|The Early Days of a Better Nation|
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Last week I came across in two widely separate places - Jamie Whyte's excellent Crimes Against Logic, and a 1970s or 80s kids' book on the Victorians that I flicked through in a charity shop - a clear and definite statement that I've read or heard countless times before. It is that Karl Marx predicted that the first socialist revolution would be in advanced capitalist England, but instead it happened in backward feudal Russia.
(Let's leave aside the odd idea that Russia in 1917 was feudal.)
A glance at the Communist Manifesto shows that Marx and Engels expected, in 1847, that the first proletarian revolution would take place in Germany - the bourgeois revolution in Germany is imminent, and they expect a proletarian revolution to immediately follow it. Turning back a few pages, we find them proclaim in the 1882 preface to the Russian edition that 'Russia is in the vanguard of revolutionary action in Europe' and conclude: 'If the Russian Revolution becomes the signal for a proletarian revolution in the West, so that both complement each other, the present Russian common ownership of land may serve as the starting point of a communist development.' Not quite how things worked out, of course, but a shrewd sentence for all that!
My point here, though, is not to show that the commonly-repeated statement is false. What I'm curious about is how it arose and persists. Marx and Engels made many over-optimistic predictions, and it wouldn't surprise me to find such a pronouncement among them. But, as far as I know, it doesn't exist. I've never seen an actual citation by anyone who repeats the common, confident statement that 'Marx predicted that the revolution would come first in England, and would have been very surprised that it happened first in Russia.'
T. A. Jackson, writing about this same canard in the 1930s, blamed it on H. M. Hyndman, whose Marxism was often the cause of great exasperation to Marx. But Hyndman's influence has surely faded. I suspect we're dealing here with a meme. It's not alone. Bertram D. Wolfe wrote that Marx had updated all the statistical tables in Capital with each new edition, except for the table showing real wages - because that table showed real wages increasing instead of declining. This idiocy has been guilelessly repeated by Professor Anthony Flew more than once. Its force in turn rests on another oft-repeated canard, that Marx held that real wages under capitalism must decline. The evidence that Marx held no such theory was compiled by the English Stalinist Bill Bland (quite accurately and conscientiously, whatever one may think of Bland's view of how the theory came to be foisted on Marx, or Bland's views on anything else).
The good and great Professor Flew is also fond of repeating Wittfogel's claim that Marx silently dropped the notion of an 'Asiatic mode of production' or 'Oriental despotism' because the idea of a bureaucratic ruling class not based on private property was theoretically unthinkable and/or politically embarrassing to Marx. This is an accusation whose utter mind-boggling gormlessness is glaring to anyone at all familiar with Marx's and Engels's writings on pre-capitalist and non-capitalist societies, and has been exposed as such at great length in Hal Draper's Karl Marx's Theory of Revolution, Vol 1: State and Bureaucracy. The possibility of exploitation based on state or communal property has never been denied by anyone other than servants of the ideological state apparatuses of communist states (curiously enough). It's surprisingly rare to come across a critique of Marx that doesn't attack a straw man: I've read three, those by Thomas Sowell, David Conway and David Ramsay Steele. Most of the others are almost as unscrupulous with Marx as the creationists are with Darwin.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Elsewhere, some six-word stories have appeared in Wired.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Tony Judt reviews three books on Marxism: two by Leszek Kolakowski and one by Jacques Attali. Attali hopes, and Judt fears, that Marxism might yet revive. Kolakowski has long since escaped its orbit, after writing a three-volume survey (its reissue in one volume is one of the books reviewed) that is, Judt thinks, unlikely to be bettered. Judt shares with Kolakowski a roster of who the important and influential recent Marxist intellectuals were, even if all they deserve is Kolakowski's brisk dismissals. Gramsci, Lukacs: interesting. Ernst Bloch: weird. Goldmann, Marcuse: even less interesting than they were back in the day.
My copy of The Breakdown is under the shifting stacks or on the shelf of a charity shop, but that's more or less how I recall it. I forget if he mentioned Althusser, but Judt does, here and in his latest book, Postwar. E. P. Thompson gets a well-deserved thrashing for his ill-judged 'Open Letter to Leszek Kolakowski', which provoked Kolakowski's stinging reply 'My Correct Views on Everything'. Judt is right to say the 'Open Letter' was Thompson at his worst. He's wrong to say that no one who reads Kolakowski's reply (pdf) will ever take Thompson seriously again. First, because by picking a few burrs from Thompson's wool-gathering ramble, Kolakowski (understandably) misunderstands him. Second - what about Thompson at his best?
E. P. Thompson's influence didn't come from his political interventions (apart from his surprise bestseller, the pamphlet Protest and Survive) but from his historical writings, centrally The Making of the English Working Class, and from polemics that arose out of his understanding of history as a discipline. 'The Peculiarities of the English' and 'The Poverty of Theory' can be read and re-read, and are worth it. (I've just checked. Yep.) The 'Open Letter' is a pain to read once. (Yep, again.)
Who were the really influential Marxist intellectuals? This is a question that non-Marxist intellectuals nearly always get wrong. (Roger Scruton, in his venomous but scintillating Thinkers of the New Left, got it right. His shafts are somewhat blunted by his targets' biographies at the back, which show that almost every man jack of them who was adult at the time of the Second World War was a patriot when it mattered, but never mind.) I've never read more than a few pages of Marcuse or Althusser, or any of the famous 'Western Marxists', apart from (not enough) Gramsci and Lukacs. You know why? Because they're very difficult to read. Gramsci and Lukacs had excuses for obscurity. The rest didn't.
No, the really influential Marxist intellectuals are those wrote well and clearly. They weren't philosophers or Critical Theorists but historians and economists - and Trotsky. A lot of Trotsky's influence can be attributed quite simply to the fact that he couldn't write a dull page. It was Trotsky's History of the Russian Revolution that first interested Paul Sweezy in Marxism; likewise C.L.R. James, who went on to write one of the greatest Marxist histories, The Black Jacobins. (Not a dull page, and not a careless or undocumented word.) Paul A. Baran was a pupil of the Left Opposition economist Preobrazhensky, another lucid writer. (It's just struck me that Preobrazhensky might be a key to the whole Monthly Review school. Hmm.) When you add up the influence of Paul Sweezy, Paul A. Baran, Leo Huberman, Harry Magdoff, Maurice Dobb, Ernest Mandel; Isaac Deutscher's biographies; C.L.R. James, Eric Hobsbawm, Christopher Hill, and, yes, E.P. Thompson; Gordon Childe; J.B.S. Haldane and J. Bernal - you've gone a long way to account for the intellectual influence of Marxism in at least the English-reading world. All of them wrote for readers who weren't Marxists. And non-Marxist, indeed anti-Marxist, readers have profited from their work ever since. Some who weren't Marxists when they opened a book by any of these guys were at least half-way to being Marxists when they closed it. Who ever became a Marxist as a result of reading Althusser?
One of the few pages I read of Gramsci, from his prison letters, was the one in which he relates how he was able to learn even from the rubbishy novels and fascist tracts which were all his jailers allowed him. Anything was raw material for historical materialism. I was stuck with very limited reading material at the time, and I determined to put Gramsci's claim to the test. I picked up, almost at random, a book on the Great Disruption of 1843: the great split in the Church of Scotland, which resulted in the founding of the Free Church. Amid all the theological differences between moderates and evangelicals, the issue turned on patronage: should the minister be chosen by the congregation, or by their landlord? Being more spiritually minded and less careerist, the evangelical ministers tended to be closer to their parishioners than to the landlord, and therefore less inclined than the landlord would like to preach submission to the Clearances.
The 'relative autonomy' of spiritual and intellectual life, and (nevertheless) its 'determination in the last instance' by 'the economic movement' was one of the points of clarification insisted upon by Engels, in an old man's dismay at younger men's follies. Althusser, in a vivid but vacuous pronouncement, claimed that 'the lonely hour of the last instance never comes.' In that study of the Great Disruption, I felt I had found one of those moments when, as Thompson puts it, the lonely hour of the last instance actually came.