Nicknamed the "longshoreman philosopher," Eric Hoffer was an outsider intellectual. Orphaned as a teenager, he received no formal education and was a California drifter his entire working life—toiling in vast farm fields and later settling in the dockyards of San Francisco. Collecting library cards in a dozen towns along the railroad, he spent his spare time feverishly feeding his reading habit and scribbling down philosophical thoughts on index cards.
Published in 1951, The True Believer catapulted the obscure Hoffer into the mainstream when Eisenhower cited it during one of his press conferences. The slim but cogent work examines what mass movements, like Nazism, Stalinism, Japanese nationalism, and the Protestant Reformation, all share in common, offering brilliant and comprehensive insight into the nature of fanatacism. How does one become a fanatic, or a "true believer," ready to die for a cause?
Frustration is Hoffer's answer. Echoing Sartre, who famously stated that man is "condemned" to be free, Hoffer claims that freedom aggravates as much as it alleviates frustration. "Freedom of choice places the whole blame of failure on the shoulders of the individual," he writes. "Unless a man has the talents to make something of himself, freedom is an irksome burden." In joining a mass movement, one can lose one's individual distinctness in a compact collective whole or, in the words of a young Nazi, "be free from freedom." The fearful burden of free choice is no more.
While easy to assume that fanatics will remain steadfast in their iron-clad convictions, Hoffer argues that they actually find no difficulty swinging from one holy cause to another. For the true believer, his passionate attachment is more vital than the quality of the cause to which he's attached. "It is the fanatic and the moderate who are poles apart and never meet," Hoffer states. "It is easier for a fanatic Communist to be converted to fascism, chauvinism or Catholicism than to become a sober liberal."
Though Hoffer speaks in sweeping, broad absolutes, he prefaces his work with a disclaimer: it is not an "authoritative textbook" and "does not shy away from half-truths so long as they seem to hint at a new approach and help to formulate new questions." Reading The True Believer with this in mind makes his discourse more digestible. Regardless, this is a timeless book of musings that I recommend to any voter or any individual curious about the nature of belief.
Nicknamed the "longshoreman philosopher," Eric Hoffer was an outsider intellectual. Orphaned as a teenager, he received no formal education and was a California drifter his entire working life—toiling in vast farm fields and later settling in the dockyards of San Francisco. Collecting library cards in a dozen towns along the railroad, he spent his spare time feverishly feeding his reading habit and scribbling down philosophical thoughts on index cards.
Published in 1951, The True Believer catapulted the obscure Hoffer into the mainstream when Eisenhower cited it during one of his press conferences. The slim but cogent work examines what mass movements, like Nazism, Stalinism, Japanese nationalism, and the Protestant Reformation, all share in common, offering brilliant and comprehensive insight into the nature of fanatacism. How does one become a fanatic, or a "true believer," ready to die for a cause?
Frustration is Hoffer's answer. Echoing Sartre, who famously stated that man is "condemned" to be free, Hoffer claims that freedom aggravates as much as it alleviates frustration. "Freedom of choice places the whole blame of failure on the shoulders of the individual," he writes. "Unless a man has the talents to make something of himself, freedom is an irksome burden." In joining a mass movement, one can lose one's individual distinctness in a compact collective whole or, in the words of a young Nazi, "be free from freedom." The fearful burden of free choice is no more.
While easy to assume that fanatics will remain steadfast in their iron-clad convictions, Hoffer argues that they actually find no difficulty swinging from one holy cause to another. For the true believer, his passionate attachment is more vital than the quality of the cause to which he's attached. "It is the fanatic and the moderate who are poles apart and never meet," Hoffer states. "It is easier for a fanatic Communist to be converted to fascism, chauvinism or Catholicism than to become a sober liberal."
Though Hoffer speaks in sweeping, broad absolutes, he prefaces his work with a disclaimer: it is not an "authoritative textbook" and "does not shy away from half-truths so long as they seem to hint at a new approach and help to formulate new questions." Reading The True Believer with this in mind makes his discourse more digestible. Regardless, this is a timeless book of musings that I recommend to any voter or any individual curious about the nature of belief.
Nicknamed the "longshoreman philosopher," Eric Hoffer was an outsider intellectual. Orphaned as a teenager, he received no formal education and was a California drifter his entire working life—toiling in vast farm fields and later settling in the dockyards of San Francisco. Collecting library cards in a dozen towns along the railroad, he spent his spare time feverishly feeding his reading habit and scribbling down philosophical thoughts on index cards.
Published in 1951, The True Believer catapulted the obscure Hoffer into the mainstream when Eisenhower cited it during one of his press conferences. The slim but cogent work examines what mass movements, like Nazism, Stalinism, Japanese nationalism, and the Protestant Reformation, all share in common, offering brilliant and comprehensive insight into the nature of fanatacism. How does one become a fanatic, or a "true believer," ready to die for a cause?
Frustration is Hoffer's answer. Echoing Sartre, who famously stated that man is "condemned" to be free, Hoffer claims that freedom aggravates as much as it alleviates frustration. "Freedom of choice places the whole blame of failure on the shoulders of the individual," he writes. "Unless a man has the talents to make something of himself, freedom is an irksome burden." In joining a mass movement, one can lose one's individual distinctness in a compact collective whole or, in the words of a young Nazi, "be free from freedom." The fearful burden of free choice is no more.
While easy to assume that fanatics will remain steadfast in their iron-clad convictions, Hoffer argues that they actually find no difficulty swinging from one holy cause to another. For the true believer, his passionate attachment is more vital than the quality of the cause to which he's attached. "It is the fanatic and the moderate who are poles apart and never meet," Hoffer states. "It is easier for a fanatic Communist to be converted to fascism, chauvinism or Catholicism than to become a sober liberal."
Though Hoffer speaks in sweeping, broad absolutes, he prefaces his work with a disclaimer: it is not an "authoritative textbook" and "does not shy away from half-truths so long as they seem to hint at a new approach and help to formulate new questions." Reading The True Believer with this in mind makes his discourse more digestible. Regardless, this is a timeless book of musings that I recommend to any voter or any individual curious about the nature of belief.
Nicknamed the "longshoreman philosopher," Eric Hoffer was an outsider intellectual. Orphaned as a teenager, he received no formal education and was a California drifter his entire working life—toiling in vast farm fields and later settling in the dockyards of San Francisco. Collecting library cards in a dozen towns along the railroad, he spent his spare time feverishly feeding his reading habit and scribbling down philosophical thoughts on index cards.
Published in 1951, The True Believer catapulted the obscure Hoffer into the mainstream when Eisenhower cited it during one of his press conferences. The slim but cogent work examines what mass movements, like Nazism, Stalinism, Japanese nationalism, and the Protestant Reformation, all share in common, offering brilliant and comprehensive insight into the nature of fanatacism. How does one become a fanatic, or a "true believer," ready to die for a cause?
Frustration is Hoffer's answer. Echoing Sartre, who famously stated that man is "condemned" to be free, Hoffer claims that freedom aggravates as much as it alleviates frustration. "Freedom of choice places the whole blame of failure on the shoulders of the individual," he writes. "Unless a man has the talents to make something of himself, freedom is an irksome burden." In joining a mass movement, one can lose one's individual distinctness in a compact collective whole or, in the words of a young Nazi, "be free from freedom." The fearful burden of free choice is no more.
While easy to assume that fanatics will remain steadfast in their iron-clad convictions, Hoffer argues that they actually find no difficulty swinging from one holy cause to another. For the true believer, his passionate attachment is more vital than the quality of the cause to which he's attached. "It is the fanatic and the moderate who are poles apart and never meet," Hoffer states. "It is easier for a fanatic Communist to be converted to fascism, chauvinism or Catholicism than to become a sober liberal."
Though Hoffer speaks in sweeping, broad absolutes, he prefaces his work with a disclaimer: it is not an "authoritative textbook" and "does not shy away from half-truths so long as they seem to hint at a new approach and help to formulate new questions." Reading The True Believer with this in mind makes his discourse more digestible. Regardless, this is a timeless book of musings that I recommend to any voter or any individual curious about the nature of belief.
Nicknamed the "longshoreman philosopher," Eric Hoffer was an outsider intellectual. Orphaned as a teenager, he received no formal education and was a California drifter his entire working life—toiling in vast farm fields and later settling in the dockyards of San Francisco. Collecting library cards in a dozen towns along the railroad, he spent his spare time feverishly feeding his reading habit and scribbling down philosophical thoughts on index cards.
Published in 1951, The True Believer catapulted the obscure Hoffer into the mainstream when Eisenhower cited it during one of his press conferences. The slim but cogent work examines what mass movements, like Nazism, Stalinism, Japanese nationalism, and the Protestant Reformation, all share in common, offering brilliant and comprehensive insight into the nature of fanatacism. How does one become a fanatic, or a "true believer," ready to die for a cause?
Frustration is Hoffer's answer. Echoing Sartre, who famously stated that man is "condemned" to be free, Hoffer claims that freedom aggravates as much as it alleviates frustration. "Freedom of choice places the whole blame of failure on the shoulders of the individual," he writes. "Unless a man has the talents to make something of himself, freedom is an irksome burden." In joining a mass movement, one can lose one's individual distinctness in a compact collective whole or, in the words of a young Nazi, "be free from freedom." The fearful burden of free choice is no more.
While easy to assume that fanatics will remain steadfast in their iron-clad convictions, Hoffer argues that they actually find no difficulty swinging from one holy cause to another. For the true believer, his passionate attachment is more vital than the quality of the cause to which he's attached. "It is the fanatic and the moderate who are poles apart and never meet," Hoffer states. "It is easier for a fanatic Communist to be converted to fascism, chauvinism or Catholicism than to become a sober liberal."
Though Hoffer speaks in sweeping, broad absolutes, he prefaces his work with a disclaimer: it is not an "authoritative textbook" and "does not shy away from half-truths so long as they seem to hint at a new approach and help to formulate new questions." Reading The True Believer with this in mind makes his discourse more digestible. Regardless, this is a timeless book of musings that I recommend to any voter or any individual curious about the nature of belief.
