The document outlines a curriculum plan aimed at early childhood education, detailing the analysis of effective teaching strategies and assessment methods. It emphasizes the development of learning experiences that reflect appropriate standards, integrate various content areas, and address the diverse needs of children. The writing is structured to adhere to professional standards and includes collaboration among educators to enhance curriculum planning.

1. ©2014 Walden University 1
EP002: Plans Developmentally Appropriate Curriculum
Plan developmentally appropriate curriculum in alignment with
professional standards.
Assessment Rubric
0
Not Present
1
Needs Improvement
2
Meets Expectations
3
Exceeds Expectations
Sub-Competency 1: Analyze how indicators of effective
curriculum and learning standards inform the development of
effective early
childhood curriculum.
Learning Objective
1.1:
Explain how indicators
of effective curriculum
are reflected in the
early childhood

2. curriculum.
Response is incoherent or
missing.
Response vaguely or
partially explains how
indicators are reflected in
the learning experiences.
Response clearly and
logically explains how at
least three indicators are
reflected in the learning
experiences.
Response is supported by a
variety of relevant
examples from the
learning experiences and
the indicators of effective
curriculum.
Demonstrates the same
level of achievement as
“2,” plus the following:
Response clearly and
logically explains how
more than three indicators
are reflected in the
learning experiences.

3. Learning Objective
1.2:
Explain how learning
standards inform the
planning of effective
and developmentally
appropriate
curriculum.
Explanation is incoherent
or missing.
Response vaguely or
partially explains how
learning standards inform
the planning of effective
and developmentally
appropriate curriculum.
Response clearly and
logically explains how
learning standards and
curricular goals inform the
planning of effective and
developmentally
appropriate curriculum.
Response is supported by a

4. variety of relevant
examples from the teacher
interview and relevant
learning standards.
Demonstrates the same
level of achievement as
“2,” plus the following:
Response synthesizes
information from the
teacher interview and
learning standards to
inform the development of
the learning experiences.
Learning Objective
1.3:
Response is incoherent or
missing.
Explanation is vague. Response clearly and
logically explains how
Demonstrates the same
level of achievement as
©2014 Walden University 2
0
Not Present

5. 1
Needs Improvement
2
Meets Expectations
3
Exceeds Expectations
Explain how knowledge
of children and families
informs effective
curriculum.
knowledge of children and
families informed the
development of the
learning experiences.
Response is supported by a
variety of relevant
examples from the
learning experiences and
the interview with the
early childhood teacher.
“2,” plus the following:
Response is supported by
logical connections to the
professional knowledge
base.
Sub-Competency 2: Analyze learning experiences designed to

6. promote learning in all content areas.
Learning Objective
2.1:
Explain how planned
learning experiences
promote language and
literacy as part of an
effective early
childhood curriculum.
Explanation is incoherent
or missing.
Response vaguely or
partially explains how the
learning experiences
promote language and
literacy.
Response clearly and
logically explains how the
learning experiences
promote language and
literacy.
Response is supported by a
variety of relevant
examples from the
learning experiences and
logical connections to the
professional knowledge
base.

7. Demonstrates the same
level of achievement as
“2,” plus the following:
Response includes a
compelling rationale for
the learning experiences
for the specific classroom
context.
Learning Objective
2.2:
Explain how planned
learning experiences
promote math,
science, and
technology learning as
Explanation is incoherent
or missing.
Response vaguely or
partially explains how the
learning experiences
promote math, science,
and technology learning
development.
Response clearly and
logically explains how the
planned learning
experiences promote
math, science, and

8. technology learning.
Response is supported by a
Demonstrates the same
level of achievement as
“2,” plus the following:
Response includes a
compelling rationale for
the learning experiences
©2014 Walden University 3
0
Not Present
1
Needs Improvement
2
Meets Expectations
3
Exceeds Expectations
part of an effective
early childhood
curriculum.
variety of relevant
examples from the
learning experience plans
and logical connections to

9. the professional
knowledge base.
for the specific classroom
context.
Learning Objective
2.3:
Explain how planned
learning experiences
promote learning in
the arts as part of an
effective early
childhood curriculum.
Explanation is incoherent
or missing.
Response vaguely or
partially explains how the
planned learning
experiences promote
learning in the arts.
Response clearly and
logically explains how the
planned learning
experiences promote
learning in the arts.
Response is supported by a
variety of relevant
examples from the

10. learning experience plans
and logical connections to
the professional
knowledge base.
Demonstrates the same
level of achievement as
“2,” plus the following:
Response includes a
compelling rationale for
the learning experiences
for the specific classroom
context.
Sub-Competency 3: Analyze learning experiences designed to
promote development across developmental domains.
Learning Objective
3.1:
Explain how planned
learning experiences
promote social,
emotional, and
physical development
as part of an effective
early childhood
curriculum.
Explanation is incoherent
or missing.
Response vaguely or
partially explains how the

11. planned learning
experiences promote
social, emotional, and
physical development.
Response clearly and
logically explains how the
planned learning
experiences promote
social, emotional, and
physical development.
Response is supported by a
variety of relevant
examples from the
learning experience plans
and logical connections to
the professional
Demonstrates the same
level of achievement as
“2,” plus the following:
Response includes a
compelling rationale for
the learning experiences
for the specific classroom
context.
©2014 Walden University 4
0
Not Present

12. 1
Needs Improvement
2
Meets Expectations
3
Exceeds Expectations
knowledge base.
Sub-Competency 4: Analyze effective assessment strategies.
Learning Objective
4.1:
Describe how
assessment strategies
inform the early
childhood
professional’s
understanding of
children’s learning and
development.
Description is incoherent
or missing.
Response vaguely or
partially describes how
assessment strategies used
in the learning experiences
inform an understanding
of children’s learning and

13. development.
Response clearly and
logically describes how
assessment strategies used
in the learning experiences
inform an understanding
of children’s learning and
development.
Response is supported by a
variety of relevant
examples from the
learning experience plans
and logical connections to
the professional
knowledge base.
Demonstrates the same
level of achievement as
“2,” plus the following:
Response includes a
compelling rationale for
the use of specific
assessment strategies
within the classroom
context.
Sub-Competency 5: Analyze the vital role of play in promoting
children's learning and development as part of an effective early
childhood
curriculum.
Learning Objective
5.1:

14. Explain how play is
incorporated in
learning experiences as
part of an effective
early childhood
curriculum.
Explanation is incoherent
or missing.
Response vaguely or
partially explains how the
planned learning
experiences incorporate
play.
Response clearly and
logically explains how the
planned learning
experiences incorporate
play and why play is a vital
component of a
developmentally
appropriate curriculum.
Response is supported by a
variety of relevant
examples from the
learning experience plans
and logical connections to
Demonstrates the same
level of achievement as
“2,” plus the following:

15. Response includes a
compelling rationale for
the use of play to support
the curricular goals in the
specific classroom context.
©2014 Walden University 5
0
Not Present
1
Needs Improvement
2
Meets Expectations
3
Exceeds Expectations
the professional
knowledge base.
Sub-Competency 6: Analyze methods for differentiating
learning experiences to meet the needs of individual children.
Learning Objective
6.1:
Describe strategies
used to differentiate
learning experiences to
meet the needs of

16. individual children.
Explanation is incoherent
or missing.
Response vaguely or
partially describes
strategies used to
differentiate learning
experiences to meet the
needs of individual
children.
Response clearly and
logically describes at least
two strategies used to
differentiate learning
experiences to meet the
needs of individual
children.
Response is supported by a
variety of relevant
examples from the
learning experience plans
and is supported by logical
connections to the
knowledge base.
Demonstrates the same
level of achievement as
“2,” plus the following:

17. Response clearly and
logically describes more
than two strategies used
to differentiate learning
experiences to meet the
needs of individual
children.
PS001: Written Communication: Demonstrate graduate-level
writing skills.
Learning Objective
PS 1.1:
Use proper grammar,
spelling, and
mechanics.
Multiple major and minor
errors in grammar,
spelling, and/or mechanics
are highly distracting and
seriously impact
readability.
Multiple minor errors in
grammar, spelling, and/or
mechanics are distracting
and negatively impact
readability.
Writing reflects competent

18. use of standard edited
American English.
Errors in grammar,
spelling, and/or mechanics
do not negatively impact
readability.
Grammar, spelling, and
mechanics reflect a high
level of accuracy in
standard American English
and enhance readability.
Learning Objective
PS 1.2:
Organize writing to
enhance clarity.
Writing is poorly organized
and incoherent.
Introductions, transitions,
and conclusions are
Writing is loosely
organized. Limited use of
introductions, transitions,
and conclusions provides
Writing is generally well-
organized. Introductions,
transitions, and
conclusions provide
Writing is consistently
well-organized.

19. Introductions, transitions,
and conclusions are used
©2014 Walden University 6
0
Not Present
1
Needs Improvement
2
Meets Expectations
3
Exceeds Expectations
missing or inappropriate. partial continuity. continuity and a
logical
progression of ideas.
effectively to enhance
clarity, cohesion, and flow.
Learning Objective
PS 1.3:
Support writing with
appropriate resources.
Writing does not integrate
appropriate resources and
content in support of ideas
and argument.

20. Writing loosely integrates
some appropriate
resources and content in
support of ideas and
argument.
Writing sufficiently
integrates appropriate
resources (which may
include peer-reviewed
resources) and content in
support of ideas and
argument.
Writing effectively
integrates appropriate
resources (which may
include peer-reviewed
resources) and content to
support and expand upon
ideas and arguments.
Learning Objective
PS 1.4:
Apply APA style to
written work.
APA conventions are not
applied.
APA conventions for
attribution of sources,
structure, formatting, etc.
are applied inconsistently.

21. APA conventions for
attribution of sources,
structure, formatting, etc.
are generally applied
correctly in most
instances. Sources are
generally cited
appropriately and
accurately.
APA conventions for
attribution of sources,
structure, formatting, etc.
are applied correctly and
consistently throughout
the paper. Sources are
consistently cited
appropriately and
accurately.
Learning Objective
PS 1.5:
Use appropriate
vocabulary and tone
for the audience and
purpose.
Vocabulary and tone are
inappropriate and
negatively impact clarity of
concepts to be conveyed.
Vocabulary and tone have
limited relevance to the
audience.

22. Vocabulary and tone are
generally appropriate for
the audience and support
communication of key
concepts.
Vocabulary and tone are
consistently tailored to the
audience and effectively
and directly support
communication of key
concepts.
PS004: Collaboration: Use collaborative skills and tools to work
effectively with diverse stakeholders to achieve a common goal.
Learning Objective
PS 4.1:
Explain how
compromise, mutual
respect, and shared
responsibility help
Explanation is missing. Response includes an
explanation of how
compromise, mutual
respect, and shared
responsibility help diverse
stakeholders achieve a
Response includes a clear
and complete explanation
of how compromise,
mutual respect, and
shared responsibility help
diverse stakeholders

23. Response includes a
cohesive analysis with
examples explaining how
compromise, mutual
respect, and shared
responsibility help diverse
©2014 Walden University 7
0
Not Present
1
Needs Improvement
2
Meets Expectations
3
Exceeds Expectations
diverse stakeholders
achieve a common
goal.
common goal, however,
the explanation is unclear
or incomplete.
achieve a common goal. stakeholders achieve a
common goal.

24. Learning Objective
PS 4.2:
Apply collaboration
skills to create
workable solutions to
complex problems.
Application is missing. Response applies
irrelevant collaboration
skills or the collaboration
results in inappropriate or
unrealistic solutions.
Response generally applies
relevant and appropriate
collaboration skills to
create workable solutions
to complex problems.
Response comprehensively
applies appropriate
collaboration skills to
create workable solutions
to complex problems.
EP002: Plans Developmentally Appropriate Curriculum
This Assessment is a Work Product in which you will design a
set of learning experiences that could be implemented as part of
an effective curriculum for preschool children (ages 3–4).
Ideally, curriculum planning is a collaborative process. For this
Work Product, you will interview a teacher to learn more about
his or her curricular goals and find out how you can collaborate
with one another to achieve those goals. You will also observe
in the teacher’s classroom in order to learn more about the
children in the setting. If you are currently working as an early

25. childhood teacher, collaborate with a colleague in your setting
to complete this Assessment.
You will collaborate with a colleague or early childhood teacher
to design three learning experiences that are appropriate for the
children in the preschool classroom that you observed.
(Implementation is not required, but it is important that you
have a real setting in mind as you plan.)
Your response to this Assessment should:
1. 1. Reflect the criteria provided in the Rubric, which provides
information on how the Assessment will be evaluated.
2. 2. Adhere to the required assignment length.
3. 3. Use the APA course paper template available here. All
submissions must follow the conventions of scholarly writing.
Properly formatted APA citations and references must be
provided where appropriate.
Access the following to complete this Assessment:
· Interview Guide
· Learning Experience Plan Template
Curriculum Planning
Identify a preschool setting that provides educational programs
for 3- and 4-year-olds. Arrange to visit and interview a teacher
and to observe in his or her classroom for at least two hours.
Use the “Interview Guide” document to inform your questions
during your scheduled interview.
Keeping in mind all you have learned about the context of the
preschool program and the standards that inform its curriculum,
plan three learning experiences around a central theme chosen
in collaboration with the teacher you interview. Use the
template provided in the “Learning Experience Plan Template”
document.
Taken together, the learning experiences must include all
content areas addressed in the Rubric (literacy; math, science,
and technology; health; and the arts) and must address all
domains of development (cognitive, social, emotional, and
physical). Remember that, because your learning experiences
are designed around an integrated theme, multiple content areas

26. and domains of development will be represented within each
learning experience.
Write a 7- to 10-page narrative analysis of your Learning
Experiences Plan that includes a brief description of the central
theme and explanations of the following:
1. How the learning experiences, taken as a whole, reflect at
least three indicators of effective curriculum
2. How the learning experiences reflect appropriate learning
standards and the goals identified by the early childhood teacher
you interviewed
3. How knowledge of the children and families informed the
learning experiences
4. How the learning experiences promote language and literacy
5. How the learning experiences promote math, science, and
technology learning
6. How the learning experiences promote learning in the arts
7. How the learning experiences promote social, emotional, and
physical development
8. How the assessment strategies used in the learning
experiences informed your understanding of children’s learning
and development
9. How play is incorporated into your learning experiences and
why this is a vital component of the early childhood curriculum
10. How the learning experiences you planned can be
differentiated to meet the needs of individual children,
including those with exceptionalities (Note: Include a
description of at least two strategies.)
11. How you collaborated to develop the learning experiences,
including:
· An explanation of the value of collaborating in the curriculum
planning process
· A description of any challenges you experienced
· An example of ways you compromised, demonstrated respect,
and/or shared responsibility to develop the learning experiences
Note: Include the three “Learning Experience Plan Template”
documents as an Appendix to your Learning Experiences Plan.

27. Containing Fear: The Origins and Management of Ethnic
Conflict
Author(s): David A. Lake and Donald Rothchild
Source: International Security, Vol. 21, No. 2 (Autumn, 1996),
pp. 41-75
Published by: The MIT Press
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28. Containing Fear David A. Lake and
Donald Rothchild
The Origins and Management of
Ethnic Conflict
Since the end of the
Cold War, a wave of ethnic conflict has swept across parts of
Eastern Europe,
the former Soviet Union, and Africa. Localities, states, and
sometimes whole
regions have been engulfed in convulsive fits of ethnic
insecurity, violence, and
genocide. Early optimism that the end of the Cold War might
usher in a new
world order has been quickly shattered. Before the threat of
nuclear armaged-
don could fully fade, new threats of state meltdown and ethnic
cleansing have
rippled across the international community.
The most widely discussed explanations of ethnic conflict are,
at best, incom-
plete and, at worst, simply wrong. Ethnic conflict is not caused
directly by
inter-group differences, "ancient hatreds" and centuries-old
feuds, or the
stresses of modern life within a global economy Nor were ethnic
passions, long
bottled up by repressive communist regimes, simply uncorked
by the end of
the Cold War.
We argue instead that intense ethnic conflict is most often
caused by collec-
tive fears of the future. As groups begin to fear for their safety,

29. dangerous and
difficult-to-resolve strategic dilemmas arise that contain within
them the po-
tential for tremendous violence. As information failures,
problems of credible
commitment, and the security dilemma take hold, groups
become apprehen-
sive, the state weakens, and conflict becomes more likely.
Ethnic activists and
political entrepreneurs, operating within groups, build upon
these fears of
insecurity and polarize society. Political memories and
emotions also magnify
these anxieties, driving groups further apart. Together, these
between-group
David A. Lake is Professor of Political Science at the
University of California, San Diego, and Research
Director for International Relations at the Institute on Global
Conflict and Cooperation. Donald Rothchild
is Professor of Political Science at the University of California,
Davis.
This is an abridged version of two chapters by the authors that
will appear in David A. Lake and
Donald Rothchild, eds., Ethnic Fears and Global Engagement:
The International Spread and Management
of Ethnic Conflict (forthcoming). This research was sponsored
by the Institute on Global Conflict
and Cooperation (IGCC) at the University of California and
supported by a generous grant from
the Pew Charitable Trusts. An earlier draft of this paper was
discussed by IGCC's Working Group
on the International Spread and Management of Ethnic Conflict.
We are indebted to the members
of the working group for many productive discussions over a

30. two-year period. We would espe-
cially like to thank Miles Kahler, Arnold Kanter, Charles
Kupchan, Charles William Maynes, Barnett
Rubin, Timothy D. Sisk, Stephen John Stedman, and John
Steinbruner for comments on an earlier
draft of this paper.
International Security, Vol. 21, No. 2 (Fall 1996), pp. 41-75
? 1996 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College and the
Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
41
International Security 21:2 | 42
and within-group strategic interactions produce a toxic brew of
distrust and
suspicion that can explode into murderous violence.
Managing ethnic conflicts, whether by local elites and
governments or con-
cerned members of the international community, is a continuing
process with
no end point or final resolution. It is also an imperfect process
that, no matter
how well-conducted, leaves some potential for violence in
nearly all multi-
ethnic polities. Ethnic conflict can be contained, but it cannot
be entirely
resolved. Effective management seeks to reassure minority
groups of both their
physical security and, because it is often a harbinger of future
threats, their
cultural security. Demonstrations of respect, power-sharing,

31. elections engi-
neered to produce the interdependence of groups, and the
establishment of
regional autonomy and federalism are important confidence-
building measures
that, by promoting the rights and positions of minority groups,
mitigate the
strategic dilemmas that produce violence.
International intervention may also be necessary and
appropriate to protect
minorities against their worst fears, but its effectiveness is
limited. Noncoercive
interventions can raise the costs of purely ethnic appeals and
induce groups to
abide by international norms. Coercive interventions can help
bring warring
parties to the bargaining table and enforce the resulting terms.
Mediation can
facilitate agreement and implementation. A key issue in all
interventions,
especially in instances of external coercion, is the credibility of
the international
commitment. External interventions that the warring parties fear
will soon fade
may be worse than no intervention at all. There is no practical
alternative to
active engagement by the international community over the long
term.
This essay presents a framework for understanding the origins
and manage-
ment of ethnic conflict. Focusing on the central concept of
ethnic fear, we
attempt to provide a broad framework for comprehending, first,
how the

32. various causes of ethnic conflict fit together and potentially
interact and, sec-
ond, how policies can be crafted to address these causes.
Moreover, while our
approach is largely "rational choice" oriented, we also seek to
examine how
non-rational factors such as political myths and emotions
interact with the
strategic dilemmas we highlight. We recognize that many of the
ideas pre-
sented here have already appeared in the burgeoning literature
on ethnic
conflict, and do not claim to be presenting an entirely novel
approach, although
we note some areas of disagreement with prevailing approaches.
Our analysis proceeds in two steps. The first section examines
the inter-
group and intra-group strategic dilemmas that produce ethnic
violence. Build-
ing on this diagnosis, the second section discusses several ways
of managing
Containing Fear | 43
ethnic conflicts both before and after they become violent. We
consider, first,
confidence-building measures that can be undertaken by local
elites and gov-
ernments-or promoted by members of the international
community-to quell
real or potential violence and, second, external interventions led
by concerned
states and organizations. The concluding section highlights

33. several policy in-
itiatives that follow from our analysis.
Strategic Interactions and the Causes of Ethnic Conflict
Most ethnic groups, most of the time, pursue their interests
peacefully through
established political channels. But when ethnicity is linked with
acute social
uncertainty, a history of conflict, and fear of what the future
might bring, it
emerges as one of the major fault lines along which societies
fracture.' Vesna
Pesic, a professor at the University of Belgrade and a peace
activist in the
former Yugoslavia, says it well: ethnic conflict is caused by the
"fear of the
future, lived through the past."2
Collective fears of the future arise when states lose their ability
to arbitrate
between groups or provide credible guarantees of protection for
groups. Under
this condition, which Barry Posen refers to as "emerging
anarchy," physical
security becomes of paramount concern.3 When central
authority declines,
groups become fearful for their survival. They invest in and
prepare for vio-
lence, and thereby make actual violence possible. State
weakness, whether it
arises incrementally out of competition between groups or from
extremists
actively seeking to destroy ethnic peace, is a necessary
precondition for violent
ethnic conflict to erupt. State weakness helps to explain the

34. explosion of ethnic
violence that has followed the collapse of communist regimes in
Eastern
Europe and the former Soviet Union, and it has also led to
violence in Liberia,
Somalia, and other African states.
State weakness may not be obvious to the ethnic groups
themselves or
external observers. States that use force to repress groups, for
instance, may
appear strong, but their reliance on manifest coercion rather
than legitimate
1. Kathleen Newland. "Ethnic Conflict and Refugees," in
Michael E. Brown, ed., Ethnic Conflict
and International Security (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University
Press, 1993), p. 161.
2. Vesna Pesic, Remarks to the Institute on Global Conflict and
Cooperation (IGCC) Working
Group on the International Spread and Management of Ethnic
Conflict, October 1, 1994.
3. Barry R. Posen, "The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict,"
in Brown, Ethnic Conflict and
International Security, pp. 103-124. See also Jack Snyder,
"Nationalism and the Crisis of the Post-
Soviet State," in ibid., pp. 79-101.
International Security 21:2 | 44
authority more accurately implies weakness. More important,
groups look
beyond the present political equipoise to alternative futures
when calculating

35. their political strategies. If plausible futures are sufficiently
threatening, groups
may begin acting today as if the state were in fact weak, setting
off processes,
discussed below, that bring about the disintegration of the state.
Thus, even
though the state may appear strong today, concerns that it may
not remain so
tomorrow may be sufficient to ignite fears of physical insecurity
and a cycle of
ethnic violence. The forward-looking nature of the strategic
dilemmas empha-
sized here makes the task of forecasting or anticipating ethnic
conflicts espe-
cially difficult, both for the participants themselves and
external actors who
would seek to manage them effectively through preventive
diplomacy.
Situations of emerging anarchy and violence arise out of the
strategic inter-
actions between and within groups. Between groups, three
different strategic
dilemmas can cause violence to erupt: information failures,
problems of cred-
ible commitment, and incentives to use force preemptively (also
known as the
security dilemma). These dilemmas are the fundamental causes
of ethnic
conflict. Within groups, ethnic activists and political
entrepreneurs may make
blatant communal appeals and outbid moderate politicians,
thereby mobilizing
members, polarizing society, and magnifying the inter-group
dilemmas. "Non-
rational" factors such as emotions, historical memories, and

36. myths can exacer-
bate the violent implications of these intra-group interactions.
Together, these
inter-group and intra-group interactions combine, as we explain
in this section,
to create a vicious cycle that threatens to pull multi-ethnic
societies into vio-
lence.4
STRATEGIC INTERACTIONS BETWEEN GROUPS
Competition for resources typically lies at the heart of ethnic
conflict. Property
rights, jobs, scholarships, educational admissions, language
rights, government
contracts, and development allocations all confer benefits on
individuals and
groups. All such resources are scarce and, thus, objects of
competition and
occasionally struggle between individuals and, when organized,
groups. In
4. In this article, we are concerned mostly with internal ethnic
conflict. For a discussion of
transnational ethnic conflict, and especially its international
diffusion and escalation, see David A.
Lake and Donald Rothchild, eds., Ethnic Fears and Global
Engagement: The International Spread and
Management of Ethnic Conflict (forthcoming).
Containing Fear | 45
societies where ethnicity is an important basis for identity,
group competition

37. often forms along ethnic lines.5
Politics matter because the state controls access to scarce
resources. Individu-
als and groups that possess political power can often gain
privileged access to
these goods, and thus increase their welfare.6 Because the state
sets the terms
of competition between groups, it becomes an object of group
struggle. Accord-
ingly, the pursuit of particularistic objectives often becomes
embodied in com-
peting visions of just, legitimate, and appropriate political
orders.
In multi-ethnic societies, resource rivalries and the struggle to
control state
policy produce competing communal interests. In Nigeria, for
example, each
ethno-regional group looks to the state to favor it when
distributing public
resources, producing, as Claude Ake observes, an
"overpoliticization" of social
life which gravely weakens the state itself.7 In Yugoslavia,
Slovenians and
Croatians resented the system of federal redistribution to the
poorer regions of
the country; their publics backed their leaders' expressions of
indignation,
ultimately fueling the demand for greater political autonomy.8
When groups
conclude that they can improve their welfare only at the
expense of others,
they become locked into competitions for scarce resources and
state power.

38. Analytically, however, the existence of competing policy
preferences is-by
itself-not sufficient for violence to arise. Observers too often
fail to recognize
this important theoretical point and misattribute violence to
competition over
scarce resources. Violence, after all, is costly for all communal
actors: people
are killed; factories, farms, and whole cities are destroyed;
resources that might
have been invested in new economic growth are diverted instead
to destructive
ends. As violence, and preparing for violence, is always costly,
there must exist
in principle some potential bargain short of violence that leaves
both sides in
a dispute better off than settling their disagreements through the
use of force;
at the very least, the same ex post agreement could be reached
without the use
5. This is, of course, not true as a universal rule. Although
ethnic identities are often strong, groups
can also form along class, religious, or other lines. The more
politically salient ethnicity is, however,
the more likely it is that groups will organize on this basis. This
is an important way in which the
between-group and within-group variables examined here
interact.
6. Russell Hardin, One for All: The Logic of Group Conflict
(Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University
Press, 1995), pp. 34-37; and Milton J. Esman, Ethnic Politics
(Ithaca, N.Y: Comell University Press,
1994), p. 216.
7. Claude Ake, "Why Is Africa Not Developing?" West Africa,
No. 3538 (June 17, 1985), p. 1213.

39. 8. Susan Woodward, Balkan Tragedy: Chaos and Dissolution
After the Cold War (Washington, D.C.:
Brookings, 1995), pp. 69-70.
International Security 21:2 | 46
of force, and the resources that would have been expended in
violence divided
somehow between the parties ex ante.9 This holds irrespective
of the breadth
of the group demands or the extent of the antagonisms. The
farther apart the
policy preferences of the groups are, the greater the violence
necessary for one
group to assert its will over the other, and the greater the
resources that can be
saved by averting the resort to force.10
Despite appearances, then, competing policy preferences by
themselves can-
not explain the resort to violence. The divorce between the two
halves of
Czechoslovakia is a sterling example of two ethnic groups, in
conflict over the
distribution of resources within their federal state but anxious
to avoid the
costs of war, developing a mutually agreeable separation to
avoid a potentially
violent confrontation. For negotiations to fail to bridge the
demands of oppos-
ing groups, at least one of three strategic dilemmas must exist.
Each dilemma
alone is sufficient to produce violent conflict. Nonetheless, they
typically occur

40. together as a dangerous syndrome of strategic problems.
INFORMATION FAILURES. Because violence is costly, groups
can be expected
to invest in acquiring knowledge about the preferences and
capabilities of the
opposing side and bargain hard, but eventually reach an
agreement short of
open conflict.11 Groups might even be expected to reveal
information about
themselves to prevent violence from erupting. When individuals
and groups
possess private information and incentives to misrepresent that
information,
competing group interests can produce actual conflict. We refer
to this as an
information failure. When information failures occur, groups
cannot acquire or
share the information necessary to bridge the bargaining gap
between them-
selves, making conflict possible despite its devastating effects.
Incentives to misrepresent private information exist in at least
three common
circumstances. In each, revealing true information undercuts the
ability of the
group to attain its interests. First, incentives to misrepresent
occur when groups
are bargaining over a set of issues and believe they can gain by
bluffing. By
9. James Fearon, "Ethnic War as a Commitment Problem,"
unpublished manuscript, University of
Chicago, 1993; and Fearon, "Rationalist Explanations for War,"
International Organization, Vol. 49,
No. 3 (Summer 1995), pp. 379-414.

41. 10. Moreover, a mutually preferred bargain must exist even if
the resources available to groups
are declining, because violence only further reduces the
resource pool relative to possible agree-
ments. For an empirical demonstration of this point, see Valerie
Percival and Thomas Homer-
Dixon, Environmental Scarcity and Violent Conflict: The Case
of Rwanda (Washington, D.C.: American
Association for the Advancement of Science, 1995).
11. The following two sub-sections draw heavily upon Fearon,
"Ethnic War as a Commitment
Problem," and "Rationalist Explanations for War," two of the
best theoretical works on conflict
between organized groups.
Containing Fear | 47
exaggerating their strengths, minimizing their weaknesses, and
mis-stating
their preferences, groups seek to achieve more favorable
divisions of resources.
Through such bluffs, however, they increase the risk that
negotiations will fail
and conflicts arise.12
Second, groups may be truly aggressive but do not want to be
branded as
such. They may seek to minimize internal opposition, or to
insulate themselves
from repercussions in the broader international community
Although typically
only minimal sanctions are imposed by other states, most groups
seek to avoid
the label of an aggressor or violator of international norms and

42. the political
isolation that such a classification can carry.
Finally, in conflicts where the groups are simultaneously
negotiating and
preparing for ethnic war, any attempt to facilitate compromise
by having each
side explain how it plans to win on the battlefield will seriously
compromise
the likelihood that it will win should war occur. Thus, groups
cannot reveal
their strategies or derive accurate predictions of their likely
success. Paradoxi-
cally, each party is bound by its own self-interest to withhold
the information
crucial to bringing about an agreement. Concerned that private
information
they provide on how they intend to protect themselves or attack
others will
redound to their disadvantage, groups may refrain from
revealing the infor-
mation necessary to forge a mutually satisfactory
compromise.13
Information failures are possible whenever two or more ethnic
groups com-
pete within the political arena. Groups always possess private
information and,
as these three circumstances suggest, often possess incentives to
misrepresent
that information. Information failures are thus ubiquitous in
ethnic relations.
In multi-ethnic societies, states can often communicate and
arbitrate success-
fully between groups and thereby help preclude and resolve
information fail-

43. ures. Indeed, communication and arbitration can be understood
as two of the
primary functions of the state. When effective, states create
incentives and a
sense of security that allow groups to express their desires and
articulate their
political aspirations and strategies. Not only do ethnic leaders
respond to
sidepayments offered by state elites, but-in seeking to curry
favor-they are
more prepared to provide private information to a "third party"
than they are
12. In game-theoretic terms, actors will choose to bluff
depending upon 1) the beliefs each actor
holds about the other's "type" (i.e., the actor is more likely to
bluff if it believes the other is "weak"
and the second actor believes the first is "strong") and 2) the
relative benefits (payoff) and costs
(signal) of successful bluffing, unsuccessful bluffing, and not
bluffing (i.e., the higher the payoff
from success and the smaller the cost of the signal, the more
likely the actor is to bluff).
13. Fearon, "Rationalist Explanations for War," p. 400.
International Security 21:2 | 48
to an adversary.14 As the state weakens, however, information
failures become
more acute and violence more likely. If one group believes that
the other is
withholding information, it too may begin to hold back crucial
data or antici-
pate the failure of negotiations. Groups become suspicious of

44. the intentions of
others, and may begin to fear the worst. In this way,
information failures and
even the anticipation of such failures may drive groups to
actions that under-
mine the ability of the state to maintain social peace. When this
occurs, even
previously effective states will begin to unravel. State
capabilities, then, are at
least partly affected by the magnitude of the information failure
and the beliefs
and behaviors of the groups themselves.
Information failures cut two ways. On the one hand, all policy
differences
can be bridged-at least in theory-if the alternative is a costly
conflict. Even
cultural symbols and practices central to a people's conception
of itself as a
distinct ethnic group may be negotiable if the known alternative
is the outright
destruction of the group. On the other hand, strategic incentives
to misrepre-
sent private information are a primary impediment to peaceful
compromise,
and these incentives may be present in a wide range of
circumstances. Thus,
careful mediation by third parties who can probe the true
preferences of groups
and communicate them to relevant others is important for
creating and main-
taining cooperative ethnic relations. States able to arbitrate
between groups are
normally the preferred instrument to this end, but sometimes
they too fall
victim to the information failures they are designed, in part, to

45. prevent. When
this occurs, mediation by outside parties may be required.
PROBLEMS OF CREDIBLE COMMITMENT. Ethnic conflicts
also arise because
groups cannot credibly commit themselves to uphold mutually
beneficial
agreements they might reach.15 In other words, at least one
group cannot
effectively reassure the other that it will not renege on an
agreement and exploit
it at some future date. As exploitation can be very costly-up to
and including
the organized killing of one group by another-groups may prefer
to absorb
even high costs of war today to avoid being exploited tomorrow.
14. We recognize, of course, that the state is not always a
neutral third party in domestic disputes,
but this simply indicates that the state has already forfeited at
least in part the ability to perform
this function.
15. Fearon, "Ethnic War as a Commitment Problem"; and
Fearon, "Rationalist Explanations for
War"; Hardin, One for All, p. 143; and Barry R. Weingast,
"Constructing Trust: The Political and
Economic Roots of Ethnic and Regional Conflict," unpublished
manuscript, Stanford University,
1995.
Containing Fear | 49
Stable ethnic relations can be understood as based upon a
"contract" be-

46. tween groups.16 Such contracts specify, among other things, the
rights and
responsibilities, political privileges, and access to resources of
each group.
These contracts may be formal constitutional agreements or
simply informal
understandings between elites. Whatever their form, ethnic
contracts channel
politics in peaceful directions.
Most importantly, ethnic contracts contain "safeguards"
designed to render
the agreement self-enforcing. They contain provisions or
mechanisms to ensure
that each side lives up to its commitments and feels secure that
the other will
do so as well. Typical safeguards include, first, power-sharing
arrangements,
electoral rules, or group vetoes that prevent one ethnic group
from setting
government policy unilaterally;17 second, minority control over
critical eco-
nomic assets, as with the whites in South Africa or Chinese in
Malaysia;18 and
third, as was found in Croatia before the breakup of Yugoslavia,
maintenance
of ethnic balance within the military or police forces to
guarantee that one
group will not be able to use overwhelming organized violence
against the
other.19 These political checks and balances serve to stabilize
group relations
and ensure that no group can be exploited by the other. In Barry
R. Weingast's
words, "reciprocal trust can be induced by institutions."20

47. 16. The term "ethnic contract" was, we believe, coined by
Leonard Binder at the first meeting of
the IGCC Working Group on the International Spread and
Management of Ethnic Conflict, May
13-14, 1994. On relational contracting more generally, see
Oliver Williamson, The Economic Institu-
tions of Capitalism: Firms, Markets, and Relational Contracting
(New York: Free Press, 1985); for an
application to inter-state relations, see David A. Lake,
"Anarchy, Hierarchy, and the Variety of
International Relations," International Organization, Vol. 50,
No. 1 (Winter 1996), pp. 1-33.
17. Arend Lijphart, The Politics of Accommodation: Pluralism
and Democracy in the Netherlands
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967); Donald L.
Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985); Timothy D.
Sisk, Democratization in South Africa:
The Elusive Social Contract (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton
University Press, 1995); and Weingast, "Con-
structing Trust."
18. Heribert Adam and Kogila Moodley, "South Africa: The
Opening of the Apartheid Mind," in
John McGarry and Brendan O'Leary, eds., The Politics of Ethnic
Conflict Regulation (New York:
Routledge, 1993), pp. 226-250.
19. Misha Glenny, The Fall of Yugoslavia (New York: Penguin
Books, 1992); and Hardin, One for All,
pp. 58 and 159.
20. Weingast, "Constructing Trust," p. 15. Aleksa Djilas, "Fear
thy Neighbor: The Breakup of
Yugoslavia," in Charles A. Kupchan, ed., Nationalism and
Nationalities in the New Europe (Ithaca,
N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1995), p. 99, argues that the
communist party served as the primary
safeguard in Yugoslavia, largely through coercion and

48. repression, and that the defeat of the party
in the 1990 elections left a political vacuum. He faults the party
for not developing "stable
institutions" that could have regulated relations among the
republics. In "Constructing Trust," on
the other hand, Weingast credits Yugoslav President Josip Broz
Tito for constructing a set of veto
mechanisms institutionalizing trust among the groups.
International Security 21:2 | 50
The terms of the ethnic contract reflect the balance of political
power between
the groups and their beliefs about the intentions and likely
behaviors of one
another. Safeguards are crafted to respond to the specific
circumstances of each
set of groups. However, ethnic contracts can be undermined and
problems of
credible commitment created by changes in either the ethnic
balance of power
or the beliefs of groups about others. These changes and their
implications are
captured in two separate but related models, one by James
Fearon that focuses
on the balance of political power between groups and one by
Weingast that
emphasizes beliefs.21
The political power of groups is determined by demography, the
resources
available to each group, and their capacity to organize
effectively.22 More
powerful groups have a larger say in setting the terms of the

49. contract. However,
for the less powerful group to agree voluntarily to enter and
abide by the
contract, its interests must also be addressed, including its
concern that the
more powerful group will try to exploit it and alter the terms of
the contract
at some future date. Indeed, it is the minority, fearful of future
exploitation and
violence, that ultimately determines the viability of any existing
ethnic contract.
When the balance of ethnic power remains stable-and is
expected to remain
stable-well-crafted contracts enable ethnic groups to avoid
conflict despite
their differing policy preferences.
However, the ethnic balance of power does evolve over time. As
in Lebanon,
disparities in population growth rates will eventually alter the
balance between
groups. Differing access to resources may increase prosperity
for some groups
and poverty for others, also shifting the ethnic balance. When
multi-ethnic
polities fragment, as in Yugoslavia and the former Soviet
Union, the relevant
political space alters rapidly and the various ethnic groups that
once counted
their numbers on a national scale must now calculate their kin
in terms of the
new, smaller territorial units, and may find themselves in a
stronger or weaker
position. It is apprehension over the consequences of any
dissolution, for
instance, that motivates Protestants in Northern Ireland to hold

50. tenaciously
onto union with the largely Protestant United Kingdom rather
than merge with
the predominantly Catholic state of Ireland. When such changes
in the ethnic
21. Fearon, "Ethnic War as a Commitment Problem"; and
Fearon, "Rationalist Explanations for
War"; see also Fearon, "Commitment Problems and the Spread
of Ethnic Conflict," in Lake and
Rothchild, Ethnic Fears and Global Engagement. See Weingast,
"Constructing Trust"; this model is
also discussed in Robert H. Bates and Barry R. Weingast,
"Rationality and Interpretation: The
Politics of Transition," paper presented to the Annual Meeting
of the American Political Science
Association, Chicago, August 31-September 3, 1995.
22. Hardin, One for All, p. 56.
Containing Fear | 51
balance of power have not been anticipated, or if the safeguards
are overly
rigid and cannot be renegotiated easily, the ethnic contract will
be at risk of
collapse.
Problems of credible commitment arise, as Fearon shows,
whenever the
balance of ethnic power shifts.23 As the influence of one side
declines, pre-
viously enforceable ethnic contracts become unenforceable. The
checks and
balances that safeguard the agreement today become insufficient

51. tomorrow.
Even if the group that is growing stronger promises not to
exploit the weaker
group in the future, there is nothing to prevent it from breaking
its promise
when it actually is stronger. Recognizing this, the declining side
may choose
to fight today rather than accede to an ethnic contract that will
become increas-
ingly unenforceable as time progresses.
Independent of changes in the ethnic balance of power,
Weingast demon-
strates that if information is incomplete and there are costs to
becoming a
victim in the future, changes in the beliefs of one group about
the intentions
of another can play a large role in setting the parties on the road
to violence.24
If a group believes that there is even a small chance that it may
become a target
of a genocidal attack, it may choose conflict over compromise
and the risk of
future destruction. To provoke conflict, one group need not
believe that the
other really is aggressive, only fear that it might be. With
incomplete informa-
tion, even small changes in beliefs about the intentions of the
other group can
generate massive violence.
Information is costly to acquire and, as a result, there is always
some uncer-
tainty about the intentions of other groups. Groups compensate
for their
informational limitations by acting on the basis of prior beliefs

52. about the likely
preferences of others (as well as the costs of resorting to
violence and other
variables). These beliefs are formed through historical
experience-the "past,"
in Pe'sic's words-and represent each group's best guess about
the other's
intentions. Groups then update these beliefs as new information
becomes
available to them. Nonetheless, information is always
incomplete and groups
are forever uncertain about each other's purposes. Conflict,
then, always re-
mains possible in ethnic interactions.
Problems of credible commitment in ethnic relations are
universal. Con-
cerned that the balance of power may tip against them or that
the other may
23. Fearon, "Ethnic War as a Commitment Problem."
24. Weingast, "Constructing Trust"; and Bates and Weingast,
"Rationality and Interpretation." The
term "beliefs" is used here in its game-theoretic sense to refer to
the conditional probability of an
actor holding one set of preferences (intentions, in the text;
payoffs from a game, more formally)
rather than another. Actors form beliefs subjectively, largely on
the basis of past interactions.
International Security 21:2 | 52
have hostile intentions, groups worry that agreements made
today will not be

53. honored tomorrow. Effective states can help to mitigate these
problems of
credible commitment by enforcing existing ethnic contracts.
When the future
risk of exploitation is high, however, current relations and the
state itself can
quickly unravel. Fearful of the future, weaker groups may resort
to preemptive
violence today to secure their position in times to come. When
this happens,
outside peacekeepers or peace enforcers with sufficient military
capabilities
and political will may be the only way to ensure ethnic peace.
THE SECURITY DILEMMA. Posen has recently extended the
concept of the se-
curity dilemma, first developed in international relations, to the
study of ethnic
conflict. In the broadest sense of the concept, the security
dilemma is under-
stood to follow axiomatically from anarchy. Under anarchy,
states are depend-
ent upon self-help for their security and must therefore maintain
and perhaps
expand their military capabilities. This can threaten others, who
react by main-
taining and expanding their capabilities, creating a spiral of
arms-racing and
hostility. The dilemma follows from the inability of the two
sides to observe
each other's intentions directly; if each party knew the other
was arming
strictly for defensive purposes, the potential spiral would be cut
short. But
because states cannot know the intentions of others with
certainty, in Posen's

54. words, "what one does to enhance one's own security causes
reactions that, in
the end, can make one less secure."25
Understood in this broad way, however, the security dilemma
more accu-
rately rests on the information failures and problems of credible
commitment
just discussed. It is the inability both to know with certainty the
intentions and
abilities of others and to commit credibly not to arm for
offensive purposes
that drives the spiral. The unique analytic core of the security
dilemma lies in
situations where one or more disputing parties have incentives
to resort to
preemptive uses of force. We use the term here to refer to these
specific
incentives.26 As Robert Jervis observes, incentives to preempt
arise when offen-
sive military technologies and strategies dominate more
defensive postures,
and thus the side that attacks first reaps a military advantage.27
The offense is
likely to dominate when there are significant military benefits
from surprise
25. Posen, "The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict," p. 104.
26. We recognize that some readers may prefer the broader use
of the term "security dilemma."
We believe that the distinctions between information failures,
problems of credible commitment,
and incentives to use force preemptively are useful and
important, and we see no reason to use a
less precise catchall term when more precise and analytically
refined definitions are available.

55. 27. Robert Jervis, "Cooperation Under the Security Dilemma,"
World Politics, Vol. 30, No. 2 (Janu-
ary 1978), pp. 167-213. See also George H. Quester, Offense
and Defense in the International System
(New York: John Wiley, 1977).
Containing Fear | 53
and mobility. Geography will also matter, because some kinds
of terrain (such
as mountainous areas) and settlement patterns (such as
exclusive ethnic zones)
are easier to defend than others.28 When the offense dominates,
even status quo
groups (and states), it follows, may be tempted to launch
preemptive strikes
to avoid a possibly even worse fate.
When incentives to use force preemptively are strong, the
security dilemma
takes hold and works its pernicious effects. Fearful that the
other might
preempt, a group has an incentive to strike first and negotiate
later. In ethnic
relations, as in international relations, when there are
significant advantages to
preemption, a cycle of violence can seize previously peaceful
groups even as
they seek nothing more than their own safety. By the same
logic, previously
satisfied groups can be driven to become aggressors, destroying
ethnic har-
mony in the search for group security.

56. STRATEGIC INTERACTIONS WITHIN GROUPS
As we have just shown, strategic interactions between groups
create the unsta-
ble social foundations from which ethnic conflict arises.
Information failures,
problems of credible commitment, and the security dilemma
demonstrate that
even when groups mean well and calculate the costs and
benefits of alterna-
tives realistically, conflict can still erupt. Even in "the best of
all possible
worlds," these strategic dilemmas can produce violent conflict.
Under conditions of actual or potential state weakness, and as
the strategic
dilemmas described above begin to take hold, two catalysts-
ethnic activists
and political entrepreneurs-can produce rapid and profound
polarization
within a multi-ethnic society. Social polarization, in turn,
magnifies the strategic
dilemmas and potential for conflict described above. As we
explain in this
section, political memories, myths, and emotions also magnify
the polarizing
effects of activists and entrepreneurs, further accelerating the
vicious cycle of
ethnic fear and violence.
All individuals desire to belong to groups, but the strength of
this desire
differs.29 In a model of "ethnic dissimilation," Timur Kuran
demonstrates that
ethnic activists-individuals with especially strong needs to
identify with eth-

57. nic kin-can manipulate such desires to produce a process of
social polariza-
tion that is rapid, apparently spontaneous, and essentially
unpredictable.30 By
28. Posen, "The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict."
29. Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict.
30. Timur Kuran, "Ethnic Dissimilation and its Global
Transmission," in Lake and Rothchild, Ethnic
Fears and Global Engagement.
International Security 21:2 | 54
persuading others to increase their public ethnic activity in
order to maintain
standing within the group, Kuran argues, ethnic activists can
drive individuals
to represent falsely their true preferences. While they might
prefer, for instance,
not to associate exclusively with members of their own group,
individuals are
pressed by activists and the social pressures they spawn to alter
their behavior
in a more "ethnic" direction. In this way, Kuran finds, ethnic
activists can cause
previously integrated communities to separate along ethnic
lines.
Political entrepreneurs-individuals who may not share the
beliefs of ex-
tremists but who seek political office and power-may reflect the
polarization
of societies and, through their actions, propel this process
further. Ethnicity

58. often provides a key marker for self-aggrandizing politicians
seeking to build
constituencies for attaining or maintaining political power.31
Politicians in the
middle of the political spectrum or those who court ethnically
heterogeneous
constituencies are vulnerable, in turn, to political extremists
seeking to draw
electoral support from only a more ethnically homogeneous and
possibly more
militant constituency. When faced with the threat of such
challenges, even
centrist politicians can be driven to embrace a more "ethnic"
position and
defend communal interests more vigorously, a phenomenon
often referred to
as ethnic outbidding.32 Political entrepreneurs can also
reinforce processes of
social polarization. Like activists, they can highlight and
legitimate ethnic
associations and affinities and raise the political saliency of
ethnicity. In framing
issues for the public, moreover, political entrepreneurs can
exaggerate the
hostility of others and magnify the likelihood of conflict-
thereby distorting
public debate and images of other groups and driving co-ethnics
toward them
for power and support. President Slobodan Milosevic's control
over the media
in Serbia, for instance, allowed him to present a one-sided view
of Croat
violence toward Croatian Serbs.33 In short, political
entrepreneurs both reflect
and stimulate ethnic fears for their own aggrandizement.

59. Many analysts mistakenly focus on social polarization and the
role of ethnic
activists and political entrepreneurs in fomenting violence as
the primary if not
sole cause of ethnic conflict. Empirically, it is important to note
that social
polarization by itself does not necessarily lead to violence;
Belgium provides
31. Stephen M. Saideman, "Is Pandora's Box Half-Empty or
Half-Full? The Limited Virulence of
Secessionism and the Domestic Sources of Disintegration," in
Lake and Rothchild, Ethnic Fears and
Global Engagement.
32. Joseph Rothschild, Ethnopolitics: A Conceptual Framework
(New York: Columbia University
Press, 1981); and Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict.
33. Weingast, "Constructing Trust," p. 20.
Containing Fear | 55
a particularly salient example of a polarized society that
manages to conduct
politics on a peaceful if not necessarily always harmonious
basis, partly be-
cause the state remains robust enough to prevent significant
information fail-
ures, problems of credible commitment, and security dilemmas
from arising.
Ethnic extremists, in turn, are nearly always present, and they
can be expected
to become prominent whenever at least one of the strategic
dilemmas above is
initiated. Analytically, ethnic activists and political

60. entrepreneurs are as much
a product as a producer of ethnic fears and are dependent for
their "success"
upon the underlying strategic dilemmas. Nonetheless, they do
play an impor-
tant role in exacerbating ethnic tensions and propelling societies
along the road
to violence.
The polarization of society is also magnified by such "non-
rational" factors
as political memories and myths, on the one hand, and
emotions, on the other.
Political memories and myths can lead groups to form distorted
images of
others and see others as more hostile and aggressive than they
really are. Such
myths are often rooted in actual events, and probably could not
be long
sustained absent a historical basis. Yet, historical events can,
over time, evolve
into legends that justify the superiority of one group over
another, stimulate
desires for retribution, or sustain group hatreds. In Africa,
following decoloni-
zation as well as in the contemporary period, political memories
of past conflict
have directly contributed to violent encounters, even instances
of genocide.34
In Eastern Europe, political memories and myths have both
defined the groups
themselves and stimulated acute fears of mutual exploitation.
The Croats and
Serbs, formerly citizens within the same state and now enemies,
have both used
history and religion to support a view of the other as a tight

61. ethnic bloc
determined on a destructive course and therefore deserving of
pitiless retali-
ation.
Emotions may also cause individuals and groups to act in
exaggerated or
potentially "irrational" ways that magnify the chances of
conflict. Many ana-
lysts point to a deep psychological-perhaps even physiological-
need for
humans to belong to a group.35 In the process of drawing
distinctions, however,
individuals often overstate the goodness of their own group
while simultane-
ously vilifying others. Where such emotional biases exist,
groups are likely to
interpret the demands of others as outrageous, while seeing
their own as
34. Rene Lemarchand and David Martin, Selective Genocide in
Burundi, No. 20 (London: Minority
Rights Group, 1974).
35. Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict.
International Security 21:2 | 56
moderate and reasonable; to view the other as inherently
untrustworthy, while
believing themselves to be reliable; to insist upon adequate
safeguards against
the possible defection of the other, but interpreting the efforts
of others to
impose similar restrictions on them as a sign of "bad faith"; to

62. believe that the
other is withholding information or deceptive, while they are
being open and
honest; and so on.
The emotional power of ethnic attachments is typically
increased by the
unifying effects of what are perceived to be external threats.
People who have
little in common with others may unite when they feel
threatened by external
enemies. Thus, the shared identity of the Hutu in Burundi
emerged only
recently with the Tutsi repressions of 1972.36 Similarly, in
Chechnya, when very
disparate interests felt threatened by Russian power, they
overcame their dif-
ferences and made common cause in the face of Russian
intervention.
Together, strategic interactions between and within groups can
produce
environments of fear in which ethnic tensions and conflicts can
grow. As Pesic
recognizes, it is the future that threatens, but the future is
interpreted through
the past. While each strategic dilemma alone is sufficient to
produce and
explain the outbreak of ethnic conflict, they almost always
occur simultane-
ously. Ethnic activists and political entrepreneurs can polarize
societies, exac-
erbating these strategic dilemmas. The tendency toward
polarization, in turn,
is magnified by political memories and myths and emotions.
Combined, these

63. forces create a devastating brew of ethnic rivalry and potential
violence.
The Management of Ethnic Conflict
Effective management of ethnic conflicts by local elites and
governments and
by external states and organizations must reassure minority
groups of their
physical and cultural safety. To foster stability and constructive
ethnic relations,
the rights and position of the minority must be secured.
Confidence-building
measures undertaken by local elites are the most effective
instrument to this
end, and we discuss these first. In light of group fears and
individual ambi-
tions, however, international intervention may be necessary and
appropriate
either to support local leaders in their confidence-building
efforts or to enforce
new, externally imposed ethnic contracts. Even so, confidence-
building meas-
ures and international interventions are imperfect. Unlike other,
more optimis-
36. Warren Weinstein, "Conflict and Confrontation in Central
Africa: The Revolt in Burundi," Africa
Today, Vol. 19, No. 4 (Fall 1972), p. 27.
Containing Fear | 57
tic observers, we see no permanent resolutions, only temporary
"fixes." In the

64. end, ethnic groups are left without reliable safety nets. There is
no form of
insurance sufficient to protect against the dilemmas that
produce collective
fears and violence. We can only hope to contain ethnic fears,
not permanently
eliminate them.
CONFIDENCE-BUILDING MEASURES
Confidence-building measures seek to reassure ethnic peoples
about their fu-
ture. To overcome minority fears, confidence-building measures
must be ap-
propriate to the needs of those who feel vulnerable to the
majority-backed state.
The challenge, as I. William Zartman observes, "is to keep the
minority/ies
from losing."37 Such safeguards, if handled sensitively over the
years, may be
able to cope with the central problems of sharing private
information and
making credible commitments. There are four major trust-
building mecha-
nisms for helping ethnic minorities deal with perceived
insecurity
DEMONSTRATIONS OF RESPECT. The security of ethnic
peoples is in no small
way based on a reciprocity of respect. Unless each side views
its opponent as
honorable and having legitimate interests, relations are likely to
be marred by
a history of intended or unintended affronts that widen the
social distance
between groups and exacerbate fears among ethnic minorities

65. that their chil-
dren will be relegated indefinitely to second-class status.
Relations in Bosnia, worsened by polarization and increasingly
hostile per-
ceptions, have been further aggravated by the contempt Serbs
have shown their
Muslim adversaries. Describing themselves as the only people
in former Yugo-
slavia "who have the talent, energy, experience, and tradition to
form a state,"
they characterize their adversaries as representing "all that is
base, undesirable,
and naturally subordinate."38 In the Sudan, southerners with
strong memories
of slavery and perceptions of low status bridle at any new
evidence of disre-
spect. Thus, they viewed the Sudanese government's decision to
apply Islamic
(Shari'a) law to them as well as to the Muslims living in the
country's north as
a confirmation of their second-class status.39 Their resentment
boiled over in
1994, when the minister of state in the president's office, at the
mediation talks
37. I. William Zartman, "Putting Humpty-Dumpty Together
Again," in Lake and Rothchild, Ethnic
Fears and Global Engagement.
38. Norman Cigar, Genocide in Bosnia: The Policy of "Ethnic
Cleansing" (College Station: Texas
A & M University Press, 1995), pp. 74-75.
39. Amnesty International, "The Tears of Orphans": No Future
Without Human Rights (New York:
Amnesty International, 1995), p. 57.

66. International Security 21:2 | 58
in Nairobi held by the Inter-Governmental Authority on Drought
and Devel-
opment (IGADD), allegedly treated both the southerners and the
IGADD
mediators with contempt when rejecting the southerners' call for
self-determi-
nation and a secular state.40
The fears of ethnic minorities may often be overstated.
Minorities in Eastern
Europe are described as having "an exaggerated fear of the loss
of identity," a
legacy of distrust of majority authorities that causes them to
make broad
demands for legal guarantees. The majorities, fearful that this
will start them
down the slippery slope toward the breakup of their states,
refuse to consent
to these demands.41 But to build confidence it is imperative
that dominant state
elites take minority ethnic resentments and anxieties into
account. Those in-
volved in the management of ethnic disputes can learn much
from C.E. Os-
good's Graduated and Reciprocated Initiatives in Tension
Reduction (GRIT)
strategy for easing conflict between the superpowers during the
Cold War.42
His suggested approach of repeated overtures without
expectations of an
immediate tit-for-tat response could stimulate full negotiations
between equals.

67. Unless past wrongs are redressed and the sting of disparagement
is removed
from current ethnic interactions, internal negotiations will
remain clouded by
an overhang of bitterness and suspicion; minority uncertainty
regarding adver-
sary intentions will then contribute to serious conflicts.
POWER-SHARING. Conflict management requires an effort by
the state to
build representative ruling coalitions. In conceding to ethnic
minority leaders
and activists a proportionate share of cabinet, civil service,
military, and high
party positions, the state voluntarily reaches out to include
minority repre-
sentatives in public affairs, thereby offering the group as a
whole an important
incentive for cooperation. In South Africa, for example,
President Nelson Man-
dela agreed to include power-sharing provisions in the interim
constitution in
an effort to reconcile the economically dominant local white
community as well
as to build confidence among mostly white investors abroad.
Significantly, this
concession was withdrawn in 1996 with the enactment of a new
majority rule
constitution. National Party leader F.W. de Klerk was quick to
describe the
ending of multiparty participation in cabinet decision-making as
a "mistake"
that would cause a loss of confidence in the country.43
40. Sudan Democratic Gazette, No. 53 (October 1994), p. 3.
41. Larry L. Watts, "Ethnic Tensions: How the West Can Help,"

68. World Policy Journal, Vol. 12, No.
1 (Spring 1995), pp. 92-93.
42. C.E. Osgood, An Alternative to War or Surrender (Urbana:
University of Illinois Press, 1962).
43. "SA Will Pay Price For New Constitution: FW," ANC Daily
News Briefing, May 9, 1996, p. 9, as
transmitted on
gopher://gopher.anc.org.za:70/00/anc/newsbrief/1996/newsO5O
9.
Containing Fear | 59
Power-sharing can be informal (e.g., Kenya, 1960s) or formal
(e.g., Nigeria,
1979), and can take place in authoritarian (e.g., Zambia, 1980s)
or democratic
(e.g., South Africa, mid-1990s) settings. In both Eastern Europe
and Africa,
there has been a mixed pattern of "hegemonic exchange"
regimes: centrally
controlled one- or no-party regimes that allow a limited amount
of bargaining
to take place between state, ethnic, and other elites. Under the
authoritarian
administrations of Josip Broz Tito in Yugoslavia or Felix
Houphouet-Boigny in
Cote d'Ivoire, nationality or ethnic representatives met with the
president in
cabinet sessions, where strong differences were sometimes aired
by group
spokespersons behind closed doors. The resulting power-sharing
systems are
quite diverse, yet they have in common a form of coordination
in which a

69. somewhat autonomous state and a number of less autonomous
ethnic-based
and other interests engage in a process of mutual
accommodation in accord-
ance with commonly accepted procedural norms, rules, or
understandings.44
These elite power-sharing arrangements are inevitably fragile
and temporary
because the communal pillars upon which they rest remain
firmly in place and
resist the integrative pulls that would lead to countrywide
loyalties. Even so,
while these arrangements last they provide some security for
political and
ethnic minorities.
With ethnic balances of power constantly evolving and
information limited,
these arrangements are necessarily transitional ones. If poorly
negotiated and
implemented, the incomplete ethnic contracts may eventually be
rejected by
the groups they are designed to protect. The number of people
appointed to
the cabinet or civil service, for example, is not in and of itself a
guarantee of
proportional group influence.45 When not applied with great
care, power-
sharing arrangements can backfire. Ethnic elites must be
prepared to interact
with other elite representatives they find personally repugnant,
something
difficult to do under normal circumstances but especially so
where the norms
of collaborative politics are not in place. Where majority-
dominated states

70. remain unprepared to respond to legitimate minority demands
for full partici-
pation in decision-making activities, power-sharing schemes are
likely to un-
ravel and become themselves a source of grave insecurity
ELECTIONS. Although elections represent only a brief episode
in a larger
political process, they can have enormous influence on inter-
group collabora-
44. Donald Rothchild, "Hegemonial Exchange: An Alternative
Model for Managing Conflict in
Middle Africa," in Dennis L. Thompson and Dov Ronen, eds.,
Ethnicity, Politics, and Development
(Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner, 1986), p. 72.
45. Robert B. Mattes, "Beyond 'Govemment and Opposition': An
Independent South African
Legislature," Politikon, Vol. 20, No. 2 (December 1993), p. 76.
International Security 21:2 | 60
tion and conflict. Where favorable circumstances prevail (i.e.,
an agreement on
the rules of the political game, broad participation in the voting
process, and
a promising economic environment), elections can promote
stability. In demo-
cratic regimes, where institutionalized uncertainty provides
many players with
an incentive to participate, the election process can legitimate
the outcome.46
All groups have a reason to organize and, through coalitions
with other parties,

71. they are given an opportunity to gain power in the future. This
prospect of
competing in accordance with the procedural norms of the
system can be
reassuring to minority interests; not only do they have a chance
to advance
their individual and collective interests, but they are encouraged
by the major-
ity's commitment to the electoral contract. The effect is to
preempt conflict.
The implications of elections, however, can also be troubling in
multi-ethnic
settings. Even where minority groups are represented in the
legislature, there
is a real possibility that they will remain shut out of the
decision-making
process. Hence, unless election mechanisms can be linked with
other types of
political institutions such as multiparty coalitions, regional
autonomy, or fed-
eralism, they may not be able to provide security against ethnic
discrimination.
Moreover, when political entrepreneurs seek to outbid their
centrist rivals
through militant appeals to their ethnic kinsmen, elections can
prove very
destabilizing, threatening minorities with the possibility of
discrimination,
exclusion, and even victimization.
Electoral systems have been organized in two main ways to
promote inclu-
sive coalitions. First, electoral rules can be set so that
candidates are forced to
appeal to more than one ethnic group. In an effort to give

72. presidential candi-
dates an incentive to appeal to a broad cross-section of
communal groups, for
example, both the 1979 and the 1995 (draft) constitutions in
Nigeria provided
variously that, if there are two candidates for election, a
candidate would be
deemed to be elected when that person secured a simple
majority of the total
number of votes cast as well as one-quarter of the votes cast in
at least
two-thirds of the states. In securing a majority of votes in this
multi-ethnic
society, moderate appeals, with their overarching themes, were
expected to win
out over parochial ones.
Second, electoral rules can also be crafted to ensure some
minimal repre-
sentation of all ethnic groups in the society. Those seeking to
encourage minor-
ity representation in party lists and in ruling coalitions have
looked favorably
46. Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1991),
p. 26.
Containing Fear | 61
on systems of proportional representation (PR). For example, in
structuring the
elections for the Russian State Duma (the lower chamber of
parliament) in 1993,

73. legal drafters provided for a chamber of 450 members, half on
the basis of
single-member constituencies and half on the basis of PR.
Constituencies also
vary enormously in size. Such a system ensures the
representation of smaller
ethnic groups in the State Duma. Similarly, in South Africa, the
African Na-
tional Congress agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to use PR during
the transition
period to give racial and ethnic minorities a sense of security.47
Although the
PR system seemed cumbersome and failed to generate close
links between a
member of parliament and his or her constituents, ANC leaders
nonetheless
agreed to continue use of this mechanism for electing members
to the National
Assembly under the 1996 Constitution.
The way that state elites structure electoral arrangements is
likely to prove
critical in building confidence in minority circles. A broad-
based electoral
formula, like that of Nigeria, and proportional representation
are two possible
ways of encouraging minority ethnic participation and
inclusion; yet they are
likely to endure only as long as they retain support among key
groups and
state elites. If the majority shifts its concern away from the
values of repre-
sentativeness, a change in electoral rules can take place. Unless
this change is
handled fairly and with extreme sensitivity, it can be perceived
by minority

74. groups as inimical to their interests. As a consequence,
considerable experience
is required before minorities come to see electoral laws as
reliable foundations
for their security.
REGIONAL AUTONOMY AND FEDERALISM. Political and
administrative decen-
tralization can play a role in managing political conflict. By
enabling local and
regional authorities to wield a degree of autonomous power,
elites at the
political center can promote confidence among local leaders.
Measures on
decentralization, regional autonomy, and federalism featured in
peace negotia-
tions in Bosnia, Sri Lanka, Cyprus, Sudan, Angola,
Mozambique, and South
Africa. In each, they provided insurgent militias with an
important incentive
for responding positively to the government or third-party
mediator's propos-
als for settling the conflict. The U.S.-brokered peace initiative
in Bosnia
achieved a key breakthrough in the September 1995
negotiations, for example,
when the Bosnian government agreed to recognize an
autonomous Bosnian
Serb entity, called Republika Srpska. In exchange, Serbia and
Croatia accepted
47. Timothy D. Sisk, "South Africa Seeks New Ground Rules,"
Journal of Democracy, Vol. 4, No. 1
(January 1993), p. 87.

75. International Security 21:2 | 62
the legal existence of Bosnia and Herzegovina with its present
borders and
endorsed the division of the country, 51 percent of the territory
to the Bosnian
government and Bosnian Croats, and 49 percent to the Bosnian
Serbs. All three
parties perceived control of Bosnia's territory to be critically
important for their
survival once peace came into effect.
In attempting to create a new balance between state and society,
groups turn
to decentralization as a means of placing institutional
limitations on unbridled
central authority. Politically marginalized groups have vivid
memories of ex-
cessive state penetration and a continuing fear of majority
domination. Decen-
tralization and the authority these schemes allow local elites
can, therefore,
become confidence-building mechanisms that safeguard the
place of minorities
in the larger society. In Ethiopia, for example, President Meles
Zenawi looks to
a scheme of ethnic federalism as a means of reversing the
repressive,
hegemonic practices of previous governments that have led to
internal wars.48
The 1994 Constitution gives the nations making up Ethiopia
wide powers,
including an unconditional right of self-determination and
secession.

76. Nevertheless, experiments with decentralized systems in India,
Pakistan,
Cyprus, Sri Lanka, Kenya, Uganda, South Africa, Sudan, and
Ethiopia reveal
serious practical difficulties in securing majority-backed state
acceptance for
these attempts to insulate minority interests from central
authority Determined
to prevent the division of the state, public officials have taken
firm action to
avert a weakening of control. In extreme cases, they have
revoked previous
concessions. Thus, as Yugoslavia began to disintegrate in 1989,
Milosevic re-
scinded the autonomous provincial status within Serbia that Tito
had given to
largely Albanian-populated Kosovo. Sudan's President Gaafar
el-Nimeiry, who
had been the main advocate of political accommodation with the
Southern
Sudan Liberation Movement insurgents in 1972, backtracked on
his commit-
ments formalized in the Addis Ababa accords and in the late
1970s began to
dismantle the federal compromise; to placate hard-line, Muslim
elements
within his government, Nimeiry intervened in southern regional
elections,
changed regional boundaries, redivided the southern region,
applied Shari'a
law to non-Muslims, and ultimately abrogated the agreement
itself. In both
Yugoslavia and Sudan, revocation of concessions on autonomy
heightened
tensions and led to new violence.

77. 48. Cameron McWhirter and Gur Melamede, "Ethiopia: The
Ethnicity Factor," Africa Report, Vol.
37, No. 5 (September/October, 1992) p. 33.
Containing Fear | 63
While regional autonomy and federalism have been used as
safeguards, they
have had, in some instances, unintended consequences that have
actually
increased conflict. Despite efforts to decentralize power in
South Africa and
Ethiopia, the fiscal dominance of the political center has tended
to undercut
the significance of regional authorities. Moreover, efforts to
delineate bounda-
ries have increased conflict between ethno-regional identity
groups. In contem-
porary Russia, the arbitrary way in which internal boundaries
divide ethnic
peoples has been a major source of tension.49 In Ethiopia, the
regional bounda-
ries set up by the government appear to favor Tigray and the
Afars, at the
expense of the formerly dominant Amhara and the Somali Isaks
in the Awash
Valleyland. Unless carefully crafted, decentralization schemes
may worsen
rather than improve inter-ethnic relations.
CONFIDENCE-BUILDING MEASURES EVALUATED.
Confidence-building meas-
ures are potentially creative instruments by which states can
reassure ethnic

78. minorities. They indicate a sympathetic concern on the part of
those in power
to the fears and uncertainties of minorities. By acknowledging
and showing
respect for difference and by agreeing to share resources, state
positions, and
political power with exposed and vulnerable groups, these
measures reduce
the perceived risks of association and provide incentives for
cooperation with
other groups. They can also become the basis over time for a
shared sense of
common fate among diverse communities. States seeking ethnic
accommoda-
tions have used confidence-building measures effectively in the
past, and they
will continue to do so in the future. The international
community should
encourage states at risk of significant ethnic conflict to make
use of confidence-
building measures.
However, such confidence-building measures represent conflict
manage-
ment, not conflict resolution. They can reduce some of the
factors giving rise
to ethnic fears, but they do not alter the basic dilemmas that
cause these fears
in the first place. The risks in ethnic encounters remain in
place, even if papered
over by concessions. Because there is always the possibility that
groups will
adopt more threatening forms of interaction, these confidence-
building meas-
ures never eliminate the information failures, problems of
credible commit-

79. ment, and security dilemmas that are embedded in ethnic
encounters. As Adam
Przeworski astutely observes, "if sovereignty resides with the
people, the
49. Gail W. Lapidus and Ren6e de Nevers, eds., Nationalism,
Ethnic Identity and Conflict Management
in Russia Today (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Center
for International Security and Arms
Control, 1995), p. 3.
International Security 21:2 | 64
people can decide to undermine all the guarantees reached by
politicians
around a negotiating table. Even the most institutionalized
guarantees give at
best a high degree of assurance, never certainty"50
EXTERNAL INTERVENTION
If states fail to restrain the incentives for violence rooted in the
strategic
interactions of groups, it is necessary to turn to the international
environment
and ask whether external intervention can safeguard minorities
against their
worst fears. For many observers, sovereignty is linked to
responsibility: state
elites are expected to guarantee minority rights and provide the
means for
establishing and maintaining regularized patterns of state-
society and inter-
ethnic relations. The state, with its monopoly of force, is often

80. in a position, as
one South African mediator described it in 1995, to "enforce
stability" between
local warring parties (in this case, in the East Rand townships in
his country).
But who will intercede if the state is unable or unwilling to
secure the safety
of its minority peoples? What forms will this intervention take?
Which of the
interventions, if any, are likely to have a significant impact on
intra-state
conflicts?
The principle of sovereignty has never been articulated or
respected in the
clear-cut manner often assumed by scholars of international
relations. As
Stephen D. Krasner and Daniel K. Froats demonstrate, states
have a long
history of intervention in the ethnic (and religious) affairs of
others.51 Many of
the treaties settling European affairs in the aftermath of World
War I contained
provisions obligating states to protect the political and religious
rights of
minorities within their borders. More recently, the United
Nations Charter
affirmed an international commitment to basic human rights and
fundamental
freedoms. UN Secretary General Boutros Boutros-Ghali now
believes that "the
time of absolute and exclusive sovereignty has passed."52
Nonetheless, since 1945 there has been a strong insistence by
many countries
on the protection of national autonomy afforded by the juridical

81. principle of
sovereignty. This emphasis on internal autonomy has often been
strongest
where states themselves were weakest.53 Yet today, ethnic
conflicts and their
50. Przeworski, Democracy and the Market, p. 79.
51. Stephen D. Krasner and Daniel K. Froats, "The Westphalian
Model and Minority-Rights
Guarantees in Europe," in Lake and Rothchild, Ethnic Fears and
Global Engagement. See also Krasner,
"Compromising Westphalia," International Security, Vol. 20,
No. 3 (Winter 1995/96), pp. 115-151.
52. Boutros Boutros-Ghali, An Agenda for Peace (New York:
United Nations, 1992), p. 9.
53. Robert H. Jackson and Carl G. Rosberg. "Why Africa's
Weak States Persist," World Politics, Vol.
35, No. 1 (October 1982), pp. 1-24.
Containing Fear | 65
possible spread have thrust issues of "humanitarian"
intervention onto the
policy agendas of the United States and many other countries.
As Edmond
Keller indicates, even in Africa, where the norm of juridical
sovereignty has
been strong, there is a new willingness on the part of state
leaders to entertain
limitations on the notion of sovereignty, but it remains an open
question
whether these leaders will be prepared to sanction international
interventions
directed against their own countries.54

82. External intervention takes three broad forms: noncoercive
intervention,
coercive intervention, and third-party mediation during both the
negotiation
and implementation stages. We look briefly at each of these
forms, drawing
conclusions in each case about their anticipated effects on intra-
state conflicts.
NONCOERCIVE INTERVENTION. A sense of alarm over the
violation of minor-
ity rights taking place in other countries has, at times, prompted
outside states
and multilateral organizations to protest infractions or exert
pressure on the
transgressors. Western governments, encouraged by their
domestic publics to
denounce breaches of human rights in Bosnia, Chechnya,
Rwanda, and Sudan,
have criticized these abuses through quiet, behind-the-scenes
diplomacy and
at public fora.
Assertions of international norms are important in raising the
costs of unac-
ceptable behavior, especially when their advocates offer an
alternative set of
interests around which defectors can mobilize and challenge the
ensconced
ethnic leaders.55 States are also in a strong position to use
inclusion in or
exclusion from the international community to reward or punish
regimes and
ethnic leaders who deviate from internationally accepted norms.
The promises

83. of inclusion or the pains of exclusion can at times create strong
incentives to
behave in a more responsible fashion. Thus Milosevic's desire
to be accepted
by Europeans and North Americans enabled Western diplomats
to influence
his behavior at the bargaining table, even causing him to make
concessions on
the emotionally charged issue of Bosnian government control
over a unified
Sarajevo. Similarly, conditions on membership in international
organizations
appear to be mitigating ethnic conflicts in Hungary and
Romania, while Tur-
key's desire for acceptance in Europe may be limiting its actions
against its
Kurdish minority
54. Edmond J. Keller, "Transnational Ethnic Conflict in Africa,"
in Lake and Rothchild, Ethnic Fears
and Global Engagement.
55. V.P. Gagnon, Jr., "Ethnic Nationalism and International
Conflict: The Case of Serbia," Interna-
tional Security, Vol. 19, No. 3 (Winter 1994/95), p. 139.
International Security 21:2 | 66
In South Africa, external protests and sanctions raised the costs
of doing
business, access to technology and raw materials, and travel.
Sanctions physi-
cally punished the regime, something that became painfully
evident in South
Africa's loss of dominance in the air war over Angola, brought

84. on in part by
the air force's inability to secure spare parts. The symbolic
impact of sanctions
was also important because it represented a clear statement of
sympathy for
black hardship and moral disapproval of apartheid policies by
the international
community.56 Above all, international condemnation
challenged state and gov-
ernmental legitimacy While the costs of sanctions were
discomforting and
burdensome, they did not hurt the main body of the white
constituency
sufficiently to alter priorities, until de Klerk's remarkable
change of heart on
negotiating with the anti-apartheid opposition in the early
1990s.57
Given the extreme emotionalism over security issues that brings
aggressive
ethnic leaders to the fore in the first place, we are skeptical that
external
appeals, exhortations, and pressures will in and of themselves
dissuade deter-
mined elites from their abusive courses. Bosnian Serb leader
Radovan
Karadzic, Bosnian Serb military commander Ratko Mladic, and
their ilk re-
main sufficiently insulated from world pressures that what
transpires at dip-
lomatic meetings or in the global press may have little
immediate impact on
them or their militant followers.
Noncoercive interventions can be helpful in raising the costs of
purely ethnic

85. appeals and in structuring the incentives of group leaders
prepared to accept
international norms for the purposes of recognition, acceptance,
and inclusion
in the international community. Where conflicts are intense,
however, exhorta-
tions and international warnings may not deter or end violence.
The most that
noncoercive intervention can do in such situations is to create a
climate in
which ethnic appeals and violence are perceived by all as
illegitimate and,
therefore, marginally less likely to be used.
COERCIVE INTERVENTION. The rise in ethnic conflict today
creates new de-
mands and opportunities for coercive intervention by outside
states and inter-
national organizations.58 External interventions have two
primary effects. First,
intervention can alter the internal balance of ethnic power and
may lead groups
56. Harry R. Strack, Sanctions: The Case of Rhodesia
(Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 1978).
57. Sisk, Democratization in South Africa.
58. For discussions of the motivations of outside states to
intervene in ethnic conflicts, see Michael
E. Brown, "Causes and Implications of Ethnic Conflict," in
Brown, ed., Ethnic Conflict and Interna-
tional Security, pp. 16-20, and Robert Cooper and Mats Berdal,
"Outside Intervention in Ethnic
Conflicts," in ibid., p. 197.

86. Containing Fear | 67
to moderate their demands. Except perhaps where the sides have
reached a
"hurting stalemate" and the purpose of the intervention is
exclusively to
separate the forces and keep the peace, interventions always
have political
implications.59 Even in Somalia, where negotiations on
establishing a transi-
tional national council led to hopes for a settlement in 1993, the
initial humani-
tarian mission eventually favored one claimant to power (Ali
Mahdi
Mohamed) over the other (Mohamed Farah Aideed), ultimately
causing the
politicization of the mission.60 Typically favoring, by design or
default, the
weaker side in any internal conflict, external powers reduce the
stronger side's
chances for success. This, in turn, restrains the stronger party's
demands. To
the extent that such restraint takes hold, intervention can
improve the prospects
for agreement. However, the weaker side is likely to increase its
demands and
ask for more at the bargaining table as its prospects of failure
decline and its
chances for success improve.61 For instance, once the NATO
countries inter-
vened decisively in September 1995 on behalf of the Bosnian
government, and
against the Bosnian Serb forces, the latter-pressured by
Milosevic-quickly
moderated their demands and moved towards accepting the
territorial parti-

87. tion they had earlier rejected.62 At the same time, however, the
Croats saw new
opportunities on the battlefield and at the negotiating table, and
the United
States and its allies had to exert pressure on the Bosnian
government and
Croatia not to exploit their increased leverage. With both
effects occurring
simultaneously in any intervention, the "bargaining gap"
between the parties
may remain as wide as ever. Unless pressure is exerted on both
sides to
moderate their demands, intervention by itself will not
necessarily enhance the
prospects for agreement.
The second primary effect of intervention is to provide
guarantees for new
ethnic contracts between the warring parties, at least during an
interim period.
As discussed above, problems of credible commitment hinder
the efforts of
groups to resolve their differences peacefully. The primary
attraction of external
59. On "hurting stalemates," see I. William Zartman, Ripe for
Resolution: Conflict and Intervention
in Africa (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985). On the
inevitable political implications of
intervention, see Caleb Carr, "The Consequences of Somalia,"
World Policy Journal, Vol. 10, No. 3
(Fall 1993), pp. 1-4.
60. John L. Hirsch and Robert B. Oakley, Somalia and
Operation Restore Hope: Reflections on Peace-
making and Peacekeeping (Washington, D.C.: United States
Institute of Peace Press, 1995).

88. 61. Donald Wittman, "How a War Ends: A Rational Model
Approach," Journal of Conflict Resolution,
Vol. 23, No. 4 (December 1979), pp. 743-763.
62. Milosevic's role in the October 1995 negotiations carried
with it an implied threat: if the Bosnian
Serbs refused to be more accommodating at the bargaining
table, their Serb kinsmen across the
border could further reduce their military support.
International Security 21:2 | 68
intervention is that an outside state can enforce an agreement,
thereby provid-
ing the necessary credibility that is otherwise lacking. Indeed,
when the future
risk of exploitation is high, but the declining group is still
strong enough to
possess some chance of victory, outside enforcers may be the
only way to
ensure ethnic peace.63 Thus, in Namibia in 1989, the third-
party enforcer was
in a position to raise the costs of breaking agreements by
monitoring the
implementation process, highlighting violations of the peace
agreement, and
focusing an international spotlight on any breaches that
occurred.64 The lack
of any equally effective third-party enforcer in neighboring
Angola following
the signing of the Bicesse accords, and UNITA President Jonas
Savimbi's poor
showing in the first round of the 1992 elections, increased
incentives to defect
from the agreement and resume the civil war.

89. The promise of the post-Cold War world is that the great
powers, freed from
the shackles of superpower competition, can now intervene to
mitigate ethnic
conflicts by providing external guarantees of social order. If the
warring parties
themselves cannot make credible commitments to uphold their
pacts, external
powers can lead the groups to peaceful solutions by enforcing
any agreement
they might reach. The paradox of the post-Cold War world,
however, is that
absent the bipolar competition that drove them into the far
reaches of the globe,
the United States and other powers now lack the political will
necessary to
make a sustained commitment to this role.
The key issue in determining the success of any external
guarantee is the
commitment of the international community. In a way not
sufficiently appre-
ciated by current policy makers in Washington and elsewhere,
external guar-
antees work only when the local parties to the conflict believe
that the outside
powers are resolved to enforce the ethnic contract in a fair
manner into the
indefinite future. The behavior of the external powers today is
not the crucial
factor. Rather, a more fundamental question is whether the
warring parties or
potential combatants believe the external powers will be there
to protect them
tomorrow, and in the days and years after that. Absent a belief

90. in the fair-mind-
edness and stamina of the external powers, intervention in any
form will fail
to mitigate the conflict.
63. Stephen J. Stedman, Peacemaking in Civil Wars:
International Mediation in Zimbabwe, 1974-1980
(Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner, 1991); and Barbara F. Walter,
"The Resolution of Civil Wars: Why
Negotiations Fail," unpublished paper, Columbia University,
1995.
64. Virginia P. Fortna, "Success and Failure in Southern Africa:
Peacekeeping in Namibia and
Angola," in Donald CF. Daniel and Bradd C. Hayes, eds.,
Beyond Traditional Peacekeeping (New
York: St. Martin's, 1995), pp. 282-299.
Containing Fear | 69
Unfortunately, even countries with strong interests in
intervening often find
themselves unable to offer credible external guarantees.
Countries vitally af-
fected by the fighting or the outcome either tend to be partisan
or are perceived
by the combatants as partisan, as was the case with France's
intervention in
Rwanda in 1994. One or both sides to the conflict, therefore,
will doubt the
willingness of the outside power to enforce the new ethnic
contract in an
evenhanded manner, and they will be less likely to reach an
effective and
enforceable agreement. However, when outside powers have

91. interests in a
stable outcome, rather than in the victory or loss of either side,
they may be
perceived by all as fair-minded facilitators. Britain's role in
Zimbabwe in the
1970s is a positive example of an interested party able to work
with a coalition
of external mediators to push negotiations ahead to a successful
outcome.
Countries with weak interests in the conflict, on the other hand,
will tend to
lack or will be perceived as lacking the political stamina to
enforce any new
ethnic contract into the future. The United States was unwilling
to bear any
substantial cost in human lives to guarantee the peace in
Somalia, for instance.
There are many reasons why states might possess only weak
interests in
guaranteeing a new ethnic conflict. Most important, political
instability abroad
is typically broad but shallow in its effects, producing
incentives for states to
seek to free ride on the efforts of others.65 This is one plausible
interpretation
of the hesitancy of the United States in taking a leadership role
in Bosnia. In
this view, Presidents George Bush and Bill Clinton held back
hoping that the
Europeans would step forward and carry the financial and
military burden;
only when the Europeans proved unprepared to assume the costs
did the
United States take the lead.

92. Weak commitments produce ambiguous policies that may, in the
end, exac-
erbate rather than resolve conflicts. Public commitments
encourage the weaker
party to believe that the external power supports it, thereby
prompting the
group to fight on and hold out for a better deal than its position
on the
battlefield warrants.66 Ambiguity and vacillation, however,
may simultane-
ously persuade the stronger party that the external power does
not possess
sufficient stamina, and that it too may improve its position by
continuing to
fight. This ambivalent commitment is the true tragedy of the
current United
States policy in the Balkans. One of the most important lessons
from this
65. Mancur Olson, The Logic of Collective Action (Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press,
1965).
66. Djilas, "Fear thy Neighbor: The Breakup of Yugoslavia," p.
102.
International Security 21:2 | 70
analysis is that if external powers are going to intervene in
ethnic conflicts,
either alone or in concert with others, they must do so in a way
that is credible
to the groups involved. An external guarantee that the parties
expect will
evaporate is no guarantee at all.

93. THIRD-PARTY MEDIATION. Given the limitations of
confidence-building
measures and external interventions, there are few alternatives
to negotiations
if both sides are to be brought into the solution. For a mutually
satisfactory
peace to take place, a two-step negotiating process is essential:
first, among the
key elements within each group, and then between the groups
themselves.
Operating rules must be hammered out in these talks regarding
inclusive
coalitions, proportionality in recruitment and allocations,
autonomy, provisions
on electoral competition, and so forth. The ensuing negotiations
are likely to
be protracted and difficult, largely because the various factions
and groups lack
a clear chain of command (making commitments difficult to
produce) and
because they understand fully that the terms they accept will
cast a long
shadow over their future. But if each of the parties concludes
that its alterna-
tives are limited, its present course unduly costly, and its stake
in its rival's
willingness to cooperate with an agreement significant, they
may then begin
to negotiate in good faith. External mediators can play an
important role in
facilitating negotiations by encouraging adversaries to open up
channels of
communication, to reconsider their alternatives, and to opt for
peaceful, nego-
tiated solutions. A mediator's ability to influence the strategies

94. of the adver-
saries must not be overstated; nevertheless, the ability of a third
party to make
effective use of pressures and incentives can prove decisive,
especially if the
parties to the conflict have nowhere else to go.
In intense ethnic disputes, mediators can use a variety of
noncoercive and
coercive incentives to increase the information available to the
adversaries,
facilitate a change in their strategies, or find a way to save face.
Noncoercive
incentives extend benefits or rewards for compliance, while
coercive incentives
punish or threaten to punish a targeted actor to bring it into line
with preferred
types of political behavior. Provided that the demands of the
two sides are
negotiable and neither party can anticipate a military victory,
mediators can
make use of a package of carrots and sticks in the hopes that the
targeted party
(or parties) will accept a compromise and thus allow some
degree of mutual
cooperation to materialize.
Normally, noncoercive incentives will be preferred by third
parties, because
of their low cost and expected impact. Thus, mediators
frequently make use of
sidepayments to enlarge the pie and alter the payoff structure,
thereby enhanc-

95. Containing Fear | 71
ing the benefits of making concessions (as occurred most
dramatically in the
Egyptian-Israeli negotiations at Camp David in 1978). Third
parties can also
influence the choices of ethnic minorities by guaranteeing them
against possi-
ble future abuses at the hands of the majority after an agreement
has been
reached.
However, when ethnic conflicts grow in intensity and can no
longer be
resolved by means of rewards, it sometimes becomes necessary
for the third
party to force movement toward cooperation by means of threats
or punish-
ments. These coercive incentives become increasingly punitive
as they move
from pressure to economic sanctions to military intervention, as
occurred at
different stages in the Bosnian confrontation. In the
contemporary period, only
a coalition of mediators seems likely to have the political
capacity to create the
mix of noncoercive and coercive incentives necessary to
overcome a stalemate
and move the parties toward a negotiated settlement.
But the scope for third-party initiative at both the negotiation
and implemen-
tation stages is highly circumscribed. Internal wars are
particularly difficult to
negotiate, largely because ethnic enmities tend to be so deep
and the stakes so

96. high. Data on negotiations indicate that settlements are difficult
to achieve and
at least as difficult to maintain, even where a third party is
prepared to step
between the adversaries. Roy Licklider, largely reconfirming
earlier studies by
Stephen Stedman and Paul Pillar, finds that only 14 out of 57
civil wars between
1945 and 1993 were settled through negotiations.67 Even with
its focus on
opening channels of communication and facilitating the flow of
information,
third-party mediation cannot wholly eliminate potential
information failures.
The conflicting groups are bound by the same incentives not to
reveal all of
their private information, even to third parties. Moreover,
problems of credible
commitment loom large. Barbara Walter suggests that inter-state
wars are
easier to bring to a negotiated conclusion because the two
parties remain on
opposite sides of a border; in internal wars, the disputants must
re-merge
themselves into a single unit and, as a result, face more difficult
problems of
credible commitment.68
The difficulties normally associated with mediation are
compounded by the
obstacles to implementation. Several laboriously negotiated
agreements have
67. Roy Licklider, "The Consequences of Negotiated
Settlements in Civil Wars, 1945-1993," Ameri-
can Political Science Review, Vol. 89, No. 3 (September 1995),

97. p. 684; Stedman, Peacemaking in Civil
Wars, pp. 5-7; Paul R. Pillar, Negotiating Peace: War
Termination as a Bargaining Process (Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1993), p. 25.
68. Walter, "The Resolution of Civil Wars."
International Security 21:2 | 72
been signed only to fall apart at the implementation stage-for
example, in
Ethiopia and Eritrea (1962), Sudan (1982), Uganda (1985),
Angola (1975, 1992),
and Rwanda (1994). A large part of the responsibility for these
failures lies with
adversary parties and their inability to make credible and
reliable commit-
ments. Their distrust of one another's intentions was so deep
that the peace
agreement crumbled when ambiguity on security-related matters
opened the
way to renewed confrontation.
However, the failure of these agreements is also partly
attributable to the
unwillingness of the international community to provide
mediators with the
economic, logistical, police, and military support needed to
oversee the pro-
cesses of disarmament, integration of the armed forces,
repatriation of refugees,
and holding of general elections. In addition, the guarantees
made to one or
more rivals by foreign governments and multilateral
organizations have come

98. to lack credibility as local actors now expect the domestic
publics of the
third-party mediators to lose interest over time in far-off
conflicts and retreat
from commitments made at the high point of the struggle.
As internal wars reach a hurting stalemate and leaders on both
sides perceive
an "intolerable situation" with little expectation of military
victory, fatigued
parties may come to the table and bargain in earnest.69 Despite
the emotional-
ism and organizational imperatives surrounding civil wars, a
number of
them- including those in Cambodia, Nicaragua, Zimbabwe,
Angola, Namibia,
Mozambique, and possibly now Chechnya and Bosnia-have been
or are close
to being settled by means of negotiations. One must not
anticipate too much
from mediatory efforts, but a grim outlook is also not
appropriate and could
be self-fulfilling.
THE LIMITS OF INTERVENTION. External interventions,
whether they are non-
coercive, coercive, mediatory, or-as is common-a combination
of the three,
are not likely to solve the underlying strategic dilemmas that
produce ethnic
fear and violence. Information failures remain possible, despite
the efforts of
outside actors to facilitate communication and protect the
parties from the
potentially disastrous consequences of revealing private
information. Enforcing

99. ethnic contracts depends upon the credibility of the external
parties, who often
have far less at stake in the conflict than the warring groups
themselves.
External actors can seek to raise the costs of using force, in
general, and
preemptive uses of force, in particular, by punishing groups that
strike first;
such initiatives or the threat of such initiatives may have a
moderating effect
69. Zartman, Ripe for Resolution, p. 232.
Containing Fear | 73
on the security dilemma. Through early action, they may also be
able to shape
military doctrines and force structures in groups beginning to
prepare for
self-defense. Nevertheless, once incentives to use force
preemptively are in
place, outsiders can do little to restrain the security dilemma. In
the final
analysis, conflict management requires an effort by the local
parties to engage
in efforts to work out acceptable rules of interaction. External
intervention does
not by itself create a desire among the parties to restore normal
relations. This
is not to say that international efforts to contain conflict are not
important, only
that containment by itself is not a solution.
Toward Practical Initiatives

100. Most of the time, most ethnic groups live side by side with one
another
comfortably and amicably. Even in cases where ethnic
minorities might other-
wise be at risk, states have promoted stable ethnic relations and
made conces-
sions on minority group inclusion, participation, autonomy, and
access to
resources. However, an awareness that regimes can always
change their pref-
erences and retract these concessions leaves minorities fearful
of the future.
Information failures, problems of credible commitment, and the
security di-
lemma lurk in the background of all ethnically divided polities.
Conflict always
remains a possibility.
Where an element of local anarchy is present and the state is at
least poten-
tially weak, a spiral of negative encounters that leads to
violence remains a
very real possibility. Information failures occur as the state
loses its ability to
arbitrate between factions, and as groups hold back information
and suspect
others of doing the same. Problems of credible commitment
arise as ethnic
contracts collapse and groups come to fear that others will not
uphold their
promises. Incentives to preempt drive groups to fight first and
seek the basis
for compromise later. In situations of increasing state weakness,
appeals by
ethnic activists and political entrepreneurs may awaken long

101. dormant "malig-
nant nationalisms" and lead to escalating violence.70 In multi-
ethnic polities
with past histories of conflict and distrust, the social fabric can
be very weak
and easily torn apart.
In their fear, political minorities, recognizing the state's limited
capacity to
ensure their physical and cultural safety, look outward to the
international
70. Stephen Van Evera, "Hypotheses on Nationalism and War,"
International Security, Vol. 18, No. 4
(Winter 1994), p. 8.
International Security 21:2 | 74
community for protection. They hope the international
community will restore
a balance of power and hence make systematic, state-sanctioned
ethnic killing
too costly for the hard-line majority leadership to condone. The
international
response, however, has all too often been feeble and
unconvincing.
In the end, and despite the limits on international interventions
discussed
above, there can be no substitute for greater global commitment
and involve-
ment. The international community has already been involved at
nearly every
stage of some confrontation around the globe. This is a hopeful

102. sign. But so
far, many of the international responses have been conducted
separately, spo-
radically, and outside of any comprehensive strategy for
achieving ethnic
peace, thereby limiting their effectiveness. Recognizing the
inherent limits on
the ability of international interventions to solve the strategic
dilemmas we
have identified, as well as the limits of public support in outside
states, we
recommend three specific avenues of action.
MANAGE INFORMATION
Given the importance of private information and the beliefs that
groups hold
about the intentions of others, one of the most effective policy
instruments in
the hands of international actors today is to ensure that
objective, unbiased,
and balanced information is made widely available in states
threatened with
intense conflict. This will require a continuing but largely
preventive effort. As
conflict escalates, outside states and international organizations
can consider
jamming radios that make inflammatory appeals, as did Radio
T6levision Libre
des Mille Collines in Rwanda. After the crisis has eased,
external actors can use
a variety of means, such as radio, fax, and the internet, for
sharing information
with the warring parties to help verify compliance with new
ethnic contracts.

103. ASSIST "FAILING" STATES
Growing state weakness is a symptom of the strategic dilemmas
discussed
above. As information failures occur, problems of credible
commitment arise,
and security dilemmas begin to take hold, groups either turn
away from the
state or attempt to seize it to further their own quest for
security. A decrease
in a state's capacity to arbitrate between groups and enforce
ethnic contracts
is a clear herald of violence. Preventing the breakdown of the
state can, in turn,
help mitigate the potential for violence. External actors should
seek to ensure
that confidence-building measures are in place and that elites
live up to mini-
mum standards of legal order and political and human rights.
The support of
the international community for the anti-apartheid struggle in
South Africa is
Containing Fear | 75
a prime example. Trade, financial aid, and other benefits from
inclusion in the
international community should be linked to the maintenance of
minimum
international standards of domestic order. In advance of crises,
international
bodies should also assemble data banks, early warning systems,
advance plans
for possible mediators, units for peacemaking and enforcement,

104. and personnel
to assist in the creation of unified armies. It will be necessary to
provide a solid
financial basis for such international actions, but the costs will
be small com-
pared to the long-run benefits of reduced conflict.
INVEST IN IMPLEMENTATION
Negotiating a peace agreement between warring ethnic groups is
only half the
job. Implementing the agreement is just as important, and can
be more difficult
and complex than the negotiations. None of the strategies of
external involve-
ment discussed above "solves" the problem of ethnic conflict.
Even if external
pressure brings the parties to the table and produces an
agreement, the under-
lying strategic dilemmas remain in place. A stable peace can
only arise as
effective institutions of government are re-established, as the
state once again
begins to mediate effectively between distrustful ethnic groups,
and as the
parties slowly gain confidence in the safeguards contained
within their new
ethnic contracts. This necessarily involves an element of state-
building and the
possibility of forcible intervention to protect minorities. It is
also a slow, incre-
mental process that is likely to require years to bear fruit.
The United States and other countries, individually or
collectively, should
invest substantially in implementing peace agreements. The

105. very fact that rival
parties have consented to an agreement indicates they have
jointly come to
accept certain outcomes and understandings. At this stage,
implementation
becomes the decisive factor in the successful creation of
internal order. Even
when backed by a peacekeeping force, implementing a peace
agreement in-
volves a limited commitment on the part of an individual
intervener or a
coalition of interveners; they are committed to this agreement,
not others, and
need not fall prey to the inevitable pressures for "mission
creep." Successful
implementation offers potentially large returns. The alternative
is renewed or,
in some cases, unending conflict.
Article Contentsp. 41p. 42p. 43p. 44p. 45p. 46p. 47p. 48p. 49p.
50p. 51p. 52p. 53p. 54p. 55p. 56p. 57p. 58p. 59p. 60p. 61p. 62p.
63p. 64p. 65p. 66p. 67p. 68p. 69p. 70p. 71p. 72p. 73p. 74p.
75Issue Table of ContentsInternational Security, Vol. 21, No. 2
(Autumn, 1996), pp. 1-209Front Matter [pp. 1-2]Editors' Note
[pp. 3-4]Ethnic Nationalism, Conflict, and WarNationalism and
the Marketplace of Ideas [pp. 5-40]Containing Fear: The
Origins and Management of Ethnic Conflict [pp. 41-
75]Explaining the Kashmir Insurgency: Political Mobilization
and Institutional Decay [pp. 76-107]Spiraling to Ethnic War:
Elites, Masses, and Moscow in Moldova's Civil War [pp. 108-
138]Victory Misunderstood: What the Gulf War Tells Us about
the Future of Conflict [pp. 139-179]Containment or Engagement
of China? Calculating Beijing's Responses [pp. 180-209]Back
Matter

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46, LIVERPOOL STREBT, BISHOPS«.'AIE.
C o v e r of t h e first G e r m a n 2 3 - p a g e e d i t i o n of t h
e Manifesto of the Communist
Party
A spectre is h a u n t i n g Europe—the spectre of Communism.
All the
Powers of old E u r o p e have entered into a holy alliance to
exorcise
this spectre: Pope and Czar, Metternich and Guizot, French
Radicals
and German police-spies.
Where is the party in opposition that has not been decried as
Communistic by its opponents in power? Where the Opposition
that

107. has not hurled back the b r a n d i ng reproach of Communism,
against
the more advanced opposition parties, as well as against its
reactionary adversaries?
Two things result from this fact:
I. Communism is already acknowledged by all European Powers
to be itself a Power.
I I . It is high time that Communists should openly, in the face
of
the whole world, publish their views, their aims, their
tendencies,
a n d meet this nursery tale of the Spectre of Communism with a
Manifesto of the party itself.
T o this end, Communists of various nationalities have
assembled
in London, and sketched the following Manifesto, to be
published in
the English, French, German, Italian, Flemish and Danish lan-
guages.
I
BOURGEOIS AND PROLETARIANS*
T h e history of all hitherto existing society** is the history of
class
struggles.
Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf,
guild-master*** and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and op-

108. pressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on
an
u n i n t e r r u p t e d , now hidden , now open fight, a fight that
each time
ended, either in a revolutionary re-constitution of society at
large, or
in the common ruin of the contending classes.
In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a
complicated a r r a n g e m e n t of society into various orders, a
manifold
* By bourgeoisie is meant the class of m o d e r n Capitalists,
owners of the means
of social production and employers of wage-labour. By
proletariat, the class of modern
wage-labourers who, having no means of production of their
own, are reduced to
selling their labour-power in o r d e r to live. [Note by Engels to
the English edition of 1888.]
** T h a t is, all written history. In 1847, the pre-history of
society, the social
organisation existing previous to recorded history, was all but
unknown. Since then,
Haxthausen discovered common ownership of land in Russia,
Maurer proved it to be
the social foundation from which all Teutonic races started in
history, and by and by
village communities were found to be, or to have been the
primitive form of society
everywhere from India to Ireland. T h e inner organisation of
this primitive
Communistic society was laid bare, in its typical form, by
Morgan's crowning discovery
of the t r u e n a t u re of the gens and its relation to the tribe.

109. With the dissolution of these
primeval communities society begins to be differentiated into
separate and finally
antagonistic classes. I have attempted to retrace this process of
dissolution in Der
Ursprung der Familie, des Privateigenthums und des Staats, 2nd
edition, Stuttgart, 1886.
[Note by Engels to the English edition of 1888, and—less the
last sentence—to the German
edition of 1890.]
*** Guild-master, that is, a full member of a guild, a master
within, not a head of a.
guild. [Note by Engels to the English edition of 1888.]
Cover of the 1848 30-page edition of the Manifesto of the
Communist Party
Manifesto of the Communist Party 485
gradation of social rank. In ancient Rome we have patricians,
knights, plebeians, slaves; in the Middle Ages, feudal lords,
vassals,
guild-masters, j o u r n e y m e n, apprentices,3 serfs; in almost
all of these
classes, again, subordinate gradations.
T h e m o d e r n bourgeois society that has sprouted from the
ruins of
feudal society has not done away with class antagonisms. It has
but
established new classes, new conditions of oppression, new

110. forms of
struggle in place of the old ones.
O u r epoch, the epoch of the bourgeoisie, possesses, however,
this
distinctive feature: it has simplified the class antagonisms.
Society as
a whole is more and more splitting u p into two great hostile
camps,
into two great classes directly facing each other: Bourgeoisie
and
Proletariat.
From the serfs of the Middle Ages sprang the chartered burghers
of the earliest towns. From these burgesses the first elements of
the
bourgeoisie were developed.
T h e discovery of America, the r o u n d i n g of the Cape,
opened u p
fresh g r o u n d for the rising bourgeoisie. T h e East-Indian
and
Chinese markets, the colonisation of America, trade with the
colonies, the increase in the means of exchange and in
commodities
generally, gave to commerce, to navigation, to industry, an
impulse
never before known, and thereby, to the revolutionary element
in
the tottering feudal society, a rapid development.
T h e feudal system of industry, u n d e r which industrial
production
was monopolised by closed guilds,b now no longer sufficed for
the
growing wants of the new markets. T h e manufacturing system

111. took
its place. T h e guild-masters were pushed on one side by the
manufacturing middle class;c division of labour between the
different corporate guilds vanished in the face of division of
labour
in each single workshop.
Meantime the markets kept ever growing, the d e m a nd ever
rising.
Even manufacture no longer sufficed. T h e r e u p o n , steam
and
machinery revolutionised industrial production. T h e place of
manufacture was taken by the giant, Modern Industry, the place
of
the industrial middle class, by industrial millionaires, the
leaders of
whole industrial armies, the m o d e rn bourgeois.
a T h e German editions of 1848. 1872, 1883 and 1890 have " j
o u r n e y m e n "
("Gesellen") instead of "journeymen, apprentices".—Ed.
In the German editions the beginning of the phrase is: " T h e
former feudal, or
guild, organisation of industry".— Ed.
T h e German editions have here and below "middle estate"
("Mittelstand")
instead of "middle class".—Ed.
17*
486 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels

112. Modern 3 industry has established the world market, for which
the
discovery of America paved the way. This market has given an
immense development to commerce, to navigation, to
communica-
tion by land. This development has, in its t u r n , reacted on the
extension of industry; a n d in proportion as industry,
commerce,
navigation, railways extended, in the same proportion the bour-
geoisie developed, increased its capital, and pushed into the
back-
g r o u n d every class handed down from the Middle Ages.
We see, therefore, how the m o d e r n bourgeoisie is itself the
product of a long course of development, of a series of
revolutions in
the modes of production and of exchange.
Each step in the development of the bourgeoisie was
accompanied
by a corresponding political advance of that class.b An
oppressed
classc u n d e r the sway of the feudal nobility, an armed and
self-governing association in the medieval commune*; here
indepen-
dent urban republic (as in Italy and Germany), there taxable
"third
estate" of the monarchy (as in France),d afterwards, in the
period of
manufacture p r o p e r , serving either the semi-feudalc or the
absolute
monarchy as a counterpoise against the nobility, and, in fact,
cornerstone of the great monarchies in general, the bourgeoisie
has
at last, since the establishment of Modern Industry and of the
world

113. market, conquered for itself, in the m o d e r n representative
State,
exclusive political sway. T h e executive of the m o d e r n State
is but a
committee for managing the common affairs of the whole bour-
geoisie.
T h e bourgeoisie, historically, has played a most revolutionary
part.
T h e bourgeoisie, wherever it has got the u p p e r hand, has put
an
end to all feudal, patriarchal, idyllic relations. It has pitilessly
torn
* " C o m m u n e " was the name taken, in France, by the
nascent towns even before
they had conquered from their feudal lords and masters local
self-government and
political rights as the " T h i r d Estate". Generally speaking, for
the economical
development of the bourgeoisie, England is here taken as the
typical country; for its
political development, France. [Note by Engels to the English
edition of 1888.]
This was the name given their urban communities by the
townsmen of Italy and
France, after they had purchased or wrested their initial rights
of self-government
from their feudal lords. [Note by Engels to the German edition
of 1890.]
a T h e German editions have h e r e and below "large-scale"
instead of
"modern".—Ed.

114. b T h e words "of that class" were added in the English edition
of 1888.—Ed.
c T h e German editions have "estate" instead of "class".—Ed.
T h e words "medieval", "(as in Italy and Germany)", "(as in
France)" were
added in the English edition of 1888.—Ed.
e T h e German editions have "estate" instead of "semi-
feudal".—Ed.
Manifesto of the Communist Party 487
asunder the motley feudal ties that bound man to his "natural
superiors", and has left remaining no other nexus between man
and
man than naked self-interest, than callous "cash payment". It
has
drowned the most heavenly ecstasies of religious fervour, of
chivalrous enthusiasm, of philistine sentimentalism, in the icy
water
of egotistical calculation. It has resolved personal worth into
exchange value, and in place of the numberless indefeasible
chartered freedoms, has set u p that single, unconscionable free-
dom—Free T r a d e . In one word, for exploitation, veiled by
religious
and political illusions, it has substituted naked, shameless,
direct,
brutal exploitation.
T h e bourgeoisie has stripped of its halo every occupation
hitherto
h o n o u r e d and looked u p to with reverent awe. It has

115. converted the
physician, the lawyer, the priest, the poet, the man of science,
into its
paid wage-labourers.
T h e bourgeoisie has torn away from the family its sentimental
veil,
and has reduced the family relation to a mere money relation.
T h e bourgeoisie has disclosed how it came to pass that the
brutal
display of vigour in the Middle Ages, which Reactionists so
much
admire, found its fitting complement in the most slothful
indolence.
It has been the first to show what man's activity can bring
about. It
has accomplished wonders far surpassing Egyptian pyramids,
Roman aqueducts, and Gothic cathedrals; it has conducted
expedi-
tions that put in the shade all former Exoduses of nations and
crusades.
T h e bourgeoisie cannot exist without constantly
revolutionising
the instruments of production, and thereby the relations of
production, and with them the whole relations of society.
Conserva-
tion of the old modes of production in unaltered form, was, on
the
contrary, the first condition of existence for all earlier
industrial
classes. Constant revolutionising of production, u n i n t e r r u
p t ed
disturbance of all social conditions, everlasting uncertainty and
agitation distinguish the bourgeois epoch from all earlier ones.

116. All
fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient a n d
venerable
prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new-formed ones
become antiquated before they can ossify. All that is solid melts
into
air, all that is holy is profaned, and man is at last compelled to
face
with sober senses, his real conditions of life, and his relations
with his
kind.
T h e need of a constantly expanding market for its products
chases the bourgeoisie over the whole surface of the globe. It
must
nestle everywhere, settle everywhere, establish connexions
every-
where.
488 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
T h e bourgeoisie has t h r o u g h its exploitation of the world
market
given a cosmopolitan character to production and consumption
in
every country. T o the great chagrin of Reactionists, it has
drawn
from u n d e r t h e feet of industry the national g r o u n d on
which it
stood. All old-established national industries have been
destroyed or
are daily being destroyed. They are dislodged by new industries,
whose introduction becomes a life and death question for all
civilised

117. nations, by industries that no longer work u p indigenous raw
material, but raw material drawn from the remotest zones;
industries
whose products are consumed, not only at home, but in every
q u a r t e r of the globe. In place of the old wants, satisfied by
the
productions of the country, we find new wants, requiring for
their
satisfaction the products of distant lands and climes. In place of
the
old local a n d national seclusion and self-sufficiency, we have
intercourse in every direction, universal inter-dependence of
nations. And as in material, so also in intellectual production. T
h e
intellectual creations of individual nations become common
proper -
ty. National one-sidedness and narrow-mindedness become more
a n d m o r e impossible, and from the n u m e r o u s national
and local
literatures, there arises a world literature.
T h e bourgeoisie, by the rapid improvement of all instruments
of
production, by the immensely facilitated means of
communication,
draws all, even the most barbarian, nations into civilisation. T h
e
cheap prices of its commodities a r e the heavy artillery with
which it
batters down all Chinese walls, with which it forces the
barbarians'
intensely obstinate hatred of foreigners to capitulate. It compels
all
nations, on pain of extinction, to adopt the bourgeois mode of
production; it compels them to introduce what it calls
civilisation into

118. their midst, i.e., to become bourgeois themselves. In one word,
it
creates a world after its own image.
T h e bourgeoisie has subjected the country to the rule of the
towns.
It has created e n o r m o u s cities, has greatly increased the
urban
population as compared with the rural, and has thus rescued a
considerable par t of the population from the idiocy of rural
life. Just
as it has m a d e the country d e p e n d e n t on the towns, so it
has made
barbarian a n d semi-barbarian countries d e p e n d e n t on the
civilised
ones, nations of peasants on nations of bourgeois, the East on
the
West.
T h e bourgeoisie keeps more and more doing away with the
scattered state of t h e population, of the means of production,
and of
property. It has agglomerated population, centralised means of
production, and has concentrated property in a few hands. T h e
necessary consequence of this was political centralisation.
Indepen-
Manifesto of the Communist Party 489
dent, or but loosely connected provinces with separate interests,
laws,
governments and systems of taxation, became lumped together
into
one nation, with one government, one code of laws, one national

119. class-interest, one frontier and one customs-tariff.
T h e bourgeoisie, d u r i n g its rule of scarce one h u n d r e d
years, has
created more massive a n d more colossal productive forces t h
an have
all preceding generations together. Subjection of Nature's forces
to
man, machinery, application of chemistry to industry and
agricul-
ture, steam-navigation, railways, electric telegraphs, clearing of
whole continents for cultivation, canalisation of rivers, whole
populations conjured out of the ground—what earlier century
had
even a presentiment that such productive forces slumbered in
the lap
of social labour?
We see then : the means of production and of exchange, on
whose
foundation the bourgeoisie built itself u p , were generated in
feudal
society. At a certain stage in the development of these means of
production and of exchange, the conditions u n d e r which
feudal
society produced and exchanged, the feudal organisation of
agriculture a n d manufacturing industry, in o n e word, the
feudal
relations of property became no longer compatible with the
already
developed productive forces3; they became so many fetters. T h
e y
had to be burst asunder; they were burst asunder .
Into their place stepped free competition, accompanied by a
social

120. and political constitution adapted to it, and by the economical a
nd
political sway of the bourgeois class.
A similar movement is going on before o u r own eyes. Modern
bourgeois society with its relations of production, of exchange a
n d of
property, a society that has conjured u p such gigantic means of
production and of exchange, is like the sorcerer, who is n o
longer
able to control the powers of the nethe r world whom h e has
called u p
by his spells. For many a decade past the history of industry and
commerce is but the history of the revolt of m o d e r n
productive
forces against m o d e r n conditions of production, against the
property relations that are the conditions for the existence of the
bourgeoisie and of its rule. It is enoug h to mention the
commercial
crises that by their periodical r e t u r n p u t on its trial, each
time m o r e
threateningly, the existence of the entire bourgeois society. In
these
crises a great part not only of the existing products, but also of
the
previously created productive forces, are periodically destroyed.
In
a T h e Germa n editions add: "they hindered production instead
of developing
it".—Ed.
490 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels

121. these crises there breaks out an epidemic2 that, in all earlier
epochs,
would have seemed an absurdity—the epidemic of over-
production.
Society suddenly finds itself p u t back into a state of
momentary
barbarism; it appears as if a famine, a universal war of
devastation
had cut off the supply of every means of subsistence; industry
and
commerce seem to be destroyed; and why? Because there is too
much civilisation, too much means of subsistence, too much
industry,
too much commerce. T h e productive forces at the disposal of
society
no longer tend to further the development of the conditions of
bourgeois property 0; on the contrary, they have become too
powerful for these conditions, by which they are fettered, and
so
soon as they overcome these fetters, they bring disorder into the
whole of bourgeois society, endange r the existence of
bourgeois
property. T h e conditions of bourgeois society are too narrow
to
comprise the wealth created by them. And how does the
bourgeoisie
get over these crises? O n the one h a n d by enforced
destruction of a
mass of productive forces; on the other, by the conquest of new
markets, a n d by the more t h o r o u g h exploitation of the old
ones.
T h a t is to say, by paving the way for more extensive and more
destructive crises, and by diminishing the means whereby crises
are
prevented.

122. T h e weapons with which the bourgeoisie felled feudalism to
the
g r o u n d are now t u r n e d against the bourgeoisie itself.
But not only has the bourgeoisie forged the weapons that bring
death to itself; it has also called into existence the men who are
to
wield those weapons—the m o d e r n working class—the
proletarians.0
In proportion as the bourgeoisie, i.e., capital, is developed, in
the
same proportion is the proletariat, the m o d e r n working class,
developed—a class of labourers, who live only so long as they
find
work, and who find work only so long as their labour increases
capital. These labourers, who must sell themselves piecemeal,
are a
commodity, like every other article of commerce, and are conse-
quently exposed to all the vicissitudes of competition, to all the
fluctuations of the market.
Owing to the extensive use of machinery and to division of
labour,
the work of the proletarians has lost all individual character,
and,
consequently, all charm for t h e workman. He becomes an
append-
a T h e German editions have: "a social epidemic".—Ed.
T h e German editions of 1848 have: "bourgeois civilisation and
the conditions of
bourgeois property".—Ed.
c T h e German editions have: "the m o d e r n workers, the
proletarians".—Ed.

123. Manifesto of the Communist Party 491
age of the machine, and it is only the most simple, most
monotonous,
a n d most easily acquired knack, that is required of him. Hence,
the
cost of production of a workman is restricted, almost entirely,
to the
means of subsistence that he requires for his maintenance, and
for
the propagation of his race. But the price of a commodity, and
therefore also of labour,258 is equal to its cost of production. In
proportion, therefore, as the repulsiveness of the work
increases, the
wage decreases. Nay more, in proportion as the use of
machinery
and division of labour increases, in the same proportion the b u
r d e n
of toil3 also increases, whether by prolongation of the working
hours,
by increase of the work exacted in a given time or by increased
speed
of the machinery, etc.
Modern industry has converted the little workshop of the
patriarchal master into the great factory of the industrial
capitalist.
Masses of labourers, crowded into the factory, are organised
like
soldiers. As privates of the industrial army they are placed u n d
e r the
command of a perfect hierarchy of officers and sergeants. Not
only

124. are they slaves of the bourgeois class, and of the bourgeois
State; they
are daily and hourly enslaved by the machine, by the
overlooker,
and, above all, by the individual bourgeois manufacturer
himself.
T h e more openly this despotism proclaims gain to be its end
and
aim, the more petty, the more hateful and the more embittering
it is.
T h e less the skill and exertion of strength implied in manual
labour, in other words, the more m o d e r n industry becomes
developed, the more is the labour of men superseded by that of
women.11 Differences of age and sex have no longer any
distinctive
social validity for the working class. All are instruments of
labour,
more or less expensive to use, according to their age and sex.
No sooner is the exploitation of the labourer by the
manufacturer,
so far, at an end, and he receives his wages in cash, than he is
set
upon by the other portions of the bourgeoisie, the landlord, the
shopkeeper, the pawnbroker, etc.
T h e lower strata of the middle classc—the small tradespeople,
shopkeepers, and retired tradesmen generally,d the
handicraftsmen
and peasants—all these sink gradually into the proletariat,
partly
a T h e German editions have: "the quantity of labour".—Ed.
b T h e German 23-page edition of 1848 has: "of women and
children".—Ed.

125. c T h e German editions have: " T h e former lower strata of the
middle
estate".—Ed.
d T h e German editions have: "and rentiers" instead of "and
retired tradesmen
generally".—Ed.
492 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
because their diminutive capital does not suffice for the scale
on
which Modern Industry is carried on, and is swamped in the
competition with the large capitalists, partly because their
specialised
skill is r e n d e r e d worthless by new methods of production.
T h u s the
proletariat is recruited from all classes of the population.
T h e proletariat goes t h r o u g h various stages of
development. With
its birth begins its struggle with the bourgeoisie. At first the
contest is
carried on by individual labourers, then by the workpeople of a
factory, then by the operatives of one trade, in one locality,
against
the individual bourgeois who directly exploits them. They direct
their attacks not against the bourgeois conditions of production,
but
against the instruments of production themselves3; they destroy
imported wares that compete with their labour, they smash to
pieces
machinery, they set factories ablaze, they seek to restore by

126. force the
vanished status of the workman of the Middle Ages.
At this stage the labourers still form an incoherent13 mass
scattered
over the whole country, and broken u p by their mutual
competition.
If anywhere they unite to form more compact bodies, this is not
yet
the consequence of their own active union, but of the union of
the
bourgeoisie, which class, in o r d e r to attain its own political
ends, is
compelled to set the whole proletariat in motion, and is
moreover
yet, for a time, able to do so. At this stage, therefore, the
proletarians
do not fight their enemies, but the enemies of their enemies, the
remnants of absolute monarchy, the landowners, the non-
industrial
bourgeois, the petty bourgeoisie. T h u s the whole historical
move-
m e n t is concentrated in the hands of the bourgeoisie; every
victory so
obtained is a victory for the bourgeoisie.
But with the development of industry the proletariat not only
increases in n u m b e r ; it becomes concentrated in greater
masses, its
strength grows, and it feels that strength more. T h e various
interests
and conditions of life within the ranks of the proletariat are
more
and more equalised, in proportion as machinery obliterates all
distinctions of labour, and nearly everywhere reduces wages to
the

127. same low level. T h e growing competition a m o ng the
bourgeois, and
the resulting commercial crises, make the wages of the workers
ever
m o r e fluctuating. T h e unceasing improvement of machinery,
ever
more rapidly developing, makes their livelihood more and more
precarious; the collisions between individual workmen and
individu-
a T h e German editions have: "They direct their attacks not
only against the
bourgeois conditions of production, they direct them against the
instruments of
production themselves."—Ed.
b This word was inserted in the English edition of 1888.—Ed.
Manifesto of the Communist Party 493
al bourgeois take more and more the character of collisions
between
two classes. T h e r e u p o n the workers begin to form
combinations
(Trades' Unions)3 against the bourgeois; they club together in o
r d e r
to keep u p the rate of wages; they found p e r m a n e n t
associations in
o r d e r to make provision beforehand for these occasional
revolts.
H e r e and there the contest breaks out into riots.
Now and then the workers are victorious, but only for a time. T
h e

128. real fruit of their battles lies, not in the immediate result, but in
the
ever-expanding union of the workers. This union is helped on
by the
improved means of communication that are created by m o d e r
n
industry and that place the workers of different localities in
contact
with one another. It was just this contact that was needed to
centralise the n u m e r o u s local struggles, all of the same
character,
into one national struggle between classes. But every class
struggle is
a political struggle. And that union, to attain which the burghers
of the Middle Ages, with their miserable highways, required
centu-
ries, the m o d e r n proletarians, thanks to railways, achieve in
a few
years.
This organisation of the proletarians into a class, a n d
consequently
into a political party, is continually being upset again by the
competition between the workers themselves. But it ever rises u
p
again, stronger, firmer, mightier. It compels legislative
recognition
of particular interests of the workers, by taking advantage of the
divisions a m o n g the bourgeoisie itself. T h u s the ten-hours'
bill in
England was carried.259
Altogether collisions between the classes of the old society
further,
in many ways, the course of development of the proletariat. T h
e

129. bourgeoisie finds itself involved in a constant battle. At first
with the
aristocracy; later on, with those portions of the bourgeoisie
itself,
whose interests have become antagonistic to the progress of
industry;
at all times, with the bourgeoisie of foreign countries. In all
these
battles it sees itself compelled to appeal to the proletariat, to
ask for
its help, and thus, to d r a g it into the political arena. T h e
bourgeoisie
itself, therefore, supplies the proletariat with its own elements
of
political and general13 education, in other words, it furnishes
the
proletariat with weapons for fighting the bourgeoisie.
Further, as we have already seen, entire sections of the ruling
classes are, by the advance of industry, precipitated into the
proletariat, or are at least threatened in their conditions of
existence.
a T h e words in parentheses were inserted in the English
edition of 1888.—Ed.
T h e words "political and general" were added in the English
edition of
1888.—Ed.
494 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
These also supply the proletariat with fresh elements of
enlighten-

130. ment and progress.2
Finally, in times when the class struggle nears the decisive
hour,
the process of dissolution going on within the ruling class, in
fact
within the whole range of old society, assumes such a violent,
glaring
character, that a small section of the ruling class cuts itself
adrift, and
joins the revolutionary class, the class that holds the future in
its
hands. Just as, therefore, at an earlier period, a section of the
nobility
went over to the bourgeoisie, so now a portion of the
bourgeoisie
goes over to the proletariat, and in particular, a portion of the
bourgeois ideologists, who have raised themselves to the level
of
c o m p r e h e n d i n g theoretically the historical movement as
a whole.
Of all the classes that stand face to face with the bourgeoisie
today,
the proletariat alone is a really revolutionary class. T h e other
classes
decay and finally disappear in the face of Modern Industry; the
proletariat is its special and essential product.
T h e lower middle class,b the small manufacturer, the
shopkeeper,
the artisan, the peasant, all these fight against the bourgeoisie,
to
save from extinction their existence as fractions of the middle
class.
They are therefore not revolutionary, but conservative. Nay

131. more,
they are reactionary, for they try to roll back the wheel of
history. If
by chance they are revolutionary, they are so only in view of
their
i m p e n d i n g transfer into the proletariat, they thus defend
not their
present, but their future interests, they desert their own
standpoint
to place themselves at that of the proletariat.
T h e "dangerous class", the social scum,c that passively rotting
mass thrown off by the lowest layers of old society may, here
and
there, be swept into the movement by a proletarian revolution;
its
conditions of life, however, p r e p a r e it far more for the part
of a
bribed tool of reactionary intrigue.
In the conditions of the proletariat, those of old society at large
are
already virtually swamped. T h e proletarian is without
property; his
relation to his wife and children has no longer anything in
common
with the bourgeois family relations; m o d e rn industrial labour,
m o d e r n subjection to capital, the same in England as in
France, in
America as in Germany, has stripped him of every trace of
national
character. Law, morality, religion, are to him so many bourgeois
a T h e German editions have "elements of education" instead of
"elements of
enlightenment and progress".—Ed.

132. T h e German editions have here and below "middle estates"
instead of "the
lower middle class" and "the middle class".—Ed.
T h e Germ a n editions have " l u m p e n proletariat" instead of
"the dangerous class,
the social scum".—Ed.
Manifesto of the Communist Party 495
prejudices, behind which lurk in ambush just as many bourgeois
interests.
All the preceding classes that got the u p p e r hand, sought to
fortify
their already acquired status by subjecting society at large to
their
conditions of appropriation . T h e proletarians cannot become
masters of the productive forces of society, except by
abolishing their
own previous mode of appropriation, and thereby also every
other
previous mode of appropriation. They have nothing of their own
to
secure a n d to fortify; their mission is to destroy all previous
securities
for, and insurances of, individual property.
All previous historical3 movements were movements of
minorities,
or in the interest of minorities. T h e proletarian movement is
the
self-conscious,3 i n d e p e n d e n t movement of the immense

133. majority, in
the interest of the immense majority. T h e proletariat, the
lowest
stratum of our present society, cannot stir, cannot raise itself u
p ,
without the whole superincumbent strata of official society
being
s p r u n g into the air.
T h o u g h not in substance, yet in form, the struggle of the
proletariat with the bourgeoisie is at first a national struggle. T
h e
proletariat of each country must, of course, first of all settle
matters
with its own bourgeoisie.
In depicting the most general phases of the development of the
proletariat, we traced the more or less veiled civil war, raging
within
existing society, u p to the point where that war breaks out into
open
revolution, and where the violent overthrow of the bourgeoisie
lays
the foundation for the sway of the proletariat.
Hitherto, every form of society has been based, as we have
already
seen, on the antagonism of oppressing and oppressed classes.
But in
o r d e r to oppress a class, certain conditions must be assured
to it
u n d e r which it can, at least, continue its slavish existence. T
h e serf, in
the period of serfdom, raised himself to membership in the
c o m m u n e , just as the petty bourgeois, u n d e r the yoke of
feudal

134. absolutism, managed to develop into a bourgeois. T h e m o d e
r n
labourer, on the contrary, instead of rising with the progress of
industry, sinks d e e p e r and deeper below the conditions of
existence
of his own class. He becomes a pauper, and pauperism develops
more rapidly than population and wealth. And h e r e it becomes
evident, that the bourgeoisie is unfit any longer to be the ruling
class
in society, and to impose its conditions of existence u p o n
society as an
over-riding law. It is unfit to rule because it is incompetent to
assure
an existence to its slave within his slavery, because it cannot
help
3 This word was added in the English edition of 1888.—Ed.
4 9 6 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
letting him sink into such a state, that it has to feed him, instead
of
being fed by him. Society can no longer live u n d e r this
bourgeoisie,
in other words, its existence is no longer compatible with
society.
T h e essential condition for the existence, and for the sway of
the
bourgeois class, isa the formation and augmentation of capital;
the
condition for capital is wage-labour. Wage-labour rests
exclusively on
competition between the labourers. T h e advance of industry,

135. whose
involuntary promote r is the bourgeoisie, replaces the isolation
of the
labourers, d u e to competition, by their revolutionary
combination,
d u e to association. T h e development of Modern Industry,
therefore,
cuts from u n d e r its feet the very foundation on which the
bourgeoisie produces and appropriates products. What the bour-
geoisie, therefore, produces, above all, is its own grave-diggers.
Its
fall and the victory of the proletariat are equally inevitable.
a T h e G e r m an editions have here : " T h e accumulation of
wealth in the hands of
i ndividuals".—Ed.
II
PROLETARIANS AND COMMUNIST S
In what relation do the Communists stand to the proletarians as
a
whole?
T h e Communists do not form a separate party opposed to other
working-class parties.
They have no interests separate and apart from those of the
proletariat as a whole.
T h e y do not set u p any sectarian3 principles of their own, by
which
to shape and mould the proletarian movement.

136. T h e Communists are distinguished from the other working-
class
parties by this only: 1. In the national struggles of the
proletarians of
the different countries, they point out and bring to the front the
common interests of the entire proletariat, independently of all
nationality. 2. In the various stages of development which the
struggle of the working class against the bourgeoisie has to pass
t h r o u g h , they always and everywhere represent the interests
of the
movement as a whole.
T h e Communists, therefore, are on the one hand , practically,
the
most advanced and b resolute section of the working-class
parties of
every country, that section which pushes forward all others; on
the
other hand, theoretically, they have over the great mass of the
proletariat the advantage of clearly understandin g the line of
march,
the conditions, and the ultimate general results of the
proletarian
movement.
a T h e German editions have "separate " instead of
"sectarian".—Ed.
T h e words "the most advanced a n d " were added in the
English edition of
1888.—Ed.
498 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels

137. T h e immediate aim of the Communists is the same as that of
all the
other proletarian parties: formation of the proletariat into a
class,
overthrow of the bourgeois supremacy, conquest of political
power
by the proletariat.
T h e theoretical conclusions of the Communists are in no way
based on ideas or principles that have been invented, or
discovered
by this or that would-be universal reformer.
They merely express, in general terms, actual relations
springing
from an existing class struggle, from a historical movement
going on
u n d e r o u r very eyes. T h e abolition of existing property
relations is
not at all a distinctive feature of Communism.
All property relations in the past have continually been subject
to
historical change consequent u p o n the change in historical
condi-
tions.3
T h e French Revolution, for example, abolished feudal property
in
favour of bourgeois property.
T h e distinguishing feature of Communism is not the abolition
of
property generally, but the abolition of bourgeois property. But
m o d e r n bourgeois private property is the final and most

138. complete
expression of the system of producing and appropriating
products,
that is based on class antagonisms, on the exploitation of the
many by
the few.b
In this sense, the theory of the Communists may be summed u p
in
the single sentence: Abolition of private property.
We Communists have been reproached with the desire of
abolishing the right of personally acquiring property as the fruit
of a
man's own labour, which property is alleged to be the
groundwork of
all personal freedom, activity and independence.
Hard-won, self-acquired, self-earned property! Do you mean the
property of the petty artisan c and of the small peasant, a form
of
property that preceded the bourgeois form? T h e r e is no need
to
abolish that; the development of industry has to a great extent
already destroyed it, and is still destroying it daily.
O r do you mean m o d e r n bourgeois private property?
But does wage-labour create any property for the labourer? Not
a
bit. It creates capital, i.e., that kind of property which exploits
wage-labour, and which cannot increase except upon condition
of
begetting a new supply of wage-labour for fresh exploitation.
In the G e r m an editions this phrase reads: "All property

139. relations have been
subject to constant historical replacement, constant historical
change."—Ed.
T h e German editions have: "the exploitation of the ones by the
others".—Ed.
T h e German editions have: "the property of the petty
bourgeois".—Ed.
Manifesto of the Communist Party 499
Property, in its present form, is based on the antagonism of
capital
a n d wage-labour. Let us examine both sides of this
antagonism.
To be a capitalist is to have not only a purely personal, but a
social status in production. Capital is a collective product, and
only
by the united action of many members, nay, in the last resort,
only
by the united action of all members of society, can it be set in
motion.
Capital is, therefore, not a personal, it is a social power.
When, therefore, capital is converted into common property,
into
the property of all members of society, personal property is not
thereby transformed into social property. It is only the social
character of the property that is changed. It loses its class
character.
Let us now take wage-labour.

140. T h e average price of wage-labour is the minimum wage, i.e.,
that
q u a n t u m of the means of subsistence, which is absolutely
requisite to
keep the labourer in bare existence as a labourer. What,
therefore,
the wage-labourer appropriates by means of his labour, merely
suffices to prolong and reproduce a bare existence. We by no
means
intend to abolish this personal appropriation of the products of
labour, an appropriation that is made for the maintenance and
reproduction of h u m a n life, and that leaves no surplus
wherewith to
command the labour of others. All that we want to do away with
is
the miserable character of this appropriation, u n d e r which the
labourer lives merely to increase capital, and is allowed to live
only
in so far as the interest of the ruling class requires it.
In bourgeois society, living labour is but a means to increase
accumulated labour. In Communist society, accumulated labour
is
but a means to widen, to enrich, to promote the existence of the
labourer.
In bourgeois society, therefore, the past dominates the present;
in
Communist society, the present dominates the past. In bourgeois
society capital is i n d e p e n d e n t and has individuality,
while the living
person is d e p e n d e n t and has no individuality.
And the abolition of this state of things is called by the
bourgeois

141. abolition of individuality and freedom! And rightly so. T h e
abolition
of bourgeois individuality, bourgeois independence, and
bourgeois
freedom is undoubtedly aimed at.
By freedom is meant, u n d e r the present bourgeois conditions
of
production, free trade, free selling and buying.
But if selling and buying disappears, free selling and buying
disappears also. This talk about free selling and buying, and all
the
other "brave words" of o u r bourgeoisie about freedom in
general,
have a meaning, if any, only in contrast with restricted selling
and
500 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
buying, with the fettered traders of the Middle Ages, but have
no
meaning when opposed to the Communistic abolition of buying
and
selling, of the bourgeois conditions of production, and of the
bourgeoisie itself.
You are horrified at o u r intending to do away with private
property. But in your existing society, private property is
already
d o n e away with for nine-tenths of the population; its
existence for
the few3 is solely d u e to its non-existence in the hands of
those

142. nine-tenths. You reproach us, therefore, with intending to do
away
with a form of property, the necessary condition for whose
existence
is the non-existence of any property for the immense majority
of
society.
In one word, you reproach us with intending to do away with
your
property. Precisely so; that is just what we intend.
From the m o m e n t when labour can no longer be converted
into
capital, money, or rent, into a social power capable of being
monopolised, i.e., from the m o m e n t when individual
property can
no longer be transformed into bourgeois property, into capital,0
from that moment, you say, individuality vanishes.
You must, therefore, confess that by "individual" you mean no
o t h e r person than the bourgeois, than the middle-class owner
of
property. This person must, indeed, be swept out of the way,
and
made impossible.0
Communism deprives no man of the power to appropriate the
products of society; all that it does is to deprive him of the
power to
subjugate the labour of others by means of such appropriation.
It has been objected that u p o n the abolition of private
property all
work will cease, a n d universal laziness will overtake us.

143. According to this, bourgeois society ought long ago to have
gone to
the dogs t h r o u g h sheer idleness; for those of its members
who work,
acquire nothing, and those who acquire anything, do not work.
T h e
whole of this objection is b u t anothe r expression of the
tautology:
that there can no longer be any wage-labour when there is no
longer
any capital.
All objections urged against the Communistic mode of
producing
a n d appropriating material products, have, in the same way,
been
urged against the Communistic modes of producing and
appropri -
ating intellectual products. Just as, to the bourgeois, the disap-
a T h e words "for the few" were a d d ed in the English edition
of 1888.—Ed.
b T h e words "into capital" were added in the English edition
of 1888.—Ed.
c T h e words "and made impossible" were added in the English
edition of
1888.—Ed.
Manifesto of the Communist Party 501
pearance of class property is the disappearance of production
itself,
so the disappearance of class c u l t u r e 3 is to him identical

144. with the
disappearance of all culture.
T h a t culture, the loss of which he laments, is, for the
enormous
majority, a mere training to act as a machine.
But don't wrangle with us so long as you apply, to o u r
intended 6
abolition of bourgeois property, the standard of your bourgeois
notions of freedom, culture, law, &c. Your very ideas are but
the
outgrowth of the conditions of your bourgeois production a n d
bourgeois property, just as your jurisprudence is but the will of
your
class made into a law for all, a will, whose essential character
and
direction are determined by the economical conditions of
existence
of your class.0
T h e selfish misconception that induces you to transform into
eternal laws of n a t u r e and of reason, the social forms
springing from
your present mode of production and form of property—
historical
relations that rise and disappear in the progress of production—
this
misconception you share with every ruling class that has
preceded
you.d What you see clearly in the case of ancient property, what
you
admit in the case of feudal property, you are of course
forbidden to
admit in the case of your own bourgeois form of property.

145. Abolition of the family! Even the most radical flare u p at this
infamous proposal of the Communists.
O n what foundation is the present family, the bourgeois family,
based? O n capital, on private gain. In its completely developed
form
this family exists only a m o n g the bourgeoisie. But this state
of things
finds its complement in the practical absence of the family a m
o n g the
proletarians, and in public prostitution.
T h e bourgeois family will vanish as a matter of course when
its
complement vanishes, and both will vanish with the vanishing
of
capital.
Do you charge us with wanting to stop the exploitation of
children
by their parents? T o this crime we plead guilty.
But, you will say, we destroy the most hallowed of relations,
when
we replace home education by social.
a T h e G e r m a n editions have h e r e and below "education"
["Bildung"] instead of
"culture".—Ed.
T h e words "ou r i n t e n d e d " were inserted in the English
edition of 1888.—Ed.
c In the Germa n editions t he end of this sentence reads as
follows: "a will, whose
content is determined by the material conditions of existence of

146. your class."—Ed.
d In the German editions this sentence reads as follows: "This
selfish conception...
you share with all the ruling classes which have perished."—Ed.
502 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
And your education! Is not that also social, and determined by
the
social conditions u n d e r which you educate, by the
intervention,
direct or indirect, of society, by means of schools, &c? T h e
Com-
munists have not invented the intervention of society in
education;
they do b u t seek to alter the character of that intervention,
and to rescue education from the influence of the ruling
class.
T h e bourgeois clap-trap about the family and education, about
the
hallowed co-relation of p a r e n t and child, becomes all the
more
disgusting, the more, by the action of Modern Industry, all
family
ties a m o ng the proletarians are torn asunder, and their
children
transformed into simple articles of commerce and instruments of
labour.
But you Communists would introduce community of women,
screams the whole bourgeoisie in chorus.

147. T h e bourgeois sees in his wife a mere instrument of produc-
tion. He hears that the instruments of production are to be ex-
ploited in common, and, naturally, can come to no other conclu-
sion t h a n that the lot of being common to all will likewise fall
to the
women.
He has not even a suspicion that the real point aimed at is to
do away with the status of women as mere instruments of
produc-
tion.
For the rest, nothing is more ridiculous than the virtuous
indignation of o u r bourgeois at the community of women
which,
they pretend, is to be openly and officially established by the
Communists. T h e Communists have no need to introduce
communi-
ty of women; it has existed almost from time immemorial.
O u r bourgeois, not content with having the wives and
daughters of
their proletarians at their disposal, not to speak of common
prostitutes, take the greatest pleasure in seducing each other's
wives.
Bourgeois marriage is in reality a system of wives in common
and
thus, at the most, what the Communists might possibly be
reproached with, is that they desire to introduce, in substitution
for a
hypocritically concealed, an openly legalised community of
women.
For the rest, it is self-evident that the abolition of the present
system
of production must bring with it the abolition of the community

148. of
women springing from that system, i.e., of prostitution both
public
and private.
T h e Communists are further reproached with desiring to
abolish
countries and nationality.
T h e working men have no country. We cannot take from them
what they have not got. Since the proletariat must first of all
acquire
Manifesto of the Communist Party 503
political supremacy, must rise to be the leading class of the
nation,3
must constitute itself the nation, it is so far, itself national,
though not
in the bourgeois sense of the word.
National differences and antagonisms between peoples are daily
more and more vanishing, owing to the development of the
bourgeoisie, to freedom of commerce, to the world market, to
uniformity in the mode of production and in the conditions of
life
corresponding thereto.
T h e supremacy of the proletariat will cause them to vanish
still
faster. United action, of the leading civilised countries at least,
is one
of the first conditions for the emancipation of the proletariat.

149. In proportion as the exploitation of one individual by another is
p u t an end to, the exploitation of one nation by anothe r will
also be
put an end to. In proportion as the antagonism between classes
within the nation vanishes, the hostility of one nation to another
will
come to an end.
T h e charges against Communism made from a religious, a
philosophical, and, generally, from an ideological standpoint,
are not
deserving of serious examination.
Does it require deep intuition to c o m p r e h e n d that man's
ideas,
views and conceptions, in one word, man's consciousness,
changes
with every change in the conditions of his material existence, in
his
social relations and in his social life?
What else does the history of ideas prove, than that intellectual
production changes its character in proportion as material
produc-
tion is changed? T h e ruling ideas of each age have ever been
the
ideas of its ruling class.
When people speak of ideas that revolutionise society, they do
but
express the fact, that within the old society, the elements of a
new
one have been created, and that the dissolution of the old ideas
keeps
even pace with the dissolution of the old conditions of
existence.

150. When the ancient world was in its last throes, the ancient
religions
were overcome by Christianity. When Christian ideas
succumbed in
the 18th century to rationalist ideas,c feudal society fought its
death
battle with the then revolutionary bourgeoisie. T h e ideas of
religious
liberty and freedom of conscience merely gave expression to the
sway of free competition within the domain of knowledge.
d T h e German editions of 1848 have "the national class"
instead of "the leading
class of the nation".—Ed.
b T h e word "material" was added in the English edition of
1888.—Ed.
c T h e German editions have "the ideas of enlightenment"
instead of "rationalist
ideas".—Ed.
504 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
"Undoubtedly," it will be said, "religious, moral, philosophical
and juridical ideas2 have been modified in the course of
historical
development. But religion, morality, philosophy, political
science,
and law, constantly survived this change.
" T h e r e are, besides, eternal truths, such as Freedom, Justice,
etc.,

151. that are common to all states of society. But Communism
abolishes
eternal truths, it abolishes all religion and all morality, instead
of
constituting them on a new basis; it therefore acts in
contradiction to
all past historical experience."
What does this accusation reduce itself to? T h e history of all
past
society has consisted in the development of class antagonisms,
antagonisms that assumed different forms at different epochs.
But whatever form they may have taken, one fact is common to
all
past ages, viz., the exploitation of one part of society by the
other. No
wonder, then, that the social consciousness of past ages, despite
all
the multiplicity and variety it displays, moves within certain
common
forms, or general ideas,b which cannot completely vanish
except with
the total disappearance of class antagonisms.
T h e Communist revolution is the most radical r u p t u r e with
traditional property relations; no wonder that its development
involves the most radical r u p t u r e with traditional ideas.
But let us have done with the bourgeois objections to
Communism.
We have seen above, that the first step in the revolution by the
working class is to raise the proletariat to the position of ruling
class,
to win the battle of democracy.

152. T h e proletariat will use its political supremacy to wrest, by
degrees, all capital from the bourgeoisie, to centralise all instru-
ments of production in the hands of the State, i.e., of the
proletariat
organised as the ruling class; and to increase the total of
productive
forces as rapidly as possible.
Of course, in the beginning, this cannot be effected except by
means of despotic inroads on the rights of property, and on the
conditions of bourgeois production; by means of measures,
there-
fore, which appear economically insufficient and untenable, but
which, in the course of the movement, outstrip themselves,
neces-
sitate further inroads upon the old social order,0 and are
unavoid-
able as a means of entirely revolutionising the mode of
production.
a In the German editions the beginning of the sentence reads:
"'Undoubtedly,' it
will be said, 'religious, moral, philosophical, political, juridical
ideas, etc.'"—Ed.
T h e German editions have "in forms of consciousness" instead
of "or general
ideas".—Ed.
c T h e words "necessitate further inroads u p o n the old social
o r d e r " were added in
the English edition of 1888.—Ed.

153. Manifesto of the Communist Party 505
These measures will of course be different in different coun-
tries'.260
Nevertheless in the most advanced countries, the following will
be
pretty generally applicable:
1. Abolition ' of property in land and application of all rents of
land to public purposes.
2. A heavy progressive or graduated income tax.b
3. Abolition of all right of inheritance.
4. Confiscation of the property of all emigrants and rebels.
5. Centralisation of credit in the hands of the State, by means of
a
national bank with State capital and an exclusive monopoly.
6. Centralisation of the means of communication and transport 0
in
the hands of the State.
7. Extension of factories and instruments of production owned
by
the State; the bringing into cultivation of waste-lands, and the
improvement of the soil generally in accordance with a common
plan.
8. Equal liability of all to labour. Establishment of industrial
armies, especially for agriculture.
9. Combination of agriculture with manufacturing industries;
gradual abolition of the distinction between town and country,
by a

154. more equable distribution of the population over the country.d
10. Free education for all children in public schools. Abolition
of
children's factory labour in its present form. Combination of
education with industrial production, & c , 8cc.
When, in the course of development, class distinctions have
disappeared, and all production has been concentrated in the
hands
of a vast association of the whole nation,6 the public power will
lose its
political character. Political power, properly so called, is
merely the
organised power of one class for oppressing another. If the
proletariat d u r i n g its contest with the bourgeoisie is
compelled, by
the force of circumstances, to organise itself as a class, if, by
means of
a T h e G e r m a n editions have here "expropriation".—Ed.
T h e German editions have: "A heavy progressive tax."—Ed.
c T h e German editions have "all t r a n s p o r t " instead of
"the means of communica-
tion and transport".—Ed.
d In the editions of 1848, point 9 reads: "Combination of
agriculture with
industry, promotion of the gradual elimination of the
contradictions between town
and countryside." In subsequent German editions the word
"contradictions" was
replaced by "distinctions".—Ed.
e T h e German editions have "associated individuals" instead of

155. "a vast association
of the whole nation".—Ed.
506 Karl Marx a n d Frederick Engels
a revolution, it makes itself the ruling class, and, as such,
sweeps away
by force the old conditions of production, then it will, along
with
these conditions, have swept away the conditions for the
existence of
class antagonisms and of classes generally, and will thereby
have
abolished its own supremacy as a class.
In place of the old bourgeois society, with its classes and class
antagonisms, we shall have an association, in which the free
development of each is the condition for the free development
of all.
I l l
SOCIALIST AND C O M M U N I S T L I T E R A T U R E
1. REACTIONARY SOCIALISM
a. Feudal Socialism
Owing to their historical position, it became the vocation of the
aristocracies of France and England to write pamphlets against
m o d e r n bourgeois society. In the French revolution of July
1830,

156. and in the English reform agitation, these aristocracies again
succumbed to the hateful upstart. Thenceforth, a serious
political
contest was altogether out of question. A literary battle alone
remained possible. But even in the domain of literature the old
cries
of the restoration period* had become impossible.
In o r d e r to arouse sympathy, the aristocracy were obliged to
lose
sight, apparently, of their own interests, and to formulate their
indictment against the bourgeoisie in the interest of the
exploited
working class alone. T h u s the aristocracy took their revenge
by
singing lampoons on their new master, and whispering in his
ears
sinister prophecies of coming catastrophe.3
In this way arose feudal Socialism; half lamentation, half
lampoon;
half echo of the past, half menace of the future; at times, by its
bitter,
witty and incisive criticism, striking the bourgeoisie to the very
heart's core; but always ludicrous in its effect, through total
incapacity to c o m p r e h e nd the march of m o d e r n history.
T h e aristocracy, in o r d e r to rally the people to them, waved
the
proletarian alms-bag in front for a banner. But the people, so
often
as it joined them, saw on their hindquarters the old feudal coats
of
arms, and deserted with loud and irreverent laughter.
* Not the English Restoration 1660 to 1689, but the French

157. Restoration 1814 to
1830. [Note by Engels to the English edition of 1888.}
a In the German editions the end of this sentence reads: "and
whispering in his
ears more or less sinister prophecies."—Ed.
508 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
O n e section of the French Legitimists and "Young England"2 6
1
exhibited this spectacle.
In pointing out that their mode of exploitation was different to
that of the bourgeoisie, the feudalists forget that they exploited
u n d e r circumstances and conditions that were quite different,
and that are now antiquated. In showing that, u n d e r their
rule,
the m o d e r n proletariat never existed, they forget that the
m o d e r n bourgeoisie is the necessary offspring of their own
form of
society.
For the rest, so little do they conceal the reactionary character
of
their criticism that their chief accusation against the bourgeoisie
amounts to this, that u n d e r the bourgeois régime a class is
being
developed, which is destined to cut u p root and branch the old
o r d e r
of society.
What they upbraid the bourgeoisie with is not so much that it
creates a proletariat, as that it creates a revolutionary

158. proletariat.
In political practice, therefore, they join in all coercive
measures
against the working class; and in ordinary life, despite their
high-falutin phrases, they stoop to pick u p the golden apples
d r o p p e d from the tree of industry,3 a n d to barter t r u t h,
love, and
h o n o u r for traffic in wool, beetroot-sugar, and potato
spirits.*
As the parson has ever gone h a n d in hand with the landlord,15
so
has Clerical Socialism with Feudal Socialism.
Nothing is easier than to give Christian asceticism a Socialist
tinge.
Has not Christianity declaimed against private property, against
marriage, against the State? Has it not preached in the place of
these,
charity and poverty, celibacy and mortification of the flesh,
monastic
life and Mother Church? Christian' Socialism is but the holy
water
with which the priest consecrates the heart-burnings of the
aristocrat.
* This applies chiefly to Germany where the landed aristocracy
and squirearchy
have large portions of their estates cultivated for their own
account by stewards, and
are, moreover, extensive beetroot-sugar manufacturers and
distillers of potato spirits.
T h e wealthier British aristocracy are, as yet, rather above that;
but they, too, know how
to make up. for declining rents by lending their names to

159. floaters of more or less shady
joint-stock companies. [Note by Engels to the English edition of
1888.]
a T h e words " d r o p p e d from the tree of industry" were
added in the English
edition of 1888.—Ed.
T h e German editions have here "feudal lord".—Ed.
c T h e German editions of 1848 have "holy" instead of
"Christian" (the texts of
these editions contain an obvious misprint: "heutige"—of
today—for "heilige"—
holy).—Ed.
Manifesto of the Communist Party 509
b. Petty-Bourgeois Socialism
T h e feudal aristocracy was not the only class that was ruined
by the
bourgeoisie, not the only class whose conditions of existence
pined
and perished in the atmosphere of m o d e r n bourgeois society.
T h e
medieval burgesses and the small peasant proprietors were the
precursors of the m o d e r n bourgeoisie. In those countries
which are
but little developed, industrially and commercially, these two
classes
still vegetate3 side by side with the rising bourgeoisie.
In countries where m o d e r n civilisation has become fully

160. devel-
oped, a new class of petty bourgeois has been formed,
fluctuating
between proletariat and bourgeoisie and ever renewing itself as
a
supplementary par t of bourgeois society. T h e individual
members of
this class, however, are being constantly hurled down into the
proletariat by the action of competition, and, as m o d e r n
industry
develops, they even see the moment approaching when they will
completely disappear as an i n d e p e n d e n t section of m o d
e r n society,
to be replaced, in manufactures, agriculture and commerce, by
overlookers, bailiffs and shopmen.
In countries like France, where the peasants constitute far more
than half of the population, it was natural that writers who sided
with
the proletariat against the bourgeoisie, should use, in their
criticism
of the bourgeois régime, the standard of the peasant and petty
bourgeois, and from the standpoint of these intermediate
classesb
should take u p the cudgels for the working class. T h u s arose
petty-bourgeois Socialism. Sismondi was the head of this
school, not
only in France but also in England.
This school of Socialism dissected with great acuteness the
contradictions in the conditions of m o d e r n production. It
laid bare
the hypocritical apologies of economists. It proved,
incontrovertibly,
the disastrous effects of machinery and division of labour; the
concentration of capital a n d land in a few hands; over-

161. production
and crises; it pointed out the inevitable ruin of the petty
bourgeois
and peasant, the misery of t h e proletariat, the anarchy in
produc-
tion, the crying inequalities in the distribution of wealth, the
indus-
trial war of extermination between nations, the dissolution of
old
moral bonds, of the old family relations, of the old nationalities.
In its positive aims, however, this form of Socialism aspires
either
to restoring the old means of production and of exchange, and
with
a T h e German editions have "this class still vegetates" instead
of "these two classes
still vegetate".—Ed.
T h e German editions have "the petty bourgeoisie" instead of
"these inter-
mediate classes".—Ed.
510 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
them the old property relations, and the old society, or to
cramping
the m o d e r n means of production and of exchange, within the
framework of the old property relations that have been, and
were
b o u n d to be, exploded by those means. In either case, it is
both
reactionary a n d Utopian.

162. Its last words are: corporate guilds for manufacture; patriarchal
relations in agriculture.
Ultimately, when stubborn historical facts had dispersed all
intoxicating effects of self-deception, this form of Socialism
ended in
a miserable fit of the blues.3
c. German, or "True", Socialism
T h e Socialist and Communist literature of France, a literature
that
originated u n d e r the pressure of a bourgeoisie in power, and
that
was the expression of the struggle against this power, was
introduced
into Germany at a time when the bourgeoisie, in that country,
had
just begun its contest with feudal absolutism.
German philosophers, would-be philosophers, and beaux
esprits,h
eagerly seized on this literature, only forgetting, that when
these
writings immigrated from France into Germany, French social
conditions had not immigrated along with them. In contact with
German social conditions, this French literature lost all its
immediate
practical significance, and assumed a purely literary aspect.0 T
h u s , to
the German philosophers of the Eighteenth Century, the
demands
of the first French Revolution were nothing more than the
demands
of "Practical Reason"262 in general, and the utterance of the

163. will of
the revolutionary French bourgeoisie signified in their eyes the
laws
of p u r e Will, of Will as it was b o u n d to be, of t r u e h u m
a n Will
generally.
T h e work of the German literati consisted solely in bringing
the
new French ideas into harmony with their ancient philosophical
conscience, o r rather, in annexing the French ideas without
deserting their own philosophic point of view.
a In the G e r m an editions this sentence reads: " I n its further
development this
trend ended in a cowardly fit of the blues."—Ed.
In the German editions the beginning of this sentence reads:
"German
philosophers, semi-philosophers and lovers of fine phrases".—
Ed.
c In the German editions of 1848 there follows: "It must have
appeared as idle
speculation on true society, on the realisation of humanity." In
subsequent German
editions the words "on true society" were omitted.—Ed.
Manifesto of the Communist Party 511
This annexation took place in the same way in which a foreign
language is appropriated , namely, by translation.
It is well known how the monks wrote silly lives of Catholic

164. Saints
over the manuscripts on which the classical works of ancient
h e a t h e n d o m had been written. T h e German literati
reversed this
process with the profane French literature. They wrote their
philosophical nonsense beneath the French original. For
instance,
beneath the French criticism of the economic functions of
money,
they wrote "Alienation of Humanity", and beneath the French
criticism of the bourgeois State they wrote, "Dethronemen t of
the
Category of the General", and so forth.3
T h e introduction of these philosophical phrases at the back of
the
French historical criticismsb they dubbed "Philosophy of
Action",
" T r u e Socialism", "German Science of Socialism",
"Philosophical
Foundation of Socialism", and so on.
T h e French Socialist and Communist literature was thus
complete-
ly emasculated. And, since it ceased in the hands of the German
to
express the struggle of one class with the other, he felt
conscious of
having overcome "French one-sidedness" and of representing,
not
true requirements, but the requirements of T r u t h ; not the
interests
of the proletariat, but the interests of H u m a n Nature, of Man
in
general, who belongs to no class, has no reality, who exists only
in the

165. misty realm of philosophical fantasy.
This German Socialism, which took its schoolboy task so
seriously
and solemnly, and extolled its poor stock-in-trade in such
mounte-
bank fashion, meanwhile gradually lost its pedantic innocence.
T h e fight of the German, and, especially, of the Prussian
bourgeoisie, against feudal aristocracy and absolute monarchy,
in
other words, the liberal movement, became more earnest.
By this, the long wished-for opportunity was offered to " T r u e
"
Socialism of confronting the political movement with the
Socialist
demands, of hurling the traditional anathemas against
liberalism,
against representative government, against bourgeois
competition,
bourgeois freedom of the press, bourgeois legislation, bourgeois
liberty and equality, and of preaching to the masses that they
had
nothing to gain, a n d everything to lose, by this bourgeois
movement.
a In the G e r m an editions this sentence reads: "For instance,
beneath the French
criticism of money relations they wrote, 'Alienation of
Humanity', and beneath the
French criticism of the bourgeois State they wrote, 'Elimination
of the domination of
the abstractly General', etc."—Ed.
b T h e German editions have "French theories" instead of

166. "French historical
criticisms".—Ed.
512 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
German Socialism forgot, in the nick of time, that the French
criticism, whose silly echo it was, presupposed the existence of
m o d e r n bourgeois society, with its corresponding economic3
condi-
tions of existence, and the political constitution adapted thereto,
the
very things whose attainment was the object of the p e n d i n g
struggle
in Germany.
T o the absolute governments,11 with their following of
parsons,
professors, country squires and officials, it served as a welcome
scarecrow against the threatening bourgeoisie.
It was a sweet finish after the bitter pills of floggings and
bullets
with which these same governments, just at that time,0 dosed
the
German working-class risings.
While this " T r u e " Socialism thus served the governments as
a
weapon for fighting the German bourgeoisie, it, at the same
time,
directly represented a reactionary interest, the interest of the
German Philistines. In Germany the petty-bourgeois class, a
relic of the
sixteenth century, a n d since then constantly cropping u p again

167. u n d e r various forms, is the real social basis of the existing
state of
things.
T o preserve this class is to preserve the existing state of things
in
Germany. T h e industrial and political supremacy of the
bourgeoisie
threatens it with certain destruction; on the one hand , from the
concentration of capital; on the other, from the rise of a
revolutionary proletariat. " T r u e " Socialism appeared to kill
these
two birds with one stone. It spread like an epidemic.
T h e robe of speculative cobwebs, embroidered with flowers of
rhetoric, steeped in the dew of sickly sentiment, this
transcendental
robe in which the German Socialists wrapped their sorry
"eternal
t r u t h s " , all skin and bone, served to wonderfully increase
the sale of
their goods amongst such a public.
And on its part, German Socialism recognised, more and more,
its
own calling as the bombastic representative of the petty-
bourgeois
Philistine.
It proclaimed the German nation to be the model nation, and the
German petty Philistine to be the typical man. T o every
villainous
meanness of this model man it gave a hidden, higher, Socialistic
interpretation, the exact contrary of its real character. It went to
the
extreme length of directly opposing the "brutally destructive"

168. tendency of Communism, and of proclaiming its supreme and
a The German editions have "material" instead of "economic".—
Ed.
T h e German editions have " T o the German absolute
governments".—Ed.
c T h e words "just at that time" were added in the English
edition of 1888.—Ed.
Manifesto of the Communist Party 513
impartial contempt of all class struggles. With very few
exceptions,
all the so-called Socialist and Communist publications that now
(1847) circulate in Germany belong to the domain of this foul
and
enervating literature.*
2. CONSERVATIVE, OR BOURGEOIS, SOCIALISM
A part of the bourgeoisie is desirous of redressing social
grievances, in o r d e r to secure the continued existence of
bourgeois
society.
T o this section belong economists, philanthropists,
humanitarians,
improvers of the condition of the working class, organisers of
charity, members of societies for the prevention of cruelty to
animals, temperance fanatics, hole-and-corner reformers of
every
imaginable kind. This form of Socialism has, moreover, been
worked

169. out into complete systems.
We may cite Proudhon's Philosophie de la Misère as an example
of
this form.
T h e Socialistic bourgeois want all the advantages of m o d e r
n social
conditions3 without the struggles and dangers necessarily
resulting
therefrom. They desire the existing state of society minus its
revolutionary and disintegrating elements. They wish for a
bourgeoisie without a proletariat. T h e bourgeoisie naturally
con-
ceives the world in which it is supreme to be the best; and
bourgeois
Socialism develops this comfortable conception into various
more or
less complete systems.5 In requiring the proletariat to carry out
such
a system, and thereby to march straightway into the social0 New
Jerusalem, it but requires in reality, that the proletariat should
remain within the bounds of existing society, but should cast
away all
its hateful ideas concerning the bourgeoisie.
A second and more practical, but less systematic, form of this
Socialism sought to depreciate every revolutionary movement in
the
eyes of the working class, by showing that no mere political
reform,
but only a change in the material conditions of existence, in
* T h e revolutionary storm of 1848 swept away this whole
shabby tendency and
< ured its protagonists of the desire to dabble further in

170. Socialism. T h e chief
i epresentative an d classical type of this tendency is H e r r
Karl G r ü n . [Note by Engels to
the German edition of 1890.]
a T h e German editions have: "want the living conditions of m
o d e r n society".—Ed.
b T h e German editions have here : "a more or less complete
system".—Ed.
c This word was added in the English edition of 1888.—Ed.
514 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
economical relations, could be of any advantage to them. By
changes
in the material conditions of existence, this form of Socialism,
however, by no means understands abolition of the bourgeois
relations of production, an abolition that can be effected only by
a
revolution, but administrative reforms, based on the continued
existence of these relations; reforms, therefore, that in no
respect
affect the relations between capital and labour, but, at the best,
less-
en the cost, and simplify the administrative work, of bourgeois
government.
Bourgeois Socialism attains adequate expression, when, and
only
when, it becomes a mere figure of speech.
Free trade: for the benefit of the working class. Protective
duties:
for the benefit of the working class. Prison Reform3: for the

171. benefit
of the working class. This is the last word and the only
seriously
meant word of bourgeois Socialism.
It is summed u p in the phrase: the bourgeois is a bourgeois—
for
the benefit of the working class.
3. CRITICAL-UTOPIAN SOCIALISM AND COMMUNISM
We do not here refer to that literature which, in every great
m o d e r n revolution, has always given voice to the demands of
the
proletariat, such as the writings of Babeuf and others.
T h e first direct attempts of the proletariat to attain its own
ends,
made in times of universal excitement, when feudal society was
being
overthrown, these attempts necessarily failed, owing to the then
undeveloped state of the proletariat, as well as to the absence of
the
economic conditions for its emancipation, conditions that had
yet to
be produced, and could be produced by the impending bourgeois
epoch alone.b T h e revolutionary literature that accompanied
these
first movements of the proletariat had necessarily a reactionary
character. It inculcated universal asceticism and social levelling
in its
crudest form.
T h e Socialist and Communist systems properly so called, those
of
Saint-Simon, Fourier, Owen and others, spring into existence in

172. the
early undeveloped period, described above, of the struggle
between
proletariat a n d bourgeoisie (see Section I. Bourgeois and Pro-
letarians).
a T h e German editions have h e r e : "Solitary confinement".—
Ed.
T h e German editions have "material conditions" instead of
"economic
conditions", and the end of the sentence is: "and could be only
the product of the
bourgeois epoch".—Ed.
Manifesto of the Communist Party 515
T h e founders of these systems see, indeed, the class
antagonisms,
as well as the action of the decomposing elements in the
prevailing
form of society. But the proletariat, as yet in its infancy,3 offers
to
them the spectacle of a class without any historical initiative or
any
i n d e p e n d e n t political movement.
Since the development of class antagonism keeps even pace
with
the development of industry, the economic situation, as they
find it,
does not as yet offer to them the material conditions for the
emancipation of the proletariat. They therefore search after a
new

173. social science, after newb social laws, that are to create these
conditions.
Historical action is to yield to their personal inventive action,
historically created conditions of emancipation to fantastic
ones, and
the gradual, spontaneous0 class organisation of the proletariat
to an
organisation of society specially contrived by these inventors.
Future
history resolves itself, in their eyes, into the propagand a and
the
practical carrying out of their social plans.
In the formation of their plans they are conscious of caring
chiefly
for the interests of the working class, as being the most
suffering
class. Only from the point of view of being the most suffering
class
does the proletariat exist for them.
T h e undeveloped state of the class struggle, as well as their
own
surroundings, causes Socialists of this kind to consider
themselves
far superior to all class antagonisms. They want to improve
the condition of every member of society, even that of the
most favoured. Hence, they habitually appeal to society at large,
without distinction of class; nay, by preference, to the ruling
class.
For how can people, when once they u n d e r s t a n d their
system,
fail to see in it the best possible plan of the best possible state
of
society?

174. Hence, they reject all political, and especially all revolutionary,
action; they wish to attain their ends by peaceful means, and
endeavour, by small experiments, necessarily doomed to failure,
and by the force of example, to pave the way for the new social
Gospel.
Such fantastic pictures of future society, painted at a time when
the proletariat is still in a very undeveloped state a n d has but a
fantastic conception of its own position, correspond with the
first
a T h e words "as yet in its infancy" were added in the English
edition of 1888.— Ed.
b In both cases the word "new" was added in the English edition
of 1888.—Ed.
c T h e German editions have "Social" instead of "Historical".—
Ed.
n T h e word "spontaneous " was added in the English edition of
1888.—Ed.
I N — I H 2 f i
516 Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
instinctive yearnings of that class for a general reconstruction
of
society.
But these Socialist and Communist publications contain also a
critical element. T h e y attack every principle of existing
society.
Hence they are full of the most valuable materials for the
enlightenment of the working class. T h e practical measures

175. pro-
posed in them—such as the abolition of the distinction between
town and country, of the family, of the carrying on of industries
for
the account of private individuals,3 and of the wage system, the
proclamation of social harmony, the conversion of the functions
of
the State into a mere superintendence of production, all these
proposals point solely to the disappearance of class antagonisms
which were, at that time, only just cropping u p , and which, in
these
publications, are recognised in their earliest indistinct and
undefined
forms only. These proposals, therefore, are of a purely Utopian
character.
T h e significance of Critical-Utopian Socialism and
Communism
bears an inverse relation to historical development. In
proportion as
the m o d e r n b class struggle develops and takes definite
shape, this
fantastic standing apart from the contest, these fantastic attacks
on it,
lose all practical value and all theoretical justification.
Therefore,
although the originators of these systems were, in many
respects,
revolutionary, their disciples have, in every case, formed mere
reactionary sects. They hold fast by the original views of their
masters, in opposition to the progressive historical development
of
the proletariat. They, therefore, endeavour, and that
consistently, to
deaden the class struggle and to reconcile the class
antagonisms.

176. They still dream of experimental realisation of their social
Utopias,
of founding isolated "phalanstères", of establishing " H o m e
Col-
onies", of setting u p a "Little Icaria"*—duodecimo editions of
the
New Jerusalem—and to realise all these castles in the air, they
are
compelled to appeal to the feelings and purses of the bourgeois.
By
* Phalanstères were Socialist colonies on the plan of Charles
Fourier; Icaria was the
name given by Cabet to his Utopia and, later on, to his
American Communist colony.
[Note by Engels to the English edition of 1888.]
" H o m e Colonies" were what Owen called his Communist
model societies.
Phalanstères was the name of the public palaces planned by
Fourier. Icaria was the
name given to the Utopian land of fancy, whose Communist
institutions Cabet
portrayed. [Note by Engels to the German edition of 1890.]
a In the G e r m an editions the beginning of this sentence reads
as follows: "Their
positive propositions concerning the future society, for
example, abolition ol the
contradiction between town and country, of the family, of
private profit...".—Ed.
This word was added in the English edition ot 1 888.— Ed.

177. Manifesto of Communist Party 517
degrees they sink into the category of the reactionary [or]a
conser-
vative Socialists depicted above, differing from these only by
more
systematic pedantry, and bv their fanatical and superstitious
beliefb
in the miraculous effects of their social science.
They, therefore, violently oppose all political action on the part
of
the working class; such action, according to them, can only
result
from blind unbelief in the new Gospel.
T h e Owenites in England, and the Fourierists in France,
respectively oppose the Chartists and the Réformistes.263
a In the English edition of 1888 the word "or" is omitted, but it
is given in all
other authorised editions.—Ed.
b T h e German editions have "fanatical superstition".—Ed.
IV
P O S I T I O N OF T H E COMMUNISTS
IN R E L A T I O N T O T H E VARIOUS EXISTING
O P P O S I T I O N PARTIES
Section II has made clear the relations of the Communists to the
existing working-class parties, such as the Chartists in England

178. and
the Agrarian Reformers in America.264
T h e Communists fight for the attainment of the immediate
aims,
for the enforcement of the momentary interests of the working
class;
but in the movement of the present, they also represent and take
care ofa the future of that movement. In France the Communists
ally
themselves with the Social-Democrats,* against the
conservative and
radical bourgeoisie, reserving, however, the right to take u p a
critical
position in regard to phrases and illusions traditionally h a n d e
d down
from the great Revolution.
In Switzerland they support the Radicals, without losing sight
of
the fact that this party consists of antagonistic elements, partly
of
Democratic Socialists, in the French sense, partly of radical
bourgeois.
In Poland they support the party that insists on an agrarian
revolution as the prime condition for national emancipation,
that
party which fomented the insurrection of Cracow in 1846.265
* T h e party then represented in Parliament by Ledru-Rollin, in
literature by Louis
Blanc, in the daily press by the Réforme. T h e name of Social-
Democracy signified, with
these its inventors, a section of the Democratic or Republican
party more or less tinged

179. with Socialism. [Note by Engels to the English edition of 1888.]
T h e party in France which at that time called itself Socialist-
Democratic was
represented in political life by Ledru-Rollin and in literature by
Louis Blanc; thus it
differed immeasurably from present-day German Social-
Democracy. [Note by Engels to
the German edition of 1890.]
T h e words "and take care of" were added in the English
edition of 1888.—Ed.
Manifesto of the Communist Party 519
In Germany they fight with the bourgeoisie whenever it acts in a
revolutionary wav, against the absolute monarchy, the feudal
squirearchy, and the petty bourgeoisie.3
But they never cease, for a single instant, to instil into t h e
working
class the clearest possible recognition of the hostile antagonism
between bourgeoisie a n d proletariat, in o r d e r that the
German
workers may straightway use, as so many weapons against the
bourgeoisie, the social and political conditions that the
bourgeoisie
must necessarily introduce along with its supremacy, a n d in o r
d e r
that, after the fall of the reactionary classes in Germany, the
fight
against the bourgeoisie itself may immediately begin.
The Communists t u r n their attention chiefly to Germany,

180. because
i hat country is on the eve of a bourgeois revolution that is b o u
nd to
be carried out u n d e r m o r e advanced conditions of European
civilisation, and with a much more developed proletariat, than
that
of England was in the seventeenth, and of France in the
eighteenth
century, and because the bourgeois revolution in Germany will
be
but the prelude to an immediately following proletarian
revolution.
In short, the Communists everywhere support every
revolutionary
movement against the existing social and political o r d e r of
things.
In all these movements they bring to the front, as the leading
question in each, the propert y question, no matter what its
degree of
development at the time.
Finally, they labour everywhere for t h e union a n d a g r e e m
e nt of
the democratic parties of all countries.
T h e Communists disdain to conceal their views a n d aims. T h
e y
openly declare that their ends can be attained only by the
forcible
overthrow of all existing social conditions. Let the ruling
classes
tremble at a Communistic revolution. T h e proletarians have
nothin g
to lose but their chains. T h e y have a world to win.

181. WORKING MEN O F ALL C O U N T R I E S , U N I T E !
a In the G e r m an editions the end of this sentence reads:
"against the absolute
monarchy, the feudal landowners and philistinism
[Kleinbürgerei]".—Ed.
ON T H E JEWISH Q U E S T I O N 2 4
1. BRUNO BAUER, DIE JUDENFRAGE, BRAUNSCHWEIG,
1843
2. B R U N O BAUER, "DIE FÄHIGKEIT DER HEUTIGEN
JUDEN
UND CHRISTEN, FREI ZU WERDEN". EINUNDZWANZIG
BOGEN
AUS DER SCHWEIZ, PUBLISHED BY GEORG HERWEGH.
ZÜRICH AND WINTF.RTHUR, 1843, pp. 56-71
I
B r u n o B a u e r , Die Judenfrage,
B r a u n s c h w e i g , 1843
T h e German Jews desire emancipation. What kind of
emancipa-
tion do they desire? Civic, political emancipation.
B r u n o Bauer replies to t h e m : No one in Germany is
politically
emancipated. We ourselves are not free. How are we to free

182. you?
You Jews are egoists if you demand a special emancipation for
yourselves as Jews. As Germans, you ought to work for the
political
emancipation of Germany, and as h u m a n beings, for the
emancipa-
tion of mankind, and you should feel the particular kind of your
oppression and your shame not as an exception to the rule, but
on
the contrary as a confirmation of the rule.
Or do the Jews d e m a n d the same status as Christian subjects
of the
state"? In that case they recognise that the Christian state is
justified
and they recognise too the regime of general oppression. Why
should they disapprove of their special yoke if they approve of
the
general yoke? Why should the German be interested in the
liberation
of the Jew, if the Jew is not interested in the liberation of the
German?
T h e Christian state knows only privileges. In this state the Jew
has
the privilege of being a Jew. As a Jew, he has rights which the
Christians do not have. Why should he want rights which he
does not
have, but which the Christians enjoy?
In wanting to be emancipated from the Christian state, the Jew
is
d e m a n d i n g that the Christian state should give u p its
religious
prejudice. Does he, the Jew, give u p his religious prejudice?
Has he

183. then the right to d e m a n d that someone else should renounce
his
religion?
On the Jewish Question 147
By its very nature, the Christian state is incapable of
emancipating
the Jew; but, adds Bauer, by his very nature the Jew cannot be
emancipated. So long as the state is Christian and the Jew is
Jewish,
the one is as incapable of granting emancipation as the other is
of
receiving it.
T h e Christian state can behave towards the Jew only in the
way
characteristic of the Christian state, that is, by granting
privileges, by
permitting the separation of the Jew from the other subjects, but
making him feel the pressure of all the other separate spheres of
society, and feel it all the more intensely because he is in.
religious
opposition to the dominant religion. But the Jew, too, can
behave
towards the state only in a Jewish way, that is, by treating it as
something alien to him, by counterposing his imaginary
nationality
to the real nationality, by counterposing his illusory law to the
real
law, by deeming himself justified in separating himself from
mankind, by abstaining on principle from taking part in the
historical movement, by putting his trust in a future which has
nothing in common with the future of mankind in general, and

184. by
seeing himself as a member of the Jewish people, and the
Jewish
people as the chosen people.
O n what grounds then do you Jews want emancipation? O n
account of your religion? It is the mortal enemy of the state
religion.
As citizens? In Germany there are no citizens. As h u m a n
beings?
But you are no more h u m a n beings than those to whom you
appeal.
Bauer has posed the question of Jewish emancipation in a new
form, after giving a critical analysis of the previous
formulations and
solutions of the question. What, he asks, is the nature of the Jew
who
is to be emancipated and of the Christian state that is to
emancipate
him? He replies by a critique of the Jewish religion, he analyses
the
religious opposition between Judaism and Christianity, he
elucidates
the essence of the Christian state—and he does all this
audaciously,
trenchantly, wittily, and with profundity, in a style of writing
that is
as precise as it is pithy and vigorous.
How then does Bauer solve the Jewish question? What is the
result? T h e formulation of a question is its solution. T h e
critique
of the Jewish question is the answer to the Jewish question. T h
e
summary, therefore, is as follows:

185. We must emancipate ourselves before we can emancipate others.
T h e most rigid form of the opposition between the Jew and the
Christian is the religious opposition. How is an opposition re-
solved? By making it impossible. How is religious opposition
made
impossible? By abolishing religion. As soon as Jew and
Christian
148 Karl Marx
recognise that their respective religions are no m o r e than
different
stages in the development of the human mind, different snake
skins
cast off by history, and that man is the snake who sloughed
them,
the relation of Jew and Christian is no longer religious but is
only a
critical, scientific a n d h u m a n relation. Science t h e n
constitutes their
unity. But contradictions in science are resolved by science
itself.
T h e German Jew in particular is confronted by the general
absence of political emancipation and the strongly marked
Chris-
tian character of the state. In Bauer's conception, however, the
Jewish question has a universal significance, independent of
specifically German conditions. It is the question of the relation
of
religion to the state, of the contradiction between religious
constraint

186. and political emancipation. Emancipation from religion is laid
down
as a condition, both to the Jew who wants to be emancipated
politically, and to the state which is to effect emancipation and
is
itself to be emancipated.
"Very well," it is said, and the Jew himself says it, "the Jew is
to become
emancipated not as a Jew, not because he is a Jew, not because
h e possesses such
an excellent, universally h u m a n principle of morality; on the
contrary, the Jew will
retreat behind the citizen and be a citizen, although he is a Jew
a n d is to remain a
Jew. T h a t is to say, he is and remains a Jew, although he is a
citizen and lives in
universally h u m a n conditions: his Jewish and restricted
nature triumphs always in
the end over his h u m a n and political obligations. T h e
prejudice remains in spite of
being outstripped by general principles. But if it remains, then,
on the contrary, it
outstrips everything else." "Only sophistically, only apparently,
would the Jew be
able to remain .a Jew in the life of the state. Hence, if h e
wanted to remain a Jew,
the mere appearance would become the essential a n d would t r
i u m p h ; that is to say,
his life in the state would be only a semblance or only a
temporary exception to the
essential and the rule." ("Die Fähigkeit der heutigen Juden u n d
Christen, frei zu
w e r d e n " . Einundzwanzig Bogen, p . 57.)
Let us hear, on the other hand, how Bauer presents the task of

187. the state.
"France," he says, "has recently shown u s " (Proceedings of the
Chamber of
Deputies, December 26, 1840) "in connection with the Jewish
question—just as it
has continually done in all other political questions—the
spectacle of a life which is
free, but which revokes its freedom by law, hence declaring it to
be an appearance,
and on the other h a n d contradicting its free laws by its
action." (Die Judenfrage, p .
64.)
"In France, universal freedom is not yet the law, the Jewish
question too has not
yet been solved, because legal freedom—the fact that all
citizens are equal—is
restricted in actual life, which is still dominated and divided by
religious privileges,
and this lack of freedom in actual life reacts on law and
compels the latter to
sanction the division of the citizens, who as such are free, into
oppressed and
oppressors." (P. 65.)
When, therefore, would the Jewish question be solved for
France?
On the Jewish Question 1 4 9
" T h e Jew, for example, would have ceased to be a Jew if he
did not allow
himself to be prevented by his laws from fulfilling his duty to

188. the state and his
fellow citizens, that is, for example, if on the Sabbath he
attended the Chamber of
Deputies and took part in the official proceedings. Every
religious privilege, and
therefore also the monopoly of a privileged church, would have
been abolished
altogether, and if some or many persons, or even the
overwhelming majority, still
believed themselves bound to fulfil religious duties, this
fulfilment ought to be left to
them as a pwefy private matter," (P. 65.) " T h e r e is no longer
any religion when there
is no longer any privileged religion. T a k e from religion its
exclusive power and it
will no longer exist." (P. 66.) "Just as M. Martin du Nord saw
the proposal to omit
mention of Sunday in the law as a motion to declare that
Christianity has ceased to
exist, with equal reason (and this reason is very well founded)
the declaration that
the law of the Sabbath is no longer binding on the Jew would be
a proclamation
abolishing Judaism." (P. 71.)
Bauer therefore demands, on the one hand, that the Jew should
renounce Judaism, and that mankind in general should renounce
religion, in o r d e r to achieve civic emancipation. O n the
other
hand, he quite consistently regards the political abolition of
religion as the abolition of religion as such. T h e state which
presupposes religion is not yet a true, real state.
"Of course, the religious notion affords security to the state.
But to what state?
To what kind of state}" (P. 97.)

189. At this point the one-sided formulation of the Jewish question
becomes evident.
It was by no means sufficient to investigate: Who is to emanci-
pate? Who is to be emancipated? Criticism had to investigate a
third point. It had to inquire: What kind of emancipation is in
question? What conditions follow from the very nature of the
emancipation that is demanded? Only the criticism of political
emancipation itself would have been the conclusive criticism of
the
Jewish question and its real merging in the "general question of
the
time".
Because Bauer does not raise the question to this level, he
becomes entangled in contradictions. He puts forward
conditions
which are not based on the nature of political emancipation
itself.
He raises questions which are not part of his problem, and he
solves problems which leave his question unanswered. When
Bauer says of the opponents of Jewish emancipation: " T h e i r
e r r o r
was only that they assumed the Christian state to be the only
true
one and did not subject it to the same criticism that they applied
to Judaism" (op. cit., p . 3), we find that his e r r o r lies in the
fact
that he subjects to criticism only the "Christian state", not the
"state as such", that he does not investigate the relation of
political
emancipation to human emancipation and therefore puts forward
conditions which can be explained only by uncritical confusion
of

190. 150 Karl Marx
political emancipation with general h u m a n emancipation. If
Bauer
asks the Jews: Have you from your standpoint the right to want
political emancipation? we ask the converse question: Does the
standpoint of political emancipation give the right to d e m a n
d from
the Jew the abolition of Judaism and from man the abolition of
religion?
T h e Jewish question acquires a different form depending on
the
state in which the Jew lives. In Germany, where there is no
political state, no state as such, the Jewish question is a purely
theological one. T h e Jew finds himself in religious opposition
to the
state, which recognises Christianity as its basis. This state is a
theologian ex professo. Criticism here is criticism of theology,
a
double-edged criticism, criticism of Christian theology and of
Jewish theology. Hence, we continue to operate in the sphere of
theology, however much we may operate critically within it.
In France, a constitutional state, the Jewish question is a
question
of constitutionalism, the question of the incompleteness of
political
emancipation. Since the semblance of a state religion is retained
here, although in a meaningless and self-contradictory formula,
that of a religion of the majority, the relation of the Jew to the
state
retains the semblance of a religious, theological opposition.

191. Only in the North American states—at least in some of
them—does the Jewish question lose its theological significance
and
become a really secular question. Only where the political state
exists in its completely developed form can the relation of the
Jew,
and of the religious man in general, to the political state, and
therefore the relation of religion to the state, show itself in its
specific character, in its purity. T h e criticism of this relation
ceases
to be theological criticism as soon as the state ceases to adopt a
theological attitude towards religion, as soon as it behaves
towards
religion as a state, i.e., politically. Criticism then becomes
criticism of
the political state. At this point, where the question ceases to be
theological, Bauer's criticism ceases to be critical.
"Il n'existe aux Etats-Unis ni religion de l'Etat, ni religion
déclarée celle de la majorité
ni prééminence d'un culte sur un autre. L'Etat est étranger à tous
les cultes."3 (Marie ou
l'esclavage aux Etats-Unis, etc., par G. d e Beaumont, [t. II,]
Paris, 1835, p . 214.)
Indeed, there are some North American states where "la
constitution n'impose pas Us
croyances religieuses et la pratique d'un culte comme condition
des privilèges politiques".b
"In the United States there is neither a state religion nor a
religion declared to be that
of the majority, nor the predominance of one cult over another.
The state stands aloof from
all cults."—Ed.
"The constitution does not impose any religious belief or

192. religious practice as a
condition of political rights."—Ed.
On the Jewish Question L5]
(op. cit., p. 225.) Nevertheless, "on ne croit pas aux Etats-Unis
qu'un homme sans
religion puisse être un honnête homme", (op. cit., p. 224.)
Nevertheless, North America is pre-eminently the country of
religiosity, as Beaumont, Tocqueville and the Englishman
Hamil-
ton unanimously assure us. T h e North American states,
however,
serve us only as an example. T h e question is: What is the
relation
of complete political emancipation to religion? If we find that
even
in the country of complete political emancipation, religion not
only
exists, but displays a fresh and vigorous vitality, that is proof
that the
existence of religion is not in contradiction to the perfection of
the
state. Since, however, the existence of religion is the existence
of a
defect, the source of this defect can only be sought in the nature
of
the state itself. We no longer regard religion as the cause, but
only
as the manifestation of secular narrowness. Therefore we
explain
the religious limitations of the free citizens by their secular
limitations. We do not assert that they must overcome their

193. religious narrowness in o r d e r to get rid of their secular
restric-
tions, we assert that they will overcome their religious
narrowness
once they get rid of their secular restrictions. We do not turn
secular questions into theological questions. We t u r n
theological
questions into secular ones. History has long enough been
merged
in superstition, we now merge superstition in history. T h e
ques-
tion of the relation of political emancipation to religion
becomes for
us the question of the relation of political emancipation to
human
emancipation. We criticise the religious weakness of the
political
state by criticising the political • state in its secular form, apart
from
its weaknesses as regards religion. T h e contradiction between
the
state and a particular religion, for instance Judaism, is given by
us a
h u m a n form as the contradiction between the state and
particular
secular elements; the contradiction between the state and
religion in
general as the contradiction between the state and its
presuppositions
in general.
T h e political emancipation of the Jew, the Christian, and in
general of religious man is the emancipation of the state from
Judaism, from Christianity, from religion in general. In its own
form, in the m a n n e r characteristic of its nature, the state as a
state

194. emancipates itself from religion by emancipating itself from the
* "In the United States people do not believe that a man without
religion could be an honest
man."—Ed.
b A. de Tocqueville, De la Démocratie en Amérique; Thomas
Hamilton, Men and
Manners in North America, Edinburgh, 1833, 2 vols. Marx
quotes from the German
translation Die Menschen und die Sitten in den Vereinigten
Staaten von Nordamerika.—Ed.
152 Karl Marx
state religion, that is to say, by the state as a state not
professing any
religion, but, on the contrary, asserting itself as a state. T h e
political emancipation from religion is not a religious
emancipation
that has been carried t h r o u g h to completion and is free from
contradiction, because political emancipation is not a form of
human emancipation which has been carried t h r o u g h to
comple-
tion and is free from contradiction.
T h e limits of political emancipation are evident at once from
the
fact that the state can free itself from a restriction without man
being really free from this restriction, that the state can be a
free
state* without man being a free man. Bauer himself tacitly
admits
this when he lays down the following condition for political

195. emancipation:
"Every religious privilege, and therefore also the monopoly of a
privileged
church, would have been abolished altogether, and if some or
many persons, or
even the overwhelming majority, still believed themselves
bound to fulfil religious duties,
this fulfilment ought to be left to them as a purely private
matter." [Bruno Bauer,
Die Judenfrage, p . 65.]
It is possible, therefore, for the state to have emancipated itself
from religion even if the overwhelming majority is still
religious.
And the overwhelming majority does not cease to be religious
through being religious in private.
But the attitude of the state, and of the republic* in particular,
to
religion is after all only the attitude to religion of the men who
compose the state. It follows from this that man frees himself
t h r o u g h the medium of the state, that he frees himself
politically
from a limitation when, in contradiction with himself, he raises
himself above this limitation in an abstract, limited, and partial
way.
It follows further that, by freeing himself politically, man frees
himself in a roundabout way, t h r o u g h an intermediary,
although an
essential intermediary. It follows, finally, that man, even if he
proclaims himself an atheist through the medium of the state,
that
is, if he proclaims the state to be atheist, still remains in the
grip of
religion, precisely because he acknowledges himself only by a

196. roundabout route, only through an intermediary. Religion is
precisely the recognition of man in a roundabout way, t h r o u g
h an
intermediary. T h e state is the intermediary between man and
man's
freedom. Just as Christ is the intermediary to whom man
transfers
the b u r d e n of all his divinity, all his religious constraint, so
the state
is the intermediary to whom man transfers all his non-divinity
and
all his human unconstraint.
a A p u n on the word Freistaat, i. e., republic, for if it is taken
literally, it means
"free state".
On the Jewish Question 153
T h e political elevation of man above religion shares all the
defects and all the advantages of political elevation in general.
T h e
state as a state annuls, for instance, private property, man
declares
by political means that private property is abolished as soon as
the
property qualification for the right to elect or be elected is
abolished,
as has occurred in many states of North America. Hamilton
quite
correctly interprets this fact from a political point of view as
meaning: "the masses have won a victory over the property
owners and
financial wealth".* Is not private property abolished in idea if

197. the
non-property owner has become the legislator for the property
owner? T h e property qualification for the suffrage is the last
political
form of giving recognition to private property.
Nevertheless the political annulment of private property not
only
fails to abolish private property but even presupposes it. T h e
state
abolishes, in its own way, distinctions of birth, social rank,
education,
occupation, when it declares that birth, social rank, education
occupation, are non-political distinctions, when it proclaims,
without
regard to these distinctions, that every member of the nation is
an
equal participant in national sovereignty, when it treats all
elements
of the real life of the nation from the standpoint of the state.
Nevertheless, the state allows private property, education,
occupa-
tion, to act in their way, i. e., as private property, as education,
as
occupation, and to exert the influence of their special n a t u r e
. Far
from abolishing these real distinctions, the state only exists on
the
presupposition of their existence; it feels itself to be a political
state
and asserts its universality only in opposition to these elements
of
its being. Hegel therefore defines the relation of the political
state to
religion quite correctly when he says:

198. "In order [...] that the state should come into existence as the
self-knowing,
moral reality of the mind, its distinction from the form of
authority and faith is
essential. But this distinction emerges only insofar as the
ecclesiastical aspect arrives
at a separation within itself. It is only in this way that the state,
above the particular
churches, has achieved and b r o u g h t into existence
universality of t h o u g h t , which is
the principle of its f o r m " (Hegel's Rechtsphilosophie, 1st
edition, p . 346).
Of course! Only in this way, above the particular elements, does
the state constitute itself as universality.
T h e perfect political state is, by its nature, man's species-life,
as
opposed to his material life. All the preconditions of this
egoistic life
continue to exist in civil society outside the sphere of the state,
but
a Thomas Hamilton, Die Menschen und die Sitten in den
Vereinigten Staaten von
Nordamerica, Bd. 1, S. 146.—Ed.
b Hegel, Grundlinien der Philosophie des Rechts. In this
quotation words empha-
sised by Marx are set in bold italics, words emphasised by both
Marx and Hegel
in italics.—Ed.
154 Karl Marx

199. as qualities of civil society. Where the political state has
attained its
t r u e development, man—not only in thought, in
consciousness,
but in reality, in life—leads a twofold life, a heavenly and an
earthly life: life in the political community, in which he
considers
himself a communal being, and life in civil society, in which he
acts
as a private individual, regards other men as a means, degrades
himself into a means, and becomes the plaything of alien
powers.
T h e relation of the political state to civil society is just as
spiritual
as the relation of heaven to earth. T h e political state stands in
the
same opposition to civil society, and it prevails over the latter
in
the same way as religion prevails over the narrowness of the
secular world, i.e., by likewise having always to acknowledge
it, to
restore it, and allow itself to be dominated by it. In his most
immediate reality, in civil society, man is a secular being. H e r
e ,
where he regards himself as a real individual, and is so regarded
by others, he is a fictitious p h e n o m e n o n . In the state, on
the other
hand, where man is regarded as a species-being, he is the
imaginary member of an illusory sovereignty, is deprived of his
real individual life and endowed with an unreal universality.
Man, as the a d h e r e n t of a particular religion, finds himself
in
conflict with his citizenship and with other men as members of
the

200. community. This conflict reduces itself to the secular division
between the political state and civil society. For man as a
bourgeois,"
"life in the state" is "only a semblance or a temporary exception
to the essential and the rule". b Of course, the bourgeois, like
the
Jew, remains only sophistically in the sphere of political life,
just as
the citoyen only sophistically remains a Jew or a bourgeois. But
this
sophistry is not personal. It is the sophistry of the political state
itself.
T h e difference between the religious man and the citizen is the
difference between the merchant and the citizen, between the
day-labourer and the citizen, between the landowner and the
citizen, between the living individual and the citizen. T h e
contradic-
tion in which the religious man finds himself with the political
man is the same contradiction in which the bourgeois finds
himself
with the citoyen, and the member of civil society with his
political
lion's skin.
This secular conflict, to which the Jewish question ultimately
reduces itself, the relation between the political state and its
preconditions, whether these are material elements, such as
private
property, etc., or spiritual elements, such as culture or religion,
a Here meaning a member of civil society.—Ed.
B r u n o Bauer, "Die Fähigkeit der heutigen Juden u n d
Christen, frei zu
werden", p . 57 (see also this volume, p. 148).—Ed.

201. O n the Jewish Question 155
the conflict between the general interest and private interest, the
schism between the political state and civil society—these
secular
antitheses Bauer allows to persist, whereas he conducts a
polemic
against their religious expression.
"It is precisely the basis of civil society, the need that ensures
the continuance of
this society and guarantees its necessity, which exposes its
existence to continual
dangers, maintains in it an element of uncertainty, and produces
that continually
changing mixture of poverty and riches, of distress and
prosperity, and brings
about change in general." (P. 8.)
Compare the whole section: "Civil Society" (pp. 8-9), which has
been drawn u p along the basic lines of Hegel's philosophy of
law.
Civil society, in its opposition to the political state, is
recognised as
necessary, because the political state is recognised as necessary.
Political emancipation is, of course, a big step forward. T r u e ,
it
is not the final form of h u m a n emancipation in general, but it
is
the final form of h u m a n emancipation within the hitherto
existing
world order. It goes without saying that we are speaking here of
real, practical emancipation.

202. Man ^emancipates himself politically from religion by
banishing it
from the sphere of public law to that of private law. Religion is
no
longer the spirit of the state, in which man behaves—although
in a
limited way, in a particular form, and in a particular sphere—as
a
species-being, in community with other men. Religion has
become
the spirit of civil society, of the sphere of egoism, of bellum
omnium
contra omnes. It is no longer the essence of community, but the
essence of difference. It has become the expression of man's
separation from his community, from himself and from other
men — as it was originally. It is only the abstract avowal of
specific
perversity, private whimsy, and arbitrariness. T h e endless
fragmen-
tation of religion in North America, for example, gives it even
externally the form of a purely individual affair. It has been
thrust
among the multitude of private interests and ejected from the
community as such. But one should be u n d e r no illusion
about the
limits of political emancipation. T h e division of the h u m a n
being
into a public man and a private man, the displacement of
religion
from the state into civil society, this is not a stage of political
emancipation but its completion; this emancipation therefore
neither
abolishes the real religiousness of man, nor strives to do so.
T h e decomposition of man into Jew and citizen, Protestant and

203. citizen, religious man and citizen, is neither a deception
directed
against citizenhood, nor is it a circumvention of political
emancipa-
tion, it is political emancipation itself, the political method of
emancipating oneself from religion. Of course, in periods when
156 Karl Marx
the political state as such is born" violently out of civil society,
when
political liberation is the form in which men strive to achieve
their
liberation, the state can and must go as far as the abolition of
religion, the destruction of religion. But it can do so only in the
same way that<it proceeds to the abolition of private property,
to
the maximum, to confiscation, to progressive taxation, just as it
goes as far as the abolition of life, the guillotine. At times of
special
self-confidence, political life seeks to suppress its prerequisite,
civil
society and the elements composing this society, and to
constitute
itself as the real species-life of man devoid of contradictions.
But it
can achieve this only by coming into violent contradiction with
its
own conditions of life, only by declaring the revolution to be
permanent, and therefore the political d r a m a necessarily ends
with
the re-establishment of religion, private property, and all
elements
of civil society, just as war ends with peace.

204. Indeed, the perfect Christian state is not the so-called Christian
state, which acknowledges Christianity as its basis, as the state
religion, and therefore adopts an exclusive attitude towards
other
religions. O n the contrary, the perfect Christian state is the
atheistic state, the democratic state, the state which relegates
religion
to a place among the other elements of civil society. T h e state
which is still theological, which still officially professes
Christianity
as its creed, which still does not dare to proclaim itself as a
state,
has, in its reality as a state, not yet succeeded in expressing the
human basis—of which Christianity is the high-flown expres-
sion—in a secular, human form. T h e so-called Christian state
is
simply nothing more than a non-state, since it is not
Christianity as
a religion, but only the human background of the Christian
religion,
which can find its expression in actual h u m a n creations.
T h e so-called Christian state is the Christian negation of the
state, but by no means the political realisation of Christianity. T
h e
state which still professes Christianity in the form of religion,
does
not yet profess it in the form appropriate to the state, for it still
has a religious attitude towards religion, that is to say, it is not
the
true implementation of the h u m a n basis of religion, because
it still
relies on the unreal, imaginary form of this h u m a n core. T h e
so-called Christian state is the imperfect state, and the Christian
religion is regarded by it as the supplementation and

205. sanctification of
its imperfection. For the Christian state, therefore, religion
necessarily becomes a means; hence it is a hypocritical state. It
makes a great difference whether the complete state, because of
the
defect inherent in the general nature of the state, counts religion
among its presuppositions, or whether the incomplete state,
because
On the Jewish Question 157
of the defect inherent in its particular existence as a defective
state,
declares that religion is its basis. In the latter case, religion
becomes imperfect politics. In the former case, the imperfection
even of consummate politics becomes evident in religion. T h e
so-called Christian state needs the Christian religion in o r d e r
to
complete itself 05 a state. T h e democratic state, the real state,
does
not need religion for its political completion. O n the contrary,
it
can disregard religion because in it the h u m a n basis of
religion is
realised in a secular manner. T h e so-called Christian state, on
the
other h a n d , has a political attitude to religion and a religious
attitude to politics. By degrading the forms of the state to mere
semblance, it equally degrades religion to mere semblance.
In o r d e r to make this contradiction clearer, let us consider
Bauer's projection of the Christian state, a projection based on
his
observation of the Christian-German state.

206. "Recently," says Bauer, "in order to prove the impossibility or
non-existence of a
Christian state, reference has frequently been made to those
sayings in the Gospel
with which the [present-day] state not only does not comply, but
cannot possibly comply,
if it does not want to dissolve itself completely [as a state]."
"But the matter cannot be
disposed of so easily. What do these Gospel sayings demand?
Supernatural
renunciation of self, submission to the authority of revelation, a
turning-away from
the state, the abolition of secular conditions. Well, the Christian
state demands and
accomplishes all that. It has assimilated the spirit of the Gospel,
and if it does not
reproduce this spirit in the same terms as the Gospel, that
occurs only because it
expresses this spirit in political forms, i.e., in forms which, it is
true, are taken from
the political system in this world, but which in the religious
rebirth that they have
to undergo become degraded to a mere semblance. This is a
turning-away from the
state while making use of political forms for its realisation." (P.
55.)
Bauer then explains that the people of a Christian state is only a
non-people, no longer having a will of its own, but whose true
existence lies in the leader to whom it is subjected, although
this
leader by his origin a n d nature is alien to it, i.e., given by God
and
imposed on the people without any co-operation on its part.
Bauer declares that the laws of such a people are not its own

207. creation, but are actual revelations, that its supreme chief needs
privileged intermediaries with the people in the strict sense,
with
the masses, and that the masses themselves are divided into a
multitude of particular groupings which are formed and deter-
mined by chance, which are differentiated by their interests,
their
particular passions and prejudices, and obtain permission, as a
privilege, to isolate themselves from one another, etc. (P. 56.)
However, Bauer himself says:
"Politics, if it is to be nothing but religion, ought not to be
politics, just as the
cleaning of saucepans, if it is to be accepted as a religious
matter, ought not to be
regarded as a matter of domestic economy." (P. 108.)
158 Karl Marx
In the Christian-German state, however, religion is an
"economic matter" just as "economic matters" belong to the
sphere of religion. T h e domination of religion in the Christian-
German state is the religion of domination.
T h e separation of the "spirit of the Gospel" from the "letter of
the Gospel" is an irreligious act. A state which makes the
Gospel
speak in the language of politics, that is, in another language
than
that of the Holy Ghost, commits sacrilege, if not in h u m a n
eyes,
then in the eyes of its own religion. T h e state which
acknowledges

208. Christianity as its supreme criterion and the Bible as its
Charter,
must be confronted with the words of Holy Scripture, for every
word of Scripture is holy. This state, as well as the human
rubbish
on which it is based, is caught in a painful contradiction that is
insoluble from the standpoint of religious consciousness when it
is
referred to those sayings of the Gospel with which it "not only
does not comply, but cannot possibly comply, if it does not
want to
dissolve itself completely as a state". And why does it not want
to
dissolve itself completely? T h e state itself cannot give an
answer
either to itself or to others. In its own consciousness the official
Christian state is an imperative, the realisation of which is
unattain-
able, the state can assert the reality of its existence only by
lying to
itself, and therefore always remains in its own eyes an object of
doubt, an unreliable, problematic object. Criticism is therefore
fully justified in forcing the state that relies on the Bible into a
mental d e r a n g e m e n t in which it no longer knows whether
it is an
illusion or a reality, and in which the infamy of its secular aims,
for
which religion serves as a cloak, comes into insoluble conflict
with
the sincerity of its religious consciousness, for which religion
appears as the aim of the world. This state can only save itself
from its inner torment if it becomes the police agent of the
Catholic
Church. In relation to the church, which declares the secular
power to be its servant, the state is powerless, the secular power
which claims to be the rule of the religious spirit is powerless.

209. It is indeed estrangement which matters in the so-called
Christian
state, but not man. T h e only man who counts, the king, is a
being
specifically different from other men, and is moreover a
religious
being, directly linked with heaven, with God. T h e
relationships
which prevail here are still relationships d e p e n d e n t on
faith. T h e
religious spirit, therefore, is still not really secularised.
But, furthermore, the religious spirit cannot be really secular-
ised, for what is it in itself but the non-secular form of a stage
in
the development of the h u m a n mind? T h e religious spirit
can only
be secularised insofar as the stage of development of the h u m
a n
On the Jewish Question 159
mind of which it is the religious expression makes its
appearance
and becomes constituted in its secular form. This takes place in
the
democratic state. Not Christianity, but the human basis of
Christiani-
ty is the basis of this state. Religion remains the ideal, non-
secular
consciousness of its members, because religion is the ideal form
of
the stage of human development achieved in this state.

210. T h e members of the political state are religious owing to the
dualism between individual life and species-life, between the
life of
civil society and political life. They are religious because men
treat
the political life of the state, an area beyond their real
individuali-
ty, as if it were their true life. They are religious insofar as
religion here is the spirit of civil society, expressing the
separation
and remoteness of man from man. Political democracy is
Christian
since in it man, not merely one man but every man, ranks as
sovereign, as the highest being, b u t it is man in his
uncivilised,
unsocial form, man in his fortuitous existence, man just as he is,
man as he has been corrupted by the whole organisation of our
society, who has lost himself, been alienated, and handed over
to
the rule of i n h u m a n conditions and elements — in short,
man who
is not yet a real species-being. T h a t which is a creation of
fantasy, a
dream, a postulate of Christianity, i.e., the sovereignty of
man—but man as an alien being different from the real
man—becomes in democracy tangible reality, present existence,
and secular principle.
In the perfect democracy, the religious and theological con-
sciousness itself is in its own eyes the more religious and the
more
theological because it is apparently without, political
significance,
without worldly aims, the concern of a disposition that shuns
the

211. world, the expression of intellectual narrow-mindedness, the
pro-
duct of arbitrariness and fantasy, and because it is a life that is
really of the other world. Christianity attains here the practical
expression of its universal-religious significance in that the
most
diverse world outlooks are grouped alongside one another in the
form of Christianity and still more because it does not require
other people to profess Christianity, but only religion in
general,
any kind of religion (cf. Beaumont's work quoted above). T h e
religious consciousness revels in the wealth of religious contra-
dictions and religious diversity.
We have thus shown that political emancipation from religion
leaves religion in existence, although not a privileged religion.
T h e
contradiction in which the a d h e r e n t of a particular religion
finds
himself involved in relation to his citizenship is only one aspect
of
the universal secular contradiction between the political state
and civil
160 Karl Marx
society. T h e consummation of the Christian state is the state
which
acknowledges itself as a state and disregards the religion of its
members. T h e emancipation of the state from religion is not
the
emancipation of the real man from religion.
Therefore we do not say to the Jews as Bauer does: You cannot

212. be emancipated politically without emancipating yourselves
radical-
ly from Judaism. O n the contrary, we tell t h e m : Because you
can
be emancipated politically without renouncing Judaism
completely
and incontrovertibly, political emancipation itself is not human
emancipation. If you Jews want to be emancipated politically
without emancipating yourselves humanly, the half-hearted ap-
proach and contradiction is not in you alone, it is inherent in the
nature and category of political emancipation. If you find
yourself
within the confines of this category, you share in a general
confinement. Just as the state evangelises when, although it is a
state, it adopts a Christian attitude towards the Jews, so the Jew
acts politically when, although a Jew, he demands civic rights.
But if a man, although a Jew, can be emancipated politically
and
receive civic rights, can he lay claim to the so-called rights oif
man
and receive them? Bauer denies it.
"The question is whether the Jew as such, that is, the Jew who
himself admits
that he is compelled by his true nature to live permanently in
separation from
other men, is capable of receiving the universal rights of man
and of conceding them
to others."
"For the Christian world, the idea of the rights of man was only
discovered in
the last century. It is not innate in men; on the contrary, it is
gained only in a
struggle against the historical traditions in which hitherto man

213. was brought up.
Thus the rights of man are not a gift of nature, not a legacy
from past history, but
the reward of the struggle against the accident of birth and
against the privileges
which up to now have been handed down by history from
generation to
generation. These rights are the result of culture, and only one
who has earned
and deserved them can possess them."
"Can the Jew really take possession of them? As long as he is a
Jew, the
restricted nature which makes him a Jew is bound to triumph
over the human
nature which should link him as a man with other men, and will
separate him from
non-Jews. He declares by this separation that the particular
nature which makes
him a Jew is his true, highest nature, before which human nature
has to give way."
"Similarly, the Christian as a Christian cannot grant the rights
of man." (P. 19,
20.)
According to Bauer, man has to sacrifice the "privilege of faith"
to be able to receive the universal rights of m a n . Let us
examine
for a moment the so-called rights of man, to be precise, the
rights
of man in their authentic form, in the form which they have
among those who discovered them, the North Americans and the
French. These rights of man are in part political rights, rights
which can only be exercised in a community with others. T h e i
r

214. On the Jewish Question 161
content is participation in the community, and specifically in
the
political community, in the life of the state. They come within
the
category of political freedom, the category of civic rights,
which, as
we have seen, in no way presuppose the incontrovertible and
positive abolition of religion, nor therefore of Judaism. There
remains to be examined the other part of the rights of man, the
droits de l'homme,* insofar as these differ from the droits du
citoyen.*
Included among them is freedom of conscience, the right to
practise any religion one chooses. The privilege of faith is
expressly
recognised either as a right of man or as the consequence of a
right
of man, that of liberty.
Déclaration des droits de l'homme et du citoyen, 1791, article
10: "Nul ne doit être
inquiété pour ses opinions même religieuses."0 "La liberté à
tout homme d'exercer
le culte religieux auquel il est attaché"d is guaranteed as a right
of man in Section I
of the Constitution of 1791.
Declaration des droits de l'homme, etc., 1793, includes among
the rights of man,
Article 7: "Le libre exercice des cultes.'" Indeed, in regard to
man's right to

215. express his thoughts and opinions, to hold meetings, and to
exercise his religion, it
is even stated: "La nécessité d'énoncer ces droits suppose ou la
présence ou le
souvenir récent du despotisme."f Compare the Constitution of
1795, Section XIV,
Article 3 5 4 . "
Constitution de Pensylvanie, article 9, § 3: "Tous les hommes
ont reçu de la
nature le droit imprescriptible d'adorer le Tout-Puissant selon
les inspirations de leur
conscience, et nul ne peut légalement être contraint de suivre,
instituer ou soutenir
contre son gré aucun culte ou ministère religieux. Nulle autorité
humaine ne peut,
dans aucun cas, intervenir dans les questions de conscience et
contrôler les pouvoirs
de l'âme."«
Constitution de New-Hampshire, article 5 et 6: "Au nombre des
droits naturels,
quelques-uns sont inaliénables de leur nature, parce que rien
n'en peut être
1 équivalent. De ce nombre sont les droits de conscience."
(Beaumont, op. cit., [t.
11,1 pp. 213, 214.)
1 Rights of man.—Ed.
b Rights of the citizen.—Ed.
c Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, 1791,
Article 10: "No one is to
be subjected to annoyance because of his opinions, even
religious opinions."—Ed.
"The freedom of every man to practise the religion of which he

216. is an
adherent."—Ed.
e The Declaration of the Rights of Man, etc., 1793, "The free
exercise of
religion."—Ed.
"The necessity of proclaiming these rights presupposes either
the existence or
the recent memory of despotism."—Ed.
9 Constitution of Pennsylvania, Article 9, § 3: "All men have
received from nature
the imprescriptible right to worship the Almighty according to
the dictates of their
conscience, and no one can be legally compelled to follow,
establish or support
against his will any religion or religious ministry. No human
authority can, in any
circumstances, intervene in a matter of conscience or control
the forces of the
soul."—Ed.
h Constitution of New Hampshire, Articles 5 and 6: "Among
these natural rights
some are by nature inalienable since nothing can replace them.
The rights of
conscience are among them."—Ed.
162 Karl Marx
Incompatibility between religion and the rights of man is to
such

217. a degree absent from the concept of the rights of man that, on
the
contrary, a man's right to be religious in any way he chooses, to
practise his own particular religion, is expressly included
among
the rights of m a n . T h e privilege of faith is a universal right
of man.
T h e droits de l'homme, the rights of man, are as such distinct
from
the droits du citoyen, the rights of the citizen. Who is homme as
distinct from citoyen? None other than the member of civil
society.
Why is the member of civil society called " m a n " , simply
man; why
are his rights called the rights of man} How is this fact to be
explained? From the relationship between the political state and
civil society, from the nature of political emancipation.
Above all, we note the fact that the so-called rights of man, the
droits de l'homme as distinct from the droits du citoyen, are
nothing
but the rights of a member of civil society, i. e., the rights of
egoistic
man, of man separated from other men and from the community.
Let us hear what the most radical Constitution, the Constitution
of
1793, has to say:
Déclaration des droits de l'homme et du citoyen.
Article 2. "Ces droits, etc. (les droits naturels et
imprescriptibles) sont: YégaÀité, la
liberté, la sûreté, la propriété."1
What constitutes liberty?

218. Article 6. "La liberté est le pouvoir qui appartient à l'homme de
faire tout ce qui
ne nuit pas aux droits d'autrui", or, according to the Declaration
of the Rights of
Man of 1791: "La liberté consiste à pouvoir faire tout ce qui ne
nuit pas à autrui."b
Liberty, therefore, is the right to do everything that harms no
one else. T h e limits within which anyone can act without
harming
someone else are defined by law, just as the boundary between
two fields is determined by a boundary post. It is a question of
the
liberty of man as an isolated monad, withdrawn into himself.
Why
is the Jew, according to Bauer, incapable of acquiring the rights
of
man?
"As long as he is a Jew, the restricted nature which makes him a
Jew is bound
to triumph over the human nature which should link him as a
man with other
men, and will separate him from non-Jews."
But the right of m a n to liberty is based not on the association
of
man with man, but on the separation of man from man. It is the
a Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. Article 2.
"These rights, etc.,
(the natural and imprescriptible rights) are: equality, liberty,
security, properly."—Ed.
b Article 6. "Liberty is the power which man has to do

219. everything that does not
harm the rights of others", or... "Liberty consists in being able
to do everything
which does not harm others."—Ed.
On the Jewish Question 163
right of this separation, the right of the restricted individual,
withdrawn into himself.
T h e practical application of man's right to liberty is man's
right
to private property.
What constitutes man's right to private property?
Article 16 (Constitution de 1793): "Le droit de propriété est
celui qui appartient à
tout citoyen de jouir et de disposer à son gré de ses biens, de
ses revenus, du fruit
de son travail et de son i n d u s t r i e . " 3
T h e right of man to private property is, therefore, the right to
enjoy one's property and to dispose of it at one's discretion (à
son
gré), without regard to other men, independently of society, the
right of self-interest. This individual liberty and its application
form the basis of civil society. It makes every man see in other
men not the realisation of his own freedom, but the barrier to it.
But, above all, it proclaims the right of man
"de jouir et de disposer à son gré de ses biens, de ses revenus,
du fruit de son
travail et d e son industrie".

220. T h e r e remain the other rights of man: égalité and sûreté.
Égalité, used h e r e in its non-political sense, is nothing but the
equality of the liberté described above, namely: each man is to
the
same extent regarded as such a self-sufficient monad. T h e
Constitution of 1795 defines the concept of this equality, in
accordance with its significance, as follows:
Article 3 (Constitution d e 1795): "L'égalité consiste en ce q u e
la loi est la même
p o u r tous, soit qu'elle protège, soit qu'elle punisse." 0
And sûreté?
Article 8 (Constitution de 1793): "La sûreté consiste dans la
protection accordée
par la société à chacun d e ses membres p o u r la conservation
d e sa personne, d e ses
droits et de ses propriétés."
Security is the highest social concept of civil society, the
concept
of police, expressing the fact that the whole of society exists
only in
o r d e r to guarantee to each of its members the preservation of
his
person, his rights, and his property. It is in this sense that Hegel
calls civil society "the state of need and reason".0
* Article 16 (Constitution of 1793): " T h e right of property is
that which every
citizen has of enjoying and of disposing at his discretion of his
goods and income, of
the fruits of his labour and industry."—Ed.

221. "of enjoying and of disposing at his discretion of his goods a n
d income, of the
fruits of his labour and industry".—Ed.
c Article 3 (Constitution of 1795): "Equality consists in the law
being the same
for all, whether it protects o r punishes."—Ed.
d Article 8 (Constitution of 1793): "Security consists in the
protection afforded
by society to each of its members for t h e preservation of his
person, his rights, a n d
his property."—Ed.
é Hegel, Grundlinien der Philosophie des Rechts. Werke. Bd. V
I I I , S. 242.—Ed.
164 Karl Marx
T h e concept of security does not raise civil society above its
egoism. O n the contrary, security is the insurance of its
egoism.
None of the so-called rights of man, therefore, go beyond
egoistic man, beyond man as a member of civil society, that is,
an
individual withdrawn into himself, into the confines of his
private
interests and private caprice, and separated from the
community.
In the rights of man, he is far from being conceived as a
species-being; on the contrary, species-life itself, society,
appears as

222. a framework external to the individuals, as a restriction of their
original independence. T h e sole bond holding them together is
natural necessity, need and private interest, the preservation of
their property and their egoistic selves.
It is puzzling enough that a people which is just beginning to
liberate itself, to tear down all the barriers between its various
sections, and to establish a political community, that such a
people
solemnly proclaims (Declaration of 1791) the rights of egoistic
man
separated from his fellow men and from the community, and
that
indeed it repeats this proclamation at a moment when only the
most heroic devotion can save the nation, and is therefore
imperatively called for, at a moment when the sacrifice of all
the
interests of civil society must be the o r d e r of the day, and
egoism
must be punished as a crime. (Declaration of the Rights of Man,
etc., of 1793.) This fact becomes still more puzzling when we
see
that the political emancipators go so far as to reduce
citizenship,
and the political community, to a mere means for maintaining
these
so-called rights of man, that therefore the citoyen is declared to
be
the servant of egoistic homme, that the sphere in which man
acts as
a communal being is degraded to a level below the sphere in
which
he acts as a partial being, and that, finally, it is not man as
citoyen, b u t
man as bourgeois who is considered to be the essential and true
man.

223. "Le but de toute association politique est la conservation des
droits naturels et
imprescriptibles de l'homme." (Déclaration des droits, etc., de
1791, article 2.) "Le
gouvernement est institué pour garantir à l'homme la jouissance
de ses droits
naturels et imprescriptibles." (Déclaration, etc., de 1793, article
1.)
Hence even in moments when its enthusiasm still has the
freshness of youth and is intensified to an extreme degree by the
force of circumstances, political life declares itself to be a mere
means, whose purpose is the life of civil society. It is true that
its
a "The aim of all political association is the preservation of the
natural and
imprescriptible rights o f man." (Declaration of the Rights, etc.,
of 1791, Article 2.)
"Government is instituted in order to guarantee man the
enjoyment of his natural
and imprescriptible rights." (Declaration, etc., of 1793, Article
1.)—Ed.
On the Jewish Question 165
revolutionary practice is in flagrant contradiction with its
theory.
Whereas, for example, security is declared one of the rights of
man, violation of the privacy of correspondence is openly
declared
to be the o r d e r of the day. Whereas the "liberté indéfinie de
la

224. p r e s s e " 3 (Constitution of 1793, Article 122) is guaranteed
as a
consequence of the right of man to individual liberty, freedom
of
the press is totally destroyed, because "la liberté de la presse ne
doit pas être permise lorsqu'elle compromet la liberté
publique".b
(Robespierre j e u n e , Histoire parlementaire de la Révolution
française
par Bûchez et Roux, T . 28, p . 159.) T h a t is to say, therefore:
T h e
right of man to liberty ceases to be a right as soon as it comes
into
conflict with political life, whereas in theory political life is
only the
guarantee of h u m a n rights, the rights of the individual, and
therefore must be abandoned as soon as it comes into contradic-
tion with its aim, with these rights of man. But practice is
merely
the exception, theory is the rule. But even if one were to regard
revolutionary practice as the correct presentation of the
relation-
ship, there would still remain the puzzle of why the relationship
is
t u r n e d upside-down in the minds of the political
emancipators and
the aim appears as the means, while the means appears as the
aim.
This optical illusion of their consciousness would still remain a
puzzle, although now a psychological, a theoretical puzzle.
T h e puzzle is easily solved.
Political emancipation is at the same time the dissolution of the
old society on which the state alienated from the people, the

225. sovereign power, is based. Political revolution is a revolution of
civil society. What was the character of the old society? It can
be
described in one word—feudalism. T h e character of the old
civil
society was directly political, that is to say, the elements of
civil life,
for example, property, or the family, or the mode of labour,
were
raised to the level of elements of political life in the form of
seigniory, estates, and corporations. In this form they
determined
the relation of the individual to the state as a whole, i.e., his
political
relation, that is, his relation of separation and exclusion from
the
other components of society. For that organisation of national
life
did not raise property or labour to the level of social elements;
on
the contrary, it completed their separation from the state as a
whole
and constituted them as discrete societies within society. T h u s
, the
vital functions and conditions of life of civil society remained
nevertheless political, although political in the feudal sense,
that is
a "Unlimited freedom of the press".—Ed.
b "Freedom of the press should not be permitted when it
endangers public
liberty."—Ed.

226. 166 Karl Marx
to say, they secluded the individual from the state as a whole
and
they converted the particular relation of his corporation to the
state
as a whole into his general relation to the life of the nation, just
as
they converted his particular civil activity and situation into his
general activity and situation. As a result of this organisation,
the
unity of the state, and also the consciousness, will and activity
of
this unity, the general power of the state, are likewise b o u n d
to
appear as the particular affair of a ruler isolated from the
people,
and of his servants.
T h e political revolution which overthrew this sovereign power
and raised state affairs to become affairs of the people, which
constituted the political state as a matter of general concern,
that is,
as a real state, necessarily smashed all estates, corporations,
guilds,
and privileges, since they were all manifestations of the
separation
of the people from the community. T h e political revolution
thereby abolished the political character of civil society. It
broke u p
civil society into its simple component parts; on the one hand,
the
individuals; on the other h a n d , the material and spiritual
elements
constituting the content of the life a n d social position of these
individuals. It set free the political spirit, which had been, as it

227. were, split u p , partitioned and dispersed in the various blind
alleys
of feudal society. It gathered the dispersed parts of the political
spirit, freed it from its intermixture with civil life, and
established
it as the sphere of the community, the general concern of the
nation, ideally i n d e p e n d e n t of those particular elements
of civil life.
A person's distinct activity and distinct situation in life were
reduced to a merely individual significance. They no longer
constituted the general relation of the individual to the state as
a
whole. Public affairs as such, on the other hand, became the
general affair of each individual, and the political function
became
the individual's general function.
But the completion of the idealism of the state was at the same
time the completion of the materialism of civil society.
Throwing
off the political yoke meant at the same time throwing off the
bonds which restrained the egoistic spirit of civil society.
Political
emancipation was at the same time the emancipation of civil
society from politics, from having even the semblance of a
universal
content.
Feudal society was resolved into its basic element—man, but
man as he really formed its basis—egoistic man.
This man, the member of civil society, is thus the basis, the
precondition, of the political state. H e is recognised as such by
this
state in the rights of man.

228. On the Jewish Question 167
T h e liberty of egoistic man and the recognition of this liberty,
however, is rather the recognition of the unrestrained movement
of
the spiritual and material elements which form the content of
his
life.
Hence man was not freed from religion, he received religious
freedom. He was not freed from property, he received freedom
to
own property. He was not freed from the egoism of business, he
received freedom to engage in business.
T h e establishment of the political state and the dissolution of
civil
society into i n d e p e n d e n t individuals—whose relations
with one
another depend on law, just as the relations of men in the
system
of estates and guilds d e p e n d e d on privilege—is
accomplished by
one and the same act. Man as a member of civil society,
unpolitical
man, inevitably appears, however, as the natura/ man. T h e
droits de
l'homme appear as droits naturels, because conscious activity is
concentrated on the political act. Egoistic m a n is the passive
result of
the dissolved society, a result that is simply found in existence,
an
object of immediate certainty, therefore a natural object. T h e
political

229. revolution resolves civil life into its component parts, without
revolutionising these components themselves or subjecting them
to
criticism. It regards civil society, the world of needs, labour,
private interests, civil law, as the basis of its existence, as a
precondition not requiring further substantiation and therefore
as its
natural basis. Finally, man as a member of civil society is held
to
be man in the proper sense, homme as distinct from the citoyen,
because
he is man in his sensuous, individual, immediate existence,
whereas
political man is only abstract, artificial man, man as an
allegorical,
juridical person. T h e real man is recognised only in the shape
of the
egoistic individual, the true man is recognised only in the shape
of the
abstract citoyen.
Therefore Rousseau correctly describes the abstract idea of
political m a n as follows:
"Celui qui ose entreprendre d'instituer un peuple doit se sentir
en état de
changer pour ainsi dire la nature humain«, de transformer
chaque individu, qui par
lui-même est un tout parfait et solitaire, en partie d'un plus
grand tout dont cet
individu reçoive en quelque sorte sa vie et son être, de
substituer une existence
partielle et morale à l'existence physique et indépendante. Il
faut qu'il ôte à l'homme
ses forces propres pour lui en donner qui lui soient étrangères et
dont il ne puisse

230. faire usage sans le secours d'autrui."* (Contrat Social, livre II,
Londres, 1782,
P- 67.)
a "Whoever dares undertake to establish a people's institutions
must feel him-
self capable of changing, as it were, human nature, of
trans/orming each individual,
who by himself is a complete and solitary whole, into a part of a
larger whole, from
which, in a sense, the individual receives his life and his being,
of substituting a
168 Karl Marx
AW emancipation is a reduction of the h u m a n world and
relationships to man himself.
Political emancipation is the reduction of man, on the one hand,
to a member of civil society, to an egoistic, independent
individual,
and, on the other hand, to a citizen, a juridical person.
Only when the real, individual man re-absorbs in himself the
abstract citizen, and as an individual h u m a n being has
become a
species-being in his everyday life, in his particular work, and in
his
particular situation, only when man has recognised and
organised
his "forces propres"* as social forces, and consequently no
longer
separates social power from himself in the shape of political
power,

231. only then will h u m a n emancipation have been accomplished.
II
" D i e F ä h i g k e i t d e r h e u t i g e n J u d e n u n d C h r i
s t e n ,
frei zu w e r d e n " .
V o n B r u n o B a u e r (Einundzwanzig Bogen, p p . 5 6 - 7 1 )
.
It is in this form that Bauer deals with the relation between the
Jewish and the Christian religions, and also with their relation
to
criticism. Their relation to criticism, is their relation "to the
capacity to become free".
T h e result arrived at is:
"The Christian has to surmount only one stage, namely, that of
his religion, in
order to give up religion altogether", and therefore to become
free. "The Jew, on
the other hand, has to break not only with his Jewish nature, but
also with the
development towards perfecting his religion, a development
which has remained
alien to him." (P. 71.)
T h u s Bauer here transforms the question of Jewish emancipa-
tion into a purely religious question. T h e theological problem
as to
whether the Jew or the Christian has the better prospect of
salvation is repeated here in the enlightened form: which of
them
is more capable of emancipation. No longer is the question

232. asked: Is
it Judaism or Christianity that makes a man free? O n the
contrary,
the question is now: Which makes man freer, the negation of
Judaism or the negation of Christianity?
"If the Jews want to become free, they should profess belief not
in Christianity,
but in the dissolution of Christianity, in the dissolution of
religion in general, that
is to say, in enlightenment, criticism and its consequence, free
humanity." (P. 70.)
limited and mental existence for the physical and independent
existence. He has to
take from man his own powers, and give him in exchange alien
powers which he
cannot employ without the help of other men."—Ed.
a Own powers.—Ed.
On the Jewish Question 169
For the Jew, it is still a matter of a profession of faith, but no
longer a profession of belief in Christianity, but of belief in
Christianity in dissolution.
Bauer demands of the Jews that they should break with the
essence of the Christian religion, a demand which, as he says
himself, does not arise out of the development of Judaism.
Since Bauer, at the end of his work on the Jewish question, had
conceived Judaism only as crude religious criticism of
Christianity,

233. and therefore saw in it "merely" a religious significance, it
could
be foreseen that the emancipation of the Jews, too, would be
transformed into a philosophical-theological act.
Bauer considers that the ideal, abstract nature of the Jew, his
religion, is his entire n a t u r e . Hence he rightly concludes:
"The Jew contributes nothing to mankind if he himself
disregards his narrow
law", if he invalidates his entire Judaism. (P. 65.)
Accordingly the relation between Jews and Christians becomes
the following: the sole interest of the Christian in the emancipa-
tion of the Jew is a general h u m a n interest, a theoretical
interest.
Judaism is a fact that offends the religious eye of the Christian.
As
soon as his eye ceases to be religious, this fact ceases to be
offensive. T h e emancipation of the Jew is in itself not a task
for
the Christian.
T h e Jew, on the other hand, in order to emancipate himself,
has
to carry out not only his own work, but also that of the
Christian,
i.e., the Kritik der Synoptiker and Das Leben Jesu,* etc.
"It is up to them to deal with it: they themselves will decide
their fate; but
history is not to be trifled with." (P. 71.)
We are trying to break with the theological formulation of the
question. For us, the question of the Jew's capacity for
emancipa-

234. tion becomes the question: What particular social element has to
be
overcome in o r d e r to abolish Judaism? For the present-day
Jew's
capacity for emancipation is the relation of Judaism to the
emancipation of the modern world. This relation necessarily
results from the special position of Judaism in the contemporary
enslaved world.
Let us consider the actual, worldly Jew, not the Sabbath Jew, as
Bauer does, but the everyday Jew.
Let us not look for the secret of the Jew in his religion, but let
us look for the secret of his religion in the real Jew.
What is the secular basis of Judaism? Practical need, self-
interest.
a A reference to Bruno Bauer, Kritik der evangelischen
Geschichte der Synoptiker,
and David Friedrich Strauss, Das Leben Jesu.—Ed.
7—482
170 Karl Marx
What is the worldly religion of the Jew? Huckstering. What is
his
worldly God? Money.
Very well then! Emancipation from huckstering and money,
consequently from practical, real Judaism, would be the self-
emancipation of o u r time.

235. An organisation of society which would abolish the precondi-
tions for huckstering, and therefore the possibility of
huckstering,
would make the Jew impossible. His religious consciousness
would
be dissipated like a thin haze in the real, vital air of society. O
n the
other h a n d , if the Jew recognises that this practical nature of
his is
futile and works to abolish it, he extricates himself from his
previous development and works for human emancipation as
such
and turns against the supreme practical expression of h u m a n
self-estrangement.
We recognise in Judaism, therefore, a general anti-social
element
of the present time, an element which t h r o u g h historical
develop-
ment—to which in this harmful respect the Jews have zealously
contributed—has been b r o u g h t to its present high level, at
which
it must necessarily begin to disintegrate.
In the final analysis, the emancipation of the Jews is the
emancipa-
tion of mankind from Judaism?
T h e Jew has already emancipated himself in a Jewish way.
"The Jew, who in Vienna, for example, is only tolerated,
determines the fate of
the whole Empire by his financial power. The Jew, who may
have no rights in the
smallest German state, decides the fate of Europe. While
corporations and guilds

236. refuse to admit Jews, or have not yet adopted a favourable
attitude towards them,
the audacity of industry mocks at the obstinacy of the medieval
institutions."
(Bruno Bauer, Die Judenfrage, p. 114.)
This is no isolated fact. T h e Jew has emancipated himself in a
Jewish manner, not only because he has acquired financial
power,
but also because, t h r o u g h him and also apart from him,
money has
become a world power and the practical Jewish spirit has
become
the practical spirit of the Christian nations. T h e Jews have
emanci-
pated themselves insofar as the Christians have become Jews.
Captain Hamilton, tor example, reports:
"The devout and politically free inhabitant of New England is a
kind of Laocoön
who makes not the least effort to escape from the serpents
which are crushing him.
Mammon is his idol which he adores not only with his lips but
with the whole force
of his body and mind. In his view the world is no more than a
Stock Exchange,
and he is convinced that he has no other destiny here below than
to become richer
a Here and elsewhere in this article Marx evidently uses the
words Jude and
Judentum also in the figurative sense, i.e., denoting usury,
huckstering, trading,
etc.—Ed.

237. On the Jewish Question 171
than his neighbour. Trade has seized upon all his thoughts, and
he has no other
recreation than to exchange objects. When he travels he carries,
so to speak, his
goods and his counter on his back and talks only of interest and
profit. If he loses
sight of his own business for an instant it is only in order to pry
into the business
of his competitors.""
Indeed, in North America the practical domination of Judaism
over the Christian world has achieved as its unambiguous and
normal expression that the preaching of the Gospel itself and
the
Christian ministry have become articles of trade, and the b a n k
r u p t
trader deals in the Gospel just as the Gospel preacher who has
become rich goes in for business deals.
"Tel que vous le voyez à la tête d'une congrégation respectable
a commencé par être
marchand; son commerce étant tombé, il s'est fait ministre; cet
autre a débuté par le
sacerdoce, mais dès qu'il a eu quelque somme d'argent à la
disposition, il a laissé la chaire
pour le négoce. Aux yeux d'un grand nombre, le ministire
religieux est une véritable carrière
industrielle."b (Beaumont, op. cit., pp. 185, 186.)
According to Bauer, it is
"a fictitious state of affairs when in theory the Jew is deprived
of political rights,

238. whereas in practice he has immense power and exerts his
political influence en gros,
although it is curtailed en détail." {Die Judenfrage, p. 114.)
T h e contradiction that exists between the practical political
power of the Jew and his political rights is the contradiction
between politics and the power of money in general. Although
theoretically the former is superior to the latter, in actual fact
politics has become the serf of financial power.
Judaism has held its own alongside Christianity, not only as
religious criticism of Christianity, not only as the embodiment
of
doubt in the religious derivation of Christianity, but equally be-
cause the practical-Jewish spirit, Judaism, has maintained itself
and
even attained its highest development in Christian society. T h e
Jew, who exists as a distinct member of civil society, is only a
particular manifestation of the Judaism of civil society.
Judaism continues to exist not in spite of history, but owing to
history.
T h e Jew is perpetually created by civil society from its own
entrails.
What, in itself, was the basis of the Jewish religion? Practical
need, egoism.
a Hamilton, op. cit., Bd. I, S. 109-10.—Ed.
b "The man who you see at :he head of a respectable
congregation began as a trader; his
business having failed, he became a minister. The other began
as a priest but as soon as he

239. had some money at his disposal he left the pulpit to become a
trader. In the eyes of nery many
people, the religious ministry is a veritable business career."—
Ed.
172 Karl Marx
T h e monotheism of the Jew, therefore, is in reality the
polytheism of the many needs, a polytheism which makes even
the
lavatory an object of divine law. Practical need, egoism, is the
principle of civil society, and as such appears in a pure form as
soon as civil society has fully given birth to the political state.
T h e
god of practical need and self-interest is money.
Money is the jealous god of Israel, in face of which no other
god may exist. Money degrades all the gods of man—and turns
them into commodities. Money is the universal self-established
value of all things. It has therefore robbed the whole world—
both
the world of men and nature—of its specific value. Money is the
estranged essence of man's work and man's existence, and this
alien essence dominates him, and h e worships it.
T h e god of the Jews has become secularised and has become
the
god of the world. T h e bill of exchange is the real god of the
Jew.
His god is only an illusory bill of exchange.
T h e view of nature attained u n d e r the dominion of private
property and money is a real contempt for and practical debase-
ment of n a t u r e ; in the Jewish religion nature exists, it is

240. true, but
it exists only in imagination.
It is in this sense that T h o m a s Münzer declares it intolerable
"that all creatures have been turned into property, the fishes in
the water,
the birds in the air, the plants on the earth; the creatures, too,
must become
free".2 8
Contempt for theory, art, history, and for man as an end in
himself, which is contained in an abstract form in the Jewish
religion, is the real, conscious standpoint, the virtue of the man
of
money. T h e species-relation itself, the relation between man
and
woman, etc., becomes an object of trade! T h e woman is bought
and sold.
T h e chimerical nationality of the Jew is the nationality of the
merchant, of the m a n of money in general.
T h e groundless 3 law of the Jew is only a religious caricature
of
groundless" morality and right in general, of the purely formal
rites with which the world of self-interest surrounds itself.
H e r e , too, man's s u p r e m e relation is the legal one, his
relation to
laws that are valid for him not because they are laws of his own
will and n a t u r e , but because they are the dominant laws and
because d e p a r t u r e from them is avenged.
Jewish Jesuitism, the same practical Jesuitism which Bauer
a In German a pun on the term grund- und bodenlos, which can

241. mean "without
land" or "without reason".—Ed.
On the Jewish Question 173
discovers in the T a l m u d , is the relation of the world of self-
interest to the laws governing that world, the chief art of which
consists in the cunning circumvention of these laws.
Indeed, the movement of this world within its framework of
laws is bound to be a continual suspension of law.
Judaism could not develop further as a religion, could not
develop further theoretically, because the world outlook of
practi-
cal need is essentially limited and is completed in a few strokes.
By its very nature, the religion of practical need could find its
consummation not in theory, but only in practice, precisely
because
its truth is practice.
Judaism could not create a new world; it could only draw the
new creations and conditions of the world into the sphere of its
activity, because practical need, the rationale of which is self-
interest, is passive and does not expand at will, but finds itself
enlarged as a result of the continuous development of social
conditions.
Judaism reaches its highest point with the perfection of civil
society, b u t it is only in the Christian world that civil society
attains
perfection. Only u n d e r the dominance of Christianity, which

242. makes all national, natural, moral, and theoretical conditions
extrinsic to man, could civil society separate itself completely
from
the life of the state, sever all the species-ties of man, put
egoism
and selfish need in the place of these species-ties, and dissolve
the
h u m a n world into a world of atomistic individuals who are
inimically opposed to one another.
Christianity sprang from Judaism. It has merged again in
Judaism.
From the outset, the Christian was the theorising Jew, the Jew is
therefore the practical Christian, and the practical Christian has
become a Jew again.
Christianity had only in semblance overcome real Judaism. It
was too noble-minded, too spiritualistic to eliminate the crudity
of
practical need in any other way than by elevation to the
skies.
Christianity is the sublime thought of Judaism, Judaism is the
common practical application of Christianity, but this
application
could only become general after Christianity as a developed
religion had completed theoretically the estrangement of man
from
himself and from n a t u r e .
Only then could Judaism achieve universal dominance and make
alienated man and alienated n a t u r e into alienable, vendible
objects
subjected to the slavery of egoistic need and to trading.

243. 1 7 4 Karl Marx
Selling is the practical aspect of alienation.* Just as man, as
long
as he is in the grip of religion, is able to objectify his essential
nature only by turning it into something alien, something
fantastic,
so u n d e r the domination of egoistic need he can be active
practically, and produce objects in practice, only by putting his
products, and his activity, u n d e r the domination of an alien
being,
and bestowing the significance of an alien entity—money—on
them.
In its perfected practice, Christian egoism of heavenly bliss is
necessarily transformed into the corporal egoism of the Jew,
heavenly need is turned into worldly need, subjectivism into
self-interest. We explain the tenacity of the Jew not by his
religion,
but, on the contrary, by the h u m a n basis of his religion—
practical
need, egoism.
Since in civil society the real nature of the Jew has been
universally realised and secularised, civil society could not
convince
the Jew of the unreality of his religious n a t u r e , which is
indeed only
the ideal aspect of practical need. Consequently, not only in the
Pentateuch and the T a l m u d , but in present-day society we
find the
nature of the modern Jew, and not as an abstract nature but as
one that is in the highest degree empirical, not merely as a
narrowness of the Jew, b u t as the Jewish narrowness of

244. society.
Once society has succeeded in abolishing the empirical essence
of
Judaism—huckstering and its preconditions—the Jew will have
become impossible, because his consciousness no longer has an
object, because the subjective basis of Judaism, practical need,
has
been humanised, and because the conflict between man's
individu-
al-sensuous existence and his species-existence has been
abolished.
T h e social emancipation of the Jew is the emancipation of
society
from Judaism.
Written in the a u t u m n of 1843 Printed according to the
journal
First published in the Deutsch-französische
Jahrbücher, 1844
Signed: Karl Marx
a In the German original Veräußerung, here r e n d e r e d as
"selling", and
Entäusserung, as "alienation".—Ed.

245. A Crow in the North:
Enduring the Hostilities of Indigenous Populations
John Snow
History 201: Exploration and Anthropology
Professor Taylor Lohman
September 25, 2013
SAMPLE CHICAGO PAPER (16th ed.)
Chicago papers start
with a title page. The
title of the paper should

246. be 1/3 of the way down
the page and centered.
If there is a title and
subtitle, the two should
be on different lines,
separated by a colon.
About 2/3 of the way
down the page should
contain your name, the
date, and any other
information required by
your instructor.
Typically it will be the
name and section of
your class, and perhaps
the name of your
professor.

247. Snow 2
In a Chicago paper, there are no headings or subheadings, and
there is no need to write
the title at the top of the page since there is already a title page.
As with most papers Chicago
papers should be written in third-person unless otherwise
indicated by your instructor. Avoid
using first-person (I, me, our) or second person language (you)
and substitute those words with
third-person language (One might think…). Chicago papers
should be written with 12-point,
Times New Roman font and should be double spaced. Margins
should be one inch on each side,
and the first sentence of each new paragraph should be indented
a half inch.
Chicago papers do not use in-text citations like the ones found
in APA and MLA, but
instead use either footnotes or endnotes.1 When inserting a
footnote, one should make sure the
number for the footnote directly follows the period, and is a
regular number (1,2,3…) as opposed
to a roman numeral (i,ii,iii).2 For more information on how to
change the formatting of footnotes,

248. consult the footnote/endnote guide sheet.3 Inserting a footnote
will take you to the bottom of the
page where you will write the information about the source. If
instead your professor has asked
for endnotes, inserting the number will bring you to the last
page of your paper where all the
sources are compiled as a comprehensive list.4 The footnotes
and endnotes resemble
bibliographic entries, but the formatting is different. Consult
the footnote/endnote guide sheet for
more information about how to format different types of
footnotes.5
When quoting something in your Chicago paper, you can
simply “use regular
in-sentence quotation marks,” so long as your quote three lines
long or less.6 If your
1 Robert Baratheon, Account of the Conquest of the Southern
Kingdom (New York: Penguin, 1996), 99-100.
2 Baratheon, Account of the Conquest, 55.
3 Ibid., 443.
4 Ibid.
5 Ibid.
6 Ibid.

249. Chicago style calls for page numbers at the top of each page on
the
right side. Some professors also like for your last name to be in
the
header to the left of the page number It is good to ask a
professor
their preference regarding the page number.
1 is an
example of a
book written
in correct
footnote
format. A full
footnote is
only necessary
the first time a
source is used
in the paper.
After that, a

250. shortened
form may be
used as shown
in example. 2
If the same source is used for two or more consecutive footnotes
and
only the page number differs, one can simply write “Ibid”
followed by
a period, comma, space, the page number, and another period. If
two
or more consecutive footnotes have both source and page
number in
common, one can simply write Ibid followed by a period.
Snow 3
direct quote is four lines or more (eight lines or more is
Chicago’s recommendation, but most
professors ask for block quotes if the quote is over four lines)
you will need to use a block quote.
The sentence before a block quote should end with a colon, and
there should be one space

251. between this sentence and the block quote itself:
A block quote should be one space below the previous sentence,
however the block quote itself
should be single spaced. There should be no quotation marks
put around the block quote, as the
fact that it is in this format already implies that it is a quote.
The entire block quote should be
indented .5. As a stylistic choice some also choose to make the
font in a block quote one size
smaller. There should also be one line between the end of the
block quote and the continuation of
the paper.7
After that one space one can carry on writing the paragraph. To
format your block quotation,
simply highlight the section you would like to set off as a block
quotation, right click, choose
“Paragraph,” and from there you will be able to change the
spacing and indentation.
As Chicago papers do not have headings or subheadings, your
conclusion need not be
sectioned off in any special way. It will simply be the last
paragraph in your paper, where you
will give a summary of your main ideas. Make sure that your

252. conclusion does not contain any
new ideas; a conclusion should simply be the wrap up in which
you review the ideas you talked
about in your paper, and essentially reiterate the ideas of your
thesis statement.
7 Ibid.
Snow 4
Notes
1. Robert Baratheon, Account of the Conquest of the Southern
Kingdom (New York:
Penguin, 1996), 99-100. Book
2. Baratheon, Account of the Conquest, 55.
3. Ibid., 443.

253. 4. Ibid.
5. Ibid.
6. Ibid.
7. Taylor Jones and Mark Nutt, Winning Drive: The Truth
Behind Olympic Gold
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 420. Book
with Multiple Authors
8. Flynt Cole, “The American Fascination with International
Espionage,” in The Rise and
Fall of Cold War Popular Culture, ed. Michael Jones
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2006), 55-56. Chapter in an Edited Work
9. John Smith, “Time and Relative Dimensions in Space,”
Journal of Astrophysics 283,
no. 5 (2000): 597. Journal Article
10. Gavin Free, “What is Game Night? How Electronic Media is
Contributing to the
Degradation of Traditional Family Values,” New York Times,
January 12, 2008, 67.

254. Newspaper Article
11. Angela Watercutter, “Feminist Take on Games Draws
Crude Ridicule, Massive
Support,” Wired, last modified June 14, 2012,
http://www.wired.com/underwire/2012/06/anita-
sarkeesian-feminist-games/. Article from a Website
You do not need an endnotes page if
you use footnotes, you will use one or
the other, and endnote citations follow
the same format as footnote citations.
Endnotes should be on their
own page. The first line of each
endnote should be indented half
an inch, the endnotes should be
single spaced, and there should
be one line between each new

255. note. Unlike with footnotes the
note number is not raised and is
followed by a period.
Though Microsoft Word has a button to add endnotes, these
endnotes are
not in correct Chicago style. See the handout on how to add
footnotes and
endnotes to learn how to correctly add endnotes.
Snow 5
Bibliography
Baratheon, Robert. Account of the Conquest of the Southern
Kingdom. New York: Penguin,
1996. Book
Cole, Flynt. “The American Fascination with International
Espionage.” In The Rise and Fall of
Cold War Popular Culture, edited by Michael Jones, 50-100.
Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2006. Chapter in an Edited Work

256. Gavin Free, “What is Game Night? How Electronic Media is
Contributing to the Degradation of
Traditional Family Values.” New York Times. January 12,
2008, 67. Newspaper Article
Jones, Taylor and Mark Nutt. Winning Drive: The Truth Behind
Olympic Gold. Berkeley:
University of California Press, 2002. Book with Multiple
Authors
Smith, John. “Time and Relative Dimensions in Space.” Journal
of Astrophysics 283, no. 5
(2000): 597-630. Journal Article
Watercutter, Angela. “Feminist Take on Games Draws Crude
Ridicule, Massive Support.”
Wired. Last modified June 14, 2012.
http://www.wired.com/underwire/2012/06/anita-
sarkeesian-feminist-games/. Web Article

257. Whether you use footnotes or endnotes, the paper
will still need an additional bibliography on its
own page at the end of the paper. Each citation
should be single spaced with one line in between
each entry. Each citation should have a hanging
indent (highlight the citation, right click, choose
paragraph, change indentation to ‘hanging’) and
citations should be in order by author last name.
Also make sure to note the fact that bibliography
citations are formatted differently than
footnote/endnote citations.
Snow 6
Chicago Footnote/Bibliography Citation Guide
Book

258. Footnote/Endnote:
AuthorFirstName AuthorLastName, Title of the Book
(Publishing City: Publisher,
YearPublished), Page Range.
1 Robert Baratheon, Account of the Conquest of the Southern
Kingdom (New York:
Penguin, 1996), 99-100.
Shortened Footnote Format:
1 Baratheon, Account of the Conquest, 99-100.
Bibliographic Format:
Baratheon, Robert. Account of the Conquest of the Southern
Kingdom. New York: Penguin,
1996.
Book with Two or More Authors
Footnote/Endnote:
AuthorFirstName AuthorLastName and AuthorFirstName
AuthorLastName, Title of the
Book (PublishingCity: Publisher, YearPublished), Page Range.
2Taylor Jones and Mark Nutt, Winning Drive: The Truth Behind
Olympic Gold

259. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 420.
Shortened Footnote Format:
1Jones and Nutt, Winning Drive, 420.
Bibliographic Format:
Jones, Taylor and Mark Nutt. Winning Drive: The Truth Behind
Olympic Gold. Berkeley:
University of California Press, 2002.
Chapter in an Edited Work
Footnote/Endnote:
Snow 7
AuthorFirstName AuthorLastname, “Title of the Chapter,” in
Title of the book, ed.
EditorFirstName EditorLastName (PublishingCity: Publisher,
YearPublished), PageRange.
3Flynt Cole, “The American Fascination with International
Espionage,” in The Rise and
Fall of Cold War Popular Culture, ed. Michael Jones
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2006) 55-56.

260. Shortened Footnote Format:
3Cole, “The American Fascination with International
Espionage,” 45-47.
Biblographic Format:
Cole, Flynt. “The American Fascination with International
Espionage.” In The Rise and Fall of
Cold War Popular Culture, edited by Michael Jones, 50-100.
Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2006.
Journal Article
Footnote/Endnote Format:
AuthorFirstName AuthorLastName, “Article Title,” Journal
Title VolumeNumber, no.
IssueNumber (YearPublished): Page.
John Smith, “Time and Relative Dimensions in Space,” Journal
of Astrophysics 283, no.
5 (2000): 597.
Shortened Footnote Format:
Smith, “Time and Relative Dimensions in Space,” 590-592.
Bibliographic Format:
Smith, John. “Time and Relative Dimensions in Space.” Journal

261. of Astrophysics 283, no. 5
(2000): 597-630.
Newspaper Article
Footnote/Endnote Format:
AuthorFirstName AuthorLastName, “Article Title,” Newspaper,
Month Day, Year,
PageNumberORSectionNumber.
Gavin Free, “What is Game Night? How Electronic Media is
Contributing to the
Degradation of Traditional Family Values,” New York Times,
January 12, 2008, 67.
Shortened Footnote Format:
Snow 8
Free, “What is Game Night,” 68.
Bibliographic Format:
Gavin Free, “What is Game Night? How Electronic Media is
Contributing to the Degradation of
Traditional Family Values.” New York Times. January 12,
2008, 67.

262. Article from a Website
Footnote/Endnote Format:
AuthorFirstName AuthorLastName, “Article Title/Webpage
Title,” WebsiteTitle, last modified
date, URL.
Angela Watercutter, “Feminist Take on Games Draws Crude
Ridicule, Massive Support,”
Wired, last modified June 14, 2012,
http://www.wired.com/underwire/2012/06/anita-sarkeesian-
feminist-games/.
Bibliography Format
Watercutter, Angela. “Feminist Take on Games Draws Crude
Ridicule, Massive Support.”
Wired. Last modified June 14, 2012.
http://www.wired.com/underwire/2012/06/anita-
sarkeesian-feminist-games/.