of his philosophy
of falsehood! May his 'works' rest in oblivion!...

"In dismissing Spencer, it is worthy of note that the very thing which
made him pause in the righting of social wrongs is the thing which will
cause the Revolution, namely, the complicated nature of social
falsehoods. In recanting his published truth on the land question, he
admitted that, although the legal title to land was obtained by murder
and dispossession of original occupants, the matter was now too
complicated to be dealt with. If this be so, if justice cannot be done
because of the difficulties in the way, then all hail to the simplicity
and elemental justice of a Red Revolution!...

"Yes, sometimes I feel like the crudest of the revolutionists, although
I call myself a philosophical anarchist. Sometimes the jails seem to
yearn for my reception, and I question my right to be at large. Nothing
but a decreasing cowardice leaves me at liberty. And if I could not do
more for my soul behind the bars than I have done in front of them, then
I am fit only for durance vile. I, who have out-fasted the very flies
till they fled my room, dread but one thing in the life of a
prison--that I should have no time for reflection and repose! but out of
a born anarchist it would make of me a compulsory Socialist, condemned
to work for the State--a veritable dungeon of disgrace.

"It is not so much that I love life, though as a rule the poor, who are
so close to life, worship it in a way that puts all other things to
scorn. I know nothing that reaches farther up or deeper down than this.
It is only in the gutter that life is truly worshipped. And that is why
I search for my last faith there--in the gutter, whence all faith really
springs.

"And yet to have faith even in the gutter is an act of deep imagination.
In the rotting rooms beneath me lives a worker with a family of six
girls and one boy. Capitalism has crucified his carcass for fifty years
and now 'laid him off.' He has been looking for work for the last month.
I watch the insanity in his restless, aimless movements, and I feel
desperate enough to try to get him a job. Unfortunately, he does not
drink; so his pipe, ever in his mouth, is the only obstacle between him
and the mad-house, or the poor-house. Every morning at six o'clock, his
sandwich dinner concealed in his pocket, he makes a brave show of
walking away briskly in his hopeless search for work; for there are too
many younger men. His assum