Anarchists Never Surrender — Chapter 8 : The Festival of Lies and Weakness

By Victor Serge (1908)

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(1890 - 1947)

Victor Serge (French: [viktɔʁ sɛʁʒ]), born Victor Lvovich Kibalchich (Russian: Ви́ктор Льво́вич Киба́льчич; December 30, 1890 – November 17, 1947), was a Russian revolutionary and writer. Originally an anarchist, he joined the Bolsheviks five months after arriving in Petrograd in January 1919 and later worked for the Comintern as a journalist, editor and translator. He was critical of the Stalinist regime and remained a revolutionary Marxist until his death. He is best remembered for his Memoirs of a Revolutionary and series of seven "witness-novels" chronicling the lives of revolutionaries of the first half of the 20th century. (From: Wikipedia.org.)


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Chapter 8

The Festival of Lies and Weakness

MEN ARE INAUGURATING THE NEW YEAR WITH AN APOTHEOSIS OF HYPOCRISY and weakness.

The earth begins its life again. It has traced one more circle in luminous space. One cycle of life ends and another begins. The enigmatic future, with its mysteries of joy and suffering, stands before man. And I would like it if man on this day looked life in the face and felt serene, determined, and strong. But no, he lies. He lies and his plaintive weakness is exhaled in timid murmurs.

“Happy New Year, good health, happiness …” These wishes are on all lips and fly around the world in the millions of letters written by millions of unconscious and lying hands.

For these men who universally congratulate each other and exchange wishes of happiness and longevity are brutes who will ferociously slaughter each other the next day. And even this evening, murmuring affectionate words, they thought the contrary and smilingly committed acts of hatred, hostility, and evil.

This person wishes long life to parents whose inheritance he impatiently awaits. Another congratulates his hated boss, his abhorred rival, the competitor he sneakily defames.

The hideous faces of bloodthirsty and rapacious beasts hide behind smiles of propriety. Not a single face isn’t covered by a mask. Not a mouth that hasn’t proffered lies. For a few hours the wolves have disguised themselves as lambs.

And it was the festival of great social hypocrisy, the apotheosis of the stupidity, the illogic, and the cowardice of vast human herds, carrying out together the most inept and insane rites.

The festival of lies is also that of weakness. Those who, servile, humble, and timorous, don’t know how to desire; the immense rabble of those who allow themselves to be gagged by life without making the least effort to assert themselves: the spineless have formulated hopes and murmured wishes. Hopes for happiness that the year will convert into hopelessness. Wishes that will be as sterile as the old-fashioned prayers of the devout.

They wish for a prosperous life, happiness, joy. They wish because they don’t have the strength to will. After having wished for life, they’ll continue to work at death. Serving the authorities, slaves of dogmas and the masters of the moment, they’ll waste their existence at evil tasks and will tear each other apart.

You who express wishes for love, you’ll bow before convention and the laughter of imbeciles. You who wanted to be free, your weakness will lead you to forge chains for yourself and others. You, who stupid pride makes desire glory, for appearance’s sake you will commit base, low acts, infamies.

Wishes of the timid, stammerings of the humble, prayers of those with illusions: all will be in vain. The only wishes that will be fulfilled are those of the strong, whose robust will shall be affirmed in acts. The others, the gray rabble of marionettes will every day see hopes, illusions, and beautiful dreams fade away in smoke …

Life doesn’t offer itself, it must be conquered. Beautiful and implacable, it reserves its splendors for the strong and virile. They despise conventions and don’t deign to lie. They don’t formulate wishes, whose pitiful inanity they know, but their peremptory will tames all adversity.

Freed of the hindrances that the weak struggle against, the strong advance without stopping. The mirages of the future don’t deceive their minds, avid for immediate life. They don’t agree to wait and want to extract a bit of joy from each moment.

Let those who don’t know how to want make wishes and allow their dull, monotonous, and foggy lives to evaporate … We won’t lower ourselves to such puerilities. Not amazed by fabulous hopes, weary of disappointing expectations, anarchists formulate neither wishes nor vows: they want, and immediately act according to their will.

(l’anarchie, December 30, 1909)

From : TheAnarchistLibrary.org

(1890 - 1947)

Victor Serge (French: [viktɔʁ sɛʁʒ]), born Victor Lvovich Kibalchich (Russian: Ви́ктор Льво́вич Киба́льчич; December 30, 1890 – November 17, 1947), was a Russian revolutionary and writer. Originally an anarchist, he joined the Bolsheviks five months after arriving in Petrograd in January 1919 and later worked for the Comintern as a journalist, editor and translator. He was critical of the Stalinist regime and remained a revolutionary Marxist until his death. He is best remembered for his Memoirs of a Revolutionary and series of seven "witness-novels" chronicling the lives of revolutionaries of the first half of the 20th century. (From: Wikipedia.org.)

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1908
Chapter 8 — Publication.

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January 11, 2021; 4:26:01 PM (UTC)
Added to http://revoltlib.com.

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January 17, 2022; 6:12:20 PM (UTC)
Updated on http://revoltlib.com.

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