leo tolstoy-on the significance of science and art mobile

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ON THE SIGNIFICANCE

OF SCIENCE AND ART

LEO TOLSTOY∗

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by Leo Tolstoy/Lyof TolstoiTranslated by Isabel F. Hapgood

CHAPTER I.

. . . 1 The justification of all personswho have freed themselves from toil is now

∗PDF created by pdfbooks.co.za

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founded on experimental, positive science.The scientific theory is as follows:-

”For the study of the laws of life of hu-man societies, there exists but one indu-bitable method,–the positive, experimental,critical method

”Only sociology, founded on biology, foundedon all the positive sciences, can give us thelaws of humanity. Humanity, or human com-

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munities, are the organisms already prepared,or still in process of formation, and whichare subservient to all the laws of the evolu-tion of organisms.

”One of the chief of these laws is thevariation of destination among the portionsof the organs. Some people command, oth-ers obey. If some have in superabundance,and others in want, this arises not from the

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will of God, not because the empire is aform of manifestation of personality, butbecause in societies, as in organisms, divi-sion of labor becomes indispensable for lifeas a whole. Some people perform the mus-cular labor in societies; others, the mentallabor.”

Upon this doctrine is founded the pre-vailing justification of our time.

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Not long ago, their reigned in the learned,cultivated world, a moral philosophy, ac-cording to which it appeared that every thingwhich exists is reasonable; that there is nosuch thing as evil or good; and that it isunnecessary for man to war against evil,but that it is only necessary for him to dis-play intelligence,–one man in the militaryservice, another in the judicial, another on

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the violin. There have been many and var-ied expressions of human wisdom, and thesephenomena were known to the men of thenineteenth century. The wisdom of Rousseauand of Lessing, and Spinoza and Bruno,and all the wisdom of antiquity; but no oneman’s wisdom overrode the crowd. It wasimpossible to say even this,–that Hegel’ssuccess was the result of the symmetry of

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this theory. There were other equally sym-metrical theories,–those of Descartes, Leib-nitz, Fichte, Schopenhauer. There was butone 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 weak-nesses. These deductions were summed upin this,–that every thing was reasonable, ev-

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ery thing good; and that no one was toblame.

When I began my career, Hegelianismwas the foundation of every thing. It wasfloating in the air; it was expressed in news-paper and periodical articles, in historicaland judicial lectures, in novels, in treatises,in art, in sermons, in conversation. Theman who was not acquainted with Hegal

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had no right to speak. Any one who desiredto understand the truth studied Hegel. Ev-ery thing rested on him. And all at oncethe forties passed, and there was nothingleft 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, thatHegelianism did not fall because some oneoverthrew it or destroyed it. No! It was

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the same then as now, but all at once it ap-peared that it was of no use whatever to thelearned and cultivated world.

There was a time when the Hegelian wisemen triumphantly instructed the masses;and the crowd, understanding nothing, blindlybelieved in every thing, finding confirma-tion in the fact that it was on hand; andthey believed that what seemed to them

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muddy and contradictory there on the heightsof philosophy was all as clear as the day.But that time has gone by. That theory isworn out: a new theory has presented itself in its stead. The old one has become use-less; and the crowd has looked into the se-cret sanctuaries of the high priests, and hasseen that there is nothing there, and thatthere has been nothing there, save very ob-

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scure and senseless words. This has takenplace within my memory.

”But this arises,” people of the presentscience will say, ”from the fact that all thatwas the raving of the theological and meta-physical period; but now there exists pos-itive, critical science, which does not de-ceive, since it is all founded on inductionand experiment. Now our erections are not

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shaky, as they formerly were, and only inour path lies the solution of all the prob-lems of humanity.”

But the old teachers said precisely thesame, and they were no fools; and we knowthat there were people of great intelligenceamong them. And precisely thus, withinmy memory, and with no less confidence,with no less recognition on the part of the

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crowd of so- called cultivated people, spokethe Hegelians. And neither were our Herzens,our Stankevitches, or our Byelinskys fools.But whence arose that marvellous manifes-tation, that sensible people should preachwith the greatest assurance, and that thecrowd should accept with devotion, suchunfounded and unsupportable teachings? Thereis but one reason,–that the teachings thus

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inculcated justified people in their evil life.A very poor English writer, whose works

are all forgotten, and recognized as the mostinsignificant of the insignificant, writes atreatise on population, in which he devisesa fictitious law concerning the increase of population disproportionate to the meansof subsistence. This fictitious law, this writerencompasses with mathematical formulae founded

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on nothing whatever; and then he launchesit on the world. From the frivolity and thestupidity of this hypothesis, one would sup-pose that it would not attract the attentionof any one, and that it would sink into obliv-ion, like all the works of the same authorwhich followed it; but it turned out quiteotherwise. The hack-writer who penned thistreatise instantly becomes a scientific au-

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thority, and maintains himself upon thatheight for nearly half a century. Malthus!The Malthusian theory,- -the law of the in-crease of the population in geometrical, andof the means of subsistence in arithmeticalproportion, and the wise and natural meansof restricting the population,–all these havebecome scientific, indubitable truths, whichhave not been confirmed, but which have

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been employed as axioms, for the erection of false theories. In this manner have learnedand cultivated people proceeded; and amongthe herd of idle persons, there sprung up apious trust in the great laws expounded byMalthus. How did this come to pass? Itwould seem as though they were scientificdeductions, which had nothing in commonwith the instincts of the masses. But this

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can only appear so for the man who believesthat science, like the Church, is somethingself-contained, liable to no errors, and notsimply the imaginings of weak and erringfolk, who merely substitute the imposingword ”science,” in place of the thoughts andwords of the people, for the sake of impres-siveness.

All that was necessary was to make prac-20



tical deductions from the theory of Malthus,in order to perceive that this theory was of the most human sort, with the best definedof objects. The deductions directly arisingfrom this theory were the following: Thewretched condition of the laboring classeswas such in accordance with an unalterablelaw, which does not depend upon men; and,if any one is to blame in this matter, it

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is the hungry laboring classes themselves.Why are they such fools as to give birthto children, when they know that there willbe nothing for the children to eat? Andso this deduction, which is valuable for theherd of idle people, has had this result: thatall learned men overlooked the incorrect-ness, the utter arbitrariness of these deduc-tions, and their insusceptibility to proof;

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and the throng of cultivated, i.e., of idlepeople, knowing instinctively to what thesedeductions lead, saluted this theory withenthusiasm, conferred upon it the stamp of truth, i.e., of science, and dragged it aboutwith them for half a century.

Is not this same thing the cause of theconfidence of men in positive critical-experimentalscience, and of the devout attitude of the

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crowd towards that which it preaches? Atfirst it seems strange, that the theory of evolution can in any manner justify peoplein their evil ways; and it seems as thoughthe scientific theory of evolution has to dealonly with facts, and that it does nothingelse but observe facts.

But this only appears to be the case.Exactly the same thing appeared to be

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the case with the Hegelian doctrine, in agreater degree, and also in the special in-stance of the Malthusian doctrine. Hegelian-ism was, apparently, occupied only with itslogical constructions, and bore no relationto the life of mankind. Precisely this seemedto be the case with the Malthusian theory.It appeared to be busy itself only with sta-tistical data. But this was only in appear-

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ance.Contemporary science is also occupied

with facts alone: it investigates facts. Butwhat facts? Why precisely these facts, andno others?

The men of contemporary science arevery fond of saying, triumphantly and confi-dently, ”We investigate only facts,” imagin-ing that these words contain some meaning.

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It is impossible to investigate facts alone,because the facts which are subject to ourinvestigation are INNUMERABLE (in thedefinite sense of that word),- -innumerable.Before we proceed to investigate facts, wemust have a theory on the foundation of which these or those facts can be inquiredinto, i.e., selected from the incalculable quan-tity.

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And this theory exists, and is even verydefinitely expressed, although many of theworkers in contemporary science do not knowit, or often pretend that they do not knowit. Exactly thus has it always been with allprevailing and guiding doctrines. The foun-dations of every doctrine are always statedin a theory, and the so-called learned menmerely invent further deductions from the

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foundations once stated. Thus contempo-rary science is selecting its facts on the foun-dation of a very definite theory, which itsometimes knows, sometimes refuses to know,and sometimes really does not know; butthe theory exists.

The theory is as follows: All mankind isan undying organism; men are the particlesof that organism, and each one of them has

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his own special task for the service of oth-ers. In the same manner, the cells unitedin an organism share among them the la-bor of fight for existence of the whole or-ganism; they magnify the power of one ca-pacity, and weaken another, and unite inone organ, in order the better to supply therequirements of the whole organism. Andexactly in the same manner as with gre-

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garious animals,–ants or bees,–the separateindividuals divide the labor among them.The queen lays the egg, the drone fructifiesit; the bee works his whole life long. Andprecisely this thing takes place in mankindand in human societies. And therefore, inorder to find the law of life for man, it isnecessary to study the laws of the life andthe development of organisms.

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In the life and development of organ-isms, we find the following laws: the lawof differentiation and integration, the lawthat every phenomenon is accompanied notby direct consequences alone, another lawregarding the instability of type, and so on.All this seems very innocent; but it is onlynecessary to draw the deductions from allthese laws, in order to immediately perceive

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that these laws incline in the same directionas the law of Malthus. These laws all pointto one thing; namely, to the recognition of that division of labor which exists in hu-man communities, as organic, that is to say,as indispensable. And therefore, the unjustposition in which we, the people who havefreed ourselves from labor, find ourselves,must be regarded not from the point of view

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of common-sense and justice, but merely asan undoubted fact, confirming the universallaw.

Moral philosophy also justified every sortof cruelty and harshness; but this resultedin a philosophical manner, and thereforewrongly. But with science, all this resultsscientifically, and therefore in a manner notto be doubted.

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How can we fail to accept so very beauti-ful a theory? It is merely necessary to lookupon human society as an object of con-templation; and I can console myself withthe thought that my activity, whatever maybe its nature, is a functional activity of theorganism of humanity, and that thereforethere cannot arise any question as to whetherit is just that I, in employing the labor of

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others, am doing only that which is agree-able to me, as there can arise no question asto the division of labor between the braincells and the muscular cells. How is it pos-sible not to admit so very beautiful a the-ory, in order that one may be able, ever af-ter, to pocket one’s conscience, and have aperfectly unbridled animal existence, feel-ing beneath one’s self that support of sci-

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ence which is not to be shaken nowadays!And it is on this new doctrine that the

justification for men’s idleness and crueltyis now founded.

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CHAPTER II.

This doctrine had its rise not so very long–fifty years–ago. Its principal founder wasthe French savant Comte. There occurredto Comte,–a systematist, and a religious man

to boot,–under the influence of the thennovel physiological investigations of Biche,the old idea already set forth by Menenius

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Agrippa,–the idea that human society, allhumanity even, might be regarded as onewhole, as an organism; and men as livingparts of the separate organs, having eachhis own definite appointment to serve theentire organism.

This idea so pleased Comte, that uponit he began to erect a philosophical theory;and this theory so carried him away, that

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he utterly forgot that the point of depar-ture for his theory was nothing more than avery pretty comparison, which was suitablefor a fable, but which could by no meansserve as the foundation for science. He,as frequently happens, mistook his pet hy-pothesis for an axiom, and imagined thathis whole theory was erected on the veryfirmest of foundations. According to his

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theory, it seemed that since humanity is anorganism, the knowledge of what man is,and of what should be his relations to theworld, was possible only through a knowl-edge of the features of this organism. Forthe knowledge of these qualities, man is en-abled to take observations on other and lowerorganisms, and to draw conclusions fromtheir life. Therefore, in the fist place, the

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true and only method, according to Comte,is the inductive, and all science is only suchwhen it has experiment as its basis; in thesecond place, the goal and crown of sci-ences is formed by that new science dealingwith the imaginary organism of humanity,or the super-organic being,–humanity,–andthis newly devised science is sociology.

And from this view of science it appears,42



that all previous knowledge was deceitful,and that the whole story of humanity, inthe sense of self-knowledge, has been di-vided into three, actually into two, peri-ods: the theological and metaphysical pe-riod, extending from the beginning of theworld to Comte, and the present period,–that of the only true science, positive science,–beginning with Comte.

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All this was very well. There was butone error, and that was this,–that the wholeedifice was erected on the sand, on the ar-bitrary and false assertion that humanity isan organism. This assertion was arbitrary,because we have just as much right to ad-mit the existence of a human organism, notsubject to observation, as we have to admitthe existence of any other invisible, fantas-

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tic being. This assertion was erroneous, be-cause for the understanding of humanity,i.e., of men, the definition of an organismwas incorrectly constructed, while in hu-manity itself all actual signs of organism,–the centre of feeling or consciousness, arelacking. 2

But, in spite of the arbitrariness andincorrectness of the fundamental assump-

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tion of positive philosophy, it was acceptedby the so-called cultivated world with thegreatest sympathy. In this connection, onething is worthy of note: that out of theworks of Comte, consisting of two parts, of positive philosophy and of positive politics,only the first was adopted by the learnedworld,- -that part which justifieth, on newpromises, the existent evil of human soci-

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eties; but the second part, treating of themoral obligations of altruism, arising fromthe recognition of mankind as an organism,was regarded as not only of no importance,but as trivial and unscientific. It was arepetition of the same thing that had hap-pened in the case of Kant’s works. The”Critique of Pure Reason” was adopted bythe scientific crowd; but the ”Critique of

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Applied Reason,” that part which containsthe gist of moral doctrine, was repudiated.In Kant’s doctrine, that was accepted asscientific which subserved the existent evil.But the positive philosophy, which was ac-cepted by the crowd, was founded on anarbitrary and erroneous basis, was in itself too unfounded, and therefore unsteady, andcould not support itself alone. And so, amid

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all the multitude of the idle plays of thoughtof the men professing the so-called science,there presents itself an assertion equally de-void of novelty, and equally arbitrary anderroneous, to the effect that living beings,i.e., organisms, have had their rise in eachother,–not only one organism from another,but one from many; i.e., that in a very longinterval of time (in a million of years, for

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instance), not only could a duck and a fishproceed from one ancestor, but that one an-imal might result from a whole hive of bees.And this arbitrary and erroneous assump-tion was accepted by the learned world withstill greater and more universal sympathy.This assumption was arbitrary, because noone has ever seen how one organism is madefrom another, and therefore the hypothe-

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sis as to the origin of species will alwaysremain an hypothesis, and not an experi-mental fact. And this hypothesis was alsoerroneous, because the decision of the ques-tion as to the origin of species–that theyhave originated, in consequence of the lawof heredity and fitness, in the course of aninterminably long time–is no solution at all,but merely a re-statement of the problem in

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a new form.According to Moses’ solution of the ques-

tion (in the dispute with whom the entiresignificance of this theory lies), it appearsthat the diversity of the species of livingcreatures 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 liv-

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ing creatures arose by chance, and on ac-count of varying conditions of heredity andsurroundings, through an endless period of time. The theory of evolution, to speakin simple language, merely asserts, that bychance, in an incalculably long period of time, out of any thing you like, any thingelse that you like may develop.

This is no answer to the problem. And53



the same problem is differently expressed:instead of will, chance is offered, and theco-efficient of the eternal is transposed fromthe power to the time. But this fresh asser-tion strengthened Comte’s assertion. And,moreover, according to the ingenuous con-fession of the founder of Darwin’s theoryhimself, his idea was aroused in him by thelaw of Malthus; and he therefore propounded

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the theory of the struggle of living creaturesand people for existence, as the fundamen-tal law of every living thing. And lo! onlythis was needed by the throng of idle peoplefor their justification.

Two insecure theories, incapable of sus-taining themselves on their feet, upheld eachother, and acquired the semblance of sta-bility. Both theories bore with them that

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idea which is precious to the crowd, thatin the existent evil of human societies, menare not to blame, and that the existing or-der of things is that which should prevail;and the new theory was adopted by thethrong with entire faith and unheard-of en-thusiasm. And behold, on the strength of these two arbitrary and erroneous hypothe-ses, accepted as dogmas of belief, the new

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scientific doctrine was ratified.Spencer, for example, in one of his first

works, expresses this doctrine thus:-”Societies and organisms,” he says, ”are

alike in the following points:-”1. In that, beginning as tiny aggre-

gates, they imperceptibly grow in mass, sothat some of them attain to the size of tenthousand times their original bulk.

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”2. In that while they were, in the be-ginning, of such simple structure, that theycan be regarded as destitute of all struc-ture, they acquire during the period of theirgrowth a constantly increasing complicationof structure.

”3. In that although in their early, un-developed period, there exists between themhardly any interdependence of parts, their

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parts gradually acquire an interdependence,which eventually becomes so strong, thatthe life and activity of each part becomespossible only on condition of the life andactivity of the remaining parts.

”4. In that life and the developmentof society are independent, and more pro-tracted than the life and development of any one of the units constituting it, which

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are born, grow, act, reproduce themselves,and die separately; while the political bodyformed from them, continues to live gener-ation after generation, developing in massin perfection and functional activity.”

The points of difference between organ-isms and society go farther; and it is provedthat these differences are merely apparent,but that organisms and societies are abso-

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lutely similar.For the uninitiated man the question im-

mediately presents itself: ”What are youtalking about? Why is mankind an organ-ism, or similar to an organism?”

You say that societies resemble organ-isms in these four features; but it is noth-ing of the sort. You only take a few fea-tures of the organism, and beneath them

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you range human communities. You bringforward four features of resemblance, thenyou take four features of dissimilarity, whichare, however, only apparent (according toyou); and you thence conclude that humansocieties can be regarded as organisms. Butsurely, this is an empty game of dialectics,and nothing more. On the same founda-tion, under the features of an organism, you

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may range whatever you please. I will takethe fist thing that comes into my head. Letus suppose it to be a forest,– the manner inwhich it sows itself in the plain, and spreadsabroad. 1. Beginning with a small ag-gregate, it increases imperceptibly in mass,and so forth. Exactly the same thing takesplace in the fields, when they gradually seedthemselves down, and bring forth a forest.

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2. In the beginning the structure is sim-ple: afterwards it increases in complication,and so forth. Exactly the same thing hap-pens with the forest,–in the first place, therewere only bitch- trees, then came brush-wood and hazel-bushes; at first all growerect, then they interlace their branches. 3.The interdependence of the parts is so aug-mented, that the life of each part depends

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on the life and activity of the remainingparts. It is precisely so with the forest,–the hazel-bush warms the tree-boles (cutit down, and the other trees will freeze),the hazel-bush protects from the wind, theseed-bearing trees carry on reproduction,the tall and leafy trees afford shade, andthe life of one tree depends on the life of another. 4. The separate parts may die,

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but the whole lives. Exactly the case withthe forest. The forest does not mourn onetree.

Having proved that, in accordance withthis theory, you may regard the forest as anorganism, you fancy that you have provedto the disciples of the organic doctrine theerror of their definition. Nothing of thesort. The definition which they give to the

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organism is so inaccurate and so elastic thatunder this definition they may include whatthey will. ”Yes,” they say; ”and the for-est may also be regarded as an organism.The forest is mutual re-action of individu-als, which do not annihilate each other,–anaggregate; its parts may also enter into amore intimate union, as the hive of beesconstitutes itself an organism.” Then you

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will say, ”If that is so, then the birds and theinsects and the grass of this forest, whichre-act upon each other, and do not destroyeach other, may also be regarded as one or-ganism, in company with the trees.” Andto this also they will agree. Every collec-tion of living individuals, which re-act uponeach other, and do not destroy each other,may be regarded as organisms, according

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to their theory. You may affirm a connec-tion and interaction between whatever youchoose, and, according to evolution, you mayaffirm, that, out of whatever you please, anyother thing that you please may proceed, ina very long period of time.

And the most remarkable thing of all is,that this same identical positive science rec-ognizes the scientific method as the sign of

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true knowledge, and has itself defined whatit designates as the scientific method.

By the scientific method it means common-sense.

And common-sense convicts it at everystep. As soon as the Popes felt that nothingholy remained in them, they called them-selves most holy.

As soon as science felt that no common-70



sense was left in her she called herself sen-sible, that is to say, scientific science.

CHAPTER III.

Division of labor is the law of all existingthings, and, therefore, it should be presentin human societies. It is very possible that

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this is so; but still the question remains, Of what nature is that division of labor whichI behold in my human society? is it thatdivision of labor which should exist? Andif people regard a certain division of laboras unreasonable and unjust, then no sci-ence whatever can convince men that thatshould exist which they regard as unreason-able and unjust.

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Division of labor is the condition of exis-tence of organisms, and of human societies;but what, in these human societies, is tobe regarded as an organic division of labor?And, to whatever extent science may haveinvestigated the division of labor in the cellsof worms, all these observations do not com-pel a man to acknowledge that division of labor to be correct which his own sense and

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conscience do not recognize as correct. Nomatter how convincing may be the proofs of the division of labor of the cells in the or-ganisms studied, man, if he has not partedwith his judgment, will say, nevertheless,that a man should not weave calico all hislife, and that this is not division of labor,but persecution of the people. Spencer andothers say that there is a whole community

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of weavers, and that the profession of weav-ing is an organic division of labor. Thereare weavers; so, of course, there is such adivision of labor. It would be well enoughto speak thus if the colony of weavers hadarisen by the free will of its member’s; butwe know that it is not thus formed of theirinitiative, but that we make it. Hence it isnecessary to find out whether we have made

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these weavers in accordance with an organiclaw, or with some other.

Men live. They support themselves byagriculture, as is natural to all men. Oneman has set up a blacksmith’s forge, andrepaired his plough; his neighbor comes tohim, and asks him to mend his also, andpromises him in return either work or money.A third comes, and a fourth; and in the

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community formed by these men, there arisesthe following division of labor,–a blacksmithis created. Another man has instructed hischildren well; his neighbor brings his chil-dren to him, and requests him to teach themalso, and a teacher is created. But bothblacksmith and teacher have been created,and continue to be such, merely becausethey have been asked; and they remain such

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as long as they are requested to be black-smith and teacher. If it should come topass that many blacksmiths and teachersshould set themselves up, or that their workis not requited, they will immediately, ascommonsense demands and as always hap-pens when there is no occasion for disturb-ing the regular course of division of labor,–they will immediately abandon their trade,

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and betake themselves once more to agri-culture.

Men who behave thus are guided by theirsense, their conscience; and hence we, themen endowed with sense and conscience, allassert that such a division of labor is right.But if it should chance that the blacksmithswere able to compel other people to workfor them, and should continue to make horse-

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shoes when they were not wanted, and if theteachers should go on teaching when therewas no one to teach, then it is obvious toevery sane man, as a man, i.e., as a beingendowed with reason and conscience, thatthis would not be division, but appropria-tion, of labor. And yet precisely that sortof activity is what is called division of laborby scientific science. People do that which

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others do not think of requiring, and de-mand that they shall be supported for sodoing, and say that this is just because it isdivision of labor.

That which constitutes the cause of theeconomical poverty of our age is what theEnglish call over-production (which meansthat a mass of things are made which are of no use to anybody, and with which nothing

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can be done).It would be odd to see a shoemaker, who

should consider that people were bound tofeed him because he incessantly made bootswhich had been of no use to any one for along time; but what shall we say of thosemen who make nothing,–who not only pro-duce nothing that is visible, but nothingthat is of use for people at large,–for whose

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wares there are no customers, and who yetdemand, with the same boldness, on theground of division of labor, that they shallbe supplied with fine food and drink, andthat they shall be dressed well? There maybe, and there are, sorcerers for whose ser-vices a demand makes itself felt, and forthis purpose there are brought to them pan-cakes and flasks; but it is difficult to imag-

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ine the existence of sorcerers whose spellsare useless to every one, and who boldlydemand that they shall be luxuriously sup-ported because they exercise sorcery. Andit is the same in our world. And all thiscomes about on the basis of that false con-ception of the division of labor, which isdefined not by reason and conscience, butby observation, which men of science avow

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with such unanimity.Division of labor has, in reality, always

existed, and still exists; but it is right onlywhen man decides with his reason and hisconscience that it should be so, and notwhen he merely investigates it. And rea-son and conscience decide the question forall men very simply, unanimously, and ina manner not to be doubted. They always

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decide it thus: that division of labor is rightonly when a special branch of man’s activ-ity is so needful to men, that they, entreat-ing him to serve them, voluntarily proposeto support him in requital for that which heshall do for them. But, when a man can livefrom infancy to the age of thirty years onthe necks of others, promising to do, whenhe shall have been taught, something ex-

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tremely useful, for which no one asks him;and when, from the age of thirty until hisdeath, he can live in the same manner, stillmerely on the promise to do something, forwhich there has been no request, this willnot 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,– merelythe appropriation, by force, of the toil of

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others; that same appropriation by force of the toil of others which the philosophers for-merly designated by various names,–for in-stance, as indispensable forms of life,–butwhich scientific science now calls the or-ganic division of labor.

The whole significance of scientific sci-ence lies in this alone. It has now becomea distributer of diplomas for idleness; for it

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alone, in its sanctuaries, selects and deter-mines what is parasitical, and what is or-ganic activity, in the social organism. Justas though every man could not find this outfor himself much more accurately and morespeedily, by taking counsel of his reason andhis conscience. It seems to men of scien-tific science, that there can be no doubtof this, and that their activity is also in-

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dubitably organic; they, the scientific andartistic workers, are the brain cells, and themost precious cells in the whole organism.

Ever since men–reasoning beings–haveexisted, they have distinguished good fromevil, and have profited by the fact that menhave made this distinction before them; theyhave warred against evil, and have soughtthe good, and have slowly but uninterrupt-

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edly advanced in that path. And diversdelusions have always stood before men, hem-ming in this path, and having for their object to demonstrate to them, that it was notnecessary to do this, and that it was notnecessary to live as they were living. Withfearful conflict and difficulty, men have freedthemselves from many delusions. And be-hold, a new and a still more evil delusion

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The cunning of this science consists inthis,–that, after pointing out to men thecoarsest false interpretations of the activ-ity of the reason and conscience of man, itdestroys in them faith in their own reasonand conscience, and assures them that ev-ery thing which their reason and consciencesay to them, that all that these have said tothe loftiest representatives of man hereto-

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fore, ever since the world has existed,–thatall this is conventional and subjective. ”Allthis must be abandoned,” they say; ”it isimpossible to understand the truth by thereason, for we may be mistaken. But thereexists another unerring and almost mechan-ical path: it is necessary to investigate facts.”

But facts must be investigated on thefoundation of scientific science, i.e., of the

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two hypotheses of positivism and evolution,which are not borne out by any thing, andwhich give themselves out as undoubted truths.And the reigning science announces, withdelusive solemnity, that the solution of allproblems of life is possible only through thestudy of facts, of nature, and, in particu-lar, of organisms. The credulous mass of young people, overwhelmed by the novelty

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of this authority, which has not yet beenoverthrown or even touched by criticism,flings itself into the study of natural sci-ences, into that sole path, which, accordingto the assertion of the reigning science, canlead to the elucidation of the problems of life.

But the farther the disciples proceed inthis study, the farther and farther does not

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only the possibility, but even the very idea,of the solution of the problems of life with-draw from them, and the more and moredo they become accustomed, not so muchto investigate, as to believe in the asser-tions of other investigators (to believe incells, in protoplasm, in the fourth condi-tion of bodies, and so forth); the more andmore does the form veil the contents from

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them; the more and more do they lose theconsciousness of good and evil, and the ca-pacity of understanding those expressionsand definitions of good and evil which havebeen elaborated through the whole forego-ing life of mankind; and the more and moredo they appropriate to themselves the spe-cial scientific jargon of conventional expres-sions, which possesses no universally human

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significance; and the deeper and deeper dothey plunge into the debris of utterly unillu-minated investigations; the more and moredo they lose the power, not only of indepen-dent thought, but even of understandingthe fresh human thought of others, whichlies beyond the bounds of their Talmud.But the principal thing is, that they passtheir best years in getting disused to life;

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they grow accustomed to consider their po-sition as justifiable; and they convert them-selves physically into utterly useless para-sites, and mentally they dislocate their brainsand become mental eunuchs. And in pre-cisely the same manner, according to themeasure of their folly, do they acquire self-conceit, which deprives them forever of allpossibility of return to a simple life of toil,

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to a simple, clear, and universally humantrain of reasoning.

Division of labor always has existed inhuman communities, and will probably al-ways exist; but the question for us lies notin the fact that it has existed, and that itwill exist, but in this,–how are we to gov-ern ourselves so that this division shall beright? But if we take investigation as our

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rule of action, we by this very act repudiateall rule; then in that case we shall regard asright every division of labor which we shalldescry among men, and which appears tous to be right–to which conclusion the pre-vailing scientific science also leads.

Division of labor!Some are busied in mental or moral, oth-

ers in muscular or physical, labor. With102



what confidence people enunciate this! Theywish to think so, and it seems to them that,in point of fact, a perfectly regular exchangeof services does take place.

But we, in our blindness, have so com-pletely lost sight of the responsibility whichwe have assumed, that we have even for-gotten in whose name our labor is prose-cuted; and the very people whom we have

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undertaken to serve have become the objects of our scientific and artistic activity.We study and depict them for our amuse-ment and diversion. We have totally for-gotten that what we need to do is not tostudy and depict them, but to serve them.To such a degree have we lost sight of thisduty which we have taken upon us, that wehave not even noticed that what we have

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undertaken to perform in the realm of sci-ence and art has been accomplished not byus, but by others, and that our place hasturned out to be occupied.

It proves that while we have been dis-puting, one about the spontaneous originof organisms, another as to what else thereis in protoplasm, and so on, the commonpeople have been in need of spiritual food;

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and the unsuccessful and rejected of art andscience, in obedience to the mandate of ad-venturers who have in view the sole aimof profit, have begun to furnish the peo-ple with this spiritual food, and still so fur-nish them. For the last forty years in Eu-rope, and for the last ten years with ushere in Russia, millions of books and pic-tures and song-books have been distributed,

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and stalls have been opened, and the peo-ple gaze and sing and receive spiritual nour-ishment, but not from us who have under-taken to provide it; while we, justifying ouridleness by that spiritual food which we aresupposed to furnish, sit by and wink at it.

But it is impossible for us to wink atit, for our last justification is slipping frombeneath our feet. We have become spe-

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cialized. We have our particular functionalactivity. We are the brains of the people.They support us, and we have undertakento teach them. It is only under this pre-tence that we have excused ourselves fromwork. But what have we taught them, andwhat are we now teaching them? They havewaited for years–for tens, for hundreds of years. And we keep on diverting our minds

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with chatter, and we instruct each other,and we console ourselves, and we have ut-terly forgotten them. We have so entirelyforgotten them, that others have undertakento instruct them, and we have not even per-ceived it. We have spoken of the divisionof labor with such lack of seriousness, thatit is obvious that what we have said aboutthe benefits which we have conferred on the

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people was simply a shameless evasion.

CHAPTER IV.

Science and art have arrogated to them-

selves the right of idleness, and of the enjoyment of the labor of others, and have be-trayed their calling. And their errors have

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arisen merely because their servants, hav-ing set forth a falsely conceived principle of the division of labor, have recognized theirown right to make use of the labor of oth-ers, and have lost the significance of theirvocation; having taken for their aim, notthe profit of the people, but the mysteri-ous profit of science and art, and deliveredthemselves over to idleness and vice–not so

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much of the senses as of the mind.They say, ”Science and art have bestowed

a great deal on mankind.”Science and art have bestowed a great

deal on mankind, not because the men of art and science, under the pretext of a di-vision of labor, live on other people, but inspite of this.

The Roman Republic was powerful, not112



because her citizens had the power to live avicious life, but because among their num-ber there were heroic citizens. It is the samewith art and science. Art and science havebestowed much on mankind, but not be-cause their followers formerly possessed onrare occasions (and now possess on everyoccasion) the possibility of getting rid of labor; but because there have been men of

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genius, who, without making use of theserights, have led mankind forward.

The class of learned men and artists,which has advanced, on the fictitious ba-sis of a division of labor, its demands to theright of using the labors of others, cannotco-operate in the success of true science andtrue art, because a lie cannot bring forth thetruth.

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We have become so accustomed to these,our tenderly reared or weakened represen-tatives of mental labor, that it seems to ushorrible that a man of science or an artistshould plough or cart manure. It seems tous that every thing would go to destruc-tion, and that all his wisdom would be rat-tled out of him in the cart, and that allthose grand picturesque images which he

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bears about in his breast would be soiledin the manure; but we have become so in-ured to this, that it does not strike us asstrange that our servitor of science–that isto say, the servant and teacher of the truth–by making other people do for him thatwhich he might do for himself, passes half his time in dainty eating, in smoking, intalking, in free and easy gossip, in reading

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the newspapers and romances, and in vis-iting the theatres. It is not strange to usto see our philosopher in the tavern, in thetheatre, and at the ball. It is not strangein our eyes to learn that those artists whosweeten and ennoble our souls have passedtheir lives in drunkenness, cards, and women,if not in something worse.

Art and science are very beautiful things;117



but just because they are so beautiful theyshould not be spoiled by the compulsorycombination with them of vice: that is tosay, a man should not get rid of his obliga-tion to serve his own life and that of otherpeople by his own labor. Art and sciencehave caused mankind to progress. Yes; butnot because men of art and science, un-der the guise of division of labor, have rid

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themselves of the very first and most in-disputable of human obligations,–to laborwith their hands in the universal struggleof mankind with nature.

”But only the division of labor, the free-dom of men of science and of art from thenecessity of earning them living, has ren-dered possible that remarkable success of science which we behold in our day,” is the

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answer to this. ”If all were forced to tillthe soil, those VAST results would not havebeen attained which have been attained inour day; there would have been none of those STRIKING successes which have sogreatly augmented man’s power over na-ture, were it not for these astronomical dis-coveries WHICH ARE SO ASTOUNDINGTO THE MIND OF MAN, and which have

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added to the security of navigation; therewould be no steamers, no railways, noneof those WONDERFUL bridges, tunnels,steam-engines and telegraphs, photography,telephones, sewing-machines, phonographs,electricity, telescopes, spectroscopes, micro-scopes, chloroform, Lister’s bandages, andcarbolic acid.”

I will not enumerate every thing on which121



our age thus prides itself. This enumera-tion and pride of enthusiasm over ourselvesand our exploits can be found in almost anynewspaper and popular pamphlet. This en-thusiasm over ourselves is often repeatedto such a degree that none of us can suffi-ciently rejoice over ourselves, that we are se-riously convinced that art and science havenever made such progress as in our own

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time. And, as we are indebted for all thismarvellous progress to the division of labor,why not acknowledge it?

Let us admit that the progress made inour day is noteworthy, marvellous, unusual;let us admit that we are fortunate mortalsto live in such a remarkable epoch: butlet us endeavor to appraise this progress,not on the basis of our self-satisfaction, but

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of that principle which defends itself withthis progress,–the division of labor. All thisprogress is very amazing; but by a pecu-liarly unlucky chance, admitted even by themen of science, this progress has not so farimproved, but it has rather rendered worse,the position of the majority, that is to say,of the workingman.

If the workingman can travel on the rail-124



way, instead of walking, still that same rail-way has burned down his forest, has carriedoff his grain under his very nose, and hasbrought his condition very near to slavery–to the capitalist. If, thanks to steam-enginesand machines, the workingman can purchaseinferior calico at a cheap rate, on the otherhand these engines and machines have de-prived him of work at home, and have brought

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him into a state of abject slavery to themanufacturer. If there are telephones andtelescopes, poems, romances, theatres, bal-lets, symphonies, operas, picture-galleries,and so forth, on the other hand the life of the workingman has not been bettered byall this; for all of them, by the same unluckychance, are inaccessible to him.

So that, on the whole (and even men126



of science admit this), up to the presenttime, all these remarkable discoveries andproducts of science and art have certainlynot ameliorated the condition of the work-ingman, if, indeed, they have not made itworse. So that, if we set against the ques-tion as to the reality of the progress at-tained by the arts and sciences, not our ownrapture, but that standard upon the basis

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of which the division of labor is defended,–the good of the laboring man,–we shall seethat we have no firm foundations for thatself-satisfaction in which we are so fond of indulging.

The peasant travels on the railway, thewoman buys calico, in the isba (cottage)there will be a lamp instead of a pine-knot,and the peasant will light his pipe with a

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match,–this is convenient; but what righthave I to say that the railway and the fac-tory have proved advantageous to the peo-ple?

If the peasant rides on the railway, andbuys calico, a lamp, and matches, it is onlybecause it is impossible to forbid the peas-ant’s buying them; but surely we are allaware that the construction of railways and

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factories has never been carried out for thebenefit of the lower classes: so why should acasual convenience which the workingmanenjoys lead to a proof of the utility of allthese institutions for the people?

There is something useful in every inju-rious thing. After a conflagration, one canwarm one’s self, and light one’s pipe with afirebrand; but why declare that the confla-

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gration is beneficial?Men of art and science might say that

their pursuits are beneficial to the people,only when men of art and science have as-signed to themselves the object of servingthe people, as they now assign themselvesthe object of serving the authorities and thecapitalists. We might say this if men of artand science had taken as their aim the needs

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of the people; but there are none such. Allscientists are busy with their priestly av-ocations, out of which proceed investiga-tions into protoplasm, the spectral analysesof stars, and so on. But science has neveronce thought of what axe or what hatchet isthe most profitable to chop with, what sawis the most handy, what is the best way tomix bread, from what flour, how to set it,

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how to build and heat an oven, what foodand drink, and what utensils, are the mostconvenient and advantageous under certainconditions, what mushrooms may be eaten,how to propagate them, and how to preparethem in the most suitable manner. And yetall this is the province of science.

I am aware, that, according to its owndefinition, science ought to be useless, i.e.,

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science for the sake of science; but surelythis is an obvious evasion. The province of science is to serve the people. We have in-vented telegraphs, telephones, phonographs;but what advances have we effected in thelife, in the labor, of the people? We havereckoned up two millions of beetles! Andwe have not tamed a single animal sincebiblical times, when all our animals were

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already domesticated; but the reindeer, thestag, the partridge, the heath-cock, all re-main wild.

Our botanists have discovered the cell,and in the cell protoplasm, and in that pro-toplasm still something more, and in thatatom yet another thing. It is evident thatthese occupations will not end for a longtime to come, because it is obvious that

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there can be no end to them, and there-fore the scientist has no time to devote tothose things which are necessary to the peo-ple. And therefore, again, from the timeof Egyptian and Hebrew antiquity, whenwheat and lentils had already been culti-vated, down to our own times, not a singleplant has been added to the food of the peo-ple, with the exception of the potato, and

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that was not obtained by science.Torpedoes have been invented, and ap-

paratus for taxation, and so forth. Butthe spinning-whined, the woman’s weaving-loom, the plough, the hatchet, the chain,the rake, the bucket, the well- sweep, areexactly the same as they were in the daysof Rurik; and if there has been any change,then that change has not been effected by

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scientific people.And it is the same with the arts. We

have elevated a lot of people to the rankof great writers; we have picked these writ-ers to pieces, and have written mountainsof criticism, and criticism on the critics,and criticism on the critics of the critics.And we have collected picture-galleries, andhave studied different schools of art in de-

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tail; and we have so many symphonies andorchestras and operas, that it is becomingdifficult even for us to listen to them. Butwhat have we added to the popular bylini[the epic songs], legends, tales, songs? Whatmusic, what pictures, have we given to thepeople?

On the Nikolskaya books are manufac-tured for the people, and harmonicas in Tula;

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and in neither have we taken any part. Thefalsity of the whole direction of our arts andsciences is more striking and more apparentin precisely those very branches, which, itwould seem, should, from their very nature,be of use to the people, and which, in con-sequence of their false attitude, seem ratherinjurious than useful. The technologist, thephysician, the teacher, the artist, the au-

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man on the largest scale; and–not to men-tion that he is trained to live, at the lowest,on from fifteen hundred to two thousand ayear, and that, therefore, he cannot go tothe country, where no one can give him suchwages,–he is, by virtue of his very occupa-tion, unfitted for serving the people. Heknows how to calculate the highest math-ematical arch of a bridge, how to calcu-

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late the force and transfer of the motivepower, and so on; but he is confounded bythe simplest questions of a peasant: howto improve a plough or a cart, or how tomake irrigating canals. All this in the con-ditions of life in which the laboring manfinds himself. Of this, he neither knows norunderstands any thing,– less, indeed, thanthe very stupidest peasant. Give him work-

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shops, all sorts of workmen at his desire, anorder for a machine from abroad, and hewill get along. But how to devise means of lightening toil, under the conditions of la-bor of millions of men,– this is what he doesnot and can not know; and because of hisknowledge, his habits, and his demands onlife, he is unfitted for this business.

In a still worse predicament is the physi-144



cian. His fancied science is all so arranged,that he only knows how to heal those per-sons who do nothing. He requires an incal-culable quantity of expensive preparations,instruments, drugs, and hygienic appara-tus.

He has studied with celebrities in thecapitals, who only retain patients who canbe cured in the hospital, or who, in the

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course of their cure, can purchase the ap-pliances requisite for healing, and even goat once from the North to the South, tosome baths or other. Science is of such a na-ture, that every rural physic-man lamentsbecause there are no means of curing working-men, because he is so poor that he has notthe means to place the sick man in the properhygienic conditions; and at the same time

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this physician complains that there are nohospitals, and that he cannot get throughwith his work, that he needs assistants, moredoctors and practitioners.

What is the inference? This: that thepeople’s principal lack, from which diseasesarise, and spread abroad, and refuse to behealed, is the lack of means of subsistence.And here Science, under the banner of the

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division of labor, summons her warriors tothe aid of the people. Science is entirely ar-ranged for the wealthy classes, and it hasadopted for its task the healing of the peo-ple who can obtain every thing for them-selves; and it attempts to heal those whopossess no superfluity, by the same means.

But there are no means, and therefore itis necessary to take them from the people

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who are ailing, and pest-stricken, and whocannot recover for lack of means. And nowthe defenders of medicine for the people saythat this matter has been, as yet, but littledeveloped. Evidently it has been but littledeveloped, because if (which God forbid!)it had been developed, and that throughoppressing the people,–instead of two doc-tors, midwives, and practitioners in a dis-

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trict, twenty would have settled down, sincethey desire this, and half the people wouldhave died through the difficulty of support-ing this medical staff, and soon there wouldbe no one to heal.

Scientific co-operation with the people,of which the defenders of science talk, mustbe something quite different. And this co-operation which should exist has not yet be-

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gun. It will begin when the man of science,technologist or physician, will not considerit legal to take from people–I will not say ahundred thousand, but even a modest tenthousand, or five hundred rubles for assist-ing them; but when he will live among thetoiling people, under the same conditions,and exactly as they do, then he will be ableto apply his knowledge to the questions of

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mechanics, technics, hygiene, and the heal-ing of the laboring people. But now sci-ence, supporting itself at the expense of theworking-people, has entirely forgotten theconditions of life among these people, ig-nores (as it puts it) these conditions, andtakes very grave offence because its fanciedknowledge finds no adherents among thepeople.

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The domain of medicine, like the do-main of technical science, still lies untouched.All questions as to how the time of laboris best divided, what is the best methodof nourishment, with what, in what shape,and when it is best to clothe one’s self, toshoe one’s self, to counteract dampness andcold, how best to wash one’s self, to feed thechildren, to swaddle them, and so on, in

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just those conditions in which the working-people find themselves,–all these questionshave not yet been propounded.

The same is the case with the activity of the teachers of science,– pedagogical teach-ers. Exactly in the same manner science hasso arranged this matter, that only wealthypeople are able to study science, and teach-ers, like technologists and physicians, cling

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to money.And this cannot be otherwise, because

a school built on a model plan (as a gen-eral rule, the more scientifically built theschool, the more costly it is), with pivotchains, and globes, and maps, and library,and petty text-books for teachers and schol-ars and pedagogues, is a sort of thing forwhich it would be necessary to double the

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taxes in every village. This science demands.The people need money for their work; andthe more there is needed, the poorer theyare.

Defenders of science say: ”Pedagogy iseven now proving of advantage to the peo-ple, but give it a chance to develop, andthen it will do still better.” Yes, if it doesdevelop, and instead of twenty schools in a

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district there are a hundred, and all scien-tific, and if the people support these schools,they will grow poorer than ever, and theywill more than ever need work for their chil-dren’s sake. ”What is to be done?” theysay to this. The government will build theschools, and will make education obligatory,as it is in Europe; but again, surely, themoney is taken from the people just the

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same, and it will be harder to work, andthey will have less leisure for work, andthere will be no education even by compul-sion. Again the sole salvation is this: thatthe teacher should live under the conditionsof the working- men, and should teach forthat compensation which they give him freelyand voluntarily.

Such is the false course of science, which158



deprives it of the power of fulfilling its obli-gation, which is, to serve the people.

But in nothing is this false course of sci-ence so obviously apparent, as in the vo-cation of art, which, from its very signifi-cance, ought to be accessible to the people.Science may fall back on its stupid excuse,that science acts for science, and that whenit turns out learned men it is laboring for

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the people; but art, if it is art, should be ac-cessible to all the people, and in particularto those in whose name it is executed. Andour definition of art, in a striking manner,convicts those who busy themselves withart, of their lack of desire, lack of knowl-edge, and lack of power, to be useful to thepeople.

The painter, for the production of his160



great works, must have a studio of at leastsuch dimensions that a whole association of carpenters (forty in number) or shoemak-ers, now sickening or stifling in lairs, wouldbe able to work in it. But this is not all; hemust have a model, costumes, travels. Mil-lions are expended on the encouragement of art, and the products of this art are bothincomprehensible and useless to the peo-

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ple. Musicians, in order to express theirgrand ideas, must assemble two hundredmen in white neckties, or in costumes, andspend hundreds of thousands of rubles forthe equipment of an opera. And the prod-ucts of this art cannot evoke from the people–even if the latter could at any time enjoyit–any thing except amazement and ennui.

Writers–authors–it appears, do not re-162



quire surroundings, studios, models, orches-tras, and actors; but it then appears thatthe author needs (not to mention comfortin his quarters) all the dainties of life forthe 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 fortunefor himself, he is granted a pension, in or-

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der that he may compose the better. Andagain, these compositions, so prized by us,remain useless lumber for the people, andutterly unserviceable to them.

And if still more of these dealers in spir-itual nourishment are developed further, asmen of science desire, and a studio is erectedin every village; if an orchestra is set up,and authors are supported in those con-

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ditions which artistic people regard as in-dispensable for themselves,–I imagine thatthe working-classes will sooner take an oathnever to look at any pictures, never to lis-ten to a symphony, never to read poetry ornovels, than to feed all these persons.

And why, apparently, should art not beof service to the people? In every cottagethere are images and pictures; every peas-

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ant man and woman sings; many own har-monicas; and all recite stories and verses,and many read. It is as if those two thingswhich are made for each other–the lock andthe key–had parted company; they have sprungso far apart, that not even the possibilityof uniting them presents itself. Tell theartist that he should paint without a stu-dio, model, or costumes, and that he should

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paint five-kopek pictures, and he will saythat that is tantamount to abandoning hisart, as he understands it. Tell the musicianthat he should play on the harmonica, andteach the women to sing songs; say to thepoet, to the author, that he ought to castaside his poems and romances, and com-pose song-books, tales, and stories, com-prehensible to the uneducated people,–they

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will say that you are mad.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 forwardno demands, claiming no rights, shall of-fer to the common folk their scientific andartistic services; the acceptance or rejectionof which shall depend wholly on the will of

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the common folk.It is said that the activity of science

and art has aided in the forward march of mankind,–meaning by this activity, that whichis now called by that name; which is thesame as saying that an unskilled bangingof oars on a vessel that is floating with thetide, which merely hinders the progress of the vessel, is assisting the movement of the

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ship. It only retards it. The so-called di-vision of labor, which has become in ourday the condition of activity of men of sci-ence and art, was, and has remained, thechief cause of the tardy forward movementof mankind.

The proofs of this lie in that confessionof all men of science, that the gains of sci-ence and art are inaccessible to the laboring

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masses, in consequence of the faulty distri-bution of riches. The irregularity of thisdistribution does not decrease in propor-tion to the progress of science and art, butonly increases. Men of art and science as-sume an air of deep pity for this unfortunatecircumstance which does not depend uponthem. But this unfortunate circumstanceis produced by themselves; for this irregu-

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lar distribution of wealth flows solely fromthe theory of the division of labor.

Science maintains the division of laboras a unalterable law; it sees that the distri-bution of wealth, founded on the division of labor, is wrong and ruinous; and it affirmsthat its activity, which recognizes the divi-sion of labor, will lead people to bliss. Theresult is, that some people make use of the

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labor of others; but that, if they shall makeuse of the labor of others for a very longperiod of time, and in still larger measure,then this wrongful distribution of wealth,i.e., the use of the labor of others, will cometo an end.

Men stand beside a constantly swellingspring of water, and are occupied with theproblem of diverting it to one side, away

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from the thirsty people, and they assert thatthey are producing this water, and that soonenough will be collected for all. But this wa-ter which has flowed, and which still flowsunceasingly, and nourishes all mankind, notonly is not the result of the activity of themen who, standing at its source, turn itaside, but this water flows and gushes out,in spite of the efforts of these men to ob-

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struct its flow.There have always existed a true sci-

ence, and a true art; but true science andart are not such because they called them-selves by that name. It always seems tothose who claim at any given period to bethe representatives of science and art, thatthey have performed, and are performing,and–most of all–that they will presently per-

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form, the most amazing marvels, and thatbeside them there never has been and thereis not any science or any art. Thus it seemedto the sophists, the scholastics, the alchemists,the cabalists, the talmudists; and thus itseems to our own scientific science, and toour art for the sake of art.

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CHAPTER V.

”But art,–science! You repudiate art andscience; that is, you repudiate that by whichmankind lives!” People are constantly mak-ing this–it is not a reply–to me, and they

employ this mode of reception in order toreject my deductions without examining intothem. ”He repudiates science and art, he

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wants to send people back again into a sav-age state; so what is the use of listening tohim and of talking to him?” But this is unjust. I not only do not repudiate art andscience, but, in the name of that which istrue art and true science, I say that which Ido say; merely in order that mankind mayemerge from that savage state into which itwill speedily fall, thanks to the erroneous

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teaching of our time,–only for this purposedo I say that which I say.

Art and science are as indispensable asfood and drink and clothing,–more indis-pensable even; but they become so, not be-cause we decide that what we designate asart and science are indispensable, but sim-ply because they really are indispensable topeople.

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Surely, if hay is prepared for the bodilynourishment of men, the fact that we areconvinced that hay is the proper food forman will not make hay the food of man.Surely I cannot say, ”Why do not you eathay, when it is the indispensable food?” Foodis indispensable, but it may happen thatthat which I offer is not food at all. Thissame thing has occurred with our art and

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science. It seems to us, that if we add to aGreek word the word ”logy,” and call thata science, it will be a science; and, if wecall any abominable thing- -like the danc-ing of nude females–by a Greek word, chore-ography, that that is art, and that it willbe art. But no matter how much we maysay this, the business with which we occupyourselves when we count beetles, and inves-

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tigate the chemical constituents of the starsin the Milky Way, when we paint nymphsand compose novels and symphonies,–ourbusiness will not become either art or sci-ence until such time as it is accepted bythose people for whom it is wrought.

If it were decided that only certain peo-ple should produce food, and if all the restwere forbidden to do this, or if they were

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rendered incapable of producing food, I sup-pose that the quality of food would be low-ered. If the people who enjoyed the monopolyof producing food were Russian peasants,there would be no other food than blackbread and cabbage-soup, and so on, andkvas,–nothing except what they like, andwhat is agreeable to them. The same thingwould happen in the case of that loftiest

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human pursuit, of arts and sciences, if onecaste were to arrogate to itself a monopolyof them: but with this sole difference, that,in the matter of bodily food, there can beno great departure from nature, and breadand cabbage-soup, although not very sa-vory viands, are fit for consumption; butin spiritual food, there may exist the verygreatest departures from nature, and some

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people may feed themselves for a long timeon poisonous spiritual nourishment, whichis directly unsuitable for, or injurious to,them; they may slowly kill themselves withspiritual opium or liquors, and they mayoffer this same food to the masses.

It is this very thing that is going onamong us. And it has come about becausethe position of men of science and art is a

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privileged one, because art and science (inour day), in our world, are not at all a ratio-nal occupation of all mankind without ex-ception, exerting their best powers for theservice of art and science, but an occupa-tion of a restricted circle of people holding amonopoly of these industries, and entitlingthemselves men of art and science, and whohave, therefore, perverted the very idea of

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art and science, and have lost all the mean-ing of their vocation, and who are only con-cerned in amusing and rescuing from crush-ing ennui their tiny circle of idle mouths.

Ever since men have existed, they havealways had science and art in the simplestand broadest sense of the term. Science,in the sense of the whole of knowledge ac-quired by mankind, exists and always has

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existed, and life without it is not conceiv-able; and there is no possibility of either at-tacking or defending science, taken in thissense.

But the point lies here,–that the scopeof the knowledge of all mankind as a wholeis so multifarious, ranging from the knowl-edge of how to extract iron to the knowl-edge of the movements of the planets, that

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man loses himself in this multitude of exist-ing knowledge,–knowledge capable of END-LESS possibilities, if he have no guidingthread, by the aid of which he can classifythis knowledge, and arrange the branchesaccording to the degrees of their significanceand importance.

Before a man undertakes to learn anything whatever, he must make up his mind

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that that branch of knowledge is of weightto him, and of more weight and importancethan the countless other objects of studywith which he is surrounded. Before under-taking the study of any thing, a man de-cides for what purpose he is studying thissubject, and not the others. But to studyevery thing, as the men of scientific sciencein our day preach, without any idea of what

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is to come out of such study, is downrightimpossible, because the number of subjectsof study is ENDLESS; and hence, no matterhow many branches we may acquire, theiracquisition can possess no significance orreason. And, therefore, in ancient times,down to even a very recent date, until theappearance of scientific science, man’s high-est wisdom consisted in finding that guid-

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ing thread, according to which the knowl-edge of men should be classified as being of primary or of secondary importance. Andthis knowledge, which forms the guide to allother branches of knowledge, men have al-ways called science in the strictest accepta-tion of the word. And such science there hasalways been, even down to our own day, inall human communities which have emerged

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from their primal state of savagery.Ever since mankind has existed, teach-

ers have always arisen among peoples, whohave enunciated science in this restrictedsense,–the science of what it is most use-ful for man to know. This science has al-ways 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

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why. Such was the science of Confucius, of Buddha, of Socrates, of Mahomet, and of others; such is this science as they under-stood it, and as all men–with the excep-tion of our little circle of so-called culturedpeople–understand it. This science has notonly always occupied the highest place, buthas been the only and sole science, fromwhich the standing of the rest has been de-

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termined. And this was the case, not inthe least because, as the so-called scientificpeople of our day think, cunning priestlyteachers of this science attributed to it suchsignificance, but because in reality, as everyone knows, both by personal experience andby reflection, there can be no science exceptthe science of that in which the destiny andwelfare of man consist. For the objects of

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science are INCALCULABLE in number,–I undermine the word ”incalculable” in theexact sense in which I understand it,–andwithout the knowledge of that in which thedestiny and welfare of all men consist, thereis no possibility of making a choice amidthis interminable multitude of subjects; andtherefore, without this knowledge, all otherarts and branches of learning will become,

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as they have become among us, an idle andhurtful diversion.

Mankind has existed and existed, andnever 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 su-perficial observation, among the Buddhists,the Brahmins, the Hebrews, the Confucians,

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the Tauists; but nevertheless, wherever wehear of men who have emerged from a stateof savagery, we find this science. And all of a sudden it appears that the men of our dayhave decided that this same science, whichhas hitherto served as the guiding threadof all human knowledge, is the very thingwhich hinders every thing. Men erect build-ings; and one architect has made one esti-

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mate of cost, a second has made another,and a third yet another. The estimates dif-fer somewhat; but they are correct, so thatany one can see, that, if the whole is carriedout in accordance with the calculations, thebuilding will be erected. Along come peo-ple, and assert that the chief point lies inhaving no estimates, and that it should bebuilt thus–by the eye. And this ”thus,” men

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call the most accurate of scientific science.Men repudiate every science, the very sub-stance of science,–the definition of the des-tiny and the welfare of men,–and this repu-diation they designate as science.

Ever since men have existed, great mindshave been born into their midst, which, inthe conflict with reason and conscience, haveput to themselves questions as to ”what

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constitutes welfare,–the destiny and welfare,not of myself alone, but of every man?”What does that power which has createdand which leads me, demand of me and of every man? And what is it necessary for meto do, in order to comply with the require-ments imposed upon me by the demandsof individual and universal welfare? Theyhave asked themselves: ”I am a whole, and

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also a part of something infinite, eternal;what, then, are my relations to other partssimilar to myself, to men and to the whole–to the world?”

And from the voices of conscience and of reason, and from a comparison of what theircontemporaries and men who had lived be-fore them, and who had propounded to them-selves the same questions, had said, these

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great teachers have deduced their doctrines,which were simple, clear, intelligible to allmen, and always such as were susceptibleof fulfilment. Such men have existed of thefirst, second, third, and lowest ranks. Theworld is full of such men. Every living manpropounds the question to himself, how toreconcile the demands of welfare, and of hispersonal existence, with conscience and rea-

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son; and from this universal labor, slowlybut uninterruptedly, new forms of life, whichare more in accord with the requirements of reason and of conscience, are worked out.

All at once, a new caste of people makesits appearance, and they say, ”All this isnonsense; all this must be abandoned.” Thisis the deductive method of ratiocination (whereinlies the difference between the deductive and

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the inductive method, no one can under-stand); these are the dogmas of the tech-nological and metaphysical period. Everything that these men discover by inwardexperience, and which they communicateto one another, concerning their knowledgeof the law of their existence (of their func-tional activity, according to their own jar-gon), every thing that the grandest minds

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of mankind have accomplished in this direc-tion, since the beginning of the world,–allthis is nonsense, and has no weight what-ever. According to this new doctrine, it ap-pears that you are cells: and that you, asa cell, have a very definite functional activ-ity, which you not only fulfil, but which youinfallibly feel within you; and that you area thinking, talking, understanding cell, and

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that you, for this reason, can ask anothersimilar talking cell whether it is just thesame, and in this way verify your own expe-rience; that you can take advantage of thefact that speaking cells, which have livedbefore you, have written on the same subject, and that you have millions of cells whichconfirm your observations by their agree-ment with the cells which have written down

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their thoughts,–all this signifies nothing; allthis is an evil and an erroneous method.

The true scientific method is this: If youwish to know in what the destiny and thewelfare of all mankind and of all the worldconsists, you must, first of all, cease to lis-ten to the voices of your conscience andof your reason, which present themselvesin you and in others like you; you must

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cease to believe all that the great teachersof mankind have said with regard to yourconscience and reason, and you must con-sider all this as nonsense, and begin all overagain. And, in order to understand everything from the beginning, you must lookthrough microscopes at the movements of amoebae, and cells in worms, or, with stillgreater composure, believe in every thing

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that men with a diploma of infallibility shallsay to you about them. And as you gazeat the movements of these cells, or readabout what others have seen, you must at-tribute to these cells your own human sen-sations and calculations as to what they de-sire, whither they are directing themselves,how they compare and discuss, and to whatthey have become accustomed; and from

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these observations (in which there is not aword about an error of thought or of expres-sion) you must deduce a conclusion by anal-ogy as to what you are, what is your des-tiny, wherein lies the welfare of yourself andof other cells like you. In order to under-stand yourself, you must study not only theworms which you see, but microscopic crea-tures which you can barely see, and trans-

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formations from one set of creatures intoothers, which no one has ever beheld, andwhich you, most assuredly, will never be-hold. And the same with art. Where therehas been true science, art has always beenits exponent.

Ever since men have been in existence,they have been in the habit of deducing,from all pursuits, the expressions of various

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branches of learning concerning the destinyand the welfare of man, and the expressionof this knowledge has been art in the strictsense of the word.

Ever since men have existed, there havebeen those who were peculiarly sensitive andresponsive to the doctrine regarding the des-tiny and welfare of man; who have givenexpression to their own and the popular

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conflict, to the delusions which lead themastray from their destinies, their sufferingsin this conflict, their hopes in the triumphof good, them despair over the triumph of evil, and their raptures in the consciousnessof the approaching bliss of man, on viol andtabret, in images and words. Always, downto the most recent times, art has served sci-ence and life,–only then was it what has

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been so highly esteemed of men. But art,in its capacity of an important human ac-tivity, disappeared simultaneously with thesubstitution for the genuine science of des-tiny and welfare, of the science of any thingyou choose to fancy. Art has existed amongall peoples, and will exist until that whichamong us is scornfully called religion hascome to be considered the only science.

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In our European world, so long as thereexisted a Church, as the doctrine of destinyand welfare, and so long as the Church wasregarded as the only true science, art servedthe Church, and remained true art: but assoon as art abandoned the Church, and be-gan to serve science, while science servedwhatever came to hand, art lost its signifi-cance. And notwithstanding the rights claimed

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on the score of ancient memories, and of the clumsy assertion which only proves itsloss of its calling, that art serves art, it hasbecome a trade, providing men with some-thing agreeable; and as such, it inevitablycomes into the category of choreographic,culinary, hair-dressing, and cosmetic arts,whose practitioners designate themselves asartists, with the same right as the poets,

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printers, and musicians of our day.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 pro-duced. Evidently, they are rarely met withamong men, in spite of the fact that thesemen have not been selected from a single

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caste, but from mankind at large. Evidently,these true teachers and artists and learnedmen, the purveyors of spiritual nourishment,are rare. And it is not without reason thatmankind has valued and still values themso highly.

But it now appears, that all these greatfactors in the science and art of the past areno longer of use to us. Nowadays, scientific

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and artistic authorities can, in accordancewith the law of division of labor, be turnedout by factory methods; and, in one decade,more great men have been manufactured inart and science, than have ever been bornof such among all nations, since the founda-tion of the world. Nowadays there is a guildof learned men and artists, and they pre-pare, by perfected methods, all that spir-

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itual food which man requires. And theyhave prepared so much of it, that it is nolonger necessary to refer to the elder au-thorities, who have preceded them,–not onlyto the ancients, but to those much nearerto us. All that was the activity of the the-ological and metaphysical period,–all thatmust be wiped out: but the true, the ra-tional activity began, say, fifty years ago,

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and in the course of those fifty years wehave made so many great men, that thereare about ten great men to every branchof science. And there have come to be somany sciences, that, fortunately, it is easyto make them. All that is required is toadd the Greek word ”logy” to the name,and force them to conform to a set rubric,and the science is all complete. They have

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created so many sciences, that not only canno one man know them all, but not a singleindividual can remember all the titles of allthe existing sciences; the titles alone forma thick lexicon, and new sciences are man-ufactured every day. They have been man-ufactured on the pattern of that Finnishteacher who taught the landed proprietor’schildren Finnish instead of French. Every

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thing has been excellently inculcated; butthere is one objection,–that no one exceptourselves can understand any thing of it,and all this is reckoned as utterly uselessnonsense. However, there is an explana-tion even for this. People do not appreciatethe full value of scientific science, becausethey are under the influence of the theo-logical period, that profound period when

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all the people, both among the Hebrews,and the Chinese, and the Indians, and theGreeks, understood every thing that theirgreat teachers said to them.

But, from whatever cause this has comeabout, the fact remains, that sciences andarts have always existed among mankind,and, when they really did exist, they wereuseful and intelligible to all the people. But

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we practise something which we call scienceand art, but it appears that what we do isunnecessary and unintelligible to man. Andhence, however beautiful may be the thingsthat we accomplish, we have no right to callthem arts and sciences.

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CHAPTER VI.

”But you only furnish a different definitionof arts and sciences, which is stricter, and isincompatible with science,” I shall be toldin answer to this; ”nevertheless, scientific

and artistic activity does still exist. Thereare the Galileos, Brunos, Homers, MichaelAngelos, Beethovens, and all the lesser learned

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men and artists, who have consecrated theirentire lives to the service of science and art,and who were, and will remain, the bene-factors of mankind.”

Generally this is what people say, striv-ing to forget that new principle of the divi-sion of labor, on the basis of which scienceand art now occupy their privileged posi-tion, and on whose basis we are now en-

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abled to decide without grounds, but by agiven standard: Is there, or is there not,any foundation for that activity which callsitself science and art, to so magnify itself?

When the Egyptian or the Grecian priestsproduced their mysteries, which were unin-telligible to any one, and stated concerningthese mysteries that all science and all artwere contained in them, I could not ver-

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ify the reality of their science on the ba-sis of the benefit procured by them to thepeople, because science, according to theirassertions, was supernatural. But now weall possess a very simple and clear defini-tion of the activity of art and science, whichexcludes every thing supernatural: scienceand art promise to carry out the mental ac-tivity of mankind, for the welfare of society,

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or of all the human race.The definition of scientific science and

art is entirely correct; but, unfortunately,the activity of the present arts and sciencesdoes not come under this head. Some of them are directly injurious, others are use-less, others still are worthless,–good only forthe wealthy. They do not fulfil that which,by their own definition, they have under-

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taken to accomplish; and hence they haveas little right to regard themselves as menof art and science, as a corrupt priesthood,which does not fulfil the obligations whichit has assumed, has the right to regard itself as the bearer of divine truth.

And it can be understood why the mak-ers of the present arts and sciences have notfulfilled, and cannot fulfil, their vocation.

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They do not fulfil it, because out of theirobligations they have erected a right.

Scientific and artistic activity, in its realsense, is only fruitful when it knows no rights,but recognizes only obligations. Only be-cause 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

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see in that work only obligation, and theywould fulfil it with toil, with privations, andwith self-abnegation.

The thinker or the artist will never sitcalmly on Olympian heights, as we havebecome accustomed to represent them toourselves. The thinker or the artist shouldsuffer in company with the people, in or-der that he may find salvation or consola-

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tion. Besides this, he will suffer because heis always and eternally in turmoil and agi-tation: he might decide and say that thatwhich would confer welfare on men, wouldfree them from suffering, would afford themconsolation; but he has not said so, and hasnot presented it as he should have done; hehas not decided, and he has not spoken; andto- morrow, possibly, it will be too late,–he

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will die. And therefore suffering and self-sacrifice will always be the lot of the thinkerand the artist.

Not of this description will be the thinkerand artist who is reared in an establish-ment where, apparently, they manufacturethe learned man or the artist (but in pointof fact, they manufacture destroyers of sci-ence and of art), who receives a diploma

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and a certificate, who would be glad notto think and not to express that which isimposed on his soul, but who cannot avoiddoing that to which two irresistible forcesdraw him,–an inward prompting, and thedemand of men.

There will be no sleek, plump, self-satisfiedthinkers and artists. Spiritual activity, andits expression, which are actually necessary

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to others, are the most burdensome of allman’s avocations; a cross, as the Gospelsphrase 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 thebenefit of others.

It is possible to study out how manybeetles there are in the world, to view the

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spots on the sun, to write romances andoperas, without suffering; but it is impos-sible, without self-sacrifice, to instruct peo-ple in their true happiness, which consistssolely in renunciation of self and the serviceof others, and to give strong expression tothis doctrine, without self-sacrifice.

Christ did not die on the cross in vain;not in vain does the sacrifice of suffering

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conquer all things.But our art and science are provided

with certificates and diplomas; and the onlyanxiety of all men is, how to still betterguarantee them, i.e., how to render the ser-vice of the people impracticable for them.

True art and true science possess twounmistakable marks: the first, an inwardmark, which is this, that the servitor of art

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and science will fulfil his vocation, not forprofit but with self- sacrifice; and the sec-ond, an external sign,–his productions willbe intelligible to all the people whose wel-fare he has in view.

No matter what people have fixed uponas their vocation and their welfare, sciencewill be the doctrine of this vocation andwelfare, and art will be the expression of

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that doctrine. That which is called scienceand art, among us, is the product of idleminds and feelings, which have for their object to tickle similar idle minds and feelings.Our arts and sciences are incomprehensi-ble, and say nothing to the people, for theyhave not the welfare of the common peoplein view.

Ever since the life of men has been known242



to us, we find, always and everywhere, thereigning doctrine falsely designating itself as science, not manifesting itself to the com-mon people, but obscuring for them the mean-ing of life. Thus it was among the Greeksthe sophists, then among the Christians themystics, gnostics, scholastics, among the He-brews the Talmudists and Cabalists, and soon everywhere, down to our own times.

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How fortunate it is for us that we live inso peculiar an age, when that mental activ-ity which calls itself science, not only doesnot err, but finds itself, as we are assured,in a remarkably flourishing condition! Doesnot this peculiar good fortune arise fromthe fact that man can not and will not seehis own hideousness? Why is there nothingleft of those sciences, and sophists, and Ca-

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balists, and Talmudists, but words, whilewe are so exceptionally happy? Surely thesigns are identical. There is the same self-satisfaction and blind confidence that we,precisely we, and only we, are on the rightpath, and that the real thing is only be-ginning with us. There is the same expec-tation that we shall discover something re-markable; and that chief sign which leads

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us astray convicts us of our error: all ourwisdom remains with us, and the commonpeople do not understand, and do not ac-cept, and do not need it.

Our position is a very difficult one, butwhy not look at it squarely?

It is time to recover our senses, and toscrutinize ourselves. Surely we are noth-ing else than the scribes and Pharisees, who

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sit in Moses’ seat, and who have taken thekeys of the kingdom of heaven, and will nei-ther go in ourselves, nor permit others togo in. Surely we, the high priests of sci-ence and art, are ourselves worthless de-ceivers, possessing much less right to ourposition than the most crafty and depravedpriests. Surely we have no justification forour privileged position. The priests had a

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right to their position: they declared thatthey taught the people life and salvation.But we have taken their place, and we donot instruct the people in life,–we even ad-mit that such instruction is unnecessary,–but we educate our children in the sameTalmudic-Greek and Latin grammar, in or-der that they may be able to pursue thesame life of parasites which we lead our-

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selves. We say, ”There used to be castes,but there are none among us.” But whatdoes it mean, that some people and theirchildren toil, while other people and theirchildren do not toil?

Bring hither an Indian ignorant of ourlanguage, and show him European life, andour life, for several generations, and he willrecognize the same leading, well-defined castes–

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of laborers and non-laborers–as there are inhis own country. And as in his land, so inours, the right of refusing to labor is con-ferred by a peculiar consecration, which wecall science and art, or, in general terms,culture. It is this culture, and all the dis-tortions of sense connected with it, whichhave brought us to that marvellous mad-ness, in consequence of which we do not see

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that which is so clear and indubitable.

CHAPTER VII.

Then, what is to be done? What are we to

do?This question, which includes within it-

self both an admission that our life is evil

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and wrong, and in connection with this,–as though it were an exercise for it,–thatit is impossible, nevertheless, to change it,this question I have heard, and I continue tohear, on all sides. I have described my ownsufferings, my own gropings, and my ownsolution of this question. I am the samekind of a man as everybody else; and if Iam in any wise distinguished from the av-

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erage man of our circle, it is chiefly in thisrespect, that I, more than the average man,have served and winked at the false doctrineof our world; I have received more approba-tion from men professing the prevailing doc-trine: and therefore, more than others, haveI become depraved, and wandered from thepath. And therefore I think that the solu-tion of the problem, which I have found in

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my own case, will be applicable to all sin-cere people who are propounding the samequestion to themselves.

First of all, in answer to the question,”What is to be done?” I told myself: ”Imust lie neither to other people nor to my-self. I must not fear the truth, whitherso-ever it may lead me.”

We all know what it means to lie to254



other people, but we are not afraid to lieto ourselves; yet the very worst downrightlie, to other people, is not to be comparedin its consequences with the lie to ourselves,upon which we base our whole life.

This is the lie of which we must not beguilty if we are to be in a position to answerthe question: ”What is to be done?” And,in fact, how am I to answer the question,

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”What is to be done?” when every thingthat I do, when my whole life, is foundedon a lie, and when I carefully parade thislie as the truth before others and beforemyself? Not to lie, in this sense, meansnot to fear the truth, not to devise sub-terfuges, and not to accept the subterfugesdevised by others for the purpose of hid-ing from myself the deductions of my rea-

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son and my conscience; not to fear to partcompany with all those who surround me,and to remain alone in company with rea-son and conscience; not to fear that posi-tion to which the truth shall lead me, be-ing firmly convinced that that position towhich truth and conscience shall conductme, however singular it may be, cannot beworse than the one which is founded on a

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lie. Not to lie, in our position of privilegedpersons of mental labor, means, not to beafraid to reckon one’s self up wrongly. It ispossible that you are already so deeply in-debted that you cannot take stock of your-self; but to whatever extent this may bethe case, however long may be the account,however far you have strayed from the path,it is still better than to continue therein.

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A lie to other people is not alone unprof-itable; every matter is settled more directlyand more speedily by the truth than by alie. A lie to others only entangles matters,and delays the settlement; but a lie to one’sself, set forth as the truth, ruins a man’swhole life. If a man, having entered onthe wrong path, assumes that it is the trueone, then every step that he takes on that

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path removes him farther from his goal. If a man who has long been travelling on thisfalse path divines for himself, or is informedby some one, that his course is a mistakenone, but grows alarmed at the idea that hehas wandered very far astray and tries toconvince himself that he may, possibly, stillstrike into the right road, then he never willget into it. If a man quails before the truth,

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and, on perceiving it, does not accept it, butdoes accept a lie for the truth, then he neverwill learn what he ought to do. We, the notonly wealthy, but privileged and so-calledcultivated persons, have advanced so far onthe wrong road, that a great deal of deter-mination, or a very great deal of sufferingon the wrong road, is required, in order tobring us to our senses and to the acknowl-

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edgment of the lie in which we are living. Ihave perceived the lie of our lives, thanks tothe sufferings which the false path entailedupon me, and, having recognized the false-ness of this path on which I stood, I havehad the boldness to go at first in thoughtonly–whither reason and conscience led me,without reflecting where they would bringme out. And I have been rewarded for this

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boldness.All the complicated, broken, tangled, and

incoherent phenomena of life surroundingme, have suddenly become clear; and myposition in the midst of these phenomena,which was formerly strange and burdensome,has become, all at once, natural, and easyto bear.

In this new position, my activity was de-263



fined with perfect accuracy; not at all as ithad previously presented itself to me, butas a new and much more peaceful, loving,and joyous activity. The very thing whichhad formerly terrified me, now began to at-tract me. Hence I think, that the man whowill honestly put to himself the question,”What is to be done?” and, replying to thisquery, will not lie to himself, but will go

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whither his reason leads, has already solvedthe problem.

There is only one thing that can hin-der him in his search for an issue,–an er-roneously lofty idea of himself and of hisposition. This was the case with me; andthen another, arising from the first answerto the question: ”What is to be done?” con-sisted for me in this, that it was necessary

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ness. I say, that in addition to not lying tomyself, I had to repent, because, althoughthe one flows from the other, a false concep-tion of my lofty importance had so grownup with me, that, until I sincerely repentedand cut myself free from that false estimatewhich I had formed of myself, I did not per-ceive the greater part of the lie of which Ihad been guilty to myself. Only when I had

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question thus: ”What sphere of activity shouldI choose, I, the man who has received theeducation and the talents which have fallento my shame? How, in this fashion, makerecompense with that education and thosetalents, for what I have taken, and for whatI still take, from the people?” This ques-tion was wrong, because it contained a falserepresentation, to the effect that I was not

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a man just like them, but a peculiar mancalled to serve the people with those tal-ents and with that education which I hadwon by the efforts of forty years.

I propounded the query to myself; but,in reality, I had answered it in advance, inthat I had in advance defined the sort of activity which was agreeable to me, and bywhich I was called upon to serve the peo-

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ple. I had, in fact, asked myself: ”In whatmanner could I, so very fine a writer, whohad acquired so much learning and talents,make use of them for the benefit of the peo-ple?”

But the question should have been putas it would have stood for a learned rabbiwho had gone through the course of the Tal-mud, and had learned by heart the num-

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ber of letters in all the holy books, andall the fine points of his art. The ques-tion for me, as for the rabbi, should standthus: ”What am I, who have spent, ow-ing to the misfortune of my surroundings,the year’s best fitted for study in the ac-quisition of grammar, geography, judicialscience, poetry, novels and romances, theFrench language, pianoforte playing, philo-

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sophical theories, and military exercises, in-stead of inuring myself to labor; what amI, who have passed the best years of mylife in idle occupations which are corrupt-ing to the soul,–what am I to do in defi-ance of these unfortunate conditions of thepast, in order that I may requite those peo-ple who during the whole time have fed andclothed, yes, and who even now continue to

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feed and clothe me?” Had the question thenstood as it stands before me now, after Ihave repented,–”What am I, so corrupt aman, to do?” the answer would have beeneasy: ”To strive, first of all, to support my-self honestly; that is, to learn not to liveupon others; and while I am learning, andwhen I have learned this, to render aid onall possible occasions to the people, with

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my hands, and my feet, and my brain, andmy heart, and with every thing to whichthe people should present a claim.”

And therefore I say, that for the man of our circle, in addition to not lying to him-self or to others, repentance is also neces-sary, and that he should scrape from himself that pride which has sprung up in us, in ourculture, in our refinements, in our talents;

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and that he should confess that he is not abenefactor of the people and a distinguishedman, who does not refuse to share with thepeople his useful acquirements, but that heshould confess himself to be a thoroughlyguilty, corrupt, and good-for-nothing man,who desires to reform himself and not to be-have benevolently towards the people, butsimply to cease wounding and insulting them.

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I often hear the questions of good youngmen who sympathize with the renunciatorypart of my writings, and who ask, ”Well,and what then shall I do? What am I todo, now that I have finished my course inthe university, or in some other institution,in order that I may be of use?” Young menask this, and in the depths of their soul it isalready decided that the education which

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they have received constitutes their privi-lege and that they desire to serve the peopleprecisely by means of thus superiority. Andhence, one thing which they will in no wisedo, is to bear themselves honestly and criti-cally towards that which they call their cul-ture, and ask themselves, are those qualitieswhich they call their culture good or bad?If they will do this, they will infallibly be led

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to see the necessity of renouncing their cul-ture, and the necessity of beginning to learnall over again; and this is the one indispens-able thing. They can in no wise solve theproblem, ”What to do?” because this ques-tion does not stand before them as it shouldstand. The question must stand thus: ”Inwhat manner am I, a helpless, useless man,who, owing to the misfortune of my condi-

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tions, have wasted my best years of studyin conning the scientific Talmud which cor-rupts soul and body, to correct this mis-take, and learn to serve the people?” Butit presents itself to them thus: ”How amI, a man who has acquired so much veryfine learning, to turn this very fine learn-ing to the use of the people?” And such aman will never answer the question, ”What

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is to be done?” until he repents. And re-pentance is not terrible, just as truth is notterrible, and it is equally joyful and fruit-ful. It is only necessary to accept the truthwholly, and to repent wholly, in order to un-derstand that no one possesses any rights,privileges, or peculiarities in the matter of this life of ours, but that there are no endsor bounds to obligation, and that a man’s

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first and most indubitable duty is to takepart in the struggle with nature for his ownlife and for the lives of others.

And this confession of a man’s obliga-tion constitutes the gist of the third answerto the question, ”What is to be done?”

I tried not to lie to myself: I tried tocast out from myself the remains of my falseconceptions of the importance of my educa-

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tion and talents, and to repent; but on theway to a decision of the question, ”Whatto do?” a fresh difficulty arose. There areso many different occupations, that an in-dication was necessary as to the precise onewhich was to be adopted. And the answerto this question was furnished me by sincererepentance for the evil in which I had lived.

”What to do? Precisely what to do?” all283



ask, and that is what I also asked so longas, under the influence of my exalted ideaof any own importance, I did not perceivethat my first and unquestionable duty wasto feed myself, to clothe myself, to furnishmy own fuel, to do my own building, and,by so doing, to serve others, because, eversince the would has existed, the first andindubitable duty of every man has consisted

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and does consist in this.In fact, no matter what a man may have

assumed to be his vocation,– whether it beto govern people, to defend his fellow-countrymen,to divine service, to instruct others, to in-vent means to heighten the pleasures of life,to discover the laws of the world, to incor-porate eternal truths in artistic representations,–the duty of a reasonable man is to take part

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in the struggle with nature, for the suste-nance of his own life and of that of oth-ers. This obligation is the first of all, be-cause what people need most of all is theirlife; and therefore, in order to defend andinstruct the people, and render their livesmore agreeable, it is requisite to preservethat life itself, while my refusal to share inthe struggle, my monopoly of the labors of

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others, is equivalent to annihilation of thelives of others. And, therefore, it is not ra-tional to serve the lives of men by annihi-lating the lives of men; and it is impossibleto say that I am serving men, when, by mylife, I am obviously injuring them.

A man’s obligation to struggle with na-ture for the acquisition of the means of liveli-hood will always be the first and most un-

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questionable of all obligations, because thisobligation is a law of life, departure fromwhich entails the inevitable punishment of either bodily or mental annihilation of thelife of man. If a man living alone excuseshimself from the obligation of struggling withnature, he is immediately punished, in thathis body perishes. But if a man excuseshimself from this obligation by making other

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people fulfil it for him, then also he is imme-diately punished by the annihilation of hismental life; that is to say, of the life whichpossesses rational thought.

In this one act, man receives–if the twothings are to be separated–full satisfactionof the bodily and spiritual demands of hisnature. The feeding, clothing, and takingcare of himself and his family, constitute

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the satisfaction of the bodily demands andrequirements; and doing the same for otherpeople, constitutes the satisfaction of hisspiritual requirements. Every other employ-ment of man is only legal when it is directedto the satisfaction of this very first duty of man; for the fulfilment of this duty consti-tutes the whole life of man.

I had been so turned about by my pre-290



vious life, this first and indubitable law of God or of nature is so concealed in our sphereof society, that the fulfilment of this lawseemed to me strange, terrible, even shame-ful; as though the fulfilment of an eternal,unquestionable law, and not the departurefrom it, can be terrible, strange, and shame-ful.

At first it seemed to me that the fulfil-291



ment of this matter required some prepa-ration, arrangement or community of men,holding similar views,–the consent of one’sfamily, life in the country; it seemed to medisgraceful to make a show of myself beforepeople, to undertake a thing so improper inour conditions of existence, as bodily toil,and I did not know how to set about it.But it was only necessary for me to under-

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stand that this is no exclusive occupationwhich requires to be invented and arrangedfor, but that this employment was merelya return from the false position in which Ifound myself, to a natural one; was only arectification of that lie in which I was liv-ing. I had only to recognize this fact, andall these difficulties vanished. It was notin the least necessary to make preparations

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and arrangements, and to await the consentof others, for, no matter in what position Ihad found myself, there had always beenpeople who had fed, clothed and warmedme, in addition to themselves; and every-where, under all conditions, I could do thesame for myself and for them, if I had thetime and the strength. Neither could I ex-perience false shame in an unwonted occu-

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pation, no matter how surprising it mightbe to people, because, through not doing it,I had already experienced not false but realshame.

And when I had reached this confessionand the practical deduction from it, I wasfully rewarded for not having quailed beforethe deductions of reason, and for followingwhither they led me. On arriving at this

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practical deduction, I was amazed at theease and simplicity with which all the prob-lems which had previously seemed to me sodifficult and so complicated, were solved.

To the question, ”What is it necessaryto do?” the most indubitable answer pre-sented itself: first of all, that which it wasnecessary for me to do was, to attend to myown samovar, my own stove, my own water,

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my own clothing; to every thing that I coulddo for myself. To the question, ”Will it notseem strange to people if you do this?” itappeared that this strangeness lasted onlya week, and after the lapse of that week, itwould have seemed strange had I returnedto my former conditions of life. With re-gard to the question, ”Is it necessary to or-ganize this physical labor, to institute an

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association in the country, on my land?”it appeared that nothing of the sort wasnecessary; that labor, if it does not aim atthe acquisition of all possible leisure, andthe enjoyment of the labor of others,–likethe labor of people bent on accumulatingmoney,–but if it have for its object the satis-faction of requirements, will itself be drawnfrom the city to the country, to the land,

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where this labor is the most fruitful andcheerful. But it is not requisite to insti-tute any association, because the man wholabors, naturally and of himself, attacheshimself to the existing association of labor-ing men.

To the question, whether this labor wouldnot monopolize all my time, and deprive meof those intellectual pursuits which I love, to

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which I am accustomed, and which, in mymoments of self-conceit, I regard as not use-less to others? I received a most unexpectedreply. The energy of my intellectual activ-ity increased, and increased in exact pro-portion with bodily application, while free-ing itself from every thing superfluous. Itappeared that by dedicating to physical toileight hours, that half of the day which I had

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formerly passed in the oppressive state of astruggle with ennui, eight hours remainedto me, of which only five of intellectual ac-tivity, according to my terms, were neces-sary to me. For it appeared, that if I, a veryvoluminous writer, who had done nothingfor nearly forty years except write, and whohad written three hundred printed sheets;–if I had worked during all those forty years

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at ordinary labor with the working-people,then, not reckoning winter evenings and leisuredays, if I had read and studied for five hoursevery day, and had written a couple of pagesonly on holidays (and I have been in thehabit of writing at the rate of one printedsheet a day), then I should have writtenthose three hundred sheets in fourteen years.The fact seemed startling: yet it is the most

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simple arithmetical calculation, which canbe made by a seven-year- old boy, but whichI had not been able to make up to thistime. There are twenty-four hours in theday; if we take away eight hours, sixteenremain. If any man engaged in intellectualoccupations devote five hours every day tohis occupation, he will accomplish a fearfulamount. And what is to be done with the

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remaining eleven hours?It proved that physical labor not only

does not exclude the possibility of mentalactivity, but that it improves its quality,and encourages it.

In answer to the question, whether thisphysical toil does not deprive me of manyinnocent pleasures peculiar to man, such asthe enjoyment of the arts, the acquisition of

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learning, intercourse with people, and thedelights of life in general, it turned out ex-actly the reverse: the more intense the la-bor, the more nearly it approached whatis considered the coarsest agricultural toil,the more enjoyment and knowledge did Igain, and the more did I come into closeand loving communion with men, and themore happiness did I derive from life.

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In answer to the question (which I haveso often heard from persons not thoroughlysincere), as to what result could flow fromso insignificant a drop in the sea of sym-pathy as my individual physical labor inthe sea of labor ingulfing me, I receivedalso the most satisfactory and unexpectedof answers. It appeared that all I had todo was to make physical labor the habit-

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ual condition of my life, and the majorityof my false, but precious, habits and my de-mands, when physically idle, fell away fromme at once of their own accord, without theslightest exertion on my part. Not to men-tion the habit of turning day into night andvice versa, my habits connected with mybed, with my clothing, with conventionalcleanliness,–which are downright impossi-

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ble and oppressive with physical labor,–andmy 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 mostsimple viands became needful and most pleas-ing of all to me,–cabbage-soup, porridge,black bread, and tea v prikusku. 3 So that,not to mention the influence upon me of the

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example of the simple working-people, whoare content with little, with whom I came incontact in the course of my bodily toil, myvery requirements underwent a change inconsequence of my toilsome life; so that mydrop of physical labor in the sea of universallabor became larger and larger, in propor-tion as I accustomed myself to, and appro-priated, the habits of the laboring classes;

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in proportion, also, to the success of my la-bor, my demands for labor from others grewless and less, and my life naturally, with-out exertion or privations, approached thatsimple existence of which I could not evendream without fulfilling the law of labor.

It proved that my dearest demands fromlife, namely, my demands for vanity, and di-version from ennui, arose directly from my

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idle life. There was no place for vanity,in connection with physical labor; and nodiversions were needed, since my time waspleasantly occupied, and, after my fatigue,simple rest at tea over a book, or in conver-sation with my fellows, was incomparablymore agreeable than theatres, cards, con-ceits, or a large company,–all which thingsare needed in physical idleness, and which

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cost a great deal.In answer to the question, Would not

this unaccustomed toil ruin that health whichis indispensable in order to render service tothe 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

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treatment, and so on, and other expedientsintended to take the place of the naturalconditions of man’s life, were better), thatthe more intense the toil, the stronger, morealert, more cheerful, and more kindly did Ifeel. Thus it undoubtedly appeared, that, just as all those cunning devices of the hu-man mind, newspapers, theatres, concerts,visits, balls, cards, journals, romances, are

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nothing else than expedients for maintain-ing the spiritual life of man outside his nat-ural conditions of labor for others,–just soall the hygienic and medical devices of thehuman mind for the preparation of food,drink, lodging, ventilation, heating, cloth-ing, medicine, water, massage, gymnastics,electric, and other means of healing,–all theseclever devices are merely an expedient to

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sustain the bodily life of man removed fromits natural conditions of labor. It turnedout that all these devices of the human mindfor the agreeable arrangement of the phys-ical existence of idle persons are preciselyanalogous to those artful contrivances whichpeople might invent for the production invessels hermetically sealed, by means of me-chanical arrangements, of evaporation, and

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plants, of the air best fitted for breathing,when all that is needed is to open the win-dow. All the inventions of medicine and hy-giene for persons of our sphere are much thesame as though a mechanic should hit uponthe idea of heating a steam-boiler which wasnot working, and should shut all the valvesso that the boiler should not burst. Onlyone thing is needed, instead of all these ex-

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tremely complicated devices for pleasure,for comfort, and for medical and hygienicpreparations, intended to save people fromtheir spiritual and bodily ailments, whichswallow up so much labor,–to fulfil the lawof life; to do that which is proper not onlyto man, but to the animal; to fire off thecharge of energy taken win in the shapeof food, by muscular exertion; to speak in

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plain language, to earn one’s bread. Thosewho do not work should not eat, or theyshould earn as much as they have eaten.

And when I clearly comprehended allthis, it struck me as ridiculous. Througha whole series of doubts and searchings, Ihad arrived, by a long course of thought, atthis remarkable truth: if a man has eyes,it is that he may see with them; if he has

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ears, that he may hear; and feet, that hemay walk; and hands and back, that he maylabor; and that if a man will not employthose members for that purpose for whichthey are intended, it will be the worse forhim.

I came to this conclusion, that, with usprivileged people, the same thing has hap-pened which happened with the horses of a

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friend of mine. His steward, who was nota lover of horses, nor well versed in them,on receiving his master’s orders to place thebest horses in the stable, selected them fromthe stud, placed them in stalls, and fed andwatered them; but fearing for the valuablesteeds, he could not bring himself to trustthem to any one, and he neither rode nordrove them, nor did he even take them out.

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The horses stood there until they were goodfor nothing. The same thing has happenedwith us, but with this difference: that itwas impossible to deceive the horses in anyway, and they were kept in bonds to pre-vent their getting out; but we are kept inan unnatural position that is equally inju-rious to us, by deceits which have entangledus, and which hold us like chains.

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We have arranged for ourselves a lifethat is repugnant both to the moral andthe physical nature of man, and all the pow-ers of our intelligence we concentrate uponassuring man that this is the most natu-ral life possible. Every thing which we callculture,–our sciences, art, and the perfec-tion of the pleasant thing’s of life,– all theseare attempts to deceive the moral require-

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ments of man; every thing that is calledhygiene and medicine, is an attempt to de-ceive the natural physical demands of hu-man nature. But these deceits have theirbounds, and we advance to them. ”If suchbe the real human life, then it is better notto live at all,” says the reigning and ex-tremely fashionable philosophy of Schopen-hauer and Hartmann. If such is life, ’tis bet-

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ter for the coming generation not to live,”say corrupt medical science and its newlydevised means to that end.

In the Bible, it is laid down as the law of man: ”In the sweat of thy face shalt thoueat bread, and in sorrow thou shalt bringforth children;” but ”nous avons change toutca,” as Moliere’s character says, when ex-pressing himself with regard to medicine,

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and asserting that the liver was on the leftside. We have changed all that. Men neednot work in order to eat, and women neednot bear children.

A ragged peasant roams the Krapiven-sky district. During the war he was anagent for the purchase of grain, under anofficial of the commissary department. Onbeing brought in contact with the official,

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and seeing his luxurious life, the peasantlost his mind, and thought that he mightget along without work, like gentlemen, andreceive proper support from the Emperor.This peasant now calls himself ”the MostSerene Warrior, Prince Blokhin, purveyorof war supplies of all descriptions.” He saysof himself that he has ”passed through allthe ranks,” and that when he shall have

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served out his term in the army, he is to re-ceive from the Emperor an unlimited bankaccount, clothes, uniforms, horses, equipages,tea, pease and servants, and all sorts of lux-uries. This man is ridiculous in the eyes of many, but to me the significance of his mad-ness is terrible. To the question, whetherhe does not wish to work, he always repliesproudly: ”I am much obliged. The peas-

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ants will attend to all that.” When you tellhim that the peasants do not wish to work,either, he answers: ”It is not difficult forthe peasant.”

He generally talks in a high-flown style,and is fond of verbal substantives. ”Nowthere is an invention of machinery for thealleviation of the peasants,” he says; ”thereis no difficulty for them in that.” When he is

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asked what he lives for, he replies, ”To passthe time.” I always look on this man as ona mirror. I behold in him myself and all myclass. To pass through all the ranks (tchini)in order to live for the purpose of passingthe time, and to receive an unlimited bankaccount, while the peasants, for whom thisis not difficult, because of the invention of machinery, do the whole business,–this is

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the complete formula of the idiotic creed of the people of our sphere in society.

When we inquire precisely what we areto do, surely, we ask nothing, but merelyassert–only not in such good faith as theMost Serene Prince Blokhin, who has beenpromoted through all ranks, and lost hismind–that we do not wish to do any thing.

He who will reflect for a moment cannot330



ask thus, because, on the one hand, everything that he uses has been made, and ismade, by the hands of men; and, on theother side, as soon as a healthy man hasawakened and eaten, the necessity of work-ing with feet and hands and brain makes it-self felt. In order to find work and to work,he need only not hold back: only a personwho thinks work disgraceful- -like the lady

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who requests her guest not to take the trou-ble to open the door, but to wait until shecan call a man for this purpose–can put tohimself the question, what he is to do.

The point does not lie in inventing work,–you can never get through all the work thatis to be done for yourself and for others,–but the point lies in weaning one’s self fromthat criminal view of life in accordance with

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which I eat and sleep for my own pleasure;and in appropriating to myself that just andsimple view with which the laboring mangrows up and lives,–that man is, first of all,a machine, which loads itself with food inorder to sustain itself, and that it is there-fore disgraceful, wrong, and impossible toeat and not to work; that to eat and not towork is the most impious, unnatural, and,

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therefore, dangerous position, in the natureof the sin of Sodom. Only let this acknowl-edgement be made, and there will be work;and work will always be joyous and satis-fying to both spiritual and bodily require-ments.

The matter presented itself to me thus:The day is divided for every man, by fooditself, into four parts, or four stints, as the

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peasants call it: (1) before breakfast; (2)from breakfast until dinner; (3) from dinneruntil four o’clock; (4) from four o’clock untilevening.

A man’s employment, whatever it maybe that he feels a need for in his own per-son, is also divided into four categories: (1)the muscular employment of power, laborof the hands, feet, shoulders, back,–hard la-

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bor, from which you sweat; (2) the employ-ment of the fingers and wrists, the employ-ment of artisan skill; (3) the employment of the mind and imagination; (4) the employ-ment of intercourse with others.

The benefits which man enjoys are alsodivided into four categories. Every manenjoys, in the first place, the product of hard labor,– grain, cattle, buildings, wells,

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ponds, and so forth; in the second place, theresults of artisan toil,–clothes, boots, uten-sils, and so forth; in the third place, theproducts of mental activity,– science, art;and, in the forth place, established inter-course between people.

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

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four of man’s capacities, and myself pro-duce all these four sorts of benefits whichmen make use of, so that one portion of theday, the first, should be dedicated to hardlabor; the second, to intellectual labor; thethird, to artisan labor; and the forth, tointercourse with people. It struck me, thatonly then would that false division of labor,which exists in our society, be abrogated,

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and that just division of labor established,which does not destroy man’s happiness.

I, for example, have busied myself allmy life with intellectual labor. I said tomyself, that I had so divided labor, thatwriting, that is to say, intellectual labor, ismy special employment, and the other mat-ters which were necessary to me I had leftfree (or relegated, rather) to others. But

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this, which would appear to have been themost advantageous arrangement for intel-lectual toil, was precisely the most disad-vantageous to mental labor, not to mentionits injustice.

All my life long, I have regulated mywhole life, food, sleep, diversion, in viewof these hours of special labor, and I havedone nothing except this work. The result

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of this has been, in the first place, that Ihave contracted my sphere of observationsand knowledge, and have frequently had nomeans for the study even of problems whichoften presented themselves in describing thelife of the people (for the life of the com-mon people is the every-day problem of in-tellectual activity). I was conscious of myignorance, and was obliged to obtain in-

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struction, to ask about things which areknown by every man not engaged in spe-cial labor. In the second place, the resultwas, that I had been in the habit of sittingdown to write when I had no inward im-pulse to write, and when no one demandedfrom me writing, as writing, that is to say,my thoughts, but when my name was merelywanted for journalistic speculation. I tried

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to squeeze out of myself what I could. Some-times I could extract nothing; sometimesit was very wretched stuff, and I was dis-satisfied and grieved. But now that I havelearned the indispensability of physical la-bor, both hard and artisan labor, the resultis entirely different. My time has been oc-cupied, however modestly, at least usefullyand cheerfully, and in a manner instructive

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to me. And therefore I have torn myself from that indubitably useful and cheerfuloccupation for my special duties only whenI felt an inward impulse, and when I sawa demand made upon me directly for myliterary work.

And these demands called into play onlygood nature, and therefore the usefulnessand the joy of my special labor. Thus it

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turned out, that employment in those phys-ical labors which are indispensable to me, asthey are to every man, not only did not in-terfere with my special activity, but was anindispensable condition of the usefulness,worth, and cheerfulness of that activity.

The bird is so constructed, that it is in-dispensable that it should fly, walk, peek,combine; and when it does all this, it is sat-

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isfied and happy,–then it is a bird. Just soman, when he walks, turns, raises, drags,works with his fingers, with his eyes, withhis ears, with his tongue, with his brain,–only then is he satisfied, only then is he aman.

A man who acknowledges his appoint-ment to labor will naturally strive towardsthat rotation of labor which is peculiar to

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him, for the satisfaction of his inward re-quirements; and he can alter this labor inno other way than when he feels within him-self an irresistible summons to some exclu-sive form of labor, and when the demandsof other men for that labor are expressed.

The character of labor is such, that thesatisfaction of all a man’s requirements de-mands that same succession of the sorts of

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work which renders work not a burden buta joy. Only a false creed, [Greek text whichcannot be reproduced], to the effect thatlabor is a curse, could have led men to ridthemselves of certain kinds of work; i.e., tothe appropriation of the work of others, de-manding the forced occupation with speciallabor of other people, which they call divi-sion of labor.

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We have only grown used to our falsecomprehension of the regulation of labor,because it seems to us that the shoemaker,the machinist, the writer, or the musicianwill be better off if he gets rid of the laborpeculiar to man. Where there is no force ex-ercised over the labor of others, or any falsebelief in the joy of idleness, not a single manwill get rid of physical labor, necessary for

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the satisfaction of his requirements, for thesake of special work; because special work isnot a privilege, but a sacrifice which man of-fers to inward pressure and to his brethren.

The shoemaker in the country, who aban-dons his wonted labor in the field, which isso grateful to him, and betakes himself tohis trade, in order to repair or make bootsfor his neighbors, always deprives himself

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of the pleasant toil of the field, simply be-cause he likes to make boots, because heknows that no one else can do it so well ashe, and that people will be grateful to himfor it; but the desire cannot occur to him,to deprive himself, for the whole period of his life, of the cheering rotation of labor.

It is the same with the starosta [villageelder], the machinist, the writer, the learned

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man. To us, with our corrupt conception of things, it seems, that if a steward has beenrelegated to the position of a peasant byhis master, or if a minister has been sent tothe colonies, he has been chastised, he hasbeen ill-treated. But in reality a benefit hasbeen conferred on him; that is to say, hisspecial, hard labor has been changed intoa cheerful rotation of labor. In a naturally

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constituted society, this is quite otherwise.I know of one community where the peoplesupported themselves. One of the membersof this society was better educated than therest; and they called upon him to read, sothat he was obliged to prepare himself dur-ing the day, in order that he might readin the evening. This he did gladly, feelingthat he was useful to others, and that he

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was performing a good deed. But he grewweary of exclusively intellectual work, andhis health suffered from it. The membersof the community took pity on him, andrequested him to go to work in the fields.

For men who regard labor as the sub-stance and the joy of life, the basis, thefoundation of life will always be the strugglewith nature,–labor both agricultural and me-

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chanical, and intellectual, and the establish-ment of communion between men. Depar-ture from one or from many of these vari-eties of labor, and the adoption of special la-bor, will then only occur when the man pos-sessed of a special branch, and loving thiswork, and knowing that he can perform itbetter than others, sacrifices his own profitfor the satisfaction of the direct demands

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made upon him. Only on condition of sucha view of labor, and of the natural divisionof labor arising from it, is that curse whichis laid upon our idea of labor abrogated,and does every sort of work becomes alwaysa joy; because a man will either performthat labor which is undoubtedly useful and joyous, and not dull, or he will possess theconsciousness of self- abnegation in the ful-

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filment of more difficult and restricted toil,which he exercises for the good of others.

But the division of labor is more prof-itable. More profitable for whom? It ismore profitable in making the greatest pos-sible quantity of calico, and boots in theshortest possible time. But who will makethese boots and this calico? There are peo-ple who, for whole generations, make only

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the heads of pins. Then how can this bemore profitable for men? If the point lies inmanufacturing as much calico and as manypins as possible, then this is so. But thepoint concerns men and their welfare. Andthe welfare of men lies in life. And life iswork. How, then, can the necessity for bur-densome, oppressive toil be more profitablefor people? For all men, that one thing is

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more profitable which I desire for myself,–the utmost well-being, and the gratificationof all those requirements, both bodily andspiritual, of the conscience and of the rea-son, which are imposed upon me. And inmy own case I have found, that for my ownwelfare, and for the satisfaction of theseneeds of mine, all that I require is to curemyself of that folly in which I had been liv-

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ing, in company with the Krapivensky mad-man, and which consisted in presupposingthat some people need not work, and thatcertain other people should direct all this,and that I should therefore do only thatwhich is natural to man, i.e., labor for thesatisfaction of their requirements; and, hav-ing discovered this, I convinced myself thatlabor for the satisfaction of one’s own needs

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falls of itself into various kinds of labor,each one of which possesses its own charm,and which not only do not constitute a bur-den, but which serve as a respite to one an-other. I have made a rough division of thislabor (not insisting on the justice of thisarrangement), in accordance with my ownneeds in life, into four parts, correspondingto the four stints of labor of which the day

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is composed; and I seek in this manner tosatisfy my requirements.

These, then, are the answers which Ihave found for myself to the question, ”Whatis to be done?”

First, Not to lie to myself, however farremoved my path in life may be from thetrue path which my reason discloses to me.

Second, To renounce my consciousness362



of my own righteousness, my superiority es-pecially over other people; and to acknowl-edge my guilt.

Third, To comply with that eternal andindubitable law of humanity,- -the labor of my whole being, feeling no shame at anysort of work; to contend with nature for themaintenance of my own life and the lives of others.

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Footnote:1 An omission by the censor, which I am

unable to supply. TRANS.2 We designate as organisms the ele-

phant and the bacterian, only because weassume by analogy in those creatures thesame conjunction of feeling and conscious-ness that we know to exist in ourselves. Butin human societies and in humanity, this ac-

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leo tolstoy-on the significance of science and art mobile

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