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Tools for Conviviality - Ivan Illich


 1. Two Watersheds
 2. Convivial Reconstruction
 3. The Multiple Balance
     1. Biological Degradation
     2. Radical Monopoly
     3. Overprogramming
     4. Polarization
     5. Obsolescence
     6. Frustration
 4. Recovery
     1. The Demythologization of Science
     2. The Rediscovery of Language
     3. The Recovery of Legal Procedure
 5. Political Inversion
     1. Myths and Majorities
     2. From Breakdown to Chaos
     3. Insight into Crisis
     4. Sudden Change


The multidimensional analysis of ceilings for industrial growth was first
formulated in a Spanish document co-authored by Valentina Borremans and myself
and submitted as a guideline for a meeting of two dozen Chilean socialists and
other Latin Americans at CIDOC (the Center for Intercultural Documentation) in
Cuernavaca, Mexico. The next version was presented at the Zeno Symposium
organized by Professor Richard Wollheim in Cyprus. It was published in Esprit,
Paris, March 1972, with criticisms by Th. Adam, Pierre Caussat, J. P.
Chevenement, Paul Fraisse, Yves Goussault, Pierre Kende, J. W. Lapierre, Michel
Panoff, Henri Pequignot, Jean Marie Domenach, and Paul Thibaud. A third version
served me and my deceased friend Greer Taylor as the basis for our
participation in the Canadian Conference on the Law in January 1972 in Ottawa.
Comments by David Weisstub, Nils Christie, Allen M. Linden, J. G. Castel, H. w.
Arthurs, Jose Antonio Viera-Gallo, J. C. Smith, and Bonaventura de Sousa
Santos, and other critical papers by jurists, will be published in mid-1973 in
Toronto. During the summer of 1972, participants in my CIDOC seminar
contributed very helpful papers. I'm especially grateful for the assistance of
John Bradley, John Brewer, Jose Maria and Veronica Bulnes, Martin Cohen, Irene
Curbelo de Diaz, Dennis Detzel, Joseph Fitzpatrick, Amnon Goldworth, Conrad
Johnson, Hartmut von Hentig, John MacKnight, Michael Maccoby, Leslie Marcus,
Francisco Mir6 Quesada, Marie-Noelle Monteil, William Ophuls, Marta H. Reed,
Everett Reimer, Francisco Varela, Etienne Verne, Jacques Vidal and German
Zabala. Dennis Sullivan has patiently and critically assisted me in editing the
final version. After I had delivered this manuscript to the publisher, I
received valuable suggestions from J.P. Naik and his friends in India. These
have seeped into the text to the extent this can happen in the correction of
proofs. Second only to Valentina Borremans and Greer Taylor, Heinz von
Foerster, Erich Fromm, Hermann Schwember and Abrahm n Diaz Gonzales have exerted
the most decisive influence on the formulation of my ideas.


During the next several years I intend to work on an epilogue to the industrial
age. I want to trace the changes in language, myth, ritual, and law which took
place in the current epoch of packaging and of schooling. I want to describe
the fading monopoly of the industrial mode of production and the vanishing of
the industrially generated professions this mode of production serves.

Above all I want to show that two-thirds of mankind still can avoid passing
through the industrial age, by choosing right now a postindustrial balance in
their mode of production which the hyperindustrial nations will be forced to
adopt as an alternative to chaos. To prepare for this task I submit this essay
for critical comment.

In its present form this book is the result of conversations at CIDOC in
Cuernavaca during the summer of 1972. Participants in my seminar will recognize
their ideas, and often their words. I ask my collaborators to accept my sincere
thanks, especially for their written contributions.

This essay has become too long to appear as an article and too intricate to be
read in several installments. It is a progress report. I respectfully thank
Ruth Nanda Anshen for issuing this tract as a volume, in World Perspectives,
published by Harper & Row.

For several years at CIDOC in Cuernavaca we have conducted critical research on
the monopoly of the industrial mode of production and have tried to define
conceptually alternative modes that would fit a postindustrial age. During tine
late sixties this research centered on educational devices. By 1970 we had
found that:

 1. Universal education through compulsory schooling is not possible.
 2. Alternative devices for the production and marketing of mass education are
    technically more feasible and ethically less tolerable than compulsory
    graded schools. Such new educational arrangements are now on the verge of
    replacing traditional school systems in rich and in poor countries. They
    are potentially more effective in the conditioning of job-holders and
    consumers in an industrial economy. They are therefore more attractive for
    the management of present societies, more seductive for the people, and
    insidiously destructive of fundamental values.
 3. A society committed to high levels of shared learning and critical personal
    intercourse must set pedagogical limits on industrial growth.

I have published the results of this research in a previous volume of World
Perspectives, entitled Deschooling Society. I clarified some of the points left
ill defined in that book by writing an article published in the Saturday Review
of April 19, 1971.

Our analysis of schooling has led us to recognize the mass production of
education as a paradigm for other industrial enterprises, each producing a
service commodity, each organized as a public utility, and each defining its
output as a basic necessity. At first our attention was drawn to the compulsory
insurance of professional health care, and to systems of public transport,
which tend to become compulsory once traffic rolls above a certain speed. We
found that the industrialization of any service agency leads to destructive
side effects analogous to the unwanted secondary results well known from the
overproduction of goods. we had to face a set of limits to growth in the
service sector Of any society as inescapable as the limits inherent in the
industrial production of artifacts. we concluded that a set of limits to
industrial growth is well formulated only if these limits apply both to goods
and to services which are produced in an industrial mode. So we set out to
clarify these limits.

I here submit the concept of a multidimensional balance of human life which can
serve as a framework for evaluating man's relation to his tools. In each of
several dimensions of this balance it is possible to identify a natural scale.
When an enterprise grows beyond a certain point on this scale, it first
frustrates the end for which it was originally designed, and then rapidly
becomes a threat to society itself. These scales must be identified and the
parameters of human endeavors within which human life remains viable must be

Society can be destroyed when further growth of mass production renders the
milieu hostile, when it extinguishes the free use of the natural abilities of
society's members, when it isolates people from each other and locks them into
a man-made shell, when it undermines the texture of community by promoting
extreme social polarization and splintering specialization, or when cancerous
acceleration enforces social change at a rate that rules out legal, cultural,
and political precedents as formal guidelines to present behavior. Corporate
endeavors which thus threaten society cannot be tolerated. At this point it
becomes irrelevant whether an enterprise is nominally owned by individuals,
corporations, or the slate, because no form of management can make such
fundamental destruction serve a social purpose.

Our present ideologies are useful to clarify the contradictions which appear in
a society which relies on the capitalist control of industrial production; they
do not, however, provide the necessary framework for analyzing the crisis in
the industrial mode of production itself. I hope that one day a general theory
of industrialization will be stated with precision, that it will be formulated
in terms compelling enough to withstand the test of criticism. Its concepts
ought to provide a common language for people in opposing parties who need to
engage in the assessment of social programs or technologies, and who want to
restrain the power of man's tools when they tend to overwhelm man and his
goals. Such a theory should help people invert the present structure of major
institutions. I hope that this essay will enhance the formulation of such a

It is now difficult to imagine a modern society in which industrial growth is
balanced and kept in check by several complementary, distinct, and equally
scientific modes of production. Our vision of the possible and the feasible is
so restricted by industrial expectations that any alternative to more mass
production sounds like a return to past oppression or like a Utopian design for
noble savages. In fact, however, the vision of new possibilities requires only
the recognition that scientific discoveries can be useful in at least two
opposite ways. The first leads to specialization of functions,
institutionalization of values and centralization of power and turns people
into the accessories of bureaucracies or machines. The second enlarges the
range of each person's competence, control, and initiative, limited only by
other individuals' claims to an equal range of power and freedom.

To formulate a theory about a future society both very modern and not dominated
by industry, it will be necessary to recognize natural scales and limits. We
must come to admit that only within limits can machines take the place of
slaves; beyond these limits they lead to a new kind of serfdom. Only within
limits can education fit people into a man-made environment: beyond these
limits lies the universal schoolhouse, hospital ward, or prison. Only within
limits ought politics to be concerned with the distribution of maximum
industrial outputs, rather than with equal inputs of either energy or
information. Once these limits are recognized, it becomes possible to
articulate the triadic relationship between persons, tools, and a new
collectivity. Such a society, in which modern technologies serve politically
interrelated individuals rather than managers, I will call "convivial".

After many doubts, and against the advice of friends whom I respect, I have
chosen "convivial"  as a technical term to designate a modern society of
responsibly limited tools. In part this choice was conditioned by the desire to
continue a discourse which had started with its Spanish cognate. The French
cognate has been given technical meaning (for the kitchen) by Brillat-Savarin
in his Physiology of Taste: Meditations on Transcendental Gastronomy. This
specialized use of the term in French might explain why it has already proven
effective in the unmistakably different and equally specialized context in
which it will appear in this essay. I am aware that in English "convivial" now
seeks the company of tipsy jollyness, which is distinct from that indicated by
the OED and opposite to the austere meaning of modern eutrapelia, which I
intend. By applying the term "convivial" to tools rather than to people, I hope
to forestall confusion.

"Austerity", which says something about people, has also been degraded and has
acquired a bitter taste, while for Aristotle or Aquinas it marked the
foundation of friendship. In the Summa Theologica, II, II, in the 186th
question, article 5, Thomas deals with disciplined and creative playfulness. In
his third response he defines "austerity" as a virtue which does not exclude
all enjoyments, but only those which are distracting from or destructive of
personal relatedness. For Thomas "austerity" is a complementary part of a more
embracing virtue, which he calls friendship or joyfulness. It is the fruit of
an apprehension that things or tools could destroy rather than enhance
eutrapelia (or graceful playfulness) in personal relations. [Hugo v. Rahner,
Man at Play, New York, 1972.]

Two Watersheds

The year 1913 marks a watershed in the history of modern medicine. Around that
year a patient began to have more than a fifty-fifty chance that a graduate of
a medical school would provide him with a specifically effective treatment (if,
of course, he was suffering from one of the standard diseases recognized by the
medical science of the time). Many shamans and herb doctors familiar with local
diseases and remedies and trusted by their clients had always had equal or
better results.

Since then medicine has gone on to define what constitutes disease and its
treatment. The Westernized public learned to demand effective medical practice
as defined by the progress of medical science. For the first time in history
doctors could measure their efficiency against scales which they themselves had
devised. This progress was due to a new perspective of the origins of some
ancient scourges; water could be purified and infant mortality lowered; rat
control could disarm the plague; treponemas could be made visible under the
microscope and Salvarsan could eliminate them with statistically defined risks
of poisoning the patient; syphilis could be avoided, or recognized and cured by
rather simple procedures; diabetes could be diagnosed and self-treatment with
insulin could prolong the life of the patient. Paradoxically, the simpler the
tools became, the more the medical profession insisted on a monopoly of their
application, the longer became the training demanded before a medicine man was
initiated into the legitimate use of the simplest tool, and the more the entire
population felt dependent on the doctor. Hygiene turned from being a virtue
into a professionally organized ritual at the altar of a science.

Infant mortality was lowered, common forms of infection were prevented or
treated, some forms of crisis intervention became quite effective. The
spectacular decline in mortality and morbidity was due to changes in
sanitation, agriculture, marketing, and general attitudes toward life. But
though these changes were sometimes influenced by the attention that engineers
paid to new facts discovered by medical science, they could only occasionally
be ascribed to the intervention of doctors.

Indirectly, industrialization profited from the new effectiveness attributed to
medicine; work attendance was raised, and with it the claim to efficiency on
the job. The destructiveness of new tools was hidden from public view by new
techniques of providing spectacular treatments for those who fell victims to
industrial violence such as the speed of cars, tension on the job, and poisons
in the environment.

The sickening side effects of modern medicine became obvious after World War
II, but doctors needed time to diagnose drug resistant microbes or genetic
damage caused by prenatal X-rays as new epidemics. The claim made by George
Bernard Shaw a generation earlier, that doctors had ceased to be healers and
were assuming control over the patient's entire life, could still be regarded
as a caricature. Only in the mid-fifties did it become evident that medicine
had passed a second watershed and had itself created new kinds of disease.

Foremost among iatrogenic (doctor-induced) diseases was the pretense of doctors
that they provided their clients with superior health. First, social planners
and doctors became its victims. Soon this epidemic aberration spread to society
at large. Then, during the last fifteen years, professional medicine became a
major threat to health. Huge amounts of money were spent to stem immeasurable
damage caused by medical treatments. The cost of healing was dwarfed by the
cost of extending sick life; more people survived longer months with their
lives hanging on a plastic tube, imprisoned in iron lungs, or hooked onto
kidney machines. New sickness was defined and institutionalized; the cost of
enabling people to survive in unhealthy cities and in sickening jobs
sky-rocketed. The monopoly of the medical profession was extended over an
increasing range of everyday occurrences in every man's life.

The exclusion of mothers, aunts, and other nonprofessionals from the care of
their pregnant, abnormal, hurt, sick, or dying relatives and friends resulted
in new demands for medical services at a much faster rate than the medical
establishment could deliver. As the value of services rose, it became almost
impossible for people to care. Simultaneously, more conditions were defined as
needing treatment by creating new specializations or paraprofessions to keep
the tools under the control of the guild.

At the time of the second watershed, preservation of the sick life of medically
dependent people in an unhealthy environment became the principal business of
the medical profession. Costly prevention and costly treatment became
increasingly the privilege of those individuals who through previous
consumption of medical services had established a claim to more of it. Access
to specialists, prestige hospitals, and life-machines goes preferentially to
those people who live in large cities, where the cost of basic disease
prevention, as of water treatment and pollution control, is already
exceptionally high. The higher the per capita cost of prevention, the higher,
paradoxically, became the per capita cost of treatment. The prior consumption
of costly prevention and treatment establishes a claim for even more
extraordinary care. Like the modern school system, hospital-based health care
fits the principle that those who have will receive even more and those who
have not will be taken for the little that they have. In schooling this means
that high consumers of education will get postdoctoral grants, while dropouts
learn that they have failed. In medicine the same principle assures that
suffering will increase with increased medical care; the rich will be given
more treatment for iatrogenic diseases and the poor will just suffer from them.

After this second turning point, the unwanted hygienic by-products of medicine
began to affect entire populations rather than just individual men. In rich
countries medicine began to sustain the middle-aged until they became decrepit
and needed more doctors and increasingly complex medical tools. In poor
countries, thanks to modern medicine, a larger percentage of children began to
survive into adolescence and more women survived more pregnancies. Populations
increased beyond the capacities of their environments and the restraints and
efficiencies of their cultures to nurture them. Western doctors abused drugs
for the treatment of diseases with which native populations had learned to
live. As a result they bred new strains of disease with which modern treatment,
natural immunity, and traditional culture could not cope. On a world-wide
scale, but particularly in the U.S.A., medical care concentrated on breeding a
human stock that was fit only for domesticated life within an increasingly more
costly, man-made, scientifically controlled environment. One of the main
speakers at the 1970 AMA convention exhorted her pediatric colleagues to
consider each newborn baby as a patient until the child could be certified as
healthy. Hospital-born, formula-fed, antibiotic-stuffed children thus grow into
adults who can breathe the air, eat the food, and survive the lifelessness of a
modern city, who will breed and raise at almost any cost a generation even more
dependent on medicine.

Bureaucratic medicine spread over the entire world. In 1968, after twenty years
of Mao's regime, the Medical College of Shanghai had to conclude that it was
engaged in the training of "so-called first-rate doctors ... who ignore five
million peasants and serve only minorities in cities. They create large
expenses for routine laboratory examinations . . . Describe huge amounts of
antibiotics unnecessarily . . . and in the absence of hospital or laboratory
facilities have to limit themselves to explaining the mechanisms of the disease
to people for whom they cannot do anything, and to whom this explanation is
irrelevant. In China this recognition led to a major institutional inversion.
Today, the same college reports that one million health workers have reached
acceptable levels of competence. These health workers are laymen who in periods
of low agricultural manpower needs have attended short courses, starting with
the dissection of pigs, gone on to the performance of routine lab tests, the
study of the elements of bacteriology, pathology, clinical medicine, hygiene,
and acupuncture, and continued in apprenticeship with doctors or previously
trained colleagues. These "barefoot doctors" remain at their work places but
are excused occasionally when fellow workers require their assistance. They
have responsibility for environmental sanitation, for health education,
immunization, first aid, primary medical care, post illness follow-up, as well
as for gynecological assistance, birth control, and abortion education. Ten
years after the second watershed of Western medicine had been acknowledged,
China intends to have one fully competent health worker for every hundred
people. China has proved that a sudden inversion of a major institution is
possible. It remains to be seen if this deprofessionalization can be sustained
against the overweening ideology of unlimited progress and pressures from
classical doctors to incorporate their barefoot homonym as part-time
professionals on the bottom rung of a medical hierarchy.

In the West during the sixties dissatisfaction with medicine grew in proportion
to its cost, reaching the greatest intensity in the U.S.A. Rich foreigners
flocked to the medical centers of Boston, Houston, and Denver to seek exotic
repair jobs, while the infant mortality of the U.S. poor remained comparable to
that in some tropical countries of Africa and Asia. Only the very rich in the
United States can now afford what all people in poor countries have: personal
attention around the deathbed. An American can now spend in two days of private
nursing the median yearly cash income of the world's population.

Instead of exposing the systemic disorder, however, only the symptoms of "sick"
medicine are now publicly indicted in the United States. Spokesmen for the poor
object to the capitalist prejudices of the AMA and the income of doctors.
Community leaders object to the lack of community control over the delivery
systems of professional health maintenance or of sick care, believing that
laymen on hospital boards can harness professional medics. Black spokesmen
object to the concentration of research grants on the types of disease which
tend to strike the white, elderly, overfed foundation official who approves
them. They ask for research on sickle-cell anemia, which strikes only the
black. The general voter hopes that the end of the war in Vietnam will make
more funds available for an increase of medical production. This general
concern with symptoms, however, distracts attention from the malignant
expansion of institutional health care which is at the root of the rising costs
and demands and the decline in wellbeing.

The crisis of medicine lies on a much deeper level than its symptoms reveal and
is consistent with the present crisis of all industrial institutions. It
results from the development of a professional complex supported and exhorted
by society to provide increasingly "better" health, and from the willingness of
clients to serve as guinea pigs in this vain experiment. People have lost the
right to declare themselves sick; society now accepts their claims to sickness
only after certification by medical bureaucrats.

It is not strictly necessary to this argument to accept 1913 and 1955 as the
two watershed years in order to understand that early in the century medical
practice emerged into an era of scientific verification of its results. And
later medical science itself became an alibi for the obvious damage caused by
the medical professional. At the first watershed the desirable effects of new
scientific discoveries were easily measured and verified. Germ-free water
reduced infant mortality related to diarrhea, aspirin reduced the pain of
rheumatism, and malaria could be controlled by quinine. Some traditional cures
were recognized as quackery, but, more importantly, the use of some simple
habits and tools spread widely. People began to understand the relationship
between health and a balanced diet, fresh air, calisthenics, pore water and
soap. New devices ranging from toothbrushes to Band-Aids and condoms became
widely available. The positive contribution of modern medicine to individual
health during the early part of the twentieth century can hardly be questioned.

But then medicine began to approach the second watershed. Every year medical
science reported a new breakthrough. Practitioners of new specialties
rehabilitated some individuals suffering from rare diseases. The practice of
medicine became centered on the performance of hospital-based staffs. Trust in
miracle cures obliterated good sense and traditional wisdom on healing and
health care. The irresponsible use of drugs spread from doctors to the general
public. The second watershed was approached when the marginal utility of
further professionalization declined, at least insofar as it can be expressed
in terms of the physical well-being of the largest number of people. The second
watershed was superseded when the marginal disutility increased as further
monopoly by the medical establishment became an indicator of more suffering for
larger numbers of people. After the passage of this second watershed, medicine
still claimed continued progress, as measured by the new landmarks doctors set
for them-selves and then reached: both predictable discoveries and costs. For
instance, a few patients survived longer with transplants of various organs. On
the other hand, the total social cost exacted by medicine ceased to be
measurable in conventional terms. Society can have no quantitative standards by
which to add up the negative value of illusion, social control, prolonged
suffering, loneliness, genetic deterioration, and frustration produced by
medical treatment.

Other industrial institutions have passed through the same two watersheds. This
is certainly true for the major social agencies that have been reorganized
according to scientific criteria during the last 150 years. Education, the
mails, social work, transportation, and even civil engineering have followed
this evolution. At first, new knowledge is applied to the solution of a clearly
stated problem and scientific measuring sticks are applied to account for the
new efficiency. But at a second point, the progress demonstrated in a previous
achievement is used as a rationale for the exploitation of society as a whole
in the service of a value which is determined and constantly revised by an
element of society, by one of its self-certifying professional élites.

In the case of transportation it has taken almost a century to pass from an era
served by motorized vehicles to the era in which society has been reduced to
virtual enslavement to the car. During the American Civil War steam power on
wheels became effective. The new economy in transportation enabled many people
to travel by rail at the speed of a royal coach, and to do so with a comfort
kings had not dared dream of. Gradually, desirable locomotion was associated
and finally identified with high vehicular speeds. But when transportation had
passed through its second watershed, vehicles had created more distances than
they helped to bridge; more time was used by the entire society for the sake of
traffic than was "saved."

It is sufficient to recognize the existence of these two watersheds in order to
gain a fresh perspective on our present social crisis. In one decade several
major institutions have moved jointly over their second watershed. Schools are
losing their claim to be effective tools to provide education; cars have ceased
to be effective tools for mass transportation; the assembly line has ceased to
be an acceptable mode of production.

The characteristic reaction of the sixties to the growing frustration was
further technological and bureaucratic escalation. Self-defeating escalation of
power became the core-ritual practiced in highly industrialized nations. In
this context the Vietnam war is both revealing and concealing. It makes this
ritual visible for the entire world in a narrow theatre of war, yet it also
distracts attention from the same ritual being played out in many so-called
peaceful arenas. The conduct of the war proves that a convivial army limited to
bicycle speeds is served by the opponent'ss escalation of anonymous power. And
yet many Americans argue that the resources squandered on the war in the Far
East could be used effectively to overwhelm poverty at home. Others are anxious
to use the $20 billion the war now costs for increasing international
development assistance from its present low of $2 billion. They fail to grasp
the underlying institutional structure common to a peaceful war on poverty and
a bloody war on dissidence. Both escalate what they are meant to eliminate.

While evidence shows that more of the same leads to utter defeat, nothing less
than more and more seems worthwhile in a society infected by the growth mania.
The desperate plea is not only for more bombs and more police, more medical
examinations and more teachers, but also for more information and research. The
editor-in-chief of the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists claims that most of our
present problems are the result of recently acquired knowledge badly applied,
and concludes that the only remedy for the mess created by this information is
more of it. It has become fashionable to say that where science and technology
have created problems, it is only more scientific understanding and better
technology that can carry us past them.

The cure for bad management is more management. The cure for specialized
research is more costly interdisciplinary research, just as the cure for
polluted rivers is more costly nonpolluting detergents. The pooling of stores
of information, the building up of a knowledge stock, the attempt to overwhelm
present problems by the introduction of more science is the ultimate attempt to
solve a crisis by escalation.

Convivial Reconstruction

The symptoms of accelerated crisis are widely recognized. Multiple attempts
have been made to explain them. I believe that this crisis is rooted in a major
twofold experiment which has failed, and I claim that the resolution of the
crisis begins with a recognition of the failure. For a hundred years we have
tried to make machines work for men and to school men for life in their
service. Now it turns out that machines do not "work" and that people cannot be
schooled for a life at the service of machines. The hypothesis on which the
experiment was built must now be discarded. The hypothesis was that machines
can replace slaves. The evidence shows that, used for this purpose, machines
enslave men. Neither a dictatorial proletariat nor a leisure mass can escape
the dominion of constantly expanding industrial tools.

The crisis can be solved only if we learn to invert the present deep structure
of tools; if we give people tools that guarantee their right to work with high,
independent efficiency, thus simultaneously eliminating the need for either
slaves or masters and enhancing each person's range of freedom. People need new
tools to work with rather than tools that "work" for them. They need technology
to make the most of the energy and imagination each has, rather than more
well-programmed energy slaves.

I believe that society must be reconstructed to enlarge the contribution of
autonomous individuals and primary groups to the total effectiveness of a new
system of production designed to satisfy the human needs which it also
determines. In fact, the institutions of industrial society do just the
opposite. As the power of machines increases, the role of persons more and more
decreases to that of mere consumers.

Individuals need tools to move and to dwell. They need remedies for their
diseases and means to communicate with one another. People cannot make all
these things for themselves. They depend on being supplied with objects and
services which vary from culture to culture. Some people depend on the supply
of food and others on the supply of ball bearings.

People need not only to obtain things, they need above all the freedom to make
things among which they can live, to give shape to them according to their own
tastes, and to put them to use in caring for and about others. Prisoners in
rich countries often have access to more things and services than members of
their families, but they have no say in how things are to be made and cannot
decide what to do with them. Their punishment consists in being deprived of
what I shall call "conviviality". They are degraded to the status of mere

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	#20 ;draw-scrollbar JSR2
	.Screen/x DEI2k #0008 ADD2 ROT DEO2

	#00 SWP #30 SFT2 .Screen/y DEI2 ADD2 ,&y-bound STR2
	#01 SUB #00 SWP #30 SFT2 .Screen/x DEI2 ADD2 ,&x-bound STR2
	.Screen/x DEI2 ,&x STR2

	LDAk #00 EQU ,&end JCN
	#01 .Screen/auto DEO
		( lb )
		LDAk #0a NEQ ,&no-lb JCN
			[ LIT2 &x $2 ] .Screen/x DEO2
			;draw-lb JSR2
			,&resume JMP
		( x )
		.Screen/x DEI2 [ LIT2 &x-bound $2 ] GTH2 ,&ok-x JCN
			LDAk ,draw-chr JSR
		.Screen/y DEI2 [ LIT2 &y-bound $2 ] GTH2 ,&end JCN
		INC2 LDAk ,&while JCN


@get-strw ( str* -- width* )

	;slen JSR2 #30 SFT2