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Updated: June 16, 2025
Ibsen is the type of the philosophical anarch, the believer in man's individuality, in the state for the individual, not the individual for the state. It is at least more dignified than the other's flood of confessions, of hysterical self-accusations, of penitential vows, and abundant lack of restraint. Yet no one doubts Tolstoy's repentance. Like Verlaine's it carried with it its own proofs.
Obsessed from the age of spelling by his pessimistic middle name, the boy had grown up in a cloudy compromise of rebellion and the church. For a few years he vacillated; he went to Harvard, studied the Higher Criticism, made a trip abroad, wrote a little book recording the contending impulses of his pale, harassed soul Oscillations was the title and returned to Boston a mild anarch.
In passing these the voyagers had momentary glimpses of sublimities and horrors which seemed like the handiwork of that "anarch old," who wrought before the shaping of the universe. One of these sarcophagi was a narrow cleft, not more than eighty feet broad, cut from surface to base of a bed of sandstone one-third of a mile in depth.
Brimming over with love for men, he was deficient in sympathy with the conditions under which they actually think and feel. Could he but dethrone the Anarch Custom, the millennium, he argued, would immediately arrive; nor did he stop to think how different was the fibre of his own soul from that of the unnumbered multitudes around him.
And now turn to the other picture, 'Grace might reign. Then there is an antagonistic power that rises up to confront the widespread dominion of this anarch of old. And this Queen comes with twenty thousand to war against her that has but ten thousand on her side. Again I say, let us understand our terms.
We cannot in our graduated and polite civilisation quite make head or tail of the Russian anarch; we can only feel in a vague way that his tale is the tale of the Missing Link, and that his head is the head of the superman. We hear his lonely cry of anger.
He, Arthur Schopenhauer Wyartz, the Amateur Anarch! He saw the hideous headlines. Why, the very daily in which some of his fortune was invested would be the first to mock him most! The assault outside increased. He leaped to the floor, where Yetta was surrounded by an excited crowd. He plucked her sleeve. She gazed at him disdainfully. "For God's sake, Yetta, get me out of this this awful scrape.
"Richard Wagner who loved humanity when he wrote Siegfried and regretted that love in Parsifal! "Richard Wagner who loved ice-cream more than Dresden's freedom Wagner: the Swiss family bell-ringer of '48! "To Max Stirner, Ibsen, and Richard Strauss belongs the twentieth century! "Nietzsche the anarch of aristocrats! "Karl Marx or the selfish Jew socialist! "Lassalle the Jew comedian of liberty!
Yet they would turn their backs on Christ if he came to Hester Street Christ, the first modern anarch, a destructionist, a proletarian who preached fire and sword for the evil rich of his times. Nowadays he would be sent to Blackwell's Island for six months as a disturber of the peace or for healing without a license from the County Medical Association!" "Like Johann Most," he ventured.
She blazed at the name. "No jokes, please. Most, too, has suffered. But I am no worshipper of bombs and beer." This made him laugh, but as the laugh was not echoed he stared about him. "But Yetta, we must begin somewhere. I wish to become to become something like you. She interrupted him roughly: "To become you an anarch!
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