rible, total, inexorable, and universal
destruction." Both socialists and anarchists preach their gospel to the
weary and heavy-laden, to the despondent and the outraged, who may
readily be led to commit acts of despair. They have, after all, little
to lose, and their life, at present unbearable, can be made little worse
by punishment. Yet millions of the miserable have come into the
socialist movement to hear the fiercest of indictments against
capitalism, and it is but rare that one becomes a terrorist. What else
than the teachings of anarchism and of socialism can explain this
difference?

Unquestionably, socialism and anarchism attract distinctly different
types, who are in many ways alien to each other. Their mental processes
differ. Their nervous systems jar upon each other. Even physically they
have been known to repel each other. Born of much the same conditions,
they fought each other in the cradle. From the very beginning they have
been irreconcilable, and with perfect frankness they have shown their
contempt for each other. About the kindest criticism that the socialist
makes of the anarchist is that he is a child, while the anarchist is
convinced that the socialist is a Philistine and an inbred conservative
who, should he ever get power, would immediately hang the anarchists.[J]
They are traditional enemies, who seem utterly incapable of
understanding each other. Intellectually, they fail to grasp the meaning
of each other's philosophy. It is but rare that a socialist, no matter
how conscientious a student, will confess he fully understands
anarchism. On the other hand, no one understands the doctrines of
socialism so little as the anarchist. It is possible, therefore, that
the same conditions which drive the anarchist to terrorist acts lead the
socialist to altogether different methods, but the reasonable and
obvious conclusion would be that teachings and doctrines determine the
methods that each employ.

The anarchist is, as Emma Goldman says, "high strung." His ear is tuned
to hear unintermittently the agonized cry. To follow the imagery of
Shelley, he seems to be living in a "mind's hell,"[4] wherein hate,
scorn, pity, remorse, and despair seem to be tearing out the nerves by
their bleeding roots. Bjoernstjerne Bjoernson, Francois Coppee, Emile
Zola, and many other great writers have sought to depict the psychology
of the anarchist, but I think no one has approached the poet Shelley,
who had in himself