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diff --git a/3630-h/3630-h.htm b/3630-h/3630-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d0d43e --- /dev/null +++ b/3630-h/3630-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8344 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>What To Do?</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.headingsummary { margin-left: 5%;} + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">What To Do?, by Count Lyof N. Tolstoi</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, What To Do?, by Count Lyof N. Tolstoi, +Translated by Isabel F. Hapgood + + +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 +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: What To Do? + thoughts evoked by the census of Moscow + + +Author: Count Lyof N. Tolstoi + + + +Release Date: December 27, 2007 [eBook #3630] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT TO DO?*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1887 Tomas Y. Crowell edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>WHAT TO DO?<br /> +THOUGHTS EVOKED BY THE CENSUS<br /> +OF MOSCOW</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +COUNT LYOF N. TOLSTOÏ</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap"><i>translated +from the russian</i></span><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> ISABEL F. HAPGOOD</p> +<p style="text-align: center">NEW YORK<br /> +THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.<br /> +13 <span class="smcap">Astor Place</span><br /> +1887</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1887,<br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">electrotyped +and printed</span><br /> +BY RAND AVERY COMPANY,<br /> +<span class="smcap">boston</span>.</p> +<h2>TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.</h2> +<p>Books which are prohibited by the Russian Censor are not +always inaccessible. An enterprising publishing-house in +Geneva makes a specialty of supplying the natural craving of man +for forbidden fruit, under which heading some of Count L. N. +Tolstoi’s essays belong. These essays circulate in +Russia in manuscript; and it is from one of these manuscripts, +which fell into the hands of the Geneva firm, that the first half +of the present translation has been made. It is thus that +the Censor’s omissions have been noted, even in cases where +such omissions are in no way indicated in the twelfth volume of +Count Tolstoi’s collected works, published in Moscow. +As an interesting detail in this connection, I may mention that +this twelfth volume contains all that the censor allows of +“My Religion,” amounting to a very much abridged +scrap of Chapter X. in the last-named volume as known to the +public outside of Russia. The last half of the present book +has not been published by the Geneva house, and omissions cannot +be marked.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">ISABEL F. HAPGOOD</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Boston</span>, Sept. 1, 1887</p> +<h2>ARTICLE ON THE CENSUS IN MOSCOW. [1882.]</h2> +<p>The object of a census is scientific. A census is a +sociological investigation. And the object of the science +of sociology is the happiness of the people. This science +and its methods differ sharply from all other sciences.</p> +<p>Its peculiarity lies in this, that sociological investigations +are not conducted by learned men in their cabinets, observatories +and laboratories, but by two thousand people from the +community. A second peculiarity is this, that the +investigations of other sciences are not conducted on living +people, but here living people are the subjects. A third +peculiarity is, that the aim of every other science is simply +knowledge, while here it is the good of the people. One man +may investigate a nebula, but for the investigation of Moscow, +two thousand persons are necessary. The object of the study +of nebulæ is merely that we may know about nebulæ; +the object of the study of inhabitants is that sociological laws +may be deduced, and that, on the foundation of these laws, a +better life for the people may be established. It makes no +difference to the nebula whether it is studied or not, and it has +waited long, and is ready to wait a great while longer; but it is +not a matter of indifference to the inhabitants of Moscow, +especially to those unfortunates who constitute the most +interesting subjects of the science of sociology.</p> +<p>The census-taker enters a night lodging-house; in the basement +he finds a man dying of hunger, and he politely inquires his +profession, his name, his native place, the character of his +occupation, and after a little hesitation as to whether he is to +be entered in the list as alive, he writes him in and goes his +way.</p> +<p>And thus will the two thousand young men proceed. This +is not as it should be.</p> +<p>Science does its work, and the community, summoned in the +persons of these two thousand young men to aid science, must do +its work. A statistician drawing his deductions from +figures may feel indifferent towards people, but we +census-takers, who see these people and who have no scientific +prepossessions, cannot conduct ourselves towards them in an +inhuman manner. Science fulfils its task, and its work is +for its objects and in the distant future, both useful and +necessary to us. For men of science, we can calmly say, +that in 1882 there were so many beggars, so many prostitutes, and +so many uncared-for children. Science may say this with +composure and with pride, because it knows that the confirmation +of this fact conduces to the elucidation of the laws of +sociology, and that the elucidation of the laws of sociology +leads to a better constitution of society. But what if we, +the unscientific people, say: “You are perishing in vice, +you are dying of hunger, you are pining away, and killing each +other; so do not grieve about this; when you shall have all +perished, and hundreds of thousands more like you, then, +possibly, science may be able to arrange everything in an +excellent manner.” For men of science, the census has +its interest; and for us also, it possesses an interest of a +wholly different significance. The interest and +significance of the census for the community lie in this, that it +furnishes it with a mirror into which, willy nilly, the whole +community, and each one of us, gaze.</p> +<p>The figures and deductions will be the mirror. It is +possible to refrain from reading them, as it is possible to turn +away from the looking-glass. It is possible to glance +cursorily at both figures and mirror, and it is also possible to +scrutinize them narrowly. To go about in connection with +the census as thousands of people are now about to do, is to +scrutinize one’s self closely in the mirror.</p> +<p>What does this census, that is about to be made, mean for us +people of Moscow, who are not men of science? It means two +things. In the first place, this, that we may learn with +certainty, that among us tens of thousands who live in ease, +there dwell tens of thousands of people who lack bread, clothing +and shelter; in the second place, this, that our brothers and +sons will go and view this and will calmly set down according to +the schedules, how many have died of hunger and cold.</p> +<p>And both these things are very bad.</p> +<p>All cry out upon the instability of our social organization, +about the exceptional situation, about revolutionary +tendencies. Where lies the root of all this? To what +do the revolutionists point? To poverty, to inequality in +the distribution of wealth. To what do the conservatives +point? To the decline in moral principle. If the +opinion of the revolutionists is correct, what must be +done? Poverty and the inequality of wealth must be +lessened. How is this to be effected? The rich must +share with the poor. If the opinion of the conservatives is +correct, that the whole evil arises from the decline in moral +principle, what can be more immoral and vicious than the +consciously indifferent survey of popular sufferings, with the +sole object of cataloguing them? What must be done? +To the census we must add the work of affectionate intercourse of +the idle and cultivated rich, with the oppressed and +unenlightened poor.</p> +<p>Science will do its work, let us perform ours also. Let +us do this. In the first place, let all of us who are +occupied with the census, superintendents and census-takers, make +it perfectly clear to ourselves what we are to investigate and +why. It is the people, and the object is that they may be +happy. Whatever may be one’s view of life, every one +will agree that there is nothing more important than human life, +and that there is no more weighty task than to remove the +obstacles to the development of this life, and to assist it.</p> +<p>This idea, that the relations of men to poverty are at the +foundation of all popular suffering, is expressed in the Gospels +with striking harshness, but at the same time, with decision and +clearness for all.</p> +<p>“He who has clothed the naked, fed the hungry, visited +the prisoner, that man has clothed Me, fed Me, visited Me,” +that is, has done the deed for that which is the most important +thing in the world.</p> +<p>However a man may look upon things, every one knows that this +is more important than all else on earth.</p> +<p>And this must not be forgotten, and we must not permit any +other consideration to veil from us the most weighty fact of our +existence. Let us inscribe, and reckon, but let us not +forget that if we encounter a man who is hungry and without +clothes, it is of more moment to succor him than to make all +possible investigations, than to discover all possible +sciences. Perish the whole census if we may but feed an old +woman. The census will be longer and more difficult, but we +cannot pass by people in the poorer quarters and merely note them +down without taking any heed of them and without endeavoring, +according to the measure of our strength and moral sensitiveness, +to aid them. This in the first place. In the second, +this is what must be done: All of us, who are to take part in the +census, must refrain from irritation because we are annoyed; let +us understand that this census is very useful for us; that if +this is not cure, it is at least an effort to study the disease, +for which we should be thankful; that we must seize this +occasion, and, in connection with it, we must seek to recover our +health, in some small degree. Let all of us, then, who are +connected with the census, endeavor to take advantage of this +solitary opportunity in ten years to purify ourselves somewhat; +let us not strive against, but assist the census, and assist it +especially in this sense, that it may not have merely the harsh +character of the investigation of a hopelessly sick person, but +may have the character of healing and restoration to +health. For the occasion is unique: eighty energetic, +cultivated men, having under their orders two thousand young men +of the same stamp, are to make their way over the whole of +Moscow, and not leave a single man in Moscow with whom they have +not entered into personal relations. All the wounds of +society, the wounds of poverty, of vice, of ignorance—all +will be laid bare. Is there not something re-assuring in +this? The census-takers will go about Moscow, they will set +down in their lists, without distinction, those insolent with +prosperity, the satisfied, the calm, those who are on the way to +ruin, and those who are ruined, and the curtain will fall. +The census-takers, our sons and brothers, these young men will +behold all this. They will say: “Yes, our life is +very terrible and incurable,” and with this admission they +will live on like the rest of us, awaiting a remedy for the evil +from this or that extraneous force. But those who are +perishing will go on dying, in their ruin, and those on the road +to ruin will continue in their course. No, let us rather +grasp the idea that science has its task, and that we, on the +occasion of this census, have our task, and let us not allow the +curtain once lifted to be dropped, but let us profit by the +opportunity in order to remove the immense evil of the separation +existing between us and the poor, and to establish intercourse +and the work of redressing the evil of unhappiness and ignorance, +and our still greater misfortune,—the indifference and +aimlessness of our life.</p> +<p>I already hear the customary remark: “All this is very +fine, these are sounding phrases; but do you tell us what to do +and how to do it?” Before I say what is to be done, +it is indispensable that I should say what is not to be +done. It is indispensable, first of all, in my opinion, in +order that something practical may come of this activity, that no +society should be formed, that there should be no publicity, that +there should be no collection of money by balls, bazaars or +theatres; that there should be no announcement that Prince A. has +contributed one thousand rubles, and the honorable citizen B. +three thousand; that there shall be no collection, no calling to +account, no writing up,—most of all, no writing up, so that +there may not be the least shadow of any institution, either +governmental or philanthropic.</p> +<p>But in my opinion, this is what should be done instantly: +Firstly, All those who agree with me should go to the directors, +and ask for their shares the poorest sections, the poorest +dwellings; and in company with the census-takers, twenty-three, +twenty-four or twenty-five in number, they should go to these +quarters, enter into relations with the people who are in need of +assistance, and labor for them.</p> +<p>Secondly: We should direct the attention of the +superintendents and census-takers to the inhabitants in need of +assistance, and work for them personally, and point them out to +those who wish to work over them. But I am asked: What do +you mean by <i>working over them</i>? I reply; Doing good +to people. The words “doing good” are usually +understood to mean, giving money. But, in my opinion, doing +good and giving money are not only not the same thing, but two +different and generally opposite things. Money, in itself, +is evil. And therefore he who gives money gives evil. +This error of thinking that the giving of money means doing good, +arose from the fact, that generally, when a man does good, he +frees himself from evil, and from money among other evils. +And therefore, to give money is only a sign that a man is +beginning to rid himself of evil. To do good, signifies to +do that which is good for man. But, in order to know what +is good for man, it is necessary to be on humane, i.e., on +friendly terms with him. And therefore, in order to do +good, it is not money that is necessary, but, first of all, a +capacity for detaching ourselves, for a time at least, from the +conditions of our own life. It is necessary that we should +not be afraid to soil our boots and clothing, that we should not +fear lice and bedbugs, that we should not fear typhus fever, +diphtheria, and small-pox. It is necessary that we should +be in a condition to seat ourselves by the bunk of a +tatterdemalion and converse earnestly with him in such a manner, +that he may feel that the man who is talking with him respects +and loves him, and is not putting on airs and admiring +himself. And in order that this may be so, it is necessary +that a man should find the meaning of life outside himself. +This is what is requisite in order that good should be done, and +this is what it is difficult to find.</p> +<p>When the idea of assisting through the medium of the census +occurred to me, I discussed the matter with divers of the +wealthy, and I saw how glad the rich were of this opportunity of +decently getting rid of their money, that extraneous sin which +they cherish in their hearts. “Take three +hundred—five hundred rubles, if you like,” they said +to me, “but I cannot go into those dens +myself.” There was no lack of money. Remember +Zaccheus, the chief of the Publicans in the Gospel. +Remember how he, because he was small of stature, climbed into a +tree to see Christ, and how when Christ announced that he was +going to his house, having understood but one thing, that the +Master did not approve of riches, he leaped headlong from the +tree, ran home and arranged his feast. And how, as soon as +Christ entered, Zaccheus instantly declared that he gave the half +of his goods to the poor, and if he had wronged any man, to him +he would restore fourfold. And remember how all of us, when +we read the Gospel, set but little store on this Zaccheus, and +involuntarily look with scorn on this half of his goods, and +fourfold restitution. And our feeling is correct. +Zaccheus, according to his lights, performed a great deed. +He had not even begun to do good. He had only begun in some +small measure to purify himself from evil, and so Christ told +him.</p> +<p>He merely said to him: “To-day is salvation come nigh +unto this house.”</p> +<p>What if the Moscow Zaccheuses were to do the same that he +did? Assuredly, more than one milliard could be +collected. Well, and what of that? Nothing. +There would be still greater sin if we were to think of +distributing this money among the poor. Money is not +needed. What is needed is self-sacrificing action; what is +needed are people who would like to do good, not by giving +extraneous sin-money, but by giving their own labor, themselves, +their lives. Where are such people to be found? Here +they are, walking about Moscow. They are the student +enumerators. I have seen how they write out their +charts. The student writes in the night lodging-house, by +the bedside of a sick man. “What is your +disease?”—“Small-pox.” And the +student does not make a wry face, but proceeds with his +writing. And this he does for the sake of some doubtful +science. What would he do if he were doing it for the sake +of his own undoubted good and the good of others?</p> +<p>When children, in merry mood, feel a desire to laugh, they +never think of devising some reason for laughter, but they laugh +without any reason, because they are gay; and thus these charming +youths sacrifice themselves. They have not, as yet, +contrived to devise any means of sacrificing themselves, but they +devote their attention, their labor, their lives, in order to +write out a chart, from which something does or does not +appear. What would it be if this labor were something +really worth their while? There is and there always will be +labor of this sort, which is worthy of the devotion of a whole +life, whatever the man’s life may be. This labor is +the loving intercourse of man with man, and the breaking-down of +the barriers which men have erected between themselves, so that +the enjoyment of the rich man may not be disturbed by the wild +howls of the men who are reverting to beasts, and by the groans +of helpless hunger, cold and disease.</p> +<p>This census will place before the eyes of us well-to-do and +so-called cultivated people, all the poverty and oppression which +is lurking in every corner of Moscow. Two thousand of our +brothers, who stand on the highest rung of the ladder, will come +face to face with thousands of people who stand on the lowest +round of society. Let us not miss this opportunity of +communion. Let us, through these two thousand men, preserve +this communion, and let us make use of it to free ourselves from +the aimlessness and the deformity of our lives, and to free the +condemned from that indigence and misery which do not allow the +sensitive people in our ranks to enjoy our good fortune in +peace.</p> +<p>This is what I propose: (1) That all our directors and +enumerators should join to their business of the census a task of +assistance,—of work in the interest of the good of these +people, who, in our opinion, are in need of assistance, and with +whom we shall come in contact; (2) That all of us, directors and +enumerators, not by appointment of the committee of the City +Council, but by the appointment of our own hearts, shall remain +in our posts,—that is, in our relations to the inhabitants +of the town who are in need of assistance,—and that, at the +conclusion of the work of the census, we shall continue our work +of aid. If I have succeeded in any degree in expressing +what I feel, I am sure that the only impossibility will be +getting the directors and enumerators to abandon this, and that +others will present themselves in the places of those who leave; +(3) That we should collect all those inhabitants of Moscow, who +feel themselves fit to work for the needy, into sections, and +begin our activity now, in accordance with the hints of the +census-takers and directors, and afterwards carry it on; (4) That +all who, on account of age, weakness, or other causes, cannot +give their personal labor among the needy, shall intrust the task +to their young, strong, and willing relatives. (Good +consists not in the giving of money, it consists in the loving +intercourse of men. This alone is needed.)</p> +<p>Whatever may be the outcome of this, any thing will be better +than the present state of things.</p> +<p>Then let the final act of our enumerators and directors be to +distribute a hundred twenty-kopek pieces to those who have no +food; and this will be not a little, not so much because the +hungry will have food, but because the directors and enumerators +will conduct themselves in a humane manner towards a hundred poor +people. How are we to compute the possible results which +will accrue to the balance of public morality from the fact that, +instead of the sentiments of irritation, anger, and envy which we +arouse by reckoning the hungry, we shall awaken in a hundred +instances a sentiment of good, which will be communicated to a +second and a third, and an endless wave which will thus be set in +motion and flow between men? And this is a great +deal. Let those of the two thousand enumerators who have +never comprehended this before, come to understand that, when +going about among the poor, it is impossible to say, “This +is very interesting;” that a man should not express himself +with regard to another man’s wretchedness by interest only; +and this will be a good thing. Then let assistance be +rendered to all those unfortunates, of whom there are not so many +as I at first supposed in Moscow, who can easily be helped by +money alone to a great extent. Then let those laborers who +have come to Moscow and have eaten their very clothing from their +backs, and who cannot return to the country, be despatched to +their homes; let the abandoned orphans receive supervision; let +feeble old men and indigent old women, who subsist on the charity +of their companions, be released from their half-famished and +dying condition. (And this is very possible. There +are not very many of them.) And this will also be a very, +very great deal accomplished. But why not think and hope +that more and yet more will be done? Why not expect that +that real task will be partially carried out, or at least begun, +which is effected, not by money, but by labor; that weak +drunkards who have lost their health, unlucky thieves, and +prostitutes who are still capable of reformation, should be +saved? All evil may not be exterminated, but there will +arise some understanding of it, and the contest with it will not +be police methods, but by inward modes,—by the brotherly +intercourse of the men who perceive the evil, with the men who do +not perceive it because they are a part of it.</p> +<p>No matter what may be accomplished, it will be a great +deal. But why not hope that every thing will be +accomplished? Why not hope that we shall accomplish thus +much, that there shall not exist in Moscow a single person in +want of clothing, a single hungry person, a single human being +sold for money, nor a single individual oppressed by the judgment +of man, who shall not know that there is fraternal aid for +him? It is not surprising that this should not be so, but +it is surprising that this should exist side by side with our +superfluous leisure and wealth, and that we can live on +composedly, knowing that these things are so. Let us forget +that in great cities and in London, there is a proletariat, and +let us not say that so it must needs be. It need not be +this, and it should not, for this is contrary to our reason and +our heart, and it cannot be if we are living people. Why +not hope that we shall come to understand that there is not a +single duty incumbent upon us, not to mention personal duty, for +ourselves, nor our family, nor social, nor governmental, nor +scientific, which is more weighty than this? Why not think +that we shall at last come to apprehend this? Only because +to do so would be too great a happiness. Why not hope that +some the people will wake up, and will comprehend that every +thing else is a delusion, but that this is the only work in +life? And why should not this “some time” be +now, and in Moscow? Why not hope that the same thing may +happen in society and humanity which suddenly takes place in a +diseased organism, when the moment of convalescence suddenly sets +in? The organism is diseased this means, that the cells +cease to perform their mysterious functions; some die, others +become infected, others still remain in perfect condition, and +work on by themselves. But all of a sudden the moment comes +when every living cell enters upon an independent and healthy +activity: it crowds out the dead cells, encloses the infected +ones in a living wall, it communicates life to that which was +lifeless; and the body is restored, and lives with new life.</p> +<p>Why should we not think and expect that the cells of our +society will acquire fresh life and re-invigorate the +organism? We know not in what the power of the cells +consists, but we do know that our life is in our own power. +We can show forth the light that is in us, or we may extinguish +it.</p> +<p>Let one man approach the Lyapinsky house in the dusk, when a +thousand persons, naked and hungry, are waiting in the bitter +cold for admission, and let that one man attempt to help, and his +heart will ache till it bleeds, and he will flee thence with +despair and anger against men; but let a thousand men approach +that other thousand with a desire to help, and the task will +prove easy and delightful. Let the mechanicians invent a +machine for lifting the weight that is crushing us—that is +a good thing; but until they shall have invented it, let us bear +down upon the people, like fools, like <i>muzhiki</i>, like +peasants, like Christians, and see whether we cannot raise +them.</p> +<p>And now, brothers, all together, and away it goes!</p> +<h2>THOUGHTS EVOKED BY THE CENSUS OF MOSCOW. +[1884-1885.]</h2> +<blockquote><p>And the people asked him, saying, What shall we do +then?</p> +<p>He answereth and saith unto them, He that hath two coats, let +him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him +do likewise—<span class="smcap">Luke</span> iii. 10. +11.</p> +<p>Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and +rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:</p> +<p>But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither +moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break +through nor steal:</p> +<p>For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.</p> +<p>The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be +single, thy whole body shall be full of light.</p> +<p>But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of +darkness. If therefore the light that is in thee be +darkness, how great is that darkness!</p> +<p>No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, +and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise +the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.</p> +<p>Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what +ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what +ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the +body than raiment?—<span class="smcap">Matt.</span> vi. +19-25.</p> +<p>Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What +shall we drink? Or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?</p> +<p>(For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your +heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these +things.</p> +<p>But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; +and all these things shall be added unto you.</p> +<p>Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall +take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the +day is the evil thereof.—<span class="smcap">Matt.</span> +vi. 31-34.</p> +<p>For it is easier for a camel to go through a needle’s +eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of +God.—<span class="smcap">Matt.</span> xix. 24; <span +class="smcap">Mark</span> x. 25; <span class="smcap">Luke</span> +xviii. 25.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> +<p>I had lived all my life out of town. When, in 1881, I +went to live in Moscow, the poverty of the town greatly surprised +me. I am familiar with poverty in the country; but city +poverty was new and incomprehensible to me. In Moscow it +was impossible to pass along the street without encountering +beggars, and especially beggars who are unlike those in the +country. These beggars do not go about with their pouches +in the name of Christ, as country beggars are accustomed to do, +but these beggars are without the pouch and the name of +Christ. The Moscow beggars carry no pouches, and do not ask +for alms. Generally, when they meet or pass you, they +merely try to catch your eye; and, according to your look, they +beg or refrain from it. I know one such beggar who belongs +to the gentry. The old man walks slowly along, bending +forward every time he sets his foot down. When he meets +you, he rests on one foot and makes you a kind of salute. +If you stop, he pulls off his hat with its cockade, and bows and +begs: if you do not halt, he pretends that that is merely his way +of walking, and he passes on, bending forward in like manner on +the other foot. He is a real Moscow beggar, a cultivated +man. At first I did not know why the Moscow beggars do not +ask alms directly; afterwards I came to understand why they do +not beg, but still I did not understand their position.</p> +<p>Once, as I was passing through Afanasievskaya Lane, I saw a +policeman putting a ragged peasant, all swollen with dropsy, into +a cab. I inquired: “What is that for?”</p> +<p>The policeman answered: “For asking alms.”</p> +<p>“Is that forbidden?”</p> +<p>“Of course it is forbidden,” replied the +policeman.</p> +<p>The sufferer from dropsy was driven off. I took another +cab, and followed him. I wanted to know whether it was true +that begging alms was prohibited and how it was prohibited. +I could in no wise understand how one man could be forbidden to +ask alms of any other man; and besides, I did not believe that it +was prohibited, when Moscow is full of beggars. I went to +the station-house whither the beggar had been taken. At a +table in the station-house sat a man with a sword and a +pistol. I inquired:</p> +<p>“For what was this peasant arrested?”</p> +<p>The man with the sword and pistol gazed sternly at me, and +said:</p> +<p>“What business is it of yours?”</p> +<p>But feeling conscious that it was necessary to offer me some +explanation, he added:</p> +<p>“The authorities have ordered that all such persons are +to be arrested; of course it had to be done.”</p> +<p>I went out. The policeman who had brought the beggar was +seated on the window-sill in the ante-chamber, staring gloomily +at a note-book. I asked him:</p> +<p>“Is it true that the poor are forbidden to ask alms in +Christ’s name?”</p> +<p>The policeman came to himself, stared at me, then did not +exactly frown, but apparently fell into a doze again, and said, +as he sat on the window-sill:—</p> +<p>“The authorities have so ordered, which shows that it is +necessary,” and betook himself once more to his +note-book. I went out on the porch, to the cab.</p> +<p>“Well, how did it turn out? Have they arrested +him?” asked the cabman. The man was evidently +interested in this affair also.</p> +<p>“Yes,” I answered. The cabman shook his +head. “Why is it forbidden here in Moscow to ask alms +in Christ’s name?” I inquired.</p> +<p>“Who knows?” said the cabman.</p> +<p>“How is this?” said I, “he is Christ’s +poor, and he is taken to the station-house.”</p> +<p>“A stop has been put to that now, it is not +allowed,” said the cab-driver.</p> +<p>On several occasions afterwards, I saw policemen conducting +beggars to the station house, and then to the Yusupoff house of +correction. Once I encountered on the Myasnitzkaya a +company of these beggars, about thirty in number. In front +of them and behind them marched policemen. I inquired: +“What for?”—“For asking alms.”</p> +<p>It turned out that all these beggars, several of whom you meet +with in every street in Moscow, and who stand in files near every +church during services, and especially during funeral services, +are forbidden to ask alms.</p> +<p>But why are some of them caught and locked up somewhere, while +others are left alone?</p> +<p>This I could not understand. Either there are among them +legal and illegal beggars, or there are so many of them that it +is impossible to apprehend them all; or do others assemble afresh +when some are removed?</p> +<p>There are many varieties of beggars in Moscow: there are some +who live by this profession; there are also genuine poor people, +who have chanced upon Moscow in some manner or other, and who are +really in want.</p> +<p>Among these poor people, there are many simple, common +peasants, and women in their peasant costume. I often met +such people. Some of them have fallen ill here, and on +leaving the hospital they can neither support themselves here, +nor get away from Moscow. Some of them, moreover, have +indulged in dissipation (such was probably the case of the +dropsical man); some have not been ill, but are people who have +been burnt out of their houses, or old people, or women with +children; some, too, were perfectly healthy and able to +work. These perfectly healthy peasants who were engaged in +begging, particularly interested me. These healthy, peasant +beggars, who were fit for work, also interested me, because, from +the date of my arrival in Moscow, I had been in the habit of +going to the Sparrow Hills with two peasants, and sawing wood +there for the sake of exercise. These two peasants were +just as poor as those whom I encountered on the streets. +One was Piotr, a soldier from Kaluga; the other Semyon, a peasant +from Vladimir. They possessed nothing except the wages of +their body and hands. And with these hands they earned, by +dint of very hard labor, from forty to forty-five kopeks a day, +out of which each of them was laying by savings, the Kaluga man +for a fur coat, the Vladimir man in order to get enough to return +to his village. Therefore, on meeting precisely such men in +the streets, I took an especial interest in them.</p> +<p>Why did these men toil, while those others begged?</p> +<p>On encountering a peasant of this stamp, I usually asked him +how he had come to that situation. Once I met a peasant +with some gray in his beard, but healthy. He begs. I +ask him who is he, whence comes he? He says that he came +from Kaluga to get work. At first he found employment +chopping up old wood for use in stoves. He and his comrade +finished all the chopping which one householder had; then they +sought other work, but found none; his comrade had parted from +him, and for two weeks he himself had been struggling along; he +had spent all his money, he had no saw, and no axe, and no money +to buy anything. I gave him money for a saw, and told him +of a place where he could find work. I had already made +arrangements with Piotr and Semyon, that they should take an +assistant, and they looked up a mate for him.</p> +<p>“See that you come. There is a great deal of work +there.”</p> +<p>“I will come; why should I not come? Do you +suppose I like to beg? I can work.”</p> +<p>The peasant declares that he will come, and it seems to me +that he is not deceiving me, and that he intents to come.</p> +<p>On the following day I go to my peasants, and inquire whether +that man has arrived. He has not been there; and in this +way several men deceived me. And those also deceived me who +said that they only required money for a ticket in order to +return home, and who chanced upon me again in the street a week +later. Many of these I recognized, and they recognized me, +and sometimes, having forgotten me, they repeated the same trick +on me; and others, on catching sight of me, beat a retreat. +Thus I perceived, that in the ranks of this class also deceivers +existed. But these cheats were very pitiable creatures: all +of them were but half-clad, poverty-stricken, gaunt, sickly men; +they were the very people who really freeze to death, or hang +themselves, as we learn from the newspapers.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> +<p>When I mentioned this poverty of the town to inhabitants of +the town, they always said to me: “Oh, all that you have +seen is nothing. You ought to see the Khitroff +market-place, and the lodging-houses for the night there. +There you would see a regular ‘golden +company.’” <a name="citation21a"></a><a +href="#footnote21a" class="citation">[21a]</a> One jester +told me that this was no longer a company, but a <i>golden +regiment</i>: so greatly had their numbers increased. The +jester was right, but he would have been still more accurate if +he had said that these people now form in Moscow neither a +company nor a regiment, but an entire army, almost fifty thousand +in number, I think. [The old inhabitants, when they spoke +to me about the poverty in town, always referred to it with a +certain satisfaction, as though pluming themselves over me, +because they knew it. I remember that when I was in London, +the old inhabitants there also rather boasted when they spoke of +the poverty of London. The case is the same with us.] <a +name="citation21b"></a><a href="#footnote21b" +class="citation">[21b]</a></p> +<p>And I wanted to have a sight of this poverty of which I had +been told. Several times I set out in the direction of the +Khitroff market-place, but on every occasion I began to feel +uncomfortable and ashamed. “Why am I going to gaze on +the sufferings of people whom I cannot help?” said one +voice. “No, if you live here, and see all the charms +of city life, go and view this also,” said another +voice. In December three years ago, therefore, on a cold +and windy day, I betook myself to that centre of poverty, the +Khitroff market-place. This was at four o’clock in +the afternoon of a week-day. As I passed through the +Solyanka, I already began to see more and more people in old +garments which had not originally belonged to them, and in still +stranger foot-gear, people with a peculiar, unhealthy hue of +countenance, and especially with a singular indifference to every +thing around them, which was peculiar to them all. A man in +the strangest of all possible attire, which was utterly unlike +any thing else, walked along with perfect unconcern, evidently +without a thought of the appearance which he must present to the +eyes of others. All these people were making their way +towards a single point. Without inquiring the way, with +which I was not acquainted, I followed them, and came out on the +Khitroff market-place. On the market-place, women both old +and young, of the same description, in tattered cloaks and +jackets of various shapes, in ragged shoes and overshoes, and +equally unconcerned, notwithstanding the hideousness of their +attire, sat, bargained for something, strolled about, and +scolded. There were not many people in the market +itself. Evidently market-hours were over, and the majority +of the people were ascending the rise beyond the market and +through the place, all still proceeding in one direction. I +followed them. The farther I advanced, the greater in +numbers were the people of this sort who flowed together on one +road. Passing through the market-place and proceeding along +the street, I overtook two women; one was old, the other +young. Both wore something ragged and gray. As they +walked they were discussing some matter. After every +necessary word, they uttered one or two unnecessary ones, of the +most improper character. They were not intoxicated, but +merely troubled about something; and neither the men who met +them, nor those who walked in front of them and behind them, paid +any attention to the language which was so strange to me. +In these quarters, evidently, people always talked so. +Ascending the rise, we reached a large house on a corner. +The greater part of the people who were walking along with me +halted at this house. They stood all over the sidewalk of +this house, and sat on the curbstone, and even the snow in the +street was thronged with the same kind of people. On the +right side of the entrance door were the women, on the left the +men. I walked past the women, past the men (there were +several hundred of them in all) and halted where the line came to +an end. The house before which these people were waiting +was the Lyapinsky free lodging-house for the night. The +throng of people consisted of night lodgers, who were waiting to +be let in. At five o’clock in the afternoon, the +house is opened, and the people permitted to enter. Hither +had come nearly all the people whom I had passed on my way.</p> +<p>I halted where the line of men ended. Those nearest me +began to stare at me, and attracted my attention to them by their +glances. The fragments of garments which covered these +bodies were of the most varied sorts. But the expression of +all the glances directed towards me by these people was +identical. In all eyes the question was expressed: +“Why have you, a man from another world, halted here beside +us? Who are you? Are you a self-satisfied rich man +who wants to enjoy our wretchedness, to get rid of his tedium, +and to torment us still more? or are you that thing which does +not and can not exist,—a man who pities us?” +This query was on every face. You glance about, encounter +some one’s eye, and turn away. I wished to talk with +some one of them, but for a long time I could not make up my mind +to it. But our glances had drawn us together already while +our tongues remained silent. Greatly as our lives had +separated us, after the interchange of two or three glances we +felt that we were both men, and we ceased to fear each +other. The nearest of all to me was a peasant with a +swollen face and a red beard, in a tattered caftan, and patched +overshoes on his bare feet. And the weather was eight +degrees below zero. <a name="citation24a"></a><a +href="#footnote24a" class="citation">[24a]</a> For the +third or fourth time I encountered his eyes, and I felt so near +to him that I was no longer ashamed to accost him, but ashamed +not to say something to him. I inquired where he came from? +he answered readily, and we began to talk; others +approached. He was from Smolensk, and had come to seek +employment that he might earn his bread and taxes. +“There is no work,” said he: “the soldiers have +taken it all away. So now I am loafing about; as true as I +believe in God, I have had nothing to eat for two +days.” He spoke modestly, with an effort at a +smile. A <i>sbiten</i><a name="citation24b"></a><a +href="#footnote24b" class="citation">[24b]</a>-seller, an old +soldier, stood near by. I called him up. He poured +out his <i>sbiten</i>. The peasant took a boiling-hot +glassful in his hands, and as he tried before drinking not to let +any of the heat escape in vain, and warmed his hands over it, he +related his adventures to me. These adventures, or the +histories of them, are almost always identical: the man has been +a laborer, then he has changed his residence, then his purse +containing his money and ticket has been stolen from him in the +night lodging-house; now it is impossible to get away from +Moscow. He told me that he kept himself warm by day in the +dram-shops; that he nourished himself on the bits of bread in +these drinking places, when they were given to him; and when he +was driven out of them, he came hither to the Lyapinsky house for +a free lodging. He was only waiting for the police to make +their rounds, when, as he had no passport, he would be taken to +jail, and then despatched by stages to his place of +settlement. “They say that the inspection will be +made on Friday,” said he, “then they will arrest +me. If I can only get along until Friday.” (The +jail, and the journey by stages, represent the Promised Land to +him.)</p> +<p>As he told his story, three men from among the throng +corroborated his statements, and said that they were in the same +predicament. A gaunt, pale, long-nosed youth, with merely a +shirt on the upper portion of his body, and that torn on the +shoulders, and a cap without a visor, forced his way sidelong +through the crowd. He shivered violently and incessantly, +but tried to smile disdainfully at the peasants’ remarks, +thinking by this means to adopt the proper tone with me, and he +stared at me. I offered him some <i>sbiten</i>; he also, on +taking the glass, warmed his hands over it; but no sooner had he +begun to speak, than he was thrust aside by a big, black, +hook-nosed individual, in a chintz shirt and waistcoat, without a +hat. The hook-nosed man asked for some <i>sbiten</i> +also. Then came a tall old man, with a mass of beard, clad +in a great-coat girded with a rope, and in bast shoes, who was +drunk. Then a small man with a swollen face and tearful +eyes, in a brown nankeen round-jacket, with his bare knees +protruding from the holes in his summer trousers, and knocking +together with cold. He shivered so that he could not hold +his glass, and spilled it over himself. The men began to +reproach him. He only smiled in a woe-begone way, and went +on shivering. Then came a crooked monster in rags, with +pattens on his bare feet; then some sort of an officer; then +something in the ecclesiastical line; then something strange and +nose-less,—all hungry and cold, beseeching and submissive, +thronged round me, and pressed close to the <i>sbiten</i>. +They drank up all the <i>sbiten</i>. One asked for money, +and I gave it. Then another asked, then a third, and the +whole crowd besieged me. Confusion and a press +resulted. The porter of the adjoining house shouted to the +crowd to clear the sidewalk in front of his house, and the crowd +submissively obeyed his orders. Some managers stepped out +of the throng, and took me under their protection, and wanted to +lead me forth out of the press; but the crowd, which had at first +been scattered over the sidewalk, now became disorderly, and +hustled me. All stared at me and begged; and each face was +more pitiful and suffering and humble than the last. I +distributed all that I had with me. I had not much money, +something like twenty rubles; and in company with the crowd, I +entered the Lyapinsky lodging-house. This house is +huge. It consists of four sections. In the upper +stories are the men’s quarters; in the lower, the +women’s. I first entered the women’s place; a +vast room all occupied with bunks, resembling the third-class +bunks on the railway. These bunks were arranged in two +rows, one above the other. The women, strange, tattered +creatures, both old and young, wearing nothing over their +dresses, entered and took their places, some below and some +above. Some of the old ones crossed themselves, and uttered +a petition for the founder of this refuge; some laughed and +scolded. I went up-stairs. There the men had +installed themselves; among them I espied one of those to whom I +had given money. [On catching sight of him, I all at once +felt terribly abashed, and I made haste to leave the room. +And it was with a sense of absolute crime that I quitted that +house and returned home. At home I entered over the +carpeted stairs into the ante-room, whose floor was covered with +cloth; and having removed my fur coat, I sat down to a dinner of +five courses, waited on by two lackeys in dress-coats, white +neckties, and white gloves.</p> +<p>Thirty years ago I witnessed in Paris a man’s head cut +off by the guillotine in the presence of thousands of +spectators. I knew that the man was a horrible +criminal. I was acquainted with all the arguments which +people have been devising for so many centuries, in order to +justify this sort of deed. I knew that they had done this +expressly, deliberately. But at the moment when head and +body were severed, and fell into the trough, I groaned, and +apprehended, not with my mind, but with my heart and my whole +being, that all the arguments which I had heard anent the +death-penalty were arrant nonsense; that, no matter how many +people might assemble in order to perpetrate a murder, no matter +what they might call themselves, murder is murder, the vilest sin +in the world, and that that crime had been committed before my +very eyes. By my presence and non-interference, I had lent +my approval to that crime, and had taken part in it. So +now, at the sight of this hunger, cold, and degradation of +thousands of persons, I understood not with my mind, but with my +heart and my whole being, that the existence of tens of thousands +of such people in Moscow, while I and other thousands dined on +fillets and sturgeon, and covered my horses and my floors with +cloth and rugs,—no matter what the wise ones of this world +might say to me about its being a necessity,—was a crime, +not perpetrated a single time, but one which was incessantly +being perpetrated over and over again, and that I, in my luxury, +was not only an accessory, but a direct accomplice in the +matter. The difference for me between these two impressions +was this, that I might have shouted to the assassins who stood +around the guillotine, and perpetrated the murder, that they were +committing a crime, and have tried with all my might to prevent +the murder. But while so doing I should have known that my +action would not prevent the murder. But here I might not +only have given <i>sbiten</i> and the money which I had with me, +but the coat from my back, and every thing that was in my +house. But this I had not done; and therefore I felt, I +feel, and shall never cease to feel, myself an accomplice in this +constantly repeated crime, so long as I have superfluous food and +any one else has none at all, so long as I have two garments +while any one else has not even one.] <a name="citation28"></a><a +href="#footnote28" class="citation">[28]</a></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> +<p>That very evening, on my return from the Lyapinsky house, I +related my impressions to a friend. The friend, an +inhabitant of the city, began to tell me, not without +satisfaction, that this was the most natural phenomenon of town +life possible, that I only saw something extraordinary in it +because of my provincialism, that it had always been so, and +always would be so, and that such must be and is the inevitable +condition of civilization. In London it is even +worse. Of course there is nothing wrong about it, and it is +impossible to be displeased with it. I began to reply to my +friend, but with so much heat and ill-temper, that my wife ran in +from the adjoining room to inquire what had happened. It +appears that, without being conscious of it myself, I had been +shouting, with tears in my voice, and flourishing my hands at my +friend. I shouted: “It’s impossible to live +thus, impossible to live thus, impossible!” They made +me feel ashamed of my unnecessary warmth; they told me that I +could not talk quietly about any thing, that I got disagreeably +excited; and they proved to me, especially, that the existence of +such unfortunates could not possibly furnish any excuse for +imbittering the lives of those about me.</p> +<p>I felt that this was perfectly just, and held my peace; but in +the depths of my soul I was conscious that I was in the right, +and I could not regain my composure.</p> +<p>And the life of the city, which had, even before this, been so +strange and repellent to me, now disgusted me to such a degree, +that all the pleasures of a life of luxury, which had hitherto +appeared to me as pleasures, become tortures to me. And try +as I would, to discover in my own soul any justification whatever +for our life, I could not, without irritation, behold either my +own or other people’s drawing-rooms, nor our tables spread +in the lordly style, nor our equipages and horses, nor shops, +theatres, and assemblies. I could not behold alongside +these the hungry, cold, and down-trodden inhabitants of the +Lyapinsky house. And I could not rid myself of the thought +that these two things were bound up together, that the one arose +from the other. I remember, that, as this feeling of my own +guilt presented itself to me at the first blush, so it persisted +in me, but to this feeling a second was speedily added which +overshadowed it.</p> +<p>When I mentioned my impressions of the Lyapinsky house to my +nearest friends and acquaintances, they all gave me the same +answer as the first friend at whom I had begun to shout; but, in +addition to this, they expressed their approbation of my kindness +of heart and my sensibility, and gave me to understand that this +sight had so especially worked upon me because I, Lyof +Nikolaevitch, was very kind and good. And I willingly +believed this. And before I had time to look about me, +instead of the feeling of self-reproach and regret, which I had +at first experienced, there came a sense of satisfaction with my +own kindliness, and a desire to exhibit it to people.</p> +<p>“It really must be,” I said to myself, “that +I am not especially responsible for this by the luxury of my +life, but that it is the indispensable conditions of existence +that are to blame. In truth, a change in my mode of life +cannot rectify the evil which I have seen: by altering my manner +of life, I shall only make myself and those about me unhappy, and +the other miseries will remain the same as ever. And +therefore my problem lies not in a change of my own life, as it +had first seemed to me, but in aiding, so far as in me lies, in +the amelioration of the situation of those unfortunate beings who +have called forth my compassion. The whole point lies +here,—that I am a very kind, amiable man, and that I wish +to do good to my neighbors.” And I began to think out +a plan of beneficent activity, in which I might exhibit my +benevolence. I must confess, however, that while devising +this plan of beneficent activity, I felt all the time, in the +depths of my soul, that that was not the thing; but, as often +happens, activity of judgment and imagination drowned that voice +of conscience within me. At that juncture, the census came +up. This struck me as a means for instituting that +benevolence in which I proposed to exhibit my charitable +disposition. I knew of many charitable institutions and +societies which were in existence in Moscow, but all their +activity seemed to me both wrongly directed and insignificant in +comparison with what I intended to do. And I devised the +following scheme: to arouse the sympathy of the wealthy for the +poverty of the city, to collect money, to get people together who +were desirous of assisting in this matter, and to visit all the +refuges of poverty in company with the census, and, in addition +to the work of the census, to enter into communion with the +unfortunate, to learn the particulars of their necessities, and +to assist them with money, with work, by sending them away from +Moscow, by placing their children in school, and the old people +in hospitals and asylums. And not only that, I thought, but +these people who undertake this can be formed into a permanent +society, which, by dividing the quarters of Moscow among its +members, will be able to see to it that this poverty and beggary +shall not be bred; they will incessantly annihilate it at its +very inception; then they will fulfil their duty, not so much by +healing as by a course of hygiene for the wretchedness of the +city. I fancied that there would be no more simply needy, +not to mention abjectly poor persons, in the town, and that all +of us wealthy individuals would thereafter be able to sit in our +drawing-rooms, and eat our five-course dinners, and ride in our +carriages to theatres and assemblies, and be no longer annoyed +with such sights as I had seen at the Lyapinsky house.</p> +<p>Having concocted this plan, I wrote an article on the subject; +and before sending it to the printer, I went to some +acquaintances, from whom I hoped for sympathy. I said the +same thing to every one whom I met that day (and I applied +chiefly to the rich), and nearly the same that I afterwards +printed in my memoir; proposed to take advantage of the census to +inquire into the wretchedness of Moscow, and to succor it, both +by deeds and money, and to do it in such a manner that there +should be no poor people in Moscow, and so that we rich ones +might be able, with a quiet conscience, to enjoy the blessings of +life to which we were accustomed. All listened to me +attentively and seriously, but nevertheless the same identical +thing happened with every one of them without exception. No +sooner did my hearers comprehend the question, than they seemed +to feel awkward and somewhat mortified. They seemed to be +ashamed, and principally on my account, because I was talking +nonsense, and nonsense which it was impossible to openly +characterize as such. Some external cause appeared to +compel my hearers to be forbearing with this nonsense of +mine.</p> +<p>“Ah, yes! of course. That would be very +good,” they said to me. “It is a +self-understood thing that it is impossible not to sympathize +with this. Yes, your idea is a capital one. I have +thought of that myself, but . . . we are so indifferent, as a +rule, that you can hardly count on much success . . . however, so +far as I am concerned, I am, of course, ready to +assist.”</p> +<p>They all said something of this sort to me. They all +agreed, but agreed, so it seemed to me, not in consequence of my +convictions, and not in consequence of their own wish, but as the +result of some outward cause, which did not permit them not to +agree. I had already noticed this, and, since not one of +them stated the sum which he was willing to contribute, I was +obliged to fix it myself, and to ask: “So I may count on +you for three hundred, or two hundred, or one hundred, or +twenty-five rubles?” And not one of them gave me any +money. I mention this because, when people give money for +that which they themselves desire, they generally make haste to +give it. For a box to see Sarah Bernhardt, they will +instantly place the money in your hand, to clinch the +bargain. Here, however, out of all those who agreed to +contribute, and who expressed their sympathy, not one of them +proposed to give me the money on the spot, but they merely +assented in silence to the sum which I suggested. In the +last house which I visited on that day, in the evening, I +accidentally came upon a large company. The mistress of the +house had busied herself with charity for several years. +Numerous carriages stood at the door, several lackeys in rich +liveries were sitting in the ante-chamber. In the vast +drawing-room, around two tables and lamps, sat ladies and young +girls, in costly garments, dressing small dolls; and there were +several young men there also, hovering about the ladies. +The dolls prepared by these ladies were to be drawn in a lottery +for the poor.</p> +<p>The sight of this drawing-room, and of the people assembled in +it, struck me very unpleasantly. Not to mention the fact +that the property of the persons there congregated amounted to +many millions, not to mention the fact that the mere income from +the capital here expended on dresses, laces, bronzes, brooches, +carriages, horses, liveries, and lackeys, was a hundred-fold +greater than all that these ladies could earn; not to mention the +outlay, the trip hither of all these ladies and gentlemen; the +gloves, linen, extra time, the candles, the tea, the sugar, and +the cakes had cost the hostess a hundred times more than what +they were engaged in making here. I saw all this, and +therefore I could understand, that precisely here I should find +no sympathy with my mission: but I had come in order to make my +proposition, and, difficult as this was for me, I said what I +intended. (I said very nearly the same thing that is +contained in my printed article.)</p> +<p>Out of all the persons there present, one individual offered +me money, saying that she did not feel equal to going among the +poor herself on account of her sensibility, but that she would +give money; how much money she would give, and when, she did not +say. Another individual and a young man offered their +services in going about among the poor, but I did not avail +myself of their offer. The principal person to whom I +appealed, told me that it would be impossible to do much because +means were lacking. Means were lacking because all the rich +people in Moscow were already on the lists, and all of them were +asked for all that they could possibly give; because on all these +benefactors rank, medals, and other dignities were bestowed; +because in order to secure financial success, some new dignities +must be secured from the authorities, and that this was the only +practical means, but this was extremely difficult.</p> +<p>On my return home that night, I lay down to sleep not only +with a presentment that my idea would come to nothing, but with +shame and a consciousness that all day long I had been engaged in +a very repulsive and disgraceful business. But I did not +give up this undertaking. In the first place, the matter +had been begun, and false shame would have prevented my +abandoning it; in the second place, not only the success of this +scheme, but the very fact that I was busying myself with it, +afforded me the possibility of continuing to live in the +conditions under which I was then living; failure entailed upon +me the necessity of renouncing my present existence and of +seeking new paths of life. And this I unconsciously +dreaded, and I could not believe the inward voice, and I went on +with what I had begun.</p> +<p>Having sent my article to the printer, I read the proof of it +to the City Council (<i>Dum</i>). I read it, stumbling, and +blushing even to tears, I felt so awkward. And I saw that +it was equally awkward for all my hearers. In answer to my +question at the conclusion of my reading, as to whether the +superintendents of the census would accept my proposition to +retain their places with the object of becoming mediators between +society and the needy, an awkward silence ensued. Then two +orators made speeches. These speeches in some measure +corrected the awkwardness of my proposal; sympathy for me was +expressed, but the impracticability of my proposition, which all +had approved, was demonstrated. Everybody breathed more +freely. But when, still desirous of gaining my object, I +afterwards asked the superintendents separately: Were they +willing, while taking the census, to inquire into the needs of +the poor, and to retain their posts, in order to serve as +go-betweens between the poor and the rich? they all grew uneasy +again. They seemed to say to me with their glances: +“Why, we have just condoned your folly out of respect to +you, and here you are beginning it again!” Such was +the expression of their faces, but they assured me in words that +they agreed; and two of them said in the very same words, as +though they had entered into a compact together: “We +consider ourselves <i>morally bound</i> to do this.” +The same impression was produced by my communication to the +student-census-takers, when I said to them, that while taking our +statistics, we should follow up, in addition to the objects of +the census, the object of benevolence. When we discussed +this, I observed that they were ashamed to look the kind-hearted +man, who was talking nonsense, in the eye. My article +produced the same impression on the editor of the newspaper, when +I handed it to him; on my son, on my wife, on the most widely +different persons. All felt awkward, for some reason or +other; but all regarded it as indispensable to applaud the idea +itself, and all, immediately after this expression of +approbation, began to express their doubts as to its success, and +began for some reason (and all of them, too, without exception) +to condemn the indifference and coldness of our society and of +every one, apparently, except themselves.</p> +<p>In the depths of my own soul, I still continued to feel that +all this was not at all what was needed, and that nothing would +come of it; but the article was printed, and I prepared to take +part in the census; I had contrived the matter, and now it was +already carrying me a way with it.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> +<p>At my request, there had been assigned to me for the census, a +portion of the Khamovnitchesky quarter, at the Smolensk market, +along the Prototchny cross-street, between Beregovoy Passage and +Nikolsky Alley. In this quarter are situated the houses +generally called the Rzhanoff Houses, or the Rzhanoff +fortress. These houses once belonged to a merchant named +Rzhanoff, but now belong to the Zimins. I had long before +heard of this place as a haunt of the most terrible poverty and +vice, and I had accordingly requested the directors of the census +to assign me to this quarter. My desire was granted.</p> +<p>On receiving the instructions of the City Council, I went +alone, a few days previous to the beginning of the census, to +reconnoitre my section. I found the Rzhanoff fortress at +once, from the plan with which I had been furnished.</p> +<p>I approached from Nikolsky Alley. Nikolsky Alley ends on +the left in a gloomy house, without any gates on that side; I +divined from its appearance that this was the Rzhanoff +fortress.</p> +<p>Passing down Nikolsky Street, I overtook some lads of from ten +to fourteen years of age, clad in little caftans and great-coats, +who were sliding down hill, some on their feet, and some on one +skate, along the icy slope beside this house. The boys were +ragged, and, like all city lads, bold and impudent. I +stopped to watch them. A ragged old woman, with yellow, +pendent cheeks, came round the corner. She was going to +town, to the Smolensk market, and she groaned terribly at every +step, like a foundered horse. As she came alongside me, she +halted and drew a hoarse sigh. In any other locality, this +old woman would have asked money of me, but here she merely +addressed me.</p> +<p>“Look there,” said she, pointing at the boys who +were sliding, “all they do is to play their pranks! +They’ll turn out just such Rzhanoff fellows as their +fathers.”</p> +<p>One of the boys clad in a great-coat and a visorless cap, +heard her words and halted: “What are you scolding +about?” he shouted to the old woman. +“You’re an old Rzhanoff nanny-goat +yourself!”</p> +<p>I asked the boy:</p> +<p>“And do you live here?”</p> +<p>“Yes, and so does she. She stole boot-legs,” +shouted the boy; and raising his foot in front, he slid away.</p> +<p>The old woman burst forth into injurious words, interrupted by +a cough. At that moment, an old man, all clad in rags, and +as white as snow, came down the hill in the middle of the street, +flourishing his hands [in one of them he held a bundle with one +little <i>kalatch</i> and <i>baranki</i>” <a +name="citation39"></a><a href="#footnote39" +class="citation">[39]</a>]. This old man bore the +appearance of a person who had just strengthened himself with a +dram. He had evidently heard the old woman’s +insulting words, and he took her part.</p> +<p>“I’ll give it to you, you imps, that I +will!” he screamed at the boys, seeming to direct his +course towards them, and taking a circuit round me, he stepped on +to the sidewalk. This old man creates surprise on the +Arbata by his great age, his weakness, and his indigence. +Here he was a cheery laboring-man returning from his daily +toil.</p> +<p>I followed the old man. He turned the corner to the +left, into Prototchny Alley, and passing by the whole length of +the house and the gate, he disappeared through the door of the +tavern.</p> +<p>Two gates and several doors open on Prototchny Alley: those +belonging to a tavern, a dram-shop, and several eating and other +shops. This is the Rzhanoff fortress itself. Every +thing here is gray, dirty, and malodorous—both buildings +and locality, and court-yards and people. The majority of +the people whom I met here were ragged and half-clad. Some +were passing through, others were running from door to +door. Two were haggling over some rags. I made the +circuit of the entire building from Prototchny Alley and +Beregovoy Passage, and returning I halted at the gate of one of +these houses. I wished to enter, and see what was going on +inside, but I felt that it would be awkward. What should I +say when I was asked what I wanted there? I hesitated, but +went in nevertheless. As soon as I entered the court-yard, +I became conscious of a disgusting odor. The yard was +frightfully dirty. I turned a corner, and at the same +instant I heard to my left and overhead, on the wooden balcony, +the tramp of footsteps of people running, at first along the +planks of the balcony, and then on the steps of the +staircase. There emerged, first a gaunt woman, with her +sleeves rolled up, in a faded pink gown, and little boots on her +stockingless feet. After her came a tattered man in a red +shirt and very full trousers, like a petticoat, and with +overshoes. The man caught the woman at the bottom of the +steps.</p> +<p>“You shall not escape,” he said laughing.</p> +<p>“See here, you cock-eyed devil,” began the woman, +evidently flattered by this pursuit; but catching sight of me, +she shrieked viciously, “What do you want?”</p> +<p>As I wanted nothing, I became confused and beat a +retreat. There was nothing remarkable about the place; but +this incident, after what I had witnessed on the other side of +the yard, the cursing old woman, the jolly old man, and the lads +sliding, suddenly presented the business which I had concocted +from a totally different point of view. I then comprehended +for the first time, that all these unfortunates to whom I was +desirous of playing the part of benefactor, besides the time, +when, suffering from cold and hunger, they awaited admission into +the house, had still other time, which they employed to some +other purpose, that there were four and twenty hours in every +day, that there was a whole life of which I had never thought, up +to that moment. Here, for the first time, I understood, +that all those people, in addition to their desire to shelter +themselves from the cold and to obtain a good meal, must still, +in some way, live out those four and twenty hours each day, which +they must pass as well as everybody else. I comprehended +that these people must lose their tempers, and get bored, show +courage, and grieve and be merry. Strange as this may seem, +when put into words, I understood clearly for the first time, +that the business which I had undertaken could not consist alone +in feeding and clothing thousands of people, as one would feed +and drive under cover a thousand sheep, but that it must consist +in doing good to them.</p> +<p>And then I understood that each one of those thousand people +was exactly such a man,—with precisely the same past, with +the same passions, temptations, failings, with the same thoughts, +the same perplexities,—exactly such a man as myself, and +then the thing that I had undertaken suddenly presented itself to +me as so difficult that I felt my powerlessness; but the thing +had been begun, and I went on with it.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> +<p>On the first appointed day, the student enumerators arrived in +the morning, and I, the benefactor, joined them at twelve +o’clock. I could not go earlier, because I had risen +at ten o’clock, then I had drunk my coffee and smoked, +while waiting on digestion. At twelve o’clock I +reached the gates of the Rzhanoff house. A policeman +pointed out to me the tavern with a side entrance on Beregovoy +Passage, where the census-takers had ordered every one who asked +for them to be directed. I entered the tavern. It was +very dark, ill-smelling, and dirty. Directly opposite the +entrance was the counter, on the left was a room with tables, +covered with soiled cloths, on the right a large apartment with +pillars, and the same sort of little tables at the windows and +along the walls. Here and there at the tables sat men both +ragged and decently clad, like laboring-men or petty tradesmen, +and a few women drinking tea. The tavern was very filthy, +but it was instantly apparent that it had a good trade.</p> +<p>There was a business-like expression on the face of the clerk +behind the counter, and a clever readiness about the +waiters. No sooner had I entered, than one waiter prepared +to remove my coat and bring me whatever I should order. It +was evident that they had been trained to brisk and accurate +service. I inquired for the enumerators.</p> +<p>“Vanya!” shouted a small man, dressed in German +fashion, who was engaged in placing something in a cupboard +behind the counter; this was the landlord of the tavern, a Kaluga +peasant, Ivan Fedotitch, who hired one-half of the Zimins’ +houses and sublet them to lodgers. The waiter, a thin, +hooked-nosed young fellow of eighteen, with a yellow complexion, +hastened up.</p> +<p>“Conduct this gentleman to the census-takers; they went +into the main building over the well.” The young +fellow threw down his napkin, and donned a coat over his white +jacket and white trousers, and a cap with a large visor, and, +tripping quickly along with his white feet, he led me through the +swinging door in the rear. In the dirty, malodorous +kitchen, in the out-building, we encountered an old woman who was +carefully carrying some very bad-smelling tripe, wrapped in a +rag, off somewhere. From the out-building we descended into +a sloping court-yard, all encumbered with small wooden buildings +on lower stories of stone. The odor in this whole yard was +extremely powerful. The centre of this odor was an +out-house, round which people were thronging whenever I passed +it. It merely indicated the spot, but was not altogether +used itself. It was impossible, when passing through the +yard, not to take note of this spot; one always felt oppressed +when one entered the penetrating atmosphere which was emitted by +this foul smell.</p> +<p>The waiter, carefully guarding his white trousers, led me +cautiously past this place of frozen and unfrozen uncleanness to +one of the buildings. The people who were passing through +the yard and along the balconies all stopped to stare at +me. It was evident that a respectably dressed man was a +curiosity in these localities.</p> +<p>The young man asked a woman “whether she had seen the +census-takers?” And three men simultaneously answered +his question: some said that they were over the well, but others +said that they had been there, but had come out and gone to +Nikita Ivanovitch. An old man dressed only in his shirt, +who was wandering about the centre of the yard, said that they +were in No. 30. The young man decided that this was the +most probable report, and conducted me to No. 30 through the +basement entrance, and darkness and bad smells, different from +that which existed outside. We went down-stairs, and +proceeded along the earthen floor of a dark corridor. As we +were passing along the corridor, a door flew open abruptly, and +an old drunken man, in his shirt, probably not of the peasant +class, thrust himself out. A washerwoman, wringing her +soapy hands, was pursuing and hustling the old man with piercing +screams. Vanya, my guide, pushed the old man aside, and +reproved him.</p> +<p>“It’s not proper to make such a row,” said +me, “and you an officer, too!” and we went on to the +door of No. 30.</p> +<p>Vanya gave it a little pull. The door gave way with a +smack, opened, and we smelled soapy steam, and a sharp odor of +spoilt food and tobacco, and we entered into total +darkness. The windows were on the opposite side; but the +corridors ran to right and left between board partitions, and +small doors opened, at various angles, into the rooms made of +uneven whitewashed boards. In a dark room, on the left, a +woman could be seen washing in a tub. An old woman was +peeping from one of these small doors on the right. Through +another open door we could see a red-faced, hairy peasant, in +bast shoes, sitting on his wooden bunk; his hands rested on his +knees, and he was swinging his feet, shod in bast shoes, and +gazing gloomily at them.</p> +<p>At the end of the corridor was a little door leading to the +apartment where the census-takers were. This was the +chamber of the mistress of the whole of No. 30; she rented the +entire apartment from Ivan Feodovitch, and let it out again to +lodgers and as night-quarters. In her tiny room, under the +tinsel images, sat the student census-taker with his charts; and, +in his quality of investigator, he had just thoroughly +interrogated a peasant wearing a shirt and a vest. This +latter was a friend of the landlady, and had been answering +questions for her. The landlady herself, an elderly woman, +was there also, and two of her curious tenants. When I +entered, the room was already packed full. I pushed my way +to the table. I exchanged greetings with the student, and +he proceeded with his inquiries. And I began to look about +me, and to interrogate the inhabitants of these quarters for my +own purpose.</p> +<p>It turned out, that in this first set of lodgings, I found not +a single person upon whom I could pour out my benevolence. +The landlady, in spite of the fact that the poverty, smallness +and dirt of these quarters struck me after the palatial house in +which I dwell, lived in comfort, compared with many of the poor +inhabitants of the city, and in comparison with the poverty in +the country, with which I was thoroughly familiar, she lived +luxuriously. She had a feather-bed, a quilted coverlet, a +samovar, a fur cloak, and a dresser with crockery. The +landlady’s friend had the same comfortable +appearance. He had a watch and a chain. Her lodgers +were not so well off, but there was not one of them who was in +need of immediate assistance: the woman who was washing linen in +a tub, and who had been abandoned by her husband and had +children, an aged widow without any means of livelihood, as she +said, and that peasant in bast shoes, who told me that he had +nothing to eat that day. But on questioning them, it +appeared that none of these people were in special want, and +that, in order to help them, it would be necessary to become well +acquainted with them.</p> +<p>When I proposed to the woman whose husband had abandoned her, +to place her children in an asylum, she became confused, fell +into thought, thanked me effusively, but evidently did not wish +to do so; she would have preferred pecuniary assistance. +The eldest girl helped her in her washing, and the younger took +care of the little boy. The old woman begged earnestly to +be taken to the hospital, but on examining her nook I found that +the old woman was not particularly poor. She had a chest +full of effects, a teapot with a tin spout, two cups, and caramel +boxes filled with tea and sugar. She knitted stockings and +gloves, and received monthly aid from some benevolent lady. +And it was evident that what the peasant needed was not so much +food as drink, and that whatever might be given him would find +its way to the dram-shop. In these quarters, therefore, +there were none of the sort of people whom I could render happy +by a present of money. But there were poor people who +appeared to me to be of a doubtful character. I noted down +the old woman, the woman with the children, and the peasant, and +decided that they must be seen to; but later on, as I was +occupied with the peculiarly unfortunate whom I expected to find +in this house, I made up my mind that there must be some order in +the aid which we should bestow; first came the most wretched, and +then this kind. But in the next quarters, and in the next +after that, it was the same story, all the people had to be +narrowly investigated before they could be helped. But +unfortunates of the sort whom a gift of money would convert from +unfortunate into fortunate people, there were none. +Mortifying as it is to me to avow this, I began to get +disenchanted, because I did not find among these people any thing +of the sort which I had expected. I had expected to find +peculiar people here; but, after making the round of all the +apartments, I was convinced that the inhabitants of these houses +were not peculiar people at all, but precisely such persons as +those among whom I lived. As there are among us, just so +among them; there were here those who were more or less good, +more or less stupid, happy and unhappy. The unhappy were +exactly such unhappy beings as exist among us, that is, unhappy +people whose unhappiness lies not in their external conditions, +but in themselves, a sort of unhappiness which it is impossible +to right by any sort of bank-note whatever.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> +<p>The inhabitants of these houses constitute the lower class of +the city, which numbers in Moscow, probably, one hundred +thousand. There, in that house, are representatives of +every description of this class. There are petty employers, +and master-artisans, bootmakers, brush-makers, cabinet-makers, +turners, shoemakers, tailors, blacksmiths; there are cab-drivers, +young women living alone, and female pedlers, laundresses, +old-clothes dealers, money-lenders, day-laborers, and people +without any definite employment; and also beggars and dissolute +women.</p> +<p>Here were many of the very people whom I had seen at the +entrance to the Lyapinsky house; but here these people were +scattered about among the working-people. And moreover, I +had seen these people at their most unfortunate time, when they +had eaten and drunk up every thing, and when, cold, hungry, and +driven forth from the taverns, they were awaiting admission into +the free night lodging-house, and thence into the promised prison +for despatch to their places of residence, like heavenly manna; +but here I beheld them and a majority of workers, and at a time, +when by one means or another, they had procured three or five +kopeks for a lodging for the night, and sometimes a ruble for +food and drink.</p> +<p>And strange as the statement may seem, I here experienced +nothing resembling that sensation which I had felt in the +Lyapinsky house; but, on the contrary, during the first round, +both I and the students experienced an almost agreeable +feeling,—yes, but why do I say “almost +agreeable”? This is not true; the feeling called +forth by intercourse with these people, strange as it may sound, +was a distinctly agreeable one.</p> +<p>Our first impression was, that the greater part of the +dwellers here were working people and very good people at +that.</p> +<p>We found more than half the inhabitants at work: laundresses +bending over their tubs, cabinet-makers at their lathes, cobblers +on their benches. The narrow rooms were full of people, and +cheerful and energetic labor was in progress. There was an +odor of toilsome sweat and leather at the cobbler’s, of +shavings at the cabinet-maker’s; songs were often to be +heard, and glimpses could be had of brawny arms with sleeves +roiled high, quickly and skilfully making their accustomed +movements. Everywhere we were received cheerfully and +politely: hardly anywhere did our intrusion into the every-day +life of these people call forth that ambition, and desire to +exhibit their importance and to put us down, which the appearance +of the enumerators in the quarters of well-to-do people +evoked. It not only did not arouse this, but, on the +contrary, they answered all other questions properly, and without +attributing any special significance to them. Our questions +merely served them as a subject of mirth and jesting as to how +such and such a one was to be set down in the list, when he was +to be reckoned as two, and when two were to be reckoned as one, +and so forth.</p> +<p>We found many of them at dinner, or tea; and on every occasion +to our greeting: “bread and salt,” or “tea and +sugar,” they replied: “we beg that you will +partake,” and even stepped aside to make room for us. +Instead of the den with a constantly changing population, which +we had expected to find here, it turned out, that there were a +great many apartments in the house where people had been living +for a long time. One cabinet-maker with his men, and a +boot-maker with his journeymen, had lived there for ten +years. The boot-maker’s quarters were very dirty and +confined, but all the people at work were very cheerful. I +tried to enter into conversation with one of the workmen, being +desirous of inquiring into the wretchedness of his situation and +his debt to his master, but the man did not understand me and +spoke of his master and his life from the best point of view.</p> +<p>In one apartment lived an old man and his old woman. +They peddled apples. Their little chamber was warm, clean, +and full of goods. On the floor were spread straw mats: +they had got them at the apple-warehouse. They had chests, +a cupboard, a samovar, and crockery. In the corner there +were numerous images, and two lamps were burning before them; on +the wall hung fur coats covered with sheets. The old woman, +who had star-shaped wrinkles, and who was polite and talkative, +evidently delighted in her quiet, comfortable, existence.</p> +<p>Ivan Fedotitch, the landlord of the tavern and of these +quarters, left his establishment and came with us. He +jested in a friendly manner with many of the landlords of +apartments, addressing them all by their Christian names and +patronymics, and he gave us brief sketches of them. All +were ordinary people, like everybody else,—Martin +Semyonovitches, Piotr Piotrovitches, Marya +Ivanovnas,—people who did not consider themselves unhappy, +but who regarded themselves, and who actually were, just like the +rest of mankind.</p> +<p>We had been prepared to witness nothing except what was +terrible. And, all of a sudden, there was presented to us, +not only nothing that was terrible, but what was +good,—things which involuntarily compelled our +respect. And there were so many of these good people, that +the tattered, corrupt, idle people whom we came across now and +then among them, did not destroy the principal impression.</p> +<p>This was not so much of a surprise to the students as to +me. They simply went to fulfil a useful task, as they +thought, in the interests of science, and, at the same time, they +made their own chance observations; but I was a benefactor, I +went for the purpose of aiding the unfortunate, the corrupt, +vicious people, whom I supposed that I should meet with in this +house. And, behold, instead of unfortunate, corrupt, and +vicious people, I saw that the majority were laborious, +industrious, peaceable, satisfied, contented, cheerful, polite, +and very good folk indeed.</p> +<p>I felt particularly conscious of this when, in these quarters, +I encountered that same crying want which I had undertaken to +alleviate.</p> +<p>When I encountered this want, I always found that it had +already been relieved, that the assistance which I had intended +to render had already been given. This assistance had been +rendered before my advent, and rendered by whom? By the +very unfortunate, depraved creatures whom I had undertaken to +reclaim, and rendered in such a manner as I could not +compass.</p> +<p>In one basement lay a solitary old man, ill with the typhus +fever. There was no one with the old man. A widow and +her little daughter, strangers to him, but his neighbors round +the corner, looked after him, gave him tea and purchased medicine +for him out of their own means. In another lodging lay a +woman in puerperal fever. A woman who lived by vice was +rocking the baby, and giving her her bottle; and for two days, +she had been unremitting in her attention. The baby girl, +on being left an orphan, was adopted into the family of a tailor, +who had three children of his own. So there remained those +unfortunate idle people, officials, clerks, lackeys out of place, +beggars, drunkards, dissolute women, and children, who cannot be +helped on the spot with money, but whom it is necessary to know +thoroughly, to be planned and arranged for. I had simply +sought unfortunate people, the unfortunates of poverty, those who +could be helped by sharing with them our superfluity, and, as it +seemed to me, through some signal ill-luck, none such were to be +found; but I hit upon unfortunates to whom I should be obliged to +devote my time and care.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> +<p>The unfortunates whom I noted down, divided themselves, +according to my ideas, into three sections, namely: people who +had lost their former advantageous position, and who were +awaiting a return to it (there were people of this sort from both +the lower and the higher class); next, dissolute women, of whom +there are a great many in these houses; and a third division, +children. More than all the rest, I found and noted down +people of the first division, who had forfeited their former +advantageous position, and who hoped to regain it. Of such +persons, especially from the governmental and official world, +there are a very great number in these houses. In almost +all the lodgings which we entered, with the landlord, Ivan +Fedotitch, he said to us: “Here you need not write down the +lodger’s card yourself; there is a man here who can do it, +if he only happens not to be intoxicated to-day.”</p> +<p>And Ivan Fedotitch called by name and patronymic this man, who +was always one of those persons who had fallen from a lofty +position. At Ivan Fedotitch’s call, there crawled +forth from some dark corner, a former wealthy member of the noble +or official class, generally intoxicated and always +undressed. If he was not drunk, he always readily acceded +to the task proposed to him, nodded significantly, frowned, set +down his remarks in learned phraseology, held the card neatly +printed on red paper in his dirty, trembling hands, and glanced +round at his fellow-lodgers with pride and contempt, as though +now triumphing in his education over those who had so often +humiliated him. He evidently enjoyed intercourse with that +world in which cards are printed on red paper, and with that +world of which he had once formed a part. Nearly always, in +answer to my inquiries about his life, the man began, not only +willingly, but eagerly, to relate the story of the misfortunes +which he had undergone,—which he had learned by rote like a +prayer,—and particularly of his former position, in which +he ought still to be by right of his education.</p> +<p>A great many such people were scattered over all the corners +of the Rzhanoff house. But one lodging was densely occupied +by them alone—both men and women. After we had +already entered, Ivan Fedotitch said to us: “Now, here are +some of the nobility.” The lodging was perfectly +crammed; nearly all of the people, forty in number, were at +home. More demoralized countenances, unhappy, aged, and +swollen, young, pallid, and distracted, were not to be seen in +the whole building. I conversed with several of them. +The story was nearly identical in all cases, only in various +stages of development. Every one of them had been rich, or +his father, his brother or his uncle was still wealthy, or his +father or he himself had had a very fine position. Then +misfortune had overtaken him, the blame for which rested either +on envious people, or on his own kind-heartedness, or some +special chance, and so he had lost every thing, and had been +forced to condescend to these surroundings to which he was not +accustomed, and which were hateful to him—among lice, rags, +among drunkards and corrupt persons, and to nourish himself on +bread and liver, and to extend his hand in beggary. All the +thoughts, desires, memories of these people were directed +exclusively to the past. The present appeared to them +something unreal, repulsive, and not worthy of attention. +Not one of them had any present. They had only memories of +the past, and expectations from the future, which might be +realized at any moment, and for the realization of which only a +very little was required; but this little they did not possess, +it was nowhere to be obtained, and this had been ruining their +whole future life in vain, in the case of one man, for a year, of +a second for five years, and of a third for thirty years. +All one needed was merely to dress respectably, so that he could +present himself to a certain personage, who was well-disposed +towards him another only needed to be able to dress, pay off his +debts, and get to Orel; a third required to redeem a small +property which was mortgaged, for the continuation of a law-suit, +which must be decided in his favor, and then all would be well +once more. They all declare that they merely require +something external, in order to stand once more in the position +which they regard as natural and happy in their own case.</p> +<p>Had my mind not been obscured by my pride as a benefactor, a +glance at their faces, both old and young, which were mostly weak +and sensitive, but amiable, would have given me to understand +that their misfortunes were irreparable by any external means, +that they could not be happy in any position whatever, if their +views of life were to remain unchanged, that they were in no wise +remarkable people, in remarkably unfortunate circumstances, but +that they were the same people who surround us on all sides, and +just like ourselves. I remember that intercourse with this +sort of unfortunates was peculiarly difficult for me. I now +understand why this was so; in them I beheld myself, as in a +mirror. If I had reflected on my own life and on the life +of the people in our circle, I should have seen that no real +difference existed between them.</p> +<p>If those about me dwell in spacious quarters, and in their own +houses on the Sivtzevy Vrazhok and on the Dimitrovka, and not in +the Rzhanoff house, and still eat and drink dainties, and not +liver and herrings with bread, that does not prevent them from +being exactly as unhappy. They are just as dissatisfied +with their own positions, they mourn over the past, and pine for +better things, and the improved position for which they long is +precisely the same as that which the inhabitants of the Rzhanoff +house long for; that is to say, one in which they may do as +little work as possible themselves, and derive the utmost +advantage from the labors of others. The difference is +merely one of degrees and time. If I had reflected at that +time, I should have understood this; but I did not reflect, and I +questioned these people, and wrote them down, supposing, that, +having learned all the particulars of their various conditions +and necessities, I could aid them <i>later on</i>. I did +not understand that such a man can only be helped by changing his +views of the world. But in order to change the views of +another, one must needs have better views himself, and live in +conformity with them; but mine were precisely the same as theirs, +and I lived in accordance with those views, which must undergo a +change, in order that these people might cease to be unhappy.</p> +<p>I did not see that these people were unhappy, not because they +had not, so to speak, nourishing food, but because their stomachs +had been spoiled, and because their appetites demanded not +nourishing but irritating viands; and I did not perceive that, in +order to help them, it was not necessary to give them food, but +that it was necessary to heal their disordered stomachs. +Although I am anticipating by so doing, I will mention here, +that, out of all these persons whom I noted down, I really did +not help a single one, in spite of the fact that for some of +them, that was done which they desired, and that which, +apparently, might have raised them. Three of their number +were particularly well known to me. All three, after +repeated rises and falls, are now in precisely the same situation +in which they were three years ago.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> +<p>The second class of unfortunates whom I also expected to +assist later on, were the dissolute women; there were a very +great many of them, of all sorts, in the Rzhanoff +house—from those who were young and who resembled women, to +old ones, who were frightful and horrible, and who had lost every +semblance of humanity. The hope of being of assistance to +these women, which I had not at first entertained, occurred to me +later. This was in the middle of our rounds. We had +already worked out several mechanical tricks of procedure.</p> +<p>When we entered a new establishment, we immediately questioned +the landlady of the apartment; one of us sat down, clearing some +sort of a place for himself where he could write, and another +penetrated the corners, and questioned each man in all the nooks +of the apartment separately, and reported the facts to the one +who did the writing.</p> +<p>On entering a set of rooms in the basement, a student went to +hunt up the landlady, while I began to interrogate all who +remained in the place. The apartment was thus arranged: in +the centre was a room six <i>arshins</i> square, <a +name="citation59"></a><a href="#footnote59" +class="citation">[59]</a> and a small oven. From the oven +radiated four partitions, forming four tiny compartments. +In the first, the entrance slip, which had four bunks, there were +two persons—an old man and a woman. Immediately +adjoining this, was a rather long slip of a room; in it was the +landlord, a young fellow, dressed in a sleeveless gray woollen +jacket, a good-looking, very pale citizen. <a +name="citation60"></a><a href="#footnote60" +class="citation">[60]</a> On the left of the first corner, +was a third tiny chamber; there was one person asleep there, +probably a drunken peasant, and a woman in a pink blouse which +was loose in front and close-fitting behind. The fourth +chamber was behind the partition; the entrance to it was from the +landlord’s compartment.</p> +<p>The student went into the landlord’s room, and I +remained in the entrance compartment, and questioned the old man +and woman. The old man had been a master-printer, but now +had no means of livelihood. The woman was the wife of a +cook. I went to the third compartment, and questioned the +woman in the blouse about the sleeping man. She said that +he was a visitor. I asked the woman who she was. She +replied that she was a Moscow peasant. “What is your +business?” She burst into a laugh, and did not answer +me. “What do you live on?” I repeated, thinking +that she had not understood my question. “I sit in +the taverns,” she said. I did not comprehend, and +again I inquired: “What is your means of +livelihood?” She made no reply and laughed. +Women’s voices in the fourth compartment which we had not +yet entered, joined in the laugh. The landlord emerged from +his cabin and stepped up to us. He had evidently heard my +questions and the woman’s replies. He cast a stern +glance at the woman and turned to me: “She is a +prostitute,” said he, apparently pleased that he knew the +word in use in the language of the authorities, and that he could +pronounce it correctly. And having said this, with a +respectful and barely perceptible smile of satisfaction addressed +to me, he turned to the woman. And no sooner had he turned +to her, than his whole face altered. He said, in a +peculiar, scornful, hasty tone, such as is employed towards dogs: +“What do you jabber in that careless way for? +‘I sit in the taverns.’ You do sit in the +taverns, and that means, to talk business, that you are a +prostitute,” and again he uttered the word. +“She does not know the name for herself.” This +tone offended me. “It is not our place to abuse +her,” said I. “If all of us lived according to +the laws of God, there would be none of these women.”</p> +<p>“That’s the very point,” said the landlord, +with an awkward smile.</p> +<p>“Therefore, we should not reproach but pity them. +Are they to blame?”</p> +<p>I do not recollect just what I said, but I do remember that I +was vexed by the scornful tone of the landlord of these quarters +which were filled with women, whom he called prostitutes, and +that I felt compassion for this woman, and that I gave expression +to both feelings. No sooner had I spoken thus, than the +boards of the bed in the next compartment, whence the laugh had +proceeded, began to creak, and above the partition, which did not +reach to the ceiling, there appeared a woman’s curly and +dishevelled head, with small, swollen eyes, and a shining, red +face, followed by a second, and then by a third. They were +evidently standing on their beds, and all three were craning +their necks, and holding their breath with strained attention, +and gazing silently at us.</p> +<p>A troubled pause ensued. The student, who had been +smiling up to this time, became serious; the landlord grew +confused and dropped his eyes. All the women held their +breath, stared at me, and waited. I was more embarrassed +than any of them. I had not, in the least, anticipated that +a chance remark would produce such an effect. Like +Ezekiel’s field of death, strewn with dead men’s +bones, there was a quiver at the touch of the spirit, and the +dead bones stirred. I had uttered an unpremeditated word of +love and sympathy, and this word had acted on all as though they +had only been waiting for this very remark, in order that they +might cease to be corpses and might live. They all stared +at me, and waited for what would come next. They waited for +me to utter those words, and to perform those actions by reason +of which these bones might draw together, clothe themselves with +flesh, and spring into life. But I felt that I had no such +words, no such actions, by means of which I could continue what I +had begun; I was conscious, in the depths of my soul, that I had +lied [that I was just like them], <a name="citation62"></a><a +href="#footnote62" class="citation">[62]</a> and there was +nothing further for me to say; and I began to inscribe on the +cards the names and callings of all the persons in this set of +apartments.</p> +<p>This incident led me into a fresh dilemma, to the thought of +how these unfortunates also might be helped. In my +self-delusion, I fancied that this would be very easy. I +said to myself: “Here, we will make a note of all these +women also, and <i>later on</i> when we [I did not specify to +myself who “we” were] write every thing out, we will +attend to these persons too.” I imagined that we, the +very ones who have brought and have been bringing these women to +this condition for several generations, would take thought some +fine day and reform all this. But, in the mean time, if I +had only recalled my conversation with the disreputable woman who +had been rocking the baby of the fever-stricken patient, I might +have comprehended the full extent of the folly of such a +supposition.</p> +<p>When we saw this woman with the baby, we thought that it was +her child. To the question, “Who was she?” she +had replied in a straightforward way that she was +unmarried. She did not say—a prostitute. Only +the master of the apartment made use of that frightful +word. The supposition that she had a child suggested to me +the idea of removing her from her position. I inquired:</p> +<p>“Is this your child?”</p> +<p>“No, it belongs to that woman yonder.”</p> +<p>“Why are you taking care of it?”</p> +<p>“Because she asked me; she is dying.”</p> +<p>Although my supposition proved to be erroneous, I continued my +conversation with her in the same spirit. I began to +question her as to who she was, and how she had come to such a +state. She related her history very readily and +simply. She was a Moscow <i>myeshchanka</i>, the daughter +of a factory hand. She had been left an orphan, and had +been adopted by an aunt. From her aunt’s she had +begun to frequent the taverns. The aunt was now dead. +When I asked her whether she did not wish to alter her mode of +life, my question, evidently, did not even arouse her +interest. How can one take an interest in the proposition +of a man, in regard to something absolutely impossible? She +laughed, and said: “And who would take me in with my yellow +ticket?”</p> +<p>“Well, but if a place could be found somewhere as +cook?” said I.</p> +<p>This thought occurred to me because she was a stout, ruddy +woman, with a kindly, round, and rather stupid face. Cooks +are often like that. My words evidently did not please +her. She repeated:</p> +<p>“A cook—but I don’t know how to make +bread,” said she, and she laughed. She said that she +did not know how; but I saw from the expression of her +countenance that she did not wish to become a cook, that she +regarded the position and calling of a cook as low.</p> +<p>This woman, who in the simplest possible manner was +sacrificing every thing that she had for the sick woman, like the +widow in the Gospels, at the same time, like many of her +companions, regarded the position of a person who works as low +and deserving of scorn. She had been brought up to live not +by work, but by this life which was considered the natural one +for her by those about her. In that lay her +misfortune. And she fell in with this misfortune and clung +to her position. This led her to frequent the +taverns. Which of us—man or woman—will correct +her false view of life? Where among us are the people to be +found who are convinced that every laborious life is more worthy +of respect than an idle life,—who are convinced of this, +and who live in conformity with this belief, and who in +conformity with this conviction value and respect people? +If I had thought of this, I might have understood that neither I, +nor any other person among my acquaintances, could heal this +complaint.</p> +<p>I might have understood that these amazed and affected heads +thrust over the partition indicated only surprise at the sympathy +expressed for them, but not in the least a hope of reclamation +from their dissolute life. They do not perceive the +immorality of their life. They see that they are despised +and cursed, but for what they are thus despised they cannot +comprehend. Their life, from childhood, has been spent +among just such women, who, as they very well know, always have +existed, and are indispensable to society, and so indispensable +that there are governmental officials to attend to their legal +existence. Moreover, they know that they have power over +men, and can bring them into subjection, and rule them often more +than other women. They see that their position in society +is recognized by women and men and the authorities, in spite of +their continual curses, and therefore, they cannot understand why +they should reform.</p> +<p>In the course of one of the tours, one of the students told me +that in a certain lodging, there was a woman who was bargaining +for her thirteen-year-old daughter. Being desirous of +rescuing this girl, I made a trip to that lodging +expressly. Mother and daughter were living in the greatest +poverty. The mother, a small, dark-complexioned, dissolute +woman of forty, was not only homely, but repulsively +homely. The daughter was equally disagreeable. To all +my pointed questions about their life, the mother responded +curtly, suspiciously, and in a hostile way, evidently feeling +that I was an enemy, with evil intentions; the daughter made no +reply, did not look at her mother, and evidently trusted the +latter fully. They inspired me with no sincere pity, but +rather with disgust. But I made up my mind that the +daughter must be rescued, and that I would interest ladies who +pitied the sad condition of these women, and send them +hither. But if I had reflected on the mother’s long +life in the past, of how she had given birth to, nursed and +reared this daughter in her situation, assuredly without the +slightest assistance from outsiders, and with heavy +sacrifices—if I had reflected on the view of life which +this woman had formed, I should have understood that there was, +decidedly, nothing bad or immoral in the mother’s act: she +had done and was doing for her daughter all that she could, that +is to say, what she considered the best for herself. This +daughter could be forcibly removed from her mother; but it would +be impossible to convince the mother that she was doing wrong, in +selling her daughter. If any one was to be saved, then it +must be this woman—the mother ought to have been saved; +[and that long before, from that view of life which is approved +by every one, according to which a woman may live unmarried, that +is, without bearing children and without work, and simply for the +satisfaction of the passions. If I had thought of this, I +should have understood that the majority of the ladies whom I +intended to send thither for the salvation of that little girl, +not only live without bearing children and without working, and +serving only passion, but that they deliberately rear their +daughters for the same life; one mother takes her daughter to the +taverns, another takes hers to balls. But both mothers hold +the same view of the world, namely, that a woman must satisfy +man’s passions, and that for this she must be fed, dressed, +and cared for. Then how are our ladies to reform this woman +and her daughter? <a name="citation66"></a><a href="#footnote66" +class="citation">[66]</a> ]</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3> +<p>Still more remarkable were my relations to the children. +In my <i>rôle</i> of benefactor, I turned my attention to +the children also, being desirous to save these innocent beings +from perishing in that lair of vice, and noting them down in +order to attend to them <i>afterwards</i>.</p> +<p>Among the children, I was especially struck with a +twelve-year-old lad named Serozha. I was heartily sorry for +this bold, intelligent lad, who had lived with a cobbler, and who +had been left without a shelter because his master had been put +in jail, and I wanted to do good to him.</p> +<p>I will here relate the upshot of my benevolence in his case, +because my experience with this child is best adapted to show my +false position in the <i>rôle</i> of benefactor. I +took the boy home with me and put him in the kitchen. It +was impossible, was it not, to take a child who had lived in a +den of iniquity in among my own children? And I considered +myself very kind and good, because he was a care, not to me, but +to the servants in the kitchen, and because not I but the cook +fed him, and because I gave him some cast-off clothing to +wear. The boy staid a week. During that week I said a +few words to him as I passed on two occasions and in the course +of my strolls, I went to a shoemaker of my acquaintance, and +proposed that he should take the lad as an apprentice. A +peasant who was visiting me, invited him to go to the country, +into his family, as a laborer; the boy refused, and at the end of +the week he disappeared. I went to the Rzhanoff house to +inquire after him. He had returned there, but was not at +home when I went thither. For two days already, he had been +going to the Pryesnensky ponds, where he had hired himself out at +thirty kopeks a day in some procession of savages in costume, who +led about elephants. Something was being presented to the +public there. I went a second time, but he was so +ungrateful that he evidently avoided me. Had I then +reflected on the life of that boy and on my own, I should have +understood that this boy was spoiled because he had discovered +the possibility of a merry life without labor, and that he had +grown unused to work. And I, with the object of benefiting +and reclaiming him, had taken him to my house, where he +saw—what? My children,—both older and younger +than himself, and of the same age,—who not only never did +any work for themselves, but who made work for others by every +means in their power, who soiled and spoiled every thing about +them, who ate rich, dainty, and sweet viands, broke china, and +flung to the dogs food which would have been a tidbit to this +lad. If I had rescued him from the <i>abyss</i>, and had +taken him to that nice place, then he must acquire those views +which prevailed in the life of that nice place; but by these +views, he understood that in that fine place he must so live that +he should not toil, but eat and drink luxuriously, and lead a +joyous life. It is true that he did not know that my +children bore heavy burdens in the acquisition of the declensions +of Latin and Greek grammar, and that he could not have understood +the object of these labors. But it is impossible not to see +that if he had understood this, the influence of my +children’s example on him would have been even +stronger. He would then have comprehended that my children +were being educated in this manner, so that, while doing no work +now, they might be in a position hereafter, also profiting by +their diplomas, to work as little as possible, and to enjoy the +pleasures of life to as great an extent as possible. He did +understand this, and he would not go with the peasant to tend +cattle, and to eat potatoes and <i>kvas</i> with him, but he went +to the zoölogical garden in the costume of a savage, to lead +the elephant at thirty kopeks a day.</p> +<p>I might have understood how clumsy I was, when I was rearing +my children in the most utter idleness and luxury, to reform +other people and their children, who were perishing from idleness +in what I called the den of the Rzhanoff house, where, +nevertheless, three-fourths of the people toil for themselves and +for others. But I understood nothing of this.</p> +<p>There were a great many children in the Rzhanoff house, who +were in the same pitiable plight; there were the children of +dissolute women, there were orphans, there were children who had +been picked up in the streets by beggars. They were all +very wretched. But my experience with Serozha showed me +that I, living the life I did, was not in a position to help +them.</p> +<p>While Serozha was living with us, I noticed in myself an +effort to hide our life from him, in particular the life of our +children. I felt that all my efforts to direct him towards +a good, industrious life, were counteracted by the examples of +our lives and by that of our children. It is very easy to +take a child away from a disreputable woman, or from a +beggar. It is very easy, when one has the money, to wash, +clean and dress him in neat clothing, to support him, and even to +teach him various sciences; but it is not only difficult for us, +who do not earn our own bread, but quite the reverse, to teach +him to work for his bread, but it is impossible, because we, by +our example, and even by those material and valueless +improvements of his life, inculcate the contrary. A puppy +can be taken, tended, fed, and taught to fetch and carry, and one +may take pleasure in him: but it is not enough to tend a man, to +feed and teach him Greek; we must teach the man how to +live,—that is, to take as little as possible from others, +and to give as much as possible; and we cannot help teaching him +to do the contrary, if we take him into our houses, or into an +institution founded for this purpose.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> +<p>This feeling of compassion for people, and of disgust with +myself, which I had experienced in the Lyapinsky house, I +experienced no longer. I was completely absorbed in the +desire to carry out the scheme which I had concocted,—to do +good to those people whom I should meet here. And, strange +to say, it would appear, that, to do good—to give money to +the needy—is a very good deed, and one that should dispose +me to love for the people, but it turned out the reverse: this +act produced in me ill-will and an inclination to condemn +people. But during our first evening tour, a scene occurred +exactly like that in the Lyapinsky house, and it called forth a +wholly different sentiment.</p> +<p>It began by my finding in one set of apartments an unfortunate +individual, of precisely the sort who require immediate +aid. I found a hungry woman who had had nothing to eat for +two days.</p> +<p>It came about thus: in one very large and almost empty +night-lodging, I asked an old woman whether there were many poor +people who had nothing to eat? The old woman reflected, and +then told me of two; and then, as though she had just +recollected, “Why, here is one of them,” said she, +glancing at one of the occupied bunks. “I think that +woman has had no food.”</p> +<p>“Really? Who is she?”</p> +<p>“She was a dissolute woman: no one wants any thing to do +with her now, so she has no way of getting any thing. The +landlady has had compassion on her, but now she means to turn her +out . . . Agafya, hey there, Agafya!” cried the woman.</p> +<p>We approached, and something rose up in the bunk. It was +a woman haggard and dishevelled, whose hair was half gray, and +who was as thin as a skeleton, dressed in a ragged and dirty +chemise, and with particularly brilliant and staring eyes. +She looked past us with her staring eyes, clutched at her jacket +with one thin hand, in order to cover her bony breast which was +disclosed by her tattered chemise, and oppressed, she cried, +“What is it? what is it?” I asked her about her +means of livelihood. For a long time she did not +understand, and said, “I don’t know myself; they +persecute me.” I asked her,—it puts me to +shame, my hand refuses to write it,—I asked her whether it +was true that she had nothing to eat? She answered in the +same hurried, feverish tone, staring at me the +while,—“No, I had nothing yesterday, and I have had +nothing to-day.”</p> +<p>The sight of this woman touched me, but not at all as had been +the case in the Lyapinsky house; there, my pity for these people +made me instantly feel ashamed of myself: but here, I rejoiced +because I had at last found what I had been seeking,—a +hungry person.</p> +<p>I gave her a ruble, and I recollect being very glad that +others saw it. The old woman, on seeing this, immediately +begged money of me also. It afforded me such pleasure to +give, that, without finding out whether it was necessary to give +or not, I gave something to the old woman too. The old +woman accompanied me to the door, and the people standing in the +corridor heard her blessing me. Probably the questions +which I had put with regard to poverty, had aroused expectation, +and several persons followed us. In the corridor also, they +began to ask me for money. Among those who begged were some +drunken men, who aroused an unpleasant feeling in me; but, having +once given to the old woman, I had no might to refuse these +people, and I began to give. As long as I continued to +give, people kept coming up; and excitement ran through all the +lodgings. People made them appearance on the stairs and +galleries, and followed me. As I emerged into the +court-yard, a little boy ran swiftly down one of the staircases +thrusting the people aside. He did not see me, and +exclaimed hastily: “He gave Agashka a ruble!” +When he reached the ground, the boy joined the crowd which was +following me. I went out into the street: various +descriptions of people followed me, and asked for money. I +distributed all my small change, and entered an open shop with +the request that the shopkeeper would change a ten-ruble bill for +me. And then the same thing happened as at the Lyapinsky +house. A terrible confusion ensued. Old women, +noblemen, peasants, and children crowded into the shop with +outstretched hands; I gave, and interrogated some of them as to +their lives, and took notes. The shopkeeper, turning up the +furred points of the collar of his coat, sat like a stuffed +creature, glancing at the crowd occasionally, and then fixing his +eyes beyond them again. He evidently, like every one else, +felt that this was foolish, but he could not say so.</p> +<p>The poverty and beggary in the Lyapinsky house had horrified +me, and I felt myself guilty of it; I felt the desire and the +possibility of improvement. But now, precisely the same +scene produced on me an entirely different effect; I experienced, +in the first place, a malevolent feeling towards many of those +who were besieging me; and in the second place, uneasiness as to +what the shopkeepers and porters would think of me.</p> +<p>On my return home that day, I was troubled in my soul. I +felt that what I had done was foolish and immoral. But, as +is always the result of inward confusion, I talked a great deal +about the plan which I had undertaken, as though I entertained +not the slightest doubt of my success.</p> +<p>On the following day, I went to such of the people whom I had +inscribed on my list, as seemed to me the most wretched of all, +and those who, as it seemed to me, would be the easiest to +help. As I have already said, I did not help any of these +people. It proved to be more difficult to help them than I +had thought. And either because I did not know how, or +because it was impossible, I merely imitated these people, and +did not help any one. I visited the Rzhanoff house several +times before the final tour, and on every occasion the very same +thing occurred: I was beset by a throng of beggars in whose mass +I was completely lost. I felt the impossibility of doing +any thing, because there were too many of them, and because I +felt ill-disposed towards them because there were so many of +them; and in addition to this, each one separately did not +incline me in his favor. I was conscious that every one of +them was telling me an untruth, or less than the whole truth, and +that he saw in me merely a purse from which money might be +drawn. And it very frequently seemed to me, that the very +money which they squeezed out of me, rendered their condition +worse instead of improving it. The oftener I went to that +house, the more I entered into intercourse with the people there, +the more apparent became to me the impossibility of doing any +thing; but still I did not give up any scheme until the last +night tour.</p> +<p>The remembrance of that last tour is particularly mortifying +to me. On other occasions I had gone thither alone, but +twenty of us went there on this occasion. At seven +o’clock, all who wished to take part in this final night +round, began to assemble at my house. Nearly all of them +were strangers to me,—students, one officer, and two of my +society acquaintances, who, uttering the usual, +“<i>C’est très intèressant</i>!” +had asked me to include them in the number of the +census-takers.</p> +<p>My worldly acquaintances had dressed up especially for this, +in some sort of hunting-jacket, and tall, travelling boots, in a +costume in which they rode and went hunting, and which, in their +opinion, was appropriate for an excursion to a +night-lodging-house. They took with them special note-books +and remarkable pencils. They were in that peculiarly +excited state of mind in which men set off on a hunt, to a duel, +or to the wars. The most apparent thing about them was +their folly and the falseness of our position, but all the rest +of us were in the same false position. Before we set out, +we held a consultation, after the fashion of a council of war, as +to how we should begin, how divide our party, and so on.</p> +<p>This consultation was exactly such as takes place in councils, +assemblages, committees; that is to say, each person spoke, not +because he had any thing to say or to ask, but because each one +cudgelled his brain for something that he could say, so that he +might not fall short of the rest. But, among all these +discussions, no one alluded to that beneficence of which I had so +often spoken to them all. Mortifying as this was to me, I +felt that it was indispensable that I should once more remind +them of benevolence, that is, of the point, that we were to +observe and take notes of all those in destitute circumstances +whom we should encounter in the course of our rounds. I had +always felt ashamed to speak of this; but now, in the midst of +all our excited preparations for our expedition, I could hardly +utter the words. All listened to me, as it seemed to me, +with sorrow, and, at the same time, all agreed in words; but it +was evident that they all knew that it was folly, and that +nothing would come of it, and all immediately began again to talk +about something else. This went on until the time arrived +for us to set out, and we started.</p> +<p>We reached the tavern, roused the waiters, and began to sort +our papers. When we were informed that the people had heard +about this round, and were leaving their quarters, we asked the +landlord to lock the gates; and we went ourselves into the yard +to reason with the fleeing people, assuring them that no one +would demand their tickets. I remember the strange and +painful impression produced on me by these alarmed night-lodgers: +ragged, half-dressed, they all seemed tall to me by the light of +the lantern and the gloom of the court-yard. Frightened and +terrifying in their alarm, they stood in a group around the +foul-smelling out-house, and listened to our assurances, but they +did not believe us, and were evidently prepared for any thing, +like hunted wild beasts, provided only that they could escape +from us. Gentlemen in divers shapes—as policemen, +both city and rural, and as examining judges, and +judges—hunt them all their lives, in town and country, on +the highway and in the streets, and in the taverns, and in +night-lodging houses; and now, all of a sudden, these gentlemen +had come and locked the gates, merely in order to count them: it +was as difficult for them to believe this, as for hares to +believe that dogs have come, not to chase but to count +them. But the gates were locked, and the startled lodgers +returned: and we, breaking up into groups, entered also. +With me were the two society men and two students. In front +of us, in the dark, went Vanya, in his coat and white trousers, +with a lantern, and we followed. We went to quarters with +which I was familiar. I knew all the establishments, and +some of the people; but the majority of the people were new, and +the spectacle was new, and more dreadful than the one which I had +witnessed in the Lyapinsky house. All the lodgings were +full, all the bunks were occupied, not by one person only, but +often by two. The sight was terrible in that narrow space +into which the people were huddled, and men and women were mixed +together. All the women who were not dead drunk slept with +men; and women with two children did the same. The sight +was terrible, on account of the poverty, dirt, rags, and terror +of the people. And it was chiefly dreadful on account of +the vast numbers of people who were in this situation. One +lodging, and then a second like it, and a third, and a tenth, and +a twentieth, and still there was no end to them. And +everywhere there was the same foul odor, the same close +atmosphere, the same crowding, the same mingling of the sexes, +the same men and women intoxicated to stupidity, and the same +terror, submission and guilt on all faces; and again I was +overwhelmed with shame and pain, as in the Lyapinsky house, and I +understood that what I had undertaken was abominable and foolish +and therefore impracticable. And I no longer took notes of +anybody, and I asked no questions, knowing that nothing would +come of this.</p> +<p>I was deeply pained. In the Lyapinsky house I had been +like a man who has seen a fearful wound, by chance, on the body +of another man. He is sorry for the other man, he is +ashamed that he has not pitied the man before, and he can still +rise to the succor of the sufferer. But now I was like a +physician, who has come with his medicine to the sick man, has +uncovered his sore, and examined it, and who must confess to +himself that every thing that he has done has been in vain, and +that his remedy is good for nothing.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3> +<p>This visit dealt the final blow to my self-delusion. It +now appeared indisputable to me, that what I had undertaken was +not only foolish but loathsome.</p> +<p>But, in spite of the fact that I was aware of this, it seemed +to me that I could not abandon the whole thing on the spot. +It seemed to me that I was bound to carry out this enterprise, in +the first place, because by my article, by my visits and +promises, I had aroused the expectations of the poor; in the +second, because by my article also, and by my talk, I had aroused +the sympathies of benevolent persons, many of whom had promised +me their co-operation both in personal labor and in money. +And I expected that both sets of people would turn to me for an +answer to this.</p> +<p>What happened to me, so far as the appeal of the needy to me +is concerned, was as follows: By letter and personal application +I received more than a hundred; these applications were all from +the wealthy-poor, if I may so express myself. I went to see +some of them, and some of them received no answer. Nowhere +did I succeed in doing any thing. All applications to me +were from persons who had once occupied privileged positions (I +thus designate those in which people receive more from others +than they give), who had lost them, and who wished to occupy them +again. To one, two hundred rubles were indispensable, in +order that he might prop up a failing business, and complete the +education of his children which had been begun; another wanted a +photographic outfit; a third wanted his debts paid, and +respectable clothing purchased for him; a fourth needed a piano, +in order to perfect himself and support his family by giving +lessons. But the majority did not stipulate for any given +sum of money, and simply asked for assistance; and when I came to +examine into what was required, it turned out that their demands +grew in proportion to the aid, and that there was not and could +not be any way of satisfying them. I repeat, that it is +very possible that this arose from the fact that I did not +understand how; but I did not help any one, although I sometimes +endeavored to do so.</p> +<p>A very strange and unexpected thing happened to me as regards +the co-operation of the benevolently disposed. Out of all +the persons who had promised me financial aid, and who had even +stated the number of rubles, not a single one handed to me for +distribution among the poor one solitary ruble. But +according to the pledges which had been given me, I could reckon +on about three thousand rubles; and out of all these people, not +one remembered our former discussions, or gave me a single +kopek. Only the students gave the money which had been +assigned to them for their work on the census, twelve rubles, I +think. So my whole scheme, which was to have been expressed +by tens of thousands of rubles contributed by the wealthy, for +hundreds and thousands of poor people who were to be rescued from +poverty and vice, dwindled down to this, that I gave away, +haphazard, a few scores of rubles to those people who asked me +for them, and that there remained in my hands twelve rubies +contributed by the students, and twenty-five sent to me by the +City Council for my labor as a superintendent, and I absolutely +did not know to whom to give them.</p> +<p>The whole matter came to an end. And then, before my +departure for the country, on the Sunday before carnival, I went +to the Rzhanoff house in the morning, in order to get rid of +those thirty-seven rubles before I should leave Moscow, and to +distribute them to the poor. I made the round of the +quarters with which I was familiar, and in them found only one +sick man, to whom I gave five rubles. There was no one else +there to give any to. Of course many began to beg of +me. But as I had not known them at first, so I did not know +them now, and I made up my mind to take counsel with Ivan +Fedotitch, the landlord of the tavern, as to the persons upon +whom it would be proper to bestow the remaining thirty-two +rubies.</p> +<p>It was the first day of the carnival. Everybody was +dressed up, and everybody was full-fed, and many were already +intoxicated. In the court-yard, close to the house, stood +an old man, a rag-picker, in a tattered smock and bast shoes, +sorting over the booty in his basket, tossing out leather, iron, +and other stuff in piles, and breaking into a merry song, with a +fine, powerful voice. I entered into conversation with +him. He was seventy years old, he was alone in the world, +and supported himself by his calling of a rag-picker; and not +only did he utter no complaints, but he said that he had plenty +to eat and drink. I inquired of him as to especially needy +persons. He flew into a rage, and said plainly that there +were no needy people, except drunkards and lazy men; but, on +learning my object, he asked me for a five-kopek piece to buy a +drink, and ran off to the tavern. I too entered the tavern +to see Ivan Fedotitch, and commission him to distribute the money +which I had left. The tavern was full; gayly-dressed, +intoxicated girls were flitting in and out; all the tables were +occupied; there were already a great many drunken people, and in +the small room the harmonium was being played, and two persons +were dancing. Out of respect to me, Ivan Fedotitch ordered +that the dance should be stopped, and seated himself with me at a +vacant table. I said to him, that, as he knew his tenants, +would not he point out to me the most needy among them; that I +had been entrusted with the distribution of a little money, and, +therefore, would he indicate the proper persons? +Good-natured Ivan Fedotitch (he died a year later), although he +was pressed with business, broke away from it for a time, in +order to serve me. He meditated, and was evidently +undecided. An elderly waiter heard us, and joined the +conference.</p> +<p>They began to discuss the claims of persons, some of whom I +knew, but still they could not come to any agreement. +“The Paramonovna,” suggested the waiter. +“Yes, that would do. Sometimes she has nothing to +eat. Yes, but then she tipples.”—“Well, +what of that? That makes no +difference.”—“Well, Sidoron Ivanovitch has +children. He would do.” But Ivan Fedotitch had +his doubts about Sidoron Ivanovitch also. “Akulina +shall have some. There, now, give something to the +blind.” To this I responded. I saw him at +once. He was a blind old man of eighty years, without kith +or kin. It seemed as though no condition could be more +painful, and I went immediately to see him. He was lying on +a feather-bed, on a high bedstead, drunk; and, as he did not see +me, he was scolding his comparatively youthful female companion +in a frightful bass voice, and in the very worst kind of +language. They also summoned an armless boy and his +mother. I saw that Ivan Fedotitch was in great straits, on +account of his conscientiousness, for me knew that whatever was +given would immediately pass to his tavern. But I had to +get rid of my thirty-two rubles, so I insisted; and in one way +and another, and half wrongfully to boot, we assigned and +distributed them. Those who received them were mostly well +dressed, and we had not far to go to find them, as they were +there in the tavern. The armless boy appeared in wrinkled +boots, and a red shirt and vest. With this my charitable +career came to an end, and I went off to the country; irritated +at others, as is always the case, because I myself had done a +stupid and a bad thing. My benevolence had ended in +nothing, and it ceased altogether, but the current of thoughts +and feelings which it had called up with me not only did not come +to an end, but the inward work went on with redoubled force.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3> +<p>What was its nature?</p> +<p>I had lived in the country, and there I was connected with the +rustic poor. Not out of humility, which is worse than +pride, but for the sake of telling the truth, which is +indispensable for the understanding of the whole course of my +thoughts and sentiments, I will say that in the country I did +very little for the poor, but the demands which were made upon me +were so modest that even this little was of use to the people, +and formed around me an atmosphere of affection and union with +the people, in which it was possible to soothe the gnawing +sensation of remorse at the independence of my life. On +going to the city, I had hoped to be able to live in the same +manner. But here I encountered want of an entirely +different sort. City want was both less real, and more +exacting and cruel, than country poverty. But the principal +point was, that there was so much of it in one spot, that it +produced on me a frightful impression. The impression which +I experienced in the Lyapinsky house had, at the very first, made +me conscious of the deformity of my own life. This feeling +was genuine and very powerful. But, notwithstanding its +genuineness and power, I was, at that time, so weak that I feared +the alteration in my life to which this feeling commended me, and +I resorted to a compromise. I believed what everybody told +me, and everybody has said, ever since the world was +made,—that there is nothing evil in wealth and luxury, that +they are given by God, that one may continue to live as a rich +man, and yet help the needy. I believed this, and I tried +to do it. I wrote an essay, in which I summoned all rich +people to my assistance. The rich people all acknowledged +themselves morally bound to agree with me, but evidently they +either did not wish to do any thing, or they could not do any +thing or give any thing to the poor. I began to visit the +poor, and I beheld what I had not in the least expected. On +the one hand, I beheld in those dens, as I called them, people +whom it was not conceivable that I should help, because they were +working people, accustomed to labor and privation, and therefore +standing much higher and having a much firmer foothold in life +than myself; on the other hand, I saw unfortunate people whom I +could not aid because they were exactly like myself. The +majority of the unfortunates whom I saw were unhappy only because +they had lost the capacity, desire, and habit of earning their +own bread; that is to say, their unhappiness consisted in the +fact that they were precisely such persons as myself.</p> +<p>I found no unfortunates who were sick, hungry, or cold, to +whom I could render immediate assistance, with the solitary +exception of hungry Agafya. And I became convinced, that, +on account of my remoteness from the lives of those people whom I +desired to help, it would be almost impossible to find any such +unfortunates, because all actual wants had already been supplied +by the very people among whom these unfortunates live; and, most +of all, I was convinced that money cannot effect any change in +the life led by these unhappy people.</p> +<p>I was convinced of all this, but out of false shame at +abandoning what I had once undertaken, because of my +self-delusion as a benefactor, I went on with this matter for a +tolerably long time,—and would have gone on with it until +it came to nothing of itself,—so that it was with the +greatest difficulty that, with the help of Ivan Fedotitch, I got +rid, after a fashion, as well as I could, in the tavern of the +Rzhanoff house, of the thirty-seven rubles which I did not regard +as belonging to me.</p> +<p>Of course I might have gone on with this business, and have +made out of it a semblance of benevolence; by urging the people +who had promised me money, I might have collected more, I might +have distributed this money, and consoled myself with my charity; +but I perceived, on the one hand, that we rich people neither +wish nor are able to share a portion of our a superfluity with +the poor (we have so many wants of our own), and that money +should not be given to any one, if the object really be to do +good and not to give money itself at haphazard, as I had done in +the Rzhanoff tavern. And I gave up the whole thing, and +went off to the country with despair in my heart.</p> +<p>In the country I tried to write an essay about all this that I +had experienced, and to tell why my undertaking had not +succeeded. I wanted to justify myself against the +reproaches which had been made to me on the score of my article +on the census; I wanted to convict society of its in difference, +and to state the causes in which this city poverty has its birth, +and the necessity of combating it, and the means of doing so +which I saw.</p> +<p>I began this essay at once, and it seemed to me that in it I +was saying a very great deal that was important. But toil +as I would over it, and in spite of the abundance of materials, +in spite of the superfluity of them even, I could not get though +that essay; and so I did not finish it until the present year, +because of the irritation under the influence of which I wrote, +because I had not gone through all that was requisite in order to +bear myself properly in relation to this essay, because I did not +simply and clearly acknowledge the cause of all this,—a +very simple cause, which had its root in myself.</p> +<p>In the domain of morals, one very remarkable and too little +noted phenomenon presents itself.</p> +<p>If I tell a man who knows nothing about it, what I know about +geology, astronomy, history, physics, and mathematics, that man +receives entirely new information, and he never says to me: +“Well, what is there new in that? Everybody knows +that, and I have known it this long while.” But tell +that same man the most lofty truth, expressed in the clearest, +most concise manner, as it has never before been expressed, and +every ordinary individual, especially one who takes no particular +interest in moral questions, or, even more, one to whom the moral +truth stated by you is displeasing, will infallibly say to you: +“Well, who does not know that? That was known and +said long ago.” It really seems to him that this has +been said long ago and in just this way. Only those to whom +moral truths are dear and important know how important and +precious they are, and with what prolonged labor the elucidation, +the simplification, of moral truths, their transit from the state +of a misty, indefinitely recognized supposition, and desire, from +indistinct, incoherent expressions, to a firm and definite +expression, unavoidably demanding corresponding concessions, are +attained.</p> +<p>We have all become accustomed to think that moral instruction +is a most absurd and tiresome thing, in which there can be +nothing new or interesting; and yet all human life, together with +all the varied and complicated activities, apparently +independent, of morality, both governmental and scientific, and +artistic and commercial, has no other aim than the greater and +greater elucidation, confirmation, simplification, and +accessibility of moral truth.</p> +<p>I remember that I was once walking along the street in Moscow, +and in front of me I saw a man come out and gaze attentively at +the stones of the sidewalk, after which he selected one stone, +seated himself on it, and began to plane (as it seemed to me) or +to rub it with the greatest diligence and force. +“What is he doing to the sidewalk?” I said to +myself. On going close to him, I saw what the man was +doing. He was a young fellow from a meat-shop; he was +whetting his knife on the stone of the pavement. He was not +thinking at all of the stones when he scrutinized them, still +less was he thinking of them when he was accomplishing his task: +he was whetting his knife. He was obliged to whet his knife +so that he could cut the meat; but to me it seemed as though he +were doing something to the stones of the sidewalk. Just so +it appears as though humanity were occupied with commerce, +conventions, wars, sciences, arts; but only one business is of +importance to it, and with only one business is it occupied: it +is elucidating to itself those moral laws by which it +lives. The moral laws are already in existence; humanity is +only elucidating them, and this elucidation seems unimportant and +imperceptible for any one who has no need of moral laws, who does +not wish to live by them. But this elucidation of the moral +law is not only weighty, but the only real business of all +humanity. This elucidation is imperceptible just as the +difference between the dull and the sharp knife is +imperceptible. The knife is a knife all the same, and for a +person who is not obliged to cut any thing with this knife, the +difference between the dull and the sharp one is +imperceptible. For the man who has come to an understanding +that his whole life depends on the greater or less degree of +sharpness in the knife,—for such a man, every whetting of +it is weighty, and that man knows that the knife is a knife only +when it is sharp, when it cuts that which needs cutting.</p> +<p>This is what happened to me, when I began to write my +essay. It seemed to me that I knew all about it, that I +understood every thing connected with those questions which had +produced on me the impressions of the Lyapinsky house, and the +census; but when I attempted to take account of them and to +demonstrate them, it turned out that the knife would not cut, and +that it must be whetted. And it is only now, after the +lapse of three years, that I have felt that my knife is +sufficiently sharp, so that I can cut what I choose. I have +learned very little that is new. My thoughts are all +exactly the same, but they were duller then, and they all +scattered and would not unite on any thing; there was no edge to +them; they would not concentrate on one point, on the simplest +and clearest decision, as they have now concentrated +themselves.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3> +<p>I remember that during the entire period of my unsuccessful +efforts at helping the inhabitants of the city, I presented to +myself the aspect of a man who should attempt to drag another man +out of a swamp while he himself was standing on the same unstable +ground. Every attempt of mine had made me conscious of the +untrustworthy character of the soil on which I stood. I +felt that I was in the swamp myself, but this consciousness did +not cause me to look more narrowly at my own feet, in order to +learn upon what I was standing; I kept on seeking some external +means, outside myself, of helping the existing evil.</p> +<p>I then felt that my life was bad, and that it was impossible +to live in that manner. But from the fact that my life was +bad, and that it was impossible to live in that manner, I did not +draw the very simple and clear deduction that it was necessary to +amend my life and to live better, but I knew the terrible +deduction that in order to live well myself, I must needs reform +the lives of others; and so I began to reform the lives of +others. I lived in the city, and I wished to reform the +lives of those who lived in the city; but I soon became convinced +that this I could not by any possibility accomplish, and I began +to meditate on the inherent characteristics of city life and city +poverty.</p> +<p>“What are city life and city poverty? Why, when I +am living in the city, cannot I help the city poor?”</p> +<p>I asked myself. I answered myself that I could not do +any thing for them, in the first place, because there were too +many of them here in one spot; in the second place, because all +the poor people here were entirely different from the country +poor. Why were there so many of them here? and in what did +their peculiarity, as opposed to the country poor, consist? +There was one and the same answer to both questions. There +were a great many of them here, because here all those people who +have no means of subsistence in the country collect around the +rich; and their peculiarity lies in this, that they are not +people who have come from the country to support themselves in +the city (if there are any city paupers, those who have been born +here, and whose fathers and grandfathers were born here, then +those fathers and grandfathers came hither for the purpose of +earning their livelihood). What is the meaning of this: +<i>to earn one’s livelihood in the city</i>? In the +words “to earn one’s livelihood in the city,” +there is something strange, resembling a jest, when you reflect +on their significance. How is it that people go from the +country,—that is to say, from the places where there are +forests, meadows, grain, and cattle, where all the wealth of the +earth lies,—to earn their livelihood in a place where there +are neither trees, nor grass, nor even land, and only stones and +dust? What is the significance of the words “to earn +a livelihood in the city,” which are in such constant use, +both by those who earn the livelihood, and by those who furnish +it, as though it were something perfectly clear and +comprehensible?</p> +<p>I recall the hundreds and thousands of city people, both those +who live well and the needy, with whom I have conversed on the +reason why they came hither: and all without exception said, that +they had come from the country to earn their living; that in +Moscow, where people neither sow nor reap,—that in Moscow +there is plenty of every thing, and that, therefore, it is only +in Moscow that they can earn the money which they require in the +country for bread and a cottage and a horse, and articles of +prime necessity. But assuredly, in the country lies the +source of all riches; there only is real wealth,—bread, and +forests, and horses, and every thing. And why, above all, +take away from the country that which dwellers in the country +need,—flour, oats, horses, and cattle?</p> +<p>Hundreds of times did I discuss this matter with peasants +living in town; and from my discussions with them, and from my +observations, it has been made apparent to me, that the +congregation of country people in the city is partly +indispensable because they cannot otherwise support themselves, +partly voluntary, and that they are attracted to the city by the +temptations of the city.</p> +<p>It is true, that the position of the peasant is such that, for +the satisfaction of his demands made on him in the country, he +cannot extricate himself otherwise than by selling the grain and +the cattle which he knows will be indispensable to him; and he is +forced, whether he will or no, to go to the city in order there +to win back his bread. But it is also true, that the luxury +of city life, and the comparative ease with which money is there +to be earned, attract him thither; and under the pretext of +gaining his living in the town, he betakes himself thither in +order that he may have lighter work, better food, and drink tea +three times a day, and dress well, and even lead a drunken and +dissolute life. The cause of both is identical,—the +transfer of the riches of the producers into the hands of +non-producers, and the accumulation of wealth in the +cities. And, in point of fact, when autumn has come, all +wealth is collected in the country. And instantly there +arise demands for taxes, recruits, the temptations of vodka, +weddings, festivals; petty pedlers make their rounds through the +villages, and all sorts of other temptations crop up; and by this +road, or, if not, by some other, wealth of the most varied +description—vegetables, calves, cows, horses, pigs, +chickens, eggs, butter, hemp, flax, rye, oats, buckwheat, pease, +hempseed, and flaxseed—all passes into the hands of +strangers, is carried off to the towns, and thence to the +capitals. The countryman is obliged to surrender all this +to satisfy the demands that are made upon him, and temptations; +and, having parted with his wealth, he is left with an +insufficiency, and he is forced to go whither his wealth has been +carried and there he tries, in part, to obtain the money which he +requires for his first needs in the country, and in part, being +himself led away by the blandishments of the city, he enjoys, in +company with others, the wealth that has there accumulated. +Everywhere, throughout the whole of Russia,—yes, and not in +Russia alone, I think, but throughout the whole world,—the +same thing goes on. The wealth of the rustic producers +passes into the hands of traders, landed proprietors, officials, +and factory-owners; and the people who receive this wealth wish +to enjoy it. But it is only in the city that they can +derive full enjoyment from this wealth. In the country, in +the first place, it is difficult to satisfy all the requirements +of rich people, on account of the sparseness of the population; +banks, shops, hotels, every sort of artisan, and all sorts of +social diversions, do not exist there. In the second place, +one of the chief pleasures procured by wealth—vanity, the +desire to astonish and outshine other people—is difficult +to satisfy in the country; and this, again, on account of the +lack of inhabitants. In the country, there is no one to +appreciate elegance, no one to be astonished. Whatever +adornments in the way of pictures and bronzes the dweller in the +country may procure for his house, whatever equipages and toilets +he may provide, there is no one to see them and envy them, and +the peasants cannot judge of them. [And, in the third +place, luxury is even disagreeable and dangerous in the country +for the man possessed of a conscience and fear. It is an +awkward and delicate matter, in the country, to have baths of +milk, or to feed your puppies on it, when directly beside you +there are children who have no milk; it is an awkward and +delicate matter to build pavilions and gardens in the midst of +people who live in cots banked up with dung, which they have no +means of warming. In the country there is no one to keep +the stupid peasants in order, and in their lack of cultivation +they might disarrange all this.] <a name="citation94"></a><a +href="#footnote94" class="citation">[94]</a></p> +<p>And accordingly rich people congregate, and join themselves to +other rich people with similar requirements, in the city, where +the gratification of every luxurious taste is carefully protected +by a numerous police force. Well-rooted inhabitants of the +city of this sort, are the governmental officials; every +description of artisan and professional man has sprung up around +them, and with them the wealthy join their forces. All that +a rich man has to do there is to take a fancy to a thing, and he +can get it. It is also more agreeable for a rich man to +live there, because there he can gratify his vanity; there is +some one with whom he can vie in luxury; there is some one to +astonish, and there is some one to outshine. But the +principal reason why it is more comfortable in the city for a +rich man is that formerly, in the country, his luxury made him +awkward and uneasy; while now, on the contrary, it would be +awkward for him not to live luxuriously, not to live like all his +peers around him. That which seemed dreadful and awkward in +the country, here appears to be just as it should be. [Rich +people congregate in the city; and there, under the protection of +the authorities, they calmly demand every thing that is brought +thither from the country. And the countryman is, in some +measure, compelled to go thither, where this uninterrupted +festival of the wealthy which demands all that is taken from him +is in progress, in order to feed upon the crumbs which fall from +the tables of the rich; and partly, also, because, when he +beholds the care-free, luxurious life, approved and protected by +everybody, he himself becomes desirous of regulating his life in +such a way as to work as little as possible, and to make as much +use as possible of the labors of others.</p> +<p>And so he betakes himself to the city, and finds employment +about the wealthy, endeavoring, by every means in his power, to +entice from them that which he is in need of, and conforming to +all those conditions which the wealthy impose upon him, he +assists in the gratification of all their whims; he serves the +rich man in the bath and in the inn, and as cab-driver and +prostitute, and he makes for him equipages, toys, and fashions; +and he gradually learns from the rich man to live in the same +manner as the latter, not by labor, but by divers tricks, getting +away from others the wealth which they have heaped together; and +he becomes corrupt, and goes to destruction. And this +colony, demoralized by city wealth, constitutes that city +pauperism which I desired to aid and could not.</p> +<p>All that is necessary, in fact, is for us to reflect on the +condition of these inhabitants of the country, who have removed +to the city in order to earn their bread or their +taxes,—when they behold, everywhere around them, thousands +squandered madly, and hundreds won by the easiest possible means; +when they themselves are forced by heavy toil to earn +kopeks,—and we shall be amazed that all these people should +remain working people, and that they do not all of them take to +an easier method of getting gain,—by trading, peddling, +acting as middlemen, begging, vice, rascality, and even +robbery. Why, we, the participants in that never-ceasing +orgy which goes on in town, can become so accustomed to our life, +that it seems to us perfectly natural to dwell alone in five huge +apartments, heated by a quantity of beech logs sufficient to cook +the food for and to warm twenty families; to drive half a verst +with two trotters and two men-servants; to cover the polished +wood floor with rugs; and to spend, I will not say, on a ball, +five or ten thousand rubles, and twenty-five thousand on a +Christmas-tree. But a man who is in need of ten rubles to +buy bread for his family, or whose last sheep has been seized for +a tax-debt of seven rubles, and who cannot raise those rubles by +hard labor, cannot grow accustomed to this. We think that +all this appears natural to poor people there are even some +ingenuous persons who say in all seriousness, that the poor are +very grateful to us for supporting them by this luxury.] <a +name="citation96"></a><a href="#footnote96" +class="citation">[96]</a></p> +<p>But poor people are not devoid of human understanding simply +because they are poor, and they judge precisely as we do. +As the first thought that occurs to us on hearing that such and +such a man has gambled away or squandered ten or twenty thousand +rubles, is: “What a foolish and worthless fellow he is to +uselessly squander so much money! and what a good use I could +have made of that money in a building which I have long been in +need of, for the improvement of my estate, and so +forth!”—just so do the poor judge when they behold +the wealth which they need, not for caprices, but for the +satisfaction of their actual necessities, of which they are +frequently deprived, flung madly away before their eyes. We +make a very great mistake when we think that the poor can judge +thus, reason thus, and look on indifferently at the luxury which +surrounds them.</p> +<p>They never have acknowledged, and they never will acknowledge, +that it can be just for some people to live always in idleness, +and for other people to fast and toil incessantly; but at first +they are amazed and insulted by this; then they scrutinize it +more attentively, and, seeing that these arrangements are +recognized as legitimate, they endeavor to free themselves from +toil, and to take part in the idleness. Some succeed in +this, and they become just such carousers themselves; others +gradually prepare themselves for this state; others still fail, +and do not attain their goal, and, having lost the habit of work, +they fill up the disorderly houses and the night-lodging +houses.</p> +<p>Two years ago, we took from the country a peasant boy to wait +on table. For some reason, he did not get on well with the +footman, and he was sent away: he entered the service of a +merchant, won the favor of his master, and now he goes about with +a vest and a watch-chain, and dandified boots. In his +place, we took another peasant, a married man: he became a +drunkard, and lost money. We took a third: he took to +drunk, and, having drank up every thing he had, he suffered for a +long while from poverty in the night-lodging house. An old +man, the cook, took to drink and fell sick. Last year a +footman who had formerly been a hard drinker, but who had +refrained from liquor for five years in the country, while living +in Moscow without his wife who encouraged him, took to drink +again, and ruined his whole life. A young lad from our +village lives with my brother as a table-servant. His +grandfather, a blind old man, came to me during my sojourn in the +country, and asked me to remind this grandson that he was to send +ten rubies for the taxes, otherwise it would be necessary for him +to sell his cow. “He keeps saying, I must dress +decently,” said the old man: “well, he has had some +shoes made, and that’s all right; but what does he want to +set up a watch for?” said the grandfather, expressing in +these words the most senseless supposition that it was possible +to originate. The supposition really was senseless, if we +take into consideration that the old man throughout Lent had +eaten no butter, and that he had no split wood because he could +not possibly pay one ruble and twenty kopeks for it; but it +turned out that the old man’s senseless jest was an actual +fact. The young fellow came to see me in a fine black coat, +and shoes for which he had paid eight rubles. He had +recently borrowed ten rubles from my brother, and had spent them +on these shoes. And my children, who have known the lad +from childhood, told me that he really considers it indispensable +to fit himself out with a watch. He is a very good boy, but +he thinks that people will laugh at him so long as he has no +watch; and a watch is necessary. During the present year, a +chambermaid, a girl of eighteen, entered into a connection with +the coachman in our house. She was discharged. An old +woman, the nurse, with whom I spoke in regard to the unfortunate +girl, reminded me of a girl whom I had forgotten. She too, +ten yeans ago, during a brief stay of ours in Moscow, had become +connected with a footman. She too had been discharged, and +she had ended in a disorderly house, and had died in the hospital +before reaching the age of twenty. It is only necessary to +glance about one, to be struck with terror at the pest which we +disseminate directly by our luxurious life among the people whom +we afterwards wish to help, not to mention the factories and +establishments which serve our luxurious tastes.</p> +<p>[And thus, having penetrated into the peculiar character of +city poverty, which I was unable to remedy, I perceived that its +prime cause is this, that I take absolute necessaries from the +dwellers in the country, and carry them all to the city. +The second cause is this, that by making use here, in the city, +of what I have collected in the country, I tempt and lead astray, +by my senseless luxury, those country people who come hither +because of me, in order in some way to get back what they have +been deprived of in the country.] <a name="citation99"></a><a +href="#footnote99" class="citation">[99]</a></p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3> +<p>I reached the same conclusion from a totally different +point. On recalling all my relations with the city poor +during that time, I saw that one of the reasons why I could not +help the city poor was, that the poor were disingenuous and +untruthful with me. They all looked upon me, not as a man, +but as means. I could not get near them, and I thought that +perhaps I did not understand how to do it; but without +uprightness, no help was possible. How can one help a man +who does not disclose his whole condition? At first I +blamed them for this (it is so natural to blame some one else); +but a remark from an observing man named Siutaeff, who was +visiting me at the time, explained this matter to me, and showed +me where the cause of my want of success lay. I remember +that Siutaeff’s remark struck me very forcibly at the time; +but I only understood its full significance later on. It +was at the height of my self-delusion. I was sitting with +my sister, and Siutaeff was there also at her house; and my +sister was questioning me about my undertaking. I told her +about it, and, as always happens when you have no faith in your +course, I talked to her with great enthusiasm and warmth, and at +great length, of what I had done, and of what might possibly come +of it. I told her every thing,—how we were going to +keep track of pauperism in Moscow, how we were going to keep an +eye on the orphans and old people, how we were going to send away +all country people who had grown poor here, how we were going to +smooth the pathway to reform for the depraved; how, if only the +matter could be managed, there would not be a man left in Moscow, +who could not obtain assistance. My sister sympathized with +me, and we discussed it. In the middle of our conversation, +I glanced at Siutaeff. As I was acquainted with his +Christian life, and with the significance which he attached to +charity, I expected his sympathy, and spoke so that he understood +this; I talked to my sister, but directed my remarks more at +him. He sat immovable in his dark tanned sheepskin +jacket,—which he wore, like all peasants, both out of doors +and in the house,—and as though he did not hear us, but +were thinking of his own affairs. His small eyes did not +twinkle, and seemed to be turned inwards. Having finished +what I had to say, I turned to him with a query as to what he +thought of it.</p> +<p>“It’s all a foolish business,” said he.</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Your whole society is foolish, and nothing good can +come out of it,” he repeated with conviction.</p> +<p>“Why not? Why is it a stupid business to help +thousands, at any rate hundreds, of unfortunate beings? Is +it a bad thing, according to the Gospel, to clothe the naked, and +feed the hungry?”</p> +<p>“I know, I know, but that is not what you are +doing. Is it necessary to render assistance in that +way? You are walking along, and a man asks you for twenty +kopeks. You give them to him. Is that alms? Do +you give spiritual alms,—teach him. But what is it +that you have given? It was only for the sake of getting +rid of him.”</p> +<p>“No; and, besides, that is not what we are talking +about. We want to know about this need, and then to help by +both money and deeds; and to find work.”</p> +<p>“You can do nothing with those people in that +way.”</p> +<p>“So they are to be allowed to die of hunger and +cold?”</p> +<p>“Why should they die? Are there many of them +there?”</p> +<p>“What, many of them?” said I, thinking that he +looked at the matter so lightly because he was not aware how vast +was the number of these people.</p> +<p>“Why, do you know,” said I, “I believe that +there are twenty thousand of these cold and hungry people in +Moscow. And how about Petersburg and the other +cities?”</p> +<p>He smiled.</p> +<p>“Twenty thousand! And how many households are +there in Russia alone, do you think? Are there a +million?”</p> +<p>“Well, what then?”</p> +<p>“What then?” and his eyes flashed, and he grew +animated. “Come, let us divide them among +ourselves. I am not rich, I will take two persons on the +spot. There is the lad whom you took into your kitchen; I +invited him to come to my house, and he did not come. Were +there ten times as many, let us divide them among us. Do +you take some, and I will take some. We will work +together. He will see how I work, and he will learn. +He will see how I live, and we will sit down at the same table +together, and he will hear my words and yours. This charity +society of yours is nonsense.”</p> +<p>These simple words impressed me. I could not but admit +their justice; but it seemed to me at that time, that, in spite +of their truth, still that which I had planned might possibly +prove of service. But the further I carried this business, +the more I associated with the poor, the more frequently did this +remark recur to my mind, and the greater was the significance +which it acquired for me.</p> +<p>I arrive in a costly fur coat, or with my horses; or the man +who lacks shoes sees my two-thousand-ruble apartments. He +sees how, a little while ago, I gave five rubles without +begrudging them, merely because I took a whim to do so. He +surely knows that if I give away rubles in that manner, it is +only because I have hoarded up so many of them, that I have a +great many superfluous ones, which I not only have not given +away, but which I have easily taken from other people. +[What else could he see in me but one of those persons who have +got possession of what belongs to him? And what other +feeling can he cherish towards me, than a desire to obtain from +me as many of those rubles, which have been stolen from him and +from others, as possible? I wish to get close to him, and I +complain that he is not frank; and here I am, afraid to sit down +on his bed for fear of getting lice, or catching something +infectious; and I am afraid to admit him to my room, and he, +coming to me naked, waits, generally in the vestibule, or, if +very fortunate, in the ante-chamber. And yet I declare that +he is to blame because I cannot enter into intimate relations +with him, and because me is not frank.</p> +<p>Let the sternest man try the experiment of eating a dinner of +five courses in the midst of people who have had very little or +nothing but black bread to eat. Not a man will have the +spirit to eat, and to watch how the hungry lick their chops +around him. Hence, then, in order to eat daintily amid the +famishing, the first indispensable requisite is to hide from +them, in order that they may not see it. This is the very +thing, and the first thing, that we do.</p> +<p>And I took a simpler view of our life, and perceived that an +approach to the poor is not difficult to us through accidental +causes, but that we deliberately arrange our lives in such a +fashion so that this approach may be rendered difficult.</p> +<p>Not only this; but, on taking a survey of our life, of the +life of the wealthy, I saw that every thing which is considered +desirable in that life consists in, or is inseparably bound up +with, the idea of getting as far away from the poor as +possible. In fact, all the efforts of our well-endowed +life, beginning with our food, dress, houses, our cleanliness, +and even down to our education,—every thing has for its +chief object, the separation of ourselves from the poor. In +procuring this seclusion of ourselves by impassable barriers, we +spend, to put it mildly, nine-tenths of our wealth. The +first thing that a man who was grown wealthy does is to stop +eating out of one bowl, and he sets up crockery, and fits himself +out with a kitchen and servants. And he feeds his servants +high, too, so that their mouths may not water over his dainty +viands; and he eats alone; and as eating in solitude is +wearisome, he plans how he may improve his food and deck his +table; and the very manner of taking his food (dinner) becomes a +matter for pride and vain glory with him, and his manner of +taking his food becomes for him a means of sequestering himself +from other men. A rich man cannot think of such a thing as +inviting a poor man to his table. A man must know how to +conduct ladies to table, how to bow, to sit down, to eat, to +rinse out the mouth; and only rich people know all these +things. The same thing occurs in the matter of +clothing. If a rich man were to wear ordinary clothing, +simply for the purpose of protecting his body from the +cold,—a short jacket, a coat, felt and leather boots, an +under-jacket, trousers, shirt,—he would require but very +little, and he would not be unable, when he had two coats, to +give one of them to a man who had none. But the rich man +begins by procuring for himself clothing which consists entirely +of separate pieces, and which is fit only for separate occasions, +and which is, therefore, unsuited to the poor man. He has +frock-coats, vests, pea-jackets, lacquered boots, cloaks, shoes +with French heels, garments that are chopped up into bits to +conform with the fashion, hunting-coats, travelling-coats, and so +on, which can only be used under conditions of existence far +removed from poverty. And his clothing also furnishes him +with a means of keeping at a distance from the poor. The +same is the case, and even more clearly, with his dwelling. +In order that one may live alone in ten rooms, it is +indispensable that those who live ten in one room should not see +it. The richer a man is, the more difficult is he of +access; the more porters there are between him and people who are +not rich, the more impossible is it to conduct a poor man over +rugs, and seat him in a satin chair.</p> +<p>The case is the same with the means of locomotion. The +peasant driving in a cart, or a sledge, must be a very +ill-tempered man when he will not give a pedestrian a lift; and +there is both room for this and a possibility of doing it. +But the richer the equipage, the farther is a man from all +possibility of giving a seat to any person whatsoever. It +is even said plainly, that the most stylish equipages are those +meant to hold only one person.</p> +<p>It is precisely the same thing with the manner of life which +is expressed by the word cleanliness.</p> +<p>Cleanliness! Who is there that does not know people, +especially women, who reckon this cleanliness in themselves as a +great virtue? and who is not acquainted with the devices of this +cleanliness, which know no bounds, when it can command the labor +of others? Which of the people who have become rich has not +experienced in his own case, with what difficulty he carefully +trained himself to this cleanliness, which only confirms the +proverb, “Little white hands love other people’s +work”?</p> +<p>To-day cleanliness consists in changing your shirt once a day; +to-morrow, in changing it twice a day. To-day it means +washing the face, and neck, and hands daily; to-morrow, the feet; +and day after to-morrow, washing the whole body every day, and, +in addition and in particular, a rubbing-down. To-day the +table-cloth is to serve for two days, to-morrow there must be one +each day, then two a day. To-day the footman’s hands +must be clean; to-morrow he must wear gloves, and in his clean +gloves he must present a letter on a clean salver. And +there are no limits to this cleanliness, which is useless to +everybody, and objectless, except for the purpose of separating +oneself from others, and of rendering impossible all intercourse +with them, when this cleanliness is attained by the labors of +others.</p> +<p>Moreover, when I studied the subject, I because convinced that +even that which is commonly called education is the very same +thing.</p> +<p>The tongue does not deceive; it calls by its real name that +which men understand under this name. What the people call +culture is fashionable clothing, political conversation, clean +hands,—a certain sort of cleanliness. Of such a man, +it is said, in contradistinction to others, that he is an +educated man. In a little higher circle, what they call +education means the same thing as with the people; only to the +conditions of education are added playing on the pianoforte, a +knowledge of French, the writing of Russian without +orthographical errors, and a still greater degree of external +cleanliness. In a still more elevated sphere, education +means all this with the addition of the English language, and a +diploma from the highest educational institution. But +education is precisely the same thing in the first, the second, +and the third case. Education consists of those forms and +acquirements which are calculated to separate a man from his +fellows. And its object is identical with that of +cleanliness,—to seclude us from the herd of poor, in order +that they, the poor, may not see how we feast. But it is +impossible to hide ourselves, and they do see us.</p> +<p>And accordingly I have become convinced that the cause of the +inability of us rich people to help the poor of the city lies in +the impossibility of our establishing intercourse with them; and +that this impossibility of intercourse is caused by ourselves, by +the whole course of our lives, by all the uses which we make of +our wealth. I have become convinced that between us, the +rich and the poor, there rises a wall, reared by ourselves out of +that very cleanliness and education, and constructed of our +wealth; and that in order to be in a condition to help the poor, +we must needs, first of all, destroy this wall; and that in order +to do this, confrontation after Siutaeff’s method should be +rendered possible, and the poor distributed among us. And +from another starting-point also I came to the same conclusion to +which the current of my discussions as to the causes of the +poverty in towns had led me: the cause was our wealth.] <a +name="citation108"></a><a href="#footnote108" +class="citation">[108]</a></p> +<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3> +<p>I began to examine the matter from a third and wholly personal +point of view. Among the phenomena which particularly +impressed me, during the period of my charitable activity, there +was yet another, and a very strange one, for which I could for a +long time find no explanation. It was this: every time that +I chanced, either on the street on in the house, to give some +small coin to a poor man, without saying any thing to him, I saw, +or thought that I saw, contentment and gratitude on the +countenance of the poor man, and I myself experienced in this +form of benevolence an agreeable sensation. I saw that I +had done what the man wished and expected from me. But if I +stopped the poor man, and sympathetically questioned him about +his former and his present life, I felt that it was no longer +possible to give three or twenty kopeks, and I began to fumble in +my purse for money, in doubt as to how much I ought to give, and +I always gave more; and I always noticed that the poor man left +me dissatisfied. But if I entered into still closer +intercourse with the poor man, then my doubts as to how much to +give increased also; and, no matter how much I gave, the poor man +grew ever more sullen and discontented. As a general rule, +it always turned out thus, that if I gave, after conversation +with a poor man, three rubles or even more, I almost always +beheld gloom, displeasure, and even ill-will, on the countenance +of the poor man; and I have even known it to happen, that, having +received ten rubles, he went off without so much as saying +“Thank you,” exactly as though I had insulted +him.</p> +<p>And thereupon I felt awkward and ashamed, and almost +guilty. But if I followed up a poor man for weeks and +months and years, and assisted him, and explained my views to +him, and associated with him, our relations became a torment, and +I perceived that the man despised me. And I felt that he +was in the right.</p> +<p>If I go out into the street, and he, standing in that street, +begs of me among the number of the other passers-by, people who +walk and ride past him, and I give him money, I then am to him a +passer-by, and a good, kind passer-by, who bestows on him that +thread from which a shirt is made for the naked man; he expects +nothing more than the thread, and if I give it he thanks me +sincerely. But if I stop him, and talk with him as man with +man, I thereby show him that I desire to be something more than a +mere passer-by. If, as often happens, he weeps while +relating to me his woes, then he sees in me no longer a +passer-by, but that which I desire that he should see: a good +man. But if I am a good man, my goodness cannot pause at a +twenty-kopek piece, nor at ten rubles, nor at ten thousand; it is +impossible to be a little bit of a good man. Let us suppose +that I have given him a great deal, that I have fitted him out, +dressed him, set him on his feet so that the can live without +outside assistance; but for some reason or other, though +misfortune or his own weakness or vices, he is again without that +coat, that linen, and that money which I have given him; he is +again cold and hungry, and he has come again to me,—how can +I refuse him? [For if the cause of my action consisted in +the attainment of a definite, material end, on giving him so many +rubles or such and such a coat I might be at ease after having +bestowed them. But the cause of my action is not this: the +cause is, that I want to be a good man, that is to say, I want to +see myself in every other man. Every man understands +goodness thus, and in no other manner.] <a +name="citation111"></a><a href="#footnote111" +class="citation">[111]</a> And therefore, if he should +drink away every thing that you had given him twenty times, and +if he should again be cold and hungry, you cannot do otherwise +than give him more, if you are a good man; you can never cease +giving to him, if you have more than he has. And if you +draw back, you will thereby show that every thing that you have +done, you have done not because you are a good man, but because +you wished to appear a good man in his sight, and in the sight of +men.</p> +<p>And thus in the case with the men from whom I chanced to +recede, to whom I ceased to give, and, by this action, denied +good, I experienced a torturing sense of shame.</p> +<p>What sort of shame was this? This shame I had +experienced in the Lyapinsky house, and both before and after +that in the country, when I happened to give money or any thing +else to the poor, and in my expeditions among the city poor.</p> +<p>A mortifying incident that occurred to me not long ago vividly +reminded me of that shame, and led me to an explanation of that +shame which I had felt when bestowing money on the poor.</p> +<p>[This happened in the country. I wanted twenty kopeks to +give to a poor pilgrim; I sent my son to borrow them from some +one; he brought the pilgrim a twenty-kopek piece, and told me +that he had borrowed it from the cook. A few days +afterwards some more pilgrims arrived, and again I was in want of +a twenty-kopek piece. I had a ruble; I recollected that I +was in debt to the cook, and I went to the kitchen, hoping to get +some more small change from the cook. I said: “I +borrowed a twenty-kopek piece from you, so here is a +ruble.” I had not finished speaking, when the cook +called in his wife from another room: “Take it, +Parasha,” said he. I, supposing that she understood +what I wanted, handed her the ruble. I must state that the +cook had only lived with me a week, and, though I had seen his +wife, I had never spoken to her. I was just on the point of +saying to her that she was to give me some small coins, when she +bent swiftly down to my hand, and tried to kiss it, evidently +imaging that I had given her the ruble. I muttered +something, and quitted the kitchen. I was ashamed, ashamed +to the verge of torture, as I had not been for a long time. +I shrank together; I was conscious that I was making grimaces, +and I groaned with shame as I fled from the kitchen. This +utterly unexpected, and, as it seemed to me, utterly undeserved +shame, made a special impression on me, because it was a long +time since I had been mortified, and because I, as an old man, +had so lived, it seemed to me, that I had not merited this +shame. I was forcibly struck by this. I told the +members of my household about it, I told my acquaintances, and +they all agreed that they should have felt the same. And I +began to reflect: why had this caused me such shame? To +this, something which had happened to me in Moscow furnished me +with an answer.</p> +<p>I meditated on that incident, and the shame which I had +experienced in the presence of the cook’s wife was +explained to me, and all those sensations of mortification which +I had undergone during the course of my Moscow benevolence, and +which I now feel incessantly when I have occasion to give any one +any thing except that petty alms to the poor and to pilgrims, +which I have become accustomed to bestow, and which I consider a +deed not of charity but of courtesy. If a man asks you for +a light, you must strike a match for him, if you have one. +If a man asks for three or for twenty kopeks, or even for several +rubles, you must give them if you have them. This is an act +of courtesy and not of charity.] <a name="citation113"></a><a +href="#footnote113" class="citation">[113]</a></p> +<p>This was the case in question: I have already mentioned the +two peasants with whom I was in the habit of sawing wood three +yeans ago. One Saturday evening at dusk, I was returning to +the city in their company. They were going to their +employer to receive their wages. As we were crossing the +Dragomilovsky bridge, we met an old man. He asked alms, and +I gave him twenty kopeks. I gave, and reflected on the good +effect which my charity would have on Semyon, with whom I had +been conversing on religious topics. Semyon, the Vladimir +peasant, who had a wife and two children in Moscow, halted also, +pulled round the skirt of his kaftan, and got out his purse, and +from this slender purse he extracted, after some fumbling, three +kopeks, handed it to the old man, and asked for two kopeks in +change. The old man exhibited in his hand two three-kopek +pieces and one kopek. Semyon looked at them, was about to +take the kopek, but thought better of it, pulled off his hat, +crossed himself, and walked on, leaving the old man the +three-kopek piece.</p> +<p>I was fully acquainted with Semyon’s financial +condition. He had no property at home at all. The +money which he had laid by on the day when he gave three kopeks +amounted to six rubles and fifty kopeks. Accordingly, six +rubles and twenty kopeks was the sum of his savings. My +reserve fund was in the neighborhood of six hundred +thousand. I had a wife and children, Semyon had a wife and +children. He was younger than I, and his children were +fewer in number than mine; but his children were small, and two +of mine were of an age to work, so that our position, with the +exception of the savings, was on an equality; mine was somewhat +the more favorable, if any thing. He gave three kopeks, I +gave twenty. What did he really give, and what did I really +give? What ought I to have given, in order to do what +Semyon had done? he had six hundred kopeks; out of this he gave +one, and afterwards two. I had six hundred thousand +rubles. In order to give what Semyon had given, I should +have been obliged to give three thousand rubles, and ask for two +thousand in change, and then leave the two thousand with the old +man, cross myself, and go my way, calmly conversing about life in +the factories, and the cost of liver in the Smolensk market.</p> +<p>I thought of this at the time; but it was only long afterwards +that I was in a condition to draw from this incident that +deduction which inevitably results from it. This deduction +is so uncommon and so singular, apparently, that, in spite of its +mathematical infallibility, one requires time to grow used to +it. It does seem as though there must be some mistake, but +mistake there is none. There is merely the fearful mist of +error in which we live.</p> +<p>[This deduction, when I arrived at it, and when I recognized +its undoubted truth, furnished me with an explanation of my shame +in the presence of the cook’s wife, and of all the poor +people to whom I had given and to whom I still give money.</p> +<p>What, in point of fact, is that money which I give to the +poor, and which the cook’s wife thought I was giving to +her? In the majority of cases, it is that portion of my +substance which it is impossible even to express in figures to +Semyon and the cook’s wife,—it is generally one +millionth part or about that. I give so little that the +bestowal of any money is not and cannot be a deprivation to me; +it is only a pleasure in which I amuse myself when the whim +seizes me. And it was thus that the cook’s wife +understood it. If I give to a man who steps in from the +street one ruble or twenty kopeks, why should not I give her a +ruble also? In the opinion of the cook’s wife, such a +bestowal of money is precisely the same as the flinging of +honey-cakes to the people by gentlemen; it furnishes the people +who have a great deal of superfluous cash with amusement. I +was mortified because the mistake made by the cook’s wife +demonstrated to me distinctly the view which she, and all people +who are not rich, must take of me: “He is flinging away his +folly, i.e., his unearned money.”</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, what is my money, and whence did it come +into my possession? A portion of it I accumulated from the +land which I received from my father. A peasant sold his +last sheep or cow in order to give the money to me. Another +portion of my money is the money which I have received for my +writings, for my books. If my books are hurtful, I only +lead astray those who purchase them, and the money which I +receive for them is ill-earned money; but if my books are useful +to people, then the issue is still more disastrous. I do +not give them to people: I say, “Give me seventeen rubles, +and I will give them to you.” And as the peasant +sells his last sheep, in this case the poor student or teacher, +or any other poor man, deprives himself of necessaries in order +to give me this money. And so I have accumulated a great +deal of money in that way, and what do I do with it? I take +that money to the city, and bestow it on the poor, only when they +fulfil my caprices, and come hither to the city to clean my +sidewalk, lamps, and shoes; to work for me in factories. +And in return for this money, I force from them every thing that +I can; that is to say, I try to give them as little as possible, +and to receive as much as possible from them. And all at +once I begin, quite unexpectedly, to bestow this money as a +simple gift, on these same poor persons, not on all, but on those +to whom I take a fancy. Why should not every poor person +expect that it is quite possible that the luck may fall to him of +being one of those with whom I shall amuse myself by distributing +my superfluous money? And so all look upon me as the +cook’s wife did.</p> +<p>And I had gone so far astray that this taking of thousands +from the poor with one hand, and this flinging of kopeks with the +other, to those to whom the whim moved me to give, I called +good. No wonder that I felt ashamed.] <a +name="citation116"></a><a href="#footnote116" +class="citation">[116]</a></p> +<p>Yes, before doing good it was needful for me to stand outside +of evil, in such conditions that I might cease to do evil. +But my whole life is evil. I may give away a hundred +thousand rubles, and still I shall not be in a position to do +good because I shall still have five hundred thousand left. +Only when I have nothing shall I be in a position to do the least +particle of good, even as much as the prostitute did which she +nursed the sick women and her child for three days. And +that seemed so little to me! And I dared to think of good +myself! That which, on the first occasion, told me, at the +sight of the cold and hungry in the Lyapinsky house, that I was +to blame for this, and that to live as I live is impossible, and +impossible, and impossible,—that alone was true.</p> +<p>What, then, was I to do?</p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVI.</h3> +<p>It was hard for me to come to this confession, but when I had +come to it I was shocked at the error in which I had been +living. I stood up to my ears in the mud, and yet I wanted +to drag others out of this mud.</p> +<p>What is it that I wish in reality? I wish to do good to +others. I wish to do it so that other people may not be +cold and hungry, so that others may live as it is natural for +people to live.</p> +<p>[I wish this, and I see that in consequence of the violence, +extortions, and various tricks in which I take part, people who +toil are deprived of necessaries, and people who do not toil, in +whose ranks I also belong, enjoy in superabundance the toil of +other people.</p> +<p>I see that this enjoyment of the labors of others is so +arranged, that the more rascally and complicated the trickery +which is employed by the man himself, or which has been employed +by the person from whom he obtained his inheritance, the more +does he enjoy of the labors of others, and the less does he +contribute of his own labor.</p> +<p>First come the Shtiglitzy, Dervizy, Morozovy, the Demidoffs, +the Yusapoffs; then great bankers, merchants, officials, landed +proprietors, among whom I also belong; then the poor—very +small traders, dramshop-keepers, usurers, district judges, +overseers, teachers, sacristans, clerks; then house-porters, +lackeys, coachmen, watch-carriers, cab-drivers, peddlers; and +last of all, the laboring classes—factory-hands and +peasants, whose numbers bear the relation to the first named of +ten to one. I see that the life of nine-tenths of the +working classes demands, by reason of its nature, application and +toil, as does every natural life; but that, in consequence of the +sharp practices which take from these people what is +indispensable, and place them in such oppressive conditions, this +life becomes more difficult every year, and more filled with +deprivations; but our life, the life of the non-laboring classes, +thanks to the co-operation of the arts and sciences which are +directed to this object, becomes more filled with superfluities, +more attractive and careful, with every year. I see, that, +in our day, the life of the workingman, and, in particular, the +life of old men, of women, and of children of the working +population, is perishing directly from their food, which is +utterly inadequate to their fatiguing labor; and that this life +of theirs is not free from care as to its very first +requirements; and that, alongside of this, the life of the +non-laboring classes, to which I belong, is filled more and more, +every year, with superfluities and luxury, and becomes more and +more free from anxiety, and has finally reached such a point of +freedom from care, in the case of its fortunate members, of whom +I am one, as was only dreamed of in olden times in +fairy-tales,—the state of the owner of the purse with the +inexhaustible ruble, that is, a condition in which a man is not +only utterly released from the law of labor, but in which he +possesses the possibility of enjoying, without toil, all the +blessings of life, and of transferring to his children, or to any +one whom he may see fit, this purse with the inexhaustible +ruble.</p> +<p>I see that the products of the people’s toil are more +and more transformed from the mass of the working classes to +those who do not work; that the pyramid of the social edifice +seems to be reconstructed in such fashion that the foundation +stones are carried to the apex, and the swiftness of this +transfer is increasing in a sort of geometrical ratio. I +see that the result of this is something like that which would +take place in an ant-heap if the community of ants were to lose +their sense of the common law, if some ants were to begin to draw +the products of labor from the bottom to the top of the heap, and +should constantly contract the foundations and broaden the apex, +and should thereby also force the remaining ants to betake +themselves from the bottom to the summit.</p> +<p>I see that the ideal of the Fortunatus’ purse has made +its way among the people, in the place of the ideal of a toilsome +life. Rich people, myself among the number, get possession +of the inexhaustible ruble by various devices, and for the +purpose of enjoying it we go to the city, to the place where +nothing is produced and where every thing is swallowed up.</p> +<p>The industrious poor man, who is robbed in order that the rich +may possess this inexhaustible ruble, yearns for the city in his +train; and there he also takes to sharp practices, and either +acquires for himself a position in which he can work little and +receive much, thereby rendering still more oppressive the +situation of the laboring classes, or, not having attained to +such a position, he goes to ruin, and falls into the ranks of +those cold and hungry inhabitants of the night-lodging houses, +which are being swelled with such remarkable rapidity.</p> +<p>I belong to the class of those people, who, by divers tricks, +take from the toiling masses the necessaries of life, and who +have acquired for themselves these inexhaustible rubles, and who +lead these unfortunates astray. I desire to aid people, and +therefore it is clear that, first of all, I must cease to rob +them as I am doing. But I, by the most complicated, and +cunning, and evil practices, which have been heaped up for +centuries, have acquired for myself the position of an owner of +the inexhaustible ruble, that is to say, one in which, never +working myself, I can make hundreds and thousands of people toil +for me—which also I do; and I imagine that I pity people, +and I wish to assist them. I sit on a man’s neck, I +weigh him down, and I demand that he shall carry me; and without +descending from his shoulders I assure myself and others that I +am very sorry for him, and that I desire to ameliorate his +condition by all possible means, only not by getting off of +him.</p> +<p>Surely this is simple enough. If I want to help the +poor, that is, to make the poor no longer poor, I must not +produce poor people. And I give, at my own selection, to +poor men who have gone astray from the path of life, a ruble, or +ten rubles, or a hundred; and I grasp hundreds from people who +have not yet left the path, and thereby I render them poor also, +and demoralize them to boot.</p> +<p>This is very simple; but it was horribly hard for me to +understand this fully without compromises and reservations, which +might serve to justify my position; but it sufficed for me to +confess my guilt, and every thing which had before seemed to me +strange and complicated, and lacking in cleanness, became +perfectly comprehensible and simple. But the chief point +was, that my way of life, arising from this interpretation, +became simple, clear and pleasant, instead of perplexed, +inexplicable and full of torture as before.] <a +name="citation122a"></a><a href="#footnote122a" +class="citation">[122a]</a></p> +<p>Who am I, that I should desire to help others? I desire +to help people; and I, rising at twelve o’clock after a +game of <i>vint</i> <a name="citation122b"></a><a +href="#footnote122b" class="citation">[122b]</a> with four +candles, weak, exhausted, demanding the aid of hundreds of +people,—I go to the aid of whom? Of people who rise +at five o’clock, who sleep on planks, who nourish +themselves on bread and cabbage, who know how to plough, to reap, +to wield the axe, to chop, to harness, to sew,—of people +who in strength and endurance, and skill and abstemiousness, are +a hundred times superior to me,—and I go to their +succor! What except shame could I feel, when I entered into +communion with these people? The very weakest of them, a +drunkard, an inhabitant of the Rzhanoff house, the one whom they +call “the idler,” is a hundred-fold more industrious +than I; [his balance, so to speak, that is to say, the relation +of what he takes from people and that which they give him, stands +on a thousand times better footing than my balance, if I take +into consideration what I take from people and what I give to +them.] </p> +<p>And these are the people to whose assistance I go. I go +to help the poor. But who is the poor man? There is +no one poorer than myself. I am a thoroughly enervated, +good-for-nothing parasite, who can only exist under the most +special conditions, who can only exist when thousands of people +toil at the preservation of this life which is utterly useless to +every one. And I, that plant-louse, which devours the +foliage of trees, wish to help the tree in its growth and health, +and I wish to heal it.</p> +<p>I have passed my whole life in this manner: I eat, I talk and +I listen; I eat, I write or read, that is to say, I talk and +listen again; I eat, I play, I eat, again I talk and listen, I +eat, and again I go to bed; and so each day I can do nothing +else, and I understand how to do nothing else. And in order +that I may be able to do this, it is necessary that the porter, +the peasant, the cook, male or female, the footman, the coachman, +and the laundress, should toil from morning till night; I will +not refer to the labors of the people which are necessary in +order that coachman, cooks, male and female, footman, and the +rest should have those implements and articles with which, and +over which, they toil for my sake; axes, tubs, brushes, household +utensils, furniture, wax, blacking, kerosene, hay, wood, and +beef. And all these people work hard all day long and every +day, so that I may be able to talk and eat and sleep. And +I, this cripple of a man, have imagined that I could help others, +and those the very people who support me!</p> +<p>It is not remarkable that I could not help any one, and that I +felt ashamed; but the remarkable point is that such an absurd +idea could have occurred to me. The woman who served the +sick old man, helped him; the mistress of the house, who cut a +slice from the bread which she had won from the soil, helped the +beggar; Semyon, who gave three kopeks which he had earned, helped +the beggar, because those three kopeks actually represented his +labor: but I served no one, I toiled for no one, and I was well +aware that my money did not represent my labor.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVII. <a name="citation124"></a><a +href="#footnote124" class="citation">[124]</a></h3> +<p>Into the delusion that I could help others I was led by the +fact that I fancied that my money was of the same sort as +Semyon’s. But this was not the case.</p> +<p>A general idea prevails, that money represents wealth; but +wealth is the product of labor; and, therefore, money represents +labor. But this idea is as just as that every governmental +regulation is the result of a compact (<i>contrat +social</i>).</p> +<p>Every one likes to think that money is only a medium of +exchange for labor. I have made shoes, you have raised +grain, he has reared sheep: here, in order that we may the more +readily effect an exchange, we will institute money, which +represents a corresponding quantity of labor, and, by means of +it, we will barter our shoes for a breast of lamb and ten pounds +of flour. We will exchange our products through the medium +of money, and the money of each one of us represents our +labor.</p> +<p>This is perfectly true, but true only so long as, in the +community where this exchange is effected, the violence of one +man over the rest has not made its appearance; not only violence +over the labors of others, as happens in wars and slavery, but +where he exercises no violence for the protection of the products +of their labor from others. This will be true only in a +community whose members fully carry out the Christian law, in a +community where men give to him who asks, and where he who takes +is not asked to make restitution. But just so soon as any +violence whatever is used in the community, the significance of +money for its possessor loses its significance as a +representative of labor, and acquires the significance of a right +founded, not on labor, but on violence.</p> +<p>As soon as there is war, and one man has taken any thing from +any other man, money can no longer be always the representative +of labor; money received by a warrior for the spoils of war, +which he sells, even if he is the commander of the warriors, is +in no way a product of labor, and possesses an entirely different +meaning from money received for work on shoes. As soon as +there are slave-owners and slaves, as there always have been +throughout the whole world, it is utterly impossible to say that +money represents labor.</p> +<p>Women have woven linen, sold it, and received money; serfs +have woven for their master, and the master has sold them and +received the money. The money is identical in both cases; +but in the one case it is the product of labor, in the other the +product of violence. In exactly the same way, a stranger or +my own father has given me money; and my father, when he gave me +that money, knew, and I know, and everybody knows, that no one +can take this money away from me; but if it should occur to any +one to take it away from me, or even not to hand it over at the +date when it was promised, the law would intervene on my behalf, +and would compel the delivery to me of the money; and, again, it +is evident that this money can in no wise be called the +equivalent of labor, on a level with the money received by Semyon +for chopping wood. So that in any community where there is +any thing that in any manner whatever controls the labor of +others, or where violence hedges in, by means of money, its +possessions from others, there money is no longer invariably the +representative of labor. In such a community, it is +sometimes the representative of labor, and sometimes of +violence.</p> +<p>Thus it would be where only one act of violence from one man +against others, in the midst of perfectly free relations, should +have made its appearance; but now, when centuries of the most +varied deeds of violence have passed for accumulations of money, +when these deeds of violence are incessant, and merely alter +their forms; when, as every one admits, money accumulated itself +represents violence; when money, as a representative of direct +labor, forms but a very small portion of the money which is +derived from every sort of violence,—to say nowadays that +money represents the labor of the person who possesses it, is a +self-evident error or a deliberate lie.</p> +<p>It may be said, that thus it should be; it may be said, that +this is desirable; but by no means can it be said, that thus it +is.</p> +<p>Money represents labor. Yes. Money does represent +labor; but whose? In our society only in the very rarest, +rarest of instances, does money represent the labor of its +possessor, but it nearly always represents the labor of other +people, the past or future labor of men; it is a representative +of the obligation of others to labor, which has been established +by force.</p> +<p>Money, in its most accurate and at the same the simple +application, is the conventional stamp which confers a right, or, +more correctly, a possibility, of taking advantage of the labors +of other people. In its ideal significance, money should +confer this right, or this possibility, only when it serves as +the equivalent of labor, and such money might be in a community +in which no violence existed. But just as soon as violence, +that is to say, the possibility of profiting by the labors of +others without toil of one’s own, exists in a community, +then that profiting by the labors of other men is also expressed +by money, without any distinction of the persons on whom that +violence is exercised.</p> +<p>The landed proprietor has imposed upon his serfs natural +debts, a certain quantity of linen, grain, and cattle, or a +corresponding amount of money. One household has procured +the cattle, but has paid money in lieu of linen. The +proprietor takes the money to a certain amount only, because he +knows that for that money they will make him the same quantity of +linen, (generally he takes a little more, in order to be sure +that they will make it for the same amount); and this money, +evidently, represents for the proprietor the obligation of other +people to toil.</p> +<p>The peasant gives the money as an obligation, to he knows not +whom, but to people, and there are many of them, who undertake +for this money to make so much linen. But the people who +undertake to make the linen, do so because they have not +succeeded in raising sheep, and in place of the sheep, they must +pay money; but the peasant who takes money for his sheep takes it +because he must pay for grain which did not bear well this +year. The same thing goes on throughout this realm, and +throughout the whole world.</p> +<p>A man sells the product of his labor, past, present or to +come, sometimes his food, and generally not because money +constitutes for him a convenient means of exchange. He +could have effected the barter without money, but he does so +because money is exacted from him by violence as a lien on his +labor.</p> +<p>When the sovereign of Egypt exacted labor from his slaves, the +slaves gave all their labor, but only their past and present +labor, their future labor they could not give. But with the +dissemination of money tokens, and the credit which had its rise +in them, it became possible to sell one’s future toil for +money. Money, with co-existent violence in the community, +only represents the possibility of a new form of impersonal +slavery, which has taken the place of personal slavery. The +slave-owner has a right to the labor of Piotr, Ivan, and +Sidor. But the owner of money, in a place where money is +demanded from all, has a right to the toil of all those nameless +people who are in need of money. Money has set aside all +the oppressive features of slavery, under which an owner knows +his right to Ivan, and with them it has set aside all humane +relations between the owner and the slave, which mitigated the +burden of personal thraldom.</p> +<p>I will not allude to the fact, that such a condition of things +is, possibly, necessary for the development of mankind, for +progress, and so forth,—that I do not contest. I have +merely tried to elucidate to myself the idea of money, and that +universal error into which I fell when I accepted money as the +representative of labor. I became convinced, after +experience, that money is not the representative of labor, but, +in the majority of cases, the representative of violence, or of +especially complicated sharp practices founded on violence.</p> +<p>Money, in our day, has completely lost that significance which +it is very desirable that it should possess, as the +representative of one’s own labor; such a significance it +has only as an exception, but, as a general rule, it has been +converted into a right or a possibility of profiting by the toil +of others.</p> +<p>The dissemination of money, of credit, and of all sorts of +money tokens, confirms this significance of money ever more and +more. Money is a new form of slavery, which differs from +the old form of slavery only in its impersonality, its +annihilation of all humane relations with the slave.</p> +<p>Money—money, is a value which is always equal to itself, +and is always considered legal and righteous, and whose use is +regarded as not immoral, just as the right of slavery was +regarded.</p> +<p>In my young days, the game of loto was introduced into the +clubs. Everybody rushed to play it, and, as it was said, +many ruined themselves, rendered their families miserable, lost +other people’s money, and government funds, and committed +suicide; and the game was prohibited, and it remains prohibited +to this day.</p> +<p>I remember to have seen old and unsentimental gamblers, who +told me that this game was particularly pleasing because you did +not see from whom you were winning, as is the case in other +games; a lackey brought, not money, but chips; each man lost a +little stake, and his disappointment was not visible . . . +It is the same with roulette, which is everywhere prohibited, and +not without reason.</p> +<p>It is the same with money. I possess a magic, +inexhaustible ruble; I cut off my coupons, and have retired from +all the business of the world. Whom do I injure,—I, +the most inoffensive and kindest of men? But this is +nothing more than playing at loto or roulette, where I do not see +the man who shoots himself, because of his losses, after +procuring for me those coupons which I cut off from the bonds so +accurately with a strictly right-angled corner.</p> +<p>I have done nothing, I do nothing, and I shall do nothing, +except cut off those coupons; and I firmly believe that money is +the representative of labor! Surely, this is amazing! +And people talk of madmen, after that! Why, what degree of +lunacy can be more frightful than this? A sensible, +educated, in all other respects sane man lives in a senseless +manner, and soothes himself for not uttering the word which it is +indispensably necessary that he should utter, with the idea that +there is some sense in his conclusions, and he considers himself +a just man. Coupons—the representatives of +toil! Toil! Yes, but of whose toil? Evidently +not of the man who owns them, but of him who labors.</p> +<p>Slavery is far from being suppressed. It has been +suppressed in Rome and in America, and among us: but only certain +laws have been abrogated; only the word, not the thing, has been +put down. Slavery is the freeing of ourselves alone from +the toil which is necessary for the satisfaction of our demands, +by the transfer of this toil to others; and wherever there exists +a man who does not work, not because others work lovingly for +him, but where he possesses the power of not working, and forces +others to work for him, there slavery exists. There too, +where, as in all European societies, there are people who make +use of the labor of thousands of men, and regard this as their +right,—there slavery exists in its broadest measure.</p> +<p>And money is the same thing as slavery. Its object and +its consequences are the same. Its object is—that one +may rid one’s self of the first born of all laws, as a +profoundly thoughtful writer from the ranks of the people has +expressed it; from the natural law of life, as we have called it; +from the law of personal labor for the satisfaction of our own +wants. And the results of money are the same as the results +of slavery, for the proprietor; the creation, the invention of +new and ever new and never-ending demands, which can never be +satisfied; the enervation of poverty, vice, and for the slaves, +the persecution of man and their degradation to the level of the +beasts.</p> +<p>Money is a new and terrible form of slavery, and equally +demoralizing with the ancient form of slavery for both slave and +slave-owner; only much worse, because it frees the slave and the +slave-owner from their personal, humane relations.]</p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3> +<p>I am always surprised by the oft-repeated words: “Yes, +this is so in theory, but how is it in practice?” +Just as though theory were fine words, requisite for +conversation, but not for the purpose of having all practice, +that is, all activity, indispensably founded on them. There +must be a fearful number of stupid theories current in the world, +that such an extraordinary idea should have become +prevalent. Theory is what a man thinks on a subject, but +its practice is what he does. How can a man think it +necessary to do so and so, and then do the contrary? If the +theory of baking bread is, that it must first be mixed, and then +set to rise, no one except a lunatic, knowing this theory, would +do the reverse. But it has become the fashion with us to +say, that “this is so in theory, but how about the +practice?”</p> +<p>In the matter which interests me now, that has been confirmed +which I have always thought,—that practice infallibly flows +from theory, and not that it justifies it, but it cannot possibly +be otherwise, for if I have understood the thing of which I have +been thinking, then I cannot carry out this thing otherwise than +as I have understood it.</p> +<p>I wanted to help the unfortunate only because I had money, and +I shared the general belief that money was the representative of +labor, or, on the whole, something legal and good. But, +having begun to give away this money, I saw, when I gave the +bills which I had accumulated from poor people, that I was doing +precisely that which was done by some landed proprietors who made +some of their serfs wait on others. I saw that every use of +money, whether for making purchases, or for giving away without +an equivalent to another, is handing over a note for extortion +from the poor, or its transfer to another man for extortion from +the poor. I saw that money in itself was not only not good, +but evidently evil, and that it deprives us of our highest +good,—labor, and thereby of the enjoyment of our labor, and +that that blessing I was not in a position to confer on any one, +because I was myself deprived of it: I do not work, and I take no +pleasure in making use of the labor of others.</p> +<p>It would appear that there is something peculiar in this +abstract argument as to the nature of money. But this +argument which I have made not for the sake of argument, but for +the solution of the problem of my life, of my sufferings, was for +me an answer to my question: What is to be done?</p> +<p>As soon as I grasped the meaning of riches, and of money, it +not only became clear and indisputable to me, what I ought to do, +but also clear and indisputable what others ought to do, because +they would infallibly do it. I had only actually come to +understand what I had known for a long time previously, the +theory which was given to men from the very earliest times, both +by Buddha, and Isaiah, and Lao-Tze, and Socrates, and in a +peculiarly clear and indisputable manner by Jesus Christ and his +forerunner, John the Baptist. John the Baptist, in answer +to the question of the people,—What were they to do? +replied simply, briefly, and clearly: “He that hath two +coats, let him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath +meat, let him do likewise” (Luke iii. 10, 11). In a +similar manner, but with even greater clearness, and on many +occasions, Christ spoke. He said: “Blessed are the +poor, and woe to the rich.” He said that it is +impossible to serve God and mammon. He forbade his +disciples to take not only money, but also two garments. He +said to the rich young man, that he could not enter into the +kingdom of heaven because he was rich, and that it was easier for +a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to +enter the kingdom of God. He said that he who should not +leave every thing, houses and children and lands, and follow him, +could not be his disciple. He told the parable of the rich +man who did nothing bad, like our own rich men, but who only +arrayed himself in costly garments, and ate and drank daintily, +and who lost his soul thereby; and of poor Lazarus, who had done +nothing good, but who was saved merely because he was poor.</p> +<p>This theory was sufficiently familiar to me, but the false +teachings of the world had so obscured it that it had become for +me a theory in the sense which people are fond of attributing to +that term, that is to say, empty words. But as soon as I +had succeeded in destroying in my consciousness the sophisms of +worldly teaching, theory conformed to practice, and the truth +with regard to my life and to the life of the people about me +became its conclusion.</p> +<p>I understood that man, besides life for his own personal good, +is unavoidably bound to serve the good of others also; that, if +we take an illustration from the animal kingdom,—as some +people are fond of doing, defending violence and conflict by the +conflict for existence in the animal kingdom,—the +illustration must be taken from gregarious animals, like bees; +that consequently man, not to mention the love to his neighbor +incumbent on him, is called upon, both by reason and by his +nature, to serve other people and the common good of +humanity. I comprehended that the natural law of man is +that according to which only he can fulfil destiny, and therefore +be happy. I understood that this law has been and is broken +hereby,—that people get rid of labor by force (like the +robber bees), make use of the toil of others, directing this +toil, not to the common weal, but to the private satisfaction of +swift-growing desires; and, precisely as in the case of the +robber bees, they perish in consequence. [I understood that +the original form of this disinclination for the law is the +brutal violence against weaker individuals, against women, wars +and imprisonments, whose sequel is slavery, and also the present +reign of money. I understood that money is the impersonal +and concealed enslavement of the poor. And, once having +perceived the significance of money as slavery, I could not but +hate it, nor refrain from doing all in my power to free myself +from it.] <a name="citation135"></a><a href="#footnote135" +class="citation">[135]</a></p> +<p>When I was a slave-owner, and comprehended the immorality of +my position, I tried to escape from it. My escape consisted +in this, that I, regarding it as immoral, tried to exercise my +rights as slave-owner as little as possible, but to live, and to +allow other people to live, as though that right did not +exist. And I cannot refrain from doing the same thing now +in reference to the present form of slavery,—exercising my +right to the labor of others as little as possible, i.e., hiring +and purchasing as little as possible.</p> +<p>The root of every slavery is the use of the labor of others; +and hence, the compelling others to it is founded indifferently +on my right to the slave, or on my possession of money which is +indispensable to him. If I really do not approve, and if I +regard as an evil, the employment of the labor of others, then I +shall use neither my right nor my money for that purpose; I shall +not compel others to toil for me, but I shall endeavor to free +them from the labor which they have performed for me, as far as +possible, either by doing without this labor or by performing it +for myself.</p> +<p>And this very simple and unavoidable deduction enters into all +the details of my life, effects a total change in it, and at one +blow releases me from those moral sufferings which I have +undergone at the sight of the sufferings and the vice of the +people, and instantly annihilates all three causes of my +inability to aid the poor, which I had encountered while seeking +the cause of my lack of success.</p> +<p>The first cause was the herding of the people in towns, and +the absorption there of the wealth of the country. All that +a man needs is to understand how every hiring or purchase is a +handle to extortion from the poor, and that therefore he must +abstain from them, and must try to fulfil his own requirements; +and not a single man will then quit the country, where all wants +can be satisfied without money, for the city, where it is +necessary to buy every thing: and in the country he will be in a +position to help the needy, as has been my own experience and the +experience of every one else.</p> +<p>The second cause is the estrangement of the rich from the +poor. A man needs but to refrain from buying, from hiring, +and, disdaining no sort of work, to satisfy his requirements +himself, and the former estrangement will immediately be +annihilated, and the man, having rejected luxury and the services +of others, will amalgamate with the mass of the working people, +and, standing shoulder to shoulder with the working people, he +can help them.</p> +<p>The third cause was shame, founded on a consciousness of +immorality in my owning that money with which I desired to help +people. All that is required is: to understand the +significance of money as impersonal slavery, which it has +acquired among us, in order to escape for the future from falling +into the error according to which money, though evil in itself, +can be an instrument of good, and in order to refrain from +acquiring money; and to rid one’s self of it in order to be +in a position to do good to people, that is, to bestow on them +one’s labor, and not the labor of another.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIX.</h3> +<p>[I saw that money is the cause of suffering and vice among the +people, and that, if I desired to help people, the first thing +that was required of me was not to create those unfortunates whom +I wished to assist.</p> +<p>I came to the conclusion that the man who does not love vice +and the suffering of the people should not make use of money, +thus presenting an inducement to extortion from the poor, by +forcing them to work for him; and that, in order not to make use +of the toil of others, he must demand as little from others as +possible, and work as much as possible himself.] <a +name="citation138"></a><a href="#footnote138" +class="citation">[138]</a></p> +<p>By dint of a long course of reasoning, I came to this +inevitable conclusion, which was drawn thousands of years ago by +the Chinese in the saying, “If there is one idle man, there +is another dying with hunger to offset him.</p> +<p>[Then what are we to do? John the Baptist gave the +answer to this very question two thousand years ago. And +when the people asked him, “What are we to do?” he +said, “Let him that hath two garments impart to him that +hath none, and let him that hath meat do the same.” +What is the meaning of giving away one garment out of two, and +half of one’s food? It means giving to others every +superfluity, and thenceforth taking nothing superfluous from +people.</p> +<p>This expedient, which furnishes such perfect satisfaction to +the moral feelings, kept my eyes fast bound, and binds all our +eyes; and we do not see it, but gaze aside.</p> +<p>This is precisely like a personage on the stage, who had +entered a long time since, and all the spectators see him, and it +is obvious that the actors cannot help seeing him, but the point +on the stage lies in the acting characters pretending not to see +him, and in suffering from his absence.] <a +name="citation139"></a><a href="#footnote139" +class="citation">[139]</a></p> +<p>Thus we, in our efforts to recover from our social diseases, +search in all quarters, governmental and anti-governmental, and +in scientific and in philanthropic superstitions; and we do not +see what is perfectly visible to every eye.</p> +<p>For the man who really suffers from the sufferings of the +people who surround us, there exists the very plainest, simplest, +and easiest means; the only possible one for the cure of the evil +about us, and for the acquisition of a consciousness of the +legitimacy of his life; the one given by John the Baptist, and +confirmed by Christ: not to have more than one garment, and not +to have money. And not to have any money, means, not to +employ the labor of others, and hence, first of all, to do with +our own hands every thing that we can possibly do.</p> +<p>This is so clear and simple! But it is clear and simple +when the requirements are simple. I live in the +country. I lie on the oven, and I order my debtor, my +neighbor, to chop wood and light my fire. It is very clear +that I am lazy, and that I tear my neighbor away from his +affairs, and I shall feel mortified, and I shall find it tiresome +to lie still all the time; and I shall go and split my wood for +myself.</p> +<p>But the delusion of slavery of all descriptions lies so far +back, so much of artificial exaction has sprung up upon it, so +many people, accustomed in different degrees to these habits, are +interwoven with each other, enervated people, spoiled for +generations, and such complicated delusions and justifications +for their luxury and idleness have been devised by people, that +it is far from being so easy for a man who stands at the summit +of the ladder of idle people to understand his sin, as it is for +the peasant who has made his neighbor build his fire.</p> +<p>It is terribly difficult for people at the top of this ladder +to understand what is required of them. [Their heads are +turned by the height of this ladder of lies, upon which they find +themselves when a place on the ground is offered to them, to +which they must descend in order to begin to live, not yet well, +but no longer cruelly, inhumanly; for this reason, this clear and +simple truth appears strange to these people. For the man +with ten servants, liveries, coachmen, cooks, pictures, +pianofortes, that will infallibly appear strange, and even +ridiculous, which is the simplest, the first act of—I will +not say every good man—but of every man who is not wicked: +to cut his own wood with which his food is cooked, and with which +he warms himself; to himself clean those boots with which he has +heedlessly stepped in the mire; to himself fetch that water with +which he preserves his cleanliness, and to carry out that dirty +water in which he has washed himself.] <a +name="citation140"></a><a href="#footnote140" +class="citation">[140]</a></p> +<p>But, besides the remoteness of people from the truth, there is +another cause which prevents people from seeing the obligation +for them of the simplest and most natural personal, physical +labor for themselves: this is the complication, the +inextricability of the conditions, the advantage of all the +people who are bound together among themselves by money, in which +the rich man lives: My luxurious life feeds people. What +would become of my old valet if I were to discharge him? +What! we must all do every thing necessary,—make our +clothes and hew wood? . . . And how about the division of +labor?”</p> +<p>[This morning I stepped out into the corridor where the fires +were being built. A peasant was making a fire in the stove +which warms my son’s room. I went in; the latter was +asleep. It was eleven o’clock in the morning. +To-day is a holiday: there is some excuse, there are no +lessons.</p> +<p>The smooth-skinned, eighteen-year-old youth, with a beard, who +had eaten his fill on the preceding evening, sleeps until eleven +o’clock. But the peasant of his age had been up at +dawn, and had got through a quantity of work, and was attending +to his tenth stove, while the former slept. “The +peasant shall not make the fire in his stove to warm that smooth, +lazy body of his!” I thought. But I immediately +recollected that this stove also warmed the room of the +housekeeper, a woman forty years of age, who, on the evening +before, had been making preparations up to three o’clock in +the morning for the supper which my son had eaten, and that she +had cleared the table, and risen at seven, nevertheless. +The peasant was building the fire for her also. And under +her name the lazybones was warming himself.</p> +<p>It is true that the interests of all are interwoven; but, even +without any prolonged reckoning, the conscience of each man will +say on whose side lies labor, and on whose idleness. But +although conscience says this, the account-book, the cash-book, +says it still more clearly. The more money any one spends, +the more idle he is, that is to say, the more he makes others +work for him. The less he spends, the more he works.] <a +name="citation142"></a><a href="#footnote142" +class="citation">[142]</a> But trade, but public +undertakings, and, finally, the most terrible of words, culture, +the development of sciences, and the arts,—what of +them?</p> +<p>[If I live I will make answer to those points, and in detail; +and until such answer I will narrate the following.]</p> +<h3>CHAPTER XX.</h3> +<h4>LIFE IN THE CITY.</h4> +<p>Last year, in March, I was returning home late at night. +As I turned from the Zubova into Khamovnitchesky Lane, I saw some +black spots on the snow of the Dyevitchy Pole (field). +Something was moving about in one place. I should not have +paid any attention to this, if the policeman who was standing at +the end of the street had not shouted in the direction of the +black spots,—</p> +<p>“Vasily! why don’t you bring her in?”</p> +<p>“She won’t come!” answered a voice, and then +the spot moved towards the policeman.</p> +<p>I halted and asked the police-officer, “What is +it?”</p> +<p>He said,—“They are taking a girl from the Rzhanoff +house to the station-house; and she is hanging back, she +won’t walk.” A house-porter in a sheepskin coat +was leading her. She was walking forward, and he was +pushing her from behind. All of us, I and the porter and +the policeman, were dressed in winter clothes, but she had +nothing on over her dress. In the darkness I could make out +only her brown dress, and the kerchiefs on her head and +neck. She was short in stature, as is often the case with +the prematurely born, with small feet, and a comparatively broad +and awkward figure.</p> +<p>“We’re waiting for you, you carrion. Get +along, what do you mean by it? I’ll give it to +you!” shouted the policeman. He was evidently tired, +and he had had too much of her. She advanced a few paces, +and again halted.</p> +<p>The little old porter, a good-natured fellow (I know him), +tugged at her hand. “Here, I’ll teach you to +stop! On with you!” he repeated, as though in +anger. She staggered, and began to talk in a discordant +voice. At every sound there was a false note, both hoarse +and whining.</p> +<p>“Come now, you’re shoving again. I’ll +get there some time!”</p> +<p>She stopped and then went on. I followed them.</p> +<p>“You’ll freeze,” said the porters</p> +<p>“The likes of us don’t freeze: I’m +hot.”</p> +<p>She tried to jest, but her words sounded like scolding. +She halted again under the lantern which stands not far from our +house, and leaned against, almost hung over, the fence, and began +to fumble for something among her skirts, with benumbed and +awkward hands. Again they shouted at her, but she muttered +something and did something. In one hand she held a +cigarette bent into a bow, in the other a match. I paused +behind her; I was ashamed to pass her, and I was ashamed to stand +and look on. But I made up my mind, and stepped +forward. Her shoulder was lying against the fence, and +against the fence it was that she vainly struck the match and +flung it away. I looked in her face. She was really a +person prematurely born; but, as it seemed to me, already an old +woman. I credited her with thirty years. A dirty hue +of face; small, dull, tipsy eyes; a button-like nose; curved +moist lips with drooping corners, and a short wisp of harsh hair +escaping from beneath her kerchief; a long flat figure, stumpy +hands and feet. I paused opposite her. She stared at +me, and burst into a laugh, as though she knew all that was going +on in my mind.</p> +<p>I felt that it was necessary to say something to her. I +wanted to show her that I pitied her.</p> +<p>“Are your parents alive?” I inquired.</p> +<p>She laughed hoarsely, with an expression which said, +“he’s making up queer things to ask.”</p> +<p>“My mother is,” said she. “But what do +you want?”</p> +<p>“And how old are you?”</p> +<p>“Sixteen,” said she, answering promptly to a +question which was evidently customary.</p> +<p>“Come, march, you’ll freeze, you’ll perish +entirely,” shouted the policeman; and she swayed away from +the fence, and, staggering along, she went down Khamovnitchesky +Lane to the police-station; and I turned to the wicket, and +entered the house, and inquired whether my daughters had +returned. I was told that they had been to an evening +party, had had a very merry time, had come home, and were in +bed.</p> +<p>Next morning I wanted to go to the station-house to learn what +had been done with this unfortunate woman, and I was preparing to +go out very early, when there came to see me one of those unlucky +noblemen, who, through weakness, have dropped from the +gentlemanly life to which they are accustomed, and who +alternately rise and fall. I had been acquainted with this +man for three years. In the course of those three years, +this man had several times made way with every thing that he had, +and even with all his clothes; the same thing had just happened +again, and he was passing the nights temporarily in the Rzhanoff +house, in the night-lodging section, and he had come to me for +the day. He met me as I was going out, at the entrance, and +without listening to me he began to tell me what had taken place +in the Rzhanoff house the night before. He began his +narrative, and did not half finish it; all at once (he is an old +man who has seen men under all sorts of aspects) he burst out +sobbing, and flooded has countenance with tears, and when he had +become silent, turned has face to the wall. This is what he +told me. Every thing that he related to me was absolutely +true. I authenticated his story on the spot, and learned +fresh particulars which I will relate separately.</p> +<p>In that night-lodging house, on the lower floor, in No. 32, in +which my friend had spent the night, among the various, +ever-changing lodgers, men and women, who came together there for +five kopeks, there was a laundress, a woman thirty years of age, +light-haired, peaceable and pretty, but sickly. The +mistress of the quarters had a boatman lover. In the summer +her lover kept a boat, and in the winter they lived by letting +accommodations to night-lodgers: three kopeks without a pillow, +five kopeks with a pillow.</p> +<p>The laundress had lived there for several months, and was a +quiet woman; but latterly they had not liked her, because she +coughed and prevented the women from sleeping. An old +half-crazy woman eighty years old, in particular, also a regular +lodger in these quarters, hated the laundress, and imbittered the +latter’s life because she prevented her sleeping, and +cleared her throat all night like a sheep. The laundress +held her peace; she was in debt for her lodgings, and was +conscious of her guilt, and therefore she was bound to be +quiet. She began to go more and more rarely to her work, as +her strength failed her, and therefore she could not pay her +landlady; and for the last week she had not been out to work at +all, and had only poisoned the existence of every one, especially +of the old woman, who also did not go out, with her cough. +Four days before this, the landlady had given the laundress +notice to leave the quarters: the latter was already sixty kopeks +in debt, and she neither paid them, nor did the landlady foresee +any possibility of getting them; and all the bunks were occupied, +and the women all complained of the laundress’s cough.</p> +<p>When the landlady gave the laundress notice, and told her that +she must leave the lodgings if she did not pay up, the old woman +rejoiced and thrust the laundress out of doors. The +laundress departed, but returned in an hour, and the landlady had +not the heart to put her out again. And the second and the +third day, she did not turn her out. “Where am I to +go?” said the laundress. But on the third day, the +landlady’s lover, a Moscow man, who knew the regulations +and how to manage, sent for the police. A policeman with +sword and pistol on a red cord came to the lodgings, and with +courteous words he led the laundress into the street.</p> +<p>It was a clear, sunny, but freezing March day. The +gutters were flowing, the house-porters were picking at the +ice. The cabman’s sleigh jolted over the icy snow, +and screeched over the stones. The laundress walked up the +street on the sunny side, went to the church, and seated herself +at the entrance, still on the sunny side. But when the sun +began to sink behind the houses, the puddles began to be skimmed +over with a glass of frost, and the laundress grew cold and +wretched. She rose, and dragged herself . . . +whither? Home, to the only home where she had lived so +long. While she was on her way, resting at times, dusk +descended. She approached the gates, turned in, slipped, +groaned and fell.</p> +<p>One man came up, and then another. “She must be +drunk.” Another man came up, and stumbled over the +laundress, and said to the potter: “What drunken woman is +this wallowing at your gate? I came near breaking my head +over her; take her away, won’t you?”</p> +<p>The porter came. The laundress was dead. This is +what my friend told me. It may be thought that I have +wilfully mixed up facts,—I encounter a prostitute of +fifteen, and the story of this laundress. But let no one +imagine this; it is exactly what happened in the course of one +night (only I do not remember which) in March, 1884. And +so, after hearing my friend’s tale, I went to the +station-house, with the intention of proceeding thence to the +Rzhanoff house to inquire more minutely into the history of the +laundress. The weather was very beautiful and sunny; and +again, through the stars of the night-frost, water was to be seen +trickling in the shade, and in the glare of the sun on +Khamovnitchesky square every thing was melting, and the water was +streaming. The river emitted a humming noise. The +trees of the Neskutchny garden looked blue across the river; the +reddish-brown sparrows, invisible in winter, attracted attention +by their sprightliness; people also seemed desirous of being +merry, but all of them had too many cares. The sound of the +bells was audible, and at the foundation of these mingling +sounds, the sounds of shots could be heard from the barracks, the +whistle of rifle-balls and their crack against the target.</p> +<p>I entered the station-house. In the station some armed +policemen conducted me to their chief. He was similarly +armed with sword and pistol, and he was engaged in taking some +measures with regard to a tattered, trembling old man, who was +standing before him, and who could not answer the questions put +to him, on account of his feebleness. Having finished his +business with the old man, he turned to me. I inquired +about the girl of the night before. At first he listened to +me attentively, but afterwards he began to smile, at my ignorance +of the regulations, in consequence of which she had been taken to +the station-house; and particularly at my surprise at her +youth.</p> +<p>“Why, there are plenty of them of twelve, thirteen, or +fourteen years of age,” he said cheerfully.</p> +<p>But in answer to my question about the girl whom I had seen on +the preceding evening, he explained to me that she must have been +sent to the committee (so it appeared). To my question +where she had passed the night, he replied in an undecided +manner. He did not recall the one to whom I referred. +There were so many of them every day.</p> +<p>In No. 32 of the Rzhanoff house I found the sacristan already +reading prayers over the dead woman. They had taken her to +the bunk which she had formerly occupied; and the lodgers, all +miserable beings, had collected money for the masses for her +soul, a coffin and a shroud, and the old women had dressed her +and laid her out. The sacristan was reading something in +the gloom; a woman in a long wadded cloak was standing there with +a wax candle; and a man (a gentleman, I must state) in a clean +coat with a lamb’s-skin collar, polished overshoes, and a +starched shirt, was holding one like it. This was her +brother. They had hunted him up.</p> +<p>I went past the dead woman to the landlady’s nook, and +questioned her about the whole business.</p> +<p>She was alarmed at my queries; she was evidently afraid that +she would be blamed for something; but afterwards she began to +talk freely, and told me every thing. As I passed back, I +glanced at the dead woman. All dead people are handsome, +but this dead woman was particularly beautiful and touching in +her coffin; her pure, pale face, with closed swollen eyes, sunken +cheeks, and soft reddish hair above the lofty brow,—a weary +and kind and not a sad but a surprised face. And in fact, +if the living do not see, the dead are surprised.</p> +<p>On the same day that I wrote the above, there was a great ball +in Moscow.</p> +<p>That night I left the house at nine o’clock. I +live in a locality which is surrounded by factories, and I left +the house after the factory-whistles had sounded, releasing the +people for a day of freedom after a week of unremitting toil.</p> +<p>Factory-hands overtook me, and I overtook others of them, +directing their steps to the drinking-shops and taverns. +Many were already intoxicated, many were women. Every +morning at five o’clock we can hear one whistle, a second, +a third, a tenth, and so forth, and so forth. That means +that the toil of women, children, and of old men has begun. +At eight o’clock another whistle, which signifies a +breathing-spell of half an hour. At twelve, a third: this +means an hour for dinner. And a fourth at eight, which +denotes the end of the day.</p> +<p>By an odd coincidence, all three of the factories which are +situated near me produce only articles which are in demand for +balls.</p> +<p>In one factory, the nearest, only stockings are made; in +another opposite, silken fabrics; in the third, perfumes and +pomades.</p> +<p>It is possible to listen to these whistles, and connect no +other idea with them than as denoting the time: +“There’s the whistle already, it is time to go to +walk.” But one can also connect with those whistles +that which they signify in reality; that first whistle, at five +o’clock, means that people, often all without exception, +both men and women, sleeping in a damp cellar, must rise, and +hasten to that building buzzing with machines, and must take +their places at their work, whose end and use for themselves they +do not see, and thus toil, often in heat and a stifling +atmosphere, in the midst of dirt, and with the very briefest +breathing-spells, an hour, two hours, three hours, twelve, and +even more hours in succession. They fall into a doze, and +again they rise. And this, for them, senseless work, to +which they are driven only by necessity, is continued over and +over again.</p> +<p>And thus one week succeeds another with the breaks of +holidays; and I see these work-people released on one of these +holidays. They emerge into the street. Everywhere +there are drinking-shops, taverns, and loose girls. And +they, in their drunken state, drag by the hand each other, and +girls like the one whom I saw taken to the station-house; they +drag with them cabmen, and they ride and they walk from one +tavern to another; and they curse and stagger, and say they +themselves know not what. I had previously seen such +unsteady gait on the part of factory-hands, and had turned aside +in disgust, and had been on the point of rebuking them; but ever +since I have been in the habit of hearing those whistles every +day, and understand their meaning, I am only amazed that they, +all the men, do not come to the condition of the “golden +squad,” of which Moscow is full, <a +name="citation152a"></a><a href="#footnote152a" +class="citation">[152a]</a> [and the women to the state of the +one whom I had seen near my house]. <a name="citation152b"></a><a +href="#footnote152b" class="citation">[152b]</a></p> +<p>Thus I walked along, and scrutinized these factory-hands, as +long as they roamed the streets, which was until eleven +o’clock. Then their movements began to calm +down. Some drunken men remained here and there, and here +and there I encountered men who were being taken to the +station-house. And then carriages began to make their +appearance on all sides, directing their course toward one +point.</p> +<p>On the box sits a coachman, sometimes in a sheepskin coat; and +a footman, a dandy, with a cockade. Well-fed horses in +saddle-cloths fly through the frost at the rate of twenty versts +an hour; in the carriages sit ladies muffled in round cloaks, and +carefully tending their flowers and head-dresses. Every +thing from the horse-trappings, the carriages, the gutta-percha +wheels, the cloth of the coachman’s coat, to the stockings, +shoes, flowers, velvet, gloves, and perfumes,—every thing +is made by those people, some of whom often roll drunk into their +dens or sleeping-rooms, and some stay with disreputable women in +the night-lodging houses, while still others are put in +jail. Thus past them in all their work, and over them all, +ride the frequenters of balls; and it never enters their heads, +that there is any connection between these balls to which they +make ready to go, and these drunkards at whom their coachman +shouts so roughly.</p> +<p>These people enjoy themselves at the ball with the utmost +composure of spirit, and assurance that they are doing nothing +wrong, but something very good. Enjoy themselves! +Enjoy themselves from eleven o’clock until six in the +morning, in the very dead of night, at the very hour when people +are tossing and turning with empty stomachs in the night-lodging +houses, and while some are dying, as did the laundress.</p> +<p>Their enjoyment consists in this,—that the women and +young girls, having bared their necks and arms, and applied +bustles behind, place themselves in a situation in which no +uncorrupted woman or maiden would care to display herself to a +man, on any consideration in the world; and in this half-naked +condition, with their uncovered bosoms exposed to view, with arms +bare to the shoulder, with a bustle behind and tightly swathed +hips, under the most brilliant light, women and maidens, whose +chief virtue has always been modesty, exhibit themselves in the +midst of strange men, who are also clad in improperly +tight-fitting garments; and to the sound of maddening music, they +embrace and whirl. Old women, often as naked as the young +ones, sit and look on, and eat and drink savory things; old men +do the same. It is not to be wondered at that this should +take place at night, when all the common people are asleep, so +that no one may see them. But this is not done with the +object of concealment: it seems to them that there is nothing to +conceal; that it is a very good thing; that by this merry-making, +in which the labor of thousands of toiling people is destroyed, +they not only do not injure any one, but that by this very act +they furnish the poor with the means of subsistence. +Possibly it is very merry at balls. But how does this come +about? When we see that there is a man in the community, in +our midst, who has had no food, or who is freezing, we regret our +mirth, and we cannot be cheerful until he is fed and warmed, not +to mention the impossibility of imagining people who can indulge +in such mirth as causes suffering to others. The mirth of +wicked little boys, who pitch a dog’s tail in a split +stick, and make merry over it, is repulsive and incomprehensible +to us.</p> +<p>In the same manner here, in these diversions of ours, +blindness has fallen upon us, and we do not see the split stick +with which we have pitched all those people who suffer for our +amusement.</p> +<p>[We live as though there were no connection between the dying +laundress, the prostitute of fourteen, and our own life; and yet +the connection between them strikes us in the face.</p> +<p>We may say: “But we personally have not pinched any tail +in a stick;” but we have no right, to deny that had the +tail not been pitched, our merry-making would not have taken +place. We do not see what connection exists between the +laundress and our luxury; but that is not because no such +connection does exist, but because we have placed a screen in +front of us, so that we may not see.</p> +<p>If there were no screen, we should see that which it is +impossible not to see.] <a name="citation154"></a><a +href="#footnote154" class="citation">[154]</a></p> +<p>Surely all the women who attended that ball in dresses worth a +hundred and fifty rubles each were born not in a ballroom, or at +Madame Minanguoit’s; but they have lived in the country, +and have seen the peasants; they know their own nurse and maid, +whose father and brother are poor, for whom the earning of a +hundred and fifty rubles for a cottage is the object of a long, +laborious life. Each woman knows this. How +could she enjoy herself, when she knew that she wore on her bared +body at that ball the cottage which is the dream of her good +maid’s father and brother? But let us suppose that +she could not make this reflection; but since velvet and silk and +flowers and lace and dresses do not grow of themselves, but are +made by people, it would seem that she could not help knowing +what sort of people make all these things, and under what +conditions, and why they do it. She cannot fail to know +that the seamstress, with whom she has already quarrelled, did +not make her dress in the least out of love for her; therefore, +she cannot help knowing that all these things were made for her +as a matter of necessity, that her laces, flowers, and velvet +have been made in the same way as her dress.</p> +<p>But possibly they are in such darkness that they do not +consider this. One thing she cannot fail to +know,—that five or six elderly and respectable, often sick, +lackeys and maids have had no sleep, and have been put to trouble +on her account. She has seen their weary, gloomy +faces. She could not help knowing this also, that the cold +that night reached twenty-eight degrees below zero, <a +name="citation155"></a><a href="#footnote155" +class="citation">[155]</a> and that the old coachman sat all +night long in that temperature on his box. But I know that +they really do not see this. And if they, these young women +and girls, do not see this, on account of the hypnotic state +superinduced in them by balls, it is impossible to condemn +them. They, poor things, have done what is considered right +by their elders; but how are their elders to explain away this +their cruelty to the people?</p> +<p>The elders always offer the explanation: “I compel no +one. I purchase my things; I hire my men, my maid-servants, +and my coachman. There is nothing wrong in buying and +hiring. I force no one’s inclination: I hire, and +what harm is there in that?”</p> +<p>I recently went to see an acquaintance. As I passed +through one of the rooms, I was surprised to see two women seated +at a table, as I knew that my friend was a bachelor. A +thin, yellow, old-fashioned woman, thirty years of age, in a +dress that had been carelessly thrown on, was doing something +with her hands and fingers on the table, with great speed, +trembling nervously the while, as though in a fit. Opposite +her sat a young girl, who was also engaged in something, and who +trembled in the same manner. Both women appeared to be +afflicted with St. Vitus’ dance. I stepped nearer to +them, and looked to see what they were doing. They raised +their eyes to me, but went on with their work with the same +intentness. In front of them lay scattered tobacco and +paper cases. They were making cigarettes. The woman +rubbed the tobacco between her hands, pushed it into the machine, +slipped on the cover, thrust the tobacco through, then tossed it +to the girl. The girl twisted the paper, and, making it +fast, threw it aside, and took up another. All thus was +done with such swiftness, with such intentness, as it is +impossible to describe to a man who has never seen it done. +I expressed my surprise at their quickness.</p> +<p>“I have been doing nothing else for fourteen +years,” said the woman.</p> +<p>“Is it hard?”</p> +<p>“Yes: it pains my chest, and makes my breathing +hard.”</p> +<p>It was not necessary for her to add this, however. A +look at the girl sufficed. She had worked at this for three +years, but any one who had not seen her at this occupation would +have said that here was a strong organism which was beginning to +break down.</p> +<p>My friend, a kind and liberal man, hires these women to fill +his cigarettes at two rubles fifty kopeks the thousand. He +has money, and he spends it for work. What harm is there in +that? My friend rises at twelve o’clock. He +passes the evening, from six until two, at cards, or at the +piano. He eats and drinks savory things; others do all his +work for him. He has devised a new source of +pleasure,—smoking. He has taken up smoking within my +memory.</p> +<p>Here is a woman, and here is a girl, who can barely support +themselves by turning themselves into machines, and they pass +their whole lives inhaling tobacco, and thereby running their +health. He has money which he never earned, and he prefers +to play at whist to making his own cigarettes. He gives +these women money on condition that they shall continue to live +in the same wretched manner in which they are now living, that is +to say, by making his cigarettes.</p> +<p>I love cleanliness, and I give money only on the condition +that the laundress shall wash the shirt which I change twice a +day; and that shirt has destroyed the laundress’s last +remaining strength, and she has died. What is there wrong +about that? People who buy and hire will continue to force +other people to make velvet and confections, and will purchase +them, without me; and no matter what I may do, they will hire +cigarettes made and shirts washed. Then why should I +deprive myself of velvet and confections and cigarettes and clean +shirts, if things are definitively settled thus? This is +the argument which I often, almost always, hear. This is +the very argument which makes the mob which is destroying +something, lose its senses. This is the very argument by +which dogs are guided when one of them has flung himself on +another dog, and overthrown him, and the rest of the pack rush up +also, and tear their comrade in pieces. Other people have +begun it, and have wrought mischief; then why should not I take +advantage of it? Well, what will happen if I wear a soiled +shirt, and make my own cigarettes? Will that make it easier +for anybody else? ask people who would like to justify their +course. If it were not so far from the truth, it would be a +shame to answer such a question, but we have become so entangled +that this question seems very natural to us; and hence, although +it is a shame, it is necessary to reply to it.</p> +<p>What difference will it make if I wear one shirt a week, and +make may own cigarettes, or do not smoke at all? This +difference, that some laundress and some cigarette-maker will +exert their strength less, and that what I have spent for washing +and for the making of cigarettes I can give to that very +laundress, or even to other laundresses and toilers who are worn +out with their labor, and who, instead of laboring beyond their +strength, will then be able to rest, and drink tea. But to +this I hear an objection. (It is so mortifying to rich and +luxurious people to understand their position.) To this +they say: “If I go about in a dirty shirt, and give up +smoking, and hand over this money to the poor, the poor will +still be deprived of every thing, and that drop in the sea of +yours will help not at all.”</p> +<p>Such an objection it is a shame to answer. It is such a +common retort. <a name="citation158"></a><a href="#footnote158" +class="citation">[158]</a></p> +<p>If I had gone among savages, and they had regaled me with +cutlets which struck me as savory, and if I should learn on the +following day that these savory cutlets had been made from a +prisoner whom they had slain for the sake of the savory cutlets, +if I do not admit that it is a good thing to eat men, then, no +matter how dainty the cutlets, no matter how universal the +practice of eating men may be among my fellows, however +insignificant the advantage to prisoners, prepared for +consumption, may be my refusal to eat of the cutlets, I will not +and I can not eat any more of them. I may, possibly, eat +human flesh, when hunger compels me to it; but I will not make a +feast, and I will not take part in feasts, of human flesh, and I +will not seek out such feasts, and pride myself on my share in +them.</p> +<h4>LIFE IN THE COUNTRY.</h4> +<p>But what is to be done? Surely it is not we who have +done this? And if not we, who then?</p> +<p>We say: “We have not done this, this has done +itself;” as the children say, when they break any thing, +that it broke itself. We say, that, so long as there is a +city already in existence, we, by living in it, support the +people, by purchasing their labor and services. But this is +not so. And this is why. We only need to look +ourselves, at the way we have in the country, and at the manner +in which we support people there.</p> +<p>The winter passes in town. Easter Week passes. On +the boulevards, in the gardens in the parks, on the river, there +is music. There are theatres, water-trips, walks, all sorts +of illuminations and fireworks. But in the country there is +something even better,—there are better air, trees and +meadows, and the flowers are fresher. One should go thither +where all these things have unfolded and blossomed forth. +And the majority of wealthy people do go to the country to +breathe the superior air, to survey these superior forests and +meadows. And there the wealthy settle down in the country, +and the gray peasants, who nourish themselves on bread and +onions, who toil eighteen hours a day, who get no sound sleep by +night, and who are clad in blouses. Here no one has led +these people astray. There have been no factories nor +industrial establishments, and there are none of those idle +hands, of which there are so many in the city. Here the +whole population never succeeds, all summer long, in completing +all their tasks in season; and not only are there no idle hands, +but a vast quantity of property is ruined for the lack of hands, +and a throng of people, children, old men, and women, will perish +through overstraining their powers in work which is beyond their +strength. How do the rich order their lives there? In +this fashion:—</p> +<p>If there is an old-fashioned house, built under the serf +<i>régime</i>, that house is repaired and embellished; if +there is none, then a new one is erected, of two or three +stories. The rooms, of which there are from twelve to +twenty, and even more, are all six arshins in height. <a +name="citation161a"></a><a href="#footnote161a" +class="citation">[161a]</a> Wood floors are laid +down. The windows consist of one sheet of glass. +There are rich rugs and costly furniture. The roads around +the house are macadamized, the ground is levelled, flower-beds +are laid out, croquet-grounds are prepared, swinging-rings for +gymnastics are erected, reflecting globes, often orangeries, and +hotbeds, and lofty stables always with complicated scroll-work on +the gables and ridges.</p> +<p>And here, in the country, an honest educated official, or +noble family dwells. All the members of the family and +their guests have assembled in the middle of June, because up to +June, that is to say, up to the beginning of mowing-time, they +have been studying and undergoing examinations; and they live +there until September, that is to say, until harvest and +sowing-time. The members of this family (as is the case +with nearly every one in that circle) have lived in the country +from the beginning of the press of work, the suffering time, not +until the end of the season of toil (for in September sowing is +still in progress, as well as the digging of potatoes), but until +the strain of work has relaxed a little. During the whole +of their residence in the country, all around them and beside +them, that summer toil of the peasantry has been going on, of +whose fatigues, no matter how much we may have heard, no matter +how much we may have heard about it, no matter how much we may +have gazed upon it, we can form no idea, unless we have had +personal experience of it. And the members of this family, +about ten in number, live exactly as they do in the city.</p> +<p>At St. Peter’s Day, <a name="citation161b"></a><a +href="#footnote161b" class="citation">[161b]</a> a strict fast, +when the people’s food consists of kvas, bread, and onions, +the mowing begins.</p> +<p>The business which is effected in mowing is one of the most +important in the commune. Nearly every year, through the +lack of hands and time, the hay crop may be lost by rain; and +more or less strain of toil decides the question, as to whether +twenty or more per cent of hay is to be added to the wealth of +the people, or whether it is to rot or die where it stands. +And additional hay means additional meat for the old, and +additional milk for the children. Thus, in general and in +particular, the question of bread for each one of the mowers, and +of milk for himself and his children, in the ensuing winter, is +then decided. Every one of the toilers, both male and +female, knows this; even the children know that this is an +important matter, and that it is necessary to strain every nerve +to carry the jug of kvas to their father in the meadow at his +mowing, and, shifting the heavy pitcher from hand to hand, to run +barefooted as rapidly as possible, two versts from the village, +in order to get there in season for dinner, and so that their +fathers may not scold them.</p> +<p>Every one knows, that, from the mowing season until the hay is +got in, there will be no break in the work, and that there will +be no time to breathe. And there is not the mowing +alone. Every one of them has other affairs to attend to +besides the mowing: the ground must be turned up and harrowed; +and the women have linen and bread and washing to attend to; and +the peasants have to go to the mill, and to town, and there are +communal matters to attend to, and legal matters before the judge +and the commissary of police; and the wagons to see to, and the +horses to feed at night: and all, old and young, and sickly, +labor to the last extent of their powers. The peasants toil +so, that on every occasion, the mowers, before the end of the +third stint, whether weak, young, or old, can hardly walk as they +totter past the last rows, and only with difficulty are they able +to rise after the breathing-spell; and the women, often pregnant, +or nursing infants, work in the same way. The toil is +intense and incessant. All work to the extreme bounds of +their strength, and expend in this toil, not only the entire +stock of their scanty nourishment, but all their previous +stock. All of them—and they are not fat to begin +with—grow gaunt after the “suffering” +season.</p> +<p>Here a little association is working at the mowing; three +peasants,—one an old man, the second his nephew, a young +married man, and a shoemaker, a thin, sinewy man. This +hay-harvest will decide the fate of all of them for the +winter. They have been laboring incessantly for two weeks, +without rest. The rain has delayed their work. After +the rain, when the hay has dried, they have decided to stack it, +and, in order to accomplish this as speedily as possible, that +two women for each of them shall follow their scythes. On +the part of the old man go his wife, a woman of fifty, who has +become unfit for work, having borne eleven children, who is deaf, +but still a tolerably stout worker; and a thirteen-year-old +daughter, who is short of stature, but a strong and clever +girl. On the part of his nephew go his wife, a woman as +strong and well-grown as a sturdy peasant, and his +daughter-in-law, a soldier’s wife, who is about to become a +mother. On the part of the shoemaker go his wife, a stout +laborer, and her aged mother, who has reached her eightieth year, +and who generally goes begging. They all stand in line, and +labor from morning till night, in the full fervor of the June +sun. It is steaming hot, and rain threatens. Every +hour of work is precious. It is a pity to tear one’s +self from work to fetch water or kvas. A tiny boy, the old +woman’s grandson, brings them water. The old woman, +evidently only anxious lest she shall be driven away from her +work, will not let the rake out of her hand, though it is evident +that she can barely move, and only with difficulty. The +little boy, all bent over, and stepping gently, with his tiny +bare feet, drags along a jug of water, shifting it from hand to +hand, for it is heavier than he. The young girl flings over +her shoulder a load of hay which is also heavier than herself, +advances a few steps, halts, and drops it, without the strength +to carry it. The old woman of fifty rakes away without +stopping, and with her kerchief awry she drags the hay, breathing +heavily and tottering. The old woman of eighty only rakes +the hay, but even this is beyond her strength; she slowly drags +along her feet, shod with bast shoes, and, frowning, she gazes +gloomily before her, like a seriously ill or dying person. +The old man has intentionally sent her farther away than the +rest, to rake near the cocks of hay, so that she may not keep in +line with the others; but she does not fall in with this +arrangement, and she toils on as long as the others do, with the +same death-like, gloomy countenance. The sun is already +setting behind the forest; but the cocks are not yet all heaped +together, and much still remains to do. All feel that it is +time to stop, but no one speaks, waiting until the others shall +say it. Finally the shoemaker, conscious that his strength +is exhausted, proposes to the old man, to leave the cocks until +the morrow; and the old man consents, and the women instantly run +for the garments, jugs, pitchforks; and the old woman immediately +sits down just where she has been standings and then lies back +with the same death-like look, staring straight in front of +her. But the women are going; and she rises with a groan, +and drags herself after them. And this will go on in July +also, when the peasants, without obtaining sufficient sleep, reap +the oats by night, lest it should fall, and the women rise +gloomily to thresh out the straw for the bands to tie the +sheaves; when this old woman, already utterly cramped by the +labor of mowing, and the woman with child, and the young +children, injure themselves overworking and over-drinking; and +when neither hands, nor horses, nor carts will suffice to bring +to the ricks that grain with which all men are nourished, and +millions of poods <a name="citation165"></a><a +href="#footnote165" class="citation">[165]</a> of which are daily +required in Russia to keep people from perishing.</p> +<p>And we live as though there were no connection between the +dying laundress, the prostitute of fourteen years, the toilsome +manufacture of cigarettes by women, the strained, intolerable, +insufficiently fed toil of old women and children around us; we +live as though there were no connection between this and our own +lives.</p> +<p>It seems to us, that suffering stands apart by itself, and our +life apart by itself. We read the description of the life +of the Romans, and we marvel at the inhumanity of those soulless +Luculli, who satiated themselves on viands and wines while the +populace were dying with hunger. We shake our heads, and we +marvel at the savagery of our grandfathers, who were serf-owners, +supporters of household orchestras and theatres, and of whole +villages devoted to the care of their gardens; and we wonder, +from the heights of our grandeur, at their inhumanity. We +read the words of Isa. v. 8: “Woe unto them that join house +to house, that lay field to field, till there be no place, that +they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth! (11.) +Woe unto them that rise up early in the morning, that they may +follow strong drink; that continue until night, till wine inflame +them! (12.) And the harp and the viol, and tabret and pipe, +and wine are in their feasts; but they regard not the work of the +Lord, neither consider the operation of his hands. (18.) +Woe unto them that draw iniquity with cords of vanity, and sin as +it were with a cart-rope. (20.) Woe unto then that call +evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light +for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter! +(21.) Woe unto them that are wise in their own eyes, and prudent +in their own sight—(22.) Woe unto them that are mighty to +drink wine, and men of strength to mingle strong +drink.”</p> +<p>We read these words, and it seems to us that this has no +reference to us. We read in the Gospels (Matt. iii. 10): +“And now also the axe is laid unto the root of the trees: +therefore every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn +down and cast into the fire.”</p> +<p>And we are fully convinced that the good tree which bringeth +forth good fruit is ourselves; and that these words are not +spoken to us, but to some other and wicked people.</p> +<p>We read the words of Isa. vi. 10: “Make the heart of +this people fat, and make their ears heavy, and shut their eyes; +lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and +understand with their heart, and convert and be healed. +(11.) Then said I: Lord, how long? And he answered, Until +the cities be wasted without inhabitant, and the houses without +man, and the land be utterly desolate.”</p> +<p>We read, and are fully convinced that this marvellous deed is +not performed on us, but on some other people. And because +we see nothing it is, that this marvellous deed is performed, and +has been performed, on us. We hear not, we see not, and we +understand not with our heart. How has this happened?</p> +<p>Whether that God, or that natural law by virtue of which men +exist in the world, has acted well or ill, yet the position of +men in the world, ever since we have known it, has been such, +that naked people, without any hair on their bodies, without +lairs in which they could shelter themselves, without food which +they could find in the fields,—like Robinson <a +name="citation167"></a><a href="#footnote167" +class="citation">[167]</a> on his island,—have all been +reduced to the necessity of constantly and unweariedly contending +with nature in order to cover their bodies, to make themselves +clothing, to construct a roof over their heads, and to earn their +bread, that two or three times a day they may satisfy their +hunger and the hunger of their helpless children and of their old +people who cannot work.</p> +<p>Wherever, at whatever time, in whatever numbers we may have +observed people, whether in Europe, in America, in China, or in +Russia, whether we regard all humanity, or any small portion of +it, in ancient times, in a nomad state, or in our own times, with +steam-engines and sewing-machines, perfected agriculture, and +electric lighting, we behold always one and the same +thing,—that man, toiling intensely and incessantly, is not +able to earn for himself and his little ones and his old people +clothing, shelter, and food; and that a considerable portion of +mankind, as in former times, so at the present day, perish +through insufficiency of the necessaries of life, and intolerable +toil in the effort to obtain them.</p> +<p>Wherever we have, if we draw a circle round us of a hundred +thousand, a thousand, or ten versts, or of one verst, and examine +into the lives of the people comprehended within the limits of +our circle, we shall see within that circle prematurely-born +children, old men, old women, women in labor, sick and weak +persons, who toil beyond their strength, and who have not +sufficient food and rest for life, and who therefore die before +their time. We shall see people in the flower of their age +actually slain by dangerous and injurious work.</p> +<p>We see that people have been struggling, ever since the world +has endured, with fearful effort, privation, and suffering, +against this universal want, and that they cannot overcome it . . +. <a name="citation168"></a><a href="#footnote168" +class="citation">[168]</a></p> +<h2>ON THE SIGNIFICANCE OF SCIENCE AND ART.</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> +<p>. . . <a name="citation169"></a><a href="#footnote169" +class="citation">[169]</a> The justification of all persons who +have freed themselves from toil is now founded on experimental, +positive science. The scientific theory is as +follows:—</p> +<p>“For the study of the laws of life of human societies, +there exists but one indubitable method,—the positive, +experimental, critical method</p> +<p>“Only sociology, founded on biology, founded on all the +positive sciences, can give us the laws of humanity. +Humanity, or human communities, are the organisms already +prepared, or still in process of formation, and which are +subservient to all the laws of the evolution of organisms.</p> +<p>“One of the chief of these laws is the variation of +destination among the portions of the organs. Some people +command, others obey. If some have in superabundance, and +others in want, this arises not from the will of God, not because +the empire is a form of manifestation of personality, but because +in societies, as in organisms, division of labor becomes +indispensable for life as a whole. Some people perform the +muscular labor in societies; others, the mental labor.”</p> +<p>Upon this doctrine is founded the prevailing justification of +our time.</p> +<p>Not long ago, their reigned in the learned, cultivated world, +a moral philosophy, according to which it appeared that every +thing which exists is reasonable; that there is no such thing as +evil or good; and that it is unnecessary for man to war against +evil, but that it is only necessary for him to display +intelligence,—one man in the military service, another in +the judicial, another on the violin. There have been many +and varied expressions of human wisdom, and these phenomena were +known to the men of the nineteenth century. The wisdom of +Rousseau and of Lessing, and Spinoza and Bruno, and all the +wisdom of antiquity; but no one man’s wisdom overrode the +crowd. It was impossible to say even this,—that +Hegel’s success was the result of the symmetry of this +theory. There were other equally symmetrical +theories,—those of Descartes, Leibnitz, Fichte, +Schopenhauer. There was but one reason why this doctrine +won for itself, for a season, the belief of the whole world; and +this reason was, that the deductions of that philosophy winked at +people’s weaknesses. These deductions were summed up +in this,—that every thing was reasonable, every thing good; +and that no one was to blame.</p> +<p>When I began my career, Hegelianism was the foundation of +every thing. It was floating in the air; it was expressed +in newspaper and periodical articles, in historical and judicial +lectures, in novels, in treatises, in art, in sermons, in +conversation. The man who was not acquainted with Hegal had +no right to speak. Any one who desired to understand the +truth studied Hegel. Every thing rested on him. And +all at once the forties passed, and there was nothing left of +him. There was not even a hint of him, any more than if he +had never existed. And the most amazing thing of all was, +that Hegelianism did not fall because some one overthrew it or +destroyed it. No! It was the same then as now, but +all at once it appeared that it was of no use whatever to the +learned and cultivated world.</p> +<p>There was a time when the Hegelian wise men triumphantly +instructed the masses; and the crowd, understanding nothing, +blindly believed in every thing, finding confirmation in the fact +that it was on hand; and they believed that what seemed to them +muddy and contradictory there on the heights of philosophy was +all as clear as the day. But that time has gone by. +That theory is worn out: a new theory has presented itself in its +stead. The old one has become useless; and the crowd has +looked into the secret sanctuaries of the high priests, and has +seen that there is nothing there, and that there has been nothing +there, save very obscure and senseless words. This has +taken place within my memory.</p> +<p>“But this arises,” people of the present science +will say, “from the fact that all that was the raving of +the theological and metaphysical period; but now there exists +positive, critical science, which does not deceive, since it is +all founded on induction and experiment. Now our erections +are not shaky, as they formerly were, and only in our path lies +the solution of all the problems of humanity.”</p> +<p>But the old teachers said precisely the same, and they were no +fools; and we know that there were people of great intelligence +among them. And precisely thus, within my memory, and with +no less confidence, with no less recognition on the part of the +crowd of so-called cultivated people, spoke the Hegelians. +And neither were our Herzens, our Stankevitches, or our +Byelinskys fools. But whence arose that marvellous +manifestation, that sensible people should preach with the +greatest assurance, and that the crowd should accept with +devotion, such unfounded and unsupportable teachings? There +is but one reason,—that the teachings thus inculcated +justified people in their evil life.</p> +<p>A very poor English writer, whose works are all forgotten, and +recognized as the most insignificant of the insignificant, writes +a treatise on population, in which he devises a fictitious law +concerning the increase of population disproportionate to the +means of subsistence. This fictitious law, this writer +encompasses with mathematical formulæ founded on nothing +whatever; and then he launches it on the world. From the +frivolity and the stupidity of this hypothesis, one would suppose +that it would not attract the attention of any one, and that it +would sink into oblivion, like all the works of the same author +which followed it; but it turned out quite otherwise. The +hack-writer who penned this treatise instantly becomes a +scientific authority, and maintains himself upon that height for +nearly half a century. Malthus! The Malthusian +theory,—the law of the increase of the population in +geometrical, and of the means of subsistence in arithmetical +proportion, and the wise and natural means of restricting the +population,—all these have become scientific, indubitable +truths, which have not been confirmed, but which have been +employed as axioms, for the erection of false theories. In +this manner have learned and cultivated people proceeded; and +among the herd of idle persons, there sprung up a pious trust in +the great laws expounded by Malthus. How did this come to +pass? It would seem as though they were scientific +deductions, which had nothing in common with the instincts of the +masses. But this can only appear so for the man who +believes that science, like the Church, is something +self-contained, liable to no errors, and not simply the +imaginings of weak and erring folk, who merely substitute the +imposing word “science,” in place of the thoughts and +words of the people, for the sake of impressiveness.</p> +<p>All that was necessary was to make practical deductions from +the theory of Malthus, in order to perceive that this theory was +of the most human sort, with the best defined of objects. +The deductions directly arising from this theory were the +following: The wretched condition of the laboring classes was +such in accordance with an unalterable law, which does not depend +upon men; and, if any one is to blame in this matter, it is the +hungry laboring classes themselves. Why are they such fools +as to give birth to children, when they know that there will be +nothing for the children to eat? And so this deduction, +which is valuable for the herd of idle people, has had this +result: that all learned men overlooked the incorrectness, the +utter arbitrariness of these deductions, and their +insusceptibility to proof; and the throng of cultivated, i.e., of +idle people, knowing instinctively to what these deductions lead, +saluted this theory with enthusiasm, conferred upon it the stamp +of truth, i.e., of science, and dragged it about with them for +half a century.</p> +<p>Is not this same thing the cause of the confidence of men in +positive critical-experimental science, and of the devout +attitude of the crowd towards that which it preaches? At +first it seems strange, that the theory of evolution can in any +manner justify people in their evil ways; and it seems as though +the scientific theory of evolution has to deal only with facts, +and that it does nothing else but observe facts.</p> +<p>But this only appears to be the case.</p> +<p>Exactly the same thing appeared to be the case with the +Hegelian doctrine, in a greater degree, and also in the special +instance of the Malthusian doctrine. Hegelianism was, +apparently, occupied only with its logical constructions, and +bore no relation to the life of mankind. Precisely this +seemed to be the case with the Malthusian theory. It +appeared to be busy itself only with statistical data. But +this was only in appearance.</p> +<p>Contemporary science is also occupied with facts alone: it +investigates facts. But what facts? Why precisely +these facts, and no others?</p> +<p>The men of contemporary science are very fond of saying, +triumphantly and confidently, “We investigate only +facts,” imagining that these words contain some +meaning. It is impossible to investigate facts alone, +because the facts which are subject to our investigation are +<i>innumerable</i> (in the definite sense of that +word),—innumerable. Before we proceed to investigate +facts, we must have a theory on the foundation of which these or +those facts can be inquired into, i.e., selected from the +incalculable quantity.</p> +<p>And this theory exists, and is even very definitely expressed, +although many of the workers in contemporary science do not know +it, or often pretend that they do not know it. Exactly thus +has it always been with all prevailing and guiding +doctrines. The foundations of every doctrine are always +stated in a theory, and the so-called learned men merely invent +further deductions from the foundations once stated. Thus +contemporary science is selecting its facts on the foundation of +a very definite theory, which it sometimes knows, sometimes +refuses to know, and sometimes really does not know; but the +theory exists.</p> +<p>The theory is as follows: All mankind is an undying organism; +men are the particles of that organism, and each one of them has +his own special task for the service of others. In the same +manner, the cells united in an organism share among them the +labor of fight for existence of the whole organism; they magnify +the power of one capacity, and weaken another, and unite in one +organ, in order the better to supply the requirements of the +whole organism. And exactly in the same manner as with +gregarious animals,—ants or bees,—the separate +individuals divide the labor among them. The queen lays the +egg, the drone fructifies it; the bee works his whole life +long. And precisely this thing takes place in mankind and +in human societies. And therefore, in order to find the law +of life for man, it is necessary to study the laws of the life +and the development of organisms.</p> +<p>In the life and development of organisms, we find the +following laws: the law of differentiation and integration, the +law that every phenomenon is accompanied not by direct +consequences alone, another law regarding the instability of +type, and so on. All this seems very innocent; but it is +only necessary to draw the deductions from all these laws, in +order to immediately perceive that these laws incline in the same +direction as the law of Malthus. These laws all point to +one thing; namely, to the recognition of that division of labor +which exists in human communities, as organic, that is to say, as +indispensable. And therefore, the unjust position in which +we, the people who have freed ourselves from labor, find +ourselves, must be regarded not from the point of view of +common-sense and justice, but merely as an undoubted fact, +confirming the universal law.</p> +<p>Moral philosophy also justified every sort of cruelty and +harshness; but this resulted in a philosophical manner, and +therefore wrongly. But with science, all this results +scientifically, and therefore in a manner not to be doubted.</p> +<p>How can we fail to accept so very beautiful a theory? It +is merely necessary to look upon human society as an object of +contemplation; and I can console myself with the thought that my +activity, whatever may be its nature, is a functional activity of +the organism of humanity, and that therefore there cannot arise +any question as to whether it is just that I, in employing the +labor of others, am doing only that which is agreeable to me, as +there can arise no question as to the division of labor between +the brain cells and the muscular cells. How is it possible +not to admit so very beautiful a theory, in order that one may be +able, ever after, to pocket one’s conscience, and have a +perfectly unbridled animal existence, feeling beneath one’s +self that support of science which is not to be shaken +nowadays!</p> +<p>And it is on this new doctrine that the justification for +men’s idleness and cruelty is now founded.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> +<p>This doctrine had its rise not so very long—fifty +years—ago. Its principal founder was the French +<i>savant</i> Comte. There occurred to Comte,—a +systematist, and a religious man to boot,—under the +influence of the then novel physiological investigations of +Biche, the old idea already set forth by Menenius +Agrippa,—the idea that human society, all humanity even, +might be regarded as one whole, as an organism; and men as living +parts of the separate organs, having each his own definite +appointment to serve the entire organism.</p> +<p>This idea so pleased Comte, that upon it he began to erect a +philosophical theory; and this theory so carried him away, that +he utterly forgot that the point of departure for his theory was +nothing more than a very pretty comparison, which was suitable +for a fable, but which could by no means serve as the foundation +for science. He, as frequently happens, mistook his pet +hypothesis for an axiom, and imagined that his whole theory was +erected on the very firmest of foundations. According to +his theory, it seemed that since humanity is an organism, the +knowledge of what man is, and of what should be his relations to +the world, was possible only through a knowledge of the features +of this organism. For the knowledge of these qualities, man +is enabled to take observations on other and lower organisms, and +to draw conclusions from their life. Therefore, in the fist +place, the true and only method, according to Comte, is the +inductive, and all science is only such when it has experiment as +its basis; in the second place, the goal and crown of sciences is +formed by that new science dealing with the imaginary organism of +humanity, or the super-organic being,—humanity,—and +this newly devised science is sociology.</p> +<p>And from this view of science it appears, that all previous +knowledge was deceitful, and that the whole story of humanity, in +the sense of self-knowledge, has been divided into three, +actually into two, periods: the theological and metaphysical +period, extending from the beginning of the world to Comte, and +the present period,—that of the only true science, positive +science,—beginning with Comte.</p> +<p>All this was very well. There was but one error, and +that was this,—that the whole edifice was erected on the +sand, on the arbitrary and false assertion that humanity is an +organism. This assertion was arbitrary, because we have +just as much right to admit the existence of a human organism, +not subject to observation, as we have to admit the existence of +any other invisible, fantastic being. This assertion was +erroneous, because for the understanding of humanity, i.e., of +men, the definition of an organism was incorrectly constructed, +while in humanity itself all actual signs of organism,—the +centre of feeling or consciousness, are lacking. <a +name="citation178"></a><a href="#footnote178" +class="citation">[178]</a></p> +<p>But, in spite of the arbitrariness and incorrectness of the +fundamental assumption of positive philosophy, it was accepted by +the so-called cultivated world with the greatest sympathy. +In this connection, one thing is worthy of note: that out of the +works of Comte, consisting of two parts, of positive philosophy +and of positive politics, only the first was adopted by the +learned world,—that part which justifieth, on new promises, +the existent evil of human societies; but the second part, +treating of the moral obligations of altruism, arising from the +recognition of mankind as an organism, was regarded as not only +of no importance, but as trivial and unscientific. It was a +repetition of the same thing that had happened in the case of +Kant’s works. The “Critique of Pure +Reason” was adopted by the scientific crowd; but the +“Critique of Applied Reason,” that part which +contains the gist of moral doctrine, was repudiated. In +Kant’s doctrine, that was accepted as scientific which +subserved the existent evil. But the positive philosophy, +which was accepted by the crowd, was founded on an arbitrary and +erroneous basis, was in itself too unfounded, and therefore +unsteady, and could not support itself alone. And so, amid +all the multitude of the idle plays of thought of the men +professing the so-called science, there presents itself an +assertion equally devoid of novelty, and equally arbitrary and +erroneous, to the effect that living beings, i.e., organisms, +have had their rise in each other,—not only one organism +from another, but one from many; i.e., that in a very long +interval of time (in a million of years, for instance), not only +could a duck and a fish proceed from one ancestor, but that one +animal might result from a whole hive of bees. And this +arbitrary and erroneous assumption was accepted by the learned +world with still greater and more universal sympathy. This +assumption was arbitrary, because no one has ever seen how one +organism is made from another, and therefore the hypothesis as to +the origin of species will always remain an hypothesis, and not +an experimental fact. And this hypothesis was also +erroneous, because the decision of the question as to the origin +of species—that they have originated, in consequence of the +law of heredity and fitness, in the course of an interminably +long time—is no solution at all, but merely a re-statement +of the problem in a new form.</p> +<p>According to Moses’ solution of the question (in the +dispute with whom the entire significance of this theory lies), +it appears that the diversity of the species of living creatures +proceeded according to the will of God, and according to His +almighty power; but according to the theory of evolution, it +appears that the difference between living creatures arose by +chance, and on account of varying conditions of heredity and +surroundings, through an endless period of time. The theory +of evolution, to speak in simple language, merely asserts, that +by chance, in an incalculably long period of time, out of any +thing you like, any thing else that you like may develop.</p> +<p>This is no answer to the problem. And the same problem +is differently expressed: instead of will, chance is offered, and +the co-efficient of the eternal is transposed from the power to +the time. But this fresh assertion strengthened +Comte’s assertion. And, moreover, according to the +ingenuous confession of the founder of Darwin’s theory +himself, his idea was aroused in him by the law of Malthus; and +he therefore propounded the theory of the struggle of living +creatures and people for existence, as the fundamental law of +every living thing. And lo! only this was needed by the +throng of idle people for their justification.</p> +<p>Two insecure theories, incapable of sustaining themselves on +their feet, upheld each other, and acquired the semblance of +stability. Both theories bore with them that idea which is +precious to the crowd, that in the existent evil of human +societies, men are not to blame, and that the existing order of +things is that which should prevail; and the new theory was +adopted by the throng with entire faith and unheard-of +enthusiasm. And behold, on the strength of these two +arbitrary and erroneous hypotheses, accepted as dogmas of belief, +the new scientific doctrine was ratified.</p> +<p>Spencer, for example, in one of his first works, expresses +this doctrine thus:—</p> +<p>“Societies and organisms,” he says, “are +alike in the following points:—</p> +<p>“1. In that, beginning as tiny aggregates, they +imperceptibly grow in mass, so that some of them attain to the +size of ten thousand times their original bulk.</p> +<p>“2. In that while they were, in the beginning, of +such simple structure, that they can be regarded as destitute of +all structure, they acquire during the period of their growth a +constantly increasing complication of structure.</p> +<p>“3. In that although in their early, undeveloped +period, there exists between them hardly any interdependence of +parts, their parts gradually acquire an interdependence, which +eventually becomes so strong, that the life and activity of each +part becomes possible only on condition of the life and activity +of the remaining parts.</p> +<p>“4. In that life and the development of society +are independent, and more protracted than the life and +development of any one of the units constituting it, which are +born, grow, act, reproduce themselves, and die separately; while +the political body formed from them, continues to live generation +after generation, developing in mass in perfection and functional +activity.”</p> +<p>The points of difference between organisms and society go +farther; and it is proved that these differences are merely +apparent, but that organisms and societies are absolutely +similar.</p> +<p>For the uninitiated man the question immediately presents +itself: “What are you talking about? Why is mankind +an organism, or similar to an organism?”</p> +<p>You say that societies resemble organisms in these four +features; but it is nothing of the sort. You only take a +few features of the organism, and beneath them you range human +communities. You bring forward four features of +resemblance, then you take four features of dissimilarity, which +are, however, only apparent (according to you); and you thence +conclude that human societies can be regarded as organisms. +But surely, this is an empty game of dialectics, and nothing +more. On the same foundation, under the features of an +organism, you may range whatever you please. I will take +the fist thing that comes into my head. Let us suppose it +to be a forest,—the manner in which it sows itself in the +plain, and spreads abroad. 1. Beginning with a small +aggregate, it increases imperceptibly in mass, and so +forth. Exactly the same thing takes place in the fields, +when they gradually seed themselves down, and bring forth a +forest. 2. In the beginning the structure is simple: +afterwards it increases in complication, and so forth. +Exactly the same thing happens with the forest,—in the +first place, there were only bitch-trees, then came brush-wood +and hazel-bushes; at first all grow erect, then they interlace +their branches. 3. The interdependence of the parts is so +augmented, that the life of each part depends on the life and +activity of the remaining parts. It is precisely so with +the forest,—the hazel-bush warms the tree-boles (cut it +down, and the other trees will freeze), the hazel-bush protects +from the wind, the seed-bearing trees carry on reproduction, the +tall and leafy trees afford shade, and the life of one tree +depends on the life of another. 4. The separate parts may +die, but the whole lives. Exactly the case with the +forest. The forest does not mourn one tree.</p> +<p>Having proved that, in accordance with this theory, you may +regard the forest as an organism, you fancy that you have proved +to the disciples of the organic doctrine the error of their +definition. Nothing of the sort. The definition which +they give to the organism is so inaccurate and so elastic that +under this definition they may include what they will. +“Yes,” they say; “and the forest may also be +regarded as an organism. The forest is mutual re-action of +individuals, which do not annihilate each other,—an +aggregate; its parts may also enter into a more intimate union, +as the hive of bees constitutes itself an organism.” +Then you will say, “If that is so, then the birds and the +insects and the grass of this forest, which re-act upon each +other, and do not destroy each other, may also be regarded as one +organism, in company with the trees.” And to this +also they will agree. Every collection of living +individuals, which re-act upon each other, and do not destroy +each other, may be regarded as organisms, according to their +theory. You may affirm a connection and interaction between +whatever you choose, and, according to evolution, you may affirm, +that, out of whatever you please, any other thing that you please +may proceed, in a very long period of time.</p> +<p>And the most remarkable thing of all is, that this same +identical positive science recognizes the scientific method as +the sign of true knowledge, and has itself defined what it +designates as the scientific method.</p> +<p>By the scientific method it means common-sense.</p> +<p>And common-sense convicts it at every step. As soon as +the Popes felt that nothing holy remained in them, they called +themselves most holy.</p> +<p>As soon as science felt that no common-sense was left in her +she called herself sensible, that is to say, scientific +science.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> +<p>Division of labor is the law of all existing things, and, +therefore, it should be present in human societies. It is +very possible that this is so; but still the question remains, Of +what nature is that division of labor which I behold in my human +society? is it that division of labor which should exist? +And if people regard a certain division of labor as unreasonable +and unjust, then no science whatever can convince men that that +should exist which they regard as unreasonable and unjust.</p> +<p>Division of labor is the condition of existence of organisms, +and of human societies; but what, in these human societies, is to +be regarded as an organic division of labor? And, to +whatever extent science may have investigated the division of +labor in the cells of worms, all these observations do not compel +a man to acknowledge that division of labor to be correct which +his own sense and conscience do not recognize as correct. +No matter how convincing may be the proofs of the division of +labor of the cells in the organisms studied, man, if he has not +parted with his judgment, will say, nevertheless, that a man +should not weave calico all his life, and that this is not +division of labor, but persecution of the people. Spencer +and others say that there is a whole community of weavers, and +that the profession of weaving is an organic division of +labor. There are weavers; so, of course, there is such a +division of labor. It would be well enough to speak thus if +the colony of weavers had arisen by the free will of its +member’s; but we know that it is not thus formed of their +initiative, but that we make it. Hence it is necessary to +find out whether we have made these weavers in accordance with an +organic law, or with some other.</p> +<p>Men live. They support themselves by agriculture, as is +natural to all men. One man has set up a blacksmith’s +forge, and repaired his plough; his neighbor comes to him, and +asks him to mend his also, and promises him in return either work +or money. A third comes, and a fourth; and in the community +formed by these men, there arises the following division of +labor,—a blacksmith is created. Another man has +instructed his children well; his neighbor brings his children to +him, and requests him to teach them also, and a teacher is +created. But both blacksmith and teacher have been created, +and continue to be such, merely because they have been asked; and +they remain such as long as they are requested to be blacksmith +and teacher. If it should come to pass that many +blacksmiths and teachers should set themselves up, or that their +work is not requited, they will immediately, as common-sense +demands and as always happens when there is no occasion for +disturbing the regular course of division of labor,—they +will immediately abandon their trade, and betake themselves once +more to agriculture.</p> +<p>Men who behave thus are guided by their sense, their +conscience; and hence we, the men endowed with sense and +conscience, all assert that such a division of labor is +right. But if it should chance that the blacksmiths were +able to compel other people to work for them, and should continue +to make horse-shoes when they were not wanted, and if the +teachers should go on teaching when there was no one to teach, +then it is obvious to every sane man, as a man, i.e., as a being +endowed with reason and conscience, that this would not be +division, but appropriation, of labor. And yet precisely +that sort of activity is what is called division of labor by +scientific science. People do that which others do not +think of requiring, and demand that they shall be supported for +so doing, and say that this is just because it is division of +labor.</p> +<p>That which constitutes the cause of the economical poverty of +our age is what the English call over-production (which means +that a mass of things are made which are of no use to anybody, +and with which nothing can be done).</p> +<p>It would be odd to see a shoemaker, who should consider that +people were bound to feed him because he incessantly made boots +which had been of no use to any one for a long time; but what +shall we say of those men who make nothing,—who not only +produce nothing that is visible, but nothing that is of use for +people at large,—for whose wares there are no customers, +and who yet demand, with the same boldness, on the ground of +division of labor, that they shall be supplied with fine food and +drink, and that they shall be dressed well? There may be, +and there are, sorcerers for whose services a demand makes itself +felt, and for this purpose there are brought to them pancakes and +flasks; but it is difficult to imagine the existence of sorcerers +whose spells are useless to every one, and who boldly demand that +they shall be luxuriously supported because they exercise +sorcery. And it is the same in our world. And all +this comes about on the basis of that false conception of the +division of labor, which is defined not by reason and conscience, +but by observation, which men of science avow with such +unanimity.</p> +<p>Division of labor has, in reality, always existed, and still +exists; but it is right only when man decides with his reason and +his conscience that it should be so, and not when he merely +investigates it. And reason and conscience decide the +question for all men very simply, unanimously, and in a manner +not to be doubted. They always decide it thus: that +division of labor is right only when a special branch of +man’s activity is so needful to men, that they, entreating +him to serve them, voluntarily propose to support him in requital +for that which he shall do for them. But, when a man can +live from infancy to the age of thirty years on the necks of +others, promising to do, when he shall have been taught, +something extremely useful, for which no one asks him; and when, +from the age of thirty until his death, he can live in the same +manner, still merely on the promise to do something, for which +there has been no request, this will not be division of labor +(and, as a matter of fact, there is no such thing in our +society), but it will be what it already is,—merely the +appropriation, by force, of the toil of others; that same +appropriation by force of the toil of others which the +philosophers formerly designated by various names,—for +instance, as indispensable forms of life,—but which +scientific science now calls the organic division of labor.</p> +<p>The whole significance of scientific science lies in this +alone. It has now become a distributer of diplomas for +idleness; for it alone, in its sanctuaries, selects and +determines what is parasitical, and what is organic activity, in +the social organism. Just as though every man could not +find this out for himself much more accurately and more speedily, +by taking counsel of his reason and his conscience. It +seems to men of scientific science, that there can be no doubt of +this, and that their activity is also indubitably organic; they, +the scientific and artistic workers, are the brain cells, and the +most precious cells in the whole organism.</p> +<p>Ever since men—reasoning beings—have existed, they +have distinguished good from evil, and have profited by the fact +that men have made this distinction before them; they have warred +against evil, and have sought the good, and have slowly but +uninterruptedly advanced in that path. And divers delusions +have always stood before men, hemming in this path, and having +for their object to demonstrate to them, that it was not +necessary to do this, and that it was not necessary to live as +they were living. With fearful conflict and difficulty, men +have freed themselves from many delusions. And behold, a +new and a still more evil delusion has sprung up in the path of +mankind,—the scientific delusion.</p> +<p>This new delusion is precisely the same in nature as the old +ones; its gist lies in secretly leading astray the activity of +our reason and conscience, and of those who have lived before us, +by something external. In scientific science, this external +thing is—investigation.</p> +<p>The cunning of this science consists in this,—that, +after pointing out to men the coarsest false interpretations of +the activity of the reason and conscience of man, it destroys in +them faith in their own reason and conscience, and assures them +that every thing which their reason and conscience say to them, +that all that these have said to the loftiest representatives of +man heretofore, ever since the world has existed,—that all +this is conventional and subjective. “All this must +be abandoned,” they say; “it is impossible to +understand the truth by the reason, for we may be mistaken. +But there exists another unerring and almost mechanical path: it +is necessary to investigate facts.”</p> +<p>But facts must be investigated on the foundation of scientific +science, i.e., of the two hypotheses of positivism and evolution, +which are not borne out by any thing, and which give themselves +out as undoubted truths. And the reigning science +announces, with delusive solemnity, that the solution of all +problems of life is possible only through the study of facts, of +nature, and, in particular, of organisms. The credulous +mass of young people, overwhelmed by the novelty of this +authority, which has not yet been overthrown or even touched by +criticism, flings itself into the study of natural sciences, into +that sole path, which, according to the assertion of the reigning +science, can lead to the elucidation of the problems of life.</p> +<p>But the farther the disciples proceed in this study, the +farther and farther does not only the possibility, but even the +very idea, of the solution of the problems of life withdraw from +them, and the more and more do they become accustomed, not so +much to investigate, as to believe in the assertions of other +investigators (to believe in cells, in protoplasm, in the fourth +condition of bodies, and so forth); the more and more does the +form veil the contents from them; the more and more do they lose +the consciousness of good and evil, and the capacity of +understanding those expressions and definitions of good and evil +which have been elaborated through the whole foregoing life of +mankind; and the more and more do they appropriate to themselves +the special scientific jargon of conventional expressions, which +possesses no universally human significance; and the deeper and +deeper do they plunge into the <i>débris</i> of utterly +unilluminated investigations; the more and more do they lose the +power, not only of independent thought, but even of understanding +the fresh human thought of others, which lies beyond the bounds +of their Talmud. But the principal thing is, that they pass +their best years in getting disused to life; they grow accustomed +to consider their position as justifiable; and they convert +themselves physically into utterly useless parasites, and +mentally they dislocate their brains and become mental +eunuchs. And in precisely the same manner, according to the +measure of their folly, do they acquire self-conceit, which +deprives them forever of all possibility of return to a simple +life of toil, to a simple, clear, and universally human train of +reasoning.</p> +<p>Division of labor always has existed in human communities, and +will probably always exist; but the question for us lies not in +the fact that it has existed, and that it will exist, but in +this,—how are we to govern ourselves so that this division +shall be right? But if we take investigation as our rule of +action, we by this very act repudiate all rule; then in that case +we shall regard as right every division of labor which we shall +descry among men, and which appears to us to be right—to +which conclusion the prevailing scientific science also +leads.</p> +<p>Division of labor!</p> +<p>Some are busied in mental or moral, others in muscular or +physical, labor. With what confidence people enunciate +this! They wish to think so, and it seems to them that, in +point of fact, a perfectly regular exchange of services does take +place.</p> +<p>But we, in our blindness, have so completely lost sight of the +responsibility which we have assumed, that we have even forgotten +in whose name our labor is prosecuted; and the very people whom +we have undertaken to serve have become the objects of our +scientific and artistic activity. We study and depict them +for our amusement and diversion. We have totally forgotten +that what we need to do is not to study and depict them, but to +serve them. To such a degree have we lost sight of this +duty which we have taken upon us, that we have not even noticed +that what we have undertaken to perform in the realm of science +and art has been accomplished not by us, but by others, and that +our place has turned out to be occupied.</p> +<p>It proves that while we have been disputing, one about the +spontaneous origin of organisms, another as to what else there is +in protoplasm, and so on, the common people have been in need of +spiritual food; and the unsuccessful and rejected of art and +science, in obedience to the mandate of adventurers who have in +view the sole aim of profit, have begun to furnish the people +with this spiritual food, and still so furnish them. For +the last forty years in Europe, and for the last ten years with +us here in Russia, millions of books and pictures and song-books +have been distributed, and stalls have been opened, and the +people gaze and sing and receive spiritual nourishment, but not +from us who have undertaken to provide it; while we, justifying +our idleness by that spiritual food which we are supposed to +furnish, sit by and wink at it.</p> +<p>But it is impossible for us to wink at it, for our last +justification is slipping from beneath our feet. We have +become specialized. We have our particular functional +activity. We are the brains of the people. They +support us, and we have undertaken to teach them. It is +only under this pretence that we have excused ourselves from +work. But what have we taught them, and what are we now +teaching them? They have waited for years—for tens, +for hundreds of years. And we keep on diverting our minds +with chatter, and we instruct each other, and we console +ourselves, and we have utterly forgotten them. We have so +entirely forgotten them, that others have undertaken to instruct +them, and we have not even perceived it. We have spoken of +the division of labor with such lack of seriousness, that it is +obvious that what we have said about the benefits which we have +conferred on the people was simply a shameless evasion.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> +<p>Science and art have arrogated to themselves the right of +idleness, and of the enjoyment of the labor of others, and have +betrayed their calling. And their errors have arisen merely +because their servants, having set forth a falsely conceived +principle of the division of labor, have recognized their own +right to make use of the labor of others, and have lost the +significance of their vocation; having taken for their aim, not +the profit of the people, but the mysterious profit of science +and art, and delivered themselves over to idleness and +vice—not so much of the senses as of the mind.</p> +<p>They say, “Science and art have bestowed a great deal on +mankind.”</p> +<p>Science and art have bestowed a great deal on mankind, not +because the men of art and science, under the pretext of a +division of labor, live on other people, but in spite of +this.</p> +<p>The Roman Republic was powerful, not because her citizens had +the power to live a vicious life, but because among their number +there were heroic citizens. It is the same with art and +science. Art and science have bestowed much on mankind, but +not because their followers formerly possessed on rare occasions +(and now possess on every occasion) the possibility of getting +rid of labor; but because there have been men of genius, who, +without making use of these rights, have led mankind forward.</p> +<p>The class of learned men and artists, which has advanced, on +the fictitious basis of a division of labor, its demands to the +right of using the labors of others, cannot co-operate in the +success of true science and true art, because a lie cannot bring +forth the truth.</p> +<p>We have become so accustomed to these, our tenderly reared or +weakened representatives of mental labor, that it seems to us +horrible that a man of science or an artist should plough or cart +manure. It seems to us that every thing would go to +destruction, and that all his wisdom would be rattled out of him +in the cart, and that all those grand picturesque images which he +bears about in his breast would be soiled in the manure; but we +have become so inured to this, that it does not strike us as +strange that our servitor of science—that is to say, the +servant and teacher of the truth—by making other people do +for him that which he might do for himself, passes half his time +in dainty eating, in smoking, in talking, in free and easy +gossip, in reading the newspapers and romances, and in visiting +the theatres. It is not strange to us to see our +philosopher in the tavern, in the theatre, and at the ball. +It is not strange in our eyes to learn that those artists who +sweeten and ennoble our souls have passed their lives in +drunkenness, cards, and women, if not in something worse.</p> +<p>Art and science are very beautiful things; but just because +they are so beautiful they should not be spoiled by the +compulsory combination with them of vice: that is to say, a man +should not get rid of his obligation to serve his own life and +that of other people by his own labor. Art and science have +caused mankind to progress. Yes; but not because men of art +and science, under the guise of division of labor, have rid +themselves of the very first and most indisputable of human +obligations,—to labor with their hands in the universal +struggle of mankind with nature.</p> +<p>“But only the division of labor, the freedom of men of +science and of art from the necessity of earning them living, has +rendered possible that remarkable success of science which we +behold in our day,” is the answer to this. “If +all were forced to till the soil, those <i>vast</i> results would +not have been attained which have been attained in our day; there +would have been none of those <i>striking</i> successes which +have so greatly augmented man’s power over nature, were it +not for these astronomical discoveries <i>which are so astounding +to the mind of man</i>, and which have added to the security of +navigation; there would be no steamers, no railways, none of +those <i>wonderful</i> bridges, tunnels, steam-engines and +telegraphs, photography, telephones, sewing-machines, +phonographs, electricity, telescopes, spectroscopes, microscopes, +chloroform, Lister’s bandages, and carbolic +acid.”</p> +<p>I will not enumerate every thing on which our age thus prides +itself. This enumeration and pride of enthusiasm over +ourselves and our exploits can be found in almost any newspaper +and popular pamphlet. This enthusiasm over ourselves is +often repeated to such a degree that none of us can sufficiently +rejoice over ourselves, that we are seriously convinced that art +and science have never made such progress as in our own +time. And, as we are indebted for all this marvellous +progress to the division of labor, why not acknowledge it?</p> +<p>Let us admit that the progress made in our day is noteworthy, +marvellous, unusual; let us admit that we are fortunate mortals +to live in such a remarkable epoch: but let us endeavor to +appraise this progress, not on the basis of our +self-satisfaction, but of that principle which defends itself +with this progress,—the division of labor. All this +progress is very amazing; but by a peculiarly unlucky chance, +admitted even by the men of science, this progress has not so far +improved, but it has rather rendered worse, the position of the +majority, that is to say, of the workingman.</p> +<p>If the workingman can travel on the railway, instead of +walking, still that same railway has burned down his forest, has +carried off his grain under his very nose, and has brought his +condition very near to slavery—to the capitalist. If, +thanks to steam-engines and machines, the workingman can purchase +inferior calico at a cheap rate, on the other hand these engines +and machines have deprived him of work at home, and have brought +him into a state of abject slavery to the manufacturer. If +there are telephones and telescopes, poems, romances, theatres, +ballets, symphonies, operas, picture-galleries, and so forth, on +the other hand the life of the workingman has not been bettered +by all this; for all of them, by the same unlucky chance, are +inaccessible to him.</p> +<p>So that, on the whole (and even men of science admit this), up +to the present time, all these remarkable discoveries and +products of science and art have certainly not ameliorated the +condition of the workingman, if, indeed, they have not made it +worse. So that, if we set against the question as to the +reality of the progress attained by the arts and sciences, not +our own rapture, but that standard upon the basis of which the +division of labor is defended,—the good of the laboring +man,—we shall see that we have no firm foundations for that +self-satisfaction in which we are so fond of indulging.</p> +<p>The peasant travels on the railway, the woman buys calico, in +the <i>isbá</i> (cottage) there will be a lamp instead of +a pine-knot, and the peasant will light his pipe with a +match,—this is convenient; but what right have I to say +that the railway and the factory have proved advantageous to the +people?</p> +<p>If the peasant rides on the railway, and buys calico, a lamp, +and matches, it is only because it is impossible to forbid the +peasant’s buying them; but surely we are all aware that the +construction of railways and factories has never been carried out +for the benefit of the lower classes: so why should a casual +convenience which the workingman enjoys lead to a proof of the +utility of all these institutions for the people?</p> +<p>There is something useful in every injurious thing. +After a conflagration, one can warm one’s self, and light +one’s pipe with a firebrand; but why declare that the +conflagration is beneficial?</p> +<p>Men of art and science might say that their pursuits are +beneficial to the people, only when men of art and science have +assigned to themselves the object of serving the people, as they +now assign themselves the object of serving the authorities and +the capitalists. We might say this if men of art and +science had taken as their aim the needs of the people; but there +are none such. All scientists are busy with their priestly +avocations, out of which proceed investigations into protoplasm, +the spectral analyses of stars, and so on. But science has +never once thought of what axe or what hatchet is the most +profitable to chop with, what saw is the most handy, what is the +best way to mix bread, from what flour, how to set it, how to +build and heat an oven, what food and drink, and what utensils, +are the most convenient and advantageous under certain +conditions, what mushrooms may be eaten, how to propagate them, +and how to prepare them in the most suitable manner. And +yet all this is the province of science.</p> +<p>I am aware, that, according to its own definition, science +ought to be useless, i.e., science for the sake of science; but +surely this is an obvious evasion. The province of science +is to serve the people. We have invented telegraphs, +telephones, phonographs; but what advances have we effected in +the life, in the labor, of the people? We have reckoned up +two millions of beetles! And we have not tamed a single +animal since biblical times, when all our animals were already +domesticated; but the reindeer, the stag, the partridge, the +heath-cock, all remain wild.</p> +<p>Our botanists have discovered the cell, and in the cell +protoplasm, and in that protoplasm still something more, and in +that atom yet another thing. It is evident that these +occupations will not end for a long time to come, because it is +obvious that there can be no end to them, and therefore the +scientist has no time to devote to those things which are +necessary to the people. And therefore, again, from the +time of Egyptian and Hebrew antiquity, when wheat and lentils had +already been cultivated, down to our own times, not a single +plant has been added to the food of the people, with the +exception of the potato, and that was not obtained by +science.</p> +<p>Torpedoes have been invented, and apparatus for taxation, and +so forth. But the spinning-whined, the woman’s +weaving-loom, the plough, the hatchet, the chain, the rake, the +bucket, the well-sweep, are exactly the same as they were in the +days of Rurik; and if there has been any change, then that change +has not been effected by scientific people.</p> +<p>And it is the same with the arts. We have elevated a lot +of people to the rank of great writers; we have picked these +writers to pieces, and have written mountains of criticism, and +criticism on the critics, and criticism on the critics of the +critics. And we have collected picture-galleries, and have +studied different schools of art in detail; and we have so many +symphonies and orchestras and operas, that it is becoming +difficult even for us to listen to them. But what have we +added to the popular <i>bylini</i> [the epic songs], legends, +tales, songs? What music, what pictures, have we given to +the people?</p> +<p>On the Nikolskaya books are manufactured for the people, and +harmonicas in Tula; and in neither have we taken any part. +The falsity of the whole direction of our arts and sciences is +more striking and more apparent in precisely those very branches, +which, it would seem, should, from their very nature, be of use +to the people, and which, in consequence of their false attitude, +seem rather injurious than useful. The technologist, the +physician, the teacher, the artist, the author, should, in virtue +of their very callings, it would seem, serve the people. +And, what then? Under the present <i>règime</i>, +they can do nothing but harm to the people.</p> +<p>The technologist or the mechanic has to work with +capital. Without capital he is good for nothing. All +his acquirements are such that for their display he requires +capital, and the exploitation of the laboring-man on the largest +scale; and—not to mention that he is trained to live, at +the lowest, on from fifteen hundred to two thousand a year, and +that, therefore, he cannot go to the country, where no one can +give him such wages,—he is, by virtue of his very +occupation, unfitted for serving the people. He knows how +to calculate the highest mathematical arch of a bridge, how to +calculate the force and transfer of the motive power, and so on; +but he is confounded by the simplest questions of a peasant: how +to improve a plough or a cart, or how to make irrigating +canals. All this in the conditions of life in which the +laboring man finds himself. Of this, he neither knows nor +understands any thing,—less, indeed, than the very +stupidest peasant. Give him workshops, all sorts of workmen +at his desire, an order for a machine from abroad, and he will +get along. But how to devise means of lightening toil, +under the conditions of labor of millions of men,—this is +what he does not and can not know; and because of his knowledge, +his habits, and his demands on life, he is unfitted for this +business.</p> +<p>In a still worse predicament is the physician. His +fancied science is all so arranged, that he only knows how to +heal those persons who do nothing. He requires an +incalculable quantity of expensive preparations, instruments, +drugs, and hygienic apparatus.</p> +<p>He has studied with celebrities in the capitals, who only +retain patients who can be cured in the hospital, or who, in the +course of their cure, can purchase the appliances requisite for +healing, and even go at once from the North to the South, to some +baths or other. Science is of such a nature, that every +rural physic-man laments because there are no means of curing +working-men, because he is so poor that he has not the means to +place the sick man in the proper hygienic conditions; and at the +same time this physician complains that there are no hospitals, +and that he cannot get through with his work, that he needs +assistants, more doctors and practitioners.</p> +<p>What is the inference? This: that the people’s +principal lack, from which diseases arise, and spread abroad, and +refuse to be healed, is the lack of means of subsistence. +And here Science, under the banner of the division of labor, +summons her warriors to the aid of the people. Science is +entirely arranged for the wealthy classes, and it has adopted for +its task the healing of the people who can obtain every thing for +themselves; and it attempts to heal those who possess no +superfluity, by the same means.</p> +<p>But there are no means, and therefore it is necessary to take +them from the people who are ailing, and pest-stricken, and who +cannot recover for lack of means. And now the defenders of +medicine for the people say that this matter has been, as yet, +but little developed. Evidently it has been but little +developed, because if (which God forbid!) it had been developed, +and that through oppressing the people,—instead of two +doctors, midwives, and practitioners in a district, twenty would +have settled down, since they desire this, and half the people +would have died through the difficulty of supporting this medical +staff, and soon there would be no one to heal.</p> +<p>Scientific co-operation with the people, of which the +defenders of science talk, must be something quite +different. And this co-operation which should exist has not +yet begun. It will begin when the man of science, +technologist or physician, will not consider it legal to take +from people—I will not say a hundred thousand, but even a +modest ten thousand, or five hundred rubles for assisting them; +but when he will live among the toiling people, under the same +conditions, and exactly as they do, then he will be able to apply +his knowledge to the questions of mechanics, technics, hygiene, +and the healing of the laboring people. But now science, +supporting itself at the expense of the working-people, has +entirely forgotten the conditions of life among these people, +ignores (as it puts it) these conditions, and takes very grave +offence because its fancied knowledge finds no adherents among +the people.</p> +<p>The domain of medicine, like the domain of technical science, +still lies untouched. All questions as to how the time of +labor is best divided, what is the best method of nourishment, +with what, in what shape, and when it is best to clothe +one’s self, to shoe one’s self, to counteract +dampness and cold, how best to wash one’s self, to feed the +children, to swaddle them, and so on, in just those conditions in +which the working-people find themselves,—all these +questions have not yet been propounded.</p> +<p>The same is the case with the activity of the teachers of +science,—pedagogical teachers. Exactly in the same +manner science has so arranged this matter, that only wealthy +people are able to study science, and teachers, like +technologists and physicians, cling to money.</p> +<p>And this cannot be otherwise, because a school built on a +model plan (as a general rule, the more scientifically built the +school, the more costly it is), with pivot chains, and globes, +and maps, and library, and petty text-books for teachers and +scholars and pedagogues, is a sort of thing for which it would be +necessary to double the taxes in every village. This +science demands. The people need money for their work; and +the more there is needed, the poorer they are.</p> +<p>Defenders of science say: “Pedagogy is even now proving +of advantage to the people, but give it a chance to develop, and +then it will do still better.” Yes, if it does +develop, and instead of twenty schools in a district there are a +hundred, and all scientific, and if the people support these +schools, they will grow poorer than ever, and they will more than +ever need work for their children’s sake. “What +is to be done?” they say to this. The government will +build the schools, and will make education obligatory, as it is +in Europe; but again, surely, the money is taken from the people +just the same, and it will be harder to work, and they will have +less leisure for work, and there will be no education even by +compulsion. Again the sole salvation is this: that the +teacher should live under the conditions of the working-men, and +should teach for that compensation which they give him freely and +voluntarily.</p> +<p>Such is the false course of science, which deprives it of the +power of fulfilling its obligation, which is, to serve the +people.</p> +<p>But in nothing is this false course of science so obviously +apparent, as in the vocation of art, which, from its very +significance, ought to be accessible to the people. Science +may fall back on its stupid excuse, that science acts for +science, and that when it turns out learned men it is laboring +for the people; but art, if it is art, should be accessible to +all the people, and in particular to those in whose name it is +executed. And our definition of art, in a striking manner, +convicts those who busy themselves with art, of their lack of +desire, lack of knowledge, and lack of power, to be useful to the +people.</p> +<p>The painter, for the production of his great works, must have +a studio of at least such dimensions that a whole association of +carpenters (forty in number) or shoemakers, now sickening or +stifling in lairs, would be able to work in it. But this is +not all; he must have a model, costumes, travels. Millions +are expended on the encouragement of art, and the products of +this art are both incomprehensible and useless to the +people. Musicians, in order to express their grand ideas, +must assemble two hundred men in white neckties, or in costumes, +and spend hundreds of thousands of rubles for the equipment of an +opera. And the products of this art cannot evoke from the +people—even if the latter could at any time enjoy +it—any thing except amazement and <i>ennui</i>.</p> +<p>Writers—authors—it appears, do not require +surroundings, studios, models, orchestras, and actors; but it +then appears that the author needs (not to mention comfort in his +quarters) all the dainties of life for the preparation of his +great works, travels, palaces, cabinets, libraries, the pleasures +of art, visits to theatres, concerts, the baths, and so on. +If he does not earn a fortune for himself, he is granted a +pension, in order that he may compose the better. And +again, these compositions, so prized by us, remain useless lumber +for the people, and utterly unserviceable to them.</p> +<p>And if still more of these dealers in spiritual nourishment +are developed further, as men of science desire, and a studio is +erected in every village; if an orchestra is set up, and authors +are supported in those conditions which artistic people regard as +indispensable for themselves,—I imagine that the +working-classes will sooner take an oath never to look at any +pictures, never to listen to a symphony, never to read poetry or +novels, than to feed all these persons.</p> +<p>And why, apparently, should art not be of service to the +people? In every cottage there are images and pictures; +every peasant man and woman sings; many own harmonicas; and all +recite stories and verses, and many read. It is as if those +two things which are made for each other—the lock and the +key—had parted company; they have sprung so far apart, that +not even the possibility of uniting them presents itself. +Tell the artist that he should paint without a studio, model, or +costumes, and that he should paint five-kopek pictures, and he +will say that that is tantamount to abandoning his art, as he +understands it. Tell the musician that he should play on +the harmonica, and teach the women to sing songs; say to the +poet, to the author, that he ought to cast aside his poems and +romances, and compose song-books, tales, and stories, +comprehensible to the uneducated people,—they will say that +you are mad.</p> +<p>The service of the people by science and art will only be +performed when people, dwelling in the midst of the common folk, +and, like the common folk, putting forward no demands, claiming +no rights, shall offer to the common folk their scientific and +artistic services; the acceptance or rejection of which shall +depend wholly on the will of the common folk.</p> +<p>It is said that the activity of science and art has aided in +the forward march of mankind,—meaning by this activity, +that which is now called by that name; which is the same as +saying that an unskilled banging of oars on a vessel that is +floating with the tide, which merely hinders the progress of the +vessel, is assisting the movement of the ship. It only +retards it. The so-called division of labor, which has +become in our day the condition of activity of men of science and +art, was, and has remained, the chief cause of the tardy forward +movement of mankind.</p> +<p>The proofs of this lie in that confession of all men of +science, that the gains of science and art are inaccessible to +the laboring masses, in consequence of the faulty distribution of +riches. The irregularity of this distribution does not +decrease in proportion to the progress of science and art, but +only increases. Men of art and science assume an air of +deep pity for this unfortunate circumstance which does not depend +upon them. But this unfortunate circumstance is produced by +themselves; for this irregular distribution of wealth flows +solely from the theory of the division of labor.</p> +<p>Science maintains the division of labor as a unalterable law; +it sees that the distribution of wealth, founded on the division +of labor, is wrong and ruinous; and it affirms that its activity, +which recognizes the division of labor, will lead people to +bliss. The result is, that some people make use of the +labor of others; but that, if they shall make use of the labor of +others for a very long period of time, and in still larger +measure, then this wrongful distribution of wealth, i.e., the use +of the labor of others, will come to an end.</p> +<p>Men stand beside a constantly swelling spring of water, and +are occupied with the problem of diverting it to one side, away +from the thirsty people, and they assert that they are producing +this water, and that soon enough will be collected for all. +But this water which has flowed, and which still flows +unceasingly, and nourishes all mankind, not only is not the +result of the activity of the men who, standing at its source, +turn it aside, but this water flows and gushes out, in spite of +the efforts of these men to obstruct its flow.</p> +<p>There have always existed a true science, and a true art; but +true science and art are not such because they called themselves +by that name. It always seems to those who claim at any +given period to be the representatives of science and art, that +they have performed, and are performing, and—most of +all—that they will presently perform, the most amazing +marvels, and that beside them there never has been and there is +not any science or any art. Thus it seemed to the sophists, +the scholastics, the alchemists, the cabalists, the talmudists; +and thus it seems to our own scientific science, and to our art +for the sake of art.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> +<p>“But art,—science! You repudiate art and +science; that is, you repudiate that by which mankind +lives!” People are constantly making this—it is +not a reply—to me, and they employ this mode of reception +in order to reject my deductions without examining into +them. “He repudiates science and art, he wants to +send people back again into a savage state; so what is the use of +listening to him and of talking to him?” But this is +unjust. I not only do not repudiate art and science, but, +in the name of that which is true art and true science, I say +that which I do say; merely in order that mankind may emerge from +that savage state into which it will speedily fall, thanks to the +erroneous teaching of our time,—only for this purpose do I +say that which I say.</p> +<p>Art and science are as indispensable as food and drink and +clothing,—more indispensable even; but they become so, not +because we decide that what we designate as art and science are +indispensable, but simply because they really are indispensable +to people.</p> +<p>Surely, if hay is prepared for the bodily nourishment of men, +the fact that we are convinced that hay is the proper food for +man will not make hay the food of man. Surely I cannot say, +“Why do not you eat hay, when it is the indispensable +food?” Food is indispensable, but it may happen that +that which I offer is not food at all. This same thing has +occurred with our art and science. It seems to us, that if +we add to a Greek word the word “logy,” and call that +a science, it will be a science; and, if we call any abominable +thing—like the dancing of nude females—by a Greek +word, choreography, that that is art, and that it will be +art. But no matter how much we may say this, the business +with which we occupy ourselves when we count beetles, and +investigate the chemical constituents of the stars in the Milky +Way, when we paint nymphs and compose novels and +symphonies,—our business will not become either art or +science until such time as it is accepted by those people for +whom it is wrought.</p> +<p>If it were decided that only certain people should produce +food, and if all the rest were forbidden to do this, or if they +were rendered incapable of producing food, I suppose that the +quality of food would be lowered. If the people who enjoyed +the monopoly of producing food were Russian peasants, there would +be no other food than black bread and cabbage-soup, and so on, +and kvas,—nothing except what they like, and what is +agreeable to them. The same thing would happen in the case +of that loftiest human pursuit, of arts and sciences, if one +caste were to arrogate to itself a monopoly of them: but with +this sole difference, that, in the matter of bodily food, there +can be no great departure from nature, and bread and +cabbage-soup, although not very savory viands, are fit for +consumption; but in spiritual food, there may exist the very +greatest departures from nature, and some people may feed +themselves for a long time on poisonous spiritual nourishment, +which is directly unsuitable for, or injurious to, them; they may +slowly kill themselves with spiritual opium or liquors, and they +may offer this same food to the masses.</p> +<p>It is this very thing that is going on among us. And it +has come about because the position of men of science and art is +a privileged one, because art and science (in our day), in our +world, are not at all a rational occupation of all mankind +without exception, exerting their best powers for the service of +art and science, but an occupation of a restricted circle of +people holding a monopoly of these industries, and entitling +themselves men of art and science, and who have, therefore, +perverted the very idea of art and science, and have lost all the +meaning of their vocation, and who are only concerned in amusing +and rescuing from crushing <i>ennui</i> their tiny circle of idle +mouths.</p> +<p>Ever since men have existed, they have always had science and +art in the simplest and broadest sense of the term. +Science, in the sense of the whole of knowledge acquired by +mankind, exists and always has existed, and life without it is +not conceivable; and there is no possibility of either attacking +or defending science, taken in this sense.</p> +<p>But the point lies here,—that the scope of the knowledge +of all mankind as a whole is so multifarious, ranging from the +knowledge of how to extract iron to the knowledge of the +movements of the planets, that man loses himself in this +multitude of existing knowledge,—knowledge capable of +<i>endless</i> possibilities, if he have no guiding thread, by +the aid of which he can classify this knowledge, and arrange the +branches according to the degrees of their significance and +importance.</p> +<p>Before a man undertakes to learn any thing whatever, he must +make up his mind that that branch of knowledge is of weight to +him, and of more weight and importance than the countless other +objects of study with which he is surrounded. Before +undertaking the study of any thing, a man decides for what +purpose he is studying this subject, and not the others. +But to study every thing, as the men of scientific science in our +day preach, without any idea of what is to come out of such +study, is downright impossible, because the number of subjects of +study is <i>endless</i>; and hence, no matter how many branches +we may acquire, their acquisition can possess no significance or +reason. And, therefore, in ancient times, down to even a +very recent date, until the appearance of scientific science, +man’s highest wisdom consisted in finding that guiding +thread, according to which the knowledge of men should be +classified as being of primary or of secondary importance. +And this knowledge, which forms the guide to all other branches +of knowledge, men have always called science in the strictest +acceptation of the word. And such science there has always +been, even down to our own day, in all human communities which +have emerged from their primal state of savagery.</p> +<p>Ever since mankind has existed, teachers have always arisen +among peoples, who have enunciated science in this restricted +sense,—the science of what it is most useful for man to +know. This science has always had for its object the +knowledge of what is the true ground of the well-being of each +individual man, and of all men, and why. Such was the +science of Confucius, of Buddha, of Socrates, of Mahomet, and of +others; such is this science as they understood it, and as all +men—with the exception of our little circle of so-called +cultured people—understand it. This science has not +only always occupied the highest place, but has been the only and +sole science, from which the standing of the rest has been +determined. And this was the case, not in the least +because, as the so-called scientific people of our day think, +cunning priestly teachers of this science attributed to it such +significance, but because in reality, as every one knows, both by +personal experience and by reflection, there can be no science +except the science of that in which the destiny and welfare of +man consist. For the objects of science are +<i>incalculable</i> in number,—I undermine the word +“incalculable” in the exact sense in which I +understand it,—and without the knowledge of that in which +the destiny and welfare of all men consist, there is no +possibility of making a choice amid this interminable multitude +of subjects; and therefore, without this knowledge, all other +arts and branches of learning will become, as they have become +among us, an idle and hurtful diversion.</p> +<p>Mankind has existed and existed, and never has it existed +without the science of that in which the destiny and the welfare +of men consist. It is true that the science of the welfare +of men appears different on superficial observation, among the +Buddhists, the Brahmins, the Hebrews, the Confucians, the +Tauists; but nevertheless, wherever we hear of men who have +emerged from a state of savagery, we find this science. And +all of a sudden it appears that the men of our day have decided +that this same science, which has hitherto served as the guiding +thread of all human knowledge, is the very thing which hinders +every thing. Men erect buildings; and one architect has +made one estimate of cost, a second has made another, and a third +yet another. The estimates differ somewhat; but they are +correct, so that any one can see, that, if the whole is carried +out in accordance with the calculations, the building will be +erected. Along come people, and assert that the chief point +lies in having no estimates, and that it should be built +thus—by the eye. And this “thus,” men +call the most accurate of scientific science. Men repudiate +every science, the very substance of science,—the +definition of the destiny and the welfare of men,—and this +repudiation they designate as science.</p> +<p>Ever since men have existed, great minds have been born into +their midst, which, in the conflict with reason and conscience, +have put to themselves questions as to “what constitutes +welfare,—the destiny and welfare, not of myself alone, but +of every man?” What does that power which has created +and which leads me, demand of me and of every man? And what +is it necessary for me to do, in order to comply with the +requirements imposed upon me by the demands of individual and +universal welfare? They have asked themselves: “I am +a whole, and also a part of something infinite, eternal; what, +then, are my relations to other parts similar to myself, to men +and to the whole—to the world?”</p> +<p>And from the voices of conscience and of reason, and from a +comparison of what their contemporaries and men who had lived +before them, and who had propounded to themselves the same +questions, had said, these great teachers have deduced their +doctrines, which were simple, clear, intelligible to all men, and +always such as were susceptible of fulfilment. Such men +have existed of the first, second, third, and lowest ranks. +The world is full of such men. Every living man propounds +the question to himself, how to reconcile the demands of welfare, +and of his personal existence, with conscience and reason; and +from this universal labor, slowly but uninterruptedly, new forms +of life, which are more in accord with the requirements of reason +and of conscience, are worked out.</p> +<p>All at once, a new caste of people makes its appearance, and +they say, “All this is nonsense; all this must be +abandoned.” This is the deductive method of +ratiocination (wherein lies the difference between the deductive +and the inductive method, no one can understand); these are the +dogmas of the technological and metaphysical period. Every +thing that these men discover by inward experience, and which +they communicate to one another, concerning their knowledge of +the law of their existence (of their functional activity, +according to their own jargon), every thing that the grandest +minds of mankind have accomplished in this direction, since the +beginning of the world,—all this is nonsense, and has no +weight whatever. According to this new doctrine, it appears +that you are cells: and that you, as a cell, have a very definite +functional activity, which you not only fulfil, but which you +infallibly feel within you; and that you are a thinking, talking, +understanding cell, and that you, for this reason, can ask +another similar talking cell whether it is just the same, and in +this way verify your own experience; that you can take advantage +of the fact that speaking cells, which have lived before you, +have written on the same subject, and that you have millions of +cells which confirm your observations by their agreement with the +cells which have written down their thoughts,—all this +signifies nothing; all this is an evil and an erroneous +method.</p> +<p>The true scientific method is this: If you wish to know in +what the destiny and the welfare of all mankind and of all the +world consists, you must, first of all, cease to listen to the +voices of your conscience and of your reason, which present +themselves in you and in others like you; you must cease to +believe all that the great teachers of mankind have said with +regard to your conscience and reason, and you must consider all +this as nonsense, and begin all over again. And, in order +to understand every thing from the beginning, you must look +through microscopes at the movements of amœbæ, and +cells in worms, or, with still greater composure, believe in +every thing that men with a diploma of infallibility shall say to +you about them. And as you gaze at the movements of these +cells, or read about what others have seen, you must attribute to +these cells your own human sensations and calculations as to what +they desire, whither they are directing themselves, how they +compare and discuss, and to what they have become accustomed; and +from these observations (in which there is not a word about an +error of thought or of expression) you must deduce a conclusion +by analogy as to what you are, what is your destiny, wherein lies +the welfare of yourself and of other cells like you. In +order to understand yourself, you must study not only the worms +which you see, but microscopic creatures which you can barely +see, and transformations from one set of creatures into others, +which no one has ever beheld, and which you, most assuredly, will +never behold. And the same with art. Where there has +been true science, art has always been its exponent.</p> +<p>Ever since men have been in existence, they have been in the +habit of deducing, from all pursuits, the expressions of various +branches of learning concerning the destiny and the welfare of +man, and the expression of this knowledge has been art in the +strict sense of the word.</p> +<p>Ever since men have existed, there have been those who were +peculiarly sensitive and responsive to the doctrine regarding the +destiny and welfare of man; who have given expression to their +own and the popular conflict, to the delusions which lead them +astray from their destinies, their sufferings in this conflict, +their hopes in the triumph of good, them despair over the triumph +of evil, and their raptures in the consciousness of the +approaching bliss of man, on viol and tabret, in images and +words. Always, down to the most recent times, art has +served science and life,—only then was it what has been so +highly esteemed of men. But art, in its capacity of an +important human activity, disappeared simultaneously with the +substitution for the genuine science of destiny and welfare, of +the science of any thing you choose to fancy. Art has +existed among all peoples, and will exist until that which among +us is scornfully called religion has come to be considered the +only science.</p> +<p>In our European world, so long as there existed a Church, as +the doctrine of destiny and welfare, and so long as the Church +was regarded as the only true science, art served the Church, and +remained true art: but as soon as art abandoned the Church, and +began to serve science, while science served whatever came to +hand, art lost its significance. And notwithstanding the +rights claimed on the score of ancient memories, and of the +clumsy assertion which only proves its loss of its calling, that +art serves art, it has become a trade, providing men with +something agreeable; and as such, it inevitably comes into the +category of choreographic, culinary, hair-dressing, and cosmetic +arts, whose practitioners designate themselves as artists, with +the same right as the poets, printers, and musicians of our +day.</p> +<p>Glance backward into the past, and you will see that in the +course of thousands of years, out of milliards of people, only +half a score of Confucius’, Buddhas, Solomons, Socrates, +Solons, and Homers have been produced. Evidently, they are +rarely met with among men, in spite of the fact that these men +have not been selected from a single caste, but from mankind at +large. Evidently, these true teachers and artists and +learned men, the purveyors of spiritual nourishment, are +rare. And it is not without reason that mankind has valued +and still values them so highly.</p> +<p>But it now appears, that all these great factors in the +science and art of the past are no longer of use to us. +Nowadays, scientific and artistic authorities can, in accordance +with the law of division of labor, be turned out by factory +methods; and, in one decade, more great men have been +manufactured in art and science, than have ever been born of such +among all nations, since the foundation of the world. +Nowadays there is a guild of learned men and artists, and they +prepare, by perfected methods, all that spiritual food which man +requires. And they have prepared so much of it, that it is +no longer necessary to refer to the elder authorities, who have +preceded them,—not only to the ancients, but to those much +nearer to us. All that was the activity of the theological +and metaphysical period,—all that must be wiped out: but +the true, the rational activity began, say, fifty years ago, and +in the course of those fifty years we have made so many great +men, that there are about ten great men to every branch of +science. And there have come to be so many sciences, that, +fortunately, it is easy to make them. All that is required +is to add the Greek word “logy” to the name, and +force them to conform to a set rubric, and the science is all +complete. They have created so many sciences, that not only +can no one man know them all, but not a single individual can +remember all the titles of all the existing sciences; the titles +alone form a thick lexicon, and new sciences are manufactured +every day. They have been manufactured on the pattern of +that Finnish teacher who taught the landed proprietor’s +children Finnish instead of French. Every thing has been +excellently inculcated; but there is one objection,—that no +one except ourselves can understand any thing of it, and all this +is reckoned as utterly useless nonsense. However, there is +an explanation even for this. People do not appreciate the +full value of scientific science, because they are under the +influence of the theological period, that profound period when +all the people, both among the Hebrews, and the Chinese, and the +Indians, and the Greeks, understood every thing that their great +teachers said to them.</p> +<p>But, from whatever cause this has come about, the fact +remains, that sciences and arts have always existed among +mankind, and, when they really did exist, they were useful and +intelligible to all the people. But we practise something +which we call science and art, but it appears that what we do is +unnecessary and unintelligible to man. And hence, however +beautiful may be the things that we accomplish, we have no right +to call them arts and sciences.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> +<p>“But you only furnish a different definition of arts and +sciences, which is stricter, and is incompatible with +science,” I shall be told in answer to this; +“nevertheless, scientific and artistic activity does still +exist. There are the Galileos, Brunos, Homers, Michael +Angelos, Beethovens, and all the lesser learned men and artists, +who have consecrated their entire lives to the service of science +and art, and who were, and will remain, the benefactors of +mankind.”</p> +<p>Generally this is what people say, striving to forget that new +principle of the division of labor, on the basis of which science +and art now occupy their privileged position, and on whose basis +we are now enabled to decide without grounds, but by a given +standard: Is there, or is there not, any foundation for that +activity which calls itself science and art, to so magnify +itself?</p> +<p>When the Egyptian or the Grecian priests produced their +mysteries, which were unintelligible to any one, and stated +concerning these mysteries that all science and all art were +contained in them, I could not verify the reality of their +science on the basis of the benefit procured by them to the +people, because science, according to their assertions, was +supernatural. But now we all possess a very simple and +clear definition of the activity of art and science, which +excludes every thing supernatural: science and art promise to +carry out the mental activity of mankind, for the welfare of +society, or of all the human race.</p> +<p>The definition of scientific science and art is entirely +correct; but, unfortunately, the activity of the present arts and +sciences does not come under this head. Some of them are +directly injurious, others are useless, others still are +worthless,—good only for the wealthy. They do not +fulfil that which, by their own definition, they have undertaken +to accomplish; and hence they have as little right to regard +themselves as men of art and science, as a corrupt priesthood, +which does not fulfil the obligations which it has assumed, has +the right to regard itself as the bearer of divine truth.</p> +<p>And it can be understood why the makers of the present arts +and sciences have not fulfilled, and cannot fulfil, their +vocation. They do not fulfil it, because out of their +obligations they have erected a right.</p> +<p>Scientific and artistic activity, in its real sense, is only +fruitful when it knows no rights, but recognizes only +obligations. Only because it is its property to be always +thus, does mankind so highly prize this activity. If men +really were called to the service of others through artistic +work, they would see in that work only obligation, and they would +fulfil it with toil, with privations, and with +self-abnegation.</p> +<p>The thinker or the artist will never sit calmly on Olympian +heights, as we have become accustomed to represent them to +ourselves. The thinker or the artist should suffer in +company with the people, in order that he may find salvation or +consolation. Besides this, he will suffer because he is +always and eternally in turmoil and agitation: he might decide +and say that that which would confer welfare on men, would free +them from suffering, would afford them consolation; but he has +not said so, and has not presented it as he should have done; he +has not decided, and he has not spoken; and to-morrow, possibly, +it will be too late,—he will die. And therefore +suffering and self-sacrifice will always be the lot of the +thinker and the artist.</p> +<p>Not of this description will be the thinker and artist who is +reared in an establishment where, apparently, they manufacture +the learned man or the artist (but in point of fact, they +manufacture destroyers of science and of art), who receives a +diploma and a certificate, who would be glad not to think and not +to express that which is imposed on his soul, but who cannot +avoid doing that to which two irresistible forces draw +him,—an inward prompting, and the demand of men.</p> +<p>There will be no sleek, plump, self-satisfied thinkers and +artists. Spiritual activity, and its expression, which are +actually necessary to others, are the most burdensome of all +man’s avocations; a cross, as the Gospels phrase it. +And the sole indubitable sign of the presence of a vocation is +self-devotion, the sacrifice of self for the manifestation of the +power that is imposed upon man for the benefit of others.</p> +<p>It is possible to study out how many beetles there are in the +world, to view the spots on the sun, to write romances and +operas, without suffering; but it is impossible, without +self-sacrifice, to instruct people in their true happiness, which +consists solely in renunciation of self and the service of +others, and to give strong expression to this doctrine, without +self-sacrifice.</p> +<p>Christ did not die on the cross in vain; not in vain does the +sacrifice of suffering conquer all things.</p> +<p>But our art and science are provided with certificates and +diplomas; and the only anxiety of all men is, how to still better +guarantee them, i.e., how to render the service of the people +impracticable for them.</p> +<p>True art and true science possess two unmistakable marks: the +first, an inward mark, which is this, that the servitor of art +and science will fulfil his vocation, not for profit but with +self-sacrifice; and the second, an external sign,—his +productions will be intelligible to all the people whose welfare +he has in view.</p> +<p>No matter what people have fixed upon as their vocation and +their welfare, science will be the doctrine of this vocation and +welfare, and art will be the expression of that doctrine. +That which is called science and art, among us, is the product of +idle minds and feelings, which have for their object to tickle +similar idle minds and feelings. Our arts and sciences are +incomprehensible, and say nothing to the people, for they have +not the welfare of the common people in view.</p> +<p>Ever since the life of men has been known to us, we find, +always and everywhere, the reigning doctrine falsely designating +itself as science, not manifesting itself to the common people, +but obscuring for them the meaning of life. Thus it was +among the Greeks the sophists, then among the Christians the +mystics, gnostics, scholastics, among the Hebrews the Talmudists +and Cabalists, and so on everywhere, down to our own times.</p> +<p>How fortunate it is for us that we live in so peculiar an age, +when that mental activity which calls itself science, not only +does not err, but finds itself, as we are assured, in a +remarkably flourishing condition! Does not this peculiar +good fortune arise from the fact that man can not and will not +see his own hideousness? Why is there nothing left of those +sciences, and sophists, and Cabalists, and Talmudists, but words, +while we are so exceptionally happy? Surely the signs are +identical. There is the same self-satisfaction and blind +confidence that we, precisely we, and only we, are on the right +path, and that the real thing is only beginning with us. +There is the same expectation that we shall discover something +remarkable; and that chief sign which leads us astray convicts us +of our error: all our wisdom remains with us, and the common +people do not understand, and do not accept, and do not need +it.</p> +<p>Our position is a very difficult one, but why not look at it +squarely?</p> +<p>It is time to recover our senses, and to scrutinize +ourselves. Surely we are nothing else than the scribes and +Pharisees, who sit in Moses’ seat, and who have taken the +keys of the kingdom of heaven, and will neither go in ourselves, +nor permit others to go in. Surely we, the high priests of +science and art, are ourselves worthless deceivers, possessing +much less right to our position than the most crafty and depraved +priests. Surely we have no justification for our privileged +position. The priests had a right to their position: they +declared that they taught the people life and salvation. +But we have taken their place, and we do not instruct the people +in life,—we even admit that such instruction is +unnecessary,—but we educate our children in the same +Talmudic-Greek and Latin grammar, in order that they may be able +to pursue the same life of parasites which we lead +ourselves. We say, “There used to be castes, but +there are none among us.” But what does it mean, that +some people and their children toil, while other people and their +children do not toil?</p> +<p>Bring hither an Indian ignorant of our language, and show him +European life, and our life, for several generations, and he will +recognize the same leading, well-defined castes—of laborers +and non-laborers—as there are in his own country. And +as in his land, so in ours, the right of refusing to labor is +conferred by a peculiar consecration, which we call science and +art, or, in general terms, culture. It is this culture, and +all the distortions of sense connected with it, which have +brought us to that marvellous madness, in consequence of which we +do not see that which is so clear and indubitable.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> +<p>Then, what is to be done? What are we to do?</p> +<p>This question, which includes within itself both an admission +that our life is evil and wrong, and in connection with +this,—as though it were an exercise for it,—that it +is impossible, nevertheless, to change it, this question I have +heard, and I continue to hear, on all sides. I have +described my own sufferings, my own gropings, and my own solution +of this question. I am the same kind of a man as everybody +else; and if I am in any wise distinguished from the average man +of our circle, it is chiefly in this respect, that I, more than +the average man, have served and winked at the false doctrine of +our world; I have received more approbation from men professing +the prevailing doctrine: and therefore, more than others, have I +become depraved, and wandered from the path. And therefore +I think that the solution of the problem, which I have found in +my own case, will be applicable to all sincere people who are +propounding the same question to themselves.</p> +<p>First of all, in answer to the question, “What is to be +done?” I told myself: “I must lie neither to other +people nor to myself. I must not fear the truth, +whithersoever it may lead me.”</p> +<p>We all know what it means to lie to other people, but we are +not afraid to lie to ourselves; yet the very worst downright lie, +to other people, is not to be compared in its consequences with +the lie to ourselves, upon which we base our whole life.</p> +<p>This is the lie of which we must not be guilty if we are to be +in a position to answer the question: “What is to be +done?” And, in fact, how am I to answer the question, +“What is to be done?” when every thing that I do, +when my whole life, is founded on a lie, and when I carefully +parade this lie as the truth before others and before +myself? Not to lie, in this sense, means not to fear the +truth, not to devise subterfuges, and not to accept the +subterfuges devised by others for the purpose of hiding from +myself the deductions of my reason and my conscience; not to fear +to part company with all those who surround me, and to remain +alone in company with reason and conscience; not to fear that +position to which the truth shall lead me, being firmly convinced +that that position to which truth and conscience shall conduct +me, however singular it may be, cannot be worse than the one +which is founded on a lie. Not to lie, in our position of +privileged persons of mental labor, means, not to be afraid to +reckon one’s self up wrongly. It is possible that you +are already so deeply indebted that you cannot take stock of +yourself; but to whatever extent this may be the case, however +long may be the account, however far you have strayed from the +path, it is still better than to continue therein. A lie to +other people is not alone unprofitable; every matter is settled +more directly and more speedily by the truth than by a lie. +A lie to others only entangles matters, and delays the +settlement; but a lie to one’s self, set forth as the +truth, ruins a man’s whole life. If a man, having +entered on the wrong path, assumes that it is the true one, then +every step that he takes on that path removes him farther from +his goal. If a man who has long been travelling on this +false path divines for himself, or is informed by some one, that +his course is a mistaken one, but grows alarmed at the idea that +he has wandered very far astray and tries to convince himself +that he may, possibly, still strike into the right road, then he +never will get into it. If a man quails before the truth, +and, on perceiving it, does not accept it, but does accept a lie +for the truth, then he never will learn what he ought to +do. We, the not only wealthy, but privileged and so-called +cultivated persons, have advanced so far on the wrong road, that +a great deal of determination, or a very great deal of suffering +on the wrong road, is required, in order to bring us to our +senses and to the acknowledgment of the lie in which we are +living. I have perceived the lie of our lives, thanks to +the sufferings which the false path entailed upon me, and, having +recognized the falseness of this path on which I stood, I have +had the boldness to go at first in thought only—whither +reason and conscience led me, without reflecting where they would +bring me out. And I have been rewarded for this +boldness.</p> +<p>All the complicated, broken, tangled, and incoherent phenomena +of life surrounding me, have suddenly become clear; and my +position in the midst of these phenomena, which was formerly +strange and burdensome, has become, all at once, natural, and +easy to bear.</p> +<p>In this new position, my activity was defined with perfect +accuracy; not at all as it had previously presented itself to me, +but as a new and much more peaceful, loving, and joyous +activity. The very thing which had formerly terrified me, +now began to attract me. Hence I think, that the man who +will honestly put to himself the question, “What is to be +done?” and, replying to this query, will not lie to +himself, but will go whither his reason leads, has already solved +the problem.</p> +<p>There is only one thing that can hinder him in his search for +an issue,—an erroneously lofty idea of himself and of his +position. This was the case with me; and then another, +arising from the first answer to the question: “What is to +be done?” consisted for me in this, that it was necessary +for me to repent, in the full sense of that word,—i.e., to +entirely alter my conception of my position and my activity; to +confess the hurtfulness and emptiness of my activity, instead of +its utility and gravity; to confess my own ignorance instead of +culture; to confess my immorality and harshness in the place of +my kindness and morality; instead of my elevation, to acknowledge +my lowliness. I say, that in addition to not lying to +myself, I had to repent, because, although the one flows from the +other, a false conception of my lofty importance had so grown up +with me, that, until I sincerely repented and cut myself free +from that false estimate which I had formed of myself, I did not +perceive the greater part of the lie of which I had been guilty +to myself. Only when I had repented, that is to say, when I +had ceased to look upon myself as a regular man, and had begun to +regard myself as a man exactly like every one else,—only +then did my path become clear before me. Before that time I +had not been able to answer the question: “What is to be +done?” because I had stated the question itself +wrongly.</p> +<p>As long as I did not repent, I put the question thus: +“What sphere of activity should I choose, I, the man who +has received the education and the talents which have fallen to +my shame? How, in this fashion, make recompense with that +education and those talents, for what I have taken, and for what +I still take, from the people?” This question was +wrong, because it contained a false representation, to the effect +that I was not a man just like them, but a peculiar man called to +serve the people with those talents and with that education which +I had won by the efforts of forty years.</p> +<p>I propounded the query to myself; but, in reality, I had +answered it in advance, in that I had in advance defined the sort +of activity which was agreeable to me, and by which I was called +upon to serve the people. I had, in fact, asked myself: +“In what manner could I, so very fine a writer, who had +acquired so much learning and talents, make use of them for the +benefit of the people?”</p> +<p>But the question should have been put as it would have stood +for a learned rabbi who had gone through the course of the +Talmud, and had learned by heart the number of letters in all the +holy books, and all the fine points of his art. The +question for me, as for the rabbi, should stand thus: “What +am I, who have spent, owing to the misfortune of my surroundings, +the year’s best fitted for study in the acquisition of +grammar, geography, judicial science, poetry, novels and +romances, the French language, pianoforte playing, philosophical +theories, and military exercises, instead of inuring myself to +labor; what am I, who have passed the best years of my life in +idle occupations which are corrupting to the soul,—what am +I to do in defiance of these unfortunate conditions of the past, +in order that I may requite those people who during the whole +time have fed and clothed, yes, and who even now continue to feed +and clothe me?” Had the question then stood as it +stands before me now, after I have repented,—“What am +I, so corrupt a man, to do?” the answer would have been +easy: “To strive, first of all, to support myself honestly; +that is, to learn not to live upon others; and while I am +learning, and when I have learned this, to render aid on all +possible occasions to the people, with my hands, and my feet, and +my brain, and my heart, and with every thing to which the people +should present a claim.”</p> +<p>And therefore I say, that for the man of our circle, in +addition to not lying to himself or to others, repentance is also +necessary, and that he should scrape from himself that pride +which has sprung up in us, in our culture, in our refinements, in +our talents; and that he should confess that he is not a +benefactor of the people and a distinguished man, who does not +refuse to share with the people his useful acquirements, but that +he should confess himself to be a thoroughly guilty, corrupt, and +good-for-nothing man, who desires to reform himself and not to +behave benevolently towards the people, but simply to cease +wounding and insulting them.</p> +<p>I often hear the questions of good young men who sympathize +with the renunciatory part of my writings, and who ask, +“Well, and what then shall I do? What am I to do, now +that I have finished my course in the university, or in some +other institution, in order that I may be of use?” +Young men ask this, and in the depths of their soul it is already +decided that the education which they have received constitutes +their privilege and that they desire to serve the people +precisely by means of thus superiority. And hence, one +thing which they will in no wise do, is to bear themselves +honestly and critically towards that which they call their +culture, and ask themselves, are those qualities which they call +their culture good or bad? If they will do this, they will +infallibly be led to see the necessity of renouncing their +culture, and the necessity of beginning to learn all over again; +and this is the one indispensable thing. They can in no +wise solve the problem, “What to do?” because this +question does not stand before them as it should stand. The +question must stand thus: “In what manner am I, a helpless, +useless man, who, owing to the misfortune of my conditions, have +wasted my best years of study in conning the scientific Talmud +which corrupts soul and body, to correct this mistake, and learn +to serve the people?” But it presents itself to them +thus: “How am I, a man who has acquired so much very fine +learning, to turn this very fine learning to the use of the +people?” And such a man will never answer the +question, “What is to be done?” until he +repents. And repentance is not terrible, just as truth is +not terrible, and it is equally joyful and fruitful. It is +only necessary to accept the truth wholly, and to repent wholly, +in order to understand that no one possesses any rights, +privileges, or peculiarities in the matter of this life of ours, +but that there are no ends or bounds to obligation, and that a +man’s first and most indubitable duty is to take part in +the struggle with nature for his own life and for the lives of +others.</p> +<p>And this confession of a man’s obligation constitutes +the gist of the third answer to the question, “What is to +be done?”</p> +<p>I tried not to lie to myself: I tried to cast out from myself +the remains of my false conceptions of the importance of my +education and talents, and to repent; but on the way to a +decision of the question, “What to do?” a fresh +difficulty arose. There are so many different occupations, +that an indication was necessary as to the precise one which was +to be adopted. And the answer to this question was +furnished me by sincere repentance for the evil in which I had +lived.</p> +<p>“What to do? Precisely what to do?” all ask, +and that is what I also asked so long as, under the influence of +my exalted idea of any own importance, I did not perceive that my +first and unquestionable duty was to feed myself, to clothe +myself, to furnish my own fuel, to do my own building, and, by so +doing, to serve others, because, ever since the would has +existed, the first and indubitable duty of every man has +consisted and does consist in this.</p> +<p>In fact, no matter what a man may have assumed to be his +vocation,—whether it be to govern people, to defend his +fellow-countrymen, to divine service, to instruct others, to +invent means to heighten the pleasures of life, to discover the +laws of the world, to incorporate eternal truths in artistic +representations,—the duty of a reasonable man is to take +part in the struggle with nature, for the sustenance of his own +life and of that of others. This obligation is the first of +all, because what people need most of all is their life; and +therefore, in order to defend and instruct the people, and render +their lives more agreeable, it is requisite to preserve that life +itself, while my refusal to share in the struggle, my monopoly of +the labors of others, is equivalent to annihilation of the lives +of others. And, therefore, it is not rational to serve the +lives of men by annihilating the lives of men; and it is +impossible to say that I am serving men, when, by my life, I am +obviously injuring them.</p> +<p>A man’s obligation to struggle with nature for the +acquisition of the means of livelihood will always be the first +and most unquestionable of all obligations, because this +obligation is a law of life, departure from which entails the +inevitable punishment of either bodily or mental annihilation of +the life of man. If a man living alone excuses himself from +the obligation of struggling with nature, he is immediately +punished, in that his body perishes. But if a man excuses +himself from this obligation by making other people fulfil it for +him, then also he is immediately punished by the annihilation of +his mental life; that is to say, of the life which possesses +rational thought.</p> +<p>In this one act, man receives—if the two things are to +be separated—full satisfaction of the bodily and spiritual +demands of his nature. The feeding, clothing, and taking +care of himself and his family, constitute the satisfaction of +the bodily demands and requirements; and doing the same for other +people, constitutes the satisfaction of his spiritual +requirements. Every other employment of man is only legal +when it is directed to the satisfaction of this very first duty +of man; for the fulfilment of this duty constitutes the whole +life of man.</p> +<p>I had been so turned about by my previous life, this first and +indubitable law of God or of nature is so concealed in our sphere +of society, that the fulfilment of this law seemed to me strange, +terrible, even shameful; as though the fulfilment of an eternal, +unquestionable law, and not the departure from it, can be +terrible, strange, and shameful.</p> +<p>At first it seemed to me that the fulfilment of this matter +required some preparation, arrangement or community of men, +holding similar views,—the consent of one’s family, +life in the country; it seemed to me disgraceful to make a show +of myself before people, to undertake a thing so improper in our +conditions of existence, as bodily toil, and I did not know how +to set about it. But it was only necessary for me to +understand that this is no exclusive occupation which requires to +be invented and arranged for, but that this employment was merely +a return from the false position in which I found myself, to a +natural one; was only a rectification of that lie in which I was +living. I had only to recognize this fact, and all these +difficulties vanished. It was not in the least necessary to +make preparations and arrangements, and to await the consent of +others, for, no matter in what position I had found myself, there +had always been people who had fed, clothed and warmed me, in +addition to themselves; and everywhere, under all conditions, I +could do the same for myself and for them, if I had the time and +the strength. Neither could I experience false shame in an +unwonted occupation, no matter how surprising it might be to +people, because, through not doing it, I had already experienced +not false but real shame.</p> +<p>And when I had reached this confession and the practical +deduction from it, I was fully rewarded for not having quailed +before the deductions of reason, and for following whither they +led me. On arriving at this practical deduction, I was +amazed at the ease and simplicity with which all the problems +which had previously seemed to me so difficult and so +complicated, were solved.</p> +<p>To the question, “What is it necessary to do?” the +most indubitable answer presented itself: first of all, that +which it was necessary for me to do was, to attend to my own +samovar, my own stove, my own water, my own clothing; to every +thing that I could do for myself. To the question, +“Will it not seem strange to people if you do this?” +it appeared that this strangeness lasted only a week, and after +the lapse of that week, it would have seemed strange had I +returned to my former conditions of life. With regard to +the question, “Is it necessary to organize this physical +labor, to institute an association in the country, on my +land?” it appeared that nothing of the sort was necessary; +that labor, if it does not aim at the acquisition of all possible +leisure, and the enjoyment of the labor of others,—like the +labor of people bent on accumulating money,—but if it have +for its object the satisfaction of requirements, will itself be +drawn from the city to the country, to the land, where this labor +is the most fruitful and cheerful. But it is not requisite +to institute any association, because the man who labors, +naturally and of himself, attaches himself to the existing +association of laboring men.</p> +<p>To the question, whether this labor would not monopolize all +my time, and deprive me of those intellectual pursuits which I +love, to which I am accustomed, and which, in my moments of +self-conceit, I regard as not useless to others? I received a +most unexpected reply. The energy of my intellectual +activity increased, and increased in exact proportion with bodily +application, while freeing itself from every thing +superfluous. It appeared that by dedicating to physical +toil eight hours, that half of the day which I had formerly +passed in the oppressive state of a struggle with <i>ennui</i>, +eight hours remained to me, of which only five of intellectual +activity, according to my terms, were necessary to me. For +it appeared, that if I, a very voluminous writer, who had done +nothing for nearly forty years except write, and who had written +three hundred printed sheets;—if I had worked during all +those forty years at ordinary labor with the working-people, +then, not reckoning winter evenings and leisure days, if I had +read and studied for five hours every day, and had written a +couple of pages only on holidays (and I have been in the habit of +writing at the rate of one printed sheet a day), then I should +have written those three hundred sheets in fourteen years. +The fact seemed startling: yet it is the most simple arithmetical +calculation, which can be made by a seven-year-old boy, but which +I had not been able to make up to this time. There are +twenty-four hours in the day; if we take away eight hours, +sixteen remain. If any man engaged in intellectual +occupations devote five hours every day to his occupation, he +will accomplish a fearful amount. And what is to be done +with the remaining eleven hours?</p> +<p>It proved that physical labor not only does not exclude the +possibility of mental activity, but that it improves its quality, +and encourages it.</p> +<p>In answer to the question, whether this physical toil does not +deprive me of many innocent pleasures peculiar to man, such as +the enjoyment of the arts, the acquisition of learning, +intercourse with people, and the delights of life in general, it +turned out exactly the reverse: the more intense the labor, the +more nearly it approached what is considered the coarsest +agricultural toil, the more enjoyment and knowledge did I gain, +and the more did I come into close and loving communion with men, +and the more happiness did I derive from life.</p> +<p>In answer to the question (which I have so often heard from +persons not thoroughly sincere), as to what result could flow +from so insignificant a drop in the sea of sympathy as my +individual physical labor in the sea of labor ingulfing me, I +received also the most satisfactory and unexpected of +answers. It appeared that all I had to do was to make +physical labor the habitual condition of my life, and the +majority of my false, but precious, habits and my demands, when +physically idle, fell away from me at once of their own accord, +without the slightest exertion on my part. Not to mention +the habit of turning day into night and <i>vice versa</i>, my +habits connected with my bed, with my clothing, with conventional +cleanliness,—which are downright impossible and oppressive +with physical labor,—and my demands as to the quality of my +food, were entirely changed. In place of the dainty, rich, +refined, complicated, highly-spiced food, to which I had formerly +inclined, the most simple viands became needful and most pleasing +of all to me,—cabbage-soup, porridge, black bread, and tea +<i>v prikusku</i>. <a name="citation238"></a><a +href="#footnote238" class="citation">[238]</a> So that, not +to mention the influence upon me of the example of the simple +working-people, who are content with little, with whom I came in +contact in the course of my bodily toil, my very requirements +underwent a change in consequence of my toilsome life; so that my +drop of physical labor in the sea of universal labor became +larger and larger, in proportion as I accustomed myself to, and +appropriated, the habits of the laboring classes; in proportion, +also, to the success of my labor, my demands for labor from +others grew less and less, and my life naturally, without +exertion or privations, approached that simple existence of which +I could not even dream without fulfilling the law of labor.</p> +<p>It proved that my dearest demands from life, namely, my +demands for vanity, and diversion from <i>ennui</i>, arose +directly from my idle life. There was no place for vanity, +in connection with physical labor; and no diversions were needed, +since my time was pleasantly occupied, and, after my fatigue, +simple rest at tea over a book, or in conversation with my +fellows, was incomparably more agreeable than theatres, cards, +conceits, or a large company,—all which things are needed +in physical idleness, and which cost a great deal.</p> +<p>In answer to the question, Would not this unaccustomed toil +ruin that health which is indispensable in order to render +service to the people possible? it appeared, in spite of the +positive assertions of noted physicians, that physical exertion, +especially at my age, might have the most injurious consequences +(but that Swedish gymnastics, the massage treatment, and so on, +and other expedients intended to take the place of the natural +conditions of man’s life, were better), that the more +intense the toil, the stronger, more alert, more cheerful, and +more kindly did I feel. Thus it undoubtedly appeared, that, +just as all those cunning devices of the human mind, newspapers, +theatres, concerts, visits, balls, cards, journals, romances, are +nothing else than expedients for maintaining the spiritual life +of man outside his natural conditions of labor for +others,—just so all the hygienic and medical devices of the +human mind for the preparation of food, drink, lodging, +ventilation, heating, clothing, medicine, water, massage, +gymnastics, electric, and other means of healing,—all these +clever devices are merely an expedient to sustain the bodily life +of man removed from its natural conditions of labor. It +turned out that all these devices of the human mind for the +agreeable arrangement of the physical existence of idle persons +are precisely analogous to those artful contrivances which people +might invent for the production in vessels hermetically sealed, +by means of mechanical arrangements, of evaporation, and plants, +of the air best fitted for breathing, when all that is needed is +to open the window. All the inventions of medicine and +hygiene for persons of our sphere are much the same as though a +mechanic should hit upon the idea of heating a steam-boiler which +was not working, and should shut all the valves so that the +boiler should not burst. Only one thing is needed, instead +of all these extremely complicated devices for pleasure, for +comfort, and for medical and hygienic preparations, intended to +save people from their spiritual and bodily ailments, which +swallow up so much labor,—to fulfil the law of life; to do +that which is proper not only to man, but to the animal; to fire +off the charge of energy taken win in the shape of food, by +muscular exertion; to speak in plain language, to earn +one’s bread. Those who do not work should not eat, or +they should earn as much as they have eaten.</p> +<p>And when I clearly comprehended all this, it struck me as +ridiculous. Through a whole series of doubts and +searchings, I had arrived, by a long course of thought, at this +remarkable truth: if a man has eyes, it is that he may see with +them; if he has ears, that he may hear; and feet, that he may +walk; and hands and back, that he may labor; and that if a man +will not employ those members for that purpose for which they are +intended, it will be the worse for him.</p> +<p>I came to this conclusion, that, with us privileged people, +the same thing has happened which happened with the horses of a +friend of mine. His steward, who was not a lover of horses, +nor well versed in them, on receiving his master’s orders +to place the best horses in the stable, selected them from the +stud, placed them in stalls, and fed and watered them; but +fearing for the valuable steeds, he could not bring himself to +trust them to any one, and he neither rode nor drove them, nor +did he even take them out. The horses stood there until +they were good for nothing. The same thing has happened +with us, but with this difference: that it was impossible to +deceive the horses in any way, and they were kept in bonds to +prevent their getting out; but we are kept in an unnatural +position that is equally injurious to us, by deceits which have +entangled us, and which hold us like chains.</p> +<p>We have arranged for ourselves a life that is repugnant both +to the moral and the physical nature of man, and all the powers +of our intelligence we concentrate upon assuring man that this is +the most natural life possible. Every thing which we call +culture,—our sciences, art, and the perfection of the +pleasant thing’s of life,—all these are attempts to +deceive the moral requirements of man; every thing that is called +hygiene and medicine, is an attempt to deceive the natural +physical demands of human nature. But these deceits have +their bounds, and we advance to them. “If such be the +real human life, then it is better not to live at all,” +says the reigning and extremely fashionable philosophy of +Schopenhauer and Hartmann. If such is life, ’tis +better for the coming generation not to live,” say corrupt +medical science and its newly devised means to that end.</p> +<p>In the Bible, it is laid down as the law of man: “In the +sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, and in sorrow thou shalt +bring forth children;” but “<i>nous avons +changé tout ca</i>,” as Molière’s +character says, when expressing himself with regard to medicine, +and asserting that the liver was on the left side. We have +changed all that. Men need not work in order to eat, and +women need not bear children.</p> +<p>A ragged peasant roams the Krapivensky district. During +the war he was an agent for the purchase of grain, under an +official of the commissary department. On being brought in +contact with the official, and seeing his luxurious life, the +peasant lost his mind, and thought that he might get along +without work, like gentlemen, and receive proper support from the +Emperor. This peasant now calls himself “the Most +Serene Warrior, Prince Blokhin, purveyor of war supplies of all +descriptions.” He says of himself that he has +“passed through all the ranks,” and that when he +shall have served out his term in the army, he is to receive from +the Emperor an unlimited bank account, clothes, uniforms, horses, +equipages, tea, pease and servants, and all sorts of +luxuries. This man is ridiculous in the eyes of many, but +to me the significance of his madness is terrible. To the +question, whether he does not wish to work, he always replies +proudly: “I am much obliged. The peasants will attend +to all that.” When you tell him that the peasants do +not wish to work, either, he answers: “It is not difficult +for the peasant.”</p> +<p>He generally talks in a high-flown style, and is fond of +verbal substantives. “Now there is an invention of +machinery for the alleviation of the peasants,” he says; +“there is no difficulty for them in that.” When +he is asked what he lives for, he replies, “To pass the +time.” I always look on this man as on a +mirror. I behold in him myself and all my class. To +pass through all the ranks (<i>tchini</i>) in order to live for +the purpose of passing the time, and to receive an unlimited bank +account, while the peasants, for whom this is not difficult, +because of the invention of machinery, do the whole +business,—this is the complete formula of the idiotic creed +of the people of our sphere in society.</p> +<p>When we inquire precisely what we are to do, surely, we ask +nothing, but merely assert—only not in such good faith as +the Most Serene Prince Blokhin, who has been promoted through all +ranks, and lost his mind—that we do not wish to do any +thing.</p> +<p>He who will reflect for a moment cannot ask thus, because, on +the one hand, every thing that he uses has been made, and is +made, by the hands of men; and, on the other side, as soon as a +healthy man has awakened and eaten, the necessity of working with +feet and hands and brain makes itself felt. In order to +find work and to work, he need only not hold back: only a person +who thinks work disgraceful—like the lady who requests her +guest not to take the trouble to open the door, but to wait until +she can call a man for this purpose—can put to himself the +question, what he is to do.</p> +<p>The point does not lie in inventing work,—you can never +get through all the work that is to be done for yourself and for +others,—but the point lies in weaning one’s self from +that criminal view of life in accordance with which I eat and +sleep for my own pleasure; and in appropriating to myself that +just and simple view with which the laboring man grows up and +lives,—that man is, first of all, a machine, which loads +itself with food in order to sustain itself, and that it is +therefore disgraceful, wrong, and impossible to eat and not to +work; that to eat and not to work is the most impious, unnatural, +and, therefore, dangerous position, in the nature of the sin of +Sodom. Only let this acknowledgement be made, and there +will be work; and work will always be joyous and satisfying to +both spiritual and bodily requirements.</p> +<p>The matter presented itself to me thus: The day is divided for +every man, by food itself, into four parts, or four stints, as +the peasants call it: (1) before breakfast; (2) from breakfast +until dinner; (3) from dinner until four o’clock; (4) from +four o’clock until evening.</p> +<p>A man’s employment, whatever it may be that he feels a +need for in his own person, is also divided into four categories: +(1) the muscular employment of power, labor of the hands, feet, +shoulders, back,—hard labor, from which you sweat; (2) the +employment of the fingers and wrists, the employment of artisan +skill; (3) the employment of the mind and imagination; (4) the +employment of intercourse with others.</p> +<p>The benefits which man enjoys are also divided into four +categories. Every man enjoys, in the first place, the +product of hard labor,—grain, cattle, buildings, wells, +ponds, and so forth; in the second place, the results of artisan +toil,—clothes, boots, utensils, and so forth; in the third +place, the products of mental activity,—science, art; and, +in the forth place, established intercourse between people.</p> +<p>And it struck me, that the best thing of all would be to +arrange the occupations of the day in such a manner as to +exercise all four of man’s capacities, and myself produce +all these four sorts of benefits which men make use of, so that +one portion of the day, the first, should be dedicated to hard +labor; the second, to intellectual labor; the third, to artisan +labor; and the forth, to intercourse with people. It struck +me, that only then would that false division of labor, which +exists in our society, be abrogated, and that just division of +labor established, which does not destroy man’s +happiness.</p> +<p>I, for example, have busied myself all my life with +intellectual labor. I said to myself, that I had so divided +labor, that writing, that is to say, intellectual labor, is my +special employment, and the other matters which were necessary to +me I had left free (or relegated, rather) to others. But +this, which would appear to have been the most advantageous +arrangement for intellectual toil, was precisely the most +disadvantageous to mental labor, not to mention its +injustice.</p> +<p>All my life long, I have regulated my whole life, food, sleep, +diversion, in view of these hours of special labor, and I have +done nothing except this work. The result of this has been, +in the first place, that I have contracted my sphere of +observations and knowledge, and have frequently had no means for +the study even of problems which often presented themselves in +describing the life of the people (for the life of the common +people is the every-day problem of intellectual activity). +I was conscious of my ignorance, and was obliged to obtain +instruction, to ask about things which are known by every man not +engaged in special labor. In the second place, the result +was, that I had been in the habit of sitting down to write when I +had no inward impulse to write, and when no one demanded from me +writing, as writing, that is to say, my thoughts, but when my +name was merely wanted for journalistic speculation. I +tried to squeeze out of myself what I could. Sometimes I +could extract nothing; sometimes it was very wretched stuff, and +I was dissatisfied and grieved. But now that I have learned +the indispensability of physical labor, both hard and artisan +labor, the result is entirely different. My time has been +occupied, however modestly, at least usefully and cheerfully, and +in a manner instructive to me. And therefore I have torn +myself from that indubitably useful and cheerful occupation for +my special duties only when I felt an inward impulse, and when I +saw a demand made upon me directly for my literary work.</p> +<p>And these demands called into play only good nature, and +therefore the usefulness and the joy of my special labor. +Thus it turned out, that employment in those physical labors +which are indispensable to me, as they are to every man, not only +did not interfere with my special activity, but was an +indispensable condition of the usefulness, worth, and +cheerfulness of that activity.</p> +<p>The bird is so constructed, that it is indispensable that it +should fly, walk, peek, combine; and when it does all this, it is +satisfied and happy,—then it is a bird. Just so man, +when he walks, turns, raises, drags, works with his fingers, with +his eyes, with his ears, with his tongue, with his +brain,—only then is he satisfied, only then is he a +man.</p> +<p>A man who acknowledges his appointment to labor will naturally +strive towards that rotation of labor which is peculiar to him, +for the satisfaction of his inward requirements; and he can alter +this labor in no other way than when he feels within himself an +irresistible summons to some exclusive form of labor, and when +the demands of other men for that labor are expressed.</p> +<p>The character of labor is such, that the satisfaction of all a +man’s requirements demands that same succession of the +sorts of work which renders work not a burden but a joy. +Only a false creed, δοξα, to the effect +that labor is a curse, could have led men to rid themselves of +certain kinds of work; i.e., to the appropriation of the work of +others, demanding the forced occupation with special labor of +other people, which they call division of labor.</p> +<p>We have only grown used to our false comprehension of the +regulation of labor, because it seems to us that the shoemaker, +the machinist, the writer, or the musician will be better off if +he gets rid of the labor peculiar to man. Where there is no +force exercised over the labor of others, or any false belief in +the joy of idleness, not a single man will get rid of physical +labor, necessary for the satisfaction of his requirements, for +the sake of special work; because special work is not a +privilege, but a sacrifice which man offers to inward pressure +and to his brethren.</p> +<p>The shoemaker in the country, who abandons his wonted labor in +the field, which is so grateful to him, and betakes himself to +his trade, in order to repair or make boots for his neighbors, +always deprives himself of the pleasant toil of the field, simply +because he likes to make boots, because he knows that no one else +can do it so well as he, and that people will be grateful to him +for it; but the desire cannot occur to him, to deprive himself, +for the whole period of his life, of the cheering rotation of +labor.</p> +<p>It is the same with the <i>starosta</i> [village elder], the +machinist, the writer, the learned man. To us, with our +corrupt conception of things, it seems, that if a steward has +been relegated to the position of a peasant by his master, or if +a minister has been sent to the colonies, he has been chastised, +he has been ill-treated. But in reality a benefit has been +conferred on him; that is to say, his special, hard labor has +been changed into a cheerful rotation of labor. In a +naturally constituted society, this is quite otherwise. I +know of one community where the people supported +themselves. One of the members of this society was better +educated than the rest; and they called upon him to read, so that +he was obliged to prepare himself during the day, in order that +he might read in the evening. This he did gladly, feeling +that he was useful to others, and that he was performing a good +deed. But he grew weary of exclusively intellectual work, +and his health suffered from it. The members of the +community took pity on him, and requested him to go to work in +the fields.</p> +<p>For men who regard labor as the substance and the joy of life, +the basis, the foundation of life will always be the struggle +with nature,—labor both agricultural and mechanical, and +intellectual, and the establishment of communion between +men. Departure from one or from many of these varieties of +labor, and the adoption of special labor, will then only occur +when the man possessed of a special branch, and loving this work, +and knowing that he can perform it better than others, sacrifices +his own profit for the satisfaction of the direct demands made +upon him. Only on condition of such a view of labor, and of +the natural division of labor arising from it, is that curse +which is laid upon our idea of labor abrogated, and does every +sort of work becomes always a joy; because a man will either +perform that labor which is undoubtedly useful and joyous, and +not dull, or he will possess the consciousness of self-abnegation +in the fulfilment of more difficult and restricted toil, which he +exercises for the good of others.</p> +<p>But the division of labor is more profitable. More +profitable for whom? It is more profitable in making the +greatest possible quantity of calico, and boots in the shortest +possible time. But who will make these boots and this +calico? There are people who, for whole generations, make +only the heads of pins. Then how can this be more +profitable for men? If the point lies in manufacturing as +much calico and as many pins as possible, then this is so. +But the point concerns men and their welfare. And the +welfare of men lies in life. And life is work. How, +then, can the necessity for burdensome, oppressive toil be more +profitable for people? For all men, that one thing is more +profitable which I desire for myself,—the utmost +well-being, and the gratification of all those requirements, both +bodily and spiritual, of the conscience and of the reason, which +are imposed upon me. And in my own case I have found, that +for my own welfare, and for the satisfaction of these needs of +mine, all that I require is to cure myself of that folly in which +I had been living, in company with the Krapivensky madman, and +which consisted in presupposing that some people need not work, +and that certain other people should direct all this, and that I +should therefore do only that which is natural to man, i.e., +labor for the satisfaction of their requirements; and, having +discovered this, I convinced myself that labor for the +satisfaction of one’s own needs falls of itself into +various kinds of labor, each one of which possesses its own +charm, and which not only do not constitute a burden, but which +serve as a respite to one another. I have made a rough +division of this labor (not insisting on the justice of this +arrangement), in accordance with my own needs in life, into four +parts, corresponding to the four stints of labor of which the day +is composed; and I seek in this manner to satisfy my +requirements.</p> +<p>These, then, are the answers which I have found for myself to +the question, “What is to be done?”</p> +<p><i>First</i>, Not to lie to myself, however far removed my +path in life may be from the true path which my reason discloses +to me.</p> +<p><i>Second</i>, To renounce my consciousness of my own +righteousness, my superiority especially over other people; and +to acknowledge my guilt.</p> +<p><i>Third</i>, To comply with that eternal and indubitable law +of humanity,—the labor of my whole being, feeling no shame +at any sort of work; to contend with nature for the maintenance +of my own life and the lives of others.</p> +<h2>ON LABOR AND LUXURY.</h2> +<p>I concluded, after having said every thing that concerned +myself; but I cannot refrain, from a desire to say something more +which concerns everybody, from verifying the deductions which I +have drawn, by comparisons. I wish to say why it seems to +me that a very large number of our social class ought to come to +the same thing to which I have come; and also to state what will +be the result if a number of people should come to the same +conclusion.</p> +<p>I think that many will come to the point which I have +attained: because if the people of our sphere, of our caste, will +only take a serious look at themselves, then young persons, who +are in search of personnel happiness, will stand aghast at the +ever-increasing wretchedness of their life, which is plainly +leading them to destruction; conscientious people will be shocked +at the cruelty and the illegality of their life; and timid people +will be terrified by the danger of their mode of life.</p> +<p><i>The Wretchedness of our Life</i>:—However much we +rich people may reform, however much we may bolster up this +delusive life of ours with the aid of our science and art, this +life will become, with every year, both weaker and more diseased; +with every year the number of suicides, and the refusals to bear +children, will increase; with every year we shall feel the +growing sadness of our life; with every generation, the new +generations of people of this sphere of society will become more +puny.</p> +<p>It is obvious that in this path of the augmentation of the +comforts and the pleasures of life, in the path of every sort of +cure, and of artificial preparations for the improvements of the +sight, the hearing, the appetite, false teeth, false hair, +respiration, massage, and so on, there can be no salvation. +That people who do not make use of these perfected preparations +are stronger and healthier, has become such a truism, that +advertisements are printed in the newspapers of stomach-powders +for the wealthy, under the heading, “Blessings for the +poor,” <a name="citation252"></a><a href="#footnote252" +class="citation">[252]</a> in which it is stated that only the +poor are possessed of proper digestive powers, and that the rich +require assistance, and, among other various sorts of assistance, +these powders. It is impossible to set the matter right by +any diversions, comforts, and powders, whatever; only a change of +life can rectify it.</p> +<p><i>The Inconsistency of our Life with our +Conscience</i>:—however we may seek to justify our betrayal +of humanity to ourselves, all our justifications will crumble +into dust in the presence of the evidence. All around us, +people are dying of excessive labor and of privation; we ruin the +labor of others, the food and clothing which are indispensable to +them, merely with the object of procuring diversion and variety +for our wearisome lives. And, therefore, the conscience of +a man of our circle, if even a spark of it be left in him, cannot +be lulled to sleep, and it poisons all these comforts and those +pleasures of life which our brethren, suffering and perishing in +their toil, procure for us. But not only does every +conscientious man feel this himself,—he would be glad to +forget it, but this he cannot do.</p> +<p>The new, ephemeral justifications of science for science, of +art for art, do not exclude the light of a simple, healthy +judgment. The conscience of man cannot be quieted by fresh +devices; and it can only be calmed by a change of life, for which +and in which no justification will be required.</p> +<p>Two causes prove to the people of the wealthy classes the +necessity for a change of life: the requirements of their +individual welfare, and of the welfare of those most nearly +connected with them, which cannot be satisfied in the path in +which they now stand; and the necessity of satisfying the voice +of conscience, the impossibility of accomplishing which is +obvious in their present course. These causes, taken +together, should lead people of the wealthy classes to alter +their mode of life, to such a change as shall satisfy their +well-being and their conscience.</p> +<p>And there is only one such change possible: they must cease to +deceive, they must repent, they must acknowledge that labor is +not a curse, but the glad business of life. “But what +will be the result if I do toil for ten, or eight, or five hours +at physical work, which thousands of peasants will gladly perform +for the money which I possess?” people say to this.</p> +<p>The first, simplest, and indubitable result will be, that you +will become a more cheerful, a healthier, a more alert, and a +better man, and that you will learn to know the real life, from +which you have hidden yourself, or which has been hidden from +you.</p> +<p>The second result will be, that, if you possess a conscience, +it will not only cease to suffer as it now suffers when it gazes +upon the toil of others, the significance of which we, through +ignorance, either always exaggerate or depreciate, but you will +constantly experience a glad consciousness that, with every day, +you are doing more and more to satisfy the demands of your +conscience, and you will escape from that fearful position of +such an accumulation of evil heaped upon your life that there +exists no possibility of doing good to people; you will +experience the joy of living in freedom, with the possibility of +good; you will break a window,—an opening into the domain +of the moral world which has been closed to you.</p> +<p>“But this is absurd,” people usually say to you, +for people of our sphere, with profound problems standing before +us,—problems philosophical, scientific, artistic, +ecclesiastical and social. It would be absurd for us +ministers, senators, academicians professors, artists, a quarter +of an hour of whose time is so prized by people, to waste our +time on any thing of that sort, would it not?—on the +cleaning of our boots, the washing of our shirts, in hoeing, in +planting potatoes, or in feeding our chickens and our cows, and +so on; in those things which are gladly done for us, not only by +our porter or our cook, but by thousands of people who value our +time?</p> +<p>But why should we dress ourselves, wash and comb our hair? why +should we hand chairs to ladies, to guests? why should we open +and shut doors, hand ladies, into carriages, and do a hundred +other things which serfs formerly did for us? Because we +think that it is necessary so to do; that human dignity demands +it; that it is the duty, the obligation, of man.</p> +<p>And the same is the case with physical labor. The +dignity of man, his sacred duty and obligation, consists in using +the hands and feet which have been given to him, for that for +which they were given to him, and that which consumes food on the +labor which produces that food; and that they should be used, not +on that which shall cause them to pine away, not as objects to +wash and clean, and merely for the purpose of stuffing into +one’s mouth food, drink, and cigarettes. This is the +significance that physical labor possesses for man in every +community; but in our community, where the avoidance of this law +of labor has occasioned the unhappiness of a whole class of +people, employment in physical labor acquires still another +significance,—the significance of a sermon, and of an +occupation which removes a terrible misfortune that is +threatening mankind.</p> +<p>To say that physical labor is an insignificant occupation for +a man of education, is equivalent to saying, in connection with +the erection of a temple: “What does it matter whether one +stone is laid accurately in its place?” Surely, it is +precisely under conditions of modesty, simplicity, and +imperceptibleness, that every magnificent thing is accomplished; +it is impossible to plough, to build, to pasture cattle, or even +to think, amid glare, thunder, and illumination. Grand and +genuine deeds are always simple and modest. And such is the +grandest of all deeds which we have to deal with,—the +reconciliation of those fearful contradictions amid which we are +living. And the deeds which will reconcile these +contradictions are those modest, imperceptible, apparently +ridiculous ones, the serving one’s self, physical labor for +one’s self, and, if possible, for others also, which we +rich people must do, if we understand the wretchedness, the +unscrupulousness, and the danger of the position into which we +have drifted.</p> +<p>What will be the result if I, or some other man, or a handful +of men, do not despise physical labor, but regard it as +indispensable to our happiness and to the appeasement of our +conscience? This will be the result, that there will be one +man, two men, or a handful of men, who, coming into conflict with +no one, without governmental or revolutionary violence, will +decide for ourselves the terrible question which stands before +all the world, and which sets people at variance, and that we +shall settle it in such wise that life will be better to them, +that their conscience will be more at peace, and that they will +have nothing to fear; the result will be, that other people will +see that the happiness which they are seeking everywhere, lies +there around them; that the apparently unreconcilable +contradictions of conscience and of the constitution of this +world will be reconciled in the easiest and most joyful manner; +and that, instead of fearing the people who surround us, it will +become necessary for us to draw near to them and to love +them.</p> +<p>The apparently insoluble economical and social problem is +merely the problem of Kriloff’s casket. <a +name="citation256"></a><a href="#footnote256" +class="citation">[256]</a> The casket will simply +open. And it will not open, so long as people do not do +simply that first and simple thing—open it.</p> +<p>A man sets up what he imagines to be his own peculiar library, +his own private picture-gallery, his own apartments and clothing, +he accumulates his own money in order therewith to purchase every +thing that he needs; and the end of it all is, that engaged with +this fancied property of his, as though it were real, he utterly +loses his sense of that which actually constitutes his property, +on which he can really labor, which can really serve him, and +which will always remain in his power, and of that which is not +and cannot be his own property, whatever he may call it, and +which cannot serve as the object of his occupation.</p> +<p>Words always possess a clear significance until we +deliberately attribute to them a false sense.</p> +<p>What does property signify?</p> +<p>Property signifies that which has been given to me, which +belongs to me exclusively; that with which I can always do any +thing I like; that which no one can take away from me; that which +will remain mine to the end of my life, and precisely that which +I am bound to use, increase, and improve. Now, there exists +but one such piece of property for any man,—himself.</p> +<p>Hence it results that half a score of men may till the soil, +hew wood, and make shoes, not from necessity, but in consequence +of an acknowledgment of the fact that man should work, and that +the more he works the better it will be for him. It +results, that half a score of men,—or even one man, may +demonstrate to people, both by his confession and by his actions, +that the terrible evil from which they are suffering is not a law +of fate, the will of God, or any historical necessity; but that +it is merely a superstition, which is not in the least powerful +or terrible, but weak and insignificant, in which we must simply +cease to believe, as in idols, in order to rid ourselves of it, +and in order to rend it like a paltry spider’s web. +Men who will labor to fulfil the glad law of their existence, +that is to say, those who work in order to fulfil the law of +toil, will rid themselves of that frightful superstition of +property for themselves.</p> +<p>If the life of a man is filled with toil, and if he knows the +delights of rest, he requires no chambers, furniture, and rich +and varied clothing; he requires less costly food; he needs no +means of locomotion, or of diversion. But the principal +thing is, that the man who regards labor as the business and the +joy of his life will not seek that relief from his labor which +the labors of others might afford him. The man who regards +life as a matter of labor will propose to himself as his object, +in proportion as he acquires understanding, skill, and endurance, +greater and greater toil, which shall constantly fill his life to +a greater and greater degree. For such a man, who sees the +meaning of his life in work itself, and not in its results, for +the acquisition of property, there can be no question as to the +implements of labor. Although such a man will always select +the most suitable implements, that man will receive the same +satisfaction from work and rest, when he employs the most +unsuitable implements. If there be a steam-plough, he will +use it; if there is none, he will till the soil with a +horse-plough, and, if there is none, with a primitive curved bit +of wood shod with iron, or he will use a rake; and, under all +conditions, he will equally attain his object. He will pass +his life in work that is useful to men, and he will therefore win +complete satisfaction.</p> +<p>And the position of such a man, both in his external and +internal conditions, will be more happy than that of the man who +devotes his life to the acquisition of property. Such a man +will never suffer need in his outward circumstances, because +people, perceiving his desire to work, will always try to provide +him with the most productive work, as they proportion a mill to +the water-power. And they will render his material +existence free from care, which they will not do for people who +are striving to acquire property. And freedom from anxiety +in his material conditions is all that a man needs. Such a +man will always be happier in his internal conditions, than the +one who seeks wealth, because the first will never gain that +which he is striving for, while the latter always will, in +proportion to his powers. The feeble, the aged, the dying, +according to the proverb, “With the written absolution in +his hands,” will receive full satisfaction, and the love +and sympathy of men.</p> +<p>What, then, will be the outcome of a few eccentric +individuals, or madmen, tilling the soil, making shoes, and so +on, instead of smoking cigarettes, playing whist, and roaming +about everywhere to relieve their tedium, during the space of the +ten leisure hours a day which every intellectual worker +enjoys? This will be the outcome: that these madmen will +show in action, that that imaginary property for which men +suffer, and for which they torment themselves and others, is not +necessary for happiness; that it is oppressive, and that it is +mere superstition; that property, true property, consists only in +one’s own head and hands; and that, in order to actually +exploit this real property with profit and pleasure, it is +necessary to reject the false conception of property outside +one’s own body, upon which we expend the best efforts of +our lives. The outcome us, that these men will show, that +only when a man ceases to believe in imaginary property, only +when he brings into play his real property, his capacities, his +body, so that they will yield him fruit a hundred-fold, and +happiness of which we have no idea,—only then will he be so +strong, useful, and good a man, that, wherever you may fling him, +he will always land on his feet; that he will everywhere and +always be a brother to everybody; that he will be intelligible to +everybody, and necessary, and good. And men looking on one, +on ten such madmen, will understand what they must all do in +order to loose that terrible knot in which the superstition +regarding property has entangled them, in order to free +themselves from the unfortunate position in which they are all +now groaning with one voice, not knowing whence to find an issue +from it.</p> +<p>But what can one man do amid a throng which does not agree +with him? There is no argument which could more clearly +demonstrate the terror of those who make use of it than +this. The <i>burlaki</i> <a name="citation260"></a><a +href="#footnote260" class="citation">[260]</a> drag their bark +against the current. There cannot be found a <i>burlak</i> +so stupid that he will refuse to pull away at his towing-rope +because he alone is not able to drag the bark against the +current. He who, in addition to his rights to an animal +life, to eat and sleep, recognizes any sort of human obligation, +knows very well in what that human obligation lies, just as the +boatman knows it when the tow-rope is attached to him. The +boatman knows very well that all he has to do is to pull at the +rope, and proceed in the given direction. He will seek what +he is to do, and how he is to do it, only when the tow-rope is +removed from him. And as it is with these boatmen and with +all people who perform ordinary work, so it is with the affairs +of all humanity. All that each man needs is not to remove +the tow-rope, but to pull away on it in the direction which his +master orders. And, for this purpose, one sort of reason is +bestowed on all men, in order that the direction may be always +the same. And this direction has obviously been so plainly +indicated, that both in the life of all the people about us, and +in the conscience of each individual man, only he who does not +wish to work can say that he does not see it. Then, what is +the outcome of this?</p> +<p>This: that one, perhaps two men, will pull; a third will look +on, and will join them; and in this manner the best people will +unite until the affair begins to start, and make progress, as +though itself inspiring and bidding thereto even those who do not +understand what is being done, and why it is being done. +First, to the contingent of men who are consciously laboring in +order to comply with the law of God, there will be added the +people who only half understand and who only half confess the +faith; then a still greater number of people who admit the same +doctrine will join them, merely on the faith of the originators; +and finally the majority of mankind will recognize this, and then +it will come to pass, that men will cease to ruin themselves, and +will find happiness.</p> +<p>This will happen,—and it will be very +speedily,—when people of our set, and after them a vast +majority, shall cease to think it disgraceful to pay visits in +untanned boots, and not disgraceful to walk in overshoes past +people who have no shoes at all; that it is disgraceful not to +understand French, and not disgraceful to eat bread and not to +know how to set it; that it is disgraceful not to have a starched +shirt and clean clothes, and not disgraceful to go about in clean +garments thereby showing one’s idleness; that it is +disgraceful to have dirty hands, and not disgraceful not to have +hands with callouses.</p> +<p>All this will come to pass when the sense of the community +shall demand it. But the sense of the community will demand +this when those delusions in the imagination of men, which have +concealed the truth from them, shall have been abolished. +Within my own recollection, great changes have taken place in +this respect. And these changes have taken place only +because the general opinion has undergone an alteration. +Within my memory, it has come to pass, that whereas it used to be +disgraceful for wealthy people not to drive out with four horses +and two footmen, and not to keep a valet or a maid to dress them, +wash them, put on their shoes, and so forth; it has now suddenly +become discreditable for one not to put on one’s own +clothes and shoes for one’s self, and to drive with +footmen. Public opinion has effected all these +changes. Are not the changes which public opinion is now +preparing clear?</p> +<p>All that was necessary five and twenty years ago was to +abolish the delusion which justified the right of serfdom, and +public opinion as to what was praiseworthy and what was +discreditable changed, and life changed also. All that is +now requisite is to annihilate the delusion which justifies the +power of money over men, and public opinion will undergo a change +as to what is creditable and what is disgraceful, and life will +be changed also; and the annihilation of the delusion, of the +justification of the moneyed power, and the change in public +opinion in this respect, will be promptly accomplished. +This delusion is already flickering, and the truth will very +shortly be disclosed. All that is required is to gaze +steadfastly, in order to perceive clearly that change in public +opinion which has already taken place, and which is simply not +recognized, not fitted with a word. The educated man of our +day has but to reflect ever so little on what will be the outcome +of those views of the world which he professes, in order to +convince himself that the estimate of good and bad, by which, by +virtue of his inertia, he is guided in life, directly contradict +his views of the world.</p> +<p>All that the man of our century has to do is to break away for +a moment from the life which runs on by force of inertia, to +survey it from the one side, and subject it to that same standard +which arises from his whole view of the world, in order to be +horrified at the definition of his whole life, which follows from +his views of the world. Let us take, for instance, a young +man (the energy of life is greater in the young, and +self-consciousness is more obscured). Let us take, for +instance, a young man belonging to the wealthy classes, whatever +his tendencies may chance to be.</p> +<p>Every good young man considers it disgraceful not to help an +old man, a child, or a woman; he thinks, in a general way, that +it is a shame to subject the life or health of another person to +danger, or to shun it himself. Every one considers that +shameful and brutal which Schuyler relates of the Kirghiz in +times of tempest,—to send out the women and the aged +females to hold fast the corners of the <i>kibitka</i> [tent] +during the storm, while they themselves continue to sit within +the tent, over their <i>kumis</i> [fermented +mare’s-milk]. Every one thinks it shameful to make a +week man work for one; that it is still more disgraceful in time +of danger—on a burning ship, for example,—being +strong, to be the first to seat one’s self in the +lifeboat,—to thrust aside the weak and leave them in +danger, and so on.</p> +<p>All men regard this as disgraceful, and would not do it upon +any account, in certain exceptional circumstances; but in +every-day life, the very same actions, and others still worse, +are concealed from them by delusions, and they perpetrate them +incessantly. The establishment of this new view of life is +the business of public opinion. Public opinion, supporting +such a view, will speedily be formed.</p> +<p>Women form public opinion, and women are especially powerful +in our day.</p> +<h2>TO WOMEN.</h2> +<p>As stated in the Bible, a law was given to the man and the +woman,—to the man, the law of labor; to the woman, the law +of bearing children. Although we, with our science, +<i>avons changé tout ça</i>, the law for the man, +as for woman, remains as unalterable as the liver in its place, +and departure from it is equally punished with inevitable +death. The only difference lies in this, that departure +from the law, in the case of the man, is punished so immediately +in the future, that it may be designated as present punishment; +but departure from the law, in the case of the woman, receives +its chastisement in a more distant future.</p> +<p>The general departure of all men from the law exterminates +people immediately; the departure from it of all women +annihilates it in the succeeding generation. But the +evasion by some men and some women does not exterminate the human +race, and only deprives those who evade it of the rational nature +of man. The departure of men from this law began long ago, among +those classes who were in a position to subject others, and, +constantly spreading, it has continued down to our own times; and +in our own day it has reached folly, the ideal consisting in +evasion of the law,—the ideal expressed by Prince Blokhin, +and shared in by Renan and by the whole cultivated world: +“Machines will work, and people will be bundles of nerves +devoted to enjoyment.”</p> +<p>There was hardly any departure from the law in the part of +women, it was expressed only in prostitution, and in the refusal +to bear children—in private cases. The women +belonging to the wealthy classes fulfilled their law, while the +men did not comply with theirs; and therefore the women became +stronger, and continued to rule, and must rule, over men who have +evaded the law, and who have, therefore, lost their senses. +It is generally stated that woman (the woman of Paris in +particular is childless) has become so bewitching, through making +use of all the means of civilization, that she has gained the +upper hand over man by this fascination of hers. This is +not only unjust, but precisely the reverse of the truth. It +is not the childless woman who has conquered man, but the mother, +that woman who has fulfilled her law, while the man has not +fulfilled his. That woman who deliberately remains +childless, and who entrances man with her shoulders and her +locks, is not the woman who rules over men, but the one who has +been corrupted by man, who has descended to his level,—to +the level of the vicious man,—who has evaded the law +equally with himself, and who has lost, in company with him, +every rational idea of life.</p> +<p>From this error springs that remarkable piece of stupidity +which is called the rights of women. The formula of these +rights of women is as follows: “Here! you man,” says +the woman, “you have departed from your law of real labor, +and you want us to bear the burden of our real labor. No, +if this is to be so, we understand, as well as you do, how to +perform those semblances of labor which you exercise in banks, +ministries, universities, and academies; we desire, like +yourselves, under the pretext of the division of labor, to make +use of the labor of others, and to live for the gratification of +our caprices alone.” They say this, and prove by +their action that they understand no worse, if not better, than +men, how to exercise this semblance of labor.</p> +<p>This so-called woman question has come up, and could only come +up, among men who have departed from the law of actual +labor. All that is required is, to return to that, and this +question cannot exist. Woman, having her own inevitable +task, will never demand the right to share the toil of men in the +mines and in the fields. She could only demand to share in +the fictitious labors of the men of the wealthy classes.</p> +<p>The woman of our circle has been, and still is, stronger than +the man, not by virtue of her fascinations, not through her +cleverness in performing the same pharisaical semblance of work +as man, but because she has not stepped out from under the law +that she should undergo that real labor, with danger to her life, +with exertion to the last degree, from which the man of the +wealthy classes has excused herself.</p> +<p>But, within my memory, a departure from this law on the part +of woman, that is to say, her fall, has begun; and, within my +memory, it has become more and more the case. Woman, having +lost the law, has acquired the belief that her strength lies in +the witchery of her charms, or in her skill in pharisaical +pretences at intellectual work. And both things are bad for +the children. And, within my memory, women of the wealthy +classes have come to refuse to bear children. And so +mothers who hold the power in their hands let it escape them, in +order to make way for the dissolute women, and to put themselves +on a level with them. The evil is already wide-spread, and +is extending farther and farther every day; and soon it will lay +hold on all the women of the wealthy classes, and then they will +compare themselves with men: and in company with them, they will +lose the rational meaning of life. But there is still +time.</p> +<p>If women would but comprehend their destiny, their power, and +use it for the salvation of their husbands, brothers, and +children,—for the salvation of all men!</p> +<p>Women of the wealthy classes who are mothers, the salvation of +the men of our world from the evils from which they are +suffering, lies in your hands.</p> +<p>Not those women who are occupied with their dainty figures, +with their bustles, their hair-dressing, and their attraction for +men, and who bear children against their will, with despair, and +hand them over to nurses; nor those who attend various courses of +lectures, and discourse of psychometric centres and +differentiation, and who also endeavor to escape bearing +children, in order that it may not interfere with their folly +which they call culture: but those women and mothers, who, +possessing the power to refuse to bear children, consciously and +in a straightforward way submit to this eternal, unchangeable +law, knowing that the burden and the difficulty of such +submission is their appointed lot in life,—these are the +women and mothers of our wealthy classes, in whose hands, more +than in those of any one else, lies the salvation of the men of +our sphere in society from the miseries that oppress them.</p> +<p>Ye women and mothers who deliberately submit yourselves to the +law of God, you alone in our wretched, deformed circle, which has +lost the semblance of humanity, you alone know the whole of the +real meaning of life, according to the law of God; and you alone, +by your example, can demonstrate to people that happiness in +life, in submission to the will of God, of which they are +depriving themselves. You alone know those raptures and +those joys which invade the whole being, that bliss which is +appointed for the man who does not depart from the law of +God. You know the happiness of love for your +husbands,—a happiness which does not come to an end, which +does not break off short, like all other forms of happiness, and +which constitutes the beginning of a new happiness,—of love +for your child. You alone, when you are simple and obedient +to the will of God, know not that farcical pretence of labor +which the men of our circle call work, and know that the labor +imposed by God on men, and know its true rewards, the bliss which +it confers. You know this, when, after the raptures of +love, you await with emotion, fear, and terror that torturing +state of pregnancy which renders you ailing for nine months, +which brings you to the verge of death, and to intolerable +suffering and pain. You know the conditions of true labor, +when, with joy, you await the approach and the increase of the +most terrible torture, after which to you alone comes the bliss +which you well know. You know this, when, immediately after +this torture, without respite, without a break, you undertake +another series of toils and sufferings,—nursing,—in +which process you at one and the same time deny yourselves, and +subdue to your feelings the very strongest human need, that of +sleep, which, as the proverb says, is dearer than father or +mother; and for months and years you never get a single sound, +unbroken might’s rest, and sometimes, nay, often, you do +not sleep at all for a period of several nights in succession, +but with failing arms you walk alone, punishing the sick child +who is breaking your heart. And when you do all this, +applauded by no one, and expecting no praises for it from any +one, nor any reward,—when you do this, not as an heroic +deed, but like the laborer in the Gospel when he came from the +field, considering that you have done only that which was your +duty, then you know what the false, pretentious labor of men +performed for glory really is, and that true labor is fulfilling +the will of God, whose command you feel in your heart. You +know that if you are a true mother it makes no difference that no +one has seen your toil, that no one has praised you for it, but +that it has only been looked upon as what must needs be so, and +that even those for whom your have labored not only do not thank +you, but often torture and reproach you. And with the next +child you do the same: again you suffer, again you undergo the +fearful, invisible labor; and again you expect no reward from any +one, and yet you feel the sane satisfaction.</p> +<p>If you are like this, you will not say after two children, or +after twenty, that you have done enough, just as the laboring man +fifty years of age will not say that he has worked enough, while +he still continues to eat and to sleep, and while his muscles +still demand work; if you are like this, your will not cast the +task of nursing and care-taking upon some other mother, just as a +laboring man will not give another man the work which he has +begun, and almost completed, to finish: because into this work +you will throw your life. And therefore the more there is +of this work, the fuller and the happier is your life.</p> +<p>And when you are like this, for the good fortune of men, you +will apply that law of fulfilling God’s will, by which you +guide your life, to the lives of your husband, of your children, +and of those most nearly connected with you. If your are +like this, and know from your own experience, that only +self-sacrificing, unseen, unrewarded labor, accompanied with +danger to life and to the extreme bounds of endurance, for the +lives of others, is the appointed lot of man, which affords him +satisfaction, then you will announce these demands to others; you +will urge your husband to the same toil; and you will measure and +value the dignity of men acceding to this toil; and for this toil +you will also prepare your children.</p> +<p>Only that mother who looks upon children as a disagreeable +accident, and upon love, the comforts of life, costume, and +society, as the object of life, will rear her children in such a +manner that they shall have as much enjoyment as possible out of +life, and that they shall make the greatest possible use of it; +only she will feed them luxuriously, deck them out, amuse them +artificially; only she will teach them, not that which will fit +them for self-sacrificing masculine or feminine labor with danger +of their lives, and to the last limits of endurance, but that +which will deliver them from this labor. Only such a woman, +who has lost the meaning of her life, will sympathize with that +delusive and false male labor, by means of which her husband, +having rid himself of the obligations of a man, is enabled to +enjoy, in her company, the work of others. Only such a +woman will choose a similar man for the husband of her daughter, +and will estimate men, not by what they are personally, but by +that which is connected with them,—position, money, or +their ability to take advantage of the labor of others.</p> +<p>But the true mother, who actually knows the will of God, will +fit her children to fulfil it also. For such a mother, to +see her child overfed, enervated, decked out, will mean +suffering; for all this, as she well knows, will render difficult +for him the fulfilment of the law of God in which she has +instructed him. Such a mother will teach, not that which +will enable her son and her daughter to rid themselves of labor, +but that which will help them to endure the toils of life. +She will have no need to inquire what she shall teach her +children, for what she shall prepare them. Such a woman +will not only not encourage her husband to false and delusive +labor, which has but one object, that of using the labors of +others; but she will bear herself with disgust and horror towards +such an employment, which serves as a double temptation to her +children. Such a woman will not choose a husband for her +daughter on account of the whiteness of his hands and the +refinement of manner; but, well aware that labor and deceit will +exist always and everywhere, she will, beginning with her +husband, respect and value in men, and will require from them, +real labor, with expenditure and risk of life, and she will +despise that deceptive labor which has for its object the ridding +one’s self of all true toil.</p> +<p>Such a mother, who brings forth children and nurses them, and +will herself, rather than any other, feed her offspring and +prepare their food, and sew, and wash, and teach her children, +and sleep and talk with them, because in this she grounds the +business of her life,—only such a mother will not seek for +her children external guaranties in the form of her +husband’s money, and the children’s diplomas; but she +will rear them to that same capacity for the self-sacrificing +fulfilment of the will of God which she is conscious of herself +possessing,—a capacity for enduring toil with expenditure +and risk of life,—because she knows that in this lies the +sole guaranty, and the only well-being in life. Such a +mother will not ask other people what she ought to do; she will +know every thing, and will fear nothing.</p> +<p>If there can exist any doubt for the man and for the childless +woman, as to the path in which the fulfilment of the will of God +lies, this path is firmly and clearly defined for the woman who +is a mother; and if she has complied with it in submissiveness +and in simplicity of spirit, she, standing on that loftiest +height of bliss which the human being is permitted to attain, +will become a guiding-star for all men who are seeking +good. Only the mother can calmly say before her death, to +Him who sent her into this world, and to Him whom she has served +by bearing and rearing children more dear than +herself,—only she can say calmly, having served Him who has +imposed this service upon her: “Now lettest thou thy +servant depart in peace.” And this is the highest +perfection, towards which, as towards the highest bliss, men are +striving.</p> +<p>Such are the women, who, having fulfilled their destiny, reign +over powerful men; such are the women who prepare the new +generations of people, and fix public opinion: and, therefore, in +the hands of these women lies the highest power of saving men +from the prevailing and threatening evils of our times.</p> +<p>Yes, ye women and mothers, in your hands, more than in those +of all others, lies the salvation of the world!</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote21a"></a><a href="#citation21a" +class="footnote">[21a]</a> The fine, tall members of a +regiment, selected and placed together to form a showy squad.</p> +<p><a name="footnote21b"></a><a href="#citation21b" +class="footnote">[21b]</a> [] Omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition printed in Russia, in the set of Count +Tolstoï’s works.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24a"></a><a href="#citation24a" +class="footnote">[24a]</a> Réaumur.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24b"></a><a href="#citation24b" +class="footnote">[24b]</a> A drink made of water, honey, +and laurel or salvia leaves, which is drunk as tea, especially by +the poorer classes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28" +class="footnote">[28]</a> [] Omitted by the censor from the +authorized edition published in Russia in the set of count +Tolstoi’s works. The omission is indicated thus . . +.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39" +class="footnote">[39]</a> <i>Kalatch</i>, a kind of roll: +<i>baranki</i>, cracknels of fine flour.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59"></a><a href="#citation59" +class="footnote">[59]</a> An <i>arshin</i> is twenty-eight +inches.</p> +<p><a name="footnote60"></a><a href="#citation60" +class="footnote">[60]</a> A <i>myeshchanin</i>, or citizen, +who pays only poll-tax and not a guild tax.</p> +<p><a name="footnote62"></a><a href="#citation62" +class="footnote">[62]</a> Omitted in authorized +edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote66"></a><a href="#citation66" +class="footnote">[66]</a> Omitted by the censor in the +authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94"></a><a href="#citation94" +class="footnote">[94]</a> Omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote96"></a><a href="#citation96" +class="footnote">[96]</a> Omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote99"></a><a href="#citation99" +class="footnote">[99]</a> Omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108"></a><a href="#citation108" +class="footnote">[108]</a> Omitted by the Censor from the +authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote111"></a><a href="#citation111" +class="footnote">[111]</a> Omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote113"></a><a href="#citation113" +class="footnote">[113]</a> Omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition</p> +<p><a name="footnote116"></a><a href="#citation116" +class="footnote">[116]</a> Omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote122a"></a><a href="#citation122a" +class="footnote">[122a]</a> Omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote122b"></a><a href="#citation122b" +class="footnote">[122b]</a> A very complicated sort of +whist.</p> +<p><a name="footnote124"></a><a href="#citation124" +class="footnote">[124]</a> The whole of this chapter is +omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition, and is there +represented by the following sentence: “And I felt that in +money, in money itself, in the possession of it, there was +something immoral; and I asked myself, What is money?”</p> +<p><a name="footnote135"></a><a href="#citation135" +class="footnote">[135]</a> Omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote138"></a><a href="#citation138" +class="footnote">[138]</a> Omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote139"></a><a href="#citation139" +class="footnote">[139]</a> The above passage is omitted in +the authorized edition, and the following is added: “I came +to the simple and natural conclusion, that, if I pity the +tortured horse upon which I am riding, the first thing for me to +do is to alight, and to walk on my own feet.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote140"></a><a href="#citation140" +class="footnote">[140]</a> Omitted in the authorized +edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote142"></a><a href="#citation142" +class="footnote">[142]</a> Omitted in the authorized +edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152a"></a><a href="#citation152a" +class="footnote">[152a]</a> “Into a worse +state,” in the authorized edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152b"></a><a href="#citation152b" +class="footnote">[152b]</a> Omitted in the authorized +edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote154"></a><a href="#citation154" +class="footnote">[154]</a> Omitted in the authorized +edition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote155"></a><a href="#citation155" +class="footnote">[155]</a> Réaumur.</p> +<p><a name="footnote158"></a><a href="#citation158" +class="footnote">[158]</a> In the Moscow edition +(authorized by the Censor), the concluding paragraph is replaced +by the following:—“They say: The action of a single +man is but a drop in the sea. A drop in the sea!</p> +<p>“There is an Indian legend relating how a man dropped a +pearl into the sea, and in order to recover it he took a bucket, +and began to bail out, and to pour the water on the shore. +Thus he toiled without intermission, and on the seventh day the +spirit of the sea grew alarmed lest the man should dip the sea +dry, and so he brought him his pearl. If our social evil of +persecuting man were the sea, then that pearl which we have lost +is equivalent to devoting our lives to bailing out the sea of +that evil. The prince of this world will take fright, he +will succumb more promptly than did the spirit of the sea; but +this social evil is not the sea, but a foul cesspool, which we +assiduously fill with our own uncleanness. All that is +required is for us to come to our senses, and to comprehend what +we are doing; to fall out of love with our own +uncleanness,—in order that that imaginary sea should dry +away, and that we should come into possession of that priceless +pearl,—fraternal, humane life.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote161a"></a><a href="#citation161a" +class="footnote">[161a]</a> An arshin is twenty-eight +inches.</p> +<p><a name="footnote161b"></a><a href="#citation161b" +class="footnote">[161b]</a> The fast extends from the 5th +to the 30th of June, O.S. (June 27 to July 12, N.S.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote165"></a><a href="#citation165" +class="footnote">[165]</a> A pood is thirty-six pounds.</p> +<p><a name="footnote167"></a><a href="#citation167" +class="footnote">[167]</a> Robinson Crusoe.</p> +<p><a name="footnote168"></a><a href="#citation168" +class="footnote">[168]</a> Here something has been omitted +by the Censor, which I am unable to supply.—<span +class="smcap">Trans.</span></p> +<p><a name="footnote169"></a><a href="#citation169" +class="footnote">[169]</a> An omission by the censor, which +I am unable to supply. <span +class="smcap">Trans.</span></p> +<p><a name="footnote178"></a><a href="#citation178" +class="footnote">[178]</a> We designate as organisms the +elephant and the bacterian, only because we assume by analogy in +those creatures the same conjunction of feeling and consciousness +that we know to exist in ourselves. But in human societies +and in humanity, this actual sign is absent; and therefore, +however many other signs we may discover in humanity and in +organism, without this substantial token the recognition of +humanity as an organism is incorrect.</p> +<p><a name="footnote238"></a><a href="#citation238" +class="footnote">[238]</a> <i>v prikusku</i>, when a lump +of sugar is held in the teeth instead or being put into the +tea.</p> +<p><a name="footnote252"></a><a href="#citation252" +class="footnote">[252]</a> In English in the text.</p> +<p><a name="footnote256"></a><a href="#citation256" +class="footnote">[256]</a> An excellent translation of +Kriloff’s Fables, by Mr. W. R. S. Ralston, is published in +London.</p> +<p><a name="footnote260"></a><a href="#citation260" +class="footnote">[260]</a> <i>Burlak</i>, pl. +<i>burlaki</i>, is a boatman on the River Volga.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT TO DO?***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 3630-h.htm or 3630-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/6/3/3630 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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