The savior who wants to turn men into angels is as much a hater

Hear the fiery wisdom of Eric Hoffer, the longshoreman-philosopher, who declared: “The savior who wants to turn men into angels is as much a hater of human nature as the totalitarian despot who wants to turn them into puppets.” These words cut like a double-edged sword, for they strike against both extremes: the dreamer who despises humanity because it falls short of perfection, and the tyrant who despises humanity because it dares to be free. Hoffer warns us that both, though cloaked in different garments, are enemies of man. One demands that men rise above their nature; the other demands that they sink beneath it. Neither accepts men as they are—flawed yet capable, broken yet aspiring.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Hoffer’s meditation on mass movements and fanaticism. He lived through the storms of the twentieth century, when utopian revolutionaries sought to forge a new man by fire and blood, and when despots sought to break the will of nations by chains and terror. He saw that the radical saint and the tyrant were not opposites but kin, for both despised the ordinary humanity of men—their weakness, their doubts, their small joys—and sought to reshape them according to their own vision. To demand angels or puppets is the same crime: it is to deny the dignity of man as he is.

Consider the story of the French Revolution. It began with cries for liberty, equality, fraternity. But soon Robespierre and his Jacobins declared that only a new, pure humanity could build the Republic. They demanded angelic virtue from men, and when they did not find it, they sent them to the guillotine. Their dream of heaven on earth became a reign of terror. Here we see Hoffer’s warning: the savior who cannot accept the imperfection of man will, in the end, destroy him.

Likewise, in the tale of the Soviet Union, we see the other side of the coin. Stalin did not demand angels, but puppets—souls stripped of will, repeating slogans, obeying without thought. Men became tools of the state, their individuality crushed beneath the machinery of power. Where the Jacobins hated man for being too weak, Stalin hated him for being too strong. Yet the outcome was the same: contempt for human nature and suffering for millions.

But Hoffer does not only condemn; he teaches. His words remind us that to love humanity is to love it as it is—flawed, striving, tragic, and yet beautiful. The true leader does not demand that men become angels, nor does he strip them into puppets. Instead, he calls forth what is best in them while forgiving what is worst. He knows that greatness lies not in perfection, but in the struggle itself: the striving to do good despite our imperfection, the will to rise though we stumble.

The lesson for us is this: beware of those who demand too much, and beware of those who demand too little. The false savior and the despot both despise you, though they speak in different tongues. Trust instead the one who speaks to your humanity honestly, who accepts your frailty but calls forth your courage. Do not let yourself be seduced by promises of perfection, nor enslaved by chains of control. Remember that your dignity lies in being human—not angel, not puppet, but man.

Therefore, O listener, hold fast to your nature. Do not despise yourself for your flaws, and do not surrender your will to those who would use you. Accept that to be human is to be torn between dust and divinity, weakness and strength. And know this: the truest love is to embrace man as he is, and the truest wisdom is to help him grow without destroying his nature. For as Hoffer teaches, those who seek to make us angels or puppets are not our friends but our enemies. And it is only by guarding our humanity, in all its imperfection, that we preserve our freedom and our worth.