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Bordiga on Sorel

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It is as­ser­ted that in or­der to elim­in­ate so­cial in­justice, all that is re­quired is to re­late every com­mod­ity’s ex­change value to the value of the labor con­tained with­in it. Marx shows — and will show later, pit­ting him­self against Bak­un­in, against Las­salle, against Dühring, against Sorel and against all the oth­er lat­ter-day pyg­mies — that what lies be­neath all this is noth­ing oth­er than the apo­lo­gia, and the pre­ser­va­tion, of bour­geois eco­nomy.

For about ten years or so pri­or to the Oc­to­ber Re­volu­tion, re­volu­tion­ary syn­dic­al­ism had been fight­ing against so­cial-demo­crat­ic re­vi­sion­ism. Georges Sorel was the main the­or­eti­cian and lead­er of this cur­rent, even if earli­er ante­cedents cer­tainly ex­is­ted. It was a move­ment which was par­tic­u­larly strong in the Lat­in coun­tries: to be­gin with they fought in­side the so­cial­ist parties, but later split off, both be­cause of the vi­cis­situdes of the struggle and in or­der to be con­sist­ent with a doc­trine which re­jec­ted the ne­ces­sity of the party as a re­volu­tion­ary class or­gan.

The primary form of pro­let­ari­an or­gan­iz­a­tion for the syn­dic­al­ists was the eco­nom­ic trade uni­on, whose main task was sup­posed to be not only lead­ing the class struggle to de­fend the im­me­di­ate in­terests of the work­ing class, but also pre­par­ing, without be­ing sub­ject to any polit­ic­al party, to lead the fi­nal re­volu­tion­ary war against the cap­it­al­ist sys­tem.

Sore­li­ans and Marx­ism

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A com­plete ana­lys­is of the ori­gins and evol­u­tion of this doc­trine, both as we find it in Sorel’s work, and in the mul­ti­far­i­ous groups which in vari­ous coun­tries sub­scribed to it, would take us too far off our track; at this point we shall there­fore just dis­cuss its his­tor­ic­al bal­ance sheet, and its very ques­tion­able view of a fu­ture non-cap­it­al­ist so­ci­ety.

Sorel and many of his fol­low­ers, in Italy as well, star­ted off by de­clar­ing that they were the true suc­cessors of Marx in fight­ing against leg­al­ist­ic re­vi­sion­ism in its pa­ci­fist and evol­u­tion­ist guise. Even­tu­ally they were forced to ad­mit that their tend­ency rep­res­en­ted a new re­vi­sion­ism; left rather than right wing in ap­pear­ance but ac­tu­ally is­su­ing from the same source, and con­tain­ing the same dangers.

The part of Marx’s doc­trine which Sorel reckoned to have re­tained was the use of vi­ol­ence and the struggle of the pro­let­ari­an class against bour­geois in­sti­tu­tions and au­thor­ity, es­pe­cially the State. Thus he ap­peared to be in strict con­form­ity with the Marx­ist his­tor­ic­al cri­tique ac­cord­ing to which the con­tem­por­ary State which emerged from the bour­geois re­volu­tion in its par­lia­ment­ary demo­crat­ic forms and re­mains an or­gan­iz­a­tion per­fectly ad­ap­ted for the de­fense of the dom­in­ant class, whose power can­not be re­moved by leg­al means. The Sore­li­ans de­fen­ded the use of il­leg­al ac­tion, vi­ol­ence, and the re­volu­tion­ary gen­er­al strike, and raised the lat­ter to the rank of the su­preme ideal, pre­cisely at a time when in most so­cial­ist parties such slo­gans were be­ing fiercely re­pu­di­ated.

The cul­min­a­tion of the Sore­li­an the­ory of “dir­ect ac­tion” — that is, without leg­ally elec­ted in­ter­me­di­ar­ies between pro­let­ari­ans and the is the bour­geois­ie — is the gen­er­al strike. But in spite of it be­ing con­ceived of as oc­cur­ring sim­ul­tan­eously in all trades, in all cit­ies of a par­tic­u­lar coun­try, or even on an in­ter­na­tion­al scale, in real­ity the in­sur­rec­tion of the syn­dic­al­ists is still re­stric­ted, in­so­far as it takes the form of ac­tions by in­di­vidu­als, or at most, ac­tions by isol­ated groups; in neither case does it at­tain the level of class ac­tion. This was due to Sorel’s hor­ror of a re­volu­tion­ary polit­ic­al or­gan­iz­a­tion ne­ces­sar­ily tak­ing on a mil­it­ary form, and after vic­tory, a State form (pro­let­ari­an State, Dic­tat­or­ship); and since Sore­li­ans don’t agree with Party, State, and Dic­tat­or­ship they would end up tread­ing the same path as Bak­un­in had thirty years be­fore. The na­tion­al gen­er­al strike, as­sum­ing it to be vic­tori­ous, would sup­posedly co­in­cide (on the same day?) with a gen­er­al ex­pro­pri­ation (the “ex­pro­pri­at­ing strike”), but such a vis­ion of the pas­sage from one so­cial form to an­oth­er is as neb­u­lous and weak as it is dis­ap­point­ing and eph­em­er­al.

In Italy in 1920 — in an at­mo­sphere of gen­er­al en­thu­si­asm for Len­in, for the party, for tak­ing power, and for the “ex­pro­pri­at­ing dic­tat­or­ship” — this su­per­fi­cially ex­treme slo­gan of the “ex­pro­pri­at­ing strike” was ad­op­ted by both max­im­al­ists and or­dinov­ists; this was one of many oc­ca­sions when we had to de­fend Marx­ist po­s­i­tions strenu­ously and piti­lessly, even at risk of be­ing ac­cused of brid­ling the move­ment.

Sorel and his fol­low­ers are ac­tu­ally far re­moved from Marx­ist de­term­in­ism, and the in­ter­ac­tion which oc­curs between the eco­nom­ic and polit­ic­al spheres is a dead let­ter to them. Since they are in­di­vidu­al­ists and vol­un­tar­ists, they see re­volu­tion as an act of force which can only take place after an im­possible act of con­scious­ness. As Len­in demon­strated in What is To Be Done?, they turn Marx­ism on its head. They treat con­scious­ness and will as though they came from the in­ner self, from the “per­son”, and thus, in one deft move­ment, they sweep away bour­geois State, class di­vi­sions, and class psy­cho­logy. Since they are un­able to un­der­stand the in­ev­it­able al­tern­at­ive — cap­it­al­ist dic­tat­or­ship or com­mun­ist dic­tat­or­ship — they evade the di­lemma in the only way that is his­tor­ic­ally pos­sible: by rees­tab­lish­ing the former. And wheth­er this is done con­sciously or not may be a burn­ing is­sue for them but, frankly, we are not that in­ter­ested.

We are not really in­ter­ested in fol­low­ing the lo­gic­al evol­u­tion of Georges Sorel’s think­ing after that: ideal­ism, spir­itu­al­ism, and then a re­turn to the womb of the Cath­ol­ic Church.



Typology and ideology: Moisei Ginzburg revisited

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In­tro­duc­tion

Ig­or Dukhan
Be­lor­usian State
University, 2013
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Vic­tor Car­pov be­longs to that rare breed of con­tem­por­ary schol­ars who have pre­served the “pure prin­ciples” of such Rus­si­an art the­or­ists as Al­ex­an­der Gab­richevskii, Vassilii Zubov, and Aleksandr Rap­pa­port and linked them with the West­ern meth­od­o­logy of ar­chi­tec­tur­al ty­po­logy, drawn from the work of Joseph Ryk­wert, Gi­ulio Carlo Ar­gan and oth­ers. He is a seni­or fel­low of the In­sti­tute for the The­ory and His­tory of Ar­chi­tec­ture and Urb­an Plan­ning in Mo­scow and one of the lead­ing ar­chi­tec­tur­al thinkers in Rus­sia today.

The pa­per “Ty­po­logy and Ideo­logy: Moi­sei Gin­zburg Re­vis­ited” was pub­lished in 2013 in the magazine Aka­demia: Arkhitek­tura i Stroitel­stvo [Aca­demia: Ar­chi­tec­ture, and Con­struc­tion] and was based on a lec­ture, first presen­ted at the con­fer­ence “Style and Epoch,” which was or­gan­ized by the Aleksei Shchu­sev State Mu­seum of Ar­chi­tec­ture in co­oper­a­tion with the In­sti­tute for the The­ory and His­tory of Ar­chi­tec­ture and Urb­an Plan­ning, and ded­ic­ated to the cen­ten­ary of Moi­sei Gin­zburg’s birth. This pa­per is closely con­nec­ted with Vic­tor Car­pov’s en­tire re­search in­to the evol­u­tion of ar­chi­tec­tur­al ty­po­logy, which cel­eb­rated an im­port­ant step in con­tem­por­ary post-Heide­g­geri­an ar­chi­tec­tur­al the­ory.

Already in his dis­ser­ta­tion of 1992, the au­thor con­sidered the his­tory of ty­po­lo­gic­al think­ing in ar­chi­tec­ture from Vit­ruvi­us to the late twen­ti­eth-cen­tury ar­chi­tects and the­or­ists (Saverio Mur­atori, Gi­ulio Carlo Ar­gan, Aldo Rossi, Joseph Ryk­wert, Rob and Léon Kri­er and oth­ers). Later, an in­terest in ty­po­lo­gic­al (that is, on­to­lo­gic­al and pre-lin­guist­ic) think­ing in ar­chi­tec­ture — which might be called ar­chi­tec­ton­ic think­ing per se — led him to Al­berti and oth­er her­oes of ty­po­lo­gic­al think­ing in ar­chi­tec­ture in es­says in­clud­ing “Tip-an­ti­tip: k arkhitek­turnoi ger­me­nevtike” [Type-An­ti­type: To­wards Ar­chi­tec­tur­al Her­men­eut­ics] of 1991 (re­vised in 2012).

De­vel­op­ing tra­di­tion­al meth­ods of out­lining the ty­po­lo­gic­al ba­sics of ar­chi­tec­ture (like a prim­it­ive hut or the Temple of So­lomon), Vic­tor Car­pov re­cov­ers the pro­to­typ­al, ty­po­lo­gic­al ele­ments of ar­chi­tec­ture in Al­berti. They are: loc­al­ity (re­gio), area (area), di­vi­sion in­to parts (par­ti­tio), wall (par­ies), roof (tectum) and aper­tures (aper­tio). These six ba­sic ele­ments of ar­chi­tec­ture, in their con­struct­ive and on­to­lo­gic­al in­ter­pen­et­ra­tion, with the ground and the heav­ens, en­able us to dif­fer­en­ti­ate it from non-ar­chi­tec­ture. The des­tiny of these fun­da­ment­al ele­ments, dis­covered by Al­berti and gradu­ally de­veloped in ar­chi­tec­ture, is stud­ied in Vic­tor Car­pov’s re­cent pub­lic­a­tions, which in­clude the es­say “Up­razh­ni­aia dobro­de­tel v on­to­lo­gii: Ger­me­nevtika pri­roda u Al­berti” [Ex­er­cising Vir­tue in On­to­logy: The Her­men­eut­ics of Nature in Al­berti] of 2009, and oth­ers.

The present pa­per on Moi­sei Gin­zburg ex­am­ines the ty­po­lo­gic­al ar­chi­tec­tur­al think­ing at the core of con­struct­iv­ist meth­od. The “re­volu­tion­ary” sense of this study lies in at­trib­ut­ing to Gin­zburg and Rus­si­an con­struct­iv­ism a dom­in­ant role in the ty­po­lo­gic­al move­ment of mod­ern­ism — a move­ment to­ward the ba­sic ele­ments of ar­chi­tec­ture as such. These as­pects of Gin­zburg and con­struct­iv­ism were just briefly out­lined in the stud­ies of Se­lim Khan-Magomedov, Christina Lod­der, and oth­er dis­tin­guished schol­ars of con­struct­iv­ism. The present pa­per relates to Car­pov’s re­cent con­tri­bu­tion to the theme of ty­po­lo­gic­al strategies of the av­ant-garde, in­clud­ing es­says such as “Mi­fo­lo­giia is­torii: ‘Ar­bor mundi’ versus Dvorets Sov­etov” [“The Myth­o­logy of His­tory: ‘Ar­bor Mundi’ versus the Palace of So­vi­ets”] of 1994.

In the present pa­per, the fig­ure of Moi­sei Gin­zburg ap­pears as the founder of an av­ant-garde ar­chi­tec­tur­al ty­po­logy that re­moves con­struct­iv­ist the­ory and prac­tice from its spe­cif­ic so­cial and artist­ic con­text and el­ev­ates it to a new ar­chi­tec­tur­al ty­po­logy of mod­ern­ism. This search for ty­po­logy re­flects the in­ten­tions that Gin­zburg shared with such av­ant-garde trends as the Su­pre­mat­ist of the “ar­chi­tec­ture of the World sur­face” or Ve­limir Kh­leb­nikov’s use of ar­chetyp­al lan­guage to struc­ture the ar­chi­tec­ture of “Bu­detly­ans” [Fu­turi­ans or Fu­tur­ists] in his po­et­ic­al ima­gin­a­tion. Moi­sei Gin­zburg rep­res­ents the most ar­chi­tec­ton­ic and con­struct­ive mani­fest­a­tion of this av­ant-garde to­po­lo­gic­al/ty­po­lo­gic­al trend.

Ty­po­logy and ideo­logy:
Moi­sei Gin­zburg re­vis­ited

Vic­tor Car­pov
March 2013
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I have vis­ited again…

—Al­eks­an­dr Pushkin1

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Ra­tion­ally or para­dox­ic­ally, when events cru­cial for the ex­ist­ence and de­vel­op­ment of ar­chi­tec­ture (as a so­cially sig­ni­fic­ant or more mod­estly in­di­vidu­al phe­nomen­on) his­tor­ic­ally co­in­cide and be­come strangely con­nec­ted, they can de­term­ine, on an ex­ist­en­tial plane, not only the fate and vi­ab­il­ity of pro­fes­sion­al ar­chi­tec­tur­al or­gan­iz­a­tions or the des­tiny of an in­di­vidu­al per­son with­in these in­sti­tu­tions, but also, through their agency — the des­tiny of ar­chi­tec­ture it­self. In this re­spect, it is worth ex­amin­ing the fate of Moi­sei Iakovlevich Gin­zburg (1892-1946) as a pro­fes­sion­al fig­ure in the con­text of this para­dox­ic­al his­tor­ic­al per­spect­ive.

In 1992, on the cen­ten­ary of the ar­chi­tect’s birth, it was hard to ima­gine the nature of the his­tor­ic­al changes in so­ci­ety and ar­chi­tec­ture that would oc­cur with­in the space of twenty years. With­in the ex­pan­sion of pro­fes­sion­al activ­ity and the im­plac­able struggle and in­ev­it­able al­li­ance with aca­dem­ic tra­di­tions, the ele­ment­ary prob­lem of style and its re­la­tion­ship to the epoch con­tin­ued to be a prob­lem for Gin­zburg, who was cor­rect to ques­tion the nature of style in its re­la­tion to the mod­ern epoch. Per­tain­ing con­sist­ently to the his­tory of ar­chi­tec­ture and com­ing, from time to time, to the present, the rhythm of his re­turns com­men­sur­ate with cen­ten­ar­ies, Gin­zburg would be right to pose anew a ques­tion of the “style of the epoch” that today is of­ten simplist­ic­ally defined by math­em­at­ic­al ter­min­o­logy as di­git­al. Gin­zburg was deeply con­cerned, in a pro­found on­to­lo­gic­al sense, with the prob­lem of the “style of the epoch,” and this prob­lem once again re­turns to ar­chi­tec­ture, hav­ing nev­er left it, while ar­chi­tec­ture refers to Gin­zburg and lingers there. In its turn, the con­tem­por­ary body of pro­fes­sion­als — for Gin­zburg, “the young and un­known tribe” — em­phat­ic­ally turns to his leg­acy and that of the ar­chi­tects of his circle and gen­er­a­tion, just as they once turned (some­times un­wit­tingly and un­con­sciously) to the prac­tice of their pre­de­cessors.2

Narkomfin in the construction stage, with Moisei Ginzburg supervising (1929)

To a cer­tain ex­tent, any search for a style in ar­chi­tec­ture, art and life re­sembles a con­tinu­al at­tempt to define the es­sen­tial mean­ing of style. The cor­rel­a­tion — sim­ul­tan­eously between schol­arly and cre­at­ive pro­cesses and in­terests, cre­at­ive activ­ity and cul­tur­al and his­tor­ic­al in­ter­pret­a­tion — are evid­ent in the ar­chi­tec­tur­al leg­acy of Moi­sei Gin­zburg. Ac­tu­ally, in prac­tic­al, artist­ic and styl­ist­ic ex­per­i­ment­a­tion, as in at­tempts at his­tor­ic­al, crit­ic­al and the­or­et­ic­al per­cep­tions and ex­plan­a­tions of the prob­lems of style, the artist-ar­chi­tect and re­search­er-in­ter­pret­er more or less skill­fully, and of­ten un­con­sciously, op­er­ate and are ma­nip­u­lated by gen­er­ally ac­cep­ted and re­l­at­ively per­sist­ent his­tor­ic­al-cul­tur­al, philo­soph­ic­al-meta­phys­ic­al, and form­al-artist­ic con­ven­tions, motives and clichés, such as style and the epoch — words used in the title of a book and an ex­hib­i­tion of its au­thor’s work, which took place at the Shchu­sev Mu­seum of Ar­chi­tec­ture in Mo­scow in 1993. Sim­il­arly, Sovre­men­naia arkhitek­turaCon­tem­por­ary Ar­chi­tec­ture or Mod­ern Ar­chi­tec­ture — is the title of the journ­al pub­lished by the As­so­ci­ation of Con­tem­por­ary Ar­chi­tects as well as the term de­not­ing a broad­er in­ter­na­tion­al move­ment in twen­ti­eth-cen­tury ar­chi­tec­ture. So­viet con­struct­iv­ism, that was born, ac­cord­ing to Gin­zburg, in “an epoch which is doubly con­struct­ive (on the basis of the so­cial­ist re­volu­tion… and on the basis of the un­pre­ced­en­ted growth of tech­no­logy)” can be con­sidered, des­pite some re­ser­va­tions, as an in­teg­ral part of this move­ment.

Para­dox­ic­ally in today’s post- and sim­ul­tan­eously neo-mod­ern­ist epoch, the earli­er purely ideal­ist­ic ques­tion of an “ig­nora­mus,” presen­ted in 1926 be­fore young ma­ter­i­al­ist ar­chi­tects, still sounds per­fectly rel­ev­ant — al­though, as be­fore, ideal­ist­ic: “To what ex­tent is the cul­tur­al con­cep­tion of the epoch em­bod­ied in con­tem­por­ary ar­chi­tec­ture?” Iuda Gross­man-Roshchin, the au­thor of “Notes of an Ig­nora­mus” on the pages of Con­tem­por­ary Ar­chi­tec­ture, demon­strat­ing en­vi­able know­ledge, dis­cussed the ques­tion:

In a not very happy and not very dis­tant time, we were taught in the sol­id words of ar­chi­tec­tur­al teach­ers and in the lan­guage of ar­chi­tec­tur­ally lit­er­ate people the fol­low­ing: “Every build­ing, whatever its destined pur­pose, has the aim of ful­filling our re­quire­ments; these re­quire­ments, thanks to the ma­ter­i­al and spir­itu­al nature of man, are of two types: ma­ter­i­al re­quire­ments and mor­al re­quire­ments.” And fur­ther: “There is even one kind of build­ing, that ful­fills no ma­ter­i­al re­quire­ments, but is erec­ted ex­clus­ively by vir­tue of the spir­itu­al de­mands of the hu­man spe­cies.” I think that I am not mis­taken when I say that mod­ern ar­chi­tec­ture struggles with this du­al­ity, that con­tem­por­ary ar­chi­tec­ture fun­da­ment­ally splits the ideal­ist­ic as­pect in­to util­it­ari­an and aes­thet­ic ele­ments.3

To some ex­tent, Gin­zburg’s art­icle “The In­ter­na­tion­al Front of Mod­ern Ar­chi­tec­ture” (1927) provided an an­swer to this ques­tion:

Mod­ern So­viet ar­chi­tec­ture, or at least that as­so­ci­ated with our journ­al, is above all based on a pre­cise ma­ter­i­al­ist meth­od… Our front of mod­ern ar­chi­tec­ture is based on the prin­ciple that a com­pleted work of ar­chi­tec­ture, just like any oth­er mod­ern ob­ject, is not a house or an ob­ject to which some kind of aes­thet­ic ad­di­tion has been ap­plied, but a ra­tion­ally and sys­tem­at­ic­ally or­gan­ized con­crete task, pos­sess­ing, in the very meth­od of its or­gan­iz­a­tion, the max­im­um po­ten­tial for its ex­pres­sion.4

But the au­thor of “Notes” did not find this to be a con­clus­ive an­swer to his ques­tion:

It would be in­ter­est­ing to know pre­cisely how the ele­ment of plan­ning is mani­fes­ted in build­ings or projects of con­tem­por­ary ar­chi­tec­ture. Least sat­is­fy­ing of all is the ideo­lo­gic­al em­phas­is on strictly util­it­ari­an design. It might be the taste­less re­sur­gence of du­al­ity: a build­ing plus a so­viet-ideo­lo­gic­al an­nex. No. I am in­ter­ested in something else. How is the char­ac­ter of the epoch or­gan­ic­ally “mani­fest” in an ac­tu­al, con­crete ma­ter­i­al­iz­a­tion of an ar­chi­tec­tur­al con­cep­tion? Please note, that in my char­ac­ter of an ig­nora­mus, I am not cri­ti­ciz­ing any­thing, but merely pos­ing ques­tions. Per­haps this ques­tion is in­trins­ic­ally un­reas­on­able. I do not know. The valid­ity of the for­mu­la­tion is partly jus­ti­fied by com­rade Gin­zburg.5

This act of ideo­lo­gic­al profan­a­tion of the doc­trine of con­struct­iv­ism in mod­ern ar­chi­tec­ture, as­pir­ing to a uni­ver­sal and in­ter­na­tion­al status on the eve of world re­volu­tion, deals with ty­po­logy, but also with ideo­logy, and gen­er­ally — with the style of the epoch and with ar­chi­tec­ture. Ty­po­logy and ideo­logy, as the fun­da­ment­al con­stitu­ent ele­ments of Gin­zburg’s ar­chi­tec­tur­al the­ory, do not merely jus­ti­fy the reas­on for pos­ing the ques­tion. Here ty­po­logy and ideo­logy, as philo­soph­ic­al and meth­od­o­lo­gic­al con­ven­tions and clichés, can be used to the max­im­um, so to speak, against them­selves, in the ty­po­lo­gic­al and ideo­lo­gic­al (con­cep­tu­al) ana­lys­is of con­struct­iv­ism’s func­tion­al meth­od, the nature of the op­er­a­tion and ma­nip­u­la­tion, trans­form­a­tion and de­form­a­tion of tra­di­tion­al ar­chi­tec­tur­al ideas, meth­ods, and types, forms and con­cepts, which to a sig­ni­fic­ant de­gree de­term­ined mod­ern ar­chi­tec­ture’s and con­struct­iv­ist ar­chi­tec­ture’s searches for style.

Today, the an­swer to an­oth­er revered ques­tion of the post- or hy­per-mod­ern­ist peri­od — “When did the mod­ern move­ment in ar­chi­tec­ture be­gin?” — seems to be los­ing its former mean­ing and chro­no­lo­gic­al sig­ni­fic­ance as an ex­actly fixed his­tor­ic­al fact. Are the sources of this idea to be found in the dis­tant, ap­par­ently styl­ist­ic­ally and ideo­lo­gic­ally uni­fied nine­teenth cen­tury, be­gin­ning with the ideas of Wil­li­am Mor­ris and the arts and crafts move­ment, or even earli­er — in the ra­tion­al­ity of neo­clas­si­cism or in renais­sance hu­man­ism? Should two cen­tur­ies of mod­ern ar­chi­tec­tur­al de­vel­op­ment (1750-1950) be re­garded as a single his­tor­ic­al epoch, or is its vi­ab­il­ity lim­ited by the para­met­ers of the sci­entif­ic, tech­nic­al, so­cial and artist­ic re­volu­tions? The fun­da­ment­al ideas, pos­tu­lates, and state­ments of the mod­ern move­ment, as well as its philo­soph­ic­al, so­cial, ideo­lo­gic­al, and uto­pi­an ex­plan­a­tions, are prob­ably rooted in the same his­tor­ic­al and cul­tur­al con­text in which the treat­ise of Vit­ruvi­us and, more pro­foundly, the philo­soph­ic­al sys­tems of So­crates, Pla­to, and Ar­is­totle could be con­sidered mod­ern.

Without re­ject­ing the idea of the gen­er­al pro­gress of hu­man his­tory, des­pite the evid­ent present crisis of the evol­u­tion­ary view of the world, one can agree with Peter Collins that dur­ing the peri­od 1750-1950, new ideas and con­cep­tions not only fol­lowed each oth­er in an evol­u­tion­ary suc­ces­sion of nat­ur­al-his­tor­ic­al de­vel­op­ment and se­lec­tion, but con­stantly ap­peared in vari­ous re­la­tion­ships and dif­fer­ent com­bin­a­tions with the old.6 Ac­know­ledging the in­flu­ence of eco­nom­ic, so­cial and polit­ic­al factors on the ob­ject­ive changes in twen­ti­eth-cen­tury ar­chi­tec­ture, it is im­port­ant to fo­cus on the wider and more pro­found sources of con­tem­por­ary ar­chi­tec­tur­al the­or­ies. Hence it would be help­ful to con­sider the changes in ar­chi­tec­tur­al ideas ly­ing be­hind the real trans­form­a­tions of form, the sources of which were rather philo­soph­ic­al (that same eco­nom­ic de­term­in­ism that was prob­ably, to a large de­gree, in­debted to the philo­soph­ic­al re­volu­tions in Eng­land and Ger­many) and arose above all from a new no­tion of his­tory.

The es­sence of the new per­cep­tion of his­tory is its in­ter­pret­a­tion as an evol­u­tion­ary pro­cess in which vari­ous sys­tems of cul­tur­al mean­ing were of only re­l­at­ive value. In ar­chi­tec­ture, the concept of evol­u­tion, per­ceived in par­al­lel with the idea of his­tor­ic­al re­lativ­ism, pro­duced a new concept of his­tory, which des­troyed a cen­tur­ies-old, un­waver­ing be­lief in ab­so­lute and im­mut­able val­ues, based on the doc­trines of clas­sic­al ar­chi­tec­ture. Alan Colquhoun, there­fore, in his Es­says in Ar­chi­tec­tur­al Cri­ti­cism: Mod­ern Ar­chi­tec­ture and His­tor­ic­al Change, ob­serves:

To­geth­er with the re­viv­al of past styles, a feel­ing began to de­vel­op that, if Goth­ic was the char­ac­ter­ist­ic style of the age of faith, if neo­clas­si­cism was the char­ac­ter­ist­ic style of the En­light­en­ment, then the present age should have its own style, rooted in the tech­nic­al pro­gress that was its own char­ac­ter­ist­ic sign. This grow­ing feel­ing was the co­rol­lary of the fact that re­lativ­ity was only one as­pect of post-Hegel­i­an epi­stem­o­logy. The oth­er as­pect was that his­tory was seen as pro­cess. His­tory pro­gressed dia­lect­ic­ally by tran­scend­ing it­self, each suc­cess­ive peri­od ab­sorb­ing the pre­vi­ous one and pro­du­cing a new syn­thes­is. Wheth­er, as in Hegel, this pro­cess was seen as tele­olo­gic­al — a move­ment to­ward the fu­ture in­carn­a­tion of the Ideal that ex­is­ted out­side time — or, as in Marx, it was seen as dia­lect­ic­ally work­ing it­self out in the class struggle seen ac­cord­ing to the Dar­wini­an mod­el, need not con­cern us. What is im­port­ant is the idea of his­tory as an in­tel­li­gible pro­cess with a pre­dict­able fu­ture.7

However, Balzac’s ro­mantic aph­or­ism — “One does not have to go far to prove that the present is su­per­i­or to the past; it is still ne­ces­sary to en­cour­age an­ti­cip­a­tion of a fu­ture, which is bet­ter than our present” — takes on the char­ac­ter of a con­crete plan of ac­tion for at­tain­ing the fu­ture. Sim­il­arly, The Com­mun­ist Mani­festo writ­ten by Karl Marx and Friedrich En­gels in 1848 (which Reyn­er Ban­ham con­siders the first fu­tur­ist mani­festo) starts out with a mys­tic­al pre­lude about a ghost wan­der­ing throughout Europe and con­cludes with an out­right re­volu­tion­ary ex­horta­tion.

As Ban­ham ex­plains in The­ory and Design in the First Ma­chine Age, there are three strands to the struc­ture of artist­ic mani­festos at the be­gin­ning of the twen­ti­eth cen­tury which em­body the paradig­mat­ic nature of these type of pro­gram­mat­ic an­nounce­ments: the past — “we re­ject”; the present — is the spir­it of the time or the epoch; the fu­ture — “we af­firm.”6 In this his­tor­ic­al-lin­guist­ic struc­ture, the me­di­um ele­ment, the spir­it of the times — the Zeit­geist — has an im­port­ant meth­od­o­lo­gic­al sig­ni­fic­ance for un­der­stand­ing the sources of mod­ern ar­chi­tec­ture. Hein­rich Wölfflin’s as­ser­tion that “style is an ex­pres­sion of the epoch” sug­ges­ted the pos­sib­il­ity that ar­chi­tec­ture as well as art con­tains with­in it­self the symp­tom or trace of a def­in­ite stage or peri­od of his­tor­ic­al de­vel­op­ment. The spir­it of the times or the style of the mod­ern epoch de­man­ded an ab­so­lutely new ar­chi­tec­ture.

But what is par­tic­u­larly im­port­ant for the present dis­cus­sion is the idea that “the spir­it of the times” ac­quired an ob­ject­ive ex­ist­ence, was af­firmed as a law of nat­ur­al evol­u­tion, and as a pur­pose­ful change in real­ity, in ac­cord­ance with nat­ur­al-sci­entif­ic or so­cial-eco­nom­ic the­ory. This idea, re­in­forced by the sci­entif­ic and ex­per­i­ment­al ap­proach of pos­it­iv­ism and giv­en the vera­city of ob­ject­ive fact and the epi­stem­o­lo­gic­al force of ob­ject­ive truth, was ex­pressed in the philo­soph­ic­al-ideo­lo­gic­al un­der­stand­ing of ob­ject­ive real­ity as a ma­ter­i­al real­ity that in­cluded ma­ter­i­al ob­jects and their prop­er­ties; space; time; move­ment; laws; so­cial, in­dus­tri­al and eco­nom­ic re­la­tion­ships; the state; cul­ture, etc. — that is, in prac­tice the whole of every­day life, which in this in­ter­pret­a­tion defines con­scious­ness.

The “spir­it of the times,” as a symp­tom and sym­bol of the changes of the epoch in every as­pect of life, was mani­fest in art and ar­chi­tec­ture at the end of the nine­teenth cen­tury and be­gin­ning of the twen­ti­eth in two par­al­lel, but re­l­at­ively in­de­pend­ent, trends. One was re­lated to the artist­ic elite’s re­jec­tion of bour­geois cul­ture, usurp­ing artist­ic polit­ics and as­so­ci­ated with ec­lecticism and aca­dem­ic tra­di­tions in ar­chi­tec­ture. Nev­er­the­less, this re­jec­tion did not in­clude any dir­ect so­cial or polit­ic­al cri­ti­cism. On the oth­er hand, uto­pi­an so­cial­ism, and Marx­ist dia­lect­ic­al and his­tor­ic­al ma­ter­i­al­ism, as­sisted the emer­gence and de­vel­op­ment of a so­cial-func­tion­al the­ory of ar­chi­tec­ture. Yet even be­fore this, just as these the­or­ies were emer­ging, and at the same time as the de­vel­op­ment of their eth­ic­al and aes­thet­ic premises in the teach­ings of Wil­li­am Mor­ris and fol­low­ers of this new dir­ec­tion in aes­thet­ics, art and ar­chi­tec­ture, there de­veloped “a func­tion­al meth­od” for ar­chi­tec­ture with­in the heart of the aca­dem­ic tra­di­tion it­self. This had de­veloped on the basis of the proto-func­tion­al­ism of Carlo Lodoli, Marc-Ant­oine Laugi­er, Jean-Nic­olas-Louis Dur­and, Eugène Vi­ol­let-le-Duc, Henri Lab­rouste, Au­gus­tus Pu­gin, Au­guste Choisy, Gottfried Sem­per, and Ju­li­en Gaud­et. It paved the way for ab­stract art and its aes­thet­ic found­a­tions.

Mod­ern ar­chi­tec­ture, com­bin­ing the ab­stract form­al­ism of the av­ant-garde and the pro­duct­ive sci­entif­ic and tech­nic­al po­ten­tial of the new in­dus­tri­al epoch, de­veloped forms and meth­ods, in­ten­ded not only to re­flect, sym­bol­ize, or im­it­ate the func­tion­ing of a de­vel­op­ing so­ci­ety, but also them­selves to act­ively pro­mote ma­ter­i­al and func­tion­al changes in ob­ject­ive real­ity and every­day life.

On the one hand, ar­chi­tec­ture looked to the ra­tion­al lo­gic of func­tion­al­ism and tech­no­lo­gic­al pro­gress. On the oth­er, it re­mained an in­de­pend­ent artist­ic dis­cip­line, sub­ject to the laws of aes­thet­ics in which the au­thor­ity of new per­cep­tu­al and psy­cho­lo­gic­al the­or­ies con­firmed the value of the an­cient cat­egory of beauty. This con­tra­dic­tion, un­der­stood as the dom­in­ance of the new over the old, is re­flec­ted in a type of ar­chi­tec­tur­al concept that treats the func­tion­al and con­struct­ive ele­ment as a ma­ter­i­al ob­ject, as a tech­nic­al and so­cial norm or stand­ard, but un­con­sciously and in­tu­it­ively ex­per­i­ences it as an aes­thet­ic, eth­ic­al and ideo­lo­gic­al im­per­at­ive, as an idea and a con­ven­tion.

As re­gards ty­po­logy, at the same time as the es­sen­tial clas­si­fic­a­tion of build­ings ac­cord­ing to their pur­pose, the lo­gic­al and ra­tion­al ana­lys­is and or­der­ing of the parts or ele­ments of the ar­chi­tec­ton­ic sys­tem, there takes place the struc­tur­ing and de­vel­op­ment of a “pro­gram” for each in­di­vidu­al type. The isol­a­tion, in­vest­ig­a­tion, clas­si­fic­a­tion and or­der­ing of the sep­ar­ate func­tions of a build­ing are ac­com­pan­ied by a striv­ing to­ward their dis­crete design, in ac­cord­ance with the re­quire­ments of the cause-and-ef­fect con­nec­tion between func­tion and form. On the one hand, this leads to the sep­ar­a­tion of the func­tion­al volumes or spaces and their flex­ible and func­tion­al or­gan­iz­a­tion in­to a single whole. On the oth­er, it leads to the idea of a single uni­ver­sal space, the ex­tern­al design of which does not de­pend on the quant­ity or in­ner or­gan­iz­a­tion of the parts or func­tions. In this way, the ab­stract cat­egor­ies of func­tion and space be­come the fun­da­ment­al ele­ments and ty­po­lo­gic­al at­trib­utes of ar­chi­tec­ture.

All these words and cat­egor­ies — type, spe­cies or genre, pro­gram or build­ing, plan, part and ele­ment, func­tion and form — re­late the new meth­od of Mod­ern Ar­chi­tec­ture back to the fam­ous ra­tion­al, struc­tur­al, and ty­po­lo­gic­al meth­od of com­pos­i­tion, for­mu­lated at the be­gin­ning of the nine­teenth cen­tury by Jean-Nic­olas-Louis Dur­and at the Ecole Poly­tech­nique,9 and de­veloped in the middle of the same cen­tury by Gottfried Sem­per in his “prac­tic­al aes­thet­ic,” with ref­er­ence to Frédéric Cu­vi­er, Dur­and and a real “Carib­bean hut” — the prim­or­di­al type of all ar­chi­tec­ture — ex­hib­ited at The Great Ex­hib­i­tion of the Works of In­dustry of all Na­tions, in 1851 at the Crys­tal Palace, Lon­don.10 Even be­fore these ideas al­most lit­er­ally were be­ing bor­rowed and de­veloped at the be­gin­ning of the twen­ti­eth cen­tury by the Ger­man Werkbund and the Bauhaus, a struc­tur­al-ty­po­lo­gic­al meth­od of com­pos­i­tion had been per­fec­ted in the work of Ju­li­en Gaud­et, a pro­fess­or at the Ecole des Beaux Arts.11 His stu­dent Tony Garni­er (an­oth­er fam­ous stu­dent was Au­guste Per­ret — also a pre­curs­or of the mod­ern move­ment) trans­lated this meth­od in 1904-1918 from the scale of a single build­ing to the urb­an scale in his project Une cité in­dus­tri­elle, which fol­lowed Al­berti’s pre­cept that a city should be re­garded as a large build­ing.

This meth­od of com­pos­ing form­al, con­struct­ive, func­tion­al and spa­tial ele­ments was em­ployed by the an­cients as well as by the mod­erns, only with dif­fer­ent levels of un­der­stand­ing its mech­an­ism. The con­struct­ive and func­tion­al parts of a build­ing (i.e. the ar­chi­tec­tur­al ele­ments, ac­cord­ing to Dur­and and Gaud­et) formed the func­tion­al and spa­tial volumes, so that the com­pos­i­tion ele­ments, in Dur­and’s ter­min­o­logy, rep­res­en­ted the build­ing it­self or its parts. To ar­range, in a lit­er­al or fig­ur­at­ive sense, meant to com­pose, as­semble and build. It is pre­cisely in this mean­ing of “the as­sembly of house-build­ing” that the aca­dem­ic meth­od of com­pos­i­tion was trans­ferred to mod­ern ar­chi­tec­ture, as Ban­ham cor­rectly ob­served: Gin­zburg’s “func­tion­al meth­od,” with all its so­cial and ideo­lo­gic­al con­nota­tions, was fun­da­ment­ally as in­stru­ment­al as the meth­od of Dur­and and Gaud­et. The ad­apt­a­tion of this new and sim­ul­tan­eously old design meth­od and tool to the new in­dus­tri­al and tech­no­lo­gic­al pos­sib­il­it­ies and so­cial and eco­nom­ic re­quire­ments of con­tem­por­ary so­ci­ety pre­dict­ably de­man­ded the im­ple­ment­a­tion of eco­nom­ic and tech­nic­al pro­cesses of ef­fect­ive ra­tion­al­iz­a­tion in the form of pro­ced­ures of typi­fic­a­tion, stand­ard­iz­a­tion, and in­teg­ra­tion of all the lis­ted ele­ments at the scale of both a build­ing — a tra­di­tion­al ty­po­lo­gic­al cat­egory — and a city.

Gin­zburg’s role in de­vel­op­ing new types of build­ing is gen­er­ally re­cog­nized and is con­stantly men­tioned by schol­ars of his work. One only has to refer to the fairly de­tailed ana­lys­is of his work by Se­lim O. Khan-Magomedov in his mono­graph M. Ia. Gin­zburg.12 The the­or­et­ic­al and prac­tic­al value of these stud­ies can be amp­li­fied by ex­plor­ing sev­er­al artist­ic, philo­soph­ic­al and ideo­lo­gic­al as­pects of Gin­zburg’s ty­po­lo­gic­al con­cep­tions, mainly presen­ted in his book Style and Epoch and in some journ­al art­icles.13

Con­sid­er­ing style as a faith­ful re­flec­tion of the epoch, Gin­zburg pro­poses not only a meth­od “of his­tor­ic­al eval­u­ation… in re­la­tion­ship to the en­vir­on­ment that cre­ated it,” but also a “ge­net­ic meth­od… de­fin­ing the value of a phe­nomen­on from the point of view of its re­la­tion­ship to the fur­ther de­vel­op­ment of style and the gen­er­al evol­u­tion­ary pro­cess.”14 Ac­tu­ally re­turn­ing to the idea of the prim­or­di­al type and cit­ing the hut or dol­men, Gin­zburg re­peats the idea of styl­ist­ic ty­po­logy de­veloped by Ant­oine-Chrysostóme Quatremère de Quincy at the turn of the eight­eenth to the nine­teenth cen­tury in his en­cyc­lo­ped­ic dic­tion­ary, where in the ar­chi­tec­tur­al sec­tion he pro­poses on the bases of a ty­po­logy of style a sin­gu­lar ty­po­logy of prim­or­di­al forms and types, each of which cor­res­ponds to a dif­fer­ent geo­graph­ic­al or cli­mat­ic con­di­tion, and also to the nature of the fun­da­ment­al activ­ity of the re­spect­ive na­tion­al­ity.15 For in­stance, the cave as the hunter’s shel­ter is the prim­or­di­al type of Egyp­tian ar­chi­tec­ture, the tent as the dwell­ing of the no­mad­ic her­der of cattle is the type for Chinese ar­chi­tec­ture, and fi­nally the hut as the house for a tiller of the soil is the type for Greek ar­chi­tec­ture. For Quatremère de Quincy, each of these types not only ex­plains the gen­es­is and evol­u­tion of the cor­res­pond­ing style, but also helps to de­term­ine the pre­dom­in­ance of one style over an­oth­er. Since the type con­tains the po­ten­tial for its fu­ture de­vel­op­ment, the cave as a prim­or­di­al type for the heavy, massive, dark Egyp­tian temple did not pos­sess the po­ten­tial for fur­ther evol­u­tion, like the light, mo­bile and tem­por­ary struc­ture of the tent — the type of Chinese ar­chi­tec­ture. In con­trast, the wooden con­struc­tion of the hut, trans­lated in­to stone, demon­strated the po­ten­tial for evol­u­tion and pro­gress. Sim­ul­tan­eously light, bright, and dur­able, this con­struc­tion as a prim­or­di­al type was en­dowed with the mean­ing and sig­ni­fic­ance of the eth­ic­al and aes­thet­ic ideal and the im­mut­able and fun­da­ment­al truths for the de­vel­op­ment of ar­chi­tec­ture from its prim­it­ive con­di­tion to the clas­sic­al per­fec­tion of the Greek or­der and temples. For his part, Gin­zburg wrote:

It is pos­sible to dis­tin­guish ge­net­ic styles of a less­er or great­er value in so far as they pos­sess to a less­er or great­er de­gree, fea­tures and po­ten­tial pos­sib­il­it­ies for the cre­ation of the new… Each his­tor­ic­al epoch, or rather each vi­tal cre­at­ive force is char­ac­ter­ized by cer­tain artist­ic or­gan­isms: so each epoch in the plastic arts had its fa­vor­ite type, which is in­trins­ic to it… It is pre­cisely the same in ar­chi­tec­ture: hence the temple with its typ­ic­al fea­tures was most char­ac­ter­ist­ic of Greece, the church and cathed­ral of the Middle Ages, and the palace of the Renais­sance.16

For Gin­zburg, the ge­net­ic and his­tor­ic­al eval­u­ation is not al­ways re­lated to “the qual­ity of an art­work’s form­al ele­ments,” al­though he re­cog­nized their trans­fer­ence to the struc­tures of one or an­oth­er epoch, but above all to their func­tion­al pur­pose.17

For Quatremère de Quincy, the char­ac­ter and value of each prim­or­di­al type — cave, tent, or hut — was de­term­ined by the na­tion­al and eth­no­graph­ic cri­ter­ia of man’s activ­it­ies. For Gin­zburg, the ab­stract cat­egory of work, with all its Marx­ist con­nota­tions, be­came the gen­er­al cri­terion — the es­sen­tial pre­requis­ite for the de­tach­ment of man from the an­im­al world, his phys­ic­al ex­ist­ence, his per­fec­tion and the emer­gence of so­ci­ety, class iden­tity, so­cial and eco­nom­ic re­la­tion­ships, and the free and multi-fa­ceted de­vel­op­ment of the in­di­vidu­al as a con­di­tion for the free and multi-fa­ceted de­vel­op­ment of every­one: “The ele­ment of life, moved in­to primary po­s­i­tion in the new act­ive so­cial en­vir­on­ment of con­tem­por­ary real­ity — by the work­ing class — is work, be­cause it is the main con­tent of the life of this so­cial class and its uni­fy­ing char­ac­ter­ist­ic.”18

This pe­cu­li­ar re­place­ment of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s “nat­ur­al man” with so­cial­ized “work­ing man” res­ul­ted in “the prim­it­ive hut” be­ing re­placed by “work­ers’ hous­ing,” and the class-ideo­lo­gic­al, so­ci­olo­gic­al prob­lem­at­ic be­ing in­tro­duced in­to ar­chi­tec­ture. On the one hand, this was in total agree­ment with the func­tion­al­ist ap­proach to­ward the ge­net­ic basis of type, as an ele­ment of the new so­cial and eco­nom­ic or­gan­iz­a­tion of so­ci­ety, ex­ist­ence and every­day life (i.e. with the func­tion­al pur­pose of the ob­ject be­ing like that of any oth­er item of every­day life or ele­ment of ob­ject­ive real­ity). On the oth­er hand, the emer­gence and in­tro­duc­tion in­to ar­chi­tec­ture of yet an­oth­er new type, dir­ectly con­nec­ted with that very same cat­egory of work as the func­tion­al pro­cess — the type of the house of labor, fact­ory or mill — so­cially and ideo­lo­gic­ally jus­ti­fied the form­al and artist­ic lan­guage of fu­tur­ist ar­chi­tec­ture. “In this way,” states Gin­zburg, it be­comes the first pri­or­ity, as the fun­da­ment­al prob­lem con­front­ing con­tem­por­ary real­ity, to de­vel­op solu­tions for all those ar­chi­tec­tur­al or­gan­isms that are as­so­ci­ated with the concept of work: work­ers’ hous­ing and the house of labor and the end­less quant­ity of tasks re­lated to them.19

Though Gin­zburg viewed the prob­lem of the “form­al and typ­ic­al ex­pres­sion” of work­ers’ hous­ing as a task de­mand­ing a fu­ture solu­tion, a paradigm and key for the res­ol­u­tion of this task was provided by the ob­jectiv­ity and ma­ter­i­al­ity of European and Amer­ic­an in­dus­tri­al build­ings or houses of labor (“where the most acutely pen­et­rat­ing key to mod­ern­ity provided solu­tions as­ton­ish­ing in their purely form­al per­fec­tion, un­doubtedly pre­dict­ing the fu­ture”).20

Em­phas­is on act­ive work or hu­man labor — the ele­ment of so­ci­ety’s pro­duct­ive power, defined by Marx­ist philo­sophy as a de­term­in­ant factor in the his­tor­ic­al pro­cess — sys­tem­at­ic­ally led Gin­zburg to an­oth­er cat­egory of his­tor­ic­al ma­ter­i­al­ism — the means of pro­duc­tion — which al­lowed him to go from the house of work to the ma­chine and tech­no­logy as sources of in­spir­a­tion for the cre­ation of the new ar­chi­tec­ture, now jus­ti­fied from the point of view of his­tor­ic­al ma­ter­i­al­ism:

Just as we defined the re­la­tion­ship between the ma­chine and in­dus­tri­al struc­tures, we must define the ana­log­ous re­la­tion­ship between the in­dus­tri­al struc­ture and the ar­chi­tec­ture of work­ers’ hous­ing… In­dus­tri­al ar­chi­tec­ture, be­ing close to the sources of a con­tem­por­ary un­der­stand­ing of form, must in­flu­ence even the most tra­di­tion­al and con­ser­vat­ive hous­ing. From in­dus­tri­al ar­chi­tec­ture rather than from any­where else, we can ex­pect a real in­dic­a­tion of what, how, and in what way this can be done. We are talk­ing about adding the fi­nal ar­chi­tec­tur­al ele­ment — ad­equate liv­ing and so­cial build­ings — to an already ex­ist­ing mod­ern en­vir­on­ment: the ma­chine, en­gin­eer­ing and in­dus­tri­al struc­tures.21

It is pre­cisely to­ward the solu­tion of this task that the search for new types of build­ing and means of or­gan­iz­ing and form­ing “the new every­day life of mod­ern man” had been dir­ec­ted:

In the con­di­tions of the build­ing of so­cial­ism that we are ex­per­i­en­cing today, every new solu­tion of the ar­chi­tect — a work­ers’ house, club, or fact­ory — is con­sidered by us to be the in­ven­tion of a mod­ern type, an­swer­ing its tasks and suit­able for re­pro­du­cing in any quant­ity, in ac­cord­ance with gov­ern­ment re­quire­ments.22

Eco­nom­ic de­term­in­ism and ra­tion­al­iz­a­tion, real­ized po­et­ic­ally in tech­nic­al forms, al­lowed the ex­am­in­a­tion of dwell­ing and so­cial func­tions as in­dis­pens­able sup­ple­ments to the pro­duc­tion pro­cess, while hous­ing and so­cial build­ings — the com­ple­ment­ary ele­ments of the in­dus­tri­al en­vir­on­ment — were “the fi­nal ar­chi­tec­tur­al com­pon­ents.” The evol­u­tion­ary view of his­tory as a pro­cess of de­vel­op­ment from lower to high­er forms re­duced the mean­ing of the ar­chi­tec­tur­al type as a prim­or­di­al prin­ciple, rule and idea — so­ci­ety liv­ing to­geth­er around the fire, a prim­it­ive hut or the temple — to the sig­ni­fic­ance of a com­pleted product, an ul­ti­mate res­ult, a ma­ter­i­al ob­ject and per­fec­ted stand­ard.

Re­turn­ing in 1934 to the prob­lem of “the crit­ic­al mas­ter­ing of the en­tire her­it­age of the past, from the prim­it­ive sav­age’s hut to the flight of a stra­tostat,” Gin­zburg did not ap­peal to what would have been nat­ur­al, to one of the defined his­tor­ic­al and tra­di­tion­al types, as for ex­ample to that from which he began to con­sider the ar­chi­tec­tur­al her­it­age. In­stead, he tried to re­define it: “What is a type? A type is the res­ult of work on com­pre­hend­ing new so­cial tasks.”23 From this defin­i­tion, fol­lowed a cri­ti­cism of the con­di­tion of stand­ard­iz­a­tion and typi­fic­a­tion at that time, and also a pro­pos­al for their im­prove­ment, that clearly, al­though un­wit­tingly, re­vealed the in­ner con­tra­dic­tion between the so­cial task and the struc­ture in re­spect to func­tion and planned or­gan­iz­a­tion of the design and build­ing pro­cess. Ac­cord­ing to the think­ing of the au­thor, however, it “rad­ic­ally changes the char­ac­ter of the work of the mod­ern ar­chi­tect,” who in turn “con­siders his activ­ity not as the ful­fill­ment of spe­cif­ic tasks, but as the es­tab­lish­ment of ar­chi­tec­tur­al stand­ards… as a con­stant per­fec­tion of those stand­ards.”24

Nu­mer­ous designs for com­mun­al hous­ing, hous­ing of a trans­ition­al type, blocks of res­id­ences and hos­tels with cells, flats and houses with one, two, three, 3.5 and 5.5 rooms, work­ers’ clubs, palaces of cul­ture and ser­vice build­ings, which had to “in ad­vance lead the ar­chi­tect’s at­ten­tion away from seek­ing in­di­vidu­al solu­tions to­wards the per­fec­tion of a stand­ard and to­wards the elab­or­a­tion and the max­im­um typi­fic­a­tion of all its de­tails,” on the whole, rep­res­ent more or less ideal mod­els and stand­ards.25 But the pro­gram­mat­ic ex­clu­sion of in­di­vidu­al­ity and ori­gin­al­ity (ex­cept for en­gin­eer­ing) im­plied an un­am­bigu­ous an­swer to that ques­tion, which is fa­mil­i­ar to mod­ern ar­chi­tec­ture and was for­mu­lated by Her­mann Muthesi­us in 1911 for the Ger­man Werkbund — “Type or In­di­vidu­al­ity?” — in fa­vor of the type, in its de­formed real­iz­a­tion as an in­dus­tri­al pro­to­type and stand­ard. On the mat­ter of mas­ter­ing the his­tor­ic­al tra­di­tion, Gin­zburg in 1924, had already de­clared:

In this way, every prin­ciple of our clas­sic­al her­it­age must change, at least quant­it­at­ively, in or­der to be suit­able for the present day. But this quant­it­at­ive change is a new ar­chi­tec­tur­al qual­ity, be­cause it en­tails the re­place­ment of old meth­ods by new, and the at­tach­ment of new in­ven­tions to what is still vi­able.26

It was pro­posed (if not a play on words) to use philo­soph­ic­al cat­egor­ies of qual­it­at­ive change at the ex­pense of a re­verse, a qual­it­at­ive change with a minus sign, i.e. a de­duc­tion, re­duc­tion and ex­clu­sion from ar­chi­tec­ture of the clas­sic­al her­it­age, but a quant­it­at­ive change with a plus sign or mul­tiply­ing a thou­sand­fold, in the words of Henry Van de Velde, an in­crease once the per­fect stand­ard that has been at­tained has not dir­ectly led to the de­sired qual­ity. This stopped pleas­ing Gin­zburg him­self:

With us, the type has turned in­to a pat­tern, a series of cri­ter­ia, which the ar­chi­tect must use without fail… the type has turned in­to simple mech­an­ic­al blinkers, re­strict­ing the ar­chi­tect’s think­ing and for­cing him to fol­low the line of least res­ist­ance.27

At the same time, “un­der­stand­ing the prob­lem of the type cor­rectly” con­tin­ued to be con­sidered “one of the most in­ter­est­ing so­cial and ar­chi­tec­tur­al tasks, the solu­tion of which can lead us closest to the form of the new pro­let­ari­an ar­chi­tec­ture.”28

After the peri­od of “mas­ter­ing the clas­sic­al her­it­age,” the suc­ceed­ing stage of stand­ard­iz­a­tion and typi­fic­a­tion in So­viet ar­chi­tec­ture fol­lowed once-pre­scribed trends of con­stantly per­fect­ing stand­ards. End­less in­vest­ig­a­tions in­to the eco­nom­ic­ally ef­fect­ive func­tion­al and con­struc­tion­al solu­tions for a par­tic­u­lar type of build­ing and with­in the lim­its of “con­struc­tion norms and reg­u­la­tions” moved to­ward sim­pli­fic­a­tion and the ac­cept­ance of a single op­tim­um vari­ant. In this pro­cess of “propaga­tion” and sim­ul­tan­eous re­duc­tion, the type, via an in­dus­tri­al and ty­po­lo­gic­al mod­el and stand­ard, ac­quired the prop­er­ties of a norm­at­ive pro­to­type and, as a res­ult of the lo­gic­al com­ple­tion of this se­quence of ty­po­lo­gic­al op­er­a­tions, ma­nip­u­la­tion, trans­form­a­tion and de­form­a­tion, turned in­to a ste­reo­type and cliché.

For Gin­zburg and the ar­chi­tects of his circle and gen­er­a­tion, it seemed that ar­chi­tec­ture as a faith­ful fol­low­er of his­tory ought to de­vel­op ac­cord­ing to the laws of dia­lectics as ap­plied to so­cial de­vel­op­ment.

The struggle and the unity of op­pos­ites (with the em­phas­is on the struggle), re­pu­di­ation for the sake of re­pu­di­ation, and the strategy of in­creas­ing the quant­ity in or­der to achieve a new qual­ity in ar­chi­tec­ture per­fectly agreed with the dom­in­ant philo­soph­ic­al and ideo­lo­gic­al tend­en­cies of the times. But in ar­chi­tec­ture, as in so­ci­ety, the situ­ation that ar­chi­tec­tur­al style should have re­flec­ted, so ap­par­ent in pure the­ory and meth­od, was des­troyed by his­tory it­self.

Ex­amin­ing So­viet con­struct­iv­ism and the ar­chi­tec­ture of the So­viet peri­od with­in the gen­er­al con­text of the mod­ern move­ment, the in­ter­na­tion­al style or func­tion­al­ism demon­strates both the autonomy and in­ter­de­pend­ence of these trends.

Un­doubtedly, Gin­zburg was right when he de­clared that new trends and in­flu­ences (in­clud­ing ty­po­logy and ideo­logy) came to ar­chi­tec­ture from the north. But he was only half or a quarter right if one takes in­to ac­count the four corners of the world, for the greatest in­flu­ences, that he ex­per­i­enced him­self, like many be­fore and at the same time, cir­cu­lated and in­vis­ibly roamed and whirled throughout Europe and Amer­ica and then re­turned from the south, from Italy and Mil­an where, in 1914, Gin­zburg re­ceived his first of­fi­cial ar­chi­tec­tur­al train­ing. In Mil­an, in 1912-1914, the draughtsman Ant­o­nio Sant’Elia cre­ated his ar­chi­tec­tur­al fantas­ies and pub­lished his ideas of city plan­ning, em­bod­ied in the projects for the Città Nuova and Mil­ano 2000. In Mil­an in May 1914, the ex­hib­i­tion Nuove Tenden­ze opened, the cata­logue for which con­tained Sant’Elia’s de­clar­a­tion (Mes­sag­gio). Re­peat­ing the Mes­sag­gio, “The Mani­festo of Fu­tur­ist Ar­chi­tec­ture” was writ­ten and pub­lished on June 11, 1914 (most ca­non­ic­al fu­tur­ist mani­fes­tos were dated the el­ev­enth day of the month). It was also the to­po­graphy of Mil­an that was de­scribed in the pro­logue to “The Found­ing Mani­festo” of Fu­tur­ism, ini­tially writ­ten in French by Fil­ippo Tom­maso Ma­ri­netti, a gradu­ate of the Sor­bonne, and pub­lished in the Parisi­an news­pa­per Le Figaro in Feb­ru­ary 1909.

The fi­nal para­graph of Ma­ri­netti’s mani­festo is not merely dis­tinct­ive for its re­volu­tion­ary mood and new meta­phors. In a po­et­ic form, it es­tab­lishes an in­dis­sol­uble con­nec­tion between tech­no­logy and art, between the ma­chine and ar­chi­tec­ture, with its new ty­po­logy of in­dus­tri­al and en­gin­eer­ing struc­tures:

We will sing of the stir­ring of great crowds — work­ers, pleas­ure-seekers, ri­oters — and the con­fused sea of col­or and sound as re­volu­tion sweeps through a mod­ern met­ro­pol­is. We will sing the mid­night fer­vor of ar­sen­als and shipyards blaz­ing with elec­tric moons; in­sa­ti­able sta­tions swal­low­ing the smoking ser­pents of their trains; factor­ies hung from the clouds by the twis­ted threads of their smoke; bridges flash­ing like knives in the sun; gi­ant gym­nasts that leap over rivers; ad­ven­tur­ous steam­ers that scent the ho­ri­zon; deep-ches­ted lo­co­mot­ives that paw the ground with their wheels, like stal­lions har­nessed with steel tubing; the easy flight of air­planes, their pro­pellers beat­ing the wind like ban­ners, with a sound like the ap­plause of a mighty crowd.29

In the “spir­it of the times,” Sant’Elia went no fur­ther than sum­mar­iz­ing and de­fin­ing the role of ar­chi­tec­ture in a peri­od of tech­nic­al re­volu­tion, while Gin­zburg and the ar­chi­tects of his circle and gen­er­a­tion had to ob­jec­ti­fy, im­ple­ment and ma­ter­i­al­ize these ideas in the con­di­tions of a real so­cial re­volu­tion and the con­struc­tion of a new way of life (Fig­ure 14). Geo­graphy, as well as re­gion­al and cul­tur­al in­flu­ences, it seems, played a sec­ond­ary role in this pro­cess, in­so­far as these ideas were in­teg­ral to and em­bod­ied in tech­no­logy it­self, which was both cause and ef­fect. Gin­zburg was pro­foundly con­vinced that “loc­al and na­tion­al fea­tures in the present con­text are too in­sig­ni­fic­ant in com­par­is­on with the lev­el­ing power of con­tem­por­ary tech­no­logy and eco­nomy.”30 Today, this sounds like an iron­ic, and yet at the same time an op­tim­ist­ic or omin­ous, pre­dic­tion.

Gin­zburg’s ty­po­lo­gic­al con­cepts, which formed the basis for the de­vel­op­ment of the or­tho­dox func­tion­al and in­dus­tri­al ty­po­lo­gic­al the­or­ies in ar­chi­tec­ture of the So­viet peri­od, al­low us to ex­am­ine these the­or­ies with­in the gen­er­al con­text of mod­ern ar­chi­tec­ture, but only with­in the lim­its of gen­er­al ideo­logy. In its re­volu­tion­ary spe­cificity, its polit­ic­al, so­cial, eco­nom­ic and his­tor­ic­al con­text, So­viet con­struct­iv­ism re­mains a re­l­at­ively autonom­ous phe­nomen­on, thanks to its spe­cial ideo­lo­gic­al found­a­tion, and com­plex re­la­tion­ship to the gen­er­al philo­soph­ic­al and artist­ic doc­trine of mod­ern­ism. Ex­amin­ing the re­la­tion­ship between ty­po­logy and ideo­logy in Gin­zburg’s ar­chi­tec­tur­al leg­acy would seem to per­mit a more ac­cur­ate de­lin­eation of these bound­ar­ies.

.
Notes


1 Алек­сан­др Пуш­кин, “…Вновь я по­се­тил …,” in А.С. Пуш­кин, Со­чи­не­ния в трех то­мах. (Моск­ва: Ху­до­жест­вен­ная Ли­те­ра­ту­ра, 1986), 1:574; Eng­lish trans­la­tion, “I Have Vis­ited Again,” by D.M. Thomas.
2 Gin­zburg’s re­turn (al­most spir­itu­al­ist in a meta­phor­ic­al sense) in re­sponse to these con­stant and per­sist­ent ref­er­ences — from the point of view of his­tori­ograph­ic in­terest or in his­tor­ic­al and the­or­et­ic­al re­search, con­duc­ted crit­ic­ally or in a po­et­ic and ro­mantic man­ner — is a kind of self-con­sist­ent and per­suas­ive re­mind­er. The his­tor­ic­al memory of one of the pat­ri­archs of So­viet ar­chi­tec­ture, rep­res­en­ted by his designs, build­ing, es­says and pre­cepts, could prob­ably be brought to­geth­er with the Ni­et­z­schean idea of etern­al re­turn as a po­et­ic, an al­most sac­red or mys­tic­al, em­bod­i­ment of sev­er­al mo­ments of every­day life, im­prin­ted with or per­son­i­fy­ing the his­tor­ic­al memory in sym­bol­ic forms, signs, fig­ures, events and ac­tions, which could help to pre­serve the evid­ent, but dif­fi­cult to ex­plain, con­nec­tion between the past, the present and the fu­ture. Des­pite the pro­found philo­soph­ic­al mean­ing of this phe­nomen­on, a phys­ic­al, spec­u­lat­ive or any oth­er type of re­turn pos­sesses sev­er­al nos­tal­gic as­pects, as­so­ci­ated with in­di­vidu­al ex­per­i­ences of the his­tor­ic­al peri­od, mo­ments that can be po­et­ic­ally com­mu­nic­ated by means of meta­phors. In this sense, Gin­zburg’s etern­al re­turn re­calls Al­ex­an­der Pushkin’s fam­ous re­turn to the ham­let of Mikhail­ovskoe after ten years away:
…Where a road, scarred by many rain­falls, climbs
The hill, three pine trees stand – one by it­self,
The oth­ers close to­geth­er. When I rode
On horse­back past them in the moon­lit night,
The friendly rust­ling mur­mur of their crowns
Would wel­come me. Now, I have rid­den out
Upon that road, and seen those trees again.
They have re­mained the same, make the same mur­mur —
But round their aging roots, where all be­fore
was bar­ren and na­ked, a thick­et of young pines
Has sprouted; like green chil­dren around the shad­ows
of the two neigh­bor­ing pines. But in the dis­tance
Their sol­it­ary com­rade stands, mor­ose,
Like some old bach­el­or, and round its root,
All is bar­ren as be­fore.
I greet you, young
and un­known tribe of pine trees! I’ll not see
your mighty up­ward thrust of years to come
When you will over­top these friends of mine
And shield their an­cient sum­mits from the gaze
Of pass­ersby. But may my grand­son hear
Your wel­come mur­mur when, re­turn­ing home
From lively com­pany, and filled with gay
And pleas­ant thoughts, he passes you in the night,
And thinks per­haps of me….
Пушкин, “…Вновь я посетил …”, 1:574; Eng­lish trans­la­tion, “I Have Vis­ited again”, by D. M. Thomas.
3 И.С. Грос­с­ман-Ро­щин, «За­мет­ки Про­фа­на». [“Notes of an Ig­nora­mus”], Со­вре­мен­ная ар­хи­тек­ту­ра [Mod­ern Ar­chi­tec­ture] 2 (1926): 77-8.
4 Ibid.
5 Ibid.
6 Peter Collins, Chan­ging Ideals in Mod­ern Ar­chi­tec­ture 17501950 (Lon­don: Faber and Faber, 1965).
7 Alan Colquhoun, “His­tor­icism and the Lim­its of Se­mi­ology,” in Es­says in Ar­chi­tec­tur­al Cri­ti­cism: Mod­ern Ar­chi­tec­ture and His­tor­ic­al Change (Cam­bridge, MA: MIT Press, 1981), 133.
8 Reyn­er Ban­ham, The­ory and Design in the First Ma­chine Age (Lon­don: Ar­chi­tec­tur­al Press, 1960).
9 Jean-Ni­co­las-Louis Du­rand, Re­cueil et pa­ral­lèle des édi­fices de tout genre an­ciens et mo­dernes, re­mar­quables par leur beau­té, par leur gran­deur ou par leur sin­gu­la­ri­té, et des­si­nés sur une même échelle (Pa­ris: De l’im­pri­me­rie de Gille fils, 1801).
10 Gott­fried Sem­per, Der Stil in den tech­ni­schen und tek­to­ni­schen Küns­ten oder prak­ti­sche Äs­the­tik: ein Hand­buch für Tech­ni­ker, Künst­ler und Kunst­freun­de (Band 2): Ke­ra­mik, Tek­to­nik, Ste­reo­to­mie, Me­tal­lo­tech­nik für sich be­trach­tet und in Be­zie­hung zur Bau­kunst (Mün­chen: Fried­rich Bruck­manns Ver­lag, 1863).
11 J. Gaud­et, Élé­ments et théo­rie de l’ar­chi­tec­ture, cours pro­fes­sé à l’école na­tio­nale et spé­cial des beauxarts (Pa­ris: Li­braire de la construc­tion mo­dern, 1900).
12 Се­лим О. Хан-Ма­го­ме­дов, М.Я. Гин­з­бург (Моск­ва: Стро­из­дат, 1972).
13 М.Я. Гин­з­бург. Стиль и эпо­ха. Про­бле­мы со­вре­мен­ной ар­хи­тек­ту­ры. (Моск­ва: Го­сиз­дат, 1924); Eng­lish trans­la­tion, Moi­sei Gin­zburg, Style and Epoch, trans. Anatole Sen­kevitch, in­tr. Ken­neth Framp­ton (Cam­bridge, MA, and Lon­don: MIT Press, 1982). See also М.Я. Гин­з­бург, «Но­вые ме­то­ды ар­хи­тек­тур­но­го мыш­ле­ния», Со­вре­мен­ная ар­хи­тек­ту­ра 1 (1926): 1-4; М.Я. Гин­з­бург, «Меж­ду­на­род­ный фронт со­вре­мен­ной ар­хи­тек­ту­ры». Со­вре­мен­ная ар­хи­тек­ту­ра 2 (1926): 41-46; М.Я. Гин­з­бург, В.А. Вес­нин, и А.А. Вес­нин. «Твор­чес­кая три­бу­на. Про­бле­мы со­вре­мен­ной ар­хи­тек­ту­ры». Ар­хи­тек­ту­ра СССР 2 (1934): 63-69.
14 Гин­з­бург, Стиль и эпо­ха, 24.
15 A. [Ant­oine-Chrysostóme] Quatremère de Quincy, Encyclopédie méthodique, tome 3, Ar­chi­tec­ture (Par­is: Agasse, 1825).
16 Гин­з­бург, Стиль и эпо­ха, 79.
17 Idem.
18 Ibid, 79-80.
19 Ibid, 80.
20 Idem.
21 Ibid, 134.
22 Гин­з­бург, «Но­вые ме­то­ды ар­хи­тек­тур­но­го мыш­ле­ния», 2.
23 Гин­з­бург, Вес­нин, и Вес­нин, «Твор­чес­кая три­бу­на. Про­бле­мы со­вре­мен­ной ар­хи­тек­ту­ры», 66.
24 Гин­з­бург, «Но­вые ме­то­ды ар­хи­тек­тур­но­го мыш­ле­ния», 2.
25 Ibid.
26 Гинзбург, Стиль и эпоха, 145.
27 Гин­з­бург, Вес­нин, и Вес­нин, «Твор­чес­кая три­бу­на. Про­бле­мы со­вре­мен­ной ар­хи­тек­ту­ры», 67.
28 Ibid.
29 Ban­ham, The­ory and Design, 104.
30 Гинзбург, Стиль и эпоха, 89.


Civilisation: Evolution of a word and a group of ideas

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Lucien Febvre
May 25, 1929
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It is never a waste of time to study the history of a word. Such journeys, whether short or long, monotonous or varied are always instructive. But in every major language there are a dozen or so terms, never more, often less, whose past is no food for the scholar. But it is for the historian if we give the word historian all its due force.

Such terms, whose meaning is more or less crudely defined in dictionaries, never cease to evolve under the influence of human experience and they reach us pregnant, one might say, with all the history through which they have passed. They alone can enable us to follow and measure, perhaps rather slowly but very precisely (language is not a very rapid recording instrument), the transformations which took place in a group of those governing ideas which man is pleased to think of as being immobile because their immobility seems to be a guarantee of his security.1 Constructing the history of the French word civilisation would in fact mean reconstituting the stages in the most profound of all the revolutions which the French spirit has achieved and undergone in the period starting with the second half of the eighteenth century and taking us up to the present day. And so it will mean embracing in its totality, but from one particular point of view, a history whose origins and influence have not been confined within the frontiers of a single state. The simple sketch which follows may make it possible to date the periods in the revolution to which we refer with more rigor than previously. And it will at least show once more that the rhythm of the waves which break upon our societies are, in the last instance, governed and determined by the progress not of a particular science and of thought that revolves within one and the same circle, but by progress in all the disciplines together and in all the branches of learning working in conjunction.

Let us clearly mark out the limits of the problem. Some months ago a thesis was defended in the Sorbonne dealing with the civilization of the Tupi-Guarani. The Tupi-Guarani are small tribes living in South America which in every respect fit the term “savage” as used by our ancestors. But for a long time now the concept of a civilization of non-civilized people has been current. If archaeology were able to supply the means, we should see an archaeologist coolly dealing with the civilization of the Huns; who we were once told were “the flail of civilization.”

But our newspapers and journals, and we ourselves, talk continually about the progress, conquests and benefits of civilization. Sometimes with conviction, sometimes with irony and sometimes even with bitterness. But what counts is that we talk about it. And what this implies is surely that one and the same word is used to designate two different concepts.

In the first case civilization simply refers to all the features that can be observed in the collective life of one human group, embracing their material, intellectual, moral and political life and, there is unfortunately no other word for it, their social life. It has been suggested that this should be called the “ethnographical” conception of civilization.2 It does not imply any value judgment on the detail or the overall pattern of the facts examined. Neither does it have any bearing on the individual in the group taken separately, or on their personal reactions or individual behavior. It is above all a conception which refers to a group.

In the second case, when we are talking about the progress, failures, greatness, and weakness of civilization we do have a value judgment in mind. We have the idea that the civilization we are talking about — ours — is in itself something great and beautiful; something too which is nobler, more comfortable and better, both morally and materially speaking, than anything outside it — savagery, barbarity or semi-civilization. Finally, we are confident that such civilization, in which we participate, which we propagate, benefit from and popularize, bestows on us all a certain value, prestige, and dignity. For it is a collective asset enjoyed by all civilized societies. It is also an individual privilege which each of us proudly boasts that he possesses.

So within a language that is said to be clear and logical, one and the same word today refers to two very different concepts which are almost contradictory. How did this come about? How and to what extent can the history of this word throw light on these problems?

Civilisation came into the language only recently. André-Louis Mazzini, on the first page of his book dated 1847, De l’Italie dans ses rapports avec la liberté et la civilisation moderne, writes: “This word was created by France, by the French spirit at the end of the century.” And that straightaway calls to mind the letter from Nietzsche to Strindberg, who in 1888 was sorry that he was not a German: “There is no other civilization than that of France. There can be no objection to this; it stands to reason; it is necessarily the true civilization.”3 As we shall see, these statements raise but do not settle a fairly important question. At least one fact is incontestable — civilisation is, in the French language, a word of recent origin and usage.

Who was the first to use it or at least to have it printed? We do not know. No one will be surprised at this confession. We are very poorly equipped, in fact we are not equipped at all to write the history of words of recent origin in our language. Apart from the series of Dictionnaires de l’Académie française (1694, 1718, 1740, 1762, 1798, 1835, 1878), apart from the classical indexes which, from Furetière to Littré, not forgetting the Encyclopédie, supplement the basic collections; and finally, apart from some useful but rather summary work on the eighteenth century — Gohin’s study (1903), of Les transformations de la langue française de 1710 à 1789, and Max Frey’s study (1925) on Les Transformations du vocabulaire français à l’époque de la Révolution, 1789-1800, we have no material at all to work on; and if I call such works summary, I am forced to do so by the facts themselves; we do not even have twenty individual lexicons of the language of Montesquieu, Voltaire, Turgot, Rousseau, Condorcet, etc., which alone could enable us to write one of the finest and newest chapters in that general history of French thought via language whose value and usefulness have been so well shown in M. Ferdinand Brunot’s monumental Histoire de la langue française.

Anybody who wants to write the history of a word which appeared for the first time in the eighteenth century is today forced to carry out random samples throughout an infinite amount of literature without the help of any indexes or catalogues. And so, for a rather chancy result hours and hours of work have to be wasted. For my part, throughout the course of long reading sessions which were conducted as methodically as possible, I have not been able to find the word civilisation used in any French text published prior to the year 1766.

I know that the use of this neologism is usually attributed to the young Turgot’s Sorbonne lectures at an earlier date. Under Civilisation Gohin’s work mentions its date of birth: “about 1752,” and there is a reference: “Turgot, II, 674.”4 Obviously this reference is not to the Schelle edition, which alone is taken as an authority, but to the Daire and Dussard edition, the two volumes of which (established on the basis of the Dupont de Nemours edition) appeared in the Collection des principaux économistes in 1844. In it we find, published, or more precisely, reproduced in vol. ii (p. 671) Pensées et fragments qui avaient été jetés sur le papier pour être employés dans un des trois ouvrages sur l’histoire universelle ou sur les progrès et la décadence des Sciences et des Arts. And on p. 674 we read: “Au commencement de la civilisation les progrès peuvent être, et surtout paraître rapides” (At the beginning of civilization progress may be, and especially, appears to be rapid). Unfortunately it was very probably not Turgot who wrote this but Dupont de Nemours who would have used it quite naturally when publishing his master’s works at a much later date.5 We do not find it in the text reproduced by M. Schelle, taken directly from the manuscripts.6 It does not appear either in the lectures of 1750, or in the letter of 1751 to Madame de Graffigny on the “Lettres d’une Péruvienne,” or in the article on Etymologie in the Encyclopédie (1756). The meaning conveyed in all these works,7 often conjures up for us the word which the Sorbonne prior is said to have put forward as early as 1750, but he never actually uses it; he does not even use the verb civiliser, or the participle civilisé which was then in current use; he always keeps to police and to policé, in short he is supposed to have written down on paper on one single occasion in his life a word which he then had no further truck with and, I add, which none of his contemporaries would have ventured to put forward for at least another ten years, neither Rousseau in his Discours which was crowned at Dijon in 1750, nor Duclos in his Considérations sur les mœurs de ce siècle (1751), nor Helvetius in his Esprit (1758); we need not go on with the list.

So the word with which we are concerned could not be found in print until 1766. At that date the firm of Rey in Amsterdam published in two forms, one quarto volume and three duodecimo volumes, the Antiquité dévoilée par ses usages, by the late M. Boulanger. In volume III of the 12mo edition we read: “Lorsqu’un peuple sauvage vient à être civilisé, il ne faut jamais mettre fin à l’acte de la civilisation en lui donnant des lois fixes et irrévocables; il faut lui faire regarder la législation qu’on lui donne comme une civilisation continuée” (When a savage people has become civilized, we must not put an end to the act of civilisation by giving it rigid and irrevocable laws; we must make it look upon the legislation given to it as a form of continuous civilisation).8 This original and intelligent expression is printed in italics. The Antiquité dévoilée is a posthumous work; the author died in 1759. So the word would go back to that date at least if we did not know that someone added to, if not rewrote, the manuscript of the late M. Boulanger, engineer of the Ponts et Chaussées, while preparing it for publication. And that someone was that great neologist in the face of the Eternal, Baron d’Holbach, who had, for instance, as early as 1773 written in his Système social: “L’homme en société s’électrise” (Man becomes electric in society), two years after the appearance in the bookshops of Priestley’s Histoire de l’électricité.9 And the striking fact is that d’Holbach used the word “civilisation” in his Système social.10 But Boulanger never does, with the exception of the sentence quoted above. I have read the Recherches sur l’origine du despotisme oriental (1761) with great care; civilisé does appear in it, but fairly infrequently; civilisation never does; police and policé are the usual terms. The example would be unique in Boulanger’s work, but not in the work of d’Holbach. In any case we have the fact we want. We have an example dated 1766 of the use of the word. I do not say that it is the first example, and of course I should like other researchers to have better luck than me and depose Boulanger, or d’Holbach, and wrest from them a claim to fame which in any case is a fairly modest one.

The word does not remain alien. Between 1765 and 1775 it becomes naturalized. In 1767 we find the Abbé Baudeau using it in his turn in the Ephémérides du citoyen,11 and stating that “la propriété foncière est un pas très important vers la civilisation la plus parfaite” (land ownership… constitutes a very important step towards the most perfect form of civilization); a little bit later in 1771 he used the word again in his Première Introduction à la philosophie économique, ou analyse des états policés.12 Raynal, in his Histoire philosophie et politique des établissements et du commerce des Europe en dans les deux Indes (1770), follows his example; the new word is used several times in his nineteenth book.13 Diderot in turn ventures to use the word in 1773-1774, in his Réfutation suivie de l’ouvrage d’Helvétius intitulé “l’Homme.”14 But it is not simply to be found everywhere. In his essay De la félicité publique and in his work on Considérations sur le sort des hommes dans les différentes époques de l’histoire, volume I of which appeared in Amsterdam in 1772, Father Jean de Chastellux uses the word police a great deal but never, so it appears, civilisation.15 Buffon, who is a purist author, may use the verb and the participle, but he does not seem to know the substantive at all in his Époques de la Nature (1774-1779). The same is true of Antoine-Yves Goguet in his book De l’origine des loix, des arts et des sciences et de leurs progrès chez les anciens peuples (1778), where one might expect to meet it. Démeunier on the other hand, in L’Esprit des usages et des coutumes des différents peuples (1776), talks about the “progrès de la civilisation16 and the word is getting less rare. As we approach the Revolution it begins to triumph.17 And in 1798, for the first time, it forces its way into the Dictionnaire de l’Académie, which had ignored it until then, just as the Encyclopédie and even the Encyclopédie méthodique had done;18 the Dictionnaire de Trévoux alone had included it, giving it simply its old legal meaning, “Civilisation, terme de jurisprudence. C’est un jugement qui rend civil un procès criminel19 (Civilisation, term used in jurisprudence. A judgment turning a criminal case into a civil case.)

So between 1765 and 1798 a term which nowadays we could hardly do without was born, grew up and imposed itself in France. But here we have another problem which can only be solved through a series of lucky finds.

If we open the second volume of Murray’s New English Dictionary and look in it for the background to the English word, which, but for one letter is a faithful replica of the French civilisation, we find a very expressive text by Boswell.20 He says that on 23 March 1772 he went to see the ageing Johnson who was working on the preparation of the fourth edition of his dictionary. And he records the following: “He [Johnson] would not admit civilisation, but only civility. With great deference to him, I thought civilization, from to civilize, better in the sense opposed to barbarity, than civility.” It is a very curious text. 1772; one knows the intellectual relations that existed at that time between the French and the English, linking the élite of both countries and it is impossible not to put the obvious question concerning origins. But who borrowed from whom?

Murray does not quote any English texts prior to that of Boswell giving civilization with the meaning of culture. The text is dated 1772; and Boulanger’s is 1766 at least — five years between them. It is not very much. But there is a text which would appear to confirm the fact that the French word preceded the English word. In 1771 at Amsterdam the French translation appeared of Robertson’s The History of the Reign of the Emperor Charles V.21 Of course I wondered about the work, which might well have been able to throw some light on the problem of origins. And in the Introduction (p. 23, French version) I found the following sentence: “Il est nécessaire de suivre les pas rapides qu’ils (les peuples du Nord) firent de la barbarie à la civilisation,” and a bit further on I met the following sentence: “L’état le plus corrompu de la société humaine est celui ou les hommes ont perdu… leur simplicité de mœurs primitives sans être arrivés à ce degré de civilisation ou un sentiment de justice et d’honnêteté sert de frein aux passions féroces et cruelles.” At once I turned to the English text to that View of the Progress of Society in Europe which opens this well known book. In both cases the word which the French translator translated as civilisation is not the English civilisation, but refinement.

The fact is not unimportant. It certainly diminishes any role one might attribute to the Scots in introducing this new word. In France, it is true, we find it in translated works such as the Observations sur les commencements de la société by John Millar, the Glasgow professor, in 1773.22 And Grimm, who gives an account of the book in his Correspondance littéraire, takes the opportunity of putting civilisation in print.23 But by that date it is no longer the least bit surprising. We meet it in another translated work, Robertson’s Histoire de l’Amérique,24 but that dates from 1780. We also find it in Roucher’s translation, annotated by Condorcet in 1790, of Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations.25 These are only a few examples. But we cannot, on the basis of the examples found, conclude that there was any transfer of the word from Scotland or England to France. Until anything new comes to light Robertson’s text excludes the possibility.

However that may be, English usage like French usage ushers in a new problem. On both sides of the Channel the verb civiliser (to civilize) and the participle civilisé (civilized) appear in the language long before the corresponding substantive.26 The examples given by Murray take us back as far as the second third of the seventeenth century (1631-1641). In France Montaigne uses the word in his Essais as early as the sixteenth century. “Il avait,” he writes talking of Turnebus “quelque façon externe qui pouvait n’estre pas civilizée a la courtisane (he had a certain outward manner which might not have appeared civilizée to a lady of the court.27 Haifa century later Descartes, in his Discours de la Méthode, clearly set the man who was civilisé against the sauvage.28 In the first half of the eighteenth century, civiliser and civilisé continue to appear from time to time. And there is nothing unexpected about the process whereby a substantive ending in –isation is derived from a verb ending in -iser.29 How was it that nobody thought of doing so? In 1740 Voltaire, in the Avant-Propos to the Essai sur les mœurs, approved Madame du Châtelet’s method whereby she intended to “passer tout d’un coup aux nations qui ont été civilisées les premières (go straight to the nations which were first civilisées); he suggests that she should consider the whole world “en l’étudiant de la même manière qu’il paraît avoir été civilisé” (studying it in the order in which it appears to have become civilisé);30 but unless I am mistaken he never uses the word civilisation. Jean-Jacques Rousseau in 1762 in the Contrat social reproaches Peter the Great for having intended to “civiliser son peuple quand il ne fallait que l’aguerrir” (Civiliser his people when all it needed was to be hardened);31 but he does not use the word civilisation either.32 There is something surprising about this and it might give us the idea that the time was not yet ripe, and that the process whereby the substantive is derived from the verb is not simply a mechanical one.

Can we say that the words, the nouns which were in use before the appearance of civilisation, made its appearance superfluous and pointless? Throughout the whole of the seventeenth century French authors classified people according to a hierarchy which was both vague and very specific. At the lowest level there were the sauvages. A bit higher on the scale, but without much distinction being made between the two, there came the barbares. After which, passing on from the first stage, we come to the people who possess civilité, politesse, and finally, good police.

We can easily imagine that the synonymists had a lot to say about the nuances of these fairly numerous words. There was a whole category of literature full of concealed plagiarisms which set out to define the correct meaning of terms which were given ingenious psychological explanations.

Civilité was a very old word. It appears in Godefroy, together with civil and civilien, with the further guarantee of a text by Nicolas Oresme which includes policie, civilité, and communité.33 Robert Estienne does not overlook it in his valuable Dictionnaire françois-latin of 1549. He includes it after civil, which is nicely defined as, “qui sçait bien son entregent” (who knows tact) and is given as urbanus, civilis. In 1690 Furetière, in his Dictionnaire universel divisé en trois tomes (in which both civiliser and civilisé appear alongside civil) defines civilité: “Manière honnête, douce et polie d’agir, de converser ensemble” (sincere, gentle, and polite way of conducting oneself towards others and conversing with others).34 That is to say that whereas civil keeps a political and legal meaning alongside its human meaning, civilité only conveys ideas concerning courtesy; according to Callières (1693), it in fact replaced the word courtoisie, which was falling out of use at that time.35 For the subtle grammarians of the eighteenth century, civilité is in fact nothing but a varnish. In the 1780 edition of the amusing Synonymes françois by the Abbé Girard,36 which is so packed out with worldly experience and borrowed subtlety, we learn that “la civilité est, par rapport aux hommes, ce qu’est le culte par rapport à Dieu: un témoignage extérieur et sensible des sentiments intérieurs” (civilité is, as far as men are concerned, what public worship is in respect of God — an external and tangible witness of internal sentiments). Politesse on the other hand, “ajoute à la civilité ce que la dévotion ajoute à l’exercice du culte public: les moyens d’une humanité plus affectueuse, plus occupée des autres, plus recherchée” (adds to civilité what prayer adds to practice of public worship — the means of achieving a more affectionate sort of humanity, more concerned with other people, more refined). This sort of politesse presupposes “une culture plus suivie” (more intensive cultivation) than civilité, and “des qualités naturelles, ou l’art difficile de les feindre” (natural qualities or the difficult art of feigning them).37 So the conclusion was very generally that politesse was superior to civilité. It is a paradox developed by Montesquieu, when he maintains in a passage in the Esprit de lois that civilité is worth more in certain respects than politesse, the latter “flatte les vices des autres” (flatters the vices of others) whereas the first “nous empêche de mettre les nôtres au jour” (prevents us from revealing our own). But Voltaire had answered him in advance in Zaïre in the second dedicatory epistle (1736); he thinks, along with the rest of his age, that if Frenchmen “depuis le règne d’Anne d’Autriche ont été le peuple le plus sociable et le plus poli de la terre” (have since the reign of Anne of Austria been the most sociable and the most polite people on earth), such politeness was not “une chose arbitraire comme ce qu’en appelle civilité. C’est une loi de la nature qu’ils ont heureusement plus cultivée que les autres peoples” (something arbitrary like the thing people call civilité. It is a law of nature which they have happily cultivated more extensively than other people).38

But there was something that stood above such politesse — it was what the old texts called policie, a word dear to Rousseau,39 and modern texts call police. Far and away above peoples who were civils and far and away above peoples who were polis, stood incontestably those that were polices.

Police — the word embraced the field of law, administration and government. Every author agreed on this point, from Robert Estienne, who in 1549 in his dictionary translated “citez bien policées” by “bene moratae, bene constitutae civitates,” to Furetière writing in 1690 “Police, loix, ordre de conduite à observer pour la subsistance et l’entretien des États et des sociétés en général, opposé à barbarie” (police, laws, system of conduct to be observed for the subsistence and government of states and societies in general, in opposition to barbarity). And he quotes this example of the use of the word: “Les sauvages de l’Amérique n’avaient ni loix ni police quand on en fit la découverte” (the savages of America had neither laws nor “police” when they were discovered). Similarly Fénelon wrote of the Cyclops:40Ils ne connaissent pas de loi, ils n’observent aucune règle de police” (They know no law, they observe no rule of “police”). Thirty years after Furetière, Delamare, when composing his large and valuable Traité de la Police (1713) devoting Section I of Book I to the definition of “l’idée générale de la police” (the general concept of “police”), again recalled the very general sense which the word had had for a long time. “On le prend quelquefois?” he said “pour le gouvernement général de tous les Estais et dans ce sens il se divise en Monarchie, Aristocratie, Démocratie… D’autres fois, il signifie le gouvernement de chaque Estât en particulier, et alors il se divise en police ecclésiastique, police civile et police militaire” (It is sometimes taken to mean the general government of all states and in this sense it can be broken down into Monarchy, Aristocracy, Democracy… On other occasions it refers to the government of each particular state and then it is broken down into ecclesiastical administration, civil administration and military administration).41 These meanings were already old and obsolete. Delamare, who had an interest in doing so, insisted forcefully on the restricted sense. After quoting Le Bret and his Traité de la Souveraineté du Roy: “Ordinairement,” he wrote, “et dans un sens plus limité, police se prend pour l’ordre public de chaque ville, et l’usage l’a tellement attaché a cette signification que, toutes les fois qu’il est prononcé absolument et sans suite, il n’est entendu que dans ce dernier sens” (usually and in a more restricted sense, police is used to refer to the public administration in any town and usage has so tied it down to this meaning that whenever it is spoken out of context it is understood only in this latter meaning).42

Delamare was right. And yet a tendency began to show itself some years later, among writers who were more preoccupied with general ideas than with technical accuracy, to give to the word “police a more restricted meaning which was less specifically legal and constitutional. This fact is extremely important for our purposes.

Talking in 1731 in his Considérations sur les mœurs de ce temps of peoples which were policés, Duclos noted “qu’ils valent mieux que les peuples polis” (that they were of greater worth than peoples which were polis), for “les peuples les plus polis ne sont pas toujours les plus vertueux” (the peoples who are most polis are not always the most virtuous).43 He added that if among savages, “la force fait la noblesse et la distinction” (strength conferred nobility and distinction) on men, it was not the same with peoples who were policés. In their case, “la force est soumise à des loix qui en préviennent et en répriment la violence” (force is subjected to laws which forbid and repress violence) and “la distinction réelle et personnelle la plus reconnue vient de l’esprit” (the most widely recognized real and personal distinction comes from the mind).44 It is an interesting remark at that date. At the very time when administrators, purists, and technicians were endeavoring to banish “l’équivoque” (the double meaning, doubt) which made the word police difficult to use, Duclos was going quite the other way and adding a new moral and intellectual meaning to the traditional meaning of this fundamental political and constitutional word. He was not alone. We simply have to open the Philosophie de l’histoire (1736) which subsequently became the Discours préliminaire of the Essai sax les mœurs. When Voltaire wrote, “Les Péruviens, étant policés, adoraient le soleil,” (the Peruvians, being policés, adored the sun) or, “Les peuples les plus policés de l’Asie en deçà de l’Euphrate adoraient les astres” (the most policés peoples of Asia this side of the Euphrates adored the stars), or again: “Une question plus philosophique, dans laquelle toutes les grandes nations policées, depuis l’Inde jusqu’à la Grèce, se sont accordées, c’est l’origine du bien et de mal” (a question of a more philosophical nature on which all the great nations who were policées from India to Greece have agreed is the origin of good and evil),45 when, fourteen years later, Rousseau in his Dijon Discours wrote: “Les sciences, les lettres et les arts… leur font aimer leur esclavage et en font ce qu’on appelle des peuples policés” (the sciences, letters and the arts… make them love their bondage and make of them what we call peuples policés),” when, in 1756, Turgot, in his article on Etymologie written for the Encyclopédie, pointed out that “la langue du peuple policé, plus riche… peut seule donner les noms de toutes les idées qui manquaient au peuple sauvage” (the language of a peuple policé is richer… and is alone able to convey the names of all the ideas lacking in savage peoples) or upheld l’avantage que les lumières de l’esprit donnent au peuple policé” (the advantage which the light of the spirit gives to a peuple police),46 it is clear that all the men who took an active part in the life and philosophical activity of their age were searching for a word with which to designate, let us say, in terms that they themselves would not have repudiated, the triumph and spread of reason not only in the constitutional, political and administrative field but also in the moral, religious and intellectual field.

Their language did not really provide them with such a word. As we have seen, civilité was no longer possible. In 1750 Turgot still remained faithful to politesse, that same politesse which Voltaire in 1736 had said was not “une chose arbitraire, comme ce qu’on appelle civilité” (something like the thing people call civilité). Just as Madame de Sévigné had formerly complained: “Je suis une biche au bois, éloignée de toute politesse; je ne sais plus s’il y a une musique en ce monde” (I am a deer in the forest far from all politesse; I no longer know if there is any music on this earth),47 he addressed the king in solemn terms in his Tableau philosophique of 1750: “O Louis! quelle majesté t’environne. Ton peuple heureux est devenue le centre de la politesse!” (O Louis! what majesty surrounds you. Your happy people have become the center of politesse!). It was a showy phrase which was not free of a certain archaic tone.48 In fact there was no single well-adapted word to refer to what we mean today by the word civilisé. And as at the same time ideas were finally evolving in such a way as to confer superiority not merely on peoples equipped with a “police,” but on peoples that were rich in philosophical, scientific, artistic and literary culture, it could only be a temporary and rather poor expedient, when referring to the new concept, to employ the word which had for so long been used to designate the old one. Especially since, as we have seen, police, which in spite of everything governed the meaning of policé, was being given an increasingly restricted and commonplace meaning. A meaning which was dictated by the character who had such growing and formidable powers — the lieutenant of police.

So people considered using the word which Descartes had already used in 1637, giving it a quite modern meaning, and which Furetière translated by “Rendre civil et poli, traitable et courtois” (making civil and poli, tractable and courteous), but giving examples such as the following, “La prédication de l’Évangile a civilisé les peuples barbares les plus sauvages” (the preaching of the Gospel has civilisé the most savage barbarous peoples), or “Les paysans ne sont pas civilisés comme les bourgeois, et les bourgeois comme les courtisans” (peasants are not as civilisés as town-dwellers, and town-dwellers are not as civilisés as courtiers) — it is, as we see, capable of very wide interpretation.

Who were these people? Not everyone of course. Turgot, for instance, in his Tableau, in the French text of his Sorbonne Discours and in his article on Etymologie, uses neither civiliser nor civilise. Neither does Helvetius, in the Esprit of 1758; both are faithful to policé. The same is true of a great many men of this period. But Voltaire, for instance, early on joins civilisé to policé. We gave examples above taken from 1740. In the Philosophie de l’Histoire policé occupies a very important place, but in chapter nine (De la Théocratie) we find civilisé slipping on to his page. And with it there is a remark which betrays scruple: “Parmi les peuples,” he writes “qu’on appelle si improprement civilisés” (among the peoples who are so improperly called civilisés).49 Voltaire uses that same improper word, however, once or twice more in the Philosophie de l’histoire. “On voit,” he notes for instance, “que la morale est la même chez toutes les nations civilisées” (we see that morality is the same throughout all nations which are civilisées). And in chapter nineteen we read: “Les Égyptiens ne purent être rassemblés en corps, civilisés, policés, industrieux, puissants, que très longtemps après tous les peuples que je viens de passer en revue” (the Egyptians could not have joined together, become civilisés, policés, industrious, and powerful, until long after all the other peoples which I have considered).50 It is an interesting gradation — formation of society (synoecism); refinement of moral conduct; establishment of natural laws; economic development; and finally mastery; Voltaire weighed his words and did not put them down at random. But he still uses two where twenty-five years later Volney,51 taking up the ideas set forth in the Philosophie de l’histoire in a curious passage in his Éclaircissements sur les États-Unis only uses a single one, at a time when the substance of the word civilisé has assimilated all the substance of the word policé. And this dualism enables us to see clearly the scope provided by the language of the men of the time. They were tempted to include under policé all the ideas implied by civilité and politesse,” but in spite of all, policé resisted; and then there was police lying behind it which was a considerable nuisance to the innovators. What about civilisé? They were tempted in fact to extend its meaning; but policé put up a struggle and showed itself to be still very robust. In order to overcome its resistance and express the new concept which was at that time taking shape in people’s minds, in order to give to civilisé a new force and new areas of meaning, in order to make of it a new word and not just something that was a successor to civil, poli, and even, partly, policé, it was necessary to create behind the participle and behind the verb the word “civilisation,” a word form which was a bit pedantic perhaps but which did not surprise anybody, as its sonorous syllables had long been heard to echo beneath the vaults of the Palais and above all it did not have a compromising past. It was far enough from civil and civilité for people not to have to worry about those outmoded predecessors. It could, as a new word, refer to a new concept.

Civilisation was born at the right time. I mean to say at a time when the great effort of the Encyclopédie was coming to a conclusion, having commenced in 1751 and been twice interrupted in 1752 and 1757 through the rigors of the ruling power; resumed in 1765 as a result of Diderot’s perseverance and daring, it finally ended in triumph in 1772. It was born after the Essai sur les mœurs, 1757, had flooded learned Europe with the 7,000 copies of its first edition and made an initial attempt to achieve a synthesis of the main forms of human, political, religious, social, literary, and artistic forms and to integrate them into history. It was born when that philosophy founded on the fourfold basis of Bacon, Descartes, Newton, and Locke which d’Alembert saluted in his Discours préliminaire as the final conquest, the coronation of modern times,52 was beginning to bear its first fruits. Above all, it was born at a time when, emerging from the entire Encyclopédie, the great concept of rational and experimental science was beginning to make itself felt, constituting a whole in its methods and procedures whether it was concerned in the manner of Buffon, to put the Bible completely on one side and conquer nature, or in the footsteps of Montesquieu, to classify the infinite variety of human societies. Someone put this in words: “Civilization is inspired by a new philosophy of nature and of man.”53 It was right to put it in that way, even if it was going a little ahead in time to add: “Its philosophy of nature is evolution. Its philosophy of man is perfectibility.” In fact the fine work done by Henri Daudin on Lamarck and Cuvier showed this; evolution took more time than one might think to be conceived in its true sense and in its modern spirit.54 But it is none the less true that “the recent attitude of enlightened man to explored nature” had a powerful role to play in modifying the conceptions of thinkers at the end of the eighteenth century.55 Lending their ear as they did to the suggestions and advice of science meant that they were moving along the path that led to the future, and putting the fanaticism of hope in place of the nostalgia for times gone by. We should fail to understand the birth and quick spread in our language of the word which conveyed the concept of civilization if we overlooked the tremendous revolution which took place in people’s minds as a result, firstly, of the work and discoveries of Lavoisier, who, from 1775 onwards published the famous notes summed up in the Traité élémentaire de chimie of 1789, and, secondly, at a later date, all the research work and organizing work done from 1793 onwards at the Museum “that vital central point for all the sciences,” as the Décade philosophique56 put it when it first appeared expressing its pleasure at seeing it make, “by presenting it with the facts, an important contribution to the true education of a free people.” Facts. The Décade was right and expressed the great aspiration of the men of the age. It reminds us of Fourcroy who in 1793 also produced the fifth edition of his Éléments d’histoire naturelle et de chimie (the first dating from 1780) and felt himself obliged to explain to his readers that he was having a very hard time of it to truly follow the extremely rapid revolution in chemistry from one edition to the next; “All we are really doing,” he explained, “is to extract simple results from a large number of facts. We only accept strictly those things given us by experiment.”57 It is the definition of experimental science in revolt against speculation, whether we consider the phlogiston overcome by Lavoisier or those “cosmogonic romances” written by Buffon and bitterly denounced around 1792 by the young naturalists of the Museum.58 A method of this sort was of course valid for the natural sciences but not only for them.

For the analysts of humanity and the analysts of nature had both very early on had a healthy respect for fact and it became more and more apparent in both as the eighteenth century came to its close. The former were no less eager than the second, and the attempt to base their work on facts had something heroic and moving about it. Were they concerned with the present? The eighteenth century was, as far as political and constitutional problems were concerned, the century of memoirs; in the economic and social sciences it was the century of the birth of statistics and figures; in technology it was the century of investigation. Every question whether theoretical or practical, concerning population, wages, supplies or prices, any questions concerning the initial efforts of the first “scientific” farmers or the promoters of modern manufacturing processes, automatically brought forth written works in dozens — books, booklets, detailed surveys, and works by independent individuals, learned associations, and royal officers. We only have to call to mind the provincial Academies, agricultural societies and inspectors of factories whose attempts to establish stocks of fact seem to us today so remarkable. And were Europeans concerned with the past, or rather with that enormous part of the contemporary world which seemed to go back to a remote age, when, at the end of the eighteenth century, they compared other continents with their own — here too there were abundant facts and they were not to be left on one side; is there any need to say that though the Encyclopédie was something more besides, it was first and foremost, and it set out to be, a compendium of all known facts around the year 1750,59 a vast collection of documents taken straight from the work of the great scholars of the previous hundred years or from the written accounts of innumerable journeys that extended the intellectual horizon of civilized white men right to the shores of the Far West, America and, very soon, the Pacific? And when Voltaire expresses his aversion to hazardous attempts at systemization and shows his sharply focused, lively interest in the particular and the individual, what is he doing if not establishing and grouping firmly controlled facts?

Only such harvests are not to be gathered in a single day. About the middle of the eighteenth century and at the time when civilisation was born, the world was not yet known in its entirety, far from it — that is, the present world, and the past was even less well known. The science of the men who were most careful in gathering and criticizing historical or ethnological facts capable of leading to overall views of humanity and its development remained full of holes, gaps and obscurity. Apropos of such facts we too should say, thinking of ourselves and our own disciplines, what Henri Daudin formerly said when he wondered, in connection with a remark made by Lamarck and Cuvier, “how a science of observation whose object is a very complex and highly diversified concrete reality, and which is still only at a very rudimentary stage in cataloguing and ordering that reality, can possibly manage to find its way along and achieve any real results.”60 But both for ourselves and for him, I mean the historians and sociologists who were groping their way along in the second half of the eighteenth century and the naturalists whose methods he studies and one might say dissects, it is quite certain that “facts could not be taken in by the intellect in their pure state or independently of all psychological contingencies.” It was on the other hand quite natural “that verification of the preconceived idea should itself to a large extent be under the dependency of the preconceived idea.”61 So should we be surprised if an absolute concept of a single, coherent, human civilization grew up and not a relative concept of highly particularized and sharply individualized ethnic or historical civilizations?

Here too we should bear in mind the conceptions of the naturalists of the age, the vitality and outward manifestations of that “series” concept which they place in conjunction with the concept of a “natural order” that found its justification within itself.62 When Lamarck, around 1778, sought to obtain some idea of that “natural order” he conceived of it as a gradual, steady progression. And when at the beginning of the nineteenth century, after a long excursion into the fields of physics and chemistry, he came to publishing his naturalist views, the main argument and guiding doctrine which he set forth above all others in his lectures and books was that of a single, graduated series of animal societies.63 Of course we should not go too far here — but it would be doing violence to the true historical spirit to overlook connections of this nature. Do they not help us to understand how, at the top of the great ladder whose bottom rungs were occupied by savagery and whose middle rungs were occupied by barbarity, “civilisation” took its place quite naturally at the same point where “police” had reigned supreme before it?

So the word was born. And it spread. A word which was to survive, make its way and have enormous success. As soon as it appears we are only too pleased to clothe it with the rich mantle of ideas which the years were to weave for it. And our haste is somewhat laughable. Let us just look for texts and read them without preconception. For a long time, for a very long time, we will search and find nothing, I mean nothing that really justifies the creation of a new word. This new word comes and goes, rather at sea between politesse, police, and civilité. Certain efforts to define it better and ascertain, in particular, its relations with “police” do not lead to very much,64 and very often we have the clear impression that this neologism, even for those who used it, did not yet correspond to a definite need.

Of course, there was discussion on certain points. Or, more precisely, ideas were expressed which went different ways. How did “civilisation” operate? D’Holbach replied in 1773: “A nation becomes civilized through experiment.” The idea is not to be derided. He develops it a little further on: “Complete civilisation of peoples and the leaders who govern them and the desired reform of governments, morals and abuses can only be the work of centuries, and the result of the constant efforts of the human spirit and the repeated experiments of society.”65 Opposed to this broad but somewhat confused doctrine are the theories of the economists. The physiocrats also had their doctrine; we may recall Baudeau’s early text in 1767: “Land ownership, which attaches man to the land, constitutes a very important step towards the most perfect form of civilization.” For Raynal commerce is what counts. In 1770 he writes: “Les peuples qui ont poli tous les autres ont été commerçants” (The people who have poli (polished) all others were merchants),66 and here we can actually see that uncertainty of meaning which we noticed just now; for poli in Raynal’s text means quite precisely civilisé, since he writes a little further on, this time using the newer word in place of the older one: “Qu’est-ce qui a rassemblé, vêtu, civilisé ces peuples? C’est le commerce” (What gathered these people together, clothed them and civilized them? It was trade).67 It is a utilitarian theory; it was to be used by the Scots, Millar for example, for whom in the Observations sur les commencements de la société (translated version, 1773)68 civilization was “cette politesse des mœurs qui devient une suite naturelle de l’abondance et de la sécurité,” and Adam Smith was in the same way to bind wealth and civilization tightly together.69 On the other hand Antoine-Yves Goguet, who, so it seems, did not know the word civilisation, seems to be making a direct answer to Raynal when he states in 1778 in his book which bore the title De l’origine des lois, des arts et des sciences et de leurs progrès chez les anciens peuples, “La politesse ne s’est jamais introduite dans une contrée que par le moyen des lettres” (Politesse never entered a region except through literature).70 This is the doctrine of all those who were so numerous at that time and who thought, along with Buffon, that “sur le tronc de l’arbre de la science s’est élevé le tronc de la puissance humaine” (on the trunk of the tree of knowledge grew the trunk of human power), or who, along with Diderot, looked for the source of civilization in the progress achieved in human knowledge and looked upon it as a sort of ascent towards reason: “Instruite une nation, c’est la civiliser; y éteindre les connaissances, c’est la ramener à l’état primitif de barbarie… L’ignorance est le partage de l’esclave et du sauvage” (Instructing a nation is the same as civilizing it; stifling learning in it means leading it back to the primitive state of barbarity… Ignorance is the lot of the slave and the savage).71 Later Condorcet in a famous passage in the Vie de Voltaire was to echo the author of the Plan d’une université pour le gouvernement de Russie: “Ce n’est point la politique des princes, ce sont les lumières des peuples civilisés qui garantirent à jamais l’Europe des invasions; et plus la civilisation s’étendra sur la terre, plus on verra disparaître la guerre et les conquêtes, comme l’esclavage et la misère.” (Not the policies of princes but the enlightenment of civilized people will forever protect Europe against invasion; and the more civilization spreads across the earth, the more we shall see war and conquest disappear in the same way as slavery and want).72 In practical form divergences do not go very far. At least they do not change the essential thing. For all these men, whatever their individual tendencies may have been, civilization remains first and foremost an idea. To a very large extent it is a moral idea. “Nous demanderons,” Raynal asks, “s’il peut y avoir de civilisation sans justice?” (We shall ask whether there can be any civilization where there is no justice?).73

This is true even of the philosophers who, following Rousseau on to his own ground, applied themselves with varying degrees of conviction to the problem of value raised in 1750 by the Dijon Discours, The new word, so it seems, was just what was needed to help in discussing Rousseau’s paradoxes. It served as a handy term to apply to the enemy against which he had risen up with such violence — in the name of the primitive virtues and the unspoiled holiness of the forests — but without using the word, a word he seems never to have known. And so there were very animated discussions which went on a long time, long after the death of Rousseau and right into the middle of the nineteenth century. At the end of the eighteenth century these discussions never led to any critical study of the very concept of civilization. People simply approved or disapproved of the thing — that ideal civilization, that perfect civilization which all the men of the age bore to varying degrees in their heart and mind like a sort of compulsion but not as a clear concept. And it was a thing which in any case no one yet wanted to limit or particularize in its universal scope. There was alive in men an idea which was not the subject of the least doubt, yet it was the absolute and single concept of a human civilization which was capable of winning over little by little every ethnic group and which had already won over from savagery all peoples who were policés including the most outstanding ones, even the Greeks, who, Goguet depicts for us “in heroic times” as having neither morals nor principles and having no more terms with which to describe justice, probity and most of the moral virtues” than the savages of America.74 People believed in a single series, a continuous chain linking peoples together; d’Holbach stated in the Essai sur les préjugés, “that a chain of successive experiments leads the savage to the state in which we see him in a civilized society, where he concerns himself with the most sublime sciences and the most complicated branches of learning,75 and this is not only countered by Raynal when he noted that “all the peoples who are policés were savage and all savage peoples left to their natural impulses were destined to become policés,”76 but by Moheau as well when he wrote quite serenely: “It should not surprise us that man in his brute and savage state was inclined to adore man in his civilized and perfected state.”77

However universal and moving it might be, a consensus of this sort did not lead very far. In order to get out of that vague optimism, what was needed above all was a sustained attempt to formulate all the component parts of a coherent and valid concept of civilization. But to do that it was necessary not only to break up the old single world and finally arrive at the relative concept of “state of civilization then soon after that to the plural, “civilisations” which were more or less heterogeneous and autonomous, and conceived of as the attributes of so many distinct historical or ethnic groups. This stage was arrived at between 1780 and 1830, which are fairly broad dates, as a result of a series of progressive steps and, as d’Holbach would have said, as a result of experiments. The history we are dealing with here is not simple. How could it be when the very concept of civilization is, when all is said and done, a synthesis?

Let us take a jump ahead beyond the Revolution and the Empire. We come to Lyon in the year 1819. A book appears with a title which gives its date away, Le Vieillard et le jeune homme, written by Ballanche, full of all sorts of ideas, in his usual disorder, just re-edited with a commentary.78 If we take the trouble to read the fifth of the Seven Conversations which the work consists of we twice come across a remarkable innovation, though it might well remain completely unnoticed to contemporary readers. “L’esclavage,” Ballanche writes on page 102 of the Mauduit edition, “n’existe plus que dans les débris des civilisations anciennes” (Slavery continues to exist only in the remains of ancient civilizations). And a little further on (p. in) he shows religions in the Middle Ages gathering “l’héritage de toutes les civilisations précédentes” (the legacy of all previous civilizations). Was this the first time that “les civilisations” was substituted for “la civilisation in a printed text by a French author, thus setting aside a fifty-year-old usage? I should refrain from saying that it was as I do not claim to have read everything that was written in France between 1800 and 1820 with the intention of tracking down the appearance of an “s” on the tail of a substantive. But I should be very surprised if any uses of “civilisations” were found much before that date and before the example which good fortune brought before me (not without some assistance). The importance of the fact needs no emphasis. Ballanche’s plurals marked the end of a long patient search for information and the culmination of reasoned investigation.

We mentioned above the taste which the historians of the eighteenth century and, generally speaking, the promoters of the future social sciences, showed for fact on every occasion. This taste was as definite in them as it was in the naturalists, physicists, and chemists who were their contemporaries. We only have to look at the Encyclopédie. We know how, at the end of the century, the great sailors, especially the travellers who went on voyages of discovery in the Pacific, and the many accounts which they published everywhere in French and in English, which very quickly moved from one language to the other, satisfied all the curiosity aroused by supplying new stocks of evidence on man, or rather on men, and on their manners, customs, ideas and institutions. All this was soon gathered, compiled and classified by workers who resumed the task of men like Démeunier and Goguet79 and tried to make records as full and detailed as possible of the “savage” peoples who were coming to light. “I am a traveller and a sailor, that is to say a liar and a fool according to that class of lazy, arrogant writers who, in the darkness of their study philosophize till kingdom come on the world and its inhabitants and subject nature to their personal imagination.” That is how Bougainville sharply put it in the account of his Voyage autour du monde en 1766, 1767, 1768 et 1769, that same Bougainville who caused people to write and say so much about him.80 But the indoor scientists whom he was laughing at, “those dark speculators of the study room,” were, little by little, in their turn, to have their faith in the firmness of the great unitary structures shaken as a result of “the very great differences” which they were to notice, in the wake of sailors, “in the various regions” where they were taken in descriptions of voyages.81 The author of the Voyage de La Pérouse, Milet-Mureau, went on complaining twenty years later that the accounts written by explorers still allowed some to assert, “by making a pretentious comparison between our customs and habits and those of the savages, the superiority of civilized man over other men.”82 The fact that he takes to task all those who still held, even at that time, to the old prejudices (which a man like Démeunier long before had already attacked) at least shows that he himself was free of such prejudices and that all the facts and documents collected by La Pérouse and his fellows were beginning to inspire new thought. Taken simply by itself a work such as Volney’s shows over and over again that the minds of men were at work. We shall come back to his overall conception of civilization. But when in the Ruines he speaks of the “abortive civilization,” of the Chinese, when in particular in the Éclaircissements sur les États-Unis he speaks of the “civilization of the savages” I am prepared to admit that he is still giving the word civilization the meaning of a moral process, but all the same the expressions seem to have a new ring to them.83 Some years later, this is truer still in the cause of Alexander von Humboldt. “The Chaymas,” he writes for instance in his Voyage aux régions équinoxiales du nouveau continent (the first folio edition of which dates from 1814), “have considerable difficulty in grasping anything to do with numerical relationships… Mr. Marsden observed the same thing among the Malays of Sumatra, although they had had more than five centuries of civilization.”84 Further on he speaks of Mungo Park, “that enterprising man who on his own penetrated to the center of Africa to discover there in the midst of barbarity the traces of an ancient civilization.” Or, in connection with his Vues des Cordillères et monuments des peuples indigènes du nouveau continent: “This work,” he says, “is intended to throw light on the ancient civilization of the Americans through studying their architectural monuments, their hieroglyphics, their religious cults and their astrological fancies.”85

In fact here we are not far from the concept of “civilisations” in the plural, both ethnic and historical dividing the huge empire of “civilisation” into autonomous provinces. We should note that in the wake of geographers and the precursors of modern sociology the linguists in their turn accepted this new concept gladly. It is well known that Alexander von Humboldt owed much to his brother, whom he often quotes, referring readily to his ideas (which we shall return to) on civilization, culture, and Bildung. Probably as a result of his brother’s work, in the Cosmos he speaks of Sanskrit civilization as being conveyed to us by language.86 In France it was in the Essai sur le Pali by Burnouf and Lassen that I found (dating from 1826) a new example of the word civilisation used in the plural. This language, so the authors state, “tightens the powerful link which, in the view of the philosopher, joins together in a sort of unity peoples who belong to such diverse civilizations as the heavy and coarse mountain-dweller of Arakan and the more policé” inhabitant of Siam. The link here is the religion of Buddha.” We should have a look at some of Burnouf’s subsequent works; in them all we shall find everywhere quite modern usage of the word “civilisation” whether he is talking about the “origin of Indian civilization” or the originality of the Véda in which “nothing is borrowed from any previous civilization or from foreign peoples.”87 However scattered these texts may be they do suffice to show the role played by travel, the exegetists of travel and the linguists of the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries in establishing what Nicefore calls “the ethnographical conception of civilization.” Is it necessary to add that the evolution of their ideas might have or must have been helped along by a no less swift and decisive parallel evolution which was taking place at the time in the natural sciences?

Luckily we have two texts by one and the same author, precisely dated (one is from 1794 and the other from 1804) which enable us to gauge with rigorous precision the transformation that took place, between these two strictly defined time-limits, in the most fundamental conceptions of scientists. And although I have quoted them already elsewhere,88 I ask you to bear with me if I recall at least the essential passages. In the first, which appears at the head of volume five of Éléments d’histoire naturelle et de chimie,89 Fourcroy when speaking rather contemptuously of the classifications founded for convenience’s sake on “the differences of form which animals show from one to another,” at once observes “that such sorts of classifications do not exist in nature and that all the individuals created by nature form one uninterrupted and unbroken chain.” The argument is well known, it is the one which all the scientists of the age set forth here, there and everywhere, whereas historians and philosophers for their part sing the monotonous epic of civilization making steady progress from savage peoples to “peuples policés” and from primeval man to the contemporary of Diderot and Rousseau. In the year XII, 1804, Fourcroy wrote the introduction to Levrault’s Dictionnaire des sciences naturelles. And this time, exactly ten years later, he wrote:

Famous naturalists (Cuvier and his disciples) deny that it is possible to form this chain (the uninterrupted and unbroken chain of living creatures) and maintain that there is no such series in nature; that nature has formed simply groups which are separate from one another; or rather that there are thousands of independent chains which are continuous in themselves in their own series but which do not join up with one another at all or which cannot possibly be brought together.

Quite clearly, there is an abyss between the two statements. It was a revolution which started in the Muséum, led by Cuvier and which, in the space of a few years gave the most level-headed men conclusions which were radically opposed to the old ones. It represented, for natural scientists, the beginning of the long specialization process and the great relativist development of the “universelles” ideas of the eighteenth century, which was to take place, in parallel fashion, in the fields of history, ethnography and linguistics.

A historian could hardly fail to observe the extent to which political events or, in a word, the Revolution acted in support of this evolution. We noted above that the word civilisation triumphed and won a place for itself during the years of torment and hope experienced by France, and along with France, by the whole of Europe from 1789 onwards. It was not just a matter of chance. The Revolutionary movement was necessarily a movement of optimism entirely orientated towards the future. Behind this optimism there was, supporting it and justifying it, a certain philosophy — the philosophy of progress and of the infinite perfectibility of human beings and the creatures that depended upon them — each stage along this path marking some new piece of progress as it was completed. We should not dismiss as insignificant or meaningless Barere’s statement when he writes: “For the philosopher and for the moralist the principle that lies behind the Revolution is progress in human enlightenment and the need for a better civilization.”90 This is what lies behind all the heated discussion and violent refutation in the period of Rousseau’s arguments negating progress and pronouncing anathema on civilization.91

But little by little the Revolution evolved and produced its effects. It founded a new order — but only on the ruins of the ancient order; and an enterprise of that sort cannot fail to produce a marked state of anxiety and instability in a good many men. What the initial consequences were, on the one hand for letters, and on the other hand for those travellers who had no choice but to travel — “émigrés” — we can find out by turning to a book by Fernand Baldensperger.92 And we, for our part, find it very hard to overlook the effects of such travel whether forced or otherwise on the thought of the men of the age. It at least prepared them for a better understanding and better assimilation of the experiences of all those sailors and discoverers of unknown societies and all those naturalists too, who were the faithful companions of the ethnographers, who drew their contemporaries” attention to the rich variety of human manners and institutions.93 Should we perhaps take note of the fine text by Talleyrand in his first memorandum to the Institute on 15 Germinal in the year V, concerning his journey to America: “The traveller passes successively through all the stages of civilization and industry going right back to the log cabin made of newly felled trees. A journey of that kind is a sort of practical and living analysis of the origin of peoples and states… One seems to be travelling backwards through the history of the progress of the human spirit.” But there are other texts as well.

If we open the conversations between Le Vieillard et le jeune homme by Ballanche, which have already provided us with a valuable text, we will find certain lines at the very beginning which are highly illuminating on this point.94

“Looking around you,” [the wise Nestor said to his catechumen] “You have seen ancient society in its death agonies. You say all the time: “What will become of the human race?” I see civilization moving every day further and further, deeper and deeper into an abyss in which I perceive nothing but ruin. And then you say, “History teaches me that societies which became policées perished, and that empires ceased to exist, that dark eclipses for centuries covered the whole of humanity. And at the present time I observe similarities which make me fear the worst…”

Here let us leave the inflated, whining prose of Ballanche; we shall not quote any more of it. The men who lived through the Revolution and the Empire learned one thing which their predecessors had not known when they brought the word civilisation into circulation about the year 1770. They learned that civilization could die. And they did not learn this simply from books.95

Is that all? Above we referred to a state of anxiety and instability; and we mentioned to support our argument the large numbers of émigrés, refugees, and travellers of every type and every situation. But they were all aristocrats and isolated individuals. In fact it was the “nation,” as people were beginning to call it, the whole nation which felt far more profoundly the effects of a crisis which caused “vague unrest” and “doubt and uncertainty” of course, and something else besides — very precise economic disorders and social upheavals. And the outcome was a very strange thing — Rousseau’s pessimistic theory, which the Revolution had, when intoxicated with itself, seemed to annihilate by its very success, was suddenly revived by that same Revolution as a result of the disorders which it had itself engendered, the thought to which it had given birth and the situations which it had created or helped to create — and we find other men, once the great crisis was over, taking up Rousseau’s theory on their own account, of course with a quite different emphasis. “Great men of all the ages, Newton and Leibniz, Voltaire and Rousseau do you know what you are great in? You are great in blindness… for having thought that civilization was the social destiny of the human race…? Who is this belated orator lending his rather superfluous assistance to Rousseau? The article bears the title “Harmonie universelle”; it appeared in the Bulletin de Lyon on 11 Frimaire in the year XII, and its author was a Besançon shop assistant by the name of Charles Fourier.96

All you learned men [he goes on] behold your towns peopled by beggars, your citizens struggling against hunger, your battlefields and all your social infamies. Do you think, when you have seen that, that civilization is the destiny of the human race, or that J.-J. Rousseau was right when he said of civilized men, “They are not men.” There has been some upheaval the cause of which you cannot “penetrate.”

Thus the father of societarian Socialism was writing his preludes whereas Mme de Staël felt the need to defend the system which upheld human perfectibility “which had,” she said, “been the system of all enlightened philosophers for the past fifty years.”97 In fact something had changed in the minds of men. And, with the combined efforts of the scientists, travellers, linguists and all those whom we have to call, for want of a more precise name, the philosophers, the concept of civilization which had been so simple when it had first appeared, had taken on a good many new features and shown some quite unexpected facets.

A more precise definition then became necessary. It was not sought by one party alone. In the Restoration, which was in essence a period of reconstruction and reconstitution, theories of civilization which varied in precision and scope sprang up on all sides. We need only mention a few names and works. In 1827 an old work, Idées sur la philosophie de l’histoire de l’humanité,98 appeared in the bookshops translated and equipped with an introduction written by Edgar Quinet. In the same year the Principes de la philosophie de l’histoire were published in Paris, being a translation of G.-B. Vico’s Scienza nuova, preceded by an introduction on the author’s system of thought and life written by Jules Michelet.99 In 1833 Jouffroy gathered together in his Mélanges philosophiques a large number of articles from the years 1826 and 1827 (especially two lectures from a course on the Philosophie de l’histoire delivered in 1826)100 which dealt partially or directly with civilization.101 But there is one man in particular who puts his finger, one might say, on the very concept of civilization and its historical interpretation and it is François Guizot, who, in his “Tableau philosophique et littéraire de l’an 1807,” which appeared in the Archives littéraires de l’Europe in 1808 (vol. xviii), had already written: “The history of men should only be looked upon as a collection of material gathered together for the great history of the civilization of the human race.”102 We know what the subject of his lectures was when he took his chair again at the Sorbonne in 1828; he dealt successively in 1828 with La Civilisation en Europe and in 1829 with La Civilisation en France;103 undertaking a methodical and one might say systematic analysis of the very concept of civilization he provided his contemporaries not only with a remarkable survey of existing ideas, but also with a perfect example of one of those great, typically French constructions in which, with great mastery (and a few expert touches), he presents us with a synthesis of the most diverse points of view and (naturally not without certain rather daring simplifications) a way of unraveling, clarifying and rendering attractive and appealing the darkest obscurities and the most inextricable complexities.

Civilization, Guizot started by saying, is a fact, “a fact like any other” and capable, “like any other of being studied, described and explained.”104 It is a somewhat enigmatic statement but it is explained straightaway by a historian’s reflection: “For some time there has been a lot of talk, quite rightly of the need to enclose history within facts.” And immediately one thinks of the remark made by Jouffroy, in his article in the Globe of 1827 on “Bossuet, Vico, Herder”: “What stands out in Bossuet, Vico, and Herder, is contempt for history — facts give way under their feet like the grass.”105 So Guizot’s rather surprising concern (and one which Gobineau was later to reproach him for in lively but rather artificial fashion) is easily understood. He wants to be seen as a historian and does not want to be called an ideologist simply because he intends to deal with general and not with particular facts. But the “fact” which, “like any other,” the general fact, “hidden, complex and very difficult to describe and explain, but there none the less,” which belongs to that category “of historical facts which cannot be excluded from history without its being mutilated,” is known by Guizot, as he says a little further on, to be “a sort of ocean which is the whole wealth of a people and which contains all the elements in the life of a people and all the forces that operate in its life.106 It is strange to note that he at once adds that even though facts “which really speaking cannot be called social facts but which are individual facts which seem to concern the human spirit rather than public life, such as religious beliefs and philosophical ideas, the sciences, letters and the arts,” can and should be looked upon “from the point of view of civilization.” It is a fine text for anyone wishing to assess the conquest of sociology with any precision and judge the differences in tone which an interval of a hundred years can make in certain words looked upon as clear and explicit.

From these prolegomena at least we can draw two conclusions. One is that Guizot chose the nation or rather, as he puts it, the people as the framework of his studies. True, he does talk of European civilization. But what is Europe other than a people to the power two? And does not Guizot study European civilization via France,107 that superlative creator and propagandist? Thus he adopts Jouffroy’s point of view and speaks of “each” people, “each” civilization, while it is quite clearly understood that there are “families of peoples” in existence;108 and the whole is under the shade of “that tree of civilization which must, one day, cover the whole earth with its foliage.”109 This is the solution proposed by Guizot to the problem of establishing “whether there is such a thing as one universal civilization of the human race, one common human destiny, and whether the peoples have handed something down to each other from century to century that has not been lost,” and, we should add, whether there is such a thing as “general progress.” Guizot replied, “For my part I am convinced that there is such as thing as the general destiny of humanity, and the transmission of humanity’s assets and, consequently, one universal history of civilization which needs to be recorded and written about.”110 Further on, “The idea of progress and development seems to me to be the fundamental idea contained in the word civilization.”111 So we see a delicate question solved by means of a skillful synthesis. There are such things as civilizations. And they need to be studied, analyzed and dissected, in themselves and on their own. But above these there is indeed such a thing as civilization with its continuous movement onwards, though perhaps not in a straight line. Civilization then, and progress. But progress of what, exactly?

Guizot said on this point that civilization was basically the product of man and a certain development in the social condition of man and a certain development in his intellectual condition. These are rather vague terms, and he endeavored to give them a more precise definition. On the one hand we have the development of the general external condition of man, and on the other hand the development of the internal and personal nature of man, in a word, we have the perfecting of society and the perfecting of humanity. Guizot in fact insists that these two factors are not merely added to one another and placed in juxtaposition, but that both elements, social and intellectual, occur simultaneously, are intimately and swiftly bound together, and act upon one another reciprocally in a process which is indispensable to the perfection of civilization. If the one shows too much advance on the other, there is unrest and anxiety. “If major social improvements and major progress in the material well-being of man manifest themselves in a people without going together with some great movement of intellectual development and some similar progress in the minds of men, then the social improvements seem to be precarious, inexplicable and practically unwarranted.” Will it last and spread its influence? Ideas alone are able to make light of distances, traverse seas and make themselves everywhere understood and accepted”; and in any case “social well-being remains somewhat subordinate in character as long as it has not borne any fruit other than well-being itself; it is a curious statement to find on the lips of a man who some years later was to be denounced by his opponents as the cynical high priest of wealth.112 Conversely, if some major development of the intellect breaks out somewhere and no social progress appears to go with it then the result is surprise and uneasiness. “It is as if a beautiful tree were bearing no fruit… ideas are held in a sort of contempt… when they do not lay hold of the external world.”

We know the course of Guizot’s argument after that. The two main elements of civilization are, then, intellectual development and social development and they are intimately linked together. Perfect civilization is achieved where the two elements join together and take effect simultaneously. So a rapid review of all the various European civilizations was sufficient to show him in England a civilization almost exclusively orientated towards social perfection but whose representatives proved to be lacking in the talent required “to light those great intellectual torches which illuminate whole eras.” Conversely, German civilization was powerful in its spirit but feeble in its organization and in its attainment of social perfection. Was it not true to say that ideas and facts, intellectual order and material order were almost entirely separate in that same Germany where the human spirit had for so long prospered to a far greater degree than the human condition? On the other hand, there was a country, the only one, able to pursue the harmonious development of ideas and facts, of the intellectual and the material order — that country was of course France, the France in which man had never lacked individual greatness, and where individual greatness had never failed to bring consequences that contributed to the public weal.113

Here too, the synthesis was skillfully engineered. Difficulties vanished without a trace. The concept of material well-being and the efficient organization of social relations, the concept “of a more equitable distribution among individuals of the power and well-being thus produced” by human groups — the very things which Fourier, as early as 1807, had blamed civilization for neglecting, were included by Guizot among the various elements which any civilization worthy of the name should display to any observer. And, putting an end to an old debate he showed that “police and “civilité” conspired together to produce such civilization. More precisely, we might say that his breadth of view in making room within his attractive and admirably proportioned construction not only for the means of power and well-being in human societies and for the means of developing and personally and morally enriching man and all his faculties, feelings and ideas, but also for letters, the sciences and the arts, those glorified images of human nature,”114 his particular brand of tolerant comprehension, was entirely apposite in preventing the completion in France of a serious divorce, the very divorce which did occur in Germany in that period and which certain individuals may well have had in mind in France — I mean the divorce between “culture” and “civilisation.”

No work has been done on the concept of culture in France. I would say of course not” if a certain brand of off-hand irony were appropriate when observing such monstrous gaps in our knowledge. But however little I may know about the history of the concept of culture I can at least say that it does exist, that it would be well worth while retracing it and that it is a subject of considerable importance.

Let us stick to the essential points. It is not for me to research into the history of ideas in Germany, to discover the date when the word Kultur115 first appeared and the circumstances in which it appeared. Or to raise the question of origins. I note simply that in our Dictionnaire de l’Académie in the 1762 edition culture in French is said to be used in the figurative sense, “of the cultivation of the arts and the mind” and two examples are given: “la culture des arts est fort importante; travailler à la culture de l’esprit” (“culture” of the arts is very important; to work on the “culture” of the mind). It is a rather flimsy definition. It will probably get fuller as time goes on. In the 1835 edition of the same Dictionnaire, we read: “se dit figurément de l’application qu’en met à perfectionner les sciences, les arts, à développer les facultés de l’esprit” (is used in the figurative sense to refer to the application with which one perfects the sciences and the arts and develops the faculties of the mind). True, this is a paraphrase rather than a meaningful explanation; but even put in this way the concept is a long way off the rich definition given on the other side of the Rhine by Adelung’s dictionary in the 1793 edition of the word Kultur: ennoblement, refinement of all the spiritual and moral powers of a man or a people. I would recall as well that Herder, Quinet’s Herder, attributed to the same word a whole string of very rich meanings including the following: aptitude for domesticating animals; clearance and occupation of the soil; development of the sciences, the arts and commerce; finally “police.” We often come across ideas of this sort expressed in our own language. But I would note in passing, we should not be too hasty in thinking that such concepts were borrowed and it is striking that in France such concepts are always classified under the heading civilization.116 Thus, for Mme de Staël, “la multitude et l’étendue des forêts indiquent une civilisation encore nouvelle” (the vast number and extent of the forests point to a civilisation which is still new); culture in this sentence would indeed have had a puzzling effect.117 A word once more enables us to observe that the ideas of Herder are more or less identical with those of Kant, who associated the progress of culture with that of reason and saw universal peace as the ultimate effect of both.118

But there is no doubt that these ideas were known, at least in bits and pieces, in France. Without doing any lengthy research we only need to think of that Germanized Frenchman, Charles de Villiers, who developed such a strong passion for the German thought of his age. The ideas of Kant did not go unnoticed by him. The only evidence needed is the little octavo booklet of forty pages which made the Idée de ce que pourrait être une histoire universelle dans les vues d’un citoyen de monde accessible to French readers; Kant’s essay had appeared for the first time, unless I am mistaken, in 1784 in the Berlinische Monatsschrift; the translation bore the date 1796. In it there was a lot of talk about “l’état de culture” (state of culture) which “is nothing other than the development of the social worth of man;119 and the translator, taking the floor on his own account, explains to his readers (page 39) that they had already emerged step by step from the “savage” state, from that of complete ignorance and “barbarity” and had entered the period of “culture”; the era of “morality” still remained before them. Elsewhere in his Essai sur l’esprit et l’influence de la Réforme de Luther (1804) and in his Coup d’œil sur l’état actuel de la littérature ancienne et de l’histoire en Allemagne (1809), Charles de Villiers drew the attention of Frenchmen to the growth of a cultural history, Histoire de la culture, Kulturgeschichte, which the Germans created by presenting “the effects of political history, literary history and the history of religions in their relations with civilization, industry, well-being, morality and the character and way of life of men” and which, as he put it, brought forth in them “profound and remarkable writings.”120 All that was still fairly vague, so it seems, and rather confused. In any case there does not appear to be any clear opposition between culture and civilisation.

We do not find such an opposition, formulated in any systematic way by Alexander von Humboldt either. He often uses the word Kultur in his writings, together with Zivilisation, and without bothering, so it seems, to define these terms in relation to one another.121 But he does like to refer, on the other hand, to his brother Wilhelm, the linguist122 — and he for his part, had very clear ideas on the matter which he was able to formulate. In his famous study on the kawi language,123 he explains them at length. He shows how by means of a very clever but rather artificial gradation, the curve of progress rose from man who was gentle and humanized in his behavior to man who was learned, artistic and lettered, finally reaching Olympian (I am tempted to say, Goethean) serenity, as the man who was completely formed. Those were the steps which constituted Zivilisation, Kultur, and Bildung. For Wilhelm von Humboldt civilization, when all is said and done, annexed the domain of “police in its ancient form — security, order, established peace and gentleness in the field of social relations. But gentle people and people with good police are not necessarily cultured in the intellectual sense; certain savages may have the most excellent private manners and yet be still totally unaware of anything pertaining to the cultivation of the mind. And the reverse is true. Hence the independence of the two spheres and the distinction between the two concepts.

Did these ideas make much headway in France? We should simply note that they were capable of strengthening or supporting a certain intellectual attitude of which an example is given us by Volney very early on, an excellent example. Intent on refuting Rousseau’s ideas on the perversity engendered in man by the development of letters, the sciences and the arts — like so many of his contemporaries, as we have already said — he in fact proposed a radical method intended to do away with civilization altogether, by taking drastic action to clear the ground if necessary.124 Rousseau could have, so he said, and should have, realized and stated that the fine arts, poetry, painting and architecture were not “Integral parts of civilization and sure indications of the well-being and prosperity of peoples.” There had been plenty of examples, “taken from Italy and Greece,” which proved incontestably that they could blossom in countries which were subject to military despotism or fanatical democracy, both of which were equally sauvage in nature.” True, they were like decorative plants; “to cause them to blossom it was enough for a temporarily strong government of any kind whatsoever to encourage and reward them”; but to over-cultivate them was dangerous: “the fine arts, encouraged by the tribute paid by the people to the detriment of the more practical basic arts, can very often become a way of misusing public funds and consequently have a subversive effect on the social state of men and on civilisation.” Rousseau, revised, corrected and rectified by Volney, thus becomes something fairly puerile, when all is said and done. Guizot, in his broad synthesis, had the distinct virtue of maintaining among the essential elements in the concept of civilization “the development of the intellect.”

It was a virtue that was not always recognized. When in 1853 Gobineau, in his book De l’Inégalité des races humaines, attempted in his turn to define the word civilisation,125 he began by attacking Guizot with some vigor. Guizot had defined civilisation as un fait (a fact). “No,” said Gobineau, “It is a series, a chain of facts.” Guizot was not unaware of this, and he says so; the truth was that Gobineau had read him rather quickly. But what he blames the author of l’Histoire générale de la civilisation en Europe for above all was that he had not ruled out the concept of “governmental forms.” On examining Guizot’s ideas one quickly saw, as Gobineau asserted, that before a people could claim that it was civilized it had to “enjoy institutions which temper power and freedom at one and the same time, and through which material development and moral progress are precisely coordinated, so that government and religion are confined within clearly defined limits.” In short, he concluded with some malice, it was easy to see that according to Guizot, “the English nation was the only truly civilized one.” He was cocking a snook and would in fact have done far better not to take up so many pages with his quibbles. Gobineau’s position was in fact a rather curious one. He reproached Guizot for having continued to include “police as one of the fundamental elements in the concept of civilization. One feels sorry for the concept and sorry for Guizot. Some called upon him to throw overboard literature, science and the arts, in fact everything that constituted culture; others wanted him to jettison political, religious and social institutions. He did neither and, in his way, he was not wrong.

But he still had certain misgivings. He expressed them in his Histoire générale de la civilisation en France in a remarkable passage.126 Formerly he points out, “in the sciences which are concerned with the material world,” facts were badly studied and little regard was had for them; “people simply went where their hypotheses led them and followed a risky path without any other guide than their own deductions.” Nevertheless, in politics and in the real world, “facts were omnipotent and were held to be legitimate more or less by their very nature; it would have been out of place to expect, an idea in the name of mere truth, to play any part in the affairs of this life.” But over the previous century (which brought Guizot’s reader to the beginning of the reign of Louis XV), a reversal had taken place. “On the one hand facts have never played such an important part in science; on the other hand ideas had never played such an important part in physical reality.” This was so true that the opponents of the civilization of the time were always complaining about it. They spoke out against what they thought of as the sterility, pettiness and triviality of a scientific spirit which “debases ideas, freezes the imagination, removes all that is great from the intelligence, particularly its freedom, and shrivels and materializes it.” On the other hand, in politics and in government of societies they saw nothing but fanciful notions and ambitious theories — attempting the same feat as Icarus would only bring a fate similar to the one he suffered. Hollow complaints, Guizot said. That was how things should be. Man, faced with the world which he neither created nor invented, is first a spectator and then an actor. The world is a fact and man studies it as such; he exercises his mind on facts; and when he discovers the general laws which govern the development and life of the world, even those laws are simply facts which he observes. And then the knowledge of external facts develops in us ideas which dominate these facts. “We are called upon to reform, perfect and regulate all that is. We feel able to act upon the world and to extend throughout it the glorious empire of reason.” That is the mission of man — as a spectator he is subject to facts; as an actor he remains master in imposing upon them a more regular and a purer form.

It is a remarkable passage. Of course there had been a conflict. Between two attitudes, two methods, and two sorts of preoccupations. There had been a conflict between the spirit of research and enquiry, the positive scientific method founded on the study and compilation of facts from purely disinterested motives — and the spirit, we might say, of intuition and hope and of the imagination which precedes and anticipates facts, the spirit of social improvement and pragmatic progress. And it is all very well to want, as Guizot did, to settle the quarrel on paper and to place intellectual progress and social perfection in harmony with one another. But how were things in practice? Both were very powerful gods, and how could one be subordinate to the other or — a rather naïve notion — how could they be made to exist side by side?

In fact, what had taken place when Guizot wrote these words and when he was giving his lectures in 1828 and 1829? In the first instance experimental scientific methods had not penetrated very far into those branches of learning which from then on were to be called the moral sciences. And why not? Rather, what complex combination of heterogeneous factors was responsible for the situation? To show this would require an enormous amount of labor. And in order to do so we should have to give our attention to the problem of the origins, causes and spirit of Romanticism, and that is a problem which is nowhere near being solved with any degree of unanimity.

And there was another thing. Civilization did not appear to Guizot’s contemporaries simply as an object of study. It was a reality in which they were living. For better or for worse? Many would reply for worse. Now, from the standpoint which we have taken up in this study, this fact is very important. For the complaints of the “opponents of civilization,” as Guizot calls them, the complaints which are taken up and formulated endlessly by every school of social reform, the same complaints which were to inspire something more substantial than books and essays, may in fact have been preparing the ground for future, scientific criticism of any concept of civilization that implied a value judgment, making such criticism easier and more desirable in advance. In other words we may ask the question whether all these complaints were not conspiring to bring about that dissociation which we support and which was finally completed over the last fifty years of the nineteenth century, the dissociation of the two concepts, the scientific one and the pragmatic one, of civilization; the one finally leading to the view that any group of human beings, whatever its means of material and intellectual action on the universe may be, possesses its own form of civilization; the other, even so, maintaining the old concept of a superior civilization carried along and transported by the white peoples of Western Europe and Eastern America and taking shape in facts as a sort of idea.

For our part we do not need to follow the divergent trails of these two concepts throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. We are sketching the history of a word. We have taken our sketch to the point where civilisations appears in current use alongside civilisation. Our task has been completed. It was simply a preface. We should simply note that the practical, radical and, in itself incontestable view which asserts the existence of each individual people and each individual civilization does not prevent the old concept of a general human civilization remaining alive in people’s minds. How can we make the two concepts agree? How are we to conceive of their relation with one another? It is not my job to do that. My job was simply to show how the terms of the problem emerged little by little and made themselves clear for us in our very language throughout a century and a half of research, meditation and history.

Notes


1 Let it be said in parenthesis that the fact that no teacher of history has ever suggested and no young historian has ever himself conceived the idea of undertaking a detailed study of the history of these words or of writing a doctor’s thesis on such a subject, well illustrates a lack not of material but of spiritual organization — which the study of modern history still suffers from. Studies of this sort have been done on ancient history and have proved to be extremely valuable and instructive as we know. Of course they would not be easy to write. We should need for that purpose historians with a very solid philosophical background — aves rarae. But there are some; and if there are not, then perhaps we should think about producing some.
2 A. Nicefore, Les indices numériques de la civilisation et du progrès, Paris, 1921.
3 Texts quoted by Albert Counson, Qu’est-ce que la civilisation? (Published by the Académie de langue et littérature française, Brussels, 1923.) By the same author La civilisation, action de la science, sur la loi, Paris, Alcan, 1929, pp. 187 and 188, footnote.
4 Counson, op. cit., p. 11.
5 As M. Schelle has clearly shown Dupont de Nemours was always doing it; he took very great liberties with Turgot’s texts.
6 But it is included in vol. i, p. 214, of the Œuvres de Turgot (Paris, Alcan, 1913), in a summary at the beginning of the Tableau philosophique des progrès successifs de l’esprit humain; the summary is by M. Schelle.
7 They will be found assembled in vol. i of the Œuvres de Turgot, ed. Schelle.
8 Book VI, ch. 2, p. 404-405 of vol. iii of the 12mo ed.
9 Cf. Système social, London, 1773, vol. i, ch. 16, p. 204; Histoire de l’électricité, Paris, 1771.
10 Cf. vol. i, p. 210, ch. 16: “Complete civilization of peoples and the leaders who govern them can only be the work of the centuries.” In the same work, civiliser, civilisé are used currently; similarly, in the Système de la nature, 1770, in which I could not find civilisation.
11 February 1767, p. 82. Quoted by Weulersse, Les Physiocrates, ii, p. 139.
12 Ch. 6, art. 6 (Coll. des économistes, p. 817): “in the present state of civilization in Europe.”
13 Cf. the Geneva edition, 1781, vol. x, Book XIX, p. 27: “The liberation or, what amounts to the same thing under a different name, the civilization of a state is a long and difficult process… The civilization of States has rather been a product of circumstances than of the wisdom of sovereigns.” Ibid., p. 28, on Russia: “Is the climate of this region really favorable to civilization?” and p. 29: “We shall ask the question whether there can be any civilization without justice?” Cf. also, vol. i, p. 60: “A mysterious secret which held back… the progress of civilization.”
14 Œuvres, ed. Toumeux, vol. ii, p. 431: “I think also that there is a purpose in civilization, a purpose which is more in conformity with the happiness of man in general.”
15 He quite naturally and frequently uses civilisé and civiliser: Introduction, p. x: “What are civilized men?”; vol. ii, ch. 10, p. 127: “Do you applaud the fact that Czar Peter began to civilize the Hyperborean regions?”
16 In the Avertissement, cf. Van Gennep, Religions, mœurs et légendes, 3rd series, Paris, 1911, p. 21 et seq.
17 Numerous texts. Some examples: 1787, Condorcet, Vie de Voltaire: “The more civilization spreads throughout the earth, the more we shall see war and conquests disappear.” 1791, Boissel, Le Catéchisme du genre humain, 2nd edition, according to Jaurès, Histoire socialiste, la Convention, vol. ii, p. 151 et seq. 1793, Billaud-Varennes, Éléments de républicanisme, according to Jaurès, ibid., vol. ii, p. 1503 and p. 1506. 1795, Condorcet, Esquisse d’un tableau historique des progrès de l’esprit humain, p. 5: “The first state of civilization in which the human species has been observed”; p. 11: “It is between that degree of civilization and the one we can still observe in savage people”; p. 28: “All the epochs of civilization”; p. 38: “Peoples who have reached a high degree of civilization,” etc. 1796, Voyages de C.P. Thumberg au Japon, traduits per L. Laigles et revue per J.-B. Lamarck, 4 volumes, volume i, Paris, year IV (1796). Préface by the editor: “It [the Japanese nation] has retained a degree of freedom acceptable in its state of civilization.” Finally, the word had come into such current usage that on the 12 of Messidor in the year IV (30 June 1798), on board the Orient, on the eve of the landings in Egypt, Bonaparte, in his proclamation wrote: “Soldiers, you are going to carry out a conquest the effects of which are incalculable for civilization and the commerce of the world.” We have tried to take examples from all the different categories of writings of the age.
18 Littré thus makes a serious mistake when in his Dictionnaire, under the article on civilization (which is in fact a very indifferent one), he asserts “that the word only appears in the Dictionnaire de l’Académie from the 1835 edition onwards and has only been used to any extent by modern writers when public thoughts began to center on the process of history.”
19 Dictionnaire universel français et latin, nouvelle édition, corrigée, avec les additions, Nancy, 1740. The 1762 edition of the Dictionnaire de l’Académie had added a large number of words which did not appear in the 1740 edition (5,217 according to Gohin) and showed a considerable extension of the concept of the dictionary. It is all the more noteworthy that civilisation did not appear in it. The 1798 edition contained 1,887 new words and especially testified to a new orientation: it does honor to the philosophical spirit of all the progress made in language; it is not limited simply to recording usage; it judges usage. The 1798 definition is however very simple if not poor: “Civilization, action of civilizing or state of that which is civilized.” All the dictionaries take it up until we read in the Dictionnaire général de la langue française du commencement du XVIIe siècle à nos jours, Hatzfeld, Darmesteter and Thomas, Paris, undated (1890): “By extension, neologism: progress of humanity in the moral, intellectual and social spheres, etc.”
20 J.A.H. Murray, A New English Dictionary, vol. ii, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1893, verso Civilization: 1772. Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson, xxv.
21 The first English edition of The history of the reign of the Emperor Charles V dates from 1769.
22 Préface, p. xiv: “L’influence des progrès de la civilisation et du gouvernement.”
Section II of ch. 4, p. 304, bears the title: “Des changements produits dans le gouvernement d’un peuple per ses progrès dans la civilisation; similarly section II of ch. 5, p. 347, bears the title “Des effets ordinaires de la richesse et de la civilisation relativement au traitement des serviteurs.”
23 Ed. Tourneux, vol. x, Paris, 1879, p. 317, November 1773: “The successive progress of civilization… the first progress of civilization.”
24 Vol. ii, p. 164.
25 The translation is based on the fourth edition. Cf. vol. i, ch. 3, p. 40: “Les nations qui… semblent être arrivées les premières à la civilisation furent celles à qui la nature avait donné pour patrie les côtes de la Méditerranée.”
26 At least in the cultural sense for, in English as in French, civilization is an ancient word in the legal sense (that given in the Trévoux Dictionary). Murray gives some examples for the beginning of the eighteenth century (Harris; Chambers, Cyclopaedia, etc.).
27 Essais, Book I, ch. 25, “Du Pédantisme.
28 Œuvres de Descartes, ed. Adam, vol. vi, Discours de la Méthode, part 2, p. 12: “Thus I imagined that those peoples who formerly were semi-savages and civilized themselves only gradually producing their laws only when they were forced to as a result of the disorders caused by crime and conflict, could not be as well policez as those who had observed constitutions created by prudent legislations right from the start of their group life.” A little further on there is another text which defines the barbarian and savage as being without reason: “Having recognized that all these peoples which have sentiments very much opposed to our own are not simply because of that, barbarians or savages, but that many of them make use of their reason as much or more than we do.” These texts were pointed out to me by M. Henri Berr.
29 Especially since precisely in the eighteenth century verbs in “-iser appeared in great numbers, M. Frey has made a great list of them for the revolutionary period in his book, already referred to, on the Transformations du vocabulaire français a l’époque de la Révolution, p. 21 (centraliser, fanatiser, fédéraliser, municipaliser, naturaliser, utiliser, etc.). But M. Gohin had already given for the preceding period another list of similar verbs attributed to the Encyclopedists: among them we find barbariser.
30 Œuvres de Voltaire, ed. Beuchot, vol. xv, pp. 253, 256.
31 Contrat social, ch. 8 of Book II.
32 The word does not appear either, according to the check I made, in the Dijon Discours of 1750 (Si le rétablissement des sciences et des arts a contribué à épurer les mœurs). In it Rousseau only uses police and policé, just like Turgot in the same period in the Tableau philosophique des progrès successifs de l’esprit humain (1750), or Duclos in the Considérations sur les mœurs de ce siècle (1751), or a good many more of their contemporaries.
33 Dictionnaire de l’ancienne langue française, Paris, 1881. Nicolas Oresme’s Éthiques are also referred to in the article on “Civilité,” by Hatzfeld, Darmesteter and Thomas in their Dictionnaire général.
34 Civiliser is defined by the same Furetière: to make civil, and poli, amenable and courteous, e.g. “The preaching of the gospel has civilisé the most savage barbarian peoples.” Or, “Peasants are not civilisés in the same way as townsfolk, and townsfolk are not civilisés in the same way as courtiers.”
35Courtois and affable,” F. de Callières says (Du bon et du mauvais usage dans les manières de s’exprimer, Paris, 1693), “are hardly used any longer by those who move in society and the words civil and honnête have taken their place.” Bossuet points to the fact that civilité has lost all its political meaning, in a passage in the Discours sur l’histoire universelle, part III, chapter 5, in which he sets the way in which it was used by the ancients against that of the moderns:
The word “civilité” did not only signify for the Greeks the gentleness and mutual deference which makes men sociable; a man who was civil was nothing more than a good citizen, who always looks upon himself as a member of the State, who allows himself to be governed by the laws and conspires with them to bring about the public weal, without engaging in any act that may be harmful to any other person.
Tuscan usage of the word retained for civiltà a little more of the legal meaning, which in France was only retained by the word civil, if we are to go by the Vocabolario degli Accademici della Crusca; in the meaning of “costume e maniera di vivre civile (Latin civilitas),” it added that of “citizenship.”
36 The edition revised by Beauzée. The first edition of Girard’s work dates from 1718 (La justesse de la langue françoise, ou les sinonimes); the second, from 1736 (Les Synonymes français); the third, revised by Beauzée dates from 1769; re-ed. in 1780.
37 Op. cit., vol. ii, § 112, p. 159.
38 Op. cit., Book XIX, ch. 16. He is referring to the Chinese who, desirous “of helping their people to live peaceful lives,” have “extended the rules of civilité as widely as possible.”
39 Contrat social, iii, ch. 8: “The places where the labour of men produces only that which is necessary should be inhabited by barbarous peoples: any politie would be impossible there.” Cf. ibid., iv, ch. 7: “The result of this dual form of power has been perpetual conflict in jurisdiction which has made any good politie in Christian States impossible.” Godefroy gives as the medieval forms of the word, policie, pollicie, politie, and records the short-lived substantive, policien, meaning a citizen, as used by Amyot.
40 (Odyssey, IX).
41 Op. cit., vol. i, p. 2. Sixty years later, Fr.-Jean de Chastellux, in his book De la félicité publique ou Considérations sur le sort des hommes dans les différentes époques de l’histoire, vol. i, Amsterdam, 1772, notes that “still today, Police can be used to refer to the government of men” (ch. 5, p. 59).
42 La Bret’s definition, which is also a professional definition, was not yet limited to a town situation. “I call police,” he wrote (iv, ch. 15), “the laws and decrees which have always been published in well-ordered States to control commerce in foodstuffs, to curb abuses and monopolies in commerce and in the arts, to prevent the corruption of morals, to curb wanton luxury and to banish unlawful sports from the town.”
43 Œuvres complètes, ed. 1806, vol. i, p. 70. Duclos further states: “Among barbarians, the laws should shape morals; among peoples who are policés, morals should perfect the laws and sometimes supplement them.”
44 Considérations, ch. 12 (Œuvres, 1806, i, p. 216).
45 Voltaire, Oeuvres, ed. Beuchot, vol. xv, pp. 16, 21, 26.
46 Œuvres de Turgot, ed. Schelle, vol. i, p. 241 et seq.
47 Letter dated 15 June 1680. It is strange to note that people spoke of “being far from politesse, and returning to politesse,” just as we say: “returning to civilization.”
48 Œuvres de Turgot, ed. Schelle, vol. i, p. 222.
49 Ed. Beuchot, vol. xv, p. 41.
50 For these last two quotations, cf. Beuchot, ed., vol. xv, pp. 83 and 91.
51 Volney, Éclaircissements sur les États-Unis (Œuvres complètes, Paris, F. Didot, 1868, p. 718):
By civilisation we should understand an assembly of the men in a town, that is to say in an enclosure of dwellings equipped with a common defense system to protect themselves from pillage from outside and disorder within… the assembly implied the concepts of voluntary consent by the members, maintenance of their natural right to security, personal freedom and property: … thus civilisation is nothing other than a social condition for the preservation and protection of persons and property etc.
The whole passage, which is an important one, is a criticism of Rousseau.
52 See the second part of the Discours sur l’Encyclopédie as a reasoned dictionary of the sciences and the arts: “These are the principal masterminds which the human spirit should look upon as its masters,” d’Alembert concludes.
53 Counson, Discours, op. cit.
54 Cuvier et Lamarck, “Les classes zoologiques et l’idée de série animale (1790-1830),” Paris, Alcan, 1926, passim and particularly vol. ii, ch. 10, vol. v and “Conclusions,” p. 254 et seq. See also Lucien Febvre, “Un chapitre d’histoire de l’esprit humain: les sciences naturelles de Linné à Lamarck et à Georges Cuvier,” Revue de Synthèse historique, vol. xliii, 1927.
55 Counson, Discours, op. cit.
56 Vol. i, year II, 1794, pp. 519-21; cf. H. Daudin, op. cit., vol. i, p. 25, n. 4 and generally, the whole of § II of ch. 1 of Paris one: le Muséum.
57 Op. cit., Paris, Cuchet, 1793, vol. i, Avertissement, p. ix.
58 Millin in particular. Cf. H. Daudin, op. cit., vol. i, p. 9 and n. 1. The about-turn was in fact a very rapid one as far as Buffon was concerned. Cf. ibid., p. 38, n. 3.
59 On all this refer to the work done by René Hubert, Les sciences sociales dans l’Encyclopédie, Lille, 1923, in particular the first part, p. 23 et seq., and “Conclusions,” p. 361 et seq.
60 Op. cit., “Conclusions,” Vidée scientifique et le fait, p. 265.
61 Ibid., pp. 269-270,
62 On its origins and developments throughout the eighteenth century, cf. the first of the three volumes by H. Daudin: De Linné à Lamarck: méthodes de la classification et idée de série en botanique et en zoologie (1740-1790), Paris, Alcan, 1926.
63 Daudin, Cuvier et Lamarck, ii, pp. 110-11.
64 See in Fr.-J. de Chastellux, De la félicité publique ou Considération sur le sort des hommes dans les différentes époques de l’histoire, his attempt to set all that was particular in political constitutions in police against all that was universal in “the greatest possible happiness” — a concept which is obviously confused in his mind if not in his vocabulary (the author does not know the neologism) with that of civilisation. (Cf. in particular op. cit., vol. i, p. xiii: “All nations cannot have the same government. All the towns and all the classes of citizens in one and the same customs. But all may generally lay claim to the greatest possible happiness.”
65 Système social, London, 1773, vol. i, ch. 14, p. 171.
66 Histoire philosophique et politique des établissements et du commerce des Européens dans les deux Indes, 1770; ed. Geneva, 1781, vol. i, p. 4.
67 Ibid., p. 4.
68 According to the 2nd ed., Amsterdam, 1773; Préface, p. xviii. Section 11 of chapter 15 of the book is called “Des effets ordinaires de la richesse et de la civilisation relativement au traitement des serviteurs” (p. 347).
69 Recherches sur… la richesse des nations, translated from the 4th ed. By Roucher, annotated by Condorcet, vol. i, Paris, 1790, p. 3. (Introduction): “Chez les nations riches et civilisées au contraire, etc.” 70 Vol. iv, Book VI, p. 393.
71 Œuvres, ed. Assezat, vol. iii, p. 429 (Plan d’une université pour le gouvernement de Russie, about 1776?, published for the first time in 1875).
72 The idea that peace and generally speaking the civilization for which it seemed to be the main pre-condition does not depend on sovereigns or on their power is often expounded throughout the course of these years. See e.g. Raynal, Histoire philosophique, ed. Geneva, 1781, vol. x, p. 31: “Though soldiers may defend the provinces they do not civilize them.”
73 Histoire philosophique, vol. x, p. 29. See also ibid., p. 28: “Is it possible that barbarian peoples can become civilized without developing morals?”
74 De l’origine des loix, Paris, 1778, vol. iv, Book VI, p. 392.
75 Essai sur les préjugés (1770), ch. 11, p. 273.
76 Histoire philosophique, vol. x, Book XIX, p. 15.
77 Recherches et considérations sur la population de la France, Paris, 1778, p. 5.
78 Ballanche, Le Vieillard et le jeune homme. New edition, with introduction and notes by Roger Mauduit, Paris, Alcan, 1928. See our account in the Revue critique, 1929.
79 Démeunier’s book, L’esprit des usages et des coutumes des différents peuples, ou Observations tirées des voyages et des histoires, was published in 1776. It was translated into German in 1783 (Über Sitten und Gebräuche der Völker) by M. Hismann, Nuremberg. Cf. Van Gennep, Religions, mœurs et légendes, Paris, Mercure de France, 3rd series, 1911, p. 21 et seq. The Avertissement is quite clear: “Although there have been so many books on man, there has been no attempt to bring the morals, customs, habits and laws of the various people together. The intention is to repair this omission.” But he added: “We have endeavored to follow the progress of civilisation.
80 New edition, enlarged, Part I, Neuchâtel, 1772, Discours préliminaire, p. 26.
81 Letter from M. Commerson to M. de la Lande, from the Isle de Bourbon, 18 April 1771, following the Voyage by Bougainville, p. 162.
82 Voyage de La Pérouse autour de monde, Paris, Plassan, 1798, vol. i, p. xxix.
83 Cf. for the quotations, Œuvres complètes, F. Didot, 1868, p. 31 (Ruines, chapter 14); p. 717 (Éclaircissements). Together with these texts we should take an extract from the Discours sur l’étude de la statistique by Peuchet (at the beginning of Statistique élémentaire de la France, Paris, Gilbert, 1805); he mentions the peoples of Africa “always at war with the neighboring peoples, so that their civilization makes but slow progress.”
84 I quote the Voyage from the 8 volume edition, Paris, 3 vols., 1816-1817. Cf. on the Malays, vol. iii (1817), p. 301; on Mungo Park, p. 50.
85 Voyage, vol. i, 1816, p. 38. Previously, p. 35, Humboldt analyses his Essai politique sur le royaume de la Nouvelle Espagne which, he says, provides consideration concerning “the population, the morals of the inhabitants, their ancient civilization and the political division of the country,” and in which he examines “the quantity of colonial foodstuffs needed by Europe in its present state of civilization.”
86 Cosmos, essai d’une description physique du monde, translated by Faye, Paris, Gide, 1847, vol. i, Considérations, p. 15.
87 The Essai sur le Pali appeared in Paris in 1826. (Cf. p. 2). Cf. also the opening address at the Collège de France by E. Burnouf, “De la langue et de la littérature sanscrites”; it appeared in the Revue des deux mondes of 1 February 1833 (see in particular p. 12 of the special edition). See also by the same author, the Essai sur le Véda, Paris, 1863, pp. 20, 32, etc. These are only samples.
88 Lucien Febvre, “Un chapitre d’histoire de l’esprit humain,” Revue de Synthèse historique, vol. xliii, 1927, pp. 42-43.
89 5th ed., Paris, Cuchet, year II, 5.
90 Réponse d’un républicain français au libelle de sir François d’Yvernois, text quoted by Counson, Discours, op. cit., p. 8, n. 1.
91 We find them not only in books intended for an educated public (cf. in the Éclaircissements sur les États-Unis by Volney, Œuvres, p. 718 et seq., his long, interesting discussion intended to show that if there are vice-ridden and depraved peoples, “the reason was not that formation into a society brought out vicious tendencies, but that they were transferred there from a savage state, which is the origin of every nation and every form of government” — and that, moreover, one could reject the argument that fine arts and literature were “integral parts of civilization” and “sure tokens of the happiness and prosperity of peoples.” Little propaganda booklets were also full of such points (cf. the Catéchisme du genre humain by Boissel, 2nd ed., 1791; Boissel’s argument is in fact a curious one in so far as he counters Rousseau who bases himself “on consideration of the original foundations of civil society whose disastrous faults made him prefer an uncivilized way of life” [!], with the law and those principles which should today (1791) serve as a basis and as a foundation for civilization,” but of which Rousseau was of course unaware.
92 Le mouvement des idées dans l’émigration française, vols. i and ii, Paris, 1924.
93 American and French thought or more generally European thought from 1718 to about 1850 would make the subject of a fine book. A history book, I mean, and a philosophical book. Sociology would find out a lot about its origins in such a work. We are a little bit too hypnotized by the literary example of Chateaubriand; there is much that is more worthy of study and analysis than the Natchez; we should be surprised I think at the mass of ideas, reflections and forecasts which an attentive look at the civilization of the United States aroused in alert minds, from Volney (to mention just one) to Alexander von Humboldt, and Michel Chevalier, Lettres sur l’Amérique du Nord (1834-1835) or Tocqueville, La Démocratie en Amérique (1835). There would of course be counter-evidence. We need hardly mention Ballanche, whose Palingénésie took no more account of America than Bossuet’s Histoire universelle — it is well known that Auguste Comte, justifying Bossuet for having “limited his historical view to the sole examination of a homogeneous and continuous series which can none the less be fairly called universal,” was setting on one side what he called “the various other centers of independent civilization whose evolution has, for various reasons, been blocked until now and kept in an imperfect state”; and by this he was referring not only to America but to India, China, etc. It is true that he added (somewhat platonically): “unless a comparative examination of such accessory series is able to throw some light on the main subject” (Cours de philosophie positive, vol. v, containing the historical part of social philosophy, 1841, p. 3 et seq.).
94 p. 48 et seq. (premier entretien). The text dates from 1819. Two years later Saint-Simon’s Système industriel appeared with its address to the king: “Sire, events are aggravating more and more the crisis in society not only in France but in the whole great nation made up of the various western peoples of Europe.”
95 Much later, J. A. de Gobineau was to write in Book I, ch. 1 of the Essai sur l’inégalité des races humaines (1853): “The fall of civilizations is the most striking and at the same time the most difficult to understand of all the phenomena of history.”
96 Cf. Hubert Bourgin, Charles Fourier, p. 70. It appears that previous to Fourier’s protests and his theory of civilization, seen as a system of free competition and deceitful anarchy, there had been a sort of Spartan-like condemnation issuing on all sides from a number of very dissimilar spirits: cf. texts such as this one which is by Billaud-Varennes (Éléments de républicanisme, 1793, quoted by Jaurès, Histoire socialiste: la Convention, ii, p. 1503 of the original edition): “Who does not know that as civilization plunges us all like Tantalus into a river of sensations, the enjoyments of the imagination and the heart make the purely animal enjoyments quite secondary.” Cf. also a text by Chamfort, Maximes et Pensées (before 1794):
Civilization is like cooking. When you see light, healthy and well-prepared food on the table you are very pleased to realize that cooking has become an art; but when we see juices, jellies, and pâtés with truffles we curse the cooks and their art for producing such wretched results. We can conclude, by the way, Chamfort did not have Brillat-Savarin’s stomach.
97 De la littérature considérée dans ses rapports avec les institutions sociales (Œuvres complètes, vol. iv, p. 12). We should note a little further on (p. 16) the remark which reveals a very different attitude from that of Auguste Comte’s which we mentioned above: “Every time a new nation such as America, Russia, etc., makes progress towards civilization the human species is becoming more perfect.
98 Strasbourg, Levrault, 3 vols. reprinted in 1834. On the fortunes of the book, cf. Tronchon’s doctoral thesis (Sorbonne), La fortune intellectuelle de Herder en France, Paris, 1920.
99 Paris, Renouard, 1827. The other sciences [Michelet said in his Discours (p. xiv)] are concerned with directing man and perfecting him. But none has yet attempted to find out the principles of civilization on which they are based. Any branch of science which revealed these principles would be putting us in a position to measure the progress of peoples and their decay, and we should be able to calculate the ages in the lives of nations. Then we should know the means by which any society could raise itself or return to the highest degree of civilization of which it is capable; then theory and practice would be in harmony.
100 Published under the title “De l’état actuel de l’Humanité” (Mélanges philosophiques, p. 101); in the same series which appeared in Paris, Paulin, we should also point out in particular, p. 83, an article from the Globe (11 May 1827) and bearing the title “Bossuet, Vico, Herder.”
101 Between 1832 and 1834 a Revue sociale was even seen to appear. Journal de la civilisation et de son progrès. Organe de la Société de civilisation (six numbers, 1832-1834, pointed out by Tronchon, La fortune intellectuelle d’Herder en France, bibliographie critique (thèse complémentaire), Paris, Rieder, 1920, p. 28, no. 265).
102 Tronchon, op. cit., p. 431.
103 The two courses became two books: Cours d’histoire moderne, Histoire générale de la civilisation en Europe, Paris, Pinchon and Didier, 1828, and Histoire de la civilisation en France, Pinchon and Didier, 1829. These works have often been reprinted.
104 Civilisation en Europe, p. 6.
105 Mélanges philosophiques, Paris, 1833, p. 88.
106 Civilisation en Europe, p. 9.
107 Ibid., p. 5: “There is hardly any great idea or any great principle of civilization which has not first passed through France before being diffused everywhere.”
108 “For instance although the civilization of Russia is a far cry from that of France or of England it is easy to see that the Russians are engaged in the same system of civilization as the French and the English… They are the younger children of one and the same family, the less clever pupils in one and the same school of civilization.” (“De l’état actuel de l’humanité,” Mélanges, 1826, p. 101).
109 “Du rôle de la Grèce dans le développement de l’humanité,” Mélanges, 1827, p. 93.
110 Civilisation en Europe, p. 7.
111 Ibid., p. 15.
112 All these texts are from La Civilisation en France.
113 Guizot thus takes up and particularizes, quoting the peoples to which he refers, the general and impersonal argument contained in La Civilisation en Europe (pp. 12-13).
114 Civilisation en Europe, p. 18.
115 Cf. the information given by M. Tonnelat.
116 Cf. Buffon, Époques de la nature, p. 101: “The first characteristic of man beginning to civilize himself is the control he develops over animals.”
117 This is an effect we should watch out for. When for instance we read in Condorcet’s Vie de Voltaire “that when one extends the space within which culture flourishes, commerce is secure and industry thrives, one is unfailingly increasing the total amount of enjoyment and resources available to all men,” we might in the first instance think that the word culture is being used with the German sense of Kultur and fail to realize that it simply means agriculture.
118 This was Condorcet’s idea, in his Vie de Voltaire (1787): “The more civilization spreads throughout the earth the more we shall see war and conquest disappear together with slavery and want.”
119 Op. cit., pp. 13, 23, 25, etc.
120 Coup d’œil, p. 118, note. On Ch. de Villiers, see L. Wittmer, Charles de Villiers, 1765-1815, Geneva-Paris, 1908, (Geneva thesis), and Tronchon, Fortune intellectuelle de Herder en France, passim.
121 See Voyage aux régions équinoxiales, ed. 8 volumes, 1816-1817, vol. iii, p. 287: “Intellectual culture is the thing that contributes most to the diversifying of human characteristics.” Ibid., p. 264: “I hesitate to use the word sauvage because it suggests that there is between the Indian who has been réduit (reduced) and is living in a mission, and the free or independent Indian, a difference in culture which is often belied by the observed facts.” Ibid., p. 260: “The barbarity which reigns in these regions is perhaps less due to an actual lack of any civilisation than to the effect of a long decline… Most of the tribes which we describe as savage are probably the descendants of nations that were formerly more advanced in their culture.”
122 Cf. in the Cosmos, translated by Faye, vol. i, Paris, 1847, p. 430 and note.
123 Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über die Dawi-Sprache auf der Insel Java. Cf. Einleitung at the beginning of vol. i, Berlin.
124 Œuvres complètes, ed. Didot, 1868, p. 718 et seq. (Éclaircissements sur les États-Unis).
125 Book I, ch. 8: Definition of the word civilisation.
126 Op. cit., original ed., pp. 29-32.

Red dwarf

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My friend has started a weblog under the title Cold and Dark Stars. He actually treats it more like a blog than I do with The Charnel-House, which often just features reposted articles or else functions as an all-purpose image and long-form essay dump. The entries on Cold and Dark Stars are, by contrast, relatively short and easily digestible reflections on topics like love, science, and the indifference of global economy to local ventures like chicken farms and other small-scale projects.

In terms of the blog’s style, what I appreciate the most about it is its directness and lack of any pretense. Politically, I find its commitment to internationalism admirable. You can check out a few representative posts linked below, along with some choice quotes:

  1. Global economy doesn’t care about your local chicken farm: “If capitalists have global political projects, such as the ones dictated by the International Monetary Fund and the European Union, why can’t leftists have their own global political programs? Why is it so hard to imagine a global movement, for example, that lays the foundations for a world, socialist republic?”
  2. White supremacy can only be fought through internationalism: “Today, a shock in the housing market of the United States is felt in the value of tortillas in Mexico. The development of new technology to extract oil from shale trickles down to the price of a tractor bought by a farmer in Zimbabwe. Yet the Left does not have a vision of emancipation through a global, political structure that can mold the course of the global economy. For a long time, activists, militants and theorists thought that the first step for the liberation of people of color was through the increase of legal sovereignty within a specific geographic zone — from the autonomy in first nation reserves in Canada, to the sovereignty of the former colonies in Africa.”
  3. The productive human cannot love: “Interpersonal relations are eroded by the imperatives of optimization; there is nothing more infernal than the dating market of thirty-something professionals. Future partners are judged for their potential as mortgage companions, where the tension between how interesting their personality is versus the respectability of their career plays out. Everyone wants to date the good-looking engineer who’s also a musician. Yet optimized society selects some traits against the others — a person that spent all their bandwidth grinding through the math homework, job searching, and acquiring the right work experience for a fruitful career, will have no energy left to cultivate a deep taste in music, art, or literature.”

Enjoy.

The works of Henri Lefebvre

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Henri Lefebvre’s work spans a variety of disciplines and fields, ranging from philosophy and sociology to architecture and urbanism. Obviously, this relates to a number of the themes discussed on this blog. A past entry featured Alfred Schmidt’s laudatory essay dedicated to Lefebvre, which I urge everyone to read. Roland Barthes, in his Mythologies, defended his contemporary against “criticism blind and dumb” in the press: “You don’t explain philosophers, but they explain you. You have no desire to understand that play by the Marxist Lefebvre, but you can be sure that the Marxist Lefebvre understands your incomprehension perfectly, and above all that he understands (for I myself suspect you to be more subtle than stupid) the delightfully ‘harmless’ confession you make of it.”

Lefebvre blazed a path, moreover, in the theoretical inquiry into “everyday life,” taking up a thread from the early Soviet discourse on the transformation of “everyday life” [быт] and Marx’s musings on “practical everyday life” [praktischen Werkeltagslebens]. Trotsky had authored a book on the subject in the 1920s, under the title Problems of Everyday Life, and the three-volume Critique of Everyday Life by Lefebvre, released over the course of four decades (1946, 1961, and 1981), can be seen as an elaboration of its themes. Eventually, inspired by this series, the Situationist upstar Raoul Vaneigem would publish The Revolution of Everyday Life (1967), while the Catholic theorist Michel de Certeau released two volumes of The Practice of Everyday Life (1976, 1980).

Russell Jacoby passingly remarked in his excellent Dialectic of Defeat: Contours of Western Marxism (1981) that “Lefebvre’s career in France recapitulates the general development of Western Marxism.” He continued: “Lefebvre left the French Communist party only after 1956, but his earlier activities and writings betrayed a commitment to unorthodox Marxism. He belonged to a group called ‘Philosophies,’ which briefly (1925-1926) formed an alliance with the surrealists. With Norbert Guterman he translated Hegel, Lenin’s Hegel notebooks, and early Marx. He also wrote with Guterman a book that represented a high point of French Western Marxism in this earlier period, La Conscience mystifiée. Published in 1936, the title itself hints of History and Class Consciousness… rewritten in the context of the struggle against fascism.”

George Lichtheim in his survey of Marxism in Modern France (1966) likewise heaped praise upon Lefebvre, describing him as follows:

The Marxian concepts of “alienation” and “total man” were already central to Lefebvre’s interwar reflections, from the time he came across Marx’s early philosophical writings. The “Paris Manuscripts” of 1844 had been a revelation for Marxists of Lefebvre’s generation; and the echo of this discovery resounds throughout the concluding chapter of Le Matérialisme dialectique: first published in 1939, when — as the author remarked in 1957 — communists still tended to express disdain for the topic. Though politically orthodox, Lefebvre in 1939 was already going against the official line, which in those years was based on the Leninist interpretation of Marxism as a doctrine centered on the analysis of capitalism’s political and economic contradictions. In fairness it has to be remembered that this was itself a reaction to the academic habit of treating Marx as the author of a heretical philosophy of history. Under the impulsion of the Russian Revolution and Leninism, this approach gave way after 1917 to the realization that Marxism was meant to be a theory of the proletarian revolution. As usually happens in such cases, the discovery was accompanied by an impatient rejection of all nonpolitical interests, and in particular of long-range philosophical speculation centered on Marx’s youthful writings. When Lefebvre in 1957 recalled that between 1925 and 1935 French Marxists like himself had discovered the immediate political relevance of their own doctrine, he went on to note that the great economic crisis of 1929-1933, and the practical problems facing the USSR , reinforced the stress on the politico-economic theme: not indeed “economics” in the conventional academic sense, but the political economy of capitalism and socialism. A writer concerned with topics such as alienation and l’homme total could not in the circumstances expect a sympathetic hearing even from political friends.

Others point out that Lefebvre by no means rejected the teachings of Lenin when it came to Marx and Marxism, however. Daniel Bensaïd also recalled that in 1947, “Lefebvre had published a book (unjustly forgotten) on Lenin’s thought.” Kevin Anderson, the Marxist-Humanist scholar, has also praised Lefebvre as one of the few Western Marxists to engage extensively and explicitly with Lenin’s prewar notebooks on Hegel and philosophy. “It was in France on the eve of World War II that Lenin’s Hegel notebooks first began to get some serious public discussion by Western Marxists,” writes Anderson in Lenin, Hegel, and Western Marxism. “Henri Lefebvre and Norbert Guterman, two unorthodox members of the French Communist party, wrote a 130-page introduction to a French edition of Lenin’s Hegel notebooks, which appeared in 1938 under the title Cahiers sur la dialectique de Hegel, published by the prestigious Paris publishing house Gallimard.”

Anderson continues:

Guterman and Lefebvre begin their introduction by contending that in Lenin’s Hegel notebooks, “the reader finds himself in the presence of ideas which, taken in all their significance, in the totality of their aims and interests, support the comparison with the greatest philosophical works.” At the same time, they write that “Lenin was not one of those men for whom action is opposed to thought,” calling attention to the date of composition of the Hegel Notebooks, in the midst of World War I: “Lenin reads Hegel at the moment when the unity of the industrial world tears itself apart, when the fragments of this unity, which was thought to have been realized, violently collide with one another: when all of the contradictions unchain themselves. The Hegelian theory of contradiction shows him that the moment when the solution, a higher unity, seems to move further away, is sometimes that [moment] when it is approaching.” They write that the virulent nationalism Lenin faced in 1914 “already anticipates fascist ideology,” linking the Hegel notebooks to the concrete problems of the 1 930s. For Lenin in 1914 and after, “his vision” drawn from the Hegel notebooks “prepares his action.”

Lenin, they claim, neither accepted Hegel uncritically nor rejected him. For Lenin, they write: “The critical reading [of Hegel] is also a creative act Lenin judges Hegel with a severity that one could not have except toward oneself — towards one’s past, at the moment one surmounts it.” In this sense Lenin is critically appropriating classical German philosophy for the working class, as Marx and Engels had urged. Furthermore, the Hegel notebooks shed new light on the problem of how Marxism is to appropriate Hegel. For most Marxists, dialectical method is the only valuable legacy of Hegel, and for them, “the content of Hegelianism needs to be rejected.” For some, Hegel’s method is the point of departure for a materialist dialectic. For others, Hegel’s dialectic becomes materialist through Marxism, which is “a theory of real forces, their equilibrium and the rupture of this mechanical equilibrium.” Guterman and Lefebvre contend that for Lenin in the Hegel Notebooks, these issues are “posed in a much more profound and concrete manner.” They give as an example Lenin’s discussion of the final chapter of Hegel’s Science of Logic, “The Absolute Idea”: “Hegelian idealism has an objective aspect His theory of religion and the state is unacceptable. However, as Lenin remarks, the most idealistic chapter of Hegel’s Logic, that on the Absolute Idea, is at the same time the most materialist.” Therefore, any “inversion” of Hegel by Marxists “cannot be a simple operation.”

You can download a number of Lefebvre’s work here. See also the free PDF collections of works by Roland Barthes, Walter Benjamin, and Leon Trotsky hosted on this site.

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Primary literature
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  1. Dialectical Materialism (1938)
  2. The Critique of Everyday Life, Volume 1: Introduction (1946)
  3. “Marxisme et Sociologie” (1948)
  4. “Perspectives de la Sociologie Rurale” (1953)
  5. Probleme des Marxismus, heute (1958, translated by Alfred Schmidt 1966)
  6. Introduction to Modernity: Twelve Preludes (September 1959-May 1961)
  7. The Critique of Everyday Life, Volume 2: Foundations for a Sociology of the Everyday (1961)
  8. “Utopie expérimentale: Pour un nouvel urbanisme” (1961)
  9. “Marxisme et Politique: Le marxisme a-t-il une théorie politique ?” (1961)
  10. “Réflexions sur le structuralisme et l’histoire” (1963)
  11. Metaphilosophy (1965)
  12. The Sociology of Marx (1966, translated by Norbert Guterman in 1968)
  13. Sprache und Gesellschaft (1966)
  14. Everyday Life in the Modern World (1968)
  15. “Reply to Roderick Christholm” (1969)
  16. “Les paradoxes d’Althusser” (1969)
  17. Aufstand in Frankreich: Zur Theorie der Revolution in den hochindustrialisierten Ländern (1969)
  18. The Urban Revolution (1970)
  19. “La classe ouvrière est-elle révolutionnaire?” (1971)
  20. “L’avis du sociologue, État ou Non-État?” (1971)
  21. The Survival of Capitalism: Reproduction of the Relations of Production (1973)
  22. The Production of Space (1974)
  23. Toward an Architecture of Enjoyment (unpublished, 1970s)
  24. “Marxism Exploded” (1976)
  25. The Critique of Everyday Life, Volume 3: From Modernity to Modernism (Towards a Metaphilosophy of Daily Life) (1981)
  26. Interview on the Situationists (1983)
  27. Rhythmanalysis (1991)
  28. Writings on Cities (collection, 1996)
  29. State, Space, World: Selected Essays (collection, 2009)

Secondary literature
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  1. Alfred Schmidt, “Henri Lefebvre and Contemporary Interpretations of Marx” (1972)
  2. Andy Merrifield, Henri Lefebvre: A Critical Introduction (2006)
  3. Kanishka Goonewardena, Stefan Kipfer, Richard Milgrom, Christian Schmid (eds.), Space, Difference, Everyday Life: Reading Henri Lefebvre (2008)
  4. Christian Schmid, “Henri Lefebvre, the Right to the City, and the New Metropolitan Mainstream” (2009)
  5. Lukasz Stanek, Henri Lefebvre on Space: Architecture, Urban Research, and the Production of Theory (2011)
  6. Benjamin Fraser, Toward an Urban Cultural Studies: Henri Lefebvre and the Humanities (2015)

 

On the Venezuelan crisis

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With the global fall in oil prices, Venezuela’s fifteen-year experiment in “petrol populism” seems to be winding to a close. Either the regime will collapse in short order, or it will maintain itself through increasingly bloody and repressive measures, as Maduro’s claim to represent the interests of the people grows even more tenuous. George Ciccariello-Maher, a seasoned apologist of Chavismo in the United States, writes in an article for Jacobin that the “enemies” are the ones who are out there “in the streets, burning and looting.” Socialists, he contends, should be supporting the recent state crackdown on the protestors, which has already left 130 or so dead.

Pavel Minorski, a Croatian left communist and trustworthy comrade, comments that “[Ciccariello-Maher’s latest piece] is basic leftism. There is good capitalism and bad capitalism. Good capitalism is run by The People, bad capitalism by (((the elite))). Eventually, of course, people will revolt against good capitalism. But don’t worry, those aren’t The People. They’re malicious, deluded, or both. Here’s how national developmentalism can still win!” For anyone interested, “Dialectics and Difference: Against the ‘Decolonial Turn’,” my polemic against Decolonizing Dialectics by Ciccariello-Maher just came out, and can be read over at the Insurgent Notes website.

Michael Roberts’ analysis of “The Venezuelan Tragedy” paints a much bleaker picture. The numbers are just brutal. “Income poverty,” observes Roberts, “increased from 48% in 2014 to 82% in 2016, according to a survey conducted by Venezuela’s three most prestigious universities.” Chávez, like every other leader who came before him, was content to rake in profits when times were good, i.e. when the price of oil was high, funding ambitious social programs with the profits as part of his wedge electoral strategy. He didn’t bother trying to diversify the country’s production, so when its sole export monocommodity plummeted in value, the whole country went tits up.

Sergio López of Kosmoprolet saw this coming as early as 2009. “21st-century socialism? Charitable kleptocracy! A kleptocracy, indeed, which is steering the country to its next economic and social crisis.” López noted then, at the pinnacle of Chavismo, the popularity of slogans such as “Chávez is the People!” and “President Chávez is a tool of God!” “Postmodern Bonapartism,” as Marco Torres dubbed Bolivarianism in a 2010 piece, is “a bricolage of thirties vintage pop-frontism together with nineties antiglobalization, molded upon sixties developmentalist Third Worldism.”

John Moro, whose blog was mentioned in a previous post, rails against Chávez, heroes, and all “great men”:

The Bolivarian project wasn’t socialist in the first place, but another iteration of what Marx called Bonapartism — the concentration of power into an autocratic but “benevolent” military leader that distributes some of the surplus generated by oil rent to the underclasses in order to secure a power base… We socialists should point out the limits of Chavismo: which are nationalism, career bureaucrats, and the fetishization of “larger-than life” men and the political form of the presidency, which is nothing but a term-limited and sterilized variation of monarchy.

Obviously, as Moro is well aware, “the organized opposition to the Latin American ‘pink tide’ is largely reactionary and loathsome.” But the average worker protesting in the streets is not ideologically committed to the restoration of a capitalist oligarchy dominated by light-skinned managers and businessmen. He or she is just looking for daily provisions and supplies. Protests have broken out even in neighborhoods that used to be strongholds of Chavismo, in the urban barrios of Caracas. To be sure, the working poor are susceptible right now to anti-socialist rhetoric, lured by the promise of a return to relative prosperity, but to paint everyone in the streets as “enemies” is craven and dishonest.

A part of me wishes that Chávez didn’t succumb to colon cancer in March 2013. Not just because it’s an awful way to die, but because his premature death allowed him to go out still near the top of his popularity. Chávez could thus avoid being blamed for social and economic crises that would happen under Maduro’s watch, despite the fact that his own shortsighted policies led directly to the current catastrophe. The biggest irony, in my opinion, is that for all his vaunted anti-imperialist rhetoric, Chávez could thank the disastrous invasion of Iraq for the spike in oil prices that allowed him to bankroll his social programs. Venezuela’s biggest trading partner during this time was the US.

Socialists gain nothing by continuing to defend this bloated and incompetent regime. Even an oil-rich state like Venezuela cannot build “socialism in one country,” as the old Stalinist motto goes. Better to admit now what should have been obvious all along: Bolivarianism was a Revolution In Name Only, or #RINO for short (that acronym is still available, right?).

Solidarity after Charlottesville

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Like everyone else watching the Charlottesville protests, I was appalled by the violence and hateful rhetoric displayed by white nationalists over the weekend. I cannot, however, say I was surprised. Chants of “blood and soil” and “Jews will not replace us” as a group of fascists surrounded to defend a Confederate monument wielding Tikki torches (okay, I laughed a little at that) put the lie to the quaint notion that antisemitism is dead and gone in this country. Just like in the past, it seems to reemerge whenever there are economic anxieties and racial unrest, linked closely with anti-black racism as well as anti-Hispanic and anti-Muslim xenophobia.

Emma Green made this point three days ago in an article which ran in The Atlantic: “Anti-black and anti-Jewish sentiment have long been intertwined in America. When the Jewish factory worker Leo Frank was wrongfully convicted of murder and lynched in 1915, two new groups simultaneously emerged: the Anti-Defamation League, which fights against bigotry and anti-Semitism, and the second Ku Klux Klan, which began by celebrating Frank’s death.” Similarly, Eric Ward’s Political Research essay “Skin in the Game: How Antisemitism Animates White Nationalism” forcefully argues that “antisemitism is not a sideshow to racism within white nationalist thought.” (It’s worth reading also for its insights into the early LA punk scene).

Regarding various “antis” like anti-fascism and anti-imperialism, readers of this blog will know I am influenced by the Bordigist critique of anti-fascism and the councilist critique of anti-imperialism. Nevertheless, this does not mean that fascism and imperialism are not to be opposed. If these political orientations are to be salvageable for Marxists at all, it is important to acknowledge most forms of actually-existing anti-fascism and anti-imperialism are awful. The best anti-fascists and anti-imperialists out there already admit this, of course, and know that in doing so they are not denigrating the lives that have been lost or the sacrifices that have been made.

Marx understood this well enough himself, writing in 1850: “Our task is that of ruthless criticism, much more against ostensible friends than against open enemies. And in maintaining this as our position, we gladly forego cheap democratic popularity.” Internationalist Perspective put out a good response a little while ago entitled “Antifa? No Thanks,” in which they claimed: “By framing the conflict as one between fascism and democracy, the partisans of antifa are making the first choice seem logical and necessary, and are thereby, despite their combativeness, acting as water carriers for capitalism.”

Horkheimer’s old adage from 1939 still rings true: “Whoever is not willing to speak of capitalism should keep quiet about fascism as well.” Gilles Dauvé’s debate with the British group Aufheben is worth revisiting in this context, in order:

  1. Jean Barrot [Gilles Dauvé], Fascism/Antifascism (1982)
  2. Aufheben, “Review of Barrot’s Fascism/Antifascism (1992)
  3. Gilles Dauvé, “Reply to Aufheben” (1998)

Opposition to fascism does not a communist make. The chorus of tweets from Mitt Romney, Marco Rubio, Nancy Pelosi, and other reactionaries condemning the white nationalists lend credence to Bordiga’s infamous quip that “the worst product of fascism is anti-fascism.” Politically, perhaps, it can be. Although I’d say that the human toll, the dead and brutalized bodies scarred by fascist goons, is fascism’s worst product in absolute terms. Going to the rally at Union Square on Sunday, there were a fair number of signs from the woke Democratic Party “resistance,” showing that class collaborationism indeed remains a real danger.

Still, I think Bordiga underestimated fascism. It should be said that his main experience of fascism was with the original Italian version, however, and he by no means was left untouched by it: he spent four years rotting in a fascist prison, from 1926 to 1930, and was placed under house arrest from 1930 to 1943 by Mussolini, forbidden to write about politics. He only began writing again after Nazism and fascism had been driven out of Europe (save in Spain, where it stayed in power for decades). Trotsky was better when it came to fighting fascism, in my view, writing in 1934 about the need for workers to organize autonomously:

It would be the worst stupidity to hope that a democratic government, even headed by the social-democracy, could save the workers from fascism by a decree prohibiting the fascists to organize, to arm, etc. No police measures will help if the workers themselves will not learn to deal with fascists.

Below you can read a stirring speech delivered yesterday in Amsterdam by a Dutch comrade. He’s among the best anti-fascists I know. Anti-fascism is useful for fighting Nazis. Not so great for everything else. Exrapolating an entire political perspective from opposition to fascism is a nearly impossible task. Still, there is a lot to be said for fighting Nazis.

Speech on Charlottesville

Job Polak (Jop Kaal)
AFA Amsterdam
August 17, 2017
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Thank you all for coming. Because the antifascist movement has always been international in scope, I will deliver my speech in English in the hope that everyone will understand.

We are here tonight because six nights ago a mob of hundreds of torch-wielding fascists descended on Charlottesville Virginia USA. We are here because these fascists — throwing Nazi salutes and screaming “white power,” “blood and soil,” “hail Trump,” and “the Jews will not replace us” — encircled a small group of brave students, spit on them, maced them, and beat them up. We are here tonight because the next day the fascists were out in force again. They were so heavily armed and ready for bloodshed that the even the militarized US police, who are always ready to murder black people, retreated and left the people of Charlottesville to fend for themselves.

We are here tonight because later that same day a fascist terrorist intentionally plowed his car into a group of antifascist protesters, hurting dozens and murdering a brave 32-year-old woman named Heather Heyer. May she rest in power. We are here in deep sorrow and pain for those we lost or who got hurt. We are here in seething anger because of what happened, and because people like Donald Trump dare to say that the people resisting fascists are just as bad or even worse than the fascists out there killing us.

But we are also here in resolute defiance.

It must be remembered that the fascist terror attack which murdered Heather happened only after the people of Charlottesville resoundingly defeated the fascists that day. Thousands came out to resist their hate with solidarity, with prayer, with their words, with their bodies and when needed with their fists. From the moment the first colonists landed in what would eventually become the United States of America, there were indigenous people who resisted them. From the moment the first slave ships docked in the South, black people resisted against all odds with uprisings and bloody rebellions. During Jim Crow and racial segregation, when the Ku Klux Klan terrorized the countryside, black people and their allies fought back with non-violent marches, with boycotts, and (when needed) often with guns.

Make no mistake. The statue of the traitorous Confederate general and defender of slavery — which the protests last weekend were nominally about — was not built during the Civil War. It was only installed on that prestigious university campus much, much later, around the same time Hitler came to power in Germany. Unmistakably, it signaled “no black people allowed” and “do not get any ideas,” all while screaming “white power.”

Yet today there are many black students on that campus, who are not afraid to demand this hateful symbol be torn down. And if it is not removed by the authorities, they will eventually pull it down themselves. No matter how many street brawlers or cops they send to protect it, no matter who sits in the White House.

Because wherever there is hate, there is also resistance and solidarity. Those images from last weekend hit home because we know too well where mobs of torch-wielding, hate-spewing Nazis — cynically tolerated by those in power — can lead. Yet we also know we can defeat them with resolute resistance and unified solidarity, even through the worst horrors they can inflict on us.

I for one would not be standing here tonight if not for antifascist resistance and solidarity.

Exactly 75 years ago today, on the 17th of August 1942, a Dutch Jewish communist, worker for an illegal newspaper from Haarlem was herded in to a gas chamber in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Four years earlier he lost his 22-year-old son, who went to Spain to defend the democratically-elected government against a fascist coup. His second eldest went too, surviving a Francoist concentration camp. Upon returning from Spain, starved nearly to death, this younger son joined the anti-Nazi resistance along with him. That brave man, his father — gassed for being a communist, an antifascist, and defender of free speech (on top of being a Jew) — was my great-grandfather.

Nevertheless, the youngest son of the man’s three sons, my grandfather, lived. People who didn’t even know him risked their lives to hide a young Jewish man from the Nazis. They shared their precious food during the famine, in winter. He survived because the resistance shot traitors, Jew-hunters, and Nazis, and because millions of young men and women from the United States, Russia, and other countries all over the world came here, to Europe, and to Asia. They gave their lives to defeat the Nazis before they could establish their “thousand year Reich” of “white, Aryan power” by cleansing their lands of Jews and other undesirables, who they claimed could not wait to replace them.

Yet today — as Donald Trump defends the new KKK and smears us antifascists, sitting in a office with a bust of Martin Luther King — there are also popularly-elected racists and fascists in the Dutch parliament who walk everyday past the big book honoring those who fell in the fight against the Nazis. And these fascists have the audacity to claim they are the real new resistance because they want to close our borders for refugees. They scapegoat people for their religion, their ethnicity, or the color of their skin while warning that “those Muslims are coming to replace you.”

Again today there are a rising number of people, in our own families as well as in power, who say that those who resist these fascists and racists are just as bad or even worse than those who want to murder. They may say that they do not approve of the fascist methods, but to a degree share their frenzy whipped up fears, their anger, their prejudice, and their wish for a strongman to set it all right for them. Those people were here before as well, and eventually made the best Nazis, my grandfather always said.

We defeated them then, and we will defeat them now. But we will need to fight them everywhere, anytime, with every tool and weapon at our disposal. And like then we clearly wont be able to trust those who say they lead us to do the right thing and that they will not fan the flames of hate for their own gain.

But we will have to do it ourselves and all together.
For ourselves, for our loved ones, and for complete strangers.
On our streets, in the media, in the halls of power, and in far away places like the USA or on the Mediterranean Sea.
So that the deaths of people like Heather Heyer will not have been in vain.
An injury to one is an injury to all.
¡No pasarán! Never again!

(Job Polak)

Antifascism: Pros and cons

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Saturday’s lopsided standoff between fascist and antifascist demonstrators in Boston, in which the latter outnumbered the former roughly a hundredfold, has been occasion for some relief among liberals scandalized by images of Charlottesville. I would caution against any overhasty optimism, however: Claudio Segrè, biographer of Mussolini’s heir apparent Italo Balbo, reminds us that the first Italian fascists were initially viewed as clowns in November and December 1920, fringe elements that could hardly be taken seriously. “They suffered from unsavory backgrounds and reputations,” writes Segrè, “not the stuff out of which to create a mass movement.” Just two years later they were in power.

Quartz reports that linguistic analysis of billions of Reddit comments has shown a marked increase in the use of alt-Right rhetoric and conspiratorial dog whistles (about “globalists,” “Soros,” “cultural Marxism,” and “Zionazis”). A suspect sample set, one might counter, but the numbers are suggestive either way. With Trump’s presidency spiraling out of control, losing far Right credibility with the bombing of Syrian airbases and the firing of Steve Bannon, its former supporters might look for new outlets to express their political discontents. Outlets other than the carnival sideshow of the 2016 Donald Trump campaign. But are more feelgood mass rallies like Boston really the answer to right-wing radicalization?

Fifteen years ago, massive antiwar marches took place in major cities across the US and around the globe. Impotently, they proclaimed “not in our name.” The invasion of Iraq happened anyway; the demonstrations did nothing to stop it. Participants in these marches could comfort themselves with the thought that their voices had been heard, but they weren’t really interested in stopping imperialism. Evidence of this can be seen in the near total collapse of the antiwar movement in 2008, as the various “soft fronts” of the ISO and FRSO — e.g. the ANSWER Coalition, whose members marched arm-in-arm with Howard Dean supporters and other Democratic Party pacifists — were liquidated into vegan bake-sales for the election of Barack Obama.

I’d similarly contend that most of the people who showed up in Boston on Saturday are not all that serious about stopping fascism. Most of them were liberals eager to reassure themselves that “we’re better than that,” with a meatspace analog to the #ThisIsNotUs hashtag that briefly circulated on social media. Gus Breslauer points out in a note for the Guy Debord Club of Houston that “communists are the only ones who can make fascism impossible.” Antifascism on its own is not up to the task, as we indicated in the previous post: Opposition to fascism does not a communist make. “Communists are the ones best equipped to effectively fight it if it continues to grow,” Beslauer continues, “since they are the only ones who can confidently say they not only want to destroy fascism, but all of what makes fascism possible.”

Caught between superficial opposition to fascism and the radical transcendence of capitalism, whose crises give rise to fascism in the first place, it’s not a bad idea to juxtapose a couple of recent articles on the subject of antifascism. One of them, “Pro Anti,” by the Australian professor Angela Mitropoulos, was published by The New Inquiry just yesterday. Mitropoulos has in the past decried “Leftist Anti-Antifascism,” which she saw exemplified in a 2016 Jacobin article on “The Antifascism of Fools,” by David Broder. Broder’s simple warning that leftist support for bourgeois centrism was the wrong way to keep the Right out of power was reinterpreted by Mitropoulos as “the embedded auto-immune response of authoritarian Left nationalism.”

Hyperbole of this order and magnitude may seem quaint, but it seldom helps facilitate debate. Nevertheless, Mitropoulos has been keen from the get-go to brand Trump an “American fascist,” writing in 2015: “Fascism is as American as Henry Ford. And Donald Trump.” She’s gone so far as to label Jacobin as a whole a Strasserist organ, in a post cleverly entitled “Jaco in the Bin.” I don’t disagree that mainstream social democracy is often susceptible to nationalist impulses, as demonstrated a little over a century ago in August 1914, or xenophobic slogans like Labour’s “British jobs for British workers.” All the same, the Aussie academic overreaches a bit in her latest piece when she insists, “We need a reminder that antifa emerged from a left communist milieu.”

Perhaps Mitropoulos is ignorant of the longstanding left communist critique of antifascist politics. The Italian left communist Amadeo Bordiga (in)famously quipped that “the worst product of fascism is antifascism.” Here he doubtless had the danger of class collaborationism in mind, as many socialists and communists opportunistically urged to make peace with parliamentary liberals and bourgeois democrats. Bordiga may well have underestimated the popular appeal of fascism, and it is important to bear in mind that he was mostly familiar with its Italian variant. German fascism would only come to power in 1933, after Bordiga had already rotted for four years in a fascist prison (three years into his house arrest, which would last until 1943, during which time he was forbidden from writing political tracts).

Later, the Italian left communist journal Bilan elaborated on Bordiga’s critique in Franco-Belgian exile, putting out a May 1934 piece called “Antifascism: A Formula for Confusion.” Prefiguring the later Bordigist critique of “activism,” against all those who displayed contempt for theory, they emphatically rejected “facile criticism by all those elements, indifferent to ‘theory,’ whose rule is to ignore all theoretical clarity and to get into bed with anybody, in any movement, on the basis of any program, as long as there is ‘action’.” Bilan was of course writing in the wake of the Comintern’s new policy of the “popular front,” enacted earlier that year at the behest of Georgi Dimitrov, and so continued:

As far as the problem of antifascism is concerned, its numerous supporters are guided not only by a contempt for theoretical work, but by the stupid mania for creating and spreading the confusion necessary to build a broad front of resistance. There must be no demarcation that might put off a single ally, or lose any opportunity for struggle: this is the slogan of antifascism. Here we can see that for them confusion is idealized and considered as an element of victory. We should remember what Marx said to Weitling more than half a century ago, however. Ignorance has never done any service to the workers’ movement.

Gilles Dauvé, another author in this tradition, explained in his response to the British journal Aufheben that the critique of antifascist or anti-imperialist politics should not be taken to imply that communists are somehow indifferent to fascism or imperialism. “I am against imperialism, be it French, British, US ,or Chinese, but am not an ‘anti-imperialist,’ since that is a political position supporting national liberation movements opposed to imperialist powers,” wrote Dauvé. “I am against fascism, be it Hitler or Le Pen, but am not an ‘anti-fascist,’ since this is a political position regarding fascist state or threat as a first and foremost enemy to be destroyed at all costs, i.e. siding with bourgeois democrats as a lesser evil, and postponing revolution until fascism is disposed of.”

Mitropoulos, on the contrary, regards antifascism as sufficient in and of itself: “Anti-fascism is a real movement to abolish the slavery that persists at the base of capital, including those concrete foundations on which statues to slave-ownership were built.” Dauvé might well reply, as he did in 1998, that “‘[r]evolutionary antifascism’ is a contradiction in terms — and in reality. Anything communist inevitably goes beyond the boundary of antifascism, and sooner or later clashes with it.” Setting aside the rather Ricardian focus of Mitropoulos on surplus-value and unwaged labor as the necessary basis of capitalism, which sees extra-economic compulsion standing behind purely economic pressures, her reduction of anticapitalism to antifascism must itself be rejected.

There is certainly room to criticize the dismissive attitude adopted by left communists and communisateurs toward fascism, as indeed it has been by Cherry Angioma in her review of “Communization Theory and the Question of Fascism” (2012). But it is worth remembering that even Leon Trotsky, who authored an entire extended series of articles (later compiled into the pamphlet “Fascism: What It is and How to Fight It,” sounds almost like a left communist himself in his 1939 reflection on the defeat of the Spanish Revolution. Here he mercilessly upbraided “the empty abstraction of ‘antifascism’”:

The very concepts of “antifascism” and “antifascist” are fictions and lies. Marxism approaches all phenomena from a class standpoint. Azaña is “antifascist” only to the extent that fascism hinders bourgeois intellectuals from carving out parliamentary or other careers. Confronted with the necessity of choosing between fascism and the proletarian revolution, Azaña will always prove to be on the side of the fascists. His entire policy during the seven years of revolution proves this. On the other hand, the slogan “Against fascism, for democracy!” cannot attract millions and tens of millions of the populace if only because during wartime there was not and is not any democracy in the camp of the republicans. Both with Franco and with Azaña there have been military dictatorship, censorship, forced mobilization, hunger, blood, and death. The abstract slogan “For democracy!” suffices for liberal journalists but not for the oppressed workers and peasants. They have nothing to defend except slavery and poverty. They will direct all their forces to smashing fascism only if, at the same time, they are able to realize new and better conditions of existence. In consequence, the struggle of the proletariat and the poorest peasants against fascism cannot in the social sense be defensive but only offensive. That is why León goes wide of the mark when, following the more “authoritative” philistines, he lectures us that Marxism rejects utopias, and the idea of a socialist revolution during a struggle against fascism is utopian. In point of fact, the worst and most reactionary form of utopianism is the idea that it is possible to struggle against fascism without overthrowing the capitalist economy.

In connection with this glorious rant, I would like to direct readers to a brief article written by Sander of the left communist journal Internationalist Perspective a couple of months back. Quibbles might certainly be raised with respect to its claim that, for example, antifascism originated during the thirties. Arditi del Popolo in Italy and the Roter Frontkämpferbund in Germany both were founded in the twenties. And I would certainly be willing to defend a principled antifascism, such as that so eloquently articulated by Job Polak in his speech to Antifascist Action Amsterdam. Nevertheless, Sander raises a number of relevant points that every communist ought to consider in the face of resurgent ethnic nationalism around the globe, in “Antifa? No Thanks”:

Recent comments on the Intsdiscnet-list on “Fascists March on Berkeley” (4/27/17) raise that issue with which those committed to the struggle against capitalism have grappled since the 1930s: antifascism.

Historically antifa or antifascism within the worker’s movement became the clarion call of Stalinism, and then the veritable basis of the Grand Alliance between Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill to, yes, crush the Axis powers, and — yes — to divide the world between American imperialism, American capitalism and its British partner, and the no less imperialist ambitions of Stalinist Russia. The logic of antifascism was played out on the streets of Barcelona and Madrid in 1936-1937, even before the outbreak of World War Two as the Stalinists crushed the working class of Spain even before Franco and the fascists could then finish the job. Antifascism then became the ideological basis for the mobilization of the working class for the second inter-imperialist war, first for its no-strike pledges in Britain and the U.S., and then for sending the sons of the working class in Britain and the U.S. to die for their national capital, for the demands of Anglo-American imperialism and its alliance with Stalin. Antifascism, then, was historically the ideological basis of capitalism’s response to the great depression and its accompanying sharpening of inter-imperialist antagonisms. Its success could be seen in the triumph of Anglo-Saxon and Russian imperialism, displayed for all to see in the wanton destruction of defenseless cities like Dresden, Leipzig, and Hiroshima and Nagasaki, when the war had already been militarily won, and in the subjection of half of Europe to Stalin.

And now? And today? Once again anti-fascism emerges as the clarion call of the “resistance” (sic.), of that faction of American capital represented by the Democratic party: the call of Sanders and Warren as they prepare for the next election; the call of Hillary Clinton, the war hawk and Senator from Wall Street, who successfully argued as Secretary of State for American military intervention in Libya, who argued — this time unsuccessfully — for the U.S. to back up its “red line” in Syria against Assad, and to once again wage imperialist war in the Middle East. There is where the actual logic of anti-fascism today is being played out, that is what the ideology of antifa serves. And like its Stalinist progenitors in the 1930’s, antifascism today has nothing to do with anticapitalism. Indeed, antifa today, as it was yesterday, is an ideological trap, a basis for one more mobilization of the working class behind the interests of capitalism. At a time when the historical logic and trajectory of capitalism needs to be grasped and theoretically and politically exposed, antifascism once again holds out its promise that it can still serve to mobilize the working class in the interests of the very system that exploits it, and to ideologically bind it to that system.

Is fascism really what Trump, Le Pen, and others of their ilk represent? There’s nothing that indicates that their aim is to do away with the basic rules of the democratic game. That doesn’t mean that they are not dangerous. But democracy can accommodate repression, war crimes and attacks on the working class just as well, if not better, than fascism. The common denominator is increased nationalism and militarism. Most of the ruling class may have preferred Clinton but they are more than willing to see if Trump can use these tools to protect and increase their profits. The healthcare bill, recently approved in the House of Representatives, amongst other measures, shows clearly that the new administration is launching a ferocious attack on the proletariat. No wonder it evokes disgust and anger, which we share. We express our solidarity with the protests and struggles against the attacks of the state, while at the same time pointing out that this is capital attacking the working class, not fascism attacking democracy. In fighting back, the choice comes up: do we ally ourselves with factions of the ruling class in opposition in order to defeat the faction in power, or do we fight them both? By framing the conflict as one between fascism and democracy, the partisans of antifa are making the first choice seem logical and necessary, and are thereby, despite their combativeness, acting as water carriers for capitalism.

Once again, as Max Horkheimer said in 1939: “Whoever is unwilling to talk about capitalism ought to keep quiet about fascism as well.”


Intellectual imperialism: On the export of peculiarly American notions of race, culture, and class

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The following, from Croatian comrade Juraj Katalenac, appeared late last week and has so far received overwhelmingly positive responses. I’m even told that it has been shared with two of my personal heroes, Loren Goldner and Russell Jacoby, who appreciated both its irreverent style as well as the substance of its message. Juraj has interviewed Moshé Machover, Mike Macnair, and Peter Hudis in the past. His blog, ADIDAS Marxism, is linked below.

A note, regarding Kill All Normies by the Irish author Angela Nagle: One of the sublime ironies surrounding this book’s release is that, in decrying internet pile-ons, Nagle has been subjected to something of an internet pile-on herself. Richard Seymour and Noah Berlatsky on Patreon, and some Maoist dumbass named “Combat Liberalism” on Medium, have written scathing reviews of the book, insinuating that Nagle was blaming hysterical left-liberal Tumblr for the rise of the truly insidious alt-Right. Even if that were her thesis, it’s not that implausible that overreach on one side might’ve fueled reaction on the other. Nagle was not positing a direct causal relationship between the two; if anything, she was arguing that there was a formal similarity in terms of the results. The only legitimate insight of “horseshoe” theories of polarization is that either extreme has anime profile pictures, as everyone knows.

Seymour’s review is perhaps written in good faith, but he capitulated to identity politics and “intersectionality” long ago. Oliver Traldi makes an interesting point, though, about Nagle’s failure to mention a personality who almost perfectly embodies her argument: Justine Tunney, the tech utopian transwoman who helped launch #Occupy in 2011 before declaring “feminist” solidarity with Marine Le Pen of France in 2014 on her way to becoming a Silicon Valley fascist. But the most hilarious review of Kill All Normies came from Jordy Cummings, who called Judith Butler’s notoriously-impenetrable Gender Trouble “important but accessible.” The best line has to be: “If it were up to Nagle, the Left would be led by able-bodied workers.” Winning any workers over to Marxist politics would be a huge step forward (not an ableist metaphor, I hope) for the contemporary Left. Cummings’ review reminds me of that Onion spoof a few months back, “Trump voter feels betrayed by president after reading 800 pages of queer feminist theory,” where a steelworker breathlessly reads some lines from Butler

Gender ought not to be conceived merely as the cultural inscription of meaning on a pregiven sex (a juridical conception); gender must also designate the very apparatus of production whereby the sexes themselves are established. As a result, gender is not to culture as sex is to nature; gender is also the discursive/cultural means by which “sexed nature” or “a natural sex” is produced and established as “prediscursive,” prior to culture, a politically neutral surface on which culture acts.

My only real reservation about Nagle’s book is that she doesn’t really go into the right-wing libertarian episode of the development of the alt-Right. There is nothing in her book about the Ron Paul phenomenon. Kill All Normies is a great intro to the online culture wars, however. For a more serious discussion of the ideological origins of the alt-Right, check out Matthew Lyons’ outstanding essay “Ctrl+Alt+Delete.” Otherwise, complaints about the “anti-woke Left” fall flat. Adolph Reed is an easy target, I would contend, not because of his astute criticisms of identitarian politics on the Left, but because he’s a centrist social democrat who predictably, if begrudgingly, ends up backing Democratic Party candidates like Hillary Clinton every four years. For my part, I’d rather be a braindead workerist than every shade of woke. Luckily, we don’t have to settle for such lukewarm alternatives. Katalenac’s searing critique points beyond some of the impasses that the American Left has exported, often at ideological gunpoint, to communists overseas. (I’ve made only cosmetic edits, here and there, for the sake of readability).

“American thought”
From theoretical barbarism
to intellectual decadence

Juraj Katalenac
ADIDAS Marxism
August 22, 2017
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America is the only country that went from barbarism to decadence without civilization in between.

— Oscar Wilde

Have you noticed how, for example, being rude towards fat people has suddenly become a question of left-wing politics instead of proper upbringing and being a decent human being? Have you noticed suddenly embracing your own mental illnesses, instead of treating them in a proper way, and encouraging others to act the same, has become an act of political “emancipation” and “empowerment” of the individual? Have you noticed how toxic Western political correctness has become the mandatory language of the left-wing politics with its aim being the enforcement of a certain way of discussion without examining the content? Have you noticed how being working class has suddenly become just one of the identities, how suddenly you can become working class just by association, instead of needing to work for a wage or being dependent on somebody that does, and how the working class has lost its role as the “wheel of social change” to become “oppressed peoplex”? Have you noticed how the problem of racism is suddenly “challenged” by enforcing particular ethnic identities?

In short: have you noticed how left-wing politics has completely abandoned its content in the pursuit for useless forms and/or smokescreens and how it has stopped being an idea aiming at the creation of a mass movement of the working class with the aim of change and the creation of a better society and has become a subcultural scene for a socially maladjusted people?

To quote the sixteenth-century Spanish philologist and humanist Francisco Sánchez de las Brozas: “Latet enim veritas, sed nihil pretiosius veritate [Truth is hidden, but nothing is more beautiful than the truth].”1

The post-postmodernism of dunces

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All of these problems represent a trend in left-wing politics and thought that is coming from “Anglo” academia, predominantly the United States of America, which is why I have decided to call this phenomenon “American thought.”

What do I mean when I say “American thought”? I am talking (mostly) about ideas such as cultural appropriation, identity politics, intersectionality, empowerment, shaming and privilege theories and American theories about race and racism, which the American left is mixing with Marxism, Third World “progressive” ethnonationalism and projecting to the rest of the World — mostly Europe — without any real materialist analysis to back up these thoughts. After all, materialist scientific methods of analysis — brought to us by centuries of European enlightenment — are “useless,” mostly because they are asking for you to provide arguments, to handle certain theoretical apparatus and back up your claims with historical evidences. You know, all those annoying things which prevent you from expressing yourself and your oppression.

In its understanding of the world, American thought is not even that original. Essentially it is vulgar post-1968 French left theory, so-called postmodernism, torn into the tiniest bits and rearranged into a simplified language suitable for American campuses. It is French “theoretical poetry” stripped of its charms and romance into endless hysteria of word salads without making a single point.

Roots of this can be found in neoliberalism’s agenda of dissolving society into individuals and commodities. Of course, neoliberalism does not dissolve class within production or the social division of labor, but it dissolves the political potential of the working class through the individualization of the masses. Which is why the Left today, in its inability to cope with the complete destruction of its historical counterpart through the twentieth century, has decided to turn towards ideology and strategies of the far Right, with its emphasis on the individual, its identity, ethnic romanticism and defense of culture and has replaced the class with it. The class interest of the working class is not what drives the left politics of today as the working class is viewed mainly as one of the “underdog” identities.

It is also extremely important to note how “American thought” benefits from America’s worldwide supremacy. American imperialism helps it spread — mostly through social networks, popular culture, and “independent” media — imposing itself, just like the USA, acting as the sharia police of this little sociopolitical scene on an international level. Or to put it in short: The world exists only if you look at it through the eyes of the American Left.

Social networks are crucial for spreading of “American thought” not only because they promote simplified expression, but also they are simplifying language itself which suits this narrative of theoretical simplification and impoverishment. Also, social networks allow certain academics, who have not published anything genuine or important in their lives and that cannot even grasp the basics of their own academic disciplines, to gain attention and a following just by saying “shocking things” on the Internet. I am talking about cases such as George Ciccariello-Maher’s tweets about “white genocide” or Michael Rectenwald’s stunt to get tenured employment at New York University. Narcissistic need for constant attention is certainly one of the most important missions of “American thought,” but unlike academia of the past it is unable to fulfill its basic social purpose: to educate and to develop theory. Even though, one could point out that they are still developing theory that serves the agenda of the ruling class in this present capitalist epoch with its identitarian and individualist discourse. Also, this narcissism is present in activist circles too. Some of the worst examples of this were the various  “thinkpieces” surrounding the recent murder of Heather Heyer.

The phenomenon of the left on social networks was covered, among many other things, in an interesting new book by Angela Nagle called Kill All Normies: Online Culture Wars From 4Chan and Tumblr to Trump and the Alt-Right (2017). Nagle herself, while criticizing both the left and the right and their approach to social networks, has found herself a victim of a leftist slander campaign which has produced numerous articles which have not even engaged a single point she made but just aimed to discredit her. Which just goes to show how “American thought” deals with its critics.

Usually when somebody criticizes ideas that comprise “American thought” — especially the merging of identity politics with Marxism — he or she is marked as a “phobe” (short for phobic). In the simpleminded and black-and-white world of the left politics, criticism is unnecessary and dangerous. Really there are just “good” guys and “bad” guys. “Phobe” is basically just newspeak for “fascist” — an ultimate evil and enemy, or just someone who does not agree with you. To be a “good” guy one has to win the “oppression Olympics”; which is basically a ritual of acceptance designed by American leftists where one has to collect all the possible identities one can find in order to hide the fact that they mostly consist of university-educated white people from the USA — the most privileged people in the world.

Nevertheless, if these ideas remained locked up in the campuses of American universities nobody would care about them. But it is not the case as this approach has spread across the world.

As one of my Irish homies pointed out jokingly: “The idiocy of American leftoid academia can easily be explained through the example of Judith Butler, because she at the same time considers an academic essay a form of violence yet also regards Hamas and Hezbollah as part of the broad left.”

In the rest of this text I will discuss why particular elements of “American thought” have nothing in common with Marxism. But before I start I just have to make a disclaimer.

Firstly, despite naming this phenomenon after the country of its origin it is important to emphasize that purpose of this text is in no way to promote any form of nationalist thought, for example anti-Americanism. Anti-Americanism is something that is popular among the right and the left in post-socialist countries, it is connected with conspiracy theories, antisemitism, and other forms of chauvinism and usually represents a particular nationalism in disguise. Also, it is popular among the anti-imperialist left worldwide as it represents, as Moishe Postone puts it, “the anti-imperialism of fools,” because their concept of anti-capitalist emancipation is not building of a “human community” (Marx) but eradication of the “global evil” — USA.2 And secondly, I do not think that this phenomenon represents the left in “Anglo” world as a whole. There are many comrades who participate in class struggle, either through organizing or intervention, but unfortunately one has to be connected with them in order to get information about and insights into their work, their successes and failures, experience and lessons as everything is suffocated by narrative of “American thought.”

Whiteness, racism, and oppressed peoples

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Today it is almost impossible to find someone engaged in discussions with the Western Left who hasn’t encountered the ideas of “white privilege” or “whiteness.” In this particular idiom the concept of whiteness becomes a separate “sociological category.” People sometimes forget how race is, similar to class, a political and economic problem — i.e., a problem of access to societal resources and services, and a problem of segregation and violence in the political process. Race is always used to exclude certain ethnic groups based on their ancestral background.

American thought’s approach towards race and culture also reveals its poverty of understanding the historical role, limitations and fundamental concepts of classical liberalism; such as individuality as expressed in John Stuart Mill’s essay On Liberty (1859). It is expressing a constant need adhere to their own specific ethnic identities and to aggressively impose them to others. This is rooted in their constant fear of not having an identity and in their refusal to just accept that they are just Americans.

Furthermore, it seems that antiracism of today has become the enforcement of racial and ethnic differences as an answer to the failure of “colorblind” liberal antiracism. I have said ethnic because, for example, the concept of whiteness is not rooted in what we know as “classical racial division,” as it excludes numerous ethnic groups which are usually considered as Caucasian on the basis of their political heritage of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Of course, again, exclusively from an American perspective. It usually states how certain Caucasian groups are not white in a “sociological sense” and how, accordingly, all non-whites are considered as “oppressed peoples.” Who is actually white and who is not is a question to which there are a lot of different answers. Many self-proclaimed Marxists are sinking deeper into the cesspool of “racial science” charlatanry to find a way out.

If we go little bit deeper and place these concepts into the reality of political and economic discourse that has been present for the last few decades, i.e. commonly dubbed “neoliberalism,” we gain some interesting insights. One of the most important outcomes of neoliberal policies has been the total destruction of the “public realm,” along with the sole idea of the public and social. Through the process of transition ex-socialist societies, such as the Croatian one, in which I am living, have been more radically hit with this change in discourse then Western ones. And in the political sphere this discourse did not only abolish the public and social, it did not only proclaim that the personal is now political, but it proclaimed the personal the only form of politics. Which in its essence, together with the dissolution of society into individuals, leads us towards situations where perusing ones racial or ethnic culture and identity is considered progressive.

I would again like to emphasize the imperialist nature of “American thought,” i.e. in this particular case, looking at the rest of the world trough “American eyes” and copy-pasting American racial dynamics onto every other society. For example, Europe is an extremely complex continent with an extremely long history of interactions, conquests, World Wars, Cold War, conflicts, pogroms and grudges. It is impossible to look at it as one whole as it is divided within its own segments based on these previous conflicts and interactions. To try to incorporate whiteness in Europe is frankly quite idiotic as majority of people in Europe are Caucasians and yet through history a lot of them were enslaved,3 ghettoized, exterminated and relocated. Therefore, it is impossible to use an American understanding of racism in Europe as there are a lot of parts of Europe, like the countries of ex-Yugoslavia, where racism as such simply does not play any significant role as there are other ethnic, religious, “clan/tribal” and ideological conflicts which have marked our recent history and which play an important role. European Islamophobia and Antisemitism as, unfortunately, dominant and widespread forms of discrimination and prejudice cannot be looked through “American eyes.” However, we can use a classic understanding of racism, in the sense of a certain group of people being inferior to other, in the case of antiziganism, directed towards people of Romani heritage which is widespread in Europe. For one to understand these relations it is important to make a proper analysis of social dynamics of the societies in question, along with examining historical sources, instead of adopting shortcuts of cheap theories.

The concept of whiteness also plays an interesting role in the left’s efforts to comment on conflicts around the world. The conclusions are always the same: failed processes of national liberation4 are always at the center in the most primitive neo-Maoist sense, every gang of chicken thieves deserves “critical” support, no matter of their class, political, and ideological prefixes (i.e. support for Hamas, Hezbollah, the Muslim Brotherhood etc.) and in the case that there is some kind of “socialist” omen (i.e. Rojava, “Novorossiya,” Naxalites etc.), which is usually just a relic of Soviet Cold War imperialism, then comparison with past social revolutions begin. Of course, nobody ever mentions the working class. The goal of “foreign politics” analysis is always the same: solidarity with “oppressed people.”

But who, or what, are these “oppressed peoples”?

“Oppressed peoples” are usually considered as those that do not belong to the dominant identitarian narrative of the country they live in. When I put word oppressed in inverted commas I do not aim to ridicule the oppression of certain groups, which is real and should not be ignored. Many of these forms of oppression — for instance the oppression of women — have existed almost as long as human civilization itself and are not necessarily peculiar to capitalism, although they were often absorbed  sometimes enhanced it, and even in some cases set in motion certain progressive changes and reforms. A lot of these cases show how impossible it is to solve them within limits of capitalist society.

However, one cannot call himself/herself a Marxist if he/she pursues broad and sloppy populist categories. “The people” has always been a broad category with a single realpolitik, nationalist and populist task: to justify the collaboration of Marxists with a certain fraction of the bourgeoisie. Post-Yugoslavian history bears witness to the failures and self-destructive toxicity of these attempts.

One more thing that is important to reflect on is how whiteness is used in discussions. Cries such as “shut up yt” and “check your privilege” are used whenever anyone expresses disagreement with the nonsense of the American left. The goal of such an approach was never to engage in discussion or exchange arguments, which usually, in its modernist fashion, leads to new conclusions and cognitions. But for social scenes: change is not a goal. Their main goal is to preserve themselves and they are hostile to any intrusion that could shake their foundations. To quote El Mago, leader of Mara Salvatrucha gang in the movie Sin Nombre (2009): “The scariness goes away, but the gang is forever.” Nothing will change.

“Cultural appropriation”

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The common definition of “cultural appropriation” is the use of elements of one culture by people belonging to another culture. Here again, the problem can be traced to American leftists’ interpretation of this phenomenon. They see it as something negative, as they see the protection of indigenous, oppressed and non-white cultures from whiteness as their mission. And they also connect this, furthermore, with Marxism.

To try and incorporate this view of cultural appropriation into Marxism — i.e., to give it a “materialist justification” — is quite preposterous given Marxism’s modernizing and humanist mission.

Such a view of “cultural appropriation” is in fact a conservative position, stemming from nationalist and chauvinist antecedents, rather than an internationalist Marxist one. It aims to defend the purity of certain cultures, customs, and “ways of life” from foreign adulterations. The mere idea is that a certain group of people behaves in a certain way and it should be “left alone” to intellectually and consciously develop without ‘outsiders’ intervention’. This premise is not just conservative and reactionary in its essence, but it is also completely ahistorical: through the whole of its history humanity has developed through interaction and appropriation of more advanced ideas.

The postmodern relativism of identity politics and its agenda of “cultural preservation,” as something opposite to cultural appropriation, can lead to the conclusion that there is no problem with the extreme backwardness of certain societies. For example, they do not see a problem with women wearing the hijab or any other similar cultural symbol. In the eyes of these people the hijab does not represent a symbol of patriarchal domination and repression — a symbol which does not just “float in the air” but has real repercussions in political and social systems of certain societies. And there is no rationalization persistent enough to change that fact, along with the fact that a lot of communists from the ‘Muslim world’ have critiqued these religious traditions for what they are.5 Of course, proposals to ban the hijab throughout the EU are an entirely different matter, connected with European Islamophobia, and need to be discussed within this context.

If we were to take “American thought” seriously, it would look as if the goal of Marxists is to preserve national, ethnic, local, and even religious cultures or identities — all of which developed over centuries through economic exploitation, political repression, and primitive social hierarchy — instead of destroying them.

It is also interesting to note how a lot of advocates of “American thought” like to attack “orthodox” Marxism for its Eurocentrism. They behave like they have, like we say in Croatia, “discovered hot water” by saying that Marxism is Eurocentric. Of course it is! Karl Marx himself was Eurocentric. And the Marxism of his followers, especially in the Second International, was even more Eurocentric6 — just like any other modern ideology that was product of Europe. But it is not, or at least it was not supposed to be, a dogma that advocates “the end of history” upon its realization, but “a living movement that changes the current state of things,” abolishes economic and social exploitation of individuals and continues its mission of advancement and enlightenment of the “human community.” Or in other words, the goal of Marxism lies in its continuity of development of free social relations between people.

This of course means that in the twenty-first century we cannot just recite Lenin’s nonsense while our listeners wait for their communion and a chance to go home and get some sleep. Marxism must develop with time, together with changes in human consciousness and relations with the aim of abolishing class society. That does not mean that Marxism needs, as advocates of “American thought” propose, to incorporate some specific “cultural insights.” Marxism was never a question of culture, but of class struggle and while one cannot deny the Eurocentrism that marked its history, and that was essential to the way of thinking of European intellectuals of past times, those mistakes will not be erased or corrected with the acceptance of nationalist and religious savagery from other parts of the world. Proletarian internationalism remains the only way out.

However, it is also almost impossible not to mention that same people who protest against the Eurocentrism of “orthodox” Marxism have no problem in using their country’s dominance to impose Anglocentric7 ideas on the rest of the world. But contradictions are what make us human, right?

It is foolish to believe culture is not a commodity under capitalism. Culture has its own value, which depends on market trends. Nevertheless, capitalism from the outset began the process of destroying particular cultures while establishing its own as universal. This process is usually referred to as globalization, or sometimes multiculturalism, often has a negative prefix because of both right and left-wing nationalism. Of course, this process is highly limited by ideological and historical contradictions which capitalism is trying to satisfy.

Which brings us to the following: Marxist thought is revolutionary thought precisely because it aims to abolish all social relations of present society and to create a new one. Cultures belong to that package as they cannot be viewed as external and timeless “truths.”

What about the working class?

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Now is the time to discuss identity politics, intersectionality, and where Marxism fits into all that. But before I go deeper into problematics as such it is really important to state how one cannot be a Marxist and/or communist if he or she views being working class as an identity.

To view being working class as an “identity” is an ideological construct spread by right-wing European populists. For them the working class, usually accompanied with attributes such as white and Christian, is the pillar of society. It is the identity which possess all crucial values upon which Europe was built and it is something one should be proud of. In reality, this is nothing but twisted Christian logic which values hard work and suffering in “this world” as something that is necessarily for one to be rewarded on “the other world” — where his eternal soul will rest.

On the other hand, modern day leftists’ identify themselves as working class just by association. In their worldview the working class is the only moral social class just by being working class. It is the eternal underdog in the struggle against capital. But what makes it moral or just? How can social class hold certain virtues if it is nothing but a construct of present society? Also, how is it possible to identify with a class if you do not share its position in production?

Marxists reject all this ideological, moralizing nonsense. There is no reason to be proud of one’s exploitation by others, one’s poverty, or the sufferings and humiliations he or she endures in everyday life. Seriously, why should anyone be proud to live like a dog?

For Marxists the working class is therefore not mere an identity one should protect or abolish, but it is a social class which is defined by selling its labor power for a wage. Besides that socioeconomic relationship an individual worker (or prole) has nothing in common with other workers. Which makes it impossible to create a specific working-class identity or social category.

This was nicely covered in Monsieur Dupont’s book Nihilist Communism:

We do not know what anyone means when they describe the proletariat as a social category. If they are implying that the working class as a social body have something between themselves, other than their experience of work then we utterly reject this. MD have a penchant for Champagne and Tarkovsky movies whereas our neighbors prefer White Lightening and WWF wrestling, our economic position, however, is identical. We refute all identity politics as ideology and we absolutely refuse to view the proletariat as a political/sociological constituency equivalent to ethnicity, gender or sexual preference. The proletariat has no existence independent of capitalism.8

Even contemporary society evolved regarding questions of certain liberties which were not covered by the “orthodox” Marxists of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (for example, gender and race) in their discussions and writings, that does not mean that class is still not the main unit of division of labor and society and that the working class is not the “motor of history” i.e. the only one which can create communist society.

Nevertheless, I believe that there is a widespread and wrong understanding of nature of the working class as one “monolithic and unitary body.” Leninist relics approach the working class in this manner claiming that it only needs one strong organization that will focus it towards “the ultimate goal.” But in reality, the working class is highly divided by various interests that are based on the position of certain workers within the capitalist division of labor or on certain industries/sectors they work in. Various identities, such as gender, ethnicity etc. also divide the working class. However, one should not pretend that the bourgeoisie is a unitary body as it is also divided by various interests and identities and there is constant power struggle among its ranks.

Class and identity function on different levels. Identity is transclass — i.e., not connected with a specific class within the capitalist mode of production. Or as the Marxist-feminist Eve Mitchell pointed out in her critique of intersectionality: “Identity politics is rooted in a one-sided expression of capitalism, and is therefore not a revolutionary politics.”9 It is bourgeois politics, that was a product of certain historical context, and it takes form of bourgeois struggles — struggle of the individual and union of individuals, rather than class.

It is also important to note that many self-proclaimed Marxists today actually hold a conservative view about what the working class (or proletariat) is. This view owes more to nineteenth- and twentieth-century bourgeois sociology than to the Marxist theory of social class. Which is why it being common to refer to working class only as industrial workers. You know, working class equals strong hairy men who swing heavy hammers! Confronted with the capitalist offensive that has gone on since the 1970s, marked by deindustrialization in the West, as well as the collapse of the Eastern Bloc and Yugoslavia during the nineties also in the “Second World,” this view faces wits own contradictions. But of course, instead of going “back to Marx” (purely in the sense of a materialist methodology, rather than an ahistoric embrace of his politics as whole), the Left increasingly submerged into American liberal and cultural discourse. adopting identity politics as it main backbone and worldview. Because the Left, as one observer humorously put it, wants to play both ethnologist and victim. It puts its focus on everything but the working class. Which is why its academia was trying to be so innovative when trying to invent fancy new social groups, categories and revolutionary subjects, from multitude to precariat and surplus populations, while usually completely missing larger historical and theoretical context and essentially — the point.

But we should not act so surprised as these days the left has really little or no connection with the working class what so ever. As I like to say, it is behaving like a little bee, jumping from flower to flower, from struggle to struggle, from identity to identity, pretending to still exist as powerful and relevant as ever, until someone says “the Emperor has no clothes!”

Eleventh thesis of TL;DR

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Identity politics and all other components of American thought are abhorrent to Marxism. Especially when its proponents claim Marxism and pursue “motors of change” other than the working class. I would like to invoke Marx’s famous eleventh thesis on Feuerbach and point out that today we are not facing just a problem of “change,” but also a problem of a total lack of materialist “interpretation” of the world.

It is pretty obvious that if we want to change the position which the left is in these days we need to annihilate the idea of Marxism as another social scene. Especially when the marrow of Marxism lies in its societal mission to advance toward the “human community” through collective action, not through the individualistic rebellion of angry teenagers who just want to defy their parents.

One could think that with change and rejection of American thought I am in favor of falling back on “classics” from the golden age of orthodox European Marxism. Such a position would indeed be quite ridiculous today and they are nothing but another extreme within the same “social scene” polarization. Marxism has no future in the twenty-first century if it fights campus individualism within its ranks with Protestant literality. After all, it is a political ideology which has its own methodology and approach towards analyzing social relations. And these social relations are not static, predefined or “here to stay.” Quite the contrary, which is why we need to get back to using Marx’s method of understanding society instead of relying on blueprints or laundry lists.

Once again, I embrace the idea behind the eleventh thesis of his Theses on Feuerbach.

While zealots of this and that thought that exists today are trying to enlighten us with their new theories, actions for the sake of action and/or self-promotion, we can recognize all these ideas are coming from above — from a self-proclaimed intelligentsia and vanguard, and are a reflection of its petty-bourgeois and bourgeois view of society. In reality, they do nothing but maintain the status quo of reproduction of capitalist relations. The working class is still locked in its workplaces and unemployment bureaus.

But why should we look to the left and intelligentsia for a change? As Marx and Engels wrote in The Communist Manifesto:

The theoretical conclusions of the communists are in no way based on ideas or principles that have been invented, or discovered, by this or that would-be universal reformer. They merely express, in general terms, actual relations springing from an existing class struggle, from a historical movement going on under our very eyes.”10

The left today has zero interest in true social change. It is a conservative force as its only raison de vivre is to maintain its micro reproduction, micro hierarchy and safety in being totally useless.

Notes


1 Francisco Sánchez de las Brozas. Minevra sive de causis linguae Latinae, Ed: Sánchez Salor, E. and Chaparro Gómez, C. (Cáceres : Insitución Cultural El Brocense, 1995).
2 Moishe Postone. “Dualism of Capitalist Modernity: Reflections on History, the Holocaust, and Antisemitism.” in: Jews and Leftist Politics: Judaism, Israel, Antisemitism, and Gender, ed: Jack Jacobs. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017, p. 65.
3 It is interesting to note here how etymological root of the English word slave comes from medieval Latin slcavus, sclava which means Slav. Other languages that were based on Latin, such as French or Spanish, share the same root. History behind the word lies in conflicts during ninth century where Slavic people that were captured were used as slaves. In Arabic language the word saqaliba refers to Slavic slaves that were captured during raids or wars, but have also served as mercenaries in Muslim world during Medieval. Also, Ottoman Sultan Murad I established elite corps made out of slaves called the Janissaries. They were made of Christian boys that were converted to Islam and were mostly recruited from Balkans. The Janissaries were abolished by Sultan Mahmud II in 1826, capped off by “the Auspicious Incident,” in which more than 6000 of them were executed.
4 I am referring to national liberation struggles as failed processes in the sense of creation of new communist or “progressive” societies, not in the sense of using military action to liberate certain countries from “imperialists” and creating national bourgeoisie in process. If we take that in account national liberation struggles were all pretty successful, but I am looking at them from the communist point of view — something that the left that supports them also claims to do.
5 For such critique check Mansoor Hekmat’s article “Islam, Children’s Rights, and the Hijab-gate of Rah-e-Kargar: In Defense of the Prohibition of the Islamic Veil for Children” (1997).
6 Since I am discussing Eurocentrism of Marxism I would like to point out that there is an interesting book by Kevin B. Anderson called Marx at the Margins: On Nationalism, Ethnicity, and Non-Western Societies (2010).
7 With Anglocentrism I am mostly referring to the view that sees the USA and the UK as the center of the universe, with USA being the predominant force and UK as just its loyal sidekick. Kind of like Batman and Robin.
8 Monsieur Dupont. Nihilist Communism: A Critique of Optimism in the Far Left. (Ardent Press, 2009), pg. 50.
9 Eve Mitchell. “I am a woman and a human: a Marxist feminist critique of intersectionality theory.”
10 Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. Manifesto of the Communist Party.

Fredric Jameson after the postmodern

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Jameson’s style invites derision. Russell Jacoby once described his manner of writing as “a peculiar American baroque” — i.e., “a gray mash of half-written sentences punctuated by tooting horns and waving pennants,” “confounding rigor mortis with rigor.” Essays by Jameson are frequently ponderous, convoluted, and opaque. No other writer is so emblematic of contemporary Marxism’s professorial bent. Densely allusive, with many meandering asides, what Jonathan Arac called “the deliberate scandal of Jameson’s method” consists in its casual comparisons of a whole range of thinkers from across the European philosophical tradition.

Alberto Toscano might be seen as the legitimate successor to this method, along with Benjamin Noys and the late Mark Fisher (though these latter two are much more fluid writers). The theoreticism of their texts often leads readers far afield of the topic at hand, but by and large returns from these divagations enriched by the journey. One of the most brutal send-ups of Jameson’s work came from Robert Hullot-Kentor, whose approach to translation was praised at the outset of Late Marxism: Adorno, or, the Persistence of the Dialectic (1990). In a polemical review of this same book, “Suggested Reading: Jameson on Adorno,” Hullot-Kentor painted a very unflattering portrait of its author:

Fredric Jameson is one of the great tattooed men of our times. Every inch of flesh is covered: that web of cat’s cradles coiling up the right calf are Greimas and Levi-Strauss; dripping over the right shoulder, under the sign of the Cimabue Christ — the inverted crucifixion — hangs Derrida. And hardly recognizable in those many other overlapping splotches of color is just about everybody else: Lyotard, Sartre, Habermas, et al. “All One, All Different” scrolls across the panoramic chest. In Late Marxism Jameson scouts carefully before setting portentious digit on a densely engraved quadrate of his left hip, Adorno! and falls into a roll: “Adorno you will notice is like Althusser, only more like Sartre, except the idea of totality, in my opinion, as I’ll say again later, differs from Rorty, coming back to Luhmann, like Marxism, late, very late, minus Hegel’s concept of time. Perhaps, maybe, almost… Take another look, another look, just not too close, please, ladies and gentleman, give the man room to breathe!”

Still, if one can get past all the offhand references Jameson makes, the experience can be quite rewarding. Late Marxism was perhaps an unfortunate target for such ire, however — yes, “perhaps.” Hullot-Kentor’s caustic criticism of this work, though doubtless deserved, could have just as easily applied to Postmodernism or The Political Unconscious, released a few years before. And while it is understandable that Hullot-Kentor, the celebrated translator and interpreter of Adorno, would take Jameson to task on this subject, it was nevertheless bold for anyone to publish a defense of Adorno’s Marxist credentials in 1990. Whatever its other shortcomings may be, and they are many, Late Marxism is noteworthy at least in this respect. Especially given the Anglophone reception of Adorno up to that point, which apart from Susan Buck-Morss and Gillian Rose either ignored his Marxism or exaggerated its heterodoxy.

Regarding the rest of Jameson’s vast corpus, the stuff on periodization is probably what interests me the most. Modernity, postmodernity, and everything that comes in between. Aijaz Ahmad was right, of course, to scold Jameson for his overreach when it came to Third World literature, and Adorno was right to be skeptical of so-called “revolutions” taking place in the Third World. The sheer scope of his theoretical reading — not to mention his focus on film, literature, and architecture — is astounding. You can download a number of his works by clicking on the links below. Full-text PDFs only, since I don’t like E-books (for whatever reason):

  1. Fredric Jameson, Sartre: The Origins of a Style (1961)
  2. Fredric Jameson, Marxism and Form: Twentieth Century Dialectical Theories of Literature (1971)
  3. Fredric Jameson, The Prison-House of Language: A Critical Account of Structuralism and Russian Formalism (1972)
  4. Fredric Jameson, The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act (1981)
  5. Fredric Jameson, The Ideologies of Theory (1988, 2008)
  6. Fredric Jameson, Late Marxism: Adorno, or, the Persistence of the Dialectic (1990)
  7. Fredric Jameson, Postmodernism: Or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (1991)
  8. Fredric Jameson, Signatures of the Visible (1992)
  9. Fredric Jameson, The Seeds of Time (1994)
  10. Fredric Jameson, Brecht and Method (1998)
  11. Fredric Jameson, The Cultural Turn: Selected Writings on the Postmodern, 1983-1998 (1998)
  12. Fredric Jameson, A Singular Modernity: Essay on the Ontology of the Present (2002)
  13. Fredric Jameson, “Dialectics of Disaster” (2002)
  14. Fredric Jameson, Archaeologies of the Future: The Desire Called Utopia and Other Science Fictions (2005)
  15. Fredric Jameson, Conversations on Cultural Marxism (2007)
  16. Fredric Jameson, The Modernist Papers (2007)
  17. Fredric Jameson, Valences of the Dialectic (2009)
  18. Fredric Jameson, The Hegel Variations: On the Phenomenology of the Spirit (2010)
  19. Fredric Jameson, Representing Capital: A Reading of Volume One (2011)
  20. Fredric Jameson, The Antinomies of Realism (2015)
  21. Fredric Jameson, The Ancients and the Postmoderns (2015)
  22. Fredric Jameson, “The Aesthetics of Singularity” (2016)
  23. Fredric Jameson, An American Utopia: Dual Power and the Universal Army (2016)
  24. Fredric Jameson, “Badiou and the French Tradition” (2016)
  25. Fredric Jameson, Raymond Chandler: The Detections of Totality (2016)

Below you can read an excellent review of Valences of the Dialectic by Benjamin Kunkel, originally published by the London Review of Books (and subsequently included in the Jacobin collection Utopia or Bust). Kunkel’s reviews of individual books tend to be skillful, if sweeping, overviews of a thinker’s entire oeuvre, and this one delivers well as far as that goes. He’s correct, in any case, that Jameson is more of an essayist than anything else. Enjoy!

Into the big tent

Benjamin Kunkel
London Review
April 22, 2010
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Fredric Jameson’s preeminence, over the last generation, among critics writing in English would be hard to dispute. Part of the tribute has been exacted by his majestic style, one distinctive feature of which is the way that the convoy of long sentences freighted and balanced with subordinate clauses will dock here and there to unload a pithy slogan. “Always historicize!is one of these, and Jameson has also insisted, under the banner of “One cannot not periodize,” on the related necessity (as well as the semi-arbitrariness) of dividing history into periods. With that in mind, it’s tempting to propose a period, coincident with Jameson’s career as the main theorist of postmodernism, stretching from about 1983 (when Thatcher, having won a war, and Reagan, having survived a recession, consolidated their popularity) to 2008 (when the neoliberal program launched by Reagan and Thatcher was set back by the worst economic crisis since the Depression). During this period of neoliberal ascendancy — an era of deregulation, financialization, industrial decline, demoralization of the working class, the collapse of Communism and so on — it often seemed easier to spot the contradictions of Marxism than the more famous contradictions of capitalism, and no figure seemed to embody more than Fredric Jameson the peculiar condition of an economic theory that had turned out to flourish above all as a mode of cultural analysis, a mass movement that had become the province of an academic “elite,” and an intellectual tradition that had arrived at some sort of culmination right at the point of apparent extinction.

Over the last quarter-century, Jameson has been at once the timeliest and most untimely of American critics and writers. Not only did he develop interests in film, science fiction, or the work of Walter Benjamin, say, earlier than most of his colleagues in the humanities, he was also a pioneer of that enlargement of literary criticism (Jameson received a PhD in French literature from Yale in 1959) into all-purpose theory which made the discussion of all these things in the same breath established academic practice. More than this, he succeeded better than anyone else at defining the term, “postmodernism,” that sought to catch the historical specificity of the present age.

This was a matter, first, of cataloguing postmodernism’s superficial textures: the erosion of the distinction between high and pop culture; the reign of stylistic pastiche and miscellany; the dominance of the visual image and corresponding eclipse of the written word; a new depthlessness — “surrealism without the unconscious” — in the dream-like jumble of images; and the strange alliance of a pervasive cultural nostalgia (as in the costume drama or historical novel) with a cultural amnesia serving to fragment “time into a series of perpetual presents.” If all that now sounds familiar, this owes something to the durability of Jameson’s account of postmodernism, first delivered as a lecture in 1982 and expanded two years later into an essay for New Left Review: a 40-page sketch that caught the features of the fidgety sitter more accurately than many longer studies before and since.

Jameson’s description of the mood and texture of postmodern life had, in its almost tactile authority, few rivals outside the work of DeLillo, Pynchon and (more to his own taste) William Gibson. And, as in their novels, local observation in Jameson was complemented by an implacable awareness of what he called the “unrepresentable exterior” enclosing all the slick and streaming phenomena in view. In the novelists, however, allusion to the great ensphering system often took the form of paranoia. As a Marxist, Jameson was calmer and more forthright: he simply called the system late capitalism, after the book by Ernest Mandel, the Belgian Trotskyist, which provided the base, as it were, to his own cultural superstructure. Mandel’s Late Capitalism (1972) had offered a magnificently confident and pugnacious argument about the nature of postwar capitalism, but he regretted “not being able to propose a better term for this historical era than “late capitalism”.” In Mandel’s usage, “late” simply meant “recent,” but the term naturally also suggests obsolescence. This implication of an utterly misplaced Marxist triumphalism probably had consequences for the reception of Jameson’s theory (and Mandel’s). Who could believe in 1991, when Jameson published Postmodernism, or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism, that capitalism was on its last legs?

In fact, Jameson didn’t think it was either. His actual claim was more like the opposite: with the postwar elimination of pre-capitalist agriculture in the Third World and the last residue of feudal social relations in Europe, with the full commodification of culture (no more Rilke and Yeats and their noble patrons) and the infiltration of the old family-haunted unconscious by mass-disseminated images, humankind had only now embarked, for the first time, on a universally capitalist history. Late capitalism was the dawn, not the dusk, of a thoroughgoing capitalism. It constituted a “process in which the last surviving internal and external zones of precapitalism… are now ultimately penetrated and colonized in their turn.” This thesis can only have been reinforced by the advent of China as the workshop of the world and the channeling of so much of intimate life by the internet. My shoes are sewn under the supervision of the CCP, and Gmail fills the margins of my private correspondence with ads.

And yet if Jameson owed to Marxism the special freshness of his insights, it was the same Marxism that made his work so untimely. He seems to have achieved notoriety as America’s best-known Marxist in the years of the Soviet Union’s death throes, when Marxism of any kind was held to be empirically disproved and indelibly tainted with mass murder. Moreover, his particular commitments went considerably beyond an axiomatic materialism in which economic conditions necessarily carve out whatever room for maneuver artists and writers enjoy; that much Marxism any liberal citizen might have accepted or even, under postmodernism, found impossible to deny. Far more suspect, during a period when Utopia has been considered a euphemism for the Gulag, Jameson has also insisted time and again on the (usually unconscious) utopian element in all culture and politics, no matter how commercial the artifact or noxious the movement. The last words of Valences of the Dialectic maintain that “Utopia exists and that other systems, other spaces, are still possible.”

Jameson’s defense of the procedure he likes to call “totalization” has been in a similar vein. Totalization might be defined as the intellectual effort to recover the relationship between a given object — a novel, a film, a new building or a body of philosophical work — and the total historical situation underneath and around it. To contemporary ears, the term inevitably calls up associations with totalitarianism, and there is no denying that the method derives explicitly from the work of the Communist Lukács and the fellow-traveller Sartre, whom Jameson also failed to disown. Anathema to conservatives, the recourse to “totality” was no more endearing to a cultural left whose slogans included difference, heterotopia, nomadism etc. This left seems to have faded from the American scene in recent years, but orthodox anti-Marxism looks unbudging. “Outside of a few university comparative literature departments,” Anne Applebaum wrote recently in the New York Review of Books, “Soviet-style Marxism itself is not a living political idea anywhere in the West.” (It’s in “Soviet-style” that the real malice lies.) A few weeks later, a prominent science writer declared in a letter to the New York Times that “Marx’s philosophy, put into practice, killed 30 million people through state-sponsored famines alone.” The US remains a society in which Marxism can be advocated only a little more respectably than pederasty, and lately accusations of socialism erupt from the Republican Party more frequently than since McCarthy’s heyday.

In Late Marxism (1990), his book on Adorno, Jameson wrote of Dialectic of Enlightenment that “the question about poetry after Auschwitz has been replaced with that of whether you could bear to read Adorno and Horkheimer next to the pool.” With Jameson the question has been whether you could avoid reading him on a university campus, or continue reading him outside one. In Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections (2001), Chip Lambert, a former associate professor of literature in his thirties, decides to purge his library of Marxist cultural critics in order to raise some funds with which to indulge the yuppie tastes of his new girlfriend, Julia. Each of these books, Chip recalls, had once “called out” to him “with a promise of a radical critique of late capitalist society.” And yet: “Theodor Adorno didn’t have Julia’s grapy smell of lecherous pliability, Fred Jameson didn’t have Julia’s artful tongue.” Unburdened of his Marxist texts and their “reproachful spines,” Chip proceeds to buy Julia a fillet of “wild Norwegian salmon, line caught” for $78.40 at an upmarket grocery store Franzen calls the Nightmare of Consumption, a name to suggest that faced with the brazenness of yuppiedom (as by the 1990s it was no longer even called; it was just the way that almost anyone who could afford to be, was) all satire or cultural criticism met defeat. Jameson’s Postmodernism had concluded with a call to “name the system.” Ten years later, the system seemed to reply cheerfully to any ugly name you might call it. Hi, I’m the Nightmare of Consumption. Nice to meet you!

The Corrections, as well as being a far better novel than Jameson’s stricture on an “exhausted realism” would suggest it could be, is a central instance of the literary populism that we can now recognize as one of the main trends of the American novel over the past decade or so. Franzen had no wish to be an obscure or difficult artist in the way that Adorno might have approved, and wasn’t likely to mention Jameson without being able to trust that a good number of his readers would have some idea of who “Fred” was. Similarly, in Sam Lipsyte’s new novel, The Ask, the forty-something narrator recalls that in college he learned about “late capitalism. And how to snort heroin.” Interestingly, Lipsyte deals with the mediocre university where his narrator works in the same spirit of harassed literalism and defeated satire we can see in Franzen’s Nightmare of Consumption: he calls the institution the Mediocre University. (Years ago, Jameson noticed a similar cynicism, operating from the other side, in the motto of Forbes magazine: “The Capitalist Tool.”)

In both Franzen and Lipsyte the invocation of “late capitalism” — a term most people encountered in Jameson, not Mandel — is a mark of immaturity, an outworn college creed. The thing itself may grow old with us, but the term can’t be used by middle-aged grown-ups participating in the real world (that is to say, the surface of the earth, minus college campuses). The same may go for “postmodernism,” a word which by now provokes the weariness it once served in part to describe. What, then, of the writer whose own name is indissolubly linked to these terms? Jameson’s latest book is about the dialectic, the unwieldy and now perhaps antique philosophical instrument invented by Hegel and handled back to front — a socialist tool — by Marx. A basic feature of dialectical thinking is the liability of subject and object to turn into each other, for the way a thing is looked at to become part of the look of the thing. Certainly that has been the case with Jameson himself and postmodernism: he became a landmark in the territory he had done so much to survey. The status of landmarks is ambiguous. Does a statue confirm the living influence of a man, or only that he belongs to the past?

It may not be too dialectical a characterization of the dialectician to say that Jameson’s almost impossibly sophisticated variety of Marxist cultural criticism always wore the double aspect of a retreat and an advance. On the one hand, it appeared only to confirm the rout of the left that America’s most famous Marxist was not a militant, a union boss or an economist, but a professor of literature and the author of learned and anfractuous prose whose essays contained untranslated blocks of French and bristling semiotic diagrams known as Greimas rectangles. What did anyone have to fear from Marxism if what had once been “a unity of theory and practice” was now chiefly a recondite species of book and movie criticism? Asylum in the literature department was surely just a prelude to an overdue extinction.

On the other hand, the Marxist tradition received in Jameson’s work is about as profound a vindication of its interpretative mission as could be imagined. It was one thing for him to insist — first in The Political Unconscious (1981) — that Marxism was the hermeneutic code that subsumed all others, that only in light of Marx’s concept of the successive modes of production (hunting and gathering, early agriculture, feudalism and so on down to late capitalism) could the significance of any cultural or intellectual artifact be fully apprehended. But Jameson backed up the methodological boast in two ways.

First, with reserves of synthesizing energy that simply outstripped anyone else’s, he was able to house within his own capacious and flexible scheme, like one of those skyscrapers that can bend in the wind, a remarkable number of newly important bodies of thought, including structuralist semiotics, longue durée history of the Annales variety, Frankfurt School Kulturkritik and the Marxian investigations of finance capital carried out by Giovanni Arrighi and David Harvey. One trait of postmodernism unmentioned by Jameson was the special difficulty critics and thinkers of recent generations have experienced in conveying their thoughts except through the medium of someone else’s; intellectuals today tend to offer their commentary on the world by way of comments on another’s commentary. Jameson has been unique, however, in his extremes of inclusion or ventriloquism. He seems to have detected some aspect of the truth in virtually any body of work he’s discussed, and so to have recruited more, and more various, thinkers into the march of his own thoughts than any rival theorist. (Which means, among other things, that when he speculates about the fortunes of the great synthesizer Hegel in the years to come, it’s equally the survival of his own way of thinking that’s at issue.)

Second, starting in the early 1980s, Jameson produced what remains the most imposing account of the culture we all still inhabit. Postmodernism, he argued, did not spell the end of “metanarratives,” as Lyotard had claimed. It was better understood as the recruitment of the entire world into the same big story, namely the development of global capitalism. (This marked a slight shift from his earlier claim that human history was already unified by the successive modes of production.) As for the self-referential quality of so much postmodern culture — language about language, images of images — this confirmed rather than contradicted the intimate relationship of culture to the heavy machinery of material production. The self-reflective idiom of postmodernism merely showed that specialization and the division of labour had seized the arts just as much as anything else; if culture increasingly talked about itself, this was because it talked increasingly to itself. In some ways, this was Max Weber’s old insight, later elaborated as a logic of “differentiation” by the German systems theorist Niklas Luhmann, another writer often cited by Jameson: the apparent autonomy of various cultural activities or “value spheres” in reality reflected an increasingly unified and interconnected world. For Weber and Luhmann, modernity was the driver of this rationalization and differentiation. For Jameson, modernity, like postmodernity, was just another name for an evolving capitalism. (Marx himself had of course observed in Capital “how division of labour seizes upon, not only the economic, but every other sphere of society.”) So did every weightless postmodern artifact in fact testify to the specific gravity of the fully capitalist planet it only appeared to float free of.

The wrinkle in this logic of differentiation was that, under postmodernism, there was also a lot of de-differentiation going on, as witness the merger of high and low culture, the mixing of styles within a given work, and even the tendency of “base” and “superstructure” to blur into one another. On this last point, Jameson has sometimes suggested that, given the patent fancifulness of the financialized economy — so much “fictitious capital” (as Marx called it) as disconnected from the “referent” of reality as the most delirious products of postmodernism — and the obvious subordination of contemporary culture to the bottom line, “the economic could be observed to have become cultural (just as the culture could be observed to become economic and commodified).” Theory as we’ve come to know it clearly offers another case of de-differentiation, in the breakdown of disciplinary boundaries between literary criticism, history, philosophy, anthropology and so on. With this in mind, Jameson has proposed a sort of homeopathic role for theory: intellectual de-differentiation countering the cultural/economic variety. At any rate, it shouldn’t be too surprising to find so much differentiation and de-differentiation taking place side by side. You might draw an analogy with business practices, which shift between vertical integration, or doing everything within one company, and subcontracting, in which tasks are farmed out.

All together, the sophistication of Jameson’s work and the breadth of his references had a dual effect. He wrote stirringly of the vocation of “dialectical philosophy and Marxism” to “break out of the specialized compartments of the (bourgeois) disciplines and to make connections among the seemingly disparate phenomena of social life generally,” and clearly his own work belonged to and even crowned this Western Marxist lineage. Behind his project lay the understanding that social life is “a seamless web, a single inconceivable and transindividual process, in which there is no need to invent ways of linking language events and social upheavals or economic contradictions because on that level they were never separate from one another.” And yet for Jameson to shepherd so many other theories and so much of contemporary culture into the big tent of his own theory could only be the task of a rare intelligence singularly devoted to the project. Such de-differentiation, in other words, was the fruit of a profound differentiation; all this totalizing had to be purchased at the expense of what Marx called that “all engrossing system of specializing and sorting men, that development in a man of one single faculty at the expense of all others.” Intellectually, Jameson was central. Socially, such a figure can hardly have been more marginal and “elite,” something that has become truer with each passing decade.

For Jameson has been a professor mostly at Duke, toniest of southern colleges. And you could say that American higher education itself suffered a dialectical reversal somewhere around 1980 — to date, the high-water mark of class mobility in the US — as the universities went from being among the main vehicles of egalitarianism to being the primary means of reproducing class privilege. Everyone talks, with good reason, about the runaway costs of healthcare in the US, but if healthcare inflation since 1980 has exceeded 400 per cent, the price of a university education has risen, on a recent calculation, by an incredible 827 per cent. Jameson’s Marxism might have been rare enough in any circumstances, but forces beyond his control also had the effect of making it seem outrageously expensive. Jameson recognized the problem: “What is socially offensive about “theoretical” texts like my own,” he said in an interview, is “not their inherent difficulty, but rather the signals of higher education, that is, of class privilege, which they emit.” But of course he couldn’t solve it.

The dialectic, Jameson explains in the new book, has among its main tasks the recovery of the common situation binding together thoughts or realities that seem on the face of it to have nothing in common — just the operation that he has often defended under the name of “totalization.” He illustrates the idea with a famous example from Hegel: “Thus, the Slave is not the opposite of the Master, but rather, along with him, an equally integral component of the larger system called slavery or domination.” This is a simple instance, since no special ingenuity is required to see that you can’t have slaves without masters or vice versa. It’s perhaps not much harder to grasp the idea of Fredric Jameson and someone like Sarah Palin as two faces of the same coin, figures truly as absurd as their opponents make them out to be, but only because the system itself is utterly cracked. So intellectual debility becomes a badge of populism, and socialist learning a hobby of rich people’s children.

Common, probably, to most favorable and unfavorable impressions of Jameson has been the image of him as an author of forbidding treatises, massive salt-licks of theory. Undeniably, many of the books are thick, including Valences of the Dialectic, a doorstop of some 600 pages. As with Jameson’s previous book, The Ideologies of Theory, the title alone brandishes two words that, in the US at least, can hardly be used in polite — which is to say, anti-intellectual — company. Reading Valences of the Dialectic on the subway I felt more sheepish than I had since bringing Gregor von Rezzori’s (ironically titled!) Memoirs of an Anti-Semite onboard.

The impression of Jameson’s erudition was never wrong, nor the sense that he could be a difficult writer. But it was a mistake to perceive him as the architect of colossal tomes. The longest of his books are in reality sheaves of essays; his original pages on postmodernism, though they would later be inserted into a great silver-blue volume ten times as long, show a pamphleteer’s provisional and exuberant spirit. But the postmodern age hasn’t been a pamphleteering one, and the left-wing journals in which Jameson’s articles have mostly appeared address an even narrower audience than the cultural studies section of an independent bookstore. Still, it’s more accurate to see Jameson as a writer of long essays than of long books. And the essays themselves regain their polemical sharpness and definition when considered in isolation and not as the chapters of so many books.

Two new essays, freshly composed for the occasion, bookend Valences of the Dialectic; in between are mainly reprints of pieces many of which don’t concern or exhibit dialectical thinking much more (or any less) than the rest of Jameson’s work in the years since he published “Toward a Dialectical Criticism” (in Marxism and Form) in 1971. Of the bookends, the first offers a provisional introduction to the dialectic. That neither it nor the volume as a whole is meant to stand as definitive is made clear by a slightly comic footnote in which Jameson, regretting the lack of “the central chapter on Marx and his dialectic which was to have been expected,” promises two future volumes, on Hegel and Marx respectively, to “complete the project.” Meanwhile (a favorite Jamesonian transition, as if everything was present in his mind all at once, and it was only the unfortunately sequential nature of language that forced him to spell out sentence by sentence and essay by essay an apprehension of the contemporary world that was simultaneous and total), it may further correct the idea of him as a tome-monger to point out that such a mood of provisionality or hesitation runs throughout his work. For all the consistency of his commitments, he has not produced worked-out arguments and scholarly findings so much as a tissue of hints, hypotheses, recommendations and impressions. It would be easy to find many sentences in Jameson starting like this one: “Now we may begin to hazard the guess that something like the dialectic will always begin to appear when thinking approaches the dilemma of incommensurability …” Such accumulated qualifications — and yet “always.” The effect here may approach self-parody, but that is a hazard no truly distinctive stylist avoids. Not often in American writing since Henry James can there have been a mind displaying at once such tentativeness and force.

Jameson’s preference for a conditional over a declarative mood is a token of the necessarily speculative quality of what he does. It’s far easier to be sure that culture is indeed mediating the economy than to establish in any given case how such mediation works. In Valences of the Dialectic, at any rate, one of the most striking suggestions made in the introductory essay is that Hegel, who articulated his omnivorous philosophical logic at a time when industrial capitalism was hardly more than a local English affair, may have been seized by an intimation of the ultimately global logic of capitalism: capitalism too is forever enlarging itself, and bringing under one rule the most disparate people and places. So does creative destruction on the economic plane resemble the dialectic’s refusal to freeze or reify its concepts and stand pat. Dialectical thought, then, would be at once the mirror of capitalism and (in Marxist hands) its rival: the totalizing imperative that is the dialectic confronting the totality that is capitalism. From this it follows that the dialectic, despite the musty air of the word, may be set to come into its own only today, with the universal installation of capitalism. The thought may be less outrageous than it appears. After all, it was an explicitly Hegelian formulation — the end of history — that captured for the public imagination the meaning of the collapse of Communism in Europe. Jameson’s reiterated Marxist reply is simply that the disappearance of the Second World and the elimination of pre-capitalist arrangements in the Third marks in fact the beginning of a universal history: “History, which was once multiple, is now more than ever unified into a single History.” In characteristic Jamesonian fashion, the stray hints and speculations gather themselves, towards the end of Valences, into a stark and audacious proposition: “The worldwide triumph of capitalism … secures the priority of Marxism as the ultimate horizon of thought in our time.” How’s that for dialectical?

The particular “dilemma of incommensurability” preoccupying Jameson in the long concluding essay of Valences concerns the disjunction of biological or existential time (one’s threescore and ten) with the differently experienced time of History. By History, Jameson means the succession of the happy or unhappy destinies of whole peoples and classes within the “single vast unfinished plot” — as he put it almost 30 years ago in The Political Unconscious — of humankind’s existence. Of course individual experience and collective fate consist in the same living substance, but the sensation of their identity, “a recognition of our ultimate Being as History,” is a rare and fleeting glimpse into the demographic sublime — all those suffering persons dead, living and still unborn — too dizzying and appalling to be sustained.

Jameson has argued for years that the intersection of existential and historical time has become particularly rare in postmodern times. In spite of the obvious historical novelty of our present way of life, the past tends to fall rapidly away into oblivion or else to be taken up by media representations that serve as “the very agents and mechanisms for our historical amnesia.” The result, as he put it in his great essay “The Antinomies of Postmodernity” in The Seeds of Time (1994), was that “for us time consists in an eternal present and, much further away, an inevitable catastrophe, these two moments showing up distinctly on the registering apparatus without overlapping or traditional states.”

No one, it seems to me, has better conveyed the oddly becalmed quality of recent decades, the sense of a “locked social geology so massive that no visions of modification seem possible (at least to those ephemeral biological subjects that we are).” It was in the light of the feeling of a windless postmodern stasis that Jameson wanted to stick up for utopianism, especially in Archaeologies of the Future (2005), his appreciation of Utopia as a subgenre of science fiction and an immortal human desire: “The very political weakness of Utopia in previous generations — namely that it furnished nothing like an account of agency, nor did it have a coherent historical and practical-political picture of transition — now becomes a strength in a situation in which neither of these problems seems currently to offer candidates for a solution.” The dialectic, Adorno said, would renounce itself if it renounced the “idea of potentiality,” and it was just this dimension that Jameson meant to preserve amid the deadly consensus as to the unsurpassable virtues of liberal capitalism.

In “The Valences of History,” the concluding essay of the new book, Jameson argues that when the fitful apprehension of history does enter the lives of individuals it is often through the feeling of belonging to a particular generation: “The experience of generationality is… a specific collective experience of the present: it marks the enlargement of my existential present into a collective and historical one.” A generation, he adds, is not forged by passive endurance of events, but by hazarding a collective project. That this too is uncommon enough can be deduced from Jameson’s example of the process: “Avant-gardes are so to speak the voluntaristic affirmation of the generation by sheer willpower, the allegories of a generational mission that may never come into being.” So the small sect crystallizes the would-be universal — an ironic and possibly dialectical contradiction, and a fitting suggestion for a Marxist professor to make amid a near unchallenged global capitalism.

The theme of generations recurs from time to time in Jameson, whose work in any case proceeds less by straightforward argumentation than by a kaleidoscopic rotation across a consistent set of problems. In “Periodizing the ’60s” (1984), he noted that “the classification by generations has become as meaningful for us as it was for the Russians of the late nineteenth century, who sorted character types out with reference to specific decades,” and in that essay and elsewhere this rigorously non-confessional writer has hinted at the decisive importance of the 1960s in his own formation. Jameson’s fellow Marxist critics Perry Anderson and Terry Eagleton (with some cosmic design evidently at work in the similarity of all three names) have already testified to his eminence in such a way as to give some sense of his importance to their own generation. It is a generation in which a younger person notices, though not especially among the Marxists, a widespread and not infrequently pathetic tendency toward serial intellectual and cultural faddism, which makes it the more impressive and even inspiring — to Jameson’s peers as well, it may be — that he has stayed so true to the utopian stirrings of the 1960s while remaining open to so much of what’s come since.

Jameson once likened the goofy eclecticism of certain postmodern architecture to the recipes inspired by “late-night reefer munchies,” and it may be an observation to bridge the gap between his generation, steeped in the 1960s, and my own to say that reading Jameson himself has always reminded me a bit of being on drugs. The less exceptional essays were like being stoned: it all seemed very profound at the time, but the next day you could barely remember a thing. Indeed there’s no other author I’ve frequented or admired to anything like the same degree so many of whose pages produced absolutely no impression on me. And yet the best of Jameson’s work has felt mind-blowing in the way of LSD or mushrooms: here before you is the world you’d always known you were living in, but apprehended as if for the first time in the freshness of its beauty and horror. One of the trippier as well as more affecting passages in Valences of the Dialectic is a sort of aria on the condition of living, through global capitalism, in a totally man-made world, one in which even the weather patterns and the geological age (the Anthropocene, it was recently declared) are human productions:

We have indeed secreted a human age out of ourselves as spiders secrete their webs: an immense, all-encompassing ceiling… which shuts down visibility on all sides even as it absorbs all the formerly natural elements in its habitat, transmuting them into its own man-made substance. Yet within this horizon of immanence we wander as alien as tribal people, or as visitors from outer space, admiring its unimaginably complex and fragile filigree and recoiling from its bottomless potholes, lounging against a rainwall of exotic and artificial plants or else agonizing among poisonous colors and lethal stems we were not taught to avoid. The world of the human age is an aesthetic pretext for grinding terror or pathological ecstasy, and in its cosmos, all of it drawn from the very fibers of our own being and at one with every post-natural cell more alien to us than nature itself, we continue murmuring Kant’s old questions — What can I know? What should I do? What may I hope? — under a starry heaven no more responsive than a mirror or a spaceship, not understanding that they require the adjunct of an ugly and bureaucratic representational qualification: what can I know in this system? What should I do in this world completely invented by me? What can I hope for alone in an altogether human age?

In such a passage it’s possible to see a few things. One is as much evidence as a few lines could offer for placing Jameson among the important American writers of the age tout court. Another is his special way of being one of those (to vary what Henry James said) by whom nothing is abandoned: the apprehension of the alienness of the world is the signature experience in Sartre’s Nausea, whose author was the subject of Jameson’s PhD thesis and first book; the “human age” alludes to the trilogy of novels by Wyndham Lewis, subject of another book-length study by Jameson; and the situation described here, of humanity confronting its own handiwork as something alien and exterior, is very much that of Marx’s alienated labour, in which the worker is dominated by the product of his own hands, his estranged “species-being” ranged against him in the form of someone else’s capital. But the reader’s impression of tremendous intellectual power is accompanied by one of political paralysis. Who is this collective human “I,” in a world “completely invented by me”? Nobody at all, of course. Again, the analogy with drugs: perceptual journeys across the universe, confined to the couch.

My impression is that it’s this combination of hypertrophied theory and atrophied “praxis” in Jameson that causes his name to provoke as many smirks as sighs of admiration. But from the point of view that he has so imposingly established and defended it would be a bit moralizing, individualistic and certainly undialectical to judge whether it was good or bad that Marxism has taken the form it does in his work. The most intelligible Marxist account of individual greatness in a writer or artist is that it belongs to the figure who opens himself unreservedly to the sociohistorical forces in play. “The intervening individual subject,” Adorno wrote in Aesthetic Theory (1970), “is scarcely more than a limiting value, something minimal required by the artwork for its crystallization.” Jameson’s tremendous cultural and intellectual receptivity would alone seem enough to certify his achievement. In what rival body of work is there more of the contemporary world to see? And how can he be taxed with failing to formulate a political program not on offer anywhere else? It is already a substantial feat to have preserved and extended the legacy of Marxism for a generation of intellectuals in which it might otherwise have nearly expired.

What now? The near consensus that obtained for a quarter-century on politics and economics, leaving culture as the real terrain of battle, seems to have faltered over the past few years. What does this do to Jameson’s work? One threat to his legacy is that it’s hard to imagine any of his inheritors excelling him in sophistication. Perry Anderson has hailed Jameson as the culmination of Western Marxism. In literary history, culminations — of, say, the psychological novel in Proust, or Romanticism in Yeats, or a certain modernism in Beckett — often look like dead ends. And why would going further be necessary? Jameson himself has suggested that in light of the obvious instability and injustice of global capitalism, a perfectly vulgar Marxism might now do just as well.

And yet the relative neglect of strictly economic questions in Jameson (and in Western Marxism generally) may now look like a liability. After all, the recent implosion of the markets, and efficient market theory with them, hasn’t induced a stampede in the direction of Marxism. The crisis revived interest in Keynes and Minsky, but it will apparently take until the next convulsion, or longer, for the same to happen to Marx the economist, and the writers from Hilferding to Harvey who worked out a Marxian theory of finance.

Of course it would contradict Jameson’s account of how culture works if his own writing didn’t reproduce some of the blind spots he detects in the world at large, where material production seems somehow to be hidden from view and where social transformation looks like a dead letter. Still, the weak point, it seems to me, in Jameson’s strongly Marxist account of recent culture has been his relatively thin description of the economy, the mode of production. It is too easy to read much of his work and conclude that a given film, say, could indeed be read as a blind allegory of “late capitalism,” without late capitalism meaning anything much more distinct than “the economy” or “the system.” In such cases it has been far easier to accept his Marxism in an axiomatic sense — a product of late capitalism will necessarily be about late capitalism too — than to see how the axiom could be embodied in persuasive local analyses of this or that cultural artifact or tendency.

And yet it isn’t as if Jameson can’t do that too. Some of his strongest essays, for instance “The Brick and the Balloon” (1998) or “The End of Temporality” (2003) — about, respectively, postmodern architecture and the waning contemporary sense of past and future — analyze these phenomena the more convincingly and illuminatingly for doing so in the context of the bodiless and instantaneous transactions of finance capital. It would only have enriched Jameson’s work if he had directed his attention to the cultural fallout of other novel features of the latest stage of capitalism: Mandel mentioned not only computerization and the rise of the service industries, themes Jameson has occasionally taken up, but also accelerated turnover time for fixed capital (i.e. a shorter period in which to recoup one’s investment), and the replacement of the gold standard by floating currencies. It’s not hard to imagine these transformations of the base percolating up through the superstructure. The mass introduction of women into the paid workforce, the expansion of advertizable space, the displacement of cash by credit cards and digital transactions: these are a few of the other economic changes in recent decades that come to mind as having suffused the superstructure too. Perhaps the outstanding virtue of David Harvey’s Condition of Postmodernity (1989) was his correlation of sped-up cultural change with a general “space-time compression” operating in contemporary capitalism across such disparate features as a casualized labor market, expanded international trade, shorter-term investment and so on — though it should be added that Harvey’s work along these lines followed Jameson’s and might not have been possible without it.

Jameson has often written of a given stage of capitalism setting the “conditions of possibility” within which a writer or artist has to work. It might equally be said of his own work as a critic that it established the conditions of possibility for a Marxist cultural criticism at least as often as it offered an example of such a thing. Here, then, is another of Jameson’s contradictions: sighing with cultural belatedness, his essays have also seemed like preludes, prolegomena, to work yet to be done. Whether this work will use the word “postmodernism” doesn’t seem very important. In fact it’s probably worth remembering Jameson’s “therapeutic” recommendation, at the end of A Singular Modernity (2002), that capitalism might be substituted “for modernity in all the contexts in which the latter appears,” and extending the suggestion to postmodernity too. That would place us squarely in the midst of a capitalist or (to periodize a bit more) neoliberal culture, waiting to see what comes next. It would also place us in Jameson’s debt.

Georg Lukács, philosopher of Bolshevism

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I’ve posted about Georg Lukács in the past: here, here, and here. Lukács’ excellent polemic against Kautsky, from 1924, was also featured. Though he was denounced in 1924 by the vulgarian Zinoviev, and later forced to recant, the arguments he laid out in History and Class Consciousness, Lenin: A Study in the Unity of His Thought, and his unpublished rebuttal Tailism and the Dialectic represent a high point in the history of revolutionary thought.

Victor Serge later recalled:

I held Georg Lukács in greatest esteem; indeed, I owe him a great deal. A former university teacher in Budapest, and then commissar to a Red division in the front line, Lukács was a philosopher steeped in the works of Hegel, Marx, and Freud, and possessing a free-ranging and rigorous mind. He was engaged in writing a number of outstanding books that were never to see the light of day. In him I saw a first-class brain that could have endowed Communism with a true intellectual greatness if it had developed as a social movement instead of degenerating into a movement in solidarity with an authoritarian power. Lukács’ thinking led him to a totalitarian vision of Marxism within which he united all aspects of human life; his theory of the Party could be taken as either superb or disastrous, depending on the circumstances. For example, he considered that since history could not be divorced from politics, it should be written by historians in the service of the Central Committee.

One day we were discussing the problem of whether or not revolutionaries who had been condemned to death should commit suicide; this arose from the execution in 1919 at Budapest of Otto Korvin, who had been in charge of the Hungarian Cheka, and whose hanging afforded a choice spectacle for “society” folk. “I thought of suicide,” said Lukács, “ in the hours when I was expecting to be arrested and hanged with him. I came to the conclusion that I had no right to it: a member o f the Central Committee must set the example.” (I was to meet Georg Lukács and his wife later, in 1928 or 1929, in a Moscow street. He was then working at the Marx-Engels Institute; his books were being suppressed, and he lived bravely in the general fear. Although he was fairly well-disposed towards me, he did not care to shake my hand in a public place, since I was expelled and a known [Left] Oppositionist. He enjoyed a physical survival, and wrote short, spiritless articles in Comintern journals.)

Walter Benjamin, Theodor Adorno, Herbert Marcuse, Henri Lefebvre, and Guy Debord would not have been possible without the groundbreaking work of Lukács. You can download full-text PDFs of his assorted writings below. And then, below that, you can read a brief reflection by Lukács’ fellow Marxist and countryman G.M. Tamás, occasioned by the removal of a statue in Budapest earlier this year.

Writings by Lukács

In English
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  1. Selected Correspondence: Dialogues with Weber, Simmel, Buber, Mannheim, and others (1902-1920)
  2. “The Sociology of Modern Drama” (1909)
  3. Soul and Form (1910)
  4. Theory of the Novel (1914-1915)
  5. “The Old Culture and the New” (1920)
  6. History and Class Consciousness: Studies in Marxist Dialectics (1920-1923)
  7. Reviews and Articles for Die Rote Fahne (1922)
  8. Lenin: A Study of the Unity of His Thought (1924)
  9. Tailism and the Dialectic (1925-1926)
  10. “Art for Art’s Sake and Proletarian Writing” (1926)
  11. Tactics and Ethics: Political Essays (1919-1929)
  12. The Historical Novel (1937)
  13. Writer and Critic, and Other Essays (1930s-1940s)
  14. Goethe and His Age (1934-1940)
  15. The Young Hegel: Studies in the Relations between Dialectics and Economics (1938/1948)
  16. Studies in European Realism: A Sociological Survey of the Writings of Balzac, Stendhal, Zola, Tolstoy, Gorki, and Others (1940-1947)
  17. The Culture of People’s Democracy: Hungarian Essays on Literature, Art, and Democratic Transition (1945-1948)
  18. “On the Responsibility of Intellectuals” (1948)
  19. German Realists in the Nineteenth Century (1951)
  20. The Destruction of Reason (1952)
  21. “Max Weber and German Sociology” (1955)
  22. The Meaning of Contemporary Realism (1957)
  23. “Reflections on the Cult of Stalin” (1962)
  24. “On Bertolt Brecht” (1963)
  25. “On Walter Benjamin” (1963)
  26. Essays on Thomas Mann (1963) [1909, 1936, 1948, 1955]
  27. “An Entire Epoch of Inhumanity” (1964)
  28. Solzhenitsyn (1964, 1969)
  29. The Process of Democratization (1968)
  30. The Ontology of Social Being, Volume 1: Hegel’s False and His Genuine Ontology (1971, published posthumously)
  31. The Ontology of Social Being, Volume 2: Marx’s Basic Ontological Principles (1971, published posthumously)
  32. The Ontology of Social Being, Volume 3: Labor (1971, published posthumously)
  33. Record of a Life: An Autobiographical Sketch (1971, published posthumously)
  34. Selected Writings

In other languages
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  1. L’anima e le forme
  2. Die Theorie des Romans: Ein geschichtsphilosophischer Versuch über die großen Formen der Epik
  3. Storia e coscienza di classe
  4. La letteratura sovietica
  5. Écrits de Moscou
  6. „Zur philosophischen Entwicklung des jungen Marx (1840-1844)”
  7. Thomas Mann e la tragedia dell’arte moderna
  8. Socialismo e democratização: escritos políticos, 1956-1971
  9. Zur Ontologie des gesellschaftlichen Seins. Die ontologischen Grundprinzipien von Marx

Writings about Lukács

In English
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  1. Victor Zitta, Georg Lukács’ Marxism: Alienation, Dialectics, Revolution — A Study in Utopia and Ideology (1964)
  2. Lucien Goldmann, Lukács and Heidegger: Towards a New Philosophy (1970)
  3. George Lichtheim, Georg Lukács (1970)
  4. István Mészáros, Lukács’ Concept of Dialectic (1972)
  5. Michael Löwy, Georg Lukács: From Romanticism to Bolshevism (1976)
  6. Ágnes Heller, “Lukács and The Holy Family (1984)
  7. Constanzo Preve, “Viewing Lukács from the 1980s” (1987)
  8. Tom Rockmore (ed.), Lukács Today: Essays in Marxist Philosophy (1988)
  9. Moishe Postone, “Lukács and the Dialectical Critique of Capitalism” (2003)
  10. Michael J. Thompson (ed.), Lukács Reconsidered (2011)
Young Gyorgy.Lukács in his library

The neverending Lukács debate

Gáspár Miklós Tamás
LA Review of Books
March 6, 2017
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Before 1914, Lukács’ early works were received with great antipathy by the literary establishment in Hungary; they were found to be too “German” — that is to say, too philosophical, not impressionistic and positivist enough. That was only the beginning, of course; from then on, Lukács would be attacked from the right incessantly, all his life. Lukács didn’t fare much better in leftist circles, either. When his most important book, History and Class Consciousness (1923), came out, it was savaged by both the Second and the Third International. It wasn’t to be republished until the 1960s. Lukács was given an ultimatum: if he wanted to stay in the Party, he had to repudiate the book and subject himself to self-criticism, which is what he eventually did.

He was harshly criticized in the Soviet Union in the 1930s. Soon after he relocated from Vienna to Moscow, Lukács was exiled to Tashkent, and silenced. But in 1945, the Party needed him — or rather, his fame — in Hungary. He agreed to return there rather reluctantly; East Germany was also an option. After the dictatorship was established and consolidated in Hungary in 1947–1948, the “Lukács Debate” was launched in earnest: he was attacked as a “deviationist,” a “bourgeois,” as a man who did not esteem Soviet “socialist realism.” (Truth be told, he was indeed all these things.) He was again silenced, forbidden to teach or publish in Hungarian, but some of his work was smuggled out and printed in West Germany.

In 1956, Lukács was a member of the revolutionary Nagy government. That’s why he was arrested by the Soviet soldiers and temporarily deported to Romania. When he was brought back, he was expelled from the Party, blacklisted, and pensioned off. Once again, he had to smuggle his texts abroad, this time to West Germany, where Luchterhand Verlag began to publish his complete works (a project taken over by Aisthesis Verlag in 2009). A slander campaign was launched against him both in Hungary and in the DDR; he was now condemned as a “revisionist” and, possibly, “counter-revolutionary.” Entire volumes were dedicated to making this case; they were even translated into quite a few languages.

In 1968, Lukács expressed his sympathy for the reforms and protests in Czechoslovakia, as well as for the youth movements in the West. He protested against the Soviet occupation of Prague, which resulted in yet another excommunication. Later, however, his Party membership was silently restored and, with the advent of reforms in Hungary, he was, to some extent, rehabilitated. But this came too late: he died in 1971. Absurdly, Lukács’ political troubles didn’t end after his death. In 1973, his disciples were condemned by the Central Committee’s ideological outfit and blacklisted; they lost their jobs and could no longer publish.

And now, in today’s Hungary, Lukács is declared, à titre posthume, an “enemy of the people” for having been a communist leader, a Party favorite, a propagandist in the service of the Kádár régime — the same regime that strove to shut him up and almost succeeded. That he served in the 1956 revolutionary government — officially celebrated today by the anticommunist conservatives — is conveniently forgotten.

Yet Lukács was indeed a communist, and in 1956 an authentic socialist revolution took place, in which he participated. But the most important revolution of his life occurred long before, in 1917. Before the Bolshevik Revolution, Lukács was a pessimistic conservative. Like so many German and Austrian writers of the time, he hated the bourgeoisie from the right. In 1917, however, he lost all his reserve and reticence, and all his respect for convention. For him, as for many of his generation, the revolution brought salvation: it saved their souls by proclaiming the end of exploitation, of class divisions, of the distinction between intellectual and manual labor, of punitive law, property, family, churches, prisons. In other words, it promised the end of the state.

The revolution also meant the end of utopia. “The class struggle of the proletariat,” Lukács writes in 1919 (the year of the communist revolution in Hungary), “is the objective itself and concomitantly its realization.” The driving force in human society, therefore, is history, not utopia, because the aims of the proletarian revolution are not outside the world, but within it. It would be silly to deny the religious undertones of such a view of history, which some of Lukács’ subsequent pronouncements would echo. For example, in spite of all his disappointments, he insisted on remaining a member of the Party — since extra Ecclesiam nulla salus, there is no salvation outside the church. It was his — and other communists’ — conscience (to use another religious term) that was the Party proper, not the politics or ideology of those who happened to be Party leaders at one moment or another.

In one of his major works, The Young Hegel (first published in 1948), Lukács tells the story of a giant thinker who called for a revolt against positivity — that is, against an ecclesiastical Christianity that regarded religion as mere tradition and as a valuable web of institutions, that preferred cathedrals to gospels — a thinker who then, ironically, became the foremost defender of the traditional order, of positivity, in order to rescue some achievements of the French Revolution against reactionary romanticism and fanaticism. This story, I think, is Lukács’ own intellectual autobiography in disguise. Between its lines, he concedes defeat.

Western audiences know only liberal anticommunism, the kind created by antifascist émigrés such as Karl Popper, Hannah Arendt, and Michael Polanyi, as well as by former far-left figures such as George Orwell, Ignazio Silone, and Arthur Koestler. After 1968, this type of anticommunism was picked up by East and Central European and Russian dissidents and clandestine human rights groups. But relatively little is known in the West about the “White Guard” type of anticommunism, which was prevalent on the European continent in the interwar period, and which is now triumphantly reborn in contemporary Eastern and Central Europe, including Hungary. The latter has tended to see socialism and communism as the uprising of the Untermensch, the biologically and spiritually inferior members of society. For these anticommunists, communism does not mean too little, but too much freedom, and the idea of equality is a sin against nature.

These are also the people for whom “Christian” means “Gentile” and for whom universal franchise means mob rule, just as “constitution” and “the rule of law” mean a loss of nerve. These people believe in the whip, in the cane, in putting women in their place, and in kicking the queer down the club steps. They believe in making deals with the swarthy Levantine and robbing him blind.

And however one feels about putting up graven images of controversial thinkers for the pigeons in the park, one must understand: it is these anticommunists who will destroy Lukács’ statue. They will scatter the contents of the Lukács Archives (owned and administered by the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, too timorous to do anything about it) to various dusty corners of Budapest.

Moreover, Lukács was Jewish. The regime does not openly declare its antisemitism, but this campaign is part of a general anti-Jewish drive.

Lukács’ presence as a major witness to — and philosopher of — some of the greatest revolutions of modern humanity cannot be tolerated in a regime like Viktor Orbán’s. It simply cannot. His “System of National Cooperation” worships soccer and Schnapps instead.

¤

G. M. Tamás is a Hungarian Marxist philosopher and public intellectual. He is a Visiting Fellow at the Institut für die Wissenschaften vom Menschen in Vienna.

Revolutionary ceramics and textiles: USSR, 1919-1931

Lenin lives! Reimagining the Russian Revolution, 1917-2017

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Introduction:
Marxism and the challenge of
counterfactual history
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Often Marxism is caricatured as a rigidly deterministic worldview, whose stress on the inevitability of social change allows no room for individual agency. Determinism needs to be carefully differentiated from fatalism, though, “which would leave us as passive spectators of phenomena in which no direct intervention is felt possible.” Voluntarism, or “the fond hope that one can speed up processes through the force of example and self-sacrifice,” lies across from it on the political spectrum. In fatalistic doctrines of history, events transpire as a result of objective factors following with mechanical necessity, whereas in voluntaristic doctrines of history, events transpire as a result of subjective factors brought about “by a gigantic effort of heroism and will.” Yet “Marxian determinism does not seek a compromise halfway in between,” the Italian communist Amadeo Bordiga maintained, “but dialectically and historically rises above them both.”1 His Hungarian colleague Georg Lukács put it succinctly: “Fatalism and voluntarism only appear contradictory to an undialectical and unhistorical mind.”2

Still, the charge of determinism — in the narrow sense, as a synonym for fatalism — has proven difficult to shake. Counterfactual narratives would thus seem a good test for Marxist theory, to see whether it grants that the past might have been otherwise: What if such and such had occurred, instead of this or that? Ex post facto reasoning of this sort does not carry much weight in historical research, to be sure. Necessity is a tricky enough concept even for philosophers, let alone historians, who are taught not to speculate if other possibilities were latent in a given set of facts. “One can always play a parlor game with the might-have-beens of history,” the British chronicler of the Bolshevik Revolution, Edmund Hallett Carr, opined, “but this has nothing to do with determinism, since the determinist will simply reply that the causes had to be different for things to have been different.”3 The source of Carr’s annoyance here was more specific, however, than any general objection to counterfactuals, and concerned the example often chosen as the basis for such conjectures: namely, what the world would be like if October 1917 never took place. As Carr saw it, the conservative motive behind this choice of topic was obvious, indicating a wish to reverse the results of the Russian Revolution.4

Lately, the Slovenian critic Slavoj Žižek has also explored this theme of counterfactuality. Reviewing the essay collection What Might Have Been: Imaginary History from Twelve Leading Historians back in 2005, he underscored “the conservative sympathies of ‘what if?’ volumes.” Does this mean that, in order to avoid being labeled a conservative, one has to subscribe to a crudely deterministic vision of the past? In such a vision, whatever ends up happening is all that ever could have happened. Žižek rejects this premise emphatically, however, associating it with the vulgar Marxism of Georgii Plekhanov, Lenin’s onetime mentor. Plekhanov argued that there was a “deeper historical necessity” at work in the transition from Jacobin Republic to Napoleonic Empire in France, beyond the individual traits of Napoleon. Yet this raises the issue of whether something similar was going on in the shift from Bolshevism to Stalinism in post-1917 Russia:

For many, the rise of Stalinism was necessary… such that without Stalin, or in the case of his premature death, another leader would have played the role: maybe even Trotsky, his great rival. But for Trotskyists, as for others (e.g., Kotkin), the role of Stalin’s contingent person was crucial: no Stalinism without Stalin. Had he suddenly disappeared from the scene in the early 1920s, things like the forced collectivization of agriculture and “the construction of socialism in one country” would never have taken place. Was the rise of Stalinism simply an accident, then? In other words, the actualization of just one of the historical possibilities lying dormant after the Bolsheviks’ victory?5

One could extend this argument further, however, pointing out that a political phenomenon like Stalinism perhaps resulted from the fact that revolution failed to spread westward, which left Russia isolated and hence vulnerable to capitalist encirclement. Minor details might have been different if someone else succeeded Lenin, but the overall effect largely the same. This begs the question of whether the fate of the Russian Revolution ultimately depended on the success or failure of the German Revolution in 1919. Adorno later mused that “[h]ad things gone otherwise here in 1919, the potential existed to influence developments in Russia and with great probability prevent Stalinism.”6 Such hypotheticals may seem an idle exercise, or an attempt to save face after the fact, but with the centenary of October 1917 approaching it is opportune to reflect. Žižek, for his part, suggests that “a properly dialectical relationship between necessity and contingency… cannot change the past causally, retroactively undoing what happened at the level of facts, yet it can do so counterfactually, retrospectively altering what happened at the level of meaning.”7

Endnotes, a communist theoretical journal located in Britain and the United States, does not indulge such second-guessing when it comes to the history of failed revolutions. “When we address the question of these failures, we cannot resort to ‘what if’ counterfactuals,” the authors indicate in their inaugural issue, “blaming the defeat of revolutionary movements on everything (bad leaders, inadequate organization, wrong ideas, unripe conditions) other than the movements themselves in their determinate content.”8 But if their defeat was somehow preordained — written in the stars or the historic constellation of forces, as it were — then it is futile to do more than just report the facts. These movements failed because they were bound to fail. Nothing could have been different, so it is impossible to assign responsibility to anyone involved. Interpretations which see failure as the consequence of “betrayal,” “loss of nerve,” or even “miscalculation” are no doubt dissatisfying. Precisely because revolutionaries aspire to historical agency, however, seeking to make history rather than simply be made by history, they must be held accountable for their failings. For this very reason, moreover, one finds them preoccupied with the judgment of posterity, which leads to one of Žižek’s more ingenious reversals:

Seeing as the non-occurrence of the Bolshevik Revolution is a favorite topic for all the “what if?” historians, it is worth looking at how Lenin himself related to counterfactuality. He was as far as could be from any reliance on “historical necessity.” Quite the contrary, his Menshevik opponents were the ones who emphasized the impossibility of omitting one of the “stages” prescribed by historical determinism: first bourgeois-democratic, then proletarian revolution. And so when Lenin claimed this was the Augenblick in his “April Theses” of 1917 — i.e., the unique opportunity to start a revolution — his proposal was at first met with contempt and stupefaction from a large majority of his colleagues. Yet he understood that this chance had been made possible by a variety of circumstances, and that the propitious moment might be forfeited if it was not seized, perhaps for decades. Lenin entertained the alternative scenario: What if we do not act now? It was his acute awareness of the catastrophic consequences of not acting which impelled him to act.9

Žižek forgets, though, that the negative impulsion to act in this example is just another form of historical necessity, what Marx referred to as “absolutely imperative need — the practical expression of theoretical necessity.”10 This counterfactual injunction is likely what Lukács had in mind when he claimed in 1919: “Lenin and Trotsky, as truly orthodox, dialectical Marxists, paid little attention to so-called ‘facts,’ blind to the ‘fact’ the Germans had won, and secured for themselves the military means to march into Petrograd at any time, occupy Ukraine, and so on. Because they grasped the necessary materialization of world revolution, they adjusted their actions to this reality, not the ‘facts’.”11 Marxists regard freedom as insight [Einsicht] into necessity, following Hegel and Spinoza, an accurate appraisal of what must be done in order to liberate mankind.

Gregor Baszak’s short review of the 2017 alternative history Lenin Lives!, by Philip Cuncliffe, follows the notes to this introduction. I am told that Cuncliffe thanks me in the acknowledgments, which is rather unexpected and frankly humbling. Either way, I hope to pick up a copy soon.

Introductory notes


1 Amadeo Bordiga. “The Lyons Theses: Draft Theses for the Third Congress of the Communist Party of Italy.” L’Unità. (January 1926). Translator not listed.
2 Georg Lukács. “What is Orthodox Marxism?” (second version). Translated by Rodney Livingstone. History and Class Consciousness: Studies in Marxist Dialectics. (MIT Press. Cambridge, MA: 1973). Pg. 4.
3 E.H. Carr. What is History? (Penguin Books. New York, NY: 1990). Pg. 97.
4 “Last term here in Cambridge I saw a talk advertised under the title ‘Was the Russian Revolution Inevitable?’ If I had seen a talk advertised on ‘Were the Wars of the Roses Inevitable?’, though, I’d at once have suspected some joke. Historians write of the Norman Conquest or American War of Independence as if what happened was in fact bound to happen. Nobody accuses them of being determinists or of failing to discuss the possibility that William the Conqueror or the American patriots might have been defeated. Whenever I write about the Russian Revolution of 1917 in precisely this way, however — the only proper way, for the historian — I come under attack for depicting what happened as something bound to happen, and for failing to examine the other things which might have happened. Suppose Stolypin had time to finish his agrarian reforms, it is said, or Russia had not gone to war. Perhaps the revolution would not have occurred. Or suppose the Kerensky government had made good, and leadership of the revolution assumed by the Mensheviks or Social Revolutionaries instead of the Bolsheviks… The point here is that today no one seriously wishes to reverse the results of the Norman Conquest or American Independence, so nobody objects whenever historians treat them as a closed chapter. But plenty of people who have suffered, directly or vicariously, from the results of the Bolshevik victory, or still fear its remoter consequences, desire to register their protest against it.” Ibid., pgs. 96-97.
5 See the section “Counterfactuals,” in Slavoj Žižek. Disparities. (Bloomsbury Academic Publishers. New York, NY: 2016). Pgs. 277-281.
6 Theodor W. Adorno. “Those Twenties.” Critical Models: Interventions and Catchphrases. Translated by Henry W. Pickford. (Columbia University Press. New York, NY: 1998). Pg. 43.
7 Žižek, Disparities. Pg. 278. This is a better formulation than appears elsewhere in the book, where he tries to describe this relationship as “a contingent choice which retroactively becomes necessary,” coming dangerously close Lenin’s warning against dialectical “zigzags” or retroactive justifications.
8 Endnotes. “Bring Out Your Dead.” Volume 1: Preliminary Materials for a Balance Sheet of the Twentieth Century. (London, England: 2008). Pg. 4.
9 Slavoj Žižek. “Lenin Shot at Finland Station! Review of What Might Have Been: Imaginary History from Twelve Leading Historians.” London Review of Books. (Volume 27, № 16: August 2005). Pg. 23.
10 Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. The Holy Family, or Critique of Critical Criticism: Against Bruno Bauer. Translated by Clemens Dutt and Richard Dixon. Collected Works, Volume 4: August 1844-late Autumn 1845. (International Publishers. New York, NY: 1975). Pg. 37.
11 Georg Lukács. “What is Orthodox Marxism?” (first version). Translated by Michael McColgan, in Tactics and Ethics: The Question of Parliamentarism and Other Essays. (Verso Books. New York, NY: 2014). Pg. 26.

Gregor Baszak
Platypus Review
November 2017
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Book Review:
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Philip Cunliffe, Lenin Lives! Reimagining
the Russian Revolution, 1917-2017.
Alresford, UK: Zero Books, 2017.

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When President Trump announced the withdrawal of the United States from the Paris Climate Accord on June 1, 2017, for many liberals it meant that doom was upon us, that the earth was surely soon to be uninhabitable. Yet, if the Paris Accord was the best shot that our civilization had at survival, we were perhaps doomed from the start. NASA scientist James Hansen, at least, one of the earliest voices to raise the alarms about the effects of climate change, had deemed the Accord to be thoroughly inadequate to begin with.1

Here’s an alternative way in which the year 2017 might have unfolded:

It is an unseasonably warm November 2017 in Leningrad, although within planned temperature ranges. There is discussion among atmospheric engineers and climate planners whether to make minor adjustments to the cloud systems they are responsible for in order to reflect more sunlight away from the northern hemisphere, or whether to accelerate the construction of orbiting Lagrange space mirrors intended for longer term climate control.2

In this scenario, climate change is understood to be an administrative problem, albeit one that is administered by “climate planners” who consciously choose to set earth’s thermometer at a specific temperature range.

In the real world of today, Leningrad is St. Petersburg, Russia is governed by a neoliberal autocrat, and earth’s climate is out of control. The counterfactual history envisioned above was penned by Philip Cunliffe, author of the new book Lenin Lives! Reimagining the Russian Revolution 1917-2017, published by Zero Books. As the title suggests, the book imagines an alternative history of the twentieth century, one in which the October Revolution was soon followed by successful revolutions in the capitalist centers of the West, in England, France, Germany, and — the big prize — the United States.

Writing counterfactual history, Cunliffe notes, has so far been the domain of conservative revisionists. In one such infamous counterfactual, for example, Winston Churchill envisioned his dream scenario — the glorious ascendancy of a racialized Anglo-Saxon global empire, had Robert E. Lee only won the battle of Gettysburg (85). Yet, as Cunliffe usefully points out, the notion of “what if” appears to have been inscribed into the very project of Bolshevism itself, a project “self-consciously predicated on counterfactuals” (20; italics in the original). What, in other words, if Lenin’s plan that a revolution in Russia would provide the spark that would light the flames of revolution in Germany and elsewhere had actually succeeded? Lenin didn’t know quite what would happen in the wake of the October Revolution, but it was a gamble worth making. Human freedom required it.

Most of Lenin Lives! is devoted to envisioning in some detail a set of (at times bloody) events throughout the course of the fictional 1920s to 1970s in which piece by piece the capitalist nations of the West succumb to organized proletarian pressure and turn socialist. By the “late 1960s,” humanity begins to colonize Mars (127). By the 1970s, we have essentially completed the withering away of the state and the transition to communism (97).

Some of these scenarios are enlightening, some amusing (Churchill rotting away in exile in reactionary Canada, for instance), some perhaps beside the point. The book’s true value — and it is immense — lies, however, in recognizing that the dystopian experiences of the twentieth century have all been conditioned by the definitive defeat of the world revolution in the early 1920s. Whatever personalities or causes appear to preoccupy the minds of the last remnants of the undead left today, we realize, would have been circumvented had the revolution succeeded. Left sectarian splits based on historical roles played by Trotsky, FDR, Stalin, Mao, or Castro have all been forestalled by the successful revolution. They all would have lived, Cunliffe acknowledges, although they would have led mostly insignificant lives, often not even amounting to footnotes in the alternative history books of Lenin Lives!. Interestingly, the list of relative historical nonentities would have included Lenin himself, seeing how he would have ruled over the least essential, because most backward, country in the entire chain of global revolutions — a scenario that would have been to Lenin’s own liking, of course.3

Another important realization, and in many ways the most crucial one, deserves quoting at length. Rather than a doctrine for Third World revolts, Marxism was, according to Cunliffe,

designed to uplift and in so doing transform and improve the most advanced societies, the wealthiest, most politically progressive and technologically sophisticated states, building not only on the civic and political freedoms of liberalism but also the economic achievements of capitalism. (90)

As those generations that followed upon the dystopic turns of the early to mid-twentieth century, especially the New Left generation and its children, had come to think, the last vestiges of the revolution were rather to be found in what would come to be called “the margins” of society. The belief that the “most oppressed” would also be the most revolutionary, Cunliffe helps us realize, is itself predicated upon the (self-)defeat of the Left throughout the twentieth century. It is an expression of despair. Lenin Lives! will be precisely the most provocative where those shaped by contemporary post-colonial sensibilities will wonder how the redemption of human civilization could have possibly rested on the shoulders of developed bourgeois nations. Manifest Destiny and the Monroe Doctrine get reinterpreted in Lenin Lives! as the foundation upon which a hemispheric American socialist republic would arise — as the last act of the American Revolution (72-79). Kudos to Cunliffe for upholding the American revolutionary tradition!

There is no New Left in Cunliffe’s counterfactual history; no Stalinism to provide it with its intellectual and political foundations; no anti-colonial revolt upon which the apologists of defeat would place their hopes (the colonial possessions of a socialist United Kingdom immediately accede to remaining within a now planetary socialist federation [83]); no New Left reinterpretation of human history as essentially a war between homogenous race groups4; no postmodern degeneration of thought that would cheerfully come to affirm the calamitous history we have inherited; and notably, too, no Frankfurt School, “the ruminations” of which the “world will be spared” (124). What reads as an intentional swipe at Theodor Adorno, who in the counterfactual world would watch the revolutions unfold from the sidelines, mostly devoting his time to writing about music, would naturally have been warmly welcomed by him. The problem with philosophy, Adorno notes in the opening lines of his Negative Dialectics, lies in the fact that it “lives on because the moment to realize it was missed.”5 A successful socialist world revolution would have entailed the process of overcoming philosophy itself — its becoming “worldly” (and the world “philosophical”), as Karl Marx noted.6

In other words, “The continued historic significance of the Russian Revolution is testimony to its ultimate failure” (57). That we have never outstripped the need to study the history of the Left — to study Lenin and Adorno, for example — is the result of the revolution’s defeat, a defeat that continues to haunt us to this day. If we understand the task of socialism as one of initially transforming the most advanced capitalist nations, this transformation would occur on the basis of capitalism itself,7 as Cunliffe insists, not its one-sided negation through an abstract and primitivist “anticapitalism.” Yet, it is the latter undialectical attitude toward capitalism that the Left often adopts today. Consequently, this Left is largely made up of what Cunliffe diagnoses as “a morass of sub-anarchistic and ecological groups” (32), desperate as they are to scrape by on the margins of political relevance.

Absent a revolutionary Left, the way the crisis of society presents itself most acutely today is as “the suppression of capitalism itself” (12; italics in the original). “As a social system,” Cunliffe goes on,

propelled by social struggles between economic groups more than it is a system defined by market competition, it was inevitable that a shift in the balance of forces between these groups would impact the social system itself. It is defeat and the shattering of unions that helps explain the sinking of the richest countries in the world into low inflation economies with stagnating real wages. It is defeat that helps explain the fragmented and tiered labour markets of Europe that set groups of workers against each other. It is defeat that helps explain the decline of productivity growth, the failure to harness new technologies for economic growth and progress, and wilting rates of business investment. (12)

It is true, the dynamism of capitalism was indeed predicated on a historic condition in which the “contending classes” (13) were grappling for power. In the picture that Cunliffe draws, nineteenth century liberalism, at times a noble utopianism in its own right, has been superseded by the near universal accommodation to the crisis-proneness of capitalism in the twentieth century.

In this context, Cunliffe appears to imply, though, that the ultimate cause for the revolution’s failure is that it succumbed to waves of “repression” first and foremost (7). That “repression” played an important role is of course beyond doubt; any attempt at revolution will immediately spark a counterrevolution, as Cunliffe reminds us (8). Often on the Left, however, blame is laid solely at the feet of the right — we would live in a better world today, if only it hadn’t been for COINTELPRO, as is frequently said by elderly New Leftists.8 Cunliffe is eager to point out the pathologies of the Left today, though he spends too little time considering the political crises and debates of Second International social democracy that decisively contributed to the course which history ultimately took. There, too, what happened in the wake of the October Revolution is not all that needs to be said about the matter. Military contingency appears to trump deeply theoretical and political disputes in Cunliffe’s narrative, and what we’re left with is a vision of socialism as essentially a techno-scientific fix for a society held back by a triumphant capitalist class. Yet, why did the revolutions in Germany, Hungary, and elsewhere collapse so quickly (albeit not without a fight)? Why did the October Revolution remain really just a spark and amount to nothing more? Can the roots of the Revolution’s quick suppression not also be located in the fact that the political struggles against revisionism had actually not been won by its eminent combatants, Lenin and Rosa Luxemburg, leaving the predominance of reformism in the Second International’s member parties essentially intact? A more interesting “what if” to raise in this context might have been the one that asked what would have happened if Rosa Luxemburg had decided to split the Social Democratic Party of Germany long before World War I (perhaps the ground for another counterfactual). Her followers’ patched-up response in the wake of the German Revolution of 1918-1919 proved to be too little, too late, as the SPD’s protofascistic right-wing had already wrested control over it long before the War.9

On the other hand, what’s deeply commendable about the book is its ability to counter philosophical tendencies of the latter half of the twentieth century, tendencies that argue for the end of “grand narratives,” by precisely persisting in the need to narrativize the history of modern bourgeois society along those vastly grand scales. How else could we have a sense of where our politics might take us, if we did not permit ourselves the freedom to imagine the social totality (and our subject positions within it) to be transcendable? Since many on the Left today see society to be made up of a multitude of irreconcilable monads, forever determined by their identities,10 this same Left has ironically wound up proving Margaret Thatcher’s dictum correct that there was no such thing as society. And since there is nothing else that binds us together, political change will at best be a matter of mere contingency, an “event,” rather than the result of the conscious actions of political forces struggling over its direction.

Ultimately, it is the gigantic “what if” of the historical necessity of socialism that continues to task us. Lenin Lives! provocatively forces us to consider the possibility that all of the crises evident today are merely the logical result of a society that has remained incapable of stripping itself off an outdated form — capitalism. When in the year 1850, Marx spoke of the necessity of “permanent revolution,” he tasked his comrades with being as radical as reality itself.11 Capitalism already appeared as the revolution, one desperate, however, for its political transcendence in the global dictatorship of the proletariat. Whatever dynamism capitalism seems to set into motion, the fact that its own ultimate goal is nothing else but the valorization of capital means that innumerable economic and political crises will keep recurring, to the detriment of the contending classes. To let capitalism fulfill its promise, would mean to allow for its self-overcoming through socialism, a vision very elegantly outlined by Cunliffe. Lenin Lives! is tremendously effective at reminding us what had once been possible — and might again be so.

Notes


1 Oliver Milman, “James Hansen, father of climate change awareness, calls Paris talks ‘a fraud’,” The Guardian, December 12, 2015.
2 Philip Cunliffe, Lenin Lives! Reimagining the Russian Revolution 1917-2017 (Winchester, UK: Zero Books, 2017), 24. Hereafter referenced parenthetically.
3 Lenin, after all, recognized that Russia would hold a diminished role if more developed capitalist nations were to go socialist: “It would also be erroneous to lose sight of the fact that, soon after the victory of the proletarian revolution in at least one of the advanced countries, a sharp change will probably come about: Russia will cease to be the model and will once again become a backward country (in the ‘Soviet’ and the socialist sense)” (“Left-Wing” Communism: An Infantile Disorder).
4 An early example of this can be found in Susan Sontag’s racist assertion that “The white race is the cancer of human history; it is the white race and it alone — its ideologies and inventions — which eradicates autonomous civilizations wherever it spreads, which has upset the ecological balance of the planet, which now threatens the very existence of life itself.” Contribution to the symposium “What’s Happening to America,” Partisan Review 34, no. 1 (Winter 1967): 57-8. Italics in the original.
5 Theodor W. Adorno, Negative Dialectics, trans. E. B. Ashton (New York: Continuum, 2007), 3. See also Chris Cutrone, “Adorno’s Leninism,” Platypus Review 37 (June 2011).
6 Karl Marx, “To Make the World Philosophical,” in The Marx-Engels Reader, ed. Robert C. Tucker (New York: W.W. Norton, 1978), 9-11.
7 In his 1920 pamphlet “Left-Wing” Communism: An Infantile Disorder, Lenin emphasizes “the need for a very long and very persistent struggle on the basis of capitalism” (italics in the original).
8 Consider as well that seemingly no leftist account of 20th century America can go without mention of McCarthyism, as if by the 1950s we had still been dealing with a vibrant Communist mass party and its imminent rise to power. Due to Stalin’s catastrophic misleadership of the Communist International, there was hardly any political party for socialism left in the United States by the time of the witch hunts.
9 See Sebastian Haffner’s extraordinary account in Failure of a Revolution: Germany 1918-1919(Chicago: Banner Press, 1986).
10 It is no exaggeration to stress the fatalistic side of an identity-based politics. As both Jason D. Hill and Thomas Chatterton Williams have been able to show, what’s deeply embedded in the race-first politics of Ta-Nehisi Coates, for example, is the pessimistic belief that “white supremacy” is an eternal and unshakeable truth, the only “grand narrative” there is, if you will. In the process, both writers point out, Coates manages to strip any potential political actors seeking to combat injustice of actual agency. See Jason D. Hill, “An Open Letter to Ta-Nehisi Coates: The Dream is Real,” Commentary, September 13, 2017; and Thomas Chatterton Williams, “Ta-Nehisi Coates Gives Whiteness Power,” The New York Times, October 6, 2017.
11 The full quote goes thus: “Although the German workers cannot come to power and achieve the realization of their class interests without passing through a protracted revolutionary development, this time they can at least be certain that the first act of the approaching revolutionary drama will coincide with the direct victory of their own class in France and will thereby be accelerated. But they themselves must contribute most to their final victory, by informing themselves of their own class interests, by taking up their independent political position as soon as possible, by not allowing themselves to be misled by the hypocritical phrases of the democratic petty bourgeoisie into doubting for one minute the necessity of an independently organized party of the proletariat. Their battle-cry must be: The Permanent Revolution.” “Address to the Central Committee of the Communist League” (emphasis in the original).

Victor Serge, chronicler of revolution

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A week ago, the centenary of the October Revolution came and went. For this week’s post, I thought I’d share the works of one of its most important witnesses and participants. Victor Serge was a Belgian-Russian anarchist who repatriated to Russia shortly after the Bolshevik seizure of power, joining Lenin and Trotsky in their historic effort to overthrow capitalism. You can download PDFs of Serge’s major works by clicking on the following links:

  1. Anarchists Never Surrender: Essays, Polemics, and Correspondence on Anarchism, 1908-1938
  2. Revolution in Danger: Writings from Russia, 1919-1921
  3. Witness to the German Revolution: Writings from Germany, 1923
  4. “Is a Proletarian Literature Possible?” (1925)
  5. Men in Prison (1929)
  6. Year One of the Russian Revolution (1930)
  7. Conquered City (1930-1931)
  8. Birth of Our Power (1931)
  9. Midnight in the Century (1936-1938)
  10. From Lenin to Stalin (1937)
  11. Russia Twenty Years After and Thirty Years After the Russian Revolution (1937, 1947)
  12. The Case of Comrade Tulayev (1940-1942)
  13. Mexican Notebooks, 1940-1947
  14. Unforgiving Years (1946)
  15. Life and Death of Leon Trotsky (with Natalia Sedova, 1946)
  16. Memoirs of a Revolutionary (1947)
  17. A Blaze in the Desert: Selected Poems

Most of the secondary literature on Serge is comprised of rather short essays, articles, and reviews. The only book-length studies in English are Suzi Weissman’s Victor Serge: The Course is Set on Hope (2001) and Paul Gordon’s Vagabond Witness: Victor Serge and the Politics of Hope (2013). Hopefully a more Bolshevik book on Serge will appear at some point. Back in 1994, the Trotskyist scholarly journal Revolutionary History dedicated an issue to Serge under the title Century of the Unexpected, which is probably worth checking out.

One of Susan Sontag’s last works, “Unextinguished: The Case for Victor Serge,” is roughly thirty pages long and appears as the foreword to The Case of Comrade Tulayev, above. Andras Gyorgy’s “But Who, After All, was Victor Serge?” (2008) offers a nice corrective to the aforementioned writings of Sontag and Weissman, both of whom are far more liberal in their politics than Serge ever was. Something similar could be said of Richard Greeman, to be honest, though his translations of Serge redeem him somewhat.

Doug Enaa Greene, an incel Trot historian who hates my guts for some reason, wrote a piece for Red Wedge “Victor Serge: On the Borders of Victory and Defeat” in 2015. Rather pedestrian, on the whole, but nevertheless a serviceable introduction to Serge’s work. Finally, my former teacher Sheila Fitzpatrick wrote a nice review of Serge’s memoirs for The Guardian a few years back. Weissman and others exchanged some critical remarks on Serge in the US socialist magazine Against the Current, which were subsequently compiled and published over at Links.

Philippe Bourrinet’s 2002 essay on Serge, which traces the evolution of his thought vis-à-vis the Soviet Union and relates it concurrent left communist views, is reproduced below. A couple words on this piece: Bourrinet seems to be unfamiliar with Evgenii Preobrazhensky’s concept of “socialist primitive accumulation,” doubtless the source of Serge’s own conception. Obviously, criticisms can and should be made of this notion, but it is not as if it was an original coinage by Serge or an insight into the bloodiness of forced collectivization.

I’ve recently been reading Paresh Chattopadhyay’s book on The Marxian Concept of Capital and the Soviet Experience (1991), which compellingly argues that only the juridical existence of capital was suspended in the USSR while its economic existence remained intact. Serge recognized this fact, Bourrinet alleges, in writing that “where there are wage workers, there is capital.” While I plan to reread the works of Hillel Ticktin to finally determine where I come down on the whole “state capitalism” debate, I must confess I’m more open to this category than previously.

Victor Serge:
Totalitarianism and state capitalism

Philippe Bourrinet
Collective Action
January 1, 2002
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Night heralds the advent of a morning so radiant and so full of promise we cannot even conceive of it.

Let us not be discouraged.

— Victor Serge

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Russia’s transition towards a relative democratization, based on a private capitalist sector, poses three questions: how did so-called “Soviet totalitarianism” take power and endure for such a long time, only to finally collapse; how was it that the transition from state capitalism, which some have called “collectivist planned economy,” to a private capitalist sector was so easily accomplished; and also how can a socialist alternative for the twenty-first century1 be realized that responds to the needs of a new autonomous social movement whose goal is to free man from his economic and political chains.

Victor Serge’s testimony is of unique value for the new social movement for the purpose of addressing these crucial questions in the wake of the disappearance of Stalinism. Victor Serge has bequeathed a valuable legacy to succeeding generations. His works, both political and literary, and his talents, constitute a rich mine for understanding the origin of totalitarianism in Russia as well as how its economic infrastructure functioned for almost seventy years.

Defining totalitarianism and state capitalism

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Beginning in the 1930s, Serge would make frequent use of the term “totalitarian” in his writings.

The term originated among the Italian antifascists, although the fascists also used it. In 1925 Mussolini proclaimed the “fierce totalitarian will” of his regime. Totalitarianism was above all the total absorption of civil society by the state, which, of course, the fascists defined as no longer capitalist. According to Mussolini himself, “Everything within the state, nothing outside the state, nothing against the state.”2 Hitler’s accession to power, which installed a racist totalitarianism where the state was the embodiment of the will of the Leader (Führer) lastingly impressed the notion of totalitarianism on antifascist literature.

  1. Serge, at the time of the victory of Stalinism, was one of the first writers to use the term “totalitarianism” to describe the Soviet state formed in 1918. In a letter he sent from Moscow to friends in France in February 1933, Serge stated that the Soviet state was a “totalitarian, caste-ridden, absolute, power-mad state that does not care about human beings.”3 At that time Serge identified himself as a member of the Left Opposition, with whose positions he substantially agreed. Trotsky, who characterized the Soviet state as a “degenerated workers state,” defined the same state in September 1939 as a “totalitarian state” that — so he said — “was incapable of self-perpetuation.”4
    ….The concept of totalitarianism gained widespread currency during the war. In the middle of the war the former Austrian communist, Franz Borkenau, published a book entitled The Totalitarian Enemy in which he characterized Russia as a “red fascism” and Nazi Germany as a “brown bolshevism.”5 The same idea was set forth by the council communist Otto Rühle who, along with Karl Liebknecht, had voted against war credits in the German Reichstag in 1915. Rühle, in a work with the suggestive title Brown and Red Fascism, claimed that totalitarianism was nothing but a universal tendency towards state capitalism, which was especially highly developed in Russia and Germany. According to him, there was an “internal convergence of the tendencies toward state capitalism” in these two countries, “a structural, organizational, tactical and dynamic identity, whose result was the political pact and joint military action.”6 This idea had also arisen among the deported and imprisoned members of the Russian communist left. The young “democratic centralist” (Sapronov’s tendency) Volodia Smirnov said during the early 1930s that “communism is an extremist fascism, fascism a moderate communism,” and claimed that the world was heading towards a new social form: state capitalism.7
  2. The possibility of state capitalism in Russia was entertained quite early; Osinski first did so in 1918.8 He said that “Socialism and socialist organization must be built by the proletariat itself, otherwise it will not be built at all; something else will arise: state capitalism.”
    ….It was the anarchists and left communists (whom we can refer to as council communists) who first defined Russia as a capitalist state where the state organically controls all economic life as a collective body.
    ….In a work published in 1921, The Failure of Russian State Communism,9 the German anarcho-syndicalist “leader” Rudolf Rocker concluded his essay with a call for “socialism, not state capitalism.”10 At about the same time the Dutch and German left communists (the KAPD, Gorter and Pannekoek) proclaimed in 1921 that “the soviet and proletarian Russia of Red October is beginning to be transformed into a bourgeois state.”11 And the Russian anarchist Peter Arshinov noted in 1927: “There can be no doubt that the ‘historic mission’ of the Bolshevik party has been emptied of all content and that it will try to lead the Russian revolution to its final goal: state capitalism…”12

Curiously, for other left communists, those who upheld the tradition of Lenin and Bordiga such as the Italian left communists in exile associated with the journal Bilan, Russia was still a “workers’ state” with a collectivist economic foundation. The Russian state, although not capitalist, was in fact an instrument of the international bourgeoisie due to its integration into the world market.13

All these positions, whether addressing totalitarianism or state capitalism, were attempts to discover the “secret” of Russia’s evolution under Lenin and Stalin and to create an explanatory theoretical framework for its comprehension. Victor Serge — and Ante Ciliga14 — tried to understand this development from the inside, based on their own experiences living under Stalinism. The other positions tried to understand the Russian Enigma (Ciliga) from the outside by situating Russia’s history within an international context, where a tendency towards state capitalism was evident.15

Serge and the question of “totalitarianism”

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Serge’s concept of “totalitarianism” was the fruit of his political trajectory, which followed a course from anarchism to a kind of “libertarian Leninism.” According to Serge himself, as he explicitly states in his autobiography, he never abandoned the vision of a libertarian world, as opposed to a Jacobin vision of the revolution. On April 1, 1918, while interned in the French concentration camp of Précigné (in the Department of la Sarthe), Serge was not dreaming of a dictatorship that would crush freedom of the press and of expression, which is what the Bolshevik Krauterkrafft was advocating, but of a “libertarian, democratic revolution — minus the hypocrisy and the passivity of the bourgeois democracies — egalitarian, tolerant of ideas and of men, that would use terror if necessary, but which would abolish the death penalty.” “From a theoretical point of view, we stated these problems very badly; certainly the Bolshevik put them better than we. From the human point of view, we were infinitely nearer the truth than he was. We saw in the power of the soviets the realization of our deepest hopes as he did also.”16

Had he revised his vision almost thirty years later? Of course not: there is a libertarian continuity in Serge, even during his “Bolshevik” period. In February-March 1919, he immediately put himself at the service of the Petrograd Soviet and, above all, of the newly-founded Comintern, where he played an important role in translating and publishing Russian texts. He joined the Bolshevik Party, which he supported but also criticized, “without renouncing thought or critical sense.”17 He was at that time considered a “sovietski” anarchist. The creation of the Cheka, “a state within the state,” froze Serge’s blood and he devoted a great deal of his time to attempts to help the innocent get out of prison or avoid the firing squad.18 Prior to Kronstadt, Serge denounced the repression of the Russian anarchists in 1920; his articles on this topic were published only by the French anarchist press. He clearly proclaimed his hostility towards all dictatorial authority: “I am and I always will be an inveterate antiauthoritarian.”19

When the Kronstadt Rebellion broke out at the same time that the strikes in Petrograd were taking place, Serge acted as a “mediator” between the government and the insurgents, and was the only one who was not arrested, mostly because of his reputation as a militant in the French workers movement. It appears that Serge had his doubts. He thought that if the “Bolshevik dictatorship fell, it was only a short step to chaos, and through chaos to a peasant rising, the massacre of the Communists, the return of the émigrés and in the end, through the sheer force of events, another dictatorship, this time anti-proletarian.”20 For him the peasant uprisings such as that of Tambov were new “Vendées.” According to Serge, it was another Thermidor which, moreover, was already predicted by Lenin, who said: “We shall make a Thermidor ourselves.”21 Serge emphasized the internationalism of the Kronstadt rebels and informs us that the imprisoned sailors shouted “Long live the world revolution” as they were being shot.22

Although Kronstadt opened up “an unbridgeable gap between Marxists and libertarians,”23 Serge still participated in the Comintern’s Third Congress. Sent to Germany in 1923, he witnessed — as an editor of Inprekorr — the fiasco of the planned October insurrection. In Vienna, where he was in contact with Gramsci and Lukács, he became a fervent advocate of the idea of a Balkan Federation and contributed to its journal. He defended the positions of the Left Opposition on the revolutionary events in China in 1927.24

As a member of the Trotskyist opposition, Serge was excluded from the Bolshevik Party in early 1928. Later that same year he was arrested, then deported to central Asia from 1933 to 1936, when he was finally able to make a miraculous escape from the “country of the great lie” thanks to an intense international campaign.

After his break with Trotsky in 1937-1938 over the issue of Kronstadt and his membership in the Spanish POUM, Serge assumed an orientation that led him to view the totalitarian system as a new historical phenomenon.

It is important to note that this view would be subjected to further consideration during the war, and also as a result of contact with an old POUM leader in Mexico, Julián Gorkin. It would even acquire a personalist philosophical guise under the influence of Emmanuel Mounier,25 and a touch of social psychology due to the influence of Erich Fromm.26

We may use the definition of totalitarianism provided by the American political scientists Friedrich and Brzezinski: “rule by a mass party led by a charismatic leader, an official ideology, the monopoly of armed force, terroristic police control, centralized control over the economy.”27

For Serge, reconsidering the phenomenon in 1945, totalitarianism crystallized between 1927 and 1930. He defined it negatively as:

  • a state run by the secret police and based on concentration camps full of deportees and prisoners condemned without trial;
  • a one-party regime;
  • the absence of “basic democratic freedoms”: freedom of the press and of expression; the lack of free elections and the secret vote.28

It is logical to expect, however, that such a phenomenological analysis, articulated for the most part at the beginning of the cold war, should be quite limited and that it cannot account for the real nature of the regime, i.e., its purpose. As Vadim V. Dam’e and Ja. S. Drabkin have demonstrated, it is debatable whether this concept used so casually, even by Serge, is at all relevant, since Serge sometimes dates the advent of totalitarianism to Stalin, but at other times to the formation of the Cheka under Lenin, before the Bolshevik Party was Stalinized.

It is therefore legitimate to ask whether the problem of totalitarianism should be grasped not only in its political dimension (ideological superstructure) but also in its economic dimension (material infrastructure) and its purpose. This is the issue highlighted today by Dam’e and Drabkin in Russia: “In the 1920s, the party leadership faced a historic choice: renounce power and postpone industrial modernization until better times or instead try to carry it out by violent means … This sui generis catch-up modernization was financed by the looting of the countryside, by a very low level of pay in the cities (between 1928 and 1940) that caused the real buying power of wages to be reduced by two-thirds while the productivity of labor more than tripled, by the export of raw materials and grain, by an increase in taxes, by printing massive quantities of currency, by the obligatory purchase of state bonds and by the expansion of alcohol sales. (…) Within thirty years all this made possible a massive expropriation of the countryside and the cities, the proletarianization of the majority of the population and the creation of a sui generis structure of industrial society without private capital and without bourgeoisie, which was called socialist.”29

Economic planning and state capitalism

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Modestly, but with great literary talent, Serge above all tried to contribute elements for reflection in the form of precise facts that say much more than “facts are stubborn,” to borrow an expression of Lenin’s.

Serge’s work Destiny of a Revolution: The USSR 1917-193730 contains some essential elements that underpin his concept of a “totalitarian collectivism” on the economic plane. Like Trotsky,31 he had no doubt at all that a socialist economy was emerging which — according to him — was assuming a revolutionary dimension: he saluted “the titanic labors undertaken between 1917 and 1923-1927” that “constitute a powerful testimony to the revolutionary capacities of the workers and the vitality of socialism.”32 For him, total collectivization was the conquest of the socialization of the means of production: he opposed its “extraordinary power” to classical capitalism wracked by crisis.33 He even characterized it as “the bold outline of a transformation of man,” carried out by a state that is “at the moment the most virile in existence.”34 For Serge, this collectivization-“socialization” was such a “socialist” reality that even in his memoirs written during the war he thought that a “capitalist restoration was not foreseeable” in Russia.35

Serge did not have the economic or theoretical training that would have made it possible for him to address these new phenomena. His political apprenticeship was not truly Marxist, and it seems that what he knew of Marxism came from the Bolshevik theories of Lenin and Trotsky that he translated into French. It appears that he was unaware of certain writings, such as Engels’ discussion of the monopolistic concentration of the state to a point where the latter becomes “the ideal collective capitalist.”36 Serge would die without having given any indication of having heard of the left communist theories concerning state capitalism. While in exile he had practically no contact with those elements of the Russian left who analyzed the system as state capitalist. He considered himself to be a member of the “revisionist” camp among the Oppositionists, “who maintained that all ideas, as well as all recent history, should be reviewed from top to bottom,” whom he contrasted with the “doctrinaires,” some of whom were “followers of the theory that the USSR was establishing state capitalism.”37

Nor did he ever mention in any of his writings the conceptions of the Russian libertarians — concerning which he was quite well informed — or those of other currents regarding state capitalism, conceptions which had been articulated at approximately the same time as those of the “ultra-leftists.”

The only economic reference point Serge seemed to have was that of his friend Lucien Laurat who, following in the footsteps of the Belgian Henri de Man, advocated a “real planned economy,” which he contrasted to the Soviet “mixed economy,” which was less profitable than the classical capitalist sector.38

Serge’s writings nonetheless contribute — by way of the economic data he supplies — elements for a plausible interpretation of the Soviet economy as a form of state capitalism.

Serge provides extremely important data concerning the collectivizations, showing that the workers had to produce more and consume as little as the minimum required for the physiological reproduction of their labor power. Wages, the form of variable capital — “where there are wage workers, there is capital,” and where there is a proletariat there is capital, Marx held39 — underwent a significant decrease in relation to the wage levels of 1914.40

His observations concerning forced labor in the camps and factories are biased, although they do testify to an awareness of the phenomenon. He also took note of the anti-worker legislation of 1932 that decreed the death penalty for stealing state property, as well as the 1935 law subjecting minors to the death penalty. All of these practices were, moreover, used in precapitalist England. It must be recalled that, in England at the beginning of the Victorian era, workers were imprisoned in workhouses and the courts sentenced children to the gallows for stealing a loaf of bread.

At one point Serge suggests that Stalinism in fact corresponds to a primitive accumulation of capital: “How can one forget ( … ) the pages in Capital where Marx describes the merciless mechanism of socialist primitive accumulation. We are tempted to speak of a socialist primitive accumulation just as cruel, as well as antisocial due to its methods and the mistreatment it inflicts on man. But we are far from finished.”41

It is a curious lapse of Serge’s, where the capitalist accumulation analyzed by Marx in Capital is transformed into “socialist” accumulation.

One very important point in Serge is his observation concerning the birth of a true war economy, not connected to any particular theory.42

During the war Serge developed the theoretical framework that allowed him to explain the phenomenon of “totalitarian collectivism.” In 1944, in an unpublished work entitled Planned Economy and Democracy,43 Serge discovered similarities between the Nazi planned economy and Stalinist collectivization, both of which developed “within the national framework… which is autarchic.”44 Likewise, in Planned Economy and Democracy he considers — as did Otto Rühle — the possibility of a general tendency towards state capitalism, by way of nationalizations and state enterprises that “would temporarily allow them to respond to the needs of reconstruction,”45 but which have nothing to do with the real socialization of the means of production.

Finally, shortly before his death, Serge seemed to think that totalitarian “bureaucratic collectivism” of the Russian variety had in fact become a new form of imperialism of a political kind,46 characterized by integration into the Soviet Russian sphere of influence.

One searches Serge’s works in vain for an analysis of the class nature of the bureaucracy, situated at the head of what he defined as a “collectivist totalitarianism.” Only in 1941, under the influence of James Burnham, a Trotskyist dissident who formulated the theory of the “managerial revolution,”47 would Serge define the bureaucracy as a social class of managers which “will tend to crystallize into a class and monopolize power.”48 Was it a “new class,” as Bruno Rizzi maintained in 1939,49 or was it a bureaucratic form of the bourgeoisie that can be understood in the context of its underdevelopment and shortage of capital, as it attempted to accelerate the course of history by barbarous means50 in order to escape its backwardness? Serge was unable to answer this question, as death prevented him from doing so.

A philosophy of man’s collective existence

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In his conception of the socialist revolution Victor Serge never conceived of himself as an individualist, but as a “collectivist.” But his collectivism had nothing in common with a dictatorial concept of the revolution: it was not based on the dissolution of the individual into an abstract collective. For Serge it was a matter of rediscovering man’s personality. Unlike classical socialism, which was based on an “overly-simplistic conception of man,” one that was completely oblivious to psychology,51 Serge appears to have been aware of the vital necessity of taking advantage of new philosophical concepts as well as psychology (Erich Fromm, Karl Mannheim, Bruno Bettelheim) and personalism. He writes in his Memoirs: “I do not think of myself as at all an ‘individualist’; rather as a ‘personalist’ in that I view human personality as a supreme value, only integrated in society and in history.”52 Serge speaks of the “dignity of man” in his essay “Psychology and Socialism.”53

Socialism is not the death of humanism, as some have proclaimed (such as the French philosopher Althusser), but its true beginning. It is then, towards a humanist philosophy that Serge’s last works pointed. A classic humanist philosophy, but one that was lost in the totalitarian perversion of socialism:

Defense of man. Respect for man. Man must be given his rights, his security, his value. Without these, there is no socialism…

Defense of the truth.

Defense of thought… It is not against freedom of thought and against man that Socialism can triumph, but on the contrary, through freedom of thought and by

improving man’s condition.54

These principles defended by Serge are not mere humanist declarations, but possess concrete implications for any socialist revolution in which man is not a simple tool of power but the very goal of the revolution:

  • The rejection of the use of terror or of any inquisition which, as Serge recalls, correspond to feelings of fear, to the intoxication of power, to ill-feeling and mistrust among the revolutionary masses;55
  • The radical abolition of the death penalty, even against enemies who still practice it, so as not to fall into a spiral of terror and counter-terror that is the justification for every dictatorship and therefore for the abolition of the most elementary freedoms;
  • Freedom of expression. Rosa Luxemburg called it the “freedom for the one who thinks differently,”56 which implies the categorical rejection of any idea of just one Party and therefore of just one way of thinking;
  • Man is not merely an economic instrument for the benefit of raising production figures, but a political being who consciously constructs his future;
  • “The formation of assemblies really elected on the basis of freedom of opinion,” or non-manipulated workers councils;
  • The establishment not of an arbitrary despotism but of a real socialist legal system, which prevents the formation of all despotism.57

For Serge, all these measures correspond to the real philosophy of socialist democracy, which cannot exist without democratic liberties. Democracy, so vilified by the Jacobin theoreticians of the “dictatorship of the proletariat,” is not a weapon in the hands of the enemy, but the result of a society composed of persons.

What was most important to Serge with regard to a reevaluation of socialism was the subject of “autonomous thought.”58 This presupposes, and it is here that we reencounter the libertarian Serge, freedom from any boss, from any master, who would deprive the militant and the exploited of all responsibility, all initiative and any liberating doubts about established ideological certainties. On this point, as well, Serge situates himself in the Marxist tradition, that of Rosa Luxemburg, who asserted that the real meaning of the socialist movement was “the abolition of ‘leaders’ and the ‘led’ masses in the bourgeois sense.”59

Serge was nonetheless cautious; he did not ignore the existence of the seeds of irrationality — which were manifested in totalitarianism — that propaganda could utilize to curb and destroy all rationality in the consciousness of the exploited. He took note of the failure of classical socialism, and called for “an always-conscious proletariat.” He spoke sympathetically of the socialist thought of Rosa Luxemburg and of Herman Gorter, where they offered grounds for hope concerning the “spontaneity of the masses,” even if only exceptional, and he advocated an educational effort directed at the masses. He nonetheless emphasized the malleability of the intelligence and the feelings of the masses who were capable of acting against their own interests, and paying the price of a regression of their consciousness.60

Serge did not speak of “building” socialism, since the latter is not reducible to simple economic plans and abstract numbers. It was above all a matter of knowing who is behind these plans, who profits from them and towards what goals they are directed, towards those of humanity or towards a barbarism that does not speak its name: “Planning for whom? For what goal?”61

During his last years Serge avoided the use of the term “dictatorship of the proletariat,” since its thoughtless use disguised the worst dictatorship, exercised over the proletariat. He preferred to speak of man, of whom the proletariat is the nucleus of his transformation. Does this mean, as some have held, that Serge yielded to the temptation of a pure philosophical humanism of abstract man and that, thereafter, he thought that this humanism had to be a philosophy of “human rights” in opposition to totalitarianism, as was later to be the case during the cold war?

It is necessary to undertake a modern reading of Victor Serge with regard to these questions. For Serge, the problem of emancipation and liberation from all economic and political chains affects not just the proletariat, in the classical sense of the industrial proletariat, which is in the minority, but also the immense majority, whom Serge designated as the “humble.” For Serge, “human rights” did not signify a formal juridical cloak over abstract democratic rights. Serge’s humanism is revolutionary, not liberal, as has been pointed out.62 “Liberal humanism” comes from the expansion of free exchange, the simple recognition of the right of survival in a totalitarian world economy (“globalization”), which is opposed to man’s existence.63 For Serge humanism is a universal problem, that of divided man who must discover his unity by means of a liberating economic and political project, that of the unity of a really humanized world.

Conclusion

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Throughout his life, through his political commitment and his activity as a writer, Serge remained a revolutionary.

Victor Serge was not a theoretician, but a witness of his time. His perspective on the totalitarianism and the economic system of the old Soviet Union was inconsistent and required another step for a more profound reflection. Death interrupted this reflection that had begun to consider the nature and the function of the Russian system.

In fact, Serge accomplished a labor of deconstruction — to borrow the concept of the philosopher Derrida — of all the certainties, of any trace of the ideologization of social reality. Marxist and libertarian at the same time, Serge never wanted to stagnate in rigid theoretical frameworks, and this afforded him the freedom of unconstrained thought.

His humanist reflection reminds us that man does not live on bread alone, and still less on the statistical figures of a plan. In Serge one finds the idea that through the struggles of the workers, of the “humble” and the exploited, man is at the center of any real social project for transforming the existing world.

This philosophy of man, which entails the ethical demand for the self-emancipation of all of humanity,64 is not a philosophy of the individual. Serge’s philosophy is not a liberal anti-totalitarianism (like that of “globalization”), which conceals a destructive totalitarian economy, but an emancipatory “collectivism.” Socialization, or “collectivism,” is not an abstract totality that creates a schizophrenic being, as in totalitarianism; it is inscribed in the always-open hope for the formation of a global collective existence.

 

Translated from the Spanish translation by
Margarita Díaz. Source: Online Edition,
Andreu Nin Foundation, March 2002.
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Notes


* Letter from Victor Serge to Jean-Paul Samson (June 1940), in Jean-Paul Samson, Journal de l’an quarante, Témoins, Spring 1967, pg. 124.
1 Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Extremes: The Short Twentieth Century, 1914-1991. (Michael Joseph: London, 1994.
2 Mussolini, Opera Omnia, XXI; La Fenice, Florence, 1967. Quoted by Enzo Traverso, Le Totalitarisme, Le XXe Siècle en Débat, Le Seuil, Paris, 2001. Texts selected and introduced by Enzo Traverso.
3 Letter from Serge to his friends, under the title “Victor Serge is Deported,” in The Masses, № 8, pg. 17, July-August 1933.
4 Trotsky, “L’URSS dans la guerre,” September 25, 1939, in Trotsky, In Defense of Marxism: The USSR, Marxism, and Bureaucracy, pg. 115, EDI, Paris, 1972. (Preface by Pierre Naville, introduction by Jean-Jacques Marie).
5 Franz Borkenau, The Totalitarian Enemy, Faber and Faber, London, 1940. The expression “red fascism” was not his invention; it was first used by the Italian anarchist Luigi Fabbri in his book La Controrivoluzione Preventiva (Cappelli, Bologna, 1922).
6 Otto Rühle, “Fascisme Brun, Fascisme Rouge,” Spartacus, Paris, Oct.-Nov. 1975, pg. 6. According to Paul Mattick (“Otto Rühle and the German Labour Movement”), the theory of the universal tendency towards state capitalism was formulated by Rühle in the book he published under the pseudonym of Carl Steuermann, La Crise Mondiale ou Vers le Capitalisme d’Etat, NRF, Paris, 1932.
7 Ante Ciliga, The Russian Enigma, Ink Links, 1979. On Ciliga’s career, see pg. Bourrinet, An Ambiguous Journey: Ante Ciliga (1898-1992), translated by George Gordon, 1993; online at www.left-dis website.
8 Nikolai Osinski, “O stroitel’stve sotsialisma,” in Kommunist: Organ Moskovskogo Oblastnogo Bjuro RKP (Bol’shevikov), № 1, April 20, 1918, and № 2, April 27, 1918. A German translation can be found in Arbeiterdemokratie oder Parteidiktatur, Vol. 1, DTV, Munich, 1972: N. Osinsk[y], “Uber den Aufbau des Sozialismus,” pg. 111.
9 Rudolph Rocker, “Les Soviets Trahis par les Bolcheviks,” in La Faillité du Communisme d’État, Spartacus, Paris, May-June 1973.
10 Ibid., pg. 92.
11 Communist Workers Party of Germany (KAPD) pamphlet, Die Sowjetregierung und die 3. Internationale im Schlepptau der Internationalen Bourgeoisie!, Berlin, Verlag KAPD, 1921. Numerous quotations from this pamphlet and from the political current that published it can be found in Philippe Bourrinet, La Gauche Communiste Germano-Hollandaise des Origines a 1968, Editions left-dis, Zoetermeer (Netherlands), 1999. Selected chapters from this work, newly-revised by the author and translated into English, are now (December 2008) available on the website www.left-dis.
12 Peter Arshinov, “Dva Oktiabriya,” in Delo Truda, № 29, October 1927; a French translation can be found in Les Anarchistes Russes et les Soviets, Spartacus, Feb.-Mar. 1973, pgs. 194-195. In English: “The Two Octobers,” tr. Nick Heath, Libertarian Communist Review, № 1, Winter 1976.
13 See Ricardo Tacchinardi and Arturo Peregalli, L’URSS e i Teorici del Capitalismo di Stato, Piero Lacciata Editore, Manduria-Bari-Roma, 1990; and Philippe Bourrinet, Le Courant “Bordiguiste” 1919-1999: Italie, France, et Belgique, Ed. Left-dis, Zoetermeer (Netherlands), 2000.
14 Boris Souvarine (under the pseudonym Panaït Istrati), Vers l’autre Flamme, la Russie Nue, Les Éditions Rieder, Paris, 1929.
15 A comprehensive study as well as an almost exhaustive account of the different concepts of the mode of production in Russia under Lenin, Stalin, and the post-1953 era can be found in the important book by Marcel Van der Linden, Von der Oktoberrevolution zur Perestroika, der Westliche Marxismus und die Sowjetunion, Dip-Verlag, Frankfurt am Main, 1992.
16 Memoirs of a Revolutionary, 1901-1941, translated by Peter Sedgwick, Oxford University Press, London, 1963.
17 Ibid., pg. 76.
18 Ibid., pg. 80.
19 “Lettres de Russie,” Le Libertaire, November 7, 1920 and Le Soviet, January 15 and May 1, 1921. For Serge’s view of anarchism circa 1920-1921, see his pamphlet, Les anarchistes et l’expérience de la révolution russe, Ed. De la Bibliothèque du Travail, Paris, 1921, where he tries to show that there were few points of disagreement between Bolsheviks and anarchists. For a study of Serge’s relation to anarchism, see Luc Nemeth, “Victor Serge et les anarchistes,” in Victor Serge, vie et œuvre d’un révolutionnaire, Papers submitted to a symposium organized by the Institute of Sociology of the Brussels Free University, March 21-23, 1991, Socialisme, № 226-227, July-October 1991, Brussels, pgs. 282-291.
20 Memoirs, pg. 129.
21 Ibid., pg. 131. Concerning the impact of the bourgeois revolution of 1789 on the ideological imagination of the Bolsheviks, see Tamara Kondratieva, Bolcheviks et Jacobins, itinéraires des analogies, Payot, Paris, 1989. And see also Claudio Sergio Ingerflom, Le citoyen impossible. Les racines russes du léninisme, Payot, Paris, 1988.
22 Memoirs, pg. 131.
23 Ibid., pg. 153.
24 Victor Serge, La révolution chinoise 1927-1929, Savelli, Paris, 1977 (with an introduction by Pierre Naville).
25 “Correspondence between Victor Serge and Emmanuel Mounier (1940-1947),” Bulletin des amis d’Emmanuel Mounier, № 39, Paris, April 1972.
26 Erich Fromm, Escape from Freedom, Farrar & Rinehart, 1945.
27 Carl Friedrich and Zbigniew Brzezinski, Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, 1956. On the question of totalitarianism, Hannah Arendt’s book The Origins of Totalitarianism, published in 1951, is infinitely more relevant due to the profundity of its philosophical reflections on politics.
28 Victor Serge, “Les forces démocratiques en URSS,” 1945, in Le nouvel impérialisme russe. L’Europe au Carrefour: renaissance ou totalitarisme, Cahiers Spartacus mensualisés, № 13, January 1947, pg. 33.
29 Vadim Dam’e and Ja. Drabkin, “Le phénomène totalitaire,” in Marc Ferro, Nazisme et communisme. Deux régimes dans le siècle, Hachette Littératures, Paris, 1999, pgs. 167-179 (partial translation of an article from the book edited by Drabkin and Komolova, Totalitarizm v Evrope XX. Veka iz istorii ideologij, Moscow, 1996.
30 Destiny of a Revolution, Jarrolds, London, 1937. Originally published in French as Destin d’une révolution, URSS 1917-1937, Grasset, Paris, 1937.
31 Leon Trotsky, The Revolution Betrayed, 1936. “Socialism has demonstrated its right to victory, not on the pages of Capital, but in an economic zone comprising one-sixth of the earth’s surface; not in the language of dialectics, but in that of steel, cement, and electricity,” (pg. 449). In the same book, the author states: “The USSR is an intermediate society between capitalism and socialism,” quoted in Trotsky, De la révolution, Les éditions de Minuit, Paris, 1963, pg. 606.
32 Serge, op. cit., pg. 319 (French edition).
33 Ibid., pg. 323.
34 Ibid., pg. 319.
35 Ibid., pg. 322.
36 Engels, Anti-Dühring, Editions socials, Paris, 1971, pg. 315.
37 Memoirs, pg. 308.
38 Lucien Laurat (pseudonym of Otto Maschl, 1898-1973), Economie dirige et socialisation, L’Églantine, Paris-Brussels, 1934, pgs. 234-237. In his unpublished Souvenirs (Xeroxed copy at the Library of Social History at Nanterre), covering the years 1920-1928, Laurat occasionally mentions his friend Serge, whose works he quotes. See also Boris Souvarine’s journal, Est et Ouest, № 515, September 1973, “Mémoires d’un planiste (1932-1939),” pgs. 381-386.
39 In Capital Marx defines the proletariat as follows: “By proletariat, in the economic sense, one must understand the wage worker who produces capital and creates value; he is thrown on the street as soon as he is of no use for capital’s appetite for surplus value.”
40 Destin d’une révolution, pgs. 17 and 22. Serge discerns a very steep reduction in the real wage as a result of the revaluation of the ruble in 1934-1935.
41 Ibid., pgs. 202-203.
42 Ibid., pg. 297.
43 Victor Serge, Économie dirige et démocratie, manuscript, pg. 4. An English translation can be found in Revolutionary History, Vol. 5, № 3, London 1994, “Planned Economies and Democracy,” pgs. 177-196.
44 Ibid., pg. 4 (French manuscript).
45 Serge, op. cit., Revolutionary History, Vol. 5, № 3, London, 1994, pg. 183.
46 Serge, “L’URSS actuelle un régime socialiste?”, Masses, Paris, 1947.
47 James Burnham, The Managerial Revolution: What is Happening in the World, John Day Company, New York, 1941.
48 Victor Serge, “What is Fascism?”, in Partisan Review, Vol. VIII, № 5, Sept.-Oct. 1941, pg. 420. Quoted by Suzi Weissman, “Serge Reflects on Stalinism,” in Victor Serge, vie et œuvre d’un révolutionnaire. Papers submitted to a symposium organized by the Institute of Sociology of the Brussels Free University, March 21-23, 1991, Socialisme № 226-227, July-October 1991, Brussels.
49 Bruno Rizzi, La bureaucratisation du monde (La propriété de classe), Paris, 1939. Reprinted in 1976 by Champ Libre, Paris, under the title L’URSS: collectivisme bureaucratique: La Bureaucratisation du Monde, Part One.
50 Modern Quarterly, № 1, 1938. For Mattick, state capitalism “does not correspond to a new stage of capitalism, but is the index of the decline of the capitalist world. The tendency towards bolshevization and fascism is the political expression of the stagnation and decline of the capitalist system: it is barbarism.”
51 Victor Serge, “Socialisme et psychologie,” March 1947, Masses: Socialisme et Liberté, № 11, October-November 1947, pgs. 17-22. English translation: “Socialism and Psychology,” in Modern Review, Vol. 1, № 3, May 1947, pgs. 194-202.
52 Memoirs, pg. 371.
53 Serge, op. cit., pg. 22.
54 Letter to his friends in Paris, February 1933, quoted in Memoirs, pgs. 282-283.
55 Victor Serge, “Socialisme et psychologie,” March 1947, in Masses: Socialisme et Liberté, № 11, October-November 1947, pg. 20.
56 “Freedom only for the supporters of the government, only for the members of one party — however numerous they may be — is no freedom at all. Freedom is always and exclusively freedom for the one who thinks differently. Not because of any fanatical concept of ‘justice’ but because all that is instructive, wholesome and purifying in political freedom depends on this essential characteristic, and its effectiveness vanishes when ‘freedom’ becomes a special privilege.” Rosa Luxemburg, “The Russian Revolution,” in The Russian Revolution and Leninism or Marxism?, University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor, 1961, pg. 69.
57 “Les forces démocratiques en URSS,” 1945, pg. 33, in Le nouvel impérialisme russe, January 1947.
58 Victor Serge, “Socialisme et psychologie,” March 1947, in Masses: Socialisme et Liberté, № 11, October-November 1947, pg. 20.
59 Rosa Luxemburg, “Espoirs de çus,” Die Neue Zeit, 1903-1904, № 2, published in French under the title “Masses et chefs,” in Marxisme contre dictature, Cahiers Spartacus № 7, July 1946, pg. 37.
60 “Socialisme et psychologie,” pg. 21.
61 Victor Serge, “GAT is Fascism?”, in Partisan Review, Vol. VIII, № 5, Sept.-Oct. 1941, pgs. 420-421.
62 Bill Marshall, “Victor Serge et la ‘pensée 68’,” pg. 455, in Victor Serge, vie et œuvre d’un révolutionnaire, op. cit. Papers submitted to a symposium organized by the Institute of Sociology of the Brussels Free University, March 21-23, 1991, Socialisme, № 226-227, Brussels, July-October 1991.
63 Raoul Vaneigem, Déclaration des droits de l’être humain: De la souveraineté de la vie comme dépassement des droits de l’homme, Le Cherche Midi, Paris, 2001, pgs. 7-8: “The history of the freedoms bestowed upon man has always been confused until now with the history of the freedoms bestowed by man upon the economy… The rights of man are not particular extensions of a single right, that of surviving with the sole purpose of working to perpetuate a totalitarian economy, which has been falsely imposed as the sole means of survival for the human species… To the extent that the economy of exploitation has extended its totalitarian enterprise over the entire world, it has attained an autonomous mode of existence, where the reproduction of speculative capital is sufficient to maintain its existence and, ultimately, enables it to escape the control of men…”
64 Maximilien Rubel, “Utopie et révolution,” 1965, in Marx critique du marxisme, Petite Bibliothèque Payot, Paris, 1974, pg. 424: “Socialism is a historic necessity to the extent that it is understood and desired as an ethical demand.”

 

El Lissitzky exhibition in Moscow, November 2017-February 2018

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Иллюстрации к «Сказке о любопытном слоненке» Редьярда Киплинга 1922

El Lissitzky, renaissance man of the Soviet avant-garde, is the subject of a major career survey in Russia that opened last week. It is the first such show in the country for thirty years.

Ambitiously organized across two venues, the State Tretyakov Museum and the Jewish Museum and Tolerance Center, the shows are being treated as a single exhibition. They draw on an archive of the artist’s work preserved against all odds by Sophie Küppers, his German wife, an art historian and collector. Roughly 400 works are on display.

Lissitzky spent a significant portion of the 1910s and 1920s in Germany, promoting revolutionary art. When he returned to the Soviet Union in 1925, he left dozens of his paintings, photographs, architectural and graphic designs behind.

Lissitzky married Küppers in 1927 — for which she later paid a chilling price. Three years after her husband’s death in 1941, she was exiled to Siberia as an enemy alien, and works in her collection were seized by Soviet authorities. In July 2017, her heirs won a major battle in a German court over a work she had owned by Paul Klee, which was seized by the Nazis in 1937 and sold off as “degenerate” art.

Tatyana Goryacheva, the Tretyakov’s curator, says Küppers sold “part of her archive and nearly 300 graphic works” to the museum in 1959. “The collection includes drawings and sketches of Prouns” as well as “lithographs, sketches of architectural and exhibition projects, posters and book designs,” she says.

Goryacheva says that while the exhibition underscores Lissitzky’s talent, it also illuminates “the interrelations between the artist and the authorities, avant-garde art, and totalitarian ideology — an issue that inevitably arises in connection with art of the Russian and Soviet avant-garde.”

  • El Lissitzky, State Tretyakov Museum, Moscow, until 4 February 2018
  • El Lissitzky, Jewish Museum and Tolerance Center, Moscow, until 18 February 2018

Installing communism

Boris Groys
In the Flow
Verso 2016
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El Lissitzky saw Suprematism as crossing the point zero of the old world towards the free creation of the new world. This idea is reflected in the title of the exhibition in which Malevich first showed his Black Square and other Suprematist works: “0.10.” The show had ten participating artists, who had all gone through point zero — through nothingness and death. Lissitzky saw himself as another such artist, and he believed that on the other side of zero (or, one might say, the other side of the mirror) one could create a new, completely artificial space and world of forms. This belief was an effect of the October revolution. It seemed to many artists and theoreticians of that time that Russian reality itself — including all its explicit and implicit contexts — had been completely nullified by the revolution. Russian reality went the same way that Suprematism had gone before it. There was no context for life or for art left intact. There was nothing to see through the black square, through the gap that was created by the break with nature and historical past. Art had to create its own context — the social and economic presuppositions for its own further functioning. In a language strongly reminiscent of Stirner’s as it was criticized by Marx and Engels, Lissitzky contrasts communism, understood by him as the domination of organized, regulated labor, with Suprematism, understood as the domination of creative, unregulated, unorganized labor — and he expresses his conviction that in the future communism will be left behind by Suprematism, because creativity moves faster and functions more efficiently than regular work.” However, Lissitzky understands unorganized labor in a different way from Marx and Engels. For Lissitzky, as for Russian Constructivists in general, unorganized labor is precisely the work of organization. The artist is not organized because he is an organizer. Specifically, the artist creates the space in which organized, productive labor takes place.

In a certain sense, Soviet artists had no other choice at the time than to forward such a total claim. The market, including the art market, had been eliminated by the Communists. Artists were no longer confronted by private consumers and their aesthetic preferences, but by the state as a whole. Thus, for the artists it was all or nothing. However, already at the beginning of the 1920s Nikolai Tarabukin asserted in his then famous essay “From the Easel to the Machine” that the Constructivist artist could not play a formative role in the process of actual social production. His role was rather that of a propagandist who defends and praises the beauty of industrial production and opens the public’s eyes to this beauty. The artist, as described by Tarabukin, is someone who looks at the entirety of socialist production as a thing readymade — a kind of socialist Duchamp who exhibits the whole of socialist industry as something good and beautiful.

One can argue that such was precisely the strategy of Lissitzky in the late period of his artistic activity, when he was concentrating more and more of his efforts on the production of various kinds of exhibitions. In these exhibitions he tried to visualize the sociopolitical space in which organized Soviet production took place. Or, in other words, he tried to make visible the organizational work that otherwise would remain hidden, invisible to the external spectator. To visualize the invisible is traditionally the main goal of art. Obviously, Lissitzky understood his exhibitions as spaces constructed by the curator-author — spaces in which the attention of the spectator was shifted from the exhibited objects to the organization of the exhibition space as such. In this respect, Lissitzky speaks about a difference between “passive” and “active” exhibitions — or, as we would say today, between traditional exhibitions and [modern] installations. For Lissitzky, passive exhibitions can only demonstrate what has been done before. In contrast, active exhibitions create the completely new spaces in which the general idea of the exhibition is embodied — and in which individual items play a subsidiary role. Thus, Lissitzky argues that an exhibition of Soviet architecture must be in itself an embodiment of Sovietness in architecture, and all the elements of the exhibition, including its space, light, etc., should be subjugated to this goal. In other words, Lissitzky sees himself as the creator of an exhibition space that functions as an extension and realization of his earlier “projects for establishing the new” (proyekty utverzhdeniya novogo, or PROUNS). The exhibition space becomes not quite a utopian, but — to use the term introduced by Michel Foucault — a heterotopian space. The “active exhibition” must not merely illustrate and reproduce the development of the socialist reality and socialist labor that creates a new society, but rather offer a project for designing Soviet reality in its totality. On the one hand, the organizational work by the Communist Party is reconstructed and praised. On the other hand, Lissitzky aesthetically integrates the representation of the organized Communist work into the Suprematist design of the installation space.

Here Lissitzky finds himself in competition with the “active exhibitions” that were mounted in the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow and the Russian Museum in Leningrad in the years 1931-1932 by the Marxist art theoreticians Alexei Fedorov-Davydov and Nikolai Punin. These bore such characteristic titles as “Art of the Capitalist Era” or “Art from the Age of Imperialism.” These exhibitions looked like contemporary innovative curatorial installations created to reveal the sociological presuppositions of avant-garde artistic practice. For example, works by Malevich and other artists were presented under a banner with the text: “Anarchism is a reverse side of bourgeois order.” Here, a real attempt was undertaken to socially, economically and politically contextualize the new avant-garde art from the standpoint of art theoreticians who were sympathetic to this art but interpreted it as merely a necessary step on the way to the coming new Socialist art. These exhibitions could be seen as an application of communist organizational work to the productions of the Russian avant-garde, just as Lissitzky’s exhibitions can be seen as an application of Suprematist space design to communist production. From today’s perspective, it is difficult to say who moved faster forward — and who was left behind.

Yet it should be stressed that these sociologically oriented exhibitions of the Russian avant-garde were not denunciatory. They did not lead to the destruction of the avant-garde artworks or their removal from public view — which shows their essential difference from the (in)famous Nazi exhibition “Degenerate Art.” The contextualization of the Russian avant-garde in the late capitalist, (or imperialist, in Lenin’s sense of globalized capitalist order) era corresponds to the interpretation of Marxism as an analytical, critical method. The curators were following the Marxist sociology of art as developed by Vladimir Friche. Friche contended that the development of capitalism made the notion of beauty and the practice of aesthetic contemplation of beauty obsolete. True art was to be found in the design of machines — where function defines form. The true artists of the capitalist era are the technicians that design these machines and make them work. Accordingly, the art of capitalist society reflects this process of mechanization that slowly but inevitably leads to the abolition of art as a separate activity. This sociological interpretation of the avant-garde denies the movement’s ability to change the context of its own emergence: the avant-garde becomes inscribed in the politico-economic context that produced avant-garde art in the first place. But this reinscription of it into the late capitalist order was understood by the curators of the exhibition not only as a critique of the avant-garde but also as its legitimation. The artistic avant-garde is proclaimed here to be a legitimate expression of its epoch, like Renaissance, Baroque and Romantic art. That is why these sociological exhibitions were not experienced as being anti-avant-gardist. The art of the avant-garde was institutionally disempowered in the middle of the 1930s, as Socialist Realism was officially established as the dominant artistic method. Here the work organized by the Communist Party finally achieved a victory over Suprematist unorganized work. But the Communist Party practiced the same sovereigntist [i.e. Schmittian] reading of Marxism as the Russian avant-garde. Accordingly, Friche and his school were proclaimed to be an expression of vulgar (in other words, critical) Marxism and removed from positions of power, together with the artists of the Russian avant-garde.

Now, Lissitzky by no means saw himself in the context of developed or late capitalism but, rather, as a part of the vanguard of communist society. His artistic attitude, however, did not quite harmonize with the role of the artist in a communist society as envisaged by Marx and Engels. In the context of their discussion of Stirner’s unorganized, that is, artistic work, they write:

The exclusive concentration of artistic talent in particular individuals, and its suppression in the broad mass which is bound up with this, is a consequence of division of labor. Even if in certain social conditions, everyone were an excellent painter, that would by no means exclude the possibility of each of them being also an original painter, so that here too the difference between “human” and “unique” labor amounts to sheer nonsense. In any case, with a communist organization of society, there disappears the subordination of the artist to local and national narrowness, which arises entirely from division of labor, and also the subordination of the individual to some definite art, making him exclusively a painter, sculptor, etc.; the very name amply expresses the narrowness of his professional development and his dependence on division of labor. In a communist society there are no painters, but only people who engage in painting among other activities.

Thus, Marx and Engels did not assume that in a socialist society the artist would take the role of social designer or political propagandist. Rather, they expected the arts would return to the search for beauty — but with emphasis on the production of beauty rather than on its consumption and contemplation. In a communist society, everybody can become an artist if he or she desires — but in a nonprofessional manner, in his or her free time. It was a vision of the future of art that was still shared by Clement Greenberg when at the end of his famous essay “Avant-Garde and Kitsch” he spoke about the possibility of saving beauty and art through the victory of “international socialism” — Trotskyism, in fact. Obviously, Marx and Engels could not have foreseen the strategy of self-empowerment that leads many artists to undertake a leap from unorganized labor to organizational work. This self-empowerment was a goal of the artistic avant-gardes that emerged at the beginning of the twentieth century. But, after all, the organizational work by the Communist Party demonstrated itself as more efficient than Suprematist organizational work. The Party took over artistic labor — and organized it. In a certain way, the Soviet state brought to its logical end the process of the organization of professional artistic labor that, according to Marx and Engels, had already begun in bourgeois society. But at the same time, another prediction by Marx and Engels was also realized. During the Soviet era, unofficial, nonprofessional lay artistic activity emerged that was practiced by members of Soviet society among their other activities. This nonprofessional, lay art was unorganized but at the same time non-organizational, even anti-organizational. In fact, it had no definite place inside Soviet society: no definite purpose, no identifiable social role. This unofficial — some say dissident — Soviet art was a lay art that was not made for the art market or for the museums, but for a small circle of friends. Under these conditions to choose the role of a lay artist meant to choose no place, to choose social absence — if you will, true utopia. But precisely because of its lack of any explicit social, political or economic context, and what I may call its zero social role and status, Russian unofficial art made the hidden, unconscious, everyday context of Soviet life visible. In a certain critical and analytical sense, unofficial Russian art was more Marxist than the art of the Russian avant-garde: It turned the artist himself into a “zero” medium that manifested the “objective” context of his practice.


CLR James, critical theory, and the dialectic

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The writings of the Trinidadian Marxist and revolutionary Cyril Lionel Robert James contain some of the noblest reflections on human freedom ever put to page. Obviously the present author does not agree with all of James’ arguments, especially those concerning national self-determination as a step toward global emancipation. Eventually this mistaken belief led him to extend his “critical support” to Fidel Castro’s Cuba and Mao Tse-Tung’s China, as Matthew Quest has amply shown for Insurgent Notes. Nevertheless, there is much to be gained from reading the works of James.

Postcolonial theorists in particular would do well to learn from his appreciation of the universal achievements of capitalist modernity. “I denounce European colonialism,” he wrote in 1980. “But I respect the learning and profound discoveries of Western civilization.” Similarly, James always insisted that “the race question is subsidiary to the class question in politics.” He stressed in his landmark study of The Black Jacobins that “to think of imperialism in terms of race would be disastrous.” Whiteboy academic Chris Taylor, who blogs under the handle Of C.L.R. James, ought to take note.

James might well be denounced as a “class reductionist” these days for his 1960 speech before an audience in Trinidad. “The great problem of the United States,” he declared, “with all due respect to the color of the majority of my audience, is not the ‘negro question’… If the question of workers’ independent political organization were solved, the ‘negro question’ would be solved. As long as this is not solved the ‘negro question’ will never be solved.” From first to last, James remained a Marxist in his strict emphasis on the primacy of working-class autonomy.

Even as the yoke of colonial oppression was finally being lifted, in 1958, he maintained: “We are breaking the old connections, and have to establish new ones… Let us not repel [onlookers] by showing them that we are governed by the same narrow nationalist and particularist conceptions which have caused so much mischief in Europe and elsewhere… Help [from the rest of the world] is precious and, far from being a purely economic question, is a social and political necessity. Industrial expansion is not merely a question of material forces but of human relations.”

Zimbabwe is only the latest example of a failed postcolonial state. Apart from a few stray tankies like Caleb Maupin — who somehow still contends that Mugabe was not a dictator, despite having ruled the country for 37 years straight — not too many tears have been shed on account of the African leader’s sudden downfall. No one, except for brazen racists and white nationalists, longs for a return to colonial times or the restoration of Rhodesia. Yet Zimbabwe is proof that underdevelopment was not solely due to colonialism. The once-rich nation has plummeted into poverty over the past couple decades.

Moreover, I feel vindicated by James’ skepticism toward cultural studies programs. Jewish studies, to speak only of the discipline that’s grown up around my culture of origin, have always seemed to me a colossal waste of time. “I do not know, as a Marxist, black studies as such,” James told students in 1968, “but simply the struggle of people against tyranny and oppression in a certain social and political setting [capitalism]. During the last two hundred years, in particular, it’s impossible to separate black studies from white studies in any theoretical point of view.”

Regardless, enough from me already. You can download the following works by James by clicking on the links below:

  1. At the Rendezvous of Victory: Selected Writings, 1931-1981
  2. The Life of Captain Cipriani: An Account of British Government in the West Indies (1932)
  3. Toussaint Louverture: The Story of the Only Successful Slave Revolt in History; A Play in Three Acts (1934-1936)
  4. World Revolution, 1917-1936 (1937)
  5. The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the Haitian Revolution (1938)
  6. On the “Negro Question” (1939-1950)
  7. “Historical Retrogression or Socialist Revolution?” (1946)
  8. with Raya Dunayevskaya, A New Notion: The Invading Socialist Society and Every Cook Can Govern (1947, 1956)
  9. Notes on Dialectics: Hegel, Marx, Lenin (1948)
  10. with Grace Lee Boggs and Raya Dunayevskaya, State Capitalism and World Revolution (1950)
  11. Mariners, Renegades, and Castaways: The Story of Herman Melville and the World We Live In (1952)
  12. The Nobbie Stories for Children and Adults (1953-1956)
  13. Modern Politics (1960)
  14. Beyond a Boundary (1963)
  15. Marxism for Our Times: On Revolutionary Organization (1963-1981)
  16. “Wilson Harris andthe Existentialist Doctrine” (1965)
  17. Lectures on The Black Jacobins (1970)
  18. with Grace Lee and Cornelius Castoriadis, Facing Reality (1974)

And you can download the following pieces of secondary literature:

  1. Louise Cripps, C.L.R. James: Memories and Commentaries (1997)
  2. Aldon Lynn Nielsen, C.L.R. James: A Critical Introduction (1997)
  3. Frank Rosengarten, Urbane Revolutionary: C.L.R. James and the Struggle for a New Society (2008)
  4. Ornette D. Clennon, The Polemics of C.L.R. James and Contemporary Black Activism (2017)
  5. Beyond Boundaries: C.L.R. James and Postnational Studies (2006)
  6. C.L.R. James’ Caribbean (1992)
  7. The Black Jacobins Reader (2017)
  8. Christian Høgsbjerg, C.L.R. James in Imperial Britain (2014)

What follows is an exploration of the affinities between James and the Frankfurt School critical theorist Theodor Adorno, written by the Italian Marxist Enzo Traverso as part of his new book Left-Wing Melancholia: Marxism, History, and Memory (2016). It adopts the speculative form of a “missed encounter,” or desencuentro, which Bruno Bosteels has theorized as obeying a logic of “structural-historical antagonism or constitutive discontent.” Oddly, however, the two men actually met on more than one occasion, as Traverso begins by pointing out.

Traverso is more than a bit unfair to Adorno in characterizing, really caricaturing, him as “an aristocratic Marxist ‘mandarin’ affected by an incurable phobia of images and popular music.” Colonial racism was never the focus of Adorno’s thought, to be sure, but neither was metropolitan antisemitism the focus of James’ thought. Still, the former made clear in a late work that “even the old theories of imperialism have not been rendered obsolete by the great powers’ withdrawal from their colonies. The process they described survives today in the conflicts between the two monstrous power blocs.”

James and Adorno do indeed share many similarities, as Traverso otherwise skillfully elaborates.

A missed dialogue

Enzo Traverso
New York: 2016
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Let us go ahead… and compare two thinkers who embody the legacy of Marx. Adorno depicted the “dialectic of Enlightenment,” abandoning the idea of progress and extracting from Marx’s theory of reification a critique of instrumental reason. His melancholy, analytical gaze focused on Western totalitarianism and completely ignored the colonial world. C.L.R. James, on the other hand, scrutinized modernity as imperial domination, shifting its core from the West to the South and emphasizing the emancipatory potentialities of the colonized subjects. Both of them developed and enriched some premises of Marx’s theory. Western Marxism and anticolonial Marxism, nevertheless, remained two separate intellectual continents.

The name of C.L.R. James never appears in the Gesammelte Schriften of Theodor W. Adorno, or the name of the Frankfurt philosopher in the impressive work of the author of Black Jacobins. Thus, it is quite surprising to discover that they met a couple of times during the 1940s.1 They met for lunch in New York, near the New School for Social Research — probably thanks to their common friend Herbert Marcuse — when Manhattan was a crossroads between the trajectories of German-Jewish exiles and the Black Atlantic.2 There is no doubt that it was a failed encounter, and we can legitimately suppose that they met only to acknowledge their mutual dislike and incomprehension. We should try to explain why a dialogue between them did not take place — why it was, perhaps, impossible — adding that nevertheless this wasted opportunity was damaging for both of them. We are compelled to think in terms of counterfactual intellectual history in order to imagine the possible results of a dialogue that did not take place.

In Representations of the Intellectual, Edward Said highlighted affinities between Adorno and James,3 presenting them as two examples of exiled intellectuals who shared a similar approach to history and society. Both of them, Said explained, were “contrapuntal” thinkers who rejected conformism and escaped canonical views: they immigrated to New York in 1938, at the edge of the war, and lived in America until the advent of McCarthyism. Adorno returned to Frankfurt in 1949, where the Institute for Social Research was resettled after the creation of the German Federal Republic, and James was expelled to London in 1952 after having been deported to Ellis Island for several months. We could speak of two reversed exiles: one exiled to the United States, the other from. In fact, they shared more than a common outsider status and a similar style of thought. In spite of many crucial discrepancies — from their vision of communism to their analysis of mass culture — they separately but symmetrically elaborated a similar diagnostic of Western civilization, depicting it as a process of the “self-destruction of reason.”

In 1938, Adorno devoted a seminal essay to Spengler in which he analyzed The Decline of the West (1918) in the light of Nazism. Against the dominant interpretation that reduced this book to a monument of “cultural despair” oriented toward the romantic idealization of a premodern golden age of culture, Adorno considered it as a fruitful contribution to the explanation of the present crisis of Europe: “Spengler is one of the theoreticians of extreme reaction,” he wrote in his essay, “whose critique of liberalism proved itself superior in many respects to the progressive one.”4 Beyond his morphological and naturalistic vision of the exhaustion of a vital cycle of Western civilization, finally dying as a sick, old body, Spengler announced the advent of a totalitarian order. He understood the dialectic relating technological and industrial progress to social reification and the dehumanization of the world. Of course, Adorno rejected Spengler’s nationalism and conservatism but shared some elements of his diagnostic and suggested a “progressive” use of Kulturkritik. In his eyes, Spengler’s book proved that all complaints about decadence and all denunciations of approaching barbarism were useless and sterile if they did not put into question civilization itself, not only its latest stage of decay: “To escape the charmed circle of Spengler’s morphology it is not enough to defame barbarism and rely on the health of culture. Rather, it is the barbaric element in culture itself which must be recognized.”5

In 1980, in an interview with the Radical History Review, James said that he became a Marxist at the beginnings of the 1930s through the influence of two books: Trotsky’s History of the Russian Revolution (1932) and The Decline of the West. What he found in Spengler’s book, he added, was precisely the need for a criticism of civilization as a whole: “It took me away from the individual and the battles, and the concern with the kind of things that I had learned in conventional history.”6 In 1940, writing on the great historians of the twentieth century, James hoped that “the fog of mysticism” pervading Spengler’s book would not obscure its “colossal learning, capacity for synthesis, and insight.”7 Of course, James was not fascinated by the political ideas of Spengler; he was attracted by his radical criticism of Western civilization. For a young intellectual who had been educated in the positivistic and pragmatic cultural atmosphere of the British Empire, the discovery of German Kulturpessimismus could bring new and fresh ideas.

In 1935, James became one of the outstanding figures of Pan-Africanism and the British movement against the Ethiopian War. Whereas Adorno reviewed the Spenglerstreit under the impact of Hitler’s rise to power, James could not read it without relating its concept of civilization to the history of imperialism. On the one hand, Adorno concluded his essay with the evocation of a vague, abstract hope: “What can oppose the decline of the west is not a resurrected culture but the utopia that is silently contained in the image of its decline.”8 On the other hand, the alternative that James opposed to the collapse of civilization was neither abstract nor silent. He simply highlighted that Spengler’s “tremendous volume” was completed in 1917, the year of the Russian Revolution.9 Adorno’s essay on Spengler was published in 1938, the same year in which James’ The Black Jacobins came out. As he explained almost forty years later, he conceived this book on the Haitian Revolution in order to show the colonized people of Africa and the Caribbean as historical subjects: “instead of being constantly the object of other peoples’ exploitation and ferocity, [they] would themselves be taking action on a grand scale and shaping other people to their own needs.”10

As we know, the concept of “self-destruction of the reason” [Selbstzerstörung der Vernunft] is the core of Horkheimer and Adorno’s Dialectic of Enlightenment (1947).11 In this book written during the Second World War, they described the “regression” of bourgeois, civilized society into barbarism, but explained that such a process should not be interpreted as the result of the attack on civilization by the external forces of barbarism; it was rather the product of the dialectic of reason itself, reason interpreted as an instrumental rationality that had transformed progress into social regression and could only display itself as a form of domination. “Reason is totalitarian,” they wrote, thus suggesting that Nazism — the totalitarian epilogue of the West — was a coherent and authentic product of civilization. In a fragment of Minima Moralia (1951), Adorno had also formulated this concept of the “self-destruction” of reason in teleological terms: the primitive and rough violence of the most ancient past, he explained, already implied the “scientifically organized violence” of Nazism.12

In 1949, two years after the publication of their Dialectic of Enlightenment, Adorno and Horkheimer came back to Frankfurt. In 1952, James was deported to Ellis Island as an “undesirable alien” and after six months of internment he was expelled toward the United Kingdom. “I was an alien. I had no human rights,” he wrote in terms strikingly reminiscent of Hannah Arendt’s concept of “pariah”: somebody who “has no right to have rights.”13 During this period of detention, James wrote Mariners, Renegades, and Castaways (1953), an original, provocatively “anachronistic”— we could say with Ernst Bloch “noncontemporaneous”14 — interpretation of Moby Dick in light of the twentieth century. According to James, this novel prefigured the social conflicts generated by industrial capitalism. He presented the Pequod, the ship in which Melville’s story takes place, as an allegory of modern capitalist society. The Pequod’s mariners symbolized the proletariat — a multinational working class mostly comprising colonial, nonwhite subjects (notably Queequeg, Tashtego, and Daggoo, the three “savage” harpooners) — whereas Captain Ahab embodied the bourgeoisie, obsessed by its desire to rule the world, even at the risk of their mutual destruction. In his struggle against the whale, Ahab was ready to sacrifice his ship and the crew, just as the dominant classes had driven the world toward totalitarianism. The mariners had a harmonious relationship with nature; they knew and respected nature instead of approaching it as “something to be conquered and used”; they were themselves the “very forces of Nature” and spontaneously considered man as part of nature, “physically, intellectually, and emotionally.”15 Ahab, on the contrary, wished to control and master nature. James described him as the embodiment of a modern rationality that does not develop knowledge and technology with an emancipatory purpose but instead only with an instrumental goal. In the eyes of Ahab, the mariners were not human beings but an anonymous mass, a reified matter he called “manufactured men.”16 The brutal and ferocious armed guard that protected him irresistibly evoked the SS. According to Melville’s careful description of the process of labor on the ship — the mariners dismembered and stocked the whales in a very rational way, applying simultaneously multiple fragmented tasks — the Pequod appeared as a modern factory. As James observed:

This world is our world — the world we live in, the world of the Ruhr, of Pittsburgh, of the Black County in England. In its symbolism of men turned into devils, of an industrial civilization on fire and plunging into darkness, it is the world of mass bombers, of cities in flames, of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the world in which we live, the world of Ahab, which he hates and which he will organize or destroy.17

In short, read in the middle of the twentieth century, the message of Melville’s novel was the transformation of liberal society into totalitarianism: “Melville’s theme is totalitarianism, its rise and fall, its power and its weakness.”18 The third chapter of Mariners, Renegades, and Castaways is titled “Catastrophe” and describes the final destruction of the whaleboat: a self-destruction, we could say, because it results from Ahab’s obsession with power that is simultaneously Promethean (he believes in science and technology) and totalitarian (he does not know anything but domination). “The voyage of the Pequod,” James writes, “is the voyage of modern civilization seeking its destiny.”19

In a famous fragment from Minima Moralia (1951), Adorno depicted his idea of “negative dialectic” as those robot-bombs that combined “the utmost technical perfection with complete blindness,” adding that such destructive weapons were the real image of the “world-soul [Weltgeist], not on horseback like Napoleon in Jena but on wings and without a head.”20 Hegel had seen the “world spirit” as progress, Adorno as catastrophe. He contemplated this spectacle of decadence with resignation and stoicism, adopting the posture of the meditating damned in Michelangelo’s Universal Judgment.21 In Moby-Dick, James suggests, this is the posture of Ishmael, the “intellectual” observing the self-destruction of reason. Contrary to Adorno, however, who replaced Hegel (and Weber) in the position of the observer, James did not identify with Ishmael, “the intellectual”; he identified with the crew. Ishmael, in James’ interpretation, embodies the instability and hesitation of the intellectuals. He permanently swings between Ahab and the crew, attracted by both, but finally succumbing to Ahab: “his submission to the totalitarian madness was complete.”22 In Mariners, Renegades, and Castaways, the cataclysm leading to totalitarianism is described from the point of view of the crew, the “anonymous crew,” whose members like Queequeg, thanks to their “nobility of spirit” and harmonious relation with both nature and other human beings, “embodied the mystery of the universe and the attainment of truth.”23

This epistemological discrepancy explains the different conclusions that Adorno and James drew from a similar diagnostic of modernity. It could eventually be related to a different reading of Hegel and Marx, their common intellectual background. The Frankfurt philosopher had virtually abandoned any hope of a possible sublation of the conflicts of modern civilization: the contradiction between productive forces and property relations could only result in a reinforcement of domination. The “revolt of nature” against instrumental reason — a theme further elaborated by Horkheimer24 — could not break the boundaries of domination and became the ground for totalitarianism.25 Not departing from a classical Marxist interpretation of Hegel, James believed in the role of the proletariat as the redeemer of history. Like Lukács, he stressed the “negation of the negation” in the dialectical historical process but also enlarged the definition of proletariat, including the colonized peoples.26 Of course, this entailed a change in the historical perspective.

The German-Jewish exiles of the Frankfurt School very soon transformed Auschwitz into a metaphor of totalitarianism and the unveiled epilogue of civilization. James considered the violence of fascism and Nazism as the result of a transfer into Europe of a wave of systematic destruction and oppression that had already been experimented with in the colonial world. In the “Prologue” to the first edition of Black Jacobins (1938), he clearly alluded to fascism and Nazism in describing the colonization of Haiti:

The Spaniards, the most advanced Europeans of their day, annexed the island, called it Hispaniola, and took the backward natives under their protection. They introduced Christianity, forced labor in mines, murder, rape, bloodhounds, strange diseases, and the artificial famine (by the destruction of cultivation to starve the rebellious). These and other requirements of the higher civilization reduced the native population from an estimated half-a-million, perhaps a million, to 60,000 in fifteen years.27

There is no doubt that he would have shared Fanon’s description of Nazism as “the whole of Europe transformed into a veritable colony.”28 But the process of colonization and extermination ultimately resulted in revolution, and James clearly admitted that his book had been written with a retrospective gaze in which the revolutions of the present enlightened those of the past. He wished to describe the Haitian Revolution as a grandiose, artistic painting, but his own time did not allow him to escape from politics: “The violent conflicts of our age enable our practiced vision to see into the very bones of previous revolutions more easily than heretofore. Yet for that very reason it is impossible to recollect historical emotions in the tranquility which a great English writer, too narrowly, associated with poetry alone.”29 In such conditions, tranquility would have been a form of philistinism.

It would be a simplification to describe the discrepancy between Adorno and James in terms of political pessimism versus political optimism. We could find in many pages of Mariners, Renegades, and Castaways the equivalent of Adorno’s almost teleological vision of Auschwitz as the achievement of the dialectic of Enlightenment. James was not a naïve defender of the idea of “progress” and he never thought of socialism or liberation as the ineluctable outcome of history. He shared Adorno’s conception of a “negative universal history,”30 as well as his attempt to save — through the critique of instrumental reason — the emancipatory potentialities of Enlightenment itself. Differently from Adorno, nevertheless, he did not conceive the dialectic of Enlightenment only as unfolded domination but also as a process of conflicts and struggles. Confronted with the reality of fascist counterenlightenment, he defended a form of radical Enlightenment and radical cosmopolitanism or, to put it in Marxian-Hegelian terms, of “universalism from below.”31 We cannot ignore the different positions of Adorno and James at the moment of their missed dialogue, a difference that could be related to the crossroad of the opposed paths of the Jewish-German exile and the Black Atlantic. It was more than a political or a cultural difference; it was a mental, psychological, and existential difference: the Holocaust entered the historical consciousness of the West when the end of the Second World War announced a new wave of colonial revolutions. Paul Buhle elegantly synthetized the reasons for such a discrepancy: listening to the Frankfurt philosophers, James “found them interesting, but by no means compelling. They dwelt upon the collapse of the West. James sought the fragments of redemption.”32

Adorno probably remained skeptical as well in front of his Caribbean interlocutor. Almost nothing in the cultural background of the German philosopher predisposed him to express the slimmest curiosity about a defender of popular culture such as James. As an aristocratic Marxist “mandarin” affected by an incurable phobia of images and popular music, which he always reduced to manifestations of the culture industry, if he did not interpret them — as he did with jazz — as the aesthetic dimension of the authoritarian personality, Adorno could not understand the cultural concerns of an internationally recognized specialist of cricket like C.L.R. James. James did not ignore the reified form of modern culture and warned against the alienating, dehumanizing tendencies of the culture industry, but could not accept an elitist retreat into the boundaries of the aesthetic avant-garde. As he wrote in American Civilization (1950), “In modern popular art, film, radio, television, comic strip, we are headed for some such artistic comprehensive integration of modern life, that the spiritual, intellectual, ideological life of modern peoples will express itself in the closest and most rapid, most complex, absolutely free relation to the actual life of the citizens tomorrow.”33 We don’t know if he had read Kracauer’s Theory of Film (1960), but he certainly approved of the idea — radically rejected by Adorno — at the core of this book, that “many a commercial film or television production is a genuine achievement besides being a commodity,” and that, consequently, “germs of new beginnings may develop through a completely alienated environment.”34

In James’ view, this dialectical tension between alienation and liberation also concerned the realm of sport. In Beyond a Boundary (1963), he opposed the cricket practiced as an entertainment for the British elite to the cricket played by the blacks of Trinidad, which reflected their search for freedom. Two great cricket players — the Australian batsman Sir Donald Bradman and the Caribbean star Matthew Bondman, a white and a black man — embodied these different cultures. The first one had achieved his records by applying to the game the codes of a “bourgeois rationality” — we could say an “instrumental rationality” — whereas the second one played cricket as a sport expressing a moral as well as an aesthetic behavior. His way of practicing cricket revealed a different rationality related to an African culture.35

Notes


1 Paul Buhle, C.L.R. James: The Artist as Revolutionary (London: Verso, 1988), 106; Andrew J. Douglas, In the Spirit of Critique: Thinking Politically in the Dialectical Tradition (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2013), 160.
2 Enzo Traverso, “To Brush Against the Grain: The Holocaust and the German-Jewish Culture in Exile,” Totalitarian Movements and Political Religions 5, no. 2 (2004): 243-270; Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (London: Verso, 1993).
3 Edward Said, Representations of the Intellectual (New York: Vintage, 1994), 63.
4 Theodor W. Adorno, “Spengler After the Decline,” in Prisms (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1982), 65. See Oswald Spengler, The Decline of the West (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991).
5 Adorno, “Spengler After the Decline,” 71.
6 Alan J. MacKenzie, “Radical Pan-Africanism in the 1930s: A Discussion with C.L.R. James,” Radical History Review 4 (1980), 74.
7 J. R. Johnson (C.L.R. James), “Trotsky’s Place in History,” in C.L.R. James and Revolutionary Marxism: Selected Writings, 1939-1949, ed. Scott McLemee and Paul Le Blanc (Atlantic Highlands: Humanities Books, 1993).
8 Adorno, “Spengler After the Decline,” 72.
9 James, “Trotsky’s Place in History.”
10 C.L.R. James, “Foreword” (1980), in The Black Jacobins (London: Allison and Busby, 1980), v.
11 Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment: Philosophical Fragments (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002), xvi.
12 Theodor W. Adorno, Minima Moralia: Reflections on a Damaged Life (London: Verso, 2005), 233.
13 C.L.R. James, Mariners, Renegades, and Castaways: The Story of Herman Melville and the World We Live In (Hanover: University Press of New England, 2001), 141.
14 Ernst Bloch, “Non-Contemporaneity and Obligation to Its Dialectics” (1932), in Heritage of Our Time (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 104-116.
15 James, Mariners, Renegades, and Castaways, 30.
16 Ibid., 16.
17 Ibid., 45.
18 Ibid., 54. In 1952, James had probably read Hannah Arendt’s book on totalitarianism, published in New York one year earlier, perhaps even Franz Neumann’s interpretation of National Socialism — a book to which he could have been introduced by Herbert Marcuse — but these are only speculations. Written in prison, James’ essay on Melville does not include a bibliography. See Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1951); and Franz Neumann, Behemoth: The Structure and Practice of National Socialism, 1933-1944 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1944).
19 James, Mariners, Renegades, and Castaways, 19. On James and Arendt, see Richard King, “The Odd Couple: C.L.R. James, Hannah Arendt, and the Return of Politics in the Cold War,” in Beyond Boundaries: C.L.R. James and Postnational Studies, ed. Christopher Gair (London: Pluto, 2006), 108-127.
20 Adorno, Minima Moralia, 55. See Hegel’s famous letter to Niethammer of October 13, 1806: Hegel, The Letters, ed. Clark Butler and Christiane Seiler (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), 114.
21 Detlev Peukert evoked this allegory to describe the attitude of Weber in front of modernity: Peukert, Max Webers Diagnose der Moderne (Göttingen: Vabdenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1989), 27.
22 James, Mariners, Renegades, and Castaways, 40.
23 Ibid., 33.
24 Max Horkheimer, “The Revolt of Nature,” in Eclipse of Reason (New York: Continuum, 2004), 92-127.
25 Theodor W. Adorno, Negative Dialectics (London: Routledge, 2003).
26 C.L.R. James, Notes on Dialectic: Hegel, Marx, Lenin (1948; London: Pluto, 2005). See Georg Lukács, History and Class Consciousness (London: Merlin, 1971); According to Raya Dunayevskaya, a close intellectual partner of James in the 1940s, the “real tragedy of Adorno (and the Frankfurt School)” was that of a “one-dimensionality of thought which results when you give up the Subject, when one does not listen to the voices from below.” Dunayevskaya, Philosophy and Revolution (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989), 187.
27 C.L.R. James, The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution (New York: Vintage, 1989), 3-4.
28 Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth (New York: Grove, 1963), 101.
29 Ibid., xi.
30 I borrow this definition to Antonio y Vazquez Arroyo, “Universal History Disavowed: On Critical Theory and Postcolonialism,” Postcolonial Studies 11, no. 4 (2008): 464.
31 See Susan Buck-Morss, Hegel, Haiti, and Universal History (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2009), 106.
32 Buhle, C.L.R. James, 106.
33 C.L.R. James, American Civilization (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1993), 151. On this topics, see Bill Schwarz, “C.L.R. James’ American Civilization,” in Gair, Beyond Boundaries, 128-156; and Brian W. Alleyne, “Cultural Politics and Globalized Infomedia: C.L.R. James, Theodor W. Adorno and Mass Culture Criticism,” Interventions 1, no. 3 (1999): 361-372.
34 Siegfried Kracauer, Theory of Film: The Redemption of Physical Reality, ed. Miriam Bratu Hansen (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 217-218.
35 C.L.R. James, Beyond a Boundary (London: Stanley Paul, 1968).

VKhUTEMAS: The “Soviet Bauhaus”

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Architectural Review

Agata Pyzik
May 8, 2015

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VKhUTEMAS was an art and technical school set up in 1920 in Moscow that saw itself as a realization of the new revolutionary government’s approach to art, and which was to become a vital part of building a new society. Often this ‘building’ was in the most literal sense: one of the chief skills taught there was architecture, next to industrial and technical design, textiles, painting and sculpture. This exhibition in Martin-Gropius-Bau focuses on the school’s architecture teaching, and on the highly interdisciplinary, experimental methods developed there by some of the greatest Russian architects of the 20th century, such as Nikolai Ladovsky, Moisei Ginsburg, and Konstantin Melnikov. They were able to produce such pioneering results by treating artistic education as part of a whole. Many of these architects were also fascinating painters. At the same time, few of VKhUTEMAS students’ boldest designs were built, and the school faced a political backlash as early as 1929.

This “Soviet Bauhaus” (as the exhibition’s subtitle has it) raises interest today not only because Constructivist luminaries such as Rodchenko, Klutsis, and Popova taught there, but also because of an emerging interest in the less explored aspects of the art of the revolutionary period. The Berlin show concentrates on the pedagogic work of teachers and usually unknown students at VKhUTEMAS, whose rarely seen work hangs next to the better-known abstract compositions of Stepanova or Rodchenko’s spatial constructions.

Given the traditionalist legacy of tsarism, these artists had first to break with the 19th century. This is visible in the early 1920s work of Nikolai Kolli, later the job architect on Corbusier’s only completed Soviet building, Tsentrosoyuz. His drawings of foliage compositions on Neoclassical architecture show how attaining Constructivist form meant learning from the past as well as its rejection. The school’s architecture faculty initially combined three threads: Neoclassicist, taught by Ivan Zholtovsky; the experimental Rationalist school, headed by Ladovsky; and a non-conformist pedagogical program led by Melnikov and Ilya Golosov, the “New Academy.” The link between classicism and Modernism is here less sharp than it’s often portrayed — there are many student drawings, which, in order to reach for new spatial forms, reach first to French visionary architects, such as Boullée and Ledoux, and develop these in an ever more stern, reduced way.

This relationship between the French Revolution and classicism is echoed in the creation of a new, atheistic, rational Soviet state and society, cherishing internationalism and heroes of modernity, in such projects as the Cathedral of International Understanding by the Rationalist and VKhUTEMAS teacher Vladimir Krinsky, or Ladovsky’s Monument to Columbus in Santo Domingo. Successive rooms show how students’ responses to extremely matter-of-fact tasks, such as “production exercise to determine and represent a form,” produced extremely varied results, bulky edifices or thin, fragile towers, coming in bright, contrasting colors, and using collage and photomontage, to establish new forms of space. Students had a lot of freedom, leading to extraordinary diploma projects such as Nikolai Sokolov’s Constructivist spa, which was envisaged to be partly under a mountain, a reminder that one of objectives of early Communism was comfort and luxury. Another final-year project is Georgi Krutikov’s Flying City, accompanied by a Surrealist photomontage predicting the space program and proving that traffic will soon become too congested and dangerous — as early as 1928!

In the end, VKhUTEMAS’ undoing was part of increasingly pragmatic late 1920s politics, which demanded its greater involvement in national industry. Although students like Ivan Leonidov attempted more utopian approaches to planning than the likes of the showcase steeltown Magnitogorsk, they were rejected. Finally, the school’s dissolution was an inevitability tied not just to the Stalinization of Soviet Russia, but to the tendency by 1930s modern architects everywhere to abandon experimentation in favor of a more bland International Style.

Student projects

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Complex frontal composition based on nuance and contrast combination of plastic and shade, using elements of rhythm

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Student exercises for the color course

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Finding a voluminous form of set configuration (inverted cone)

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Constructing a voluminous composition based on a correlation of mass and support

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Construction of frontal surface based on vertical, horizontal, and inclined combination of two or more rhythmical rows

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Constructing and finding a spatial voluminous composition using surface elements

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Constructing a voluminous form with finding and expressing mass and weight

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Assorted student models for the space course

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Organization of inner space

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Organization of space over a horizontal surface (rectangular, square, round)

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Finding the expressiveness of form of the simplest geometrical configuration: Parallelepiped

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Frontal surface: Vertically limited rhythmical row

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Finding a voluminous form (cylinder) with inclusion of additional elements in space

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Frontal surface with finding the correlation of mass and space

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Architectonic design of the frontal surface

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Finding the form of blunt massive volume (Parallelepiped, cylinder, complex configuration)

Yiddishland and beyond: Jews, nationalism, and internationalism

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Jews have long been associated with socialist politics, either maliciously or adventitiously. Obviously I have no interest in lending weight to this association, as it’s more a matter of historical accident than any cultural or biological predisposition. Because I like to use this blog as a resource for readers, however, providing materials that are otherwise hard to find, I thought I’d post some documents pertaining to the issue. Without further ado, then:

Some of these are primary source memoirs. For example, those of the Bundist leader Vladimir Medem, the Bundist agitator Bernard Goldstein, and the Bundist-turned-Bolshevik-turned-Left Oppositionist-turned-Zionist Hersh Mendel. Others are essay collections, whether compiling the shorter works of a single figure like the “Marxist Zionist” Ber Borochev, founder of Poale Zion, or individual contributions by a number of authors (as in Jews and Leftist Politics). Other texts are more thematic studies. Alain Brossat and Sylvia Klineberg’s Revolutionary Yiddishland and Michael Löwy’s outstanding Redemption and Utopia are good examples of this. Historical overviews are also included, like Yoav Peled’s Class and Ethnicity in the Pale and Arno J. Mayer’s Why Did the Heavens Not Darken?

Needless to say, I don’t necessarily endorse the views espoused in the texts shared above. Indeed, many of them are at odds with each other. Zionism and Bundism are equally antithetical to me, insofar as I consider myself an internationalist opposed to nationalism in all of its forms. The politics of Medem and Borochov thus do not appeal to me, as interesting they may be as historical figures. Likewise, Traverso’s End of Jewish Modernity was deeply disappointing to me, as was Butler’s Parting Ways (and I entered that one with much lower expectations). Jews are not any more broad-minded or inherently universalist than any other group of people, and there is no “true diasporic essence” that can be somehow recaptured. For if the last seventy years have shown anything, it’s that Jews can be just as narrow and chauvinistic as any other nation.

Because the topic repeatedly comes up, I thought I might briefly address the relation of Jewish politics (to the extent one can speak of a single body of Jewish political thought) to the two rival orientations of the modern age: nationalism and internationalism. Jewish nationalisms flourished throughout Europe around the fin-de-siècle. Two main types may be distinguished: Bundism and Zionism. Whereas the former sought to establish a Jewish homeland wherever a sufficient concentration of Jews already lived, the latter proposed relocation to Palestine (or sometimes to Uganda). Each type was ideologically inflected by mainstream European socialism, though they deviated from its internationalist scope and outlook.

For whatever reason, Borochov’s Labor Zionism proved more cosmopolitan than Medem’s Bundism when it came to propagating international communism. Although he died in 1917, before the October Revolution, the followers of Borochov fought with the Red Army in much higher numbers than their Bundist counterparts. The image above, by the Polish constructivist Henryk Berlewi, features Yiddish text which reads “Workers of all lands, unite!” Quite clearly, the unnamed figure shown in between the floating suprematist shapes is Borochov (compare with the photo portrait before it). Likewise, the Hebrew of the next, above and below the stock Comintern image of the worker smashing the chains of the world, reads:

With the workers of Zion, to the struggle!
For a Histadrut that will fight!
For the sake of Socialism!
Left Workers of Zion,
The Borochovian opposition,
And “Non-Partisans”

Medem, in contrast with Borochov, was far more sympathetic to the Mensheviks than to the Bolsheviks. He reviled Lenin and Trotsky, suggesting the former suffered from megalomania.

Moishe Postone, 1942-2018

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(Caricature depicting Postone on the left,
next to Karl Marx and Karl Liebknecht)

Yesterday morning I saw it announced across social media and on several sites, namely by Zer0 Books and Shades Magazine, that my former teacher Moishe Postone has died. I had known from friends close to his family that he was very ill, and heard they were taking him off life support this last weekend. So when news circulated that he had left us, I assumed it was fact and wrote the short tribute published here. Later, a fellow student of Moishe, Istvan Adorjan, contacted me to say the reports were false, and that he was still clinging to life (though probably not for much longer). Obviously, I did not intend to mislead anyone by passing along this information, since I believed it to be true, much less disrespect him or his loved ones.

As soon as I learned of the mistake, I tried to publicize as far as possible that Moishe was still alive. Many others had by then written premature obituaries, including Peter Frase of Jacobin, though he likewise went on to correct it. For some reason, Sebastian Budgen of Verso and Historical Materialism began alleging that that I’d invented the malicious rumor Moishe was dead, despite the fact Budgen had widely shared the false reports of his passing across multiple platforms hours before I even saw anything about it. Ironically, Budgen only learned Moishe was still alive at that point thanks to Brendan McGeever’s crosspost of my note. Nevertheless, he fulminated that I ought to be boycotted like “apartheid South Africa or Zionist Israel” (I can only imagine what Moishe would have said about that).

That the sad occasion of Moishe’s passing would be used by Budgen to perpetuate his silly beef with me is of course petty beyond belief, but it is not surprising, just as little as it should surprise anyone that sycophants hoping to get published by him would kiss his ass all over that status update. Regardless, I intend to dedicate the remainder of this post to the memory of Postone, without worrying about what these idiots might say. Jennifer Moran, a family friend, contacted me a couple hours ago to tell me she had just received a pastoral notice from the synagogue that the funeral will be held at Rodfei Zadek tomorrow. Goodbye, Moishe. You will be missed immensely.

When I attended his lectures on Capital almost ten years ago he was undergoing treatment for cancer, which was subsequently in remission. Apparently it came back. Still, if you haven’t read his groundbreaking contributions to the reinterpretation of Marx’s mature critique, you should do so without delay. His works in English and German can be downloaded below.

An interview with Postone, published almost exactly ten years ago, can be read following a photograph showing him visiting the grave of the Frankfurt School critical theorist Herbert Marcuse. For worthwhile critical engagements with Postone’s Time, Labor, and Social Domination, see Loren Goldner’s appreciative “Critique of Pure Theory: Moishe Postone’s Dialectic of the Abstract and Abstract” (2003), Michael Heinrich’s somewhat captious “Too Much Production: Postone’s New Interpretation of Marx’s Theory Provides a Categorical Critique with Deficits” (2004), Chris Arthur’s “Subject and Counter-Subject” (2004), Slavoj Žižek’s sustained reading of it in Living in the End Times (2009), and Chris Cutrone’s “When was the Crisis of Capitalism? Moishe Postone and the Legacy of the 1960s New Left” (2014).

Marx after Marxism:
An interview with Moishe Postone

Benjamin Blumberg & Pam Nogales
Platypus Review 3 | March 1, 2008

 

BB: We would like to begin by asking some questions about your early engagement with Marxism and the impetus for your contribution to it. Very basically, how did you come upon Marx?

MP: I went through various stages. My first encounter was, as is the case with many people, the Communist Manifesto, which I thought was… rousing, and not really relevant. For me, in the 1960s, I thought it was a kind of a feel-good manifesto, not that it had been that in its own time, but that it no longer was really very relevant. Also, hearing the remnants of the old Left that were still around campus — Trotskyists and Stalinists arguing with one another — I thought that most of it was pretty removed from people’s concerns. It had a museum quality to it. So, I considered myself, in some vague sense, critical, or Left, or then the word was “radical,” but not particularly Marxist. I was very interested in issues of socialism, but that isn’t necessarily the same as Marxism.

Then I discovered, as did many in my generation, the 1844 Manuscripts. I thought they were fantastic… At that point, however, I still bought into the notion, very widespread then, that the young Marx really had something to say and that then, alas, he became a Victorian and that his thought became petrified. A turning point for me was an article, “The Unknown Marx,” written by Martin Nicolaus while translating the Grundrisse in 1967. Its hints at the richness of the Grundrisse blew me away.

Another turning point in this direction was a sit-in in the University of Chicago in 1969. Within the sit-in there were intense political arguments, different factions were forming. Progressive Labor (PL) was one. It called itself a Maoist organization, but it was Maoist only in the sense that Mao disagreed with Kruschev’s speech denouncing Stalin, so it was really an unreconstructed Stalinist organization. The other was a group called Revolutionary Youth Movement (RYM), which tried to take cognizance of the major historical shifts of the late 1960s, and did so by focusing on youth and on race. It eventually split; one wing became the Weathermen. At first friends of mine and myself kind of allied with RYM, against PL — but that’s because PL was just very vulgar and essentially outside of historical time. But the differences I and some friends had on RYM were expressed tellingly after the sit-in. Two study groups emerged out of the sit-in, one was the RYM study group, called “Youth as a Class,” and the other I ran with a friend, called “Hegel and Marx.” We felt that social theory was essential to understanding the historical moment, and that RYM’s emphasis on surface immediacy was disastrous. We read [Georg] Lukács, who also was an eye-opener — the extent to which he took many of the themes of some conservative critics of capitalism — the critique of bureaucratization, of formalism, of the dominant model of science — and embedded them within Marx’s analysis of the commodity form. In a sense this made those conservative critics look a lot more superficial than they had looked beforehand, and deepened and broadened the notion of a Marxian critique. I found it really to be an impressive tour de force. In the meantime I was very unhappy with certain directions that the Left had taken.

BB: To begin with a basic but fundamental question, one that is very important for your work, why is the commodity form the necessary category of departure for Marx in Capital? In other words, why would a category that would appear to be, in certain guises, an economic category be the point of departure for a critique of social modernity capable of grasping social phenomena at an essential level?

MP: I think what Marx is trying to do is delineate a form of social relations that is fundamentally different from that in pre-capitalist societies. He maintains that the social relations that characterize capitalism, that drive capitalism, are historically unique, but don’t appear to be social. So that, for example, although the amazing intrinsic dynamic of capitalist society is historically specific, it is seen as merely a feature of human interaction with nature. I think one of the things that Marx is trying to argue is that what drives the dynamic of capitalist society are these peculiar social forms that become reified.

BB: In your work you emphasize Marx’s differentiation between labor as a socially mediating activity, i.e., in its abstract dimension, on the one hand, and on the other, as a way of producing specific and concrete use-values, i.e., participating in the production of particular goods. In your opinion, why is this, for Marx, an important distinction from premodern forms of social organization and how does it figure in his theory of Modern capitalist society?

MP: Well, this is one place where I differ from most people that write about Marx. I don’t think that abstract labor is simply an abstraction from labor, i.e., it’s not labor in general, it’s labor acting as a socially mediating activity. I think that is at the heart of Marx’s analysis: Labor is doing something in capitalism that it doesn’t do in other societies. So, it’s both, in Marx’s terms, concrete labor, which is to say, a specific activity that transforms material in a determinate way for a very particular object, as well as abstract labor, that is, a means of acquiring the goods of others. In this regard, it is doing something that labor doesn’t do in any other societies. Out of this very abstract insight, Marx develops the whole dynamic of capitalism. It seems to me that the central issue for Marx is not only that labor is being exploited — labor is exploited in all societies, other than maybe those of hunter-gatherers — but, rather, that the exploitation of labor is effected by structures that labor itself constitutes.

So, for example, if you get rid of aristocrats in a peasant-based society, it’s conceivable that the peasants could own their own plots of land and live off of them. However, if you get rid of the capitalists, you are not getting rid of capital. Social domination will continue to exist in that society until the structures that constitute capital are gotten rid of.

PN: How can we account for Marx’s statement that the proletariat is a revolutionary force without falling into a vulgar apprehension of its revolutionary character?

MP: It seems to me that the proletariat is a revolutionary force in several respects. First of all, the interaction of capital and proletariat is essential for the dynamic of the system. The proletariat is not outside of the system, the proletariat is integral to the system. The class opposition between capitalist and proletariat is not intended by Marx as a sociological picture of society, rather, it isolates that which is central to the dynamism of capitalism, which I think is at the heart of Marx’s concerns.

Second, through its actions, the proletariat — and not because it wants to — contributes to the temporal and spatial spread of capital. That is to say, the proletariat is one of the driving forces behind globalization. Nevertheless, one of the differences, for Marx, between the proletariat and other oppressed groups, is that if the proletariat becomes radically dissatisfied with its condition of life, it opens up the possibility of general human emancipation. So it seems to me that one can’t take the theory of the proletariat and just abstract it from the theory of capital, they are very much tied to one another.

BB: I would like to turn to the seminal thinker Georg Lukács, in particular his essay “Reification and the Consciousness of the Proletariat,” first let me ask a general question, what do you take to be the most important insight of this essay?

MP: Well, Lukács takes the commodity form and he shows that it is not simply an economic category but that it is the category that can best explain phenomena like those that Weber tried to grapple with through his notion of rationalization, i.e., the increasing bureaucratization and rationalization of all spheres of life. Lukács takes that notion and provides a historical explanation of the nature of that process by grounding it in the commodity. That opened up a whole universe for me.

Lukács also brilliantly shows that the forms that Marx works out in Capital are simultaneously forms of consciousness as well as forms of social being. In this way Lukács does away with the whole Marxist base-super structure way of thinking about reality and thought. To use slightly different language, a category like commodity is both a social and a cultural category, so that the categories are subjective and objective categories at the same time.

BB: Could you explain your critique of Lukács’ identification of the proletariat as the sociohistorical subject?

MP: Lukács posits the proletariat as the Subject of history, and I think this is a mistake. A lot of people confuse subject and agency. When using the term “Subject,” Lukács is thinking of Hegel’s notion of the identical subject-object that, in a sense, generates the dynamic of history. Lukács takes the idea of the Geist and essentially says that Hegel was right, except that he presented his insight in an idealist fashion. The Subject does exist; however, it’s the proletariat. The proletariat becomes, in this sense, the representative of humanity as a whole. I found it very telling, however, that in Capital, when Marx does use Hegel’s language referring to the Geist he doesn’t refer to the proletariat, he refers to the category of capital. This made a lot of sense to me, because the existence of an ongoing historical dynamic signifies that people aren’t real agents. If people were real agents, there wouldn’t be a dynamic. That you can plot an ongoing temporal pattern means that there are constraints on agency. It seems to me that by calling capital the Subject, Marx argues for the conditions of possibility that humans can become the subjects of their own history, but that’s with a small “s.” Then there wouldn’t be this ongoing dynamic, necessarily. Rather, change and development would be more the result, presumably, of political decision making. So right now humans make history, but, as it were, behind their own back, i.e., they make history by creating structures that compel them to act in certain ways.

For Lukács, the proletariat is the Subject, which implies that it should realize itself (he is very much a Hegelian) whereas if Marx says capital is the Subject, the goal would be to do away with the Subject, to free humanity from an ongoing dynamic that it constitutes, rather than to realize the Subject.

PN: It has been our experience that “reification” is commonly understood as the mechanization of human life, expressing the loss of the qualitative dimension of human experience. In other words, reification is understood solely as an expression of unfreedom in capitalist society. However, the passage below, from “Reification and the Consciousness of the Proletariat,” suggests to us that, for Lukács, the reification of the driving societal principle is also the site for class consciousness, in other words, that transformations in the objective dimension of the working class can only be grasped in reified form.

The class meaning of these changes [i.e., the thoroughgoing capitalist rationalization of society as a whole] lies precisely in the fact that the bourgeoisie regularly transforms each new qualitative gain back onto the quantitative level of yet another rational calculation. Whereas for the proletariat, the “same” development has a different class meaning: it means the abolition of the isolated individual, it means that the workers can become conscious of the social character of labor, it means that the abstract, universal form of the societal principle as it is manifested can be increasingly concretized and overcome…1

For the proletariat however, this ability to go beyond the immediate in search for the “remoter” factors means the transformation of the objective nature of the objects of action.2

The passages above seems to imply that for Lukács class consciousness is not imminent to the experiential dimension of labor, i.e., that a Leftist politics is not an immediate product of concrete labor, rather, class consciousness emerges out of the dissolution of this immediacy. From this, we take Lukács to mean that reification is double-sided, in that it is both the ground for a potential overcoming of the societal principle under capital, and an expression of unfreedom. It’s both.

BB: In other words, reification is not really a structure that has to be done away with so that outlets of freedom and action can emerge, but it’s actually the site, the location, from which action is possible in capitalist modernity.

PN: That said, in what way does a one-sided appropriation of Lukács’ category lose hold of its critical purchase?

MP: Well, this is a nice reading… I’m not sure it’s Lukács. But that may be beside the point. If you read that longer quote, “the bourgeoisie regularly transforms each new qualitative gain back onto the quantitative level of yet another rational calculation,” for Lukács that’s reification. What you’ve done here is taken the notion of reification and you’ve come to something I actually would be very sympathetic to, which is the idea that capitalism is constitutive as well constraining. It opens possibilities as well as closes them. Capitalism itself is double-sided. I’m not sure whether Lukács really has that, but that’s neither here nor there.

Lukács emphasizes the abolition of the isolated individual, and this is important for me. There is a sense in Lukács that the proletariat doing proletarian labor could exist in a free society, and I don’t think this is the case for Marx. Marx’s idea of the social individual is a very different one than simply the opposition of the isolated individual and the collectivity. For Marx the social individual is a person who may be working individually, but their individual work depends on, and is an expression of, the wealth of society as a whole. This is opposed to, let’s say, proletarian labor, which increasingly, as it becomes deskilled, becomes a condition of the enormous wealth of society, but is in a sense, its opposite on the level of the work itself. “The richer the society, the poorer the worker.” Marx is trying to imagine a situation in which the wealth of the whole and the wealth of each — wealth in the sense of capacities and the ability to act on those capacities — are congruent with one another. I am not sure Lukács has that conception… I’m not sure.

BB: In some ways I think that the second quote does bring into the field certain issues with the projection of proletariat labor continuing… It depends on interpretation I suppose, because he says, “for the proletariat however, this ability to go beyond the immediate, ” which is enabled through a process of reification, “in search of the ‘remoter’ factors means the transformation of the objective nature of the objects of action,” now, if “object” is solely taken to mean the material product of concrete labor, it would be against Lukács’ sense of the commodity, by which, as we’ve already established, he means both a category of subjectivity and objectivity, so the object of action is also the proletariat itself.

MP: Yes, but you’ll notice in the last third of Lukács’ essay, which is about revolutionary consciousness, there is no discussion at all of the development of capital. Everything is the subjective development of the proletariat as it comes to self-consciousness. That process is not presented as historical. What is changing in terms of capital — other than crises — is bracketed. There is a dialectic of identity whereby awareness that one is an object generates the possibility of becoming a subject. For me, in a funny way, in the third part of the reification essay history comes to a standstill, and history becomes the subjective history of the Spirit, i.e., the proletariat becoming aware of itself as a Subject, not just object. But there is very little — there’s nothing — on the conditions of possibility for the abolition of proletariat labor. None. There is no discussion of that at all. So, history freezes in the last third of the essay.

PN: Is it possible to struggle to overcome capitalism other than through necessary forms of misrecognition that this organization of social life generates? In other words: If consciousness in capitalist modernity is rooted in phenomenal forms that are the necessary expressions of a deep structure which they simultaneously mask, then how can mass-based left-wing anticapitalist politics be founded on anything other than progressive forms of misrecognition, i.e., as opposed to reactionary forms of misrecognition, ranging from populist critiques of finance capital, to chauvinist critiques of globalization, to localist or isolationist critiques of centralized political and economic power?

MP: That’s a good question. I don’t have an easy answer, so maybe I’ll start by being very modest. It seems to me that the first question isn’t, “what is correct consciousness?”, but, rather, “what is not adequate?” That in itself would help any anticapitalist movement immeasurably. To the degree to which movements are blind to the larger context of which they are a part, they necessarily are going to generate consequences that are undesirable for them as well.

Let me give you an example from liberal politics. I was thinking of this recently. After 1968 when Hubert Humphrey, who had been Lyndon Johnson’s vice-president, was basically given the throne, the progressive base of the Democratic Party — who where very much opposed to this kind of machine politics — attempted to institute a more democratic process of the selection of the candidate for the party. It was then that the primaries really came into their own — you had primaries before, but they weren’t nearly as important. The problem is that in a situation like the American one, where you do not have government financing of elections, primaries simply meant that only people who have a lot of money have any chance. The consequences of this push by the progressive base of the Democratic party were profoundly antidemocratic, in many respects machine politics were more democratic. So what you have now is a bunch of millionaires running in all the primaries, or people who spend all of their time getting money from millionaires. Now, there was nothing the matter with the idea of wanting, within the liberal framework, to have a more democratic process to choose candidates. The context was such however, that the reforms that they suggested rendered the process more susceptible to non-democratic influence. The gap between intention and consequence that results from a blindness to context could be extended to many parts of the Left, of course.

PN: You give specific attention to the rise and fall of the Soviet Union in your work with reference to the “temporal structuring and restructuring of capitalism in the 20th century.” Now, I understood “temporal structuring and restructuring” as an indication of how the political dimension mediates the temporal dynamic of capital, affecting the way that capitalism appears subsequently. In this sense, both forms of state-centrism, the Western Fordist-Keynesian synthesis and the Soviet Union, may in fact look the same because they were both, in one way or another, responding to a crisis in capital. Could you speak about the character of this political mediation?

MP: Yes, they were responses to a crisis. I think one of the reasons why the Soviet model appealed to many people outside of the West, was that the Soviet Union really developed a mode of creating national capital in a context of global capital very different from today. Developing national capital meant creating a proletariat. In a sense, Stalin did in fifteen years what the British did in several centuries. There was immense suffering, and that shouldn’t be ignored. That became the model for China, Vietnam, etc. (Eastern Europe is a slightly different case.) Now, the revolution, as imagined by Trotsky — because it’s Trotsky who really influences Lenin in 1918 — entailed the idea of permanent revolution, in that, revolution in the East would spark revolution in the West. But I think Trotsky had no illusions about the Soviet Union being socialist. This was the point of his debate with Stalin. The problem is that both were right. That is, Trotsky was right: there is no such thing as “socialism in one country.” Stalin was right, on the other hand, in claiming that this was the only road that they had open to them once revolution failed in the West, between 1918–1923. Now, did it have to be done with the terror of Stalin? That’s a very complicated question, but there was terror and it was enormous, and we don’t do ourselves a service by neglecting that. In a sense it becomes an active will against history, as wild as claiming that “history is on our side.”

This model of national development ended in the 1970s, and, of course, not just in the Soviet Union. The present moment can be defined as a post-Cold War moment, and this allows the Left to remove an albatross that had been hanging around its neck for a long time. This does not mean that the road to the future is very clear, I think it’s extremely murky right now. I don’t think we are anywhere near a pre-revolutionary, even a pre-pre-revolutionary situation. I think it becomes incumbent on people to think about new forms of internationalism, and to try to tie together, intrinsically, things that were collections of particular interests.

BB: If one accepts the notion that left-wing anticapitalist politics necessarily has as its aim the abolition of the proletariat — that is, the negation of the structure of alienated social labor bound up with the value form of wealth — what action should one take within the contemporary neoliberal phase of capitalism?

How could the Left reconcile opposition to the present offensive on the working class with the overarching goal of transcending proletarian labor?

MP: The present moment is very bleak, because as you note in this question, and it’s the $64,000 question, it is difficult to talk about the abolition of proletarian labor at a point where the meager achievements of the working class in the 20th century have been rolled back everywhere. I don’t have a simple answer to that. Because it does seem to me that part of what is on the agenda is actually something quite traditional, which is an international movement that is also an international workers’ movement, and I think we are very far away from that. Certainly, to the degree to which working classes are going to compete with one another, it will be their common ruin. We are facing a decline in the standard of living of working classes in the metropoles, there is no question about it, which is pretty bleak, on the one hand.

On the other hand, a great deal of the unemployment has been caused by technological innovations, and not simply by outsourcing. It’s not as if the same number of jobs were simply moved overseas. The problems that we face with the capitalist diminution of proletariat labor on a worldwide scale go hand in hand with the increase of gigantic slum cities, e.g., São Paolo, Mexico City, Lagos. Cities of twenty million people in which eighteen million are slum dwellers, that is, people who have no chance of being sucked up into a burgeoning industrial apparatus.

BB: Are we in danger then of missing a moment in which Marx’s critique of modernity would have a real significance for political action?

In other words, if the global condition sinks further into barbarism, the kind expressed by slum cities, might we — if we don’t seize this moment — end up in a worse situation twenty, thirty years down the line?

MP: I’m sure, but I don’t know what “seizing the moment” at this moment means. I’m very modest at this point. I think that it would help if there was talk about issues that are real. Certain ways of interpreting the world such as, “the world would be a wonderful place if it weren’t for George Bush, or the United States,” are going to lead us nowhere, absolutely nowhere. We have to find our way to new forms of true international solidarity, which is different than anti-Americanism. We live in a moment in which the American state and the American government have become a fetish form. It’s similar to the reactionary anticapitalists who were anti-British in the late 19th century — you don’t have to be pro-British to know that this was a reification of world capital.

Notes


1 Lukács, History and Class Consciousnesspg. 171, emphasis in original.
2 Ibid.pg. 175, emphasis in original.

Antisemitism as a “blindspot” for the Left

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Why anyone would want to support Jeremy Corbyn or join the Labour Party is beyond me. I don’t live in Great Britain, so at least I’m spared that grim imperative. From what I’m told, spontaneous adulation for “Jez” and “the absolute boy” broke out on the floor of the DSA convention this last year. A strange occurrence, considering that Corbyn has nothing whatsoever to do with the American political system. He was seen as the limey equivalent to Bernie Sanders’ insurgent candidacy in 2016, so I guess it makes some sense.

Still, since the subject keeps coming up, I might as well address the recurring charge of “antisemitism” that’s been leveled at Corbyn’s Labour. Many of his supporters reflexively suspect this is another attempted coup, an effort by the old Blairite wing of the Party to topple its Corbynite adversary and thereby reassert its dominance. Unfortunately, there’s a very good chance that this is indeed the case. This is unfortunate because antisemitism is a real blindspot for many on the Left, one which is only further occluded by cynical allegations.

Let me lay my cards on the table: I don’t think that Corbyn is a hardened antisemite or anything like that. Efforts to portray him as such are in my opinion transparently opportunistic. Yet again, this is a manufactured scandal resuscitated several years after the fact for political gain. Worst of all, this is leading people to dislike Corbyn for the wrong reasons. Jez sucks not because he’s “the absolute goy,” as some have pithily put it, but because he’s a milquetoast reformist leading a bourgeois political party, who wants to put more cops on the street and complains that foreigners are stealing British jobs.

One can make casually antisemitic, racist, or sexist comments, though, without necessarily being an ideologically committed antisemite, racist, or sexist. This is really the crucial takeaway from theories of structural antisemitism, racism, or sexism. In other words, these ideologies don’t rely on self-consciously antisemitic, racist, or sexist agents or individuals in order to be reproduced societally at an unconscious level.

Pseudo-emancipatory character

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Racist ideologies typically employ a double-operation with regard to those they deem parasitic upon the greater social body. In contrast to the broad masses of society (e.g., “ordinary hardworking Americans,” a codeword for the predominantly WASPish working class) there is a lower and an upper stratum of parasites. Whereas the lower stratum includes supposed inferiors — i.e., illegal immigrants, “welfare queens,” and so on, who leech off of the surplus wealth generated by industrious individuals — the upper stratum covers supposed elites — i.e., globalists, Jews, and banksters, who surreptitiously rob honest workers through financial speculation or manipulate them with their control of the media.

Moishe Postone, the late theorist of structural antisemitism, argued that it possesses a peculiar quality compared to other racist ideologies. Impersonal aspects of the capitalist social order are identified with the person of the Jew, who for historically contingent reasons fulfills a logically necessary function of capitalism. A faceless and anonymous form of domination is given both a face and a name. For this reason, Postone maintained that “antisemitism has a pseudo-emancipatory dimension other forms of racism rarely have… Racism is rarely a danger for the left. While the Left has to be careful not to be racist, it isn’t an ongoing danger because racism doesn’t have the apparent emancipatory dimension of anti-semitism.”

John-Paul Pagano wrote a piece for the Forward in late January about “How Anti-Semitism’s True Origin Makes It Invisible to the Left.” “Antisemitism differs from most forms of racism in that it purports to ‘punch up’ against a secret society of oppressors,” explained Pagano, “which has the side effect of making it easy to disguise as a politics of emancipation. If Jews have all this power, then punching up at Jews is a form of ‘speaking truth to power,’ a form of speech of which the Left is currently enamored. Yet it is precisely because antisemitism pretends to strike at power that the Left cannot see it, and is in many ways doomed to erase or even reproduce its central tropes.”

Even white supremacists have borrowed some of the rhetoric about “privilege” from mainstream left-liberal social justice discourse so as to demonize the Jews. Last year, a flier made the rounds at the University of Illinois which declared that “ending white privilege starts with ending Jewish privilege.” Citing survey data, it claimed that 44 percent of Jewish Americans are in the “one percent,” the top economic percentile in the United States. Innocently, it then asked: “Is the 1% all straight white men? Or is the 1% Jewish?” We should not forget that Father Coughlin’s militantly pro-union and pro-Catholic paper, which was at the same time also anti-communist and antisemitic, was called Social Justice.

Mear One’s 2010 Tower Hamlets mural in England, which has been the subject of so much controversy this last week, illustrates perfectly the “pseudo-emancipatory dimension” of antisemitism. It depicts a group of white men with stereotypically Jewish features sitting around a table playing a game of Monopoly using real money, but on the backs of predominantly black and brown bodies which are hunched over prostrate. Behind them is a huge pyramid with the Eye of Providence emblazoned atop it, a symbol often associated with Freemasonry. Next to it is a sign reading: “The New World Order is the enemy of humanity.”

Apologies and apologia

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How anyone could miss the antisemitic tropes apparent throughout this work is mind-boggling to me. The image features not just businessmen and bankers, but also what appears to be a rabbi (wearing a robe and a long beard). Kalen Ockerman, the “graffiti artist” who designed the mural, was more or less open about the ethnicity of the figures, as well as their “demonic” character, as he admitted to reporters: “Some older white Jewish folk in the local community had an issue with me portraying their beloved #Rothschilds and #Warburgs, etc., as the demons they are.”

Despite this, the Weekly Worker columnist Tony Greenstein — whose outrageous antics have been widely reported in the past by Comrade Andrew Coates — fails to detect anything out of the ordinary in Ockerman’s mural. Greenstein described it in passing as “an absurd mural whose ‘antisemitism’ is highly debatable.” It surprised me that he’d put “antisemitic” in scare quotes, since it seemed obvious that the mural drew upon antisemitic imagery. When I later asked the veteran anti-Zionist why he did so, he responded:

I don’t think [the antisemitism of the graffiti] as clear-cut as you make out. The figures in it are not noticeably Jewish. I am well acquainted with antisemitic caricatures and these were not it. I think it is a conspiracy type of art work but there is nothing noticeably Jewish about it. It’s about bankers, not Jewish bankers. Indeed, the figure on the far right looked like Alf Garnett!

Now I can’t tell if Greenstein is being disingenuous here or if he really can’t see what to my mind is manifest antisemitism. (Incidentally, Warren Mitchell, the actor who played Alf Garnett, was in fact Jewish.) Corbyn, to his credit, expressed regret over his earlier remarks, which at best held the artwork to be innocuous — and at worst compared it to Man at the Crossroads by Diego Rivera, a comparison I regard as no less offensive than its plainly antisemitic content. He acknowledged the mural’s imagery was “deeply disturbing and antisemitic,” adding that he “wholeheartedly supports its removal.” What astounds me is that others would double down on Corbyn’s behalf, insisting the mural was not antisemitic in the least. Even worse, some claim that by apologizing Jez somehow “sold out” to party Zionists.

Personally, I’m not a fan of long, drawn-out handwringing or public self-flagellation. Matthew d’Ancona’s recent Guardian editorial, which holds that “Corbyn’s ‘Regret’ Over an Antisemitic Mural Doesn’t Go Remotely Far Enough,” strikes me as excessive and tendentious. The open letter sent by Jewish leaders to Corbyn several hours ago likewise seemed a bit overwrought, but he was gracious enough to reply: “Zero tolerance for antisemites means what it says, and the party will proceed in that spirit.” What else was he going to say, realistically? And what more do Labourites really want from him?

Incidentally, something along these lines is all one can really ask for when it comes to an analogous controversy across the pond — the troublesome relationship three leaders of the Women’s March have cultivated with infamous Nation of Islam spokesman Louis Farrakhan. Linda Sarsour, Carmen Perez, and Tamika Mallory have all refused to condemn Farrakhan’s numerous hateful remarks about the Jews. What makes their refusal even less comprehensible is that, beyond his outspoken antisemitism, he is also an open homophobe and transphobe (both forms of prejudice which are supposed to be antithetical to the contemporary feminism on display at the Women’s March).

One would be hard-pressed to find another racist ideology for which so many excuses are made as antisemitism. Black nationalist antisemitism of the sort peddled by Farrakhan is of course a longstanding phenomenon, and one hears clear echoes of it in Jackie Walker’s claim a couple years ago that Jews were the “chief financiers of the African slave trade” (a calumny first advanced in the 1991 Nation of Islam screed, The Secret Relationship of Blacks and Jews). The converse is also true, to be sure: Jewish nationalist antiblackness reared its ugly head this last week when Israel’s Chief Sephardic rabbi (an official post) likened African-Americans to monkeys. Yitzhak Yosef has already in the past called Reform Jews “worse than Holocaust deniers,” so this is hardly the first or last godawful thing he’s said.

“Left-wing” antisemitism?

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Don’t get it twisted. As far as I’m concerned, a successful socialist revolution is the only way to ensure that antisemitism is vanquished forever. Other measures, up to and including the formation of a Jewish state (like Israel, Yiddishland, or Birobidzhan), can only provide a reactionary stopgap. Leon Trotsky called Zionism “utopian” because it believes that “the Jewish question can be resolved within the framework of rotting capitalism.” Nevertheless, antisemitism poses a very real and persistent danger for emancipatory movements, even those which aim to overthrow the capitalist order. From Proudhon to Bakunin to Dühring, and resurfacing again with Stalin, antisemitic strains have dogged socialist politics, leading August Bebel to call antisemitism “the socialism of fools.”

This raises the following question: Is there such a thing as “left-wing” antisemitism? Roland Barthes attempted to answer this question in response to a 1958 survey in the pages of the Jewish periodical L’Arche. Barthes, whose Marxism was never tied to any particular party, and whose Trotskyist sympathies put him at odds with the intellectuals of the PCF, concluded that antisemitism could take root within the Left but in the process it would transmogrify into a creature of the Right. He thus wrote:

We have known for a long time that Right and Left are confused notions. They can each be led, for tactical reasons, to exchange their positions (Lacoste has carried out a right-wing policy in Algeria and there is, conversely, a right-wing anticolonialism). Socially, all classes are capable at some time of shifting politically and even of dividing (as is probably the case with the working class, which has just voted partly “yes” and partly “no” at the last referendum). Lastly, to make the confusion complete, in our present-day world — and peculiarly in France — the Communist Party renders the notion of the Left terribly ambiguous at the moment.

There remains the ideological criterion. By ideology is to be understood a general representation of the world, the political determinations of which (in the broad sense of the term) are generally unconscious. Right-wing ideology is defined by a certain number of beliefs which, taken together, form a sensibility: rejection of history; belief in a changeless human nature; more or less explicit recognition of force as a value; anti-intellectualism, etc.

The definition of the Right depends on these elements being brought together, not the other way about. Since antisemitism is one of them — and not the least significant — it follows that it is antisemitism that makes the Right, not the Right that makes antisemitism. Anyone who is antisemitic defines himself as a rightist and thereby defines the Right. We should go further here — someone who announced he was a man of the Left but professed antisemitism would unmask himself by so doing as following a right-wing ideology: antisemites are always right-wingers, right-wingers are not necessarily antisemites.

Hillel Ticktin, the South African Trotskyist, followed a similar line of reasoning in his synopsis of an issue of the journal Critique. “No Marxist can support nationalism,” writes Ticktin, “whether that of the Zionists or of Hezbollah. That does not remove the real oppression of Palestinians, but it does imply that no religious or nationalist solution is possible… At the same time, there can also be no question that antisemitism is rising, particularly in areas where it has been endemic for the past half-century: Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Bebel’s dictum that antisemitism is the socialism of fools is partly correct in that the role of antisemitism is different from that of racism; it provides an alternative populist ideology to the appeal of socialism.”

Rejecting both the widespread calls for Boycotts, Divestments, and Sanctions (or BDS, a strategy he also opposed as misguided vis-à-vis the apartheid regime during the 1980s) as well as opportunistic alliances with groups like Hezbollah, which ostensibly leftist organizations like the SWP in the UK and the ISO in the US condone, Ticktin nevertheless reaffirmed that antisemitism is an irreducibly right-wing phenomenon:

The representative of the Israeli Embassy on the BBC1 10 AM program on Religion 1 May 2016 argued that, although the left had fought antisemitism, there were examples of left-wing antisemites like Proudhon, Bakunin, and Stalin. This is stretching the concept of the Left. If one includes anyone who is critical of the status quo in capitalism to be left-wing then the Israeli representative is correct. There is no doubt that Stalin and Stalinism were not just antisemitic but among the worst perpetrators of acts of antisemitism that the world has seen. This journal has made that clear. Can one call Stalinism left-wing? It was a reaction to the Russian Revolution of 1917 from the right. It introduced and maintained high levels of inequality in all respects. It was brutal in form and totally opposed to the forms of civil liberties accepted by the left. Bakunin attacked Marx in antisemitic terms and Proudhon was no better. They were both anarchists of a kind that would fall outside the left as we understand it today. The people accused of antisemitism do not fall into a Stalinist or anarchist category. There are of course left-wing anarchists but that is another matter. However, it can of course happen that the left sees antisemitism as a form of discrimination employed to divide the population in order to maintain capitalism at the present time, whatever the age of the practice. The left stands for the abolition of all forms of social inequality. Hence it is automatically and inherently opposed to antisemitism, unlike Conservatives and the Labour Right, who accept the market and its forms of subjection and inequality, since they accept the market.

At least intuitively, this feels right. Still, it’s a complicated matter, both historically and conceptually. Marx and Engels wrote of “reactionary” forms of socialism, even in texts as famous as the Manifesto. The various strains of socialism that appeal to antisemitism would seem to fall under this category.

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