CIV 204: THE MODERN WORLD: HUMANITIES 

UTOPIAS 


Dr. Elizabeth Campbell 
AUIS - Fall 2015 




TABLE OF CONTENTS 


THOMAS MORE, UTOPIA ............................................................................................................................1 
IMMANUEL KANT, WHAT IS ENLIGHTENMENT? (1784) ..........................................................................17 
RENE DESCARTES: DISCOURSE ON METHOD (1637)................................................................................22 
VOLTAIRE: A TREATISE ON TOLERATION (1763) ......................................................................................27 
CONDORCET, THE FUTURE PROGRESS OF THE HUMAN MIND .................................................................32 
OLYMPE DE GOUGE: DECLARATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN, 1791 ..................................................36 
MAXIMILIEN ROBESPIERRE: JUSTIFICATION OF THE USE OF TERROR ......................................................38 
FRIEDERICH ENGELS: INDUSTRIAL MANCHESTER, 1844..........................................................................41 
EMILE ZOLA: GERMINAL (1885) ..............................................................................................................45 
THE LIFE OF THE INDUSTRIAL WORKER IN NINETEENTH-CENTURY ENGLAND.......................................51 
CHADWICK'S REPORT ON SANITARY CONDITIONS....................................................................................57 
JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE, THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER..............................................62 
HENRY THOREAU, WALDEN .....................................................................................................................86 
AMANA, OR THE COMMUNITY OF TRUE INSPIRATION................................................................................89 
EMMA GOLDMAN, LIVING MY LIFE.........................................................................................................94 
KARL MARX AND FRIEDRICH ENGELS: THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTO (1848) [EXCERPTS] .................101 
GEORGE ORWELL, NINETEEN EIGHTY-FOUR .........................................................................................106 
ALDOUS HUXLEY, BRAVE NEW WORLD ................................................................................................115 
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY (1800-1859): ON EMPIRE AND EDUCATION ....................................128 
RAJA RAMMOHAN ROY: A SECOND CONFERENCE BETWEEN AN ADVOCATE FOR, AND AN OPPONENT OF 
THE PRACTICE OF BURNING WIDOWS ALIVE (1820)..............................................................................132 
MOUNTSTUART ELPHINSTONE: INDIAN CUSTOMS AND MANNERS, 1840 ..............................................135 
MAHATMA GANDHI, HIND SWARAJ OR INDIAN HOME RULE (1909) .....................................................137 
THE LAND SYSTEM OF THE HEAVENLY KINGDOM .................................................................................148 



THE TAIPING ECONOMIC PROGRAM .......................................................................................................148 
THE GHOST DANCE MOVEMENT............................................................................................................152 
UMKHONTO WE SIZWE, WE ARE AT WAR! (DECEMBER 16, 1961) ........................................................157 
NELSON MANDELA: INAUGURAL ADDRESS, MAY 10, 1994...................................................................161 
JAMAL AL-DIN AL-AFGHANI (1883 AND 1884)......................................................................................164 
HASSAN AL-BANNA, NATIONALISM & THE RELIGIOUS BASIS FOR AN ISLAMIC STATE (1949) .............176 
NATIONALISM ........................................................................................................................................182 


I. CULTURAL NATIONALISM: THE NATION AS POSITIVE FOCUS OF IDENTITY.......................................182 


II. LIBERAL NATIONALISM: THE NATION AS A BASIS FOR LIBERAL DEMOCRACY ................................185 


III. TRIUMPHAL NATIONALISM: THE NATION AS A CLAIM TO SUPERIORITY .........................................190 
VOLTAIRE: PATRIE, IN THE PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY, 1752 ...........................................................192 
ADOLF HITLER, MEIN KAMPF (1926) ....................................................................................................194 
ANNE FRANK, THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL .......................................................................................200 
ELIE WIESEL’S, NIGHT ..........................................................................................................................205 
CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN, HERLAND .............................................................................................210 
LU JU-CHEN, “IN THE COUNTRY OF WOMEN” .......................................................................................222 
MARTIN LUTHER KING, “LETTER FROM A BIRMINGHAM JAIL” (APR. 16, 1963) ..................................229 
MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. “I HAVE A DREAM” SPEECH” (AUG 28, 1963) ..........................................237 



THOMAS MORE, UTOPIA1 



The pivotal point in the creation of British utopianism and the beginning of the formal genre of utopian literature was the 
1516 publication in Latin in Louvain of Thomas More’s Libellus vere aureus nec minus salutaris quam festivius de optimo 
reip[ublicae] statu, deq[ue] nova Insula Vtopia. The Utopia, as it fortunately has become known, produced imitators almost 
immediately. The words utopia and utopian passed into the language remarkably soon—often with negative connotations. 
Utopia struck a chord that had not been sounded recently, and it became the fount for the outpouring of what we now call 
utopias. Utopia and More have been many things to many people. As a result, many layers of commentary overwhelm the 
little book, which is almost lost under the essays and books (many longer than the original) written about it.

1 Gregory Claeys and Lyman Tower Sargent, eds. The Utopia Reader New York: New York University Press, 1999. pgs. 
77-93. Image from the British Library: http://www.bl.uk/learning/histcitizen/21cc/utopia/more1/island1/island.html 

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Of Their Trades, and Manner of Life 

Agriculture is that which is so universally understood among them, that no person, either man or woman, 
is ignorant of it; they are instructed in it from their childhood, partly by what they learn at school, and 
partly by practice; they being led out often into the fields, about the town, where they not only see others at 
work, but are likewise exercised in it themselves. Besides agriculture, which is so common to them all, every 
man has some peculiar trade to which he applies himself, such as the manufacture of wool, or flax, 
masonry, smith’s work, or carpenter’s work; for there is no sort of trade that is in great esteem among 
them. Throughout the island they wear the same sort of clothes without any other distinction, except what 
is necessary to distinguish the two sexes, and the married and unmarried. The fashion never alters; and as it 
is neither disagreeable nor uneasy, so it is suited to the climate, and calculated both for their summers and 
winters. Every family makes their own clothes; but all among them, women as well as men, learn one or 
other of the trades formerly mentioned. Women, for the most part, deal in wool and flax, which suit best 
with their weakness, leaving the ruder trades to the men. The same trade generally passes down from father 
to son, inclinations often following descent; but if any man’s genius lies another way, he is by adoption 
translated into a family that deals in the trade to which he is inclined: and when that is to be done, care is 
taken not only by his father, but by the magistrate, that he may be put to a discreet and good man. And if 
after a person has learned one trade, he desires to acquire another, that is also allowed, and is managed in 
the same manner as the former. When he has learned both, he follows that which he likes best, unless the 
public has more occasion for the other. 

The chief, and almost the only business of the Syphogrants [lower officials] is to take care that no man may 
live idle, but that every one may follow his trade diligently: yet they do not wear themselves out with 
perpetual toil, from morning to night, as if they were beasts of burden, which as it is indeed a heavy 
slavery, so it is everywhere the common course of life amongst all mechanics except the Utopians; but they 
dividing the day and night into twenty-four hours, appoint six of these for work; three of which are before 
dinner; and three after. They then sup, and at eight o’clock, counting from noon, go to bed and sleep eight 
hours. The rest of their time besides that taken up in work, eating and sleeping, is left to every man’s 
discretion; yet they are not to abuse that interval to luxury and idleness, but must employ it in some proper 
exercise according to their various inclinations, which is for the most part reading. It is ordinary to have 
public lectures every morning before daybreak; at which none are obliged to appear but those who are 
marked out for literature; yet a great many, both men and women of all ranks, go to hear lectures of one 
sort or other, according to their inclinations. But if others, that are not made for contemplation, choose 
rather to employ themselves at that time in their trades, as many of them do, they are not hindered, but are 
rather commended, as men that take care to serve their country. After supper, they spend an hour in some 

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diversion, in summer in their gardens, and in winter in the halls where they eat; where they entertain each 
other, either with music or discourse. They do not so much as know dice, or any such foolish and 
mischievous games: they have, however, two sorts of games not unlike our chess; the one is between 
several numbers, in which one number, as it were, consumes another: the other resembles a battle between 
the virtues and the vices, in which the enmity in the vices among themselves, and their agreement against 
virtue is not unpleasantly represented; together with the special oppositions between the particular virtues 
and vices; as also the methods by which vice either openly assaults or secretly undermines virtue; and 
virtue on the other hand resists it. But the time appointed for labour is to be narrowly examined, otherwise 
you may imagine, that since there are only six hours appointed for work, they may fall under a scarcity of 
necessary provisions. But it is so far from being true, that this time is not sufficient for supplying them 
with plenty of all things, either necessary or convenient; that it is rather too much; and this you will easily 
apprehend, if you consider how great a part of all other nations is quite idle. First, women generally do 
little, who are the half of mankind; and if some few women are diligent, their husbands are idle: then 
consider the great company of idle priests, and of those that are called religious men; add to these all rich 
men, chiefly those that have estates in land, who are called noblemen and gentlemen, together with their 
families, made up of idle persons, that are kept more for show than use; add to these, all those strong and 
lusty beggars, that go about pretending some disease, in excuse for their begging; and upon the whole 
account you will find that the number of those by whose labours mankind is supplied, is much less than 
you perhaps imagined. Then consider how few of those that work are employed in labours that are of real 
service; for we who measure all things by money, give rise to many trades that are both vain and 
superfluous, and serve only to support riot and luxury. For if those who work were employed only in such 
things as the conveniences of life require, there would be such an abundance of them, that the prices of 
them would so sink, that tradesmen could not be maintained by their gains; if all those who labour about 
useless things, were set to more profitable employments, and if all they that languish out their lives in sloth 
and idleness, every one of whom consumes as much as any two of the men that are at work, were forced 
to labour, you may easily imagine that a small proportion of time would serve for doing all that is either 
necessary, profitable, or pleasant to mankind, especially while pleasure is kept within its due bounds. This 
appears very plainly in Utopia, for there, in a great city, and in all the territory that lies round it, you can 
scarce find five hundred, either men or women, by their age and strength, are capable of labour, that are 
not engaged in it; even the Syphogrants, though excused by the law, yet do not excuse themselves, but 
work, that by their examples they may excite the industry of the rest of the people. The like exemption is 
allowed to those, who being recommended to the people by the priests, are by the secret suffrages of the 
Syphogrants privileged from labour, that they may apply themselves wholly to study; and if any of these 
fall short of those hopes that they seemed at first to give, they are obliged to return to work. And 
sometimes a mechanic, that so employs his leisure hours, as to make a considerable advancement in 

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learning, is eased from being a tradesman, and ranked among their learned men. Out of these they choose 
their ambassadors, their priests, their Tranibors [higher officials], and the Prince himself; anciently called 
their Barzenes, but is called of late their Ademus. 

And thus from the great numbers among them that are neither suffered to be idle, nor to be employed in 
any fruitless labour, you may easily make the estimate how much may be done in those few hours in which 
they are obliged to labour. But besides all that has been already said, it is to be considered that the needful 
arts among them are managed with less labour than anywhere else. The building or the repairing of houses 
among us employ many hands, because often a thriftless heir suffers a house that his father built to fall into 
decay, so that his successor must, at a great cost, repair that which he might have kept up with a small 
charge: it frequently happens, that the same house which one person built at a vast expense, is neglected by 
another, who thinks he has a more delicate sense of the beauties of architecture; and he suffering it to fall 
to ruin, builds another at no less charge. But among the Utopians, all things are so regulated that men very 
seldom build upon a new piece of ground; and are not only very quick in repairing their houses, but show 
their foresight in preventing their decay: so that their buildings are preserved very long, with but little 
labour; and thus the builders to whom that care belongs are often without employment, except the hewing 
of timber, and the squaring of stones, that the materials may be in readiness for raising a building very 
suddenly, when there is any occasion for it. As to their clothes, observe how; little work is spent in them: 
while they are at labour, they are clothed with leather and skins, cast carelessly about them, which will last 
seven years; and when they appear in public they put on an upper garment, which hides the other; and 
these are all of one colour, and that is the natural colour of the wool. As they need less woollen cloth than 
is used anywhere else, so that which they make use of is much less costly. They use linen cloth more; but 
that is prepared with less labour, and they value cloth only by the whiteness of the linen, or the cleanness 
of the wool, without much regard to the fineness of the thread: while in other places, four or five upper 
garments of woollen cloth, of different colours, and as many vests of silk, will scarce serve one man; and 
while those that are nicer think ten too few, every man there is content with one, which very often serves 
him two years. Nor is there anything that can tempt a man to desire more; for if he had them, he would 
neither be the warmer, nor would he make one jot the better appearance for it. And thus, since they are all 
employed in some useful labour, and since they content themselves with fewer things, it falls out that there 
is a great abundance of all things among them: so that it frequently happens, that for want of other work, 
vast numbers are sent out to mend the highways. But when no public undertaking is to be performed, the 
hours of working are lessened. The magistrates never engage the people in unnecessary labour, since the 
chief end of the constitution is to regulate labour by the necessities of the public, and to allow all the 
people as much time as is necessary for the improvement of their minds, in which they think the happiness 
of life consists. 

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Of Their Traffic 

But it is now time to explain to you the mutual intercourse of this people, their commerce, and the rules by 
which all things are distributed among them. 

As their cities are composed of families, so their families are made up of those that are nearly related to 
one another. Their women, when they grow up, are married out; but all the males, both children and 
grandchildren, live still in the same house, in great obedience to their common parent, unless age has 
weakened his understanding; and in that case, he that is next to him in age comes in his room. But lest any 
city should become either too great, or by any accident be dispeopled, provision is made that none of their 
cities may contain above six thousand families, besides those of the country round it. No family may have 
less than ten, and more than sixteen persons in it; but there can be no determined number for the children 
under age. This rule is easily observed, by removing some of the children of a more fruitful couple to any 
other family that does not abound so much in them. By the same rule, they supply cities that do not 
increase so fast, from others that breed faster; and if there is any increase over the whole island, then they 
draw out a number of their citizens out of the several towns, and send them over to the neighbouring 
continent; where, if they find that the inhabitants have more soil than they can well cultivate, they fix a 
colony, taking the inhabitants into their society, if they are willing to live with them; and where they do that 
of their own accord, they quickly enter into their method of life, and conform to their rules, and this 
proves a happiness to both nations for according to their constitution, such care is taken of the soil, that it 
becomes fruitful enough for both, though it might be otherwise too narrow and barren for any one of 
them. But if the natives refuse to conform themselves to their laws, they drive them out of those bounds 
which they mark out for themselves, and use force if they resist. For they account it a very just cause of 
war, for a nation to hinder others from possessing a part of that soil, of which they make no use, but 
which is suffered to lie idle and uncultivated; since every man has by the law of Nature a right to such a 
waste portion of the earth as is necessary for his subsistence. If an accident has so lessened the number of 
the inhabitants of any of their towns, that it cannot be made up from the other towns of the island, 
without diminishing them too much, which is said to have fallen out but twice since they were first a 
people, when great numbers were carried off by the plague; the loss is then supplied by recalling as many 
as are wanted from their colonies; for they will abandon these, rather than suffer the towns in the island to 
sink too low. 

But to return to their manner of living in society, the oldest man of every family, as has been already said, 
is its governor. Wives serve their husbands, and children their parents, and always the younger serves the 
elder. Every city is divided into four equal parts, and in the middle of each there is a market-place: what is 
brought thither, and manufactured by the several families, is carried from thence to houses appointed for 

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that purpose, in which all things of a sort are laid by themselves; and thither every father goes and takes 
whatsoever he or his family stand in need of, without either paying for it, or leaving anything in exchange. 
There is no reason for giving a denial to any person, since there is such plenty of everything among them; 
and there is no danger of a man’s asking for more than he needs; they have no inducements to do this, 
since they are sure that they shall always be supplied. It is the fear of want that makes any of the whole 
race of animals either greedy or ravenous; but besides fear, there is in man a pride that makes him fancy it 
a particular glory to excel others in pomp and excess. But by the laws of the Utopians, there is no room for 
this. Near these markets there are others for all sorts of provisions, where there are not only herbs, fruits, 
and bread, but also fish, fowl, and cattle. There are also, without their towns, places appointed near some 
running water, for killing their beasts, and for washing away their filth; which is done by their slaves: for 
they suffer none of their citizens to kill their cattle, because they think that pity and good-nature, which are 
among the best of those affections that are born with us, are much impaired by the butchering of animals: 
nor do they suffer anything that is foul or unclean to be brought within their towns, lest the air should be 
infected by ill smells which might prejudice their health. In every street there are great halls that lie at an 
equal distance from each other, distinguished by particular names. The Syphogrants dwell in those that are 
set over thirty families, fifteen lying on one side of it, and as many on the other. In these halls they all meet 
and have their repasts. The stewards of every one of them come to the market-place at an appointed hour; 
and according to the number of those that belong to the hall, they carry home provisions. But they take 
more care of their sick than of any others: these are lodged and provided for in public hospitals: they have 
belonging to every town four hospitals, that are built without their walls, and are so large that they may 
pass for little towns: by this means, if they had ever such a number of sick persons, they could lodge them 
conveniently, and at such a distance, that such of them as are sick of infectious diseases may be kept so far 
from the rest that there can be no danger of contagion. The hospitals are furnished and stored with all 
things that are convenient for the ease and recovery of the sick; and those that are put in them are looked 
after with such tender and watchful care, and are so constantly attended by their skilful physicians, that as 
none is sent to them against their will, so there is scarce one in a whole town that, if he should fall ill, 
would not choose rather to go thither than lie sick at home. 

After the steward of the hospitals has taken for the sick whatsoever the physician prescribes, then the best 
things that are left in the market are distributed equally among the halls, in proportion to their numbers, 
only, in the first place, they serve the Prince, the chief priest, the Tranibors, the ambassadors, and strangers, 
if there are any, which indeed falls out but seldom, and for whom there are houses well furnished, 
particularly appointed for their reception when they come among them. At the hours of dinner and 
supper, the whole Syphogranty being called together by sound of trumpet, they meet and eat together, 
except only such as are in the hospitals, or lie sick at home. Yet after the halls are served, no man is 

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hindered to carry provisions home from the marketplace; for they know that none does that but for some 
good reason; for though any that will may eat at home, yet none does it willingly, since it is both ridiculous 
and foolish for any to give themselves the trouble to make ready an ill dinner at home, when there is a 
much more plentiful one made ready for him so near at hand. All the uneasy and sordid services about 
these halls are performed by their slaves; but the dressing and cooking their meat, and the ordering their 
tables, belong only to the women, all those of every family taking it by turns. They sit at three or more 
tables, according to their number; the men sit towards the wall, and the women sit on the other side, that if 
any of them should be taken suddenly ill, which is no uncommon case amongst women with child, she 
may, without disturbing the rest, rise and go to the nurse’s room, who are there with the sucking children; 
where there is always clean water at hand, and cradles in which they may lay the young children, if there is 
occasion for it, and a fire that they may shift and dress them before it. Every child is nursed by its own 
mother, if death or sickness does not intervene; and in that case the Syphogrants’ wives find out a nurse 
quickly, which is no hard matter; for any one that can do it, offers herself cheerfully; for as they are much 
inclined to that piece of mercy, so the child whom they nurse considers the nurse as its mother. All the 
children under five years old sit among the nurses, the rest of the younger sort of both sexes, till they are 
fit for marriage, either serve those that sit at table; or if they are not strong enough for that, stand by them 
in great silence, and eat what is given them; nor have they any other formality of dining. In the middle of 
the first table, which stands across the upper end of the hall, sit the Syphogrant and his wife; for that is the 
chief and most conspicuous place; next to him sit two of the most ancient, for there go always four to a 
mess. If there is a temple within that Syphogranty, the priest and his wife sit with the Syphogrant above all 
the rest: next them there is a mixture of old and young, who are so placed, that as the young are set near 
others, so they are mixed with the more ancient; which they say was appointed on this account, that the 
gravity of the old people, and the reverence that is due to them, might restrain the younger from all 
indecent words and gestures. Dishes are not served up to the whole table at first, but the best are first set 
before the old, whose seats are distinguished from the young, and after them all the rest are served alike. 
The old men distribute to the younger any curious meats that happen to be set before them, if there is not 
such an abundance of them that the whole company may be served alike. 

Thus old men are honoured with a particular respect; yet all the rest fare as well as they. Both dinner and 
supper are begun with some lecture of morality that is read to them; but it is so short, that it is not tedious 
nor uneasy to them to hear it: from hence the old men take occasion to entertain those about them, with 
some useful and pleasant enlargements; but they do not engross the whole discourse so to themselves, 
during their meals, that the younger may not put in for a share: on the contrary, they engage them to talk, 
that so they may in that free way of conversation find out the force of every one’s spirit, and observe his 
temper. They despatch their dinners quickly, but sit long at supper; because they go to work after the one, 

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and are to sleep after the other, during which they think the stomach carries on the concoction more 
vigorously. They never sup without music; and there is always fruit served up after meat; while they are at 
table, some burn perfumes, and sprinkle about fragrant ointments and sweet waters: in short, they want 
nothing that may cheer up their spirits: they give themselves a large allowance that way, and indulge 
themselves in all such pleasures as are attended with no inconvenience. Thus do those that are in the towns 
live together; but in the country, where they live at great distance, every one eats at home, and no family 
wants any necessary sort of provision, for it is from them that provisions are sent unto those that live in 
the towns. 

Of the Travelling of the Utopians 

If any man has a mind to visit his friends that live in some other town, or desires to travel and see the rest 
of the country, he obtains leave very easily from the Syphogrant and Tranibors, when there is no particular 
occasion for him at home: such as travel, carry with them a passport from the Prince, which both certifies 
the license that is granted for travelling, and limits the time of their return. They are furnished with a 
waggon and a slave, who drives the oxen, and looks after them: but unless there are women in the 
company, the waggon is sent back at the end of the journey as a needless encumbrance: while they are on 
the road, they carry no provisions with them; yet they want nothing, but are everywhere treated as if they 
were at home. If they stay in any place longer than a night, every one follows his proper occupation, and is 
very well used by those of his own trade: but if any man goes out of the city to which he belongs, without 
leave, and is found rambling without a passport, he is severely treated, he is punished as a fugitive, and sent 
home disgracefully; and if he falls again into the like fault, is condemned to slavery. If any man has a mind 
to travel only over the precinct of his own city, he may freely do it, with his father’s permission and his 
wife’s consent; but when he comes into any of the country houses, if he expects to be entertained by them, 
he must labour with them and conform to their rules: and if he does this, he may freely go over the whole 
precinct; being thus as useful to the city to which he belongs, as if he were still within it. Thus you see that 
there are no idle persons among them, nor pretences of excusing any from labour. There are no taverns, 
no alehouses nor stews among them; nor any other occasions of corrupting each other, of getting into 
corners, or forming themselves into parties: all men live in full view, so that all are obliged, both to perform 
their ordinary task, and to employ themselves well in their spare hours. And it is certain that a people thus 
ordered must live in great abundance of all things; and these being equally distributed among them, no 
man can want, or be obliged to beg. 

In their great council at Amaurot, to which there are three sent from every town once a year, they examine 
what towns abound in provisions, and what are under any scarcity, that so the one may be furnished from 
the other; and this is done freely, without any sort of exchange; for according to their plenty or scarcity, 

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they supply, or are supplied from one another; so that indeed the whole island is, as it were, one family. 
When they have thus taken care of their whole country, and laid up stores for two years, which they do to 
prevent the ill consequences of an unfavourable season, they order an exportation of the overplus, both of 
corn, honey, wool, flax, wood, wax, tallow, leather, and cattle; which they send out commonly in great 
quantities to other nations. They order a seventh part of all these goods to be freely given to the poor of 
the countries to which they send them, and sell the rest at moderate rates. And by this exchange, they not 
only bring back those few things that they need at home (for indeed they scarce need anything but iron), 
but likewise a great deal of gold and silver; and by their driving this trade so long, it is not to be imagined 
how vast a treasure they have got among them: so that now they do not much care whether they sell off 
their merchandise for money in hand, or upon trust. A great part of their treasure is now in bonds; but in 
all their contracts no private man stands bound, but the writing runs in the name of the town; and the 
towns that owe them money, raise it from those private hands that owe it to them, lay it up in their public 
chamber, or enjoy the profit of it till the Utopians call for it; and they choose rather to let the greatest part 
of it lie in their hands who make advantage by it, than to call for it themselves: but if they see that any of 
their other neighbours stand more in need of it, then they call it in and lend it to them: whenever they are 
engaged in war, which is the only occasion in which their treasure can be usefully employed, they make use 
of it themselves. In great extremities or sudden accidents they employ it in hiring foreign troops, whom 
they more willingly expose to danger than their own people: they give them great pay, knowing well that 
this will work even on their enemies, that it will engage them either to betray their own side, or at least to 
desert it, and that it is the best means of raising mutual jealousies among them: for this end they have an 
incredible treasure; but they do not keep it as a treasure, but in such a manner as I am almost afraid to tell, 
lest you think it so extravagant, as to be hardly credible. This I have the more reason to apprehend, because 
if I had not seen it myself, I could not have been easily persuaded to have believed it upon any man’s 
report. 

It is certain that all things appear incredible to us, in proportion as they differ from own customs. But one 
who can judge aright, will not wonder to find, that since their constitution differs so much from ours, their 
value of gold and silver should be measured by a very different standard; for since they have no use for 
money among themselves, but keep it as a provision against events which seldom happen, and between 
which there are generally long intervening intervals; they value it no farther than it deserves, that is, in 
proportion to its use. So that it is plain, they must prefer iron either to gold or silver: for men can no more 
live without iron, than without fire or water; but Nature has marked out no use for the other metals, so 
essential as not easily to be dispensed with. The folly of men has enhanced the value of gold and silver, 
because of their scarcity. Whereas, on the contrary, it is their opinion that Nature, as an indulgent parent, 

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has freely given us all the best things in great abundance, such as water and earth, but has laid up and hid 
from us the things that are vain and useless. 

If these metals were laid up in any tower in the kingdom, it would raise a jealousy of the Prince and Senate, 
and give birth to that foolish mistrust into which the people are apt to fall, a jealousy of their intending to 
sacrifice the interest of the public to their own private advantage. If they should work it into vessels, or any 
sort of plate, they fear that the people might grow too fond of it, and so be unwilling to let the plate be 
run down, if a war made it necessary to employ it in paying their soldiers. To prevent all these 
inconveniences, they have fallen upon an expedient, which as it agrees with their other policy, so is it very 
different from ours, and will scarce gain belief among us, who value gold so much, and lay it up so 
carefully. They eat and drink out of vessels of earth, or glass, which make an agreeable appearance though 
formed of brittle materials: while they make their chamber-pots and close-stools of gold and silver; and 
that not only in their public halls, but in their private houses: of the same metals they likewise make chains 
and fetters for their slaves; to some of which, as a badge of infamy, they hang an ear-ring of gold, and 
make others wear a chain or a coronet of the same metal; and thus they take care, by all possible means, to 
render gold and silver of no esteem. And from hence it is, that while other nations part with their gold and 
silver, as unwillingly as if one tore out their bowels, those of Utopia would look on their giving in all they 
possess of those (metals, when there were any use for them) but as the parting with a trifle, or as we would 
esteem the loss of a penny. They find pearls on their coast; and diamonds and carbuncles on their rocks; 
they do not look after them, but if they find them by chance, they polish them, and with them they adorn 
their children, who are delighted with them, and glory in them during their childhood; but when they grow 
to years, and see that none but children use such baubles, they of their own accord, without being bid by 
their parents, lay them aside; and would be as much ashamed to use them afterwards, as children among us, 
when they come to years, are of their puppets and other toys. . . . 

They reckon up several sorts of pleasures, which they call true ones: some belong to the body and others 
to the mind. The pleasures of the mind lie in knowledge, and in that delight which the contemplation of 
truth carries with it; to which they add the joyful reflections on a well-spent life, and the assured hopes of a 
future happiness. They divide the pleasures of the body into two sorts; the one is that which gives our 
senses some real delight, and is performed, either by recruiting nature, and supplying those parts which 
feed the internal heat of life by eating and drinking; or when nature is eased of any surcharge that 
oppresses it; when we are relieved from sudden pain, or that which arises from satisfying the appetite 
which Nature has wisely given to lead us to the propagation of the species. There is another kind of 
pleasure that arises neither from our receiving what the body requires, nor its being relieved when 
overcharged, and yet by a secret, unseen virtue affects the senses, raises the passions, and strikes the mind 

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with generous impressions; this is the pleasure that arises from music. Another kind of bodily pleasure is 
that which results from an undisturbed and vigorous constitution of body, when life and active spirits seem 
to actuate every part. This lively health, when entirely free from all mixture of pain, of itself gives an 
inward pleasure, independent of all external objects of delight; and though this pleasure does not so 
powerfully affect us, nor act so strongly on the senses as some of the others, yet it may be esteemed as the 
greatest of all pleasures, and almost all the Utopians reckon it the foundation and basis of all the other joys 
of life; since this alone makes the state of life easy and desirable; and when this is wanting, a man is really 
capable of no other pleasure. . . . If it is said that health cannot be felt, they absolutely deny it; for what 
man is in health that does not perceive it when he is awake? Is there any man that is so dull and stupid as 
not to acknowledge that he feels a delight in health? And what is delight but another name for pleasure? 

But of all pleasures, they esteem those to be most value able that lie in the mind; the chief of which arises 
out of true virtue, and the witness of a good conscience. They account health the chief pleasure that 
belongs to the body; for they think that the pleasure of eating and drinking, and all the other delights of 
sense, are only so far desirable as they give or maintain health. But they are not pleasant in themselves, 
otherwise than as they resist those impressions that our natural infirmities are still making upon us: for as a 
wise man desires rather to avoid diseases than to take physic; and to be freed from pain, rather than to find 
ease by remedies; so it is more desirable not to need this sort of pleasure, than to be obliged to indulge it. 
If any man imagines that there is a real happiness in these enjoyments, he must then confess that he would 
be the happiest of all men if he were to lead his life in perpetual hunger, thirst, and itching, and by 
consequence in perpetual eating, drinking, and scratching himself; which any one may easily see would be 
not only a base, but a miserable state of a life. These are indeed the lowest of pleasures, and the least pure; 
for we can never relish them, but when they are mixed with the contrary pains. The pain of hunger must 
give us the pleasure of eating; and here the pain outbalances the pleasure; and as the pain is more 
vehement, so it lasts much longer; for as it begins before the pleasure, so it does not cease but with the 
pleasure that extinguishes it, and both expire together. They think, therefore, none of those pleasures are 
to be valued any further than as they are necessary; yet they rejoice in them, and with due gratitude 
acknowledge the tenderness of the great Author of Nature, who has planted in us appetites, by which 
those things that are necessary for our preservation are likewise made pleasant to us. For how miserable a 
thing would life be, if those daily diseases of hunger and thirst were to be carried off by such bitter drugs 
as we must use for those diseases that return seldomer upon us? And thus these pleasant as well as proper 
gifts of Nature maintain the strength and the sprightliness of our bodies. 

They also entertain themselves with the other delights let in at their eyes, their ears, and their nostrils, as the 
pleasant relishes and seasonings of life, which Nature seems to have marked out peculiarly for man; since 

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no other sort of animals contemplates the figure and beauty of the universe; nor is delighted with smells, 
any farther than as they distinguish meats by them; nor do they apprehend the concords or discords of 
sound; yet in all pleasures whatsoever they take care that a lesser joy does not hinder a greater, and that 
pleasure may never breed pain, which they think always follows dishonest pleasures. But they think it 
madness for a man to wear out the beauty of his face, or the force of his natural strength; to corrupt the 
sprightliness of his body by sloth and laziness, or to waste it by fasting; that it is madness to weaken the 
strength of his constitution, and reject the other delights of life; unless by renouncing his own satisfaction, 
he can either serve the public or promote the happiness of others, for which he expects a greater 
recompense from God. So that they look on such a course of life as the mark of a mind that is both cruel 
to itself, and ungrateful to the Author of Nature, as if we would not be beholden to Him for His favours, 
and therefore rejects all His blessings; as one who should afflict himself for the empty shadow of virtue; or 
for no better end than to render himself capable of bearing those misfortunes which possibly will never 
happen. 

This is their notion of virtue and of pleasure; they think that no man’s reason can carry him to a truer idea 
of them, unless some discovery from Heaven should inspire him with sublimer notions. I have not now 
the leisure to examine whether they think right or wrong in this matter: nor do I judge it necesary, for I 
have only undertaken to give you an account of their constitution, but not to defend all their principles. I 
am sure, that whatsoever may be said of their notions, there is not in the whole world either a better 
people or a happier government: their bodies are vigorous and lively; and though they are but of a middle 
stature, and have neither the fruitfullest soil nor the purest air in the world, yet they fortify themselves so 
well by their temperate course of life, against the unhealthiness of their air, and by their industry they so 
cultivate their soil, that there is nowhere to be seen a greater increase both of corn and cattle nor are there 
anywhere healthier men, and freer from diseases: for one may there see reduced to practice, not only all the 
art that the husbandman employs in manuring and improving an ill soil, but whole woods plucked up by 
the roots, and in other places new ones planted, where there were none before. Their principal motive for 
this is the convenience of carriage, that their timber may be either near their towns, or growing on the 
banks of the sea, or of some rivers, so as to be floated to them; for it is a harder work to carry wood at any 
distance over land, than corn. The people are industrious, apt to learn, as well as cheerful and pleasant; and 
none can endure more labour, when it is necessary; but except in that case they love their ease. They are 
unwearied pursuers of knowledge; for when we had given them some hints of the learning and discipline 
of the Greeks, concerning whom we only instructed them (for we know that there was nothing among the 
Romans, except their historians and their poets, that they would value much), it was strange to see how 
eagerly they were set on learning that language. We began to read a little of it to them rather in compliance 
with their importunity, than out of any hopes of their reaping from it any great advantage. But after a very 

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short trial we found they made such progress that we saw our labour was like to be more successful than 
we could have expected. They learned to write their characters, and to pronounce their language so exactly, 
had so quick an apprehension, they remembered it so faithfully, and became so ready and correct in the use 
of it, that it would have looked like a miracle if the greater part of those whom we taught had not been 
men both of extraordinary capacity and of a fit age for instruction. They were for the greatest part chosen 
from among their learned men, by their chief council, though some studied it of their own accord. In three 
years’ time they became masters of the whole language, so that they read the best of the Greek authors 
very exactly. I am indeed apt to think that they learned that language the more easily, from its having some 
relation to their own. I believe that they were a colony of the Greeks; for though the language comes 
nearer the Persian, yet they retain many names, both for their towns and magistrates, that are of Greek 
derivation. I happened to carry a great many books with me, instead of merchandise, when I sailed my 
fourth voyage; for I was so far from thinking of soon coming back, that I rather thought never to have 
returned at all, and I gave them all my books, among which were many of Plato’s and some of Aristotle’s 
works. . . . One of my companions, Thricius Apinatus, happened to carry with him some of Hippocrates’s 
works, and Galen’s Microtechne, which they hold in great estimation; for though there is no nation in the 
world that needs physic so little as they do, yet there is not any that honours it so much: they reckon the 
knowledge of it one of the pleasantest and most profitable parts of philosophy, by which, as they search 
into the secrets of Nature, so they not only find this study highly agreeable, but think that such inquiries 
are very acceptable to the Author of Nature; and imagine that as He, like the inventors of curious engines 
amongst mankind, has exposed this great machine of the universe to the view of the only creatures 
capable of contemplating it, so an exact and curious observer, who admires His workmanship, is much 
more acceptable to Him than one of the herd, who like a beast incapable of reason, looks on this glorious 
scene with the eyes of a dull and unconcerned spectator. . . . 

Of Their Slaves, and of Their Marriages 

They do not make slaves of prisoners of war, except those that are taken in battle; nor of the sons of their 
slaves, nor of those of other nations: the slaves among them are only such as are condemned to that state 
of life for the commission of some crime, or, which is more common, such as their merchants find 
condemned to die in those parts to which they trade, whom they sometimes redeem at low rates; and in 
other places have them for nothing. They are kept at perpetual labour, and are always chained, but with this 
difference, that their own natives are treated much worse than others; they are considered as more 
profligate than the rest, and since they could not be restrained by the advantages of so excellent an 
education, are judged worthy of harder usage. Another sort of slaves are the poor of the neighbouring 
countries, who offer of their own accord to come and serve them; they treat these better, and use them in 

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all other respects as well as their own countrymen, except their imposing more labour upon them, which is 
no hard task to those that have been accustomed to it; and if any of these have a mind to go back to their 
own country, which indeed falls out but seldom, as they do not force them to stay, so they do not send 
them away empty-handed. 

I have already told you with what care they look after their sick, so that nothing is left undone that can 
contribute either to their ease or health: and for those who are taken with fixed and incurable diseases, they 
use all possible ways to cherish them, and to make their lives as comfortable as possible. They visit them 
often, and take great pains to make their time pass off easily: but when any is taken with a torturing and 
lingering pain, so that there is no hope, either of recovery or ease, the priests and magistrates come and 
exhort them, that since they are now unable to go on with the business of life, are become a burden to 
themselves and to all about them, and they have really outlived themselves, they should no longer nourish 
such a rooted distemper, but choose rather to die, since they cannot live but in much misery: being assured, 
that if they thus deliver themselves from torture, or are willing that others should do it, they shall be happy 
after death. Since by their acting thus, they lose none of the pleasures, but only the troubles of life; they 
think they behave not only reasonably, but in a manner consistent with religion and piety; because they 
follow the advice given them by their priests, who are the expounders of the will of God. Such as are 
wrought on by these persuasions, either starve themselves of their own accord, or take opium, and by that 
means die without pain. But no man is forced on this way of ending his life; and if they cannot be 
persuaded to it, this does not induce them to fail in their attendance and care of them; but as they believe 
that a voluntary death, when it is chosen upon such an authority, is very honourable, so if any man takes 
away his own life, without the approbation of the priests and the Senate, they give him none of the 
honours of a decent funeral, but throw his body into a ditch. 

Their women are not married before eighteen, nor their men before twoand-twenty, and if any of them 
run into forbidden embraces before marriage they are severely punished, and the privilege of marriage is 
denied them, unless they can obtain a special warrant from the Prince. Such disorders cast a great reproach 
upon the master and mistress of the family in which they happen, for it is supposed that they have failed in 
their duty. The reason of punishing this so severely is, because they think that if they were not strictly 
restrained from all vagrant appetites, very few would engage in a state in which they venture the quiet of 
their whole lives, by being confined to one person, and are obliged to endure all the inconveniences with 
which it is accompanied. In choosing their wives they use a method that would appear to us very absurd 
and ridiculous, but it is constantly observed among them, and is accounted perfectly consistent with 
wisdom. Before marriage some grave matron presents the bride naked, whether she is a virgin or a widow, 
to the bridegroom; and after that some grave man presents the bridegroom naked to the bride. We indeed 

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both laughed at this, and condemned it as very indecent. But they, on the other hand, wondered at the folly 
of the men of all other nations, who, if they are but to buy a horse of a small value, are so cautious that 
they will see every part of him, and take off both his saddle and all his other tackle, that there may be no 
secret ulcer hid under any of them; and that yet in the choice of a wife, on which depends the happiness or 
unhappiness of the rest of his life, a man should venture upon trust, and only see about a hand’s-breadth 
of the face, all the rest of the body being covered, under which there may lie hid what may be contagious, 
as well as loathsome. All men are not so wise as to choose a woman only for her good qualities; and even 
wise men consider the body as that which adds not a little to the mind: and it is certain there may be some 
such deformity covered with the clothes as may totally alienate a man from his wife when it is too late to 
part with her. If such a thing is discovered after marriage, a man has no remedy but patience. They 
therefore think it is reasonable that there should be good provision made against such mischievous frauds. 

There was so much the more reason for them to make a regulation in this matter, because they are the only 
people of those parts that neither allow of polygamy, nor of divorces, except in the case of adultery, or 
insufferable perverseness; for in these cases the Senate dissolves the marriage, and grants the injured 
person leave to marry again; but the guilty are made infamous, and are never allowed the privilege of a 
second marriage. None are suffered to put away their wives against their wills, from any great calamity that 
may have fallen on their persons; for they look on it as the height of cruelty and treachery to abandon 
either of the married persons when they need most the tender care of their comfort, and that chiefly in the 
case of old age, which as it carries many diseases along with it, so it is a disease of itself. But it frequently 
falls out that when a married couple do not well agree, they by mutual consent separate, and find out other 
persons with whom they hope they may live more happily. Yet this is not done without obtaining leave of 
the Senate, which never admits of a divorce, but upon a strict inquiry made, both by the senators and their 
wives, into the grounds upon which it is desired; and even when they are satisfied concerning the reasons 
of it, they go on but slowly, for they imagine that too great easiness in granting leave for new marriages 
would very much shake the kindness of married people. They punish severely those that defile the 
marriage-bed. If both parties are married they are divorced, and the injured persons may marry one 
another, or whom they please; but the adulterer and the adulteress are condemned to slavery. Yet if either 
of the injured persons cannot shake off the love of the married person, they may live with them still in 
that state, but they must follow them to that labour to which the slaves are condemned; and sometimes the 
repentance of the condemned, together with the unshaken kindness of the innocent and injured person, 
has prevailed so far with the Prince that he has taken off the sentence; but those that relapse after they are 
once pardoned are punished with death. . . . 

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They have but few laws, and such is their constitution that they need not many. They very much condemn 
other nations, whose laws, together with the commentaries on them, swell up to so many volumes; for they 
think it an unreasonable thing to oblige men to obey a body of laws that are both of such a bulk, and so 
dark as not to be read and understood by every one of the subjects. 

They have no lawyers among them, for they consider them as a sort of people whose profession it is to 
disguise matters, and to wrest the laws; and therefore they think it is much better that every man should 
plead his own cause, and trust it to the judge, as in other places the client trusts it to a counsellor. By this 
means they both cut off many delays, and find out truth more certainly: for after the parties have laid open 
the merits of the cause, without those artifices which lawyers are apt to suggest, the judge examines the 
whole matter, and supports the simplicity of such well-meaning persons, whom otherwise crafty men 
would be sure to run down: and thus they avoid those evils which appear very remarkably among all those 
nations that labour under a vast load of laws. Every one of them is skilled in their law, for as it is a very 
short study, so the plainest meaning of which words are capable is always the sense of their laws. And they 
argue thus: all laws are promulgated for this end, that every man may know his duty; and therefore the 
plainest and most obvious sense of the words is that which ought to be put upon them; since a more 
refined exposition cannot be easily comprehended, and would only serve to make the laws become useless 
to the greater part of mankind, and especially to those who need most the direction of them: for it is all 
one, not to make a law at all, or to couch it in such terms that without a quick apprehension, and much 
study, a man cannot find out the true meaning of it; since the generality of mankind are both so dull, and 
so much employed in their several trades, that they have neither the leisure nor the capacity requisite for 
such an inquiry. 

Thomas More (1478–1535) was an English statesman who was knighted by Henry VIII for service to the 
crown but later executed for his refusal to sanction Henry as head of the church in England. He was 
canonized in 1935. 

Source: Thomas More, Utopia, in Ideal Commonwealths, ed. Henry Morley (London: George Routledge 
and Sons, 1885), 96–111, 122–28, 129–33, 135–36. 

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IMMANUEL KANT, WHAT IS ENLIGHTENMENT? (1784) 


The German philosopher Immanuel Kant sought to blend the rationalism of the Enlightenment with his 
belief in human freedom and the presence of God. Unlike those philosophers who argued that knowledge 
comes solely from sensory experience, Kant contended that human knowledge held a subjective element. 
This interpretation of experience is evident in his now famous essay What is Enlightenment? (published in 
1784). Kant emphasizes that the most important factor for Enlightenment is freedom the freedom to 
know things for oneself. This emphasis on individual perception, as well as his call to arms, "Sapere 
Aude" (Dare to Know!), would make Kant popular with Romanticists in the following century. 

Enlightenment is man's emergence from his self-imposed immaturity. Immaturity is the inability to 
use one's understanding without guidance from another. This immaturity is self-imposed when its cause 
lies not in lack of understanding, but in lack of resolve and courage to use it without guidance from 
another. Sapere Aude! [dare to know] "Have courage to use your own understanding!" - that is the motto 
of enlightenment. 

Laziness and cowardice are the reasons why so great a proportion of men, long after nature has 
released them from alien guidance (natura-liter maiorennes), nonetheless gladly remain in lifelong 
immaturity, and why it is so easy for others to establish themselves as their guardians. It is so easy to be 
immature. If I have a book to serve as my understanding, a pastor to serve as my conscience, a physician to 
determine my diet for me, and so on, I need not exert myself at all. I need not think, if only I can pay: 
others will readily undertake the irksome work for me. The guardians who have so benevolently taken over 
the supervision of men have carefully seen to it that the far greatest part of them (including the entire fair 
sex) regard taking the step to maturity as very dangerous, not to mention difficult. Having first made their 
domestic livestock dumb, and having carefully made sure that these docile creatures will not take a single 
step without the go-cart to which they are harnessed, these guardians then show them the danger that 
threatens them, should they attempt to walk alone. Now this danger is not actually so great, for after falling 
a few times they would in the end certainly learn to walk; but an example of this kind makes men timid and 
usually frightens them out of all further attempts. 

Thus, it is difficult for any individual man to work himself out of the immaturity that has all but 
become his nature. He has even become fond of this state and for the time being is actually incapable of 
using his own understanding, for no one has ever allowed him to attempt it. Rules and formulas, those 
mechanical aids to the rational use, or rather misuse, of his natural gifts, are the shackles of a permanent 
immaturity. Whoever threw them off would still make only an uncertain leap over the smallest ditch, since 
he is unaccustomed to this kind of free movement. Consequently, only a few have succeeded, by cultivating 
their own minds, in freeing themselves from immaturity and pursuing a secure course. 

But that the public should enlighten itself is more likely; indeed, if it is only allowed freedom, 
enlightenment is almost inevitable. For even among the entrenched guardians of the great masses a few 

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will always think for themselves, a few who, after having themselves thrown off the yoke of immaturity, 
will spread the spirit of a rational appreciation for both their own worth and for each person's calling to 
think for himself. But it should be particularly noted that if a public that was first placed in this yoke by the 
guardians is suitably aroused by some of those who are altogether incapable of enlightenment, it may force 
the guardians themselves to remain under the yoke so pernicious is it to instill prejudices, for they finally 
take revenge upon their originators, or on their descendants. Thus a public can only attain enlightenment 
slowly. Perhaps a revolution can overthrow autocratic despotism and profiteering or power-grabbing 
oppression, but it can never truly reform a manner of thinking; instead, new prejudices, just like the old 
ones they replace, will serve as a leash for the great unthinking mass. 

Nothing is required for this enlightenment, however, except freedom; and the freedom in question 
is the least harmful of all, namely, the freedom to use reason publicly in all matters. But on all sides I hear: 
"Do not argue!" The officer says, "Do not argue, drill!" The tax man says, "Do not argue, pay!" The pastor 
says, "Do not argue, believe!" (Only one ruler in the World says, "Argue as much as you want and about 
what you want, but obey!") In this we have examples of pervasive restrictions on freedom. But which 
restriction hinders enlightenment and which does not, but instead actually advances it? I reply: The public 
use of one's reason must always be free, and it alone can bring about enlightenment among mankind; the 
private use of reason may, however, often be very narrowly restricted, without otherwise hindering the 
progress of enlightenment. By the public use of one's own reason I understand the use that anyone as a 
scholar makes of reason before the entire literate world. I call the private use of reason that which a person 
may make in a civic post or office that has been entrusted to him. Now in many affairs conducted in the 
interests of a community, a certain mechanism is required by means of which some of its members must 
conduct themselves in an entirely passive manner so that through an artificial unanimity the government 
may guide them toward public ends, or at least prevent them from destroying such ends. Here one certainly 
must not argue, instead one must obey. However, insofar as this part of the machine also regards himself 
as a member of the community as a whole, or even of the world community, and as a consequence 
addresses the public in the role of a scholar, in the proper sense of that term, he can most certainly argue, 
without thereby harming the affairs for which as a passive member he is partly responsible. Thus it would 
be disastrous if an officer on duty who was given a command by his superior were to question the 
appropriateness or utility of the order. He must obey. But as a scholar he cannot be justly constrained from 
making comments about errors in military service, or from placing them before the public for its judgment. 
The citizen cannot refuse to pay the taxes imposed on him; indeed, impertinent criticism of such levies, 
when they should be paid by him, can be punished as a scandal (since it can lead to widespread 
insubordination). But the same person does not act contrary to civic duty when, as a scholar, he publicly 
expresses his thoughts regarding the impropriety or even injustice of such taxes. Likewise a pastor is bound 
to instruct his catecumens and congregation in accordance with the symbol of the church he serves, for he 

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was appointed on that condition. But as a scholar he has complete freedom, indeed even the calling, to 
impart to the public all of his carefully considered and well intentioned thoughts concerning mistaken 
aspects of that symbol, as well as his suggestions for the better arrangement of religious and church 
matters. Nothing in this can weigh on his conscience. What he teaches in consequence of his office as a 
servant of the church he sets out as something with regard to which he has no discretion to teach in 
accord with his own lights; rather, he offers it under the direction and in the name of another. He will say, 
"Our church teaches this or that and these are the demonstrations it uses." He thereby extracts for his 
congregation all practical uses from precepts to which he would not himself subscribe with complete 
conviction, but whose presentation he can nonetheless undertake, since it is not entirely impossible that 
truth lies hidden in them, and, in any case, nothing contrary to the very nature of religion is to be found in 
them. If he believed he could find anything of the latter sort in them, he could not in good conscience 
serve in his position; he would have to resign. Thus an appointed teacher's use of his reason for the sake 
of his congregation is merely private, because, however large the congregation is, this use is always only 
domestic; in this regard, as a priest, he is not free and cannot be such because he is acting under 
instructions from someone else. By contrast, the cleric-as a scholar who speaks through his writings to the 
public as such, i.e., the world-enjoys in this public use of reason an unrestricted freedom to use his own 
rational capacities and to speak his own mind. For that the (spiritual) guardians of a people should 
themselves be immature is an absurdity that would insure the perpetuation of absurdities. 

But would a society of pastors, perhaps a church assembly or venerable presbytery (as those among 
the Dutch call themselves), not be justified in binding itself by oath to a certain unalterable symbol in order 
to secure a constant guardianship over each of its members and through them over the people, and this for 
all time: I say that this is wholly impossible. Such a contract, whose intention is to preclude forever all 
further enlightenment of the human race, is absolutely null and void, even if it should be ratified by the 
supreme power, by parliaments, and by the most solemn peace treaties. One age cannot bind itself, and 
thus conspire, to place a succeeding one in a condition whereby it would be impossible for the later age to 
expand its knowledge (particularly where it is so very important), to rid itself of errors, and generally to 
increase its enlightenment. That would be a crime against human nature, whose essential destiny lies 
precisely in such progress; subsequent generations are thus completely justified in dismissing such 
agreements as unauthorized and criminal. The criterion of everything that can be agreed upon as a law by a 
people lies in this question: Can a people impose such a law on itself? Now it might be possible, in 
anticipation of a better state of affairs, to introduce a provisional order for a specific, short time, all the 
while giving all citizens, especially clergy, in their role as scholars, the freedom to comment publicly, i.e., in 
writing, on the present institution's shortcomings. The provisional order might last until insight into the 
nature of these matters had become so widespread and obvious that the combined (if not unanimous) 
voices of the populace could propose to the crown that it take under its protection those congregations 

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that, in accord with their newly gained insight, had organized themselves under altered religious 
institutions, but without interfering with those wishing to allow matters to remain as before. However, it is 
absolutely forbidden that they unite into a religious organization that nobody may for the duration of a 
man's lifetime publicly question, for so doing would deny, render fruitless, and make detrimental to 
succeeding generations an era in man's progress toward improvement. A man may put off enlightenment 
with regard to what he ought to know, though only for a short time and for his own person; but to 
renounce it for himself, or, even more, for subsequent generations, is to violate and trample man's divine 
rights underfoot. And what a people may not decree for itself may still less be imposed on it by a monarch, 
for his lawgiving authority rests on his unification of the people's collective will in his own. If he only sees 
to it that all genuine or purported improvement is consonant with civil order, he can allow his subjects to 
do what they find necessary to their spiritual well-being, which is not his affair. However, he must prevent 
anyone from forcibly interfering with another's working as best he can to determine and promote his wellbeing. 
It detracts from his own majesty when he interferes in these matters, since the writings in which his 
subjects attempt to clarify their insights lend value to his conception of governance. This holds whether he 
acts from his own highest insight - whereby he calls upon himself the reproach, "Caesar non eat supra 
grammaticos" - as well as, indeed even more, when he despoils his highest authority by supporting the 
spiritual despotism of some tyrants in his state over his other subjects. 

If it is now asked, "Do we presently live in an enlightened age?" the answer is, "No, but we do live 
in an age of enlightenment." As matters now stand, a great deal is still lacking in order for men as a whole 
to be, or even to put themselves into a position to be able without external guidance to apply 
understanding confidently to religious issues. But we do have clear indications that the way is now being 
opened for men to proceed freely in this direction and that the obstacles to general enlightenment-to their 
release from their self-imposed immaturity - are gradually diminishing. In this regard, this age is the age of 
enlightenment, the century of Frederick. 

A prince who does not find it beneath him to say that he takes it to be his duty to prescribe nothing, 
but rather to allow men complete freedom in religious matters - who thereby renounces the arrogant title 
of tolerance - is himself enlightened and deserves to be praised by a grateful present and by posterity as 
the first, at least where the government is concerned, to release the human race from immaturity and to 
leave everyone free to use his own reason in all matters of conscience. Under his rule, venerable pastors, in 
their role as scholars and without prejudice to their official duties, may freely and openly set out for the 
world's scrutiny their judgments and views, even where these occasionally differ from the accepted symbol. 
Still greater freedom is afforded to those who are not restricted by an official post. This spirit of freedom 
is expanding even where it must struggle against the external obstacles of governments that misunderstand 
their own function. Such governments are illuminated by the example that the existence of freedom need 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 20!


not give cause for the least concern regarding public order and harmony in the commonwealth. If only 
they refrain from inventing artifices to keep themselves in it, men will gradually raise themselves from 
barbarism. 

I have focused on religious matters in setting out my main point concerning enlightenment, i.e., 
man's emergence from self-imposed immaturity, first because our rulers have no interest in assuming the 
role of their subjects' guardians with respect to the arts and sciences, and secondly because that form of 
immaturity is both the most pernicious and disgraceful of all. But the manner of thinking of a head of 
state who favors religious enlightenment goes even further, for he realizes that there is no danger to his 
legislation in allowing his subjects to use reason publicly and to set before the world their thoughts 
concerning better formulations of his laws, even if this involves frank criticism of legislation currently in 
effect. We have before us a shining example, with respect to which no monarch surpasses the one whom 
we honor. 

But only a ruler who is himself enlightened and has no dread of shadows, yet who likewise has a 
well-disciplined, numerous army to guarantee public peace, can say what no republic may dare, namely: 
"Argue as much as you want and about what you want, but obey!" Here as elsewhere, when things are 
considered in broad perspective, a strange, unexpected pattern in human affairs reveals itself, one in which 
almost everything is paradoxical. A greater degree of civil freedom seems advantageous to a people's 
spiritual freedom; yet the former established impassable boundaries for the latter; conversely, a lesser 
degree of civil freedom provides enough room for all fully to expand their abilities. Thus, once nature has 
removed the hard shell from this kernel for which she has most fondly cared, namely, the inclination to and 
vocation for free thinking, the kernel gradually reacts on a people's mentality (whereby they become 
increasingly able to act freely), and it finally even influences the principles of government, which finds that 
it can profit by treating men, who are now more than machines, in accord with their dignity. 


CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 21!


RENE DESCARTES: DISCOURSE ON METHOD (1637)2 

René Descartes, the celebrated mathematician and physicist, is also often considered a founder of 
modern philosophy, as he sought new ways to move beyond Medieval Aristoteleanism and justify the 
science of his day. In his Discourse on Method he expresses his disappointment with traditional 
philosophy and with the limitations of theology; only logic, geometry and algebra hold his respect, because 
of the utter certainty which they can offer us. Unfortunately, because they depend on hypotheses, they 
cannot tell us what is real (i.e., what the world is really like). Therefore Descartes proposes a method of 
thought incorporating the rigor of mathematics but based on intuitive truths about what is real, basic 
knowledge which could not be wrong (like the axioms of geometry). He calls into question everything that 
he thinks he has learned through his senses but rests his whole system on the one truth that he cannot 
doubt, namely, the reality of his own mind and the radical difference between the mental and the physical 
aspects of the world. 

Descartes (late in our excerpt) suggests that sense experience might be like dreaming, i.e., vivid but 
not matching the way things really are. But what does he realize must be the case even if his senses cannot 
be trusted? 

PART 1: 

Good sense is the most evenly distributed thing in the world, for all people suppose themselves so 
well provided with it that even those who are the most difficult to satisfy in every other respect never seem 
to desire more than they have. It is not likely that everyone is mistaken; rather this attitude reveals that the 
ability to judge and distinguish the true from the false, which is properly what one calls good sense or 
reason, is in fact naturally equally distributed among all people. Thus the diversity of our opinions does not 
result from some of us being more reasonable than others, but solely from the fact that we conduct our 
thoughts along different paths, and consider different things. . . . 

As far as reason--or good sense--is concerned, since it is the only thing that makes us human and 
differentiates us from the animals, I should like to believe that it is entirely present in each of us. . . . 

I was nourished by study from my earliest childhood; and since I was convinced that this was the 
means to acquire a clear and certain knowledge of all that is useful in life, I had an extreme desire to learn. 
But as soon as I had finished a course of studies which usually culminates in one being accepted as one of 
the learned, I changed my opinion completely; for I found myself troubled by so many doubts and errors 
that the only profit I had gained in seeking to educate myself was to discover more and more clearly the 
extent of my ignorance. Nevertheless I had been at one of the most famous schools in Europe, where I 
thought there must be wise men if such existed anywhere on earth. There I had learned all that the others 

. 
This is an excerpt from Reading About the World, Volume 2, edited by Paul Brians, Mary Gallwey, Douglas Hughes, Azfar 
2 

Hussain, Richard Law, Michael Myers, Michael Neville, Roger Schlesinger, Alice Spitzer, and Susan Swan and 

published by Harcourt Brace Custom Books: http://public.wsu.edu/~brians/world_civ/worldcivreader/ 

world_civ_reader_2/descartes.html 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 22!


learned; and besides, not satisfied with the knowledge that we were taught, I had pored over all the unusual 
and strange books that I could lay my hands on. In addition, I knew how others evaluated me; and I did 
not want to be considered inferior to my fellow-students, even though some among them were already 
destined to take the places of my teachers. Finally, our century seemed to me to abound in as many wise 
spirits as any preceding one, which led me to suppose that I could judge the experience of others by my 
own, and to think that there was no such knowledge in the world such as I had been led to hope for. . . . 

I was especially pleased with mathematics because of the certainty and clarity of its proofs; but I 
did not as yet realize its true usefulness; and, thinking that it was only useful in the mechanical arts, I was 
astonished that, since its foundations were so firm and solid, no one had built something higher upon it. 
To the contrary, I felt that the writings of the ancient pagans (1) who had discussed morality were like 
superb, magnificent palaces which were built on mere sand and mud: they greatly praised the virtues and 
made them appear more exalted than anything else in the world; but they did they did not sufficiently teach 
how to know them. Often that which they called by the fine name of "virtue" was nothing but apathy, or 
pride, or despair, or parricide. 

I revered our theology, and hoped as much as anyone else to get to heaven; but having learned, as 
if it were certain, that the road to heaven is as open to the most ignorant as to the most learned, and that 
the revealed truths which lead one there are beyond our comprehension, I did not dare to submit them to 
my feeble reasonings, and I thought that to undertake successfully to examine them one would need some 
extraordinary heavenly aid and beyond human ability. 

Of philosophy I will say nothing except that, seeing that it had been developed by the finest minds 
that had lived over many centuries and that nevertheless there was no point in it which was not still under 
dispute, and consequently doubtful, I lacked the presumption to hope that I would succeed any better than 
the others. When I considered how many different opinions there had been about the same subject put 
forward by learned men, whereas only one of them could have been correct, I considered that anything 
which was only probable was as good as false. . . . 

It is true that while I considered only the customs of other ordinary men, I found nothing in them 
to reassure me, and I noticed as much diversity among them as I had earlier done among the opinions of 
philosophers. The greatest benefit I received from this study was that, having observed many things which, 
while they seemed quite extravagant and ridiculous, were nevertheless commonly accepted as true and 
approved by great peoples, I learned not to believe too firmly in anything of which I had been persuaded 
only by example and custom. Thus I freed myself little by little from many errors which can dim our 
natural light and even make us less able to listen to reason. But after I had spent several years thus studying 
the book of the world and trying to get some experience, I one day resolved to study my own self, and to 
use all the powers of my mind to choose the path I should follow, which was much more successful, it 
seems to me, than if I had never left my country or my books. 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 23!


PART 2: 

When I was younger I had studied a little among other branches of philosophy, logic, and among 
types of mathematics, geometrical analysis and algebra: three arts or sciences which seemed as if they 
ought to contribute something to my goal. But when I examined them, I realized that as far as logic was 
concerned, its syllogisms and most of its other methods serve only to explain to someone else that which 
one already knows, or even, like Lully's art, to speak foolishly of things one does not know, rather than to 
actually learn anything. Even though logic contains, in fact, many very true and good precepts, they are 
nevertheless mingled with so many others which are harmful or superfluous that it is almost as hard to 
separate them out as to carve a Diana or a Minerva from an as yet untouched block of marble. Besides, as 
far as the analysis of the ancients or modern algebra is concerned, and besides the fact that they can deal 
only with very abstract matters which seem utterly useless, the former is always so restricted to the study of 
geometrical figures that it cannot exercise the understanding without greatly tiring the imagination; and the 
latter is so restricted to certain rules and figures that it has become a confused, obscure art which perplexes 
the mind instead of being a science which cultivates it. So I thought that I had to look for some other 
method which, having the advantages of these three, would be free of their defects. Just as a multitude of 
laws often creates excuses for vices, so that the best regulated state is that which, having very few laws, 
makes those few strictly observed, instead of the great number or precepts which make up logic, I thought 
that the four following precepts would suffice, provided that I could make a firm, steadfast resolution not 
to violate them even once. 

The first was to never accept anything as true which I could not accept as obviously true; that is to 
say, to carefully avoid impulsiveness and prejudice, and to include nothing in my conclusions but whatever 
was so clearly presented to my mind that I could have no reason to doubt it. 

The second was to divide each of the problems I was examining in as many parts as I could, as 
many as should be necessary to solve them. 

The third, to develop my thoughts in order, beginning with the simplest and easiest to understand 
matters, in order to reach by degrees, little by little, to the most complex knowledge, assuming an 
orderliness among them which did not at all naturally seem to follow one from the other. 

And the last resolution was to make my enumerations so complete and my reviews so general that I 
could be assured that I had not omitted anything. 

These long chains of reasoning, so simple and easy, which geometers customarily use to make their 
most difficult demonstrations, caused me to imagine that everything which could be known by human 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 24!


beings could be deduced one from the other in the same way, and that, provided only that one refrained 
from accepting anything as true which was not, and always preserving the order by which one deduced one 
from another, there could not be any truth so abstruse that one could not finally attain it, nor so hidden 
that it could not be discovered. And I had little trouble finding which propositions I needed to begin with, 
for I already knew that they would be the simplest and the easiest to know. . . . 

I took the best features of geometrical analysis and of algebra, and corrected all the defects of one 
by the other. (2) 

PART 4: 

I had noticed for a long time that it was necessary sometimes to agree with opinions about ethics 
which I knew to be quite uncertain, even though they were indubitable, as I said earlier; but since I wanted 
to devote myself solely to the search for truth, I thought that I should act in the opposite manner, and 
reject as absolutely false anything about which I could imagine the slightest doubt, so that I could see if 
there would not remain after all that something in my belief which could be called absolutely certain. So, 
because our senses sometimes trick us, I tried to imagine that there was nothing which is the way that we 
imagine it; and since there are people who are mistaken about the simplest matters of geometry, making 
mistakes in logic, and supposing that I was as likely to make mistakes as anyone else, I rejected as false all 
the reasonings that I had considered as valid demonstrations. Finally, considering that all our thoughts 
which we have when we are awake can also come to us when we are sleeping without a single one of them 
being true, I resolved to pretend that everything I had ever thought was no more true that the illusions in 
my dreams. But I immediately realized that, though I wanted to think that everything was false, it was 
necessary that the "me" who was doing the thinking was something; and noticing that this truth--I think, 
therefore I am--was so certain and sure that all the wildest suppositions of skeptics could not shake it, I 
judged that I could unhesitatingly accept it as the first principle of the philosophy for which I was seeking. 

Then, examining closely what I was, and seeing that I could imagine that I had no body and that 
there was no world or place where I was, I could not imagine that I did not exist at all. On the contrary, 
precisely because I doubted the existence of other things it followed quite obviously and certainly that I 
did exist. If, on the other hand, I had only ceased to think while everything else that I had imagined 
remained true, I would have had no reason to believe that I existed; therefore I realized that I was a 
substance whose essence, or nature, is nothing but thought, and which, in order to exist, needs no place to 
exist nor any other material thing. So this self, that is to say the soul, through which I am what I am, is 
entirely separate from the body, and is even more easily known than the latter, so that even if I did not 
have a body, my soul would continue to be all that it is. 

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Translated by Paul Brians 

(1) Descartes means to include here the Greek philosophers; "pagan" covers anyone who was not a 
part of Christendom. 
(2) It was Descartes who figured out how to combine algebra and geometry such that, on a pair of 
intersecting axes, we can geometrically map any algebraic function. Those axes are still called "Cartesian coordinates." 
CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 26!


VOLTAIRE: A TREATISE ON TOLERATION (1763)


3 

Voltaire was the most eloquent and tireless advocate of the anti-dogmatic movement known as 
"The Enlightenment." He argued in favor of "deism," a vague substitute for traditional religion which 
acknowledged a creator and some sort of divine justice, but rejected most of the other fundamental beliefs 
of Christianity. Instead he preached that all are obliged to tolerate each other. When he defends even false 
religion as superior to none, it is obvious that his objections to atheism are superficial and that he looks on 
religious beliefs as useful, but not necessarily true. It should be remembered that atheism was strictly illegal 
in Voltaire's time, and he had been imprisoned repeatedly and finally exiled for his challenges to traditional 
religion. Deism provided a convenient (and legal) screen for his attacks on Christianity; but many scholars 
believe that despite his statements to the contrary, he was in fact an atheist. His arguments for religious 
freedom have become commonplaces in the modern Western world, even among religious believers. 

What reasons does Voltaire give that we should all tolerate each other? 

WHETHER IT IS USEFUL TO MAINTAIN PEOPLE IN THEIR SUPERSTITION 

Such is the feebleness of humanity, such is its perversity, that doubtless it is better for it to be 
subject to all possible superstitions, as long as they are not murderous, than to live without religion. Man 
always needs a rein, and even if it might be ridiculous to sacrifice to fauns, or sylvans, or naiads, (1) it is 
much more reasonable and more useful to venerate these fantastic images of the Divine than to sink into 
atheism. An atheist who is rational, violent, and powerful, would be as great a pestilence as a blood-mad, 
superstitious man. 

When men do not have healthy notions of the Divinity, false ideas supplant them, just as in bad 
times one uses counterfeit money when there is no good money. The pagan feared to commit any crime, 
out of fear of punishment by his false gods; the Malabarian fears to be punished by his pagoda. Wherever 
there is a settled society, religion is necessary; the laws cover manifest crimes, and religion covers secret 
crimes. 

But whenever human faith comes to embrace a pure and holy religion, superstition not only 
becomes useless, but very dangerous. We should not seek to nourish ourselves on acorns when God gives 
us bread. 

Superstition is to religion what astrology is to astronomy: the foolish daughter of a very wise 
mother. These two daughters, superstition and astrology, have subjugated the world for a long time. 

When, in our ages of barbarity, scarcely two feudal lords owned between them a single New 
Testament, it might be pardonable to offer fables to the vulgar, that is, to these feudal lords, to their 

3 This is an excerpt from Reading About the World, Volume 2, edited by Paul Brians, Mary Gallwey, Douglas Hughes, Azfar 

Hussain, Richard Law, Michael Myers, Michael Neville, Roger Schlesinger, Alice Spitzer, and Susan Swan and 

published by Harcourt Brace Custom Books. http://public.wsu.edu/~brians/world_civ/worldcivreader/ 

world_civ_reader_2/voltaire.html. Translated by Richard Hooker 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 27!


imbecile wives, and to their brutish vassals; they were led to believe that Saint Christopher carried the 
infant Jesus from one side of a river to the other; they were fed stories about sorcerers and their spiritual 
possessions; they easily imagined that Saint Genou (2) would cure the gout, and that Saint Claire (3) would 
cure eye problems. The children believed in the werewolf, and the fathers in the rope girdle of Saint 
Francis. The number of relics (4) was innumerable. 

The sediment of these superstitions still survived among the people, even at that time that religion 
was purified. We know that when Monsieur de Noailles, the Bishop of Châlons, removed and threw into 
the fire the false relic of the holy navel of Jesus Christ, then the entire village of Châlons began 
proceedings against him; however, he had as much courage as he had piety, and he succeeded in making the 
Champenois believe that they could adore Jesus Christ in spirit and truth, without having his navel in the 
church. 

Those we call Jansenists (5) contributed greatly to rooting out gradually from the spirit of the 
nation the greater part of the false ideas which dishonored the Christian religion. People ceased to believe 
that it was sufficient to recite a prayer to the Virgin Mary for thirty days so that they could do what they 
wish and sin with impunity the rest of the year. 

Finally the bourgeoisie began to realize that it was not Saint Geneviève who gave or witheld rain, 
but that it was God Himself who disposed of the elements. The monks were astonished that their saints 
did not bring about miracles any longer; and if the writers of The Life of Saint Francis Xavier returned to 
the world, they would not dare to write that the saint revived nine corpses, that he was in two places, on the 
sea and on land, at the same time, and that his crucifix fell into the sea and was restored to him by a crab. 

It is the same with excommunications. Our historians tells us that when King Robert was 
excommunicated by Pope Gregory V, for marrying his godmother, the princess Bertha, his domestic 
servants threw the meats to be served to the king right out the window, and Queen Bertha gave birth to a 
goose in punishment for the incestuous marriage. One could seriously doubt that in this day and age the 
servants of the king of France, if he were excommunicated, would throw his dinner out the window, or 
that the queen would give birth to a goose. 

There are still a few convulsive fanatics (6) in remote corners of the suburbs; but this disease only 
attacks the most vile population. Each day reason penetrates further into France, into the shops of 
merchants as well as the mansions of lords. We must cultivate the fruits of this reason, especially since it is 
impossible to check its advance. One cannot govern France, after it has been enlightened by Pascal, Nicole, 
Arnauld, Bossuiet, Descartes, Gassendi, Bayle, Fontenelle, and the others, as it as been governed in the 
times of Garasse and Menot. 

If the masters of errors, and I'm speaking here of the grand masters, so long paid and honored for 
abusing the human species, ordered us today to believe that the seed must die in order to germinate; that 
the world is immovable on its foundations, that it does not orbit around the sun; that the tides are not a 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 28!


natural effect of gravitation; that the rainbow is not formed by the refraction and the reflection of rays of 
light, and so on, and they based their ordinances on passages poorly understood from the Holy Bible, how 
would educated men regard these men? Would the term "beasts" seem too strong? And if these wise 
masters used force and persecution to enforce their insolent stupidity, would the term "wild beasts" seem 
too extreme? 

The more the superstitions of monks are despised, the more the bishops are respected and the 
priests listened to; while they do no good, these monkish superstitions from over the mountains (7) do a 
great deal of harm. But of all these superstitions, is not the most dangerous that of hating your neighbor 
for his opinions? And is it not evident that it would be much more reasonable to worship the Holy Navel, 
the Holy Foreskin, or the milk or the robe of the Virgin Mary, (8) than to detest and persecute your 
brother? 

CHAPTER 21: VIRTUE IS BETTER THAN SCIENCE 

The fewer dogmas, the fewer disputes; the fewer disputes, the fewer miseries: if this is not true, 
then I'm wrong. 

Religion was instituted to make us happy in this life and in the other. What must we do to be happy 
in the life to come? Be just. 

What must we do in order to be happy in this life, as far as the misery of our nature permits? Be 
indulgent. 

It would be the height of folly to pretend to improve all men to the point that they think in a 
uniform manner about metaphysics. it would be easier to subjugate the entire universe through force of 
arms than to subjugate the minds of a single village. . . . 

CHAPTER 22: ON UNIVERSAL TOLERANCE 

It does not require great art, or magnificently trained eloquence, to prove that Christians should 
tolerate each other. I, however, am going further: I say that we should regard all men as our brothers. 
What? The Turk my brother? The Chinaman my brother? The Jew? The Siam? Yes, without doubt; are we 
not all children of the same father and creatures of the same God? 

But these people despise us; they treat us as idolaters! Very well! I will tell them that they are 
grievously wrong. It seems to me that I would at least astonish the proud, dogmatic Islam imam or 
Buddhist priest, if I spoke to them as follows: 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 29!


"This little globe, which is but a point, rolls through space, as do many other globes; we are lost in 
the immensity of the universe. Man, only five feet high, is assuredly only a small thing in creation. One of 
these imperceptible beings says to another one of his neighbors, in Arabia or South Africa: 'Listen to me, 
because God of all these worlds has enlightened me: there are nine hundred million little ants like us on 
the earth, but my ant-hole is the only one dear to God; all the other are cast off by Him for eternity; mine 
alone will be happy, and all the others will be eternally damned." 

They would then interrupt me, and ask which fool blabbed all this nonsense. I would be obliged to 
answer, "You, yourselves." I would then endeavor to calm them, which would be very difficult. 

I would then speak with the Christians, and I would dare to say, for example, to a Dominican 
Inquisitor of the Faith: (9) "My brother, you know that each province of Italy has their own dialect, and 
that people do not speak at Venice or Bergamo the same way they speak at Florence. The Academy of 
Crusca near Florence has fixed the language; its dictionary is a rule which one dare not depart from, and 
the Grammar of Buonmattei is an infallible guide that one must follow. But do you believe that the consul 
of the Academy, or Buonmattei in his absence, could in conscience cut the tongues out of all the Venetians 
and all the Bergamese who persist in speaking their dialect?" 

The inquisitor responds, "There is a difference between your example and our practice. For us, it is 
a matter of the health of your soul. It is for your good that the director of the Inquisition ordains that you 
be seized on the testimony of a single person, however infamous or criminal that person might be; that you 
will have no advocate to defend you; that the name of your accuser will not even be known by you; that the 
inquisitor can promise you mercy, and immediately condemn you; that five different tortures will be applied 
to you, and then you will be flogged, or sent to the galleys, or ceremoniously burned. Father Ivonet, 
Doctor Cuchalon, Zanchinus, Campegius, Roias, Felynus, Gomarus, Diabarus, Gemelinus, are explicit on 
this point, and this pious practice cannot suffer any contradiction." 

I would take the liberty to respond, "My brother, perhaps you are reasonable; I am convinced that 
you wish to do me good; but could I not be saved without all that?" 

It is true that these absurd horrors do not stain the face of the earth every day; but they are 
frequent, and they could easily fill a volume much greater than the gospels which condemn them. (10) Not 
only is it extremely cruel to persecute in this brief life those who do not think the way we do, but I do not 
know if it might be too presumptuous to declare their eternal damnation. It seems to me that it does not 
pertain to the atoms of the moment, such as we are, to anticipate the decrees of the Creator. 

(1) Ancient Greek demigods. 
(2) His name means "knee" in French. 
(3) Her name suggests light. 
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(4) Physical remains of saints, either their body parts, clothing, or any other physical object associated with 
them; these relics were supposed to display remarkable curative and other magical properties. 
(5) Reformers who agreed in many ways with Protestant ideas. 
(6) Ecstatics who fell into religious fits. 
(7) Rome. 
(8) These are all relics actually venerated in his time. 
(9) The Dominicans ran the notorious Inquisition which tortured and condemned to death people who 
departed from orthodox Catholicism. 
(10) Note how he slips in this comment, arguing that the Inquisition itself is contrary to the teachings of 
Christ. 
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CONDORCET, THE FUTURE PROGRESS OF THE HUMAN MIND4 


Marie Jean Antoine Nicolas Caritat, marquis de Condorcet (1743 1794), was an aristocrat, a mathematician, 
an official of the Academy of Sciences, and was a friend of Voltaire (16941778). In sum, a perfect example 
of an Enlightenment figure. 
Condorcet supported the revolution of 1789, but became a victim of the revolution during the Radical 
period. For a time he was able to hide, but soon after the completion of this Sketch for a Historical Picture 
of the Progress of the Human Mind, he was arrrested. He killed himself rather than wait for execution. 


No one has ever believed that the human mind could exhaust all the facts of nature, all the refinements of 
measuring and analyzing these facts, the inter relationship of objects, and all the possible combinations of 
ideas.... But because, as the number of facts known increases, man learns to classify them, to reduce them 
to more general terms; because the instruments and the methods of observation and exact measurement 
are at the same time reaching a new precision; . . . the truths whose discovery has cost the most effort, 
which at first could be grasped only by men capable of profound thought, are soon carried further and 
proved by methods that are no longer beyond the reach of ordinary intelligence. If the methods that lead 
to new combinations are exhausted, if their application to problems not yet solved requires labors that 
exceed the time or the capacity of scholars, soon more general methods, simpler means, come to open a 
new avenue for genius.... 


. . . 
Applying these general reflections to the different sciences, we shall give, for each, examples of their 
successive improvement that will leave no doubt as to the certainty of the future improvements we can 
expect. We shall indicate particularly the most likely and most imminent progress in those sciences that are 
now commonly believed to be almost exhausted. We shall point out how more universal education in each 
country, by giving more people the elementary knowledge that can inspire them with a taste for more 
advanced study and give them the capacity for making progress in it, can add to such hopes; how [these 
hopes] increase even more, if a more general prosperity permits a greater number of individuals to pursue 
studies, since at present, in the most enlightened countries, hardly a fiftieth part of those men to whom 
nature has given talent receive the education necessary to make use of their talents; and that, therefore, the 
number of men destined to push back the frontiers of the sciences by their discoveries will grow in the 
same proportion [as universal education increases]. We shall show how this equality of education, and the 
equality that will arise between nations, will speed up the advances of those sciences whose progress

4 From Marie Jean Antoine Nicolas Caritat, marquis de Condorcet, Esquisse d'un tableau historique des progrès de l'esprit 

humain (Paris: Masson et Fils, 1822), pp. 27985, 29394, 3035: http://legacy.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/condorcet


progress.asp 

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depends on observations repeated in greater number over a larger area; all that mineralogy, botany, zoology, 
meteorology can be expected to gain thereby; and finally what an enormous disproportion exists, in these 
sciences, between the weakness of the means that nevertheless have led us to so many useful and 
important truths, and the great scope of the means men will in the future be able to deploy. 


. . . 
If we now turn to the mechanical arts, we shall see that their progress can have no other limit than the 
reach of the scientific theories on which they depend; that the methods of these arts are capable of the 
same improvement, the same simplifications as methods in the sciences. Instruments, machines, looms will 
increasingly supplement the strength and skill of men; will augment at the same time the perfection and the 
precision of manufactures by lessening both the time and the labor needed to produce them. Then the 
obstacles that still impede this progress will disappear, and along with them accidents that will become 
preventable and unhealthy conditions in general, whether owing to work, or habits, or climate. Then a 
smaller and smaller area of land will be able to produce commodities of greater use or higher value; wider 
enjoyment will be obtained with less outlay; the same manufacturing output will call for less expenditure of 
raw materials or will be more durable. For each kind of soil people will know how to choose, from among 
crops that satisfy the same kind of need, those crops that are most versatile, those that satisfy [the needs 
on a greater mass of users, requiring less labor and less real consumption. Thus, without any sacrifice, the 
methods of conservation and of economy in consumption will follow the progress of the art of 
producing the various commodities, preparing them and turning them into manufactures. ` Thus not only 
will the same amount of land be able to feed more people; but each of them, with less labor, will be 
employed more productively and will be able to satisfy his needs better. 

. . . 
But in this progress of industry and prosperity . . . each generation . . . is destined to fuller enjoyment; and 
hence, as a consequence of the physical constitution of the human species, to an increase of the 
population. Will there not come a time when . . . the increase in population surpassing its means of 
subsistence, the result would necessarily be-if not a continuous decline in wellbeing and number of people, 
a truly retrograde movement-at least a kind of oscillation between good and bad? Would not such 
oscillations in societies that have reached this point be an everpresent cause of more or less periodic 
suffering? Would this not mark the limit beyond which all improvement would become impossible. . . ? No 
one will fail to see how far removed from us this time is; but will we reach it one day? It is impossible to 
speak for or against an event that will occur only at a time when the human species will necessarily have 
acquired knowledge that we cannot even imagine. And who, in fact, would dare to predict what the art of 
converting the elements to our use may one day become? But supposing a limit were reached, nothing 
terrible would happen, regarding either the happiness or the indefinite perfectibility of mankind. We must 
also suppose that before that time, the progress of reason will have gone hand in hand with progress in the 

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arts and sciences; that the ridiculous prejudices of superstition will no longer cover morality with an 
austerity that corrupts and degrades it instead of purifying and elevating it. Men will know then that if they 
have obligations to beings who do not yet exist, these obligations do not consist in giving life, but in giving 
happiness. Their object is the general welfare of the human species, of the society in which people live, of 
the family to which they belong and not the puerile idea of filling the earth with useless and unhappy 
beings. The possible quantity of the means of subsistence could therefore have a limit, and consequently 
so could the attainable level of population, without resulting in the destruction . . . of part of the living. 
Among the progress of the human mind that is most important for human happiness, we must count the 
entire destruction of the prejudices that have established inequality between the sexes, fatal even to the sex 
it favors. One would look in vain for reasons to justify it, by differences in physical constitution, 
intelligence, moral sensibility. This inequality has no other source but the abuse of power, and men have 
tried in vain to excuse it by sophisms. We shall show how much the destruction of customs authorized by 
this prejudice, of the laws it has dictated, can contribute to the greater happiness of families, and to the 
spread of the domestic virtues, the first foundation of all other virtues. It will promote the progress of 
education, because [education] will be extended to both sexes more equally, and because education cannot 
become general, even among men, without the cooperation of mothers. 

. . . 
All these causes of the improvement of the human species, all these means that assure it, will by their 
nature act continuously and acquire a constantly growing momentum. We have explained the proofs of this 
. . .; we could therefore already conclude that the perfectibility of man is unlimited, even though, up to 
now, we have only supposed him endowed with the same natural faculties and organization. What then 
would be the certainty and extent of our hopes if we could believe that these natural faculties themselves 
and this organization are also susceptible of improvement? This is the last question remaining for us to 
examine. The organic perfectibility or degeneration of races in plants and animals may be regarded as one 
of the general laws of nature. This law extends to the human species; and certainly no one will doubt that 
progress in medical conservation [of life], in the use of healthier food and housing, a way of living that 
would develop strength through exercise without impairing it by excess, and finally the destruction of the 
two most active causes of degradation-misery and too great wealth-will prolong the extent of life and 
assure people more constant health as well as a more robust constitution. We feel that the progress of 
preventive medicine as a preservative, made more effective by the progress of reason and social order, will 
eventually banish communicable or contagious illnesses and those diseases in general that originate in 
climate, food, and the nature of work. It would not be difficult to prove that this hope should extend to 
almost all other diseases, whose more remote causes will eventually be recognized. Would it be absurd now 
to suppose that the improvement of the human race should be regarded as capable of unlimited progress? 
That a time will come when death would result only from extraordinary accidents or the more and more 

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gradual wearing out of vitality, and that, finally, the duration of the average interval between birth and 
wearing out has itself no specific limit whatsoever? No doubt man will not become immortal, but cannot 
the span constantly increase between the moment he begins to live and the time when naturally, without 
illness or accident, he finds life a burden? 

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OLYMPE DE GOUGE: DECLARATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN, 17915 

Olympe de Gouges, a butcher's daughter, proved to be one of the most outspoken and articulate 
women revolutionaries. In 1791 she wrote the following declaration, directly challenging the inferiority 
presumed of women by the Declaration of the Rights of Man. Her attempts to push this idea lead to her 
being charged with treason during the rule of the National Convention. She was quickly arrested, tried, and 
on November 3, 1793, executed by the guillotine. 

Woman, wake up; the tocsin of reason is being heard throughout the whole universe; discover your 
rights. The powerful empire of nature is no longer surrounded by prejudice, fanaticism, superstition, and 
lies. The flame of truth has dispersed all the clouds of folly and usurpation. Enslaved man has multiplied 
his strength and needs recourse to yours to break his chains. Having become free, he has become unjust to 
his companion. Oh, women, women! When will you cease to be blind? What advantage have you received 
from the Revolution? A more pronounced scorn, a more marked disdain. In the centuries of corruption 
you ruled only over the weakness of men. The reclamation of your patrimony, based on the wise decrees 
of nature-what have you to dread from such a fine undertaking? The bon mot of the legislator of the 
marriage of Cana? Do you fear that our French legislators, correctors of that morality, long ensnared by 
political practices now out of date, will only say again to you: women, what is there in common between 
you and us? Everything, you will have to answer. If they persist in their weakness in putting this non 
sequitur in contradiction to their principles, courageously oppose the force of reason to the empty 
pretentions of superiority; unite yourselves beneath the standards of philosophy; deploy all the energy of 
your character, and you will soon see these haughty men, not groveling at your feet as servile adorers, but 
proud to share with you the treasures of the Supreme Being. Regardless of what barriers confront you, it is 
in your power to free yourselves; you have only to want to.... 

Marriage is the tomb of trust and love. The married woman can with impunity give bastards to her 
husband, and also give them the wealth which does not belong to them. The woman who is unmarried has 
only one feeble right; ancient and inhuman laws refuse to her for her children the right to the name and the 
wealth of their father; no new laws have been made in this matter. If it is considered a paradox and an 
impossibility on my part to try to give my sex an honorable and just consistency, I leave it to men to attain 
glory for dealing with this matter; but while we wait, the way can be prepared through national education, 
the restoration of morals, and conjugal conventions. 

FORM FOR A SOCIAL CONTRACT BETWEEN MAN AND WOMAN 

5 From "Olympe de Gouges, 'Declaration of the Rights of Woman and Female Citizen,"' in Darline Gav Levy, H. 

Applewhite, and M. Johnson, eds., Women in Revolutionary Paris, 17851795 (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 

1979), pp. 92-96. 

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We, _____ and ______, moved by our own will, unite ourselves for the duration of our lives, and 
for the duration of our mutual inclinations, under the following conditions: We intend and wish to make 
our wealth communal, meanwhile reserving to ourselves the right to divide it in favor of our children and 
of those toward whom we might have a particular inclination, mutually recognizing that our property 
belongs directly to our children, from whatever bed they come, and that all of them without distinction 
have the right to bear the name of the fathers and mothers who have acknowledged them, and we are 
charged to subscribe to the law which punishes the renunciation of one's own blood. We likewise obligate 
ourselves, in case of separation, to divide our wealth and to set aside in advance the portion the law 
indicates for our children, and in the event of a perfect union, the one who dies will divest himself of half 
his property in his children's favor, and if one dies childless, the survivor will inherit by right, unless the 
dying person has disposed of half the common property in favor of one whom he judged deserving. 

That is approximately the formula for the marriage act I propose for execution. Upon reading this 
strange document, I see rising up against me the hypocrites, the prudes, the clergy, and the whole infernal 
sequence. But how it [my proposal] offers to the wise the moral means of achieving the perfection of a 
happy government! . . . 

Moreover, I would like a law which would assist widows and young girls deceived by the false 
promises of a man to whom they were attached; I would like, I say, this law to force an inconstant man to 
hold to his obligations or at least [to pay] an indemnity equal to his wealth. Again, I would like this law to 
be rigorous against women, at least those who have the effrontery to have reCourse to a law which they 
themselves had violated by their misconduct, if proof of that were given. At the same time, as I showed in 
Le Bonheur primitit de l'homme, in 1788, that prostitutes should be placed in designated quarters. It is not 
prostitutes who contribute the most to the depravity of morals, it is the women of' society. In regenerating 
the latter, the former are changed. This link of fraternal union will first bring disorder, but in consequence 
it will produce at the end a perfect harmony. 

I offer a foolproof way to elevate the soul of women; it is to join them to all the activities of man; 
if man persists in finding this way impractical, let him share his fortune with woman, not at his caprice, but 
by the wisdom of laws. Prejudice falls, morals are purified, and nature regains all her rights. Add to this the 
marriage of priests and the strengthening of the king on his throne, and the French government cannot 
fail. 


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MAXIMILIEN ROBESPIERRE: JUSTIFICATION OF THE USE OF TERROR6 

Maximilien Robespierre (1758 1794) was the leader of the twelveman Committee of Public Safety 
elected by the National Convention, and which effectively governed France at the height of the radical 
phase of the revolution. He had once been a fairly straightforward liberal thinker - reputedly he slept with a 
copy of Rousseau's Social Contract at his side. But his own purity of belief led him to impatience with 
others. 

The committee was among the most creative executive bodies ever seen - and rapidly put into 
effect policies which stabilized the French economy and began the formation of the very successful French 
army. It also directed it energies against counter-revolutionary uprisings, especially in the south and west of 
France. In doing so it unleashed the reign of terror. Here Robespierre, in his speech of February 5,1794, 
from which excerpts are given here, discussed this issue. The figures behind this speech indicate that in the 
five months from September, 1793, to February 5, 1794, the revolutionary tribunal in Paris convicted and 
executed 238 men and 31 women and acquitted 190 persons, and that on February 5 there were 5,434 
individuals in the prisons in Paris awaiting trial. 

Robespierre was frustrated with the progress of the revolution. After issuing threats to the 
National Convention, he himself was arrested in July 1794. He tried to shoot himslef but missed, and 
spent his last few hours with his jaw hanging off. He was guillotined, as a victim of the terror, on July 28, 
1794. 

But, to found and consolidate democracy, to achieve the peaceable reign of the constitutional laws, 

we must end the war of liberty against tyranny and pass safely across the storms of the revolution: such is 

the aim of the revolutionary system that you have enacted. Your conduct, then, ought also to be regulated 

by the stormy circumstances in which the republic is placed; and the plan of your administration must 

result from the spirit of the revolutionary government combined with the general principles of democracy. 

Now, what is the fundamental principle of the democratic or popular government-that is, the 

essential spring which makes it move? It is virtue; I am speaking of the public virtue which effected so 

many prodigies in Greece and Rome and which ought to produce much more surprising ones in republican 

France; of that virtue which is nothing other than the love of country and of its laws. 

But as the essence of the republic or of democracy is equality, it follows that the love of country 

necessarily includes the love of equality. 

It is also true that this sublime sentiment assumes a preference for the public interest over every 

particular interest; hence the love of country presupposes or produces all the virtues: for what are they 

other than that spiritual strength which renders one capable of those sacrifices? And how could the slave 

of avarice or ambition, for example, sacrifice his idol to his country? 

6 http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/robespierre-terror.asp 

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Not only is virtue the soul of democracy; it can exist only in that government .... 

. . . 

Republican virtue can be considered in relation to the people and in relation to the government; it 
is necessary in both. When only the government lacks virtue, there remains a resource in the people's 
virtue; but when the people itself is corrupted, liberty is already lost. 

Fortunately virtue is natural to the people, notwithstanding aristocratic prejudices. A nation is truly 
corrupted when, having by degrees lost its character and its liberty, it passes from democracy to aristocracy 
or to monarchy; that is the decrepitude and death of the body politic.... 

But when, by prodigious efforts of courage and reason, a people breaks the chains of despotism to 
make them into trophies of liberty; when by the force of its moral temperament it comes, as it were, out 
of the arms of the death, to recapture all the vigor of youth; when by tums it is sensitive and proud, 
intrepid and docile, and can be stopped neither by impregnable ramparts nor by the innumerable ammies 
of the tyrants armed against it, but stops of itself upon confronting the law's image; then if it does not 
climb rapidly to the summit of its destinies, this can only be the fault of those who govern it. 

. . . 

From all this let us deduce a great truth: the characteristic of popular government is confidence in 
the people and severity towards itself. 

The whole development of our theory would end here if you had only to pilot the vessel of the 
Republic through calm waters; but the tempest roars, and the revolution imposes on you another task. 

This great purity of the French revolution's basis, the very sublimity of its objective, is precisely 
what causes both our strength and our weakness. Our strength, because it gives to us truth's ascendancy 
over imposture, and the rights of the public interest over private interests; our weakness, because it rallies 
all vicious men against us, all those who in their hearts contemplated despoiling the people and all those 
who intend to let it be despoiled with impunity, both those who have rejected freedom as a personal 
calamity and those who have embraced the revolution as a career and the Republic as prey. Hence the 
defection of so many ambitious or greedy men who since the point of departure have abandoned us along 
the way because they did not begin the journey with the same destination in view. The two opposing spirits 
that have been represented in a struggle to rule nature might be said to be fighting in this great period of 
human history to fix irrevocably the world's destinies, and France is the scene of this fearful combat. 
Without, all the tyrants encircle you; within, all tyranny's friends conspire; they will conspire until hope is 

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wrested from crime. We must smother the internal and external enemies of the Republic or perish with it; 
now in this situation, the first maxim of your policy ought to be to lead the people by reason and the 
people's enemies by terror. 

If the spring of popular government in time of peace is virtue, the springs of popular government 
in revolution are at once virtue and terror: virtue, without which terror is fatal; terror, without which virtue 
is powerless. Terror is nothing other than justice, prompt, severe, inflexible; it is therefore an emanation of 
virtue; it is not so much a special principle as it is a consequence of the general principle of democracy 
applied to our country's most urgent needs. 

It has been said that terror is the principle of despotic government. Does your government 
therefore resemble despotism? Yes, as the sword that gleams in the hands of the heroes of liberty 
resembles that with which the henchmen of tyranny are armed. Let the despot govern by terror his 
brutalized subjects; he is right, as a despot. Subdue by terror the enemies of liberty, and you will be right, as 
founders of the Republic. The government of the revolution is liberty's despotism against tyranny. Is force 
made only to protect crime? And is the thunderbolt not destined to strike the heads of the proud? 

. . . 
. . . Indulgence for the royalists, cry certain men, mercy for the villains! No! mercy for the innocent, 
mercy for the weak, mercy for the unfortunate, mercy for humanity. 

Society owes protection only to peaceable citizens; the only citizens in the Republic are the 
republicans. For it, the royalists, the conspirators are only strangers or, rather, enemies. This terrible war 
waged by liberty against tyranny- is it not indivisible? Are the enemies within not the allies of the enemies 
without? The assassins who tear our country apart, the intriguers who buy the consciences that hold the 
people's mandate; the traitors who sell them; the mercenary pamphleteers hired to dishonor the people's 
cause, to kill public virtue, to stir up the fire of civil discord, and to prepare political counterrevolution by 
moral counterrevolution-are all those men less guilty or less dangerous than the tyrants whom they serve? 

Source: Robespierre: On the Moral and Political Principles of Domestic Policy 

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FRIEDERICH ENGELS: INDUSTRIAL MANCHESTER, 18447 


Manchester, in South-east Lancashire rapidly rose from obscurity to become the premier center of cotton manufacture 
in England. This was largely due to geography. Its famously damp climate was better for cotton manufacture than the drier 
climate of the older eastern English cloth manufacture centers. It was close to the Atlantic port of Liverpoll (and was 
eventually connect by one of the earliest rail tracks, as well as an Ocean ship capable canal - although thirty miles inland, it 
was long a major port). It was also close to power sources - first the water power of the Pennine mountain chain, and later the 
coal mines of central Lancashire. As a result, Manchester became perhaps the first modern industrial city. 

Friedrich Engels' father was a German manufacturer and Engels worked as his agent in his father's Manchester 
factory. As a result he combined both real experience of the city, with a strong social conscience. The resul was his The 
Condition of the Working-Class in England in 1844. 

Manchester lies at the foot of the southern slope of a range of hills, which stretch hither from 
Oldham, their last peak, Kersall moor, being at once the racecourse and the Mons Sacer of Manchester. 
Manchester proper lies on the left bank of the Irwell, between that stream and the two smaller ones, the 
Irk and the Medlock, which here empty into the Irwell. On the left bank of the Irwell, bounded by a sharp 
curve of the river, lies Salford, and farther westward Pendleton; northward from the Irwell lie Upper and 
Lower Broughton; northward of the Irk, Cheetham Hill; south of the Medlock lies Hulme; farther east 
Chorlton on Medlock; still farther, pretty well to the east of Manchester, Ardwick. The whole assemblage 
of buildings is commonly called Manchester, and contains about four hundred thousand inhabitants, rather 
more than less. The town itself is peculiarly built, so that a person may live in it for years, and go in and out 
daily without coming into contact with a working-people's quarter or even with workers, that is, so long as 
he confines himself to his business or to pleasure walks. This arises chiefly from the fact, that by 
unconscious tacit agreement, as well as with outspoken conscious determination, the workingpeople's 
quarters are sharply separated from the sections of the city reserved for the middle-class; . . . 

I may mention just here that the mills almost all adjoin the rivers or the different canals that ramify 
throughout the city, before I proceed at once to describe the labouring quarters. First of all, there is the old 
town of Manchester, which lies between the northern boundary of the commercial district and the Irk. 
Here the streets, even the better ones, are narrow and winding, as Todd Street, Long Millgate, Withy 
Grove, and Shude Hill, the houses dirty, old, and tumble-down, and the construction of the side streets 
utterly horrible. Going from the Old Church to Long Millgate, the stroller has at once a row of old-
fashioned houses at the right, of which not one has kept its original level; these are remnants of the old 

7 From Friedrich Engels, The Condition of the Working-Class in England in 1844 (London: Swan Sonnenschein & Co., 
1892), pp. 45, 48-53. 

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pre-manufacturing Manchester, whose former inhabitants have removed with their descendants into better 
built districts, and have left the houses, which were not good enough for them, to a population strongly 
mixed with Irish blood. Here one is in an almost undisguised working-men's quarter, for even the shops 
and beer houses hardly take the trouble to exhibit a trifling degree of cleanliness. But all this is nothing in 
comparison with the courts and lanes which lie behind, to which access can be gained only through 
covered passages, in which no two human beings can pass at the same time. Of the irregular cramming 
together of dwellings in ways which defy all rational plan, of the tangle in which they are crowded literally 
one upon the other, it is impossible to convey an idea. And it is not the buildings surviving from the old 
times of Manchester which are to blame for this; the confusion has only recently reached its height when 
every scrap of space left by the old way of building has been filled up and patched over until not a foot of 
land is left to be further occupied. 

The south bank of the Irk is here very steep and between fifteen and thirty feet high. On this 
declivitous hillside there are planted three rows of houses, of which the lowest rise directly out of the river, 
while the front walls of the highest stand on the crest of the hill in Long Millgate. Among them are mills 
on the river, in short, the method of construction is as crowded and disorderly here as in the lower part of 
Long Millgate. Right and left a multitude of covered passages lead from the main street into numerous 
courts, and he who turns in thither gets into a filth and disgusting grime, the equal of which is not to be 
found - especially in the courts which lead down to the Irk, and which contain unqualifiedly the most 
horrible dwellings which I have yet beheld. In one of these courts there stands directly at the entrance, at 
the end of the covered passage, a privy without a door, so dirty that the inhabitants can pass into and out 
of the court only by passing through foul pools of stagnant urine and excrement. This is the first court on 
the Irk above Ducie Bridge - in case any one should care to look into it. Below it on the river there are 
several tanneries which fill the whole neighbourhood with the stench of animal putrefaction. Below Ducie 
Bridge the only entrance to most of the houses is by means of narrow, dirty stairs and over heaps of 
refuse and filth. The first court below Ducie Bridge, known as Allen's Court, was in such a state at the time 
of the cholera that the sanitary police ordered it evacuated, swept, and disinfected with chloride of lime. 
Dr. Kay gives a terrible description of the state of this court at that time. Since then, it seems to have been 
partially torn away and rebuilt; at least looking down from Ducie Bridge, the passer-by sees several ruined 
walls and heaps of debris with some newer houses. The view from this bridge, mercifully concealed from 
mortals of small stature by a parapet as high as a man, is characteristic for the whole district. At the bottom 
flows, or rather stagnates, the Irk, a narrow, coal-black, foul-smelling stream, full of debris and refuse, 
which it deposits on the shallower right bank. 

In dry weather, a long string of the most disgusting, blackish-green, slime pools are left standing on 

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this bank, from the depths of which bubbles of miasmatic gas constantly arise and give forth a stench 
unendurable even on the bridge forty or fifty feet above the surface of the stream. But besides this, the 
stream itself is checked every few paces by high weirs, behind which slime and refuse accumulate and rot in 
thick masses. Above the bridge are tanneries, bone mills, and gasworks, from which all drains and refuse 
find their way into the Irk, which receives further the contents of all the neighbouring sewers and privies. 
It may be easily imagined, therefore, what sort of residue the stream deposits. Below the bridge you look 
upon the piles of debris, the refuse, filth, and offal from the courts on the steep left bank; here each house 
is packed close behind its neighbour and a piece of each is visible, all black, smoky, crumbling, ancient, 
with broken panes and window frames. The background is furnished by old barrack-like factory buildings. 
On the lower right bank stands a long row of houses and mills; the second house being a ruin without a 
roof, piled with debris; the third stands so low that the lowest floor is uninhabitable, and therefore without 
windows or doors. Here the background embraces the pauper burial-ground, the station of the Liverpool 
and Leeds railway, and, in the rear of this, the Workhouse, the "Poor-Law Bastille" of Manchester, which, 
like a citadel, looks threateningly down from behind its high walls and parapets on the hilltop, upon the 
working-people's quarter below. 

Above Ducie Bridge, the left bank grows more flat and the right bank steeper, but the condition of 
the dwellings on both banks grows worse rather than better. He who turns to the left here from the main 
street, Long Millgate, is lost; he wanders from one court to another, turns countless corners, passes nothing 
but narrow, filthy nooks and alleys, until after a few minutes he has lost all clue, and knows not whither to 
turn. Everywhere half or wholly ruined buildings, some of them actually uninhabited, which means a great 
deal here; rarely a wooden or stone floor to be seen in the houses, almost uniformly broken, ill-fitting 
windows and doors, and a state of filth! Everywhere heaps of debris, refuse, and offal; standing pools for 
gutters, and a stench which alone would make it impossible for a human being in any degree civilised to live 
in such a district. The newly-built extension of the Leeds railway, which crosses the Irk here, has swept 
away some of these courts and lanes, laying others completely open to view. Immediately under the railway 
bridge there stands a court, the filth and horrors of which surpass all the others by far, just because it was 
hitherto so shut off, so secluded that the way to it could not be found without a good deal of trouble. I 
should never have discovered it myself, without the breaks made by the railway, though I thought I knew 
this whole region thoroughly. Passing along a rough bank, among stakes and washing-lines, one penetrates 
into this chaos of small one-storied, one-roomed huts, in most of which there is no artificial floor; kitchen, 
living and sleeping-room all in one. In such a hole, scarcely five feet long by six broad, I found two beds and 
such bedsteads and beds! - which, with a staircase and chimney-place, exactly filled the room. In 
several others I found absolutely nothing, while the door stood open, and the inhabitants leaned against it. 
Everywhere before the doors refuse and offal; that any sort of pavement lay underneath could not be seen 

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but only felt, here and there, with the feet. This whole collection of cattle-sheds for human beings was 
surrounded on two sides by houses and a factory, and on the third by the river, and besides the narrow stair 
up the bank, a narrow doorway alone led out into another almost equally ill-built, ill-kept labyrinth of 
dwellings.... 

If we leave the Irk and penetrate once more on the opposite side from Long Millgate into the 
midst of the working-men's dwellings, we shall come into a somewhat newer quarter, which stretches from 
St. Michael's Church to Withy Grove and Shude Hill. Here there is somewhat better order. In place of the 
chaos of buildings, we find at least long straight lanes and alleys or courts, built according to a plan and 
usually square. But if, in the former case, every house was built according to caprice, here each lane and 
court is so built, without reference to the situation of the adjoining ones.... 

. . . Here, as in most of the working-men's quarters of Manchester, the pork-raisers rent the courts 
and build pig-pens in them. In almost every court one or even several such pens may be found, into which 
the inhabitants of the court throw all refuse and offal, whence the swine grow fat; and the atmosphere, 
confined on all four sides, is utterly corrupted by putrefying animal and vegetable substances.... 

Such is the Old Town of Manchester, and on re-reading my description, I am forced to admit that 
instead of being exaggerated, it is far from black enough to convey a true impression of the filth, ruin, and 
uninhabitableness, the defiance of all considerations of cleanliness, ventilation, and health which 
characterise the construction of this single district, containing at least twenty to thirty thousand inhabitants. 
And such a district exists in the heart of the second city of England, the first manufacturing city of the 
world. If any one wishes to see in how little space a human being can move, how little air - and such air! he 
can breathe, how little of civilisation he may share and yet live, it is only necessary to travel hither. True, 
this is the Old Town, and the people of Manchester emphasise the fact whenever any one mentions to 
them the frightful condition of this Hell upon Earth; but what does that prove? Everything which here 
arouses horror and indignation is of recent origin, belongs to the industrial epoch. 

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EMILE ZOLA: GERMINAL (1885)8 


Zola's technique of "naturalism" attempted through scrupulous research to depict the lives of ordinary people. For Germinal, 
he descended into a mineshaft very much like the one he describes below, taking detailed notes. Zola's works portray groups of 
humans in the grip of circumstances beyond their control, often destined to be destroyed in monumental catastrophes. Each 
mining disaster hinted at in the following passage will actually occur, leaving almost every one of the characters mentioned dead 
by the end of the novel. Germinal was an eloquent protest against the inhuman working conditions common in late 
Nineteenth-Century European factories and mines. Etienne Lantier is an out-of-work railway worker who by sheer luck has 
secured a job in the coal mine called "Le Voreux" (a name suggesting a voracious beast which consumes workers wholesale). 
This passage depicts the journey into the hell of the mine of the team headed by an experienced miner named Maheu, which 
includes his teenage daughter, Catherine. 

"Damn! It's not warm here," muttered Catherine, shivering. 

Etienne simply nodded. He found himself before the shaft, in the center of a huge hall swept by 
drafts. Of course he thought of himself as brave, yet an unpleasant emotion caused his throat to contract 
among the thundering of the carts, the clanking of the signals, the muffled bellowing of the megaphone, 
facing the continuously flying cables, unrolling and rolling up again at top speed on the spools of the 
machine. The cages rose and fell, slithering like some nocturnal animal, continually swallowing men that 
the hole seemed to drink down. It was his turn now. He was very cold. He kept silent out of nervousness 
which made Zacharie and Levaque snicker, for both disapproved of the hiring of this stranger--Levaque 
especially, hurt because he had not been consulted. So Catherine was happy to hear her father explaining 
things to the young man. 

"Look, up on top of the cage; there's a parachute and iron hooks that catch in the guides in case the 
cable breaks. It works . . . most of the time. . . . Yes, the shaft is divided into three vertical compartments, 
sealed off by planks from top to bottom. In the center are the cages; on the left the ladder-well. . . ."9 

But he broke off to complain, without daring to raise speak very loudly, "What the hell are we doing 
waiting here, for God's sake? How can they let us freeze here like this?" 

8 http://public.wsu.edu/~brians/world_civ/worldcivreader/world_civ_reader_2/zola.html 
9 An emergency escape shaft. 
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Richomme, the foreman, who was also going down, his open miner's lamp hanging from a nail in 
his leather cap, heard him complaining. 

"Be careful; the walls have ears!" he muttered paternalistically, as a former miner who still sided with 
the workers. 

"They've got to make the adjustments . . . See? Here we are, get in with your team." 

And in fact, the cage, banded with sheet iron and covered by a fine-meshed screen, was waiting for 
them, resting on its catches. Maheu, Zacherie, Levaque, and Catherine slid into a cart at the back; and since 
it was supposed to hold five people, Etienne got in as well; but all the good places were taken and he had 
to squeeze in beside the young girl, whose elbow poked into his belly. His lamp got in his way; he was 
advised to hang it from a buttonhole of his jacket. He didn't hear this advice and kept it awkwardly in his 
hand. The loading continued, above and below, a jumbled load of cattle. Couldn't they get going? What 
was happening? It seemed as if he'd been waiting for a long time. Finally a jolt shook him and everything 
fell away, the objects around him seemed to fly past while he felt a nervous dizziness that churned his guts. 
This lasted as long as he was in the daylight, passing the two landing levels, surrounded by the wheeling 
flight of the timbers. Then, falling into the blackness of the pit, he remained stunned, no longer able to 
interpret his feelings. 

"We're off," said Maheu tranquilly. 

They seemed relaxed. He, however, wondered at moments whether he was going down or up. There 
were moments at which they seemed immobile, when the cage was dropping straight down without 
touching the guides; then brusquely there were shudders, a sort of dancing between the planks, which 
made him fear a catastrophe was going to happen. In addition, he couldn't make out the walls of the shaft 
behind the grill to which his face was pressed. The lamps only dimly lit the heap of bodies at his feet. 
Alone, the open lamp of the foreman shone from the next cart like a beacon. 

"This one is fifteen feet wide," continued Maheu, instructing him. "The casing needs to be redone; 
water's leaking everywhere. . . . Listen, we're down at the water level. Can you hear it?" 

Etienne had just been asking himself what this sound of a downpour could be. A few big drops 
had splashed first on the roof of the cage, like at the beginning of a storm; and now the rain grew, 
streamed, was transformed into a real deluge. The roof must have had a hole in it, for a trickle of water, 
flowing onto his shoulder, was soaking him to the skin. The cold became glacial; they entered a damp 

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blackness, then there was a blinding flash and a glimpse of a cave where men were moving about. But 
already they were plunging back into nothingness. 

Maheu said: 

"That's the first landing. We're a hundred feet down now . . . Look how fast we're going." 

Lifting his lamp, he lit up a guide timber flying past like the rail beneath a train running full steam 
ahead; beyond that, nothing else was could be seen. Three other platforms flew out of the shadows. 

"How deep it is!" murmured Etienne. 

The fall seemed to have lasted for hours. He was suffering because of the awkward position he was 
in, not daring to move, above all tortured by Catherine's elbow. She didn't say a word; he only felt her 
pressed against him, warming him. When the cage finally halted at the bottom, at 12,828 feet, he was 
astonished to learn that the descent had lasted just one minute. But the sound of the catches taking hold 
and the feeling of something solid underneath him suddenly cheered him up. . . . 

The cage was emptying; the workers crossed the landing dock, a room carved out of the rock 
vaulted over with bricks lit by three huge lamps with open flames. The loaders were violently shoving full 
carts across the cast-iron floor. A cellar-like odor seeped from the walls, a chilly smell of saltpeter traversed 
by warm gusts from the stable nearby. Four galleries gaped into the opening. 

"This way," said Maheu to Etienne. You're not there yet. We have another good mile and a quarter 
to go. . . ." 

The miners were separating, disappearing by groups into these black holes. Some fifteen of them 
had just entered the one on the left; and Etienne walked behind them following Maheu, who led Catherine, 
Zacharie and Levaque. It was a good tunnel for hauling the carts, cutting through a layer of rock so solid 
that only partial timbering had been necessary. They walked single file, walking always onward, without a 
word, led by the tiny flames in their lamps. The young man stumbled at every step, catching his feet in the 
rails. suddenly a muffled sound worried him, the distant noise of a storm whose violence seemed to being 
growing, coming from the bowels of the earth. Was it the thunder of a cave-in which would crush down 
onto their heads the enormous mass cutting them off from the light of day. . . ? 

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The further they went, the more narrow the gallery became, lower, with an uneven ceiling forcing 
them constantly to bend over. 

Etienne bumped his head painfully. If he hadn't been wearing a leather cap, his skull would have 
been cracked. Yet he had been following closely the smallest movements of Maheu ahead of him, his 
somber silhouette created by the flow of the lamps. None of the workers bumped into anything; they must 
have known every hump in the ground, every knot in the timbers, every protrusion in the rock. The young 
man was also bothered by the slippery ground, which was getting more and more damp. Sometimes he 
passed through virtual seas which he discovered only as his feet plunged into the muddy mess. But what 
surprised him the most were the abrupt changes in temperature. At the bottom of the shaft it was very 
cold, and in the haulage tunnel, through which all the air in the mine flowed, a freezing wind was blowing, 
like a violent storm trapped between narrow walls. Further on, as they gradually traveled down other 
passageways which got less ventilation, the wind dropped and the warmth increased, creating a suffocating, 
leaden heat. 

Maheu had not said another word. He turned right into a new gallery saying only to Etienne, 
without turning around, "The Guillaume vein." 

This was the vein whose coal face they were to work. After a few steps Etienne bruised his head 
and elbows. The sloping roof descended so far that they had to walk doubled over for fifty or a hundred 
feet at a time. The water reached his ankles. They went on in this way for more than 600 feet when 
suddenly, Levaque, Zacharie and Catherine disappeared, seemingly swallowed by a tiny crack that opened in 
front of him. 

"You have to climb up," said Maheu. "Hang your lamp from a buttonhole and hang on to the 
timbers." 

He too disappeared. Etienne had to follow him. This chimney was left for the miners to allow them 
to reach all the secondary passageways, just the width of the coal vein, barely two feet. Fortunately the 
young man was thin: still clumsy, he drew himself up with a wasteful expense of strength, pulling in his 
shoulders and buttocks, hand over hand, clinging to the timbers. Fifty feet higher up they came to the first 
secondary passageway, but they had to go on; the work area of Maheu and his team was at the sixth level, 
"in Hell" as they said, and every fifty feet there was another passageway to be crossed. The climb seemed 
to go on forever, through this crack which scraped against his back and chest. Etienne gasped as if the 
weight of the rocks were crushing his limbs; his hands were skinned, his legs bruised. Worst of all, he was 
suffocating, feeling as if the blood was going to burst out through his skin. He could vaguely see down one 

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of the passageways two animals crouched down, one small and one large, shoving carts ahead of them: 
Lydie and La Mouquette, already at work. And he still had to clamber up two more levels! Sweat blinded 
him, he despaired of catching up to the others whose agile legs he could hear constantly brushing against 
the rock. 

"Come on; here we are!" said Catherine's voice. . . . 

Little by little the veins had filled, the faces were being worked at each level, at the end of each 
passageway. The all-devouring mine had swallowed its daily ration of men, more than 700 workers laboring 
now in this giant ant heap, burrowing through the earth in every direction, riddling it like an old piece of 
wood infested by worms. And in the midst of this heavy silence, under the crushing weight of these deep 
layers of earth, could be heard--if you put your ear to the rock--the movement of these human insects at 
work, from the flight of the cable raising and lowering the extraction cage to the bite of the tools digging 
into the coal at the bottom of the mine. . . . 

The four cutters had stretched out one above the other across the sloping coal face. . . . Maheu was 
the one who suffered most. High up where he was the temperature was as high as 95o, the air did not 
circulate, and eventually you would suffocate. In order to see clearly he had had to hang his lamp on a nail 
near his head; but this lamp broiled his skull, making his blood seethe. His torture was worsened above all 
by the damp. Water kept flowing over the rock above him a few inches from his face; and huge drops kept 
rapidly, continuously, in a maddening rhythm, falling, always on the same spot. It was no use twisting his 
neck or bending his head, the drops fell on his face, beating at him, splattering endlessly. After a quarter of 
an hour he was soaked, covered with his own sweat, steaming like a laundry tub. He didn't want to stop 
cutting and gave huge blows which jolted him violently between the two rocks, like a flea caught between 
the pages of a book, threatened by being completely crushed. 

Not a word was spoken. They all hammered away, and nothing could be heard but these irregular 
blows, muffled, seemingly far-off. The sounds took on a harsh quality in the dead, echoless air, and it 
seemed as if the shadows created a mysterious blackness, thickened by the flying coal dust and made 
heavier by the gas which weighed down their eyes. The wicks of their lamps displayed only glowing red tips 
through their metal screens. You couldn't make out anything clearly. The work space opened out into a 
large chimney, flat and sloping, on which the soot of ten winters had created a profound night. Ghostly 
forms moved about, random light beams allowing a glimpse of the curve of a thigh, a brawny arm, a 
savage face, blackened as if in preparation for a crime. Sometimes blocks of coal stood out, suddenly lit up, 
their facets glinting like crystals. Then everything was plunged back into darkness, the picks beating out 

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their heavy, dull blows; and there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, groans of pain and fatigue 
beneath the weight of the air and the showers from the underground streams. 

Translated by Paul Brians 


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THE LIFE OF THE INDUSTRIAL WORKER IN NINETEENTH-CENTURY 


ENGLAND10 


In 1832 Michael Sadler secured a parliamentary investigation of conditions in the textile factories 
and he sat as chairman on the committee. The evidence printed here is taken from the large body 
published in the committee's report and is representative rather than exceptional. It will be observed that 
the questions are frequently leading; this reflects Sadler's knowledge of the sort of information that the 
committee were to hear and his purpose of bringing it out. This report stands out as one of three great 
reports on the life of the industrial class — the two others being that of the Ashley Commission on the 
mines and 's report on sanitary problems. The immediate effect of the investigation and the report was the 
passage of the Act of 1833 limiting hours of employment for women and children in textile work. 

EVIDENCE GIVEN BEFORE THE SADLER COMMITTEE 

[Parliamentary Papers, 1831-1832, vol. XV. pp. 44, 95-97, 115, 195, 197, 339, 341-342.] 

Joshua Drake, called in; and Examined. 

You say you would prefer moderate labour and lower wages; are you pretty comfortable upon your 
present wages? --I have no wages, but two days a week at present; but when I am working at some jobs we 
can make a little, and at others we do very poorly. 

When a child gets 3s. a week, does that go much towards its subsistence? --No, it will not keep it as 
it should do. 

When they got 6s. or 7s. when they were pieceners, if they reduced the hours of labor, would they 
not get less? — They would get a halfpenny a day less, but I would rather have less wages and less work. 

Do you receive any parish assistance? — No. 

Why do you allow your children to go to work at those places where they are ill-treated or overworked? 
— Necessity compels a man that has children to let them work. 

Then you would not allow your children to go to those factories under the present system, if it was 
not from necessity? — No. 

Supposing there was a law passed to limit the hours of labour to eight hours a day, or something of 
that sort, of course you are aware that a manufacturer could not afford to pay them the same wages? — 
No, I do not suppose that they would, but at the same time I would rather have it, and I believe that it 

! Laura Del Col, West Virginia University: http://www.victorianweb.org/history/workers1.html 
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would bring me into employ; and if I lost 5d. a day from my children's work, and I got half-a-crown 
myself, it would be better. 

How would it get you into employ? — By finding more employment at the machines, and work 
being more regularly spread abroad, and divided amongst the people at large. One man is now regularly 
turned off into the street, whilst another man is running day and night. 

You mean to say, that if the manufacturers were to limit the hours of labour, they would employ 
more people? — Yes. 

Mr. Matthew Crabtree, called in; and Examined. 

What age are you? — Twenty-two. 

What is your occupation? — A blanket manufacturer. 

Have you ever been employed in a factory? — Yes. 

At what age did you first go to work in one? — Eight. 

How long did you continue in that occupation? — Four years. 

Will you state the hours of labour at the period when you first went to the factory, in ordinary 
times? — From 6 in the morning to 8 at night. 

Fourteen hours? — Yes. 

With what intervals for refreshment and rest? — An hour at noon. 

When trade was brisk what were your hours? — From 5 in the morning to 9 in the evening. 

Sixteen hours? — Yes. 

With what intervals at dinner? — An hour. 

How far did you live from the mill? — About two miles. 

Was there any time allowed for you to get your breakfast in the mill? — No. 

Did you take it before you left your home? — Generally. 

During those long hours of labour could you be punctual; how did you awake? — I seldom did 
awake spontaneously; I was most generally awoke or lifted out of bed, sometimes asleep, by my parents. 

Were you always in time? — No. 

What was the consequence if you had been too late? — I was most commonly beaten. 

Severely? — Very severely, I thought. 

In those mills is chastisement towards the latter part of the day going on perpetually? — 
Perpetually. 

So that you can hardly be in a mill without hearing constant crying? — Never an hour, I believe. 

Do you think that if the overlooker were naturally a humane person it would still be found 

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necessary for him to beat the children, in order to keep up their attention and vigilance at the termination 
of those extraordinary days of labour? — Yes; the machine turns off a regular quantity of cardings, and of 
course, they must keep as regularly to their work the whole of the day; they must keep with the machine, 
and therefore however humane the slubber may be, as he must keep up with the machine or be found fault 
with, he spurs the children to keep up also by various means but that which he commonly resorts to is to 
strap them when they become drowsy. 

At the time when you were beaten for not keeping up with your work, were you anxious to have 
done it if you possibly could? — Yes; the dread of being beaten if we could not keep up with our work 
was a sufficient impulse to keep us to it if we could. 

When you got home at night after this labour, did you feel much fatigued? — Very much so. 

Had you any time to be with your parents, and to receive instruction from them? — No. 

What did you do? — All that we did when we got home was to get the little bit of supper that was 
provided for us and go to bed immediately. If the supper had not been ready directly, we should have gone 
to sleep while it was preparing. 

Did you not, as a child, feel it a very grievous hardship to be roused so soon in the morning? — I 
did. 

Were the rest of the children similarly circumstanced? — Yes, all of them; but they were not all of 
them so far from their work as I was. 

And if you had been too late you were under the apprehension of being cruelly beaten? — I 
generally was beaten when I happened to be too late; and when I got up in the morning the apprehension 
of that was so great, that I used to run, and cry all the way as I went to the mill. 

Mr. John Hall, called in; and Examined. 

Will you describe to the Committee the position in which the children stand to piece in a worsted 
mill, as it may serve to explain the number and severity of those cases of distortion which occur? — At the 
top to the spindle there is a fly goes across, and the child takes hold of the fly by the ball of his left hand, 
and he throws the left shoulder up and the right knee inward; he has the thread to get with the right hand, 
and he has to stoop his head down to see what he is doing; they throw the right knee inward in that way, 
and all the children I have seen, that bend in the right knee. I knew a family, the whole of whom were bent 
outwards as a family complaint, and one of those boys was sent to a worsted-mill, and first he became 
straight in his right knee, and then he became crooked in it the other way. 

Elizabeth Bentley, called in; and Examined. 

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What age are you? — Twenty-three. 

Where do you live? — At Leeds. 

What time did you begin to work at a factory? — When I was six years old. 

At whose factory did you work? — Mr. Busk's. 

What kind of mill is it? — Flax-mill. 

What was your business in that mill? — I was a little doffer. 

What were your hours of labour in that mill? — From 5 in the morning till 9 at night, when they 
were thronged. 

For how long a time together have you worked that excessive length of time? — For about half a 
year. 

What were your usual hours when you were not so thronged? — From 6 in the morning till 7 at 
night. 

What time was allowed for your meals? — Forty minutes at noon. 

Had you any time to get your breakfast or drinking? — No, we got it as we could. 

And when your work was bad, you had hardly any time to eat it at all? — No; we were obliged to 
leave it or take it home, and when we did not take it, the overlooker took it, and gave it to his pigs. 

Do you consider doffing a laborious employment? — Yes. 

Explain what it is you had to do? — When the frames are full, they have to stop the frames, and 
take the flyers off, and take the full bobbins off, and carry them to the roller; and then put empty ones on, 
and set the frame going again. 

Does that keep you constantly on your feet? — Yes, there are so many frames, and they run so 
quick. 

Your labour is very excessive? — Yes; you have not time for any thing. 

Suppose you flagged a little, or were too late, what would they do? — Strap us. 

Are they in the habit of strapping those who are last in doffing? — Yes. 

Constantly? — Yes. 

Girls as well as boys? — Yes. 

Have you ever been strapped? — Yes. 

Severely? — Yes. 

Could you eat your food well in that factory? — No, indeed I had not much to eat, and the little I 
had I could not eat it, my appetite was so poor, and being covered with dust; and it was no use to take it 
home, I could not eat it, and the overlooker took it, and gave it to the pigs. 

You are speaking of the breakfast? — Yes. 

How far had you to go for dinner? — We could not go home to dinner. 

Where did you dine? — In the mill. 

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Did you live far from the mill? — Yes, two miles. 

Had you a clock? — No, we had not. 

Supposing you had not been in time enough in the morning at these mills, what would have been 
the consequence? — We should have been quartered. 

What do you mean by that? — If we were a quarter of an hour too late, they would take off half 
an hour; we only got a penny an hour, and they would take a halfpenny more. 

The fine was much more considerable than the loss of time? — Yes. 

Were you also beaten for being too late? — No, I was never beaten myself, I have seen the boys 
beaten for being too late. 

Were you generally there in time? — Yes; my mother had been up at 4 o'clock in the morning, and 
at 2 o'clock in the morning; the colliers used to go to their work about 3 or 4 o'clock, and when she heard 
them stirring she has got up out of her warm bed, and gone out and asked them the time; and I have 
sometimes been at Hunslet Car at 2 o'clock in the morning, when it was streaming down with rain, and we 
have had to stay until the mill was opened. 

Peter Smart, called in; and Examined. 

You say you were locked up night and day? — Yes. 

Do the children ever attempt to run away? — Very often. 

Were they pusued and brought back again? — Yes, the overseer pursued them, and brought them 
back. 

Did you ever attempt to run away? — Yes, I ran away twice. 

And you were brought back? — Yes; and I was sent up to the master's loft, and thrashed with a 
whip for running away. 

Were you bound to this man? — Yes, for six years. 

By whom were you bound? — My mother got 15s. for the six years. 

Do you know whether the children were, in point of fact, compelled to stop during the whole time 
for which they were engaged? — Yes, they were. 

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By law? — I cannot say by law; but they were compelled by the master; I never saw any law used 
there but the law of their own hands. 

To what mill did you next go? — To Mr. Webster's, at Battus Den, within eleven miles of Dundee. 

In what situation did you act there? — I acted as overseer. 

At 17 years of age? — Yes. 

Did you inflict the same punishment that you yourself had experienced? — I went as an overseer; 
not as a slave, but as a slave-driver. 

What were the hours of labour in that mill? — My master told me that I had to produce a certain 
quantity of yarn; the hours were at that time fourteen; I said that I was not able to produce the quantity of 
yarn that was required; I told him if he took the timepiece out of the mill I would produce that quantity, 
and after that time I found no difficulty in producing the quantity. 

How long have you worked per day in order to produce the quantity your master required? — I 
have wrought nineteen hours. 

Was this a water-mill? — Yes, water and steam both. 

To what time have you worked? — I have seen the mill going till it was past 12 o'clock on the 
Saturday night. 

So that the mill was still working on the Sabbath morning? — Yes. 

Were the workmen paid by the piece, or by the day? — No, all had stated wages. 

Did not that almost compel you to use great severity to the hands then under you? — Yes; I was 
compelled often to beat them, in order to get them to attend to their work, from their being over-wrought. 

Were not the children exceedingly fatigued at that time? — Yes, exceedingly fatigued. 

Were the children bound in the same way in that mill? — No; they were bound from one year's end 
to another, for twelve months. 

Did you keep the hands locked up in the same way in that mill? — Yes, we locked up the mill; but 
we did not lock the bothy. 

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Did you find that the children were unable to pursue their labour properly to that extent? — Yes; 
they have been brought to that condition, that I have gone and fetched up the doctor to them, to see what 
was the matter with them, and to know whether they were able to rise or not able to rise; they were not at 
all able to rise; we have had great difficulty in getting them up. 

When that was the case, how long have they been in bed, generally speaking? — Perhaps not above 
four or five hours in their beds. William Cobbett (1763-1835), after a long career as a publicist, entered the 
Reformed Parliament in 1833 and at once took part in the debate on the bill Lord Althorpe had introduced 
as a result of the Sadler Committee's report. 

MR. COBBETT'S DISCOVERY 

[Hansard's Parliamentary Debates. 3rd Series, vol. XIX. July 18, 1833, p.912.] 

Mr Cobbett said, a new discovery had been made in the House that night, which would doubtless 
excite great astonishment in many parts; at all events it would in Lancashire. It had formerly been said that 
the Navy was the great support of England; at another time that our maritime commerce was the great 
bulwark of the country; at another time that our colonies; and it had even been whispered that the Bank 
was; but now it was admitted, that our great stay and bulwark was to be found in three hundred thousand 
little girls, or rather in one eighth of that number. Yes; for it was asserted, that if these little girls worked 
two hours less per day, our manufacturing superiority would depart from us. 

[The material above was reprinted in an old history textbook, Readings in European History Since 
1814, edited by Jonathan F. Scott and Alexander Baltzly, and was published by Appleton-Century-Crofts, 
Inc. in 1930. The original sources of the material are listed in footnotes in the book; I've put them in 
brackets after each subject heading. The explanatory notes between sections are by Scott and Baltzly; the 
links were, of course, added by me. — L.D.C.] 

CHADWICK'S REPORT ON SANITARY CONDITIONS11 

. 
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Edwin Chadwick (1800-1890) had taken an active part in the reform of the Poor Law and in 
factory legislation before he became secretary to a commission investigating sanitary conditions and means 
of improving them. The Commission's report, of which the summary is given below, is the third of the 
great reports of this epoch. The following material comes from Report...from the Poor Law 
Commissioners on an Inquiry into the Sanitary Conditions of the Labouring Population of Great Britain 
[online source]. London, 1842, pp. 369-372.] 

After as careful an examination of the evidence collected as I have been enabled to make, I beg 
leave to recapitulate the chief conclusions which that evidence appears to me to establish. 

First, as to the extent and operation of the evils which are the subject of this inquiry: — 

That the various forms of epidemic, endemic, and other disease caused, or aggravated, or 
propagated chiefly amongst the labouring classes by atmospheric impurities produced by decomposing 
animal and vegetable substances, by damp and filth, and close and overcrowded dwellings prevail amongst 
the population in every part of the kingdom, whether dwelling in separate houses, in rural villages, in small 
towns, in the larger towns — as they have been found to prevail in the lowest districts of the metropolis. 

That such disease, wherever its attacks are frequent, is always found in connexion with the physical 
circumstances above specified, and that where those circumstances are removed by drainage, proper 
cleansing, better ventilation, and other means of diminishing atmospheric impurity, the frequency and 
intensity of such disease is abated; and where the removal of the noxious agencies appears to be complete, 
such disease almost entirely disappears. 

Contaminated London drinking water containing various micro-organisms, refuse, and the like. 

The high prosperity in respect to employment and wages, and various and abundant food, have 
afforded to the labouring classes no exemptions from attacks of epidemic disease, which have been as 
frequent and as fatal in periods of commercial and manufacturing prosperity as in any others. 

That the formation of all habits of cleanliness is obstructed by defective supplies of water. 

That the annual loss of life from filth and bad ventilation are greater than the loss from death or 
wounds in any wars in which the country has been engaged in modern times. 

That of the 43,000 cases of widowhood, and 112,000 cases of destitute orphanage relieved from 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 58!


the poor's rates in England and Wales alone, it appears that the greatest proportion of deaths of the heads 
of families occurred from the above specified and other removable causes; that their ages were under 45 
years; that is to say, 13 years below the natural probabilities of life as shown by the experience of the whole 
population of Sweden. 

That the public loss from the premature deaths of the heads of families is greater than can be 
represented by any enumeration of the pecuniary burdens consequent upon their sickness and death. 

That, measuring the loss of working ability amongst large classes by the instances of gain, even 
from incomplete arrangements for the removal of noxious influences from places of work or from abodes, 
that this loss cannot be less than eight or ten years. 

That the ravages of epidemics and other diseases do not diminish but tend to increase the pressure 
of population. 

That in the districts where the mortality is greatest the births are not only sufficient to replace the 
numbers removed by death, but to add to the population. 

That the younger population, bred up under noxious physical agencies, is inferior in physical 
organization and general health to a population preserved from the presence of such agencies. 

That the population so exposed is less susceptible of moral influences, and the effects of education 
are more transient than with a healthy population. 

That these adverse circumstances tend to produce an adult population short-lived, improvident, 
reckless, and intemperate, and with habitual avidity for sensual gratifications. 

That these habits lead to the abandonment of all the conveniences and decencies of life, and 
especially lead to the overcrowding of their homes, which is destructive to the morality as well as the health 
of large classes of both sexes. 

That defective town cleansing fosters habits of the most abject degradation and tends to the 
demoralization of large numbers of human beings, who subsist by means of what they find amidst the 
noxious filth accumulated in neglected streets and bye-places. 

That the expenses of local public works are in general unequally and unfairly assessed, oppressively 
and uneconomically collected, by separate collections, wastefully expended in separate and inefficient 

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operations by unskilled and practically irresponsible officers. 

That the existing law for the protection of the public health and the constitutional machinery for 
reclaiming its execution, such as the Courts Leet, have fallen into desuetude, and are in the state indicated 
by the prevalence of the evils they were intended to prevent. 

Secondly. As to the means by which the present sanitary condition of the labouring classes may be 
improved:-


The primary and most important measures, and at the same time the most practicable, and within 
the recognized province of public administration, are drainage, the removal of all refuse of habitations, 
streets, and roads, and the improvement of the supplies of water. 

That the chief obstacles to the immediate removal of decomposing refuse of towns and 
habitations have been the expense and annoyance of the hand labour and cartage requisite for the purpose. 

That this expense may be reduced to one-twentieth or to one-thirtieth, or rendered inconsiderable, 
by the use of water and self-acting means of removal by improved and cheaper sewers and drains. 

That refuse when thus held in suspension in water may be most cheaply and innoxiously conveyed 
to any distance out of towns, and also in the best form for productive use, and that the loss and injury by 
the pollution of natural streams may be avoided. 

That for all these purposes, as well as for domestic use, better supplies of water are absolutely 
necessary. 

That for successful and economical drainage the adoption of geological areas as the basis of 
operations is requisite. 

That appropriate scientific arrangements for public drainage would afford important facilities for 
private land-drainage, which is important for the health as well as sustenance of the labouring classes. 

That the expense of public drainage, of supplies of water laid on in houses, and of means of 
improved cleansing would be a pecuniary gain, by diminishing the existing charges attendant on sickness 
and premature mortality. 

That for the protection of the labouring classes and of the ratepayers against inefficiency and 
waste in all new structural arrangements for the protection of the public health, and to ensure public 

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confidence that the expenditure will be beneficial, securities should be taken that all new local public works 
are devised and conducted by responsible officers qualified by the possession of the science and skill of 
civil engineers. 

That the oppressiveness and injustice of levies for the whole immediate outlay on such works upon 
persons who have only short interests in the benefits may be avoided by care in spreading the expense over 
periods coincident with the benefits. 

That by appropriate arrangements, 10 or 15 per cent. on the ordinary outlay for drainage might be 
saved, which on an estimate of the expense of the necessary structural alterations of one-third only of the 
existing tenements would be a saving of one million and a half sterling, besides the reduction of the future 
expenses of management. 

That for the prevention of the disease occasioned by defective ventilation and other causes of 
impurity in places of work and other places where large numbers are assembled, and for the general 
promotion of the means necessary to prevent disease, that it would be good economy to appoint a district 
medical officer independent of private practice, and with the securities of special qualifications and 
responsibilities to initiate sanitary measures and reclaim the execution of the law. 

That by the combinations of all these arrangements, it is probable that the full ensurable period of 
life indicated by the Swedish tables; that is, an increase of 13 years at least, may be extended to the whole 
of the labouring classes. 

That the attainment of these and the other collateral advantages of reducing existing charges and 
expenditure are within the power of the legislature, and are dependent mainly on the securities taken for 
the application of practical science, skill, and economy in the direction of local public works. 

And that the removal of noxious physical circumstances, and the promotion of civic, household, 
and personal cleanliness, are necessary to the improvement of the moral condition of the population; for 
that sound morality and refinement in manners and health are not long found co-existent with filthy habits 
amongst any class of the community. 

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JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE, THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER12 

Author: J.W. von Goethe 
Editor: Nathen Haskell Dole 
Translator: R.D. Boylan 
Produced by Michael Potter, and Irene Potter 

PREFACE 

I have carefully collected whatever I have been able to learn of the 
story of poor Werther, and here present it to you, knowing that you 
will thank me for it. To his spirit and character you cannot refuse your 
admiration and love: to his fate you will not deny your tears. 

And thou, good soul, who sufferest the same distress as he endured once, 
draw comfort from his sorrows; and let this little book be thy friend, 
if, owing to fortune or through thine own fault, thou canst not find a 
dearer companion. 

BOOK I 

MAY 4. 

How happy I am that I am gone! My dear friend, what a thing is the heart 
of man! To leave you, from whom I have been inseparable, whom I love 
so dearly, and yet to feel happy! I know you will forgive me. Have not 
other attachments been specially appointed by fate to torment a head 
like mine? Poor Leonora! and yet I was not to blame. Was it my fault, 
that, whilst the peculiar charms of her sister afforded me an agreeable 
entertainment, a passion for me was engendered in her feeble heart? And 

12 Project Gutenberg's The Sorrows of Young Werther, by J.W. von Goethe. This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at 
no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or e-use it under the terms of the 
Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 62!


yet am I wholly blameless? Did I not encourage her emotions? Did I not 
feel charmed at those truly genuine expressions of nature, which, though 
but little mirthful in reality, so often amused us? Did I not--but 
oh! what is man, that he dares so to accuse himself? My dear friend I 
promise you I will improve; I will no longer, as has ever been my habit, 
continue to ruminate on every petty vexation which fortune may dispense; 
I will enjoy the present, and the past shall be for me the past. 
No doubt you are right, my best of friends, there would be far less 
suffering amongst mankind, if men--and God knows why they are so 
fashioned--did not employ their imaginations so assiduously in recalling 
the memory of past sorrow, instead of bearing their present lot with 
equanimity. Be kind enough to inform my mother that I shall attend to 
her business to the best of my ability, and shall give her the earliest 
information about it. I have seen my aunt, and find that she is very far 
from being the disagreeable person our friends allege her to be. She is 
a lively, cheerful woman, with the best of hearts. I explained to her my 
mother's wrongs with regard to that part of her portion which has 
been withheld from her. She told me the motives and reasons of her own 
conduct, and the terms on which she is willing to give up the whole, 
and to do more than we have asked. In short, I cannot write further upon 
this subject at present; only assure my mother that all will go on well. 
And I have again observed, my dear friend, in this trifling affair, that 
misunderstandings and neglect occasion more mischief in the world than 
even malice and wickedness. At all events, the two latter are of less 
frequent occurrence. 
In other respects I am very well off here. Solitude in this terrestrial 
paradise is a genial balm to my mind, and the young spring cheers with 
its bounteous promises my oftentimes misgiving heart. Every tree, every 
bush, is full of flowers; and one might wish himself transformed into a 
butterfly, to float about in this ocean of perfume, and find his whole 
existence in it. 
The town itself is disagreeable; but then, all around, you find an 
inexpressible beauty of nature. This induced the late Count M to lay 
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out a garden on one of the sloping hills which here intersect each other 
with the most charming variety, and form the most lovely valleys. The 
garden is simple; and it is easy to perceive, even upon your first 
entrance, that the plan was not designed by a scientific gardener, but 
by a man who wished to give himself up here to the enjoyment of his own 
sensitive heart. Many a tear have I already shed to the memory of its 
departed master in a summer-house which is now reduced to ruins, but 
was his favourite resort, and now is mine. I shall soon be master of the 
place. The gardener has become attached to me within the last few days, 
and he will lose nothing thereby. 
MAY 10. 
A wonderful serenity has taken possession of my entire soul, like these 
sweet mornings of spring which I enjoy with my whole heart. I am alone, 
and feel the charm of existence in this spot, which was created for the 
bliss of souls like mine. I am so happy, my dear friend, so absorbed 
in the exquisite sense of mere tranquil existence, that I neglect my 
talents. I should be incapable of drawing a single stroke at the present 
moment; and yet I feel that I never was a greater artist than now. When, 
while the lovely valley teems with vapour around me, and the meridian 
sun strikes the upper surface of the impenetrable foliage of my trees, 
and but a few stray gleams steal into the inner sanctuary, I throw 
myself down among the tall grass by the trickling stream; and, as I lie 
close to the earth, a thousand unknown plants are noticed by me: when 
I hear the buzz of the little world among the stalks, and grow familiar 
with the countless indescribable forms of the insects and flies, then I 
feel the presence of the Almighty, who formed us in his own image, and 
the breath of that universal love which bears and sustains us, as it 
floats around us in an eternity of bliss; and then, my friend, when 
darkness overspreads my eyes, and heaven and earth seem to dwell in my 
soul and absorb its power, like the form of a beloved mistress, then I 
often think with longing, Oh, would I could describe these conceptions, 
could impress upon paper all that is living so full and warm within me, 
that it might be the mirror of my soul, as my soul is the mirror of the 
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infinite God! O my friend--but it is too much for my strength--I sink 
under the weight of the splendour of these visions! 
MAY 12. 
I know not whether some deceitful spirits haunt this spot, or whether 
it be the warm, celestial fancy in my own heart which makes everything 
around me seem like paradise. In front of the house is a fountain,--a 
fountain to which I am bound by a charm like Melusina and her sisters. 
Descending a gentle slope, you come to an arch, where, some twenty steps 
lower down, water of the clearest crystal gushes from the marble rock. 
The narrow wall which encloses it above, the tall trees which encircle 
the spot, and the coolness of the place itself,--everything imparts 
a pleasant but sublime impression. Not a day passes on which I do not 
spend an hour there. The young maidens come from the town to fetch 
water,--innocent and necessary employment, and formerly the occupation 
of the daughters of kings. As I take my rest there, the idea of the old 
patriarchal life is awakened around me. I see them, our old ancestors, 
how they formed their friendships and contracted alliances at the 
fountain-side; and I feel how fountains and streams were guarded by 
beneficent spirits. He who is a stranger to these sensations has never 
really enjoyed cool repose at the side of a fountain after the fatigue 
of a weary summer day. 
MAY 13. 
You ask if you shall send me books. My dear friend, I beseech you, 
for the love of God, relieve me from such a yoke! I need no more to be 
guided, agitated, heated. My heart ferments sufficiently of itself. 
I want strains to lull me, and I find them to perfection in my Homer. 
Often do I strive to allay the burning fever of my blood; and you have 
never witnessed anything so unsteady, so uncertain, as my heart. But 
need I confess this to you, my dear friend, who have so often endured 
the anguish of witnessing my sudden transitions from sorrow to 
immoderate joy, and from sweet melancholy to violent passions? I treat 
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my poor heart like a sick child, and gratify its every fancy. Do not 
mention this again: there are people who would censure me for it. 
MAY 15. 
The common people of the place know me already, and love me, 
particularly the children. When at first I associated with them, and 
inquired in a friendly tone about their various trifles, some fancied 
that I wished to ridicule them, and turned from me in exceeding 
ill-humour. I did not allow that circumstance to grieve me: I only felt 
most keenly what I have often before observed. Persons who can claim 
a certain rank keep themselves coldly aloof from the common people, 
as though they feared to lose their importance by the contact; whilst 
wanton idlers, and such as are prone to bad joking, affect to descend 
to their level, only to make the poor people feel their impertinence all 
the more keenly. 
I know very well that we are not all equal, nor can be so; but it is my 
opinion that he who avoids the common people, in order not to lose their 
respect, is as much to blame as a coward who hides himself from his 
enemy because he fears defeat. 
The other day I went to the fountain, and found a young servant-girl, 
who had set her pitcher on the lowest step, and looked around to see 
if one of her companions was approaching to place it on her head. I ran 
down, and looked at her. "Shall I help you, pretty lass?" said I. She 
blushed deeply. "Oh, sir!" she exclaimed. "No ceremony!" I replied. She 
adjusted her head-gear, and I helped her. She thanked me, and ascended 
the steps. 
MAY 17. 
I have made all sorts of acquaintances, but have as yet found no 
society. I know not what attraction I possess for the people, so many 
of them like me, and attach themselves to me; and then I feel sorry when 
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the road we pursue together goes only a short distance. If you inquire 
what the people are like here, I must answer, "The same as everywhere." 
The human race is but a monotonous affair. Most of them labour the 
greater part of their time for mere subsistence; and the scanty portion 
of freedom which remains to them so troubles them that they use every 
exertion to get rid of it. Oh, the destiny of man! 
But they are a right good sort of people. If I occasionally forget 
myself, and take part in the innocent pleasures which are not yet 
forbidden to the peasantry, and enjoy myself, for instance, with 
genuine freedom and sincerity, round a well-covered table, or arrange an 
excursion or a dance opportunely, and so forth, all this produces a good 
effect upon my disposition; only I must forget that there lie dormant 
within me so many other qualities which moulder uselessly, and which 
I am obliged to keep carefully concealed. Ah! this thought affects my 
spirits fearfully. And yet to be misunderstood is the fate of the like 
of us. 
Alas, that the friend of my youth is gone! Alas, that I ever knew her! I 
might say to myself, "You are a dreamer to seek what is not to be found 
here below." But she has been mine. I have possessed that heart, that 
noble soul, in whose presence I seemed to be more than I really was, 
because I was all that I could be. Good heavens! did then a single power 
of my soul remain unexercised? In her presence could I not display, to 
its full extent, that mysterious feeling with which my heart embraces 
nature? Was not our intercourse a perpetual web of the finest emotions, 
of the keenest wit, the varieties of which, even in their very 
eccentricity, bore the stamp of genius? Alas! the few years by which she 
was my senior brought her to the grave before me. Never can I forget her 
firm mind or her heavenly patience. 
A few days ago I met a certain young V--, a frank, open fellow, with 
a most pleasing countenance. He has just left the university, does not 
deem himself overwise, but believes he knows more than other people. 
He has worked hard, as I can perceive from many circumstances, and, in 
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short, possesses a large stock of information. When he heard that I am 
drawing a good deal, and that I know Greek (two wonderful things for 
this part of the country), he came to see me, and displayed his whole 
store of learning, from Batteaux to Wood, from De Piles to Winkelmann: 
he assured me he had read through the first part of Sultzer's theory, 
and also possessed a manuscript of Heyne's work on the study of the 
antique. I allowed it all to pass. 
I have become acquainted, also, with a very worthy person, the district 
judge, a frank and open-hearted man. I am told it is a most delightful 
thing to see him in the midst of his children, of whom he has nine. His 
eldest daughter especially is highly spoken of. He has invited me to go 
and see him, and I intend to do so on the first opportunity. He lives 
at one of the royal hunting-lodges, which can be reached from here in an 
hour and a half by walking, and which he obtained leave to inhabit after 
the loss of his wife, as it is so painful to him to reside in town and 
at the court. 
There have also come in my way a few other originals of a questionable 
sort, who are in all respects undesirable, and most intolerable in their 
demonstration of friendship. Good-bye. This letter will please you: it 
is quite historical. 
MAY 22. 
That the life of man is but a dream, many a man has surmised heretofore; 
and I, too, am everywhere pursued by this feeling. When I consider 
the narrow limits within which our active and inquiring faculties are 
confined; when I see how all our energies are wasted in providing for 
mere necessities, which again have no further end than to prolong 
a wretched existence; and then that all our satisfaction concerning 
certain subjects of investigation ends in nothing better than a passive 
resignation, whilst we amuse ourselves painting our prison-walls with 
bright figures and brilliant landscapes,--when I consider all this, 
Wilhelm, I am silent. I examine my own being, and find there a world, 
CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE !68 


but a world rather of imagination and dim desires, than of distinctness 
and living power. Then everything swims before my senses, and I smile 
and dream while pursuing my way through the world. 
All learned professors and doctors are agreed that children do not 
comprehend the cause of their desires; but that the grown-up should 
wander about this earth like children, without knowing whence they come, 
or whither they go, influenced as little by fixed motives, but guided 
like them by biscuits, sugar-plums, and the rod,--this is what nobody is 
willing to acknowledge; and yet I think it is palpable. 
I know what you will say in reply; for I am ready to admit that they are 
happiest, who, like children, amuse themselves with their playthings, 
dress and undress their dolls, and attentively watch the cupboard, 
where mamma has locked up her sweet things, and, when at last they get 
a delicious morsel, eat it greedily, and exclaim, "More!" These are 
certainly happy beings; but others also are objects of envy, who dignify 
their paltry employments, and sometimes even their passions, with 
pompous titles, representing them to mankind as gigantic achievements 
performed for their welfare and glory. But the man who humbly 
acknowledges the vanity of all this, who observes with what pleasure 
the thriving citizen converts his little garden into a paradise, and how 
patiently even the poor man pursues his weary way under his burden, 
and how all wish equally to behold the light of the sun a little 
longer,--yes, such a man is at peace, and creates his own world within 
himself; and he is also happy, because he is a man. And then, however 
limited his sphere, he still preserves in his bosom the sweet feeling of 
liberty, and knows that he can quit his prison whenever he likes. 
MAY 26. 
You know of old my ways of settling anywhere, of selecting a little 
cottage in some cosy spot, and of putting up in it with every 
inconvenience. Here, too, I have discovered such a snug, comfortable 
place, which possesses peculiar charms for me. 
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About a league from the town is a place called Walheim. (The reader 
need not take the trouble to look for the place thus designated. We have 
found it necessary to change the names given in the original.) It is 
delightfully situated on the side of a hill; and, by proceeding along 
one of the footpaths which lead out of the village, you can have a view 
of the whole valley. A good old woman lives there, who keeps a small 
inn. She sells wine, beer, and coffee, and is cheerful and pleasant 
notwithstanding her age. The chief charm of this spot consists in two 
linden-trees, spreading their enormous branches over the little green 
before the church, which is entirely surrounded by peasants' cottages, 
barns, and homesteads. I have seldom seen a place so retired and 
peaceable; and there often have my table and chair brought out from 
the little inn, and drink my coffee there, and read my Homer. Accident 
brought me to the spot one fine afternoon, and I found it perfectly 
deserted. Everybody was in the fields except a little boy about four 
years of age, who was sitting on the ground, and held between his knees 
a child about six months old: he pressed it to his bosom with both 
arms, which thus formed a sort of arm-chair; and, notwithstanding the 
liveliness which sparkled in its black eyes, it remained perfectly 
still. The sight charmed me. I sat down upon a plough opposite, and 
sketched with great delight this little picture of brotherly tenderness. 
I added the neighbouring hedge, the barn-door, and some broken 
cart-wheels, just as they happened to lie; and I found in about an hour 
that I had made a very correct and interesting drawing, without putting 
in the slightest thing of my own. This confirmed me in my resolution 
of adhering, for the future, entirely to nature. She alone is 
inexhaustible, and capable of forming the greatest masters. Much may be 
alleged in favour of rules, as much may be likewise advanced in favour 
of the laws of society: an artist formed upon them will never produce 
anything absolutely bad or disgusting; as a man who observes the laws, 
and obeys decorum, can never be an absolutely intolerable neighbour, nor 
a decided villain: but yet, say what you will of rules, they destroy the 
genuine feeling of nature, as well as its true expression. Do not tell 
me "that this is too hard, that they only restrain and prune superfluous 

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branches, etc." My good friend, I will illustrate this by an analogy. 
These things resemble love. A warmhearted youth becomes strongly 
attached to a maiden: he spends every hour of the day in her company, 
wears out his health, and lavishes his fortune, to afford continual 
proof that he is wholly devoted to her. Then comes a man of the world, a 
man of place and respectability, and addresses him thus: "My good young 
friend, love is natural; but you must love within bounds. Divide your 
time: devote a portion to business, and give the hours of recreation to 
your mistress. Calculate your fortune; and out of the superfluity you 
may make her a present, only not too often,--on her birthday, and such 
occasions." Pursuing this advice, he may become a useful member of 
society, and I should advise every prince to give him an appointment; 
but it is all up with his love, and with his genius if he be an artist. 
O my friend! why is it that the torrent of genius so seldom bursts 
forth, so seldom rolls in full-flowing stream, overwhelming your 
astounded soul? Because, on either side of this stream, cold and 
respectable persons have taken up their abodes, and, forsooth, their 
summer-houses and tulip-beds would suffer from the torrent; wherefore 
they dig trenches, and raise embankments betimes, in order to avert the 
impending danger. 
MAY 27. 
I find I have fallen into raptures, declamation, and similes, and have 
forgotten, in consequence, to tell you what became of the children. 
Absorbed in my artistic contemplations, which I briefly described in my 
letter of yesterday, I continued sitting on the plough for two hours. 
Toward evening a young woman, with a basket on her arm, came running 
toward the children, who had not moved all that time. She exclaimed 
from a distance, "You are a good boy, Philip!" She gave me greeting: I 
returned it, rose, and approached her. I inquired if she were the mother 
of those pretty children. "Yes," she said; and, giving the eldest a 
piece of bread, she took the little one in her arms and kissed it with 
a mother's tenderness. "I left my child in Philip's care," she said, 
"whilst I went into the town with my eldest boy to buy some wheaten 
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bread, some sugar, and an earthen pot." I saw the various articles in 
the basket, from which the cover had fallen. "I shall make some broth 
to-night for my little Hans (which was the name of the youngest): 
that wild fellow, the big one, broke my pot yesterday, whilst he was 
scrambling with Philip for what remained of the contents." I inquired 
for the eldest; and she had scarcely time to tell me that he was driving 
a couple of geese home from the meadow, when he ran up, and handed 
Philip an osier-twig. I talked a little longer with the woman, and found 
that she was the daughter of the schoolmaster, and that her husband was 
gone on a journey into Switzerland for some money a relation had left 
him. "They wanted to cheat him," she said, "and would not answer 
his letters; so he is gone there himself. I hope he has met with no 
accident, as I have heard nothing of him since his departure." I left 
the woman, with regret, giving each of the children a kreutzer, with an 
additional one for the youngest, to buy some wheaten bread for his broth 
when she went to town next; and so we parted. I assure you, my dear 
friend, when my thoughts are all in tumult, the sight of such a 
creature as this tranquillises my disturbed mind. She moves in a 
happy thoughtlessness within the confined circle of her existence; she 
supplies her wants from day to day; and, when she sees the leaves fall, 
they raise no other idea in her mind than that winter is approaching. 
Since that time I have gone out there frequently. The children have 
become quite familiar with me; and each gets a lump of sugar when I 
drink my coffee, and they share my milk and bread and butter in the 
evening. They always receive their kreutzer on Sundays, for the good 
woman has orders to give it to them when I do not go there after evening 
service. They are quite at home with me, tell me everything; and I am 
particularly amused with observing their tempers, and the simplicity of 
their behaviour, when some of the other village children are assembled 
with them. 
It has given me a deal of trouble to satisfy the anxiety of the mother, 
lest (as she says) "they should inconvenience the gentleman." 
MAY 30. 
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What I have lately said of painting is equally true with respect to 
poetry. It is only necessary for us to know what is really excellent, 
and venture to give it expression; and that is saying much in few words. 
To-day I have had a scene, which, if literally related, would, make the 
most beautiful idyl in the world. But why should I talk of poetry and 
scenes and idyls? Can we never take pleasure in nature without having 
recourse to art? 
If you expect anything grand or magnificent from this introduction, 
you will be sadly mistaken. It relates merely to a peasant-lad, who 
has excited in me the warmest interest. As usual, I shall tell my story 
badly; and you, as usual, will think me extravagant. It is Walheim once 
more--always Walheim--which produces these wonderful phenomena. 
A party had assembled outside the house under the linden-trees, to drink 
coffee. The company did not exactly please me; and, under one pretext or 
another, I lingered behind. 
A peasant came from an adjoining house, and set to work arranging some 
part of the same plough which I had lately sketched. His appearance 
pleased me; and I spoke to him, inquired about his circumstances, made 
his acquaintance, and, as is my wont with persons of that class, was 
soon admitted into his confidence. He said he was in the service of 
a young widow, who set great store by him. He spoke so much of his 
mistress, and praised her so extravagantly, that I could soon see he was 
desperately in love with her. "She is no longer young," he said: "and 
she was treated so badly by her former husband that she does not mean 
to marry again." From his account it was so evident what incomparable 
charms she possessed for him, and how ardently he wished she would 
select him to extinguish the recollection of her first husband's 
misconduct, that I should have to repeat his own words in order to 
describe the depth of the poor fellow's attachment, truth, and devotion. 
It would, in fact, require the gifts of a great poet to convey the 
expression of his features, the harmony of his voice, and the heavenly 
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fire of his eye. No words can portray the tenderness of his every 
movement and of every feature: no effort of mine could do justice to the 
scene. His alarm lest I should misconceive his position with regard 
to his mistress, or question the propriety of her conduct, touched me 
particularly. The charming manner with which he described her form and 
person, which, without possessing the graces of youth, won and attached 
him to her, is inexpressible, and must be left to the imagination. I 
have never in my life witnessed or fancied or conceived the possibility 
of such intense devotion, such ardent affections, united with so much 
purity. Do not blame me if I say that the recollection of this innocence 
and truth is deeply impressed upon my very soul; that this picture of 
fidelity and tenderness haunts me everywhere; and that my own heart, as 
though enkindled by the flame, glows and burns within me. 
I mean now to try and see her as soon as I can: or perhaps, on second 
thoughts, I had better not; it is better I should behold her through the 
eyes of her lover. To my sight, perhaps, she would not appear as she now 
stands before me; and why should I destroy so sweet a picture? 
JUNE 16. 
"Why do I not write to you?" You lay claim to learning, and ask such a 
question. You should have guessed that I am well--that is to say--in a 
word, I have made an acquaintance who has won my heart: I have--I know 
not. 
To give you a regular account of the manner in which I have become 
acquainted with the most amiable of women would be a difficult task. I 
am a happy and contented mortal, but a poor historian. 
An angel! Nonsense! Everybody so describes his mistress; and yet I find 
it impossible to tell you how perfect she is, or why she is so perfect: 
suffice it to say she has captivated all my senses. 
So much simplicity with so much understanding--so mild, and yet so 
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resolute--a mind so placid, and a life so active. 
But all this is ugly balderdash, which expresses not a single character 
nor feature. Some other time--but no, not some other time, now, this 
very instant, will I tell you all about it. Now or never. Well, between 
ourselves, since I commenced my letter, I have been three times on the 
point of throwing down my pen, of ordering my horse, and riding out. 
And yet I vowed this morning that I would not ride to-day, and yet every 
moment I am rushing to the window to see how high the sun is. 
I could not restrain myself--go to her I must. I have just returned, 
Wilhelm; and whilst I am taking supper I will write to you. What 
a delight it was for my soul to see her in the midst of her dear, 
beautiful children,--eight brothers and sisters! 
But, if I proceed thus, you will be no wiser at the end of my letter 
than you were at the beginning. Attend, then, and I will compel myself 
to give you the details. 
I mentioned to you the other day that I had become acquainted with S--, 
the district judge, and that he had invited me to go and visit him in 
his retirement, or rather in his little kingdom. But I neglected going, 
and perhaps should never have gone, if chance had not discovered to me 
the treasure which lay concealed in that retired spot. Some of our young 
people had proposed giving a ball in the country, at which I consented 
to be present. I offered my hand for the evening to a pretty and 
agreeable, but rather commonplace, sort of girl from the immediate 
neighbourhood; and it was agreed that I should engage a carriage, and 
call upon Charlotte, with my partner and her aunt, to convey them to the 
ball. My companion informed me, as we drove along through the park 
to the hunting-lodge, that I should make the acquaintance of a very 
charming young lady. "Take care," added the aunt, "that you do not lose 
your heart." "Why?" said I. "Because she is already engaged to a very 
worthy man," she replied, "who is gone to settle his affairs upon 
the death of his father, and will succeed to a very considerable 
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inheritance." This information possessed no interest for me. When 
we arrived at the gate, the sun was setting behind the tops of the 
mountains. The atmosphere was heavy; and the ladies expressed their 
fears of an approaching storm, as masses of low black clouds were 
gathering in the horizon. I relieved their anxieties by pretending to be 
weather-wise, although I myself had some apprehensions lest our pleasure 
should be interrupted. 
I alighted; and a maid came to the door, and requested us to wait a 
moment for her mistress. I walked across the court to a well-built 
house, and, ascending the flight of steps in front, opened the door, 
and saw before me the most charming spectacle I had ever witnessed. Six 
children, from eleven to two years old, were running about the hall, and 
surrounding a lady of middle height, with a lovely figure, dressed in a 
robe of simple white, trimmed with pink ribbons. She was holding a rye 
loaf in her hand, and was cutting slices for the little ones all around, 
in proportion to their age and appetite. She performed her task in a 
graceful and affectionate manner; each claimant awaiting his turn with 
outstretched hands, and boisterously shouting his thanks. Some of them 
ran away at once, to enjoy their evening meal; whilst others, of a 
gentler disposition, retired to the courtyard to see the strangers, and 
to survey the carriage in which their Charlotte was to drive away. "Pray 
forgive me for giving you the trouble to come for me, and for keeping 
the ladies waiting: but dressing, and arranging some household duties 
before I leave, had made me forget my children's supper; and they do 
not like to take it from any one but me." I uttered some indifferent 
compliment: but my whole soul was absorbed by her air, her voice, her 
manner; and I had scarcely recovered myself when she ran into her room 
to fetch her gloves and fan. The young ones threw inquiring glances at 
me from a distance; whilst I approached the youngest, a most delicious 
little creature. He drew back; and Charlotte, entering at the very 
moment, said, "Louis, shake hands with your cousin." The little fellow 
obeyed willingly; and I could not resist giving him a hearty kiss, 
notwithstanding his rather dirty face. "Cousin," said I to Charlotte, 
as I handed her down, "do you think I deserve the happiness of being 
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related to you?" She replied, with a ready smile, "Oh! I have such 
a number of cousins, that I should be sorry if you were the most 
undeserving of them." In taking leave, she desired her next sister, 
Sophy, a girl about eleven years old, to take great care of the 
children, and to say good-bye to papa for her when he came home from his 
ride. She enjoined to the little ones to obey their sister Sophy as they 
would herself, upon which some promised that they would; but a little 
fair-haired girl, about six years old, looked discontented, and said, 
"But Sophy is not you, Charlotte; and we like you best." The two eldest 
boys had clambered up the carriage; and, at my request, she permitted 
them to accompany us a little way through the forest, upon their 
promising to sit very still, and hold fast. 
We were hardly seated, and the ladies had scarcely exchanged 
compliments, making the usual remarks upon each other's dress, and upon 
the company they expected to meet, when Charlotte stopped the carriage, 
and made her brothers get down. They insisted upon kissing her hands 
once more; which the eldest did with all the tenderness of a youth 
of fifteen, but the other in a lighter and more careless manner. She 
desired them again to give her love to the children, and we drove off. 
The aunt inquired of Charlotte whether she had finished the book she had 
last sent her. "No," said Charlotte; "I did not like it: you can have 
it again. And the one before was not much better." I was surprised, upon 
asking the title, to hear that it was ____. (We feel obliged to suppress 
the passage in the letter, to prevent any one from feeling aggrieved; 
although no author need pay much attention to the opinion of a mere 
girl, or that of an unsteady young man.) 
I found penetration and character in everything she said: every 
expression seemed to brighten her features with new charms,--with 
new rays of genius,--which unfolded by degrees, as she felt herself 
understood. 
"When I was younger," she observed, "I loved nothing so much as 
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romances. Nothing could equal my delight when, on some holiday, I could 
settle down quietly in a corner, and enter with my whole heart and soul 
into the joys or sorrows of some fictitious Leonora. I do not deny that 
they even possess some charms for me yet. But I read so seldom, that I 
prefer books suited exactly to my taste. And I like those authors best 
whose scenes describe my own situation in life,--and the friends who are 
about me, whose stories touch me with interest, from resembling my own 
homely existence,--which, without being absolutely paradise, is, on the 
whole, a source of indescribable happiness." 
I endeavoured to conceal the emotion which these words occasioned, but 
it was of slight avail; for, when she had expressed so truly her opinion 
of "The Vicar of Wakefield," and of other works, the names of which I 
omit (Though the names are omitted, yet the authors mentioned deserve 
Charlotte's approbation, and will feel it in their hearts when they read 
this passage. It concerns no other person.), I could no longer contain 
myself, but gave full utterance to what I thought of it: and it was not 
until Charlotte had addressed herself to the two other ladies, that 
I remembered their presence, and observed them sitting mute with 
astonishment. The aunt looked at me several times with an air of 
raillery, which, however, I did not at all mind. 
We talked of the pleasures of dancing. "If it is a fault to love it," 
said Charlotte, "I am ready to confess that I prize it above all other 
amusements. If anything disturbs me, I go to the piano, play an air to 
which I have danced, and all goes right again directly." 
You, who know me, can fancy how steadfastly I gazed upon her rich dark 
eyes during these remarks, how my very soul gloated over her warm lips 
and fresh, glowing cheeks, how I became quite lost in the delightful 
meaning of her words, so much so, that I scarcely heard the actual 
expressions. In short, I alighted from the carriage like a person in a 
dream, and was so lost to the dim world around me, that I scarcely heard 
the music which resounded from the illuminated ballroom. 
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The two Messrs. Andran and a certain N. N. (I cannot trouble myself with 
the names), who were the aunt's and Charlotte's partners, received us 
at the carriage-door, and took possession of their ladies, whilst I 
followed with mine. 
We commenced with a minuet. I led out one lady after another, and 
precisely those who were the most disagreeable could not bring 
themselves to leave off. Charlotte and her partner began an English 
country dance, and you must imagine my delight when it was their turn 
to dance the figure with us. You should see Charlotte dance. She dances 
with her whole heart and soul: her figure is all harmony, elegance, 
and grace, as if she were conscious of nothing else, and had no 
other thought or feeling; and, doubtless, for the moment, every other 
sensation is extinct. 
She was engaged for the second country dance, but promised me the third, 
and assured me, with the most agreeable freedom, that she was very 
fond of waltzing. "It is the custom here," she said, "for the previous 
partners to waltz together; but my partner is an indifferent waltzer, 
and will feel delighted if I save him the trouble. Your partner is not 
allowed to waltz, and, indeed, is equally incapable: but I observed 
during the country dance that you waltz well; so, if you will waltz with 
me, I beg you would propose it to my partner, and I will propose it to 
yours." We agreed, and it was arranged that our partners should mutually 
entertain each other. 
We set off, and, at first, delighted ourselves with the usual graceful 
motions of the arms. With what grace, with what ease, she moved! When 
the waltz commenced, and the dancers whirled around each other in the 
giddy maze, there was some confusion, owing to the incapacity of some of 
the dancers. We judiciously remained still, allowing the others to weary 
themselves; and, when the awkward dancers had withdrawn, we joined in, 
and kept it up famously together with one other couple,--Andran and his 
partner. Never did I dance more lightly. I felt myself more than mortal, 
holding this loveliest of creatures in my arms, flying, with her as 
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rapidly as the wind, till I lost sight of every other object; and O 
Wilhelm, I vowed at that moment, that a maiden whom I loved, or for whom 
I felt the slightest attachment, never, never should waltz with any one 
else but with me, if I went to perdition for it!--you will understand 
this. 
We took a few turns in the room to recover our breath. Charlotte sat 
down, and felt refreshed by partaking of some oranges which I had had 
secured,--the only ones that had been left; but at every slice which, 
from politeness, she offered to her neighbours, I felt as though a 
dagger went through my heart. 
We were the second couple in the third country dance. As we were going 
down (and Heaven knows with what ecstasy I gazed at her arms and eyes, 
beaming with the sweetest feeling of pure and genuine enjoyment), 
we passed a lady whom I had noticed for her charming expression of 
countenance; although she was no longer young. She looked at Charlotte 
with a smile, then, holding up her finger in a threatening attitude, 
repeated twice in a very significant tone of voice the name of "Albert." 
"Who is Albert," said I to Charlotte, "if it is not impertinent to ask?" 
She was about to answer, when we were obliged to separate, in order to 
execute a figure in the dance; and, as we crossed over again in front of 
each other, I perceived she looked somewhat pensive. "Why need I conceal 
it from you?" she said, as she gave me her hand for the promenade. 
"Albert is a worthy man, to whom I am engaged." Now, there was nothing 
new to me in this (for the girls had told me of it on the way); but it 
was so far new that I had not thought of it in connection with her whom, 
in so short a time, I had learned to prize so highly. Enough, I became 
confused, got out in the figure, and occasioned general confusion; so 
that it required all Charlotte's presence of mind to set me right by 
pulling and pushing me into my proper place. 
The dance was not yet finished when the lightning which had for some 
time been seen in the horizon, and which I had asserted to proceed 
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entirely from heat, grew more violent; and the thunder was heard above 
the music. When any distress or terror surprises us in the midst of our 
amusements, it naturally makes a deeper impression than at other times, 
either because the contrast makes us more keenly susceptible, or rather 
perhaps because our senses are then more open to impressions, and the 
shock is consequently stronger. To this cause I must ascribe the fright 
and shrieks of the ladies. One sagaciously sat down in a corner with 
her back to the window, and held her fingers to her ears; a second knelt 
down before her, and hid her face in her lap; a third threw herself 
between them, and embraced her sister with a thousand tears; some 
insisted on going home; others, unconscious of their actions, wanted 
sufficient presence of mind to repress the impertinence of their young 
partners, who sought to direct to themselves those sighs which the lips 
of our agitated beauties intended for heaven. Some of the gentlemen had 
gone down-stairs to smoke a quiet cigar, and the rest of the company 
gladly embraced a happy suggestion of the hostess to retire into another 
room which was provided with shutters and curtains. We had hardly got 
there, when Charlotte placed the chairs in a circle; and, when the 
company had sat down in compliance with her request, she forthwith 
proposed a round game. 
I noticed some of the company prepare their mouths and draw themselves 
up at the prospect of some agreeable forfeit. "Let us play at counting," 
said Charlotte. "Now, pay attention: I shall go round the circle from 
right to left; and each person is to count, one after the other, the 
number that comes to him, and must count fast; whoever stops or 
mistakes is to have a box on the ear, and so on, till we have counted a 
thousand." It was delightful to see the fun. She went round the circle 
with upraised arm. "One," said the first; "two," the second; "three," 
the third; and so on, till Charlotte went faster and faster. One made a 
mistake, instantly a box on the ear; and, amid the laughter that ensued, 
came another box; and so on, faster and faster. I myself came in for 
two. I fancied they were harder than the rest, and felt quite delighted. 
A general laughter and confusion put an end to the game long before 
we had counted as far as a thousand. The party broke up into little 
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separate knots: the storm had ceased, and I followed Charlotte into the 
ballroom. On the way she said, "The game banished their fears of the 
storm." I could make no reply. "I myself," she continued, "was as much 
frightened as any of them; but by affecting courage, to keep up the 
spirits of the others, I forgot my apprehensions." We went to the 
window. It was still thundering at a distance: a soft rain was pouring 
down over the country, and filled the air around us with delicious 
odours. Charlotte leaned forward on her arm; her eyes wandered over the 
scene; she raised them to the sky, and then turned them upon me; 
they were moistened with tears; she placed her hand on mine and said, 
"Klopstock!" at once I remembered the magnificent ode which was in her 
thoughts: I felt oppressed with the weight of my sensations, and sank 
under them. It was more than I could bear. I bent over her hand, kissed 
it in a stream of delicious tears, and again looked up to her eyes. 
Divine Klopstock! why didst thou not see thy apotheosis in those eyes? 
And thy name so often profaned, would that I never heard it repeated! 
JUNE 19. 
I no longer remember where I stopped in my narrative: I only know it was 
two in the morning when I went to bed; and if you had been with me, 
that I might have talked instead of writing to you, I should, in all 
probability, have kept you up till daylight. 
I think I have not yet related what happened as we rode home from 
the ball, nor have I time to tell you now. It was a most magnificent 
sunrise: the whole country was refreshed, and the rain fell drop by 
drop from the trees in the forest. Our companions were asleep. Charlotte 
asked me if I did not wish to sleep also, and begged of me not to make 
any ceremony on her account. Looking steadfastly at her, I answered, "As 
long as I see those eyes open, there is no fear of my falling asleep." 
We both continued awake till we reached her door. The maid opened it 
softly, and assured her, in answer to her inquiries, that her father and 
the children were well, and still sleeping. I left her asking permission 
to visit her in the course of the day. She consented, and I went, and, 
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since that time, sun, moon, and stars may pursue their course: I know 
not whether it is day or night; the whole world is nothing to me. 
JUNE 21. 
My days are as happy as those reserved by God for his elect; and, 
whatever be my fate hereafter, I can never say that I have not tasted 
joy,--the purest joy of life. You know Walheim. I am now completely 
settled there. In that spot I am only half a league from Charlotte; and 
there I enjoy myself, and taste all the pleasure which can fall to the 
lot of man. 
Little did I imagine, when I selected Walheim for my pedestrian 
excursions, that all heaven lay so near it. How often in my wanderings 
from the hillside or from the meadows across the river, have I beheld 
this hunting-lodge, which now contains within it all the joy of my 
heart! 
I have often, my dear Wilhelm, reflected on the eagerness men feel to 
wander and make new discoveries, and upon that secret impulse which 
afterward inclines them to return to their narrow circle, conform to 
the laws of custom, and embarrass themselves no longer with what passes 
around them. 
It is so strange how, when I came here first, and gazed upon that 
lovely valley from the hillside, I felt charmed with the entire scene 
surrounding me. The little wood opposite--how delightful to sit under 
its shade! How fine the view from that point of rock! Then, that 
delightful chain of hills, and the exquisite valleys at their feet! 
Could I but wander and lose myself amongst them! I went, and returned 
without finding what I wished. Distance, my friend, is like futurity. A 
dim vastness is spread before our souls: the perceptions of our mind are 
as obscure as those of our vision; and we desire earnestly to surrender 
up our whole being, that it may be filled with the complete and perfect 
bliss of one glorious emotion. But alas! when we have attained our 
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object, when the distant there becomes the present here, all is changed: 
we are as poor and circumscribed as ever, and our souls still languish 
for unattainable happiness. 
So does the restless traveller pant for his native soil, and find in his 
own cottage, in the arms of his wife, in the affections of his children, 
and in the labour necessary for their support, that happiness which he 
had sought in vain through the wide world. 
When, in the morning at sunrise, I go out to Walheim, and with my own 
hands gather in the garden the pease which are to serve for my dinner, 
when I sit down to shell them, and read my Homer during the intervals, 
and then, selecting a saucepan from the kitchen, fetch my own butter, 
put my mess on the fire, cover it up, and sit down to stir it as 
occasion requires, I figure to myself the illustrious suitors of 
Penelope, killing, dressing, and preparing their own oxen and swine. 
Nothing fills me with a more pure and genuine sense of happiness than 
those traits of patriarchal life which, thank Heaven! I can imitate 
without affectation. Happy is it, indeed, for me that my heart is 
capable of feeling the same simple and innocent pleasure as the peasant 
whose table is covered with food of his own rearing, and who not only 
enjoys his meal, but remembers with delight the happy days and sunny 
mornings when he planted it, the soft evenings when he watered it, and 
the pleasure he experienced in watching its daily growth. 
JUNE 29. 
The day before yesterday, the physician came from the town to pay a 
visit to the judge. He found me on the floor playing with Charlotte's 
children. Some of them were scrambling over me, and others romped with 
me; and, as I caught and tickled them, they made a great noise. The 
doctor is a formal sort of personage: he adjusts the plaits of his 
ruffles, and continually settles his frill whilst he is talking to you; 
and he thought my conduct beneath the dignity of a sensible man. I could 
perceive this by his countenance. But I did not suffer myself to be 
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disturbed. I allowed him to continue his wise conversation, whilst I 
rebuilt the children's card houses for them as fast as they threw them 
down. He went about the town afterward, complaining that the judge's 
children were spoiled enough before, but that now Werther was completely 
ruining them. 

Yes, my dear Wilhelm, nothing on this earth affects my heart so much 
as children. When I look on at their doings; when I mark in the little 
creatures the seeds of all those virtues and qualities which they will 
one day find so indispensable; when I behold in the obstinate all the 
future firmness and constancy of a noble character; in the capricious, 
that levity and gaiety of temper which will carry them lightly over 
the dangers and troubles of life, their whole nature simple and 
unpolluted,--then I call to mind the golden words of the Great Teacher 
of mankind, "Unless ye become like one of these!" And now, my friend, 
these children, who are our equals, whom we ought to consider as our 
models, we treat them as though they were our subjects. They are allowed 
no will of their own. And have we, then, none ourselves? Whence comes 
our exclusive right? Is it because we are older and more experienced? 
Great God! from the height of thy heaven thou beholdest great children 
and little children, and no others; and thy Son has long since declared 
which afford thee greatest pleasure. But they believe in him, and hear 
him not,--that, too, is an old story; and they train their children 
after their own image, etc. 

Adieu, Wilhelm: I will not further bewilder myself with this subject. 

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HENRY THOREAU, WALDEN 


Most of the luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable, but 
positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind. With respect to luxuries and comforts, the wisest have 
ever lived a more simple and meagre life than the poor. The ancient philosophers, Chinese, Hindoo, 
Persian, and Greek, were a class than which none has been poorer in outward riches, none so rich in 
inward. We know not much about them. It is remarkable that we know so much of them as we do. The 
same is true of the more modern reformers and benefactors of their race. None can be an impartial or 
wise observer of human life but from the vantage ground of what we should call voluntary poverty. Of a 
life of luxury the fruit is luxury, whether in agriculture, or commerce, or literature, or art. There are 
nowadays professors of philosophy, but not philosophers. Yet it is admirable to profess because it was 
once admirable to live. To be a philosopher is not merely to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a 
school, but so to love wisdom as to live according to its dictates, a life of simplicity, independence, 
magnanimity, and trust. It is to solve some of the problems of life, not only theoretically, but practically. 
The success of great scholars and thinkers is commonly a courtier-like success, not kingly, not manly. They 
make shift to live merely by conformity, practically as their fathers did, and are in no sense the progenitors 
of a noble race of men. But why do men degenerate ever? What makes families run out? What is the 
nature of the luxury which enervates and destroys nations? Are we sure that there is none of it in our own 
lives? The philosopher is in advance of his age even in the outward form of his life. He is not fed, 
sheltered, clothed, warmed, like his contemporaries. How can a man be a philosopher and not maintain his 
vital heat by better methods than other men? 

When a man is warmed by the several modes which I have described, what does he want next? Surely not 
more warmth of the same kind, as more and richer food, larger and more splendid houses, finer and more 
abundant clothing, more numerous, incessant, and hotter fires, and the like. When he has obtained those 
things which are necessary to life, there is another alternative than to obtain the superfluities; and that is, to 
adventure on life now, his vacation from humbler toil having commenced. The soil, it appears, is suited to 
the seed, for it has sent its radicle downward, and it may now send its shoot upward also with confidence. 
Why has man rooted himself thus firmly in the earth, but that he may rise in the same proportion into the 
heavens above? — for the nobler plants are valued for the fruit they bear at last in the air and light, far 
from the ground, and are not treated like the humbler esculents, which, though they may be biennials, are 
cultivated only till they have perfected their root, and often cut down at top for this purpose, so that most 
would not know them in their flowering season. 

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I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if 
I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not 
wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite 
necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to 
put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce 
it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, 
and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a 
true account of it in my next excursion. For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about 
it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of 
man here to "glorify God and enjoy him forever." 

Still we live meanly, like ants; though the fable tells us that we were long ago changed into men; like 
pygmies we fight with cranes; it is error upon error, and clout upon clout, and our best virtue has for its 
occasion a superfluous and evitable wretchedness. Our life is frittered away by detail. An honest man has 
hardly need to count more than his ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may add his ten toes, and lump the 
rest. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a 
thousand; instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb- nail. In the 
midst of this chopping sea of civilized life, such are the clouds and storms and quicksands and thousand-
and-one items to be allowed for, that a man has to live, if he would not founder and go to the bottom and 
not make his port at all, by dead reckoning, and he must be a great calculator indeed who succeeds. 
Simplify, simplify. Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one; instead of a hundred dishes, 
five; and reduce other things in proportion. Our life is like a German Confederacy, made up of petty states, 
with its boundary forever fluctuating, so that even a German cannot tell you how it is bounded at any 
moment. The nation itself, with all its so-called internal improvements, which, by the way are all external 
and superficial, is just such an unwieldy and overgrown establishment, cluttered with furniture and tripped 
up by its own traps, ruined by luxury and heedless expense, by want of calculation and a worthy aim, as the 
million households in the land; and the only cure for it, as for them, is in a rigid economy, a stern and more 
than Spartan simplicity of life and elevation of purpose. It lives too fast. Men think that it is essential that 
the Nation have commerce, and export ice, and talk through a telegraph, and ride thirty miles an hour, 
without a doubt, whether they do or not; but whether we should live like baboons or like men, is a little 
uncertain. If we do not get out sleepers, and forge rails, and devote days and nights to the work, but go to 
tinkering upon our lives to improve them, who will build railroads? And if railroads are not built, how shall 
we get to heaven in season? But if we stay at home and mind our business, who will want railroads? We do 
not ride on the railroad; it rides upon us. Did you ever think what those sleepers are that underlie the 
railroad? Each one is a man, an Irishman, or a Yankee man. The rails are laid on them, and they are 

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covered with sand, and the cars run smoothly over them. They are sound sleepers, I assure you. And every 
few years a new lot is laid down and run over; so that, if some have the pleasure of riding on a rail, others 
have the misfortune to be ridden upon. And when they run over a man that is walking in his sleep, a 
supernumerary sleeper in the wrong position, and wake him up, they suddenly stop the cars, and make a 
hue and cry about it, as if this were an exception. I am glad to know that it takes a gang of men for every 
five 

miles to keep the sleepers down and level in their beds as it is, for this is a sign that they may sometime get 
up again. 

I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, 
and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common 
hours. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal 
laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and 
interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings. 
In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will 
not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work 
need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them. 

I desire to speak somewhere without bounds; like a man in a waking moment, to men in their waking 
moments; for I am convinced that I cannot exaggerate enough even to lay the foundation of a true 
expression. Who that has heard a strain of music feared then lest he should speak extravagantly any more 
forever? In view of the future or possible, we should live quite laxly and undefined in front, our outlines 
dim and misty on that side; as our shadows reveal an insensible perspiration toward the sun. The volatile 
truth of our words should continually betray the inadequacy of the residual statement. Their truth is 
instantly translated; its literal monument alone remains. The words which express our faith and piety are 
not definite; yet they are significant and fragrant like frankincense to superior natures. 

Some are dinning in our ears that we Americans, and moderns generally, are intellectual dwarfs compared 
with the ancients, or even the Elizabethan men. But what is that to the purpose? A living dog is better than 
a dead lion. Shall a man go and hang himself because he belongs to the race of pygmies, and not be the 
biggest pygmy that he can? Let every one mind his own business, and endeavor to be what he was made. 

Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed and in such desperate enterprises? If a man does not 
keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the 
music which he hears, however measured or far away. 


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AMANA, OR THE COMMUNITY OF TRUE INSPIRATION13 


One of the most economically successful communities was the German pietist commune Amana. 
Known today for the manufacture of appliances, Amana was first established as the Ebenezer 
Society in New York State, just east of Buf- falo. As Buffalo expanded, the leaders decided to 
move west; therefore, after thirteen years in upstate New York (1842–1855), Amana moved to 
Iowa, where it continued as a community until 1932. In Iowa seven villages were estab- lished, all 
of which still exist and attract large numbers of tourists. 

The Community of True Inspiration traces its origin to 1714 and the teach- ings of Eberhard 
Ludwig Gruber (d. 1728) and Johann Friedrich Rock (1678?–1749). It was led by Christian Metz 
(1793–1867) and Barbara Heine- mann (1795–1883), who believed they were inspired by God to 
lead the sect and that they continued to receive direct messages from God. The theological basis 
and social cohesion of the society rested on such continuing revela- tions—true inspiration. These 
revelations ranged from the very general to those dealing with specific questions of daily life. 

The Twenty-One Rules for the Examination of Our Daily Lives 

I. Obey, without reasoning, God, and through God your superiors. II. Study quiet, or 
serenity, within and without. 
III. Within, to rule and master your thoughts. 
IV. Without, to avoid all unnecessary words, and still to study silence and quiet. 
V. Abandon self, with all its desires, knowledge and power. 
VI. Do not criticize others, either for good or evil, neither to judge nor to imitate 
them; therefore contain yourself, remain at home, in the house and in your heart. 
VII. Do not disturb your serenity or peace of mind—hence neither desire nor grieve. 
VIII. Live in love and pity toward your neighbor, and indulge neither anger nor 
impatience in your spirit. 
XI. Be honest, sincere, and avoid all deceit and even secretiveness. 
X. Count every word, thought, and work as done in the immediate presence of God, 
in sleeping and waking, eating, drinking, etc., and give Him at once an account of it, 
to see if all is done in His fear and love.
13 Gregory Claeys and Lyman Tower Sargent, eds. The Utopia Reader New York: New York University Press, 1999. pgs. 

186-190. Source: Bertha M. H. Shambaugh, Amana That Was and Amana That Is (Iowa City: State Historical 

Association of Iowa, 1932), 243–44, 284–86, 288. 

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XI. Be in all things sober, without levity or laughter; and without vain and idle words, 
works or thoughts; much less heedless or idle. 
XII. Never think or speak of God without the deepest reverence, fear, and love, and 
therefore deal reverently with all spiritual things. 
XIII. Bear all inner and outward suffering in silence, complaining only to God; and 
accept all from Him in deepest reverence and obedience. 
XIV. Notice carefully all that God permits to happen to you in your inner and 
outward life, in order that you may not fail to comprehend His will and to be led by 
it. 
XV. Have nothing to do with unholy and particularly with needless business affairs. 
XVI. Have no intercourse with worldly-minded men; never seek their soci- ety; speak 
little with them, and never without need; and then without fear and trembling. 
XVII. Therefore, what you have to do with such men do in haste; do not waste time 
in public places and worldly society, that you be not tempted and led away. 
XVIII. Fly from the society of women-kind as much as possible, as a very highly 
dangerous magnet and magical fire. 
XIX. Avoid obeisance and the fear of men; these are dangerous ways. 
XX. Dinners, weddings, feasts, avoid entirely; at the best there is sin. 
XXI. Constantly practice abstinence and temperance, so that you may be as 
wakeful after eating as before. 

The general tendency of these rules is clear: withdrawal or separation from the world and its 
temptations, which is precisely what the people of Amana did. 

They established their communities so that they could live a simple life un- burdened by the world. 
Their Constitution reflects this attitude. 

Article I 

The foundation of our civil organization is and shall remain forever God, the Lord, 
and the faith, which He worked in us according to His free grace and mercy, and 
which is founded upon (1) the word of God as revealed in the old and new 

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testament; (2) the testimony of Jesus through the Spirit of Prophecy; (3) the hidden 
spirit of grace and chastisement. 

The purpose of our association as a religious Society is therefore no worldly or selfish 
one, but the purpose of the love of God in His vocation of grace re- ceived by us, to 
serve Him in the bond of union, inwardly and outwardly, ac- cording to His laws and 
His requirements in our own consciences, and thus to work out the salvation of our 
souls, through the redeeming grace of Jesus Christ, in self-denial, in the obedience to 
our faith, and in the demonstration of our faithfulness in the inward and outward 
service of the Community by the power of grace which God presents us with. 

And to fulfill this duty we do hereby covenant and promise collectively and each to 
the other by the acceptance and signing of this present Constitu- tion. 

Article II 

In this bond of union tied by God amongst ourselves, it is our unanimous will and 
resolution that the land purchased here and that may hereafter be pur- chased shall be 
and remain a common estate and property, with all improve- ments thereupon and all 
appurtenances thereto, as also with all the labor, cares, troubles and burdens, of 
which each member shall bear his allotted share with a willing heart. 

Article III 

Agriculture and the raising of cattle and other domestic animals, in connection with 
some manufactures and trades shall under the blessing of God form the means of 
sustenance for this Society. Out of the income of the land and the other branches of 
industry the common expenses of the Society shall be de- frayed. 

The surplus, if any, shall from time to time be applied to the improvement of the 
common estate of the Society, to the building and maintaining of meet- ing and 
school houses, printing establishments, to the support and care of the old, sick and 
infirm members of the Society, to the founding of a business and safety fund, and to 
benevolent purposes in general. 

Article IV 

The control and management of all the affairs of this Society shall be vested in a 
Board of Trustees consisting of thirteen members, to be annually elected out of the 
number of Elders in the Community, by the members of the Society en- titled to 
vote. The time, place, and manner of holding all elections for officers in this 

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corporation and the qualifications of voters shall be regulated by by-laws to be 
adopted by the Community. 

In the Trustees, so elected, we the undersigned members do hereby vest all the 
powers, rights of action and privileges granted to corporations by the laws of this 
State, and also all requisite power and authority to arrange, control, and manage, in 
brotherly concurrence according to our order of grace, or by a ma- jority of votes, all 
the affairs and concerns of this corporation whatsoever; to re- ceive new members 
under this Constitution; to assign to the members their work, labor and employment; 
to fix the amounts of the yearly allowances for the support of the members; to 
exclude, order away, and remove such members who are unruly and resisting, and 
who will not mend themselves after repeated admonition; to settle and liquidate the 
accounts of those members withdraw- ing from the Society, either by their own 
choice or by expulsion; to receive and to administrate all the active and passive 
property of the Society; to keep books and accounts of everything; to buy and to sell; 
to make, fulfill, and revoke con- tracts, to carry on agriculture, the rearing of cattle, 
manufactures, mills and trades of any kind, to erect buildings, to improve and take 
down the same; to make inventories; to appoint attorneys, agents, and managers; to 
borrow, lend and safely invest funds and money; also in the corporate name of the 
Society, or in the name of the Trustees, or of any member thereof to ask, demand, 
levy recover and receive all kinds of goods, moneys, principal and interest, effects, 
debts, demands, inheritances and legacies, wheresoever and whatsoever; to re- ceive, 
execute and deliver all deeds, mortgages, notes, powers of attorney, re- ceipts, and all 
other documents and accounts whatsoever; and to do, transact and carry out all 
needful, beneficial, legal, proper, just and equitable acts, mat- ters and things in 
general of all and every kind whatsoever, all for and in the name, behalf and benefit 
of this corporation. 

In the event however of matters of great importance and responsibility it shall be the 
duty of the Trustees to hold special meetings and to decide therein either by 
unanimous concurrence or by a majority of votes whether or not such matters shall 
be submitted for counsel and decision by vote to all the Elders of the Community 
and to the members entitled to vote. 

Article VI 

Every member of this Society is, besides the free board and dwelling, and the support 
and care secured to him in old age, sickness and infirmity, further en- titled out of the 
common fund to an annual sum of maintenance for him or herself, children and 

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relatives in the Society; and these annual allowances shall be fixed by the Trustees for 
each member single or in families, according to jus- tice and equity, and shall be from 
time to time revised and fixed anew, in ac- cordance with a list to be kept thereof. 

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EMMA GOLDMAN, LIVING MY LIFE14 



Chapter 1 

It was the 15th of August 1889, the day of my arrival in New York City. I was twenty years old. All that 
had happened in my life until that time was now left behind me, cast off like a worn-out garment. A new 
world was before me, strange and terrifying. But I had youth, good health, and a passionate ideal. Whatever 
the new held in store for me I was determined to meet unflinchingly.

14 Catherine A. Albanese, American Spiritualities: A Reader. Indian University Press, 2001. 
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How well I remember that day! It was a Sunday. The West Shore train, the cheapest, which was all I could 
afford, had brought me from Rochester, New York, reaching Weehawken at eight o’clock in the morning. 
Thence I came by ferry to New York City. I had no friends there, but I carried three addresses, one of a 
married aunt, one of a young medical student I had met in New Haven a year before, while working in a 
corset factory there, and one of the Freiheit, a German anarchist paper published by Johann Most. 

My entire possessions consisted of five dollars and a small hand-bag. My sewing-macliine, which was to 
help me to independence, I had checked as baggage. Ignorant of the distance from West Forty- second 
Street to the Bowery, where my aunt lived, and unaware of the enervating heat of a New York day in 
August, I started out on foot. How confusing and endless a large city seems to the new-comer, how cold 
and unfriendly! 

After receiving many directions and misdirections and making frequent stops at bewildering inter- sections, 
I landed in three hours at the photographic gallery of my aunt and uncle. Tired and hot, I did not at first 
notice the consternation of my relatives at my unexpected arrival. They asked me to make myself at home, 
gave me breakfast, and then plied me with questions. Why did I come to New York? Had I definitely 
broken with my husband? Did I have money? What did I intend to do? I was told that I could, of course, 
stay with them. “Where else could you go, a young woman alone in New York?” Certainly, but I would 
have to look for a job immediately. Business was bad, and the cost of living high. 

I heard it all as if in a stupor. I was too exhausted from my wakeful night’s journey, the long walk, and the 
heat of the sun, which was already pouring down fiercely. The voices of my relatives sounded distant, like 
the buzzing of flies, and they made me drowsy. With an effort I pulled myself together. I assured them I 
did not come to impose myself on them; a friend living on Henry Street was expecting me and would put 
me up. I had but one desire — to get out, away from the prattling, chilling voices. I left my bag and 
departed. 

The friend I had invented in order to escape the “hospitality” of my relatives was only a slight 
acquaintance, a young anarchist by the name of A. Solotaroff, whom I had once heard lecture in New 
Haven. Now I started out to find him. After a long search I discovered the house, but the tenant had left. 
The janitor, at first very brusque, must have noticed my despair. He said he would look for the address that 
the family left when they moved. Presently he came back with the name of the street, but there was no 
number. What was I to do? How to find Solotaroff in the vast city? I decided to stop at every house, first 
on one side of the street, and then on the other. Up and down, six flights of stairs, I tramped, my head 
throbbing, my feet weary. The oppressive day was drawing to a close. At last, when I was about to give up 
the search, I discovered him on Montgomery Street, on the fifth floor of a tenement house seething with 
humanity. 

A year had passed since our first meeting, but Solotaroff had not forgotten me. His greeting was genial and 
warm, as of an old friend. He told me that he shared his small apartment with his parents and little 
brother, but that I could have his room; he would stay with a fellow-student for a few nights. He assured 
me that I would have no difficulty in finding a place; in fact, he knew two sisters who were living with their 
father in a two-room flat. They were looking for another girl to join them. After my new friend had fed me 
tea and some delicious Jewish cake his mother had baked, he told me about the different people I might 
meet, the activities of the Yiddish anarchists, and other interesting matters. I was grateful to my host, much 
more for his friendly concern and camaraderie than for the tea and cake. I forgot the bitterness that had 
filled my soul over the cruel reception given me by my own kin. New York no longer seemed monster it 
had appeared in the endless hours of my painful walk the Bowery. 

Later Solotaroff took me to Sachs’s café on Suffolk Street, which, as he informed me, was the headquarters 
of the East Side radicals, socialists, and anarchists, as well as of the younly Yiddish writers and 
poets. “Everybody forgathers there,” he remarked; “the Minkin sisters will no doubt also be there.” 

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For one who had just come away from the monotony of a provincial town like Rochester and whose 
nerves were on edge from a night’s trip in a stuffy car, the noise and turmoil that greeted us at Sachs’s were 
certainly not very soothing. The place consisted of two rooms and was packed. Everybody talked, 
gesticulated, and argued, in Yiddish and Russian, each competing with the other. I was almost over- come 
in this strange human medley. My escort discovered two girls at a table. He introduced them as Anna and 
Helen Minkin. 

They were Russian Jewish working girls. Anna, the older, was about my own age; Helen perhaps eighteen. 
Soon we came to an understanding about my living with them, and my anxiety and uncer- tainty were over, 
I had a roof over my head; I had found friends. The bedlam at Sachs’s no longer mattered. I began to 
breathe freer, to feel less of an alien. 

While the four of us were having our dinner, and Solotaroff was pointing out to me the different people in 
the cafe, I suddenly heard a powerful voice call: “Extra-large steak! Extra cup of coffee!” My own capital 
was so small and the need for economy so great that I was startled by such apparent extravagance. Besides, 
Solotaroff had told me that only poor students, writers, and workers were the clients of Sachs. I wondered 
who that reckless person could be and how he could afford such food. 

“Who is that glutton?” I asked. Solotaroff laughed aloud. “That is Alexander Berkman. He can eat for 
three. But he rarely has enough money for much food. When he has, he eats Sachs out of his supplies. I’ll 
introduce him to you.” 

We had finished our meal, and several people came to our table to talk to Solotaroff. The man of the extra-
large steak was still packing it away as if he had gone hungry for weeks. Just as we were about to depart, he 
approached us, and Solotaroff introduced him. He was no more than a boy, hardly eighteen, but with the 
neck and chest of a giant. His jaw was strong, made more pronounced by his thick lips. His face was 
almost severe, but for his high, studious forehead and intelligent eyes. A determined youngster, I thought. 
Presently Berkman remarked to me: “Johann Most is speaking tonight. Do you want to come to hear 
him?” 

How extraordinary, I thought, that on my very first day in New York I should have the chance to behold 
with my own eyes and hear the fiery man whom the Rochester press used to portray as the personification 
of the devil, a bloodthirsty demon! I had planned to visit Most in the office of his newspaper some time 
later, but that the opportunity should present itself in such an unexpected manner gave me the feeling that 
something wonderful was about to happen, something that would decide the whole course of my life. 

On the way to the hall I was too absorbed in my thoughts to hear much of the conversation that was going 
on between Berkman and the Minkin sisters. Suddenly I stumbled. I should have fallen had not Berkman 
gripped in arm and held me up. “I have saved your life,” he said jestingly. “I hope I may be able to save 
yours some day,” I quickly replied. 

The meeting-place was a small hall behind a saloon, through which one had to pass. It was crowded with 
Germans, drinking, smoking, and talking. Before long, Jonathan Most entered. My first impres- sion of 
him was one of revulsion. He was of medium height, with a large head crowned with greyish bushy hair; 
but his face was twisted out of form by an apparent dislocation of the left jaw. Only his eyes were 
soothing; they were blue and sympathetic. 

His speech was a scorching denunciation of American conditions, a biting satire on the injustice and 
brutality of the dominant powers, a passionate tirade against those responsible for the Haymar- ket tragedy 
and the execution of the Chicago anarchists in November 1887. He spoke eloquently and picturesquely. As 
if by magic, his disfigurement disappeared, his lack of physical distinction was for- gotten. He seemed 
transformed into some primitive power, radiating hatred and love, strength and inspiration. The rapid 

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current of his speech, the music of his voice, and his sparkling wit, all combined to produce an effect 
almost overwhelming. He stirred me to my depths. 

Caught in the crowd that surged towards the platform, I found myself before Most. Berkman was near me 
and introduced me. But full of the tumult of emotions Most’s speech had aroused in me. 

That night I could not sleep. Again I lived through the events of 1887. Twenty-one months had passed 
since the Black Friday of November 11, when the Chicago men had suffered their martyrdom, yet every 
detail stood out clear before my vision and affected me as if it had happened byt yesterday. My sister 
Helena and I had become interested in the fate of the men during the period of their trial. The reports in 
the Rodchester newspapers irritated, confused, and upset us by their evident prejudice. The violence of the 
press, the bitter denunciation of the accused, the attacks on all foreigners, turned our sympathies tot he 
Haymarket victims. 

We had learned of the existence in Rochester of a German socialist group that held sessions on Sunday in 
Germania Hall. We began to attend the meetings, my older sister, Helena, on a few occasions only, and I 
regularly. The gatherings were generally uninteresting, but they offered an escape from the grey dullness of 
my Rochester existence. There one heard, at least, something different from the everlasting talk about 
money and business, and one meet people of spirit and ideas. 

Chapter 8 

It was May 1892. News from Pittsburgh announced that trouble had broken out between the Carnegie 
Steel Company and its employees organized in the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers. It 
was one of the biggest and most efficient labour bodies of the country, consisting mostly of Americans, 
men of decision and grit, who would assert their rights. The Carnegie Company, on the other hand, was a 
powerful corporation, known as a hard master. It was particularly signifi- cant that Andrew Carnegie, its 
president, had temporarily turned over the entire management to the company’s chairman, Henry Clay 
Frick, a man known for his enmity to labour. Frick was also the owner of extensive coke-fields, where 
unions were prohibited and the workers were ruled with an iron hand. 

The high tariff on imported steel had greatly boomed the American steel industry. The Carnegie Company 
had practically a monopoly of it and enjoyed unprecedented prosperity. Its largest mills were in 
Homestead, near Pittsburgh, where thousands of workers were employed, their tasks requiring long 
training and high skill. Wages were arranged between the company and the union, according to a sliding 
scale based on the prevailing market price of steel products. The current agreement was about to expire, 
and the workers presented a new wage schedule, calling for an increase because of the higher market prices 
and enlarged output of the mills. 

The philanthropic Andrew Carnegie conveniently retired to his castle in Scotland, and Frick took full 
charge of the situation. He declared that henceforth the sliding scale would be abolished. The com- pany 
would make no more agreements with the Amalgamated Association; it would itself determine the wages 
to be paid. In fact, he would not recognize the union at all. He would not treat with the employees 
collectively, as before. He would close the mills, and the men might consider themselves discharged. 
Thereafter they would have to apply for work individually, and the pay would be arranged with every 
worker separately. Frick curtly refused the peace advances of the workers’ organization, declaring that there 
was “nothing to arbitrate.” Presently the mills were closed. “Not a strike, but a lockout,” Frick announced. 
It was an open declaration of war. 

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Feeling ran high in Homestead and vicinity. The sympathy of the entire country was with the men. Even 
the most conservative part of the press condemned Frick for his arbitrary and drastic methods. They 
charged him with deliberately provoking a crisis that might assume national proportions, in view of the 
great numbers of men locked out by Frick’s action, and the probable effect upon affiliated unions and on 
related industries. 

Labour throughout the country was aroused. The steel-workers declared that they were ready to take up 
the challenge of Frick: they would insist on their right to organize and to deal collectively with their 
employers. Their tone was manly, ringing with the spirit of their rebellious forebears of the Revolutionary 
War. 

Far away from the scene of the impending struggle, in our little ice-cream parlour in the city of Worcester, 
we eagerly followed developments. To us it sounded the awakening of the American worker, the long-
awaited day of his resurrection. The native toiler had risen, he was beginning to feel his mighty strength, he 
was determined to break the chains that had held him in bondage so long, we thought. Our hearts were 
fired with admiration for the men of Homestead. 

We continued our daily work, waiting on customers, frying pancakes, serving tea and ice-cream; but our 
thoughts were in Homestead, with the brave steel-workers. We became so absorbed in the news that we 
would not permit ourselves enough time even for sleep. At daybreak one of the boys would be off to get 
the first editions of the papers. We saturated ourselves with the events in Homestead to the exclusion of 
everything else. Entire nights we would sit up discussing the various phases of the situation, almost 
engulfed by the possibilities of the gigantic struggle. 

One afternoon a customer came in for an ice-cream, while I was alone in the store. As I set the dish down 
before him, I caught the large headlines of his paper: “LATEST DEVELOPMENTS IN HOME- STEAD 

— FAMILIES OF STRIKERS EVICTED FROM THE COMPANY HOUSES — WOMAN IN CONFINEMENT 
CARRIED OUT INTO THE STREET BY SHERIFFS.” I read over the man’s shoulder 
Frick’s dictum to the workers: he would rather see them dead than concede to their demands, and he 
threat- ened to import Pinkerton detectives. The brutal bluntness of the account, the inhumanity of Frick 
towards the evicted mother, inflamed my mind. Indignation swept my whole being. I heard the man at the 
table ask: “Are you sick, young lady? Can I do anything for you?” “Yes, you can let me have your paper,” I 
blurted out. “You won’t have to pay me for the ice-cream. But I must ask you to leave. I must close the 
store.” The man looked at me as if I had gone crazy. 
I locked up the store and ran full speed the three blocks to our little flat. It was Homestead, not Russia; I 
knew it now. We belonged in Homestead. The boys, resting for the evening shift, sat up as I rushed into the 
room, newspaper clutched in my hand. “What has happened, Emma? You look terrible!” I could not speak. 
I handed them the paper. 

Sasha was the first on his feet. “Homestead!” he exclaimed. “I must go to Homestead!” I flung my arms 
around him, crying out his name. I, too, would go. “We must go tonight,” he said; “the great moment has 
come at last!” Being internationalists, he added, it mattered not to us where the blow was struck by the 
workers; we must be with them. We must bring them our great message and help them see that it was not 
only for the moment that they must strike, but for all time, for a free life, for anarchism. Russia had many 
heroic men and women, but who was there in America? Yes, we must go to Homestead, tonight! 

I had never heard Sasha so eloquent. He seemed to have grown in stature. He looked strong and defiant, 
an inner light on his face making him beautiful, as he had never appeared to me before. 

We immediately went to our landlord and informed him of our decision to leave. He replied that we were 
mad; we were doing so well, we were on the way to fortune. If we would hold out to the end of the 

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summer, we would be able to clear at least a thousand dollars. But he argued in vain — we were not to be 
moved. We invented the story that a very dear relative was in a dying condition, and that therefore we must 
depart. We would turn the store over to him; all we wanted was the evening’s receipts. We would remain 
until closing-hours, leave everything in order, and give him the keys. 

That evening we were especially busy. We had never before had so many customers. By one o’clock we had 
sold out everything. Our receipts were seventy-five dollars. We left on an early morning train. On the way 
we discussed our immediate plans. First of all, we would print a manifesto to the steel


workers. We would have to find somebody to translate it into English, as we were still unable to express 
our thoughts correctly in that tongue. We would have the German and English texts printed in New York 
and take them with us to Pittsburgh. With the help of the German comrades there, meetings could be 
organized for me to address. Fedya was to remain in New York till further developments. 

From the station we went straight to the flat of Mollock, an Austrian comrade we had met in the 
Autonomie group. He was a baker who worked at night; but Peppie, his wife, with her two children was at 
home. We were sure she could put us up. 

She was surprised to see the three of us march in, bag and baggage, but she made us welcome, fed us, and 
suggested that we go to bed. But we had other things to do. 

Sasha and I went in search of Claus Timmermann, an ardent German anarchist we knew. He had 
considerable poetic talent and wrote forceful propaganda. In fact, he had been the editor of an anar- chist 
paper in St. Louis before coming to New York. He was a likable fellow and entirely trustworthy, though a 
considerable drinker. We felt that Claus was the only person we could safely draw into our plan. He caught 
our spirit at once. The manifesto was written that afternoon. It was a flaming call to the men of 
Homestead to throw off the yoke of capitalism, to use their present struggle as a stepping-stone to the 
destruction of the wage system, and to continue towards social revolution and anarchism. 

A few days after our return to New York the news was flashed across the country of the slaughter of steelworkers 
by Pinkertons. Frick had fortified the Homestead mills, built a high fence around them. Then, in 
the dead of night, a barge packed with strike-breakers, under protection of heavily armed Pinkerton thugs, 
quietly stole up the Monongahela River. The steel-men had learned of Frick’s move. They stationed 
themselves along the shore, determined to drive back Frick’s hirelings. When the barge got within range, 
the Pinkertons had opened fire, without warning, killing a number of Homestead men on the shore, 
among them a little boy, and wounding scores of others. 

The wanton murders aroused even the daily papers. Several came out in strong editorials, severely 
criticizing Frick. He had gone too far; he had added fuel to the fire in the labour ranks and would have 
himself to blame for any desperate acts that might come. 

We were stunned. We saw at once that the time for our manifesto had passed. Words had lost their 
meaning in the face of the innocent blood spilled on the banks of the Monongahela. Intuitively each felt 
what was surging in the heart of the others. Sasha broke the silence. “Frick is the responsible factor in this 
crime,” he said; “he must be made to stand the consequences.” It was the psychological moment for an 
Attentat; the whole country was aroused, everybody was considering Frick the perpetrator of a 
coldblooded murder. A blow aimed at Frick would re-echo in the poorest hovel, would call the attention of 
the whole world to the real cause behind the Homestead struggle. It would also strike terror in the enemy’s 
ranks and make them realize that the proletariat of America had its avengers. 

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Sasha had never made bombs before, but Most’s Science of Revolutionary Warfare was a good text- book. 
He would procure dynamite from a comrade he knew on Staten Island. He had waited for this sublime 
moment to serve the Cause, to give his life for the people. He would go to Pittsburgh. 

“We will go with you!” Fedya and I cried together. But Sasha would not listen to it. He insisted that it was 
unnecessary and criminal to waste three lives on one man. 

We sat down, Sasha between us, holding our hands. In a quiet and even tone he began to unfold to us his 
plan. He would perfect a time regulator for the bomb that would enable him to kill Frick, yet save himself. 
Not because he wanted to escape. No; he wanted to live long enough to justify his act in court, so that the 
American people might know that he was not a criminal, but an idealist. 

“I will kill Frick,” Sasha said, “and of course I shall be condemned to death. I will die proudly in the 
assurance that I gave my life for the people. But I will die by my own hand, like Lingg. Never will I permit 
our enemies to kill me.” 

I hung on his lips. His clarity, his calmness and force, the sacred fire of his ideal, enthralled me, held me 
spellbound. Turning to me, he continued in his deep voice. I was the born speaker, the propagandist, he 
said. I could do a great deal for his act. I could articulate its meaning to the workers. I could explain that he 
had had no personal grievance against Frick, that as a human being Frick was no less to him than anyone 
else. Frick was the symbol of wealth and power, of the injustice and wrong of the capitalistic class, as well 
as personally responsible for the shedding of the workers’ blood. Sasha’s act would be directed against 
Frick, not as a man, but as the enemy of labour. Surely I must see how important it was that I remain 
behind to plead the meaning of his deed and its message throughout the country. 

Every word he said beat upon my brain like a sledgehammer. The longer he talked, the more con- scious I 
became of the terrible fact that he had no need of me in his last great hour. The realization swept away 
everything else — message, Cause, duty, propaganda. What meaning could these things have compared 
with the force that had made Sasha flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood from the moment that I had 
heard his voice and felt the grip of his hand at our first meeting? Had our three years together shown him 
so little of my soul that he could tell me calmly to go on living after he had been blown to pieces or 
strangled to death? Is not true love — not ordinary love, but the love that longs to share to the uttermost 
with the beloved — is it not more compelling than aught else? Those Russians had known it, Jessie 
Helfmann and Sophia Perovskaya; they had gone with their men in life and in death. I could do no less. 

“I will go with you, Sasha,” I cried; “I must go with you! I know that as a woman I can be of help. I could 
gain access to Frick easier than you. I could pave the way for your act. Besides, I simply must go with you. 
Do you understand, Sasha?” 

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KARL MARX AND FRIEDRICH ENGELS: THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTO (1848) 


[EXCERPTS] 


Although it at first had little or no impact on the widespread and varied revolutionary movements 
of the mid-19th century Europe, the Communist Manifesto was to become one of the most widely read 
and discussed documents of the 20th century. Marx sought to differentiate his brand of socialism from 
others by insisting that it was scientifically based in the objective study of history, which he saw as being a 
continuous process of change and transformation. Just as feudalism had naturally evolved into 
mercantilism and then capitalism, so capitalism would inevitably give way to its logical successor, socialism 
(a term which in Marx's usage includes its most advanced form, communism) as the necessary result of 
class struggle. Marx's insistence that tough-minded realism should replace the utopian idealism of earlier 
socialists had profound consequences: it enabled revolutionaries like Lenin to be put it into action, but it 
also tended to encourage its followers to accept ruthless means to justify what they believed were 
historically necessary ends. Radical politics were being much more widely discussed than the small number 
of radicals justified; but Marx uses this fact to his advantage by proclaiming that any ideology so feared 
must be important and worth explaining clearly. In the notes, "Marx" is used as shorthand for both Marx 
(the theoretician) and Engels (the more eloquent writer of the two).The Manifesto was originally issued in 
several languages, including this English version. 

What kinds of changes does Marx say have been characteristic of the bourgeois era? 

Prologue 

A specter is haunting Europe--the specter of communism. All the powers of old Europe have 

entered into a holy alliance to exorcise this specter: Pope and Czar, Metternich and Guizot, (1)


15 French 

Radicals and German police spies. 

Where is the party in opposition that has not been decried as communistic by its opponents in 

power? Where the Opposition that has not hurled back the branding reproach of communism, against the 

more advanced opposition part-ies, as well as against its reactionary adversaries? 

Two things result from this fact: 

I. Communism is already acknowledged by all European powers to be itself a power. 
II. It is high time that Communists should openly, in the face of the whole world, publish their 
views, their aims, their tendencies, and meet this nursery tale of the specter of communism with a 

manifesto of the party itself. (2) 

Part I: Bourgeois And Proletarians 

The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles. 

Freeman and slave, (3) patrician and plebeian, (4) lord and serf, (5) guildmaster and journeyman, 

! Footnotes are at the end. 
15 
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(6) in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an 
uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary 
reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes. 
In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a complicated arrangement of society 
into various orders, a manifold gradation of social rank. In ancient Rome we have patricians, knights, 
plebeians, slaves; in the Middle Ages, feudal lords, vassals, guild-masters, journeymen, apprentices, serfs; in 
almost all of these classes, again, subordinate gradations. 

The modern bourgeois society that has sprouted from the ruins of feudal society, has not done 
away with class antagonisms. It has but established new classes, new conditions of oppression, new forms 
of struggle in place of the old ones. 

Our epoch, the epoch of the bourgeoisie, (7) possesses, however, this distinctive feature: It has 
simplified the class antagonisms. Society as a whole is more and more splitting up into two great hostile 
camps, into two great classes directly facing each other--bourgeoisie and proletariat. . . . (8) 

Modern industry has established the world market, for which the discovery of America paved the 
way. (9) This market has given an immense development to commerce, to navigation, to communication by 
land. This development has, in its turn, reacted on the extension of industry; and in proportion as industry, 
commerce, navigation, railways extended, in the same proportion the bourgeoisie developed, increased its 
capital, and pushed into the background every class handed down from the Middle Ages. 

We see, therefore, how the modern bourgeoisie is itself the product of a long course of 
development, of a series of revolutions in the modes of production and of exchange. 

Each step in the development of the bourgeoisie was accompanied by a corresponding political 
advance of that class. (10) An oppressed class under the sway of the feudal nobility, it became an armed 
and self-governing association in the medieval commune; here independent urban republic (as in Italy and 
Germany), there taxable "third estate" of the monarchy (as in France); afterwards, in the period of 
manufacture proper, serving either the semi-feudal or the absolute monarchy as a counterpoise against the 
nobility, and, in fact, cornerstone of the great monarchies in general--the bourgeoisie has at last, since the 
establishment of modern industry and of the world market conquered for itself, in the modern 
representative state, exclusive political sway. The executive of the modern state is but a committee for 
managing the common affairs of the whole bourgeoisie. (11) 

The bourgeoisie has played a most revolutionary role in history. (12) 

The bourgeoisie, wherever it has got the upper hand, has put an end to all feudal, patriarchal, idyllic 
relations. It has pitilessly torn asunder the motley feudal ties that bound man to his "natural superiors," and 
has left no other bond between man and man than naked self-interest, than callous "cash payment." It has 
drowned the most heavenly ecstasies of religious fervor, of chivalrous enthusiasm, of philistine 
sentimentalism, in the icy water of egotistical calculation. It has resolved personal worth into exchange 

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value, and in place of the numberless indefeasible chartered freedoms, has set up that single, 
unconscionable freedom--Free Trade. In one word, for exploitation, veiled by religious and political 
illusions, it has substituted naked, shameless, direct, brutal exploitation. (13) 

Part II: Proletarians and Communists 

What else does the history of ideas prove, than that intellectual production changes its character in 
proportion as material production is changed? The ruling ideas of each age have ever (14) been the ideas 
of its ruling class. (15) 

When people speak of ideas that revolutionize society, they do but express the fact that within the 
old society the elements of a new one have been created, and that the dissolution of the old ideas keeps 
even pace with the dissolution of the old conditions of existence. 

When the ancient world was in its last throes, the ancient religions were overcome by Christianity. 
When Christian ideas succumbed in the eighteenth century to rationalist ideas, feudal society fought its 
death-battle with the then revolutionary bourgeoisie. The ideas of religious liberty and freedom of 
conscience, merely gave expression to the sway of free competition within the domain of knowledge. 

"Undoubtedly," it will be said, "religion, moral, philosophical and juridical ideas have been modified 
in the course of historical development. But religion morality, philosophy, political science, and law, 
constantly survived this change." 

"There are, besides, eternal truths, such as Freedom, Justice, etc., that are common to all states of 
society. But communism abolishes eternal truths, it abolishes all religion, and all morality, instead of 
constituting them on a new basis; it therefore acts in contradiction to all past historical experience." 

What does this accusation reduce itself to? The history of all past society has consisted in the 
development of class antagonisms, antagonisms that assumed different forms at different epochs. 

But whatever form they may have taken, one fact is common to all past ages, viz., the exploitation 
of one part of society by the other. No wonder, then, that the social consciousness of past ages, despite all 
the multiplicity and variety it displays, moves within certain common forms, or general ideas, which cannot 
completely vanish except with the total disappearance of class antagonisms. 

The Communist revolution is the most radical rupture with traditional property relations; no 
wonder that its development involves the most radical rupture with traditional ideas. (16) 

Part IV: Position of the Communists in Relation to the Various Existing Opposition Parties 

In short, the Communists everywhere support every revolutionary movement against the existing 
social and political order of things. (17) 

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In all these movements they bring to the front, as the leading question in each case, the property 

question, no matter what its degree of development at the time. 

Finally, they labor everywhere for the union and agreement of the democratic parties of all 

countries. 

The Communists disdain to conceal their views and aims. (18) They openly declare that their ends 

can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions. Let the ruling classes 

tremble at a Communist revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a 

world to win. 

Workingmen of all countries, unite! (19) 

(1) German and French conservatives. 
(2) Marx opposed secret conspiratorial communist organizations because he felt that the only successful 
revolution would need the support of the overwhelming mass of society; and people could not be 
expected to support what they did not understand or even know about. 
(3) Typical of ancient civilizations like that of the Greeks. 
(4) Roman social classes. 
(5) From the European Middle Ages. 
(6) Representing the later Middle Ages and Renaissance. 
(7) The term originally meant simply the class of people who lived in cities, but here it means those whose 
income comes from doing business rather than--like the aristocracy--from inherited estates or--like the 
proletariat--from wages. 
(8) The working class, people who make their living by working for others rather than owning or investing 
in businesses. 
(9) Marx's comments on the importance of the world market, developed further in passages here omitted, 
sounds very modern. He argued that the differences between countries would diminish as they adopted 
capitalism and increased their international trade, paving the way for a stateless world united in 
communism. 
(10) Marx particularly has in mind the European revolutions of 1789-1848, in which the bourgeoisie, which 
had long before become the dominant economic force in society, asserted its claims to political power as 
well. 
(11) In this famous comment, the modern democratic states are dismissed as mere tools of the 
bourgeoisie, since it is the wealthy who run them and set their agendas, despite their claims to popular 
representation. 
(12) Although the following paragraph outlines this role in negative terms, Marx believed that the 
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transformation of the world wrought by capitalism was absolutely necessary to provide the foundations for 
communism; so the bourgeoisie are revolutionary in fact, though unwittingly so. 

(13) Although this is harshly put, Marx believes that the idealism which justified earlier class structures was 
indeed an illusion, a repressive deception that needed to be destroyed. 
(14) Always. 
(15) One of Marx's most influential concepts. In a capitalist society people think competition natural 
because capitalism requires competition; but in the Middle Ages submission to one's social "superiors" was 
seen as equally natural. Communism is not "against human nature" because there is no such thing--only the 
social values produced by certain kinds of economic organization. Contemporary Marxist analysis attempts 
to trace society's values back to the economic and political interests of the most powerful people in society. 
(16) Marx spent relatively little time outlining the nature of communist society, but the goals were widely 
understood to be 1) complete equality of all citizens, 2) abolition of private ownership of the means of 
production (factories, mines, railways, etc.), 3) the replacement of a market economy with one in which 
everyone got whatever they needed in return for such labor as they were able to give. In addition, Marx 
envisions the abolition of all states and governments, and as a consequence, an end to war. The crucial 
problem of how one motivates workers in a state which is both free and propertyless was never solved by 
the Marxist states of the 20th century. 
(17) Marx argues that communist should work with all "progressive" movements in what were later to be 
called "united fronts." 
(18) Note the repeated emphasis on openness. When communists were viewed as conspirators they risked 
being seen as enemies of the people they were trying to help. 
(19) This stirring conclusion is almost always misquoted as "Working men of all countries, unite! You have 
nothing to lose but your chains!" 
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GEORGE ORWELL, NINETEEN EIGHTY-FOUR16 


. 


George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four (Orwell insisted that the title be spelled out) is one of the best known 
dystopias ever written. A central aspect of this future world is the alteration of language in order to reshape thought. 

Appendix: The Principles of Newspeak 

Newspeak was the official language of Oceania and had been devised to meet the ideological needs of 
Ingsoc, or English Socialism. In the year 1984 there was not as yet anyone who used Newspeak as his sole 
means of communication, either in speech or writing. The leading articles in The Times were written in it, 
but this was a tour de force which could only be carried out by a specialist. It was expected that Newspeak 
would have finally superseded Oldspeak (or Standard English, as we should call it) by about the year 2050. 
Meanwhile it gained ground steadily, all Party members tending to use Newspeak words and grammatical 
constructions more and more in their everyday speech. The version in use in 1984, and embodied in the 
Ninth and Tenth Editions of the Newspeak Dictionary, was a provisional one, and contained many 
superfluous words and archaic formations which were due to be suppressed later. It is with the final, 
perfected version, as embodied in the Eleventh Edition of the Dictionary, that we are concerned here. 

The purpose of Newspeak was not only to provide a medium of expression for the world-view and mental 
habits proper to the devotees of Ingsoc, but to make all other modes of thought impossible. It was 
intended that when Newspeak had been adopted once and for all and Oldspeak forgotten, a heretical 
thought—that is, a thought diverging from the principles of Ingsoc— should be literally unthinkable, at 
least so far as thought is dependent on words. Its vocabulary was so constructed as to give exact and often 
very subtle expression to every meaning that a Party member could properly wish to express, while 
excluding all other meanings and also the possibility of arriving at them by indirect methods. This was 
done partly by the invention of new words, but chiefly by eliminating undesirable words and by stripping 
such words as remained of unorthodox meanings, and so far as possible of all secondary meanings 
whatever. To give a single example. The word free still existed in Newspeak, but it could only be used in 
such statements as ‘This dog is free from lice’ or ‘This field is free from weeds’. It could not be used in its 
old sense of ‘politically free’ or ‘intellectually free’, since political and intellectual freedom no longer existed 

16 Gregory Claeys and Lyman Tower Sargent, eds. The Utopia Reader New York: New York University Press, 1999. George 

Orwell was the pseudonym of Eric Blair (1903–1950), an English journalist and author. Source: George Orwell, 

Nineteen Eighty-Four (London: Secker and Warburg, 1948), 299–312. 

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even as concepts, and were therefore of necessity nameless. Quite apart from the suppression of definitely 
heretical words, reduction of vocabulary was regarded as an end in itself and no word that could be 
dispensed with was allowed to survive. Newspeak was designed not to extend but to diminish the range of 
thought, and this purpose was indirectly assisted by cutting the choice of words down to a minimum. 

Newspeak was founded on the English language as we now know it, though many Newspeak sentences, 
even when not containing newly-created words, would be barely intelligible to an English-speaker of our 
own day. Newspeak words were divided into three distinct classes, known as the A vocabulary, the B 
vocabulary (also called compound words), and the C vocabulary. It will be simpler to discuss each class 
separately, but the grammatical peculiarities of the language can be dealt with in the section devoted to the 
A vocabulary, since the same rules held good for all three categories. 

The A vocabulary. The A vocabulary consisted of the words needed for the business of everyday life—for 
such things as eating, drinking, working, putting on one’s clothes, going up and down stairs, riding in 
vehicles, gardening, cooking, and the like. It was composed almost entirely of words that we already 
possess—words like hit, run, dog, tree, sugar, house, field—but in comparison with the present-day 
English vocabulary their number was extremely small, while their meanings were far more rigidly defined. 
All ambiguities and shades of meaning had been purged out of them. So far as it could be achieved, a 
Newspeak word of this class was simply a staccato sound expressing one clearly understood concept. It 
would have been quite impossible to use the A vocabulary for literary purposes or for political or 
philosophical discussion. It was intended only to express simple, purposive thoughts, usually involving 
concrete objects or physical actions. 

The grammar of Newspeak had two outstanding peculiarities. The first of these was an almost complete 
interchangeability between different parts of speech. Any word in the language (in principle this applied 
even to very abstract words such as if or when) could be used either as verb, noun, adjective, or adverb. 
Between the verb and the noun form, when they were of the same root, there was never any variation, this 
rule of itself involving the destruction of many archaic forms. The word thought, for example, did not 
exist in Newspeak. Its place was taken by think, which did duty for both noun and verb. No etymological 
principle was followed here: in some cases it was the original noun that was chosen for retention, in other 
cases the verb. Even where a noun and verb of kindred meaning were not etymologically connected, one 
or other of them was frequently suppressed. There was, for example, no such word as cut, its meaning 
being sufficiently covered by the noun-verb knife. Adjectives were formed by adding the suffix -ful to the 
noun-verb, and adverbs by adding -wise. Thus for example, speedful meant ‘rapid’ and speedwise meant 
‘quickly’. Certain of our present-day adjectives, such as good, strong, big, black, soft, were retained, but 
their total number was very small. There was little need for them, since almost any adjectival meaning could 

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be arrived at by adding ful to a noun-verb. None of the now-existing adverbs was retained, except for a 
very few already ending in -wise: the -wise termination was invariable. The word well, for example, was 
replaced by goodwise. 

In addition, any word—this again applied in principle to every word in the language—could be negatived 
by adding the affix un-, or could be strengthened by the affix plus-, or, for still greater emphasis, 
doubleplus-. Thus, for example, uncold meant ‘warm’, while pluscold and doublepluscold meant, 
respectively, ‘very cold’ and ‘superlatively cold’. It was also possible, as in present-day English, to modify 
the meaning of almost any word by prepositional affixes such as ante-, post-, up-, down-, etc. By such 
methods it was found possible to bring about an enormous diminution of vocabulary. Given, for instance, 
the word good, there was no need for such a word as bad, since the required meaning was equally well— 
indeed, better—expressed by ungood. All that was necessary, in any case where two words formed a 
natural pair of opposites, was to decide which of them to suppress. Dark, for example, could be replaced 
by unlight, or light by undark, according to preference. 

The second distinguishing mark of Newspeak grammar was its regularity. Subject to a few exceptions 
which are mentioned below all inflexions followed the same rules. Thus, in all verbs the preterite and the 
past participle were the same and ended in -ed. The preterite of steal was stealed, the preterite of think was 
thinked, and so on throughout the language, all such forms as swam, gave, brought, spoke, taken, etc., 
being abolished. All plurals were made by adding -s or -es as the case might be. The plurals of man, ox, life, 
were mans, oxes, lifes. Comparison of adjectives was invariably made by adding -er, -est (good, gooder, 
goodest), irregular forms and the more, most formation being suppressed. 

The only classes of words that were still allowed to inflect irregularly were the pronouns, the relatives, the 
demonstrative adjectives, and the auxiliary verbs. All of these followed their ancient usage, except that 
whom had been scrapped as unnecessary, and the shall, should tenses had been dropped, all their uses 
being covered by will and would. There were also certain irregularities in wordformation arising out of the 
need for rapid and easy speech. A word which was difficult to utter, or was liable to be incorrectly heard, 
was held to be ipso facto a bad word: occasionally therefore, for the sake of euphony, extra letters were 
inserted into a word or an archaic formation was retained. But this need made itself felt chiefly in 
connexion with the B vocabulary. Why so great an importance was attached to ease of pronunciation will 
be made clear later in this essay. 

The B vocabulary. The B vocabulary consisted of words which had been deliberately constructed for 
political purposes: words, that is to say, which not only had in every case a political implication, but were 
intended to impose a desirable mental attitude upon the person using them. Without a full understanding 

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of the principles of Ingsoc it was difficult to use these words correctly. In some cases they could be 
translated into Oldspeak, or even into words taken from the A vocabulary, but this usually demanded a 
long paraphrase and always involved the loss of certain overtones. The B words were a sort of verbal 
shorthand, often packing whole ranges of ideas into a few syllables, and at the same time more accurate 
and forcible than ordinary language. 

The B words were in all cases compound words.1 They consisted of two or more words, or portions of 
words, welded together in an easily pronounceable 


1. Compound words such as speakwrite, were of course to be found in the A vocabulary, but these were 
merely convenient abbreviations and had no special ideological colour. form. The resulting amalgam was 
always a noun-verb, and inflected according to the ordinary rules. To take a single example: the word 
goodthink, meaning, very roughly, ‘orthodoxy’, or, if one chose to regard it as a verb, ‘to think in an 
orthodox manner’. This inflected as follows: noun-verb, goodthink; past tense and past participle, 
goodthinked; present participle, goodthinking; adjective, goodthinkful; adverb, goodthinkwise; verbal noun, 
goodthinker. 
The B words were not constructed on any etymological plan. The words of which they were made up 
could be any parts of speech, and could be placed in any order and mutilated in any way which made them 
easy to pronounce while indicating their derivation. In the word crimethink (thoughtcrime), for instance, 
the think came second, whereas in thinkpol (Thought Police) it came first, and in the latter word police had 
lost its second syllable. Because of the greater difficulty in securing euphony, irregular formations were 
commoner in the B vocabulary than in the A vocabulary. For example, the adjective forms of Minitrue, 
Minipax, and Miniluv were, respectively, Minitruthful, Minipeaceful, and Minilovely, simply because trueful, 
-paxful, and -loveful were slightly awkward to pronounce. In principle, however, all B words could 
inflect, and all inflected in exactly the same way. 

Some of the B words had highly subtilized meanings, barely intelligible to anyone who had not mastered 
the language as a whole. Consider, for example, such a typical sentence from a Times leading article as 
Oldthinkers unbellyfeel Ingsoc. The shortest rendering that one could make of this in Oldspeak would be: 
‘Those whose ideas were formed before the Revolution cannot have a full emotional understanding of the 
principles of English Socialism.’ But this is not an adequate translation. To begin with, in order to grasp the 
full meaning of the Newspeak sentence quoted above, one would have to have a clear idea of what is 
meant by Ingsoc. And in addition, only a person thoroughly grounded in Ingsoc could appreciate the full 

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force of the word bellyfeel, which implied a blind, enthusiastic acceptance difficult to imagine to-day; or of 
the word oldthink, which was inextricably mixed up with the idea of wickedness and decadence. But the 
special function of certain Newspeak words, of which oldthink was one, was not so much to express 
meanings as to destroy them. These words, necessarily few in number, had had their meanings extended 
until they contained within themselves whole batteries of words which, as they were sufficiently covered by 
a single comprehensive term, could now be scrapped and forgotten. The greatest difficulty facing the 
compilers of the Newspeak Dictionary was not to invent new words, but, having invented them, to make 
sure what they meant: to make sure, that is to say, what ranges of words they cancelled by their existence. 

As we have already seen in the case of the word free, words which had once borne a heretical meaning 
were sometimes retained for the sake of convenience, but only with the undesirable meanings purged out 
of them. Countless other words such as honour, justice, morality, internationalism, democracy, science, and 
religion had simply ceased to exist. A few blanket words covered them, and, in covering them, abolished 
them. All words grouping themselves round the concepts of liberty and equality, for instance, were 
contained in the single word crimethink, while all words grouping themselves round the concepts of 
objectivity and rationalism were contained in the single word oldthink. Greater precision would have been 
dangerous. What was required in a Party member was an outlook similar to that of the ancient Hebrew 
who knew, without knowing much else, that all nations other than his own worshipped ‘false gods’. He did 
not need to know that these gods were called Baal, Osiris, Moloch, Ashtaroth, and the like: probably the 
less he knew about them the better for his orthodoxy. He knew Jehovah and the commandments of 
Jehovah: he knew, therefore, that all gods with other names or other attributes were false gods. In 
somewhat the same way, the Party member knew what constituted right conduct, and in exceedingly vague, 
generalized terms he knew what kinds of departure from it were possible. His sexual life, for example, was 
entirely regulated by the two Newspeak words sexcrime (sexual immorality) and goodsex (chastity). 
Sexcrime covered all sexual misdeeds whatever. It covered fornication, adultery, homosexuality, and other 
perversions, and, in addition, normal intercourse practised for its own sake. There was no need to 
enumerate them separately, since they were all equally culpable, and, in principle, all punishable by death. In 
the C vocabulary, which consisted of scientific and technical words, it might be necessary to give 
specialized names to certain sexual aberrations, but the ordinary citizen had no need of them. He knew 
what was meant by goodsex—that is to say, normal intercourse between man and wife, for the sole 
purpose of begetting children, and without physical pleasure on the part of the woman: all else was 
sexcrime. In Newspeak it was seldom possible to follow a heretical thought further than the perception 
that it was heretical: beyond that point the necessary words were nonexistent. 

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No word in the B vocabulary was ideologically neutral. A great many were euphemisms. Such words, for 
instance, as joycamp (forced-labour camp) or Minipax (Ministry of Peace, i.e. Ministry of War) meant 
almost the exact opposite of what they appeared to mean. Some words, on the other hand, displayed a 
frank and contemptuous understanding of the real nature of Oceanic society. An example was prolefeed, 
meaning the rubbishy entertainment and spurious news which the Party handed out to the masses. Other 
words, again, were ambivalent, having the connotation ‘good’ when applied to the Party and ‘bad’ when 
applied to its enemies. But in addition there were great numbers of words which at first sight appeared to 
be mere abbreviations and which derived their ideological colour not from their meaning, but from their 
structure. 

So far as it could be contrived, everything that had or might have political significance of any kind was 
fitted into the B vocabulary. The name of every organization, or body of people, or doctrine, or country, 
or institution, or public building, was invariably cut down into the familiar shape; that is, a single easily 
pronounced word with the smallest number of syllables that would preserve the original derivation. In the 
Ministry of Truth, for example, the Records Department, in which Winston Smith worked, was called 
Recdep, the Fiction Department was called Ficdep, the Tele-programmes Department was called Teledep, 
and so on. This was not done solely with the object of saving time. Even in the early decades of the 
twentieth century, telescoped words and phrases had been one of the characteristic features of political 
language; and it had been noticed that the tendency to use abbreviations of this kind was most marked in 
totalitarian countries and totalitarian organizations. Examples were such words as Nazi, Gestapo, 
Comintern, Inprecorr, Agitprop. In the beginning the practice had been adopted as it were instinctively, but 
in Newspeak it was used with a conscious purpose. It was perceived that in thus abbreviating a name one 
narrowed and subtly altered its meaning, by cutting out most of the associations that would otherwise cling 
to it. The words Communist International, for instance, call up a composite picture of universal human 
brotherhood, red flags, barricades, Karl Marx, and the Paris Commune. The word Comintern, on the other 
hand, suggests merely a tightly-knit organization and a well-defined body of doctrine. It refers to 
something almost as easily recognized, and as limited in purpose, as a chair or a table. Comintern is a word 
that can be uttered almost without taking thought, whereas Communist International is a phrase over 
which one is obliged to linger at least momentarily. In the same way, the associations called up by a word 
like Minitrue are fewer and more controllable than those called up by Ministry of Truth. This accounted 
not only for the habit of abbreviating whenever possible, but also for the almost exaggerated care that was 
taken to make every word easily pronounceable. 

In Newspeak, euphony outweighed every consideration other than exactitude of meaning. Regularity of 
grammar was always sacrificed to it when it seemed necessary. And rightly so, since what was required, 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 111!


above all for political purposes, was short clipped words of unmistakable meaning which could be uttered 
rapidly and which roused the minimum of echoes in the speaker’s mind. The words of the B vocabulary 
even gained in force from the fact that nearly all of them were very much alike. Almost invariably these 
words—goodthink, Minipax, prolefeed, sexcrime joycamp, Ingsoc, bellyfeel, thinkpol, and countless others 
—were words of two or three syllables, with the stress distributed equally between the first syllable and the 
last. The use of them encouraged a gabbling style of speech, at once staccato and monotonous. And this 
was exactly what was aimed at. The intention was to make speech, and especially speech on any subject not 
ideologically neutral, as nearly as possible independent of consciousness. For the purposes of everyday life 
it was no doubt necessary, or sometimes necessary, to reflect before speaking, but a Party member called 
upon to make a political or ethical judgement should be able to spray forth the correct opinions as 
automatically as a machine gun spraying forth bullets. His training fitted him to do this, the language gave 
him an almost foolproof instrument, and the texture of the words, with their harsh sound and a certain 
wilful ugliness which was in accord with the spirit of Ingsoc, assisted the process still further. 

So did the fact of having very few words to choose from. Relative to our own, the Newspeak vocabulary 
was tiny, and new ways of reducing it were constantly being devised. Newspeak, indeed, differed from 
most all other languages in that its vocabulary grew smaller instead of larger every year. Each reduction 
was a gain, since the smaller the area of choice, the smaller the temptation to take thought. Ultimately it 
was hoped to make articulate speech issue from the larynx without involving the higher brain centres at all. 
This aim was frankly admitted in the Newspeak word duckspeak, meaning ‘to quack like a duck’. Like 
various other words in the B vocabulary, duckspeak was ambivalent in meaning. Provided that the opinions 
which were quacked out were orthodox ones, it implied nothing but praise, and when The Times referred 
to one of the orators of the Party as a doubleplusgood duckspeaker it was paying a warm and valued 
compliment. 

The C vocabulary. The C vocabulary was supplementary to the others and consisted entirely of scientific 
and technical terms. These resembled the scientific terms in use to-day, and were constructed from the 
same roots, but the usual care was taken to define them rigidly and strip them of undesirable meanings. 
They followed the same grammatical rules as the words in the other two vocabularies. Very few of the C 
words had any currency either in everyday speech or in political speech. Any scientific worker or technician 
could find all the words he needed in the list devoted to his own speciality, but he seldom had more than a 
smattering of the words occurring in the other lists. Only a very few words were common to all lists, and 
there was no vocabulary expressing the function of Science as a habit of mind, or a method of thought, 
irrespective of its particular branches. There was, indeed, no word for ‘Science’, any meaning that it could 
possibly bear being already sufficiently covered by the word Ingsoc. 

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From the foregoing account it will be seen that in Newspeak the expression of unorthodox opinions, 
above a very low level, was well-nigh impossible. It was of course possible to utter heresies of a very crude 
kind, a species of blasphemy. It would have been possible, for example, to say Big Brother is ungood. But 
this statement, which to an orthodox ear merely conveyed a self-evident absurdity, could not have been 
sustained by reasoned argument, because the necessary words were not available. Ideas inimical to Ingsoc 
could only be entertained in a vague wordless form, and could only be named in very broad terms which 
lumped together and condemned whole groups of heresies without defining them in doing so. One could, 
in fact, only use Newspeak for unorthodox purposes by illegitimately translating some of the words back 
into Oldspeak. For example, All mans are equal was a possible Newspeak sentence, but only in the same 
sense in which All men are redhaired is a possible Oldspeak sentence. It did not contain a grammatical 
error, but it expressed a palpable untruth—i.e. that all men are of equal size, weight, or strength. The 
concept of political equality no longer existed, and this secondary meaning had accord 

ingly been purged out of the word equal. In 1984, when Oldspeak was still the normal means of 
communication, the danger theoretically existed that in using Newspeak words one might remember their 
original meanings. In practice it was not difficult for any person well grounded in doublethink to avoid 
doing this, but within a couple of generations even the possibility of such a lapse would have vanished. A 
person growing up with Newspeak as his sole language would no more know that equal had once had the 
secondary meaning of ‘po 

litically equal’, or that free had once meant ‘intellectually free’, than for instance, a person who had never 
heard of chess would be aware of the secondary meanings attaching to queen and rook. There would be 
many crimes and errors which it would be beyond his power to commit, simply because they were 
nameless and therefore unimaginable. And it was to be foreseen that with the passage of time the 
distinguishing characteristics of Newspeak would become more and more pronounced—its words growing 
fewer and fewer, their meanings more and more rigid, and the chance of putting them to improper uses 
always diminishing. 

When Oldspeak had been once and for all superseded, the last link with the past would have been severed. 
History had already been rewritten, but fragments of the literature of the past survived here and there, 
imperfectly censored, and so long as one retained one’s knowledge of Oldspeak it was possible to read 
them. In the future such fragments, even if they chanced to survive, would be unintelligible and 
untranslatable. It was impossible to translate any passage of Oldspeak into Newspeak unless it either 
referred to some technical process or some very simple everyday action, or was already orthodox (goodthinkful 
would be the Newspeak expression) in tendency. In practice this meant that no book written 
before approximately 1960 could be translated as a whole. Prerevolutionary literature could only be 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 113 !


subjected to ideological translation— that is, alteration in sense as well as language. Take for example the 
well-known passage from the Declaration of Independence: 

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their 
creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That 
to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among men, deriving their powers from the consent of 
the governed. That whenever any form of Government becomes destructive of those ends, it is the right 
of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new Government. . . . 

It would have been quite impossible to render this into Newspeak while keeping to the sense of the 
original. The nearest one could come to doing so would be to swallow the whole passage up in the single 
word crimethink. A full translation could only be an ideological translation, whereby Jefferson’s words 
would be changed into a panegyric on absolute government. 

A good deal of the literature of the past was, indeed, already being transformed in this way. Considerations 
of prestige made it desirable to preserve the memory of certain historical figures, while at the same time 
bringing their achievements into line with the philosophy of Ingsoc. Various writers such as Shakespeare, 
Milton, Swift, Byron, Dickens, and some others were therefore in process of translation: when the task had 
been completed, their original writings, with all else that survived of the literature of the past, would be 
destroyed. These translations were a slow and difficult business, and it was not expected that they would be 
finished before the first or second decade of the twenty-first century. There were also large quantities of 
merely utilitarian literature—indispensable technical manuals, and the like—that had to be treated in the 
same way. It was chiefly in order to allow time for the preliminary work of translation that the final 
adoption of Newspeak had been fixed for so late a date as 2050. 

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ALDOUS HUXLEY, BRAVE NEW WORLD17 


Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World is the classic extrapolation dystopia, in which contemporary trends are 
projected into the future. In a foreword to the 1946 edition and in Brave New World Revisited (1958), 
Huxley argued that the world he had projected was coming much faster than he expected. In the 1946 
foreword, Huxley also criticized Brave New World for the options it provided. In Island (1962) he presents 
a utopia that is similar in many respects to the world found in Brave New World, but is transformed by, 
among other things, religion. It can be considered a working out of an option to Brave New World. 

Chapter 1 

A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories. Over the main entrance the words, Central London 
Hatchery and Conditioning Centre, and, in a shield, the World State’s motto, Community, Identity, Stability. 

The enormous room on the ground floor faced towards the north. Cold for all the summer beyond the 
panes, for all the tropical heat of the room itself, a harsh thin light glared through the windows, hungrily 
seeking some draped lay figure, some pallid shape of academic goose-flesh, but finding only the glass and 
nickel and bleakly shining porcelain of a laboratory. Wintriness responded to wintriness. The overalls of 
the workers were white, their hands gloved with a pale corpse-coloured rubber. The light was frozen, dead, 
a ghost. Only from the yellow barrels of the microscopes did it borrow a certain rich and living substance, 
lying along the polished tubes like butter, streak after luscious streak in long recession down the work 
tables. 

“And this,” said the Director opening the door, “is the Fertilizing Room.” 

Bent over their instruments, three hundred Fertilizers were plunged, as the Director of Hatcheries and 
Conditioning entered the room, in the scarcely breathing silence, the absent-minded, soliloquizing hum or 
whistle, of absorbed concentration. A troop of newly arrived students, very young, pink and callow, 
followed nervously, rather abjectly, at the Director’s heels. Each of them carried a note-book, in which, 
whenever the great man spoke, he desperately scribbled. Straight from the horse’s mouth. It was a rare 
privilege. The D. H. C. for Central London always made a point of personally conducting his new students 
round the various departments. 

“Just to give you a general idea,” he would explain to them. For of course some sort of general idea they 
must have, if they were to do their work intelligently—though as little of one, if they were to be good and 
happy members of society, as possible. For particulars, as every one knows, make for virtue and happiness; 
generalities are intellectually necessary evils. Not philosophers but fret-sawyers and stamp collectors 
compose the backbone of society. 

“To-morrow,” he would add, smiling at them with a slightly menacing geniality, “you’ll be settling down to 
serious work. You won’t have time for generalities. Meanwhile . . .” 

Meanwhile, it was a privilege. Straight from the horse’s mouth into the notebook. The boys scribbled like 
mad.

17 Gregory Claeys and Lyman Tower Sargent, eds. The Utopia Reader New York: New York University Press, 1999. Aldous 

Huxley (1894–1963) was a British author who moved to the United States in 1937. Source: Aldous Huxley, Brave New 

World (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, Doran, 1932) chaps. 1–2; Aldous Huxley, Brave New World Revisited (New 

York: Harper and Brothers, 1958), 3–4. 

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Tall and rather thin but upright, the Director advanced into the room. He had a long chin and big rather 
prominent teeth, just covered, when he was not talking, by his full, floridly curved lips. Old, young? Thirty? 
Fifty? Fifty-five? It was hard to say. And anyhow the question didn’t arise; in this year of stability, a.f. 632, it 
didn’t occur to you to ask it. 

“I shall begin at the beginning,” said the D.H.C. and the more zealous students recorded his intention in 
their note-books: Begin at the beginning. “These,” he waved his hand, “are the incubators.” And opening 
an insulated door he showed them racks upon racks of numbered test-tubes. “The week’s supply of ova. 
Kept,” he explained, “at blood heat; whereas the male gametes,” and here he opened another door, “they 
have to be kept at thirty-five instead of thirty-seven. Full blood heat sterilizes.” Rams wrapped in 
theremogene beget no lambs. 

Still leaning against the incubators he gave them, while the pencils scurried illegibly across the pages, a 
brief description of the modern fertilizing process; spoke first, of course, of its surgical introduction 
—“the operation undergone voluntarily for the good of Society, not to mention the fact that it carries a 
bonus amounting to six months’ salary”; continued with some account of the technique for preserving the 
excised ovary alive and actively developing; passed on to a consideration of optimum temperature, salinity, 
viscosity; referred to the liquor in which the detached and ripened eggs were kept; and, leading his charges 
to the work tables, actually showed them how this liquor was drawn off from the test-tubes; how it was let 
out drop by drop onto the specially warmed slides of the microscopes; how the eggs which it contained 
were inspected for abnormalities, counted and transferred to a porous receptacle; how (and he now took 
them to watch the operation) this receptacle was immersed in a warm bouillon containing free-swimming 
spermatozoa—at a minimum concentration of one hundred thousand per cubic centimetre, he insisted; 
and how, after ten minutes, the container was lifted out of the liquor and its contents re-examined; how, if 
any of the eggs remained unfertilized, it was again immersed, and, if necessary, yet again; how, the 
fertilized ova went back to the incubators; where the Alphas and Betas remained until definitely bottled; 
while the Gammas, Deltas and Epsilons were brought out again, after only thirty-six hours, to undergo 
Bokanovsky’s Process. 

“Bokanovsky’s Process,” repeated the Director, and the students underlined the words in their little notebooks. 


One egg, one embryo, one adult-normality. But a bokanovskified egg will bud, will proliferate, will divide. 
From eight to ninety-six buds, and every bud will grow into a perfectly formed embryo, and every embryo 
into a full-sized adult. Making ninety-six human beings grow where only one grew before. Progress. 

“Essentially,” the D.H.C. concluded, “bokanovskification consists of a series of arrests of development. 
We check the normal growth and, paradoxically enough, the egg responds by budding.” 

Responds by budding. The pencils were busy. 

He pointed. On a very slowly moving band a rack-full of test-tubes was entering a large metal box, 
another, rack-full was emerging. Machinery faintly purred. It took eight minutes for the tubes to go 
through, he told them. Eight minutes of hard X-rays being about as much as an egg can stand. A few died; 
of the rest, the least susceptible divided into two; most put out four buds; some eight; all were returned to 
the incubators, where the buds began to develop; then, after two days, were suddenly chilled, chilled and 
checked. Two, four, eight, the buds in their turn budded; and having budded were dosed almost to death 
with alcohol; consequently burgeoned again and having budded—bud out of bud out of bud—were 
thereafter—further arrest being generally fatal— left to develop in peace. By which time the original egg 
was in a fair way to becoming anything from eight to ninety-six embryos—a prodigious improvement, you 
will agree, on nature. Identical twins—but not in piddling twos and threes as in the old viviparous days, 
when an egg would sometimes accidentally divide; actually by dozens, by scores at a time. 

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“Scores,” the Director repeated and flung out his arms, as though he were distributing largesse. “Scores.” 

But one of the students was fool enough to ask where the advantage lay. 

“My good boy!” The Director wheeled sharply round on him. “Can’t you see? Can’t you see?” He raised a 
hand; his expression was solemn. “Bokanovsky’s Process is one of the major instruments of social 
stability!” 

Major instruments of social stability. 

Standard men and women; in uniform batches. The whole of a small factory staffed with the products of a 
single bokanovskified egg. 

“Ninety-six identical twins working ninety-six identical machines!” The voice was almost tremulous with 
enthusiasm. “You really know where you are. For the first time in history.” He quoted the planetary motto. 
“Community, Identity, Stability.” Grand words. “If we could bokanovskify indefinitely the whole problem 
would be solved.” 

Solved by standard Gammas, unvarying Deltas, uniform Epsilons. Millions of identical twins. The principle 
of mass production at last applied to biology. “But, alas,” the Director shook his head, “we can’t 
bokanovskify in 

definitely.” 
Ninety-six seemed to be the limit; seventy-two a good average. From the 

same ovary and with gametes of the same male to manufacture as many batches of identical twins as 
possible—that was the best (sadly a second best) that they could do. And even that was difficult. 

“For in nature it takes thirty years for two hundred eggs to reach maturity. But our business is to stabilize 
the population at this moment, here and now. Dribbling out twins over a quarter of a century—what 
would be the use of that?” 

Obviously, no use at all. But Podsnap’s Technique had immensely accelerated the process of ripening. They 
could make sure of at least a hundred and fifty mature eggs within two years. Fertilize and bokanovskify— 
in other words, multiply by seventy-two—and you get an average of nearly eleven thousand brothers and 
sisters in a hundred and fifty batches of identical twins, all within two years of the same age. 

“And in exceptional cases we can make one ovary yield us over fifteen thousand adult individuals.” 

Beckoning to a fair-haired, ruddy young man who happened to be passing at the moment. “Mr. Foster,” he 
called. The ruddy young man approached. “Can you tell us the record for a single ovary, Mr. Foster?” 

“Sixteen thousand and twelve in this Centre,” Mr. Foster replied without hesitation. He spoke very quickly, 
had a vivacious blue eye, and took an evident pleasure in quoting figures. “Sixteen thousand and twelve; in 
one hundred and eighty-nine batches of identicals. But of course they’ve done much better,” he rattled on, 
“in some of the tropical Centres. Singapore has often produced over sixteen thousand five hundred; and 
Mombasa has actually touched the seventeen thousand mark. But then they have unfair advantages. You 
should see the way a negro ovary responds to pituitary! It’s quite astonishing, when you’re used to working 
with European material. Still,” he added, with a laugh (but the light of combat was in his eyes and the lift 
of his chin was challenging), “still, we mean to beat them if we can. I’m working on a wonderful Delta-
Minus ovary at this moment. Only just eighteen months old. Over twelve thousand seven hundred children 
already, either decanted or in embryo. And still going strong. We’ll beat them yet.” 

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“That’s the spirit I like!” cried the Director, and clapped Mr. Foster on the shoulder. “Come along with us, 
and give these boys the benefit of your expert knowledge.” 

Mr. Foster smiled modestly. “With pleasure.” They went. 

In the Bottling Room all was harmonious bustle and ordered activity. Flaps of fresh sow’s peritoneum 
ready cut to the proper size came shooting up in little lifts from the Organ Store in the sub-basement. 
Whizz and then, click! the lift-hatches flew open; the bottle-liner had only to reach out a hand, take the 
flap, insert, smooth-down, and before the lined bottle had had time to travel out of reach along the endless 
band, whizz, click! another flap of peritoneum had shot up from the depths, ready to be slipped into yet 
another bottle, the next of that slow interminable procession on the band. 

Next to the Liners stood the Matriculators. The procession advanced; one by one the eggs were transferred 
from their test-tubes to the larger containers; deftly the peritoneal lining was slit, the morula dropped into 
place, the saline solution poured in . . . and already the bottle had passed, and it was the turn of the 
labellers. Heredity, date of fertilization, membership of Bokanovsky Group—details were transferred from 
test-tube to bottle. No longer anonymous, but named, identified, the procession marched slowly on; on 
through an opening in the wall, slowly on into the Social Predestination Room. 

“Eighty-eight cubic metres of card-index,” said Mr. Foster with relish, as they entered. 

“Containing all the relevant information,” added the Director. “Brought up to date every morning.” 
“And co-ordinated every afternoon.” 
“On the basis of which they make their calculations.” 

“So many individuals, of such and such quality,” said Mr. Foster. “Distributed in such and such quantities.” 
“The optimum Decanting Rate at any given moment.” “Unforeseen wastages promptly made good.” 

“Promptly,” repeated Mr. Foster. “If you knew the amount of overtime I had to put in after the last 
Japanese earthquake!” He laughed good-humoredly and shook his head. 

“The Predestinators send in their figures to the Fertilizers. “Who give them the embryos they ask for.” 
“And the bottles come in here to be predestined in detail.” “After which they are sent down to the Embryo 
Store.” “Where we now proceed ourselves.” 

And opening a door Mr. Foster led the way down a staircase into the basement. 

The temperature was still tropical. They descended into a thickening twilight. Two doors and a passage 
with a double turn ensured the cellar against any possible infiltration of the day. 

“Embryos are like photograph film,” said Mr. Foster waggishly, as he pushed open the second door. “They 
can only stand red light.” 

And in effect the sultry darkness into which the students now followed him was visible and crimson, like 
the darkness of closed eyes on a summer’s afternoon. The bulging flanks of row on receding row and tier 
above tier of bottles glinted with innumerable rubies, and among the rubies moved the dim red spectres of 
men and women with purple eyes and the symptoms of lupus. The hum and rattle of machinery faintly 
stirred the air. 

“Give them a few figures, Mr. Foster,” said the Director, who was tired of talking. 

Mr. Foster was only too happy to give them a few figures. 

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Two hundred and twenty metres long, two hundred wide, ten high. He pointed upwards. Like chickens 
drinking, the students lifted their eyes towards the distant ceiling. 

Three tiers of racks; ground-floor level, first gallery, second gallery. 

The spidery steelwork of gallery above gallery faded away in all directions into the dark. Near them three 
red ghosts were busily unloading demijohns from a moving staircase. 

The escalator from the Social Predestination Room. 

Each bottle could be placed on one of fifteen racks, each rack, though you couldn’t see it, was a conveyor 
travelling at the rate of thirty-three and a third centimetres an hour. Two hundred and sixty-seven days at 
eight metres a day. Two thousand one hundred and thirty-six metres in all. One circuit of the cellar at 
ground level, one on the first gallery, half on the second, and on the two hundred and sixty-seventh 
morning, daylight in the Decanting Room. Independent existence—so called. 

“But in the interval,” Mr. Foster concluded, “we’ve managed to do a lot to them. Oh, a very great deal.” 
His laugh was knowing and triumphant. 

“That’s the spirit I like,” said the Director once more. “Let’s walk round. You tell them everything, Mr. 
Foster.” 

Mr. Foster duly told them. 

Told them of the growing embryo on its bed of peritoneum. Made them taste the rich blood-surrogate on 
which it fed. Explained why it had to be stimulated with placentin and thyroxin. Told them of the corpus 
luteum extract. Showed them the jets through which at every twelfth metre from zero to 2040 it was 
automatically injected. Spoke of those gradually increasing doses of pituitary administered during the final 
ninety-six metres of their course. Described the artificial maternal circulation installed on every bottle at 
Metre 112; showed them the reservoir of blood-surrogate, the centrifugal pump that kept the liquid 
moving over the placenta and drove it through the synthetic lung and waste-product filter. Referred to the 
embryo’s troublesome tendency to anaemia, to the massive doses of hog’s stomach extract and foetal foal’s 
liver with which, in consequence, it had to be supplied. 

Showed them the simple mechanism by means of which, during the last two metres out of every eight, all 
the embryos were simultaneously shaken into familiarity with movement. Hinted at the gravity of the so-
called “trauma of decanting,” and enumerated the precautions taken to minimize, by a suitable training of 
the bottled embryo, that dangerous shock. Told them of the test for sex carried out in the neighborhood 
of Metre 200. Explained the system of labelling—a T for the males, a circle for the females and for those 
who were destined to become freemartins a question mark, black on a white ground. 

“For of course,” said Mr. Foster, “in the vast majority of cases, fertility is merely a nuisance. One fertile 
ovary in twelve hundred—that would really be quite sufficient for our purposes. But we want to have a 
good choice. And of course one must always have an enormous margin of safety. So we allow as many as 
thirty per cent of the female embryos to develop normally. The others get a dose of male sex-hormone 
every twenty-four metres for the rest of the course. Result: they’re decanted as freemartins—structurally 
quite normal (except,” he had to admit, “that they do have the slightest tendency to grow beards), but 
sterile. Guaranteed sterile. Which brings us at last,” continued Mr. Foster, “out of the realm of mere slavish 
imitation of nature into the much more interesting world of human invention.” 

He rubbed his hands. For of course, they didn’t content themselves with merely hatching out embryos: any 
cow could do that. 

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“We also predestine and condition. We decant our babies as socialized human beings, as Alphas or 
Epsilons, as future sewage workers or future . . .” He was going to say “future World controllers,” but 
correcting himself, said “future Directors of Hatcheries,” instead. 

The D.H.C. acknowledged the compliment with a smile. 

They were passing Metre 320 on Rack ll. A young Beta-Minus mechanic was busy with screw-driver and 
spanner on the blood-surrogate pump of a passing bottle. The hum of the electric motor deepened by 
fractions of a tone as he turned the nuts. Down, down . . . A final twist, a glance at the revolution counter, 
and he was done. He moved two paces down the line and began the same process on the next pump. 

“Reducing the number of revolutions per minute,” Mr. Foster explained. “The surrogate goes round 
slower; therefore passes through the lung at longer intervals; therefore gives the embryo less oxygen. 
Nothing like oxygen-shortage for keeping an embryo below par.” Again he rubbed his hands. 

“But why do you want to keep the embryo below par?” asked an ingenuous student. 

“Ass!” said the Director, breaking a long silence. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that an Epsilon embryo must 
have an Epsilon environment as well as an Epsilon heredity?” 

It evidently hadn’t occurred to him. He was covered with confusion. 

“The lower the caste,” said Mr. Foster, “the shorter the oxygen.” The first organ affected was the brain. 
After that the skeleton. At seventy per cent of normal oxygen you got dwarfs. At less than seventy eyeless 
monsters. 

“Who are no use at all,” concluded Mr. Foster. 

Whereas (his voice became confidential and eager), if they could discover a technique for shortening the 
period of maturation what a triumph, what a benefaction to Society! 

“Consider the horse.” 
They considered it. 
Mature at six; the elephant at ten. While at thirteen a man is not yet sexually 

mature; and is only full-grown at twenty. Hence, of course, that fruit of delayed development, the human 
intelligence. 

“But in Epsilons,” said Mr. Foster very justly, “we don’t need human intelligence.” 

Didn’t need and didn’t get it. But though the Epsilon mind was mature at ten, the Epsilon body was not fit 
to work till eighteen. Long years of superfluous and wasted immaturity. If the physical development could 
be speeded up till it was as quick, say, as a cow’s, what an enormous saving to the Community! 

“Enormous!” murmured the students. Mr. Foster’s enthusiasm was infectious. 

He became rather technical; spoke of the abnormal endocrine co-ordination which made men grow so 
slowly; postulated a germinal mutation to account for it. Could the effects of this germinal mutation be 
undone? Could the individual Epsilon embryo be made a revert, by a suitable technique, to the normality 
of dogs and cows? That was the problem. And it was all but solved. 

Pilkington, at Mombasa, had produced individuals who were sexually mature at four and full-grown at six 
and a half. A scientific triumph. But socially useless. Six-year-old men and women were too stupid to do 

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even Epsilon work. And the process was an all-or-nothing one; either you failed to modify at all, or else 
you modified the whole way. They were still trying to find the ideal compromise between adults of twenty 
and adults of six. So far without success. Mr. Foster sighed and shook his head. 

Their wanderings through the crimson twilight had brought them to the neighborhood of Metre 170 on 
Rack 9. From this point onwards Rack 9 was enclosed and the bottle performed the remainder of their 
journey in a kind of tunnel, interrupted here and there by openings two or three metres wide. 

“Heat conditioning,” said Mr. Foster. 

Hot tunnels alternated with cool tunnels. Coolness was wedded to discomfort in the form of hard X-rays. 
By the time they were decanted the embryos had a horror of cold. They were predestined to emigrate to 
the tropics, to be miner and acetate silk spinners and steel workers. Later on their minds would be made to 
endorse the judgment of their bodies. “We condition them to thrive on heat,” concluded Mr. Poster. “Our 
colleagues upstairs will teach them to love it.” 

“And that,” put in the Director sententiously, “that is the secret of happiness and virtue—liking what 
you’ve got to do. All conditioning aims at that: making people like their unescapable social destiny.” 

In a gap between two tunnels, a nurse was delicately probing with a long fine syringe into the gelatinous 
contents of a passing bottle. The students and their guides stood watching her for a few moments in 
silence. 

“Well, Lenina,” said Mr. Foster, when at last she withdrew the syringe and straightened herself up. 

The girl turned with a start. One could see that, for all the lupus and the purple eyes, she was uncommonly 
pretty. 

Henry!” Her smile flashed redly at him—a row of coral teeth. 

“Charming, charming,” murmured the Director and, giving her two or three little pats, received in 
exchange a rather deferential smile for himself. 

“What are you giving them?” asked Mr. Foster, making his tone very professional. 

“Oh, the usual typhoid and sleeping sickness.” 

“Tropical workers start being inoculated at Metre 150, Mr. Foster explained to the students. “The embryos 
still have gills. We immunize the fish against the future man’s diseases.” Then, turning back to Lenina, “Ten 
to five on the roof this afternoon,” he said, “as usual.” 

“Charming,” said the Director once more, and, with a final pat, moved away after the others. 

On Rack 10 rows of next generation’s chemical workers were being trained in the toleration of lead, caustic 
soda, tar, chlorine. The first of a batch of two hundred and fifty embryonic rocket-plane engineers was just 
passing the eleven hundred metre mark on Rack 3. A special mechanism kept their containers in constant 
rotation. “To improve their sense of balance,” Mr. Foster explained. “Doing repairs on the outside of a 
rocket in mid-air is a ticklish job. We slacken off the circulation when they’re right way up, so that they’re 
half starved, and double the flow of surrogate when they’re upside down. They learn to associate topsyturvydom 
with well-being; in fact, they’re only truly happy when they’re standing on their heads. 

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“And now,” Mr. Foster went on, “I’d like to show you some very interesting conditioning for Alpha Plus 
Intellectuals. We have a big batch of them on Rack 5. First Gallery level,” he called to two boys who had 
started to go down to the ground floor. 

“They’re round about Metre 900,” he explained. “You can’t really do any useful intellectual conditioning till 
the foetuses have lost their tails. Follow me.” 

But the Director had looked at his watch. “Ten to three,” he said. “No time for the intellectual embryos, 
I’m afraid. We must go up to the Nurseries before the children have finished their afternoon sleep.” 

Mr. Foster was disappointed. “At least one glance at the Decanting Room,” he pleaded. 

“Very well then.” The Director smiled indulgently. “Just one glance.” 

Chapter 2 

Mr. Foster was left in the Decanting Room. The D.H.C. and his students stepped into the nearest lift and 
were carried up to the fifth floor. 

Infant Nurseries. Neo-Pavlovian Conditioning Rooms, announced the notice board. 

The Director opened a door. They were in a large bare room, very bright and sunny; for the whole of the 
southern wall was a single window. Half a dozen nurses, trousered and jacketed in the regulation white 
viscose-linen uniform, their hair aseptically hidden under white caps, were engaged in setting out bowls of 
roses in a long row across the floor. Big bowls, packed tight with blossom. Thousands of petals, ripe-
blown and silkily smooth, like the cheeks of innumerable little cherubs, but of cherubs, in that bright light, 
not exclusively pink and Aryan, but also luminously Chinese, also Mexican, also apoplectic with too much 
blowing of celestial trumpets, also pale as death, pale with the posthumous whiteness of marble. 

The nurses stiffened to attention as the D.H.C. came in. 
“Set out the books,” he said curtly. 
In silence the nurses obeyed his command. Between the rose bowls the books 

were duly set out—a row of nursery quartos opened invitingly each at some gaily coloured image of beast 
or fish or bird. 

“Now bring in the children.” 

They hurried out of the room and returned in a minute or two, each pushing a kind of tall dumb-waiter 
laden, on all its four wire-netted shelves, with eight-month-old babies, all exactly alike (a Bokanovsky 
Group, it was evident) and all (since their caste was Delta) dressed in khaki. 

“Put them down on the floor.” 
The infants were unloaded. 
“Now turn them so that they can see the flowers and books.” 
Turned, the babies at once fell silent, then began to crawl towards those clusters of sleek colours, those 
shapes so gay and brilliant on the white pages. As they approached, the sun came out of a momentary 
eclipse behind a cloud. The roses flamed up as though with a sudden passion from within; a new and 
profound significance seemed to suffuse the shining pages of the books. From the ranks of the crawling 
babies came little squeals of excitement, gurgles and twitterings of pleasure. 

The Director rubbed his hands. “Excellent!” he said. “It might almost have been done on purpose.” 

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The swiftest crawlers were already at their goal. Small hands reached out uncertainly, touched, grasped, 
unpetaling the transfigured roses, crumpling the illuminated pages of the books. The Director waited until 
all were happily busy. Then, “Watch carefully,” he said. And, lifting his hand, he gave the signal. 

The Head Nurse, who was standing by a switchboard at the other end of the room, pressed down a little 
lever. 

There was a violent explosion. Shriller and ever shriller, a siren shrieked. Alarm bells maddeningly sounded. 

The children started, screamed; their faces were distorted with terror. 

“And now,” the Director shouted (for the noise was deafening), “now we proceed to rub in the lesson with 
a mild electric shock.” 

He waved his hand again, and the Head Nurse pressed a second lever. The screaming of the babies 
suddenly changed its tone. There was something desperate, almost insane, about the sharp spasmodic yelps 
to which they now gave utterance. Their little bodies twitched and stiffened; their limbs moved jerkily as if 
to the tug of unseen wires. 

“We can electrify that whole strip of floor,” bawled the Director in explanation. “But that’s enough,” he 
signalled to the nurse. 

The explosions ceased, the bells stopped ringing, the shriek of the siren died down from tone to tone into 
silence. The stiffly twitching bodies relaxed, and what had become the sob and yelp of infant maniacs 
broadened out once more into a normal howl of ordinary terror. 

“Offer them the flowers and the books again.” 

The nurses obeyed; but at the approach of the roses, at the mere sight of those gaily-coloured images of 
pussy and cock-a-doodle-doo and baa-baa black sheep, the infants shrank away in horror; the volume of 
their howling suddenly increased. 

“Observe,” said the Director triumphantly, “observe.” 

Books and loud noises, flowers and electric shocks—already in the infant mind these couples were 
compromisingly linked; and after two hundred repetitions of the same or a similar lesson would be wedded 
indissolubly. What man has joined, nature is powerless to put asunder. 

“They’ll grow up with what the psychologists used to call an ‘instinctive’ hatred of books and flowers. 
Reflexes unalterably conditioned. They’ll be safe from books and botany all their lives.” The Director 
turned to his nurses. “Take them away again.” 

Still yelling, the khaki babies were loaded on to their dumb-waiters and wheeled out, leaving behind them 
the smell of sour milk and a most welcome silence. 

One of the students held up his hand; and though he could see quite well why you couldn’t have lower-
caste people wasting the Community’s time over books, and that there was always the risk of their reading 
something which might undesirably decondition one of their reflexes, yet . . . well, he couldn’t understand 
about the flowers. Why go to the trouble of making it psychologically impossible for Deltas to like flowers? 

Patiently the D.H.C. explained. If the children were made to scream at the sight of a rose, that was on 
grounds of high economic policy. Not so very long ago (a century or thereabouts), Gammas, Deltas, even 
Epsilons, had been conditioned to like flowers—flowers in particular and wild nature in general. The idea 

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was to make them want to be going out into the country at every available opportunity, and so compel 
them to consume transport. 

“And didn’t they consume transport?” asked the student. 
“Quite a lot,” the D.H.C. replied. “But nothing else.” 
Primroses and landscapes, he pointed out, have one grave defect: they are 

gratuitous. A love of nature keeps no factories busy. It was decided to abolish the love of nature, at any 
rate among the lower classes; to abolish the love of nature, but not the tendency to consume transport. For 
of course it was essential that they should keep on going to the country, even though they hated it. The 
problem was to find an economically sounder reason for consuming transport than a mere affection for 
primroses and landscapes. It was duly found. 

“We condition the masses to hate the country,” concluded the Director. “But simultaneously we condition 
them to love all country sports. At the same time, we see to it that all country sports shall entail the use of 
elaborate apparatus. So that they consume manufactured articles as well as transport. Hence those electric 
shocks.” 

“I see,” said the student, and was silent, lost in admiration. 

There was a silence; then, clearing his throat, “Once upon a time,” the Director began, “while our Ford was 
still on earth, there was a little boy called Reuben Rabinovitch. Reuben was the child of Polish-speaking 
parents.” The Director interrupted himself. “You know what Polish is, I suppose?” 

“A dead language.” 

“Like French and German,” added another student, consciously showing off his learning. 

“And ‘parent’?” questioned the D.H.C. 

There was an uneasy silence. Several of the boys blushed. They had not yet learned to draw the significant 
but often very fine distinction between smut and pure science. One, at last, had the courage to raise a hand. 

“Human beings used to be . . .” he hesitated; the blood rushed to his cheeks. “Well, they used to be 
viviparous.” 

“Quite right.” The Director nodded approvingly. 
“And when the babies were decanted . . .” 
“‘Born,’” came the correction. 
“Well, then they were the parents—I mean, not the babies, of course; the 

other ones.” The poor boy was overwhelmed with confusion. 
“In brief,” the Director summed up, “the parents were the father and the mother.” The smut that was really 
science fell with a crash into the boys’ eyeavoiding silence. “Mother,” he repeated loudly rubbing in the 
science; and, leaning back in his chair, “These,” he said gravely, “are unpleasant facts; I know 

it. But then most historical facts are unpleasant.” 
He returned to Little Reuben—to Little Reuben, in whose room, one 

evening, by an oversight, his father and mother (crash, crash!) happened to leave the radio turned on. 

(“For you must remember that in those days of gross viviparous reproduction, children were always 
brought up by their parents and not in State Conditioning Centres.”) 

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While the child was asleep, a broadcast programme from London suddenly started to come through; and 
the next morning, to the astonishment of his crash and crash (the more daring of the boys ventured to 
grin at one another), Little Reuben woke up repeating word for word a long lecture by that curious old 
writer (“one of the very few whose works have been permitted to come down to us”), George Bernard 
Shaw, who was speaking, according to a well-authenticated tradition, about his own genius. To Little 
Reuben’s wink and snigger, this lecture was, of course perfectly incomprehensible and, imagining that their 
child had suddenly gone mad, they sent for a doctor. He, fortunately, understood English, recognized the 
discourse as that which Shaw had broadcasted the previous evening realized the significance of what had 
happened, and sent a letter to the medical press about it. 

“The principle of sleep-teaching, or hypnop.dia, had been discovered.” The D.H.C. made an impressive 
pause. 

The principle had been discovered; but many, many years were to elapse before that principle was usefully 
applied. 

“The case of Little Reuben occurred only twenty-three years after Our Ford’s first T-Model was put on the 
market. (Here the Director made a sign of the T on his stomach and all the students reverently followed 
suit.) 

“And yet . . . ! 

Furiously the students scribbled, “Hypnop.dia, first used officially in A.F. 214. Why not before? Two 
reasons. (a) . . .” 

“These early experimenters,” the D.H.C. was saying, were on the wrong track. They thought that 
hypnop.dia could be made an instrument of intellectual education . . .” 

(A small boy asleep on his right side, the right arm stuck out, the right hand hanging limp over the edge of 
the bed. Through a round grating in the side of a box a voice speaks softly. 

“The Nile is the longest river in Africa and the second in length of all the rivers of the globe. Though 
falling short of the length of the Mississippi-Missouri, the Nile is at the head of all rivers as regards the 
length of its basin, which extends through 35 degrees of latitude . . .” 

At breakfast the next morning, “Tommy,” some one says, “do you know which is the longest river in 
Africa?” A shaking of the head. “But don’t you remember something that begins: The Nile is the . . .” 

“The Nile is the longest river - in - Africa - and - the - second - in - length - of - all - the - rivers - of - the globe 
. . .” The words come rushing out. “Although - falling - short - of . . .” 

“Well now, which is the longest river in Africa?” 
The eyes are blank. “I don’t know.” 
“But the Nile, Tommy.” 
“The - Nile - is - the - longest - river - in - Africa - and - second ...” “Then which river is the longest, 
Tommy?” 

Tommy burst into tears. “I don’t know,” he howls.) 

That howl, the Director made it plain, discouraged the earliest investigators. The experiments were 
abandoned. No further attempt was made to teach chil- dren the length of the Nile in their sleep. Quite 
rightly. You can’t learn a science unless you know what it’s all about. 

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“Whereas, if they’d only started on moral education,” said the Director, leading the way towards the door. 
The students followed him, desperately scribbling as they walked and all the way up in the lift. “Moral 
education, which ought never, in any circumstances, to be rational.” 

“Silence, silence,” whispered a loud speaker as they stepped out at the fourteenth floor, and “Silence, 
silence,” the trumpet mouths indefatigably repeated at intervals down every corridor. The students and 
even the Director himself rose automatically to the tips of their toes. They were Alphas, of course; but 
even Alphas have been well conditioned. “Silence, silence.” All the air of the fourteenth floor was sibilant 
with the categorical imperative. 

Fifty yards of tiptoeing brought them to a door which the Director cautiously opened. They stepped over 
the threshold into the twilight of a shuttered dormitory. Eighty cots stood in a row against the wall. There 
was a sound of light regular breathing and a continuous murmur, as of very faint voices remotely 
whispering. 

A nurse rose as they entered and came to attention before the Director. “What’s the lesson this 
afternoon?” he asked. 
“We had Elementary Sex for the first forty minutes,” she answered. “But now 

it’s switched over to Elementary Class Consciousness.” 
The Director walked slowly down the long line of cots. Rosy and relaxed 

with sleep, eighty little boys and girls lay softly breathing. There was a whisper under every pillow. The 

D.H.C. halted and, bending over one of the little beds, listened attentively. 
“Elementary Class Consciousness, did you say? Let’s have it repeated a little louder by the trumpet.” 

At the end of the room a loud speaker projected from the wall. The Director walked up to it and pressed a 
switch. 

“. . . all wear green,” said a soft but very distinct voice, beginning in the middle of a sentence, “and Delta 
Children wear khaki. Oh no, I don’t want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They’re 
too stupid to be able to read or write. Besides they wear black, which is such a beastly colour. I’m so glad 
I’m a Beta.” 

There was a pause; then the voice began again. 

“Alpha children wear grey. They work much harder than we do, because they’re so frightfully clever. I’m 
really awfully glad I’m a Beta, because I don’t work so hard. And then we are much better than the 
Gammas and Deltas. Gammas are stupid. They all wear green, and Delta children wear khaki. Oh no, I 
don’t want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They’re too stupid to be able . . .” 

The Director pushed back the switch. The voice was silent. Only its thin ghost continued to mutter from 
beneath the eighty pillows. 

“They’ll have that repeated forty or fifty times more before they wake; then again on Thursday, and again 
on Saturday. A hundred and twenty times three times a week for thirty months. After which they go on to a 
more advanced lesson.” 

Roses and electric shocks, the khaki of Deltas and a whiff of asafoetida— wedded indissolubly before the 
child can speak. But wordless conditioning is crude and wholesale; cannot bring home the finer 
distinctions, cannot inculcate the more complex courses of behaviour. For that there must be words, but 
words without reason. In brief, hypnop.dia. 

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“The greatest moralizing and socializing force of all time.” 

The students took it down in their little books. Straight from the horse’s mouth. 

Once more the Director touched the switch. 

“. . . so frightfully clever,” the soft, insinuating, indefatigable voice was saying, “I’m really awfully glad I’m a 
Beta, because . . .” 


Not so much like drops of water, though water, it is true, can wear holes in the hardest granite; rather, 
drops of liquid sealing-wax, drops that adhere, incrust, incorporate themselves with what they fall on, till 
finally the rock is all one scarlet blob. 


“Till at last the child’s mind is these suggestions, and the sum of the suggestions is the child’s mind. And 
not the child’s mind only. The adult’s mind too— all his life long. The mind that judges and desires and 
decides—made up of these suggestions. But all these suggestions are our suggestions!” The Director 
almost shouted in his triumph. “Suggestions from the State.” He banged the nearest table. “It therefore 
follows . . .” 


A noise made him turn round. 
“Oh, Ford!” he said in another tone, “I’ve gone and woken the children.” 


BRAVE NEW WORLD REVISITED 

In 1931, when Brave New World was being written, I was convinced that there was still plenty of time. The 
completely organized society, the scientific caste system, the abolition of free will by methodical 
conditioning, the servitude made acceptable by regular doses of chemically induced happiness, the 
orthodoxies drummed in by nightly courses of sleep-teaching—these things were coming all right, but not 
in my time, not even in the time of my grandchildren. I forget the exact date of the events recorded in 
Brave New World; but it was somewhere in the sixth or seventh century a.f. (After Ford). We who were 
living in the second quarter of the twentieth century a.d. were the inhabitants, admittedly, of a gruesome 
kind of universe; but the nightmare of those depression years was radically different from the nightmare 
of the future, described in Brave New World. Ours was a nightmare of too little order; theirs, in the 
seventh century a.f., of too much. In the process of passing from one extreme to the other, there would be 
a long interval, so I imagined, during which the more fortunate third of the human race would make the 
best of both worlds—the disorderly world of liberalism and the much too orderly Brave New World where 
perfect efficiency left no room for freedom or personal initiative. 

Twenty-seven years later, in this third quarter of the twentieth century a.d., and long before the end of the 
first century a.f., I feel a good deal less optimistic than I did when I was writing Brave New World. The 
prophecies made in 1931 are coming true much sooner than I thought they would. The blessed interval 
between too little order and the nightmare of too much has not begun and shows no sign of beginning. In 
the West, it is true, individual men and women still enjoy a large measure of freedom. But even in those 
countries that have a tradition of democratic government, this freedom and even the desire for this 
freedom seem to be on the wane. In the rest of the world freedom for individuals has already gone, or is 
manifestly about to go. The nightmare of total organization, which I had situated in the seventh century 
After Ford, has emerged from the safe, remote future and is now awaiting us, just around the next corner. 

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THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY (1800-1859): ON EMPIRE AND EDUCATION 

The first selection a speech on the India bill of 1833 and expresses his view of the achievements 
and goals of the British Empire in the East. Between 1834 and 1838 he lived in Calcutta and served on the 
British "Supreme Council for India". His "Minute on Education, " from which the second selection below 
comes, touches on the relation of Western and Indian civilizations. 

EDUCATION AND THE ENGLISH EMPIRE IN INDIA 

I feel that, for the good of India itself, the admission of natives to high office must be effected by 
slow degrees. But that, when the fulness of time is come, when the interest of India requires the change, 
we ought to refuse to make that change lest we should endanger our own power, this is a doctrine of 
which I cannot think without indignation. Governments, like men, may buy existence too dear. "Propter 
vitam vivendi perdere causas," ["To lose the reason for living, for the sake of staying alive"] is a despicable 
policy both in individuals and in states. In the present case, such a policy would be not only despicable, but 
absurd. The mere extent of empire is not necessarily an advantage. To many governments it has been 
cumbersome; to some it has been fatal. It will be allowed by every statesman of our time that the 
prosperity of a community is made up of the prosperity of those who compose the community, and that it 
is the most childish ambition to covet dominion which adds to no man's comfort or security. To the great 
trading nation, to the great manufacturing nation, no progress which any portion of the human race can 
make in knowledge, in taste for the conveniences of life, or in the wealth by which those conveniences are 
produced, can be matter of indifference. It is scarcely possible to calculate the benefits which we might 
derive from the diffusion of European civilisation among the vast population of the East. It would be, on 
the most selfish view of the case, far better for us that the people of India were well governed and 
independent of us, than ill governed and subject to us; that they were ruled by their own kings, but wearing 
our broadcloth, and working with our cutlery, than that they were performing their salams to English 
collectors and English magistrates, but were too ignorant to value, or too poor to buy, English 
manufactures. To trade with civilised men is infinitely more profitable than to govern savages. That would, 
indeed, be a doting wisdom, which, in order that India might remain a dependency, would make it an 
useless and costly dependency, which would keep a hundred millions of men from being our customers in 
order that they might continue to be our slaves. 

Are we to keep the people of India ignorant in order that we may keep them submissive? Or do we 
think that we can give them knowledge without awakening ambition? Or do we mean to awaken ambition 

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and to provide it with no legitimate vent? Who will answer any of these questions in the affirmative? Yet 
one of them must be answered in the affirmative, by every person who maintains that we ought 
permanently to exclude the natives from high office. 1 have no fears. The path of duty is plain before us: 
and it is also the path of wisdom, of national prosperity, of national honor. 

ON INDIAN EDUCATION 

We now come to the gist of the matter. We have a fund to be employed as Government shall direct 
for the intellectual improvement of the people of this country. The simple question is, what is the most 
useful way of employing it? 

All parties seem to be agreed on one point, that the dialects commonly spoken among the natives 
of this part of India, contain neither literary nor scientific information, and are, moreover, so poor and 
rude that, until they are enriched from some other quarter, it will not be easy to translate any valuable work 
into them. It seems to be admitted on all sides, that the intellectual improvement of those classes of the 
people who have the means of pursuing higher studies can at present be effected only by means of some 
language not vernacular amongst them. 

What then shall that language be? One-half of the Committee maintain that it should be the 
English. The other half strongly recommend the Arabic and Sanscrit. The whole question seems to me to 
be, which language is the best worth knowing? 

I have no knowledge of either Sanscrit or Arabic.-But I have done what I could to form a correct 
estimate of their value. I have read translations of the most celebrated Arabic and Sanscrit works. I have 
conversed both here and at home with men distinguished by their proficiency in the Eastern tongues. I am 
quite ready to take the Oriental learning at the valuation of the Orientalists themselves. I have never found 
one among them who could deny that a single shelf of a good European library was worth the whole 
native literature of India and Arabia. The intrinsic superiority of the Western literature is, indeed, fully 
admitted by those members of the Committee who support the Oriental plan of education. 

It will hardly be disputed, I suppose, that the department of literature in which the Eastern writers 
stand highest is poetry. And I certainly never met with any Orientalist who ventured to maintain that the 
Arabic and Sanscrit poetry could be compared to that of the great European nations. But when we pass 
from works of imagination to works in which facts are recorded, and general principles investigated, the 
superiority of the Europeans becomes absolutely immeasurable. It is, I believe, no exaggeration to say, that 
all the historical information which has been collected from all the books written in the Sanscrit language is 

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less valuable than what may be found in the most paltry abridgements used at preparatory schools in 
England. In every branch of physical or moral philosophy, the relative position of the two nations is nearly 
the same. 

How, then, stands the case? We have to educate a people who cannot at present be educated by 
means of their mother-tongue. We must teach them some foreign language. The claims of our own 
language it is hardly necessary to recapitulate. It stands preeminent even among the languages of the west. 
It abounds with works of imagination not inferior to the noblest which Greece has bequeathed to us; with 
models of every species of eloquence; with historical compositions, which, considered merely as narratives, 
have seldom been surpassed, and which, considered as vehicles of ethical and political instruction, have 
never been equalled; with just and lively representations of human life and human nature; with the most 
profound speculations on metaphysics, morals, government, jurisprudence, and trade; with full and correct 
information respecting every experimental science which tends to preserve the health, to increase the 
comfort, or to expand the intellect of man. Whoever knows that language has ready access to all the vast 
intellectual wealth, which all the wisest nations of the earth have created and hoarded in the course of 
ninety generations. It may safely be said, that the literature now extant in that language is of far greater 
value than all the literature which three hundred years ago was extant in all the languages of the world 
together. Nor is this all. In India, English is the language spoken by the ruling class. It is spoken by the 
higher class of natives at the seats of Government. It is likely to become the language of commerce 
throughout the seas of the East. It is the language of two great European communities which are rising, 
the one in the south of Africa, the other in Australasia; communities which are every year becoming more 
important, and more closely connected with our Indian empire. Whether we look at the intrinsic value of 
our literature, or at the particular situation of this country, we shall see the strongest reason to think that, 
of all foreign tongues, the English tongue is that which would be the most useful to our native subjects. 

The question now before us is simply whether, when it is in our power to teach this language, we 
shall teach languages in which, by universal confession, there are no books on any subject which deserve to 
be compared to our own; whether, when we can teach European science, we shall teach systems which, by 
universal confession, whenever they differ from those of Europe, differ for the worse; and whether, when 
we can patronise sound Philosophy and true History, we shall countenance, at the public expense, medical 
doctrines, which would disgrace an English farrier [note: a horse shoer] -Astronomy, which would move 
laughter in girls at an English boarding school, History, abounding with kings thirty feet high, and reigns 
thirty thousand years long, and Geography, made up of seas of treacle and seas of butter. 

We are not without experience to guide us. History furnishes several analogous cases, and they all 

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teach the same lesson. There are in modem times, to go no further, two memorable instances of a great 
impulse given to the mind of a whole society,-of prejudices overthrown,-of knowledge diffused,-of taste 
purified,-of arts and sciences planted in countries which had recently been ignorant and barbarous. 

The first instance to which I refer, is the great revival of letters among the Western nations at the 
close of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth century. At that time almost every thing that was 
worth reading was contained in the writings of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Had our ancestors acted 
as the Committee of Public Instruction has hitherto acted; had they neglected the language of Cicero and 
Tacitus; had they confined their attention to the old dialects of our own island; had they printed nothing 
and taught nothing at the universities but Chronicles in Anglo-Saxon, and Romances in Norman-French, 
would England have been what she now is? What the Greek and Latin were to the contemporaries of 
More and Ascham [note: English humanists of the 16th century] our tongue is to the people of India. The 
literature of England is now more valuable than that of classical antiquity. I doubt whether the Sanscrit 
literature be as valuable as that of our Saxon and Norman progenitors. In some departments,-in History, 
for example, I am certain that it is much less so. 

In one point I fully agree with the gentlemen to whose general views I am opposed. I feel with 
them, that it is impossible for us, with our limited means, to attempt to educate the body of the people. We 
must at present do our best to form a class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we 
govern; a class of persons, Indian in blood and colour, but English in taste, in opinions, in morals, and in 
intellect. To that class we may leave it to refine the vernacular dialects of the country, to enrich those 
dialects with terms of science borrowed from the Western nomenclature, and to render them by degrees fit 
vehicles for conveying knowledge to the great mass of the population. 

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RAJA RAMMOHAN ROY: A SECOND CONFERENCE BETWEEN AN 
ADVOCATE FOR, AND AN OPPONENT OF THE PRACTICE OF BURNING 
WIDOWS ALIVE (1820) 


This is an imaginary dialogue arguing for and against sati, the practice of encouraging--and often 
forcing--widows to burn themselves alive on their husband's funeral pyres, here referred to as 
"Concremation." This practice was outlawed by the British not long after the great Indian reformer 
Rammohan Roy made this argument, and is now extremely rare, as are the polygamous arrangements 
which he describes; but many of his comments on the burdens borne by women are applicable even today. 

ADVOCATE. 

I alluded . . . to the real reason for our anxiety to persuade widows to follow their husbands, and 
for our endeavours to burn them pressed down with ropes: viz., that women are by nature of inferior 
understanding, without resolution, unworthy of trust, subject to passions, And void of virtuous 
knowledge; they, according to the precepts of the Sastra, are not allowed to marry again after the demise 
of their husbands, and consequently despair at once of all worldly pleasure; hence it is evident, that death 
to these unfortunate widows is preferable to existence; for the great difficulty which a widow may 
experience by living a purely ascetic life, as prescribed by the Sastras, is obvious; therefore, if she do not 
perform Concremation, it is probable that she may be guilty of such acts as may bring disgrace upon her 
paternal and maternal relations, and those that may be connected with her husband. Under these 
circumstances, we instruct them from their early life in the idea of Concremation, holding out to them 
heavenly enjoyments in company with their husbands, as well as the beatitude of their relations, both by 
birth and marriage, and their reputation in this world. From this many of them, on the death of their 
husbands, become desirous of accompanying them; but to remove every chance of their trying to escape 
from the blazing fire, in burning them we first tie them down to the pile. 

OPPONENT: 

The reason you have now assigned for burning widows alive is indeed your true motive, as we are 
well aware; but the faults which you have imputed to women are not planted in their constitution by nature; 
it would be, therefore, grossly criminal to condemn that sex to death merely from precaution. By ascribing 
to them all sorts of improper conduct, you have indeed successfully persuaded the Hindu community to 
look down upon them as contemptible and mischievous creatures, whence they have been subjected to 
constant miseries. I have, therefore, to offer a few remarks on this head. 

Women are in general inferior to men in bodily strength and energy; consequently the male part of 

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the community, taking advantage of their corporeal weakness, have denied to them those excellent merits 
that they are entitled to by nature, and afterwards they are apt to say that women are naturally incapable of 
acquiring those merits. But if we give the subjects consideration, we may easily ascertain whether or not 
your accusation against them is consistent with justice. As to their inferiority in point of understanding, 
when did you ever afford them a fair opportunity of exhibiting their natural capacity? How then can you 
accuse them of want of understanding? If, after instruction in knowledge and wisdom, a person cannot 
comprehend or retain what has been taught him, we may consider him as deficient; but as you keep women 
generally void of education and acquirements, you cannot, therefore, in justice pronounce on their 
inferiority. On the contrary, Lilavati, Bhanumati, the wife of the prince of Karnat, and that of Kalidasa, are 
celebrated for their thorough knowledge of all the Sastras: moreover in the Vrihadaranyaka Upanishhad of 
the Yajur Veda it is clearly stated that Yajnavalkya imparted divine knowledge of the most difficult nature 
to his wife Maitreyi, who was able to follow and completely attain it! 

Secondly. You charge them with want of resolution, at which I feel exceedingly surprised: for we 
constantly perceive, in a country where the name of death makes the male shudder, that the female, from 
her firmness of mind, offers to burn with the corpse of her deceased husband; and yet you accuse those 
women of deficiency in point of resolution. 

Thirdly. With regard to their trustworthiness, let us look minutely into the conduct of both sexes, 
and we may be enabled to ascertain which of them is the most frequently guilty of betraying friends. If we 
enumerate such women in each village or town as have been deceived by men, and such men as have been 
betrayed by women, I presume that the number of the deceived women would be found ten times greater 
than that of the betrayed men. Men are, in general, able to read and write, and manage public affairs, by 
which means they easily promulgate such faults as women occasionally commit, but never consider as 
criminal the misconduct of men towards women. One fault they have, it must be acknowledged; which is, 
by considering others equally void of duplicity as themselves, to give their confidence too readily, from 
which they suffer much misery, even so far that some of them are misled to suffer themselves to be burnt 
to death. 

In the fourth place, with respect to their subjection to the passions, this may be judged of by the 
custom of marriage as to the respective sexes; for one man may marry two or three, sometimes even ten 
wives and upwards; while a woman, who marries but one husband, desires at his death to follow him, 
forsaking all worldly enjoyments, or to remain leading the austere life of an ascetic. 

Fifthly. The accusation of their want of virtuous knowledge is an injustice. Observe what pain, 
what slighting, what contempt, and what afflictions their virtue enables them to support! How many Kulin 
Brahmans are there who marry ten or fifteen wives for the sake of money, that never see the greater 
number of them after the day of marriage, and visit others only three or four times in the course of their 
life. Still amongst those women, most, even without seeing or receiving any support from their husbands, 

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living dependent on their fathers or brothers, and suffering much distress, continue to preserve their virtue; 
and when Brahmans, or those of other tribes, bring their wives to live with them, what misery do the 
women not suffer? At marriage the wife is recognized as half of her husband, but in after-conduct they are 
treated worse than inferior animals. For the woman is employed to do the work of a slave in the house, 
such as, in her turn, to clean the place very early in the morning, whether cold or wet, to scour the dishes, 
to wash the floor, to cook night and day, to prepare and serve food for her husband, father, mother-in-law, 
sisters-in-law, brothers-in-law, and friends and connections! (for amongst Hindus more than in other tribes 
relations long reside together, and on this account quarrels are more common amongst brothers respecting 
their worldly affairs.) If in the preparation or serving up of the victuals they commit the smallest fault, 
what insult do they not receive from their husband, their mother-in-law, and the younger brothers of their 
husband? After all the male part of the family have satisfied themselves, the women content themselves 
with what may be left, whether sufficient in quantity or not. Where Brahmans or Kayasthas are not wealthy, 
their women are obliged to attend to their cows, and to prepare the cow-dung for firing. In the afternoon 
they fetch water from the river or tank, and at night perform the office of menial servants in making the 
beds. In case of any fault or omission in the performance of those labors they receive injurious treatment. 
Should the husband acquire wealth, he indulges in criminal amours to her perfect knowledge and almost 
under her eyes, and does not see her perhaps once a month. As long as the husband is poor, she suffers 
every kind of trouble, and when he becomes rich, she is altogether heart-broken. All this pain and 
affliction their virtue alone enables them to support. Where a husband takes two or three wives to live with 
him, they are subjected to mental miseries and constant quarrels. Even this distressed situation they 
virtuously endure. Sometimes it happens that the husband, from a preference for one of his wives, behaves 
cruelly to another. Amongst the lower classes, and those even of the better class who have not associated 
with good company, the wife, on the slightest fault, or even on bare suspicion of her misconduct, is 
chastised as a thief. Respect to virtue and their reputation generally makes them forgive even this 
treatment. If unable to bear such cruel usage, a wife leaves her husband's house to live separately from 
him, then the influence of the husband with the magisterial authority is generally sufficient to place her 
again in his hands; when, in revenge for her quitting him, he seizes every pretext to torment her in various 
ways, and sometimes even puts her privately to death. These are facts occurring every day, and not to be 
denied. What I lament is, that, seeing the women thus dependent and exposed to every misery, you feel for 
them no compassion, that might exempt them from being tied down and burnt to death. 

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MOUNTSTUART ELPHINSTONE: INDIAN CUSTOMS AND MANNERS, 1840 

It is well known that Indian widows sometimes sacrifice themselves on the funeral pile of their 
husbands, and that such victims are called suttees. The practice is ascribed by our missionaries to the 
degraded condition to which a woman who outlives her husband is condemned. If the motive were one of 
so general an influence, the practice would scarcely be so rare. It is more probable that the hopes of 
immediately entering on the enjoyment of heaven and of entitling the husband to the same felicity, as well 
as the glory attending such a voluntary sacrifice, are sufficient to excite the few enthusiastic spirits who go 
through this awful trial. 

The mode of cremation is various: in Bengal, the living and dead bodies are stretched on a pile 
where strong ropes and bamboos are thrown across them so as to prevent any attempt to rise. In Orissa, 
the woman throws herself into the pyre, which is below the level of the ground. In the Deccan, the woman 
sits down on the pyre, with her husband's head in her lap, and remains there till suffocated, or crushed by 
the fall of a heavy roof of logs of wood, which is fixed by cords to posts at the corners of the pile. 

The sight of a widow burning is a most painful one; but it is hard to say whether the spectator is 
most affected by pity or admiration. The more than human serenity of the victim, and the respect which 
she receives from those around her, are heightened by her gentle demeanor and her care to omit nothing in 
distributing her last presents, and paying the usual marks; of courtesy to the bystanders; while the cruel 
death that awaits her is doubly felt from her own apparent insensibility to its terrors. The reflections which 
succeed are of a different character, and one is humiliated to think that so feeble a being can be elevated by 
superstition to a self-devotion not surpassed by the noblest examples of patriots or martyrs. 

I have heard that in Gujarat women about to burn are often stupefied with opium. In most other 
parts this is certainly not the case. Women go through all the ceremonies with astonishing composure and 
presence of mind, and have been seen seated, unconfined, among the flames, apparently praying, and 
raising their joined hands to their heads with as little agitation as at their ordinary devotions. 

On the other hand, frightful instances have occurred of women bursting from amidst the flames, 
and being thrust back by the assistants. One of these diabolical attempts was made in Bengal when an 
English gentleman happened to be among the spectators, and succeeded in preventing the accomplishment 
of the tragedy; but next day he was surprised to encounter the bitterest reproaches from the woman for 
having been the occasion of her disgrace and the obstacle to her being then in heaven enjoying the 
company of her husband and the blessings of those she had left behind. 

The practice is by no means universal in India. It never occurs to the south of the river Kishna; and 
under the Bombay presidency, including the former sovereignty of the Bramin Peshwas, it amounts to 
thirty-two in a year. In the rest of the Deccan it is probably more rare. In Hindostan and Bengal it is so 

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common that some hundreds are officially reported as burned annually within the British dominions alone. 

The Emperor Akbar tried to put an end to the burning of widows, but did not succeed. As the 
Hindus insisted that the rite was a part of their religion, the English did not for many years venture to 
oppose it by the making of any law. At length, Lord William Bentinck, Governor-General, proposed in 
1829 a regulation in Council declaring all who abetted the suttee to be guilty of "culpable homicide." There 
was opposition on the part of Europeans as well as natives, but the regulation was carried. 

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MAHATMA GANDHI, HIND SWARAJ OR INDIAN HOME RULE (1909) 

In this imaginary dialogue, Gandhi responds to an interviewer. The interviewer is labeled “Reader” and Gandhi’s responses 
labeled “Editor.” 

What is Swaraj 
Editor: Why do you want to drive away the English? 


Reader: Because India has become impoverished by their government. They take away our money from 
year to year. The most important posts are reserved for themselves. We are kept in a state of slavery. They 
behave insolently towards us and disregard our feelings. 


Editor: If they do not take our money away, become gentle, and give us responsible posts, you would still 
consider their presence to be harmful? 


Reader: That question is useless. It is similar to the question whether there is any harm in associating with 
a tiger if he changes his nature. Such a question is sheer waste of time. When a tiger changes his nature, 
Englishmen will change theirs. This is not possible, and to believe it to be possible is contrary to human 
experience. 


Editor: Supposing we get Self-Government similar what the Canadians and the South-Africans have, will it 
be good enough? 


Reader: That question also is useless. We may get it when we have the same powers; we shall then hoist our 
own flag. As is Japan, so must India be. We must own our navy, our army, and we must have our own 
splendor, and then will India's voice ring through the world. 


Editor: You have drawn the picture well. In effect it means this: that we want English rule without the 
Englishman. You want the tiger's nature, but not the tiger; that is to say, you would make India English. 
And when it becomes English, it will be called not Hindustan but Englishtan. This is not the Swaraj I 
want. 


Reader: I have placed before you my idea of Swaraj as I think it should be. if the education we have 
received be of any use, if the works of Spencer, Mill and others be of any importance, and if the English 
Parliament be the Mother of Parliaments, I certainly think that we should copy the English people, and this 

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is to such an extent that, just as they do not allow others to obtain footing in their country, so we should 
not allow them or others to obtain it in ours. What they have done in their country has not been done in 
any other country. It is, therefore proper for us to import their institutions. But now I want to know your 
views. 


Editor: There is need for patience. My views will develop of themselves in the course of this discourse. It 
is as difficult for me to understand the true nature of Swaraj as it seems to you to be easy. I shall therefore, 
for the time being, content myself with endeavoring to show that what you call Swaraj is not truly Swaraj. 

Civilization 
Reader: Now you will have to explain what you mean by civilization. 


Editor: It is not a question of what I mean. Several English writers refuse to call that civilization which 
passes under that name. Many books have been written upon that subject. Societies have been formed to 
cure the nation of the evils of civilization. A great English writer has written a work called Civilization: Its 
Cause and Cure. Therein he has called it a disease. 


Reader: Why do we not know this generally? 


Editor: The answer is very simple. We rarely find people arguing against themselves. Those who are 
intoxicated by modern civilization are not likely to write against it. Their care will be to find out facts and 
arguments in support of it, and this they do unconsciously believing it to be true. A man whilst he is 
dreaming believes in his dream. He is undeceived only when he is awakened from his sleep. A man laboring 
under the bane of civilization is like a dreaming man. What we usually read are the works of defenders of 
modern civilization, which undoubtedly claims among its votaries very brilliant and even some very good 
men. Their writings hypnotize us, and so, one by one, we are drawn into the vortex. 


Reader: This seems to be very plausible. Now will you tell me something of what you have read and 
thought of this civilization? 


Editor: Let us first consider what state of things is described by the word "civilization". Its true test lies in 
the fact that people living in it make bodily welfare the object of life. We will take some examples. The 
people of Europe today live in better-built houses than they did a hundred years ago. This is considered an 
emblem of civilization, and this is also a matter to promote bodily happiness. Formerly, they wore skins, 
and used spears as their weapons. Now, they wear long trousers, and, for embellishing their bodies, they 

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wear a variety of clothing, and, instead of. spears, they carry with them revolvers containing five or more 
chambers. If people of a certain country, who have hitherto not been in the habit of wearing much 
clothing, boots, etc., adopt European clothing, they are supposed to have become civilized out of savagery. 
Formerly, in Europe, people ploughed their lands mainly by manual labor. Now, one man can plough a vast 
tract by means of steam engines and can thus amass great wealth. This is called a sign of civilization. 
Formerly, only a few men wrote valuable books. Now, anybody writes and prints anything he likes and 
poisons people's minds. Formerly, men traveled in wagons. Now, they fly through the air in trains at the 
rate of four hundred and more miles per day. This is considered the height of civilization. It has been 
stated that, as men progress, they shall be able to travel in an airship and reach any par, of the world in a 
few hours. Men will not need the use of their hands and feet. They will press a button, and they will have 
their clothing by their side. They will press another button, and they will have their newspaper. A third, and 
a motor-car will be in waiting for them. They will have a variety of delicately dished up food. Everything 
will be done by machinery. Formerly, when people wanted to fight with one another, they measured 
between them their bodily strength; now it is possible to take away thousands of lives by one man working 
behind a gun from a hill. This is civilization. Formerly, men worked in the open air only as much as they 
liked. Now thousands of workmen meet together and for the sake of maintenance work in factories or 
mines. Their condition is worse than that of beasts. They are obliged to work, at the risk of their lives, at 
most dangerous occupations, for the sake of millionaires. Formerly, men were made slaves under physical 
compulsion. Now they are enslaved by temptation of money and of the luxuries that money can buy. 
There are now diseases of which people never dreamt before, and an army of doctors is engaged in 
finding out their cures, and so hospitals have increased. This is a test of civilization. Formerly, special 
messengers were required and much expense was incurred in order to send letters; today, anyone can abuse 
his fellow by means of a letter for one penny. True, at the same cost, one can send one's thanks also. 
Formerly, people had two or three meals consisting of home-made bread and vegetables; now, they require 
something to eat every two hours so that they have hardly leisure for anything else. What more need I say'? 
All this you can ascertain from several authoritative books. These are all true tests of civilization. And if 
anyone speaks to the contrary, know that he is ignorant. This civilization takes note neither of morality nor 
of religion. Its votaries calmly state that their business is not to teach religion. Some even consider it to be 
a superstitious growth. Others put on the cloak of religion, and prate about morality. But, after twenty 
years' experience, I have come to the conclusion that immorality is often taught in the name of morality. 
Even a child can understand that in all I described above there can be no inducement to morality. 
Civilization seeks to increase bodily comforts, and it fails miserably even in doing so. 


This civilization is irreligion, and it has taken such a hold on the people in Europe that those who are in it 
appear to be half mad. They lack real physical strength or courage. They keep up their energy by 

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intoxication. They can hardly be happy in solitude. Women, who should be the queens of households, 
wander in the streets or they slave away in factories. For the sake of a pittance, half a million women in 
England alone are laboring under trying circumstances in factories or similar institutions. This awful act is 
one of the causes of the daily growing suffragette movement. 


This civilization is such that one has only to be patient and it will be self-destroyed. According to the 
teaching of Mohammed this would be considered a Satanic Civilization. Hinduism calls it a Black Age. I 
cannot give you an adequate conception of it. It is eating into the vitals of the English nation. It must be 
shunned. Parliaments are really emblems of slavery. If you will sufficiently think over this, you will 
entertain the same opinion and cease to to blame the English. They rather deserve our sympathy. They are 
a shrewd nation and I therefore believe that they will cast off the evil. They are enterprising and 
industrious, and their mode of thought is not inherently immoral. Neither are they bad at heart. I therefore 
respect them. Civilization is not an incurable disease, but it should never be forgotten that the English are 
at present afflicted by it. 


The Hindus and the Mahomedans 
Reader: Has the introduction of Mahomedanism not unmade the nation? 


Editor: India cannot cease to be one nation because people belonging to different religions live in it. The 
introduction of foreigners does not necessarily destroy the nation: they merge in it. A country is one nation 
only when such a condition obtains in it. That country must have a faculty for assimilation. India has ever 
been such a country. In reality, there are as many religions as there are individuals: but those who are 
conscious of the spirit of nationality do not interfere with one another's religion. If they do, they are not 
fit to be considered a nation. If the Hindus believe that India should be peopled only by Hindus, they are 
living in dream-land. The Hindus, the Mahomedans, the Parsis and the Christians who have made India 
their country are fellow countrymen, and they will have to live in unity, if only for their own interest. In no 
part of the world are one nationality and one religion synonymous terms; nor has it ever been so in India. 

Reader: But what about the inborn enmity between Hindus and Mahomedans? 

Editor: That phrase has been invented by our mutual enemy. When the Hindus and Mahomedans fought 
against one another, they certainly spoke in that strain. They have long since ceased to fight. How, then, 
can there be any inborn enmity? Pray remember this too, that we did not cease to fight only after British 
occupation. The Hindu flourished under Moslem sovereigns and Moslems under the Hindu. Each party 

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reconciled that mutual fighting was suicidal, and that neither party would abandon its religion by force of 


arms. Both parties, therefore, decided to live in peace. With the English advent quarrels recommenced. 
The proverbs you have quoted were coined when both were fighting; to quote them now is obviously 
harmful. Should we not remember that many Hindus and Mahomedans own the same ancestors and the 
same blood runs through their veins? Do people become enemies because they change their religion? Is the 
God of the Mohamedan different from the God of the Hindu? Religions are different roads converging to 
the same point. What does it matter that we take different roads so long as we reach the same goal? 
Wherein is the cause for quarreling? 


Passive Resistance 
Reader: Is there any historical evidence as to the success of what you have called soul-force or truth-force? 
No instance seems to have happened of any nation having risen through soul-force. I still think that the 
evil-doers will not cease doing evil without physical punishment. 


Editor: The poet Tulsidas has said: "Of religion, pity, or love, is the root, as egotism of the body. 
Therefore we should not abandon pity so long as we are alive." This appears to me to be a scientific truth. 
I believe in it as much as I believe in two and two being four. The force of love is the same as the force of 
the soul or truth. We have evidence of its working at every step. The universe would disappear without the 
existence of that force. But you ask for historical evidence. Is it, therefore, necessary to know what history 
means. The Gujarati equivalent means: "It so happened." If that is the meaning of history, it is possible to 
give copious evidence. But if it means the doings of kings and emperors, there can be no evidence of soul-
force or passive resistance in such history. You cannot expect silver ore in a tin mine. History, as we know 
it, is a record of the wars of the world, and so there is a proverb among Englishmen that a nation which 
has no history, that is, no wars, is a happy nation. How kings played, how they became enemies of one 
another, how they murdered one another, is found accurately recorded in history, and if this were all that 
had happened in the world, it would have been ended long ago. If the story of the universe had 
commenced with wars, not a man would have been found alive to-day. Those people who have been 
warred against have disappeared, as, for instance, the natives of Australia of whom hardly a man was left 
alive by the intruders. Mark, please, that these natives did not use soul-force in self-defense, and it does not 
require much foresight to know that the Australians will share the same fate as their victims. "Those that 
take the sword shall perish by the sword." With us the proverb is that professional swimmers will find a 
watery grave. 

The fact that there are so many men still alive in the world shows that it is based not on the force of arms 
but on the force of truth or love. Therefore, the greatest and most unimpeachable evidence of the success 
of this force is to be found in the fact that, in spite of the wars of the world, it still lives on. 

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Thousands, indeed tens of thousands, depend for their existence on a very active working of this force. 
Little quarrels of millions of families in their daily lives disappear before the exercise of this force. 
Hundreds of nations live in peace. History does not and cannot take note of this fact. History is really a 
record of every interruption of the even working of the force of love or of the soul. Two brothers 
quarrel: one of them repents and reawakens the love that was lying dormant within him; the two again 
begin to live in peace; nobody takes note of this. But if the two brothers through the intervention of 
solicitors or some other reason take up arms or go to the law—which is another form of the exhibition of 
brute force—their doings would be immediately noticed in the press, they would be the talk of their 
neighbors and would probably go down to history. And what is true of families and communities is true of 
nations. There is no reason to believe that there is one law for families and another for nations. History, 
then, is a record of an interruption of the course of nature. Soul-force, being natural, is noted in history. 

Reader: According to what you say, it is plain that instances of this kind of passive resistance are not to be 
found in history. It is necessary to understand this passive resistance more fully. It will be better, therefore, 
if you enlarge upon it. 

Editor: Passive resistance is a method of securing rights by personal suffering; it is the reverse of resistance 
by arms. When I refuse to do a thing that is repugnant to my conscience, I use soul-force. For instance, the 
Government of the day has passed a law which is applicable to me. I do not like it. If by using violence I 
force the Government to repeal the law, I am employing what may be termed body-force. If I do not obey 
the law and accept the penalty for its breach, I use soul-force. It involves sacrifice of self. 

Everybody admits that sacrifice of self is infinitely superior to sacrifice of others. Moreover, if this kind of 
force is used in a cause that is unjust, only the person using it suffers. He does not make others suffer for 
his mistakes. 

Men have before now done many things which were subsequently found to have been wrong. No man can 
claim that he is absolutely in the right or that a particular thing is wrong because he thinks so, but it is 
wrong for him so long as that is his deliberate judgment. It is therefore meant that he should not do that 
which he knows to be wrong, and suffer the consequence whatever it may be. This is the key to the use of 
soul-force. 

Reader: From what you say I deduce that passive resistance is a splendid weapon of the weak, but that 
when they are strong they may take up arms. 

Editor: This is gross ignorance. Passive resistance, that is, soul-force, is matchless. It is superior to the force 
of arms. How, then, can it be considered only a weapon of the weak? Physical-force men are strangers to 
the courage that is required in a passive resister. Do you believe that a coward can ever disobey a law that 

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he dislikes? Extremists are considered to be advocates of brute force. Why do they, then, talk about 
obeying laws? I do not blame them. They can say nothing else. When they succeed in driving out the 
English and they themselves become governors, they will want you and me to obey their laws. And that is a 
fitting thing for their constitutions. But a passive resister will say he will not obey a law that is against his 
conscience, even though he may be blown to pieces at the mouth of a cannon. 

What do you think? Wherein is courage required—in blowing others to pieces from behind a cannon, or 
with a smiling face to approach a cannon and be blown to pieces? Who is the true warrior—he who keeps 
death always as a bosom-friend, or he who controls the death of others? Believe me that a man devoid of 
courage and manhood can never be a passive resister. 

This, however, I will admit: that even a man weak in body is capable of offering this resistance. One man 
can offer it just as well as millions. Both men and women can indulge in it. It does not require the training 
of an army; it needs no jiu-jitsu. Control over the mind is alone necessary, and when that is attained, man is 
free like the king of the forest and his very glance withers the enemy. 

Passive resistance is an all-sided sword, it can be used anyhow; it blesses him who uses it and him against 
whom it is used. Without drawing a drop of blood it produces far-reaching results. It never rusts and 
cannot be stolen. Competition between passive resisters does not exhaust. The sword of passive resistance 
does not require a scabbard. It is strange indeed that you should consider such a weapon to be a weapon 
merely of the weak. 

* * * 
Nature has implanted in the human breast ability to cope with any difficulty or suffering that may come to 
man unprovoked. These qualities are worth having, even for those who do not wish to serve the country. 
Let there be no mistake, as those who want to train themselves in the use of arms are also obliged to have 
these qualities more or less. Everybody does not become a warrior for the wish. A would-be warrior will 
have to observe chastity and to be satisfied with poverty as his lot. A warrior without fearlessness cannot 
be conceived of. It may be thought that he would not need to be exactly truthful, but that quality follows 
real fearlessness. When a man abandons truth, he does so owing to fear in some shape or form. The above 
four attributes, then, need not frighten anyone. It may be as well here to note that a physical-force man has 
to have many other useless qualities which a passive resister never needs. And you will find that whatever 
extra effort a swordsman need is due to lack of fearlessness. If he is an embodiment of the latter, the 
sword will drop from his hand that very moment. He does not need its support. One who is free from 
hatred requires no sword. A man with a stick suddenly came face to face with a lion and instinctively raised 
his weapon in self-defense. The man saw that he had only prated about fearlessness when there was none 
in him. That moment he dropped the stick and found himself free from all fear. 

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Machinery 
Reader: When you speak of driving out Western civilization, I suppose you will say that we want no 
machinery. 


Editor: By raising this Question, you have opened the wound I have received. When I read Mr.Dutt's 
Economic History of India, I wept; as I think of it again my heart sickens. It is machinery that has 
impoverished India. It is difficult to measure the harm that Manchester has done to us. It is due to 
Manchester that Indian handicraft has all but disappeared. 


But I make a mistake. How can Manchester be blamed? We wore Manchester cloth and this is why 
Manchester wove it. I was delighted when I read about the bravery of Bengal. There were no cloth mills in 
that presidency. They were, therefore, able to restore the original hand-weaving occupation. It is true 
Bengal encourages the mill industry of Bombay. If Bengal had proclaimed a boycott of all machine made 
goods, it would have been much better. 


Machinery has begun to desolate Europe. Ruination is now knocking at the English gates. 
Machinery is the chief symbol of modern civilization; it represents a great sin. 


The workers in the mills of Bombay have become slaves. The condition of the women working in the mills 
is shocking. When there were no mills, these women were not starving. If the machinery craze grows in 
our country, it will become an unhappy land. It may be considered a heresy, but I am bound to say that it 
were better for us to send money to Manchester and to use flimsy Manchester cloth than to multiply mills 
in India. By using Manchester cloth we only waste our money; but by reproducing Manchester in India, we 
shall keep our money at the price of our blood, because our very moral being will be sapped, and I call in 
support of my statement the very mill-bands as witnesses. And those who have amassed wealth out of 
factories are not likely to be better than other rich men. It would be folly to assume that an Indian 
Rockefeller would be better than the American Rockefeller. Impoverished India can become free, but it will 
be hard for any India made rich through immorality to regain its freedom. I fear we shall have to admit that 
moneyed men support British rule; their interest is bound up with its stability. Money renders a man 
helpless. The other thing which is equally harmful is sexual vice. Both are poison. A snake-bite is a lesser 
poison than these two, because the former merely destroys the body but the latter destroy body, mind and 
soul. We need not, therefore, be pleased with the prospect of the growth of the mill industry. 


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Reader: Are the mills, then, to be closed down? 


Editor: That is difficult. It is no easy task to do away with a thing that is established. We, therefore, say that 
the non beginning of a thing is supreme wisdom. We cannot condemn mill-owners; we can but pity them. 
It would be too much to expect them to give up their mills, but we may implore them not to increase them. 
If they would be good they would gradually contract their business. They can establish in thousands of 
households the ancient and sacred handlooms and they can buy out the cloth that may be thus woven. 
Whether the mill-owners do this or not, people can cease to use machine made goods. 


Reader: You have so far spoken about machine made cloth, but there are innumerable machine made 
things. We have either to import them or to introduce machinery into our country. 


Editor: Indeed, our goods even are made in Germany. What need, then, to speak of matches, pins and 
glassware? My answer can be only one. What did India do before these articles were introduced? Precisely 
the same should be done today. As long as we cannot make pins without machinery so long will we do 
without them. The tinsel splendor of glassware we will have nothing to do with, and we will make wicks, as 
of old, with home-grown cotton and use handmade earthen saucers for lamps. So doing, we shall save our 
eyes and money and support Swadeshi and so shall we attain Home Rule. 


It is not to be conceived that all men will do all these things at one time or that some men will give up all 
machine made things at once. But, if the thought is sound, we shall always find out what we can give up 
and gradually cease to use it. What a few may do, others will copy; and the movement will grow like the 
cocoanut of the mathematical problem. What the leaders do, the populace will gladly do in turn. The 
matter is neither complicated nor difficult. You and I need not wait until we can carry others with us. 
Those will be the losers who will not do it, and those who will not do it, although they appreciate the truth, 
will deserve to be called cowards. 


Reader: What, then, of the tram cars and electricity? 


Editor: This question is now too late. It signifies nothing. If we are to do without the railways we shall have 
to do without the tram-cars. Machinery is like a snake-hole which may contain from one to a hundred 
snakes. Where there is machinery there are large cities; and where there are large cities, there are tram-cars 
and railways, and there only does one see electric light. English villages do not boast of any of these things. 
Honest physicians will tell you that where means of artificial locomotion have increased, the health of the 
people has suffered. I remember that when in a European town there was a scarcity of money. The 

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receipts of the tramway company, of the lawyers, and of the doctors went down and people were less 
unhealthy. I cannot recall a single good point in connection with machinery. Books can be written to 
demonstrate its evils. 


Reader: Is it a good point or a bad one that all you are saying will be printed through machinery? 


Editor: This is one of those instances which demonstrate that sometimes poison is used to kill poison. 
This, then, will not be a good point regarding machinery. As it expires, the machinery, as it were, says to us: 
"Beware and avoid me. You will derive no benefits from me and the benefit that may accrue from printing 
will avail only those who are infected with the machinery craze." 
Do not, therefore, forget the main thing. It is necessary to realize that machinery is bad. We shall then be 
able gradually to do away with it. Nature has not provided any way whereby we may reach a desired goal all 
of a sudden. If, instead of welcoming machinery as a boon, we should look upon it as an evil, it would 
ultimately go. 

Home Rule 
Editor: I would say to the extremists: "I know that you want home rule for India; it is not to be had for 
your asking. Everyone will have to take it for himself. What others get for me is not Home Rule but foreign 
rule; therefore, it would not be proper for you to say that you have obtained Home Rule if you have merely 
expelled the English. I have already described the true nature of Home Rule. This you would never obtain 
by force of arms. Brute-force is not natural to Indian soil. You will have, therefore, to rely wholly on soul-
force. You must not consider that violence is necessary at any stage for reaching our goal." I would say to 
the moderates: "Mere petitioning is derogatory; we thereby confess inferiority. To say that British rule is 
indispensable, is almost a denial of the Godhead. We cannot say that anybody or anything is indispensable 
except God. Moreover, common sense should tell us that to state that, for the time being, the presence of 
the English in India is a necessity, is to make them conceited. 

"If the English vacated India, bag and baggage, it must not be supposed that she would be widowed. It is 
possible that those who are forced to observe peace under their pressure would fight after their withdrawal. 
There can be no advantage in suppressing an eruption; it must have its vent. If, therefore, before we can 
remain at peace, we must fight amongst ourselves, it is better that we do so. There is no occasion for a third 
party to protect the weak. It is this so-called protection which has unnerved us. Such protection can only 
make the weak weaker. Unless we realize this, we cannot have Home Rule. I would paraphrase the thought 
of an English divine and say that anarchy under Home Rule were better than orderly foreign rule. Only, the 
meaning that the leaned divine attached to Home Rule is different from Indian Home Rule according to 

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my conception. We have to learn, and to teach others, that we do not want the tyranny of either English 


rule or Indian rule." 
If this idea were carried out, both the extremists and the moderates could join hands. There is no occasion 
to fear or distrust one another. 


Reader: What then, would you say to the English? 
Editor: To them I would respectfully say: "I admit you are my rulers. It is not necessary to debate the 
question whether you hold India by the sword or by my consent. I have no objection to your remaining in 
my country, but although you are the rulers; you will have to remain as servants of the people. It is not we 
who have to do as you wish, but it is you who have to do as we wish. You may keep the riches that you 
have drained away from this land, but you may not drain riches henceforth. Your function will be, if you so 
wish, to police India; you must abandon the idea of deriving any commercial benefit from us. We hold the 
civilization that you support to be the reverse of civilization. We consider our civilization to be far superior 
to yours. If you realize this truth, it will be to your advantage and, if you do not, according to your own 
proverb, you should only live in our country in the same manner as we do. You must not do anything that 
is contrary to our religions. It is your duty as rulers that for the sake of the Hindus you should eschew beef, 
and for the sake of Mahomodans you should avoid bacon and ham. We have hitherto said nothing because 
we have been cowed down, but you need not consider that you have not hurt our feelings by your conduct. 
We are not expressing our sentiments either through base selfishness or fear, but because it is our duty now 
to speak out boldly. We consider your schools and courts to be useless. We want our own ancient schools 


and courts to be restored. The common language of India is not English but Hindi. You should, therefore, 
learn it. We can hold communication with you only in our national language. 
"We cannot tolerate the idea of your spending money on railways and the military. We see no occasion for 


either. You may fear Russia; we do not. When she comes we shall look after her. If you are with us, we may 
then receive her jointly. We do not need any European cloth. We shall manage with articles produced and 
manufactured at home. You may not keep one eye on Manchester and the other on India. We can work 
together only if our interests are identical.” 


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THE LAND SYSTEM OF THE HEAVENLY KINGDOM 
THE TAIPING ECONOMIC PROGRAM18 


In the 1840s a young man from Guangdong named Hong Xiuquan (1813-1864) created his own version of 
Christianity and made converts in Guangdong and Guangxi provinces. Hong believed that he was the 
Younger Brother of Jesus and that his mission, and that of his followers, was to cleanse China of the 
Manchus and others who stood in their way and “return” the Chinese people to the worship of the Biblical 
God. Led by Hong, the “Godworshippers”in rural Guangxi rose in rebellion in 1856 in hopes of creating a 
new “Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace” (Taiping Tianguo). Their movement is known in English as the 
Taiping movement (“taiping” meaning “great peace” in Chinese). The rebels swept through southern 
China and up to the Yangzi River, and then down the Yangzi to Nanjing, where they made their capital. 
Attempts to take northern China were unsuccessful, and the Taiping were eventually crushed in 1864. By 
that time, the Taiping Rebellion had caused devastation ranging over sixteen provinces with tremendous 
loss of life and the destruction of more than 600 cities. 

In the document below, unknown authors lay forth parts of the Taiping economic program. This program 
was not carried out in practice (the Taipings were not known for their administrative capabilities), but it 
does represent the publicly stated ideals and goals of the movement. 

The distribution of all land is to be based on the number of persons in each family, 
regardless of sex. A large family is entitled to more land, a small one to less. The land 
distributed should not be all of one grade but mixed. Thus for a family of six, for instance, three 
are to have fertile land and three barren land — half and half of each. 
All the land in the country is to be cultivated by the whole population together. If there 
is an insufficiency [of land] in this place, move some of the people to another place. If there is an 
insufficiency in another place, move them to this one. All lands in the country are also to be 
mutually supporting with respect to abundance and scarcity. If this place has a drought, then 
draw upon the abundant harvest elsewhere in order to relieve the distress here. If there is a 
drought there, draw upon the abundant harvest here in order to relieve the distress there. Thus 
all the people of the country may enjoy the great blessings of the Heavenly Father, Supreme 

Ruler and Lord God-on-High. The land is for all to till, the food for all to eat, the clothes for all 
to wear, and money for all to spend. Inequality shall exist nowhere; none shall suffer from 

18 Asia for Educators, Columbia University, http://afe.easia.columbia.edu 
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hunger or cold. … 

Mulberry trees are to be planted along the walls [of villages] throughout the country. All 
women are required to grow silkworms, to do weaving, and to make clothes. Every family of 
the country is required to raise five hens and two hogs, in keeping with the proper breeding 
seasons. 

During the harvest season, the Group Officer3 should direct [the grain collection by] the 
sergeants. Deducting the amount needed to feed the twenty-five families until next harvest 
season, he should collect the rest of the produce for storage in state granaries. The same method 

of collection is applicable to other kinds of products, such as barley, beans, ramie fiber, cotton 

clothes, silk, domestic animals, silver and copper cash, and so on, for all people under Heaven 
are of one family belonging to the Heavenly Father, the Supreme Ruler, the Lord God-on-High. 
Nobody should keep private property. All things should be presented to the Supreme Ruler, so 
that He will be enabled to make use of them and distribute them equally to all members of his 

great world-family. Thus all will be sufficiently fed and clothed. … 

The Group Officer must keep a record of the amount of grain and cash he has collected 
and report them to the Treasurers and Receiving and Disbursing Tellers. A state treasury and a 

church are to be established among every twenty-five families, under the direct administration 
of the Group Officer. All expenditures of the twenty-five families for weddings, births, or other 
festival occasions are to be paid for out of the state treasury. But there is to be a fixed limit; not a 
penny is to be spent beyond that. … Thus, throughout the land in the contracting of marriages, 
wealth need be no consideration. 

In the twenty-five family units pottery-making, metalworking, carpentry, masonry, and 
other such skilled work should be performed by the sergeants and militiamen in the off-seasons 
from farming and military service. 

In conducting the different kinds of festival ceremonies for the twenty-five families 
under his administration, the Group Officer should hold religious services to pray to the 
Heavenly Father, the Supreme Ruler and Lord God-on-High. All the bad customs of the past 
must be completely abolished. 

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In the document below, unknown authors outline, in verse form, the Taipings’ fundamental principles governing family 
relationships. 

EXCERPTS FROM ODE FOR YOUTH 

On Reverence For Parents 
As grain is stored against a day of need, 
So men bring up children to tend their old age. 
A filial son begets filial children; 
The reward here is truly wonderful. 


On The Fathers’ Way 
When the ridgepole is straight, nothing will be irregular below; 
When the father is strict, the Way will be formed. 
Let him not provoke his children to wrath, 
And the whole dwelling will be filled with harmony. 


On The Mothers’ Way 
Mothers, beware of partiality; 
Tenderly instruct your children in virtue. 


When a mother’s demeanor is worthy of her daughter in-law’s imitation, 
The happy feeling will reach high heaven. 


On The Sons’ Way 
Sons, be patterns to your wives; 
Obedience to parents is your natural duty. 
To the tattle of women never listen, 
And you will not be estranged from your own flesh. 


On The Daughters-In-Law’s Way 
You who are married into other families, 
Be gentle and yielding, and your duty will be fulfilled. 


Do not quarrel with your sisters-in-law 
Or quarrel and vex the father-in-law and mother-in-law. 


On The Elder Brothers’ Way 
Elder brothers, instruct your younger brothers; 
Remember always your common parentage. 
Should the younger brother commit some trifling fault, 
Bear with it and be indulgent. 


On The Younger Brothers’ Way 
That there should be old and young is ordered by Heaven; 
The way to follow elder brothers lies in respect. 
When younger brothers understand Heaven’s manifest principles, 
Happiness and honor will be their portion. 


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On The Elder Sisters’ Way 
Elder sisters, instruct your younger brothers and sisters; 
Refine the good that you may turn to Heaven. 
Should there be reason to return to your parents’ home, 
Gather the younger ones and tell them what is wrong and right. 


On The Younger Sisters’ Way 
Girls, obey your elder brothers and sisters; 
By obliging and avoid a high display. 
With careful diligence cultivate the upright, 
And mind and keep the Ten Heavenly Commandments. 


On The Husbands’ Way 
The husband’s way is based on firmness; 
Love for a wife should be qualified by prudence. 
And should the lioness east of the river roar, 1 
Let not the heart be filled with terror. 


On The Wives’ Way 


The wife’s way lies in the three obediences;2 


Do not disobey your husband. 


If hens crow in the morning, 


There will be self-sought misery for the family. 


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THE GHOST DANCE MOVEMENT19 

Introduction 

When the Sun died, I went up to Heaven and saw God and all the people who had died a long time ago. 
God told me to come back and tell my people they must be good and love one another, and not fight, 
or steal or lie. He gave me this dance to give to my people. 
Wovoka 


The Ghost Dance religion (or movement) was an answer to the subjugation of Native Americans by the 

U.S. government. It was an attempt to revitalize traditional culture and to find a way to face increasing 
poverty, hunger, and disease, all representing the reservation life of the Native Americans in the late 
nineteenth century. 
The Ghost Dance originated among the Paiute Indians around 1870. However, the tide of the movement 
came in 1889 with a Paiute shaman Wovoka (Jack Wilson). Wovoka had a vision during a sun eclipse in 
1889. In this vision he saw the second coming of Christ and received warning about the evils of white 
man. The messianic religion promised an apocalypse that would destroy the earth and the white man. The 
earth then would be restored to the Native Americans. Salvation of individuals was to be achieved by 
purging oneself of the evil ways learned from the whites. The religion required frequent ceremonial 
cleansing, meditation, prayer, chanting and of course dancing the Ghost Dance. Each ceremony lasted for 
five successive days. The participants danced each night, on the last night the dance continued until 
morning. The ceremony was to be repeated every six weeks. Within a year, the new religion spread 
throughout the Native camps in the West, giving Native people the much needed hope. 

White settlers reacted differently to the new religion. Some traveled to the reservations to observe the 
dancing, others feared the possibility of an Indian uprising. The Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) eventually 
banned the Ghost Dance, because the government believed it was a precursor to renewed Native American 
militancy and violent rebellion. The reaction of the BIA is somewhat ironic, since one of the goals of the 
agency was to convert the Natives to Christianity. The agency did not recognize that the Ghost Dance 
religion's fundamental principles were parallel with Christianity and brought many Indians to believe in one 

19 Teaching American History in Maryland: http://teaching.msa.maryland.gov/000001/000000/000138/html/t138.html 

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God. Misunderstanding and ignorance were part of the BIA decision. Wovoka's message clearly promoted 
pacifism and warned before making any trouble with the whites or refusing to work for them. However, 
spreading rumors of Indian treachery ignited fear and panic. In November 1890, president Benjamin 
Harrison ordered the military to take control over Lakota Sioux reservation in South Dakota. On 
December 29, 1890, 300 Lakota men, women and children were killed in an event that came to be known 
as the Massacre of Wounded Knee. What started as a peaceful religious movement in 1889, was brutally 
ended a year later by the U.S. military. 

See additional sources, including photographs, drawings, film, and sound recordings at: 
http://teaching.msa.maryland.gov/000001/000000/000138/html/t138.html 

SOURCE 1: WOVOKA’S MESSAGE: 
THE PROMISE OF THE GHOST DANCE 


[James Mooney, an ethnologist with the Bureau of American Ethnology, was sent to investigate the Ghost Dance movement 
in 1891. He obtained a copy of Wovoka's message from a Cheyenne named Black Short Nose, who had been part of a joint 
Cheyenne-Arapaho delegation that visited Wovoka in Nevada in August 1891. Wovoka (also known as Jack Wilson) 
delivered his message orally, and it was transcribed by a member of the group who had attended Carlisle Indian School. 
Mooney renders the "Carlisle English" of this transcription in a more grammatical form.] 

THE MESSIAH LETTER 
When you get home you must make a dance to continue five days. Dance four successive nights, and the 
last night keep us the dance until the morning of the fifth day, when all must bathe in the river and then 
disperse to their homes. You must all do in the same way. 

I, Jack Wilson, love you all, and my heart is full of gladness for the gifts you have brought me. When you 
get home I shall give you a good cloud [rain?] which will make you feel good. I give you a good spirit and 
give you all good paint. I want you to come again in three months, some from each tribe there [the Indian 
Territory]. 

There will be a good deal of snow this year and some rain. In the fall there will be such a rain as I have 
never given you before. 

Grandfather [a universal title of reverence among Indians and here meaning the messiah] says, when your 
friends die you must not cry. You must not hurt anybody or do harm to anyone. You must not fight. Do 
right always. It will give you satisfaction in life. This young man has a good father and mother. [Possibly 
this refers to Casper Edson, the young Arapaho who wrote down this message of Wovoka for the 
delegation]. 

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Do not tell the white people about this. Jesus is now upon the earth. He appears like a cloud. The dead are 
still alive again. I do not know when they will be here; maybe this fall or in the spring. When the time 
comes there will be no more sickness and everyone will be young again. 

Do not refuse to work for the whites and do not make any trouble with them until you leave them. When 
the earth shakes [at the coming of the new world] do not be afraid. It will not hurt you. 

I want you to dance every six weeks. Make a feast at the dance and have food that everybody may eat. Then 
bathe in the water. That is all. You will receive good words again from me some time. Do not tell lies. 

[TEXT: James Mooney, The Ghost-dance Religion and the Sioux Outbreak of 1890, 14th Annual Report 
of the Bureau of American Ethnology, Part 2 (1896).] 

SOURCE 2: THE GHOST DANCE AMONG THE LAKOTA 

Mrs. Z. A. Parker, description of a Ghost Dance observed on White Clay creek at Pine Ridge reservation, Dakota 
Territory, June 20, 1890. 

We drove to this spot about 10.30 oclock on a delightful October day. We came upon tents scattered here 
and there in low, sheltered places long before reaching the dance ground. Presently we saw over three 
hundred tents placed in a circle, with a large pine tree in the center, which was covered with strips of cloth 
of various colors, eagle feathers, stuffed birds, claws, and horns-all offerings to the Great Spirit. The 
ceremonies had just begun. In the center, around the tree, were gathered their medicine-men; also those 
who had been so fortunate as to have had visions and in them had seen and talked with friends who had 
died. A company of fifteen had started a chant and were marching abreast, others coming in behind as 
they marched. After marching around the circle of tents they turned to the center, where many had 
gathered and were seated on the ground. 

I think they wore the ghost shirt or ghost dress for the first time that day. I noticed that these were all new 
and were worn by about seventy men and forty women. The wife of a man called Return-from-scout had 
seen in a vision that her friends all wore a similar robe, and on reviving from her trance she called the 
women together and they made a great number of the sacred garments. They were of white cotton cloth. 
The women's dress was cut like their ordinary dress, a loose robe with wide, flowing sleeves, painted blue in 
the neck, in the shape of a three-cornered handkerchief, with moon, stars, birds, etc., interspersed with real 
feathers, painted on the waists, letting them fall to within 3 inches of the ground, the fringe at the bottom. 

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In the hair, near the crown, a feather was tied. I noticed an absence of any manner of head ornaments, 
and, as I knew their vanity and fondness for them, wondered why it was. Upon making inquiries I found 
they discarded everything they could which was made by white men. 

The ghost shirt for the men was made of the same material-shirts and leggings painted in red. Some of the 
leggings were painted in stripes running up and down, others running around. The shirt was painted blue 
around the neck, and the whole garment was fantastically sprinkled with figures of birds, bows and arrows, 
sun, moon, and stars, and everything they saw in nature. Down the outside of the sleeve were rows of 
feathers tied up the quill ends and left to fly in the breeze, and also a row around the neck and up and 
down the outside of the leggings. I noticed that a number had stuffed birds, squirrel heads, etc., tied in 
their long hair. The faces of all were painted red with a black half-moon on the forehead or on one cheek. 
As the crowd gathered about the tree the high priest, or master of ceremonies, began his address, giving 
them directions as to the chant and other matters. After he had spoken for about fifteen minutes they arose 
and formed in a circle. As nearly as I could count, there were between three and four hundred persons. 
One stood directly behind another, each with his hands on his neighbor's shoulders. After walking about a 
few times, chanting, "Father, I come," they stopped marching, but remained in the circle, and set up the 
most fearful, heart-piercing wails I ever heard-crying, moaning, groaning, and shrieking out their grief, and 
naming over their departed friends and relatives, at the same time taking up handfuls of dust at their feet, 
washing their hands in it, and throwing it over their heads. Finally, they raised their eyes to heaven, their 
hands clasped high above their heads, and stood straight and perfectly still, invoking the power of the 
Great Spirit to allow them to see and talk with their people who had died. This ceremony lasted about 
fifteen minutes, when they all sat down where they were and listened to another address, which I did not 
understand, but which I afterwards learned were words of encouragement and assurance of the coming 
messiah. 

When they arose again, they enlarged the circle by facing toward the center, taking hold of hands, and 
moving around in the manner of school children in their play of "needle's eye." And now the most intense 
excitement began. They would go as fast as they could, their hands moving from side to side, their bodies 
swaying, their arms, with hands gripped tightly in their neighbors', swinging back and forth with all their 
might. If one, more weak and frail, came near falling, he would be jerked up and into position until tired 
nature gave way. The ground had been worked and worn by many feet, until the fine, flour-like dust lay 
light and loose to the depth of two or three inches. The wind, which had increased, would sometimes take 
it up, enveloping the dancers and hiding them from view. In the ring were men, women, and children; the 
strong and the robust, the weak consumptive, and those near to death's door. They believed those who 

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were sick would be cured by joining in the dance and losing consciousness. From the beginning they 
chanted, to a monotonous tune, the words-


Father, I come; 
Mother, I come; 
Brother, I come; 
Father, give us back our arrows. 


All of which they would repeat over and over again until first one and then another would break from the 
ring and stagger away and fall down. One woman fell a few feet from me. She came toward us, her hair 
flying over her face, which was purple, looking as if the blood would burst through; her hands and arms 
moving wildly; every breath a pant and a groan; and she fell on her back, and went down like a log. I 
stepped up to her as she lay there motionless, but with every muscle twitching and quivering. She seemed 
to be perfectly unconscious. Some of the men and a few of the women would run, stepping high and 
pawing the air in a frightful manner. Some told me afterwards that they had a sensation as if the ground 
were rising toward them and would strike them in the face. Others would drop where they stood. One 
woman fell directly into the ring, and her husband stepped out and stood over her to prevent them from 
trampling upon her. No one ever disturbed those who fell or took any notice of them except to keep the 
crowd away. 


They kept up dancing until fully 100 persons were lying unconscious. Then they stopped and seated 
themselves in a circle, and as each recovered from his trance he was brought to the center of the ring to 
relate his experience. Each told his story to the medicine-man and he shouted it to the crowd. Not one in 
ten claimed that he saw anything. I asked one Indian-a tall, strong fellow, straight as an arrow-what his 
experience was. He said he saw an eagle coming toward him. It flew round and round, drawing nearer and 
nearer until he put out his hand to take it, when it was gone. I asked him what he thought of it. "Big lie," 
he replied. I found by talking to them that not one in twenty believed it. After resting for a time they would 
go through the same performance, perhaps three times a day. They practiced fasting, and every morning 
those who joined in the dance were obliged to immerse themselves in the creek. (Comr., 44.) 
[TEXT: James Mooney, The Ghost-dance Religion and the Sioux Outbreak of 1890, 14th Annual Report 
of the Bureau of American Ethnology, Part 2 (1894).] 


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UMKHONTO WE SIZWE, WE ARE AT WAR! (DECEMBER 16, 1961) 

Umkhonto We Sizwe ("Spear of the Nation”), the military wing of the African National Congress ,was founded partly in 
response to the notorious Sharpeville Massacre of March 1960. Its leader, Nelson Mandela, was to be arrested shortly after 
this manifesto was published, eventually being sentenced to life in prison, though he was released in 1990, with the end of 
apartheid. 

On 16th December, 1961, Umkhonto We Sizwe, military wing of the ANC, made it known that we, the 
oppressed people of South Africa, would fight for our rights. We made this known not only with words. 
Dynamite blasts announced it. 
From 13th August, 1967, our men of Umkhonto We Sizwe, together with our brothers of ZAPU 
(Zimbabwe African People's Union) have been fighting the oppressors in Matabeleland, Wankie and 
further south. 
The Vorster government, through the radio and newspapers, continues to lie bout this fighting. 
The truth is very different from what these newspapers have reported. Our men are armed and trained 
freedom-fighters, not "terrorists." They are fighting with courage, discipline and skill. The forces of the 
Rhodesian racialists suffered heavy losses. So also did the white soldiers sent to Rhodesia by Vorster to save 
the Smith regime from collapse. 
The freedom-fighters have inflicted heavy losses on the enemy. Apart from those who have been 
ambushed and killed, hospitals at Bulawayo and Wankie are crowded with wounded Smith and Vorster 
forces. Several South African helicopters and military transport planes have been brought down over the 
past three months. 
The fighting will go on in Rhodesia and South Africa. We will fight until we have one, however long it takes 
and however much it will cost; 

Why we fight 

To you, the sons and daughters of the soil, our case is clear. 
The white oppressors have stolen our land. They have destroyed our families. They have taken for 
themselves the best that there is in our rich country and have left us the worst. They have the fruits and the 
riches. We have the backbreaking toil and the poverty. 
We burrow into the belly of the earth to dig out gold, diamonds, coal, uranium. The white oppressors and 
foreign investors grab all this wealth. It is used for their enrichment and to buy arms to suppress and kill 
us. 

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In the factories, on the farms, on the railways, wherever you go, the hard, dirty, dangerous, badly paid jobs 
are ours. The best jobs are for whites only. 
In our own land we have to carry passes; we are restricted and banished while the white oppressors move 
about freely. 
Our homes are hovels; those of the whites are luxury mansions, flats and farmsteads. 
There are not enough schools for our children; the standard of education is low, and we have to pay for it. 
But the government uses our taxes and the wealth we create to provide free education for white children. 
We have suffered long enough. 
Over 300 years ago the white invaders began a ceaseless war of aggression against us, murdered our 
forefathers, stole our land and enslaved our people. 
Today they still rule by force. They murder our people. They still enslave us. 


Only by meeting force with force can we win back our motherland. 
We have tried every way to reason with the white supremacists. For many years our leaders and 
organizations sent petitions and deputations to Cape Town and Pretoria, even overseas, to London and the 
United Nations in New York. We organized mass demonstrations, pass-burnings, peaceful stay-at-homes. 
What answer was given by the government? 
Strikers and demonstrators were shot in cold blood. New acts of oppression and injustice were heaped 
upon us. Our leaders and spokesmen were banned, gagged, jailed, banished--even murdered. Our 
organization, the African National Congress, was outlawed. Our meetings, journals and leaflets were 
prohibited. 
The Nazi Vorster, who was interned for helping Hitler, is now the Prime Minister of South Africa. This 
man is the murderer of Mini, Mkaba, Khayingo, Bongco, Saloojee and other brave sons of Africa. He has 
condemned Mandela, Sisulu, Mbeki, Bhlaba, Motsoaledi, Mlangeni, Kathrada, Fischer and many others to 
rot away in jails for life. 
They have declared war on us. We have to fight back! 
Our Indian brothers know full well the hardships and bitterness of white baaskaap rule. Since the time of 
Mahatma Ghandi and before, they have had to face persecution--attempts to deport them to India, Ghetto 
Acts, Group Areas and other forms of oppression. 
The South African Indian Congress fought back. Led by men like Yusuf Dadoo, Monty Naicker and Nana 
Sita, the Indian community marched hand in hand with the ANC for liberty, for the rights of all South 
Africans. 
Our Colored brothers know how even the few privileges they were allowed--crumbs from the master's 
table--have been taken away from them. Votes, skilled jobs, trade union rights--one by one they are being 
taken away. Now apartheid madness is conscripting the Colored youth into labor camps and jails for pass 


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offenders. The ghetto walls grow higher. That is why the Colored People's Congress (CPC) pledged its 
support to the Freedom Charter and why its leaders are driven into jail or exile. 
And what of the white minority? For years they have been misled by racialist politicians, dominees and 
fascists who told them they were the superior race. They have followed the Vorsters and the de Villiers 
Graffs, and now they are being called upon to fight and die in Defense of apartheid. Let them ask 
themselves: is it worth it? Has it brought anything but uncertainty and fear, isolation and contempt at home 
and abroad. Is this a future to fight and die for--a life in an armed camp, surrounded by the hate and anger 
of the oppressed non-white people? 
The African National Congress, remembering also the Bram Fischers and the Dennis Goldbergs, calls on 
white South Africans to take their place on the side of liberty and democracy, the side of our freedom 
fighters--now before it is too late. 

What we fight for 

We are fighting for democracy--majority rule--the right of the Africans to rule Africa. We are fighting for a 
South Africa in which there will be peace and harmony and equal rights for all people. 
We are not racialists, as the white oppressors are. The African National Congress has a message of 
freedom for all who live in our country. 


What you should do 

The battle has begun. 
In Rhodesia, we have met the oppressors with guns in our hands! That was the start. Soon there will be 
battles in South Africa. 
We will speak to them with guns, again and again, now here, now there, until their day is done and 
apartheid destroyed for ever. 
We call on you to be prepared. 
Stand up and speak out against Vorster and his Nazis. Don't collaborate with them! Take courage from our 
immortal freedom-fighters who died in the name of freedom for all. 
Our country will be free. We fight for all South Africans, for you and your children and your children's 
children. 


Prepare to support our fighting men! 
Pass this message to your friends and relatives, throughout Southern Africa--in Botswana, Lesotho, South-
West Africa, or Swaziland; in Rhodesia, Mozambique or Angola, and in every corner of South Africa itself. 
HELP THE FREEDOM FIGHTERS! 
MAKE THEIR PATH EASY! Make the enemy's path hard! 


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WE ARE ANSWERING THE WHITE OPPRESSORS IN THE LANGUAGE THEY HAVE 
CHOSEN! 
THIS IS A WAR TO DESTROY APARTHEID, TO WIN BACK OUR COUNTRY FOR ALL OUR 
PEOPLE! 
WE SHALL WIN! FORWARD TO VICTORY OR DEATH! 
AFRIKA! MAYIBUYE! AMANDLA NGAWETHU! 
MATLA KE ARONA! POWER TO THE PEOPLE! 


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NELSON MANDELA: INAUGURAL ADDRESS, MAY 10, 1994 


Nelson Mandela was trained as a lawyer, and joined the African National Congress in 1944 to aid in its struggle against 
apartheid. During over 25 years in prison he became the world's most famous political prisoner. After a long campaign of 
resistance within South Africa and political and economic pressure from without, President F. W. de Klerk ended the 
government ban on the ANC and freed Mandela in 1990, whereupon he assumed leadership of the organization. He 
worked tirelessly over the next few years to negotiate an end to apartheid and minority rule, gaining widespread respect and 
support in the process. National elections were held in April 1994, and on May 10th of that year Nelson Mandela was 
inaugurated as the first Black president of South Africa. 
What are the most important ideals for the South African future stated in this speech? 

Your Majesties, Your Highnesses, Distinguished Guests, Comrades and Friends: 
Today, all of us do, by our presence here, and by our celebrations in other parts of our country and the 
world, confer glory and hope to newborn liberty. 
Out of the experience of an extraordinary human disaster that lasted too long, must be born a society of 
which all humanity will be proud. 
Our daily deeds as ordinary South Africans must produce an actual South African reality that will reinforce 
humanity's belief in justice, strengthen its confidence in the nobility of the human soul and sustain all our 
hopes for a glorious life for all. 
All this we owe both to ourselves and to the peoples of the world who are so well represented here today. 
To my compatriots, I have no hesitation in saying that each one of us is as intimately attached to the soil of 
this beautiful country as are the famous jacaranda trees of Pretoria and the mimosa trees of the bushveld. 
Each time one of us touches the soil of this land, we feel a sense of personal renewal. The national mood 
changes as the seasons change. 
We are moved by a sense of joy and exhilaration when the grass turns green and the flowers bloom. 
That spiritual and physical oneness we all share with this common homeland explains the depth of the 
pain we all carried in our hearts as we saw our country tear itself apart in a terrible conflict, and as we saw 
it spurned, outlawed and isolated by the peoples of the world, precisely because it has become the universal 
base of the pernicious ideology and practice of racism and racial oppression. 
We, the people of South Africa, feel fulfilled that humanity has taken us back into its bosom, that we, who 
were outlaws not so long ago, have today been given the rare privilege to be host to the nations of the 
world on our own soil. 
We thank all our distinguished international guests for having come to take possession with the people of 
our country of what is, after all, a common victory for justice, for peace, for human dignity. 

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We trust that you will continue to stand by us as we tackle the challenges of building peace, prosperity, 
non-sexism, non-racialism and democracy. 
We deeply appreciate the role that the masses of our people and their political mass democratic, religious, 
women, youth, business, traditional and other leaders have played to bring about this conclusion. Not least 
among them is my Second Deputy President, the Honorable F.W. de Klerk. 
We would also like to pay tribute to our security forces, in all their ranks, for the distinguished role they 
have played in securing our first democratic elections and the transition to democracy, from blood-thirsty 
forces which still refuse to see the light. 
The time for the healing of the wounds has come. 
The moment to bridge the chasms that divide us has come. 
The time to build is upon us. 
We have, at last, achieved our political emancipation. We pledge ourselves to liberate all our people from 
the continuing bondage of poverty, deprivation, suffering, gender and other discrimination. 
We succeeded to take our last steps to freedom in conditions of relative peace. We commit ourselves to the 
construction of a complete, just and lasting peace. 
We have triumphed in the effort to implant hope in the breasts of the millions of our people. We enter 
into a covenant that we shall build the society in which all South Africans, both black and white, will be 
able to walk tall, without any fear in their hearts, assured of their inalienable right to human dignity--a 
rainbow nation at peace with itself and the world. 
As a token of its commitment to the renewal of our country, the new Interim Government of National 
Unity will, as a matter of urgency, address the issue of amnesty for various categories of our people who 
are currently serving terms of imprisonment. 
We dedicate this day to all the heroes and heroines in this country and the rest of the world who sacrificed 
in many ways and surrendered their lives so that we could be free. 
Their dreams have become reality. Freedom is their reward. 
We are both humbled and elevated by the honor and privilege that you, the people of South Africa, have 
bestowed on us, as the first President of a united, democratic, non-racial and non-sexist South Africa, to 
lead our country out of the valley of darkness. 
We understand it still that there is no easy road to freedom. 
We know it well that none of us acting alone can achieve success. 
We must therefore act together as a united people, for national reconciliation, for nation building, for the 
birth of a new world. 
Let there be justice for all. 
Let there be peace for all. 
Let there be work, bread, water and salt for all. 


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Let each know that for each the body, the mind and the soul have been freed to fulfill themselves. 
Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land will again experience the oppression of one 
by another and suffer the indignity of being the skunk of the world. 
Let freedom reign. 
The sun shall never set on so glorious a human achievement! 
God bless Africa! 
Thank you. 


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JAMAL AL-DIN AL-AFGHANI (1883 AND 1884)20 


Nikki R. Keddie via Islamfiche 

Preface 

In spite of his name, Jamal al-Din Al-Afghani (al-Ascadabadi) was, in fact, born in Iran into a religious family claiming 

descent from the Prophet Mohammad. His traditional Shiah religious education included early years of study at the religious 
shrines in Iraq. From that time, Al-Afghani was on the move, living in different Muslim countries and, in one way or 
another, spreading his anti-imperialist ideas. His hatred of European colonialism developed during his sojourn in British-
occupied India in the 1850s, a time of Indian rebellion against foreign rule, which was harshly suppressed by the British. 
From India and Afghanistan to Egypt and Ottoman Turkey, Al-Afghani tried to influence men of power in favor of his 
belief in the necessity of Islamic solidarity against European expansion. Sometimes his message carried the additional 
reforming note that internal change must accompany external watchfulness. Although he obtained access to many rulers, Al-
Afghani had limited success in organizing unified action against European (especially British) imperialism during his lifetime. 
Nonetheless, his activism amounted to more than simply lobbying leaders and ideological haranguing. He was expelled from 
Egypt in August 1879 by Khedive Tawfiq, (who had just been nudged to power by the British and the French) after agitating 
against foreign influence. From 1890-1892, he helped to organize successful opposition to Qajar monarch Nasir al-Din 
Shah's attempt to grant a Tobacco Concession to British interests and, before his death in Istanbul as a closely guarded 
"guest" of Sultan Abdulhamid II, he instigated the assassination of Naser al-Din Shah in 1896. 

Al-Afghani was the first modern Muslim activist to utilize the power of Islam explicitly in his political appeal. That is, his 
main goal was political, but he recognized the power of religion and made use of it. Moreover, by recognizing the appeal of 
Islam, he was able to integrate his calls for internal reform into an Islamic context. Rather than perceiving reform to be a 
Western imposition, he viewed it as a return to the true Islam. 

During Al-Afghani's lifetime, Muslim countries were increasingly under the influence and control of the West. The Ottoman 
government had instituted the Tanzimat (reform) liberalizations of the economy and society at Europe's behest, while the 
Sultan, the Egyptian Khedive and other Muslim rulers fell increasingly under European financial control. Worse still for the

20 © 2004 Modern Middle East Sourcebook Project. http://sitemaker.umich.edu/emes/sourcebook 


Al-Afghani, Jamal al-Din, An Islamic Response to Imperialism , translated by Nikki R. Keddie (Berkeley: University of 

California Press, 1968), 175-187. Original Arabic Source: 'The Materialists in India' in Al- 'Urwah al-Wuthqa (Paris), 28 

August 1884, reprinted Cairo 1958, and 'Exchange with Ernest Renan' in Journal des Debats (Paris), 18 May 1883 

(written in Arabic and translated into French for publication). 

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Muslim people who valued their cultural heritage, European material superiority created self-doubt in the minds of the 
conquered. European customs and governments were corrupt and impotent, while society underwent an internal spiritual crisis. 

The two selections printed below provide an interesting juxtaposition of style and content. In one piece, Al-Afghani appears as 
a righteous champion of his religion; in the other, as a seeker of scientific truth who rejects religion. The result of such 
disparity has led to much controversy about his true beliefs and intent. The "Answer to Renan" is part of a debate between 
Al-Afghani and the famous Orientalist. Ernest Renan had argued that the Arabs were inherently incapable of developing 
and sustaining science. Al-Afghani responds by admitting that Islam -- like all religions -- has indeed stifled scientific 
development, but that the Arab contribution to medieval science was still considerable. This selection is written in an effusive 
but scholarly style, and is clearly directed to a non-Muslim audience. The second selection, "The Materialists in India," comes 
from Al-'Urwah al-Wuthqa, (The Firm Bond) the journal published in Paris in 1884 by Al-Afghani and his follower, 
Mohammad 'Abduh. Only 18 issues of this periodical were published between March and October 1884, but it was 
circulated (and re-circulated and reprinted) widely throughout the Islamic world. One reason for its eventual failure is that it 
was distributed to many without charge and seems to have relied on subventions by expatriate Middle Easterners, (for 

example, Ismacil, the ousted Khedive of Egypt) of contrasting political agendas -- an unreliable source of funding. Here the 
believer is sternly warned against the tricks of the English, and their method for the ideological undermining of Islam in 
India is described. 

Document 1: Answer of Jamal al-Din to Renan, Journal des Débats, 18 May 1883 

Sir, 

I have read in your estimable journal of last 29 March, a talk on Islam and Science, given in the Sorbonne 
before a distinguished audience by the great thinker of our time, the illustrious M. Renan, whose renown 
has filled the West and penetrated into the farthest countries of the East. Since this speech suggested to 
me some observations, I took the liberty of formulating them in this letter, which I have the honor of 
addressing to you with a request that you accommodate it in your columns. 

M. Renan wanted to clarify a point of the history of the Arabs which had remained unclear until now and 
to throw a light on their past, a light that may be somewhat troubling for those who venerate these people, 
though one cannot say that he has usurped the place and rank that they formerly occupied in the world. M. 
Renan has not at all tried, we believe, to destroy the glory of the Arabs which is indestructible; he has 
applied himself to discovering historical truth and making it known to those who do not know it, as well as 
to those who study the influence of religions in the history of nations, and in particular in that of 
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civilization. I hasten to recognize that M. Renan has acquitted himself marvelously of this very difficult 
task, in citing certain facts that have passed unnoticed until this time. I find in his talk remarkable 
observations, new perceptions, and an indescribable charm. However, I have under my eyes only a more or 
less faithful translation of this talk. If I had had the opportunity to read it in the French text, I could have 
penetrated better the ideas of this great thinker. He receives my humble salutation as an homage that is due 
him and as the sincere expression of my admiration. I would say to him, finally, in these circumstances, 
what Al-Mutanabbi, a poet who loved philosophy wrote several centuries ago to a high personage whose 
actions he celebrated: "Receive," he said to him, "the praises that I can give you; do not force me to bestow 
on you the praises that you merit." 

M. Renan's talk covered two principle points. The eminent philosopher applied himself to proving that the 
Muslim religion was by its very essence opposed to the development of science, and that the Arab people, 
by their nature, do not like either metaphysical sciences or philosophy. This precious plant, M. Renan seems 
to say, dried up in their hands as if burnt up by the breath of the desert wind. But, after reading this talk 
one cannot refrain from asking oneself if these obstacles come uniquely from the Muslim religion itself or 
from the manner in which it was propagated in the world; from the character, manners, and aptitudes of 
the peoples who adopted this religion, or of those on whose nations it was imposed by force. It is no 
doubt the lack of time that kept M. Renan from elucidating these points; but the harm is no less for that, 
and if it is difficult to determine its causes in a precise manner and by irrefutable proof, it is even more 
difficult to indicate the remedy. 
As to the first point, I will say that no nation at its origin is capable of letting itself be guided by pure 
reason. Haunted by terrors that it cannot escape, it is incapable of distinguishing good from evil, of 
distinguishing that which could make it happy from that which might be the unfailing source of its 
unhappiness and misfortune. It does not know, in a word, either how to trace back causes or how to 
discern effects. 

This lacuna means that it cannot be led either by force or persuasion to practice the actions that would 
perhaps be the most profitable for it, or to avoid what is harmful. It was therefore necessary that humanity 
looked outside itself for a place of refuge, a peaceful corner where its tormented conscience could find 
repose. It was then that there arose some educator or other who, not having, as I said above, the necessary 
power to force humanity to follow the inspiration of reason, hurled it into the unknown and opened it to 
vast horizons where the imagination was pleased and where it found if not the complete satisfaction of its 
desires, at least an unlimited field for its hopes. And, since humanity, at its origin, did not know the causes 
of the events that passed under its eyes and the secrets of things, it was perforce led to follow the advice 
of its teachers and the orders they gave. This obedience was imposed in the name of the Supreme Being to 

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whom the educators attributed all events, without permitting men to discuss its utility of its disadvantages. 
No doubt, for man this is one of the heaviest and most humiliating yokes, as I recognize; but one cannot 
deny that it is by this religious education, whether it be Muslim, Christian, or pagan, that all nations have 
emerged from barbarism and marched toward a more advanced civilization. 

If it is true that the Muslim religion is an obstacle to the development of sciences, can one affirm that this 
obstacle will not disappear someday? How does the Muslim religion differ on this point from other 
religions? All religions are intolerant, each one in its way. The Christian religion, I mean the society that 
follows its inspirations and its teachings and is formed in its image, has emerged from the first period to 
which I have just alluded; thenceforth free and independent, it seems to advance rapidly on the road of 
progress and science, whereas Muslim society has not yet freed itself from the tutelage of religion. 
Realizing, however, that the Christian religion preceded the Muslim religion in the world by many centuries, 
I cannot keep from hoping that Mohammadan society will succeed in breaking its bonds and marching 
resolutely in the path of civilization someday after the manner of Western society, for which the Christian 
faith, despite its rigors and intolerance, was not at all an invincible obstacle. No, I cannot admit that this 
hope be denied to Islam. I plead here with M. Renan not the cause of the Muslim religion, but that of 
several hundreds of millions of men, who would thus be condemned to live in barbarism and ignorance. 

In truth, the Muslim religion has tried to stifle science and stop its progress. It has thus succeeded in 
halting the philosophical or intellectual movement and in turning minds from the search for scientific 
truth. A similar attempt, if I am not mistaken, was made by the Christian religion, and the venerated 
leaders of the Catholic Church have not yet disarmed, so far as I know. They continue to fight energetically 
against what they call the spirit of vertigo and error. I know all the difficulties that the Muslims will have to 
surmount to achieve the same degree of civilization, access to truth with the help of philosophic and 
scientific methods being forbidden them. A true believer must, in fact, turn from the path of studies that 
have for their object scientific truth, studies on which all truth must depend, according to an opinion 
accepted at least by some people in Europe. Yoked, like an ox to the plow, to the dogma whose slave he is, 
he must walk eternally in the furrow that has been traced for him in advance by the interpreters of the law. 
Convinced, besides, that his religion contains in itself all morality and all science, he attaches himself 
resolutely to it and makes no effort to go beyond. Why should he exhaust himself in vain attempts? What 
would be the benefit of seeking truth when he believes he possesses it all? Will he be happier on the day 
when he has lost his faith, the day when he has stopped believing that all perfections are in the religion he 
practices and not in another? Wherefore he despises science. I know all this, but I know equally that this 
Muslim and Arab child whose portrait M. Renan traces in such vigorous terms and who, at a later age, 
becomes "a fanatic, full of foolish pride in possessing what he believes to be absolute truth," belongs to a 

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race that has marked its passage in the world, not only by fire and blood, but by brilliant and fruitful 
achievements that prove its taste for science, for all the sciences, including philosophy (with which, I must 
recognize, it was unable to live happily for long). 

I am led here to speak of the second point that M. Renan treated in his lecture with an incontestable 
authority. No one denies that the Arab people, while still in the state of barbarism, rushed along the road 
of intellectual and scientific progress with a rapidity only equaled by the speed of its conquests, since in the 
space of a century, it acquired and assimilated almost all of the Greek and Persian sciences that had 
developed slowly during several centuries on their native soil, just as it extended its domination from the 
Arabian peninsula up to the mountains of the Himalayas and the summit of the Pyrénées. 

One might say that during this entire period, the sciences made astonishing progress among the Arabs and 
in all the countries under their domination. Rome and Byzantium were then the seats of theological and 
philosophical sciences, as well as the shining center and burning hearth of all human knowledge. Having 
followed for several centuries the path of civilization, the Greeks and Romans walked with assurance over 
the vast field of science and philosophy. There came, however, a time when their researches were 
abandoned and their studies interrupted. 

The monuments they had built to science collapsed and their most precious books were relegated to 
oblivion. The Arabs, ignorant and barbaric as they were in origin, took up what had been abandoned by the 
civilized nations, rekindled the extinguished sciences, developed them and gave them a brilliance they had 
never had. Is not this the index and proof of their natural love for sciences? It is true that the Arabs took 
from the Greeks their philosophy as they stripped the Persians of what made their fame in antiquity; but 
these sciences, which they usurped by right of conquest, they developed, extended, clarified, perfected, 
completed, and coordinated with a perfect taste and a rare precision and exactitude. Besides, the French, 
the Germans, and the English were not so far from Rome and Byzantium as were the Arabs, whose capital 
was Baghdad. It was therefore easier for the former to exploit the scientific treasures that were buried in 
these two great cities. They made no effort in this direction until Arab civilization lit up with its reflections 
the summits of the Pyrénées and poured its light and riches on the Occident. The Europeans welcomed 
Aristotle, who had emigrated and become Arab; but they did not think of him at all when he was Greek 
and their neighbor. Is there not in this another proof, no less evident, of the intellectual superiority of the 
Arabs and of their natural attachment to philosophy? It is true that after the fall of the Arab kingdom in 
the Orient as in the Occident, the countries that had become great centers of science, like Iraq and 
Andalusia, fell again into ignorance and became the centers of religious fanaticism; but one cannot 
conclude from this sad spectacle that the scientific and philosophic progress of the Middle Ages was not 
due to the Arab people who ruled at that time. 

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M. Renan does do them this justice. He recognizes that the Arabs conserved and maintained for centuries 
the hearth of science. What nobler mission for a people! But while recognizing that from about 775 C.E. 
to near the middle of the thirteenth century, that is to say during about 500 years, there were in Muslim 
countries very distinguished scholars and thinkers, and that during this period the Muslim world was 
superior in intellectual culture to the Christian world, M. Renan has said that the philosophers of the first 
centuries of Islam as well as the statesmen who became famous in this period were mostly from Harran, 
from Andalusia, and from Iran. There were also among them Transoxianian and Syrian priests. I do not 
wish to deny the great qualities of the Persian scholars nor the role that they played in the Arab world; but 
permit me to say that the Harranians were Arabs and that the Arabs in occupying Spain and Andalusia did 
not lose their nationality; they remained Arabs. Several centuries before Islam, the Arabic language was that 
of the Harranians. The fact that they preserved their former religion, Sabaeanism, does not mean they 
should be considered foreign to the Arab nationality. The Syrian priests were also for the most part 
Ghassanian Arabs converted to Christianity. 
As for Ibn-Bajja, Ibn-Rushd (Averroes), and Ibn-Tufail, one cannot say that they are not just as Arab as Al-
Kindi because they were not born in Arabia, especially if one is willing to consider that human races are 
only distinguished by their languages and that if this distinction should disappear, nations would not take 
long to forget their diverse origins. The Arabs who put their arms in the service of the Muslim religion, 
and who were simultaneously warriors and apostles, did not impose their language on the defeated, and 
wherever they established themselves, they preserved it for them with a jealous care. No doubt Islam, in 
penetrating the conquered countries with the violence that is known, transplanted there its language, its 
manners, and its doctrine, and these countries could not thenceforth avoid its influence. Iran is an example; 
but it is possible that in going back to the centuries preceding the appearance of Islam, one would find that 
the Arabic language was not then entirely unknown to Persian scholars. The expansion of Islam gave it, it 
is true, a new scope, and the Persian scholars converted to the Mohammadan faith thought it an honor to 
write their books in the language of the Qur'an. The Arabs cannot, no doubt, claim for themselves the 
glory that renders these writers illustrious, but we believe that they do not need this claim; they have among 
themselves enough celebrated scholars and writers. What would happen if, going back to the first period of 
Arab domination, we followed step by step the first group from which was formed this conquering people 
who spread their power over the world, and if, eliminating everything that is outside this group and its 
descendants, we did not take into account either the influence it exercised on minds or the impulse it gave 
to the sciences? Would we not be led, thus, no longer to recognize in conquering peoples other virtues or 
merits than those that flow from the material fact of conquest? All conquered peoples would then regain 
their moral autonomy and would attribute to themselves all glory, no part of which could be claimed 
legitimately by the power that fructified and developed these germs. Thus, Italy would come to say to 

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France that neither Mazarin nor Bonaparte belonged to her; Germany or England would in turn claim the 
scholars who, having come to France, made its professorships illustrious and enhanced the brilliance of its 
scientific renown. The French, on their side, would claim for themselves the glory of the offspring of 
those illustrious families who, after [the revocation of] the edict of Nantes, immigrated to all Europe. And 
if all Europeans belong to the same stock, one can with justice claim that the Harranians and the Syrians, 
who are Semites, belong equally to the great Arab family. 

It is permissible, however, to ask oneself why Arab civilization, after having thrown such a live light on the 
world, suddenly became extinguished; why this torch has not been relit since; and why the Arab world still 
remains buried in profound darkness. 

Here the responsibility of the Muslim religion appears complete. It is clear that wherever it became 
established, this religion tried to stifle the sciences and it was marvelously served in its designs by 
despotism. 

Al-Siuti tells that the Caliph al-Hadi put to death in Baghdad 5,000 philosophers in order to destroy 
sciences in the Muslim countries down to their roots. Admitting that this historian exaggerated the number 
of victims, nonetheless it remains established that this persecution took place, and it is a bloody stain for 
the history of a religion as it is for the history of a people. I could find in the past of the Christian religion 
analogous facts. Religions, by whatever names they are called, all resemble each other. No agreement and 
no reconciliation are possible between these religions and philosophy. Religion imposes on man its faith 
and its belief, whereas philosophy frees him of it totally or in part. How could one therefore hope that they 
would agree with each other when the Christian religion, under the most modest and seductive forms, 
entered Athens and Alexandria, which were, as everyone knows, the two principal centers of science and 
philosophy, trying to stifle both under the bushes of theological discussions, to explain the inexplicable 
mysteries of the Trinity, the Incarnation, and Transubstantiation? It will always be thus. Whenever religion 
will have the upper hand, it will eliminate philosophy; and the contrary occurs when it is philosophy that 
reigns as sovereign mistress. So long as humanity exists, the struggle will not cease between dogma and free 
investigation, between religion and philosophy; a desperate struggle in which, I fear, the triumph will not 
be for free thought, because the masses dislike reason, and its teachings are only understood by some 
intelligent members of the élite, and because, also, science, however beautiful it is, does not completely 
satisfy humanity, which thirsts for the ideal and which likes to exist in such dark and distant regions as the 
philosophers and scholars can neither perceive nor explore. 

3

Document 2: The Materialists in India, Al-'Urwa al-Wuthqa, 28 August 1884

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The English entered India and toyed with the minds of her princes and kings in a way that makes 
intelligent men both laugh and cry. They penetrated deeply into India's interior, and seized her lands piece 
by piece. Whenever they became lords of the land they took liberties with its inhabitants, and showed 
anger and contempt regarding their stay among them, saying that the English were occupied only with 
commercial affairs. 

As for tending to administration and politics, that is not their business. However, what calls them to bear 
the burdens [of administration and politics] is pity for the kings and the princes who are incapable of 
governing their dominions. When the kings or princes are able to control their land, no Englishman will 
remain there [they said], because they have other important affairs that they have abandoned out of sheer 
compassion. With this, the English stole property from every owner on the pretext that work on property 
is oppressive to a person and fatiguing for mind and body. It is better for the owner of the property to 
relax and to die poor and humble, free of the pains of management. [The English] declare that when the 
opportunity presents itself, and the time comes when the affairs of this world and the hereafter will not 
influence bodies and thoughts, they are prepared to leave the country (on the Day of Resurrection!). And 
today they are saying the very same words in Egypt!! 

When [the English] entrenched themselves in India, and effaced the traces of Mogul rule, they gave the 
land a second look, and found within it fifty million Muslims, each of whom was wounded in heart by the 
extinction of their great kingdom. They were connected with many millions of Muslims in the East and 
West, North and South. [The English] perceived that as long as the Muslims persisted in their religion, and 
as long as the Qur'an was read among them, it would be impossible for them to be sincere in their 
submission to foreign rule, especially if that foreigner had wrested the realm from them through treachery 
and cunning, under the veil of affection and friendship. So they set out to try to weaken belief in the 
Islamic faith in every way. They encouraged their clergymen and religious leaders to write books and 
publish tracts filled with defamation of the Islamic religion, and replete with abuse and vilification for the 
Founder of Islam (may God free him of what they said!). This abominable activity resulted in what is 
intolerable to human nature, and what would prevent an honorable man from remaining in a land where 
such books are published, or from living under a sky whose sun shines on the perpetrators of that great 
slander. With that they aimed only, on the one hand, to weaken the beliefs of the Muslims, and to induce 
them to profess the English religion. On the other hand, they began to restrict the means of livelihood 
available to the Muslims, and to intensify their oppression and disadvantages in every respect. They hurt 

4 5

their interests regarding public works, and plundered waqfsset aside for mosques and madrasahs, and 
exiled their ulema and leaders to the Andaman and Filfilan [?] Islands, hoping to use this means, if the first 
one did not work, to alienate the Muslims from their religion, and to reduce them to the depths of 

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ignorance concerning their faith, so that they would neglect what God had ordained for them. When the 
hopes of those tyrannical rulers for the first means failed, and the period of profiting from the second one 
seemed too long, they resorted to another policy for the limitation or weakening of the Islamic religion in 
the land of India, because they fear only the Muslim possessors of that plundered realm and usurped right. 

It happened that a man named Ahmad Khan Bahadur (an honorary title in India) was hovering around the 
English in order to obtain some advantage from them. He presented himself to them and took some steps 
to throw off his religion and adopt the English religion. He began his course by writing a book 
demonstrating that the Torah and the Gospel were not corrupted or falsified, in order to ingratiate himself 
with the English. Then he considered, and saw that the English would not be satisfied with him until he 
said, "I am a Christian," and that this vile deed would not bring him a large reward, especially since 
thousands of clergymen and priests had produced books like his and they had [only] converted a few 
Muslims from their religion. So, he took another road in order to serve his English masters, by sowing 
division among the Muslims and scattering their unity. 

He appeared in the guise of the naturalists [materialists], and proclaimed that nothing exists but blind 
nature, and that this universe does not have a wise God (this is a clear error), and that all the prophets were 
naturalists who did not believe in the God taught by the revealed religions, (we take refuge in God!). He 
called himself a neicheri or naturalist, and began to seduce the sons of the rich, who were frivolous young 
men. Some of them inclined toward him, escaping from the bonds of the Law of Islam, and pursuing 
bestial passions. His doctrine pleased the English rulers and they saw in it the best means to corrupt the 
hearts of the Muslims. They began to support him, to honor him, and to help him to build a college in 
Aligarh, called the Mohammadan College, to be a trap in which to catch the sons of the believers in order 
to bring them up in the ideas of this man, Ahmad Khan Bahadur. 

Ahmad Khan wrote a commentary on the Qur'an and distorted the sense of words and tampered with 
what God revealed. He founded a journal called Tahdhib al- Akhlaq that published only what would mislead 
the minds of the Muslims, cause dissension among them, and sow enmity between the Muslims of India 
and other Muslims, especially between [the Indian Muslims] and the Ottomans. 

He called openly for the abandonment of all religions (but he addressed only the Muslims), and cried, 
"Nature, Nature," in order to convince people that Europe only progressed in civilization, advanced in 
science and industry, and excelled in power and strength by rejecting religions and returning to the goal 
aimed at by all religions (according to his claim), which is the explanation of the ways of nature. ("He 

6

invented a lie against God.")

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When we were in India, we learned of certain weak intelligences misled by the hoaxes of this man and his 
disciples. We wrote a treatise exposing their corrupt doctrine and the ruin that arose from it. We 
established that religion is the foundation of civilization and the pillar of culture. Our treatise was printed 
in two languages, Hindustani and Persian. 

Ahmad Khan and his followers removed the garb of religion and publicly called for its abandonment, 
desiring discord among the Muslims and seeking to divide them. They compounded their error, sowing 
discord between the inhabitants of India and the other Muslims. They wrote a number of books in 
opposition to the Islamic caliphate. 

Those materialists are not like the materialists of Europe; for whoever abandons religion in Western 
countries retains love for his country, and his zeal to guard his country from the attacks of foreigners is not 
diminished. He gives freely of his most precious possessions for its advancement, and will sacrifice his life 
for its sake. But Ahmad Khan and his companions, just as they invited people to reject religion, [also] 
disparaged to them the interests of their fatherland, and made people consider foreign domination over 
them a slight thing, and strove to erase the traces of religious and patriotic zeal. They breached those 
national resources that perhaps the English had neglected to plunder, in order to call the government's 
attention to them, so that they should not be neglected. They did this not for a considerable reward or an 
exalted honor, but for a vile piece of bread, a paltry gain. (Thus the Oriental materialist is distinguished 
from the Western materialist by baseness and vileness, in addition to unbelief and impiety.) 

The English did well by Ahmad Khan, by appointing his son Maulavi Mahmud member of the council of 
an Indian village no larger than Shubrakhit in the Buhaira region [in Egypt]. 

One of the snares for the hunting of weak Muslims was to promise and raise their hopes that if they 
followed him he would bring them into government service, thanks to his position with the English 
tyranny. But the English government named only four of his companions to village councils, and no native 
Indian is found in such positions except they. This is the glory bestowed on Ahmad Khan as the price for 
his religion and fatherland. As Siddiq Nawwab Hasan Khan, King of Bhopal and the author of famous 

7

works, has said: "Ahmad Khan is the arch Deceiver of the Day of Judgment."

The English authorities helped him to employ some to whom they gave preference, but not in the British 
Indian Government nor in the English Treasury. Rather, the ruler obliged one of the princes remaining in 
formal independence to employ them in certain inferior functions. 

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[Ahmad Khan's] doctrine was pleasing to the eyes of the English rulers and they were delighted with it. 
They considered it a means to their goal of obliterating the Islamic religion in Indian territories. 

These materialists became an army for the English government in India. They drew their swords to cut the 
throats of the Muslims, while weeping for them and crying, "We kill you only out of compassion and pity 
for you, and seeking to improve you and make your lives comfortable." The English saw that this was the 
most likely means to attain their goal: the weakness of Islam and the Muslims. 

The most faithful disciple of Ahmad Khan, his chief assistant and administrator in all his affairs, is a man 
named Sami'allah Khan. Sami'allah Khan is the cleverest and most diligent of the materialists in misleading 
the Muslims, the subtlest in tricks, and the most cunning in creating means to split the unity of the 
believers and to strengthen the English government in India. This swindler sets himself up as a preacher at 
Muslim gatherings, and his tears precede his words. He brings forth the utmost of his eloquence in order 
to destroy the pillars of the Islamic religion and nullify its fundamental beliefs. He even turns on the divine 
presence, and finds fault with the prophetic mission and its bearer, all this while he weeps, as if he were 
mourning the religion and its adherents. 

When he enters a land in order to carry out this service, he continues for days to enter the mosques and 
attend religious gatherings; to entice people with agreeable words and charming promises; and to attract 
them to him without their knowing it. When some of the people assemble around him, blinded by his 
pleasing exterior, he proceeds to call them to his turbid doctrine of the abandonment of religion. 

For these efforts, this evident enemy of Islam and the Muslims has already been given the post of judge (in 
the English law) in the town of Agra, a town no bigger than Dasuq in the Gharbiyya province [in Egypt]. 
The newspaper, The Times, after highly praising Sami'allah Khan, said that this post, a judgeship in a small 
town, was the highest post conferred on a native Indian. (Is there any need, in order to demonstrate 
English justice, for more evidence than this?) 

Northbrook, the English lord, one part of whose history in India we referred to in the last issue, fully 
recognized Sami'allah Khan as soon as he became the ruler in India, and he understood that he was the 
more faithful of men in service to the English, and the most capable of serving them. Therefore, that lord 
asked him to be private secretary in Egypt, in order to use him to alienate the Egyptians from the Ottoman 
Government; to persuade the Egyptians that the government of England wished them well; and to employ 
him to win over the hearts of the ulema, since he was one of them (according to his claim). Perhaps he 
intends to enter the mosques and to preach and give sermons, and to relate regarding English justice what 
has no truth and what is belied by reality. However, we have hope, because of the intelligence of the 
Egyptians, the correctness of their religious beliefs, and the strength of their ties to the Ottoman 

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Government, that this Indian Rakis will not deceive them. (Rakis in the Sanscrit language is the Devil's 
disciple. May God not grant success to his goals, and may he not bestow on him his desires!) 

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HASSAN AL-BANNA, NATIONALISM & THE RELIGIOUS BASIS FOR AN 
ISLAMIC STATE (1949)21 


Hasan al-Banna (1906–1949) grew up in an Egypt that was in many ways a British colony. He came of age at a time 
when it appeared that the European “West” was directly or indirectly dominating Muslim societies. This hegemony was 
accompanied by attacks on Islam from colonial quarters, as well as from indigenous and secular groups and individuals. In 
1928, amid the political chaos and cultural confusion in Egypt—and in the larger Islamic world—al-Banna established the 
Muslim Brotherhood. This political party was dedicated to restoring Egyptian independence from the British and—perhaps 
more important—to the social and political regeneration of Egypt through the establishment of a “truly” Islamic polity and 
society. 

By this al-Banna meant the reconstruction and reestablishment of the type of polity that existed briefly after the death of the 
Prophet Muhammad, when religious leadership and political leadership were ostensibly one and the same. Furthermore, and in 
addition to having a believing Muslim lead the umma, al-Banna believed that such a polity could come into existence only 
when Islamic laws—and only Islamic laws—govern society. The Brotherhood, however, did not look to the past for the 
specifics of its program. Rather, it was a thoroughly “modern” phenomenon that sought to reinterpret the Shari’a within the 
technological, economic, political, and social contexts of the twentieth century. Like his Pakistani counterpart Mawdudi, al-
Banna argued the fact that the loudspeaker, invented in the West, should not deter a Muslim from using it—after making it 
an “Islamic loudspeaker.” Al-Banna remained the Supreme Guide of the Muslim Brotherhood until his assassination by the 
Egyptian government in 1949. In this document he spells out some of his ideas for creating an Islamic nation in Egypt. 

Discussion Questions 

i. 
A universal Islam stands in apparent contradiction with a national boundary. How does Hasan al-
Banna reconcile the two in constructing his brand of Islamic nationalism? 
ii. 
What does the list of social legislation that Hasan al-Banna recommends tell us about what life was 
like in Egypt at the time? 
iii. 
How would you characterize the economic reforms proposed by al-Banna? Were they geared more 
toward a capitalist or a socialist system? Or were they completely different from either? 
A Bold Step but a Successful One 

Excellency, 
. . . [I]t would be inexcusable for us to turn aside from the path of truth— the path of Islam—and to 
follow the path of fleshly desires and vanities—the path of Europe. Along the path of Europe are to be 
found outer show and cheap tinsel, pleasures and luxuries, laxity and license, and comforts that captivate 
the soul, for all of these things are loved by the soul, as the Almighty says: “Made beautiful for mankind is 
the love of fleshly desires for women, and children, and heaped-up mounds of gold and silver, and 
branded horses, and cattle, and tilled land. That is the comfort of this world” [Q.3:14]. 

21 Ahmed Fouad Khater, Sources in the History of the Modern Middle East. From: Five Tracts of Hasan al-Banna (1906– 

1949): A Selection from the Majmu ‘at Rasa ’il al-Imam al-Shahid Hasan al-Banna, trans. Charles Wendell, Near Eastern 

Studies, vol. 20 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), pp. 75–77. 

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But the path of Islam is glory, impregnability, truth, strength, blessedness, rectitude, stability, virtue, and 
nobility. Follow it along with the umma, may God grant you success! “Say: ‘Shall I inform you of something 
better than that? For those who are godfearing in the presence of their Lord, there are Gardens beneath 
which rivers flow, they being in them forever, and purified spouses, and the approbation of God. God is 
aware of His worshippers’” [Q.3:15]. 

Luxuries only annihilate nations, and her comforts and coveted possessions have only convulsed Europe: 
“And when We wish to destroy a city, We command its men of wealth, and they commit transgression in it, 
and the sentence against it is justified, and We destroy it utterly” [Q.3:16]. 

God (Blessed and Almighty is He!) sent His Apostle as a mercy to the worlds until the Day of 
Resurrection, and sent His Book with him as a light and a guidance until the Day of Resurrection. The 
leadership of the Apostle (May God bless and save him!) survives in his Sunna, and the authority of the 
Qur’an is secure through his proof. Humanity is marching inevitably toward them both, with the might of 
the mighty and the humility of the humble, from near and from afar, so that God’s Word should be 
realized: “that He may make it triumphant over every religion” [Q.9:33]. 

Be the first to come forward in the name of God’s Apostle (May God bless and save him!) bearing the vial 
of Qur’anic healing, to save the tormented, sick world! It is a bold step, but one crowned with success, 
God willing (Blessed and Almighty is He!), for God is victorious in His affairs: “Then the believers will 
rejoice in God’s succor. He succors whom He will, for He is the Mighty, the Merciful” [Q.30:4–5]. 

Some Steps Toward Practical Reform 

Excellency, 
Having given a clear presentation of the spiritual mood that should prevail 

within the nation in its modern renaissance, we would like to point out, by way of conclusion, some of the 
practical manifestations and results which this mood should dictate. We are going to mention here only the 
broadest topics, since we are well aware that each one of these questions demands extensive and intensive 
study, taxing the energies and capacities of specialists. We know too that we have not yet plumbed all the 
puzzling problems and demands of the nation, nor all the manifestations of the renaissance. We do not 
believe that the fulfillment of these demands is a mere trifle which can be accomplished overnight, and we 
know that before many of them there are manifold obstacles which will require vast patience, great 
wisdom, and keen determination. We know all this and can take it in our stride. And besides this, we know 
that where there is genuine resolve, the way will be made plain, and that if a strongwilled nation chooses 
the path of goodness, it shall, by God Almighty’s will, attain what it desires. Stride forward, and God will 
be with you! Following are the principal goals of reform grounded on the spirit of genuine Islam: 

First: Political, judicial, and administrative: 

(1) An end to party rivalry, and a channeling of the political forces of the nation into a common front and 
a single phalanx. 
(2) A reform of the law, so that it will conform to Islamic legislation in every branch. 
(3) A strengthening of the armed forces, and an increase in the number of youth groups; the inspiration of 
the latter with zeal on the bases of Islamic jihad. 
(4) A strengthening of the bonds between all Islamic countries, especially the Arab countries, to pave the 
way for practical and serious consideration of the matter of the departed Caliphate. 
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(5) The diffusion of the Islamic spirit throughout all departments of the government, so that all its 
employees will feel responsible for adhering to Islamic teachings. 
(6) The surveillance of the personal conduct of all its employees, and an end to the dichotomy between the 
private and professional spheres. 
(7) Setting the hours of work in summer and winter ahead, so that it will be easy to fulfill religious duties, 
and so that keeping late hours will come to an end. 
(8) An end to bribery and favoritism, with consideration to be given only to capability and legitimate 
reasons [for advancement]. 
(9) Weighing all acts of the government in the scales of Islamic wisdom and doctrine; the organization of 
all celebrations, receptions, official conferences, prisons and hospitals so as not to be incompatible with 
Islamic teaching; the arranging of work-schedules so that they will not conflict with hours of prayer. 
(10) The employment of graduates of Al-Azhar in military and administrative positions, and their training. 
Second: Social and educational: 

(1) Conditioning the people to respect public morality, and the issuance of directives fortified by the aegis 
of the law on this subject; the imposition of severe penalties for moral offenses. 
(2) Treatment of the problem of women in a way which combines the progressive and the protective, in 
accordance with Islamic teaching, so that this problem—one of the most important social problems—will 
not be abandoned to the biased pens and deviant notions of those who err in the directions of deficiency 
or excess. 
(3) An end to prostitution, both clandestine and overt: the recognition of fornication, whatever the 
circumstances, as a detestable crime whose perpetrator must be flogged. 
(4) An end to gambling in all its forms—games, lotteries, racing, and gambling-clubs. 
(5) A campaign against drinking, as there is one against drugs: its prohibition, and the salvation of the 
nation from its effects. 
(6) A campaign against ostentation in dress and loose behavior; the instruction of women in what is 
proper, with particular strictness as regards female instructors, pupils, physicians, and students, and all 
those in similar categories. 
(7) A review of the curricula offered to girls and the necessity of making them distinct from the boys’ 
curricula in many of the stages of education. 
(8) Segregation of male and female students; private meetings between men and women, unless within the 
permitted degrees [of relationship], to be counted as a crime for which both will be censured. 
(9) The encouragement of marriage and procreation, by all possible means; promulgation of legislation to 
protect and give moral support to the family, and to solve the problems of marriage. 
(10) The closure of morally undesirable ballrooms and dance-halls, and the prohibition of dancing and 
other such pastimes. 
(11) The surveillance of theatres and cinemas, and a rigorous selection of plays and films. 
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(12) The expurgation of songs, and a rigorous selection and censorship of them. 
(13) The careful selection of lectures, songs, and subjects to be broadcast to the nation; the use of radio 
broadcasting for the education of the nation in a virtuous and moral way. 
(14) The confiscation of provocative stories and books that implant the seeds of skepticism in an insidious 
manner, and newspapers which strive to disseminate immorality and capitalize indecently on lustful desires. 
(15) The supervision of summer vacation areas so as to do away with the wholesale confusion and license 
that nullify the basic aims of vacationing. 
(16) The regulation of business hours for cafés; surveillance of the activities of their regular clients; 
instructing these as to what is in their best interest; withdrawal of permission from cafés to keep such long 
hours. 
(17) The utilization of these cafes for teaching illiterates reading and writing; toward this end, the assistance 
of the rising generation of elementary schoolteachers and students. 
(18) A campaign against harmful customs, whether economic, moral, or anything else; turning the masses 
away from these and orienting them in the direction of ways beneficial to them, or educating them in a way 
consonant with their best interests. These involve such customs as those to do with weddings, funerals, 
births, the zar, civil and religious holidays, etc. Let the government set a good example in this respect. 
(19) Due consideration for the claims of the moral censorship, and punishment of all who are proved to 
have infringed any Islamic doctrine or attacked it, such as breaking the fast of Ramadan, willful neglect of 
prayers, insulting the faith, or any such act. 
(20) The annexation of the elementary village schools to the mosques, and a thoroughgoing reform of 
both, as regards employees, cleanliness, and overall custodial care, so that the young may be trained in 
prayer and the older students in learning. 
(21) The designation of religious instruction as a basic subject in all schools, in each according to its type, 
as well as in the universities. 
(22) Active instigation to memorize the Qur’an in all the free elementary schools; making this 
memorization mandatory for obtaining diplomas in the areas of religion and [Arabic] language; the 
stipulation that a portion of it be memorized in every school. 
(23) The promulgation of a firm educational policy which will advance and raise the level of education, 
and will supply it, in all its varieties, with common goals and purposes; which will bring the different 
cultures represented in the nation closer together, and will make the first stage of its process one dedicated 
to inculcating a virtuous, patriotic spirit and an unwavering moral code. 
(24) The cultivation of the Arabic language at every stage of instruction;the use of Arabic alone, as 
opposed to any foreign language, in the primary stages. (25) The cultivation of Islamic history, and of the 
national history and 
national culture, and the history of Islamic civilization. 


(26) Consideration of ways to arrive gradually at a uniform mode of dress 
for the nation. 


(27) An end to the foreign spirit in our homes with regard to language, 
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manners, dress, governesses, nurses, etc.; all these to be Egyptianized, especially in upper-class homes. 

(28) To give journalism a proper orientation, and to encourage authors and writers to undertake Islamic, 
Eastern subjects, 
(29) Attention to be given to matters of public health by disseminating health information through all 
media; increasing the number of hospitals, physicians, and mobile clinics; facilitating the means of 
obtaining medical treatment. 
(30) Attention to be given to village problems as regards their organization, their cleanliness, the 
purification of their water supply, and the means to provide them with culture, recreation, and training. 
Third: the economic: 

(1) The organization of zakat in terms of income and expenditure, according to the teachings of the 
magnanimous Sacred Law; invoking its assistance in carrying out necessary benevolent projects, such as 
homes for the aged, the poor, and orphans, and strengthening the armed forces. 
(2) The prohibition of usury, and the organization of banks with this end in view. Let the government 
provide a good example in this domain by relinquishing all interest due on its own particular undertakings, 
for instance in the loan-granting banks, industrial loans, etc. 
(3) The encouragement of economic projects and an increase in their number; giving work to unemployed 
citizens in them; the transfer of such of these as are in the hands of foreigners to the purely national 
sector. 
(4) The protection of the masses from the oppression of monopolistic companies; keeping these within 
strict limits, and obtaining every possible benefit for the masses. 
(5) An improvement in the lot of junior civil servants by raising their salaries, by granting them steady 
increases and compensations, and by lowering the salaries of senior civil servants. 
(6) A reduction in the number of government posts, retaining only the indispensable ones; an equitable 
and scrupulous distribution of the work among civil servants. 
(7) The encouragement of agricultural and industrial counseling; attention to be paid to raising the 
production level of the peasant and industrial worker. (8) A concern for the technical and social problems 
of the worker; raising 
his standard of living in numerous respects. 


(9) The exploitation of natural resources, such as uncultivated land, 
neglected mines, etc. 


(10) Priority over luxury items to be given to necessary projects in terms 
of organization and execution. 
This is the message of the Muslim Brotherhood. We submit it, and place 

ourselves, our talents, and all we possess in the hands of any committee or government desirous of taking 
a step forward, hand in hand with an Islamic nation, toward progress and advancement. We will answer the 
call, and we are prepared to sacrifice ourselves. We hope that by so doing we will have fulfilled our trust 

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and said our piece, for religion means sincerity toward God, His Apostle, His Book, the Imams of the 
Muslims, and their community at large. God is our sufficiency; He is enough; and peace to His chosen 
worshippers! 

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NATIONALISM 

INTRODUCTION22 

Nationalism was the most successful political force of the 19th century. It emerged from two main 
sources: the Romantic exaltation of "feeling" and "identity" [see Herder above all on this] and the Liberal 
requirement that a legitimate state be based on a "people" rather than, for example, a dynasty, God, or 
imperial domination. Both Romantic "identity nationalism" and Liberal "civic nationalism" were essentially 
middle class movements. There were two main ways of exemplification: the French method of "inclusion" 
essentially that anyone who accepted loyalty to the civil French state was a "citizen". In practice this meant 
the enforcement of a considerable degree of uniformity, for instance the destruction of regional languages. 
The US can be seen to have, eventually, adopted this ideal of civic inclusive nationalism. The German 
method, required by political circumstances, was to define the "nation" in ethnic terms. Ethnicity in 
practice came down to speaking German and (perhaps) having a German name. For the largely German-
speaking Slavic middle classes of Prague, Agram etc. who took up the nationalist ideal, the ethnic aspect 
became even more important than it had been for the Germans. It is debatable whether, in practice, all 
nationalisms ended up as Chauvinistic and aggressive, but the very nature of nationalism requires that 
boundaries be drawn. Unless these boundaries are purely civic, successful nationalism, in many cases 
produced a situation in which substantial groups of outsiders were left within "nation-states". 

I. CULTURAL NATIONALISM : THE NATION AS POSITIVE 
FOCUS OF IDENTITY 
Lord Byron: The Isles of Greece 

A philhellenic text - and Philhellenism was one of the major factors in enabling Greece to be the 

first "new" nation in Europe in 1821. 

THE isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung, 

Where grew the arts of war and peace,--


Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung! 

Eternal summer gilds them yet, 

But all, except their sun, is set.The Scian and the Teian muse, 

The hero's harp, the lover's lute, 

Have found the fame your shores refuse; 

Their place of birth alone is mute 

To sounds which echo further west 

22 http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/modsbook17.asp 

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Than your sires' "Islands of the Blest."The mountains look on Marathon--And 
Marathon looks on the sea; 
And musing there an hour alone, 
I dream'd that Greece might yet be free 
For, standing on the Persians' grave, 
I could not deem myself a slave.A king sat on the rocky brow 
Which looks on sea-born Salamis; 
And ships, by thousands, lay below, 
And men in nations;---all were his! 
He counted them at break of day--And 
when the sun set, where were they?And where are they? and where art thou, 
My country? On thy voiceless shore 
The heroic lay is tuneless now--The 
heroic bosom beats no more! 
And must thy lyre, so long divine, 
Degenerate into hands like mine?'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, 
Though link'd among a fetter'd race, 
To feel at least a patriot's shame, 
Even as I sing, suffuse my face; 
For what is left the poet here? 
For Greeks a blush---for Greece a tear.Must we but weep o'er days more blest? 
Must we but blush?---Our fathers bled. 
Earth! render back from out thy breast 
A remnant of our Spartan dead! 
Of the three hundred grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopylae.What, silent still, and silent all? 
Ah! no; the voices of the dead 
Sound like a distant torrent's fall, 
And answer, "Let one living head, 
But one arise,---we come, we come!" 
'Tis but the living who are dumb.In vain---in vain: strike other chords; 
Fill high the cup of Samian wine! 
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 
And shed the blood of Scio's vine! 
Hark! rising to the ignoble call--CIV 
204 FALL 2015 PAGE !183 


How answers each bold bacchanal!You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, 
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? 
Of two such lessons, why forget 
The nobler and the manlier one? 
You have the letters Cadmus gave--Think 
ye he meant them for a slave?Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 
We will not think of themes like these! 
It made Anacreon's song divine; 
He served---but served Polycrates--A 
tyrant; but our masters then 
Were still, at least, our countrymen.The tyrant of the Chersonese 
Was freedom's best and bravest friend; 
That tyrant was Miltiades! 
Oh! that the present hour would lend 
Another despot of the kind! 
Such chains as his were sure to bind.Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, 
Exists the remnant of a line 
Such as the Doric mothers bore; 
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, 
The Heracleidan blood might own.Trust not for freedom to the Franks--They 
have a king who buys and sells: 
In native swords and native ranks, 
The only hope of courage dwells: 
But Turkish force and Latin fraud 
Would break your shield, however broad.Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 
Our virgins dance beneath the shade--I 
see their glorious black eyes shine; 
But, gazing on each glowing maid, 
My own the burning tear-drop laves, 
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.Place me on Sunium's marble steep--Where 
nothing, save the waves and I, 
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep: 
There, swan-like, let me sing and die; 
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--CIV 
204 FALL 2015 PAGE !184 


Dash down yon cup of Samian wine! 

Source:From: Eva March Tappan, ed., The World's Story: A History of the World in Story, Song 

and Art, 14 Vols., (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1914), Vol. IV: Greece and Rome, pp. 228-231Scanned by 

Jerome S. Arkenberg, Cal. State Fullerton. The text has been modernized by Prof. Arkenberg. 

II. LIBERAL NATIONALISM: THE NATION AS A BASIS FOR LIBERAL 
DEMOCRACY 
Daniel O'Connell: Justice for Ireland, Feb 4, 1836 

Nationalism took was had both reactionary and liberating aspects. As a political ideology it could 
proclaim one nation superior to others, or it could provide method of analysis and organization against 
oppression. This second aspect can be represented by the great Irish leader Daniel O'Connell (1775-1847), 
sometimes called the Liberator of Ireland. 

O'Connell's first major success was the Catholic Emancipation Act of 1829, allowing Roman 
Catholics to become members of the British House of Commons. Part of English national identity was 
the nation's Protestantism. Ireland, however, remained predominantly Catholic, and, although under the 
British crown had had its own Parliament until the "Act of Union" in 1800. At that point Catholics in 
Ireland could no longer be represented by Catholics. [Most people, both English and Irish were not 
entitled to vote in any case until much later in the century.]. O'Connell's repeated success in winning 
election in 1828, persuaded the British prime minister - the Duke of Wellington - that reform was 
necessary, and the Catholic Emancipation Act was passed in 1829, and O'Connell became a Member of 
Parliament. 

That did not end Irish grievances, which continued throughout the 19th century. On February 4, 
1836, O'Connell gave this speech in the House of Commons calling for equal justice. 

It appears to me impossible to suppose that the House will consider me presumptuous in wishing 

to be heard for a short time on this question, especially after the distinct manner in which I have been 

alluded to in the course of the debate. If I had no other excuse, that would be sufficient; but I do not want 

it; I have another and a better -- the question is one in the highest degree interesting to the people of 

Ireland. It is, whether we mean to do justice to that country -- whether we mean to continue the injustice 

which has been already done to it, or to hold out the hope that it will be treated in the same manner as 

England and Scotland. That is the question. We know what "lip service" is; we do not want that. There are 

some men who will even declare that they are willing to refuse justice to Ireland; while there are others 

who, though they are ashamed to say so, are ready to consummate the iniquity, and they do so. 

England never did do justice to Ireland -- she never did. What we have got of it we have extorted 

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from men opposed to us on principle -- against which principle they have made us such concessions as we 
have obtained from them. The right honorable baronet opposite [Sir Robert Peel] says he does not 
distinctly understand what is meant by a principle. I believe him. He advocated religious exclusion on 
religious motives; he yielded that point at length, when we were strong enough to make it prudent for him 
to do so. 

Here am I calling for justice to Ireland; but there is a coalition tonight -- not a base unprincipled 
one -- God forbid! -- it is an extremely natural one; I mean that between the right honorable baronet and 
the noble lord the member for North Lancashire [Lord Stanley]. It is a natural coalition, and it is 
impromptu; for the noble lord informs us he had not even a notion of taking the part he has until the 
moment at which he seated himself where he now is. I know his candor; he told us it was a sudden 
inspiration which induced him to take part against Ireland. I believe it with the most potent faith, because I 
know that he requires no preparation for voting against the interests of the Irish people. [Groans.] I thank 
you for that groan -- it is just of a piece with the rest. I regret much that I have been thrown upon arguing 
this particular question, because I should have liked to have dwelt upon the speech which has been so 
graciously delivered from the throne today -- to have gone into its details, and to have pointed out the 
many great and beneficial alterations and amendments in our existing institutions which it hints at and 
recommends to the House. The speech of last year was full of reforms in words, and in words only; but 
this speech contains the great leading features of all the salutary reforms the country wants; and if they are 
worked out fairly and honestly in detail, I am convinced the country will require no further amelioration of 
its institutions, and that it will become the envy and admiration of the world. I, therefore, hail the speech 
with great satisfaction. 

It has been observed that the object of a king's speech is to say as little in as many words as 
possible; but this speech contains more things than words -- it contains those great principles which, 
adopted in practice, will be most salutary not only to the British Empire, but to the world. When speaking 
of our foreign policy, it rejoices in the cooperation between France and this country; but it abstains from 
conveying any ministerial approbation of alterations in the domestic laws of that country which aim at the 
suppression of public liberty, and the checking of public discussion, such as call for individual reprobation, 
and which I reprobate as much as any one. I should like to know whether there is a statesman in the 
country who will get up in this House and avow his approval of such proceedings on the part of the 
French government. I know it may be done out of the House amid the cheers of an assembly of friends; 
but the government have, in my opinion, wisely abstained from reprobating such measures in the speech, 
while they have properly exulted in such a union of the two countries as will contribute to the national 
independence and the public liberty of Europe. 

Years are coming over me, but my heart is as young and as ready as ever in the service of my 
country, of which I glory in being the pensionary and the hired advocate. I stand in a situation in which no 

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man ever stood yet -- the faithful friend of my country -- its servant -- its stave, if you will -- I speak its 
sentiments by turns to you and to itself. I require no L2o,ooo,ooo on behalf of Ireland -- I ask you only 
for justice: will you -- can you -- I will not say dare you refuse, because that would make you turn the other 
way. I implore you, as English gentlemen, to take this matter into consideration now, because you never 
had such an opportunity of conciliating. Experience makes fools wise; you are not fools, but you have yet 
to be convinced. I cannot forget the year 1825. We begged then as we would for a beggar's boon; we asked 
for emancipation by all that is sacred amongst us, and I remember how my speech and person were treated 
on the Treasury Bench, when I had no opportunity of reply. The other place turned us out and sent us 
back again, but we showed that justice was with us. The noble lord says the other place has declared the 
same sentiments with himself; but he could not use a worse argument. It is the very reason why we should 
acquiesce in the measure of reform, for we have no hope from that House -- all our hopes are centered in 
this; and I am the living representative of those hopes. I have no other reason for adhering to the ministry 
than because they, the chosen representatives of the people of England, are anxiously determined to give 
the same measure of reform to Ireland as that which England has received. I have not fatigued myself, but 
the House, in coming forward upon this occasion. I may be laughed and sneered at by those who talk of 
my power; but what has created it but the injustice that has been done in Ireland? That is the end and the 
means of the magic, if you please -- the groundwork of my influence in Ireland. If you refuse justice to 
that country, it is a melancholy consideration to me to think that you are adding substantially to that power 
and influence, while you are wounding my country to its very heart's core; weakening that throne, the 
monarch who sits upon which, you say you respect; severing that union which, you say, is bound together 
by the tightest links, and withholding that justice from Ireland which she will not cease to seek till it is 
obtained; every man must admit that the course I am taking is the legitimate and proper course -- I defy 
any man to say it is not. Condemn me elsewhere as much as you please, but this you must admit. You may 
taunt the ministry with having coalesced me, you may raise the vulgar cry of "Irishman and Papist" against 
me, you may send out men called ministers of God to slander and calumniate me; they may assume 
whatever garb they please, but the question comes into this narrow compass. I demand, I respectfully 
insist: on equal justice for Ireland, on the same principle by which it has been administered to Scotland and 
England. I will not take less. Refuse me that if you can. 

Theodor Herzl: On the Jewish State, 189623 

23 Theodor Herzl, The Jewish State, An Attempt at a Modern Solution of the Jewish Question, ed. Jacob M. Alkow (New 
York: American Zionist Emergency Council, 1946), pp. 69, 7677, 7980, 85, 9293. 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 187!


There were Jewish leaders who called for the return of the Jews to Palestine for decades before 
Theodor Herzl (1860 1904) wrote his influential pamphlet, The Jewish State. But Herzl's work pushed the 
formation of a political movement to establish a Jewish homeland in Palestine. The first Zionist Congress, 
convened by Herzl, was held in Basel, Switzerland, in 1897. Herzl was less attached to Palestine than some 
other "Zionists", and considered at one stage the creation of a Jewish state in what is now Uganda. 

The idea which I have developed in this pamphlet is a very old one: it is the restoration of the 
Jewish State. 

The world resounds with outcries against the Jews, and these outcries have awakened the 
slumbering idea. 

. . . 

We are a people-one people. 

We have honestly endeavored everywhere to merge ourselves in the social life of surrounding 
communities and to preserve the faith of our fathers. We are not permitted to do so. In vain are we loyal 
patriots, our loyalty in some places running to extremes; in vain do we make the same sacrifices of life and 
property as our fellowcitizens; in vain do we strive to increase the fame of our native land in science and 
art, or her wealth by trade and commerce. In countries where we have lived for centuries we are still cried 
down as strangers, and often by those whose ancestors were not yet domiciled in the land where Jews had 
already had experience of suffering. The majority may decide which are the strangers; for this, as indeed 
every point which arises in the relations between nations, is a question of might. I do not here surrender 
any portion of our prescriptive right, when I make this statement merely in my own name as an individual. 
In the world as it now is and for an indefinite period will probably remain, might precedes right. It is 
useless, therefore, for us to be loyal patriots, as were the Huguenotsl who were forced to emigrate. If we 
could only be left in peace.... 

. . . 
[However,] oppression and persecution cannot exterminate us. No nation on earth has survived such 
struggles and sufferings as we have gone through. Jew-baiting has merely stripped off our weaklings; the 
strong among us were invariably true to their race when persecution broke out against them.... 

However much I may worship personality-powerful individual personality in statesmen, inventors, 
artists, philosophers, or leaders, as well as the collective personality of a historic group of human beings, 
which we call a nation-however much I may worship personality, I do not regret its disappearance. 

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Whoever can, will, and must perish, let him perish. But the distinctive nationality of Jews neither can, will, 
nor must be destroyed. It cannot be destroyed, because extemal enemies consolidate it. It will not be 
destroyed; this is shown during two thousand years of appalling suffering. It must not be destroyed .... 
Whole branches of Judaism may wither and fall, but the trunk will remain. 

. . . 

The Jewish Question 

No one can deny the gravity of the situation of the Jews. Wherever they live in perceptible 
numbers, they are more or less persecuted. Their equality before the law, granted by statute, has become 
practically a dead letter. They are debarred from filling even moderately high positions, either in the army, 
or in any public or private capacity. And attempts are made to thrust them out of business also: "Don't buy 
from Jews!" 

Attacks in Parliaments, in assemblies, in the press, in the pulpit, in the street, on journeys-for 
example, their exclusion from certain hotels-even in places of recreation, become daily more numerous. 
The forms of persecutions varying according to the countries and social circles in which they occur.... 

. . . 

The Plan 

Let the sovereignty be granted us over a portion of the globe large enough to satisfy the rightful 
requirements of a nation; the rest we shall manage for ourselves. 

The creation of a new State is neither ridiculous nor impossible. We have in our day witnessed the 
process in connection with nations which were not largely members of the middle class, but poorer, less 
educated, and consequently weaker than ourselves. The Governments of all countries scourged by Anti-
Semitism will be keenly interested in assisting us to obtain the sovereignty we want. 

The plan, simple in design, but complicated in execution, will be carried out by two agencies: The 
Society of Jews and the Jewish Company. 

The Society of Jews will do the preparatory work in the domains of science and politics, which the 
Jewish Company will afterwards apply practically. 

The Jewish Company will be the liquidating agent of the business interests of departing Jews, and 

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will organize commerce and trade in the new country. 

We must not imagine the departure of the Jews to be a sudden one. It will be gradual, continuous, 
and will cover many decades. The poorest will go first to cultivate the soil. In accordance with a 
preconceived plan, they will construct roads, bridges, railways and telegraph installations; regulate rivers; 
and build their own dwellings; their labor will create trade, trade will create markets and markets will attract 
new settlers, for every man will go voluntarily, at his own expense and his own risk. The labor expended on 
the land will enhance its value, and the Jews will soon perceive that a new and permanent sphere of 
operation is opening here for that spirit of enterprise which has heretofore met only with hatred and 
obloquy. 

III. TRIUMPHAL NATIONALISM: THE NATION AS A CLAIM TO SUPERIORITY 
MAX SCHNECKENBURGER: THE WATCH ON THE RHINE, 187024 

[Tappan Introduction]. This was a favorite song of the German soldiers during the Franco-
Prussian War of 1870. 

[Halsall Note]. Now the song is probably most famous as the song sung by Nazi soldiers in Rick's 
Bar in Casablanca. There is drowned out by the Marseillaise. 

A VOICE resounds like thunder-peal, 


'Mid dashing waves and clang of steel: 


The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine! 


Who guards to-day my stream divine? 


Chorus: Dear Fatherland, no danger thine; 


Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine! 

They stand, a hundred thousand strong, 
Quick to avenge their country's wrong; 
With filial love their bosoms swell, 


24 From: Eva March Tappan, ed., The World's Story: A History of the World in Story, Song and Art, 14 Vols., (Boston: 
Houghton Mifflin, 1914), Vol. VII: Germany, The Netherlands, and Switzerland, pp. 249-250. 

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They'll guard the sacred landmark well! 
Chorus: Dear Fatherland, no danger thine; 
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine! 


The dead of an heroic race 


From heaven look down and meet this gaze; 
He swears with dauntless heart, "O Rhine, 
Be German as this breast of mine!" 
Chorus: Dear Fatherland, no danger thine; 
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine! 


While flows one drop of Gcrman blood, 


Or sword remains to guard thy flood, 
While rifle rests in patriot hand, 
No foe shall tread thy sacred strand! 
Chorus: Dear Fatherland, no danger thine; 
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine! 


Our oath resounds, the river flows, 
In golden light our banner glows; 


Our hearts will guard thy stream divine: 
The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine! 
Chorus: Dear Fatherland, no danger thine; 
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine! 


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VOLTAIRE: PATRIE, IN THE PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY, 175225 

A young journeyman pastry cook who had been to college, and who still knew a few of Cicero's 
phrases, boasted one day of loving his fatherland. "What do you mean by your “fatherland”? a neighbor 
asked him. "Is it your oven? Is it the village where you were born and which you have never seen since? Is 
it the street where dwelled your father and mother who have been ruined and have reduced you to baking 
little pies for a living? Is it the town hall where you will never be a police superintendent's clerk? Is it the 
Church of Our Lady where you have not been able to become a choirboy, while an absurd man is 
archbishop and duke with an income of twenty thousand golden louis?" 

The journeyman pastry cook did not know what to answer. A thinker who was listening to this 
conversation, concluded that in a fatherland of some extent there were often many thousand men who had 
no fatherland. 

You, pleasure-loving Parisian, who have never made any great journey save that to Dieppe to eat 
fresh fish; who know nothing but your varnished town house, your pretty country house, and your box at 
that Opera where the rest of Europe persists in feeling bored; who speak your own language agreeably 
enough because you know no other, you love all that, and you love further the girls you keep, the 
champagne which comes to you from Rheims, the dividends which the Hôtel de Ville pays you every six 
months, and you say you love your fatherland! 

In all conscience, does a financier cordially love his fatherland? The officer and the soldier who will 
pillage their winter quarters, if one lets them, have they a very warm love for the peasants they ruin? Where 
was the fatherland of the scarred Duc de Guise, was it in Nancy, Paris, Madrid, Rome? What fatherland 
have you, Cardinals de La Balue, Duprat, Lorraine, Mazarin? Where was the fatherland of Attila and of a 
hundred heroes of this type? I would like someone to tell me which was Abraham's fatherland. The first 
man to write that the fatherland is wherever one feels comfortable was, I believe, Euripides in his Phaeton. 
But the first man who left his birthplace to seek his comfort elsewhere has said it before him. 

Where then is the fatherland? Is it not a good field, whose owner, lodged in a well-kept house, can 
say: "This field that I till, this house that I have built, are mine; I live there protected by laws which no 
tyrant can infringe. When those who, like me, possess fields and houses, meet in their common interest, I 
have my voice in the assembly; I am a part of everything, a part of the community, a part of the dominion; 
there is my fatherland"? 

25 http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/1752voltaire.html 
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Well, now, it is better for your fatherland to be a monarchy or a republic? For four thousand years 
has this question been debated. Ask the rich for an answer, they all prefer aristocracy; question the people, 
they want democracy; only kings prefer royalty. How then is it that nearly the whole world is governed by 
monarchs? Ask the rats who proposed to hang a bell round the cat's neck. But in truth, the real reason is, 
as has been said, that men are very rarely worthy of governing themselves. It is sad that often in order to 
be a good patriot one is the enemy of the rest of mankind. To be a good patriot is to wish that one's city 
may be enriched by trade, and be powerful by arms. It is clear that one country cannot gain without 
another loses, and that it cannot conquer without making misery. Such then is the human state that to wish 
for one's country's greatness is to wish harm to one's neighbors. He who should wish his fatherland might 
never be greater, smaller, richer, poorer, would be the citizen of the world. 

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ADOLF HITLER, MEIN KAMPF (1926)26 


In 1923 Adolf Hitler was arrested for attempting to overthrow the government in Munich. His National Socialist German 
Workers' Party (the Nazi party) was still relatively small, and he used his trial to attract national attention. In due course he 
was convicted and sentenced to prison; while there he wrote Mein Kampf (My Struggle), outlining his political ideas. Mein 
Kampf was not taken seriously at first, but it includes many of the ideas the Nazis put in practice in the 1930s and 1940s. 

Volume One, Chapter Six: 
"War Propaganda" 

{1}The function of propaganda does not lie in the scientific training of the individual, but in calling the 
masses' attention to certain facts, processes, necessities, etc., whose significance is thus for the first time 
placed within their field of vision. 
{2}The whole art consists in doing this so skillfully that everyone will be convinced that the fact is real, the 
process necessary, the necessity correct, etc. But since propaganda is not and cannot be the necessity in 
itself, since its function. . . consists in attracting the attention of the crowd, and not in educating those who 
are already educated or who are striving after education and knowledge, its effect for the most part must be 
aimed at the emotions and only to a very limited degree at the so-called intellect. . . . 
{3}The art of propaganda lies in understanding the emotional ideas of the great masses and finding, 
through a psychologically correct form, the way to the attention and thence to the heart of the broad 
masses. The fact that our bright boys do not understand this merely shows how mentally lazy and 
conceited they are. . . . 
{4}The receptivity of the great masses is very limited, their intelligence is small, but their power of 
forgetting is enormous. In consequence of these facts, all effective propaganda must be limited to a very 
few points and must harp on these in slogans until the last member of the public understands what you 
want him to understand by your slogan. As soon as you sacrifice this slogan and try to be many-sided, the 
effect will piddle away, for the crowd can neither digest nor retain the material offered. In this way the 
result is weakened and in the end entirely cancelled out. 
{5}Thus we see that propaganda must follow a simple line and correspondingly the basic tactics must be 
psychologically sound. For instance, it was absolutely wrong to make the enemy ridiculous, as the Austrian 
and German comic papers did. It was absolutely wrong because actual contact with an enemy soldier was 
bound to arouse an entirely different conviction, and the results were devastating; for now the German 
soldier, under the direct impression of the enemy's resistance, felt himself swindled by his propaganda 
26 http://history.hanover.edu/courses/excerpts/111hitler.html 
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service. His desire to fight, or even to stand film, was not strengthened, but the opposite occurred. His 
courage flagged. 

{6}By contrast, the war propaganda of the English and Americans was psychologically sound. By 
representing the Germans to their own people as barbarians and Huns, they prepared the individual soldier 
for the terrors of war, and thus helped to preserve him from disappointments. After this, the most terrible 
weapon that was used against him seemed only to confirm what his propagandists had told him; it likewise 
reinforced his faith in the truth of his government's assertions, while on the other hand it increased his 
rage and hatred against the vile enemy For the cruel effects of the weapon, whose use by the enemy he 
now came to know, gradually came to confirm for him the 'Hunnish' brutality of the barbarous enemy, 
which he had heard all about; and it never dawned on him for a moment that his own weapons possibly, if 
not probably, might be even more terrible in their effects. . . . 
{7}The function of propaganda is . . . not to weigh and ponder the rights of different people, but 
exclusively to emphasize the one right which it has set out to argue for. Its task is not to make an objective 
study of the truth, in so far as it favors the enemy, and then set it before the masses with academic fairness; 
its task is to serve our own right, always and unflinchingly. 
{8}It was absolutely wrong to discuss war-guilt from the standpoint that Germany alone could not be held 
responsible for the outbreak of the catastrophe; it would have been correct to load every bit of the blame 
on the shoulders of the enemy, even if this had not really corresponded to the true facts, as it actually did. . 
. . 
Volume One, Chapter Ten: 
"Causes of the Collapse" 

{9}The easiest and hence most widespread explanation of the present misfortune is that it was brought 
about by the consequences of the lost War and that therefore the War is the cause of the present evil. 
{10}There may be many who will seriously believe this nonsense but there are still more from whose 
mouth such an explanation can only be a lie and conscious falsehood. . . . Didn't these apostles of world 
conciliation . . . . glorify the benevolence of the Entente, and didn't they shove full blame for the whole 
bloody struggle on Germany? . . . Will you claim that this was not so, you wretched, lying scoundrels? 
{11}It takes a truly Jewish effrontery to attribute the blame for the collapse solely to the military defeat. . . . 
{12}The foremost connoisseurs of this truth regarding the possibilities in the use of falsehood and slander 
have always been the Jews; for after all, their whole existence is based on one single great lie, to wit, that 
they are a religious community while actually they are a race - - -and what a race! . . . 
[The text continues, asserting a connection between Jewish businessmen and the process of 
industrialization and modernization.] 
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{13}In proportion as economic life grew to be the dominant mistress of the state, money became the god 
whom all had to serve and to whom each man had to bow down. More and more, the gods of heaven were 
put into the corner as obsolete and outmoded, and in their stead incense was burned to the idol 
Mammon. . . . 

{14}Unfortunately, the domination of money was sanctioned even by that authority which should have 
most opposed it: His Majesty the Kaiser acted most unfortunately by drawing the aristocracy into the orbit 
of the new finance capital. . . . It was clear that once a beginning had been made in this direction, the 
aristocracy of the sword would in a short time inevitably be overshadowed by the financial aristocracy. 
Regarded purely from the standpoint of blood, such a development was profoundly unfortunate: more and 
more, the nobility lost the racial basis for its existence, and in large measure the designation of 'ignobility' 
would have been more suitable for it. 
{15}A grave economic symptom of decay was the slow disappearance of the right of private property, and 
the gradual transference of the entire economy to the ownership of stock companies. 
{16}Now for the first time labor had sunk to the level of an object of speculation for unscrupulous Jewish 
business men; the alienation of property from the wage-worker was increased ad infinitum. The stock 
exchange began to triumph and prepared slowly but surely to take the life of the nation into its 
guardianship and control. . . . 
{17}What food did the German press of the pre-War period dish out to the people? Was it not the worst 
poison that can even be imagined? Wasn't the worst kind of pacifism injected into the heart of our people 
at a time when the rest of the world was preparing to throttle Germany, slowly but surely? Even in 
peacetime didn't the press inspire the minds of the people with doubt in the right of their own state, thus 
from the outset limiting them in the choice of means for its defense? Was it not the German press which 
knew how to make the absurdity of 'Western democracy' palatable to our people until finally, ensnared by 
all the enthusiastic tirades, they thought they could entrust their future to a League of Nations? . . . Did it 
not ridicule morality and ethics as backward and petty-bourgeois, until our people finally became 'modern'? 
. . . Did it not belittle the army with constant criticism, sabotage universal conscription, demand the refusal 
of military credits, etc., until the result became inevitable? 
{18}The so-called liberal press was actively engaged in digging the grave of the German people and the 
German Reich. We can pass by the lying Marxist sheets in silence; to them lying is just as vitally necessary 
as catching mice for a cat; their function is only to break the people's national and patriotic backbone and 
make them ripe for the slave's yoke of international capital and its masters, the Jews. . . . 
{19}And what did the state do against this mass poisoning of the nation? Nothing, absolutely nothing. A 
few ridiculous decrees, a few fines for villainy that went too far, and that was the end of it. Instead, they 
hoped to curry favor with this plague by flattery, by recognition of the 'value' of the press, its 'importance,' 
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its 'educational mission,' and more such nonsense - - -as for the Jews, they took all this with a crafty smile 
and acknowledged it with sly thanks. . . . 

{20}This poison was able to penetrate the bloodstream of our people unhindered and do its work, and the 
state did not possess the power to master the disease. . . . For an institution which is no longer resolved to 
defend itself with all weapons has for practical purposes abdicated. Every half-measure is a visible sign of 
inner decay which must and will be followed sooner or later by outward collapse. 
{21}I believe that the present generation, properly led, will more easily master this danger. It has 
experienced various things which had the power somewhat to strengthen the nerves of those who did not 
lose them entirely. In future days the Jew will certainly continue to raise a mighty uproar in his newspapers 
if a hand is ever laid on his favorite nest, if an end is put to the mischief of the press and this instrument 
of education is put into the service of the state and no longer left in the hands of aliens and enemies of 
the people. But I believe that this will bother us younger men less than our fathers. A thirty-centimeter 
shell has always hissed more loudly than a thousand Jewish newspaper vipers-so let them hiss! 
Volume One, Chapter Eleven: 
"Nation and Race" 

{22}Any crossing of two beings not at exactly the same level produces a medium between the level of the 
two parents. This means: the offspring will probably stand higher than the racially lower parent, but not as 
high as the higher one. Consequently, it will later succumb in the struggle against the higher level. Such 
mating is contrary to the will of Nature for a higher breeding of all life. The precondition for this does not 
lie in associating superior and inferior, but in the total victory of the former. The stronger must dominate 
and not blend with the weaker, thus sacrificing his own greatness. Only the born weakling can view this as 
cruel, but he after all is only a weak and limited man. . . . 
{23}The consequence of this racial purity, universally valid in Nature, is not only the sharp outward 
delimitation of the various races, but their uniform character in themselves. . . . 
{24}Nature looks on calmly, with satisfaction, in fact. In the struggle for daily bread all those who are weak 
and sickly or less determined succumb, while the struggle of the males for the female grants the right or 
opportunity to propagate only to the healthiest. And struggle is always a means for improving a species' 
health and power of resistance and, therefore, a cause of its higher development. 
{25}No more than Nature desires the mating of weaker with stronger individuals, even less does she desire 
the blending of a higher with a lower race, since, if she did, her whole work of higher breeding, over 
perhaps hundreds of thousands of years, night be ruined with one blow. 
{26}Historical experience offers countless proofs of this. It shows with terrifying clarity that in every 
mingling of Aryan blood with that of lower peoples the result was the end of the cultured people. North 
America, whose population consists in by far the largest part of Germanic elements who mixed but little 
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with the lower colored peoples, shows a different humanity and culture from Central and South America, 
where the predominantly Latin immigrants often mixed with the aborigines on a large scale. By this one 
example, we can clearly and distinctly recognize the effect of racial mixture. The Germanic inhabitant of 
the American continent, who has remained racially pure and unmixed, rose to be master of the continent; 
he will remain the master as long as he does not fall a victim to defilement of the blood. . . . 
{27}If we pass all the causes of the German collapse in review, the ultimate and most decisive remains the 
failure to recognize the racial problem and especially the Jewish menace. 


{28}The defeats on the battlefield in August, 1918, would have been child's play to bear. They stood in no 
proportion to the victories of our people. It was not they that caused our downfall; no, it was brought 
about by that power which prepared these defeats by systematically over many decades robbing our people 
of the political and moral instincts and forces which alone make nations capable and hence worthy of 
existence. 
{29}The lost purity of the blood alone destroys inner happiness forever, plunges man into the abyss for all 
time, and the consequences can never more be eliminated from body and spirit. 
Volume Two, Chapter Fourteen: 
"Eastern Orientation or Eastern Policy" 

{30}We National Socialists must hold unflinchingly to our aim in foreign policy, namely, to secure for the 
German people the land and soil to which they are entitled on this earth. And this action is the only one 
which, before God and our German posterity, would make any sacrifice of blood seem justified: before 
God, since we have been put on this earth with the mission of eternal struggle for our daily bread, beings 
who receive nothing as a gift, and who owe their position as lords of the earth only to the genius and the 
courage with which they can conquer and defend it; and before our German posterity in so far as we have 
shed no citizen's blood out of which a thousand others are not bequeathed to posterity. The soil on which 
some day German generations of peasants can beget powerful sons will sanction the investment of the 
sons of today, and will some day acquit the responsible statesmen of blood-guilt and sacrifice of the 
people, even if they are persecuted by their contemporaries. 
{31}And I must sharply attack those folkish pen-pushers who claim to regard such an acquisition of soil as 
a 'breach of sacred human rights' and attack it as such in their scribblings. One never knows who stands 
behind these fellows. But one thing is certain, that the confusion they can create is desirable and 
convenient to our national enemies. By such an attitude they help to weaken and destroy from within our 
people's will for the only correct way of defending their vital needs. For no people on this earth possesses 
so much as a square yard of territory on the strength of a higher will or superior right. Just as Germany's 
frontiers are fortuitous frontiers, momentary frontiers in the current political struggle of any period, so are 
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the boundaries of other nations' living space. And just as the shape of our earth's Furnace can seem 
immutable as granite only to the thoughtless soft-head, but in reality only represents at each period an 
apparent pause in a continuous development, created by the mighty forces of Nature in a process of 
continuous growth, only to be transformed or destroyed tomorrow by greater forces, likewise the 
boundaries of living spaces in the life of nations. . . . 

{32}But we National Socialists must go further. The right to possess soil can become a duty if without 
extension of its soil a great nation seems doomed to destruction. And most especially when not some little 
negro nation or other is involved, but the Germanic mother of life, which has given the present-day world 
its cultural picture. Germany will either be a world power or there will be no Germany. And for world 
power she needs that magnitude which will give her the position she needs in the present period, and life to 
her citizens. 
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ANNE FRANK, THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL27 


Background: 

Anne’s diary begins on her thirteenth birthday, June 12, 1942, and ends shortly after her fifteenth. At the start of her diary, 
Anne describes fairly typical girlhood experiences, writing about her friendships with other girls, her crushes on boys, and her 
academic performance at school. Because anti-Semitic laws forced Jews into separate schools, 

Anne and her older sister, Margot, attended the Jewish Lyceum in Amersterdam. The Franks had moved to the Netherlands 
in the years leading up to World War II to escape persecution in Germany. After the Germans invaded the Netherlands in 
1940, the Franks were forced into hiding. With another family, the van Daans, and an acquaintance, Mr. Dussel, they 
moved into a small secret annex above Otto Frank’s office where they had stockpiled food and supplies. The employees from 
Otto’s firm helped hide the Franks and kept them supplied with food, medicine, and information about the outside world. 

The residents of the annex pay close attention to every development of the war by listening to the radio. Some bits of news 
catch Anne’s attention and make their way into her diary, providing a vivid historical context for her personal thoughts. The 
adults make optimistic bets about when the war will end, and their mood is severely affected by Allied setbacks or German 
advances. Amsterdam is devastated by the war during the two years the Franks are in hiding. All of the city’s residents suffer, 
since food becomes scarce and robberies more frequent. 

List of Major Characters: 


Anne Frank – The author of the diary 

Margot Frank – Anne’s sister. Otto Frank – Anne’s father. Edith Frank – Anne’s Mother 

Mr. van Daan - The father of the family that hides in the annex along with the Franks and who had worked with Otto 
Frank as an herbal specialist in Amsterdam. Mr. van Daan’s actual name is Hermann van Pels, but Anne calls him Mr. 
van Daan in the diary. 

Mrs. van Daan - Mr. van Daan’s wife. Her actual name is Auguste van Pels, but Anne calls her Petronella van Daan in 
her diary. 

Peter van Daan - The teenage son of the van Daans, whose real name is Peter van Pels. 

Albert Dussel - A dentist and an acquaintance of the Franks who hides with them in the annex. His real name is Fritz 
Pfeffer, but Anne calls him Mr. Dussel in the diary. 

Mouschi – The cat. 


27Excerpt: Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl.. Translated by B. M. Mooyart-Doubleday. New York: Bantam Books, 
1952. 

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Tuesday, 11 April, 1944 

Dear Kitty, 
My head throbs, I honestly don’t know where to begin. 
On Friday (Good Friday) we played Monopoly, Saturday afternoon too. These 

days passed quickly and uneventfully. On Sunday afternoon, on my invitation, Peter came to my room at 
half past four, at a quarter past five we went to the front attic, where we remained until six o’clock. There 
was a beautiful Mozart concert on the radio from six until a quarter past seven. I enjoyed it all very much, 
but especially the “Kleine Nachtmusik.” I can hardly listen in the room because I’m always so inwardly 
stirred when I hear lovely music. 

On Sunday evening Peter and I went to the front attic together and, in order to sit comfortably, we took 
with us a few divan cushions that we were able to lay our hands on. We seated ourselves on one packing 
case. Both the case and the cushions were very narrow, so we sat absolutely squashed together, leaning 
against other cases. Mouschi kept us company too, so we weren’t unchaperoned. 

Suddenly, at a quarter to nine, Mr. Van Daan whistled and asked if we had one of Dussel’s cushions. We 
both jumped up and went downstairs with cushion, cat, and Van Daan. 

A lot of trouble arose out of this cushion, because Dussel was annoyed that we had one of his cushions, 
one that he used as a pillow. He was afraid that there might be fleas in it and made a great commotion 
about his beloved cushion! Peter and I put two hard brushes in his bed as a revenge. We had a good laugh 
over this little interlude! 

Our fun didn’t last long. At half past nine Peter knocked softly on the door and asked Daddy if he would 
just help him upstairs over a difficult English sentence. “That’s a blind,” I said to Margot, “anyone could 
see through that one!” I was right. They were in the act of breaking into the warehouse. Daddy, Van Daan, 
Dussel, and Peter were downstairs in a flash. Margot, Mummy, Mrs. Van Daan, and I stayed upstairs and 
waited. 

Four frightened women just have to talk, so talk we did, until we heard a bang downstairs. After that all was 
quiet, the clock struck a quarter to ten. The color had vanished from our faces, we were still quiet, although 
we were afraid. Where could the men be? What was that bang? Would they be fighting the burglars? Ten 
o’clock, footsteps on the stairs: Daddy, white and nervous, entered, followed by Mr. Van Daan. “Lights out, 
creep upstairs, we expect the police in the house!” 

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There was no time to be frightened: the lights went out, I quickly grabbed a jacket, and we were upstairs. 
“What has happened? Tell us quickly!” There was no one to tell us, the men having disappeared downstairs 
again. Only at ten past ten did they 

reappear; two kept watch at Peter’s open window, the door to the landing was closed, the swinging 
cupboard shut. We hung a jersey round the night light, and after that they told us: 

Peter heard two loud bangs on the landing, ran downstairs, and saw there was a large plank out of the left 
half of the door. He dashed upstairs, warned the “Home Guard” of the family, and the four of them 
proceeded downstairs. When they entered the warehouse, the burglars were in the act of enlarging the hole. 
Without further thought Van Daan shouted: “Police!” 

A few hurried steps outside, and the burglars had fled. In order to avoid the hole being noticed by the 
police, a plank was put against it, but a good hard kick from outside sent it flying to the ground. The men 
were perplexed at such impudence, and both Van Daan and Peter felt murder welling up within them; Van 
Daan beat on the ground with a chopper, and all was quiet again. Once more they wanted to put the plank 
in front of the hole. Disturbance! A married couple outside shone a torch through the opening, lighting up 
the whole warehouse. “Hell!” muttered one of the men, and now they switched over form their role of 
police to that of burglars. The four of them sneaked upstairs, Peter quickly opened the doors and windows 
of the kitchen and private office, flung the telephone onto the floor, and finally the four of them landed 
behind the swinging cupboard. 

END OF PART ONE 

The married couple with the torch would probably have warned the police: it was Sunday evening, Easter 
Sunday, no one at the office on Easter Monday, so none of us could budge until Tuesday morning. Think 
of it, waiting in such fear for two nights and a day! No one had anything to suggest, so we simply sat there 
in pitch-darkness, because Mrs. Van Daan in her fright had unintentionally turned the lamp right out; 
talked in whispers, and at every creak one heard “Sh! sh!” 

It turned half past ten, eleven, but not a sound; Daddy and Van Daan joined us in turns. Then a quarter 
past eleven, a bustle and noise downstairs. Everyone’s breath was audible, otherwise no one moved. 
Footsteps in the house, in the private office, kitchen, then . . . on our staircase. No one breathed audibly 
now, footsteps on our staircase, then a rattling of the swinging cupboard. This moment is indescribable. 
“Now we are lost!” I said, and could see us all being taken be the Gestapo that very night. Twice they 

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rattled at the cupboard, then there was nothing, the footsteps withdrew, we were saved so far. A shiver 
seemed to pass from one to another, I heard someone’s teeth chattering, no on said a word. 

There was not another sound in the house, but a light was burning on our landing, right in front of the 
cupboard. Could that be because it was a secret cupboard? Perhaps the police had forgotten the light? 
Would someone come back to put it out? Tongues loosened, there was no one in the house any longer, 
perhaps there was someone on guard outside. 

Next we did three things: we went over again what we supposed had happened, we trembled with fear, and 
we had to go to the lavatory. The buckets were in the attic, so all we had was Peter’s tin wastepaper basket. 
Van Daan went first, then Daddy, but Mummy was too shy to face it. Daddy brought the wastepaper 
basket into the room, 

where Margot, Mrs. Van Daan, and I gladly made use of it. Finally, Mummy decided to do so too. People 
kept on asking for paper – fortunately I had some in my pocket! 

The tin smelled ghastly, everything went on in a whisper, we were tired, it was twelve o’clock. “Lie down on 
the floor then and sleep.” Margot and I were each given a pillow and one blanket; Margot lying just near 
the store cupboard and I between the table legs. The smell wasn’t quite so bad when one was on the floor, 
but still Mrs. Van Daan quietly brought some chlorine, a sea towel over the pot serving as a second 
expedient. 

Talk, whispers, fear, stink, flatulation, and always someone on the pot; then try to go to sleep! However, by 
half past two I was so tired that I knew no more until half past three. I awoke when Mrs. Van Daan laid 
her head on my foot. 

“For heaven’s sake, give me something to put on!” I asked. I was given something, but don’t ask what – a 
pair of woolen knickers over my pajamas, a red jumper, and a black skirt, white oversocks and a pair of 
sports stockings full of holes. Then Mrs. Van Daan sat in the chair and her husband came and lay on my 
feet. I lay thinking till half past three, shivering the whole time, which prevented Van Daan from sleeping. I 
prepared myself for the return of the police, then we’d have to say that we were hiding, they would either 
be good Dutch people, then we’d be saved, or 


N. S. B. – ers (The Dutch National Socialist Movement), then we’d have to bribe them! 
“In that case, destroy the radio,” sighed Mrs. Van Daan. “Yes, in the stove!” replied her husband. “If they 
find us then let them find the radio as well!” 

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“Then they will find Anne’s diary,” added Daddy. “Burn it then,” suggested the most terrified member of 
the party. This, and when the police rattled the cupboard door, were my worst moments. “Not my diary; if 
my diary goes, I go with it!” But luckily Daddy didn’t answer. 

There is no object in recounting all the conversations that I can still remember; so much was said. I 
comforted Mrs. Van Daan, who was very scared. We talked about escaping and being questioned by the 
Gestapo, about ringing up, and being brave. 

“We must behave like soldiers, Mrs, Van Daan. If all is up now, then let’s go for Queen and Country, for 
freedom, truth, and right, as they always say on the Dutch News from England. The only thing that is 
really rotten is that we get a lot of other people into trouble too. 

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ELIE WIESEL’S, NIGHT28 


The following excerpt is from an autobiographical account of a young boy, Eliezer’s, experience as he arrives at the 
concentration camp in Auschwitz. 

“Everybody get out! Everyone out of the wagon! Quickly!” 

We jumped out. I threw a last glance toward Madame Sch.chter. Her little boy was holding her hand. 

In front of us flames. In the air that smell of burning flesh. It must have been about midnight. We had 
arrived— at Birkenau, reception center for Auschwitz. 

The cherished objects we had brought with us thus far were left behind in the train, and with them, at last, 
our illusions. 

Every two yards or so an SS man1 held his tommy gun trained on us. Hand in hand we followed the 
crowd. 

An SS noncommissioned officer came to meet us, a truncheon in his hand. He gave the order: 

“Men to the left! Women to the right!” 

Eight words spoken quietly, indifferently, without emotion. Eight short, simple words. Yet that was the 
moment when I parted from my mother. I had not had time to think, but already I felt the pressure of my 
father’s hand: we were alone. For a part of a second I glimpsed my mother and my sisters moving away to 
the right. Tzipora held Mother’s hand. I saw them disappear into the distance; my mother was stroking my 
sister’s fair hair, as though to protect her, while I walked on with my father and the other men. And I did 
not know that in that place at that moment, I was parting from my mother and Tzipora forever. I went on 
walking. My father held onto my hand. 

Behind me, an old man fell to the ground. Near him was an SS man, putting a revolver back in its holster. 
My hand shifted on my father’s arm. I had one thought— not to 

lose him. Not to be left alone. 
The SS officers gave the order: 
“Form fives!” 
Commotion. At all costs we must keep together. “Here, kid, how old are you?”

28 pp. 26-32. http://www2.d125.org/~dargentar/Night%2026-32%20excerpt.pdf 

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It was one of the prisoners who asked me this. I could not see his face, but his voice was tense and weary. 

“I’m not quite fifteen yet.” 
“No. Eighteen.” 
“But I’m not,” I said, “Fifteen.” 
“Fool. Listen to what I say.” 
Then he questioned my father, who replied: “Fifty.” 

The other guy grew more furious than ever. 
“No, not fifty. Forty. Do you understand? Eighteen and forty.” He disappeared into the night shadows. A 
second man came up, 

shouting oaths at us. 
“What have you come here for, you sons of bitches? What are 

you doing here, eh?” 
Someone dared to answer him. 
“What do you think? Do you suppose we’ve come here for our 

own pleasure? Do you think we asked to come?” 
A little more, and the man would have killed him. 
“You shut your trap, you filthy swine, or I’ll squash you right 

now! You’d have done better to have hanged yourselves where you were than come here. Didn’t you know 
what was in store for you at Auschwitz? Haven’t you heard about it? In 1944?” 

No, we had not heard. No one had told us. He could not believe his ears. His tone of voice became 
increasingly brutal. 

“Do you see that chimney over there? See it? Do you see those flames? (Yes, we did see the flames.) Over 
there— that’s where you’re going to be taken. That’s your grave, over there. Haven’t you realized it yet? You 
dumb bastards, don’t you understand anything? You’re going to be burned. Frizzled away. Turned into 
ashes.” 

He was growing hysterical in his fury. We stayed motionless, petrified. Surely it was all a nightmare? An 
unimaginable nightmare? 

I heard murmurs around me. 

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“We’ve got to do something. We can’t let ourselves be killed. We can’t go like beasts to the slaughter. We’ve 


got to revolt.” 
There were a few sturdy young fellows among us. They had knives on them, and they tried to incite the 
others to throw themselves on the armed guards. 


One of the young men cried: 


“Let the world learn of the existence of Auschwitz. Let everybody hear about it, while they can still 
escape....” 
But the older ones begged their children not to do anything foolish: 
“You must never lose faith, even when the sword hangs over your head. That’s the teaching of our 


sages....” 
The wind of revolt died down. We continued our march toward the square. In the middle stood the 
notorious Dr. Mengele (a typical SS officer: a cruel face, but not devoid of intelligence, and wearing a 


monocle); a conductor’s baton in his hand, he was standing among the other officers. The baton moved 
unremittingly, sometimes to the right, sometimes to the left. 
I was already in front of him: 
“How old are you?” he asked, in an attempt at a paternal tone of voice. 
“Eighteen.” My voice was shaking. “Are you in good health?’ 


“Y es.” 


“What’s your occupation?” 
Should I say that I was a student? 
“Farmer,” I heard myself say. 
This conversation cannot have lasted more than a few seconds. 


It had seemed like an eternity to me. 


The baton moved to the left. I took half a step forward. I wanted to see first where they were sending my 
father. If he went to the right, I would go after him. 
The baton once again pointed to the left for him too. A weight was lifted from my heart. 


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We did not yet know which was the better side, right or left; which road led to prison and which to the 
crematory. But for the moment I was happy; I was near my father. Our procession continued to move 
slowly forward. 

Another prisoner came up to us: 
“Satisfied?” 
“Yes,” someone replied. 
“Poor devils, you’re going to the crematory.” 
He seemed to be telling the truth. Not far from us, flames were 

leaping up from a ditch, gigantic flames. They were burning something. A lorry drew up at the pit and 
delivered its load—little children. Babies! Yes, I saw it—saw it with my own eyes... those children in flames. 
(Is it surprising that I could not sleep after that? Sleep had fled from my eyes.) 

So this was where we were going. A little farther on was another and larger ditch for adults. 

I pinched my face. Was I still alive? Was I awake? I could not believe it. How could it be possible for them 
to burn people, children, and for the world to keep silent? No, none of this could be true. It was a 
nightmare.... Soon I should wake with a start, my heart pounding, and find myself back in the bedroom of 
my childhood, among my books.... 

My father’s voice drew me from my thoughts: 

“It’s a shame... a shame that you couldn’t have gone with your mother... I saw several boys of your age 
going with their mothers.... 

His voice was terribly sad. I realized that he did not want to see what they were going to do to me. He did 
not want to see the burning of his only son. 

My forehead was bathed in cold sweat. But I told him that I did not believe that they could burn people in 
our age, that humanity would never tolerate it.... 

“Humanity? Humanity is not concerned with us. Today anything is allowed. Anything is possible, even 
these crematories....” 

His voice was choking. 
“Father,” I said, “if that is so, I don’t want to wait here. I’m going to run to the electric wire. That would be 
better than slow agony in the flames.” 

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He did not answer. He was weeping. His body was shaken convulsively. Around us, everyone was weeping. 
Someone began to recite the Kaddish, the prayer for the dead. I do not know if it has ever happened 
before, in the long history of the Jews, that people have ever recited the prayer for the dead for themselves. 

“Yitgadal veyitkadach shmé raba.... May His Name be blessed and magnified....” whispered my father. 

For the first time, I felt revolt rise up in me. Why should I bless His name? The Eternal, Lord of the 
Universe, the All-Powerful and Terrible, was silent. What had I to thank Him for? 

We continued our march. We were gradually drawing closer to the ditch, from which an infernal heat was 
rising. Still twenty steps to go. If I wanted to bring about my own death, this was the moment. Our line 
had now only fifteen paces to cover. I bit my lips so that my father would not hear my teeth chattering. Ten 
steps still. Eight. Seven. We marched slowly on, as though following a hearse at our own funeral. Four steps 

more. Three steps. There it was now, right in front of us, the pit and its flames.2 I gathered all that was left 
of my strength, so that I could break from the ranks and throw myself upon the barbed wire. In the 
depths of my heart, I bade farewell to my father, to the whole universe; and, in spite of myself, the words 
formed themselves and issued in a whisper from my lips: Yitgadal veyitkadach shmé raba.... May His name be 
blessed and magnified.... My heart was bursting. The moment had come. I was face to face with the Angel 
of Death.... 

No. Two steps from the pit we were ordered to turn to the left and made to go into a barracks. 

I pressed my father’s hand. He said: 
“Do you remember Madame Sch.chter, in the train?” 
Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, which has 

turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed.3 Never shall I forget the 
smoke. Never shall I forget the little faces of the children whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of 
smoke beneath a silent blue sky. 

Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever. 

Never shall I forget that nocturnal silence which deprived me, for all eternity, of the desire to live. Never 
shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never 
shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself. Never. 

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CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN, HERLAND29 


Charlotte Perkins Gilman is currently thought to have been the most impor tant American author of the early twentieth-
century women’s movement. She edited a newspaper, The Forerunner (1909–1916), and wrote one of the first studies of 
women’s role in the economic system, Women and Economics (1898). She also wrote a number of utopias, including her best-
known utopia, Her land (1915, excerpted here), Moving the Mountain (1911), With Her in Our land (1916), and a 
number of utopian short stories. 

It is no use for me to try to piece out this account with adventures. If the people who read it are 
not interested in these amazing women and their history, they will not be interested at all. 

As for us—three young men to a whole landful of women—what could we do? We did get away, as 
described, and were peacefully brought back again without, as Terry complained, even the satisfaction of 
hitting anybody. 

There were no adventures because there was nothing to fight. There were no wild beasts in the 
country and very few tame ones. Of these I might as well stop to describe the one common pet of the 
country. Cats, of course. But such cats! 

What do you suppose these lady Burbanks had done with their cats? By the most prolonged and 
careful selection and exclusion they had developed a race of cats that did not sing! That’s a fact. 

The most those poor dumb brutes could do was to make a kind of squeak when they were hungry 
or wanted the door open; and, of course, to purr, and make the various mother-noises to their kittens. 

Moreover they had ceased to kill birds. They were rigorously bred to destroy mice and moles and 
all such enemies of the food supply; but the birds were numerous and safe. 

While we were discussing birds, Terry asked them if they used feathers for their hats, and they 
seemed amused at the idea. He made a few sketches of our women’s hats, with plumes and quills and those 
various tickling things that stick out so far; and they were eagerly interested, as at everything about our 
women. 

As for them, they said they only wore hats for shade when working in the sun; and those were big 
light straw hats, something like those used in China and Japan. In cold weather they wore caps or hoods. 

29 29 

Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1860–1935) was a leading American feminist writer. 
Source: Charlotte Perkins Gilman, “A Unique History: From Herland,” The Forerunner 6, no. 5 (May 1915): 123–29. 
Gregory Claeys and Lyman Tower Sargent, eds. The Utopia Reader New York: New York University Press, 1999. 

CIV 204 FALL 2015 PAGE 210!


“But for decorative purposes—don’t you think they would be becoming?” pursued Terry, making a 
picture as [best] he could of a lady with a plumed straw hat. 

They by no means agreed to that, asking quite simply if the men wore the same kind. We hastened 
to assure her that they did not—and drew for them our kind of headgear. 

“And do no men wear feathers in their hats?” 

“Only Indians,” Jeff explained, “savages, you know.” And he sketched a war bonnet to show them. 

“And soldiers,” I added, drawing a military hat with plumes. 

They never expressed horror or disapproval, nor indeed much surprise—just a keen interest. And 
the notes they made!—miles of them! 

But to return to our pussy-cats. We were a good deal impressed by this achievement in breeding, 
and when they questioned us—I can tell you we were well pumped for information—we told of what had 
been done for dogs and horses and cattle, but that there was no effort applied to cats, except for show 
purposes. 

I wish I could represent the kind, quiet, steady, ingenious way they questioned us. It was not just 
curiosity—they weren’t a bit more curious about us than we were about them, if as much. But they were 
bent on understanding our kind of civilization and their lines of interrogation would gradually surround us 
and drive us in till we found ourselves up against some admissions we did not want to make. 

“Are all these breeds of dogs you have made useful?” they asked. 

“Oh—useful! Why, the hunting dogs and watch-dogs and sheep-dogs are useful—and sled-dogs of 
course!—and ratters, I suppose, but we don’t keep dogs for their usefulness. The dog is ‘the friend of men,’ 
we say—we love them.” 

That they understood. “We love our cats that way. They surely are our friends, and helpers too. You 
can see how intelligent and affectionate they are.” It was a fact. I’d never seen such cats, except in a few 
rare instances. Big, handsome silky things, friendly with everyone and devotedly attached to their 

special owners. 
“You must have a heartbreaking time drowning kittens,” we suggested. 
But they said: “Oh, no! You see we care for them as you do for your valuable 

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cattle. The fathers are few compared to the mothers, just a few very fine ones in each town; they 
live quite happily in walled gardens and the houses of their friends. But they only have a mating season 
once a year.” 

“Rather hard on Thomas, isn’t it?” suggested Terry. 

“Oh, no—truly! You see it is many centuries that we have been breeding the kind of cats we 
wanted. They are healthy and happy and friendly, as you see. How do you manage with your dogs? Do you 
keep them in pairs, or segregate the fathers, or what?” 

Then we explained that—well, that it wasn’t a question of fathers exactly; that nobody wanted a—a 
mother dog; that, well, that practically all our dogs were males—there was only a very small percentage of 
females allowed to live. 

Then Zava, observing Terry with her grave sweet smile, quoted back at him: “Rather hard on 
Thomas, isn’t it? Do they enjoy it—living without mates? Are your dogs as uniformly healthy and sweet-
tempered as our cats?” 

Jeff laughed, eyeing Terry mischievously. As a matter of fact we began to feel Jeff something of a 
traitor—he so often flopped over and took their side of things; also his medical knowledge gave him a 
different point of view somehow. 

“I’m sorry to admit,” he told them, “that the dog, with us, is the most dis eased of any animal— 
next to man. And as to temper—there are always some dogs who bite people[,] especially children.” 

That was pure malice. You see children were the—the raison d’être in this country. All our 
interlocutors sat up straight at once. They were still gentle, still restrained, but there was a note of deep 
amazement in their voices. 

“Do we understand that you keep an animal—an unmated male animal— that bites children? 
About how many are there of them, please?” 

“Thousands—in a large city,” said Jeff, “and nearly every family has one in the country.” 

Terry broke in at this. “You must not imagine they are all dangerous—it’s not one in a hundred that 
ever bites anybody. Why, they are the best friends of the children—a boy doesn’t have half a chance that 
hasn’t a dog to play with!” 

“And the girls?” asked Somel. 

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“Oh—girls—why they like them too,” he said, but his voice flattened a lit tle. They always noticed 
little things like that, we found later. 

Little by little they wrung from us the fact that the friend of man, in the city, was a prisoner; was 
taken out for his meager exercise on a leash; was liable not only to many diseases, but to the one destroying 
horror of rabies, and, in many cases, for the safety of the citizens, he had to go muzzled. Jeff maliciously 
added vivid instances he had known or read of injury and death from mad dogs. 

They did not scold or fuss about it. Calm as judges, those women were. But they made notes; 
Moadine read them to us. 

“Please tell me if I have the facts correct,” she said. “In your country—and in others too?” 

“Yes,” we admitted, “in most civilized countries.” 

“In most civilized countries a kind of animal is kept which is no longer use ful—” 

“They are a protection,” Terry insisted. “They bark if burglars try to get in.” 

Then she made notes of “burglars” and went on: “because of the love which people bear to this 
animal.” 

Zava interupted here. “Is it the men or the women who love this animal so much?” 

“Both!” insisted Terry. 
“Equally?” she inquired. 
And Jeff said: “Nonsense, Terry—you know men like dogs better than 

women do—as a whole.” 
“Because they love it so much—especially men. This animal is kept shut up, 

or chained.” 
“Why?” suddenly asked Somel. “We keep our father cats shut up because we 

do not want too much fathering; but they are not chained—they have large grounds to run in.” 

“A valuable dog would be stolen if he was let loose,” I said. “We put collars on them, with the 
owner’s name, in case they do stray. Besides, they get into fights—a valuable dog might easily be killed by a 
bigger one.” 

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“I see,” she said. “They fight when they meet—is that common?” We ad mitted that it was. 

“They are kept shut up, or chained.” She paused again, and asked, “Is not a dog fond of running? 
Are they not built for speed?” That we admitted too, and Jeff, still malicious, enlightened them farther. 

“I’ve always thought it was a pathetic sight, both ways—to see a man or a woman taking a dog to 
walk—at the end of a string.” 

“Have you bred them to be as neat in their habits as cats are?” was the next question. And when 
Jeff told them of the effect of dogs on sidewalk merchandise and the streets generally, they found it hard 
to believe. 

You see their country was as neat as a Dutch kitchen, and as to sanitation— but I might as well 
start in now with as much as I can remember of the history of this amazing country before further 
description. 

And I’ll summarize here a bit as to our opportunities for learning it. I will not try to repeat the 
careful, detailed account I lost; I’ll just say that we were kept in that fortress a good six months all told; and 
after that, three in a pleas ant enough city where—to Terry’s infinite disgust—there were only “Colonels” 
and little children—no young women whatever. Then we were under surveil lance for three more—always 
with a tutor or a guard or both. But those months were pleasant because we were really getting acquainted 
with the girls. That was a chapter!—or will be—I will try to do justice to it. 

We learned their language pretty thoroughly—had to; and they learned ours much more quickly 
and used it to hasten our own studies. 

Jeff, who was never without reading matter of some sort, had two little books with him, a novel, 
and a little anthology of verse; and I had one of those pocket encyclopedias—a fat little thing, bursting 
with facts. These were used in our education—and theirs. Then as soon as we were up to it, they furnished 
us with plenty of their own books, and I went in for the history part—I wanted to understand the genesis 
of this miracle of theirs. 

And this is what happened, according to their records: 

As to geography—at about the time of the Christian era this land had a free passage to the sea. I’m 
not saying where, for good reasons. But there was a fairly easy pass through that wall of mountains behind 
us, and there is no doubt in my mind that these people were of Aryan stock, and were once in contact with 

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the best civilization of the old world. They were “white,” but somewhat darker than our northern races 
because of their constant exposure to sun and air. 

The country was far larger then, including much land beyond the pass, and a strip of coast. They 
had ships, commerce, an army, a king—for at that time they were what they so calmly called us—a bisexual 
race. 

What happened to them first was merely a succession of historic misfortunes such as have befallen 
other nations often enough. They were decimated by war, driven up from their coast line till finally the 
reduced population with many of the men killed in battle, occupied this hinterland, and defended it for 
years, in the mountain passes. Where it was open to any possible attack from below they strengthened the 
natural defences so that it became unscalably secure, as we found it. 

They were a polygamous people, and a slave-holding people, like all of their time; and during the 
generation or two of this struggle to defend their mountain home they built the fortresses, such as the one 
we were held in, and other of their oldest buildings, some still in use. Nothing but earthquakes could 
destroy such architecture—huge solid blocks, holding by their own weight. They must have had efficient 
workmen and enough of them in those days. 

They made a brave fight for their existence, but no nation can stand up against what the steamship 
companies call “an act of God.” While the whole fighting force was doing its best to defend their 
mountain pathway, there occurred a volcanic outburst, with some local tremors, and the result was the 
complete filling up of the pass—their only outlet. Instead of a passage, a new ridge, sheer and high, stood 
between them and the sea; they were walled in, and beneath that wall lay their whole little army. Very few 
men were left alive, save the slaves; and these now seized their opportunity, rose in revolt, killed their 
remaining masters even to the youngest boy, killed the old women too, and the mothers, intending to take 
possession of the country with the remaining young women and girls. 

But this succession of misfortunes was too much for those infuriated virgins. There were many of 
them, and but few of these would be masters, so the young women, instead of submitting, rose in sheer 
desperation, and slew their brutal conquerors. 

This sounds like Titus Andronicus, I know, but that is their account. I sup pose they were about 
crazy—can you blame them? 

There was literally no one left on this beautiful high garden land but a bunch of hysterical girls and 
some older slave women. 

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That was about two thousand years ago. 

At first there was a period of sheer despair. The mountains towered between them and their old 
enemies, but also between them and escape. There was no way up or down or out—they simply had to stay 
there. Some were for suicide, but not the majority. They must have been a plucky lot, as a whole, and they 
decided to live—as long as they did live. Of course they had hope, as youth must, that something would 
happen to change their fate. 

So they set to work, to bury the dead, to plow and sow, to care for one an other. 

Speaking of burying the dead, I will set down while I think of it, that they had adopted cremation 
about the thirteenth century, for the same reason that they had left off raising cattle—they could not spare 
the room. They were much surprised to learn that we were still burying—asked our reasons for it, and were 
much dissatisfied with what we gave. We told them of the belief in the resurrection of the body, and they 
asked if our God was not as well able to resurrect from ashes as from long corruption. We told them of 
how people thought it repugnant to have their loved ones burn, and they asked if it was less repugnant to 
have them decay. They were inconveniently reasonable, those women. 

Well—that original bunch of girls set to work to clean up the place and make their livings as best 
they could. Some of the remaining slave women rendered invaluable service, teaching such trades as they 
knew. They had such records as were then kept, all the tools and implements of the time, and a most fertile 
land to work in. 

There were a handful of the younger matrons who had escaped slaughter, and a few babies were 
born after the cataclysm—but only two boys and they both died. 

For five or ten years they worked together, growing stronger and wiser and more and more 
mutually attached, and then the miracle happened—one of these young women bore a child. Of course 
they all thought there must be a man somewhere, but none was found. Then they decided it must be a 
direct gift from the gods, and placed the proud mother in the Temple of Maaia—their Goddess of 
Motherhood—under strict watch. And there, as years passed, this wonder-woman bore child after child, 
five of them—all girls. 

I did my best, keenly interested as I have always been in sociology and social psychology, to 
reconstruct in my mind the real position of these ancient women. There were some five or six hundred of 
them, and they were harem bred; yet for the few preceding generations they had been reared in the 
atmosphere of such heroic struggle that the stock must have been toughened some what. Left alone in that 

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terrific orphanhood, they had clung together, support ing one another and their little sisters, and 
developing unknown powers in the stress of new necessity. To this pain-hardened and work-strengthened 
group, who had lost not only the love and care of parents, but the hope of ever having children of their 
own, there now dawned the new hope. 

Here at last was Motherhood, and though it was not for all of them person ally, it might—if the 
Power was inherited—found here a new race. 

It may be imagined how those five Daughters of Maaia, Children of the Temple, Mothers of the 
Future—they had all the titles that love and hope and reverence could give—were reared. The whole little 
nation of women surrounded them with loving service, and waited, between a boundless hope and an as 
boundless despair, to see if they too would be Mothers. 

And they were! As fast as they reached the age of twenty-five they began bear ing. Each of them, 
like her mother, bore five daughters. Presently there were twenty-five New Women, Mothers in their own 
right, and the whole spirit of the country changed from mourning and mere courageous resignation, to 
proud joy. The older women, those who remembered men, died off; the youngest of all the first lot of 
course died too, after a while, and by that time there were left one hundred and fifty-five parthenogenetic 
women, founding a new race. 

They inherited all that the devoted care of that declining band of original ones could leave them. 
Their little country was quite safe. Their farms and gar dens were all in full production. Such industries as 
they had were in careful order. The records of their past were all preserved, and for years the older women 
had spent their time in the best teaching they were capable of, that they might leave to the little group of 
sisters and mothers all they possessed of skill and knowledge. 

There you have the start of Herland! One family, all descended from one mother! She lived to be a 
hundred years old; lived to see her hundred and twenty-five great-granddaughters born; lived as QueenPriestess-
Mother of them all; and died with a nobler pride and a fuller joy than perhaps any human soul 
has ever known—she alone had founded a new race! 

The first five daughters had grown up in an atmosphere of holy calm, of awed watchful waiting, of 
breathless prayer. To them the longed-for Mother hood was not only a personal joy, but a nation’s hope. 
Their twenty-five daughters in turn, with a stronger hope, a richer, wider outlook, with the devoted love 
and care of all the surviving population, grew up as a holy sisterhood, their whole ardent youth looking 
forward to their great office. And at last they were left alone; the white-haired First Mother was gone, and 

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this one family, five sisters, twenty-five first cousins, and a hundred and twenty-five second cousins, began a 
new race. 

Here you have human beings, unquestionably, but what we were slow in understanding was how 
these ultra-women, inheriting only from women, had eliminated not only certain masculine characteristics, 
which of course we did not look for; but so much of what we had always thought essentially feminine. 

The tradition of men as guardians and protectors had quite died out. These stalwart virgins had no 
men to fear and therefore no need of protection. As to wild beasts—there were none in their sheltered 
land. 

The power of mother-love, that maternal instinct we so highly laud, was theirs of course, raised to 
its highest power; and a sister-love which, even while recognizing the actual relationship, we found it hard 
to credit. 

Terry, incredulous, even contemptuous, when we were alone, refused to believe the story. “A lot of 
traditions as old as Herodotus—and about as trust worthy!” he said. “It’s likely women—just a pack of 
women—would have hung together like that! We all know women can’t organize—that they scrap like any 
thing—are frightfully jealous.” 

“But these New Ladies didn’t have anyone to be jealous of, remember,” drawled Jeff. 

“That’s a likely story,” Terry sneered. 

“Why don’t you invent a likelier one?” I asked him. “Here are the women— nothing but women, 
and you admit yourself there’s no trace of a man in the country.” This was after we had been about a good 
deal. 

“I’ll admit that,” he growled. “And it’s a big miss, too. There’s not only no fun without ’em—no real 
sport—no competition: but these women aren’t womanly. You know they aren’t.” 

That kind of talk always set Jeff going; and I gradually grew to side with him. “Then you don’t call 
a breed of women whose one concern is Motherhood— womanly?” he asked. 

“Indeed I don’t,” snapped Terry. “What does a man care for motherhood— when he hasn’t a ghost 
of a chance at fatherhood? And besides—what’s the good of talking sentiment when we are just men 
together? What a man wants of women is a good deal more than this ‘motherhood’!” 

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We were as patient as possible with Terry. He had lived about nine months among the Colonels 
when he made that outburst; and with no chance at any more strenuous excitement than our gymnastics 
gave us—save for our escape fiasco. I don’t suppose Terry had ever lived so long with neither Love, 
Combat, nor Danger to employ his superabundant energies, and he was irritable. Nei ther Jeff nor I found 
it so wearing. I was so much interested intellectually that our confinement did not wear on me; and as for 
Jeff, bless his heart!—he en joyed the society of that tutor of his almost as much as if she had been a girl 

— I don’t know but more. 
As to Terry’s criticism, it was true. These women, whose essential distinction of Motherhood was 
the dominant note of their whole culture, were strikingly deficient in what we call “femininity.” This led me 
very promptly to the conviction that these “feminine charms” we are so fond of are not feminine at all, but 
mere reflected masculinity—developed to please us because they had to please us—and in no way essential 
to the real fulfillment of their great process. But Terry came to no such conclusion. 

“Just you wait till I get out!” he muttered. 

Then we both cautioned him. “Look here, Terry, my boy! You be careful! They’ve been mighty 
good to us—but do you remember the anaesthesia? If you do any mischief in this virgin land, beware of 
the vengeance of the Maiden Aunts! Come, be a man! It won’t be forever.” 

To return to the history: 

They began at once to plan and build for their children, all the Strength and intelligence of the 
whole of them devoted to that one thing. Each girl, of course, was reared in full knowledge of her 
Crowning Office, and they had, even then, very high ideas of the moulding powers of the mother as well 
as those of education. 

Such high ideals as they had! Beauty, Health, Strength, Intellect, Good ness—for these they prayed 
and worked. 

They had no enemies; they themselves were all sisters and friends; the land was fair before them, 
and a great Future began to form itself in their minds. 

The religion they had to begin with was much like that of old Greece—a number of gods and 
goddesses; but they lost all interest in deities of war and plunder, and gradually centered on their Mother 
Goddess altogether. Then, as they grew more intelligent, this had turned into a sort of Maternal Pan 
theism. 

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Here was Mother Earth, bearing fruit. All that they ate was fruit of mother hood, from seed or egg 
or their product. By motherhood they were born and by motherhood they lived—life was, to them, just the 
long cycle of mother hood. 

But very early they recognized the need of improvement as well as of mere repetition, and devoted 
their combined intelligence to that problem—how to make the best kind of people. First this was merely 
the hope of bearing better ones, and then they recognized that however the children differed at birth, the 
real growth lay later—through education. 

Then things began to hum. 

As I learned more and more to appreciate what these women had accomplished, the less proud I 
was of what we, with all our manhood, had done. 

You see, they had had no wars. They had had no kings, and no priests, and no aristocracies. They 
were sisters, and as they grew, they grew together; not by competition, but by united action. 

We tried to put in a good word for competition, and they were keenly inter sted. Indeed we soon 
found, from their earnest questions of us, that they were prepared to believe our world must be better than 
theirs. They were not sure; they wanted to know; but there was no such arrogance about them as might 
have been expected. 

We rather spread ourselves, telling of the advantages of competition; how it developed fine 
qualities; that without it there would be “no stimulus to indus try.” Terry was very strong on that point. 

“No stimulus to industry,” they repeated, with that puzzled look we had learned to know so well. 
“Stimulus? To Industry? But don’t you like to work?” 

“No man would work unless he had to,” Terry declared. 
“Oh, no man! You mean that is one of your sex distinctions?” 
“No, indeed!” he said hastily. “No one, I mean, man or woman, would work 

without incentive. Competition is the—the motor power, you see.” 
“It is not with us,” they explained gently, “so it is hard for us to understand. Do you mean, for instance, 
that with you no mother would work for her children without the stimulus of competition?” 

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No, he admitted that he did not mean that. Mothers, he supposed, would of course work for their 
children in the home; but the world’s work was different—that had to be done by men, and required the 
competitive element. 

All our teachers were eagerly interested. 

“We want so much to know—you have the whole world to tell us of, and we have only our little 
land! And there are two of you—the two sexes—to love and help one another. It must be a rich and 
wonderful world. Tell us—what is the work of the world,—that men do—which we have not here?” 

“Oh, everything,” Terry said, grandly. “The men do everything, with us.” He squared his broad 
shoulders and lifted his chest. “We do not allow our women to work. Women are loved—idolized— 
honored—kept in the home to care for the children.” 

“What is ‘the home’?” asked Somel a little wistfully. 
But Zava begged: “Tell me first, do no women work, really?” “Why, yes,” Terry admitted. “Some have to, 
of the poorer sort.” “About how many—in your country?” 
“About seven or eight million,” said Jeff, as mischievous as ever. 

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LU JU-CHEN, “IN THE COUNTRY OF WOMEN”30 


Introduction 

The Qing dynasty is known for authors specializing in tales of ghosts and fantasies. Li Ju-chen (ca. 1763-ca. 1830) is 
representative of this fantasy genre. In Flowers in the Mirror (Jing hua yüan), the hero, Lin Zhiyang (Lin Chih-yang), 
travels to many strange lands. In the excerpt below, Lin finds himself in the “Land of Women.” The palace maids of the 
country of women have captured Lin and are preparing him to become a male “concubine” for their female ruler. He is, 
accordingly, bathed, dressed in skirts, his face powdered, lips reddened, his arms decorated with bangles and his fingers with 
rings. He has just had his ears pierced by a formidable white-bearded palace maiden when the procedure described in the 
excerpt below takes place. 

The palace maidens were all immensely strong, and seized hold of Lin Chih-yang as a 
hawk seizes a sparrow — there was no question of his being the master. As soon as they had taken 
off his shoes and undressed him, fragrant water was brought for his bath. They changed his coat 
and trousers for a tunic and skirt, and for the time being put socks of thin silk on his dainty great 
feet. They combed his hair into plaits, pinning it with phoenix pins, and rubbed in scented oils. 
They powdered his face and smeared his lips with bright red lipstick. They put rings on his hands 
and bangles on his wrists, and arranging the curtains of the bed invited him to take his seat upon it. 


Lin Chih-yang felt as though he were dreaming or drunk, and could only sit there in 
misery. Closely questioning the palace maidens, he discovered for the first time that the ruler of the 
country had chosen him to be a royal concubine, and that he was to enter the palace as soon as an 
auspicious date had been picked. 

As he was reflecting on this alarming news, more palace maidens came in. These were of 
middle age, all tall and strong, and with jowls covered in hair. One of the maidens, who had a white 
beard and held in her hand a needle and thread, advanced before the bed and there knelt and said, 
“Gracious lady, with your permission, I have been ordered to pierce your ears.” Already four 

maidens had come forward and were gripping him firmly. The white-bearded maiden approached 
and took hold first of his right ear. She rolled a few times between her fingers the lobe where the 

needle was to go, and then straight away drove the needle through. Lin Chih-yang shrieked out, 
“The pain’s killing me,” and would have fallen over backwards had the maidens not been 
supporting him. She then got hold of his left ear, rolled it a few times and stuck the needle 

through. The pain brought continuous shouts and cries from Lin Chih- yang. Both ears pierced,

30 From Flowers in the Mirror. From Anthology of Chinese Literature, Volume II: From the Fourteenth Century to the 
Present Day, edited by Cyril Birch (New York: Grove Press, 1972), 187-189. © 1972 Grove Press. Asia for Educators: 

http://afe.easia.columbia.edu 

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white lead was smeared on them and rubbed in, after which a pair of golden earrings of the “eight 
jewel” design was fixed to them. 

When the white-bearded maiden had finished her task she withdrew, and another maiden, 
this time with a black beard, came up. This one had in her hand a roll of thin white silk. Kneeling 
before the bed, she said, “Gracious lady, with your permission, I have been ordered to bind your 
feet.” Two more maidens approached, and kneeling on the floor to support his dainty feet 

proceeded to take off the silk socks. The black-bearded maiden seated herself on a low stool. 
Tearing off a strip of silk, she first set Lin Chih-yang’s right foot on her lap and sprinkled alum 
between the joints of the toes. Then she drew all five toes tightly together and, forcibly bending the 
whole foot over till it took on the shape of a drawn bow, swiftly bound it up with the white silk. 
When she had wound the silk round a few times, another of the palace maidens brought a needle 
and thread and began to sew up the ends tight, and so they continued, one binding while the other 
sewed. 

With the four palace maidens pressing closely against him and the two others holding on to 
his feet, Lin Chih-yang could not move an inch. When the bindings were in place he felt his feet 
burning like a charcoal brazier. Wave upon wave of aching swept over him, and soon sharp pains 
began to shoot and forced out a loud cry: “I am dying in a fiery pit!” 


Having finished binding his feet, the maidens hurriedly made a pair of large red slippers 
with soft soles and put them on for him. Lin Chih-yang’s tears flowed for a long time. His 
thoughts flew back and forth, but he could think of no plan, all he could do was entreat the palace 
maidens: “My brothers, I beseech you, put in a word for me before your ruler: I am a married man, 
I have a wife, how can I become a concubine? And these big feet of mine are like a wandering 
student who has spent years without presenting himself for examination and has grown 
accustomed to a life of abandon — how can they bear restriction? I beg you, let me go, and then 
my wife as well will be filled with gratitude.” 


But the maidens replied, “Our ruler has just now given us the order to bind your feet and 
then invite you into the palace. Who then would dare to raise her voice in protest?” 


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W.E.B. DuBois, “The Strivings of the Negro People”31 
Between me and the other world there is ever an unasked question: unasked by some through feelings of 
delicacy; by others through the difficulty of rightly framing it. All, nevertheless, flutter round it. They 
approach me in a half-hesitant sort of way, eye me curiously or compassionately, and then, instead of 
saying directly, How does it feel to be a problem? they say, I know an excellent colored man in my town; or 
I fought at Mechanicsville; or, Do not these Southern outrages make your blood boil? At these I smile, or 
am interested, or reduce the boiling to a simmer, as the occasion may require. To the real question, How 
does it feel to be a problem? I answer seldom a word. 
And yet, being a problem is a strange experience,—peculiar even for one who has never been anything else, 
save perhaps in babyhood and in Europe. It is in the early days of rollicking boyhood that the revelation 
first burst upon one, all in a day, as it were. I remember well when the shadow swept across me. I was a 
little thing, away up in the hills of New England, where the dark Housatonic winds between Hoosac and 
Taghanic to the sea. In a wee wooden schoolhouse, something put it into the boys' and girls' heads to buy 
gorgeous visiting-cards—ten cents a package—and exchange. The exchange was merry, till one girl, a tall 
newcomer, refused my card,—refused it peremptorily, with a glance. Then it dawned upon me with a 
certain suddenness that I was different from the others; or like, mayhap, in heart and life and longing, but 
shut out from their world by a vast veil. I had thereafter no desire to tear down that veil, to creep through; 
I held all beyond it in common contempt, and lived above it in a region of blue sky and great wandering 
shadows. That sky was bluest when I could beat my mates at examination-time, or beat them at a foot-race, 
or even beat their stringy heads. Alas, with the years all this fine contempt began to fade; for the world I 
longed for, and all its dazzling opportunities, were theirs, not mine. But they should not keep these prizes, I 
said; some, all, I would wrest from them. Just how I would do it I could never decide: by reading law, by 
healing the sick, by telling the wonderful tales that swam in my head,—some way. With other black boys 
the strife was not so fiercely sunny: their youth shrunk into tasteless sycophancy, or into silent hatred of 
the pale world about them and mocking distrust of everything white; or wasted itself in a bitter cry, Why 
did God make me an outcast and a stranger in mine own house? The "shades of the prison-house" closed 
round about us all: walls strait and stubborn to the whitest, but relentlessly narrow, tall, and unscalable to 
sons of night who must plod darkly against the stone, or steadily, half hopelessly watch the streak of blue 
above. 
After the Egyptian and Indian, the Greek and Roman, the Teuton and Mongolian, the Negro is a sort of 
seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world,—a world which yields 
him no self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world. It is a 
peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one's self through the eyes of 
others, of measuring one's soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One 
feels his two-ness,—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two 
warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder. The 
history of the American Negro is the history of this strife,—this longing to attain self-conscious manhood, 
to merge his double self into a better and truer self. In this merging he wishes neither of the older selves to 
be lost. He does not wish to Africanize America, for America has too much to teach the world and Africa; 
he does not with to bleach his Negro blood in a flood of white Americanism, for he believes—foolishly, 
perhaps, but fervently—that Negro blood has yet a message for the world. He simply wishes to make it 
possible for a man to be both a Negro and an American without being cursed and spit upon by his fellows, 
without losing the opportunity of self-development. 

This is the end of his striving: to be a co-worker in the kingdom of culture, to escape both death and 
isolation, and to husband and use his best powers. These powers, of body and of mind, have in the past 

31 The Atlantic, August 1897. http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/1897/08/strivings-of-the-negro-people/305446/ 
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been so wasted and dispersed as to lose all effectiveness, and to seem like absence of all power, like 
weakness. The double-aimed struggle of the black artisan, on the one hand to escape white contempt for a 
nation of mere hewers of wood and drawers of water, and on the other hand to plough and nail and dig 
for a poverty-stricken horde, could only result in making him a poor craftsman, for he had but half a heart 
in either cause. By the poverty and ignorance of his people the Negro lawyer or doctor was pushed toward 
quackery and demagogism, and by the criticism of the other world toward an elaborate preparation that 
overfitted him for his lowly tasks. The would-be black-savant was confronted by the paradox that the 
knowledge his people needed was a twice-told tale to his white neighbors, while the knowledge which 
would teach the white world was Greek to his own flesh and blood. The innate love of harmony and 
beauty that set the ruder souls of his people a-dancing, a-singing, and a-laughing raised but confusion and 
doubt in the soul of the black artist; for the beauty revealed to him was the soul-beauty of a race which his 

larger audience despised, and he could not articulate the message of another people.This waste of 

double aims, this seeking to satisfy two unreconciled ideals, has 
wrought sad havoc with the courage and faith and deeds of eight 
thousand people, has sent them often wooing false gods and invoking 
false means of salvation, and has even at times seemed destined to 
make them ashamed of themselves. In the days of bondage they 
thought to see in one divine event the end of all doubt and 
disappointment; eighteenth-century Rousseauism never worshiped 
freedom with half the unquestioning faith that the American Negro 
did for two centuries. To him slavery was, indeed, the sum of all 
villainies, the cause of all sorrow, the root of all prejudice; 
emancipation was the key to a promised land of sweeter beauty than 
ever stretched before the eyes of wearied Israelites. In his songs and 
exhortations swelled one refrain, liberty; in his tears and curses the god 
he implored had freedom in his right hand. At last it came,—suddenly, 
fearfully, like a dream. With one wild carnival of blood and passion 
came the message in his own plaintive cadences: — 

Shout, O children! 

Shout, you're free! 

The Lord has bought your liberty! 
Years have passed away, ten, twenty, thirty. Thirty years of national life, 
thirty years of renewal and development, and yet the swarthy ghost of 
Banquo sits in its old place at the national feast. In vain does the nation 
cry to its vastest problem, — 

Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 

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Shall never tremble! 
The freedman has not yet found in freedom his promised land. 
Whatever of lesser good may have come in these years of change, the 
shadow of a deep disappointment rests upon the Negro people,—a 
disappointment all the more bitter because the unattained ideal was 
unbounded save by the simple ignorance of a lowly folk. 

The first decade was merely a prolongation of the vain search for 
freedom, the boon that seemed ever barely to elude their grasp,—like a 
tantalizing will-o'-the wisp, maddening and misleading the headless 
host. The holocaust of war, the terrors of the Kuklux Klan, the lies of 
carpet-baggers, the disorganization of industry, and the contradictory 
advice of friends and foes left the bewildered serf with no new 
watchword beyond the old cry for freedom. As the decade closed, 
however, he began to grasp a new idea. The ideal of liberty demanded 
for its attainment powerful means, and these the Fifteenth Amendment 
gave him. The ballot, which before he had looked upon as a visible sign 
of freedom, he now regarded as the chief means of gaining and 
perfecting the liberty with which war had partially endowed him. And 
why not? Had not votes made war and emancipated millions? Had not 
votes enfranchised the freedmen? Was anything impossible to a power 
that had done all this? A million black men started with renewed zeal to 
vote themselves into the kingdom. The decade fled away,—a decade 
containing, to the freedman's mind, nothing but suppressed votes, 
stuffed ballot-boxes, and election outrages that nullified his vaunted 
right of suffrage. And yet that decade from 1875 to 1885 held another 
powerful movement, the rise of another ideal to guide the unguided, 
another pillar of fire by night after a clouded day. It was the ideal of 
"book-learning;" the curiosity, born of compulsory ignorance, to know 
and test the power of the cabalistic letters of the white man, the 
longing to know. Mission and night schools began in the smoke of 
battle, ran the gauntlet of reconstruction and at last developed into 

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permanent foundations. Here at last seemed to have been discovered 
the mountain path to Canaan; longer than the highway of 
emancipation and law, steep and rugged, but straight, leading to heights 
high enough to overlook life. 

Up the new path the advance guard toiled, slowly, heavily, doggedly; 
only those who have watched and guided the faltering feet, the misty 
minds, the dull understandings, of the dark pupils of these schools 
know how faithfully, how piteously, this people strove to learn. It was 
weary work. The cold statistician wrote down the inches of progress 
here and there, noted also where here and there a foot had slipped or 
some one had fallen. To the tired climbers, the horizon was ever dark, 
the mists were often cold, the Canaan was always dim and far away. If, 
however, the vistas disclosed as yet no goal, no resting-place, little but 
flattery and criticism, the journey at least gave leisure for reflection and 
self-examination; it changed the child of emancipation to the youth 
with dawning self-consciousness, self-realization, self-respect. In those 
sombre forests of his striving his own soul rose before him, and he saw 
himself,—darkly as through a veil; and yet he saw in himself some faint 
revelation of his power, of his mission. He began to have a dim feeling 
that, to attain his place in the world, he must be himself, and not 
another. For the first time he sought to analyze the burden he bore 
upon his back, that dead-weight of social degradation partially masked 
behind a half-named Negro problem. he felt his poverty; without a 
cent, without a home, without land, tools, or savings, he had entered 
into competition with rich landed, skilled neighbors. To be a poor man 
is hard, but to be a poor race in a land of dollars is the very bottom of 
hardships. He felt the weight of his ignorance,—not simply of letters, 
but of life, of business, of the humanities; the accumulated sloth and 
shirking and awkwardness of decades and centuries shackled his hands 
and feet. Nor was his burden all poverty and ignorance. The red stain 
of bastardy, which two centuries of systematic legal defilement of 

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Negro women had stamped upon his race, meant not only the loss of 
ancient African chastity, but also the hereditary weight of a mass of 
filth from white whoremongers and adulterers, threatening almost the 
obliteration of the Negro home. 

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MARTIN LUTHER KING, “LETTER FROM A BIRMINGHAM JAIL” (APR. 16, 


1963)32 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This response to a published statement by eight fellow clergymen from Alabama (Bishop C. 

C. J. Carpenter, Bishop Joseph A. Durick, Rabbi Hilton L. Grafman, Bishop Paul Hardin, Bishop Holan B. Harmon, 
the Reverend George M. Murray. the Reverend Edward V. Ramage and the Reverend Earl Stallings) was composed under 
somewhat constricting circumstance. Begun on the margins of the newspaper in which the statement appeared while I was in 
jail, the letter was continued on scraps of writing paper supplied by a friendly Negro trusty, and concluded on a pad my 
attorneys were eventually permitted to. leave me. Although the text remains in substance unaltered, I have indulged in the 
author's prerogative of polishing it for publication. 
MY DEAR FELLOW CLERGYMEN: 

While confined here in the Birmingham city jail, I came across your recent statement calling my 
present activities "unwise and untimely." Seldom do I pause to answer criticism of my work and ideas. If I 
sought to answer all the criticisms that cross my desk, my secretaries would have little time for anything 
other than such correspondence in the course of the day, and I would have no time for constructive work. 
But since I feel that you are men of genuine good will and that your criticisms are sincerely set forth, I 
want to try to answer your statements in what I hope will be patient and reasonable terms. 

I think I should indicate why I am here In Birmingham, since you have been influenced by the view 
which argues against "outsiders coming in." I have the honor of serving as president of the Southern 
Christian Leadership Conference, an organization operating in every southern state, with headquarters in 
Atlanta, Georgia. We have some eighty-five affiliated organizations across the South, and one of them is 
the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights. Frequently we share staff, educational and financial 
resources with our affiliates. Several months ago the affiliate here in Birmingham asked us to be on call to 
engage in a nonviolent direct-action program if such were deemed necessary. We readily consented, and 
when the hour came we lived up to our promise. So I, along with several members of my staff, am here 
because I was invited here I am here because I have organizational ties here. 

But more basically, I am in Birmingham because injustice is here. Just as the prophets of the eighth 
century B.C. left their villages and carried their "thus saith the Lord" far beyond the boundaries of their 
home towns, and just as the Apostle Paul left his village of Tarsus and carried the gospel of Jesus Christ to 
the far corners of the Greco-Roman world, so am I. compelled to carry the gospel of freedom beyond my 
own home town. Like Paul, I must constantly respond to the Macedonian call for aid. 

32 http://history.hanover.edu/courses/excerpts/111mlk.html 
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Moreover, I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by 
in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to 
justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of 
destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the 
narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be 
considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds. 

You deplore the demonstrations taking place In Brimingham. But your statement, I am sorry to say, 
fails to express a similar concern for the conditions that brought about the demonstrations. I am sure that 
none of you would want to rest content with the superficial kind of social analysis that deals merely with 
effects and does not grapple with underlying causes. It is unfortunate that demonstrations are taking place 
in Birmingham, but it is even more unfortunate that the city's white power structure left the Negro 
community with no alternative. 

In any nonviolent campaign there are four basic steps: collection of the facts to determine whether 
injustices exist; negotiation; self-purification; and direct action. We have gone through an these steps in 
Birmingham. There can be no gainsaying the fact that racial injustice engulfs this community. Birmingham 
is probably the most thoroughly segregated city in the United States. Its ugly record of brutality is widely 
known. Negroes have experienced grossly unjust treatment in the courts. There have been more unsolved 
bombings of Negro homes and churches in Birmingham than in any other city in the nation. These are the 
hard, brutal facts of the case. On the basis of these conditions, Negro .leaders sought to negotiate with the 
city fathers. But the latter consistently refused to engage in good-faith negotiation. 

Then, last September, came the opportunity to talk with leaders of Birmingham's economic 
community. In the course of the negotiations, certain promises were made by the merchants --- for 
example, to remove the stores humiliating racial signs. On the basis of these promises, the Reverend Fred 
Shuttlesworth and the leaders of the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights agreed to a 
moratorium on all demonstrations. As the weeks and months went by, we realized that we were the victims 
of a broken promise. A few signs, briefly removed, returned; the others remained. 

As in so many past experiences, our hopes bad been blasted, and the shadow of deep 
disappointment settled upon us. We had no alternative except to prepare for direct action, whereby we 
would present our very bodies as a means of laying our case before the conscience of the local and the 
national community. Mindful of the difficulties involved, we decided to undertake a process of self-
purification. We began a series of workshops on nonviolence, and we repeatedly asked ourselves : "Are you 
able to accept blows without retaliating?" "Are you able to endure the ordeal of jail?" We decided to 
schedule our direct-action program for the Easter season, realizing that except for Christmas, this is the 
main shopping period of the year. Knowing that a strong economic with with-drawal program would be 

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the by-product of direct action, we felt that this would be the best time to bring pressure to bear on the 
merchants for the needed change. 

Then it occurred to us that Birmingham's mayoralty election was coming up in March, and we 
speedily decided to postpone action until after election day. When we discovered that the Commissioner of 
Public Safety, Eugene "Bull" Connor, had piled up enough votes to be in the run-oat we decided again to 
postpone action until the day after the run-off so that the demonstrations could not be used to cloud the 
issues. Like many others, we waited to see Mr. Connor defeated, and to this end we endured postponement 
after postponement. Having aided in this community need, we felt that our direct-action program could be 
delayed no longer. 

You may well ask: "Why direct action? Why sit-ins, marches and so forth? Isn't negotiation a better 
path?" You are quite right in calling, for negotiation. Indeed, this is the very purpose of direct action. 
Nonviolent direct action seeks to create such a crisis and foster such a tension that a community which has 
constantly refused to negotiate is forced to confront the issue. It seeks so to dramatize the issue that it can 
no longer be ignored. My citing the creation of tension as part of the work of the nonviolent-resister may 
sound rather shocking. But I must confess that I am not afraid of the word "tension." I have earnestly 
opposed violent tension, but there is a type of constructive, nonviolent tension which is necessary for 
growth. Just as Socrates felt that it was necessary to create a tension in the mind so that individuals could 
rise from the bondage of myths and half-truths to the unfettered realm of creative analysis and objective 
appraisal, we must we see the need for nonviolent gadflies to create the kind of tension in society that will 
help men rise from the dark depths of prejudice and racism to the majestic heights of understanding and 
brotherhood. 

The purpose of our direct-action program is to create a situation so crisis-packed that it will 
inevitably open the door to negotiation. I therefore concur with you in your call for negotiation. Too long 
has our beloved Southland been bogged down in a tragic effort to live in monologue rather than dialogue. 

One of the basic points in your statement is that the action that I and my associates have taken .in 
Birmingham is untimely. Some have asked: "Why didn't you give the new city administration time to act?" 
The only answer that I can give to this query is that the new Birmingham administration must be prodded 
about as much as the outgoing one, before it will act. We are sadly mistaken if we feel that the election of 
Albert Boutwell as mayor. will bring the millennium to Birmingham. While Mr. Boutwell is a much more 
gentle person than Mr. Connor, they are both segregationists, dedicated to maintenance of the status quo. I 
have hope that Mr. Boutwell will be reasonable enough to see the futility of massive resistance to 
desegregation. But he will not see this without pressure from devotees of civil rights. My friends, I must 
say to you that we have not made a single gain civil rights without determined legal and nonviolent 
pressure. Lamentably, it is an historical fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges 

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voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntarily give up their unjust posture; but, as 
Reinhold Niebuhr has reminded us, groups tend to be more immoral than individuals. 

We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it 
must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct-action campaign that was 
"well timed" in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years 
now I have heard the word "Wait!" It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This "Wait" 
has almost always meant 'Never." We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that "justice 
too long delayed is justice denied." 

We have waited .for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God-given rights. The nations 
of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining political independence, but we stiff creep 
at horse-and-buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those 
who have never felt the stinging dark of segregation to say, "Wait." But when you have seen vicious mobs 
lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen 
hate-filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast 
majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of 
an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek 
to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been 
advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to 
colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see 
her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; 
when you have to concoct an answer for a five-year-old son who is asking: "Daddy, why do white people 
treat colored people so mean?"; when you take a cross-county drive and find it necessary to sleep night 
after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you 
are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "colored"; when your first name 
becomes "nigger," your middle name becomes "boy" (however old you are) and your last name becomes 
"John," and your wife and mother are never given the respected title "Mrs."; when you are harried by day 
and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite 
knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you no forever 
fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness" then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. 
There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged 
into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience. 

You express a great deal of anxiety over our willingness to break laws. This is certainly a legitimate 
concern. Since we so diligently urge people to obey the Supreme Court's decision of 1954 outlawing 
segregation in the public schools, at first glance it may seem rather paradoxical for us consciously to break 
laws. One may won ask: "How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?" The answer lies 

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in the fact that there fire two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the Brat to advocate obeying just 
laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral 
responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that "an unjust law is no law at all" 

Now, what is the difference between the two? How does one determine whether a law is just or 
unjust? A just law is a man-made code that squares with the moral law or the law of God. An unjust law is 
a code that is out of harmony with the moral law. To put it in the terms of St. Thomas Aquinas: An unjust 
law is a human law that is not rooted in eternal .law and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality 
is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust. All segregation statutes are unjust because 
segregation distort the soul and damages the personality. It gives the segregator a false sense of superiority 
and the segregated a false sense of inferiority. Segregation, to use the terminology of the Jewish 
philosopher Martin Buber, substitutes an "I-it" relationship for an "I-thou" relationship and ends up 
relegating persons to the status of things. Hence segregation is not only politically, economically and 
sociologically unsound, it is morally wrong and awful. Paul Tillich said that sin is separation. Is not 
segregation an existential expression 'of man's tragic separation, his awful estrangement, his terrible 
sinfulness? Thus it is that I can urge men to obey the 1954 decision of the Supreme Court, for it is morally 
right; and I can urge them to disobey segregation ordinances, for they are morally wrong. 

Let us consider a more concrete example of just and unjust laws. An unjust law is a code that a 
numerical or power majority group compels a minority group to obey but does not make binding on itself. 
This is difference made legal. By the same token, a just law is a code that a majority compels a minority to 
follow and that it is willing to follow itself. This is sameness made legal. 

Let me give another explanation. A law is unjust if it is inflicted on a minority that, as a result of 
being denied the right to vote, had no part in enacting or devising the law. Who can say that the legislature 
of Alabama which set up that state's segregation laws was democratically elected? Throughout Alabama all 
sorts of devious methods are used to prevent Negroes from becoming registered voters, and there are 
some counties in which, even though Negroes constitute a majority of the population, not a single Negro 
is registered. Can any law enacted under such circumstances be considered democratically structured? 

Sometimes a law is just on its face and unjust in its application. For instance, I have been arrested 
on a charge of parading without a permit. Now, there is nothing wrong in having an ordinance which 
requires a permit for a parade. But such an ordinance becomes unjust when it is used to maintain 
segregation and to deny citizens the First Amendment privilege of peaceful assembly and protest. 

I hope you are able to ace the distinction I am trying to point out. In no sense do I advocate 
evading or defying the law, as would the rabid segregationist. That would lead to anarchy. One who breaks 
an unjust law must do so openly, lovingly, and with a willingness to accept the penalty. I submit that an 
individual who breaks a law that conscience tells him is unjust and who willingly accepts the penalty of 

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imprisonment in order to arouse the conscience of the community over its injustice, is in reality expressing 
the highest respect for law. 

Of course, there is nothing new about this kind of civil disobedience. It was evidenced sublimely in 
the refusal of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego to obey the laws of Nebuchadnezzar, on the ground that 
a higher moral law was at stake. It was practiced superbly by the early Christians, who were willing to face 
hungry lions and the excruciating pain of chopping blocks rather than submit to certain unjust laws of the 
Roman Empire. To a degree, academic freedom is a reality today because Socrates practiced civil 
disobedience. In our own nation, the Boston Tea Party represented a massive act of civil disobedience. 

We should never forget that everything Adolf Hitler did in Germany was "legal" and everything the 
Hungarian freedom fighters did in Hungary was "illegal." It was "illegal" to aid and comfort a Jew in 
Hitler's Germany. Even so, I am sure that, had I lived in Germany at the time, I would have aided and 
comforted my Jewish brothers. If today I lived in a Communist country where certain principles dear to 
the Christian faith are suppressed, I would openly advocate disobeying that country's antireligious laws. 

I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess 
that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost 
reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is 
not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted 
to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace 
which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot 
agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for 
another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to 
wait for a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating 
than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering 
than outright rejection. . . . 

You speak of our activity in Birmingham as extreme. At fist I was rather disappointed that fellow 
clergymen would see my nonviolent efforts as those of an extremist. I began thinking about the fact that 
stand in the middle of two opposing forces in the Negro community. One is a force of complacency, made 
up in part of Negroes who, as a result of long years of oppression, are so drained of self-respect and a 
sense of "somebodiness" that they have adjusted to segregation; and in part of a few middle class Negroes 
who, because of a degree of academic and economic security and because in some ways they profit by 
segregation, have become insensitive to the problems of the masses. The other force is one of bitterness 
and hatred, and it comes perilously close to advocating violence. It is expressed in the various black 
nationalist groups that are springing up across the nation, the largest and best-known being Elijah 
Muhammad's Muslim movement. Nourished by the Negro's frustration over the continued existence of 

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racial discrimination, this movement is made up of people who have lost faith in America, who have 
absolutely repudiated Christianity, and who have concluded that the white man is an incorrigible "devil." 

I have tried to stand between these two forces, saying that we need emulate neither the "donothingism" 
of the complacent nor the hatred and despair of the black nationalist. For there is the more 
excellent way of love and nonviolent protest. I am grateful to God that, through the influence of the 
Negro church, the way of nonviolence became an integral part of our struggle. 

If this philosophy had not emerged, by now many streets of the South would, I am convinced, be 
flowing with blood. And I am further convinced that if our white brothers dismiss as "rabble-rousers" and 
"outside agitators" those of us who employ nonviolent direct action, and if they refuse to support our 
nonviolent efforts, millions of Negroes will, out of frustration and despair, seek solace and security in 
black-nationalist ideologies a development that would inevitably lead to a frightening racial nightmare. 

Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The yearning for freedom eventually 
manifests itself, and that is what has happened to the American Negro. Something within has reminded 
him of his birthright of freedom, and something without has reminded him that it can be gained. 
Consciously or. unconsciously, he has been caught up by the Zeitgeist, and with his black brothers of 
Africa and his brown and yellow brothers of Asia, South America and the Caribbean, the United States 
Negro is moving with a sense of great urgency toward the promised land of racial justice. If one 
recognizes this vital urge that has engulfed the Negro community, one should readily understand why 
public demonstrations are taking place. The Negro has many pent-up resentments and latent frustrations, 
and he must release them. So let him march; let him make prayer pilgrimages to the city hall; let him go on 
freedom rides-and try to understand why he must do so. If his repressed emotions are not released in 
nonviolent ways, they will seek expression through violence; this is not a threat but a fact of history. So I 
have not said to my people: "Get rid of your discontent." Rather, I have tried to say that this normal and 
healthy discontent can be channeled into the creative outlet of nonviolent direct action. And now this 
approach is being termed extremist. 

But though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as an extremist, as I continued to think 
about the matter I gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label. Was not Jesus an extremist for 
love: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them 
which despitefully use you, and persecute you." Was not Amos an extremist for justice: "Let justice roll 
down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. . . ." Never before have I written so long a 
letter. I'm afraid it is much too long to take your precious time. I can assure you that it would have been 
much shorter if I had been writing from a comfortable desk, but what else can one do when he k alone in 
a narrow jail cell, other than write long letters, think long thoughts and pray long prayers? 

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If I have said anything in this letter that overstates the truth and indicates an unreasonable 
impatience, I beg you to forgive me. If I have said anything that understates the truth and indicates my 
having a patience that allows me to settle for anything less than brotherhood, I beg God to forgive me. 

I hope this letter finds you strong in the faith. I also hope that circumstances will soon make it 
possible for me to meet each of you, not as an integrationist or a civil rights leader but as a fellow 
clergyman and a Christian brother. Let us. all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass 
away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear-drenched communities, and in 
some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation 
with all their scintillating beauty. 

Yours for the cause of Peace and Brotherhood, 

Martin Luther King, Jr. 

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MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. “I HAVE A DREAM” SPEECH” (AUG 28, 1963) 

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for 
freedom in the history of our nation. 

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the 
Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of 
Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end 
the long night of captivity. 

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the 
Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred 
years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. 
One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself 
in exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an shameful condition. 

In a sense we've come to our nation's Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic 
wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a 
promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. 

This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the 
unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. 

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of 
color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad 
check; a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." 

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are 
insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check- a 
check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. 

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is 
no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. 

Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark 
and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation 
from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a 
reality for all of God's children. 

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer 
of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and 
equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to 
blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as 

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usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. 
The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of 
justice emerges. 

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads 
into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful 
deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. 
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our 
creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights 
of meeting physical force with soul force. 

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a 
distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, 
have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their 
freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone. 

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There 
are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" 

We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police 
brutality. 

We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain 
lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. 

We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. 

We can never be satisfied as long as our chlidren are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their 
dignity by signs stating "for whites only." 

We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York 
believes he has nothing for which to vote. 

No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and 
righteousness like a mighty stream. 

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of 
you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for 
freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You 
have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is 
redemptive. 

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go 
back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this 
situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. 

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I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still 
have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. 

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We 
hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal." 

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of 
former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. 

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of 
injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. 

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged 
by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. 

I have a dream today. 

I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his 
lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, that one day right down in Alabama little 
black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and 
brothers. 

I have a dream today. 

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exhalted, every hill and mountain shall be made 
low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the 
Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. 

This is our hope. This is the faith that I will go back to the South with. With this faith we will be 
able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform 
the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. 

With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail 
together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. 

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning, "My country 
'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrims' pride, 
from every mountainside, let freedom ring." 

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the 
prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let 
freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. 

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the 
curvaceous slopes of California. But not only that; let freedom ring from the Stone Mountain of Georgia. 
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. 

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let 
freedom ring. 

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And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village 
and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's 
children, black men and white men, Jews and gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands 
and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are 
free at last!" 

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