The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries/Volume 10/The Workingmen's Programme
FERDINAND LASSALLE
THE WORKINGMEN'S PROGRAMME (1862)
TRANSLATED BY E. H. BABBITT, A. B.
Assistant Professor of German, Tufts College
GENTLEMEN: Requested to deliver an address before you, I have thought it best to choose, and to treat in a strictly scientific way, a subject, which, from its nature, must be particularly interesting to you, namely, the special relation of the character of the historical period in which we are living to the idea of a working class.
I have said that my treatment of the subject will be purely scientific.
A true scientific attitude, however, is nothing more than perfect clearness, and therefore the complete separation of our thinking from any preconceived notion. For the sake of this complete absence of preconceived notions with which we must approach the subject, it will even be necessary, in the course of the discussion, to form a clear conception of what we really mean by the term "workingmen" or "working class." For even on this point we must not admit any preconceived notion, as if these terms were something perfectly well understood—which is by no means the case. The language of common life very frequently attaches at different times different conceptions to the words "workingman" or "working class," and we must therefore, in due time, get a clear conception as to what meaning we will attach to these designations.
With this problem, however, we are not concerned at the present moment. We must rather begin this presentation with a different question: The working class is only one class among several which together form the body politic, and there have been workingmen at every historical period. How, then, is it possible, and what does the statement mean, that a particular connection exists between the idea of this special definite class and the principle of the particular historical period in which we are living?
To understand this it is desirable to take a glance into history—into the past, which properly interpreted, here, as everywhere, gives us the key to the present and points out to us an outline of the future. In this retrospect we must be as brief as possible, or we shall be in danger (in the short time which is before us) of not reaching at all the essential subject of the discussion. But even at this risk we shall at least be obliged to cast such a glance into the past, even if it is limited to the most general considerations, in order to understand the import of our question and of our subject.
If, then, we go back to the Middle Ages, we shall find, in general, that the same classes and divisions of the population which today compose the body politic were already in existence, although by no means so fully developed; but we find, furthermore, that at that time one class, one element, is predominate—the landholding element. It is land proprietorship which in the Middle Ages is the controlling influence in every particular, which has put its own special stamp upon all the institutions and upon the whole life of the time: it must be pronounced the ruling principle of that period.
The reason why land ownership is the ruling principle of that time is a very simple one. It lies—at least this reason is quite sufficient for our present purposes—in the economic conditions of the Middle Ages and in the state of development of production. Commerce was then very slightly developed, manufactures still less. The chief wealth of every community consisted, in greatest measure, in the products of agriculture.
Personal property at that time, in comparison with the ownership of real estate, came only slightly into consideration; how far this was the case is shown very plainly by property law, which always gives a very clear criterion for the economic relations of the period in which it arises. Medieval property law, for instance, with the object of holding the property of families from generation to generation and protecting it from dissipation, declared family property or "estate" inalienable without the consent of the heirs; but by this family property or "estate" was expressly understood only real estate. Personal or portable property, on the other hand, could be disposed of without the consent of the heirs; and in general all personal property was treated by the old German law not as an independent self-perpetuating basis of property (capital), but always as the fruit of the soil—in the same way, for instance, as the annual crop from the soil—and was subject to the same legal conditions as the latter. Nothing but real estate was then regularly treated as an independent self-perpetuating basis of property. It is therefore entirely in keeping with this condition of things, and a simple consequence of it, that landed property and those who had it in their hands almost exclusively—the nobility and clergy—formed the ruling factor, from every point of view, in the society of that period.
Whatever institution of the Middle Ages you may consider, you meet this phenomenon at every point. It will suffice us to glance at a few of the most essential of these institutions in which landholding appears as a ruling principle.
First: The organization of the public power given by it, or the Feudal System. The essential point of this was that kings, princes and lords ceded to other lords and knights land for their use, in return for which the recipient had to promise military vassalage—that is, he had to support the feudal lord in his wards or feuds, both in person and with retainers.
Second: The organization of public law, or the constitution of the empire. In the German parliaments the princes and the large landholdings of the counts, the empire, and of the clergy were represented. The cities had the right to a seat or a vote only if they had succeeded in acquiring the privileges of an imperial free city.
Third: The exemption from taxation of the large landholdings. It is a characteristic and constantly recurring phenomenon that every ruling privileged class tries constantly to throw the burden of the maintenance of the State, in open or disguised manner, in direct or indirect form, on the propertyless classes. When Richelieu, in 1641, demanded six million francs from the clergy as an extraordinary revenue, the latter gave, through the archbishop of Sens, the characteristic answer: "L'usage ancien de l'église pendant sa vigeur était que le peuple contribuait ses biens, la noblesse son sang, le clergé ses prières aux necessités de l'État." (The ancient custom of the church in her prosperity was that the people contributed to the needs of the State their property, the nobility their blood, the clergy their prayers.)
Fourth: The social stigma that rested upon all work other than occupation of the soil. To conduct manufacturing enterprises, to acquire money by commerce and manual trades, was considered disgraceful and dishonorable for the two privileged ruling classes, the nobility and the clergy, for whom it was regarded as honorable to obtain their revenue from landownership only.
These four great and determining motives which established the basic character of the period are entirely sufficient, for our purpose, to show how it was that landed property put its stamp upon that epoch and formed its ruling principle.
This was so far the case that even the movement of the Peasant War, which apparently was completely revolutionary—the one which broke out in Germany in 1524 and involved all Swabia, Franconia, Alsace, Westphalia, and other parts of Germany—depended absolutely upon this same principle, and was therefore in fact a reactionary movement in spite of its revolutionary attitude. The peasants at that time burned down the castles of the nobles, killed the nobles themselves, and made them run the gauntlet according to the custom of the times; but, nevertheless, in spite of this externally revolutionary appearance, the movement was essentially thoroughly reactionary. For the new birth of State relations—the German freedom which the peasants desired to establish—was to consist, according to their ideas, in the abolition of the special and intermediary position which the princes occupied between the emperor and the empire, and, in its stead, the representation in the German parliament of nothing but free and independent landed property, including that of the peasants and knights (these two classes up to this time not having been represented), as well as the individual independent estates of the nobles of every degree—knights, counts, and princes, without regard to former differences; and, on the other hand, of the landed property of the nobles as well as of the peasants.
It is clear at once, then, that this plan, in the last instance, results in nothing more than still more logical, clear, and equitable carrying-out of the principle which had formed the basis of the historical period which was even then approaching its end; that is, landownership was to be the ruling element and the only condition which entitled anybody to participation in the government of the State: that anybody should demand such participation just because he was a man, because he was a reasonable being, even without owning any land—this did not occur to the peasants in the remotest degree! For this the conditions of the time were not sufficiently developed, the method of thought of the time was not revolutionary enough.
So then this peasant uprising, which came forward externally with such revolutionary determination, was in its essence completely reactionary; that is to say, instead of standing upon a new revolutionary principle, it stood unconsciously on the old, existing principle of the period which was then just closing; and just because it was reactionary, while it thought itself revolutionary, did the peasant uprising fail.
Accordingly, in comparison with the uprising of the peasants as well as that of the nobles under Franz von Sickingen—both of which had the principle in common of basing participation in the government, more definitely than had before been the case, upon landholding—the rising monarchical idea was relatively a justifiable and revolutionary factor, since it was based upon the idea of a state sovereignty independent of landholding, representing the national idea independent of private property relations; and it was just this which gave it the power for a victorious development and for the suppression of the uprising of the peasants and the nobles.
I have gone into this point somewhat explicitly, in the first place to show the reasonableness and the progress of liberty in the development of history, even by an example in which this is not at all evident on superficial observation; in the second place, because historians are still far from recognizing this reactionary character of the peasant uprising and the reason for its failure, which lay chiefly in this aspect; but, rather deceived by external appearances, they have considered the Peasant War a truly revolutionary movement.
Finally, in the third place, because at all ages this phenomenon is frequently repeated—that men who do not think clearly (among whom are often found those apparently most highly educated, even professors) have fallen into the tremendous mistake of taking for a new revolutionary principle what is only a more logical and clear expression of the thought of a period and of institutions which are just passing away.
Gentlemen, let me warn you against such men, who are revolutionists only in their own imaginations, and such tendencies, because we shall have them in the future as we have had them in the past. We can also derive consolation from the fact that the numerous movements which, after momentary success, have immediately, or in a short time, come to naught again, which we find in history and which may cloud the superficial vision of many a patriot with gloomy forebodings, have never been revolutionary movements except in imagination. A true revolutionary movement, one which rests upon a really new idea, as the more thoughtful man can prove from history to his consolation, has never yet failed, at least not permanently.
I return to my main subject. If the Peasant Wars are revolutionary only in imagination, what was really and truly revolutionary at that time was the advance in manufacturing—the production of the middle class, the constantly developing division of labor, and the resulting wealth in capital, which accumulated exclusively in the hands of the middle class because it was just this class that devoted itself to production and reaped its profits.
It is usual to date the end of the Middle Ages and the beginning of modern history from the Reformation—accordingly, from the year 1517. This is correct in the sense that, in the two centuries immediately following the Reformation, a slow, gradual, and unnoticed change took place, which completely transformed the aspect of society and accomplished within it a revolution that later, in 1789, was merely proclaimed, not actually produced, by the French Revolution.
Do you ask in what this transformation consisted?
In the legal position of the nobility there had been no change. Legally the nobility and the clergy had remained the two ruling classes, and the middle class the class universally kept down and oppressed. But although there had legally been no change, yet actually the reversal of conditions had been all the more tremendous.
By the production and accumulation of capital and of personal property, in contrast to real estate, in the hands of the middle class, the nobility had dwindled into complete insignificance—even into actual dependence upon the enriched middle class. If the nobles wished to maintain their place beside the middle class, they must renounce all class traditions and begin to adopt the same methods of industrial acquisition to which the middle class owed their wealth and in consequence their de facto power. The comedies of Molière, who lived at the time of Louis XIV., show us, as an extremely interesting phenomenon, the nobles of the times despising the rich middle class and at the same time playing the parasite at its tables. Louis XIV. himself, this proudest of monarchs, takes off his hat in his palace at Versailles and humbles himself before the Jew, Samuel Bernard, the Rothschild of the times, in order to influence him in favor of a loan.
When Law, the famous Scotch financier, at the beginning of the eighteenth century, formed in France his trading companies—a stock corporation which was formed for the exploitation of the Mississippi region, the East Indies, etc., the Regent of France himself was on its directorate—a member of a merchant company! The Regent found himself in fact compelled in August, 1717, to issue edicts in virtue of which the nobles might, without loss of dignity, enter into the naval and military service of these trading companies! To that point, then, the warlike and proud feudal aristocracy of France had fallen—to be the armed employees of the industrial and commercial enterprises of the middle class, whose relations extended through all continents.
Corresponding to this radical change, there had already developed a materialism and an eager, grasping struggle for money and property which could overcome all moral ideas and (what I regret to say was generally still more significant for the privileged classes) even all privileges of rank. Under this same Regent of France, Count Horn, one of the highest of the aristocracy and connected with the first families of France, even with the Regent himself, was broken on the wheel as a common robber and murderer; and the Duchess of Orleans, a German princess, writes in a letter of November 29, 1719, that six ladies of the highest rank waylaid in the court of a building the above-mentioned Law, who was at that time the most courted and the busiest man in France and therefore very hard to interview, in order to induce him to dispose of some of the shares founded by him, for which at that time all France was competing and which brought on the Exchange six and eight times the nominal price at which Law had issued them.
If you ask me again what the causes were which made possible this development of manufacturing and the consequent wealth of the middle class, I should have to exceed, if I tried to give them thorough treatment, the time at my disposal. I can only enumerate for you the most essential ones: The discovery of America and its tremendous influence on production; the route to the East Indies around the Cape of Good Hope, taking the place of the former land route by way of Suez for all trade with the East Indies; the discovery of the magnetic needle and the invention of the mariner's compass, and in consequence greater safety and speed and lower insurance rates for all ocean traffic; the waterways established in the interior of the countries, the canals, also the good roads which made possible for the first time a more remote market through the lessening of the transportation costs of various commodities which formerly could not carry the raise in price thus caused; greater security of property; well-established courts of law ; the invention of powder, and, in consequence of this invention, the breaking down by the monarchy of the feudal military power of the nobility; the dismissal of the mercenaries and mounted retainers of the nobles on account of the destruction of their castles and of their independent military power. For these retainers there was now nothing left but to find work in the medieval workshops. All these events gave impetus to the triumphal chariot of the middle class. All these events, and many more which might be enumerated, combined to produce this one effect. By the opening of wider markets and the accompanying reduction of the costs of production and transportation, there comes production for the world-market, and consequently the necessity for cheap production which, in its turn, can be met only by a constantly extending division of labor, i. e., by the more perfectly developed division of the work into its simplest mechanical processes; this in turn brings about a constantly increasing output.
We are on the ground here of action and reaction. Each of these circumstances is a cause for the other, and the latter then reacts upon the former, and extends it and increases its scope.
It must be clear that the production of an article in enormous quantities—its production for the world-market—is, in general, possible only if the costs of production of the article are low and if also its transportation is cheap enough not to raise its price essentially. Production in enormous quantities demands a wholesale market, and a wholesale market for any commodity can be obtained only by its low price, which makes it available for a very large number of consumers; thus the low cost of production and transportation of any commodity brings about its production on a huge scale in enormous quantities. It must also be clear, on the other hand, that the production of a commodity in enormous quantities causes and increases its cheapness. A manufacturer, for instance, who turns out 200,000 pieces of cotton goods in a year, is able, because he procures his raw material more cheaply on a large scale and because the profit on his capital and the interest on his plant is distributed over so large a number of pieces, to market each piece, within certain limits, at a far lower price than the manufacturer who produces yearly only 5,000 such pieces. Greater cheapness of production leads accordingly to production on a large scale. This results, in turn, in greater cheapness; this in its own turn brings about production in still greater quantities, and this still greater cheapness, and so on.
The relations are also quite similar in the matter of division of labor, which is another necessary condition for production in large quantities and for cheapness, for without it neither cheapness of production nor large quantities would be possible.
The division of labor which splits up the production of an article into a great number of very simple and often purely mechanical operations requiring no thought on the part of the operative, and sets at each one of these single operations a single workman, would be entirely impossible without extensive production of this article. It is therefore established and extended only through such production. On the other hand, this division of the work into simple operations leads (1), to a constantly increasing cheapness; (2), to production in enormous and constantly increasing quantities—a production calculated not only for this or that neighboring market, but for the entire world-market; and (3), through this and through new divisions which can for this reason be applied to single operations, to still farther advances in the division of labor itself.
By this series of actions and reactions there had accordingly appeared a complete transformation in the manufacturing institutions of the community and hence in all its relations of life. The best way to state this briefly is to reduce it to the following contrast:
In the early Middle Ages, since only a small number of very valuable products could stand the expense of transportation, production was calculated for the need of the immediate locality and a very limited neighboring market whose demand was, just for this reason, a well-known, steady, and unchanging one. The need or the demand preceded production and formed a well-known criterion for it; in other words, the production of the community had been chiefly artisan production. Now, in distinction from factory or wholesale production, the character of small or artisan production is this: Either the need is awaited before production—as, for example, a tailor waits for my order before he makes me a coat, a locksmith before he makes me a lock; or even if some goods are manufactured to be sold ready-made, on the whole this ready-made business is limited to a minimum of what is definitely known from experience to be the needs of the immediate locality and its nearest neighborhood-as, for instance, a tinsmith makes up a certain number of lamps, knowing that the local demand will soon dispose of them.
The characteristics of a community producing chiefly in this manner are poverty, or at least only a moderate prosperity, but, to offset this, a certain definiteness and steadiness of all relations.
Now, on the other hand, through the incessant and complete action and reaction which I have been describing to you, there had appeared in the community a totally different kind of work, and therefore of all relations of life. There had already appeared the germ of the same characteristic which today marks, in a differently developed but enormously extended manner, the production of the community. In the tremendous development which it has today this characteristic, in contrast to that previously described, can be indicated as follows: Whereas, formerly, need preceded production, made it a consequence of itself, determined it, and formed a criterion and well-known standard for it—production and supply now go in advance of the demand and try to develop it. Production is no longer for the locality, no longer for the well-known need of neighboring markets, but for the world-market. Production goes on for remote regions and for a general market, for all continents, for an actually unknown and not definitely calculated need; and in order that the product may arouse need a weapon is supplied it—cheapness. Cheapness is the weapon of a product, with which, on the one hand, it obtains customers, and, on the other, drives from the field other goods of the same nature, which are likewise urged upon the consumers; so that under the system of free competition any producer may hope, no matter what enormous quantities he may produce, to find a market for them all if he only succeeds, by making his goods exceedingly cheap, in keeping out of the market the goods of his competitors. The predominant character of such a society is vast and boundless wealth, but, on the other hand, a great instability of all relations, an almost continual, anxious insecurity in the position of each individual, together with a very unequal sharing of the returns of production among those taking part in it.
Thus great had been the changes brought about, unnoticed in the heart of society, by the revolutionary and all-pervading activity of industrialism, even before the end of the eighteenth century.
Though the men of the Peasant Wars had not ventured any other conception than that of founding the State upon land ownership, though they had not, even in thought, been able to free themselves from the view that land ownership is necessarily the element which holds sovereignty over the State and that participation in that ownership is the condition for participation in that sovereignty, yet the quiet, imperceptible, revolutionary progress of industrialism had brought about the condition that, long before the end of the eighteenth century, land ownership had become an element stripped entirely of its former importance, and had fallen to a subordinate position, in the face of the development of new methods of production, of the wealth which this development bore in its bosom and increased from day to day, and of the influence which it clearly had on all the people and their affairs—even upon the largely impoverished nobility.
The revolution was therefore an accomplished fact in the actual relations of society long before it broke out in France; and it was only necessary to bring this reversal of conditions to outward recognition to give it legal sanction.
This is always the case in all revolutions. You can never make a revolution. You can only give external legal recognition and logical embodiment in practice to a revolution which has already become an actuality in the essential relations of society. Trying to make a revolution is the folly of immature men who have no conception of the laws of history.
Precisely for this reason it is just as immature and childish to suppress a revolution already fully formed in the womb of society and to oppose its legal recognition, or to reproach those who assist at its birth with being revolutionary. If the revolution is at hand in the actual conditions of society, nothing can prevent its appearing and passing into legislation.
How these things were related, and how far they had already gone in this direction in the period of which I speak, you will best see from another matter which I will mention.
I have already spoken about the division of labor, the development of which consists of separating all production into a series of entirely simple mechanical operations requiring no thought on the part of the operator. As this separation progresses farther and farther, the discovery is finally made that these single operations, because they are quite simple and call for no thought, can be accomplished just as well, and even better, by unthinking agents; and so in 1775, fourteen years before the French Revolution, Arkwright invented the first machine, his famous spinning-jenny.
We can see that the machine in itself was not the cause of the revolution. Too little time intervened between this invention, which furthermore was not immediately introduced into France, and the revolution; but it embodied in itself the actually incipient and fully ripe revolution. This machine, however innocent it seemed, was in fact the revolution personified. The reasons for this are simple.
You, of course, have heard of the guild system, by which production in the Middle Ages was directed. The guild system of the Middle Ages was inseparably connected with other institutions. The guilds lasted through the whole medieval period up to the French Revolution; but as early as 1672 the matter of their abolition was considered in the German parliament, though without result. Even in 1614, in the French États Généraux, the abolition of the guilds was demanded by the middle class, whose production the guilds everywhere restricted; but also without result. Indeed thirteen years before the Revolution, in 1776, a minister of the Reformed party in France, the famous Turgot, abolished the guilds, but the privileged world of medieval feudalism considered itself, and with perfect justice, in mortal danger if its vital principle of privilege did not extend to all classes of society; and so, six months after the abolition of the guilds, the king was empowered to revoke this edict and to reestablish the guilds. Nothing but the Revolution could overthrow (and it did overthrow in one day, by the capture of the Bastille) that which in Germany had been vainly assailed since 1672 and in France since 1614—for almost two centuries—by legal means.
You see from this, Gentlemen, that however great the advantages of reformation by legal means are, such means have nevertheless in all the more important points one great disadvantage—that of being absolutely powerless for whole centuries; and, furthermore, that the revolutionary means, undeniable as its disadvantages are, has as a compensation the advantage of attaining quickly and effectively a practical result.
If you will now keep in mind that the guilds were connected in an inseparable manner with the whole social arrangement of the Middle Ages, you will see at once how the first machine, Arkwright's spinning-jenny, embodied a complete revolution in those social conditions.
For how could machine production be possible under the guild system, in which the number of journeymen and apprentices a master workman could employ was determined by law in each locality; or how, under the guild system, in which the different trades were distinguished by law from one another in the most exact manner, and each master could carry on only one of them—so that, for instance, the tailors and the nail-makers of Paris for centuries had lawsuits with the menders of clothes and the locksmiths, in order to draw lines between their respective trades—how, under such a guild system, could production be possible with a system of machines which requires the union of the most varied departments of work under the control of one and the same management?
It had come to the point, then, that production itself had called into being, by its constant and gradual development, instruments of production which must necessarily destroy the existing condition of things—instruments and methods of production which, under the guild system, could no longer find place and opportunity for development.
Thus considered, I call the first machine in itself a revolution; for it bore in its wheels and cogs, little as this could be seen on external observation, the germ of the new condition of things, based upon free competition, which must necessarily develop from this germ with the power and irresistibility of life itself.
And so, if I am not greatly mistaken, it may be true today that there exist various phenomena which imply a new condition that must inevitably develop from them—phenomena which, at this time also, cannot be understood from external conditions ; so that the authorities themselves, while persecuting insignificant agitators, not only overlook these phenomena, but even let them stand as necessary accompaniments of our civilization, hail them as the climax of prosperity, and, on occasion, make appreciative and approving speeches in their honor.
After all these discussions you will now understand the true meaning of the famous pamphlet published by Abbé Sieyes in 1788—and so before the French Revolution—which was summed up in these words: "Qu'est-ce que c'est que le tiers état? rien! qu' est qu'il doit être? Tout!" Tiers état, or third class, is what the middle class in France was called, because they formed, in contrast to the two privileged classes, the nobility and the clergy, a third class, which meant all the people without privilege. This pamphlet brings together the two questions raised by Sieyes, and their answers: "What is the third class? Nothing! What ought it to be? Everything." This is how Sieyes formulates these two questions and answers. But from all that has been said, the true meaning of these questions and answers would be more clearly and correctly expressed as follows: "What is the third class de facto—in reality? Everything! But what is it de jure—legally? Nothing!"
What was to be done, then, was to bring the legal position of the third class into harmony with its actual meaning; to clothe its importance, already existing in fact, with legal sanction and recognition; and just this is the achievement and significance of the victorious revolution which broke out in France in 1789 and exerted its transforming influence on the other countries of Europe.
This question arises here: What was this third class, or bourgeoisie, that through the French Revolution obtained victory over the privileged classes and gained control of the State? Since this third class stood in contrast to the privileged classes of society with legal vested rights, it considered itself at that time as equivalent to the whole people, and its cause as the cause of all humanity. This explains the exalting and mighty enthusiasm which was general in that period. The rights of man were proclaimed; and it seemed as if, with the liberation and sovereignty of this third class, all legal privileges in society were ended, and as if every legally privileged distinction had been replaced by its principle of the universal liberty of man.
At that time, however, in the very beginning of the movement, in April, 1789, on the occasion of the elections to a parliament which was summoned by the king under the condition that the third class should this time send as many representatives as the nobility and clergy together, a newspaper of a character anything but revolutionary writes as follows: "Who can tell us whether a despotism of the bourgeoisie will not follow the so-called aristocracy of the nobles?"
But such cries at that time were drowned in the general enthusiasm.
Nevertheless we must come back to that question, we must put the question definitely: Was the cause of the third class really the cause of all humanity; or did this third class, the bourgeoisie, bear within it a fourth class, from which it wished to distinguish itself clearly, and subject it to its sovereignty!
I must now, if I do not wish to run the risk of subjecting my presentation to great misunderstandings, explain my own conception of the word bourgeoisie, or upper bourgeoisie, as a term for a political party. The word bourgeoisie may be translated into German by Bürgertum (body of citizens). In my opinion this is not what it means. We are all Bürger (citizens)—the working man, the Kleinbürger (lower middle class), Grossbürger (upper middle class), etc. But in the course of history the word bourgeoisie has acquired the significance of a definite political tendency, which I will now explain.[1]
The whole class of commoners outside the nobility was divided, when the French Revolution began, and is still divided in general, into two subordinate classes—first, those who get their living chiefly or entirely from their labor, and are supported in this by very little capital, or none at all, which might give them the possibility of actively engaging in production for the support of themselves and their families; to this class, accordingly, belong the laborers, the lower middle class, the artisans, and, in general, the peasants; second, those who control a large amount of property and capital, and on that basis engage in production or receive an income from it. These can be called the capitalists; but no capitalist is a bourgeois merely because of his wealth.
No commoner has any objection to a nobleman's rejoicing privately over his ancestry and his landed estates. But if the nobleman tries to make these ancestors or these landed estates the condition of special influence and privilege in the government, of control over public policy, then the anger of the commoner rises against the nobleman and he calls him a feudalist.
Conditions are the same with reference to the actual difference of property within the class of commoners. If the capitalist rejoices in private over the great convenience and advantage which a large estate implies for the holder, nothing is more simple, more moral, and more lawful.
To whatever extent the laborer and the poorer citizen—in a word, all classes outside the capitalists—are entitled to demand from the State that its whole thought and effort be directed toward improving the lamentable and poverty-stricken material condition of the working classes and toward assuring to them, through whose hands all the wealth is produced of which our civilization boasts, to whose hands all products owe their being, without whom society as a whole could not exist another day, a more abundant and less uncertain revenue, and thus the possibility of intellectual culture, and, in time, an existence really worthy of a human being—however much, I say, the working classes are entitled to demand this from the State and to establish this as its true object, the workingmen must and will never forget that all property once lawfully acquired is completely inviolable and legitimate.
But if the capitalist, not satisfied with the actual advantages of large property, tries to establish the possession of capital as a condition for participation in the control of the State and in the determination of public policy, then the capitalist becomes a bourgeois, then he makes the fact of possession the legal condition of political control, then he characterizes himself as a new privileged class which attempts to put the controlling stamp of its privileges upon all social institutions in as full a degree as the nobility in the Middle Ages did with the privilege of landholding.
The question therefore which we must raise with reference to the French Revolution and the period of history inaugurated by it, is the following: Has the third class, which came into control through the French Revolution, looked upon itself as a bourgeoisie in this sense, and has it attempted successfully to subject the people to its privileged political control?
The answer is given by the great facts of history, and this answer is definitely in the affirmative. In the very first constitution which followed the French Revolution—the one of September 3, 1791—the difference between citoyen actif and citoyen passif—the "active" and "passive" citizen—is set forth. Only the active citizens received the franchise, and the active citizen, according to this constitution, is no other than one who pays a direct tax of a definitely stated amount.
This tax was at that time very moderate. It was only the value of three days' work: but what was more important was that all those were declared passive citizens who were serviteurs à gages (wage earners), a definition by which the working class was expressly excluded from the franchise. After all, in such questions the essential point is not the extent, but the principle.
This meant the introduction of a property qualification, the establishment of a definite amount of property as the condition of the franchise—this first and most important of all political rights—and in the determination of public policy.
All those who paid no direct tax at all, or less than this fixed amount, and those who were wage earners, were excluded from control of the State and were made a subject body. The ownership of capital had become the condition for control over the State, as was nobility, or ownership of land, in the Middle Ages.
This principle of property qualification remains (with the exception of a very short period during the French Republic of 1793, which perished from its own indefiniteness and from the whole state of society at the time, which I cannot here discuss further) the leading principle of all constitutions which originated in the French Revolution.
In fact, with the consistency which all principles have, this one was soon forced to develop into a different quantitative scope. In the constitution of 1814, according to the classified list promulgated by Louis XVIII., a direct tax of three hundred francs (eighty thalers) was established, in place of the value of three days' work, as a condition of the franchise. The July Revolution of 1830 broke out, and nevertheless, by the law of April 19, 1831, a direct tax of two hundred francs (about fifty-three thalers) was required as a condition of the franchise.
What under Louis Philippe and Guizot was called the pays légal—that is, the country as a legal entity—consisted of 200,000 men; for there were not more than 200,000 electors in France who could meet the property requirement, and these exercised sovereignty over more than 30,000,000 inhabitants. It is here to be noted that it makes no difference whether the principle of property qualification, the exclusion of those without property from the franchise, appears, as in the constitutions referred to, in direct and open form, or in a form in one way or another disguised. The effect is always the same.
So the second French Republic in 1850 could not possibly revoke the general direct franchise, once proclaimed, which we shall later consider, but adopted the expedient of granting the franchise (law of May 31, 1850) only to such citizens as had been domiciled in a place without interruption for at least three years. For, because workingmen in France are frequently compelled by conditions to change their domicile and to look for work in another commune, it was hoped, and with good reason, that extremely large numbers of workingmen, who could not bring proof of three years uninterrupted residence in the same place, would be excluded from the franchise.
Here you have a property qualification in disguised form. It is still worse in our country, since the promulgation of the three-class election law, under which, with variations according to locality, three, ten, thirty, or more voters without property, of the third class of electors, have only the same franchise as one single capitalist who belongs to the first class; so that, in fact, if the proportion were only one to ten, nine men out of every ten who had the franchise in 1848 have lost it through the three-class election law of 1849, and exercise it only in appearance.[2]
But this is only the average situation. In reality, conditions vary greatly in different localities, and they are often still more unfavorable, most unfavorable in fact where the inequality of property is most developed; thus for instance, in Düsseldorf twenty-six voters of the third class have no more power than one rich man.
If we return from this discussion to our main thought, we have shown, and shall continue to show, in what manner, since the time when, through the French Revolution, the capitalist element obtained sovereignty, its principle, the possession of capital, has now become the controlling principle of all social institutions; how the capitalist class, proceeding in just the same manner as the nobility in the Middle Ages with land ownership, impresses now the controlling and exclusive stamp of its particular principle, the possession of capital, upon all institutions of society. The parallel between the nobility and the capitalist class is, in this respect, complete. We have already seen this with regard to the most important fundamental point, the constitution of the Empire. As in the Middle Ages landholding was the prevailing principle of representation in the German parliaments, so now, by a direct or disguised property qualification, the amount of tax, and therefore, since this is determined by the capital of an individual, the holding of capital, is what, in the last instance, determines the right of election to legislative bodies and therefore of participation in the control of the State.
Just so in reference to all other institutions in which I have demonstrated to you that land ownership was the controlling principle in the Middle Ages. I called your attention then to the exemption from taxation of the noble landholders of the Middle Ages, and told you that every privileged ruling class tries to throw the burden for the maintenance of public welfare upon the oppressed propertyless class. Just so the capitalists. To be sure they cannot declare publicly that they wish to be exempt from taxation. Their expressed principle is rather the rule that everybody shall be taxed in proportion to income; but, on the other hand, they attain, at least fairly well, the same result in disguised form by the distinction between direct and indirect taxes.
Direct taxes are those which, like the classified income tax, are collected, and therefore are determined, according to the amount of income and capital. Indirect taxes, however, are those which are laid upon any necessity—for instance, salt, grain, beer, meat, fuel; or on the necessity for legal protection—law costs, stamp taxes, etc., and which the individual very frequently pays in the price of the commodity without knowing or perceiving that he is being taxed, that the tax increases the price.
Now no man, of course, who is twenty, fifty, or a hundred times as rich as another eats by any means twenty, fifty or a hundred times as much salt, or bread, or meat; or drinks fifty or a hundred times as much beer or wine; or has fifty or a hundred times as much need for heat, and therefore for fuel, as the workingman or the relatively poor man.
The result of this is that all indirect taxes, instead of falling upon individuals according to the proportion of their capital and income, are paid in the main by the propertyless classes, the poorer classes of the nation. It is true that the capitalists did not invent indirect taxes—they were already in existence—but they were the first to develop them into a monstrous system and to throw upon them nearly the whole cost of government. To make this clear to you, I will simply allude to the Prussian financial administration of 1855. (Shows by official statistics that out of a budget of 109,000,000 thalers all but 12,800,000 were derived from indirect taxes.)
Indirect taxation is therefore the institution through which the capitalistic class obtains the privilege of exemption for its capital and lays the cost of the government upon the poorer classes of society.
Observe, at the same time, Gentlemen, the peculiar contradiction and the strange kind of justice of the procedure of laying the whole expense upon indirect taxation, and therefore upon the poor people, and of setting up as a test and a condition of the franchise, and therefore of political control, the direct taxes, which contribute for the total need of the State only the insignificant sum of twelve million out of one hundred and eight million.
I said further with reference to the nobility of the Middle Ages, that they held in contempt all activity and industry of the commoners. The situation is the same today. All kinds of work, to be sure, are equally esteemed today, and if anybody became a millionaire by rag-picking he would be sure of obtaining a highly esteemed position in society.
But what social contempt falls upon those who, no matter at what they labor or how hard they toil, have no capital to back them—that is a matter which you, Gentlemen, do not need to be told by me, but can find often enough, unfortunately, in your daily life. Indeed, in many respects, the capitalist class asserts the supremacy of its special privilege with even stricter consistency than the nobility of the Middle Ages did with its land ownership.
The instruction of the people—I mean here of the adult people—was in the Middle Ages the work of the clergy. Since then the newspapers have assumed this function; but through the securities a newspaper must give, and still more through the stamp tax which is laid in our country, as in France and elsewhere, on newspapers, a daily newspaper has become a very expensive institution, which cannot be established without very considerable capital, with the result that, for this very reason, even the opportunity to mold public opinion, instruct it, and guide it has become the privilege of the capitalist class.
Were this not the case, you would have much different and very much better papers. It is interesting to see how early this attempt of the bourgeoisie to make the press a privilege of capital appears, and in what frank and undisguised form. On July 24, 1789, a few days after the capture of the Bastille, during the first days after the middle class obtained political supremacy, the representatives of the city of Paris passed a resolution by which they declared printers responsible if they published pamphlets or sheets by writers sans existence connue (without visible means of support). The newly won freedom of the press, then, was to exist only for writers who had visible means of support. Property thus appears as the condition of the freedom of the press, indeed of the morality of the writer. The straightforwardness of the first days of citizen sovereignty only expresses in a childishly frank manner what is today artfully obtained by bonding and stamp taxes. With these main characteristic facts corresponding to our consideration of the Middle Ages we shall have to be satisfied here.
What we have seen so far are two historical periods, each of which stands for the controlling idea of a distinct class, which impresses its own principle upon all institutions of the time.
First, the idea of the nobility, or land ownership, which forms the controlling principle of the Middle Ages, and permeates all the institutions of that time.
This period closed with the French Revolution; though, of course, especially in Germany, where this revolution came about, not through the people, but in much slower and more complete reforms introduced by the governments, numerous and important survivals of that first historical period still exist, preventing to a large extent, even today, complete control by the capitalist class.
We observed, second, the period beginning with the French Revolution at the end of the last century, which has capitalism as its principle and establishes this as the privilege which permeates all social institutions and determines participation in the public policy. This period is also, little as external appearances indicate, essentially at an end.
On February 24, 1848, the first dawn of a new historical period became visible, for on that day in France—that land in whose mighty internal struggles the victories as well as the defeats of liberty indicate victories and defeats for all mankind—a revolution broke out which placed a workingman at the head of the provisional government, which declared the principle of the State to be the improvement of the lot of the working classes, and proclaimed the universal and direct franchise, through which every citizen who had attained his twenty-first year, without regard to property, should receive an equal share in the control of the State and the determination of public policy. You see, Gentlemen, if the Revolution of 1789 was the revolution of the tiers état (the third class), this time it is the fourth class—which in 1789 was still undistinguished from the third class and seemed to coincide with it—that now attempts to establish its own principle as the controlling one of society and to make it pervade all institutions.
But here, in the case of the supremacy of the fourth class, we find the tremendous distinction that this class is the final and all-inclusive disinherited class of humanity, which can set up no further exclusive condition, either of legal or actual kind, neither nobility, land ownership, nor capital, which it might establish as a new privilege and carry through the institutions of society. Workingmen we all are, so far as we have the desire to make ourselves useful to human society in any way whatsoever.
This fourth class, in whose bosom therefore no possible germ of a new order of privilege is concealed, is for that very reason synonymous with the whole human race. Its class is, in truth, the class of all humanity, its liberty is the liberty of humanity itself, its sovereignty is the sovereignty of all. Whoever hails the principle of the working class, in the sense in which I have developed it, as a controlling principle of society, utters no cry which separates and makes hostile to another the classes of society. He utters, rather, a cry of reconciliation, a cry which includes all society, a cry for the leveling of all hostilities among the social strata, a cry of accord, in which all should join who do not wish privilege and the oppression of the people by privileged classes, a cry of love, which, ever since it spoke for the first time from the heart of the people, will always remain the true voice of the people, and, on account of its meaning, will still be a cry of love, even if it sounds the battle-cry of the people.
The principle of the working class as a controlling principle of society we have still to consider from three points of view—first, as to the formal means of its realization; second, as to its moral significance ; third, as to its political conception of public policy.
The formal means for carrying out this principle is the universal and direct franchise already discussed—I say the universal and direct franchise, not merely the general franchise such as we had in 1848. The introduction in elections of two steps—of voters and of electors—is nothing but an artful means introduced purposely with the intention of thwarting, so far as possible, the will of the people in the elections.
To be sure, the universal and direct franchise will be no magic wand, Gentlemen, which can protect you from temporary mistakes. We have seen in France, in the years 1848 and 1849, two unfavorable elections in succession, but the universal and direct franchise is the only means which automatically corrects, in course of time, the mistakes and temporary wrong to which this may lead. It is that legendary lance which itself heals the wounds it makes. In the course of time it is impossible, with universal and direct franchise, for chosen representatives not to be a completely faithful reflection of the people who have elected them. The people, therefore, at every time will consider universal and direct franchise as an indispensable political weapon, and as the most fundamental and important of their demands.
Let us now glance at the moral bearing of this social principle which we are considering.
Perhaps the idea of the lowest classes of society as the controlling principle of society and of the State may appear very dangerous and immoral, one which threatens to expose morality and culture to the danger of being overrun by a "modern barbarism."
And it would be no wonder if this thought should appear so at present. For even public opinion—I have already indicated by what means, namely, through the newspapers—receives today its imprint from the coining-die of capital and from the hands of the privileged capitalist class.
Nevertheless this fear is only a prejudice; and it can be proved, on the contrary, that this thought would represent the highest moral progress and triumph which the world's history has shown. That view is a prejudice, I say, and it is the prejudice of the present time, which is still controlled by privilege.
At another time—at the time of the first French Republic of 1793, which was necessarily forced to fail from its own lack of clearness—the opposite prejudice prevailed. At that time it was held as a dogma that all the upper classes were immoral and only the common people were good and moral. This view is due to Rousseau. In the new Declaration of Human Rights which the French Convention, that powerful constitutional assembly, published, it is even set forth in a special article—Article 19—which reads "Toute institution, qui ne suppose le peuple bon et le magistrat corruptible, est vicieuse." (Every institution which does not assume that the people is good and the magistracy corruptible is faulty.) You see that is exactly the opposite of the confidence which is called for today, according to which there is no greater crime than to doubt the good-will and the virtue of the magistrates, while the people are considered on principle a sort of dangerous beast and centre of corruption.
At that time the opposite dogma even went so far that almost anybody whose coat was in good repair appeared for that very reason corrupt and suspicious, and virtue and purity and patriotic morality were believed to be found only in those who had no good coat. It was the period of sans-culottism.
This point of view had really a foundation of truth, which, however, appears in a false and perverted form. Now there is nothing more dangerous than a principle which appears in false and perverted form; for, whatever attitude you take toward it, you are sure to fare badly. If you adopt this truth in its false, perverted form, then, at certain times, this will produce the most terrible devastation, as was the case in the period of sans-culottism. If, on account of the false form, you reject the whole proposition as false, you fare still worse, for you have rejected a truth, and, in the case which we are considering, a truth without whose recognition no wholesome progress is possible in modern political affairs.
There is therefore no other procedure possible than to overcome the false and perverted form of that proposition, and to try to establish clearly its true meaning.
Current public opinion is, as I said, disposed to stamp the whole proposition as entirely false and as a declamation of the French Revolution and of Rousseau. However, if this unreceptive attitude toward Rousseau and the French Revolution were still possible, it would be entirely impossible with reference to one of the greatest German philosophers (Fichte), the one hundredth anniversary of whose birth this State will celebrate next month, one of the most powerful thinkers of all nations and all times.
Fichte also declares expressly and literally that, with the rising social scale, a constantly increasing moral deterioration is found, and that "inferiority of character increases in proportion to the higher social class."
The final reason of these propositions Fichte has nevertheless not developed. He gives as the reason of this corruption the selfishness of the upper classes; but then the question must immediately arise whether selfishness is not also to be found in the lower classes, or why less in these classes. Now it must immediately appear as a strong contradiction that less selfishness should prevail in the lower classes than in the upper, who have in large measure the advantage of them in the well-recognized moral elements, culture and education.
The real reason, and the explanation of this contradiction, which appears at first so strong, is the following:
For a long time, as we have seen, the development of nations, the tendency of history, has been toward a constantly extending abolition of the privileges which guarantee to the higher classes their position as higher and ruling classes. The wish for perpetuation of these, or personal interest, brings therefore every member of the upper classes who has not once for all, by a wide outlook upon his whole personal existence, raised himself above such considerations (and you will understand, Gentlemen, that these can form only very unusual exceptions) into a position which is from principle hostile to the progress of the people, to the extension of education and science, to the advance of culture, to all tendencies and victories of historical life.
This opposition of the personal interest of the upper classes to the progress of culture in the nation produces the great and inevitable immorality of the upper classes. It is a life whose daily requirements you only need picture to yourselves in order to feel the deep decline of character to which it must lead. To be obliged daily to take an attitude of opposition to everything great and good, to bewail its success, to rejoice at its failures, to check its further progress, to make futile or to curse the progress which has already been made, is like a continual existence in the enemy's country; and this enemy is the moral fellowship of the whole country in which you live, for which all true morality urges support. It is a continual existence, I say, in an enemy's country. This enemy is your own people, who must be looked upon and treated as an enemy, and this hostility must, at least in the long run, be craftily concealed and more or less artfully veiled.
From this arises the necessity either of doing what is against the voice of your own conscience, or of stifling this voice from the force of custom in order not to be annoyed by it, or, finally, of never knowing this voice, never knowing anything better or having anything better than the religion of your own advantage.
This life, Gentlemen, therefore leads necessarily to a complete lack of appreciation and a contempt for all ideal efforts, to a pitying smile when the great word "ideal" is even mentioned; to a deep lack of appreciation and of sympathy for everything beautiful and great; to a complete transformation of all moral elements in us into the one passion of selfish opportunism and the pursuit of pleasure.
This conflict between personal interest and the cultural development of the nation is, fortunately, not to be found in the lower classes of society.
In the lower classes, to be sure, there is, unfortunately, selfishness enough, much more than there should be; but this selfishness, if it exists, is the fault of individuals and not the inevitable fault of the class.
Even a very slight instinct tells the members of the lower classes that, so far as each one of them depends merely upon himself and merely thinks of himself, he can hope for no considerable improvement of his situation; but so far as the lower classes of society aim at the improvement of their condition as a class, so far does this personal interest, instead of opposing the course of history and therefore of being condemned to the aforesaid immorality, coincide in its tendency completely with the development of the people as a whole, with the victory of the ideal, with the progress of culture, with the vital principle of history itself—which is nothing else than the development of liberty. Or, as we have already seen, their cause is the cause of all humanity.
You are therefore in the fortunate position, Gentlemen, instead of being compelled to be dead to the idea, of being destined rather, through your own personal interests, to a greater receptiveness for it. You are in the fortunate position that that which forms your own true personal interest coincides with the throbbing heart-beat of history—with the active, vital principle of moral development. You can therefore devote yourself to historical development with personal passion and be sure that the more fervent and consuming this passion is, the more moral is your position, in the true sense which I have explained to you.
These are the reasons why the control of the fourth class over the State must produce a fullness of morality and culture and knowledge such as never yet existed in history.
But still another reason points in the same direction, which again is most intimately connected with all the considerations which we have stated and forms their keystone.
The fourth class has not only a different formal political principle from the capitalist class—namely, the universal direct franchise in place of the property qualification of the capitalist class; it has, further, not only through its social position a different relation to moral forces than the upper classes, but also, and partly in consequence of this, a conception of the moral purpose of the State entirely different from that of the capitalist class.
The moral idea of the capitalist is this—that nothing whatsoever is to be guaranteed to any individual but the unimpeded exercise of his faculties.
If we were all equally strong, equally wise, equally educated, and equally rich, this idea might be regarded as a sufficient and a moral one; but since we are not so, and cannot be so, this thought is not sufficient, and therefore, in its consequences, leads necessarily to a serious immorality; for its result is that the stronger, abler, richer man exploits the weaker and becomes his master.
The moral idea of the working class, on the other hand, is that the unimpeded and free exercise of individual faculties by the individual is not sufficient, but that in a morally adjusted community there must be added to it solidarity of interests, mutual consideration, and mutual helpfulness in development.
In contrast to such a condition the capitalist class has this conception of the moral purposes of the State—that it consists exclusively and entirely in protecting the personal liberty of the individual and his property.
This is a policeman's idea, Gentlemen—a policeman's idea because the State can think of itself only in the guise of a policeman whose whole office consists in preventing robbery and burglary. Unfortunately this conception is to be found, in consequence of imperfect thinking, not only among acknowledged liberals, but, often enough, even among many supposed to be democrats. If the capitalist class were to carry their thought to its logical extreme they would have to admit that, according to their idea, if there were no thieves or robbers the State would be entirely unnecessary.
The fourth class conceives of the purpose of the State in a quite different manner, and its conception of it is the true one.
History is a struggle with nature—that is, with misery, with ignorance, with poverty, with weakness, and, accordingly, with restrictions of all kinds to which we were subject when the human race appeared in the beginning of history. A constantly advancing victory over this weakness—that is the development of liberty which history portrays.
In this struggle we should never have taken a step forward, nor should we ever take another, if we had carried it on, or tried to carry it on, as individuals, each for himself alone.
It is the State which has the office of perfecting this development of freedom, and of the human race to freedom. The State is this unity of individuals in a moral composite—a unity which increases a millionfold the powers of all individuals who are included in this union, which multiplies a millionfold the powers which are at the command of them all as individuals.
The purpose of the State, then, is not to protect merely the personal liberty of the individual and the property which, according to the idea of the capitalist, he must have before he can participate in the State; the purpose of the State is, rather, through this union to put individuals in a position to attain objects, to reach a condition of existence which they could never reach as individuals, to empower them to attain a standard of education, power, and liberty which would be utterly impossible for them, one and all, merely as individuals. The object of the State is, accordingly, to bring the human being to positive and progressive development—in a word, to shape human destiny, i. e., the culture of which mankind is capable, into actual existence. It is the training and development of the human race for freedom.
Such is the real moral nature of the State—its true and higher task. This is so truly the case that for all time it has been carried out through the force of circumstances, by the State, even without its will, even without its knowledge, even against the will of its leaders.
But the working class, the lower classes of society in general, have, on account of the helpless position in which their members find themselves as individuals, the sure instinct that just this must be the function of the State—the aiding of the individual, by the union of all, to such a development as would be unobtainable by him merely as an individual.
The State then, brought under the control of the idea of the working class, would no longer be driven on, as all states have been up to this time, unconsciously and often reluctantly, by the nature of things and the force of circumstances; but it would make this moral nature of the State its task, with the greatest clearness and complete consciousness. It would accomplish with ready willingness and the most complete consistency that which, up to this time, has been forced only in the dimmest outlines from the opposing will, and just for this reason it would necessarily promote a flourishing of intellect, a development of happiness, education, prosperity, and liberty, such as would stand without example in the world's history, in comparison with which the most lauded conditions in earlier times would drop into a pale shadow.
It is this which must be called the political idea of the working class, its conception of the purpose of the State, which, as you see, is just as different, and in a perfectly corresponding manner, from the conception of the purpose of the State in the capitalist class as the principle of the working class—a share of all in the determination of public policy, or universal suffrage—is from the corresponding principle of the capitalist class—the property qualification.
The line of thought here developed is therefore what must be pronounced the idea of the working class. It is that which I had in view when, at the beginning, I spoke of the connection between the particular period of history in which we live and the idea of the working class. It is this period, beginning with February, 1848, which has the task of bringing such a political idea to realization, and we may congratulate ourselves that we have been born in a time which is destined to see the accomplishment of this most glorious work of history, and in which we have the privilege of lending a helping hand.
But for all who belong to the working class there follows from what I have said the duty of an entirely new attitude.
Nothing is more effective in impressing upon a class a dignified and deeply moral stamp than the consciousness that it is destined to be the ruling class; that it is called upon to elevate the principle of its class to the principle of the whole historical period; to make its idea the leading truth of the whole of society, and so, in turn, to shape society into a reflection of its own character. The lofty historical honor of this destiny must lay hold upon all your thoughts. It is no longer becoming to you to indulge in the vices of the oppressed, or the idle distractions of the thoughtless, or even the harmless frivolity of the insignificant. You are the rock upon which the church of the present is to be built.
The lofty moral earnestness of this thought should entirely fill your mind, should fill your hearts and shape your whole life to be worthy of it and conformable to it. The moral earnestness of this thought, without ever leaving you, must stand for better thoughts in your shop during your work, in your leisure hours, your walks, your meetings; and, even when you lie down to rest on your hard couch, it is this thought which must fill and occupy your soul until it passes into the realm of dreams. The more exclusively you fill your minds with this moral earnestness, the more undividedly you are influenced by its warmth—of this you may be assured—the more you will hasten the time in which our present historical period has to accomplish its task, the sooner you will bring about the fulfilment of this work.
If, among those who listen to me today, there were even two or three in whom I have succeeded in kindling the moral warmth of this thought, with that fullness which I mean and which I have described to you, I should consider even that a great gain, and account myself richly rewarded for my presentation.
Above all, your soul must be free from discouragement and doubt, to which an insufficiently valid consideration of historical efforts might easily lead.
So, for instance, it is absolutely false that in France the Republic was overthrown by the coup d'état of December, 1851.
What could not maintain itself in France, what really was destroyed at that time, was not the Republic but that republic, which, as I have already shown you, abolished, by the law of May 30, 1850, the universal franchise, and introduced a disguised property qualification for the exclusion of the workingman. It was the capitalist republic which wished to put the stamp of the bourgeoisie—the domination of capital—upon the republican forms of the State: it was this which gave the French usurper the possibility, under an apparent restoration of the universal franchise, to overthrow the Republic, which otherwise would have found an invincible bulwark in the breast of the French workingman. So what in France could not maintain itself, and was overthrown, was not the Republic, but the bourgeois republic; and, on really correct consideration, the fact is confirmed, even by this example, that the historical period which began with February, 1848, will no longer tolerate any State which, whether in monarchical or in republican form, tries to impress upon it, or maintain within it, the controlling political stamp of the third class of society.
From the lofty mountain tops of science the dawn of a new day is seen earlier than below in the turmoil of daily life.
Have you ever beheld a sunrise from the top of a high mountain? A purple line colors blood-red the farthest horizon, announcing the new light. Clouds and mists collect and oppose the morning red, veiling its beams for a moment; but no power on earth can prevail against the slow and majestic rising of the sun which, an hour later, visible to all the world, radiating light and warmth, stands bright in the firmament. What an hour is, in the natural phenomena of every day, a decade or two is in the still more impressive spectacle of a sunrise in the world's history.
- ↑ The word bourgeoisie is henceforth used throughout the discussion to designate the political party now defined.—Translator.
- ↑ Here the speaker quotes statistics showing that, on the average, throughout Prussia, a vote by a man of the first class has as much weight as seventeen votes by men of the third class.—Translator.