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About This eBook
Bjarne Stroustrup
2014004197
Copyright © 2014 Pearson Education, Inc.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. This
publication is protected by copyright, and permission must be
obtained from the publisher prior to any prohibited reproduction,
storage in a retrieval system, or transmission in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or likewise.
To obtain permission to use material from this work, please submit a
written request to Pearson Education, Inc., Permissions Department,
One Lake Street, Upper Saddle River, New Jersey 07458, or you may
fax your request to (201) 236-3290.
ISBN-13: 978-0-321-99278-9
ISBN-10: 0-321-99278-4
Text printed in the United States on recycled paper at RR Donnelley
in Crawfordsville, Indiana.
First printing, May 2014
Contents
Preface
Chapter 0 Notes to the Reader
0.1 The structure of this book
0.1.1 General approach
0.1.2 Drills, exercises, etc.
0.1.3 What comes after this book?
0.2 A philosophy of teaching and learning
0.2.1 The order of topics
0.2.2 Programming and programming language
0.2.3 Portability
0.3 Programming and computer science
0.4 Creativity and problem solving
0.5 Request for feedback
0.6 References
0.7 Biographies
Bjarne Stroustrup
Lawrence “Pete” Petersen
Chapter 1 Computers, People, and Programming
1.1 Introduction
1.2 Software
1.3 People
1.4 Computer science
1.5 Computers are everywhere
1.5.1 Screens and no screens
1.5.2 Shipping
1.5.3 Telecommunications
1.5.4 Medicine
1.5.5 Information
1.5.6 A vertical view
1.5.7 So what?
1.6 Ideals for programmers
Part V Appendices
Appendix A Language Summary
A.1 General
A.1.1 Terminology
A.1.2 Program start and termination
A.1.3 Comments
A.2 Literals
A.2.1 Integer literals
A.2.2 Floating-point-literals
A.2.3 Boolean literals
A.2.4 Character literals
A.2.5 String literals
A.2.6 The pointer literal
A.3 Identifiers
A.3.1 Keywords
A.4 Scope, storage class, and lifetime
A.4.1 Scope
A.4.2 Storage class
A.4.3 Lifetime
A.5 Expressions
A.5.1 User-defined operators
A.5.2 Implicit type conversion
A.5.3 Constant expressions
A.5.4 sizeof
A.5.5 Logical expressions
A.5.6 new and delete
A.5.7 Casts
A.6 Statements
A.7 Declarations
A.7.1 Definitions
A.8 Built-in types
A.8.1 Pointers
A.8.2 Arrays
A.8.3 References
A.9 Functions
A.9.1 Overload resolution
A.9.2 Default arguments
A.9.3 Unspecified arguments
A.9.4 Linkage specifications
A.10 User-defined types
A.10.1 Operator overloading
A.11 Enumerations
A.12 Classes
A.12.1 Member access
A.12.2 Class member definitions
A.12.3 Construction, destruction, and copy
A.12.4 Derived classes
A.12.5 Bitfields
A.12.6 Unions
A.13 Templates
A.13.1 Template arguments
A.13.2 Template instantiation
A.13.3 Template member types
A.14 Exceptions
A.15 Namespaces
A.16 Aliases
A.17 Preprocessor directives
A.17.1 #include
A.17.2 #define
Appendix B Standard Library Summary
B.1 Overview
B.1.1 Header files
B.1.2 Namespace std
B.1.3 Description style
B.2 Error handling
B.2.1 Exceptions
B.3 Iterators
B.3.1 Iterator model
B.3.2 Iterator categories
B.4 Containers
B.4.1 Overview
B.4.2 Member types
B.4.3 Constructors, destructors, and assignments
B.4.4 Iterators
B.4.5 Element access
B.4.6 Stack and queue operations
B.4.7 List operations
B.4.8 Size and capacity
B.4.9 Other operations
B.4.10 Associative container operations
B.5 Algorithms
B.5.1 Nonmodifying sequence algorithms
B.5.2 Modifying sequence algorithms
B.5.3 Utility algorithms
B.5.4 Sorting and searching
B.5.5 Set algorithms
B.5.6 Heaps
B.5.7 Permutations
B.5.8 min and max
B.6 STL utilities
B.6.1 Inserters
B.6.2 Function objects
B.6.3 pair and tuple
B.6.4 initializer_list
B.6.5 Resource management pointers
B.7 I/O streams
B.7.1 I/O streams hierarchy
B.7.2 Error handling
B.7.3 Input operations
B.7.4 Output operations
B.7.5 Formatting
B.7.6 Standard manipulators
B.8 String manipulation
B.8.1 Character classification
B.8.2 String
B.8.3 Regular expression matching
B.9 Numerics
B.9.1 Numerical limits
B.9.2 Standard mathematical functions
B.9.3 Complex
B.9.4 valarray
B.9.5 Generalized numerical algorithms
B.9.6 Random numbers
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The case was reported to St. Petersburg, whence the governor was
ordered to enforce the decree of the court. The governor asked for
troops, and now the soldiers, armed with bayonets, ball-cartridges,
and, besides, a supply of rods, purposely prepared for this occasion
and carried in a separate car, were travelling to enforce this decree
of the higher authorities.
The enforcement of the decree of the higher authorities is
accomplished by means of killing, of torturing men, or by means of a
threat of doing one or the other, according as to whether any
opposition is shown or not.
In the first case, if the peasants show any opposition, the following
takes place in Russia (the same things happen wherever there are a
state structure and property rights): the chief makes a speech and
demands submission. The excited crowd, generally deceived by its
leaders, does not understand a word that the representative of the
power says in official book language, and continues to be agitated.
Then the chief declares that if they do not submit and disperse, he
will be compelled to have recourse to arms. If the crowd does not
submit even then, the chief commands his men to load their guns
and shoot above the heads of the crowd. If the crowd does not
disperse even then, he commands the soldiers to shoot straight into
the crowd, at haphazard, and the soldiers shoot, and in the street
fall wounded and killed men, and then the crowd generally runs
away, and the troops at the command of the chiefs seize those who
present themselves to them as the main rioters, and lead them away
under guard.
After that they pick up the blood-stained, dying, maimed, killed, and
wounded men, frequently also women and children; the dead are
buried, and the maimed are sent to the hospital. But those who are
considered to be the plotters are taken to the city and tried by a
special military court. If on their part there was any violence, they
are sentenced to be hanged. Then they put up a gallows and with
the help of ropes choke to death a few defenceless people, as has
many times been done in Russia and as is being done, and must be
done where the public structure is based on violence. Thus they do
in case of opposition.
In the second case, when the peasants submit, there takes place
something special and peculiarly Russian. What happens is this: the
governor arrives at the place of action, makes a speech to the
people, rebuking them for their disobedience, and either stations
troops in the farms of the village, where the soldiers, quartering at
times as much as a month at a time, ruin the peasants, or, satisfied
with threatening them, graciously pardons the people and returns
home, or, which happens more frequently than anything else,
announces to them that the instigators ought to be punished, and
arbitrarily, without trial, selects a certain number of men, who are
declared to be the instigators and in his presence are subjected to
tortures.
In order to give an idea as to how these things are done, I will
describe an affair which took place at Orél and received the approval
of the higher authorities.
What happened in Orél was this: just as here, in the Government of
Túla, a proprietor wanted to take away some property from certain
peasants, and the peasants opposed him, just as they did here. The
point was that the landed proprietor wanted without the consent of
the peasants to keep the water in his mill-pond at so high a level
that their fields were inundated. The peasants objected. The
proprietor entered a complaint before the County Council chief. The
County Council chief illegally (as was later declared by the court)
decided the case in favour of the proprietor, by permitting him to
raise the water. The proprietor sent his workmen to raise the ditch
through which the water ran down. The peasants were provoked by
this irregular decision, and called out their wives, to prevent the
proprietor's workmen from raising the ditch. The women went to the
dam, overturned the carts, and drove off the workmen. The
proprietor entered a complaint against the women for taking the law
into their hands. The County Council chief ordered one woman from
each peasant farm in the whole village to be locked up ("in the cold
room"). The decision could not well be carried out; since there were
several women on each farm, it was impossible to determine which
of them was liable to arrest, and so the police did not carry out the
decree. The proprietor complained to the governor of the inactivity
of the police, and the governor, without looking into the matter, gave
the rural chief the strict order immediately to enforce the decision of
the County Council chief. Obeying the higher authorities, the rural
chief arrived in the village and, with a disrespect for men which is
characteristic of the Russian authorities, commanded the policemen
to seize one woman from each house. But since there was more
than one woman in each house, and it was impossible to tell which
one of them was subject to incarceration, there began quarrels, and
opposition was shown. In spite of these quarrels and this opposition,
the rural chief commanded that one woman, no matter who she be,
be seized in each house and led to a place of confinement. The
peasants began to defend their wives and mothers, did not give
them up, and upon this occasion beat the police and the rural chief.
There appeared the first terrible crime,—an assault on the
authorities,—and this new crime was reported to the city. And so the
governor, like the Governor of Túla, arrived on a special train with a
battalion of soldiers, with guns and rods, having made use of the
telegraph, of telephones, and of the railway, and brought with him a
learned doctor, who was to watch the hygienic conditions of the
flogging, thus fully personifying Dzhingis Khan with the telegraphs,
as predicted by Herzen.
Near the township office stood the troops, a squad of policemen
with red cords, to which is attached the revolver, official persons
from among the peasants, and the accused. Round about stood a
crowd of one thousand people or more. Upon driving up to the
township office, the governor alighted from his carriage, delivered a
speech previously prepared, and called for the guilty and for a
bench. This command was not understood at first. But a policeman,
whom the governor always took with him, and who attended to the
preparation of the tortures, which had more than once been
employed in the Government, explained that what was meant was a
bench for flogging. A bench was brought, the rods, which had been
carried on the train, were piled up, and the executioners were called
for. These had been previously chosen from among the horse-
thieves of the village, because the soldiers refused to perform this
duty.
When everything was ready, the governor commanded the first of
the twelve men pointed out by the proprietor as the most guilty to
step forward. The one that came out was the father of a family, a
respected member of society of about forty years of age, who had
bravely defended the rights of society and so enjoyed the respect of
the inhabitants. He was led up to the bench, his body was bared,
and he was ordered to lie down.
The peasant tried to beg for mercy, but when he saw that this was
useless, he made the sign of the cross and lay down. Two policemen
rushed forward to hold him down. The learned doctor stood near by,
ready to offer learned medical aid. The prisoners, spitting into their
hands, swished the rods and began to strike. However, it turned out
that the bench was too narrow and that it was too difficult to keep
the writhing, tortured man upon it. Then the governor ordered
another bench to be brought and to be cleated to the first. Putting
their hands to their visors and muttering: "Yes, your Excellency,"
some men hurriedly and humbly fulfilled the commands; meanwhile
the half-naked, pale, tortured man, frowning and looking earthward,
waited with trembling jaws and bared legs. When the second bench
was attached, he was again put down, and the horse-thieves began
to beat him again. The back, hips, and thighs, and even the sides of
the tortured man began more and more to be covered with wales
and bloody streaks, and with every blow there were heard dull
sounds, which the tortured man was unable to repress. In the
surrounding crowd were heard the sobs of the wives, mothers,
children, relatives of the tortured man and of all those who were
selected for the punishment.
The unfortunate governor, intoxicated by his power, thought that he
could not do otherwise, and, bending his fingers, counted the blows,
and without stopping smoked cigarettes, to light which several
officious persons hastened every time to hand him a lighted match.
When fifty blows had been dealt, the peasant stopped crying and
stirring, and the doctor, who had been educated in a Crown
institution for the purpose of serving his Tsar and country with his
scientific knowledge, walked over to the tortured man, felt his pulse,
listened to the beating of his heart, and announced to the
representative of power that the punished man had lost
consciousness and that according to the data of science it might be
dangerous to his life to continue the punishment. But the
unfortunate governor, who was now completely intoxicated by the
sight of blood, commanded the men to go on, and the torture lasted
until they had dealt seventy blows, to which number it for some
reason seemed to him necessary to carry the number of the blows.
When the seventieth blow was dealt, the governor said, "Enough!
The next!" And the disfigured man, with his swollen back, was lifted
up and carried away in a swoon, and another was taken up. The
sobs and groans of the crowd became louder; but the representative
of the governmental power continued the torture.
Thus they flogged the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh,
eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth man,—each man receiving
seventy blows. All of them begged for mercy, groaned, cried. The
sobs and groans of the mass of women grew louder and more
heartrending, and the faces of the men grew gloomier and gloomier;
but the troops stood all about them, and the torture did not stop
until the work was accomplished in the measure which for some
reason appeared indispensable to the caprice of the unfortunate,
half-drunken, deluded man, called a governor.
Not only were officials, officers, soldiers present, but with their
presence they took part in this matter and kept this order of the
fulfilment of the state act from being impaired on the part of the
crowd.
When I asked one of the governors why these tortures are
committed on men, when they have already submitted and troops
are stationed in the village, he replied to me, with the significant
look of a man who has come to know all the intricacies of state
wisdom, that this is done because experience has shown that if the
peasants are not subjected to torture they will again counteract the
decrees of the power, while the performance of the torture in the
case of a few men for ever confirms the decrees of the authorities.
And so now the Governor of Túla was travelling with his officials,
officers, and soldiers, in order to perform just such a work. In just
the same manner, that is, by means of murder or torture, were to be
carried out the decree of the higher authorities, which consisted in
this, that a young fellow, a landed proprietor, who had an income of
one hundred thousand roubles per year, was to receive another
three thousand roubles, for a forest which he had in a rascally
manner taken away from a whole society of hungry and cold
peasants, and be able to spend this money in two or three weeks in
the restaurants of Moscow, St. Petersburg, or Paris. It was to do
such a deed that the men whom I met were travelling.
Fate, as though on purpose, after my two years' tension of thought
in one and the same direction, for the first time in my life brought
me in contact with this phenomenon, which showed me with
absolute obviousness in practice what had become clear to me in
theory, namely, that the whole structure of our life is not based, as
men who enjoy an advantageous position in the existing order of
things are fond of imagining, on any juridical principles, but on the
simplest, coarsest violence, on the murder and torture of men.
Men who own large tracts of land or have large capitals, or who
receive large salaries, which are collected from the working people,
who are in need of the simplest necessities, as also those who, as
merchants, doctors, artists, clerks, savants, coachmen, cooks,
authors, lackeys, lawyers, live parasitically about these rich people,
are fond of believing that those prerogatives which they enjoy are
not due to violence, but to an absolutely free and regular exchange
of services, and that these prerogatives are not only not the result of
assault upon people, and the murder of them, like what took place
this year in Orél and in many other places in Russia, and continually
takes place in all of Europe and of America, but has even no
connection whatsoever with these cases of violence. They are fond
of believing that the privileges which they enjoy exist in themselves
and take place and are due to a voluntary agreement among people,
while the violence exerted against people also exists in itself and is
due to some universal and higher juridical, political, and economical
laws. These men try not to see that they enjoy the privileges which
they enjoy only by dint of the same thing which now would force the
peasants, who raised the forest and who were very much in need of
it, to give it up to the rich proprietor, who took no part in the
preservation of the forest and had no need of it, that is, that they
would be flogged or killed if they did not give up this forest.
And yet, if it is quite clear that the Orél mill began to bring greater
returns to the proprietor, and that the forest, which the peasants
raised, is turned over to the proprietor, only in consequence of
assaults or murders, or the threat of them, it must be just as clear
that all the other exclusive rights of the rich, which deprive the poor
of their prime necessities, are based on the same thing. If the
peasants, who are in need of the land for the support of their
families, do not plough the land which adjoins their very farms, while
this land, which is capable of supporting something like one
thousand families, is in the hands of one man,—a Russian,
Englishman, Austrian, or some large landed proprietor,—who does
not work on this land, and if the merchant, buying up the corn from
the needy agriculturists, can securely keep this corn in his granaries,
amidst starving people, and sell it at three times its price to the
same agriculturists from whom he bought it at one-third its present
worth, it is evident that this takes place from the same causes. And
if one man cannot buy cheap goods, which are sold to him from
beyond a conventional line called a border, without paying customs
dues to people who had no share whatsoever in the production of
the goods; and if people cannot help but give up their last cow for
taxes, which are distributed by the government to officials and are
used for the maintenance of soldiers who will kill these very
taxpayers, it would seem to be obvious that even this does not take
place in consequence of some abstract rights, but in consequence of
the same that happened in Orél and that now may happen in the
Government of Túla, and periodically in one form or another takes
place in the whole world, wherever there is a state structure and
there are the rich and the poor.
Because not all human relations of violence are accompanied by
tortures and murders, the men who enjoy the exclusive prerogatives
of the ruling classes assure themselves and others that the privileges
which they enjoy are not due to any tortures or murders, but to
other mysterious common causes, abstract rights, and so forth. And
yet, it would seem, it is clear that, if people, though they consider
this to be an injustice (all working people now do), give the main
portion of their work to the capitalist, the landed proprietor, and pay
taxes, though they know that bad use is made of them, they do so
first of all, not because they recognize any abstract rights, of which
they have never heard, but only because they know that they will be
flogged and killed, if they do not do so.
But if there is no occasion to imprison, flog, and kill men, every time
the rent for the land is collected by the landed proprietor, and the
man in need of corn pays to the merchant who has cheated him a
threefold price, and the factory hand is satisfied with a wage which
represents proportionately half the master's income, and if a poor
man gives up his last rouble for customs dues and taxes, this is due
to the fact that so many men have been beaten and killed for their
attempts to avoid doing what is demanded of them, that they keep
this well in mind. As the trained tiger in the cage does not take the
meat which is placed under his mouth, and does not lie quiet, but
jumps over a stick, whenever he is ordered to do so, not because he
wants to do so, but because he remembers the heated iron rod or
the hunger to which he was subjected every time he did not obey,—
even so men who submit to what is not advantageous for them,
what even is ruinous to them, do so because they remember what
happened to them for their disobedience.
But the men who enjoy prerogatives which are the result of old
violence, frequently forget, and like to forget, how these
prerogatives were obtained. We need, however, only think of history,
not the history of the successes of various dynasties of rulers, but
real history, the history of the oppression of the majority by a small
number of men, to see that the bases of all the prerogatives of the
rich over the poor have originated from nothing but switches,
prisons, hard labour, murders.
We need but think of that constant, stubborn tendency of men to
increase their well-being, which guides the men of our time, to
become convinced that the prerogatives of the rich over the poor
could not and cannot be maintained in any other way.
There may be oppressions, assaults, prisons, executions, which have
not for their purpose the preservation of the prerogatives of the
wealthy classes (though this is very rare), but we may boldly say
that in our society, for each well-to-do, comfortably living man, there
are ten who are exhausted by labour, who are envious and greedy,
and who frequently suffer with their whole families,—all the
prerogatives of the rich, all their luxury, all that superfluity which the
rich enjoy above the average labourer, all that is acquired and
supported only by tortures, incarcerations, and executions.
2
The train which I came across the ninth of September, and which
carried soldiers, with their guns, cartridges, and rods, to the starving
peasants, in order to secure to the rich proprietor the small forest,
which he had taken from the peasants and which the peasants were
in dire need of, showed me with striking obviousness to what extent
men have worked out the ability of committing acts which are most
revolting to their convictions and to their conscience, without seeing
that they are doing so.
The special train with which I fell in consisted of one car of the first
class for the governor, the officials, and the officers, and of several
freight-cars, which were cram-full of soldiers.
The dashing young soldiers, in their clean new uniforms, stood
crowding or sat with dangling legs in the wide-open doors of the
freight-cars. Some smoked, others jostled one another, jested,
laughed, displaying their teeth; others again cracked pumpkin seeds,
spitting out the shells with an air of self-confidence. Some of them
were running up and down the platform, toward the water-barrel, in
order to get a drink, and, upon meeting an officer, tempered their
gait, went through the stupid gesture of putting their hands to their
brows, and with serious faces, as though they were doing not only
something sensible, but even important, walked past them, seeing
them off with their eyes, and then raced more merrily, thumping
with their feet on the planks of the platform, laughing, and
chattering, as is characteristic of healthy, good lads, who in good
company travel from one place to another.
They were travelling to slay their hungry fathers and grandfathers,
as though going to some very jolly, or at least very usual, piece of
work.
The same impression was conveyed by the officials and officers in
gala-uniform, who were scattered on the platform and in the hall of
the first class. At the table, which was covered with bottles, dressed
in his semi-military uniform, sat the governor, the chief of the
expedition, eating something, and speaking calmly about the
weather with an acquaintance whom he had met, as though the
matter which he was about to attend to were so simple and so
common that it could not impair his calm and his interest in the
change of the weather.
At some distance away from the table, not partaking of any food, sat
a general of gendarmes, with an impenetrable, but gloomy look, as
though annoyed by the tedious formality. On all sides moved and
chattered officers, in their beautiful, gold-bedecked uniforms: one,
sitting at the table, was finishing a bottle of beer; another, standing
at the buffet, munched at an appetizing patty, shaking off the
crumbs, which had lodged on the breast of his uniform, and
throwing the money on the table with a self-confident gesture; a
third, vibrating both legs, was walking past the cars of our train,
ogling the feminine faces.
All these men, who were on their way to torture or kill hungry,
defenceless men, the same that fed them, had the appearance of
men who know conclusively that they are doing what is right, and
even are proud, "stuck up," at what they are doing.
What is this?
All these men are one half-hour's ride away from the place where, to
secure to a rich fellow some three thousand useless roubles, which
he has taken away from a whole community of starving peasants,
they may be compelled to perform the most terrible acts that one
can imagine, may begin, just as in Orél, to kill or to torture innocent
men, their brothers, and they calmly approach the place and time
where and when this may happen.
It is impossible to say that these men, all these officials, officers,
and soldiers, do not know what awaits them, because they prepared
themselves for it. The governor had to give his orders concerning
the rods, the officials had to purchase birch switches, to haggle for
them, and to enter this item as an expense. The military gave and
received and executed commands concerning the ball-cartridges. All
of them know that they are on the way to torture and, perhaps, to
kill their famished brothers, and that they will begin to do this,
perhaps, within an hour.
It would be incorrect to say that they do this from conviction,—as is
frequently said and as they themselves repeat,—from the conviction
that they do this because it is necessary to maintain the state
structure, in the first place, because all these men have hardly ever
even thought of the state structure and of its necessity; in the
second place, they can in no way be convinced that the business in
which they take part maintains the state, instead of destroying it,
and, in the third place, in reality the majority of these men, if not all,
will not only never sacrifice their peace and pleasure for the purpose
of supporting the state, but will even never miss a chance of making
use, for their peace and pleasure, of everything they can, even
though it be to the disadvantage of the state. Consequently they do
not do so for the sake of the abstract principle of the state.
What is it, then?
I know all these men. If I do not know them personally, I know
approximately their characters, their past, their manner of thought.
All of them have mothers, and some have wives and children. They
are, for the most part, good-hearted, meek, frequently tender men,
who despise every cruelty, to say nothing of the murder of men, and
many of them would be incapable of killing or torturing animals;
besides, they are all people who profess Christianity and consider
violence exerted against defenceless men a low and disgraceful
matter. Not one of these men would be able for the sake of his
smallest advantage to do even one-hundredth part of what the
Governor of Orél did to those people; and any of them would even
be offended, if it were assumed that in his private life he would be
capable of doing anything like it.
And yet, here they are, within half an hour's ride from the place,
where they may be led inevitably to the necessity of doing it.
What is it, then?
But, besides these people who are travelling on the train, and who
are ready to commit murder and tortures, how could those people
with whom the whole matter began,—the proprietor, the
superintendent, the judges, and those who from St. Petersburg
prescribed this matter and by their commands are taking part in it,—
how could these men, the minister, the emperor, also good men,
who are professing the Christian religion, have undertaken and
ordered such a thing, knowing its consequences? How can even
those who do not take part in this matter, the spectators, who are
provoked at every special case of violence or at the torture of a
horse, admit the performance of so terrible a deed? How can they
help being provoked at it, standing on the road, and shouting, "No,
we shall not allow hungry people to be killed and flogged for not
giving up their property, which has been seized from them by force"?
But not only does no one do so,—the majority of men, even those
who were the instigators of the whole thing, like the superintendent,
the proprietor, the judges, and those who were the participants in it
and who gave the orders, like the governor, the minister, the
emperor, are calm, and do not even feel any pangs of conscience.
Just as calm are apparently all those men who are travelling to
commit this evil deed.
The spectators, too, it seemed, who were not in any way interested
in the matter, for the most part looked with sympathy, rather than
with disapproval, upon the men who were getting ready for this
execrable deed. In the same car with me there was travelling a
merchant, a lumber dealer from the peasant class, and he loudly
proclaimed his sympathy for those tortures to which the peasants
were about to be subjected: "It is not right not to obey the
authorities," he said; "that's what the authorities are for. Just wait,
they will have their fleas driven out of them,—they won't think of
rioting after that. Serves them right."
What is it, then?
It is equally impossible to say that all these men—the instigators,
participants, abettors of this matter—are such rascals that, knowing
all the baseness of what they are doing, they, either for a salary, or
for an advantage, or out of fear of being punished, do a thing which
is contrary to their convictions. All these men know how, in certain
situations, to defend their convictions. Not one of these officials
would steal a purse, or read another person's letter, or bear an insult
without demanding satisfaction from the insulter. Not one of these
officers would have the courage to cheat at cards, not to pay his
card debts, to betray a friend, to run away from the field of battle, or
to abandon his flag. Not one of these soldiers would have the
courage to spit out the sacrament or to eat meat on Good Friday. All
these men are prepared to bear all kinds of privations, sufferings,
and dangers, rather than do something which they consider to be
bad. Consequently, there is in these men a counteracting force,
whenever they have to do something which is contrary to their
convictions.
Still less is it possible to say that all these men are such beasts that
it is proper and not at all painful for them to do such things. We
need but have a talk with these men, to see that all of them, the
proprietor, the judges, the minister, the Tsar, the governor, the
officers, and the soldiers not only in the depth of their hearts do not
approve of such deeds, but even suffer from the consciousness of
their part in them, when they are reminded of the significance of this
matter. They simply try not to think of it.
We need but have a talk with them, with all the participants in this
matter, from the proprietor to the last policeman and soldier, to see
that all of them in the depth of their hearts know that this is a bad
thing and that it would be better not to take part in it, and that they
suffer from it.
A lady of liberal tendencies, who was travelling on the same train
with us, upon noticing the governor and the officers in the hall of the
first class, and learning of the purpose of their journey, began on
purpose in a loud voice, so as to be heard, to curse the orders of our
time and to put to shame the men who were taking part in this
matter. All persons present felt ill at ease. Nobody knew whither to
look, but no one dared to answer her. The passengers looked as
though it were not worth while to reply to such empty talk. But it
was evident from the faces and fugitive eyes that all felt ashamed.
This also I noticed in the case of the soldiers. They, too, knew that
the business for which they were travelling was a bad one, but they
did not wish to think of what awaited them.
When the lumber dealer began insincerely, as I thought, merely to
show his culture, to speak of how necessary such measures were,
the soldiers who heard it turned away from him, as though they did
not hear him, and frowned.
All these men, both those who, like the proprietor, the
superintendent, the minister, the Tsar, participated in the
performance of this act, and those who are just now travelling on
the train, and even those who, without taking part in this matter,
look on at the accomplishment of it, know every one of them that
this is a bad business, and are ashamed of the part which they are
taking in it and even of their presence during its execution.
Why, then, have they been doing and tolerating it?
Ask those who, like the proprietor, started this matter, and those
who, like the judges, handed down a formally legal, but obviously
unjust decision, and those who ordered the enforcement of the
decree, and those who, like the soldiers, the policemen, and the
peasants, will with their own hands carry it into execution,—who will
beat and kill their brothers,—all of them, the instigators, and the
accomplices, and the executors, and the abettors of these crimes,
and all will give you essentially the same answer.
The men in authority, who provoked the matter and coöperated in it
and directed it, will say that they are doing what they are doing
because such matters are necessary for the maintenance of the
existing order; and the maintenance of the existing order is
necessary for the good of the country and of humanity, for the
possibility of a social life and a forward movement of progress.
The men from the lower spheres, the peasants and the soldiers,
those who will be compelled with their own hands to exercise the
violence, will say that they are doing what they are doing because
this is prescribed by the higher authorities, and that the higher
authorities know what they are doing. That the authorities consist of
the very men who ought to be the authorities and that they know
what they are doing, presents itself to them as an incontestable
truth. If these lower executors even admit the possibility of an error
or delusion, they admit it only in the case of the lower authorities;
but the highest power, from whom all this proceeds, seems to them
to be unquestionably infallible.
Though explaining the motives for their activities in a different
manner, both the rulers and the ruled agree in this, that they do
what they do because the existing order is precisely the one which is
indispensable and which must exist at the present time, and which,
therefore, it is the sacred duty of every person to maintain.
On this recognition of the necessity, and so of the unchangeableness
of the existing order, is based the reflection, which has always been
adduced by all the participants in state violence in their justification,
that, since the present order is unchangeable, the refusal of a single
individual to perform the duties imposed upon him will not change
the essence of the matter, and will have no other effect than that in
place of the person refusing there will be another man, who may
perform the duty less well, that is, more cruelly, more harmfully for
those men against whom the violence is practised.
This conviction that the existing order is indispensable, and so
unchangeable, and that it is the sacred duty of every man to
maintain it, is what gives to good people and, in private life, to moral
people the possibility of participating with a more or less calm
conscience in such affairs as the one which took place in Orél and
the one which the people who were travelling in the Túla train were
getting ready to act in.
But on what is this conviction based?
It is naturally agreeable and desirable for the proprietor to believe
that the existing order is indispensable and unchangeable, because it
is this very existing order which secures for him the income from his
hundreds and thousands of desyatínas, thanks to which he leads his
habitual idle and luxurious life.
Naturally enough, the judge, too, readily believes in the necessity of
the order in consequence of which he receives fifty times as much as
the most industrious labourer. This is just as comprehensible in the
case of the supreme judge, who receives a salary of six or more
thousand, and in the case of all the higher officials. Only with the
present order can he, as a governor, prosecutor, senator, member of
various councils, receive his salary of several thousands, without
which he would at once perish with all his family, because, except by
the position which he holds, he would not be able, with his ability,
industry, and knowledge, to earn one hundredth part of what he is
getting. In the same situation are the minister, the emperor, and
every higher authority, but with this difference, that, the higher they
are and the more exclusive their position is, the more indispensable
it is for them to believe that the existing order is the only possible
order, because outside of it they not only cannot get an equal
position, but will have to stand much lower than the rest of
mankind. A man who voluntarily hires himself out as a policeman at
a salary of ten roubles, which he can easily get in any other position,
has little need of the preservation of the existing order, and so can
get along without believing in its unchangeableness. But a king or an
emperor, who in his position receives millions; who knows that all
around him there are thousands of men who are willing to depose
him and take his place; who knows that in no other position will he
get such an income and such honours; who in the majority of cases,
with a more or less despotic rule, knows even this, that, if he should
be deposed, he would be tried for everything he did while in
possession of his power, cannot help but believe in the
unchangeableness and sacredness of the existing order. The higher
the position which a man occupies, the more advantageous and,
therefore, the more unstable it is, and the more terrible and
dangerous a fall from it is, the more does a man who holds that
position believe in the unchangeableness of the existing order, and
with so much greater peace of mind can such a man, as though not
for himself, but for the support of the existing order, do bad and
cruel deeds.
Thus it is in the case of all the men of the ruling classes who hold
positions that are more advantageous than those which they could
hold without the existing order,—beginning with the lowest police
officials and ending with the highest authorities. All these men more
or less believe in the unchangeableness of the existing order,
because, above all else, it is advantageous for them.
But what is it that compels the peasants, the soldiers, who stand on
the lowest rung of the ladder, who have no profit from the existing
order, who are in a condition of the most abject submission and
humiliation, to believe that the existing order, in consequence of
which they are in a most disadvantageous and humble state, is the
very order which must be, and which, therefore, must be
maintained, even by performing the basest and most unconscionable
acts for it.
What is it that compels these men to make the false reflection that
the existing order is invariable and, therefore, must be maintained,
whereas it is evident that, on the contrary, it is unchangeable only
because it is maintained as such?
What is it that compels the men who were but yesterday taken from
the plough, and who are dressed up in these monstrous, indecent
garments with blue collars and gilt buttons, to travel with guns and
swords, in order to kill their hungry fathers and brothers? They
certainly have no advantages, and are in no danger of losing the
position which they hold, because their condition is worse than the
one from which they are taken.
The men of the higher ruling classes, the proprietors, ministers,
kings, officers, take part in these matters, thus supporting the
existing order, because it is advantageous for them. Besides, these
frequently good, meek men feel themselves able to take part in
these things for this other reason, that their participation is limited
to instigations, decrees, and commands. None of these men in
authority do themselves those things which they instigate, determine
upon, and order to be done. For the most part they do not even see
how all those terrible things which they provoke and prescribe are
carried out.
But the unfortunate people of the lower classes, who derive no
advantage from the existing order, who, on the contrary, in
consequence of this order are held in the greatest contempt, why do
they, who, for the maintenance of this order, with their own hands
tear people away from their families, who bind them, who lock them
up in prisons and at hard labour, who watch and shoot them, do all
these things?
What is it that compels these men to believe that the existing order
is unchangeable and that it is necessary to maintain it?
All violence is based only on them, on those men who with their own
hands beat, bind, lock up, kill. If these men did not exist,—these
soldiers and policemen,—the armed men in general, who are
prepared on command to commit violence and to kill all those whom
they are commanded to kill, not one of the men who sign the
decrees for executions, life imprisonment, hard labour, would ever
have the courage himself to hang, lock up, torture to death one
thousandth part of those whom now, sitting quietly in their studies,
they order to be hung and to be tortured in every way, only because
they do not see it and it is not done by them, but somewhere far
away by obedient executors.
All those injustices and cruelties which have entered into the
curriculum of the existing life, have entered there only because there
exist these people, who are always prepared to maintain these
injustices and cruelties. If these men did not exist, there would not
be any one to offer violence to all these enormous masses of
violated people, and those who give orders would never even dare
either to command or even to dream of what they now command
with so much self-assurance. If there were no people who would be
ready at the command of those whom they obey to torture or to kill
him who is pointed out to them, no one would ever dare to affirm,
what is with so much self-confidence asserted by the non-working
landowners, that the land which surrounds the peasants, who are
dying for lack of land, is the property of a man who does not work
on it, and that the supply of corn, which has been garnered in a
rascally manner, ought to be kept intact amidst a starving
population, because the merchant needs some profit, and so forth.
If there were no men who would be ready at the will of the
authorities to torture and kill every person pointed out to them, it
could never occur to a landed proprietor to take away from the
peasants a forest which had been raised by them, nor to the officials
to consider legal the payment to them of salaries, which are
collected from the hungry masses, for oppressing them, to say
nothing of executing men, or locking them up, or exiling them,
because they overthrow the lie and preach the truth. All this is
demanded and done only because these ruling people are firmly
convinced that they have always at hand submissive people, who will
be ready to carry any of their demands into execution by means of
tortures and murders.
The only reason why they commit deeds like those committed by all
the tyrants from Napoleon down to the last commander of a
company, who shoots into a crowd, is because they are stupefied by
the power behind them, consisting of subservient men who are
ready to do anything they are commanded. The whole strength,
therefore, lies in the men who with their hands do acts of violence,
in the men who serve with the police, among the soldiers, more
especially among the soldiers, because the police do their work only
when they have an army behind them.
What is it, then, that has led these good men, who derive no
advantage from it, who are compelled with their hands to do all
these terrible things, men on whom the whole matter depends, into
that remarkable delusion that assures them that the existing
disadvantageous, pernicious, and for them painful order is the one
which must be?
Who has led them into this remarkable delusion?
They have certainly not assured themselves that they must do what
is not only painful, disadvantageous, and pernicious to them and
their whole class, which forms nine-tenths of the whole population,
and what is even contrary to their conscience.
"How are you going to kill men, when in God's law it says, 'Thou
shalt not kill'?" I frequently asked soldiers, and, by reminding them
of what they did not like to think about, I always made them feel
awkward and embarrassed. Such a soldier knew that there was an
obligatory law of God, "Thou shalt not kill," and he knew that there
was an obligatory military service, but it had never occurred to him
that there was any contradiction there. The sense of the timid
answers that I always received to this question consisted
approximately in this, that murder in war and the execution of
criminals at the command of the government were not included in
the common prohibition of murders. But when I told them that no
such limitation was made in God's law, and reminded them of the
doctrine of brotherhood, of the forgiveness of offences, of love,
which are obligatory for all Christians and which could in no way be
harmonized with murder, the men of the people generally agreed
with me, and on their side put the question to me as to how it
happened that the government, which, according to their ideas,
could not err, commanded the armies, when necessary, to go to war,
and ordered the execution of prisoners. When I answered them that
the government acted incorrectly when it commanded these things
to be done, my interlocutors became even more embarrassed, and
either broke off the conversation or grew provoked at me.
"There must be such a law. I guess the bishops know better than
we," I was told by a Russian soldier. And, having said this, the
soldier apparently felt his conscience eased, being fully convinced
that his guides had found a law, the same under which his ancestors
had served, and the kings and the kings' heirs, and millions of
people, and he himself served, and that what I was telling him was
some piece of cunning or cleverness, like a riddle.
All the men of our Christian world know, know firmly, from tradition,
and from revelation, and from the irrefutable voice of conscience,
that murder is one of the most terrible crimes which a man can
commit, as the Gospel says, and that this sin cannot be limited to
certain men, that is, that it is a sin to kill some men, but not a sin to
kill others. All know that if the sin of murder is a sin, it is always a
sin, independently of what men are the victims of it, just like the sin
of adultery and thieving and any other; at the same time men have
seen, since childhood, since youth, that murder is not only admitted,
but even blessed by all those whom they are accustomed to respect
as their spiritual guides, ordained by God; they see that their worldly
guides with calm assurance institute murders, bear arms of murder,
of which they are proud, and demand of all, in the name of the civil
and even the divine law, that they shall take part in murder. Men see
that there is here some contradiction, and, being unable to solve it,
they involuntarily assume that this contradiction is due only to their
ignorance. The very coarseness and obviousness of the contradiction
sustains them in this conviction. They cannot imagine that their
enlighteners, learned men, should be able with such confidence to
preach two such seemingly contradictory propositions,—the
obligatoriness for every one of the law and of murder. A simple,
innocent child, and later a youth, cannot imagine that men who
stand so high in his opinion, whom he considers to be either holy or
learned, should for any reason be deceiving him so unscrupulously.
But it is precisely this that has been done to him all the time. This is
accomplished, in the first place, by impressing all the labouring
people, who have not themselves any time to solve moral and
religious questions, from childhood, and up to old age, by example
and direct teaching, with the idea that tortures and murders are
compatible with Christianity, and that, for certain purposes of state,
tortures and murders are not only admissible, but even peremptory;
in the second place, by impressing some of them, who are chosen
by enlistment or levy, with the idea that the performance of tortures
and murders with their own hands forms a sacred duty and even an
act which is valorous and worthy of praise and of reward.
The common deception, which is disseminated among all men,
consists in this, that in all the catechisms, or the books which have
taken their place and which are now the subject of obligatory
instruction for the children, it says that violence, that is, tortures,
imprisonments, and executions, as also murders in civil or external
wars for the purpose of maintaining and defending the existing order
of the state (whatever it be, autocratic, monarchical, a convention, a
consulship, an empire of either Napoleon or of Boulanger, a
constitutional monarchy, a commune, or a republic), is quite
legitimate, and does not contradict either morality or Christianity.
This it says in all the catechisms or books used in the schools. And
men are so convinced of it that they grow up, live, and die in this
conviction, without doubting it even once.
This is one deception, a common deception, which is practised on all
men; there is another, a private deception, which is practised on
soldiers or policemen, who are chosen in one way or another and
who perform the tortures and the murders which are needed for the
support and the defence of the existing order.
In all the military codes it says in so many words what in the Russian
military code is expressed as follows: "(Art. 87) Precisely and
without discussion to carry out the commands of the authorities
means to carry out precisely the command given by the authorities,
without discussing whether it is good or bad, and whether it is
possible to carry it out. The chief himself answers for the
consequences of a command given out by him. (Art. 88) The subject
may refuse to carry out the commands of his superior only when he
sees clearly that by carrying out his superior's command he"—one
involuntarily imagines that what will follow is "when he sees clearly
that by carrying out his superior's command he violates the law of
God;" but that is not at all the case: "when he sees clearly that he is
violating the oath of allegiance and fidelity, and his service to the
emperor."
It says that a man, being a soldier, must carry out all the commands
of his chief without any exception whatever, which for a soldier
mainly means murder, and so must violate all divine and human
laws, except his fidelity and service to him who at the given moment
happens to be in power.
Thus it says in the Russian military code, and precisely the same,
though in different words, is said in all the military codes, as indeed
it cannot be otherwise, because in reality upon this deception of
emancipating men from their obedience to God or to their
conscience, and of substituting for this obedience the obedience to
the accidental superior, is all the power of the army and the state
based.
So it is this on which is founded that strange conviction of the lower
classes that the existing order, which is pernicious for them, is as it
ought to be, and that they are, therefore, obliged to support it with
tortures and murders.
This conviction is based on a conscious deception, which is practised
upon them by the upper classes.
Nor can it be otherwise. To compel the lower, most numerous
classes of men to oppress and torment themselves, committing with
this such acts as are contrary to their conscience, it was necessary
to deceive these lower, most numerous classes. And so it was done.
The other day I again saw an open practice of this shameless deceit,
and I was again surprised to see with what boldness and freedom it
was practised.
In the beginning of November, as I was passing through Túla, I
again saw at the gate of the County Council Office the familiar dense
crowd of people, from which proceeded drunken shouts and the
pitiful wail of mothers and of wives. This was a levy of recruits.
As upon other occasions, I was unable to drive past this spectacle: it
attracts me as by some evil charm. I again entered among the
crowd, stood, looked, asked questions, and marvelled at the
freedom with which this most terrible crime is perpetrated in broad
daylight and in a populous city.
As in former years, the elders in all the villages of Russia, with its
one hundred millions of inhabitants, on the first of November
selected from lists a given number of lads, frequently their own
sons, and took them to the city.
On the way the recruits went on an uninterrupted spree, in which
they were not interfered with by their elders, who felt that going to
such a mad business as the one to which the recruits were going,
abandoning their wives and mothers and renouncing everything holy
to them, in order to become somebody's senseless instruments of
murder, was too painful a matter, if they did not intoxicate
themselves with liquor.
And so they travelled, drinking, cursing, singing, fighting, and
maiming themselves. The nights they passed in inns. In the morning
they again became drunk and gathered in front of the County
Council Office.
One part of them, in new short fur coats, with knitted shawls about
their necks, with moist drunken eyes or with savage self-encouraging
shouts, or quiet and dejected, crowd at the gate amidst weeping
mothers and wives, waiting for their turns (I fell in with them on the
very day of the levy, that is, when those who were sent up were to
be examined); another part at this time crowds in the waiting-room
of the Office.
In the Office they are busy working. The door is opened, and the
janitor calls Peter Sídorov. Peter Sídorov is startled, makes the sign
of the cross, and enters into a small room with a glass door. Here
the prospective recruits undress themselves. A naked recruit, a
companion of Peter Sídorov, just accepted, comes in from the Office,
with trembling jaws, and puts on his clothes. Peter Sídorov has
heard and sees by his face that he is accepted. Peter Sídorov wants
to ask him something, but he is told to hurry and undress himself as
quickly as possible. He throws off his fur coat, pulls off his boots
with his feet, takes off his vest, draws his shirt over his head, and
with protruding ribs, naked, with shivering body, and emitting an
odour of liquor, tobacco, and perspiration, with bare feet, enters into
the Office, without knowing what to do with his bared muscular
arms.
In the Office there hangs in full sight and in a large gilt frame the
portrait of the emperor in a uniform with a sash, and in the corner a
small portrait of Christ in a shirt and a crown of thorns. In the
middle of the room there stands a table covered with green cloth,
upon which lie papers and stands a triangular thing with an eagle,
which is called the Mirror of Laws. Around the table sit the chiefs,
with confident, calm looks. One of them smokes, another examines
some papers. The moment Sídorov has entered, a janitor comes up
to him, and he is put on the measuring-scale, receives a knock
under his chin, and has his legs straightened out. There walks up a
man with a cigarette. It is the doctor, and he, without looking into
the recruit's face, but somewhere past him, loathingly touches his
body, and measures and feels, and tells the janitor to open the
recruit's mouth wide, and commands him to breathe and to say
something. Somebody makes some notes. Finally, without looking
once into his eyes, the doctor says, "Able-bodied! Next!" and with a
fatigued expression again seats himself at the table. Again soldiers
push the lad and hurry him off. He somehow manages in his hurry to
pull the shirt over him, after missing the sleeves, somehow puts on
his trousers and leg-rags, draws on his boots, looks for his shawl and
cap, grasps his fur coat, and is led into the hall, where he is placed
behind a bench. Beyond this bench wait all the accepted recruits. A
village lad, like him, but from a distant Government, a full-fledged
soldier with a gun, with a sharp bayonet attached to it, keeps watch
on him, ready to run the bayonet through him, if he should think of
running away.
Meanwhile the crowd of fathers, mothers, wives, pushed by the
policemen, press close to the gate, to find out who is accepted, and
who not. There appears one of the rejected, and he announces that
Peter has been accepted, and there is heard the wail of Peter's wife,
for whom the word "accepted" means a separation of four or five
years, and the life of a soldier's wife as a cook, in debauchery.
But just then a long-haired man in a special attire, which
distinguishes him from all other men, drives up and, getting down
from the carriage, walks up to the house of the County Council
Office. The policemen clear a path for him through the crowd. "The
father has come to administer the oath." And this father, who has
been assured that he is a special, exclusive servant of Christ, who
for the most part does not himself see the deception under which he
is, enters into the room where the accepted recruits are waiting,
puts on a gold-embroidered apron, draws his hair out from
underneath it, opens the very Gospel in which taking an oath is
prohibited, lifts up a cross, the very cross on which Christ was
crucified for not doing what this His imaginary servant orders to be
done, and puts it on the pulpit, and all these defenceless and
deceived lads repeat after him the lie which he pronounces boldly
and by habit. He reads, and they repeat after him: "I promise and
swear by the Almighty God, before His holy Gospel ... etc., to
defend, that is, to kill all those whom I am commanded to kill, and
to do everything I am ordered to do by those people whom I do not
know, and who need me for nothing else but that I should commit
the evil deeds by which they are kept in their positions, and by
which they oppress my brothers." All the accepted recruits
senselessly repeat these wild words, and the so-called "father"
drives away with the consciousness of having correctly and
scrupulously done his duty, and all these deceived lads think that all
those insipid, incomprehensible words, which they have just
pronounced, have now, for the whole time of their military service,
freed them from their human obligations and have bound them to
new, more obligatory military obligations.
And this is done publicly, and no one will shout to the deceivers and
to the deceived: "Bethink yourselves and scatter, for this is the
basest and meanest lie, which ruins not only our bodies, but also our
souls."
No one does so; on the contrary, when all are accepted, and it
becomes necessary to let them out, the military chief, as though to
scorn them, enters with self-confident, majestic mien into the hall
where the deceived, drunken lads are locked up, and boldly exclaims
to them in military fashion, "Your health, boys! I congratulate you on
your Tsar's service." And the poor fellows (somebody has instructed
them what to do) babble something with an unaccustomed, half-
intoxicated tongue to the effect that they are glad of it.
In the meantime, the crowd of fathers, mothers, and wives stand at
the door and wait. The women look with tearful, arrested eyes
through the door. And the door opens, and out come, staggering,
and with a look of bravado, the accepted recruits,—Petrúkha, and
Vanyúkha, and Makár,—trying not to look at their relatives. The wail
of the mothers and wives is heard. Some embrace one another and
weep; others try to look brave; others again console their people.
Mothers and wives, knowing that now they will be orphaned for
three, four, or five years, without a supporter, wail and lament at the
top of their voices. The fathers do not speak much, and only pitifully
smack their tongues and sigh, knowing that now they will no longer
see their helpers, whom they have raised and instructed, and that
there will return to them, not those peaceful, industrious
agriculturists that they have been, but generally debauched,
dandyish soldiers, who are no longer used to a simple life.
And now the whole crowd take up seats in their sleighs and start
down the street, in the direction of inns and restaurants, and still
louder are heard, interfering with one another, songs, sobs, drunken
shouts, the laments of the mothers and wives, the sounds of the
accordion, and curses. All make for saloons and restaurants, the
revenue from which goes to the government, and they abandon
themselves to intoxication, which drowns in them the percepted
consciousness of the illegality of what is being done to them.
For two or three weeks they live at home, and for the most part are
having a good time, that is, are out on a spree.
On a set day they are collected, and driven like cattle to one place,
and are taught military methods and exercises. They are instructed
by just such deceived and bestialized men as they, who entered the
service two or three years ago. The means of instruction are
deception, stupefaction, kicks, vódka. And not a year passes but that
spiritually sound, bright, good fellows are turned into just such wild
beings as their teachers.
"Well, and if the prisoner, your father, runs away?" I asked a young
soldier.
"I can run the bayonet through him," he replied, in the peculiar,
senseless voice of a soldier. "And if he 'removes himself,' I must
shoot," he added, apparently proud of his knowledge of what to do
when his father "removes himself."
When he, the good young man, is brought to a condition lower than
an animal, he is such as those who use him as an instrument of
violence want him to be. He is all ready: the man is lost, and a new
instrument of violence has been created.
And all this takes place every year, every autumn, everywhere, in the
whole of Russia, in broad daylight, in a populous city, in the sight of
all men, and the deception is so clever, so cunning, that all see it
and in the depth of their hearts know all its baseness, all its terrible
consequences, and are unable to free themselves from it.
3
When the eyes shall be opened to this terrible deception which is
practised on men, one must marvel how preachers of the religion of
Christianity and morality, educators of youth, simply good, intelligent
parents, who always exist in every society, can preach any doctrine
of morality amidst a society in which all the churches and
governments openly acknowledge that tortures and murders form an
indispensable condition of the life of all men, and that amidst all
men there must always be some special men, who are prepared to
kill their brothers, and that every one of us may be such.
How can children and youths be taught and men in general be
enlightened, to say nothing of the enlightenment in the Christian
spirit, how can they be taught any morality by the side of the
doctrine that murder is indispensable for the maintenance of the
common, consequently of our own, well-being, and so is legitimate,
and that there are men (any of us may be these men) whose duty it
is to torture and kill our neighbours and to commit all kinds of crime
at the will of those who have the power in their hands? If it is
possible and right to torture and kill and commit all kinds of crimes
by the will of those who have the power in their hands, there is, and
there can be, no moral teaching, but there is only the right of the
stronger. And so it is. In reality, such a teaching, which for some
men is theoretically justified by the theory of the struggle for
existence, does exist in our society.
Really, what kind of a moral teaching can there be, which would
admit murder for any purposes whatsoever? This is as impossible as
any mathematical doctrine, which would admit that two is equal to
three.
With the admission of the fact that two is equal to three there may
be a semblance of mathematics, but there can be no real
mathematical knowledge. With the admission of murder in the form
of executions, wars, self-defence, there may be a semblance of
morality, but no real morality. The recognition of the sacredness of
every man's life is the first and only foundation of all morality.
The doctrine of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life
was put aside by Christianity for the very reason that this doctrine is
only a justification of immorality, only a semblance of justice, and is
devoid of sense. Life is a quantity which has no weight and no
measure and which cannot be equalized to any other, and so the
destruction of one life for another can have no meaning. Besides,
every social law is a law which has for its purpose the improvement
of human life. But in what way can the destruction of the lives of a
few individuals improve the lives of men? The destruction of life is
not like its improvement, but an act of suicide.
The destruction of another man's life for the purpose of preserving
justice is like what a man would do who, to mend the calamity which
consists in his having lost one arm, should for the sake of justice cut
off his other arm.
But, to say nothing of the sin of deception, with which the most
terrible crime presents itself to men as their duty; to say nothing of
the terrible crime of using Christ's name and authority for the
purpose of legalizing what is most denied by this same Christ, as is
done in the case of the oath; to say nothing of the offence by means
of which not only the bodies, but even the souls of "these little ones"
are ruined; to say nothing of all that, how can men, even in view of
their personal security, men who think highly of their forms of life,
their progress, admit the formation among them of that terrible,
senseless, cruel, pernicious force which is established by every
organized government that rests on the army? The most cruel and
terrible of robber bands is not so terrible as such a state
organization. Every leader of robbers is none the less limited in his
power, because the men who form his band retain at least a small
part of their human liberty and may oppose the performance of acts
contrary to their conscience. But for men forming a part of a
regularly organized government with an army, with discipline carried
to the point to which it is at the present time, there are no barriers
whatsoever. There are no crimes so terrible that they would not be
committed by men forming a part of the government and of the
army, by the will of him who accidentally (Boulanger, Pugachév,
Napoleon) may stand at its head.
Frequently, when I see, not only the levies of recruits, the military
exercises, the manœuvres, but also the policemen with loaded
revolvers, the sentries standing with guns and adjusted bayonets;
when I hear (as I do in the Khamóvniki, where I live) for whole days
the whistling and the pinging of bullets striking the target; and when
I see, in the very city where every attempt at self-help and violence
is prohibited, where there is a prohibition against the sale of powder,
medicines, fast driving, unlicensed medical practice, and so forth,
when I see in this same city thousands of disciplined men, who have
been taught to commit murder and who are subject to one man,—I
ask myself: "How can the men who think so highly of their security
bear all this?" To say nothing of the harmfulness and immorality,
nothing can be more dangerous than this. How can all men, I do not
say Christians, Christian pastors, but all philanthropists, moralists, all
those men who value their lives, their security, their well-being,
quietly look on? This organization will certainly act in the same way,
no matter in whose hands it may be: to-day, let us say, this power is
in the hands of an endurable ruler; to-morrow a Biron, an Elizabeth,
a Catherine, a Pugachév, a Napoleon the First, a Napoleon the Third
may usurp it. And again, the man in whose hands is the power, and
who to-day may be endurable, may to-morrow turn into a beast, or
his place may be taken by an insane or half-witted heir of his, as
was the case with the King of Bavaria and Paul.
And not only these higher rulers, but also all those minor satraps,
who are distributed everywhere like so many Baránovs, chiefs of
police, even rural officers, commanders of companies, under-
officers, may commit terrible crimes before there has been time to
depose them, as happens constantly.
Involuntarily one asks himself: "How can men permit such things to
happen, if not for the sake of higher considerations of state, at least
for the sake of their security?"
The answer to this question is this, that it is not all men who permit
this to happen (one part of them,—the great majority of men,—the
deceived and the subjected, cannot help but permit anything to be
done), but those who with such an organization hold an
advantageous position; they permit it, because for them the risk of
suffering, because at the head of the government or the army there
may be a senseless or cruel man, is always less than the
disadvantages to which they would be subjected in case of the
destruction of the organization itself.
The judge, policeman, governor, officer will hold his position equally
under Boulanger, or a republic, or Pugachév or Catherine; but he will
certainly lose his position, if the existing order, which secures for him
his advantageous position, falls to pieces. And so all these men are
not afraid of who will stand at the head of the organization of
violence,—they adapt themselves to anybody,—but only of the
destruction of the organization itself, and so they always support it,
often unconsciously.
One often marvels why free men, who are not urged to it by
anything, the so-called flower of society, enter the army, in Russia, in
England, Germany, Austria, even France, and why they seek an
opportunity for becoming murderers. Why do parents, moral men,
send their children to institutions which prepare them for military
matters? Why do mothers buy their children helmets, guns, swords
as their favourite toys? (The children of peasants never play soldier.)
Why do good men, and even women, who are in no way connected
with military affairs, go into ecstasies over the exploits of a
Skobelévski and of others, and why do they take so much pains to
praise them? Why do men, who are not urged to do so, who do not
receive any salary for it, like the marshals of nobility in Russia,
devote whole months of assiduous work to performing a physically
hard and morally agonizing piece of business,—the reception of
recruits? Why do all the emperors and kings wear military costumes,
attend manœuvres and parades, distribute rewards to soldiers, erect
monuments to generals and conquerors? Why do free, wealthy men
consider it an honour to perform lackeys' duties to crowned heads,
why do they humble themselves, and flatter them, and pretend that
they believe in the special grandeur of these persons? Why do men,
who have long ago stopped believing in the mediæval superstitions
of the church, and who are unable to believe in them, seriously and
invariably pretend that they believe, thus maintaining the offensive
and blasphemous religious institution? Why is the ignorance of the
masses so zealously guarded, not only by the governments, but also
by the free men from the higher classes? Why do they with such
fury attack every attempt at destroying the religious superstitions,
and every true enlightenment of the masses? Why do men,—
historians, novelists, poets,—who can certainly receive nothing for
their flattery, describe as heroes long deceased emperors, kings, or
generals? Why do men who call themselves learned devote their
whole lives to the formation of theories, from which it follows that
violence which is exerted by the power against the nation is not
violence, but some especial right?
One often marvels why, for what reason a lady of the world or an
artist, who, it would seem, is interested neither in social, nor in
military questions, condemns labour strikes and preaches war, and
always definitely attacks one side and defends the other?
But one marvels at this only so long as one does not know that this
is all done so because all the men of the ruling classes feel
instinctively what it is that maintains and what destroys the
organization under which they can enjoy the privileges they are
enjoying.
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