The successful revolutionary is a statesman, the unsuccessful
Erich Fromm, philosopher of freedom and the human spirit, once declared with piercing clarity: “The successful revolutionary is a statesman, the unsuccessful one a criminal.” In this paradox he exposes the cruel arbitrariness of history’s judgment. For the fate of the revolutionary is not determined by the purity of his cause, but by the outcome of his struggle. If he prevails, he is clothed in honor, remembered as the father of nations; if he fails, he is branded as traitor, outlaw, or madman. Thus the line between statesman and criminal is drawn not by morality, but by victory.
The origin of these words comes from Fromm’s reflections on power, authority, and the way societies define good and evil. A man who rebels against oppression does so because he deems the law unjust. Yet the law, wielded by the powerful, names him a criminal until fortune crowns his struggle. Fromm unmasks the hypocrisy of this world: that justice is often written by the victors, and history remembers only those who won.
History offers striking examples. George Washington, who led armed rebellion against the British Crown, was by their law a criminal, worthy of the gallows. Yet because he triumphed, he is remembered as a founding father, a statesman who shaped a republic. Had he failed, his name would be cursed as traitor. So too with countless others: the world crowns the victor with laurel and chains the defeated with infamy.
Consider also Che Guevara, who fought across continents for revolution. In Cuba, where his struggle succeeded, he was exalted as a hero; but elsewhere, where his cause faltered, he was hunted, killed, and branded criminal. His life embodies Fromm’s words: success grants the mantle of statesmanship, failure consigns one to the dust of outlawry.
Therefore, O children of wisdom, take heed: justice as written by men is fragile, bending to the winds of power. The true measure of a revolutionary is not what the victors call him, but the spirit of his cause, the righteousness of his struggle, and the freedom he seeks to win. For history may call him statesman or criminal, but eternity knows the difference between ambition and justice.
HHieu
Fromm’s observation about the difference between a successful revolutionary and a criminal is a reminder of the arbitrary nature of power. It suggests that revolutions are subject to judgment based on their results, rather than on the righteousness of their cause. But what about those revolutions that never succeed but are nonetheless justified? Shouldn’t there be space in society for recognizing the ideals behind a failed revolution, even if it doesn’t lead to power?
KTKhac Tam
Erich Fromm’s view reflects a pragmatic perspective on the dynamics of power and revolution. The idea that a revolutionary’s success determines their status as a statesman or criminal is a sobering commentary on how political systems define legitimacy. But how can we ensure that revolutions with noble intentions aren’t unjustly punished simply because they fail? What happens when the status quo is so entrenched that change, even if justified, is seen as criminal?
HNNguyen Hai Nam
Fromm's quote makes me think about how revolutions are often defined by their success. Is the difference between a statesman and a criminal really that simple? While successful revolutions may reshape societies, does this mean that the revolutionaries who fail are always in the wrong? What about revolutions that are right in principle but fail due to external circumstances or poor execution?
JJJane Jane
This quote by Fromm raises an uncomfortable truth about how history treats revolutionary movements. Success in revolution seems to shift the perception of the individual from criminal to statesman. But does this oversimplify the complexity of revolutionary movements? Can a failed revolution still be seen as righteous, or are we forever bound by the need for victory in the eyes of history?
THLe Thanh Hong
Fromm’s assertion that the successful revolutionary becomes a statesman while the unsuccessful one is labeled a criminal challenges the idea of what defines legitimacy. Should we judge revolutions based solely on their outcomes, or should the intentions and consequences be considered? If history is written by the victors, does this imply that many revolutionary movements have been unjustly criminalized?