The most essential principle for living in truth in a democracy: first and foremost, the obligation to speak the truth and not adapt ourselves to falsehoods. This is precisely where the power of the powerless lies or, as Vaclav Havel put it, “the moral life starts at the moment we refuse to lie”.
“The Power of the Powerless” was a long essay written by Václav Havel in the summer of 1978 that began circulating in samizdat in 1979. It is justly famous for the influence it had in the decade leading up to the revolutions of 1989. Its central idea was “living in truth”, and it proved to be immensely powerful. The assessment of the Economist, in its obituary for Havel in 2011, was that “no single phrase did more to inspire those trying to subvert and overthrow the communist empire in Europe”[1].
The first words of Havel’s manifesto mocked another famous phrase, the first words of The Communist Manifesto (“A spectre is haunting Europe—the spectre of communism”). His appeal “to live in the truth” helped to vanquish this spectre in Europe. Perhaps it can help to vanquish some of the spectres that haunt our own times. Whether this is a possibility that is open to us depends on what it means to live in truth in democracy. Considering this question can also shed another light on the public character of religion in liberal democracy, as what should be one of the pre-eminent means of living in the truth.
The origins of “The Power of the Powerless”
Havel made his appeal in very different conditions from our own. He wrote “The Power of the Powerless” at his summer home in Hrádeček (two hours north-east of Prague) under conditions of intensifying police harassment. Police stationed conspicuously on the road leading to his house stopped all visitors, sometimes fined them and confiscated their licences, and warned them that they entered “at their own risk”. Policemen accompanied Havel “wherever he went, shopping in town or walking his dog” and even into the sauna. By the end of the year they had built an observation tower across the road from his house and were sabotaging the heating and plumbing[2]. As his biographer Michael Zantovsky observes, Havel “fared better than other activists at this time”, who were subjected to “bullying, beatings, blackmail intended to make them leave the country, kidnappings [and] illegal house raids and searches”[3]; but by the end of May the following year he would be back in jail.
Havel’s first stint in jail was at the beginning of 1977. He was arrested as one of the spokesmen for Charter 77, which issued a short document calling on the government of the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic to abide by its obligations under the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, to which it had acceded in 1976 under the Helsinki Accords. Shortly after Charter 77’s declaration was published in the West the communist leadership condemned the declaration as “an anti-state, counter-revolutionary document” and its signatories as “adversaries of socialism”. A ferocious public campaign was generated against Charter 77 and anyone suspected of being involved with it. In schools and workplaces around the country, people were required to attend meetings “where their task was to outdo one another in condemning the Charter and expressing their moral disgust with its signatories”. At the end of January hundreds of actors, musicians and artists attended a televised meeting to sign a declaration condemning “renegades and traitors”. Thousands “signed this and similar declarations at a number of public meetings convened in theatres, publishing houses, universities, scientific institutes and other places suspected of harbouring intellectuals”, although some resisted the intimidation and pressure to do so[4]. As Havel noted in “The Power of the Powerless”, the government collected “millions of signatures” in its “campaign to compel the entire nation to declare that Charter 77 was wrong”, which in itself proved the truth of the claims Charter 77 made[5].
House searches and interrogations of those suspected of being involved with Charter 77 accompanied this campaign. Another of Charter 77’s spokesmen, the philosopher Jan Patočka, was called in for interrogation nearly every day from early January 1977. After an interrogation on March 4 lasting eleven hours he was admitted to hospital with chest pains and died a week later. Police then disrupted his funeral[6]. Havel remained in detention until May 20. He was subjected to intense psychological pressure to repudiate Charter 77 and to resign as a spokesman. The experience left him feeling deeply compromised and humiliated, which seems to be precisely what the secret police intended in his case[7].
Following a trial in October, three other Charter 77 signatories were imprisoned while Havel was given a suspended sentence. This was probably also intended to discredit Havel and to deepen recriminations and division among Charter 77 supporters[8]. These efforts were not successful. Havel continued his work with others against the regime, signing petitions and open letters and taking part in the establishment of the Committee for the Defence of the Unjustly Persecuted (VONS) in April 1978. In August and September he attended illegal meetings with the Polish Workers’ Defence Committee (KOR) in the Krkonoše mountains on the border between Poland and Czechoslovakia[9]. By the end of October he had completed “The Power of the Powerless”.
The indivisibility of freedom
As Havel explains in his essay, the catalyst for Charter 77 and what followed from it was the 1976 trial of an underground rock band called the Plastic People of the Universe[10]. These musicians operated illegally, outside the closely regulated channels for officially approved rock music, and the lyrics of their songs and their demeanour and lifestyle reflected this[11]. For Havel, they were like any number of rock groups that exist in a free society:
They had no political past, or even any well-defined political positions. They were simply young people who wanted to live in their own way, to make music they liked, [and] to sing what they wanted to sing, to live in harmony with themselves and to express themselves in a truthful way[12].
The attack on them was “camouflaged as an attack on criminality”, “a judicial attack”, but in Havel’s eyes it was “an attack by the totalitarian system on life itself, on the very essence of human freedom and integrity”. For if the regime could punish musicians simply for playing the music they liked, especially without this being noticed, it “could well start locking up everyone who thought independently and who expressed himself independently, even if he did so only in private”[13].