on humanity;
those who will estimate the torrent of depravity poured abroad in human
society by the informer, favored by the Judge even, and paid for in
clinking cash by governments, under the pretext of aiding to unmask
crime; those who will go within prison walls and there see what human
beings become when deprived of liberty, when subjected to the care of
brutal keepers, to coarse, cruel words, to a thousand stinging, piercing
humiliations, will agree with us that the entire apparatus of prison and
punishment is an abomination which ought to be brought to an end.”
The deterrent influence of law on the lazy man is too absurd to merit
consideration. If society were only relieved of the waste and expense of
keeping a lazy class, and the equally great expense of the paraphernalia
of protection this lazy class requires, the social tables would contain
an abundance for all, including even the occasional lazy individual.
Besides, it is well to consider that laziness results either from
special privileges, or physical and mental abnormalities. Our present
insane system of production fosters both, and the most astounding
phenomenon is that people should want to work at all now. Anarchism aims
to strip labor of its deadening, dulling aspect, of its gloom and
compulsion. It aims to make work an instrument of joy, of strength, of
color, of real harmony, so that the poorest sort of a man should find in
work both recreation and hope.
To achieve such an arrangement of life, government, with its unjust,
arbitrary, repressive measures, must be done away with. At best it has
but imposed one single mode of life upon all, without regard to
individual and social variations and needs. In destroying government and
statutory laws, Anarchism proposes to rescue the self-respect and
independence of the individual from all restraint and invasion by
authority. Only in freedom can man grow to his full stature. Only in
freedom will he learn to think and move, and give the very best in him.
Only in freedom will he realize the true force of the social bonds which
knit men together, and which are the true foundation of a normal social
life.
But what about human nature? Can it be changed? And if not, will it
endure under Anarchism?
Poor human nature, what horrible crimes have been committed in thy name!
Every fool, from king to policeman, from the flatheaded parson to the
visionless dabbler in science, presumes to speak authoritatively of
human nature. The greater the mental charlatan, the more definite his
insistence on the wickedness and weaknesses of human nature. Yet, how
can any one speak of it today, with every soul in a prison, with every
heart fettered, wounded, and maimed?
John Burroughs has stated that experimental study of animals in
captivity is absolutely useless. Their character, their habits, their
appetites undergo a complete transformation when torn from their soil in
field and forest. With human nature caged in a narrow space, whipped
daily into submission, how can we speak of its potentialities?
Freedom, expansion, opportunity, and, above all, peace and repose, alone
can teach us the real dominant factors of human nature and all its
wonderful possibilities.
Anarchism, then, really stands for the liberation of the human mind from
the dominion of religion; the liberation of the human body from the
dominion of property; liberation from the shackles and restraint of
government. Anarchism stands for a social order based on the free
grouping of individuals for the purpose of producing real social wealth;
an order that will guarantee to every human being free access to the
earth and full enjoyment of the necessities of life, according to
individual desires, tastes, and inclinations.
This is not a wild fancy or an aberration of the mind. It is the
conclusion arrived at by hosts of intellectual men and women the world
over; a conclusion resulting from the close and studious observation of
the tendencies of modern society: individual liberty and economic
equality, the twin forces for the birth of what is fine and true in man.
As to methods. Anarchism is not, as some may suppose, a theory of the
future to be realized through divine inspiration. It is a living force
in the affairs of our life, constantly creating new conditions. The
methods of Anarchism therefore do not comprise an iron-clad program to
be carried out under all circumstances. Methods must grow out of the
economic needs of each place and clime, and of the intellectual and
temperamental requirements of the individual. The serene, calm character
of a Tolstoy will wish different methods for social reconstruction than
the intense, overflowing personality of a Michael Bakunin or a Peter
Kropotkin. Equally so it must be apparent that the economic and
political needs of Russia will dictate more drastic measures than would
England or America. Anarchism does not stand for military drill and
uniformity; it does, however, stand for the spirit of revolt, in
whatever form, against everything that hinders human growth. All
Anarchists agree in that, as they also agree in their opposition to the
political machinery as a means of bringing about the great social
change.
“All voting,” says Thoreau, “is a sort of gaming, like checkers, or
backgammon, a playing with right and wrong; its obligation never exceeds
that of expediency. Even voting for the right thing is doing nothing for
it. A wise man will not leave the right to the mercy of chance, nor wish
it to prevail through the power of the majority.” A close examination of
the machinery of politics and its achievements will bear out the logic
of Thoreau.
What does the history of parliamentarism show? Nothing but failure and
defeat, not even a single reform to ameliorate the economic and social
stress of the people. Laws have been passed and enactments made for the
improvement and protection of labor. Thus it was proven only last year
that Illinois, with the most rigid laws for mine protection, had the
greatest mine disasters. In States where child labor laws prevail, child
exploitation is at its highest, and though with us the workers enjoy
full political opportunities, capitalism has reached the most brazen
zenith.
Even were the workers able to have their own representatives, for which
our good Socialist politicians are clamoring, what chances are there for
their honesty and good faith? One has but to bear in mind the process of
politics to realize that its path of good intentions is full of
pitfalls: wire-pulling, intriguing, flattering, lying, cheating; in
fact, chicanery of every description, whereby the political aspirant can
achieve success. Added to that is a complete demoralization of character
and conviction, until nothing is left that would make one hope for
anything from such a human derelict. Time and time again the people were
foolish enough to trust, believe, and support with their last farthing
aspiring politicians, only to find themselves betrayed and cheated.
It may be claimed that men of integrity would not become corrupt in the
political grinding mill. Perhaps not; but such men would be absolutely
helpless to exert the slightest influence in behalf of labor, as indeed
has been shown in numerous instances. The State is the economic master
of its servants. Good men, if such there be, would either remain true to
their political faith and lose their economic support, or they would
cling to their economic master and be utterly unable to do the slightest
good. The political arena leaves one no alternative, one must either be
a dunce or a rogue.
The political superstition is still holding sway over the hearts and
minds of the masses, but the true lovers of liberty will have no more to
do with it. Instead, they believe with Stirner that man has as much
liberty as he is willing to take. Anarchism therefore stands for direct
action, the open defiance of, and resistance to, all laws and
restrictions, economic, social, and moral. But defiance and resistance
are illegal. Therein lies the salvation of man. Everything illegal
necessitates integrity, self-reliance, and courage. In short, it calls
for free, independent spirits, for “men who are men, and who have a bone
in their backs which you cannot pass your hand through.”
Universal suffrage itself owes its existence to direct action. If not
for the spirit of rebellion, of the defiance on the part of the American
revolutionary fathers, their posterity would still wear the King’s coat.
If not for the direct action of a John Brown and his comrades, America
would still trade in the flesh of the black man. True, the trade in
white flesh is still going on; but that, too, will have to be abolished
by direct action. Trade-unionism, the economic arena of the modern
gladiator, owes its existence to direct action. It is but recently that
law and government have attempted to crush the trade-union movement, and
condemned the exponents of man’s right to organize to prison as
conspirators. Had they sought to assert their cause through begging,
pleading, and compromise, trade-unionism would today be a negligible
quantity. In France, in Spain, in Italy, in Russia, nay even in England
(witness the growing rebellion of English labor unions), direct,
revolutionary, economic action has become so strong a force in the
battle for industrial liberty as to make the world realize the
tremendous importance of labor’s power. The General Strike, the supreme
expression of the economic consciousness of the workers, was ridiculed
in America but a short time ago. Today every great strike, in order to
win, must realize the importance of the solidaric general protest.
Direct action, having proven effective along economic lines, is equally
potent in the environment of the individual. There a hundred forces
encroach upon his being, and only persistent resistance to them will
finally set him free. Direct action against the authority in the shop,
direct action against the authority of the law, direct action against
the invasive, meddlesome authority of our moral code, is the logical,
consistent method of Anarchism.
Will it not lead to a revolution? Indeed, it will. No real social change
has ever come about without a revolution. People are either not familiar
with their history, or they have not yet learned that revolution is but
thought carried into action.
Anarchism, the great leaven of thought, is today permeating every phase
of human endeavor. Science, art, literature, the drama, the effort for
economic betterment, in fact every individual and social opposition to
the existing disorder of things, is illumined by the spiritual light of
Anarchism. It is the philosophy of the sovereignty of the individual. It
is the theory of social harmony. It is the great, surging, living truth
that is reconstructing the world, and that will usher in the Dawn.
If I were to give a summary of the tendency of our times, I would say,
Quantity. The multitude, the mass spirit, dominates everywhere,
destroying quality. Our entire life — production, politics, and
education — rests on quantity, on numbers. The worker who once took
pride in the thoroughness and quality of his work, has been replaced by
brainless, incompetent automatons, who turn out enormous quantities of
things, valueless to themselves, and generally injurious to the rest of
mankind. Thus quantity, instead of adding to life’s comforts and peace,
has merely increased man’s burden.
In politics, naught but quantity counts. In proportion to its increase,
however, principles, ideals, justice, and uprightness are completely
swamped by the array of numbers. In the struggle for supremacy the
various political parties outdo each other in trickery, deceit, cunning,
and shady machinations, confident that the one who succeeds is sure to
be hailed by the majority as the victor. That is the only god, —
Success. As to what expense, what terrible cost to character, is of no
moment. We have not far to go in search of proof to verify this sad
fact.
Never before did the corruption, the complete rottenness of our
government stand so thoroughly exposed; never before were the American
people brought face to face with the Judas nature of that political
body, which has claimed for years to be absolutely beyond reproach, as
the mainstay of our institutions, the true protector of the rights and
liberties of the people.
Yet when the crimes of that party became so brazen that even the blind
could see them, it needed but to muster up its minions, and its
supremacy was assured. Thus the very victims, duped, betrayed, outraged
a hundred times, decided, not against, but in favor of the victor.
Bewildered, the few asked how could the majority betray the traditions
of American liberty? Where was its judgment, its reasoning capacity?
That is just it, the majority cannot reason; it has no judgment. Lacking
utterly in originality and moral courage, the majority has always placed
its destiny in the hands of others. Incapable of standing
responsibilities, it has followed its leaders even unto destruction. Dr.
Stockman was right: “The most dangerous enemies of truth and justice in
our midst are the compact majorities, the damned compact majority.”
Without ambition or initiative, the compact mass hates nothing so much
as innovation. It has always opposed, condemned, and hounded the
innovator, the pioneer of a new truth.
The oft repeated slogan of our time is, among all politicians, the
Socialists included, that ours is an era of individualism, of the
minority. Only those who do not probe beneath the surface might be led
to entertain this view. Have not the few accumulated the wealth of the
world? Are they not the masters, the absolute kings of the situation?
Their success, however, is due not to individualism, but to the inertia,
the cravenness, the utter submission of the mass. The latter wants but
to be dominated, to be led, to be coerced. As to individualism, at no
time in human history did it have less chance of expression, less
opportunity to assert itself in a normal, healthy manner.
The individual educator imbued with honesty of purpose, the artist or
writer of original ideas, the independent scientist or explorer, the
non-compromising pioneers of social changes are daily pushed to the wall
by men whose learning and creative ability have become decrepit with
age.
Educators of Ferrer’s type are nowhere tolerated, while the dietitians
of predigested food, à la Professors Eliot and Butler, are the
successful perpetuators of an age of nonentities, of automatons. In the
literary and dramatic world, the Humphrey Wards and Clyde Fitches are
the idols of the mass, while but few know or appreciate the beauty and
genius of an Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman; an Ibsen, a Hauptmann, a Butler
Yeats, or a Stephen Phillips. They are like solitary stars, far beyond
the horizon of the multitude.
Publishers, theatrical managers, and critics ask not for the quality
inherent in creative art, but will it meet with a good sale, will it
suit the palate of the people? Alas, this palate is like a dumping
ground; it relishes anything that needs no mental mastication. As a
result, the mediocre, the ordinary, the commonplace represents the chief
literary output.
Need I say that in art we are confronted with the same sad facts? One
has but to inspect our parks and thoroughfares to realize the
hideousness and vulgarity of the art manufacture. Certainly, none but a
majority taste would tolerate such an outrage on art. False in
conception and barbarous in execution, the statuary that infests
American cities has as much relation to true art, as a totem to a
Michael Angelo. Yet that is the only art that succeeds. The true
artistic genius, who will not cater to accepted notions, who exercises
originality, and strives to be true to life, leads an obscure and
wretched existence. His work may some day become the fad of the mob, but
not until his heart’s blood had been exhausted; not until the pathfinder
has ceased to be, and a throng of an idealles and visionless mob has
done to death the heritage of the master.
It is said that the artist of today cannot create because Prometheuslike
he is bound to the rock of economic necessity. This, however, is true of
art in all ages. Michael Angelo was dependent on his patron saint, no
less than the sculptor or painter of today, except that the art
connoisseurs of those days were far away from the madding crowd. They
felt honored to be permitted to worship at the shrine of the master.
The art protector of our time knows but one criterion, one value, — the
dollar. He is not concerned about the quality of any great work, but in
the quantity of dollars his purchase implies. Thus the financier in
Mirbeau’s Les Affaires sont les Affaires points to some blurred
arrangement in colors, saying: “See how great it is; it cost 50,000
francs.” Just like our own parvenus. The fabulous figures paid for their
great art discoveries must make up for the poverty of their taste.
The most unpardonable sin in society is independence of thought. That
this should be so terribly apparent in a country whose symbol is
democracy, is very significant of the tremendous power of the majority.
Wendell Phillips said fifty years ago: “In our country of absolute,
democratic equality, public opinion is not only omnipotent, it is
omnipresent. There is no refuge from its tyranny, there is no hiding
from its reach, and the result is that if you take the old Greek lantern
and go about to seek among a hundred, you will not find a single
American who has not, or who does not fancy at least he has, something
to gain or lose in his ambition, his social life, or business, from the
good opinion and the votes of those around him. And the consequence is
that instead of being a mass of individuals, each one fearlessly
blurting out his own conviction, as a nation compared to other nations
we are a mass of cowards. More than any other people we are afraid of
each other.” Evidently we have not advanced very far from the condition
that confronted Wendell Phillips.
Today, as then, public opinion is the omnipresent tyrant; today, as
then, the majority represents a mass of cowards, willing to accept him
who mirrors its own soul and mind poverty. That accounts for the
unprecedented rise of a man like Roosevelt. He embodies the very worst
element of mob psychology. A politician, he knows that the majority
cares little for ideals or integrity. What it craves is display. It
matters not whether that be a dog show, a prize fight, the lynching of a
“nigger,” the rounding up of some petty offender, the marriage
exposition of an heiress, or the acrobatic stunts of an ex-president.
The more hideous the mental contortions, the greater the delight and
bravos of the mass. Thus, poor in ideals and vulgar of soul, Roosevelt
continues to be the man of the hour.
On the other hand, men towering high above such political pygmies, men
of refinement, of culture, of ability, are jeered into silence as
mollycoddles. It is absurd to claim that ours is the era of
individualism. Ours is merely a more poignant repetition of the
phenomenon of all history: every effort for progress, for enlightenment,
for science, for religious, political, and economic liberty, emanates
from the minority, and not from the mass. Today, as ever, the few are
misunderstood, hounded, imprisoned, tortured, and killed.
The principle of brotherhood expounded by the agitator of Nazareth
preserved the germ of life, of truth and justice, so long as it was the
beacon light of the few. The moment the majority seized upon it, that
great principle became a shibboleth and harbinger of blood and fire,
spreading suffering and disaster. The attack on the omnipotence of Rome,
led by the colossal figures of Huss, Calvin, and Luther, was like a
sunrise amid the darkness of the night. But so soon as Luther and Calvin
turned politicians and began catering to the small potentates, the
nobility, and the mob spirit, they jeopardized the great possibilities
of the Reformation. They won success and the majority, but that majority
proved no less cruel and bloodthirsty in the persecution of thought and
reason than was the Catholic monster. Woe to the heretics, to the
minority, who would not bow to its dicta. After infinite zeal,
endurance, and sacrifice, the human mind is at last free from the
religious phantom; the minority has gone on in pursuit of new conquests,
and the majority is lagging behind, handicapped by truth grown false
with age.
Politically the human race would still be in the most absolute slavery,
were it not for the John Balls, the Wat Tylers, the Tells, the
innumerable individual giants who fought inch by inch against the power
of kings and tyrants. But for individual pioneers the world would have
never been shaken to its very roots by that tremendous wave, the French
Revolution. Great events are usually preceded by apparently small
things. Thus the eloquence and fire of Camille Desmoulins was like the
trumpet before Jericho, razing to the ground that emblem of torture, of
abuse, of horror, the Bastille.
Always, at every period, the few were the banner bearers of a great
idea, of liberating effort. Not so the mass, the leaden weight of which
does not let it move. The truth of this is borne out in Russia with
greater force than elsewhere. Thousands of lives have already been
consumed by that bloody regime, yet the monster on the throne is not
appeased. How is such a thing possible when ideas, culture, literature,
when the deepest and finest emotions groan under the iron yoke? The
majority, that compact, immobile, drowsy mass, the Russian peasant,
after a century of struggle, of sacrifice, of untold misery, still
believes that the rope which strangles “the man with the white hands”[1]
brings luck.
In the American struggle for liberty, the majority was no less of a
stumbling block. Until this very day the ideas of Jefferson, of Patrick
Henry, of Thomas Paine, are denied and sold by their posterity. The mass
wants none of them. The greatness and courage worshipped in Lincoln have
been forgotten in the men who created the background for the panorama of
that time. The true patron saints of the black men were represented in
that handful of fighters in Boston, Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips,
Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, and Theodore Parker, whose great courage and
sturdiness culminated in that somber giant John Brown. Their untiring
zeal, their eloquence and perseverance undermined the stronghold of the
Southern lords. Lincoln and his minions followed only when abolition had
become a practical issue, recognized as such by all.
About fifty years ago, a meteorlike idea made its appearance on the
social horizon of the world, an idea so far-reaching, so revolutionary,
so all-embracing as to spread terror in the hearts of tyrants
everywhere. On the other hand, that idea was a harbinger of joy, of
cheer, of hope to the millions. The pioneers knew the difficulties in
their way, they knew the opposition, the persecution, the hardships that
would meet them, but proud and unafraid they started on their march
onward, ever onward. Now that idea has become a popular slogan. Almost
everyone is a Socialist today: the rich man, as well as his poor victim;
the upholders of law and authority, as well as their unfortunate
culprits; the freethinker, as well as the perpetuator of religious
falsehoods; the fashionable lady, as well as the shirtwaist girl. Why
not? Now that the truth of fifty years ago has become a lie, now that it
has been clipped of all its youthful imagination, and been robbed of its
vigor, its strength, its revolutionary ideal — why not? Now that it is
no longer a beautiful vision, but a “practical, workable scheme,”
resting on the will of the majority, why not? Political cunning ever
sings the praise of the mass: the poor majority, the outraged, the
abused, the giant majority, if only it would follow us.
Who has not heard this litany before? Who does not know this
never-varying refrain of all politicians? That the mass bleeds, that it
is being robbed and exploited, I know as well as our vote-baiters. But I
insist that not the handful of parasites, but the mass itself is
responsible for this horrible state of affairs. It clings to its
masters, loves the whip, and is the first to cry Crucify! the moment a
protesting voice is raised against the sacredness of capitalistic
authority or any other decayed institution. Yet how long would authority
and private property exist, if not for the willingness of the mass to
become soldiers, policemen, jailers, and hangmen. The Socialist
demagogues know that as well as I, but they maintain the myth of the
virtues of the majority, because their very scheme of life means the
perpetuation of power. And how could the latter be acquired without
numbers? Yes, authority, coercion, and dependence rest on the mass, but
never freedom or the free unfoldment of the individual, never the birth
of a free society.
Not because I do not feel with the oppressed, the disinherited of the
earth; not because I do not know the shame, the horror, the indignity of
the lives the people lead, do I repudiate the majority as a creative
force for good. Oh, no, no! But because I know so well that as a compact
mass it has never stood for justice or equality. It has suppressed the
human voice, subdued the human spirit, chained the human body. As a mass
its aim has always been to make life uniform, gray, and monotonous as
the desert. As a mass it will always be the annihilator of
individuality, of free initiative, of originality. I therefore believe
with Emerson that “the masses are crude, lame, pernicious in their
demands and influence, and need not to be flattered, but to be schooled.
I wish not to concede anything to them, but to drill, divide, and break
them up, and draw individuals out of them. Masses! The calamity are the
masses. I do not wish any mass at all, but honest men only, lovely,
sweet, accomplished women only.”
In other words, the living, vital truth of social and economic
well-being will become a reality only through the zeal, courage, the
non-compromising determination of intelligent minorities, and not
through the mass.
To analyze the psychology of political violence is not only extremely
difficult, but also very dangerous. If such acts are treated with
understanding, one is immediately accused of eulogizing them. If, on the
other hand, human sympathy is expressed with the Attentäter,[2] one
risks being considered a possible accomplice. Yet it is only
intelligence and sympathy that can bring us closer to the source of
human suffering, and teach us the ultimate way out of it.
The primitive man, ignorant of natural forces, dreaded their approach,
hiding from the perils they threatened. As man learned to understand
Nature’s phenomena, he realized that though these may destroy life and
cause great loss, they also bring relief. To the earnest student it must
be apparent that the accumulated forces in our social and economic life,
culminating in a political act of violence, are similar to the terrors
of the atmosphere, manifested in storm and lightning.
To thoroughly appreciate the truth of this view, one must feel intensely
the indignity of our social wrongs; one’s very being must throb with the
pain, the sorrow, the despair millions of people are daily made to
endure. Indeed, unless we have become a part of humanity, we cannot even
faintly understand the just indignation that accumulates in a human
soul, the burning, surging passion that makes the storm inevitable.
The ignorant mass looks upon the man who makes a violent protest against
our social and economic iniquities as upon a wild beast, a cruel,
heartless monster, whose joy it is to destroy life and bathe in blood;
or at best, as upon an irresponsible lunatic. Yet nothing is further
from the truth. As a matter of fact, those who have studied the
character and personality of these men, or who have come in close
contact with them, are agreed that it is their super-sensitiveness to
the wrong and injustice surrounding them which compels them to pay the
toll of our social crimes. The most noted writers and poets, discussing
the psychology of political offenders, have paid them the highest
tribute. Could anyone assume that these men had advised violence, or
even approved of the acts? Certainly not. Theirs was the attitude of the
social student, of the man who knows that beyond every violent act there
is a vital cause.
Björnstjerne Björnson, in the second part of Beyond Human Power,
emphasizes the fact that it is among the Anarchists that we must look
for the modern martyrs who pay for their faith with their blood, and who
welcome death with a smile, because they believe, as truly as Christ
did, that their martyrdom will redeem humanity.
François Coppé, the French novelist, thus expresses himself regarding
the psychology of the Attentäter:
“The reading of the details of Vaillant’s execution left me in a
thoughtful mood. I imagined him expanding his chest under the ropes,
marching with firm step, stiffening his will, concentrating all his
energy, and, with eyes fixed upon the knife, hurling finally at society
his cry of malediction. And, in spite of me, another spectacle rose
suddenly before my mind. I saw a group of men and women pressing against
each other in the middle of the oblong arena of the circus, under the
gaze of thousands of eyes, while from all the steps of the immense
amphitheatre went up the terrible cry, Ad leones! and, below, the
opening cages of the wild beasts.
“I did not believe the execution would take place. In the first place,
no victim had been struck with death, and it had long been the custom
not to punish an abortive crime with the last degree of severity. Then,
this crime, however terrible in intention, was disinterested, born of an
abstract idea. The man’s past, his abandoned childhood, his life of
hardship, pleaded also in his favor. In the independent press generous
voices were raised in his behalf, very loud and eloquent. ‘A purely
literary current of opinion’ some have said, with no little scorn. It
is, on the contrary, an honor to the men of art and thought to have
expressed once more their disgust at the scaffold.”
Again Zola, in Germinal and Paris, describes the tenderness and
kindness, the deep sympathy with human suffering, of these men who close
the chapter of their lives with a violent outbreak against our system.
Last, but not least, the man who probably better than anyone else
understands the psychology of the Attentäter is M. Hamon, the author of
the brilliant work Une Psychologie du Militaire Professionnel, who has
arrived at these suggestive conclusions:
“The positive method confirmed by the rational method enables us to
establish an ideal type of Anarchist, whose mentality is the aggregate
of common psychic characteristics. Every Anarchist partakes sufficiently
of this ideal type to make it possible to differentiate him from other
men. The typical Anarchist, then, may be defined as follows: A man
perceptible by the spirit of revolt under one or more of its forms, —
opposition, investigation, criticism, innovation, — endowed with a
strong love of liberty, egoistic or individualistic, and possessed of
great curiosity, a keen desire to know. These traits are supplemented by
an ardent love of others, a highly developed moral sensitiveness, a
profound sentiment of justice, and imbued with missionary zeal.”
To the above characteristics, says Alvin F. Sanborn, must be added these
sterling qualities: a rare love of animals, surpassing sweetness in all
the ordinary relations of life, exceptional sobriety of demeanor,
frugality and regularity, austerity, even, of living, and courage beyond
compare.[3]
“There is a truism that the man in the street seems always to forget,
when he is abusing the Anarchists, or whatever party happens to be his
bête noire for the moment, as the cause of some outrage just
perpetrated. This indisputable fact is that homicidal outrages have,
from time immemorial, been the reply of goaded and desperate classes,
and goaded and desperate individuals, to wrongs from their fellowmen,
which they felt to be intolerable. Such acts are the violent recoil from
violence, whether aggressive or repressive; they are the last desperate
struggle of outraged and exasperated human nature for breathing space
and life. And their cause lies not in any special conviction, but in the
depths of that human nature itself. The whole course of history,
political and social, is strewn with evidence of this fact. To go no
further, take the three most notorious examples of political parties
goaded into violence during the last fifty years: the Mazzinians in
Italy, the Fenians in Ireland, and the Terrorists in Russia. Were these
people Anarchists? No. Did they all three even hold the same political
opinions? No. The Mazzinians were Republicans, the Fenians political
separatists, the Russians Social Democrats or Constitutionalists. But
all were driven by desperate circumstances into this terrible form of
revolt. And when we turn from parties to individuals who have acted in
like manner, we stand appalled by the number of human beings goaded and
driven by sheer desperation into conduct obviously violently opposed to
their social instincts.
“Now that Anarchism has become a living force in society, such deeds
have been sometimes committed by Anarchists, as well as by others. For
no new faith, even the most essentially peaceable and humane the mind of
man has yet accepted, but at its first coming has brought upon earth not
peace, but a sword; not because of anything violent or anti-social in
the doctrine itself; simply because of the ferment any new and creative
idea excites in men’s minds, whether they accept or reject it. And a
conception of Anarchism, which, on one hand, threatens every vested
interest, and, on the other, holds out a vision of a free and noble life
to be won by a struggle against existing wrongs, is certain to rouse the
fiercest opposition, and bring the whole repressive force of ancient
evil into violent contact with the tumultuous outburst of a new hope.
“Under miserable conditions of life, any vision of the possibility of
better things makes the present misery more intolerable, and spurs those
who suffer to the most energetic struggles to improve their lot, and if
these struggles only immediately result in sharper misery, the outcome
is sheer desperation. In our present society, for instance, an exploited
wage worker, who catches a glimpse of what work and life might and ought
to be, finds the toilsome routine and the squalor of his existence
almost intolerable; and even when he has the resolution and courage to
continue steadily working his best, and waiting until new ideas have so
permeated society as to pave the way for better times, the mere fact
that he has such ideas and tries to spread them, brings him into
difficulties with his employers. How many thousands of Socialists, and
above all Anarchists, have lost work and even the chance of work, solely
on the ground of their opinions. It is only the specially gifted
craftsman, who, if he be a zealous propagandist, can hope to retain
permanent employment. And what happens to a man with his brain working
actively with a ferment of new ideas, with a vision before his eyes of a
new hope dawning for toiling and agonizing men, with the knowledge that
his suffering and that of his fellows in misery is not caused by the
cruelty of fate, but by the injustice of other human beings, — what
happens to such a man when he sees those dear to him starving, when he
himself is starved? Some natures in such a plight, and those by no means
the least social or the least sensitive, will become violent, and will
even feel that their violence is social and not anti-social, that in
striking when and how they can, they are striking, not for themselves,
but for human nature, outraged and despoiled in their persons and in
those of their fellow sufferers. And are we, who ourselves are not in
this horrible predicament, to stand by and coldly condemn these piteous
victims of the Furies and Fates? Are we to decry as miscreants these
human beings who act with heroic self-devotion, sacrificing their lives
in protest, where less social and less energetic natures would lie down
and grovel in abject submission to injustice and wrong? Are we to join
the ignorant and brutal outcry which stigmatizes such men as monsters of
wickedness, gratuitously running amuck in a harmonious and innocently
peaceful society? No! We hate murder with a hatred that may seem
absurdly exaggerated to apologists for Matabele massacres, to callous
acquiescers in hangings and bombardments, but we decline in such cases
of homicide, or attempted homicide, as those of which we are treating,
to be guilty of the cruel injustice of flinging the whole responsibility
of the deed upon the immediate perpetrator. The guilt of these homicides
lies upon every man and woman who, intentionally or by cold
indifference, helps to keep up social conditions that drive human beings
to despair. The man who flings his whole life into the attempt, at the
cost of his own life, to protest against the wrongs of his fellow men,
is a saint compared to the active and passive upholders of cruelty and
injustice, even if his protest destroy other lives besides his own. Let
him who is without sin in society cast the first stone at such an
one.”[4]
That every act of political violence should nowadays be attributed to
Anarchists is not at all surprising. Yet it is a fact known to almost
everyone familiar with the Anarchist movement that a great number of
acts, for which Anarchists had to suffer, either originated with the
capitalist press or were instigated, if not directly perpetrated, by the
police.
For a number of years acts of violence had been committed in Spain, for
which the Anarchists were held responsible, hounded like wild beasts,
and thrown into prison. Later it was disclosed that the perpetrators of
these acts were not Anarchists, but members of the police department.
The scandal became so widespread that the conservative Spanish papers
demanded the apprehension and punishment of the gang-leader, Juan Rull,
who was subsequently condemned to death and executed. The sensational
evidence, brought to light during the trial, forced Police Inspector
Momento to exonerate completely the Anarchists from any connection with
the acts committed during a long period. This resulted in the dismissal
of a number of police officials, among them Inspector Tressols, who, in
revenge, disclosed the fact that behind the gang of police bomb throwers
were others of far higher position, who provided them with funds and
protected them.
This is one of the many striking examples of how Anarchist conspiracies
are manufactured.
That the American police can perjure themselves with the same ease, that
they are just as merciless, just as brutal and cunning as their European
colleagues, has been proven on more than one occasion. We need only
recall the tragedy of the eleventh of November, 1887, known as the
Haymarket Riot.
No one who is at all familiar with the case can possibly doubt that the
Anarchists, judicially murdered in Chicago, died as victims of a lying,
blood-thirsty press and of a cruel police conspiracy. Has not Judge Gary
himself said: “Not because you have caused the Haymarket bomb, but
because you are Anarchists, you are on trial.”
The impartial and thorough analysis by Governor Altgeld of that blotch
on the American escutcheon verified the brutal frankness of Judge Gary.
It was this that induced Altgeld to pardon the three Anarchists, thereby
earning the lasting esteem of every liberty-loving man and woman in the
world.
When we approach the tragedy of September sixth, 1901, we are confronted
by one of the most striking examples of how little social theories are
responsible for an act of political violence. “Leon Czolgosz, an
Anarchist, incited to commit the act by Emma Goldman.” To be sure, has
she not incited violence even before her birth, and will she not
continue to do so beyond death? Everything is possible with the
Anarchists.
Today, even, nine years after the tragedy, after it was proven a hundred
times that Emma Goldman had nothing to do with the event, that no
evidence whatsoever exists to indicate that Czolgosz ever called himself
an Anarchist, we are confronted with the same lie, fabricated by the
police and perpetuated by the press. No living soul ever heard Czolgosz
make that statement, nor is there a single written word to prove that
the boy ever breathed the accusation. Nothing but ignorance and insane
hysteria, which have never yet been able to solve the simplest problem
of cause and effect.
The President of a free Republic killed! What else can be the cause,
except that the Attentäter must have been insane, or that he was incited
to the act.
A free Republic! How a myth will maintain itself, how it will continue
to deceive, to dupe, and blind even the comparatively intelligent to its
monstrous absurdities. A free Republic! And yet within a little over
thirty years a small band of parasites have successfully robbed the
American people, and trampled upon the fundamental principles, laid down
by the fathers of this country, guaranteeing to every man, woman, and
child “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” For thirty years
they have been increasing their wealth and power at the expense of the
vast mass of workers, thereby enlarging the army of the unemployed, the
hungry, homeless, and friendless portion of humanity, who are tramping
the country from east to west, from north to south, in a vain search for
work. For many years the home has been left to the care of the little
ones, while the parents are exhausting their life and strength for a
mere pittance. For thirty years the sturdy sons of America have been
sacrificed on the battlefield of industrial war, and the daughters
outraged in corrupt factory surroundings. For long and weary years this
process of undermining the nation’s health, vigor, and pride, without
much protest from the disinherited and oppressed, has been going on.
Maddened by success and victory, the money powers of this “free land of
ours” became more and more audacious in their heartless, cruel efforts
to compete with the rotten and decayed European tyrannies for supremacy
of power.
In vain did a lying press repudiate Leon Czolgosz as a foreigner. The
boy was a product of our own free American soil, that lulled him to
sleep with,
My country, ‘tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty.
Who can tell how many times this American child had gloried in the
celebration of the Fourth of July, or of Decoration Day, when he
faithfully honored the Nation’s dead? Who knows but that he, too, was
willing to “fight for his country and die for her liberty,” until it
dawned upon him that those he belonged to have no country, because they
have been robbed of all that they have produced; until he realized that
the liberty and independence of his youthful dreams were but a farce.
Poor Leon Czolgosz, your crime consisted of too sensitive a social
consciousness. Unlike your idealless and brainless American brothers,
your ideals soared above the belly and the bank account. No wonder you
impressed the one human being among all the infuriated mob at your trial
— a newspaper woman — as a visionary, totally oblivious to your
surroundings. Your large, dreamy eyes must have beheld a new and
glorious dawn.
Now, to a recent instance of police-manufactured Anarchist plots. In
that bloodstained city Chicago, the life of Chief of Police Shippy was
attempted by a young man named Averbuch. Immediately the cry was sent to
the four corners of the world that Averbuch was an Anarchist, and that
Anarchists were responsible for the act. Everyone who was at all known
to entertain Anarchist ideas was closely watched, a number of people
arrested, the library of an Anarchist group confiscated, and all
meetings made impossible. It goes without saying that, as on various
previous occasions, I must needs be held responsible for the act.
Evidently the American police credit me with occult powers. I did not
know Averbuch; in fact, had never before heard his name, and the only
way I could have possibly “conspired” with him was in my astral body.
But, then, the police are not concerned with logic or justice. What they
seek is a target, to mask their absolute ignorance of the cause, of the
psychology of a political act. Was Averbuch an Anarchist? There is no
positive proof of it. He had been but three months in the country, did
not know the language, and, as far as I could ascertain, was quite
unknown to the Anarchists of Chicago.
What led to his act? Averbuch, like most young Russian immigrants,
undoubtedly believed in the mythical liberty of America. He received his
first baptism by the policeman’s club during the brutal dispersement of
the unemployed parade. He further experienced American equality and
opportunity in the vain efforts to find an economic master. In short, a
three months’ sojourn in the glorious land brought him face to face with
the fact that the disinherited are in the same position the world over.
In his native land he probably learned that necessity knows no law —
there was no difference between a Russian and an American policeman.
The question to the intelligent social student is not whether the acts
of Czolgosz or Averbuch were practical, any more than whether the
thunderstorm is practical. The thing that will inevitably impress itself
on the thinking and feeling man and woman is that the sight of brutal
clubbing of innocent victims in a so-called free Republic, and the
degrading, soul-destroying economic struggle, furnish the spark that
kindles the dynamic force in the overwrought, outraged souls of men like
Czolgosz or Averbuch. No amount of persecution, of hounding, of
repression, can stay this social phenomenon.
But, it is often asked, have not acknowledged Anarchists committed acts
of violence? Certainly they have, always however ready to shoulder the
responsibility. My contention is that they were impelled, not by the
teachings of Anarchism, but by the tremendous pressure of conditions,
making life unbearable to their sensitive natures. Obviously, Anarchism,
or any other social theory, making man a conscious social unit, will act
as a leaven for rebellion. This is not a mere assertion, but a fact
verified by all experience. A close examination of the circumstances
bearing upon this question will further clarify my position.
Let us consider some of the most important Anarchist acts within the
last two decades. Strange as it may seem, one of the most significant
deeds of political violence occurred here in America, in connection with
the Homestead strike of 1892.
During that memorable time the Carnegie Steel Company organized a
conspiracy to crush the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel
Workers. Henry Clay Frick, then Chairman of the Company, was intrusted
with that democratic task. He lost no time in carrying out the policy of
breaking the Union, the policy which he had so successfully practiced
during his reign of terror in the coke regions. Secretly, and while
peace negotiations were being purposely prolonged, Frick supervised the
military preparations, the fortification of the Homestead Steel Works,
the erection of a high board fence, capped with barbed wire and provided
with loopholes for sharpshooters. And then, in the dead of night, he
attempted to smuggle his army of hired Pinkerton thugs into Homestead,
which act precipitated the terrible carnage of the steel workers. Not
content with the death of eleven victims, killed in the Pinkerton
skirmish, Henry Clay Frick, good Christian and free American,
straightway began the hounding down of the helpless wives and orphans,
by ordering them out of the wretched Company houses.
The whole country was aroused over these inhuman outrages. Hundreds of
voices were raised in protest, calling on Frick to desist, not to go too
far. Yes, hundreds of people protested, — as one objects to annoying
flies. Only one there was who actively responded to the outrage at
Homestead, — Alexander Berkman. Yes, he was an Anarchist. He gloried in
that fact, because it was the only force that made the discord between
his spiritual longing and the world without at all bearable. Yet not
Anarchism, as such, but the brutal slaughter of the eleven steel workers
was the urge for Alexander Berkman’s act, his attempt on the life of
Henry Clay Frick.
The record of European acts of political violence affords numerous and
striking instances of the influence of environment upon sensitive human
beings.
The court speech of Vaillant, who, in 1894, exploded a bomb in the Paris
Chamber of Deputies, strikes the true keynote of the psychology of such
acts:
“Gentlemen, in a few minutes you are to deal your blow, but in receiving
your verdict I shall have at least the satisfaction of having wounded
the existing society, that cursed society in which one may see a single
man spending, uselessly, enough to feed thousands of families; an
infamous society which permits a few individuals to monopolize all the
social wealth, while there are hundreds of thousands of unfortunates who
have not even the bread that is not refused to dogs, and while entire
families are committing suicide for want of the necessities of life.
“Ah, gentlemen, if the governing classes could go down among the
unfortunates! But no, they prefer to remain deaf to their appeals. It
seems that a fatality impels them, like the royalty of the eighteenth
century, toward the precipice which will engulf them, for woe be to
those who remain deaf to the cries of the starving, woe to those who,
believing themselves of superior essence, assume the right to exploit
those beneath them! There comes a time when the people no longer reason;
they rise like a hurricane, and pass away like a torrent. Then we see
bleeding heads impaled on pikes.
“Among the exploited, gentlemen, there are two classes of individuals.
Those of one class, not realizing what they are and what they might be,
take life as it comes, believe that they are born to be slaves, and
content themselves with the little that is given them in exchange for
their labor. But there are others, on the contrary, who think, who
study, and who, looking about them, discover social iniquities. Is it
their fault if they see clearly and suffer at seeing others suffer? Then
they throw themselves into the struggle, and make themselves the bearers
of the popular claims.
“Gentlemen, I am one of these last. Wherever I have gone, I have seen
unfortunates bent beneath the yoke of capital. Everywhere I have seen
the same wounds causing tears of blood to flow, even in the remoter
parts of the inhabited districts of South America, where I had the right
to believe that he who was weary of the pains of civilization might rest
in the shade of the palm trees and there study nature. Well, there even,
more than elsewhere, I have seen capital come, like a vampire, to suck
the last drop of blood of the unfortunate pariahs.
“Then I came back to France, where it was reserved for me to see my
family suffer atrociously. This was the last drop in the cup of my
sorrow. Tired of leading this life of suffering and cowardice, I carried
this bomb to those who are primarily responsible for social misery.
“I am reproached with the wounds of those who were hit by my
projectiles. Permit me to point out in passing that, if the bourgeois
had not massacred or caused massacres during the Revolution, it is
probable that they would still be under the yoke of the nobility. On the
other hand, figure up the dead and wounded on Tonquin, Madagascar,
Dahomey, adding thereto the thousands, yes, millions of unfortunates who
die in the factories, the mines, and wherever the grinding power of
capital is felt. Add also those who die of hunger, and all this with the
assent of our Deputies. Beside all this, of how little weight are the
reproaches now brought against me!
“It is true that one does not efface the other; but, after all, are we
not acting on the defensive when we respond to the blows which we
receive from above? I know very well that I shall be told that I ought
to have confined myself to speech for the vindication of the people’s
claims. But what can you expect! It takes a loud voice to make the deaf
hear. Too long have they answered our voices by imprisonment, the rope,
rifle volleys. Make no mistake; the explosion of my bomb is not only the
cry of the rebel Vaillant, but the cry of an entire class which
vindicates its rights, and which will soon add acts to words. For, be
sure of it, in vain will they pass laws. The ideas of the thinkers will
not halt; just as, in the last century, all the governmental forces
could not prevent the Diderots and the Voltaires from spreading
emancipating ideas among the people, so all the existing governmental
forces will not prevent the Reclus, the Darwins, the Spencers, the
Ibsens, the Mirbeaus, from spreading the ideas of justice and liberty
which will annihilate the prejudices that hold the mass in ignorance.
And these ideas, welcomed by the unfortunate, will flower in acts of
revolt as they have done in me, until the day when the disappearance of
authority shall permit all men to organize freely according to their
choice, when everyone shall be able to enjoy the product of his labor,
and when those moral maladies called prejudices shall vanish, permitting
human beings to live in harmony, having no other desire than to study
the sciences and love their fellows.
“I conclude, gentlemen, by saying that a society in which one sees such
social inequalities as we see all about us, in which we see every day
suicides caused by poverty, prostitution flaring at every street corner,
— a society whose principal monuments are barracks and prisons, — such a
society must be transformed as soon as possible, on pain of being
eliminated, and that speedily, from the human race. Hail to him who
labors, by no matter what means, for this transformation! It is this
idea that has guided me in my duel with authority, but as in this duel I
have only wounded my adversary, it is now its turn to strike me.
“Now, gentlemen, to me it matters little what penalty you may inflict,
for, looking at this assembly with the eyes of reason, I can not help
smiling to see you, atoms lost in matter, and reasoning only because you
possess a prolongation of the spinal marrow, assume the right to judge
one of your fellows.
“Ah! gentlemen, how little a thing is your assembly and your verdict in
the history of humanity; and human history, in its turn, is likewise a
very little thing in the whirlwind which bears it through immensity, and
which is destined to disappear, or at least to be transformed, in order
to begin again the same history and the same facts, a veritably
perpetual play of cosmic forces renewing and transferring themselves
forever.”
Will anyone say that Vaillant was an ignorant, vicious man, or a
lunatic? Was not his mind singularly clear and analytic? No wonder that
the best intellectual forces of France spoke in his behalf, and signed
the petition to President Carnot, asking him to commute Vaillant’s death
sentence.
Carnot would listen to no entreaty; he insisted on more than a pound of
flesh, he wanted Vaillant’s life, and then — the inevitable happened:
President Carnot was killed. On the handle of the stiletto used by the
Attentäter was engraved, significantly,
VAILLANT!
Sante Caserio was an Anarchist. He could have gotten away, saved
himself; but he remained, he stood the consequences.
His reasons for the act are set forth in so simple, dignified, and
childlike manner that one is reminded of the touching tribute paid
Caserio by his teacher of the little village school, Ada Negri, the
Italian poet, who spoke of him as a sweet, tender plant, of too fine and
sensitive texture to stand the cruel strain of the world.
“Gentlemen of the Jury! I do not propose to make a defense, but only an
explanation of my deed.
“Since my early youth I began to learn that present society is badly
organized, so badly that every day many wretched men commit suicide,
leaving women and children in the most terrible distress. Workers, by
thousands, seek for work and can not find it. Poor families beg for food
and shiver with cold; they suffer the greatest misery; the little ones
ask their miserable mothers for food, and the mothers cannot give it to
them, because they have nothing. The few things which the home contained
have already been sold or pawned. All they can do is beg alms; often
they are arrested as vagabonds.
“I went away from my native place because I was frequently moved to
tears at seeing little girls of eight or ten years obliged to work
fifteen hours a day for the paltry pay of twenty centimes. Young women
of eighteen or twenty also work fifteen hours daily, for a mockery of
remuneration. And that happens not only to my fellow countrymen, but to
all the workers, who sweat the whole day long for a crust of bread,
while their labor produces wealth in abundance. The workers are obliged
to live under the most wretched conditions, and their food consists of a
little bread, a few spoonfuls of rice, and water; so by the time they
are thirty or forty years old, they are exhausted, and go to die in the
hospitals. Besides, in consequence of bad food and overwork, these
unhappy creatures are, by hundreds, devoured by pellagra — a disease
that, in my country, attacks, as the physicians say, those who are badly
fed and lead a life of toil and privation.
“I have observed that there are a great many people who are hungry, and
many children who suffer, whilst bread and clothes abound in the towns.
I saw many and large shops full of clothing and woolen stuffs, and I
also saw warehouses full of wheat and Indian corn, suitable for those
who are in want. And, on the other hand, I saw thousands of people who
do not work, who produce nothing and live on the labor of others; who
spend every day thousands of francs for their amusement; who debauch the
daughters of the workers; who own dwellings of forty or fifty rooms;
twenty or thirty horses, many servants; in a word, all the pleasures of
life.
“I believed in God; but when I saw so great an inequality between men, I
acknowledged that it was not God who created man, but man who created
God. And I discovered that those who want their property to be
respected, have an interest in preaching the existence of paradise and
hell, and in keeping the people in ignorance.
“Not long ago, Vaillant threw a bomb in the Chamber of Deputies, to
protest against the present system of society. He killed no one, only
wounded some persons; yet bourgeois justice sentenced him to death. And
not satisfied with the condemnation of the guilty man, they began to
pursue the Anarchists, and arrest not only those who had known Vaillant,
but even those who had merely been present at any Anarchist lecture.
“The government did not think of their wives and children. It did not
consider that the men kept in prison were not the only ones who
suffered, and that their little ones cried for bread. Bourgeois justice
did not trouble itself about these innocent ones, who do not yet know
what society is. It is no fault of theirs that their fathers are in
prison; they only want to eat.
“The government went on searching private houses, opening private
letters, forbidding lectures and meetings, and practicing the most
infamous oppressions against us. Even now, hundreds of Anarchists are
arrested for having written an article in a newspaper, or for having
expressed an opinion in public.
“Gentlemen of the Jury, you are representatives of bourgeois society. If
you want my head, take it; but do not believe that in so doing you will
stop the Anarchist propaganda. Take care, for men reap what they have
sown.”
During a religious procession in 1896, at Barcelona, a bomb was thrown.
Immediately three hundred men and women were arrested. Some were
Anarchists, but the majority were trade-unionists and Socialists. They
were thrown into that terrible bastille Montjuich, and subjected to most
horrible tortures. After a number had been killed, or had gone insane,
their cases were taken up by the liberal press of Europe, resulting in
the release of a few survivors.
The man primarily responsible for this revival of the Inquisition was
Canovas del Castillo, Prime Minister of Spain. It was he who ordered the
torturing of the victims, their flesh burned, their bones crushed, their
tongues cut out. Practiced in the art of brutality during his regime in
Cuba, Canovas remained absolutely deaf to the appeals and protests of
the awakened civilized conscience.
In 1897 Canovas del Castillo was shot to death by a young Italian,
Angiolillo. The latter was an editor in his native land, and his bold
utterances soon attracted the attention of the authorities. Persecution
began, and Angiolillo fled from Italy to Spain, thence to France and
Belgium, finally settling in England. While there he found employment as
a compositor, and immediately became the friend of all his colleagues.
One of the latter thus described Angiolillo: “His appearance suggested
the journalist rather than the disciple of Guttenberg. His delicate
hands, moreover, betrayed the fact that he had not grown up at the
‘case.’ With his handsome frank face, his soft dark hair, his alert
expression, he looked the very type of the vivacious Southerner.
Angiolillo spoke Italian, Spanish, and French, but no English; the
little French I knew was not sufficient to carry on a prolonged
conversation. However, Angiolillo soon began to acquire the English
idiom; he learned rapidly, playfully, and it was not long until he
became very popular with his fellow compositors. His distinguished and
yet modest manner, and his consideration towards his colleagues, won him
the hearts of all the boys.”
Angiolillo soon became familiar with the detailed accounts in the press.
He read of the great wave of human sympathy with the helpless victims at
Montjuich. On Trafalgar Square he saw with his own eyes the results of
those atrocities, when the few Spaniards, who escaped Castillo’s
clutches, came to seek asylum in England. There, at the great meeting,
these men opened their shirts and showed the horrible scars of burned
flesh. Angiolillo saw, and the effect surpassed a thousand theories; the
impetus was beyond words, beyond arguments, beyond himself even.
Señor Antonio Canovas del Castillo, Prime Minister of Spain, sojourned
at Santa Agueda. As usual in such cases, all strangers were kept away
from his exalted presence. One exception was made, however, in the case
of a distinguished looking, elegantly dressed Italian — the
representative, it was understood, of an important journal. The
distinguished gentleman was — Angiolillo.
Señor Canovas, about to leave his house, stepped on the veranda.
Suddenly Angiolillo confronted him. A shot rang out, and Canovas was a
corpse.
The wife of the Prime Minister rushed upon the scene. “Murderer!
Murderer!” she cried, pointing at Angiolillo. The latter bowed. “Pardon,
Madame,” he said, “I respect you as a lady, but I regret that you were
the wife of that man.”
Calmly Angiolillo faced death. Death in its most terrible form — for the
man whose soul was as a child’s.
He was garroted. His body lay, sun-kissed, till the day hid in twilight.
And the people came, and pointing the finger of terror and fear, they
said: “There — the criminal — the cruel murderer.”
How stupid, how cruel is ignorance! It misunderstands always, condemns
always.
A remarkable parallel to the case of Angiolillo is to be found in the
act of Gaetano Bresci, whose Attentat upon King Umberto made an American
city famous.
Bresci came to this country, this land of opportunity, where one has but
to try to meet with golden success. Yes, he too would try to succeed. He
would work hard and faithfully. Work had no terrors for him, if it would
only help him to independence, manhood, self-respect.
Thus full of hope and enthusiasm he settled in Paterson, New Jersey, and
there found a lucrative job at six dollars per week in one of the
weaving mills of the town. Six whole dollars per week was, no doubt, a
fortune for Italy, but not enough to breathe on in the new country. He
loved his little home. He was a good husband and devoted father to his
bambina Bianca, whom he adored. He worked and worked for a number of
years. He actually managed to save one hundred dollars out of his six
dollars per week.
Bresci had an ideal. Foolish, I know, for a workingman to have an ideal,
— the Anarchist paper published in Paterson, La Questione Sociale.
Every week, though tired from work, he would help to set up the paper.
Until later hours he would assist, and when the little pioneer had
exhausted all resources and his comrades were in despair, Bresci brought
cheer and hope, one hundred dollars, the entire savings of years. That
would keep the paper afloat.
In his native land people were starving. The crops had been poor, and
the peasants saw themselves face to face with famine. They appealed to
their good King Umberto; he would help. And he did. The wives of the
peasants who had gone to the palace of the King, held up in mute silence
their emaciated infants. Surely that would move him. And then the
soldiers fired and killed those poor fools.
Bresci, at work in the weaving mill at Paterson, read of the horrible
massacre. His mental eye beheld the defenceless women and innocent
infants of his native land, slaughtered right before the good King. His
soul recoiled in horror. At night he heard the groans of the wounded.
Some may have been his comrades, his own flesh. Why, why these foul
murders?
The little meeting of the Italian Anarchist group in Paterson ended
almost in a fight. Bresci had demanded his hundred dollars. His comrades
begged, implored him to give them a respite. The paper would go down if
they were to return him his loan. But Bresci insisted on its return.
How cruel and stupid is ignorance. Bresci got the money, but lost the
good will, the confidence of his comrades. They would have nothing more
to do with one whose greed was greater than his ideals.
On the twenty-ninth of July, 1900, King Umberto was shot at Monza. The
young Italian weaver of Paterson, Gaetano Bresci, had taken the life of
the good King.
Paterson was placed under police surveillance, everyone known as an
Anarchist hounded and persecuted, and the act of Bresci ascribed to the
teachings of Anarchism. As if the teachings of Anarchism in its
extremest form could equal the force of those slain women and infants,
who had pilgrimed to the King for aid. As if any spoken word, ever so
eloquent, could burn into a human soul with such white heat as the
lifeblood trickling drop by drop from those dying forms. The ordinary
man is rarely moved either by word or deed; and those whose social
kinship is the greatest living force need no appeal to respond — even as
does steel to the magnet — to the wrongs and horrors of society.
If a social theory is a strong factor inducing acts of political
violence, how are we to account for the recent violent outbreaks in
India, where Anarchism has hardly been born. More than any other old
philosophy, Hindu teachings have exalted passive resistance, the
drifting of life, the Nirvana, as the highest spiritual ideal. Yet the
social unrest in India is daily growing, and has only recently resulted
in an act of political violence, the killing of Sir Curzon Wyllie by the
Hindu Madan Lal Dhingra.
If such a phenomenon can occur in a country socially and individually
permeated for centuries with the spirit of passivity, can one question
the tremendous, revolutionizing effect on human character exerted by
great social iniquities? Can one doubt the logic, the justice of these
words:
“Repression, tyranny, and indiscriminate punishment of innocent men have
been the watchwords of the government of the alien domination in India
ever since we began the commercial boycott of English goods. The tiger
qualities of the British are much in evidence now in India. They think
that by the strength of the sword they will keep down India! It is this
arrogance that has brought about the bomb, and the more they tyrannize
over a helpless and unarmed people, the more terrorism will grow. We may
deprecate terrorism as outlandish and foreign to our culture, but it is
inevitable as long as this tyranny continues, for it is not the
terrorists that are to be blamed, but the tyrants who are responsible
for it. It is the only resource for a helpless and unarmed people when
brought to the verge of despair. It is never criminal on their part. The
crime lies with the tyrant.”[5]
Even conservative scientists are beginning to realize that heredity is
not the sole factor moulding human character. Climate, food, occupation;
nay, color, light, and sound must be considered in the study of human
psychology.
If that be true, how much more correct is the contention that great
social abuses will and must influence different minds and temperaments
in a different way. And how utterly fallacious the stereotyped notion
that the teachings of Anarchism, or certain exponents of these
teachings, are responsible for the acts of political violence.
Anarchism, more than any other social theory, values human life above
things. All Anarchists agree with Tolstoy in this fundamental truth: if
the production of any commodity necessitates the sacrifice of human
life, society should do without that commodity, but it can not do
without that life. That, however, nowise indicates that Anarchism
teaches submission. How can it, when it knows that all suffering, all
misery, all ills, result from the evil of submission?
Has not some American ancestor said, many years ago, that resistance to
tyranny is obedience to God? And he was not an Anarchist even. It would
say that resistance to tyranny is man’s highest ideal. So long as
tyranny exists, in whatever form, man’s deepest aspiration must resist
it as inevitably as man must breathe.
Compared with the wholesale violence of capital and government,
political acts of violence are but a drop in the ocean. That so few
resist is the strongest proof how terrible must be the conflict between
their souls and unbearable social iniquities.
High strung, like a violin string, they weep and moan for life, so
relentless, so cruel, so terribly inhuman. In a desperate moment the
string breaks. Untuned ears hear nothing but discord. But those who feel
the agonized cry understand its harmony; they hear in it the fulfillment
of the most compelling moment of human nature.
Such is the psychology of political violence.
In 1849 Feodor Dostoyevsky wrote on the wall of his prison cell the
following story of The Priest and the Devil:
“‘Hello, you little fat father!’ the devil said to the priest. ‘What
made you lie so to those poor, misled people? What tortures of hell did
you depict? Don’t you know they are already suffering the tortures of
hell in their earthly lives? Don’t you know that you and the authorities
of the State are my representatives on earth? It is you that make them
suffer the pains of hell with which you threaten them. Don’t you know
this? Well, then, come with me!’
“The devil grabbed the priest by the collar, lifted him high in the air,
and carried him to a factory, to an iron foundry. He saw the workmen
there running and hurrying to and fro, and toiling in the scorching
heat. Very soon the thick, heavy air and the heat are too much for the
priest. With tears in his eyes, he pleads with the devil: ‘Let me go!
Let me leave this hell!’
“‘Oh, my dear friend, I must show you many more places.’ The devil gets
hold of him again and drags him off to a farm. There he sees workmen
threshing the grain. The dust and heat are insufferable. The overseer
carries a knout, and unmercifully beats anyone who falls to the ground
overcome by hard toil or hunger.
“Next the priest is taken to the huts where these same workers live with
their families — dirty, cold, smoky, ill-smelling holes. The devil
grins. He points out the poverty and hardships which are at home here.
“‘Well, isn’t this enough?’ he asks. And it seems as if even he, the
devil, pities the people. The pious servant of God can hardly bear it.
With uplifted hands he begs: ‘Let me go away from here. Yes, yes! This
is hell on earth!’
“‘Well, then, you see. And you still promise them another hell. You
torment them, torture them to death mentally when they are already all
but dead physically! Come on! I will show you one more hell — one more,
the very worst.’
“He took him to a prison and showed him a dungeon, with its foul air and
the many human forms, robbed of all health and energy, lying on the
floor, covered with vermin that were devouring their poor, naked,
emaciated bodies.
“‘Take off your silken clothes,’ said the devil to the priest, ‘put on
your ankles heavy chains such as these unfortunates wear; lie down on
the cold and filthy floor — and then talk to them about a hell that
still awaits them!’
“‘No, no!’ answered the priest, ‘I cannot think of anything more
dreadful than this. I entreat you, let me go away from here!’
“‘Yes, this is hell. There can be no worse hell than this. Did you not
know it? Did you not know that these men and women whom you are
frightening with the picture of a hell hereafter — did you not know that
they are in hell right here, before they die?”
This was written fifty years ago in dark Russia, on the wall of one of
the most horrible prisons. Yet who can deny that the same applies with
equal force to the present time, even to American prisons?
With all our boasted reforms, our great social changes, and our
far-reaching discoveries, human beings continue to be sent to the worst
of hells, wherein they are outraged, degraded, and tortured, that
society may be “protected” from the phantoms of its own making.
Prison, a social protection? What monstrous mind ever conceived such an
idea? Just as well say that health can be promoted by a widespread
contagion.
After eighteen months of horror in an English prison, Oscar Wilde gave
to the world his great masterpiece, The Ballad of Reading Gaol:
The vilest deeds, like poison weeds,
Bloom well in prison air;
It is only what is good in Man
That wastes and withers there.
Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,
And the Warder is Despair.
Society goes on perpetuating this poisonous air, not realizing that out
of it can come naught but the most poisonous results.
We are spending at the present $3,500,000 per day, $1,000,095,000 per
year, to maintain prison institutions, and that in a democratic country,
— a sum almost as large as the combined output of wheat, valued at
$750,000,000, and the output of coal, valued at $350,000,000. Professor
Bushnell of Washington, D.C., estimates the cost of prisons at
$6,000,000,000 annually, and Dr. G. Frank Lydston, an eminent American
writer on crime, gives $5,000,000,000 annually as a reasonable figure.
Such unheard-of expenditure for the purpose of maintaining vast armies
of human beings caged up like wild beasts![6]
Yet crimes are on the increase. Thus we learn that in America there are
four and a half times as many crimes to every million population today
as there were twenty years ago.
The most horrible aspect is that our national crime is murder, not
robbery, embezzlement, or rape, as in the South. London is five times as
large as Chicago, yet there are one hundred and eighteen murders
annually in the latter city, while only twenty in London. Nor is Chicago
the leading city in crime, since it is only seventh on the list, which
is headed by four Southern cities, and San Francisco and Los Angeles. In
view of such a terrible condition of affairs, it seems ridiculous to
prate of the protection society derives from its prisons.
The average mind is slow in grasping a truth, but when the most
thoroughly organized, centralized institution, maintained at an
excessive national expense, has proven a complete social failure, the
dullest must begin to question its right to exist. The time is past when
we can be content with our social fabric merely because it is “ordained
by divine right,” or by the majesty of the law.
The widespread prison investigations, agitation, and education during
the last few years are conclusive proof that men are learning to dig
deep into the very bottom of society, down to the causes of the terrible
discrepancy between social and individual life.
Why, then, are prisons a social crime and a failure? To answer this
vital question it behooves us to seek the nature and cause of crimes,
the methods employed in coping with them, and the effects these methods
produce in ridding society of the curse and horror of crimes.
First, as to the nature of crime:
Havelock Ellis divides crime into four phases, the political, the
passional, the insane, and the occasional. He says that the political
criminal is the victim of an attempt of a more or less despotic
government to preserve its own stability. He is not necessarily guilty
of an unsocial offense; he simply tries to overturn a certain political
order which may itself be anti-social. This truth is recognized all over
the world, except in America where the foolish notion still prevails
that in a Democracy there is no place for political criminals. Yet John
Brown was a political criminal; so were the Chicago Anarchists; so is
every striker. Consequently, says Havelock Ellis, the political criminal
of our time or place may be the hero, martyr, saint of another age.
Lombroso calls the political criminal the true precursor of the
progressive movement of humanity.
“The criminal by passion is usually a man of wholesome birth and honest
life, who under the stress of some great, unmerited wrong has wrought
justice for himself.”[7]
Mr. Hugh C. Weir, in The Menace of the Police, cites the case of Jim
Flaherty, a criminal by passion, who, instead of being saved by society,
is turned into a drunkard and a recidivist, with a ruined and
poverty-stricken family as the result.
A more pathetic type is Archie, the victim in Brand Whitlock’s novel,
The Turn of the Balance, the greatest American exposé of crime in the
making. Archie, even more than Flaherty, was driven to crime and death
by the cruel inhumanity of his surroundings, and by the unscrupulous
hounding of the machinery of the law. Archie and Flaherty are but the
types of many thousands, demonstrating how the legal aspects of crime,
and the methods of dealing with it, help to create the disease which is
undermining our entire social life.
“The insane criminal really can no more be considered a criminal than a
child, since he is mentally in the same condition as an infant or an
animal.”[8]
The law already recognizes that, but only in rare cases of a very
flagrant nature, or when the culprit’s wealth permits the luxury of
criminal insanity. It has become quite fashionable to be the victim of
paranoia. But on the whole the “sovereignty of justice” still continues
to punish criminally insane with the whole severity of its power. Thus
Mr. Ellis quotes from Dr. Richter’s statistics showing that in Germany
one hundred and six madmen, out of one hundred and forty-four criminally
insane, were condemned to severe punishment.
The occasional criminal “represents by far the largest class of our
prison population, hence is the greatest menace to social well-being.”
What is the cause that compels a vast army of the human family to take
to crime, to prefer the hideous life within prison walls to the life
outside? Certainly that cause must be an iron master, who leaves its
victims no avenue of escape, for the most depraved human being loves
liberty.
This terrific force is conditioned in our cruel social and economic
arrangement. I do not mean to deny the biologic, physiologic, or
psychologic factors in creating crime; but there is hardly an advanced
criminologist who will not concede that the social and economic
influences are the most relentless, the most poisonous germs of crime.
Granted even that there are innate criminal tendencies, it is none the
less true that these tendencies find rich nutrition in our social
environment.
There is close relation, says Havelock Ellis, between crimes against the
person and the price of alcohol, between crimes against property and the
price of wheat. He quotes Quetelet and Lacassagne, the former looking
upon society as the preparer of crime, and the criminals as instruments
that execute them. The latter find that “the social environment is the
cultivation medium of criminality; that the criminal is the microbe, an
element which only becomes important when it finds the medium which
causes it to ferment; every society has the criminals it deserves.”[9]
The most “prosperous” industrial period makes it impossible for the
worker to earn enough to keep up health and vigor. And as prosperity is,
at best, an imaginary condition, thousands of people are constantly
added to the host of the unemployed. From East to West, from South to
North, this vast army tramps in search of work or food, and all they
find is the workhouse or the slums. Those who have a spark of
self-respect left, prefer open defiance, prefer crime to the emaciated,
degraded position of poverty.
Edward Carpenter estimates that five-sixths of indictable crimes consist
in some violation of property rights; but that is too low a figure. A
thorough investigation would prove that nine crimes out of ten could be
traced, directly or indirectly, to our economic and social iniquities,
to our system of remorseless exploitation and robbery. There is no
criminal so stupid but recognizes this terrible fact, though he may not
be able to account for it.
A collection of criminal philosophy, which Havelock Ellis, Lombroso, and
other eminent men have compiled, shows that the criminal feels only too
keenly that it is society that drives him to crime. A Milanese thief
said to Lombroso: “I do not rob, I merely take from the rich their
superfluities; besides, do not advocates and merchants rob?” A murderer
wrote: “Knowing that three-fourths of the social virtues are cowardly
vices, I thought an open assault on a rich man would be less ignoble
than the cautious combination of fraud.” Another wrote: “I am imprisoned
for stealing a half dozen eggs. Ministers who rob millions are honored.
Poor Italy!” An educated convict said to Mr. Davitt: “The laws of
society are framed for the purpose of securing the wealth of the world
to power and calculation, thereby depriving the larger portion of
mankind of its rights and chances. Why should they punish me for taking
by somewhat similar means from those who have taken more than they had a
right to?” The same man added: “Religion robs the soul of its
independence; patriotism is the stupid worship of the world for which
the well-being and the peace of the inhabitants were sacrificed by those
who profit by it, while the laws of the land, in restraining natural
desires, were waging war on the manifest spirit of the law of our
beings. Compared with this,” he concluded, “thieving is an honorable
pursuit.”[10]
Verily, there is greater truth in this philosophy than in all the
law-and-moral books of society.
The economic, political, moral, and physical factors being the microbes
of crime, how does society meet the situation?
The methods of coping with crime have no doubt undergone several
changes, but mainly in a theoretic sense. In practice, society has
retained the primitive motive in dealing with the offender; that is,
revenge. It has also adopted the theologic idea; namely, punishment;
while the legal and “civilized” methods consist of deterrence or terror,
and reform. We shall presently see that all four modes have failed
utterly, and that we are today no nearer a solution than in the dark
ages.
The natural impulse of the primitive man to strike back, to avenge a
wrong, is out of date. Instead, the civilized man, stripped of courage
and daring, has delegated to an organized machinery the duty of avenging
his wrongs, in the foolish belief that the State is justified in doing
what he no longer has the manhood or consistency to do. The “majesty of
the law” is a reasoning thing; it would not stoop to primitive
instincts. Its mission is of a “higher” nature. True, it is still
steeped in the theologic muddle, which proclaims punishment as a means
of purification, or the vicarious atonement of sin. But legally and
socially the statute exercises punishment, not merely as an infliction
of pain upon the offender, but also for its terrifying effect upon
others.
What is the real basis of punishment, however? The notion of a free
will, the idea that man is at all times a free agent for good or evil;
if he chooses the latter, he must be made to pay the price. Although
this theory has long been exploded, and thrown upon the dustheap, it
continues to be applied daily by the entire machinery of government,
turning it into the most cruel and brutal tormentor of human life. The
only reason for its continuance is the still more cruel notion that the
greater the terror punishment spreads, the more certain its preventative
effect.
Society is using the most drastic methods in dealing with the social
offender. Why do they not deter? Although in America a man is supposed
to be considered innocent until proven guilty, the instruments of law,
the police, carry on a reign of terror, making indiscriminate arrests,
beating, clubbing, bullying people, using the barbarous method of the
“third degree,” subjecting their unfortunate victims to the foul air of
the station house, and the still fouler language of its guardians. Yet
crimes are rapidly multiplying, and society is paying the price. On the
other hand, it is an open secret that when the unfortunate citizen has
been given the full “mercy” of the law, and for the sake of safety is
hidden in the worst of hells, his real Calvary begins. Robbed of his
rights as a human being, degraded to a mere automaton without will or
feeling, dependent entirely upon the mercy of brutal keepers, he daily
goes through a process of dehumanization, compared with which savage
revenge was mere child’s play.
There is not a single penal institution or reformatory in the United
States where men are not tortured “to be made good,” by means of the
black-jack, the club, the strait-jacket, the water-cure, the “humming
bird” (an electrical contrivance run along the human body), the
solitary, the bull-ring, and starvation diet. In these institutions his
will is broken, his soul degraded, his spirit subdued by the deadly
monotony and routine of prison life. In Ohio, Illinois, Pennsylvania,
Missouri, and in the South, these horrors have become so flagrant as to
reach the outside world, while in most other prisons the same Christian
methods still prevail. But prison walls rarely allow the agonized
shrieks of the victims to escape — prison walls are thick, they dull the
sound. Society might with greater immunity abolish all prisons at once,
than to hope for protection from these twentieth-century chambers of
horrors.
Year after year the gates of prison hells return to the world an
emaciated, deformed, will-less, ship-wrecked crew of humanity, with the
Cain mark on their foreheads, their hopes crushed, all their natural
inclinations thwarted. With nothing but hunger and inhumanity to greet
them, these victims soon sink back into crime as the only possibility of
existence. It is not at all an unusual thing to find men and women who
have spent half their lives — nay, almost their entire existence — in
prison. I know a woman on Blackwell’s Island, who had been in and out
thirty-eight times; and through a friend I learn that a young boy of
seventeen, whom he had nursed and cared for in the Pittsburg
penitentiary, had never known the meaning of liberty. From the
reformatory to the penitentiary had been the path of this boy’s life,
until, broken in body, he died a victim of social revenge. These
personal experiences are substantiated by extensive data giving
overwhelming proof of the utter futility of prisons as a means of
deterrence or reform.
Well-meaning persons are now working for a new departure in the prison
question, — reclamation, to restore once more to the prisoner the
possibility of becoming a human being. Commendable as this is, I fear it
is impossible to hope for good results from pouring good wine into a
musty bottle. Nothing short of a complete reconstruction of society will
deliver mankind from the cancer of crime. Still, if the dull edge of our
social conscience would be sharpened, the penal institutions might be
given a new coat of varnish. But the first step to be taken is the
renovation of the social consciousness, which is in a rather dilapidated
condition. It is sadly in need to be awakened to the fact that crime is
a question of degree, that we all have the rudiments of crime in us,
more or less, according to our mental, physical, and social environment;
and that the individual criminal is merely a reflex of the tendencies of
the aggregate.
With the social consciousness wakened, the average individual may learn
to refuse the “honor” of being the bloodhound of the law. He may cease
to persecute, despise, and mistrust the social offender, and give him a
chance to live and breathe among his fellows. Institutions are, of
course, harder to reach. They are cold, impenetrable, and cruel; still,
with the social consciousness quickened, it might be possible to free
the prison victims from the brutality of prison officials, guards, and
keepers. Public opinion is a powerful weapon; keepers of human prey,
even, are afraid of it. They may be taught a little humanity, especially
if they realize that their jobs depend upon it.
But the most important step is to demand for the prisoner the right to
work while in prison, with some monetary recompense that would enable
him to lay aside a little for the day of his release, the beginning of a
new life.
It is almost ridiculous to hope much from present society when we
consider that workingmen, wage-slaves themselves, object to convict
labor. I shall not go into the cruelty of this objection, but merely
consider the impracticability of it. To begin with, the opposition so
far raised by organized labor has been directed against windmills.
Prisoners have always worked; only the State has been their exploiter,
even as the individual employer has been the robber of organized labor.
The States have either set the convicts to work for the government, or
they have farmed convict labor to private individuals. Twenty-nine of
the States pursue the latter plan. The Federal government and seventeen
States have discarded it, as have the leading nations of Europe, since
it leads to hideous overworking and abuse of prisoners, and to endless
graft.
“Rhode Island, the State dominated by Aldrich, offers perhaps the worst
example. Under a five-year contract, dated July 7^(th), 1906, and
renewable for five years more at the option of private contractors, the
labor of the inmates of the Rhode Island Penitentiary and the Providence
County Jail is sold to the Reliance-Sterling Mfg. Co. at the rate of a
trifle less than 25 cents a day per man. This Company is really a
gigantic Prison Labor Trust, for it also leases the convict labor of
Connecticut, Michigan, Indiana, Nebraska, and South Dakota
penitentiaries, and the reformatories of New Jersey, Indiana, Illinois,
and Wisconsin, eleven establishments in all.
“The enormity of the graft under the Rhode Island contract may be
estimated from the fact that this same Company pays 62 1/2 cents a day
in Nebraska for the convict’s labor, and that Tennessee, for example,
gets $1.10 a day for a convict’s work from the Gray-Dudley Hardware Co.;
Missouri gets 70 cents a day from the Star Overall Mfg. Co.; West
Virginia 65 cents a day from the Kraft Mfg. Co., and Maryland 55 cents a
day from Oppenheim, Oberndorf & Co., shirt manufacturers. The very
difference in prices points to enormous graft. For example, the
Reliance-Sterling Mfg. Co. manufactures shirts, the cost of free labor
being not less than $1.20 per dozen, while it pays Rhode Island thirty
cents a dozen. Furthermore, the State charges this Trust no rent for the
use of its huge factory, charges nothing for power, heat, light, or even
drainage, and exacts no taxes. What graft!”[11]
It is estimated that more than twelve million dollars’ worth of
workingmen’s shirts and overalls is produced annually in this country by
prison labor. It is a woman’s industry, and the first reflection that
arises is that an immense amount of free female labor is thus displaced.
The second consideration is that male convicts, who should be learning
trades that would give them some chance of being self-supporting after
their release, are kept at this work at which they can not possibly make
a dollar. This is the more serious when we consider that much of this
labor is done in reformatories, which so loudly profess to be training
their inmates to become useful citizens.
The third, and most important, consideration is that the enormous
profits thus wrung from convict labor are a constant incentive to the
contractors to exact from their unhappy victims tasks altogether beyond
their strength, and to punish them cruelly when their work does not come
up to the excessive demands made.
Another word on the condemnation of convicts to tasks at which they
cannot hope to make a living after release. Indiana, for example, is a
State that has made a great splurge over being in the front rank of
modern penological improvements. Yet, according to the report rendered
in 1908 by the training school of its “reformatory,” 135 were engaged in
the manufacture of chains, 207 in that of shirts, and 255 in the foundry
— a total of 597 in three occupations. But at this so-called reformatory
59 occupations were represented by the inmates, 39 of which were
connected with country pursuits. Indiana, like other States, professes
to be training the inmates of her reformatory to occupations by which
they will be able to make their living when released. She actually sets
them to work making chains, shirts, and brooms, the latter for the
benefit of the Louisville Fancy Grocery Co. Broom-making is a trade
largely monopolized by the blind, shirt-making is done by women, and
there is only one free chain-factory in the State, and at that a
released convict can not hope to get employment. The whole thing is a
cruel farce.
If, then, the States can be instrumental in robbing their helpless
victims of such tremendous profits is it not high time for organized
labor to stop its idle howl, and to insist on decent remuneration for
the convict, even as labor organizations claim for themselves? In that
way workingmen would kill the germ which makes of the prisoner an enemy
to the interests of labor. I have said elsewhere that thousands of
convicts, incompetent and without a trade, without means of subsistence,
are yearly turned back into the social fold. These men and women must
live, for even an ex-convict has needs. Prison life has made them
anti-social beings, and the rigidly closed doors that meet them on their
release are not likely to decrease their bitterness. The inevitable
result is that they form a favorable nucleus out of which scabs,
black-legs, detectives, and policemen are drawn, only too willing to do
the master’s bidding. Thus organized labor, by its foolish opposition to
work in prison, defeats its own ends. It helps to create poisonous fumes
that stifle every attempt for economic betterment. If the workingman
wants to avoid these effects, he should insist on the right of the
convict to work, he should meet him as a brother, take him into his
organization, and with his aid turn against the system which grinds them
both.
Last, but not least, is the growing realization of the barbarity and the
inadequacy of the definite sentence. Those who believe in, and earnestly
aim at, a change are fast coming to the conclusion that man must be
given an opportunity to make good. And how is he to do it with ten,
fifteen, or twenty years’ imprisonment before him? The hope of liberty
and of opportunity is the only incentive to life, especially the
prisoner’s life. Society has sinned so long against him — it ought at
least to leave him that. I am not very sanguine that it will, or that
any real change in that direction can take place until the conditions
that breed both the prisoner and the jailer will be forever abolished.
Out of his mouth a red, red rose!
Out of his heart a white!
For who can say by what strange way
Christ brings his will to light,
Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore
Bloomed in the great Pope’s sight.
What is patriotism? Is it love of one’s birthplace, the place of
childhood’s recollections and hopes, dreams and aspirations? Is it the
place where, in childlike naivety, we would watch the fleeting clouds,
and wonder why we, too, could not run so swiftly? The place where we
would count the milliard glittering stars, terror-stricken lest each one
“an eye should be,” piercing the very depths of our little souls? Is it
the place where we would listen to the music of the birds, and long to
have wings to fly, even as they, to distant lands? Or the place where we
would sit at mother’s knee, enraptured by wonderful tales of great deeds
and conquests? In short, is it love for the spot, every inch
representing dear and precious recollections of a happy, joyous, and
playful childhood?
If that were patriotism, few American men of today could be called upon
to be patriotic, since the place of play has been turned into factory,
mill, and mine, while deafening sounds of machinery have replaced the
music of the birds. Nor can we longer hear the tales of great deeds, for
the stories our mothers tell today are but those of sorrow, tears, and
grief.
What, then, is patriotism? “Patriotism, sir, is the last resort of
scoundrels,” said Dr. Johnson. Leo Tolstoy, the greatest anti-patriot of
our times, defines patriotism as the principle that will justify the
training of wholesale murderers; a trade that requires better equipment
for the exercise of man-killing than the making of such necessities of
life as shoes, clothing, and houses; a trade that guarantees better
returns and greater glory than that of the average workingman.
Gustave Hervé, another great anti-patriot, justly calls patriotism a
superstition — one far more injurious, brutal, and inhumane than
religion. The superstition of religion originated in man’s inability to
explain natural phenomena. That is, when primitive man heard thunder or
saw the lightning, he could not account for either, and therefore
concluded that both of them must be a force greater than himself.
Similarly he saw a supernatural force in the rain, and in the various
other changes in nature. Patriotism, on the other hand, is a
superstition artificially created and maintained through a network of
lies and falsehoods; a superstition that robs man of his self-respect
and dignity, and increases his arrogance and conceit.
Indeed, conceit, arrogance, and egotism are the essentials of
patriotism. Let me illustrate. Patriotism assumes that our globe is
divided into little spots, each one surrounded by an iron gate. Those
who have had the fortune of being born on some particular spot, consider
themselves better, nobler, grander, more intelligent than the living
beings inhabiting any other spot. It is, therefore, the duty of everyone
living on that chosen spot to fight, kill, and die in the attempt to
impose his superiority upon all the others.
The inhabitants of the other spots reason in like manner, of course,
with the result that, from early infancy, the mind of the child is
poisoned with bloodcurdling stories about the Germans, the French, the
Italians, Russians, etc. When the child has reached manhood, he is
thoroughly saturated with the belief that he is chosen by the Lord
himself to defend his country against the attack or invasion of any
foreigner. It is for that purpose that we are clamoring for a greater
army and navy, more battleships and ammunition. It is for that purpose
that America has within a short time spent four hundred million dollars.
Just think of it — four hundred million dollars taken from the produce
of the people. For surely it is not the rich who contribute to
patriotism. They are cosmopolitans, perfectly at home in every land. We
in America know well the truth of this. Are not our rich Americans
Frenchmen in France, Germans in Germany, or Englishmen in England? And
do they not squander with cosmopolitan grace fortunes coined by American
factory children and cotton slaves? Yes, theirs is the patriotism that
will make it possible to send messages of condolence to a despot like
the Russian Tsar, when any mishap befalls him, as President Roosevelt
did in the name of his people, when Sergius was punished by the Russian
revolutionists.
It is a patriotism that will assist the arch-murderer, Diaz, in
destroying thousands of lives in Mexico, or that will even aid in
arresting Mexican revolutionists on American soil and keep them
incarcerated in American prisons, without the slightest cause or reason.
But, then, patriotism is not for those who represent wealth and power.
It is good enough for the people. It reminds one of the historic wisdom
of Frederick the Great, the bosom friend of Voltaire, who said:
“Religion is a fraud, but it must be maintained for the masses.”
That patriotism is rather a costly institution, no one will doubt after
considering the following statistics. The progressive increase of the
expenditures for the leading armies and navies of the world during the
last quarter of a century is a fact of such gravity as to startle every
thoughtful student of economic problems. It may be briefly indicated by
dividing the time from 1881 to 1905 into five-year periods, and noting
the disbursements of several great nations for army and navy purposes
during the first and last of those periods. From the first to the last
of the periods noted the expenditures of Great Britain increased from
$2,101,848,936 to $4,143,226,885, those of France from $3,324,500,000 to
$3,455,109,900, those of Germany from $725,000,200 to $2,700,375,600,
those of the United States from $1,275,500,750 to $2,650,900,450, those
of Russia from $1,900,975,500 to $5,250,445,100, those of Italy from
$1,600,975,750 to $1,755,500,100, and those of Japan from $182,900,500
to $700,925,475.
The military expenditures of each of the nations mentioned increased in
each of the five-year periods under review. During the entire interval
from 1881 to 1905 Great Britain’s outlay for her army increased
fourfold, that of the United States was tripled, Russia’s was doubled,
that of Germany increased 35 per cent., that of France about 15 per
cent., and that of Japan nearly 500 per cent. If we compare the
expenditures of these nations upon their armies with their total
expenditures for all the twenty-five years ending with 1905, the
proportion rose as follows:
In Great Britain from 20 per cent. to 37; in the United States from 15
to 23; in France from 16 to 18; in Italy from 12 to 15; in Japan from 12
to 14. On the other hand, it is interesting to note that the proportion
in Germany decreased from about 58 per cent. to 25, the decrease being
due to the enormous increase in the imperial expenditures for other
purposes, the fact being that the army expenditures for the period of
190I-5 were higher than for any five-year period preceding. Statistics
show that the countries in which army expenditures are greatest, in
proportion to the total national revenues, are Great Britain, the United
States, Japan, France, and Italy, in the order named.
The showing as to the cost of great navies is equally impressive. During
the twenty-five years ending with 1905 naval expenditures increased
approximately as follows: Great Britain, 300 per cent.; France 60 per
cent.; Germany 600 per cent.; the United States 525 per cent.; Russia
300 per cent.; Italy 250 per cent.; and Japan, 700 per cent. With the
exception of Great Britain, the United States spends more for naval
purposes than any other nation, and this expenditure bears also a larger
proportion to the entire national disbursements than that of any other
power. In the period 1881–5, the expenditure for the United States navy
was $6.20 out of each $100 appropriated for all national purposes; the
amount rose to $6.60 for the next five-year period, to $8.10 for the
next, to $11.70 for the next, and to $16.40 for 1901–5. It is morally
certain that the outlay for the current period of five years will show a
still further increase.
The rising cost of militarism may be still further illustrated by
computing it as a per capita tax on population. From the first to the
last of the five-year periods taken as the basis for the comparisons
here given, it has risen as follows: In Great Britain, from $18.47 to
$52.50; in France, from $19.66 to $23.62; in Germany, from $10.17 to
$15.51; in the United States, from $5.62 to $13.64; in Russia, from
$6.14 to $8.37; in Italy, from $9.59 to $11.24, and in Japan from 86
cents to $3.11.
It is in connection with this rough estimate of cost per capita that the
economic burden of militarism is most appreciable. The irresistible
conclusion from available data is that the increase of expenditure for
army and navy purposes is rapidly surpassing the growth of population in
each of the countries considered in the present calculation. In other
words, a continuation of the increased demands of militarism threatens
each of those nations with a progressive exhaustion both of men and
resources.
The awful waste that patriotism necessitates ought to be sufficient to
cure the man of even average intelligence from this disease. Yet
patriotism demands still more. The people are urged to be patriotic and
for that luxury they pay, not only by supporting their “defenders,” but
even by sacrificing their own children. Patriotism requires allegiance
to the flag, which means obedience and readiness to kill father, mother,
brother, sister.
The usual contention is that we need a standing army to protect the
country from foreign invasion. Every intelligent man and woman knows,
however, that this is a myth maintained to frighten and coerce the
foolish. The governments of the world, knowing each other’s interests,
do not invade each other. They have learned that they can gain much more
by international arbitration of disputes than by war and conquest.
Indeed, as Carlyle said, “War is a quarrel between two thieves too
cowardly to fight their own battle; therefore they take boys from one
village and another village, stick them into uniforms, equip them with
guns, and let them loose like wild beasts against each other.”
It does not require much wisdom to trace every war back to a similar
cause. Let us take our own Spanish-American war, supposedly a great and
patriotic event in the history of the United States. How our hearts
burned with indignation against the atrocious Spaniards! True, our
indignation did not flare up spontaneously. It was nurtured by months of
newspaper agitation, and long after Butcher Weyler had killed off many
noble Cubans and outraged many Cuban women. Still, in justice to the
American Nation be it said, it did grow indignant and was willing to
fight, and that it fought bravely. But when the smoke was over, the dead
buried, and the cost of the war came back to the people in an increase
in the price of commodities and rent — that is, when we sobered up from
our patriotic spree it suddenly dawned on us that the cause of the
Spanish-American war was the consideration of the price of sugar; or, to
be more explicit, that the lives, blood, and money of the American
people were used to protect the interests of American capitalists, which
were threatened by the Spanish government. That this is not an
exaggeration, but is based on absolute facts and figures, is best proven
by the attitude of the American government to Cuban labor. When Cuba was
firmly in the clutches of the United States, the very soldiers sent to
liberate Cuba were ordered to shoot Cuban workingmen during the great
cigarmakers’ strike, which took place shortly after the war.
Nor do we stand alone in waging war for such causes. The curtain is
beginning to be lifted on the motives of the terrible Russo-Japanese
war, which cost so much blood and tears. And we see again that back of
the fierce Moloch of war stands the still fiercer god of Commercialism.
Kuropatkin, the Russian Minister of War during the Russo-Japanese
struggle, has revealed the true secret behind the latter. The Tsar and
his Grand Dukes, having invested money in Corean concessions, the war
was forced for the sole purpose of speedily accumulating large fortunes.
The contention that a standing army and navy is the best security of
peace is about as logical as the claim that the most peaceful citizen is
he who goes about heavily armed. The experience of every-day life fully
proves that the armed individual is invariably anxious to try his
strength. The same is historically true of governments. Really peaceful
countries do not waste life and energy in war preparations, with the
result that peace is maintained.
However, the clamor for an increased army and navy is not due to any
foreign danger. It is owing to the dread of the growing discontent of
the masses and of the international spirit among the workers. It is to
meet the internal enemy that the Powers of various countries are
preparing themselves; an enemy, who, once awakened to consciousness,
will prove more dangerous than any foreign invader.
The powers that have for centuries been engaged in enslaving the masses
have made a thorough study of their psychology. They know that the
people at large are like children whose despair, sorrow, and tears can
be turned into joy with a little toy. And the more gorgeously the toy is
dressed, the louder the colors, the more it will appeal to the
million-headed child.
An army and navy represents the people’s toys. To make them more
attractive and acceptable, hundreds and thousands of dollars are being
spent for the display of these toys. That was the purpose of the
American government in equipping a fleet and sending it along the
Pacific coast, that every American citizen should be made to feel the
pride and glory of the United States. The city of San Francisco spent
one hundred thousand dollars for the entertainment of the fleet; Los
Angeles, sixty thousand; Seattle and Tacoma, about one hundred thousand.
To entertain the fleet, did I say? To dine and wine a few superior
officers, while the “brave boys” had to mutiny to get sufficient food.
Yes, two hundred and sixty thousand dollars were spent on fireworks,
theatre parties, and revelries, at a time when men, women, and children
through the breadth and length of the country were starving in the
streets; when thousands of unemployed were ready to sell their labor at
any price.
Two hundred and sixty thousand dollars! What could not have been
accomplished with such an enormous sum? But instead of bread and
shelter, the children of those cities were taken to see the fleet, that
it may remain, as one of the newspapers said, “a lasting memory for the
child.”
A wonderful thing to remember, is it not? The implements of civilized
slaughter. If the mind of the child is to be poisoned with such
memories, what hope is there for a true realization of human
brotherhood?
We Americans claim to be a peace-loving people. We hate bloodshed; we
are opposed to violence. Yet we go into spasms of joy over the
possibility of projecting dynamite bombs from flying machines upon
helpless citizens. We are ready to hang, electrocute, or lynch anyone,
who, from economic necessity, will risk his own life in the attempt upon
that of some industrial magnate. Yet our hearts swell with pride at the
thought that America is becoming the most powerful nation on earth, and
that it will eventually plant her iron foot on the necks of all other
nations.
Such is the logic of patriotism.
Considering the evil results that patriotism is fraught with for the
average man, it is as nothing compared with the insult and injury that
patriotism heaps upon the soldier himself, — that poor, deluded victim
of superstition and ignorance. He, the savior of his country, the
protector of his nation, — what has patriotism in store for him? A life
of slavish submission, vice, and perversion, during peace; a life of
danger, exposure, and death, during war.
While on a recent lecture tour in San Francisco, I visited the Presidio,
the most beautiful spot overlooking the Bay and Golden Gate Park. Its
purpose should have been playgrounds for children, gardens and music for
the recreation of the weary. Instead it is made ugly, dull, and gray by
barracks, — barracks wherein the rich would not allow their dogs to
dwell. In these miserable shanties soldiers are herded like cattle; here
they waste their young days, polishing the boots and brass buttons of
their superior officers. Here, too, I saw the distinction of classes:
sturdy sons of a free Republic, drawn up in line like convicts, saluting
every passing shrimp of a lieutenant. American equality, degrading
manhood and elevating the uniform!
Barrack life further tends to develop tendencies of sexual perversion.
It is gradually producing along this line results similar to European
military conditions. Havelock Ellis, the noted writer on sex psychology,
has made a thorough study of the subject. I quote: “Some of the barracks
are great centers of male prostitution.... The number of soldiers who
prostitute themselves is greater than we are willing to believe. It is
no exaggeration to say that in certain regiments the presumption is in
favor of the venality of the majority of the men.... On summer evenings
Hyde Park and the neighborhood of Albert Gate are full of guardsmen and
others plying a lively trade, and with little disguise, in uniform or
out.... In most cases the proceeds form a comfortable addition to Tommy
Atkins’ pocket money.”
To what extent this perversion has eaten its way into the army and navy
can best be judged from the fact that special houses exist for this form
of prostitution. The practice is not limited to England; it is
universal. “Soldiers are no less sought after in France than in England
or in Germany, and special houses for military prostitution exist both
in Paris and the garrison towns.”
Had Mr. Havelock Ellis included America in his investigation of sex
perversion, he would have found that the same conditions prevail in our
army and navy as in those of other countries. The growth of the standing
army inevitably adds to the spread of sex perversion; the barracks are
the incubators.
Aside from the sexual effects of barrack life, it also tends to unfit
the soldier for useful labor after leaving the army. Men, skilled in a
trade, seldom enter the army or navy, but even they, after a military
experience, find themselves totally unfitted for their former
occupations. Having acquired habits of idleness and a taste for
excitement and adventure, no peaceful pursuit can content them. Released
from the army, they can turn to no useful work. But it is usually the
social riff-raff, discharged prisoners and the like, whom either the
struggle for life or their own inclination drives into the ranks. These,
their military term over, again turn to their former life of crime, more
brutalized and degraded than before. It is a well-known fact that in our
prisons there is a goodly number of ex-soldiers; while, on the other
hand, the army and navy are to a great extent plied with ex-convicts.
Of all the evil results I have just described none seems to me so
detrimental to human integrity as the spirit patriotism has produced in
the case of Private William Buwalda. Because he foolishly believed that
one can be a soldier and exercise his rights as a man at the same time,
the military authorities punished him severely. True, he had served his
country fifteen years, during which time his record was unimpeachable.
According to Gen. Funston, who reduced Buwalda’s sentence to three
years, “the first duty of an officer or an enlisted man is unquestioned
obedience and loyalty to the government, and it makes no difference
whether he approves of that government or not.” Thus Funston stamps the
true character of allegiance. According to him, entrance into the army
abrogates the principles of the Declaration of Independence.
What a strange development of patriotism that turns a thinking being
into a loyal machine!
In justification of this most outrageous sentence of Buwalda, Gen.
Funston tells the American people that the soldier’s action was “a
serious crime equal to treason.” Now, what did this “terrible crime”
really consist of? Simply in this: William Buwalda was one of fifteen
hundred people who attended a public meeting in San Francisco; and, oh,
horrors, he shook hands with the speaker, Emma Goldman. A terrible
crime, indeed, which the General calls “a great military offense,
infinitely worse than desertion.”
Can there be a greater indictment against patriotism than that it will
thus brand a man a criminal, throw him into prison, and rob him of the
results of fifteen years of faithful service?
Buwalda gave to his country the best years of his life and his very
manhood. But all that was as nothing. Patriotism is inexorable and, like
all insatiable monsters, demands all or nothing. It does not admit that
a soldier is also a human being, who has a right to his own feelings and
opinions, his own inclinations and ideas. No, patriotism can not admit
of that. That is the lesson which Buwalda was made to learn; made to
learn at a rather costly, though not at a useless price. When he
returned to freedom, he had lost his position in the army, but he
regained his self-respect. After all, that is worth three years of
imprisonment.
A writer on the military conditions of America, in a recent article,
commented on the power of the military man over the civilian in Germany.
He said, among other things, that if our Republic had no other meaning
than to guarantee all citizens equal rights, it would have just cause
for existence. I am convinced that the writer was not in Colorado during
the patriotic regime of General Bell. He probably would have changed his
mind had he seen how, in the name of patriotism and the Republic, men
were thrown into bull-pens, dragged about, driven across the border, and
subjected to all kinds of indignities. Nor is that Colorado incident the
only one in the growth of military power in the United States. There is
hardly a strike where troops and militia do not come to the rescue of
those in power, and where they do not act as arrogantly and brutally as
do the men wearing the Kaiser’s uniform. Then, too, we have the Dick
military law. Had the writer forgotten that?
A great misfortune with most of our writers is that they are absolutely
ignorant on current events, or that, lacking honesty, they will not
speak of these matters. And so it has come to pass that the Dick
military law was rushed through Congress with little discussion and
still less publicity, — a law which gives the President the power to
turn a peaceful citizen into a bloodthirsty man-killer, supposedly for
the defense of the country, in reality for the protection of the
interests of that particular party whose mouthpiece the President
happens to be.
Our writer claims that militarism can never become such a power in
America as abroad, since it is voluntary with us, while compulsory in
the Old World. Two very important facts, however, the gentleman forgets
to consider. First, that conscription has created in Europe a
deep-seated hatred of militarism among all classes of society. Thousands
of young recruits enlist under protest and, once in the army, they will
use every possible means to desert. Second, that it is the compulsory
feature of militarism which has created a tremendous anti-militarist
movement, feared by European Powers far more than anything else. After
all, the greatest bulwark of capitalism is militarism. The very moment
the latter is undermined, capitalism will totter. True, we have no
conscription; that is, men are not usually forced to enlist in the army,
but we have developed a far more exacting and rigid force — necessity.
Is it not a fact that during industrial depressions there is a
tremendous increase in the number of enlistments? The trade of
militarism may not be either lucrative or honorable, but it is better
than tramping the country in search of work, standing in the bread line,
or sleeping in municipal lodging houses. After all, it means thirteen
dollars per month, three meals a day, and a place to sleep. Yet even
necessity is not sufficiently strong a factor to bring into the army an
element of character and manhood. No wonder our military authorities
complain of the “poor material” enlisting in the army and navy. This
admission is a very encouraging sign. It proves that there is still
enough of the spirit of independence and love of liberty left in the
average American to risk starvation rather than don the uniform.
Thinking men and women the world over are beginning to realize that
patriotism is too narrow and limited a conception to meet the
necessities of our time. The centralization of power has brought into
being an international feeling of solidarity among the oppressed nations
of the world; a solidarity which represents a greater harmony of
interests between the workingman of America and his brothers abroad than
between the American miner and his exploiting compatriot; a solidarity
which fears not foreign invasion, because it is bringing all the workers
to the point when they will say to their masters, “Go and do your own
killing. We have done it long enough for you.”
This solidarity is awakening the consciousness of even the soldiers,
they, too, being flesh of the great human family. A solidarity that has
proven infallible more than once during past struggles, and which has
been the impetus inducing the Parisian soldiers, during the Commune of
1871, to refuse to obey when ordered to shoot their brothers. It has
given courage to the men who mutinied on Russian warships during recent
years. It will eventually bring about the uprising of all the oppressed
and downtrodden against their international exploiters.
The proletariat of Europe has realized the great force of that
solidarity and has, as a result, inaugurated a war against patriotism
and its bloody spectre, militarism. Thousands of men fill the prisons of
France, Germany, Russia, and the Scandinavian countries, because they
dared to defy the ancient superstition. Nor is the movement limited to
the working class; it has embraced representatives in all stations of
life, its chief exponents being men and women prominent in art, science,
and letters.
America will have to follow suit. The spirit of militarism has already
permeated all walks of life. Indeed, I am convinced that militarism is
growing a greater danger here than anywhere else, because of the many
bribes capitalism holds out to those whom it wishes to destroy.
The beginning has already been made in the schools. Evidently the
government holds to the Jesuitical conception, “Give me the child mind,
and I will mould the man.” Children are trained in military tactics, the
glory of military achievements extolled in the curriculum, and the
youthful minds perverted to suit the government. Further, the youth of
the country is appealed to in glaring posters to join the army and navy.
“A fine chance to see the world!” cries the governmental huckster. Thus
innocent boys are morally shanghaied into patriotism, and the military
Moloch strides conquering through the Nation.
The American workingman has suffered so much at the hands of the
soldier, State and Federal, that he is quite justified in his disgust
with, and his opposition to, the uniformed parasite. However, mere
denunciation will not solve this great problem. What we need is a
propaganda of education for the soldier: antipatriotic literature that
will enlighten him as to the real horrors of his trade, and that will
awaken his consciousness to his true relation to the man to whose labor
he owes his very existence. It is precisely this that the authorities
fear most. It is already high treason for a soldier to attend a radical
meeting. No doubt they will also stamp it high treason for a soldier to
read a radical pamphlet. But, then, has not authority from time
immemorial stamped every step of progress as treasonable? Those,
however, who earnestly strive for social reconstruction can well afford
to face all that; for it is probably even more important to carry the
truth into the barracks than into the factory. When we have undermined
the patriotic lie, we shall have cleared the path for that great
structure wherein all nationalities shall be united into a universal
brotherhood, — a truly FREE SOCIETY.
Experience has come to be considered the best school of life. The man or
woman who does not learn some vital lesson in that school is looked upon
as a dunce indeed. Yet strange to say, that though organized
institutions continue perpetuating errors, though they learn nothing
from experience, we acquiesce, as a matter of course.
There lived and worked in Barcelona a man by the name of Francisco
Ferrer. A teacher of children he was, known and loved by his people.
Outside of Spain only the cultured few knew of Francisco Ferrer’s work.
To the world at large this teacher was non-existent.
On the first of September, 1909, the Spanish government — at the behest
of the Catholic Church — arrested Francisco Ferrer. On the thirteenth of
October, after a mock trial, he was placed in the ditch at Montjuich
prison, against the hideous wall of many sighs, and shot dead. Instantly
Ferrer, the obscure teacher, became a universal figure, blazing forth
the indignation and wrath of the whole civilized world against the
wanton murder.
The killing of Francisco Ferrer was not the first crime committed by the
Spanish government and the Catholic Church. The history of these
institutions is one long stream of fire and blood. Still they have not
learned through experience, nor yet come to realize that every frail
being slain by Church and State grows and grows into a mighty giant, who
will some day free humanity from their perilous hold.
Francisco Ferrer was born in 1859, of humble parents. They were
Catholics, and therefore hoped to raise their son in the same faith.
They did not know that the boy was to become the harbinger of a great
truth, that his mind would refuse to travel in the old path. At an early
age Ferrer began to question the faith of his fathers. He demanded to
know how it is that the God who spoke to him of goodness and love would
mar the sleep of the innocent child with dread and awe of tortures, of
suffering, of hell. Alert and of a vivid and investigating mind, it did
not take him long to discover the hideousness of that black monster, the
Catholic Church. He would have none of it.
Francisco Ferrer was not only a doubter, a searcher for truth; he was
also a rebel. His spirit would rise in just indignation against the iron
regime of his country, and when a band of rebels, led by the brave
patriot General Villacampa, under the banner of the Republican ideal,
made an onslaught on that regime, none was more ardent a fighter than
young Francisco Ferrer. The Republican ideal, — I hope no one will
confound it with the Republicanism of this country. Whatever objection
I, as an Anarchist, have to the Republicans of Latin countries, I know
they tower high above that corrupt and reactionary party which, in
America, is destroying every vestige of liberty and justice. One has but
to think of the Mazzinis, the Garibaldis, the scores of others, to
realize that their efforts were directed, not merely against the
overthrow of despotism, but particularly against the Catholic Church,
which from its very inception has been the enemy of all progress and
liberalism.
In America it is just the reverse. Republicanism stands for vested
rights, for imperialism, for graft, for the annihilation of every
semblance of liberty. Its ideal is the oily, creepy respectability of a
McKinley, and the brutal arrogance of a Roosevelt.
The Spanish republican rebels were subdued. It takes more than one brave
effort to split the rock of ages, to cut off the head of that hydra
monster, the Catholic Church and the Spanish throne. Arrest,
persecution, and punishment followed the heroic attempt of the little
band. Those who could escape the bloodhounds had to flee for safety to
foreign shores. Francisco Ferrer was among the latter. He went to
France.
How his soul must have expanded in the new land! France, the cradle of
liberty, of ideas, of action. Paris, the ever young, intense Paris, with
her pulsating life, after the gloom of his own belated country, — how
she must have inspired him. What opportunities, what a glorious chance
for a young idealist.
Francisco Ferrer lost no time. Like one famished he threw himself into
the various liberal movements, met all kinds of people, learned,
absorbed, and grew. While there, he also saw in operation the Modern
School, which was to play such an important and fatal part in his life.
The Modern School in France was founded long before Ferrer’s time. Its
originator, though on a small scale, was that sweet spirit Louise
Michel. Whether consciously or unconsciously, our own great Louise felt
long ago that the future belongs to the young generation; that unless
the young be rescued from that mind and soul-destroying institution, the
bourgeois school, social evils will continue to exist. Perhaps she
thought, with Ibsen, that the atmosphere is saturated with ghosts, that
the adult man and woman have so many superstitions to overcome. No
sooner do they outgrow the deathlike grip of one spook, lo! they find
themselves in the thraldom of ninety-nine other spooks. Thus but a few
reach the mountain peak of complete regeneration.
The child, however, has no traditions to overcome. Its mind is not
burdened with set ideas, its heart has not grown cold with class and
caste distinctions. The child is to the teacher what clay is to the
sculptor. Whether the world will receive a work of art or a wretched
imitation, depends to a large extent on the creative power of the
teacher.
Louise Michel was pre-eminently qualified to meet the child’s soul
cravings. Was she not herself of a childlike nature, so sweet and
tender, unsophisticated and generous? The soul of Louise burned always
at white heat over every social injustice. She was invariably in the
front ranks whenever the people of Paris rebelled against some wrong.
And as she was made to suffer imprisonment for her great devotion to the
oppressed, the little school on Montmartre was soon no more. But the
seed was planted and has since borne fruit in many cities of France.
The most important venture of a Modern School was that of the great
young old man Paul Robin. Together with a few friends he established a
large school at Cempuis, a beautiful place near Paris. Paul Robin aimed
at a higher ideal than merely modern ideas in education. He wanted to
demonstrate by actual facts that the burgeois conception of heredity is
but a mere pretext to exempt society from its terrible crimes against
the young. The contention that the child must suffer for the sins of the
fathers, that it must continue in poverty and filth, that it must grow
up a drunkard or criminal, just because its parents left it no other
legacy, was too preposterous to the beautiful spirit of Paul Robin. He
believed that whatever part heredity may play, there are other factors
equally great, if not greater, that may and will eradicate or minimize
the so-called first cause. Proper economic and social environment, the
breath and freedom of nature, healthy exercise, love and sympathy, and,
above all, a deep understanding for the needs of the child — these would
destroy the cruel, unjust, and criminal stigma imposed on the innocent
young.
Paul Robin did not select his children; he did not go to the so-called
best parents: he took his material wherever he could find it. From the
street, the hovels, the orphan and foundling asylums, the reformatories,
from all those gray and hideous places where a benevolent society hides
its victims in order to pacify its guilty conscience. He gathered all
the dirty, filthy, shivering little waifs his place would hold, and
brought them to Cempuis. There, surrounded by nature’s own glory, free
and unrestrained, well fed, clean kept, deeply loved and understood, the
little human plants began to grow, to blossom, to develop beyond even
the expectations of their friend and teacher, Paul Robin.
The children grew and developed into self-reliant, liberty-loving men
and women. What greater danger to the institutions that make the poor in
order to perpetuate the poor? Cempuis was closed by the French
government on the charge of co-education, which is prohibited in France.
However, Cempuis had been in operation long enough to prove to all
advanced educators its tremendous possibilities, and to serve as an
impetus for modern methods of education, that are slowly but inevitably
undermining the present system.
Cempuis was followed by a great number of other educational attempts, —
among them, by Madelaine Vernet, a gifted writer and poet, author of
l’Amour Libre, and Sebastian Faure, with his La Ruche,[12] which I
visited while in Paris, in 1907.
Several years ago Comrade Faure bought the land on which he built his La
Ruche. In a comparatively short time he succeeded in transforming the
former wild, uncultivated country into a blooming spot, having all the
appearance of a well-kept farm. A large, square court, enclosed by three
buildings, and a broad path leading to the garden and orchards, greet
the eye of the visitor. The garden, kept as only a Frenchman knows how,
furnishes a large variety of vegetables for La Ruche.
Sebastian Faure is of the opinion that if the child is subjected to
contradictory influences, its development suffers in consequence. Only
when the material needs, the hygiene of the home, and intellectual
environment are harmonious, can the child grow into a healthy, free
being.
Referring to his school, Sebastian Faure has this to say:
“I have taken twenty-four children of both sexes, mostly orphans, or
those whose parents are too poor to pay. They are clothed, housed, and
educated at my expense. Till their twelfth year they will receive a
sound elementary education. Between the age of twelve and fifteen —
their studies still continuing — they are to be taught some trade, in
keeping with their individual disposition and abilities. After that they
are at liberty to leave La Ruche to begin life in the outside world,
with the assurance that they may at any time return to La Ruche, where
they will be received with open arms and welcomed as parents do their
beloved children. Then, if they wish to work at our place, they may do
so under the following conditions: One third of the product to cover his
or her expenses of maintenance, another third to go towards the general
fund set aside for accommodating new children, and the last third to be
devoted to the personal use of the child, as he or she may see fit.
“The health of the children who are now in my care is perfect. Pure air,
nutritious food, physical exercise in the open, long walks, observation
of hygienic rules, the short and interesting method of instruction, and,
above all, our affectionate understanding and care of the children, have
produced admirable physical and mental results.
“It would be unjust to claim that our pupils have accomplished wonders;
yet, considering that they belong to the average, having had no previous
opportunities, the results are very gratifying indeed. The most
important thing they have acquired — a rare trait with ordinary school
children — is the love of study, the desire to know, to be informed.
They have learned a new method of work, one that quickens the memory and
stimulates the imagination. We make a particular effort to awaken the
child’s interest in his surroundings, to make him realize the importance
of observation, investigation, and reflection, so that when the children
reach maturity, they would not be deaf and blind to the things about
them. Our children never accept anything in blind faith, without inquiry
as to why and wherefore; nor do they feel satisfied until their
questions are thoroughly answered. Thus their minds are free from doubts
and fear resultant from incomplete or untruthful replies; it is the
latter which warp the growth of the child, and create a lack of
confidence in himself and those about him.
“It is surprising how frank and kind and affectionate our little ones
are to each other. The harmony between themselves and the adults at La
Ruche is highly encouraging. We should feel at fault if the children
were to fear or honor us merely because we are their elders. We leave
nothing undone to gain their confidence and love; that accomplished,
understanding will replace duty; confidence, fear; and affection,
severity.
“No one has yet fully realized the wealth of sympathy, kindness, and
generosity hidden in the soul of the child. The effort of every true
educator should be to unlock that treasure to stimulate the child’s
impulses, and call forth the best and noblest tendencies. What greater
reward can there be for one whose life-work is to watch over the growth
of the human plant, than to see its nature unfold its petals, and to
observe it develop into a true individuality. My comrades at La Ruche
look for no greater reward, and it is due to them and their efforts,
even more than to my own, that our human garden promises to bear
beautiful fruit.”[13]
Regarding the subject of history and the prevailing old methods of
instruction, Sebastian Faure said:
“We explain to our children that true history is yet to be written, —
the story of those who have died, unknown, in the effort to aid humanity
to greater achievement.”[14]
Francisco Ferrer could not escape this great wave of Modern School
attempts. He saw its possibilities, not merely in theoretic form, but in
their practical application to every-day needs. He must have realized
that Spain, more than any other country, stands in need of just such
schools, if it is ever to throw off the double yoke of priest and
soldier.
When we consider that the entire system of education in Spain is in the
hands of the Catholic Church, and when we further remember the Catholic
formula, “To inculcate Catholicism in the mind of the child until it is
nine years of age is to ruin it forever for any other idea,” we will
understand the tremendous task of Ferrer in bringing the new light to
his people. Fate soon assisted him in realizing his great dream.
Mlle. Meunier, a pupil of Francisco Ferrer, and a lady of wealth, became
interested in the Modern School project. When she died, she left Ferrer
some valuable property and twelve thousand francs yearly income for the
School.
It is said that mean souls can conceive of naught but mean ideas. If so,
the contemptible methods of the Catholic Church to blackguard Ferrer’s
character, in order to justify her own black crime, can readily be
explained. Thus the lie was spread in American Catholic papers that
Ferrer used his intimacy with Mlle. Meunier to get possession of her
money.
Personally, I hold that the intimacy, of whatever nature, between a man
and a woman, is their own affair, their sacred own. I would therefore
not lose a word in referring to the matter, if it were not one of the
many dastardly lies circulated about Ferrer. Of course, those who know
the purity of the Catholic clergy will understand the insinuation. Have
the Catholic priests ever looked upon woman as anything but a sex
commodity? The historical data regarding the discoveries in the
cloisters and monasteries will bear me out in that. How, then, are they
to understand the co-operation of a man and a woman, except on a sex
basis?
As a matter of fact, Mlle. Meunier was considerably Ferrer’s senior.
Having spent her childhood and girlhood with a miserly father and a
submissive mother, she could easily appreciate the necessity of love and
joy in child life. She must have seen that Francisco Ferrer was a
teacher, not college, machine, or diploma-made, but one endowed with
genius for that calling.
Equipped with knowledge, with experience, and with the necessary means;
above all, imbued with the divine fire of his mission, our Comrade came
back to Spain, and there began his life’s work. On the ninth of
September, 1901, the first Modern School was opened. It was
enthusiastically received by the people of Barcelona, who pledged their
support. In a short address at the opening of the School, Ferrer
submitted his program to his friends. He said: “I am not a speaker, not
a propagandist, not a fighter. I am a teacher; I love children above
everything. I think I understand them. I want my contribution to the
cause of liberty to be a young generation ready to meet a new era.” He
was cautioned by his friends to be careful in his opposition to the
Catholic Church. They knew to what lengths she would go to dispose of an
enemy. Ferrer, too, knew. But, like Brand, he believed in all or
nothing. He would not erect the Modern School on the same old lie. He
would be frank and honest and open with the children.
Francisco Ferrer became a marked man. From the very first day of the
opening of the School, he was shadowed. The school building was watched,
his little home in Mangat was watched. He was followed every step, even
when he went to France or England to confer with his colleagues. He was
a marked man, and it was only a question of time when the lurking enemy
would tighten the noose.
It succeeded, almost, in 1906, when Ferrer was implicated in the attempt
on the life of Alfonso. The evidence exonerating him was too strong even
for the black crows;[15] they had to let him go — not for good, however.
They waited. Oh, they can wait, when they have set themselves to trap a
victim.
The moment came at last, during the anti-military uprising in Spain, in
July, 1909. One will have to search in vain the annals of revolutionary
history to find a more remarkable protest against militarism. Having
been soldier-ridden for centuries, the people of Spain could stand the
yoke no longer. They would refuse to participate in useless slaughter.
They saw no reason for aiding a despotic government in subduing and
oppressing a small people fighting for their independence, as did the
brave Riffs. No, they would not bear arms against them.
For eighteen hundred years the Catholic Church has preached the gospel
of peace. Yet, when the people actually wanted to make this gospel a
living reality, she urged the authorities to force them to bear arms.
Thus the dynasty of Spain followed the murderous methods of the Russian
dynasty, — the people were forced to the battlefield.
Then, and not until then, was their power of endurance at an end. Then,
and not until then, did the workers of Spain turn against their masters,
against those who, like leeches, had drained their strength, their very
life — blood. Yes, they attacked the churches and the priests, but if
the latter had a thousand lives, they could not possibly pay for the
terrible outrages and crimes perpetrated upon the Spanish people.
Francisco Ferrer was arrested on the first of September, 1909. Until
October first his friends and comrades did not even know what had become
of him. On that day a letter was received by L’Humanité from which can
be learned the whole mockery of the trial. And the next day his
companion, Soledad Villafranca, received the following letter:
“No reason to worry; you know I am absolutely innocent. Today I am
particularly hopeful and joyous. It is the first time I can write to
you, and the first time since my arrest that I can bathe in the rays of
the sun, streaming generously through my cell window. You, too, must be
joyous.”
How pathetic that Ferrer should have believed, as late as October
fourth, that he would not be condemned to death. Even more pathetic that
his friends and comrades should once more have made the blunder in
crediting the enemy with a sense of justice. Time and again they had
placed faith in the judicial powers, only to see their brothers killed
before their very eyes. They made no preparation to rescue Ferrer, not
even a protest of any extent; nothing. “Why, it is impossible to condemn
Ferrer; he is innocent.” But everything is possible with the Catholic
Church. Is she not a practiced henchman, whose trials of her enemies are
the worst mockery of justice?
On October fourth Ferrer sent the following letter to L’Humanite:
“The Prison Cell, Oct. 4, 1909.
“My dear Friends — Notwithstanding most absolute innocence, the
prosecutor demands the death penalty, based on denunciations of the
police, representing me as the chief of the world’s Anarchists,
directing the labor syndicates of France, and guilty of conspiracies and
insurrections everywhere, and declaring that my voyages to London and
Paris were undertaken with no other object.
“With such infamous lies they are trying to kill me.
“The messenger is about to depart and I have not time for more. All the
evidence presented to the investigating judge by the police is nothing
but a tissue of lies and calumnious insinuations. But no proofs against
me, having done nothing at all.
“FERRER.”
October thirteenth, 1909, Ferrer’s heart, so brave, so staunch, so
loyal, was stilled. Poor fools! The last agonized throb of that heart
had barely died away when it began to beat a hundredfold in the hearts
of the civilized world, until it grew into terrific thunder, hurling
forth its malediction upon the instigators of the black crime. Murderers
of black garb and pious mien, to the bar of justice!
Did Francisco Ferrer participate in the anti-military uprising?
According to the first indictment, which appeared in a Catholic paper in
Madrid, signed by the Bishop and all the prelates of Barcelona, he was
not even accused of participation. The indictment was to the effect that
Francisco Ferrer was guilty of having organized godless schools, and
having circulated godless literature. But in the twentieth century men
can not be burned merely for their godless beliefs. Something else had
to be devised; hence the charge of instigating the uprising.
In no authentic source so far investigated could a single proof be found
to connect Ferrer with the uprising. But then, no proofs were wanted, or
accepted, by the authorities. There were seventy-two witnesses, to be
sure, but their testimony was taken on paper. They never were confronted
with Ferrer, or he with them.
Is it psychologically possible that Ferrer should have participated? I
do not believe it is, and here are my reasons. Francisco Ferrer was not
only a great teacher, but he was also undoubtedly a marvelous organizer.
In eight years, between 1901–1909, he had organized in Spain one hundred
and nine schools, besides inducing the liberal element of his country to
organize three hundred and eight other schools. In connection with his
own school work, Ferrer had equipped a modern printing plant, organized
a staff of translators, and spread broadcast one hundred and fifty
thousand copies of modern scientific and sociologic works, not to forget
the large quantity of rationalist text books. Surely none but the most
methodical and efficient organizer could have accomplished such a feat.
On the other hand, it was absolutely proven that the anti-military
uprising was not at all organized; that it came as a surprise to the
people themselves, like a great many revolutionary waves on previous
occasions. The people of Barcelona, for instance, had the city in their
control for four days, and, according to the statement of tourists,
greater order and peace never prevailed. Of course, the people were so
little prepared that when the time came, they did not know what to do.
In this regard they were like the people of Paris during the Commune of
1871. They, too, were unprepared. While they were starving, they
protected the warehouses filled to the brim with provisions. They placed
sentinels to guard the Bank of France, where the bourgeoisie kept the
stolen money. The workers of Barcelona, too, watched over the spoils of
their masters.
How pathetic is the stupidity of the underdog; how terribly tragic! But,
then, have not his fetters been forged so deeply into his flesh, that he
would not, even if he could, break them? The awe of authority, of law,
of private property, hundredfold burned into his soul, — how is he to
throw it off unprepared, unexpectedly?
Can anyone assume for a moment that a man like Ferrer would affiliate
himself with such a spontaneous, unorganized effort? Would he not have
known that it would result in a defeat, a disastrous defeat for the
people? And is it not more likely that if he would have taken part, he,
the experienced entrepreneur, would have thoroughly organized the
attempt? If all other proofs were lacking, that one factor would be
sufficient to exonerate Francisco Ferrer. But there are others equally
convincing.
For the very date of the outbreak, July twenty-fifth, Ferrer had called
a conference of his teachers and members of the League of Rational
Education. It was to consider the autumn work, and particularly the
publication of Elisée Reclus’ great book, L’Homme et la Terre, and Peter
Kropotkin’s Great French Revolution. Is it at all likely, is it at all
plausible that Ferrer, knowing of the uprising, being a party to it,
would in cold blood invite his friends and colleagues to Barcelona for
the day on which he realized their lives would be endangered? Surely,
only the criminal, vicious mind of a Jesuit could credit such deliberate
murder.
Francisco Ferrer had his life-work mapped out; he had everything to lose
and nothing to gain, except ruin and disaster, were he to lend
assistance to the outbreak. Not that he doubted the justice of the
people’s wrath; but his work, his hope, his very nature was directed
toward another goal.
In vain are the frantic efforts of the Catholic Church, her lies,
falsehoods, calumnies. She stands condemned by the awakened human
conscience of having once more repeated the foul crimes of the past.
Francisco Ferrer is accused of teaching the children the most
blood-curdling ideas, — to hate God, for instance. Horrors! Francisco
Ferrer did not believe in the existence of a God. Why teach the child to
hate something which does not exist? Is it not more likely that he took
the children out into the open, that he showed them the splendor of the
sunset, the brilliancy of the starry heavens, the awe-inspiring wonder
of the mountains and seas; that he explained to them in his simple,
direct way the law of growth, of development, of the interrelation of
all life? In so doing he made it forever impossible for the poisonous
weeds of the Catholic Church to take root in the child’s mind.
It has been stated that Ferrer prepared the children to destroy the
rich. Ghost stories of old maids. Is it not more likely that he prepared
them to succor the poor? That he taught them the humiliation, the
degradation, the awfulness of poverty, which is a vice and not a virtue;
that he taught the dignity and importance of all creative efforts, which
alone sustain life and build character. Is it not the best and most
effective way of bringing into the proper light the absolute uselessness
and injury of parasitism?
Last, but not least, Ferrer is charged with undermining the army by
inculcating anti-military ideas. Indeed? He must have believed with
Tolstoy that war is legalized slaughter, that it perpetuates hatred and
arrogance, that it eats away the heart of nations, and turns them into
raving maniacs.
However, we have Ferrer’s own word regarding his ideas of modern
education:
“I would like to call the attention of my readers to this idea: All the
value of education rests in the respect for the physical, intellectual,
and moral will of the child. Just as in science no demonstration is
possible save by facts, just so there is no real education save that
which is exempt from all dogmatism, which leaves to the child itself the
direction of its effort, and confines itself to the seconding of its
effort. Now, there is nothing easier than to alter this purpose, and
nothing harder than to respect it. Education is always imposing,
violating, constraining; the real educator is he who can best protect
the child against his (the teacher’s) own ideas, his peculiar whims; he
who can best appeal to the child’s own energies.
“We are convinced that the education of the future will be of an
entirely spontaneous nature; certainly we can not as yet realize it, but
the evolution of methods in the direction of a wider comprehension of
the phenomena of life, and the fact that all advances toward perfection
mean the overcoming of restraint, — all this indicates that we are in
the right when we hope for the deliverance of the child through science.
“Let us not fear to say that we want men capable of evolving without
stopping, capable of destroying and renewing their environments without
cessation, of renewing themselves also; men, whose intellectual
independence will be their greatest force, who will attach themselves to
nothing, always ready to accept what is best, happy in the triumph of
new ideas, aspiring to live multiple lives in one life. Society fears
such men; we therefore must not hope that it will ever want an education
able to give them to us.
“We shall follow the labors of the scientists who study the child with
the greatest attention, and we shall eagerly seek for means of applying
their experience to the education which we want to build up, in the
direction of an ever fuller liberation of the individual. But how can we
attain our end? Shall it not be by putting ourselves directly to the
work favoring the foundation of new schools, which shall be ruled as
much as possible by this spirit of liberty, which we forefeel will
dominate the entire work of education in the future?
“A trial has been made, which, for the present, has already given
excellent results. We can destroy all which in the present school
answers to the organization of constraint, the artificial surroundings
by which children are separated from nature and life, the intellectual
and moral discipline made use of to impose ready-made ideas upon them,
beliefs which deprave and annihilate natural bent. Without fear of
deceiving ourselves, we can restore the child to the environment which
entices it, the environment of nature in which he will be in contact
with all that he loves, and in which impressions of life will replace
fastidious book-learning. If we did no more than that, we should already
have prepared in great part the deliverance of the child.
“In such conditions we might already freely apply the data of science
and labor most fruitfully.
“I know very well we could not thus realize all our hopes, that we
should often be forced, for lack of knowledge, to employ undesirable
methods; but a certitude would sustain us in our efforts — namely, that
even without reaching our aim completely we should do more and better in
our still imperfect work than the present school accomplishes. I like
the free spontaneity of a child who knows nothing, better than the
world-knowledge and intellectual deformity of a child who has been
subjected to our present education.”[16]
Had Ferrer actually organized the riots, had he fought on the
barricades, had he hurled a hundred bombs, he could not have been so
dangerous to the Catholic Church and to despotism, as with his
opposition to discipline and restraint. Discipline and restraint — are
they not back of all the evils in the world? Slavery, submission,
poverty, all misery, all social iniquities result from discipline and
restraint. Indeed, Ferrer was dangerous. Therefore he had to die,
October thirteenth, 1909, in the ditch of Montjuich. Yet who dare say
his death was in vain? In view of the tempestuous rise of universal
indignation: Italy naming streets in memory of Francisco Ferrer, Belgium
inaugurating a movement to erect a memorial; France calling to the front
her most illustrious men to resume the heritage of the martyr; England
being the first to issue a biography; all countries uniting in
perpetuating the great work of Francisco Ferrer; America, even, tardy
always in progressive ideas, giving birth to a Francisco Ferrer
Association, its aim being to publish a complete life of Ferrer and to
organize Modern Schools all over the country, — in the face of this
international revolutionary wave, who is there to say Ferrer died in
vain?
That death at Montjuich, — how wonderful, how dramatic it was, how it
stirs the human soul. Proud and erect, the inner eye turned toward the
light, Francisco Ferrer needed no lying priests to give him courage, nor
did he upbraid a phantom for forsaking him. The consciousness that his
executioners represented a dying age, and that his was the living truth,
sustained him in the last heroic moments.
A dying age and a living truth,
The living burying the dead.
Speaking of Puritanism in relation to American art, Mr. Gutzon Borglum
said: “Puritanism has made us self-centered and hypocritical for so
long, that sincerity and reverence for what is natural in our impulses
have been fairly bred out of us, with the result that there can be
neither truth nor individuality in our art.”
Mr. Borglum might have added that Puritanism has made life itself
impossible. More than art, more than estheticism, life represents beauty
in a thousand variations; it is indeed, a gigantic panorama of eternal
change. Puritanism, on the other hand, rests on a fixed and immovable
conception of life; it is based on the Calvinistic idea that life is a
curse, imposed upon man by the wrath of God. In order to redeem himself
man must do constant penance, must repudiate every natural and healthy
impulse, and turn his back on joy and beauty.
Puritanism celebrated its reign of terror in England during the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, destroying and crushing every
manifestation of art and culture. It was the spirit of Puritanism which
robbed Shelley of his children, because he would not bow to the dicta of
religion. It was the same narrow spirit which alienated Byron from his
native land, because that great genius rebelled against the monotony,
dullness, and pettiness of his country. It was Puritanism, too, that
forced some of England’s freest women into the conventional lie of
marriage: Mary Wollstonecraft and, later, George Eliot. And recently
Puritanism has demanded another toll — the life of Oscar Wilde. In fact,
Puritanism has never ceased to be the most pernicious factor in the
domain of John Bull, acting as censor of the artistic expression of his
people, and stamping its approval only on the dullness of middle-class
respectability.
It is therefore sheer British jingoism which points to America as the
country of Puritanic provincialism. It is quite true that our life is
stunted by Puritanism, and that the latter is killing what is natural
and healthy in our impulses. But it is equally true that it is to
England that we are indebted for transplanting this spirit on American
soil. It was bequeathed to us by the Pilgrim fathers. Fleeing from
persecution and oppression, the Pilgrims of Mayflower fame established
in the New World a reign of Puritanic tyranny and crime. The history of
New England, and especially of Massachusetts, is full of the horrors
that have turned life into gloom, joy into despair, naturalness into
disease, honesty and truth into hideous lies and hypocrisies. The
ducking-stool and whipping-post, as well as numerous other devices of
torture, were the favorite English methods for American purification.
Boston, the city of culture, has gone down in the annals of Puritanism
as the “Bloody Town.” It rivaled Salem, even, in her cruel persecution
of unauthorized religious opinions. On the now famous Common a
half-naked woman, with a baby in her arms, was publicly whipped for the
crime of free speech; and on the same spot Mary Dyer, another Quaker
woman, was hanged in 1659. In fact, Boston has been the scene of more
than one wanton crime committed by Puritanism. Salem, in the summer of
1692, killed eighteen people for witchcraft. Nor was Massachusetts alone
in driving out the devil by fire and brimstone. As Canning justly said:
“The Pilgrim fathers infested the New World to redress the balance of
the Old.” The horrors of that period have found their most supreme
expression in the American classic, The Scarlet Letter.
Puritanism no longer employs the thumbscrew and lash; but it still has a
most pernicious hold on the minds and feelings of the American people.
Naught else can explain the power of a Comstock. Like the Torquemadas of
ante-bellum days, Anthony Comstock is the autocrat of American morals;
he dictates the standards of good and evil, of purity and vice. Like a
thief in the night he sneaks into the private lives of the people, into
their most intimate relations. The system of espionage established by
this man Comstock puts to shame the infamous Third Division of the
Russian secret police. Why does the public tolerate such an outrage on
its liberties? Simply because Comstock is but the loud expression of the
Puritanism bred in the Anglo-Saxon blood, and from whose thraldom even
liberals have not succeeded in fully emancipating themselves. The
visionless and leaden elements of the old Young Men’s and Women’s
Christian Temperance Unions, Purity Leagues, American Sabbath Unions,
and the Prohibition Party, with Anthony Comstock as their patron saint,
are the grave diggers of American art and culture.
Europe can at least boast of a bold art and literature which delve
deeply into the social and sexual problems of our time, exercising a
severe critique of all our shams. As with a surgeon’s knife every
Puritanic carcass is dissected, and the way thus cleared for man’s
liberation from the dead weights of the past. But with Puritanism as the
constant check upon American life, neither truth nor sincerity is
possible. Nothing but gloom and mediocrity to dictate human conduct,
curtail natural expression, and stifle our best impulses. Puritanism in
this the twentieth century is as much the enemy of freedom and beauty as
it was when it landed on Plymouth Rock. It repudiates, as something vile
and sinful, our deepest feelings; but being absolutely ignorant as to
the real functions of human emotions, Puritanism is itself the creator
of the most unspeakable vices.
The entire history of asceticism proves this to be only too true. The
Church, as well as Puritanism, has fought the flesh as something evil;
it had to be subdued and hidden at all cost. The result of this vicious
attitude is only now beginning to be recognized by modern thinkers and
educators. They realize that “nakedness has a hygienic value as well as
a spiritual significance, far beyond its influences in allaying the
natural inquisitiveness of the young or acting as a preventative of
morbid emotion. It is an inspiration to adults who have long outgrown
any youthful curiosities. The vision of the essential and eternal human
form, the nearest thing to us in all the world, with its vigor and its
beauty and its grace, is one of the prime tonics of life.”[17] But the
spirit of purism has so perverted the human mind that it has lost the
power to appreciate the beauty of nudity, forcing us to hide the natural
form under the plea of chastity. Yet chastity itself is but an
artificial imposition upon nature, expressive of a false shame of the
human form. The modern idea of chastity, especially in reference to
woman, its greatest victim, is but the sensuous exaggeration of our
natural impulses. “Chastity varies with the amount of clothing,” and
hence Christians and purists forever hasten to cover the “heathen” with
tatters, and thus convert him to goodness and chastity.
Puritanism, with its perversion of the significance and functions of the
human body, especially in regard to woman, has condemned her to
celibacy, or to the indiscriminate breeding of a diseased race, or to
prostitution. The enormity of this crime against humanity is apparent
when we consider the results. Absolute sexual continence is imposed upon
the unmarried woman, under pain of being considered immoral or fallen,
with the result of producing neurasthenia, impotence, depression, and a
great variety of nervous complaints involving diminished power of work,
limited enjoyment of life, sleeplessness, and preoccupation with sexual
desires and imaginings. The arbitrary and pernicious dictum of total
continence probably also explains the mental inequality of the sexes.
Thus Freud believes that the intellectual inferiority of so many women
is due to the inhibition of thought imposed upon them for the purpose of
sexual repression. Having thus suppressed the natural sex desires of the
unmarried woman, Puritanism, on the other hand, blesses her married
sister for incontinent fruitfulness in wedlock. Indeed, not merely
blesses her, but forces the woman, oversexed by previous repression, to
bear children, irrespective of weakened physical condition or economic
inability to rear a large family. Prevention, even by scientifically
determined safe methods, is absolutely prohibited; nay, the very mention
of the subject is considered criminal.
Thanks to this Puritanic tyranny, the majority of women soon find
themselves at the ebb of their physical resources. Ill and worn, they
are utterly unable to give their children even elementary care. That,
added to economic pressure, forces many women to risk utmost danger
rather than continue to bring forth life. The custom of procuring
abortions has reached such vast proportions in America as to be almost
beyond belief. According to recent investigations along this line,
seventeen abortions are committed in every hundred pregnancies. This
fearful percentage represents only cases which come to the knowledge of
physicians. Considering the secrecy in which this practice is
necessarily shrouded, and the consequent professional inefficiency and
neglect, Puritanism continuously exacts thousands of victims to its own
stupidity and hypocrisy.
Prostitution, although hounded, imprisoned, and chained, is nevertheless
the greatest triumph of Puritanism. It is its most cherished child, all
hypocritical sanctimoniousness notwithstanding. The prostitute is the
fury of our century, sweeping across the “civilized” countries like a
hurricane, and leaving a trail of disease and disaster. The only remedy
Puritanism offers for this ill-begotten child is greater repression and
more merciless persecution. The latest outrage is represented by the
Page Law, which imposes upon the State of New York the terrible failure
and crime of Europe, namely, registration and identification of the
unfortunate victims of Puritanism. In equally stupid manner purism seeks
to check the terrible scourge of its own creation — venereal diseases.
Most disheartening it is that this spirit of obtuse narrow mindedness
has poisoned even our so-called liberals, and has blinded them into
joining the crusade against the very things born of the hypocrisy of
Puritanism — prostitution and its results. In wilful blindness
Puritanism refuses to see that the true method of prevention is the one
which makes it clear to all that “venereal diseases are not a mysterious
or terrible thing, the penalty of the sin of the flesh, a sort of
shameful evil branded by purist malediction, but an ordinary disease
which may be treated and cured.” By its methods of obscurity, disguise,
and concealment, Puritanism has furnished favorable conditions for the
growth and spread of these diseases. Its bigotry is again most
strikingly demonstrated by the senseless attitude in regard to the great
discovery of Prof. Ehrlich, hypocrisy veiling the important cure for
syphilis with vague allusions to a remedy for “a certain poison.”
The almost limitless capacity of Puritanism for evil is due to its
intrenchment behind the State and the law. Pretending to safeguard the
people against “immorality,” it has impregnated the machinery of
government and added to its usurpation of moral guardianship the legal
censorship of our views, feelings, and even of our conduct.
Art, literature, the drama, the privacy of the mails, in fact, our most
intimate tastes, are at the mercy of this inexorable tyrant. Anthony
Comstock, or some other equally ignorant policeman, has been given power
to desecrate genius, to soil and mutilate the sublimest creation of
nature — the human form. Books dealing with the most vital issues of our
lives, and seeking to shed light upon dangerously obscured problems, are
legally treated as criminal offenses, and their helpless authors thrown
into prison or driven to destruction and death.
Not even in the domain of the Tsar is personal liberty daily outraged to
the extent it is in America, the stronghold of the Puritanic eunuchs.
Here the only day of recreation left to the masses, Sunday, has been
made hideous and utterly impossible. All writers on primitive customs
and ancient civilization agree that the Sabbath was a day of
festivities, free from care and duties, a day of general rejoicing and
merry making. In every European country this tradition continues to
bring some relief from the humdrum and stupidity of our Christian era.
Everywhere concert halls, theaters, museums, and gardens are filled with
men, women, and children, particularly workers with their families, full
of life and joy, forgetful of the ordinary rules and conventions of
their every-day existence. It is on that day that the masses demonstrate
what life might really mean in a sane society, with work stripped of its
profit-making, soul-destroying purpose.
Puritanism has robbed the people even of that one day. Naturally, only
the workers are affected: our millionaires have their luxurious homes
and elaborate clubs. The poor, however, are condemned to the monotony
and dullness of the American Sunday. The sociability and fun of European
outdoor life is here exchanged for the gloom of the church, the stuffy,
germ-saturated country parlor, or the brutalizing atmosphere of the
back-room saloon. In Prohibition States the people lack even the latter,
unless they can invest their meager earnings in quantities of
adulterated liquor. As to Prohibition, every one knows what a farce it
really is. Like all other achievements of Puritanism it, too, has but
driven the “devil” deeper into the human system. Nowhere else does one
meet so many drunkards as in our Prohibition towns. But so long as one
can use scented candy to abate the foul breath of hypocrisy, Puritanism
is triumphant. Ostensibly Prohibition is opposed to liquor for reasons
of health and economy, but the very spirit of Prohibition being itself
abnormal, it succeeds but in creating an abnormal life.
Every stimulus which quickens the imagination and raises the spirits, is
as necessary to our life as air. It invigorates the body, and deepens
our vision of human fellowship. Without stimuli, in one form or another,
creative work is impossible, nor indeed the spirit of kindliness and
generosity. The fact that some great geniuses have seen their reflection
in the goblet too frequently, does not justify Puritanism in attempting
to fetter the whole gamut of human emotions. A Byron and a Poe have
stirred humanity deeper than all the Puritans can ever hope to do. The
former have given to life meaning and color; the latter are turning red
blood into water, beauty into ugliness, variety into uniformity and
decay. Puritanism, in whatever expression, is a poisonous germ. On the
surface everything may look strong and vigorous; yet the poison works
its way persistently, until the entire fabric is doomed. With Hippolyte
Taine, every truly free spirit has come to realize that “Puritanism is
the death of culture, philosophy, humor, and good fellowship; its
characteristics are dullness, monotony, and gloom.”
Our reformers have suddenly made a great discovery — the white slave
traffic. The papers are full of these “unheard-of conditions,” and
lawmakers are already planning a new set of laws to check the horror.
It is significant that whenever the public mind is to be diverted from a
great social wrong, a crusade is inaugurated against indecency,
gambling, saloons, etc. And what is the result of such crusades?
Gambling is increasing, saloons are doing a lively business through back
entrances, prostitution is at its height, and the system of pimps and
cadets is but aggravated.
How is it that an institution, known almost to every child, should have
been discovered so suddenly? How is it that this evil, known to all
sociologists, should now be made such an important issue?
To assume that the recent investigation of the white slave traffic (and,
by the way, a very superficial investigation) has discovered anything
new, is, to say the least, very foolish. Prostitution has been, and is,
a widespread evil, yet mankind goes on its business, perfectly
indifferent to the sufferings and distress of the victims of
prostitution. As indifferent, indeed, as mankind has remained to our
industrial system, or to economic prostitution.
Only when human sorrows are turned into a toy with glaring colors will
baby people become interested — for a while at least. The people are a
very fickle baby that must have new toys every day. The “righteous” cry
against the white slave traffic is such a toy. It serves to amuse the
people for a little while, and it will help to create a few more fat
political jobs — parasites who stalk about the world as inspectors,
investigators, detectives, and so forth.
What is really the cause of the trade in women? Not merely white women,
but yellow and black women as well. Exploitation, of course; the
merciless Moloch of capitalism that fattens on underpaid labor, thus
driving thousands of women and girls into prostitution. With Mrs. Warren
these girls feel, “Why waste your life working for a few shillings a
week in a scullery, eighteen hours a day?”
Naturally our reformers say nothing about this cause. They know it well
enough, but it doesn’t pay to say anything about it. It is much more
profitable to play the Pharisee, to pretend an outraged morality, than
to go to the bottom of things.
However, there is one commendable exception among the young writers:
Reginald Wright Kauffman, whose work The House of Bondage is the first
earnest attempt to treat the social evil — not from a sentimental
Philistine viewpoint. A journalist of wide experience, Mr. Kauffman
proves that our industrial system leaves most women no alternative
except prostitution. The women portrayed in The House of Bondage belong
to the working class. Had the author portrayed the life of women in
other spheres, he would have been confronted with the same state of
affairs.
Nowhere is woman treated according to the merit of her work, but rather
as a sex. It is therefore almost inevitable that she should pay for her
right to exist, to keep a position in whatever line, with sex favors.
Thus it is merely a question of degree whether she sells herself to one
man, in or out of marriage, or to many men. Whether our reformers admit
it or not, the economic and social inferiority of woman is responsible
for prostitution.
Just at present our good people are shocked by the disclosures that in
New York City alone one out of every ten women works in a factory, that
the average wage received by women is six dollars per week for
forty-eight to sixty hours of work, and that the majority of female wage
workers face many months of idleness which leaves the average wage about
$280 a year. In view of these economic horrors, is it to be wondered at
that prostitution and the white slave trade have become such dominant
factors?
Lest the preceding figures be considered an exaggeration, it is well to
examine what some authorities on prostitution have to say:
“A prolific cause of female depravity can be found in the several
tables, showing the description of the employment pursued, and the wages
received, by the women previous to their fall, and it will be a question
for the political economist to decide how far mere business
consideration should be an apology — on the part of employers for a
reduction in their rates of remuneration, and whether the savings of a
small percentage on wages is not more than counterbalanced by the
enormous amount of taxation enforced on the public at large to defray
the expenses incurred on account of a system of vice, which is the
direct result, in many cases, of insufficient compensation of honest
labor.”[18]
Our present-day reformers would do well to look into Dr. Sanger’s book.
There they will find that out of 2,000 cases under his observation, but
few came from the middle classes, from well-ordered conditions, or
pleasant homes. By far the largest majority were working girls and
working women; some driven into prostitution through sheer want, others
because of a cruel, wretched life at home, others again because of
thwarted and crippled physical natures (of which I shall speak later
on). Also it will do the maintainers of purity and morality good to
learn that out of two thousand cases, 490 were married women, women who
lived with their husbands. Evidently there was not much of a guaranty
for their “safety and purity” in the sanctity of marriage.[19]
Dr. Alfred Blaschko, in Prostitution in the Nineteenth Century, is even
more emphatic in characterizing economic conditions as one of the most
vital factors of prostitution.
“Although prostitution has existed in all ages, it was left to the
nineteenth century to develop it into a gigantic social institution. The
development of industry with vast masses of people in the competitive
market, the growth and congestion of large cities, the insecurity and
uncertainty of employment, has given prostitution an impetus never
dreamed of at any period in human history.”
And again Havelock Ellis, while not so absolute in dealing with the
economic cause, is nevertheless compelled to admit that it is indirectly
and directly the main cause. Thus he finds that a large percentage of
prostitutes is recruited from the servant class, although the latter
have less care and greater security. On the other hand, Mr. Ellis does
not deny that the daily routine, the drudgery, the monotony of the
servant girl’s lot, and especially the fact that she may never partake
of the companionship and joy of a home, is no mean factor in forcing her
to seek recreation and forgetfulness in the gaiety and glimmer of
prostitution. In other words, the servant girl, being treated as a
drudge, never having the right to herself, and worn out by the caprices
of her mistress, can find an outlet, like the factory or shopgirl, only
in prostitution.
The most amusing side of the question now before the public is the
indignation of our “good, respectable people,” especially the various
Christian gentlemen, who are always to be found in the front ranks of
every crusade. Is it that they are absolutely ignorant of the history of
religion, and especially of the Christian religion? Or is it that they
hope to blind the present generation to the part played in the past by
the Church in relation to prostitution? Whatever their reason, they
should be the last to cry out against the unfortunate victims of today,
since it is known to every intelligent student that prostitution is of
religious origin, maintained and fostered for many centuries, not as a
shame, but as a virtue, hailed as such by the Gods themselves.
“It would seem that the origin of prostitution is to be found primarily
in a religious custom, religion, the great conserver of social
tradition, preserving in a transformed shape a primitive freedom that
was passing out of the general social life. The typical example is that
recorded by Herodotus, in the fifth century before Christ, at the Temple
of Mylitta, the Babylonian Venus, where every woman, once in her life,
had to come and give herself to the first stranger, who threw a coin in
her lap, to worship the goddess. Very similar customs existed in other
parts of western Asia, in North Africa, in Cyprus, and other islands of
the eastern Mediterranean, and also in Greece, where the temple of
Aphrodite on the fort at Corinth possessed over a thousand hierodules,
dedicated to the service of the goddess.
“The theory that religious prostitution developed, as a general rule,
out of the belief that the generative activity of human beings possessed
a mysterious and sacred influence in promoting the fertility of Nature,
is maintained by all authoritative writers on the subject. Gradually,
however, and when prostitution became an organized institution under
priestly influence, religious prostitution developed utilitarian sides,
thus helping to increase public revenue.
“The rise of Christianity to political power produced little change in
policy. The leading fathers of the Church tolerated prostitution.
Brothels under municipal protection are found in the thirteenth century.
They constituted a sort of public service, the directors of them being
considered almost as public servants.”[20]
To this must be added the following from Dr. Sanger’s work:
“Pope Clement II. issued a bull that prostitutes would be tolerated if
they pay a certain amount of their earnings to the Church.
“Pope Sixtus IV. was more practical; from one single brothel, which he
himself had built, he received an income of 20,000 ducats.”
In modern times the Church is a little more careful in that direction.
At least she does not openly demand tribute from prostitutes. She finds
it much more profitable to go in for real estate, like Trinity Church,
for instance, to rent out death traps at an exorbitant price to those
who live off and by prostitution.
Much as I should like to, my space will not admit speaking of
prostitution in Egypt, Greece, Rome, and during the Middle Ages. The
conditions in the latter period are particularly interesting, inasmuch
as prostitution was organized into guilds, presided over by a brothel
queen. These guilds employed strikes as a medium of improving their
condition and keeping a standard price. Certainly that is more practical
a method than the one used by the modern wage-slave in society.
It would be one-sided and extremely superficial to maintain that the
economic factor is the only cause of prostitution. There are others no
less important and vital. That, too, our reformers know, but dare
discuss even less than the institution that saps the very life out of
both men and women. I refer to the sex question, the very mention of
which causes most people moral spasms.
It is a conceded fact that woman is being reared as a sex commodity, and
yet she is kept in absolute ignorance of the meaning and importance of
sex. Everything dealing with that subject is suppressed, and persons who
attempt to bring light into this terrible darkness are persecuted and
thrown into prison. Yet it is nevertheless true that so long as a girl
is not to know how to take care of herself, not to know the function of
the most important part of her life, we need not be surprised if she
becomes an easy prey to prostitution, or to any other form of a
relationship which degrades her to the position of an object for mere
sex gratification.
It is due to this ignorance that the entire life and nature of the girl
is thwarted and crippled. We have long ago taken it as a self-evident
fact that the boy may follow the call of the wild; that is to say, that
the boy may, as soon as his sex nature asserts itself, satisfy that
nature; but our moralists are scandalized at the very thought that the
nature of a girl should assert itself. To the moralist prostitution does
not consist so much in the fact that the woman sells her body, but
rather that she sells it out of wedlock. That this is no mere statement
is proved by the fact that marriage for monetary considerations is
perfectly legitimate, sanctified by law and public opinion, while any
other union is condemned and repudiated. Yet a prostitute, if properly
defined, means nothing else than “any person for whom sexual
relationships are subordinated to gain.”[21]
“Those women are prostitutes who sell their bodies for the exercise of
the sexual act and make of this a profession.”[22]
In fact, Banger goes further; he maintains that the act of prostitution
is “intrinsically equal to that of a man or woman who contracts a
marriage for economic reasons.”
Of course, marriage is the goal of every girl, but as thousands of girls
cannot marry, our stupid social customs condemn them either to a life of
celibacy or prostitution. Human nature asserts itself regardless of all
laws, nor is there any plausible reason why nature should adapt itself
to a perverted conception of morality.
Society considers the sex experiences of a man as attributes of his
general development, while similar experiences in the life of a woman
are looked upon as a terrible calamity, a loss of honor and of all that
is good and noble in a human being. This double standard of morality has
played no little part in the creation and perpetuation of prostitution.
It involves the keeping of the young in absolute ignorance on sex
matters, which alleged “innocence,” together with an overwrought and
stifled sex nature, helps to bring about a state of affairs that our
Puritans are so anxious to avoid or prevent.
Not that the gratification of sex must needs lead to prostitution; it is
the cruel, heartless, criminal persecution of those who dare divert from
the beaten track, which is responsible for it.
Girls, mere children, work in crowded, over-heated rooms ten to twelve
hours daily at a machine, which tends to keep them in a constant
over-excited sex state. Many of these girls have no home or comforts of
any kind; therefore the street or some place of cheap amusement is the
only means of forgetting their daily routine. This naturally brings them
into close proximity with the other sex. It is hard to say which of the
two factors brings the girl’s over-sexed condition to a climax, but it
is certainly the most natural thing that a climax should result. That is
the first step toward prostitution. Nor is the girl to be held
responsible for it. On the contrary, it is altogether the fault of
society, the fault of our lack of understanding, of our lack of
appreciation of life in the making; especially is it the criminal fault
of our moralists, who condemn a girl for all eternity, because she has
gone from the “path of virtue”; that is, because her first sex
experience has taken place with out the sanction of the Church.
The girl feels herself a complete outcast, with the doors of home and
society closed in her face. Her entire training and tradition is such
that the girl herself feels depraved and fallen, and therefore has no
ground to stand upon, or any hold that will lift her up, instead of
dragging her down. Thus society creates the victims that it afterwards
vainly attempts to get rid of. The meanest, most depraved and decrepit
man still considers himself too good to take as his wife the woman whose
grace he was quite willing to buy, even though he might thereby save her
from a life of horror. Nor can she turn to her own sister for help. In
her stupidity the latter deems herself too pure and chaste, not
realizing that her own position is in many respects even more deplorable
than her sister’s of the street.
“The wife who married for money, compared with the prostitute,” says
Havelock Ellis, “is the true scab. She is paid less, gives much more in
return in labor and care, and is absolutely bound to her master. The
prostitute never signs away the right over her own person, she retains
her freedom and personal rights, nor is she always compelled to submit
to man’s embrace.”
Nor does the better-than-thou woman realize the apologist claim of Lecky
that “though she may be the supreme type of vice, she is also the most
efficient guardian of virtue. But for her, happy homes would be
polluted, unnatural and harmful practice would abound.”
Moralists are ever ready to sacrifice one-half of the human race for the
sake of some miserable institution which they can not outgrow. As a
matter of fact, prostitution is no more a safeguard for the purity of
the home than rigid laws are a safeguard against prostitution. Fully
fifty per cent. of married men are patrons of brothels. It is through
this virtuous element that the married women — nay, even the children —
are infected with venereal diseases. Yet society has not a word of
condemnation for the man, while no law is too monstrous to be set in
motion against the helpless victim. She is not only preyed upon by those
who use her, but she is also absolutely at the mercy of every policeman
and miserable detective on the beat, the officials at the station house,
the authorities in every prison.
In a recent book by a woman who was for twelve years the mistress of a
“house,” are to be found the following figures: “The authorities
compelled me to pay every month fines between $14.70 to $29.70, the
girls would pay from $5.70 to $9.70 to the police.” Considering that the
writer did her business in a small city, that the amounts she gives do
not include extra bribes and fines, one can readily see the tremendous
revenue the police department derives from the blood money of its
victims, whom it will not even protect. Woe to those who refuse to pay
their toll; they would be rounded up like cattle, “if only to make a
favorable impression upon the good citizens of the city, or if the
powers needed extra money on the side. For the warped mind who believes
that a fallen woman is incapable of human emotion it would be impossible
to realize the grief, the disgrace, the tears, the wounded pride that
was ours every time we were pulled in.”
Strange, isn’t it, that a woman who has kept a “house” should be able to
feel that way? But stranger still that a good Christian world should
bleed and fleece such women, and give them nothing in return except
obloquy and persecution. Oh, for the charity of a Christian world!
Much stress is laid on white slaves being imported into America. How
would America ever retain her virtue if Europe did not help her out? I
will not deny that this may be the case in some instances, any more than
I will deny that there are emissaries of Germany and other countries
luring economic slaves into America; but I absolutely deny that
prostitution is recruited to any appreciable extent from Europe. It may
be true that the majority of prostitutes of New York City are
foreigners, but that is because the majority of the population is
foreign. The moment we go to any other American city, to Chicago or the
Middle West, we shall find that the number of foreign prostitutes is by
far a minority.
Equally exaggerated is the belief that the majority of street girls in
this city were engaged in this business before they came to America.
Most of the girls speak excellent English, are Americanized in habits
and appearance, — a thing absolutely impossible unless they had lived in
this country many years. That is, they were driven into prostitution by
American conditions, by the thoroughly American custom for excessive
display of finery and clothes, which, of course, necessitates money, —
money that cannot be earned in shops or factories.
In other words, there is no reason to believe that any set of men would
go to the risk and expense of getting foreign products, when American
conditions are overflooding the market with thousands of girls. On the
other hand, there is sufficient evidence to prove that the export of
American girls for the purpose of prostitution is by no means a small
factor.
Thus Clifford G. Roe, ex-Assistant State Attorney of Cook County, Ill.,
makes the open charge that New England girls are shipped to Panama for
the express use of men in the employ of Uncle Sam. Mr. Roe adds that
“there seems to be an underground railroad between Boston and Washington
which many girls travel.” Is it not significant that the railroad should
lead to the very seat of Federal authority? That Mr. Roe said more than
was desired in certain quarters is proved by the fact that he lost his
position. It is not practical for men in office to tell tales from
school.
The excuse given for the conditions in Panama is that there are no
brothels in the Canal Zone. That is the usual avenue of escape for a
hypocritical world that dares not face the truth. Not in the Canal Zone,
not in the city limits, — therefore prostitution does not exist.
Next to Mr. Roe, there is James Bronson Reynolds, who has made a
thorough study of the white slave traffic in Asia. As a staunch American
citizen and friend of the future Napoleon of America, Theodore
Roosevelt, he is surely the last to discredit the virtue of his country.
Yet we are informed by him that in Hong Kong, Shanghai, and Yokohama,
the Augean stables of American vice are located. There American
prostitutes have made themselves so conspicuous that in the Orient
“American girl” is synonymous with prostitute. Mr. Reynolds reminds his
countrymen that while Americans in China are under the protection of our
consular representatives, the Chinese in America have no protection at
all. Every one who knows the brutal and barbarous persecution Chinese
and Japanese endure on the Pacific Coast, will agree with Mr. Reynolds.
In view of the above facts it is rather absurd to point to Europe as the
swamp whence come all the social diseases of America. Just as absurd is
it to proclaim the myth that the Jews furnish the largest contingent of
willing prey. I am sure that no one will accuse me of nationalistic
tendencies. I am glad to say that I have developed out of them, as out
of many other prejudices. If, therefore, I resent the statement that
Jewish prostitutes are imported, it is not because of any Judaistic
sympathies, but because of the facts inherent in the lives of these
people. No one but the most superficial will claim that Jewish girls
migrate to strange lands, unless they have some tie or relation that
brings them there. The Jewish girl is not adventurous. Until recent
years she had never left home, not even so far as the next village or
town, except it were to visit some relative. Is it then credible that
Jewish girls would leave their parents or families, travel thousands of
miles to strange lands, through the influence and promises of strange
forces? Go to any of the large incoming steamers and see for yourself if
these girls do not come either with their parents, brothers, aunts, or
other kinsfolk. There may be exceptions, of course, but to state that
large numbers of Jewish girls are imported for prostitution, or any
other purpose, is simply not to know Jewish psychology.
Those who sit in a glass house do wrong to throw stones about them;
besides, the American glass house is rather thin, it will break easily,
and the interior is anything but a gainly sight.
To ascribe the increase of prostitution to alleged importation, to the
growth of the cadet system, or similar causes, is highly superficial. I
have already referred to the former. As to the cadet system, abhorrent
as it is, we must not ignore the fact that it is essentially a phase of
modern prostitution, — a phase accentuated by suppression and graft,
resulting from sporadic crusades against the social evil.
The procurer is no doubt a poor specimen of the human family, but in
what manner is he more despicable than the policeman who takes the last
cent from the street walker, and then locks her up in the station house?
Why is the cadet more criminal, or a greater menace to society, than the
owners of department stores and factories, who grow fat on the sweat of
their victims, only to drive them to the streets? I make no plea for the
cadet, but I fail to see why he should be mercilessly hounded, while the
real perpetrators of all social iniquity enjoy immunity and respect.
Then, too, it is well to remember that it is not the cadet who makes the
prostitute. It is our sham and hypocrisy that create both the prostitute
and the cadet.
Until 1894 very little was known in America of the procurer. Then we
were attacked by an epidemic of virtue. Vice was to be abolished, the
country purified at all cost. The social cancer was therefore driven out
of sight, but deeper into the body. Keepers of brothels, as well as
their unfortunate victims, were turned over to the tender mercies of the
police. The inevitable consequence of exorbitant bribes, and the
penitentiary, followed.
While comparatively protected in the brothels, where they represented a
certain monetary value, the girls now found themselves on the street,
absolutely at the mercy of the graft-greedy police. Desperate, needing
protection and longing for affection, these girls naturally proved an
easy prey for cadets, themselves the result of the spirit of our
commercial age. Thus the cadet system was the direct outgrowth of police
persecution, graft, and attempted suppression of prostitution. It were
sheer folly to confound this modern phase of the social evil with the
causes of the latter.
Mere suppression and barbaric enactments can serve but to embitter, and
further degrade, the unfortunate victims of ignorance and stupidity. The
latter has reached its highest expression in the proposed law to make
humane treatment of prostitutes a crime, punishing any one sheltering a
prostitute with five years’ imprisonment and $10,000 fine. Such an
attitude merely exposes the terrible lack of understanding of the true
causes of prostitution, as a social factor, as well as manifesting the
Puritanic spirit of the Scarlet Letter days.
There is not a single modern writer on the subject who does not refer to
the utter futility of legislative methods in coping with the issue. Thus
Dr. Blaschko finds that governmental suppression and moral crusades
accomplish nothing save driving the evil into secret channels,
multiplying its dangers to society. Havelock Ellis, the most thorough
and humane student of prostitution, proves by a wealth of data that the
more stringent the methods of persecution the worse the condition
becomes. Among other data we learn that in France, “in 1560, Charles IX.
abolished brothels through an edict, but the numbers of prostitutes were
only increased, while many new brothels appeared in unsuspected shapes,
and were more dangerous. In spite of all such legislation, or because of
it, there has been no country in which prostitution has played a more
conspicuous part.”[23]
An educated public opinion, freed from the legal and moral hounding of
the prostitute, can alone help to ameliorate present conditions. Wilful
shutting of eyes and ignoring of the evil as a social factor of modern
life, can but aggravate matters. We must rise above our foolish notions
of “better than thou,” and learn to recognize in the prostitute a
product of social conditions. Such a realization will sweep away the
attitude of hypocrisy, and insure a greater understanding and more
humane treatment. As to a thorough eradication of prostitution, nothing
can accomplish that save a complete transvaluation of all accepted
values especially the moral ones — coupled with the abolition of
industrial slavery.
We boast of the age of advancement, of science, and progress. Is it not
strange, then, that we still believe in fetich worship? True, our
fetiches have different form and substance, yet in their power over the
human mind they are still as disastrous as were those of old.
Our modern fetich is universal suffrage. Those who have not yet achieved
that goal fight bloody revolutions to obtain it, and those who have
enjoyed its reign bring heavy sacrifice to the altar of this omnipotent
diety. Woe to the heretic who dare question that divinity!
Woman, even more than man, is a fetich worshipper, and though her idols
may change, she is ever on her knees, ever holding up her hands, ever
blind to the fact that her god has feet of clay. Thus woman has been the
greatest supporter of all deities from time immemorial. Thus, too, she
has had to pay the price that only gods can exact, — her freedom, her
heart’s blood, her very life.
Nietzsche’s memorable maxim, “When you go to woman, take the whip
along,” is considered very brutal, yet Nietzsche expressed in one
sentence the attitude of woman towards her gods.
Religion, especially the Christian religion, has condemned woman to the
life of an inferior, a slave. It has thwarted her nature and fettered
her soul, yet the Christian religion has no greater supporter, none more
devout, than woman. Indeed, it is safe to say that religion would have
long ceased to be a factor in the lives of the people, if it were not
for the support it receives from woman. The most ardent churchworkers,
the most tireless missionaries the world over, are women, always
sacrificing on the altar of the gods that have chained her spirit and
enslaved her body.
The insatiable monster, war, robs woman of all that is dear and precious
to her. It exacts her brothers, lovers, sons, and in return gives her a
life of loneliness and despair. Yet the greatest supporter and worshiper
of war is woman. She it is who instills the love of conquest and power
into her children; she it is who whispers the glories of war into the
ears of her little ones, and who rocks her baby to sleep with the tunes
of trumpets and the noise of guns. It is woman, too, who crowns the
victor on his return from the battlefield. Yes, it is woman who pays the
highest price to that insatiable monster, war.
Then there is the home. What a terrible fetich it is! How it saps the
very life-energy of woman, — this modern prison with golden bars. Its
shining aspect blinds woman to the price she would have to pay as wife,
mother, and housekeeper. Yet woman clings tenaciously to the home, to
the power that holds her in bondage.
It may be said that because woman recognizes the awful toll she is made
to pay to the Church, State, and the home, she wants suffrage to set
herself free. That may be true of the few; the majority of suffragists
repudiate utterly such blasphemy. On the contrary, they insist always
that it is woman suffrage which will make her a better Christian and
home keeper, a staunch citizen of the State. Thus suffrage is only a
means of strengthening the omnipotence of the very Gods that woman has
served from time immemorial.
What wonder, then, that she should be just as devout, just as zealous,
just as prostrate before the new idol, woman suffrage. As of old, she
endures persecution, imprisonment, torture, and all forms of
condemnation, with a smile on her face. As of old, the most enlightened,
even, hope for a miracle from the twentieth-century deity, — suffrage.
Life, happiness, joy, freedom, independence, — all that, and more, is to
spring from suffrage. In her blind devotion woman does not see what
people of intellect perceived fifty years ago: that suffrage is an evil,
that it has only helped to enslave people, that it has but closed their
eyes that they may not see how craftily they were made to submit.
Woman’s demand for equal suffrage is based largely on the contention
that woman must have the equal right in all affairs of society. No one
could, possibly, refute that, if suffrage were a right. Alas, for the
ignorance of the human mind, which can see a right in an imposition. Or
is it not the most brutal imposition for one set of people to make laws
that another set is coerced by force to obey? Yet woman clamors for that
“golden opportunity” that has wrought so much misery in the world, and
robbed man of his integrity and self-reliance; an imposition which has
thoroughly corrupted the people, and made them absolute prey in the
hands of unscrupulous politicians.
The poor, stupid, free American citizen! Free to starve, free to tramp
the highways of this great country, he enjoys universal suffrage, and,
by that right, he has forged chains about his limbs. The reward that he
receives is stringent labor laws prohibiting the right of boycott, of
picketing, in fact, of everything, except the right to be robbed of the
fruits of his labor. Yet all these disastrous results of the
twentieth-century fetich have taught woman nothing. But, then, woman
will purify politics, we are assured.
Needless to say, I am not opposed to woman suffrage on the conventional
ground that she is not equal to it. I see neither physical,
psychological, nor mental reasons why woman should not have the equal
right to vote with man. But that can not possibly blind me to the absurd
notion that woman will accomplish that wherein man has failed. If she
would not make things worse, she certainly could not make them better.
To assume, therefore, that she would succeed in purifying something
which is not susceptible of purification, is to credit her with
supernatural powers. Since woman’s greatest misfortune has been that she
was looked upon as either angel or devil, her true salvation lies in
being placed on earth; namely, in being considered human, and therefore
subject to all human follies and mistakes. Are we, then, to believe that
two errors will make a right? Are we to assume that the poison already
inherent in politics will be decreased, if women were to enter the
political arena? The most ardent suffragists would hardly maintain such
a folly.
As a matter of fact, the most advanced students of universal suffrage
have come to realize that all existing systems of political power are
absurd, and are completely inadequate to meet the pressing issues of
life. This view is also borne out by a statement of one who is herself
an ardent believer in woman suffrage, Dr. Helen L. Sumner. In her able
work on Equal Suffrage, she says: “In Colorado, we find that equal
suffrage serves to show in the most striking way the essential
rottenness and degrading character of the existing system.” Of course,
Dr. Sumner has in mind a particular system of voting, but the same
applies with equal force to the entire machinery of the representative
system. With such a basis, it is difficult to understand how woman, as a
political factor, would benefit either herself or the rest of mankind.
But, say our suffrage devotees, look at the countries and States where
female suffrage exists. See what woman has accomplished — in Australia,
New Zealand, Finland, the Scandinavian countries, and in our own four
States, Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming, and Utah. Distance lends enchantment —
or, to quote a Polish formula — “it is well where we are not.” Thus one
would assume that those countries and States are unlike other countries
or States, that they have greater freedom, greater social and economic
equality, a finer appreciation of human life, deeper understanding of
the great social struggle, with all the vital questions it involves for
the human race.
The women of Australia and New Zealand can vote, and help make the laws.
Are the labor conditions better there than they are in England, where
the suffragettes are making such a heroic struggle? Does there exist a
greater motherhood, happier and freer children than in England? Is woman
there no longer considered a mere sex commodity? Has she emancipated
herself from the Puritanical double standard of morality for men and
women? Certainly none but the ordinary female stump politician will dare
answer these questions in the affirmative. If that be so, it seems
ridiculous to point to Australia and New Zealand as the Mecca of equal
suffrage accomplishments.
On the other hand, it is a fact to those who know the real political
conditions in Australia, that politics have gagged labor by enacting the
most stringent labor laws, making strikes without the sanction of an
arbitration committee a crime equal to treason.
Not for a moment do I mean to imply that woman suffrage is responsible
for this state of affairs. I do mean, however, that there is no reason
to point to Australia as a wonder-worker of woman’s accomplishment,
since her influence has been unable to free labor from the thraldom of
political bossism.
Finland has given woman equal suffrage; nay, even the right to sit in
Parliament. Has that helped to develop a greater heroism, an intenser
zeal than that of the women of Russia? Finland, like Russia, smarts
under the terrible whip of the bloody Tsar. Where are the Finnish
Perovskaias, Spiridonovas, Figners, Breshkovskaias? Where are the
countless numbers of Finnish young girls who cheerfully go to Siberia
for their cause? Finland is sadly in need of heroic liberators. Why has
the ballot not created them? The only Finnish avenger of his people was
a man, not a woman, and he used a more effective weapon than the ballot.
As to our own States where women vote, and which are constantly being
pointed out as examples of marvels, what has been accomplished there
through the ballot that women do not to a large extent enjoy in other
States; or that they could not achieve through energetic efforts without
the ballot?
True, in the suffrage States women are guaranteed equal rights to
property; but of what avail is that right to the mass of women without
property, the thousands of wage workers, who live from hand to mouth?
That equal suffrage did not, and cannot, affect their condition is
admitted even by Dr. Sumner, who certainly is in a position to know. As
an ardent suffragist, and having been sent to Colorado by the Collegiate
Equal Suffrage League of New York State to collect material in favor of
suffrage, she would be the last to say anything derogatory; yet we are
informed that “equal suffrage has but slightly affected the economic
conditions of women. That women do not receive equal pay for equal work,
and that, though woman in Colorado has enjoyed school suffrage since
1876, women teachers are paid less than in California.” On the other
hand, Miss Sumner fails to account for the fact that although women have
had school suffrage for thirty-four years, and equal suffrage since
1894, the census in Denver alone a few months ago disclosed the fact of
fifteen thousand defective school children. And that, too, with mostly
women in the educational department, and also notwithstanding that women
in Colorado have passed the “most stringent laws for child and animal
protection.” The women of Colorado “have taken great interest in the
State institutions for the care of dependent, defective, and delinquent
children.” What a horrible indictment against woman’s care and interest,
if one city has fifteen thousand defective children. What about the
glory of woman suffrage, since it has failed utterly in the most
important social issue, the child? And where is the superior sense of
justice that woman was to bring into the political field? Where was it
in 1903, when the mine owners waged a guerilla war against the Western
Miners’ Union; when General Bell established a reign of terror, pulling
men out of bed at night, kidnapping them across the border line,
throwing them into bull pens, declaring “to hell with the Constitution,
the club is the Constitution”? Where were the women politicians then,
and why did they not exercise the power of their vote? But they did.
They helped to defeat the most fair-minded and liberal man, Governor
Waite. The latter had to make way for the tool of the mine kings,
Governor Peabody, the enemy of labor, the Tsar of Colorado. “Certainly
male suffrage could have done nothing worse.” Granted. Wherein, then,
are the advantages to woman and society from woman suffrage? The
oft-repeated assertion that woman will purify politics is also but a
myth. It is not borne out by the people who know the political
conditions of Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming, and Utah.
Woman, essentially a purist, is naturally bigoted and relentless in her
effort to make others as good as she thinks they ought to be. Thus, in
Idaho, she has disfranchised her sister of the street, and declared all
women of “lewd character” unfit to vote. “Lewd” not being interpreted,
of course, as prostitution in marriage. It goes without saying that
illegal prostitution and gambling have been prohibited. In this regard
the law must needs be of feminine gender: it always prohibits. Therein
all laws are wonderful. They go no further, but their very tendencies
open all the floodgates of hell. Prostitution and gambling have never
done a more flourishing business than since the law has been set against
them.
In Colorado, the Puritanism of woman has expressed itself in a more
drastic form. “Men of notoriously unclean lives, and men connected with
saloons, have been dropped from politics since women have the vote.”[24]
Could Brother Comstock do more? Could all the Puritan fathers have done
more? I wonder how many women realize the gravity of this would-be feat.
I wonder if they understand that it is the very thing which, instead of
elevating woman, has made her a political spy, a contemptible pry into
the private affairs of people, not so much for the good of the cause,
but because, as a Colorado woman said, “they like to get into houses
they have never been in, and find out all they can, politically and
otherwise.”[25] Yes, and into the human soul and its minutest nooks and
corners. For nothing satisfies the craving of most women so much as
scandal. And when did she ever enjoy such opportunities as are hers, the
politician’s?
“Notoriously unclean lives, and men connected with the saloons.”
Certainly, the lady vote gatherers can not be accused of much sense of
proportion. Granting even that these busybodies can decide whose lives
are clean enough for that eminently clean atmosphere, politics, must it
follow that saloon-keepers belong to the same category? Unless it be
American hypocrisy and bigotry, so manifest in the principle of
Prohibition, which sanctions the spread of drunkenness among men and
women of the rich class, yet keeps vigilant watch on the only place left
to the poor man. If no other reason, woman’s narrow and purist attitude
toward life makes her a greater danger to liberty wherever she has
political power. Man has long overcome the superstitions that still
engulf woman. In the economic competitive field, man has been compelled
to exercise efficiency, judgment, ability, competency. He therefore had
neither time nor inclination to measure everyone’s morality with a
Puritanic yardstick. In his political activities, too, he has not gone
about blindfolded. He knows that quantity and not quality is the
material for the political grinding mill, and, unless he is a
sentimental reformer or an old fossil, he knows that politics can never
be anything but a swamp.
Women who are at all conversant with the process of politics, know the
nature of the beast, but in their self-sufficiency and egotism they make
themselves believe that they have but to pet the beast, and he will
become as gentle as a lamb, sweet and pure. As if women have not sold
their votes, as if women politicians cannot be bought! If her body can
be bought in return for material consideration, why not her vote? That
it is being done in Colorado and in other States, is not denied even by
those in favor of woman suffrage.
As I have said before, woman’s narrow view of human affairs is not the
only argument against her as a politician superior to man. There are
others. Her life-long economic parasitism has utterly blurred her
conception of the meaning of equality. She clamors for equal rights with
man, yet we learn that “few women care to canvas in undesirable
districts.”[26] How little equality means to them compared with the
Russian women, who face hell itself for their ideal!
Woman demands the same rights as man, yet she is indignant that her
presence does not strike him dead: he smokes, keeps his hat on, and does
not jump from his seat like a flunkey. These may be trivial things, but
they are nevertheless the key to the nature of American suffragists. To
be sure, their English sisters have outgrown these silly notions. They
have shown themselves equal to the greatest demands on their character
and power of endurance. All honor to the heroism and sturdiness of the
English suffragettes. Thanks to their energetic, aggressive methods,
they have proved an inspiration to some of our own lifeless and
spineless ladies. But after all, the suffragettes, too, are still
lacking in appreciation of real equality. Else how is one to account for
the tremendous, truly gigantic effort set in motion by those valiant
fighters for a wretched little bill which will benefit a handful of
propertied ladies, with absolutely no provision for the vast mass of
working women? True, as politicians they must be opportunists, must take
half-measures if they can not get all. But as intelligent and liberal
women they ought to realize that if the ballot is a weapon, the
disinherited need it more than the economically superior class, and that
the latter already enjoy too much power by virtue of their economic
superiority.
The brilliant leader of the English suffragettes, Mrs. Emmeline
Pankhurst, herself admitted, when on her American lecture tour, that
there can be no equality between political superiors and inferiors. If
so, how will the workingwomen of England, already inferior economically
to the ladies who are benefited by the Shackleton bill,[27] be able to
work with their political superiors, should the bill pass? Is it not
probable that the class of Annie Keeney, so full of zeal, devotion, and
martyrdom, will be compelled to carry on their backs their female
political bosses, even as they are carrying their economic masters. They
would still have to do it, were universal suffrage for men and women
established in England. No matter what the workers do, they are made to
pay, always. Still, those who believe in the power of the vote show
little sense of justice when they concern themselves not at all with
those whom, as they claim, it might serve most.
The American suffrage movement has been, until very recently, altogether
a parlor affair, absolutely detached from the economic needs of the
people. Thus Susan B. Anthony, no doubt an exceptional type of woman,
was not only indifferent but antagonistic to labor; nor did she hesitate
to manifest her antagonism when, in 1869, she advised women to take the
places of striking printers in New York.[28] I do not know whether her
attitude had changed before her death.
There are, of course, some suffragists who are affiliated with
workingwomen — the Women’s Trade Union League, for instance; but they
are a small minority, and their activities are essentially economic. The
rest look upon toil as a just provision of Providence. What would become
of the rich, if not for the poor? What would become of these idle,
parasitic ladies, who squander more in a week than their victims earn in
a year, if not for the eighty million wage-workers? Equality, who ever
heard of such a thing?
Few countries have produced such arrogance and snobbishness as America.
Particularly is this true of the American woman of the middle class. She
not only considers herself the equal of man, but his superior,
especially in her purity, goodness, and morality. Small wonder that the
American suffragist claims for her vote the most miraculous powers. In
her exalted conceit she does not see how truly enslaved she is, not so
much by man, as by her own silly notions and traditions. Suffrage can
not ameliorate that sad fact; it can only accentuate it, as indeed it
does.
One of the great American women leaders claims that woman is entitled
not only to equal pay, but that she ought to be legally entitled even to
the pay of her husband. Failing to support her, he should be put in
convict stripes, and his earnings in prison be collected by his equal
wife. Does not another brilliant exponent of the cause claim for woman
that her vote will abolish the social evil, which has been fought in
vain by the collective efforts of the most illustrious minds the world
over? It is indeed to be regretted that the alleged creator of the
universe has already presented us with his wonderful scheme of things,
else woman suffrage would surely enable woman to outdo him completely.
Nothing is so dangerous as the dissection of a fetich. If we have
outlived the time when such heresy was punishable by the stake, we have
not outlived the narrow spirit of condemnation of those who dare differ
with accepted notions. Therefore I shall probably be put down as an
opponent of woman. But that can not deter me from looking the question
squarely in the face. I repeat what I have said in the beginning: I do
not believe that woman will make politics worse; nor can I believe that
she could make it better. If, then, she cannot improve on man’s
mistakes, why perpetrate the latter?
History may be a compilation of lies; nevertheless, it contains a few
truths, and they are the only guide we have for the future. The history
of the political activities of men proves that they have given him
absolutely nothing that he could not have achieved in a more direct,
less costly, and more lasting manner. As a matter of fact, every inch of
ground he has gained has been through a constant fight, a ceaseless
struggle for self-assertion, and not through suffrage. There is no
reason whatever to assume that woman, in her climb to emancipation, has
been, or will be, helped by the ballot.
In the darkest of all countries, Russia, with her absolute despotism,
woman has become man’s equal, not through the ballot, but by her will to
be and to do. Not only has she conquered for herself every avenue of
learning and vocation, but she has won man’s esteem, his respect, his
comradeship; aye, even more than that: she has gained the admiration,
the respect of the whole world. That, too, not through suffrage, but by
her wonderful heroism, her fortitude, her ability, willpower, and her
endurance in her struggle for liberty. Where are the women in any
suffrage country or State that can lay claim to such a victory? When we
consider the accomplishments of woman in America, we find also that
something deeper and more powerful than suffrage has helped her in the
march to emancipation.
It is just sixty-two years ago since a handful of women at the Seneca
Falls Convention set forth a few demands for their right to equal
education with men, and access to the various professions, trades, etc.
What wonderful accomplishments, what wonderful triumphs! Who but the
most ignorant dare speak of woman as a mere domestic drudge? Who dare
suggest that this or that profession should not be open to her? For over
sixty years she has molded a new atmosphere and a new life for herself.
She has become a world-power in every domain of human thought and
activity. And all that without suffrage, without the right to make laws,
without the “privilege” of becoming a judge, a jailer, or an
executioner.
Yes, I may be considered an enemy of woman; but if I can help her see
the light, I shall not complain.
The misfortune of woman is not that she is unable to do the work of a
man, but that she is wasting her life-force to outdo him, with a
tradition of centuries which has left her physically incapable of
keeping pace with him. Oh, I know some have succeeded, but at what cost,
at what terrific cost! The import is not the kind of work woman does,
but rather the quality of the work she furnishes. She can give suffrage
or the ballot no new quality, nor can she receive anything from it that
will enhance her own quality. Her development, her freedom, her
independence, must come from and through herself. First, by asserting
herself as a personality, and not as a sex commodity. Second, by
refusing the right to anyone over her body; by refusing to bear
children, unless she wants them; by refusing to be a servant to God, the
State, society, the husband, the family, etc., by making her life
simpler, but deeper and richer. That is, by trying to learn the meaning
and substance of life in all its complexities, by freeing herself from
the fear of public opinion and public condemnation. Only that, and not
the ballot, will set woman free, will make her a force hitherto unknown
in the world, a force for real love, for peace, for harmony; a force of
divine fire, of life-giving; a creator of free men and women.
I begin with an admission: Regardless of all political and economic
theories, treating of the fundamental differences between various groups
within the human race, regardless of class and race distinctions,
regardless of all artificial boundary lines between woman’s rights and
man’s rights, I hold that there is a point where these differentiations
may meet and grow into one perfect whole.
With this I do not mean to propose a peace treaty. The general social
antagonism which has taken hold of our entire public life today, brought
about through the force of opposing and contradictory interests, will
crumble to pieces when the reorganization of our social life, based upon
the principles of economic justice, shall have become a reality.
Peace or harmony between the sexes and individuals does not necessarily
depend on a superficial equalization of human beings; nor does it call
for the elimination of individual traits and peculiarities. The problem
that confronts us today, and which the nearest future is to solve, is
how to be one’s self and yet in oneness with others, to feel deeply with
all human beings and still retain one’s own characteristic qualities.
This seems to me to be the basis upon which the mass and the individual,
the true democrat and the true individuality, man and woman, can meet
without antagonism and opposition. The motto should not be: Forgive one
another; rather, Understand one another. The oft-quoted sentence of
Madame de Staël: “To understand everything means to forgive everything,”
has never particularly appealed to me; it has the odor of the
confessional; to forgive one’s fellow-being conveys the idea of
pharisaical superiority. To understand one’s fellow-being suffices. The
admission partly represents the fundamental aspect of my views on the
emancipation of woman and its effect upon the entire sex.
Emancipation should make it possible for woman to be human in the truest
sense. Everything within her that craves assertion and activity should
reach its fullest expression; all artificial barriers should be broken,
and the road towards greater freedom cleared of every trace of centuries
of submission and slavery.
This was the original aim of the movement for woman’s emancipation. But
the results so far achieved have isolated woman and have robbed her of
the fountain springs of that happiness which is so essential to her.
Merely external emancipation has made of the modern woman an artificial
being, who reminds one of the products of French arboriculture with its
arabesque trees and shrubs, pyramids, wheels, and wreaths; anything,
except the forms which would be reached by the expression of her own
inner qualities. Such artificially grown plants of the female sex are to
be found in large numbers, especially in the so-called intellectual
sphere of our life.
Liberty and equality for woman! What hopes and aspirations these words
awakened when they were first uttered by some of the noblest and bravest
souls of those days. The sun in all his light and glory was to rise upon
a new world; in this world woman was to be free to direct her own
destiny — an aim certainly worthy of the great enthusiasm, courage,
perseverance, and ceaseless effort of the tremendous host of pioneer men
and women, who staked everything against a world of prejudice and
ignorance.
My hopes also move towards that goal, but I hold that the emancipation
of woman, as interpreted and practically applied today, has failed to
reach that great end. Now, woman is confronted with the necessity of
emancipating herself from emancipation, if she really desires to be
free. This may sound paradoxical, but is, nevertheless, only too true.
What has she achieved through her emancipation? Equal suffrage in a few
States. Has that purified our political life, as many well-meaning
advocates predicted? Certainly not. Incidentally, it is really time that
persons with plain, sound judgment should cease to talk about corruption
in politics in a boarding school tone. Corruption of politics has
nothing to do with the morals, or the laxity of morals, of various
political personalities. Its cause is altogether a material one.
Politics is the reflex of the business and industrial world, the mottos
of which are: “To take is more blessed than to give”; “buy cheap and
sell dear”; “one soiled hand washes the other.” There is no hope even
that woman, with her right to vote, will ever purify politics.
Emancipation has brought woman economic equality with man; that is, she
can choose her own profession and trade; but as her past and present
physical training has not equipped her with the necessary strength to
compete with man, she is often compelled to exhaust all her energy, use
up her vitality, and strain every nerve in order to reach the market
value. Very few ever succeed, for it is a fact that women teachers,
doctors, lawyers, architects, and engineers are neither met with the
same confidence as their male colleagues, nor receive equal
remuneration. And those that do reach that enticing equality, generally
do so at the expense of their physical and psychical well-being. As to
the great mass of working girls and women, how much independence is
gained if the narrowness and lack of freedom of the home is exchanged
for the narrowness and lack of freedom of the factory, sweat-shop,
department store, or office? In addition is the burden which is laid on
many women of looking after a “home, sweet home” — cold, dreary,
disorderly, uninviting — after a day’s hard work. Glorious independence!
No wonder that hundreds of girls are so willing to accept the first
offer of marriage, sick and tired of their “independence” behind the
counter, at the sewing or typewriting machine. They are just as ready to
marry as girls of the middle class, who long to throw off the yoke of
parental supremacy. A so-called independence which leads only to earning
the merest subsistence is not so enticing, not so ideal, that one could
expect woman to sacrifice everything for it. Our highly praised
independence is, after all, but a slow process of dulling and stifling
woman’s nature, her love instinct, and her mother instinct.
Nevertheless, the position of the working girl is far more natural and
human than that of her seemingly more fortunate sister in the more
cultured professional walks of life – teachers, physicians, lawyers,
engineers, etc., who have to make a dignified, proper appearance, while
the inner life is growing empty and dead.
The narrowness of the existing conception of woman’s independence and
emancipation; the dread of love for a man who is not her social equal;
the fear that love will rob her of her freedom and independence; the
horror that love or the joy of motherhood will only hinder her in the
full exercise of her profession — all these together make of the
emancipated modern woman a compulsory vestal, before whom life, with its
great clarifying sorrows and its deep, entrancing joys, rolls on without
touching or gripping her soul.
Emancipation, as understood by the majority of its adherents and
exponents, is of too narrow a scope to permit the boundless love and
ecstasy contained in the deep emotion of the true woman, sweetheart,
mother, in freedom.
The tragedy of the self-supporting or economically free woman does not
lie in too many, but in too few experiences. True, she surpasses her
sister of past generations in knowledge of the world and human nature;
it is just because of this that she feels deeply the lack of life’s
essence, which alone can enrich the human soul, and without which the
majority of women have become mere professional automatons.
That such a state of affairs was bound to come was foreseen by those who
realized that, in the domain of ethics, there still remained many
decaying ruins of the time of the undisputed superiority of man; ruins
that are still considered useful. And, what is more important, a goodly
number of the emancipated are unable to get along without them. Every
movement that aims at the destruction of existing institutions and the
replacement thereof with something more advanced, more perfect, has
followers who in theory stand for the most radical ideas, but who,
nevertheless, in their every-day practice, are like the average
Philistine, feigning respectability and clamoring for the good opinion
of their opponents. There are, for example, Socialists, and even
Anarchists, who stand for the idea that property is robbery, yet who
will grow indignant if anyone owe them the value of a half-dozen pins.
The same Philistine can be found in the movement for woman’s
emancipation. Yellow journalists and milk-and-water litterateurs have
painted pictures of the emancipated woman that make the hair of the good
citizen and his dull companion stand up on end. Every member of the
woman’s rights movement was pictured as a George Sand in her absolute
disregard of morality. Nothing was sacred to her. She had no respect for
the ideal relation between man and woman. In short, emancipation stood
only for a reckless life of lust and sin; regardless of society,
religion, and morality. The exponents of woman’s rights were highly
indignant at such misrepresentation, and, lacking humor, they exerted
all their energy to prove that they were not at all as bad as they were
painted, but the very reverse. Of course, as long as woman was the slave
of man, she could not be good and pure, but now that she was free and
independent she would prove how good she could be and that her influence
would have a purifying effect on all institutions in society. True, the
movement for woman’s rights has broken many old fetters, but it has also
forged new ones. The great movement of true emancipation has not met
with a great race of women who could look liberty in the face. Their
narrow, Puritanical vision banished man, as a disturber and doubtful
character, out of their emotional life. Man was not to be tolerated at
any price, except perhaps as the father of a child, since a child could
not very well come to life without a father. Fortunately, the most rigid
Puritans never will be strong enough to kill the innate craving for
motherhood. But woman’s freedom is closely allied with man’s freedom,
and many of my so-called emancipated sisters seem to overlook the fact
that a child born in freedom needs the love and devotion of each human
being about him, man as well as woman. Unfortunately, it is this narrow
conception of human relations that has brought about a great tragedy in
the lives of the modern man and woman.
About fifteen years ago appeared a work from the pen of the brilliant
Norwegian Laura Marholm, called Woman, a Character Study. She was one of
the first to call attention to the emptiness and narrowness of the
existing conception of woman’s emancipation, and its tragic effect upon
the inner life of woman. In her work Laura Marholm speaks of the fate of
several gifted women of international fame: the genius Eleonora Duse;
the great mathematician and writer Sonya Kovalevskaia; the artist and
poet nature Marie Bashkirtseff, who died so young. Through each
description of the lives of these women of such extraordinary mentality
runs a marked trail of unsatisfied craving for a full, rounded,
complete, and beautiful life, and the unrest and loneliness resulting
from the lack of it. Through these masterly psychological sketches one
cannot help but see that the higher the mental development of woman, the
less possible it is for her to meet a congenial mate who will see in
her, not only sex, but also the human being, the friend, the comrade and
strong individuality, who cannot and ought not lose a single trait of
her character.
The average man with his self-sufficiency, his ridiculously superior
airs of patronage towards the female sex, is an impossibility for woman
as depicted in the Character Study by Laura Marholm. Equally impossible
for her is the man who can see in her nothing more than her mentality
and her genius, and who fails to awaken her woman nature.
A rich intellect and a fine soul are usually considered necessary
attributes of a deep and beautiful personality. In the case of the
modern woman, these attributes serve as a hindrance to the complete
assertion of her being. For over a hundred years the old form of
marriage, based on the Bible, “till death doth part,” has been denounced
as an institution that stands for the sovereignty of the man over the
woman, of her complete submission to his whims and commands, and
absolute dependence on his name and support. Time and again it has been
conclusively proved that the old matrimonial relation restricted woman
to the function of man’s servant and the bearer of his children. And yet
we find many emancipated women who prefer marriage, with all its
deficiencies, to the narrowness of an unmarried life: narrow and
unendurable because of the chains of moral and social prejudice that
cramp and bind her nature.
The explanation of such inconsistency on the part of many advanced women
is to be found in the fact that they never truly understood the meaning
of emancipation. They thought that all that was needed was independence
from external tyrannies; the internal tyrants, far more harmful to life
and growth — ethical and social conventions — were left to take care of
themselves; and they have taken care of themselves. They seem to get
along as beautifully in the heads and hearts of the most active
exponents of woman’s emancipation, as in the heads and hearts of our
grandmothers.
These internal tyrants, whether they be in the form of public opinion or
what will mother say, or brother, father, aunt, or relative of any sort;
what will Mrs. Grundy, Mr. Comstock, the employer, the Board of
Education say? All these busybodies, moral detectives, jailers of the
human spirit, what will they say? Until woman has learned to defy them
all, to stand firmly on her own ground and to insist upon her own
unrestricted freedom, to listen to the voice of her nature, whether it
call for life’s greatest treasure, love for a man, or her most glorious
privilege, the right to give birth to a child, she cannot call herself
emancipated. How many emancipated women are brave enough to acknowledge
that the voice of love is calling, wildly beating against their breasts,
demanding to be heard, to be satisfied.
The French writer Jean Reibrach, in one of his novels, New Beauty,
attempts to picture the ideal, beautiful, emancipated woman. This ideal
is embodied in a young girl, a physician. She talks very cleverly and
wisely of how to feed infants; she is kind, and administers medicines
free to poor mothers. She converses with a young man of her acquaintance
about the sanitary conditions of the future, and how various bacilli and
germs shall be exterminated by the use of stone walls and floors, and by
the doing away with rugs and hangings. She is, of course, very plainly
and practically dressed, mostly in black. The young man, who, at their
first meeting, was overawed by the wisdom of his emancipated friend,
gradually learns to understand her, and recognizes one fine day that he
loves her. They are young, and she is kind and beautiful, and though
always in rigid attire, her appearance is softened by a spotlessly clean
white collar and cuffs. One would expect that he would tell her of his
love, but he is not one to commit romantic absurdities. Poetry and the
enthusiasm of love cover their blushing faces before the pure beauty of
the lady. He silences the voice of his nature, and remains correct. She,
too, is always exact, always rational, always well behaved. I fear if
they had formed a union, the young man would have risked freezing to
death. I must confess that I can see nothing beautiful in this new
beauty, who is as cold as the stone walls and floors she dreams of.
Rather would I have the love songs of romantic ages, rather Don Juan and
Madame Venus, rather an elopement by ladder and rope on a moonlight
night, followed by the father’s curse, mother’s moans, and the moral
comments of neighbors, than correctness and propriety measured by
yardsticks. If love does not know how to give and take without
restrictions, it is not love, but a transaction that never fails to lay
stress on a plus and a minus.
The greatest shortcoming of the emancipation of the present day lies in
its artificial stiffness and its narrow respectabilities, which produce
an emptiness in woman’s soul that will not let her drink from the
fountain of life. I once remarked that there seemed to be a deeper
relationship between the old-fashioned mother and hostess, ever on the
alert for the happiness of her little ones and the comfort of those she
loved, and the truly new woman, than between the latter and her average
emancipated sister. The disciples of emancipation pure and simple
declared me a heathen, fit only for the stake. Their blind zeal did not
let them see that my comparison between the old and the new was merely
to prove that a goodly number of our grandmothers had more blood in
their veins, far more humor and wit, and certainly a greater amount of
naturalness, kind-heartedness, and simplicity, than the majority of our
emancipated professional women who fill the colleges, halls of learning,
and various offices. This does not mean a wish to return to the past,
nor does it condemn woman to her old sphere, the kitchen and the
nursery.
Salvation lies in an energetic march onward towards a brighter and
clearer future. We are in need of unhampered growth out of old
traditions and habits. The movement for woman’s emancipation has so far
made but the first step in that direction. It is to be hoped that it
will gather strength to make another. The right to vote, or equal civil
rights, may be good demands, but true emancipation begins neither at the
polls nor in courts. It begins in woman’s soul. History tells us that
every oppressed class gained true liberation from its masters through
its own efforts. It is necessary that woman learn that Iesson, that she
realize that her freedom will reach as far as her power to achieve her
freedom reaches. It is, therefore, far more important for her to begin
with her inner regeneration, to cut loose from the weight of prejudices,
traditions, and customs. The demand for equal rights in every vocation
of life is just and fair; but, after all, the most vital right is the
right to love and be loved. Indeed, if partial emancipation is to become
a complete and true emancipation of woman, it will have to do away with
the ridiculous notion that to be loved, to be sweetheart and mother, is
synonymous with being slave or subordinate. It will have to do away with
the absurd notion of the dualism of the sexes, or that man and woman
represent two antagonistic worlds.
Pettiness separates; breadth unites. Let us be broad and big. Let us not
overlook vital things because of the bulk of trifles confronting us. A
true conception of the relation of the sexes will not admit of conqueror
and conquered; it knows of but one great thing: to give of one’s self
boundlessly, in order to find one’s self richer, deeper, better. That
alone can fill the emptiness, and transform the tragedy of woman’s
emancipation into joy, limitless joy.
THE popular notion about marriage and love is that they are synonymous,
that they spring from the same motives, and cover the same human needs.
Like most popular notions this also rests not on actual facts, but on
superstition.
Marriage and love have nothing in common; they are as far apart as the
poles; are, in fact, antagonistic to each other. No doubt some marriages
have been the result of love. Not, however, because love could assert
itself only in marriage; much rather is it because few people can
completely outgrow a convention. There are to-day large numbers of men
and women to whom marriage is naught but a farce, but who submit to it
for the sake of public opinion. At any rate, while it is true that some
marriages are based on love, and while it is equally true that in some
cases love continues in married life, I maintain that it does so
regardless of marriage, and not because of it.
On the other hand, it is utterly false that love results from marriage.
On rare occasions one does hear of a miraculous case of a married couple
falling in love after marriage, but on close examination it will be
found that it is a mere adjustment to the inevitable. Certainly the
growing-used to each other is far away from the spontaneity, the
intensity, and beauty of love, without which the intimacy of marriage
must prove degrading to both the woman and the man.
Marriage is primarily an economic arrangement, an insurance pact. It
differs from the ordinary life insurance agreement only in that it is
more binding, more exacting. Its returns are insignificantly small
compared with the investments. In taking out an insurance policy one
pays for it in dollars and cents, always at liberty to discontinue
payments. If, however, woman’s premium is a husband, she pays for it
with her name, her privacy, her self-respect, her very life, “until
death doth part.” Moreover, the marriage insurance condemns her to
life-long dependency, to parasitism, to complete uselessness, individual
as well as social. Man, too, pays his toll, but as his sphere is wider,
marriage does not limit him as much as woman. He feels his chains more
in an economic sense.
Thus Dante’s motto over Inferno applies with equal force to marriage:
“Ye who enter here leave all hope behind.”
That marriage is a failure none but the very stupid will deny. One has
but to glance over the statistics of divorce to realize how bitter a
failure marriage really is. Nor will the stereotyped Philistine argument
that the laxity of divorce laws and the growing looseness of woman
account for the fact that: first, every twelfth marriage ends in
divorce; second, that since 1870 divorces have increased from 28 to 73
for every hundred thousand population; third, that adultery, since 1867,
as ground for divorce, has increased 270.8 per cent.; fourth, that
desertion increased 369.8 per cent.
Added to these startling figures is a vast amount of material, dramatic
and literary, further elucidating this subject. Robert Herrick, in
Together; Pinero, in Mid-Channel; Eugene Walter, in Paid in Full, and
scores of other writers are discussing the barrenness, the monotony, the
sordidness, the inadequacy of marriage as a factor for harmony and
understanding.
The thoughtful social student will not content himself with the popular
superficial excuse for this phenomenon. He will have to dig down deeper
into the very life of the sexes to know why marriage proves so
disastrous.
Edward Carpenter says that behind every marriage stands the life-long
environment of the two sexes; an environment so different from each
other that man and woman must remain strangers. Separated by an
insurmountable wall of superstition, custom, and habit, marriage has not
the potentiality of developing knowledge of, and respect for, each
other, without which every union is doomed to failure.
Henrik Ibsen, the hater of all social shams, was probably the first to
realize this great truth. Nora leaves her husband, not — as the stupid
critic would have it — because she is tired of her responsibilities or
feels the need of woman’s rights, but because she has come to know that
for eight years she had lived with a stranger and borne him children.
Can there be any thing more humiliating, more degrading than a life long
proximity between two strangers? No need for the woman to know anything
of the man, save his income. As to the knowledge of the woman — what is
there to know except that she has a pleasing appearance? We have not yet
outgrown the theologic myth that woman has no soul, that she is a mere
appendix to man, made out of his rib just for the convenience of the
gentleman who was so strong that he was afraid of his own shadow.
Perchance the poor quality of the material whence woman comes is
responsible for her inferiority. At any rate, woman has no soul — what
is there to know about her? Besides, the less soul a woman has the
greater her asset as a wife, the more readily will she absorb herself in
her husband. It is this slavish acquiescence to man’s superiority that
has kept the marriage institution seemingly intact for so long a period.
Now that woman is coming into her own, now that she is actually growing
aware of herself as a being outside of the master’s grace, the sacred
institution of marriage is gradually being undermined, and no amount of
sentimental lamentation can stay it.
From infancy, almost, the average girl is told that marriage is her
ultimate goal; therefore her training and education must be directed
towards that end. Like the mute beast fattened for slaughter, she is
prepared for that. Yet, strange to say, she is allowed to know much less
about her function as wife and mother than the ordinary artisan of his
trade. It is indecent and filthy for a respectable girl to know anything
of the marital relation. Oh, for the inconsistency of respectability,
that needs the marriage vow to turn something which is filthy into the
purest and most sacred arrangement that none dare question or criticize.
Yet that is exactly the attitude of the average upholder of marriage.
The prospective wife and mother is kept in complete ignorance of her
only asset in the competitive field — sex. Thus she enters into
life-long relations with a man only to find herself shocked, repelled,
outraged beyond measure by the most natural and healthy instinct, sex.
It is safe to say that a large percentage of the unhappiness, misery,
distress, and physical suffering of matrimony is due to the criminal
ignorance in sex matters that is being extolled as a great virtue. Nor
is it at all an exaggeration when I say that more than one home has been
broken up because of this deplorable fact.
If, however, woman is free and big enough to learn the mystery of sex
without the sanction of State or Church, she will stand condemned as
utterly unfit to become the wife of a “good” man, his goodness
consisting of an empty head and plenty of money. Can there be anything
more outrageous than the idea that a healthy, grown woman, full of life
and passion, must deny nature’s demand, must subdue her most intense
craving, undermine her health and break her spirit, must stunt her
vision, abstain from the depth and glory of sex experience until a
“good” man comes along to take her unto himself as a wife? That is
precisely what marriage means. How can such an arrangement end except in
failure? This is one, though not the least important, factor of
marriage, which differentiates it from love.
Ours is a practical age. The time when Romeo and Juliet risked the wrath
of their fathers for love, when Gretchen exposed herself to the gossip
of her neighbors for love, is no more. If, on rare occasions, young
people allow themselves the luxury of romance, they are taken in care by
the elders, drilled and pounded until they become “sensible.”
The moral lesson instilled in the girl is not whether the man has
aroused her love, but rather is it, “How much?” The important and only
God of practical American life: Can the man make a living? Can he
support a wife? That is the only thing that justifies marriage.
Gradually this saturates every thought of the girl; her dreams are not
of moonlight and kisses, of laughter and tears; she dreams of shopping
tours and bargain counters. This soul-poverty and sordidness are the
elements inherent in the marriage institution. The State and the Church
approve of no other ideal, simply because it is the one that
necessitates the State and Church control of men and women.
Doubtless there are people who continue to consider love above dollars
and cents. Particularly is this true of that class whom economic
necessity has forced to become self-supporting. The tremendous change in
woman’s position, wrought by that mighty factor, is indeed phenomenal
when we reflect that it is but a short time since she has entered the
industrial arena. Six million women wage-earners; six million women, who
have the equal right with men to be exploited, to be robbed, to go on
strike; aye, to starve even. Anything more, my lord? Yes, six million
wage-workers in every walk of life, from the highest brain work to the
most difficult menial labor in the mines and on the railroad tracks;
yes, even detectives and policemen. Surely the emancipation is complete.
Yet with all that, but a very small number of the vast army of women
wage-workers look upon work as a permanent issue, in the same light as
does man. No matter how decrepit the latter, he has been taught to be
independent, self-supporting. Oh, I know that no one is really
independent in our economic tread mill; still, the poorest specimen of a
man hates to be a parasite; to be known as such, at any rate.
The woman considers her position as worker transitory, to be thrown
aside for the first bidder. That is why it is infinitely harder to
organize women than men. “Why should I join a union? I am going to get
married, to have a home.” Has she not been taught from infancy to look
upon that as her ultimate calling? She learns soon enough that the home,
though not so large a prison as the factory, has more solid doors and
bars. It has a keeper so faithful that naught can escape him. The most
tragic part, however, is that the home no longer frees her from wage
slavery; it only increases her task.
According to the latest statistics submitted before a Committee “on
labor and wages, and congestion of Population,” ten per cent. of the
wage workers in New York City alone are married, yet they must continue
to work at the most poorly paid labor in the world. Add to this horrible
aspect the drudgery of house work, and what remains of the protection
and glory of the home? As a matter of fact, even the middle class girl
in marriage can not speak of her home, since it is the man who creates
her sphere. It is not important whether the husband is a brute or a
darling. What I wish to prove is that marriage guarantees woman a home
only by the grace of her husband. There she moves about in his home,
year after year until her aspect of life and human affairs becomes as
flat, narrow, and drab as her surroundings. Small wonder if she becomes
a nag, petty, quarrelsome, gossipy, unbearable, thus driving the man
from the house. She could not go, if she wanted to; there is no place to
go. Besides, a short period of married life, of complete surrender of
all faculties, absolutely incapacitates the average woman for the
outside world. She becomes reckless in appearance, clumsy in her
movements, dependent in her decisions, cowardly in her judgment, a
weight and a bore, which most men grow to hate and despise. Wonderfully
inspiring atmosphere for the bearing of life, is it not?
But the child, how is it to be protected, if not for marriage? After
all, is not that the most important consideration? The sham, the
hypocrisy of it! Marriage protecting the child, yet thousands of
children destitute and homeless. Marriage protecting the child, yet
orphan asylums and reformatories over crowded, the Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Children keeping busy in rescuing the little
victims from “loving” parents, to place them under more loving care, the
Gerry Society. Oh, the mockery of it!
Marriage may have the power to “bring the horse to water,” but has it
ever made him drink? The law will place the father under arrest, and put
him in convict’s clothes; but has that ever stilled the hunger of the
child? If the parent has no work, or if he hides his identity, what does
marriage do then? It invokes the law to bring the man to “justice,” to
put him safely behind closed doors; his labor, however, goes not to the
child, but to the State. The child receives but a blighted memory of its
father’s stripes.
As to the protection of the woman, — therein lies the curse of marriage.
Not that it really protects her, but the very idea is so revolting, such
an outrage and insult on life, so degrading to human dignity, as to
forever condemn this parasitic institution.
It is like that other paternal arrangement — capitalism. It robs man of
his birthright, stunts his growth, poisons his body, keeps him in
ignorance, in poverty and dependence, and then institutes charities that
thrive on the last vestige of man’s self-respect.
The institution of marriage makes a parasite of woman, an absolute
dependent. It incapacitates her for life’s struggle, annihilates her
social consciousness, paralyzes her imagination, and then imposes its
gracious protection, which is in reality a snare, a travesty on human
character.
If motherhood is the highest fulfillment of woman’s nature, what other
protection does it need save love and freedom? Marriage but defiles,
outrages, and corrupts her fulfillment. Does it not say to woman, Only
when you follow me shall you bring forth life? Does it not condemn her
to the block, does it not degrade and shame her if she refuses to buy
her right to motherhood by selling herself? Does not marriage only
sanction motherhood, even though conceived in hatred, in compulsion?
Yet, if motherhood be of free choice, of love, of ecstasy, of defiant
passion, does it not place a crown of thorns upon an innocent head and
carve in letters of blood the hideous epithet, Bastard? Were marriage to
contain all the virtues claimed for it, its crimes against motherhood
would exclude it forever from the realm of love.
Love, the strongest and deepest element in all life, the harbinger of
hope, of joy, of ecstasy; love, the defier of all laws, of all
conventions; love, the freest, the most powerful moulder of human
destiny; how can such an all-compelling force be synonymous with that
poor little State and Church-begotten weed, marriage?
Free love? As if love is anything but free! Man has bought brains, but
all the millions in the world have failed to buy love. Man has subdued
bodies, but all the power on earth has been unable to subdue love. Man
has conquered whole nations, but all his armies could not conquer love.
Man has chained and fettered the spirit, but he has been utterly
helpless before love. High on a throne, with all the splendor and pomp
his gold can command, man is yet poor and desolate, if love passes him
by. And if it stays, the poorest hovel is radiant with warmth, with life
and color. Thus love has the magic power to make of a beggar a king.
Yes, love is free; it can dwell in no other atmosphere. In freedom it
gives itself unreservedly, abundantly, completely. All the laws on the
statutes, all the courts in the universe, cannot tear it from the soil,
once love has taken root. If, however, the soil is sterile, how can
marriage make it bear fruit? It is like the last desperate struggle of
fleeting life against death.
Love needs no protection; it is its own protection. So long as love
begets life no child is deserted, or hungry, or famished for the want of
affection. I know this to be true. I know women who became mothers in
freedom by the men they loved. Few children in wedlock enjoy the care,
the protection, the devotion free motherhood is capable of bestowing.
The defenders of authority dread the advent of a free motherhood, lest
it will rob them of their prey. Who would fight wars? Who would create
wealth? Who would make the policeman, the jailer, if woman were to
refuse the indiscriminate breeding of children? The race, the race!
shouts the king, the president, the capitalist, the priest. The race
must be preserved, though woman be degraded to a mere machine, — and the
marriage institution is our only safety valve against the pernicious
sex-awakening of woman. But in vain these frantic efforts to maintain a
state of bondage. In vain, too, the edicts of the Church, the mad
attacks of rulers, in vain even the arm of the law. Woman no longer
wants to be a party to the production of a race of sickly, feeble,
decrepit, wretched human beings, who have neither the strength nor moral
courage to throw off the yoke of poverty and slavery. Instead she
desires fewer and better children, begotten and reared in love and
through free choice; not by compulsion, as marriage imposes. Our
pseudo-moralists have yet to learn the deep sense of responsibility
toward the child, that love in freedom has awakened in the breast of
woman. Rather would she forego forever the glory of motherhood than
bring forth life in an atmosphere that breathes only destruction and
death. And if she does become a mother, it is to give to the child the
deepest and best her being can yield. To grow with the child is her
motto; she knows that in that manner alone can she help build true
manhood and womanhood.
Ibsen must have had a vision of a free mother, when, with a master
stroke, he portrayed Mrs. Alving. She was the ideal mother because she
had outgrown marriage and all its horrors, because she had broken her
chains, and set her spirit free to soar until it returned a personality,
regenerated and strong. Alas, it was too late to rescue her life’s joy,
her Oswald; but not too late to realize that love in freedom is the only
condition of a beautiful life. Those who, like Mrs. Alving, have paid
with blood and tears for their spiritual awakening, repudiate marriage
as an imposition, a shallow, empty mockery. They know, whether love last
but one brief span of time or for eternity, it is the only creative,
inspiring, elevating basis for a new race, a new world.
In our present pygmy state love is indeed a stranger to most people.
Misunderstood and shunned, it rarely takes root; or if it does, it soon
withers and dies. Its delicate fiber can not endure the stress and
strain of the daily grind. Its soul is too complex to adjust itself to
the slimy woof of our social fabric. It weeps and moans and suffers with
those who have need of it, yet lack the capacity to rise to love’s
summit.
Some day, some day men and women will rise, they will reach the mountain
peak, they will meet big and strong and free, ready to receive, to
partake, and to bask in the golden rays of love. What fancy, what
imagination, what poetic genius can foresee even approximately the
potentialities of such a force in the life of men and women. If the
world is ever to give birth to true companionship and oneness, not
marriage, but love will be the parent.
Thought
So long as discontent and unrest make themselves but dumbly felt within
a limited social class, the powers of reaction may often succeed in
suppressing such manifestations. But when the dumb unrest grows into
conscious expression and becomes almost universal, it necessarily
affects all phases of human thought and action, and seeks its individual
and social expression in the gradual transvaluation of existing values.
An adequate appreciation of the tremendous spread of the modern,
conscious social unrest cannot be gained from merely propagandistic
literature. Rather must we become conversant with the larger phases of
human expression manifest in art, literature, and, above all, the modern
drama — the strongest and most far-reaching interpreter of our deep-felt
dissatisfaction.
What a tremendous factor for the awakening of conscious discontent are
the simple canvasses of a Millet! The figures of his peasants — what
terrific indictment against our social wrongs; wrongs that condemn the
Man With the Hoe to hopeless drudgery, himself excluded from Nature’s
bounty.
The vision of a Meunier conceives the growing solidarity and defiance of
labor in the group of miners carrying their maimed brother to safety.
His genius thus powerfully portrays the interrelation of the seething
unrest among those slaving in the bowels of the earth, and the spiritual
revolt that seeks artistic expression.
No less important is the factor for rebellious awakening in modern
literature — Turgeniev, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Andreiev, Gorki, Whitman,
Emerson, and scores of others embodying the spirit of universal ferment
and the longing for social change.
Still more far-reaching is the modern drama, as the leaven of radical
thought and the disseminator of new values.
It might seem an exaggeration to ascribe to the modern drama such an
important role. But a study of the development of modern ideas in most
countries will prove that the drama has succeeded in driving home great
social truths, truths generally ignored when presented in other forms.
No doubt there are exceptions, as Russia and France.
Russia, with its terrible political pressure, has made people think and
has awakened their social sympathies, because of the tremendous contrast
which exists between the intellectual life of the people and the
despotic regime that is trying to crush that life. Yet while the great
dramatic works of Tolstoy, Tchechov, Gorki, and Andreiev closely mirror
the life and the struggle, the hopes and aspirations of the Russian
people, they did not influence radical thought to the extent the drama
has done in other countries.
Who can deny, however, the tremendous influence exerted by The Power of
Darkness or Night Lodging. Tolstoy, the real, true Christian, is yet the
greatest enemy of organized Christianity. With a master hand he portrays
the destructive effects upon the human mind of the power of darkness,
the superstitions of the Christian Church.
What other medium could express, with such dramatic force, the
responsibility of the Church for crimes committed by its deluded
victims; what other medium could, in consequence, rouse the indignation
of man’s conscience?
Similarly direct and powerful is the indictment contained in Gorki’s
Night Lodging. The social pariahs, forced into poverty and crime, yet
desperately clutch at the last vestiges of hope and aspiration. Lost
existences these, blighted and crushed by cruel, unsocial environment.
France, on the other hand, with her continuous struggle for liberty, is
indeed the cradle of radical thought; as such she, too, did not need the
drama as a means of awakening. And yet the works of Brieux — as Robe
Rouge, portraying the terrible corruption of the judiciary — and
Mirbeau’s Les Affaires sont les Affaires — picturing the destructive
influence of wealth on the human soul — have undoubtedly reached wider
circles than most of the articles and books which have been written in
France on the social question.
In countries like Germany, Scandinavia, England, and even in America —
though in a lesser degree — the drama is the vehicle which is really
making history, disseminating radical thought in ranks not otherwise to
be reached.
Let us take Germany, for instance. For nearly a quarter of a century men
of brains, of ideas, and of the greatest integrity, made it their
life-work to spread the truth of human brotherhood, of justice, among
the oppressed and downtrodden. Socialism, that tremendous revolutionary
wave, was to the victims of a merciless and inhumane system like water
to the parched lips of the desert traveler. Alas! The cultured people
remained absolutely indifferent; to them that revolutionary tide was but
the murmur of dissatisfied, discontented men, dangerous, illiterate
trouble-makers, whose proper place was behind prison bars.
Self-satisfied as the “cultured” usually are, they could not understand
why one should fuss about the fact that thousands of people were
starving, though they contributed towards the wealth of the world.
Surrounded by beauty and luxury, they could not believe that side by
side with them lived human beings degraded to a position lower than a
beast’s, shelterless and ragged, without hope or ambition.
This condition of affairs was particularly pronounced in Germany after
the Franco-German war. Full to the bursting point with its victory,
Germany thrived on a sentimental, patriotic literature, thereby
poisoning the minds of the country’s youth by the glory of conquest and
bloodshed.
Intellectual Germany had to take refuge in the literature of other
countries, in the works of Ibsen, Zola, Dalldet, Maupassant, and
especially in the great works of Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, and Turgeniev.
But as no country can long maintain a standard of culture without a
literature and drama related to its own soil, so Germany gradually began
to develop a drama reflecting the life and the struggles of its own
people.
Arno Holz, one of the youngest dramatists of that period, startled the
Philistines out of their ease and comfort with his Familie Selicke. The
play deals with society’s refuse, men and women of the alleys, whose
only subsistence consists of what they can pick out of the garbage
barrels. A gruesome subject, is it not? And yet what other method is
there to break through the hard shell of the minds and souls of people
who have never known want, and who therefore assume that all is well in
the world?
Needless to say, the play aroused tremendous indignation. The truth is
bitter, and the people living on the Fifth Avenue of Berlin hated to be
confronted with the truth.
Not that Familie Selicke represented anything that had not been written
about for years without any seeming result. But the dramatic genius of
Holz, together with the powerful interpretation of the play, necessarily
made inroads into the widest circles, and forced people to think about
the terrible inequalities around them.
Sudermann’s Ehre [29] and Heimat[30] deal with vital subjects. I have
already referred to the sentimental patriotism so completely turning the
head of the average German as to create a perverted conception of honor.
Duelling became an every-day affair, costing innumerable lives. A great
cry was raised against the fad by a number of leading writers. But
nothing acted as such a clarifier and exposer of that national disease
as the Ehre.
Not that the play merely deals with duelling; it analyzes the real
meaning of honor, proving that it is not a fixed, inborn feeling, but
that it varies with every people and every epoch, depending particularly
on one’s economic and social station in life. We realize from this play
that the man in the brownstone mansion will necessarily define honor
differently from his victims.
The family Heinecke enjoys the charity of the millionaire Mühling, being
permitted to occupy a dilapidated shanty on his premises in the absence
of their son, Robert. The latter, as Mühling’s representative, is making
a vast fortune for his employer in India. On his return Robert discovers
that his sister had been seduced by young Mühling, whose father
graciously offers to straighten matters with a check for 40,000 marks.
Robert, outraged and indignant, resents the insult to his family’s
honor, and is forthwith dismissed from his position for impudence.
Robert finally throws this accusation into the face of the
philanthropist millionaire:
“We slave for you, we sacrifice our heart’s blood for you, while you
seduce our daughters and sisters and kindly pay for their disgrace with
the gold we have earned for you. That is what you call honor.”
An incidental side-light upon the conception of honor is given by Count
Trast, the principal character in the Ehre, a man widely conversant with
the customs of various climes, who relates that in his many travels he
chanced across a savage tribe whose honor he mortally offended by
refusing the hospitality which offered him the charms of the chieftain’s
wife.
The theme of Heimat treates of the struggle between the old and the
young generations. It holds a permanent and important place in dramatic
literature.
Magda, the daughter of Lieutenant-Colonel Schwartz, has committed an
unpardonable sin: she refused the suitor selected by her father. For
daring to disobey the parental commands she is driven from home. Magda,
full of life and the spirit of liberty, goes out into the world to
return to her native town, twelve years later, a celebrated singer. She
consents to visit her parents on condition that they respect the privacy
of her past. But her martinet father immediately begins to question her,
insisting on his “paternal rights.” Magda is indignant, but gradually
his persistence brings to light the tragedy of her life. He learns that
the respected Councillor von Keller had in his student days been Magda’s
lover, while she was battling for her economic and social independence.
The consequence of the fleeting romance was a child, deserted by the man
even before birth. The rigid military father of Magda demands as
retribution from Councillor von Keller that he legalize the love affair.
In view of Magda’s social and professional success, Keller willingly
consents, but on condition that she forsake the stage, and place the
child in an institution. The struggle between the Old and the New
culminates in Magda’s defiant words of the woman grown to conscious
independence of thought and action: “... I’ll say what I think of you —
of you and your respectable society. Why should I be worse than you that
I must prolong my existence among you by a lie! Why should this gold
upon my body, and the lustre which surrounds my name, only increase my
infamy? Have I not worked early and late for ten long years? Have I not
woven this dress with sleepless nights? Have I not built up my career
step by step, like thousands of my kind ? Why should I blush before
anyone? I am myself, and through myself I have become what I am.”
The general theme of Heimat — the struggle between the old and young
generations — was not original. It had been previously treated by a
master hand in Fathers and Sons, portraying the awakening of an age. But
though artistically far inferior to Turgeniev’s work, Heimat — depicting
the awakening of a sex — proved a powerful revolutionizing factor,
mainly because of its dramatic expression.
The dramatist who not only disseminated radicalism, but literally
revolutionized the thoughtful Germans, is Gerhardt Hauptmann. His first
play, Vor Sonnenaufgang,[31] refused by every leading German threatre,
but finally performed in the independent Lessing Theatre, acted like a
stroke of lightning, illuminating the entire social horizon. Its subject
matter deals with the life of an extensive land-owner, ignorant,
illiterate, and brutalized, and his economic slaves of the same mental
calibre. The influence of wealth, both on the victims who created it and
the possessor thereof, is shown in the most vivid colors, as resulting
in drunkenness, idiocy, and decay. But the most striking feature of Vor
Sonftenaufgang, the one which brought a shower of abuse on Hauptmann’s
head, was the question as to the indiscriminate breeding of children by
unfit parents.
During the second performance of the play a leading Berlin surgeon
almost caused a panic in the theatre by swinging a pair of forceps over
his head and screaming at the top of his voice: “The decency and
morality of Germany are at stake if childbirth is to be discussed openly
from the stage.” The surgeon is forgotten, and Hauptmann stands a
colossal figure before the world.
When Die Weber[32] first saw the light, pandemonium broke out in the
land of thinkers and poets. “What,” cried the moralists, “workingmen,
dirty, filthy slaves, to be put on the stage! Poverty in all its horrors
and ugliness to be dished out as an after dinner amusement? That is too
much!”
Indeed, it was too much for the fat and greasy bourgeoisie to be brought
face to face with the horrors of the weaver’s existence. It was too much
because of the truth and reality that rang like thunder in the deaf ears
of self-satisfied society, J’accuse!
Of course, it was generally known even before the appearance of this
drama that capital can not get fat unless it devours labor, that wealth
can not be hoarded except through the channels of poverty, hunger, and
cold; but such things are better kept in the dark, lest the victims
awaken to a realization of their position. But it is the purpose of the
modern drama to rouse the consciousness of the oppressed; and that,
indeed, was the purpose of Gerhardt Hauptmann in depicting to the world
the conditions of the weavers in Silesia. Human beings working eighteen
hours daily, yet not earning enough for bread and fuel; human beings
living in broken, wretched huts half covered with snow, and nothing but
tatters to protect them from the cold; infants covered with scurvy from
hunger and exposure; pregnant women in the last stages of consumption.
Victims of a benevolent Christian era, without life, without hope,
without warmth. Ah, yes, it was too much!
Hauptmann’s dramatic versatility deals with every stratum of social
life. Besides portraying the grinding effect of economic conditions, he
also treats of the struggle of the individual for his mental and
spiritual liberation from the slavery of convention and tradition. Thus
Heinrich, the bell-forger, in the dramatic prose-poem Die Versunkene
Glocke,[33] fails to reach the mountain peaks of liberty because, as
Rautendelein said, he had lived in the valley too long. Similarly Dr.
Vockerath and Anna Maar remain lonely souls because they, too, lack the
strength to defy venerated traditions. Yet their very failure must
awaken the rebellious spirit against a world forever hindering
individual and social emancipation.
Max Halbe’s Jugend[34] and Wedekind’s Frühling’s Erwachen[35] are dramas
which have disseminated radical thought in an altogether different
direction. They treat of the child and the dense ignorance and narrow
Puritanism that meet the awakening of nature. Particularly is this true
of Frühling’s Erwachen. Young girls and boys sacrificed on the altar of
false education and of our sickening morality that prohibits the
enlightenment of youth as to questions so imperative to the health and
well-being of society, — the origin of life, and its functions. It shows
how a mother — and a truly good mother, at that — keeps her
fourteen-year-old daughter in absolute ignorance as to all matters of
sex, and when finally the young girl falls a victim to her ignorance,
the same mother sees her child killed by quack medicines. The
inscription on her grave states that she died of anaemia, and morality
is satisfied.
The fatality of our Puritanic hypocrisy in these matters is especially
illumined by Wedekind in so far as our most promising children fall
victims to sex ignorance and the utter lack of appreciation on the part
of the teachers of the child’s awakening.
Wendla, unusually developed and alert for her age, pleads with her
mother to explain the mystery of life:
“I have a sister who has been married for two and a half years. I myself
have been made an aunt for the third time, and I haven’t the least idea
how it all comes about.... Don’t be cross, Mother, dear! Whom in the
world should I ask but you? Don’t scold me for asking about it. Give me
an answer. — How does it happen? — You cannot really deceive yourself
that I, who am fourteen years old, still believe in the stork.”
Were her mother herself not a victim of false notions of morality, an
affectionate and sensible explanation might have saved her daughter. But
the conventional mother seeks to hide her “moral” shame and
embarrassment in this evasive reply:
“In order to have a child — one must love — the man — to whom one is
married.... One must love him, Wendla, as you at your age are still
unable to love. — Now you know it!”
How much Wendla “knew” the mother realized too late. The pregnant girl
imagines herself ill with dropsy. And when her mother cries in
desperation, “You haven’t the dropsy, you have a child, girl,” the
agonized Wendla exclaims in bewilderment: “But it’s not possible,
Mother, I am not married yet.... Oh, Mother, why didn’t you tell me
everything?”
With equal stupidity the boy Morris is driven to suicide because he
fails in his school examinations. And Melchior, the youthful father of
Wendla’s unborn child, is sent to the House of Correction, his early
sexual awakening stamping him a degenerate in the eyes of teachers and
parents.
For years thoughtful men and women in Germany had advocated the
compelling necessity of sex enlightenment. Mutterschutz, a publication
specially devoted to frank and intelligent discussion of the sex
problem, has been carrying on its agitation for a considerable time. But
it remained for the dramatic genius of Wedekind to influence radical
thought to the extent of forcing the introduction of sex physiology in
many schools of Germany.
Scandinavia, like Germany, was advanced through the drama much more than
through any other channel. Long before Ibsen appeared on the scene,
Björnson, the great essayist, thundered against the inequalities and
injustice prevalent in those countries. But his was a voice in the
wilderness, reaching but the few. Not so with Ibsen. His Brand, Doll’s
House, Pillars of Society, Ghosts, and An Enemy of the People have
considerably undermined the old conceptions, and replaced them by a
modern and real view of life. One has but to read Brand to realize the
modern conception, let us say, of religion, — religion, as an ideal to
be achieved on earth; religion as a principle of human brotherhood, of
solidarity, and kindness.
Ibsen, the supreme hater of all social shams, has torn the veil of
hypocrisy from their faces. His greatest onslaught, however, is on the
four cardinal points supporting the flimsy network of society. First,
the lie upon which rests the life of today; second, the futility of
sacrifice as preached by our moral codes; third, petty material
consideration, which is the only god the majority worships; and fourth,
the deadening influence of provincialism. These four recur as the
Leitmotiv in most of Ibsen’s plays, but particularly in Pillars of
Society, Doll’s House, Ghosts, and An Enemy of the People.
Pillars of Society! What a tremendous indictment against the social
structure that rests on rotten and decayed pillars, — pillars nicely
gilded and apparently intact, yet merely hiding their true condition.
And what are these pillars?
Consul Bernick, at the very height of his social and financial career,
the benefactor of his town and the strongest pillar of the community,
has reached the summit through the channel of lies, deception, and
fraud. He has robbed his bosom friend Johann of his good name, and has
betrayed Lona Hessel, the woman he loved, to marry her stepsister for
the sake of her money. He has enriched himself by shady transactions,
under cover of “the community’s good,” and finally even goes to the
extent of endangering human life by preparing the Indian Girl, a rotten
and dangerous vessel, to go to sea.
But the return of Lona brings him the realization of the emptiness and
meanness of his narrow life. He seeks to placate the waking conscience
by the hope that he has cleared the ground for the better life of his
son, of the new generation. But even this last hope soon falls to the
ground, as he realizes that truth cannot be built on a lie. At the very
moment when the whole town is prepared to celebrate the great benefactor
of the community with banquet praise, he himself, now grown to full
spiritual manhood, confesses to the assembled townspeople:
“I have no right to this homage — ... My fellow citizens must know me to
the core. Then let every one examine himself, and let us realize the
prediction that from this event we begin a new time. The old, with its
tinsel, its hypocrisy, its hollowness, its lying propriety, and its
pitiful cowardice, shall lie behind us like a museum, open for
instruction.”
With a Doll’s House Ibsen has paved the way for woman’s emancipation.
Nora awakens from her doll’s role to the realization of the injustice
done her by her father and her husband, Helmer Torvald.
“While I was at home with father, he used to tell me all his opinions,
and I held the same opinions. If I had others I concealed them, because
he would not have approved. He used to call me his doll child, and play
with me as I played with my dolls. Then I came to live in your house.
You settled everything according to your taste, and I got the same taste
as you, or I pretended to. When I look back on it now, I seem to have
been living like a beggar, from hand to mouth. I lived by performing
tricks for you, Torvald, but you would have it so. You and father have
done me a great wrong.”
In vain Helmer uses the old philistine arguments of wifely duty and
social obligations. Nora has grown out of her doll’s dress into full
stature of conscious womanhood. She is determined to think and judge for
herself. She has realized that, before all else, she is a human being,
owing the first duty to herself. She is undaunted even by the
possibility of social ostracism. She has become sceptical of the justice
of the law, the wisdom of the constituted. Her rebelling soul rises in
protest against the existing. In her own words: “I must make up my mind
which is right, society or I.”
In her childlike faith in her husband she had hoped for the great
miracle. But it was not the disappointed hope that opened her vision to
the falsehoods of marriage. It was rather the smug contentment of Helmer
with a safe lie — one that would remain hidden and not endanger his
social standing.
When Nora closed behind her the door of her gilded cage and went out
into the world a new, regenerated personality, she opened the gate of
freedom and truth for her own sex and the race to come.
More than any other play, Ghosts has acted like a bomb explosion,
shaking the social structure to its very foundations.
In Doll’s House the justification of the union between Nora and Helmer
rested at least on the husband’s conception of integrity and rigid
adherence to our social morality. Indeed, he was the conventional ideal
husband and devoted father. Not so in Ghosts. Mrs. Alving married
Captain Alving only to find that he was a physical and mental wreck, and
that life with him would mean utter degradation and be fatal to possible
offspring. In her despair she turned to her youth’s companion, young
Pastor Manders who, as the true savior of souls for heaven, must needs
be indifferent to earthly necessities. He sent her back to shame and
degradation, — to her duties to husband and home. Indeed, happiness — to
him — was but the unholy manifestation of a rebellious spirit, and a
wife’s duty was not to judge, but “to bear with humility the cross which
a higher power had for your own good laid upon you.”
Mrs. Alving bore the cross for twenty-six long years. Not for the sake
of the higher power, but for her little son Oswald, whom she longed to
save from the poisonous atmosphere of her husband’s home.
It was also for the sake of the beloved son that she supported the lie
of his father’s goodness, in superstitious awe of “duty and decency.”
She learned — alas, too late — that the sacrifice of her entire life had
been in vain, and that her son Oswald was visited by the sins of his
father, that he was irrevocably doomed. This, too, she learned, that “we
are all of us ghosts. It is not only what we have inherited from our
father and mother that walks in us. It is all sorts of dead ideas and
lifeless old beliefs. They have no vitality, but they cling to us all
the same and we can’t get rid of them.... And then we are, one and all,
so pitifully afraid of light. When you forced me under the yoke you
called Duty and Obligation; when you praised as right and proper what my
whole soul rebelled against as something loathsome, it was then that I
began to look into the seams of your doctrine. I only wished to pick at
a single knot, but when I had got that undone, the whole thing ravelled
out. And then I understood that it was all machine-sewn.”
How could a society machine-sewn, fathom the seething depths whence
issued the great masterpiece of Henrik Ibsen? It could not understand,
and therefore it poured the vials of abuse and venom upon its greatest
benefactor. That Ibsen was not daunted he has proved by his reply in An
Enemy of the People.
In that great drama Ibsen performs the last funeral rites over a
decaying and dying social system. Out of its ashes rises the regenerated
individual, the bold and daring rebel. Dr. Stockman, an idealist, full
of social sympathy and solidarity, is called to his native town as the
physician of the baths. He soon discovers that the latter are built on a
swamp, and that instead of finding relief the patients, who flock to the
place, are being poisoned.
An honest man, of strong convictions, the doctor considers it his duty
to make his discovery known. But he soon learns that dividends and
profits are concerned neither with health nor priniciples. Even the
reformers of the town, represented in the People’s Messenger, always
ready to prate of their devotion to the people, withdraw their support
from the “reckless” idealist, the moment they learn that the doctor’s
discovery may bring the town into disrepute, and thus injure their
pockets.
But Doctor Stockman continues in the faith he entertains for his
townsmen. They would hear him. But here, too, he soon finds himself
alone. He cannot even secure a place to proclaim his great truth. And
when he finally succeeds, he is overwhelmed by abuse and ridicule as the
enemy of the people. The doctor, so enthusiastic of his townspeople’s
assistance to eradicate the evil, is soon driven to a solitary position.
The announcement of his discovery would result in a pecuniary loss to
the town, and that consideration induces the officials, the good
citizens, and soul reformers, to stifle the voice of truth. He finds
them all a compact majority, unscrupulous enough to be willing to build
up the prosperity of the town on a quagmire of lies and fraud. He is
accused of trying to ruin the community. But to his mind “it does not
matter if a lying community is ruined. It must be levelled to the
ground. All men who live upon lies must be exterminated like vermin.
You’ll bring it to such a pass that the whole country will deserve to
perish.”
Doctor Stockman is not a practical politician. A free man, he thinks,
must not behave like a black guard. “He must not so act that he would
spit in his own face.” For only cowards permit “considerations” of
pretended general welfare or of party to override truth and ideals.
“Party programmes wring the necks of all young, living truths; and
considerations of expediency turn morality and righteousness upside
down, until life is simply hideous.”
These plays of Ibsen — The Pillars of Society, A Doll’s House, Ghosts,
and An Enemy of the People — constitute a dynamic force which is
gradually dissipating the ghosts walking the social burying ground
called civilization. Nay, more; Ibsen’s destructive effects are at the
same time supremely constructive, for he not merely undermines existing
pillars; indeed, he builds with sure strokes the foundation of a
healthier, ideal future, based on the sovereignty of the individual
within a sympathetic social environment.
England with her great pioneers of radical thought, the intellectual
pilgrims like Godwin, Robert Owen, Darwin, Spencer, William Morris, and
scores of others; with her wonderful larks of liberty — Shelley, Byron,
Keats — is another example of the influence of dramatic art. Within
comparatively a few years the dramatic works of Shaw, Pinero,
Galsworthy, Rann Kennedy, have carried radical thought to the ears
formerly deaf even to Great Britain’s wondrous poets. Thus a public
which will remain indifferent reading an essay by Robert Owen on
poverty, or ignore Bernard Shaw’s Socialistic tracts, was made to think
by Major Barbara, wherein poverty is described as the greatest crime of
Christian civilization. “Poverty makes people weak, slavish, puny;
poverty creates disease, crime, prostitution; in fine, poverty is
responsible for all the ills and evils of the world.” Poverty also
necessitates dependency, charitable organizations, institutions that
thrive off the very thing they are trying to destroy. The Salvation
Army, for instance, as shown in Major Barbara, fights drunkenness; yet
one of its greatest contributors is Badger, a whiskey distiller, who
furnishes yearly thousands of pounds to do away with the very source of
his wealth. Bernard Shaw therefore concludes that the only real
benefactor of society is a man like Undershaft, Barbara’s father, a
cannon manufacturer, whose theory of life is that powder is stronger
than words.
“The worst of crimes,” says Undershaft, “is poverty. All the other
crimes are virtues beside it; all the other dishonors are chivalry
itself by comparison. Poverty blights whole cities; spreads horrible
pestilences; strikes dead the very soul of all who come within sight,
sound, or smell of it. What you call crime is nothing; a murder here, a
theft there, a blow now and a curse there: what do they matter? They are
only the accidents and illnesses of life; there are not fifty genuine
professional criminals in London. But there are millions of poor people,
abject people, dirty people, ill-fed, ill-clothed people. They poison us
morally and physically; they kill the happiness of society; they force
us to do away with our own liberties and to organize unnatural cruelties
for fear they should rise against us and drag us down into their
abyss.... Poverty and slavery have stood up for centuries to your
sermons and leading articles; they will not stand up to my machine guns.
Don’t preach at them; don’t reason with them. Kill them.... It is the
final test of conviction, the only lever strong enough to overturn a
social system.... Vote! Bah! When you vote, you only change the name of
the cabinet. When you shoot, you pull down governments, inaugurate new
epochs, abolish old orders, and set up new.”
No wonder people cared little to read Mr. Shaw’s Socialistic tracts. In
no other way but in the drama could he deliver such forcible, historic
truths. And therefore it is only through the drama that Mr. Shaw is a
revolutionary factor in the dissemination of radical ideas.
After Hauptmann’s Die Weber, Strife, by Galsworthy, is the most
important labor drama.
The theme of Strife is a strike with two dominant factors: Anthony, the
president of the company, rigid, uncompromising, unwilling to make the
slightest concession, although the men held out for months and are in a
condition of semi-starvation; and David Roberts, an uncompromising
revolutionist, whose devotion to the workingmen and the cause of freedom
is at white heat. Between them the strikers are worn and weary with the
terrible struggle, and are harassed and driven by the awful sight of
poverty and want in their families.
The most marvelous and brilliant piece of work in Strife is Galsworthy’s
portrayal of the mob in its fickleness and lack of backbone. One moment
they applaud old Thomas, who speaks of the power of God and religion and
admonishes the men against rebellion; the next instant they are carried
away by a walking delegate, who pleads the cause of the union, — the
union that always stands for compromise, and which forsakes the
workingmen whenever they dare to strike for independent demands; again
they are aglow with the earnestness, the spirit, and the intensity of
David Roberts — all these people willing to go in whatever direction the
wind blows. It is the curse of the working class that they always follow
like sheep led to slaughter.
Consistency is the greatest crime of our commercial age. No matter how
intense the spirit or how important the man, the moment he will not
allow himself to be used or sell his principles, he is thrown on the
dustheap. Such was the fate of the president of the company, Anthony,
and of David Roberts. To be sure they represented opposite poles — poles
antagonistic to each other, poles divided by a terrible gap that can
never be bridged over. Yet they shared a common fate. Anthony is the
embodiment of conservatism, of old ideas, of iron methods:
“I have been chairman of this company thirty-two years. I have fought
the men four times. I have never been defeated. It has been said that
times have changed. If they have, I have not changed with them. It has
been said that masters and men are equal. Cant. There can be only one
master in a house. It has been said that Capital and Labor have the same
interests. Cant. Their interests are as wide asunder as the poles. There
is only one way of treating men — with the iron rod. Masters are
masters. Men are men.”
We may not like this adherence to old, reactionary notions, and yet
there is something admirable in the courage and consistency of this man,
nor is he half as dangerous to the interests of the oppressed, as our
sentimental and soft reformers who rob with nine fingers, and give
libraries with the tenth; who grind human beings like Russell Sage, and
then spend millions of dollars in social research work; who turn
beautiful young plants into faded old women, and then give them a few
paltry dollars or found a Home for Working Girls. Anthony is a worthy
foe; and to fight such a foe, one must learn to meet him in open battle.
David Roberts has all the mental and moral attributes of his adversary,
coupled with the spirit of revolt and the depth of modern ideas. He,
too, is consistent, and wants nothing for his class short of complete
victory.
“It is not for this little moment of time we are fighting, not for our
own little bodies and their warmth: it is for all those who come after,
for all times. Oh, men, for the love of them don’t turn up another stone
on their heads, don’t help to blacken the sky. If we can shake that
white-faced monster with the bloody lips that has sucked the lives out
of ourselves, our wives, and children, since the world began, if we have
not the hearts of men to stand against it, breast to breast and eye to
eye, and force it backward till it cry for mercy, it will go on sucking
life, and we shall stay forever where we are, less than the very dogs.”
It is inevitable that compromise and petty interest should pass on and
leave two such giants behind. Inevitable, until the mass will reach the
stature of a David Roberts. Will it ever? Prophecy is not the vocation
of the dramatist, yet the moral lesson is evident. One cannot help
realizing that the workingmen will have to use methods hitherto
unfamiliar to them; that they will have to discard all those elements in
their midst that are forever ready to reconcile the irreconcilable,
namely Capital and Labor. They will have to learn that characters like
David Roberts are the very forces that have revolutionized the world and
thus paved the way for emancipation out of the clutches of that
“white-faced monster with bloody lips,” towards a brighter horizon, a
freer life, and a deeper recognition of human values.
No subject of equal social import has received such extensive
consideration within the last few years as the question of prison and
punishment.
Hardly any magazine of consequence that has not devoted its columns to
the discussion of this vital theme. A number of books by able writers,
both in America and abroad, have discussed this topic from the historic,
psychologic, and social standpoint, all agreeing that present penal
institutions and our mode of coping with crime have in every respect
proved inadequate as well as wasteful. One would expect that something
very radical should result from the cumulative literary indictment of
the social crimes perpetrated upon the prisoner. Yet with the exception
of a few minor and comparatively insignificant reforms in some of our
prisons, absolutely nothing has been accomplished. But at last this
grave social wrong has found dramatic interpretation in Galsworthy’s
Justice.
The play opens in the office of James How and Sons, Solicitors. The
senior clerk, Robert Cokeson, discovers that a check he had issued for
nine pounds has been forged to ninety. By elimination, suspicion falls
upon William Falder, the junior office clerk. The latter is in love with
a married woman, the abused, ill-treated wife of a brutal drunkard.
Pressed by his employer, a severe yet not unkindly man, Falder confesses
the forgery, pleading the dire necessity of his sweetheart, Ruth
Honeywill, with whom he had planned to escape to save her from the
unbearable brutality of her husband. Notwithstanding the entreaties of
young Walter, who is touched by modern ideas, his father, a moral and
law-respecting citizen, turns Falder over to the police.
The second act, in the court-room, shows Justice in the very process of
manufacture. The scene equals in dramatic power and psychologic verity
the great court scene in Resurrection. Young Falder, a nervous and
rather weakly youth of twenty-three, stands before the bar. Ruth, his
married sweetheart, full of love and devotion, burns with anxiety to
save the youth whose affection brought about his present predicament.
The young man is defended by Lawyer Frome, whose speech to the jury is a
masterpiece of deep social philosophy wreathed with the tendrils of
human understanding and sympathy. He does not attempt to dispute the
mere fact of Falder having altered the check; and though he pleads
temporary aberration in defense of his client, that plea is based upon a
social consciousness as deep and all-embracing as the roots of our
social ills — “the background of life, that palpitating life which
always lies behind the commission of a crime.” He shows Falder to have
faced the alternative of seeing the beloved woman murdered by her brutal
husband, whom she cannot divorce; or of taking the law into his own
hands. The defence pleads with the jury not to turn the weak young man
into a criminal by condemning him to prison, for “justice is a machine
that, when someone has given it a starting push, rolls on of itself… Is
this young man to be ground to pieces under this machine for an act
which, at the worst, was one of weakness? Is he to become a member of
the luckless crews that man those dark, ill-starred ships called
prisons? … I urge you, gentlemen, do not ruin this young man. For as a
result of those four minutes, ruin, utter and irretrievable, stares him
in the face… The rolling of the chariot wheels of Justice over this boy
began when it was decided to prosecute him.”
But the chariot of Justice rolls mercilessly on, for — as the learned
Judge says — “the law is what it is — a majestic edifice, sheltering all
of us, each stone of which rests on another.”
Falder is sentenced to three years’ penal servitude.
In prison, the young, inexperienced convict soon finds himself the
victim of the terrible “system.” The authorities admit that young Falder
is mentally and physically “in bad shape,” but nothing can be done in
the matter: many others are in a similar position, and “the quarters are
inadequate.”
The third scene of the third act is heart-gripping in its silent force.
The whole scene is a pantomime, taking place in Falder’s prison cell.
“In fast-falling daylight, Falder, in his stockings, is seen standing
motionless, with his head inclined towards the door, listening. He moves
a little closer to the door, his stockinged feet making no noise. He
stops at the door. He is trying harder and harder to hear something, any
little thing that is going on out side. He springs suddenly upright — as
if at a sound — and remains perfectly motionless. Then, with a heavy
sigh, he moves to his work, and stands looking at it, with his head
down; he does a stitch or two, having the air of a man so lost in
sadness that each stitch is, as it were, a coming to life. Then, turning
abruptly, he begins pacing his cell, moving his head, like an animal
pacing its cage. He stops again at the door, listens, and, placing the
palms of his hands against it with his fingers spread out, leans his
forehead against the iron. Turning from it, presently, he moves slowly
back towards the window, holding his head, as if he felt that it were
going to burst, and stops under the window. But since he cannot see out
of it he leaves off looking, and, picking up the lid of one of the tins,
peers into it, as if trying to make a companion of his own face. It has
grown very nearly dark. Suddenly the lid falls out of his hand with a
clatter — the only sound that has broken the silence — and he stands
staring intently at the wall where the stuff of the shirt is hanging
rather white in the darkness — he seems to be seeing somebody or
something there. There is a sharp tap and click; the cell light behind
the glass screen has been turned up. The cell is brightly lighted.
Falder is seen gasping for breath.
“A sound from far away, as of distant, dull beating on thick metal, is
suddenly audible. Falder shrinks back, not able to bear this sudden
clamor. But the sound grows, as though some great tumbril were rolling
towards the cell. And gradually it seems to hypnotize him. He begins
creeping inch by inch nearer to the door. The banging sound, traveling
from cell to cell, draws closer and closer; Falder’s hands are seen
moving as if his spirit had already joined in this beating, and the
sound swells till it seems to have entered the very cell. He suddenly
raises his clenched fists. Panting violently, he flings himself at his
door, and beats on it.”
Finally Falder leaves the prison, a broken ticket-of-leave man, the
stamp of the convict upon his brow, the iron of misery in his soul.
Thanks to Ruth’s pleading, the firm of James How and Son is willing to
take Falder back in their employ, on condition that he give up Ruth. It
is then that Falder learns the awful news that the woman he loves had
been driven by the merciless economic Moloch to sell herself. She “tried
making skirts ... cheap things... I never made more than ten shillings a
week, buying my own cotton, and working all day. I hardly ever got to
bed till past twelve.... And then ... my employer happened — he’s
happened ever since.” At this terrible psychologic moment the police
appear to drag him back to prison for failing to report himself as
ticket-of-leave man. Completely overcome by the inexorability of his
environment, young Falder seeks and finds peace, greater than human
justice, by throwing himself down to death, as the detectives are taking
him back to prison.
It would be impossible to estimate the effect produced by this play.
Perhaps some conception can be gained from the very unusual circumstance
that it had proved so powerful as to induce the Home Secretary of Great
Britain to undertake extensive prison reforms in England. A very
encouraging sign this, of the influence exerted by the modern drama. It
is to be hoped that the thundering indictment of Mr. Galsworthy will not
remain without similar effect upon the public sentiment and prison
conditions of America. At any rate it is certain that no other modern
play has borne such direct and immediate fruit in wakening the social
conscience.
Another modern play, The Servant in the House, strikes a vital key in
our social life. The hero of Mr. Kennedy’s masterpiece is Robert, a
coarse, filthy drunkard, whom respectable society has repudiated.
Robert, the sewer cleaner, is the real hero of the play; nay, its true
and only savior. It is he who volunteers to go down into the dangerous
sewer, so that his comrades “can ‘ave light and air.” After all, has he
not sacrificed his life always, so that others may have light and air?
The thought that labor is the redeemer of social well-being has been
cried from the housetops in every tongue and every clime. Yet the simple
words of Robert express the significance of labor and its mission with
far greater potency.
America is still in its dramatic infancy. Most of the attempts along
this line to mirror life, have been wretched failures. Still, there are
hopeful signs in the attitude of the intelligent public toward modern
plays, even if they be from foreign soil.
The only real drama America has so far produced is The Easiest Way, by
Eugene Walter.
It is supposed to represent a “peculiar phase” of New York life. If that
were all, it would be of minor significance. That which gives the play
its real importance and value lies much deeper. It lies, first, in the
fundamental current of our social fabric which drives us all, even
stronger characters than Laura, into the easiest way — a way so very
destructive of integrity, truth, and justice. Secondly, the cruel,
senseless fatalism conditioned in Laura’s sex. These two features put
the universal stamp upon the play, and characterize it as one of the
strongest dramatic indictments against society.
The criminal waste of human energy, in economic and social conditions,
drives Laura as it drives the average girl to marry any man for a
“home”; or as it drives men to endure the worst indignities for a
miserable pittance.
Then there is that other respectable institution, the fatalism of
Laura’s sex. The inevitability of that force is summed up in the
following words: “Don’t you know that we count no more in the life of
these men than tamed animals? It’s a game, and if we don’t play our
cards well, we lose.” Woman in the battle with life has but one weapon,
one commodity — sex. That alone serves as a trump card in the game of
life.
This blind fatalism has made of woman a parasite, an inert thing. Why
then expect perseverance or energy of Laura? The easiest way is the path
mapped out for her from time immemorial. She could follow no other.
A number of other plays could be quoted as characteristic of the growing
role of the drama as a disseminator of radical thought. Suffice it to
mention The Third Degree, by Charles Klein; The Fourth Estate, by Medill
Patterson; A Man’s World, by Ida Croutchers, — all pointing to the dawn
of dramatic art in America, an art which is discovering to the people
the terrible diseases of our social body.
It has been said of old, all roads lead to Rome. In paraphrased
application to the tendencies of our day, it may truly be said that all
roads lead to the great social reconstruction. The economic awakening of
the workingman, and his realization of the necessity for concerted
industrial action; the tendencies of modern education, especially in
their application to the free development of the child; the spirit of
growing unrest expressed through, and cultivated by, art and literature,
all pave the way to the Open Road. Above all, the modern drama,
operating through the double channel of dramatist and interpreter,
affecting as it does both mind and heart, is the strongest force in
developing social discontent, swelling the powerful tide of unrest that
sweeps onward and over the dam of ignorance, prejudice, and
superstition.
[1] The intellectuals.
[2] A revolutionist committing an act of political violence.
[3] Paris and the Social Revolution.
[4] From a pamphlet issued by the Freedom Group of London.
[5] The Free Hindustan.
[6] Crime and Criminals, W. C. Owen.
[7] The Criminal, Havelock Ellis.
[8] The Criminal.
[9] The Criminal.
[10] The Criminal.
[11] Quoted from the publications of the National Committee on Prison
Labor.
[12] The Beehive.
[13] Mother Earth, 1907.
[14] Ibid.
[15] Black crows: The Catholic clergy.
[16] Mother Earth, December, 1909.
[17] The Psychology of Sex, Havelock Ellis.
[18] Dr. Sanger, The History of Prostitution.
[19] It is a significant fact that Dr. Sanger’s book has been excluded
from the U. S. mails. Evidently the authorities are not anxious that the
public be informed as to the true cause of prostitution.
[20] Havelock Ellis, Sex and Society.
[21] Guyot, La Prostitution.
[22] Bangert, Criminalité et Condition Economique.
[23] Sex and Society.
[24] Equal Suffrage, Dr. Helen Sumner.
[25] Equal Suffrage.
[26] Dr. Helen A. Sumner.
[27] Mr. Shackleton was a labor leader. It is therefore self evident
that he should introduce a bill excluding his own constituents. The
English Parliament is full of such Judases.
[28] Equal Suffrage, Dr. Helen A. Sumner.
[29] Honor.
[30] Magda.
[31] Before Sunrise.
[32] The Weavers.
[33] The Sunken Bell.
[34] Youth.
[35] The Awakening of Spring.