{
  "schema": "tga.work.v1",
  "identifier": "dresden:vol-11:crimes-against-criminals",
  "slug": "crimes-against-criminals",
  "title": "Crimes Against Criminals",
  "subtitle": "State Bar Association, Albany, N.Y., January 1, 1890.",
  "excerpt": "An examination of what governments have done to the criminal and the poor in the name of justice — and a plea for a more humane, intelligent, and effective reform of the prison system.",
  "year": 1890,
  "volume": 11,
  "category": "Essay",
  "author": {
    "name": "Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "wikidata": "Q360326",
    "viaf": "44331023"
  },
  "isPartOf": {
    "title": "The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "edition": "Dresden Edition",
    "publisher": "C. P. Farrell",
    "year": 1900
  },
  "license": "https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/",
  "url": "https://thegreatagnostic.com/works/crimes-against-criminals/",
  "wordCount": 7712,
  "body": "• \"An Address delivered before the State Bar Association at\n    Albany, N. Y., January 1, 1890.\"\n\nIN this brief address, the object is to suggest—there being no time to\npresent arguments at length. The subject has been chosen for the reason\nthat it is one that should interest the legal profession, because that\nprofession to a certain extent controls and shapes the legislation of\nour country and fixes definitely the scope and meaning of all laws.\n\nLawyers ought to be foremost in legislative and judicial reform, and\nof all men they should understand the philosophy of mind, the causes of\nhuman action, and the real science of government.\n\nIt has been said that the three pests of a community are: A priest\nwithout charity; a doctor without knowledge, and, a lawyer without a\nsense of justice.\n\nI.\n\nAll nations seem to have had supreme confidence in the deterrent power\nof threatened and inflicted pain. They have regarded punishment as the\nshortest road to reformation. Imprisonment, torture, death, constituted\na trinity under whose protection society might feel secure.\n\nIn addition to these, nations have relied on confiscation and\ndegradation, on maimings, whippings, brandings, and exposures to public\nridicule and contempt. Connected with the court of justice was\nthe chamber of torture. The ingenuity of man was exhausted in the\nconstruction of instruments that would surely reach the most sensitive\nnerve. All this was done in the interest of civilization—for the\nprotection of virtue, and the well-being of states. Curiously it was\nfound that the penalty of death made little difference. Thieves and\nhighwaymen, heretics and blasphemers, went on their way. It was then\nthought necessary to add to this penalty of death, and consequently, the\nconvicted were tortured in every conceivable way before execution. They\nwere broken on the wheel—their joints dislocated on the rack. They were\nsuspended by their legs and arms, while immense weights were placed upon\ntheir breasts. Their flesh was burned and torn with hot irons. They\nwere roasted at slow fires. They were buried alive—given to wild\nbeasts—molten lead was poured in their ears—their eye-lids were cut\noff and, the wretches placed with their faces toward the sun—others\nwere securely bound, so that they could move neither hand nor foot, and\nover their stomachs were placed inverted bowls; under these bowls rats\nwere confined; on top of the bowls were heaped coals of fire, so that\nthe rats in their efforts to escape would gnaw into the bowels of the\nvictims. They were staked out on the sands of the sea, to be drowned\nby the slowly rising tide—and every means by which human nature can be\novercome slowly, painfully and terribly, was conceived and carried into\nexecution. And yet the number of so-called criminals increased. Enough,\nthe fact is that, no matter how severe the punishments were, the crimes\nincreased.\n\nFor petty offences men were degraded—given to the mercy of the rabble.\nTheir ears were cut off, their nostrils slit, their foreheads branded.\nThey were tied to the tails of carts and flogged from one town to\nanother. And yet, in spite of all, the poor wretches obstinately refused\nto become good and useful citizens.\n\nDegradation has been thoroughly tried, with its maimings and brandings,\nand the result was that those who inflicted the punishments became as\ndegraded as their victims.\n\nOnly a few years ago there were more than two hundred offences in Great\nBritain punishable by death. The gallows-tree bore fruit through all the\nyear, and the hangman was the busiest official in the kingdom—but the\ncriminals increased.\n\nCrimes were committed to punish crimes, and crimes were committed to\nprevent crimes. The world has been filled with prisons and dungeons,\nwith chains and whips, with crosses and gibbets, with thumbscrews and\nracks, with hangmen and headsmen—and yet these frightful means\nand instrumentalities and crimes have accomplished little for the\npreservation of property or life. It is safe to say that governments\nhave committed far more crimes than they have prevented.\n\nWhy is it that men will suffer and risk so much for the sake of\nstealing? Why will they accept degradation and punishment and infamy as\ntheir portion? Some will answer this question by an appeal to the dogma\nof original sin; others by saying that millions of men and women are\nunder the control of fiends—that they are actually possessed by devils;\nand others will declare that all these people act from choice—that\nthey are possessed of free wills, of intelligence—that they know and\nappreciate consequences, and that, in spite of all, they deliberately\nprefer a life of crime.\n\nII.\n\nHave we not advanced far enough intellectually to deny the existence of\nchance? Are we not satisfied now that back of every act and thought and\ndream and fancy is an efficient cause? Is anything, or can anything,\nbe produced that is not necessarily produced? Can the fatherless and\nmotherless exist? Is there not a connection between all events, and is\nnot every act related to all other acts? Is it not possible, is it not\nprobable, is it not true, that the actions of all men are determined by\ncountless causes over which they have no positive control?\n\nCertain it is that men do not prefer unhappiness to joy.\n\nIt can hardly be said that man intends permanently to injure himself,\nand that he does what he does in order that he may live a life of\nmisery. On the other hand, we must take it for granted that man\nendeavors to better his own condition, and seeks, although by mistaken\nways, his own well-being. The poorest man would like to be rich—the\nsick desire health—and no sane man wishes to win the contempt\nand hatred of his fellow-men. Every human being prefers liberty to\nimprisonment.\n\nAre the brains of criminals exactly like the brains of honest men? Have\ncriminals the same ambitions, the same standards of happiness or of\nwell-being? If a difference exists in brain, will that in part account\nfor the difference in character? Is there anything in heredity? Are\nvices as carefully transmitted by nature as virtues? Does each man in\nsome degree bear burdens imposed by ancestors? We know that diseases of\nflesh and blood are transmitted—that the child is the heir of physical\ndeformity. Are diseases of the brain—are deformities of the soul, of\nthe mind, also transmitted?\n\nWe not only admit, but we assert, that in the physical world there are\ncauses and effects. We insist that there is and can be no effect\nwithout an efficient cause. When anything happens in that world, we are\nsatisfied that it was naturally and necessarily produced. The causes may\nbe obscure, but we as implicitly believe in their existence as when we\nknow positively what they are. In the physical world we have taken the\nground that there is nothing miraculous—that everything is natural—and\nif we cannot explain it, we account for our inability to explain, by\nour own ignorance. Is it not possible, is it not probable, that what is\ntrue in the physical world is equally true in the realm of mind—in that\nstrange world of passion and desire? Is it possible that thoughts or\ndesires or passions are the children of chance, born of nothing? Can we\nconceive of nothing as a force, or as a cause? If, then, there is behind\nevery thought and desire and passion an efficient cause, we can, in part\nat least, account for the actions of men.\n\nA certain man under certain conditions acts in a certain way. There are\ncertain temptations that he, with his brain, with his experience,\nwith his intelligence, with his surroundings cannot withstand. He is\nirresistibly led to do, or impelled to do, certain things; and there\nare other things that he can not do. If we change the conditions of\nthis man, his actions will be changed. Develop his mind, give him new\nsubjects of thought, and you change the man; and the man being Changed,\nit follows of necessity that his conduct will be different.\n\nIn civilized countries the struggle for existence is severe—the\ncompetition far sharper than in savage lands. The consequence is that\nthere are many failures. These failures lack, it may be, opportunity or\nbrain or moral force or industry, or something without which, under\nthe circumstances, success is impossible. Certain lines of conduct are\ncalled legal, and certain others criminal, and the men who fail in one\nline may be driven to the other. How do we know that it is possible for\nall people to be honest? Are we certain that all people can tell\nthe truth? Is it possible for all men to be generous or candid or\ncourageous?\n\nI am perfectly satisfied that there are millions of people incapable of\ncommitting certain crimes, and it may be true that there are millions\nof others incapable of practicing certain virtues. We do not blame a man\nbecause he is not a sculptor, a poet, a painter, or a statesman. We say\nhe has not the genius. Are we certain that it does not require genius\nto be good? Where is the man with intelligence enough to take into\nconsideration the circumstances of each individual case? Who has the\nmental balance with which to weigh the forces of heredity, of want, of\ntemptation,—and who can analyze with certainty the mysterious motions\nof the brain? Where and what are the sources of vice and virtue? In what\nobscure and shadowy recesses of the brain are passions born? And what is\nit that for the moment destroys the sense of right and wrong?\n\nWho knows to what extent reason becomes the prisoner of passion—of\nsome strange and wild desire, the seeds of which were sown, it may be,\nthousands of years ago in the breast of some savage? To what extent do\nantecedents and surroundings affect the moral sense?\n\nIs it not possible that the tyranny of governments, the injustice\nof nations, the fierceness of what is called the law, produce in the\nindividual a tendency in the same direction? Is it not true that the\ncitizen is apt to imitate his nation? Society degrades its enemies—the\nindividual seeks to degrade his. Society plunders its enemies, and now\nand then the citizen has the desire to plunder his. Society kills its\nenemies, and possibly sows in the heart of some citizen the seeds of\nmurder.\n\nIii\n\nIs it not true that the criminal is a natural product, and that society\nunconsciously produces these children of vice? Can we not safely take\nanother step, and say that the criminal is a victim, as the diseased\nand insane and deformed are victims? We do not think of punishing a man\nbecause he is afflicted with disease—our desire is to find a cure. We\nsend him, not to the penitentiary, but to the hospital, to an asylum.\nWe do this because we recognize the fact that disease is naturally\nproduced—that it is inherited from parents, or the result of\nunconscious negligence, or it may be of recklessness—but instead of\npunishing, we pity. If there are diseases of the mind, of the brain, as\nthere are diseases of the body; and if these diseases of the mind, these\ndeformities of the brain, produce, and necessarily produce, what we\ncall vice, why should we punish the-criminal, and pity those who are\nphysically diseased?\n\nSocrates, in some respects at least one of the wisest of men, said:\n\"It is strange that you should not be angry when you meet a man with an\nill-conditioned body, and yet be vexed when you encounter one with an\nill-conditioned soul.\"\n\nWe know that there are deformed bodies, and we are equally certain that\nthere are deformed minds.\n\nOf course, society has the right to protect itself, no matter whether\nthe persons who attack its well-being are responsible or not, no matter\nwhether they are sick in mind, or deformed in brain. The right of\nself-defence exists, not only in the individual, but in society. The\ngreat question is, How shall this right of self-defence be exercised?\nWhat spirit shall be in the nation, or in society—the spirit of\nrevenge, a desire to degrade and punish and destroy, or a spirit born of\nthe recognition of the fact that criminals are victims?\n\nThe world has thoroughly tried confiscation, degradation, imprisonment,\ntorture and death, and thus far the world has failed. In this connection\nI call your attention to the following statistics gathered in our own\ncountry:\n\nIn 1850, we had twenty-three millions of people, and between six and\nseven thousand prisoners.\n\nIn 1860—thirty-one millions of people, and nineteen thousand prisoners.\n\nIn 1870—thirty-eight millions of people, and thirty-two thousand\nprisoners.\n\nIn 1880—fifty millions of people, and fifty-eight thousand prisoners.\n\nIt may be curious to note the relation between insanity, pauperism and\ncrime:\n\nIn 1850, there were fifteen thousand insane; in 1860, twenty-four\nthousand; in 1870, thirty-seven thousand; in 1880, ninety-one thousand.\n\nIn the light of these statistics, we are not succeeding in doing away\nwith crime. There were in 1880, fifty-eight thousand prisoners, and\nin the same year fifty-seven thousand homeless children, and sixty-six\nthousand paupers in almshouses.\n\nIs it possible that we must go to the same causes for these effects?\n\nIV.\n\nThere is no reformation in degradation. To mutilate a criminal is to say\nto all the world that he is a criminal, and to render his reformation\nsubstantially impossible. Whoever is degraded by society becomes its\nenemy. The seeds of malice are sown in his heart, and to the day of his\ndeath he will hate the hand that sowed the seeds.\n\nThere is also another side to this question. A punishment that degrades\nthe punished will degrade the man who inflicts the punishment, and will\ndegrade the government that procures the infliction. The whipping-post\npollutes, not only the whipped, but the whipper, and not only the\nwhipper, but the community at large. Wherever its shadow falls it\ndegrades.\n\nIf, then, there is no reforming power in degradation—no deterrent\npower—for the reason that the degradation of the criminal degrades\nthe community, and in this way produces more criminals, then the next\nquestion is, Whether there is any reforming power in torture? The\ntrouble with this is that it hardens and degrades to the last degree the\nministers of the law. Those who are not affected by the agonies of the\nbad will in a little time care nothing for the sufferings of the good.\nThere seems to be a little of the wild beast in men—a something that\nis fascinated by suffering, and that delights in inflicting pain. When\na government tortures, it is in the same state of mind that the criminal\nwas when he committed his crime. It requires as much malice in those\nwho execute the law, to torture a criminal, as it did in the criminal to\ntorture and kill his victim. The one was a crime by a person, the other\nby a nation.\n\nThere is something in injustice, in cruelty, that tends to defeat\nitself. There were never as many traitors in England as when the\ntraitor was drawn and quartered—when he was tortured in every possible\nway—when his limbs, torn and bleeding, were given to the fury of\nmobs or exhibited pierced by pikes or hung in chains. These frightful\npunishments produced intense hatred of the government, and traitors\ncontinued to increase until they became powerful enough to decide what\ntreason was and who the traitors were, and to inflict the same torments\non others.\n\nThink for a moment of what man has suffered in the cause of crime. Think\nof the millions that have been imprisoned, impoverished and degraded\nbecause they were thieves and forgers, swindlers and cheats. Think for\na moment of what they have endured—of the difficulties under which they\nhave pursued their calling, and it will be exceedingly hard to believe\nthat they were sane and natural people possessed of good brains,\nof minds well-poised, and that they did what they did from a choice\nunaffected by heredity and the countless circumstances that tend to\ndetermine the conduct of human beings.\n\nThe other day I was asked these questions: \"Has there been as much\nheroism displayed for the right as for the wrong? Has virtue had as many\nmartyrs as vice?\"\n\nFor hundreds of years the world has endeavored to destroy the good by\nforce. The expression of honest thought was regarded as the greatest of\ncrimes. Dungeons were filled by the noblest and the best, and the\nblood of the bravest was shed by the sword or consumed by flame. It was\nimpossible to destroy the longing in the heart of man for liberty and\ntruth. Is it not possible that brute force and cruelty and revenge,\nimprisonment, torture and death are as impotent to do away with vice as\nto destroy virtue?\n\nIn our country there has been for many years a growing feeling that\nconvicts should neither be degraded nor tortured. It was provided in the\nConstitution of the United States that \"cruel and unusual punishments\nshould not be inflicted.\" Benjamin Franklin took great interest in\nthe treatment of prisoners, being a thorough believer in the reforming\ninfluence of justice, having no confidence whatever in punishment for\npunishment's sake.\n\nTo me it has always been a mystery how the average man, knowing\nsomething of the weakness of human nature, something of the temptations\nto which he himself has been exposed—remembering the evil of his\nlife, the things he would have done had there been opportunity, had\nhe absolutely known that discovery would be impossible—should have\nfeelings of hatred toward the imprisoned.\n\nIs it possible that the average man assaults the criminal in a spirit\nof self-defence? Does he wish to convince his neighbors that the evil\nthought and impulse were never in his mind? Are his words a shield that\nhe uses to protect himself from suspicion? For my part, I sympathize\nsincerely with all failures, with the victims of society, with those who\nhave fallen, with the imprisoned, with the hopeless, with those who have\nbeen stained by verdicts of guilty, and with those who, in the moment of\npassion have destroyed, as with a blow, the future of their lives.\n\nHow perilous, after all, is the state of man. It is the work of a life\nto build a great and splendid character. It is the work of a moment to\ndestroy it utterly, from turret to foundation stone. How cruel hypocrisy\nis!\n\nIs there any remedy? Can anything be done for the reformation of the\ncriminal?\n\nHe should be treated with kindness. Every right should be given him,\nconsistent with the safety of society. He should neither be degraded\nnor robbed. The State should set the highest and noblest example. The\npowerful should never be cruel, and in the breast of the supreme there\nshould be no desire for revenge.\n\nA man in a moment of want steals the property of another, and he is\nsent to the penitentiary—first, as it is claimed, for the purpose of\ndeterring others; and secondly, of reforming him. The circumstances of\neach individual case are rarely inquired into. Investigation stops when\nthe simple fact of the larceny has been ascertained. No distinctions are\nmade except as between first and subsequent offences. Nothing is allowed\nfor surroundings.\n\nAll will admit that the industrious must be protected. In this world it\nis necessary to work. Labor is the foundation of all prosperity. Larceny\nis the enemy of industry. Society has the right to protect itself.\nThe question is, Has it the right to punish?—has it the right to\ndegrade?—or should it endeavor to reform the convict?\n\nA man is taken to the penitentiary. He is clad in the garments of\na convict. He is degraded—he loses his name—he is designated by a\nnumber. He is no longer treated as a human being—he becomes the slave\nof the State. Nothing is done for his improvement—nothing for his\nreformation. He is driven like a beast of burden; robbed of his labor;\nleased, it may be, by the State to a contractor, who gets out of his\nhands, out of his muscles, out of his poor brain, all the toil that he\ncan. He is not allowed to speak with a fellow-prisoner. At night he\nis alone in his cell. The relations that should exist between men are\ndestroyed. He is a convict. He is no longer worthy to associate even\nwith his keepers. The jailer is immensely his superior, and the man who\nturns the key upon him at night regards himself, in comparison, as a\nmodel of honesty, of virtue and manhood. The convict is pavement on\nwhich those who watch him walk. He remains for the time of his sentence,\nand when that expires he goes forth a branded man. He is given money\nenough to pay his fare back to the place from whence he came.\n\nWhat is the condition of this man? Can he get employment? Not if he\nhonestly states who he is and where he has been. The first thing he does\nis to deny his personality, to assume a name. He endeavors by telling\nfalsehoods to lay the foundation for future good conduct. The average\nman does not wish to employ an ex-convict, because the average man has\nno confidence in the reforming power of the penitentiary. He believes\nthat the convict who comes out is worse than the convict who went in.\nHe knows that in the penitentiary the heart of this man has been\nhardened—that he has been subjected to the torture of perpetual\nhumiliation—that he has been treated like a ferocious beast; and so he\nbelieves that this ex-convict has in his heart hatred for society, that\nhe feels he has been degraded and robbed. Under these circumstances,\nwhat avenue is opened to the ex-convict? If he changes his name, there\nwill be some detective, some officer of the law, some meddlesome wretch,\nwho will betray his secret. He is then discharged. He seeks employment\nagain, and he must seek it by again telling what is not true. He is\nagain detected and again discharged. And finally he becomes convinced\nthat he cannot live as an honest man. He naturally drifts back into the\nsociety of those who have had a like experience; and the result is\nthat in a little while he again stands in the dock, charged with the\ncommission of another crime. Again he is sent to the penitentiary—and\nthis is the end. He feels that his day is done, that the future has only\ndegradation for him.\n\nThe men in the penitentiaries do not work for themselves. Their labor\nbelongs to others. They have no interest in their toil—no reason for\ndoing the best they can—and the result is that the product of their\nlabor is poor. This product comes in competition with the work of\nmechanics, honest men, who have families to support, and the cry is that\nconvict labor takes the bread from the mouths of virtuous people.\n\nVI.\n\nWhy should the State take without compensation the labor of these men;\nand why should they, after having been imprisoned for years, be turned\nout without the means of support? Would it not be far better, far\nmore economical, to pay these men for their labor, to lay aside their\nearnings from day to day, from month to month, and from year to year—to\nput this money at interest, so that when the convict is released after\nfive years of imprisonment he will have several hundred dollars of his\nown—not merely money enough to pay his way back to the place from which\nhe was sent, but enough to make it possible for him to commence business\non his own account, enough to keep the wolf of crime from the door of\nhis heart?\n\nSuppose the convict comes out with five hundred dollars. This would be\nto most of that class a fortune. It would form a breastwork, a fortress,\nbehind which the man could fight temptation. This would give him food\nand raiment, enable him to go to some other State or country where he\ncould redeem himself. If this were done, thousands of convicts would\nfeel under immense obligation to the Government. They would think of the\npenitentiary as the place in which they were saved—in which they were\nredeemed—and they would feel that the verdict of guilty rescued them\nfrom the abyss of crime. Under these circumstances, the law would appear\nbeneficent, and the heart of the poor convict, instead of being filled\nwith malice, would overflow with gratitude. He would see the propriety\nof the course pursued by the Government. He would recognize and feel and\nexperience the benefits of this course, and the result would be good,\nnot only to him, but to the nation as well.\n\nIf the convict worked for himself, he would do the best he could, and\nthe wares produced in the penitentiaries would not cheapen the labor of\nother men.\n\nVii\n\nThere are, however, men who pursue crime as a vocation—as a\nprofession—men who have been convicted again and again, and who will\npersist in using the liberty of intervals to prey upon the rights of\nothers. What shall be done with these men and women?\n\nPut one thousand hardened thieves on an island—compel them to produce\nwhat they eat and use—and I am almost certain that a large majority\nwould be opposed to theft. Those who worked would not permit those\nwho did not, to steal the result of their labor. In other words,\nself-preservation would be the dominant idea, and these men would\ninstantly look upon the idlers as the enemies of their society.\n\nSuch a community would be self-supporting. Let women of the same class\nbe put by themselves. Keep the sexes absolutely apart. Those who are\nbeyond the power of reformation should not have the liberty to reproduce\nthemselves. Those who cannot be reached by kindness—by justice—those\nwho under no circumstances are willing to do their share, should be\nseparated. They should dwell apart, and dying, should leave no heirs.\n\nWhat shall be done with the slayers of their fellow-men—with murderers?\nShall the nation take life?\n\nIt has been contended that the death penalty deters others—that it has\nfar more terror than imprisonment for life. What is the effect of the\nexample set by a nation? Is not the tendency to harden and degrade not\nonly those who inflict and those who witness, but the entire community\nas well?\n\nA few years ago a man was hanged in Alexandria, Virginia. One who\nwitnessed the execution, on that very day, murdered a peddler in the\nSmithsonian grounds at Washington. He was tried and executed, and one\nwho witnessed his hanging went home, and on the same day murdered his\nwife.\n\nThe tendency of the extreme penalty is to prevent conviction. In the\npresence of death it is easy for a jury to find a doubt. Technicalities\nbecome important, and absurdities, touched with mercy, have the\nappearance for a moment of being natural and logical. Honest and\nconscientious men dread a final and irrevocable step. If the penalty\nwere imprisonment for life, the jury would feel that if any mistake were\nmade it could be rectified; but where the penalty is death a mistake is\nfatal. A conscientious man takes into consideration the defects of human\nnature—the uncertainty of testimony, and the countless shadows that\ndim and darken the understanding, and refuses to find a verdict that, if\nwrong, cannot be righted.\n\nThe death penalty, inflicted by the Government, is a perpetual excuse\nfor mobs.\n\nThe greatest danger in a Republic is a mob, and as long as States\ninflict the penalty of death, mobs will follow the example. If the State\ndoes not consider life sacred, the mob, with ready rope, will strangle\nthe suspected. The mob will say: \"The only difference is in the trial;\nthe State does the same—we know the man is guilty—why should time\nbe wasted in technicalities?\" In other words, why may not the mob do\nquickly that which the State does slowly?\n\nEvery execution tends to harden the public heart—tends to lessen\nthe sacredness of human life. In many States of this Union the mob is\nsupreme. For certain offences the mob is expected to lynch the supposed\ncriminal. It is the duty of every citizen—and as it seems to me\nespecially of every lawyer—to do what he can to destroy the mob spirit.\nOne would think that men would be afraid to commit any crime in a\ncommunity where the mob is in the ascendency, and yet, such are the\ncontradictions and subtleties of human nature, that it is exactly the\nopposite. And there is another thing in this connection—the men who\nconstitute the mob are, as a rule, among the worst, the lowest, and the\nmost depraved.\n\nA few years ago, in Illinois, a man escaped from jail, and, in escaping,\nshot the sheriff. He was pursued, overtaken—lynched. The man who put\nthe rope around his neck was then out on bail, having been indicted for\nan assault to murder. And after the poor wretch was dead, another man\nclimbed the tree from which he dangled and, in derision, put a cigar in\nthe mouth of the dead; and this man was on bail, having been indicted\nfor larceny.\n\nThose who are the fiercest to destroy and hang their fellow-men for\nhaving committed crimes, are, for the most part, at heart, criminals\nthemselves.\n\nAs long as nations meet on the fields of war—as long as they sustain\nthe relations of savages to each other—as long as they put the laurel\nand the oak on the brows of those who kill—just so long will citizens\nresort to violence, and the quarrels of individuals be settled by dagger\nand revolver.\n\nViii\n\nIf we are to change the conduct of men, we must change their conditions.\nExtreme poverty and crime go hand in hand. Destitution multiplies\ntemptations and destroys the finer feelings. The bodies and souls of men\nare apt to be clad in like garments. If the body is covered with rags,\nthe soul is generally in the same condition. Selfrespect is gone—the\nman looks down—he has neither hope nor courage. He becomes sinister—he\nenvies the prosperous—hates the fortunate, and despises himself.\n\nAs long as children are raised in the tenement and gutter, the prisons\nwill be full. The gulf between the rich and poor will grow wider and\nwider. One will depend on cunning, the other on force. It is a great\nquestion whether those who live in luxury can afford to allow others to\nexist in want. The value of property depends, not on the prosperity\nof the few, but on the prosperity of a very large majority. Life and\nproperty must be secure, or that subtle thing called \"value\" takes its\nleave. The poverty of the many is a perpetual menace. If we expect a\nprosperous and peaceful country, the citizens must have homes. The more\nhomes, the more patriots, the more virtue, and the more security for all\nthat gives worth to life.\n\nWe need not repeat the failures of the old world. To divide lands among\nsuccessful generals, or among favorites of the crown, to give vast\nestates for services rendered in war, is no worse than to allow men of\ngreat wealth to purchase and hold vast tracts of land. The result is\nprecisely the same—that is to say, a nation composed of a few landlords\nand of many tenants—the tenants resorting from time to time to mob\nviolence, and the landlords depending upon a standing army. The property\nof no man, however, should be taken for either private or public use\nwithout just compensation and in accordance with law. There is in the\nState what is known as the right of eminent domain. The State reserves\nto itself the power to take the land of any private citizen for a public\nuse, paying to that private citizen a just compensation to be legally\nascertained. When a corporation wishes to build a railway, it exercises\nthis right of eminent domain, and where the owner of land refuses to\nsell a right of way, or land for the establishment of stations or shops,\nand the corporation proceeds to condemn the land to ascertain its value,\nand when the amount thus ascertained is paid, the property vests in the\ncorporation. This power is exercised because in the estimation of the\npeople the construction of a railway is a public good.\n\nI believe that this power should be exercised in another direction. It\nwould be well as it seems to me, for the Legislature to fix the amount\nof land that a private citizen may own, that will not be subject to be\ntaken for the use of which I am about to speak. The amount to be thus\nheld will depend upon many local circumstances, to be decided by each\nState for itself. Let me suppose that the amount of land that may be\nheld for a farmer for cultivation has been fixed at one hundred and\nsixty acres—and suppose that A has several thousand acres. B wishes to\nbuy one hundred and sixty acres or less of this land, for the purpose\nof making himself a home. A refuses to sell. Now, I believe that the law\nshould be so that B can invoke this right of eminent domain, and\nfile his petition, have the case brought before a jury, or before\ncommissioners, who shall hear the evidence and determine the value, and\non the payment of the amount the land shall belong to B.\n\nI would extend the same law to lots and houses in cities and\nvillages—the object being to fill our country with the owners of homes,\nso that every child shall have a fireside, every father and mother a\nroof, provided they have the intelligence, the energy and the industry\nto acquire the necessary means.\n\nTenements and flats and rented lands are, in my judgment, the enemies of\ncivilization. They make the rich richer, and the poor poorer. They put a\nfew in palaces, but they put many in prisons.\n\nI would go a step further than this. I would exempt homes of a certain\nvalue not only from levy and sale, but from every kind of taxation,\nState and National—so that these poor people would feel that they were\nin partnership with nature—that some of the land was absolutely theirs,\nand that no one could drive them from their home—so that mothers could\nfeel secure. If the home increased in value, and exceeded the limit,\nthen taxes could be paid on the excess; and if the home were sold, I\nwould have the money realized exempt for a certain time in order that\nthe family should have the privilege of buying another home.\n\nThe home, after all, is the unit of civilization, of good government;\nand to secure homes for a great majority of our citizens, would be to\nlay the foundation of our Government deeper and broader and stronger\nthan that of any nation that has existed among men.\n\nIX.\n\nNo one places a higher value upon the free school than I do; and no one\ntakes greater pride in the prosperity of our colleges and universities.\nBut at the same time, much that is called education simply unfits men\nsuccessfully to fight the battle of life. Thousands are to-day studying\nthings that will be of exceedingly little importance to them or to\nothers. Much valuable time is wasted in studying languages that long ago\nwere dead, and histories in which there is no truth.\n\nThere was an idea in the olden time—and it is not yet dead—that\nwhoever was educated ought not to work; that he should use his head\nand not his hands. Graduates were ashamed to be found engaged in manual\nlabor, in ploughing fields, in sowing or in gathering grain. To this\nmanly kind of independence they preferred the garret and the precarious\nexistence of an unappreciated poet, borrowing their money from their\nfriends, and their ideas from the dead. The educated regarded the useful\nas degrading—they were willing to stain their souls to keep their hands\nwhite.\n\nThe object of all education should be to increase the use fulness of\nman—usefulness to himself and others. Every human being should be\ntaught that his first duty is to take care of himself, and that to be\nself-respecting he must be self-supporting. To live on the labor of\nothers, either by force which enslaves, or by cunning which robs, or by\nborrowing or begging, is wholly dishonorable. Every man should be taught\nsome useful art. His hands should be educated as well as his head. He\nshould be taught to deal with things as they are—with life as it\nis. This would give a feeling of independence, which is the firmest\nfoundation of honor, of character. Every man knowing that he is useful,\nadmires himself.\n\nIn all the schools children should be taught to work in wood and\niron, to understand the construction and use of machinery, to become\nacquainted with the great forces that man is using to do his work. The\npresent system of education teaches names, not things. It is as though\nwe should spend years in learning the names of cards, without playing a\ngame.\n\nIn this way boys would learn their aptitudes—would ascertain what they\nwere fitted for—what they could do. It would not be a guess, or an\nexperiment, but a demonstration. Education should increase a boy's\nchances for getting a living. The real good of it is to get food and\nroof and raiment, opportunity to develop the mind and the body and live\na full and ample life.\n\nThe more real education, the less crime—and the more homes, the fewer\nprisons.\n\nX.\n\nThe fear of punishment may deter some, the fear of exposure others; but\nthere is no real reforming power in fear or punishment. Men cannot be\ntortured into greatness, into goodness. All this, as I said before, has\nbeen thoroughly tried. The idea that punishment was the only relief,\nfound its limit, its infinite, in the old doctrine of eternal pain; but\nthe believers in that dogma stated distinctly that the victims never\nwould be, and never could be, reformed.\n\nAs men become civilized they become capable of greater pain and of\ngreater joy. To the extent that the average man is capable of enjoying\nor suffering, to that extent he has sympathy with others. The average\nman, the more enlightened he becomes, the more apt he is to put himself\nin the place of another. He thinks of his prisoner, of his employee, of\nhis tenant—and he even thinks beyond these; he thinks of the community\nat large. As man becomes civilized he takes more and more into\nconsideration circumstances and conditions. He gradually loses faith in\nthe old ideas and theories that every man can do as he wills, and in the\nplace of the word \"wills,\" he puts the word \"must.\" The time comes\nto the intelligent man when in the place of punishments he thinks of\nconsequences, results—that is to say, not something inflicted by some\nother power, but something necessarily growing out of what is done. The\nclearer men perceive the consequences of actions, the better they will\nbe. Behind consequences we place no personal will, and consequently do\nnot regard them as inflictions, or punishments. Consequences, no matter\nhow severe they may be, create in the mind no feeling of resentment, no\ndesire for revenge.' We do not feel bitterly toward the fire because it\nburns, or the frost that freezes, or the flood that overwhelms, or the\nsea that drowns—because we attribute to these things no motives, good\nor bad. So, when through the development of the intellect man perceives\nnot only the nature, but the absolute certainty of consequences, he\nrefrains from certain actions, and this may be called reformation\nthrough the intellect—and surely there is no better reformation than\nthis. Some may be, and probably millions have been, reformed, through\nkindness, through gratitude—made better in the sunlight of charity.\nIn the atmosphere of kindness the seeds of virtue burst into bud\nand flower. Cruelty, tyranny, brute force, do not and can not by any\npossibility better the heart of man. He who is forced upon his knees has\nthe attitude, but never the feeling, of prayer.\n\nI am satisfied that the discipline of the average prison hardens and\ndegrades. It is for the most part a perpetual exhibition of arbitrary\npower. There is really no appeal. The cries of the convict are not heard\nbeyond the walls. The protests die in cells, and the poor prisoner feels\nthat the last tie between him and his fellow-men has been broken. He is\nkept in ignorance of the outer world. The prison is a cemetery, and his\ncell is a grave.\n\nIn many of the penitentiaries there are instruments of torture, and now\nand then a convict is murdered. Inspections and investigations go\nfor naught, because the testimony of a convict goes for naught. He is\ngenerally prevented by fear from telling his wrongs; but if he speaks,\nhe is not believed—he is regarded as less than a human being, and so\nthe imprisoned remain without remedy. When the visitors are gone, the\nconvict who has spoken is prevented from speaking again.\n\nEvery manly feeling, every effort toward real reformation, is trampled\nunder foot, so that when the convict's time is out there is little left\non which to build. He has been humiliated to the last degree, and his\nspirit has so long been bent by authority and fear that even the desire\nto stand erect has almost faded from the mind. The keepers feel that\nthey are safe, because no matter what they do, the convict when released\nwill not tell the story of his wrongs, for if he conceals his shame, he\nmust also hide their guilt.\n\nEvery penitentiary should be a real reformatory. That should be the\nprincipal object for the establishment of the prison. The men in charge\nshould be of the kindest and noblest. They should be filled with divine\nenthusiasm for humanity, and every means should be taken to convince\nthe prisoner that his good is sought—that nothing is done for\nrevenge—nothing for a display of power, and nothing for the\ngratification of malice. He should feel that the warden is his unselfish\nfriend. When a convict is charged with a violation of the rules—with\ninsubordination, or with any offence, there should be an investigation\nin due and proper form, giving the convict an opportunity to be heard.\nHe should not be for one moment the victim of irresponsible power. He\nwould then feel that he had some rights, and that some little of\nthe human remained in him still. They should be taught things of\nvalue—instructed by competent men. Pains should be taken, not to\npunish, not to degrade, but to benefit and ennoble.\n\nWe know, if we know anything, that men in the penitentiaries are not\naltogether bad, and that many out are not altogether good; and we feel\nthat in the brain and heart of all, there are the seeds of good and bad.\nWe know, too, that the best are liable to fall, and it may be that the\nworst, under certain conditions, may be capable of grand and heroic\ndeeds. Of one thing we may be assured—and that is, that criminals will\nnever be reformed by being robbed, humiliated and degraded.\n\nIgnorance, filth, and poverty are the missionaries of crime. As long as\ndishonorable success outranks honest effort—as long as society bows and\ncringes before the great thieves, there will be little ones enough to\nfill the jails.\n\nXI.\n\nAll the penalties, all the punishments, are inflicted under a belief\nthat man can do right under all circumstances—that his conduct is\nabsolutely under his control, and that his will is a pilot that can,\nin spite of winds and tides, reach any port desired. All this is, in my\njudgment, a mistake. It is a denial of the integrity of nature. It is\nbased upon the supernatural and miraculous, and as long as this mistake\nremains the corner-stone of criminal jurisprudence, reformation will be\nimpossible.\n\nWe must take into consideration the nature of man—the facts of\nmind—the power of temptation—the limitations of the intellect—the\nforce of habit—the result of heredity—the power of passion—the\ndomination of want—the diseases of the brain—the tyranny of\nappetite—the cruelty of conditions—the results of association—the\neffects of poverty and wealth, of helplessness and power.\n\nUntil these subtle things are understood—until we know that man, in\nspite of all, can certainly pursue the highway of the right, society\nshould not impoverish and degrade, should not chain and kill those who,\nafter all, may be the helpless victims of unknown causes that are deaf\nand blind.\n\nWe know something of ourselves—of the average man—of his thoughts,\npassions, fears and aspirations—something of his sorrows and his joys,\nhis weakness, his liability to fall—something of what he resists—the\nstruggles, the victories and the failures of his life. We know something\nof the tides and currents of the mysterious sea—something of the\ncircuits of the wayward winds—but we do not know where the wild storms\nare born that wreck and rend. Neither do we know in what strange realm\nthe mists and clouds are formed that darken all the heaven of the mind,\nnor from whence comes the tempest of the brain in which the will to\ndo, sudden as the lightning's flash, seizes and holds the man until the\ndreadful deed is done that leaves a curse upon the soul.\n\nWe do not know. Our ignorance should make us hesitate. Our weakness\nshould make us merciful.\n\nI cannot more fittingly close this address than by quoting the prayer\nof the Buddhist: \"I pray thee to have pity on the vicious—thou hast\nalready had pity on the virtuous by making them so.\"\n"
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