Criminal Man, According to the Classification of Cesare Lombroso

by Gina Lombroso

Any attempt to obtain forcibly a change in existing systems, to enforce by violence, for instance, the claims of free trade in a protectionist country, to plunge a nation into war or to incite workers to strike—all such actions represent the first steps in political crime, which reaches its climax in revolts and insurrections, and which victory alone can exalt above a host of blameworthy and base deeds, and crown with glory.

Revolution is the struggle between the tendency to immobility innate in a community, and the force which urges it to move. Revolution is the historical expression of evolution and has always great and sublime ends in view. It is the struggle against an institution or a system which hinders the progress of a nation, never against any temporary oppression, no matter how unbearable it may be. The French revolution was not a struggle against an individual king or even a dynasty, but against the institutions of monarchy and feudalism; nor was Lutheranism a revolt against any pope, but against the corruption that had invaded the Roman Catholic Church. The Italian revolution was not directed against foreign rule, which indeed was mild and generous in some parts of the country, but it voiced an imperious demand for independence indispensable to every people that desires to become truly civilised.

A revolution is therefore a slow, constant effort towards progress, preceded by propaganda. In some instances, it may last for years; in others, for centuries, until an entire nation, from the humblest citizen to the most wealthy patrician, is convinced of the necessity of the proposed change, and the habitual misoneism of the masses overcome, the existing order of things being defended by only a few, whose personal interests are bound up in the old system. The ultimate triumph is inevitable, even when the leaders of the movement perish and the first risings are suffocated in blood; nay, death and martyrdom serve only to kindle greater enthusiasm for an ideal, if it be worthy to live. This becomes apparent when we consider the impulse given to Christianity by the crucifixion of its Leader, and to Italian independence by the death of the two brothers, Emilio and Attilio Bandiera.

But bloody episodes are not always essential to the march of a revolution. The triumph of Hungary over Austria was almost a bloodless one, and that of Free Trade in England was effected practically without violence.

Since a revolution implies a change in the ideas of the masses and not of a minority, be this of the elect or merely of turbulent spirits, revolutions are rare occurrences in history and their effects are lasting. In fact, after the death of Cromwell, feudalism was extinct in England.

Like the pear which falls in autumn when the process of ripening has caused the gradual reabsorption of the juices in the stalk, revolution triumphs and the ancient system perishes when an entire people is persuaded of the necessity for a change. The fall of the pear, however, is not always the result of a slow physiological process, but may be caused by a gust of wind, which dashes it to the ground before the pulp has developed the sweet juices that are the sign of its maturity. In the same way, a revolt or an armed rising of men, whose demands are enforced by threats, may result in the carrying into effect of some programme of reform which is nevertheless too progressive or reactionary, or otherwise unsuited to the country.

In fact, nearly every revolution is preceded by an insurrection, which is suppressed by violence, because it seeks to realise premature ideals, and on this account is frequently followed by a counter-revolution, provoked by reactionary elements.

Unlike revolutions, insurrections are always the work of a minority, inspired by an excessive love or hatred of change, who seek forcibly to establish systems or ideas rejected by the majority. Unlike revolutions, also, they may break out for mere temporary causes—a famine, a tax, the tyranny of some official, which suddenly disturbs the tranquil march of daily life; in many cases they may languish and die without outside interference.

In practice, however, it is extremely difficult to distinguish a revolt from a revolution since the results alone determine its nature, victory being the proof that the ideas have permeated the whole mass of the people.

Political offenders, insurrectionists, and revolutionists are the men who seize the standard of progress and contest every inch of the ground with the masses, who naturally incline towards a dislike of a new order of things. The army of progress is recruited from all ranks and conditions—men of genius, intellectual spirits who are the first to realise the defects of the old system and to conceive a new one, synthesising the needs and aspirations of the people; lunatics, enthusiastic propagandists of the new ideas, which they spread with all the impetuous ardour characteristic of unbalanced minds; criminals, the natural enemies of order, who flock to the standard of revolt and bring to it their special gifts, audacity and contempt of death. These latter types accomplish the work of destruction which inevitably accompanies every revolution: they are the faithful and unerring arm ready to carry out the ideas that others conceive but lack the courage to execute.