st be free, and he must be his own master, master over
himself and his work.

And when you snap at the fist which is trying to strangle you, your
voice, and your ardent protest, preventing you from being heard--I
rejoice, praying that your teeth may be sharpened. And when you are
marching against Sodom and Gomorrah, to tear down the old, my soul is
with you, and the certainty that you must triumph fills and warms my
heart and intoxicates me like old wine....

And yet....

And yet you frighten me.

I am afraid of the bridled who conquer, for they are apt to become the
oppressors, and every oppressor transgresses against the human soul....

Do you not talk among yourselves of how humanity is to march, like an
army in line, and you are going to sound for it the march on the road?

And yet humanity is not an army.

The strong are going forward, the magnanimous feel more deeply, the
proud rise higher, and yet will you not lay down the cedar in order that
it may not outgrow the grass?

Or will you not spread your wings over mediocrity, or will you not
shield indifference, and protect the gray and uniformly fleeced herd?

* * *

You frighten me.

As conquerors you might become the bureaucracy: to dole out to everybody
his morsel, as is the usage in the poor-house; to arrange work for
everybody as it is done in the galleys. And you will thus crush the
creator of new worlds--the free human will, and fill up with earth the
purest spring of human happiness--human initiative, the power which
braves one against thousands, against peoples, and against generations?
And you will systematize life and bid it to remain on the level of the
crowd.

And will you not be occupied with regulations: registrating, recording,
estimating--or will you not prescribe how fast and how often the human
pulse must beat, how far the human eye may look ahead, how much the ear
may perceive, and what kinds of dreams the languishing heart may
entertain?

* * *

With joy in my heart I look at you when you tear down the gates of
Sodom, but my heart trembles at the same time, fearing that you might
erect on its ruins new ones--more chilling and darker ones.

There will be no houses without windows; but fog will envelop the
souls....

There will be no empty stomachs, but souls will starve. No ear will hear
cries of woe, but the eagle--the human intellect--will stand at the
trough with clipped wings togeth