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Title: The Ideal and Youth
Author: Elisée Reclus
Date: 1895
Language: en
Topics: youth
Source: Retrieved on March 3rd, 2009 from http://dwardmac.pitzer.edu/anarchist_archives/bright/reclus/idealandyouth.html
Notes: Published by Liberty Press, London, 1895

Elisée Reclus

The Ideal and Youth

If the word “Ideal” has really any meaning, it signifies far more than a

vague yearning for better things, wearisome search for happiness, or a

fitful and sad longing for an environment less hateful than the society

of to-day; ah yes, we must give to the term an exact value, we must

settle resolutely and intelligently what is the ostensible end of our

ceaseless aspirations. Let us investigate then that Ideal.

For some it would be no more than a return to the ages of the past, to

the childhood of humanity; it would consist in the negation of science,

in a humble prostration as of old in front of a thunderous Sinai, and

under the eye of a miracle-working Moses, the authoritative translator

of the divine will. To that conception of complete renunciation and

obedience Anarchists place in opposition another, proudly consistent

with the fullest individual liberty and also with the voluntary action

of society — the spontaneous action rendered possible by the suppression

of privilege and of arbitrary authority, by the abolition of private

ownership, by mutual respect, and by intelligent co-operation with

natural laws. Between those two ideals there is no possible compromise:

conservatism and moderatism, liberalism, progressivism, and even

socialism are only political expedient — designed to delay the good time

coming, to stop with a few crumbs of liberty the mouths of those who

demand the full loaf. To be delivered from the throes of evolution,man

must either lose himself in God, or, as a being, erect and free, become

his own master.

Let it only take into consideration the latter alternative, towards

which indeed all young people, in whom the the glorious possibilities of

life are latent, consciously or unconsciously direct their thought and

effort. Alas, the majority act and think towards this end unconsiously.

They wander hither and thither, without set purpose, sceptics and

pessimists in theory, although fortunately their action is frequently

inconsistent with their profession. Above all it is important both for

them and for ourselves to get rid of the language of despair. On what

kind of future could we reckon if it was true that, spite of all

appearance to the contrary, there were nothing new under the sun, and

that all human struggles were mere conflicts of brute force, in which as

matter of course, the weak must invariably be driven to the wall? Of

what use in that case would it be to dream and talk of better social

environments where there would be food for all, liberty and justice for

all? Our words would be only a passing sound, and the wise man, as

Ecclesiastes said more than two thousand years ago and as poets and

rhymesters have since then often and variously repeated, would be

content to eat, drink, and make merry. To take life as it comes would be

true philosophy, and if it should be burdened by too many troubles or

too many sorrows, the best thing to do would be to put an end to it. A

little ball of lead, a tiny drop of poison, and the poor farce of

existance, would be played out.

Although suicide is unquestionably rare among young people, the mode of

thinking that justifies it is only too common; and besides there are

many ways of entering upon death without the vulgar shedding of blood.

Perhaps the most convenient is to cease to live in any real sense, to

give up the use of the mind, to come to the conclusion that there is

nothing more to be known, to drift like a straw on the flood, to take

our opinions ready made and repeat them like a parrot, to look

contemptuously on all independent efforts and speculation; and although

a return to old-world superstition be impossible, for we cannot

resurrect the past, these dead in life pretend to be still of the flock

of the faithful, they talk about the articles of the creed, and practise

the antics prescribed by the priests. Without force of character or

strength of will to discover the truth, they become cowardly hypocrites,

and soon they reach the end they have sought, the annihilation in

themselves of every noble human quality. That is the real death; let the

cessation of breath be swift or slow to follow, it only causes to be

laid in a coffin an object that was long ago a corpse.

But as decided not to see, not to hear, as may be pessimists and men of

pleasure — the worst, of the pessimists — they see that a change is

brooding over the near future: like passengers in a ship making its way

across a stormy sea they feel the trembling of the timbers, the

vibration of the vessel on which they are voyaging, and spite of

themselves are awe-struck by the possibility of imminent disaster.

To-morrow throws its troublesome shadow over to-day: the “social

question,” or to use their own language, “social questions” stand well

out in the foreground of their outlook, and they know that obstacles and

delays, however caused, are all in vain to prevent a speedy solution.

The new era is at the door, and the great problem demands to be settled

and bids all other questions take a back seat.

Among the, sayings ascribed to the traditional Christ there is one that

pious comfortable zealots roll under their tongue with holy pleasure,

and it is this: “Ye have the poor always with you.” But out of the

depths is now heard a voice crying: “Why always?” Even lately some

believed that the earth could not produce enough of the means of

existence for those who hoed on it, and that to get a share it was

necessary to struggle with other men in the like need, fighting like

hogs for the refuse thrown into their troughs. That is still the

doctrine of some political economists, and those who teach it set it

forth with the greater unction after a good dinner. But now even the

poor have ascertained that the world produces enough and to spare for

bread, and that if men were only free and equal the wants of all might

be satisfied. Do you think that after this simple truth has been

mastered by the human mind the contest will continue? Nay verily,

society will be re-organized: in accordance with facts. We shall no

longer hear that ceaseless, sad, and pitiful voice calling from the

depths, “Bread! Bread!” making all work a pain, and robbing life of

every joy.

So we come to the turning point of history. All the social troubles and

revolts of past ages have had, under a thousand different phases, one

fundamental cause — the want of bread, and that continual source of feud

and hatred is about to be abolished. Now at last the world is going to

revolve on its own axis, and the wokers of the world are going to take

their affairs into their own hands. Short as may be the span of human

life when compared with the gradual evolution of humanity, there are

some of us who may be present when the great change comes, and all of us

may by opening our eyes [to] greet the dawn of the new day. And at this

crisis, forsooth, we read of young people, careless of what the future

may bring forth, who are worn out with ennui, and who pretend to welcome

death with the saying that “life is not worth living!”

Yet it would seem but natural that youth all over the world, with its

characteristic impetuosity, should rush to open the doors for the new

era, should set itself on tiptoe to watch the coming of the future. We

recall how eagerly the German students got ready for the fray when it

was necessary to overthrow the Napoleonic tyranny, how splendidly the

young men of the French universities took the part of right against

might at the close of the Restoration, and in the years immediately

preceding the Revolution of 1848. The students of that time were far

less numerous than than they are today, but they played a finer part in

the history of their country. They threw themselves into all the

struggles, romantic, republican and socialistic, of that fateful period,

and denied that any class in the nation was as receptive as themselves

to new idea. Nor was it merely the license of poetic dreamers, the

exuberance of animal spirits, or a theatrical display of contempt for

the bourgeoisie. How many of them braved imprisonment and even death for

their opinions! How many of them, inspired by missionary zeal, became

the apostles of a revolutionary altruism, flinging away fortune,

position, and monetary advantage! When Saint Simonism and Fourierism had

raised human thought to the boiling point, it was the students who

boldly enlisted in the ranks of the intellectual rebels, careless of

calumny, persecution, and exile.

Although the students of modern Europe number more than a hundred

thousand men their influence in the world of ideas is far less than was

that of their predecessors. Now-a-days it is by hundreds rather than by

thousands that we count the young men of the universities who have

thrown their personal interests on the altar of social progress, and

who, under various banners, are leading the entry into the promised

land. It is even said, and I could not venture to call it a libel, that

the majority of our scholarly youth are contented with things as they

are, and that their great ambition is to indoctrinate society with

conservatism, and surprise their friends with what they call the

“moderation” of their views; in this respect they modestly claim to be

wiser than their parents, who cannot deny to have in their young days

shared the prevailing enthusiasm. A strange phenomenon is the sight of

young men who boast of feeling tired of life, as if the inability to

admire, to enjoy, and to be happy were a merit rather than a misfortune!

But it is quite true that in this way die the idle rich. Beyond a doubt

our modern university youth, although naturally proud of having passed

through the mill of many examinations, would be unable notwithstanding

their extravagant pretensions to teach the workmen much in the sphere of

study and thought. No, their business is to be pupils, not to give

instruction. In great popular movements — such as that of the Commune —

the students were very sparely represented, while workmen supplied in

plenty both sinews and brains. Not was the question merely one of work

and wages; the interests at stake were those of the whole nation, indeed

of all mankind. At the present hour, when a new dispensation is about to

be ushered in, when the young knights of reform are preparing for their

task, it is not in the avenues of the schools that the questions

uppermost in men’s minds are discussed most intelligently and with the

keenest insight. The graduate is not necessarily the philosopher, nor

does a well-stored memory invariably accompany an enlightened

understanding. Often the dry-as-dust schoolman is poor in wisdom beside

the shrewd man of the world who has gathered here and there the

countless facts from which he evolves a wealth of general ideas. Your

scientific man may shut himself up in his laboratory as in a prison, and

misunderstand the great world without; but the people always form a

consistent theory of the universe, be it true or false. But a little

while ago, evolution was sneered at by the lecturers of the university,

but in the streets and behind the plough, among workmen and peasants,

the new truth found a restful home and in eager welcome.

It would be foolish to speak slightingly of science. The unearthing of a

Babylonian brick, or the observation of a rudimentary flower-stamen, may

well make our hearts glad, when the scientist brings the apparently

isolated fact into relationship with many others, and shows the value of

the discovery. Still more in the realm of ideas should we value the

enunciation of a fresh thought, or the arrangement of mental data in

their proper importance and relative bearings. In this respect the

student, it has often been remarked, blinded by the dust of the library,

scarcely perceives that there is a “social question” out of doors, while

the workman, on the other hand regards it as the all-important object of

study, and finds himself, therefore, far in advance of his bookish

brother. This observation is true of other lands than those of the Latin

tongues, although in these the intellectual evolution or revolution, if

you prefer the word, may have made most progress, far more than in the

brigaded schools of Germany or among the young pupils of the American

universities. Socialists are numbered by millions east of the Vosges,

but in the Fatherland a paltry two or three may group themselves away

from the beer-drinkers, a timorous few among many thousands. At Harvard,

the famous Amercian university, boasting 3200 students, reformers are

more numerous, but few have yet dared to emancipate themselves from the

Christian superstition; at a recent census only two of them were found

to declare that they belonged to none of the many sects whose name were

given on the schedule. It is in aristocratic England, perhaps, that the

human mind enjoys the greatest freedom.

Well, what then are the causes of this conservative moderation among the

young, quite out of touch with the spirit of the age? Even the

professors observe the phenomenon, but such is the social bondage of

modern university life that the evil thing persists with all its baneful

consequences. It is generally agreed that from his first day at school

the normal life of the child is contrary to nature. What shall be said

of an education that arranges favourable conditions for the development

of spine disease, that often works permanent injury to the vision, that

checks natural desires, that weakens or perverts human instincts? Does

it not run counter to the great objects of education as understood by

the wise in all ages: strength, grace, beauty? The American Indians and

the natives of Australia, as well as the Greeks of old, are unanimous in

prescribing an out-of-door life as the best for boys; plenty of

athletics and exercise, calculated to develop strong, nimble, healthy

men, elastic with life and beaming with vigour. Among ourselves, alas,

we often see the youth who is most carefully and expensively nurtured

turn out one of the most deplorable specimens of muscular humanity.

Medical statistics give us to understand that more than half of the

young scholars in the higher academies of continental Europe have ruined

their constitutions by self-indulgence, by a life of weariness and

monotony; two out of three are weakly youths; and among those who have

lost their health there are many who have seriously injured their mental

powers, and who, through having whipped and spurred their brains in

early life, are compelled to make a sparing use of them in mature age.

True, we may cite numerous instances of men who have kept their

constitution robust, their limbs agile and strong, their reason bright

and serviceable; but these cases are the exceptions, not the rule, they

are to be accounted for as due not to the ordinary curriculum of

education, but almost always to the privileges of wealthy and

well-conditioned adolesence. The young favourites of fortune naturally

group themselves in two classes: voluptuaries who exhaust and unfit

themselves by debauchery and pessimism, and a few beautiful souls who

cherish a high ideal, and endeavour to live up to it.

If the training of the family and of the university educates the child

and the young man detrimentally to his many-sided nature, in shutting

out from his view both the urban and the rural aspects of life except as

seen through loop-holes, if it starves and physically impoverishes him,

what does it make of his character? Alas, up to now, our customs have

not permitted us to respect the individuality of the child as that of a

future equal, perhaps that of a superior in intellectual and moral

attainments. Rare indeed are the parents who see in their son a being

whose ideas and disposition have a bent of their own, and seldom to be

met with is the teacher who does not try to imbue the minds of his

pupils with his opinions, his accepted morality, and who does not

endavour to make his task easy by insisting upon strict obedience.

Afterwards follow the examinations on which depends the future career,

and every pupil, every student is then furnished with his text-book as

the convict with his chain. The book is the same for all, and for all

the programme of study is the same. Henceforth all originality in mental

investigation is forbidden, and the burden of the daily commitment to

memory takes the place of free thought, and spontaneous inquiry; just as

the priest must know by heart his breviary, and the mill of the Thibetan

Buddhist turns incessantly, grinding out its perpetual shibboleth Oum

mane padmi houm. Some at least of these manuals are wonderfully

condensed, and contain an extraordinary summary of human knowledge. A

thrill of reverence and awe overtakes us in front of these stupendous

works, of which each line is it volume, embalming the labour of a Iong

succession of savants. What wealth untold, what unutterable joy really

to have mastered the contents of these pregnant folios! We well might

regard with envy the blessed examinee who answers with confidence all

the questions based upon the text-book. But does he really know all

these things? Has he learned the reasons why of all the facts? If that

were so, we might benevolently pray that he were able to throw back, as

did the guests of Vitellias, all the food superfluous to him of that

indigestible repast. Let him forget as soon as possible his examination

in order to know himself, and to find himself in the domain of free

study, on the outlook for unexpected discoveries as the result of

independent investigation. But if he has dabbled in all the sciences

without having a taste for any he is likely to turn out a were walking

inventory, without enthusiasm, without ambition, professedly capable

without preparation for the most difficult undertaking. Supposing again

it be true that the testimonials and certificates of professors are not

implicitly to be relied upon, that the special favour of masters is

often bestowed upon pnpils for whom a good word has been spoken by a

mutual friend. “Acquit yourselves like men,” say the teachers, in view

of the distribution of prizes! But do not take that call to energy too

seriously. How often, on the contrary, it is to be interpreted as, “Be

complaisant, bow low your bead, learn to creep.” Besides it, has often

been found that men who are great by genius can fall very low through

pliability of character. Is it not well known that scientific men are

sometimes slow to endorse a new opinion because it is unacceptable in

high places: “You are right,” say they, “and we would be happy to speak

well of you in public, but the Emperor is unwilling.”

Certainly, the manner of education is a frightful thing for youths, with

its competitions, its examinations, its text-books and all the

scientific cram substituted for science: but that is only a small part

of the evil. By far the most alarming phase of it must be sought for in

the economic organization of society. What is the final purpose towards

which all, young and old, are dragged by the current of circumstances?

What is the vulgar and commonplace ideal of those who are borne on the

crest of the flood? Old Guizot made it known Iong ago, with his habitual

cynicism: Get rich! Get rich!” Now, from the very constitution of

society students become aware as a preliminary fact that they will amass

money by means of their diplomas. “Science means money” they may well

say confidentially among themselves, or even out aloud when they defy

the policy of restraint. From their ranks are recruited the ruling

classes, which are also the wealthy classes. In the conversation of the

family their prospects as professional men are discussed, but without

that they are only too well informed, with unmistakeable tuition of

youth, as to the social position and fortune that their work will bring

them. Wiser than their fathers, who were foolishly contaminated by

republicanism and romance, they tread with open eyes and self-conscious

mind the devious paths that lead to, a brilliant career, to fame and

fortune. Only recently the great professor Dubois-Reymond, at the

reception of the German emporor on his return from the coronation at

Versailles, endeavoured to glorify the German universities as the

body-guard of the Hohenzollerns! In the same spirit the army of

students, priests, and office-holders might more truthfully boast that

they are the body-guard of Capital!

Even in the inner sanctuary of science we may read, these words that

Lamartine — pronounced ignoble, “Bought and Sold.” Doubtless the

formation of society, built upon private property as upon a cornerstone,

obliges us to do as others do, the inevitable conditions of success in

life, but we should thoroughly understand the shame of our forced

proceedings, and determine to make an end of the disgrace, each

according to his ability working for the realisation of a new world

where the results of common work will belong to all without preliminary

bargaining. The higher an act is in the intellectual and moral sphere

the more difficult and irksome it is to ask wages for it: here again it

is the demoralization of the excellent which become the horrible What is

to be thought of, surgeon who holds a man’s life at the end of his

scalpel and who begins the operation by stretching out his hand for a

bit of gold? Is the poet who revels in a new image, or the savant whom a

fresh discovery transports with joy, to wait for a list of prices or to

study the tradeunion rate of wages before publishing his verses or

proclaiming the new truth? At such a computation bow many milliards

would we be in debt to Bacon and Descartes for the help which they have

given to the scientific world? Antiquity has bestowed on us a

significant story, that of Archimedes, who while in his bath, and

noticing the degree of immersion of a floater on wood and one oil cork,

was suddenly struck as by a lightning flash by the idea of his law

regarding the specific weight of bodies. The discovery was made. Did

Archimedes think of the money he might ask of the tyrant Hiero as the

reward of his genius? He jumped out of the bath, rushed through the

streets of Syracuse, and cried to all and sundry, watermen, carters ,

and navvies, “I have found it, I have found it.” The echo of that joyous

cry comes down to our own days. The discoveries of science bring with

them happiness so exalted that every mean consideration must degrade

them. To know lays upon us the obligation to teach. The professional man

of to-day learns that he may retail to the highest bidder his

second-hand knowledge: the true student, worthy of the name,

investigates that be may spread the truth widely.

Furthermore, how could such a man live up to a lofty ideal if be allowed

his mind to grow callous by the contemplation of venal interests? The

old religious faith that the superstitious still preach to us is

disappearing behind us like a fog. It does the best it can in

reconciling itself with the spirit of the age in beatifying those whom

it formerly burned, in calling itself the friend of evolution, of

republicanism, even of socialism. It responds no more to the

requirements of mankind; the chain of miracles and of dogmas that it

drags behind it delays its advance, and its morality, which is

substantially that of resignation, of pessimism tempered by far-off

hopes, cannot enter into rivalry with purely human ehtics, which

inculcates the use and development of our energies in all their

fullness. So religion — and I use that word in its noblest sense,

meaning love and raputre for a sublime ideal — turns itself away more

and more from the region of mystery and of the unknown, to spend itself

upon beings of the known world, that is to say, upon humanity. Do you

believe that it could exhaust itself there in depth, in intensity, in

power of devotion? He who sacrificcs himself, without hope of reward, is

he inferior to him who macerates his body or devotes himself to charity

in order to earn salvation?

Ancient writers have bequeathed to us admirable treatises of ethics and

philosophy on the education of the human being, who can find wisdom and

at the same time hapiness in controlling his passions, in modelling his

character, in purifying his thoughts, in reducing to a minimum his

needs. Such words on this subject those of Lucretius, Zens, Epictitus,

Seneca, even, Horace, are immortal words, which will reverberate from

age to age, and which will steadily help to uplift the human ideal, and

to raise the worth of the individual. But it is no longer in these times

a question of purely personal improvement as in the days of Stoic

heroism, it is a buisness to-day of winning, by education and union, for

the whole of society what was formerly claimed by our ancestors for the

individual alone. We must study humanity in the constitution of its

moral conscience and see that it finds its way towards the bliss before

it methodically and with energy, that is to say, that it reaches the

full realisation of its freedom. Is not this stupendous task great

enough to employ all our activity, all our affections, all the

intellectual and moral power of each one of us?

But this bliss? Shall we ever be able to reach it? Here it is that the

social problem confronts us in all its, complexity, for to the happy

mere food is not sufficient, they need also the free development of

their individuality on conditions of equality with other men, without

constraint and without servitude. Such is our Anarchist ideal, such is

also the ideal (I am sure of it) which is cherished in a manner more or

less conscious, by all benevolent people. We are surprised, however, to

hear from certain quarters a contrary opinion. Some writers have even

been known to declare that such bliss is not a thing to be desired. To

these strange idealists war seems a blessing; it comes to rouse our

energy, our courage, re-establish character that has become abashed in

the soft embraces of peace. Mutual hate between nations, perhaps between

classes — such is, if not their ethics, at least their hope.

To those of us who have experienced the abominations of war such an idea

seemes monstrous; nevertheless by an ingenious exercise of intelligence

we may understand the residuum of moral sentiment which is found at the

bottom of this paradox. War is a condition of activity, and as such is

better, or at least is a less calamity, than a state of flabby inertia;

we may recover from it, while absolute inaction leads inevitably to

death. Yes, activity is indispensable; every force must be tested before

it is applied to a definite work, but should these trials be entered

upon at hap-hazard, or ought they not rather to be undertaken in the

light of science and by the most approved methods? In this respect the

people we call savages, and still more noticably, the Greeks, the most

highly civilised of ancient nations, give us direction. Young men were

not admitted to citizenship and were not considered fit to take their

place at the head of a family, or to perform the duties prescribed by

the state, before they had given indubitable proofs of their dexterity,

their strength, their courage, and their powers of endurance. They were

not subject to complusion, they were perfectly free to avoid the

formidable test, and yet not one took that course, which would have

involved his dishonour. The respect for public opinion was too intense

that any one should wish to withdraw himself from trials which were to

put him in the ranks of men. Among more primative tribes, again,

voluntary heroes, both boys and girls, submitted cheerfully to the most

terrible sufferings, to real pangs of torture; they endured hunger and

thirst for several days, gave themselves up to the scorching stings of

ants, mercilessly flogged each other, underwent fearful mutilatons,

without a cry, without a murmur. With untroubled features, aye with a

smiling face, they presented themselves before their judges: they had

given the price of their future.

It is not in this uncivilized fashion that we imagine tests of worth

will be applied in, the future to the young on their admission to the

life of mature men, but it seems to us in harmony with human nature that

in the period of blossoming adolescence, well-developed strength, and

love uncalculating, the young can most brilliantly show what stuff they

are made of through acts of courage, sacrifice, and devotion. If public

opinion only encourage them no deed will appear too difficult for their

daring. Let us only appeal to their higher nature and they will all

respond. During the American war the young girls of Oberlin College said

to the young men: “Go, join the army,” and the eleven hundred students

went to the war, not one remained. What might we not achieve with these

prodigious fountains of strength, sustained by euthusiasm? When the

young will no longer have the filthy lucre to corrupt at its very source

their ambition of they will move freely towards their ideal, without the

disgust of having to despise themselves and to despise their work, when

general applause will encourage them to devotedness, what will be the

bold enterprise from which they will shrink? Shall we ask them to go to

the antarctic pole? They will go. To explore the sea in sub-marine

vessels and to draw up a chart of the depths? They will do it. To

transform the Sahara into a garden? That will be for them a labour of

love. To serve their apprenticeship of travel, exploration, find study?

The toil will be absorbed in the pleasure. To spend the years between

youth and marrige in the education of children, in the cure of the sick?

We shall have millions of male teachers and nurses who will nobly occupy

the place of the thousands of soldiers now industriously engaged in

whetting their arms for the purpose of killing each other.

Such is the ideal that we propose to youth. In pointing out to it a

future of solidarity and altruism we pledge them our word that in that

future every trace of pessimism will have disappeared from their minds.

“Give yourselves.” But “in order to give yourselves, you must belong to

yourselves.”