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Title: The Spirit of Revolt Author: Pëtr Kropotkin Date: 1880 Language: en Topics: classical, history, revolution Source: Retrieved on March 1st, 2009 from http://dwardmac.pitzer.edu/anarchist_archives/kropotkin/spiritofrevolt.html Notes: This article first appeared in Le Révolté in 1880. English translations appeared in Commonweal, 1892 and Kropotkin’s Revolutionary Pamphlets, 1927. The postscript version was OCR’d by lamontg@u.washington.edu from The Essential Kropotkin, 1975 which was based on the aforementioned 1927 translation. Dana Ward added html format
There are periods in the life of human society when revolution becomes
an imperative necessity, when it proclaims itself as inevitable. New
ideas germinate everywhere, seeking to force their way into the light,
to find an application in life; everywhere they are opposed by the
inertia of those whose interest it is to maintain the old order; they
suffocate in the stifling atmosphere of prejudice and traditions. The
accepted ideas of the constitution of the State, of the laws of social
equilibrium, of the political and economic interrelations of citizens,
can hold out no longer against the implacable criticism which is daily
undermining them whenever occasion arises, — in drawing room as in
cabaret, in the writings of philosophers as in daily conversation.
Political, economic, and social institutions are crumbling; the social
structure, having become uninhabitable, is hindering, even preventing
the development of the seeds which are being propagated within its
damaged walls and being brought forth around them.
The need for a new life becomes apparent. The code of established
morality, that which governs the greater number of people in their daily
life, no longer seems sufficient. What formerly seemed just is now felt
to be a crying injustice. The morality of yesterday is today recognized
as revolting immorality. The conflict between new ideas and old
traditions flames up in every class of society, in every possible
environment, in the very bosom of the family. The son struggles against
his father, he finds revolting what his father has all his life found
natural; the daughter rebels against the principles which her mother has
handed down to her as the result of long experience. Daily, the popular
conscience rises up against the scandals which breed amidst the
privileged and the leisured, against the crimes committed in the name of
the law of the stronger, or in order to maintain these privileges. Those
who long for the triumph of justice, those who would put new ideas into
practice, are soon forced to recognize that the realization of their
generous, humanitarian and regenerating ideas cannot take place in a
society thus constituted; they perceive the necessity of a revolutionary
whirlwind which will sweep away all this rottenness, revive sluggish
hearts with its breath, and bring to mankind that spirit of devotion,
self-denial, and heroism, without which society sinks through
degradation and vileness into complete disintegration.
In periods of frenzied haste toward wealth, of feverish speculation and
of crisis, of the sudden downfall of great industries and the ephemeral
expansion of other branches of production, of scandalous fortunes
amassed in a few years and dissipated as quickly, it becomes evident
that the economic institutions which control production and exchange are
far from giving to society the prosperity which they are supposed to
guarantee; they produce precisely the opposite result. Instead of order
they bring forth chaos; instead of prosperity, poverty and insecurity;
instead of reconciled interests, war; a perpetual war of the exploiter
against the worker, of exploiters and of workers among themselves. Human
society is seen to be splitting more and more into two hostile camps,
and at the same time to be subdividing into thousands of small groups
waging merciless war against each other. Weary of these wars, weary of
the miseries which they cause, society rushes to seek a new
organization; it clamors loudly for a complete remodeling of the system
of property ownership, of production, of exchange and all economic
relations which spring from it.
The machinery of government, entrusted with the maintenance of the
existing order, continues to function, but at every turn of its
deteriorated gears it slips and stops. Its working becomes more and more
difficult, and the dissatisfaction caused by its defects grows
continuously. Every day gives rise to a new demand. “Reform this,”
“reform that,” is heard from all sides. “War, finance, taxes, courts.
police, everything must be remodeled, reorganized, established on a new
basis,” say the reformers. And vet all know that it is impossible to
make things over, to remodel anything at all because everything is
interrelated; everything would have to be remade at once; and how can
society be remodeled when it is divided into two openly hostile camps?
To satisfy the discontented would be only to create new malcontents.
Incapable of undertaking reforms, since this would mean paving the way
for revolution, and at the same time too impotent to be frankly
reactionary, the governing bodies apply themselves to halfmeasures which
can satisfy nobody, and only cause new dissatisfaction. The mediocrities
who, in such transition periods, undertake to steer the ship of State,
think of but one thing: to enrich then.selves against the coming
débâcle. Attacked from all sides they defend themselves awkwardly, they
evade, they commit blunder upon blunder, and they soon succeed in
cutting the last rope of salvation; they drown the prestige of the
government in ridicule, caused by their own incapacity.
Such periods demand revolution. It becomes a social necessity; the
situation itself is revolutionary.
When we study in the works of our greatest historians the genesis and
development of vast revolutionary convulsions, we generally find under
the heading, “The Cause of the Revolution,” a gripping picture of the
situation on the eve of events. The misery of the people, the general
insecurity, the vexatious measures of the government, the odious
scandals laying bare the immense vices of society, the new ideas
struggling to come to the surface and repulsed by the incapacity of the
supporters of the former régime, — nothing is omitted. Examining this
picture, one arrives at the conviction that the revolution was indeed
inevitable, and that there was no other way out than by the road of
insurrection.
Take, for example, the situation before 1789 as the historians picture
it. You can almost hear the peasant complaining of the salt tax, of the
tithe, of the feudal payments, and vowing in his heart an implacable
hatred towards the feudal baron, the monk, the monopolist, the bailiff.
You can almost see the citizen bewailing the loss of his municipal
liberties, and showering maledictions upon the king. The people censure
the queen; they are revolted by the reports of ministerial action, and
they cry out continually that the taxes are intolerable and revenue
payments exorbitant, that crops are bad and winters hard, that
provisions are too dear and the monopolists too grasping, that the
village lawyer devours the peasant’s crops and the village constable
tries to play the role of a petty king, that even the mail service is
badly organized and the employees too lazy. In short, nothing works
well, everybody complains. “It can last no longer, it will come to a bad
end,” they cry everywhere.
But, between this pacific arguing and insurrection or revolt, there is a
wide abyss, — that abyss which, for the greatest part of humanity, lies
between reasoning and action, thought and will, — the urge to act. How
has this abyss been bridged? How is it that men who only yesterday were
complaining quietly of their lot as they smoked their pipes, and the
next moment were humbly saluting the local guard and gendarme whom they
had just been abusing, — how is it that these same men a few days later
were capable of seizing their scythes and their iron-shod pikes and
attacking in his castle the lord who only yesterday was so formidable?
By what miracle were these men, whose wives justly called them cowards,
transformed in a day into heroes, marching through bullets and cannon
balls to the conquest of their rights? How was it that words, so often
spoken and lost in the air like the empty chiming of bells, were changed
into actions?
The answer is easy.
Action, the continuous action, ceaselessly renewed, of minorities brings
about this transformation. Courage, devotion, the spirit of sacrifice,
are as contagious as cowardice, submission, and panic.
What forms will this action take? All forms, — indeed, the most varied
forms, dictated by circumstances, temperament, and the means at
disposal. Sometimes tragic, sometimes humorous, but always daring;
sometimes collective, sometimes purely individual, this policy of action
will neglect none of the means at hand, no event of public life, in
order to keep the spirit alive, to propagate and find expression for
dissatisfaction, to excite hatred against exploiters, to ridicule the
government and expose its weakness, and above all and always, by actual
example, to awaken courage and fan the spirit of revolt.
When a revolutionary situation arises in a country, before the spirit of
revolt is sufficiently awakened in the masses to express itself in
violent demonstrations in the streets or by rebellions and uprisings, it
is through action that minorities succeed in awakening that feeling of
independence and that spirit of audacity without which no revolution can
come to a head.
Men of courage, not satisfied with words, but ever searching for the
means to transform them into action, — men of integrity for whom the act
is one with the idea, for whom prison, exile, and death are preferable
to a life contrary to their principles, — intrepid souls who know that
it is necessary to dare in order to succeed, — these are the lonely
sentinels who enter the battle long before the masses are sufficiently
roused to raise openly the banner of insurrection and to march, arms in
hand, to the conquest of their rights.
In the midst of discontent, talk, theoretical discussions, an individual
or collective act of revolt supervenes, symbolizing the dominant
aspirations. It is possible that at the beginning the masses will remain
indifferent. It is possible that while admiring the courage of the
individual or the group which takes the initiative, the masses will at
first follow those who are prudent and cautious, who will immediately
describe this act as “insanity” and say that “those madmen, those
fanatics will endanger everything.”
They have calculated so well, those prudent and cautious men, that their
party, slowly pursuing its work would, in a hundred years, two hundred
years, three hundred years perhaps, succeed in conquering the whole
world, — and now the unexpected intrudes! The unexpected, of course, is
whatever has not been expected by them, — those prudent and cautious
ones! Whoever has a slight knowledge of history and a fairly clear head
knows perfectly well from the beginning that theoretical propaganda for
revolution will necessarily express itself in action long before the
theoreticians have decided that the moment to act has come.
Nevertheless, the cautious theoreticians are angry at these madmen, they
excommunicate them, they anathematize them. But the madmen win sympathy,
the mass of the people secretly applaud their courage, and they find
imitators. In proportion as the pioneers go to fill the jails and the
penal colonies, others continue their work; acts of illegal protest, of
revolt, of vengeance, multiply.
Indifference from this point on is impossible. Those who at the
beginning never so much as asked what the “madmen” wanted, are compelled
to think about them, to discuss their ideas, to take sides for or
against. By actions which compel general attention, the new idea seeps
into people’s minds and wins converts. One such act may, in a few days,
make more propaganda than thousands of pamphlets.
Above all, it awakens the spirit of revolt: it breeds daring. The old
order, supported by the police, the magistrates, the gendarmes and the
soldiers, appeared unshakable, like the old fortress of the Bastille,
which also appeared impregnable to the eyes of the unarmed people
gathered beneath its high walls equipped with loaded cannon. But soon it
became apparent that the established order has not the force one had
supposed. One courageous act has sufficed to upset in a few days the
entire governmental machinery, to make the colossus tremble; another
revolt has stirred a whole province into turmoil, and the army, till now
always so imposing, has retreated before a handful of peasants armed
with sticks and stones. The people observe that the monster is not so
terrible as they thought they begin dimly to perceive that a few
energetic efforts will be sufficient to throw it down. Hope is born in
their hearts, and let us remember that if exasperation often drives men
to revolt, it is always hope, the hope of victory, which makes
revolutions.
The government resists; it is savage in its repressions. But, though
formerly persecution killed the energy of the oppressed, now, in periods
of excitement, it produces the opposite result. It provokes new acts of
revolt, individual and collective, it drives the rebels to heroism; and
in rapid succession these acts spread, become general, develop. The
revolutionary party is strengthened by elements which up to this time
were hostile or indifferent to it. The general disintegration penetrates
into the government, the ruling classes, the privileged; some of them
advocate resistance to the limit; others are in favor of concessions;
others, again, go so far as to declare themselves ready to renounce
their privileges for the moment, in order to appease the spirit of
revolt, hoping to dominate again later on. The unity of the government
and the privileged class is broken.
The ruling classes may also try to find safety in savage reaction. But
it is now too late; the battle only becomes more bitter, more terrible,
and the revolution which is looming will only be more bloody. On the
other hand, the smallest concession of the governing classes, since it
comes too late, since it has been snatched in struggle, only awakes the
revolutionary spirit still more. The common people, who formerly would
have been satisfied with the smallest concession, observe now that the
enemy is wavering; they foresee victory, they feel their courage
growing, and the same men who were formerly crushed by misery and were
content to sigh in secret, now lift their heads and march proudly to the
conquest of a better future.
Finally the revolution breaks out, the more terrible as the preceding
struggles were bitter.
The direction which the revolution will take depends, no doubt, upon the
sum total of the various circumstances that determine the coming of the
cataclysm. But it can be predicted in advance, according to the vigor of
revolutionary action displayed in the preparatory period by the
different progressive parties.
One party may have developed more clearly the theories which it defines
and the program which it desires to realize; it may have made propaganda
actively, by speech and in print. But it may not have sufficiently
expressed its aspirations in the open, on the street, by actions which
embody the thought it represents; it has done little, or it has done
nothing against those who are its principal enemies; it has not attacked
the institutions which it wants to demolish; its strength has been in
theory, not in action; it has contributed little to awaken the spirit of
revolt, or it has neglected to direct that spirit against conditions
which it particularly desires to attack at the time of the revolution.
As a result, this party is less known; its aspirations have not been
daily and continuously affirmed by actions, the glamor of which could
reach even the remotest hut; they have not sufficiently penetrated into
the consciousness of the people; they have not identified themselves
with the crowd and the street; they have never found simple expression
in a popular slogan.
The most active writers of such a party are known by their readers as
thinkers of great merit, but they have neither the reputation nor the
capacities of men of action; and on the day when the mobs pour through
the streets they will prefer to follow the advice of those who have less
precise theoretical ideas and not such great aspirations, but whom they
know better because they have seen them act.
The party which has made most revolutionary propaganda and which has
shown most spirit and daring will be listened to on the day when it is
necessary to act, to march in front in order to realize the revolution.
But that party which has not had the daring to affirm itself by
revolutionary acts in the preparatory periods nor had a driving force
strong enough to inspire men and groups to the sentiment of abnegation,
to the irresistible desire to put their ideas into practice, — (if this
desire had existed it would have expressed itself in action long before
the mass of the people had joined the revolt) — and which did not know
how to make its flag popular and its aspirations tangible and
comprehensive, — that party will have only a small chance of realizing
even the least part of its program. It will be pushed aside by the
parties of action.
These things we learn from the history of the periods which precede
great revolutions. The revolutionary bourgeoisie understood this
perfectly, — it neglected no means of agitation to awaken the spirit of
revolt when it tried to demolish the monarchical order. The French
peasant of the eighteenth century understood it instinctively when it
was a question of abolishing feudal rights; and the International acted
in accordance with the same principles when it tried to awaken the
spirit of revolt among the workers of the cities and to direct it
against the natural enemy of the wage earner — the monopolizer of the
means of production and of raw materials.