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C O M M O N W E A LT H , C O M M O N G O O D
OX F O R D HIS TO RICAL M O NOGRAPHS
The Oxford Historical Monographs series publishes some of the best
Oxford University doctoral theses on historical topics, especially
those likely to engage the interest of a broad academic readership.

Editors
P. C L AV I N J . D A RW I N J. INNES
J . Mc D O U G A L L D . PA R ROT T S. SMITH
B . WA R D - PE R K I N S J . L . WAT TS W. W H Y T E
 Common Wealth,
Common Good
The Politics of Virtue in Early Modern
Poland-Lithuania

B E N E D I C T WA G N E R - RU N D E L L

1
 1
Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,
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© Benedict Wagner-Rundell 2015
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First Edition published in 2015
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for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials
contained in any third party website referenced in this work.
 In memoriam Florian Lipiński
(4 May 1922/3–29 December 1997)
 Acknowledgements

This book is a revised version of a doctoral thesis completed in 2008. My

warm thanks must go to all those who offered their help, comments, and
support both during my work on the original thesis and during the sub-
sequent revision. Specifically, I would like to thank Richard Butterwick
and John Robertson for their advice during my research as well as for their
incisive comments when examining my thesis. I have also benefited greatly
from the suggestions of the OHM series anonymous reviewer, and from
advice from Robert Frost and Jerzy Lukowski while producing this revised
version. I would also like to thank Karin Friedrich, Tomasz Gromelski,
Andrzej Sulima Kamiński, and Wojciech Kriegseisen for their advice,
Christian Preusse for early sight of his own doctoral thesis, and Oliver
Thomas for his help on points of Latin translation. I must also offer my
warmest thanks to Robert Evans, my doctoral supervisor and editor dur-
ing the subsequent revision, for his encouragement and invariably percep-
tive comments over the course of my research and writing.
Last but by no means least, my love and thanks go to my wife Nicola,
for all her support and patience through years of research, writing, and
re-writing.
 Contents

List of Abbreviations xi

Introduction 1
1. The Ideal of the Commonwealth 17
2. Calls for a Moral Revival 33
3. Government of Local Worthies 47
4. Proposals for Radical Reform 57
5. The Sejm of 1712–13 79
6. The Confederation of Tarnogród 101
7. A Reforming Moment? 117
8. Wider Contexts 131
Conclusion 151

Appendix A: Chronological Table of Key Events 161

Appendix B: Note on Names and Glossary of Polish Terms 163
Bibliography 167
Index 185
 List of Abbreviations

AGAD Archiwum Główne Akt Dawnych

[Central State Archive], Warsaw
APG Archiwum Państwowe w Gdańsku
[State Archive in Gdańsk]
APKr Archiwum Państwowe w Krakowie
[State Archive in Kraków]
Bibl. Czart. Biblioteka Fundacji im. XX Czartoryskich
[Library of the Princes Czartoryski Foundation], Kraków
Bibl. Ossol. Biblioteka Zakładu Narodowego im. Ossolińskich /
Ossolineum
[Library of the Ossoliński National Foundation/
Ossolineum], Wrocław
Bibl. PAN Kórnik Biblioteka Polski Akademii Nauk (PAN) w Kórniku
[Library of the Polish Academy of Sciences (PAN) in
Kórnik]
Bibl. PAN Krak. Biblioteka Polski Akademii Nauk (PAN) w Krakowie
[Library of the Polish Academy of Sciences (PAN) in
Kraków]
BN Biblioteka Narodowa [National Library], Warsaw
BUW Biblioteka Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego
[Warsaw University Library]
TP Teki Pawińskiego
[Collections of sejmik records assembled by Adolf Pawiński]
VL Volumina Legum
 Introduction

T H E P O L I T I C S O F V I RT U E

This study analyses the political culture of the early modern Commonwealth
of Poland-Lithuania, with a particular focus on the concept of virtue, and
its role within Polish-Lithuanian political culture and discourse. Using the
turbulent first two decades of the reign of King Augustus II (r. 1697–1733)
as a case-study to explore wider trends, it will argue for two key proposi-
tions. First, that virtue was an indispensable part of Polish-Lithuanian
political thought, and an indispensable intellectual tool for early mod-
ern Polish-Lithuanian political activists and commentators to understand
and analyse the polity within which they lived and the challenges that the
Commonwealth faced. Second, that adopting a moral rather than struc-
tural perspective, analysing the Commonwealth and its evident problems
in terms of the moral failings of individuals rather than flaws in laws or
institutions, was neither a substitute for nor a barrier to serious discussion
of how to tackle the chronic dysfunction of the Commonwealth’s gov-
ernment. On the contrary, the belief that public virtue had declined and
needed to be revived could inspire substantial proposals for constitutional
reform.
The Commonwealth’s political culture was, as has been well documented
by historians, overwhelmingly a noble culture, as a result of the almost
complete domination of public life in Poland-Lithuania by its hereditary
nobility, the szlachta. Proportionally and in absolute numbers one of the
largest noble estates in early modern Europe, and notable for its religious,
linguistic, and economic diversity, the szlachta considered themselves
the Commonwealth’s political nation: they described themselves as its
citizens (obywatele), the ‘democratic’ component of the Commonwealth’s
government when analysed in Aristotelian terms.1 The szlachta monopo-
lized both public offices and the ownership of landed property; they even

1
For a discussion of how contemporary political commentators used the Aristotelian
forma mixta as a model to describe the Commonwealth’s political system, see Chapter 1.
2 Common Wealth, Common Good

propagated a mythical history of their own origins—Sarmatism—that repre-

sented them as an entirely separate people from the Commonwealth’s other
inhabitants (peasants, burghers, and Jews), ruling the land by right of ancient
conquest.2 With the szlachta dominating public life in this way, the politi-
cal discourse of the early modern Commonwealth was thus one created by
nobles and for nobles. The sources that will be used here are therefore almost
exclusively of szlachta origin, whether records of public councils such as the
Commonwealth’s central parliament, the Sejm, or local assemblies, the sej-
miki, or political pamphlets or treatises, which were generally produced by
szlachta writers and addressed to a szlachta audience. As the noble political
arena was also, in theory at least, an exclusively male sphere—members of the
szlachta routinely addressed one another as ‘brother’—the political discourse
that is being examined was also an almost entirely male one.3
It is also important to note that szlachta political discourse was primar-
ily a practical one, in the sense that it was a discourse of political prac-
titioners not one produced by writers or commentators observing the
Commonwealth’s political life from the sidelines. In principle, every adult
male szlachcic (nobleman, member of the szlachta) was entitled to par-
ticipate in the Commonwealth’s public affairs, either in local fora such
as the sejmiki or through central institutions such as the Sejm.4 Szlachta

2
On the Sarmatian myth and the ideas and culture it supported, see Maria Bogucka, The
Lost World of the “Sarmatians”: Custom as the Regulator of Polish Social Life in Early Modern
Times (Warsaw, 1996), Stanisław Cynarski, ‘The Shape of Sarmatian Ideology in Poland’,
Acta Poloniae Historica, 19 (1968), pp. 5–17 (p. 5), Cynarski, ‘Sarmatyzm: ideologia i styl
życia’, in Janusz Tazbir (ed.), Polska XVII wieku: Państwo, społeczeństwo, kultura (Warsaw,
1969), pp. 220–43, and Tazbir, Kultura szlachecka w Polsce: rozkwit, upadek, relikty (Poznań,
1998). Note also that szlachta commentators often glossed over exceptions to their monop-
oly on political participation, such as the right of the Royal Prussian sejmik (Landtag) to
send envoys to the Sejm.
3
This is not, of course, to deny that individual women could—and did—play influ-
ential roles in the Commonwealth’s political life: examples of women wielding significant
influence would include King Jan III Sobieski’s queen Maria Kazimiera (1641–1716), or
Elżbieta Sieniawska (née Lubomirska) (1669–1729), the wife of Crown Grand Hetman
Adam Sieniawski (1666–1726) and her daughter Maria Zofia (1698–1771), who was
the wife first of Lithuanian Field Hetman Stanisław Denhoff (1673–1728) and later of
August Czartoryski (1697–1782), head of the Czartoryski ‘Family’. Their influence, how-
ever, was almost entirely kept behind the scenes as women were strictly excluded from the
Commonwealth’s public institutions. As will be discussed in Chapter 1, ‘private’ influence
of this sort was the object of profound suspicion among many szlachta commentators,
and the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries saw several complaints against the
alleged ‘private’ role in public life of women, in particular the queen Maria Sobieska (see
Chapter 3).
4
There were some legal barriers to participation: for example, in theory only szlachta
owning property in a given region could attend that region’s sejmik, which in principle
disenfranchised both those whose property was elsewhere in the Commonwealth and the
entirely landless. In practice, however, propertyless szlachta were rarely excluded from the sej-
miki. More actively enforced was the gradual exclusion of members of the Commonwealth’s
 Introduction 3

political discourse was thus created inside the Commonwealth’s political

institutions, and this is reflected in the types of sources that remain, with
records of the proceedings of assemblies such as Sejms and sejmiki and
polemical tracts on particular debates or controversies by far predomi-
nating over abstract treatises on the theory or philosophy of politics and
government. To misquote a later eighteenth-century foreign observer of
the Commonwealth, the szlachta did not need to spend time discussing
in the abstract what should be done: they had the ability to act, or at least
to try to.
In some ways, therefore, analysing szlachta political culture is more of
an anthropological task than one of political philosophy: the historian
must attempt to use the records created by the practice of politics in the
early modern Commonwealth to uncover the assumptions and values
shared by its practitioners. This includes, perhaps most importantly, those
assumptions and values that were so completely and uncontestably shared
that they were not, indeed needed not be, openly debated or analysed: the
‘universe of the undiscussed’.
This study will argue that one central value in szlachta political culture
was that of public virtue. The meaning and historical roots (in particular
in classical Greek and Roman political thought) of this concept will be
discussed in Chapter 1. But virtue as a political value can be summarized
as the belief that each individual citizen is required at all times to sub-
ordinate his personal, private interests to the demands of the common
good of the political community. It is important to emphasize that this
concept of virtue was a political one, relating to the public sphere and the
conduct of public affairs, rather than to the personal morality or conduct
of citizens in their private lives. Indeed, given the central role of virtue in
the Commonwealth’s political discourse, it is remarkable how little discus-
sion there was of the relationship between public and private virtue, for
example of how a virtuous citizen should dispose of his private property,
or behave towards his family. In szlachta public discourse, discussion of
virtue concentrated almost exclusively on the political sphere.5

religious minorities from public life, with for example the last non-Catholic envoy ejected
from the Sejm in 1718, and non-Catholics formally barred from the Sejm and from serving
as judges on the Tribunal in 1733.
5
One partial exception to this was religion, where Catholic piety was often acknowl-
edged as necessary for virtue, while the coming of Christianity was often identified as key to
the origins of szlachta virtue and liberty in szlachta writers’ accounts of the Commonwealth’s
early history. Anna Grześkowiak-Krwawicz, Regina Libertas: Wolność w polskiej myśli poli-
tycznej XVIII wieku (Gdańsk, 2006), pp. 260–4. Jerzy Lukowski, ‘The Szlachta and their
Ancestors in the Eighteenth Century’, Kwartalnik Historyczny, 111, 3 (2004), pp. 161–82,
and Disorderly Liberty: The Political Culture of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the
Eighteenth Century (London, 2010).
4 Common Wealth, Common Good

L I B E RT Y A N D V I RT U E

Virtue was intimately connected to another key value in szlachta politi-

cal thought, namely liberty. The szlachta concept of liberty, and the
institutions it underpinned, in particular the liberum veto and the elec-
tive monarchy, have generally been the focus of historians’ analysis of the
Commonwealth’s political culture in the early modern period. Arguably
the most important figure in modern scholarship on szlachta liberty was
Władysław Konopczyński, who was active during the first half of the
twentieth century.
Konopczyński presented szlachta liberty as less a single political con-
cept and more an assortment of individual privileges, political, social,
and economic, including the freedom from arbitrary arrest, freedom
from taxation, and the szlachta’s monopoly on public office and the own-
ership of land. Together, these various privileges sustained the szlachta’s
position of social and economic predominance in Poland-Lithuania,
leaving the szlachta free to lord it over the Commonwealth’s peasants,
townspeople, and Jews. According to Konopczyński, the capstone of
this edifice of individual privileges (described by szlachta writers as their
‘golden liberty’) was the liberum veto, the right of a single szlachcic to
bar a decision of a local sejmik or of a single envoy to the central Sejm
to block legislation and even to disrupt an entire parliamentary session.
The liberum veto equipped the szlachta to resist any challenge to its
privileges, and was passionately defended throughout the early mod-
ern period by all but a handful of reformists. However, Konopczyński
argued that the liberum veto also fatally undermined the effectiveness of
the Commonwealth’s central government, ultimately leaving it power-
less to resist partition at the hands of its neighbours (Russia, Prussia, and
the Habsburg monarchy, states more centralized and capable of mobi-
lizing military resources than the Commonwealth) at the end of the
eighteenth century.6
Konopczyński thus portrayed the szlachta’s defence of its ‘golden liberty’
and the liberum veto as a triumph of the szlachta’s particular interest over the
common interest of Poland-Lithuania in maintaining its independence.
In this, Konopczyński echoed the historians of the nineteenth-century
‘Kraków School’, who argued that the Commonwealth was doomed to par-
tition by its internal weaknesses and the szlachta’s selfish preservation of its

6
Władysław Konopczyński, Liberum veto: studium porównawczo-historyczne (Kraków,
1918, 2nd edition Kraków, 2002) and Dzieje Polski Nowożytnej (2nd edition, Warsaw, 1986).
See also Konopczyński, Polska a Szwecja: od pokoju Oliwskiego do upadku Rzeczypospolitej
1660–1795 (Warsaw, 1924).
 Introduction 5

privileges.7 Ironically, both Konopczyński and the ‘Kraków School’ histo-

rians were themselves echoing the moralizing claims of eighteenth-century
szlachta politicians and commentators who, as discussed in Chapter 2, fre-
quently attributed the disorder and dysfunction in the Commonwealth’s
government to the failure of individuals to act virtuously and put aside
their ‘private’ interests in favour of the common good.8
Following Konopczyński, historians such as Juliusz Bardach,
Władysław Czapliński, Henryk Olszewski, and Jerzy Lukowski have ana-
lysed szlachta political thought primarily in terms of the szlachta’s ulti-
mately self-destructive attachment to its ‘golden liberty’ and have focused
on attempting to understand why the various attempts to reform the
Commonwealth, including attempts to abolish the liberum veto, proved
unsuccessful until the very end of the eighteenth century, by which point
it was too late to preserve the Commonwealth’s independence.
Once again echoing the language of early modern szlachta commenta-
tors, a running theme in this historiography has been an emphasis on the
‘demoralization’ of the szlachta during the heyday of the ‘golden liberty’.
One particular period identified as one of szlachta selfishness and result-
ing political chaos in the Commonwealth is that of the reigns of Kings
Augustus II (r. 1697–1733) and his son Augustus III (r. 1733–63) of the
Saxon Wettin dynasty, the so-called ‘Saxon period’. The szlachta’s defence
of their particular privileges at the expense of the Commonwealth’s general
interest in effective government and independence from foreign domina-
tion has thus been identified not just as an isolated failing, but as part of
a general moral decline among the szlachta, especially during the Saxon
period. In a sense, these historians have remained within the discourse of
virtue and its loss as the cause of the Commonwealth’s decline, rather than
engaging critically with it.9

7
See, for example, Michał Bobrzyński, Dzieje Polski w zarysie (Kraków, 1879), or Józef
Szujski, Dzieje Polski według ostatnich badań (Lwów, 1866) and Historii polskiej treściwie
opowiedzanej ksiąg dwanaście (Kraków, 1880).
8
The continuity between eighteenth-century polemics and the arguments of the
‘Kraków School’ may at least in part be explained by the historical context in which histo-
rians such as Bobrzyński were writing. Following the Partitions of Poland, and the failed
uprisings of 1830–1 and 1863–4 against the partitioning powers, inevitably Polish histori-
ans were drawn to the questions of ‘what went wrong?’ and ‘who was to blame?’ Lukowski
has commented that the ‘course of history turned [nineteenth-century historians] . . . into
moralists’. Lukowski, Disorderly Liberty, vii.
9
See for example Juliusz Bardach (ed.), Historia państwa i prawa Polski; vol. 2, Zdzisław
Kaczmarczyk and Bogusław Leśnodorski (eds.), Od połowy XV wieku do r. 1795 (Warsaw,
1966), Władysław Czapliński, O Polsce siedemnastowiecznej: Problemy i sprawy (Warsaw,
1966), Henryk Olszewski, Sejm Rzeczypospolitej epoki oligarchii 1652–1763: Prawo
Praktyka Teoria Programy (Poznań, 1966), Lukowski, Liberty’s Folly: The Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth in the Eighteenth Century (London, 1991). In his more recent work, how-
ever, Lukowski has engaged critically with eighteenth-century szlachta rhetoric of virtue and
6 Common Wealth, Common Good

This negative analysis of szlachta liberty has, however, been challenged

by some revisionist historians, most notably Andrzej Sulima Kamiński.
Kamiński has argued that the szlachta’s elaborate structure of shared political
rights, along with the myth of their shared Sarmatian origins, allowed a reli-
giously pluralist, multilingual noble estate whose members were geographi-
cally widely dispersed, to forge a common identity. The Commonwealth’s
decentralized system of government and tradition of decision-making by
consensus, enshrined in the liberum veto, ensured that the views of all parts
of the szlachta state were heard, with no individual region or special interest
group being able to impose its will upon the rest. This sense of common
identity and equal rights to participate in government were, Kamiński has
argued, crucial to ensuring that the vast and diverse Commonwealth held
together for as long as it did, despite the various centrifugal pressures that
it faced.10 In a similar vein, Andrzej Walicki and Robert Frost have empha-
sized that the practice of decision-making by unanimity and the liberum
veto created powerful incentives for different interest groups to compromise
with each other in order to reach consensus.11
Another group of revisionists, led by Jacek Staszewski, has challenged
Konopczyński’s claim that the szlachta’s ‘golden liberty’, including the
liberum veto, condemned the Commonwealth’s central government to
dysfunction and ineffectiveness. Staszewski and his followers have empha-
sized the freedom of action enjoyed by the Commonwealth’s kings and
their ministers, in particular during the Saxon period when Augustus II

corruption, as will be discussed below. Perhaps the most striking example of the tendency to
connect szlachta conservatism with stupidity and moral degeneracy is Zamoyski’s descrip-
tion of the young Karol Radziwiłł, later head of one of the Commonwealth’s most powerful
magnate families and a leader of the conservative Confederation of Bar, as a teenage alco-
holic who was only taught to read by having metal letters hung in trees as targets for pistol
practice. Adam Zamoyski, The Last King of Poland (London, 1992), p. 21.
10
Andrzej Sulima Kamiński, Historia Rzeczypospolitej wielu Narodów 1505–
1795: Obywatele, ich państwa, społeczeństwo, kultura (Lublin, 2000) and Republic vs
Autocracy: Poland-Lithuania and Russia 1686–1697 (Cambridge, MA, 1993).
11
Frost has compared the effect of the liberum veto in the Commonwealth to that of
national vetoes in international institutions such as the European Union, where require-
ments to reach consensus can help protect smaller member states against bullying by more
powerful partners, albeit at some cost to the institution’s ability to make rapid decisions.
Robert Frost, ‘The Nobility of Poland-Lithuania, 1569–1795’, in Hamish Scott (ed.), The
European Nobilities in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (2 vols., London, 1995),
vol. 2 (Northern, Central and Eastern Europe), pp. 183–222. See also Frost, ‘“Liberty with-
out License?” The Failure of Polish Democratic Thought in the Seventeenth Century’,
in Mieczysław Biskupski and James Pula (eds.), Polish Democratic Thought from the
Renaissance to the Great Emigration: Essays and Documents (New York, 1990), pp. 29–54,
Andrzej Walicki, The Three Traditions in Polish Patriotism and their Contemporary Relevance
(Bloomington, IN, 1988) and The Enlightenment and the Birth of Modern Nationhood: Polish
Political Thought from Noble Republicanism to Tadeusz Kościuszko (Notre Dame, IN, 1989).
 Introduction 7

and Augustus III were able to draw on the financial, military, and dip-
lomatic resources of their Electorate of Saxony.12 In his studies of the
Swedish Vasa dynasty (Kings Zygmunt III (r. 1587–1632), Władysław IV
(r. 1632–48), and Jan Kazimierz (r. 1648–68)), Frost has similarly empha-
sized the power of the monarchy and its independence from institutions
such as the Sejm, while noting how close the Vasa kings came in the mid-
dle of the seventeenth century to breaking free of the legal restrictions on
the crown and laying the foundations for a strong hereditary monarchy.13
Against Konopczyński’s view of szlachta liberty as no more than
a collection of privileges, Edward Opaliński and especially Anna
Grześkowiak-Krwawicz have argued that a single, coherent concept
of liberty did exist in szlachta political thought, based on a concept of
‘republican liberty’. Drawing on the work of J. G. A. Pocock and Quentin
Skinner, Grześkowiak-Krwawicz has argued that in szlachta political cul-
ture, liberty was understood above all as independence from the will of a
ruler. This concept encapsulated both the szlachta’s freedom from inter-
ference from government, such as freedom of speech or freedom from
arbitrary arrest, and the szlachta’s extensive rights to participate in govern-
ment, for example at sejmiki, Sejms, and royal elections. According to
Grześkowiak-Krwawicz’s reading of szlachta liberty, it was by their partici-
pation in government that the szlachta ensured that their liberty did not
depend upon the continued favour of a king with the power to revoke it if
he pleased. Liberty was thus a collective pursuit that required that sover-
eignty in the Commonwealth belong not to the king alone, but be shared
with the szlachta citizenry.14
Grześkowiak-Krwawicz has also highlighted the close connection in
szlachta political thought between this ‘republican’ concept of liberty
and virtue. In particular, she has noted the distinction drawn by szlachta
commentators between virtuous ‘liberty’ (wolność) and sinful ‘licence’

12
Jacek Staszewski, August II Mocny (Wrocław, 1998) and August III Sas (Wrocław,
1989). See also Adam Perłakowski, Jan Jerzy Przebendowski jako podskarbi wielki koronny
(1703–1729): Studium funkcjonowania ministerium (Kraków, 2004).
13
Robert Frost, After the Deluge: Poland-Lithuania and the Second Northern War 1655–
1660 (Cambridge, 1993).
14
Edward Opaliński, Kultura polityczna szlachty polskiej w latach 1587–1652: sys-
tem parlamentarny a społeczeństwo obywatelskie (Warsaw, 1995) and ‘Civic Humanism
and Republican Citizenship in the Polish Renaissance’, in Martin van Gelderen and
Quentin Skinner (eds.), Republicanism: A Shared European Heritage (2 vols., Cambridge,
2002), vol. 1 (Republicanism and Constitutionalism in Early Modern Europe), pp.
147–66. Grześkowiak-Krwawicz, Regina Libertas, ‘Quentin Skinner i teoria wolności
republikańskiej’, Archiwum historii filozofii i myśli społecznej, 45 (2000), pp. 165–74, and
‘Deux libertés, l’ancienne et la nouvelle, dans la pensée politique polonaise du XVIIIe siè-
cle’, in Grześkowiak-Krwawicz and Izabella Zatorska (eds.), Liberté: Héritage du Passé ou
Idée des Lumières? (Kraków, 2003), pp. 44–59.
8 Common Wealth, Common Good

(swawola). Liberty was understood as more than just an individual’s free-

dom to act according to his own will, but rather required its practitioners
to act in accordance with the common good, that is virtuously.15 This
moral component of liberty was highlighted in the sixteenth century by
the cleric, humanist, and political writer Andrzej Frycz Modrzewski, who
denied that the freedom to act viciously could be considered true liberty,
arguing that ‘no one thinks that God is a stranger to liberty, just because
He cannot sin’.16
In contrast to virtuous liberty, licence (swawola) was the freedom to act
purely in the pursuit of private interests. Private interests were assumed
to be automatically opposed to the common good (see Chapter 1), and
hence vicious. Licentious behaviour was to be condemned as harm-
ful to the common interest as well as to the moral nature of the actor.
Modrzewski compared licence to the freedom enjoyed by an unbridled
horse, which thrashes around wildly in its stable, injuring both itself and
others.17 In the early eighteenth century, the term swawolnie (and occa-
sionally the Latin equivalent licentier) was frequently used to condemn
injuries inflicted on the szlachta, or violations of their legal rights, in par-
ticular by troops levying ‘contributions’ on szlachta property during and
after the Commonwealth’s involvement in the Great Northern War (see
Chapters 5 and 6).
Thus Grześkowiak-Krwawicz has noted that virtue was indispensable
to szlachta liberty. At the same time, liberty was in turn necessary to vir-
tue: the preservation of liberty and the free Commonwealth (above all
against encroachments by the monarchy) was regarded as the highest
common good. Virtue therefore demanded the defence of liberty. Szlachta
writers also claimed that only those living in a state of liberty had the
capacity to discern and pursue the common good, whereas those who were
dependent upon a master could work only for their master’s interests.18
Thus only those who enjoyed liberty could attain virtue. Virtue and liberty
were inextricably linked.19

15
Grześkowiak-Krwawicz, Regina Libertas, pp. 252–3. See also Frost, ‘ “Liberty without
License?” ’.
16
‘Nemo Deum existimet libertatis esse expertem, propterea quod peccare non possit’,
Andrzej Frycz Modrzewski, De Republica Emendanda (1551–9), in Andreae Fricii Modrevii
Opera Omnia (ed. Kazimierz Kumaniecki, 3 vols., Warsaw, 1953), vol. 2, p. 166.
17
Modrzewski, De Republica Emendanda, vol. 2, p. 167.
18
Here Grześkowiak-Krwawicz builds in particular on Skinner’s argument that
seventeenth-century English republicans held that the lack of freedom resulted in indi-
viduals becoming ‘dis-couraged’, ‘dis-heartened’, and ‘dis-spirited’, and hence diminished as
human beings. Skinner, ‘A Third Concept of Liberty’, Berlin Lecture to the British Academy
2001, Proceedings of the British Academy, 117 (2002), pp. 237–68 (pp. 258–60).
19
Grześkowiak-Krwawicz, Regina Libertas, pp. 249–92. Grześkowiak-Krwawicz has
also argued that the importance of virtue to the early modern szlachta concept of liberty
 Introduction 9

Throughout the early modern period, however, szlachta politicians and

commentators bemoaned the loss of virtue among the Commonwealth’s
citizens, who were becoming corrupted by the pursuit of private inter-
ests rather than the common good.20 Grześkowiak-Krwawicz has noted
a near-universal pessimism among szlachta commentators about the
decline of virtue in the Commonwealth. She has argued that this moral
perspective also coloured szlachta observers’ view of the Commonwealth’s
political situation. Drawing parallels with the fall of the Roman repub-
lic after its citizens’ supposed moral decline, szlachta commentators saw
the Commonwealth’s internal turmoil and external weakness in terms of
the moral degeneration of its citizens. Indeed, ‘for the majority of the
szlachta, the loss of virtue was the sole cause of the crisis of the state’.
Hence throughout the early modern period szlachta writers argued that it
was vital that inculcating virtue be a central part of the education of young
noblemen.21
This moralizing approach among szlachta commentators has also
been highlighted by Lukowski, who has in particular noted the role
played in moral accounts of the Commonwealth and its history by the
szlachta’s (real or invented) ancestors. According to szlachta histories (or
pseudo-histories) of the origins of the Commonwealth and of szlachta
liberty, these ancestors had, by their selfless service to their fatherland,
inspired grateful kings to bestow upon them and their heirs the ‘golden
liberty’ as a reward for their virtuous service. Liberty thus formed a pre-
cious inheritance for later generations, who were challenged to live up to
the virtuous example of their glorious forebears. Some figures in more
recent times had managed to do this, such as Jan Zamoyski (1542–1605),
the sixteenth-century champion of the right of every szlachcic to vote in
royal elections, and Jerzy Sebastian Lubomirski (1616–67), leader of the
great seventeenth-century uprising (rokosz) against the monarchist designs
of King Jan Kazimierz. By the eighteenth century, however, the bulk of the
szlachta had lost their virtue, having become devoted to private wealth and
luxury rather than to the fatherland. This moral failure, rather than any
imperfections in the laws and institutions also passed down by the ances-
tors, had led to the Commonwealth’s decline into internal strife and disor-
der. That disorder in turn threatened the szlachta’s inheritance, by opening

constitutes an important element of continuity between traditional szlachta political

thought and the ideas of later eighteenth-century thinkers and reformers such as Stanisław
Konarski and Hugo Kołłątaj.
20
Grześkowiak-Krwawicz, Regina Libertas, pp. 273–4. See also Olszewski, Dokryny
prawno-ustrojowe czasów saskich 1697–1740 (Warsaw, 1961), pp. 17–19.
21
Grześkowiak-Krwawicz, Regina Libertas, pp. 262–75.
10 Common Wealth, Common Good

the way for ambitious monarchs to undermine the Commonwealth’s laws

and erode szlachta liberty.22
Thus Lukowski too has emphasized the extent to which szlachta com-
mentators analysed the Commonwealth and its problems in moral rather
than institutional terms. He has, however, taken a sharply negative view
of this focus on virtue and on the szlachta’s ‘ancestral legacies’. According
to Lukowski, this moral approach was at best a form of escapism: dwell-
ing on utopian visions of the past and blaming the Commonwealth’s pre-
sent turmoil and paralysis on individuals’ lack of virtue allowed szlachta
politicians and commentators to avoid addressing the real issue of the
Commonwealth’s institutional flaws. At worst, the claims that the laws
bequeathed to the szlachta by their glorious ancestors were perfect, and
that for all their moral decline the szlachta remained ready to emulate
those ancestors by laying down their lives for their liberty (a claim given
institutional form in the pospolite ruszenie or mass levy of the szlachta),
legitimated opposition to the reforms (above all the abolition of the
liberum veto) that Lukowski, following Konopczyński, argues were nec-
essary to revive the Commonwealth’s government and preserve its inde-
pendence. Szlachta commentators’ moral perspective thus contributed to
the Commonwealth’s continuing dysfunction and paralysis and thence its
ultimate collapse.23

V I RT U E A N D R E F O R M

While building on the work of both Lukowski and Grześkowiak-Krwawicz,

this study argues for a different perspective on the role of virtue in szlachta
political thought. Contrary to Lukowski, it argues that szlachta political
thinkers’ portrayal of the Commonwealth’s decline in moral terms was
more than just naïve utopianism, or an attempt to evade the need for con-
stitutional reform. Rather, during the early decades of the eighteenth cen-
tury, moral analysis of the Commonwealth’s plight informed and inspired
a series of attempts to reform the Commonwealth’s laws and institutions,
aimed at sweeping away a degenerate ruling elite and ensuring govern-
ment for the common good.
These reform proposals also show that in szlachta political thought virtue
was not just a necessary attribute for citizens of the free Commonwealth,
as Grześkowiak-Krwawicz had described. In addition, the concept of

22
Lukowski, Disorderly Liberty, pp. 13–32. See also Lukowski, ‘The Szlachta and their
Ancestors’.
23
Lukowski, Disorderly Liberty, pp. 13–32.
 Introduction 11

virtue was an indispensable analytical tool for szlachta politicians and

commentators seeking to understand the Commonwealth’s increasing
political turmoil and dysfunction. Not only did the loss of virtue explain
the decline of the szlachta state: the need to restore virtue pointed towards
particular institutional changes that were needed to reverse that decline.
So going beyond Grześkowiak-Krwawicz’s work, this study argues that the
concept of virtue was central to the institutional, as well as the moral or
behavioural, analysis of early modern szlachta thinkers.
Chapter 1 sets the scene by following Grześkowiak-Krwawicz in pre-
senting the concept of virtue as an essential part of a coherent ideal of the
Commonwealth that brought together szlachta ideas on liberty, respect
for the law, and collective sovereignty. The szlachta were not, of course,
a monolith, and it would be misleading to speak of a singular ‘szlachta
opinion’, given the repeated controversies and factional quarrels that
characterized the Commonwealth’s politics throughout the early modern
period. The ideal of the Commonwealth was not, therefore, a single politi-
cal programme, but rather a shared paradigm of ideas and values that set
the terms within which political arguments were framed and disputes were
pursued. It was the common ground on which the game was played, and
battles fought.
Virtue was an indispensable element of this ideal, not just as a necessary
condition for liberty, or for citizenship, but also central to the very purpose
of government and of the Commonwealth. Given the centrality of virtue
to this ideal, it was logical that virtue should be indispensable to szlachta
observers’ analysis of the Commonwealth’s chronic political dysfunction.
As Grześkowiak-Krwawicz and Lukowski have recognized, szlachta com-
mentators routinely discussed the Commonwealth’s political problems in
moral terms, as the result of corruption among the Commonwealth’s gov-
ernment and citizens. This was particularly the case during the early years
of the reign of Augustus II, when the Commonwealth’s political system
came under unprecedented strain.
If a loss of virtue was the cause of the Commonwealth’s problems, it fol-
lowed that the key challenge was how virtue could be restored. Chapter 2
examines a purely moralizing response to that challenge during the late
seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Starting from the assumption
that the Commonwealth’s problems lay not with its laws or institutions
but with the character of its citizens, some szlachta writers sought differ-
ent means of engineering a moral reformation among their fellow citizens.
The argument that institutional tinkering could not be the right response
to a problem that was ultimately a moral one was perhaps best represented
by Stanisław Herakliusz Lubomirski, Grand Marshal of the Crown (i.e.
Poland), in his 1700 dialogue De Vanitate Consiliorum, which looked for
12 Common Wealth, Common Good

a solution to the Commonwealth’s problems in trust and harmony between

its estates, rather than changes to the law. Chapter 2 discusses the calls by
Lubomirski and others for a moral reformation of the szlachta, to be achieved
either through straightforward exhortation, by rallying the szlachta in a new
holy war, or through the appointment of a government of worthy men by
the king.
These proposals did not involve any reform to the Commonwealth’s
laws or institutions of government. Against Lukowski’s claim that the
focus on virtue was a substitute for, or a barrier to, consideration of insti-
tutional change, Chapters 3 to 6 argue that during the late seventeenth
and early eighteenth centuries, and in particular in the first two decades
of the reign of Augustus II, the aim of restoring virtue lay behind a
number of attempts to reform the Commonwealth’s government.
The first of these, discussed in Chapter 3, came from below, from
the regional szlachta assembled in the sejmiki. Sejmik records, this
chapter argues, show a conviction among the regional szlachta that
the Commonwealth’s government had been usurped by a corrupt
clique of self-interested senators, ministers, and courtiers clustered
around the throne, and that this usurpation was primarily responsible
for the Commonwealth’s descent into turmoil. The restoration of the
Commonwealth therefore required the removal of this corrupt clique. To
this end, working within the existing constitution, the sejmiki lobbied
for only virtuous men, drawn from the wider szlachta, to be appointed to
office. At the same time, however, the regional szlachta also increasingly
took matters into their own hands, by expanding the role and powers
of local government in the Commonwealth. Chapter 3 argues that the
development of local government, a long-running trend which accelerated
markedly in the early eighteenth century (especially following the out-
break of the Great Northern War), represented an attempt by the szlachta
of the Commonwealth’s various regions, working through the sejmiki, to
build from the bottom up the government of worthy men that they were
simultaneously urging the king to appoint at the centre.
During the years of the Great Northern War, a small group of
szlachta politicians and writers sought to go further than either the
moral exhortations of Lubomirski or the evolutionary changes being
implemented by the sejmiki. Chapter 4 discusses a set of propos-
als for radical reform of the Commonwealth’s government: Stanisław
Dunin Karwicki’s De Ordinanda Republica of around 1705, Jerzy
Dzieduszycki’s Traktat o elekcyi królów polskich of 1707, and the
anonymous Eclipsis Poloniae Orbi Publico Demonstrata of 1709. It
argues that restoring virtuous government was the central objec-
tive of these radical reformers (whom some historians have labelled
 Introduction 13

‘republicans’). 24 This goal was to be achieved by reforming the

Commonwealth’s government in such a way as to allow only virtuous
men to rise to positions of power, while at the same time encourag-
ing the development of virtue among the Commonwealth’s szlachta
citizens. A key theme of these proposals was giving the entire szlachta
an effective voice in electing men to the Commonwealth’s highest
offices, including the crown. Making office-holders subject to the
judgement of their fellow citizens would ensure that they only served
the common interest of the whole Commonwealth, rather than
working for private gain.
Chapters 5 and 6 then discuss attempts to reform the Commonwealth’s
government at the end of the Great Northern War, first at the Sejm of 1712–
13 and then during the General Confederation of Tarnogród (1715–17).
These chapters argue that central to the programmes of the Sejm envoys and
the Tarnogród confederates were proposals to make the Commonwealth’s
ministers accountable to the szlachta for their actions, with a particular focus
on holding the hetmans to answer for the forced ‘contributions’ levied on
szlachta property by their armies. The Sejm envoys and confederates argued
that accountability to the szlachta was necessary to ensure that ministers acted
in accordance with the law and the common good, and ministers could be
punished for any ‘licentious’ (swawolny) conduct. To this end, they pressed
for the establishment of new judicial institutions to investigate ministers’ con-
duct, with the power either to force those found guilty of ‘licence’ to pay
compensation or to remove them from office. The goal of restoring virtu-
ous government was thus central to the programmes of the Sejm envoys and
the Tarnogród confederates, and both groups attempted (though ultimately
unsuccessfully) to implement significant reforms to the Commonwealth’s
government in order to achieve this objective.
The majority of this study thus focuses on the turbulent early years of the
reign of Augustus II, and Chapters 5 and 6 offer new interpretations of two
significant episodes towards the end of this period. The primary intention is
not, however, to present a comprehensive narrative of these years,25 but rather
to use the period as a case-study to illustrate broader themes in szlachta political
thought, in particular the centrality of the concept of virtue and its potential
to inspire significant attempts to reform the Commonwealth’s government.
The two decades from the election of Augustus II in 1697 to the ‘Silent
Sejm’ of 1717 serve well as a case-study owing to the exceptional turmoil that

24
Chapter 1, however, argues that identifying a distinct ‘republican’ tradition within
szlachta political thought is problematic, given the near universal adherence to the ideal of
the Commonwealth.
25
A chronology of key dates is, however, included as Appendix A.
14 Common Wealth, Common Good

they witnessed. During this period the Commonwealth’s political system

came under immense, perhaps unprecedented, strain. This was the result of
a combination of internal political conflicts (over the 1697 election between
supporters of Augustus II and his rivals Jakub Sobieski and François de Conti,
only settled in 1699, and then in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania between
supporters and opponents of the magnate Sapieha family); the arrival on the
throne of a king possessed of external diplomatic and military resources far
beyond those of any of his predecessors; the decade of devastating warfare
started by Augustus II’s attack on Swedish Livonia in 1700; and repeated
intervention by foreign powers, most notably Sweden and Russia.
This combination of internal and external challenges tested the szlachta
state as never before, and threw into sharp relief some of the biggest chal-
lenges facing the Commonwealth as a political system: how to ensure that
government could function (not least in protecting the Commonwealth
from external attack) without being autocratic; whose interests govern-
ment should serve; and how questions of policy (in particular of war and
peace) should be decided. In other words, faced with the turmoil that the
early years of Augustus II brought, the question of how the Commonwealth
should be constituted and should function politically was unavoidable. At
the same time, the patent failure of the Commonwealth to deal with these
challenges and to determine its own destiny made clear that the szlachta
state was in some fundamental way broken and in need of repair.
At the beginning of the eighteenth century, szlachta politicians and
commentators were thus forced to confront the Commonwealth’s pro-
found political and constitutional failings. The scale of those failings
required a return to first principles both to analyse the problems facing the
Commonwealth and to produce and propose solutions. That virtue was
central to szlachta observers’ analyses of and responses to the crisis of the
early eighteenth century demonstrates how the concept of virtue was an
indispensable element of szlachta political thought, and of contemporar-
ies’ understanding of the szlachta state.
Given the widespread acknowledgement among the szlachta at the
start of the eighteenth century that the Commonwealth was in need of
reform, and the number of different reform efforts that this period saw,
the early years of Augustus II’s reign should arguably be considered a
‘reforming moment’ in the history of the szlachta state. Chapter 7 exam-
ines why the fruits of this reforming moment proved to be so meagre,
arguing that the political stalemate of this period was not only the result
of innate conservatism and disunity among the szlachta or foreign inter-
vention, but also of the collision of competing reform efforts, includ-
ing the authoritarian, monarchist programme adopted by Augustus II.
With this clash of reform proposals preventing any one from achieving a
 Introduction 15

decisive victory, arguably the Commonwealth suffered in this period not

from too little drive for reform, but too much. Chapter 7 then consid-
ers whether an alternative outcome was possible, based on co-operation
rather than competition between king and szlachta aimed at restoring
effective but still collective government, expressed through the language
of virtue and the common good.
Chapter 8 then examines the szlachta political tradition in international
context, comparing szlachta ideas with those of other early modern repub-
lican traditions, in particular in England, Scotland, and Great Britain.
This chapter argues that a continuing preoccupation with virtue was not
only a central but also a distinctive feature of szlachta political thought.
Despite some similarities between both the language used and some of
the policies advocated by British and szlachta republicans in the late sev-
enteenth and eighteenth centuries, during this period a gulf gradually
opened up between the conceptual foundations of the szlachta republican
tradition relative to its British counterparts. For whereas szlachta political
thinkers continued to consider that the maintenance of a commonwealth
required that citizens be virtuous, and subordinate their private interests
to the common good, British contemporaries increasingly rejected the
necessity of virtue, and instead accepted self-interest as an inevitable and
even positive force in society. Rather than suppressing self-interest in the
name of the common good, British political (and later economic) think-
ers explored how self-interest might instead be harnessed for the common
interest, through the skilful construction of laws and institutions, a tech-
nique termed ‘political architecture’.
The suggestion that the distinguishing feature of the szlachta repub-
lican tradition was its retention of classical assumptions that republicans
elsewhere were increasingly abandoning, prompts the question of whether
szlachta political thought was distinctive in its backwardness relative
to more ‘progressive’ developments elsewhere in early modern Europe.
This question is discussed in the Conclusion, which argues that despite
the apparent triumph of ‘political architecture’ and the general accept-
ance of individual selfishness, all political (and indeed economic) systems
nevertheless depend to some extent on individuals sharing certain values,
adhering to norms of behaviour and trusting others to do the same—even
when they might profit from contravening those norms. To some degree,
therefore, all polities, if they are to survive, require that citizens accept a
common interest in the maintenance of the system itself, and subordinate
their private interests to that common good. The szlachta Commonwealth
was therefore distinctive not in requiring deference to the common good,
which szlachta thinkers termed virtue, but in the extent to which it did so.
Another random document with
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 Repeat the same procedure the next day. Vary the introduction
somewhat, like this: “I want you to do this just as you did yesterday,
except that I want this margin over here on the right side to be on a
straight line. Wait till I take this ruler and show you.” Lay the ruler
lengthwise of the sheet you want the pupil to write on, so that you
can take your lead pencil and make a line about an inch from the
right side of the page. “Now, when you have written out to this line
here, then stop and begin on the next line like this:” (show the child
how you write a sentence and begin on the next line). It would be
well if the sentence which you use as an example were to be one that
would express some familiar thought about the child’s immediate
interests, such as his favorite sport. Leave the child’s desk as you
were advised to leave it the day before and also return as before and
approve that which the pupil does well, either saying absolutely
nothing about the careless parts or suggest incidently that the pupil
could help such and such a part by doing this or that thing to it. Be
sure to end your remarks by some such expression as, “That’s good,”
or “That’s fine.”
(3) Learning to Draw. Not infrequently it Lower Grades
happens that a pupil comes into school who
has never learned to draw and who, feeling his inability to
accomplish the task set for him in the drawing lesson, refuses to
make any attempt to do so. Especially is this true if the picture is to
be drawn from imagination. In such a case it is best to begin with
copying. When this art is learned, drawing from imagination will be a
comparatively easy step.
For example, choose a very simple picture for the child to
reproduce on another piece of paper. It is a good plan for a teacher to
have at least a dozen or more pictures in one drawer of his desk all
the time, because many pupils like to draw and copy pictures and it
is an excellent way to get them interested in other work. Present the
picture of some ordinary scene. Tell the pupil before he begins that
you are going to make a collection of pictures which your pupils
draw. The picture need not have much life in it to start with, but right
here we make use of the child’s imagination to wonderful advantage.
Suppose the picture, which you have in hand, shows a tree or two, a
house, a couple of bushes or any kind of natural objects whatsoever.
Talk to the pupil in this fashion, pointing to different parts of the
picture with your pencil and have your face near the picture,
indicating interest and enthusiasm as you talk: “Now, right behind
this tree here, I want you to draw a boy, sticking his head out from
behind the tree. And right over here, where I make this little cross
mark, I want you to draw a little girl hiding behind this bush. We will
suppose they are playing ‘Hide and Seek.’ Right over here, between
this tree and the house, draw a boy’s hat. Maybe he has lost it while
he was running to hide. You know how to make a hat. Just like this:”
(draw a very simple hat, merely making a straight line and a semi-
circle connecting two points in it.) “Maybe you can draw a better one
than that. I’ll come back to your desk pretty soon and see what kind
of a hat you drew and also that little boy sticking his head out from
behind the tree. Is your pencil sharp enough?”
The child will say that his pencil is all right. Then leave him at once
and in ten or fifteen minutes return. Go back with this one thought in
mind, that you will say nothing at all except that which is
complimentary. For example, say, “Well, I should say you can draw. I
believe you made a better hat than I did. Now this afternoon, I am
going to give you something else to draw. Maybe a pony with a boy
on his back and a girl riding in the pony cart. You are going to be
good at drawing things for me, I know. I want to keep all of your
drawings after you have finished them for me.”
In case the child should interrupt and ask to draw the pony right
away instead of waiting until afternoon, answer by saying, “I will
have the picture ready for you after dinner and then I will bring it to
you.”
Of course, it is not necessary to use the exact words we have
suggested, or to use the same pictures or even to use pictures at all.
The important point is to offer something that is at once interesting
in order to get the pupil started in drawing. Do not insist much upon
regular lessons during the first day or two in which your chief
problem is to get the pupil’s confidence.
After the child has learned to like to do the things which you
suggest present more difficult, or even purely imaginative, subjects
for drawing.
Use the same method in getting the child to take an interest in
other subjects than drawing—that is, give him very small tasks, then
approve and compliment him on his ability. This will bring good
results with any pupil who is normal.
As a transition step between mere copying and drawing wholly
from the imagination, and also to give the timid child confidence
enough to come to the blackboard to draw in the presence of other
children, the following might be tried.
Having the confidence of the little pupil, go to his desk just before
school closes in the evening and say, “I would like for you to stay just
a moment after school. I want to tell you something.”
After most of the pupils have marched out, return to his desk,
begin to talk enthusiastically about a picture which you have. Tell
him to follow you and you will try to draw it. Then after reaching the
blackboard and picking up a piece of crayon, say, “Now, I am going
to draw this man’s face and I want you to draw his eyes.” Let it take
you about a minute to draw the outline of the man’s face, talking all
the time about how well you like to draw pictures, then say, “Now
let’s see if you can draw his eyes. Make a mark right there” (point to a
spot). “Good! Now draw his other eye. Good! Now his ear. Make a
mark right here” (point to a spot). “My, that’s fine. See, what a fine
man you drew.” Start to leave the blackboard and say, “I’m going to
have you draw for me again.”
Repeat this process every day until you feel sure that the child will
go to the blackboard and work in the presence of yourself and the
class.
 DIVISION VII

Only through the gateway of personal experience does the child enter into the
larger understanding of the thought and achievement of humanity.
 CASES ARISING OUT OF THE SOCIAL
INSTINCTS

1. The Unsocial Child

Every teacher knows of a first grade child that came moping when
all the other pupils were in high glee, that stood by himself when
others were enjoying a game, that preferred to come to school alone
and to saunter home alone, that took no part in any of the activities
that always interest other youngsters, that even seemed indifferent to
the friendly approaches of playmates and teacher. There may be no
particular harm in having such a child in school, but should he carry
such traits into adult life, they would prove a serious handicap; so it
is important that the teacher should attempt to help him to throw off
his peculiarities. This can be accomplished very easily. In attempting
a cure she should not make the child feel that she thinks him
different from other pupils.
The best place to begin helping the child is on the playground. Talk
to him about the interesting features of the games. Though he may
not at first show interest, the teacher should keep this up for several
days, until he has learned to know the teacher as a friend. Then she
can invite him to join in the games. It is only an abnormal child that
will not enter into the sport after repeated invitations.
After the child has taken an active part in the games, the teacher
may begin to pay special attention to him in the school-room. To
cause the child to eliminate his peculiarities is entirely a matter of
arousing his devotion to those things which interest other children.
The teacher should appeal to his interests until she has won his
complete confidence. Then she should introduce him to a new
activity. Little by little she will displace the child’s peculiarities with
abiding concern in all those things that interest the other children.
The individual who reaches mature life still possessed of
characteristics that make him an exceptional person is likely to lead a
more or less isolated life unless his peculiarities are such as to make
him acceptable as a leader. Under ordinary conditions, “society tends
to penalize those who do not conform to its customs, its standards,
its attitudes.” This is true even of the unsocial, or non-social
individual; still more does it hold in respect to the anti-social
member of the group.
2. Anti-Social Tendencies—Selfishness, Jealousy, Cliques and
Snobbishness
(1) Selfishness. Selfishness is a trait of character that has always
elicited severe criticism from society. Its manifestations are so
conspicuous that they provoke men to despise and avoid the
confirmed egoist. It is an anti-social trait, hence deserving of the
opprobrium placed upon it, yet it is the basis of all the social virtues,
hence the place which is here given to it in the division on “Social
Instincts.”
We may well believe that selfishness was a universal trait of the
race in its infancy. By this is meant that every individual instinctively
seeks to care for his own interests above those of anyone else. All
during the earlier months, and perhaps years, of one’s childhood, he
measures the world in terms of its service to his own comfort and
pleasure. As one who merges into later childhood and into adult life,
he normally narrows the play of this trait of character, and inhibits
those impulses which, if followed out, would make him a selfish
person. Adults who are justly accused of being selfish are persons
who have never fully profited from their contact with their fellows,
nor have they learned how to suppress adequately their own personal
desires and demands.
Selfishness is a relative term. This is due to the fact that
individuals differ from each other widely in the matter of natural
endowments. The standard of measure used in judging selfishness in
people is both individual and social. Most frequently the charge of
selfishness is lodged because an individual is not as unselfish as the
group in which he most often appears, but in fairness he must also be
judged with an eye to the intensity of his native egoistic impulses.
From this point of view, what may be selfish in one person is not
selfish in another.
The misunderstanding of children in interpreting their apparent
selfishness is very easy. The traditions of the home may have
accentuated the natural propensity to care for their own interests
beyond that which would have been the case had they had other
surroundings.
 Furthermore, the known variation in natural endowments, and in
the responses to social influences, require one to be lenient in
passing judgment upon selfish people.
As commonly understood, the selfish Its Nature
individual is one who exhibits an excessive
concern for his own welfare, who tends to regard himself as a little
god, watching every opportunity to satisfy his desires, tastes,
impulses and pleasures. He measures every passing circumstance in
terms of its value to him. Even the occasional acts of kindness which
he renders to another are planned so as to bring him the largest
returns financially or socially.
We must not forget that selfishness is an indestructible instinct of
human nature. On this instinct is deeply engraved the law of self-
preservation. Experience in associating with ones’ fellows shows to
an ordinary person how far he must take precautions in order to
maintain his own welfare, but in the case of a few, as we believe,
results of experience have not given the wisdom which renders them
unselfish.
We are never to forget that the will to live underlies and overtops
all other interests and desires in the life of the individual. No sane
method will attempt to suppress this impulse, for out of it spring all
the impulses that induce the individual to seek his fortune and win
success in life.
For the better understanding of Causes
selfishness in children, it is well to survey
some of the general causes that operate in prolonging selfishness
into later childhood and adult life.
First of all, we mention misconception of one’s actual need. By this
we mean that a child overestimates his need for some object that
interests him. He “wants” it very much, as we say. He is unable, by
reason of his immaturity, to estimate accurately his own necessities
in the case. Another specific cause of selfishness is a wrong estimate
of the value which belongs to the object of his eager desire. For these
reasons he is willing to pay too high a price to satisfy himself with
that which, if he were better informed, he could forego with little
discomfort.
 Again, the attainment of success after long and victorious effort
may beget in one a spirit of selfishness. Not infrequently a student
who has solved a difficult problem after painstaking toil, hesitates to
pass on the fruits of his labor to a classmate. He reasons that the
expenditure of energy which he has suffered is worth too much to be
lightly transferred to another person. Particularly will this be the
case if the sharing of his gain will reduce the lustre of his own glory.
Another particular cause of selfishness, both in adults and in
children, is the transition from poverty to plenty, from obscurity to
prominence, from disesteem to fame. If the father or mother has
recently emerged from some retired station in life, the contrast in the
situation is very sure to be reflected in the life of the younger
members of the family. If the change is from poverty to wealth, the
parents are disposed to be miserly in the expenditure of their money.
This attitude of mind reappears in the child in a refusal to share his
pleasures and privileges with his schoolmates. He carries with him a
caution to see that no one trespasses upon his newly achieved rights.
In our western civilization such extreme transitions are not
infrequent, owing to the freedom of opportunity for all.
Many times people who are not widely acquainted with the world
are selfish because they do not believe in the good will of others. This
state of mind is very often found in young children who have not yet
advanced beyond a sort of savagery in which they regard every man
as a possible enemy. They refuse to give up to their associates
because they do not believe any return will come to them. They fear
that all of their possessions will be ravaged and appropriated, and so
exercise excessive caution in lending them or in making presents to
their friends.
It is not unusual that certain interests of some society, class, or
club, are so vividly conceived as to modify the attitude of the entire
group.
A fraternity or literary society or a senior class in a high school
may hold inflated ideas of their importance, and think necessarily
that school interests should rotate around their welfare. Individuals
who belong to the club or society become intoxicated with this
notion, and exhibit an almost barbaric class-selfishness.
With these and other incentives to selfishness, the situation facing
a conscientious teacher is by no means simple. Since selfishness is a
very intimate trait of character, the question might be raised why a
teacher could take interest in curing children of selfishness. The fault
has been generated very largely in the home, and the cure should,
naturally, be largely a matter of home concern.
Nevertheless the public school teacher Cure
has a large responsibility. He must attempt
to improve the character of the child in every way possible.
Obviously, the cure of selfishness can be had only by associating with
other people. It depends upon the teacher to manipulate these
associations in school so as to aid in reforming character at this
point.
Just as clearly, the more startling instances of selfishness
necessitate care that the rights of other pupils be preserved. This
happens so frequently as to demand no elaborate argument.
The teacher’s concern for the general improvement of the moral
life of the school requires that striking instances of selfishness should
be adequately dealt with.
Lastly, selfishness is a prolific source of other wrongs. If an
administrator can cure a selfish child, he has nipped in the bud a
whole harvest of undesirable actions and immoral deeds.
No teacher would ever think of punishing First Grade
a first grade child in any way whatever for
being selfish. The selfish child is usually an only child or has been
made selfish in his desires, by home training. The teacher can do
much to overcome selfishness. When a pupil enters the first grade,
for the first time, he comes in contact with other children and into
surroundings that are new. This is the teacher’s opportunity. The
chances are that the child will often display selfish tendencies. It is
necessary that the teacher have the child’s confidence, but by this
time it is assumed that the teacher has many avenues already
mapped out by which to get this needed confidence. Then the thing
to do is to teach the child unselfishness each time he displays selfish
tendencies. It will take but a few weeks to effect some change in the
selfish child.
In extreme cases it may be well for the teacher to give the child
something for the express purpose of asking him to share it with his
playmates—candy, pictures or any little, inexpensive article that a
child enjoys.
For example, if the teacher has given candy, she may say, “Now,
break it in two pieces and give one piece to Mary.” When the child
has done so the teacher should approve the act. It will incline the
child away from selfishness for the teacher to say, “You are kind to
give Mary some of your candy.” “I like the way you divide with
others,” or, “You like to give things to others, don’t you?” This last
statement of approval will require the child to reply, “Yes.” This is a
necessary positive reaction of the child and a few trials like this may
overcome his selfishness.
The trait of selfishness, while not very annoying in the first grade,
must be suppressed, for if left to develop, it becomes very annoying
in the upper grades. Nothing seems worse than a selfish pupil in the
grammar or high school. And no one needs an introduction to the
avaricious man of the world who got his first lessons in greed
through selfishness in childhood. For the sake of emphasis, then,
may it be said again that there is no more opportune time to
overcome these undesirable traits in a child, than when he first
enters a new world of acquaintances and experiences in the first
school year.

CASE 124 (FIRST GRADE)

The spoiled child has two dominating characteristics—an intense

selfishness and an insatiable appetite for attention. The teacher’s
problem is therefore two-fold, first, to reduce his self-consciousness
by increasing his interest in the world about him, and, secondly, to
enlist his sympathies for others so as to increase his altruism and
supplant his selfishness with a wholesome socialization.
Karen Gompers was a very bright little Spoiled Child
girl whom adoring parents, aunts,
grandparents and enlisted friends had quite spoiled. She expected
her teacher to give her the constant attention she enjoyed at home,
and resented the fact that Miss Nelson seemed to think each of forty
other children as important as she was.
 “I want to sit by you,” she announced as her class seated itself in
the circle of little chairs. “I like to be here.”
“You can’t sit by me today, Karen. It is Wilson’s and Eunice’s turn.
You may sit in that empty chair over there.”
“But I don’t want to! I want to sit here!” and she stood stoutly by
the coveted chair. All the other children were watching her, and she
was enjoying her prominence in the scene she was creating. Miss
Nelson hated a scene above all things, and prided herself on the
perfect mechanics of her teaching.
“Well, Wilson, suppose you let Karen sit here today—that’s a good
boy.”
“But you promised me I could!” There were sudden tears in
Wilson’s eyes.
“I’ll let you sit here another day, Wilson. Be a little gentleman, and
remember that gentlemen give up their chairs to girls.”
So Karen had her way because she had learned the despotism of
the selfish, who secure their ends by sheer insistence. Wilson lost his
faith in his teacher’s word, which did not tend to make him a
gentleman, and Miss Nelson proved herself a coward in consenting
to sacrifice Karen’s good to her own dislike of a conflict.

CONSTRUCTIVE TREATMENT

There are occasions when a definite issue for the mastery occurs in
the school-room, and this was one of them. Miss Nelson had no right
to break her promise to a docile and obedient child, and reinforce the
habitual selfishness of a spoiled one. She should have insisted that
Karen take her turn with the rest, and if Karen had stormed it would
have given her a good opportunity to show her that her usual
methods would not work in school. The angry storming of a spoiled
child is usually done with an alert eye to the effect produced on the
audience; therefore, if Karen had wept and wailed, she should have
been carried out into the hall, where she might have been left in
lonely state to recover her good temper. Usually one or two such
trials convince a spoiled child that he has met his match, and if such
children are followed by tactful guidance, and especially if attention
can be diverted away from themselves, the worst-spoiled children
can in time be thoroughly socialized.

COMMENTS

In every case, the object of the teacher’s treatment is to show the

child that he must conform to the conditions of the social group he
belongs to, instead of fixing conditions to suit himself. She should
remember, however, that real unselfishness has not been attained
until the child voluntarily surrenders some fancied good. Coercion
may sometimes be a stepping stone in leading a child toward the
goal, but it is only a stepping stone. True unselfishness requires that
the child himself deliberately make the choice that crowns another
with the happiness that he desired for himself.

ILLUSTRATION (KINDERGARTEN)

Elmer Bronson, an only child, had a Substitute

difficult task in adjusting himself to his Altruistic Ideal
social environment when, at the age of four, he entered the public
school kindergarten in Grand Rapids, Michigan. At home all
playthings had been his, with none to molest or take away. Moreover,
as the grown-ups in his home were very indulgent, practically all
objects that he desired to have were placed at his disposal.
But at school a new order seemed to prevail. Elmer not only was
not allowed to appropriate many interesting looking objects that lay
about on desks and tables, but at times he was not even permitted
unrestricted handling of his own things. The situation was
perplexing. He couldn’t make it out.
Miss Melbourne, Elmer’s teacher, comprehended the conditions of
the problem better than he did. She perceived that Elmer, as yet, had
no understanding of the meaning of ownership, nor had he received
any training whatever in the recognition of the rights of others. She
must begin at the foundation.
To that end she utilized all sorts of games, stories and dramatic
plays as a means for teaching these two lessons, but that part of the
program which seemed to captivate Elmer more than any other was
the singing of “The Soldier Boy.”
The delightful part of it was that as the song was sung the children
marched about the room wearing paper caps of red, white and blue,
and each, as he marched, was presented by his teacher with a flag to
be proudly borne over the right shoulder. Who could fail to be
patriotic and generous under such stimulating conditions!
One day Elmer spied a toy boat on the desk of one of his
classmates, Freddie Buzzell. Elmer immediately appropriated it.
“Don’t take my boat,” said Freddie.
“’Tain’t yours. It’s mine,” was the reply.
Naturally, Freddie sprang to the defense of his property rights.
Elmer insisted upon the principle of possession as proof of
ownership. Thus the battle was raging when Miss Melborne entered
the room. Knowing Elmer’s individualistic tendencies, she was not
long in getting at the cause of the quarrel.
“Come here, Elmer,” she called from the desk. Elmer came
reluctantly, still holding the toy boat. Miss Melborne picked up one
of the red, white, and blue caps on the table.
“Who are the boys these caps were made for, Elmer?”
“Sojer boys.”
“And what sort of boys are they?”
“Those ‘whose hearts are brave and twue.’”
“Now, Elmer, soldiers who are ‘brave and true’ have to fight
sometimes but do they fight in order to get something they want
themselves, or do they fight to take care of other people?” This was a
pretty hard question for Elmer to think out fully. He looked
thoughtful but did not answer. Miss Melborne tried a more concrete
form of question.
“We would not like to have any one march with the ‘soldier boys’
this afternoon who takes things away from other children, would
we?”
Elmer looked very sober, but he shook his head. Miss Melborne
followed up the advantage she had gained by adding, “What would a
soldier boy ‘whose heart is brave and true’ do, if he had in his hands
something that belonged to another boy?”
 Elmer looked hard at the toy boat for a full minute, then slowly
walked over to Freddie’s desk and carefully placed the boat on it.
“That’s my brave soldier boy!” said Miss Melborne,
enthusiastically. “That’s the kind of boy to wear the soldier cap!” and
she placed it on his head, adding, as she did so, “You may wear it,
dear, till the school bell rings.”
The idea of protection of the rights of others had been substituted
for that of selfish possession. Approval had crystallized the
experience into an attitude of mind. Many reminders of the soldier
boy, “whose heart was brave and true” and who lived for others
instead of self, were necessary before the most selfish child in the
class became one of the most unselfish, but each application on the
teacher’s part of the principles of substitution and approval made the
meaning of the words more explicit to Elmer and the habit of self-
sacrifice more firmly fixed.

CASE 125 (RURAL SCHOOL)

Not infrequently it happens that the selfish child has a continual

example of selfishness before him in his own parents.
Not far from the rural school house in Parental
District Number 10 was the fine residence Example
of Mr. Allen, one of the directors of the school. His rearing of
thoroughbred stock had made his name known throughout the state
and had added thousands to his bank account. When his little son,
Homer, started to school for the first time, he was oversupplied with
pencils, erasers, tablets of all varieties, penholders, stencils, paints,
colored crayons and every known aid to first grade work.
Attending the same school was a large family of very poor children
named Perkins. The Perkins’ children were poorly, but cleanly, clad
in the cheapest of clothing. They had only a few of the necessary
textbooks and half of a lead pencil was made to serve two of the
family, the parents reasoning that two of them wouldn’t surely need
lead pencils at the same time. Joseph and Clarence Perkins were in
the first and second grades, respectively. They had the third of a lead
pencil to be used in common and a piece of a broken slate (with a
two-inch pencil) to be used instead of a tablet.
 Miss Shuttlesworth, a young teacher, felt truly sorry for these two
bright, little boys because they were thus handicapped in their work,
and she allowed them to borrow from other children during periods
when both should be writing at once.
She even fell into the habit of saying, “Joseph, borrow a pencil
from Homer and put your problems on this piece of paper.”
Generous and kindly herself it did not occur to her that Homer was
reluctant to loan one of his many pencils.
One day Laura Manning, a sixteen-year-old pupil who came past
the Allen farm on her way to school, said to Miss Shuttlesworth,
“Mrs. Allen said to tell you she would like to have you come and see
her soon.” Miss Shuttlesworth foresaw from Laura’s manner of
delivering the message that the errand would not be a pleasant one.
She had evidently offended Mrs. Allen in some way, but how she
could not conceive. She had never been in the Allen home nor had
she ever seen Mrs. Allen.
As soon as school closed she made her way to the Allen residence
and was not surprised to have Mrs. Allen greet her coldly and
haughtily, boldly glaring at her and beginning a speech something
like this: “I want you to understand that Homer is not to lend
anything of his to the Perkins’ children. We are able to buy anything
he needs but we don’t intend to buy for the whole school.” Having
more than exhausted this subject Mrs. Allen went on to state that
Homer’s seat must be changed because his desk was defective in
some way. Miss Shuttlesworth had not noticed that Homer’s desk
was different from the others.
She was a young teacher and so was quite overawed by Mrs. Allen’s
angry, commanding tones. She changed Homer’s seat and supplied
the Perkins’ boys with working material herself. She made no effort
to change Homer’s attitude of superiority toward the Perkins’ boys.
His selfishness only increased under his mother’s management.

CONSTRUCTIVE TREATMENT

When children are not supplied with the necessary equipment for
their work and are too poor to buy for themselves make an appeal to
the board of education asking them to purchase the material needed,
which material should be considered the property of the school and
left there from year to year. Most states require that the school
furnish books and equipment for all who are unable to buy them.
Show by your own example that poor people are just as desirable
for companions as rich ones, other things being equal. See to it that
the children of poor parents be made to forget, while at school, that
they are different from others. See to it that democracy reigns on the
playground.
Supervise all play.
Do not foster the borrowing habit.

COMMENTS

If children are unable to buy books, allowing them to borrow daily

is a source of annoyance to both borrower and lender. Besides it daily
emphasizes the contrast in the financial condition between the richer
and the poorer. This is wrong. It fosters haughtiness in the one and
undue humiliation in the other. While you are supervising play you
can easily manage to have the neglected children drawn into play and
even chosen for the enviable parts in the games. It largely depends
upon the teacher’s influence whether the public school is a leveler of
false barriers or a hotbed where selfishness is cultivated.
The borrowing habit, if fostered even among children of equal
rank, teaches a disregard for the property rights of others. Americans
are especially lax in their thought and behavior relative to property
rights, and the public schools can do the nation a great service by
giving its children correct notions concerning appropriation without
ownership, and in selfishness as contrasted with altruism, in both
rich and poor. The rich often enjoy display and the poor retaliate by
vandalism. Both wrongs are the outgrowth of selfishness.

ILLUSTRATION (RURAL SCHOOL)

Margaret Blake lived not far from the Invoking Fairies

Lone Star rural school. Her father had
bought much land years before which had so increased in value that
he was very rich. Many people in the Lone Star district were tenants
on his farms. Margaret’s mother taught her that she was better than
other children and must not “mix” with them more than absolutely
necessary. As soon as she was old enough she was to go to a “select”
school of her own “class” of people.
Miss Coleman saw the situation the first day of school. Margaret’s
selfishness was manifested by her selection of the best seat, the
display on her desk of numerous and costly aids for her work, her
haughty demeanor and her frequent references to what her mother
said she need not do. Whenever she spoke of her mother’s wishes she
emphasized the “I” in a way to show her difference from others.
Miss Coleman knew that the happiness of Margaret as well as of
her other pupils depended upon eradication of the rich child’s
selfishness. She made a special study of the effect of various attempts
to accomplish this end. She told a story of an unselfish child. This did
not seem to appeal to Margaret. She tried another story on the
advantages of wealth in terms of ability to serve others. This was
nearer the mark. After thus finding the correct avenue of approach
Miss Coleman often said something like this to Margaret: “How
fortunate you are in having some things which these other children
cannot afford to have. How would you like to play you are a fairy and
get a new First Reader for little Wilbur Tomlinson, who has no book,
and just leave it on his desk with his name in it, and not tell him who
gave it to him. I’ll help you pay for it, for I want to get fun out of it
too.”
Or, again, “Let’s think what we might plan to do secretly for any
child in the room who really needs something we can give. We’ll be
good fairies again.”
Margaret took a new interest in other children. She soon began to
like to go to school. She enjoyed playing with the other pupils and
loved and honored Miss Coleman.

CASE 126 (FIFTH GRADE)

Florence Crane attended school in Displaying Fruit

Michigan. She lived on a fine fruit farm
where during the fall one variety of peaches, grapes or pears followed
another and when these had all been sold choice apples followed in
season. So it happened that choice fruit was always a part of
Florence’s lunch. This fruit was displayed on her desk and tempted
many a child’s eyes away from school tasks. Miss Bush, the teacher,
requested all of the children to keep their lunches concealed and
away from their desks. Still at recess time Florence had a little group
of children around her watching her eat her luscious fruit. Miss Bush
could scarcely endure the sight of the hungry eyes devouring every
bite with Florence.
One day she was especially tired and without forethought said,
“Florence, you shall not bring another piece of fruit to school unless
you bring enough for all of the girls.” Imagine Florence’s indignation
which was not much greater than that of her associates.
When the girls discussed this together on the playground a little
later Florence said, “I’ve a right to bring whatever I please t’ eat.”
Ethel Green, spokesman for the rest, declared, “Teacher’s crazy.
We don’t want anybody to bring us lunches. If we hain’t got enought
to eat we won’t ask her to give us anything.”
The girls had talked about the matter until the atmosphere of the
school-room was that of slumbering rebellion.
That night when Florence told her parents what Miss Bush said
there was much indignation and a long discussion which ended in a
decision to have Mrs. Crane visit Miss Bush at the schoolhouse next
day. On her way there Mrs. Crane stopped to discuss the situation
with Mrs. Green, whom Ethel had informed of the previous day’s
talk. Mrs. Green was very angry and offered to go with Mrs. Crane to
the schoolhouse.
The situation was very awkward for Miss Bush. She was reluctant
to say in the presence of Mrs. Green that the other girls were always
hanging around Florence watching her eat her fruit and yet she had
to justify herself in some way. The mothers took advantage of Miss
Bush’s embarrassment, assuming that it showed guilt and even
accusing her of giving the command to Florence on the previous day
in order that she herself might be given fruit. The conference ended
with the remark from Mrs. Green, “If you’re hungry yourself, say so,
but don’t beg vittles for my children.”
 Miss Bush’s joy in her work in that school was ended. The girls
might have forgotten the incident but the mothers whenever they
met revived the feeling of anger against Miss Bush.

CONSTRUCTIVE TREATMENT

Miss Bush was too superficial in her original treatment of this case.
She had had ample time to think out a workable plan that would
have caused no friction.
After having all food removed from the desks she might have asked
the pupils to find appropriate seats in which to eat their lunches.
After lunch time she should have led the way to the playground
where all else than play would be easily forgotten.
From time to time short talks on manners should be given to the
whole school.

COMMENTS

It is inexcusable for a teacher to give angry or even

unpremeditated treatment to a case that has been developing for
some time. Miss Bush touched upon a very serious question when
she gave commands concerning what the children had to eat in their
lunches. In her talks on manners the teacher can easily place special
emphasis upon such phases of the subject as are most nearly related
to the habits of her pupils. These general remarks can hurt the
feelings of no one, since they are given to the entire school.
The part that unselfishness plays in what is usually termed good
manners can thus be clearly brought out. Some teachers ask their
pupils to learn the following couplet in this connection:

“Politeness is to do and say

The kindest thing in the kindest way.”

ILLUSTRATION (SECOND GRADE)

 Tommy Holbroke’s father kept a small Eating Candy
candy store in Brighton and Tommy often
carried candy to school with him. This he ate with a great show of
enjoyment in the presence of a group of onlookers. Miss Dean, his
teacher, noted the conditions and appreciated its inevitably baneful
effect upon Tommy’s disposition. Accordingly she visited his mother
and first told her of Tommy’s sunny temper and studious habits.
Then she tactfully led the subject to the boy’s health and food. In
talking of the candy she said, “Of course we must guard Tommy’s
health and his disposition too.” Then she explained that she greatly
feared that his bringing candy to school would make him selfish
because of course it enabled him to have and not share what he knew
others wanted. She suggested that Tommy be given his candy
directly after his meals and at no other time. The double appeal in
behalf of the child’s health as well as his character caused the mother
to follow Miss Dean’s advice. Occasionally, however, on “special
days” or when the children had a “birthday party,” Tommy’s mother
gave him a bag of candy to take to his teacher with the words, “Tell
Miss Dean to please give it to all the children.” So Tommy learned, in
time, the joy of sharing with others.

CASE 127 (EIGHTH GRADE)

The grade schools in the suburbs of one Selfish Play

of our largest cities give special attention to
outdoor play. They even require that the children stay on the school
grounds at least fifteen minutes after the school proper is closed, and
play games there. They encourage the playing of ball by the girls and
are anxious to have them interested in the game.
In one of these schools the principal, Mr. Warren, went to the
eighth grade rooms and gave the girls a talk on baseball. He
advocated that the girls in each eighth grade room elect by ballot a
baseball team and that these teams practice ball with the earnest
expectation of being able eventually to conquer any other eighth
grade team in the suburb. After school a ballot was taken and those
receiving the highest number of votes were considered elected on the
team.